My Weekly Writing Challenge

I did wonder if last week’s challenge would stump a few people and stump a few it did. I challenged you to take a fairytale e.g. Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, Hansel and Gretel etc and give it a modern twist. Thank you to those who did take part and their entries can be read below. But don’t worry if you decided to give last week’s challenge a miss – I hope you’ll like this week’s:

A lot of you have contacted me to say how much you like my weekly series of short story ideas. I’ve taken you through the alphabet  and am almost at ‘V’. So I’m going to take you back to the beginning. The short story idea for ‘A’ was ‘ambulance’, ‘B’ was ‘burglary’ and ‘C’ was to write about a ‘castle’. So my challenge to you is to write a short story (as long or short as you like) or a poem, if you’d prefer, featuring either an ambulance, a burglary or a castle. You can try all three if you want to be clever! If you can’t remember the ideas I gave you to start you off on these three, click on the following link:

https://esthernewtonblog.wordpress.com/2014/06/23/monday-motivationsthe-abc-of-short-story-ideas/

Now, here are your fairytales:

Keith Channing sent in this brilliant ‘Ugly Duckling’ story:

Lacking colour

“I don’t care!” her father said, “Look at it. It’s not normal. It’s no part of this family, and I won’t have it in my house! The spirits are displeased with us. I will consult with the shaman and prepare a sacrifice. Take it away, or it will bring us a lot of bad luck. If you don’t get rid of it, I will.”
Five minutes after her birth, she had been disowned by her father, having been born with albinism – a total lack of pigmentation, showing itself in deathly-white skin and hair, and pink, almost transparent, irises. Her mother had no alternative but to take her out of the village and try to care for her in the open bush country.

“My baby needs to be cared for properly. I can’t look after her in the bush; she will die!” her mother
pleaded.

“So be it. If that is the will of the spirits, so be it,” came the reply.

“Let us stay tonight, and I will leave in the morning. Please?”

“You may stay in the shed with the goats. I don’t want that thing in my house, and I want you gone when the sun rises tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” her mother said. It wasn’t what she wanted to say; she wanted to say, “that thing is your daughter. You made her the way she is.” But she knew her place, so she just thanked him. “I will return after some time,” she added.

The next morning, before sunrise, mother and child left the village. The child was fully wrapped against the sun. It made her hot and they had to make frequent stops to take advantage of whatever shade they could find. In the heat of the day, they came across a deserted hut, where they stayed until the sun was low in the sky. They set off at twilight and walked through the night, looking for any food and shelter they could find. This set the pattern for the next four years; living the life of nomads, with no home, no income, no roots. Wherever they went, they were shunned and, despite the mother’s pleas, no village would allow them entry, restricting them to its peripheries. Constantly struggling for food, clothing and shelter, the pair were forced into hiding during daylight hours, avoiding the fierce sun that would burn her daughter’s fragile, unpigmented skin, and the bright light that would hurt her unshielded eyes.

During their fifth year of wandering they arrived, weak, tired, malnourished and suffering many ailments, at a small Christian mission.

Knocking weakly on the door, they were met by Fr Manuel, a priest of Spanish origin. Addressing them in their native tongue he asked, “What can I do for you, my child?”

“My daughter has been born without colour,” her mother said. “Her father refuses to have her in the house, because she will bring bad luck. We have been wandering the bush, feeding on whatever berries and meat we could find, fearing animals and shunned by people. Can you help us?”

“Of course, my child. We have had one such girl here for almost a year, and our Sisters are well equipped to keep and raise your child. She will be raised in the Christian faith and she will be taught English and Spanish. You also may remain here for as long as you wish. Are you happy with that?”
“I shall be happy if she remains alive and cared for.”

“What is the child’s name?” Fr Manuel enquired.

“She has no name. According to our traditions, she should not be named because she is not human. She is a ghost, a cursed one.”

After taking a good meal with Fr Manuel and the Sisters, the child’s mother left the mission, saying she would return to her village.

Once mother had left, Fr Manuel made the arrangements necessary for the child’s care. She was immediately baptised into the Roman Catholic Church, and given the name Clara, which translates as clear or bright.

Fr Manuel and the Sisters, helped by visiting clergy and lay helpers, cared for Clara and the other albino girl, as well as a small number of orphans. All the children received instruction in the Catholic faith, English, Spanish and a range of other subjects. Despite her very disadvantaged early years, Clara was soon well ahead of the rest of the children.

On her thirteenth birthday, Fr Manuel called her aside.

“Clara,” he said, “you know that you are more advanced than any of the others here, don’t you?”

“I’m truly sorry, Father,” she replied, “I know it is a sin to be boastful and to think of myself as better than the others, and I don’t. But I enjoy all my studies, and I always want to know more. Is that bad? Should I stop?”

“Not at all, Clara,” Fr Manuel reassured her, “your wish to learn and your ability to learn are precious gifts from God. I am worried that you are now so advanced that there is nothing else we can teach you. I think you are ready for a big step.”

“What step?”

“I have written about you to the Archbishop in the capital. He wants you to go there, and to study at the State Academy. He believes you could go on to university and have a great career.”

“You mean you are sending me away?” Clara asked, angrily, “You promised my mother you would look after me, but you are the same as the rest; you just want to be rid of me because of the colour of my skin!”

“That isn’t true, Clara, and I think you know it,” replied Fr Manuel, calmly, “We love having you here. You have become an important part of our family. We don’t know who will teach the younger ones, when you leave. We will miss you, terribly. But if you stay here, life will become dull for you. There is very little more we can teach you, and we don’t have the facilities that they have in the academy.”
Clara went to bed angry, but realised that she was being given an offer she would be foolish to refuse. A week later, she was on her way to the big city, to the capital.

She settled well with the Archbishop, but things at the academy were less comfortable. Her albinism was a problem. As she had found in the mission, she couldn’t join in many of the outdoor activities, for fear of sunburn, and of accelerating the almost inevitable onset of skin cancers. The light was taking its toll on her eyes, too. Some days it was painful to stare at the screens of the computers she had to use there. That left her with a reputation of being remote and distant, and many felt that she considered herself better than them. There seemed nothing she could do to shake that reputation, or to secure acceptance from her peers. Though she enjoyed her studies, these were sad days for Clara.

Things improved when she went up to university, where she studied humanities and politics with a special emphasis on the social, political and medical implications of albinism. Her courses required her to spend many hours in ill-lit libraries and studies, which helped her eyes, and much time in discussion and debate; areas in which she excelled, thanks to her sharp wit coupled with highly developed empathic skills.

After graduation, Clara looked for employment in an area where she could make a difference to other people afflicted with albinism, but there was nothing available. She applied for, and received, a grant from an international philanthropic body, with which she set up a foundation aimed at alleviating the suffering of people with albinism.

Today, eight years later, Clara is recognised as the foremost African authority on her subject. Her foundation is working with others to produce sunscreen that is effective for her people; to elevate their status in government, commerce and industry and, crucially, to address the old tribal belief that babies born without pigment are evil, or bringers of bad luck and, paradoxically, that body parts taken from people with albinism can render more effective, spells and potions designed to bring luck and wealth.

Thus has the rejected baby not only become a bright light in her own right, but she is working, with others, to prevent the rejection of other babies like her.

Jasdeep Kaur chose to base her highly entertaining modern fairytale on ‘Beauty and the Beast’:

Beauty with Gadgets

One day, a rich merchant set off on a voyage for his new venture. Before leaving, he asked his daughter, Beauty, what she wanted on his return. She wished for a gadget with which she could see her father anytime, as she loved him the most. The father promised to fulfil her wish. He left for his business trip on his chartered plane.

He bought the latest smart phone for her. While returning, he sensed a fault in his plane and forced landed on an island. He tried to contact for help, but nothing worked, not even the latest smart phone. He was left with no choice but to wait. Some radar must have detected it, he thought.

He decided to explore the island with a hope to find some help. The island was exquisitely maintained. There must be someone who took care of it, he thought and started moving inwards. He saw a marvellous palace. The doors of the palace were open, but he couldn’t see anybody there. The palace was cosy and there was a unique warmth in the ambiance. He saw the food kept on a magnificent dining table. He savoured the delicacies and wondered who could be taking care of him. He felt very sleepy and slept on one of the most luxurious beds.

While having breakfast, his eyes landed on a golden rose on the table. It gleamed every few seconds. He touched it and it spoke, “Whom do you wish to see?”

Instantly, he said, “Beauty.” One of the petals of the rose displayed Beauty’s face. He turned the rose to see closely and it started showing the garden where she was sitting. She was sad. The merchant knew why, and picked his things to go back and check if some help had arrived on the beach.

Just then, a thought flashed in his mind, what could be a better gift for his daughter? At first, he hesitated. But then he thought that it was not on the table yesterday, and it may be a gift from the owner. With this notion, he picked the golden rose gadget and moved towards the palace door.

His way was blocked by a gruesome, ferocious beast. He said, “How dare you steal my belonging? You’ll have to forsake your life now.”

The merchant begged for mercy, and pleaded, “Please let me go. My daughter is waiting for me. She loves me so much that she’ll die if I don’t go back.”

The beast relieved him on a condition that he must send his daughter in his place. The merchant went to the beach and heard the engine of his aircraft roaring. He went home with heavy heart, and gave the golden rose gadget to Beauty.

Beauty’s delight turned into sorrow when she knew that she’d have to leave her father and go. But she could do anything for her father; even live with a grizzly beast. She set off on the automated plane to the island. The GPS machine set by the beast steered her the way, and she reached the island. A robotic car welcomed her and took her to the palace.

She was horrified to see the beast, but tried not to show it. The beast was very kind to her and lavished her with all the amenities. He would sit with her and chat for hours. Soon they became good friends. Beauty started liking his intelligence and wit. One day, the beast asked Beauty to marry him. Beauty didn’t like the idea but kept quiet. She didn’t want to hurt such a nice heart. She went to her room without saying a word.

She saw her father in the golden rose gadget. As always, he was in grief. She knew, he must be missing her. But what disturbed her today was not only his frail face, but the eyes of Jack, his assistant. She spoke about it to the beast and he took her to the projector that displayed Jack’s cabin. He was plotting the plan to kill her father. She must act fast, or she may lose her father. The beast understood the sensitivity of the matter and showed her the magical chair that could instantly take her anywhere.

While leaving, the beast told her that he’d die if she didn’t come back. She promised that she’d tell her father and come back as soon as possible. She took the golden rose and fastened the seat belt. The chair twirled, gained speed, and turned into a tornado. In an instant she was at her home. Her father was elated to see her.

Beauty told him everything she saw. Without delay, the matter was reported to the police and Jack was behind the bars. The rapid series of action didn’t leave any time with Beauty to think of the beast. It was more than a week now. She was clearing her things when she found the golden rose. She was reminded of what the beast had said before leaving. She immediately touched it and asked it to show the beast.

She was terrified to see the beast lying in his bed. He was mumbling her name again and again. She told her father that she must go. Her father tried to stop her, but she insisted. She sat in her magical chair, and reached the palace. She ran to his room. He was motionless. Beauty held his hand and started sobbing.

She said, “Please say something. I cannot live without you. I love you too.”

The beast turned into a handsome prince. She was bewildered. The prince told him that it was the spell of the alien that had turned him into a beast, as he had denied to marry her and go to her planet. The alien deemed that it was impossible to break the spell, as no one could love a beast in spite of his ugliness. But the kind heart of Beauty loved him and broke the spell.

They told everything to her father, and he got them married gladly. Beauty was very happy. Now she had a handsome loving husband, the blessings of her father, and the gadgets of the alien.

 

I’m sure you’ll agree, they’re two cracking stories. Now you have a go at this week’s challenge!

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29 Responses to My Weekly Writing Challenge

  1. mihrank says:

    It is not only a great challenge, it is also motivates and keep us active!!

  2. Well done, Jasdeep. I love that story. Now to this week’s challenge. It will give me a break from my personal challenge this week; to write at least three stories (I’ve done two so far) with the title “Your tears aren’t good enough”

  3. JasonMoody77 says:

    I missed last week because I’m a writing Jessie! 🙂 This weeks challenge is a beauty!
    Great stories everyone, they were all thoroughly entertaining.

  4. I’m the king of the castle!

    “This is my castle, and I’ll jolly well do what I want in it. And if anyone tries to stop me, I’ll… I’ll… I’ll jolly well stamp my feet and hold my breath and scream!” King Kannot, ruler of the land of O was clearly not in one of his better moods. It had just been pointed out to him that there was insufficient gold in the royal treasury to fund the massive fair he had wanted to hold in the castle grounds. It was to have been a splendid affair with jesters, minstrels and entertainers of all sorts, as well as jousts, archery contests and all kinds of competitions. But the royal chamberlain said there wasn’t enough money. Now he needed a new chamberlain, too.

    “If I may be permitted to point out to His Majesty,” interjected Velcro, the king’s faithful retainer, “if Sire attempts to hold his royal breath and scream at the same time, Sire may explode.”

    “Well, what can I do to make myself feel better about my lot, Velcro? The peasants are revolting, and the nobles aren’t much better.”

    “Sire could call a special meeting of the Privy Council at a ridiculously early hour, with an agenda of the utmost gravity and import, then not turn up Himself.”

    “What a jolly good wheeze. Would they all come?”

    “Could they possibly ignore a royal command, Sire?” The king’s humour had changed as quickly as ever. Velcro had a particular knack of knowing exactly what to say to get the old king into a good mood. Unfortunately for many of the king’s loyal subjects, this often involved causing great inconvenience to some of them, usually either the most hapless of the peasantry or the most lofty of the nobility or, more frequently, both.

    “We’ll say,” the king suggested, “that we need to discuss our response to the overtures received from the next kingdom, suggesting that our royal son, the Prince Mite, should marry their king’s ugly daughter.”

    “And what should be our response, Sire?”

    “Our response shall be … that we shall think about it. We shall consider our options. We shall have discussions with our advisors and, of course, with Prince Mite.”

    “And then, Sire?”

    “And then, Velcro, we shall tell them that we will approve the marriage at a later date.”

    “That date being, Sire?”

    “When hell freezes over, Velcro, when hell freezes over.” With that, the old king laughed so hard he fell off his chair and rolled around the floor.

    Still laughing, still rolling, he blurted out, “But we won’t tell the Privy Councillors that, eh, Velcro?”

    Some time later, after the king had recovered from his fit of royal mirth, he called Velcro to his kingly presence again, “Let’s have a feast tonight, Velcro. Summon the courtiers and the jesters, the Privy Councillors and the dancing wenches; have the hunters head out to find some meat. There will be jollity in my castle this night. It will go on until almost sunrise. As soon as the sun rises, the Privy Council will meet, and we will go to our royal bedchamber.”

    And so the festivities took place. There was, indeed, jollity in the king’s castle that night, laughter and dancing, feasting and drinking, revelry and ribaldry and rambunctiousness, and goings on between jesters and wenches that we won’t go into here for reasons of modesty.

    As the sun rose, the gathered company dispersed, each to his or her own home, with the exception of the Privy Councillors, who went through into the council room to await the king. The king collected his queen and went to bed.

    Did I not mention that the king has a queen? Isn’t it obvious? Where do you suppose the Prince Mite came from? There’s no magic in this realm, you know.

    The Privy Councillors waited patiently for the king.

    For many hours they sat, chatting amongst themselves. They didn’t discuss the subject they were there to talk about, because it would be wrong to do so; just as it would have been wrong to leave the room before the king had graced them with his presence. They were rather afraid of the king.

    Much as the king was rather afraid of the queen, although that, too, was never discussed.

  5. I loved ‘Beauty with Gadgets’ by Jasdeep Kaur; very modern use of technology but also in keeping with what a fairy tale should be; entwined with magic, exploding with metaphors, and best of all the happy ending which enables the reader to gain hope from their fairy tale experience. Brilliant!

  6. Jasdeep Kaur says:

    Thanks Keith and Jason for your comments.

    I liked the mannerism of the “I’m the king of the castle!” – brilliantly carved.

  7. JasonMoody77 says:

    Try this…

    My life in ruins

    Augustine was enjoying the sunshine and the company of his eager tourist group.
    Come rain or shine, he would bring those that were willing to the castle ruins to enjoy the scenery and the history.
    He had been doing this for nearly ten years now. It was fast becoming one of the most popular tourist attractions in the world; second only to the now infamous ‘sizzlers’ tandoori in Clacton on Sea.

    Today’s group were a keen bunch. There was a family from Arkansas; two sisters from Okinawa; a married couple from Germany and a group of students from Paris.

    The questions were flying, the answers were delivered with infectious enthusiasm and the scenery just added to the wonder.

    Lush green hills and trees that pierced the sky watched over them as their path snaked this way and that through the leafy countryside.

    Eventually, they reached the top of a hill. Standing here offered beautiful views of the land that seemed to stretch out forever.
    But, it was the view below that had the group clambering to get at their cameras; sat at the bottom of a basin was a ruined castle from centuries ago.

    Trees lined the rim almost all the way around, as if hiding it from view.

    Augustine gathered the group.

    “Right. You have to be very careful here…” There was a commotion at the back.

    “…I say. Thank you. As I was saying, the climb down must be taken at a leisurely pace, no pushing, no running and absolutely no tom foolery of any description.” This garnered a few strange looks. “I do not want a repeat of 2012. That said, take in the views, snap until you can snap no more and above all, have fun.”

    They made their way down the path, carefully, and for the most part, quietly.

    They had reached the basin. The sloping hills all around seemed to climb forever. This was a fact that Henrik, a fourth seven year old tax collector from Hamburg attested to as he sat, breathless.

    When he did catch his breath, and the rest of the group had parted so he could see, he was greeted by a most splendid sight.

    The stone shone in the mid afternoon sun. The remnants of a once magnificent castle still stood, as imposing as if they were whole. Half hewn minarets reached up, gargoyles, weathered by time sneered from above.
    The group gasped, sighed and some even clapped as Augustine made his way to the front and bid them follow him.

    The closer they got, the more beautiful it seemed. Yakumi, one of the sisters from Japan noted the flying ambulance parked in a field nearby.
    Augustine simply explained that they would often park here on their lunch break. It was extremely implausible, but no one questioned it. Some even waved at the crew, who with sandwiches in hand duly waved back.

    They were now inside the castle itself. They had passed through the kitchen, the great hall. They had seen the kings chamber and heard many a delightful tale along the way.

    They now stood facing a remarkably complete and no less imposing archway which preceded a staircase that headed underground.

    Augustine stood at the top.
    “Ladies and gentleman,” he announced theatrically “Follow me for the grand finale.”

    More sighing and gushing followed.

    Augustine started the descent and the group followed. The stairs wound downwards, the further they went, the more pronounced the echo.

    “Mind the last step, it’s a tricky one,” announced Augustine.

    One by one the group filtered into a candle lit cavern. It seemed to go on forever.

    “Ladies and gentleman, I give you Barnabus the mighty,” Shouted Augustine.

    A rustling sound like a hundred pairs of feet on gravel filled the cavern.

    Then, without warning a jet of orange flame swooped over their heads.

    One by one the silhouettes of huge iron candle holders could be seen as their summits danced with flame.

    Eight were lit. Now the group could see what was behind.
    It’s scaly golden brown skin shimmered in the gloom. It’s eyes sparkled green like emeralds. It lit more candles about the cavern. Now the full extent of this mighty beast could be seen.

    The group were gobsmacked. Henrik cried out in German, to which Barnabus, his tone commanding and gravelly, answered.

    Barnabus stood at least ten feet talk. His tail snaked and curled in front of him. His wings, laden with thorny spines clung to his back.

    “Good afternoon Barnabus,” Augustus greeted him, as if speaking with an old friend.

    Barnabus slightly bowed his long, thin and thorny head. “And a good afternoon to you my dear Augustine.

    Barnabus smiled.

    “And may I extend my greetings to you fine people.” His voice was delicious like a narrators and had a touch of Jeremy Irons about it. A fact that Barnabus secretly loved hearing from visitors.

    “He sounds like that Jeremy, the acting man,” screamed an American

    Barnabus turned his way. The man stepped back.

    “Do I detect an accent?” The dragon asked.

    The group laughed. They had no idea why. It wasn’t that what he said was funny. It’s just that none of them had met a well spoken ten foot tall dragon before. Lugging seemed the correct response.

    Once they had got over their shock, which took at least seven minutes; they were treated to many takes of days of old.
    They found Barnabus to be thoroughly charming, and an excellent host. He even happily answered a young Parisienne girls question. “Err..why do you seet on a pile of, how you say, many colour skull?”

    The group had a delightful time. The dragon posed for pictures. For an extra fee, he flew a few of them around the basin. They had a lovely time.

    It was time to be going. The last of the group tried to hug the giant, which he found amusing, then they all made their way to the staircase, their heads full of wonder.

    Augustine started to follow.

    Barnabus cleared his throat.

    “You’ve forgotten again, haven’t you?” Asked the dragon.

    They both laughed. Barnabus held his giant front foot over his face.

    “I swear, if your head wasn’t screwed on,” he joked. “You always forget the arrangement.

    Augustine let the last laugh tickle his belly. “I know.” He looked at Barnabus, as if trying to work something out. “Which one would you like?”

    “Hmmmm,” Barnabus pondered. “That Henrik and his wife were delightful.”

    “Brilliant,” said Augustine. “I’ll bring them in.”

    “Thank you old chap,” said Barnabus. ”

    “No problem. I’ll see you Wednesday”

    “Jolly good…oh, give my love to Wendy and the little ones,” said Barnabus.

    With that, Augustine hopped up the stairs.

    That night, Barnabus dined with Henrik and his wife Natascha and the pile of skulls grew by two.

  8. Jasdeep Kaur says:

    Phew! That just blew up my skull.

  9. Sandra says:

    Hello. Haven’t taken up any challenges for many a week now. Sorry for that! Couldn’t pass this one up though…Loooove castles!

    Title: ‘Through the Crack’

    Her body was sprawled on the floor, visible through the heavy door’s open crack. Her eyes were shut, but I knew that face, only, I couldn’t remember how. I couldn’t remember much of anything.
    I wanted to see if she was alive; I felt that I needed to. My breathing was getting too fast and too loud, so I held it and stepped closer pushing the door open. But that widening inch sounded like thunder hitting the dark hallway and my hand withdrew from the wood like it had turned white hot.
    Footsteps came from my right. The corridor was a long, narrow expanse of darkness, but a golden archway was now rippling forward, lighting the stone, approaching in time with the footfalls.

    Fear rose inside me like an animal, pressing my stomach up against my heart. I bolted; every blind step hammering against my pounding, burning head.

    The place was a maze, twisting and turning in the darkness. ‘Take left, always left.’ The whisper of a half-remembered voice led me out; a woman’s voice, but a stranger to me.

    A door came at me and I flung myself at it.

    Crisp air, wet grass, the sound of running water; weightlessness as my fear abated.

    I stepped out and followed the sound of water, my feet sinking in mud. I looked back once and out of the darkness a castle jutted out, its stone reflecting white under an incomplete moon.

    How long had I been there?

    How did I get to be there?

    A river emerged from the thickening woodland. I plunged into it and let it carry me to safety as my head cleared with each new smell, each tactile sensation of freedom.

    When the castle was but a shining grey speck in the distance, I clung to a branch and pulled myself onto the bank.

    There, a new scent embraced me; wet cedar, rich dark soil and something else.

    Wild roses.

    Her smell.

    And it all came crashing on me; her face, her smile, her voice.

    My guilt.

    She was mine and I left her there.

  10. Jasdeep Kaur says:

    The Siren

    The moon overlooked the dome of the city castle that was reflecting the light to Serra’s sombre room, as if trying to illumine it. Serra was deep in her thoughts; her eyes had dried up. She gazed aimlessly into the dark corner near the bedroom door. The only thing that barged in her thoughts was the siren of the ambulance.

    She heard that siren since the burglary took place in her house. It was Sunday night, exactly a week before. Aaron had heard the sound of the latch open and had tried to stop the robbers from taking their valuables. Every single second, she wished it would have been her. She should have gone in place of Aaron. She should have tried to stop them. She would have got stabbed. She would have been taken in the ambulance. She would have been the one to be declared dead. She wouldn’t have been left alone in the misery.

    She heard the siren again. She shouted and pressed her ears with her hands as hard as she could. She knew it would go; it was just an figment of her imagination. And so it did. She cleared her throat. Her doctor had said that she must sleep or this might become a severe psychological problem. She swallowed the fifth sleeping pill, but sleep wouldn’t engulf her even for a second.

    She heard a sound, but it was not the siren this time. It was the latch of the door.

    The burglars again? But what could they possibly want now? They had taken everything, even her love, she thought.

    She heard the footsteps approaching. The door opened slowly. She saw a figure move in. She constricted herself to the edge of the window.

    The anxieties had turned into hallucinations. This was what the doctor had warned about, she thought.

    Then, there was a sudden pain in her ribs, the pain that blocked her voice. The pain was severe. She started sweating. She was losing her breath. She heard the siren again, but she couldn’t move her hands. She fell on the floor and her head hit hard on the ground. She was motionless.

    A moment later, the moon light intensified, and two shadows were seen in the apse of the castle dancing with joy.

    • Please don’t worry about any mistakes, Jasdeep. When I first read your story through, I didn’t even notice any – the story was so gripping, I only saw the story. I love the ending – so emotional and touching. As always, a delightful read 🙂

  11. Jasdeep Kaur says:

    A lot of grammatical mistakes this time, even the most silliest ones, like using “an” instead of “a”. This is what happens in last minute rush. I’m so sorry for that.

  12. Kate Loveton says:

    Some good story-telling here. It was fun to read the group’s stories.

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