Short Story Contests discussion

Instructions:
Please do not use a story previously used on goodreads. After the week's contest, you are welcome to put it on your profile writings, but please refrain from using stories you have already put on there.

You have until Saturday afternoon to post a story on here. Please post it directly onto this topic, rather than posting a link. Also, please do not discuss stories on here. You must go to Weekly Short Story Contest Discussion (http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/6... for that. This will avoid any clutter and confusion, so that people can simply come on here and read the story, without having to read comments on the story.

This week's Topic is Squares. If anyone has any objections to this topic, please go to the Objections post. The rules are pretty loose. You may mean the square space in a town, squares in mathematics, and there are people who are titled squares, or just have the word squares in it.

Weekly stories must be at least 500 words long to 2,000 words long. (if the whole story won't fit in one post, divide it into two)

Good luck!

Arthur, [Acting for Clare:]

P.S. PLEASE say if you would like to have your story on Short Story Galore, if you win. This way it wouldn't take me ages to get your consent afterwards. This includes adding a link to your stories. If you want to have your story on the Short Story Galore, but not the link, just say so.

Thanx Arthur! : )

Now, what can I do for squares *taps finger on chin and looks thoughtfully into the distance*...

squares, hmm ... hard one ...

Yeah that is a hard one....i might just go object...ive never objected anything before...this is strange...

yeah, me too!

Sqars is kind of vauge....and its a noun not a verb or an adjective.

Hey, all you have to have is the word in the story so that works for me... I'll try to write a story today...

Title: Stupid Square
Words: 540
By: Fiona
********************************************************************************
I want you to look at this square, and tell me what you see,” the doctor said in his robotic voice, his thin, veiny hands framing the block of plastic.
“I see a square,” I retorted, leaning back in the chiar, folding my arms.
“Think deeper,” he told me. Dr. Jonstone was such a drag. Ask the man to tell you about the square and he’d babble like a monkey in a cage for forty-five minutes. Me? I just didn’t care.
“A polygon?” I tried, though not trying very hard at all.
Dr. Jonstone put the square down, exasperated. “I don’t see why you have to be so diffucult, Samantha.”
“I don’t see how I’m being diffucult,” I told him. “You asked me what I saw and I told you.”
“Samantha…” he started.
“Just Sam,” I growled.
“Samantha,” he repeated. “You need my help.”
“No, I really don’t think that I do,” I answered. “I’m not a crazy person.”
He folded his hands on his desk. “No, you’re not crazy, are you? But you are depressed.”
“It’s not you’re place to tell me that I am depressed. If I don’t think I’m depressed than I’m not.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Samantha, you’re a fourteen year old girl who’s parents just died in a plane crash,” Dr. Jonstonepointed out.
“Just? It was two years ago. Maybe if I didn’t have to come here twice a week and talk about it I could not think about it and move on,” I complained.
Dr. Jonstone had nothing to say to that. I smirked, triumphantly and got up to leave.
“Samantha we still have twenty minutes left to the session,” the doctor called.
I walked on out anyway, as usual. I waited outside in the freeziing cold until my aunt’s ancient car rolled up ten minutes later.
I opened the passenger seat door and slid in. Aunt Tisha frowned.
“Sam, you didn’t leave early did you?” she asked.
I shrugged. Aunt Tisha glanced at the clock. “You did. There’s still ten minutes left of your session.”
I stared out the window. “Left ten minutes ago.”
Aunt Tisha looked at me harshly. “Young lady, I am going to march you right back in there.”
“Please don’t,” I begged.
“Do you know how much money I pay for your counseling?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Nesscary counseling is probably more expensive than not…”
Aunt Tisha reached for the door.
“Okay! Um, two hundred dollars?” I guessed.
“Two hundred five,” she corrected.
“I’ll give you three hundred if you stop making me go.”
“Do you have three hundred dollars?”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought,” Aunt Tisha said. We rode home in silence. I kept on thinking about that square. I wondered what the doctor had wanted me to see in it. Was there something I was missing? But it didn’t matter. The square was a square and I was not depressed. Despite what the doctor said. I was not in denial. They didn’t know anything about me. The doctor, my aunt, my so-called “friends”. They didn’t really care, as far as I could tell. But honestly, I didn’t really care either. Or did I? Stupid square. I hated things that made me think.
THE END

I see a dead person! no, wait, never mind.. its just a square... lol that was awesome fiona!

wow i love it, fiona!! i am SO voting for u.

haha, that was great! ever read artemis fowl? this reminds of a part from that... well, you'll probly have my vote, cuz what could be done better with a square?

ok i have one:
Title: The New Art Teacher

The room stank of paint. Ms. Harry had to admit it - the art room was messy. There was posters with children's names scribbled in the bottom right corners. Squares and circles with quotes by Picasso and all those famous artists covered the wall. She had never liked those white walls.

She stood by the sink, rinsing her hands, deep in thought. The principal had told her he was coming in five minutes to inspect the room. Ms. Harry was new, and twenty-five. He doubted her.

I have my own ways of teaching, thought Ms. Harry. I let the children decide what to draw and when. The children love it! She bit her lip. Only a few had actually drawn anything, but she assured herself that more would.

The clock announced 3:45. Ms. Harry turned to the mirror and straightened her mousy brown hair in the mirror.

Striding in the room was a stout man in a bat-like brown coat, and matching hat. He had those glasses from the 60's, and was scanning the room blankly. He didn't seem to notice her until he had finished the pan. Then he padded over to her, and looked her up and down.

"Ms. Harry." Her name was hissed out. She pushed back a curl that fell from her hair, and nodded. He didn't say much, but kept staring at a certain chair. Ms. Harry turned to the chair with a confused look. There was nothing wrong about it! Finally, an embarrased Ms. Harry turned and gave him the chair.

"Please sit!" she told him. He sat in a stiff way, as if the chair was uncomfortable. She sat as well, feeling more self-consious than ever.

"Ms. Harry," he repeated.

"Yes?" she asked, getting quite annoyed with him.

He gave her his outstretched hand, saying, "Mr. Gourd." She took it and smiled. The conversation was quiet for a moment.

Ms. Harry rolled her eyes. How long was this guy going to take?

Yes, my story may be on Short Stories Galore.

this one's going to be tricky... hmmm... squares... "She narrates herself as trying to discover some hidden story in her soul about squares... squares... ?!?..."

Adrienne, your story was great but they have to be at least 500 words. Yours was only about 350.

Yeah, we'd like it if you could keep with the word limits...

Name: Squares or Circles.

Words: 1,733

Genre: Mystery

By: Clare

Notes: wow, challenging word topic, but fun!!

* * * * * *

“Which do you prefer, squares or circles?” a voice came from beside him. Jonathan shook him from his normal mid-class daze and saw that the class was over and kids were starting to get up. He’d almost fallen asleep again. He really needed to get to bed earlier.
“Uh, sorry, what?” he said, confused looking around for who had spoken.
“Circles or squares, which do you prefer?” the lilting voice asked. Jonathan turned to the voice in surprise. It was his desk partner, what was her name? Oh, yeah, Kara.
“What-what do you mean?” he asked, rubbing one eye with his palm, and then the other, trying to rub the drowsiness from his eyes.
“Which do you like better?”
“Uh... I’m not sure. Squares and Circles? What do you mean? Which one I like better?”
“Yes,” she said simply as if she were asking about the weather.
“Well...um...I’m...well I guess I don’t know?” he said.
“Hmm. You should think about it.” She said, and picked up her books and left.
Jonathan just stood there for a second, trying to go through what she had just said, and trying to understand it. Squares or circles? What the heck? He shook his head to himself, and got up to go to his next class.
Unfortunately, his strange conversation with Kara wasn’t banished by shaking his head. He continued to puzzle over it throughout the entire class, not paying attention to the teacher at all.
First off, Kara had almost never talked to him, though they’d been desk partners in both Science and Art for at least two months now. She was quiet, and as far as he could see, she never said more than a few words to anyone. She answered questions (always correctly. A+ student) and complied when people asked her to pass a book or move or whatever, but other than that, she was practically in her own world. Second was that she was...well...different. Not shy-different, or even gothic-different. She was her own brand of different. She wore black a lot, but didn’t hang out with the school Goths, with their devil-cult-wannabe attitudes. Or the Emo’s, with their look-at-me-I-have-a-miserable-life-and-I-like-to-cut-myself personality. She definitely wasn’t one of the Barbie girl horde, with their 69 IQ and their jocks. She wasn’t with the nerds, the skaters, the bookies, the average nobodies. She wasn’t in the artsy group that Jonathan was in. She was neither with nor was a member of any of these groups. She was kind of a group in herself. Her own species of high school teen. She always sat alone at lunch. Not always at an empty table, but always alone.
So there were two reasons why it was so weird that she had asked him a question. And then, there was the question itself. Which did he prefer, squares or circles? Really. That was a ridiculous question. Who actually like one shape over another? Blue over green perhaps, but two basic shapes?
And yet he found his thought wander back to the though again and again. Finally at lunch he decided that he was going to go ask her what she meant. She was sitting alone as always, this time in an empty table over in a quiet corner of the room. One of Jonathan’s friends caught him staring over there and commented, “I wonder what is up with the girl anyway.”
Jonathan got up slowly, and started walking over.
“Hey, you’re not going to go sit with her, are you?” one of his more stuck up friends hissed.
Jonathan ignored her and kept weaving through the tables. Finally he was standing by the table, directly across from her. She was looking down at her food.
He cleared his throat to get her attention, but she continued to stare down at her plastic tray of food. He did it louder, but to no avail. He stood there unsure. He looked at her, and realized he hadn’t really even known what color her hair was before. He pretty much ignored her in classes.
It was a dark brown, almost black. Her skin was pale, and she was extremely thin. So small and thin she almost looked sick. She had this strange wild beauty about her also, with her sharp angles and small bones. Almost like an elf or something. He wasn’t sure what color her eyes were, as she was looking down. It struck him as funny, that he had spent so much time with her, and hadn’t even known what she looked like.
“Well? Do you have an answer?” she said suddenly, as he looked at her unsure of what to do.
“Uh,” was all he could manage.
“No?” she said, in a voice that said she knew he wouldn’t. She finally looked up, and her eyes pierced into him. Gray. They were gray. Almost as if they glittered though. They could almost be called...silver.

(Squares or Circles continued)

Jonathan wondered if she wanted him to sit down or go away or what. As if she had read his mind, she said, “Sit.” He sat.
“So...” he began, but couldn’t think of what else to say, so the word hung there for a second suspended in silence.
“Do you know why you can’t pick, Jonathan?” she said after a moment of awkwardness. Her lilting voice was quiet as ever, but it seemed loud at the same time, as if she demanded attention and respect.
“Uh, well...” he said. What could he say? That it was a stupid question? That would be rude. And mean.
She smirked a little, and raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a stupid question, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Jonathan’s eyes grew wide. It was like she was reading his mind!
She smirked again. “Think about it, Jonathan. Why can’t you pick?”
“Because they’rejust shapes,” he answered after a seconds thought.
“Ah, but some people like round rugs over square ones. Some like square mirrors over round.”
“But that’s different.”
“How?” she asked.
“Well, those are things. These are just... shapes,” he replied, forehead wrinkling in confusion.
“Yes,” she said, “they’re just shapes. But would you have all buildings round? Or all wheels square?”
“No...” he started, but she interrupted him, “Jonathan, the reason you can’t pick one shape over another is because you need both.”
Jonathan thought about what she had just said for a moment, and then asked, “But why are you telling me this?”
“Because, you need to know it,” she said simply.
“What do you mean?”
But without another word, she stood up and got her tray. Jonathan watched her for a few seconds as she walked to the trash to throw away the leftovers and then jumped up to catch up with her.
Strangely, instead of heading to her next class, she headed for the doors. She was about to step out, when Jonathan called, “Hey, wait!” dodging kids walking in the halls. She turned to face him and smiled. This time it wasn’t a smug smirk, but a nice smile. She waited while he made his way to her, and when he got there, she said, “Here,” and she placed something in his hand. He looked at it. It was a dark brown leather necklace with a dark wooden bead on it. On one side of the bead there was a J scratched into the wood reviling lighter wood underneath, with a square scratched in on one side of the J, and a circle on the other. He rolled the bead over in his hands, and the other side had the letters RMBR on it.
Jonathan looked up at Kara for a second confused, and then back down at the letters. “R-M-B-R?” he asked. “What does that stand for?”
“Remember,” she whispered, ignoring the question, and taking the necklace and tying it around Jonathan’s neck. She started to turn but he stopped her with a hand.
“Where are you going?” he asked, removing he hand from her shoulder quickly. She felt like ice.
“Others need lessons too, Jonathan,” she answered with a mysterious smile. She turned towards the door and was out in a blink of an eye. Jonathan stood there for moment, bewildered at what had just transpired, and then ran out the door. There was a gust of wind blowing the falling snow into a turmoil. Kara wasn’t in site. Jonathan looked around frantically. He had to ask her why he needed to remember. But she wasn’t there. It was almost as if she never had been.
There was another gust of wind, and it probably just was just his imagination, but it seemed to form the shape of a girl who disappeared into scattered snow in a second. He shook his bewildered head and went back inside.
“Hey,” he said to his friends, sitting back down at the art group table, “That Kara girl just like disappeared.”
“Who?” one of them asked.
“Kara. The strange one that never talked?” Jonathan said.
“Dude, the only Kara here is Kara Smith, over there,” another one said, pointing over to the Barbie girl table.
“No, the one I sit by in Science and Art!” he exclaimed.
“Um, you don’t sit with anyone in those classes,” his friend said. “Do you need to see the nurse or something?”
“Oh, never mind,” he said, getting impatient with them. Were they just playing him, or what?
“Hey, check it out, my yearbook came in today!” one of the arty people said.
“Here, can I see it?” Jonathan asked, wanting to show them Kara.
“Sure.” He grabbed the book and went to the art class page. He searched in confused. In one picture, he sat by himself at an empty desk, and in another, the gathering of all the kids in the art class, Kara was missing. He went to the back section with pictures of all the kids in the school. He went to the K’s but there was only one Kara. Kara Smith, with her shiny blond hair. His forehead wrinkled. Had he just imagined her or something? Was there something wrong with him after all?
“Hey, nice necklace. Where’d you get it?” the stuck up one at the table said. Jonathan’s hand went up automatically to his neck. Sure enough there was the necklace. She had to have been real, then. He fingered it and remembered the letters on there. RMBR.
“Remember,” he whispered to himself. Remember.

eenteresting :)... jonathan reminds me of me at the beginning...

HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHA tired much???

....*snort* wha? um.... n- yeah, yeah i'm....tired..

Title: Revenge
Words: 1008
Author: Carlie
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Michaela and I had been best friends since the age of 3. My parents moved from a tiny New York apartment to a nice 3 bed, 2 bath home in Oklahoma City where my mom had just gotten hired at Santa Fe high school. Michaela’s mom was the first person to come over and welcome us to the neighborhood with a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies. While our parents talked, we played with my Barbie dolls and have been inseparable since.

I was an only child and she had 2 younger brothers with another one on the way. We called each other “sister” and every afternoon, excepting Sundays, we would go back and forth from my house to hers playing and laughing. Her family was Mormon so she was not allowed to play on Sundays. I had a teeter-totter and a swing set in my backyard and she had a trampoline in hers, so when we tired of bouncing up and down, we ran over to the next yard to swing and slide.

Our lives were so intertwined that Sundays felt like hell all my life and was my least favorite day of the week. She knew everything about me as I did about her, even things no one else knew about, like the fact that she did not want to ever have children even though in her religion it was basically a law, and that I was asexual and did not want to ever have sex even though I was as boy crazy as she was. So nothing could come between us, even something as major as betrayal.

As children, we were obsessed with making everything “square.” So, if we played for 30 minutes at her house, we HAD to play for 30 minutes at mine. This obsession extended into our adolescence. If we listened to music she had picked, we HAD to listen to something I picked next. If we went to the movies, we each had to buy two tickets, one to a movie of her choice and another to mine.

So it should’ve come as no surprise to her that the price for her betrayal of my confidence would be an equal betrayal of hers.

We’d gone to the same Kindergarten, elementary school, middle school, and were now seniors at Santa Fe high school. Though our parents made sure we were never in the same classes, they couldn’t keep us from joining the Caribbean club or the drama club and playing on the soccer team. We were both as American as apple pie but the Caribbean club gave us a chance to spend time talking to each other, like the other groups we joined. The other students must have thought we were Siamese twins.

So it came as no surprise to me when Kelly, the captain of the soccer team, came running up to me in the hall one day and asked, “So, are you like a lesbian, or something?”
She quickly added, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, inquiring minds just wanna know.”
“No,” I stammered, knowing that it came out like a question which I feared made the answer seem untrue.
And she walked off to her next class leaving me puzzled.

Michaela and I were so close that we would hold hands and hug each other so much that we had to tone it down when we got to high school because of the funny looks we would get every once in a while. But we really felt like sisters.

In any case, Kelly knew that Michaela had a secret boyfriend since her boyfriend was his best friend. So, I had to go up to her after soccer practice that day and find out why she would even ask.

“Why did you ask if I was a lesbian earlier?” I said, and continued without waiting for an answer, “just because Michaela and I are very close doesn’t mean…anyway, you know she’s with Steve so, why even...”
The puzzled look on her face stopped me in my tracks.
“I wasn’t… uh, ok, Steve told Brett that Michaela said you didn’t like sex. So I just wondered. It’s no biggie ok.”
“I can’t believe she did that!” I fidgeted, “I’m asexual, it means I’m not into sex. I like boys, I just….ugh, forget it.”

I walked off very angry. How could she betray me like that? For 2 years now I covered for her with her parents about Steve, and she goes and tells him this?

“Tasha, wait. Where are you going? Aren’t you gonna change…” I heard Michaela’s voice fading in the distance.

But I hurried off and ran home leaving behind a trail of tears. It was hard enough dealing with the false rumors, but now, everyone was going to be whispering about the truth which they couldn’t even really understand. Half the school would probably have to go look up the word to even get it and even then, they would think it was a sickness or something. How could she do this?

I locked myself in my room and eventually soothed my own worries by reminding myself that college was only 5 months away. But I was still livid so I walked right over to the neighbors.

“Mrs. Samuel, I’m really worried about Michaela.”
My red eyes made it seem like I was genuinely concerned for my friend.
“She has a boyfriend and he is not Mormon. I think he might even be an atheist. Well I know his dad is for sure.”

I actually felt bad for her and wish I hadn’t said anything when I saw the look on Mrs. Samuels’ face. But she mustered up enough strength to speak to me.
“Thanks Tasha, I can see you’re a real friend. Don’t worry, we’ll deal with this and everything’s going to be okay.”

I gave her a hug feeling like Judas and walked home.
About two hours later Michaela came storming into my room.

“I can’t believe you did that!”
“Alright, now we’re square.”

clare, I love your story! please post more of it!!!

wow! that was really good carlie!!

Lol Adrienne! More??? haha

Monolith wrote: "haha, that was great! ever read artemis fowl? this reminds of a part from that... well, you'll probly have my vote, cuz what could be done better with a square?"

lol u guys. that wuz the first post! and i haven't read artemis fowl yet, but my friend is always bugging me to.

I havent rad them either but apparently they're good.

Name : One Week after the Art Gallery Opening
Words: aprox. 2270
Genre: future
By: Arthur “grandpa”

Notes: idk, this is from something I already wrote. It’s hard to get this story in the word limits, its like a much bigger story I was meaning to write for a year now, I’ve been so busy I wanted to get back to some of my incomplete work, I never wrote this before, it’s just from two characters I have that travel together.
** * ** * ** * ** * ** * **

One Week after the Art Gallery Opening

Max reveals his interest in taking vacation, being drawn to Germany. His feeling single minded, his feeling lonely and bitter, but his friendship with Aster, Max with not reveal sign of his disparity.…

Cold uncivilized feelings of inhumanity emits from Max. His wishes to seek romance, his doubts about that, and seeks artist influences. What can he do?

Aster accompanies him, and they sail away to old Germany. With the hopes of a brochure in his hand entertaining thoughts of being normal.

Aster follows. They envisage the European fatherland that happened on eve of destructiveness in the previous century. Because of Aster and Max’s abnormality as being heroes, their vocational ability, they take to the secluding streets in Germany-in detoured areas, making they’re tour of Germany more hectic and in reality they soon feel that things don’t fit together.

Supposing, but, the need to express themselves artistically for Max’s sake, he who seeks expressionism all of a sudden, are in their right but to reveal what that nature has done to their inward states needing to find expression, seek it in world famous galleries and on streets in the likes of the Bonn.

It takes time.

The support team, a group of technical doctors that care for the health of Aster and Max, are doctors easily intrigued, but by the two heroes normally in their acceptance in view of their mastering some crime mystery in the public. Heroes to the world and constantly in the press about the mystery case they solved together, have withdrawn from public completely. They are both detectives morally at disposal and are also inclined to lend help. With Max at first, his disgust at art was only a humor because his inviting himself in believing in expressions of the arts is mechanical. Aster will find sensualness and they both look for things with a certain ascetic value that they call a heterostyled of conformity in painting.

Then Max envisions a ruthless future in a flash, and confides in Aster his best friend that that was what they were until any end despite his new fearful feelings. The questionable air of the future that lead to the world’s technical advancing and civilization was in need to express cubistically.

It was a strange computation to envision for Max. The Journey on the Way of Germany…

Aster hadn’t bothered with many details. But from messages this story was constructed. He had just remained on hilt of being just as keen of any ordinary trip. This trip was to Germany to rendezvous with the fatherland of so much historic antiquity. And destruction from a modern world. Max’s new philosophy because of a vision. Whether it was something to be envied at was too strong of an emotion for Aster. Aster did not like emotion. Aster felt thoughts on the subjective side. Something to be analyzed.

Upon arriving things had quickly changed.

Dramatic changes to begin, Max checked his own movements to movements of Aster, who both had stood out. Max was certain he would blend until they arrived in Germany, where unlike America he did not.

He felt welcomed warmly because people envied the creation of technology of such a point the invention of Max was something aspiring nevertheless. Where too, Aster had been seeing the sterile transformation that occurs to machines technological advance. The transformation of wonderment to be believed. Not Aster’s first thought, but Aster was secretively envious of Max at this point.

Welcome to moving Germany.

Letter taken from Aster’s journal while in the Granary reagent. Hotel Mainz, Majolica
June 2022

Max and I had arrived in time of checking in to the hotel in Germany. We had taken steamship from the America’s. It was a trip broad to one of the world’s fatherlands. And Max had made all of this possible, through his efforts, and you can tell from his suggestions. Once checked in, things began to just happened automatically, we had the special menu the waitress brings in our hands, he had his in his hand, but he held his staring attention into the crowd of people, I know I sound worried because it was not like Max the guardian of silver armor to be staring at people, and he was quiet while we were just simply sitting at our personal reserved café lounge. We had plainly planned this trip together to Germany after Max began acting strangely about seeing Germany, more he than I, I never seem to see such enthusiasm, but it perhaps was his enthusiasm forcing him to travel here. And he said it was to live the life of art. Well we are getting eccentric aren’t we? We had been hip to hip ever since we were both returning to the United States of America, but from having traveled together seeking a lost artifact in Africa, but Max found this an escape he thoughtfully calls seeking another historic fatherland. Instead of our plans, he abandoned them of returning to America, to home where we need to live, and I think Max had envisioned it to himself much longer, but I think maybe the rare works of art here in Germany had finally caught up with his idle eyes. We find ourselves for his sake on an escape for art. German art expressionism.

But our trials begin with Count Vestarbonn after the day we were rested after arriving to Germany.

We had rested the night we arrived, later we roamed among Germany. The next day we merely found entertainment at the lounge cafe. Music. Before arriving to tonight’s cafe, tonight we had glimpsed the evenings schedule for entertainment back at our hotel. An old castle really, our hotel recently renovated into charming style apartments. Max is quite tall, and even in Germany the two of us stand out like freaks of nature. And Max, well, looks more like Frankenstein or a robot than any real act from human-mother-nature. Oddly I’ll resemble the family of crocodile.

There is a real deal of art in Germany, especially in the wheat plains and the granary reagent. We had been staying at a most charmingly little castle, Max said it “was wicked”. Hotel Mainz is located in the hills of Majolica which is really a more civilized city than some of America. Again thanks to Max and his internet searches.

The evening beginning with soft music, mosaic like tables had mosbolletjie which is sweetish bun from Africa, but what took my expensive breath was the barbaric country sound of the classic music instruments playing the warm airy, giving highland folk sounds I found hearty. Equally relaxing I found Max was finally settled in his seat. Unlike tomorrow. When he began a trance like state seeking portraits. He spots one thing then it is something another, when he spotted a piece of art work and needed to know its origin, I again had to accompany him everywhere he found to lead to what the meaning of art is and its German origin. It could just been easier without the excitement, but he has been so set aglow and acting like the robot he is really of nuts and bolts.

We had plainly planned to stay at the Hotel Gasthof zur Krone in equal time, later in the week, as we planned it it lies between Cologne and Bonn, it is a nature park Kottenforst, but possibly for now we could enjoy what comes natural. The Bonn is world famous and worth seeing, Max showed no interest. He’d found the square for now to his liking, and showed he’d like to explore. As if with this odd Max mood we would find any place to fit in….

The tomorrow had arrived. We went on a long expedition after finding a significant portrait that had captured Max’s… attention… significantly.

We were in the artistes square. Of all kinds of Independent sellers and Max had been pointing at something that looked original. To me anyway, it wasn’t yet cataloged and it swept my attention I admit.

“Look there, you see it’s just as if the artist meant to tell the future.” He was saying.

“But I don’t mind its fiery winds…” I guess… I said to Max, I keep saying that anyway, digressing in the argument, my voice telling me that this one picture was upsetting me. It had red wings painted in the corners, not black shoulders like you’d expect, like winds carry, but was as if the future was unfolding, and the artist had an inner eye of what was beheld and painted the wings red, fiery red. And was typical junk vampirism bats flowing in the darker corners, but I held the opinion it was odd. Charming, but upsetting more than beautiful. Max ignored my comment and enquired of the artist. The seller claimed he did not know, and that the picture was so old now, that it likely did not matter. Max squinted and squinted for a signature. Smiling the while as if he’d seen beauty where I did not.

I now know I believe in destiny. Everyone should, why shouldn’t I? Not as if this picture we were looking at had been any help to me. I didn’t imagine it was what we may call destiny. A portrait of the count of castle Grike. But Max found it agreeable and he had been difficult to understand since we came to Germany. And this sudden surging senses of his art were very disturbing. It was like he was looking for someone, the artists maybe. I’d see a doctor for him about it if it wasn’t something Dr. Xanthomas had already warned me about these things called quests, quests that people mean to take when they realize they are aging or you may call it maturing. Max had been maturing. Like quests to fatherlands seeking known mysteries and this is why I agreed to come with Max. I’m his only traveling companion, but at the same time I am his best friend.

After he sought the origin of the picture, we traced its origin. It put us far north from our hotel, but far and into the country. There we found a castle in a private land. The artist had once lived here merely eighty years ago, in the twentieth century. Max assures me that our future state was inconceivable to the people of the second world war, not logically anyway, but that it was widely believed people had recorded visions, religious or pagan, but that a lot of things had been destroyed during the war. This picture must have been hidden after the artist painted it. I followed Max on his calm but intriguing quest of the germen fatherland.

We arrived in darkness, in pursuit finding this tree shaded castle along the Syn of Grike. A highland of road twisted in circles around leading to the castle, just as in the pictures you will see, only without moats, and steeply rose for security and protection from the lands below. The castle, which lost its original name, but dubbed Castle Grike Von. Or Count Vestarbonn’s secluded castle. We were somewhere referred to as far away from the Bonn but still in Kansas Toto. …I guess.

Eerie enough I thought about turning back. I felt tension in my huge muscles. I grew afraid of Max and his less appealing trance. I still don’t know why I was so suddenly taken over by fear. Perhaps it was from my following Max here. His eerie appearance as we arrived, as if he had been in a stupid trance.
We took the long winding road up to the gate. It was open, and rusted.

We passed through and came to the door. Its hinges rust and rotted. Windows long ago blacked. It was a huge place though, and despite any real discomfort we may have one may like meeting who ever owned this place.

“Aster, you may not know why the artist lured us here. It was a trap after-all! I thought I would find art and expressionism in Germany. But the owner-who ever meant us to find this portrait-will likely be long ago dead. I feel so faint that I know I am acting weird. Aster can you ever forgive my emotional temper?”
I was taken back by his words. His temper was nuts and bolts. He was as incapable of emotion as I am, ever more than me. He barely senses danger. If I had been worried he was possessed I would not have come. Despite his armor and voluntarily incapable of being possessed like that like other great artist, Max appeals to me as the sanest person I will ever know.

We came a long way, and we realized the castle had been in ruins. We didn’t meet the count. Who ever he was, he no longer existed. His portrait was amazing, and troubled Max. We could find a way to put the portrait back in the castle then go. Possibly we were at an end of our fatherland quest for today anyway. I don’t know what Max is capable of coming up with, but sometimes he seems less possessed now, and I care about him, and need his nuts and bolts operating. And I need to learn to understand any of my doubts about his artist-quest to become more understood. After all Max wasn’t about to get into any kind of trouble, was he? He is much too giftedly logical a real robot to meet his fate.

The End

okay, so a bit more could be done with a square than i thought...

Haha nice monolith... You have to understand, you have joined a group of very talented ppl here!! : )

Arthur, I thought it was somewhat complicating, but very good. good job!

ooooobviously...(tha talented thing)
and yeah, cool arthur :)

I must say, I'm very proud of us all. Look what we've done with SQUARE! It's awesome!

indeeeeeeeed.
well, proud of YOU all. my mind has stayed thoughrouly blank so far. ;/

lol im about to start typing mine

aw, great. even people who claim to have writers block have more ideas than me *bursts into tears and hides, unconsolable, under bed for rest of life.* ..... O_O

:3

*sniff*

Well get writing boy!

whens the poll going to be posted?

21st? i dunno, i'm just guessing cuz it's from dec. 15-21.

It'll be up Sat. afternoon (if I don't forget again XD)

Don't worry Monolith, you're not the only one blank on squares!

yippee!*crawls back under bed for more thinking*

hey ppl! its only Wednesday! You got some time, so get writing! : )

i'mthinkingi'mthinkingshaddup... ;)

yup

im just going to slip the word in the story somewhere!! *thinks*

Hey guys, check out the website I created for the group! Shortstorygalore.synthasite.com!!!!!!! YAY!!!

i did! it's great!! YAY!!!

i know!!! *sings* I'm a ma-jor con-tri-bu-tor!! I'm a ma-jor con-tri-bu-tor!!