Fortnightly Writing Competition - LITTLE FOLK (Results)

[Baron]

Welcome poets, scribes, and shameless hacks of all ages!  This fortnight's topic is....

Little Folk



Little Folk have it tough on the bottom rung of life.  They get stepped on, have their homes unthinkingly cleared away to make parking lots, and have to breath air at butt or sock level.  But there are advantages to being tiny: you can fit in places that larger, more powerful beings cannot.  You can subsist on mere crumbs, and ride around on toys and steal all kinds of stuff as long as it's not too heavy.  Sometimes whimsical, sometimes humorous, sometimes edifying, stories of wee folk have existed as long as stories themselves.  Your challenge is to write a story of an entity of less than 3'4" in stature (approx. 100 cm), or a society of such folk, in any format of your choosing.  Obviously short stories would be apropos, but we'll read just about anything you can write (we might even deign to vote on it! ).  Little folk constitute anything that suits the definition above, but might include things like: midgets, dwarves, elves, fairies, pixies, brownies, smurfs, mice, fraggles, toys, ants, cockroaches, toddlers, babies, gremlins, gnomes, pixelated adventure game characters scientifically transplanted to the real world, and extremely stunted giraffes.     

Your work will be due at midnight Monday July 20, 2015, with voting to commence the following day to ensure that we haven't left out any Pacific islanders.  Good luck, and watch out for birds of prey!

[kconan]

I happened to have hung out with a group of little people a few weeks ago, and that has given me some inspiration.

[Baron]

Were they Oompa-Loompas?

One week remaining!

[kconan]

Were they Oompa-Loompas?

Doubtful, though I wasn't going to ask and get pummeled.

EDIT: I'm working on something...

[kconan]

Leon Smith transferred the big Cohiba Siglo VII cigar from one side of his mouth to the other and curtly asked, “Are you in?”  Jefferson Hanks glanced at his hand, and threw his cards down in disgust and replied, “Nope, out.”  The members of the Small Cabal watched Leon sweep the pot to his area of the poker table while a grin slowly formed across his face.

The Small Six Cabal Club was formed in Las Vegas on a whim by a diverse group of six especially short little people (known as “three footers” since none are above four feet tall) with the primary goal being to unite and help other group members.  The secondary goal is to support the little people amongst each other's friends and family whenever necessary and possible.  If there was an unofficial third, fourth, and fifth purposes, it would be to play poker, smoke giant cigars, and get into blistering arguments.  Leon Smith is an agent for little people actors, unarguably the boss of the group in every way, and is considered short even by little person standards.  Jefferson Hanks works a variety of odd jobs which can include but is certainly not limited to:  magician's assistant, slapstick comedian's patsy, and leprechaun mascot.  Jefferson is known for being a jack-of-all trades in the talent department and is unusual in that his head appears to be that of an average-sized attractive male, while he has the body of a little person.  Todd Styles is the funniest and most charismatic member of the Small Six Cabal and is envied by the rest of the group since he managed to marry a rich model, and only occasionally works for fun as a standup comedian.  Prior to marrying well, he worked as the head EMT for a large hospital.  John Slattery, considered the most normal of the Small Six Cabal, has a “straight job” as a successful tax attorney and has the distinctions of being the only member of the group with a family as well as the only one who is overweight.  Ron “Brass Ones” Grossman is the enforcer since he is by far the strongest of the group and more importantly, a black belt in jujitsu.  He currently works as the head bouncer for a large bar/restaurant on the Vegas strip.  The only female member of the group is Jade Jones; a minority many times over as she is a mixed, female little person who also happens to be lesbian.  Jade works as both a manager and part-time dancer at a Las Vegas strip club known for “novelty” acts, while she pursues an MBA at the University of Nevada Las Vegas.

Jefferson Hanks put down his Swisher Sweet cigar, and while dealing asked, “I know you guys are doing alright, but times are kinda tough for me right now.  So Leon, is casting still open for the little person character in…” and was cut off by Leon who replied, “Sorry kid, for some reason they went with a non-midget.  They took a five foot seven adult and shot him at weird angles and used blocking techniques to make him appear like us.  They wanted a big name, and since both Troyer and Dinklage are busy, and Baker is too old…Well, like I said sorry kid.”  Jade mumbled curses, raised the pot, and fired off, “Back in the old days of Hollywood, Westerners would take the roles of Asian characters.  Today that is considered horrible casting at best and racist at worst.  I know our style is to buckle down and work rather than complain, but I think this kind of crap warrants a response!”  She then loudly chopped off the torpedo head of her Punch Champion cigar with a guillotine cutter as an additional exclamation point.

Ron Grossman bit off the head of his Gurkha Ninja cigar, spit it out in Jade's direction, and replied, “Pointless!  And all it does it make the studios mad.  I've said it before Jade…Work hard, take care of your little brothers and sisters, and stop whining about forces beyond your control!” Jade ashed her cigar, glared at Ron, and yelled, “Blow me Brass!  The times have improved for people with my skin color and sexual preference, but since I'm little person all of that is negated.  So instead of being on the receiving end of racist jokes, I get the “Nice top, was there a sale at Baby Gap?” and “Go back to your rainbow!” material.  When is it going to be our time to…”  Ron cut her off with, “Stop it!  Look I came here to play poker and shoot the BS!  Not whine about midget jokes or being exploited or…” and was himself cut off by John who held up his hands and interjected with, “Guys!  Please… We know there are prejudices, and historically we have combatted them by hard work and sticking together.  On the other hand…While nobody wants to hear lengthy diatribes about our plight in life, there is nothing wrong with attempting to make society aware of the especially ridiculous situations like this one.  So I think Jade does have a point.”  Ron sighed, but then cracked a small pursed lipped smile, which caused everyone else at the table to fold.

Todd Styles twirled his Playboy Robusto cigar with one hand, began dealing with the other, and said, “Wouldn't it be great if a character was filmed the other way?  I mean Jefferson has the melon of an average Joe, so if he took an average guy role and was strategically shot maybe along with some decent CGI...”  Leon took the cigar out of his mouth, blew smoke into a perfect ring above the poker table and offered, “Not bad at all…You know actually it might work as a gimmick.  I'll talk to my people and see if there is interest, and insist that Jefferson gets either the lead or a major supporting character.”  Todd replied, “Jefferson will have to check his schedule first of course, I mean he wouldn't want that to conflict with his duties as Santa's Elf or God forbid if that offer would prevent him from popping out of a magician's hat.”  Jefferson leaned over and flicked his cigar ash on Todd, and said, “Oh I'm good to go as long as it doesn't get in the way of me banging Mrs. Styles.”  Todd chuckled and then raised the pot by two dollars, and everyone called.

John Slattery very carefully and precisely notched a hole in his Montecristo Edmundo cigar with a bullet shaped cutter.  While trying to read the faces of his friends (and current opponents), he took a torch lighter out of a cedar lined box, put the cigar in his mouth, and slowly rolled it over a flame.  He puffed until the business end glowed, at which point he only had determined that Ron held a crappy hand.  Jade raised the pot yet again by five dollars, which caused everyone to fold except John and Leon who both called.  Their hands were beaten by Jade's full house, which was immediately followed by her performance of the butter churn victory dance.

Jade Jones continued a mellower version of the butter churn as Leon put down his cigar and dealt a new hand.  He gulped down a swig of club soda and said, “Glad to see Jade in a better mood… Alright, no more bickering tonight kids.  We've got official Small Six business to discuss.”  Jefferson took the round with a pair of fours due to everyone else having World class level junk hands.

The game was paused, and everyone turned their attentions to Leon who said, “That fella we thought was done harassing Jefferson is back…Or at least, the problem has returned in a different way.  Brass talked to him, to the tune of a lot of broken and dislocated fingers along with a twisted ankle, but to no avail.”  Leon glanced over to Jade and continued with, “Jade presented him with some compromising photos from one of many visits to her joint, and that still had no effect…”  and he moved his head in John's direction and said, “…and finally John had one of his partners threaten legal action which we thought solved the problem.“  Leon took a puff on his cigar, and went on, “So this slimeball was still claiming that Jefferson owed him money.  We all know that Brass personally handed the guy the amount of the original loan plus an extra five thousand - before he took liberties with the guy's fingers - but this jerk was alleging that the full interest was never paid and has accrued over time to ridiculous number.  He also added the hospital tab from having his fingers and ankle fixed.  That bill is gargantuan by the way, thanks to Todd having one of his old sawbones pals at the hospital jack up the cost while extending the painful finger resetting process to longer than average.”  Todd shrugged and queried, “Why does it matter?  This was like five years ago, and this Chili Palmer wannabe is nobody.  Hell I don't even remember his name.”  Leon nodded at Jefferson and offered, “Well this jackass recently sold what he seems to believe is a real debt to a somebody.  Kids, this is a no-joke somebody.”

Looking down, Jefferson spoke, “Once again I've dragged you guys into my problems…I'm sorry.”  Everyone assembled at the table literally waved it off using hand motions as he further explained, “The debt was sold to Sonny.”  John clarified, “You mean Sonny Broncha?”  Todd quipped, “No Sonny Mellencamp.  Yes of course THE Sonny Broncha.”  Ron had hotboxed his cigar, and so the stogie was nearly done as he crushed it with his hands sending hot embers of tobacco and wrapping all over his right arm, which he simply shook off onto the floor.  At the same time John and Jade both lamented, “Sorry Jefferson…”  John finished, “My firm won't touch him.  It would be too risky both professionally and personally.”  Jade added, “Yea this is bad Jefferson.”

John asked, “By exactly how much is Jefferson in arrears to Mr. Broncha?”  Leon replied, “Tell him.” and Jefferson said, “Eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”  Several quick inhalations of breath could be heard around the table when, as if on cue, two large men with briefcases walked into the poker room of Leon Smith's house.  Ron knew there was no opportunity to make a move at this point, and so he didn't go for any of his hideaway weapons.  Leon could see that the pause in the poker game would continue much longer than he had originally expected.

The men set down the briefcases and blocked each exit, as the Small Six Cabal members looked on and â€" with the exception of John and Todd, neither of whom is a man-of-action â€" hoped for a moment to make some kind of move in response.  Todd glanced at the money on the table and exclaimed, “Do you know who you are robbing!?” and then looked at his fellow Small Six members and said, “I've always wanted to say that.”  The man blocking the entryway from the kitchen put his finger on his ear and said, “Secure.”  The other suited bodyguard grabbed an extra chair and placed it at the poker table.

Sonny Broncha strolled into the room and sat down on the chair placed by his henchman.  He then proceeded to punch a hole in a Cohiba Behike cigar.  The most powerful man in the West side of Las Vegas pulled out a small antique derringer pistol and briefly waved it in Jefferson's direction before pulling the trigger to reveal a flame, which he used to light his cigar.  He holstered his lighter in a vest pocket, ran a hand through perfectly groomed hair, and then asked, “How are you gentlemen this fine evening?”  There were a few audible groans interspersed with nods.  Sonny went on, “Ron, or Brass Ones as is your “nom de guerre”, I recall you did a few minor jobs for me many years ago when I was coming up.  Jade, you unknowingly worked for me during your stint as manager of the Purple Nurple.  Leon, you managed some talent that I had a piece of a few years back.  And Todd here does semi-regular gigs at the Cackle Factory which I part own…etcetera, ad nauseam.  My point is that I know who you guys are.”  He leisurely puffed on his fancy stogie for about a minute, and then said, “I honestly respect your little motley group.  You work hard, enjoy cigars, and I've been told that you watch out for each other “all-for-one and one-for-all” Lollipop Guild style.”  Jade grinded her teeth as the speech went on, “The good news for you gents and lady is that I'm above murder at this point in my career.  There is too much REAL money at stake to risk a murder rap.  So unless any of the magnificent six here makes a move on me, you will all continue breathing and yes that includes Jefferson.  What I can do is ruin you, financially and otherwise.  A few phone calls to either friends of mine or people that owe me favors, and you are all instantly broke and in jail.  I'm aware that one million dollars is too rich for you…” Leon interrupted by saying, “What?” Sonny resumed with, “Yes, the figure has gone up to a million dollars.  Interrupt me again, and I will put my cigar out in Jefferson's face.  And then relight it using his hair.”  This challenge was met with complete silence.  Ron quietly studied Sonny's henchman, and could make out bulges in their suits where large handguns were obviously holstered.  He also noticed calluses on their knuckles and well as on their palms, which he knew meant that they both boxed and lifted weights regularly.  Sonny took a few large puffs off of his luxury cigar.

“So as I was saying, a million is a tall order - no pun fellas - and not a realistic thing to ask Jefferson and/or your club to handle.  If I did ask for monetary compensation for the debt, and you didn't pay, then you know what I would need to do to maintain my reputation.  Basically, I'm not going to ask for money because then we both lose.”  Everyone else at the table peered at each other dumbly; their cigars were now just barely lit from lack of attention.

Sonny appeared to examine the even burn at the end of his cigar while resuming, “Instead I'm offering Jefferson a chance:  One seven-card draw poker game for double or nothing.  If he beats me, the debt is cancelled.  If he loses, then each of you will owe me a favor to be called in at the time of my choosing AND for two years Jefferson will be perpetually dressed in a clown outfit as part of his new role as my young son's personal toy.  He would be put up in my guest house for the duration of his term, and his new life will revolve around and be subject to whatever my son's whims or demands are at the time.  Remember the plot of the old Gleason picture called The Toy?  It is like that and Jefferson would be the Pryor character.”  Jade's face turned dark, and Ron was cracking his knuckles.  John and Todd both held their heads in their hands.  Leon sighed deeply while shaking his head.

Jefferson meekly suggested, “In the event of a loss, I'll do three years if it means they don't have to do you favors.”  Sonny replied, “No I like them owing me.  But to put your mind at ease…I won't ask any of them to murder someone directly, as I've got more qualified operators to take care of the dirty business.  And as I said, I don't like doing that anymore because it is too risky for a man in my position.”  Sonny ordered, “Trunk, get the cards and situate the table.”  The henchman known as Trunk snapped to attention and opened a briefcase which revealed a deck of cards along with poker chips.  The table was cleared and arranged for the most important card game with the highest stakes that Jefferson Hanks had ever played.

“With all due respect Mr. Broncha, how do we know that these cards aren't marked in some way so as to give you an unfair advantage?” asked John.  Sonny smirked and said, “Yea you don't know do you.  Nor do I know if the house cards are gigged.  So we use mine.  Would anyone present like to more directly accuse me of being a cheater?”  Heads swiveled around amongst the group, including the henchman, and all were once again silent.  Trunk prepared to deal the cards when Sonny put his hand up and said, “Now Leon…I want your assurance that should I win, Jefferson will honor his end and the other club members will abide as well.  Failure on anyone's part would result in my reputation being damaged.”  Leon scanned around the room looking for silent protest, and his eyes fell on Jade whom he raised his eyebrows at in a quiet plea.  Jade finally nodded and Leon addressed Sonny with, “Yes.  We will honor the terms.”  Sonny nodded, and then became distracted searching his pockets for something and Leon used this opportunity to quickly check his phone.  There was a text from Ron which read, “Signal me and at first chance its Thunderdome in here.”  Leon frowned and then stealthily pressed a button on his phone.  He then mouthed a word to Jefferson.

Sonny nodded towards Trunk who robotically stated the terms of the game, “This is a seven card draw poker game with only one discard round of up to two cards, and there are no wild cards.”  The cards were shuffled and dealt, and both players examined their hands while everyone else in the room watched on the edges of their seat.  Sonny rolled his cigar back-and-forth in his mouth while grinning as he debated.  Jefferson could barely hold his cards due to his hands shaking.  He had such a bad hand that a measly pair was looking like the best play, until he remembered that it was possible to discard two cards.  Sonny only discarded one while Jefferson replaced two of his cards.  Both players stared at each other.  Sweat dripped down Jefferson's forehead as he agonized over his hand, which was lacking because the best he had now was three-of-a-kind.  And then the power went out.

The room was pitch black and quiet for about six seconds.  Sonny exclaimed, “What the hell!?  Is this a trick?” and then after another four second pause the power was back on and so in-turn were the lights.  Ron only had enough time to put on a pair of brass knuckles while Jade had removed a small Taser gun from under her shirt.  Sonny's men had physically braced themselves, but took a relaxed posture after the lights were back on and they could see everyone.  Leon intentionally didn't shut the power off for a lengthy period because he knew the situation could easily devolve into a fight, one that his people probably wouldn't win.  He hoped that the brief outage was long enough.

“Alright, no more nonsense,” said Sonny as he glanced the stack of cards on the table to see if they had been tampered with somehow.  They appeared to be unmolested.  Leon shrugged and mentioned, “The power is unreliable around here; blackouts and brownouts aren't out of the ordinary.”

Sonny plopped his four queens on the table, and looked directly at Jefferson who countered with four aces.  Jefferson Hanks never would have guessed that his lengthy stint as a magician's helper doing card tricks would one day pay off.

[Sinitrena]

Of the Little Fairy who Didn‘t Want to Fly

„Once upon a time, in a land far, far away...“, the old man began and then he paused. He stroked his long, grey beard and studied his audience.

About twenty children had gathered around the storyteller and waited for him, trying to be patient but not actually succeeding. Impatiently, they wiggled and fidgeted on the hard loamy ground.

“No,” the old man said, “I can't begin my story like that, now can I? It wouldn't be true, and I know you'd want a true story. Now see, what I'm about to tell you, it didn't happen that long ago and it wasn't far from this place here. You all know the meadow next to the lake in Zemren Forest, don't you? The meadow you're never ever allowed to go to” - the children nodded their heads - “and where you'd all love to play?” - the children shook their heads violently, protesting with gestures as much as they could but not daring to utter a single word, because they knew that the old man didn't like interruptions and might decide not to tell his story if they spoke.

“Now,” the storyteller continued, “you all know why you're not allowed to go there, don't you? Of course, you do, because this meadow belongs to the fairies and fairies can be dangerous to you. Now, it just so happens that my story today is about just such a fairy.”

At that, the children couldn't conceal their excitement any longer. They gasped and whispered among themselves, while the old man waited for them to calm down. He smiled, indulgent at the children's delight, but the smile didn't quiet reach his eyes.

“Now, how do you begin a story about fairies? About magic and an enchanted forest? About evil queens and pretty princesses? Now, I could begin like that and then describe their wondrous world and tell you all about their lovely dresses and their iridescent wings. I could then go on and tell you that there was this little fairy, this little girl that wasn't so different from you. After all, everyone likes to hear about people that are similar to them so that they can imagine themselves in the story. But I promised you a true story and so I can't give you this impression because you are no fairies.”

The old man shook his head. He knew that this was a terrible way to begin a story. And as one would expect, the children had started to fidget again, now not because of their hardly contained excitement but because the ramblings of the storyteller were boring to them. He couldn't help it. He wasn't in the mood to tell a story, especially not that story but it really wasn't his choice. He sighed.

He few adults had found their way to the village square in front of the inn where the lonely well stood on which he had sat down. They looked at him with the same kind of expectation as the children.

And at the same time they wondered why he was so different on this day. He had wandered the lands for countless years and he came often to their village to tell stories and beg for food but none of them had ever seen him like that â€" so distracted, hardly able to tell a story and instead musing on how to do it.

He didn't always tell stories. Sometimes he only stayed for a night in the tavern and drank a beer, sometimes he only played on his flute, sometimes he didn't speak to them at all and just passed through. And he only told stories when he was in the mood.

But this day was different. He clearly wasn't in the mood and they saw this easily but he had nonetheless sat down and gathered the children of the village around himself.

“I'm sorry.”, he murmured now, “Let me begin again.” He cleared his throat. “Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a fairy with glittering green hair and wings that shimmered in the sunlight in all colours of the rainbow. She was young, only a child, and so she had never used her wings and flown. You see, fairies can't fly when they are born, they have to learn how to do it like you need to learn how to walk. Now, Illé â€" that was the young fairy's name â€" had beautiful wings like a butterfly's and many admired their colours and their clear patterns where the veins showed through, for wings that are nearly transparent and multicoloured like hers are unusual among fairies. Normally, they are green or blue and don't allow the sunlight to shine through them. But Illé's wings were different. They were fragile and delicate and, although everyone loved them and said they were special, Illé hated them. Now, fairies love everything that looks different, but when Illé was alone, she often sat down in a circle of mushrooms near the lake, hugged her legs and cried.”

The old man paused for a moment and looked at his audience. The children had moved as closed to him as they dared and cuddled together, while the adults stood behind them and nodded their heads. They knew where this story was going, or so they thought. He would continue to tell them about this one fairy who was different and hated it and who would then learn to accept herself as she was. It was a simple moral, a story they had heard before, an ending they could approve of. It was the right story on the eve of Beltaine, when the witches praised the gods and sang of a world where love conquered all and everyone lived happily ever after.

The old man sighed again. He hated Beltaine, he hated the day before even more and he hated stories with simple morals. He usually told them anyway, because that was what people wanted to hear.

“When the time came,” he continued, “for the young fairies to learn how to fly, Illé went to her mother, the queen, and said: I don't want to fly. I like the earth. I like dancing and singing and walking on the ground. I like the tall grass and the puddles in the mud. Why should I learn how to fly? There's a whole world on the ground. The queen, who was stern and cold as so many queens are, looked at her daughter impatiently and shook her head. You are old enough now, she said, You are no longer a child. Only children walk the ground. One day you will be queen. Now go and learn as you should. Illé left her mother then because she knew that the queen would never change her mind. Even though she usually was a good girl and did as she was told, this time she just couldn't give up so soon.”

An old woman had put a mug of beer next to the storyteller without him really noticing, and sat down next to him. He now took a hefty draught.

The atmosphere in his audience had changed again slightly. Before, the adults had thought they knew where the story was going. Now, the children thought so and they didn't like their ideas. The old man saw it in their eyes and in the way they fidgeted again and talked silently. They had already heard stories like that too often in their young lives. Be a good boy, do as you're told or the monster will eat you. The adults approved of such stories, but the children did not, at least not the older ones. There were a few who were so young that they couldn't anticipate yet how a story would go.

Before the storyteller continued, he drank again from his mug, savouring the bitter taste of the local brew and wondering for the millionth time why he had returned to a place so close to the fairies' meadow on this day.

“Now,” the old man said, “Illé had many admirers but only one boy she considered a friend. His name was Vlem and she liked him because he didn't treat her with respect or fawned over her. Actually, he wasn't nice to her at all and called her shimmering wings ugly and Illé herself a whiny brat.”

“He was an ass.”

The old man looked up, trying to verify the source of the interruption because he couldn't really believe  that the old woman next to him on the brim of the well had said this. But nobody else seemed to have heard it and only she was closer to him than anyone else. It must have been her.

He shook his head and shrugged. It didn't really matter. Besides, she was right. Vlem had been an ass to Illé.

“Now, when Illé came back from her mother, crying, she ran into Vlem. Vlem was a couple of years older than Illé and so he had already learned how to fly. And because he wasn't very nice, he liked to mock everyone who still walked on the ground and laughed about them. Despite his mockery and the way he treated her, Illé really liked him, simply because she thought that he was at least honest to her and that everyone else just told her she was beautiful and laughed behind her back. Vlem laughed in her face and she considered that better. Well now, he said when he saw her crying that day, what is it, Ugly? Why are you sad? Illé wiped away a tear. Because, she sobbed, because I don't want to fly! But, now, what do you think Vlem told her then?”

The storyteller didn't really expect an answer but he still looked at his audience. He wondered if they now still had an idea where this story was going.

But they all just looked at him with a sparkle in their eyes he only ever saw from children, waiting for him to continue.

All, that is, except for the old woman next to him. She was frowning and watched her own hands playing with a lose thread of her dress.

“Now see,” the old man said, “Vlem told her that she was a coward and that was why she didn't want to fly. He also said, that she was probably too weak to fly, trying to coax some courage from her. He mocked her and cajoled her until she finally decided to go to her lesson and at least try. Maybe, she thought, she could actually enjoy it. And so, on the next day, she went to the tree where an old pecker had his nest and where they jumped down from a branch high in the air. At first, Illé really did enjoy flying. She spread her wings like all the other young fairies and glided on the wind, with the sunlight shining through the iridescent membranes. But then she remembered her fear and she panicked and she fell into the lake. She swam to the shore and disappeared that same night. She was embarrassed because of her failure, even though not all fairies manage to fly on their first try and many others fell like her.”

The old woman shook her head, mumbling to herself. The storyteller couldn't make out the words but the sound distracted him nonetheless. He sighed and took another sip from his beer.

The next part of the story was why he hated it so much and also why he told it every year.

“Now, when all the fairies learned that Illé had disappeared, they were devastated. They didn't understand why Illé had left. The queen got angry at Vlem. You told her that she is ugly, she said, It is your fault that she left. So Vlem, who really liked Illé, who actually loved her, and who felt bad because of what he had said, decided to go looking for her. First, he flew around the lake and didn't find her. Then he went deeper into the forest. He made himself a sword out of a twig and a shield from the bark of a tree and he fought against wolves and bears for her. He explored the forest and the lands beyond, until he encountered a witch in a little crooked hut.”

The old woman had become more and more agitated while the story teller spoke and by now she was kneading the apron of her dress with shaking hands. The storyteller didn't understand her reaction. There was nothing in his story to create strong emotions, at least not for a random old woman.

“Now,” he said, “when Vlem met the witch, he told her how he had wandered for weeks, how he had fought enemies and became stronger and stronger just to find Illé. He told her of all his woes and of all the hardships he had to bear. And the witch...”

“You fucking asshole!”, the old woman suddenly cursed. “This isn't Illé's story, is it? Not really. It's Vlem's story, it's all about him. About you!”

“What?”

“Illé was gone and then Vlem began his journey. And of course he had to suffer hardships and he had to fight monsters, become a hero just to find her. But in the end, he didn't, now did he? No, he didn't. Oh, sure, the witch told him that she had met Illé too, didn't she? That she had met her and changed her into a human, though she probably didn't tell you the price. But before she did, Vlem, you, had to go through tests and obstacles and then she told you and changed you into a human too. And ever since then, Vlem is looking for his princess, walking the earth, playing the flute and telling stories, killing monsters and suffering, suffering the whole time, because it's all about you. And the poor guy never manages to find Illé, who is always one step ahead of him, who had always just left the town or the village when he got there. But this isn't Illé's story, not anymore. It's Vlem's story, the story of a hero!”

“Illé?”

The storyteller had completely forgotten the children listening to him. Only the old woman mattered to him. He had seen her often in this village at the edge of Zemren Forest, had met her when he came out of the forest for the first time, eager to prove himself. But he had never recognized her. And even now he didn't believe it because this woman was clearly human. She was clearly part of the village's community.

“Yes, Illé!”, the old woman said, gesticulating wildly. “Illé, who has a story of her own, a story you never understood, did you?”

“Illé, I... You can still come back.”

“Come back? Oh, I love how you describe everything as beautiful and harmonic in our village. But you never understood why I left. And you never knew what I really told my mother before my first lesson, on the eve of Beltaine sixty years ago, did you? So how could you tell my story? How dare you! I didn't like walking on the ground, I didn't want to. I wanted to fly like everyone else but my wings were never meant for flying. They were weak, fragile, broken. I was disabled! It was completely impossible for me to ever fly. I told my mother that and she said that a fairy who can't fly isn't a real fairy and shall never rule. Oh, yes, everybody loved how my wings looked â€" but that is all they loved about them. Fairies like what looks different, special, but not what acts different. And we, we were never friends. I liked that you didn't pretend, true, but you still treated me like... like... - No, I can never return and I don't want to. So your whole journey, your sacrifice was for nothing. But you, Vlem, you can go back now that you know where I am. I'd have told you a long time ago, but you never bothered to tell this story here before. Now your hardships finally come to an end! Your pain finally ends!”

Illé turned on her heel and walked away, her head held high.

Vlem reached out for her shoulder but stopped himself before he touched her. He was lost for words, his audience all but forgotten. She wasn't right, was she? He didn't make something about himself that was actually about her, did he? He had fought for her for years, hadn't he?

The storyteller never told a story again and Illé never returned.

[Baron]

One more day until the deadline!  So make it count.  I'd love (in the abstract platonic sense) to see two more entries.  It doesn't matter if it's short -the theme is all about short stories!  Let your muse loose and get your better sense another drink 'cause you've got a story to write.  So get hackin', whydoncha?

[Baron]

Well I hope nobody tried to enter when the thread got accidentally locked....   I'm going to assume that we've got everyone, though, and go ahead and close the competition.  It's voting time!

Here are our esteemed entries:

The Small Six Cabal Club by kconan
Of the Little Fairy who Didn‘t Want to Fly by Sinitrena

...and here are our voting criteria. 

Best Character: most believable or captivating or magnetic or unique: could be main character or supporting role
Best Atmosphere: Which story evoked the strongest feelings due to excitement/humour/intrigue/wonder/emotional intensity?
Best Background World: The best setting or milieu for a story: a place brought to life.
Best Writing Style: The technical art of combining words in clever or gripping ways.
Most Substantive: Which story provides the greatest insight into the lives of the altitudinally challenged?  Or imparted a really great moral?  Can be philosophical or humorous.

Vote early and vote often!  All votes will be tabulated on Saturday July 25 or whenever I get back from camping.   Good luck to all participants!

[JudasFm]

I really wanted to enter, but my PC was in the shop for repairs and I only got it back today. I plan to enter the next one though!

Votes:

Best Character: kconan for Jade Jones. It was refreshing to see a female person in this role
Best Atmosphere: Sinitrena
Best Background World: Sinitrena; the background was woven in without being too much of an infodump
Best Writing Style: Sinitrena. The only thing which made me waver on this was the sudden profanity. While I appreciate the use of it for shock value, the words chosen were too different from the setting to work. Apart from that, though, her writing brought me into the world and I'm a sucker for stories-within-stories
Most Substantive: Sinitrena. I liked the cultural references to how fairies behave and act.

[kconan]

I've read and thoughtfully evaluated all of the entries and...

Best Character: Sinitrena (Old Woman / Illé)
Best Atmosphere: Sinitrena
Best Background World: Sinitrena
Best Writing Style: Sinitrena
Most Substantive: Sinitrena

  Sorry to see only two entries!  Hopefully voting will be more active.  This topic was good timing though, as last month I refereed a little person boxing match: http://postimg.org/gallery/1s2zwcf48/d8692aa7/  I was on a business trip and there was a dive bar with a boxing ring in it near my hotel (Manila) where all kinds of matches take place, so I checked it out and was asked to ref for a match.  Had a blast!

[Sinitrena]

Best Character: kconan - No character stands out for me, but The Small Six Cabal Club is an intersting group. As a general tip: It's usually not a good idea to have a large infodump on your characters in the beginning of the story and in one single paragraph. That makes it difficult to differentiate between them. (I admitt that I'm guilty of such infodumps as well )

Best Atmosphere: kconan

Best Background World: kconan - The little glimps of the struggles of the group was very well done.

Best Writing Style: kconan - Solid writing and the solution in the end was forshadowed in the beginning without giving it away. Good job.
But to be honest, your pargraphing needs some work. This paragraph:

Looking down, Jefferson spoke, “Once again I've dragged you guys into my problems…I'm sorry.”  Everyone assembled at the table literally waved it off using hand motions as he further explained, “The debt was sold to Sonny.”  John clarified, “You mean Sonny Broncha?”  Todd quipped, “No Sonny Mellencamp.  Yes of course THE Sonny Broncha.”  Ron had hotboxed his cigar, and so the stogie was nearly done as he crushed it with his hands sending hot embers of tobacco and wrapping all over his right arm, which he simply shook off onto the floor.  At the same time John and Jade both lamented, “Sorry Jefferson…”  John finished, “My firm won't touch him.  It would be too risky both professionally and personally.”  Jade added, “Yea this is bad Jefferson.”

for example, is very difficult to understand, because you have to read very carefully to see when someone else is speaking. Normally (I think), you begin a new paragraph when a different person acts. So it should look like that:

Looking down, Jefferson spoke, “Once again I've dragged you guys into my problems…I'm sorry.”  Everyone assembled at the table literally waved it off using hand motions as he further explained, “The debt was sold to Sonny.”

John clarified, “You mean Sonny Broncha?”

Todd quipped, “No Sonny Mellencamp.  Yes of course THE Sonny Broncha.”

Ron had hotboxed his cigar, and so the stogie was nearly done as he crushed it with his hands sending hot embers of tobacco and wrapping all over his right arm, which he simply shook off onto the floor.  At the same time John and Jade both lamented, “Sorry Jefferson…”

John finished, “My firm won't touch him.  It would be too risky both professionally and personally.”

Jade added, “Yea this is bad Jefferson.”

Sorry, it's just really, really difficult to read in your text.

Most Substantive: kconan - We get to see the problems of little people, both those related to their height and those everyone else might have as well. Love it.

[Ponch]

[This spot reserved for future voting... after I've read the stories...]

Best Character: Sinitrena
Best Atmosphere: Sinitrena
Best Background World: Kconan
Best Writing Style: Sinitrena
Most Substantive: Sinitrena

[kconan]

You can call it Baron, I've been resoundingly trounced.

[Baron]

Agreed.  Although you must take solace that your defeat wouldn't have been nearly so categorical if I'd been allowed to vote.

So Sinitrena is hereby declared the winner, with kconan an easy second.  I'm sorry but I've been away from my computer for about a week (it's still 300km away), so trophies will have to be deferred until I can make them.  Thus I hereby charge Sinitrena with the awesome burden of competition administration.  I look forward to it!

In terms of commentary, each piece had its own merrits.  I liked how both drew the reader in trying to guess the outcome.  My personal preference in terms of content would be kconan's shady underworld populated by larger-than-life characters constantly struggling with the fallout from just acting like themselves.  I agree with Sinitrena that the infodump was a lot at the beginning, but it was sure handy to refer back to just one paragraph to figure out who was who (by mid-story I had them all down, though).  In such a short story it'd be hard to grow-to-know the characters naturally, though, so other creative approaches might involve the use of descriptive nicknames or paring back the cast a bit.  But I definitely liked his characters, and the plot was exciting.  And although his paragraphing might benefit from some editing, the writing style was certainly entertaining.  I look forward to another story from him next time.

For Sinitrena's story I really liked the background world, which was developed nicely through the story and left me curious to learn more.  I liked her characters as well, the not-too-clever lover-boy and the emotionally-scarred object of his affections.  Illé struck me as just a little too prickly and melodramatic, but I suppose that could just be the nature of fairy culture, or maybe it's a flaw of her character that she dwells too much on the past (for what, like 50 years? ).  I definitly liked the message at the end, making the reader wonder at the motives of love -very profound, in a sad and tragic way.  Congratulations on your victory, Sini!

Well, that's all for me.  See everyone again in the next exciting instalment of....


The Fortnightly Writing Competition!  

[kconan]

Yea the infodump was a failed experiment, anyway thanks for the game!

[Sinitrena]

Illé struck me as just a little too prickly and melodramatic, but I suppose that could just be the nature of fairy culture, or maybe it's a flaw of her character that she dwells too much on the past (for what, like 50 years? ).

60 years, actually

Thanks for all your vote guys, and thanks to kconan for an enjoyable story that definetely deserved more votes.

New round comming up - see you there!