300 In 1. A Story Short.

On April 1, 2015, I launched a 100-day sprint of daily 300-word stories. The journey continues.

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Quiet.

It's been quiet. The fire of creativity a slow simmer on the back burner. Yet this project rings true. The pieces fall together slowly and a larger narrative takes shape. Updates will follow soon(ish) on the original, that collection of stories from last summer. So too will news emerge of new projects, of paths not yet taken. Stay tuned.

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'Twas the night before Christmas...

You know Dasher and Dancer, Donner and Vixen, and yeah, all of the traditional reindeer names. But do you know the most famous of them all? Most people know his name, but they do not know his story. In reality, Rudolph was bright, but not bright. If you know what I mean. That suited him just fine though. For Rudolph harbored a secret, one that made him the rarest of reindeer. He had auditory-tactile synesthesia. This meant that certain sounds triggered sensations in his body, and, more specifically, his nose. Laughter was his trigger, with a certain type of laugh causing the most problems. Sometimes, even thinking about that laugh triggered a reaction. It even haunted his dreams. He would awake in the middle of the night, the red glow bright enough to pull him from his slumber. Ashamed, the glow would slowly subside and poor Rudolph would drift back to sleep. Though living at the North Pole made it difficult, Rudolph did his best to withdraw. And that laugh, it permeated every corner, it echoed through the hallways. At times, it seemed Rudolph could never escape. The small, intimate community prided itself on inclusion, so often he was thwarted in his attempts to be alone. The other reindeer were the worst. Especially the Elite Eight, who ruled the Pole with an iron hoof. They were popular, not just with the other reindeer, but also among the elves. Most importantly, they were tight with the Claus. That fact alone elevated their status. Yet, one foggy Christmas eve, their reign became tenuous. The Claus was in a foul mood, his annual flight in jeopardy. Sitting on the stoop of his workshop, he cried. While softly at first, the pain overtook him and he sobbed. He sobbed until he laughed, a forlorn "Ho, ho, ho!" escaping his lips. A faint red glow pierced the darkness. Delirious with sadness, the Claus laughed harder. The glow increased, and he realized it was not a delusion. He called out, and Rudolph bashfully emerged as his nose slowly dimmed to its normal state. After a brief exchange, an excited Claus led the timid Rudolph inside where the Elite Eight waited impatiently. Their status depended on this night, on this flight, and their disdain was clear as the Claus led Rudolph to the front of the pack. Hitching up the reins, the Claus called out his reindeer one by one, finishing the act with a hearty "Ho ho ho!". Instantly, Rudolph's nose erupted in light, the glow piercing the thick fog. As the sleigh took flight, the Claus continued his laughter and it echoed through the night. All was right, despite the fog, thanks to Rudolph.

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"It was everything we'd come to expect and hope for." 3:27am. Tom stirred momentarily, unsure why he had awoken, as only silence and darkness greeted his senses. Yet this was the fourth time he had woken in the middle of the night at this exact moment. Perhaps the strangest part was waking up to those same three digits staring back at him from the bedside table. Sighing, Tom turned and snuggled back into the crook of Chad's arm. Settling back in against the warm body, he was soon asleep. Perhaps it was a sign, but Tom ignored it, only thinking of it later while reflecting on their relationship and its humble beginnings. They had met at a friend's birthday party. Tom was an accountant by day and a struggling artist in his spare time. He had the motivation, and some even said he had the talent, but he just could not put his heart into his creations. His works were dead and hollow, standing as empty reminders of his efforts. Conversely, Chad was a successful attorney whose love of life filled every nook and cranny of his existence. At the party, they passed by each other a few times, exchanging hellos and partaking in the same group conversations. Yet as the party continued, they caught each other's attention and a few weeks later, they went on their first date. That evening, dinner went smoothly and Tom excused himself as dessert arrived. Returning, he noticed that atop his sundae sat two cherries, one having migrated from Chad's bowl. "Mon cher, je déteste cerises," Chad said, laughing before he continued, "But you, my tart little cherry, are wonderful." Chad winked and began to eat his sundae while Tom blushed. Through Chad, Tom had undergone a metamorphosis, finding the passion missing from his work. He developed a small following and he marked his works with a tiny cherry as a nod to Chad's influence. When at home, Tom found solace snuggled up against Chad, his greatest moments of inspiration coming while wrapped up in Chad's arms. Their semi-charmed life continued along unchanged. It was March 29, about a week after Tom had last woken in the middle of the night. Two days ago, Tom was busy in the studio and missed a call. Six minutes later, his world crumbled when he called them back. He was told Chad had died instantly in the accident. Despite the loss, Tom found himself inspired at the funeral. He did not want to mourn; he wanted to create. Instead of heading to the reception, he headed to his studio. Stripping off the black attire, he tied an apron around his nearly naked frame and began to work. The weeks passed with only the briefest public appearances. His friends checked in, but only could stay a few minutes before being shooed back out. Then, with almost no warning, an invite went out for a party at Tom's studio. For the party, the small studio was transformed. Its increasingly cluttered interior was stripped practically bare. Tom was aglow, looking more alive than he had in weeks. As the party reached its apex, Tom turned down the music, silenced the crowd, and started to speak. "On March 27, a life was taken from me. As many of you know, Chad meant a lot to me. He supported me and provided the encouragement I needed to thrive. In his arms, I came up with the ideas for my best work. It is cliché, but as my big spoon, the safety he provided allowed me to create. As much as I was his cherry, he was my spoon. Through his love for not just me, but the world, I have been given the opportunity to create something that signifies his role in not just my life, but yours as well. He cradled us all with his heart, made us feel safe, and allowed us to grow. This is for him." The work was Tom's crowning achievement. The white spoon, contrasted by the red cherry, represented the two's time together. The small crowd gasped. It was everything they had come to expect and hope for from not just Tom, but Chad as well.

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About time?

Marcus wasn't usually the anxious type. While rigid at times, his largely mellow interior was often masked by the precision with which he executed his life. Time did not matter; seconds did. Each minute needed to carefully scripted, each day carefully executed. This routine gave him the freedom to relax a bit, as the well-oiled machine that was his schedule ran largely on its own. Yet Marcus knew. He knew that when the machine failed, when its gears hitched, the voice returned. His inner anxiety was not part of it, it merely resided inside. It was a parasite, feeding off the unexpected. It craved chaos. Only the ticking of the clock, and his meticulously crafted schedule, kept it at bay. When that failed, it reared its ugly head and Marcus was no longer himself.

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Why, hello.

I figured it was time for an update of sorts. Somehow, I survived the sprint and wrote the 100 (!) 300-word stories that appear here. All while quitting a job, breaking a lease, and moving across state lines. Settling into my new home hasn't been the smoothest journey, yet I have remained committed on seeing this through. I have started assembling the collection and more updates will appear soon. Additionally, I have a couple other projects I would like to tackle using this space. Now that I am settling in, stay tuned, the adventure continues!

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July 16, 2014.

The one hundred days passed like leaves falling from a tree. Most of them were uneventful. Others were great shakings of the roots and tests of endurance. These served as markers for the future. The first of these was the beginning, the decision to write daily and hold himself accountable. While largely self-regulated, it still served as a monitor, that constant push to write. It was just what he needed, introducing humility as well as pride. Other days involved life-altering decisions. Putting in a two-week notice at a stable, permanent job was one. So was emailing his landlord and giving thirty days notice. For his life laid elsewhere, and the job as well as the apartment both served as barriers to his potential. To the future that was bigger than Seattle. These were ripples in the pond. Ripples that became waves in the flow of his life. It was not easy to parse, or easy to explain. It was simply what was needed, the push that helped him jump. That leap would remove him from his comfort zone and bring about an uncertain future. The month of June was exactly that. No job, no home, he roamed the city and looked for stability. He wrote, explored, and expanded his horizons. In eight different places he felt enough comfortable enough to sleep. Only as June faded did he find his home. And still, the job eluded him. In the meantime, financial struggles increased, but his concern shifted. A night ended in blood, a severe cut, complete with a lost nail and broken finger. Yet still he wrote, still he created. His spirit was buoyed by these experiences, his resolve deepened. It became easier to observe and accept. He grew and shared his experiences, through both spoken and written words. His dreams became bigger and he was proud. That one day, one hundred days ago, led him here. To this moment.

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July 10, 2014.

The final one of this little sprint. 100 days of 300-word short stories. Thank you all for being part of this incredible journey. --- The last four days were as empty as her memory. Chloe sat feeling safe in the fact it was her room though it was not familiar. She could not explain it, but she felt a sense of calm. The answers were close. Chloe knew to be patient. The dreams had become visions dancing upon the back of her eyelids whenever she closed her eyes. Even a blink brought a flash of the only images she recognized. She welcomed it as it brought her one step closer to the truth. She could not rationalize it, but as her sanity faded along with her memory, she felt clarity wash over her. For the first time in months, Chloe could think clearly, though her memory was gone. She could finally progress on her own terms. It was then she knew. She got up from the bed, dressed, and packed a small bag. She left the apartment, leaving the keys inside as she shut the locked door. Chloe knew she would not be back. Even if she were coming back, she would not remember how to get home anyway. Nothing looked familiar as she stepped outside. Turning left, she began walking, waiting for a sign. Chloe did not know what to expect but instinctually, she knew she would find it. So she continued to walk. About a block later, she graciously accepted a ride "downtown". The woman driving the sedan was plain and very quiet. Chloe did not pay her much attention at first. Only as the time passed did she notice that the woman's knuckles were white from her tight grip upon the steering wheel. She realized the woman was afraid, not of her, but of something behind them. It was then she saw the woman glance into the rearview mirror and gasp. --- Enjoy. More soon?

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July 8, 2014.

Louise had yet to forget her sudden appearance here. Even now, she could shut her eyes and see herself reaching into the drawer. And relive the terror as the pantry melted away to nothing around her. The terror quickly yielded to relief though. Louise felt as if she was shedding her skin, which had never fit. The life she had constructed was not her own, but one of expectations and not so subtle nudging by her parents. Was she finally free? At first, she was not sure. The pantry yielded to a misty void, one where Louise could not see more than a few inches. It was quiet and unsettling, but still soothing to her heightened senses. It gave her a moment to collect herself and realize that her clenched hand held something. Something cold and heavy. As she twisted her arm to reveal it, the mist suddenly closed in. Louise gasped, unable to see at all, feeling the damp mist pressing upon her skin. It clung to her as if it sought to by sheer force break through her skin. She steeled herself against the cold and closed her eyes. She then felt the sun's warmth. The cold mist had yielded it seemed and she opened her eyes. The spectacle before her was surprising and refreshing. No longer in a small town, before Louise was a vast, bustling city. She stood upon a street corner, basking in the sunlight, soaking up not only its rays but also the city's pulse. It was then he bumped into her. Their eyes met and the world stopped momentarily. Louise saw their new life together stretching before her. And only now, many years past, did she realize she dropped whatever had been in her hand when they collided. What could it have been?

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July 7, 2014.

The small box had once held paper for the copier, but not anymore. What was inside was small and angry, yet somehow not tearing through the box. It was if the darkness had subdued the creature, lulling it a bit. For this, Andy was relieved. No one else had shown up at the office yet though it felt like it had taken him a while to trap the creature. Perplexed, Andy looked up at the clock and saw it was 9:06. The morning crew should have shown up by now. A nearby phone broke the silence of the office. Getting his bearings, he realized it was the phone at his cubicle that was ringing. Andy cautiously and quickly strode to his desk with the box. It was his manager calling and he answered the phone after taking a deep breath. Moments later, he returned the receiver to its cradle, his hand lingering as the conversation's details slowly sunk in. He was not supposed to be here. It had happened earlier that morning. Details were scant, but everyone was supposed to stay inside. Police were under orders to stop and detain anyone found outside. What they were was not clear, but the danger was. Somehow, Andy had missed the warning and made it safely into work. Now, he was not sure if he should leave. He had captured one of them, but Andy was not sure if it was fully grown. He had no point of comparison and did not wish to seek it either. It was almost human in form, like a tightly rolled, tiny body. It was then he heard a noise and another creature, larger in form, crashed through the office's entrance. He bolted for safety and as he latched the bathroom door he hoped for a miracle. --- Oh boy, Andy's in trouble now, isn't he?

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July 6, 2014.

It hung in the sky, arching inexplicably across the night sky. It gave off a dark red glow, despite its colorful presence. Katie looked up again into the sky, as confused and unsettled as the rest of them. When Katie had left work, the sun was just beginning to descend into the horizon. The warmth of the day embraced her and helped the day's troubles fade. An earlier storm had left some clouds scattered across the sky. The subtle shift from orange to red had begun and the sky was filled with warm hues. Still, she thought it ominous. The sky was a bit too red, a bit too saturated to attribute solely to the setting sun. It was if the clouds themselves were deepening the sky's hue, casting darkness upon the sky's usual beauty. All Katie knew is what a little unsettling. It was then she looked up and saw it. Hanging in contrast to the stark, red sky, lingering on the distant horizon. A rainbow arched widely, cutting a swath of color into the crimson sea. The richness of the sky almost canceled it out, masking its inherent beauty. At this point, she had stopped on the sidewalk to take it in fully. Katie wavered between awe and unease at the sight. The rainbow had an evil undertone to it when contrasted against the red sky. It was then she glanced around and noticed others looking up into the sky as she was, their expressions mirroring of her own. Now, at just past midnight, she was still warily watching the sky. The rainbow continued to hang onto the horizon, exactly where it was when she came home. It had not faded, but merely taken in the sky's red hue and cast it back out into the night sky.

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July 5, 2014.

He still remembered the first time he picked up a guitar. The feeling as he cradled it, the connection he felt to its shape and power. Eric knew that it went deeper, that the bond between them also included a nearly limitless future. Finally, he had found it. Those first furtive forays into playing it solidified his destiny. As the first notes were strummed into existence, a sea of color erupted from the guitar. It cascaded into the open room, slowly filling the space with a warm, orange hue. Eric was not afraid as he eagerly watched the spectacle. He then paused and let it slowly dissipate. He had been waiting for this moment his entire life. He knew of his abilities and of his unique vision, but never had known how to activate it. Until right now. He had almost given up. Eric had known of his ability to manifest aural stimulation in visual form. He also knew that it required a trigger, that it needed some event, some noise, or some thing. Yet the thought that he could generate it himself had never occurred crossed his mind. So now, as the chords and the ability came to fruition, he was almost drunk with joy. The fame came easily once his ability was discovered. By reading the crowd, by reading his agents and the record company executives, he could deliver exactly what they desired. Eric became at home on the stage and began to seek her out. For he knew, once his power was triggered, hers was as well. It would be bittersweet when they met, that Eric knew. He role as seeker would end; his fame would be muted. He would assume role of helper, the backup to the stronger force. For her abilities would outshine his own. --- Variations of synesthesia.

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July 4, 2014.

Independence and another 300. Enjoy! --- It had been a steep price, but Piper finally had her independence. She had spent the last five years blind to her situation. A time of growth and reflection, it had passed quickly. Yet, unbeknownst to her, she had been captive. She still was not sure how it happened. Piper likened it to a dream, one where when you wake up you and cannot quite parse the reality and the fiction. Yet maybe they were the same, maybe the line between them a blur. It was unsettling to think about, but deep down, she knew the truth. Piper had been both the abductor and the abductee. She had caught herself in the joy of avoidance. Kept occupied with all those little things that made her forget. That allowed her to forget herself, to forget her own trappings. It was a grand time of growth in many ways, yet incomplete as well. For she had invested heavily in parts of her own life while neglecting others. The shackles Piper had forged kept her from reaching certain goals. It was not easy to explain, or to identify, but it was there. Pieces of her, withering on the vine, were dying and turning into dust. It had been a small leap made while still shackled that made her aware of her captivity. A negotiated time of exploration with a clear end date. And Piper had explored, she pushed with all her might those boundaries, straining against them at times. It was then she knew. Independence would require loss. It was a sobering thought for Piper, but one that rang true. She could not keep the cell she had constructed and also gain freedom. So, she plotted her escape and braced herself for another leap, one that would snap the shackles holding her captive. --- A look back at Piper (June 5, 2014). She's had some adventures, hasn't she?

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A look into the creative process. Using a two-column, tabloid-sized Word document, I reference a previous 300-word story while writing a new one. Sometimes, the connections are explicit, and other times, more subtle.

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July 3, 2014.

He awoke in the sterile environment of the debriefing room. Kenny was finally, officially dead. The body had been left behind as his infractions had become too egregious to ignore. Officially, Kenny had lived for 48 years, 3 months, and 12 days. The problem was that he had been gone for 114 years, 5 months, and 2 days. That was a lot of wasted time. Well, not wasted, but forgotten. All the pauses, every shift he had caused, they added up. And now, he was due to be debriefed, each alteration of time analyzed. It was the longest he had been gone too. He still felt like Kenny, the memories persisting and clouding his own. In fact, at the moment, only a few flashes of this existence occupied his mind. Even his true name was lost at the moment. So he could not know the scope of the problem, or its dangers. His previous forays had been short affairs, quick flashes of time, less than five years total. This last one was so unique in duration and outside of the normal. He had not been prepared and as a result was struggling in his return. He stared at his form in the mirror, searching for a familiar feature. Deep down he knew the image in the mirror, but at the moment it was alien. There was no flash of recognition or stirring of memory, just a blank stare. He turned away, unable to face himself any longer. That is when he saw it. A digital readout was on the wall. It said: "GONE: 114 years, 5 months, and 2 days. HERE: 1 year, 8 months, 4 days." Was it possible? Why was he still unable to remember who he was? It was then he realized something had gone horribly awry.

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July 2, 2014.

Hugh had chosen the island for a reason. Its distant location and sparse population meant less scrutiny. It would also provide him easier control if things got out of hand like before. He knew better than to think about that though since no one would ever find out. The locals never asked how he arrived. Hugh had just appeared one day, taking ownership of a recently deceased farmer's land on the edge of the island. There, he labored, with materials brought in from faraway places, constructing the facilities he required to work. If they had been more inquisitive, Hugh would have had a problem. Building a warehouse, with conveyor belts and complex machinery, was foreign enough to them. Explaining the crude airstrip, especially since it would be twenty-two years before man even learned how to fly, would be even more difficult. He wanted to be prepared though. The plan had been set in motion already. The first boxes were making their way out into the world. Hugh knew each box would languish in its journey, that each one had a long, winding path to follow before it would arrive on the island. And he was ready. In the meantime, he would wait. Technology would catch up and the boxes would quicken in their travels. Hugh knew the time was right, and that by the time the last box arrived, he would have the necessary tools at his disposal. Then he could create, and then, he could assemble. Patience slowly rewarded him, with the first box appearing five years later. Hugh knew the trickle of incoming freight had begun and meticulously selected a small, yet loyal, staff. They could be trusted, and if not, they could be disposed of. Ninety-two years later, only he remained, waiting on the last two boxes. --- More about those boxes from April 19th's 300 and a familiar name.

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July 1, 2014.

The temperature rose inexplicably over the course of the next few days. Alice was not sure what exactly the cause, but she had her suspicions. It had been two years since she discovered her power. At the zoo, the animals all had their stories, each dealing with captivity in their own way. She appreciated them all, too. Even the walrus seemed more open. Often, Alice almost forgot her initial uneasiness with him. Still, at times their banter had darker undertones to it, ones she could not quite identify. That is what bothered her the most about the last few days. Though the newscasts were filled with speculation, in her heart Alice knew the cause. She knew it was not a mere fluke, or a random heat wave. She sensed it was the start of something bigger, of some larger shift in the order of things. In her time at the zoo, Alice had heard a few whispers amid the conversations. The first time, she had asked, as the meerkat paused in their conversation to speak with the rat. The stiff, dismissive response from the usually affable meerkat taught her a lesson. Sometimes, it was better to observe and not ask. Consequently, she began to pick up snippets of information from the various animals at the zoo. It became worrisome when a cat in her neighborhood mentioned the walrus. Alice was taken aback, as she had not thought them connected. From that moment, about a week ago, she began to realize how intertwined they all were, and the tone of her conversations becoming more direct and suspicious. As she thought about the correlation, a flash of movement caught her eye. Alone in her apartment, she looked around. They had entered silently, through the nooks and crannies. And now, they wanted answers.

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June 30, 2014.

Sam paced, as he always did when worried. The tiny waiting room did its best to thwart his efforts. He could only manage ten or fifteen steps before having to double back. Still, the number of laps he had made compensated for the tiny space and he glanced again at the clock. 6:13 pm. One hour, three minutes. That was how long it had been since he arrived. Arthur asked to stop on a nearby bench while they walked Casey. Minutes later, Sam asked a question and got no response. Arthur was lethargic, dazed, and unable to stand, so Sam called 911. With Arthur heading to the hospital, Sam ran home. Casey seemed to understand something was wrong, walking inside the house and laying down without a sound. Casey then looked at Sam, as if asking him why he was still there. Surprised, Sam left the house and headed to the hospital. And now, he waited. Sam thought back to their first date all those years ago. How midway through Arthur had smirked and at that moment he knew. He could see the years together ahead of them, a porch with rocking chairs in their distant future. Though clouds had rolled in and he was scared. He knew it was serious. Sam could feel the weight of the situation as if a thumb was pressing him into the ground. The pacing eased that feeling. He searched his mind for signs, for any clue that he could of missed. Nothing came to mind, except for Casey's shifting allegiance in the last year. Their dog had always preferred Sam, yet had begun to dote on Arthur. Was that a sign? Before Sam could pursue that thought, the doors swung apart, and the doctor stepped into the waiting room with had an update.