Fictitious Reality

*Author’s note: This story is a part-two. If you would like to read part-one click here.


Stumbling out the door, he noticed blearily, that he was missing his pen. Slamming the door shut Robbie stepped back, waiting. Shrieks filled the night from behind the door. He glanced over at Mike holding up his empty hands.

“Run!” Mike shouted, knowing that without a pen they had no power against the beast. Robbie tried to protest but his tongue, a salty toad, felt too large in his mouth to form any words. He let out a sigh and trudged behind Mike, barely keeping up.

“Where are we?” Mike shouted back at Robbie.

“I have no idea.” he managed to choke out. That was a lie. He knew where they were, at least he was pretty sure. When he had written “AND THEN A DOOR APPEARED” on the wall in the hallway, a picture of his fictitious world flashed in his mind. Mike was not going to be happy. Robbie continued to run several legs behind his friend as they weaved in and out of the trees. He could barely see, the thick canopy hardly letting any moon light through. Robbie, thoughts racing, tried to pinpoint where they were. Nothing looked familiar, and why would it? He had never seen the place before, only in his mind’s eye. But this was his world, only existing because he wrote it into being. Robbie stopped, his mouth dry, he needed water.

“Why are you stopping?” Mike jogged over to where Robbie was now leaning against a tree, supporting his heavy body.


Mike shut his eyes. There was no more shrieking. Nothing but the distant trickling of water punctured the silent darkness.

“A creek.” Robbie pushed off the tree, forcing himself to move toward the noise. The Creek of the Silver Trees. If they could follow it north they would find refuge. Mike trailed behind now, letting Robbie lead.  As they got closer the trees started to thin, allowing more light to seep though. 20 paces ahead lay a stream, bubbling loudly now. The boys quickened their stride, falling on their knees at the grassy creek-side. Mike plunged his head right in, taking large dregs of the cold liquid. Robbie drank from his hand, eyes searching the trees. The Silver Trees was a fairly peaceful forest but there was always reason to stay alert.

“We should rest here. It will be light soon,” Robbie said matter-of-factually. Mike nodded. He was glad Mike trusted him, no questions. They both picked trees and sat back. Robbie let Mike sleep, even though he felt like dropping dead himself but only he knew what to look out for.

As the sun rose Robbie sucked in air sharply,  stunned by the sight.  The sun’s rays bounced off the leaves of the trees, bright silver reflections cascaded through the forest as if it were filled with thousands of tiny mirrors. Mike awoke, light shining in his face.

“Dude, where are we?”

“Mike, welcome to Erdő.”


Submitted for Finish that Thought #3-1

Our Prompt: (anything in brackets can be changed)

Stumbling out of the [pub/concert/etc], [s]he noticed blearily that [s]he was missing [at least one shoe/her(his) favorite hat/an arm etc].

SPECIAL CHALLENGE from the judge is:
Include any of the following words: toad, The Sopranos, fish tank, salt, supernatural. Bonus points if you manage to use ’em all! 🙂

I didn’t place but the judge did have some nice words to say.

I gotta say, this is the first time I’ve ever read a tongue being described as a salty toad – bravo! Very nice SCiFi/Fantasy type story, with brilliant descriptions. I love the idea of someone’s written word becoming a reality. Still wondering what the pen was used against – I want to know!!” — Sheba AJ


Fallen Apple – Flash Fiction

I didn’t know who she was, but she definitely wasn’t my mother. Not anymore.

“Stop it mom! You’re hurting me.”

“I’ll stop when you give me your money!”

“I told you I don’t have any.” I was lying through my teeth, but it was for her own good.

“Don’t lie to me Ally, I know you worked today! Ray saw you!”

“Ray is as strung out as you mom. He thought he saw a clown in his cereal yesterday!”

“Then where were you, HUH?!”

“At Laney’s… Swimming,” I winced as my mom slapped me across the face, causing me to stumble backward. Everything went black for a minute after a loud THWACK. The sound of my skull hitting the concrete wall of the garage made me want to vomit.

“Look at me!” I looked in the direction of her voice, seeing nothing but purple spots around a thin frail figure. I slumped to the ground, holding back tears. She couldn’t see me cry. I won’t give her the satisfaction.

“If you don’t give me that money I swear you’ll be homeless!”

“If I give you that money we’ll all be homeless! Who do you think has been paying our rent?”

“You’ve been hording money from me? You little witch!”

“I keep us in this crap hole! I work my butt off for you!” I could see her now, the spots almost gone. My sick mother stood in front of me, a mere shell of who she used to be. Her dry cracked lips spread in an evil grin and with a dark look in her sunken-in, blood shot eyes; she reached down and grabbed me by the collar, the look of attack displayed on her pale face. She looked like she hadn’t eaten in days. She’ll probably be binging soon.


I shook my head, dazed and confused. I looked into the face of my daughter Marissa. What just happened? I took in my surroundings. We were in a bathroom, my hands clutched around Marissa’s collar, fear in her eyes. The memory of my childhood had been so strong, trance like.

“Mom, let me go!”

I glanced past her at the mirror on the wall, catching a glimpse of a battered woman. Her were eyes sunken in, her skin was puce in color. The face staring back at me was not my own. It was then that I realized, I had become my mother.



This was the second story I submitted to FINISH THAT THOUGHT #2-44. The story didn’t place but here is what the judge had to say about it.

Fallen Apple – realmommaramblings – Wow! Opening with raw dialogue and ending with a clever perspective switch, this story depicts the erosive power of addiction. After enduring hardships a daughter shouldn’t have to survive, the protagonist succumbs to her past demons, proving that the apple truly doesn’t fall far from this rotting tree. So sad.” – Foy S. Iver

Presence in the Night- Flash Fiction

I didn’t know who he was, but he was definitely not my husband. As I stared, not sure if I was seeing correctly, my vision blurred from heavy slumber, the dark shape moved towards me. I reached over to the right side of the bed only to find it vacant, cold. My heart kept time violently within my tightened chest.

“Who are you?” I managed to cough out.

The dark shape said nothing as it moved closer to me, a mere fleshy statue frozen in fear. My children were in the next room. My racing thoughts flashed pictures of their lifeless bodies on the floor, helpless babes against such a large person. I have to get to them. My eyes veered past the giant-like figure. There was no escaping.

As he drew closer the street lamp outside my window, the only thing lending light to the room, began to dim. A chill ran across my skin causing my hair to rise and pull at their follicles, almost like they were trying to escape my body, to save themselves from was about to happen. There was not a sound to be heard, not even his footsteps. I tried to scream but to no avail. My vocal chords went limp like the loosened strings of a violin, allowing no shrill sound to alert the neighbors. I forced myself to look the intruder straight in the face as he stood at my bedside. The sheer darkness settled in the room masking him from my view. All that was left was a strong presence. The only words I can use to describe it, PURE EVIL. It was as though I was feeling every horrible thing all at once. Deep sadness, hot anger, hopelessness, dread, fear. The sheer hopelessness alone was enough to beg for death. The fear began to suffocate me. As I struggled to breathe, throat tightening all on its own, I prayed. Please God, save my children.

My head began to buzz at the lack of oxygen. The end was surely near now. The buzzing became louder, deafening. I closed my eyes. I could feel a heaviness hovering right above my face.

“Wake up,” a deep voice rasped.

My fear was overwhelming.

“WAKE UP!” This time it was the familiar voice of my husband.

My eyes shot open to see his concerned face just above mine, his hands griping my arms so tight they ached. An agonized groan escaped my lips turning into uncontrollable sobs as he wrapped me in his warm embrace.

“It’s OK. It was just a dream.” But it hadn’t felt like it. Lingering, heavy dread saturated the room. The being’s presence was still there. I continued to sob, choking on my tears and gasping for breath.

“Shhhh. Amazing Grace how sweet the sound…. I once was lost but now I’m found…” my husband sang softly. My body began to calm as the lyrics blanketed me in ever-growing peace.

“It was just a dream,” I breathed, “just a dream.”


This was the first of two entries for FINISH THAT THOUGHT #2-44. I was double inspired by last weeks prompt. My story didn’t place but the judge did have some good things to say about it.

Presence in the Night – realmommaramblings – And here’s another of the brilliantly creepy stories this week. Reading this, I struggled to breathe, feeling that familiar suffocation of a semi-dream state. You know the dream. The one where you’re paralyzed and a shadow is hovering over you, your chest won’t expand to bring in oxygen, and then you’re falling and the ground is coming up fast and then…you’re awake. Only the vision clings to your mind, leaving you to check the closets and under beds. Nicely done. ” —Foy S. Iver