Our Last Witch


That does look delicious. =P

Here arrives another storyling for the Monday’s Minute Challenge! This one follows the story of Hansel and Gretel after they killed their first witch. Ashamedly I admit to having to read the story here, just for a quick brush-up, but that’s only because I’d read it once when I was a kid, so give me a break. =P The word count is 297 and I used the prompt:

  • Write a passage either incorporating or based on this phrase: “I told you we shouldn’t have done that.”


Ever since Gretel and I had decided on this old witch, I’d had a bad feeling about the whole plan. We didn’t lack experience, no, Gretel and I had killed many more witches in their ovens since our first, but this one felt different.

“Stop worrying,” Gretel admonished me.

Not wanting to seem afraid, I said, “I’m not. I was just thinking about Father.”

Gretel sniffled, and I feared that I might’ve upset her about Father’s death again, so, trying to brighten us both up, I whispered conspiratorially, “Do you think she’ll be as rich as our first?”

“They’re never as rich as our first,” Gretel complained, and wiped her nose.

With similar quiet discussion, we eventually came to the house in the woods.

“Does it look familiar?” I asked Gretel.

She ignored my paranoia and broke off a piece from the window.

No sooner had I snagged a piece off the roof than a voice said, “Nibble, nibble, gnaw, who is nibbling at my little house?”

In the unison of months of practice, Gretel and I replied, “The wind, the wind, the heaven-born wind.”

Then the door opened and an aged woman appeared. She smiled a smile full of missing teeth and invited us inside. We followed her like good little children. The door shut abruptly behind us, but this was normal.

We sat down in the offered chairs and started gobbling up the food she laid on the table. Abruptly I straightened, feeling my eyelids droop. Gretel looked at me, her eyes already half closed. The woman stood in the corner, smiling at us, and I realized what I had seen before. This was the witch’s sister.

My last words were, “I told you we shouldn’t have done that.” Then I fell over, unconscious.

Tours yruly


Random Theme Writing Competition (08/18/15-09/01/15)

Random Theme Writing Competition


The Random Theme Writing Competition is designed to challenge writers to take a randomly created theme and compress it down into a piece three hundred to fifteen hundred words long. Here, accurate portrayal of the chosen theme is the target, and creative storytelling is the key. This competition is designed to broaden your frontiers as a writer, training you to accurately and powerfully portray the theme of your choice. One thousand five hundred words is not a lot of material to work with, and your skill as a writer will shine through if you are successful in driving the theme home. Go ahead, give it a try!


  1. Entries must be submitted between the dates 08/18/2015 and 09/01/2015. Later entries will not be accepted.
  2. Judging starts 09/01/2015 and may take up to four weeks to process, though ideally it will be finished sooner.
  3. Entries must be 300-1500 words long.
  4. Up to three entries may be submitted per person, and no more than one per theme can be entered.
  5. Make sure to state what theme you chose.
  6. Stick to the theme you picked, but don’t be afraid to experiment.
  7. All entires should be fictional, with no copyright infringements or references to real life.
  8. Keep mature content to a minimum, and if any is present, I will use my discretion to determine its suitability.
  9. Have fun!


  1. Love sometimes is misunderstood
  2. Power completely takes over
  3. Loyalty often becomes its opposite

Themes were generated by WritingFix.


Submissions will be judged by the brilliant Anna over at her blog, AMBient, and myself.

Once you have submitted your entry, why don’t you go and check out other people’s entries and give them some support? I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.


First place: Choice of five featured posts on my blog, one every two weeks; detailed look-through, review, and critique of any WIP/finished work under fifty thousand words*; choice of three smaller posts, under two thousand words, for a read-through and critique

Second place: Choice of three featured posts on my blog, one every two weeks; look-through, review, and critique of any WIP/finished work under twenty-five thousand words**; choice of three smaller posts, under two thousand words, for a read-through and critique

Third place: Choice of one featured post on my blog; choice of three posts under two thousand words for a read-through and critique

Honorable mentions***

*Review remains valid for up to two months after judging is complete. Feedback will be returned two to three weeks after WIP/finished work has been sent. If winner wishes, I can write a review/teaser and post it on my blog.

**Review remains valid up to a month after judging is complete. Feedback will be returned one to two weeks after WIP/finished work has been sent. If winner wishes, I can write a review/teaser and post it on my blog.

***Honorable mentions may or may not happen, depending on how many submissions I get.


Give me feedback on what you thought!

Thanks for participating! I look forward to reading your entries.

Tours yruly

This Is Simply Ridiculous…

Wow. My first time participating too...

Wow. My first time participating too…

Well, I participated in the Character Creation Contest a few days ago with this little storyling here. And guess what? I won! Amazing! XP Here is the score I received:

Creativity: 8/10

Intriguingness: 9/10

Development: 7/10

Total: 24/30

So eh, I’m not perfect. 24/30*100 = 24/3*10 = 8*10 = 80. So I got a very low B. Really not the best score now is it?

Tours yruly

Out with the Old, in with the New

Contests! =D

Contests! =D

You know how sometimes you watch a movie or a video and you just have to write? Yeah. That happened to me. Martial arts movies are influential I guess. =P Anyway, this is a post for this character contest over here. Basically we’re supposed to create characters from three pictures. I just chose one, the first one, which you can see below, and wrote a short little piece. Enjoy. 🙂

Yep. He's old. =P

Yep. He’s old. =P

Every wrinkle on his face spoke of an event in the past that had left a scar. Everything that had happened to him left a permanent mark nothing could erase. Though visibly aged, his eyes were bright and piercing, never having lost their powerful gaze. The older, the wiser, the saying goes. He was definitely wiser than when he had first begun. Approaching his mid-seventies, one might have thought him weak and feeble, but that was not the case. As he sat now, on the stool, legs tucked under him in a kneeling position, he reflected on how all his years of experience had come down to this: the last fight. How many of these had he had? How many students?

The room he was in was a simple rectangle, not very large, but accommodating enough for two people, and that was all he needed. His thoughts were broken by a clatter on the steps outside, and a young woman burst through the door. She wore loose and comfortable clothing, and her lithe body spoke of regular athleticism. Stopping short, she gently closed the door behind her, faced the only other occupant in the room, and bowed.

“Your haste will get you killed, Maria,” the old man said, rising to his feet.

“I’m sorry, master. I will pay more attention to that in the future. Are you ready?”

He inclined his head, then raised his fists. She mirrored the movement, and they circled the stool at the center of the room.

Anyone looking at the two might have thought that they were horribly matched. The man was two inches shorter than his opponent, and she was much younger and stronger than him. But he had been teaching her for five years now, and she had learnt long ago the diminutive man facing her packed a lot more punch than one would think.

Lightly she pushed off the ground and landed on the squat, three legged stool. One minute on the stool without touching the ground, that is what she had to do to qualify. Quietly, her opponent flipped an hourglass, then without warning lashed out with his foot.

Though not expecting it, she recovered quickly, grabbing his leg as she nearly lost her balance. Returning his kick with one of her own, she managed to regain equilibrium, and took on a defensive stance. He started moving around her, slowly, deliberately, gauging her position carefully. It was satisfactory to see that his pupil had learned well, but just how well he was about to find out.

With the height advantage, she would have to use her legs more, and that is exactly what she did. He stepped forward, and in an instant she swung out, her foot flying towards his head. Ducking, he stepped close and directed a fist at her midsection. She crouched slightly and blocked with her elbow. From her position, she launched a punch at his head which he deflected.

Being inside her blocking circle now, he started to wrap a leg around her leg in an effort to take her down. This was the tenth match they had had in a month though, and having wised up, she twisted, pulling her leg free. With her right leg now in the air, and her left leg standing unprotected, she was in a dangerous position. He noticed this, and prepared to take advantage.

Brow wrinkling and eyes focusing, he predicted her next move, and true enough, she hopped off her left foot, replacing it with her right, and directed a kick at his midsection. He blocked, grabbing her foot, and pulled. She came down all the way, doing a full split between him and his hands, and the stool. The wave of defeat that coursed through her at this was unmistakable. All he had to do was drop her foot, and that would be it.

He dropped her foot. Sighing, she dismounted from her perch on the stool and bowed. He bowed back fully. This threw her off guard; he never bowed back. Before she could say anything, he looked up, smiling gently, and spoke, in an old, weathered voice:

“One minute and eleven seconds. Impressive. Welcome, Sho Maria, to the Qurin.”

Her jaw fell open, and she gulped at his use of the title. One minute and eleven seconds? Impossible. He saw her surprise, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he laughed.

Tours yruly


I don't have to comment on every one of these you know...

I don’t have to comment on every one of these you know…

Alright, you guys are gonna read this and ask me, “Michael, when are you ever going to write something happy?” The answer to that is when I feel like it. XP Don’t worry, i’m really not a depressed psychopath as much as I may seem like it. =P Also, the name of this poem is deceiving if you haven’t known me for a while. “Together”, you see how that sounds happy? That means it’s sad. XD

Anyway, believe it or not, this poem is actually another entry for the Monday’s Minute Challenge. Don’t ask me if doing a poem is allowed because I don’t know. I just felt like doing a poem and saw nothing against it. I used the prompt where I had to use three words: spoons, tears, and sunflowers. I don’t know how well this one is going to do, since it isn’t the kind of thing I usually submit for the Monday’s Minute Challenge, but we’ll see. Enjoy my sad poem. =P

Silver spoons reflect a tear-stained face
Sunflower-covered dress fringed with lace
Elegant step lost all of its grace
Fleeting glimpse; a figure running to that secret place

Lightning flashes brightly overhead
Rumbling thunder wakes a little boy from his bed
The figure falls and vision flashes red
No energy left to move, curls up instead

Crimson stains stain the sunflowers on the dress
A hunter’s arrow left its bow and in the figure it rests
Cries out; worn hand scrabbles and grasps
Figure rolls over and grips the arrow in its chest

Baying hounds run, leading flickering torchlight
He had promised her everything would be alright
Lids droop shut over tears; eyes losing their sight
Then over her crumpled body he stands, ready to fight

Sword flashing, glinting with torchlight and fire
Many fall to the blade, but he starts to tire
More press in, and the situation grows dire
Down he goes with his final foe in flame and fire

She uncurls and lies back; she’s run the race
Arrow falls from the sunflower dress fringed with lace
Her hand grabs his as her eyes see his ashen face
Together they died in their secret place

Believe it or not, I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve written a poem that tells a story.

Tours yruly