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September 2014 Short Story
Competition Winners
Ronnie DauberDirector at
Paradigm Seed Publishers, Inc.Top Contributor
This month brought in some amazing imagination,
and while all the stories were interesting there is one that caught the
attention of all the judges right away. Two others followed not too far behind,
and so this month we have three winners…….and they are:First place winner: Lake Illusion by Ken Windsor
Second place winner: Grandpa Joe by L. H. Davis
Third place winner: The Souped Up Wildcat by William Pipes
LAKE ILLUSION Ken Windsor
“There
you go, Bobby! What do you want it for? You checked it three times last week!”
The box slides along the kitchen bench towards me.
“I
want to retie a couple of those Red Butcher flies before we go out tomorrow.
Did you check the boatshed when you went down to the jetty?”
“Sure
did! I took the cover off the punt and the kayaks are still on the rack where
we put them last season. I can’t wait to get out on the lake again!”
“We’ll
have to check the outboard this afternoon and then we can get out and see if we
can find that legendary ‘big one’ eh?”
“Your
imagination runs away with you, Bobby. There’s plenty of fish out there but
there ain’t no ‘big one’!”
“Yes
there is! Remember the one Chuck lost two years ago. The one that nearly pulled
his kayak under before it broke his line?”
“I
reckon Chuck was just off balance and caught a snag that threw him. You know
how he exaggerates!”
I
return to stacking the food in the fridge. Mitch goes out to the truck, returns
with the bedrolls and throws them onto the bunks.
“It
looks like there’s a storm brewing to the west. There’s a thick line of black
clouds coming up real fast and the wind is strengthening!”
“You
go and make sure the boatshed is closed up properly, Mitch and I’ll check the
window shutters on the cottage.”
As
I walk around the west side of the cottage I am met by a window shutter
slamming back at me with tremendous force. I turn my head and put my hands up
to protect my face. The shutter slams into the side of my head and I drop to
the ground.
I
roll over onto my side and rub the side of my head. My hand is slick with
blood. I sense someone approaching.
“Hi
Bobby Winter, what are you doing? Getting yourself into trouble again?” I look up.
“Chuck!
What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be away training with the army!”
“Looks
like you need me here little brother – like always – I can’t turn my back on
you, can I?”
With
Chuck’s help, I stagger to my feet and we make our way, leaning into the wind,
around to the cottage door. Once inside, Chuck slams the door shut as I drop
into a chair at the table. Chuck takes a towel from a pile on the floor where
Mitch has dropped them. At the sink, Chuck soaks it with water and dabs at the
side of my head, washing away the blood.
“Don’t
look too bad Bobby, you’ve got a cut on your cheek and you’ll have a black eye
in the morning. Hold this towel on it ‘til the blood stops!”
“Can
you see Mitch? He went to check the boatshed.”
“Mitch
is okay. It’s you I came to see. I wanted to make sure you were all right and
let you know I’m going away.”
The
door opens and a blast of wind enters, pushing Mitch with it.
“The
boatshed is all closed up – what the devil have you been doing, Bobby?”
“I
got caught by a window shutter but Chuck helped me in here and washed it for
me.”
“Chuck?
He’s away with the army, you must have been hallucinating. Let me look at your
face.” Mitch lifts the towel and examines the cut on my cheek.
“It
looks pretty clean. You’ve done a good job.”
“But
it was Chuck, he’s here!” I look around the room. There’s no-one here but Mitch
and me.
The
radio crackles: ‘Breaking news. Another soldier has been lost in the Middle
East. Corporal Chuck Winter died today when his truck was hit by a road-side bomb.’
