Week 1 Wrap-Up

Hey everyone! Winter here. I just polished up my story this morning for Trisha's prompt - the truth behind the smile. I'm excited to post, and even more excited to see what you guys have come up with. =]

Thanks for a great first week! It was great fun reading all of your responses to my prompt. I hope your New Year is going great and those creative juices are continuing to flow.

Remember - if you'd like us to post your story on Saturday or Sunday, you can email it to us at chrysalisexperiment@gmail.com, or just post it on your blog and let us know. Remember to write us a disclaimer if it's graphically sexual or violent.

And to anyone who's new to the page - remember, you can join the experiment at any time, if you'd like. Just drop us an email.

Oh, and I just wanted to let everyone know - there's no pressure to use the actual prompt in your story. If it fits in, that's great, but you don't specifically have to say the phrase, "the truth behind the smile" or "I hate polite people. Especially when they're murderers." Just jumping off/inspiration points, really. :D

That's it for now. See you tomorrow, Experimenters!

Winter's Story Pick, Week #1

Hey Experimenters! I've picked Brooke's story to post for this week, since it nicely contrasts the other two posted. And, as Trisha stated, all of them were great. Such a pleasure to read, and I hope people enjoyed my crazy prompt. >=D

New prompt tomorrow! Get pumped.

And without further ado:



I had never particularly liked the old man. Still, I liked him more than the suit who stood across the body from me. He wore a hat so I couldn't see his eyes to know if they were looking at me or the crumpled heap of a man.

Glancing down at the beggar, I noticed his eyes, small white orbs. Dead to the world, but I could not help the feeling that they were staring at me. To divert myself from this fearful thought, I wondered exactly what would be done with him. A dead body, even one belonging to a homeless person, would attract attention. The murderer seemed to be thinking along the same lines, for he bent and extracted his knife from the corpse.

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket with a flourish and wiped off the blood with one swoop. The knife was then carefully restored into his coat and a lighter withdrawn. He set the handkerchief ablaze, watching it crumble to ash. Strangely, not one speck was left on his startling white gloves.

Trisha's story pick, week #1

Hi everyone. It's Saturday night in Aus (Saturday morning for most of you, probably), so I'm going to take my turn this week posting one of the stories that was written in response to week one's prompt. That's how it works, you see. One of us posts the prompt, and another posts her story on Friday. Then the remaining two of us get to choose a story from amongst our participants' works to feature.

The only problem I had this week is that I've read the three stories by you guys that have been submitted so far, and I've loved every single one of them! They're all pretty different, but each special in its way, and you've all done some beautiful writing. Still, a girl's gotta make a choice, and so I've chosen the following, written by test rat Michael. You can also find it on his own blog, here.

So, without further ado, here it is!

Lady Wagnerian vs. The Sporkster

Police Officer Troy Donahue believed he was prepared for anything. He had, after all, survived the Zombie Penguin Apocalypse that had nearly destroyed Edison City last spring. He had also faced down two robot spiders and a mutant chihuahua during Mr. Zookeeper’s recent rampage. He had punched out fourteen clones, narrowly dodged twelve disintegration rays and a psycho-beam or two, and survived the latest round of departmental layoffs. As such, Officer Donahue felt convinced that he could handle anything the city’s various supervillains could throw at him. Even as he stood next to his police car on the interstate, calmly observing the traffic jam that stretched for miles into the distance, he kept his eyes open for menacing gliders or sudden unusual explosions. The only thing he never would have expected was a polite question.

The Thank You Note

Christó was the baby, the last before Papá left, and Mamá loved him best for it. I used to hate him; he was so spoiled. Whenever he did something, I was the one who got yelled at. His share of the fault was paid to him in candy.

But I don’t hate him anymore. I can never hate him again.

The only thing Mamá asked me to do the Friday before Easter was check the mail. Although she still didn’t feel like it, she went to the salon with Tió León. The whole family would be there, even my cousins, Yessie and Licette, got the day off from Our Lady of Refuge. It was good day for business, but a bad day for carrying their blame. So I pleaded sick and stayed home.

The mailman came at one o’clock. I was still in bed. That’s the only place I wanted to be since Palm Sunday. Not that I got any sleep. Too many things kept me awake, but mostly this: I told Mamá that Christó was getting too big. He was only eleven, but he looked fourteen or fifteen because he was so tall and fat. It was a bad idea to let him shave his head like some cholo and allow him to call everyone ese. You don’t see me dressing like a . . . you know. If I were a boy, I would never leave the house in anything but a priest’s habit.

There was no room for us in the house. Tió León did the best he could for his family, but with his own two girls plus his wife’s mother and younger brothers living here too, the only place left for us was a converted camper shell in the backyard. It wasn’t so bad—not cold or dirty or anything—just small, ugly and inconvenient. I had to go into the house to use the bathroom or get a drink of water. And now I had to go into the house to get the mail.

I didn’t bother to change out of my pajamas. I would just be going back to bed anyway.

PROMPT NUMBER ONE

Write a short story of 1,000-10,000 words based on the following:
"I hate polite people. Especially when they're murderers."

See you Friday! Best of luck.