Short Stories

A Just-So Story

A Just-So Story.png

Hi ladies! Today I am posting a Just-So story I wrote for composition class. Enjoy!

How the Elephant Got Its Trunk

Elephants used to be tall, thin, and without a trunk. They remained tall, but because of a certain elephant, elephants are now rotund and have trunks. The elephant I speak of lived in the faraway land of Panoramabolica. This elephant’s name was Tilbitambia- Gorgetarambia- Bonetalambia (animals back then had very long names, my dear), but because it is long to say, I will shorten his name to Tilbit. Now, it was a known fact back then that elephants love mango upside down cake. Unfortunately for them, elephants do not cook. The only way elephants can get their cake is by trading with or working for animals that know how to make it, such as parrots, monkeys, and lizards.

Now Tilbit loved mango upside down cake even more than the average elephant. He would work for hours just to have one bite. And when he got some, he would gobble it up before you could blink, he was so ‘rendously rapacious. He often had so much cake that the other elephants would ask him to share. The answer was, of course, no. One day, a wise old god came up with a plan to punish Tilbit, who was ‘rendously rapacious. He paid the monkeys, parrots, and lizards to make him a million mango upside down cakes. After they were done, he went to Tilbit.

“Tilbit, my friend, I have a million mango upside down cakes that I just cannot possibly eat. I know you love cake, so will you please take them?” he asked.

Tilbit’s eyes bulged, and he began quivering with excitement at the thought of the feast he would have.

“Yes, my lord! I certainly will!” Tilbit cried excitedly.

And so he did. He gobbled those cakes in a matter of minutes. He ate every one, and finally when he had finished, he was so large he could barely get up. The god came back to the sad, astonished Tilbit and said:

“Tilbit, do you see where your greed has gotten you? Now you can never bend down to drink or eat cakes again. However, because I am merciful, I will give you a trunk with which to grab food and drink water. I hope you have learned your lesson.”

And Tilbit went on his way, and he was never so ‘rendously rapacious again. He had indeed learned his lesson, although he was never as handsome as he was before.


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Beauty, Short Stories




            I entered my room and slammed the door behind me. I had a rough day at school. I thought I fit in, but apparently not. I thought I looked pretty, but I guess I’m not good enough for everyone else.  What does it matter anyway? I’m just the girl who sits in the back of the classroom, alone. Nobody pays any attention to me, so why should I even bother trying to prove myself good enough for those kids? If they don’t like me as I am, then I shouldn’t have anything to do with them. Yet, my heart longs to.

            I walk over to the full-length mirror hung on the wall.   I see a girl. A girl of the age fourteen, her auburn hair in a messy bun, her sea green eyes on the verge of tears. I know she’s asked God so many times in her life why can’t she be excepted? Must she put on a mask and be someone nothing like herself to fit in? To be excepted by her peers? Or was fitting in or being excepted by the world around her even that important? No. She knew it wasn’t.

That girl in the mirror, that girl is who I am. That’s my reflection. When will my reflection show who I am inside? It doesn’t matter about the outside. I guess I try too hard to be different, to be nothing like my normal self. I try so hard to be like other people in my society I am ignoring who God is calling me to be. He wants me to be who he intended me to be. He wants me to be myself. No matter how hard I try I’ll never be able to be somebody else. I can put on all of the makeup, I can dress the way they dress, I can talk and act like them, but I could never be someone other then me. Myself. I need to be who God has called me to be.

I need to put aside all thoughts I ever had of how to fit in, or how I can be excepted. For I already am, by God. By my creator and my Savior. The one who made the stars. The one who already has my life planned out. The one who guides my every step. Now, it’s my choice as to whether or not I am going to listen and except his guidance and instruction. I say yes. Yes, I’ll listen to You, God.

I don’t need the world and the things and the people in it to make me feel happy, or excepted. I need you, God. For you love me just as I am. I don’t need to be like anyone else but me. That girl in the mirror, she’s just my reflection. Not who I am inside.


I wrote this a little while ago.  It kind of reflects on the post I did a little bit ago, Verse of the Week, 1/3/17.  It was on the verse Proverbs 31:30.  I feel that in this day and age, in society so many girls (and guys alike) feel the need to have to fit in.  As long as they’re looking cool and hanging with the “in” crowd it’s all good.  But no, it’s not.  Who cares about fitting in or being excepted by the people around us, when we’re already excepted by God?  As the quote goes, “I would rather stand with God and be judged by the world, then stand with the world and be judged by God”(Unknown).  Like I’ve said before, it’s all about the heart.  Make sure you’re right with God before anything else. He’s the real judge.

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Short Stories

A Shattered Heart


Hello, friends! Today I have for you, another short story. I would have posted something different, but this past week I was on vacation and did not have the time to come up with something else to post.  Here you go!


(^^here is a pic I found that inspired me to write this story^^)

~ A Shattered Heart ~

She walked through the tall grass of the large open field, the wind tugging at her hair. The faded dried flowers that were intertwined in her long brown hair began to disintegrate. Her long tattered wedding dress flowed behind her. The sun beat down on her, tanning her pale skin, and she carried in her hands a single red rose. The thorns stung her hands, but she seemed not to notice it. Her face was red, not only from the hot sun but also from all of the salty tears that frequently ran down her face.

Flashbacks began to play in her mind. She began thinking of the time she had been in the grand ballroom of her home. She was dancing in her fiancé’s arms. Roses were placed everywhere, for it was the flower of love. That’s what Charlie had told her. She was in her wedding gown and he was dressed in his finest. It was the day of the wedding.

“My darling,” Charlie whispered in her ear as they continued to dance. “You know the place where we first met?” he asked her.

“Of course. How could I forget?” the young lady replied.

“On our anniversary every year I want us to place a rose on the platform at the back of the room, to symbolize our love for each other,” he told her.

“I will gladly go with you every year to place the flower of love at our favorite spot,” the girl responded happily.

Charlie smiled. “Wonderful!” he exclaimed. He spun her around and around until it was finally time for them to leave to go to the Church for their wedding ceremony.

The young lady quit imagining at that moment. She came to a wooded area near the end of the field. Not far into the green forest stood a rather old building. It was made all of stone, and there was an iron gate that stood in front of it. The lady’s trembling hands flipped open the latch that kept the gate locked. She entered through the gate and walked down the dirt path that led to the giant double doors of the stone structure. She knocked, using the rusted doorknocker. No one came to open the door for her. She stood for a moment waiting.

“Ah, he must be running late,” she said aloud. Instead of waiting for someone to come to the door she quickly opened it and walked straight to the back of the front room. On the back wall stood a white wood plank set in between two large marble pillars. On the plank laid a rose. A dead rose. Its petals were wilted and the stem looked crumbled. The girl stared at the perfectly new rose that she had brought with her. She lifted it to her nose breathing in its significant scent.

She began to imagine again, of the time when she stood at the altar on her wedding day. Her hands held in her lover’s. They had each said their vows. Just as Charlie finished saying the words “I do,” the priest announced, “You may kiss the bride!” Charlie wrapped his arms around his girl and pressed his lips to hers. They finished their kiss and ran out of the church. Everyone was applauding and cheering as they left hand in hand.

They made their way to the woods. There stood an old stone structure. They entered it and at the far end of the room stood a white wood plank placed between two marble pillars. Charlie laid the rose he had brought with him down on the wood plank. He stared at his beautiful wife for a moment. He was about to kiss her again when all of the sudden horrible noises could be heard. Dogs were barking and yelling could be heard. A gun fired. The lady glanced at her husband nervously wondering what they should do.

“Stay here,” said Charlie as he kissed her and then turned and left.

“No!” the girl shouted. She bit her lip. Another gun fired. This time she heard a man yell in pain. As quick as a flash she darted out of the stone structure. On the dirt path she stood on, also laid her husband’s dead body.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a man’s voice. “Elaine,” the man said. She quickly picked up the dead rose, and exchanged it with the new one. “Leave,” the lady told him harshly. The man walked towards her.

“Elaine,” he said yet again as he grasped her by the arm.

“Let go of me!” she shrieked as she yanked her arm free from his grasp.

“What are you doing here?” the man asked with concern in his voice. “Whatever do you mean?” asked Elaine.

“I am simply replacing the old rose with a new one just like I do every year on Charlie and I’s anniversary,” she told him.

“Elaine, Charlie is dead. There is no point in you doing this-,” the man was interrupted.

“Stop that foolish talk! Of course he’s not dead!” Elaine shouted at him. She wrapped her arms around her trembling body, trying to comfort herself. “He just wasn’t able to come with me today that’s all. He was just held up at work,” she explained. The man let out a long sigh.

“When will you quit this ritual?” he asked her. “Charlie has been dead three years now. It is time for you to move on.”

Elaine looked at him with fire in her eyes. “Never! You do not know what you speak of. Charlie is not dead, he is just simply late,” she said quietly.

“Three years too late,” the man muttered under his breath. Tears formed in Elaine’s distant green eyes. She quickly blinked them away.

“I must go now,” she said as she walked towards the large doors with the wilted rose in her hands. “Charlie will be expecting dinner to be ready when he gets home! I must tell the servants to start preparing it,” she said cheerily as she walked out the doors.

“Wait,” said the man. Elaine turned around to face him. “You must know that whatever you believe, I will always be here for you,” he told her.

“How thoughtful of you Mr. Hill. But I assure you my Charlie is there for me. I need no one else.” Elaine walked out the door.

Mr. Hill stood there in silence. He then turned to look at the rose. “She’ll never see past the reality that is blinding her. Her heart is shattered, and she can bear no more of it. But she cannot seem to let go of the past, and still feels as if he is right there with her,” Mr. Hill said this to himself. He looked one more time at the red rose that sat on the platform. Then he walked away in silence from the stone structure and knew he would never again return.


What did you think? I know there are some unanswered questions, but, I am just too lazy to add anymore to this story.  Any feedback you have for me would be greatly appreciated!

Have a great week, ladies!

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Courage, Short Stories

Going Home


Hello, ladies! Today I have for you, a short story I wrote a little while ago.  I hope you enjoy!

Going Home

The large set of wood doors opened and two soldiers pushed a girl through the doors. Her arms were tied behind her back and her dark brown curly hair was knotty and wet. She was soaked to the skin and her long grey dress was wet and muddy from the rain. The soldiers led her through the grand foyer of the castle. There were marble floors and dark stonewalls. Chandeliers were hung up high from the cathedral ceiling. There were no windows, which made the room feel dark.

She was led into the throne room. There sat the King on his throne, his long, red velvet robe covered the steps before him. His white fur collar covered his long neck and the gold crown studded with jewels was placed ever so neatly on his head. He wore a gaudy looking ring on each finger and necklaces of gold and silver hung around his neck. His black glove covered hands gripped the arms of his tall throne.

“So,” the King began, in his deep and dark voice. The soldiers flung the girl to the floor. Still, she held her head up high. “I hear you have decided not to bow to your king,” the wicked king said sternly.

“That’s right,” replied the girl courageously.

“Do you know what the punishment is if you do not bow to me?” the King asked in all of his might.

“Death,” said the girl abruptly. “Kill me if you must, but I shall not bow to a king who wears a crown studded with jewels of every life he has ended,” the girl said fiercely. The King grew angry. “For me to live is Christ, to die is gain,” the young girl said quoting Philippians 1:21. “I shall not bow to a king who refuses God. I would rather die for Christ then live for the devil.” As the girl spoke those words the king continued to grow angrier and angrier.

“Then you shall face punishment by law!” the King exclaimed. “You will be hung for treachery towards your king!” he shouted.

The King stood up and walked towards the girl. He pulled out his sword and lifted the blade under her chin. “You will die a cruel death. Mark my words,” the King said under his breath. He slid his sword back into its sheath then walked back over to his throne. As he sat in his seat, he made sure his long robe fell in just the right place.

“Tomorrow, at dawn, Aerial Monington shall hang.” As the king said this, the guards took Aerial by her arms and lifted her to her feet. With her head still high, she walked out of the throne room and the two soldiers took her to the dungeon where she would stay until dawn of the next morning.

She lay awake all night that night, praying to God. She stayed faithful to him even when she knew she would be killed for it. But she wasn’t afraid to die. She would be going home. Home to Jesus, and that’s all that mattered to her, everlasting life with Christ.

The next morning came and the soldiers took Aerial out of the dungeon and to the hanging tree outside of the castle. Lot’s of people stood nearby. The king sat comfortably, waiting to watch the girl die.

The soldiers looped the rope around Aerial’s neck. She stood there, fearlessly looking straight ahead. She closed her eyes and began to pray. She started to pray out loud to where everyone could hear her. The people were amazed at her faith. She wasn’t scared to die. Her time had come, and she was ready. There she hung, and the people cried as they watched. Aerial didn’t stop praying.

“Precious Lord, Jesus, I am yours. I am ready. Take me home.” She breathed her last and was finally going home.


I hope you enjoyed this!

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