Short Stories

Kingstorms: a Flash Fiction

Well hello! I hope you’ve had some time to rest, relax, and read some great books this summer. Today I’d like to share with you a flash fiction of mine! 😀

I clung to the porch railing, tears streaming down my cheeks, spilling from my shut eyes. Wild wisps of my long, sandy hair whipped at my face as the dusty wind howled and sailed through the afternoon sky. The swirling currents were like spatulas churning batter—but the gale speeding across the prairie was no flapjack.

“JONAS, WHERE ARE YOU?!” I screamed, squinting just a bit to gaze over the plains. But to no avail; my watery eyes didn’t catch any sign of him. No rhythmic hoofbeats of his horse, no scattering of gravel, no jovial shouting from down the road.

He’d been gone for over a week. Jonas had never left me alone for so long. It was just supposed to be a short trip for supplies to a town a little ways off. He needed me to watch over the farm, and we both knew I was mature enough to handle it. I was eleven, after all, and no longer just a little girl. Or at least, that’s what we thought.

Jonas had been dedicated to being there for me, and he swore to never leave for more than four days. Five days was how long it took before the bodies were found and deaths were announced, nine years ago—my parents listed among the names.

That week he broke his promise. Days five and six were hard enough. During the loss of my mother and father, he took up the role of parenting instantly. His absence left only fear, which led to a vile sickness in my stomach.

By the seventh day, I couldn’t eat a bite of food or even walk from my bedroom to the kitchen. So I crawled to the porch and laid there, leaning against the wood pole. I remained in that one position until early afternoon, just waiting for my brother.

That’s when the overwhelming signs of a kingstorm flooded the atmosphere.

In the past, people solely heard rumors about kingstorms: phenomena known only because of bedtime stories. They were tempest brought on when the sky giants—massive behemoths who resided in the clouds—were hungry and reached down to take a piece of the planet. Fingers like tornados and palms like hurricanes would descend down slowly and tear apart the earth. After days of chaos, they would give a final jerk on a chunk of nature and drag it up with them to the skies.

Nine years ago was the first appearance of a kingstorm in over a century. They took my parents. Clearly, they didn’t get enough to eat last time. This time, they might take Jonas too. It was all I could do to not faint right there.

I pulled myself up and stood on shaky legs. Musty air filtered through the cloth I wrapped around my head as I inhaled. Grasping at any courage I had left, I sprinted up the road.

JONAAAS!” I shrieked. “Where- where are you?!

Something nearing me in the distance caused me to slow down. Dread choked my throat, and my eyes grew wide despite the flying currents of sand swirling in the air. There was my big brother’s horse, Rune, galloping madly down the dirt path. Riderless.

I crumpled to the ground, clutching my chest. “Oh, no, no. . .”

Rune reached me and trotted to a stop. She kneeled down and nudged me. Impulsively, I reached to stroke her. I held her head in my hands, tears streaming freely, when I stopped dead-still. A parchment was tucked tightly into Rune’s bridle. I snatched it—relieving Rune—and rolled it open, soaking in every word.

The national army led everyone to safety in deep bunkers, forcing me to join them. You need to come now because they’re not going over there! Directions are below.

I love you, Irene. Be safe.

~ Jonas

Thanks for reading! I know it’s not very good, but hope you enjoyed it anyway. Now, go do something fun this summer day. 😁

Randoms, Short Stories

From Reign to Ice: a Short Story (Full Version)

I think you’ve waited long enough for this, and I’m excited to share the full version of from Reign to Ice with you!

Genre: Christian medieval fantasy

Content warnings: violence, killing (nothing really gory and never taken lightly), and magic? Not quite; it’s more like one superpower, I’d say. *shrug*

Word count: about 2,700 (roughly 10 pages)

I… um, I also made a cover for this. Maybe I went overboard. It’s just a short story. But the cover was fun and honed some of my graphic design ‘skills’ a bit.

Credit to Daniel Amador (hey, I know him!)

I won’t you make wait any longer, so here you go! (WordPress was weird, so I’m currently not sure why it’s shown so strangely. To actually be able to read it, just click “Download”! And I’ll try to fix it later.)

I hope you enjoy it! 😀 I couldn’t really get the cover to fit the pdf page size, but I hope you were able to overlook that. 😛 Have a great Good Friday! (And thank you, Jesus, so much for your sacrifice; it’s beyond comprehension—I’ll get more into it on the last Monday of April). May God bless this Holy Week for you!

With God’s help,

~Daniel Amador

Short Stories

From Reign to Ice (Pt. 1): a Short Story

Hellooo, friends! I have returned from my long-ish hiatus. Tomorrow (or on Wednesday) I’m going to explain the new plan for the Right Kind of Writer, but today I’d love for you all to enjoy a medieval fantasy flash-fiction piece I wrote! 🙂 It’s part one of two. I hope you like it!

From Reign to Ice

Sludge sprayed high as Russel slid down the dune. Icy cold mud splattered his armor and stung his face. When he reached the bottom, he whirled around and steel clashed with steel as an enemy descended upon him. When the foe thrust his blade forward, Russel sidestepped and he slid forward, falling face-first into the muck.

Russel leaped away to face another man. In a fiery of slashes, he brought the soldier to the ground with a bleeding wound in his side.

The young warrior looked up at the bright, grey sky and grimaced. His chest heaved as he breathed in deep. Everything was going horribly. Yes, Emperor Hadeon’s whole armory castle was wet, every open crevice brimming with water—even if much of the surrounding desert, including where the rebels hid, was drenched as well. Daegal had done a good job of keeping it raining with his supernatural water powers—that time utilizing the rain—but he didn’t have enough time to rest before Hadeon found their camp in the desert dunes.

Everything depended on Daegal having the strength to use his powers significantly one more time, but he was too exhausted from the rain. The rebel leaders intended to allow him a few days to rest, but the Emperor learned of their plan and immediately set out to mercilessly devastate it.

Russel leveled his gaze and he surveyed the dreary blend of blood, mud, and metal all around him. He then spotted his commander and ran to him.

“Russel! Why aren’t you helping guard Daegal?!” Demanded the Major, towering over him with squinted eyes.

“I’m sorry, sire, I lost him in the chaos! Where is he??”

The older warrior leaned toward his ear, whispering directions harshly. Russel took off, bating away and outrunning anyone daring to oppose him. Then he spotted Daegal being piggy-backed by a large soldier, as other rebels fought off the fierce onslaught valiantly. Running through the disarray, the young captain joined his men.

“Oh, there you are Russel! Thank the Maker you’ve returned!” Exclaimed one soldier as he deflected an enemy blow and counter-attacked. “The desert-lizards are waiting for us just over that large dune with the tree! They’re set to take off to a remote safe house, and from there the leaders will decide what to do next.”

Russel nodded gratefully to him, then turned to where the massive reptiles were hiding. It might take some time to climb up, but he had full confidence in the dune-familiar warrior who carried Daegal to make it to the top.

Russel’s heart stopped when a well-aimed arrow sped through the air and pierced the large warrior in his side. Both the young rebel and his bearer toppled down the hill: one weak, the other fully unconscious.

The young captain leaped forward, kneeled, and checked the noble soldier’s pulse. He was still alive.

“Help me, soldier! I need to get to safety!” Daegal wailed, as he desperately tried to gather enough strength to escalate the sludgy dune.

“Will you shut up, you spoiled—” Russel caught himself before he said anything worse, but his words had already landed.

“I’m sorry, Daegal. But this man risked his life you save yours! Thank the Creator he’s still alive, however, I just needed to check!” Russel knew explaining himself wouldn’t do much, but what could he do? If Daegal wasn’t vital to the mission’s success, the young captain would have deliberately avoided the nuisance-of-a-man every moment.

But they had to win. Emperor Hadeon’s monster-forge had to be destroyed. If it wasn’t, the first legion of fully-developed orcs would walk the world—and march for the Emperor’s goal of world conquest. They would stop at nothing. No, Russel couldn’t risk global safety just because of a selfish brat.

The captain jumped into action, half-dragging Daegal upwards with one arm and using the other to swipe at enemies with his sword. They were almost at the top, when suddenly a massive boulder crashed onto the dune, launching the two young men backward through the air.

The wind was knocked out of Russel’s lungs as he hit the ground hard. Everything was fuzzy for a moment. But then reality returned, bringing with it a painful headache. His whole body throbbed as he was lifted up by another soldier who had helped lighten his fall.

Russel looked around. Somehow the enemy had managed to bring a catapult into the muddy desert. Beneath the boulder atop the dune were several squashed desert-lizards. Only one small lizard remained, cowering behind the bit of brush.

Russel regained balance and rushed toward Daegal, who was curled in the muck groaning. But before he reached the youth a sharp blade ran smoothly through his stomach. It left his body as swiftly as it had pierced it, and he collapsed onto the ground. Russel’s eyes widened as looked up into the face of Emperor Hadeon. His last action was sending a desperate plea to the Maker before all breath left his lungs.

To be continued…

Thanks for reading! Keep your eyes peeled for part 2. 😀 See you tomorrow (or on Wednesday)!

With God’s help,

Daniel Amador

Short Stories

The Autumn Haven: a Short Story

Yes, I did it. I wrote a short story. Or, a flash fiction. People have told me it was more an SS, others more an FF. I personally like the idea of an SS better, so I’ll stick with that.

Anyway, I knew, to better my skill as a writer, I needed to force myself to write a short story. Then this amazing idea came to me, and I was so grateful. I also decided to really focus on “show, not tell,” because I really struggle with that. Personally, I think this story helped me so much by giving me good practice, and that was a gift from God.

Now, ladies and gentlement, I present to you. . .

The Autumn Haven

It was quiet in the small, dense forest of the big city. But so alive, to the eyes of the girl, who was quickly becoming a young woman. Goosebumps ran through her skin at every step she took in the crispy leaves. The sparkle in her deep brown eyes joined with the dance of the colorful autumn leaves in the wind.

The girl’s mind was one of revolutionary thoughts, dreams, and goals. At age fifteen-and-four-quarters in public school, she didn’t care that she had no phone, no social media, and no drama or romance, all by choice. Some called her nerdy, lonely-for-good-reason, and lame. The girl’s closest companions were her twenty seven year old youth group leader, her nine year old cousin, her three year old gold and green journal, and her ageless Savior. She turned to the glad joy settled in her soul, grateful for those she had and the forest so close to her.

The welcoming aura of the trees surrounded the youth, and she set out to climb their large branches. Lovingly slipping her worn journal into her backpack, she began to ascend. Each branch taking her closer to the sky, she continued to swing, jump, pull and push herself up. The girl’s gentle movements allowed her a closer encounter with squirrels and birds than most people. Eyes falling upon a family of blue jays chirping and flying together, they settled there and she slowed her ascension to a stop.

The girl’s thoughts drifted to family. A topic that often brought pain. Separated parents and endless arguments and fights between her older siblings caused literal migraines. Daddy on weekends and Mama on weekdays, noise clogging her ears and chaos clouding her mind, all she could do was hide behind a book, journal, textbook, or music. I miss my childhood, God, I miss when my parents were together.

Losing herself in her thoughts, the girl’s grasp loosened and she slipped, but her arms managed to wrap themselves around a thick branch. The sudden movement frightened the blue jays and they flew away. She slumped and curled up against the tree, her thick, curly black braid hanging loose and swaying in the wind.

The words of her mentor, the youth’s adult friend, entered her mind. “Crying is not a sign of weakness. As a universal way to mourn, if you don’t cry when you feel like it, it’s like discarding all the sad things in life. Don’t dwell on them, but don’t ignore them. Don’t be ashamed to cry.” Grateful for the bit of wisdom, she let it all go, and the streams of tears flowed down her cheeks.

A free leaf gently rested on her shaking shoulder, as if to soothe her. Grasping the leaf, the girl held it tightly. Surrendering the pain and her situation to her Comforter, the girl relaxed and let the leaf fly away with the breeze.

Wiping the tear stains away and flipping her braid behind her, the teenager pulled herself up and continued, feeling refreshed. The tree was tall, and perfect to climb. The girl continued, as the size of the tree limbs around her decreased. She reached up, her gloved hands grasping two different branches. As she pulled herself up, a branch pulled down her left sleeve and cut her arm. She lurched backwards, and rested on another thick tree limb. Grimacing, the teenager eyed her scar. Pulling out a napkin she had in her backpack, she wrapped it around the opening. The white cloth turned crimson quickly. Shaking her head, she put the napkin in her backpack, shook her arm, kept the sleeve up, and carried on.

The youth was stronger than given credit for. In the school—the country, for that matter—she was in, her faith and opinions were unpopular. She believed in youth rising up against low expectations, which to her meant attempting to bring her dreams to life, straying away from impure things, and using her tongue only as a weapon for good, based on what she understood from the Bible. She had taken a lot of hate, but didn’t quit what she believed in. The girl was an author and had penned several books. Her in-person voice was weak, but her written voice was louder than most. And when she ever doubted or felt like quitting, she would visit the forest. That day was one of those days.

Her muscles strained, the pieces of sky grew bigger, and the sun got brighter. Finally, she stopped climbing. She turned her gaze from the tree to the world. The forest and city knelt at her feet, so there her soul knelt at the feet of her King. Where the crisp wind and shining sun were unblocked, she talked to her Jesus.

That’s it. Thanks so much for reading! Have a great week. 🙂

With God’s help,

Daniel Amador