Feelings

Sorry guys, I will not be posting for the rest of the week due to some personal issues. I do apologize and I wish I could get something good out on the paper, but right now, I just need to focus on me and not this goal. I will be posting a longer story this weekend, as well as make up stories from the missed days.

I will be posting six stories this weekend, I swear. Maybe seven, if I don't count the longer story as one of the days.

Woof

(Photo submitted by Elias)

Okay, so this one, in my opinion, is not good. At all. I've been working on this one while I wrote the last three days worth of stories, and I just could not figure out what to write to this photograph. I came up with this, and I know it's not my best, and I know it's not very good, but I'm honestly stuck.

Have you ever heard of puppy love? I’m not talking about the childish love between two people. I’m talking about the love between a man and his dog.

The loyalty a dog gives to his or her owner is great. They would do anything to be with their owner.

They stay by their owners side, they sit in laps when everyone is sitting on the couch which is otherwise belongs to the dogs when nobody is home. They sit by the table, looking for a weak member of the family to drop down a piece of chicken or beef.

I love my dog. She’s everything I need in a friend. She is there for me when I’m down. She is there to play whenever I’m feeling happy. She’s just always there.

The only part I cannot stand is the fact that she will lick my face all the time. It’s slobbery and she doesn’t stop after just one kiss.

But I love my dog, no matter how much she slobbers, no matter how much she barks. She’s my best friend, and I know she’ll be there for me right up until the very end.

Playground

(Photo submitted by Dez)

I took a seat on the swings, wondering when she would show up. I had to talk to her, to tell her the truth. I did not think she would ever listen to me, but I had to try.

I started swinging back and forth, looking toward the gates. She should have been here by now. Where was she? As I grew higher and higher up in the air, I saw a figure standing just behind the gates.

She had arrived. I stopped the swing and stood up. I walked over to her, hoping I would not frighten her. When I was about ten feet away, she held up her hand to stop me.

She opened the gate and walked to me. She did not look at me when she came to stand in front of me. Her gaze did not leave the ground between us.

“Sam, I’m sorry,” she said, playing with her hands.

“No, Em, I should be the one who is sorry. I brought it upon myself. I never should have left you,” I said, looking at the top of her head.

“I never should have done what I did,” Emily said as she looked up for the first time. I looked her in the eyes and saw the girl I had fallen in love with. However, she was not completely herself.

I tried to take her hand, but she pulled it away as I touched her. She walked over to the tire swing and sat down. “Emily, do not speak of it again. You hurt me when you did that, and I know it is going to be very hard to try to forgive you. But, you know what? I don’t care right now. I miss you. I need you. I love you.”

She stood up, her hand still resting on the chains of the tire swing. “Sam, look, you’re an amazing guy, and I don’t think that I will ever get a chance to be with a guy like you again. You are wonderful. I miss you. But I don’t know if you can ever forgive me.”

“I can, I know I can. Just promise me you will never do it again. I love you, Em. I want to be with you.”

“Then why did you break up with me, Samuel?” she said, her soft voice grew loud and harsh.

“Because I didn’t know what else to do. I thought you would have rather been with him. Mike is my best friend. You were all over him. I thought you wanted to be with him, not me,” I said, looking into her eyes.

“Sam, I am sorry. I never want to be with Mike. He’s rude, he’s obnoxious, and he’s a real jerk. I only want to be with you.”

“Well you have a funny way of showing it,” I said. I turned toward the gate and started toward it.

I forced myself not to turn back and look at her one last time. She had cheated on me with my best friend. How could I forgive her when she was lying about it? I loved her, and she had torn out my heart.

As I got to the gate, a large force hit my back. Emily wrapped her arms around my waist, hugging me toward her.

I did not know what to do. She had come running after me. No girl had ever done that to me before. Perhaps I could forgive her, one day.

Baby Ava

(This photo was found by me)

Momma can you see me? Can you see that I am here?

The little girl, Ava, had been only two years old when the sickness took over. It was nearly a year of trips to and from the hospital before she left her family behind, embracing the “pretty lights.”

Ava could see her mother now, in fact, she was standing right beside her. Her mother was sitting beside Ava’s little bed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Momma, it’s okay. Don’t cry Momma,” Ava said, trying to put a hand on her mother’s shoulder.

No matter how hard she tried, she could not get her mother to hear her. She could not touch her mother. Ava was just a ghost now; she could not interact with her mother like she wanted to.

Ava sat in her old bed and started to cry. She missed her mother. She missed her toys.

“Momma, stop crying. Momma,” she said.

She wanted to reach out to her mother. Ava tried again to put her hand on her mother’s head. This time, when she did, her mother looked up.

“Ava, are you there?” her mother asked.

“Yes, Momma, I am here,” Ava said, patting her mothers head. If she could not hear her, Ava was sure her mother could at least feel her touch.

Ava’s mother smiled to the bed, unable to see that her daughter was sitting right in front of her. “Ava, you can let go. I will be fine. You should leave.”

Ava patted her mother’s head once more before standing up. “Okay, Momma. Goodbye Momma.”

She walked slowly to the door, looking back at her mother, who had stopped crying at her touch. Ava smiled as she saw her mother stand and speak. “Goodbye Ava.”

Moments later, Ava was in the yard. Her little white dress shone in the sunlight, even if no one was there to see her. The fall leaves did not crackle under her footsteps as they once did when she and her mother were walking into the hospital the first time.

The chill wind did not affect Ava as it once did. It was warm. It was beautiful. It was time.

Ava looked toward the woods and stepped forward. She was halfway to the end of the path of light before she turned and looked back at her house. She remembered the smile on her mother’s face when she said goodbye.

Ava smiled and looked toward the light. She stepped forward, a little girl of only three years old, ready to say goodbye.

Creature

(Photo submitted by Dez)

The creature leapt from the water and into the sky. Circling the area for a few moments, it dove down. Water washing over it, the creature was in perfect harmony with nature.

The majestic creature came up for a breath and sat upon the pond as the waves grew still. The area grew silent. The creature looked around in wonder.

It craned its long neck around and looked behind it. The little patch of grass in the middle of the vast area called the creature forward, trying to draw it in.

The creature did not listen. It wanted to stay, floating on the calm water. It looked to the air, questioning if it should go somewhere else, anywhere else.  When another creature appeared, it chose to stay, curious as to what had arrived. The smaller creature landed on the little island. It slowly made its way to join the larger creature, looking toward it in awe. The first creature saw that the newcomer was just a duck. The duck swam over beside the creature. He was dwarfed in size, much smaller than the creature.

The creature lifted up its wings; the white blanket engulfed the duck before the creature lifted itself out of the water and into the sky. It turned its black face toward the duck as it flew higher and higher, trying to find a new solitary area.

The duck watched as the large swan flew away. The duck was hoping to become as majestic as the swan one day.

Polaroid

So, I realized I did not post yesterday, and for that I am deeply sorry. I had written a story, I just forgot to post it! So, here's yesterday's story. Today's will be up later on, once I finish writing it.

(Photo submitted by Kaitlin)

I took the little black box from it’s hiding spot on the top shelf of my closet and took it outside, ready to throw the contents in the garbage bin once and for all. When I stepped outside, the bottom of the box collapsed, spilling photographs all over the yard.

This box was not the box of boyfriends past, like I had thought, it was the memories of my childhood. I remembered when my mother gave me my first Polaroid camera.

I would take pictures of the sky at different moments in the day. I would take pictures of the ground covered in fresh snow, light dew, or even the browning of the summer droughts.

The photographs told of my childhood obsessions, of nature, of colors, and of the fun shapes of the clouds.

Then there were the pictures of the world around me. I had never realized how many different places I had lived when I was younger, but each new house had a different set of pictures. It was almost surreal to me. I was glad to have kept the photos. I could look at them and remember what it was like when I was five, seven, and thirteen.

I could remember the day my mother walked out on my father and I. I took a picture of the house that day; her station wagon was not in the driveway. I remember the day my older sister went away to school. A picture of her standing in the yard, boxes surrounding her, was taken that day.

I look at the Polaroid’s and wish that I could go back to the days of innocence and childhood. My curiosity, of all things, was something that I was proud of. I had lost my sense of curiosity for some time, but now, it was only just reviving.

I searched the musky attic in search of a small box. In it, I found my old Polaroid camera. I snapped a picture of the collection that had fallen outside. I found a new box and put the photos inside.

A whole new chapter was beginning, and I wanted to capture it all.

Bait and Tackle

(Photo submitted by Emily)

The old man lived by the beach, just about fifteen feet from the water. He felt like the beach belonged to him. He had been there nearly thirty years, so why not? He had been there longer than any of the fishermen, the officers that patrol the docks, and even the statesmen that now own the beach.

Why could he not say that it was his beach? Why could he not say it was his home?

His little shack was a place that nobody dared to go near, unless they had business with the old man. Even then, they were weary. The old man did not want visitors. He would not approach them and he would seem to shoo them from his shack if anyone dared to get close enough.

When the old man died, the shack was left in its place. The police put up a “No Trespassing” sign, but did nothing else about it. No one dared to go near it, to see what the man was hiding, or what was so special that the old man would not leave his home for?

Until one day, when a young man, about twenty years old, decided he wanted to take in the shack. He went about the usual business of purchasing the house, and when he got inside his new fishing shack, he was in awe.

Nothing had been touched. A table with fishing equipment sat spread out in perfect position. A cash register sat in the corner, bait and special reels were displayed on the shelves behind it.

The young man turned and went straight for the beach. He asked the first fisherman he saw about the old man.

 
“What  was wrong with the old man?” he asked.

“Well, son, he would always come out, yelling at us. We didn’t know what he was saying, but it sounded like he wanted us to get away. He had a heavy accent, you see,” the fisherman said.

“Did you know that shack over there was a bait and tackle shop?”

“Was it really? No, I had no idea,” the fisherman seemed surprised.

Was the old man just trying to get business to his shop? The young man didn’t think the old man was trying to keep the others away, but instead bring htem into his shop.

When the young man decided to reopen the shop, he didn’t think he would get any business. Instead, it seemed as though the fisherman who had told him of the old man had talked to his fishing buddies, to see what the young man was talking about.

The fishermen weren’t afraid of the shack anymore. All they saw it as now was “Old Man’s Bait and Tackle.”

Curiosity

(Photo submitted by Mom W)

I wonder what this is? What does it do? Can I play with it?

Every single time I see my cats trying to get to something, I imagine what is going through their mind.

Why is this up here? I wonder if I can get all the way up there to investigate?

I try to stop them, and it’s never any use. They just keep jumping and grabbing what they shouldn’t. They love to get into things and eat things cats should not be eating in the first place.

I try to be mad at them, but who can really blame them? They’re curious, and they don’t know what is going on.

Besides, they’re just too cute. I can’t stay mad at them for long.

One will jump at everything, to try to get it off the counter, the table, or even the dresser. The other will wait at the bottom. Waiting for whatever the first will knock down.

What does this taste like? Can I eat it? Does it make noise?

What really goes on in the minds of my cats? Do they think about sleeping? Do they wonder what the heck I’m saying when I try to talk to them?

Do they want to cuddle, or do they want to play? Do they want to run around, or do they want to sleep?

I guess the only thing I can be sure they are thinking of is something they can speak for themselves about.

“Meow.”

The Failed Job

(Photo submitted by Steve) 

Just a note, this story is written in the point of view of the person way in the background that is barely noticeable. If you look at the UPS guy, and look higher up in the picture, you can see him/her. 

I’m going to tell you about the day I almost got caught. I say almost because not long after I completed the job, the police showed up at the scene. It was my mistake; I should not have taken the truck.

There was something on that truck that I wanted. I just had to find a way to get it without the driver noticing. I waited until he was out of the truck, a large package and that little machine. He needed a signature to leave the package.

I jumped in to the truck, which he left running, pressed the gas down hard and drove off. From the side view mirror, I could see the UPS guy had dropped the package and was now chasing after me, arms flailing as he ran up the road. I could only watch him in the mirror and laugh.

I soon realized, as I saw the real driver stop chasing after me, that I had driven right through an empty playground. I didn’t hit any of the swings or slides, but I did manage to lose control of the truck and the back end pulled me down the bank and nearly into the lake. I tried driving up the hill again, but it was no use.

As I sat in the truck, I saw a kid and his family look over at me. I had interrupted what looked like prom pictures. I laughed when I noticed that he was carrying something other than flowers. Perhaps he would be prepared for any wardrobe malfunctions. A sewing machine was definitely something I had not seen a kid in a tux carrying before. 

I jumped out of the truck and started running. The cops were already on the other side of the park, and I had to run faster. They met up with the UPS driver, and I just kept running.

When I was about a hundred feet away, I looked back. I could see the driver talking to the police in front of the truck.

All the while, I laughed, and hoped the scene would make a good background for the kid's prom pictures.

Snow

(Photo submitted by Dez)

I wondered what it would look like when I glanced out the window. My parents had told me that everything we had planned for the day would be cancelled. I didn’t understand why until they told me that it had snowed.

I looked out the window, confused as to what they were talking about. What did snow look like? I had never witnessed something like that when I was living in California. But now, now that I was living in Washington, everything, more than just the weather, had changed.

Yes, I admit, I am thirteen years old and I have never seen snow in my life, apart from what I have seen on TV.

When I looked out the window, I saw the most beautiful white scene. A blanket of white fluffy snow covered the brown grass and mud mixture from the day before, and the tree branches hung low under the weight.

I was amazed. It was everything I had ever imagined, and more. I could go outside and touch it if I wanted to; it was real to me now.

I asked my parents if I could go outside, to run around. My mother, cautious as she can be, handed me gloves, a thick jacket, rubber boots, and a warm hat. I put them on with a grin on my face and ran out into the yard. It was only a few inches, but it was enough.

I wondered what my parent’s thought of me. They watched out the kitchen window, and I could see that they were laughing. I looked at them and smiled. I bent down and picked up some snow, morphing it into a ball, like I had once seen in a movie. I threw it at the window and their laughter was more apparent.

They could not have made me any happier by bringing me here.

They didn’t know it, but I was thankful of them. I was thankful that they brought me into their house when they were staying in California for a few months for business. They didn’t know that I considered them my family already, and that I wished to forget everything else that happened before that.

My parents were going to take me to the store, to get new clothes, and stuff for my new room. They didn’t quite know what I liked, so they wanted to make sure that I got what I wanted. Then the snow hit.

As they watched me in the snow, I could tell they knew how I felt. I was happy for the first time in a long while.

Update

I was informed by a few individuals today that I must add another story to my goal. It had completely slipped my mind that it is a leap year! Therefore, instead of a final number of three hundred and sixty five stories, the number of stories I have posted will be three hundred and sixty six when I am finished. I hope you are all enjoying my stories, and I would love to hear what you have to say. If you don't want to leave a comment on the story, please email me any input that you have. I love to hear what others think of my writing, whether it's good or bad. Email me here with any questions, suggestions, or submissions for pictures!

~Amber

A Day in the Sky

(Photo submitted by Jenna W.)

Do you know what it’s like to fly? Do you know what it’s like to be bigger than the city? I do.

Last week, I was just eating my macaroni and cheese and I saw something really weird in my bowl. It looked like hot dogs, and it tasted like hot dogs. But it certainly wasn’t a hot dog.

How do I know this? Because when I woke up, I could see through the wall. I could see my brother in the bathroom. I jumped out of my little bed and I hit my head on the ceiling. It really hurt. But it was cool.

I found a piece of red stuff and tied it around my neck. I found something to help me fly better. I got a cape. I tied another piece around my eyes, and I couldn’t see.

Someone laughed behind me.

“What are you doing?” my sister asked.

“Looking for my uniform!” I screeched. I was excited to be able to fly. I didn’t have to walk anywhere anymore.

I turned to look at her. But I couldn’t see. “Where did you go?” I asked, my big boys voice growing small again.

She laughed again and took the red bandana I had around my eyes.

“Oh,” I said.

“Here, let me help you,” she said, and she went into the kitchen. She pulled out the scissors. I’m not allowed to touch those. She cut two big holes in the bandana, and cut it to look like a mask. She tied it around my face and I smiled up at her. I could see through it now!

“Now, what are you going to do with that costume?”

“It’s not a costume! It’s a uniform! And I’m going to go fly!” I said, my voice big again.

“You can’t really fly, silly,” she said, looking down at me.

“Yes I can! All because of those hot dogs!” I jumped up and stayed in the air for a long time. She looked at me funny before telling me to get back on the ground.

I didn’t listen. I wanted to fly outside, so I went through the open window in my room and I went around the entire neighborhood. It felt really cool.

Everyone on the ground was so little. They waved to me and I waved back. I saw a cat in a tree. I helped him down. I liked that cat. He let me pet him for a long time.

When I went home, I went through the window again and my sister was angry. She started to yell. I put my feet on the ground again. I wasn’t going to fly again when she was going to yell at me.

For dinner that night, we had sandwiches. Mine was peanut butter and some funny tasting jelly. I think it was strawberry, but I like the grape more.

When I went to fly after dinner, I couldn’t. I had lost all my powers. I was mad at my sister. She made it so I could never fly again.

Maybe one day I will fly again and go around the whole world in one night.

When I woke up, I remembered my whole dream. I really wanted to fly for real.

Moving Forward

(Photo submitted by Kaitlin)

We had just left Lost Angeles. Our next stop was Phoenix. My sister and I hopped into the back seat of the family car, our dad took the wheel, and Tammy, the dreaded stepmother, took shotgun.

It had been five weeks since the wedding, and Sammy and I, well we weren’t very happy with our father’s choice. Sure, Tammy was nice, but she wasn’t motherly at all. She could never take the place of our real mom, no matter how hard she tried.

Now, we were stuck with her for an entire week in the middle of the desert. If mom were still around, we wouldn’t be leaving LA at all.

All that we had left of her was a letter. We kept reading it over and over, but we couldn’t bring ourselves to find the true meaning behind her reasons for leaving the letter.

“My precious girls,” it started. We would always scoff at this line. She just up and left us when we needed her most.

It continued, “I love you two, I really do. I’m sorry that I never told you anything, and that I left when I did. You will never understand this, but at the time, I felt like I needed to.

“Christie, I need you to keep your head out and look out for your little sister. I know it’s going to be hard, but please, do it for me. Work hard and I want to be able to watch you grow up to be successful in whatever you want to do.

“Sammie, baby girl, keep smiling. I cannot bear to see you without that beautiful smile on your face. Step into the California sunshine and forget anything ever happened.

“I’ve never had to do this, and I did not want to do this in a letter, but I need to say goodbye to the two of you. Please, forgive me for leaving, and forgive me for every wrong I had ever done against the two of you.

“I love you, my precious daughters, and I hope you never forget that.”

We would read the words over and over, never understanding them. Until the day we got the call. Our father answered the phone, and dropped to his knees as he hung up the phone. Sam and I ran to his side, to see if he was all right.

“I’m alright, girls, but I’m afraid your mother is not,” he said. I looked into his eyes and saw the tears swell into droplets on his cheeks.

“What happened to mom?” Sam said, falling into place beside him.

“She’s, well, she’s not with us anymore.”

“What?” I gasped. I did not have any more words to say.

I still remember that day, nearly a year later, when I look out the window and see the cars drive by. I still hope one day it will be mom, driving up to visit us. I know it will never happen. We had Tammy now, and I guess she’s the only “mom” we have left.

I was brought back from the past by the screech of Tammy’s voice. She was going on and on about the best shops and the best restaurants. I ignored her rambling.

I looked to Sam. She was smiling. I suppose mom was right after all. We could get over this. Together.

Battle Worn

(Photo submitted by Chad)

He walked out to the bow of his ship. His head was high in the air; he was strong.  The enemy was nearing the fleet. He was not nervous. He had defeated them before, years ago. He knew his navy could defeat them again now.

The ocean was still and the sun was rising behind the clouds. The captain loved the sea at this time of day, but this was not going to be just a ride out. This war was not going to be anything like the nature of the sea.

“All right men,” he called behind him. “To be able to pass the island, we must defeat the enemy. To get to our homes, to get to our families, we must sink each one of their ships.” He turned back to look at the enemy. His men had been trained for this.

The crew became frantic as they searched for a cannon or a rifle. A few of the men standing beside him ran to the stern and shouted to the fleet. Soon, every one of his men was chanting.

“We do not fight. We kill.”

The voices were loud, and the heart of each man spoke the words as if they were lifelines. As the enemy drew closer, the chanting became silence.

The first wave hit the ship as the enemy entered the firing zone. The captain and his men could hardly keep their stances. The sea had been still all night, but the waves were now picking up. This was the beginning of a rough day.

The captain told his men to push the fleet forward. The sails were lifted and his battle ships engulfed his own. A loud noise rang out around them. A cannon fell into the sea. He looked toward the noise. His front ship had run alongside the enemy’s best. He did not know where the cannon came from. His stomach flipped as he saw smoke flowing from his ship. They had been hit.

He knew the fight would not stop until the ship had sunk, and he prayed that his men could hold out until it was the enemy that had fallen.

He closed his eyes and listened to the crashing sounds of the battle. Another cannon. This one he knew came from one of his own ships. The wood of the enemy’s ship cracked and the men grew louder. As the battle raged on, he could not tell who was firing at whom.

The voices and cannons soon grew faint. The cannons stopped. The shouting of the men halted. Only the voice of the enemy remained.

One of his men yelled up to him. He opened his eyes to see the smoke clearing from the battle.

“Captain, the enemy’s best ship, it has fallen,” the man shouted over the cannon fire.

“We have won.” It was only a whisper, but they could hear him. The captain fell on his knees and looked toward the sun, now high in the sky.

Another cannon, another enemy ship had fallen. It was even easier than the last battle, for he had trained his men well.

Aleta

(Photograph submitted by Brittany)

Okay guys, here it is, my first story post. Only three hundred and sixty four more stories to go. This one is a bit on the shorter side, but I think that it is a good length for my first post. I might add more to it eventually, when I find something that could be added, but right now, I think it's perfect.

The sky begins to turn a pale orange. I look to the sun as it begins to fall. I look around. Where am I? How long do I have to get home? Where is home?

A familiar voice calls to me. “Listen to the wind.”

My eyes close and the hustle and bustle of the city stops. Car horns and construction vehicles fall silent; the wind grows to a screeching nightmare. I take a step forward into the street.

I let the wind take me where she wants me to go. Her soft voice beckons me forward. My eyes remain closed as I walk along the city street. The voice stops and I open my eyes. In front of me, I see home.

My little tree on the bank of the pond begs me to come forward and rest in his open arms. I do not want to leave this place anymore. I step into the pond and look at the sun in the distance.

In just a few moments little tree, I tell it. I reach my arms out to my sides and lift my head to the sky. As the last light falls behind the hills, I jump out of the water and fly into my tree. My blue feathers pinch me in anger from the water that had splashed them as I leapt from the water.

I do not want to be a human anymore. I want to live in this peaceful clearing forever. I am only eight years old but I know this is what I want.

I want to live in this little tree and watch him grow until he is as big as his brothers. I want to frolic in the flowers, watching as the sisters’ dance in the wind around me.

I want to fly. I want to be this little blue bird I have grown to be. I never want to go back to my other life.

What other life? The pond looks back at me with waves of confusion.

I think. There is no other life to go back to. My mother died years ago, and I never had a father. The orphanage tries, but can never find me a family. I have tried to live life as a human; I have tried to be the good little girl.

I want to stay as a bird, I beg the sun. Will you not let me be who I want to be?

I am at peace here in my little clearing. I am alone with my tree friends, my flower family and my mother lake. Do I need the company of other birds? No, I do not think so.

I love my family of nature. When we sleep, when we play, when we live together, anything is possible. If I have to become a human again, I would only beg to return to the form of the little blue bird that I love to be.

I fall asleep in the arms of my little tree. He keeps me safe and warm, and in the morning breeze, he shakes me awake.

However, something was different as I fly from his arms to Mother Lake. As she cleans me, I look to the skies. Everything is as it was when I went to sleep. The sky is barely orange, enough light to see, but everything froze.

In my little clearing, time was still. I swim to the shore and stand in the grass.

I wait for the change.

I do not turn back into a little girl. Could it be? My wish had come true? I look to the sky again and I thank the sun for letting me stay as the little blue bird. I fly into the waiting arms of my little tree. He smiles at me. We can be together now. We can be together until the end of forever.

Mother Lake calls me to her. I splash and her laugh rolls in the waves around me. She embraces me and I feel safe.

The wind calls to me again. I can hear her speaking in the voice of my mother who had been carried away when I was but two years old.

Welcome home, she whispers. The voice fades and I am left with my friends.

Good evening,

 

Tonight I decided that I shall start a new blog, and I do believe that this is going to be a challenge for me. You see, I'm an aspiring author. However, I've never really pushed myself too hard to write. I would just write when I wanted to, and I never stuck to a schedule. Now, everything is going to change.

Starting on January 11, 2012, I will write a short story of around one thousand words a day for three hundred sixty five days straight. (Word count depends on how much homework I am given every day.) Many of these short stories will be about scenery photographs that I find, or that others submit to me. Please, if you wish to submit a photo, email me at dashofliterature@gmail.com and I will use that picture, and even give credit to the person who sent me the photo.

Comments are, of course, accepted. I may not find the time to revise the short stories before I post them, so if there are any errors, please point them out. Criticism and suggestions are highly appreciated as well. 

Well, wish me luck! The first story shall be up soon.

~Amber