<![CDATA[DEMENTED ELVES- IT'S ALL ABOUT THE STORY - Five Minute Fiction]]>Sat, 20 Aug 2022 02:02:30 -0700Weebly<![CDATA[Lost]]>Fri, 10 Jun 2022 21:40:58 GMThttp://dementedelves.net/five-minute-fiction/lostSonia glanced around at the tall trees surrounding her. Birds flittered about and chirped peaceful songs. A light breeze wafted through the leaves while sunlight filtered through the thick foliage above. She sat down on the nearby rock and placed her face in her hands. 

A young doe darted past the seated woman, followed by several rabbits, squirrels, and other small animals. Sonia lifted her head and watched the animals scurry by. Glancing in both directions, she stood up and followed the path the animals took.

The pathway narrowed until it disappeared behind a large thicket. Sonia retraced her steps to the rock, then followed a different path. She wandered deeper into the forest. The trees grew taller and closer together, choking out the sunlight.

A soft click floated down from the trees. Sonia stopped and looked up. The branches above the first three rows faded into darkness. Sonia took a few more steps. A crack echoed from the trees followed by a small ping near her feet.

A low voice rumbled from the darkness. “I would stop right there if I were you.”

Sonia stopped and looked up. “Who are you?”

“That is none of your business. The bigger question is, who are you?”

Sonia took a step back. “Why don’t you come out where I can see you?”

“That, too, is none of your business. Come to think of it, the only business you have right now is to get out of here.”

“Very well. Tell me, which way is out?”

A massive blast shook the forest. The ground shook beneath her feet. Sonia fell to the ground while a thick cloud of black smoke wafted through the trees. A tall, lanky man dropped from the trees and helped Sonia to her feet.

“Never mind that. I think it’s best you leave now.” The man stared at Sonia. “Say, you look familiar. Do I know you?”

Sonia shook her head. “I doubt that. I hardly know anyone in these parts. I just moved her a month ago.”

“No, I have seen you before.” The man circled around Sonia. He stopped and poked his finger in her direction. “I know where. You’re the one that shot Sheriff Dobbs. I saw your picture in the paper.”

Sonia looked away from the man. “I don’t know what you are talking about. I didn’t shoot anyone.”

“You did to. It was all over the news. I bet there’s a hefty reward for you.”

Sonia flinched as the man leveled a shotgun to her face. “I didn’t do it. They framed me.”

The man winked. “Sure, they did. But until I figure out what I’m going to do, you are coming with me.”
“What are you talking about?”

The man pointed the gun in the smoke’s direction. “I ain’t no friend of the Sheriff. As a matter of fact, I am happy to have him out of my hair.”

“But?”

“But I ain’t one to pass up money. I’m going to talk it over with my partner. Until then, I have a nice place to keep you out of trouble.”
Sonia sighed and followed the direction the man indicated. 




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<![CDATA[Invisible]]>Thu, 09 Jun 2022 18:23:42 GMThttp://dementedelves.net/five-minute-fiction/invisibleLights blurred on the overhead viewer. The ship shuddered and rattled. Footsteps echoed in the hallway, followed by the slamming of a door. A man shouted from behind a door and the footsteps ran back down the hall. The ship shuddered one more time, then stopped. The overhead viewer blacked out.

Montag scratched his head. He shook it a few times. The translucent ball radiated light, illuminating the small closet Montag curled up in. A distant voice penetrated his hiding place, and he quickly returned the orb to his pocket.

He waited in the darkness while the footsteps returned to the hallway outside. A voice shouted outside the closet. Montag held his breath. His face turned red, then purple. This voices outside the closet chattered on. Montag released his breath slowly.

The ship shuddered once more. The lights flickered on, and the ship lurched forward. The voice outside sighed.

“I guess old Branar fixed the engines. Alright everyone, time to get back to work.”

The people outside retreated, and the hallway became silent. Montag looked up at the overhead viewer. The lights blurred once more. He pulled out the light orb and looked around the closet. A small access port protruded from the bottom of the wall directly below the viewer. Montag pulled the cable from port and the viewer went black. He reached into the bag near his feet and pulled out a keyboard. He plugged the keyboard into the port and typed away. 

The ship stopped abruptly. An alarm sounded and Montag pulled the connector to the keyboard from the port and replaced the cable to the viewer. Several lines of text scrolled up the screen. He placed his light in his pocket, grabbed his back, and slunk into the farthest section of the closet. 

The computer’s voice roared through the sound system. “Intruder!”

Montag continued to watch the text on the screen. His eyes widened. Outside the closet, the ship’s crew ran up and down the hall. The door to the closest opened, and a man poked his head inside for a moment, then closed the door and continued down the hallway.

He tapped the wall three times. A tube descended from the ceiling and extended a microphone. Montag leaned over.

“Bulbous breakwater. Leaky faucet. Purple hydrangeas.”

“Password accepted.”

The keyboard jutted out from the wall. Montag stretched out his arms and typed away at the keyboard. A beam of light shot from the ceiling and radiated around the hidden man. Montag hit the wall three times and the microphone and keyboard disappeared.

The door opened. Montag stepped aside and waited for the crewmember to step into the closet. Montag stepped into the hall and slammed t door behind him. He locked the door and strode down the hallway past the crewmember rushing to release their companion from the closet. He paused and waited for the trapped man to be released from his closet.

The imprisoned man jumped into the hallway. “It was a ghost. I didn’t see a thing! Something just passed by me and locked me inside.” The man’s eyes widened. “Tell me you saw something?”

The others shook their heads. Montag laughed out loud. The crowd in the hall froze. The man from the closet shrieked.

“Who’s there?”

“Who do you think is here?” Montag pushed his way to the center of the group. “What’s the matter? Can’t you see me?”

The crewmembers screamed in unison and ran out of the hall. Montag strode down the hall in their direction.

“Fear of the unknown is so much easier than hiding out.” He opened the door to the bridge and stepped inside. “From here on out, we are going to do things my way.”

The captain sighed and placed his chin in his hand. “Whatever, as long as we end up at our destination, what do I care how we get there?”


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<![CDATA[In the Sewer]]>Wed, 08 Jun 2022 23:24:09 GMThttp://dementedelves.net/five-minute-fiction/in-the-sewer​The dank, rounded walls radiated noxious fumes. Solomon swung his flashlight and shone the light behind him. Water dripped from above. Solomon sighed and resumed his trek. He shuffled his feet along the narrow path above fetid water flowing through the tunnel. Rats scurried before him in all directions. 

“Stupid foreman. Why doesn’t he come down here to check things out? I don’t get paid enough for this.”

The screech of bending metal echoed through the tunnel. Solomon paused. He shivered for a moment, then continued down the passage for a few more feet. He shone his light at the ladder leading back up to the surface. Large gouges embedded in the rough metal extended into the concrete behind it. Solomon took out his phone and snapped a picture.

He ran his fingers along the grooves in the wall. “I don’t want to see what made that. That is one hell of a bite.”

A soft moan floated in the rancid air. Solomon glanced around the bend in the tunnel. A soft glow shone at the other end. Another moan emanated from inside the tunnel. Solomon pointed the flashlight at the dirty water. He scanned the stream but saw nothing.

The two-way radio in his back pocket crackled. “Find anything?”

Solomon grabbed the radio. “Oh, nothing unusual down hear. You know, stinky water, rats, odd moans, a weird glow, and something that can bite through metal and concrete. You know, the usual.”

“Sarcasm is not appreciated. Now keep searching until you find something.”

Solomon looked at the water. He closed his eyes momentarily, then opened them again. Small ripples in the water traveled from the far side of the sewer to where the burly factory worker stood. Solomon stepped back and bumped into the wall behind him. He stifled a shriek as a rat swam to the edge of the water and crawled out in front of him. 

“I’m definitely not getting paid enough for this.”

He waited for the rat to disappear into the darkness before he continued around the bend. The light at the other end intensified and Solomon shaded his eyes against the brightness. Static crackled on his radio. He paused for a moment, then took a slow step towards the light.

A loud groan echoed through the tunnel. Solomon froze. Ripples formed in the water nearby. An icy hand reached out of the water and grabbed the burly man around the ankle. Solomon screamed, dropped his radio, and bolted back through the passage, splashing through the murky water. He stopped at the ladder leading up to the surface and scrambled up through the manhole. He climbed out and jumped onto the street.

The foreman glared at the factory worker. “Well?”

Solomon handed the flashlight to his boss. “If you want to know what is down there, you go and find out. I quit!”

“You can’t quit. It’s three in the morning! Where am I going to find someone to do the job?”

Solomon walked away. “That’s your problem, not mine.”

The foreman shrieked. “You get back here and find out what is going on down there or I will have you thrown in jail!”

Solomon stopped. He turned slowly to face the other man. “Then you might as well lock me up and throw away the key, because I’m not going back there.”

The foreman glared at his employee, his face red. Solomon watched the man for a moment, then turned and disappeared into the darkness.


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<![CDATA[The Contest]]>Tue, 07 Jun 2022 18:16:51 GMThttp://dementedelves.net/five-minute-fiction/the-contest​Bertrand stood at the edge of the field. He looked up into the stands at the cheering spectators. He smiled. The camera focused on the man’s well-toned physique and flashy smile. He waved at the crowd, and they erupted in a cacophony of cheers and jeers.
He waited for the noise to die down before he looked to his left. A short, thin man with pale skin stood and shivered. Bertrand extended his hand to his opponent. 

“Name’s Bertrand. Yours?”

The frail man opened his mouth. A squeaky voice emanated from within the man.  “David.”

Bertrand laughed. “I suppose you’re a worthy opponent or you wouldn’t be here.”

David grinned. “I may not be as strong or as brave as you. I may not even be as handsome or charming as you, but I can hold my own.”

Bertrand rolled his eyes. “I hope so. It would not go well if the crowd doesn’t get what they paid for.” 

He smiled and waved at the people. The spectators roared. David looked at the man next to him, his body trembled. The sun shone down on the men, and the smaller man wiped away a drop of sweat from his forehead.

“What is taking so long? Can’t we just get this over with?”

Bertrand clinched his teeth under his grin. “All part of the show, got to make them think they’re getting their money’s worth.”

David glanced up at the crowd, then looked over at Bertrand.  “Are you kidding me?” He pointed at the people in the stands. “Did these people really pay to watch this?”

Bertrand nodded and laughed. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

“But we don’t even know what we are doing.”

Bertrand shrugged. “So?”

David sighed and looked up. High above the stadium, a small dark dot grew larger. A bright red parachute deployed from the ever-growing spot in the sky. He tapped his opponent on the shoulder and pointed up.

Bertrand shaded his eyes and turned his gaze in the direction David indicated. “Oh good, a surprise box.”

“A what?”

“You know, a surprise box. I haven’t seen one of these in a long time. I can’t wait to see what is inside.”

David stepped aside. The box glided to the ground, and the parachute covered the box. The crowd cheered. Bertrand waved to the fans, and they screamed louder. David closed his eyes. A loud screech echoed throughout the stadium, and the crowd became silent.

“Is this thing on?” the voice echoed around the venue. “Can you hear me?”

The crowd shouted in unison. “No!”

“Very well then. I want to thank you all for being here today.” The voice paused. “We have now come to the moment you all have been waiting for. Contestants, are you ready?”

Bertrand extended his thumb upward, but David shook his head. The voice boomed over the noise of the crowd.

“Then let’s get started. We will start with our returning champion. Are you ready, Mr. Vanderschoot?”

Bertrand nodded and stood next to the box. A buzzer sounded, and he pulled the parachute off of the box. He placed his hands on the lid of the box and lifted the latch. He pushed the heavy lid back and looked inside.

The voice reverberated off the walls of the stadium. “Well, tell us, Mr. Vanderschoot, what do you see?”

Bertrand scratched his head. “The box is empty.”

“Mr. Montagu, tell us, what do you see?”

David stepped up to the box. He bent over and stuck his head inside. He reached into the box and felt around in the darkness. 

Bertrand tapped him on the shoulder. “We’re waiting.”

David straightened up. He lifted his arm above his head and held a small box in his hand.  “I could see nothing, but I found this box of crayons.”

The audience became silent. David looked around. Outside the venue, a car honked while tires squealed. The sound system crackled.

“It looks like we have a new winner!”

David looked around. “What just happened?”

Bertrand clapped his opponent on the shoulder. “Looks like you won. Congratulations.”

“I don’t get it. I didn’t do anything.”

“But you did. That was the challenge. You found the box of crayons.”

David looked around. The crowd cheered loudly. He looked back at Bertrand.  “But that is stupid. Who would pay money to watch someone look in a box?”

Bertrand stepped closer and whispered into David’s ear. “Don’t ask too many questions and go with it. Enjoy the moment, for it may not come again.”]]>
<![CDATA[Scandalous]]>Sun, 10 Apr 2022 13:37:38 GMThttp://dementedelves.net/five-minute-fiction/scandalous     Ted reached out and attempted to grab the wrench from his boss’s grip. “Sir, I really think you ought to put that away.”

     Peter Perch glared at his employee. He held the tool above his head and waved it around. “Do you mean this?” 

    Ted reached for the wrench, but Peter tossed it into the air and hit the chandelier above them. They looked up at the heavy fixture above them as it swung wildly. Peter stepped aside. The chandelier fell from its mooring and crashed around Ted. 

     Peter bent over and looked at the price tag. “This place really does have the best prices.” 

     Ted rolled his eyes. “Sir, if you don’t mind, I suggest we head over to automotive. We are on a schedule.”

     Peter sighed and retrieved his wrench. “Very well, can’t go against the schedule. That would almost be criminal.”

     Ted cringed as Peter’s laugh echoed through the store. They wandered through the pet department. Peter reached out and shoved everything off the shelf and into the aisle. A young man dressed in the store’s uniform stepped forward, but backed off when Peter waved the wrench in his direction. The pair continued their trek past the baby department until they reached gardening. They turned to their left and wandered through the aisles of rakes and hoses.  They reached then end of the last aisle and stopped as a tall figure dress in a tight leotard and rubber mask crossed in front of them with a salesman following along behind.

     The man in the leotard faced Peter. “It’s too late. I already purchased the car.”

     Peter looked over at the vehicle parked ten feet from where he stood. He reached out and smashed the windshield with his wrench. 
The salesman shook his head and clapped his hands. A machine dropped from the ceiling and replaced the windshield before it disappeared into the rafters. Peter tried to smash the glass again, but this time the wrench bounced off the window.
 
     The salesman smiled. “I can get one for you, too. We can even get you one with a smokescreen for an easy getaway.”

     Peter nodded, and the salesman disappeared into the back office. Ted looked over at his boss, eyebrow raised. Peter shrugged and waited for the salesman to return. A car pulled into the showroom and an attendant popped out of the car. Peter ran over and jumped into the car. He revved the engine, rolled down the window, and glared at his assistant.

     “You were right. This place really does have everything. Now get in. We wouldn’t want to mess with the schedule.”

     Ted ran and jumped into the car. Peter put the car in drive. He rammed the vehicle in front of him and drove off through the middle of the store.

     The man in the leotard shook his head. “Do you want me to go after him?”

     The salesman laughed. “Nah, it’s okay.”

     “Seriously? That guy is like a total villain. It’s my job to stop him and protect the innocent.”

     “Well, he does own the place, so, yeah, I think we’ll be okay.” 


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<![CDATA[Master the basics]]>Sun, 24 May 2015 20:16:15 GMThttp://dementedelves.net/five-minute-fiction/master-the-basicsPicture
No one has won a race without first learning how to take the first step.  Writing is no different.  Regardless of what you are writing, the basics are very important.  If you think not the demented elves suggest you consult your editor on what he thinks about the matter.  But what are the basics in storytelling?  For the demented elves, it is grammar, spelling and word choice, and punctuation. 

Grammar is something we as children have forced upon us when we believe it isn't that important.  As storytellers, we like to excuse bad grammar because it is part of the story, but unless it is part of your dialog, bad grammar is bad grammar.  People may not speak in complete sentences, but we do read in them.  Nothing takes a person out of you story than poor sentence structure.  If one has to read a sentence more than once, you have lost your audience.  A well written sentence is key to telling a good story.

Likewise, spelling and word choice is very important.  In the experience of the demented elves, a spelling error isn't always a misspelled word.  Sometimes, a misspelled word spells another word that changes the whole sentence.  For example, the tone between respectfully and resentfully (a time when a spelling error led to a spell check error) changes the entire sentence. ( WATCH OUT FOR SPELL CHECK AND AUTO CORRECT!  These technologies are as much a hindrance as a help.)  As for word choice, know the difference between words such as then and than, effect and affect, and other commonly confused words.  Wrong word choices could make you look like you don't know what you are doing and there goes the audience, on to someone else.

Then again, one must not simply use punctuation, but must use the correct punctuation.  The demented elves once read a book with no punctuation.  To be honest, This elf never finished the book because it was too hard to read.  One could never tell if one was reading action, description, or dialog.  This made it difficult to know what was going on in the story and thus it was never finished.  While the need for punctuation is important, it should be noted that incorrect punctuation is as bad as no punctuation at all.  The wrong punctuation can change the entire meaning of the sentence just as the wrong word can.  As the internet is fond of pointing out, there is a difference between "let's eat, Mom," and "let's eat Mom."

If you have difficulty with the basics, and even if you are not, it might be in your best interest to invest in a book on grammar.  Even those well versed in grammar need to reference the rules from time to time.  The demented elves believe it is better to check than to be wrong.  A well written story is necessary for a well told story. 

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<![CDATA[Make it Your Own]]>Sat, 21 Feb 2015 18:06:42 GMThttp://dementedelves.net/five-minute-fiction/make-it-your-ownPicture
At any given time there will be any number of stories in books, on television, or on the big screen that appear to be exactly the same.  The tendency is to believe that there are those ready to steal your work.  The truth is, there are only so many story types out there.  So when one movie about vampires comes out at exactly the same time as your vampire movie, what can you do?  Simple, MAKE IT YOUR OWN.

What makes one movie stand out from another is not that it is the only zombie slaying, Bigfoot, romance, crime drama, it that when you create your story, it is your zombie slaying, Bigfoot, romance, crime drama.  When you make it your story it becomes as unique as you are.  The demented elves like to create new styles from old structures.  An example would be, when challenged to write a Haiku poem, this poet wrote it about being hung over.  Not exactly award winning material, but it brought a smile to a few faces.  This isn't always going to get you the big bucks (OK, so it will most likely never get you the big bucks), but maybe by trying something different you might find your own voice.  It is your own voice that makes or brakes your story.  Once you find your own voice, keep working on it.  The great story will sell, but first you need to find it. 

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<![CDATA[The Benefit of Throw away Writing]]>Sat, 25 Oct 2014 20:45:54 GMThttp://dementedelves.net/five-minute-fiction/the-benefit-of-throw-away-writingPicture
There is no such thing as wasted time unless you are wasting time doing something you do not enjoy or it is something you do not gain anything beneficial from.  Going to work may not be enjoyable, but the paycheck is why we continue to go.  As such, though we would rather be doing something else, the time is not wasted.

But what about when we write?  Do we only need to write things that we will use?  Is there such a thing as wasted writing?  The answer of course is a resounding NO!  There is no such thing as wasted writing.  Every single time you write, you are practicing.  That in and of itself is reason enough to participate in throw away writing, but there are many more reasons, a few of which the Demented Elves will share.  

First off, throw away writing is helpful when writer's block has set in.  When there is no pressure to write anything of value, the brain is free to force the hand to write down what it wants you to write, thus dislodging the blockage you may be experiencing.  This too is reason enough to take up throw away writing. but there are other reasons as well. 

Another example would be, if you do throw away writing on days you are not working on your projects, you will keep the habit of daily writing.  This is important.  Any writer or writing instructor worth their salt will tell you daily writing is essential.  Demented Elves contend that any writing will do, just as long as you are writing.  Even things such as this blog post counts as daily writing.  Remember the more writing you do, the better you get.  The better you get at writing, the better a story teller you become.  The better story teller you become, the better chance you have of selling your story.  And we could go on and on and on and on.... but the Demented Elves are certain you can come up with your own reasons to participate in throw away writing.  We think you get the idea.

One parting thought:  All those reasons are good reasons, but my favorite reason for doing throw away writing is... IT MAY BE SOMETHING YOU WISH TO KEEP IN THE END!

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<![CDATA[What Is Your Story?]]>Fri, 14 Mar 2014 16:45:25 GMThttp://dementedelves.net/five-minute-fiction/what-is-your-storyPicture
In the not so distant past, the demented elves reviewed a story where things just happened.  To say it plainly, there was no sense of story.  It got the elves to thinking what is the story?  What is story for that matter, and how does one create and convey that story?

Let us start with what story is not.  Story is not a sequence of events that comes to an end.  That is to say, the story is not about a man walking into a bar to have an encounter with the bartender.  It is far more complex than that.  It is about the man.  It is about what he wants.  It is about why he is entering the bar in the first place.  The encounter with the bartender is merely the vehicle for the story.

 Who your character is and wants to be is what drives your story.  In it, things happen to your character, and hasd on who he is, he responds.  Story is about change, or lack thereof, of an individual as a result of what has happened to him.  

That being said the demented elves wish to ask you, what is your story about?  Is it about a soldier who learns to love on the battlefield?  Then all your actions, responses, and conversations need to reflect your character's lack of love at the beginning and his abundance of love at the end.  Sounds easy right?  But then again, if it were easy, we would have an abundance of good stories.


On a parting note the demented elves would like to remind you of a few things.  First, story is not a bunch of random things that converge to a single point, nor is it what happens to your character until there is a conclusion.  Story is about your character's growth, or lack of growth, while all these events are happening. 


Lastly, ask yourself, what is my story about?  Then ask yourself, but what is my story really about?  Once you understand that, the rest will fall into place.




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<![CDATA[Write, Edit, Write]]>Sat, 11 Jan 2014 21:37:28 GMThttp://dementedelves.net/five-minute-fiction/write-edit-writePicture
The demented elves have now a "long standing" argument with a friend.  Perhaps it is not so much of an argument as to a different style of writing.  The demented elves contend you should just get the first draft on paper and worry about everything else until after the first draft is completed.  The friend either ignores this advice or comes up with a reason as to why he must edit as he goes.  While it is up to the author to find a writing style that works for himself, the style of getting the words on the page is the first rule no matter the style.

There are many different styles of writing.  Almost as many as there are types of documents and stories out there (maybe even more).  That said, the most important rule is to write.  Get it in the page.  The problem with editing as you write the first draft is that you are writing from the critical part of your brain and not the creative part.  Not only does this slow you down, but often it prevents you from completing your task, and thus, you never finish your story.  the demented elves ask that no matter what you are writing, please finish what you start.  You may have the next greatest story ever told, but if you do not finish, no one will enjoy your story.

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