Ruff Day Day on the Throne Contest Winners
The Map by Alanna Robertson-Webb
Joel shivered, a chill scratching down his spine as he slumped deeper into his armchair. The isolation was getting to him, especially now that it was the weekend, and the painful ticking of the clock reminded him that he couldn't meet with his friends for Dungeons and Dragons.
His yellow dice, normally so cheery, glared balefully at him from atop his copy of the Player's Handbook. He sighed, opting to drag himself into the kitchen rather than stay in the living room. In the hallway the schlip-shlop of his worn slippers was interrupted by the jarring screech of his doorbell, and he halted mid-step.
"Hello…? Who's there?"
No response.
After a moment the insistent ding sounded again, followed by a light thunk. In the time it took Joel to shuffle to the door and draw back the chain his mystery guest had vanished, but leaning against the doorframe was a cardboard tube.
With a furtive glance he picked it up, ushering the mysterious package inside. It was plain brown, about the size of a paper towel roll, and there was no tag or note of any sort attached to it. Joel turned the narrow tube in a slow circle, contemplating who would have brought it to him.
Someone from his DND group? Nah, any of them would have texted first.
His mom? Not likely, she wouldn't have driven two hours to give him a gift without expecting him to feed her dinner.
His neighbors? Nope. The Hudsons were elderly, and they were both terrified of leaving their apartment while the stay-at-home order was in place.
That left...no one.
Joel took the mystery gift to his bedroom, then promptly spent the next several minutes rummaging through his junk drawer for a box-cutter. With it in hand he slowly sliced lengthwise along the tube, careful not to harm the contents.
It was a hand-drawn map.
Scrawled across the top in purple crayon was the directive 'Find the treasure!', followed by a trio of smiley faces. The X on the map was a local park, about a five-minute drive away, and Joel's dour frown broke into a grin when he recognized the handwriting.
Swapping his slippers for sneakers he left his apartment, arriving at the tiny park soon after. There, on the only bench, was a large box with his name on it. Joel opened it, and inside was a myriad of gifts. A tear trickled down his cheek, mingling with the grin on his face. His DND group knew how badly his depression was getting to him, and each one had contributed a piece to the surprise to show their support.
Homemade peanut butter cookies from Tony, a set of forest-green dice from Derrik, the book Tailchaser's Song by Tad Williams from Angelica and a Dragon Ball Z bookmark from James.
He had the best friends anyone could ask for, and they were going to get through this crazy time together.
His yellow dice, normally so cheery, glared balefully at him from atop his copy of the Player's Handbook. He sighed, opting to drag himself into the kitchen rather than stay in the living room. In the hallway the schlip-shlop of his worn slippers was interrupted by the jarring screech of his doorbell, and he halted mid-step.
"Hello…? Who's there?"
No response.
After a moment the insistent ding sounded again, followed by a light thunk. In the time it took Joel to shuffle to the door and draw back the chain his mystery guest had vanished, but leaning against the doorframe was a cardboard tube.
With a furtive glance he picked it up, ushering the mysterious package inside. It was plain brown, about the size of a paper towel roll, and there was no tag or note of any sort attached to it. Joel turned the narrow tube in a slow circle, contemplating who would have brought it to him.
Someone from his DND group? Nah, any of them would have texted first.
His mom? Not likely, she wouldn't have driven two hours to give him a gift without expecting him to feed her dinner.
His neighbors? Nope. The Hudsons were elderly, and they were both terrified of leaving their apartment while the stay-at-home order was in place.
That left...no one.
Joel took the mystery gift to his bedroom, then promptly spent the next several minutes rummaging through his junk drawer for a box-cutter. With it in hand he slowly sliced lengthwise along the tube, careful not to harm the contents.
It was a hand-drawn map.
Scrawled across the top in purple crayon was the directive 'Find the treasure!', followed by a trio of smiley faces. The X on the map was a local park, about a five-minute drive away, and Joel's dour frown broke into a grin when he recognized the handwriting.
Swapping his slippers for sneakers he left his apartment, arriving at the tiny park soon after. There, on the only bench, was a large box with his name on it. Joel opened it, and inside was a myriad of gifts. A tear trickled down his cheek, mingling with the grin on his face. His DND group knew how badly his depression was getting to him, and each one had contributed a piece to the surprise to show their support.
Homemade peanut butter cookies from Tony, a set of forest-green dice from Derrik, the book Tailchaser's Song by Tad Williams from Angelica and a Dragon Ball Z bookmark from James.
He had the best friends anyone could ask for, and they were going to get through this crazy time together.
I Guess They Don't by Greg Beatty
Allan hadn't seen his neighbor Mr. Flanagan since he left for college. More to the point, neither had he seen Sarah Flanagan. Growing up next door to one another, Allan and Sarah had attended the same preschool, same elementary, same etc., until they chose different colleges. When they did, Allan felt like he'd missed his chance to ask Sarah out, or in, or something.
So, when Allan was home for Thanksgiving and stepped onto the porch for a pre-pumpkin pie breath of fresh air and saw Sarah standing on her porch, arms crossed, as Mr. Flanagan hustled out to the mailbox, he thought, this is my chance!
"Whatcha got there, sir?" Allan called, in genuine but amplified holiday cheer.
If anything, Mr. Flanagan was in even better spirits. "Why I don't have the slightest idea, Al. Not the slightest."
He paused, halfway up the steps, and started tearing at the clumsy packaging. He clawed at the three layers of tape with nails that hadn't been cut or cleaned in a while, and was about to go after them with his dentures when his daughter handed him an oversized set of safety scissors.
"Man, you were ready. Was he expecting this for a while, Sarah? Say, how was State?"
Sarah shrugged. "Classes were okay. I was kind of distracted."
Maybe she missed me, Allan thought.
"Well would you look at that?" Mr. Flanagan said. He turned his treasure so Allan and Sarah could marvel at it.
"That's really something," Sarah said.
"Is that…a fox? A happy fox? On some kind of spikey seat?" Allan offered.
"It sure is," Mr. Flanagan said. "I have to thank them. But I don't have any idea who it is from."
After that bewildering exchange, Mr. Flanagan rushed past them into his house, clutching the cheerful, confusing painting to his chest.
Sarah sighed. Allan pressed on. "I wonder who sent such a thing to him. Any guesses?"
Sarah wadded the packing materials into an uneven wad. "I don't have to guess," she said, her voice dark with unshed tears. "I know exactly where it came from."
She held up the mailing label. Allan took a half step forward, thinking this was an opportunity to reconnect. However, after a moment he forgot about Sarah, because he recognized the handwriting from 18 years' worth of Christmas cards.
"I can't read the return address but the mailing address…"
"They're the same. Dad sent this to himself."
She looked away, suddenly finding something in the shrubbery hypnotic.
Allan felt like a douche. He considered an apology. He considered a joke. He finally went with honest concern.
"Has he seen a doctor?"
"He's got three. And a clinical trial."
"Do they have any…"
The upstairs window exploded. The odd fox canvas flew out. It landed on the grass without killing them, Allan said, "I guess they don't."
"Where the hell did this thing come from," Mr. Flanagan screamed.
Everyone knew. And no one knew.
So, when Allan was home for Thanksgiving and stepped onto the porch for a pre-pumpkin pie breath of fresh air and saw Sarah standing on her porch, arms crossed, as Mr. Flanagan hustled out to the mailbox, he thought, this is my chance!
"Whatcha got there, sir?" Allan called, in genuine but amplified holiday cheer.
If anything, Mr. Flanagan was in even better spirits. "Why I don't have the slightest idea, Al. Not the slightest."
He paused, halfway up the steps, and started tearing at the clumsy packaging. He clawed at the three layers of tape with nails that hadn't been cut or cleaned in a while, and was about to go after them with his dentures when his daughter handed him an oversized set of safety scissors.
"Man, you were ready. Was he expecting this for a while, Sarah? Say, how was State?"
Sarah shrugged. "Classes were okay. I was kind of distracted."
Maybe she missed me, Allan thought.
"Well would you look at that?" Mr. Flanagan said. He turned his treasure so Allan and Sarah could marvel at it.
"That's really something," Sarah said.
"Is that…a fox? A happy fox? On some kind of spikey seat?" Allan offered.
"It sure is," Mr. Flanagan said. "I have to thank them. But I don't have any idea who it is from."
After that bewildering exchange, Mr. Flanagan rushed past them into his house, clutching the cheerful, confusing painting to his chest.
Sarah sighed. Allan pressed on. "I wonder who sent such a thing to him. Any guesses?"
Sarah wadded the packing materials into an uneven wad. "I don't have to guess," she said, her voice dark with unshed tears. "I know exactly where it came from."
She held up the mailing label. Allan took a half step forward, thinking this was an opportunity to reconnect. However, after a moment he forgot about Sarah, because he recognized the handwriting from 18 years' worth of Christmas cards.
"I can't read the return address but the mailing address…"
"They're the same. Dad sent this to himself."
She looked away, suddenly finding something in the shrubbery hypnotic.
Allan felt like a douche. He considered an apology. He considered a joke. He finally went with honest concern.
"Has he seen a doctor?"
"He's got three. And a clinical trial."
"Do they have any…"
The upstairs window exploded. The odd fox canvas flew out. It landed on the grass without killing them, Allan said, "I guess they don't."
"Where the hell did this thing come from," Mr. Flanagan screamed.
Everyone knew. And no one knew.
Room for One More by Chris Bannor
Submission 15 – “Room for One More”: Chris Bannor
There was no mistake, no matter how long she stared down at the package left on her front doorstep. She looked around the neighborhood to see if anyone was about to jump out of the bushes to yell “Surprise!” and get a laugh out of all this. She knew better, though. When the ‘package’ moved she cursed a streak that could make a centaur blush.
“This wouldn’t keep happening if you didn’t let the council call you by that silly moniker,” her wife said as she walked up behind her and placed her chin on her shoulder.
“Maybe you were right. I need to get a lawyer involved. Just because the Department of Ancients found out who I used to be doesn’t mean they had the right to publish that information about me online.”
“It was a pretty low blow. It’s not like you actually cause earthquakes or volcanos anymore.”
She rolled her eyes as she picked up the ‘package’. “How many does this make?”
“I think this is the first time we’ve had a changeling dropped off at the door. It would be the eighth baby this month though. We could start our own orphanage if things keep going at this rate.” Orbana reached into the carrier and stroked the face of the changeling child. “I wonder if it was one of the fae who left the child, or a human who realized it wasn’t their own?”
“We are not keeping them!”
“We have the room!” Her wife took the carrier and headed into the house which, yes, did currently hold seven other children as the police tried to figure out what to do with them.
“Orbana! Get your Roman ass in here! We are not keeping them!”
Orbana settled the carrier on the couch and unbuckled their newest charge.
“Just because you don’t want to be Mother Earth any longer doesn’t mean I gave up on the children, Gaia. Besides, not even being a goddess can make either one of us pregnant at this late stage. The world moved on from us, mostly. We’re relics. At least we can spend the rest of our lives doing something we love.”
“I loved having my peace and quiet with you,” Gaia said grumpily.
Orbana came around the couch and settled the child in her arms before she placed a soft kiss on her cheek. “And you have always loved being a mother. Isn’t it time you got to raise one for yourself?”
“But eight of them?”
“We’ll move to the country. Buy a big farm. Call in all the favors we’ve earned over the years. Build our own family, together.”
“Well, when you say it like that,” Gaia said, her lips turning up softly as the child in her arms yawned wide. “I guess we do have room for one more."
There was no mistake, no matter how long she stared down at the package left on her front doorstep. She looked around the neighborhood to see if anyone was about to jump out of the bushes to yell “Surprise!” and get a laugh out of all this. She knew better, though. When the ‘package’ moved she cursed a streak that could make a centaur blush.
“This wouldn’t keep happening if you didn’t let the council call you by that silly moniker,” her wife said as she walked up behind her and placed her chin on her shoulder.
“Maybe you were right. I need to get a lawyer involved. Just because the Department of Ancients found out who I used to be doesn’t mean they had the right to publish that information about me online.”
“It was a pretty low blow. It’s not like you actually cause earthquakes or volcanos anymore.”
She rolled her eyes as she picked up the ‘package’. “How many does this make?”
“I think this is the first time we’ve had a changeling dropped off at the door. It would be the eighth baby this month though. We could start our own orphanage if things keep going at this rate.” Orbana reached into the carrier and stroked the face of the changeling child. “I wonder if it was one of the fae who left the child, or a human who realized it wasn’t their own?”
“We are not keeping them!”
“We have the room!” Her wife took the carrier and headed into the house which, yes, did currently hold seven other children as the police tried to figure out what to do with them.
“Orbana! Get your Roman ass in here! We are not keeping them!”
Orbana settled the carrier on the couch and unbuckled their newest charge.
“Just because you don’t want to be Mother Earth any longer doesn’t mean I gave up on the children, Gaia. Besides, not even being a goddess can make either one of us pregnant at this late stage. The world moved on from us, mostly. We’re relics. At least we can spend the rest of our lives doing something we love.”
“I loved having my peace and quiet with you,” Gaia said grumpily.
Orbana came around the couch and settled the child in her arms before she placed a soft kiss on her cheek. “And you have always loved being a mother. Isn’t it time you got to raise one for yourself?”
“But eight of them?”
“We’ll move to the country. Buy a big farm. Call in all the favors we’ve earned over the years. Build our own family, together.”
“Well, when you say it like that,” Gaia said, her lips turning up softly as the child in her arms yawned wide. “I guess we do have room for one more."
Defying Distancing by Tamara Merrill
When the Amazon man drops my daily present on the doorstep, my heart skips a beat. Since the pandemic began, my shopping habit is a bit out of control. I no longer am sure what to expect, but the daily present from Amazon is the highlight of my day.
I rip open the box - easier said than done. I actually grab a knife and saw at the tape. Easy open is not really a thing. I pull out the plastic pillows and find a very small, bubble wrapped something. It’s about six inches square and about an inch thick. That might not seem tiny if the outer box wasn’t the big box, they use to send my 50 pack of Death’s Wish Coffee pods. I’ll never understand Amazon’s box choices.
I use the knife to cut the tape on the bubble wrap. It’s a painting! What the heck. I didn’t order this. If I were going to order a painting, it wouldn’t be a painting of a door set in a stone wall. I put it down on the table and take a look at the mailing label. Maybe I received someone else’s present today.
Nope. My name. My address. No packing slip. Weird. Amazon always includes a packing slip - sometimes two or three. I pick up the painting and look again. The door begins to open. I drop the painting and jump back. I yell an inappropriate word. No one hears me, of course, the quarantine has me social distancing alone.
I nudge the painting with my toe. It fell face down. I’m going to need to flip it over. My hands shake as reach down, flip it and take a fast step back. It’s a painting of a closed door. I laugh aloud and pick up the painting. I place it on the table and head for kitchen. It’s too early for wine but I obviously need coffee. Maybe I’ll make that whipped coffee everyone on Facebook is talking about.
I pull out the drawer where I store my immersion blender. It makes a raspy, creaky sound. No, it doesn’t! That drawer is as smooth as a baby’s bottom. I whip around and stare at the picture on the table. The sound is definitely coming from there. I tiptoe over. Weird, yes, but I do.
The door is fully open and I can see a path that disappears into the distance. What the heck. I watch closely for a couple of minutes. Nothing moves.
I read the Narnia books. I’ve got this. I lean forward and fall through the tiny door. Quarantine just got a lot more interesting.
I rip open the box - easier said than done. I actually grab a knife and saw at the tape. Easy open is not really a thing. I pull out the plastic pillows and find a very small, bubble wrapped something. It’s about six inches square and about an inch thick. That might not seem tiny if the outer box wasn’t the big box, they use to send my 50 pack of Death’s Wish Coffee pods. I’ll never understand Amazon’s box choices.
I use the knife to cut the tape on the bubble wrap. It’s a painting! What the heck. I didn’t order this. If I were going to order a painting, it wouldn’t be a painting of a door set in a stone wall. I put it down on the table and take a look at the mailing label. Maybe I received someone else’s present today.
Nope. My name. My address. No packing slip. Weird. Amazon always includes a packing slip - sometimes two or three. I pick up the painting and look again. The door begins to open. I drop the painting and jump back. I yell an inappropriate word. No one hears me, of course, the quarantine has me social distancing alone.
I nudge the painting with my toe. It fell face down. I’m going to need to flip it over. My hands shake as reach down, flip it and take a fast step back. It’s a painting of a closed door. I laugh aloud and pick up the painting. I place it on the table and head for kitchen. It’s too early for wine but I obviously need coffee. Maybe I’ll make that whipped coffee everyone on Facebook is talking about.
I pull out the drawer where I store my immersion blender. It makes a raspy, creaky sound. No, it doesn’t! That drawer is as smooth as a baby’s bottom. I whip around and stare at the picture on the table. The sound is definitely coming from there. I tiptoe over. Weird, yes, but I do.
The door is fully open and I can see a path that disappears into the distance. What the heck. I watch closely for a couple of minutes. Nothing moves.
I read the Narnia books. I’ve got this. I lean forward and fall through the tiny door. Quarantine just got a lot more interesting.
Photo used under Creative Commons from shixart1985
