OK, don't laugh,

but I wrote a story that got rejected immediately. And here it is.

Well, hello there. Surprised to see me again? Two posts in one week. Weird huh? I’m on a roll, baby, so hold on tight.

This morning, I went through a few old folders with the aim of deleting everything covered in cobwebs and shame. I have waaay too many MS Word files saved on this machine titled: Bloodbird_MS and BB_MS_2015 and BLOODBIRD_finaldraft.2018 and Bloodbird_2022.FINAL.for.real.loser and so on and so on.

Look, I know. What an absolute waste of precious time. I should be working on the development of my novel due in April. Clearing out is a shit job but it’s the start of a new year and one of those things that needs to be done. So, what happened was I didn’t do it. See, what ended up taking place instead was I found old poems and short stories I’d completely forgotten about. A poem about last year’s birthday in January (yes, ‘tis almost that time again). A poem about how livid I am about the fugly 5G tower they erected right here on the beach, spoiling the view of the sea. And a short story titled Charlie.

I don’t believe I’ve ever been rejected on the same day of submission before or after this one. Clarkesworld Magazine’s standards are superior. I completely get why my silly little story went nowhere fast. But hey, I tried. The narrator’s voice is intentionally naive to suit the way I imagine the protagonist would observe the world around him. The story needs more editing which I know will never happen. But merely deleting it now feels like wasted work. And maybe you have some time to kill right now (word count is 1007). So, without further ado, I bequeath to you, Charlie.

Charlie

The new moon transmuted the pine forest into a dark and uninviting void; a blessing for those seeking refuge. Two shadows moved swiftly through the undergrowth, evading a bright-blue light, methodically sweeping over the treeline from above. The two ducked down into a hollowed-out tree stump - once a victim of man’s axe, now a safe space for two desperate souls. Out of breath, Geira scanned the skies, her pupils swallowed whole by her leaf-green irises in this hypervigilant state. She knew her pursuers were committed. By her side, Charlie’s gentle gaze was fixed on only one thing; her. She could be taken at any moment.

Geira had shared her story with him when they met in the barn where Charlie lived three sunrises ago. The farm belonged to the old man with the tattered straw hat. He also owned many chickens, two cows and a horse. Charlie didn’t know what the old man’s name was but the horse was called Giddyap. Giddyap didn’t like being ridden. And he didn’t like the old man. He was sold to him not too long before Geira had arrived. Charlie had been missing the girl with the hair the colour of wheat he used to belong to. She lived only a few farms down the dirt path in the direction of where the sun went down. Unlike the old man, the girl knew what Charlie’s name was. Now that Geira was there he was happy again. Geira knew his name.

Giddyap was a good horse. He had led Geira to the apple trees and watering well in the orchard behind the barn when her belly grumbled. It was Giddyap who raised the alarm after the old man had rushed down to the barn without warning in the middle of the night. He was angry when he found Geira there, or maybe he was happy – Charlie wasn’t sure. And that’s why when Geira screamed, he tried to bite the old man. But Charlie didn’t mean for him to fall on his back onto the gardening tools on the floor. There was a lot of blood. Charlie couldn’t go back there. Geira was his home now. With her arm around his neck, she pulled him close, tucking his golden curls under her chin.

I’m so sorry, Charlie. I want to stay with you. But when they find me they’ll take me back.

A pitiful whimper escaped him. Now that he had a twolegger to talk to, he couldn’t think of the right thing to say. The search light brushed over them again. Charlie shut his eyes tight. Geira’s was wide and defiant.

I saw a river when I came this way. They can’t track me in the water. I don’t remember how to get there in the dark. Do you know the way to the river, Charlie?

Charlie’s ears perked up. Of course, he did.

Yes, yes, yes. Charlie knows the way. Geira follow Charlie!

While the light scanned the undergrowth nearby, the pair took deep breaths and shot from their hiding place. Charlie proudly led the way. He was familiar with the area outside of the old man’s farm, often embarking on regular inspections of the parameter, making mental notes of the forest, its occupants, and scents. The territory belonged to him and he protected it. Now and then something exciting would happen, like a fox passing through and Charlie would chase it until it was gone. He was good at his job. Twigs snapped underfoot as they bolted ahead. There was no quiet way to go about this. The sooner they get to the river the better.

Wait, Charlie! I can’t run as fast as you!

Charlie stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her, heaving, smiling from ear to ear.

No, don’t stop, Charlie! Keep going, just a little slower!

Charlie spun around again and Geira followed. The beam shot erratically in all directions. Everything was quiet. Not an owl or fox in sight. The woodland creatures’ nocturnal schedule had been disrupted. This burst of bright-blue light during the dead of night was everything but natural. The only sound was that of the river up ahead. They were close. Only one more clearing to navigate without being spotted by those above. They were going to make it; Charlie knew it.

‘Ouch!’, Geira cried, crumbling down to her knees. Black Devil’s Thorn peppered the soles of her bare feet.

Charlie closed his mouth and glanced back over his shoulder. This mistake could end her stay on Earth. He spun around at once and jumped towards her, but it was too late. Her skin had changed into the colour of the sky under the eye of the homed in strobe.

Charlie, stay!

Charlie obeyed. He could smell the water, and the moss that grew on the rocks, and the wet soil on the banks of the river. She was following him and he had led her right into a thornbush. This was all his fault. His body trembled and his eyes welled up. He never knew dogs could cry.

I’m going to miss you. You’re a good boy, Charlie.

Charlie loves Geira.

I love you too, Charlie.

Geira was bound by a flood of cold light emanating from an object that was shaped like the old farmer’s hat. Her hair was the first bit of her to lose its weight and as gravity dissipated, her body lifted off the ground slowly at first, and then she morphed into a sudden blur and was swallowed whole. The oval object was gone as if it had never been there. A Barn Owl poked its head through the entrance of its burrow. Deep sadness overcame Charlie. With his neck stretched and head aimed towards the glimmering night sky, he funnelled a pitiful howl.

A rustle in the undergrowth interrupted his grieving. It was Giddyap.

Come on, old boy. I know of a place not too far from here, where they’ve been calling out for someone who’s been missing. Someone named Charlie.

Thanks for reading. See you soon.