As it has been just over two months since our first writing contest ended, we have (finally) responded to all of the wonderful writers who submitted their short stories. If you have requested feedback on your story, my goal is to have all of our feedback to you by the end of this week! lightbulb and pencils

Some of you may recall that I had posted a challenge that if we received 40 submissions, I would write my own 500-word short story. And, boy did you all come through! We surpassed 40 submissions and I was thrilled and terrified to hold up my end of the bargain. So, without further ado, here is my 487-word story “No Freedom”.

  It hadn’t been long since the last scream left her throat.

            A minute?

            An hour?

            A day?

            Time was irrelevant. The clock ticked by slow, and it sped up to only end up back on the second she was still reliving moment after moment. No, time wasn’t the issue. The issue lies in the suffocation of not being able to do anything.

            The white hot anger that coursed through her veins, needing an escape, a fix, a miracle for the place she found herself in.

            She wanted out.

            No, she needed out. Her survival depended on it.

            She ran. She fell down, down, down.

The sounds of his feet, his breath, and machinery echoed all around her, through her head. Her bones reverberated with the remembrance of it all.

Another scream, another echo.

The sound of silence greeted her as she peeled her dry eyes open and took in the ceiling above her.

The wood paneling hadn’t melted away into blue sky like she dreamed.

She slowly stretched her arm across the space next to her, waiting to bump into him, hoping to not wake him, but she came up empty.

A cold space, no indent. He wasn’t there.

He hadn’t been there recently, nor would he be there anytime soon.

She curled into a tight ball on her side as more agony coursed through her body. The invisible bruises left her heart bleeding, broken open.

Her eyes glanced over the barren sheets, skimming up to the photo of him on the bedside table. Him in his dark blue, a deep contrast to her standing next to him in white.

Time was irrelevant. That day was yesterday, it was years ago, it was the past. It would never be the future.

Her anger turned to guilt. Despair leaked from her eyes, sliding down the bridge of her nose and cheek before landing on his pillow she had claimed.

She squeezed her lids shut against the assault, breathing away the scream that was building again. Opening once more, she looked beyond the picture to the dresser against the wall.

She regretted her actions as soon as her eyes landed on the flag that stood proud in its triangular box.

The suffocation returned. The endless pain creeped throughout her body once again, expelling a blood-curling scream that echoed off the wood panels, through her bones. Mimicking the sound of his military boots as they pounded the desert sand, the sound of his heavy breathing the last time she heard him over various satellites. The sound of machinery before silence and static greeted her as she sat safe and free in their home.

            No. Her home.

            He had sacrificed, she had sacrificed and now she lay alone reliving every moment in time until that one fateful moment haunted her once again, leaving her broken and bleeding, aching for a freedom that would never come because he would never come home.


Thank you for taking the time to read my story. Thank you to all that submitted and helped make our ‘LLC’ possible. And thank you all for your continued support of Endever Publishing Studios.

PLEASE! Feel free to comment, make suggestions, critique, and give me feedback 😀

Writing is a path of constant learning and exploring.

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