One more short story. Hello and welcome to episode
5 of One More Short Story with me, Chris Falwell.
Really looking forward to sharing these stories
with you today. again we're looking forward to
sharing stories from the world of writing battle
with you writing battle my favorite writing competition
you get your prompts your genre maybe an object
or a character or a location and you're off short
stories here we go the theme for this episode
is exploration finding things maybe losing things
along the way we've got three lovely stories
for you today First up is Spirit Animal by Gail
Martin. Now Gail had this in the Wonder battle
last year, one of the first professionally judged
battles there was. Her prompts were fantasy,
dreamer and rocking chair. Gail has narrated
this for us herself and she's got a really, really
lovely voice. It's like an old school Disney
narrative voice that I could just imagine reading
stories. round a fire or at bedtime, so I'll
let her take it away. Here's Gail with Spirit
Animal. Wrapped in Nana's throw blanket, Sheena
ducked out the screen door as forked lightning
carved up the sky. Sheena Maki, her mother called
from inside the house. We're not finished talking
about college. Sheena eyed the approaching storm
and crossed the front porch. collapsing into
Nana's rocking chair with its weathered arms
and once bright indigo paint. She lifted the
throw to her chin, brushing her fingers against
its velveteen nap, allowing Nana's scent to wash
over her. Sheena closed her eyes, picturing the
crow's feet framing Nana's face, hoping her spirit
was nearby. Storm watching was something they
always did together. All the fight had been drained
out of her. Nana's passing had brought it to
a head. You're burying Nana in the cold ground
in a steel casket? Sheena had protested. Nana's
ancestors had spent their lives freezing and
starving on the Bering Strait islands. When her
earthly life was over, Nana had hoped to go to
the lower world, the warm place full of food.
You and Dad have many other choices. Like what?
Setting her adrift on an ice floe? Mom said.
She never shared her final wishes. See all the
stress that created? Maybe you weren't listening.
From this very corner of the world, she and Nana
dreamt about a civilization that took from the
earth wisely, where no one grabbed too much,
so that some were left with nothing. Burying
Nana in a sturdy alloy? Might have seemed worth
the expense, slowing the cruelty of decay, but
it was wasteful, and the embalming used toxic
chemicals. Mom's ranting continued, floating
through the screen door. Why did we build this
business, Harvey? To help people, her dad said
gently during times like this. Everything was
for Sheena. Margie, give it a rest. She just
got back from her Nana's funeral. My mother's
funeral? Don't I deserve a shred of consideration?
Her mother's voice grew more shrill. Sheena is
going to the Institute this fall, period. She
heard her mother complaining that she'd latched
onto her heritage because it was the thing kids
did these days. It's posturing. She's only one
-eighth Inuit. Sheena needed to clear away the
negativity. She breathed deeply, stretching out
her arms and turning her palms toward the evening
sky, whispering an intercession for Nana's soul.
Great Spirit, giver of all good things, I deceit
you in the wild breath of this storm. To protect
Nana's spirit, she respected everything you made
and listened to your voice. Make sure her Inua
is warm and fed and feeling the light only you
can give. Sheena chanted the prayer twice more,
opening her eyes. An apparition stood before
her. She leapt to her feet. Nana! My dear girl,
Nana said, I awaited your prayer. How are you?
Now I see many things, things I must show you.
Nana reached out, clasped her hand, and gestured
toward the sky. Come. In the next moment, they
flew above the clouds and landed in a hollow,
carved into a snow -crested mountain. Are we
in the Cascades? Sheena asked. Nana nodded. Look.
at our little friend. A dundrab rabbit sat motionless
a few feet from them. When there is snow on the
ground, the snowshoe hare... Snowshoe hare? Sheena
interrupted. Nana pointed to the patchy snow.
It should be all white, but the winters are warming,
so she remains brown. Now the great horned owl
will find his next meal too easily. Sheena scowled.
That's not right. We must see other things, Nana
grabbed hold. Fly with me. In a heartbeat, they
stood at a river's edge. A pink -bellied fish
swam against the turn of the current, digging
its snout among the rocks. A coho salmon, Sheena
observed. She's looking for somewhere to lay
her eggs, Nana said. Nothing safe here for her.
Sheena studied the coho and biology class. Logging,
overfishing, and agricultural runoff had all
but decimated them. Nana, help it. Woosh it off
to a safer part of the river. I can't do that.
But if everyone did something better than what
they're doing... Nana paused. Then she took Sheena's
arm and off they soared, landing on the seacoast.
Atop a jetty of boulders, the sun was setting
and it feathered the horizon with purple clouds.
We've been here, remember? Sheena laughed. We
held on to each other for dear life on that roadway,
it. I remember. Orcas were breaching the water,
tufted puffins and harbor seals everywhere. Be
still. Where are all the animals? Watch and listen.
Sheena stared at the ocean, searching for whales.
One harbor seal, barking and grunting, clambered
onto a rock pile a few feet away. Sheena flinched,
stumbling backward. She felt Nana's steadying
presence on her shoulder. The clamor finally
ceased and the seal returned to the water. Sheena
felt numb. The animals are barely hanging on.
We must do more to help them. What can you do?
I'll study wildlife ecology in college. Not what
they want. Without warning, they floated above
the jetty, landing on the shoreline. The Great
Spirit wants us to respect our elders. But, Sheena
felt sheepish. What if they're wrong? Nana took
her hands. Don't they deserve to be heard? I
don't want to go to the Institute. I want to
be a scientist. Your parents are mortuary scientists.
Nana lowered her gaze. I died sooner than expected,
without final arrangements. That created unnecessary
stress for you and your parents. Their work gives
families peace during times of chaos. That's
clear to me now. Nana. I don't want to work in
the family business, Tiny Waves kissed her ankles.
I want this. Saving animals or penguins in Antarctica.
Who knows? Something grand. It's your decision,
Nana said. Perhaps they're willing to listen
to you now. The next instant, she was back in
Nana's rocker on the front porch. The storm had
passed. Nana had vanished. Sheena remained still,
considering everything she'd seen and heard,
then slipped inside this green door. Mom? Dad?
I'm ready to talk. There we go. Thank you, Gail,
for that really, really lovely story. Great take
on fantasy as a genre. So for me, when someone
says fantasy stories, my brain will probably
leap to sword and sorcery. There's no need for
it to be that limited, of course. And Gail's
done a really lovely job here of exploring grief
and how somebody processes that within a culture
that I'm... I hold my hands up with the Inuit
culture is not something I know a great deal
about at all. So it was great to have a chance
to reflect on that and think about that throughout
the story. Thank you very much, Gail Martin with
Spirit Animal. Our next story today is Futures
Past by Annie Benham. This story came from another
professionally judged battle of 2025, the fear
battle, and it was in the mystery genre. Annie
had the prompts Mystery, Diplomat and Fossil.
I really enjoyed what Annie's done with this.
She was kind enough to let me narrate it, which
I enjoyed doing too. And yeah, I won't say too
much more about it. I'll do some more waffling
about things I enjoyed afterwards. But for now,
here is Annie Benham's Futures Past narrated
by me. A biting wind cuts through me as I snake
my way between the blackened bones of buildings
forgotten by time. It drives me to pick up my
pace. The sooner this is done, the sooner I get
back to my warm lab. Digging in the dirt is Len's
specialty. I prefer the science of analysis.
As I join Len by the dig site, assistants scurry
about below. i ask him have you verified it twice
it's the real deal come on see for yourself he
climbs down the ladder and leads me across the
plot step aside let professor ashing through
kneeling in the freshly upturned dirt i brush
away the soil that clings to the object's ivory
surface you were right len i grin up at him It's
bone. That's not the best part, he points, and
my eyes follow. Dozens of bone fragments protrude
from the site wall. Ritual burial grounds. Neat
rows of fossils line the sterile table in my
research lab. Len taps out a rhythm with his
three fingers. He always does this when he's
deep in thought. The imager dings as it completes
the 3D grid models. I flick open a virtual screen
above the table. Selecting a fragment, the image
emerges from the screen. This skull shows signs
of a depression fracture. Len observes the spider
web of cracks. He pulls up a couple more images.
But this skull looks intact, and it seems to
be part of the same remains as this bone. There
are others just like it that encircle the chest
cavity, but this one appears to have snapped.
If it punctured any organs, it could have been
fatal. Plus, surrounding geology indicates they
were buried about 50 years apart. Then they didn't
die from the same cause. Another swipe and the
3D models disappear along with the screen. I
thought this burial site would give us answers.
None of these bodies would explain a single extinction
event. That probably means that whatever happened,
they didn't have a chance to bury their dead.
Or it happened gradually. I stroke the bristles
on my chin. We have to find a usable genetic
sample. The soft whir of the fabricator thrums
through my lab. A warm orange glow emanates from
behind the thick glass. Automated arms zip back
and forth, building strand by strand in a mesmerising
dance. I watch as the shape begins to reveal
itself with each new layer. I'm guessing you
found the sample you needed? Twyla's voice interrupts
my fixation. Yep, and I started work this morning.
If you didn't hibernate until mid -rotation every
day, you would have already known about it. Twyla
flops into the chair, hovering by my desk, letting
momentum carry it across the room until it bumps
into the side of the machine. Just please tell
me this is going to work. I can't take another
minute with these translations. Seriously. I
fold my arms across my torso and give her a pointed
gaze. You're the most obsessive linguist I know.
Puzzles and codes are literally your thing. She
leans forward. Yeah, but I have so many samples.
I'm talking about hundreds from similar sites,
but there's no context, so I can't figure it
out. Well, you'd better sort it out soon. I'm
still going to need some kind of real -time translation,
or this will all be for nothing. The Ministry
of Archaeology will have my head if that happens.
Well, they did invest a fortune in getting us
here. Everyone's counting on us. If we don't
find out what happened to them... An error symbol
blinks on the console. I need to refill the carbon
cartridge. Hold that thought. I call him the
Diplomat, I say to Twyla and Len, standing over
the fluid -filled chamber and the cloned body
within. A link between our people and his. The
barely perceptible electrical charge generated
by our shared excitement leaves a metallic tang
on my tongue. According to the vitals, there's
no way this body could survive the world's current
temperatures. Could the temperature have significantly
dropped since this specimen was alive? Twyla
leans in for a closer look at the face under
the rippling enzymatic fluids. Maybe. I shrug.
She reaches out, fingers hovering over the fluid
surface, and I smack her away. We can't risk
contamination. Len hisses a laugh, and Twyla
shoots him a glare. Composing himself quickly,
Len turns back to me. Geological record shows
there was some kind of a radiological event.
Do you think they could have, er... We all stare
at each other. as the realization sinks in. Twyla
whispers, did they cause their own environmental
collapse? There's only one way to find out. I
try to sound confident but my hand trembles as
I engage the resuscitation protocol. The fluid
drains from the chamber and the breathing apparatus
detaches. A stimulant is injected into the body.
The clone jolts upright in a violent gasp. Twyla
jumps back, and Len reassures her it's okay.
They have inflatable bladders in the chest cavity
for respiration. Easy there. I try to calm our
new guest. His eyes dart around the room, and
gibberish spills from his lips. Twyla! On it!
She cuts me off. engaging the translation program
she'd finally managed to put together. The stream
of nonsense transforms to words, and he asks
me, Who are you? Where am I? That's difficult
to explain. First, I need to know, what happened
to your species? His face stares back at me,
expressionless. What do you mean? Maybe I was
asking too much, too soon. Let's try something
simpler. What's your name? Blank eyes hold mine.
I don't know. I look up at Twyla's gasp. Her
pupils narrow into slits, her scales draining
from emerald in the chartreuse. They don't have
genetic memory. He can't tell us how they went
extinct. Dread lumps in my stomach. We'll never
know if we can safely colonise Earth, or if we'll
face the same end here as humans. There we are,
Futures Past by Annie Benham. Oh, I really enjoyed
the chance to read and narrate that again. I
don't know if, like me, you were someone who
didn't guess the mystery until right towards
the end or right at the end. And I'm not ashamed
to admit that. I was hoodwinked. And then suddenly
all the little references started to make sense.
Okay, inflatable bladders in the chest cavity.
Ancient burial grounds. And then suddenly you're
looking at it from a whole different perspective.
I thought it was really nicely done. Thank you,
Annie. It got Annie to the sweet 16. The last
16. stories in the knockout tournament out of
hundreds and hundreds and hundreds that were
entered and i think she's done herself really
really proud there so on to our third and final
story for our exploration episode and that is
highly appropriately titled found and lost by
k n celestro Now, Kay and Celestro are normally
a sci -fi and fantasy writer. I'll tag her on
socials, as I do with all the writers who are
on social media or who have websites and things.
So I'll pop that on the Instagram account so
you can go and check out their other stuff. Yes,
so this story came from the Summer Nanofiction
Competition in 2025. It's a 250 -worder. Well,
I don't want to spoil this. Her prompts were
road trip, hippie, and seashell, and I will just
say from the beginning that it's written from
the perspective of a seashell on the beach. Now
I'm not giving anything away, that does become
apparent in the first line, but I think it's
useful to have that in your mind as you start
listening. I really hope you enjoyed it, I very
much did. This is Found and Lost by Kay and Celestro,
narrated by Regan Westergaard. You found me in
the sand. Pulled me up and threaded me with hemp,
hung me around her neck and laughed as she kissed
you in the surf, your youth glittering in the
sunlight. She wore me every day, and I learned
the shape of summer away from the sea as miles
bled out behind us in ribbons of tarmac. She
folded her arms on the passenger side window,
head lolling as the wind played with her impossibly
long hair. You watched her and smiled and talked
about everything and nothing. At night, you traded
a joint back and forth, giggling in the backseat
and filling the van with earthen smells before
you sent your breath shivering across her skin.
I hung between her breasts and swung with every
thrust as you rocked away the starlight. Halfway
to New York and the promise of a million moments
of bliss sung to you by legends. You picked up
another man, hitching his way along. You two
got on great, singing your joys and sorrows into
the burning sky as immortality stretched out
before you, infinite as the road. She watched
him and smiled and held your hand at first. You
didn't notice when that last thing stopped. Three
days later, they left. Gone off together in the
back of someone else's car. She left me on your
dashboard. You lost yourself in bottles and back
roads after that. And then, somewhere between
heartbreak and your destination, you lost me,
too. I asked Regan to narrate that story for
us because I just think she really captures that
kind of soulful longing, the sad, quick -fire,
burnt -out romance. Yeah, what K .N. Silustro's
done there in just 250 words is very, very impressive.
The explosive beginning, the glorious middle,
and the unfortunate emotional... possibly quite
destructive end now in that battle last year
in the road trip genre she got down to the last
four semi -finalist which is no mean feat and
again thoroughly deserved really really strong
work so thank you to gail to annie and to kn
and to reagan for her narration thank you again
for joining us on one more short story with me
chris fullwell we'll see you next time