One More Short Story Hello and welcome to another
episode of One More Short Story with me, Chris
Falwell. Thank you for joining us for episode
7. Now, we've got a really good mixed bag of
stories today. I've grouped these under the theme
of... Love, but not as we know it. And yeah,
all three stories take on love in a different
way. I think you're going to enjoy them. I know
I certainly have. We will dive straight on in
with a story by Laura Cody. And the story's title
is The Gold Digger and the Malignant Narcissist,
a love story, brackets, sort of. This was back
in the Winter Battle of 2024, I believe. It's
a while now, but it's worth the wait. It was
in the enemies to lovers genre, with the character
of the girl next door and the item prompt being
a shovel. Now, Laura's been kind enough to let
me read this one. I very much enjoyed it. And
I shall stop. yammering away and let you enjoy
so here is the gold digger and the malignant
narcissist a love story brackets sort of by laura
cody once upon a time a single man named preston
lived alone in a huge mansion on a quiet cul
-de -sac preston was a successful investment
manager and he had everything a person could
ever want everything that is except height Preston
wanted to be taller. So he did some research
and learned of an operation that could lengthen
limbs. He shut at his office, told his co -workers
and clients he'd be working virtually for a while,
and checked into the hospital. Marianne was a
bright young woman. She played by the rules,
worked hard, and put herself through both nursing
and physical therapy school. in doing so she
amassed a soul -crushing amount of debt and lived
off instant ramen for a year before grasping
the simple fact that being a bright young go
-getter didn't pay the bills cold hard cash did
once preston's leg bones had been dutifully broken
by the best orthopaedic surgeon that money could
buy and once the lengthening rods had been inserted
into the bone shafts he was discharged home to
endure the gruelling process of bone regrowth
returning home sounded good in theory the hospital
with its endless beeps and dings was a form of
torture unfit for even the most loathsome miscreant
but in practice it was something else altogether
two problems presented themselves one was mobility
the other was pain he made a few calls and arranged
for private duty assistance when marianne knocked
at preston's door fresh -faced and eager to provide
home care he told her to fuck off he had assumed
the newest addition to his pay -roll would be
some hulking figure with broad shoulders and
bulging biceps not a woman plus he really wasn't
having his best day the pain that started in
his thighs had crawled up his pelvis contorted
his hip flexors and was slamming his balls with
waves of hell -fire undaunted by his dismissal
marianne nudged her way into preston's impressive
abode assuring him that her services meant the
difference between sweet relief and horrific
post -op complications including but not limited
to gruesome disfigurement and intractable pain
Inside, she scanned the surroundings and congratulated
herself on landing a proper cash cow. She wasted
no time in setting up shop in a small guest bedroom
on the first floor and immediately went to work.
Endless hours of physical therapy ensued, along
with little hypodermic syringes containing anticoagulants,
virtual surgeon visits and numerous adjustments
to the lengthening rods. Preston proved himself
to be an unappreciative patient. During strength
training, he called Marianne a sadist. During
range of motion exercises, a bitch. In retort,
Marianne called Preston a whiny man -child and
threatened a lifetime of contracture deformity
if he failed to follow instructions. Preston
fired Marianne a half dozen times. then quickly
rehired her when faced with the actuality of
her leaving and so it went marianne adjusted
well to her new environment she liked preston's
chef's kitchen with its quartz countertops the
jacuzzi tub in the upstairs bath the peloton
in the home fitness centre She developed a taste
for the Macallan scotch Preston kept in the library,
and found it provided a pleasant numbness by
which she could tolerate his conversation. Like
when he regaled her with tales of professional
and personal conquest, or when he asked about
her own work and whether she had actually aspired
to mediocrity. Weeks went by. Marianne particularly
relished her free time at Preston's house, and
she breathed a bit freer when he was down for
his daily narcotic naps. While he snored in 600
thread -count Egyptian cotton sheets, she explored
his closets, searching for ghosts and dirty laundry
that could prove lucrative to her future. She
perused the financial statements he kept in his
upper left desk drawer. She catalogued Preston's
furniture and appliances. His designer suits
and leather shoes. His collection of wall hangings
and sculpture. She priced everything out online.
Preston often woke from his naps feeling refreshed.
It was at these times that honey dripped from
his tongue, and he flattered Marianne with his
own special brand of compliment. Once he said
he liked the colour of her hair, a not -too -brassy
drugstore blonde. another time that she had the
healthy appearance of someone who ate well and
this he thought her performance as a health -care
provider was very adequate he reached this conclusion
after measuring marianne's skill and commitment
against that of the aide he'd hired years ago
to assist his aged mother after her rectal prolapse
an aide whose duties consisted primarily of repeatedly
pushing and squishing the poor woman's affected
parts back into place as needed. This, Marianne
understood, was Preston's gold standard of home
care. She smiled and told Preston she was flattered
by the favourable comparison. Months went by.
When Preston's words rubbed Marianne the wrong
way, as they sometimes did, chafing like a wet
bathing suit on dry skin, she distracted herself
with physical activity, depleting her energy
stores until none remained to fret over petty
insults. She took full advantage of Preston's
home fitness centre, enjoyed long walks through
the neighbourhood, and even started a small flower
garden in the expansive backyard. Working the
earth was therapeutic for Marianne. and the repetitive
nature of the activity allowed her mind to conjure
images of gossip -worthy soirees she might host
one day, if all went to plan, on the estate's
lush grounds. Only once, maybe twice, did she
picture the back of Preston's head while assessing
the heft of the four -foot garden shovel before
plunging it rather savagely into the ground.
As Preston regained his strength, Marianne became
increasingly determined not to allow her tenure
at the home of her dreams to end, even in spite
of Preston's vexing Preston -ness. She traded
her scrubs for clingy clothing, applied mascara
and lip gloss before each therapy session. She
saw to it that Preston remained dependent on
her, subtly so, while understanding that any
threat to Preston's perceived self -sufficiency
would be an insult to his desperately protected
ego. She stoked that ego, murmuring words of
admiration and praise. You are so strong, so
brave. And Preston agreed wholeheartedly. The
first time Preston made love to Marianne, there
were no sky rockets or confetti. One of them
ended up satiated. but it wasn't marianne preston
did not appear to notice or to care not then
not thereafter not when marianne abandoned the
small first -floor bedroom behind the kitchen
and moved into preston's master suite while thoroughly
unimpressed by preston's bedroom performance
she was extremely impressed by his bedroom with
its floor -to -ceiling windows custom stone fireplace
and cavernous ensuite bath with separate his
and hers sinks. Marianne continued to stroke
his ego. You are so tall. The wedding took place
on a bluff overlooking the ocean. Everything
was perfect, from the floral arrangements to
the embroidered gown Marianne wore. It fit her
like a glove. highlighting her snatched waist
and soft curves a year of peloton workouts paid
off nicely though preston had been less convinced
insisting she get cool sculpting before the ceremony
the wedding after all would be the great reveal
for preston's enhanced vertical stature and he
fully anticipated nothing but starry -eyed adulation
from the onlookers he could not risk a defect
in his accessory He needed Marianne to be perfect.
A perfect reflection of his own perfection. Their
first kiss at the altar was cold as blue granite.
They honeymooned on the Amalfi Coast. Preston
slid his newly elongated legs into a pair of
red swim trunks and strutted up and down the
beach like David Hasselhoff in Baywatch. He assessed
his bride against dark -eyed bikinied Italians
at the resort. He suggested she get breast implants.
For a tiny moment, Marianne imagined walking
off down the beach and never looking back. But
there was, of course, the prenup to consider.
Her old friend, the garden shovel, popped back
to mind, but it was an entire ocean away. And
besides... She was quite certain that the conditions
of Preston's life insurance policy were incompatible
with her aspirations. So Marianne simply twisted
her lips into a tight smile, gazed at the azure
waters, sipped her Cristal, and fantasized about
re -breaking Preston's legs. And they lived a
barely tolerable coexistence ever after. The
End So there we go. Two reasonably to thoroughly
dislikable people in Laura's story there. I thought
it was very funny. I was surprised that it only
picked up five points in the house stage, but
as I often find myself saying when looking at
writing battle results, you have to embrace the
madness. You've just got to go with it. Sometimes
stories you write that you think are... are okay
and you're sort of happy with you really really
well other times you write stories that are are
ticking all your boxes and you're really happy
with and they they just bomb out it happens so
i enjoyed it thank you laura on to our next story
this is the art of subduction by sam james i
didn't say seduction i said subduction Now, subduction
is a geological process where a tectonic plate
collides with and dives beneath a less dense
plate. There you go. You're not just getting
stories, you're getting an education. Now, Sam
had this in the dating app mishap genre last
year in the Spring 500 Word Battle. His other
prompts were volcano and accidental hero. And
I'm going to say... that we're about to take
a journey into sam james's mind you are going
to enjoy this and you will certainly remember
it here is the art of subduction written and
narrated by the wonderful sam james there's no
doubt that this young man's actions saved the
town says the police chief the perky reporter
has her mike thrust in his face and the chief
is staring square down the barrel of the cameraman's
lens Strong. Decisive. A bit sexy. God damn it,
how can I still be horny? I'll be next. She's
already interviewed the mayor, the fire chief
and a professor from the local university. I've
been waiting, swaddled in an unnecessary silver
blanket, watching the interviews and trying to
think of something she'll believe. Something
other than, I fucked the volcano. Okay, I was
on the apps, looking for a quick hookup. Maybe
sanitise for TV. Looking for love. I matched
with a guy who had a cute picture of him hiking.
Nice arse. No, don't say that. Anyhow, we planned
to meet on the south side of the mountain to
avoid the main trail from town. Private, you
know. Secluded. I wonder how the reporter would
respond to a wink. I found the rendezvous, but
nice arse was a no -show. Ghosted. Me. After
a reasonable wait, I sent a quick, where are
you? Imagine my surprise when he immediately
responded, I'm right here. You don't recognise
me? I looked round. No one. Just me and the mountain.
My phone buzzed again. Warmer. I spun on the
spot. Colder. Spun again. Warmer. Still no one.
I rechecked the profile picture. There was something
familiar. I put my thumb over nice arse and looked
at the background. Looked up. Are you the mountain?
The reporter's going to think I'm barmy. High.
I didn't know mountains dated. Let's say I've
been dormant a while. So, you come here often?
No, I should think of something less lame to
tell the reporter. Hey, hot stuff. That's less
lame? The hill rumbled. And my phone buzzed.
Do you know how volcanoes are made? When tectonic
plates collide, one plunges deep below the other.
It's called subduction. Subduct me. I gaped at
my phone, then the mountain, then back at my
phone. The hillside looked the same as always,
but somehow sexier. Sensuous curves, washboard
slabs, peaks for days. My penis, can I say penis
on TV? My downstairs twitched. My belt undid
itself, completely unaided. My trousers fell
to the floor. I mounted it. I'm not ashamed to
say it. I mounted the mountain and I liked it.
It liked it too, as the evidence shows. I plunged
deeply into the mountain. If first wink goes
well, try another here to emphasise deeply. The
pressure built and built until I burst. My little
frothy load was answered by terrible shaking.
Birds flew from trees, animals scurried in fear.
I hurriedly dressed and barely made it out of
the way when, well, boom! The eruption. Oh, the
reporter. The professor says it was one in ten
thousand that the volcano blew southwards, away
from town. And the police chief says we have
you to thank. But they won't say why. What happened
up there? She thrusts the mic at me. I don't
think anyone else could have written that story
quite like that. There we are. Sam James, The
Art of Subduction. He's a writer, a narrator,
a musician and a lover of volcanoes, apparently.
Sam got himself all the way through the house
stage with that story very well deservedly. and
got himself to the thrilling 32 the last 32 writers
in the knockout stage out of hundreds and hundreds
and hundreds so well done sam we look forward
to seeing what other stuff you come up with i
did say it was going to be love but not as we
know it if you remember from the beginning of
this episode so we've had the gold digger a malignant
narcissist sort of love maybe We've had a man
satisfying a volcano and saving a great many
lives in the process. Our next take on love comes
from Caro Robson and it's called Prince Thaddeus
Saves the Future. Caro wrote this story for the
short story competition 2000 Words just at the
end of 2025. Her prompts were heist, subway and...
and ranch hand in heist we had as you could probably
imagine a great variety of stories we had some
very funny heists we had some very action oriented
intense heists and we had a very creative take
on it from caro that i think you're gonna like
in fact i'm sure you're gonna like i'm not really
a betting man but if i was i i would say i would
bet on that caro's read this herself and sam
james the volcano chap from a few moments ago
very kindly edited and sorted out the audio for
caro for uploading purposes last year incidentally
if you are writing for writing battle in any
competition and you haven't done a an audio version
yet i do recommend it it's a lot of fun it doesn't
have to be something you hire out a professional
studio for just to get yourself a microphone
use your phone it is a lot of fun So, our third
and final story for today is Prince Thaddeus
Saves the Future by Kara Robson. Prince Thaddeus
Saves the Future by Kara Robson Once upon a time
in a long ago land, the day had arrived for Prince
Thaddeus to claim a bride. Tradition required
he steal his future queen's heart the way a future
king always did. First, he'd lead his men to
a far away castle. Then, attack it, killing whoever
got in the way. Finally, he'd storm sword first
up the stairs and into the princess's bedchamber.
With her heart fearfully aflutter and his lips
lustfully apucker, he'd bend down for true love's
first kiss before hoisting her onto his horse
to take her home and live happily ever after.
Thaddeus couldn't think of anything worse. Customary
or not, the whole thing felt a little rapey.
And besides, He wasn't prepared in the slightest.
Though the king had spent an alarming sum of
gold on private tutors for swordmanship and horsemanship,
the prince had never been a natural athlete.
Even with all the extra help, he still fumbled
the basics. Thaddeus could hardly lift a broadsword,
never mind thrust one, and bounced atop a saddle
like a sack of beets. Perhaps if he had engaged
with his tutors the way he was expected to, things
would have been different. But alas, and unbeknownst
to the king, Thaddeus never completed a single
lesson. Every Tuesday, he invented a new ailment
to get himself out of sword fighting. Every Thursday,
the riding instructor seemed content to listen
to Thaddeus' mumbling snippets of poetry while
both of them ignored the horses and instead groomed
Blossom, his prized pet bull. Thus, though he
gained none of the skills traditionally required
for stealing the heart of a princess, he succeeded
in spending tutoring time doing what he did all
day anyway, writing amateur poems and tending
to his pet. It should hardly be surprising that
on this day, fated to be one of bravery, bloodshed
and boobies, Thaddeus didn't even try. Rather
than lead his army to brutal battle on faraway
soil, he had them stop at a pleasant lake. Here
they dismounted and allowed their horses to have
a lazy graze. The men lounged on the grass, eyes
closed and heads turned to the heavens, murmuring
appreciation as their prince stood on a large
rock performing his favorite sonnets. They didn't
mind. Everyone adored the eccentric king -to
-be and agreed that it was a far better way to
spend the afternoon than getting impaled or beheaded
in combat. When they returned home at nightfall,
their uniforms crisp and bloodless, not a single
man lost, the king rejoiced. Though he'd had
his doubts about his son, it seemed that all
his worry was for nothing. Never before had a
prince come back from stealing a princess's heart
was not a single man hurt, or even dirty. For
a full minute and seventeen seconds, the king
was riled. Stadius, my boy, back from the greatest
day of your life. The heist for the heart of
your queen is complete. Show us your lovely wife
-to -be. The prince shook his head, mournfully
turning his palms to the sky. I'm sorry, father.
The castle we conquered had only a donkey in
its tower. I could not husband an ass. I'm afraid
I am to remain unwed. The king's jaw dropped,
but before he could respond, Thaddeus' sad demeanour
was replaced by his usual bright smile. Addressing
the assembled guests, he said, Everyone, just
because I haven't a bride doesn't mean the wedding
feast should go to waste. Eat, enjoy, make merry.
As the crowd cheered its approval, the prince
gave a quick wave. Good night, good subjects.
Afraid I can't stay. Blossom's teeth need brushing.
Toodle -oo! The king sighed and downed two goblets
of wine. Allowing the prince to keep a pet bull
was one of his biggest regrets. After the queen
passed away, he thought that Thaddeus needed
a distraction. What better, he thought, than
a big strong beast to encourage my son to stop
moping. But instead, Blossom had brought out
Thaddeus' soft side even more. He was a man obsessed.
faffing over the bovine, calling in healers at
the slightest sniffle, and splurging on deluxe
shampoos for his coat. Something had to be done.
No prince in history had ever failed to complete
the heist, and without a new queen, the king
would not be able to retire. And man, did he
want to step down. He had scrolls and scrolls
of Sudoku waiting, and a model horse carriage
to build. Unfortunately, the usual punishments
simply did not work on Thaddeus. He shrugged
his shoulders at being grounded, as he could
just write poetry in his room. He still cried
like a toddler when being beaten, making the
king feel bad. He honestly enjoyed field labour,
as it gave him extra time to ride on the plough,
diggling furiously as Blossom pulled him along.
No. The king needed something creative and so
called his head advisor to his throne room the
next day. I need a suggestion to get that boy's
head straight, he said, rubbing his temples.
Not only was he annoyed and worried, but he'd
drunk a further six goblets of wine at the knot
-weeding feast and ended up joining the karaoke.
He's nineteen, for goodness sake. I married and
took over the kingdom at sixteen. The advisor
nodded sagely. Forgive me, your highness, but
it would appear that the prince needs to be reminded
about the importance of tradition. The king nodded
enthusiastically, his head pounding at the up
and down. Oh, he said, then, yes, exactly. Perhaps,
the advisor continued, he needs to be sent somewhere
that our old ways have sadly been lost. If he
sees the consequences of not respecting tradition,
the utter chaos of the far future, I am confident
that he will return a changed man. Time travel?
The king frowned. I'm not so sure. Nothing dangerous,
your highness, the advisor said. I have a connection
at an esteemed earl's court, circa 2025. A shot
while there should be enough to shock some sense
into the prince. If any luck, he will complete
the heist shortly after. The king thought longingly
about finally being free to plant his own petunia
garden. Yes, he said, do it. It's time my boy
stopped playing at being ranch hand, that darn
bull, and started taking things seriously. The
advisor was not the type to read fine print.
Contrary to expectation, Prince Thaddeus didn't
poof. into existence at some fancy aristocrat's
estate, but instead appeared sprawled on the
tiles behind the deli counter of a subway in
Earls Court Tube Station in modern -day London.
It was 6am and the shop was locked and dark.
He lay there, unconscious, his fine silk clothes
unthreading and re -spooling into an ill -fitting
polyester get -up. On his breast, a pinned name
tag read, Hi, I'm Thad. His nose twitched. Minutes
before, he'd inhaled a fragrance of meadow grass
and manure in a faraway time and place. Now the
flavor was processed pastrami and his own sick.
Despite his shock upon waking up, Thaddeus had
but one concern. Blossom! He cried, scrambling
upright and crashing into the glass door at the
front of the shop. He bashed with frantic fists,
eyes pleading at the throng of passing commuters.
Has anybody seen my beautiful ball? This is no
place for my darling. The Londoners simply walked
on, paying no mind. He was just another weirdo,
and minding their own business was a point of
national pride. Overwhelmed, Thaddeus crumpled
and sat down on the floor, sobbing. By the time
the shop was unlocked, he was in the fetal position,
an errant pickle stuck to the vomit in his hair.
Oh my gosh, are you alright? A woman wearing
an outfit matching Thaddeus' kneeled next to
him. Her name tag read, Hi, I'm Nola. Thaddeus
sat up and sniffed, snot and tears streaking
his cheeks and chin. I should have completed
the heist. Then this never would have happened.
Heist? Nola wondered if she needed to alert the
authorities, but quickly decided against it.
It was clear that the new guy wasn't exactly
master criminal material, and she'd waited long
enough for her boss to actually employ someone
to help her. Come! She said, pulling out a plastic
chair. Sit here and I'll make you a cuppa. We
have an hour to prepare before customers come.
He frowned. What is this place? She gave him
a quizzical look, her face moving from confusion
to understanding in an instant. Ah, she winked.
Method actor, I'll play along. She put two steaming
cups of instant coffee on the table. It's a sandwich
shop now. Tell me about this heist. Relieved
to have someone to talk to, Thaddeus told Nola
everything, her eyes growing wide as their coffee
grew cold. Nola believed every word. It's not
that she was gullible, but rather that she happened
to be dating a vampire. Everyone thought she
was making it up, but she knew. People who had
no belief in the supernatural were the deluded
ones. So, let me get this straight. she said,
leaving the tomatoes unchopped and the closed
sign firmly facing outwards. You're a prince
and a poet from far away and long ago, and your
father sent you to the future to see the consequences
of flouting the proud tradition of murdering
a woman's entire kingdom in order to claim her
as a wife. Yes, yes, he said. They told me heart
-stealing has completely died out here, and the
world is in a shambles. Father doesn't want me
to bring the ruin to our time, but what I'm really
worried about is my Blossom. Nola took his hand
and squeezed. I'm sure Blossom is safe in his
stable, warming his rump by his fireplace. After
all, he's not the one who needs a wife, right?
He has a harem of nineteen prized cows. Thaddeus
replied. He certainly doesn't need a twentieth.
A commuter banged on the glass, angrily pointing
at the opening hours. Nola raised the middle
finger in response. There was no way she was
making sandwiches when she could be changing
history. Thad! Thaddeus! he corrected. The world
is screwed up, she said. But I wonder... If someone
as powerful as a prince chose love over violence,
perhaps it could change everything. I don't understand,
he said. Find someone who loves Blossom as much
as you do, Nola said. Don't kill her family,
just smile, be nice. Take her hand and go for
a walk. I promise you will not need to steal
her heart. She will give it to you willingly.
Thaddeus thought of his riding instructor. of
how she always greeted him and Blossom with the
brightest of smiles, of how she brushed the bull's
coat with the gentlest of touches, of how she
flushed the prettiest of pinks when his eyes
met her own mid -poem. I know just the person,
he said. Once upon a time in a land long ago,
a very untraditional prince changed the course
of history. When Thaddeus got home, he finally
learned to ride a horse properly. And when he
won the heart of his queen, he did so with poetry.
There is hope for Prince Thaddeus after all.
I love the fact that at the end he does win the
day, he does win the heart of his queen, but
using poetry rather than more. brutal, perhaps
old school means. I think we have to give a round
of applause for Caro for her enthusiasm with
the voices too. I always love it when narrators
do voices. It makes the story really engaging.
Yeah, just a very, very different take on heist
and greatly enjoyable. I could see this being
made into like an animated short or something.
Maybe that's just me. And in terms of the autumn
short story, 2025. Cairo sailed through the house
stage with that and got it to the thrilling 32.
So again, very, very good work from Cairo and
indeed from Prince Thaddeus. That's it from us
this week. Thank you for listening to one more
short story with me, Chris Falwell. We'll see
you next time.