Stake and Eggs
The first 300 words of a 1000 word short story.
Synopsis: At a trading post where no cost is too great and no method is out of the question, a married couple bargain for a child of their own.
James and Sarah had followed the shopkeep’s instructions to the letter. They had taken home the bird’s nest—a mosaic of blackened and yellowed fingernails, with crows’ feathers and rabbit bones thrown in for good measure—and placed it under their bed. Despite the stench of rotten marrow, they made love—eagerly, like the countless and fruitless times before. They tangled in the cold black of the night. Limbs, indiscriminate of each other. A mound of writhing flesh, sprawled like roots of a tree shedding its seed.#“We had an agreement,” James began, the blizzard howling outside, the windows cloaked in white. “This is the monkey’s paw all over again. You said, you said, there would only be one egg. Why are there two? Why do they look completely different? Why—”“Why why why. W, X, Y and Z!” the gnomish shopkeep sang. His missing teeth added a whistle as he spoke through his underbite, which rang into the dark corners of the trading post. “Questions, so many questions when there’s nothing to worry about. The good news is that you’ll be parents after all. One of these is definitely your son.”James and Sarah found each other’s hand. She caressed his third finger with her thumb, lamenting the missing ring. But the words. The words they never thought they’d hear. “Our son?” Sarah asked, tears welling under her eyes. “You know we’re having a boy?”“Oh yes,” the shopkeep answered, hunched and angular, plucking one of the eggs from the withered nest sitting atop the wooden counter. Both just larger than that of a chicken. One, white, covered in goosebumps; the other, smooth and black like smoldering obsidian. He adjusted the glasses that magnified his beady eyes, licked his lips, and lathered the egg with his long, serpentine tongue. 
Mr. Origami and His Whirlpool
About 500 words from a 2000 word short story.
Synopsis: The Paragon Weave attempts to help Mr. Origami salvage a relationship with his estranged daughter while also trying to find him a romantic partner.
Stacy showed up at my door again; the drugs had drained the colour from her face. Despite it all, all the reasons why we should have nothing to do with each other, she has always showed up here. No matter how clear I’ve made it that I didn’t need this wretch in my life anymore, something continued to draw us together. “Stacy,” I said.“Hey dad.”She wasn’t even looking at me. Her gaze was directed toward the bottom-left corner of the doorframe. She was barefoot and her clothes were barely holding on. Her body was crumpled like paper. She held herself and chewed her thumbnail, twitching and shaking like a cold dog.“Gunpowder again,” I asked. She managed to nod.I opened the door wider and took a step back. The stink of soiled mattresses and God knows what else accompanied her entrance. I found her curled up on the couch when I came back to the living room with a couple of towels. She was staring at the ceiling, hugging her knees.“You’re still making them,” she said.“Feet on the floor please,” I replied.I placed the towels at the opposite end of the couch. Paper cranes hung down at various heights, blanketing the ceiling, twirling like patient ballerinas.“How many are you at now?”“926.”“They’re so lovely, like stars in the sky.”I hadn’t looked at them much myself. I had mostly just made them, hung them, then moved on to the next one. I had started making them out of higher quality paper, the kind you were likely to find at art stores. But it got expensive fast, so I started making them out of whatever I could find. Pages torn from discarded books. Unwanted sheet music. Newspapers. “Still just cranes?”“Mostly cranes.”“I like foxes myself. I even saw one on my way over and—” “I ran you a bath. There’s soap and shampoo in there too.”Finally, she looked at me. She looked guilty, as though apologizing, or sad that we weren’t going to keep talking about paper animals. I couldn’t let her gaze do any damage. She had her mother’s eyes. When she realized I wasn’t going to budge, her eyes quivered and broke away, defeated. She nibbled on her thumbnail some more, then reached over and took the towels. She kept her head down as she stood up. The only sounds left were the soft rustling of paper and Stacy’s shuffling.“Thanks dad,” she said, dragging her feet to the bathroom.I’ll have to mop the floor, was the only thought I had when I saw her blackened footsteps. “What are you going to wish for?” she asked, stopping in front of the bathroom door.I raised my head slightly, confused.“When you reach 1000, what are you going to wish for?”We stood like that, frozen, for a few beats.“You should hurry before the water gets cold,” I answered.The corner of her lip hinted at a smile that disappeared when she was on the other side of the door that closed with a click. What would I wish for? I wondered. If only.