Words can cast a spell, invite us to read stories and sit for a spell away from it all, or pose problems with spelling. Even among those writing the same language, spelling rules vary to the degree one must be a magician to sort it all out.
Nonetheless, who better to spell it all out than writers?
The following are cast from the August 31, 2017 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes a speller.
Note Pinned to a Copper Mine by Charli Mills
“…tract. The word is contract, Father.”
John followed the word with his finger, stating, “Contract.”
“Good! Not to be confused with contact. That means to get in touch with.”
John tousled his son’s dark hair. “When did you get so smart?”
Lawrence beamed a smile, one of his front primary teeth missing. “Since you bought me this Speller!” He held up the brown cloth covered book.
John nodded. “ I need you to help me read more.”
Lawrence nodded and continued, “…contract required for trammers or we strike.”
John folded the note. “Don’t tell Mother. Keep learning, son.”
Flash Fiction by Pensitivity
I got sick and tired of people spelling our name wrong, so Hubby taught me the phonetic alphabet.
He would test me at every opportunity until it became second nature, and I still use it today over the phone.
A double glazing company lost our potential contract for getting our surname wrong.
There was no excuse really as my type written enquiry letter had shown it IN CAPITAL LETTERS below my signature.
There are times though when the Spelling Challenge is a riot of hilarity.
Imagine getting a letter addressed to Mr and Mrs Sierra Mike India Tango Hotel.
Comnopanis by Cheryl Oreglia
Bread. A human staple, made of flour and water. It’s one of the oldest prepared foods, evidence of bakeries 30,000 years back. Imagine. Bread plays an essential role in religious rituals and sliced bread is the bedrock of modern culture. Well that and Spanx.
The most interesting aspect of bread is the etymology. Consider the word “companion,” from Latin, com “with” and panis “bread.” Meaning a true companion is one you break bread with, hopefully on a daily basis. Sadly my companion is temporarily “comnopanis” or “without bread.” His doctor, clearly a sadist, has removed bread from his diet.
Copier by FloridaBorne
“I’m a bad smeller…uh…speller.”
Thinking the first word to be more appropriate, I sneezed into my silk handkerchief. “You applied for a calligraphy job. What are your qualifications?”
His smile revealed a set of strong teeth ringed with scum as he removed a metal container from his bag. Out of its bowels came parchment, a quill and red ink. He printed my first name, “John” in perfect form…but my last name!
“Look! You wrote John Johns, not John Jones!” I protested. He turned my gold name plate toward me, and I flushed at the obvious.
“I’m a good copier.”
If You Can Spell It, You Can Date Me by Joe Owens
Not to mention if we were a couple how much fun we could have rubbing everyone’s nose in it!” Gabe finished his impassioned appeal. Zoe was the one he wanted to be with more than any other and he felt like this was his best chance to convince her.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said turning to the shelf with reference books on it in the school library, “I’ll pop open this dictionary and put my finger on a word with my eyes closed. Spell it and I say yes!”
“Okay,” Gabe smiled.
“Here,” she said. “Antidisestablishmentarianism!”
Power Player (Janice vs Richard #18) by JulesPaige
Detective Longhorn was working to try and find Richard.
The creep who once had Janice under his spell. Richard
admitted to killing the vagrant who was in the alley behind
Janice’s residence. Richard had been in her home; disabled
her fake barking dog tapes, placed a red dress in her old
wardrobe, and sent her a new cell phone with a frightening
Whose spell was Richard under? Whatever glue was
holding Richard together, had slipped. Richard got sick
in Janice’s kitchen after eating berries from her garden and
left some clues. Yet this criminal was still being elusive!
Speller by Michael
My mother was a witch, and as a witch, she knew about spells. She wanted me to be an ordinary kid so sent me to school where nuns taught me all I needed to know. Trouble was I would be kept in after class because my spelling was so bad. My mother fearing, I would be ostracised concocted a potion to clear my brain and allow me to spell. It worked, and my class teacher happily took the credit for my change of fortune. She then worked on my grammar and mum, and I thought she done real good.
An Incompetent Speller by Chris Mills
An open jar on Tony’s coffee table filled the room with the bitter aroma of vinegar in which a photo and written spell basted. The Speller chanted, Revenge, revenge, may Martin’s brakes fail going round the bend. Tony’s ex-boss, who had fired him, had to navigate a mountain curve on his way home. Tony called to see if his conjuration had been successful. Martin answered and Tony hung up. He pulled the fading, vinegar-soaked spell from the jar, but he could already see the cause of his botched magic. Break failure would not get him the revenge he sought.
Time to Decode by Roweena Saxena
“What do these symbols mean?”
“There are three basic principles of communicating information that I know –letters and words exert a pull on the other, choices are gradually narrowed down to end speculation, and the final elimination of other alternatives.”
“What is your final message?”
“Words have become redundant. It is possible to communicate through symbols. Language is dead.”
“What are you trying to say? We work in a research lab, and write several papers and reports.”
“Unfortunately, not in the same era.”
“There are some numbers on the last page to denote a date. It says 3050.”
House of Words by Bill Engleson
Lenny liked to dance around logic. “The way I figure it,” he would say “language is a building block for any world we want.”
Lenny knew I was a concrete thinker. He might be palsy walsy with nonsense but I needed facts, reason.
“Okay, my friend,” I said, “We have no money. Winters coming on. We need a dry shelter.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, “We surely do. It ain’t gonna happen, Donnie. We’re disposable. We aren’t even refundable.”
“So, any ideas?”
“Language. We build a spellter.”
“Sorry. What the heck is a…?”
“Spellter! Why, it’s a house built of words.”
Nina’s Spell by Kerry E.B. Black
Lillian wiped her hands on a towel. “You’re magical, you know?”
Nina crinkled her nose. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Everything you touch, everything you do, is permeated with love, even when people receiving your help doesn’t deserve it.”
Nina tapped her finger on the tabletop. “Everyone deserves love.”
“I don’t think so. If I were treated as badly as you are, I don’t think I’d be as gracious. Certainly, I wouldn’t help them.”
Nina sighed. “People fear difference, worry they’ll catch it or something. I mean to show the palsy’s not contagious, but kindness is.”
“That’s your spell, then.”
Chatter erupted as assessment commenced. A pass would grant membership to the Spellnovators, but the best would replace Imara, who, for her final duty, mixed their potions and tested their spells. She praised ingenuity as stars exploded, flowers blossomed, and extinct animals reappeared. Choosing her replacement would be difficult. Suddenly her glare in Ruby’s direction spelled trouble. The chatter ceased. “What’s this?” she demanded. “Mix in happy witches!?” Ruby’s lip quivered. “Wishes. I meant to spell wishes.” Voices united in wishes. Instantaneously, everywhere, hearts opened with love. Goodwill rained down, filling all with hope. Imara would spell in peace.
Speller Flash Fiction by Rachel Hanson
“͞Mama,Mama!” Maggie yelled, running over to Genevieve, “I found a speller!”
Genevieve was surprised, who would be spelling at a Halloween party?
“Can you show me?” She asked her daughter. “YES!” Maggie shouted.
They ran across the room, Maggie too excited to slow down, even for her pregnant mama. Then there,
in the corner of the room Genevieve saw her. Tall, with a pointed hat and a fake wart, was a witch
waving her wand.
“Listen well to my spell! This maiden will only awaken to true loves kiss!” The witch said.
“See Mama, a speller,” Maggie explained.
Whose Ignorance? by Anne Goodwin
“You know this, Tully,” said Hester.
“If in doubt,” said Fred, “spell it out.”
The chalked letters danced across his slate, white upon black. Always white upon black. “The black man is …” The right word would make the sentence wrong.
“Your hesitation proves the point,” said Hugh. The younger ones giggled.
“Never mind,” said Hester. “An education will raise you above the rest.”
Addie stroked his arm. “Don’t cry, Tully. It’s just a joke.”
He wouldn’t cry, but he’d take their learning. Soak it up and spit it back at them. When the time was right.
Spellbound by D. Avery
Until words or actions revealed their affliction, the spellbound weren’t always easy to detect. The dark power of hatred grew daily, spreading to more and more people. It gathered strength, consuming even as it was consumed. The counter-spell must be found before it was too late. To fail was unthinkable.
Desperately they searched, unsure of what the solution could even be. Magical potions? Arcane rituals? Mystical incantations? Finally the realization dawned; the spell of hatred can only be overcome by loving words and actions.
The whole earth is my birthplace and all humans are my siblings.*
This they believed.
A Literate Populace by idylloftheking
“They aren’t meant to read! They’re good for only cleaning up after us!”
“We extend these rights to all humans, regardless of their qualities as individuals. I may not respect them, but I recognize them for what they are.”
“Why does the reality of ‘what they are’ matter? They’re not better than animals, even if they are more like us than the rest.”
“I want to be on the right side of history.”
“I see. Vanity over progress.”
“Progress requires improving upon he past .”
“Progress needs something to build on.”
“Excuse me,” interrupted the speller.
“Shush,” they said simultaneously.
Weather Cast by D. Avery
The spell of summer was broken, its blue skies faded and grayed, awash on cloud-strewn winds. Trees champed and tossed their manes as the winds reared and galloped. Leaves and small branches came unberthed, wildly skittering and wheeling about, finally ending in twisted, dreary piles, pelted by unrepentant rain.
With nightfall, diminishing winds mustered petulant gusts to usher the last of the clouds away, until, weary, the wind murmured quietly in the silver cast treetops. In the crisp light of a full moon, the night sky sparked and shivered.
Somehow fall had come; somehow another spell had been cast.
What’s Wrong? by Enkin Anthem
Unbridled, righteous rage throbbed visibly in the bulging vein on Mr. Edison’s temple. One hand clenched the paper as he read it aloud.
“The Romans where a people who lived around the Mediterranean. There the ancestors of most European-based cultures.” The tip of his red pencil threatened to stab Ben’s chest. “Seriously?” he hissed. “That’s inadequate. Abysmal. Fail. 1000 words on the use of pronouns. 1000 words on the declination of to be. And 1000 words on the use and significance of homophones in the English language.”
Ben shuffled out of the room, devastated. He should of known better.
Just Keep Writing by Elliott Lyngreen
“Can we start over,” she asked, thinking all undone with thoughts on creating papers.
“If we only we could record thoughts, images, and compile ideas straight into a complete work. But we have to write it,” I said back in a way that, like an idea, only comes to us as it was intended or began or set out to be.
Again she asked, “can we start over? I don’t want to be the odd one out. … No more that’s terrible, read that.”
Story was in her. Wanting her to spell out, I said, “just keep going.”
The “oo” Poem by Robbie Cheadle
After a heavy rain
the sky is bright blue,
Everything washed clean
looking shiny and new.
It is quite thrilling to me
and to you, too,
I want to go out
but where’s my other shoe?
I can’t find it
and get into a stew.
Has it been taken?
If so, by who?
Of this question’s answer
I have no clue.
When I find the culprit
the theft they will rue.
I find it at last
Now I have two.
Outside, I pick flowers
one for me, one for you.
My, what a muddle
the flowerbeds have
I must be honest, I really found writing this poem to be a lot of fun. I must fly more often.
Names by Jack Schuyler
The pit in Jonah’s stomach started when she introduced herself. The other girls snickered as the counselor said “isn’t Jonah a boy’s name?” and that was just the start. The day was a whirlwind of more introductions in four hours than in four lifetimes, and the names swam in Jonah’s mind as she lay on the unfamiliar mattress, unable to keep the team chant from spelling itself out over and over in her head. What was life like without it? She wanted to remember. It stuck to her brain, keeping her up as endless names echoed in her thoughts.
The Best Speller (Jane Doe Flash Fiction) by Deborah Lee
Jane clicks on the save icon. She grimaces at the red squiggles, then smiles at the memory of the phone ringing. Dad instead of Mom, unusual in itself.
“How do you spell conscientious?” he asks.
She tells him. “What’s up?”
“Just writing a letter back home.”
“Mom has a dictionary there. She can spell.”
“Nah. You’re the best speller.”
She laughs. “I must be, if I’m worth long distance rates. Not that anyone can tell with your handwriting anyway.” She lowers her voice. “You don’t need an excuse to call. It’s okay to miss me. I miss you, too.”
Spell by Irene Waters
Aarifa’s daughter curled in a ball on her bed, sobbing quietly. “Orenda honey, what’s wrong?” From her own experience she knew a new school is daunting without adding race and country differences.
“Mum. Mr Alkamil taught me all wrong. I flunked spelling today but I got them right. Colour – C O..L.O..U..R.” Ararifa listened to her daughter spelling word after word perfectly, except now they lived in America.
“Darling. Words are like people. Different the world over. You can get upset. Go to war over them or embrace the difference. See they’re the same no matter what clothes they wear.
Countdown (First Release) by Liz Husebye Hartmann
Boxes lay along the curved perimeter of the silvery dock. A slender figure darted around them, stacking smaller boxes on medium, turning some toward the shoreline. The healer and her intern had placed three large boxes on the further, forested side, long before the observers had arrived. The dock rocked, slapping the water; the beasts were restless.
Twelve boxes total, counting the one in her belly pocket.
The crowd quieted as dawn softened, red to apricot.
She raised her arms. “Z!” The intern unlatched the largest box and stepped back as a silky black panther padded toward the trees…
A “Lucy Stoner” by Diana Nagai
For as long as she could remember, Alice Sandhu spelled her last name for others, “S as in ‘Sam’ – A – N as in ‘Nancy’ – D as in ‘David’ – H – U.” She could have welcomed her husband’s surname, one she’d never have to spell. Instead, she kept her own name, a last connection to her heritage. Lucy Stone, an advocate for women’s rights in the 1800s, paved the way for her, but Alice’s decision still raised a few eyebrows. Nevertheless, choosing birthright over simplicity changed something within her; burden became pride.
Flash Fiction by Pete Fanning
Mr. Melvin slipped a shiny record from a flaking cover with the face of a dark-skinned woman. He gently set the needle down and the speakers crackled.
I put a spell on you…
I looked up. The music was eerie but enchanting, and the voice within its tangled melody sent an electric wiggle over my scalp to my neck and down my back.
“Who is that?”
“Nita Simmons, meet Nina Simone.”
Her voice grabbed a hold of my insides and wringed me out, filling the room and making acquaintances. When I finally remembered to breathe, it was a gasp.
Opine Range by D. Avery
“Whatcha thinkin’, Kid?”
“Nothin’. It’s a pretty open ranch, though, ain’t it?”
“Yep. Fairly free range. Why ya askin’?”
“Shorty left a note. She’s gone to town agin, says here she’s gone to pick up some broads.
“Huh. You uncomfortable with that, Kid?”
“Well, no… yeah, but… What?”
“Kid, put it in context. Shorty ain’t likely pickin’ up broads, not that there’s anything wrong with that. She ain’t the greatest speller, ya know. She’s most likely gittin’ boards at the lumberyard.”
“Not a ferry?”
“Jist same ol’ Shorty. Gatherin’ materials to build up the ranch.”
“Nothin’ wrong with that.”
Yeehaw! by D. Avery
“Kid, thought you was s’posed ta be off makin’ bacon or some such thing. “
“Cain’t I set a spell?”
“Course. Anyone’s welcome ta set a spell at Carrot Ranch. Well, Kid, if ya ain’t wanderin’, ya must be wonderin’.”
“Yep. Kinda excited ‘bout Shorty’s rodeo. Gonna be fun, Pal.”
“Sure is. I can see it too, Kid. Riders bringin’ their wild, buckin’ prompts to a lathered walkin’ gait.”
“Ropin’ competitions, gittin’ words all wrapped up into a story in record time.”
“Maybe barrel races…steer wrestlin’. Might be rodeo clowns.”
“For the bull ridin’!”
“Hang onta yer hats folks.”