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[Velox]

Warm-Up: Flash Fiction Marathon

[Bionicle topic :: Entries Index]

Today we have come to you with a unique form of contest: You are to run a marathon. A marathon of short stories, or, more appropriately, flash fiction pieces. For the next twelve (12) days there will be twelve (12) themes. And, also uniquely, this will be the first crossover contest including both COT and the Library.

Sound like something you’re interested in? Then make sure you read the following:

Contest Rules and Important Information

• Each entry MUST be between 400-600 words. This is flash fiction.
• One new theme will be given out each night. Each theme will be given out at Midnight, EST (hopefully; I have finals and graduation and other things next week), every night for 12 days
• The contests will alternate between BIONICLE and COT. The first contest will be BIONICLE, the second will be COT, then going back to Bionicle and so on.
• Bionicle entries may be human-Bionicle, if you wish. Just as long as they have some sort of relation to Bionicle. As usual, the story does not have to follow the canon storyline -- you may create your own characters, settings, etc., as long as in some way the story relates to Bionicle.
• COT entries are not allowed to be Bionicle. That's what the Bionicle themes are for.
• For each theme, contestants will have 48 hours to enter – so, if it’s a Bionicle theme, you will have until the next Bionicle theme is announced (as there will be a COT theme in between there) to enter your story.
• After the 48-hour entry period, the entries will be placed in a poll for you – yes, you! – to decide the winner for the day; each winner will be receiving a small prize. At the end of all 12, the 12 winners will be pooled together and judged by judges for a final prize of greater monetary value.
• It is very likely that an extra prize will be given for those who enter all 12 challenges, both COT and Bionicle.
• Each winner for the 12 themes will receive a small prize, to be announced.
• If you are going to post your stories, do so in the correct forum; COT stories belong in COT, Bionicle stories belong in the Short Stories section of the Library.
• All entries must adhere to BZPower's rules and guidelines.
• Your story must be new and never before posted on BZP. You can certainly have been working on your entry before this, but it must be posted on BZP after the start of the contest for it to be eligible.
• Keep it PG-13-ish appropriate. So no overly gory descriptions, excessive violence, sexual content, inappropriate content, et cetera.
• You cannot edit your entry 30 minutes after it is posted. Once you post your story, you will have thirty minutes to edit it in order to make any formatting changes or to edit your story itself -- if you edit your entry post after that, your entry will be disqualified. PM me if you have to edit for story for some reason after 30 minutes before you do so.
• If your story is not posted in this topic with the correct format, your entry will not be entered into the contest.
• Do not use unnecessary formatting -- see more in the "How to Enter" section.

How To Enter:

There will be two main topics, one for Bionicle (here) and one in COT (this one); make sure you post your entry in the right one. If you are entering a Bionicle theme, post in the Bionicle topic, not this one.

To enter, please use this form:

Member Name:
Theme:
Word Count:
Story:

NOTE: Do NOT link to your story. It is fine if you wish to post it on BZPower, but for entering this contest, we ask that you post your story in this topic. Thanks!

Furthermore, do NOT have any unnecessary coding when entering your stories. This means no color, not signoffs, no indents, etc. You may use italics, underline, etc. if it’s used for the body of your story, but please leave your posts as bare possible.


And so, without further ado, I present to you:

THEME #12:

Preparation

Any interpretation valid. Remember this is a COT Theme. Entries must comply with all rules posted in the first post. Sorry for the delay, banner will come later.

Deadline:

June 8th, 11:59 PM EST


THEME #8:



Ultimatum

Yes, in the intrepid Velox's absence I'm announcing your theme. As usual, you may use the theme however you'd like. Remember that this is a COT theme, and your story must comply with the word count regulation.

Deadline: June 3rd, 1:59 AM EST.

THEME #6:

Amor Omnia Vincit

As usual, you may use the theme however you'd like. "Amor Omnia Vincit" is a famous latin phrase meaning "Love Conquers All." Remember that this is a COT theme, and your story must comply with the word count regulation.

Deadline: June 1st, 1:59 AM EST.

(banner forthcoming)


THEME #4

The Game

Any interpretation is valid. The only requirement is that this is a COT theme, and it must adhere to the word count restriction posted above.
Deadline: May 30th, 11:59 PM EST



It is our honor and pleasure to host yet another contest for you. We wish you all the best of luck, and hope we receive as many entries as possible!

Your hosts,
Andrew (Velox)
John (55555)

Edited by Velox, Jun 08 2012 - 03:26 PM.

[Hahli Husky]

Pinned.

[The Dark Chronicler]

Member Name: Pyrrhon
Theme: 2: Treasure
Word Count: 532
Story: Golden Idol


Two metal blades clashed against each other in the decrepit ancient temple, growth and decay went hand in hand as the battle continued. The golden idol sat gleaming in the background, standing on a pedestal as ancient and decayed as the rest of the temple. But the little statue shined as brightly as it had for many years, in the light of a small opening in the roof above. It was the cause of the battle, and only the winner would walk away with the gleaming prize.

"You're too late now, the treasure is mine! But killing you will be an added pleasure, James." The first of the fighters remarked, sweeping low with his blade, just as the other blocked with his own blade to keep from losing his legs. "You've caused me enough problems, I won't deal with your meddling any longer!"

"I won't let you take it, Zerov!" The other remarked, blocking a blow with his blade and using it to push Zerov back, before delivering a disorienting blow with the hilt of his blade to his foe's face. "This treasure is going to the museum... where it belongs, not the hands of some illegal collector!"

Zerov let out a grunt as he struck the ground, trying unsuccessfully to get back up onto his feet as the intense pain shot out through his head. "I have been searching for this for many years, I will not just give it up!"

"Funny, so have I." James walked over, swiping the little golden idol from the pedestal. As he turned to walk away, a low and ominous rumble filled the air. The pedestal began to sink into the ground, a bad sign.

The entire Temple began to shake, pieces crumbling off and falling to the ground. One of the pieces struck James' hand, knocking the idol from his grasp. Then, the floor began to split and crumble apart, separating as a ravine formed in the center of the room.

Zerov slid toward the chasm, barely managing to clutch the side of the abyss to keep himself from falling to his doom. "Look what you've done! This is your fault, you fool!"

James saw the golden idol roll across the uneven floor, balancing dangerously on the edge, a good distance from Zerov. He had to choose which one to save, and quickly. James walked in the direction of the statue, ignoring the hanging Zerov and his pitiful calls for help.

"Wait, stop! Don't leave me to die!" Begged Zerov, his grip beginning to slip as he struggled to find a good handhold. "Please, do not abandon me here! Keep the treasure, but do not let me die!"

James seemed unfazed by his words, heading only for the treasure and grabbing it from its dangerous perch. "The museum will enjoy this..."

"Wait, you can still help me! Don't leave me like this!" The terror on Zerov's face was apparent, that of a man in what he feared would be the last moments of his life.

James moved over to the ledge, near Zerov. He looked down at the treasure seeker, the coveted treasure in his hand.

"Please!" Let out Zerov with one last cry. "Have some mercy!"

Without a word, James stepped down on Zerov's hand.

[Kumata]

Question: Would I be allowed to link all 6 of my COT entries? Use the same characters, premise, plot, as if they were chapters in a story?

[Danska: Shadow Master]

Member Name: Danska: Shadow Master
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 563
Story: Diary of a Treasure Hunter

25^th July

Whoever came up with this crackpot scheme clearly had a screw loose. Y'know, I'd be surprised if they had a single screw that hadn't worked itself loose and fallen head first into the ocean. Who's idea was this, anyway?

Ah, wait. That'd be me. Five hours of digging in the hot sun on a tiny island direct in the middle o' nowhere is more than enough to make anyone realise just how much they hate digging. I mean, 's all very well if there's something under there, but you ever tried digging through solid earth in this weather? You'd think the soil'd be all nice'n dusty. Think the spade'd slip right in. As if I'd ever be so lucky.

You probably wanna know why I'm here, ay? Wanna know why I'm suddenly in the middle of nowhere and not resting in a nice bed in some tavern with a frothing mug of ale? Bah! I doubt anyone's reading this anyhow. Perhaps I'll wanna look back some day and remind myself not to be such a brainless fool in my old age.

This brilliant scheme all began a couple of days ago in an aforementioned tavern. Few drinks with the lads, some good ol' banter, then of course the talk turned to treasure. Always seems ta do that. Anyhow, this old dude said he knew of some buried treasure far out to sea on an isle no man had ever returned from. And of course, in my drunken stupified state, I took this as a personal challenge. Ain't no treasure as can elude me, I says. Tales of doom and terror don't frighten me, I says. So of course, I gets me the map and set sail at first light. Now that's one stupid idea if ever I knew one.

So I arrived this morning, found me the spot where the treasure's meant to be and started digging. And digging. And more digging! I weren't even told what's down there. Could be a bucket a' rusty nails f'all I know. Anyhow, five hours and one massive hole later and I ain't found nothing. This is not best pleasing to me, but it ain't like I'm gonna return empty handed now, is it? Guess I'll start again tomorrow. In the meantime, I best get myself some food and shelter.

26^th July

Well that may just rank as the worst night's sleep I've ever had. Coul'na breathe for hearing some strange moaning or howling. Probably just the wind I says, but it sure is strange. Anyhow, decided to have another crack at the digging today. Blasted hole keeps getting larger and I still found nothing! When I get back I'm having me a good long talk with that old man. Ain't no way there's treasure here. Just some godforsaken spit o' land right out where no one wants ta travel, 'cause there ain't nothing here!

Ain't wasting no more time digging, or writing for that matter! Curse the treasure and curse this island! I'll be heading back now for somewhere I can at least get some company. Sitting about all on me lonesome ain't exactly my style. 'no man's ever returned.' Pah! Ain't nothing here! Certainly ain't nothing as gonna stop me leaving, that's for sure.

27^th July
.
.
.
.

28^th July
.
.
.
.

29^th July
.
.
.
.

[55555]

Question: Would I be allowed to link all 6 of my COT entries? Use the same characters, premise, plot, as if they were chapters in a story?

That is permitted. Just be aware that come voting/judging time, each story will be judged by itself.

- 55555

[Aderia]

1. Are we allowed to use lyrics, like part of a songfic?
2. If so, do the lyrics count in the word count?

[Varkanax39]

Member Name: Varkanax39
Theme: 2: Treasure
Word Count: 600
Story: Confrontation

Confrontation

“So this is what you were hiding,” breathed Aeran quietly as he and Risk walked quietly into the darkened cavern to face the being they’d hunted for a century and a half.

The callous face of their enemy crinkled into a cold, feral smile. “Of course. Did you expect anything less?” Vharaan asked, the Shadow Construct’s eyes remaining dead and cold.

Aeran stepped silently toward Vharaan, staring at the massive mound of glittering jewels and priceless items lying piled high and arranged behind him like the horde of a dragon. And, of course, at the twisted, curved staff that lay at the top of the pile. The item he and Risk hunted for three centuries and hundreds of realms of existence far outside the earth world.

“You’ll never get away with your plan,” he said to Vharaan. Risk nodded, though her voice shook as he said, “We’ll stop you.”

“That will not happen,” Vharaan hissed with cold certainty.

“Yes! It will!” said Aeran, his voice filled with emotion. He pulled his sword from its sheath with a silent hiss that echoed through the caverns. Risk lifted her spear. Vharaan appeared to be completely unarmed, but Aeran had hunted this Shadow Construct long enough to know that betting against him was always fatal.

But we have to do the impossible. Take him down here, whatever it takes. We cannot let him do more harm.

“Dare you test your might against the greatest of the Hunters?” Vharaan asked, stepping toward them. A flickering spear of blue-black flame appeared in his hands. “I think it is time for me to bring an end to your pathetic quest once and for all.”

As Aeran held the Construct’s gaze. He would have no qualms destroying Vharaan. The Shadow Construct was no mortal being, he was merely a statue given a semblance of life by his masters. As Vharaan spoke, Risk was already creeping past him, ready to finish him with one thrust of her spear.

Quicker than chain lighting, Vharaan struck. Risk was still creeping past him when Vharaan grabbed the curved sickle-staff from the floor of the cavern and slammed the hilt into Risk’s side. There was a flash of dark energy and the crack of snapping bones, and Risk fell to the ground, several ribs broken.

Aeran leapt at Vharaan the moment he saw Risk fall. His blade locked with that of Vharaan. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Risk staggering to her feet, ignoring the barrage of chain lightning fired by Vharaan that tore through her leather jacket and smashed through the protective armor beneath.

Aeran slammed his sword into Vharaan’s neck. Any mortal would have died at one from the blow, but black liquid simply fell from Vharaan’s neck and he snarled. At the same time Vharaan staggered back, Risk struck, fast as chain lighting.

But Vharaan was faster. His spear slammed into Risk’s throat with the force of a thunderbolt. With a small gasp Risk fell backward against the cavern wall, eyes staring sightlessly up at the sky.

Aeran gave a low moan of anguish and fury. “You kill her!”

“Yes,” hissed Vharaan. “Your girl is dead, foolish immortal. But your life shall not be taken. Instead, I will simply relieve you of your thoughts for a few hundred millennia. It shouldn’t be painful, simply…nothing.”

“Never!” Aeran hissed.

“Very well,” said Vharaan and charged. The two mortal enemies charged forward, Aeran’s eyes filled with hate, Vharaan’s filled with ceaseless, unending determination. And as Vharaan’s blade bore down on Aeran, he tensed, ready to fight once more.

Word Count: 600

[55555]

1. Are we allowed to use lyrics, like part of a songfic?
2. If so, do the lyrics count in the word count?

Yes and yes.

- 55555

[Maganar]

Member Name: Maganar
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 598
Story: Klondike Starlight

I spit on the snow at my feet. The saliva crackles, freezing instantly. That means it’s at least fifty below zero. I trudge onwards back to camp, considering myself lucky. I managed to find a few flakes of gold today – better than usual. The gold glitters… like starlight.

I unceremoniously collapse by the campfire. Warmth radiates into me. Life-giving warmth. Warmth my horse was denied on the White Pass Trail where it joined countless other fatigued beasts of burden as corpses in the gulch below.

1897. The newspapers spread misinformation to us like a plague. We thought there was treasure up here, north of the Yukon. That “treasure” was akin to Pandora’s Box – hypothermia, fatigue, grizzly bears, and the occasional distraught miner turned murderous rushed out to greet us when we peeked under the lid to locate the prize we were promised.

I fumble to remove my gloves. Then I hold out my hands toward the fire. They’re so cold it’s tempting to stick them directly in the flame, but the danger of burn wounds in this uncompromising land… too risky. Water trickles down my haphazardly-shaven chin as the crust of ice crystals on my beard melts.

It’s like my family has an ancestral urge for gullibility. The grandparents of my wife and I migrated to the west with their children during the 1849 California rush. We met and married in a slowly withering boomtown and fell for the same trap all over again. She told me not to go, but I eventually convinced her that this was the way to earn the money we could use to buy a property somewhere better. If I’d had her foresight or she’d had my… well, stubbornness, we would have avoided this. But the sons and daughters of miners think like miners, living life one day at a time and forgetting to learn from history or look to the future. Going north was a mistake. I’m heading straight back as soon as I come close to breaking even on this ill-planned endeavor… and the first thing I’m doing back in California is telling my wife she was right all along.

I shuffle towards my tent, duck in under the flap, and manage my way under the heaps of blankets. There it is in my sleeping roll, right where I keep it so that I see it every night. That photograph I took with one of those newfangled Eastman Kodak machines. Staring back at me are the faces of my wife, son, and daughter. The perfect miner’s family – all of them probably as gullible and stupid as I am. Even my weary and weathered face can’t help but break a smile at the thought. I sit there grinning to myself and oblivious to the slow yet inexorable passing of time.

Finally, the howling of the wind as the sun dips below the horizon breaks me out of my reminiscence. I turn over and wait for that rejuvenating process we call sleep to wash away the exhaustion of the day.

Yet, as I lie there, my mind returns to the photograph. That was my mistake all along, wasn’t it? My treasure was with my family, not in Alaska. Yes, as soon as I’ve found enough gold that I won’t return home carrying a debt on my shoulders, I’ll cut my losses and go straight back. No exceptions, no delays, and no more nonsensical ventures like this one for as long as I live.

Meanwhile, on the canvas of my brain, I can still see their three faces… and their eyes glitter… like starlight.

[Aderia]

Member Name: Zosia Darr
Theme: CoT- Treasure
Word Count: 483
Story: Cinderella

₪҉₪

She spins and she sways
To whatever song plays
Without a care in the world
And I'm sitting her wearing
The weight of the world on my shoulders


I am looking into baby-blue eyes, so big that that I can see my reflection, as I sit in the rocker and sing off key since mother is running late tonight. I smile my own goofy daddy smile into those eyes, and your toothless smile is reflected back at me.

Beautiful, and I will remember it forever.


It's been a long day
And there's still work to do
She's pulling at me
Saying "Dad, I need you,"


I toss you over my shoulder and spin in tight circles, calling you a sack of potatoes. Your adorable giggles that melt my heart are intermingled with chattering words that you've only just learned. Too dizzy now, I set you down, and you amble over to your beautiful mother, your palm-sized feet leaving palm-sized indents in the grass. You are the most precious walkie-talkie I will ever have.

Beautiful, and I will keep it in my heart forever.


"There's a ball at the castle
And I've been invited
And I need to practice my dancing
Oh, please, Daddy, please?"


I stand, cheering at the top of my lungs, to your mother's embarrassment. She claps enthusiastically, but leans over and asks me what could possibly be so intense about pee-wee soccer. I shrug and cheer louder. You stumble over the soccer ball, which comes all the way up to your toddler thighs, and your peals of laughter warble through the air like butterflies.

Beautiful, and I will love it forever.


So I will dance with Cinderella
While she is here in my arms


And time passes as it does, with its own enigmatic manner. Time is callous, unyielding, and merciless, not bothering to stop for anyone or anything. It leeches strength from the very bones of the greatest of us, leaving frail shells spotted with age.

Still, time is generous and compassionate, feeding life into the youngest and brightest of us, strengthening them and giving them wisdom. Helping them to grow up, flowing with just enough benevolence to let you live life to the fullest.

The whole thing is beautiful, and it's the world we live in.


'Cause I know something the prince never knew
Oh, I will dance with Cinderella


The world we live in is so big, I can't fathom it.

But my world is so small, but it's all that I can fathom.

It is you, my beautiful daughter.


I don't want to miss even one song
'Cause all too soon the clock will strike midnight


It is you. Your smile, your laughing eyes, your hugs that you dive into with all your heart, the melody in your name, and the sweet sound of 'daddy' carried by your voice. It's what I live for, and what I treasure above all else.


And she'll be gone...

₪҉₪

(Disclaimer: Lyrics belong to Steven Curtis Chapman.)

Edited by Zosia Darr, May 27 2012 - 05:17 PM.

[Legolover-361]

(EDIT: I fixed the word count.)

Member Name: Legolover-361
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 595
Story: Regular Maintenance

The robot soldier’s eyes gleamed like tarnished gold in the dim artificial light of the laboratory. Professor Umbrant stared into them for a second after removing the cloth from the automaton’s body. The eyes were wonders, were they not? — optic sensors arranged in a similar array to the cone and rod cells in a human eyeball, connected via delicate clusters of wires to the robot’s CPU. In activation, the precise transmission of electrons would form a picture sharper even than the most high-tech cameras available could render.

The only issue with this picture: They may never see the light of day.

Scratching the white hairs on his chin, Umbrant sighed and began his regular cleaning and maintenance of the robot: a once-over with a damp rag; a slight polish to rid the metal of any smudges that could be forming; a slight application of oil to each joint in turn; and, finally, a quick CPU scan to ensure no damage to the robot’s A.I.

The problem, he decided during the second task on his list, lay in politics.

Semantics and ethics were tricky subjects to handle. You could have the soundest information in the world, but to communicate that information, it had to be arranged a certain way, worded in just the right fashion, to prevent the other side from twisting your words into something you never meant. Such was the issue with automatons in warfare: One side chose to emphasize the massive advantage of removing humans from combat, but the other protested that because America’s enemies still staffed organic beings, America’s own were required to understand the concept of mercy — something a robot could easily misunderstand.

All this had occurred, of course, after millions of dollars had been spent designing a prototype robot soldier. Another skill politicians were required to possess was inexplicable timing.

The worst part about the debate, Umbrant determined as he began to oil the robot’s joints, was in how both sides fought for the same issue.

Life, everyone agreed, was a priceless treasure. There was no debating of that point. The argument — Arguments, plural, Umbrant corrected himself — lay in how to defend said treasure. Each side had its own fortress of reasons; each side could only scrape at the other’s façade. A stalemate, with people like Umbrant, people who engineered for a living, stuck in between.

Freedom tasted sweet in dreams. Perhaps it would taste the same in real life would Umbrant live to sample it.

The scan of the robot’s system revealed no viruses or other dangerous irregularities in its programming. Closing the laptop was met with hesitation; to leave the robot alone for another two months meant frustration all through that interval. To let such a precious creation as this sit in storage, whilst men died in war and the powers that be raged against each other in an argument no one could win, was an action unfounded on reason. This could be used, if not for war, for security detail, or for engineers to improve upon its design. Anything but this.

Umbrant finally forced himself to close the laptop. The robot remained motionless as the cloth was again drawn over its features. It had been given an extra buffing so its metal exterior would take on the semblance of semiprecious metal; why, the old man didn’t know, for no one would see it any time soon.

Perhaps he should have taken the time to examine the eyes.

When Professor Umbrant turned off the lights and locked the exit, the room was again as silent as the grave.

Edited by Legolover-361, May 27 2012 - 07:26 PM.

[Space: Ocean of Awe]

Member name: Space: Ocean of Awe
Theme: Treasure
Story: Old Parchment

It used to be that whenever somebody mentioned treasure, I would think of old chests filled with golden coins, buried beneath a temple overseas. Something that existed only in fiction, surely something that I, of all people, would never possess. I never thought, for a moment, that a treasure varies from person to person, that my greatest treasures, sitting in the basement, could be old parchment to someone else.
-----
I first questioned my views on this issue when I met a cashier by the name of Gray Allen. He worked at the used bookshop down on Wilhelm Street, striking up the most absurd conversations with anyone who would listen. I came by to browse and ended up buying three issues of Treasure Hunting magazine, which I used to collect when I was young.

Apparently he collected them too, and was quite eager to point out that this magazine focussed on physical treasures such as jewels or collector's items, which plants the wrong ideas in young minds. As he put it, "I will never forget my eleventh birthday party, when I looked a my stack of presents and realized that nothing I had ever gotten truly mattered to me." I can't help but agree.
-----
That evening, after reading my magazines, I found no joy in flipping channels, no satisfaction in surfing the web. My friends offered to take me to the mall, but I had no passion for shopping. I picked up a Treasure magazine again, having no other ideas of what to do, and found a page heralding entries for a writing contest. I remembered entering a piece, I even won a free, two year subscription to the magazine. I had Long since given up writing, growing too busy with school, then my job. When I tried to start writing again I had profound trouble keeping my stories flowing, and my plots seemed too cliche.

Perhaps this time, I thought, it would be different, maybe all I needed was some time. There’s no harm in trying again, so I did just that. I couldn’t use a computer, I just knew that I would get distracted. Writing by hand was far too slow, and I hadn’t seen any pencils in my house for months. In a bout of what just may be insanity, I concluded that the only medium with which I would follow through was my old typewriter, perfectly preserved from my younger days. It rested in a box, along with all my old stories.

I brought the entire box and its contents to my bedroom, where I now sit, reading through my old stories. I remember writing DimentioPen as if it was yesterday, describing in detail how Greg, the protagonist, drew a door in the wall, opened it, and stepped into another country. In Over the Ocean I can almost feel the rocking of the ship, complimented by a terrible case of sea sickness, as the crew rush about trying to stay afloat in this storm.

I get ready to start typing, thinking of what Grey, the Cashier, had to say. I would not give up my old stories, nor any stories-to-be, for a room full of diamonds. These words, typed so meticulously on this fading paper, are to me my greatest treasure, Grey Allen, the cashier, was simply the map that led me to it. Just two days ago, I would never believe that treasure lay in a small cardboard box in my basement, hiding beneath the trapdoor of boredom. Now? I find it hard to believe that I haven't opened this box before now.
-----
Word count: 600

Edited by Space: Ocean of Awe, May 27 2012 - 09:16 PM.

[fishers64]

Member Name: fishers64
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 597 words
Story: Across the Lake

Rain pelted down upon me as I paddled the boat through the turbulent lake water.

“Is there any possible way you can move faster?” demanded an incessant voice next to me.

“I’m doing…the best…I can!”

The box sat between us, the weight of which forced the boat to ride low in the water, which probably contributed to our slow speed. A menacing cackle sounded behind us. Too close.

“Paddle!” barked my companion. “We’ll never get away from those pirates at this rate!”

“Throw that box over the edge, and we would be at the other side by now!”

“That’s my father’s gold!” he insisted, as a wave crashed over the side of the boat and nearly swamped us. I bailed frantically, trying to keep the ship afloat. “Paddle!” he yelled.

“You want to sink?”

He ignored me. “Just keep moving!” The pirate ship had advanced closer. Soon, we would be in range of their weapons. I lifted one end of the wooden box, prepared to throw it overboard. But my adversary grabbed the other end.

“No, please, don’t!”

I yanked with all my strength.

The pirate ship grew closer…

No, no, that’s not the way. I let go of the chest, and the end of it crashed down on his foot. He yelled in pain, letting go of the chest. I reached down and grabbed the chest. He grabbed my arms.

Crack. A firey hiss of powder split the air. “Paddle!” barked my companion, irrationally, as he turned and shoved me to the floor, trying to peel apart my fingers’ grip on his prize. I kicked him, causing an explosion of pain on his face. “Don’t let me down.” he hissed, pulling me up and shoving me down on my paddling seat.
“Hand over the treasure, kiddies” said a savage, pirate voice behind me. “If you do, we might be persuaded to let go the fact that you got us up in the middle of the night to go on a wild goose chase across a swimming pond.”

I saw my companion frantically paddle, to no avail – the pirates were still close. “Hand over the loot, kiddies. If I have to climb down there and get it myself, it won’t be pretty.”

I lunged off my seat, charging for the box. Time slowed down. A paddle dropped from a pair of hands, plunging into the drink. My hands closed around the box, lifting up…and over the side.

“Nooo!” my friend shouted, diving in after the chest. My hands closed around the remaining paddle, and drove it into the water. The boat shot forward, lancing through the water with terrible speed, the hot crackle of bullets all about. I stayed low in the boat, frantically paddling away, the shore not far beyond. I glided across on smooth water to a sandy beach, yanking my boat behind me for the first few yards of a dead sprint home.

I learned a valuable lesson that day. Treasure is just deadweight that will slow you down. Everyone wants it – some are willing to kill for it, but it’s nothing of real use. Nothing but a useless burden. Like the guilt I carried for years after, believing I had killed my friend.

One day, I dove down to the bottom of a turbulent lake. There at the bottom was a body, with a hand still wrapped around the handle of a wooden box. No amount of gold will pay for his life, and so I left, leaving the box in the only proper place for treasure.

Where no one can get it.

[Ra's al Ghul]

Member Name: -JC-
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 484
Story: I'm Going To Lose


Shaggy hair, Russell Brand style. Charming good looks, Charlie Sheen. Smooth tongue and access to smoother wine. Big muscles, and bigger money. Fourteen cars from across Europe: Spain, Italy, Germany. Fourteen stab wounds across his chest, back, legs, and one unsettling one dead center in his throat.

The body was strewn lazily parallel the bed where a wiry, pasty skeleton of a man sat, a long bloody knife in his fingers, a bleak, horrified look on his face. What had happened? There was a reason that his best friend was dead at his feet. There was a reason there was a knife in his hands. That reason was the petite brunette, powerful and perverted.

The man turned back, stark white skin shining in the light, revealing dark purple bags underneath his widened bronze eyes. His hair was brown and greasy, and his wallet was thin as he was. Even with her husband dead, he knew it would never work out between him and the widow. She rolled over gingerly, peppy pink nighty presenting her perfection. She smiled at him; eyeliner purple, lips pouted. She began rubbing his back, oozing enthusiasm.

The body was more interesting. This was his best friend on the floor. His brother. He had fought him for so much, for the best job, for the best car, for the best woman. Never had the survivor come out on top. The victim of success was now the victim of steel. Nothing was right in this world.

“Forget about him.” She whispered in his ear, now on her knees behind him, massaging his shoulders. He had fallen to envy, but he would not fall to lust.

She was the head cheerleader. She was the bachelorette. She was Robin Scherbatsky. All the boys wanted her. All the men pleaded for her. They hunted like Indiana Jones, and she was their Crystal Skull. Too valuable to sell; too dangerous to keep.

“He doesn’t matter anymore.” Hissing cobra’s were beautiful too, until they bared their fangs. He hadn’t acknowledged her just yet. He doubted he’d be able to. He looked down at the knife in his hands. Jagged. Blood stained. In the moonlight, still reflective. In between the patches of blood he caught a glimpse of his own eye, and her flowing, perfect hair beside it, kissing his ear. He didn’t care. He was numb.

The man at his feet had felt pain, lots of it. There was no instant death. There was screaming. There was bleeding. Pleading. Nothing about it had been fair. He knew it. She knew it. She enjoyed it.

“He is gone now.” Hot breath sent his heart racing. He turned to her, to look boldly into her chocolate eyes. He turned to stone. Those eyes had led his best friend to his closet grave. “Now there can be us.”

Men would’ve killed for this woman. He didn’t. She killed for him.

[Thunder on the Mountain]

Member Name: Thunder on the Mountain
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 600
Story: Ghost Stories

The room was uncomfortably quiet.

We had every entrance was covered by an armed man. Behind the bar, the family that ran the place had two men covering them as well. Randulf, Jack, and Thompson were seated with me around a table near the bar. On the table we had our pistols, a few bottles of whiskey, and a deck of cards, sans a few in our hands.

It had been that way for a while now. I remained patient, optimistic, but I knew even free liquor and poker was beginning to lose my boy’s interests. They knew not to question purpose, but what I had brought them here for...well, some of them were more faithful than others. I wasn’t going to make them stay the whole night, if the plan didn’t go through soon enough; we’d pack up and leave.

Eventually, the fat barmaid that was clearly the wife and mother of the family decided to make her comments on our methods.

“Your plan depends upon holding hostages against a myth?” She called out. I didn’t even bother to roll my eyes.

“I’m perfectly aware of the plausibility my plan seems to hold, thank you.”

“So we’re supposed to sit around all night until your ghost shows up?” I smiled, almost happy she asked. I lifted my hand to show her the six-shooter, and cocked it in veiw.

“The ghost I’m waiting for is what your people believe will protect you. If there’s any relevance to that ‘myth’, it’ll show when I start planting bullets in the bodies of your family. Now that you mention it, we’ve been waiting a little while.” I took a long swig from the whiskey and grinned, licking the liquor from my lips. This was the part I was playing. Best if they believe it.

“Boss?” One of my door guards called out to interrupt, so I turned to look. Every renegade’s eye was fixed at a window near the high roof, where a black wispy shadow seemed to float about. It had the features of a man, almost. Very faintly, you could nearly see a face on the figure, one that faded away when you tried to focus on it. I grinned. I’d seen my fair amount of the supernatural in my days, enough to let me believe that I would find someone here. Someone who could get me what I want. I hefted the whiskey to the ceiling above.

“Drink?”

Thus, negotiations began.

“I could kill you and your men now.” It seemed to come from every direction.

“I can kill your townsfolk.” I said with a shrug. “But we can threaten back and forth all night, and that won’t really get us anywhere.” No answer.

“You fought in the war right? While you were, y’know, alive?” The figure remained above, silent. “Well, word has it there’s a nice big stash of shiny stuff near this town you got here. The townsfolk seem to believe that you’re the one ...person I guess...that knows where it is.”

“You seek treasure...” the voice called out again. I smiled.

“You do too. These folk are your treasure. Worth more alive than dead...” I got no response once again, so I sat back down, slid the handgun back in my holster and took another drink of whiskey. Belching quietly, I beckoned him down with a hand.

“Come on then, and no more guns on your people. Tell me how long it’s been since you had a drink or played a hand."

First, there was no response. Then, a long, long laugh, and I knew I'd won.

[Click]

Member Name: Click
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 599 (I actually had to cut it down!)
Story: Green Gold
I saw something I’ve never seen before today.

It began when a classic “medicine man” show came to town. Even here in 2046, it’s hard to find entertainment on the forgotten planet of Earth. The whole town of 500 showed up to see him bring the dead to life and predict the future, child’s play for today’s technology. Finally, he knew he only had one chance to wow us and get his day’s worth of standard credits.

A gleam of vibrant emerald shone in holes from his moth-eaten jacket, and he pulled out the strangest thing. It sat in a small transparent Thermocup apparently full of dirt, its long green stalk rising out of it sprouting two shells on top. He called it a “plant,” and apparently they were common in our area before the Age of Skyscrapers took hold, covering all fertile soil with plates of fine steel. The crowd gawked at the seemingly insignificant thing, which apparently could make its own food and reproduce thousands of itself.

The man was dead by morning.

Apparently, some country numbskull heard about the “magical” properties of this plant, and set out to make it his, gaining wealth and fortune with his plant, not to mention using its properties for his own gain. I read the holoscreen one more time just to laugh at the absurdness of the story. No person could be so foolish as to kill another for a simple plant.

And then it happened again.

I was shocked to know that it was an old professor of mine who did it this time, all in the name of science. He was well respected around the town, and I had often waved to him on my way to work. His sentence of death row shocked us all, and the action was held out in town square as a wall of energy painlessly disintegrated his body, and we all thought it was over.

But of course, it wasn’t. The sheriff had found the plant on the crime scene and neglected to turn it in as evidence to his superiors. He had convicted the old professor to death so that he could have the treasure all for himself. The holoscreen of this report showed a man I almost didn’t recognize as he fondly stroked his prize, its perfect leaves garnished with drops of crimson blood. He was discharged from duty for this selfish act; and last I heard, he was slowly going insane in the nearest Asylum.

Finally the epidemic was over. The plant had been taken out of town to be kept in a protected museum. I was almost not surprised to hear that a guard failed to show up to work, and the plant had gone missing. He was an old friend of mine, and I knew him from a very young age. I was sorry to see him succumb too.

I decided to stop by for a visit, and after a quick search, found his address. The moderators hadn’t come yet, and so it was just me, him, and the plant. It gleamed in the shine of the single padlight in the house, and my friend stood over it, watching and staring at its wonder. At the opening of the door, he looked over, and his haggard face twisted into murderous jealousy.

Before I knew it, he was on the ground, not breathing, and the plant was in my grasp. Its soft leaves, now crumbling from the dark, seemed to wave their thanks to me. It’s mine now, but they come for me; they want to steal it.





A very interesting idea, a little more dark than I usually write though. Mostly based on the plot that there's always someone willing to kill for treasure, and after reading a few of these stories, I got some very different plot ideas.

[///dotcom///]

Member Name: Panty Anarchy
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 600
Story: The Only Object of Value

The Only Object of Value

“When the time comes, do whatever you must. Find It. Never surrender It. It is the only thing that can ensure your survival. Always keep in mind: It is our most valued possession and our greater treasure.”

Anna ran. Anna ran and ran, out of breath already, pleading with herself not to let fresh memories overwhelm her. The mansion was large, and she knew her way better than her pursuers. Even then, she could hear the crashes that the invaders caused. She tried to block it out.

“Find It. Find It.”

Anna repeated this aloud, over and over. She needed this, a goal. It was not a matter of finding It. She knew what It was, and where It was. She knew It was what they wanted.

She also knew the men would stop at nothing to get it. It was invaluable. Even as these thoughts occurred to her, she remembered, how just minutes earlier, dissidents broke through the estate’s security. She remembered how these men shot down her parents. She remembered how her own bodyguards had barely managed to ensure her escape.

She didn’t want to remember anymore.

Anna came to a tall, gold-rimmed mirror. As quickly as she could, she undid a complicated lock, and the mirror slid away smoothly, revealing a cold, sterile-looking room. Dashing in, she slid the mirror back. Inside, Anna saw a familiar laboratory, the location of the most valued object in the world. It itself was just across from her, a small rack of open test tubes containing a fluorescent liquid. It was the family’s treasure, the thing that separated them from the dissidents. In reality, it was a vaccine.

Anna wanted to smash it. She knew her family would still be there if it wasn’t for the vaccine, but even as she thought it, she knew it was not true.

It had not been long before Anna’s birth that a massive epidemic struck Earth. Millions upon millions died. After some time, a few scientists managed to isolate the virus and create a vaccine, but instead of presenting it for widespread distribution, it became a sign of the elite. Anna’s family was wealthy.
They had gold and jewels, all the treasures imaginable. It all became worthless; the vaccine was the true treasure.

The wealthy and healthy could easily overpower and oppress those of less fortunate families. With so many deaths, those of the higher order knew that society could not keep functioning for much longer. In their avarice, however, they did not care.

Anna was young. She knew not of why everything happened. She only knew her family had something others needed, and that it had resulted in the death of people she loved. Crying silently, Anna slumped in a corner of the room, hugging the family’s coveted treasure tightly.

A wild shot broke through the mirror door. It was a careless move: a door of fragility protecting a treasure. A young boy, not any older than Anna, entered the room. His appearance was unkempt, his eyes red from crying. Surely one of his family had the disease, or perhaps him. She’d seen people like him in the outside. He would not, could not stop now. Her family was wealthy. They had gold and jewels, all the treasures imaginable. But it was the vaccine that they desperately needed.

The boy lifted his gun.

**

That night the men who invaded the estate reprimanded a young boy savagely. He had found the vaccine, but in his carelessness, sullied it with blood. It was no longer any treasure worth retrieving.





edit: Weird filter thing happened. :T What.

Edited by Panty Anarchy, May 28 2012 - 12:33 AM.

[Lego Junkie]

Member Name: Lego Junkie
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 594
Story: Timeless Night.


Some expect treasure to sparkle, this one however, it just smiled at me. The light of the street-lamps reflecting in the puddles of brown shadow.
A small hand grasps mine, warm to the touch and oh so soft. The moon peeks through the low cloud cover that encases the night sky, stars twinkle through the gaps in the clouds.
The evening replays itself in my mind, the single rose, the sparkling jade earrings bouncing the light of the kitchen and the laughter at my ridiculous suit jacket.
The dim lights of the restaurant forces our eyes to adjust after the bright shopfronts that had accompanied us all the way from the parking lot. Hidden speakers play soft unassuming music for the even more unassuming patrons.

The meal passes by quickly, too quickly for my tastes. My date and friend of seven years looks at me with a question in her eyes, "Does it occur to you that we don't really achieve much in life?"
I chuckle, "Yes, that it does. Every day and night, but then I remember I have you, and you're all I need to survive."

A snort escapes her nose, "Could you BE any more cliche? Try a line that my parents DIDN'T use on each-other."
My chuckle turns into a laugh, "Alright then M'lady, does this suit you?" With a sarcastic flourish, I kneel and prostrate myself before her, "You my dear, are the greatest treasure in my life. Remember that."
When I glance up, she looks faintly pleased at my ridiculous line, seeing me looking, she quickly rearranges her face into a dignified mask and gives me a haughty look. "Oh stop it, you're making people stare. Get up off the floor and give me an arm up."

"As you wish."

The reference to her favorite movie seems to fly over her head, but as she starts to shake while I lead her outside into the night, I realize that it didn't pass by her at all.
Her laughter rings out into the night as she twirls in the light snow that falls from the sky. She looks behind her, then slowly keels over backwards and begins to create a snow angel.
Seeing me still standing, she raises a hand and beckons with a wave. I walk towards her laughing form, kneeling and then waiting for her fit of laughter to subside. "You seem to be a bit wet dear, would you like my coat?"
The laughter dies instantly as she realizes that her evening gown is completely soaked with the powdery snow, "Um, yes please. "

Her teeth chatter as the cold hits and I hand over my jacket that was the cause of so much humor earlier in the night.
She pulls the coat on and surveys me with an eyebrow raised, "We can't have you getting cold now, can we? Let us go ."
I extend my arm to her, and she accepts. Then we walk, following the salt and snow covered sidewalk.

The screech of tires surprises us both, a pair of headlights careens towards us and the tires spin wildly, trying to stop the forward momentum on the slippery road. The world seems to slow down as I shove her out of harms way, the car climbs the curb and the impact of the car shoots through me. Life leaves me slowly.
"My dear, let me see your face, one last time."

Tears trace down her face, sprinkling down as snow flakes.

"So beautiful..."

Then the light takes me to a place that has no time.

Edited by Lego Junkie, May 28 2012 - 02:29 PM.

[ZippyWharrgarbl]

Member Name: ZippyWharrgarbl
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 408
Story: Darkest Depths

DARKEST DEPTHS

~~~

There was a stir in the damp, mildewy air deep beneath the earth’s surface, in a dark, dank hole that had never known the warm embrace of the sun. A scaled, onyx tail slithered across the floor and over clinking coins from ancient kings as the dragon awoke.

The reptilian behemoth lazily eyed its hoard, dull and lifeless in the gloom. It saw no goblet or gold gauntlet out of place, no ruby or rock tarnished by filthy, mortal hands. Satisfied, it rose, arching a spine as old as the mountains and extending wings that had not seen sky for aeons. On its exposed belly were tens of hundreds of jewels, some scraped and cracked, but all worth a fortune. The dragon paced, moving copious amounts of muscle that had been motionless for many a year.

Boorish, arrogant feet against charred stone drew the monster’s attention. Ah, yes. Food often came to it in these morbid, morose tunnels that writhed and wormed throughout the dirt. It never understood why. Perhaps, even after all these years, there were heroes above, seeking to destroy its kind and reap the spoils that the dragons had claimed. Perhaps this was merely a lost traveller. It mattered not.

Just as the dragon, oily black as a moonless midnight, was about to roar a great gale of golden flames, it paused. No filthy peasant quailed before him, nor did an ironclad idol irritate him with intrepid idiocy. It was a boy, dressed in bright blaring shades of blue and black. The boy looked lucidly up, leering in a lukewarm manner.

“Ah,” said the boy. “I lost the tour group, didn’t I?”

The dragon watched as the child whirled wavy wires of who-knows-what out of a pocket of his preposterously constricted pants and placed a bud-like bulge at the end of each wire into his enormous ears. With that, he turned and trotted away without further talk or tarry.

The dragon, surprised and staggered, watched for well over an hour before wandering after the well-rounded boy. The tremendous amazement by the tepid tot had worn away, replaced by an eerie inquisitiveness. The land long left behind had altered, it seemed. It seemed that some slovenly snacks had stolen time to grow fat and filling. Perhaps the other dangerous, daring dragons did not know of this tasty discovery, atop the amazing area above.

Perhaps such a positively appealing place merited a little merry meandering through.

[Terminus24]

Member Name: Terminus
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 595
Story: The Statue of Ra

The Statue of Ra

Jack Smith and Chris Johnson were racing through the streets of Dubai on a motorcycle, not only because they were being chased by three fast cars, but also because they only had fifteen minutes to get outside the city, or the helicopter waiting to take them to Egypt would leave without them. All this started when Jack, a middle-aged, pot-bellied college professor, heard about a black market auction of a statue of the Egyptian Sun God Ra, from a former colleague, Terrance Taylor. This interested Jack, as he was an Archaeology professor who loved ancient Egypt, but he also had one more reason for going after it: when he had visited a tomb of an Egyptian Pharaoh that had been robbed, he noticed an indentation in the wall- one that exactly matched the statue. He wanted to figure out what the statue was for, but he wouldn't be able to get it on his own. That was when he called Chris, a tall, muscular college student, majoring in archaeology, whose help he would need to get the statue.
Because they had great interest in the statue, they took a jet to Dubai, where a wealthy man, Karim, was selling the statue. When they arrived, they stayed at the building where the statue was being sold, the Burj Khalifa, which was also the tallest building in the world. However, since they couldn't afford to pay the millions of dollars for the statue, they created a plan to steal it. Chris, who had the build of a professional football player, managed to take out the two guards watching over the room that was storing the statue, while Jack broke in and stole the statue. Both of them then went down to the entrance and got on Chris's motorcycle, although not before the two guards regained consciousness and alerted Karim, who alerted his men. While Chris was driving through the streets of Dubai towards the meetup point with the helicopter, three cars came from alleys and began chasing them. Of course, this just made Chris go faster, and he managed to outrun their pursuers, all the way to the helicopter. However, when they reached the helicopter, they barely had enough time to get in before nine men jumped out of the cars and started shooting at them. However, they missed, and were unable to stop the helicopter from taking off. One of the men pulled out a rocket launcher, but he was stopped by one of the others. "Stop!" the man said. "If you do that, you will destroy the statue!"
A few hours later, the helicopter landed in Egypt, near one of the oldest tombs of the ancient kings. "This is where we will find the purpose of the statue," Jack said, as he remembered that this was the one he had visited a few years before. He pulled out a map from his jacket, and started following it. Both he and Chris went down through the winding mazes of the tomb, and as they had a map and most of the traps had already been triggered, they had little to worry about. Eventually, they made it to the sarcophagus room, where Jack had had found the indentation in the wall. "Well, put the statue in!" Chris said excitedly. Jack pulled the statue out of his bag, and placed it in the wall. This caused the wall to slide open, revealing a hidden room, filled with Gold, Silver, and precious stones. "Amazing!" Jack exclaimed. "In all my life, I never expected to see a treasure like this!"

[The Novelist Called Nuile]

Member Name: Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 600
Story: Treasured Memories

I leaned over backward to dodge a wild swing of my opponent's blade and retaliated with a downward slash that was narrowly evaded. He lashed out and I raised my sword to parry. He lunged. I flicked it to the side. He swung the blade round his head to swipe it at me but I caught it over his shoulder. He kneed me in the stomach. I reeled. He thrust and I deflected and he sliced and I blocked.

My opponent was handling his blade more like a mad chef than anything else. He may have been capable of cooking a delicious meal but not of fending off a trained swordsman. He was also capable of theft, but not of escaping successfully with his treasure.

His antics were amusing, but I was growing weary of his unskillful display. He thrust again and this time I stepped nimbly to the side, weakening his arm with a punch to the elbow. He diverted his swing to the side. I easily blocked it and struck his wrist with the hilt of my sword. Now he swung with his free hand and I blocked the punch with my forearm. He brought his sword round his head into a downward sweep. I caught this easily with my blade and elbowed him in the face.

Now he lashed wildly. I dodged and deflected with ease his clumsy thrusts and slashes. Finally I blocked a swing and then forced his sword over his head. Expecting his attempt to knee me in the stomach I caught his leg with my free arm; and all at once I kicked his leg out from under him, pushed his arms back farther above his head, and bashed his skull with my own. He crumpled at my feet, chest heaving, eyes half-closed.

With my sword I deftly retrieved the periapt hanging from his neck. According to ancient Mayan legend, it had the power to bring to those who wore it auspicious fortune. Gazing down at my opponent I hoped there was more truth in the monetary estimate I had been given.

But that had been years ago. Now, old and tired, deep in senectitude, I put the artifact back where it belonged, along with the remembrance it conjured. I hung it alongside its fellow mementos on my trophy wall and took my chair to warm my bones before the hearth.

The amulet was but a sumptuous trinket, liberally gilded with pure gold and inlaid with gemstones; but it was worth nothing in any other way. All it had ever been worth to me was an ostentatious token of my glory. But with my youth I had lost my fame--and the closer one gets to one's grave, the more one realizes the ultimate inanity of fortune.

"The only treasure of real value I obtained that day," I murmured to myself, as I was wont to do in my lonely villa, "was knowledge gained, a lesson learned. Indeed, if I've learned anything, it's that the only worthwhile treasure among those I've acquired is knowledge."

I rose and crossed to the fireplace to stir the logs. "Ah, but there was one treasure even more valuable. The one I didn't acquire." I straightened up and half turned; but my eyes strayed to the picture frame upon the mantel.

I seized it and I sighed, "The greatest treasure was that which I learned too late to appreciate." And I caressed the aureole of hair that curtained her face, the elegant nose, the incandescent smile, the eyes that scintillated even through a monochrome photograph. . . .

Edited by Nuile: The Daft Wordbender, May 28 2012 - 03:01 PM.

[Ezorov]

Member Name: Ezorov
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 600
Story: Broken Treasure



I push through crowds of people, with their blank expressions and droning movements, my hand clenched around a smaller hand in a sweaty grip. An angry expression occupies my face as I brush away stray hairs falling from my messy ponytail.
Every now and then I see, from my peripheral, people slowing for only a second and taking second glances at the thing holding on to me; the thing holding on to me—he has a wild and dangerous look in his eyes. But also a look of fear and sadness that broke my heart when I would peer into his lost and unfocused, honey-brown eyes.

I let the scene of what happened only moments ago replay in my mind, as my feet instinctively take me to my destination.


I had been at my sister’s—she’s always having me over for her concern for me—but I knew this time she wasn’t inviting me over for a simple chat; she needed to talk, and I should have guessed from her tone over the phone that when I arrived she would be discussing what she had been trying to convince me of for the past year.
“Audrey.” She was sighing in exasperation. I can still put that almost audible whine in her voice. “You’ve taken that thing—“

“His name is Kade,” I interrupt, with an edge to my tone.

“Sorry. You’ve taken Kade to practically every professional in the country and no one knows what’s wrong with him. No one can cure him. You have no choice; you need to take him to an asylum—where someone else can deal with him.”

I tried to keep my voice even as I responded, almost hissing between my teeth. “No, you’re right. There are no more people in this country who can help him—which is why I’ll be leaving the US in a few weeks.”

My sister began to raise her voice. “How long are you going to keep this up? This isn’t fair to you, Audrey. This does not have to be your problem! It’s not your fault your darned husband left you alone with that—that sickened monster!”

I saw the boy down on the floor, once playing with his stuffed bear, flash his eyes towards me, pain twisted on his face.

I almost begin crying, looking deep into his eyes, into his soul.
“And this is not fair to him!” I say each word slowly and shakily. “Don’t you ever let me hear you calling this boy a monster!”

I stormed out of her house, dragging Kade behind me. We were going to the park, far away from my witch of a sister.


By the time we arrive, I’m a sobbing mess. I collapse onto a bench as fresher tears come to my eyes. Kade sits quietly next to me, staring up at me with concern. Could he even know he’s the reason for my crying?

He rests his head against my arm in his tender attempt to comfort me, and I swear I hear a frustrated sigh slip his lips.

I look at him, his dirty, round face, messy blond hair, stiff tattered overalls—and those eyes, staring straight ahead, focused for the first time in his life.

When his defectiveness was first discovered I hated myself, hated him. But now coming to know him, know him as a human, I could never bring myself to hate this precious boy. Only love him, so unconditionally and purely that nothing could lesion our bond.

He is no monster but a child. He is my treasure and my son.

[Kumata]

Member Name: Kumata
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 599
Story: Night Job

riiing

riiing

“Alright, alright!”

riiing

riiing

“I’m coming!”

riiing

A naked man flung himself into the room, crashed into a small table and sent a telephone receiver flying. With honed reflexes he reached up and caught it, nearly sending it flying again thanks to his soapy grip. Transferring it to his other, less lubricated hand, he answered.

“… hello?”

“Protagon? It’s Alistair.”

The man sat up, drips of water cascading from his hair. “I’ve been waiting for your call all day, man! You could have called earlier, I was in the shower!”

“Just shut up and listen. I got you a job. Tonight you’re going treasure hunting - for treasure that’ll net us a solid ten million…”

-x-x-x-

Snowflakes whirled and whipped at Protagon. His costume was made from a leather/kevlar hybrid, which would keep him warm enough, but the exposed parts of his body - his jaw and, now he’d lost a glove, his left hand - were stinging as if the snowflakes were razorblades. He gritted his teeth and carried on.

A corridor in an apartment building seemed an odd place to encounter a blizzard. Unless, like Protagon, you knew the owner of the penthouse you were targeting was rich enough to afford superhuman bodyguards. This particular one he’d met before - a lady who went by the alias Snow Devil; she’d based herself on the mythical Yuki-onna of Japanese folklore. She had the power to transform into a flurry of snowflakes and that was usually all it took for her to subdue an opponent. Which was why, Protagon knew, that pressing on like he was would soon make her flustered and angry. He marched through the oppressive snowstorm indifferently, enduring it for two more minutes when suddenly it all sucked away, coalescing several feet ahead of Protagon so that a pale, white-costumed woman could come into being.

Before she’d even fully formed her arms were outstretched, and as the last snowflake attached itself to her she unleashed twin streams of ice. The attacks were plainly telegraphed and Protagon avoided them with a simple duck and weave. He reached for his belt. Snow Devil flicked a hand towards him and a four-foot-long icicle whizzed his way. Protagon backstepped, let the projectile shatter against the floor, then lobbed the incendiary grenade he’d plucked from his belt. Turning, crouching and covering his ears was all he required to avoid the noise and heat of the blast. As incendiaries go it wasn’t particularly powerful, but the thing about people made of snow is that they tend to be susceptible to heat. Snow Devil screamed as the grenade went off at her feet, splattering her all over the corridor in the form of slush. Protagon straightened up and broke into a run. He had seven minutes before she re-formed. Bags of time.

Protagon was vaguely aware of his injuries sustained getting here - those guards on the third floor had landed some harsh blows to his shoulder - but Snow Devil’s blizzard had partially numbed his whole body, for which he was thankful. He wouldn’t relax until the mission was over. Luckily the treasure was near.

A door confronted him. He rapped it neatly. After about ten seconds a young woman opened it. From the thickness of the door Protagon guessed that the penthouse beyond was soundproofed. The girl still looked at him with suspicion, though - it was nearly midnight after all and here was some costumed stranger knocking at her door. Protagon gave her a reassuring smile.

“Are you Theresa ‘Treasure’ Edwards?”

“Uh... yes?”

The smile became a grin.

Edited by Kumata, May 28 2012 - 05:24 PM.

[xccj]

Member Name: xccj
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 599
Story: Deadly Treasure

My name was Maria, and I crept into the cave behind McSmith. We were surely entering the hidden outpost of Grey Beard the dreaded Pirate. The archeological potential of such a site was off the chart. Grey Beard had been an infamous pirate in the colonial days of the Caribbean, and was rumored to have a great treasure hidden away. Perhaps we had just found it! Yet I was still feeling nervous. My companion Jameson lay at the cave’s entrance, having been wounded by a booby trap. He would survive, but McSmith had insisted on pressing forward, so he had been left behind. Yet I was worried there might be more traps to come. After all, Grey Beard was famous for booby trapping his hideouts.

McSmith was an adventurer, who was always searching for hidden treasures across the world. He had hired Jameson and me because we were archeologists who specialized in Caribbean history. With our help, McSmith had been able to pinpoint where Grey Beard’s hideout could be.

The two of us continued forward through the cave, our flashlights fell upon a rock slide. McSmith frowned. “What is this?” he asked.

I knelt down and examined the ground. “A failed booby trap, sir. You can see that there was a thread across the path, and tripping on it would cause a rock fall. But the tread broke with age, it appears.”

“More traps,” McSmith murmured. “You continue on ahead; you have an eye for these things.”

We pressed on slowly, as I kept an eye out for more traps. The dirt floor was replaced by tiled stone, and I used my walking stick to test the path ahead. I tapped on one stone and triggered another spear to shoot down from above. McSmith and I aimed our flashlights at the ceiling, and spotted three more spears waiting to be launched. I cautiously triggered the rest of them, but continued to test the floor in case I had missed any.

Finally, we arrived in the main chamber. As our flashlights illuminated the room, I saw that our research had paid off. It was surely Grey Beard’s hideout, and I could see everything from rotten rum barrels to broken tables and chairs. So much could be learned from this site, and I couldn’t wait to get started.

But McSmith’s eyes fell on a treasure chest at the far end of the room. It was very large, and could fit a lot of treasure.

“I’ve finally found it!” McSmith exclaimed. “And now I have just one last thing to do.” He pulled out a gun and aimed at me. “Sorry, darling, but I’m not looking to share this treasure with anybody.”

I gasped, hardly believing it. McSmith had betrayed us, all for some old stolen gold. Before I could move, he fired a shot, and the bullet pierced my shoulder. I fell down with a cry of pain. McSmith turned back to the treasure, having assumed that I was out for the count. My mind turned to escape; I could still get up and make a break for it, and then I could get Jameson and myself out of here.

As I got to me feet, I glanced back at McSmith. He wasn’t watching me, but opening the treasure chest, saying, “It’s all mine now!”

But then his eyes went wide. The treasure chest was empty. Suddenly there was a great rumble that filled the room.

And Grey Beard’s treasure fell from hidden chamber in the ceiling above the treasure chest, and the weight of the gold crushed McSmith to death.

[Despair]

Name: Despair
Theme: Treasure
Story: A Lecture on Wealth
Word Count: 446

“What is treasure?”

The man paced back and forth, his features hidden beneath the wild hair that covered most of his face. His strides were smooth and confident, and every step he took seemed to shake the very ground on which he walked.

However, his words seemed to have had more of an effect on those around him than his heavy footsteps. All around him, puzzlement crept into previously carefree faces. They had signed up in order to hunt for treasure, not debate upon what the term treasure actually entailed.

A single hand rose above the crowd, its owner carrying a confident – although rather bored – look upon his face. After a few moments of hurried gestures to make sure no one would interrupt him, the leader of the group beckoned him to speak.
“Treasure is anything that you deem to be valuable.”

A murmur ran through the group, and it quickly turned into hurried whispering about whether or not he was correct. Before anyone could come to a reasonable conclusion or even get past the opening points to their argument, the leader once again spoke up. His voice cut through the clamor like a knife, immediately stopping short any conversations that he was not participating in (which was all of them).

“That isn’t a bad guess, but I’m sorry to say you are wrong. Very, very wrong. You see, treasure isn’t something as vague as “something valuable to me”; if that were the case, you could call even a ratty old hat a treasure under some circumstances. Friends aren’t a treasure either, and the same goes for family. Those things are all worthless in the greater scheme of things!

“So what is treasure? All I’ve told you so far is what it’s not, and I can see that some of you are growing impatient. Well, let me tell you: treasure is anything you have to steal, lie, or kill in order to attain. Treasure is anything you could auction off for a hefty sum of money. Treasure is anything that you can cast aside if it means making a fortune. If you are ever in doubt, ask yourself, “Is it valuable to many people around the world and, more importantly, would they pay for it?” and you’ll be sure to grab to correct item.”

He stopped pacing for a moment and turned his head towards the group, his visible eye brightly shining with anticipation. His lecture was nearly complete, and he could already see that it had done its job of stirring the members of the group into a frenzy. Seeing this, he couldn’t help but grin behind his beard.

“Now let’s go get some treasure.”

[takua123]

Member Name: Takua123

Theme: Treasure

Word Count: 599

Story: Desire


June 29: I brush the sand off of my pants, but more sand only replaces it seconds later. The dust storm has been going on for a few days now. I could remember when I signed up. They needed recruits. Course, who would sign up for it? I mean, the flyer read: "Recruits needed for expedition. No guaranteed return." The kind of scum that signed up was greedy, and had nothing left to lose. Gold and jewels were their drugs. I see a lean, small man, we don’t know his name, and he won't share it. He carries a small sapphire around his neck, he's got nothing else. Sometimes I see em up late at night, caressing that gem. It scares me. Me? I'm not greedy, and I wouldn't say I'm much scum. I've lost my wife, my job, my kids. I got nothing left. So I said to myself, "Why not?'



July 1: We woke up to one of the men dead. He's the first. The was a big man, and I was surprised how long he lasted. At least the storm cleared up. All we have now is the sea of sand and each other. God I hope I can do this.



July 5: We found a ruined structure stickin out of the ground today. The Boss says this is it. We've started to dig it up. Might take a while. I see eager faces all around me. The little riches that go around our team are wanted by everyone. These kinds of people scare me, and I don’t know how I could be so obsessed.



July 7: We’ve established camp here. With the few tents we have I share mine. My mate is The Sapphire Man. It’s been hard to sleep. I don’t know if it’s the constant rambling and muttering of The Sapphire Man or the odd sounds I hear below me. Constant creaking and moaning can be heard below me. I feel scared at night.





July 16: After days of digging The Boss says we’ve reached it. I peer down at the pit. I can see a large pile of gold and jewels at the bottom. It looks amazing… Two men quickly jump down. They seem eager, and it looks like they both have lost some goods. The two men are fighting over the treasure. When the dust clears they are dead. Both of their arms lay over the others necks.



July 20: Several men have killed each other. The treasure seems to glow. It’s gorgeous. They have dug a staircase down to the bottom, and the less insane, the living, descend. There are only about 10 of us now, including The Boss, Sapphire Man, and me. The bottom shows long stone hallways. Fighting breaks out between us all and I grab some of the goods and flee. I hide now. The gold I have seems to sparkle.



July 25: I need more. I need it. I need it. I rush out to the pit to find the treasure gone. I clasp what treasure I own and ascend the stairs. At the top I see ruin. The tents are gone and bodies lie everywhere. I see The Sapphire Man, dead, his precious gone. Treasure lies scattered. I grab it. But I need more, more. I hear groaning I look to my right to see The Boss, barely living. I walk over to him. He holds in his hands the remaining treasure. He looks up, and says: “Your eyes, they’re, different.” Then he is still. I pick up his treasure, but now, I NEED MORE.

[The Inquisitive Automaton]

Member Name: Grimoire Albastru
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 591
Story: The Beast

“Why will you not leave me in peace?!”

The dragon swung his clawed talons at the charging knight, roaring with frustration as he does so. The knight lurches to the ground and rolls just as he makes impact, before bouncing straight back up onto his feet, the danger having long since passed.

The knight strode forward, his sword already drawn and held threateningly at his side. “You are a beast, wretch,” he spat. “You terrorise our people and leave us in fear. That is reason enough.”

The dragon’s eyes blazed in a hideous inferno and it glowered down at the puny morsel before it. The titanic lizard raised one large, razor sharp talon the size of the knight’s forearm and thrust it in the direction of his attacker, “You are not here for justice. That much is clear.”

Beneath his steel helmet, the soldier grinned. “Well, perhaps I am here for a little more. A dragon’s treasure is what makes the struggle all the more worthwhile.”

The dragon reared its neck back and belched plumes of fire at the knight, who easily leapt aside with grace. “You will have no interest in my treasure, human!” the beast roared. “Gold is truly uncomfortable to lie on, and diamonds hold no more value than glittering rocks!”

“A likely story,” the knight smirked. And he ensured the conversation would go no farther as he charged forward. The dragon raised one massive arm to strike his rival down, but was too slow. With a lightning fast lunge, the knight pierced the dragon’s soft underbelly. The dragon roared in pain, but in that vicious screech, there was something else. Misery? Loss? Surely impossible. It was merely a monster.

The beast toppled to the ground, clutching its stomach and moaning gently. The knight looked at his fallen enemy and nodded, a malicious smile twitch on his face, though not that the creature could see.

He stepped past the brute towards the back of the cave. He turned back and saw one solitary eye focusing on him. In its final moments, the dragon would get to see the knight take its treasured possessions as a prize. And then it may die.

He squinted against the darkness, before finding one solitary chest. The soldiers heart sank as he looked at the measly container. Perhaps it was full of jewels? Rubies, sapphires, emeralds? Something that would make this worthwhile.

And yet it wasn’t. He looked at the contents and shivered with rage. There were beryl scales stacked one on top of the other, stood next to an ink drawing of a female beast, perhaps drawn by one of the village folk, then stolen during their ghastly hunt for food? Next to it lay several pearly white, jagged chunks. Egg shells.
The knight turned wildly on his heels. “What is this, some manner of joke?” he hissed. “All dragons guard treasure, but this…This is worthless to me!”

“To you, yes…” the dragon rumbled mournfully. “But not to me…They are all I had left to remember my mate…and my son…Both of whom you so cruelly took from me.” The dragon blinked, and the knight watched as a single tear drooped from that massive eye.

The knight kicked at the chest and yelled in rage. This was ridiculous! All that effort, all that struggle and for nothing of value! The beast spoke of treasure, but this was nothing of the sort! And surely the idea that this beast could feel sentimentality was ridiculous. He was a knight, and this was just a lizard.

[Baltarc]

Member Name: Balta
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 599
Story:


The trek from our camp was a short one. It was rather ironic, I mused, that we had been so close this whole time. Though it was far from surprising – such was the nature of this whole venture, after all. It came as no surprise, either, that none had found this place before us, though I did wonder at that. It was quite obvious if you knew what to look for. Which was odd, as my men did know what to look for, and I knew beyond any shadow of doubt that I had sent them to investigate this area many times over.

But that was of no matter now. I knelt, running my hand over the floor of the jungle. To many, this spot would seem no different from any other. But to me...I smiled faintly, allowing myself a brief moment of pride.

The expression faded before any of my men could take notice. We had business to attend to. A swing of my knife, the flash of the blade in the single beam of light filtering through the canopy of trees, and a gash appeared in the overgrown greenery. Beneath, there was nothing but darkness. A few more slashes in the foliage and there was an opening in the ground. My pulse quickened. We were finally here...

...Almost. There was still one item left to attend to...

I stood, facing my men, a satisfied grin crossing my face. “What’d I tell you, eh?” I asked rhetorically. The men were clearly excited, try as they might to hide it. Some offered the others congratulatory remarks, others shook their heads in grudging admiration. A few, it seemed, were simply eager to press on.

“Who’ll go first, boss?” one asked me. The others quieted, waiting expectantly for my answer.

I grinned. Why not? “How about you, Jackson?”

“M-me? I don’t-”

“Oh, go on already!” I interrupted, still grinning. “You’ve earned it, I think.”

“Well...” he replied, trying and failing to hide his pride at the remark. Lighting his torch, he stepped down into the darkness. The others followed in single file. I took up the rear, lighting a torch of my own.

The journey through the tunnel was lengthy but uneventful. The men spoke occasionally, in whispers (though there was no reason not to talk normally), their indistinguishable voices echoing eerily through the enclosed space.

Words cannot adequately describe the chamber at the tunnel’s end. We knew from the moment we entered that it was simply massive, though we could not see beyond the dim light of the torches. But the size of the room was of little consequence in consideration of its contents.

Gold. Gold, and lots of it. Coins, statues, silverware and dishes...everything a man could dream of, in gold. And the cavern was filled with it. The sight, even of the little gold which was visible, took my breath away.

But only for a moment. The men spread out eagerly, exploring the chamber, calling out to one another to announce discovery after discovery. But I ignored them. The gold...they could keep their gold. I walked along the wall, slowly. It would be here...it had to be.

My heart raced as I quickened my pace, turning over artifact after artifact with increasing desperation. It had to-

And there it was. Struggling to contain myself, I reached out, gingerly lifting the book to eye level. It was nothing special to look at – about average size and weight, maybe a bit smaller...but this was it. I inhaled deeply...

Slipping the book into my pocket, I headed back for the entrance.

[Toa of Dancing]

Member Name: Ballistic Jello Pickles (Toa of Dancing)
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 564
Story: Average Days

•••••

Granny Trisha rocked back and forth in her chair, humming an old tune while knitting a sweater. A cliché scene, as she herself knew, but she enjoyed it. The children and grandchildren of the Helens family enjoyed wearing her warm, comfortable, homemade clothing. So she kept rocking, the benign smile upon her lightly wrinkled face portraying the good years through which she had lived.

Brian sat on a couch across the room, playing his Xbox 360. He couldn’t play MW3, Battlefield 3, or anything like that because of Granny being at the house. He didn’t really mind, though. Sometime it was fun to play Blur or another, somewhat tamer game. Of course, he still got to blow up cars and such, but there wasn’t blood, language, or any other glaringly objectionable content, so Granny was fine.

In another corner sat his Mom, Olivia. She was reading a book, occasionally glancing at the clock to see if she should start steaming the vegetables yet. After an especially noisy crash, she said to Brian, “Could you turn that down? It’s a bit loud.”

With a roll of his eyes and a smirk, Brian complied. The aroma of the cooking soufflé was filling his nostrils, drawing saliva into his mouth. After licking his lips, he brought his mind back to the game. Surprisingly, he was still in first, and it didn’t look like that would change.

Brian’s brother and sister, Jacob and Bethany, were off in their rooms, doing something or other. Jacob was probably playing Diablo III. Bethany was probably watching anime, reading manga, or playing some game. Not that they were being reclusive, they were just doing whatever at the moment. Dean, the father of the family, was probably doing taxes, something work-related, or playing with his iPhone.

Finally, after another fifteen minutes of a similar setting, Olivia told Brian to get his siblings and dad for dinner. He obliged, having just finished a race, and soon all six people preset in the house were gathered around the table. After a quick prayer from Dean, they began eating.

It was a short meal. Compliments were paid to Olivia on how good it was, and small talk was made. Bethany and Jacob had some nerdy conversation about something or other, with occasional comments from Brian. Dean told a joke that was simultaneously funny and worthy of groans. Then, one by one, everyone dispersed, and Olivia cleared the table and put away the food. Brian quickly did the dishes then went to the room he shared with Jacob.

After about five minutes of convincing, Brian managed to pull Jacob from Diablo and got him to play a few random rounds of Team Fortress 2. Both chuckled and had a bit of fun, and then Jacob insisted on going back to his game. Brian rolled his eyes and went to surfing the web.

Back in the living room, Granny Trisha sat, now watching a movie while working her needles. It was a normal day spent at her son’s house, which was fine with her. Normal days were good. She still got to see everyone–even her fourth grandchild, Evelyn, and her husband, Zach, who had visited earlier–and gotten a sweater finished. She had good, respectful children and grandchildren, and she treasured every moment she got to watch them have fun. Indeed, normal days were sometimes the best.



(Edited the title from "Normal" to "Average")

Edited by Ballistic Jello Pickles, May 28 2012 - 09:37 PM.

[Excelsior]

Member Name: Excelsior
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 443
Story:
"I've been searching for treasure since I was a child," the young wanderer said. He stood before the group he had assembled - adventurers, warriors, mercenaries.


"It's an old story - my tribe was conquered and our lands stolen by a stronger tribe. Though we escaped with our freedom, our lands and possessions changed into other hands. My tribe is impoverished, and it's my job to change that.


"I've made it a rule to work alone. My finds have been small enough without division with strangers.


"Now I'm breaking that rule. Not because I want to, mind you. But this is too big a job for one man, and my tribe is far away. And whatever's at the end... is still more than worth the trip."


He paused, eying his listeners. Many of them looked impatient or bored. But a few - those whom he had known longest - looked intrigued, and a bit apprehensive. These knew, or had heard of, his expertise in searching out valuables. They also knew his customary reserve concerning his past and present affairs, and his determination never to let anyone have a penny of his finds - even at the risk of his life, he worked alone.


They knew any venture he was willing to give others a share in, a share which extended to the profits, must be something very big.


"Over a month ago," he continued, "I heard a rumor - a rumor of a legend come true - up north. I investigated." He paused. "Many of you are treasure hunters yourselves. How many of you have heard of the Minemaster's hoard?"


By their reaction, he judged perhaps a quarter of them had. Although it was an obscure myth, all treasure-seekers heard it eventually. The legendary giant stockpile of all the best precious metals and stones unearthed by the miners of many countries, and given to the just-as-legendary Minemaster, their chieftain. The size of the hoard was only matched by the deadliness of its defenses.


One of them spoke up. "It's also called the Bounty of the Earth," he conceded, "But most of us call it the Dream-Quest, if not the Treasure-Seeker's Doom." He looked at the youth hard. "You say it's real? And attainable?"


"That's why you're here," the youth responded simply. "With my information, and all our efforts, we can find and retrieve it - if the rest of you will join me."


There was a pause. Then one man rose. "If your proof is good, I'm in," he said. "I would call this quest the Ultimate, for a treasure-seeker."


One by one, the others followed.


To the Ultimate Treasure, or to death.

-----

I'm not really expecting to win with this. But the point of these challenges is to get you writing, and to not stress over it too much, so here it is. At least I got it written a little earlier than last time.

-Excelsior

[Sumiki]

Member Name: Sumiki
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 417
Story: Forever


The subtle waves swept onto the shoreline, lapsing peacefully back upon the ocean from whence they came. The wind was brisk and light, with the most indistinguishable of salty tangs to the air. The sea, such as it was, was slowly and forthrightly climbing onto the shoreline, doing its best to slowly eat away at the footsteps that so marred the sand.

"You think this is such a good idea?" came a whispered call. A gruff grunt and a brusque shrug was all the response that he got.

"Just a little more up ..."

The sheer, striated rock wall that had consistently been around a hundred yards from them took a bend, sharply descending into a mess of boulders as it met with the sea. Beyond it, the two adventurers saw, there was wood.

In the dim light of the waxing moon, and the modicum of light that the stars around it provided, golden points of light twinkled on the sand.

"This is it. That's the shipwreck."

"Looks like it was yesterday ..."

The more ambitious of the two slid down the sand that coated the greatest of the boulders, leaving his own heavy boot prints on the soft and easily scarred sand.

They were gold-diggers, at heart. They couldn't help it; it was in their genes and in their blood. Gold intrigued them and enticed them as few vices could, as addictions that they could not break themselves of.

"Gold!" the taller, more bearded, and slightly denser of the two yelled. As obvious as this was, this only served to excite them further. Fumbling with their crowbars for a few moments, they cracked open chest after chest, uncovering priceless amounts of riches in one after another.

They were like two little boys in a candy store, heaping piles of gold about themselves, garnishing their garish and unrestricted piles with silver, crowns, jewels, and precious minerals. Easily tired, they collapsed onto beds of riches, thinking their goldbrick selves to be set for life, if they figured out how to cash in on this hunch. And how hard could it be? They were quite literally sleeping on gold ...

***

The next morning, the sea had rushed up to the rock wall that it, so long ago, had hewn. Seagulls flew over, rushing down only occasionally to eat something.

Far above, where the last bits of sand ran out and the lushness of trees began, bits of rotted wood floated away, small coins coming with it.

Treasure, such as it was, was theirs forever, down where no one would ever reach again.

[Quote (Mr. Traveler)]

Member Name: Grant-Sud
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 596
Story: The Artist

The Artist

　

She stood in the elevator watching the number meter rise one by one, starting from the ground up. In a drench coat, tan in color with a little too much make up on her face, the woman pulled the spongy from her hair, letting it flow across her shoulders. One of the walls was a mirror while the other two were of a fabric material, dark violet in color. The lift had that distinct smell, one of air freshener and window cleaner which was probably applied by the maids every day.

The woman looked over to the right at the mirror, catching her reflection. Bringing a hand to her hair, she tried to adjust it a little. Wring it out, push it up to give it that life and curls that she knew she had.

Nothing. It remained wet and flat.

With a sigh she returned to the number meter, which now hit ‘15’ on the mark. The doors opened.

Walking to her right, she stepped out onto an open walk way. When she had first moved here, she was terrified of heights, barely looking down when she left her apartment. The window in her room beside her bed, she also had kept closed.

And one night it started to rain, and the thunder started to roar with authority. She had gone to see how close the storm was despite it being high in the pitch black, night sky. Sudden lightning streamed across the sky and illuminated the whole city. She timidly looked below, noticing for the first time all the people down there, like insects scurrying to find their shelter.

Many nights afterward, clear skies or not, she would look out her window and watch the city with a smile on her face. She imagined all the people, and what they were wondering about on nights like these.

She had never been good at writing, painting, or music. But with a smile on her face as she came up to her door, lost in thought, she blushed at feeling like an artist, glancing out her window. Capturing … the moment.

It was a light feeling, but it was something that never hurt when she put too much faith into it.

Shaking the key as it fitted into its slot, she pushed the door open.

“I’m home!” she called out.

The young lady appeared from the bedroom, lightly skinned and very quiet, a young girl who lived next door.

“He’s asleep…”

“Thank you again for staying so late, we got busy-”

“It’s alright and I never mind. Besides, he’s great company.”

“Tell your parents and brother, I said hello, and thank you again…”

“You said that already,” her young friend laughed before leaving, not asking about pay and promising to babysit again.

The young woman walked into the bathroom, removing her coat and work clothes before heading to bed.

The child slept under the covers, head on the pillow. Dark brown hair, like hers and curly, he breathed in and out softly.

Her five year old son; her sacrifice, joy, treasure and life.

Reaching over, she kissed his forehead and rested next to him. Wrapping her arms around him, she pressed him gently against her. Sometimes, not for his comfort, but hers.

The light in the bathroom remained on. She didn’t get up to turn it off. The room was not too bright, and not too dark, so within moments she fell asleep to the therapeutic sound of light breathing and heavy traffic.

For now, it was enough for the both of them.

Edited by The Great Grant in the Sky, May 28 2012 - 10:19 PM.

[Nick Silverpen]

Member Name: Nick Silverpen
Theme: Treasure
Word Count: 563
Story: Stepping off the Pyramid


Stepping Off the Pyramid

“It’s been an honor rowing with you seniors, and I wish you luck with your future endeavors.” We locked eyes and smiled at each other as Connor said this, and I hope my tears were intermingled with sweat dripping from my forehead. “And it was the most fun I’ve ever had on a boat.” He and I were not close friends in the past three years, but maybe we grew closer in the past months- fighting, winning and losing together. Even though we came in dead last, the entire team was looking at each other like we were winners. It was a long rhode, I thought. But it was worth the travel. The true victors of the race lay in the shade not ten feet away, resting for the finals in a few hours time, but they didn’t have the sense of triumph in winning the fights that our boat did.

“It’s nowhere near over for you,” my voice broke the moment of awe of the four seniors as I indicated him, the lone junior, Justin, Jake and Pat, even Will, the alternate who stood on the outside of the circle. “You guys have another year- most of you even two- to do even better than we did today. Half the boat will remain after we seniors graduate, and you’ll do amazing things together.” Next to me, Coach shifted in his seat, and I could feel his mind buzzing for next year’s team in the group of men that sat before him. “It was never the way I imagined it would end, but I honestly wouldn’t have ended it any other way.”

It was all a pyramid, just like coach said, all the way back in September. A hard hike to the top, but the brief time spent viewing beyond the apogee was worth it, as we stepped down from such great heights, back into the shade of the giant. I stepped off with my only medal in the past four years, the medal that everyone else on the team received time and time again for three years, and that one victory was my treasure. The loss of this race wasn’t the worst- there were so many lost in the past, and I won the race I wanted most. The smiles on our faces in the newspaper cover shot were some of the happiest I was in all four years of high school. This may have been the peak for the seniors, but I suspected that Coach was simply laying a base for the underclassmen.

I flashed a grin across the circle at Pat. The most polite and deserving kid was worried all season that he would lose his seat, and here he was, after the last race, earning what he deserved all along. Jake didn’t live up to his brother… yet. His time lies in the future. Why reach a prime so young, and then realize for the years to come that he’ll never be better?

Picking ourselves off the grass, we gathered for one last team chant. We were headed home, to the beaches, where all the other teams would be spending hours of traffic getting to their vacation homes later. A sly grin came on everyone’s faces as we all realized it, and one other thing.

We were free from crew now. The summer is ours.

[Velox]

THEME #4

The Game

Any interpretation is valid. The only requirement is that this is a COT theme, and it must adhere to the word count restriction posted above.

Deadline: May 30th, 11:59 PM EST

(banner forthcoming)

REMEMBER: We are still accepting entries for "The Legends of Lhii" in the Bionicle topic. Check it out!

Edited by Velox, May 29 2012 - 12:28 AM.

[What?]

I know I'm a bit late; hopefully that's okay.

----------------------------------------------------

What?

595

Treasure


I can't remember.


It hadn't been long since it happened, that was evident. The gun barrel would hardly have been hot if that was the case. But I couldn't recall what had led up to this point, or why I would have shot the woman on the floor.


I stared at her body. She was clearly dead; no one could sustain that kind of head trauma and survive. I was numbed by the shock of it. All I could feel was the gun, comfortably warm in my left hand.


I shook my head, trying to prompt my memory and stop staring at the dead woman. That was when I saw the other corpses. All twenty-eight of them.


I turned around, taking stock of my situation. I was the only one left standing from whatever had happened here. Most had been shot, but some had been killed with other implements or simply beaten to death. And every corpse was still warm. Had I done this?


“Fascinating,” said a voice from behind me.


I spun quickly, with my gun hand swinging up if its own accord. A large man stood in the doorway, with his face just slightly in shadow.


“Who are you? Where am I?” I said.


“We've already been over that subject quite a few times. That was the twenty-ninth time, in fact. You really can't remember, can you? The artifact must affect the user's memory when activated.” He glanced around the room. “It certainly affects your survival ability.”


As he spoke, I began to recall certain events. I had been chasing rumors of a long-lost treasure of powerful and ancient potential. Those rumors had led me here –


“And that was when you saw there were others besides you who were making a bid for it,” smiled my visitor. He saw the expression on my face and laughed. “It's not that I can read your mind. I've merely seen you go through this many times, so I have a good idea of what you'll say next. It always runs along the lines of 'What is hap --'”


“What is happening to me?” I demanded. I was fast losing patience with this wordy figure in the shadows. I stepped forward and grabbed his jacket, jamming my gun at his head.


He seemed to lose a trifle of his calm. “What is happening is that you got to the artifact first without understanding what it was. It grants the ultimate power: Survival. Mostly that manifests in superhuman abilities of self-defense when threatened. It is also apparently impossible to take the artifact from you by force. Hence the bodies,” he said, with a wave of his hand. “Though it's within my reach right now, I think I'll pass on that opportunity. It's that necklace you're wearing. Not much to look at, eh?”


It was not. It was a very plain piece of jewelry. I would have doubted this far-fetched story, but I was remembering more. I still did not remember killing anyone, though. I mentioned this.


“Ah, I don't know about that. Perhaps it takes care of your mind as well as your body. Perhaps your mind would have been twisted out of shape by so much killing, so it granted you selective amnesia. It didn't shield me, but that's okay; my mind's a bit bent already.” He grinned a little madly.


I let him go, overwhelmed by all this. I started to walk away.


“I will find you,” he called after me. “And I will find a way to make that necklace mine.”

Edited by What?, May 28 2012 - 11:22 PM.

[xccj]

Member Name: xccj
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 570
Story: The Game

A game. That’s what the gang leader called it. A game.

It was an economic game. The gang made lots of money by running a black market in the city. They stole, they counterfeited, and they profited. They had resources, and if their market was threatened, they fought to keep their advantage. If you were to expose their operation to the public, they had you dealt with.

It was a physiological game. If they hunted you, they wanted to make you suffer. They went after your friends and family. They recruited all sorts of people, so you never knew who was after you. They had dirty cops working for them, and politicians, so you never knew who you could trust.

But most of all, it was a game of strength. They had the manpower, they had the weapons, and they had the determination to break down all the rules and track you down. And when they caught you, then it was over.

This was the game I was forced to play. I had discovered their operation almost by accident, after getting my hands on some valuable paperwork. Well, the evidence had been burned, but I still knew the truth, and they still wanted me silenced. My family had been threatened; my friend had been sent to the hospital after a drive by shooting. My home had been burned to the ground, and I had been chased across the city. I tried to appeal to the police, but that was when I learned they had an inside man.

Finally, after weeks of this game, I finally got a phone call. The man identified himself as the gang leader. He informed me that my life was over. I was a liability to his operation, and if I thought the previous weeks had been tough, then I was sadly mistaken. “Don’t take it personally,” he said. “It’s just part of the game.”

So it’s time I started to play.

So I made some contacts, and some new friends. And we set a trap. We lured the gang to an abandoned building. The gang leader himself arrived. I had been a big enough thorn in his side that he wanted me dealt with personally. They chased me through the building, but I evaded all of his men. But then the leader cornered me in a room without exits. As he leveled a gun to my head, I asked, “Why?”

And he explained it all to me. How I had almost let the world know about his operation. How he had conspired to have my life ruined, and then taken away. He laid it all out for me, as a way to demonstrate his victory over my defeat.

And then I said, “Thank you.”

At the quizzical look on his face, I explained. I pointed to the camera on the ceiling. The whole conversation had been recorded, and a live feed had been sent to the Internet. I had personally failed to uncover his operation, but he had just announced it to the world himself.

Enraged, the gang leader shot me. Seconds later, the door burst opened and FBI agents swarmed the room. The gang leader was already angry as he was handcuffed and read his rights, but then he saw me stand up. “How?” he asked.

“It’s just a game,” I said, opening my shirt to reveal the bullet proof vest. “But I cheated.”

[Xomeron]

Member Name: cardworkMagician

Theme: The Game

Word Count: 580

Story: A Kind Of Magic

Bruna stood on a ridge, overlooking a battlefield; it was a blank slate, a vast field. Beside her stood Robarren, the grand Planeswalker who led this crusade, and on Robarren's other side was Venser, a lesser Planeswalker who, much like Bruna, had decided to lend his aid to the battle. Across the battlefield stood a more terrifying duo; Garritike, a once grand and noble Planeswalker who had fallen to the demonic, and his aid; Griselbrand; the terror of Innistrad.

Bruna would have liked nothing more than to leap into the fray and drive her spear into Robarren's throat, but caution stopped her hand; Robarren and Venser would not be able to help her if she did that. They needed power. Robarren took the initiative, flexing his hands and seeming to fling a ball of light down at the battlefield; soon, a section of the field began to shine as razorgrass took root and a glimmering Plain formed. A moment afterward, a hawk the size of a man, with four legs and two wings, flew out of the plain and hovered. Across the field, Garritike responded by turning a section of the field into a swamp, and out crawled a zombified half of a man.

This continued, back and forth, for a short time as the two great Planeswalkers amassed their armies. On the fourth exchange, Raborren seemed to draw power from the two islands and two plains he had conjured, and combine the power into a single great ball. From this ball, Raborren formed a vessel that Bruna had come to appreciate the sight of, lately; the Skyship Weatherlight. Aboard, Bruna knew, were sure to be a set of Raborren's favored allies. At this point, Garritike responded first with a black knife of energy which tore through and annihilated the hawk Robarren had created, followed by a short attack with the zombified half corpse, which gave Robarren a small slash on his arm with its obscene, long fingernails. At that, Robarren responded by conjuring a grand meeting hall that Bruna knew as the Azorius Chancery, copied out of the city-realm of Ravnica; it built itself on top of one of the islands Robarren had conjured. This was followed by an insubstantial fighter that Robarren had dubbed the Phantom Warrior. The moment afterward, Garritike brought forth a pack of five zombified corpses of men, their flesh having been wreaked with disease. Robarren responded by finally giving the order for Bruna to join the fray. She made no ceremony of it, leaping down from the precipice and going straight for Garritike, dealing him a telling blow before the black mage's magic forced her off. She felt stronger than usual, somehow, and knew that Robarren had taken advantage of her talent with enchantments. A moment later, Griselbrand joined the fray, staring into Bruna's eyes. Bruna wasn't afraid and, feeling Robarren's magic empower her yet more, smote Griselbrand with a spear to the neck. Soon afterward, she drove for Garritike, crushing him under the twin points of her spear.

---

"Good game." Gerrit said, picking up his copy of Griselbrand and shuffling the rest of his cards back into his deck.

"Yeah. Interesting, wasn't it?" Robert replied.

"I still say Bruna's overpowered." Gerrit replied, glaring at the blue and white angel card still on the table, and the stack of Auras attached to her. Robert flipped over the card and set it on top of his deck, revealing the decorated back, showing five colors and a title

"Magic: The Gathering"

Edited by cardworkMagician, May 29 2012 - 01:24 AM.

[Velox]

The Treasure polls are up!

And just posting the new theme again:

[Toa of Dancing]

I hate you, Velox. Not really, but I thought I would speak for myself and all the people who still play The Game. XD

Anyways, this will definitely be an interesting theme. Trying to decide what I'll write...