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Flash Fiction Marathon 2

Flash Fiction Contest OTC Marathon

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#41 Offline xccj

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Posted Jul 03 2013 - 10:09 PM

Member Name: xccj

Theme: The Mask

Word Count: 516

Story: A Vigilante’s Mask

 

 

Some call me a vigilante.  By one definition of the word, they’re right.  I seek out those who choose to break the rules, and I punish them accordingly.  Only I do it outside the law.

 

Nobody knows who I am.  Most of my victims are in no state to identify me when I’m finished with them.  Few witnesses ever get more than a passing glance at me before I’m gone.  The police search for me, in addition to those I hunt, but they don’t even know where to look.

 

But, most of all, nobody knows who I am because I wear the mask.

 

It’s a simple, featureless mask.  Its sole purpose is to hide my facial features, and disguise my true identity.  I made it with my own two hands, and I wear it when I embark on my missions.  It is the mask I hide behind when I fight evil.

 

Oh, but don’t think of me as a hero.  I am not wearing the mask to become some sort of symbol.  There are criminals who know who I am, and others who do not.  Some fear me, and some underestimate my abilities.  None of them escape my wrath.

 

The mask is not a means of protection either, for myself or those close to me.  I did not start my fight because a loved one was killed by the gangs who roam the street.  My relatives live far away, and I am not close to them at all.  I have no true friends or acquaintances.  I was already a loner, and I have nobody to shield from the evils of humanity.

 

The mask doesn’t offer me any powers, any special abilities, any edge for a fight.  The mask itself is barely important; it is my fists and knives that take down criminals.  The mask has one simple purpose; it hides my identity.

 

But why must I hide my identity?  I’m not hiding it from those I punish for breaking the law; I’m hiding it from the law itself.

 

Why am I hiding my actions from the law?  Why am I fighting crime in the first place?  Why have I embarked on a journey of vigilantism with this mask?

 

It’s not for some personal grudge or revenge.  It’s not for some perfect ideal of right and wrong.

 

It’s because I like to fight.  It’s the thrill of the conflict.  It’s the pain I cause to those who deserve it.

 

I realize it’s not a healthy reason.  It’s an adrenaline addiction; a crave I cannot help but give into.  My morals are too important to me to take out my lust for battle on the innocent, so I do not engage in crime directly.  But to join the police or the military stifles my actions and would not be enough.  So I take matters into my own hands; I’ve found my own way to satisfy my needs, by fighting fire with fire in the darkest regions of the city.

 

I hide behind my mask, because it is the only way society will accept me for who I am.


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#42 Offline Space: Ocean of Awe

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Posted Jul 03 2013 - 11:14 PM

Member name: Space: Ocean of Awe

Theme: The Mask

Word Count: 759

Story: Thinking cap

 
"Wait a moment!" I yelled; I couldn't let father go yet. "I have a request before you retire for the night."
 
I could see his hands fiddling with the elastic bands, hear his impatient feet tapping. It was understood that he was not to be disturbed when he wore the mask; this was my only chance.
 
He seemed annoyed at my hesitation, not curious as to what was so important that I interrupted him so rudely. He was never himself when pining for the mask.
 
"What's so important about this?" I'm sure if, God forbid, something should happen - a fire or some such - when he was immersed in that mask, he would just sit, oblivious and useless, in that old chair of his, even as all the wires and tubes were slowly burned and melted. He would remain motionless, absorbed in his useless fantasies.
 
He grumbled and grasped his mask more firmly, disentangling the wires, tubes, attached to it. This was, with no doubt, my last chance to speak to him tonight.
 
He graciously offered me a reply, making little effort to hide the sour note in his voice: "I have told you too many times, that your mind could never conceive of what I see." He raised the mask to his face. The conversation was over, and I would lose him once again. Determined to see that prophecy deemed false, I snatched the mask from his hands.
 
"Let me at least try it," I pleaded, as his hands pulled uselessly at my fingers.
 
He, in turn, pleaded for me to return it to him. It was a pathetic scene. "You wouldn't be able to take it. You won't understand!" His quivering hands snatched the mask from my fingers, and his fingers toiled over all the wires, switches, and buttons as he readied most precious possession for use. He raised it to his face once again, and again I parried, taking a firm hold on the curved metal, freeing it from his hands.
 
I stood for a moment, considering what to do next, and he stood across from me, his eyes praying that I wouldn't harm his masterpiece. A minute passed. I could simply end this harmful device, but the pitiful sight before me troubled my conscience. How could I just destroy the greatest prize of my genius father? Yet how could I let I live on, ruining him, ruining me, ruining us all. I lifted the mask high to let it shatter on the ground. Taking a breath, I urged my fingers to let go, my eyes religiously avoiding my father's.
 
But the mask didn't fall, bend, twist, shatter on the ground. I found my face enveloped in its smooth, cool curves. Darkness obscured my vision. All noise was blocked out and I found myself the beholder of a curious sensation, of floating. It was relaxing beyond anything I had ever experienced and likely ever will. It was beautiful, more so than the most amazing landscapes or brilliant sunset.
 
Suddenly I knew everything. I was sure that if I only thought for a moment, I could solve the world's greatest problems, discover wonders beyond comprehension, invent machines too great to behold. Nothing was beyond my grasp. Everything I had ever hoped for could be achieved with no effort, my every dream realized. It then dawned upon my transcendental mind that my hopes and dreams, everything I strived for or would, was so utterly pointless. My joys and sorrows became insignificant blips in a dull life.
 
Now I could see, yet I was blind to everything that seemed worthy. Now I could understand father, how his evil thinking cap had taken his life. Then I felt fear. Fear of having this sensation taken from me, of the horrid, boring life I had. I panicked, and my imagination fled, leaving only the darkness of the mask. The feeling of cool metal against my face returned, I could feel hands, and light punctured my panic. Father kneeled above me. His face displayed anger, but in his eyes I saw fear. He looked tired and thin, but more alive than ever before.
 
I vaguely saw my hands, quivering. Beyond them father came into focus again, and mother. Now both looked relieved, and I felt them drop onto me, pulling me into a hug. As the daze left me, the horrific memories of wonder faded. I made no effort to hold onto them, instead embracing mother and father, inviting them back into my life. Father gripped me tighter, accepting the invite.

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"Baby, in the final analyses, love is power. That's where the power's at."


#43 Offline Hubert

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Posted Jul 03 2013 - 11:22 PM

Member Name: Toa Onarax

Theme: The Mask

Word Count: 750

Story: Happy Hour

 

On the way back my mask slowly came on, of course don’t be a moron, this isn’t a real mask I’m talking about, it’s just the hollow nincompoop I use to get by during the day. The stupid fool I’m supposed to be like, this normal man, is just your average run of the mill Joe…

 

And he sickens me.

 

I mean really? What’s the point of being this perfect person, the guy who worked hard in high school, then hard in college, and then got a good job. The guy who’s apparently a blast to hang out parties with, despite the fact that he doesn’t actually fun when there. Not to mention this moron is also unable to let me do anything.

 

So every morning I leave the house without the mask on. I run around the city having fun, of course most people would are too stiff to even want to go out in these parts of towns, after all the crime rates have been pretty darn high, there’s even been a slew of murders. I however needed to meet with Joe’s boss, guys who didn’t leave their front door were cowards.

 

Now you see, the boss had been pretty annoying to Joe recently, and normally I wouldn’t really do any favors for my mask, but he had making him stay overtime which meant he was cutting into my time, and that, well that’s just not acceptable. More than that…

 

It’s downright terrible, and I needed to fix things.

 

That had been my thought process as I entered the arrogant slob’s house, he hadn’t exactly invited me in, but the window was open so why not? Well it was open once I found it, may not have been the case before. It was also in pieces when I was done with it, but hey the guy had plenty of other windows, who cared if one ended up broken.

 

Anyhow, sorry, I got sidetracked; I tend to have a habit of doing that. You understand though, right? Who am I kidding of course you do, you’re on the internet right. And ugh, you made me break the fourth wall.

 

Ahem.

 

Sorry, moving on.

 

So yeah I entered the guys house, all sneaky like, picture a Mission Impossible movie, you’ll get the idea. Play the soundtrack as well, it’s rather fitting right now.  Regardless of the chosen OST playing right now, I entered the slob’s bedroom and gently woke him up.

 

When I say gently I mean I threw him onto the ground but all’s fair in love and war right, and I just loved seeing that moron hit the ground.

 

“Joe?” He asked in confusion, the old man was still half asleep. “JOE!” He yelled this time, horror entering his eyes as he realized the predicament he was in. “My god Joe!” Yes we get it old man, I look like Joe, can we please move on? I have only 750 words and you’re wasting quite a few of them.

 

“What the heck do you think you’re doing Joe, barging in here in the middle of the night and throwing your boss to the ground?” The old man was now berating me, funny that he still thought he had the power to do so.

 

“Calm down man,” I cooed with my very charismatic voice, “I’m a friend of Joe, and well let me put it this way, you’re keeping Joe so busy and well I can’t have that. You understand right?”

 

“I’m not sure I follow,” I’m still not sure why I let the moron continue talking, “Joe are you okay? Do we need take you to the hospital or something?”

 

Have I mentioned how much I hate this guy?

 

“POW!” I yelled as my hand slapped across the man’s face, I really love making sound effects. Then I grabbed the man by his collar and held him against the wall. “Do I really have to explain it again? I’m not Joe, now I think we’re done here.”

 

The old man’s eyes widened when he saw the knife in my end, and suddenly they went blank when the eye was now in his gut.

 

Remember those murders I mentioned before? Yeah, my bad.

 

Anyhow, satisfied with a job well done, I departed from the fool’s house. Once I made it home, I made sure to give back control to Joe, he was going to be quite surprised tomorrow when he found about my present to him.

 

Yup, life’s awesome.


Edited by Toa Onarax, Jul 03 2013 - 11:26 PM.

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#44 Offline Baltarc

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Posted Jul 03 2013 - 11:51 PM

Period count: 0Question mark count: 0Exclamation point count: 0Member Name: BaltarcTheme: The MaskWord Count: 350Story: "Halloween"Halloween, fifteen years oldSitting on my bed, staring at the plastic mask in my hand, picked it up from the dollar a few hours agoTrying to decide, you know, whether I’m too old for thisTrick-or-treating and allI mean, I’m fifteen years oldToo much, rightWell maybe, not like there’s any set rules for this or anythingFlip the mask over, rub my thumb on one of the creasesIt’s Iron ManBecauseThe truth isI am Iron ManHaha that line is so greatTony Stark is best AvengerHahaLook over at the rest of my stuffDark red shirt and pants, got ‘em cheapBottle of gold paint, for if I decide to do this, actuallyAnd some light blue, tooObviouslyLook at the mask againI mean most people I know are just staying homePassing out candySome are going out, sureBut they’re all going with a bunch of peopleFriendsAll planned out and everythingNo one invited me to do anythingSoI guess I’ll justStay here butLikeIt doesn’t seem rightSomehowI’ve been doing thisTrick-or-treating, I meanAs long as I’ve been aliveSo to justStopIsWeird, I guessKnock on my doorIt’s my mom“Are you going”“Dunno yet”“You should decide soon”Yeah, I knowLook back downIron Man’s eye sockets stare backEmptySoullessWell no duhHe’s a maskSo should I go orHmThink of last year and the few before thatHouse on the end of the street gives out full-size SnickersAnd I meanUsually there’s plenty of Crunch bars to go aroundThings are amazingYou like, can’t get those anywhere anymoreExcept that one drugstore I never go toButStillAnother knockLittle sister“You going”Look at Iron Man again“Dunno”“Please”Back to Iron ManTip the mask a littleHe smiles a littleSort of, if you squint“Yeah whatever”Screw it, I’m goingAnd by God I’m gonna have fun with it

Edited by Baltarc, Jul 03 2013 - 11:52 PM.

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#45 Offline Excelsior

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Posted Jul 04 2013 - 12:07 AM

Member Name: Excelsior

Theme: The Mask

Word Count: 473

Story: Three Forms of the Mask

 

Once, in three different cities, there lived three brothers, who all had become superheroes. They each took their own approach to the problem of a secret identity.The eldest brother was named Lawdog. He performed his heroic deeds unmasked and under his own name, scorning any secret identity. Man and hero were both Lawdog, with no separation of personality.

 

The second brother was named Tyrannis. When he had moved to the city he protected, he had changed his name, and constructed a quiet, average life as James Blackwell, salesman. But when he donned his black and deep red mask, he became the hero Tyrannis, guardian of the city, and his true self.The youngest brother was named Cosmas. He had developed a civilian life under his true name and as the person he truly was, and did his duty as a hero under the name and silvery mask of the Protector. In this guise he spoke as little as possible and suppressed all individual character. 

Each of them thought his own solution best. None of their solutions were perfect.

 

---

 

Cosmas considered his best, for no criminals would be able to gain a personal advantage over such a characterless adversary, and in his own time he could simply be himself.Of course, he felt stifled whenever he wore his mask, and it was only when he took it off that he considered himself free. And even unmasked and himself, he carried the secret of the Protector with him. 

Tyrannis considered his best, for he had his secret home to retreat to when life as Tyrannis became too much, but formed no attachments while living the lie of normality. His "normal" persona led a solitary and uneventful life, while, as a hero, he showed his personality freely, concealing nothing about himself. 
However, his method meant any true friends he made could be targets for his enemies. Also, he loathed his bland, dull life as a salesman with all his heart. He could never be himself then. It was only when wearing his mask that he felt without disguise.
 
Lawdog considered his best, for he had refused to live two lives and make either a lie. He had said, when he first revealed himself to the world, "I refuse to wear a mask."But in that move he had lost privacy. He had a secure base, but every robber and hitman knew its location, and he was too exposed to risk many friendships. Moreover, in the attempt to live his entire life as a crime-fighter, some aspects of himself were inevitably lost, sacrificed to the necessities of being a hero. The suppression of these traits was a mask he could never remove, but must wear permanently.
 
---
 
And so, though all the brothers tried to live honestly, it seemed none of them could entirely avoid the mask.

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#46 Offline Takuaka: Toa of Time

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Posted Jul 04 2013 - 01:04 AM

Member Name: Timaka: Toa of Time

Theme: The Mask

Word Count: 750

Story: Dr. Acula

 

 

I halted before the entrance to the dentist's office. I don't know, something about it just gave me the creeps. Maybe it was the old and rickety-looking wooden door, maybe it was the little cracks in the window-glass, or even the faint, eerie light that emanated from within. Something just didn't feel quite right.

 

Dr. Acula had just recently arrived in town. He came from a European country, I had forgotten which, but the reputation he had brought with him was phenomenal. People had been flocking to see him during the short few weeks that he had been here, and people were always ranting about the fantastic work he did.

 

Thus despite my trepidations, I boldly stepped forward and through the door. If I had been a little spooked before, now I was downright nervous.

 

Cobwebs hung from every corner of the room, and all the furniture was of an old Victorian-style, while the light I had seen from before came from from various candles around the room. There weren't any electric devices of any kind, as far as I could tell. On one side was a door, which assumably led to the operating room.

 

To one side sat a receptionist behind a desk. I must admit I found it strange to see that instead of a computer, a long piece of parchment sat before her, along with a quill pen and ink bottle. Her physical appearance seemed normal enough, her clothes seemed respectable and all, and she wore a nice pair of glasses. But did I only imagine that she looked a little pale? It was hard enough to see clearly by the candle-light, much less through the obscurity of recollected memory.

 

"You have an appointment?" she asked with a smile. Her voice bore a heavy accent, though I couldn't quite identify it. Dutch? Bulgarian?

 

"Y-yes," I replied. Something about the way she was smiling at me put me off a bit. "My name is Norville."

 

"Norville. . . Ah, yes, here ve are."

 

She nodded to me and then directed me to a couch. "The doctor shall be with you shortly."

 

I hesitated for a moment, my eyes darting unwarrented towards the door, before I obediently retreated to the indicated seat. It was old and uncomfortably soft, and a spring stuck into me, but whether by good manners or something else I didn't complain.

 

As I sat, I continued to find my eyes darting intermittently towards the door, almost without my consent and awareness. When the door of the inner room finally opened, I must admit that I jumped.

 

"Vell vell, our next victim has arrived?"

 

As the man entered the room, I finally recognized the accent. It was Transylvanian.

 

He stood tall but thin, and had a somewhat antiquated taste in clothing. The black pants and the jacket with its tails; the stiff, clean undershirt; the ruffed collar; and the high society shoes completed an outfit that I felt would look quite at home in a museum exhibit. Although I had to admit that it fit the atmosphere.

 

But strangest of all was his face. The high cheek bones and wrinkled forehead looked almost unnatural, somehow. It looked a bit stiff and artificial, to be completely honest. I also imagined that his hairstylist must be very well-paid, to put up with a man who wanted such an elegant and triangular cut, not to mention how much work and hair-gel must have been involved.

 

Somehow I managed to find enough of my voice to offer a greeting and extend a hand. "Dr. Acula, I am here for my appointment. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir." Somehow I felt obligated to apply my highest manners.

 

It was when he shook my hand that I got a close look at his eyes. Strong and penetrating, and was it just my imagination that made them look a little bloodshot? I hoped so.

 

"Yes," he replied. "Vell, the public will exaggerate. They vere probably 'under my spell' as it vere." With that he laughed, and the receptionist and I laughed with him, although after a moment I wasn't sure if I was laughing or crying.

 

As he led me into the operating room, I couldn't help but notice a small sliver of white skin on the back of his neck, as if the outer skin had been cut through to reveal a different skin underneath.

 

In that moment I wondered what in the world I had gotten myself in for.


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This is where I'm supposed to have a signature, right? Alright, then.


Timaka: Toa of Time


I have very neat hand-writing.


#47 Offline SonicBOOM XS

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Posted Jul 04 2013 - 01:59 AM

Name: SonicBOOM XS

Theme: The Mask

Word Count: 320

Title: Truth Behind Lies

 

When you think of the word “mask,” you’re more often than not thinking of an object to be worn on your face. Whether for protection, for veiling, or even for the purpose of being annoying, more often than not we conjure up images of these faces on top of our faces.

 

When you think of those masks, you’re thinking of the kind we see every now and then. Every day, we walk around other people, each one wearing a mask of his or her own. We’re all filled with lies and secrets, with horrors and terrors, with things we’d rather not reveal to the outside world.

 

Our masks never truly come off. Oh, we’ll carve slits for eyes and noses, maybe a few cuts here and there to unveil some things. Best friends, lovers, and family are often allowed access to these areas, but as with a real mask, you can’t really determine someone’s identity just by looking through one or two holes.

 

No matter how hard we try, no matter how much strength we believe we have, we will never take off the masks we don. We will never unmask our true selves, the selves that are who we really are. We never come out in the open, we don’t dare reveal ourselves. What the world sees is a boy wearing a mask, a girl wearing a mask, a man wearing a mask, a woman wearing a mask. All we do is fake, all we see is fake, and all we share is fake.

 

We’re never real. Nothing we do, nothing we see, nothing we share is real. All of it is a lie, some way or another. We lie with our masks, too afraid to unveil the sinister truths hidden behind them.

 

So it’s really a simple question, then: who can you trust in this world where everyone wears a mask, but no one dares take it off?


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Undergoing Renovations...


#48 Offline Velox

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Posted Jul 04 2013 - 02:23 AM

[font="'times new roman', times, serif;"]Theme #8:[/font]

Posted Image

 

Glass

 

[font="'times new roman', times, serif;"]Any interpretation is valid. Remember that this is an OTC theme, and your story must comply with the contest rules.Deadline: July 5th, 11:59 PM PST.[/font]

 

[font="'times new roman', times, serif;"]Also: The Mask Polls have been posted! Please vote![/font]


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"As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake." ~ Aimee Bender


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#49 Offline Kragghle

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Posted Jul 04 2013 - 08:23 PM

[font="calibri;"]:kaukau: [color=rgb(0,0,255);]Name: Jean Valjean[/color][/font]

[color=rgb(0,0,255);][font="calibri;"]Theme: Glass[/color][/font]

[color=rgb(0,0,255);][font="calibri;"]Word Count: 750[/color][/font]

[color=rgb(0,0,255);][font="calibri;"]Title: America Discussing the Glass Ceiling[/color][/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]On July 4, Monosmith sat on the porch with fellow great American authors Mark Twain and Edgar Allen Poe.  They talked about things that writers talked about, which turns out to be the exact same things that everyone else talks about, only they had a propensity for covering a grand spectrum of subjects.[/font]

 

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]“Suppose we were to arrange the legends our culture has produced, and they could talk,” said Monosmith.  “Each one would be a true-blue representation of America – but lo, how different each one would be!”[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]“As far as I am aware,” said Poe, “There is Columbia and the Bald Eagle.”[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]“Uncle Sam,” said Twain.  “Not to mention Lady Liberty.  They, too, have come to personify our country.”[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]“Since your times,” said Monosmith, “I grew up with Rosie the Riveter as a symbol of the people, and Superman as a symbol for our ideals, become not just a symbol, but a brand new idea ingrained in our philosophy.  He is the American Legend.”[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]“I grew up with Uncle Sam,” said Twain.  “He is my favorite incarnation of our collective conscious – but alas, I do confess to bias.  I like the name Sam.”[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]Monosmith didn’t smile, but nodded approvingly at Twain’s wry humor.  “I wonder what it would look like.”[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]“Well, we are writers,” said Poe.  “Let us imagine this scene and together watch how it unfolds.”[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]So Monosmith, Twain, and Poe looked out from their porch, and this is what they say:[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]At the base of the Statue of Liberty, Uncle Sam and Rosie the Riveter stood.  Columbia stood beside Sam, his muse, offering him cryptic words of wisdom. [/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]Barely a speck in the open sky was the Bald Eagle, looking down sagely.  It was more than just a personification of the country, but its true soul.  Only it knew fully the American way, but it said nothing, leaving those below to figure out for themselves.[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]Before these great personifications stood Wonder Woman with a traveling back.  She clung to Lady Liberty for protection as Uncle Sam pierced at her with his gaze, and Rosie looked on contemptuously.[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]“This Amazon came to our lands wearing our flag as her underwear,” said Sam.  “Send her back to Paradise Island, where she belongs.  She has no right to associate with us.”[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]Rosie added, “Yes, and I think it’s absolutely terrible that we claimed her as our own for this long in the first place.  Why does the world have to be so much about us?  Why do we have to take other people’s things and claim them as our own?  This is ridiculous, and I don’t want to be seen as a jingoistic reader.”[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]Wonder Woman held her head in shame.  She looked at the little girls on the NYC shore, and realized that she had just been an accessory.  She fought for the rights of these people, but ended looking silly and doing more hurt than healing.[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]“I’m sorry,” she was about to say, but before the words could leave her mouth, Superman swooped down from the sky.[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]“Don’t apologize!” said Superman.  “They can send you off this land, but that will be their loss, and it will be up to another nation to take you up as their mantle to progress human rights.  You will only lose if you apologize, but you did nothing wrong.”[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]“What am I?” said Wonder Woman.  “I only stand for feminism.  I stand for girls and women, but not America.”[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]“No,” said Superman.  “When I walked around the moon, thinking about American way, I saw down on Earth men with WW t-shirts.  You’re a symbol for more than just women.  You represent all of us.  You are these things for all human beings.  Uncle Sam,” he said, switching his attention to the government, “If you expel this woman, you betray your wife, Lady Liberty, and I have nothing to stand for.  I fight for truth, justice, and the American way.  She is truth.  She is justice.  She is the American way.”[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]“You are beneath my authority,” said Sam.  “You do not have my permission to be here, friends though we may be.”[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]“Not the way I’ve been written lately,” countered Superman.  “You accepted me, a Kryptonian.  For God’s sake, a poet even gave us a Greek goddess, Columbia, for which we name our capital!”  Columbia blushed.[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]Sam looked for the Eagle.  If the truth was anywhere, it was in his soul.[/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]And just then, Monosmith winked and stopped imagining and let the story hang.[/font]

[font="calibri;"] [/font]

 

[font="georgia, serif;"]24601[/font]


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#50 Offline dotcom

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Posted Jul 04 2013 - 09:32 PM

Member Name: dotcom

Theme: Glass

Word Count: 412

Story:

 

Just One Hit

 

“And CRASH!”

 

Crash?”

 

Crash.”

 

“Why crash?”

 

“Well, because it breaks, obviously.”

 

“But…why?”

 

“…Because I’m going to hit it.”

 

“I got that part. But why are you going to hit it? And why do you think you can break it?”

 

“Don’t be a moron. It’s just a glass eye. It’s just stupid glass. One hit and it’ll shatter. Crash.”

 

“Okay, stop saying crash, it’s annoying. And putting aside that that’s not what a glass eye is, tell me why you want to hurt Mike.”

 

“What do you mean why? He’s a freak. His eye is creepy, and so is he. You’ve seen the creepy looks that friendless creep gives.”

 

“You’re a moron, Adam. He hurt his eye. He can’t help that you think his stare is creepy.”

 

“Oh, shut up, Dick. That guy has no friends. Nobody cares what happens to him or his stupid glass eye.”

 

“That’s not true at all either. That girl Beth is always with him. She’s been for a while.”

 

“Yeah. I know.”

 

“Oh God, is that what this is about? Adam, why do you always do this?”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“You beat up Thomas in fourth grade because Liz gave him a hug after he sprained his ankle. Where did that leave you?”

 

“Shut up. That was different.”

 

“And in sixth grade? Seventh? You have been suspended far too much for you to pretend that you don’t have a problem.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“And now you’re going after Mike? What in the world is your problem?”

 

“Shut it! I don’t care what you think. I’m breaking that kid’s glass eye.”

 

“Yes, you do. Say what you will about Mike, but you aren’t surrounded with friends yourself. Who else but me is there? Trevor never forgave you for what you did to his car. Or his sister. Or his cat.”

 

“That guy…was a complete loser.”

 

“And breaking Mike’s eye? It’s not made of real glass, stupid. Even if it were, how in the world does anyone ever think that breaking something inside a guy’s skull would be a good idea?”

 

“It’s just some glass…”

 

“Don’t be a moron. Don’t do anything to Mike. Heck, don’t do anything to anybody. You’re going to end up in real trouble.”

 

***

 

“It was just some glass…”

 

“What the blazes did you do.”

 

“It was only glass...”

 

“What did you do.

 

“Just…”

 

“I told you not to do anything. And now you’re arrested. What were you thinking?

 

“Just…glass…”


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#51 Offline Grant-Sud

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Posted Jul 05 2013 - 01:15 AM

Name: Grant-Sud

Theme: Glass

Word Count: 750!!

Title: Hard to Break

 

 

 

 

"It's easy to break a promise..."

 

"No come on, I did my best to get the cup for you and I di-"

 

"You were in the restaurant! How could you forget?"

 

"I didn't! Hear what I'm trying to say. I got a whole story for you."

 

"…spill!”

***

 

He sighed, taking another swig of his pint of Guinness. They were in an Irish Pub, a special Irish Pub, that Alex and Mitch had decided to stop at. Alex lowered the drink to the bar. Out of all the places he'd visited while in the Big Apple, the Empire State Building, China Town, Times Square, and wherever else Mitch wanted to take him, this bar was high on the priority list.

 

However, as he stared down at his buffalo chicken pizza, which was nasty with all the added blue cheese and celery in it, he hung his head.

 

"We look like a gay couple, wearing matching plaid shirts..."

 

"Hmm," Mitch correctly responded.

 

His friend gave him a side glance.

 

"I don't care what other people think..."

 

"Harder to pick up girls if we're giving the wrong impression."

 

"Let's just get the cup and leave..." Mitch said in his easy voice. He had a casual demeanor. "...it's been ten minutes. Go find the guy."

 

Alex ran his hand through his hair. They'd been here for an hour now. The meal had been okay, but nowhere near the great pizza that New York usually offered. But the service... had been horrible.

 

"This cup, does your sister care about it that much?"

 

Alex looked at his unfinished beer.

 

"She doesn't get to come with me on these trips anymore. She's got too much work to do, responsibility, the kids."

 

He paused, lost in thought for a moment.

 

"…And so the last time she was here, years back, she talked about how she wanted the glass pint. These glasses in our hands that say, "I'm gonna make it, anywhere". But we never got it."

 

Mitch lightly laughed, with a rare smile on his face.

 

"Bah... I just love her, you know?"

 

Alex felt a firm grip on his shoulder. "Yeah, I know." Mitch looked him in the eye, and nodded. They both smiled in their plaid shirts, thinking it’d been a good day to wear them.

 

***

 

"Eventually our server came by, and when we told him about the glass, he told us that because he ruined my pizza by adding all the extra toppings, that we could just walk out with the glass when he wasn't looking..." He hadn't told her all the details about their trip at the bar, or at least not the parts that were mentioned about her.

 

"You can't do that..."

 

"Well that's what I told him! I'm like ... 'So you mean steal it.' and Mitch is just staring at the guy like he's an cool dude... So we told the manager about how terrible the guy's service was... guess what happened?"

 

"He gave you the glass?"

 

"Yeah. But first he fired the server. Told us he had gotten a lot of complaints and was giving his friends free food. Anyway, we got your cup... well...”

 

***

 

The breaking of glass hit the cement floor of the subway station. Just for a second, the people rushing by all stopped and took one moment out of their busy lives to see what had broken. The two young men just stood there in disbelief.

 

"I... I …" Alex fumed.

 

Mitch reached down and started picking up the main piece with the handle. It was ultimately unusable. A middle aged woman, who stood near Alex, muttered a sorry before continuing on her way.

 

"She bumped into me."

 

"It's alright, pal. Come on..."

 

"She's gonna hate this."

 

"Nah."

 

"It's not worth giving it to her now." Alex held half the glass in his hand.

 

"Yeah it is."

 

"Can't drink from it, just half a mug of glass... part of the quote's missing too." He said, dishearteningly.

 

"Yeah. But give it to her... alright?" His friend took the glass from Alex's hand, and inspected it. "I think what’s left is good enough."

 

 

***

 

"'Gonna make it,'" she read aloud. A small smile crept on her face as she looked at the glass that was taken from her brother's bag. She pulled her hair back and let out a choked laugh. She did like it. And somehow it was just what she wanted.

 

"Thanks..." she whispered under her breath, as she moved forward and hugged him.


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#52 Offline Space: Ocean of Awe

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Posted Jul 05 2013 - 10:07 PM

Member name: Space: Ocean of Awe

Theme: glass

Word count: 351

Story: Children!

 

 
Four little feet pounded on the ground, four little legs pumping like a steam engine, two little mouths puffing like kettles. The little eyes were wide with terror and red with the oncoming wind, and their cheeks were red. Yet still they kept on, their bare feet ruffling the throw rug.
 
Four more feet rejoined the stampede, a tongue lolled and panted after them. Guilty paws pursued shamed children, spreading dirt down the hallway and shedding hairs on the stairs.
 
A yowl broke the parade and the cat joined in, pursuing those annoyances, sharp claws longing for the flesh of the loud people
 
Soon four creatures found themselves in hiding, concealed in a little corner, of a large closet. Clothes hung to obscure their guilt, and tired lungs held their air, silent, ears listening for footsteps. Hearing none, two boys sighed, one dog slobbered, and a cat hissed.
 
"Is it safe, do you think?"
 
"I hope so. What should we tell Mommy?"
 
Two little minds toiled, brainstormed, pondered.
 
"I know!" Said one, using a blouse to absorb the puddle that pooled beneath a dog's mouth. "Fido did it!"
 
"Of course!"
 
Two little boys congratulated themselves on their cleverness while downstairs a mother came upon a mess. With a shake of her head, she called out.
 
"Boys? Did you break Mommy’s plate? Now, where are you hiding?"
 
Of course she knew very well where they might be. Two tired feet followed trails of dirt, hair, drool.
 
“Oh no, she’s coming!”
 
“Shh!”
 
Dog and boys huddled as cat licked herself. Stern footsteps approached and stopped. A doorknob turned and breaths were held.
 
Where might those boys be?”
 
A light switched on, more revealing than a prison watch light; a grown-up loomed, taller than the watchtower. Terror wriggled into two little hearts. In times of terror drastic measures must be obtained.
 
“Oh Mommy, we broke it! We’re so sorry!”
 
“We didn’t mean to, it was an accident!”
 
Repented and redeemed, two little boys and a dog ran of, to make more mischief, as mother and cat retired downstairs to put things right.

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"Baby, in the final analyses, love is power. That's where the power's at."


#53 Offline Baltarc

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Posted Jul 05 2013 - 11:36 PM

um um nope no clever/annoying blurbs before my entry this time sorry

well now there is I guess

 

Member Name: Baltarc

Theme: Glass

Word Count: 409

Story: "Windows to the Soul"

 

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. How do I know that? Um, because it was in an old book of Foxtrot comics I have laying around somewhere. Jason and Marcus are building a giant T-Rex or something and they need to study Paige’s eyes to figure out how to make it look evil. Kinda funny how things like that stick with you, huh?

 

But yeah, that’s what I was thinking about now, for some reason, as I sit here, bored, a bit apprehensive, too, for some reason. Idly I pick up my pencil and flip it around between my thumb and forefinger; its ends fly back and forth like a seesaw on stimulants. I barely notice the action, barely notice anything, really, as I just sit here in class, waiting for something to happen.

 

Well, okay, there’s something I notice, namely the girl sitting one row right, one seat forward. Hard not to notice her, really, at any given time. For a second my gaze lingers on the back of her head before flitting over to the window. Not much to see outside. A tree. Must be a bit of a breeze ‘cause the leaves are shaking a bit. The glass could probably use some cleaning.

 

My glasses could do with cleaning themselves, now that I think of it. I slide them off, turn up the corner of my shirt, wipe off the dust. Glance down at my paper as I do so; everything looks right. Except for number 6, which could really be one of two answers, and whichever I pick’ll undoubtedly be the wrong one. Oh well.

 

I fish a sheet of paper out of my backpack; might as well get some writing done. Writing about, um, um… Yeah I don’t know. Maybe I’ll draw something. Predictably, a couple seconds later, “something” has amounted to a few random lines. I slide the paper beneath my book. Back to pencil-flipping.

 

My forefinger slips and the pencil falls next to her desk. Wordlessly she reaches down, grabs it, hands it to me. For the briefest of moments I can see her eyes.

 

Windows to the soul.

 

Then I blink and take the pencil. “Thanks.”

 

She turns back around. “You’re welcome.”

 

I slide the paper back out and try again to think of something to write. Still nothing, surprise surprise. But for some reason that’s not quite as annoying as it was a few minutes ago.


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#54 Offline Velox

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Posted Jul 05 2013 - 11:39 PM

Member name: Velox

Theme: Glass

Word count: 523

Story: "City of Glass"

 

The skyscrapers pierce the azure sky, rising until up and up even after they reach the clouds, going up and up thousands of stories tall, up--up, always extending.

 

The City of Glass. The Kingdom of Skyscrapers. Skyscrapers taller than any others in the whole universe. They rise, up, up, up--seemingly never ceasing in their elevation. The architecture is magical--fictitious even in this advanced age. It is only when one visits do they finally believe the stories--stories that have been passed on from father to son, from mother to daughter, from grandparents to grandchildren.

 

It is a legend, surely--a legend and nothing more, they all say. A legend inside the homes of many--until they actually see for themselves. Until they witness the awe-striking, amaranthine beauty.

 

Walking through the streets, below the alabaster, crystal, glass, emerald, ruby, amethyst, and sapphire towers, one walks in a fantasy. The feeling is like a dream--a dream of imagination and disbelief, where one expects to wake up and discover that it was all fake. Yet none ever wake--for it’s not a dream.

 

The towers are real. Very, very real. And when you walk up to one, the wall of the building rises farther than you can see. But when you enter it is a different experience entirely. Some are filled with translucent stairways, circling upward and leading to different floors. Some are filled with clear boards, raised by transparent strings, all moving together and shifting here and there in perfect grace, taking people to various floors and rooms, never colliding with one another.

 

In the heart of the city lies perhaps the most magnificent of them all. A Cathedral made entirely from pure diamonds, as clear as glass, said to rise far above all the others. Yet once again one can hardly believe it, nor can one even confirm the tale as each building rises higher than the eye can see. The top of the Cathedral holds a bell-tower--bells that ring above every other commotion of the city, a magnificent ringing that reverberates throughout the entire planet.

 

When the bells toll, the whole population stops to listen to the beauty--the sounds that never get old or become any less amazing then the first time one hears them, ringing morning, noon, and night. They are entirely captivating and bewildering, amazing and awe-inspiring, fantastic and fanciful.

 

They are the Glass City Bells--perhaps even more captivating than the towers themselves, for the pitches and harmonies, tolls and chimes, all create a beautiful symphony.

 

***

 

But one morning, the bells miss their toll. The cityfolk slowly stop their work, looking at each other’s watches to make sure the time was right. But the bells never ring, and the first tower falls.

 

Admist a giant uproar of shards of glass and dust, the Cathedral crumbles, shattering, showering the town with the powder and splinters of broken diamonds. People scream in panic and confusion, shrilling voices piercing the air. Some don't even move as the building falls on top of them, still stuck there unbelieving of what their eyes tell them. In a matter of moments the Cathedral has completely collapsed.

 

The day ended.


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#55 Offline Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa

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Posted Jul 05 2013 - 11:39 PM

Member Name: NuileTheme: GlassWord Count: 608Story: Through the Window

 

[font="arial;"]Years ago, it was . . . decades, probably centuries for all I can remember these days. But some things you never forget.[/font]

 

[font="arial;"]And of course I can't forget that day, when my life changed forever. Not in a small way like walking a different way to work or brushing your teeth with your left hand in stead of your right. But it wasn't a big way, either, not like winning the lottery or having a near-death experience. It changed my life, not too much and not too little, for the better, or for the worse. I don't know what it will mean for you, and I don't know if it will change your life like it changed mine--probably it's the sort of thing you have to experience for yourself; but still I hope, in some small way, you'll be a little wiser a few moments from now.[/font]

 

[font="arial;"]I was traipsing through a woods, and wise would be the last word to describe me that day. Nothing was going right for me. I had recently lost my girl, not long after I'd lost my job; and I'm not sure the two were disconnected. I'd had little luck finding a new job since then, and even less luck finding a new girl.[/font]

 

[font="arial;"]The woods was the only place where the world was simple, but unfortunately it wasn't simple enough to be distracting. My feet shuffled along hiking trails, but I'd left my mind pretty far behind me in a world of commercial horror and romantic despair.[/font]

 

[font="arial;"]I'll keep this short. A bright glimmer of light caught my eyes, and everything else seemed to vanish, in my mind and all around me. You know how it is, when the most trivial thing becomes a sudden obsession, taking over your being. Well, it was that way with this light, only I'm not sure if you would know how powerful this was. It wasn't just my mind playing a trick on me and trying to escape from heavy thought, it was an engrossing enchantment.[/font]

 

[font="arial;"]I followed the glimmer through the trees. There was something warm and inviting and beautiful about it, or at least the spell made me think there was. Not that it matters why I followed, I just did, and when I came out the other side of the trees into a clearing, I gasped in surprise and delight.[/font]

 

[font="arial;"]Right there I found a huge glass wall, tall, broad, like a giant window; and through this window I saw the most incredible sight I'd ever seen. It was a city of gold: golden buildings, golden streets, golden-haired women. The sky was tinted with it and the sidewalks were littered with it, shining in the sunlight to take my breath away.[/font]

 

[font="arial;"]There was El Dorado before my very eyes, mine for the taking, here in the backwoods behind a rustic middle-of-nowhere town. All I had to do was step through the window. Dazzled, spellbound, eager greed eating away at my every nerve, I stumbled forward.[/font]

 

[font="arial;"]And then it was gone. There was a loud plunk and the glass rippled, El Dorado shivered and disappeared. The window was shattered. I looked up at into the very real, very black-haired face of a pretty young woman wearing an indescribable look of grim fear, of shock and relief, all misfitting the handsome smile she wore.[/font]

 

[font="arial;"]And you know, I only just remembered why that day was so important to me. To tell you the truth, it probably won't have the same effect on you as it had on me, because it wasn't the lake at all that changed my life . . .[/font]


Edited by The Novelist Called Nuile, Jul 05 2013 - 11:42 PM.

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When I know I can't live without a pen and paper, when I know writing is as necessary to me as breathing . . .

 

tumblr_meb7408mTy1r4ejnio1_1280.gif

 

I know I am ready to start my voyage.

 

A Musing Author . . . Want to read my books?


#56 Offline xccj

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Posted Jul 06 2013 - 12:13 AM

Member name: xccj

Theme: glass

Word Count: 306

Story: Broken Glass

 

 

The choices that we make

Determines what is to pass

And when one’s a mistake

It can sting like broken glass

 

The problems people face

Could I solve them, every one?

But much to my distaste

My solutions could solve none

 

I did my best to try

And do right by everyone

But I aimed up too high

And got burned down by the sun

 

I wanted to do well

With my facts and science

But my high ideals fell

And my skills lacked compliance

 

I’d make the world better

But I only made it worse

Now my eyes are wetter

The memory makes me curse

 

It was results I craved

From that one experiment

I wanted to be praised

Oh, I was so arrogant

 

It had started out strong

But I miscalculated

And then it all went wrong

I was far from elated

 

An unwanted flame rose

An explosion did follow

A debris cloud arose

Until my lab was left hollow

 

Beyond my lab, it reached

Spreading toxins in the air

Into water they leached

Spreading poisons everywhere

 

The public was not split

Onto me they placed the blame

My life was now forfeit

My actions brought only shame

 

My lessons has been learned

But it’s too little, too late

My reputation’s burned

I’ve only earned people’s hate

 

A mad scientist, they say

That is what I have become

Now they all stay away

I’m treated lower than scum

 

This world, can I still try

To make it a better place?

Now my hands they do tie

From actions I can’t erase

 

And now I must repent

For my faults and past misdeeds

Now all my time is spent

To find where redemption leads

 

The choices that we make

Determines what is to pass

And when one’s a mistake

It can sting like broken glass 


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#57 Offline Hubert

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Posted Jul 06 2013 - 12:26 AM

Yeah, this one is really terrible, sort of lost all inspiration half way through.

 

Member Name: Toa Onarax

Theme: Glass

Word Count: 535

Story: Just a Glass

 

A young man was nervously tugging on his collar, the anticipation and fear was making his suit feel all the more uncomfortable. He was sitting at a table with an older man whose face was that of a man who had seen all the horrors and joys of life. In the corner of the room was a double door, at which stood a young servant standing tall and straight whilst awaiting the older man’s instructions. Other than him there was very little furnishing in the room, save an old fireplace and a large window overlooking the city.

 

However there was a very good reason for the young man’s fear, the old man of the city was none other than the Father of the city and the young man still wasn’t sure why he had invited him. Dinner with the Father was either a death sentence or a beautiful blessing, the trick was figuring out which.

 

“So Richard,” the Father finally spoke, breaking the awkward silence. “Do not be so on edge, laugh, have fun! I want my guests to feel welcome, now would you care for a drink?”

 

Richard nearly gulped on the spot, barely struggling to maintain his composure. A drink was one of the worst things he could be offered, refusing would be spiting the Father, however if the Father wanted you out of the way there was a good chance the drink might be poisoned. It was a no win situation for someone who lacked the reason for his summoning.

 

“I don’t wish to impose,” Richard began only to be cut off by the Father’s wave of a hand.

 

“Richard, loosen up, it truly is no trouble for me,” with that said the Father snapped his figures and almost immediately a servant came out with a glass of wine, before gently placing it down in front of Richard.

 

Once more Richard barely restrained himself from gulping on the spot. “Thank you,” he mumbled half-heartedly as he raised the glass in the Father’s direction, before taking a sip. After all refusing would also be terrible. When he realized he was still alive, Richard could help but let out a sigh. However by the time he realized the momentary drop in his guard the damage had been done.

 

The Father was now laughing from hearing Richard’s sigh. “My dear boy, did you really think I was going to poison you?” He let out a hearty bellyache, “I would think you had more faith in me by now.” The man replied in a rather joking tone.

 

“Heh, one can never be too cautious,” Richard chuckled nervously, desperately trying to salvage the situation. “One can never be too careful right?”

 

“Hah! It’s just a glass, if that scares you so much I can only imagine how you’ll react to what’s about to be become.”

 

“A glass can be viewed in many different ways, half empty, half full…” Richard began only to be cut off by the older man.

 

“Or, in your case, poisoned,” The man added.

 

“Yes, that too.”

 

“Well,” the old man chuckled, “Now that you’ve overcome your first hurdle I can’t wait to see how you handle the real fun that’s about to come.”


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#58 Offline Takuaka: Toa of Time

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Posted Jul 06 2013 - 12:57 AM

Member Name: Timaka: Toa of Time

Theme: Glass

Word Count: 413

Story: Magic Glass

 

It's glass, but it's magical glass.

 

Through it you can see a garden, or maybe a tree, or a driveway. Maybe you can see another house, maybe you can see someone else's lawn, or maybe all you can see is a dumpster.

 

Or maybe you can't see anything at all. Maybe it's entirely blank, nothing but pure blackness.

 

But it could even be a jungle. Tall trees stretching their being into the heavens, creeper vines stringing about the place, animals noisy or quiet but always beautiful, gorgeous flowers and vistas of indescribable wonder.

 

Another possibility is the ocean. Maybe you see a beach, with endless sand stretching in either direction, the waves gently caressing the land from across unfathomable distances and flowing back out to touch the edge of the sky.

 

It could be a prairie, with a sea of another kind. A greener one. Maybe there are grunting bison or wild mustang, thunderstorms or great birds of prey as free as the wind.

 

A great precipice, with stony walls threatening you with a thousand foot drop but also promising an incredible view. A waterfall cascades over the side while a peaceful forest stands invitingly in the opposite direction.

 

A mountain peak looming above you, while mountain goats or grizzly bears shuffle along. Conifers stand erect like soldiers in a line, dotting the steep incline here or there while great boulders offer some variety.

 

Or perhaps you see a dump, an amplitudinous array of things once having a home with good people, or even the not so good, forming itself comfortably in a high peak all its own. Old belongings now staining our world with unnatural death and decay.

 

What if its the tropics you see? Crystal-clear ocean waves with a small island and palm-trees in the distance. The merciless sun beats down on you, but with your SPF 50 you hardly notice anything but warmth and peace.

 

Maybe endless desert sand stretches as far as the eye can see, while hazy lines offer spectacles of interest and dances of exotic variety. A camel or a gemsbok passes by, on an epic journey of survival.

 

Or the stars. A sprinkling of light spread across a handsome black carpet. Here and there a red star, or nebulae of enormous wonder and beauty. Maybe a planet, or an asteroid, comet, or meteor. Interstellar bodies on endless voyages of discovery.

 

All this and more can be seen through the glass.

 

It's glass, but it's magic glass.


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This is where I'm supposed to have a signature, right? Alright, then.


Timaka: Toa of Time


I have very neat hand-writing.


#59 Offline Excelsior

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Posted Jul 06 2013 - 01:46 AM

Member Name: Excelsior

Theme: Glass

Word Count: 542

Story: Sand and Lightning

 

A dark figure stood on the shore of the cove, long hair falling to her feet. The waxing moon shone down clearly on the scene. Around her curved the beach of fine white sand, with jagged cliffs surrounding on all sides. Before her stretched the ocean, dark waves glittering as they rolled in.
 
She dropped to one knee, placing a square, unfilled frame upon the beach. It was made of painstakingly fitted yew and alder wood, carved with mystic signs. Many hours she had spent speaking incantations over it and brewing spells.Now she began tracing patterns in the sand it encompassed, delicately using one forefinger. Her other hand scooped up more sand, letting the granules sift through her fingers and join their brethren in the frame. After a few moments of this, she began chanting lowly, hands never ceasing their rhythmic movements.
 
"Gather to me, chosen grains. Gather to your brothers, separate, single grains, and become one. Pure sand, sand of power, gather to your destiny. Come! Be one! Gather together!" 
She lifted both hands, rising to her feet and stretching her arms to the sky. Her voice raised itself, a high cry to the heavens. "Gather in the sky, celestial energies! Come, O swift spear of the heavens, to strike these disparate elements and fuse them into one! Unite them, that their powers may reach their zenith and run freely through the whole - that all here may be completed!" 
Wisps of cloud began to gather, obscuring the stars. 
She bent once more to the sands, fingers running through them and voice chanting to them once more. She paused her hands only once, removing a tiny bag from her girdle and pouring its contents into the frame. The dark purple grains contrasted starkly with the white of the beach, and she began sifting and stirring once more. 
And so it continued for hours, her voice and body rising and falling between the sands and the sky, occasionally adding something to the former as the latter grew ever more threatening. The clouds never obscured the moon, however, which shone serenely down on the scene below. 
Finally, her chant ceased. She straightened, holding her arms in a circle at the level of her waist, embracing the air above the frame. 
"Now is all gathered, all is complete. Let it be finished! 
"Strike, O Lightning! Unite, O Sand!" And a bolt of blinding lightning descended between her encircling arms, striking directly in the center of the frame's hollow with a deafening crash. 
When it had ended, she withdrew her arms, pressing her hands first to her eyes and then to her ears, as if to undo the effects of the lightning's glare and noise. Then she knelt down to examine her handiwork. 
The frame was no longer empty. It was filled from edge to edge with a smooth sheet of glass, mainly white but with barely detectable streaks of color swirling across its still-warm surface.Picking it up, she stroked it tenderly. "I have made it, just as I intended," she whispered. "In this, all that is shall show its true nature, without artifice or concealment, whether beast or flower, star or man. This night I have created a Sight-Glass of True Sight."

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My writings:

The Toa Ekara - Visions A short story. Ga-Koro Mobs My entry for the LSO Comedies Contest. Team Extempore's entry for the LSO Epics Contest


#60 Offline SonicBOOM XS

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Posted Jul 06 2013 - 01:59 AM

Name: SonicBOOM XS

Theme: Glass

Word Count: 148

Story: The View

 

Lenny faced the glass, towards the source of the light emanating from the summer sun.

 

Children played, laughing and frolicking among the many flowers in the fields. Their parents conversed about lively subjects such as the results of the Super Bowl and what move their kids would pull next. A slight breeze moved the blades of grass so that they were leaning over at an angle of no more than 16 degrees. The trees swayed as well, and the branches moved like distorted limbs. The sun, radiant as ever, shone its light on the populace below, blinding those foolish enough to gaze into its stare. Picnic baskets, surrounded by litter, were a source of food for those wishing to help themselves.

 

It was a beautiful summer day, the first of many to come, and it was such a beautiful view.

 

But Lenny saw nothing, for he was blind.


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Undergoing Renovations...


#61 Offline 55555

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Posted Jul 06 2013 - 02:27 AM

Theme #10:Posted ImageIMAGEArt To FictionWrite a story that the above image would be an illustration for. The above scene must occur in your story, but beyond that it's fair game. Remember that this is an OTC theme, and your story must comply with the contest rules.Deadline: July 7th, 11:59 PM PST.Also: Polls in progress!! Please vote!- 55555

Edited by 55555, Jul 06 2013 - 11:42 AM.

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#62 Offline Velox

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Posted Jul 06 2013 - 02:42 AM

[font="'times new roman', times, serif;"][color=#000080;]Also, new competition:[/color][/font]

 

[font="'times new roman', times, serif;"][color=#000080;][/font][/color]
[font="'times new roman', times, serif;"][color=#000080;][12:34:47 AM] Andrew P: *cough*[/color][/font]
[font="'times new roman', times, serif;"][color=#000080;][12:34:54 AM] Andrew P: deadline is July 7th, not 3rd =P[/color][/font]
[font="'times new roman', times, serif;"][color=#000080;][12:37:00 AM] John 55555: SON[/color][/font]
[font="'times new roman', times, serif;"][color=#000080;][12:37:11 AM] Andrew P: ARSO NEW CONTEST RULE[/color][/font]
[font="'times new roman', times, serif;"][color=#000080;][12:37:16 AM] Andrew P: MUST BUILD TIME MACHINE TO ENTER CONTEST[/color][/font]
[font="'times new roman', times, serif;"][color=#000080;][12:38:14 AM] John 55555: SON[/color][/font]
[font="'times new roman', times, serif;"][color=#000080;][12:38:31 AM] John 55555: NO DEADLINE FOR BUILDING THE TIME MACHINE THOUGH[/color][/font]
[font="'times new roman', times, serif;"][color=#000080;][12:38:38 AM] John 55555: SINCE IT WOULDn"T REALLY MATTER[/color][/font]
[font="'times new roman', times, serif;"][color=#000080;][12:39:16 AM] Andrew P: RIGHT[/color][/font]

 

 

[font="'times new roman', times, serif;"][color=#000080;]If anyone completes that challenge, you automatically win the contest. Go crazy folks. B-)[/color][/font]


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"As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake." ~ Aimee Bender


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#63 Offline The Malicious Phantom

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Posted Jul 06 2013 - 09:10 AM

Name: Wasp

Theme: Art to Fiction

Word Count: 473

 

Story: The Treasure

 

Almost there… I thought Soon I’ll confront the dragon to seize the rubies of power.

I had been scaling this mountain for days and never seemed to get any closer to his destination, but now he could see the rocky outcropping clearly.

 

Made it! I thought when I finished scrambling over the last few boulders. The view was extraordinary, I could see the entire kingdom from my vantage point.  “I made it!” I yelled. I then heard a distinct growling behind me. My eyes were wide with fear; the monstrous lizard was behind me, preparing to strike. I readied my sword, spun around and was greeted by a large mass of bones. None of which were the dragons’. I walked inside carefully and immediately spotted the rubies, they were stuck in a small crevice and I could not reach them.

 

The growling continued…

 

I ventured further into the cavern; Finding other long lost treasures. I eventually made it to the center of the large cavern and was greeted by a large pile of gold, silver, and gemstones. I looked around, but found no sign of the dragon that supposedly guarded this trove.

 

Where is it? I thought, then I found the answer; there was a large bronze door on the other side of the very large room, but it was locked. I dug out the key that I had found at the foot of the mountain and put it in the lock, I turned it, and the door responded with many clicking sounds as it opened. I walked inside, and there I found the dragon, asleep. Dragons never sleep. But that wasn’t the strangest thing, I saw that the dragon was made entirely out of rubies! Experimentally, I grabbed one and yanked it off of its body. The opening was not one of flesh, but rather one of bones. It’s dead. I thought. The mighty beast died of old age. That makes things easier. And it’s encrusted in rubies!

 

I pulled more and more off and stuffed them in by bag, selfishness and pride overwhelmed me as I continually grabbed more and more. Then I noticed a slight change in my hand.

 

Since when do I have claws? I thought. But it was more than that, my whole body was changing. I grew larger, scalier, and more dragon-like. Then I made the connection: The rubies of power referred to the dragon, it possessed power like nothing else. And I was the one growling!

 

By the time that I had emptied my bag of the treasures that I had collected, it was too late. The conversion had finished, I let out a mighty roar and left this room to guard my treasure, not knowing who I was, or why I was here. There was one selfish, prideful thought that dominated my mind:

 

My treasure.


Edited by Wasp, Jul 06 2013 - 09:11 AM.

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#64 Offline dotcom

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Posted Jul 07 2013 - 01:47 AM

I had too much fun not taking this seriously.

 

Member Name: dotcom

Theme: Art to Fiction

Word Count: 688

Story:

 

 

Unfocused

 

 

What is this piece of junk supposed to be? It’s an abstract spaceship

 

Doesn’t look like a spaceship well that’s ‘cause it’s abstract, you see

 

What’s the blue stuff? It’s aliens, he keeps asking aliens? I say aliens.

 

Why aliens? Well they ride spaceships

 

Most of this canvas is blue, is everything aliens?

 

Yes

 

This is garbage nobody is going to buy it he says

 

Sigh

 

I was worried he’d say that

 

‘S Only the truth

 

I’ll try again I guess.

 

Don’t limit yourself to spaceships, try a pony or something that seems to be popular

 

I’ll…give that some thought?

 

I’ll be leaving. You work on something else

 

Right. Bye.

 

Sigh.

 

This painting is terrible. I should go burn it outside. Maybe after I drink my coffee…

 

Man that was not a good idea. The neighbor got all up in my case again about burning paintings and what’s that smell and why are you even using arsenic paint and just

 

Geez

 

That guy needs to calm down. I didn’t even step on his Chihuahua this time, or drop searing hot coffee on it either. Also I’m only burning one painting, not that he wasn’t exaggerating on last month’s bonfire but seriously just

 

Jeez

 

So I guess I have to do something else now but god I am tired.

 

I need another coffee.

 

I shouldn’t have burned that painting, such a moron. Should’ve tried to sell it anyways or painted over it

 

Just

 

Ugh

 

Guess I need to do something else. Another spaceship? I guess I could try but doesn’t sound that fun

 

He mentioned something about ponies I should look that up on the internet

 

God I hate going outside. Is too bad I dropped my coffee on the modem, not that I can afford the internet right now but you know convenience.

 

Internet café what a freaking joke who even goes to these things anymore

 

Other than me I guess but I got an excuse

 

What are these hacks doing here

 

Such hacks

 

Guess I’m going to buy some time now and also some coffee

 

Okay so ponies look up ponies and

 

And

 

And

 

Holy

 

Mother

 

Of

 

What

 

Oh god oh god oh god

 

What the #### is this I’m just

 

JEEZ

 

What is wrong with people

 

Just

 

GOD

 

Oh? No I wasn’t looking at that stuff.

 

No you definitely didn’t see me sir you must have been mistaken I was just looking up…salad!

 

What do you mean I’m banned from coming here again I wasn’t even doing anything this is just such communism

 

Stop

 

At least let me keep the coffee I paid for it with money

 

Back at home, just so tired.

 

I need more coffee.

 

Agh this isn’t working.

 

I’m going to bed.

 

Oh great I forgot I also dropped coffee on the bed I drop coffee on everything so clumsy

 

(Maybe I should start drawing with coffee?)

 

Argh.

 

Good night.

 

Dreaming like a baby dreaming like a baby, there’s a race track in my brain and there’s no stoppin’ me

 

Woo

 

Coffee waterfall!

 

Don’t I drink too much coffee?

 

Haha so silly you can’t drink too much coffee

 

Is a medicine or something

 

Wee

 

Huh

 

Where am I

 

Where is the coffee

 

Why is everything dark

 

Is this a nightmare

 

Are the ponies gonna show up

 

Please don’t be ponies

 

Oh okay the lights are coming back up

 

This is some creepy aura I’m getting from this place what are these

 

Lightning trees

 

And okay then there comes a spaceship

 

That’s a nice shade of purplredrange.

 

What a weirdly abstract scene of lightning trees and a purplredrange spaceship.

 

I should plagiarize this.

 

He’s asking if I plagiarized this spaceship I say of course I did don’t be a cool dude

 

He’s like why did you call me a cool dude I’m just saying

 

What are you even saying

 

Where did I get it it’s just from my sexy subconscious, you tool

 

Hey don’t get feisty now (I don’t even know what that word means)

 

Anyways he says I can sell this

 

No duh

 

It came from my subconscious that stuff is downright sexy.


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#65 Offline Emissary

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Posted Jul 07 2013 - 09:29 PM

Member Name: Dreadheart
Theme: Art to Fiction
Word Count: 384
Story: Rules of Combat
 
The rules of combat are clear to us.
 
There are always two combatants.
 
There are only two weapons.
 
Victory is called when one person’s fighting spirit is broken.
 
Bones may be cracked.
 
Blood may be spilt.
 
Lives may be taken.
 
But there must be a victorious soul.
 
There must be a defeated soul.
 
The rules of combat are clear to us.
 
I fight against Him.
 
The Blade-man, the Knife-artist, the Steel-stinger.
 
All assembled know what He will choose as His weapon.
 
A leather handle...
 
...topped with seven inches of cold, iron death.
 
Fun.
 
He steps forward; His eyes gleam in the dark like His blade does in the sun.
 
His smile is a wolf’s grin.
 
His stance proclaims Him as victor of a thousand battles.
 
The common consensus: 
 
He will win.
 
I will die.
 
It is prophecy -- written in the stars by the divine.
 
Divinity cannot be beaten.
 
And that is why I challenge it.
 
I reach down to claim my weapon.
 
Fingers slither through shallow undergrowth.
 
A rigid ovoid is trapped in my grip.
 
I rip upwards, dragging my prize into the light.
 
Reaching out, I reveal my weapon.
 
It is met with laughter.
 
Ridicule.
 
Pity.
 
Despair.
 
Because how can He, Knife-soul, lose to me, Fruit-bearer.
 
Quietly, I take my own blade and slice my weapon in two.
 
I keep one part; the rest is thrown away.
 
We enter the circle.
 
The battle commences.
 
He charges, steel aimed for my throat.
 
I step aside, raising my left shoulder, making a new target for his blade.
 
Blood splatters, and I keep turning, twisting his knife deeper into my arm.
 
Pain burns in my flesh, but I am stronger than it.
 
I endure.
 
I always endure.
 
He tries to wrench his weapon free, and I raise my free arm -- my fruit arm.
 
Step back in front of Him, push my weapon forward, towards His eyes.
 
I focus my pain into my right hand.
 
My fist clenches.
 
Acid flies.
 
He screams, grabbing at His face.
 
Drop my weapon; draw His.
 
Let His blade land on the ground.
 
My fist moves like lightning through the air.
 
It finds His face like flies find dung.
 
he joins his weapon in the dirt.
 
Victory is called.
 
The rules of combat are clear to us.

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#66 Offline xccj

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Posted Jul 07 2013 - 09:46 PM

Member Name: xccj

Theme: Art to Fiction

Word Count: 746

Story: Search for Atlantis

 

 

Rory entered the underwater cave.  It was not a safe place to be; there were sharp rocks that could tear through his wetsuit with ease, and potentially damage his oxygen tank.  One little mistake could be fatal.

 

Rory was not alone; he was diving with his partner Dave.  Dave was a thrill seeker; he liked to challenge himself by pushing his body to its limit.  But they were not here for an adrenaline rush; they were searching for something.

 

The surface world, as Rory called it, was a mess.  There was war, famine, poverty, and corruption everywhere.  That world sickened Rory.  He wanted to find someplace new, someplace with peace and tranquility.

 

And that’s when he heard of Atlantis.

 

Atlantis was supposedly an ancient kingdom with technology well ahead of its time.  They had prospered for hundreds of years, but then the kingdom had vanished without a trace.  Some legends said that it was sunk during a natural disaster, while others hinted that a rival kingdom destroyed it.  But others claimed that Atlantis got fed up with the outside world, and they broke off contact and hid away.

 

If this was true, then perhaps Rory could locate and visit Atlantis.  At the very least, they might have a way to help deal with the horrors of the surface world.

 

Over their underwater intercoms, Dave said, “The cave drops downwards up ahead, so that’s promising.  I’ll take the lead.”

 

Rory followed his partner.  Dave was less concerned about the world than he was, but Rory needed his friend’s expertise in scuba diving to help him on his search.  Atlantis was not an easy place to locate.  It had been lost for centuries, and few sources offered any reliable clues as to where it was hiding.  Using these and undersea charts, Rory had selected a few areas to explore.

 

The two were currently on their third trip, in the southern Mediterranean Sea.  Upon diving down, they had discovered a series of underwater caverns, and they were exploring them to see if one led anywhere.

 

The two dropped down through a shaft, and reached yet another level of tunnels.  They were narrower now, but Dave used his lantern to illuminate the way.  The light gleamed off the white rocks that formed the cave walls.

 

“There’s something up ahead,” Dave said suddenly.  “What is it?”

 

Rory followed his partner’s gaze.  Crimson tendrils lay adrift on the stone floor.  They shifted eerily in the lantern’s light.

 

Rory swam closer to inspect it.  “It seems to be some deceased creature, perhaps a sort of Cephalopod.”  He reached forward to touch it, but it sudden moved back.  “Wait, it’s not dead at all!”

 

Something rose from the dust that had settled on the cavern’s floor, and Rory and Dave suddenly came face to face with a giant octopus.  Before Rory could swim back, one of its arms reached out and wrapped around his body.

 

“Rory, look out!” Dave shouted through the intercom.  He drew a diving knife and swam forward.  He sliced at the octopus’s skin, but his cuts were too shallow and didn’t appear to hurt the sea beast.  Instead, the octopus wrapped another one of its arms around Dave.

 

“This is bad!” Dave shouted, as the octopus began to squeeze.  “If we don’t get free, it’ll break our oxygen tanks!  Rory, try stabbing it in the eye, since you’re closer!”

 

Rory tried to move, but he was now immobilized by the octopus.  Dimly, he wondered if this was how it was all going to end.  He couldn’t escape from the pain and suffering on the surface after all.

 

But then another thought came to mind.  He was invading this creature’s territory, and had started the fight by surprising it.  No wonder it retaliated.  No, Rory deserved what he was getting, and he ceased to struggle.

 

But to his surprise, that caused the octopus to release him.  Struck by this revelation, Rory called to Dave, “Stop struggling, that’s what’s getting it riled up.”

 

Having no other choice, Dave quit his thrashing, and soon the octopus released him too.  And then the Cephalopod slipped away into another dark corner of the cave.

 

“How did you. . .” Dave started.

 

“Just call it a hunch,” Rory said.  “Like maybe it was a challenge, to make sure the violent and foolhardy wouldn’t continue forward.”

 

“A challenge?  Do you think Atlantis is near by?”

 

“Well, it won’t hurt to check,” Rory said, and he pushed forward.


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#67 Offline Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa

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Posted Jul 07 2013 - 10:35 PM

[color=rgb(0,128,0);]Last Flash Fiction Marathon theme.[/color]

 

[color=rgb(0,128,0);]My life is over.[/color]

 

 

Member Name: Nuile

Theme: Art to Fiction

Word Count: 594

Story: On the Edge of Existence

 

I was running through the woods. It wasn’t a day for walking. With each exhilarating breath I felt the power of life tingle throughout my body. I was breathing heavily, feeling all the more, living all the more.As each step fell on the soft, spongy mosses and leaf-molds of the forest floor, I thought I was walking on clouds, flying through the forest, flying through life, flying through the world.I had never lived before. I realized that then. Here, lost in Nature, lost in my own spirit, I had found true Life. And I never wanted to let go of it again.Unfortunately, Reality has a way of forcing itself back into your hands whether you want it or not. Reality, not life, gives you lemons. And sometimes, it throws them at you hard.A celestial being, with wings of ether and sunlight, soared through the heavens until his foot got caught on a tree root and he fell flat on his face.Ah, but Reality, he didn’t want your lemons! You can keep them!I picked myself up. The angel in my heart spread his wings and prepared to fly again when I distracted him by taking notice of a pale, multicolored light through the trees. At first I thought it might be the setting sun, but there was a strong, definite tone of blue in it. When you’re Living for the first time, you don’t balk at making new discoveries. Curiosity is as much your ally, your tutor, and your guide as it is a newborn babe’s.I immediately followed the light. But it was not a goal, it was not an end, merely a means; it was the path that led me through the trees only. The trees, covered with moss and mushroom; the birds, singing sweetly in the trees; the babbling brooks, I passed, the gentle breeze that swept my face; this was the reason I was here, the reason I was Living, and not even curiosity gave me any other reason to walk through that forest.Which I found the source of the light, it was not a source of shock or surprise, only of wonder. I had left Reality far behind me. And, so, as to the possibility of what I saw, Why not?I pushed my way through the hanging tendrils of ivy and moss and lichen, and there, nestled in a hollow between an oak’s embracing roots, sat a gap in the world.It wasn’t a hole, or I didn’t think it was; it couldn’t be, unless it was the Rabbit Hole that leads to Wonderland. But it wasn’t anything, because it just wasn’t there; it was an emptiness, glowing brightly with mingled oranges and blues; it was a seam between the stitches, or a part of the world that had accidentally been left out. Whatever it was, it was a gap torn in Reality itself, and why not?Any other day I might have hesitated. I might have thought of all the things I was leaving behind. But that day, I knew what was behind me; Reality, cold, harsh, and forever dull.I didn’t know what lay ahead. But I was ready to find out.It was one small step, or a flying leap of faith into the unknown. I walked, I flew through that portal; or perhaps I had always been on the other side, and I was just waking from a strange dream.Wherever I was going, I knew this: I was leaving Reality, and stepping into Life, the greatest unknown.


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When I know I can't live without a pen and paper, when I know writing is as necessary to me as breathing . . .

 

tumblr_meb7408mTy1r4ejnio1_1280.gif

 

I know I am ready to start my voyage.

 

A Musing Author . . . Want to read my books?


#68 Offline Legolover-361

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Posted Jul 07 2013 - 10:57 PM

I'm not very pleased with this entry, but I'm submitting it anyway. At least I tried.Though I wasn't able to participate to a significant extent in the Flash Fiction Marathon 2 due to an absence, I've done what I can, and I hope everyone else has gotten as much enjoyment out of this as I have.* * *Member Name: Legolover-361Theme: Art to StoryWord Count: 750Story: TriggerI think that within this universe, in the journey of every sentient species, there is a threshold.On the near side of the threshold is prematurity: space-faring civilizations whose hops and skips onto stellar stepping stones are fueled primarily by hubris, temerity, and more than a few careless decisions; societies still consumed by civil war and turmoil, who have not found a common enemy to unite them and so turn on themselves like fever on the human body — i.e. adolescence. The mountain lies before them, but they only have the faintest idea it exists and know not what it means. Humanity belongs to this group.The far side of the threshold is maturity. I don’t know what lies beyond the threshold, for I’m only human. I don’t know what a species in adulthood would be. Maybe species beyond the threshold are as burdened with war, dissonance, poverty, and mortality as the rest of us primitives are.The threshold itself, however, must not be discarded. It (theoretically speaking) must be a trigger, what event or discovery that awakens a race to its potential and, like spurs in the sides of a horse, accelerates its pace.Why am I relating this? First, I’ve been on a science fiction binge for my past month on Europa: Speculation has become a part of my daily routine.Second, I believe I’ve discovered the trigger.* * *If I had to describe Europa in one word, I would choose “interesting”.Its tenuous atmosphere contains oxygen, the product of water molecules on Europa’s surface being broken into their base components and hydrogen atoms’ nominal mass. The temperature about the area of Outpost EU1-E, to the best of my knowledge, has never risen past negative two hundred eighty degrees Fahrenheit. Naturally, being on average over three hundred degrees Fahrenheit colder than the freezing temperature of water, Europa’s surface is frozen solid; but it is covered with canyons and rifts that we still need to explore.Jupiter, however, is massive. Its gravitational force kneads Europa’s core like dough. The warping generates heat. Subsequently, the heat melts some of the ice. Thus, water — two and a half miles below the surface.It was into that water that we tapped perchance a month ago. (Most of us celebrated not with water but with alcohol.) We still haven’t named the ocean, but we are fully expecting those of us more inclined to mythology to brainstorm a name posthaste.No human could (or would) squeeze through the hole that we bored in Europa’s surface; thus, we deposited a robot, ignored cries about pollutants, and began exploring.I was on duty when the discovery occurred. Actually, I was nearly asleep at the control board. The putta-putta-putta of our robot’s propellers served as a sleeping machine in a pinch, and three hours of looking at flashing lights like the ones on a Christmas tree does not adrenaline trigger.Because I was drowsy, I almost didn’t notice the screen. We’d discovered a form of cropped seaweed, probably modified algae, on the Europan ocean floor; it was by now a familiar sight, so it nearly concealed with its familiarity my discovery.Between the verdant filaments of seaweed lay a colored object — three to be technical, but they were pieces of a whole. I slapped myself so I knew I wasn’t dreaming, but there it was: broken pottery on Europa’s ocean floor.I reported it. The higher-ups came back to me (a full day later) and said to do tests. We did them. The pottery wasn’t from us.We recovered it. It was worn so the designs weren’t legible, and much of the pottery had been worn smooth so it wouldn’t perfectly fit together again, but it was enough. A report was prepared. I was told to sit in the background of the video, and I waved when my direct superior, Dr. Ian Miller, pointed to me and said I had made the discovery, but otherwise I said nothing. Maybe I should have — who knows?What I do know — what we all know — is that the pottery belongs to someone else. It’s a mystery, but its existence has answered another question that has burned in our hearts for millennia:Are we alone? The answer is no; we are not.Now I’m waiting for someone to answer, “So what now?”Perhaps the answer to that question will be the trigger, and my discovery will be the trigger of the trigger, if you get what I mean. It’s just speculation, mind you.
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#69 Offline Silverglass

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Posted Jul 07 2013 - 11:01 PM

[font="lucidagrande;"]((*plays the Doctor Who theme as she starts building her time-machine*))Member name: SilverglassTheme: Art to FictionWord-count: 497Story: On a Mission        “Tell me again why we’re trekking through the middle of nowhere,” said a short young man with scruffy brown hair as he nearly tripped over a log.        “Because, if you want to keep flying those solar-sailers hither and yon, we need powerstones,” replied his companion, a seven-foot-tall automaton clad in stark-white armor, with ‘ZAG’ plastered across the right pauldron in black. “Besides, you hardly do anything around the ship. About time the Captain gave you a field-mission.”        The young man – known simply as Tobi by the crew of the H.M.S. Thunderhead – rolled his eyes and quickened his pace. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner they could get back to the airship and get out of this blasted jungle.        “Shouldn’t be too much farther,” Zag said after a time as he glanced down at the device in his hand: a brass box with various gauges on its sleek face; some newfangled device for tracking energy-signatures, apparently.        “Good; I’m getting tired of seeing nothing but trees,” Tobi replied, eyeing a gnarled ficus as though it intended to harm him.        “Tobi, watch were y—”        Too late. Tobi had already fallen, and was now lying face-first in the mud. He scrambled about and slipped repeatedly before finally regaining his footing, standing as still as possible with his arms stretched out to the sides to steady himself.        The automaton couldn’t resist. From his perch atop a massive log alongside the pool of mud, he leaned over and poked Tobi’s shoulder, sending the poor boy flailing into the mud again.        “Are you kidding me?!” Tobi spat as pulled himself out again, cursing along the way and trying to wipe the mud from his face and trousers. Zag simply chuckled and followed his companion without a word, for he considered it well-deserved payback for the energy-viper he’d found in his satchel this morning. Were it not for the tree-hour recharge he had to go through, their little mission would have been over with already.        Zag looked away for only a second, and suddenly Tobi was nowhere in sight. The automaton glanced around and picked up the pace, muttering “darn it, Tobi…” as he went. The boy was notorious for getting lost, even on their own ship, and Zag was convinced it would one day be the death of him.        “Hey! Zag! Come ‘ere!”        The automaton backtracked a bit, and after squeezing through a rather thick clump of foliage, he finally found Tobi sitting at the edge of a small ravine, looking at something below. “Don’t do that again,” Zag warned. “Now, what did… you…”        They found themselves looking down at what appeared to be a cluster of powerstones, but these were bigger than any they had seen before; the largest of them the size of a skiff at least, by the looks of it.        Tobi glanced down at his bag. “We’re going to need a bigger satchel.”[/font]


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“A single dream is more powerful than a thousand realities.” 
― J.R.R. Tolkien


#70 Offline Takuaka: Toa of Time

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Posted Jul 08 2013 - 12:42 AM

Name: Timaka: Toa of Time

Theme: Art to Fiction

Word Count: 749

Story: Terra Atmo Resto

 

With the attentive and delicate care of a mother, I gently tucked the earth over the head-sized nut. My little seed, who would soon sprout and undoubtedly outgrow me before long. Eventually the tree would stand over one thousand feet. That is, if it survived. I stepped back and surveyed the desolate red landscape. "I don't know, Mom," I said through the vocal transistors of my planetary atmospheric life-suit. "How is he going to survive in this wasteland?"

 

* * *

 

The memory faded, to be replaced by the starry vista outside my window in the family cruiserhome. If I craned my neck, I could just make out the red planet we were approaching. Nublar-6, the planet that my father had bought for the family many years ago. Or rather, he had bought a part of it. The Zarrulian government was selling land on the planet, recently purchased from a neighboring intergalactic nation. The resources and finances of that nation were running low, and they found themselves unable to apply the proper terra atmo resto (sorry, the lingo, it means "terrain and atmosphere restoration") process to this planet.

 

Ten years ago we had come here to plant some vegetation, biologically engineered specifically for this planet's climate. We did this in several locations, and if all has gone well we should find some expansive pastures when we arrive. Once the atmosphere is finished being prepared (it nearly was now) we would be moving here permanently so we could better help develop the ecosystem. We would introduce some animals, herbivores and later predators, and try to keep the growing ecology in balance. Being only eighteen and not the smartest girl around, I don't fully understand the process myself, but that's the basic idea. My dad's something of a genius and he understands it all perfectly.

 

But more than anything, in regard to this particular visit anyway, I was excited to see the tree I had planted back when I was just eight years old. If all went well, and I hoped with all my heart that it had, my tree should have sprouted and it should already be a good three dozen or so feet high. Most of our vegetation had been planted in large groups, but my father had let me pick out one special location for my own seed.

 

"Buckle in, everyone," my father's voice commanded over the intercom. "We're nearing the atmosphere now." The family strapped in, each to their own seat in the cruiserhome. Altogether there were about twenty-five of us, although it was mostly extended relatives. We would be the first settlers in our part of the planet, but more would undoubtedly follow.

 

Soon we were jostling through the atmosphere. We passed through a cloud, and I gasped. Those hadn't been around the last time, not that I could remember. The atmosphere restoration was coming along well. Soon we passed over our pastures, and were delighted to find many miles of fields and forests. They surpassed our expectations.

 

My father had promised that we would visit my tree before arriving at the homestead, though not for long. I closed my eyes as we neared it. I didn't want to see it until we landed.

 

* * *

I hurriedly put on my atmospheric suit (which would not be necessary for much longer) and raced out as soon as the airlocks were open. And there it was. My tree. It must have been forty feet high! And to my surprise, he was surrounded by a dozen or so shorter trees. It took me a moment, but I soon realized that my tree was a parent! I can't describe the happiness I felt then. I now owned my own little forest.

 

My father was surprised, too. My biologically engineered tree wasn't supposed to have borne any seeds yet, and certainly not these trees reaching up to about twenty feet. "Even in this age," he said, "I guess there's no full accounting for nature."

 

He let me stay a little longer, and I wandered within the small forest, crossing over the leaf-strewn floor. Already a soil was forming. At the foot of my original tree I found myself in a small forest clearing, with him watching over as the maternal guardian that he was. It was a nice snug spot covered in moss and lichen. Between two of his big roots, a small head-sized nut was nestled, like an egg in its nest.

 

I was so happy I cried.


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This is where I'm supposed to have a signature, right? Alright, then.


Timaka: Toa of Time


I have very neat hand-writing.


#71 Offline Hubert

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Posted Jul 08 2013 - 01:02 AM

Welp this marks the end of a very enjoyable experience.

 

Member Name: Toa Onarax

Theme: Art to Fiction

Word Count: 631

Story: God's Garden

 

Beautiful trees and flowers towered above me; colossal beings that inspired both awe and a little bit of fear. Such was the case with all things in this garden, because this wasn’t just any ordinary garden, this was the Garden of God.

 

All around me I could see Angelic Beings, hard at work, cultivating these gargantuan beings. It was marvelous seeing them at work, seeing them take the ordinary and make it extraordinary. Never in my life had I seen such sheer beauty, such sheer magnificence; no earthly being could accomplish such a task.

 

However this also means that no earthly words could possibly describe this wonder and so I will cease with all attempts, instead I will merely relate to the things I experienced and bore witness to.

 

The first thing that must be mentioned are the Angels. My god, pardon the phrase, were they brilliant. Spectacularly divine beings of unparalleled beauty, once more words fail to properly convey their radiance.

 

These majestic beings were scurrying back and forth from the far reaches of the garden tending to and from the plants. They were carrying out a variety of tasks: Some Angels ferried with them a golden liquid that I can only postulate was a heavenly equivalent for our mundane water. The plants soaked up this liquid and grew nigh immediately.

 

Other Angels were trimming the plants akin to how one would a show dog. Hence it is my belief that the proper word would be grooming. They were grooming the plants to become towering beauties like the rest of their brethren. However it still bears mention that, even at this infantile state, their beauty was leaps and bounds beyond anything on earth.

 

Even more Angels were diligently administering an odd green liquid into the soil, the only explanation my mind can formulate is that this was a some sort of heavenly fertilizer. Still, this explanation does not sit well my soul and I believe its true nature is incomprehensible by our minds.

 

These are but a few of the countless tasks I saw the Angels partaking in to make this garden so divine. I cannot fathom the nature of a tenth of these tasks and I understand even fewer. However it was never the tasks or even the plants within in the gardens that truly inspired me. What truly screamed brilliance and will remain embedded in my soul for all eternity is the most beautiful event one can see on any plane of existence:

 

The birth of a new soul.

 

Still, do not mistake my words of praise as claiming this sight was on par with any in the mortal realm. This event was still a multiplication tens of thousands of times greater than its earthly equivalent. The births I saw can never be surpassed by anything except, perhaps, the birth of a new god.

 

Of course, considering how unfair to you it is for me to prolong my explanation with any more embellishment, I will now offer my explanation. I had been walking through the marvelous garden, thoroughly enjoying the heavenly spectacle, when a flower, that had previously remained closed to me, decided now was the right time to open. Inside it rested an even more beautiful creature, a tiny little gift from god, an infant angel. Even as new born it still conveyed that it was a majestic being.

 

Still reeling from my shock and awe at seeing such a beautiful creature I slowly looked up and down the rows of flowers. Another fantastical sight lay before me as I saw more and more flowers opening to reveal their true splendor. That was the moment it dawned upon me:

 

I, Andrew Caldwell, have truly walked down the path of God and seen the majesty of his garden.


Edited by Toa Onarax, Jul 08 2013 - 01:09 AM.

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#72 Offline Baltarc

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Posted Jul 08 2013 - 01:07 AM

And with this entry, I complete the goal I failed to achieve last summer - entering something for every theme. Surprisingly enough, I think I even managed to write something decent for each one. This has been a great experience and it's really helped me hone my skills in both writing and procrastination.

 

Member Name: Baltarc

Theme: Art to Fiction

Word Count: 750

Story: "The Forest"

 

A dense fog shrouded the Forest, clinging to my skin and soaking into my clothing. The branches of the gargantuan trees were slippery beneath my feet; even after years of travelling this way, it was still a challenge to find my footing in these conditions. It was difficult too to find my way forward – not only did the weather severely limit my vision, but I hadn’t come this way in… how long? Months, at least.

 

Why I chose to travel here, I can’t quite say. Maybe I just wanted a change of scenery. Perhaps I was guided by my subconscious or some other force beyond my comprehension. Whatever prompted my journey, though, one thing was certain – I was really starting to regret it. Wandering aimlessly through the Forest in a fog such as that one is rarely a wise idea.

 

I suppose I should introduce myself: I am the Man. Once, perhaps, I was called something else, but whatever that name may have been, it means nothing now. The inhabitants of this place know me as the Man, and there is no one to call me anything else. They refer to me as such because I am the only human being to live here, on this planet known to us as the Forest. Perhaps, in the distant reaches of space, there are those who refer to it in another way, but none here could fathom what that might be, nor do we care to.

 

Of course, “we” is a relative term. There are several species in the Forest that whose intelligence equals mine, certainly: the apes, the wolves, the cats. The birds, too – some of them, at least. And, of course, surpassing us all is the Lord of the Forest himself. But none of these associate with me, nor I with them. Occasionally we make contact, interact in some way, sometimes as friends, others as enemies. But rarely is it long before we part ways.

 

My foot slipped on a knot in the branch that I hadn’t seen; I lost my balance despite a quick attempt to right myself. My fingers caught a groove in the bark and for a moment I hung there, suspended in fog. Then they slipped out.

 

Time slowed as I fell. It was surreal – all around me there was gray, gray, nothing but cold gray fog. It was impossible to tell which way was up, which was down; I has no reference point of any kind.

 

And then I felt hard wood beneath me as I collided with another massive tree branch, this one even wider than the first. With some difficulty, I pushed myself to my feet and glanced around.

 

Surprisingly enough, I could actually see something – off to my right, the colorless fog transitioned seamlessly to a dull reddish glow. Intrigued, I stepped forward, though I did so tentatively. I wasn’t sure how badly I’d been hurt in the fall, and on top of that, well, the Forest holds many dangers. I’d never seen glowing red fog before, but it could easily be one of them.

 

Within moments the source of the light came into view: in the branches of the tree was nestled a nest, a nest so massive that it looked to be constructed of saplings rather than twigs. And within the nest lay three eggs, nearly identical, their coloration a beautifully marbled red-orange-purple. From each egg radiated a dull light, illuminating the nest and refracting through the fog that surrounded them. I stared at the sight before me in awe. Only one creature in the Forest could have produced such a marvel.

 

A faint rustle of leaves reached my ears, and I slowly turned. Staring out of the fog was a single massive eye, a vibrant orange ring surrounding a pupil bigger than my head and darker than a starless night. Immediately I dropped to one knee and bowed my head. The eye blinked and moved in closer, bringing with it a beak that looked sharp enough to slice me in half with the barest scratch.

 

Fortunately, though, the Lord of the Forest didn’t seem to be in a slicing mood. Instead, he clucked softly, offering a greeting and not a threat.

 

I rose. “It is an honor, my Lord.” Only thrice before had I ever laid eyes on the great bird, and never had I seen him so close.

 

He clucked again.

 

I nodded silently and turned back into the fog. Within moments I could see nothing but gray.


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#73 Offline Space: Ocean of Awe

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Posted Jul 08 2013 - 01:38 AM

Aw, it's over already! I wish I hadn't missed the first five themes. Ah well, the half I did was fun. This has been so awesome. The only problem being the amount of sleep I lost doing last minute entries.Member name: Space: Ocean of AweTheme: Art to FictionWord count: 391Story: Refuge.Everyone's a refugee at some point in their livesIt takes a lot less than war and famine to drive you out of a home, in search of something better,Sometimes we all overdose on life a little, or a lot,Sometimes we need to escape the pain of heartbreak, but mostly it's the pain of hiding behind a mask,Watching from behind a window, pawing at the glass and wishing you could get out there and be free.Life doesn't happen, it never does except to those who don't want it.Here I am hiding behind my walls hearing the muffled joy, wanting to reach out,But I'm blocked by wood and paint, in my little office,Chained to my doghouse. Today is the World Series of repression, and I'm a proEveryday is a fresh start that starts as a beautiful fruit, rotting from the inside,Until tonight I peel the orange and find the flies have got to it,And it has me going bananas. How I can't CHANGE!What if I never do, what will I ever do?God, help me from my hospital bed, spread the sheets and sign the cast no more,Cause I'm breaking free!I'm going, away from this pressure cooker and into the fire!No stress in this frying pan though, it's all hot and coolIn the kitchen where I belong. No living dead where I'm going,No zombies of the first world will feast on my brain today,No more vampires sucking all my blood away!To say nothing of the Mosquitos.No more nonsense, I'm combing it all out like the tanglesThat flee from the no more tangles conditioner, today there shall beNo more tears!No red eyes or tired minds in my refugee camp,I don't want any piece of your mind where I'm going, justPeace of mind.I'm going to the red tents in the green hills, the shades of a bouquet,That sits like a blossom pollinating my life, welcoming the overworked beeTo feast on some honey, no price, no fee.I'm a wise old man with my life blowing away,And I'm sitting in my tent, just waiting to sayTo all those lost fools how I broke freeFrom my life and battles plaguing me.Today I'm a refugee.
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"Baby, in the final analyses, love is power. That's where the power's at."


#74 Offline Excelsior

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Posted Jul 08 2013 - 01:59 AM

Member Name: Excelsior

Theme: Art to Fiction

Word Count: 506

Story: The Flower-Ship

 

Flower-Ships are native fauna of the planet Vogrius. Xenoarchaeologists commonly considered them to represent the zenith of the ancient Vogrians' work in the field of botanotechnology. Though all intelligent life on the planet was long extinct, their creations lived on, blooming amidst the ruins of their civilizations.No human scientists professed to understand the science behind the making of the Flower-Ships, though many human pilots had successfully controlled them. They began simply as buds growing out of the forest floor. As they grew, however, the buds developed into massive green spheres, and finally, the outer cover fell away, revealing the sleek one-man craft within. Each ship held one humanoid pilot, and though their controls were alien, there appeared to be a telepathic component to flying them which made the feat not only possible but in some ways intuitive. They were said to be the greatest individual spacecraft known to humanity. 

People hunted for them for many different reasons. Some were professionals, spending their lives obtaining rare goods like the Flower-Ships for the price they could get at auction. Some were hired teams, for men who wanted ships and were rich enough to get others to do the work for them. Some, like Charles Alcock, just wanted to fly.The legends concerning the Flower-Ships had fascinated the young space pilot since childhood. What's more, if he was lucky enough to actually find one, he would finally possess a ship of his very own at no more expense than his ticket to Vogrius. Interstellar law stated that any man who found a Flower-Ship and severed its stem became the owner, unless he had previously signed away his rights. 
So Charles, along with a ship full of fellow prospectors, had flown to Vogrius. He was now in his third week of hunting. 
He had found two already, but they hadn't suited him. Stories said once you had picked a Flower-Ship and flown in it, ship and pilot were inseparably bound together. He wanted no regrets when he had his ship. 
So he pushed on through the Vogrian jungle, searching for any sign of another ship. Was that a flash of color to the left? He turned, pushed his way forward a few more steps...and stopped dead. 
Before him was one of the small clearings left by an eroded bud-shield. The remaining green ribs arched inward around the edge, and in the center sat his ship.As soon as he saw this one, he knew it was his. Slim and curving, the gleaming surface seemed to be primarily orange with purple highlights, although the way the colors blended into each other made it hard to reach a definite conclusion, and its upper surfaces were covered in lighter-toned foliage patterns. A shaft of light struck the ship from above, making it almost glow in the pale sunlight, and all Charles Alcock could think as he looked at it was, She's beautiful. 

He ran one finger along a smooth curve. "Hello, flower," he said, smiling. "We've got some flying to do."


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My writings:

The Toa Ekara - Visions A short story. Ga-Koro Mobs My entry for the LSO Comedies Contest. Team Extempore's entry for the LSO Epics Contest


#75 Offline SonicBOOM XS

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Posted Jul 08 2013 - 02:00 AM

Name: SonicBOOM XS

Theme: Art to Fiction

Word Count: 601

Story: Hunt

 

I'm running. Harder than I ever have, and hopefully harder than I ever will.

 

The human body really is amazing, isn't it? When it comes to impressing girls, it'll lock up and prevent you from moving even a few steps. But when it's a matter of life and death, suddenly you become your own little Superman. You run faster, jump higher. Sadly, though, there usually aren't any girls to impress in these moments. Like right now. I'm running, but I'm all alone. Or rather, without companions.

 

Because try as I might, I won't be alone, not until I leave this jungle. My hunter's still stalking me, playing this real life version of The Most Dangerous Game. He's Zaroff, I'm Rainsford. He's got the advantage, I have nothing but my own wits. And a human body.

 

“Oh, Mr. Lancaster? Dear Mr. Lancaster, where are you?”

 

At least he doesn't have his hounds.

 

I've never been very athletic, so really, the above comparison wasn't too accurate. I've never hunted, let alone been hunted. I have no clue about how to make traps, how to obtain food, and so on. I don't stand a chance. This won't end with me sleeping in the best bed I've ever slept in, unless one counts a crude grave as “the best bed one can ever sleep in.”

 

I run deeper into the jungle. It's dark, all of the Sun's light being blocked off by the canopy above. I can barely see. All I can make out are the tree trunks ahead.

 

My body's losing power. Even Superman goes down after a while. Getting tired. Can't run. Need...to..slow down.

 

I collapse. It's over, I can't go on. My captor has me.

 

Except he doesn't. I hear no sound. But I do notice something. A glint of light up ahead. Could it be him with a flashlight?

 

I wait, lowering the sound of my breathing as I do so. My chest hurts, my lungs feel punctured. But this is life or death, and I can't lose.

 

The light doesn't move. It's a set source. Could it be salvation? It's either try or die in this situation.

 

I vote try.

 

After five minutes, I pick myself up and walk towards the light into a lush, green meadow. The trees decided to let light shine through in this area, and for the better. The circular area is skirted by beautiful trees, their leaves turning the light into a dazzling lightning green. There's the outlying darkness, but it contrasts so well with the green that it adds to the picture.

 

And in the middle of it all is something beautiful: a large plant, red and laced with white flowers. It beckons to me. It calls to me. Come, rest, take a break. He'll never find you here. You deserve this.

 

My body's too tired to let my resolve control it. Without any hint of doubt, I walk over and plop down into the plant's cushiony, sofa-y middle.

Then it begins. The petals rise up and trap me inside. I struggle to get out, but to no avail; I'm trapped. Stuck.

 

Liquid starts rising, smelling terrible. Some form of digestive juice. Years of science have taught me that.

 

But they didn't teach me to watch out for suspiciously placed plants.

 

“Oh, Mr. Lancaster. I expected better of a highly regarded scientist. You almost gave me a good hunt. Almost. Alas, it's sad it ended this way. Good bye.”

 

I'll never sleep in the best of beds. Unless if a plant's belly is the best of beds.

 

Granted, it is pretty soft.


Edited by SonicBOOM XS, Jul 08 2013 - 02:01 AM.

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Undergoing Renovations...


#76 Offline Velox

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Posted Jul 08 2013 - 02:52 AM

[font="'times new roman', times, serif;"][color=#000080;]And the polls [/color][color=#000080;]have been posted[/color][color=#000080;], thus concluding the contest. It's been great, everyone, and I'm glad you enjoyed it! Don't forget to vote in the preliminary polls and final polls![/color][/font]

 

 

[font="'times new roman', times, serif;"][color=#000080;]Also, important note: If you entered all 10 themes, please PM me! Otherwise you will not get your extra prize. [/color][/font]


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"As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake." ~ Aimee Bender


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#77 Offline Velox

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Posted Jul 10 2013 - 06:01 PM

[font="'times new roman', times, serif;color:rgb(0,0,128);"]The individual theme final polls [/font][color=rgb(0,0,128);]have been posted[/color][font="'times new roman', times, serif;color:rgb(0,0,128);"]! Make sure you vote! Polls will run for one week.[/font]

 

[font="'times new roman', times, serif;color:rgb(0,0,128);"]Make sure to PM me if you haven't already if you entered all 10 themes.[/font]


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"As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake." ~ Aimee Bender


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#78 Offline Velox

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Posted Jul 18 2013 - 07:36 PM

[font="'times new roman', times, serif;"][color=#000080;]And now the [/color]Final Polls have been posted[color=#000080;]--please go vote! Voting ends July 21st, 11:59 PM PST.[/color][/font]


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"As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake." ~ Aimee Bender


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