Excelsior

I voted for #3. May the best story win! -Excelsior

I voted for #4. May the best story win! -Excelsior

I liked #4 the best. #2 was probably my second-favorite. May the best story win! -Excelsior

I voted for #1. I liked the idea of #4, but I didn't think it really fit the theme. May the best story win! -Excelsior

I voted for #1. May the best story win! -Excelsior

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."

I voted for #3. May the best story win! -Excelsior

I voted for #2. It appears I broke a four-way tie. Anyway, may the best story win! -Excelsior

I voted for #1, although I actually thought it might be better without the last three paragraphs. I really liked the descriptions of the glass city. Is there such a thing as glasspunk? May the best story win! -Excelsior

I voted for #3. -Excelsior

Member Name: Excelsior Theme: Paradise Word Count: 631 Story: Life Outside Paradise "Mata Nui, our Great Spirit, has renewed the life of this planet!" Turaga Vakama proclaimed to the crowd of Matoran recently emerged from the robot's head. "He has given this new world to us and the peoples of Spherus Magna, that we may build a new life - a life free from the tyranny of the Makuta!"Some of the Matoran cheered at that. For a thousand years, as long as they could remember, these villagers had lived under the shadow of Makuta's attacks upon them. Perhaps now, they hoped, they could finally forget his darkness.The Turaga's speech drew to a close. "I ask you, my people," he concluded, "to honor all who fought and sacrificed for this day, whether they are living or dead -" the Ko-Matoran fell especially silent then "- to do all in your power to preserve this new paradise we have been given, and, above all, to continue to uphold the Unity which has brought the villagers of Mata Nui so far." The six villages erupted into cheers.As the crowd began to disperse, a Ga-Matoran murmured to her neighbor, "Am I the only one waiting for infected Rahi to jump out of the forest?""What do you think-mean, Macku?" the green Matoran asked, tilting his head to one side. His name was Tamaru, and they had been friends since the formation of the Chronicler's Company."Oh, nothing," Macku shrugged. "It's just the Turaga's speech reminded me of the one he gave us when we first came to the island. The legend said it was a paradise given to us by Mata Nui too. It wasn't exactly perfect, was it?""True-right you are," Tamaru agreed. "But this world-place he did make to give to us, at least. And there will be no dark-slave Rahi here with him dead-gone." He did not have to specify whom he meant.Macku sighed. "Yeah, we can be grateful for that all right. But...I don't know...it just seems like people keep saying this place or that place is 'paradise', when really, they're just...places. I loved the island of Mata Nui - I still miss it sometimes - but I never thought it was perfect. There was a lot of work just to live, and dangerous Rahi that weren't even infected, and other Matoran got on my nerves and I probably got on theirs. It was just normal life!"And I heard Turaga Vakama once said Metru Nui seemed like paradise to them before. Didn't it have robot guards to enforce all its strict laws? It wasn't much like paradise when we got back there, either. I suppose it was our real home, but it was also a city-sized pile of rubble, that we had to put back together. Life actually seemed a lot worse than on Mata Nui."And I've heard that 'Artahka' place they talk about isn't so wonderful either. So I'm not really sure what the Turaga mean when they say this new place is a 'paradise,' too."Tamaru had listened attentively. Now he grinned at her. "All true, water-sister. I f you want a place free from all the evil-bad parts, I'm afraid we'll have to wait till some other life-world."He threw a stick he had picked up into the air and caught it again. "But now we've got light, fear-freeness, a world full of life-beauty and everyone from Metru Nui to work-help each other. I'm joy-happy with that."Macku smiled, bad mood blown away on the fresh breeze of Le-Matoran philosophy. "I suppose you've got a point, Tamaru." She looked around: the bright sun of her Ga-Koro days above, a lush world around her, and almost all her comrades within her sight. "Yeah. I guess this is good enough for now."

I voted for #2. May the best story win! -Excelsior

I also voted for #3. I did not see that twist coming. May the best story win! -Excelsior

I voted for #3. I wasn't sure about it at first, but the emotion and determination in the last couple paragraphs won me over. Also, Bionicle space travel is cool. Since I regret not having sourced the quote at the end of my story (#1), I'll do it here. It's from Alfred Tennyson's "Idylls of the King." May the best story win! -Excelsior

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."