Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa

You lucky dog, you. No matter how many birthdays you have, you'll always be five. Have a good one! Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu

Just because you're staff, doesn't mean this has to be a vapid topic of birthday wishes in simple text! We need something to liven this party up a bit . . . Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Last Flash Fiction Marathon theme. My life is over. 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.

Member Name: Nuile Theme: Paradise Word Count: 736 Story: The Fall of Paradise "It will always be like this," I said. "Just the two of us together." "Always!" she agreed. She pointed suddenly off to the distance. When I turned, she pulled my Kanohi down over my eyes and ran off, laughing. The first memory came back to me with a half-warm, half-cold jolt. What I experienced when I returned to Karda-Nui for the first time, I have never told anyone. The memories were too painful. I had chased after her and caught her by the wrist, holding it tight. "Always?" Gavla straightened my Kanohi. "Always, Takua." --- Those were the happiest days in my memory. And what can I say about them now? It's strange, how good things are so difficult to tell of; yet things that are miserable are easy to describe, and take so much telling. Those were the early days, when there was much work to do every day in constructing the universe; but Gavla and I would always find time together to walk through our gardens alone, in our private paradise. It was beautiful. And so was she. I've inscribed countless words on the walls of history telling of terrible tragedies, but of the times of peace, what could I say? "They were happy . . . until, all too soon, they were not." --- "What do you mean, we shouldn't let them put the Makuta in charge?" "Exactly what I say!" she insisted. "We were here first! Toa should be masters and guardians over the universe, not these codeless shapeshifters." "But why?" "They have too much power. I don't trust them. If we became Toa--" "Toa? Us?" "Yes! If we became Toa, maybe--maybe--" "Maybe what? Gavla, that's not our Duty. The Great Beings gave us our own purpose." She scowled. "Forget it. I knew you wouldn't understand. Let's talk about something else." I reached for her hand but she pulled away. Nevertheless, even in silence, we walked side by side through the gardens, and I couldn't help but cherish each moment. --- As we became busier we saw less of each other. Still, when there were no other distractions, it was just her and me. And that was special to me. I remember those days when we would walk, side by side; when we would talk, word by word; when we would laugh, smile by smile. And those days--oh, those wonderful days, oh so long ago, meant everything to me . . . That's just it, isn't it? They meant everything to me, but they won't mean anything to you. Misery likes company. That can be shared. But it's hard to share bliss. It's too bad that there aren't more words for joy, and fewer for sorrow. --- "I have--unfortunate news--Takua, sir." "Yes?" I turned to the messenger. "She's--disappeared. And she's taken the Toa Stones." Somewhere in my chest a spring tightened. "Who?" --- The Toa Stones were recovered. But Gavla wasn't. Not really. She was never the same after that. She was punished; she was forgiven; she came to be respected again. I tried more than once to make things right, but--how often the offended is the quickest to forgive, while the offender is pitiless! --- "Gavla. We need to talk." She ignored me. "I'm leaving Karda-Nui." "Good for you." "Gavla, I'd like to say--" "If you're expecting a tearful goodbye, save your breath." "I won't see you again--for a long time. I'd like to think, before I go--" "That was always the problem with you. Too much thinking! For once in your life Takua, don't look first, and don’t look back. Just leap." --- Her words changed my life. I never forgot them. Still, I can't help but wonder if I took the right leap. Destiny is whimsical. Would ours have been different, if instead of following orders I had followed her advice then and there, and took a different leap? All these millennia--was that what she wanted? --- For the first time since I had turned away from Karda-Nui, I was looking down on all I had once shared with Gavla. Things had changed--more than I ever could have imagined . . . But had they--so much? I was here to save the universe, but I was here for another reason . . . --- "It will always be like this." "Always. It's our Destiny, Takua."

Member Name: NuileTheme: GlassWord Count: 608Story: Through the Window Years ago, it was . . . decades, probably centuries for all I can remember these days. But some things you never forget. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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 . . .

Member Name: Nuile Theme: The Order Word Count: 745 Story: The Law of the Jungle Nui-Kao: the Great Tree, its topmost branches reaching to heights in the sky no Le-Koro treehouse could dream of. There was no bigger tree in all Mata Nui, none even came close. The canopied roof of the jungle spread out far below, like a sea of green, disheveled and wrinkled, rippling in the whistling winds. In odd places a family of colorful Kewa or playful Brakas breached. That was my home. The most Mangaian abysses of the jungle, where no Matoran foot had ever dared to tread. I only ever shared it with the trees, the Rahi, the wind and the rain--and Hahli. My companion and I sat alone on the highest branch of the Nui-Kao; it was our private cloud, floating us over the vivid colors of the sea below. "You know the sea, Hahli," I said. "I know the jungle. But they're not that different. Look out over the ocean and you'll see dangerous enigmas and inconceivable wonders. It seems like chaos, but when you get closer, you realize it's nothing but an order you don't fully understand. "I am the jungle. I feel every tree, every stone, every Rahi; all speak to me, and form a unity that I can't describe. I know the whisper of the wind through every tree in this jungle, I've seen the sunset on every leaf, I've smelled every flower, growing between the lowest roots in winter, or blossoming in the springtime sun above the highest stem in all the jungle. It's all different, it's all unique, and none of it's ever the same. But somehow, every day it all blends together to make a new order that I've never seen before. "The rain comes, and waters the jungle; new plants grow; Rahi eat the plants; Rahi die; the plants and earth absorb their bodies; the plants dry up, and the water returns to the sky, where it's taken away until the next rain comes. The only jungle law is that everything must go on. It's not even about survival. It's about the survival of the whole jungle. "It's life. And death. Plants die, Rahi die, only to be reborn, or replaced. Someday, I'll die. I'll be replaced. There must always be balance. The jungle is balance, and it's chaos. It's light and dark, good and evil, joy and woe, hope and despair, strength and weakness. It's awe-inspiring, and at the same time it's pathetic. It's planned to every finest detail, it's just--just everything, Hahli--but--but it's not--" I shook my head. "It's just always been there, to me. It was all I had ever known, nothing particularly special; but then you came here, and saw it with fresh eyes. I showed you the beauty of the way it all comes together in one perfect, eternally perfect order. And suddenly, I could see it, too. You made me see that." Soon the sun began to set. This was the most magical time of all, and it was always Hahli's favorite. The sun would disappear; the gilden greens would fade into bronzes and blacks; the jungle’s bird-chorus would sing a lullaby so sweet, so perfect, it would take Hahli’s breath away; and then she would lean on me, sighing contentedly, and I would wrap my arm around her. "Nothing," I said, as the last sunlight died, "nothing ever made me as happy as the moments when we would sit here like this. "It's beautiful today. I've never seen it prettier. I only wish you could be here to see it too, Hahli . . ." My companion let out a screech, chittered throatily, and brakiated away down amidst the branches. I watched the Brakas until it disappeared, then turned my deformed face north-eastward, casting my mind toward Ga-Koro. "I wish I could see it. No--I wish I could see you. Hahli--without you this jungle, all this glorious beauty--has become nothing. It's lost the magic you showed me it had. I can't see it anymore! It's lost any meaning--even the order I once reveled in, taking it for granted, is gone. No matter how hard I look, it doesn't make any sense any more. Nothing--nothing makes sense anymore." I raised my face to the stars. I loved seeing them best; they reminded me of the twinkle in her eyes. "Without, you, Hahli, the jungle is a troubled sea of confusion and chaos. And . . . I am the jungle."

I had a struggle choosing between #2 and #4, but #2 won me over. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

7. Run through the streets singing Yankee Doodle--all fifteen-or-so verses!--at the top of your lungs. 6. Call everyone you see "comrade." 5. Remind everyone how this day is a day of remembering and honoring our belligerent founding fathers' disrespect for authority. 4. Mail letters to all your British friends--gloating! 3. Write a short story about a professional baseball player. Then, reveal it to be nothing but a young boy's daydream, suddenly shattered when he hits a baseball through a window. Or otherwise write an Independence Day-themed short story, interpret the theme "Glass," and submit it to the Flash Fiction Marathon! 2. Playing with explosives. Better, watch someone else play with explosives, stand in the crowd, and say to everyone near you, "These Chinese incendiary weapons sure are pretty, aren't they?" 1. Remember the sacrifices of our forefathers, and honor their bravery, their valor, and all the many deeds throughout our history, that have made our nation great, and afforded us the blessed freedom we enjoy. 0. If you're not an American--then spend the day as you would any other day! Happy Thursday! Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Grammatically I cringe, but we'll talk about that later. For the moment, I want to commend you on what is (otherwise) a great story. It has a little bit of everything: romance, action, a little suspense, some mild drama free of exaggeration. As I read through the story, I noted down my thoughts. Here's the gist of my muttered soliloquy: "First paragraph, so far here’s what I’m seeing: a few minor, very minor, grammar problems, a flowing eloquence, colorful description. Second paragraph, grammar problems persist and grow wrose, but good dialogue. Skilful metaphors and similes. "Keep reading. Grammar’s degrading by the sentence, dialogue would flow better with a few more well-placed contractions though otherwise, still strong. Short but relevant backstory worked in seamlessly. Deepens the adorable relationship between the two Matoran. "Story’s absorbing me now. Oh, yeah, pause to make notes. Grammar’s making me seasick by this point, but beneath that there’s a wonderfully flowing story. We have here believable, heartfelt characters, a little cliched maybe but nonetheless endearing for that. Romance, the way I like it. Humor. Action. Good, good. "Grammar getting a little cleaner too. Keprin’s a pitiless sadist who hits a man even when he’s down. The characters are getting just a little exaggerated here, just a little, but it’s still smooth sailing. "Okay, is there anything more cliched than ending with spontaneous, unaccountable laughter? The last line, nothing clever or original: intentionally pointless, to end on an irrelevant note, something general and commonplace to ground things. Like I said, nothing clever, but mechanically there’s nothing wrong with it. "Cute story. Short and sweet. Well-structured, well-written; excellent work." I thought what I thought while it was all still fresh in my mind, and I don't really have anything more to add. However, as you can see, my chief complaint was grammar. That grammar that will haunt my dreams tonight. That grammar that could have choked an illiterate. That grammar that I'm overdramatizing, because on the whole it wasn't that bad--believe me, I've seen worse--but was bad enough still. If you were hoping it would be overlooked, you asked the wrong person for a review. I'm a grammar nazi, friend, and I'm about to declare war on this story. Sometimes, skipping a comma where it could be grammatically correct is actually prudent for the flow. Sometimes. Not this time. First of all, that quotation should end in a comma. You seem to know this, because there were a few times when you got it right. But on the whole, you wreaked havoc on the grammatical rules of quotations. As for the emboldened sentence, there are various ways to word it that would be grammatically correct. Your choice was not among them. Here are some examples: Pezi the Ga-Matoran saidPezi, the Ga-Matoran, said said Pezi the Ga-Matoran said Pezi, the Ga-Matoran said the Ga-Matoran Pezi said the Ga-Matoran, Pezi by name so spoke the Ga-Matoran endued with the nominal identity of Pezi With, or replace it with a comma. Well, here's the thing. If that was "he said," I would have guessed it was your intention that this was a dialogue tag and that, therefore, the quotation should have ended in a comma. But because it is "he smiled"--and think about it, you can say words, you can laugh words, but the suggested image of someone smiling these words is ludicrous--because you wrote "he smiled," I repeat, keep the period and capitalize "he." ("Your" arrogance.) You're missing punctuation in the quotation: in this case, a period. Then, capitalize "she." That quotation should end in a comma. This could go either way; "she cut him off" could be a dialogue tag, or part of a separate sentence. If you add a comma to the quote and uncapitalize "she," it's a dialogue tag; leave "she" as is and put a period in the quotation, and they're two separate sentences, which is the way I prefer to do it in a case like this. I'll note here, that you actually seem to have a phobic fear of dialogue tags. It's all in your head! Don't be afraid to use a few more, and to occasionally replace said with a powerful verb that lends description to the dialogue. Not, however, that you need do this all the time; appending every quotation with a dialogue tag is overly liberal and superfluous. Dodging dialogue tags can be good, too, don't get me wrong. But find a balance. Though I didn't cover half of your grammatical errors, I've covered enough and let the others go. Here's a tip, though: proofread--your--work. Please. For all our sakes. I want to conclude with one of my favorite moments from the story: Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Baltarc--Gathered friends, listen once again to the words of this man. To Tekulo, as well as Xccj--I refer you both to reason #1, which is as valid an answer to you both as to why, indeed, one should vote at all. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

15. Every vote is a word promoting and inspiring the divine arts of literature. Help bring a master of the craft one step closer to the hard-earned glory he deserves! 14. The fact is, your vote counts! Even the best entries might only win by one vote--if they win at all! Do you want terrible entries to win just because they're popular? Do you want to be personally responsible for the next Twilight? 13. You are advocating Unity. 12. It is your Duty. 11. It is your Destiny. 10. You are setting a positive example for your fellow BZPers. 9. If you ignore these polls, it's the same as saying you're a heartless eremite who doesn't care about his fellowbeings. With each poll that closes without YOUR vote, somewhere, a writer bursts into tears. Relieve their pain! Do not let them relive it! 8. You are advocating your belief in the democratic process and freedom of speech. 7. Voting grants you SADISTIC POWER OVER THE FATE OF EVERY WRITER IN EVERY POLL. WE ARE ALL AT YOUR MERCY. 6. By this small act of participation on your part, your are honoring the hard work and effort that has gone into this contest. Its hosts and each and every one of its entrants have put blood, sweat and tears into the stories you see in these polls. 5. BECAUSE IT'S THERE. 4. Because you can! YOU HAVE THE POWER. 3. It is your honor, as well as your responsibility to the community. 2. These stories are well-crafted masterworks of art. As for those that aren't . . . It is YOUR responsibility to make sure that they do not win! 1. If you do not, I will look for you . . . I will find you . . . and I will kill you. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

And it's time to return for a new writing prompt . . . "On the way back . . ." July Writing Prompt Use it as a theme for your story, use it as an opening line, use it in the middle, at the end, twist the words--it's up to you. Just incorporate it into your story, in one way or another. Let it inspire you. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Member Name: Nuile Theme: The Mask Word Count: 283 Story: The Jester I wear this mask to hide my name, Cover my face, cover my shame. This painted grin, burden it's been; A laughing glance, cover my pain. I laugh and dance, I joke, I sing, For peasant low, for queen, for king; I make you smile, and all the while, Deep in my heart, my soul crying. I show the world a merry face, I spread good cheer all round the place: Ever after, behind my laughter, Behind this mask, sulks sad disgrace. Long years ago, I had nothing, No paint, no lies to force a grin; I walked for miles, wore joyous smiles, Now that's all lost, slain by my sin. Who knew a chain could be so weak? One small blunder, my joy could take? Hard to believe, that I should grieve, For all this time, for one mistake. One word let slip invokes a curse. A desperate try tightens the noose. For the stars sailing, all else failing, All demons, worms, and fears let loose. Buried beneath earth damp and cold, Those eyes once bright, that heart once bold: The remnants of my long-lost love; Now laid to rest like pirate's gold. Of joy and grief I've been bereft, A hopeless void, an empty cleft. I've danced and twirled, made laugh the world, But in my heart there's nothing left. I wear this mask to hide my tears. The sun is gone, shadows are here: This painted grin, burden it's been; My sad heart can still offer cheer. I wear this mask to play a fool: A puppet and a broken tool . . . Though I am dead, joy I can spread; And make this world less dark, less cruel.

Member Name: NuileTheme: Find the Power Word Count: 559 (582 with epigraph) Story: The Secret of Power “It was as if someone had taken rage and evil and given those qualities a body to walk around in.” – Legacy of Evil Power . . . Some work their whole lives for it. Some never find it. Some hunger for it. Some lust after it. I need it. I was destined for it. I was shaped and prepared all my life for it. I am only alive because I it is my destiny to become it. Power and I are as one. We are meant to be. Power . . . It gives life. It takes it. It moves mountains or it destroys them. It controls the world. Someday, so will I. I knew what power was since before I can remember. I was once a slave, domineered like all the rest of the lowlife, mortified and humiliated and beat into raw, submissive fear. Every slave knows the existence of power; it is what oppresses them, it is what forces them to their work each day. It is the force they fear. But from the first I recognized power for what it truly is. Strength. The strength I needed to become more than I was. I realized power has always been what I need. I fought for it. I worked and slaved for it. Every day in the mine I worked harder and grew stronger. Because, oh yes, power only comes to those who work for it. And I hunted it. I fought. I killed as many slavedriver as I could get my hands on. If a slave got in my way I would kill him, too. If a Stone Rat crawled by under my feet, I crushed it beneath my heel. That’s strength. That’s power. I was punished—oh! Karzahni! was I punished! I was lashed, and beaten, and starved, and chained, and they worked me harder than ever. Every punishment imaginable, and unimaginable, was inflicted on me in those days. But I never gave up. I always fought back. That’s power. The other slaves began to fear me. Even the slavedrivers feared me. They punished me because they feared my strength and my power. That’s when the Dark Hunters found me, and that’s why they “took me in.” No. I took them in. I took power into my heart and I was never letting it go. I had never tasted true power. I could still do nothing more than dream of it. I wanted more. I needed more. I trained. I fought. I fought harder every day, and I grew stronger. I gained respect and fear. I only needed one thing more. Power. So I seized it. I failed. I will never fail again. I might have died. I should have died. But I didn’t. I gained more power. That was my destiny. It is my destiny still. And now I’ve found it. From the most unlikely source, I’ve found it. Some fool of a Makuta, Tridax or Teridax or one of them, I don’t care which, left his plans lying around. Pure luck that I stumbled upon them. Luck? No. Destiny. This Makuta’s plan may be clever, but that doesn’t make him any less a fool. I was meant to discover his secrets. Power is my destiny. Not his. I will work for it. I will fight for it. It will be mine. My precious power . . . it is meant to be mine! I am Zaktan! I have found the power I need . . .

Member Name: NuileTheme: Character StoryWord Count: 733 Story: The Wishing Rock When I saw the girl sitting at Wishing Point, gazing out over the valley, I didn't think much of it right away. Then the girl made a jerking movement, flinging something from the outcropping. I paused to watch, curious. She picked up another stone and threw it. Soon she was tearing up piles of pebbles and dirt and hurling them over the precipice. Finally she gave up, fell to her knees, and began crying. I stepped off the path, blending into the dense branches of a pinewood. Half of me wanted to let her be; the other half couldn’t turn away and leave her like that. I watched, and she did nothing. It was one of the pebbles that did it. It flew suddenly back up over the precipice and landed beside the girl, glowing red. It glowed brighter, then stopped. A pool of dark, reddish-orange liquid bled from the rock, pooling on the ground beside the girl. She jumped up, backed away, staring in disbelief as a human woman began to rise from the pool. She was clad in coppery robes that cascaded from her shoulders like a waterfall of fabric. A jeweled turban concealed her hair. "Yes, mistress?" she droned. The girl's mouth hung open, but no sound escaped it. "You have wishes, mistress?" The girl gasped, "You're--a--a genie?" "A genius," the woman corrected. "There is a difference." "And you'll give me three wishes?" "Correct." "Well--I--" "Come, you were wishing yourself silly moments ago. I have not all day." "I wish for--a dog?" Her hearts' greatest desires at her fingertips--and she wishes for a dog! By her tone, however, I guessed she was only testing the water. The genius nodded. "Granted." The girl looked around. "… Where?" "Patience! It will come. Your next wish?" The girl squeaked, "I--I wish my mother were alive." Now we were getting to it. "I cannot bring the dead back, my child," said the genius irritably. "Oh--I--I'm sorry …" "Your next wish?" "There are so many things … A friend?" The simple, childish desperation of this request twisted my heart. "I cannot grant what you have already." "But--but I--" "Broaden your mind and you will see what you do not realize you have. Your next wish?" "I wish for a boyfriend!" "I cannot alter such things as are destined to be." The girl hesitated. "You--you really grant wishes?" "I do." The girl shuffled her feet. "I wish my big sister didn't have cancer." The genius eyed the girl. "Are you certain?" "Of course!" "I am sorry. I cannot grant a wish that is destined to be." The girl looked up. "You mean--she'll be all right?" "Your sister's cancer will not last much longer, my child. I--" The genius hesitated, as if her next words were foreign to her. "I am truly sorry." The girl hugged her shoulders. Voice shaking, she said, "I wish someone would help me!" "I cannot grant what you have already." The genius put a hand on the girl's shoulder. There was a new compassion in her flat tone. "You want help, my child. Let me give you this: You have all the help you need if you look for it." She straightened and went on monotonically, "Your next wish, mistress." The girl looked out over the valley. What she was thinking, I couldn't imagine. Probably the same as me, wondering what the genius meant by what she said. It was a long time before the girl spoke again. "I only have one more." The genius said indifferently, "If that is your wish." "Yes it is." "Will you watch the sunset with me?" There was a pause. The girl, her face unreadable, gazed up into the eyes of the expressionless genius. Finally, the woman spoke. "If it is as you wish." They sat together and watched until the final rays of the sun had faded into the starlit night sky. With the sun's last ray, the genius disappeared. Silently the girl picked up the colorless pebble, put it in her pocket, rose, and left. I followed at an inconspicuous distance until I had seen her safely home. I lingered on the sidewalk across the street, watching her front door, until a tired-looking, poorly-fed puppy padded up to the door and pawed at it, whimpering. I turned and walked away.

Congratulations to SonicBOOM XS, who has won "Fish" with his story, Trouble with Takea! Honorable mentions go to Baltarc's "Home" and Tikiturbo's "Life" this week. Your regularly-scheduled OTC FFFC will be postponed for a week or a few. I'm sure that you, like the rest of us, are busy writing for the Flash Fiction Marathan. Right?

Member Name: NuileTheme: The Chronicler Word Count: 368 Story: Words by Kopeke I have never been one to do much speaking. I never had to. I let others talk their throats hoarse if they wanted. I let them discharge their views, right or wrong, whether I agreed or not, to their hearts' contents. Words never solved anything. I listened when I thought it was worth while, but what good would it have been to answer? I stood by and did what I had to do. For many years it was my job to listen and observe. It wasn't my own story I was chronicling. It was the story of the universe. I was just watching. That was my duty and I stuck to it. Words are useless, idle things. Now, so am I. The time of my usefulness is past. My destiny as a chronicler was fulfilled when I became a Toa. During those centuries I spoke even less. I did my duty and I wasted no time talking. My deeds have passed into legend alongside the feats of the many great heroes in our history. Still I was only an observer. Only I had become an observer of my own destiny. That was a long time ago. We live in more peaceable times now. The world has little use for Toa, and even less for quiet Turaga. My destiny is over. My chronicles are written. I spend my days now in tranquil seclusion. There is not much here for me to observe. Only memories. I have lost my purpose. I am now useless, idle. In losing my purpose I have found it. Idleness need not be useless if it is worthily devoted. If words are worthless, if I am idle, let us unite and find a destiny for us both. Now I have a new gift to give the universe. My time has been well spent observing our world. I have done much, and seen more. I may have nothing tot tell that has not been told, but that does not mean my mind is empty. In an idle chair, with words and stylus, I will create new legends. For the first time I open my mouth to speak. After millennia of silence, I have a lot to say.

Member Name: NuileTheme: BonesWord Count: 597Story: Nothing But Words “Sticks and stones may break my bones . . . but words will never hurt me . . .” You wanna bet? Night. The moon glows dim and vague behind a looming foreground of smoky clouds. Street lamps lend what light they can, when they don’t flicker off. When they do, some superstitious factory-worker or the little girl who lives next door pick up speed with a gasp or a squeal. That’s when I strike. From the shadows behind my window I see them coming around the bend, I watch them come up the street, and then I hit the button. I’ve spent a lot of time wiring these street lamps. I hear a muffled scream. I’ve had a lot of experience with this. I can tell by the voice it’s a girl in her late teens; nineteen is my guess. I smile to myself, leaping over the sill. Somehow, it’s always the most fun to do it to the women. They scream more often, when they’re not armed. Sometimes the men hit back—when they’re not armed. I creep silently through the lightless dark. I can see her, though I give her no chance to see me. Not just yet. But I pick up a thick twig and snap it loudly, just for the fun of watching her freeze. I can see her tense from head to toe. She pauses, breathing frantically, mutters something to herself. “Just a cat” or something. Words. Nothing but words. She quickens her step, not quite running but getting close to it. I jump out onto the path in front of her. She jumps, must be at least a foot in the air. She screams, takes a step back, hand over her heart. Why is it they’re always so frightened? Could it be the suddenness of my assault? Maybe the darkness of the night? Is it the mask, the cape, the black horns? Yeah, probably it’s the horns that do it. I might be a psycho in a Halloween costume, but on a dark, stormy night, I’m a dangerous psycho in a Halloween costume. “What—what the—” I cut her off. “I’m going to kill you.” She faints right then and there. Words, nothing but words. But it does the job. I laugh with sadistic glee as she falls; but then I hear a thud, and a sickening crunch. I kneel quickly beside her to look. Something isn’t right about the angle her arm sticks out at. Probably hitting the fire hydrant like that when she fell didn’t help. That never happened before. It wasn’t supposed t happen. I feel her shoulder. Oh, there’s definitely something wrong here. No, no—is it broken? I hope not. It was just a harmless prank, I didn’t— Is there something wrong with her neck or am I imagining it? Oh, please God— I pull the cell phone out of her pocket and dial 911. Terrible accident. Tripped over a fire hydrant, broke her neck I think. Is that possible? In a hoarse voice I give the address, and beg them to be quick about it. Helpless, I can only crouch behind a bush and watch over her until the ambulance arrives. The paramedics get her on the stretcher with expert delicacy, treating her as compassionately as if she were their own child. And all without a word. She’ll be safe now. Under the cover of my dear shadows, I slink guiltily back to the welcoming embrace of my lightless room. Nothing like this ever happened before. It was always just a game. Nothing but words.

It's returned to us! Dear lovely beauty, where hast thou been? My life has been incomplete ever since we last bade farewell . . . Time for a housewarming party! Member Name: NuileTheme: A Dark HuntWord Count: 734 Story: Searching in Shadow I come from the island of Cimmerrii. That is all you need to know. "The Star!" they cried. "The Star!" "The Star!" They thought it was just a legend. The Turaga, in their best moods, had told us the story to terrify us. They said The Star had long ago come to feed upon the Matoran of Cimmerrii, until a desperate mob had gathered to fight it and defeat it. The Turaga always believed it would return. Until that night, I didn't believe. When I heard the shouts, I thought it was only a cruel joke. But I knew I would never sleep with this racket. That was my excuse. I wouldn't admit that I was curious, and instead promised myself that, if I got up to look, it was only to kill someone to keep them quiet. With a smile of sadistic pleasure I collected my pickax and my dented shield and stepped out into the night. It was like nothing I had ever seen, when at last I could see at all. For a moment I was blinded, and I didn't understand why. It made me think I was dying. Finally I realized that I was seeing light. If you had seen it, you would have only seen a faint glimmer, if you could have seen it at all. To Cimmerrii, it was the first light any of us could remember, and it was blinding. As my vision returned I began to see Matoran everywhere screaming, fleeing, running against one another, murdering one another, clambering over dead bodies. Not that this was unusual, and normally I wouldn't have noticed. But that night, I did, and for the first time in my life I was revolted. I was ashamed of the petty viciousness of my people. The cry continued, "The Star! The Star!" I alone stood unmoving, watching, as I never would have done before, from my doorway. I noticed that the fleeing Matoran were all running away from The Star. The longer I stood there the fewer the passersby became. Only the weakest or sleepiest stragglers blundered past now, and soon the last of them went by and I found myself completely alone. With a snort, I squared my shoulders. Let my cowardly people run if they liked! I wouldn't. If The Star was so fearsome, I would face it myself and kill it or I would die trying it. It was terrible and dreadful . . . Then why was it so warm? And why couldn't I move? I didn't want to stay, I didn't want to run, but I didn't want to take even one step toward The Star, either. Why not? Was I afraid? "Afraid!" I shouted. "You're afraid! Coward!" That did it. With a roar I took the first leap and ran forward toward the light, toward The Star, shield up and pickax high. I ran away from the darkness, into the gloom that grew a little brighter with each step. I shivered at the thought but I didn't stop running, until finally I began to realize that The Star wasn't getting any closer. I halted, tired and gasping for air. Panting, I bellowed, "Are you afraid of me? You, the terrible Star who devours little Matoran? Come back here and kill me if you can!" I broke into a run again, but as long as I kept it up The Star got no larger. "I don't care! I will hunt you to the ends of the universe if I have to!" When I recovered I ran again, and paused again, and ran again and paused again, over and over. Every time I realized The Star was getting steadily larger, and nearer, I ran even faster. The ground began to slope upwards, and I kept running. I could feel the walls of a tunnel all around me, and I kept running. I ran on and on, up and up, until suddenly I rounded a corner and the brightest light yet dazzled me. I raised my shield and swung my pickax, striking walls or nothing at all. Gathering my every last ounce of courage I charged forward blindly, up the ascending tunnel, up toward the light. With a fierce battle-cry I plunged into the light and it devoured me. I came from the island of Cimmerii. And I have found the light. That is all you need to know.

Of style I will say little. Interestingly enough, the looseness of your prose, the run-on sentences that are as difficult for the reader to grasp as a handful of water, remind me of a story I read recently, written by a twelve-year-old girl. Take that as you will, but this girl is someone I admire very much, someone I have every faith in to improve and excel, someone I know can do better because I have seen her do it; so it was intended as a compliment of sorts. Stylistically, this is neither your best nor your worst.The story itself is a short tale of dreams shattered by the tragedy of reality. Even in the midst of a real place in the world, that idealistic hope lingers, until it is harshly disillusioned by crushing truth. That disillusionment is the first step toward achieving our dreams.And in the sweet simplicity of the final scene, you capture perfectly one of life's greatest contentments. There is no feeling I have ever known more satisfying, more elating, more divinely precious than the moment spent sitting with friends while gathering beauty of night slays the last rays of deceptive daylight. Then, in the darkness, the true world is revealed, in all its glory.Unfortunately it never lasts . . . but even when night passes and the sun is reborn, we can easily endure it--nay, embrace it--for we know it will set again.Really, this is less a review than a thank-you for the fine moment you immortalized in prose here. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Non-canon fish are fine, even if you don't want to name it. In fact, it doesn't even have to be a fish exactly--Venom Eels, Razor Whales, Lightfish are all fair game, though none of these are technically fish.As an example, in my original entry, I wrote about an unnamed, vaguely described sea monster that may or may not have been a whale. So as long as your "fish" is a biomechanical aquatic creature, it counts. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Congratulations to Jedi Gali, winner of "Sunset" with her story, PB & J! Honorable mention goes to Legolover-361's "The Best Thing to Say" Thanks to everyone for participating! These are some of the best entries I've seen in a while and the judge's choice was not an easy one. Excellent work; keep it up! Now why don't you head on over to Short Stories and have a little fun with fish?

Fishing, like writing, is a subtle art. It requires dexterity and patience. It takes a steady hand and a steadfast mind. And this week, they both share something else in common: They both require fish. Theme #8: WRITE A STORY ABOUT A FISH Ladies and gentleman and even the not-so-gentle, rev your pencils, loosen your ties, take a long walk on a short pier, and prepare for a dive! It is a daunting task allotted to you and you may not all come back alive. You might even get your paper wet. And if you're averse to intense action, graphic violence, or mild language--then that's good, because we are too. No, this is not a late April Fools' prank. This is no joke. This is a competition. This is to be taken seriously. Or as seriously as you can take it. And remember this: I will not tolerate any carp from anybody. It must be a BIONICLE fish. For the next week, let's emphasize the fun of the writing experience, the joy of putting pen to paper, that we so often overlook. So get out there; get fishing; get writing; and just enjoy yourself. But you're still going to be judged. Critically. And severely. No pressure. Deadline: 11:59 PM PST on Monday, June 24th. Any interpretation of the theme is valid, but your entry must be a BIONICLE story and it must adhere to the rules posted above. Also, if you are an Ambage member, keep in mind the June Writing Prompt (to get more achievements):"It's a magical world . . ."

BY ORDER OF THE GREAT ETHEREAL VELOX MORE PARTYING HAS BEEN ORDERED Unfortunately Velox forgot to order pizza. But as you can see, he didn't forget the nepeta cataria. Catnip responsibly. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

We've all had the experience. The impossible quest for the perfect gift. It has to be something no less worthy than the recipient--and no cooler than they are, either, or you'll make them feel bad. And it has to be personal to them. It has to fit them. It's not like you can knit them a sweater ten sizes too big, or give a gaming console to a writer, or give a book to a boxer. It has to be the sort of thing they would get for themself, only not something they'd ever think to get for themself. It can't be generic. And above all else, it has to say a little bit about you, too--as the giver, you have to give more than just a gift. You have to give a piece of yourself. You have to give something genuinely meaningful. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmtih