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  1. Just added a new content block to my blog that features links to all ten of the stories from my The Biological Chronicle series of flash fiction. Been meaning to do this for a while, but just been too busy and lazy to take the time to do it. You'll have to scroll down to see it, however, as it's at the very bottom of my blog. -TNTOS-
  2. Welcome to the seventh installment of my new series of Bionicle flash fics, The Biological Chronicle. If you want to read the other stories in this series, you can find links to them in my signature at the end of this post. If you don't know what this is, allow me to quote from the first fic's introduction: With that out of the way, enjoy: 2007 Normally, Kalmah avoided getting into direct confrontations with his fellow Barraki. It was not that he was a peace-lover or that he was afraid of any of them. He simply knew the value of having allies on the ocean floor and so saw no reason to risk his good relations with the rest of them. But today, as Kalmah stood among the broken shells and half-eaten corpses of his brood of sea squid, his tentacle wrapped tightly around Mantax's throat, he care little about maintaining good relations with anyone. He saw blood and, though he did not intend to kill Mantax, he was not going to let his fellow warlord get off that easily. “Tell me, Mantax,” said Kalmah, not even bothering to hide his anger. “What made you think you could eat from my brood of squid? How did you think you would ever get away with it, knowing as you do how much I value these potential weapons?” Mantax said nothing, perhaps because Kalmah's tentacle was constricted around his throat. He did, however, slash at Kalmah's tentacle, cutting it with his pincer and making the red Barraki let go with a low curse. Unlike the other warlords, Kalmah's tentacle was a part of him and so harming it harmed him. Rubbing his neck, Mantax said, “I was hungry and I didn't feel like waiting for the next safe hour to go hunting. Besides, you never seem to have trouble breeding them again anyway, so what's he big deal?” Kalmah pointed at the egg shells floating in the water around them. “It's not nearly as easy as it looks, Mantax. It took me months to breed this many and now it will take me many more just to get the numbers back up to their original levels. Do you know how difficult it is to get these naturally aggressive creatures to even tolerate each other's presences, much less mate?” Mantax folded his arms. “And? What do I care? I got my lunch. I'm satisfied.” “Fool,” said Kalmah. “I'm planning to weaponize these squids. For all of us.” Mantax didn't look convinced. “All of us? Or just you?” “I have given Pridak my word that all of us will have a chance at using them,” said Kalmah. “That's why I am spending most of my time designing the launchers that will fire them, or here making sure that certain hungry warlords aren't devouring half the ammunition.” Mantax shrugged. “Whatever. I have better things to do than stand around listening to your abuse.” Mantax tried to swim around Kalmah, but the red Barraki blocked his way. “One last thing,” said Kalmah, his tone as low as a doom viper's hiss. “If you step foot in here again without my permission, I'll do more than just make your neck sore.” Mantax didn't back down. “I would like to see you try.” Kalmah and Mantax glared at each other for several seconds before Mantax broke the psuedo-staring contest and swam over Kalmah's head out of the cave. Kalmah, meanwhile, returned his attention to the remaining sea squid, already dreading what the next several months of breeding would require of him. It was not a happy thought. - Comments, criticism, questions, etc. are all welcome . -TNTOS-
  3. Welcome to the sixth installment of my new series of Bionicle flash fics, The Biological Chronicle. If you want to read the other stories in this series, you can find links to them in my signature at the end of this post. If you don't know what this is, allow me to quote from the first fic's introduction: With that out of the way, enjoy: 2006 “T-Toa Zaktan?” Zaktan, standing on a ridge that allowed him to overlook the construction of the Piraka Stronghold, glanced to his left. A Le-Matoran armed with shredder claws was standing there, obviously trembling despite his just as obvious efforts to seem natural. Zaktan vaguely recalled the Matoran as the first villager he had met when he first arrived on Voya Nui. What was his name? Piruk, maybe? “Yes, villager?” said Zaktan, using his friendliest voice (or voices, as the case was). The Le-Matoran seemed to shrink under Zaktan's gaze. Nonetheless, he managed to say, “I just came to, um, to, well, uh—“ “Spit it out,” Zaktan snapped. He caught himself, remembering that Toa were supposed to be kind to Matoran, and then said, again straining to be friendly, “What are you trying to tell me, villager? Has something happened that requires my attention?” The Le-Matoran looked down at his feet, digging his toe into the dirt. “It's just . . . well, one of the workers on Mount Valmai's slopes was . . . well, he was killed in a lava flow just a few hours ago. Balta sent me to tell you that.” The Le-Matoran looked up at Zaktan when he finished, as if expecting the Piraka to say something. It took Zaktan a moment to remember that Matoran dying was supposed to be a bad thing and that therefore he should console the Le-Matoran. The idea sickened him to his core, but the Pirakas' relationship with the Voya Nuians was already getting rocky and he could not afford to make them more suspicious. So Zaktan bent down, putting one hand on the Le-Matoran's shoulder. The villager cringed at the touch, most likely not used to the feel of Zaktan's hand. Still, Zaktan tried to give off an aura of concern, the kind he thought a Toa would show in this situation, and so looked the Le-Matoran in the eyes. “I am very sorry to hear about that,” said Zaktan, forcing every word out of his mouth. “What was his name?” “I . . . I don't know,” said the Le-Matoran, who much to Zaktan's frustration was still trembling. “I didn't know him very well.” Zaktan sighed. “Well, I'm sure his soul will join with the Great Spirit in the next life. He was probably a fine worker and I am sure his friends will remember him always.” “Some of his friends want to hold a funeral for him,” said the Le-Matoran. “Even though his body wasn't—“ “No,” said Zaktan, shaking his head. “What?” Realizing how un-Toa-like that sounded, Zaktan said in a gentler voice, “I mean, I understand what it feels like to lose a friend, but perhaps, instead of a funeral, it would be better for everyone to work a little harder. Surely he would have liked that better than everyone interrupting their normal work schedule just to mourn his death, wouldn't you say?” The Le-Matoran scratched the back of his head. “Uh, I don't know—“ “And without a body, what is there to bury?” said Zaktan as he straightened up. “Work away your sorrows, I say. It is what we Toa do whenever we lose a comrade, after all.” The Le-Matoran nodded, though whether because of fear or because he agreed, Zaktan couldn't tell. “Yes, Toa Zaktan. I'll g-go tell the others to get back to work.” The Le-Matoran scrambled away while Zaktan returned his attention to the builders of the Stronghold. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up this charade, though once the villagers finished their work here, he knew it would not be long before he and the other Piraka could show their true colors. - Comments, criticism, questions, etc. are all welcome . -TNTOS-
  4. Welcome to the fifth installment of my new series of Bionicle flash fics, The Biological Chronicle. If you want to read the other stories in this series, you can find links to them in my signature at the end of this post. If you don't know what it is, allow me to quote from the first fic's introduction: With that out of the way, enjoy: 2005 On the day the Visorak hordes descended upon the city of Metru Nui, Rahaga Norik found himself alone and surrounded on all sides by the stealers of life. This was not entirely an accident on his part. He and the other Rahaga had emerged from the Archives a few days ago, shortly after the Toa Metru left the City of Legends. They had been debating whether to stay on the uninhabited island themselves in search of the legendary Keetongu or to leave and search elsewhere for a way to combat the Visorak when their decision was made for them by a group of Vohtarak that ambushed them suddenly. To save his fellow Rahaga, Norik managed to lure the Vohtarak away deeper into the Archives. Norik intended on circling back to rejoin the others later, but unfortunately he lured the Vohtarak into a dead end. This had been an accident on his part. He could just imagine what Iruini might say about this particular mistake of his, if he lived long enough to see Iruini again. The Vohtarak were snapping their jaws, spitting and growling at him. So far, they had not tried to shoot their Rhotuka spinners at him, but it wouldn't be long, he knew, before they figured out that he was not a dumb Rahi like their usual prey. Until they did, that gave Norik a few minutes at most to figure out his plan of action against them. The nearest Vohtarak snapped at him, forcing Norik to step back. He swiped at it with his staff, but all he managed to do was make the Vohtarak fire a Rhotuka, which he managed to dodge. The other Vohtarak were now charging their spinners, so Norik knew that he didn't have any other choice but to act. He fired his own Rhotuka at the nearest Vohtarak, the one that had tried to hit him with its spinner. A direct hit. The Vohtarak was instantly snared in an energy net, causing its brothers to shift their attention to their captured ally. They even stopped charging their spinners, giving Norik an opportunity he could not ignore. Taking advantage of their distraction, Norik flew over them, using his Rhotuka spinner to do so, and landed on the ground behind them. While the Visorak struggled to free their brother, Norik ran for it. While he was no coward, he knew there was no way he could defeat six Vohtarak on his own. He needed to find the others. Because if the Visorak were here, the time to find Keetongu was now. - Comments, criticisms, questions, etc. are all welcome . -TNTOS-
  5. TNTOS

    Notice

    Tomorrow I will be out of town for a week and may or may not have Internet access during that time. So I might not post the next chapter of In the End on Monday or the next story in The Biological Chronicle series, nor will I be on BZP in general during that time. Just thought y'all should know so nobody thinks I dropped off the face of the earth or anything, heh. -TNTOS-
  6. Welcome to the fourth installment of my new series of Bionicle flash fics, The Biological Chronicle. If you want to read the other stories in this series, you can find links to them in my signature at the end of this post. If you don't know what it is, allow me to quote from the first fic's introduction: With that out of the way, please enjoy: 2004 When Krekka awoke, his head hurt. That was surprising. Nidhiki always chided him for having a thick skull. Maybe it wasn't thick enough to protect his head from a fall from that height. Even worse, Krekka could not remember exactly where he had fallen from. He recalled helping Nidhiki trying to capture three Toa in an airship. After that, his memory got fuzzy, probably the fault of the fall. His skull felt like it had been stampeded by a herd of Kikanalo. He sat up, putting his hands on his head to try to soothe it, and then realized that he was sitting in the middle of a street in a crater. He looked around and noticed dozens of Matoran nearby staring at him, almost as if they had never seen a Dark Hunter before. One Matoran's mouth hung open, which made him look silly. Then someone nearby shouted, “Hey, you!” Puzzled, Krekka turned his massive body and saw a Po-Matoran standing just outside his crater. The Po-Matoran looked angry, his hands planted firmly on his hips, reminding Krekka how Nidhiki had once looked before his transformation into that spider monster thingy. “Yes?” said Krekka. The Po-Matoran cowered a little at Krekka's voice, but didn't run away. “You crushed my statues. Which, I will have you know, are Hafu originals. I demand that you pay reparations for destroying my work.” Krekka looked under his behind. There were crushed bits of stone underneath him, stone that looked awfully common to him. He didn't see what the big deal was. So he said to the Po-Matoran, “No. I don't pay.” Now the Po-Matoran looked angry. “If you won't repay me, then I'll call the Vahki on you.” “Vahki not scary,” said Krekka. “Vahki don't scare me.” “Oh really?” said the Po-Matoran. “I bet this does, though.” The Po-Matoran pulled a disk launcher off his back and aimed it at Krekka. The sight of the disk launcher reminded Krekka just how he had ended up in the sky in the first place. He did not intend to go through that again. He reached over and snatched the disk launcher out of the Po-Matoran's hands. He crushed it beneath his massive fist and then dropped the disk launcher—now little more than a chunk of twisted metal—at the Po-Matoran's feet. The Po-Matoran took a step back, holding up his hands as if trying to seem less threatening. “You know what? Never mind. I didn't really like those statues anyway. Weren't my best work. I can always make more; make better ones, in fact. Sorry for bothering you.” Krekka stood up, ready to smash the stupid Po-Matoran, but then a voice from above called, “Krekka! There are you. What are you doing?” Krekka looked up in time to see Nidhiki, who flew in and landed next to him. Nidhiki's armor was dirty and flattened in several places, like he had been crushed beneath a ton of metal. “Going to smash Matoran,” said Krekka, pointing at the Po-Matoran, who stood paralyzed with fear. “No time for that,” said Nidhiki. “The Toa got away and we still have to track them down.” “But—“ “I said, no time,” Nidhiki snapped. “Now are you coming with me or not?” Krekka frowned, but nodded and soon was soaring through the sky with Nidhiki. He decided he would smash the Po-Matoran later. - Comments, criticism, questions, etc. are all welcome . -TNTOS-
  7. Welcome to the third installment of my new series of Bionicle flash fics, The Biological Chronicle. For those who don't know what this is, allow me to quote myself from the first fic's introduction: With that out of the way, please enjoy: 2003 Six Rahkshi. One Toa. Kopaka knew he was outnumbered. He had come to this clearing in order to meet with his fellow Toa Nuva, only to make the unpleasant discovery that the Rahkshi had arrived instead. He didn't know where his teammates were or, Mata Nui forbid, whether they were even still alive. In either case, he was forced to conclude that he was on his own for the moment. And for once, that thought didn't make him comfortable. The green Rahkshi—whose name Kopaka didn't know, though he supposed it was unimportant—was the first to move, hissing like a snake, aiming its staff at his mask. It was also the first to be frozen. He supposed it wasn't quite as bright as its brothers. Before Kopaka could strike again, however, the red Rahkshi aimed its staff at the Toa of Ice. A blast of energy fired from the staff's tip and struck Kopaka before he could raise his shield to block it. It didn't hurt when it hit; however, it then occurred to Kopaka just how badly outnumbered and overwhelmed he was. Three of these Rahkshi destroyed Ta-Koro by themselves, Kopaka thought, fear creeping up his spine. And that was when both Tahu and Gali were present to defend it. There's no way I can beat five Rahkshi on my own. The odds are clearly against me. Then, in his mind's eye, Kopaka saw his fellow Toa Nuva laughing at him, mocking him for his failure. It wasn't just the Toa Nuva, though. He saw the Matoran, too, pointing at him, calling him a failure for being unable to defeat the Rahkshi. And even the Turaga, with Nuju at the head, were shaking their heads in disappointment at his failure. We thought you were stronger than that, Kopaka, said Nuju in Matoran. But I guess you really are the weakest Toa Nuva, aren't you? Kopaka tried to ignore the taunts and jeers of his friends, but it was like trying to ignore a hurricane. Everywhere he looked, the Toa, Matoran, and Turaga were laughing at him. Those who were not laughing were nonetheless pointing at him, whispering among themselves that maybe the great Kopaka wasn't so great after all, that maybe he was nothing more than a freakish, fake loner who relied too much on the strength of others to survive. No! Kopaka thought, shaking his head. I'm not weak. I can defeat the Rahkshi. I can! He returned to reality just in time to see the red Rahkshi charging at him. Kopaka raised his ice blades and froze the Rahkshi before it could get any closer. The sight of two frozen Rahkshi encouraged him, making him think that perhaps he could defeat them after all. The black Rahkshi came next, swinging its staff at his head. Kopaka blocked it with his ice blades, but then felt very weak all of a sudden. He managed to hold back the black Rahkshi for a few seconds before it overpowered him and knocked him over, causing Kopaka to realize (far too late) that the black Rahkshi was stealing his energy and there was nothing he could do about it. “No,” Kopaka muttered. “I can't . . .” “Brother!” called out a familiar voice above. Kopaka looked and saw Tahu, Lewa, and Gali standing on a ledge above the scene of the battle. And, though the black Rahkshi continued to absorb his energy, Kopaka knew the tide was about to turn. - Comments, criticism, questions, etc. are all welcomed . -TNTOS-
  8. Welcome to the second installment in my new series of Bionicle flash fics, The Biological Chronicle. For those who don't know what it is, allow me to quote myself from the first fic's introduction: With that out of the way, enjoy: 2002 The Bohrok were like an incoming tidal wave. There was nothing you could do to stop them. In their single-minded determination to complete their unknown mission, they would level mountains, dry up rivers, cut down forests, and burn down whole villages. They never harmed anyone unless they got in the way, true, but they would often assimilate the enemy into the swarm, rather than kill them, which was not a much better fate. Onua knew all of this, especially the last part. As he crouched low among the boulders of the Onu-Wahi plains, he remembered how Lewa had been taken over by a Krana just a few days ago. Though he never admitted it, when he first saw that Lewa was a member of the swarm, he had briefly despaired that the entire battle against the swarms was lost. Though Lewa may be better now, there is still much to be concerned about, Onua thought, squinting through the bright light of the sun at the entrance to Onu-Koro that he was hiding near. The Bohrok continue to ravage Mata Nui every day. And I still have yet to collect all of my Krana, which Turaga Vakama said are the secret to stopping the swarms. Today, however, Onua was confident that he would complete his collection. Assuming, of course, the plan worked. Then he heard it, the sound that would haunt him the rest of his days: The chittering of the Bohrok. It was coming from the cavern that he was watching; and not a second later, a swarm of Gahlok exited. The blue Bohrok seemed to adjust to the change in light without trouble because they didn't even slow down. Which worked just fine for Onua. He watched as the first of the Gahlok stepped on the earth in front of the cavern entrance and immediately fell into a concealed hole in the ground. The rest of the Gahlok's siblings didn't seem to notice because they simply fell into the pit with it, their metal bodies clunking against each other until all of them were inside. Onua was amazed at the stupidity of the Gahlok, but he didn't question it. He simply dashed from out of his hiding place and climbed down into the pit he had dug out. He had to move quickly. He remembered what happened the last time the Toa had trapped a swarm of Bohrok and if he wasn't fast, the Gahlok would recover quickly. The Bohrok were still chittering, the sounds of their bodies scraping against each other annoying Onua's ears. He landed on top of a fallen Gahlok and immediately found the last Krana he needed: A Krana Xa. He smacked open the Gahlok's head plate, snatched the Xa, and deposited it into his bag full of other Krana in one smooth motion. With that out of the way, Onua climbed back out of the pit, kicking away a Gahlok that tried to grab his legs as he did so. He reached the top of the pit just as the rest of the swarm recovered from the fall. They, too, were now climbing back up, but they were progressing much slower than Onua due to their lack of climbing claws. The Toa of Earth considered burying them, then decided against it. Burying the Gahlok would probably work, but only temporarily. They would dig themselves out eventually or perhaps be dug out by the Bohrok Va. In any case, Onua knew a more permanent solution was needed. Only the Krana can defeat the Bohrok, Onua thought, glancing at his bag as he ran away from the pit. I need to find the others. The time to defeat the swarms is now. - Comments, criticism, questions, etc. are all welcome . -TNTOS-
  9. Just posted the first story in my new series of flash fics, The Biological Chronicle, that I mentioned in yesterday's entry. Expect a new story every Tuesday. Hope you enjoy them. -TNTOS-
  10. Welcome, readers, to the first story in a new series of flash fics called The Biological Chronicle. What is The Biological Chronicle, you ask? As I stated above, The Biological Chronicle is a series of flash fics written by me. Like my earlier Glatorian Chronicles series of short stories/short epics, each story in The Biological Chronicle is a standalone and the stories can be read in any order you please. What connects these story is the basic theme. I gave myself the challenge of writing ten flash fics based on the ten years of Bionicle (one for 2001, another for 2002, yet another for 2003, etc.). The result is a mixture of my interpretation of scenes from canon, scenes from canon that were mentioned but never shown, and a few scenes that were never mentioned nor shown but which I nonetheless believe could have/probably did happen at some point in canon. I tried to stick to canon as closely as possible, however, so don't expect to see any new characters or locations or anything like that that weren't in canon. They are all quite short (the longest is a little over 700 words), but of course that is to be expected from flash fiction. Fair warning: I've had little practice with flash fiction, so if these aren't as good as my usual work, it's because I'm not used to forcing myself to keep the word count under 800 words (although you are of course still free to criticize them however you usually criticize stories). Anyway, enough with the introduction. Let's get onto the actual story: 2001 The amnesiac being who could only recall his name—Tahu—snapped the last of his limbs into place. He swung his right arm back and forth, satisfied that it was not in danger of flying off. Though the task had been arduous, he had successfully managed to reattach all of his body parts, which had been scattered on the beach like so many spilled bricks. Yet he did not feel complete. He felt his face, his forehead and his cheeks, an uncomfortable sensation that made him lower his hands. It took him a moment to realize that his face felt naked, even though the rest of his body was fully armored. That was when his eyes fell on the mask lying on top of the sand not far away. Something in his body, in his very bones, compelled him to pick it up, which he did. It was a simple design. Gray as the canister in which he had arrived, it had multiple vents in the side that he supposed were to allow air to pass through. Its gaping mouth hole looked a little silly to Tahu, yet its eye holes gave off an aura of strength he could not deny. Whatever doubts he may have had about the mask vanished as he placed it over his face. As soon as he did, a wave of strength swept through his body. The wave shocked him—indeed caused him to stagger—but soon his body grew accustomed to it and he began to wonder how he had ever lived without his newly-found strength. He picked up his sword, which was shaped like a flame, and held it up triumphantly in a gesture that he could not remember doing before but which felt as natural as breathing or sleeping. A burst of flame shot out of the sword, flying high into the air like a water spout. The sight did not disturb or shock him in the slightest, even though up until this point the Toa had not even been aware of his own elemental powers. He watched the flames burn, channeling their heat through his sword. The sword felt like an extension of his arm now, not a mere weapon or tool with which to channel his fire. The sensation made him feel powerful and strong. Tahu shut off the flames and looked out at the island whose beach he had washed up on. A charred forest stood not far away, deep and foreboding, like a sentinel guarding a fortress. It was almost a warning, as if the trees themselves were trying to tell him to leave, that he wasn't welcomed here, that he would do better to climb back into his canister and go home (wherever 'home' was). Tahu smiled. I may not know who I am or where I came from, but I do know one thing: I am no coward. With the image of the fire bursting from his sword still burned in his mind's eye, Tahu walked toward the charred forest without any fear in his step. - Comments, criticism, questions, etc. are all welcome . -TNTOS-
  11. Monday is that day of the week that everyone hates. I think we should petition the government to make it illegal. Who's with me? While we figure out how to do that, here's an excerpt from this week's chapter: Read the rest of Chapter IV here. As for the "special announcement" mentioned in this post's title, starting tomorrow I am going to begin posting a series of flash fiction in the Short Stories forum. The series will be titled "The Biological Chronicle" and each short story will be based on a year from the official Bionicle story (first story will be titled 2001, second story 2002, third story 2003, fourth story 2004, etc.). I will post one story a week. Yes, I know I said In the End was my last Bionicle fanfic, which kind of makes me a liar I guess, but the idea of writing ten flash fiction stories based on every year of Bionicle was too much for me to resist. Besides, I need practice writing flash fics and this seemed like a good way to do it. And anyway, I'll probably have them all posted before I finish posting In the End, so In the End will still technically be the last Bionicle fanfic I post on BZP. That's all for now, so see ya, -TNTOS-
  12. Flash Fiction Marathon [Bionicle Topic :: Entries Index] With the success of last year's Flash Fiction Marathon, here we are again with another one! Once again, you are to run a marathon. A marathon of short stories, or, more appropriately, flash fiction pieces. For the next ten days there will be ten themes. Five will be OTC-themed, and five will be Bionicle-themed.Sound like something you’re interested in? Then make sure you read the following: Contest Rules and Important Information Each entry MUST be under 750 words in length. This is flash fiction.One new theme will be given out each night. Each theme will be given out around Midnight, EST, every night for 10 daysThe contests will alternate between BIONICLE and OTC. The first contest will be BIONICLE, the second will be OTC, then going back to Bionicle and so on.OTC entries are not allowed to be Bionicle. That's what the Bionicle themes are for.For each theme, contestants will have 48 hours to enter – so, if it’s a Bionicle theme, you will have until the next Bionicle theme is announced (as there will be a OTC theme in between there) to enter your story; the themes will overlap.After the 48-hour entry period, the entries will be placed in a poll for you – yes, you! – to decide the winner for the day. At the end of all 10, the 10 winners will be pooled together and judged by judges for a final prize.It is very likely that an extra prize will be given for those who enter all 10 challenges, both OTC and Bionicle.If you are going to post your stories, do so in the correct forum; OTC stories belong in OTC, Bionicle stories belong in the Short Stories section of the Library.All entries must adhere to BZPower's rules and guidelines.Your story must be new and never before posted on BZP. You can certainly have been working on your entry before this, but it must be posted on BZP after the start of the contest for it to be eligible.Keep it PG-13-ish appropriate. So no overly gory descriptions, excessive violence, sexual content, inappropriate content, et cetera.You cannot edit your entry once that theme's entry period is over. So if you post your story on the first day, you have another whole day to edit. If you post your entry last minute, you will not have much time to edit. The polls will be going up the night that the theme ends.If your story is not posted in this topic with the correct format, your entry will not be entered into the contest.Do not use unnecessary formatting -- see more in the "How to Enter" section. ---------------------------------------------------- How To Enter: There will be two main topics, one for Bionicle (here) and one in OTC (this one); make sure you post your entry in the right one. If you are entering a Bionicle theme, post in the Bionicle topic, not this one. To enter, please use this form:Member Name:Theme:Word Count:Story: NOTE: Do NOT link to your story. It is fine if you wish to post it on BZPower, but for entering this contest, we ask that you post your story in this topic. Thanks!Furthermore, do NOT have any unnecessary coding when entering your stories. This means no color, no signoffs, no indents, etc. You may use italics, underline, etc. if it’s used for the body of your story, but please leave your posts as bare possible. If you have a pre-set posting style, just know that the story will be removed of its formatting. ---------------------------------------------------- And so, without further ado, I present to you: Theme #10: Art 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 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. Previous Themes: Theme #2: Bones Theme #4: Character Story Theme #6: The Mask Theme #8: Glass ---------------------------------------------------- It is our honor and pleasure to host yet another contest for you. We wish you all the best of luck, and hope we receive as many entries as possible! Your hosts, Andrew (Velox)John (55555)
  13. Flash Fiction Marathon 2 [OTC Topic :: Entries Index] With the success of last year's Flash Fiction Marathon, here we are again with another one (approved by HH)! Once again, you are to run a marathon. A marathon of short stories, or, more appropriately, flash fiction pieces. For the next ten days there will be ten themes. Five will be OTC-themed, and five will be Bionicle-themed.Sound like something you’re interested in? Then make sure you read the following: Contest Rules and Important Information Each entry MUST be under 750 words in length. This is flash fiction.One new theme will be given out each night. Each theme will be given out around Midnight, EST, every night for 10 daysThe contests will alternate between BIONICLE and OTC. The first contest will be BIONICLE, the second will be OTC, then going back to Bionicle and so on.Bionicle entries may be human-Bionicle, if you wish. Just as long as they have some sort of relation to Bionicle. As usual, the story does not have to follow the canon storyline -- you may create your own characters, settings, etc., as long as in some way the story relates to Bionicle.Bionicle themes must be Bionicle. The OTC themes are for non-Bionicle stories.For each theme, contestants will have 48 hours to enter – so, if it’s a Bionicle theme, you will have until the next Bionicle theme is announced (as there will be a OTC theme in between) to enter your story; the themes will overlap.After the 48-hour entry period, the entries will be placed in a poll for you – yes, you! – to decide the winner for the day. At the end of all 10, the 10 winners will be pooled together and judged by judges for a final prize.It is very likely that an extra prize will be given for those who enter all 10 challenges, both COT and Bionicle.If you are going to post your stories, do so in the correct forum; OTC stories belong in OTC, Bionicle stories belong in the Short Stories section of the Library.All entries must adhere to BZPower's rules and guidelines.Your story must be new and never before posted on BZP. You can certainly have been working on your entry before this, but it must be posted on BZP after the start of the contest for it to be eligible.Keep it PG-13-ish appropriate. So no overly gory descriptions, excessive violence, sexual content, inappropriate content, et cetera.You cannot edit your entry once that theme's entry period is over. So if you post your story on the first day, you have another whole day to edit. If you post your entry last minute, you will not have much time to edit. The polls will be going up the night that the theme ends.If your story is not posted in this topic with the correct format, your entry will not be entered into the contest.Do not use unnecessary formatting -- see more in the "How to Enter" section. ---------------------------------------------------- How To Enter: There will be two main topics, one for Bionicle (this one) and one in OTC (link pending); make sure you post your entry in the right one. If you are entering a OTC theme, post in the OTC topic, not this one. To enter, please use this form:Member Name:Theme:Word Count:Story: NOTE: Do NOT link to your story. It is fine if you wish to post it on BZPower, but for entering this contest, we ask that you post your story in this topic. Thanks!Furthermore, do NOT have any unnecessary coding when entering your stories. This means no color, no signoffs, no indents, etc. You may use italics, underline, etc. if it’s used for the body of your story, but please leave your posts as bare possible. If you have a pre-set posting style, just know that the story will be removed of its formatting. ---------------------------------------------------- And so, without further ado, I present to you: Theme #9: Paradise Any interpretation is valid. Remember that this is an Bionicle theme, and your story must comply with the contest rules.Deadline: July 6th, 11:59PM PST. Previous Themes: Theme #1: A Dark Hunt Theme #3: The Chronicler Theme #5: Find the Power Theme #7: The Order ---------------------------------------------------- It is our honor and pleasure to host yet another contest for you. We wish you all the best of luck, and hope we receive as many entries as possible! Your hosts,Andrew (Velox)John (55555)
  14. 55555

    Echoes

    It's kind of a helpless feeling. The feeling that something is falling apart, and there's nothing to be done about it. Just another world ending. But it always gets me a little bit.And the darkness took it, as it takes them all. But not mine.The survey class ship Revelations fired up her engines and moved on, flitting back through dimensions. Home.It just seemed wrong somehow, even though it makes sense, and I know they aren't really real. Once we discovered inter-dimensional navigation it became obvious that the things we could learn from it were invaluable. With the push of a button and a few minutes of our time we could see the horrors that we've avoided. The best kind of evidence, gathered from a million apocalypses, could save us from our own. It already has, we believe. Several critical eco-system failures have been traced to the extinction of a particular micro-organism (ultimately dubbed the Apocapolyp), a finding which saved our world. But it does something to you, to see the world end, so many times. We could save some of these worlds, with what we have learned. But our department doesn't have the resources, and we may learn more be letting them burn. Plus, they aren't real anyway. They can't be, because we are. All of these others are mere reflections, projections, the imaginings of our universe. The screams from these worlds that I watch are not the screams of real people, they are just echoes. The Revelations blinked through dimension after dimension on its way to Terra Prima.That was when disaster struck.Something failed. I'm not an engineer, I don't know what it was. In an instant we had come to a halt, in a dimension far, far from home. I could tell from the life sign readings. This was a small earth. But as my ship approached, I realized that it could just as well have been my home. There were cities, satellites, even a moon colony. A quick scan of radio traffic indicated the correct frequency for emergency communications and indicated a language mutually intelligible with English. I swung into an emergency landing sequence and flipped on the radio. "Come in Terra Echo, this is the survey ship Revelations. Request emergency landing instructions, over.""Receiving you, Revelations. You have permission to land at Bogota Spaceport, coordinates following..." A string of numbers flowed through the comm unit, and were automatically plugged into the navigation systems. The ship blazed down through the atmosphere, and came to a smooth landing only minutes later. There was a small delegation to meet him, the local authorities seemed to have realized where he had come from. They looked so real. He lifted the cockpit and climbed out of his ship. As he walked toward them, the welcoming committee exchanged whispers. His headset detected it and amplified it in real time. "He looks almost real." - John
  15. Hope of Rebirth SHE AWOKE IN PAIN on the cold, hard stone floor. Deep gashes had been ripped into her skin all across her arms and body. They were healing, half black and half crimson, but she knew they would never heal completely. It wouldn’t be long before she tore them open again. Black scorch marks riddled her skin, permanent, unable to be washed away—water was a poison, burning like fire would a normal human. She brushed her pale-blond hair behind her ears and sat up slowly, looking around her to see the prison-like abode where she slept each night. Atop a cliff; huge, jagged rocks surrounding her, stone floor, no ceiling. It was her punishment to herself, unwilling to live anywhere in comfort. And for just a brief moment, just like every morning, she had hope. Hope that somehow she had been changed. Had been healed. Was no longer the monster that she had been the day before. But then, just like every morning, that hope was extinguished as it began to happen. She began to change. Her back became rough and thick, the skin drying and cracking as it turned scarlet. Gigantic, leathery wings grew from her back and extended until each one could wrap around her body two- or three-fold, ending with two spiked points. Her fingers became callused and sharp; curved, cone-shaped nails protruded from the ends, over an inch long each. Her feet followed suit, becoming more animalistic with claws to match her hands. The blood of the scars seemed to brighten as her whole skin became tougher and paler. She was still recognizably human, yet bestial. She shrieked and bellowed, trying to fight the transformation. But she couldn’t. She clawed at her body, drawing fresh blood and reopening old scabs. Her stomach growled and with a haunting fear she knew: it was time to feed. Her legs moved as if under their own power and she leaped into the air, burgundy wings extending. Below her valleys and forests covered the ground with a dirt road dividing them. She flew to the forest, keeping close to the tree tops. Her nostrils flared and she knew human flesh was nearby. Her body shot down toward the scent until finally she saw a young boy in the distance among the trees, playing in a river by himself, his parents nowhere to be seen. She clawed at herself and used all of her strength to stop, but the beast inside her was relentless. Fangs extended from her canines, the scent of blood close. She tried to push them back into her skull but instead drew blood from her thumbs. Desperate to stop, she clawed at herself again and again, ripping her stomach open, trying anything to stop herself from destroying the young life. But the fire inside her quickly healed the lacerations and staunched the bleeding; her clawing had only caused more pain—failed to stop her flight toward her next victim. She landed on the forest frondescence and ripped into his flesh, burning his body to a crisp before devouring it, all the time fighting her internal demon. When it was finished she quickly took off again, in control, slamming into several trees and branches in a crazed dash before flying above the tree line and back to her home before she could catch the scent of another. What have I done? The pained thought that went through her mind day after day, mistake after mistake. But today was worse. Today she had gone too far, past the point of return. She landed on the cold stone and sat down, secluded from civilization, hidden behind her haven of large rocks. Her arms wrapped around her knees, and her blond hair fell into her face. Her wings were still expanded, wrapped around her like a shield and a blanket as her nails and teeth receded into their normal appearance. A tear formed in the pit of her azure eye, stinging as the salty liquid seeped into the deep gash around her eyelids. As she thought about what she had done, more tears fell. They burned into her flesh, steam rising from her cheeks in their path, but she allowed them to fall, keeping her arms where they were. She allowed the pain, knowing she deserved it—and much worse. She wished to die, to end the cruelty that she inflicted upon innocent victims. Today had been the worst—a child. What have I done? she repeated in her mind again as even more tears fell. She hugged herself tighter, weeping bitterly, and awaited the new dawn when she knew she would hunt—and kill—again. But she couldn’t let that happen. She had to hope that one day, somehow, she might become reborn—no longer the monster, but a beautiful creature. She opened her eyes slowly, looking off the cliff and into the sky. She needed help. She had to stop. Become reborn. Live under the oppression of this ailment no longer. But can I? she wondered. I have to. ~ :: ~ A/N: Written for the "Rebirth" Fortnightly Flash Fiction Contest, this story was inspired by the amazing drawing Kaida (careful, the topic is unfortunately dead) by the extraordinary Ezorov. Many thanks to Katie for allowing me to use that as inspiration. I really enjoyed writing this character, and I hope to write more about her. But for now, enjoy this piece that stands on its own--comments and constructive criticisms are welcome.
  16. Rebirth An explosion of light, a shockwave of heat, pain that roared through bones and muscles alike, fire that coursed through the veins, and a dull throb of otherworldly pain, resounding in your tormented soul, as it was ripped from your body and subjected to ablution in the cold, biting wind of the realm of judgment. Rebirth. As she lay on the sand, as she took her first breath, the frosty air filling her lungs, she could only gasp, between quivering breaths that did nothing to soothe the burning desire for oxygen. The beach, with its cruel, cold waves that lapped incessantly at her unprotected form, an endless sea of crushed glass as she stared at it from her position on the white sand, eyes burning from contact with the saline crystals that surrounded her, crystals that attached to her shining armour and supple skin, unwilling to leave of be brushed off. As she lied on the sand, she noticed that it was cool, almost icy, an amazing revelation to her, for the sensation of sensory stimulation was a pleasant, but fading memory, a memory that she was amazed to have witnessed twice. She need to stand; Feeling wasn’t enough. She wanted to see this sea of crushed glass from above, she wanted to laugh, to scream, to cry, anything to hear the sound of her own voice, and she wanted to find something to eat, to indulge in both tasting food, and absorbing the aromas she found herself dearly missing. She managed to rise to her knees. As she screamed in agony, slamming her palms on the yielding sand, spine arched and mouth open as the prolonged shriek of pain continued, she felt her muscules rippling with energy, her bones shrieking in agony as they were charged with unseen power, and veins aflame with a roar of pure ferocity. It seemed she wasn’t ready to stand. Remaining on her knees, hands shaking as she breathed, every slow inhale accompanied by a spasm of pain, and every exhale forcing scorching air through her throat with a whine of pain and a gasp of anguish. Yet, even as her own body cried out for mercy, as her fortitude failed her, her mind continued with renewed resolve, and her soul soared with determination. As her muscules squealed in agony, as her head pounding as if it was bursting, and as her skeleton seemed to disintegrate, she began to rise, striving to stand as her body seemed to liquefy. The pain subsided instantly. She had risen. It could hardly be believed; the act of putting all of her weight on two feet seemed like a task entirely impossible to her. And yet she was standing, master of her body, statuesque in her erect posture. The beach looked much different from above, the infinity of being at eye-level with what appeared to be a sea of crushed glass suddenly replaced with a bird’s-eye view of a large, but far from sea-esque bank of sand, circling a forest floor, which, as she discovered when she craned her neck skyward, lead to a mountain of grey and white, snow-capped, and seeming to reach above the clouds themselves. Still stunned in disbelief, she rotated, her legs shaky as she turned, equally amazed by the truly infinite ocean. That was when it caught her eye, the ugly, unnaturally shiny object. Silver, and longer than she was tall, the cylinder, for that was its shape, save for the half-sphere vertical extremities, was in sharp contrast to the surrounding environment in every way possible. Crouching down to its height, she laid her hand on the metal, unpleasantly surprised by the lifeless cold that greeted her. Yet, as she stared at it, thoughts and emotions swelled up inside her. Is this from whence I came? Is this the womb that gave me life? She had faint memories of things long past, but this unnatural, painfully shiny object met all of the criteria she could apply to judge an object to be what had given her birth. And these memories, of faces and locations, of friendly words, heated arguments, and a strange thing that she wanted to call love, but thought it too harsh and cruel to be named so kindly, could they possibly be more than dreams, ideas that she had created before her birth, on this sea of crushed glass that wasn’t a sea, and not made of glass? I have been born for the first time, and I have been reborn. The logical impossibility entranced her, as she stroked the lifeless cylinder, and thought of the all too lively memories that fluttered in the tempest of her mind. But as she dwelled on birth and rebirth, she found no answers. Standing, she gave a last look at the cylinder on the sand, slowly being surrounded by water as the tide rose, and she felt oddly touched, as if she was staring at a loved one’s corpse, or the result of unfathomable destruction. More frightened than moved by the suddenly arising feeling of sorrow and heart ache, she turned from the cylinder, blinking in confusing as she felt tears streaming from her eyes. As she strode into the forest, leaving the cylindrical canister behind on the sand, tears continued to flow, but were now accompanied by a flow of memories. Her mind clearing, names connected with faces and locations, the reasons for arguments and the meanings of friendly words were found, and the reason for her unwillingness to name love its quixotically given title was discovered. As she blinked in surprise, letting the flow of memories sink into her consciousness, only a single thought filled her mind. Rebirth. And, as she stood, the soft, dewy moss of the jungle floor wetting her bare feet, her mind seized by the emotional upheaval of a life she had forgotten, she realized it was so.
  17. Note: "exit number 117" is meant to be read as "exit number one seventeen." Exit Number 117 Fortnightly Flash Fiction #5: Branching Out In this wild twisting chasing highway we like to call life I suppose the first time I found myself facing an impossible choice Was the midnight I came to exit number 117 And it wasn't the number that made it particularly special The sign was old and worn and the 7 was sort of scratched As though a bird had flown into it or something And the road was cracked and faded and the puddles of Asphalt I saw in my headlights were gray and older than my parents I slowed down because I was the only one on the road It's an interesting moment when you're the only one on the road Because nobody else can make your choices for you You can walk on glass if you like, or walk by The sky was full of stars and a bright moon and planets and galaxies But I didn't bother looking at them because I was busy Wondering which way was right for me You see, my parents always taught me to follow my dreams And I was sure that my dreams lay farther down the highway Maybe exit number 200, or number 179, or the place where the asphalt ends But exit number 117 had a strange charm all the same The dusty road begged to be travelled And the darkness beyond the highway begged to be explored And how is an 18-year-old supposed to know exactly which exit to take anyway? I guessed that this wasn't my road But who knew, and did it matter? So I put it off for another day, put the engine in gear, and my tires squeaked as I Pulled away from exit number 117 And set my tired eyes back to the highway The wide road was easier to drive And easier than thinking about other places I could go More comfortable than thinking about branching out, diversifying, changing Because, after all, the easiest road to travel Is the one I've been driving all my life And it's simpler to keep exit number 117 in my rearview mirror than to keep it in front of me But every now and then, I'll feel a twinge of regret The bite of nostalgia as I look back and think for a moment I see that exit I passed A faint glimmer on the horizon It's not there of course: I passed it long ago And I've never found the time to go back Who knows if it would even be there by the time I got around to it Now I'm farther along the highway and it's been a fun ride But I'll always wonder what lay beyond exit number 117 I guess that's how it works: you choose an exit, or you don't
  18. Rinse Cycle A clang — the darkness is thrown over you like a blanket. Where—? You’re crowded against several others in a small cage, unable to speak or otherwise move. The chamber proper is much larger: walls towering straight up and joining at right angles with the ceiling. How—? All you can remember is being surrounded by skin before being deposited into this cage. Before that... everything is a blur. Darkness. Dampness. Light. Why—? You stop yourself. “Why?” is a question far beyond your comprehension. Besides, the chamber has just shuddered. There — it shudders again. You hear a noise from its rough center as if something is being pushed forth. The sound of water rushing becomes clear. A click. A hiss. The same water you heard now slaps you in the head; you fall against a couple of your unseen companions, unable to hold yourself upright against such a vicious, burning torrent. You’re drowning, aren’t you? A whoosh. Something foamy is mixed into the water now, covering you and, you presume, the rest of the chamber. Abruptly, the streams of water pause; they start again in a different pattern, blasting the foam off your surface with uncomfortable force. More foam — more water — you lose yourself in the cycle; it’s easier to forget yourself and succumb than to think too hard about what you cannot understand anyway. When you think you can stand no more, when the water and foam have torn every speck of foreign material from your body, the cycle stops. You listen; no more water, save for the clouds of steam that feel as heavy as weights. Is it all over? When you start to think it is, the temperature rises. Steam is vented through an unseen filter as the remainder of water resting on your skin is brushed away by the heat. The heat would be comforting save for two problems: how preternatural it seems, and how much it increases. You burn. You burn till any remaining moisture has been stripped from the air, and then a little longer. Then the heat, like the steam before it, dissipates. You suddenly feel alone. The question “why?” presents itself again, and this time, you do not refuse it: In the dark, lying at an awkward angle against cold metal and plastic, you have nothing better to do than think. So you think, and you wait, and you think while you wait, and you wait while you think— Click. O, glorious fortune! — the light returns, and you feel the touch of free air and are assuaged. Even when a giant’s grasp reclaims you and bears you into the unknown, you don’t have fear. You are laid upon a light paper bed. “What’re we eating, mommy?” queries an eager voice above you; you both hear and feel vibrations of excitement through the table, courtesy of a little girl’s bouncing. “Spaghetti,” is the reply. Thump, and the plate lands beside you. “With meatballs?” “With meatballs,” the mother assures her daughter. “But you have to eat up before they’re cold!” You’re lifted again. You feel the vague impressions of skin, air, light, and tomato sauce in rapid succession as if they’re a blurred film strip.
  19. DES MOINES, IOWA – The state cross-country meet was raging for the Class 2A Boys. In the lead was senior Rob Macker, but his team wasn’t cheering him on. The other seniors were, sure, but of particular interest for this match among all the underclassmen was Rob’s younger brother, Matt, the rising star for the Warriors. He was a mere freshman, and he was in second place. The history to their competition was interesting. Rob had come in first place for the 5k every year since his freshman year. He had let himself shine, and this senior year he wanted to solidify his perfect streak and his legacy. It was cool that his brother was making it tough for him, though. Perhaps if Matt won, Rob could enjoy cheering on his brother’s chance at a perfect streak. Yet, since they were both in high school at the same time, only one of them could have it. And Rob wanted it so bad. It felt like they were on their last half-kilometer. Rob kicked in his final burst. Meanwhile, Matt trailed ten yard behind him. He wanted it, too, and he wanted that perfect streak. It was something worth fighting for, and he wasn’t going to let his brother have it. Want. Desire. Matt wasn’t going to settle for second. He sprinted like crazy. For a moment, he passed up Rob, but Rob ran even harder. They were both dying as they suffered the fruits of their own determination. Then the finish line came in sight, and they sprinted even harder, as if they were running down a 100m dash. By two footsteps, Matt won. “Thirteen minutes!” shouted a friend. “Could have cheered more,” said Rob. His friend Sam handed Rob his hat. Coach Leer wasn’t happy for them. Matt didn’t quite understand it. He went over with Rob to make sure that their times were indeed at thirteen minutes. He showed them the time grimly, and though confused, Matt and Rob cheered and rejoiced. Then Coach Leer interrupted the powwow with a hand on Rob’s shoulder, and he said just loud enough that only Rob, Matt, and their best friends could hear, “Rob, your brother Craig is dead.” Craig was killed by a drunk driver while biking to the library. He was a junior and always a bit of a loner. People didn’t appreciate him much, but Matt always figured his day would come. He didn’t count on…these things. The next day, everyone knew, and was wearing black. Attention. Oh boy. From people who were mean to him and people who didn’t even know him. Then there was a girl who wore a dress that broke school policy. Matt felt an irrational hatred toward her. How disrespectful. He resigned from these people. He couldn’t live in their presence. Matt went to his classes, but didn’t talk to anyone. Rob came to school just to pick up homework, and left. The worst part about being sad was knowing just how sad others were, so he had to be sad for his brother’s sadness. Then he knew that Rob might be feeling the same way. Circles. The day after that, Friday, Matt decided to do what Rob did, and came only to pick up assignments before heading home. He did his work, and Rob did… Mother was home. Father was with the funeral director. When they had lunch together, Craig’s usual chair was empty, and nobody talked. When both brothers were done with their homework, almost instantly, Rob locked himself up in his room and never came out for the rest of the day. Matt wanted to do the same, but he ended up sitting down with his back against Rob’s door while he ticked away at the time, wondering how long it would take before things would ever be normal, or if he would be like Batman and just be troubled for the rest of his life. After a month, Rob put his hat back on again. It was really strange, though. Rob had always been the cool kid. People had looked up to him with respect but not…respect. It was different with Matt’s friends. His were relatively new, made just in high school. He hadn’t gone through four years of them yet. It felt like they knew him for his tragedy first and not for the brother and friend he had been beforehand, so he began spending time with Rob’s friends. They had once made fun of Craig, but at least they knew him. Then one day Rob did not sit with his friends. Matt looked around and found Rob eating outside, looking through brochures. “Aren’t you going to get in trouble?” asked Matt. Dumb question. Rob never got in trouble for anything and could break any school rule he wanted. “No,” said Rob. He left his bench and reentered the school, placing his flyers in a side-pocket in Matt’s backpack as he passed. Matt looked at them himself and saw that they had information on the marines. During their family supper, Rob wasn’t shy in bringing it up. “Dad, I’m joining the marines.” Perhaps it was supposed to be one of those special father-to-son moments, but it played out with the whole family. Without much questioning, Father supported the idea. Mother was against it, and Matt… He was curious. “Why?” “Because I’m not going to settle for tragedy anymore,” said Rob. “I’m not going to settle for loss. I want that so bad, but I haven’t given it my all, yet. I was meant for more than running 5ks in thirteen minutes.” There was more arguing, and with half a heart Matt pleaded Rob not to, but he was forced into understanding his brother. After the year and the graduation ceremony were over, Rob’s friends, all knowing his intentions, patted him on the back. When everyone left his grad party, Rob took off his hat and handed it to Matt. “Remember to settle for nothing less than your best life.” =[]= Curse the, thy foul word limit! Nevermore shall I endure your toxic burden! No, I take that back. I'm really being far too angsty and dramatic. Maybe I should just accept that this would have been better as a much longer story, because I can see how this could easily carry out to 5k if I had carried it out to its natural length. As it happens, this is very much contensed. Meanwhile, this has absolutely nothing to do with my story We Are Young, even though I use the same characters. There will be nothing quite so sad over there. 24601
  20. Velox

    Guilt

    Guilt I knelt silently before the grave, the small white card a temporary gravestone. ADRIANA MARTINEZ 1974-2012 LOVING WIFE AND MOTHER My eyes couldn’t leave her name. As much as I wanted them to, I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help but let the torrent of memories rush upon me. I remembered the first day we had met, how I had spilled her coffee accidentally, walking without paying attention to where I was going. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said quickly, taking out a napkin and handing it to her, picking up the fallen cup. “Here, let me buy you a new one.” I would’ve thought she’d be furious at me, but instead she simply smiled and allowed me to do so. I smiled back, and together we walked back into the coffee shop. It seemed so long ago now. A lifetime ago. Yet at the same time, it seemed like just yesterday. We shared a coffee together afterwards, and somehow I had had the courage to ask for her number, and even more of a miracle was that she had given me her real one, especially after I had just stained her blouse. That was one of the greatest days of my life. Then I remembered our first real date…how nervous I had been, how much I had prepared for it. How my best friend Aaron had helped me make it as perfect as possible. “Dude, chill, it’s going to be okay,” he said to me. But I couldn’t help it. I fidgeted nervously, wringing my hands together and pacing the backyard. I had set up a table accompanied by candles and a waiter in a tux: Aaron. Every second she didn’t show seemed like an hour. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” “Yes, it’s fine! Just look at it, it’s perfect,” he replied. I had to agree, it did look pretty nice. But that didn’t stop me from worrying. I had never felt this way about a woman before. I remembered just two days ago when I had only met her because of my clumsiness. I remembered the lovely conversation we had, where we discovered so many similarities. I remem— The doorbell rang. The intense desire burned in my heart all the greater and I rushed toward the door. A tear fell from my eye. She had loved that date so much, the perfect smile of hers always present on her face the whole night. Yet I couldn’t see it now. The memories were all a fog, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not see her face. Why? I asked myself, but could think of no answer. I shook my head quickly, trying to forget, focusing again on the happy memories. Yet that only made it worse as after every smile from every memory I realized that that was what I had lost. Her. Gone forever, those memories the only thing left of her. I buried my head in my hands as I remembered the day I proposed. A beautiful dinner at a fancy restaurant with a garden and balcony overlooking the ocean. I remembered how happy she had been when I got on one knee, but I couldn’t see it. Couldn’t see her smile, her face. It was the guilt. I had done this. It was because of me that she was dead. I should’ve listened to her when she begged me to leave my job – an undercover cop infiltrating one of the most vicious gangs in Los Angeles. It was dangerous. I knew that the moment I slipped up, the moment they found out, my family was dead. But I thought I was good enough. Good enough to evade their discovery forever. I was wrong. More tears fell. ”I’m sorry,” I whispered to the makeshift gravestone. Hoping I could say it to her, but knowing that I never could. I only wished she knew…knew how sorry I was. But it was too late now. She was gone. I tried to think of other happy memories – almost every moment we had spent together; our wedding, the happiest day of my life; the birth of our child, the second happiest day of my life. But I couldn’t. Now all I saw was her body with a hole in her head, a pool of blood under it. The duct-tape on her mouth, hands, and feet. The look of fear in her still-open, dead eyes. This picture of her face, her half blown-off face, would be the only one I could ever see again. Never again could I see her smile – only her fear. Her lifeless eyes. The guilt consumed me. Aaron approached from behind, probably wondering why I was still here, hours later after the funeral. “C’mon, man,” he said, “it’s not your fault.” “But it is.” And I knew that now, because of me, our children would have to grow up without a mother. ~ :: ~ A flash fiction piece I wrote a while ago for the Write-Off theme "guilt" -- saw that it fit the theme "gravestone" so decided to enter it into the contest. Not completely fond of this one, but we need more entries. If I wasn't in the middle of NaNo I probably would've re-written a lot of this, but oh well. Still, at least it's not the worst Write-Off piece I've written. Comments/etc. are welcome, but preferred in some other works of mine (such as Eldritch Abomination) that can be found in my library, the Shadowy Verge.
  21. LETTING THE READER KNOW THAT THE SETTING OF A STORY IS THE END OF THE WORLD IS ALWAYS A CATCHY, IF NOT CLICHÉ OPENING LINE, but in this case it seems more interesting to note that this story revolved around the philosophical implications of pizza. You could never have enough pizza. Well, you could, presuming that your stomach was at risk of exploding, but imagining that someone could eat on end and never have to worry about getting full, why would anyone want to stop to do anything but enjoy the sensation of having pizza in their mouths? Pizza was the reason mad wizards sought immortality in the first place, because dying meant you could no longer eat pizza. What a scary thought.……….As it happened, the end of the world was brought about by a mad wizard, although he claimed to like more sophisticated food. In fact, the food he liked was positively nasty. Well, perhaps that was why he was a mad wizard, because otherwise, if he sought immortality to eat pizza he would actually be a very sane wizard.……….But that’s irrelevant.……….Now, there was Buzzy and Monosmith, who resisted the end of the world and fought in many battles while crying out many sacred ideals. God, democracy, liberty, God, freedom, integrity, altruism, and God. It seems that they had their ideals down nice and neat.……….Well, they lost, the end of the world came, and the evil wizard ruled the universe for fifty-three million years. Buzzy and Monosmith each survived by virtue of time distortion and arrived at the end of those fifty-three million years to join the resistance that was at its peak then. They met each other in what felt like ages, even though it had really been more like three years for them.. It was on the outskirts of a really huge battle with laser fights and all the works. On a hill where Buzzy parked his space ship. They just stood there, panting.……….“You know what I need?” said Buzzy. “Pizza!”……….“I don’t think they have that this far into the future,” said Monosmith.……….“I have one in my space ship,” said Buzzy.……….Buzzy’s ship was big enough that he and several friends and allies lived comfortably within for two years in time distortion, and it most certainly had freezer cambers. These held pizza and other goods that helped Buzzy survive while flying near the speed of light throughout outer space.……….So they took a pizza from the ridge. In fact, several pizzas, because they were a lot hungrier than usual. Fighting battles and saving the world did that to you.……….“I want Red Baron,” said Buzzy.……….“Hey wait, it looks like you have Tombstone,” said Monosmith.……….“I like Red Baron more.”……….“The Tombstone is even stuffed crust. My mother used to buy those all the time.”……….“My mother – “……….“Don’t even. Your mother was an alien from the planet Alantra. You didn’t even taste pizza until you came to Earth as a teenager.”……….“The first I had was Red Baron. I have a lot of nostalgia, too, you know.”……….“Alright, how you cook Red Baron and I cook Tombstone? Isn’t that the obvious solution?”……….“Hey, wait, you’re right. Why are we even arguing about this?”……….They shrugged. It was just them being exhausted. So they cooked their pizza and sat in Buzzy’s lounge, looking out the window at the battle beyond where laserfire scorched the landscapes. Then the pizza was done, and they ate it with their feet kicked up on the table.……….“You know, I could probably end this whole battle on my own,” said Monosmith.……….“You’re being so emo lately. Lighten up. Because Pizza.”……….“Yeah, you’re right. It’s pretty strange. I’m kind of sure that this time we might be heading toward the end of the universe for real. As in, everything gets destroyed, not just a way of living. Everybody’s talking about the pursuit of happiness and has no idea what it is, and yet, here we are eating pizza. All we need are Ashley and a few other good old friends and I’d call this pretty good.”..........“I just had an idea,” said Buzzy, pointing out to the battlefield with the point of his current slice. “Why was it called the end of the universe in the first place? I think it was all because the evil overlord took control and hated pizza. I mean, then people stopped enjoying the simple things in life. People looked for power and pushed forth these strange agendas. Why can’t they just accept the simple pleasures in life? Like pizza. Pizza’s the purpose of life.”……….Monosmith shook his head. “Well, I believe the purpose to life is love, but then, what is love?”……….“Baby don’t hurt me.”……….“Stop it.”……….“Hey, you like classical music and I like pop, and that’s a good song. Imagine if that song would be playing over the battlefield. It would be pretty epic.”……….“Maybe after we win a few battles, we can spread the joy of pizza again.”……….Buzzy finished his last slice and thought it over as he chewed. “The question is, would it be Red Baron or Tombstone?”……….“I think we’ll find out,” said Monosmith.……….And thus was what might have been the single most important conversation in all of history. Buzzy and Monosmith made a bet on whether the masses would like Red Baron or Tombstone better. They fought a few more battles, as they said, reveled in the Technicolor of the laser weapons . Then, as it looked like the good guys were winning the war, they celebrated prematurely and started recreating old pizza recipes and campaigning with food.……….It turned out they were both right, Buzzy in the area of what music fit a laserfight and Monosmith in the area of pizza, which by far was more important. Then, when the good guys won, they resigned to their simple pleasures. Music, reading, play, friendship. And Tombstone was the best pizza. 24601
  22. THEO WAS LYING, AS ALWAYS, and he would never tell the truth. Neo couldn’t understand it, and he was sick of it. He made up his mind and decided that he would have nothing to do with him anymore. There was nothing – nothing – that could redeem this crooked old man.……….“Now wait just one minute. Where do you think you’re going?” said Theo. He put down his pen as Neo walked past his desk.……….“Out forever,” said Neo. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”……….“Do you mean to say what I think you mean?” asked Theo. He got up and put on his jacket. “Well, then, I’m coming with you.”……….“No, that’s against the point!” snapped Neo. “I’m leaving you and I’m never coming back! I’m never going to have anything to do with you. Do you realize how many people’s lives you mess with?”……….Theo was by Neo’s side now. He gave Neo a stern look. The crags that had accumulated over a long time over his forehead increased. It was the face of a man who always got his way and would not take “no” for an answer. “And where do you think you will go?”……….“That logic won’t work with me. That’s called making a deal with the devil, and he always comes to collect. I’m not going to do that. I’m not so short sighted or so low on faith. I’ll make ends meet.”……….“Boy, you have no idea what it’s like to make a deal with the devil,” said Theo. He put his hands in his pocket and lowered his head as they walked out of the business building. They passed Theo’s secretary, and Theo snapped his fingers. “Grab me a gun. I’m going out.” The waiter opened his drawer and threw a gun into Theo’s hands, which he took in stride and tucked underneath his jacket.……….They reached outside. There were many poor people on the street. Many of them had guns as well.……….“I’ve denied to other people, Neo, the consequences of my actions. I know this world is a hellhole right now, and the guilt for this situation lies in large part on my shoulders, but I have never hid this from you. When I compromised with evil in the hubris of my youth several generations ago, I put up a lie in my shame and in my sureness and conviction of my strength. Yet, that lie is pointless now. Your development has been much stronger now that you have seen the sins of the father. You can learn from my failures, and I have not yet finished grooming heroes to help me atone for my failures.”……….“I’m not going to be the one who helps you,” said Neo. “You don’t deserve it. I’ going to fix this world up, but it won’t be with the person who destroyed it.”……….“If you go right now I will shoot you,” said Theo.……….“Sir! You’re my grandfather!”……….“Great-great-grandfather, to be exact,” said Theo. “And I will only shoot you in the knee.”……….“I can’t believe you would do this. No, never mind. I can.”……….“I am your great-great-grandfather,” said Theo. “And you’re still pretty young. With your father dead and all those other generations gone, I’m the only father-figure you have, and as such, it is my right – no, it is my duty, to impart on you all the wisdom a father can bestow. Trust me, after several generations, I have improved. Do you know who you are? Of course not. That is why you need me, because I know who you are.”……….“What about Silver Bird? He was a mentor to my father, and his father.”……….“And your grandfather had even more angst than you when he was your age. However, as it happens, I know where Silver Bird is.”……….“You do?”……….“Yes, I do,” said Theo. “I’ve really been prepping you for guidance under him for quite some time. Since you’re officially taking things this far, I might as well take you to him. However, I must warn you, what you hear from him you will have to swallow. Come with me, then. I will take him to you, and in the meantime, there is something I want to show you.”……….So they walked around the building with the escort of Theo’s private security and found their way to a launching pad, with a small luxury ship. They got in, as they had many times before, drank their fine wine, and headed out into the stars.……….The location of Silver Bird was always a secret, of course. Theo and Neo kept their whereabouts hidden as well. It was the post-apocalyptic world they lived in, and the people trying to solve it were the ones most persecuted.……….Then, less than a day later, they encountered a meteor field. Neo opened up a hologram window to see what was outside. The ship stopped, and there was a wheel in outer space before him with transparent walls. When the ship docked, he stepped into its artificial gravity and looked at the stars under his feet.………. They walked up next to him. “See this field? This is what it left of Atlas, the home of our great race. You think you have no home? I have none, either. All that is left is the great, insensible tomb of Zero. I saw its destruction with my own eyes. I have no more sense of self to live for.”……….There were footsteps. “Theo,” said a man. Silver Bird. He walked up to them and, upon stopping, summed up Neo in once nod. “Why now? He’s not ready yet.”……….“What? But you’re wise.”……….“I’m not wise because I’m immortal but because I made mistakes. Theo’s made many. He just has less time to make up for them. Go home now.”……….And that was that. Theo put his arm around Neo and brought him back home. “I like this better than last time,” said father to son. - So that last line was referencing another flash-fiction write-off with Theo in it. That one was horrible. Also, I will reveal that at least one of these characters will be involved in an upcoming supersized epic that I will be releasing next year on my blog called The Adventures of Mary. You will read it because it will be awesome and fun. 24601
  23. JRRT

    Looming

    Looming The plains before the wall were slick and muddy from the recent rains, pockmarked with blackened craters and the crisscrossing spider-web of trenches long-abandoned. It was a daunting sight, but there was nothing for it now. Oen sprinted across a stretch of level ground—a quick dash, breathless, and slid down behind a ruined outcropping of stone. The savage shouts of his pursuers rang in the air behind him. They had seen him at last, after all his caution and stealth, after all the hours spent crawling through the mud and filth with the rain beating down on him, half-paralyzed with the fear of discovery. He had only just made it past the Skakdi outpost. He had almost been in the clear. A short sprint to the shelter of the gate, and the long journey would be over...but the light of morning had given him away. It could never have been that easy.Oen leaned out from his cover and scanned the ravaged field before him once more, waiting for his chance. The shapes on the horizon approached, hazy under a dull gray sky. The siege may have been lifted for a time, leaving the field before the wall empty of enemies, but the war was far from over. They would not let him reach the city alive.The patrol turned aside to search one of the trenches, and there was his chance. Oen leapt up and ran, feet pounding the dirt. A shout went up, and he dove forward, headlong into another ditch. Mud splattered across his Kanohi as the sound of burning death seared the air above him. They almost had him that time. He crawled forward, following the direction of the ditch. It went parallel to the wall for a distance, and then curved towards it. Quickly now. Quickly! His lungs were burning, and his muscles ached, but he had to go on. So close. So close to those walls. They had given everything to get him here. Everything. He could not fail them now.The ditch grew shallower, and soon he had no choice but to stand up and run forward in the open again. He was maybe a hundred bio from the wall now. The gate loomed on the left, and he was sure he could see the shapes of sentries on the parapets. They would see him. Surely they would: a small figure on the muddy, pockmarked plain below. They would see his pursuers at the very least. That would get their attention if nothing else. He was almost there. Almost there!Another shudder in the air behind him, and the earth exploded in a surge of sweltering heat to his right. He stumbled, but kept going, trying not to run in a straight line. Don’t look behind you, Oen. Don’t even look. The gate was close now. Surely he was within range!Another blast, closer this time, and he felt fire scorch the armor on his back. The shock from the blast sent him forward on his hands and knees, dazed and weak. Get up. Get up. You’re a sitting target. They’re drawing a bead on you right now. But it was hard...he was so weary, and there was no sign from the wall. What if they couldn’t see him? What if they didn’t care? He wasn’t fast enough...Was this the end? After all this time, after this long, desperate chase across the war-torn plains, he would die here on the edge of safety? Was that truly how it would end?No. The tablet was in his hand, and suddenly he was up again, running with faltering feet toward the distant wall, arm upraised. The symbol on the tablet flashed and flickered in the dull light as he surged forward. Can you see it? Can you? I’m here! Look! Look at me!And then he felt the heat at his back again, and the ripple in the air, and knew that they had him. Time seemed to slow, and he stumbled once more, hand still raised. His eyes closed, and he waited for the end.A flash of light blazed around him, and he felt the surge of energy scorch the air into smoke, as he fell forward—--but he did not die. A shadow fell over the ground, and a rush of expanding air washed over him. A hand gripped his shoulder, hauling him upright, and suddenly there was another mask staring into his face. A Mask of Teleportation, and then it was a Hau again, and another blast of energy poured over them, but it did not touch them. Strong arms lifted him, and the Toa spoke:“Cutting it close aren’t you, Matoran? Where is Toa Kitah?”“Sh-she—” he gasped, still dazed, “She d-didn’t make it.” The tablet was heavy in his hand. It had been Kitah’s, before she died. It was her Pass, her identification, before the cursed Skakdi burned a hole in her back. She had pressed it into his hands, as the life slipped from her.“Get going,” she had rasped in his ear. “Still...still a chance.”Her breath had rattled in her chest as they both lay hidden in the muddy ditch, and then she was gone. The last of his companions, gone. It was only him now...he was the last. He had wept bitterly, clamping his hands tightly over his mouth for fear of alerting the patrols. Harsh tears that were lost in the rain. You are the last...Suddenly Oen realized that a Suletu was staring down at him now. A moment passed, and the gray Toa nodded in understanding, his face strained with the weight of shared memory. They had given everything for him, everything they had...it was a heavy thought.But then the Toa’s eyes flicked up toward the horizon. The Kualsi was back, and the world reeled and flashed away as Oen, last survivor of the Millennium War, was carried to safety behind the Looming Wall. ------------ For the Ambage Fortnightly Flash Fiction Contest. Theme: Tablet of Transit.JRRT
  24. Voltex

    Betrayed

    BetrayedThe battered Le-Matoran glanced nervously at the imposing fortress of cold, dark stone that stood before him. His armour was chipped, scratched and dented from a long journey, and the remnants of a travelling cloak he wore little more than rags. His once bright green armour had stained to a muddy shade of brown during his travels, and his eyes were dim. His hands trembled as he began to limp toward the fortress, his right leg twisted at an odd angle.He had been told that the cracked stone tablet held in his shaking fingers would save him at the end of his journey, and that he should protect it with his life. That he had done, and had paid dearly for. A rockslide caused several islands back had ruined his leg, and an unintentional dip in a dense mud pool had made him unrecognizable.It was the garbled, alien hissing that slowed him to an unsteady halt so close to an ancient wooden gate that he could almost taste it. His breath started to come out in ragged gasps and he found it hard to breathe.Until now the Le-Matoran had never witnessed a Rahkshi outside of the stories his old Turaga used to tell. Now with the creature staring at him from the other side of the gate, he noticed that the stories did the Rahkshi no justice. They were far, far worse in person. He could hear the Kraata squelching as it squirmed within the shell; the way the Rahkshi’s spine curled slowly first one way, then the other. The staff of the Rahkshi was glowing softly as if already in use, as if it were already busy injecting pure fear into him.With trembling hands and weak arms, the Le-Matoran slowly lifted the stone tablet up, offering it to the old oaken gate. The Rahkshi let out a faint hiss and it reached a smoothly armoured hand through the crisscrossing wooden beams, latching onto the tablet and prying it out of the Matoran’s hands. He watched as the Rahkshi seemed to inspect the cracked tablet, before it let out a high-pitched shriek. The Le-Matoran clapped his hands over his audio receptors, wincing as the harshly high-pitched noise sliced through his head. He shut his eyes tightly and doubled over in an attempt to drown the sound out. After a minute it ended abruptly, a hoarse voice that sounded as if it had not been used in many years speaking to the Rahkshi in front of him. The Matoran stood up slowly, involuntarily flinching when he saw the Makuta. The Makuta spared him no more than a passing glance, seemingly more interested in the tablet now in his hand.The Matoran fought back the urge to scream when the Makuta dropped the tablet to the ground and then crushed it under his foot, grinding it into dust for good measure. The Le-Matoran stumbled back as the Makuta passed through the gate, but did not fight back as the Makuta grabbed him by the neck and lifted him into the air. Fear clouded the Matoran’s mind, paralyzing him so that he could not speak to ask what was going on.A second later it was too late for the Matoran to do anything. The Makuta flung his arm and let go; the Le-Matoran flopped to the ground, scattering a few stray pebbles as he landed with a final crunch. A small breeze picked up, scattering the dust of the tablet across of the ground as the Makuta passed back through the gate, nodding to the Rahkshi before vanishing from sight without glancing back at the Matoran so easily betrayed.The End.Eh, it's not that great, but I'm not gonna have any more time to write up a new entry or edit this one more, and I must post it to enter.-ibrow
  25. Ambage-Hosted Fortnightly Flash Fiction Contest Entry List Theme #1: Red Star Entry #1:Member Name: Danska: Shadow MasterTheme: The Red StarWord Count: 804Link to Story and Title: The Hole in the SkyEntry #2:Member Name: Quote (Mr.Traveler) [aka: Grant-Sud]Theme: The Red StarWord Count: 998Link to Story: Weeping StarsEntry #3:Member Name: iBrow VoltexTheme: The Red StarWord Count: 804Link to Story: In the MourningEntry #4:Member name: ChroTheme: The Red StarWord count: 995 (approx.)Link to story: SnowfallEntry #5:Member Name: Clockwork KineticistTheme: The Red StarWord Count: 325Link to Story: CheckmateEntry #6:Member Name: TolkienTheme: Red StarWord Count: 985Link: Hue #1471Entry #7:Member Name: Lord DarkonTheme: Red StarWord Count: 557Link to Story and Title: CrimsonEntry #8:Member Name: dotcomTheme: Red StarWord Count: 844Link to Story and Title:Crimson Note
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