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Winter Years By Peach 00 The enchanting winter background was a sight of wonder for the small town. The crisp and clear silvery silhouette of the moon shone beautifully over the town square, while every shimmering star was like a diamond glistening against the velvety, blackness of the boundless horizon. There was a woman dressed in black boots, denim jeans, a grey pom-pom hat and a black wool raincoat. She had twinkling brown eyes and shoulder-length brown hair, and she was walking in the inches of pure white snow in the plaza area of her hometown. The town, Tahlonega, would rarely ever get snow this time of year – it was also a rare amount of snow, specifically ten inches. This was infrequent in the small southern community, and a blessing to each citizen, as they had not received such a large amount since almost thirteen years ago, around the time of Christmas. Had it really been thirteen years ago? She smiled for a moment. Tomorrow was Christmas, perhaps her last Christmas in the little town of Tahlonega, as next year she would probably be moving to Florida. She would never see snow for quite a long time, as the comfortable temperatures of winter in Florida didn’t even dip anywhere near the thirties the majority of the time. Katie Atkins was walking around the town square alone and she was thoroughly enjoying the decorations. Every where her eyes wandered, the wonder of Christmas time seemed to overwhelm them. How Katie would miss the beauty of the town square during the holidays…all the tiny little shops, the heavenly aroma of fudge wafting from the bakery, the pizzeria near the college, and the little odds and ends shop that sold all sorts of different things. This was naturally her favorite – she could buy anything in there, always finding something that would interest her intensely. The bare trees near every sidewalk were decorated with beautiful golden glowing lights intertwined between every silver branch. There was a wreath decorated with red ribbons on every door in the square, and a “Merry Christmas” sign hung just below each wreath. The white snow covered the sidewalks as it fell from the skies in little powdery flakes to form fine snow crystals on the ground. They were like solid teardrops falling from the grey night clouds…they made her sorrowful and reminiscent of times previous when the elegant snowflakes had fallen from the dreary horizon. She recalled all those times when she had taken the snow for granted…before it was a simple production of the weather. She felt the same of the little town of Tahlonega, with its sometimes homely but endearing little shops and cottages. She then thought of Christmas…all those wonderful Christmases at her house were taken for granted. Now she realized they were the most joyous experiences of her life, although she did not consider them that way when they occurred…she regretted not savoring them a little bit more at that time. As she strode leisurely around the small plaza, she saw the extravagantly ornamented and large Christmas tree standing in the town center, adorned with dozens of scarlet ribbons and inexpensive reflective ruby red and emerald green ornaments. She grinned ear to ear at the sight of it. It was such a beautiful celebration of the holiday to her. She looked at the time. It was midnight – it was now officially Christmas. She knew she had better get home, and right before she left, she took out her cellular phone, snapping a picture of the tree as she was about to leave the town center. She viewed the photograph and a smile formed on her lips. Katie was running in the splendorous downfall of snow, cherishing the cold flakes falling on her face, and when she finally reached her Honda Fit, she noticed something in the window of a shop. It was a gold-chained necklace, and the ornament on the necklace was an oval garnet, with small opal jewels surrounding it. She noticed the shop was just about to close, and she rushed towards the shop as she saw the owner about to leave. The woman was rather plump, with raven black hair and a large black overcoat and gloves. She looked about fifty years old, and was just about to lock the shop with her keys. Katie hurried over to her quickly and tapped her on the shoulder. “Excuse me, ma’am?” Katie asked hastily. “What is it, miss?” the woman replied irritably. “That necklace in the window…how much is it?” she questioned. “It is thirty dollars,” she answered icily. “But I am sorry, we’re closed.” “No, no, please,” she pleaded with her. “It is very important that I get this necklace. You see, this is my last time here in Tahlonega, and I would really like it as a reminder –” “I am sorry, we’re closed,” the woman retorted. “Please, ma’am!” Katie begged. “I will pay you fifty dollars for it instead!” The woman paused for a moment and sighed. “Alright,” she relented. “But I’ll only take cash for it now. Do you have the money?” “Yes, yes, I do –” Katie answered, digging into her pocketbook for her wallet. She looked to find only twenty five dollars, and her heart stopped. “I’m sorry…I only have twenty five dollars.” “That’s fine, miss,” the woman replied with a hint of smile. “That will be enough. Merry Christmas.” Katie smiled. “Merry Christmas, ma’am.” She handed her the money, and the woman opened the store back up and put the necklace in Katie’s hands. She locked the store and headed towards her car down the street, and Katie grinned. As she opened her car and seated herself in it, she glanced at the beautiful pendent she was beholding, and smiled at the generosity of the woman. Never would she forget her holiday spirit, or the winter years that went with it. ~:~ This is my first FFFC, and I'm hoping it will place high despite it being a last minute entry. Enjoy. ^^
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I know this write-off happened weeks ago, but hey, I decided I liked this enough (and like it as it is and as short as it is) to see what others think. There is two changes between this and the original 15 minute spurt of typing. I added the "-" in "stone-workers" and changed "losing" to "risking" in sentence 6. Enjoy. ------------------ Throne The throne was ugly. Flat slabs of stone that had been laid close to each other, joined by whatever device the stone-workers had implemented. Grey, rough, unpolished stone cut at right angles with no curves to ease your body into. The guard carefully watched at the townspeople lifted the throne with ropes onto a wooden stage, also rough and unstained and (in some areas) with bark still attached to the planks. The whole thing was heavy with the scent of pine. You probably couldn't walk across it barefoot without risking a toe or two from infection by splinter. The throne was placed in the middle of the dais on a large rock that extended beneath the platform and into the ground. The ropes were yanked from underneath just as the procession neared the town square. “Hail the king!” someone cried, and everyone fell silent. Before their eyes a middle aged man, ragged and limping, was herded into the square by a group of guardsmen. He stumbled, hobbled, and walked dazedly, but as soon as “Hail” had been cried he stood straight up, startled, began to walk towards the platform. He reached the base of the steps up, and hesitated. A guard lashed out with a gauntleted fist and knocked the man down, kicking him until he scrambled up giving small sounds of pain as he tried to move gently across the wood to sit in the stone throne. “Hail the man that would be king!” the head of the guard cried, taking a brand from one of his fellows and thrusting it beneath the platform. Within minutes the structure was licked from side to side by flames, and the man in the middle could be seen to be huddled on the throne, sweating profusely. Heavy with resin, the structure burned remarkably fast until all that remained was the scorched rock in the middle, the withered man whimpering from burns, hunger, and thirst. “Hail, the man who is king! May the reign of the Throne of Fire be long!” The head guard called, dismissing the crowd to go silently home as their king was lowered from the ugly throne.
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The wind died suddenly, as if ashamed of its ferocity and the damage it had wrought. The fire borne upon it faded as well. Along with the danger so too, gradually, ended the fear of the villagers. They rose from their ruined town to rebuild what they could, although they knew the wind and the fire would return. It always did. The one structure untouched by the tempests every single time was the old Brotherhood fortress in the western hills outside the village. This understandably led to rumors that it was the source of the winds, and everything else for that matter. And it very well might have been; the word was that Rahkshi were periodically unleashed from the foreboding edifice, sent to run free and wreak havoc on the town.The diversity of these monstrosities meant that the damage was always different; be it plasma-charged tornados, a weakening plague of silence, or any other terrible result, the people of the village feared it all the same. These attacks were meant perhaps to keep the Matoran in check, although thoughts of rebellion of any sort had long ago been eradicated. Even hope of peace was merely a fiction to them now.This truth was unanimous save for a single person. He wore a weathered grey cloak, and nobody had seen him at all, save for his granite-hued feet and hands. The being’s voice was low and carried the weight of ages. The Walker, they called him. He was not of the same village, a nomadic traveler; still, he had remained there for a few weeks, his road onward being blocked by the ferocious windstorms, as well as their source.But at the end of the storms, as the villagers emerged, the Walker set out with a purpose, striding stoically through the rubble, off west towards the hills and the fortress. Nobody knew what he intended, nobody knew why; but they all stepped aside as he walked on. Straying from the village, though they knew not why, the Matoran silently lined the windswept dusty road into the hills. The path ended, and the traveler walked on; and still the Matoran followed in his wake. At last he reached the hills, not slowing down. Unblinkingly he drew a black, roughly triangular stone tablet from within his cloak, and continued on, clutching it in his right fist. Coming briskly and purposefully to the dread black gates, he raised his left arm across his chest without slowing, still a few bio away. Fingers splayed, he threw his arm horizontally away from him; the old iron flew open with a tremendous clang, and the Walker continued unfazed. His entourage slowly spilled through behind him, fanning out to either side.The being went on. The Matoran of the decimated village continued behind as if in a trance. At last the Walker stopped, immediately at the vast black doors. There was a flawless silence. Finally a great creaking of rust and blight cut the quiet off, as though of a beast unwilling to be shifted; but the great black doors began to slide apart. The crowd and their leader held like stones. Only darkness emanated from within the fortress; no light, no joy.The Walker noiselessly raised his arm, and held up the Tablet of Transit that he dared to carry. It was pointed towards the fortress, or rather the unseen occupants that no doubt lurked inside.Another rumbling sounded from within. This was undoubtedly movement, not the stationary weight of the doors. A large form stepped into the light, though it remained clothed perfectly in darkness. Bifold points flared to life, bright lavender in the dark, though they lit nothing but themselves. Whorls of pure emptiness, the essence of the dark, spiraled out from the imposing figure, shadowed eddies reaching toward the Matoran, creeping along the ground like baneful smoke towards their feet.Emboldened by the courage of the Walker, they remained where they stood, though whether this was truly foolishness or bravery, they did not know. The figure in the door still did not change his position, but an intense vibe of malevolence shone off of him. The Walker and his people did not move as black winds swirled around their heads. The tail of his cloak billowed to one side, though his hood stayed up, as did his hand, with the Tablet.The barrage of umbrage and dark power ended abruptly. The Makuta had clearly seen the triangular stone. He blinked and spoke, his voice rich and deep, echoing wisdom and earth, rather than the corruption and fear that his species was associated with.“You bear a Tablet of Transit. You... are a friend of the Makuta. I ask you, wise one, what is it you wish for these people?” He gestured to the Matoran.The Walker had had enough. "Life. Harmony. No more destruction.”“Perhaps I can do this. Give me the stone.” The Walker stepped forward. The shadows swirled thoughtfully about the rock, before it was lifted into the doorway and enveloped by the dark. The being in the door turned and walked inside. Before he was fully out of sight again, two lavender points gazed back over his shoulder. “You must know, wise one, that there is a price for using this.”“I know. That’s why I brought it.”The gates rumbled slowly shut. The Matoran began to slowly walk back to the ruins of their village, though the Walker stood right where he was. Nobody was still around that night to see him traipse off into the hills again.Two years had passed from the day of the Walker’s excursion. The village was prospering, the fortress was abandoned, and the attacks had ceased.A herald sprinted into the home of the town’s leader bearing melancholy news.An old Turaga of Iron had been found lying outside the town’s perimeter. He was dead, arms crossed on his chest, a cloak folded neatly beside him, and a smile on his face.Hope you all liked that. I decided to write another (better) entry, after my first one turned out poorly. Rings in at exactly 999 words! Decided to go with my strength- original, non-canon scenes and characters. This one portrays the Tablets themselves slightly differently than they are mentioned officially- more like a token than a free pass, if you know what I mean. Anyway, feedback is appreciated!EDIT- Just noticed I typoed the title. Son of a gun. Can I get that fixed somehow?
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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
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For a long while now I've been considering joining the Ambage. When the Ambage first started up a while ago, I was skeptical that it would last, for all of the other BZP writers' groups/clubs I'd seen in my time always died of inactivity (not to mention they seemed more focused on giving out "rewards" rather than actually encouraging writers to improve their craft). I fully expected the Amabage to die within a month or so; after all, that's what happened to all of the other BZP writers' groups/clubs and the Ambage didn't seem any different to me. To my genuine surprise, however, the Ambage has not only survived perhaps longer than any other BZP writers' group/club, but is actually thriving. It made me rethink my decision not to join it, especially when I saw how many of my fellow writers have already joined it. Problem is, I'm a loner. I have no problem working with others, but I've never been a fan of clubs that reward members with "points" for completing certain objectives as if writing was some kind of video game. To me, writing is its own reward and these "points" and "rewards," I felt, would actually distract me from writing something good or worthwhile or even just entertaining. The clubs just never seemed helpful; after all, there are a ton of books and websites out there that can give you a much better idea of how to write effectively than anything these clubs could offer. Not to mention I'm not sure how active I want to be in the group. I don't want to join and then never actually do anything or participate in any of the contests or write-offs the group does. What would be the point of joining if I was just going to act like I wasn't a member? I just don't know how much time I want to spend on it, but at the same time I don't want to feel guilty for not being as active as I "should" be (whatever "should" means here). So I've decided that I need some compelling reasons to join the Ambage. Anyone who is a member of the Ambage or has had experience with the Ambage may explain, in the comments section, why I should join the Ambage. Your comment doesn't need to be particularly long or detailed, but please don't say "Because it's fun, of course" or some such thing because then I'll ignore you. I'll decide for myself if it is fun, thank you very much, although if you think it is fun you can explain why you do anyway. Also note that I am not going to be making a decision based purely on what people in the comments said. I've already thought very much about this decision and am only doing this blog entry to open me to alternative reasons or points of view that may not have occurred to me. It will be entirely up to me to decide whether to join the Ambage after this. So y'all better pull up your salesperson pants and tell me why I should join the Ambage. -TNTOS-
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HENRY WAS SHIFTING THROUGH OLD STUFF. Old old stuff. It was so strange to look back on. He was eighty-nine, so his high school memories seemed like an eternity ago, and yet like it was only yesterday. Surreality, the strange serendipity of looking at the things that looked like they were written by another person, yet he could feel that young man inside himself. This was the young man who, in third grade, wrote terrible letters and random doodles all over his schoolwork, and in eighth grade still had a scrawling handwriting that seemed nothing like his own but was filled with familiar ideas...........Then he encountered the gold mine, his high school papers. He looked them over, read every single one. These were from when he was discovering who he was, finding out what he believed in and what he stood for in this world. Even then he was still at the beginning, but at least it was a beginning. These were the manuscripts for the pilot episode of his life...........But they were more than that. In spite of being a wealth of knowledge documenting his early sense of wisdom, there were stories behind each paper and each note. He found a notebook with a handwriting he now recognized as his own detailing his observations on “Beowulf”, and another with notes he took for Mrs. Peterson’s Biology class. He got into an argument with someone at that time over how notes should be taken. There was also an essay about Theodore Roosevelt’s “New Nationalism”. Henry could still remember what other people had to say about it, and friends he had in that class...........They were filled with memories. Some painful, some beautiful. But they were only memories now. He remembered being sad knowing just how inevitable that was...........He put down his old, old stuff. How was it that he was a man with thin white hair now? He had become so used to being an adult. It was almost unthinkable that he was once a teenager...........“How’s your studying?” asked his wife, Josephine. She entered his office with a loaf of bread that she had cooked...........“I don’t think I want to study,” said Henry. “Younger minds can figure out this political drama. You know what I think I want to do? I want to find my friends from high school. I haven’t seen any of them in over thirty years.”..........“Are you sure you can do that?”..........“The doctors say I have a month to live. What else do I have to live for? I want my old friends there with me when I die. The ones who knew me when I was a child.” He got up and grabbed his cane. Josephine helped him along. They discussed the matter more as they walked through the house and they came to the conclusion that they were going to go through with it...........So Henry made a few calls. One was to his dear friend Rob, his best friend in high school. After some digging, Henry managed to find his letterman Jacket and met Rob at his house, all the way back to his home town...........Rob lived next to the cemetery...........As it turned out, Rob took the initiative to make a few calls of his own and invite other high school friends, including Emma, who was once a cheerleader, and Agatha, whom Henry had once dated. He blushed to see her. There was also his football friend Randall...........“This is such an unexpected surprise!” said Henry. He counted heads. There were four of his friends. “Where’s Dave and Gerald?”..........“They passed away,” said Rob. There was silence. Rob tapped his foot...........“Oh,” said Henry. Those two, Rob, and himself had been the best of friends. They were inseparable. They were always there for each other. They went to each other’s birthday parties, had meals at each other’s houses. They were family, man – family. “I wish I could have been there for them.”..........So they spent the afternoon eating the stale food associated with old people and enjoying themselves in the pale pastel colors of Rob’s living room. They talked about life, how far they had come in the last thirty years, their grandchildren, and what they were doing now, only to find that nobody had been doing anything. Emma and Agatha left, leaving just the men to hold counsel among themselves...........“Show me where they’re buried,” said Henry...........They left Robs house and visited the cemetery. Rob crossed a hill and found their friends’ gravestones. They weren’t too far off from the place where Henry’s parents were buried. They stood there in silence, and then fell to his knees, where he bowed his head in prayer for a long, long time in memory of his old, old friends...........“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. Now there’s only two of us left,” said Henry...........“I’m here,” said Randall. “It don’t matter that I didn’t eat with your folks. I’m still your friend.”..........“Rob, Randall,” said Henry, “I want to spend as much time as I can with you before I go. Will you be there for my funeral?”..........“Yes,” said Rob. “Henry, I really miss you. I have other promises to keep. Do you remember those things we said we’d do, but we never did them?”..........“I do.”..........“Dave and Gerald aren’t around anymore to complete it, but Randall can help.”..........It wasn’t the same Randall wasn’t part of those times when the four had gone camping together and dared to share their dreams.. Yet, it was better than nothing. “Yes, I would like that very much.”..........He bowed his head one last time to Dave and Gerald’s graves. He had promises to keep, to them, to Rob, to himself, to his parents, to God. Even at this late hour, it was still necessary for him to remember who he was. Even now, a child...........And so it was that the beginning was the end. 24601
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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.
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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
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The air felt heavier in my lungs at night, like I was breathing in a bog. Even though it had been only two months since life had become like this, I still felt myself doubling over, unadjusted to the change in the environment. It had only been such a short time, two months, but forever it had felt like it had been this way. With conveniences so long accustomed to rendered useless, life had become a burden. Nights would find me open eyed in the kitchen, not needing the rest I almost ached for in the day. A shadow by sunlight and a ghost by the stars I was, gazing emptily out the window over the dish filled sink. The moon hung full over the calm ocean, its pale light rippling the sand from here to there with shadow. As the waves broke on the flooded sands, I felt the water underneath my feet, seeping up through the tile. The tides were the highest they had been since the hurricane, the groundwater rising into the house. I could feel it just under my feet, a miserable reminder of what this place had been through. I just wanted it to pull away, all in one receding wave; I could not rebuild with a wet foundation, and wanted nothing more than to be dry.When one stares long enough, their tired eyes play tricks on them. I had been tired for a long time, and my eyes were beginning to see shapes in the sand. In the black ocean against the dark sky, something was out there on the horizon. Leaning over the dishes to get a glimpse, I was certain that there was someone out there. Walking along the shoreline, there was a silhouetted figure, bending over with every occasional step. Letting myself down, my interest had awaken me from the daze I had been, as I stared out there, wondering who could it be.***My run along the beach led to a Toa of Earth, picking masks from the sand. He had come from the ocean, his skiff nearly invisible on a sandbar in the mild surf. Picking up the masks like seashells, insouciantly adding them to a pile, while I looked on, revolted. Hundreds of masks had laid right in front of my house, the sea spewing back what it had taken from the island, and I had been completely oblivious to it. “What are you doing?” I asked the Toa. “Leave them alone!”“I’m collecting them,” he replied simply; either he did not know these were the masks of my brothers and sisters, or was apathetic to my cries.“The sea takes the extraordinary and leaves the rest to be,” I quoted. “Let them rest in peace!” I grew angry when he kept collecting, ignorant of my demand. “These masks came to me,” he informed, “So what should I not take what is given? As tragic as it may have been for what happened to these Matoran, the island does not need these masks anymore. You would collect them yourself eventually, but what would you do with them? Maybe someone somewhere else needs them.” I cocked my head towards the moon, thinking on that. Letting them back to sea would be honoring their memory, but there was no arguing this with him. He was going to win this argument, no matter what I did or said. “Your island needs healing,” the Toa said, pushing a toe through the sand. I cast my eyes back to the shack I had come from, seeing ruins where a fine house had once been. The dunes were swept away to reveal a porch in shambles, the wood warped by the tides that had rushed forward in the floods. I winced at the sight of it, hurt by my own apathy. I had done nothing but let whatever dignity I had left deteriorate, and now my apathy was breaking me to pieces. “Maybe you need it too,” he added, placing a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. Looking me in the eyes, he could see the echoes of the pain as I remembered the storm. “Leave here,” he advised. “Go where your mind will be at peace. Let me take care of the land, so one day it will be fit to live on again” “How do you know what is right for here?” I demanded. “Stabbing a wound will not make it heal,” he countered. “Staying here will only make it worse for you. Leave. I will bring to this island what you won’t expect, and that’ll make it all the more interesting if you ever return.”“Where would I go?”“There is a meadow, far inland,” he explained, pointing beyond my house. “The woods will lead you there. The path may wind and fork, but trust me, it all goes to the same place.” “And you swear to…?”“I will help this island as best to my ability,” he nodded, a grim smile on his face. “Now go. Take what you have left and go. There’s people in the meadow, and trust me, it’ll do better to have company there than to spend the winter here alone.” I nodded, bidding him farewell. As I regarded the dark sky beyond my home, I felt the breeze tickling my neck, the quiet calling of winter. The woods beyond the island were dark, and I would spend many days in there before I waded through the grasses. I didn’t want to leave, to sever the connection between myself and the island. You can only appreciate this place once you leave, I thought grimly, as I followed the darkness to where I solid ground lay. ****A work that took a few weeks, based off of a dream and the "Pathfinding" Theme of the Fortnightly Flash Contest. I'm a bit out of practice, so feel free to tear apart.
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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
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Per popular request of the Ambage, we tried to create a script-comedy live in one of our skype sessions. Editing fell to me (I hate you guys) and here's the result. This will hopefully be the last of it's kind, so don't expect guest stars or even a second chapter.So here it is, a legendary event in BZPower's history: The epic writers of today harken back to their ancient days of "ask" studio comedies in a fit of nostalgia-fueled bad judgement! Critics are spread wide on this heavily controversial topic: --- [6:15:26 PM] Kakaru: HI GUYS THIS IS THE "ASK THE AMBAGE" SHOW, WHERE BZPOWER'S MOST PROLIFIC WRITERS ARE STUFFED IN A LITTLE ROOM UNTIL THEY DISCUSS BANNED MEMBERS AND OTHER HORRORS UNEARTHED FROM THE DARK CORNERS OF BZPOWER.[6:15:41 PM] Kakaru: SOUND OFF, WHO'S HERE TONIGHT.[6:15:43 PM] Zarayna: XDXDXD[6:15:50 PM] Kakaru: ZAR![6:16:13 PM] Zarayna: Zar is Nick and Nick is Zar, but Zar is not Nick and Nick is not Zar.[6:15:52 PM] Nick Silverpen: APPROVED.[6:15:55 PM] Kakaru: AND NICK![6:15:54 PM] Aderia: Not me. I'm busy having a lif.[6:16:00 PM] Kakaru: AND ADERIA IS BUSY.[6:16:11 PM] Kakaru: HAVING A LIF.[6:16:23 PM] Kakaru: UNDOUBTEDLY STOLEN FROM OUR WARHOUS.[6:16:48 PM] Kakaru: SPECIAL GUESTS INCLUDE THE NIGH TUGYS![6:17:00 PM] Kakaru: AND GROCHI, THE RESIDENT EVIL![6:17:06 PM] Zarayna: Well, Kakaru, from my latest statement, people might be thinking we're going a little insane here. What's your thoughts?[6:17:18 PM] Aderia: Were you here when I used "meese" as the plural of "moose"?[6:17:20 PM] Kakaru: I'M RUNNING THIS SHOW DARNIT.[6:18:00 PM] Zarayna: This is an ask comedy, and I asked you a question. Is it not your purpose to answer?[6:17:28 PM] Kal Grochi: I'm not the resident evil.[6:17:37 PM] Kakaru: Shh yes you are.[6:17:35 PM] Kal Grochi: I'm the resident wild card.[6:17:41 PM] Kal Grochi: The resident evil is probably Ced.[6:18:04 PM] Kakaru: CEDERAK IS NOT HERE.[6:17:55 PM] Kal Grochi: Maybe somebody else.[6:17:57 PM] Kal Grochi: Aderia, is it you?[6:18:11 PM] Kakaru: RRGH[6:18:13 PM] Aderia: He's like a strawberry biscuit, Grochi. You're just jealous.[6:18:14 PM] Kal Grochi: Like -that- ever happens.[6:18:19 PM] Kakaru: TWELVE SECONDS IN AND WE'RE ALREADY DERAILED.[6:18:32 PM] Kal Grochi: I love you guys. --- [6:24:02 PM] Kakaru: Okay, let's get this boat sunk.[6:24:04 PM] Kakaru: HI GUYS THIS IS THE "ASK THE AMBAGE" SHOW, WHERE BZPOWER'S MOST PROLIFIC WRITERS ARE TAUGHT NECROMANCY UNTIL ALL REMNANTS OF PRETENTIOUS NOTIONS OF GOOD WRITING ARE PURGED FROM THEIR MINDS AND THEY DIE.[6:24:11 PM] Kakaru: WHO'S HERE WITH US.[6:24:30 PM] Zarayna: Well, Kakaru, there appears to be a Zar present.[6:24:44 PM] Zarayna: Where do the others hide themselves?[6:24:58 PM] Kakaru: In our warhous.[6:24:52 PM] Aderia: In bunkers with skylights.[6:25:02 PM] Kakaru: Shh Aderia.[6:25:06 PM] Kakaru: Go back to the warhous.[6:25:05 PM] Zarayna: But we're already stuck in one bunker.[6:25:10 PM] Zarayna: Who wants to be in another?[6:25:20 PM] Kakaru: Is that a legitimate question?[6:25:27 PM] Kakaru: You know the cameras are rolling, right?[6:25:30 PM] Zarayna: Yes it is. Count your blessings I say![6:25:47 PM] Zarayna hits his head against the ceiling.[6:25:57 PM] Kakaru: Darnit Zar, stoppit.[6:26:06 PM] Zarayna: If you can't pass five, I think you can still list them all.[6:26:11 PM] Zarayna rubs his head.[6:26:14 PM] Kakaru: Our ceiling isn't covered by overhead costs.[6:26:31 PM] Kakaru: *rimshot*[6:26:36 PM] Kakaru: Get it?[6:26:42 PM] Zarayna: Yes, I noticed. At least it is better than the damage of Grochi's headbutting?[6:27:05 PM] Kakaru: Er, that's technically not covered by our insurance either...[6:27:10 PM] Kal Grochi: I only headbutt people.[6:27:13 PM] Kal Grochi: Not ceilings.[6:27:22 PM] Aderia: And play harmonica over voice chat.[6:27:19 PM] Kakaru: Hi Grochi also.[6:27:23 PM] Kakaru: Back in the box with you.[6:27:31 PM] Kakaru: Aderia no[6:27:32 PM] Kakaru: Back[6:27:32 PM] Zarayna: And it is detrimental to stomachs, not to mention life.[6:27:35 PM] Kal Grochi: I've been on the chat numerous times without doing tha-[6:27:39 PM] Kakaru: Shh Grochi.[6:27:38 PM] Kal Grochi: NO NOT THE BOX[6:27:40 PM] Kakaru: BACK[6:27:42 PM] Kakaru: BACK[6:27:43 PM] Zarayna: I think out insurance plan needs to be changed.[6:27:47 PM] Kal Grochi: Why do I have to be put in the box?[6:27:51 PM] Kakaru: NO[6:27:55 PM] Kakaru: THE CAMERAS GROCHI[6:28:02 PM] Kakaru: YOU ARE ON CAMERA[6:28:06 PM] Kal Grochi: Wait, camera—Oh.[6:28:00 PM] Aderia: Come on, Grochi. We're not appreciated here.[6:28:10 PM] Kal Grochi jumps back into the box.[6:28:13 PM] Kakaru: Shoosh.[6:28:15 PM] Kakaru: Okay no wait.[6:28:18 PM] Kakaru: Don't go forever.[6:28:30 PM] Kakaru: We need people to send questions in to Zar.[6:28:44 PM] Zarayna: Aren't you questioning me?[6:29:01 PM] Kakaru: I don't know, you seem to have a lot of questions of your own here.[6:28:17 PM] Zarayna: So Kakaru, we're in yet another boring day in this bunker. How do you rate the air today? I think it's a little less breathable. Why is that?[6:28:39 PM] Kakaru: Er, the air is uh[6:28:47 PM] Kakaru: poisoned.[6:28:52 PM] Zarayna: Right.[6:28:57 PM] Zarayna: Explains the good smell.[6:29:10 PM] Zarayna: At least death doesn't hurt too much.[6:29:09 PM] Kakaru: And yeah, arsenic smells like almonds.[6:29:15 PM] Kakaru: Not that I'd know.[6:29:17 PM] Kakaru: heh heh[6:29:22 PM] Aderia: How is that comedic?[6:29:29 PM] Zarayna: Kakaru, is there something you're not telling us?[6:29:35 PM] Kakaru: Dark humour is what all the cool kids are into.[6:29:47 PM] Aderia: Because BZP is so full of those.[6:29:17 PM] Zarayna: I guess I like turning the tables.[6:29:47 PM] Zarayna: Aderia, have you ever seen Zar trying to turn a table?[6:29:59 PM] Zarayna: He can carry them around, but he's never tried turning them.[6:30:15 PM] Zarayna: I understand after the first tries his spiked mace comes out.[6:30:21 PM] Nick Silverpen: Hey is anyone besides Aderia and me doing the write off?[6:30:30 PM] Kakaru: Woah hi Nick again.[6:30:36 PM] Nick Silerpen: Hey Kakaru.[6:30:36 PM] Kakaru: (someone close the studio doors!)[6:30:49 PM] Kakaru: (and the box lid!)[6:30:48 PM] Aderia: Eli! he forgot to close them on his way out![6:30:48 PM] Zarayna: Good lord brothers, let us write![6:30:54 PM] Aderia: Somebody kickban him.[6:31:13 PM] Kakaru: kickban Zar[6:31:17 PM] Kakaru: no wait shoot[6:31:18 PM] Zarayna: Comedy chapter one done.[6:31:20 PM] Zarayna: (Cut!)[6:31:31 PM] Kakaru: That could have gone worse.[6:31:46 PM] Kakaru: NOW THE AFTERPARTY[6:31:50 PM] Aderia: TASTE THE RAINBOW[6:31:53 PM] Kakaru: I HAVE PRETZELS[6:32:02 PM] Aderia: (skittles, anyone?)[6:32:04 PM] Zarayna: I have a ketboard.[6:32:06 PM] Zarayna: Let's write.[6:32:10 PM] Aderia: dude[6:32:13 PM] Aderia: i want a ket board[6:32:16 PM] Kakaru: Ketboards for lif.[6:32:22 PM] Aderia: Gotta be better than a clatterboard.[6:32:27 PM] Kakaru: hahahaha[6:32:38 PM] Kakaru: What are you saying about my presence in voice chats.[6:32:34 PM] Zarayna: ...[6:34:43 PM] Zarayna: Chapter one is 774 words![6:34:48 PM] Zarayna: THIS COMEDY ROCKS[6:35:29 PM] Kal Grochi: (Can I come out yet?)[6:35:31 PM] Aderia: ELI![6:35:41 PM] Aderia: You missed the afterparty.After editing, 1143 words. Zar is a liar and a vagabond.
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Weeping Stars Special.It was the first thing that came to her mind when he started to cough again. She stared down at his body, spread out on the bed half covered in sheets, the other half exposed to fresh air. He was constantly either with a fever or shivering with the chills.A face, puffed up under the eyes, red at the cheeks. Lines under the eyes brought up from all the late nights, stricken with tiredness. But that was her face, not his.She moved the hair from her eyes and placed a cool towel on the young Toa’s head. He was breathing easily, but it was shallow. He didn’t get a coughing fit all the time, but each time he did it only reminded her of how much time he had left. He was a wielder of stone, so he was meant to be stronger than this.At least that’s what he believed.They were both Toa. She was one of Psionics, and he was one of Stone. Living as two of the guardians in their village wasn’t always easy. Matoran, people similar to them in every way except for their special abilities, constantly asked for requests and help. They were so different when they both discovered their power over the elements a few years back. They were almost total opposites in everything, mind and strength, humble and proud, even their skin color, white and dark brown.But… there had been an attraction. And years later, now married and surprisingly happy, they didn’t seem so different any more.They just seemed like one person.And she was about to lose her other half.“Are you okay?”She glanced his way and smiled, standing above him next to the bed right beside the nightstand. He wasn’t even looking at her, just staring up into the night sky by the window. She had just gotten back from a dispute going on in the village. Usually she would have taken her time. Today, she simply ended the silly brawl, forcefully.Today was not the day for pointless distractions.“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” she replied, frowning.“You know how I am,” he said, finally looking at her. He wasn’t downhearted, and he seemed comfortable.It had struck only weeks before. He started to feel dizzy on patrol, tired often. Then he started to vomit and get headaches.It was an ‘infection’, the local doctor had told them, a Makuta virus that could have been obtained from anything, from anywhere. Sometimes it took effect over physical bodies, or the mind, but it was usually something that could be cured.But this one was different, he had told them. It was attacking one organ in the Toa of Stone’s body, the heart. And there was no known way to counteract it now.“Would you mind grabbing me something…”“Anything,” she said, quickly, quietly. There was no light in the room, because the glare made his headache worsen. Only the stars gave them a soft light.“…I really, really want a chocolate chip cookie. A large one.”She almost laughed aloud as tears sprang to her eyes.“Oh yeah? The ones you like, at the bakery, right?”***When she returned he looked worse.The local baker was well aware of her husband’s condition. The two had been friends for years since the Toa of Stone had stopped a fire at the establishment.With a saddened look, he had given her the cookie for free. A large one, just like he liked it.Sitting on the bed, she handed him the cookie, now unwrapped, and he started to break it apart at the edges, placing each piece in his mouth.“I’m going to miss this the most…” he broke off a piece and gave it to her. She ate it, not hungry. As she chewed she kept her eyes on him. “The little things, see, the daily events that don’t seem important. Those are my most cherished memories with you.”His eyes seemed a little blurry, his breathing weaker. He reached out with his fingers, slowly wrapping them around her nearest hand.She started to choke up, so she leaned in and pressed her forehead to his. She didn’t want to keep watching him.And then he started to whisper.“I had a dream, of us. In Paradise, on this planet that never seemed to end…” she started to open her eyes, not knowing if he was delirious or not. “Our friends were all there, even the ones we’ve lost. Your sister was there. I was there… We’re all happy, we’re safe.”“K-kinda like in Artahka right?” she said, smiling and whispering back. But she didn’t believe a word of what he said.“No. This place was real. I saw it.” He stared up at her, and she forced herself to believe what he said, even though she didn’t understand.“I’ll be back. At some time and place. And I promise I’ll see you again…”***She walked out of the house, feeling the crisp winter air biting at her skin. It was somewhat refreshing though. Cool and real. She was lost right now, her mind numb. Her husband had passed away only moments ago.She glanced around, Matoran were watching her, their eyes all asking the same question. They all knew the answer.Reflexively she brought a hand to her mouth, taking a big bite out of the half eaten cookie. It tasted wonderful and still a little warm.Glancing upward as she chewed, she didn’t want to feel any emotions, for a few more minutes. Being a Toa of Psionics had advantages.Then, she noticed something.What he had been looking at from his window, far in the sky, high in the heavens. It glowed brightly, among millions of its brothers, but it was unique. The red star.It felt like it was staring down at her pitiful form, asking her to notice him; glowing with a promise.____The entire story including the title all come to a total of 998 words. This is the first Bionicle story I've written where they are portrayed as humans. It's an entry for the Ambage Flash Fiction Contest, Theme #1: Red Star. The story was published a few days ago in my short story collection... but since all the other entries were posted in the Short Stories Forum I thought maybe I should as well.
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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
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Theo payed an unexpected visit to his grandson's house."Who are you?" asked Michael."I am you grandfather, Theophilus Rhodes Zweifel," he said. He stood in the doorframe for a full beat before Michael turned around to look at a woman with short hair and bangs hanging in his face, the woman that Theo knew from the pictures in the newspapers was his granddaughter-in-law. What a shame he wasn't invited to the wedding.Ah, and how precisely like his father, Leonidas, did Michael appear. The same narrow features, the same princely looks, the same flaming orange hair that crowned the head of every man in the Zweifel family. It was a shame that Michael had lost his eyes in such a tragic accident."I'm not sure who you are, but you should leave," said Michael, and he closed the the door, but Theo blocked it with his foot."Not so fast, son," he said. "I know you lost your eyes, and you can't see me, but the physical resemblence that you have with your father, and therefore me...well, let's just say that my instinctive narcissism fills me with pride."That shy young lady, so thin, so hidden, slowly came up from behind Michael. He looked down to where he felt her hand on his arm. "He does look like you, just thought I'd mention it.""Well, regardless, you will let me in. I'm the current head of the treasury. I have some authority. Not that it demands that I be let in, but I'm an important man in the government all the same. It looks like the same could be said of you, Michael!"Michael backed up. Theo allowed himself entrance into the room, unashamed of himself."I'm familiar with the name. Head of banking or something like that," said Michael."You heard the name and didn't wonder if, by chance, that some Swiss immigrant with the same name as you was of some relation?" said Theo. "Well, as it happens, I have been unable to contact your father. Have you been in touch, Michael?""We don't talk.""Ah, like father, like son like grandson," said Theo. He leaned in with a smile. "I think that it's about time that we break that tradition. I would like to work with you, Micahel. You're perhaps the richest man alive thanks to your lucky investments. Very lucky investments, not to mention the surreal experiences you've gone through that make you quite unlike any man alive. Yet, you have no friends, only a wife and a sister to keep you company. What a strange hermit you are. With my help, I think this company you own could contribute to the world in brand new ways. What do you say?""Get out," said Michael."No, I don't think I will. See, I pulled some strings. I'm afraid that by several unique legal requirements, you must work with me. I just wanted to see if you would have shook my hand otherwise. Good day, Michael. I will see you tomorrow at work."Theo tipped his hat and left, flashing another evil smile. He was the luckiest grandfather in the world.
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Something a Makuta Never DoesGali spun around, landing hard in the mud. She grimaced and rose, just in time to be blindsided by the Makuta’s Nynrah missile. Slamming to the ground for another time, the Toa of Water found that she was unable to move her mechanical components. The cacophony of the surrounding aerial battles was drowned out by the pounding in her ears. Despite this she could hear the next words perfectly.“Tsk tsk,” the spindly white Makuta muttered in a viciously calculating, yet somehow sympathetic voice. “I must admit I expected slightly better from you, as you are a Toa Nuva. Well then.”There was a slight rushing noise like a cold wind as Krika stepped elegantly next to the fallen Toa. Suddenly she whirled back up, preparing to counter his attacks, but he struck again swiftly, pinning her arms to the muck with his insectoid limbs. Before she could make another move, before she had time to concentrate, he had swung her unceremoniously onto his back and ascended into the mist, hovering over the brackish Pit water and the bizarre vegetation. As Gali returned to her senses she realized that they were traveling away from the other Toa and Makuta of Karda Nui. Where was he taking her? And why?Reaching a clearing ringed by sickly trees, Krika alighted on a mostly solid patch, and dropped Gali off his shoulders with surprising gentleness. The Ga-Toa rolled over and groaned, shaking her head. Then she looked up at Krika.“Why have you brought me here? Why not just… kill me?” She was not fearful, but somewhat curious; in her experience the Karda Nui Makuta usually were more brutal and direct, not insidiously plotting, like Teridax or Mutran were. Gali silently prepared to manipulate the mutagenic water to wash Krika away, but she decided to hear him out before acting. In a hushed voice that lacked his previous severity, he began. "I am doing something a Makuta never does… I am offering mercy.”Gali was momentarily confused by this apparent change in heart. Was Krika sincere? Or was he merely toying with the Toa of Water? But his offer continued.“Flee, Gali. Leave this place, go anywhere in this universe, but do… not… stay… in Karda Nui." Ah, she knew this was a plot, now. Feigning sympathy in order to get the Nuva out of the equation. A bit less violent than the majority of the Makutas’ plans, but that would just make it more convincing. She decided that Krika was smart enough to know that it wouldn’t fool six Toa; it must be directed specifically at her, then. Not the most solid idea, but the alternative was even more unbelievable, Gali thought. “Why do you want me gone? Or… do you just want one less Toa in Karda Nui?”Krika sighed. “You would have made a good Makuta, Gali.” Another attempt to fool her… though an odd one, to be sure. But the Makuta continued. “You are far too clever to be a Toa. I tell you this…” Ah, this wasn’t good. Krika knew she was aware of his plan. “You Toa Nuva are here to awaken the Great Spirit Mata Nui, a mission that requires all six of you… I tell you…” Had he hesitated then…? She wasn’t sure. Her concept of understanding the Makuta’s deception was being weakened. Krika continued with more conviction. “…And I tell you that if you do that, you and everything you know will be doomed to a future more horrible than you can imagine. Leave now, and that future… cannot!... come to pass.”Gali suddenly had radical thoughts. Was Krika really warning her of danger? Did he feel in some way compassion for the Toa in general, or just Gali? Was he rebelling against the other Makuta? Gali wasn’t sure what to say. Krika began to say something else, but suddenly he cried out and shot out above Gali, landing gracelessly in the swamp behind her. He hissed and pitched forward, a yellow haze smoking off his back. The Toa of Water turned back to see a foreboding grey and white titan before her, like some vision of terrible untruth. She tensed, ready to leap up and attack him. In his clawed hands, she saw, was a glowing blade of golden energy. Her eyes traveled up the being’s body to his mask. And to her horror it resembled… the Avohkii?“Takanuva?” Gali was quite surprised. “Is that really… you? But your armor, your mask…! What happened to you?” The warped Toa sighed much as Krika had not a moment before the Av-Toa’s own arrival.“I’ll explain later. For right now… we need to find the others. If I’m right, everyone in this swamp has only hours to live.” Gali reeled. Was Krika telling the truth after all? Or was some unknown suicidal plan concocted by the six Makuta coming to fruition? Gali shook her head to clear her thoughts. Right now she needed to meet with the other Toa. She decided not to share with them her encounter with Krika, however. - - - With a roar the three vehicles soared off out of the Codrex, the engines’ din reverberating around the giant metallic sphere. Gali, Tahu, Takanuva and Onua stood in silence, gazing off into the foggy swamp through the circular openings near the ceiling. The previous events had left Gali’s mind, preoccupied as she was by the task they were in the midst of.But outside the Codrex, in the middle of a newly vacant clearing, there lay a stone tablet half-enclosed by the murky water, bearing the seal of the Kraahkan upon it, lying just where Gali had unknowingly left it.So, there goes my first entry for this week, my second flash-fiction piece overall. (I may write another, hopefully better entry.) I've gotta say for this one... meh. I had a good idea which evaporated somewhere along the line, and I was left with an awkwardly expanded version of a scene from the comics. Decided to keep and post it anyway. This is based off the comics, by the way, taking the same dialogue and all that- I didn't work off the same scene's depiction in the books, as I haven't read 'em. There are nine-hundred-forty-something words in here, for the record. Anyway, tell me what you think, I suppose.
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This here's my entry for the first Ambage Fortnightly Flash Fiction contest, the topic for this week being the Red Star. Snowfall rings in at about 990 words, so I cut it kind of close. The story is about a run-down team of Toa stationed in an abandoned section of Ko-Metru during the Toa - Dark Hunter War. Anyways, enjoy.Asiar opened his eyes.What was that noise?It was a rumbling. Vague, steady, low. Like a celestial gate being raised, or a Great Being himself setting foot upon the world, Asiar thought. He’d always had good hearing- and imagination- and he wondered then if anyone else had noticed the turmoil. Or was it his subconscious playing games…? Perhaps the tension from the last battles had simply carried over. Now, there were only seven Toa left in their encampment.The thin Toa of Stone quickly swung his legs off the edge of the bunk he'd been resting on, planting his heavy feet firmly onto the chilled ground. He needed to find Lusath.Striding swiftly outside, Asiar ventured off towards his friend’s tent. Slowing his pace to enjoy the crisp air, Asiar took in a deep breath, raising his eyes to the horizon; all around were crystalline towers, lancing brilliantly into the sky, the glow of knowledge visible easily in darkness. Higher still in the sky Asiar saw a peculiar red haze, a stronger light of the same hue nestled at its center; what this was exactly, he was unsure. Shrugging, he continued on his way. The blue shine of intelligence reflecting off of the ice gently repelled the smooth blackness of the night.Upon reaching the next tent, Asiar lifted the doorflap and peered inside, allowing in a discharged flurry of eager snowfall. Lusath stood within the tent, his close-fit emerald armor reflecting the glow of the overhanging lantern. Asiar saw that Valere was present as well, her cobalt Hau set in a grim expression, along with Intris, whose burnished black armor betrayed his status as a Toa of Magnetism. Surveying the occupants, the Po-Toa walked quickly inside, dropping the flap behind him, so that it rolled off the edge of his shoulder like rain.“Well,” Asiar began after greeting them, “I was taking a bit of a rest, you see, and-““You were awoken by a noise you heard from afar… After exiting the tent you saw the crimson astral anomaly that has remained overhead for the past few hours.” Asiar grunted acknowledgement, nodding his agreement. He’d forgotten how astute Intris was with his Suletu.“We’re not sure what it is,” affirmed Lusath, the Toa of Plantlife continuing where Intris had left off, “it may have been above us for forever, but just recently, the brightness has intensified. This could be symbolic. But superstitions aside, my friends… to business.”Rising from his seat, Lusath gestured at a map laid out on a table in the center of the tent. “The Dark Hunters have sent two regiments of soldiers towards us by this route.“ He pointed out a path, twisted as a Doom Viper’s neck, along a canal, scything azure across the pristine Ga-Metru district depicted by the parchment before them. By this time the other three Toa had gathered around, and observed the stratagems and tactics proposed by Lusath. “Honestly, I propose that we send in for reinforcements; after we lost Megrel, Adray, Farro…” he trailed off.The Dark Hunter insurgents were relentless; so many of the defending Toa had been slain in recent weeks. In wartime like this, losing allies and friends mattered emotionally even more than it had in the past. When your ranks fell apart, Farro had once liked to say, so did your resolve and your sanity. Though it may have seemed an obvious sentiment, this creed became profound to the last seven Toa there; there, the encampment, unfortified, calling the streets of Ko-Metru home, Asiar reflected.The thoughtful Toa was startled back to reality by a faint increasing whine, like air being forcibly shoved aside by a hurried traveler.“What…” Valere noticed it as well. She rose from her seat cautiously. The sound increased drastically, suddenly resolving itself into a hoarse yell, and then there was, in quick succession, a grinding impact, a grey form tearing through canvas, and then a blur of brown motion, a woomph of air being expelled unwillingly, and then snow, quiet and pure snow drifting down into the tent.Through this blur of motion the Toa had stood, dazed, but now they could see what had transpired. A Toa of Ice, by the looks of it, had fallen from some indeterminate height, easily level with the surrounding knowledge towers, crashed through the roof of the tent, and likely would have impacted heavily, if not for Asiar’s split-second instinctual Calix usage, and his natural strength.The three Toa who were still on their feet, Asiar having knelt down next to the fallen Toa, gathered around in shock, looking down at him; steam rose from the body, ashen armor edged with white lay cracked and shattered, and a pale broken Arthron rested upon the face. In great surprise, such as one does upon witnessing a Fikou slay a Muaka, Lusath identified the Toa below him as one he knew. But, Lusath recalled, he had not known him for a long time.“Adray…?” How was this possible? A friend, a brother, who had been dead by the hands of the Hunters for years, was lying before him. The other Toa ringing the body were just as surprised; they had all seen the brave Toa of Ice executed cruelly by a now-nameless Dark Hunter. There was no way in Karzahni that he had returned.Languidly, as though moving any faster would kill him outright for a second time, Adray opened his eyes. The cobalt hue was faint, as though death had achromatized its essence. Just as slowly, Adray began to raise his arm, the others around holding their collective breath in incredulity. And as the revived Toa of Ice pointed vertically, into the night sky, towards the Red Star above, he uttered something that made absolutely no sense to the observers."Long way down...”A brief explanation about the story: Anyways, hope you all liked the story. As this is pretty much my first story, reviews are appreciated. : )
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Witness Her foot slipped and skid against the concrete as she shifted back against the wall, grinding up dirt and mud against her soles. She sat quietly next to the dumpster, placing her hands over her mouth to stop any instinctive sounds she’d let out. She breathed in through her nose, in and out, over and over again trying to keep calm as she rocked in place.Her eyes were closed shut, tightly, trying to collapse the vision that she had just seen.The rain poured down around her, the clothing she wore was soaked and her pants were dirt ridden. Rain fell on this gray night, the dark clouds illuminated by the city’s lights. Lampposts lit the street beyond her, but the alley covered her in shadow.Slowly dropping her hands to reside limp on the ground, the smell of the garbage beside her was finally recognized by her senses. But she ignored it. It didn’t mean anything to her. She just tried to breathe. She needed air, time, and silence, regardless of how stale and musky the oxygen seemed to be.After the longest minute of her life, she moved her eyes around the corner of the brick building, slowly sliding her sight of the street into view which was hindered by her current position in the alley.With her back pressed to the wall, to make herself as invisible as possible, she took in what was before her.The man was standing above another. The one on the ground was on his back, rain pouring down on his clothes and face, as though he was in tears. His chest was a mixture of blood and mud and water. He was as dead as stone, and his expression was hidden from the girl’s sight.And the well-dressed, fully-alive man, the one drowning his lungs in smoke from his cigarette, held the gun at arm’s length.Her eyes widened, and her breathing shook again. She gasped, but she was sure the rain and thunder covered over whatever small whimper had escaped her mouth. The girl’s hand had reflexively grasped her thigh and she started to squeeze, stopping only when she felt the pain that had reached its way through blue jeans. That pain reminded her that everything was real. The gunshot she had heard wasn’t thunder. The flash that emitted after the trigger was pulled wasn’t lighting.The man retrieved the cigarette from his mouth, pausing to gently exhale all the smoke from his lungs, before he flicked it on to the corpse. In his large trench coat, he turned and his eyes scanned toward the alley way's direction.She immediately pulled back and held her breath.Rain pelted the buildings’ walls and concrete paths, against the dumpster like drums, and she felt like a prisoner. Unable to muster the courage to move, the girl heard every splash, every foot fall as the man drew closer.It seemed like any moment he’d shoot her next. And she would swear she felt the bullet strike her, the trigger sound being clicked. She flinched.But he moved on. He was unaware of her. His silhouette was dark and she could make out nothing about his facial features. With smooth steps he left the street, leaving behind the girl.Unknowingly, he had left behind his witness too.And that witness, would be the first part of a series of clues that would lead to his downfall and arrest for first degree murder. Her life would be forever changed by the event, and though she brought a criminal to chains, to this day she would never choose to relive those moments again. No one could fully know what it meant to stay silent and alone, and leave her place to face reality. To keep watch on that cold body from a distance, stare at that hidden face for the longest time and come to a conclusion: she did have the option to walk away. She didn't really know anything about it, and she didn't have to get involved.The girl hesitated.She couldn’t remember what raced through her mind after that, if anything had. She only knew she was scared. Fear kept her numb.Still… there were other emotions that kept her feeling intensely.It took a little time, but she eventually slumped herself out onto the street to get a second look.____To be honest I'm surprised that the story was this short, but for the Ambage Challenge #2 (my word if it's not obvious, being "Witness") this was the idea I had, and I just didn't feel the need to add anything more. It's not much, but I really enjoyed this story and wanted it as a separate topic instead of just in the SS Collection Topic I have. Hopefully you enjoyed it and thanks for reading! =D
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SO YEAH I GUESS I HAVE LIKE 240 POINTS OR SOMETHING SINCE I DID SEVERAL OF THESE MORE THAN ONCE NOT THAT IT MATTERS BUT I SUPPOSE THAT I SHOULD LOG THESE SINCE I'M A SLIGHTLY MORE INVOLVED AMBAGE MEMBER NOW Into the Sky(pe)! - Participate in a Skype Write Off (5 Points) Home Row Heavyweight - Finish a write off story with over 600 words. (15 Points) Manuscript Kiddie Pool - Post a short story. (10 Points) The Daunting Task - Post an epic. (15 Points) Not For the Faint of Heart - Write a substantial adventure. (10 Points) It's Close to Midnight… - Write a substantial thriller. (10 Points) Wrote one. 115 Do. Or do Not. There is No Try - Write a substantial sci-fi story. (10 Points) Vague Subject Matter - Post a story in Completely Off Topic. (10 Points) Here Lies Punctuation - Find at least 10 grammar/spelling errors in a story. (5 Points) Critical Thinking - Substantially review a short story. (10 Points) A Lovely Contestant - Participate in an official BZP Writing contest. (10 Points) Challenge Accepted - Enter an Ambage-hosted contest. (10 Points) I Don't do This for Free - Make Andrew beg you to write a story for him. (20 Points) Worth A Thousand Words - Create a piece of art for an Ambage project. (10 Points) No Rules! No Rules! - Fail to log your achievements for confirmation. (10 points) Dude, Where's My Anthology? - Take charge. (50 points) Troublemaker - Get banned from the Skype writeoff group five times. (20 points) Accredited - Use a conversation from the Ambage to write a college-level discourse. (30 points) Green and Purple - The official chat sucks anyways. (10 points) Salted Watermelon - Join the Ambage. (10 points) Before It Was Cool - Transfer membership to the Ambage from the BAG or other previous BZPower critics club. (20 points) An Cool Dude - Revise your story to make it BZPower-appropriate. (10 points) Cheating the System - Make your own achievement. (10 points) Can't Stop Me Now - Create over ten custom achievements. (20 points) Death Row - Get banned from the Skype Writeoff Group Indefinitely. (100 points) Saturday Night Massacre - Ban at least three Ambage members from the Skype chat in one night. (100 points) Come On Come On Hit Me - Ask to be banned. (20 points) Never Dead - Come back after being banned forever. (20 points)
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The warm golden fingers of the crepuscule were withdrawing. The gilt was melting off the trees' leaves, leaving the auburns and ochers of autumn to their own polychrome. A chill wind whistled through the branches, with a nuance of humidity that foreboded rain. Below, gloom was gathering among the tree trunks. Leaves crunched beneath the feet of two peripatetics as they sought their way through the forest. It was a relaxing stroll gone awry.One was a short boy with unkempt yellow hair. His ears were small and his mouth antithetical in size. Dressed too sparingly for the collecting cool he shivered, his arms folded.His companion was nearly twice his height, with unusually short legs and long torso. Beneath an orange and black coat he was contentedly toasty.Asked the former, "Haven't we passed that same stump seven times?""What makes you say that?""The moss growing on it looks like a three-headed space alien with tentacles."The other scratched his chin. "You know, I do remember that. I think you're right." He frowned. "But that's the first time today." He rolled his eyes and walked on."Hey, I wasn't leading when we got lost, remember? You wanted to lead, and I was benevolent enough to let you.""Benevolent!" the lanky scoffed. "You've lived here your whole life! You must have been in these woods hundreds of times! Don't you know where we are?""You've been here as many times as I have, fuzz-brain.""Always with you leading. You never let me before. How should I know my way?""What happened to that instinct you always brag about? You should be able to find your way out ""I'd be able to smell my way out of here if someone hadn't avoided his bath last night.""Then why'd you help me hide?""I didn't think our lives would depend on my nose!""If that ever happens we'll be doomed. You couldn't smell your way out of a paper bag.""I'd like to see you try it!""I'll find my way and without my nose.""Then why don't you?""It would be easier if you would keep quiet," the yellow-haired boy retorted. "And if my foot wasn't throbbing with every step!""I told you not to cross that log. It was too high.""You could have told me a little louder.""Is that rain?" The taller companion raised his face to the sky. A large, fat drop landed on his nose with a plop. He squirmed with distaste. "Great, now we'll be lost and wet.""Didn't I tell you the forecast said it would rain today?""Just because they're lucky every now and then when their psychics are right doesn't mean there's any reason to believe them.""I'm surprised you couldn't sense the rain with your 'instinct.'"As the rain fell harder their dissentient discussion rapidly developed into an altercation, an event not at all out of the ordinary."Look, pal, if you don't keep quiet I'm gonna leave you out here in the cold alone!""If you do you'll only die of starvation while I find my way home. Lemme go!"With a fist to his captor's stomach the yellow-haired boy freed himself. He received a kick to each shin in retaliation. Best of friends and best of foes, they broke into fisticuffs in earnest."Why don't you take a long walk on a skyscraper?" snapped the taller."Dr. Frankenstein called today, he wants his monster's brain back!""Your lips are moving but I only hear a buzzing sound coming out!""That must be your brain sizzling!""Slob!""Noodle-head!"A new voice broke into the racket. "Calvin! Calvin!"The contenders broke apart. Quoth the shorter, "Mom?""Calvin? Calvin, where are you?""Over here, Mom! Over here!"Crashing through the brush she appeared beside them. She held a flashlight in one hand that illuminated her face. It was a contorted mixture of choler and relief."Where--have--you--been?""We got lost, Mom! It's Hobbes's fault! He was leading the way, but he had no clue where he was going.""Don't tell lies!""But it's the truth! Hobbes has no sense of direction!""He couldn't have got you lost and you know that. He's just a--Oh!" Without warning she fell to her knees and wrapped her son in her arms. "I'm just glad you're all right! Let's get you home and into a warm bath."An hour later, snug and cozy in his bedroom, Calvin gazed from his window. The moonlight glazed the treetops with silver, setting each raindrop scintillating like the stars above. From here the woods, so frightening and frustrating not long before, became picturesque, even halcyon."You know, Hobbes," he sighed, "getting lost wasn't so bad, after all. Not when you look back on it.""It could have been worse. We might never have found our way home. It was still a bit scary, though.""Not as much as it would have been alone. Together, it wasn't so bad. Finding your way is a lot easier when you have a friend to help you find it.""It's even easier on a full stomach," the tiger countered. "Let's go back tomorrow--but after dinner, okay?" Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith
