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Linear Stories Contest- March/April
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PostPosted: Mon Mar 27, 2006 8:02 am    Post subject: Linear Stories Contest- March/April Reply with quote

Time for March's competition:

You will have about 3 weeks to write a short story, edit it, and post it for consideration. Post entries before or on April 14. Polling begins April 15 and ends April 20.

Proof readers will take your story, break it down, make sure it fits the word limit, grammar, spelling, plot, character development, etc. are all present and correct.

You can make changes to your story all the way up to the final posting date. After that, the stories that have not passed the critique will be disqualified. Those that are left will be put up for a vote for anyone to vote on.

If you win, you get to brag for a whole month, have your story immortalized in the City Auditorium, and earn a Fable reward in recognition from our Mayor.

This will be run like a professional writing contest. Your story will be edited, picked apart, and thoroughly looked at. If you exceed more than ten spelling or grammar errors, your story will be given back to you to rewrite. So check your work.

If your work goes over the word limit it will be given back to shorten. If it remains the same length it will be disqualified.

If your story does not follow the topic and genre, it will be given back to you to rewrite.

Things that must be right vs. artistic freedom- There are things like plot, and flow that might be your intent. That is totally cool. A proof reader might suggest that you pick up the pace or add more detail here and there. That is your choice to do or not. If you feel the story can stand on its own without change that is fine. Spelling, grammar, genre, word count, etc. are expected to be correct, no exceptions.

If you are proofreading- Look for spelling and grammar mistakes first. Word count comes next. Then answer the following questions for the story.

Did it stay within the genre?
Did it follow the topic?
Did it have a beginning, middle, and an end?

After you have done this feel free to comment on the story as you see fit. Bear in mind that anything beyond what is listed above is pretty much considered opinion. This can be taken or left by the author.

The genre and topic for this month:

Genre: 1900 words, author's choice of thriller/horror or action/adventure

Thriller/horror- A thriller is a story intended to evoke strong feelings of suspense and danger, usually involving a high-stakes hunt, chase, or a race against time. Thrillers often involve espionage, crime, medicine, or technology. Horror fiction aims to evoke some combination of fear, fascination, and revulsion in its readers. This genre, like others, continues to evolve, recently moving away from stories with a religious or supernatural basis to ones making use of medical or psychological ideas.

Action/adventure- These stories feature physical action and violence, often around a quest or military-style mission set in exotic or forbidding locales such as jungles, deserts, or mountains. The conflict typically involves commandos, mercenaries, terrorists, smugglers, pirates, and the like. Stories include elements of courage, male bonding, and betrayal, as well as lore on technology, weapons, and other hardware.

Topic: The staff of a publishing firm, intending to generate a popular book series, creates a conspiracy theory in the form of an urban legend, over which they lose control as it begins to be believed.

Good luck, and be creative!
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Last edited by ethereal_fauna on Sat Apr 15, 2006 4:51 pm; edited 2 times in total
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PostPosted: Mon Mar 27, 2006 8:28 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

*eyes shining magically* Love it Fauna, great idea. :biggrin:

*wanders off to ponder*
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PostPosted: Mon Mar 27, 2006 1:56 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Oh....*grabs a book of urban legends to find a nice one to base jump off of*
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PostPosted: Mon Mar 27, 2006 3:20 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Well, I've thought of the opening few paragraphs, but after that...Mmmm.
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PostPosted: Fri Mar 31, 2006 7:40 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

By 1900 words, I hope you mean up to and not exactly... Oh well.
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PostPosted: Fri Mar 31, 2006 7:42 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Suppose I'll kick things off. It's right around 1500 or so words. Thought I'd try something a little new and Bram Stoker-ish... Here goes...


One day while cleaning out the basement of the old police station, you stumble across a rusted up old cabinet that was left with the lock hanging loosely off the handle. The corner was dark and cobwebbed and you could hear things scattering across the floor with each of your footsteps. For a second you wonder what they are, but decide that it’d be better not to ask.

Curiosity gets the best of you and you cautiously open the creaking door with trembling hands. Sure it’s more than likely something just left over from some half forgotten murder from years or even decades ago, but you don’t care. This is just way too cool to believe.

Within the beaten cabinet, lying covered in a thick veil of dust is a book. That’s it. There’s nothing else. What could be so important about such a battered old manuscript that it would get its own little cabinet in the heart of pig land?

Your interest held captive by the mystery that was so kind as to break up the monotony of a regular workday, you begin to investigate the thing. The cover has faded and it is scratched, torn, and stained beyond belief. A yellowed tag scrawled upon in almost unreadable black ink is attached with a peeling scrap of scotch tape. You reach inside the small coffin like space and remove the tome. Dust billows out, forcing you to fire off a half suppressed sneeze that barks back at you in an eerie echo off the moldering walls of the darkened cellar.

The seemingly ancient piece of parchment reads, “The Journal of Jonathan (The last name is scratched and marred to such an extent that is illegible.)”

That’s it. No letters, no numbers. None of the stuff used to classify it as evidence or even to make it useful in a case. It gives you the impression that it was more than likely never meant to see the light of day, much less a courtroom. The idea compels you onward. The lure of the forbidden fruit is not a foe easily beaten. You can ask Eve on that one.

Cracking open the leathery cover and dispersing even more dust, you begin to scan along through the entries dispersed amongst the strangely intact pages. Most of it is just same old, same old. A boring guy with a boring life. Nothing new there. It, for the most part, is nothing more than a chronicle of his rise to chief editor at a local comics company, the name of which also so happens to be conveniently removed.

But then, suddenly, you stop at one entry, it drawing your eyes like a magnet for no real apparent reason. It could be fate, destiny, magic, or even voodoo for all you know, but eventually, you begin to read despite your better instincts…


… January 5th…

Yet another day of staff meetings and round table discussions. Absolutely nothing new. I am so tired of hearing the same crap over and over again. Nobody has had any real ideas in what be months now and what I’d refer to as a sense of impending doom was prevalent, seeing as we haven’t had a successful seller in over six months. The company teeters on bankruptcy. Better start looking for a new job.

… January 11th…

We got a new intern today. Seems like the silent type. Kind of moody. He wears all black all the time. But, hey, who am I to judge? For some reason, I get the impression that he might be creative enough to save our behinds. Maybe he’s just what we need, a fresh perspective. Here’s hoping…

…January 13th…

His name is Albert (the last name is scribbled out with a permanent marker). He all of a sudden ripped loose with some awesome new ideas. It was great. Just the sort of stuff to save us all from chapter eleven.

He opens up with, “What if vampires were real? What if they were walking among us and we didn’t even know it?”

“What if they were under the protection of several influential community members? Businessmen, doctors, cops, whatever it takes. These guys are all in some weird little satanic cult and they protect their ‘gods’ in hopes of becoming one themselves.”

Not our usual thing, but maybe this idea will save us if it properly comes to fruition. With the right marketing and sales, we may just make it.

…January 20th…

Various discussions and meetings later and we’re chugging along at racehorse pace. This guy is so full of ideas that he’s become something of an “undead guru” for everybody at the office. Seems he’s had this planned out in his head for some time now. Almost like he really believed it…

…February 1st…

Oh my God! The idea was approved! They loved it. This is great. The intro chapters that we all pulled together are on their way to the press now. Ads should be making their way into all kinds of stuff. The firm hinges on this now.

Strange side note… Al wasn’t at work today. Seems odd that on the day of his triumph that he’d not be there.

…February 10th…

Over a week and no call from Al. I’m starting to worry about the kid. Hope he’s ok. Maybe it’s just the bug that’s been going around. After all, it is flu season. Still doesn’t explain why he hasn’t called.

…February 12th…

The books were made ready to ship today. According to the hype, they’re gonna be big. Really big. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get…

Wait… what is that? I hear a knocking on my window. Maybe it’s just a big bird or something. Probably a bat, given the time of night.

The knocking won’t stop. I’ll go shoo it away before it gets really obnoxious.

It was Al! Holy crap! I have no idea how he got up on my ledge, what with it being five stories up, but there he was. He was ghastly pale and shaking. Poor guy seems scared senseless of something. He can’t even talk right. I brought him into my apartment and laid him out on the couch. I fixed him some soup to warm him back up, but he just refuses to touch it. He looks absolutely famished, but he insists that he doesn’t need any food.

Maybe he wants something different. I really just pray to God that it’s because he’s not a big fan of Campbell’s chicken noodle. I threw in some hot pockets. Hope he’s not hooked on crack or heroin or something…

That’d suck, especially considering that that is grounds for immediate termination. He’s far too talented for that sort of crap. I’d hate to see it happen to…

Give me a sec. There was just some sort of noise from the den. I’m gonna go check on him real fast… Be back in a minute.

(Oddly enough all the rest of the pages are completely blank, seemingly untouched by the hand of man but there is a torn newspaper page sandwiched between the back cover and the rest like some sort of hasty footnote added at the last second.)

Removing the fragile document, you examine it closely, as if your very existence depended upon its contents.

“LOCAL EDITOR BRUTALLY SLAIN IN MIDNIGHT ROBBERY!” Jumps off the page at you like a bright neon sign. You scan the article, but notice, much to your chagrin, that once again all the last names are removed. Something is really wrong here. The censorship seems a bit too cautious…

A little bit to the side and below, it reads “Local Publishing House Closes Down… New Brainchild Killed by Religious Group Boycott.”

It continues on to describe how several prominent community leaders formulated a committee to curtail sales of the controversial new graphic novel due to its controversial nature. They claimed to oppose it on a “religious grounds,” although they would not state exactly what those grounds were.

Footnote upon footnote. How utterly strange…

It is then, as your eyes scroll downward that you notice something scratched in what you hope is faded red ink at the bottom of the clip in read ink even though on some primal level, your brain registers and recognizes the faint coppery smell.

“Jon, I’m so sorry. You were a true friend. The least I could do was make it quick,” The despairing hand reads.

A cold breeze that chills you to the very core of your soul dances across the back of your neck on winged feet as you slam the book shut. You shiver impulsively. Literally throwing the blood stained volume back in the filing cabinet and securing the rusty lock, you think that maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea of all time to poke around in the police station basement as you run out of the subterranean wasteland beneath the police station.

It’s obvious that this stuff is something that wasn’t meant to be seen; otherwise it wouldn’t be down here with the rats and roaches. Luckily, you don’t look over your shoulder as you flee up the stairs.

Otherwise you may have noticed the sinister figure lurking deep within the shadows, watching your every movement with burning eyes and craving for your blood with razor like fangs that had had not even years nor decades but instead centuries to hone their deadly craft.

I, for one, would be not surprised in the least if you were to receive an unexpected visitor tonight…
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Last edited by Jack_D.Mented on Thu Apr 13, 2006 10:39 am; edited 1 time in total
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PostPosted: Fri Mar 31, 2006 10:55 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Good story Jack. Very enjoyable Cool
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PostPosted: Sat Apr 01, 2006 2:00 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Glad you thought so. Hope others like it too.

Thought maybe I was risking it by trying the journal entries thing, but I've always been a huge fan of the original Dracula novel and it was just something I had to get out of my system and try for myself.
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PostPosted: Sun Apr 02, 2006 2:14 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

My turn....
--------------------

Pay Up Suckers.

Hey you Guys,

Do you recall that bet we had before I left, you know the one and if you've 'forgotten' well let me remind you. The five of you bet me a hundred bucks that I would go stark raving mad after just one year trapped in the void of nothing that is Oucklebootchie Florida. Well I've had an adventure that I don't want to repeat...lemme tell ya all about it.

I was transferred down here to help the Oucklebootchie Cap and Feather publishing company put out it's first successful novel in years. It was supposed to be based loosely on the local legends but...well you know how these things go.

When I got there the whole staff of the Creative Idea's division, both Earl and Little Davey, were ranting and raving about dragons, wizards, and all the rest of that crap that's flooding the market these days. I love a good fantasy novel as much as the next person but sheesh...a fantasy author can't make a living these days without pirating someone else's ideas.

Anyway I managed to pry them away from their pixy dust and sugar-coated snowflakes long enough to make them remember the guidlines of the original project. At that point, with the big city hot shot here to take the fall if the book was a flop, they opened up with all kinds of startling little tidbits of town lore, any one of which might have made an interesting story in its own right.

Well I eventually picked out the quaint little town myth that the Fountain of Youth actually existed in the swamp somewhere on the outskirts of town...and we managed to write a successful little book about it. You might even recall the title...'Bayou Youth'. I've taken the liberty of sending along a signed first edition for you all to choke on.

Anyway the little book, and we took the novel approach of putting this forth as fact...sorta like Dan Brown did with the Da Vinci Code, and you can't imagine the media firestorm that we received...or maybe you can unless you all lost contact with your TV sets, magazines, newspapers, and radio stations.

Everybody and their dog was down here looking for that god dammed fountain. They didn't even believe us when we said the work was fictional...they just thought we were keeping the secret to ourselves and would storm off, determined to uncover it and wave it in our faces. We didn't care, we were making money hand over fist and what are a bunch of pissed octogenarians going to do...slip laxatives in our brownies? Spike the brandy with prune juice?

Well that's how we thought until one night, we were pulling a late shift brainstorming the sequel, when the windows of the room blew in and several heavily armed men in black rappeled in from the roof...which is pretty silly considering the window's only four feet off the ground. They demanded that we put our hands on our head, and when somebody's pointing an automatic assault rifle combination grenade launcher in your face you're in no position to argue.

Then the man who seemed to be their leader, well at least I think that's what the red kerchife on his head signified, squatted next to us and demanded, in poor English, where the Fountain of Youth was. No matter of explaining seemed to disuade him of his mistaken information...no matter how many times we gently explained that the book was just a quaint little Oucklebootchian legend he'd just gently shoot another toe off one of my unfortunate collegues.

I still have all my digits, luckily, but only because of the timely intervention of a group of Oucklebootchie's Finest. That's right old Sheriff Fat Joe Stevens and his deputy, Bob, came up to the door and offered these terrorists from Shumckastan some coffee. Well those shumcks jumped outta their skins and started randomly firing at the sheriff and he only managed to survive by using his metal thermos and tin lunchbox as a pair of bullet proof sheilds.

Me, I climbed out an open window and fled into the swamp, convinced they'd be right behind me. I later found out they were all scalded to death by hot coffee when Joe tossed his thermos at them in disgust. I just ran deeper and deeper into the woods...and that started the second phase of my problems. The tourists still left in town, well one of them was a former CIA operative who'd been recalled specifically to pose as a tourist and find out the location of the Fountain of Youth.

Well when he found out I'd fled into the swamp, and by that time I was hopelessly lost, he assumed that there was a terrorist with me and that I, being a weak female, was leading this enemy of our nation directly toward what was our greatest national treasure. Within the hour a crack team of elite Special Forces soldiers had been dispatched to deal with me.

Their orders...dead or alive...Okay so I'm playing it up a bit there but let me tell you I did get shot at several times. By the time we encountered each other I'd been out in that damn swamp for six days, living off weeds and aligator eggs. I looked worse than the terrorists had and if I'd been the one assigned to look for me I'd have shot at myself too.

I do remember my 'capture' though. I'd been minding my own buisiness, running frantically for my life through hip deep water, when I fell in a deep sinkhole and thrashed around a bit. They managed to gain on me and by the time I reached semi-solid ground there were six of them vs. one of me. They had guns, I had one high heeled shoe. They must have been positively scared shitless.

Then one of them said, "It's alright Mrs. Wallaby, we're here to take you home." I was so thankful I collapsed in his arms, and boy was he cute I can tell you that. He had a tight, round...beret. What'd you think I was going to say? He was very kind and when he set me in the car they'd radioed for me, when we made it back to the main road or what passed for it, I was ready to faint from gratitude.

Then he leaned forward and said. "Mrs. Wallaby, I understand you've been through a very traumatic experiance but I have one very serious question to ask you...where is the Fountain of Youth?" And I looked the man dead in the eye and said.

"Just drive and I'll show you." When we got back to Oucklebootchie it seemed there'd been an accident. A few of the boy's had gotten a hold of some of those terrorists weapons and well...the town looked like Bosnia on a bad day. We had to get out when we reached Mainstreet and I led those soldiers with confidence toward our destination.

"Well boy's there it is. The Fountain of Youth." And everyone of them stared in awe...at the tiny little spa that had sprung up in the wake of the book's popularity. Now as I sit here writing a sequal, though I'm more than a little terrified about what'll happen this time, I can only think of three words to sum up the experiance.

Pay...up...suckers!
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Last edited by Kalanna Rai on Sat Apr 15, 2006 12:36 am; edited 1 time in total
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PostPosted: Sun Apr 02, 2006 2:39 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Cute - and funny. Good going, Kal Very Happy
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PostPosted: Sun Apr 02, 2006 2:45 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Great going guys! Both excellent.
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PostPosted: Sun Apr 02, 2006 8:35 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Good story.

May I be the first to congratulate you on the Ozzy in your sig?
Excellent taste, Kalanna.
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PostPosted: Sun Apr 02, 2006 9:19 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Thanks Jack. I'll try to change the song every month...who knows what it'll be next time...
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PostPosted: Mon Apr 03, 2006 5:27 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Good ones, both of you. I may throw something together myself, should I get inspired.
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PostPosted: Tue Apr 04, 2006 9:32 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Yup, both good entries. I've started one, so hopefully I can get it done soon... Very Happy
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PostPosted: Wed Apr 05, 2006 12:24 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

A Dream Come True

It’s cold down here. The lights are flickering like a cheap B-Movie. I can’t help but think that’s what this all is. Despite the death, despite the fact that they’ll get through the doors eventually and come to get me, it doesn’t feel real.

Did I really kill two people? Am I going to be next to die? Can any of this really be true?

The lights are making my eyes ache, but I don’t want to be alone in the basement in the dark. I’m afraid of what might come for me…

This is what I’ve been reduced to. A whimpering five year old, afraid to turn the lights out for fear of the monsters in the dark. Three weeks ago, I was a top executive in a publishing firm. The guy who could sell anything to anyone. The guy who was scared of nothing and nobody.

When the new book came in – the one titled How Legends Grow, it landed straight on my desk. The difficult projects always do.

It was a dry and dusty work. The only reason we were publishing it is because it was written by one of our creditors. When a company’s in as deep as we are, the occasional favour doesn’t go amiss. Still, this work was dull. I’ve read more interesting dictionaries!

It was a dilemma. Mr. Can-Sell-Anything wasn’t going to be thwarted, though. Oh no – it was a matter of pride to get an audience for this pile of crap. After three days, I finally came up with a plan.

We would invent our own local legend. Websites were fairly cheap to set up. We had contacts in the business, friends in high places, people who would do small favours here and there to grease the wheels. If the Blair Witch Project could do it, so could we.

Once I had the idea, the concept itself was easy. I did a little sketching of the project, then announced it to the board as a fait accompli.

The One-Two-Three Murders. It had a nice ring to it, I thought. Easily memorable, if a little twee. The romantics and the mystery hunters would lap it up in their hunger for a new urban legend. I decided to set the story in my home town. It was a place I knew well and it meant I wouldn’t have to travel far to spread my little web of lies.

In the sixteenth century, so the story would go, Harriet Badgerseye, a local witch was burnt at the stake. As the first flame was lit, she cursed the town, telling them that they would know no peace until the town lay lifeless, wiped from existence. Her spirit would return and wreak its vengeance, without pity or remorse. So, shrieking her curses, she succumbed to the flames.

For over a century, her story was forgotten – buried in the murky depths of town records and unspoken family memories. Then, one hundred and twenty three years later, the first of the killings took place. The Mayor’s son took the life of his wife and his only daughter, before hanging himself from the rafters. His suicide note read, simply:

Harriet made me do it.

Very little was made of the mystery, until precisely one hundred and twenty three years after that. One of the local parishioners walked into the vicarage with a heavy mallet. When he had finished, there was very little more than pulp left, where the Vicar and his wife had been. In the grounds outside, he doused himself with lantern oil and set himself on fire.

When the authorities went to investigate, they found another note, written in the meek parishioner’s handwriting.

The Badger’s Eye will never close. She made me do it.

Twice more it has happened since then. The details are sketchy, because the town officials have covered it up, for fear of causing panic as the peak of the killing season approaches next. Now, though, one researcher has dug through the archives and discovered the truth. In just eight days, the cycle is due to begin again.

It was a lot more detailed than that, but the seed of the idea was there. We had experts in calligraphy to write up ‘original’ documents and age the paper to look authentic. We paid the records office to play along for a short while (Not that we had to offer much - they leapt at the chance of a boost in the tourism industry). We inserted the stories around the living history, using real examples where we could and embellishing on them. So much better if the microfiche and the old chronicles backed up our story to some extent. The parts where fact and fiction differed, we could always blame on ‘the cover-up.’

Oh yes. That term could cover a multitude of sins. Conspiracy is so much easier to believe than the mundanity of dry facts. The ghost hunters and corn-circle societies would eat this one from the inside out. I was sure of it.

I was right, too. Within twenty-four hours of the website going live, there had been nearly nine thousand hits. Chat sites had sprung up; people had started arriving in the town to investigate. It made the local papers, as if it was real news, not just a fairy-tale from my twisted imagination.

And it was from my imagination. I swear it! Harriet Badgerseye, for god’s sake! She never existed until I created her and now everyone believes the legend. Everyone believes I killed those two people – and the worst of it is, I can’t say for sure that I didn’t!

There’s something moving around upstairs. A creaking of the floorboards. I listen, in the crazy, flickering darkness, for a repeat of the sound.

Nothing. I’m safe for now. Maybe. The police will get here eventually, though, unless the crowd gets there first.

God, this is a nightmare! How could I lose two blocks of time, just when the murders were said to have happened? Blackouts only happen to crazy people, don’t they? And if I’m crazy, who’s to say that I didn’t kill the Town Librarian? Who’s to say that meddling journalist didn’t die by my hand?

No! Ridiculous! They said that someone had pushed an entire bookshelf over on Mrs. Hammond. Nearly three tons combined, in solid oak and hundreds of books. How could any one person have done that? It isn’t possible – they’re mad if they try to accuse me of such a superhuman crime.

My muscles ache all over, though. Like I’ve been doing heavy workouts at the gym. Why do I hurt so much, if I haven’t even…

Stop it! I have to think. Think, dammit! How do I get out of this mess? I can’t stay down here forever. There has to be a way out. There has to be something I can do.

I can’t think. Those deaths are on my hands, whether I killed them or not. They haunt me.

The authorities say that the journalist was held, face-down and struggling, in the canal waters for at least two minutes. I saw that man. He was no weedy geek, that one. He was over six feet with the build of an athlete. It would have taken a supreme effort to hold him under the water against his will.

So, why were my clothes soaking wet, when I came to?

I don’t remember!

Everything points back to me. The Librarian was so afraid of future fraud allegations that she was going to give away the grand secret of the One-Two-Three murders. She told the journalist. He was about to write up the article and spoil the whole campaign before it sold a single book.

It’s not much of a motive, but people can twist things any way they like. They could say my career was riding on the success of this book. They could say the publishing firm was in financial difficulty and we needed the scheme to work. They could say I lost my temper and struck down the librarian in a rage, then had to finish the job with the journalist.

They’ll find a reason. Oh god.

There’s something hovering at the top of the stairs, in the doorway. I can see the shadows when the lights flicker on.

It’s her. I don’t know how it can be – but I know it’s the witch. She’s here for me. There have only been murders one and two so far. Three is the charm.

Three is the curse.

Closer now. Although the room fades between light and dark, my eyes can’t penetrate the shadows. There’s nothing but blackness and smoke there, a pitiless void of evil in its inexorable approach.

A strange clarity steals over me as I watch my doom hovering ever closer. The panic empties out, leaving only reason behind.

Harriet is here for me. I can run, but to where? Sooner or later, they’ll track me down and I’ll be sent to Death Row. If I’m lucky, a mob will get me first and I’ll have a quick escape down hemp alley.

I’m too tired to fight it any more. If it’s real, what can I do against a force like this? And if it’s not real… then I dreamed all this up, and I killed two people. I deserve what’s coming to me.

Harriet, do your worst…


Last edited by Shady Stoat on Thu Apr 13, 2006 6:32 am; edited 1 time in total
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PostPosted: Wed Apr 05, 2006 2:33 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Shocked Creepy. Marvellous storytelling Shady, very well done. Very Happy

I'm gonna have to finish my entry now, though I don't think it's as good... ah well. Smile
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PostPosted: Wed Apr 05, 2006 3:05 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Oooh lovely Thumbs Up Great entires so far.
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PostPosted: Wed Apr 05, 2006 4:17 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Nice one Shady - better get yours in soon Soily.
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PostPosted: Wed Apr 05, 2006 4:59 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Shocked Mommy, I' m scared and I made toilet in my pants. Wink
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PostPosted: Wed Apr 05, 2006 5:32 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

LOL, poor Chinaren. Not too good with this spooky stuff are ya? Smile

*BOO* Mad
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 06, 2006 12:17 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Thanks guys. It's going to be a tough competition this month. The first two set a high standard to equal! Shocked
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 06, 2006 3:57 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Can I still post a story? Wait for meeeeeeeee.
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 06, 2006 3:59 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Until the 14th, apparently Very Happy
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 06, 2006 10:02 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Well I scrapped my idea. It wasn't bad (at least I don't think it was) but it could no longer fit into the genre's Fauna wanted. Ah well. If another idea turns up I might have a bash at it, but there's always next month. :biggrin:
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 4:02 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

My story might be over 1900 words, I don't have Word so I can't tell. But please if it is, let it still compete. It took me ages to write.

Here it is then:

Many IF members die violently in this story. If you have any self-respect don't bother reading it.



One day Key picked up the newspaper and glanced at the headline. Then he glanced at it again, and again. Now he was just blatantly staring at it. His jaw dropped, so did the cup of coffee in his left hand. He really couldn't believe what he was looking at. His stomach plummeted the way it always does when you realize people have been talking about you, and not in the nice way. He clenched his belly and shouted to his wife, "I'll be in the bathroom...don't take any calls!"

Since that day, nothing had been the same. What Key had seen was a notice in the newspaper, sort of a public warning. It read:

A GROUP OF ANARCHISTS HAS ACQUIRED THE N-BOMB

THEY CALL THEMSELVES THE IFIANS

THEY LIVE AMONGST YOU AND ARE PREPARING TO DETONATE THE BOMB

THE WORLD NEEDS YOU

Some smart computer aleck had stumbled upon the CityofIF, and upon seeing hundreds of posts of its members describing themselves as IFians, he had jumped to the logical conclusion- that it was his job to be a snitch.
Threatening calls had been followed by stalking and assaults in alleyways. Eventually when the word got around that the IFians had been found, everyone jumped on the murderous bandwagon. Even the governments of the world became blood- thirsty, not bothering to verify the source of the notice.

It was only when two members were brutally murdered after a car chase, did Key take drastic steps. The City's members were all summoned to California, to be holed up in one of Key's numerous hideouts(he gave them no reason for the existence of the hideouts). They had to keep moving from hideout to hideout, so that they could not be locked onto. But once again, they were found.
_____________________________________________________
Muaddib sighed as he peered up at the top levels of the Business Centre Building. All the City members, all the remaing City members were gathered up that night. It was to be their final outing, their last chance to find out why all this had happened to them. Their destination was Wispworthy Publishing Corp. a book firm, which Smee had identified as the source of the 'death notice'.

Muaddib no longer felt malice towards the book firm. For the whole week before the mission, he had ruminated on how he was going to kill all the employees of Wispworthy, but now as he looked at the building on whose top floor waited their destination, he realized that he might not make it all the way.

Already the alarm had been triggered. The Building's various firms had been tipped off that they were about to recieve unwelcome guests. Public militias were on their way to the building to backup the employees of the various firms lodged inside. Their last mission, thought Muaddib. He shook his head and grinned.

"Alright lets go," said Key. He cocked his Beretta and waited for the others. They had all brought weapons in anticipation of the resistance they would face. Key, Lordy, Fauna,Smee and Idea Master were equipped with handguns. Saxon had his copious(and vanity filled) muscles. Ravenwing had her chain sword, a chain with lacerated edges. Muaddib had a flag pole(with a pointy end of course). Chinaren came equipped with a Flatulizer (a trademarked Chinaren Inc. product). Shanty had a killer yo-yo, and Stoat had pom-poms(she wasn't expected to do any fighting...more of a backup really. Give me a P!) . Phang had been growing her nails for over a month, preparing for revenge. She had tested her 2 metre long curved slayers on several misguided suburbanites. The rest of the members were posted at the boundary of the walls, and were supposed to defend the foraying group heroically. Unknown to them, they were just a buffer, meant to be slaughtered and thus hold off the militia for a while. Fauna had thought it best not to tell them.

They ran into the glass paneled, posh building wary of the slightest movement. The motley crew managed to reach the fourth floor by elevator, whereupon they promptly stopped. Several people cried out and gasped at the same time. "Shhhhhhhhhh!" spat out Smee, " Listen..."

They all quieted down, only to realize that there were people outside the elevator. All of a sudden, the doors were wrenched open to reveal several rope toting employees of Vertis Air Conditioners. They all had ripped off their shirts, even the ladies. They now wore their ties like bandanas, and had marked their chests with lipstick. They wore the unmistakable look of those hungry for IFian blood.

"Go!" yelled Lordy, firing bullets into the crowd of barbarians. Phang let out a shrill scream and impaled a few secretaries on her nails. Shanty was busy slicing off managerial heads with her killer yo-yo. Muaddib gallantly transfixed many-a-janitor on his pole, which formerly carried a Comunist Party Flag. Chinaren meanwhile pressed the button on his Flatulizer (a trademarked Chinaren Inc. product) which released yellow gas into the air. "Go my pretties," he purred. Stoat stood on the side, getting acquainted with her pom-poms.
"Give me an R!" Yes! I'm a rockstar!" said Stoat, striking a pose.

They slowly edged towards the stairs. "Onwards, comrades!" yelled Muaddib. In his mind, he imagined himself as a Red soldier in the battle of Stalingrad. He even did the trumpets bit. The rest followed the pole carrying communist up the stairs. Suddenly there was an agonized cry from below.

"They've got me!" yelped IM. Everyone turned around and saw that indeed the ravenous employees had lassoed IM's feet together with their rope. Saxon gave voice to their collective thoughts," We're sorry IM, but you always get slaughtered by the bad guys. Why stop now? See you later." With that, the party surged ahead. However Shanty, who had promised her dying friend Tramp (Tramp died after her intestines-both of them- were wrenched out with a sickle), that she would look after IM, gave a wild cry and leapt to the rescue, in a blaze of revolving yo-yo.

"Idiot..." muttered Chinaren as they heard the sound of two necks being broken, probably by the rope. For five more floors, they encountered only a few mad stragglers who were dispatched by the dynamic duo, namely Smee and Fauna(collectively known as Smauna). On level nine, they ran right into a mob of crazed, A4 printer paper wielding (paper cuts can be nasty), Hammersmith Legal consultancy employees.

The two groups faced each other for a second then Key yelled," Go through them! Charge!"

The remaining IFians made a path straight through the mob, guns firing, chain swords swinging, poles impaling , trademarked products farting. Key spotted the next staircase and took heart, he made the final dash.

Saxon was not so lucky, he was brought down by a clothes line halfway to the end. With a wild roar, he whipped out his paper bag and became Boxheadman!!! He crushed many a neck and ripped off many an arm, before being brought down by a busty blonde who cut him up with dual A4 sheets. Saxon, fell like a behemoth to the floor.

Ravenwing, on seeing his theatrics and not wishing to be outdone by him even at the end, rushed into the crowd. But she was killed before she could do any damage with her cruel chains. "Dang," she whispered," he got one up."

Muaddib had reached the staircase, but now he turned around to see his fallen comrades. Finally he realized, that this was his destiny. He had been right in his premonition that he would not reach the publishing firm. He dropped his pole and straightened his shirt, all the while humming the Mao song.

"What're you doing Commie?" demanded a breathless Chinaren.

"China, in our next lives, you owe me one more huge I.O.U." said Muaddib without turning around. Then he ran.

"Pro Bono! Pro Bono! Pro Bono!" screamed Muaddib hysterically, pointing towards the stairs, and running towards the legal consultants.

The word got around, and a collective wail went around. Their worst nightmare was coming true- a pro bono case. They all turned heel and ran for the windows. Crash! They all piled out of the window of the ninth floor, Muaddib followed them out. "Like lemmings..." mused Muaddib as he plummetted to his death.

The rational, self preserving side of Muaddib's mind had fully intended to save its host body. But it was being countermanded by the heroic, idiotic side of his brain. The heroic side was still humming to the catchy Mao song jingle as it dropped to a flat ending.

Finally only Lordy, Fauna,Smee, Key and Chinaren reached the publishing firm. To their surprise, they found it was completely empty. They rushed towards the CEO's office. They burst through the mahogany door, only to find an aged man sitting in a high chair, looking out into the Californian skyline.

He turned around in a fashion reminding everyone of Emperor Palapatine. But on seeing the guns and Flatulizer(a trademarked Chinaren Inc. product), he said nothing grandiose. "Oh crap," he murmured and hid under his desk.

Smauna roughly pulled him out and gave him five tight slaps and then one for posterity. But before the interrogation could begin, they heard a sound from outside.

"They're here!" shouted Lordy, glancing at Key.

Key looked and Chinaren, and gave him his last order," Interrogate the crap out of him."

With that, he rushed out followed by Smauna and Lordy.

Chinaren ignored the gunfire sounds and stared into the CEO's eyes.

Finally, he asked a simple question," Why?"

The CEO stammered out his answer," It...it was publicity for.. for... our new book series."

Chinaren glared at him in shock.

The imbecilic CEO went on," It went out of hand."

Chinaren continued to be shocked for a moment and then let out out a tremendous capitalistic laugh.

He continued laughing when they shot him in the back, and still when he writhed around in fatal agony.

His last thoughts were,'A publicity campaign, hahahaha. Publicity...hahahaha.................hey, why didn't I think of that?'

His lights went out for the last time.


P.S. If you're wondering what happened to Stoat, well she learnt the secret to eternal happiness after spending half an hour with the pom-poms. She was still shot though.

And Phang died of massive blood loss after one of her nails got caught in a legal consultant's cardigan and broke off.


Last edited by Muaddib on Thu Apr 13, 2006 6:18 pm; edited 4 times in total
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 4:04 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

You're in luck Muaddib. Less than 1700 words. It can stay.

*goes off to read*
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 4:14 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

*giggles* Nice one Muaddib. You might want to check the cheerleading Stoat out though (and not just because of her exquisite knees) Shocked

She disappears between her dramatic pose and the 5 survivors reaching the CEO's office. I'm sure you meant to kill her in all sorts of strange and twisty ways, but I think she's still in the lift, clinging to the ceiling in a fit of self-preservation at the moment.

Go kill her properly, preferably taking less than 200 words to finish the job, then the story will be complete Wink
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 4:15 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Nope she gets shot in the P.S. Wink
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 4:29 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

ROFL! Nice out Muddy Razz
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 4:35 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

wow all 3 were excellent. Well done stoat, Jack and Kalanna.
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 5:01 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Wow, that was refreshingly bloody. And they all got killededed. ed. And funny too! :biggrin:

Except am I supposed to just sit here and let you kill me off as mere fodder. WHY? Am I so worthless? Crying or Very sad

I will have revenge! Gun
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 5:07 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Laughing Great one Muaddib.
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 5:24 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Quote:
trademarked products farting


Ahahaa!!! Laughing

Excellent McDibsky!! Wonderful! Very Happy
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 5:32 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Quote:
Except am I supposed to just sit here and let you kill me off as mere fodder. WHY? Am I so worthless?


Sorry Soily, I didn't want to have too many characters to screw with. I chose whoever's name came into my mind first. Next time I promise I'll give you a worthy death. Maybe falling onto freshly sharpened spikes?
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 9:22 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Laughing Very entertaining Muaddib Very Happy
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 9:47 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Here's mine. Cool

*~*~*

”The Serpentine Soul”, it was called. But then again, you already knew that. Everyone knows about the Serpentine Soul now – and I’m to blame.

It was possibly the most boring book I had ever read. I can’t even remember the author’s name now, she was so uninteresting, but I bet she’d never written before, or even worse, written those awful children’s stories that end up being made into ridiculous movies pumped full of morals. You know how they say about good books that you can’t put them down? Well, after a page I put this one down and couldn’t bring myself to pick it up again. Anyway, I’ll continue with my tale, and stop emphasising how boring this book was – but damn, was it boring!


So, I was put with the task of making these 2000-or-so pages of worthless rubbish something that everybody would want to read. And I’ve done that now. Oh, yes, I’ve done that now.

The Serpentine Soul. It was a simple idea, really. Don’t know why it took me a week to come up with it. The book was originally called…oh, I can’t remember, something really cheesy and awful. It was originally about some people being possessed by a ghost or something, you see. Incredibly clichéd. But a little editing here and there, and voila! We have the Serpent and his insatiable appetite for human souls.

So, the novel was published and was a massive success – especially the advertising campaign. Who doesn’t remember the chilling letters of warning we put in newspapers and through doors? The bloodstained writing, which read, “The Serpent wants your soul. Unless you have the Serpentine Soul…”. The whole point of the book was that one person was capable of unimaginable evil because they had been born with a warped soul – but such a soul was the only thing capable of stopping the Serpent. So, would this guy sacrifice him or herself to save everyone else?

People were in confusion and panic – it was on the news (the channels were paid to cover it up for us), on the Internet, it was the only thing people were talking about. When the TV advert was shown, it was even more memorable than the letters – some people even had nightmares about the dude with the snake around his neck. Nightmares! Honestly, some people are such wimps.

But, eventually, we released the full advertisements, telling everybody about the book. It was a shame really – I enjoyed watching morning discussion shows talking about my handiwork to the minutest detail. But, the way the books sold – they were literally flying off shelves as people fought to get them! I thought it was some sort of mass relief thing, that everyone was eager to find out more about this thing that had had them so worried. The reality was completely the opposite.


It was only later that I decided to actually read the book – I couldn’t describe how much I regret that now. I have to say, I was hooked completely! And when I got to the bit where the owner of the Serpentine Soul is revealed, I was reading desperately, unable to concentrate on anything else. Ironic, in a sort of way, isn’t it? It was about 3 in the morning as the light was seeping in under the curtains that I realised what a dreadful mistake had been made. By pure coincidence, the owner of the Serpentine Soul shared my name – and also by coincidence, there was banging at the door.

Nervously (who makes such a racket at 3 am normally?), I edged downstairs and towards the door, but had barely got there when it was rammed down and a mob of furious people came in. Each had a snake tattooed around their neck, just like the guy in the ad, and their eyes were filled with murderous rage – they even appeared almost amber in colour, looking back. “Get the Soul!” they screamed, charging at me with full fury. I shot upstairs, followed by the mob, and grabbed the knife under my bed – a safety measure, you realise. What do you mean, ‘of course it’s a safety measure’?

I guess I killed a lot of them that night. It was the heat of the moment, and there was no time for hesitation. I dread to think what those nutters would have done to me had I not escaped. Or at least, I thought they were nutters – but as I fled, it was all over TV. As I was absorbed in the book murders had been committed – people had died in suspicious circumstances, while others went into a state of oblivion, doing nothing but eating and sleeping. The connection had been made with the descriptions in the novel. The Serpent was on the loose – and the Serpentine Soul was needed, as the ultimate poison.

I was in hiding, moving constantly from shelter to shelter. Now I’m here, wearing nothing but rags, talking to a complete stranger. I should have checked, I should have changed the name…but then, would I have realised the consequences? Could anyone have realised the consequences, realised how believable this legend was? It was a chain of coincidences, that’s all. How could anyone have expected those murders?

I am vain – or at least I was vain, when I could afford to be. I would probably have left it as my name, proud to be the saviour of the world and also the ultimate villain…huh? I am the ultimate villain? Oh no, not you too, you don’t believe this shi – oh my god! What’s happening to you? Help! Its real! The Serpent is real! He’s re…
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 9:51 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

*grins* Good story Phang. The power of belief, eh? I like it Very Happy
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 9:57 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Good entry Phang. Good dialogue going on with the reader. One thing:

Quote:
Ironic, in a sort of way, isn’t it?


To me this doesn't sound right. I think Sort of ironic, isn't it? or Kinda ironic, isn't it? would be better. Very Happy
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 10:06 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Hm. I may change it later (working on update picture right now), but they both sound good to me.
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 10:31 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Hmm, MkDibsky - what happened to Phang, one moment she was impaling secretaries, and the next - just vanished.

And you never know - I might have survived, so I like it.
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 4:27 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Okay, I have had an idea for this, so I may still get an entry in...
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 9:16 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Right, I sorted out Phang. And Key, Smauna and Lordy were obviously killed, cuz the maniacs would have had to go through them before reaching Chinaren.
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 07, 2006 10:02 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Quote:
Interrogate the crap out of him."


I also love this line. Laughing
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PostPosted: Sat Apr 08, 2006 3:27 am    Post subject: Tom, Dick and Harry. Reply with quote

Tom, Dick and Harry.

Tom closed the last page on the book and sat back in satisfaction. Yes indeed, it was convincing, there was no doubt about it. The publicity it would generate from the speculation alone would push it on to the best seller list.

Just as he had come to this conclusion his publisher, Dick, barged through the doors. “It’s a go!” he shouted excitedly, waving around a piece of paper. “Just had this back from the legal boys. They say the names are just different enough from the real ones to avoid serious lawsuit risk.” He flopped down in the seat on the other side of Tom’s desk. “I have called the agent and the first batch is on the way to the stores as we speak, the advertising boys are on the phones, or whatever they use and we will have full coverage in time for the first full shipment.”

“Excellent. Did you send one of the advanced copies to the presidents’ office? To Harry Warburg?”

“Sure did, yesterday. It will be an interesting test of the book to see how he reacts.”

“Especially as he, or at least Henry Wenbarg in the book, is the chief infiltrator.”

Dick leaned back and lit a cigar. “Come on, just this time!” he said as Tom made coughing noises.

“Ah, what the hell, go on then, just stay downwind.”

“I must say,” Dick took a long drag, filling the office with smoke. “It was a great idea to write the book as fact. The way you made out that you did all that research, how aliens infiltrated the key figures of society, is amazing.”

“Actually, I did do the research. Of course, only a nut would believe that it is the precursor of an alien attack. Still, you don’t need much to get the conspiracy crowd going. How are the websites coming on? Are they all ready?”

“Weeks ago, the tech boys have done an amazing job, rigged the counters and hits and everything. You watch them go when the book is released.”

The phone rang. Dick picked it up. “Hello?” he paused and a frown passed over his face. “Well, sure I guess, send him up.” He hung up the receiver and looked up. “Well, that was quick. Harry Warburg himself is here! The book must have really stirred him up.”

“Do you think he is after us for deformation of character or something?” asked Tom.

“Don’t be silly! I mean, in your book he is an alien in disguise, an advanced scout come to take over the earth, how is that worse than his real job?” Both men laughed.

Still, they wore serious expressions as Harry strode into the room.

The government man wore his trademark dark baggy suit. He was sweating, even though there were few stairs on the way up. ‘That’s what you get for being such a fat bastard. Glad I didn’t vote for him, though he was a lot thinner then,’ thought Tom. Still, he plastered a smile onto his face and held out his hand as he spoke.

“Mr. President, what a delightful surprise…”

“Cut the crap” the president said in a surprisingly harsh tone. “What the hell is this?” he threw the advanced copy of the book on the desk.

“So, you read it then? That was quick.” Dick moved up to the president and then looked around. “Where are your secret service boys? I thought they never left your side?”

“Just answer the question. How did you know?” Harry Warburg said.

Tom frowned. “Mr. President, I am sure I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“I mean…” Harry’s voice suddenly took on a strained voice. “…how… did…” his skin started to wrinkle in an alarming manner, and Tom backed away. “you …KNOW??”

The president’s skin slit down the middle, and out of it stepped some sort of brown skinned lizard thing. Bug eyed. Pincers extended and grasped Dick by the throat, severing his head in one quick movement.

Tom backed away. “What the fu…”

The thing that was the president turned his attention to him. It spoke again in a rasping voice. “I said. How did you know of the invasion? How did you know of our plans? How did you find out about ME?”

The thing lunged forward and Tom squeaked and ducked around his desk. “I didn’t know anything! I just made it up! Oh my god! You mean it is true???”

“Have the books starting their printing?” The thing said, advancing on his position.

“No! No! And only I can stop them!” Tom lied, clutching at any desperate straws he could.

“Hahaha! I think the president may be able to stop them!” The thing surged forward and snapped at Tom with his pincers. Tom grabbed Dick’s box of cigars and threw them at the alien, diving to one side he squirmed around and burst through the closet door, slamming it behind him.

There was a crash from the other side. “Come on, open up Tom, I will make it quick!”

Tom ignored him and wrenched his phone out of his pocket, leaning against the door he hit the speed dial for the first person he found. It was his publicist.

“Hello?” the voice answered as another crash came on the door.

“Fred? Oh thank god! It’s real! It’s all real!”

“Tom? Is that you? Listen I am in a meeting just now, can I call you back?”

“You have to tell someone, it’s real! They are real! The book is true! They are here!”

“Haha! Good idea Tom! Great publicity! You call people and get them to think you believe it! Listen, can’t talk now, but I will call you back and we will work on this one some more. Gotta go!”

The line went dead. Tom cursed and was about to call another number when the door smashed open, knocking him to the floor. He squirmed backwards as the thing advanced. “Time to die Tom.” It said. And the pincers lashed out…

>>

Harry Warburg looked out of the Whitehouse window. His aide stood behind him. “What’s the latest?”

The aide spoke in a strange voice. “We have called out the national guard to combat the rioters, but there is a lot of discontent. People are asking hard questions.”

Harry Warburg blew out his cheeks. “Okay, we implement plan B. Thanks to that farking book I am calling the invasion off.”

He sighed. It was a shame, he was looking forward to ruling this one. Still, the fleet wouldn’t be here for decades. If things carried on as they were he would be discovered, and the humans may be ready for them when they landed.

“Call the joint chiefs, let’s launch their missiles and get the hell off this mudball.”

He ground the window frame under his claw. One world destroyed, and all because of some stupid book!
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PostPosted: Sat Apr 08, 2006 3:38 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Phew, that was close. Surprised

Great story Chinaren, wonderful conspiracy. :biggrin:
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PostPosted: Sat Apr 08, 2006 3:39 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Quote:
Great story Chinaren, wonderful conspiracy.


Or is it? Shocked
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PostPosted: Sat Apr 08, 2006 3:43 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

*giggles* Like it, Chinaren! There's certainly some variety in this topic Shocked
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PostPosted: Sat Apr 08, 2006 3:55 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Excellent Chinaren Very Happy

Made nice use of farking. I prefer fudging though.
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PostPosted: Sat Apr 08, 2006 4:24 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Ah reckon it's one tough shootout this time round. Yup, I tip my hat to yall. Mighty fine tales, one and all.
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PostPosted: Sat Apr 08, 2006 5:36 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

So instead of being ruled by aliens, we're being blown to peices - sounds like a far trade.
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PostPosted: Tue Apr 11, 2006 8:56 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Wow. Cool. Really a lot of variety on this one. Great!

I don't ever remember the linear comp having this many entries before. Great idea for the subject, Fauna!
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PostPosted: Tue Apr 11, 2006 8:59 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Thanks! I like the variety...the different takes on the same topic.
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 13, 2006 5:20 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

One more day to get your entries in! Post 'em if you got 'em. Very Happy
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 13, 2006 6:11 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Here we go. I've taken on half the job of nitpicking this time. Muaddib, Phang and Chinaren, you're mine - in the nicest sense of the word *evil grin*

---------


Nitpicks for stories 4, 5 and 6:

Muaddib's story of IF

===========

Muaddib wrote:
His stomach plummetted the way it always does when you realize people have been talking about you


plummetted=plummeted

Quote:
( he gave them no reason for the existence of the hideouts).


You don't need the space between the bracket and the first word

Quote:
All the City members, all the remaing City


remaing=remaining

Quote:
The Building's various firms had been tipped off that they were about to recieve unwelcome guests


recieve=receive

Quote:
"Alright lets go," said Key


lets=let's

Quote:
Key, Lordy, Fauna,Smee and Idea Master were equipped with handguns.


Fauna, Smee - add the space

Quote:
Saxon had his copious( and vanity filled ) muscles


copious (and

Quote:
Muaddib had a flag pole( with a pointy end of course)


bracketting problem again - check all your brackets, they come out as incorrect on the grammar checker. It's space-bracket-no space Smile

Quote:
All of a sudden, the doors were wrneched open


wrneched=wrenched

Quote:
Muaddib gallantly transfixed many-a-janitor on his pole, which formerly carried a Comunist Party Flag


Comunist=communist

Quote:
The remaingin IFians made a path straight through the mob, guns firing, chain swords swinging, poles impaling , trademarked products farting.


remaingin=remaining

AND:

impaling,

Quote:
Saxon was not so lucky, he was brought down by a clothes line halfway to the end.


The grammar check suggests a semi-colon after lucky, instead of the comma.

Quote:
Fianlly he realized, that this was his destiny.


Fianlly=finally

Quote:
"Like lemmings..." mused Muaddib as he plummetted to his death.


plummetted=plummeted

Quote:
Finally only Lordy, Fauna,Smee, Key and Chinaren reached the publishing firm.


another Fauna,Smee, with no space between

Quote:
His last thoughts were,'A publicity campaign


were, 'A

==========

Phang's "A Serpentine Soul"

phang wrote:
Unless you have the Serpentine Soul…”.


You don't need the full-stop at the end, apparently. Just ..."

Quote:
Its real! The Serpent is real! He’s re…


Its real=It's real

=============

Chinaren's "Tom, Dick and Harry"

chinaren wrote:
“you …KNOW??”


you ...KNOW = You... KNOW??

Quote:
“We have called out the national guard to combat the rioters, but there is a lot of discontent.


national guard=National Guard
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 13, 2006 6:25 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

A few nit-picks this time 'round. Very Happy For anyone who types their stories directly into the post window, rather than a word processor, you might want to check out this nifty little tool which runs a spellcheck directly in the post box before you submit, with just a right click.

Jack_D.Mented wrote:
Cracking open the leathery cover and dispersing even more dust, you begin to scan along through the entries along the strangely intact pages.

Maybe he wants something different. I really just pray to God that it’s because he’s not a big fan of Campbell’s chicken noodle. I threw in some hot pockets. Hope he’s not hooked on crack or herion or something…



Kalanna Rai wrote:

I was transferred down here to help the Oucklebootchie Cap and Feather publishing company put out it's first successful novel in years. It was supposed to be based loosely on the town its self (awkward and redundant…perhaps this very town or the present locale )but...well you know how these things go.

Anyway I managed to pry them away from their pixy dust and sugar-coated snowflakes long enough to make them remember the guidelines of the oringinal project. At that point, with the big city hot shot here to take the fall if the book was a flop, they opened up with all kinds of startling little tidbits of town lore, any one of which might have made an interesting story in its own right.

Everybody and their dog was down here looking for that god dammed fountain. They didn't even believe us when we said the work was fictional...they just thought we were keeping the secret to ourselves and would storm off, determined to uncover it and wave it in our faces.

Well that's how we thought until one night, we were pulling a late shift brainstorming the sequal, when the windows of the room blew in and several heavily armed men in black rappelled in from the roof...which is pretty silly considering the window's only four feet off the ground.

Then the man who seemed to be their leader, well at least I think that's what the red kerchif on his head signified, squatted next to us and demanded, in poor English, where the Fountain of Youth was. No matter of explaining seemed to dissuade him of his mistaken information...no matter how many times we paitently explained that the book was just a quaint little Oucklebootchian legened he'd just paitently shoot another toe off one of my unfortunate collegues.

I still have all my digits, luckily, but only because of the timely intervention of a group of Oucklebootchies (possessive) Finest. That's right old Sherriff Fat Joe Stevens and his deputy, Bob, came up to the door and offered these terrorists from Shumckastan some coffee. Well those shumcks jumped outta their skins and started randomly fireing at the sherriff and he only managed to survive by useing his metal thermos and tin lunchbox as a pair of bullet proof shields.

Well when he found out I'd fled into the swamp, and by that time I was hopelessy lost, he assumed that there was a terrorist with me and that I, being a weak female, was leading this enemy of our nation directly toward what was our greatest national treasure. Within the hour a crack team of elite Special Forces soldiers had been dispatched to deal with me.

Their orders...dead or alive...Okay so I'm playing it up a bit there but let me tell you I did get shot at several times. By the time we ecountered each other I'd been out in that goddam swamp for six days, living off weeds and alligator eggs. I looked worse than the terrorists had and if I'd been the one assinged to look for me I'd have shot at myself too.

I do remember my 'capture' though. I'd been minding my own business, running frantically for my life through hip deep water, when I fell in a deep sinkhole and thrashed around a bit.

Then one of them said, "It's alright Mrs. Wallaby, we're here to take you home." I was so greatful I collapsed in his arms, and boy was he cute I can tell you that. He had a tight, round...beret. What'd you think I was going to say? He was very kind and when he set me in the car they'd radioed for me, when we made it back to the main road or what passed for it, I was ready to faint from gratitude.

Then he leaned forward and said. "Mrs. Wallaby, I understand you've been through a very traumatic experience but I have one very serious question to ask you...where is the Fountain of Youth?" And I looked the man dead in the eye and said.

"Just drive and I'll show you." When we got back to Oucklebootchie it seemed there'd been an accident. A few of the boy's had gotten a hold of some of those terrorists weapons and well...the town looked like Bosnia on a bad day. We had to get out when we reached Mainstreet and I led those soldiers with confidence toward our destination.

"Well boy's there it is. The Fountain of Youth." And everyone of them stared in awe...at the tiny little spa that had sprung up in the wake of the book's popularity. Now as I sit here writing a sequal, though I'm more than a little terrified about what'll happen this time, I can only think of three words to sum up the experience.



Shady Stoat wrote:

This is what I’ve been reduced to. A whimpering five year old, afraid to turn the lights out for fear of the monsters in the dark. Three weeks ago, I was a top executive in a publishing firm. The guy who could sell anything to anyone. The guy who was scared of nothing and no-one.

The Badger’ Eye will never close. She made me do it.

I was right, too. Within twenty four (hyphenate) hours of the website going live, there had been nearly nine thousand hits. Chat sites had sprung up, people (semicolon rather than comma) had started arriving in the town to investigate. It made the local papers, as if it was real news, not just a fairy-tale from my twisted imagination.

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PostPosted: Thu Apr 13, 2006 6:32 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Thanks Fauna. Fixed Very Happy
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 13, 2006 6:47 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Phew! Made it! I hope this fits the criteria, and that people think it's any good. Very Happy

Enjoy! :biggrin:

---------------------

9mm’s and Sunshine

One colour of death was bright yellow.

Yellow were the police ribbons that stretched from tree to tree, to keep people away. The ribbons fluttered in the morning breeze, and crisscrossed in mock gaiety the sweltering neighbourhood. Outside the ribbons, crowds stood and stared. On the inside, men with radios and clipboards and tape measures and cameras moved grimly from one corpse to the next. There were four corpses in all.

Yellow was the colour of the plastic sheets that covered the two FBI agents, who lay dead in the shade of a black olive tree. Occasionally the breeze would lift the sheets, and a policeman or federal agent would hurry forward to cloak them again.

The dead killers lay bloody and uncovered.

From an elevated parking ramp, reporters, photographers, TV cameramen and dozens of bystanders looked down on the tableau, at the intersection of Southwest 82nd Avenue and 122nd Street. Construction workers drank beer and guessed how it had happened. I knew, of course, but I wasn’t telling. A lady shopper with an Instamatic snapped a picture.

It was a bright cloudless day, a day when all the colours of death were vivid.

The broad bloodstains in the middle of the road were already burgundy, turning brown in the heat.

A shotgun lay nearby, five empty green shells shining like emeralds on the pavement. A few feet away was a black-barrelled pistol and, beyond that, was what looked like an automatic rifle. I stood still for a moment, a clear drop of sweat falling from my brow, landing sizzling on the tarmac below.

Swallowing, I hurried past the horrific scene, the package clutched under my coat. It was too hot to wear such a large mack, but I had no choice. The gunshots were still ringing in my ears, and I knew I had to get away.

It was a damned book, though it felt much too heavy to be a 560-page hardback. I don’t know why I kept it with me, but I did anyway. Maybe I thought it had seen too much. The police would take it, turn on their bright lights and it would spill all its dark secrets like it was some criminal on the latest episode of Miami Vice.

I turned into a shaded park, the green grass swaying in the cooling breeze that swept up from the sea. Finding a small bench under a towering palm, I sat down and took my head in my hands. Why had they brought guns? It was just a story, but Mark and Rammy had insisted that we were in some deep shit, that people were coming for us, and that they needed protection. Stupid guns. That’s what brought about this problem in the first place.

My book 9mm’s and Sunshine was just supposed to get people thinking. But then we’d gotten the phone call from the police, saying that we had to pull it, that it was pissing too many people off! So we’d started recalling it, despite our publisher's horrified public outcries of censorship and abuse of freedom of expression. I didn’t mind that much. I didn’t think people would come to terms with it that easily, and I didn’t want angry mobs after me. Funny how things turn out, isn’t it?

But that wasn’t enough, apparently. First we heard on the news that our publisher’s warehouse had been burnt. Then she disappeared. That’s when Mark got really worried and got me and Ramirez together. And the guns.

I heard a siren blaring in the distance, and moved from the bench directly to the base of the palm's rough trunk. The sun was slowly setting off over the tops of the skyscrapers. It would be dark soon, and then I could get away.

We’d taken rooms in the Surfing Dolphin hotel on 122nd street, and tried to plan our escape from the state. We were planning to go somewhere like Oregon or Colorado, but we were all jumpy and not ready to leave yet. Switching on the news reaffirmed our paranoia, as we heard the FBI saying they were looking for the ‘dangerous individuals’ who had slandered the self-respecting gun carrying citizens of America. The NRA was up in arms, literally, and so we had gone into hiding.

I agreed that we had to get away, but when I saw Mark with those guns, I knew that it wasn’t going to end well. I complained, told him to get rid of them, but he and Rammy took ‘em, saying they wouldn’t use them unless they were left with no choice. I scoffed, as that’s what most gun owners said in all the interviews I had conducted for my book. I packed my things and moved to another hotel down the street. I was leaving tomorrow, and would be away from all the dangerous fools. At least I could read my book with even more conviction and clarity in its purpose than before. The Miami populace had gone and doubly confirmed everything I had claimed. Smiling, I slid the book from its packaging, and held it lovingly in my hands.

I turned a few of the pages over, and caressed the glossy cover. It was a far-fetched hope, but a hope nonetheless. If I survived this mess, I would start again, and this time I wouldn’t let anything stop me telling what I wanted people to hear.

As I was sliding the book back into its brown paper bag, I heard a footfall on the path ahead of me, and looked up to see a figure standing just a few foot away, his arm outstretched.

“Hey, I know you! From the news!” I heard the click before I realized what was happening.

~


This evening in suburban Miami, a multiple homicide has left four dead. Two FBI agents were shot and killed by their attackers, who were then killed by other officers. The suspects were apparently heavily armed and very violent. A local shop owner described his fourth shootout as ‘routine’. The officers, who are still not named, were looking for the publishers of the controversial book ‘9mm’s and Sunshine’, which caused outcry in Dade County, and across the entire U.S., this month. The police are yet to confirm if the attackers were these dangerous men, though this is expected to be the case.

Now, over to you James, for the weather….


After the cameras had gone, and the bystanders had taken their last holiday snap, the killers were placed in the back of a light-blue van and hauled off to the medical examiner.

The agents were taken away in separate hearses.

The colour of death was jet black.
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 13, 2006 7:32 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Nice Soily, four people bite the dust eh? Not bad for a day's toil.
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 13, 2006 7:34 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Yes, very grim reading (as I'm sure the 532page Hardback was too) Wink

Another very enjoyable entry to the comp. Good luck with the voting Soils Very Happy
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 13, 2006 7:41 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Here's Soily's nit-picks Very Happy

soily wrote:
It was a damned book, though it felt much too heavy to be a 560 page (hyphenate)hardback. I don’t know why I kept it with me, but I did anyway.

My book 9mm’s and Sunshine was just supposed to get people thinking. But then we’d gotten the phone call from the police, saying that we had to pull it, that it was pissing too many people off! So we’d started recalling it, despite our publishers (possessive) horrified public outcries of censorship and abuse of freedom of expression.

I heard a siren blaring in the distance, a moved from the bench directly to the base of the rough palm trunk. The sun was slowly setting off over the tops of the skyscrapers. It would be dark soon, and then I could get away.

Switching on the news reaffirmed our paranoia, as we heard the FBI saying they were looking for the ‘dangerous individuals’ who had slandered the self-respecting gun carrying citizen’s (plural) of America. The NRA was up in arms, literally, and so we had gone into hiding.

I agreed that we had to get away, but when I saw Mark with those guns, I knew that it wasn’t going to end well. I complained, told him to get rid of them, but he and Rammy took ‘em, saying they wouldn’t use it (them) unless they were left with no choice.

Smiling, I slid the book from it’s packaging, and held it lovingly in my hands.

As I was sliding the book back into it’s brown paper bag, I heard a footfall on the path ahead of me, and looked up to see a figure standing just a few foot away, his arm outstretched.

The officers, who are still not named, were looking for the publishers of the controversial book ‘9mm’s and Sunshine’, which caused outcry in Dade county (capitalize), and across the entire U.S., this month. The police are yet to confirm is (if) the attackers were these dangerous men, though this is expected to be the case.

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PostPosted: Thu Apr 13, 2006 7:44 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Hey I know Stoat might have good intentions(or not), but I protest her taking apart my story like that. After all this is a competition and she is one of the contestants!

I knew I should have just left it at you recieving eternal happiness, but I thought leaving you alive when everyone else was killed was a bit unfair.
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 13, 2006 7:51 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Muaddib wrote:
Hey I know Stoat might have good intentions(or not), but I protest her taking apart my story like that. After all this is a competition and she is one of the contestants!

I knew I should have just left it at you recieving eternal happiness, but I thought leaving you alive when everyone else was killed was a bit unfair.


Getting your story taken apart is one of the stipulations for entry. Read the very first post:

Quote:
Proof readers will take your story, break it down, make sure it fits the word limit, grammar, spelling, plot, character development, etc. are all present and correct.

You can make changes to your story all the way up to the final posting date. After that, the stories that have not passed the critique will be disqualified. Those that are left will be put up for a vote for anyone to vote on.


Doesn't matter if she's a contestant or not. Proofing is anyone's and everyone's job.

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PostPosted: Thu Apr 13, 2006 7:55 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Oh well que sera, sera.
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 13, 2006 7:56 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Whatever will be, will be...
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 13, 2006 8:34 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Thanks Fauna, I think I got them all. :biggrin:
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 13, 2006 10:40 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Cool entry, Soily.

Got mine too, Fauna.
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 13, 2006 4:15 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

NIce one Soily - this is going to be difficult.
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PostPosted: Sat Apr 15, 2006 4:11 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Aint the judgin' started yet? Ahm eager fer a lynchin'.
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PostPosted: Sat Apr 15, 2006 4:53 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Since it appears that all stories have been proofed and corrected, I've went ahead and started polling. The poll ends Thursday, 20 April, so submit your vote for your favorite before that time. Very Happy
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PostPosted: Sat Apr 15, 2006 5:06 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Oooo, I have to go back and read through them all again - to hard to decide.
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PostPosted: Sat Apr 15, 2006 5:14 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I think chinaren, but then there's Soily, and Shady i just looking up at me with big pleading Stoaty eyes, while McDibsky's is original and...

Ok, Voted. And winning.
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PostPosted: Sun Apr 16, 2006 4:40 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

wow! I cant make up my mind on tis one. I like chinas, but muaddib's was funny too.

Maybe I will flip a coin. Confused
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PostPosted: Sun Apr 16, 2006 5:22 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I voted for Jack's story. They were all essentially equally good though.
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PostPosted: Sun Apr 16, 2006 7:33 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Wow... Four way tie so far? Confused (I'm resisting the urge to run around like a chicken with it's head cut off in panic, barely... but resisting never the less.)

But thanks for the vote, McDibsky.

You a Bram Stoker fan perchance?
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PostPosted: Sun Apr 16, 2006 8:35 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Me? Not really, why'd you ask?
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PostPosted: Sun Apr 16, 2006 8:43 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I used the journal format from Dracula for my story.

I always wanted to try it out and was kind of wondering if anyone had recognized it. I really loved that style of writing, even if it is a bit archaic.
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PostPosted: Sun Apr 16, 2006 8:48 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I suppose many horror stories have had that format. But that certainly was san endearing point about your tale.
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PostPosted: Sun Apr 16, 2006 2:55 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Voted for Shady possum... I mean Stoat, because it was a creepy tale that was very well written. Well done you! Very Happy
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PostPosted: Tue Apr 18, 2006 3:05 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Two more days of voting left! This one is close...so many great entries this month. Smile
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PostPosted: Wed Apr 19, 2006 8:36 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

A tie - is anyone left to vote?
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PostPosted: Wed Apr 19, 2006 8:51 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Looks like quite a few folks are left who haven't voted.

Myself and key included Wink
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PostPosted: Wed Apr 19, 2006 8:54 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I meant of people who had actually posted, therefore showing they were reading - but otherwise - go and vote.
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PostPosted: Wed Apr 19, 2006 3:51 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Wow! Once again there are a load of great stories here Very Happy
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PostPosted: Wed Apr 19, 2006 4:42 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

So everyone knows I would appreciate it if the host and/or winner would PM me when each month's contest is over so I can get the winning story it's deserved place in the auditorium.

I seem to need to go digging for a few Very Happy
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PostPosted: Wed Apr 19, 2006 5:16 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

But probably not both - that would be silly.
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PostPosted: Wed Apr 19, 2006 5:48 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Hey if that's what it takes to make sure someone lets me know I'm happy :biggrin:
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 20, 2006 10:54 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Wow - good set of stories.

I particulary liked the less 'action packed' ones - Jack D and Stoat, where they let the suspense and tension bring on the atmosphere, instead of the excess of gore Smile

Wasn't easy to decide in the end, but... voted.
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 20, 2006 1:25 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Ooh - I've got more votes than some other people. Shocking.

Brings back memories of when I almost won this competition...I'll get you some day Smee...
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 20, 2006 2:14 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

In fact, you came third out of seven Phang - not bad.
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 20, 2006 5:43 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Mmm. I lost this thread for a while, rather suprised how well my entry did.

Isn't it supposed to have finished on the 20th?
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 21, 2006 3:01 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

After a hideous girly-brawl involving much chocolate pudding and some random hair-pulling, Shady Stoat has finally managed to wrestle the championship belt from me. Very Happy

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PostPosted: Fri Apr 21, 2006 4:40 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

But it's not as if you fought to keep it.
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 21, 2006 5:14 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Congrats Shady! Great entry! :biggrin:
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 21, 2006 10:56 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

*wipes chocolate from her chin*

Woo! I won, I won!

Err... do you think we could have this belt re-sized for a month or so? It's a bit large for stoats Shocked

I'll get onto the next comp over the weekend some time Very Happy
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PostPosted: Sat Apr 22, 2006 12:55 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Razz Well done Stoaty - hard fought this month.
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PostPosted: Sat Apr 22, 2006 1:06 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Well done Stoaty, finally managed to add this one to the list then. Very Happy
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Which author takes the belt for March/April?
Jack_D.Mented
11%
 11%  [ 2 ]
Kalanna Rai
5%
 5%  [ 1 ]
Shady Stoat
35%
 35%  [ 6 ]
Muaddib
0%
 0%  [ 0 ]
Phang
17%
 17%  [ 3 ]
chinaren
29%
 29%  [ 5 ]
Solomon Birch
0%
 0%  [ 0 ]
Total Votes : 17
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