“Six Proofs of Purchases” by Tangent (1347 words)

“Hurry up, Carrie!” Mrs. Mullins. “After you finish that cereal, your red rain boots are by the door.”

Carrie nodded at her mom and gave her a thumbs-up. Then Carrie continued to swing her feet as she munched away on her cereal. During this bite, she decided to swing her head from right to left, tracing an arch back and forth in the air. But then she froze as her eyes caught an ad on the back of her box of Honey-Coated Peanut Butter Crunches with Banana Chips and Chocolate Nuggets. She grabbed the box and brought it closer. She saw a picture of the cereal’s mascot, a girl named Penny who did archeological digs for crunches and nuggets with her pet dog named Butter.

“Hey Dad! Look at this! I can get glasses that actually shoot LASERS! And, I can get a miniature cape for Penny’s sidekick!”

“Okay.”

“Of course, I don’t know have the plush doll of Butter. But who needs that?” Carrie asked rhetorically as she shooed the air. “Really, I’ve got Snuffles! A guinea pig with a flying cape! Wow!”

Mr. Mullins continued to read the newspaper. “Wow, indeed.”

From the garage, Mrs. Mullins called out as she secured the car seat in the back. Carrie was so scrawny that she still needed to use a car seat. “Carrie? You almost done?”

“Carrie, did you hear your mom? She needs to get to work and drop you off,” encouraged Mr. Mullins.

“Okay,” said Carrie, unperturbed. She stuffed her mouth with one more bite and smiled at the cape. Snuffles flying with a red cape that would match her goggles! And the cape had a star on it! With the two of them equipped with such dazzling superhero paraphernalia, the possibilities were simply endless. She gingerly carried her of now chocolatey milk to the sink. As she put on her backpack, she looked at her dad and with pride, she suggested, “If you’re still hungry after your coffee and toast, Dad, then by all means, help yourself to some Honey-Coated Peanut Butter Crunch—”

“Okay, Buddy,” assured Dad. “But for now, I think you should sprint to the car before Mom starts counting.”

Carrie sprinted.

In the car ride, she thought about how, starting tomorrow, baggied cereals would make up her lunch snack. And she’d definitely have to replace apple slices and peanut butter as her afternoon snack for more cereal with milk. Maybe her parents would let her have dessert. That would make her fourth bowl of cereal. Carrie wondered about the number of cereal bowls a box would fill.

Some stuff happened during the day like Anahita getting sand in her shoes from the sandbox. Ryan cried when Juan kicked his four-square ball across the field, and Carrie’s class looked at meal worms in science. But Carrie floated through all of this in oblivion, light-headed from skipping lunch. She planned on an extra-large after school snack of cereal bowls.

The next day, during Spelling, Carrie imagined herself shooting lasers at Ryan, and Snuggles backing her up with his flying cape. During recess, Carrie barely acknowledged getting poked with “The Cheese” as she imagined herself shooting lasers to transform ice into water. She wondered if Penny the archeologist from the cereal box turned solids into liquids, too. Carrie came home and ate more cereal.

In the evening, at the table, she wondered how long it’d take to get through six cereal boxes. “Dad, would you like some dessert? Maybe something like a banana split? Or –”

“If you want the laser goggles and the miniature cape, then you need to earn them yourself, Carrie.”

So Carrie had extra helpings of cereal for dessert, until her stomach hurt.

But by the next morning, she was ready for more. And the next day, she ate more ceral. All day, she imagined jumping off of building with laser beams next to her mighty sidekick guinea pig. All she could do at her desk was thread her fingers at her desk and smile.

That evening, she emptied the final sugary powder at the bottom of the plastic bag from her sixth cereal box. At last! Her last proof of purchase! Carrie dashed over to grab the kitchen scissors to cut out the proof from the box before chucking the rest of the cardboard into the recycling bin.

“Mom! You won’t believe it!” Carrie exclaimed. “I can’t believe I did this,” she added, more to herself. Carrie explained all her plans with the laser goggles and the cape for Snuggles as her Mom put together the proofs of purchases in an envelope.

“I can’t wait until tomorrow morning. Everything will be great.”

“Carrie, it said on the box that your cereal prize won’t arrive for six to eight weeks,” corrected Mrs. Mullins.

“What?!”

“And that’s after they receive our envelope and process it.”

“How do I survive that long?”

“Make sure you’re fed and bathed, I guess.”

“But really, my age after eight weeks? Over the hill.”

“Honey, it’s just eight weeks. You won’t even know the time passed.”

Instead, however, Carrie agonized over her anticipation. Her dreams about lasers and flying guinea pigs felt so real that waking up left Carrie in utter disappointment. Her teacher was surprised that she wasn’t interested in coming to the Smart Board to perform three-digit long division. Every day, Carrie simply stared blankly, almost through the Smart Board, into another world of laser-shooting rodents. Each afternoon, Carried checked the mail, but always shuffled back into the house with heart-breaking disappointment.

Just as the weather was getting warmer, Carrie diligently slumped over to the mailbox after stepping off the bus, like usual. This time, not only was her package not there, but the mailbox delivered nothing. No credit card or mortgage refinance offers.

Before Carrie could close the mailbox, her mom called from the front door, apparently retrieving the mail a little early. She held up a box the size of – a guinea pig. “Carrie! Today’s your lucky day!”

Carrie’s body flung into shock. Not knowing what to do with her mom’s news, she burst into tears and then laughed hysterically as she sprinted towards the front door to her smiling mother. She dropped her backpack and opened the box.

“This is it! This is it!” she cheered as she pulled away the packaging paper and revealed the goggles and the cape. Carrie gasped. Then she walked over to Snuggles hutch.

“Snuggles! The moment you’ve been waiting for! You can now fly!” Carrie picked up Snuggles who whistled and squeaked in her arms. She set him down on the carpet next to the package. In his curiosity, he twitched his nose and stared at the package with a blank expression. Carrie placed the cape over Snuggles’ back who was surprisingly accommodating. And then, she dawned her goggles.

She squinted, but nothing happened. She raised her eyebrows. Nothing. Carrie looked to the left and to the right. Nope. She crossed her eyes. No lasers.

“Snuggles run real fast until you start floating.”

Snuggles sat there.

“Ooooaaaahaooahaga!” hollered Carrie as she flailed her arms. Snuggles ran to the corner. But he didn’t levitate.

Carrie took a deep breath. What was this madness?

“Mom! Dad!” she cried in desperation. Both her parents arrived quickly. In tears, she added, “It’s not working.”

“What’s not working?” asked Mr. Mullins.

“The laser goggles. And the cape. Snuggles isn’t flying and I’m not shooting lasers,” she responded despondently. She desperately needed parents to save the day.

Mr. Mullins put her arm around Carrie tightly. “Buddy, it’s for pretend! And you have a great imagination!”

“Pretend?”

“Yeah, Carrie, it’s great! You worked so hard!” assured Mrs. Mullins. “The goggles and cape even match your invisible ink pen.”

“But the pen actually works!”

“Now that’s no reason to raise your voice,” said Mrs. Mullins.

In slow motion, Carrie folded her head down to the carpet and then let herself topple over. In exhaustion, she spooned Snuggles in a deep sleep, skipping her afternoon snack. The family consumed all the cereal anyway.

Kendrick shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and warmed them from the bite of the morning cold. He walked under the full canopy of the heavens and held his head high. He shifted his right hand slightly, in his pocket, and cupped his wallet. Light. He knew that he wouldn’t have enough money for today but still he tried to pull a Hail Mary the night prior. His coworkers at the poker match might not have sensed that something was wrong, maybe they didn’t detect his veiled desperation, but they still took him for every penny he was worth. He didn’t drink water before he went to sleep and his current hangover was a thing of beauty. He squinted his eyes under the harsh bright sunlight and continued his walk down the street.

Kendrick didn’t have any addictions that he knew of, and he didn’t gamble more than anyone else he knew, yet he always found himself living by the edge of his paycheck. He smiled when others talked about their savings and silently marveled when his coworkers managed to afford vacations on the other side of the Pacific, and he never really saw himself as poor. He borrowed money from payday loan shops, and when they stopped lending him money, he started to borrow from others that he knew. His family had offered to take him back in but he knew that would never work. They lived in squalor, in a small sedentary house that was little more than a shack, and he promised himself that he would never move back. He had set out for himself and and he wasn’t going to show weakness.

Kendrick found that his walking had slowed, imperceptibly, as he neared the Margot’s Supplies building. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, raised his head again, and walked up to the open front door of the building. His thoughts became more erratic, scattered, and he began to wonder why, of all people, he decided to borrow six hundred dollars from Phil Margot over a half a year ago. Phil was known around town as someone who could get things done, but what most people didn’t know was that Phil was also a small time crook with ambitions of grandeur. Phil saw what Kendrick’s coworkers could not and offered to lend him a few hundred dollars to help him get through the autumn. A month later Phil wanted the money back, plus a bit of interest. Even that memory was slightly over five months old. Last week some muscle that worked for Phil roughed Kendrick up, put a bit of fear in him, and told him that he had until the end of the week to pay him back. Kendrick walked into the building then, as empty handed as he was now, and was given a one week extension on his loan. That money meant the world to Kendrick and he needed to come up with a way to get the debt repaid in the next seven days.

Kendrick walked through the open front door of Margot’s Supplies and headed straight toward the back of the store. He nodded slightly to a store clerk who did not return the favor, walked into a back hallway, and stopped just before the office door at the very end of the hall. He knocked on the door; two hushed taps, really; turned the door handle; and stepped inside of the brightly lit office. Inside the room, stood a tall man just to the left of the door and beyond him, in the center of the room behind a cheap desk, sat Phil Margot.




“Kendrick!” Phil exclaims with faux-familiarity edging every word. “Sit. Sit. Hank and I were just talking about you.” Phil nudges his hand toward the large man standing by the door when he says the name Hank. Kendrick tepidly sits down in the chair seated before the desk. Phil stares at Kendrick for a moment, his face absolutely unreadable. “So, how much of my money do you have?” Phil asks coldly.

Kendrick shifts slightly in his seat before answering with a one word response, “Nothing.” Phil’s stare doesn’t falter, his expression doesn’t change. Kendrick thinks hurriedly of what to say next. He’s not sure when he’ll ever be able to pay Phil back, he wants to say.. but he doesn’t. He reaches into his pocket to pull out his wallet, to prove that it is empty, and hears Hank suddenly shift behind him. Kendrick turns around in his chair and sees Hank is standing very closely-- directly behind him, towering over him in a posture that is both menacing and aggressive. Hank closes the door to the office with the back of his boot.

Kendrick turns back and faces Phil whose expression remains unchanged and continues to stare at Kendrick, impassively. Suddenly, Hank grabs at Kendrick’s hair and pulls Kendrick’s head back. Kendrick’s thoughts become a flurry of madness as he feels a sharp pain on the right side of his neck as a knife is pressed harshly against his skin. Hank’s grasp on his hair tightens, pulling patches of hair out of his scalp. The knife begins to dig into Kendrick’s neck sending vibrant ribbons of pain through Kendrick’s body. Hank tears at the neck with the knife jaggedly digging into flesh with each tug until he tears across the length of Kendrick’s throat.

Kendrick falls off of the chair in shock and begins to violently shake on the floor, his entire neck in agony. Kendrick grabs at the leg of the desk in an attempt to steady himself but his hand, slick with blood, slips and his balance is again lost. He squirms on the floor in spasms of terror and coughs at the blood that is filling his esophagus. He moves his hands against his neck and feels loose jagged strips of flesh wet with blood. Need to stop the bleeding, he thinks as he tries to apply pressure to his open wound. Still, His blood is pouring out onto the floor and his grip becomes weaker.

Kendrick’s mind races. Even if he was rushed to a hospital he knows his chances for survival are bleak. He’s surrounded by people that mean him harm and he thinks back to why he was in this situation over such a paltry sum of money. What was so important that he needed to take this money from a man he barely knew? What does it say about Phil if he’s willing to kill over such a small amount? The question brings a smile to Kendrick’s mouth. His coworkers never knew that he was in need of money. What kept him from asking them for help.. was it pride? Kendrick thought sorrowfully about his mother and father, their constant pleas to help in what little way they could so long as he moved back in with them and took care of them in their advancing age. If only he could go back in time and tell them “Yes”. What a difference that would make.

Kendrick’s thoughts are beginning to get hazy, hard to manage, elusive. He looks around the room and the color appears to be fading. Only one of his bloodshot eyes moves as he looks about, the rest of his body is motionless. Even his breathing has stopped.

Kendrick thinks about the many choices he could have made that would have changed his outcome. He attempts a smile and is not sure if his muscles obeyed. He knows, deep in his mind, that these thoughts are worthless. Even if, by some miracle, he survived the day he would not improve his life. He lacks both a financial safety net and the will to make the needed sacrifices to build one. He would never amount to more than what he is.. was. His wracking debts were just another self-destructive tendency that he would not have the power to overcome. One way or another, he would have lived and died in poverty. He could have been a beggar, having alienated all of his coworkers - acquaintances that could never truly be considered friends. He could have been a poor lonely soul that cared for his dying parents.

Kendrick, instead, will die a violent death at the hands of his debtors.







Also available on my blog: http://gattsu25.blogspot.com/2012/05/no-way-out-but-back.html

Una hora mas!

Fiddled around with other posting options (for a bit too long), but ran into a few sticking points. Went with the old standby.

Envelopes (~1520 words)

It was a windy morning. It was. If he had known, Ben would have most likely taken a jacket; it would have been the prudent thing. But when he stepped out of his building, the day was calm, almost dead, with the sun barely shambled out of its hiding hole. Ben walked toward the corner of the sidewalk. A gust of wind broke from the reins and swept past him. His hair billowed. He pulled the envelopes, two letter-sized white ones and a larger mailer padded in air bubbles, in his hand toward his chest as he curled forward and made himself smaller. He clutched the envelopes tight in fear they would flee from his fingers and take a flight of fancy.

He reached the blue mailbox perched near the corner and stopped. It wasn't the first time he passed; Ben had gone around the block twice already. He almost rolled his ankle trying to step around what he presumed to be dog poop, and with deliberate intent of avoiding that spot, he stepped in it the second time around. At least, that was enough to stop another trip. "Third time's the charm," he muttered to the empty crossroad.

The first one was easy. It was due in a week. He creaked open the lip and tossed one of the white envelopes down into the gullet of the waiting mailbox. There was no satisfying thump, no indication that it had landed amongst its faithful brethren, not a thing spoke of its existence.

As for the other white envelope, he stared at its face and checked the lines over and over as if they were written by Tolstoy, though the addresses were printed by his own hand. His own he knew, but the recipient's address, he wasn't sure. He looked around, as if guilty of something. A car sped by. And even though he could not see the driver, somehow, he knew the driver watched him with disapproval. Maybe it was a mistake. The envelope dropped from his fingers and disappeared into the maw. His stomach knotted.

His fingers had smudged the ink on the padded envelope. Ben looked at it funny, but the words were still legible. He folded the envelope flap open and took a final look at the CD inside. Though he knew everything that he etched onto the disc, he wanted to wipe the contents from his mind. It's an awful thing to want to disown a child. He ran his tongue along the edge of the flap and sealed the envelope. He gagged and wagged his tongue out from his lips. He tried to wipe the taste from his tongue with the side of his hand. He wondered if envelope adhesive could spoil.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He didn't see himself actually stow the envelope into the mailbox, so maybe it never happened. Of course, it wasn't in his hand anymore.

And after all was done, with nothing much said, he stood there staring at the mailbox, as if he had seen his spirit leave his body. He wanted it all back, but it was too late. And frankly, Ben was rather hungry. He dismantled a donut for breakfast and drank coffee to wash away the taste of possibly botulistic glue from the insides of his mouth. And after he returned to his modest apartment, as he removed his shoes, he remembered that he had stepped into some dog excrement. And with that, he forgot about any ill effects from tasting the envelope glue and washed his hands with soap four times.

His expectation sat somewhere on the moon. It had reached space without Ben realizing how it could have escaped the ground of sensibility. But the next few days, after he left the office, after he ate sandwiches and chips at his cubicle, after he laughed at jokes that he didn't really get, he came back to his apartment complex and checked his mailbox each day for an impossible reply. Of course, he knew everything that he had sent out probably had not even reached their destinations. But that seldom stopped him from expecting.

The next few weeks crawled along. They were what they were. There was a lot of sitting on his couch with the television on or with headphones on and taking a freshly sharpened pencil to a notebook as he hummed a song that didn't really exist. There were some attempts to get bread crumbs to stay on chicken, on fish, or on onions, but there were mostly TV dinners from the microwave to the coffee table. Stacks of magazines, novels, coasters, a phone book, and a yearbook on the table watched him eat. He threw away a couple heads of lettuce that he never finished before the leaves liquefied. He took a few walks out at a nearby park. He knew he should probably exercise more.

The next time he opened his mailbox, a white envelope leaned against the inside. Ben grabbed the envelope with more fingers than needed. He tore the flap ragged without looking at the front. He yanked the contents free and unraveled the folded pieces of paper inside. His face soured. Didn't I just pay this? he thought.

Ben set the bill on the yearbook on the coffee table, as he left for the supermarket. After driving over there, he grabbed a couple of apples, some oranges, and a head of lettuce. He promised that this time he would finish it. He avoided a couple of head-on collisions between rickety shopping carts and swung around to the freezer aisle. There were more people than expected. He pushed his shopping cart past the aisle and decided to mill about in the coffee aisle before looping around to raid the freezer.

A few weeks later, he shook a carton of orange juice over a half-filled glass as he tried to the get the last few drops out. He looked into the carton a few times, as if he were looking for land through a spyglass, and each time, he could see a never-ending sliver of juice clinging to the bottom of the carton. He sighed. He upended the carton over the glass and decided on one more try. With a big jerk of the carton, the glass toppled and fell. Juice bled from the broken glass.

As he cleaned the floor, Ben remembered that he hadn't checked the mail today yet. He hurried down, and there it was. He cradled the envelope in his hands. And as fast as he came down, he went up back to his apartment. He sat on his couch. He stared at the envelope. There was his name and address. Yes, it was for him. Sweat soaked the envelope. His heart thumped. For some reason, he lowered the volume on the television, as if this were a phone call. But then he realized that he now could hear his heart even more, so he raised the volume back. He remembered the tasted of the envelope. And as if it might crumble in his hands, he carefully opened the envelope. He removed the letter inside. He scanned it first before he read once and then once again. He folded up the letter again and slipped it back into the envelope. That was about all he could do.

He went to work the next day and the day after. Apparently, that was about all he could do.

He didn't even notice the envelope among the advertising pamphlets until he was already back in his apartment. But it was there, slipped between coupons for soup and window cleaning products. He pulled it out and looked at it. Between his index finger and thumb, he held it up to the light, but he already knew. He saw his own handwriting. The words Return to Sender were added to his own. It looked like it had bounced around for some time before finally returning to him. Perhaps he should have let it fly after all, let the wind take it.

That yearbook on his coffee table, he opened it and flipped through its pages. He didn't find the page he was looking for, but that wasn't a surprise as he really wasn't looking. He slipped the envelope between random pages and walked to his bedroom. He pulled a box from under his bed, placed the yearbook inside, and slid the box back underneath. He sat on his bed for a bit.

A loud tap against the window startled him. He looked over. A moth bounced against the window pane, and with each bounce, it thumped more loudly than it was big. Ben wondered why it wanted in.

He pulled out his cell phone and looked through the numbers before dialing. He heard the phone ring a couple of times before someone picked up. He went through the standard greetings and small talk. "I'm not going to make it this year," he said. "Yeah," said Ben. He listened. "Yeah." He nodded a few times to no one. "Take care," he said before hanging up.

Totally thought this was due Sunday or Monday

Oh well, the last two competitions have created starting ground for two stories!

The Mirror of Mayhap (2190)

Audience days are the worst. I perch on my throne and listen to a broad medley of whiners, carefully selected by my prime minister for their nasal tones and pathetically uninteresting problems. Some are dirty peasants, some are gilded nobles; they're all deeply stupid.

My usual survival method is to find something to count. Fleas or layers of stains for the peasants, stitches in repeating patterns for the nobles. It doesn't really work; I still hear their droning words even through the numbers, and part of the meaning still penetrates my consciousness. But then, that's what the goblet of wine is for.

I banged the goblet on an arm of my throne, signalling to my idiot steward that I needed a refill.

http://dl.dropbox.com/u/68747405/The%20Mirror%20of%20Mayhap.pdf (pw: neogaf)

Hurrah, DND returns!

Mike, I am disappoint.

The Entries:

Ashes1396 - "farm animals"
John Dunbar - "Masters of Creation"
Grakl - "What Might Have Been"
Valerie Cherish - "Might've Been"
Bootaaay - "Stone"
Tangent - "Six Proofs of Purchases"
Gattsu25 - "No Way Out But Back"
DumbNameD - "Envelopes"
Cyan - "The Mirror of Mayhap"

dahh! I didn't know it was due yesterday. I had a theme I was playing with. Had written about 500 words and was building on it!

Well, I will probably jump on the next challenge.

Ashes1396 - "farm animals" - Doesn't feel like it's constructed with your usual delicacy and smoothness, but there's truth to be found in the farmer's grief. I like that at the end, even justice hasn't brought him respite. It feels real.

John Dunbar - "Masters of Creation" - Nice work on the secondary. I had a bit of trouble following the story, maybe because it didn't seem like there was really a POV character, and the narration was pretty loose. But I love the concept.

Bootaaay - "Stone" - An interesting choice, embedding the real story like that. I would've liked to see some relation between the embedded story and the frame. The ending didn't work for me. Just didn't feel right.

Cyan said:

Bootaaay - "Stone" - An interesting choice, embedding the real story like that. I would've liked to see some relation between the embedded story and the frame. The ending didn't work for me. Just didn't feel right.

Click to expand...

Yeah, my original idea had Isobel talking about how she was expecting a proposal from Mark over dinner, and how the story of Jake would affect her mixed feelings on the matter - however, I simply was not good enough to tie it all together. I struggle writing about anything outisde of fantasy or sci-fi.

I wasn't too happy with the ending either, but it was 4AM and I was so close to passing out, lol.

Last day to vote!

Tangent - "Six Proofs of Purchases" - Aww. Reminds me of a Calvin & Hobbes story. I always like the way you write children, it always feels realistic. I guess my only real criticism here is that I knew exactly what would happen. But it was a fun story.

Gattsu25 - "No Way Out But Back" - Solid first half, establishing the character and his way of viewing the world. The second half didn't really click for me. I found myself wondering why this small-time crook has a guy's throat cut right in his office. It broke verisimilitude for me.

DumbNameD - "Envelopes" - Good character work, though this was a bit less tightly written than I expect of a DND piece. I like the subtlety. Should we expect to see you more regularly?


Votes:
1. DumbNameD - "Envelopes"
2. Ashes1396 - "farm animals"
3. Bootaaay - "Stone"

Ashes1936: I felt disorientated at the start of the story. I still have no idea where this story takes place. Jamieson and pubs make it sound like Britain, but then there's talk of monsoons (which technically exist in Europe but the word definitely has an exotic connotation), rich Muslim Khan who can bribe the police in a murder case (which would never work in non-dystopian Britain). I thought Indian sun meant India, but I don't think they have "pubs" as such, so maybe Indian sun meant the sun of an Indian summer. I just don't know, man.

This confusion made it difficult for me to connect with the story, and the stuff like Jamieson just happening to find the girl when going sailing was coincidental to say the least. It was best in its quiet moments, but the big picture seemed to be out of focus throughout.

Grakl: Flawless execution.

Valerie Cherish: A bit verbose, but I liked it.

Bootaaay: Well written, but something about the way Mark told the story just felt false to me. I think this might work as pieces of a longer story, but now the embedded story and its frame felt disconnected. About the ending, I would have probably ended the story in a similar fashion as you did, but my endings always suck so that's probably not a good thing.

Also, just an observation I've made about your writing in general, but I don't think I've ever seen you write "its". Obviously it's not that important for these challenges and I'm sure you're aware of the difference, but your prose is way too good to be so careless, and I think it would benefit you greatly to get into the habit of keeping "it's" and "its" separate on the first go so later editing won't be such a chore.

Tangent: Like Cyan (why would you crit yourself?) I was reminded of Calvin & Hobbes, and I too saw what was coming, but that's not really a problem since I don't think anyone expected a cereal company to mail the girl real super hero gear, although that would have made a bitchin' story. Story like this is all about the execution, and I felt you handled it rather delicately, though I must say that Carrie did come across a bit, if not autistic, then certainly special. Even with kids I'd say there's a fine line between imagination and being mental, and Carrie is teetering dangerously on the edge.

I never comment on a story's relation to the theme because it doesn't really matter, but I do think it's an interesting question with this story in a food-for-thought kind of way. "Might have been" implies some kind of a missed possibility, or something that just could have happened but didn't, but obviously with the case of magical cereal gear, it never could have been, and the story was more about what "Might be", as in in the future as the kid waited for her prize. There was the inevitable disappointment, sure, but not the melancholy longing a true missed opportunity would evoke. About the title, I'm pretty sure only "proof" should have been pluralized, but that's not a big deal.

Gattsu25: I was reminded of that scene from The Silence of the Lambs where they said that you should repeat the victim's name as often as possible so the killer would see them as human and thus feel sympathy for them. I couldn't connect to Kendrick, and the fact that every paragraph begins with his name obviously draws attention to itself, and I suppose it's possible someone could see something behind such repetition, but for me it did not mean anything and therefore was more of an annoyance. The writing was fine, but I just couldn't buy the scenario. Some petty criminal might kill for dimes, but a loan shark like Phil would almost certainly have better use for Kendrick than slitting his throat in his office. The world just felt alien to me, like it was Detroit or something.

DumbNameD: It was definitely subtle, and subtleness always carries the risk of alienating the reader if they don't find a point of contact with the story. For me this was a mostly the case. I sort of felt for Ben, but ultimately I was left rather unsatisfied at the end. The story did convey a certain sadness that to me was very impressive, so I actually feel bad that I couldn't connect to it in more concrete terms.

Cyan: Might be that I wasn't in the mood for this kind of a story, but the voice just didn't work for me. The King was clearly meant to be a likeable asshole, but it rang hollow: the character type (bored ruler with a hedonistic streak and snide remarks for every occasion) is a bit played out and you didn't really bring anything new to it. This left the story to stand on its own, and when the voice failed its legs gave out. Might have worked better if it had been written from Branson's or Poxy's point of view to give it some balance, since the King's thoughts and behaviour were so uniform throughout it just felt like overkill.

Votes:
1. Tangent
2. Ashes1936
3. DumbNameD

Vote vote vote!

Not a lot of time left, peeps. Don't forget!

Votes:

1. Tangent - "Six Proofs of Purchases"
2. Cyan - "The Mirror of Mayhap"
3. John Dunbar - "Masters of Creation"

Some excellent stories this time around.

Crits:
Ashes: There were some lines that I had to re-read. I'm not sure if that's just me or if that means that the style was a bit clunkier.

John Dunbar: I like how you were able to bring in a lot of social commentary into such a short story. The dialog was very realistic.

Grakl: I just LOVE super short stories.

Valerie Cherish: This totally has potential and it reminds me of a lot of research that has been done on praise. I think flushing out the story of this science fair kid and his state of mind as an adult would have been pretty fun to read.

Bootaaay: I don't know how you'll take this, but a PART of this story reminded me a bit of the "Titanic!" Putting that aside, I really liked how you set the scene of the man and the woman in the beginning. I find it hard to relay a story within a story without just "telling" and I think you did a great job at that and kept it alive and visual.

Gattsu25: Some of the bloody parts of this were written so well with a good pace that I had to re-read them! Very good word choice. I did feel that his self-reflection lingered longer than I thought was realistic, but who knows -- I haven't been in a near-death situation myself to know. Also, impressive use of present tense. I always seem to botch that up.

DumbNameD:
This was a hilarious story. I really like how you set up the character, but I did feel at times that I wanted the pace to pick up. Perhaps that just means it was well-written and left me in healthy anticipation. But maybe it could have been that there was more "telling" rather than "showing." Sorry, I honestly don't know which it was!

Cyan: The intention in your story was really wonderful, but I felt like some of the lines didn't feel super realistic. At times, I liked the short lines, like, "I sipped my wine. It didn't taste right" which almost had me laughing out loud. At other times, it was hard to follow along. Also, though, this story made me think about what it's like to have an antagonist as a main character. I didn't really like the king, but it's interesting to write in the perspective of the antagonist. A good exercise. )


Votes:
1. Bootaaay
2. JD
3. Gattsu
HM: Ashes, Cyan, DumbNameD

John Dunbar said:

I don't think anyone expected a cereal company to mail the girl real super hero gear, although that would have made a bitchin' story. Story like this is all about the execution, and I felt you handled it rather delicately, though I must say that Carrie did come across a bit, if not autistic, then certainly special. Even with kids I'd say there's a fine line between imagination and being mental, and Carrie is teetering dangerously on the edge.

Click to expand...

Hmm, wow, yeah I didn't think about the possibility of the cereal box actually delivering superhero items! Great idea. And, that's very interesting what you said about Carrie's personality. I honestly don't know what "neurotypical" kids are like anymore and only see kids who are "different" in one way or another so that's fascinating that my stories now reflect that. How crazy.

1. Cyan
2. Tangent
3. Ashes1396

1. Gatsu
2. Cyan
3. Dnd
Hm. Bootz & J.D

Didn't really know how to vote. That top 5 are pretty much my top 5 in any order really.

@J.d. There are pubs a plenty in India, ( Bangalore is called pub city iirc), and plenty of expats have lived there since the time of the British Raj and plenty who were born there - George Orwell amongst the most famous. Jamieson is a family name, most strongly associated with Scottish heritage.

I think I had a good story in mind, but pulled short of executing well.

1. Bootaaay
2. Ashes
3. DumbNameD

Wow, voting's all over the place! Fun times.

Ashes1396 said:

@J.d. There are pubs a plenty in India, ( Bangalore is called pub city iirc), and plenty of expats have lived there since the time of the British Raj and plenty who were born there - George Orwell amongst the most famous. Jamieson is a family name, most strongly associated with Scottish heritage.

Click to expand...

I had exactly the same problem J.D. did, dislocation. You've got Farmer Jamieson in the first paragraph, which sounds English or UK, then you've got the pub in the second paragraph, which anchors that. By the time we get the Indian sun five or six paragraphs in, my mind has already started constructing the pastoral English countryside, and then is jarred suddenly sideways. I'm sure you're right that these things make perfect sense in India, but you want to be careful of misleading the reader.

Woah, shit, I fell asleep while reading. I'll have my votes in shortly, give me 10 minutes or so.

Cyan said:

I had exactly the same problem J.D. did, dislocation. You've got Farmer Jamieson in the first paragraph, which sounds English or UK, then you've got the pub in the second paragraph, which anchors that. By the time we get the Indian sun five or six paragraphs in, my mind has already started constructing the pastoral English countryside, and then is jarred suddenly sideways. I'm sure you're right that these things make perfect sense in India, but you want to be careful of misleading the reader.

Click to expand...

yeah I figured. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. ;p

I wanted a British-Indian feel, and I got Britain + India collage instead. If that makes sense.

Edit: and this folks is a perfect example of why a second pair of eyes is nearly always a good idea.

1. Cyan - I really enjoyed the playful tone of the piece towards the end, and laughed out loud at the old man getting hit with a rock a second time, and the mirror's answer. Good stuff.
2. Tangent - you really have a way with writing children and this piece had a wonderful feel, I loved the father's bored humouring of Carrie at the start, and the agonizing wait of eight weeks that reminded me of times in my own childhood.
3. Ashes1396 - like Cyan said, there's a truth to the farmer's grief, it's not something easily resolved, even after the right thing is done, and you convey that well.

Hm; John Dunbar

Oh nooooo, what have you done?

An exact tie between me and my alter ego. This is the second time this has happened!

Ah well. Using the same third tie-breaker we've used before, the less recent victor. If it's good enough for the Rose Bowl...

The Results:
1st Place (tie): Tangent - "Six Proofs of Purchases"
1st Place (tie): Cyan - "The Mirror of Mayhap"
3rd Place: Ashes1396 - "farm animals"

Vote Count:
Tangent - 10 (2)
Cyan - 10 (2)
Ashes1396 - 8
Bootaaay - 7 (2)
DumbNameD - 6 (1)
Gattsu25 - 4 (1)
John Dunbar - 3

Congrats, Tangent!

If you want to let me know your topic etc by email, I can post the thread for you. Or if you post it here, I'm sure someone will hop in.

Cyan said:

Ah well. Using the same third tie-breaker we've used before, the less recent victor. If it's good enough for the Rose Bowl...

Click to expand...

Congrats Hobbes.

Well done, Cya -- er, Tangent.

So, Cyan won anyway?

New topic?

Mike Works said:

New topic?

Click to expand...

Shhhh. Tangent's thinking.

Pfft, just open up a dictionary to a random page and put your finger down on a word. No one even looks at the theme for these things anyway.

And those secondary objectives? Tell me not to use verbs but don't make it mandatory? Yeah, like that'll stick.

Tim the Wiz said:

Well done, Cya -- er, Tangent.

Click to expand...

Cyangent.

Does Tangent even know he won?

Has anyone talked to him since his victory?

Maybe he went off on a tangent and forgot about this thread.

Heh, I think Tangent went to bed. We were emailing back and forth earlier, but I never got final word on the theme. So... ?

I'll put on the pressure for tomorrow morning.

False alarm! Got the topic and secondary, it'll be up in a minute or two.

She's still a jnr, so I suppose you'll have to post on her behalf, eh cyan?

Edit: just checked, she's half way to graduating.

It's fun catching up with this thread when I'm MIA.

Thanks for the congrats! Gosh it's hard to know what stories will work. I cranked out that last story at an airport gate about 5 minutes before I had to board. Go figure.

Cyangent, er, Cyan, will be posting the new challenge. I'm still a junior ranger.

(And yes Lone_Prodigy, that's why I'm Tangent, because I'm so tangential. I'm like the dog from "Up.")

And here's the new thread!

http://www.neogaf.com/forum/showthread.php?t=473429