The Divvil and Hercules Smith (1200)

There once was a feller—lived right in this here parish!—name of Hercules Smith. He got that name afore he was ten years old, on account of all the wrasslin he did. You never saw such a wrassler in all your life. He’d sneak out at night to wrassle bears, and when his pappy caught him, why he’d wrassle him too.

Now, one day, when Hercules Smith was near growed up, his pappy up and keeled over at the plow. Dead afore he hit the ground. His family was mighty sad, but he’d had a passel of sons who could take good care of their mama and sisters. Still, old Herc’l was mighty worried.

See, the preacher back then, he was a God-fearin, fire-and-brimstone man, what weren’t afraid to tell you you were a sinner and no mistake. And he reckoned that Herc’l’s pappy hadn’t gone to church near enough, and might be he had likkered hisself up and rolled the bones with some of the fellers a few too many times. That was enough sins, he told Herc’l, that the Divvil would come to collect his pappy when they buried him.

Well now, that didn’t sit right with Herc’l. His pappy had given him plenty of hidings right enough, but he reckoned he was a good man, who didn’t deserve to burn forever and ever. Herc’l wasn’t about to let the Divvil take his pappy. So he promised hisself he’d sit out and wait for the Divvil, and see what he would see.

‘Twas a dark, cold night that evenin, the sort of night where mamas put the young uns to bed early and sing them to sleep, and pappies cock an ear to the door while they drink their whiskey, and keep their rifles close at hand. That was the sort of night that Hercules Smith found hisself right out in the middle of, the day his pappy was buried.

He sat there alone in the graveyard in the cold and dark, waiting, to see what he would see.

Soon enough, the night got darker, and the hours got later, and the clock began to toll the twelfth hour. And sure enough, right on the stroke of midnight, there came the Divvil himself, slouching into the graveyard. He wore a suit and fine hat, and had red-glowing eyes, and his footprints smoked in the dirt.

“Hercules Smith, if I don’t mistake myself,” said the Divvil, and Herc’l nodded politely like he were raised.

“Yes sir, I’m him. Or he’s me,” he said.

“Well boy, just what do you aim to accomplish standing here in this graveyard on a cold, lonely night?”

“Well sir,” said Herc’l. “I don’t aim to let you take my pappy.”

When he heard that, the Divvil laughed and laughed, and gouts of steam puffed out his nose. “Just how do you mean to stop me, boy?”

Well Herc’l, he had thunk about that all the while he was sitting there in the cold and the dark. And he reckoned the Divvil could never resist a challenge. “Let’s have a wrasslin match,” says he. “If I win, you’ll leave my pappy’s soul.”

“And if you lose,” said the Divvil with a grin, “I take his soul, and yours to boot!”

Herc’l knowed the Divvil was a tricky feller, but he also reckoned the Divvil had never seen a wrassler like him. They spat on their palms and they shook hands, and then they took two steps back and stared at each other.

Herc’l, he was a champion bear wrassler, and he run right at the Divvil like he was a bear. He grabbed the Divvil by the shoulders and made to throw him, but the Divvil just stood there and made hisself too heavy to move.

Then the Divvil took Herc’l by the arms and flung him off, so that he rolled along the ground a ways and hard into a tree. You or me, we would’ve given up right then and there. But not Herc’l. No, he got right back up and run at the Divvil again, aiming to bowl him over and sit on him till he done cried uncle.

But the Divvil, he saw this coming too, and he made hisself too heavy to move again, and Herc’l found hisself sitting on the ground without much recollection of how he got there.

Then the Divvil spoke up. “Hercules Smith, it is not too late for you to give up.”

And at that very moment the shadowy graveyard up and disappeared, and Herc’l could see nought but a darkness full of flickering flames. He saw candles of all size and sort, some nigh as big as a man and burning bright, some tiny and guttering near to going out.

“That’s your life, Hercules Smith,” said the Divvil, and he pointed at one of the candles. It was powerful big, but the flame was weak, near snuffed out.

“If you give up now,” said the Divvil, “I’ll still take your soul. But you can live out your natural days. I’ll let that there candle burn all the way down.”

“No sir,” said Herc’l, with such a fierceness that the Divvil blinked. And the flames disappeared, and the graveyard come back.

And in that moment when Herc’l couldn’t rightly make him out, the Divvil moved like a snake and flung him up against a headstone.

Herc’l knew that he was near done for, but he thought of his pappy’s soul, and he thought of that powerful big candle. And didn’t he just push hisself up one more time.

Well, the Divvil come on, thinking Herc’l was near beaten. But as he come near, Herc’l leaped clear over the top of him, and grabbed him around the throat from behind. He got both arms around him and durned if he didn’t put the Divvil in the finest and mightiest headlock you ever did see.

The Divvil knew he was nabbed, and he clawed and grabbed at Herc’l but he couldn’t get a hold of him. There was a howling and cackling and all sorts of racket outside the graveyard, and the Divvil made all the threats and promises you could think of. Piles of money! The governorship! The most beautiful woman in the land!

But Herc’l hung right on, and didn’t listen to all them threats, and denied all them empty promises. He hung on for an hour, then two hours, and right soon enough, the cock crowed and the sun come up. With a hideous howling shriek, the Divvil vanished, and there was only a smell of brimstone and a pair of smoking footprints left behind.

Herc’l, he rubbed his hands together, and he smiled at his old pappy’s grave, and he strolled on back to his mama and his brothers and sisters, whistlin. And it weren’t so many years later afore Herc’l got all them things the Divvil had promised him, all on his own. But that’s a whole other story.

And even today, you can go over to the graveyard and see them two footprints all bare of grass, and remember the night when Hercules Smith wrassled with the Divvil and won.

What's Fair (813)

“You know, I think I’ve gotten that impossible thing.” My best friend’s eyes looked dreamily into the city sky. I knew exactly who he was thinking about.

“What do you mean Lars,” I asked, knowing the answer full well.

He turned to me with that fucking stupid look on his face. “You know what I’m talking about Jimbo. I found the ideal love.” Jimbo, I fucking hate that name. I only let Lars call me that, ever since high school, but damn, he says it as though I’m all in with him.

The lock on the door to the apartment clicked open. Lars quickly got up and ran for the door. I knew exactly who it was. “Oh, I hope you don’t mind that I gave Cindy a copy of the key,” he called back to the balcony-slash-fire escape.

“Yeah, I don’t mind,” I called back. I was lying of course. The two came back and snuggled up on the lawn chair that was set up. Cindy wasn’t hot per say, but she was better than average. Those assholes. Get a room already. It was disgusting how they would look into each other’s eyes and then make out so slowly. It made me want to puke. I took my beer and stepped back into the apartment before I could get that far. It was always awkward when they were together. I dove into my room and lay on my bed, can of pub ale on my stomach. A few of my more recent target pistol trophies were on the chest of drawers. None of them were first place. I picked up the cell phone, and called my own girlfriend. It rang a while. She picked up eventually, but she was panting heavily.

“Hey, Trace, you wanna go out for a bite to eat?” anything to get away from this couple. I didn’t even fucking like Tracy that much, and I knew she was sleeping around, I just could never prove it.

“Oh, I’m sorry Jimmy, I’m, eh, working out at the gym,” the whore panted. Like fuck she was.

“Doesn’t the gym close early on Sundays, like around five?” I looked at the clock besides me, it was 35 minutes past nine.

The panting stopped as Tracy gasped and held her breath, noticing she’d been caught.

“Have fun working out, dear, and don’t bother calling back.” I closed my cell without giving Tracy a chance to respond. That whore. I went and got my target plinker and the case. The range was open 24/7 and I could use the practice. Get some steam off and calm my nerves. Thank God for America.

I stepped towards the door. Lars must have heard my keys. “Hey man, another squabble with Tracy?” How in the fuck does he always know? “You always go down to the range when you need to blow off some steam.”

“What’s it to you. You got Cindy, you’re happy.”

“Come on dude, cheer up. You’ll find someone,” the bastard smiled. God I hated it when he smiled like that.

“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say.”

“What do you mean?”

That’s it, I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Oh, don’t talk stupid to me. You were the awkward half for YEARS. You didn’t even so much as Talk to a girl unless you had to, and then here we are, and Cindy just fucking falls into your lap, and she’s fucking perfect for you. And here I am running through girls like fucking air. And you’re telling me to cheer the fuck up? I actively looked for YEARS for that someone and yours just shows up one day, and you wouldn’t have made any fucking progress if I didn’t introduce you in the first place.”

“Hey, Jimbo, that’s not fair.”

“Not fair? NOT FAIR! You want to talk about fucking fair? Fair is dealing with every chick you meet trying to be the nice guy hoping they aren’t boning some huge asshole behind your back, fair is dealing with chicks on a case to case basis, praying that ONE of them would end up being for you, not just sitting in one fucking place and having this shit handed to you on a silver fucking platter!” I hadn’t noticed I had pulled my .22 up. “Fair? Fuck fair, eat this.” I pulled the trigger and hit him square between the eyes. The bastard. He didn’t even try and run, he just stared me down.

Cindy came running into the hallway where Lars was bleeding all over. She screamed and started crying, “Why, why.” Disgusting.

She looked up at me with this look of longing and fear, not hate, anger, but of the pure question “Why.”

That whore. Bending over that dead body. I brought my pistol up again, and fired through her head. That’s what they get for getting that impossible thing.

Only a few more hours...

Bah. Still no good ideas. Maybe next time.

Well that was kind of disappointing. I hoped we'd get a few more at the end there.

doomed1 said:

What's Fair

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Interesting interpretation of the theme, and I like the dialogue. It rings true for the most part. What I wasn't quite feeling was the motivation for the ending. It came so out of nowhere that it kind of pulled me out of the story. It just didn't feel right for the character.

I think it needed a bit more setup. Like, establish early on that he has a horrible temper, or that he's come to almost hate his former best friend. Or right before it happens, take us deeper inside the guy's head, so we can see what he's thinking and why he snaps. Is there a struggle within as his anger and jealousy battle his sense of friendship? Or does he just lose it and pull the trigger without knowing what he's doing?

And does he really feel no remorse afterward?

ronito said:

The M320

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I like the kind of breezy feel to your storytelling here. The concept works and is fun (especially the ending). But... (you know what's coming) it's just too much squeezed into too few words.

How could this have been addressed? A few options:
-Shrink down the plot (maybe take out the first false alarm)
-Downsize the number of characters, not all of them are necessary (six is kind of a lot for such a short piece, we can't really get to know any of them)
-Cut down the dialogue a bit
-Cut some of the exposition, maybe put it into dialogue or something

Picking one or two of these options would have allowed for a little expansion of the other ones, which would really have helped.

Incidentally, are these the same characters from an earlier story you posted here? Some of the names sounded familiar.

Toma said:

Nature can sometimes be pretty off.

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Ok, I just wrote a long paragraph about how I didn't get it... and then I got it. Cute.

It was a bit of an odd style with what you were going for, and I'm not sure there was a lot of point other than the eventual revelation... but maybe that was enough. And once I did get it, the whole thing became pretty funny.

P.S. Use more line breaks between paragraphs, it really helps us read it!

Aaron said:

Friction B Gone

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Good, quick characterization of Ralf, with just a few broad brushstrokes. The city/world are well-developed too, through the lens of the MC and his grandma. The challenge itself was ok, but I didn't quite get what happened at the end when he reached the summit. It wasn't clear to me what the cans were supposed to signify.

Finally, the dialogue tag issue. Didn't really notice the first time through, but it bugged me the second time through. You've seen me complain about this before, so I'll keep it brief: it's unnecessary, and it's telling instead of showing.


Edit:
Ok, I lied, I won't keep it brief. Here's a quick example of how part of the story might look using just "said" and a few action tags (you could probably do this a lot better, since it's your story, but see what you think):


"This isn't a place for vagrants to rest," Ralf said.

"This is where folks come to sell things, and I've got something to sell." The elderly gent waved at the minimal display.

"Old paint cans?"

"My product is what's inside those cans." The old man fixed him with a stern glare as he grabbed hold of one, upsetting the display to cause it to roll over the counter. "Within this can isn't instant happiness as these charlatans promise, but something useful. A spray that renders the properties of friction inert! Even the very force of gravity is lightened by one simple application!"

"Bapas," Ralf said, using the name of unsolvable puzzles given to children to keep them quiet. False promises.

"It's no wizard's box. I made this, and offer a full refund if not completely satisfied." The old man crossed his arms.


I don't pretend to be an expert, but I think this reads a lot more smoothly. You may disagree, and that's your prerogative. But... think about it.

No Scribble or DumbNameD or Memles?? Alas.

Aaron: One of the things that you excel at is creating a believable universe. It's really quite good. That being said I'm reminded of something that Vonnegut once wrote that every character should want something, even if it's a glass of water. Ralf was very convincing with his superstition but his drive was only mentioned in passing it feels like stuff happens to Ralf not that Ralf makes stuff happen. While that's fine it does make him seem a little hapless. Still it's a minor quibble.

Toma: First off reading it to someone else or having it read to you (I use a text to speech utility) really helps to clear up some unclear expressions. Also put space between your paragraphs a wall of text is intimidating.It rambles a bit which is fine as long as you go somewhere with it, in the end I kept on waiting for the event horizon to come and never did.

Cyan: You're always going after the high concept pieces. Frankly sometimes it doesn't work for you, but this time it did. It was a good swing at American folklore, though admittedly the end...well you'll know the end is cliched and cheesy.

Doomed: This reminded me of the whole Moby Dick comic I know you were trying to be serious but the similarities found me amused. Not your fault but still. Like Cyan I agree this piece needs a whole lot more setup. It just feels way too abrupt.

Cyan said:

I like the kind of breezy feel to your storytelling here. The concept works and is fun (especially the ending). But... (you know what's coming) it's just too much squeezed into too few words.

How could this have been addressed? A few options:
-Shrink down the plot (maybe take out the first false alarm)
-Downsize the number of characters, not all of them are necessary (six is kind of a lot for such a short piece, we can't really get to know any of them)
-Cut down the dialogue a bit
-Cut some of the exposition, maybe put it into dialogue or something

Picking one or two of these options would have allowed for a little expansion of the other ones, which would really have helped.

Incidentally, are these the same characters from an earlier story you posted here? Some of the names sounded familiar.

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Thanks for the criticism. And yeah I know all too well it was too much. And I'm surprised someone noticed! Yeah the first challenge I was part of was "The Unlikely Pair" And it was a story from a man's point of view about Shannon at Josie's funeral. When I came up with the concept I figured why not go back and give the man a name (Sal) and fill in their story a bit. Ergo why there were more characters in the story than there should've been.

Thanks for the comments on my story. I agree the ending is unfocused and Ralf is more pushed around than pushing. It's something I jotted down, but it would have been more effort than it seemed worth to fix. As for dialogue tags, I probably do go too far, but using said all the time drives me up a wall.

My comments on the works of others:

Toma - A bit of structure would have made it a bit easier to read. It was also mostly setup with no payoff. There was no destination in the story. Just waking up in the morning.

ronito - The explanation at the top is a little dry, and I think it takes away more interest than it adds, since it gives the reader a bit too much of what's going on. Personally, I would have cut the bit with the original bank manager doing dirty and the revenge bit at the end, and instead used those words to flesh out the job itself, as I know you had a real problem with the word limit this time around. The result does have a feeling of being trimmed close to the bone.

Cyan - To be honest, Herc'l and Divvil got on my nerves after a while, but the story really carries it's own with strong pacing and personality. It's good fun, though the 'Divvil' always loses in stories like this. It would have been a nice twist for him to be the one with the come from behind victory.

doomed1 - That was a vicious one, but with strong personalities and full of bitter emotions. I expected it would end that way, but more out of where the story should go than any obviousness to it. I don't personally think it needed anything to flesh out the story more.

votes:
1 - Cyan
2 - doomed1
3 - ronito

Let's see if we can clear up the voting early and give ourselves a few extra days.

My votes:

1- Cyan
2- Aaron
3- Doomed

Oh my word. I just found this thread on the day after the submissions are due

Thanks for the feedback, guys. I did think about having the "Divvil" win at the end, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I am weak! And yeah, looking at my recent stories, maybe I should get back to basics on the next one.

Votes:
1. Aaron- "Friction B Gone"
2. ronito- "The M320 Gig"
3. doomed1- "What's Fair"

Gattsu25 said:

Oh my word. I just found this thread on the day after the submissions are due

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So... come back for the next one!

ronito said:

No Scribble or DumbNameD or Memles?? Alas.

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Oooh, I get two question marks!

Yeah, I've been insanely busy with the Frosh Week activities and the start of classes (I'm an RA, so I'm "on duty" and also took about 3200 photos over the weekend documenting the whole process), so my ability to sit down and churn out a story the past few challenges just hasn't come together.

I'll be there for the next one, and will try to get some votes in.

i get banned for 2 months and miss a half dozen contests... then once unbanned, i post in this thread saying how i'm looking forward to the next challenge, and promptly get banned until the day after the contest ends :lol

i just started down the road to obtaining an associate of arts degree with a focus in creative writing this week, so hopefully my writing will improve over the months during these contests

(if i can actually find a way to enter one)

Mike Works said:

i get banned for 2 months and miss a half dozen contests... then once unbanned, i post in this thread saying how i'm looking forward to the next challenge, and promptly get banned until the day after the contest ends :lol

i just started down the road to obtaining an associate of arts degree with a focus in creative writing this week, so hopefully my writing will improve over the months during these contests

(if i can actually find a way to enter one)

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Hey, you're back!

Yeah, be careful not to jinx yourself this time.

I know I'm super late, but I did work on this for the last week and a half and I wouldn't mind getting some feedback.. if anybody can spare the time.

Dexter Denby's Miracle Tonic

Dexter Denby had a magic hat; you know, the kind that magicians use to pull out rabbits or flowers from beneath tables, using smoke and mirrors. He set up his little card table like usual that day, just outside the Music Box store with all the fancy pianos. Working the third level at the mall was my favorite part of the job. I had a great view, great sounds, and I got to see Dexter Denby put smiles on the faces of a hundred kids a day.

I've seen playing cards shoot out of his hat like a geyser. I've seen him conjure fireflies by the bunches one night, putting on a light show that I'll never forget. I've even saw him pull out puppy after puppy and hand them out to happy kid after happy kid; free of charge! I'll never forget those kids faces, or those parents' faces. I guess it's like they say, "you can't please everyone."

But this day was different. His green eyes were brighter; his movements more animated. He reached into his bag and pulled out a black cloth disc. He presented it to the passing crowd like a mirror, daring them to take a closer look. He flipped it over in his hands and sprung open the top hat with the slightest flick of his wrist.

You could see the anticipation written all over the kids' faces. Many of them sat down before the simple table and whispered into each others' ears, probably trying to guess what new wonderment he was going to pull out of his magic hat.

He placed the hat down on the table, like I'd seen him do a hundred times before. He had a child crawl underneath the table, like so many other days before. He drew up his sleeves and reached deep, deep into the hat-so deep you could imagine him falling right in-and what he pulled from that hat I would never had expected: a simple glass bottle filled with a nondescript brown liquid and topped with a tiny cork.

Dexter Denby had an unmistakable look of surprise on his face. It lasted only a second but it was a look I would never forget. He recovered quickly but the crowd was still stunned and confused.

"This," he intoned to the crowd, "is a very special day.'

His eyes roamed over those gathered, meeting every eye. Kids' hands shot up.

"What is it?"
"Can you drink it?"
"Is it juice?"

"It's a miracle tonic, kids. And yes, you should drink it every day."

There was a murmur among the grown-ups.

"What is this?"
"I think he's trying to sell something."
"That's not fair. The kids were expecting some magic."
"He's been giving stuff away for years. I'll chip in."

Dexter Denby held his miracle tonic aloft, quieting the crowd.

"One drop of this tonic and any ache, any strain, or broken bone; any malady under the sun will be gone or mended, never to return."

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"Oh, come on!" someone exclaimed.
"He's joking, right?"
"What does it taste like?" asked a little girl with golden curls.

"Like whatever you want it to taste like. If you want it to taste like chocolate, it will taste like chocolate. If you want it to taste like root beer, it will taste like root beer. If you want it to taste like broccoli..."

This brought out a chorus of "ewww" and "yuck."

You could see the crowd visibly relax.

"I knew he was joking."
"He had me going there."
"But where's he going with this?"

"You don't believe me," declared Dexter Denby. His shoulders seemed to fall in defeat.

"What if I prove it to you?"

Dexter Denby reached into his magic hat one last time. The girl in golden curls crawled underneath the table and stared up at the mystical portal that she must have believed existed there. Finally, he pulled out a stalk of some kind of plant. Slowly, he tugged the stalk higher and higher; two feet, three feet, four feet. A glass elevators rose at almost the same rate, just over Dexter Denby's shoulder, carrying some families up to the fourth and final floor; the kids faces stuck to the glass like starfish. He finally stopped pulling at the plant. It must have been over six feet tall.

Dexter Denby grabbed the plant mid-stalk and wrenched at it, audibly snapping it in half. He let go and the top half toppled over, still hanging on the lower half by a few strands. He uncorked the bottle and an aroma spread through the cavernous space. It smelled old and new at the same time; like gardens and graves. He tipped it over and a single drop fell on the severed stalk. For a moment the entire mall was as quiet as a tomb. Somebody tried playing a piano deep in the Music Box only to get shushed. The moment stretched and patience slipped. The kids began to yawn and the adults began to talk.

"What a colossal waste of time."
"Crook"
"Snake oil, man. I told you."

They all started to get up and gather their things when I saw it. The crowd must have seen the reflection on my eyes, they were so big. Everyone turned around and saw it as well: the broken half of the stalk rose, lifted by invisible strings. The two halves became one and as the crowd wrestled with what had just happened, something else even more extraordinary happened: a flower bud grew at the top of the stalk, swelled and erupted, blossoming into a disc of gold as big as my hands, fingers and all. It was the biggest damn sunflower I'd ever seen.

A woman started clapping, then another. There was a smattering of applause for a good minute. Maybe it was to get their brains unfrozen and working again. I know I couldn't think straight. So what happened next took my by surprise all the more.

Dexter Denby had a smile on his face.

"You believe me now."

A balding, middle-aged man approached the old card table.

"Okay, I'll bite."

He pulled out a wallet, still shaking his head at what he'd just seen.

"How much?"

"It's free. All you had to do was ask."

The man recoiled a bit, "what do you mean? What's the catch?"

Disappointment spread over Dexter Denby's face.

"There is no catch."

He addressed the entire crowd, "this will be my last appearance. This is my final show, and my final gift."

There was a loud murmur.

Dexter Denby turned back to the balding man, "do you want your hair back?"

"Excuse me?" said the balding man. He looked mad.

"One drop and your scalp and it will grow back for good. You'll never be bald again."

He offered the bottle, "Please, just take it."

"I don't know what you're trying to pull here..."

But Dexter Denby had already turned to the girl in golden curls.

"You miss your dog, don't you?"

"Yeah."

An older woman stepped forward.

"Wait just a minute here. Don't you dare get her hopes up."

Dexter Denby ignored her.

"Put one drop on the spot you buried your dog-under that big tree in your back yard-and he will come back to life."

"How did-"

The murmur became a cacophony. Some of the crowd turned to me. They asked me to do something. But how could I? He had never harmed anybody. And he had made so many people happy."

"He's terrorizing the kids. Look, they're all worked up."

The balding man came over and handed me a hundred. I heard the older woman yelling and Dexter Denby's reply.

"I know why it hurts every day. I know. You can bring your son back."

Her face went white. When she slapped him I bet you could hear it from inside the bathrooms three floors down. The balding man turned to me. He clasped my hand with the hundred dollar bill and whispered in my ear.

"He has to go. Now."

I let the bill drop from my hand and I looked the man in the eye. There was no way I was going to lay a hand on Dexter Denby. The crowd got louder and louder and pressed closer and closer. There was a scuffle and a scream. I couldn't see him. I thought maybe he had disappeared like magicians do sometimes. But when I parted the crowd I found them all looking over the edge. There at the bottom was the mangled body of Dexter Denby.

I shot down the escalators, past perfumes and modern pop and crying babies. I put my finger on his neck and my cheek to his lips. Nothing. He was gone, staring at the banners high above advertising men's watches. Something brushed against my leg. It was the little girl with the gold curls. She knelt beside Dexter Denby and whispered something in his ear. I could feel the crowd building around me, but I couldn't take my eyes off of the girl. She had the bottle of Dexter Denby's miracle tonic. She placed a drop on her finger and touched it to his colorless lips. Someone pressed Dexter Denby's collapsible hat into my hand. I stared into the infinited depths of the hat and, with the rest of the crowd, we waited.

sorry to be late to the voting, but in the interest of starting a new challenge,

1- Aaron: sorta standard, but an interesting and quirky story in all

2- Cyan: great facsimile of a modern tall tale, but in that, it just felt like the same old story with a new set of paint

3- Toma: i really found it cute, and for a moment, it looked as though i had inadvertently written a similar story to yours. it was a bit unrefined, but it provided a nice little ending that left me in a smile.

honorable mention- Ronito: great story, with a clever ending, only thing is that it didn't feel focused.

so the count is:
Cyan: 8
Aaron: 8
doomed1: 4
ronito: 3
Toma: 1

Cyan and Aaron are tied. Mortal Kombat to decide the winner and the maker of the next thread.

doomed1 said:

so the count is:
Cyan: 8
Aaron: 8
doomed1: 4
ronito: 3
Toma: 1

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Hmm. Haven't we had a tie before? What did we do for that one?

Cyan said:

Hmm. Haven't we had a tie before? What did we do for that one?

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heck if i know, but looking back at the OP, i think my votes came late, so technically you were the winner

Cyan said:

Hmm. Haven't we had a tie before? What did we do for that one?

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The one with the more first places won... which doesn't help in this case. I shouldn't win on my own topic though. It's practically cheating!

Aaron said:

The one with the more first places won... which doesn't help in this case. I shouldn't win on my own topic though. It's practically cheating!

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yeah, so i guess it falls on Cyan to make the next topic.

And technically, while I know this was a low one for votes, aren't Doomed1's votes too late, and therefore Cyan would win anyways?

Memles said:

And technically, while I know this was a low one for votes, aren't Doomed1's votes too late, and therefore Cyan would win anyways?

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you've been beaten...

All right, I guess I'm making the next one. I'll get on it shortly.

Got my idea. I am DETERMINED to get a story in on time.