It Has To Be
word count: 559



Fists squeezing water. The wind is blowing my hair backwards. Or is it the current? The blue's more clear than air. This has to be death or euphoria. I can't have this.

The water calms. I can breathe, but I could always breathe. I'm just noticing my breathing now because there's nothing else to notice.

I step over the water, I walk out of it. I want to shake my head like a dog, but it always hurts my head when I do. What was this? My jacket is heavy, but I can't feel it. Euphoric. I shed it off, it's gone before it hits the

.

The city feels more vibrant today, which is odd since it's Fall. The traffic lights are blinking, they shouldn't be. Everyone has a faster pace on their faces, but there's no stress anywhere. I love this. Is it night yet? No.. the light are just brighter than they should be. They're inviting tonight, usually I try to ignore them. I want to turn them on and off, the lights and the people. This is too grounded to be euphoric, the pulse of something stronger than my heart is giving me a beautiful strength.

.

Why hasn't she called? What do you mean? She's right in front of you. Why would she call you when... you're being paranoid again. Don't think about this, don't over think anything. Just don't even think about these sentences, just stop right after this word. But if I don't, there is no but. Just stop. If I don't think about any of this, if I do, yes do it, if I do stop thinking, then what's the fucking point? You know what it means when you start swearing, but don't think about it. Look at her, she's beautiful. Just look at her. But don't feel anything? No, you can feel, but just don't let it affect you. How the fuck am I not supposed to let it affect me? That's what feeling something is. Stop thinking about it. Don't worry, there are only 15 seconds left. You've got to stop doing this.

.

I feel like I should know so much right now. You can stare at the surface of the table all you want, you're not going to find any knowledge there. I'm noticing my breathing again, but this time there's everything else to notice. My lungs just want the reprieve. I'll give it to them. I'll give anything to anyone right now. I'm sorry, I'm not connected properly right now. Just give me my motions from last year. I need them to fit.

.

This is a hard one to get out of. I wish it was like the water, but I can't step out of it that easy. The old current that made me dance under the ocean is gone, this one just pulls me back. It's clear, and yet it's the opposite of invisible. You have to rip the strings. There are a thousand to break, and you can only break one at a time. You've torn three of them, but you can do this. Just pull your arms. Plant your foot. Feel behind you as you look ahead. Head down. Chest up. Push. There. That's four.

That's all there is to it.

.

I can't wait to meet her and see her eyes.

RumpledForeskin said:

Well, mine's definately gonna be about hookers and coke.

Click to expand...

Why? I was looking forward to this?

Through this machine I've done and seen incredible things. Behind the digital mask that it gives me I have ridden on the backs of giants, battled dragons, flown through cloudless skies, discovered new countries and rescued untold number of princesses. Through its digital voice I have chatted with kings, talked with animals and conversed with Gods. These are all things most of my generation does.

My generation is a generation paralyzed by knowledge and history. We have seen too much proof to believe that God will endow us with some great adventure. We have learned too much to think there would be any more justified wars, and if there were they'd be fought be drones, and a few men driving machines. Our grandparents fought in the last great war, our parents fought for equality then handed us a broken Earth. We are a generation without a unified purpose, a generation without greatness. A generation of nobodies.

There are no great lands left to discover no more secret trails for us to find, corporations have sanitized the business of invention and space is too vast and expensive to explore. We are a generation without physical frontiers. And in lacking physical frontiers we created virtual ones.

Digital worlds built from people's imagination, each wild and fantastical. This is my generation's mythology. No longer content to hear what happened to the great heros, we now play it out, actors through a medium. And by acting we finally fulfill the purpose of myth. In the moments the machine is on a nobody is transformed into a hero, incredible things happen in an ordinary day and when it all gets to be too much the machine is turned off, or reset and the journey can begin anew and a nobody continues to live their unremarkable life. But then, what else is the mythology of heros than a nobody doing great things? It is what we were raised to believe in and grew up to discredit.

Through all the adventures I've undergone with the machine I was half spectator, half actor, a digital expression of a human will. A nameless ether-like existence that is neither absent, nor present. I am simply happy to be along for the ride.

I turn down a bloodied hallway. The remains and bodies of soldiers litter the ground. Carefully I step between the carcasses making my way to the door as an eerie silence grows about me. I open the door and find a ninja masked in metal holding a sword drenched in blood.

"Who are you?" I find myself asking.

The ninja points the sword at me and replies through a half-computer, half-human voice, "I am like you. I have no name."

How fitting. I smile. We fight.

Whew, finally came up with something. It's not going to be a brilliant piece of writing, but it's fun to do, at least.

gentlemen,
Today is the last day.

Ten-Song: Pro-tip: If you want your confession to be secret don't write about it in a creative writing challenge, especially one where the guy who runs the confession thread is a known participant.

You did a really good job of description (the beating up part really stuck) and the building up of this emotion to a climax, and the surprise at the end while it's been done before still stood out. Nice entry.

Aaron: It is easy to tell there was a lot more to this. I do think the action should've started faster. The first two paragraphs is just description before anything really happens. Normally this is just fine, but when it feels so much is cut out it's hard to see why this wasn't pared down. Love the whale to the moon bit. I really like how creative you were with everything, but it is obvious that this is bare bones. I would love to see the whole thing fleshed out as it was meant to be.

Mitches though. Doesn't work for me.

MikeWorks: Nice to see you back. But I am reminded about your writing. Sometimes when I read your style it's like I'm reading a joke that only you know the punchilne to. Perhaps I'm being dense however.

:lol
Will get it up shortly!

Cookies (795)

"Crazy food again," said Robert, peering into his brown lunch bag and sighing. He looked around the playground for eavesdroppers, then whispered, "it's because my dad's a chef."

"Hey, neat!" said Carl. "He makes cookies and candy and stuff? I wish my parents did that." He poked at his bologna sandwich, and opened up his Ninja Turtles lunchbox one more time to see if Mom had put any chips in there. Nope.

"Oh, they make that stuff sometimes, if I'm good. But people who make cookies all the time are bakers. My dad makes dinner from other countries. Like from France and stuff."

Carl remembered hearing about France once. It was big and busy, and the people didn't like you if you were American. And they kissed a lot. Yuck. "Does he make French cookies? Maybe I could come over to your house and your dad would make cookies."

"Ooh, your daddy makes cookies!" It was Jimmy. Typical. He was big and dumb and ugly, and somehow he always found time during recess to come make fun of them. "That's lame. Only girls make cookies. Your dad is a girl!"

"Lame yourself, Jimmy!" said Carl. "What does your dad do? Something dumb, I bet."

"Actually he goes and works at the office. Like real dads who aren't girls do."

The office. That mysterious place where dads went all day, wearing suits and carrying briefcases, and then complained about all the time when they were home. The place they brought home the bacon from. And also, somehow, got all their money from. Carl had never quite understood how that was supposed to work.

"Everyone can make cookies," said Robert. "Not just girls."

"Cookies are for girls! Girls girls girls!"

"Hey, cut it out Jimmy. I think Robert's dad is cool."

"I think his dad is a girl!"

People were starting to stare at them, now. Pretty soon someone would call the yard-duty teacher, and they'd all get in trouble again. Why did Jimmy always bug them and get them in trouble?

"Cut it out!"

"Or what?" Jimmy smiled. He was bigger than both of them.

"Or I’ll get the yard-duty teacher." Carl was lying. It was already too late for him not to get in trouble—Jimmy always managed to drag both of them down with him, when the teachers got involved. And Carl really didn’t want Dad getting mad at him again.

“Keep saying that. You never will.”

“I really will!”

Everyone on the playground was starting to close in on them. It was one of those edgy moments of elementary school—get close enough to a potential fight to see and hear what was going on, but stay far enough back that you wouldn’t get caught up in it.

“So do it. Or maybe you should go ask your girly dads for more cookies!”

Carl stood up, and took two steps toward Jimmy. They were only a foot apart. “My dad,” he said quietly, “is a superhero. And he could beat you up.”

Jimmy stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Ha! Nice try, lame-o. Your dad has a girl job too, and you just don’t want to admit it.”

Carl took another step forward. “My dad can run faster than a car. And he’s super strong. And he could jump over the whole school.” He was breathing hard now.

Jimmy smirked. Robert pulled on Carl’s arm. “Hey Carl, you’ll get in trouble.”

Carl wasn’t listening. “He could beat you up, as easy as that!” He took one more step forward, and shoved Jimmy in the chest as hard as he could.

Jimmy took two steps back and tripped over a lunchbox, falling hard on his behind. He looked up at Carl with a mix of anger and shock on his face.

Carl almost took a step back. What had he just done? But he couldn’t look scared now. He glared at Jimmy, looking him right in the eye.

For a moment, Jimmy just sat there. Then he slowly stood up, and brushed himself off. He stared at Carl, seeming to look right through him. And then, wonder of wonders, he turned and walked away.

The argument over, the crowd of kids all went back to what they’d been doing. There was only so much recess, after all.

Carl looked from side to side. No sign of the yard-duty teacher.

He sat down, feeling suddenly tired.

“Carl, is your dad really a superhero?”

Carl looked over at Robert and did his best to look mysterious. “It’s a secret,” he said. “Can your dad really make French cookies?”

“I bet he could. I bet if you come over after school he’ll make us some.” Robert smiled.

Carl took a bite of his bologna sandwich. It wasn’t that bad after all.

Word Count: 1192


“Christ, what did you eat for dinner last night?” James Van Olinda, Senior Engineer, Distribution Systems, spoke up from the next stall.

“Ummm James, first of all, that’s just creepy, how the hell did you know it was me? And second of all, I wouldn’t be talking if I were you.”

The bathroom was a potpourri of hell.

“Yeah well, Hungarian Goulash will do that to you. And I can see your shoes.”

“That’s nothing compared to a Bangladeshi Beef Stew man. How are you coming along with the Rego Park network flows?”

“Queens Regional Engineering is updating the equipment impedances as we speak, soon as they are done, I’ll input the loads and run the Load Flow. Not like the old days you know. We actually had to manually program punch cards and massive disk drives would whirr-up, seek back and forth, locate the grid and run the loads. The main computer was actually as big as a room.”

I visualized an analog computer big as a room, with valves and knobs, relays clicking as Load Flow programs ran through their iterations. James was a software pioneer on this front, he was one of the authors of the first full-scale Load Flow program. Most energy companies use modern variations of his algorithms, developed in the early 70’s.

You wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at him though. A short, stocky, old man. Extremely intelligent eyes are the only things that strike out at you. Then you start talking to him and realize how brilliant he is.

“James, how did you get into the algorithms side? I thought your background was on Electrical Engineering?”

“Hrrmmph?” Perhaps he was lost in some random thought. “Well, I studied Power Engineering you know, a sub-division of Electrical Engineering. I went to Lehigh which back then just started a Power Engineering focus and I decided to concentrate on power. After graduating in ’62 I went to work for Public Service Gas and Electric (PSE&G). They had a rotational training program, where you were exposed to one area of the company for six months, and then y’know, they moved you to another area.”

“Wait, so you’re saying they had the same Management Internship program like us?”

“Yes, yes, all the old companies had that. GE, GM, you name it. At PSE&G I did Generation, Distribution and Transmission. I was done with the training and was interviewing within the company. They had just opened an experimental division, which utilized Computer Systems to solve tedious load flow equations for overhead electrical distribution systems.”

Who knew PSE&G was so ahead of the curve at R&D, I certainly didn’t. The thought of massive, wall to wall analog computers clicking away doing Newton-Raphson Iterative Analyses to find optimal transformer voltages for the most efficient flow of power, analyses that my sub laptop can now do quite easily with a large ram bank, this was fascinating to me.

“Before that, we had boards with relays, lights and variable resistors to simulate Transmission Systems. And you would connect, disconnect terminals depending on what problem you wanted to solve, take measurements at various nodes and scale it to your real world system. It worked pretty well actually. That’s what we did in my last year at Lehigh, we just got a ceiling high board, almost one of a kind. Then of course, within the next two years computers took over and all that board stuff was thrown out the window.”

“Heh, wow, I never even thought. Say, what were we doing in the same time frame?”

“Well, my father was actually the Chief Distribution Engineer here at the same time I was at PSE&G. He had a room full of engineers churning out calculations with slide rules. The stuff you take for granted nowadays took time, a lot of time.”

“Yeah, I could imagine.” I pictured a vast white room with a high ceiling. Filled with engineers in white shirts and black ties, sleeves rolled up, hunched over their desks calculating the next step in the Newton-Raphson analyses, just to get that one more decimal place of accuracy, solve it for that extra bit of efficiency. The thought excited me, I guess you could never take the mathematician away from the engineer. “It must have took days to solve a design, man.”

“Better believe that kid. Since we had that rigorous background, we could envision turning the equations into machine code, we could see the potential in computers for doing this kind of repetitive, boring, tedious algorithms. It was just to code to the machine, it was another complexity all together.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was initially getting at, how did you come around to coding the Load-Flow systems? I mean you had to have real passion for this stuff!”

“Well, like I was saying. I was interviewing after the training period was over, and being a single young man the first thing I looked at was females within the divisions. Remember, I did my training on Generation, Distribution and Transmission. Just for the sake of curiosity, I also applied for the new R&D Division they just started. I walked into the office for the interview, and the tall blonde I saw next to the Manager’s office just took my breath away. The first thing I noticed when I walked past was she had no rings on her fingers. I had to work there. Her name was Pamela Smykowski.”

“Wait...wait, so you’re saying you did all this for a woman?”

“She was the Staff Assistant, she smelled like a spring breeze I gotta tell ya. So I walked into my interview, really buttered up the Manager. Told him how interested and enthusiastic I was about this new Division, and how I could see future potential development in using computers to solve Load-Flows. He seemed to really buy it too, when in reality I only just wanted to get to know her, and I thought all this computer stuff was just nerdy crap.”

“James! This is shocking news. I mean, I’d expect this sorta behavior out of myself, but you...”

We both walked out of our stalls. I washed my hands and fixed my hair while James fixed his tie. You got used to the smells in bathrooms, after a while.

“Yep, you never know what causes you to do these things. And so, my career in Computer Load Flow Systems was decided by one pretty girl. If it weren’t for her, we might not even be having this conversation today.”

The thought blew my mind as I visualized alternate futures threading out from a point node.

“So what happened then?”

“Well kid, the first day of work I went near her desk and noticed that she was wearing a massive rock. Probably just took it off for a few hours the day of the interview to rest her delicate fingers. Absolutely broke my young heart. See ya at lunch.”

I stood in the hallway and scratched my goatee. Mesmerized by the randomness of things.

False alarm! There's still about two and a half hours left to submit.
--------------------

Catching Venus (1400 words, excluding the footnote)

The disc of light blinked in the night as Marisa checked her watch. Thirteen-years-old and dressed like a penguin, she sat with her legs stretched on the yellowing grass and leaned against the stacked stones of the wall. Her orange canvas shoes knocked together as she peered into the Halloween night and waited.

The dry stone wall ran north-south and once marked the town’s edge. However, now it was a broken monument, aimless in purpose and useless in design. It no longer was the edge of anything but rather intermittently spanned, like petrified Morse code, across the middle of a field.

Since February, Marisa had visited this particular section, seven-feet long and four-feet high, rising out of the ground like a giant scallop shell. While the surrounding sections had their limestone masses cannibalized and vandalized, Marisa’s wall had gravity’s protection. The heft of the stones, some chunks larger than cinder blocks and some slabs wider than five spans of her hand, anchored that section.

Her mother believed Marisa to be sensible, and the woman, divorced and working two jobs, left the girl to her own devices. It wasn’t such a reckless proposition, but Marisa was sensible as long as she reined her imagination. Otherwise, she filled her head with flitting butterflies, sandcastles nudged by sea foam, and sunsets that could conjure the answers to life, love, and the universe.

It was February when Marisa had gone to the wall, watched the sunset, and came to know Adrian. After the ink had seeped downward and washed away the day, Marisa had stayed late to stargaze while Adrian had come early to watch the dawn. Adrian had never eeped in her life until Marisa popped out and greeted her from behind the stone fence.

The girls were in the same grade, though Adrian was almost a year older. They had seen each other around but had never spoken before that moment. After Marisa had explained her quest for the perfect sunset, Adrian decided to tolerate her but warned Marisa to stay on her side. Soon enough, they convened almost every Friday and sat on each side of the wall to eat sandwiches, watch the sky, and talk the earth.

Marisa checked her watch, as she had a few minutes before and minutes before those. After twenty minutes, she saw a flashlight in the distance to the north.

Marisa stood. Her auburn hair unfurled over her navy-blue bed sheet, pinned around her neck like a cape and tied to her wrists to emulate wings. Underneath, she wore a white turtleneck and matching sweat pants. The penguin-girl followed the wall north. A rolling fog of dewdrops, like fleas struggling in a mesh of spider silk, nipped at her ankles as her fingers brushed the wall’s moss pelage and lichen scales.

After the light vanished, Marisa continued twenty paces along the wall until the light returned and shone into her face. Marisa shuddered. Lying atop the wall, Adrian said, “Boo!”

“How long—“ Marisa pressed her lips and sighed through her nose. “How long have you been there? Why didn’t you tell me you were here?”

“I left you that part of the sky.” Adrian flicked the flashlight on and off as a grin stretched across her face. “But you seemed so sad watching your watch. So sad.”

“Oh, shut up!” said Marisa, faking annoyance. She pulled the flashlight from Adrian’s hands and turned the light toward Adrian’s freckled face. “What are you doing, young lady?”

“I’m my mom. On the couch,” said Adrian, spreading her arms like she was falling backwards. “Now where’s my bottle of booze?” She tugged at the blue flap under Marisa’s arm. “And what are you?”

“What are you?” Marisa countered.

Adrian swayed her head under the spotlight. She hummed. Her shoulder-length hair, red turning brown and curly strands turning straight, danced on the wall. It was an airy yet majestic tune, clumsily improvised and likely to be forgotten, as waking from a dream.

Marisa whipped the flashlight in disco circles before trailing the light to Adrian’s costume. The white bed sheet was a sleeveless dress, wrapped around Adrian’s chest and under her arms. A flowery sash, once a pillowcase, circled her waist. The makeshift dress draped to her knees, and out from the lace-trimmed hem came skinny legs ending in ratty sneakers.

“You look so pretty!” said Marisa. “You should wear dresses more often.”

“I’m just a virgin sacrifice upon the altar of the universe,” Adrian said with operatic glee.

“I think Brandon begs to differ,” said Marisa.

“That was so far from sex.”

“He says otherwise. And you let him up your shirt.”

“Pfft! Someone should tell that jerk they don’t unscrew like the cap offa toothpaste tube.”

“It’s the trying that counts, right?” Marisa bunched her lips as if tasting sour. “Eww! I just gave myself a gross thought.”

“Do I wanna know?”

Marisa sighed. “I pictured that face he makes during a math test but now with his hand up your shirt.”

“Next subject please!”

“How about where were you?” said Marisa. “I thought we were going to watch the sunset, go trick-or-treating, and then watch the sunrise.”

“Because.”

“Because isn’t an answer. To anything.”

“It’s getting cold anyway,” said Adrian. “Besides the morning star has left dawn.” The sunrise had always been a bonus, but it was Venus, with its steady brightness, that enchanted Adrian.

“But wasn’t—“ Marisa pointed toward the southwest. “Wasn’t Venus over there?”

“That’s the evening star.”

“Same thing!”

Adrian held up her first two fingers together. “Way back, they used to think Venus was two stars.” She spread the fingers to form a ‘V.’ “That’s why you can’t catch Venus. You can chase her in the morning. But she’ll hide behind the sun and escape to dusk. You chase her in the evening, and she’ll come out in the morning.”

“But it’s the same thing.”

“Not really.”

“Science trumps—“

“I’m just saying Venus at dawn isn’t the same as at dusk.”

“How so?”

“Because the morning star brings the children out to play. But the evening star sends them home.” **

They were quiet. They both knew that Marisa came to the wall to claim an elusive romanticism. But for Adrian, she came to elude her reality.

“Do you like Kevin?” Adrian finally asked. “He said he likes you.”

“He did!? When?”

“You’re such a chicken. You should talk to him.”

“I’m a penguin!”

“Really?”

“Hey! Bed-sheet costumes was your idea. But so not the point,” said Marisa. “Besides this is insightful coming from little miss ‘I-like-someone-but-can’t-tell-him-ever.’ Tell me who, or I’m gonna have to tickle you!”

“Pick.” Adrian raised her closed fists into the air. “Trick? Or treat?”

Marisa shone the light onto each choice as Adrian knocked her thumbs together.

“Pick! Pick!”

Marisa tapped the closer hand. Adrian unfolded her fingers. There was nothing.

“Sorry, you lose.”

“The other then!”

Adrian opened the other. Staring at Marisa from Adrian’s palm was nothing again.

“Sorry,” Adrian said. “I’m just tricks.”

Marisa dropped a mini-chocolate bar onto Adrian’s left hand. Marisa slumped down next to the wall as she fumbled with her own candy wrapper.

“I knew you were holding out on me, Marisa.”

“Me?! You got candy. Now gimme a name, trollop.”

“You know why I like watching Venus?”

“Why’s that, hussy?” said Marisa, with a mouthful of nougat.

“What a mouth on you, wench!” said Adrian. “Should I be offended by your name-calling? Or speaking with a full mouth?”

Marisa curled her arm over her shoulder and poked randomly at Adrian. “Why then? Why?”

“Because.”

“Really?”

“Nah. It’s because Venus doesn’t have to twinkle for everyone to see it,” said Adrian. “If they’re looking.” However, Adrian knew that wasn’t exactly true. Planets did twinkle if the air were turbulent enough. At home, as yelling trembled her head and tears frayed her vision, Venus twinkled many times outside her window.

Adrian leaned off the wall while almost falling. Her lips brushed past eyelashes and pecked the top of Marisa’s cheek.

“What was that for?”

“That... was for saying I was pretty,” replied Adrian. Her thoughts twirled and twisted. They wanted to shout into the ether. But she laid back, watched the stars, and wondered how long she could fail to catch Venus before it would begin to twinkle. And if that happened, where could she escape to next?




--------------------
** (Loose paraphrase of Sappho, Fragment 104: “Hesperos, bringing everything that shining Eos scattered, you bring the sheep, you bring the goat, you bring back the child to its mother.” [As translated by David Campbell, Greek Lyric, Vol. I])

Whoa, my clock must be off!

Ninja Edit:

DumbNameD said:

False alarm! There's still about two and a half hours left to submit.

Click to expand...

Ha, preempted by the man himself.

What I'm working on can best be described as absolute shit. :lol *Sigh* This is one of those pieces that I know will be a waste of every ones time.

So, my story might not seem totally related to the challenge theme, but it does

crowphoenix said:

What I'm working on can best be described as absolute shit. :lol *Sigh* This is one of those pieces that I know will be a waste of every ones time.

Click to expand...

Ah, playing the expectations game, eh? As long as it doesn't mention Joe the Plumber...

Bah. =/

Trick and Treat

Lock up your daughters, because the Horrific Horrors are coming. Not that we want to touch your daughters or anything, but they may be caught in the firing line if you don't give us any sugar.

I recited our motto as I pushed in my fangs and adjusted my cape. I imagined our neighbours trembling, thinking that the we were going to knock and collect their tax.

"I'm going now, mum," I shouted up the stairs.
"Oh, Melvin, have a nice time," she said. "Bring me back some chocolate please, Wong's is shut and it's that time of the month,"
"Bye," I said, and left the house, where the rest of the gang were waiting for me.

I looked at my comrades one by one. There was Callum, who wore a pumpkin head on his head, real pumpkin too. The eyes were crudely carved and the smile looked more like a genuine than crooked, but that didn't matter -- It would all contribute to a sweet irony when we were carrying out any punishment. Jaffer was all in red, had horns, a pitchfork...yes.

"Why the transformation, minion?" I asked. Last year he was a werewolf.

"I'm not your minion," he said, "if anything, I'm your master."

"That may offend some people...like Christians and stuff," said Callum.

"Oh, bullshit. Why do effing Christians have to take over everything? I'm athiest, you know. We don't give a shit, generally."

I briefly stepped out of character to roll my eyes. Jaffer was older than us by a year, and he wouldn't stop reminding us in one way or another. He had just grown a bit of facial hair, and he was obviously trying to show off with the facial hair.

"But anyway, let's get going," he said. "This is the last Halloween I'm spending with you people. I'm clearly too old to be playing kids games."

Another kid came round the corner, dragging his empty sack along the ground. He looked about our age, and his face was pale white, and had red squiggles all over.


"This is Terry," said Callum, putting his arm round the kid, who squirmed slightly. "He just moved in near my street, and he's coming along today."

"Is he?" I said. The kid looked lame. If we took him along our reputation would be
affected. I could imagine it: Oh, yes, Mavis yes, the Evil Horrors took my chocolate, and Mavis, you don't know, I was scared to death, until there was this one little lad with them, he looked so sweet and timid that I think the Evil Horrors are misunderstood, yes they are , and I don't think there's no reason to be scared of 'em anymore.

"He didn't have a costume so I leant him some stuff from my mum's cupboard."

"Hi," Terry said. It sounded like "Huuu," which sounded pretty ghost-like, and we could have taken it from that angle. But despite the talcum powder slapped on his face, he looked nothing like a ghost.

We begun at the top of Aston Avenue, at number two where Amy lived. We heard muffled shouting coming from inside. As the leader of the Evil Horrors, I was the first door knocker. The door, and Amy's head poked out of the gap.

"Trick or treat!" we yelled. Dimensions shifted. Maidens were sacrificed.

I caught the flicker of disgust on her face. Amy likes to pretend that she isn't scared, like those damsels in the movies who like to trash talk the evil guy even when he's dangling her over acid. She even looked like one of those damsels, with her blonde hair and large chest. Clearly, when she went back inside, she was going to tell her boyfriend. She'd sigh and say, you know what, Frank? I agree with you. Let's just wait. It'll be years till I hit the menopause, so we've got plenty of time still. She disappeared inside, and returned with a handful of miniature Twirls.

**
We scared the neighbourhood proper, and filled our sacks at the same time. Some of them had the nerve to try to show us a trick. When we hear 'trick', we know you're trying to trick us into thinking that you haven't got any sweets in your cupboard. We made them suffer by making their doors bleed and chanting demonic incantations that made them cry. Jaffers incantations were the most effective. We even started to use the Terry guy as a hostage, and if they didn't cough up, we'd hurt him. Horrific Horrors, innovators of torture.

There was this one lady, number thirty-two. We knocked on her door, and did the "Trick and Treat" ritual. She dug into her pockets, and dropped a penny into each of our sacks and said. "Both!" then she cackled, really pleased with herself, and retreated back inside.

"Wow, we have a revolt on our hands," said Jaffer.

So we took out our supply of eggs, and decorated the stupid cow's window with them. We could hear her screams,

"Trick AND Treat!" we all shouted, and ran off. You don't expect eggs on your window, but all the same, you could scrape the stuff off and make a nice omelette with them.

**

We went to Calum's shed, and emptied all our goods onto the table.

"We're communist," said Jaffer.

"That's nice," I said.

We threw away the sweets that were obviously at the back of the cupboard for a year and divided the rest. Since Jaffer likes to think he's a big man, we gave him all the coffee and dark chocolate ones.

"I think we did pretty good this Halloween. Don't you think?"

"I suppose," I said. I looked at Terry. "You're pretty cool, Terry, I guess. Maybe you can come along next year."

"Trick and treat," moaned Terry, and took off his mask, revealing his five eyes and green skin.

Deleted due to TOS changes.

nitewulf: You have an incredibly poignant picture here which I think is among the most effective I've seen in these challenges. However, I do feel like it was hindered by 1. the long intro (I realize that you had to build up to it but so much?) and 2. The fact that one the first day of actual work she was taken. I realize the irony but I feel it would've been much more effect to have less intro and have the chase go on longer. I really wanted more. But the tone was spot on. I can actually imagine people talking that way. An especially good job on that front.

DumbNameD: I love it. I love the pacing, the love the underlying tension, I love the sapphic references. Really I think this is your best writing yet. I often get on people's cases about lack of movement, or action, you'll often hear me say "too much runway." But the thing I enjoyed about this was that it starts at a trot and never picks up. It's just such an enjoyable ride you don't care.

Cyan: Your point was so subtle I nearly missed it, but when I caught it I smiled. That being said I do have to nitpick a tich. The descriptions of France and the mythical office. They don't really sound like something a kid would think or say, but it does sound as something a grown up would think a kid would think. In the end it just felt extraneous. It didn't move the story forward and for a large part just wasn't needed. If it were a man remembering his childhood (like in A Christmas story) it would've made a little more sense, but not in this to me. Fact is, your writing style is clever enough in of itself, and I've found throughout these challenges that when you actively try to go out and be clever it jars me right out of the flow of your writing. You should trust yourself a bit more. I criticize because I love you man.

Scribble: I was looking forward to your entry the most as I felt it suited your writing the best. I am pleasantly right. I really like what you did here but the only problem I saw is that you introduce Terry and then don't really talk about him again until the end.

Crowphoenix: I like the concept. I like how you used the concept as well. That being said it feels a bit unfinished. Was it just about Big Jim and his conversation with Sal and Tony? Was it about the couple in crypt? Was it about the trick or treaters? Was it about Big Jim himself?

ronito said:

The fact that one the first day of actual work she was taken. I realize the irony but I feel it would've been much more effect to have less intro and have the chase go on longer.

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Well, she was already married. She just happened to take off her ring when James came in for the interview, say two weeks prior to the first day. It was just a matter of chance. I alluded to that in this line:

Probably just took it off for a few hours the day of the interview to rest her delicate fingers.

I could see how that could be missed though, I may have to italicize words here and there to make certain parts stand out more. Thanks for the comments.

nitewulf said:

Well, she was already married. She just happened to take off her ring when James came in for the interview, say two weeks prior to the first day. It was just a matter of chance. I alluded to that in this line:

Probably just took it off for a few hours the day of the interview to rest her delicate fingers.

I could see how that could be missed though, I may have to italicize words here and there to make certain parts stand out more. Thanks for the comments.

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Oh I know and I got it.

The thing of it was. The whole idea was so wonderful I wanted him to at least chase her for a while I think the impact would've been greater. Regardless, congrats it's a fine piece of work.

It was a bit rushed, Ronito, as I'm sure was evident. Life conspired against me a bit. I didn't even really figure out what or how I was writing until after writing the Jules bit, which had I had more time, I would have toned it down to play up the comedy and drop Big Jim as the lead. Ah well, one day I'll turn in something worth having written.

Ten-Song - "Paranoid"
Aaron - "Witchery Electric"
Mike Works - "It Has To Be"
ronito - "Avatar"
Cyan -"Cookies"
nitewulf - "Bathroom Camaraderie"
DumbNameD - "Catching Venus"
Scribble - "Trick and Treat"
crowphoenix - "The Odd-Dead"

ronito said:

Aaron: It is easy to tell there was a lot more to this. I do think the action should've started faster. The first two paragraphs is just description before anything really happens.

Click to expand...

Personally, I felt that because I cut so much out, the first two paragraphs were essential to ground the reader. If I started without them, I thought it would take the reader too long to understand what was going on to be engaged by it.

My comments:

Ten-song - The story is cool, but the style is disjointed. The sentences don't flow from one to another, and you establish early on this is first person. You don't need to put I at the start of nearly every sentence. It's implied.

Mike Works - It has potent imagry, but it's too abstract, and there's really nothing for me as the reader to grab hold of. Nothing to really separate the narrator from any other person in the world.

ronito - I find this a little frustrating as it presents an interesting premise and then just ends. I think it would have been better off avoiding the general entirely, which makes up most of the story, and focusing almost completely on the specific, on something that's happening that would make your point.

Cyan - You play up schoolyard antics well, and it comes to a nice climax... but it feels too much like something I've read a number of times before. There are moments where it seems to be leading somewhere new, like the chef dad and the superhero one, but neither of these go anywhere.

nitewulf - Starts out promising in the bathroom stalls, then becomes an engineering text. That's a little hard to digest when I have almost no idea what they're talking about. It ends up dominating the story and weakening the payoff.

DumbNameD - It's a bit heavy in the setup. I think it would have been better to start with 'It was February when Marisa had gone to the wall, watched the sunset, and came to know Adrian.' Then go into the background, to give the reader a sense of where you're leading them. Since the real great part of the story is the interaction between the two characters, not in the particular setting.

Scribble - It's a cute story, though the conclusion is too abrupt and lacks a payoff in their reactions.

crowphoenix - Great premise that sort of meanders about and doesn't really go anywhere. Something that would have been better with less words, or either had something it was leading up to.

My votes:

1 - DumbNameD
2 - Scribble
3 - crowphoenix

Aaron thanks for the feedback. Truth be told I wanted to do something very much not in my style and something with no back story. Largely I feel like I failed. But that's good. Failure is the best teacher.

As to my votes:

1. DumbNameD
2. Nitewulf
3. Aaron

ronito said:

Scribble: I was looking forward to your entry the most as I felt it suited your writing the best. I am pleasantly right. I really like what you did here but the only problem I saw is that you introduce Terry and then don't really talk about him again until the end.

Click to expand...

Aaron said:

Scribble - It's a cute story, though the conclusion is too abrupt and lacks a payoff in their reactions.

Click to expand...

I'm always cute. I want to be handsome, damnit!

But yeah, thanks for the feedback, and I think you were pretty nice considering. It's always the time management that gets me (Process: challenge is set. I get an idea. write half a story, forget about it till the last night, scramble to finish it). Bought myself a short story anthology at the book shop today so I can learn the form.

Will vote tonight.

Thanks for the feedback, guys.

Again, only giving notes if something comes immediately to mind.

Aaron- great world-building as always, but it feels really compressed.

Mike Works- interestingly lyrical. I don't really get it, though.

ronito- an interesting departure from your usual style. Somehow, it winds up feeling more like an essay and less like a story, except at the tail-end.

nitewulf- it does get a bit technical, but I like the feel. You did a good job on the secondary objective, too.

Scribble- cute. The ending is a bit out of nowhere, and I'd have liked to see a bit more connection of it with the rest of the story. Whether that be foreshadowing, or a reference back to the starting motto after the reveal ("Lock up your Horrific Horrors, Terry is coming"), I don't know. But something, anyway.

crowphoenix- good for the most part, but the ending is a bit weak. It might be that the final paragraph is somewhat awkwardly worded, but it just doesn't feel right.

1. nitewulf - "Bathroom Camaraderie"
2. DumbNameD - "Catching Venus"
3. crowphoenix - "The Odd-Dead"

figure i might as well clarify since the clarity of my entry has come up 3 times:

i didn't plan at all to do a submission for this contest since i've been so, so busy with work and school this past month.

however, one night (whenever i made my post), i was sitting at my computer, and someone had just sent me the new Keane album. i was in one of the moods where i wanted to express myself creatively (you know that feeling when you really want to write, that feeling that you know will go away within minutes or at most, hours?).

in addition to that, i had just received the new Keane album (which I'm really liking), and thought it would be cool to do away with all the structure i've been confined to within my writing classes (god i'm getting sick of essays).

so each paragraph or paragraphs separated by a dot are an expression of me hearing a song from Keane's new album for the very first time. the first paragraph(s) is from the first song, the second paragraph from the second song, etc.

about halfway through, i realized that the story i was writing out was fucking somehow taking shape of going through a relationship. i have no idea if this is because of the nature of the songs or because of the mood i was in or what. but i realized that while i had no intention of doing so, the first paragraph described the tumultuous whirlwind feeling of falling into a relationship. the second paragraph examined the feeling of exuberance of being in love, the third paragraph when things start to fall apart.

it was during that third paragraph when i stumbled upon what i was subconsciously doing, and decided to take it further (while still adhering to the feeling the subsequent songs exuded). so the fourth paragraph is just after breaking off the relationship, the fifth paragraph recovering from it, and the final line the renewal of wanting to find love again.

i wrote this all out within the span of however long those 5 or 6 songs were, didn't edit a thing, and posted it right onto gaf. i knew it wouldn't garner any votes since it was so disjointed structurally and i offered no explanation, but i still wanted to show it.

Ah. It makes so much more sense now.

Anyway, I'm glad you did decide to submit it. It's nice to have something different among all the traditional shorts.

Not that they're all the same, given the widely varying writing styles of everyone here, but... you know what I mean.

1)DumbNameD
2)Nitewulf
3)ronito

last day for voting and so far there are only 3 votes in. I'd hate to have to apply the non voting rule for the first time.

1. DumbNameD
2. nitewulf
3. Cyan

Cyan, as others have pointed out, some of what you introduced was unnecessary and instead of adding to your story, hampered its impact. It's still probably my favourite writing style out of the bunch. You have some great talent there.

DumbNameD, that could be the first draft of something serious. Excellent.

My first time entering one of these threads, by the way.

Come on guys, let's get a few more votes in. Losing by not voting = lame.

Thanks for the note, Tim.

1. dumbnamed - this should be sent somewhere to be published. that's all. its shockingly good.

2. aaron - i like the imagery, west side story meets cinderella.

3. cyan - i think you created a believable schoolyard lunch time story here.

1. DumbNameD
2. Cyan
3. Nitewulf

last few hours.

Cyan said:

Losing by not voting = lame.

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What about losing by voting?

1. nitewulf
2. Scribble
3. Cyan

Congrats to DumbNameD a well deserved victoly!

thank god, i didnt want to win. congrats dumbnamed.

Congrats, Man. It was a wonderful story.

DumbNameD is a winner!

Congrats, dude!

I wasn't sure how my entry would be received, but thanks all. 4.. 3.. 2.. 1.. New challenge here.