A shadowy figure crouched against the sole giant gate in the wall that surrounded the village of Experiri. The wall stood without equal against the dark clouds, rising dozens of meters above the highest trees in the pine forest it circumscribed. Although the gate lay kilometers from the village, the man took every precaution against being seen on this night, the rain muting the sound of his boots scraping as he shifted his weight to restore blood flow to his feet.

The rapidly increasing precipitation merged with the perspiration on his hands causing them to slicken. A curse slipped from between Hal's lips as he lost his grip on the two micropicks in his hand. Crouching down low he franticly sifted through the pine needles around him to find the dropped picks.

"Come on man, hurry up!" Another voice resounded from the cover of the tree line.
"Bruce, keep your voice down! Get over here and help me find the damn micropicks."
The pattering of the rain against the detritus hung in the air as the two men systematically searched for the small devices. After a few minutes Hal stood wiping the mud off his hands onto the pants of his hazard suit.
"We're never going to find it amongst all this debris and with all this rain visibility is decreasing, I can't even see the stars in the distance over the wall...or the moon for that matter. Let's head back home to the village, regather out supplies, and try again at a later date. It's been over twenty years since we first heard the elders tell the stories of the wild growth beyond the wall, we can afford to wait a bit more."
"Do you really believe that? How long you really think we have until it is too late and our chance is gone? You've seen your mother talking to Kitty and her parents! You'll be married within the month for sure and then come children soon after. Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you'd still be willing to risk your life to travel beyond the wall if it meant leaving your child behind?"
"Well what are we supposed to do? Without the micropicks I can't adjust the magnetic tumblers in the gate's lock...wait a minute...that's it! Quick give me something metal from the toolbox."

Taking the halowrench from Bruce, Hal slowly swung it like a pendulum slowly over the ground until a faint double clink was barely audible against the rain.

"Is that them?"
"Yeah, double check our helmets while I finish picking the locks, we don't want the mutagenic gases that caused the wild growth to affect us any further."
"Yeah I got it covered."

Squatting in front of the lock, Hal inserted the picks and resumed manipulating them in his attempt to unlock the gate.

"Helmets look good Hal but do you really think we'll need these suits? I mean, it's been over 40 years since the Afroasian Alliance dropped the mutagenic bombs on the European Union according to the elders."
"I don't know, but better safe than sorry. Just take a look at us, our generation was born more than ten years after the war ended and we're giants compared to our parents and the elders. Your mom is what? About 162 cm? What were you the last time you checked? You're taller than me and I'm over 260 cm. How else can you explain that other than lasting effects of the war?"
"I guess...yeah you're right, if it really is as dangerous as the elders say these suits might be the only thing that keeps us safe."
"Hey man don't worry, we are finally going to fulfill the dream we've had ever since we heard the stories. All those night's we spent staring up at the moon and the stars talking about what the world beyond the wall. Just a few more minutes, I think I've almost got it."

As the last tumblers slipped into place, a mechanical grinding rumbled out from behind the gate.
"Hal, did you do it?"
"I think so, I was just picking the lock and then it started making that noise." The grinding came to a halt as the gate's doors began to part on their own revealing a pitch black space on the other side.
"Bruce! The helmets! Toss me my helmet!" Deftly catching his helmet, Hal yanked it over his head and pushed the clasps into the lock position before reaching down and pulling on the suit's gloves. Bruce joined Hal in watching the doors of the gate continue their painstaking slow crawl before coming to an unexpectedly abrupt stop halfway.
"I...guess that's as far as it opens?"
"I guess so."
"Shouldn't we be able to see something? All I see is black."
"I don't know, maybe there is an outer gate as well for extra security, hand me the flashlight." Taking the flashlight from Bruce's extended arm, Hal activated the switch, illuminating another doorway on the other side of a small room. The pair walked over to the door and began examining it.
"There is no handle, I don't even see a lock. Is it permanently sealed?"
"There has to be someway to open it, let's look around a bit more." Panning the light from side to side revealed powered down computer consoles lining the wall of the small chamber.
"Why are their computers in the wall?"
"They were probably used for security during the period following the war, the bigger question is, why is there no dust?"
"What?"
"No dust. Look at your feet, or the computers, or anything in this room for that matter. The only dirt is the dirt we tracked in her on our boots."
"What the hell, so the gate is sealed, all our work for nothing."
"Just hold on, no dust means these computers may still be operational. Let's give it a shot."
"So uh, how do we turn this thing on?"
"Try that switch over there labeled power, smart guy"
"Shut up."

The gray glow from the computer screen washed over the two men as the machines sprang to life.

Compiling Observational Data for Project: Νέα Ζωή
Experiment #5: Experiri
.................................Complete
Transmitting Complied Data
.................................Complete

Awaiting Command:

Tapping at the keyboard Bruce watched as the words appeared on the screen.

Awaiting Command: Open outer gate
..................................Command recognized.

Warning!! Opening outer gates without proper protection can result in death. Proceed? (y/n):

"There isn't any going back after this, you ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be, it's time to see with our own eyes the wild growth that lies beyond the wall. The Earth where our parents grew up before the war."
"'Y' it is." After two key taps the men turned towards the outer gate and waited as the gate on the village side of the wall closed. Once the grinding of the gate came to a halt, the outer gate's gears whirled into motion steadily pulling the doors apart. A whooshing sound encompassed the two men as a cloud of pine needles and rain water flew past the men and out the now open gate.

"What the hell was that?"
"I don't know I've never seen anything like it. It was like something was pulling the air out the gate."
"Say Hal."
"Yeah."
"Where's the wild growth?...all I see is dirt and rocks."
"I don't know...but we won't get any answers here, let's head out and look around."

Stepping through the door the two men looked around at the shadowed barren white landscape that welcomed them beyond the wall. Spinning around reflexively as the whirling of the gears spinning the gate closed Hal looked at the outside of the wall for the first time.

"What the hell? Where did the wall go?" Where the wall should have been was a colossal metal dome that extended in either direction as far as Hal could see.
"Hal, where did the clouds go and what happened to the moon?"

Lost in the moment Hal hadn't even noticed that it was no longer raining. Looking up Hal was met by an ocean of stars and a giant blue planet looming above him.

"That's not the moon Bruce, it's the Earth."

Well, I've got the germ of an idea, but nothing really written yet.

Been way too busy the last week and a bit. :/ Still, I'm not about to let my streak end. I'll get something in.

When I won the challenge I really didn't expect to win. The whole piece as a joke, I just wanted to make some people laugh. But then I won. Trying to think of a theme I thought, "Well, I just did deception, it'd be clever to do truth!" Yeah, it wasn't such a good idea in the end. Between work and my own lack of creativity I couldn't really think of an idea. Let me explain why.

I grew up in the center of Mormonism, Utah county. Being latino in that was like being a chocolate chip in mayonnaise and I tried my damndest to fit in. In so doing I took what people I admired did and I tried to emulate that thinking, and I also took what people generally accepted as truth. I had doubts and never really fit in my whole childhood through to maturity.

When I went to college at BYU again I followed the same MO. Any deficiency was my deficiency not my processes yet still things in my mind didn't feel right. I began to read Descarte, and got to his "tabula rasa" concept, it struck me to the core. So I threw away everything I had learned and tried to start again. I discarded some beliefs but still clung to many of the same beliefs. I look back now and realize that was because it was all I had ever known.

The mormon church is more like a marriage than a church really. It encompasses your whole life. For example, on Sundays you attend a 3 hour meeting, Mondays you have Family Home Evening a family activity where you teach some church lesson to your family, Tuesdays you have cub scouts/scouts (which is run through the church), Wednesdays you have basketball for men or enrichment for women, Thursday you have young men and young women activities, Friday you typically have free, and Saturday you get ready for Sunday. On top of this you do home/visiting teaching where you visit other families and teach them about the church have "callings" (jobs within the church) and missionary work. You read scriptures every day, the heroes you have are church heroes, the lullabys women sing to their children are church songs. The prospect of not being a mormon was like me ceasing to be latino.

I moved away from the bubble and life happened. I continued my search for truth. Marriage, children, illness, divorce, remarriage, joys and disappointment were my tutors. Eventually I had the strength to let it all go and really start again. On my journey however I learned that truth is completely subjective. You might see that grass is green, but a color blind person might see it differently. What might be true today might not be true tomorrow. So what then about God?

Some would say such a view is terrifying and frankly part of it is. If something goes wrong I can't just chalk it up to some grand celestial plan. If I do something wrong, it's my own fault, not because some tempting force. But it is an honest way to live and having had scales on my eyes for much of my life I'm grateful to be able to see, no matter how horrifying that truth, or lack thereof, may be.

So where does that leave me and truth? I don't really know, the only absolute truth I know is the love that I have between me and my wife and my kids. And how do I write about that? I'm not that clever.

The harness pinched Gail's thighs as she pulled the security straps as tight as they'd go.

"How's it goin' up there, starry-eyes?" buzzed the radio. The voice sounded tinny and weak, like it was a million miles away. In reality, it was only a few hundred feet, but through layers of aluminum, thick tempered glass, and hardened steel.

"Don't get cute with me, Scoza!" She would've flashed him a playful scowl through the cockpit window if she could actually tilt her head far enough to do it. "This is a serious operation!"

"Hey, hey! I'm just trying to calm you down. Console says your blood pressure just shot way up!"

"Don't worry about me. I've trained for this."

"Yeah, well... training or not, I'm not going to have our last hope's vessels burst at a eighteen thousand miles an hour. Now, while we finish launch preparations, why don't you tell me what you can spy with your pretty little eye? I really don't want to use the gas this time."

Gail closed her eyelids for a moment, let her neck roll back, and then opened them up again to the vast night sky. "It's wild, you know. Strapped in like this, and all... but when I look straight up, it's like I'm perched on nothing, floating in mid-air."

"Sounds wonderful..."

"The veil... it's thick tonight."

"You know you could be a little more descriptive than that."

"Come on. I've never been that creative, Scoza. Why do you think I entered the military in the first place?"

"Well, you're not with the old lock-steps anymore. We tend to be... more 'free thinking' around here. Besides, you don't need to know your way around a brush and palette to paint a beautiful picture, dear."

"Can't you just let me be good at what I'm good at?" Gail sighed. There was silence on the other end. After several moments, she grimaced and refocused on the night sky once again. "The veil is pulsing more than usual. Little waves of blue and green weaving through each other. I can see them crashing against the underside Greater Colyssea, scattering sparks and lightning into the ether. It's just now coming into view, by the—"

"Alright, Gail. I think we're ready to get underway down here in control," Scoza interrupted over the radio.

She couldn't help but feel just a little hurt that he hadn't been listening. But there wasn't time to dwell on such things right now.

"I... I'm ready."

"Come on, now, girl! Say it like you mean it!"

"I'm ready!" Gail shouted. She didn't quite feel it with all her being, but they didn't have to know that. It was hard to muster anything besides stoicism when faced with a potential suicide mission.

"This is it, then, everyone!" proclaimed Scoza, addressing the whole complex through the loudspeaker. Gail could hear his words reverberate throughout the inside of the silo. "Ten failed flights, hundreds of lives lost, thousands of man hours spent, and the military's noose tightening around us as we speak. We have only this one, final chance to make things right. To succeed where even they have failed! We will do what the army, the government, and the bureaucrats refuse to do! Tonight, my hard-working friends and allies, we shall pierce the veil and defy the will of the Gods once and for all! We must know what is beyond... no longer will we fear those above for we, too, shall soon live in the heavens!"

Distant cheers erupted throughout the complex, but the inside of the cockpit remained as silent as a vaccuum. If Gail didn't believe in this, too, she could swear she was being offered up as a sacrifice. As the whoops and hollers subsided, she reached for the transponder.

"You should be the one in here, Scoza, not me. This is your baby..." she said in a soft voice which she knew only he could hear.

"Yeah, well, test trials, you know?" he whispered back, clutching the area where his left leg should've been, "Maybe that's why I so desperately want for a piece of me to be up there with you."

Gail nodded. Greater Colyssea was now just overhead, its craggy underbelly staring back at her like a vicious, earthen golem. "Start the countdown."

"Aye."

The massive engines beneath her rumbled to a start as Scoza counted back from ten. Gail slid the air mask down over her face and bolted down the goggles as the blistering white light began filling in her periphery. It was only now she realized how little was between her and an explosive, fiery death. She could barely fathom how such raw, elemental power could be emitted by something man-made. If anything could challenge the Gods, though, it was the very strength they, themselves, now wielded.

Even though the radio crackled with nothing but interference, Gail swore she could here a faint voice calling out to her. Something that sounded like an admission of love. She hoped it wasn't a sign of blacking out from the stress of the lift-off.

The rocket erupted from the mouth of the silo and hurtled towards the floating continent at incredible speed. Gail felt like a flapjack pressed against the griddle as she soared towards its serrated edge. Spikes of stone above threatended to shred the shuttle like an aluminum can, as missiles and beams of light, unseen by Gail, barely skirted their target from below.

The veil loomed like a spectre, undulating beauty belaying a promise of certain death to any who dare to traverse it. Challenging such power, which both contained humanity to the surface and held entire landmasses aloft, was audacious.

'Not this time' she thought to herself, 'It belongs to us.'

This capsule was sharper, thinner than any that had come before it, like the head of a needle or the stinger of a bee. The tip slipped deftly into the surface, at the precise point that Scoza had calculated. But as soon as Gail found herself enveloped in the miasma, the turbulence of the veil sent the rocket spiraling. Her head reeled and her stomach turned like a water wheel in a flash flood. She would've choked up bile if the intense gravity wasn't forcing it down. Every one of her senses went fuzzy, but deep in the back of her mind, she could still see Scoza cheering her on.

The body of the rocket buckled from the pressure, assaulted left and right by the twisting tendrils of the veil. If the sound could reach her ears, Gail would've heard a great cacophony as the bottom half of the booster was wrenched off and disintegrated.

Her mind continued to fold in on itself, warped to a degree far worse than it ever had been by military experiments. And yet, he stood there, calling out from center of the kaleidoscope that was her brainscape, "Punch it, Gail! Punch it!"

Her thumb seemed to move against physics of its own accord, flicking aside a protective cover and then mashing down upon a big, red button. The capsule separated itself from the tattered remains of the booster, sending the connector ring spiraling back down towards the surface of the planet.

The powerful secondary engines ignited quickly, expending vast amounts of fuel to correct the capsule's trajectory as the on-board computer commanded. Brute force had gotten it into the veil and finesse would have to get it out.

The vessel's wider, flatter underbelly caught the edge of a wave and rode it, like a surfboard, through the other side of the veil. Gail couldn't see a thing as she soared above. She wondered if she had blacked out, but then realized if that was the case, she wouldn't even be able to ask.

The wave crested and began to ebb, flipping the capsule into the air like a ski jumper off the slope. A new feeling, one of brief weightlessness, lifted Gail from her seat as it turned over and fell back towards the floating landmass that was her original target.

The acrobatics would've been worthy of an Olympic performance, but nailing the landing proved far more difficult. Even as the parachutes deployed, a craggy outcropping caught the bottom of the capsule and tore out its innards, leaving a trail of guts a mile long.

Gail didn't know how long it was between the crash and the time she actually came to. She removed her helmet to breathe the rich air of the Gods, but felt only a stale breeze lilt through her shoulder-length hair. The hatch had busted open on impact, the half-deflated airbags spilling out over the side like the puss around an open wound.

After unbuckling, Gail pulled herself forward and, tripping over her own shaky legs, tumbled down the side of the module into the sheets of bubbling rubber. She crawled to the open ground, and promptly emptied the acid from her stomach. The bile pooled on the hard soil and coagulated with the thin layer of dirt — more like ancient dust — that blanketed the surface.

Gail turned her hands over and saw that the same, coarse substance coated her palms. Her eyes began to well as the corners of her mouth dropped. She lifted her head towards the sky and was confronted with the sight of nothingness. The land was virgin, stricken of life aside from a few, scrubbish grasses that must've subsisted on the few nutrient particles kicked up by the veil, as their number tapered off the farther they grew from the edge. A deep, crushing abyss hung overhead.

Tears streamed down Gail's cheeks as she stared into oblivion. The truth laid as bare as the land before her — there were no Gods on Greater Colyssea, nor anywhere else. She rolled over onto her side, pulling her knees inward towards her chest. Centuries of belief crumbled away, leaving a vast pit in her being that not even love could fill. The silent, blue glow of the veil washed over her body as she wept.

Miles below, Scoza's sullen eyes brightened. Through the thin windows of the military escort vehicle he spied a tiny fireball escaping from the veil, falling towards a distant mountainside. His phantom leg tingled and his heart swelled with a sudden hope for the future of humanity. He would have pumped his fists if they weren't locked behind him.

All of the bloodshed, all of the deaths suffered tonight, Scoza thought, would be vindicated in short order. Those army bastards would get theirs soon! His mind raced with all the Godly wonders that Gail must be witnessing, and wished that he could be there, sharing them with her. But, of course, there would be time to confess his love when she eventually returned.

Well, I updated it, but I don't think I could make it any worse.

What Was Broken, Is Broken.
1,436 words

Don't think I'll make it this time. The ideas are just not coming right now.

The Scholar and the Pond (1,210 words)




The Scholar went down to his garden. He had tended it for many eons of time, planted the seeds in an era almost foreign to him now. He did not grow vegetables, or roots, or tubers, nor anything bearing any resemblance to what might expect to find in a typical human garden. It could neither be said that the Scholar himself was what you might expect to find in a typical human garden, for he was not human at all. Through many ages he had no concept or reckoning of what a human being actually was or might be. The very least that could be said is that the Scholar was very wise, very old, and very curious.

This garden was one of many engines of his curiosity. The seeds he planted here grew not some form of sessile life, but instead entire universes, yawning expanses of dust and gas and black space contained within a shell no larger to him than a droplet of dew suspended in microgravity. Over time, the soup within these little ponds gradually formed structure, at first too small for the Scholar to see, but eventually forming delicate, hot fibers he could pick out with his waking vision. They were like cosmic colonies of seaweed, gently drifting with time and tide. The Scholar found them to be very beautiful, and catalogued all of the different formations and shapes he saw in his multiple ponds.

This vast work of cataloguing went on for countless millennia; he tracked and charted the evolutions of thousands of separate ponds. Some formed elegant colonies of hot-fiber seaweed; others never progressed beyond the violent and dark stages that looked like storm-clouds. So far, he had been the sole observer of his experiments. He expected he would be the only one to ever see them. That is, until the day one of the ponds spoke to him.

He was examining pond number 3,654,922 when it happened. He perceived a noise, like a coarse whisper rising up from the sea. Soon it strengthened by minute amounts until a reverberating but unnatural voice was heard. He scrambled for his instruments.

He booted up his assisting computers and ran nine million decryption programs simultaneously on the whisper. The whisper was nothing more than gibberish to him, but he was determined to find out what, if any, messages were trickling to him. In no time at all, the computers had argued amongst themselves and come to an agreement. It was definitively an unnatural transmission. They were convinced that they had narrowed down to a specific series of cryptanalytic procedures for this transmission. The computers fed data into the Scholar’s head about how he would be able to formulate an appropriate response.

It was quite unlike anything he had ever expected, in fact none of his kind had ever communicated in this manner. The Scholar tapped into his body controls, growing a strange and alien organ beside himself. The computers told him that it operated by the changing shape of this hollow tube and the passage of a specific set of gases across the walls of this tube. The Scholar made all the arrangements and adjustments required. Then he ordered the computers to beam the translated message into his mind.

“Hello? Is anyone out there?” a voice shouted in a familiar whisper. The Scholar mentally boosted the volume.

“Hello?” he asked. His voice was automatically translated and shot back to the message’s origin.

“Wow! Someone is at the other end!” the voice exclaimed.

“Who are you?” The Scholar asked, his curiosity rising.

“Uh. You may call us Humanity,” the voice answered.

“So there are many of you?” The Scholar asked.

“Yes, there is a lot of us,” Humanity answered. “May we talk to you, sir?”

“I don’t see why not,” The Scholar said. “So you are inside the pond, then?”

“Pond? Can you describe it for us?” Humanity asked.

“As far as I can tell, you’re entirely contained within this little pond, er, sphere. There’s bright threads swimming around inside very slowly, my instruments can magnify the threads until I see gaps and clumps, but it can’t see much further. Most of the inside is black, empty as far as I can tell,” the Scholar said.

“You can see the galaxy filaments with your naked eye?” Humanity inquired.

“Is that what you call them? Fascinating,” he said. He scribbled some notes into a touch-pad.

“Can you see us?” Humanity asked.

“No, nor are my instruments capable of making you out,” the Scholar said. “My working assumption is that from my point-of-view, you’re much too small in scale to resolve.”

“If you can see the galaxy filaments, that’s probably the case,” Humanity answered.

“I’d be able to curl them up and hold them,” the Scholar added.

“Good lord, you’re huge!” Humanity exclaimed.

“How is it that you are able to talk to me?” the Scholar asked.

“We’ve been trying to send signals to whatever lies outside the universe for millions of years, sir. Only this method has ever worked for us so far,” Humanity answered.

“And what would this method be?” the Scholar said.

“I don’t know if you’re familiar with the phenomena, but we call them black holes. We grow countless stars and destroy them in supernovae, forming these black holes. We draw the millions of them together and force them into collisions. We’re able to feed vast amounts of data and information into the zones of extreme turbulence and some of it is forced into a tachyonic state, traversing the black holes faster than light and ultimately coming out the other ends, effectively escaping the universe with the information still intact. Basically, all the zeroes and ones are in the right order. The vast majority of our starting information remains trapped inside the black holes, but enough escapes to get a coherent message through. Threading many needles at once, more or less,” Humanity said. “It was no small matter to amplify our message either. We think we may have reached the critical population density required to send a unified message on larger cosmic scales. Many quadrillions of minds linked together in a single neural network seem to have done the trick. It’s parallel computing on a level we never quite tried before, and it granted us many boons. So many stations working on the same problem were able to devise the black hole plan in the first place, all the numbers sufficiently cracked and tested. Preservation and strategic bombardment of the message was also helped a great deal by this networking.”

The Scholar blinked. “All of that for a whisper.”

Humanity spoke again. “May we ask you a big question, sir?”

“You certainly may,” he replied.

“Are you the god of Abraham?” Humanity asked.

“The what for who?” the Scholar asked, a puzzled look on his face.

“Nevermind, old joke. Maybe you can help us answer a different question,” Humanity said. They then asked, “What is the ultimate truth? What’s the ultimate purpose?”

The Scholar laughed heartily for the first time in many ages. Humanity murmured amongst itself, some fearing that they would not like the answer. “The ultimate truth, do you know the answer?”

The Scholar smiled. “I was hoping this experiment would tell me.”

Nothing from me this time. Spent too much time working on my old stories and trying to get ready to leave town. I'll have one next time though.

Actually, fuck it. I wrote a small poem for this challenge but thought I'd go short story this time. Ah well, here it is:

Home
Word Count: 265

Grey wolf trotting through the forest
Loping between the trees like a ghost
Sunlight bleeding through canopy
cracked and bent by treetrunks and leaves
ornate shadows carved into the ground.

The smell of red lingered in the air

Perked ears, instinct explosion
Driving the beast to keep moving, pick up the pace a little, maybe
Corner of its sight
Limping rabbit, broken leg
Every hop at half-speed, fledgeling, left to die
This would be easy.

Break into a run
The crunch of undergrowth underfoot consonant
The beating of the wolf's heart dissonant
Make one leap
Hope that paws land on flesh
Arrow embedded in the tree in front of him, startled
Quick turn, human man with a bow, another arrow nocked
Time to give up the chase, the tides have turned

Induce some adrenalin, natural crack flowing in those animal veins
Arrows flew above and next to him, each one narrowly missing
More accurate each time
Find shelter, flee
Wolf made a wrong turn, arrow punctured into left hip
A yelp, a cry, pain and despair
A saccharine sound to a hunter
An SOS flare from the prey

The animal slowly limped outside
what met him was not more forest, not another river
no, it was more people – a vast metropolis.
Cars and technology and poison
A poison not of the mind or of the soul
But of the planet.

No longer would his home be safe
No longer was he a predator
For when the walls close around you
The predator becomes helpless

As helpless as a rabbit with a broken leg.

The Hounds of Night: Part I

The Hounds of Night: Part II
word count: 1,796

The cellar held an unwholesome smell, while the first floor was too open to be defended. The group retreated up the stairs, dragging furniture to block their way, even as James and David exchanged worried glances, knowing that none of this would last long. They found a small interior room on the second floor, shut and barricaded its two doors, and waited for the dawn.

"How are we going to know when the sun comes up if we don't have a window?" Greg questioned in clear disappointment.

"Something called a watch, kid," Buck snapped after setting down his can of beans for a sip of dirty water. They were eating as best as they could, except for Bernard who blanched at the mention of food, and muttered about a lost appetite. The others thought of Karen, and didn't press the issue.

"What happened back there?" Jaime suddenly asked after everyone had eaten, and settled down on the hard wooden floor to nurse while the others looked away. "I heard on the radio there was some kind of virus... before I knew it, everyone was panicking, and the dogs... what happened to them? Buck, you shot one of those in the head... in the head! It kept going!"

"I don't think that was a local mutt. It was too... changed. It must have come from the west, spreading the virus," David spoke with a shudder, not raising his eyes. "We don't know where it came from originally. Just that it spread very fast. They tried to develop an antidote... but that made things worse."

"We? Do you work for the government or something?" James demanded, weary and suspicious.

"No, I'm a reporter. I normally cover financial news, but when something this big comes down the wire, you can't help hearing about it. They have cities in the west under quarantine already, but I don't think they thought it would spread this quickly," David answered with a slow shake of his head.

Then the howls were heard again, nearer and in greater numbers.

"Damn it, they're coming from the north too!" James shouted as he craned his head to catch the sound.

"And south, and east, and west... they're surrounding the house. Nice little vacation spot you choose, Bernard," Buck observed as he meticulously checked his revolver.

"If they are here, they must be everywhere by now. It would not have mattered where we went," Bernard pointed out, sounding a bit indignant while flinching as the cries continued. "Some of them sound strange. It must have spread to other animals."

David looked down at his hands, and said nothing.

Glass burst inward as the windows below shattered, coming from every direction at once. It proceeded the sounds of rapid footsteps running back and forth below, though as the group strained for the sounds of them heading up the stairs, Greg suddenly burst out with uncontrolled excitement, "I can see 'em!"

The sounds below grew quiet, and the adults felt a chill in the stifling heat of the interior room. David shoved his son aside, swallowing a lump in his throat as he peered down through the hole in the wooden floor. He couldn't see more than vague forms at first, but there was something wrong in the way they moved, and something vaguely disturbing about the shape of their heads. Until one must have caught his scent, raising its head to peer up with three baleful eyes, and bone jutting out of flesh in its misshapen head as two rows of teeth.

"There must be... a dozen of them down there," David said to the others as he shivered all over like he was going into a seizure.

Jamie gave James a doe-eyed look, so he began pacing the room, checking the furniture they had thrown up against the doors, knowing it wasn't going to hold back much for long. "These doors look pretty thick, so even if they come up here, they're not getting through. No way they're able to turn a knob. Right?"

David had recovered from his shock, and began to speak in a slow voice, "They'll just wait us out, sleep downstairs when the sun comes up, leaving us to starve up here. If we try to escape then, they're still going to wake up... but I think it's all of them in this area, and fire can kill them...."

"This house has a generator that runs on gasoline in the basement, while this whole structure is old wood. It should burn quite readily," Bernard observed in a neutral tone.

"We'd have to lure them up here. Otherwise, they're just going to jump through the window to safety," Buck observed.

"That's impossible!" Jamie shouted to all of them in a panic as the sounds of footsteps returned below. "We just need to wait up here... wait until help can come...."

James glanced around the room at these tired and careworn faces, knowing that no one was coming for them. "All right. Who else has a lighter?"

Buck had given up smoking a decade before, but still carried his lighter for luck. James had a cheap one nearly full. Plans were quickly hatched and dismissed while Bernard was grilled for more of his vague memories of this house. Though no matter how they plotted, they couldn't escape the need for someone to lure the hounds off for a few minutes to put this all into motion.

"Let me do it, dad. I'm super fast!" Greg offered in an excited whisper. "No way those ugly dogs gonna catch me!"

"Kid, you're just an appetizer to those beasts. There's just one thing that'll get the whole pack's attention," Buck said as he raised his revolver to catch the dim light of the interior room. He shoved aside the flimsy barricade on door and put his hand on the knob before turning and asking Bernard, "Do the rear stairs lead right to the back door? I didn't really notice on our way in."

"Yes, they should," Bernard confirmed with an uncertain nod.

Buck nodded in return, carefully opening the door to avoid making more sound than a soft creak of old hinges. James watched him go with clenched teeth, knowing he wouldn't have been able to do the same. He could only say to him, "Good luck."

"This is my luck," Buck answered with a grin, holding the gun before him as he boldly strode off to his doom.

David turned Buck's tarnished lighter around in his hands as he listened and waited, wondering where the old man had gotten it and what dear memories had it held for him, knowing it was too late to ask. He could only heed the howls and rushing footsteps, soon answered by a single, powerful shot. "That's our signal."

James nodded with his hand already on the knob of the closed door. David and Bernard joined him, while Jamie took a firm hold of Greg's arm under his father's instruction, to head for the attic.

Two more shots had sounded from somewhere outside the house by the time they reached the foot of the stairs. Nervous and shaking, James led the way with a flicker of his lighter, finding two small drums of gasoline, encrusted in rust and grime. A little splashed on the support beams above and James raise his lighter, shivering all over as the sparks fell over him.

The scent of smoke was already faint. Bernard was sent off to check on the others, while James and David rushed through the house, spilling gasoline on every surface they could find. Getting plenty on their hands and clothes, but not caring a bit about it. More worried they hadn't heard a fourth shot.

Then out of that silence came fresh howls and rushing footsteps, like a team of wild horses bearing down on them. No time to check on the others. They could only stand at the top of the stairs and wait, raising their lighters as they listened to the hounds as they encircled the house again.

James nearly choked when he saw them. Bulges covered their bodies, like something bursting out from within, while patches of hair had fallen away to reveal horns of bone. Their legs were adroit, as flexible like a man's arm, navigating the furniture strewn in their wake they studied with a random assortment of lidless red eyes. The scent of gasoline seemed to be fouling them up, hiding the scent of prey, but it only took a single one to raise its head.

Gasping as they bounded towards him, James panicked as he lit his lighter and hurled it at them, watching the sparks cause them to flinch before the gasoline caught, and surrounded them in flames. Yet a few were already ahead. He fled for the ladder leading to the attic, reaching the top and kicking it down before a quick scan of the room revealed David wasn't there. He must have done his work, however, because the flames were spreading wildly now, filling the musty space with smoke, while from below came the dying wails of the burning hounds.

"Out! Out! Everyone, let's go!" James urged them onward before rushing past them, his whole body shivering as he collided with the window to breath the free air again. He tripped and stumbled over the sloping roof as the others helped one another, falling to the ground to land hard upon his shoulder. Though he was up a moment later at the sound of a faint cry from above, there to catch Jamie and baby as Bernard lowered them down.

Greg sprung to the grass with an easy roll. James held out his arms for Bernard, but he leapt from the roof with surprisingly grace, landing on the ground without even bending his knees. It was an oddity to shake off as he turned to watch the large cottage consumed by fire, burning the beasts within. Until the smoking door shattered, and out strode two hounds far larger than the rest, hunched over as they walked on two feet. They shook the flames from their coats and advanced upon these prey. From its torn clothes, James realized one was David.

"Upstarts. I've hard enough of these mongrels," Bernard growled as his teeth seemed to grow and his eyes flash blood red. "You are only a bloody accident. Come face a true hunter."

As these combatants circled each other, James could only grab the final survivors and flee for the horizon, even as Greg lamented, "Aw, I wanted to see the fight!"

James considered letting the boy watch his infected father being torn apart by an ancient vampire, but he was sure he would need him as bait further down the road.

Quiet (1417)

"Will you shut up for a minute?" said Mark.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall, eyes red from lack of sleep. His nerves were shot.

"Of course I haven't gotten any damn sleep. You won't shut the hell up."

He had first discovered his strange ability on the eve of his fifteenth birthday, only two weeks before. He had still not quite become accustomed to it.

"Strange ability?" Mark twitched, then shrugged. "It's just hearing your dumb ass all the time. And why can't you ever say anything straight out?"

He had still not quite become accustomed to his strange ability.

Mark glared at the wall, then shrugged again. "Fine, whatever. Point is, you're bugging the hell out of me. Why can’t you shut up?"

But, he realized, maybe he just had to think about the ways his strange ability could be useful.

"Bullshit." Mark sat for a moment. "Ok, fine. Help me out here. How could you possibly be useful?"

Maybe he just had to think about the ways his strange ability could be useful.

"Fucking hell." Mark flopped backwards onto his bed. "All right, if you'll shut up for a minute, I'll think about it." There was a moment of quiet as he lay there, thinking. "Ok. What about if you could tell me about what other people are thinking and saying, instead of just me?"

And as he spoke the idea aloud, he realized that it was incredibly stupid, and that he should probably kill himself.

"What the hell?" Mark sat up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

And then it came to him that of course, if his ability had extended to other people, it probably would have already done so. He would have already heard about what other people thought and said. And maybe--just maybe--he was better off not knowing.

Mark sat in silence for a moment, glaring. "Fine. Fine, maybe I don't want to know. Whatever. You're still an asshole."

After a moment of thought, though, he realized that he still knew almost nothing about the voice he was hearing. Maybe the voice was benevolent. Maybe it was just trying to help the best way it knew how.

"Ok," said Mark. He stood up. "Ok. Why don't you tell me who you are, then?"

Perhaps he should list off possible guesses. Yes, that might be effective.

"Fine. God?"

But deep down inside, he knew the voice he heard could not possibly be God. Would God have told him that his idea was incredibly stupid? No, God would have made him try to feel better about being so useless.

Mark flushed. "The Devil?"

But no, that was also amazingly stupid. The Devil was, of course, a myth to keep weak-brained imbeciles in line.

"Which is exactly what you'd say if you were the Devil."

And yet, that argument could go in circles forever. He might as well keep guessing.

Mark was getting to the end of his list. "Government conspiracy or aliens or both."

No. That didn't even begin to make sense. Clearly, he was a total moron and should probably kill himself.

"Fine, asshole. Whatever."

Well, that wouldn't get him anywhere. He would probably never know exactly what his strange ability was all about.

"Oh, fuck off." Mark slammed the bedroom door behind him and ran down the stairs to the kitchen. Maybe he'd escape from the voice there.

No such luck. He could still hear the damn thing. And to make matters worse, there was his mom right there in the kitchen. She, too, looked tired and unhappy. She had never exactly been cheerful since he had caused his father to leave two years before, but it seemed like things had become drastically worse in the last few days. She was becoming seriously worried about him talking to people she couldn't see. Maybe if he killed himself, she'd cheer up.

"What?" Mark stared around the empty kitchen. "There's nobody here."

Perhaps he was becoming delusional, because there she stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking more concerned than ever to see him talking to himself again. "Honey?" she said. "Are you all right?"

Mark's mouth was dry. "I'm--yeah, I'm fine. Nothing to worry about." He stepped backwards out of the kitchen.

His mother stepped forward, following him. "Honey, let me feel your forehead. I think there might be something seriously wrong with you." And she was right, there was a lot seriously wrong with him. Probably he should just end it all.

"That's--that's not true." Mark turned from the empty kitchen and dashed back up the stairs, closing and locking his bedroom door behind him. He found that he was shivering and could not stop.

It was probably because he was a worthless coward, who was afraid of his own mother. Afraid that he might be wrong, that his perceptions were lying to him.

"Fuck off!" Mark flung his shoes at the wall and collapsed onto his bed. And for a moment, it seemed the voice had obeyed him.

But only for a moment. And as the voice spoke, he remembered all the horrible things he had done. All the people whose lives were worse off because he was in them. His dad, who he had driven away from the family by being such a little shit. If he hadn't fucked everything up, his parents never would have had to argue about moving him to that private school. His dad never would have hit his mom, and they never would've gotten divorced.

"Fuck off." Mark could barely croak; his voice had left him.

His mom, who had tried and tried to make things work with his dad. And she could've done it, too, if he hadn't called the cops on his dad, like a self-righteous little prick. Of all the stupid things he’d done in his life, that topped the list.

Mark couldn't even summon the energy to answer back.

Even his best friend. He had fucked things up for his best friend, just like he always did. He had tried to impress that girl, and scared her off because girls just thought he was creepy, and ruined things for everyone. And now his former best friend wouldn't talk to him, and neither would anyone else at school. They never would. He was just too stupid, too ugly, too worthless.

"But I didn't mean--it wasn't like that." Mark couldn’t move.

In his heart, he knew the voice was right. He was a worthless excuse for a human being, who had never done anything but bring unhappiness to all the people he cared about. He ate their joy, and shat misery all over them.

"I--" Mark's head sank back on his pillow. It was true. The voice was right.

And now he was going insane. He was going insane, and there was no way out. He would hear voices forever. Or, until he gave in and accepted the final solution. The easy way, the peaceful way. The quiet way.

"But there's nothing here I could use to--do it." Mark was shaking worse than ever.

And then he remembered his mother's sleeping pill prescription. If he swallowed them all at once, that would probably do the trick.

"Yeah." Mark was slouched on his bed, shoulders slumped. "Yeah, probably." He stood--shakily, but he stood--he unlocked the door, and padded over to his mom's bathroom. There were the pills on the bottom shelf.

Glorious, blue-white capsules of blissful, peaceful nirvana.

"Yeah." Mark stared at the bottle, shaking.

What was he, some kind of coward? It would be so easy. All he had to do was swallow a few pills. So easy, and so quiet. No pain. Just swallow a few pills. Was that too hard?

"No." Mark stood shaking for a moment more, then turned on the faucet. He stared at the bottle of pills, and opened it. He shook three of the pills into his hand--blue-white capsules of peaceful nirvana?

Yes. Glorious, blue-white capsules of blissful, peaceful nirvana.

Mark tossed back the three pills and swallowed them.

That hadn't been so hard.

"No." Mark began downing the rest of the pills, three at a time.

That was it. That was the way. Everyone would be so much happier with him gone.

"Yeah." Mark slumped over the toilet. The faucet was still running. Everything was foggy and confused. But it was quiet. Oh so wonderfully quiet.

Quiet?

Nothing Ever (~400 words)

Henry scrambled. The boy crouched and pounced. His knees, cushioned by his jeans, plopped on the floor, and his hands cupped over the dusty hardwood. He slightly lifted his right hand and peeked underneath it. But there was nothing but his thumbprint in dust. He looked to his left hand, curled atop the floor and divided in half by the sunlight streaming through the windows. His knuckles rose and peaked like a pyramid amongst the dust. Carefully, he folded his fingers over his palm without pressing them together and brought his hand forth to his view as he lay of the floor. His fingers crept open to reveal the spider on his palm.

They looked at one another. At least, Henry thought so. On Henry’s hand, the spider with its thread-like legs seemed to float like dandelion snow. As its abdomen circled the edges of Henry’s palm, he tilted his hand to bring it back to the middle. As his right index finger approached the spider, a waft of dust tickled his nose. His nostrils flared. He folded his left hand again and closed his eyes. The sneeze shook his entire frame. He checked the spider, and it remained intact. When he looked up from his palm, a puzzled expression came across his face.

Henry had never noticed the door in the back of the closet. The two-story house had been for sale for as long as he could remember. He had been afraid of the stories about the house being haunted. But several weeks ago, after being embarrassed about not swimming at the pool, he had decided to be braver. The night-light was the first to go; that was for little kids. He decided bugs were no longer scary. And eventually, he summoned enough courage to enter this so-called haunted house. So on and off exploring the house for the past month, he had never seen this door before.

The door was rounded at the top and was about half Henry’s height. There was no handle to it, and he only noticed because it was barely ajar. He slipped his hands into his jeans’ pockets and wiped the sweat from his palms. He set the tips of his fingers onto the small ridge jutting out. It didn’t take much effort. The door creaked as it opened.

But there was just another wall behind the door. And that's what really happened. Really.

Hastily finished with pretty much no editing at all, so bare with it.

The Fuck-or-Flight Response

He knew that smell.

The scent was faint, hard-to-detect. But it was one that every man knew.

Semen.

When he opened his eyes, her face was hovering over his. Soft features mostly, rounded face, button nose, delicate lips. Brown eyes behind narrow, thick-rimmed glasses, twitching back and forth. Creamy skin with slight hints of freckles. An attractive, if a bit immature face. Tips of golden brown hair just above him.

He quickly took in the surroundings. Beige walls, white sheets to the left, wood flooring to the right. His clothes, her clothes, presumably. Open door. A spartan room. Day light from the single window. The only furnishing other than the bed a nightstand. On top of it a large gray lamp, a black flashlight, a burgundy cell phone.

He started to remembered. The nightclub, Neojaffe. This is the girl he was dancing with, the last one he remembered dancing with, at least. A great dancer, surprisingly. A pretty nice ass, considering her short height and small frame.

Something was still missing, all the pieces weren't on the table.

When he gazed down it hit him. It. She was straddling him. How appropriate that she was in a pair of boy shorts. There was no mistaking that bulge in her pink underwear.

He wasn't exactly calm before, and seeing that didn't help. Opened his mouth but no words. Their gaze locked, her eyes still quivering. Unnerving, unbroken silence. She had to have sense his discomfort, but she didn't bulge. Budge.

15 seconds, 15 years. The awkwardness was even too much for her. A confused face. The shaky eyes slowed, she quickly rolled off of him. She looked away at first, but her gaze returned, attentive.

What was her name? He realized, he didn't remember it. Or didn't know it at all. He sat up. Deep breath, need composure. It took time for him to settle, but the words eventually came. As calmly as possible.

"Who are you?"

She give him a studied look, then reached across him, grabbing the cell phone off the night stand. After sliding it open, she began pressing away. When she finished, she handed him the cell. He gave her a puzzled look before staring at the text on the screen.

"shia"

Was this sort of game? He certainly wasn't in the mood for it. "Are we actually going to talk here?"

It seemed to take her a while to take in the words. She tilted her head to the left, and tapped her ear three times. She then tilted her head back, and did the same to her throat before shaking her head.

Oh. The current situation truly began to soak in. Waking up in some strange room, with an innocent-looking deaf-mute girl-boy? This was most definitely a rape trap. At least he wasn't black.

He had to go along with it. Conversation by text it was.

"how old are you"

She turned the phone towards him. "18" An internal sigh of relief. So it's only the third-worst possible scenario. She continued to enter text. "are you okay? dont you remember last night?"

"i remember dancing with you, not much else" When she read this, a disheartened look covered her face.

Before she had a chance to respond, their text conversation was interrupted by a sultry voice from the direction of the door. "So you're finally awake."

He remembered her from last night. She was the one that introduced him to Shia, or led him to her, rather. She looked like some sort of jazz beauty queen. Brown skin, full lips, cool eyes. Tall, intimidatingly so in the heel she was in the first time they met. A slender, yet curvy figure. Those huge tits couldn't be good for her back.

"We need to talk."


---


There's no way that's possible.

Part of him wanted to just put the whole experience behind him; but another wanted to see if anything that Zara had said about Shia and the incident at the nightclub was actually true. They offered to him what they claimed to be proof, under the condition that he would never tell another soul about its contents.

He opened the video.

---

She always saved the bra for last.

She knew Shia had a thing for them, so she always kept Shia waiting as long as possible. The anticipation was killing both of them. Shia was already visibly flustered, and she herself was certainly aroused, though she did her best to hide from Shia. She slowly and seductively approached the bed where Shia lay.

She sat on the edge of the bed and looked into Shia's eyes.

Are you ready?

Shia couldn't respond with words, her eyes too jittery to proper do so, so she nodded. Zara removed the Shia's glasses, placing them on the nightstand. Taking the flashlight in hand, she slowly waved it in front of Shia.

You know what this is for, right? Shia quickly nodded in reply.

Stop me if it's too much, okay?

She pointed the end of the flashlight into Shia's eyes.


Click.



Click.



Click.



Click.


She flicked the flashlight on and off. Shia's entire body was covered in a sex flush.

Click click.



Click click.

She could see the agitation in Shia's eyes as they watered up. Shia's body began to tremble, soaked in sweat.


Clickclick.
Clickclick.
Clickclick.

She watched as Shia gripped the sheets for support and lifted her pelvis off the mattress, gasping for air.

Are you OK? Shia quickly nodded, noticeably more aroused than she was before, her eyes in a mixture of pleasure and pain. Zara leaned in, gently caressed Shia's neck before rubbing her nose against it and inhaling, deeply.

It would take less than the than 5 seconds for the scent to have its effect.

"Oh fuck!" The burning sensation that began to ignite in her body was overwhelming. She tried to stable herself, arms around her body, squeezing tightly. She could feel her wetness pouring down herself. The tears flooding her eyes made it impossible to speak. Shia watched closely, still gripping the sheets, resisting the urge to act.

Zara could feel herself going insane. She hastily mounted Shia and shoved herself downward. She hooked her arms under Shia's and pull herself toward her. Using Shia's body for support, she thrust her body onto Shia repeated. She looked into Shia's eyes.

Make me come!

((I hope it's alright for me to do this.))


Here are the entries:

Cheshire- Philosophies of Truth
Timedog- Petite Mort
Tim the Wiz- Disease
Bakemono- Flight of the Heart-Golem
Irish- Hunting
evilpigking- The Night Sky
ronito- The Truth
Belfast- Under the Veil
Ward- What Was Broken, Is Broken
Botolf- The Scholar and the Pond
ZephyrFate- Home
Aaron- The Hounds of the Night: Part II
Cyan- Quiet
DumbNameD- Nothing Ever
USD- The Fuck-or-Flight Response

I think I did this post correctly.

thanks Irish.

DumbNameD's been out DumbNameD'ed.

Hmm, we're a little slow out of the gate this time. Well, I'm done with Toastmasters stuff for the moment, so I'll probably get my votes/crits in this evening. Tempted to just do them now... but I should probably do some actual work at work.

Cheshire - "Philosophies of Truth" - Good use of dialogue combined with snippets of description and action to give us the feel of the interrogation. I don't buy into the ending, though. It's not really foreshadowed or alluded to at all, and if the enemy has truth serums and whatnot... I just didn't quite believe it. Also, I think the final two lines should be flipped. "The truth is what you believe it to be" is crying out to be the last line.

Timedog - "Petite Mort" - Oh, Timedog. The thing that's great about this piece is it really does have the feel of a full Timedog story, in only a very few words. Awesome example of brevity without losing substance. The streaming liquid is maybe a little much, but I'd expect nothing else. Nice.

Tim the Wiz - "Disease" - Strong opening, the MC and the situation both being established quickly and well. The rest isn't as polished I've come to expect from you. The dialogue is a bit off, and the villains are slightly overdone. It didn't quite jibe that they were evil enough to kill everyone in the house, but just left the kid sitting there. Why didn't they kill him, or take him away like the little girl?

bakemono - "Flight of the Heart-Golem" - Very creative! That was both its strength and its downfall. It took me a while to figure out that the main guy was literally turning into different things, that it wasn't just metaphorical. The confusion of character labels at the beginning didn't help, either (unless the main guy was a vampire as well as a guy who turns into different materials?). But once I figured that out, it was a fun story. Nice and light-hearted.

Irish - "Hunting" - Another really creative entry. I know this doesn't help after the fact, but I think you might've been better off leaving it as just the job application and response. The backstory that we get in the first two segments is something we can infer by reading the job app portion. Also, I think you could've had a little more fun with it. What address could she have put that would sound ritzy? Could she have made up an SSN or a phone number that had some fun second meaning? Also might have been fun if she described her jobs at NASA and the FBI.

Cyan said:

bakemono - "Flight of the Heart-Golem" - Very creative! That was both its strength and its downfall. It took me a while to figure out that the main guy was literally turning into different things, that it wasn't just metaphorical. The confusion of character labels at the beginning didn't help, either (unless the main guy was a vampire as well as a guy who turns into different materials?). But once I figured that out, it was a fun story. Nice and light-hearted.

Click to expand...

Thanks for the feedback Cyan. Main guy is a Heart-Golem (as in the title), he changes form when his heart morphs.

bakemono said:

Thanks for the feedback Cyan. Main guy is a Heart-Golem (as in the title), he changes form when his heart morphs.

Click to expand...

That was what I thought. I got confused because it kept referring to "the vampire," and with the way the beginning was set up, I thought both the characters were vampires at first.

Cyan said:

Tim the Wiz - "Disease" - Strong opening, the MC and the situation both being established quickly and well. The rest isn't as polished I've come to expect from you. The dialogue is a bit off, and the villains are slightly overdone. It didn't quite jibe that they were evil enough to kill everyone in the house, but just left the kid sitting there. Why didn't they kill him, or take him away like the little girl?

Click to expand...

If you liked the opening, I think you'd have liked the original direction of the story. Unfortunately, it was too big for the format, and so the rest of it devolved into the type of heavy-handed excuse for violence I can't resist.

Cheshire- Philosophies of Truth
Delete "he breathes deeply as the last line" "truth is what you believe" is a great ending. I would like more back story and detail on the interrogation. Explain why they beat him so long before the truth serum. Either they like violence or the serum is expensive. Where did they dump him?
Nice imagery and concept.

Timedog- Petite Mort
Unique in a typical Timedog sort of way.

Tim the Wiz- Disease
So the kid saw a man sitting in the van and the gun at his hip? Either the van door was open or he should have seen a gun resting on the dashboard.
Black chrome of the van? Black paint?
Well written, enjoyable read.


Bakemono- Flight of the Heart-Golem
I like the style and tone, but it was hard to follow. I was never quite sure who was doing what.

Irish- Hunting
Interesting concept. And I like the bit of backstory you added. The dismissal letter touting the "honesty" was weird. If the application had some essay questions or required more info I get the comment.
I know what you were trying to do/insinuate though.

evilpigking- The Night Sky
Cool concept. The description of the "wall" and the in between space on the wal on the village side left a lot to be desired. I was wondering if they were in a dome.
You allowed just enough to let people know what was going on

ronito- The Truth
Chocolate chip and mayonaise =)

Belfast- Under the Veil
Nice. I was slightly fuzzy on the veil, but the story was well written.

Botolf- The Scholar and the Pond
Awesome. I really like the concept and the resoution.

ZephyrFate- Home
Cool transitions and message.

Aaron- The Hounds of the Night: Part II
Bernard saves the day. I would think the barricaded room would have been a more emotional moment.

Cyan- Quiet
Cool concept. It reminded me of the movie.Stranger than Fiction

DumbNameD- Nothing Ever
Cute =)

USD- The Fuck-or-Flight Response
An interesting read.


Voting:

1st: The Scholar and the Pond-Botolf
2nd: Under the Veil- Belfast
3rd: The Night Sky-evilpigking
HM: ZephyrFate, Cyan, bakedmono, Irish

evilpigking - "The Night Sky" - Oh, very nice. Love the twist. My main complaint here is the abundance of expository dialogue ("As you know, Bob, twenty years ago, such and such happened."). Generally you can probably get away with a little bit of that without the reader being bothered, but there's too much of it here. You can let us figure out some of this stuff with carefully aimed description and action (i.e. Hal peers at the top of the wall, wondering what the legendary wild growth on the other side would look like, and wishing it wasn't so cloudy so the moon would be out.). In the same vein, you could probably cut the last line. Let us figure out the twist instead of telling us right out, and it'll have a much bigger impact. Well done.

ronito - "The Truth" - Hehe. Oh, I don't know, I think Truth was an interesting subject. And maybe you won with your last story because you didn't take it too seriously, and loosened up a bit, no? Nice last line.

Belfast - "Under the Veil" - Man, that's horrible. :/ Not the story, the situation. And since I feel so strongly about it, you must have succeeded. Main complaint is a little bit of unmarked POV changing (Scoza gripping at his lost leg, when we already know the MC can't see him), but that wasn't too bad. Anyway, you did a wonderful job telling us just enough about this world to get our imaginations to fill in the rest. You had the disadvantage of being after a similar concept, but it worked really well anyway.

Ward - "What Was Broken, Is Broken" - God, we're a cynical bunch, aren't we? Our "truths" are so depressing. Well, this piece doesn't really have a throughline, as far as I could see. More three unconnected but representative incidents of the dude's life. The last one might have worked better if it was about the funeral itself, rather than a random day where he flashes back to it. Anyway, despite the lack of real motion, this story fulfills the purpose of a story, to evoke emotion. And that's what really counts.

Botolf - "The Scholar and the Pond" - Haha, awesome. Great ending. You might want to think a bit about the opening. Who's the narrator? Do they know about human gardens and gardeners? Would it be better served with a less passive opening? I'm not sure of the answers, these are just things you might consider.

There's one major thing that bugged me in this story, and that's the giant paragraph of explanation on how the whisper was achieved. I'm glad the time was spent to figure out how humanity could've done it, but the explanation is out of place and probably unnecessary. The same effect could have been achieved in far fewer words ("Well, we linked quadrillions of minds together in a single network, then threaded the message through millions of combined black holes." That's awkward, but I'm sure you could figure out something better.).

ZephyrFate - "Home" - Some nice imagery. I'm not sure the last line is necessary. Kind of pounding the message in a bit too much.

Aaron - "The Hounds of the Night: Part II" - Wait, so these are zombies after all? I was confused about that in the previous one. I had kind of a hard time following where the people were--at first they were in the second floor, then they lured the zombies up there to burn them out, but then they were higher up? I don't know, I didn't quite follow it. Also, if James already knew Bernard was a vampire, why was it never mentioned before?

Cyan - "Quiet" - Weird.

DumbNameD - "Nothing Ever" - Heh. Nice. The third paragraph is kind of awkward in structure. Switches from being about the door to being about Henry's fear--this could have been a lot smoother. Nothing behind the door?

USD - "The Fuck-or-Flight Response" - Definitely could've used a little more editing. Some minor grammar and spelling issues that you probably would've caught with another pass or two. An interesting, almost Timedoggian concept here. I think it basically works. The structure is a little weird, though. Is the video the guy's watching of Zara and Shia? If so, how does it prove anything? I was expecting that he'd see a video of himself with Shia, and sort of half-remember what had happened the night before. This way was a little odd. Also, Neojaffe?


Votes

1. Belfast - "Under the Veil"
2. Botolf - "The Scholar and the Pond"
3. Ward - "What Was Broken, Is Broken"
HM: evilpigking - "The Night Sky"

Cyan said:

evilpigking - "The Night Sky" - Oh, very nice. Love the twist. My main complaint here is the abundance of expository dialogue ("As you know, Bob, twenty years ago, such and such happened."). Generally you can probably get away with a little bit of that without the reader being bothered, but there's too much of it here. You can let us figure out some of this stuff with carefully aimed description and action (i.e. Hal peers at the top of the wall, wondering what the legendary wild growth on the other side would look like, and wishing it wasn't so cloudy so the moon would be out.). In the same vein, you could probably cut the last line. Let us figure out the twist instead of telling us right out, and it'll have a much bigger impact. Well done.

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Yeah, I need to work on finding a better mix of direct explanation and hinting. In my mind the dialogue took place of flashback scene cuts to them as children sitting around listening to stories around a fire kind of deal. As for the last line, I guess I am one of those "ye of little faith" people. Even though I apparently made it pretty obvious, I didn't have enough faith in my writing and hints and felt obligated to put that line there. Thanks for the feedback.

Also towards, Belfast, I just find it kind of funny that my working title was "Beyond the Veil" before I changed it once I had a better idea of where I was going.

Ward said:

Botolf- The Scholar and the Pond
Awesome. I really like the concept and the resoution.


Voting:

1st: The Scholar and the Pond-Botolf
2nd: Under the Veil- Belfast
3rd: The Night Sky-evilpigking
HM: ZephyrFate, Cyan, bakedmono, Irish

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Thanks for ye comments and vote, sir

Cyan said:

Botolf - "The Scholar and the Pond" - Haha, awesome. Great ending. You might want to think a bit about the opening. Who's the narrator? Do they know about human gardens and gardeners? Would it be better served with a less passive opening? I'm not sure of the answers, these are just things you might consider.(1)

There's one major thing that bugged me in this story, and that's the giant paragraph of explanation on how the whisper was achieved. I'm glad the time was spent to figure out how humanity could've done it, but the explanation is out of place and probably unnecessary. The same effect could have been achieved in far fewer words ("Well, we linked quadrillions of minds together in a single network, then threaded the message through millions of combined black holes." That's awkward, but I'm sure you could figure out something better.).(2)

Votes

1. Belfast - "Under the Veil"
2. Botolf - "The Scholar and the Pond"
3. Ward - "What Was Broken, Is Broken"
HM: evilpigking - "The Night Sky"

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1) In my view, the narrator is another of the Scholar's kind, perhaps someone writing the biography of a great and reclusive mind. They might have become aware of the concept of human gardens and gardeners after the experiments were carried out, but I really just needed a good and simple image first and foremost. Passive opening, I'm not sure, I wanted to leave who or what he was mostly mysterious. Outside of the garden imagery, I didn't really want to anthropomorphize him too much.

2) Heh, you're probably right. I do enjoy going into detail with elaborate explanations of things, but I suppose there's ways to go about that without a solid paragraph of information.

Thanks for your vote and your criticism

evilpigking said:

Yeah, I need to work on finding a better mix of direct explanation and hinting. In my mind the dialogue took place of flashback scene cuts to them as children sitting around listening to stories around a fire kind of deal. As for the last line, I guess I am one of those "ye of little faith" people. Even though I apparently made it pretty obvious, I didn't have enough faith in my writing and hints and felt obligated to put that line there. Thanks for the feedback.

Also towards, Belfast, I just find it kind of funny that my working title was "Beyond the Veil" before I changed it once I had a better idea of where I was going.

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Yeah, I almost changed the name of mine several times, but since it tied into a literal aspect of the story (the presence of something actually called "The Veil"), I decided to leave it be. I actually had the story done a few days earlier, so I began to fret when I saw you post yours. As Cyan mentioned, they are, in certain ways, similar in concept. And even worse for me, yours is well-written!

Also, I'll do my best to get to critiques later today. Going out to the Farmer's Market for awhile!

Cheshire: Assuming that truth is truly subjective, I think you did a good job on the interrogation scene as the accommodating interrogator works well against the backdrop of what I assume is a dystopian society. I know it's a rough but a bit more information perhaps on why their is an anti-governmet movement would be nice.

Timedog: Nice bit of microfiction, though I wonder why he wants to die in the titled state, given the formatting well done.

Tim the Wiz: I'm kinda torn on this one. Assuming the whole thing is government sanctioned as the section with the Police seems to confirm, I find it hard to believe that they would kill the wife and not take the witness since it is implied the beareded man was all but waiting for her to make a move. I guess they could be relying on no one believing the kid along with the coverup though. It was an interesting concept, the "pad the size of a Koran" seems a bit over the top beating in the fact that it is an Muslim neightborhood though.

bakemono: Took me a few reads to understand the basic premise. Plot wise I enjoyed it, mechanically (albeit, I'm not good at this myself) there were a couple issues that made it harder to follow than it could have been. Here and there words appear to be missing ("he would not have made to go back ") and you switch between Lamar and Quintus being referred to as "he" a few times but it isn't always immediately ready to whom you are referring (at least not to me). The idea of a someone whose body's elemental/structure composition changes depending on what he feels is neat.

Irish: Nice improvement over the original fleshing out the character a bit. The denial letter seemed a bit missplaced though because there wasn't really any field on the form that would imply honesty or not. In this case since her application was so bad it would be considered honest but it seemed like a pretty basic form that would be hard to pad in a realistic manner. I liked the playful spirit on the false form though.

Ronito: Sheesh what an unrealistic main character. =) Thanks for sharing.

Belfast: Wow. Nice job spending only a few words to develop a background allowing you to spend more time on the launch and flight imagery. The ending had impact as well since hope is one of the strongest emotions.

Ward: The characters were realistic and each section was done well.

Botolf: It was cute. Nice conclusion and imagery in the beginning when describing the garden.

ZephyrFate: The transition from predator to prey and the accompanying emotions was well done.

Aaron: You lost me a bit, so whatever mutation/virus the animals had spread to other living organisms so I guess it probably didn't start with the dogs. Not sure where Bernard being a vampire came from, maybe if I reread the story I'll find hints I missed. Clearly Bernard knows more than he let on, so are they a subclass of vampire or ghouls perhaps? Technique wise, it had a good mix of dialogue and action as well as strong images.

Cyan: Took me a bit to get that he was hearing the narrator because I can be slow on the uptake. I liked it quite a bit, the narrator not be neutral and leading him on to depression and a suicide attempt.

DnD: The first two paragraphs were definately relatable. I got a "Coraline" type vibe from the story. If it had ended at "But there was just another wall behind the door." I think it might have been a little more poignant.

USD: Not sure what was happening here. I'm not sure how the video clarified anything unless "he" was the one filming and hadn't actually participated.

My Votes:
1. Ward
2. Belfast
3. Botolf
HM. Cyan and Ronito

Cheshire- Philosophies of Truth : I liked the idea and the execution. The idea behind the whole thing is something that I believe to be true. There are "facts", and then there are "truths". The whole interrogation thing was something I was originally going to use, but I decided against it fairly early.

This paragraph is pretty confusing, I think you may have left out a sentence or forgot to add something.

Cheshire said:

The man turned and walked towards what looked like a table. He was occupied for a moment before turning and walking back. In an instant he pulled his arm back and stuck it down into his neck. The pain was sharp but Paul hardly felt it; he was already hurt enough. He felt a pressure under his skin before the pain withdrew.

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To me, it looks like the guy shoved his entire arm down Paul's throat, instead of injecting him with something.

Timedog- Petite Mort : Where was Fabio? In all seriousness, you managed to capture an entire story within a few lines. I don't know how you did it, but it feels complete. It was really weird on the other hand and a little too detailed in some places.

Tim the Wiz- Disease : Brilliant imagery. I just finished watching Three Kings, so it was especially vibrant in my mind. I also liked how the theme was incorporated. I find it very hard to hide the truth from my face, but I manage it sometimes. It actually requires a lot of practice, so I know it would be nearly impossible for a young boy who was witnessing all of that going on. There was also the distinction between Truth and Public Truth; very different things. I, too, am surprised that they left the kid.

Bakemono- Flight of the Heart-Golem : Well, this was actually hard to read. It was riddled with errors and weird language. A little too wordy as well. The perspective changed once or twice, further throwing me off.

Anyway, Lamar changes based on what he's feeling right? That was kinda nice. I know you can write better than this, so I was slightly disappointed. Sorry for being so harsh.

evilpigking- The Night Sky : Shyamalan? Actually, I liked this piece and it seems pretty believable. I also liked the little hints given throughout that they are indeed on the moon. Something about it seemed more fantasy than sci-fi and I appreciated that.

ronito- The Truth : I loved that you gave us something from the heart. On the other hand, your early life reads like a horror story.

Belfast- Under the Veil : It was well written and enjoyable. I think a bit of backstory would have helped. I'm having trouble envisioning the veil/upper crust. Is it a bit like being in a cave? Is it dark all the time? Is the veil like an aurora? You mentioned the Gods, but it didn't work as well without the reader knowing what the people thought of the gods. I still liked the story though. Quite a bit actually.

Ward- What Was Broken, Is Broken : Wow, I really don't know what to say in regards to this. I really loved it. Each character was presented extremely well. It was more like seeing into somebody's mind than reading a story. I loved how grounded everything felt. It actually hit pretty close to home as well. The three were almost exact copies of my brother, my sister, and me. It's almost like reading my future.

Botolf- The Scholar and the Pond : Interesting concept. Started suffering once he received the transmission though. The technology stuff was garbled to me as well.

ZephyrFate- Home : Interesting concept that would have been improved had you put it into short-story form. Right now, it seems to be a mixture between poem and story and that kinda ruins it for me.

Aaron- The Hounds of the Night: Part II : There's a few too many characters to keep track of and some of the descriptions tend to lead the reader in circles. Events seem random and disconnected as well. I still liked the story, but it wasn't as good as Part I.

Cyan- Quiet : It does seem like Stranger Than Fiction, but it is still kinda unique. I actually see the disembodied voice as the MC. He's trying to get rid of this other part of his head that is bothering him. He can actually see this part of him living in a world similar to his own. So, to get rid of him, the disembodied voice thinks him away as if he were actually trying to kill somebody.

DumbNameD- Nothing Ever : For some reason, I imagine a kindly man with a hardened look actually telling me this story. Weird. Anyway, I just would have like a bit more. Still, you manage to deal with normal stuff in a way I could only dream of.

USD- The Fuck-or-Flight Response : I had a lot of fun with the first part, but felt the end was unnecessary/didn't get it. Basically, I'm confused.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Votes:

1)Ward- What Was Broken, Is Broken
2) Tim the Wiz- Disease
3)Belfast- Under the Veil

HMs: Cyan- Quiet, evilpigking- The Night Sky, ronito- The Truth

_____________________________________________________________________________

I really need to quit trying to do grounded ideas. I just need to let my imagination run wild. Also, my crits were almost as long as my story. Very close actually. As in, a few words.

Edited in Responses:

I was originally going to keep the dismissal letter in its shortened form, but decided to add on to it considering Lisa had pulled some strings for her to even be able to apply where she was. In my head, Lisa gave a brief overview of Joan's case to Regina. Maybe I should have added that list bit in. It probably would have helped the story.

I threw in some references (Elm St., her alt. phone number, Regina Spektor, shared birthday/state (not same age) with me (only I would have known that)), but nothing too creative. I wish I had put more thought into it.

1. Belfast
2. Aaron
3. Cyan

evilpigking said:

Botolf: It was cute. Nice conclusion and imagery in the beginning when describing the garden.

My Votes:
1. Ward
2. Belfast
3. Botolf
HM. Cyan and Ronito

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Thanks for the comment and vote

Irish said:

Botolf- The Scholar and the Pond : Interesting concept. Started suffering once he received the transmission though. The technology stuff was garbled to me as well.

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Thanks for the crit, my man.

Irish said:

Belfast- Under the Veil : It was well written and enjoyable. I think a bit of backstory would have helped. I'm having trouble envisioning the veil/upper crust. Is it a bit like being in a cave? Is it dark all the time? Is the veil like an aurora? You mentioned the Gods, but it didn't work as well without the reader knowing what the people thought of the gods. I still liked the story though. Quite a bit actually.

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About the Veil (spoilered for people who might want to maintain their own interpretation):

damn comcast I had everything written up and my internet crashed!!

Oh well here's what I remember summed up (lest my internet crash again)

Cheshire: Too long to get to the reveal and the second to the last line should've been the ending.

Timedog: It was petite LOL!!

Timo: I didn't care much for the characters as when you say something like "chubby police" I only get cliched visions.

BakedMonkey I love the creativity but it was too hard to follow.

Irish I don't know why but the reply letter seemed forced and stilted.

TombaVillain "That's no moon!!" Sorry it's my own fault but I can't get over it.

Belfast Great dialogue!

Ward This one I remember. It seemed you try to paint a vignette in the first section, but really it felt like you were setting up for action, led to confusion when you stopped. The ending was a bit obvious but like your foreshadowing.

Botolf Dialogue voicing needs work. Love the ending, sorta Adams-esque.

Zephyr Probably the best use of the secondary objective. But why can't you write about rainbows and bunnies for a change?

Aaron I wanted it, I got it. Toyota! A little confusing but I loved it.

Cyan Interesting concept I really like how you're really playing with different ideas. Kudos!

DumbNameD Reminds me a lot of a asian chick. Short and cute.

UDS Wat wat

My votes:

1. Botolf
2. Aaron
3. Cyan

HM: Belfast, Zephyr, TombaVillain and everyone else.

Damn, everyone did a real great job this time around.

I don't know why I attempt to do human-esque stories. I just don't have the skills for it. On the other hand, I never seem to come up with any good "out-there" ideas.

I guess that will be my goal for the next challenge.

Cheshire - I enjoyed the concept, perhaps a take on the age-old conflict between science (the truth serum will elicit a desired response no matter what) and faith (strong belief in something makes it real). However, I would've liked it better if Paul had been trained to respond in a way that when he said he wasn't part of the movement, he honestly did not think he was. As it's written, it comes off as he's merely confident enough to lie, while deep down he knows what he's doing. Likewise, there are some tense and perspective issues that need to be worked out. Several times, you talk in the present tense when the previous sentence was in the past tense, and phrases like "He scoffs at the word 'clients'" make it seem like an observation made by Paul, not the omniscient author.

Timedog - As usual, well written, and as others have said, it feels complete for being so short. But I have to admit that your style is getting too predictable. When I come across any of your stories, I know I'm likely in for some strong sex and/or violent imagery. You're a good writer and I wouldn't mind seeing some more variety from you.

Tim - I liked it, and it really shows that sometimes, it's the small moments, the tiny details, that can quickly turn a situation from bad to worse. There were some odd phrases and small mistakes that a once-over could've worked out, though.

bakemono - I like the concept of the Heart-Golem and the story has some charm, but the individual mistakes in spelling, grammar, and flow quickly pile up and make the story harder to read.

Irish - Weird entry, indeed. But not necessarily a bad one. I think a concept like this could really work well if it had some more time put into it. The dialog could've use a little work, as well. The first two sentences jumped out at me as being overly long. Splitting them up, allowing both characters to banter back and forth, would've made them feel more natural.

evilpigking - I like it and think it's fairly well written, but it could've used the touch more of the second objective. Imagery can go a long way to setting a scene, and your piece seems to be mostly dialog. Just as well, I think some of the background information could've been weaved more elegantly into the story.

ronito - Gone meta this time, huh? Reads well, for what it's worth, but maybe just a bit too heavy-handed? While personal experience can be a rich literary well to drink from, it can dry up if it feels overwrought. Seems more fit for a journal entry than a narrative.

I was originally going to ditch the challenge altogether, but several hours before the deadline, something clicked, so I tried to mash out something. The base structure is there (though not how I originally planned it), but it's hardly a finished work. I wanted to see what other people thought about it before I (maybe) complete it.

Or alternately, I could just explain what was supposed to be happening. That is, if anyone cares to know. Considering how slowly and inefficiently I write, that's probably the better option.


Votes
1. bakemono - Flight of the Heart-Golem
2. Belfast - Under The Veil
3. Ward - What Was Broken, Is Broken.

bakemono - I had to read it painstakingly slow to make sense of it, but I absolutely loved it.
Belfast - So well-written, I already felt sorry for Gail well before the actual story became apparent.
Ward - A bit cliche, but an enjoyable read.

Ward - I actually liked this piece a lot. I don't have any particular complaints about it, though it was a tad predictable how things would end up for the characters.

Botolf - Great story. Reminds of the kinds of epic, but still curious themes I enjoy writing about. I love how The Scholar is just so bemused about everything.

Zephyr - Not one for poetry, I'm afraid, so I'm sorry if my evaluation is off. There seem to be some weird perspective changes and I'm not sure about the use of the word "consonant." The primal nature of the language reminds me of the first story I wrote for these challenges.

Aaron - Another quality tale. I've often thought of doing something like this, continuing a narrative arc over multiple challenges. But as good a story as it might be, I feel like you got caught up in finishing what you started instead of paying much attention to this week's theme. I saw no strong connection to "Truth" in it.

Cyan - I won't lie, I was kind of hoping it would have a happier, or quirkier, ending after starting to go down a darker path. Concept was neat, though, and I have no particular complaints about the writing.

DND - Short and sweet! A very literal interpreation of the theme.

USD - I was amused and then confused. I liked what I could understand of the story, but I think there was just a little bit too much left out to connect everything together.

Votes:

1. Botolf
2. Ward
3. evilpigking

Cheshire- Philosophies of Truth - A little too set-up for me. He is above it all.
Timedog- Petite Mort - Strange and yet captivating despite its briefness.
Tim the Wiz- Disease - Really enjoyed it. Very vivid if a little caricature-ish.
Irish- Hunting - Came across a little too banal for me.
evilpigking- The Night Sky - Good read.
ronito- The Truth - Very honest.
Belfast- Under the Veil - Similar vein with evilpigking's. Good read.
Ward- What Was Broken, Is Broken - Tone was depressing.
Botolf- The Scholar and the Pond - I really liked the ending.
ZephyrFate- Home - Lovely imagery
Aaron- The Hounds of the Night: Part II - Very well-written. Good pace. Enjoyable through and through.
Cyan- Quiet - He has no way out, no chance at all.
DumbNameD- Nothing Ever - Awesome opening.
USD- The Fuck-or-Flight Response - I'm a little lost. It reminds me of a scene in American Gods with the prostitute. A little surreal. Not sure if the later bits are necessary, but it's that later bit that reminds me of that scene. Hm.

Votes:
1. Aaron
2. Botolf
3. Tim
HM: USD, DND, Timedog

This is probably one of my best received stories yet. Yay improvement!

ronito said:

Botolf Dialogue voicing needs work. Love the ending, sorta Adams-esque.

My votes:

1. Botolf
2. Aaron
3. Cyan

HM: Belfast, Zephyr, TombaVillain and everyone else.

Damn, everyone did a real great job this time around.

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Thanks for your thoughts and vote, kind sir.

Belfast said:

Botolf - Great story. Reminds of the kinds of epic, but still curious themes I enjoy writing about. I love how The Scholar is just so bemused about everything.

Votes:

1. Botolf
2. Ward
3. evilpigking

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I am very glad you enjoyed reading it (thanks for your vote!)

bakemono said:

Botolf- The Scholar and the Pond - I really liked the ending.

Votes:
1. Aaron
2. Botolf
3. Tim
HM: USD, DND, Timedog

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Happy you liked it, thank you for your vote

Close one, so far. We've still got a few people who haven't voted; let's get those votes in!

1. Ward
2. Botolf
3. Aaron

The Results:

1st Place: Botolf - "The Scholar and the Pond"
2nd Place (tie): Ward - "What Was Broken, Is Broken"
2nd Place (tie): Belfast - "Under the Veil"


Vote Count:

Botolf - 16 (3)
Ward - 13 (3)
Belfast - 13 (2)
Aaron - 8 (1)
bakemono - 3 (1)
Tim the Wiz - 3
Cyan - 2
evilpigking - 2

Congrats Botolf, on your first win!

Grats Botolf, it was a close one! Guess that takes some of the pressure off having to start the next one! Whew!

Grats Botolf!

Congratulations Botolf!

Whoo! I finally got a HM. I'm slowly working my way up.

Sorry I didn't get time to vote guys I've been on the road. I'll return some feedback in the next few days. Similarly thank you for the feedback. As I say, I'm rusty. Hopefully next time will be better.

Congrats, Botolf. I'm looking forward to getting back home so I can get started on what ever your choice for the next challenge is.

congrats Botolf! Well done! Pick a better theme than I did.

I don't know what to say, I am surprised . Thanks for all of your votes!

I'll start thinking about the next theme immediately.

Ugh, for some reason I thought tonight was the deadline to voting. You'd think after nearly forty challenges I would have that figured out. So congrats Botolf! I totally would have voted for you if I wasn't so backwards.