-
Hey, guest user. Hope you're enjoying NeoGAF! Have you considered registering for an account? Come join us and add your take to the daily discourse.
NeoGAF Creative Writing Challenge #79 - "Detective Story"
- Thread starter Tim the Wiz
- Start date
- Status
John Dunbar
correct about everything
ronito said:
I have this exact problem now. This would have been a good challenge for 3000+ word limit, but as it is now I have a very bare-boned cliche of a story at near the word limit. I'll see if I can bother to finish it in time and edit it down, but I doubt it's worth it.
ZephyrFate
Banned
Higher word count limits actually make me shy away from these challenges. I can't pinpoint why, but they do. They make me feel I need to write more, even though I don't need to, and then my plot gets stretched super thin.
John Dunbar
correct about everything
Watching the Watcher in a Beautiful Dream
(2,500 words)
Her workday started at 9:00. Of course Helen wasnt actually at her desk until 10:30, knowing full well her boss would not be there before eleven on a good day. She had been working for him for only four months, but she felt like she knew almost everything there was to know about him, save for one thing: how exactly he managed to keep the firm afloat.
Vincent Exley, her boss, was a former police officer who had lost his job due to his affinity with certain liquids, and as a result had become a private investigator. A charismatic man with permanent stubble and uncaring intelligent eyes that seemed to perceive everything around him even when he was deep in the halls of Bacchus, Helen imagined he had dreamt about the words Vincent Exley - Private Investigator in black letters on the door since he was a little boy, and every morning she saw him give those sacred words a look of melancholy pride.
At first she had assumed he must be rich. While him having been a police officer didnt suggest wealth, even rich kids must sometimes want to grow up to be cops. That also would have explained his drinking: the life of johnny law did not match his romantic expectations, and as so many who became disillusioned with their dream, he turned to the bottle. After losing his job, nothing stood in his way to live out another childhood dream, becoming a private eye. At least thats how she reasoned it at the beginning.
Sometimes when he had been drinking he would call her to his office just to talk with her. When properly inebriated he would call her his Helen of Troy, which always made her feel so wonderful she did not even question why it took several drinks for him to compliment her looks. But because of those plastered palavers she knew him, and she knew his business, and none of it was good. Just having a secretary should have been beyond the drunken P.I.s means, not to mention completely unnecessary, as there was no work to do. The rent alone on the office with its own reception room should have been enough to bankrupt the man. During her time there he had one case, and he had had it even before he had hired her. The case was as prosaic as they get: certain Mr. Langford, an old jealous rich man, had hired Exley to keep tabs on his young wife. Helen wondered how the case was still open, as those four months, and however long he had had the case before hiring her, should have been more than enough to either prove the young lady had been janecatting around, or to convince the old man of his young brides loyalty. Nevertheless, the payment for it came through the mail every month, the only meagre income she saw stream into the office. Whenever she brought up the financial situation of the firm in a roundabout way, he mumbled something about doing consulting on the side, then changed the subject.
One day a few hours after coming in, clearly tipsy but still in possession of most of his wits, Exley took his coat and hat and went out again. This was a usual occurrence, and Helen was once again left alone in the reception, knowing he would not be back until tomorrow. As she stared at the door to his office, being an honest, law-abiding woman, and only the comfort of a well-paying job that required no real work had kept her from spoiling a sweet deal, she told herself she could not in good conscience work for a man who might be involved in criminal activity. With her curiosity masquerading as righteousness she decided to find out exactly what kind of consulting Exley did.
She went to the potted plastic plant in the corner and took a spare key, not even hidden but stuck into the dirt. He had told her about it, in case of an emergency. This alone was enough to tell Helen breaking into his office might be a waste of time, since a man so experienced with the underworld, no matter how much he drank, could not have left evidence of anything sinister so poorly protected.
She had been in his office many times to listen to his drunken tales, but only now when the exhilarating dread of trespassing opened her eyes she saw it was exactly how one would decorate a private investigators office after watching several noir films. The desk facing the door was empty save for and a small wicker basket full of match boxes from bars, a notepad and a computer. A couch was next to a small table with an impressive collection of liquor. The wall on the left was taken by a bookshelf filled with law opuses, none of which seemed to have ever been opened.
She sat in the soft chair, turning her attention to the only thing of interest in the room: the computer. After turning it on she was greeted by a polite request for a password. She made guesses such as 12345, PI and Detective, none of which worked. Immediately after she chastised herself for thinking so lowly of her boss: he may have been a drunk, but he was still an ex-cop and an experienced private eye who would not be so careless when it came to his computer. As the thought this, she noticed that on the first page of a note book next to the keyboard, which at first had seemed blank, was scribbled in small print PC PW: Gumshoe. After a reprimanding roll of the eyes she logged on.
She was experienced in searching for innocently named folders on her boyfriends computer, not because she expected him to go without visual simulation, but just to make sure his private stash was within the limits of basic decency, at least as far as one can expect decency from such material. Looking for evidence of crime, however, proved to be a different matter. Part of her was surprised her boss even stayed sober long enough to turn the machine on, so expecting him to document his legal indiscretions was preposterous. After a brief search she was ready to give up, but a quick check in his calendar did provide some information. Every day he had left in the middle of the day, as far as she recalled, his calendar had been marked with the letters SB. At that point the thrill of being where she did not belong was growing thin, and she left the office not much wiser.
*
The next day was much the same: Exley came in late, stayed in his office for a few hours, and left. Helen had decided to continue her own little investigation, and follow him.
She avoided the elevator and chose the stairs. When she descended the last flight of stairs she was just in time to see her boss exit the building. Lingering a while in the lobby to make sure she wouldnt be spotted immediately, she followed him and saw him walking down the road, seemingly with no intention of hailing a taxi. While she knew this was fortunate for her tailing, she could not help feel slightly disappointed, as she had been looking forward to an opportunity to rush for a car of her own, exclaiming quick, follow that cab!.
Helens heart beat faster with every step, knowing one glance over his should would reveal her. But he never turned, and casually strolled the streets until he reached a shady establishment: Scum Bar. Helen knew she could not enter without him knowing, so she decided to come back that night.
*
The smokey interior lived up to the name of the bar. Most of the heads acknowledged Helen as a clear outsider, but they went on with their business. She knew what to do in such a situation: she went straight to the bartender:
Could I ask you something?
What? said the bartender, his eyes intently fixed on her mammary glands.
Excuse me, my face is up here.
Ive made my choice.
Uh, I would like to ask you about someone who comes here regularly.
Good bartender is a quiet one.
Please, she said in her best maiden-in-distress voice. Its urgent.
Ill tell you what, said the bartender who appeared to be a man who had not received a kind look from a woman he wasnt paying in a very long time. String-hand Steven over there is here all the time. I usually would not let his element in here, but he drinks a lot and doesnt make trouble. If you want to find out about a regular, ask him.
Helen turned to see where the barkeep had pointed. In a corner table, a location that managed to be even more seedy than the rest of the establishment, sat a tiny man, his bulging eyes twitching from person to person. Most often they landed on Helen, and every time they did a spindly arm appeared from under the table to pinch the pencil moustache on his pale lip. His chin and neck seemed to have merged, making it impossible to distinguish where one ended and the other began. Helen went to over to the table, anxious and exhilarated for an opportunity to question her first witness.
Excuse me, she began. I was told you could help me with something.
Mmm, the chinless man replied, his eyes now fixed intently on Helens face. Helen, uncertain was it a statement or a question, ventured on:
I would like you to tell me about a man who comes here often.
Stevens eyes opened slightly more, which made the eyelids crawl over the protruding eyeballs, and then he plunged one hand in his pocket and with the other grabbed Helens wrist, who gave a shrill shriek from the cold fingers. With such grace that it could have been coordinated in advance Steven slipped the contents of his pocket in her hand with the words Here, take this.
With suspicious eyes Helens look shifted from Steven to the piece of rusk now in her hand, and then back again.
What am I supposed to do with this?
I want you to chew it and feed me like an eagle.
Appalled, Helen threw the rusk at Steven, who seemed to be purring, and turned to leave. She saw the bartender polishing a glass with a self-satisfied smile on his face. She went to him, furious.
Do you think that was funny?
Thats what you get for asking about people round here, he said. But I guess youll get what you want anyway.
Whats that supposed to mean? she asked, but the barkeep had already turned around to admire the bottles on the shelves behind him.
Helen, what are you doing here?
Helen turned around and saw her boss,
Oh, Vincent! she said with feigned surprise. I didnt expect to see you here!
While she could see he was not exactly sober, the cogwheels were spinning, however slowly, behind his bloodshot eyes.
Did you follow me here?
Of course not, she said, and in a typical manner of someone whose claim is questioned, she exaggerated it. I come here all the time.
She saw him glance sideways at the exit and his face go blank.
Listen, he said. Well finish this later. Now get out of here.
His voice made it clear the discussion was over, so she turned to leave, hoping to see what had caused such a reaction. As she made her way to the entrance, she saw a beautiful woman dressed in all white who made eye contact with Helen as they passed. From the exit Helen turned to give the room a final glance, and saw the woman give her boss a hug, and appeared to be whispering in his ear.
*
The next day Helen was at her desk 9:00 sharp, riddled with guilt. Finally, at noon, she saw Exleys shadow behind the window. He came in, said Morning, Helen, and went into his office. Helen, who had hoped for a lecture and expected to be fired, was confused. Soon he came out again, said he had some business and left. Suddenly Helen realized something: he had not stopped to admire his name on the door. She wanted to rush after him when another shadow appeared in the window. The door opened, and the woman in white came in.
Youre Helen, arent you?
Yes.
Im Catherine Langford. I think we met last night.
Youre Mrs. Langford?
I have something for you.
Its not rusk, is it?
What? No, its a letter for Vincent. I waited until he left.
She gave Helen the letter and turned to leave. But at the door she stopped for a moment.
Its funny, she said. You can be as greedy as you want and still be happy, but if all you want is a little trust, you might as well give up.
*
When Exley came in the next day, he took his mail and was about to go into his office when Helen stopped him.
You also got a letter.
He took the letter and flipped it around.
Theres no address on it.
Someone brought it in person.
Who?
That woman from the bar, she said, embarrassed to bring up that night.
She saw what she took to be surprise light up his eyes for a second, but all he said was I see, and then disappeared inside his office with the letter.
Not long after he called for Helen.
Do you know who that woman was? Exley asked.
Yes, she told me.
Shes divorcing her husband.
To be with you?
Exley stared at Helen for a while, then laughed.
No, he said. To be a very rich woman all by herself. Her husband paid me to follow her, but she had already hired someone to follow Mr. Langford, who had been a very bad boy himself. Her detective also found about me, so she came to me and offered me a deal. All I had to do was lie to her husband for a while.
And in return she paid for this office?
Among other things. But I called you in here to tell you that I guess I have to let you go. I cant afford to keep paying you now. Or for this place.
Im sorry it ended like this.
Dont be. I knew it couldnt last, he said, crumbling the letter in his fist. But it was a beautiful dream.
She never did find out was he referring to the firm, or the woman.
(2,500 words)
Her workday started at 9:00. Of course Helen wasnt actually at her desk until 10:30, knowing full well her boss would not be there before eleven on a good day. She had been working for him for only four months, but she felt like she knew almost everything there was to know about him, save for one thing: how exactly he managed to keep the firm afloat.
Vincent Exley, her boss, was a former police officer who had lost his job due to his affinity with certain liquids, and as a result had become a private investigator. A charismatic man with permanent stubble and uncaring intelligent eyes that seemed to perceive everything around him even when he was deep in the halls of Bacchus, Helen imagined he had dreamt about the words Vincent Exley - Private Investigator in black letters on the door since he was a little boy, and every morning she saw him give those sacred words a look of melancholy pride.
At first she had assumed he must be rich. While him having been a police officer didnt suggest wealth, even rich kids must sometimes want to grow up to be cops. That also would have explained his drinking: the life of johnny law did not match his romantic expectations, and as so many who became disillusioned with their dream, he turned to the bottle. After losing his job, nothing stood in his way to live out another childhood dream, becoming a private eye. At least thats how she reasoned it at the beginning.
Sometimes when he had been drinking he would call her to his office just to talk with her. When properly inebriated he would call her his Helen of Troy, which always made her feel so wonderful she did not even question why it took several drinks for him to compliment her looks. But because of those plastered palavers she knew him, and she knew his business, and none of it was good. Just having a secretary should have been beyond the drunken P.I.s means, not to mention completely unnecessary, as there was no work to do. The rent alone on the office with its own reception room should have been enough to bankrupt the man. During her time there he had one case, and he had had it even before he had hired her. The case was as prosaic as they get: certain Mr. Langford, an old jealous rich man, had hired Exley to keep tabs on his young wife. Helen wondered how the case was still open, as those four months, and however long he had had the case before hiring her, should have been more than enough to either prove the young lady had been janecatting around, or to convince the old man of his young brides loyalty. Nevertheless, the payment for it came through the mail every month, the only meagre income she saw stream into the office. Whenever she brought up the financial situation of the firm in a roundabout way, he mumbled something about doing consulting on the side, then changed the subject.
One day a few hours after coming in, clearly tipsy but still in possession of most of his wits, Exley took his coat and hat and went out again. This was a usual occurrence, and Helen was once again left alone in the reception, knowing he would not be back until tomorrow. As she stared at the door to his office, being an honest, law-abiding woman, and only the comfort of a well-paying job that required no real work had kept her from spoiling a sweet deal, she told herself she could not in good conscience work for a man who might be involved in criminal activity. With her curiosity masquerading as righteousness she decided to find out exactly what kind of consulting Exley did.
She went to the potted plastic plant in the corner and took a spare key, not even hidden but stuck into the dirt. He had told her about it, in case of an emergency. This alone was enough to tell Helen breaking into his office might be a waste of time, since a man so experienced with the underworld, no matter how much he drank, could not have left evidence of anything sinister so poorly protected.
She had been in his office many times to listen to his drunken tales, but only now when the exhilarating dread of trespassing opened her eyes she saw it was exactly how one would decorate a private investigators office after watching several noir films. The desk facing the door was empty save for and a small wicker basket full of match boxes from bars, a notepad and a computer. A couch was next to a small table with an impressive collection of liquor. The wall on the left was taken by a bookshelf filled with law opuses, none of which seemed to have ever been opened.
She sat in the soft chair, turning her attention to the only thing of interest in the room: the computer. After turning it on she was greeted by a polite request for a password. She made guesses such as 12345, PI and Detective, none of which worked. Immediately after she chastised herself for thinking so lowly of her boss: he may have been a drunk, but he was still an ex-cop and an experienced private eye who would not be so careless when it came to his computer. As the thought this, she noticed that on the first page of a note book next to the keyboard, which at first had seemed blank, was scribbled in small print PC PW: Gumshoe. After a reprimanding roll of the eyes she logged on.
She was experienced in searching for innocently named folders on her boyfriends computer, not because she expected him to go without visual simulation, but just to make sure his private stash was within the limits of basic decency, at least as far as one can expect decency from such material. Looking for evidence of crime, however, proved to be a different matter. Part of her was surprised her boss even stayed sober long enough to turn the machine on, so expecting him to document his legal indiscretions was preposterous. After a brief search she was ready to give up, but a quick check in his calendar did provide some information. Every day he had left in the middle of the day, as far as she recalled, his calendar had been marked with the letters SB. At that point the thrill of being where she did not belong was growing thin, and she left the office not much wiser.
*
The next day was much the same: Exley came in late, stayed in his office for a few hours, and left. Helen had decided to continue her own little investigation, and follow him.
She avoided the elevator and chose the stairs. When she descended the last flight of stairs she was just in time to see her boss exit the building. Lingering a while in the lobby to make sure she wouldnt be spotted immediately, she followed him and saw him walking down the road, seemingly with no intention of hailing a taxi. While she knew this was fortunate for her tailing, she could not help feel slightly disappointed, as she had been looking forward to an opportunity to rush for a car of her own, exclaiming quick, follow that cab!.
Helens heart beat faster with every step, knowing one glance over his should would reveal her. But he never turned, and casually strolled the streets until he reached a shady establishment: Scum Bar. Helen knew she could not enter without him knowing, so she decided to come back that night.
*
The smokey interior lived up to the name of the bar. Most of the heads acknowledged Helen as a clear outsider, but they went on with their business. She knew what to do in such a situation: she went straight to the bartender:
Could I ask you something?
What? said the bartender, his eyes intently fixed on her mammary glands.
Excuse me, my face is up here.
Ive made my choice.
Uh, I would like to ask you about someone who comes here regularly.
Good bartender is a quiet one.
Please, she said in her best maiden-in-distress voice. Its urgent.
Ill tell you what, said the bartender who appeared to be a man who had not received a kind look from a woman he wasnt paying in a very long time. String-hand Steven over there is here all the time. I usually would not let his element in here, but he drinks a lot and doesnt make trouble. If you want to find out about a regular, ask him.
Helen turned to see where the barkeep had pointed. In a corner table, a location that managed to be even more seedy than the rest of the establishment, sat a tiny man, his bulging eyes twitching from person to person. Most often they landed on Helen, and every time they did a spindly arm appeared from under the table to pinch the pencil moustache on his pale lip. His chin and neck seemed to have merged, making it impossible to distinguish where one ended and the other began. Helen went to over to the table, anxious and exhilarated for an opportunity to question her first witness.
Excuse me, she began. I was told you could help me with something.
Mmm, the chinless man replied, his eyes now fixed intently on Helens face. Helen, uncertain was it a statement or a question, ventured on:
I would like you to tell me about a man who comes here often.
Stevens eyes opened slightly more, which made the eyelids crawl over the protruding eyeballs, and then he plunged one hand in his pocket and with the other grabbed Helens wrist, who gave a shrill shriek from the cold fingers. With such grace that it could have been coordinated in advance Steven slipped the contents of his pocket in her hand with the words Here, take this.
With suspicious eyes Helens look shifted from Steven to the piece of rusk now in her hand, and then back again.
What am I supposed to do with this?
I want you to chew it and feed me like an eagle.
Appalled, Helen threw the rusk at Steven, who seemed to be purring, and turned to leave. She saw the bartender polishing a glass with a self-satisfied smile on his face. She went to him, furious.
Do you think that was funny?
Thats what you get for asking about people round here, he said. But I guess youll get what you want anyway.
Whats that supposed to mean? she asked, but the barkeep had already turned around to admire the bottles on the shelves behind him.
Helen, what are you doing here?
Helen turned around and saw her boss,
Oh, Vincent! she said with feigned surprise. I didnt expect to see you here!
While she could see he was not exactly sober, the cogwheels were spinning, however slowly, behind his bloodshot eyes.
Did you follow me here?
Of course not, she said, and in a typical manner of someone whose claim is questioned, she exaggerated it. I come here all the time.
She saw him glance sideways at the exit and his face go blank.
Listen, he said. Well finish this later. Now get out of here.
His voice made it clear the discussion was over, so she turned to leave, hoping to see what had caused such a reaction. As she made her way to the entrance, she saw a beautiful woman dressed in all white who made eye contact with Helen as they passed. From the exit Helen turned to give the room a final glance, and saw the woman give her boss a hug, and appeared to be whispering in his ear.
*
The next day Helen was at her desk 9:00 sharp, riddled with guilt. Finally, at noon, she saw Exleys shadow behind the window. He came in, said Morning, Helen, and went into his office. Helen, who had hoped for a lecture and expected to be fired, was confused. Soon he came out again, said he had some business and left. Suddenly Helen realized something: he had not stopped to admire his name on the door. She wanted to rush after him when another shadow appeared in the window. The door opened, and the woman in white came in.
Youre Helen, arent you?
Yes.
Im Catherine Langford. I think we met last night.
Youre Mrs. Langford?
I have something for you.
Its not rusk, is it?
What? No, its a letter for Vincent. I waited until he left.
She gave Helen the letter and turned to leave. But at the door she stopped for a moment.
Its funny, she said. You can be as greedy as you want and still be happy, but if all you want is a little trust, you might as well give up.
*
When Exley came in the next day, he took his mail and was about to go into his office when Helen stopped him.
You also got a letter.
He took the letter and flipped it around.
Theres no address on it.
Someone brought it in person.
Who?
That woman from the bar, she said, embarrassed to bring up that night.
She saw what she took to be surprise light up his eyes for a second, but all he said was I see, and then disappeared inside his office with the letter.
Not long after he called for Helen.
Do you know who that woman was? Exley asked.
Yes, she told me.
Shes divorcing her husband.
To be with you?
Exley stared at Helen for a while, then laughed.
No, he said. To be a very rich woman all by herself. Her husband paid me to follow her, but she had already hired someone to follow Mr. Langford, who had been a very bad boy himself. Her detective also found about me, so she came to me and offered me a deal. All I had to do was lie to her husband for a while.
And in return she paid for this office?
Among other things. But I called you in here to tell you that I guess I have to let you go. I cant afford to keep paying you now. Or for this place.
Im sorry it ended like this.
Dont be. I knew it couldnt last, he said, crumbling the letter in his fist. But it was a beautiful dream.
She never did find out was he referring to the firm, or the woman.
John Dunbar
correct about everything
About the silly title: I had two tentative titles: Watching the Watcher and A Beautiful Dream. Obviously neither of them is very creative, but I'm feeling too lazy to think of something better, so I lumped them together, hoping two negatives will make a positive.
Tim the Wiz
Banned
Grrr, won't make it. RL be RL.
Of course. If you do end up finishing it.
ProudClod said:
Of course. If you do end up finishing it.
ronitoswife
Neo Member
Tim the Wiz said:
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! That's HOT!
Elfforkusu
Member
Here Comes the Flood
***
Drip, drop. I opened my eyes.
They closed themselves. Then, gradually, the vivid countryside unwillingly came into focus.
The rippling fields were painted a vibrant orange, the long swaying trees speckled in medium blue. The sky overhead glowed in a brilliant gold, with long, wispy red clouds stretching from horizon to horizon. To my left, a massive white-capped mountain swallowed the rising landscape. To my right, the orange fields gave way to a morose, hazy horizon of pale white sand.
To summarize, I'd entered a fantasy land.
A ribbon of pale blue across the tangerine distance caught my eye, and I approached it. The ground was rocky and dry. Down a slope, the grass gave way to a pale shale. At the center of the basin, a thin river -- stream, really -- sat. It wore a strange, chalky opaque blue, and was utterly still. The reflection of a blond-haired youth stared back up at me. At least one thing here was normal. A long piece of straw was stuck across his ear, and with a frown I pulled it free and cast it aside.
Thump. I froze. Atop the hill I'd just walked down, the giant figure of a dark gorilla peered menacingly down at me. Our standoff lasted for an eternal minute. Then, my curiosity got the better of me, and I approached my likely demise. Up the hill I trudged, eyes unblinking as I stared down this ten-foot tall monolith.
It was a statue. At its base, a text inscription was still faintly legible.
"Glory to the eagles."
It didn't look like Philadelphia, but at this point I didn't have the faintest idea where I was. That would be my first riddle.
Walking along the stagnant creek, I made for the mountaintop.
***
After crossing through a quarter mile of flamboyantly scenic terrain, I happened across the first real signs of life: a light blue rabbit, posing on its hind legs and staring off into the distance at something obscured by a hill. When I came nearer, it was not a rabbit but a group of ten -- all slightly different shades of blue, all in formation as if prepared for battle. Standing opposed on the other side of the still thin stream were a group of blue raccoons -- also in formation, as the other half of this standoff. The inclination was to think that these too were statues, perhaps some clever fool's idea of fine art. But every so often, one of the lot flinched -- moving an inch or two -- then settled back into his (her?) still vigilance once again. Far overhead, a bird of prey circled. An eagle, perhaps? After waiting for a long moment, I continued my trek. Waiting any longer for this strange show to begin would betray my inexplicable sense of urgency. On and up the mountain.
A path along the river basin began to form, and having no better ideas it became my guide. In mere minutes, my guide grew rude. An unadorned human skeleton on the side of the path leaned heavily against a large stone formation. At its feet, a rolled up piece of parchment sat.
"Not one of them can be trusted."
Note in hand, the mountaintop grew ever larger. A loud animal cry reached my ears, and I ran to greet it.
At last, my thirst for animal combat was satiated. Not in the form of rabbits and raccoons, but instead in the way of a pair of blue beavers being pummeled into submission by a pack of, yes, blue foxes. The reason for the color, one presumed, was very literally something in the water.
As if to back up my deduction, one of the foxes suddenly leapt and sunk his teeth heavily into the side of his beaver foe. For a few seconds they struggled just like that, the beaver struggling to break free from the fox's grasp, the fox equally determined to not let go. Then, abruptly, the beaver stopped -- and something odd happened. Rather than the usual mess one associates with a dying creature, the thing simply dissolved. Dissolved into pale, opaque blue liquid which sunk to the orange grass, leaving a cerulean stain there for its trouble.
As I walked further still up the mountain, the blue splotches grew more common. At times, they were still aberrations, blemishes amidst an otherwise flawless tangerine landscape. Elsewhere, the blue pattern polka-dotted the landscape like a peculiarly flamboyant tablecloth. Overhead, an eagle continued to circle. It had followed me this far, and didn't seem to be giving up its vigil.
***
I'd reached the top. Well, not particularly, but the source of the blue water at the very least. A solid white slab of smooth stone wedged itself down the side of the mountain from this point, blocking the way forward. From atop it, a thin stream of water trickled down into an almost clear puddle, which then slowly edged its way down the hill.
A vaguely blue donkey inched into my sight. He seemed to be in no hurry. After a full minute, he had moved about twenty feet. Finally, he reached the stream -- and, when craning his neck to take a sip, took notice of the stranger in his presence.
"What are you doing here?" he asked in a low, plodding voice. Being a donkey, I was willing to forgive him for minor speech impediments.
"I'm figuring that out," I answered cheerily.
"Okay." He eyed me as suspiciously as a donkey can. "Just keep your paws out of the water."
Now, I didn't want to be particularly confrontational, but even beyond the talking animal thing this seemed absurd. Down below, his peers were locked in literal mortal combat over a handful of used and reused water, and this ass was drinking straight from the faucet while telling me to keep my hands off.
"Doesn't what's happening below bother you?" I asked.
The donkey stopped drinking.
"It bothers all of us."
"Then why don't you do something about it?"
He stared at me in silence for a long minute, seeming to say "What am I supposed to do about it?" Then he drooped his head into the water, gulping down the water as it trickled past.
"ROAAAARRRRR!"
The massive blue grizzly didn't say the word "ROAR" or anything linguistically close to it, but he did roar just the same, and I did jump out of my skin just the same. He was twenty feet tall, with hairy arms and legs as wide as my torso. He also looked quite angry, and his rage seemed to be directed at me. Feet frozen in place, I threw a glance over my shoulder for the donkey -- he had vanished -- and a possible escape route. The cliff wall looked to be impenetrable. There didn't seem to be much hope. I took a heavy step back, swallowing.
What on earth was I here for, anyway? What was the reason for this misadventure? If only I could remember how I got here...
Now there were other animals as well. Blue rabbits, raccoons, pigs, deer, and even a menacing squirrel (menacing mostly because it was perched bravely on the bear's massive shoulder) had joined the execution party. I deduced that I was supposed to take the fall as the water pilferer, the reason for every odd-colored critter's woes.
I might've told them: "No, it's the donkey! That donkey is the one you're after!" But I thought better of it. First, they looked to be in no mood to listen. Second, shouting at animals for one's final words came across as being in very bad taste. Instead, I looked for a clever means of escape.
I couldn't come up with one of those. But I did make an accusing face and point into the crowd, steadfastly holding the pose and expression as the bear beared down on me with fangs bared. The effect was fascinating. After a while, the animals stopped, turned, and went for the one I was pointing at. They tore him to shreds. Then, I pointed again, and they went after the next one. And the next one. The bear even swallowed a horse whole. In retrospect, I think I regret the whole thing.
But at that moment, I regretted nothing. Sadly, the group was thinning out, and the crowd remaining were the lesser foolhardy (though to be frank, still quite foolhardy) of the lot. In any case, my brilliant pointing ruse had run its course and the small stick in my hand did not look to be effective against an angry creature that had just eaten a legitimate horse.
He roared. I cowered. Water washed over me. I opened my eyes.
An eagle was dissolving. Not into disgustingly blue, opaque liquid, but into the genuine crystal clear article. A veritable fountain spouted out of its body, as the mighty bird offered one final shrill cry. The remaining animals drank all they could, each in turn eventually collapsing to the ground in gluttonous agony after having his or her fill.
I rose. Behind me, a gray bobcat was motioning to follow.
***
Into the woods we ventured, going around rather than up the mountain. My nerves were still somewhat frayed, and my adrenaline levels high. I remember little of the journey. I do remember that along the way, I found a gold coin in my pocket. A token of home, I thought. Wherever home was.
We reached a clearing, the gray bobcat again nodding to me and disappearing back into the woods. For a minute, I stood alone. The trees were orange and gold here, the sky a painting of gold and red.
"Welcome to paradise," a voice said.
I turned. It belonged to a grinning golden money. He hopped from leg to leg, circling me with joyous excitement.
"Welcome to paradise!" he repeated.
"I heard you," I grunted. "Where am I?"
"Follow me," he grinned.
We walked down a golden path, to a golden hill, where a multitude of animals of enormous size and stature ate and drank freely. The color blue was nowhere to be seen -- an elephant was colored in a deep red, an ostrich in a glistening lavender, a giraffe in glorious green. There were a dozen monkeys, each chatting and hopping around playfully. The elephant mirthfully blasted them down with crystal clear water from his trunk.
"Paradise," my guide monkey grinned again. I nodded.
He led me back up the mountain to a precipice looking out over the valley below. A lush orange and gold scene stretched to the horizon, at its center a massive glistening river that might've been a mile wide. Birds fluttered overhead, and gleeful cries echoed up from the plain below.
"Paradise," he said once more.
"What about the other side?" I asked, gesturing to the massive rock formation behind us, and the unseen grim scene beyond it.
"What's on that side?" the monkey asked, turning and bobbing his head sideways in genuine confusion.
He patted me on the leg, then jumped off into the trees and towards the golden valley.
"Weak minded creatures," a voice at my back noted.
It was the gray bobcat again, his long face showing a toothy grin. This one could talk as well, it seemed.
"Sometimes, I wonder if they deserve this," he continued, pacing to the edge of the cliff. "The other side is such a shame. It's a shame nothing can be done."
I met his large, golden eyes, and tried to hide my thoughts. Apparently I was successful, because he turned to leave.
"Enjoy your stay, traveler. Feel free to look around."
I did.
***
Hand. Leg. Hand. Leg. Climbing was never my best skill. I'm a tad afraid of heights, you see.
Fear jogs my memory like nothing else. I had a trip to the big city as a kid. Standing on the clear floor observation deck of a sky scraper, a hundred stories above the ground. Scarred me for life. Small towns from here on, I decided that day.
A pair of sunglasses materialized in my pocket, and midway through my climb they had made their way over my eyes. It was very bright. The sun seemed to never set, and the marmalade forest and honeycomb skies were a constant assault on the eyes. Never again will I fault the familiar dark green and light blue as boring.
"You're a calculating boy, Danny. You'll figure out what to do."
Or so I was told before I departed.
At last, I reached a ledge. The one I was searching for. It ran all the way down one side of the mountain, separating the forest into two sides of a coin. On the left a spotted, poisoned blue blight covered the landscape, giving way to a desolate desert well before the horizon. On the right was the golden paradise, going on as far as the eye could see.
A massive eagle stood beside me, peering down at the same landscape.
"You've watched it all, haven't you?" I said to my cohort. He turned his head in that birdlike way, not saying a word -- I doubted birds could speak, even in this bizarre place.
He flapped his wings, grasped my shoulders with his talons, and we descended.
***
Trickle. Trickle.
There was a wooden dam here. A haphazard construction of gathered sticks and (for some reason) a few stones, built into a poorly engineered but somehow effective mound of garbage. A thin trickle of water was all that made it through on this side. On the other, a veritable geyser spewed water down the mountain with great force.
Wedged at the center of the dam was a foreign object -- a suspicious black box.
"You can't do that," the bobcat's crafty voice called across the mountain face.
"Took you long enough," I returned.
I'd never heard a cat cackle. Now I have.
"I thought you'd understand. This sort of scheme is the sort of things you humans take such pride in. Misleading the whole lot, don't you think it's quite skillful?"
"What's in it for you?" The one thing I had no a clue about.
"Food."
He smiled a toothy smile wide enough to show his fangs. The implication was clear. He snarled. He charged.
My eagle friend countered with a ear-shattering cry. The two tumbled back, clawing each other on the floor. I turned my back on them, and reached for the black box.
Whoosh. The dam shattered. Water poured through the center and over the top. I felt the waves crashing down on top of me, and watched as they engulfed me, engulfed the bobcat, engulfed the eagle, engulfed the forest.
And then a barn door swung open. I stood on solid ground, the black box in my right hand. A smiling old man greeted me wordlessly, adjusting the hat atop his head.
"Here's your damned calculator, Mister Dupin."
***
Drip, drop. I opened my eyes.
They closed themselves. Then, gradually, the vivid countryside unwillingly came into focus.
The rippling fields were painted a vibrant orange, the long swaying trees speckled in medium blue. The sky overhead glowed in a brilliant gold, with long, wispy red clouds stretching from horizon to horizon. To my left, a massive white-capped mountain swallowed the rising landscape. To my right, the orange fields gave way to a morose, hazy horizon of pale white sand.
To summarize, I'd entered a fantasy land.
A ribbon of pale blue across the tangerine distance caught my eye, and I approached it. The ground was rocky and dry. Down a slope, the grass gave way to a pale shale. At the center of the basin, a thin river -- stream, really -- sat. It wore a strange, chalky opaque blue, and was utterly still. The reflection of a blond-haired youth stared back up at me. At least one thing here was normal. A long piece of straw was stuck across his ear, and with a frown I pulled it free and cast it aside.
Thump. I froze. Atop the hill I'd just walked down, the giant figure of a dark gorilla peered menacingly down at me. Our standoff lasted for an eternal minute. Then, my curiosity got the better of me, and I approached my likely demise. Up the hill I trudged, eyes unblinking as I stared down this ten-foot tall monolith.
It was a statue. At its base, a text inscription was still faintly legible.
"Glory to the eagles."
It didn't look like Philadelphia, but at this point I didn't have the faintest idea where I was. That would be my first riddle.
Walking along the stagnant creek, I made for the mountaintop.
***
After crossing through a quarter mile of flamboyantly scenic terrain, I happened across the first real signs of life: a light blue rabbit, posing on its hind legs and staring off into the distance at something obscured by a hill. When I came nearer, it was not a rabbit but a group of ten -- all slightly different shades of blue, all in formation as if prepared for battle. Standing opposed on the other side of the still thin stream were a group of blue raccoons -- also in formation, as the other half of this standoff. The inclination was to think that these too were statues, perhaps some clever fool's idea of fine art. But every so often, one of the lot flinched -- moving an inch or two -- then settled back into his (her?) still vigilance once again. Far overhead, a bird of prey circled. An eagle, perhaps? After waiting for a long moment, I continued my trek. Waiting any longer for this strange show to begin would betray my inexplicable sense of urgency. On and up the mountain.
A path along the river basin began to form, and having no better ideas it became my guide. In mere minutes, my guide grew rude. An unadorned human skeleton on the side of the path leaned heavily against a large stone formation. At its feet, a rolled up piece of parchment sat.
"Not one of them can be trusted."
Note in hand, the mountaintop grew ever larger. A loud animal cry reached my ears, and I ran to greet it.
At last, my thirst for animal combat was satiated. Not in the form of rabbits and raccoons, but instead in the way of a pair of blue beavers being pummeled into submission by a pack of, yes, blue foxes. The reason for the color, one presumed, was very literally something in the water.
As if to back up my deduction, one of the foxes suddenly leapt and sunk his teeth heavily into the side of his beaver foe. For a few seconds they struggled just like that, the beaver struggling to break free from the fox's grasp, the fox equally determined to not let go. Then, abruptly, the beaver stopped -- and something odd happened. Rather than the usual mess one associates with a dying creature, the thing simply dissolved. Dissolved into pale, opaque blue liquid which sunk to the orange grass, leaving a cerulean stain there for its trouble.
As I walked further still up the mountain, the blue splotches grew more common. At times, they were still aberrations, blemishes amidst an otherwise flawless tangerine landscape. Elsewhere, the blue pattern polka-dotted the landscape like a peculiarly flamboyant tablecloth. Overhead, an eagle continued to circle. It had followed me this far, and didn't seem to be giving up its vigil.
***
I'd reached the top. Well, not particularly, but the source of the blue water at the very least. A solid white slab of smooth stone wedged itself down the side of the mountain from this point, blocking the way forward. From atop it, a thin stream of water trickled down into an almost clear puddle, which then slowly edged its way down the hill.
A vaguely blue donkey inched into my sight. He seemed to be in no hurry. After a full minute, he had moved about twenty feet. Finally, he reached the stream -- and, when craning his neck to take a sip, took notice of the stranger in his presence.
"What are you doing here?" he asked in a low, plodding voice. Being a donkey, I was willing to forgive him for minor speech impediments.
"I'm figuring that out," I answered cheerily.
"Okay." He eyed me as suspiciously as a donkey can. "Just keep your paws out of the water."
Now, I didn't want to be particularly confrontational, but even beyond the talking animal thing this seemed absurd. Down below, his peers were locked in literal mortal combat over a handful of used and reused water, and this ass was drinking straight from the faucet while telling me to keep my hands off.
"Doesn't what's happening below bother you?" I asked.
The donkey stopped drinking.
"It bothers all of us."
"Then why don't you do something about it?"
He stared at me in silence for a long minute, seeming to say "What am I supposed to do about it?" Then he drooped his head into the water, gulping down the water as it trickled past.
"ROAAAARRRRR!"
The massive blue grizzly didn't say the word "ROAR" or anything linguistically close to it, but he did roar just the same, and I did jump out of my skin just the same. He was twenty feet tall, with hairy arms and legs as wide as my torso. He also looked quite angry, and his rage seemed to be directed at me. Feet frozen in place, I threw a glance over my shoulder for the donkey -- he had vanished -- and a possible escape route. The cliff wall looked to be impenetrable. There didn't seem to be much hope. I took a heavy step back, swallowing.
What on earth was I here for, anyway? What was the reason for this misadventure? If only I could remember how I got here...
Now there were other animals as well. Blue rabbits, raccoons, pigs, deer, and even a menacing squirrel (menacing mostly because it was perched bravely on the bear's massive shoulder) had joined the execution party. I deduced that I was supposed to take the fall as the water pilferer, the reason for every odd-colored critter's woes.
I might've told them: "No, it's the donkey! That donkey is the one you're after!" But I thought better of it. First, they looked to be in no mood to listen. Second, shouting at animals for one's final words came across as being in very bad taste. Instead, I looked for a clever means of escape.
I couldn't come up with one of those. But I did make an accusing face and point into the crowd, steadfastly holding the pose and expression as the bear beared down on me with fangs bared. The effect was fascinating. After a while, the animals stopped, turned, and went for the one I was pointing at. They tore him to shreds. Then, I pointed again, and they went after the next one. And the next one. The bear even swallowed a horse whole. In retrospect, I think I regret the whole thing.
But at that moment, I regretted nothing. Sadly, the group was thinning out, and the crowd remaining were the lesser foolhardy (though to be frank, still quite foolhardy) of the lot. In any case, my brilliant pointing ruse had run its course and the small stick in my hand did not look to be effective against an angry creature that had just eaten a legitimate horse.
He roared. I cowered. Water washed over me. I opened my eyes.
An eagle was dissolving. Not into disgustingly blue, opaque liquid, but into the genuine crystal clear article. A veritable fountain spouted out of its body, as the mighty bird offered one final shrill cry. The remaining animals drank all they could, each in turn eventually collapsing to the ground in gluttonous agony after having his or her fill.
I rose. Behind me, a gray bobcat was motioning to follow.
***
Into the woods we ventured, going around rather than up the mountain. My nerves were still somewhat frayed, and my adrenaline levels high. I remember little of the journey. I do remember that along the way, I found a gold coin in my pocket. A token of home, I thought. Wherever home was.
We reached a clearing, the gray bobcat again nodding to me and disappearing back into the woods. For a minute, I stood alone. The trees were orange and gold here, the sky a painting of gold and red.
"Welcome to paradise," a voice said.
I turned. It belonged to a grinning golden money. He hopped from leg to leg, circling me with joyous excitement.
"Welcome to paradise!" he repeated.
"I heard you," I grunted. "Where am I?"
"Follow me," he grinned.
We walked down a golden path, to a golden hill, where a multitude of animals of enormous size and stature ate and drank freely. The color blue was nowhere to be seen -- an elephant was colored in a deep red, an ostrich in a glistening lavender, a giraffe in glorious green. There were a dozen monkeys, each chatting and hopping around playfully. The elephant mirthfully blasted them down with crystal clear water from his trunk.
"Paradise," my guide monkey grinned again. I nodded.
He led me back up the mountain to a precipice looking out over the valley below. A lush orange and gold scene stretched to the horizon, at its center a massive glistening river that might've been a mile wide. Birds fluttered overhead, and gleeful cries echoed up from the plain below.
"Paradise," he said once more.
"What about the other side?" I asked, gesturing to the massive rock formation behind us, and the unseen grim scene beyond it.
"What's on that side?" the monkey asked, turning and bobbing his head sideways in genuine confusion.
He patted me on the leg, then jumped off into the trees and towards the golden valley.
"Weak minded creatures," a voice at my back noted.
It was the gray bobcat again, his long face showing a toothy grin. This one could talk as well, it seemed.
"Sometimes, I wonder if they deserve this," he continued, pacing to the edge of the cliff. "The other side is such a shame. It's a shame nothing can be done."
I met his large, golden eyes, and tried to hide my thoughts. Apparently I was successful, because he turned to leave.
"Enjoy your stay, traveler. Feel free to look around."
I did.
***
Hand. Leg. Hand. Leg. Climbing was never my best skill. I'm a tad afraid of heights, you see.
Fear jogs my memory like nothing else. I had a trip to the big city as a kid. Standing on the clear floor observation deck of a sky scraper, a hundred stories above the ground. Scarred me for life. Small towns from here on, I decided that day.
A pair of sunglasses materialized in my pocket, and midway through my climb they had made their way over my eyes. It was very bright. The sun seemed to never set, and the marmalade forest and honeycomb skies were a constant assault on the eyes. Never again will I fault the familiar dark green and light blue as boring.
"You're a calculating boy, Danny. You'll figure out what to do."
Or so I was told before I departed.
At last, I reached a ledge. The one I was searching for. It ran all the way down one side of the mountain, separating the forest into two sides of a coin. On the left a spotted, poisoned blue blight covered the landscape, giving way to a desolate desert well before the horizon. On the right was the golden paradise, going on as far as the eye could see.
A massive eagle stood beside me, peering down at the same landscape.
"You've watched it all, haven't you?" I said to my cohort. He turned his head in that birdlike way, not saying a word -- I doubted birds could speak, even in this bizarre place.
He flapped his wings, grasped my shoulders with his talons, and we descended.
***
Trickle. Trickle.
There was a wooden dam here. A haphazard construction of gathered sticks and (for some reason) a few stones, built into a poorly engineered but somehow effective mound of garbage. A thin trickle of water was all that made it through on this side. On the other, a veritable geyser spewed water down the mountain with great force.
Wedged at the center of the dam was a foreign object -- a suspicious black box.
"You can't do that," the bobcat's crafty voice called across the mountain face.
"Took you long enough," I returned.
I'd never heard a cat cackle. Now I have.
"I thought you'd understand. This sort of scheme is the sort of things you humans take such pride in. Misleading the whole lot, don't you think it's quite skillful?"
"What's in it for you?" The one thing I had no a clue about.
"Food."
He smiled a toothy smile wide enough to show his fangs. The implication was clear. He snarled. He charged.
My eagle friend countered with a ear-shattering cry. The two tumbled back, clawing each other on the floor. I turned my back on them, and reached for the black box.
Whoosh. The dam shattered. Water poured through the center and over the top. I felt the waves crashing down on top of me, and watched as they engulfed me, engulfed the bobcat, engulfed the eagle, engulfed the forest.
And then a barn door swung open. I stood on solid ground, the black box in my right hand. A smiling old man greeted me wordlessly, adjusting the hat atop his head.
"Here's your damned calculator, Mister Dupin."
"De Force" (2318 words)
Andy held his breath as he pressed his ear against the cup until his ear turned red, trying to will his ear to travel through both the cup and the wall. He made out a few muffled words but then the mouth of the cup slipped against the stucco wall, creating a weak grating sound.
Andy, theyre gonna hear you! whispered Nicholas urgently, whacking his brothers shoulder blade with the back of his hand.
Shut up! Theyre gonna hear YOU! retorted Andy.
But upon hearing some shuffling coming from inside the room, Andy and Nicholas sprinted to their bedroom and began to casually play video games, with their hearts pounding in their throats.
Footsteps approached their bedroom.
Andy? Nicholas?
Yeah mom?
Mrs. Gillam walked in. She didnt say anything. And the boys didnt turn around.
Yeah mom? Andy said, nonchalantly, while keeping his eyes fixed on the monitor in front of him and continuing to mindlessly press buttons on his controller, and faced the monitor.
Oh nothing. Start getting ready for bed by 8:30 though. Have fun playing, boys. She closed the door. The boys kept on playing. But they actually happened to find themselves at a level that they had both completed a million times.
Once there was no audible sign of their mothers presence upstairs, Nicholas whispered,
So what did you hear through the cup?
I could only make out one word. In Spanish.
Spanish?!
Yep, de vorce . er, maybe de force.
Thats not Spanish. Its fuerza. Thats what Maria sometimes says when shes telling me to scrub the dishes a little harder.
Oh yeah. Maybe thats what I heard. Im pretty sure its The Force.
Like in Star Wars? asked Nicholas eagerly.
Exactly.
Write it down!
Andy quickly grabbed his notebook that he kept under his pillow. He and his brother had designated this notebook specifically for this case. Their parents had been acting really serious and weird. Sometimes they were ferociously angry like when Andy let Nicholas play with the matches but nobody had been lighting up anything. At other times, the parents were acting very sad like when Oscar the hamster died last year. But nobody was dying now. At other times, their sadness or anger would abruptly shift to what seemed like peachy-keen smiles. The parents attitudes had been off kilter for a while now. Nicholas and Andy were determined to get to the bottom of it all.
Despite actually getting ready for bed after an hour of video games, as they were instructed, it was hard to fall asleep. This case was just getting interesting. If a mystery includes The Force, it has to be interesting. In their dreams, their imaginations ran amuck.
The next day was Saturday and the whole family was home. The kids woke up early, like usual, and heard someone crying this time, from Mr. Gillam. Nicholas and Andy, styled with true bed-head, carefully tip-toed down the hall to their parents bedroom. Well, as carefully as they could, with their pajamas that ended in plastic-covered booties.
Ron
I just dont understand it. You.
Thats all the boys made out until Mr. Gillam walked out of the master bedroom, only to be stopped in his tracks by his two sons.
He robotically beamed at them. Chocolate chip pancakes? Whattya say?
Andy and Nicholas jumped up and down and stormed down the stairs with their father. From upstairs, Jennifer Gillam heard her husband announce, Last ones a rotten egg! In spite of herself, she raced down too, and barreled through her sons and husband and said, Ill get the maple syrup!
The boys sat at the table swinging their legs. But the excitement from a quadruple tie for first place abruptly ended. To the boys surprise, the parents went back to being silent. They awkwardly turned their backs to the boys and both worked at the stove. They whispered something but it was incoherent. Then, Mr. Gillam slammed the spatula down on the table, making the boys jump in their seats.
Mr. Gillam cleared his throat and then said, Ill be right back.
Shortly after, Mrs. Gillam followed him out the front door. What were the boys to do? They followed as well. Looking out from the window in the living room, they witnessed their parents fighting in the minivan. The parents abrasive voices could be heard all the way from inside. Both Ron and Jennifer looked hurt and their pain traveled all the way to the boys, through their pajamas, and traversed their bones, leaving them with goose bumps.
The boys just watched.
I wonder if de force comes to them in the car, suggested Nicholas hesitantly.
Thats what I already was thinking. But it must not be working well, Andy quietly said. By the time the parents were ready to come back inside, with forced grins that made them looked constipated, the pancakes were burnt. A moment later, Mrs. Gillam waved a broom at the fire alarm.
That afternoon, the parents took their kids, equipped with scooters and helmets, to the skate park. The parents sat on a bench, arms crossed, facing forward, and glaring at the sun. When the family came back, there was some time to read before dinner. The kids picked up books from the library basket but instead of their parents picking up the newspaper or a novel, they were reading through a thick stack of papers.
Honey, I started Ron.
Ron, we agreed remember? whispered Jennifer.
Sorry. Jen. Im trying to figure out how many bullet points we need to prove that its void.
Are you reading through the annulment section?
As the parents leaned over their arm chairs towards each other and continued to talk under their breath, Nicholas and Andy exchanged glances. The parents caught the boys eyes and Ron said, Kids, I need to work on the bills with your mom in the office for a bit.
The boys tried to read a while longer and then quietly went to their bedroom.
How many big words did you catch? whispered Nicholas once they were both sitting on his bunk.
A few said Andy as he jotted down, VOYD and ANAL MINT and in his notebook with an invisible ink pen.
Wow. I barely know those words. Nicholas pulled out a magnifying glass.
Andy brushed the magnifying glass away. Well, I know them, Andy boasted. Theyre really funny. Ill tell you later. But still. How are we going to figure this out? I still need to figure out if these words have to do with the yelling in the car this morning. Or with The Force.
Its gotta do with both. Theres no other explanation, confirmed Nicholas.
Okay, well, Im going to leave you a spy drop. Remember that paper I left with you last week with some other words? You have to remember where the papers are, okay? Then well glue the scraps of paper into our notebook.
Got it. I wont forget, Andy. Although, Nicholas had no idea why he had to go retrieve words that were written down and then hidden everywhere. Nevertheless, he was determined to be as good of a detective as his big brother.
After the parents came out of the office, Jennifers eyes were red and Ron combed his hand through his hair. But the family carried on and ate dinner together: delivery from Ye Loy Chinese Restaurant just a mile away. After dinner, the kids played video games at their actual present levels and then the parents went to their bedroom. Once the master bedroom door shut, the boys grabbed their toothbrush cup from their bathroom and went back to work with eavesdropping.
The parents were talking with more cryptic language and Andy strained to hear everything they were saying. To try to be more efficient, he did the listening, and dictated to Nicholas. Nicholas used invisible ink (they got the ink by sending in a coupon from the back of the last edition of Ladybug magazine) again, just in case their parents barged out of the room suddenly and caught them in their work.
After some mumbling, Andy barked, Quick. Write this down. File the papers for The Force oh write down what about the kids? and I cant even repeat that number, but write down a big dollar sign as our symbol for lots of money.
At this point, the parents were talking louder and louder. Nicholas could hear them, and Andy, feeling a little unnerved by their parents voices, slowly pulled his cup away from the wall.
Thats not what the operational definition of an affair is, Jennifer.
Would you stop talking like that? Im just saying that
If you have any questions about your shit, why dont you just talk to your lawyer? Thats your game. Not mine.
Andy feverishly pointed at Nicholas who obediently wrote down, LOY YER. He gave Nicholas a silent high five and smiled at him.
The parents voices got quieter again and few words could be made out but then Rons voice boomed and the heat from the bedroom began making the hallway feel a little warmer.
What about when we were in graduate school and you said that? What about that? Ron began to grill. The boys heard some shuffling through drawers.
Remember? You wore this dress?
I dont fit in that anymore anyway, said Jennifer through gritted teeth and the boys heard something tear.
Do you remember the song we danced to when you told me all that? And then something snapped. Then another. And another. Andy leaned over and saw some broken CD bits through the gap under the door.
I hate you, one parent whispered. Not ready for such quiet voices, Andy didnt have his cup to the wall. He misheard achoo and wondered what caused the sneezing. His question was answered when he heard a dull thud and saw some pillow feathers sprinkle to the ground when he peeked through the gap under the door again.
Nicky, I got it! I got it! he beamed at his brother and line-danced him back to their bedroom.
In a W-sit with his elbows on the ground, Andy peered over the notebook with his chin in his hands. I think The Force is for the papers. The papers need to line up single file. Remember when they said file the papers?
I do! That makes perfect sense! But then I wonder why we havent seen any papers marching one by one, Nicholas said.
Well I think thats because they havent yet perfected using The Force. Theyre trying it on other things first. I think theyre making their CD collection float, and maybe even the pillows and blankets. I think its a lot of trial and error.
Wow, our parents are magicians! I cant wait until they master The Force and starting using it on papers!
Yep! I bet the papers will fold up in the air into paper cranes and fly around!
That must be for a big show! For the fair theyre putting on! Remember when they said something about a fair?
Precisely, Nicky! But I bet all their work using The Force must require them to eat weird potions and drinks. Because they need those anal mints!
Oh thats that funny word, Andy. I dont know that one.
It means they have a lot of gas and they need mints cuz theyre farting out of their butts!
Andy and Nicholas tried to conceal their giggles with their hands but the giggles oozed through their fingers.
Catching his breath, Nicholas added, They probably want to keep this fair theyre going to put on for us a secret. Remember when they said, what about the kids?
Well duh. Thats why they keep on going into their room or the car.
Nicholas frowned and looked down. His eyes pleaded with Nicholas for an explanation. But why did they get so mad in the car?
Im sure its really frustrating learning how to use The Force. Think about all these special things that are breaking, like CDs that are really old and stuff. And think about all their farting! That must be uncomfortable!
Nicholas couldnt control his laughter.
I bet theyre learning all this from Loy Yer. Who do you think that is? Nicholas asked.
Yeah, I cant figure that out, but I bet he works at the Chinese restaurant weve been getting all our dinners from lately.
Nicholas scratched his head. Yeah, its still pretty confusing.
Well one thing is for sure. Our parents are awesome! Were probably going to have a huge celebration a fair with prizes, and cotton candy, and maybe with a huge magic show! I cant wait to see all the cool origami floating up! Nicholas dreamily looked up.
But they want to keep it a secret. Nicholas, we cant let them down. Theyre really getting stressed out with all their yelling as it is. Lets practice acting really surprised, suggested Andy.
In their bedroom, Andy and Nicholas took turns gasping, and experimented with louder gasps, shrieks, wide eyes, and putting their hands up in the air. Andy tried saying, Whoa! and Nicholas said, Oh my gosh! What a surprise.
In the master bedroom, Mr. and Mrs. Gillam turned their heads slightly in the middle of their heated argument. They stopped talking and both gingerly walked towards their sons door. They leaned in and heard, I cant believe it! Wow, what a hero! Hes a Jedi knight! and Holy Macaroni, Mom!
Already facing his wife, while leaning into the door, Mr. Gillam asked, Do you know what the heck theyre doing?
With an amused look, Mrs. Gillam responded, I have no idea.
With opposite ears against their sons door, and their noses pointing at the others, Ron and Jennifer continued to try to make out more of the boys random exclamations. Slowly, faint smiles appeared on the parents faces.
Andy held his breath as he pressed his ear against the cup until his ear turned red, trying to will his ear to travel through both the cup and the wall. He made out a few muffled words but then the mouth of the cup slipped against the stucco wall, creating a weak grating sound.
Andy, theyre gonna hear you! whispered Nicholas urgently, whacking his brothers shoulder blade with the back of his hand.
Shut up! Theyre gonna hear YOU! retorted Andy.
But upon hearing some shuffling coming from inside the room, Andy and Nicholas sprinted to their bedroom and began to casually play video games, with their hearts pounding in their throats.
Footsteps approached their bedroom.
Andy? Nicholas?
Yeah mom?
Mrs. Gillam walked in. She didnt say anything. And the boys didnt turn around.
Yeah mom? Andy said, nonchalantly, while keeping his eyes fixed on the monitor in front of him and continuing to mindlessly press buttons on his controller, and faced the monitor.
Oh nothing. Start getting ready for bed by 8:30 though. Have fun playing, boys. She closed the door. The boys kept on playing. But they actually happened to find themselves at a level that they had both completed a million times.
Once there was no audible sign of their mothers presence upstairs, Nicholas whispered,
So what did you hear through the cup?
I could only make out one word. In Spanish.
Spanish?!
Yep, de vorce . er, maybe de force.
Thats not Spanish. Its fuerza. Thats what Maria sometimes says when shes telling me to scrub the dishes a little harder.
Oh yeah. Maybe thats what I heard. Im pretty sure its The Force.
Like in Star Wars? asked Nicholas eagerly.
Exactly.
Write it down!
Andy quickly grabbed his notebook that he kept under his pillow. He and his brother had designated this notebook specifically for this case. Their parents had been acting really serious and weird. Sometimes they were ferociously angry like when Andy let Nicholas play with the matches but nobody had been lighting up anything. At other times, the parents were acting very sad like when Oscar the hamster died last year. But nobody was dying now. At other times, their sadness or anger would abruptly shift to what seemed like peachy-keen smiles. The parents attitudes had been off kilter for a while now. Nicholas and Andy were determined to get to the bottom of it all.
Despite actually getting ready for bed after an hour of video games, as they were instructed, it was hard to fall asleep. This case was just getting interesting. If a mystery includes The Force, it has to be interesting. In their dreams, their imaginations ran amuck.
The next day was Saturday and the whole family was home. The kids woke up early, like usual, and heard someone crying this time, from Mr. Gillam. Nicholas and Andy, styled with true bed-head, carefully tip-toed down the hall to their parents bedroom. Well, as carefully as they could, with their pajamas that ended in plastic-covered booties.
Ron
I just dont understand it. You.
Thats all the boys made out until Mr. Gillam walked out of the master bedroom, only to be stopped in his tracks by his two sons.
He robotically beamed at them. Chocolate chip pancakes? Whattya say?
Andy and Nicholas jumped up and down and stormed down the stairs with their father. From upstairs, Jennifer Gillam heard her husband announce, Last ones a rotten egg! In spite of herself, she raced down too, and barreled through her sons and husband and said, Ill get the maple syrup!
The boys sat at the table swinging their legs. But the excitement from a quadruple tie for first place abruptly ended. To the boys surprise, the parents went back to being silent. They awkwardly turned their backs to the boys and both worked at the stove. They whispered something but it was incoherent. Then, Mr. Gillam slammed the spatula down on the table, making the boys jump in their seats.
Mr. Gillam cleared his throat and then said, Ill be right back.
Shortly after, Mrs. Gillam followed him out the front door. What were the boys to do? They followed as well. Looking out from the window in the living room, they witnessed their parents fighting in the minivan. The parents abrasive voices could be heard all the way from inside. Both Ron and Jennifer looked hurt and their pain traveled all the way to the boys, through their pajamas, and traversed their bones, leaving them with goose bumps.
The boys just watched.
I wonder if de force comes to them in the car, suggested Nicholas hesitantly.
Thats what I already was thinking. But it must not be working well, Andy quietly said. By the time the parents were ready to come back inside, with forced grins that made them looked constipated, the pancakes were burnt. A moment later, Mrs. Gillam waved a broom at the fire alarm.
That afternoon, the parents took their kids, equipped with scooters and helmets, to the skate park. The parents sat on a bench, arms crossed, facing forward, and glaring at the sun. When the family came back, there was some time to read before dinner. The kids picked up books from the library basket but instead of their parents picking up the newspaper or a novel, they were reading through a thick stack of papers.
Honey, I started Ron.
Ron, we agreed remember? whispered Jennifer.
Sorry. Jen. Im trying to figure out how many bullet points we need to prove that its void.
Are you reading through the annulment section?
As the parents leaned over their arm chairs towards each other and continued to talk under their breath, Nicholas and Andy exchanged glances. The parents caught the boys eyes and Ron said, Kids, I need to work on the bills with your mom in the office for a bit.
The boys tried to read a while longer and then quietly went to their bedroom.
How many big words did you catch? whispered Nicholas once they were both sitting on his bunk.
A few said Andy as he jotted down, VOYD and ANAL MINT and in his notebook with an invisible ink pen.
Wow. I barely know those words. Nicholas pulled out a magnifying glass.
Andy brushed the magnifying glass away. Well, I know them, Andy boasted. Theyre really funny. Ill tell you later. But still. How are we going to figure this out? I still need to figure out if these words have to do with the yelling in the car this morning. Or with The Force.
Its gotta do with both. Theres no other explanation, confirmed Nicholas.
Okay, well, Im going to leave you a spy drop. Remember that paper I left with you last week with some other words? You have to remember where the papers are, okay? Then well glue the scraps of paper into our notebook.
Got it. I wont forget, Andy. Although, Nicholas had no idea why he had to go retrieve words that were written down and then hidden everywhere. Nevertheless, he was determined to be as good of a detective as his big brother.
After the parents came out of the office, Jennifers eyes were red and Ron combed his hand through his hair. But the family carried on and ate dinner together: delivery from Ye Loy Chinese Restaurant just a mile away. After dinner, the kids played video games at their actual present levels and then the parents went to their bedroom. Once the master bedroom door shut, the boys grabbed their toothbrush cup from their bathroom and went back to work with eavesdropping.
The parents were talking with more cryptic language and Andy strained to hear everything they were saying. To try to be more efficient, he did the listening, and dictated to Nicholas. Nicholas used invisible ink (they got the ink by sending in a coupon from the back of the last edition of Ladybug magazine) again, just in case their parents barged out of the room suddenly and caught them in their work.
After some mumbling, Andy barked, Quick. Write this down. File the papers for The Force oh write down what about the kids? and I cant even repeat that number, but write down a big dollar sign as our symbol for lots of money.
At this point, the parents were talking louder and louder. Nicholas could hear them, and Andy, feeling a little unnerved by their parents voices, slowly pulled his cup away from the wall.
Thats not what the operational definition of an affair is, Jennifer.
Would you stop talking like that? Im just saying that
If you have any questions about your shit, why dont you just talk to your lawyer? Thats your game. Not mine.
Andy feverishly pointed at Nicholas who obediently wrote down, LOY YER. He gave Nicholas a silent high five and smiled at him.
The parents voices got quieter again and few words could be made out but then Rons voice boomed and the heat from the bedroom began making the hallway feel a little warmer.
What about when we were in graduate school and you said that? What about that? Ron began to grill. The boys heard some shuffling through drawers.
Remember? You wore this dress?
I dont fit in that anymore anyway, said Jennifer through gritted teeth and the boys heard something tear.
Do you remember the song we danced to when you told me all that? And then something snapped. Then another. And another. Andy leaned over and saw some broken CD bits through the gap under the door.
I hate you, one parent whispered. Not ready for such quiet voices, Andy didnt have his cup to the wall. He misheard achoo and wondered what caused the sneezing. His question was answered when he heard a dull thud and saw some pillow feathers sprinkle to the ground when he peeked through the gap under the door again.
Nicky, I got it! I got it! he beamed at his brother and line-danced him back to their bedroom.
In a W-sit with his elbows on the ground, Andy peered over the notebook with his chin in his hands. I think The Force is for the papers. The papers need to line up single file. Remember when they said file the papers?
I do! That makes perfect sense! But then I wonder why we havent seen any papers marching one by one, Nicholas said.
Well I think thats because they havent yet perfected using The Force. Theyre trying it on other things first. I think theyre making their CD collection float, and maybe even the pillows and blankets. I think its a lot of trial and error.
Wow, our parents are magicians! I cant wait until they master The Force and starting using it on papers!
Yep! I bet the papers will fold up in the air into paper cranes and fly around!
That must be for a big show! For the fair theyre putting on! Remember when they said something about a fair?
Precisely, Nicky! But I bet all their work using The Force must require them to eat weird potions and drinks. Because they need those anal mints!
Oh thats that funny word, Andy. I dont know that one.
It means they have a lot of gas and they need mints cuz theyre farting out of their butts!
Andy and Nicholas tried to conceal their giggles with their hands but the giggles oozed through their fingers.
Catching his breath, Nicholas added, They probably want to keep this fair theyre going to put on for us a secret. Remember when they said, what about the kids?
Well duh. Thats why they keep on going into their room or the car.
Nicholas frowned and looked down. His eyes pleaded with Nicholas for an explanation. But why did they get so mad in the car?
Im sure its really frustrating learning how to use The Force. Think about all these special things that are breaking, like CDs that are really old and stuff. And think about all their farting! That must be uncomfortable!
Nicholas couldnt control his laughter.
I bet theyre learning all this from Loy Yer. Who do you think that is? Nicholas asked.
Yeah, I cant figure that out, but I bet he works at the Chinese restaurant weve been getting all our dinners from lately.
Nicholas scratched his head. Yeah, its still pretty confusing.
Well one thing is for sure. Our parents are awesome! Were probably going to have a huge celebration a fair with prizes, and cotton candy, and maybe with a huge magic show! I cant wait to see all the cool origami floating up! Nicholas dreamily looked up.
But they want to keep it a secret. Nicholas, we cant let them down. Theyre really getting stressed out with all their yelling as it is. Lets practice acting really surprised, suggested Andy.
In their bedroom, Andy and Nicholas took turns gasping, and experimented with louder gasps, shrieks, wide eyes, and putting their hands up in the air. Andy tried saying, Whoa! and Nicholas said, Oh my gosh! What a surprise.
In the master bedroom, Mr. and Mrs. Gillam turned their heads slightly in the middle of their heated argument. They stopped talking and both gingerly walked towards their sons door. They leaned in and heard, I cant believe it! Wow, what a hero! Hes a Jedi knight! and Holy Macaroni, Mom!
Already facing his wife, while leaning into the door, Mr. Gillam asked, Do you know what the heck theyre doing?
With an amused look, Mrs. Gillam responded, I have no idea.
With opposite ears against their sons door, and their noses pointing at the others, Ron and Jennifer continued to try to make out more of the boys random exclamations. Slowly, faint smiles appeared on the parents faces.
SCULLIBUNDO
Banned
The Clogged Drain
The neon-soaked streets of the District Four overpass glisten with the freshly laid puddles of women whose words were selling something they shouldn't have been offering. For the second time this month two lipsticks were found in the Rhine; their heads bobbing up and down without the same conviction they might have been hours earlier when they still had a pulse.
Forensics drag the water and check the girls for signs of forced entry and I can't help but wonder what its like to look for an off-white grain of sand in a desert of pure forms. As they start to hoist the second girl onto the stretcher with a delicacy she might not have recognized if her eyes were still in their sockets, I notice that beneath her soaked through dress, tattooed to her outer thigh lies the pattern. The last strike that crosses the many lines of the roman tally marks now healing up in Evelyn Singer's pale skin tells me there is a fifth corpse probably keeping some local vermin company free of charge.
The wind at my back tells me its going to be a long night and I still haven't figured out how this dildo got stuck in my ass.
The neon-soaked streets of the District Four overpass glisten with the freshly laid puddles of women whose words were selling something they shouldn't have been offering. For the second time this month two lipsticks were found in the Rhine; their heads bobbing up and down without the same conviction they might have been hours earlier when they still had a pulse.
Forensics drag the water and check the girls for signs of forced entry and I can't help but wonder what its like to look for an off-white grain of sand in a desert of pure forms. As they start to hoist the second girl onto the stretcher with a delicacy she might not have recognized if her eyes were still in their sockets, I notice that beneath her soaked through dress, tattooed to her outer thigh lies the pattern. The last strike that crosses the many lines of the roman tally marks now healing up in Evelyn Singer's pale skin tells me there is a fifth corpse probably keeping some local vermin company free of charge.
The wind at my back tells me its going to be a long night and I still haven't figured out how this dildo got stuck in my ass.
British Monsoon
Member
Fuuuuuu, I fell asleep writing 
No way I can finish this in time.
No way I can finish this in time.Marbles (898)
"I'm tellin' y'all, it's a dirty magazine," whispered little William between handfuls of potato chips. William Johns ate constantly yet never seemed to gain a pound, more skin and bones than anything else.
"It's probably just some old book."
That's Thomas McCleary, Jr., the leader of this particular expedition. Curtains of auburn hair hid his features from view. How he could see out through that mess is anyone's guess.
"I don't think so, Tommy. He's been looking at it every day for the entire year practically. He would have finished already."
Big Dick. A giant among children even though you'd never catch him eating anything other than celery or carrots. Richard Leif is his given name, but Little Willy refuses to call him anything other than Big Dick.
"Well, if Will would get this damned drawer open already, we would know for sure what it was," Tommy exclaimed impatiently as he drummed his fingers across the top of the desk.
Big Dick tapped his foot against the ground, waiting for Will to finish picking the lock to the desk's drawer. "Do you even know what you're doin', Willy? I don't think you do."
"Shut the hell up already. I saw it in a movie; it has to work," said William as his greasy fingers stabbed an unraveled paperclip into the little keyhole. "Too much trouble just for a girly mag. I've got hundreds at my house."
"Damn it, that ain't what it is. He'd get fired for that. It's got to be some old book."
"No, it's just the cover of a book. He keeps the magazine inside so nobody can see it."
"It's probably our permanent records. Not a magazine or a book. If he finds out we were looking at it, Mr. Lewis is going to be pissed and probably add in a whole bunch of nasty stuff. Our entire lives will be ruined." Sweat began to drip down Dick's face as the stress started to build up inside.
"Permanent records don't even exist. My brother said so," chided Tommy. He was always the confident one. His natural charisma seemed to keep the little group in line.
"This lock is such a piece of shit!" screamed Little Willy, the paper clip in his hand bending every which way.
"SHHHHHH! Lunch time is almost over. Mr. Lewis might already be on his way back," offered Dick nervously as his eyes darted to the clock above the classroom door.
"That's why we have Penny at the end of the hall, Dick. She'll let us know if anyone is coming this way."
Thomas had created the perfect plan for this heist. Nothing could go--- Oh, it just went wrong. The door creaked open and in came old Mr. Lewis. The boys stared at him in shock for a moment before realizing they hadn't yet been caught. Quickly, quietly, they crawled to the other side of the desk and plopped down out of view. Mr. Lewis, still unaware of the presence of a few miscreants, carefully took off his patched tweed jacket and hung it on the hook behind the door. Next, he smoothed his woolen sweater-vest down and sat down in his desk chair. Finally, he peered over the edge of the desk, his white hair slipping free of its combed position.
"So, boys, might I ask what you are doing back in the classroom so early?"
Calm as ever, Tommy replied, "We're just playing marbles, Sir. Everyone knows you can't play that on a table and the lunchroom gots way too much kids in it to play it properly on the floor."
"'Has way too many children in it' is what you meant to say, I'm sure. Of course, the four of us know that those marbles were in your pocket until ten seconds ago, Thomas. There's also this bent paper clip hanging from my private drawer. Would any of you care to explain how it ended up there?"
"Well, you see..." "We was shooting..." "My report was clipped together and..."
Three different excuses appeared on three separate pairs of lips.
CLIP! CLOP! CLIP! CLOP! CLIP! CLOP! CLIP! CLOP!
"So, did you guys find out what Mr. Lewis is always loo--- Oops!" Penny's tap shoes were as loud as they should have been, just a tad too late. Her late arrival prompted a few angry glares from the her brother, Dick, and the other two boys.
The old teacher reached down, unlocked the drawer, pulled out the large book, and then held it up.
"This? These are my memories. Would you like to take a look?"
The four children quickly crowded around Mr. Lewis to snatch a peek. Inside were pages upon pages of old photographs.
"That's my wife. She died of tuberculosis about seven years back. This is my son's unit; he's the tall one in the middle. Missing in Action. That woman you see there is my daughter and her children. They were in a car crash last year. These photos are all I have left to remember them by."
"OOoooh!"
Just then, the bell rang and the kids hurried back to their seats before the rest of the classmates piled in through the doorway.
"Told you it wasn't a nudie mag or a book," Dick whispered to Willy and Tom as Mr. Lewis resumed the day's lesson.
"Wasn't our permanent records either, dumbass."
"I'm tellin' y'all, it's a dirty magazine," whispered little William between handfuls of potato chips. William Johns ate constantly yet never seemed to gain a pound, more skin and bones than anything else.
"It's probably just some old book."
That's Thomas McCleary, Jr., the leader of this particular expedition. Curtains of auburn hair hid his features from view. How he could see out through that mess is anyone's guess.
"I don't think so, Tommy. He's been looking at it every day for the entire year practically. He would have finished already."
Big Dick. A giant among children even though you'd never catch him eating anything other than celery or carrots. Richard Leif is his given name, but Little Willy refuses to call him anything other than Big Dick.
"Well, if Will would get this damned drawer open already, we would know for sure what it was," Tommy exclaimed impatiently as he drummed his fingers across the top of the desk.
Big Dick tapped his foot against the ground, waiting for Will to finish picking the lock to the desk's drawer. "Do you even know what you're doin', Willy? I don't think you do."
"Shut the hell up already. I saw it in a movie; it has to work," said William as his greasy fingers stabbed an unraveled paperclip into the little keyhole. "Too much trouble just for a girly mag. I've got hundreds at my house."
"Damn it, that ain't what it is. He'd get fired for that. It's got to be some old book."
"No, it's just the cover of a book. He keeps the magazine inside so nobody can see it."
"It's probably our permanent records. Not a magazine or a book. If he finds out we were looking at it, Mr. Lewis is going to be pissed and probably add in a whole bunch of nasty stuff. Our entire lives will be ruined." Sweat began to drip down Dick's face as the stress started to build up inside.
"Permanent records don't even exist. My brother said so," chided Tommy. He was always the confident one. His natural charisma seemed to keep the little group in line.
"This lock is such a piece of shit!" screamed Little Willy, the paper clip in his hand bending every which way.
"SHHHHHH! Lunch time is almost over. Mr. Lewis might already be on his way back," offered Dick nervously as his eyes darted to the clock above the classroom door.
"That's why we have Penny at the end of the hall, Dick. She'll let us know if anyone is coming this way."
Thomas had created the perfect plan for this heist. Nothing could go--- Oh, it just went wrong. The door creaked open and in came old Mr. Lewis. The boys stared at him in shock for a moment before realizing they hadn't yet been caught. Quickly, quietly, they crawled to the other side of the desk and plopped down out of view. Mr. Lewis, still unaware of the presence of a few miscreants, carefully took off his patched tweed jacket and hung it on the hook behind the door. Next, he smoothed his woolen sweater-vest down and sat down in his desk chair. Finally, he peered over the edge of the desk, his white hair slipping free of its combed position.
"So, boys, might I ask what you are doing back in the classroom so early?"
Calm as ever, Tommy replied, "We're just playing marbles, Sir. Everyone knows you can't play that on a table and the lunchroom gots way too much kids in it to play it properly on the floor."
"'Has way too many children in it' is what you meant to say, I'm sure. Of course, the four of us know that those marbles were in your pocket until ten seconds ago, Thomas. There's also this bent paper clip hanging from my private drawer. Would any of you care to explain how it ended up there?"
"Well, you see..." "We was shooting..." "My report was clipped together and..."
Three different excuses appeared on three separate pairs of lips.
CLIP! CLOP! CLIP! CLOP! CLIP! CLOP! CLIP! CLOP!
"So, did you guys find out what Mr. Lewis is always loo--- Oops!" Penny's tap shoes were as loud as they should have been, just a tad too late. Her late arrival prompted a few angry glares from the her brother, Dick, and the other two boys.
The old teacher reached down, unlocked the drawer, pulled out the large book, and then held it up.
"This? These are my memories. Would you like to take a look?"
The four children quickly crowded around Mr. Lewis to snatch a peek. Inside were pages upon pages of old photographs.
"That's my wife. She died of tuberculosis about seven years back. This is my son's unit; he's the tall one in the middle. Missing in Action. That woman you see there is my daughter and her children. They were in a car crash last year. These photos are all I have left to remember them by."
"OOoooh!"
Just then, the bell rang and the kids hurried back to their seats before the rest of the classmates piled in through the doorway.
"Told you it wasn't a nudie mag or a book," Dick whispered to Willy and Tom as Mr. Lewis resumed the day's lesson.
"Wasn't our permanent records either, dumbass."
Secret Admirer (1700)
Brevity is the soul of wit.
Mom and Dad love that proverb. But then they hypocritically get annoyed when I don't respond to questions about my day at school. "Mary-Anne, how was school?" "You the teachers' pet yet, sweetie?" "Boys chasing after you for the dance?" I turned up my nose at that last one, of course, but Dad didn't take the hint and Mom just smiled.
I swept up to my room, flopped down on my bed and stewed in annoyance. Mom, at least, should know better than that. Or maybe she doesn't. Maybe she doesn't know better because she doesn't know--maybe she never had to wait around and not get asked to her Prom, and wonder if she's fat and ugly and all the boys hate her. Maybe she never had to sit down and seriously consider the situation where she's going to the dance with Gregory Mopkin, the boy who always picks his nose in class so everyone calls him "Booger", but she's stuck going with him anyway because no one else wants her.
I shoved my face in my pillow.
Then I deshoved my head back out of my pillow and got out my phone to call David, my token gay best friend. As I got it out, it chimed the text-message tone.
I hesitated for a sec, still thinking about Booger Mopkin, but common sense won out and I read the message. It wasn't from Booger. In fact, it wasn't from anyone. The "from" field was blank.
"wanna go 2 prom w me? -scrt admirer"
Oh what the hell? I face-pillowed again. Seriously, a boy finally wanted to ask me to Prom, but he was too shy to actually ask me? What a load of crap.
But also kind of exciting!
I sat up, picked up my phone again and called David.
*
David and I were lab partners in Bio, of course. Otherwise, how could we cause chaos? We'd insisted on it the first day of class, until the other kids were rolling their eyes and the teacher finally caved just so he didn't have to hear us bitch about it any more. Squeaky wheel gets the grease! That's David's favorite proverb.
We were supposed to be, I dunno, spinning something around in one of those expensive looking spinny things, and then putting it in gel? I had other stuff on my mind. Anyway, David was doing the actual work while I looked around the room for suspicious boy behavior.
One or two of them did seem to be acting a little funny. Giving me surreptitious looks, goofing around a little more than usual, cracking jokes just loud enough for me to hear. Or... maybe that was normal for them. I didn't exactly stare at them in class most of the time. I had no way of knowing. TJ, two tables over, flipped a rubberband at the chalkboard, right past Mr. Dohner's head.
I whispered. "You think maybe TJ--"
"Oh, M. M. Not the jock. So cliche."
"What's wrong with jocks?"
"Nothing of course. I mean, you love muscley, masculine morons, right?" David winked at me.
"Well, I do like you."
"Charming, M." David went back to the spinny thing. "No, I won't cast aspersions--TJ's pretty hot. It's just, everyone loves the jock."
"Sports make you hotter! It's a cliche for a reason. Anyway--" I hesitated. "Not like I can just walk up and ask him."
"No problem, I'll ask for you." David inhaled.
"Gah! No yelling across the room!"
He exhaled a sigh and, smiling wickedly, went back to the spinny thing.
I leaned toward the next table and caught Denise's eye. I nodded toward TJ and mouthed "Prom?" She nodded, rolled her eyes, and mouthed "Brenda."
Brenda. That figured. "It's not TJ," I said with a sigh.
"The power was in you all along!" said David.
I punched him in the shoulder.
*
Lunch break was a better opportunity. More people sitting around where I could watch them. And David wasn't distracted, so he could help me pick out likely targets.
"How about Mike Aston? Charming, pleasant, not bad on the eyes. He's no TJ, but hey--who is?"
"Oh, come on David. He's annoying, he talks too much in class and tries to be friends with the teachers. Also his name starts with 'm.'"
"So does yours."
"Exactly!"
David rolled his eyes and took a bite of his pizza. "All right, but it could still be him."
"No way. He can't be. He's got a giant crush on Mrs. Littleston."
"Real-ly." David tilted his head sideways and regarded Mike Aston. "You think she's the cougar type?"
"She's not that old, is she?"
"Pushing thirty."
I slurped at my Coke. "I think you have to be, like, forty to be a cougar. Anyway, who cares? Let's move down the list."
"Gil Kertzer."
"Barely know him. And I'm pretty sure he hates me."
"Tony B."
"I made fun of his art project one time. Can't be him either."
"That was fifth grade!"
I shrugged. "Still."
David shook his head. "You're making this way too hard."
"Next name!"
He sighed. "Nate Westem."
"Hey, maybe!"
"Nah, he's already going with Denise. Just testing." He winked. "How about Esteban?"
"Huh. He's all about Jen. Everyone knows that."
"Not everyone, I guess." David scratched his head. It looked like he'd run out of people who'd been looking at us or acting weird. "All right, I hate to say it, but--" He paused.
Don't say Booger, don't say Booger.
"Karl?"
I frowned. "I hope not. I like Karl."
"Sounds good to me."
"No, I mean--stupid words--I like Karl, but I don't like like him. I just, I don't feel anything for him, like romantically. I mean, he's nice, but I don't want to go with him. But I don't want to hurt his feelings or whatever."
"Well aren't we Miss Picky today."
That stung. "Well, would you go with Karl?"
David shrugged. "Pretty sure that kid's straight as a--" He flailed for a second. "Straight as something really straight."
"A line?" I asked sweetly.
"Yeah yeah." He sat back, crumpling up his napkin and stuffing it in the pizza box. "So. Let's say Karl does ask you. What do you do?"
"Well, I don't want to hurt his feelings obviously. So I don't really want to say no."
"Wouldn't it be better to be honest up front?"
"I guess. Maybe. But then what if I can't find a date at all?"
"I'm sure you'll think of something."
I gave him a sharp glance. "David, I don't suppose--"
"Whoa, hey." He held up both hands in a stop gesture. "I'm your token gay friend, remember?"
"So? We can go as friends. Duck the social stuff and just have fun at the dance."
"What about my boyfriend?"
I sat up straight. "David Piganelli. Did you start dating someone and not even tell me?"
He made a placating gesture. "Not yet. But hope springs eternal!"
I sighed. "David. I just have this awful feeling like maybe Booger sent me the message. If I go with you then I can tell him no without being mean. Or Karl. Or whoever else it is. I'm pretty sure I won't want to go with them anyway."
David rolled his eyes and stood up. "Booger's not so bad. Anyway much ado about nothing. I'm glad you'd like to use me as a shield, but no thanks." He spoiled the lecturing effect by grinning and adding, "but maybe if I get a message from a secret admirer, it could be mutual! Ha." He wandered off towards the boys bathroom.
Well, he had a point. It wasn't exactly fair to just use David as a shield. Even if it would be more fun to go with him than the vast majority of boys at school. And he'd have fun too! But, well. Better to give him a chance to make it something romantic for himself. Even if that meant I had to--horror of horrors--go stag. Or worse, go with Karl!
I blinked. There was someone sitting next to me. Blond, medium build, fairly tall. He was in my English class. Joe? No, John? John Kay, that was it. "Uh, hi John."
"Mary-Anne. You look a little conflicted." He leaned back on his arms like he was totally comfortable.
"It's that obvious?"
"Nah. Only noticed because I was watching to see if David would leave you by yourself." He grinned, only partly self-consciously.
"Oh." The shape of things was finally coalescing in my mind. "So it was you."
"Yep. Sorry about the secret admirer thing. David said he thought it'd give you a laugh. Doesn't look like it worked that way." He paused. "Whoa, hey. Something wrong?"
I spoke through gritted teeth. "I'm going to kill that little bastard."
John threw his head back and laughed. "So he played along. Good for him."
"At least someone got a laugh out of it."
"Aw, hey. Don't be that way." John sat up straight again and looked right at me. "So. How about it?"
I hesitated. "I--I don't mean to be rude, but I barely know you. And you want to go to the dance?"
"Well, that's how dates usually work." He smiled. "You don't really know the other person, so you go out and see how it goes. If you like them once you've gotten to know them, you do it again."
My mouth formed a round "O."
"I'm not saying I'm in love with you or anything." He gave me a wink. "Yet. But I want a chance to get to know you better. See how it goes."
I sat, not saying anything. When he put it that way, it made complete sense. I wasn't sure if I wanted to date John Kay. Yet. But he was cute, and he was funny, and--
"What do you say? Will you go to the Prom with me?"
What the hell. "Ok."
He smiled in response. Suddenly the world seemed that much brighter.
Brevity is the soul of wit.
Mom and Dad love that proverb. But then they hypocritically get annoyed when I don't respond to questions about my day at school. "Mary-Anne, how was school?" "You the teachers' pet yet, sweetie?" "Boys chasing after you for the dance?" I turned up my nose at that last one, of course, but Dad didn't take the hint and Mom just smiled.
I swept up to my room, flopped down on my bed and stewed in annoyance. Mom, at least, should know better than that. Or maybe she doesn't. Maybe she doesn't know better because she doesn't know--maybe she never had to wait around and not get asked to her Prom, and wonder if she's fat and ugly and all the boys hate her. Maybe she never had to sit down and seriously consider the situation where she's going to the dance with Gregory Mopkin, the boy who always picks his nose in class so everyone calls him "Booger", but she's stuck going with him anyway because no one else wants her.
I shoved my face in my pillow.
Then I deshoved my head back out of my pillow and got out my phone to call David, my token gay best friend. As I got it out, it chimed the text-message tone.
I hesitated for a sec, still thinking about Booger Mopkin, but common sense won out and I read the message. It wasn't from Booger. In fact, it wasn't from anyone. The "from" field was blank.
"wanna go 2 prom w me? -scrt admirer"
Oh what the hell? I face-pillowed again. Seriously, a boy finally wanted to ask me to Prom, but he was too shy to actually ask me? What a load of crap.
But also kind of exciting!
I sat up, picked up my phone again and called David.
*
David and I were lab partners in Bio, of course. Otherwise, how could we cause chaos? We'd insisted on it the first day of class, until the other kids were rolling their eyes and the teacher finally caved just so he didn't have to hear us bitch about it any more. Squeaky wheel gets the grease! That's David's favorite proverb.
We were supposed to be, I dunno, spinning something around in one of those expensive looking spinny things, and then putting it in gel? I had other stuff on my mind. Anyway, David was doing the actual work while I looked around the room for suspicious boy behavior.
One or two of them did seem to be acting a little funny. Giving me surreptitious looks, goofing around a little more than usual, cracking jokes just loud enough for me to hear. Or... maybe that was normal for them. I didn't exactly stare at them in class most of the time. I had no way of knowing. TJ, two tables over, flipped a rubberband at the chalkboard, right past Mr. Dohner's head.
I whispered. "You think maybe TJ--"
"Oh, M. M. Not the jock. So cliche."
"What's wrong with jocks?"
"Nothing of course. I mean, you love muscley, masculine morons, right?" David winked at me.
"Well, I do like you."
"Charming, M." David went back to the spinny thing. "No, I won't cast aspersions--TJ's pretty hot. It's just, everyone loves the jock."
"Sports make you hotter! It's a cliche for a reason. Anyway--" I hesitated. "Not like I can just walk up and ask him."
"No problem, I'll ask for you." David inhaled.
"Gah! No yelling across the room!"
He exhaled a sigh and, smiling wickedly, went back to the spinny thing.
I leaned toward the next table and caught Denise's eye. I nodded toward TJ and mouthed "Prom?" She nodded, rolled her eyes, and mouthed "Brenda."
Brenda. That figured. "It's not TJ," I said with a sigh.
"The power was in you all along!" said David.
I punched him in the shoulder.
*
Lunch break was a better opportunity. More people sitting around where I could watch them. And David wasn't distracted, so he could help me pick out likely targets.
"How about Mike Aston? Charming, pleasant, not bad on the eyes. He's no TJ, but hey--who is?"
"Oh, come on David. He's annoying, he talks too much in class and tries to be friends with the teachers. Also his name starts with 'm.'"
"So does yours."
"Exactly!"
David rolled his eyes and took a bite of his pizza. "All right, but it could still be him."
"No way. He can't be. He's got a giant crush on Mrs. Littleston."
"Real-ly." David tilted his head sideways and regarded Mike Aston. "You think she's the cougar type?"
"She's not that old, is she?"
"Pushing thirty."
I slurped at my Coke. "I think you have to be, like, forty to be a cougar. Anyway, who cares? Let's move down the list."
"Gil Kertzer."
"Barely know him. And I'm pretty sure he hates me."
"Tony B."
"I made fun of his art project one time. Can't be him either."
"That was fifth grade!"
I shrugged. "Still."
David shook his head. "You're making this way too hard."
"Next name!"
He sighed. "Nate Westem."
"Hey, maybe!"
"Nah, he's already going with Denise. Just testing." He winked. "How about Esteban?"
"Huh. He's all about Jen. Everyone knows that."
"Not everyone, I guess." David scratched his head. It looked like he'd run out of people who'd been looking at us or acting weird. "All right, I hate to say it, but--" He paused.
Don't say Booger, don't say Booger.
"Karl?"
I frowned. "I hope not. I like Karl."
"Sounds good to me."
"No, I mean--stupid words--I like Karl, but I don't like like him. I just, I don't feel anything for him, like romantically. I mean, he's nice, but I don't want to go with him. But I don't want to hurt his feelings or whatever."
"Well aren't we Miss Picky today."
That stung. "Well, would you go with Karl?"
David shrugged. "Pretty sure that kid's straight as a--" He flailed for a second. "Straight as something really straight."
"A line?" I asked sweetly.
"Yeah yeah." He sat back, crumpling up his napkin and stuffing it in the pizza box. "So. Let's say Karl does ask you. What do you do?"
"Well, I don't want to hurt his feelings obviously. So I don't really want to say no."
"Wouldn't it be better to be honest up front?"
"I guess. Maybe. But then what if I can't find a date at all?"
"I'm sure you'll think of something."
I gave him a sharp glance. "David, I don't suppose--"
"Whoa, hey." He held up both hands in a stop gesture. "I'm your token gay friend, remember?"
"So? We can go as friends. Duck the social stuff and just have fun at the dance."
"What about my boyfriend?"
I sat up straight. "David Piganelli. Did you start dating someone and not even tell me?"
He made a placating gesture. "Not yet. But hope springs eternal!"
I sighed. "David. I just have this awful feeling like maybe Booger sent me the message. If I go with you then I can tell him no without being mean. Or Karl. Or whoever else it is. I'm pretty sure I won't want to go with them anyway."
David rolled his eyes and stood up. "Booger's not so bad. Anyway much ado about nothing. I'm glad you'd like to use me as a shield, but no thanks." He spoiled the lecturing effect by grinning and adding, "but maybe if I get a message from a secret admirer, it could be mutual! Ha." He wandered off towards the boys bathroom.
Well, he had a point. It wasn't exactly fair to just use David as a shield. Even if it would be more fun to go with him than the vast majority of boys at school. And he'd have fun too! But, well. Better to give him a chance to make it something romantic for himself. Even if that meant I had to--horror of horrors--go stag. Or worse, go with Karl!
I blinked. There was someone sitting next to me. Blond, medium build, fairly tall. He was in my English class. Joe? No, John? John Kay, that was it. "Uh, hi John."
"Mary-Anne. You look a little conflicted." He leaned back on his arms like he was totally comfortable.
"It's that obvious?"
"Nah. Only noticed because I was watching to see if David would leave you by yourself." He grinned, only partly self-consciously.
"Oh." The shape of things was finally coalescing in my mind. "So it was you."
"Yep. Sorry about the secret admirer thing. David said he thought it'd give you a laugh. Doesn't look like it worked that way." He paused. "Whoa, hey. Something wrong?"
I spoke through gritted teeth. "I'm going to kill that little bastard."
John threw his head back and laughed. "So he played along. Good for him."
"At least someone got a laugh out of it."
"Aw, hey. Don't be that way." John sat up straight again and looked right at me. "So. How about it?"
I hesitated. "I--I don't mean to be rude, but I barely know you. And you want to go to the dance?"
"Well, that's how dates usually work." He smiled. "You don't really know the other person, so you go out and see how it goes. If you like them once you've gotten to know them, you do it again."
My mouth formed a round "O."
"I'm not saying I'm in love with you or anything." He gave me a wink. "Yet. But I want a chance to get to know you better. See how it goes."
I sat, not saying anything. When he put it that way, it made complete sense. I wasn't sure if I wanted to date John Kay. Yet. But he was cute, and he was funny, and--
"What do you say? Will you go to the Prom with me?"
What the hell. "Ok."
He smiled in response. Suddenly the world seemed that much brighter.
Confectioner's sugar was found near the crimes scene which was Detective Brooke's office on the third floor of the New Haven apartment complex. No doubt the calling card of the mass murder the media dubbed the "Sweets Strangler". Funny thing that sugar, it's powdery substance could leave imprints of such things as fingerprints or the indents of shoe soles...funny thing. The police, who arrived at the scene mere minutes after the murder due to the call from a voyeur in the building across from the detective's office window, tapes off the area after the coroners carry Brooke's body away.
On the detective's desk assorted with booze, pills, and other messes lay open a single yellow note pad. In it were possible suspects to the stranglings, with one Tommy Ruckwood crossed out at the top of the list. Mr. Ruckwood owns a bakery two blocks from the New Haven which is, coincidentally, the apartment he landlords over. Funny thing.
On the detective's desk assorted with booze, pills, and other messes lay open a single yellow note pad. In it were possible suspects to the stranglings, with one Tommy Ruckwood crossed out at the top of the list. Mr. Ruckwood owns a bakery two blocks from the New Haven which is, coincidentally, the apartment he landlords over. Funny thing.
ZephyrFate
Banned
God I could get one in if I had any time... at all, this week. But no, I didn't, I ended up blowing today on being accidentally dragged into hearing a pyramid scheme job offer that was total bullshit, instead of time I could have spent fucking writing.
Here are your entries ( 10 ):
Ashes1396 - "Murder in the Rain"
ronito - "Jimtown"
John Dunbar - "Watching the Watcher in a Beautiful Dream"
Elfforkusu - "Here Comes the Flood"
Tangent - "De Force"
Scullibundo - "The Clogged Drain"
Irish - "Marbles"
Cyan - "Secret Admirer"
weepy - "Occam's Razor"
Boootaay - "Sword"
___
Man, that sucks, Zeph.
Ashes1396 - "Murder in the Rain"
ronito - "Jimtown"
John Dunbar - "Watching the Watcher in a Beautiful Dream"
Elfforkusu - "Here Comes the Flood"
Tangent - "De Force"
Scullibundo - "The Clogged Drain"
Irish - "Marbles"
Cyan - "Secret Admirer"
weepy - "Occam's Razor"
Boootaay - "Sword"
___
Man, that sucks, Zeph.
British Monsoon
Member
OK, here goes, I wrote this up in record time and didn't have a moment for a single editing pass, so if it's shit...well, so be it.
Sword (2036 words)
The Many Shadowed City sat on the shores of the Black Salt sea whose waters spanned the gap between the Shattered Isle and the ravaged wastes of Old Asahn. The locals called it 'Shaual', which meant 'shadowed' in the old tongue, and shadowed the city was. Beneath it's wealth and beauty it was little more than an iniquitous den of cut-throats and sell-swords beyond count, scores of fearsome maegi and blood reavers, and flocks of cultists and holy men preaching half a hundred religions, all inexorably drawn to the city like moths to a flame. It was for power they came, for swords and for riches, and in that The Many Shadowed City certainly did not lack.
The harbour held dozens of ships, gallant war dromons from the Painted Land that sat lightly in the water next to hulking galleons from Andalar and humble merchant cogs. The foreign quarter was alive at all hours with the cries of street vendors, fighters and slavers hawking their wares while carts trundled by, filled to the brim with all manner of goods and shadowed by sell-sword mercenaries eyeing the crowds warily. Further in the Markets of Plenty housed merchants from all corners of the known world under brightly coloured silken awnings, displaying extravagant wares to delight the wealthy of Shaual, though they did not call the city by that name.
No, in the ornately mosaicked streets of The Exultant Heart they simply called it 'the city', for after the doom of Old Asahn there was only one city left worth mentioning. The Heart was where the great & good of The Many Shadowed City called home, and it was here the endless order of the Grand Sages ruled their sprawling kingdom. But it was a kingdom in decay in the face of the new world's dawn, and while over beyond Asahn's wastes new kingdoms arose, here the city of shadows sat basking in past glories, content to drink and eat itself fat upon the plunder of crumbled empires.
But this tale takes place away from the lavish splendour of The Exultant Heart and it's well-fed inhabitants, instead let us head back towards the foreign quarter, back into that maze of streets and jumble of tumble down buildings built on top of each other. Past wine-sinks and slop kitchens, hovels, brothels and warehouses, to an inn of grave ill-repute named The Gaudy Gull where sits a man alone at a table, sword sheathed before him and drink in hand.
He stares intently at the door, his jet black eyes full of menace. The patrons drink their drinks uneasily, stealing glances at the man and his sword, muttering to one another in hushed, fearful tones. For this was a man to be feared, that much was plain to see. And though none could say they knew the man, his shadow having only just fallen upon The Many Shadowed City this very day, after tonight's deeds all would know his name and this very tale that unfolds as I put quill to parchment...
-------------------------
Harlan Hellsbane sat in the dank pisshole of a tavern and seethed with frustration. For months he'd been following Ulrik's trail across the ravaged wastes and yet the man continued to elude him. Now Harlan found himself alone in this ancient city of secrets and shadows with fuck all clue why Ulrik had come here. The man was mad, no doubt. You'd have to be to raise the ire of Volanar's royal family, and that Ulrik had most certainly done when he stole their greatsword, the ancestral mark of their house and a treasure of doomed Asahn.
The sword was nothing special in itself, old, dented and blackened by age and war and fire, but it was what it represented that mattered, and for that the great royal house of Volanar was willing to pay handsomely. So much so that every hunter and bravo from the western isles were searching for Ulrik and the sword. But none of them knew what Harlan knew, none of them had seen the little reed boat of the fisher-folk sailing silently out across the waters, nor heard the drunken song of a madman as he slipped into the night, brazenly waving Volanar's greatest treasure on high.
So while the other hunters journeyed west through the isles and beyond to the young cities, Harlan went east, across the Evensail Sea and into the wastes of the old world. Ulrik's trail had been easy enough to follow at first as there was only one possible destination, the slave markets of the Hawk Lords that sat near to the edge of Asahn's borders and the western isles only connection with the mysterious lands beyond Asahn, far to the east. From there he bought a horse and made for the whispering shores that snake around the doom of Old Asahn.
Harlan followed his trail but never once caught sight of the man, just the carnage he left in his wake. A dismembered body, a weeping woman raped, half a dozen slavers who thought to regain the horse they had sold Ulrik but found only death. It seemed that in every settlement the man stayed sooner or later a body would appear, which made Harlan's stay in the Many Shadowed City all the more disconcerting, for here in this ancient place, as equally beautiful as it is vile, the body that appeared bloated, face down in the river was that of Ulrik himself.
The sword was not with him however, it was either stolen or lost in the murky depths. That wouldn't make Harlan's employers at all happy, nor him, having travelled beyond the doom of Asahn to this gods forsaken place of thieves and murderers. So now he waited in this piss-ridden wine sink on the word of a money lender, who had it from a fat eunuch friend that in this very tavern a man had been seen boasting about liberating an Asahni greatsword from the fingers of an ignorant pig that couldn't swim and now Harlan waited for him.
But he'd been waiting for hours, and was growing restless. Rising to his feet Harlan barely felt the effects of the weak pisswater the inn served, but he flicked the heavy golden Volanese coin towards the bar all the same, silently cursing the inn-keep and his watery excuse for an ale. Outside it was raining. It rained often in the western isles, but it was nothing compared to this. The rains of the Shadowed City were maddening. They were thicker than the rains of home, if such a thing was possible, and made the black night even blacker, blotting out the clouds that spewed forth from on above.
Trying to remember the way out of the foreign quarter Harlan made his way through the twisting alleyways and streets of the old city. And this was the old part of the city, no doubt. The buildings here were some of the oldest in Shaual, which made even the lowest whorehouse older than any of the young cities of the west. It was a disquieting thought as the rain beat down on all sides. You could sense the very age of the buildings. While Volanar sat fresh and radiant on the shores of the Evensail Sea, Shaual practically oozed history.
Abruptly he realised he had no clue where he was. He looked to the skies, but only found cloud where gaps showed between the buildings, leaning toward each other until they were almost touching. He found himself in a small plaza of sorts with a dribbling fountain that featured a demon woman as it's centre piece, her gaping maw leaking forth water into the upturned mouths of snake-like children whose scaled heads protruded eerily from the water. Harlan suppressed a shudder. He was Hellsbane and had naught to fear from this city. Aye, it's Shaual who should fear Harlan, for he would find the greatsword of Volanar, one way or another.
From behind him he heard the unmistakable scrape of metal on metal as a sword was drawn from it's scabbard. The sword, Harlan could tell even without turning. It was as if he'd voiced his very thoughts to the wind and the universe had responded, as if the gods too were eager to see him find the weapon or find his death. He turned and saw the blade, menacing and black and pointed towards his feet. His eyes followed the length of the blade to the hands holding it, small and slender, weak arms all skin and bone and beyond the gaunt and hollow face of a young girl in rags.
"Help me." she wailed, her heart visibly beating fast behind her paper-thin chest, even as she launched an attack that would have cleaved off Harlan's nose had he not reacted fast enough. Her speed belied her emaciated appearance and when Harlan drew his own sword and the old Asahn metalwork met young Volanese steel he found her much stronger than was surely possible. Sweat beaded on his brow as the pair struggled, teeth gritted, bodies pressed together as mere inches away from their faces the blades danced.
He could see the abject fear and horror that lived in those eyes and when the girl rolled away, rising at the other side of the fountain with the greatsword in hand, he was certain that her movements were not her own. The last blow had clearly dislocated her arm from the socket, yet the bones and nerves and flesh still replied to whatever will controlled them. And control it was, that much he could see, the pain contorting her features as she sped forth to press a fresh attack.
Harlan felt himself waning, the abnormal strength of the girl and the steel she wielded was weighing down on his tired arms. The slightest mistake and this would all be over, the stories life of Harlan Hellsbane ended in a city where none knew his name, none had witnessed his deeds. He would not allow that to happen and with fresh resolve he pressed the girl back, trying in vain to remove the sword from her grip so he didn't have to do what needs must.
But the blade was firm in her grasp, whether she willed it or not, and those pleading eyes were filled only with sorrow when he feinted from a clumsy, yet unnaturally powerful lunging attack and inserted his own blade neatly between her ribcage. Tears welled in her eyes as blood and spittle bubbled on her lips. He pulled forth his weapon and she slumped to the ground, sword clattering at her side. He wondered what had made her attack him, what compelled her so fiercely against her will, but as he had been unable to disarm her he never would find out.
He looked at the discarded greatsword on the floor. An ugly, pock-marked and half-burned thing, but still with an edge as sharp as the day it was forged. The dark red ruby on the hilt seemed to glow as he wiped the girls blood from his blade. He sheathed his sword and bent to pick up the weapon he'd spent so many months chasing. The red ruby pulsed with light as his hand brushed past to grasp the hilt and waves of lightning pain shot through his body sending him into convulsions.
He fought bitterly, although the pain was nigh on unbearable, and when it had subsided he found himself looking at himself from above, watching as he discarded his own blade of the finest Volanese steel before retrieving the greatswords' scabbard and slinging it on his back. His body walked from the fountain and he felt himself follow in tow, like the floating were-lights which he had seen in the swamps and bogs of his childhood. There were others, he sensed them then. Countless others. Men with the eyes of Old Asahn, fearsome warriors, barbarian tribesman, red priests and their fires, dark men from the Painted Isle and men from his own home, noble Volanar.
And there was the girl too, her disembodied whimpering pitiful next to the cold, dark laughter of Ulrik as he cackled madly in the abyss.
Sword (2036 words)
The Many Shadowed City sat on the shores of the Black Salt sea whose waters spanned the gap between the Shattered Isle and the ravaged wastes of Old Asahn. The locals called it 'Shaual', which meant 'shadowed' in the old tongue, and shadowed the city was. Beneath it's wealth and beauty it was little more than an iniquitous den of cut-throats and sell-swords beyond count, scores of fearsome maegi and blood reavers, and flocks of cultists and holy men preaching half a hundred religions, all inexorably drawn to the city like moths to a flame. It was for power they came, for swords and for riches, and in that The Many Shadowed City certainly did not lack.
The harbour held dozens of ships, gallant war dromons from the Painted Land that sat lightly in the water next to hulking galleons from Andalar and humble merchant cogs. The foreign quarter was alive at all hours with the cries of street vendors, fighters and slavers hawking their wares while carts trundled by, filled to the brim with all manner of goods and shadowed by sell-sword mercenaries eyeing the crowds warily. Further in the Markets of Plenty housed merchants from all corners of the known world under brightly coloured silken awnings, displaying extravagant wares to delight the wealthy of Shaual, though they did not call the city by that name.
No, in the ornately mosaicked streets of The Exultant Heart they simply called it 'the city', for after the doom of Old Asahn there was only one city left worth mentioning. The Heart was where the great & good of The Many Shadowed City called home, and it was here the endless order of the Grand Sages ruled their sprawling kingdom. But it was a kingdom in decay in the face of the new world's dawn, and while over beyond Asahn's wastes new kingdoms arose, here the city of shadows sat basking in past glories, content to drink and eat itself fat upon the plunder of crumbled empires.
But this tale takes place away from the lavish splendour of The Exultant Heart and it's well-fed inhabitants, instead let us head back towards the foreign quarter, back into that maze of streets and jumble of tumble down buildings built on top of each other. Past wine-sinks and slop kitchens, hovels, brothels and warehouses, to an inn of grave ill-repute named The Gaudy Gull where sits a man alone at a table, sword sheathed before him and drink in hand.
He stares intently at the door, his jet black eyes full of menace. The patrons drink their drinks uneasily, stealing glances at the man and his sword, muttering to one another in hushed, fearful tones. For this was a man to be feared, that much was plain to see. And though none could say they knew the man, his shadow having only just fallen upon The Many Shadowed City this very day, after tonight's deeds all would know his name and this very tale that unfolds as I put quill to parchment...
-------------------------
Harlan Hellsbane sat in the dank pisshole of a tavern and seethed with frustration. For months he'd been following Ulrik's trail across the ravaged wastes and yet the man continued to elude him. Now Harlan found himself alone in this ancient city of secrets and shadows with fuck all clue why Ulrik had come here. The man was mad, no doubt. You'd have to be to raise the ire of Volanar's royal family, and that Ulrik had most certainly done when he stole their greatsword, the ancestral mark of their house and a treasure of doomed Asahn.
The sword was nothing special in itself, old, dented and blackened by age and war and fire, but it was what it represented that mattered, and for that the great royal house of Volanar was willing to pay handsomely. So much so that every hunter and bravo from the western isles were searching for Ulrik and the sword. But none of them knew what Harlan knew, none of them had seen the little reed boat of the fisher-folk sailing silently out across the waters, nor heard the drunken song of a madman as he slipped into the night, brazenly waving Volanar's greatest treasure on high.
So while the other hunters journeyed west through the isles and beyond to the young cities, Harlan went east, across the Evensail Sea and into the wastes of the old world. Ulrik's trail had been easy enough to follow at first as there was only one possible destination, the slave markets of the Hawk Lords that sat near to the edge of Asahn's borders and the western isles only connection with the mysterious lands beyond Asahn, far to the east. From there he bought a horse and made for the whispering shores that snake around the doom of Old Asahn.
Harlan followed his trail but never once caught sight of the man, just the carnage he left in his wake. A dismembered body, a weeping woman raped, half a dozen slavers who thought to regain the horse they had sold Ulrik but found only death. It seemed that in every settlement the man stayed sooner or later a body would appear, which made Harlan's stay in the Many Shadowed City all the more disconcerting, for here in this ancient place, as equally beautiful as it is vile, the body that appeared bloated, face down in the river was that of Ulrik himself.
The sword was not with him however, it was either stolen or lost in the murky depths. That wouldn't make Harlan's employers at all happy, nor him, having travelled beyond the doom of Asahn to this gods forsaken place of thieves and murderers. So now he waited in this piss-ridden wine sink on the word of a money lender, who had it from a fat eunuch friend that in this very tavern a man had been seen boasting about liberating an Asahni greatsword from the fingers of an ignorant pig that couldn't swim and now Harlan waited for him.
But he'd been waiting for hours, and was growing restless. Rising to his feet Harlan barely felt the effects of the weak pisswater the inn served, but he flicked the heavy golden Volanese coin towards the bar all the same, silently cursing the inn-keep and his watery excuse for an ale. Outside it was raining. It rained often in the western isles, but it was nothing compared to this. The rains of the Shadowed City were maddening. They were thicker than the rains of home, if such a thing was possible, and made the black night even blacker, blotting out the clouds that spewed forth from on above.
Trying to remember the way out of the foreign quarter Harlan made his way through the twisting alleyways and streets of the old city. And this was the old part of the city, no doubt. The buildings here were some of the oldest in Shaual, which made even the lowest whorehouse older than any of the young cities of the west. It was a disquieting thought as the rain beat down on all sides. You could sense the very age of the buildings. While Volanar sat fresh and radiant on the shores of the Evensail Sea, Shaual practically oozed history.
Abruptly he realised he had no clue where he was. He looked to the skies, but only found cloud where gaps showed between the buildings, leaning toward each other until they were almost touching. He found himself in a small plaza of sorts with a dribbling fountain that featured a demon woman as it's centre piece, her gaping maw leaking forth water into the upturned mouths of snake-like children whose scaled heads protruded eerily from the water. Harlan suppressed a shudder. He was Hellsbane and had naught to fear from this city. Aye, it's Shaual who should fear Harlan, for he would find the greatsword of Volanar, one way or another.
From behind him he heard the unmistakable scrape of metal on metal as a sword was drawn from it's scabbard. The sword, Harlan could tell even without turning. It was as if he'd voiced his very thoughts to the wind and the universe had responded, as if the gods too were eager to see him find the weapon or find his death. He turned and saw the blade, menacing and black and pointed towards his feet. His eyes followed the length of the blade to the hands holding it, small and slender, weak arms all skin and bone and beyond the gaunt and hollow face of a young girl in rags.
"Help me." she wailed, her heart visibly beating fast behind her paper-thin chest, even as she launched an attack that would have cleaved off Harlan's nose had he not reacted fast enough. Her speed belied her emaciated appearance and when Harlan drew his own sword and the old Asahn metalwork met young Volanese steel he found her much stronger than was surely possible. Sweat beaded on his brow as the pair struggled, teeth gritted, bodies pressed together as mere inches away from their faces the blades danced.
He could see the abject fear and horror that lived in those eyes and when the girl rolled away, rising at the other side of the fountain with the greatsword in hand, he was certain that her movements were not her own. The last blow had clearly dislocated her arm from the socket, yet the bones and nerves and flesh still replied to whatever will controlled them. And control it was, that much he could see, the pain contorting her features as she sped forth to press a fresh attack.
Harlan felt himself waning, the abnormal strength of the girl and the steel she wielded was weighing down on his tired arms. The slightest mistake and this would all be over, the stories life of Harlan Hellsbane ended in a city where none knew his name, none had witnessed his deeds. He would not allow that to happen and with fresh resolve he pressed the girl back, trying in vain to remove the sword from her grip so he didn't have to do what needs must.
But the blade was firm in her grasp, whether she willed it or not, and those pleading eyes were filled only with sorrow when he feinted from a clumsy, yet unnaturally powerful lunging attack and inserted his own blade neatly between her ribcage. Tears welled in her eyes as blood and spittle bubbled on her lips. He pulled forth his weapon and she slumped to the ground, sword clattering at her side. He wondered what had made her attack him, what compelled her so fiercely against her will, but as he had been unable to disarm her he never would find out.
He looked at the discarded greatsword on the floor. An ugly, pock-marked and half-burned thing, but still with an edge as sharp as the day it was forged. The dark red ruby on the hilt seemed to glow as he wiped the girls blood from his blade. He sheathed his sword and bent to pick up the weapon he'd spent so many months chasing. The red ruby pulsed with light as his hand brushed past to grasp the hilt and waves of lightning pain shot through his body sending him into convulsions.
He fought bitterly, although the pain was nigh on unbearable, and when it had subsided he found himself looking at himself from above, watching as he discarded his own blade of the finest Volanese steel before retrieving the greatswords' scabbard and slinging it on his back. His body walked from the fountain and he felt himself follow in tow, like the floating were-lights which he had seen in the swamps and bogs of his childhood. There were others, he sensed them then. Countless others. Men with the eyes of Old Asahn, fearsome warriors, barbarian tribesman, red priests and their fires, dark men from the Painted Isle and men from his own home, noble Volanar.
And there was the girl too, her disembodied whimpering pitiful next to the cold, dark laughter of Ulrik as he cackled madly in the abyss.
Tim the Wiz
Banned
I hereby let Bootaaay's entry in!
Heh, guess it didn't like it me dodging it last time.
This happened to me in my first year of university. Thought this girl was flirting with me (which actually does happen when you're wearing a suit!) and then she pulls out the quadrant formula and I had to bail as smoothly as possible--"I'll order us some drinks. Be right back!" Anyway, going to that weirdo cult extravaganza should totally be your next story.
Irish said:
Heh, guess it didn't like it me dodging it last time.
ZephyrFate said:
This happened to me in my first year of university. Thought this girl was flirting with me (which actually does happen when you're wearing a suit!) and then she pulls out the quadrant formula and I had to bail as smoothly as possible--"I'll order us some drinks. Be right back!" Anyway, going to that weirdo cult extravaganza should totally be your next story.
Elfforkusu
Member
Should have used it as ammunition for your story!Puddles said:
Bump
ZephyrFate
Banned
Oh my god awesome idea. Depends on next challenge's theme, though. I could totally do it.Tim the Wiz said:
Ashes1396 - "Murder in the Rain" : I don't know... the sentences here felt really clunky. I felt like I had to stop after every one and then read it again to make sure I didn't miss something. Just odd, you know. I also don't really think you conveyed much here. Don't get me wrong, you have a lot of different elements that would make for a great tale, but it feels as if you just threw it all together just because. I think if you had delved more into the situation at hand, the story would have been better off. I don't think the main character really provided much 'traction' for the reader to immerse himself with. Wasn't a fan of your word choices. They were pretty dull and didn't hit the right beats often enough. Not so pretty.
ronito - "Jimtown" : Interesting idea you have here. You settled things quite nicely as well. Your punctuation was fucked though. Seriously... in the ass and all up through the ears. Made a lot of the story difficult to read. Also, there were far too many names to keep track of. Would have been better if you had kept the number down.
John Dunbar - "Watching the Watcher in a Beautiful Dream" : Very nice. It kept me intrigued all the way through. Payoff was kind of flat though. Good descriptions. I wasn't a big fan of the dialogue. It felt very stilted. I wanted to know more about Exley though. Definitely seems like an interesting character.
Elfforkusu - "Here Comes the Flood" : It started out relatively well, but it soon became far too overwhelming for my tastes. You have a way with words, however, you don't want to abuse it. There are way too many descriptors here. Using them in moderation really helps the flow of a story. I wouldn't have used colors as often as you did either. Whittle down the vocabulary a bit. You don't need to come up with a different word all the time. Repetition in word choice helps readability.
Tangent - "De Force" : Those first two sentences... I don't even... Ears, ears, ears. The beginning was rather weak. Really ramped up once you got to: So what did you hear through the cup? Good dialogue throughout. I liked how the story was told through the kids' point of view. It was all pretty magical. I liked how the ending aped the beginning.
Scullibundo - "The Clogged Drain" : There's too much going on in your sentences. Like, it's almost as if you are losing track of what you are writing and then moving on to something else entirely. I'd work on that. Keep it a little more focused and don't be afraid to break off a sentence once what needed to be said is finished.
Irish - "Marbles" : Really felt rushed, especially the ending.
Cyan - "Secret Admirer" : It lacked soul. I don't even know what else to say about it. Sorry.
weepy - "Occam's Razor" : I don't know. I was just confused the whole way through. Sometimes, you would start a sentence and then finish abruptly. Other times you would let a thought go on and on without any real meat to it. Clunky sentences everywhere.
Boootaay - "Sword" : Too many names to include in a first sentence. It almost feels like you have been reading some George R.R. Martin recently with that vocabulary you are using. Argh... far too many proper nouns. TAVERN! ... Alright, it was interesting, but there was far too much there. You should have cut down on just about everything.
___
Votes:
1) John Dunbar - "Watching the Watcher in a Beautiful Dream"
2) Tangent - "De Force"
3) Elfforkusu - "Here Comes the Flood"
_____
Man, if it's already Sunday and I'm the first one to post... Nobody else will be commenting this week. :O
ronito - "Jimtown" : Interesting idea you have here. You settled things quite nicely as well. Your punctuation was fucked though. Seriously... in the ass and all up through the ears. Made a lot of the story difficult to read. Also, there were far too many names to keep track of. Would have been better if you had kept the number down.
John Dunbar - "Watching the Watcher in a Beautiful Dream" : Very nice. It kept me intrigued all the way through. Payoff was kind of flat though. Good descriptions. I wasn't a big fan of the dialogue. It felt very stilted. I wanted to know more about Exley though. Definitely seems like an interesting character.
Elfforkusu - "Here Comes the Flood" : It started out relatively well, but it soon became far too overwhelming for my tastes. You have a way with words, however, you don't want to abuse it. There are way too many descriptors here. Using them in moderation really helps the flow of a story. I wouldn't have used colors as often as you did either. Whittle down the vocabulary a bit. You don't need to come up with a different word all the time. Repetition in word choice helps readability.
Tangent - "De Force" : Those first two sentences... I don't even... Ears, ears, ears. The beginning was rather weak. Really ramped up once you got to: So what did you hear through the cup? Good dialogue throughout. I liked how the story was told through the kids' point of view. It was all pretty magical. I liked how the ending aped the beginning.
Scullibundo - "The Clogged Drain" : There's too much going on in your sentences. Like, it's almost as if you are losing track of what you are writing and then moving on to something else entirely. I'd work on that. Keep it a little more focused and don't be afraid to break off a sentence once what needed to be said is finished.
Irish - "Marbles" : Really felt rushed, especially the ending.
Cyan - "Secret Admirer" : It lacked soul. I don't even know what else to say about it. Sorry.
weepy - "Occam's Razor" : I don't know. I was just confused the whole way through. Sometimes, you would start a sentence and then finish abruptly. Other times you would let a thought go on and on without any real meat to it. Clunky sentences everywhere.
Boootaay - "Sword" : Too many names to include in a first sentence. It almost feels like you have been reading some George R.R. Martin recently with that vocabulary you are using. Argh... far too many proper nouns. TAVERN! ... Alright, it was interesting, but there was far too much there. You should have cut down on just about everything.
___
Votes:
1) John Dunbar - "Watching the Watcher in a Beautiful Dream"
2) Tangent - "De Force"
3) Elfforkusu - "Here Comes the Flood"
_____
Man, if it's already Sunday and I'm the first one to post... Nobody else will be commenting this week. :O
British Monsoon
Member
Irish said:
Lol, I've been reading nothing but George R.R. Martin for the last 2 months as I wanted to re-read through the first 4 books before picking up Dance of Dragons, which I just finished this morning. Whenever I read fantasy I'm always inspired to write it too, but I didn't realise it would be so obvious as to exactly what fantasy I've been reading
And yeah, the whole thing is pretty bloated, if I'd had time I would've given it a couple of editing passes at least, and I had originally planned to make it more of a detective story
by having the lead character following a trail of bodies in pursuit of the sword, rather than just being confronted by it abruptly
Irish said:
I'm working my way through at the moment, I'll definitely try and leave some comments this time.
Bootaaay said:Lol, I've been reading nothing but George R.R. Martin for the last 2 months as I wanted to re-read through the first 4 books before picking up Dance of Dragons, which I just finished this morning. Whenever I read fantasy I'm always inspired to write it too, but I didn't realize it would be so obvious as to exactly what fantasy I've been reading
Well, I might have noticed it more just because I finished rereading the series last week.
OoooOOoohhh... the depths of Wales... :O
John Dunbar
correct about everything
1. Boootaay
2. Tangent
3. Ashes1396
2. Tangent
3. Ashes1396
Elfforkusu
Member
Only selected comments, because I'm lazy!
1) ronito - "Jimtown": Clever. I laughed.
2) Tangent - "De Force"
3) John Dunbar - "Watching the Watcher in a Beautiful Dream"
Honorable mentions:
Boootaay - "Sword": Holy proper nouns, Batman. I really wanted to dislike this after the opening paragraph buried me under a hundred tons of names, but the story ended up being really good.
Cyan - "Secret Admirer"
1) ronito - "Jimtown": Clever. I laughed.
2) Tangent - "De Force"
3) John Dunbar - "Watching the Watcher in a Beautiful Dream"
Honorable mentions:
Boootaay - "Sword": Holy proper nouns, Batman. I really wanted to dislike this after the opening paragraph buried me under a hundred tons of names, but the story ended up being really good.
Cyan - "Secret Admirer"
Ashes1396: I like how you talked about the "useless" police officers and how the characters took justice in their own hands. This reminds me of a story my parents might have told me from "back in the day."
Ronito: Very creative idea! I wonder if there's another way to incorporate Sammy in the story. I was wondering if you could do it intermittently but that would take away all the surprise. Maybe there's some other way though...
John Dunbar: First off, great title. I really liked the bar scene part and the opening. This was a longer story as far as our short stories go, but I didn't feel like any moment of it was wasted or unnecessary.
Elfforkusu: You made me smile when you mentioned "shouting at animals for one's final words came across as being in very bad taste." Very clever line, even though I don't think I'd be as thoughtful in such a moment. Also I like how you included donkeys -- very Ronito-like of you. Lastly, I just loved the colors in this. There was a lot of description, but all of it was worth it. I did think it was funny how the bobcat was gray though, when every other animals had wild colors. I also liked the funny comment about how it would seem "unlikely" that the birds would talk -- especially since they're probably the most likely to talk in our world. I liked the ending but I wonder if there could have been more clues leading up to it.
Scullibundo: Seems like an excellent start to a longer a piece. I like how you have an element of mystery right away.
Irish: Funy story. I liked how you introduced the characters in the beginning. Maybe include some more about Mr. Lewis and why the kids thought he had a "dirty" magazine.
Cyan: Cute story. You did a good job of using a tween/teen voice. Though, somehow I think it can be very tricky to use this voice in a way that still gives story some depth. I don't know how to do it, man! I was curious to know how John Kay knew David.
Weepy: I was wondering if the sugar would be code for, say, cocaine.
Bootaaay: The part that engaged me the most was the fight with the girl with the "paper-thin chest." I liked your detail and description, and you seemed to have a good understanding of the setting of your story -- but sometimes the detail and description slowed down the pace -- though that could just be me.
Votes:
1. John Dunbar
2. Ronito
3. Irish
HM: Elfforkusu
Ronito: Very creative idea! I wonder if there's another way to incorporate Sammy in the story. I was wondering if you could do it intermittently but that would take away all the surprise. Maybe there's some other way though...
John Dunbar: First off, great title. I really liked the bar scene part and the opening. This was a longer story as far as our short stories go, but I didn't feel like any moment of it was wasted or unnecessary.
Elfforkusu: You made me smile when you mentioned "shouting at animals for one's final words came across as being in very bad taste." Very clever line, even though I don't think I'd be as thoughtful in such a moment. Also I like how you included donkeys -- very Ronito-like of you. Lastly, I just loved the colors in this. There was a lot of description, but all of it was worth it. I did think it was funny how the bobcat was gray though, when every other animals had wild colors. I also liked the funny comment about how it would seem "unlikely" that the birds would talk -- especially since they're probably the most likely to talk in our world. I liked the ending but I wonder if there could have been more clues leading up to it.
Scullibundo: Seems like an excellent start to a longer a piece. I like how you have an element of mystery right away.
Irish: Funy story. I liked how you introduced the characters in the beginning. Maybe include some more about Mr. Lewis and why the kids thought he had a "dirty" magazine.
Cyan: Cute story. You did a good job of using a tween/teen voice. Though, somehow I think it can be very tricky to use this voice in a way that still gives story some depth. I don't know how to do it, man! I was curious to know how John Kay knew David.
Weepy: I was wondering if the sugar would be code for, say, cocaine.
Bootaaay: The part that engaged me the most was the fight with the girl with the "paper-thin chest." I liked your detail and description, and you seemed to have a good understanding of the setting of your story -- but sometimes the detail and description slowed down the pace -- though that could just be me.
Votes:
1. John Dunbar
2. Ronito
3. Irish
HM: Elfforkusu
British Monsoon
Member
Votes;
1. Tangent - De Force
2. John Dunbar - Watching the Watcher in a Beautiful Dream
3. Ashes1396 - Murder in the Rain
HM; Irish
In a rush, so I'll post some comments later.
1. Tangent - De Force
2. John Dunbar - Watching the Watcher in a Beautiful Dream
3. Ashes1396 - Murder in the Rain
HM; Irish
In a rush, so I'll post some comments later.
- Status
Similar threads
- Locked