Theme - "On the way"

Word Limit -1,000

All submissions that will be counted in the voting process should be in by Monday 4/7/2008 by 11:59 PM PST.

The voting will then begin on Tuesday 4/8/2008 at 12:00 am PST and go until Thursday 4/10/2008 11:59 pm PST

Previous Challenges:

#1 - "The Things Unseen"
#2 - "An Unlikely Pair"
#3 - "weightless, breathless"

Basic things to remember:

1) There are many ways to interpret the theme for this assignment, we are all writers or wanna-be writers, so keep that in mind when writing and critiquing others' works.

2) Spelling and Grammatical errors can be used to great effect when the story, characters, and setting demand it. However, proofreading and spell-checking your writing will probably result in a more positive attitude towards it when people are voting.

3) All submissions must be written during the time that the thread began until the due date. We don't want a snippet of your doctoral thesis from 1996 being used here.

4) Only one entry per poster. You can submit and then edit, if you'd like, but finalizing before submitting is highly encouraged.

5) Any writing style is welcome, but remember that most people are probably going to vote for the well written short story over an elementary acrostic poem.

6) There is a handy word count checker at www.wordcounttool.com Nobody wants to be a word count nazi, but please keep it under 1000 words.

7) Thousands of people read GAF, so if you don't want some masterpiece of yours to be stolen and seen in Hollywood a year from now, don't post it on here.

8) Using the topic as the title of your piece is highly discouraged. These challenges get a large number of submissions and if entries share the same titles, it's very difficult for the readers to separate them all out come voting time.

Voting Guidelines:

-Anyone can vote, even those that do not submit a piece during the thread.
-Three votes per voter. Please denote in your voting your 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place votes.
-First place votes count as 3, Second Place votes count as 2, and Third Place as 1 point.
-When voting period ends, votes will be tallied and the winner will get a collective pat on the back and will be in charge of picking a new topic to write about and pick the word length.
-Please read all submissions before voting, it is only fair to those who put in the effort.

NOTE TO THE WINNER:

-Generally, people have been comfortable with a 1000 word limit, but you get to choose to lower or raise the limit in the topic of your choice.

-When you start the new thread, please follow the naming scheme, NeoGAF Creative Writing Challenge ## - "your topic here", then copy and paste this thread, changing the theme, due date, voting date, word count, and add the previous theme to the list at the bottom.

Stories
Much thanks to RumpledForeskin for compiling the list. Submission time is over. Voting time has begun


Davedough - Patricia
Great Rumbler - A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Pluto
LunaClover - Truth of the matter
RumpledForeskin - On the way - Always Late
2DMention - -Rowena-
Mato - Red Clay Door
ronito - Gratus and Claudius
Mash - Sotto Voce
Solaros - From Birth to Death
nitewulf - Contentment, a la Zen
Cyan - Old Ma Meg
RevenantKioku - The Jumbled Heap of Thoughts and Freshly Made Scrap Metal
Aaron - Up Above is Where the Devil Dwells
{Mike} - Guilty Pleasure
John Dunbar - Dinghy
Scribble - First Step, Mother
Oldschoolgamer - Memories and Delusions of a Deranged Lover
Speschal K - The Writer
DumbNameD - Along the Rails
Azih - The Case
Mike Works - Ruby Lake


THE RESULTS:

DumbNameD 17 (4 first place votes)
Great Rumbler 10 (3 first place votes)
Nitewulf 9 (1 first place vote)
Aaron 5 (1 first place vote)
Ronito 4
Mike Works 2
Cyan 2
2DMention 2
Davedough 2
{Mike} 1

Since I'm on the East coast could someone from the PST zone take care of cutting off the submission and voting deadlines?

Oddly enough I have no ideas about what I'm going to do for this theme and I came up with it.

Thanks for starting the new challenge immediately. I know everyone can't do it EVERY week, but I'm on a roll now. I'm the ultimate procrastinator, and these threads are awesome, and have helped me to write on a regular basis.

I think I'll be able to think up a few ideas for this theme.

I think the weekly thing is really good. It keeps you on your toes. It's challenge. As to the topic. Hooo boy. The other ones I participated in I had ideas right away. Now I'm just drawing a blank.

Idea get!

It's an idea I had for the last challenge, I just have to modify it slightly to better fit the theme.

Within a few minutes I was able to come up with several diverse ideas. I think we'll see the broadest spectrum of stories yet this round.

Iceman said:

Idea get!

It's an idea I had for the last challenge, I just have to modify it slightly to better fit the theme.

Within a few minutes I was able to come up with several diverse ideas. I think we'll see the broadest spectrum of stories yet this round.

Click to expand...

Really? I hope so. I can see us getting a lot of space stories again.

I see a lot of 'road movie' stories. Not to burst anyone's bubble or anything, though.

As much as I want to move away from scifi/fantasy and try something different, all of the ideas I get fall squarely into that category.

Oh well, no sense in not being true to myself.

ronito said:

Really? I hope so. I can see us getting a lot of space stories again.

Click to expand...

scribble said:

I see a lot of 'road movie' stories. Not to burst anyone's bubble or anything, though.

Click to expand...

great rumbler said:

As much as I want to move away from scifi/fantasy and try something different, all of the ideas I get fall squarely into that category.

Click to expand...

and mine is a sports story.

So, I've never written anything before and wanted to give this a shot so you guys could rip apart my skills, but what if its slightly over 1000 words? Do I trim it down? It looks like it comes in at about 1250 words.

Davedough said:

So, I've never written anything before and wanted to give this a shot so you guys could rip apart my skills, but what if its slightly over 1000 words? Do I trim it down? It looks like it comes in at about 1250 words.

Click to expand...

Yep, trim it down. It can be pretty painful, especially when you're like, thirty words over and everything seems too relevant to cut out...but it's part of the challenge. Looking forward to reading it.

Great Rumbler said:

As much as I want to move away from scifi/fantasy and try something different, all of the ideas I get fall squarely into that category.

Oh well, no sense in not being true to myself.

Click to expand...

yeah, my stories tend to err on the 'fantastical' side (sci fi, fantasy, or at least unrealistic). if an idea comes for a normal setting, i'll take it, but i'm not going to ignore something in the same genre if it comes to me either. play on your strengths.

~Patricia~



Friends have all but stopped coming over to the manor. It seems that the festivities that once sprang from these grounds have halted in one final gasp. Foreboding events of the past have soured the estate and its residents. Once a place where Alex McDale and his lovely wife Patricia would frequent, only to live a lavish lifestyle that fortune had bestowed upon them, now is a place forgotten. When he lost her to a night filled with more spirits than sense, he changed for the worse. Even the housekeepers in all their due diligence have given up on the place. While it's no fault of the grounds themselves, its every bit the fault of the ground's master. Ever since that night he hasn't been the same. Wanting to wallow in his own misery as many thought. Upstairs in the master suite of the great expanse that is the McDale estate, only a sole lamp shines through the dark night. Only a single beacon illuminates the impending darkness from beyond, promising to chase away shadows that are not welcome. If only a simple lamp held such mystical powers; maybe then he could finally rest in peace.

Every night begins the same way for him. Cold, alone, scared, tired, sick. Nothing ever changes. He looks around the room and waits for it. Waits for what he has named his Succubus to appear before him and frighten him to the core of his soul. "Why does she haunt me relentlessly?" he asks himself, but never formulates an answer. He has yet to find what she needs, what she desires in him to let him be, to leave him alone.

Down the hallway, a loud slam of a door is heard, but he knows that he is utterly alone in this house. Creaking floorboards and a distinct scratching on the walls like claws being dragged across the bark of a submissive tree branch. He knows she's close. Tormenting him with the drama of her entrance. Just as the creaking and scratching and tearing and churning reach their horrible crescendo at the door, it stops as soon as it began. Left with a fleeting feeling of relief, he prays in these moments of silence for reprieve, but receives none. His bedroom door flies open in a display of power that can only be described as supernatural and there she is. Hovering mere inches above the floor almost begging to touch, he can see her feet. They appear blue in color and wrinkled as if submerged in the depths of the sea for an eternity. Following his glance up, her gown flows in the ethereal wind that surrounds her, ragged, torn, disheveled yet vaguely familiar. Fingernails long and hardened from time forgotten appear to be dagger like in their sharpness and efficiency. Her hair is long, ragged and hanging in front of her face. In 10 long years he has yet to see her face. His courage wanders and this nightmare is over long before he gets a chance. Every night it lasts mere minutes, but feels like an eternity with every breath that shakily escapes his trembling lips.

Tonight is different. He is more aware of her presence and something has changed in her demeanor. Before he can process what is different, she begins floating towards him. As if melding with the air around her, her body shifts in phase in and out of visual perception as she moves. Twitchy and static in her gait, she creeps ever closer to him. Rattled by the change from the usual occurrence, Alex begins to shake uncontrollably and screams out "Who are you!? What do you want from me?". Like any other time, he still receives no answer, yet still she advances forward. She should be gone by now to let him lay awake in his fears and wonder, but tonight she moves with purpose. He scurries back until his back is pressed against the wall but it's too late. She is already poised with her face mere inches from his. He can feel the cold emanating from her decrepit skin. For the first time in 10 years he can see her face clearly but instantly wishes he never did. Sodden, sunken and decayed he has a hard time making out where the skin stops and the bone begins. This undead abomination is vile and his stomach turns. He musters up the courage to ask, possibly for the last time, "What do you want from me?".

Gurgling and sounding as if speaking through layers of puss and bile a guttural voice emanates that sounds nothing of this Earth. "Kiss me".

Shocked he turns his face to fight the waves of nausea spilling over him. Again, "kiss me", this time seems almost pleading, yet still just as horrifying as ever. One final time, the words spill out, "kiss me" and against all better judgment, he gives her one final look and leans forward, ready to meet his final consequence.

Their lips intertwine with one another and Alex can feel creatures normally resident in the soils of a garden weaving their way through her mouth, sucking up any valuable flesh from her corpse. Faint and on the verge of passing out, he looks up and sees the empty sockets that once housed orbitals for clear vision and in that instant, a light too bright to comprehend fills the room and bathes everything in a gentle warm glow. He squints against it to try and see what is happening. As his eyes get used to the sudden change he sees a familiar image quickly fading into the distance, smiling and longing. He gasps. "PATRICIA!" he calls out. His long lost wife taken suddenly by that foolish night of celebration. Halted by his own decision to take her home without the aid of a more sober driver. Tonight she's there in front of him. On her way to a better place having finally received what she always wanted. Her final kiss goodbye.

Word Count: 880

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Pluto

“Okay, now, explain this to me one more time, slowly if possible.”

“Well…we’re falling into the sun, if you want to be layman about it.”

“That’s what I thought you said, but the way you said it was very technical and I wasn’t sure that I fully understood the gist of your convoluted explanation.”

Goddard adjusted his glasses with his left middle finger. This always irritated Edison because, as he put, “it looked very much like something that people did when they were about to flaunt their intelligence".

Clarke poked his head into the cramped cabin. “Did someone say that we’re falling into the sun?”

He was less upset, concerned, or panic-stricken than he was overly-excited, not unlike a child that has just been told that he is about to receive a large portion of his favorite flavor of ice cream.

“Yes, Clarke,” Edison hissed at him, “Where were you during all of this?”

“He was asleep, which was the same thing that he was doing when he should have been inputting the calculations for orbital realignment.”

“Oh, great job, Clarke. You’ve doomed us all to a fiery death!”

Clarke rubbed his hands together gleefully. “It makes for some gripping drama, don’t you think?”

“Not when you’re living it!”

“I’ll go get my camera!” He called out as he dashed towards his room at the end of this ship.

“Hope you’ve got your last will and testament ready,” Goddard said cheerfully, “I’ve got mine.”

Goddard handed a small piece of paper to Edison. Edison took the paper and read it. He read it again, then turned the paper over and looked at the other side, which was blank.

“Nobody’s going to do that!”

“Hey, I’ve got big dreams, okay! I’m not going to let something stupid like a fiery death ruin everything.”

“Well, that’s it,” Edison said, finally giving up on it all, “I’m going to go throw myself out of the airlock.”

“What’ll that prove?”

“It’s better then being stuck in here with you two whack-jobs for the rest of my life!”

Edison promptly left.

A few minutes later, Clarke returned to the cockpit carrying a large notepad, which he was scribbling in furiously, and his digital camera.

“Where did Edison go?”

“I think he threw himself out of the airlock.”

“Oh,” said Clarke, “Did he take a notepad with him?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Shoot, he could’ve at least written down what the experience was like.” He looked down at Goddard, “I really could have used something like that.”

“For what? We’ll be dead in a few moments.”

“I know! Isn’t it incredible?”

“I suppose if that sort of thing that interests you.”

“Is it getting hot in here?”

Then, the ship disappeared in a brief flare of light. Somewhere back on Earth, a dog barked, though it is unlikely that the two events were connected.

Edison opened his eyes. He turned his head one way and saw nothing. He turned his head the other way and saw nothing. He looked up. Clarke was standing over him.

“You really sleep a lot,” Clarke said.

“WWWWHHHHAAAAA?!” Said Edison.

“Keep it down over there,” Goddard called from where he was sitting some distance away. He was staring intently at a chess board.

“Didn’t we just crash into the sun?” Edison asked

“Yes,” Clarke replied.

“And die?”

“Yes.”

“So where are we?”

“Some kind of purgatory, I suppose.”

“Purgatory? You mean that ghastly place where you go after you die and there’s nothing but blank walls and you don’t have anything to do and it’s really boring?”

“Yes.”

“Oh that is just great! Really wonderful, Clarke!” Edison yelled, throwing his arms up in the air and shaking them violently, “I was just saying the other day how it would be the greatest thing in the world if we could all die and then go to Purgatory together for the rest of eternity with nothing to do!”

Clarke beamed. “Don’t worry, I came prepared!”

Clarke dug around in his backpack and took out a book. Edison took it from him and looked at the title.

“Oh boy, my favorite.” He turned to the first page and started reading.

Clarke went back to where Goddard was sitting.

“What’s his problem?” Goddard asked, not looking up from the board

“Problem?”

Goddard glanced up at Clarke. He briefly considered taking the conversation further, but there probably wasn’t any point.

“It’s your move.” Goddard said.

Clarke reached down and moved his king several spaces to the right. It was checkmate, but Goddard had somehow not noticed it.

“Up for another game?”

“No, I think I’ll spend the next five trillion years jogging in that direction,” he said, pointing away from Clarke and Edison, “And see where that gets me.”

“You can never get too much exercise!”

Clarke went back to where Edison was sitting.

“Want to play chess?”

Edison considered the alternatives. Then he looked down at the book he was still holding.

“How about a role-playing game instead?”

“What’s that?”

Edison sighed. “Where’s Goddard?”

“He went jogging a few minutes ago.”

“I’m going too,” Edison said, jumping to his feat and taking off after the shrinking figure of Goddard.

Clarke took out a small notepad. This place, he wrote, is so cool.

Great Rumbler - A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Pluto

EDIT: Sorry, I wrote the previous entry about 10 mins before I left for work...and I just now remembered to finish it :lol

She stood there in her kitchen to cry. Knowing full and well that dinner was expected promptly at 6, she took a few moments to herself. She cursed herself. She cursed her faith. With the last tear, she cursed him.

“Get in here NOW!” he said. She wiped off her face, and checked it in a reflective pan. She reapplied her powder and put his food on the TV tray.

Every inch of his plate was filled with food. All utensils were lined up as requested. She brought his food directly to his chair, and tucked a napkin beneath the edges of his undershirt. “You’re late”
She froze. She quickly realized he was referring to dinner.

A few weeks earlier she had missed a pill. She miscalculated. It was all her fault. Now she looks at these two miserable lines in fear. She checked the instructions on the box. “NO!!!” she silently screams. No options. No way out. She continues to cry while sitting on the ceramic toilet, holding the stick of proof.

He comes into the bed room and slams the door behind him. She quickly hides the evidence of life upon the top of the counter, above any reason he would look for. He sits down on the bed and takes his mud caked boots off, causing dirt to blanket the floor. He doesn’t care; he just leans backwards to stretch and unbuttons his pants to let his swollen belly expand to its limits. He can see she’s in the bathroom, he knows she’s been crying. Fuck if he cares. He always gets second best, and right now, this the time to get his.

She walks into the bedroom, avoids eye contact. She starts to walk thru the doorway to get away from him. He walks with force around to face her directly, jerks her body upright and asks why should she has any reason to be crying. She stares at him blankly. “It’s nothing, im going to my Mothers” she says quietly.

“No your not, who the fuck said you could go anywhere -don’t fucking run away from me!” He throws her down onto bed, ripping the delicate robe that she favored. He shoves his gritty face into her breasts, scraping them with his unshaven face. He pins her wrists down behind her head. She froze again, just like last time. A tear escapes and she tries to cover it by turning her head to the side. He shoves himself inside of her. She doesn’t make a sound. He picks her up and puts her on her knees, and grabs her hips and angrily fucks her. She feels more tears on the pillow below her. “Please God, make it stop” she says to herself. She knows even if she wanted to, there would be no way of getting him off and out of her. So she lays there, as he quickly finishes inside of her.

Her brother in law leans over to her ear “If you ever tell your husband about this, I will kill you.”

She waits until he finally releases her from his grip and walks at a brisk pace to her neighbors house. She stands in front of a dark red door holding her robe closed, waiting for someone…anyone to answer her call. Ginger finally answers the door in her crisp white apron. She gasps a little at Shell’s appearance.

“Is everything ok dear? You look very upset”
“Oh, well…may I come in and possibly use your telephone?”

Shell walks in on her bare feet, wiping them gently on the floor mat. Ginger looks back at her and gives her a smile. Shell takes a seat on some freshly polished oak chairs, as Ginger pours her a cup of fresh coffee.

“Ginger, im in a bit of a bind and im really not sure what to do. Im pregnant.”

Ginger bounces up and gives her a congratulatory hug, then realizes that Shell hasn’t moved and a tear rolled down her face. She sat back down, and her heart dropped into her stomach.

“This isn’t good. I know your husband has been away in Chicago for 2 months now…oh Shell dear” They both start to cry, as Ginger hugs her…thinking deeply, remembering how very little she has seen of Shell, knowing she should of come checked on her sooner.

“We need to call Lou” Ginger says with clarity.
“No, if he finds out, Paul said he will kill me.”

“We are not going to let that happen” Ginger says, formulating her plan.

She takes Shell by the hand and leads her into the downstairs den.

“Hello Lou, this is Ginger, yes hi, Im afraid I have some bad news”

Shell looks over in shock, she starts towards her as Ginger holds her hand up.

“I need you to take the next flight home, im about to take your wife to the hospital, she has some internal bleeding.”




Ginger hung up the phone to find Shell in a daze. “Oh don’t worry dear, I’ve got a plan”

As Shell walked back into her house, Ginger started to gather materials. She rang Lou again. “Lou, its Ginger, Im about to tell you something that already has me contemplating things” She explains the situation about his wife, and how she believes that his brother is at fault.

Lou arrives home in the middle of the night, and asks his cabbie to drop him off 2 houses before the correct location. He bends down to some dense bushes and pulls out a .45 pistol that Ginger had previously laid out for him. He also puts on the leather gloves that the gun was wrapped up in.

Lou walks into his house at 3 am to find only a nightlight on in the hallway. He has his shoes off and walks silently into his bed room to find his brother sprawled out on his bed. His body looks a little contorted. He notices that he is not breathing…he turns the light on to see that someone had beat him to the chase.

“He was going to kill me Lou, he raped me, I…I panicked” she started to stutter.

His wife sat in the corner with the remainder of the thin bloody rope, dried to her hands. He dropped the gun and ran over to her.

Wow, cool theme. I forgot that voting had ended last night. Congrats, Azih! A well-deserved victory.

And we already have a few submissions! Maybe it's a good idea to post the new topic right away, and keep the momentum going...

On the way - Always Late

-------------------------------

It was never about the ticks of the clock, but the ticks always hurt,

The illusion never mattered, but it was always in the way,

By the time the destination came, the destination changed,

On the way to nothing, you're always late.

--------------------------------

RumpledForeskin - On the way - Always Late

609 words
-Rowena-

Life was tough on the road. This is doubly true when you’re pregnant. Rowena understood the rigors of the road well. A truck driver for 10 years, she has also been pregnant for 4 months. At first she was going to take a break, take a vacation, but she desperately needed the money. Besides, she liked to keep busy. Rowena looked out the window of her rig. The hills of Montana rolled past endlessly. It was 3am, and Rowena was feeling somewhat lucid having not slept well the past few days. She was in a nether-state halfway between being awake and sleepy. It was an almost euphoric feeling; somewhere between the high of smoking a freshly-rolled joint and a good beer buzz. She was just alert enough to stay on the road, but “sleep-stoned” enough to have a heightened, keen sense of concentration. Of course since her pregnancy, she didn’t go near any dope or spirits; this made those long hauls almost excruciating. She made do with her satellite radio. Rowena never understood the draw with truckers and their Cbs. Ever since satellite radio came in, truckers seemed less interested in using them, and besides, they always talked about inane bullshit anyway. Rowena surfed the channels on the radio like a teenager with ADD; for 5 minutes she listened to talk radio, when that got boring, she listened to some country, once that got stale, some top 40 was an order, she even heard Fleetwood Mac’s “Go Your Own Way”. When she started trucking 10 years ago, analog radio at this hour was a vacuous void of classical, or pop-country stuff like Shania Twain. Satellite radio was a godsend in this modern age.

Rowena pulled into a truck stop to gas up. When she got out of her truck to pay, she was greeted with rueful stares from some of the other customers. “What the fuck is their problem?” she thought to herself. “Haven’t these douchebags seen a pregnant trucker before?” On her way out, she noticed something that she didn’t see coming in: An Eight Ball Deluxe pinball table. A robotic redneck voice modulated out of the speakers: “Quit talkin’ and start chalkin’.” That familiar voice from her youth beckoned her to play. “I got time – why not?” she thought to herself. Rowena had always loved pinball as a kid, but it was a rare treat for her since her family was so poor she could barely afford to play very often. It also didn’t help that she was insecure about girls playing pinball. She hesitated to drop the warn 1990 quarter she had in her pocket into the coin slot. “Is anybody looking at me?” She wondered. “Whoever would see me playing would really think I’m a tomboy,” she thought to herself. After playing her game, she ambled back to her rig. She stared at the digital display for the clock. It was blank. She put the key in the accessory position to power it. It read 5:45 am. “Damn, I’m bushed. I better get some shut-eye.” The sleeper cab was small, but adequate. She nestled under the covers and drifted into R.E.M. oblivion. She was on the way to dreamland.

Rowena woke up feeling disheveled, but rested none-the-less. She rolled down the window, and pushed the driver’s side mirror toward her so she could see to brush her teeth. She stared at herself in the mirror, her red hair resembling Wendy from the burger franchise. It was just as greasy as the burgers they served. She pulled out of the stop, she was on the way to Boise, as was her baby.

Great Rumbler said:

Great Rumbler - A Funny Thing Happened on the way to Pluto

Click to expand...

awesome

Damn it, I know what I want to write, but it just isn't working. It won't come out the way I want it to. :/

Are we losing steam here? Come on team, let's get down to writing (and reading too!) We can do it!

Here's my contribution. I'd like some opinions but I'm getting used to not getting any.





"Red Clay Door"




Stroke by stroke, canvas by canvas, the young painter was trying to get there. Sitting in the dim room, never once envious of the people who were spending their time outside in the sun, he continued to try to get to the point. The point was… he needed to create a painting approximately 2x3 meters. An accurate depiction of Hell. The red elements and fierce exaggerations of his latest try, meant he was getting there. Suddenly the door behind him creaked as it opened. The young artist turned around surprised. A shady man in an long coat and a black hat was standing there.


“Who are you? Can I help you?” Said the artist.

“Mr. Warren Smith, I assume? Correct?” Asked the stranger

“Yes”

“I have been notified that lately you’ve been acting increasingly recklessly. Your efforts to gain illicit access to our prohibited land, appears to be going places.”

“You mean, you come from….?” Asked Warren with an apparent expression of awe on his face.

“Yes. You understand of course how difficult you position is. You must stop what you are doing immediately. In return we will offer you a prize. A woman. She can be your new muse or whatever.”

The shady stranger from hell abruptly stepped into the room. With swift moves which surprised Warren, he took the latest canvas and destroyed it with a large silver scissor. When he was done he greeted Warren laconically and soon he was gone. The last words he said were:

“Don’t be a fool Mr. Smith. Try to forget about us. You will not be admitted no matter how hard you try. “




Later that evening as the sun was beginning to set, there was a short but firm knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer, the door opened and a beautiful woman entered.

“Mr. Warren Smith ! You idiot! Stupid man. They kicked me out because of you!”

Warren who was initially left speechless, now tried to defend himself against this unfair attack.

“It’s not my fault them are so elite! You would have been send away anyway!”
The woman wasn’t listening. She was screaming and yelling and crying. In a while the woman seemed to be calming down.

“Mr. Smith. Listen. You mustn’t stop painting! I must get back to my home. My husband my children! Who will take care of them? I must go back! Please try one more time! Create one final painting for me! I will tell you what to draw. I know of a very desolate place, were there aren’t any guards, just dead bodies who murmur in the air. I promise I will take you with me."

Thus the woman started describing and the man listening to her words, tried to convey as best as he could.




Matters progressed inside the painting. A red clay door. The abyss of the lucky suicidal people who were automatically admitted. Skulls talking, sitting in the red desert sand. The air coming from far away lands, who smells of burned flesh and pain.

At one point the woman said
“We have blood rivers and fountains. We keep alligators for pets. We know savoir vivre about how to properly dissect and eat an angel. The wing is the best part.”

Presently the painting seemed to be coming to life. Suddenly a small stream of blood started to leak from one corner and soon an entire river was flowing outside and into the room. Warren Smith and the woman and were trying to walk against the flow towards the painting. Amongst all the commotion they heard someone beating the windows from outside.

“Lambs!” The woman said.
“We must hurry ! The Christians are now aware of the conspiracy! They want in! They will destroy our beautiful land with Jesus Christ merchandise! Hurry, jump in!”

Off they went, and we never saw them again. The moment they entered, the painting burst like a red balloon filled with blood and the whole room was left red.

NOTE: This is my first try at historical fiction. What a challenge. That being said while the overall events and people did happen, I did take some liberty in order to make it more exciting than a lecture. I paint Claudius as an unwilling party caught up in the politics of Rome in fact many scholars believe that he was in on the plan to kill Caligula and the whole story of Gratus finding him hidden is just a legend. Gratus also never appears again in any account after his supposed finding of Claudius. But I liked the idea of continuity. Most scholars hold that Claudius actually hated Messalina. This does definitely seem the case. However his reaction of ordering the Praetorian guards to kill him should he ever remarry does not seem an action of a man entirely devoid of feelings to the woman. I took that and ran with it. Some scholars hold that Messalina was indeed killed up on Claudius' orders and all accounts of her death include her mother being there. As to the mother, I didn't have enough room to put her in and she also served little purpose. I do not know if Claudius ordered the murder, most likely it was Pallas. Lastly, Pallas was an advisor to Claudius and hardly an assassin, however people did have a way of ending up dead if they crossed Pallas, and the word limit did not allow for such subtlties. I hope you enjoy it.



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Gratus and Claudius -1000 words

I serve Rome. Only Rome. Not a person. Not a group. Only Rome. One would think that a Praetorian would pay allegiance to the Emperor he vows to protect. But it is said the dust of the dead may blow away in the wind, but the urn remains. Thus it is with Rome. I understand this. Most do not. Yet those that understand are my brothers. It is to such a brother that I bring hard news.

It is not the first time I have done so to this brother. The first time I delivered such news was a night much like tonight, hot, muggy, abuzz with insects and that night had a pensive walk just like the one I am taking now. The news of Caligula's murder had come to me quickly. I knew that if I did not act promptly Rome would descend again into civil war. There was one hope to avert chaos. Claudius, last in the line of Augustus, still lived. He walked with a limp, stuttered when he talked and drooled when angry, yet he still lived and with him lived the possibility of peace. I knew he was at his home, and the man would either agree with me or die by my sword. I served Rome. She needed a new Emperor and I would get one for her and not be turned away. I found him hiding behind a curtain. After ripping the curtain off from the frightened man I knelt before him secretly prepared to strike.

"Imperator!" I said looking into Claudius' eyes. I had heard he was a half-wit, even heard it from his own mother. But the eyes that met mine were not those of an idiot. He simply nodded accepting the mantle I had thrown upon him and I knew he was my brother. We walked to the Palatine hill where three legions of Praetorian guards were waiting. As he shuffled at my side Claudius said nothing. I felt a pang of guilt. Both of us knew I was damning Claudius. Emperors seldom died peacefully. The legions of Praetorian guards upon seeing us descending the hill started chanting his name and shouting their allegiance. They had blinded themselves to his handicaps in order to see peace. The senate could not disagree and Claudius became Emperor.

I was again on a pensive walk and again Claudius had a choice. Accept what I had done for Rome or die by my sword which still bore the blood of his wife. She threatened Roman stability and had to be removed. Her name was Messalina. While it had been a marriage of convenience Claudius truly loved her. Messalina did not love him; I suppose that made him love her even more. She called him "the cripple" and would have nothing to do with him. I saw how he pined after her. How he died a little each time she took a new lover. He let her do as she wanted, so long as she was close.

But Messalina pushed too far. She took Gaius Silius, one of her lovers and married him in public making a cuckold of a man who did nothing but love her. Gaius offered no defense and only asked for a quick death, a request that Claudius granted. Yet Messalina remained. She, most beloved of the Emperor, remained in a strange stasis as Claudius knew she would have to be killed but could not bring himself to order it.

Action was required and I took it. An Emperor cannot be seen as weak. I found her in the Gardens of Lucullus. A dagger lay on the ground next to her, she had obviously tried to kill herself but couldn't do it. Unlike her lover Gaius, Messalina did not die quickly. I saw to that.

Those that bring instability to Rome are swine, and I am their butcher. With the red streaks of my profession across my chest and face I finally get to the doors of the dining room where Claudius is entertaining senators. Conversations and laughing can be heard through the din of eating. I take a deep breath, open the door and walk in. Instant silence greets me as I enter the room still bloodsoaked. Senators look at me with thinly veiled nervousness. The time has come for Claudius to choose again. If he falters I will kill him. Rome cannot have a weak Emperor.

"Sire, I have killed the traitorous Messalina per your orders." I state in a formal voice.

My eyes bore into Claudius awaiting his answer. The Emperor's eyes are silent, unreadable. He nods slightly, raises his goblet and says, "More wine." as if nothing had happened.

I quietly back out of the room as conversation begins anew. Claudius had passed yet again. I walk down the corridor and prepare to leave but a hand on my shoulder stops me.

"Gratus, come with me." A high voice says behind me. I know the voice to be that of Pallas, Claudius' freedman and rumored assassin. A chill runs through my body as it stops.

"I think you know why." Pallas' voice pipes and I realize he's right. Claudius had known I would've taken matters into my own hands. He also knew that I was one of the few that were privy to his love for Messalina. Leaving me alive was a liability; I was a witness to his weakness. Rome cannot have a weak Emperor.

A thin smile spreads across my face. In this Claudius not only rids himself of a danger, but also gets retribution for the hell I have set upon him. So butcher becomes swine.

"Come this way. Let's not make a scene." Pallas whispers as the hand on my shoulder tightens.

I nod slightly just as Claudius had done a few moments prior, and let Pallas' hand guide me. One last pensive walk and then I die. This is what's best for Rome and after all I serve Rome. Only Rome.

god damn, for a week where i only had to go into the office once, i have been busy as HELL

i'm gonna try and get something written tonight, but i'm so damn tired from soccer

must... write... for gaf....

Lessons learned:

I'm going to try something new. I figured I'd post what I learned from this exercise so that it might help others. But mainly to remind myself. But hopefully it will help someone other than me too. And hopefully I can see what other people learned from their writings.

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I started off with it being narrated by Claudius. That didn't work. What I learned from my first entry (The Unlikely Pair) into these things is there has to be action. Claudius didn't do any actions in any of this. Therefore it was too dry. I spent too much time on this. I should've thought it through before I started writing.

My biggest problem was that I was "married" to my idea too soon. I was set on doing something historical and I settled on the Claudius/Messalina story too quickly. I probably could have done something better if I hadn't insisted on doing something so complicated.

It always takes more words than you expect. Plan accordingly.

This was the first entry where I actually had to cut stuff out (first draft was 1,400 words). I had tackled too much with the coronation, the Messalina thing, the whole bit. I tried to do too much.

Historical fiction is very difficult to do within a short limit. I had plans with many more characters and much more facts, but those ended up not getting in due to space limitation. I probably will not do it again.

I really don't like the present tense first person thing. I don't think it worked for me yet doing it any other way would've been too passive.

What's going on? Where's the usual entrants? Seems like we're losing steam as mentioned earlier. Come on people! Write! Read!!!

Here's my first set of feedback:

Davedough: Interesting concept. However, I do feel that you spend too much time on the beginning overstating stuff. Most of the first paragraph could've easily been less than half the size. Also, can lips intertwine? Mesh, perhaps, compress, sure, but intertwine? Still very promising I hope to see more of your stuff in the future.

Great Rumbeler: Silliness abounds. I don't know what to make of it. Here's the thing. I realize you're going for kooky crazy characters for comedy. But the best comedy is based in reality. Even in the Hitchhiker's guide where there were tons of really crazy people they all had a reason for being that way. Here you're just sorta stuck with people acting a way that no one would normally act and you don't know why. The result for me was being left with a confused "Why are they acting like this?" Perhaps making one a robot or at least giving the reader some reason why they act the way they do. It'll only make the characters more lovable. Also the dog barking thing was a bit jarring. Honestly though this was my favorite entry from you so far.

LunaClover: Very strong entry. I likee. A few suggestions. You change case in the middle of the story it was a bit jarring for me. The last line was also not needed. Cutting it out altogether makes it end on a much stronger note. Also you spend a lot of time describing her surroundings and not him. So it makes it feel to the reader she's trapped by her surroundings more than him. I don't know if that was intentional. Very nice and emotional something that we've needed in these challenges.

RumpledForeskin: Not to nitpick but if you were going to nothing wouldn't you always be on time? Still I like it especially the illusion line it stands out.

2DMention: Very nice. I like it. A lot. Though the lack of anything actually happening hinders it a bit. But you still captured the moment nicely. I'd suggest that if you're doing something like this try to be a bit more descriptive. Really make the reader feel like they're there with her. Nevertheless, it's hard to fault you here. I will say however, having done many, many drives at 3am if you look out your window you wont see hills.

Mato: Firstly, I learned after my plane crash of an entry last time that running your story though a text to speech is invaluable. "It’s not my fault them are so elite! You would have been send away anyway!" That aside, your story needs more room/time. While the first paragraph is very strong the rest feels sorta jumbled and feels more like an outline of what you wanted to do rather than what you wanted to do. I was left entirely confused. I had no background, no motives, no explanation as to what was really happening or how things worked. The concept is interesting but it needs more fleshing out.

ronito said:

RumpledForeskin: Not to nitpick but if you were going to nothing wouldn't you always be on time? Still I like it especially the illusion line it stands out.

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Well I meant it in the way that if you don't keep an eye out for something, you'll miss everything.

RumpledForeskin said:

Well I meant it in the way that if you don't keep an eye out for something, you'll miss everything.

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ah I get it.

ronito said:

Great Rumbeler: Silliness abounds. I don't know what to make of it. Here's the thing. I realize you're going for kooky crazy characters for comedy. But the best comedy is based in reality. Even in the Hitchhiker's guide where there were tons of really crazy people they all had a reason for being that way. Here you're just sorta stuck with people acting a way that no one would normally act and you don't know why. The result for me was being left with a confused "Why are they acting like this?" Perhaps making one a robot or at least giving the reader some reason why they act the way they do. It'll only make the characters more lovable. Also the dog barking thing was a bit jarring. Honestly though this was my favorite entry from you so far.

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I was hoping that someone would mention the characters. I'll give you a bit of help as far as that aspect goes:

Clarke

Goddard

Edison

Great Rumbler said:

I was hoping that someone would mention the characters. I'll give you a bit of help as far as that aspect goes:

Spoiler

Arthur C.

Clarke

Spoiler

Robert

Goddard

Spoiler

Thomas

Edison

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LOL. You and your basing stuff off existing stuff. I had an inkling about Edison but I didn't see any self promotion so I left it at that. It does make a lot more sense now.

Davedough said:

~Patricia~

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Hmm. First time writing a short story ever? Not bad. Lose the disclaimer at the beginning, though. If you must have it, put it in a separate post after the story.

Most of the first paragraph is unnecessary. Starting with "every night begins the same way for him" might be stronger. Also, the line "more spirits than sense" threw me off, as I thought it was referring to ghosts. The final reveal was expected, but nicely done anyway. A generally well done story, especially given that it's your first one.

Great Rumbler said:

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Pluto

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Nailed it. Funny and fun to read.

LunaClover said:

no title

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No offense, but I've seen this story dozens of times before, and I'm kind of tired of it. It could've been more interesting if the story had deviated a bit from the normal one--maybe explored why she felt trapped, why she felt she had nowhere to run, rather than just asserting those things. Or how she got into this situation in the first place.

You write well, but don't forget to check grammar and tenses! Come back for the next challenge, I'd be interested to see more from you.

RumpledForeskin said:

On the way - Always Late

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Succint. I like it, but I think its brevity robs it of some of its intended impact.

Never posted in one of these before. (720 words)

Sotto Voce

Every day broke with the same panicked rush for the door and she was sick of it. The previous night she’d dialled her radio alarm to a pop station; a deliberate effort to shock start her day with something positive. Instead of simple, upbeat melodies though, she awoke to the hourly news being read by a droll and metered voice. She buried her face into a pillow and swore, the plan was already going wrong. She’d wanted to wake up with a new outlook on life, she’d wanted to wake up smiling but she knew it didn’t work like that. The thought of actually enjoying life had just overwhelmed her, as it does, and as it should.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror she checked the time in the reflection: ten to four, time enough to practice some of what she’d been reading. She stood, looking into her own eyes, telling herself all the things her boyfriend didn’t. She caught herself mid mantra and realised that she still didn’t feel special; she usually didn’t feel much of anything. The book did say it takes time, no specifics but she felt her patience waning every day, she was already tired of waiting. She brushed her teeth and showered. The shampoo she’d bought smelled edible, she wasn’t sure why that made it so expensive but she’d treated herself to it anyway. She remained unconvinced that such a simple thing could make her feel differently, but she’d learned over time to not over-think things, heads can become crowded places. Mid-rinse however, she regretted ignoring her own thoughts; whatever her life was missing, shampoo with strawberry extract was not replacing it.

Half eight and she dressed into the grey skirt and a blouse she wore every Monday. She hated office attire, it instilled a feeling of anxiety and boredom into her that she wasn’t entirely convinced was irrational. She slouched on the end of her bed and stared at the once white carpet, she ran her fingers through her hair; strawberries, she thought. Mid daydream she dragged herself off the bed and to her dresser that sat adjacent, the mirror allowing her to see herself at her worst every morning. She took out some makeup and began to apply some foundation lightly. She didn’t like wearing makeup, she felt somehow dishonest, but regardless, she never went out without at least some mascara on. She resented her feeling inadequate and she saw the daily routine of face decoration as outdated, but nonetheless, her resentment was always overcome by the prospect of the water-cooler comments and stairway stares of colleagues. Makeup applied, she stood up and grabbed her modern, thick-framed glasses from the dresser top; an attempt to retain some personality, even if they resembled everyone elses. She looked down at them in her hands, her personality. She closed her eyes, breathed in and returned them to the dresser on an exhale; not today, she thought.

She waited five minutes before the bus arrived, time she spent reading the two messages on her phone. One was from her boyfriend asking if she wanted to meet him in the pub that evening, she ignored it, for now. The other was an unfunny joke from a friend; she replied appropriately and placed her phone into her pocket. The bus journey usually lasted ten minutes at most; she often wished it was longer. She liked the idea of escaping into a novel, surrounded by strangers, twenty pairs of rush-hour eyes wondering where she was; a desperate but romantic notion. She stepped off the bus after four stops and lit a cigarette. She’d inhaled twice before she stopped. She realised she’d quit the previous night when her mood was optimistic, or misguided. She’ll quit tomorrow she told herself and continued to smoke.

A coffee stop later, she found herself in the elevator approaching her floor. With one hand balancing 6 cups of coffee in a holder, she reached into her pocket with the other and took out her card pass in un-eager anticipation. She braced herself and the coffee as the elevator jerked to an expected stop. She breathed deeply, coughed and exited the sliding doors. With her head held high, she entered the office ten minutes late with six coffees and a smile as genuine as everyone else’s.

My fires were fueled by the passion of setting off on a new journey, while keeping in mind that I left my homeland a near seven and half billion years ago. I had stumbled my way, year after year, through seemingly invisible mass that gave me a medium of which to transport myself. I had been quite curious as to where my destination wasn't leading me, but when I approached this marvel of a marble, all hypothetical situations of where my brothers had ended up ceased to exist.

I approached the glistening object that seemed too serene and peaceful to actually exist after traversing that dismal desert. I permeated the night sky, shedding various frequencies as I traveled through the dead space, over the bodies of glistening waters, and straight towards some contraption meant to capture. Headlong I flew into some type of transparent shield that made me into a contortionist as I was absorbed and transplanted onto another medium without regard for my previous freedom.

There I sat. Waited. Starved. Emaciation was not what eventually forced me from my secluded existence, but the eyes of millions of suns, all of different shades, colors, sizes, and even intensity, was what eventually revived me from my monastic lifestyle. Some seemed systematically deprived of the exuberance which is usually granted to the living. Some seemed to emanate intelligence, while others existed in a state of mundane nonexistence.

I flew into millions of curious spheres, becoming nothing more but a memory stored to be occasionally recollected.

~

From Birth to Death

Mash: I like it but I got the sinking feeling it wasn't going anywhere very early on and was mostly right. You left little intriguing tidbit lying about but didn't follow up (boyfriend especially). While the writing was good it left me wanting something, anything to happen. I'm not asking for kittens with bazookas or anything (though that'd admittedly be cool) but everyone went to work this morning. It all seems a little too common place.

Solaros: This piece to me seems to be a good basis for something. Sort of like a prelude or something. I wish there was more to it.

ronito said:

Solaros: This piece to me seems to be a good basis for something. Sort of like a prelude or something. I wish there was more to it.

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Solaros said:

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Yeah I know. I wanted to know more about it. It was like getting on an airplane the engines roaring you pick up speed you're about to take off and then you stop. So potential there. I wanted more. I'm weird like that.

ronito said:

Yeah I know. I wanted to know more about it. It was like getting on an airplane the engines roaring you pick up speed you're about to take off and then you stop. So potential there. I wanted more. I'm weird like that.

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That is how the absorption of light works though, right?

Solaros said:

That is how the absorption of light works though, right?

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Yeah it's all true. Nevermind, I was trying to pay you a compliment.

ronito said:

Yeah it's all true. Nevermind, I was trying to pay you a compliment.

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No no no. I agree with you 100%, it does need more, but at the same time I feel that adding more to it would make it... somehow less prevalent? I am not sure, perhaps it is my inability to write. It is the first short story I have written though and the compliments, even though I was ignorant about them, are appreciated.

ronito said:

Mash: I like it but I got the sinking feeling it wasn't going anywhere very early on and was mostly right. You left little intriguing tidbit lying about but didn't follow up (boyfriend especially). While the writing was good it left me wanting something, anything to happen. I'm not asking for kittens with bazookas or anything (though that'd admittedly be cool) but everyone went to work this morning. It all seems a little too common place.

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I'm aware this sounds very reactionary but that is exactly what I was after.

Mash said:

I'm aware this sounds very reactionary but that is exactly what I was after.

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Oh I figured. But then can I ask why? Like I said everyone went to work today, so why write about it? I'm intrigued. And what were the challenges of doing so?

ronito said:

Oh I figured. But then can I ask why? Like I said everyone went to work today, so why write about it? I'm intrigued. And what were the challenges of doing so?

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In a way I wish I had another thousand words, but I didn't. The main thing I had in mind here was alienation from work and therefore from yourself. I've been reading a lot of Marx and kierkegaard lately and I think what they had to say just resonates in the most mundane of places. Maybe I should have sexed it up but I feel it captured the feeling I was after.

PS. if that's how you feel when you go into work every day, you're doing it wrong.

Mash said:

PS. if that's how you feel when you go into work every day, you're doing it wrong.

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That is very true. That's one thing your piece does very well. It has an almost palpable sense of hopelessness in it.

All right, I've finally finished mine. But again, it really needs more editing. I may post it tomorrow, maybe a bit later this weekend.

A bump for a list, and a reminder for stories.
(Also, mash could you unquote your story? A couple of people (like me =X) find quoted stories hard to read.)


Davedough - Patricia
Great Rumbler - A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Pluto
LunaClover - Truth of the matter
RumpledForeskin - On the way - Always Late
2DMention - -Rowena-
Mato - Red Clay Door
ronito - Gratus and Claudius
Mash - Sotto Voce
Solaros - From Birth to Death
nitewulf - Contentment, a la Zen
Cyan - Old Ma Meg
RevenantKioku - The Jumbled Heap of Thoughts and Freshly Made Scrap Metal
Aaron - Up Above is Where the Devil Dwells
{Mike} - Guilty Pleasure
John Dunbar - Dinghy
Scribble - First Step, Mother
Oldschoolgamer - Memories and Delusions of a Deranged Lover

RumpledForeskin said:

A bump for a list, and a reminder for stories.
(Also, mash could you unquote your story? A couple of people (like me =X) find quoted stories hard to read.)

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No problem.

I like setting nuns on fire its really quite a thrill
I love it when they scream that nerve jangling shrill
I enjoy eating childrens kidneys
And drilling fat men in the guts
I like to shoot people in the knees
And chop off War Vet's nuts
I also like to rape disabled Infants
And shoot endangered elaphants
Another of my pastimes is urinating in public
And vomiting on granny's hair
Forcing choir boys to lick my prick
While i tie them to a chair
Yes you could say i am a bit strange

I edited my post, not sure if that will reflect on your list.

This week's been busy. So much coursework.

There are some extremely good stories posted, so keep it up. I'm going to write something tomorrow.

(thanks mash)

LunaClover said:

I edited my post, not sure if that will reflect on your list.

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Yeah, the list is just a direct link to your post anyways.

Arhal_Katarn said:

I have a short story in progress, i am not interested in the challenge but if you guys wanna give me some feedback on this it would be cool. I am trying to get this into a an anthology and i need to have it done by the end of April. If you wanna take a look i will post it.

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I'm sure people would be happy to help you out, but if it's not challenge related then this isn't the appropriate thread.

Also, I'd be wary of posting something you intend to publish on a public forum. Maybe PM it to people who express interest?