You didn't seriously think we'd just let these challenges drop, did you? Welcome back to the party, everyone. I hope you're recovered from NaNoWriMo. Let's do this thing!

Theme - "Masquerade"

Interpret as you will. [see next post for Optional Secondary Objective]

Word Limit: 1400.

Submission Deadline: Sunday 12/21 by 11:59 PM Pacific.

Voting begins Monday, 12/22, and goes until Saturday, 12/27 at 11:59 PM Pacific

Results:

1st Place: nitewulf - "A Tiny Error in Judgment"
2nd Place: Cyan - "Selkie"
3rd Place: ZephyrFate- "The Lie on the Lyre"

Submission Guidelines:

- All submissions must be written during the time of the challenge. We don't want a snippet of your doctoral thesis from 1996 being used here.
- One entry per poster. You can submit and then edit if you'd like, but finalizing before submitting is encouraged.
- 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.
- Using the topic as the title of your piece is discouraged. These challenges get a large number of submissions and if entries share the same title, it's difficult for the readers to separate them out come voting time.
- 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.
- There are many ways to interpret the theme for this assignment, we are all writers or wannabe writers, so keep that in mind when writing and critiquing others' works.
- 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.
- Finally, there is a handy word count checker at www.wordcounttool.com. Nobody wants to be a word count nazi, but please keep your submission under the limit.

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 (3 pts), 2nd (2 pts), and 3rd (1 pt) place votes.
- Please read all submissions before voting, it is only fair to those who put in the effort.
- You must vote in order to be eligible to win the challenge. Critiques/comments are encouraged but not required.
- When the 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.
- In the event of a tie, the story with the highest number of first place votes will be declared the winner. If they are still tied after this first tiebreaker, the previous challenge winner will decide any further tie-breaking measures (2nd Place votes, Joint Topic Choice, etc.)

The Entries:

nitewulf - "A Tiny Error in Judgment" - A boy discovers a sad truth about his father.
Aaron - "Broken Mirrors" - Robbery at a masquerade party.
ZephyrFate- "The Lie on the Lyre" - A foreign bard harbors a deadly secret.
Cyan- "Selkie" - The Coastguard captures a murderer.
Timedog- "Excerpt 2" - A man at a bar is an excellent judge of character.
Scribble- "Finding Enlightenment" - A terribly wealthy man seeks enlightenment.
crowphoenix- "Christmas Caper" - A kid won't let his parents' business party ruin Christmas.
chapel- "Lies Within" - A woman receives a mysterious invitation.
DumbNameD- "In Place Of" - The colonel investigates a mysterious death.

Double secret bonus story by Drinky.

Previous Challenges:

#1 - "The Things Unseen" (Winner: beelzebozo)
#2 - "An Unlikely Pair" (Winner: Aaron)
#3 - "weightless, breathless" (Winner: Azih)
#4 - "On the way" (Winner: DumbNameD)
#5 - "The End" (Winner: Cyan)
#6 - "Playing with Fire" (Winner: Aaron)
#7 - "Something Brutal" (Winner: Ronito)
#8 - "Parasite and Host" (Winner: Aaron)
#9 - "The Seasons" (Winner: ivysaur12)
#10 - "Anniversary" (Winner: Memles)
#11 - "Comedy" (Winner: Scribble)
#12 - "The Trilogy" (Winner: Aaron)
#13 - "Impossible Thing" (Winner: Cyan)
#14 - "Lost and Found" (Winner: Iceman)
#15 - "Prescient" (Winner: Iceman)
#16 - "Trick or Treat" (Winner: DumbNameD)
#17 - "Countdown" (Winner: DumbNameD)

Since almost nobody participated in the last challenge, and I really liked that secondary objective, I'm reusing it. If you don't like that, then to you!

Tight 3rd Person POV

A tight 3rd person perspective functions similarly to 1st person. The main character's thoughts and perceptions shape everything, from other characters' names ("Mom" instead of "Susan," "Bobby-o" instead of "Robert"), to interpretation of other characters' motives, to how the things around the MC are described, or whether they're even noticed.

The primary advantage over 1st person is that it puts a little bit more distance between the reader and the character, and allows you as the writer to decide how deep to go in--do you pull back to speed up the pace of the action, or do you plunge in further to show your character's motivations or emotional reactions?

Orson Scott Card refers to this as going "hot" or "cold," and suggests going hot earlier in your story, to help establish your character. You can then go hot or cold as necessary to change the pace of the story or allow more understanding of your character.

Just to get everyone in the mood:







(there are other interpretations of the theme, of course--but this is the most colorful)

Love the theme, cyan.

If Persona 4 doesn't get in the way too much, I'll see what I can do

I had a quick question about something that wasn't written in the rules. Are we allowed to write both of them?

Alright I'm in. I finally have a bit of breathing room these days and I don't know how long it'll hold out so I'll take advantage.

brainstorming time.

awww man.

Currently all my free time is taken up with a project I'm doing for my wife's birthday which is on Christmas so I wont have time for this

Captain N said:

I had a quick question about something that wasn't written in the rules. Are we allowed to write both of them?

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Both of them? Do you mean the secondary objective? The main theme is supposed to inspire you in choosing what to write about, the secondary objective is supposed to give you a tool you can try using in the writing, if you want.

Does that answer your question?

I don't have an idea yet, but I'm eager to throw down in these challenges again.

I might give this a shot since my account has finally been approved. I have some ideas and I need some practice on my writing skills.

W-Welcome back!

After embarrassing myself in the NoNaWriMo challenge by being a coward and not even writing a word, I've got to redeem myself. I'm in. And I think I can come up with a good idea.

dragonlife29 said:

Love the theme, cyan.

If Persona 4 doesn't get in the way too much, I'll see what I can do

Click to expand...

Persona 3 ate my life. I hope I can control 4 a bit better.

dragonlife29 said:

Love the theme, cyan.

If Persona 4 doesn't get in the way too much, I'll see what I can do

Click to expand...

=P

Scribble said:

W-Welcome back!

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What happened to you in NaNo, man? You were doing so well...

I keep feeling like I want to do some crime story. A high society caper of sorts. Not sure if I want to follow the thief or the inspector, but I know how it should look in my head. Now I just need the item to be stolen, the how, and the escape/attempt.

Mine also involves a crime. It's an idea I had for another challenge that I didn't end up using, and while it's source of inspiration is likely to be obvious, I'm writing it anyway.

I'm surrounded by criminal minds...

I have a vague idea for mine, but it might be a bit too cliche. Also, I'm not sure it'll turn out at all good.

Damn, my idea is a crime as well, but I think it'll be unique enough to stand out.

Word Count: 1395

A Tiny Error in Judgment

Horatio Adelberto Riera the 3rd, a.k.a. Albert, rubbed his temples in mock frustration, his little fingers pressed-in hard and moved in tiny circles, a perfect emulation of his father after a tough day at work. He squinted his eyes and pouted his lips, trying to look exhausted and bored.

Only thing Albert missed was a tumbler of scotch by his side. Like his father.

Albert was stifling in the tailor made three piece suit and his Batman mask. He was too hot. So just like his father, he loosened his tie a little.

He was sitting on the window sill next to the Western Staircase of the Villa. He looked down below at the cornucopia of people on the dance floor, all attired in every shade of color real and imaginable, their faces hidden beneath a menagerie of masks.

Grown ups were mostly stupid. Who’s bright idea was it to get all dressed up in this heat. Oh right, it was mom’s. At least they seemed to be keeping cool with colorful, fruity, cold drinks that he wasn’t allowed to touch. He could only taste them with his eyes. They must taste really great, everyone looks so happy! Little did they know he could sneak something out from the library, and no one would notice in all this fuss, and drink it all by himself. Huh! His mother looked busy running back and forth, greeting people. Ordering around the caterers. She looked up at him, removed her mask and beckoned. Albert shook his head defiantly. Gah, this sucks. He wanted to take off all of his clothes and jump into the pool. Albert had had enough, he took off his mask and walked down the hall, trying to get away from all the commotion.

He walked straight into a horde of kids running around the hallway, peeking into every room, hiding in every corner. They seemed to be everywhere chasing each other, yelling and screaming. As if it was Christmas!

Glad I’m not a six year old. They’re so ridiculous. He sighed to himself. One of the kids braked right in front of him and looked up.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Ew. I’m not even in high school yet!”

“Did you ever kiss one?”

“Quit bothering me you little turd-muffin, I don’t even like girls!”

Albert scrunched his face and turned his head up in mock arrogance. Except he did like them. Specially Ginny Hamilton. Whenever she glanced at him in English Class his heart did some weird things. He day-dreamed about walking hand in hand with her in the park. So obviously the best he could do was to throw paper balls at the back of her head and put gum on her seat.

“Can we go into your room and play the Wii?”

“Yeah, OK, but...”

All the kids vanished in the blink of an eye, Albert saw a video once, shards of colorful glass pouring out of a vase, played backwards in high speed it seemed like the pieces of glass went back into the vase. The effect was similar. All the kids vanished, into his room!

“H-Hey!! Don’t touch anything else!!!”

Bah, as if they’ll listen to reason. Forget it! He puffed his face and blew out hard. He was hot to begin with, now he was also bored. There was no one in this party remotely close to his age. He walked towards the library, walked into a corner and eased himself onto a recliner. The library was dark and cozy. Albert looked up at the ceiling. The ceiling was painted in a pattern of interweaving circles. Sometimes he came in here and tried to count them when mom and dad fought. It was cool how the circles melted into each other. He tried to count them now, starting from the top left corner. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, ni...wait, wait, which one is nine again, that one or the other one. Wait, wait, don’t move a muscle Albert, you’ll lose number nine! Bah, damn!! I think I lost it. Jeez, this is frustrating!

He looked at the liquor cabinet slyly. It was filled with bottles of all shapes and sizes. He tip-toed towards the cabinet, turned the handle with faint hopes. Result! The cabinet was open! His heart raced faster as he opened the cabinet door and brushed his fingers against the cool glass of the bottles. Some of the bottles were very pretty. He picked one at random, twisted the cap open. A faint odor came out of the bottle. He smelled the liquid, his nose close to the mouth of the bottle. It smelled of burnt wood. Slowly, very slowly, he put the mouth of the bottle against his lips and tilted the bottle. He stuck his tongue in and touched the liquid.

Yuck! This? This is what all the fuss is about? This smells and tastes so bad!!

He heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Albert quickly put the bottle back inside the cabinet, closed the door and almost raced towards the Classical Literature section and started to admire a leather-bound copy of Ulysses. He saw his father fall asleep inside the library many a nights, this book on his lap.

Mrs. Lawrence came in. She didn’t have her mask on. She looked a bit flustered.

“Oh, Albert! You’re in the library!”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“How come you’re not downstairs?”

“Um, it’s too hot down there.”

“Ah, I see.”

She looked restless to Albert. She was looking around quickly, as if trying to think up something quick. Adults were not always quite as clever as they thought they were.

“Well, I’ll leave you to yourself then!” She mussed up his hair and left the room. Albert hated that. Her perfume was strong. It lingered in the air after her.

With his little liquor experiment done with, Albert fixed his hair, his tie and walked out of the library in a languid gait. He walked back to his room and peeked in. Surprisingly the kids were all glued to the Wii. Everything else was left nice and neat, even his cherished comic book collection. Pleasantly surprised, Albert walked away, down the hallway towards the East Wing. The hallway itself was adorned with various paintings. He liked the one that looked like a street at night. The moon hanged eerily on the top left corner of the painting. Some trees were bunched at the opposite corner, the pitch black street came out beneath the trees, and ran across the whole painting. Big, red apples hung from the trees. The street lights glowed, like mini-moons themselves. If you stared long enough, the apples looked like red balloons that were trying to float up from the trees, rather than fall down. Weird.

Albert walked towards the Eastern Ending, and climbed onto the window sill, at the end of the hallway. This part of the Villa was quiet. He liked staring out of the window from here. Sometimes, he’d wake up in the night, tip-toe his way across the hallway, climb up on the sill and watch the night sky. You could catch shooting stars racing across the sky, if you’re lucky!

The night sky was dark, littered with stars that glinted. It wasn’t as cool looking as the painting, but it was nice in a different way. The hedge at the back of the Villa rustled, Albert backed up against the side of the window frame, he felt like a spy watching enemy movement. Mrs. Lawrence walked out from behind the hedge, her clothes were all messed up, she fixed her clothes, and her hair. Put her mask back on and walked across the yard towards the Garden Door. The door creaked softly as she came in. Albert heard her walk back towards the party.

He watched as his father came out now. His father fixed his tie, his hair, put his mask back on and walked along the side of the Villa to the front of the house.

Albert slid down from the sill, pulled his tie off with a sudden jerk and threw his mask across the floor. He then quietly walked back towards the West Wing and looked down at the dance floor. His mom looked up, smiled at him and beckoned again. Albert smiled back, and walked downstairs.

Mom could use the dance.

Hey awesome, an entry already!

Good to have you back, nitewulf.

Captain N said:

I had a quick question about something that wasn't written in the rules. Are we allowed to write both of them?

Click to expand...

Oh wait, I think I get it now. I don't know if you'll actually read this, but yes, you can do both these challenges and NaNoWriMo. The thing is, the next NaNoWriMo isn't for another year--next November, to be precise. You may not want to wait that long if you wish to write a novel.

Argh. I feel like I had a much easier time coming up with ideas during NaNo. I mean sure, they weren't necessarily good ideas. But at least they were there. It's like there was a spigot that was turned on, and now it's back in the off position. :/

Edit:
Oh look, triple post. Will I make it to quadruple, or will someone else post in here before I post again?

I posted here. I'm 400 words in and stuck on my story. Sad face.

if i manage to find time around my exams, i am going to try and do this. i am thinking love story, like the scene in romeo and juliet... but a little cliche i think. oh well, maybe it's better that way

Okay, my idea isn't going to pan out well so unless I can think of something else before the due date (I've still got some time to finish it), I might give this challenge a pass. It's difficult to make a story under the current theme that's both not cliche, and interesting to read.

EDIT: If anyone would like to try and base their own submission on my idea, I'll make a quick synopsis:

It could work, but I've sort of grown tired of the idea and don't want to completely renovate it from where I am now.

Cyan said:

What happened to you in NaNo, man? You were doing so well...

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I don't even have an excuse. =/
(Stuff happened + I wasn't enjoying my story anyway + me losing my work near the beginning) Taught me a lot, though.

I have an idea for this, kinda, which I'm working on RIGHT NOW

Scribble said:

I don't even have an excuse. =/
(Stuff happened + I wasn't enjoying my story anyway + me losing my work near the beginning) Taught me a lot, though.

Click to expand...

Ah, bummer. Well, you'll totally finish it next year though, right?

I have an idea for this, kinda, which I'm working on RIGHT NOW

Click to expand...

Eggsellent.

Broken Mirrors
word count: 1,399

"What are those lights? I can't see shit since you busted that guy's skull on the rear view mirror. Jesus, there's still blood on it," Pillbox squealed as he squinted in the side view.

"Only because you couldn't hold him down, you fucking pussy," Sumo responded lounging in the passenger seat, his upraised mask leaving his face in deep shadow.

"Why don't you turn on the radio?" came a voice from the back, from a slender black man everyone called Spider.

"I can't. The fucking faceplate is missing. Bitch probably stole this car from someone else." Sumo slammed his meaty fist hard enough to leave a crack in the dash.

"It's in the glove compartment," came the solemn voice of the final passenger, older and more dignified. "Hidden under the driver's manual. So put some fucking music on already."

Fumbling around, Sumo located the plastic box and the faceplate, slapping it on and cranking up the volume as generic rock reverberated through the convertible. "How did you know about that, Boss?"

The Boss only leaned back and smiled in that enigmatic way of his before instructing, "Change the station, Sumo."

*

"The key to any trick is distraction," the Boss spoke softly after the valet had claimed their vehicle and they strode up to security. His voice distorted by the cheap plastic devil mask, with its uneven red complexion and curled black horns.

"I'm ready," Pillbox answered as he turned up his pure white mask to slip something under his tongue.

Burly guys in black suits and black sunglasses lined the foyer, bunching up around a few metal detectors that were a stark contrast to the elaborate hall with chandeliers hanging overhead. More slender and generally older men and women were being patted down and having their bags prodded by these apes.

The crew approached single file, with the Boss out in front and Spider just behind, his dark mask of eight eyes with pipe cleaners for jutting legs. Then came Pillbox already shaking from the nonexistent cold, and Sumo coming up the rear, with a plastic smile and frayed topknot, lugging a big black bag.

"Invitation please," one of the monkeys prompted.

"For me and my business associations. Charitable men all," the Boss answered politely, presenting his invitation unconcerned by the red-black flecks dotting its surface.

The guard only nodded and let him go on to the metal detector, which he passed through without a sound. Spider took his time, emptying his pockets of change as Pillbox bit down on the capsule already dissolving away in his mouth. His body suddenly jerked and fell to the floor like a tangled marionette, shuddering and foaming at the mouth.

The crowd panicked and the security rushed in, calling 911 and erupting into an argument over the proper procedure when aiding someone in a seizure. In this chaos, Spider calmly collected his change, accepted the bag Sumo passed between the metal detectors, and moved on.

*

Ripples of commotion passed through the sweeping main hall, where a hundred well to do citizens in various masks stood around high tables in vague concern while sipping at champagne until they were reassured that an ambulance had been called.

Not one noticed Spider probing the contents of the bag before slipping it back to Sumo, when the black man clad in black slipped away into the shadows. No one but the Boss, who took a place at a table by the door. Sumo casually closed the heavy wooden doors behind, jamming a metal bar to keep it closed.

"Ladies and gentlemen. I'd like to thank you all for coming to his Halloween celebration. Due to your generous donations, nearly ten million dollars have been raised in the battle against cancer," a nervous young man called out from the wide stage, black curtain fluttering to suggest movement beyond.

The crowd answered in polite applause.

"Now for what you've all come to see. The glorious magic of the Amazing Carson!" the announcer announced, and at his direction the black curtains were pulled back to reveal a large glass tank, and a figure in a tuxedo floating limply within.

The crowd gasped, and the Boss smiled. He flung off his fragile mask into air above the gathered wealthy, striking the white hot globes of the hanging chandelier, where it burst in a flash of sparks and fire.

"Forgive my macabre theatrics," the Boss announced as he strode up to the stage. A handsome man with dignified features, piercing eyes, raven hair only beginning to grey. He wrapped his knuckles against the glass with a showman's grin. "Just a dummy. A grim prop in a tired old trick worthy of no more than token applause. Unfit for such generous citizens."

"But wait...," the announcer began to protest. The Boss gave him a little nudge back and suddenly the black curtains closed upon him, leaving no sound or sight of the young announcer.

"There is an element of danger, but that makes it all the better doesn't it?" the Boss inquired as he passed among the tables with wide eyes watching him closely from behind their masks. "Instead of a sterile show, one among you, a stranger you have never known and never will know, will die before you eyes."

A chill passed over the audience. A few glanced in the direction of the door, only to find it closed, and a burly man in a grinning mask standing with arms crossed before it.

"We are in total privacy here, and your faces are unknown to me and each other. At the conclusion of this performance, you can all walk away with nothing to link you to this event," the Boss explained as he turned his back to audience. "All I ask is those wishing to participate offer of value. Nothing unique or monogrammed. Nothing to bind you to this place and time."

Sumo went around to each table with their big black bag. Either in fear of being the chosen victim, or eagerness to see blood spilled, most of these well to do men and women offered something, whether a wad of cash or a string of pearls, an expensive watch or a diamond ring.

The entire time the Boss kept his eyes averted.

"Generous donations, I'm sure," he said with a grin as he finally turned around, with Sumo having finished his collections and dropping the open bag down on the table before him. So the Boss reached down inside the bag and pulled out an elegant silver and diamond necklace that wrapped around his hand like a snake. "This belongs to woman nearing sixty. She was wild in her youth. Sex, drugs, and a few darker acts she kept quiet about, but all of that has made her hollow heart weak..."

A woman gasped and choked, slipping in her chair.

"Just when she needs to speak, she can't. All the people watch her shiver, gasp, and shudder in her stroke, and not one person calls 911," the Boss noted as his eyes passed over the room. "Maybe they think she deserves it, maybe they figure better her than them, or maybe just to watch her die."

The woman slipped from the chair and slumped to the ground under the wail of distant sirens. Sumo traded his mask for dark sunglasses, before gently raising the woman from the floor, though she was clearly dead. The Boss zipped the black bag closed and tucked it under his arm as Spider returned, still masked though now clad as a EMT. A second paramedic burst into the room, followed by security having just forced the jammed door.

A stretcher was wheeled out in a flurry of confusion, leaving the crew to reach their waiting ambulance unimpeded, dumping the corpse on the roadside before driving off into the night, Pillbox at the wheel, straightening the rear view.

"No broken mirror this time," he said proudly as he craned his neck back to Sumo riding in the rear. The interior was lined with streaks of blood like painted ferns. "Two guys by myself, big ones too. A few quick cuts is all it took."

"Fucking pussy," Sumo grumbled, clenching his fists. Then he turned his attention to the man pulling off a latex mask. "How did you know that lady would have a stroke right then and there, Boss?"

"Magic," the Devil calmly replied.

Yeah, I know that I haven't participated in any of the short story challenges, but I wanted to take the opportunity to invite everyone here to read my latest short story, Into Thin Air. It was just published in a nifty little literary journal called Neonbeam. It's my first credit, so I'm kinda proud. I hope it was OK to post this here.

Follow the link for a free pdf version of the magazine. My story begins on page 26. Hope you enjoy.

http://www.freewebs.com/neonbeam/current.html

congrats, its a good story. whats the word count on that?

nitewulf said:

congrats, its a good story. whats the word count on that?

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Thanks! I really appreciate the kudos. It was about 2520 give or take a word.

GDGF said:

Yeah, I know that I haven't participated in any of the short story challenges, but I wanted to take the opportunity to invite everyone here to read my latest short story, Into Thin Air. It was just published in a nifty little literary journal called Neonbeam. It's my first credit, so I'm kinda proud. I hope it was OK to post this here.

Click to expand...

I don't see a problem with it. Most of us are looking to get published, I imagine, so it's nice to see a success story. I'll take a look later.

But you really should write something for the challenge!

Orbitcube said:

Okay, my idea isn't going to pan out well so unless I can think of something else before the due date (I've still got some time to finish it), I might give this challenge a pass. It's difficult to make a story under the current theme that's both not cliche, and interesting to read.

EDIT: If anyone would like to try and base their own submission on my idea, I'll make a quick synopsis:

It's the late 19th century and the district of Whitechapel in London has faced a series of gruesome murders, which seem to specifically target those in the business of prostitution. Who's behind this? A group called the Fraternal Pentad. Five people who share the same interests, operating under one banner - Jack the Ripper.​

It could work, but I've sort of grown tired of the idea and don't want to completely renovate it from where I am now.

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Sounds like it could be interesting. And don't worry about possible cliches--we all indulge from time to time.

Just finished writing mine. Now it's time to polish it up. A lot.

:lol Holy! I thought today was the last day for writing. Awesome. I have a lot more time than I thought. Which means, I get to do some for play writing first to really get into it. Score!

crowphoenix said:

:lol Holy! I thought today was the last day for writing. Awesome. I have a lot more time than I thought. Which means, I get to do some for play writing first to really get into it. Score!

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Yeah, I lengthened the deadline due to the holidays and so on. Similarly, I left a lot of time for the voting... which probably won't be necessary if we have as few entries as it looks like we might. Ah well.

So yes everyone, you've got until Sunday! No excuses, there's still the whole weekend! Even Persona 4 can't keep its claws in you the entire weekend, can it?

Anybody else planning to submit a story?

Well, I'm smashing into some mental icebergs and taking in water. If I can't make it to harbor, then I should hope to make a spectacular wreckage of it all.

Anyway I looked back through things. What did I creatively write in 2008?
15 short stories (if I finish one for this challenge)
3-4 short story ideas/outlines that I might want to get back to
1 finished unfinished novel
~40 snippets of varying lengths that are supposed to be "poems"
and a few other things that will remain unnamed

An okay haul, I guess. At least, it's better than 2007.

I will attempt this tomorrow, because I love the idea. Now it's just a matter of finding time...

Cyan said:

Yeah, I lengthened the deadline due to the holidays and so on. Similarly, I left a lot of time for the voting... which probably won't be necessary if we have as few entries as it looks like we might. Ah well.

So yes everyone, you've got until Sunday! No excuses, there's still the whole weekend! Even Persona 4 can't keep its claws in you the entire weekend, can it?

Click to expand...

Unfortunately, I got stupid busy with a party yesterday, and for one today. I'm going to try to crank something out right now and edit it tonight. Damn me and my procrastination.

heh. pretty disappointing turn out for what i thought was a good theme.

I think I've just hit upon a lovely little idea. I doubt I'm good enough to do it justice, but damn it, it's getting written.

DumbNameD said:

and a few other things that will remain unnamed

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Fanfiction? =P

Yeah, I've got something. It is a great theme (Got an idea almost instantly)

Scribble said:

Fanfiction? =P

Yeah, I've got something. It is a great theme (Got an idea almost instantly)

Click to expand...

*high five*

Mine's going to take a lot of trimming (How fitting). I don't want to touch the last half too much as I figure that's where the fun is, but the first half is the set up, so it'll be interesting to see if I can trim enough from there to not touch the ending. I have 100 words left and a lot to go. :lol Damn my wordiness.

Edit: I've finished the writing process. And now I've got to figure out how to cut 500+ words. :lol It'll be a long night tonight.

The Lie on the Lyre
Word Count: 1399

As the Duke of Norchester, he had been required to go to such events. They were dull and boring to such a person as he. He could never understand why the aristocracy were forced to participate in such get-togethers as this. His mask was that of a fox, coated with real fur taken from the animal. The mask covered most of his face, aside from his mouth and chin. He leaned over before speaking to the couple sitting next to him in the horse-drawn carriage.

“So what are your masks supposed to be?”

The couple replied in tandem.

“Mine is the eternal mystery of the universe, signified by the question mark.” The man gestured to his mask, outlining the punctuation mark.

“To compliment my beautiful husband, mine is a representation of the joy and exaltation the universe can provide us even in the smallest of ways, represented by the exclamation point.” She said.

The Duke felt a strange aura from the two of them. Such strange masks... I've never seen them at any masquerade ball before...

The torrent of rain went unabated as the carriage continued on its rough brick path. The Duke peered outside of the carriage and took in the sheer sublimity of the grandiose castle looming ahead of them. T.S., his good friend, had helped out his family before when they had undergone severe financial trouble. The Duke felt himself compelled out of obligation to go to these events, no matter how uninterested he was in the proceedings. The couple were playing with each other in a childish manner as the carriage drew closer to the castle, which annoyed the Duke. When the carriage stopped, the two ceased their immaturity and hopped down from the carriage, the Duke following. The castle, situated on a craggy spire which overlooked the frothing and tumultuous Atlantic Ocean, loomed over him, dwarfing his stature, his wealth, his being. The couple, before walking up the long, carved-out path to the castle, turned to him.

“You would do well to notice the order in which the lyre sings.” The man said. His companion giggled, clutching his arm tightly. The two then turned around and ran up the path. Mystifying...

The long path seemed even longer thanks to the rain which never seemed to stop. His long overcoat was drenched by the time he had reached the top. His brown, well-made hat that had cost him quite a lot of money had been ruined. Though he cursed his luck in his thoughts, he knew better than to show such feelings to his good friend and the company with which this ball attracted. The act would be in poor taste. The large iron doors swung open before him, inviting him into a beautiful ballroom that was as fancy as ever. A large chandelier, whose shingles hung down like bats from the roof of a cave, provided pervasive light which penetrated every nook and cranny of the room. Particularly well-made outfits and dresses covered in gold or some other reflective material shone even brighter in its presence. As he stepped in, T.S. jogged towards him and greeting him.

“Evening, my good friend.” He said, patting the Duke on the back.

“It has been a while. I am sorry that I have not returned your letters.” He replied. T.S. swung his arms around him in a gesture for the Duke to take in the sights.

“What do you think? I've decided to change the color theme of this ball in particular. Crimson red drapes, red carpets, everything red as blood. I know it must seem a little odd to you, but I think it's beautiful.”

“I am intrigued by the change, T.S. It definitely adds to the atmosphere of the ro-” He paused, then looked over and noticed a bard sitting on the steps, playing a lyre.

“But, pray tell, who is that bard over there? You've never had a bard at any of your occasions.” The Duke said, puzzled.

“He is a guest from a foreign country, my good man. Apparently, he wanders, telling tales of the world through the music of his lyre. He is known throughout the world as the 'Nomadic Song'.” T.S. said, smiling.

Something about the bard did not please the Duke. For one, the bard wore no mask, which was strange. He also noticed that, while the bard played his instrument, he scanned the ballroom continuously, pausing occasionally in certain directions and on certain people. Peeling his eyes away from the bard, he saw the couple from earlier, dancing merrily and apparently attracting the attention of the crowd. The two quickly became the center of attention as their enchanting dance enthralled everyone. The Duke, too, felt himself become lost in their merriment. However, in the back of his mind he could hear the lyre playing, and through the visual arrest his eyes were undergoing from the dance, he noticed that the first string on the lyre was becoming less and less played as the song continued. The Duke looked over at where the bard was, only to find that he had disappeared.

The Duke frantically looked around for the bard. He then heard a scream erupt from somewhere in the castle that had carried into the ballroom. No one else noticed it. The man tore through the crowd and leapt up the steps two at a time, looking through every room upstairs, trying to find where the scream had come from. There was no sign of anyone upstairs, not even T.S. He returned to the ballroom, and found the bard on the steps playing his lyre in the same spot as before. The couple's dance continued, pulling the Duke in once more as he descended the steps and rejoined the crowd in the ballroom. The night went on as the Duke found himself dancing with person after person as the whole of the crowd joined in dancing. The rush of the dance became a trance, a drug, consuming his entire being in ecstasy and, unfortunately, ignorance. When the Duke regained his composure, he had noticed that the bard was playing the fourth string very casually. In the blink of an eye, the bard disappeared once more, unknown to the rest of the crowd. What does this mean? The question inside his thoughts was answered by an agonizing cry, followed by screams of “Help me!” and “Someone! Anyone! St--”. They began to echo in his mind, bouncing around in his thoughts as he once again headed upstairs. Only, this time, T.S. stopped him.

“Where are you going, my friend?” He asked.

“I... need to find your toilet.” The Duke replied.

“Well... it's not upstairs. Here, I'll show you.” T.S. grabbed his arm, pulling him back downstairs. Something about the manner with which his friend had kept him from heading upstairs made him feel uneasy. Visions and imagery that were disturbing and violent danced through his mind as he was pulled through the ignorant crowd.

“There's something about that bard, my friend. I believe he may be doing something to the people here. I see him vanishing from time to time and I do not know why. Haven't you noticed??” The Duke asked, hints of fear becoming present in his voice.

“I have seen nothing of the sort. You must be delusional, my friend. I will call forth a doctor to attend to you as soon as possible. Here is the bathroom.” He pointed to a large room decorated in the same color as the ballroom, and inside there was a toilet, sink, and shower all coated in gold. Wealth and blood, everywhere...

When he had finished relieving himself, he washed his hands and headed back into the ballroom. He had noticed that many people had left, which was odd for a masquerade ball that had relatively just started. Most usually stayed well into the nights. The Duke also noticed that there were people frantically looking around, asking questions about possible missing persons that had accompanied them. The Duke looked toward the bard, who was now plucking the last string of his lyre and facing towards him. He noticed a sinister smile appear along the man's lips.
The seventh song, the seventh to die. The masquerade, a facade.

I hope that's Tight 3rd Person POV. I've never written in that style before

Selkie (1398)

Captain O’Donnell’s head jerked up from his desk. He had been dozing off again. He shook his head and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. How long had he been asleep?

Perhaps a turn about the ship would wake him. He gathered himself, and stood up. As he rounded his desk, the door banged open, and MacDruigh ran in.

“Sir, sir!” He skidded to a halt. “Oh, you’re awake.”

O’Donnell frowned at him. If the man had known he was asleep, he should have woken him. He raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Sir, we—we captured a murderer! Caught him in the act.”

O’Donnell’s eyes widened. Her Majesty’s Coastguard didn’t often tangle with criminals. That was more in the area of the Constabulary. He gathered up his greatcoat and his hat, and followed MacDruigh above.

He stopped and stared. A dark-haired, dark-eyed man stood amidships, wearing swimming togs and a t-shirt, and carrying what looked like a briefcase. Two of O’Donnell’s men were pointing weapons at him. The man turned his head and met his gaze.

O’Donnell started. There was fire in the man’s eyes.

“Captain,” said the man.

O’Donnell ignored him. “Stand down, men. MacDruigh, report. What is this man doing on my ship?”

MacDruigh stood to attention. “Captain, we were going about our patrol when Foley says he heard a gunshot. I bring my glass around, and see two men struggling in a dinghy, and one shoves the other overboard. And he doesn’t come back up either.” He paused. “That man murdered him!” He pointed at the dark-haired man.

He certainly had a flair for the dramatic. O’Donnell shook his head. “All right. So you subdued him. What of the man who went overboard?”

MacDruigh looked flustered. “Well, sir, we’re not sure.” He cast his gaze downward. “Went down like a rock. We couldn’t find him.”

O’Donnell sighed, and turned toward the dark-haired man. “Right, lad. What’s your name?”

“I’m Brian O’Leary,” the man said, not a hint of fear in his voice. “From Kilkeel. My friend’s name was Ronan.”

Was. An interesting choice of words. “MacDruigh,” said O’Donnell. “Radio the Newry police. Foley, see if the man has any identification in his briefcase.”

Foley scurried forward to take the briefcase, and MacDruigh headed aft to the radio room.

“Well, Brian,” O’Donnell said in his sternest tone. “What have you got to say for yourself?”

“He tried to kill my wife. I tried to stop him, and—” He paused. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time. It will be hours before we can hand you to the Constabulary. Convince me not to lock you up in the meantime.”

Brian blinked. “All right.”

Foley looked up from his search of the briefcase. “No identification, sir. Nothing else, neither. Just a coat.”

O’Donnell looked at Brian again. The man was starting to shiver; it was a cold day. “Give him the coat, Foley. And the briefcase.”

Brian nodded his thanks, shrugging into his coat and laying the briefcase at his feet.

“Go on then, lad.”

“Right.” Brian took a deep breath. “You’ve got to understand, I didn’t murder Ronan. I was trying to stop him killing my wife.”

O’Donnell raised an eyebrow, and looked at Foley.

Foley took the hint. “There was no one else in the area, sir.”

“No one that you could see,” Brian said sharply. “Ronnad was in the water. She—well, I’d best start at the beginning. It was seven years ago I met Ronnad. I was walking the beach at Kilkeel, and there she was, shining raven hair, gleaming dark eyes, beautiful as the morning.” He smiled in reminiscence. “We were married three months later.”

MacDruigh walked up behind O’Donnell. “Sir. I’ve radioed.”

“Right,” said O’Donnell. “See if you can raise someone in Kilkeel who knows Brian O’Leary, and give them this man’s description.”

MacDruigh nodded and headed aft.

Brian was getting into his stride now, playing to the crowd. “I met Ronan a year later. Good man. Or so I thought at the time. We became fast friends, him and me and my wife. He was a bit friendly with my wife, but I thought I could trust him with anything.” Brian’s eyes hardened. “Then he discovered her secret.”

O’Donnell raised an eyebrow. “Secret?”

“My wife was—” He paused for dramatic effect. “She was a selkie.”

O’Donnell stared at the man, forcing his face to blankness. A selkie. A seal-woman, able to change her form at will. What utter rubbish.

“Sidhe business,” muttered one of the crew, a quaver in his voice. “We shouldn’t be messing about with this.”

O’Donnell quelled him with a glare, then turned to look at Brian again. “All right,” he said dryly. “So you married a selkie. I suppose you kept her pelt locked up in a chest so that she couldn’t transform and leave you?”

Brian nodded, holding his head high. “Yes. I found it and hid it the day I met her. Elsewise she would have left me. Selkies won’t stay on land more than a day, however much they love someone. Everyone knows that.” The crew were nodding.

O’Donnell resisted the urge to tell Brian what he thought of him. He gestured for him to continue.

“Well, a week ago, I caught Ronan poking around, and I’m sure he was looking for the pelt. He wanted to steal my wife away for himself, you see.”

“All right. Then what?”

“He succeeded.” Brian’s eyes flashed. “I woke up this morning and she was gone, the chest opened. But he didn’t hide the pelt well enough. When I caught up to him, he confessed that she’d found it, and headed to sea. Well, I dragged him to the jetty, we took out a dinghy to look for her, and then we spotted her following us, in the water.”

At last, the crucial moment. What excuse would Brian offer for shoving his friend overboard? “And?”

“I was a fool,” said Brian. “He was jealous—he didn’t want me to find her again. He’d rather she died than someone else have her.” He looked down sadly. “He pulled a gun and tried to shoot her. We struggled, he fell overboard. I suppose the other selkies pulled him under. They must have thought it was him stole her pelt seven years ago.” He looked around at the crew. “Selkies are terrible in their revenge.” The men nodded.

O’Donnell suddenly felt very tired. “All right, that’s enough. We’ve heard your story.”

Brian looked at him, dark eyes bright. “You believe it was an accident?”

“An accident?” O’Donnell spat on the deck. “What rubbish. Here’s what I believe. Your friend Ronan was having an affair with your wife. You convinced him to come out here with you, you tried to shoot him, and you shoved him overboard, knowing he couldn’t swim. You knew that sailors are superstitious, so you came up with this tripe about selkies.” He paused for breath. “And here’s what else I believe: we’ll turn you over to the police, and you’ll be in prison for quite a long time.” He waved brusquely at his crew. “Get off to work with you.”

There was silence for a moment, then the men moved off, grumbling. Brian turned his back on O’Donnell, staring out to sea.

“Sir!” It was MacDruigh. “Sir, I found someone. I passed on the name and description.”

“And?” He turned to face MacDruigh.

“They said the man we have isn’t Brian O’Leary. But the description matches a friend of his.”

O’Donnell’s eyes widened, and he turned back to the man, who had just taken a step away from him, toward the starboard rail. “Ronan,” he said.

The man froze, then turned to face him. He met O’Donnell’s eyes, a terrible fire in his gaze. “Seven years,” he said softly. “He should never have taken my sister’s pelt.”

“MacDruigh! Foley!” O’Donnell shouted.

Too late. Ronan pulled his coat tightly around himself, took two steps starboard, and dove overboard, disappearing beneath the waves.

O’Donnell ran to the bulwark and peered downward. Only a small stream of bubbles showed where the man had been.

MacDruigh and Foley came up behind him. “Sidhe business,” one of them muttered.

As they stood there staring at the place where Ronan had vanished, a pair of swim togs, a t-shirt, and a briefcase came bobbing to the surface.

Sidhe business.

O’Donnell shivered.

GDGF said:

Yeah, I know that I haven't participated in any of the short story challenges, but I wanted to take the opportunity to invite everyone here to read my latest short story, Into Thin Air. It was just published in a nifty little literary journal called Neonbeam. It's my first credit, so I'm kinda proud. I hope it was OK to post this here.

Follow the link for a free pdf version of the magazine. My story begins on page 26. Hope you enjoy.

http://www.freewebs.com/neonbeam/current.html

Click to expand...

Finally got a chance to read it. Not bad, dude! Interesting to see a piece so full of descriptions and metaphor. We don't get many of those in the challenge, I guess due to the word count.

Anyway, I still think you should write up something for one of these challenges.

good stuff. i oughtta whack something up here, just to exercise my moribund writing gland.

I'll try to knock something out this week, if I can.