Summer Short Story Contest! (2012) Winners announced!

[Erryeah]

hmm...missed this one perhaps will see about entering the next. Would there be monthly versions?

It's seasonal. Fall is right around the corner.

Oky doky. Will be looking for it.

[Norstal]

I believe the contest is open until July 31st at midnight in your timezone (or perhaps midnight Central time). Get to it!

Edit: Technically, it closes at 11:59PM on the 31st. At least I think that's the deadline. Midnight confuses me.

So I have 5 hours to run 28 kms?

Alright, so since you need more time and CM's perception of time is that of Bizarro's world, I hereby extend the deadline to July 31st 11:59 PM Pacific Standard Time. There shall be no more extension.

[Creative Vikings]

So I have 5 hours to run 28 kms?

Alright, so since you need more time and CM's perception of time is that of Bizarro's world, I hereby extend the deadline to July 31st 11:59 PM Pacific Standard Time. There shall be no more extension.

That's no different to the previous deadline I was told of.

[Ramenasia]

Compressed it a bit to fit the word limit, but that was probably a good thing. About 5800 words.

[Norstal]

Alright, so since you need more time and CM's perception of time is that of Bizarro's world, I hereby extend the deadline to July 31st 11:59 PM Pacific Standard Time. There shall be no more extension.

That's no different to the previous deadline I was told of.

It's quite different...that's an extra 24 hours.

[Nationstatelandsville]

That's no different to the previous deadline I was told of.

It's quite different...that's an extra 24 hours.

So, is it midnight tonight or has the deadline passed?

[Natair]

Mine is a short one. I rarely surpass 1,000 words.

~~~

Her paper fangs


His long flowing robe danced around his legs in the dim moonlight. the floor he walked on was elegant hardwood and his bare feet made a distinctive sucking sound as he crept across it; he could hear the loud sounds of a grandfather clock's chimes echo through the house.

His wife slid onto the hardwood floor from behind a shadowed door and the man stepped back, frightened. "Dear Christ, Margaret, you could have sent me to the grave early!" he whispered excitedly. "I'm sorry, Declan, but you woke me up."

"You should really go back to bed, Marge. I've come down with something, I need some fresh air." he said to her, half-smiling.
"Alright, then. I'll see you in the morning." She passed by him, frowning. He heard the door slam.

He waited. The door opened again, "Do come back to bed soon!" she called, longingly. He began to walk, ignoring her. He pushed gently on an ornate oak door and walked into his magnificent kitchen. He hated it but his wife loved it.

His impressive arms pushed on another door and it swung open and unfolded a small, carpeted staircase for his feet to deftly glide across. Four steps down and then a door that opened into the awesome night that encompassed his large mansion. The night air was cool and his skin grew bumpy instantly.

"She’s dangerous..." said an echo.

"She’ll kill you..." chimed another.

"Be careful, she’ll..." a third voice now.

His mind trembled and in his agitation he scratched his head, pressed hard against his skull, as if to try and push out the sounds that invaded his thoughts. “No, stop, get out of my head. I won't hear it tonight.” he said to himself slowly. These voices were common during the night.

"Listen to me, Declan, listen to me..." the first echo pleaded.

He pressed his body against the balcony railing and gripped it angrily with noth hands, "No, shut up, shut up! She can't do that; she won't!" he groaned desperately. The voices echoed through his thoughts like a charged lightning bolt and he crumpled to the floor in pain, leaning against the balcony's edge.

"Yes she will..." the second voice said as Declan's vision started to fade.

/|/|


He woke up terrified, his sheets were wet from his sweat. "Oh my god..." He sputtered as he slid out of his bed. Declan held his wet clothes in disgust and started to undress, "That felt so real!" he said to himself, still shocked. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and walked into the closet, drowsily putting on a second pair of silk pajamas. Declan looked back at his large bed, searching for his beautiful wife who was supposed to be sleeping soundly beside him. But she wasn't there, he panicked for a moment.

The thoughts flooded his brain, and he rushed to the faucet on in his large Jacuzzi, turning it left and right. He put one foot in after the other, the intense heat burned his skin for a moment. "Ah, yes. Relaxation." he said thoughtfully. It was still dark outside the bathroom window and he soon fell asleep on the comfortable bench in his Jacuzzi.

He woke up with something covering his entire body, darkness overwhelming him immediately. He pushed and prodded the material but couldn't break it. The water temperature was turned on a higher degree. "Oh fuck, ow! Let me out!" he yelped in pain as his skin began to boil.

"I told you she'd kill you..." the third voice said. It sounded overjoyed that it was correct.

The voices came together and interrupted his struggle, shooting fiery pains through his head, like a migraine you can't rid of. Declan struggled harder under the sheet, trying to break free, while the voices in his head grew louder and more painful with every sentence,

"I told you she'd kill you..." they all said in unison.

"Stop it! Make the voices stop!" He shouted, on his knees in the water as the sheet was thrown off his head, letting him see the sun peaking the horizon through the glass window that casted a pinkish yellow sunbeam across the white tile floors. "It’s... So beautiful." he said as the light danced across his face and twinkled in his dying eyes.

Behind his wife was an evil man who crossed his arms around his wife's hips. They were both laughing together. "No! It can't be! they can't be right!" he wailed from the Jacuzzi, her low, tone was indifferent as she spoke to her husband: "I'm sorry honey, but they were." she grunted as she raised the sword high and let it fall heavily against the desperate, dying man's skull. splitting it in two.

~~~

And, just for the hell of it, I'll tack on an unfinished and untitled story that I've been unable to complete ;

~~~

"And I lit that little shit on fire..." he said in such a matter-of-fact way that it petrified and stunned his dinner guests like ancient trees, or famous Greek statues.

"You... lit a little boy on fire, Greg?"

He nodded and took a sip of his pinot and examined a molding cheese slice, "Yup! Did it with Sterno. He was acting quite rude. I did it to teach him a lesson." the woman looked shocked and appalled by the man sitting across the fancy table from her.

"My god, that's just terrible Greg!" his friend said, standing up now.

"Yes, isn't it? Sterno isn't exactly cheap nowadays -- hey, what are you doing? Oh, Jorge, don't pick up that phone now, we're all friends here."

Greg stood up and dusted cheese and cracker crumbs off his fancy tuxedo and crossed the room, grabbing the wall mounted receiver and casually tearing it out and slamming it to the ground. His face was red, but slowly lightened up as he pawed his greasy blonde hair back behind his ears.

"Now then, if you'd do me the pleasure and return to your seat, Jorge, we can finish our pleasant dinner and conversation without further... interruption."

Jorge looked at his friend with horror and slowly made his way back to his seat, his eyes skittishly moving from person to person.

Greg returned to his seat and began to eat slowly and with a funny grin."I enjoy this," he said quietly to himself, "very much."

His friends looked at him and then at each other, their faces were stretched back and they all looked like they were about to vomit the branzino they were eating.

Like that first one so far
Haven't read the next two pages yet, but if I get a vote, this is a contender for it.

[Norstal]

It's quite different...that's an extra 24 hours.

So, is it midnight tonight or has the deadline passed?

It's July 31st 11:59 PM PST...I don't know how to make that as unambiguous as possible.

But yes, it's tonight, midnight.

[Esternial]

The skies are tearing themselves apart, clouds breaking open and spilling their blood on the people below, ignorant of what is about to transpire. Crackling thunder mimics the sounds of war. Lightning, the prologue to destruction. However, the little homo sapiens walking way down below the domain of the clouds continue their mundane lives without noticing the subtle warnings from above, having seen too many storms in their lives to see the difference.

Amongst these people is Marcus, an accountant trying to work his way up in the financial world, an arduous task from his own perspective, but no doubt an uninspiring goal for other, more adventurous individuals. The young businessman wasn’t looking for action or adventure, so this suited him just fine, a normal life with a fine job with numerous possibilities, like so many people had these days but what would soon become a rare commodity. Tightly he gripped the handle of his umbrella, fighting the relentless forces of nature that tried to steal away his property as he increased his pace, his legs aching from this rare occasion of physical exercise. One wouldn’t call Marcus a bony man, but his pale complexion and rather imposing height did make that impression, having little to no muscles to account for his years of fast-paced walks to his work.

Taking into account his appearance and stiff personality, Marcus was the epitome of your average stereotypical accountant, rarely seeing the daylight from a windowless office while a lamp shines brightly onto his desk, the stacks of papers casting shadows that to any overworked employee in the financial sector would cause an instantaneous depression.

There was however nothing - or at least very little - stereotypical about Marcus’s office, featuring plenty of windows and a large ceiling fan with a light bulb in the center to illuminate the entire room with the mere touch of a button. The fancy hardwood desk featured not a single sheet of paper, carrying the full burden of a flat-screen computer screen as it leaned against the wall. Marcus was finally home, feeling his joy crawl onto his back and pulling his cheeks to conjure a smile, for no apparent reason but his satisfaction of walking into his own office as he had been doing for all those years. Truly, Marcus was one of the select group of individuals that genuinely liked their work.

Only just having occupied his regular place behind the brown desk, a clerk suddenly barged into the office with a worried look covering his face, like a mask - which were the newest fad lately, as nearly everyone had that same look on their face when even hinting towards a topic that had remotely anything to do with the financial situation in the world. “Charles, what do you have for me today?” Marcus said calmly, his voice oozing out tranquility that seemed to have a minor effect on his colleague, handing him a file containing a few papers. “Johnson Brothers llc. just went belly up. There are quite a few dissatisfied clients...” He explained with a noticeable tremor in his voice, as if a mob of angry shareholders would suddenly burst into the office and lynch him. “Well, it’s only one company, Charles. There’s nothing to worry about.” Marcus replied, pressing a small button on the side of his monitor before a soft humming emitted from below his desk, coming from the black box safely stashed there, stuffed with more numbers that any human being could possibly hope to process.

Charles soon left the company of his colleague, speeding off to deliver another set of files and spread the news to those that hadn’t heard it yet, which was generally a select group of people containing only Marcus most of the time.

As the day passed, Marcus remained ignorant of the chaos taking place in the financial world, locked within his little office whilst being occupied with heaps of paperwork, and he didn’t mind it at all. Truly, he was a man who held the saying “Ignorance is bliss” on a pedestal and preferred to worry himself only when he really had to, probably earning him a life expectancy greater than any other individual in the entire office building. The carefree businessman finished his pile of paperwork by putting a stamp and signature on a set of documents involving the hostile acquisition of a tire manufacturer with one of those clever names which would probably cause you to sigh very deeply and skip to the next page if you ever found its advertisement in a magazine because their slogan wouldn’t most likely be any better, when suddenly a well-dressed man barged into his office, his hair slightly going grey due to daily frustrations of his office job, who immediately began to spit out incomprehensible shards of letters which were presumed to form words, although few actually resembled any existing word within the English vocabulary, as far as Marcus knew.

The raging man’s name was Edward, being a very traditional name for a very traditional man from a very traditional family, who had plenty of values but lacked the dedication to honor them. “Haven’t you heard?” He said, finally having calmed down and able to produce some actual words, “Our company is going downhill! Jobs will be facing the guillotine, no doubt, and my guess would be that ours are amongst them!”

Marcus didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.

“Bloody hell! Do you have any idea what this means?” The frantic man continued as he stared at his seemingly unbothered colleague, trying to wrap his head around what Marcus was thinking, being so calm and controlled even though they were as good as unemployed.
“I do,” Marcus replied calmly, taking a look at the bewildered face of Edward, dripping with sweat, “but that doesn’t mean I have to get all worked up all of a sudden. We haven’t even been fired yet. So, if you’ll excuse me, I have something to do.” Leaving his possibly former-colleague alone in his relatively small office, Marcus walked towards the elevator and pressed the small button near the doors to call for the elevator, lighting up as the sounds of well-maintained mechanics began to resonate throughout the empty shaft and stopped as the massive metal box arrived at its destination, indicating it’s arrival with a soft and satisfied ping.

As the metal doors opened, a suited man walked out and passed Marcus, bumping into his shoulder in a nearly hostile manner as he hastily made his way through the hall, leaving the elevator empty, or at least until Marcus stepped inside the metal box and pressed the button to send him to the top floor.

The ride seemed to take longer than it should have, a loud clamor of metallic clings and clangs coming from the elevator. It had passed its previous inspection with flying colors, but that was more than just a few years ago. Considering everyone was busy dealing with the financial shitstorm looming above their heads, it wasn’t really a surprise.
*ping*

The metal doors slid open and revealed a completely different atmosphere than the one present a few floor below. The absence of frantic clerks and the cacophony of phones trying to catch someone’s attention was very welcome to Marcus’ ears and sanity. The first step was usually the hardest, in this case very much so, as the young man’s leg were shaking like the shambling bones of an old coot. Step by step he made his way across the floor, his shoes producing a nearly deafening thud every time he walked through the silent hallway, wondering if there was actually a single living soul here other than himself. His suspicious were proved wrong when he heard a voice. Nobody had noticed Marcus’ presence yet, so there was no way it could be direct at him, but curiosity made him pursue the sound and find its origin.
“Ah, hello,” The voice said as Marcus entered the large office, “Are you the lawyer?” The voice came from a slim and charming man who was seated in a black leather chair, surrounded by all the luxuries that would definitely make this the boss’ office, but the man who embodied the founder of the company looked very…well…atypical.

Marcus had expected him to resemble more of a walking sack of lard, saturated with the all the benefits his money could buy him, but the person that sat before him wasn’t fat at all. In fact, he even looked fitter than Marcus! Although that’s not really a surprise.
“Umm…yes.” Marcus replied, walking closer towards the large desk that stood in the middle of the room. Avoiding all eye-contact, he instead admired the paintings that decorated the wall. Impressionism was a clear favorite, but it seems that his boss also had weakness for some cubism. The obligatory liquor cabinet was also there, tucked away in a corner to hide any suspicion of an alcohol habit.

“Well, then I assume you found a way out for me? There’s no way I plan to go down with this company and lose everything I worked for”
Right now, Marcus’ lie delved himself a shallow grave, which he might’ve been able to escape if he just kept his mouth shut.
“Umm…”
Don’t say a think, old chap. Calmly back away and excuse yourself. Wrong floor, happens sometimes.
“I think…I have the wrong floor”
Brilliant! Now turn around and get yourself out of there and get yourself a well-deserved cup of joe. What were you going to ask him anyway? You forgot, didn’t you?
“Yeah.” Marcus said out loud.
“Wait a second…you can’t tell anyone about this!” The boss yelled, stepping up from his chair and rummaging through one of the drawers in his desk. Marcus had – for some reason – decided to wait and see what he would do. Maybe he would offer him a bribe, which could help soften the blow of his impending unemployment.

A gun. That was slightly less fortunate. Desperate times made for desperate people.
“I…I can’t let you go…You’ll inform the press, won’t you?”
Marcus opened his mouth but couldn’t say a word. Inside his mind he saw all kinds of imagine flashing before him, possible outcomes for this impasse. He was even considering dodging any bullet Matrix-style and kicking his boss out of the window, something any employee would no doubt consider, but finally he managed to get his vocal chords working.
“I was just going to ask…about the company’s future.”
“Well…WELL YOU GOT YOUR ANSWER!” The boss yelled, his formerly attractive face turning into a malformed work of art. Bulging eyes, clenched teeth and a twitch in his cheek were clearly signs that the man had finally succumbed to the fate of many businessman. Work-related stress.

Boy , did it make him a terrible shot. He was capable of shattering an expensive Ming vase, the tiny stone statuette standing on a cabinet and even shoot down a painting by accurately tearing through the rope that held it up, but shooting the one thing he did try to shoot was clearly too much for him. Only now did Marcus, whose feet were nailed to the floor, notice that the liquor cabinet was completely empty, its contents moved from the stylishly crafted wooden storage space to the floor near the boss his desk. Perhaps not only stress accounted for the man’s poor aim.
While now would be the best time to say something, Marcus’s lips were sealed tighter than a nun’s.
*click* *click*
“Damn it! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!”
The drunk snob grabbed a glass lying on the floor and threw it towards Marcus, which hit the door behind him and shattered the fear that kept Marcus pinned down. In an instant he jumped away in time to dodge the next salvo of glass ordinance, reaching for the first means of defense he could find. In this case, he apparently though a dossier could protect him.
Well clearly it didn’t.

The first bottle that hit the bundle of papers made the wimpy clerk drop it on the floor, spilling its contents across the office. Inside it were a lot of photos and very few clothes.
“Oh dear…”
“So what?! I like goats, you’ll never get out here to tell the press anyway! Maybe I should tell you about my obsession with fruit while we’re at it, huh?!”
Running towards the small palm that stood in one of the corners, the screaming man grabbed the pot and lifted it up with all his might, but since he was used to having other people lift things for him – people that had left him because of his deteriorating financial situation – he found himself opposing the laws of physics. Rather than forward, the pot made him lean backwards, towards the window that just happened to be there.

It was a high drop, but the rich entrepreneur could finally think about everything he did wrong.
He should have married that goat.

Hell, I'll enter this.

[Natair]

L.
M.
A.
O.

Tell me that was dark humor or something. Please. Because I found that hilarious.

I'll be entering a more supernatural-tragedy type story.

[Page]

I'll be entering a more supernatural-tragedy type story.

I've read all but the most recent entries and most seem to be quite dark, including mine. I suppose that is just the zeitgeist of the time.

Pretty much all of my writing, whether it's stories poetry, focuses on why humans are the way they are, what motivates people and all that. And when it's prose it's always inevitably dark.

[Nationstatelandsville]

I'll be entering a more supernatural-tragedy type story.

I've rest all but the most recent entries and most seem to be quite dark, including mine. I suppose that is just the zeitgeist of the time.

Pretty much all of my writing, whether it's stories poetry, focuses on why humans are the way they are, what motivates people and all that. And when it's prose it's always inevitably dark.

I would actually call this a very hopeful time.

Dark is just more fun.

"Hey, you know you that guy you just spent 200 pages bonded with? His head is in a million pieces now. Also, your mother never loved you."

[Natair]

I've rest all but the most recent entries and most seem to be quite dark, including mine. I suppose that is just the zeitgeist of the time.

Pretty much all of my writing, whether it's stories poetry, focuses on why humans are the way they are, what motivates people and all that. And when it's prose it's always inevitably dark.

I would actually call this a very hopeful time.

Dark is just more fun.

"Hey, you know you that guy you just spent 200 pages bonded with? His head is in a million pieces now. Also, your mother never loved you."

Actually, mine is even more crazy than that. There's some shocking stuff that happens (Not sexually or violently, more like mentally.)

[Amon and Friends]

I'll write something, but I only have about six hours.

WRITING POWERS, ACTIVATE!

[Creative Vikings]

I'll probably have to wait 'till next year now.

[Natair]

F*** F*** F*** F*** F***!!!!!
I REALLY need to get to work on this, don't I?

[Nazi Flower Power]

F*** F*** F*** F*** F***!!!!!
I REALLY need to get to work on this, don't I?

If you want to enter this round, then yeah.

[Nationstatelandsville]

F*** F*** F*** F*** F***!!!!!
I REALLY need to get to work on this, don't I?

If you want to enter this round, then yeah.

Laziness has struck me again, so, sadly, it won't happen.

But next time! Next time!

[Creative Vikings]

If you want to enter this round, then yeah.

Laziness has struck me again, so, sadly, it won't happen.

But next time! Next time!

Yes, next time...



Next time....

[Nazi Flower Power]

If you want to enter this round, then yeah.

Laziness has struck me again, so, sadly, it won't happen.

But next time! Next time!

I will be entering again in the fall, if you were looking to give me a good ass-whupping.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Laziness has struck me again, so, sadly, it won't happen.

But next time! Next time!

I will be entering again in the fall, if you were looking to give me a good ass-whupping.

You're a Nazi, I'm an American.

I'm obligated to Normandy this bitch up.

(nods)

[Natair]

You're all in for it if I ever type this goddamn story up...

[Amon and Friends]

Hey, I have a question.

I'm writing a short story about Team Fortress 2 and its characters. Would that be acceptable, or do I have to make up my own setting and characters?

[Natair]

Hey, I have a question.

I'm writing a short story about Team Fortress 2 and its characters. Would that be acceptable, or do I have to make up my own setting and characters?

Writing Deadline July 30th (Subject to change)
6000 word limit
No fanfic, public domain characters are fine
Stay within the site's rules
Must be a new/original story (IE one not posted on another site before this)

[Amon and Friends]

Hey, I have a question.

I'm writing a short story about Team Fortress 2 and its characters. Would that be acceptable, or do I have to make up my own setting and characters?

Writing Deadline July 30th (Subject to change)
6000 word limit
No fanfic, public domain characters are fine
Stay within the site's rules
Must be a new/original story (IE one not posted on another site before this)

Shoot, there goes half a story and my only idea.

I'll go be mad now or something. Maybe I'll shoot for the Fall competition.