Summer Short Story Contest! (2013)

[Occupied Deutschland]

Ladies and gentleman, a reminder in haiku format:
As I sit here now
I realize, with sorrow
deadline comes like Fall.

[Xoriet]

Transience
Setting: Marblehead, Massachusetts, 1633

Hannah Ingleby was exploring the temperature of the Massachusetts Bay by dipping her bare feet into the frigid waters. The painfully glacial sensation that permeated her foot spread from her toes to her ankles within moments of submersion. That made the girl wince, but she was bored to the point of tears after waiting on the rocky shore for what she imagined must have been an hour already. When the girl had nothing important to occupy her time she had a strange tendency to experiment with anything that might be considered dangerous around her. On numerous occasions her dangerous tendencies had landed her in a world of trouble.

With regards to her newest experimental situation, it just so happened that the bay was the nearest possible source of entertainment whilst she waited for her.

She was rather more lovely than not. Her meticulously braided hair was the precise shade of pure honey, complementing her cream-and-roses complexion and dark hazel eyes. The girl’s facial features were strong, but they suited her perfectly. When she was truly joyous her appearance was lifted from merely pretty until her features hinted to a still-premature attractiveness. The promise of future beauty that was revealed at such times had already caught the eye of several potential candidates for marriage when she was of the proper age.

The Ingleby family was not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. Her parents’ expectations that she would provide them a more luxurious life through a good marriage were disproportionate to reality. Their endless obsession over her appearance was stifling to the girl. Rhetta Ingleby was a domineering matron whose control over her children and husband could be only described as absolute. It was the most important thing in the family, more important than anything else – Hannah’s looks.

Frequently she felt that her value as nothing but a marriageable bartering piece was a cruel joke. Marblehead was a branch of Salem, but it was a poor fishing district rather than a true extension of a prosperous town. Her mother and father lavished attention and conditional love on their pretty young daughter in anticipation for the wealth they would soon share.

“You do realize that playing in the water during the winter makes you susceptible to catching cold,” an amused voice noted from behind the girl.

She whirled, her expression abruptly shifting from clinical detachment to radiant delight. “Ms. Ledale!” she cried, her cheeks flushing with joy. “You came today!”

The woman smiled at the unmistakable elation, the expression warm enough to banish the chill lingering in Hannah’s wet toes.

They had been acquainted since Hannah was ten years old. Weary of the punitive atmosphere in the house, her siblings resentful over being marginalized by their cold father and the overwhelming personality of their harsh mother, Hannah had fled the house one afternoon. She ran until she reached the first wooded area. At first the feeling of freedom was marvelous. No constraints hovered over her head. Her siblings were not here to stare sullenly at her. The girl had reveled in the simple quiet of the wild, untamed nature for well over two hours.

Sadly, her joy was not to survive the fall of night.

Around the time the sun began to set Hannah discovered that being lost in unfamiliar forest territory was not at all enjoyable. The dusky spaces between the trees were now black and full of shadows that seemed to be malevolently watching her. Her new freedom now terrified her. Freedom meant that she was also free to meet a terrible end and no-one would be there to save her.

After an hour of wandering she collapsed against a tree; sobbing, exhausted, demoralized. Precisely a moment after her capitulation she encountered the most astounding being. A warm voice spoke to her, sounding both amused and involved. Hannah looked up to find a woman gazing down at her, one whose beauty was almost inhuman. She was sitting in the higher branches of the tree the girl was clinging to. Hannah had stared in astonishment, her face streaked with tears, completely struck by the extraordinary woman. The woman glanced over her with vague amusement, but after listening to Hannah’s tearful story, her interested expression altered to one of sympathy.

She said that her name was Arianna Ledale. Arianna’s looks were different than Hannah’s. Her long, glossy locks were blacker than midnight. Unlike most women she wore that glorious midnight hair down. Her flawless complexion was as pale as the moon and her large eyes were an even deeper black than her hair, framed by long smoky lashes contrasting with her pearlescent features. Where Hannah had a sturdy frame, the woman’s lithe form was petite and graceful. Her facial features were the pinnacle of her unnatural beauty.

“Hannah, your attention is wandering. Put your stockings and shoes back on before you catch a cold,” scolded Arianna. “You are vulnerable to the elements. Have a mind for your health.”

Hannah snorted. “You sound like my mother.”

The woman laughed at that accusation. “I hope I do not sound like your mother. She is not a woman I would wish to know.”

One unusual thing Hannah had noticed about Arianna was the fact that she held most people in disdain. Particularly men, and especially the ministers who served God. Often she spoke as if she was a different being entirely. She thought it was refreshing, to hear a woman insult every class known to polite society, especially the arrogant heirs to a rich family. Arianna’s unchristian attitude was a breath of fresh air in her exceedingly controlled life in the village.

“Well, most people don’t really like my mother,” Hannah confessed.

That admission received another amused look. Arianna found her young friend diverting, which was probably the only reason such an extraordinary woman would associate with her.

Her black eyes glanced up, her gaze unflinching as she stared directly into the incandescent sphere that was the sun.

“If you’re so concerned about health, why are you dressed in summer clothing?” asked the girl.

“The elements do not affect me,” was the absent reply. “Weather and nature tend to ignore me. I am not at odds with nature the way you are.”

It was uncanny, Hannah decided, her friend’s ability to look directly at the sun and away as if, truly, she was invulnerable to the laws of nature. There were many things about Arianna that were uncanny. Well, Hannah liked her regardless of her quirks and mysteries.

“Why?”

The woman looked at the girl now, a faint smile at the corners of her lips. “That knowledge is not relevant to this discussion.”

This was yet another atypical trait of her enigmatic friend.

Hannah had theories on what Arianna was. “Are you an angel, then?”

She was startled and slightly offended when her habitually offhand companion burst into peals of delighted laughter. Her lower lip gave birth to an indignant pout that grew more pronounced every second the laughter continued.

“I apologize, Hannah,” Arianna said when she recovered her composure. “That description is not one that I hear often. No, I am not an angel of any sort.”

“What about a fairy? But you have no wings, and you don’t grant wishes,” Hannah reasoned aloud, the pout replaced by a pensive look.

This was a dangerous topic. It was time to change the topic. “If someone offered you a wish, what would you wish for?” she questioned, placing her hands on her hips and assuming a rather feminine pose.

“The Domina wants to have roses that last longer than five days in the vase.” ‘Domina’ was the title she had christened her mother.

She lifted a brow. “What a mundane thing to use a wish on. Roses are easily found.”

As if out of thin air, five roses with petals the color of sunrise appeared in her right hand. The woman offered the roses to the startled Hannah with a faint smile.

“How did you do that?” she demanded, accepting the exquisite roses gingerly to avoid an untimely acquaintance with the sharp thorns.

She was gifted with a grin. “It’s magic,” Arianna answered mischievously.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” Hannah grumbled, but it was a good-natured complaint.

“Your mother is looking for you, Hannah. I suggest you return home before you really do catch a cold.”

Waving her farewell, the young girl took off in the direction of Marblehead, the roses cradled protectively in her arms.

~

The next time they were to meet, Hannah did not appear. There was no precedent to this new development. In fact, it was the very first time she had ever neglected their weekly rendezvous. Arianna had an instantaneous insight that there was something amiss with this situation. This lingering curiosity and mild concern were not welcome emotions to her. She knew that to interfere with human affairs was nothing but trouble for her.

Arianna was not human, after all. Humans were nothing like her race. She was a witch, one of the few beings on the earth with real power. Hannah came dangerously close to guessing the truth, but her Puritan upbringing made her think that all witches were inherently evil. Such a misunderstanding was expedient for the purpose of masking her real identity.

Well, that Puritan conviction of hers was not entirely off the mark. Arianna was not precisely a benign witch herself. She was merely apathetic to humanity, rather unlike those planning a vendetta against the fragile beings. ‘Fragile’ was a rather minimal term to describe humans, however, for humans were dangerous creatures. They outnumbered the witches by such a number that said fragile humans were a true threat to the existence of Arianna and her ilk. Such a bleak statistic did nothing to alleviate the superiority complex of all witches.

Ordinarily she would never associate with a human if she was not assigned to protect them. If they could not give her beneficial information about a troubling topic, she would not bother to integrate herself into their lives. Arianna was not quite heartless, but she was not a considerate or sociable woman. Why she was so involved with the little human girl was a mystery to the witch.

Regardless of her personal opinions, she decided ultimately to make the journey on the second week of Hannah’s absence.

Arianna detested the human settlement the moment she first walked onto the dirty streets. The overpowering reek of fish made her distinctly queasy. She had changed into clothing more appropriate for winter to placate the humans. Her country worsted dress, a severe slate-gray garment, blended in with the sober hues of this Puritan society. She even wore shoes and stockings for this occasion – a true sign of her keenness. Even though she wore only a thin woolen coat over her dress to ward off the arctic chill breezing through the town from the bay, her features were not pinched or flushed from the cold.

She had learned from one of her sisters that the Naumkeag Tribe was suffering from the deadly disease called smallpox. There was nothing she could do for them, nor did she have reason to interfere in natural selection. Humans were humans, after all, strong only in mobs like crows and starlings.

What she did care about was Hannah. Arianna had cared enough to investigate personally. So she walked through the narrow, crooked streets of the town, stepping carefully to avoid soiling her shoes. Arianna ignored the people who stopped to stare at her. They were not worth any concessions.

She appeared the personification of insouciance…until she encountered a tall woman who was almost certainly what a matured Hannah would bear a resemblance to. That woman had the same strong features and honey coloring. But her eyes were like granite, her skin roughened by exposure to weather, and her mouth was downturned and framed by deep, hard lines. Time had not been kindly to her. Speaking with this unpleasant woman would yield enough valuable information to merit her attention for at least a few moments, the witch reasoned.

“Hannah’s mother,” Arianna said without preamble.

The woman looked daggers at her for the presumption, her attractive face creasing into ugly lines. “And just who are you?” she snapped. “Do you want money, you worthless wench? Well I have none!”

She was very fortunate that that she was Hannah’s mother. Rhetta Ingleby never would know how close to her impromptu death she had come with those remarks. “I am an acquaintance of your daughter’s. Where is she, Mrs. Ingleby?” Arianna said as blandly as she was able to manage.

“Dead to us,” spat her mother. “That shameful chit contracted smallpox. Smallpox! If she even lives she will be disfigured for life! What a waste of a daughter. I never should have paid her any mind.”

Arianna’s expression was frosty. “I repeat, Rhetta Ingleby, where is Hannah?”

Rhetta paused and swallowed visibly. Her anger had faded before that icy veneer, replaced by trepidation.

When Arianna’s anomalous aura exuded from her form there was no fighting with her. No mere human could withstand such a black force. Many of her own kind were similarly powerless before her aura. Normally she suppressed that aura for her own convenience. Today she felt not the slightest compunction to conceal her true nature.

“Follow me,” she muttered, whirling away from the implacable black gaze of the stranger.

The witch followed her closely, her deadly aura sending humans scuttling in fright to escape the sudden swamp of fear spreading through the village. Had she been in the right mind, perhaps she would not have reacted so excessively. Currently she was too incensed by Rhetta Ingleby’s callousness regarding her daughter to care about the damage she was dealing to the psyches of the humans.

Hannah’s family stared at the unexpected guest in an amalgam of fear and awe. Before entering their small house Arianna had diminished her aura entirely. Her point had been made. Rhetta Ingleby would not be speaking nastily for quite some time. The children and Rhetta’s husband received one brief glance apiece before she walked towards the room she was assured her human friend was trapped in. She needed to speak with Hannah before she died. Indeed, the sense of death was strong here.

Before she could open the door a small hand caught the back of her rough skirts. Arianna turned and looked down into the face of an eight-year-old girl impassively. She did not have the features of her sister and mother. That would not stop her from being a pawn under her parents.

Arianna shot a single malevolent look the way of the Ingleby mother and father. Both shuddered with obvious fear and backed as far away from the witch as they were able.

“You’ll get sick and be ugly,” the lank-haired child said simply.

Now that really annoyed Arianna. She shot another ominous glare in the direction of the cringing parents of the poor children. To think that beauty was more important than life! What utter fools they were. They were a perfect example of the flaws of humanity and just why witches disliked them so.

“And then you have no value,” added the boy standing by his father.

Arianna took a deep breath to control her escalating temper. They were humans. Stupidity was rampant among this race. They could not help being foolish any more than they could help being born as humans. Wasting their lives futilely in the hopes that a little girl could bring them prosperity at the cost of her own life was absurd, but it was expected. She could not harm them for following their natures.

Gently she disentangled the little hand fastened in the folds of her roughly woven skirts and walked into the room without further discourse.
Hannah’s condition was far worse than Arianna had estimated. Her skin was lifted into large, painful bumps and what was not raised and swollen was turning an unhealthy shade of purple from the deadly disease proliferating in her body. What truly upset Arianna about Hannah’s appearance was the look of blank desolation in the girl’s hazel eyes. Unconcerned over an illness she could not catch, Arianna sat on the rough carved chair next to the trundle bed and laid a hand on her uneven forehead.

Her forehead radiated a blazing heat that no human was likely to survive.

She sat back after a bit. Hannah was awake but had not spoken yet. This was more alarming than her appearance. “Your family offered you nothing but anger when you took ill.”

The girl nodded stiffly.

“They are concerned only with your face.”

She received another stiff nod.

“Smallpox almost always leaves terrible scars on the faces of its victims,” she continued.

A tear trickled down one cheek, running between the lesions covering her face and body.

Arianna reached out and brushed the tear away. “Would you rather die disfigured if you cannot live without your beauty, Hannah?” She half-expected her to answer as had her siblings.

“I don’t want to die,” she managed in a raspy whisper of a voice. “But I can’t live here anymore.”

Arianna shook her head in genteel distaste. “I met your mother. Tis no wonder you flee home whenever opportunity knocks. Now, I am here to offer you a choice. I cannot blithely leave you here knowing your wolf pit of a family. There is a place where you would be safe and healthy, Hannah. They shall not miss you like this. And, oh, how disgusting it is that their love for their daughter is so superficial.”

Hannah turned to face her for the first time. She had not been able to look at the beautiful woman when her own sense of self had been so dreadfully tarnished by this disease. The words she had spoken just now were promising her something she thought she could never have. Could she really live?

“You are a human, but I think that Mother will not mind me bringing you home,” her witch friend mused aloud. “And the women will enjoy the company of someone new.”

Was this perhaps a cruel jest? Why would anyone want her when she was so ill, not to mention hideously disfigured?

Sensing her misery, Arianna placed both hands on the girl’s cheeks. Though she had said she would rather live than die no matter how she looked, it would be nothing more than a cruel jest to see that declaration as a reality. A disease was so easily fixed. “This will not be pleasant,” she warned, and her fingers dug into her flesh with unnatural strength.

Hannah closed her eyes, imagining excruciating agony to accompany her painful grip. Those somnolent expectations remained unsatisfied. All she felt was an uncomfortably hot wave forcing itself through her veins. The sensation lingered for over a full minute before the peculiar force dissipated entirely. She opened her eyes, startled, then gasped as she looked at her hand. Her smallpox was gone!

Shocked, she searched her flawless hands for any trace of swelling. She felt her smooth face with shaking fingers, her eyes glazed over with complete and total astonishment. Hannah stared at the smile on Arianna’s lips, bewilderment written in bold and underlined letters over her healed face.

“How did you do that? What did you do?” she demanded.

“I just fixed you,” Arianna said lightly. “It was a rough method to go about healing, admittedly, but I don’t generally interfere in the fate of humans.”

Her hazel eyes were nonplussed. “But it was smallpox.”

The witch laughed softly and rose. Though her size was misleading when taking her physical strength into account, Arianna had no trouble picking up Hannah, who was close to her size and probably more than her weight as well. “Smallpox is a small thing, dear. Now, if you were dismembered and eviscerated I could have done nothing to help you.”

“If you have such wondrous power, why don’t you use it to help people?” asked the girl as the woman lowered her to the floor and helped her stand. She felt weak and shaky, but she had enough strength to stand with moderate confidence.

“I have no reason to help humans, Hannah. Your kind is ephemeral and subject to the whims of life. It would be amiss of me to interfere with your people. Moreover, your race always repays our generosity with a sham of a trial and speedy condemnation to the occupation of serving as firewood. Why should I help them?”

There was no immediate answer to that statement. Hannah considered that question carefully – largely because the dark-featured woman was expecting one.

“Then why did you help me?” she wondered aloud.

Arianna gave her a strange, almost troubled glance. “Call it a whim,” was the even reply. “Shall we leave? I think that you will not miss your family enough to merit a farewell.”

Hannah did not truly need to provide an answer. Arianna already knew well what the answer was. Why did she care about one human girl? There was no possible deviation to such a simple question.

Humans were bringers of change. She liked change. The existence of a being that could live for centuries, invulnerable to the passage of time, in due course grew tiresome. Said beings became discontent in their eternity. Therefore it was logical that she like Hannah as well. Yet following that logic implied that she was fond of all humans. Her conclusion, the answer, was that she genuinely liked Hannah Ingleby. Not for her human heritage – no, never for her humanity – but as a friend. Though she had scores of adoptive sisters, she was not close to many of their number.
A friend was unusual for Arianna. No wonder she had gone to such lengths for a human girl.

Within the next fifty years she would inevitably outlive her vibrant human companion. There was no escape from the preordained fate of all humans. Not even her Mother could prolong the lifespan of a human when that human’s time came knocking on the metaphorical door.
Approximately fifty years remained for Hannah Ingleby. Such a short time could not be wasted in this godforsaken household and the crude fishing village.

“It is time for me to return. You will never return home if you accompany me. Are you certain of your choice?”

“Assuredly.”

“Then let us depart. Now, this is what is called an intercontinental portal, Hannah. I assure you it is quite safe for travel. We will be using it to bring you to the place where I grew up.”

“What is…no, let me guess. It’s magic, right?” the girl said wryly, making a face. “Everything has been magic from the beginning. I just wouldn’t believe it. Who are you really?”

“If you really want to know, walk through the portal, Hannah.”

Hannah Ingleby walked through the portal without a moment of hesitation. She did not look back as she stepped through. Was this the right choice? There was not even a need to consider that question. Anything was better than this life she was so blessed to escape.

She did not follow Hannah. Instead she closed the portal with a single casual gesture. The witch turned to the door leading into the main room of the house. It was time to deal with the Ingleby family. Their terror was almost tangible. With an ambiguous smile and a lively spring in her step, Arianna opened the door and through the crude threshold into the room where Hannah’s family awaited her fearfully.

The door closed behind her with an ominous creak.

Five crumbling petals slipped from the dried posy hanging on the back of the door. Slowly they drifted to the floor, twisting gradually as they fell. Before they could reach the floor the wilted petals flickered with a glint of flame. Within the space of a transient moment the five forsaken petals burned away into the faintest whisper of white ash as fine as the dust on the wooden floor.

[Unitaristic Regions]

Shame I only saw this contest now, otherwise I'd have joined

[Wisconsin9]

Shame I only saw this contest now, otherwise I'd have joined

It's not too late, if you can write fast.

[-Pinkville]

VALLEY

The village was busy, both equine and human stood together in the center on a small mound. The humans were ragged. Olive drab uniforms were torn, black combat boots ripped, torn and rotting. Their teeth had never seen a tooth-brush and their hair had never experienced a wash. They held rusty weapons on their shoulders, as well as weapons carved from the trees around them. They were animals of the jungle, rejected by civilization. "Where'd them horses run off to, sir?"

The soldiers squinted and flexed their jaws. The equine tribals left them on the mound, alone. The sun peaked overhead and the squawks of jungle birds echoed across the silent village. "Right there." A large troop of equine slowly approached the mound, the troopers fidgeted with their rusty rifles and rough wooden stakes unsure of the situation.

"Sure is lots of horses, Sir." The procession stopped in front of them and a large, painted equine approached the mound. He stood silently in front of the G.I.s. The soldiers nervously gripped their weapons and eyed the village. Big eyes stared back from the shadows of the huts. The horse chief bobbed his head and spoke in a deep, guttural fashion, "What are you doing here, Man? This isn't a place for your kind."

One of the soldiers collapsed, a large wooden splinter jutted out of his neck so forcefully, his neck snapped and sliced through the other side, blood oozed and spurted wildly. "Aw shit! Spread out!" The men bolted in all directions to the edge of the mound, the horse chief neighed and kicked up dirt, running at a trooper armed with a rusty Colt revolver. The chamber revolved, one, two, three times. His soldiers were overtaken by a mob of horses stampeding up the mound, their heads down, ramming and trampling the soldiers who couldn't run.

The chief was dead, his long equine skull was shattered and his skin peeled back, blackened and shredded by the large .45 caliber rounds. He swung his giant cannon around and the chamber revolved a fourth time. The entire right side of a galloping horse exploded in a bloody bone-filled mist. The body settled violently on the muddy ground and blood gushed out of it's wound. "Get out of the village! Go!"

He cocked his revolver again and lifted it up, the hammer clicked back and the chamber turned, rolling a fresh bullet into the chamber. He gazed down the octagonal barrel -- inscribed with "Beauty" along the side -- and lugged the heavy thing to the left, aiming right at a horse tearing apart a screaming soldier. "I hate fucking horses..." the gun went off, the chamber exploded. In a flash his hand disappeared and he was thrown backwards onto the hard ground of the mound. The fighting slowly ended and the horses neighed and bucked over the dead soldiers.

"Uuhh... Fuck..." the soldier squirmed on the ground and spat blood. His view was crowded by vicious horses covered in blood staring down at him. A large horse, covered in blood and blind in one eye stared down at him, the wooden stake protruding from his left eye. "This is our land, not yours." He raised his hoof high while the soldier waved his bloody stump in the air as the hoof smashed into his skull and stomped it in until he went limp.

SOME TIME LATER

They slowly crossed the dense jungle, dead leaves and branches crunched under their old, torn combat boots. The jungle around them was thick and the sunlight above them fought the canopy of leaves for space to shine.

The line of men strained their ears for all the sounds, natural and unnatural. A dog whined loudly and sniffed the deck, catching a scent. "What you got, boy?" They stepped through taller grass, waist high and the trees started to thin.

"We're gettin' somewhere now." They picked up speed and began to jog slowly through the tall, thin grass. The trees thinned out, giving way to a large clearing and a rolling valley ahead. "Finally," The line of men slowed down and fanned out. The dog barked louder, frothing at the mouth. "Down boy."

They spotted the brown creatures and fell into a skirmish line. "Remember Walker..." The fire terrified the creatures, they galloped in all directions, towards huts, towards open fields. The fire was inescapable. "Alright, move in and burn it." They stood up, broke the line and readied their Zippos. The soldiers calmly walked through the village, a testament to primitive living. "Thatch roofs burn good."

[Unitaristic Regions]

Shame I only saw this contest now, otherwise I'd have joined

It's not too late, if you can write fast.

Well, I could make a super-duper short story I suppose .

Yessss... the inspiration flows through my veins!!!

[Jello Biafra]

This was a story I wrote for a class but has otherwise gone unused:

Illiterature

Klikmak the alien sat on the couch reading a comic book. The room in which he sat was cluttered, with various objects strewn about on the floor. A clothes rack with several articles of clothing hung up on it was in one corner of the room; a refrigerator/freezer in another. The gun that had been hung up on the wall had become askew and now pointed slightly toward the floor. There was a closet door, an outside door, and a doorway leading to some unseen place in the house.

Jorkla entered the room through the door leading outside. In contrast with Klikmak’s, her skin was pea-green as opposed to his olive-green color. She carried a large bag with a department store’s logo on it.

“Hi,” said Klikmak. Jorkla looked at him but said nothing. They vigorously rubbed tentacles, Jorkla becoming less enthusiastic as she surveyed the room. She sat the bag down next to the end of the couch where she normally sits and walked toward the refrigerator.

“There are no more cherry popsicles left,” Klikmak said. Jorkla seemed undeterred as she searched the freezer. “There is one left, in the freezer door.”

“Why are we speaking?” said Jorkla.

“The neighbors invited us over for dinner tomorrow. I’m practicing communicating like them to blend in.”

Jorkla found the popsicle she was looking for. “Oh goody, it’s orange.” She rolled two of her eyes. She left it in the freezer and turned around. “I guess that’s why your human suit is out?” She pointed to a mass of fabric on the floor.

“What?” Klikmak looked up from his comic for the first time. “Sure, that’s why.”

“Mm hmm.” Jorkla picked up the human suit and placed it on a hanger. She hung it up on the clothes rack. “I guess I’ll go tomorrow, too.”

“Will you? Oh good. I was afraid to ask, but you know the human suit seems to fit better when you’re there.” Klikmak turned the corners of his mouth upward.

“I don’t see why you have such a problem with your suit. Mine always seems to fit me just fine.” Jorkla sat down on the couch. “So what did you do today?”

“Oh, not much.” Klikmak turned a page. “What did you do today?”

“My friend had an exhibition of photographs she wanted me to go to. Twelve photos, all of a rice cake, from various angles. I feel like I learned something, but it was unsatisfying.”

“Why would you expect a photo of a rice cake to be satisfying?”

“I don’t know, I just feel like it supposed to be.”

“Maybe a sculpture or a painting would have been better?”

“Maybe, but could I have learned anything then?”

“Or maybe instead of a rice cake, the photos should have been of a chocolate cake? Or an actual chocolate cake. That’d satisfy me.”

“Yeah,” said Jorkla. Both she and Klikmak had expressions of remembering past chocolate cakes. One of them may have sighed. After about a minute, she said “is your comic book any good?”

“Graphic novel.”

“What?”

“They call them graphic novels. I’m not sure why, there’s not a whole lot of explicit sex or profanity. But it’s all right, quality-wise. I’m looking forward more to what’s going to be happening in the next issue. Chillzer is hatching a plot to steal all of the refrigerators of the world and create a huge Freon bomb to freeze the planet. There’s excellent foreshadowing here.

“I see.” Jorkla said.

“Pardon me, citizen, but the pursuit of evil never ends.” Klikmak lowered the register of his voice here.

“What?”

“That’s Captain Lieutenant’s catchphrase.”

“I see,” said Jorkla again. “Why is, what was his name, Chillzer, enacting his plan on that day?”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s special about that day that the story is being told then and not some other day? What can he possibly learn?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s just a random Monday.”

“That’s ridiculous. Nobody ever learns anything on a random Monday.” She gave a dismissive wave of a tentacle.

“Um. All right then.” Klikmak turned pages, undeterred.

Jorkla looked over at her bag. “I have something for you,” she said. She reached into the bag.

Klikmak’s attention was diverted from his comic book. “Oh boy, what?”

She pulled out a large box with a neatly tied bow on it. “Guess.” She handed him the box.

Klikmak opened the box and looked inside. “Is this it?” he said.

“Nope, it’s all of the important clues you need to figure it out, though.”

The box contained an apple, a vial of ebola virus, a small cactus, and a wrench.

“I don’t get it. Why don’t you just tell me what it is?”

“Because guessing games are fun.”

“But you just gave me all of the important clues. Why shouldn’t I just sift through everything and decide for myself what’s important?”

“You’re silly.” Jorkla patted him on the head with a tentacle.

They looked at each other for a moment. Klikmak removed the vial of ebola virus from the box. He put it in his mouth and bit down. “Aw, it’s stale,” he said. There was the sound of glass crunching. He flapped his mouth like a horse eating peanut butter.

“Well?” Jorkla said.

“I have something for you, too.” From somewhere between the couch cushions he pulled out a book. He handed it to Jorkla.

“A collection of short stories by Ernest Hemingway? He’s my favorite author.”

“I know,” Klikmak said.

Jorkla wiped an eye with a tentacle. She wiped another, then another.

Klikmak, satisfied, returned to his comic book. He put the box he was holding onto the coffee table, overturning it in the process. The apple, cactus, and wrench spilled out onto the already cluttered table. Jorkla stiffened. Klikmak didn’t appear to notice any of this.

Jorkla noticed the book in her hand. “Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if it were a story someone was telling? What would you want someone else to get from it?”

“A laugh,” said Klikmak.

“That’s it? Just entertainment?”

“Sure.”

“I think if our life were a story, the reader would wonder why we were green.”

“Um, we are green.”

“No, what’s the significance of the color green?”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, I guess you wouldn’t.” Jorkla put the book into her bag.

“You’re really hung up on stories today,” said Klikmak.

Jorkla folded her tentacles across her body. “I guess things just seem so much simpler in them than in real life.”

“They are simpler.”

“But they’ve taught me so much.”

“How?”

“What?”

“How have they taught you so much? Haven’t you read some of them on random Mondays? What could you have learned on a random Monday?”

At that moment the gun that had been hanging on the wall fell from the nail holding it up and landed delicately in a pile of dirty clothing.

Jorkla didn’t respond. Klikmak returned to his comic book. Jorkla stood up, picked up her bag, and walked over to the closet. She opened the closet door and several things fell out, including a nuclear weapon. She impatiently nudged the nuke back into the closet with a tentacle and shut the closet door. She went to the clothes rack and dumped the entire contents of the rack into her bag.

As she was doing so, a refrigerator/freezer fell through the ceiling and landed on the side of the couch where Jorkla was sitting. A large ice cube popped out from under the refrigerator and skidded across the floor. It crashed through the wall and slid away. A man wearing a white sailor suit jumped down through the hole in the ceiling. He turned to Klikmak. “Pardon me, citizen, but the pursuit of evil never ends.” The man ran through the hole in the wall after the ice cube.

“Aw, this is a biography.” Klikmak tossed the comic book across the room. In the commotion, the freezer door next to him had popped open. He began to look inside.

Jorkla walked over to him. “Klikmak, it’s over between us. I’m going to stay with my mother.”

“What, why? Can’t we talk about this?”

“No,” she said. “We’re obviously not on the same page.” She began to walk to the door.

Klikmak took a cherry popsicle from the freezer next to him. He held it out in one of his tentacles. He looked at Jorkla’s back. She stopped. She turned around and walked back toward him. There was a pause, and then she took the popsicle from him. She walked away through the door, taking his human suit with her.

[Nazi Flower Power]

Marblehead was a branch of Salem, but it was a poor fishing district rather than a true extension of a prosperous town.

That's funny. Nowadays Marblehead is pretty upscale.

[Wisconsin9]

I finally started editing my story for this. The fact that I wrote it in two days isn't making anything easier.

[Old Tyrannia]

Eh, I don't think I'll be entering anything. I started work on a short story but as I worked on it, I realised I'm not going to finish it in time, and certainly not within the word limit, and it's too late to try to produce something else.

[Tlik]

Can I just ask what time (and timezone) on the 25th the deadline is? I ask as inspiration has decided to strike rather late, and I might take it slowly and save it for Autumn.

[Xoriet]

Marblehead was a branch of Salem, but it was a poor fishing district rather than a true extension of a prosperous town.

That's funny. Nowadays Marblehead is pretty upscale.

That story is set back in 1633 when Marblehead was a branch of Salem and fishing village, during a smallpox epidemic in a nearby Tribe, the Naumkeag. The separation from Salem came after the set date.

[Occupied Deutschland]

Unofficial
Unofficial
Unofficial
Unofficial
As in: 'not an actual Scoring that affects position in the contest' Unofficial.
See: Unauthorized, Uncalled for, Unsanctioned, Informal, Unrecorded, For entertainment-purposes only, etcetera.

Purely for entertainment/constructive-criticism purposes, but utilizing the scoring rubric of the contest.
So yeah, these are unofficial. Got it? Solely meant to give a little more feedback to you folks who entered.

Have I mentioned these are unofficial?

Characters - 20/25

James Braxton and Marlee Holloway dominate the story and both are pretty well done. Both seem a bit cursory in their details or personality, but they’re certainly functional. A little bit more on Holloway seems like it’d be appropriate, something that relates her introduction into politics after we have Braxton’s fall, as that could really show the character’s interests and such more than Braxton’s one-sided labeling of her as an ‘environmentalist’ and animal-rights advocate does, but at the same time the flow would be interrupted by that, so I can see why it would be avoided.

What really kind of gets me are the minor characters. Marlee’s mother is done as perfectly as her minor part allows by her concern over this random strange animal in their yeard, and Braxton’s HAIRDRESSER of all things seems to me to be almost single-handedly established by an offhand comment about the ‘liberal media’. It’s little stuff, but I like it (The older woman Braxton meets who gives him the gerrymander also has this. She is very well-established and relatable despite being so minor to the story itself). One nitpick, Marlee’s MOM says ‘Holy shit!’ when she sees the gerrymander, and while this seems like a legit reaction, nothing’s really made of it. I would think that with a young child, some note would be taken of it. Either the child would say something to scold her mommy or the mother would otherwise be embarrassed by the situation.

The points off are for James’ and Marlee’s limited development or establishment as it seemed to me. Like I said, they’re functional, and Braxton is a little more so than Marlee, but a little MORE on motivations and character would be nice for me. In Marlese’s case it seems like that could’ve been done via her ‘intro’ to politics. Tell us WHY she got involved with the environmentalist thing, which very well could just be this innocent outlook on the world that is reflected somewhat by her initial interactions with Gerry the GIGANTIC lizard. James seems to have a veneer of not really CARING about his values and being more into politics for the winning (especially in the earlier portions before he is an old man), but I’m not sure if this is what you were going for or not. It does seem like a good character, this guy who’s balancing his values and his desire for ‘winning’ in politics, but a little more display of him would seem appropriate. Especially if this wasn’t what you were going for. I’m just not sure quite how I was supposed to read the guy.

Plot - 20/25

I’m not sure what to say here. It’s a bit disjointed just because of all the time-skips that are required, but that doesn’t really detract from it all that much. It’s a familiar tale (less respectable person loses item  More respectable person finds item  redemption of original loser), but at the same time the tongue-in-cheek symbology of the Gerrymander (which I really like, by the way) makes it different enough to hold interest.

Once again, my opinion is that another portion dedicated to Marlee’s ‘rise to power’ could help, especially if it followed Braxton’s dramatic fall. But as it is it works fine and the ‘style’ does benefit I think from going from Braxton’s failure to Braxton in a nursing home seemingly at peace with his failure until he spots Marlee and the Gerrymander.

Also, I’d note that the ‘explanation’ of the gerrymander as an animal works and I particularly like Braxton’s own comment about how it’s ridiculous because ‘gerrymander’ is just a term for a political maneuver and named after a person who did it. It’s a self-aware call out at the ridiculousness of the story that doesn’t become so obvious that the story itself becomes ridiculous and more parody than actual story. In fact, that whole portion where Braxton is meeting with the older woman just catches my attention, it reminds me of those fairy tale meetings where the main character meets with some witch or such with spectacular powers, but brought into being much more plausible (in particular here by the discussion over the older woman’s husband).

Setting - 11/15

About the only thing bringing this down is littler stuff. I feel like there wasn’t quite enough of setting establishment or USE during Braxton and Marlee’s meeting, or Braxton’s failure at presidential candidacy (though this one DOES have strong points in it’s establishment with the beginning with the janitor and balloons). I guess it seems to me like the nursing home where Braxton is at the end could use more setting details, especially if those could be tied into establishing his mood or character some more. But these are relatively minor gripes and on the whole the setting is always established in the way it should be. The hotel in the beginning with Braxton is done well, as you have a lot of mentioning of where Braxton is looking for this lost pet of his, while ‘ignoring’ other details, which seems to me like a good reflection of what Braxton sees as important in that moment. He doesn’t care about any other people or such that might be in the hotel, even if they are there, he cares about his lost pet, and that seems to be reflected in the setting details we get. I like it.

Creativity - 11/15

As I mentioned, it’s the basic ‘lost precious item’ plot with a TWIST (but thankfully not a lame M. Night Shamalan twist). The introduction of the Gerrymander changes things enough to make it interesting, even if I did see the ‘redemption’ moment for Braxton coming from a mile away.

Style - 11/15

The only real complaint I have is that there’s not a lot of ‘different’ style in here. One thing I almost immediately thought of upon finding out what the story’s essence with the gerrymander was was that some kind of view from this lizard out towards politics would be interesting. But that never materialized. That said, that’s a pretty minor hypothetical complaint, so honestly it’s a bit of a stretch.

Grammar/spelling - 5/5

I saw nothing, but I am by no means a grammar expert as my story will undoubtedly show.

Overall - 78/100

Characters – 20/25

Ledale seems more developed than Hannah, but that seems like a result of Ledale being more of the focus of the story than Hannah. While both are main characters, we see inside Ledale’s head more often, so her character inevitably becomes stronger. Hannah is also done pretty well I think, she exudes a pretty good reflection of childhood innocence, albeit I don’t know if she’s necessarily an ACCURATE depiction of a good little colonial girl with a traditional Puritan upbringing, but that’s nitpicky enough it’s easy to discount for reasons of suspension of disbelief, so I don’t have any complaints there.

Where I do have some complaints are on your side characters. Which are limited as far as I can tell to Hannah’s family. Her mother is done…passably, but she is dominated by this one-dimensional ‘domineering’ aspect that is done somewhat for the purposes of the story. While this is kind’ve sort’ve forgivable as once again it’s done more for storyline purposes than character development, it seems like she could’ve been made somewhat more relateable with just a little bit of context about how what she was doing was basically the norm (and I’m not sure if it was but I got the impression from the story that this is what the ‘norm’ WAS, which, wrong or not from the story’s (or historical) perspective, does create a good opportunity for a character a bit more complex. The husband and son’s submission to this woman is done well and quite believable for the little interaction we have with those characters, but once again they seem harmed by the mother’s single-aspect personality. It would seem more powerful if the wife had been a slightly more sympathetic character who was interested in her daughter getting married to a wealthier person for the good of both the family AND her daughter, and that would complicate the plot a little more than it is, creating opportunities for a bit more complexity and depth in the storyline, but it’s not a major enough complaint to warrant too much knocking.

As I said, Ledale easily dominates the ‘character’ aspect of the story, which seems appropriate given her place in the story and what she is. Supernatural characters should rightly dominate a story such as this. And Ledale DOES. I’m interested in her. She made me want to know more, want to know how she came to be in America or if she had always been there, and so on. If I wanted to get really nitpicky, I could say she was too ‘mysterious’ in the classical sense (where she says ‘that knowledge is not relevant to this dicussion’ for example near the very beginning which is kind’ve…typical of such a character). But that is a nitpick over a traditional character role/trope, and the way you handle it is good enough to excuse some ‘cliché’ lines.


Plot - 20/25
The contraction of smallpox by Hannah seems like the real ‘start’ of the story, supported by the earlier discussion we have between Hannah and Ledale to establish their relationship. While this works, it seems a bit too convenient. Another discussion or two between the pair seems like it would help both character development and plot development (perhaps even establish a REASON for Hannah’s contraction of smallpox. Like she was watching someone trade with some of the Indian villagers who later got the disease or such). This is really where any ‘point-loss’ comes from. I’m just a bit perturbed at how at how quickly it progresses. But that blame may lie on the word-limit, so…

I will point out that I like the ending. I’m always a sucker for more poetic, less literal endings, and this delvers. I’m uncertain WHAT exactly happened, and in a supernatural story such as this, that seems really appropriate. That said, a bit more suggestion of events would’ve made me happier. Perhaps a final scene wherein some random woman gets condemned to death for the ‘cursing’ of the Ingleby family or such. But that’s more a reflection of a personal preference for MORE of this story than a real complaint. As it is, I like it.

I would point out a bit of a plot-hole, however, as at one point you mention Ledale knowing that one of the indian tribes has smallpox and that there’s nothing she can do for them. While this makes sense in a character-sense, in a literal sense it doesn’t since she later cures Hannah’s smallpox. Expanding where this appears to emphasize that while Ledale COULD help these people she chooses not to because of her uncaringness for humanity would emphasize both the plot of her becoming more sympathetic to Hannah as well as her character.

Setting - 9/15

This one I feel like I have to knock you on a good bit. I feel like Ledale and Hannah are meeting in the forest somewhere at a set location, but we get little indication of where this is or if it relates to the characters at all. We get a pretty good look at the forest through Hannah’s eyes as she is ‘lost’ in the forest at first until she meets Ledale for the first time, but this isn’t translated into a more current reflection of where they are. Now, much of this is offset by the character reflections created by Ledale and Hannah interacting in this unknown setting in the forest so it doesn’t actually affect the story itself, but I feel like getting a more definite sense of exactly where they are could be useful for making things better. Does this place have a significance to Hannah or Ledale? Has Hannah made it a kind of landmark because of her connection to Ledale? Is it autumn or Spring and how do the characters view this season they are in (I feel like it’s Fall or so from the water being chilly, but I’m not sure of that)? All this could be used to both emphasize where they are as well as further establish these characters and their relationship (as well as give a sense of if they’ve been meeting each other there for a good amount of time, as I mentioned would be helpful in the ‘Character’ portion of this spiel).

Furthermore, the setting is used somewhat in the context of the witch trials, but I feel like it could’ve been used MORE if you get my meaning. I have nothing concrete here, but it seems that the witch trials and such could’ve played a more important role in the story than they did. Not sure what to say on that specifically though. Overall the setting was workable, and the characters (Ledale especially) made up for the lack of setting detail as there is a lot of her almost mentally monologue-ing about humanity and such, but how she viewed her sorroundings could have given another view into how she was thinking and what her personality was like.


Creativity - 11/15

It’s a supernatural tale about a supernatural being becoming attached to a human being. That’s been done a lot. That said, basing one in a historical location like this is a bit different, but I feel like that ‘difference’ could have been emphasized to good extent by the aforementioned exploitation a bit more. This seems like it doesn’t really matter WHEN it happens, as it could be happening currently and it wouldn’t affect the plot or characters too much. Having the witch trials or the super-Puritan nature of people in Mass. At the time would’ve pushed this up further in my opinion.

Style - 11/15

It does nothing too special in this category it seems to me, but it also doesn’t have anything that strikes me as weird. The somewhat poetic ending knocks it up a point in my estimation, but it would’ve been cool if we got MORE of that from Ledale’s perspective. It seems like she is the perfect character to have this really poetic and unconcerned outlook on humanity, and that is done a bit but it could’ve been done a bit more (the one instance I have in mind here is when she’s going through town. We get her thoughts somewhat on her own clothing and such which she is wearing to placate people, but some portions of what she thinks of those PEOPLE would be nice. Especially, to me, if it was done in a less direct and more ‘poetic’ manner where you could have her reflecting on humanity spreading across the globe and doing stuff and killing witches and etcetera etcetera, y’know?)

Grammar/spelling - 5/5

Nothing stood out to me, but I am by no means a grammar expert and am pretty inclined to ignoring mistakes just because my brain doesn’t go anal over rules like others might.

Overall - 76/100

Characters - 12/25

This one’s a bit hard to do as the length really just limits the amount of information and establishment we have for anything. That said, the characters we get are pretty basic. There’s the commander, one of his soldiers who shows up briefly to speak a line, and the horse chief, then one of the men at the end. All these folks are pretty basic. They provide the chance to tell the story, but few are established to any significant degree. The commander’s death would be much more powerful if we had a bit more interaction with him. Does he have a wife or kids? Is he a nice guy to his men or kind of a hardass? Does he enjoy his job, or is it just something he feels like he has to do? These are all just basic issues that could easily be solved with a bit more writing, and I feel like there’s definitely potential both for him AND the horse chief.

On the topic of the horse chief, I’m not sure if this was intentional but I got a distinct ‘Indian’ vibe off of him (and the story in general, see ‘plot for that one). Here again, if we got a little more interaction between him and others (even the Commander of the human soldiers) he’d become more powerful. Why is he fighting? Etcetera.

Plot - 15/25

It’s a ‘last-stand’ story, followed by a short revenge/payback one. That all works. My only complaint would be in the arena of establishing the context of this last-stand. Why are these folks out there? Is this like the American Frontier only, y’know, bizarre talking-horse world version? Or is this Vietnam only, y’know, bizarre talking-horse world version? This crosses over into ‘Setting’ a good deal, but if we had more of an inkling why these soldiers are out there (and have been out there so long in the case of the first group of soldiers) we’d have more of an idea what the story was. That said, the way this is done with a very limited context can work well, and even does to the extent possible it can in this one (and I think is a bit ‘riskier’ and more creative manner of storytelling, so that choice/occurrence bumps up that score a bit), but it’s…well, I don’t know if it’s held back by the character’s, but the character’s don’t affect or relate to the plot as much as they could. If we had a little more background on the character’s, the limited vision of what is going in the story plotwise we get would work. As it is it’s just TOO mysterious for my comfort.

Setting - 6/15

Once again, it’s the curse of limited length haunting you. We have the equine village, this mound the soldiers are on, and then the jungle that other soldiers are going through to this valley. It’s rather barebones. One notable point comes near the end where these other soldiers are moving into the village to burn it. Someone says ‘thatch roofs burn good.’ And that’s how it ends. Which, aside from being a powerful finishing line, is also a good establishing moment for what this village looks like and what the speakers outlook on the world is. More points like that would really help this story and could help establish characters. For example with the original commander who dies, he could mention or notice something about the grass on their roofs shining in the sun and, depending on his personality, think about how barbaric this was or something like that. The Equine chief could take note of the human soldiers that he/his people are about to kill and think about or mention their appearance and such (this could be a good point to show both sides as thinking of the OTHER as the barbarians, for example).

Creativity - 10/15

As I mentioned, the context-light plot in the story works well (especially for a story this short) and I actually kind of like that in and of itself.

Besides that (and this overlaps with style slightly) I get a decidedly ‘Western Frontier’/’Vietnam’ feel from the story. The beginning in particular is VERY Custer’s Last Stand. Once again, a bit more character establishment could serve to either enhance that feeling of this being similar to a historical occurrence only ‘oddworlded’, or could point out some major differences that might change the message somewhat. Either way I like the feeling behind it.

Style - 7/15

It has a lot of short ‘action’ sentences that consist of a character doing or saying something, which for a ‘battle’ scene works well. But the problem comes in in that being very common throughout. The first paragraph is a bit of an exception as it consists of a lot of setting/character establishment, but here I’d point out it does have a heavy portion of information condensed into it. Lengthening this paragraph into a half-dozen or so of the humans looking down on the equines and dropping these details about them as you do would go a long way towards making this information gathering more integrated with the rest of the story, and also give you a bit more opportunity to establish character and setting details alongside of them.

Grammar/spelling - 5/5

I saw nothink! I heard nothink! And I know nothink! May have been some, but I didn’t catch them and it didn’t break me out from reading, so if they were there they don’t count.

Overall - 55/100

As a final note, the ‘scores’ in these categories themselves are in relation to the other entries I’ve read (and largely immaterial to be honest since I’m not actually a judge) and should therefore be taken with a grain of salt, especially coupled with just how much LONGER other entries are. These scores would inevitably ‘bump up’ higher were I just reading the story itself and not comparing it.

Characters - 19/25

Klikmak (good alien name, by the way) is more developed than Jorkla (also good) in my mind. This is partially due to him being the POV character, but I feel that both were the main characters of the story but we got a little too little establishment with Jorkla. Klikmak gets this lazy slacker-dude image but Jorkla remains largely a mystery…which I DID consider might have been the point what with the plot such as it was and its relation to her, so the knocked points here are probably going somewhere else to balance it out because I may be reading it wrong.

What I’m trying to say here is that the nature of the story to me requires me to knock it here in favor of somewhere else.

Also ‘Captain Lieutenant’ is the greatest stereotypical comic book hero name I think I’ve heard in a while.

Plot – 1/25? 24/25? 15/25? 18/25? Lightbulb/25?

Okay, to be honest, I have no idea. As such…

I really can’t do a score here. If I had to I’d probably place it around 18 (+/-)3 in either direction, but since I’m not actually a judge, I don’t have to pick a number. Which is great, because I really just don’t know where to put this. It has a plot. That’s certain. But it’s so…So…Something that I can’t really quantify it. Heck, I don’t even really know what to suggest as an improvement because I just…have nothing to really draw on here as a suggestion. I guess it’s a breakup/relationship story in a sense but…it isn’t.

Setting - 11/15

We get some good detail about the house/room Klikmak shares and I always feel like I know where we’re at. That said, I feel like a little bit more of speaking or thinking about the setting by the characters would be useful to build their characters and reflect things that otherwise would be inconsequential or minor. This is kind’ve sort’ve vaguely done by way of both characters interest in the popsicles in the freezer which is a TINY insignificant detail that seems to me to be shadowing something about the characters (my immediate thoughts were these aliens home-planet. And then I started thinking the aliens weren’t even aliens. And then I descended into a bubbling mess of complete lack of understanding).

Creativity - 15/15

Yeah, if there were a bigger portion for this, I’d place you higher still. I can quite definitively say that I’ve never read a story like this before. Well, I have, but I never read one that made SENSE, before if you get my meaning. It reminds me of ‘Jabberwocky’ only more sensical but more outlandish. Not to mention the story itself seems to be…well, aware that it is a story. The superhero portion for example (Holy practical-breaking-of-the-fourth-wall Batman!) stands out as this point where all pretext jumps out and this just becomes an in-your-face medley of ridiculous story material. Which is highly original, even if completely confusing.

Style - 11/15

This crosses over with the creativity bit, the narration seems to have a purposeful ‘odd’ feeling to it, along with, of course, the dialogue. I have little else to say here really. Everything works.

Grammar/spelling - 5/5

I noticed nothing.

Overall - 79/100 (If assuming an “18” in Plot. As mentioned, this could go up or down a good deal, but I just…don’t know).

[Bodobol]

Where's your review of my short story?

[Occupied Deutschland]

Where's your review of my short story?

Oh, missed it in the rush. Pardon me sir.

Characters - 19/25

Simply brilliant establishing this 'man' sir. The characterization of him in relation with his ugliness was a particularly masterful stroke, and I must proclaim my vociferous love for the character you have established. That said, we are limited in our appreciation of him by the limited length you have chosen. In addition, more interplay between this character and the setting he finds himself in would serve to more deliberately quantify and display his character.

Plot - 20/25

A simple and poignant tale of the fragility and aestheticness of life itself.

Setting - 10/15

Here I must dock you sir, as we have little indication for where this 'man' is. However, I feel you may have purposefully done this in order to further display your vision of mankind as a whole as a vile and base creature obsessed with visual appearance. As such, the deliberate exclusion of visual objects and appearance besides that related to the man is surely the product of your undeniable genius.

Creativity - 12/15

Bravo sir in crafting a story such as this. Few other authors are fully able to capture the complexity of the human condition in relation to our visual appearances.

Style - 15/15

Short and brutal. Much like an angry midget armed with a shovel.

Grammar/spelling - 5/5

I saw nothing.

Overall - Baw, I am certain such an ingenious mind as yours balks at a simple scoring system based on something as visual and ugly as numbers. I give it four angry dwarves with shovels out of five.

[Nazi Flower Power]

That's funny. Nowadays Marblehead is pretty upscale.

That story is set back in 1633 when Marblehead was a branch of Salem and fishing village, during a smallpox epidemic in a nearby Tribe, the Naumkeag. The separation from Salem came after the set date.

Yeah, I know stuff was different back then. I just can't help the mental image that I associate with the name Marblehead, though. I actually have trouble reading anything set in 17th century New England because it's so different from how it is now and I keep thinking, "But New England isn't like that!" I couldn't finish "The Scarlet Letter" when it was assigned in English class -- partly just because it's boring, but also because it doesn't match my experience with New England.

[Page]

lol, for the third time I discover this within 2 days of the deadline

[Costa Alegria]

Wait one cotton picking minute, has the judging already started?

[Occupied Deutschland]

Wait one cotton picking minute, has the judging already started?

No. Only for me because I'm not a judge.

Mine are just unofficial criticisms, and I use the scoring system.

The deadline hasn't been reached yet, so the ACTUAL judging still hasn't, so you're good. I just had the spare time so I did the entries I could.

[Nazi Flower Power]

James seems to have a veneer of not really CARING about his values and being more into politics for the winning (especially in the earlier portions before he is an old man), but I’m not sure if this is what you were going for or not. It does seem like a good character, this guy who’s balancing his values and his desire for ‘winning’ in politics, but a little more display of him would seem appropriate. Especially if this wasn’t what you were going for. I’m just not sure quite how I was supposed to read the guy.

You mean if you're supposed to like him or not? Or what? He's meant to be somewhat sympathetic, but also somewhat flawed and corrupted by power.

Plot - 20/25
It’s a familiar tale (less respectable person loses item  More respectable person finds item  redemption of original loser), but at the same time the tongue-in-cheek symbology of the Gerrymander (which I really like, by the way) makes it different enough to hold interest.

I wouldn't have done it with any other item. The whole thing was mainly an excuse to have a story about a gerrymander.

[Bodobol]

Where's your review of my short story?

Oh, missed it in the rush. Pardon me sir.

Characters - 19/25

Simply brilliant establishing this 'man' sir. The characterization of him in relation with his ugliness was a particularly masterful stroke, and I must proclaim my vociferous love for the character you have established. That said, we are limited in our appreciation of him by the limited length you have chosen. In addition, more interplay between this character and the setting he finds himself in would serve to more deliberately quantify and display his character.

Plot - 20/25

A simple and poignant tale of the fragility and aestheticness of life itself.

Setting - 10/15

Here I must dock you sir, as we have little indication for where this 'man' is. However, I feel you may have purposefully done this in order to further display your vision of mankind as a whole as a vile and base creature obsessed with visual appearance. As such, the deliberate exclusion of visual objects and appearance besides that related to the man is surely the product of your undeniable genius.

Creativity - 12/15

Bravo sir in crafting a story such as this. Few other authors are fully able to capture the complexity of the human condition in relation to our visual appearances.

Style - 15/15

Short and brutal. Much like an angry midget armed with a shovel.

Grammar/spelling - 5/5

I saw nothing.

Overall - Baw, I am certain such an ingenious mind as yours balks at a simple scoring system based on something as visual and ugly as numbers. I give it four angry dwarves with shovels out of five.

That was beautiful. *wipes tear from eye*

[Unitaristic Regions]

So uhm... two days till deadline?

Anyways, I'm not even gonna bother editing. My english isn't good enough to detect style and grammar errors.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Yeah, this is really not happening. I came to realize that a) the likelihood of my turning out a worthy story in the remaining time was very low, and b) any story that I feel inspired to write atm would likely be centered around the RP that I run, to the point where it would be insensible out of context.

Maybe next time.

[Unitaristic Regions]

Yeah, this is really not happening. I came to realize that a) the likelihood of my turning out a worthy story in the remaining time was very low, and b) any story that I feel inspired to write atm would likely be centered around the RP that I run, to the point where it would be insensible out of context.

Maybe next time.

You could just go for short but good...

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Yeah, this is really not happening. I came to realize that a) the likelihood of my turning out a worthy story in the remaining time was very low, and b) any story that I feel inspired to write atm would likely be centered around the RP that I run, to the point where it would be insensible out of context.

Maybe next time.

You could just go for short but good...

Even that would take me a comparatively long time.