SUMMER 2014 SHORT STORY CONTEST

[Smoya]

I'll see if I could get up a good one by the deadline. Problem is, I suck at making plots. But I'll see what I can do.

[Ghondra]

I think I'll join.

[Soldati Senza Confini]

I'll see if I can get a story down by the time of the contest.

[Super-Llamaland]

Houston, we have an entry! If you haven't seen me around here before, it's because I've mostly kept to RPing, particularly NS Sports. Anyway, here's my submission.

Gone in the Morning
Written by Super-Llamaland

---

one
They say that they can hear you scream in the midsts of the night. If only they actually could. They can put up their billboards, they can run their advertisements, and they can tell you at any time, any time at all, that you are safe in Whiting Point and that law enforcement can arrive at any place in the Township, rain, sleet, hail, human-goat war, all within thirty-two seconds.

But they need to hear you first.

And as they say, "at two in the morning, nobody can hear you scream."

---

two
Blissful tedium was Todd's life. He lived out thirteen years smothered in the stuff, and he wasn't about to crawl out of it anytime soon. Soccer, trumpet, and school all played their role in this amorphous happiness. He had his moments of excitement, but they were few and far between.
Todd, at thirteen still not one to seek adventure, brushed his teeth and pulled the covers over his head somewhen in the vicinity of half past ten...

---

three
and awoke to a low buzz. A cricket chirped outside. He blinked, looked at the clock (2:08, it read) and yawned dully. He tried to sleep again, heard again the buzz, now accompanied by a dull thudding, and got up and stumbled in the direction of the bathroom.

A violent noise, best described as thu-POWWW! with notes of krririscch and CRASSSSHH, exploded from the downstairs door and knocked the boy over. He blinked, ears ringing, and stumbled back up. He remarked in sleep-induced drowsiness that the racket sounded a lot like the door being kicked over.

Todd froze in realization, giving the man behind him a great opportunity to slip a bag over his head and rip the drawstring shut. Todd clumsily pitched over in drowsy shock, and another man quickly trussed him up.

Survival kicked in, adrenaline surged into his mind, and Todd bravely began to roll away, to the amusement of his abductors. Powerfully flopping by one man, grinning and sweating, he surged forwards and rolled down the stairs.

"Ow!" he cried as he bounced off the third step from the top, waves of pain surging up his leg as he somehow flipped around and landed on his head.

"Ack!" he screamed whilst his arm cracked on the seventh step, sending him into a reeling spin down the long staircase. All the way down he screamed, spinning dizzily into the arms of a third kidnapper, who knocked him unconscious

Despite this, he left no trace that he had left. It was the perfect crime, utterly unsolvable. Thirty-two seconds after the door shattered, a solitary white van drove off into the sable night.

---

four

Todd awoke twice in the next twenty-four hours.

At the first, he blinked awake. It was still pitch black outside the van, careening as it flung itself off various cracks and potholes in the country road, kicking up prodigious clouds of dust as it did so.

Everywhere hurt. Aches spread themselves throughout his body; infernos pitched against his mind. Even when he yawned, a fiendish agony unraveled against his face. As his head slowly cleared, he overheard something in the midst of his muddled mind.

"So, where are we taking this kid?" the first man, possibly the driver, asked.

"Don't know what the Institute thinks," replied a second.

Todd blinked and continued to listen.

"Have no idea what they do to these kids."

"Don't you feel bad? I hear they get tortured."

"Eh, it pays well for you," muttered a third, "just get on with your dang job."

"Shut up, Johnson, it's not like you pay us." said the second from the seat in front of him.

"What?" Johnson asked slowly, reaching for his hip. The driver coughed nervously

"I said, 'Shut-'"

With a deafening crack, Johnson's pistol went off, sending blood spraying into the air. Todd gagged as a splatter hit him square in the face, while the man in the second row slumped back into his chair. Johnson casually pocketed the gun and opened a window. Terrified and desperate, Todd swore that he would not allow them to capture him, whereupon he fell asleep again.

But by the second time he woke up, they already had him.

---

five

White. It was white. White fluorescents shone upon a gleaming white tile floor. All around him lay dull white machines next to pure white walls. Everywhere lay white.

Todd blinked. Two men were there. One was the kidnapper, the shooter, from what he thought was the day before. The other was new, silvery hair accenting a wiry frame.

He tried to look up and found he couldn't. His neck was strapped to a metal chair, wires slithering out of the chair, around his head, and into various instruments. Todd swallowed, knowing that he would have to take whatever torture they gave him.

"Ready?" asked Johnson.
"Ready," said the silver-haired one, sliding on a pair of goggles and pushing a button. snick.

Men in sledgehammers assaulted his mind. Todd reeled back, gasping, every neuron exploding in fireworks of exquisite agony. It shot forward in waves, sizzling through reason and logic and replacing them with pain and fear. Todd screamed; a machine was there to cover his mouth with a cheerful whirr. The pain took over, and he vomited into the machine as it jumped from mind to body, sending fiery aches throughout his arms and burning tingles about his legs. His hearing crashed and burned, but from the chaotic jumble he picked out a few words. He would find a way to escape this dystopian mess.

"Less ABC Beta…" somebody yelled, "…will fire…Johnson…overload….you'll fry his brain!"

"Yeah…only chance…overload…perform…circuits…analysis now…theoretically…strong one…scouting…superhydration key…add more…"

A few more buttons were pressed and the pain, which couldn't get any worse, got worse. Todd screamed as the siege on his mind broke through with ballistas. His mind was no longer in pain, it was pain. He screamed and screamed into the steady hand of the robot. Todd attempted to bat it away, but his arms were tied to his body. Explosions went off in his mind as his mind began to slowly numb. He could hear. There had to be a way out.

"Now reaching peak capacity, 12.3 megas. Current output 12.16," Johnson reported.

"Calculations say 5 centiliters, Johnson. Fire it in for peak capacity," replied the silver-haired man. A fresh wave of pain, exacerbating anytime else, dully absorbed into his mind. Todd couldn't feel his arms. He tried to move them about, do anything to save himself, but the ropes were too strong.

"Now approaching, 12.23 megas. 12.26. 12.29…peak capacity reached. 12.3. Mental factor approaching thirty from seventy." Alright, Baker, fire it up."

"Never seen one so high before," Baker remarked, "highest I've seen was 10.8. Peak Mental seventy means he was rebellious, too."

"This is the year, Baker," Johnson mumbled solemnly, reaching over to flick a lever.

"Alright. Subliminal is a go."

Can you hear me, Todd? Think of an animal. Any one, doesn't matter. Todd dully attempted to nod and thought of a tiger.

"Mental fourteen from thirty, capacity down to 12.24. Estimated three minutes remaining."

"Looking good."

"Mental six from fourteen, capacity down to 12.03. Estimated two and a half."

"I think it'll flatline at a minute or two, Johnson. Better start."

"Mental two from six, capacity up to 12.05. Estimated two and a quarter."

Todd doggedly continued to think of a tiger. Maybe if he did what they said, he could find a way out. He thought he saw a flicker on the ground.

"Mental one point six from two, capacity stable at 12.05. Estimated two."

"Looking good. Initiating."

Todd pulled from the ground with no idea of what to do. He thought of a tiger, and suddenly he saw a tail flickering on the ground. He continued to pull, drawing elements from the ground below.

"Mental point eight from one point six, capacity flatlining at 12.04. Estimated one and three quarters."

"We'll pull out thirty seconds clear if this works."

"It will, Baker."

The tail began to flicker and grow as Todd continued to think. Legs sprouted out.

"Mental point five from point eight, capacity flatlining at 12.04. Estimated one and a half."

His fatigued mind began to grind to a halt. He groaned, his mind cleared a little. What was he doing? They could torture him all they wanted, they wouldn't subjugate him.

"Mental up to twenty-four, capacity down to 8.56. Estimated twenty seconds."

"What?" Baker cried.

"Monitor doesn't lie. Oh God, we have to pump in more ABC-Beta."

"You'll kill him!"

"You still have Subliminal tuned to open!"

You'll kill him flashed through Todd's mind. He wasn't going to obey them. It echoed grimly, a promise of certain death. Was his only choice to obey? He had no chance to ponder as fresh pain surged and numbed again. He gasped in pain. The tiger flickered and reappeared, and he was caught back in their orders.

"Mental down to eleven from twenty-four, capacity up to 9.45. Estimated forty-five seconds."

"Oh God, we're not going to clear this."

"Kick in Subliminal Two!"

"It's way too early, Johnson!"

Todd watched as Johnson shoved Baker out of the way and flicked open the lever.

"You don't know how to operate Subliminal Two!"

"I have to!" Johnson screamed.

Todd. Todd. Can you hear me.

"You're doing it ALL WRONG!"

Todd's vision began to fade to black. He felt terribly sleepy.

"Mental flatlined at eleven, capacity at 10.59. Twenty seconds."

"Fine! Let me operate Subliminal."

Todd. Todd. We can return you to Whiting Point. Just do as I ask.

"Mental flatlined at eleven, capacity at 6.63. Five seconds."

If you don't, you'll be punished. This is the only way. We can go on an adventure.

"Capacity at 15.82. One minute. ABC-Beta at 385% recommended dose."

Todd was one to seek out adventure, wasn't he? He thought. No more tedium. Adventure….adventure…
But it seemed wrong. These were not the right men to work for.

"Capacity at 3.62. He's all over the map. Ten seconds. ABC-Beta output at five centiliters a second, it's the only way to keep this chance alive."

"You'll kill him!"

"Capacity at 15.02. Forty-five seconds."
"Capacity at 5.20. Fifteen seconds. ABC-Beta output at ten centiliters a second."
"Capacity at 18.06. Three minutes."
"Johnson, you're frying his brain," Baker implored. His concern was respectfully ignored.
"Capacity at 1.19. Five seconds. ABC-Beta output increasing to thirty-five centiliters a second. Total outflow at 1592% recommended dose."
"You'll either get in the history books or destroy him."
"You did the first twelve. I've got this one. Capacity at 4.20. Five seconds. ABC-Beta output increasing to eighty centiliters per second."
"How do we even have that much ABC-Beta?" Baker screamed. "You'll financially ruin us!"

Todd, still enthralled by adventure, dreamt numbly on the chair. He was asleep. In front of him, unnoticed by the two screaming partners, was a living, breathing, tiger.

"Well, even if we end up shattering him, we can use him to train the others."
"This revolution will end well, Baker. About time we got a grant for this stuff. It'd pay off the kidnappers, that's what it would do."

Todd, asleep, pledged himself to the revolution.

---

six

Todd sat down at his desk and flipped open the newspaper. It was going to be a busy first day back in Whiting Point. He'd had a strange fascination with the place after Johnson's suspicious death at the hands of the Easternofascists.

THE WHITING GAZETTE
September 30, 2035

SHOCKING REPORT: CORRUPTED ELECTION!
-by Martin Courier, lead columnist

After the election of High President Alexander Baker to the office of Imperial President-Elect of the newly formed United American Republic last fall over Easterners John Fitzgerald and Melvin Karros by an 800,000-vote margin, reports say that the election's results may be corrupted. Indeed, after Baker's slander campaign showed minimal support in polls after the death of Vice President-Elect running mate Eric Johnson late last fall due to natural causes, and Baker has no plans to share the power with anyone else…more on page A5

Todd picked up the phone and dialed his contact in Seattle.

"Hello?"
"Courier must die," he said, and hung up. Ever since that day a decade ago, Johnson and Baker had opened up a corridor to power for him. Johnson's death had hurt him as if the man was his own father, and here was Courier saying that the two were corrupt, child-torturing jerks. On his first day, he was supposed to interview candidates for some kitchen position, and the first of which was due in three minutes.

---

seven

She was regal in posture but sad in expression, her face bearing a great loss. Todd looked up as she entered in dirty but not tattered clothes, saying a drab hello, whereupon she dropped her resume on the ground and stepped back in shock.

"Todd!- After twelve years! You-you were here all along!"

"Um, ma'am, I-"

"Why, son! Your father and I have been-"

"You aren't my mother," Todd said confusedly.

"Why-"

"You're nothing," he said, and picked up the resume and read it. It was impressively unimpressive.

The other candidates, much more sane, took only an hour or so, and he selected one of the better ones and left work early, tunelessly humming a trumpet song he had heard from some place or another.

[Nazi Flower Power]

Houston, we have an entry! If you haven't seen me around here before, it's because I've mostly kept to RPing, particularly NS Sports. Anyway, here's my submission.

Gone in the Morning
Written by Super-Llamaland

---

one
They say that they can hear you scream in the midsts of the night. If only they actually could. They can put up their billboards, they can run their advertisements, and they can tell you at any time, any time at all, that you are safe in Whiting Point and that law enforcement can arrive at any place in the Township, rain, sleet, hail, human-goat war, all within thirty-two seconds.

But they need to hear you first.

And as they say, "at two in the morning, nobody can hear you scream."

---

two
Blissful tedium was Todd's life. He lived out thirteen years smothered in the stuff, and he wasn't about to crawl out of it anytime soon. Soccer, trumpet, and school all played their role in this amorphous happiness. He had his moments of excitement, but they were few and far between.
Todd, at thirteen still not one to seek adventure, brushed his teeth and pulled the covers over his head somewhen in the vicinity of half past ten...

---

three
and awoke to a low buzz. A cricket chirped outside. He blinked, looked at the clock (2:08, it read) and yawned dully. He tried to sleep again, heard again the buzz, now accompanied by a dull thudding, and got up and stumbled in the direction of the bathroom.

A violent noise, best described as thu-POWWW! with notes of krririscch and CRASSSSHH, exploded from the downstairs door and knocked the boy over. He blinked, ears ringing, and stumbled back up. He remarked in sleep-induced drowsiness that the racket sounded a lot like the door being kicked over.

Todd froze in realization, giving the man behind him a great opportunity to slip a bag over his head and rip the drawstring shut. Todd clumsily pitched over in drowsy shock, and another man quickly trussed him up.

Survival kicked in, adrenaline surged into his mind, and Todd bravely began to roll away, to the amusement of his abductors. Powerfully flopping by one man, grinning and sweating, he surged forwards and rolled down the stairs.

"Ow!" he cried as he bounced off the third step from the top, waves of pain surging up his leg as he somehow flipped around and landed on his head.

"Ack!" he screamed whilst his arm cracked on the seventh step, sending him into a reeling spin down the long staircase. All the way down he screamed, spinning dizzily into the arms of a third kidnapper, who knocked him unconscious

Despite this, he left no trace that he had left. It was the perfect crime, utterly unsolvable. Thirty-two seconds after the door shattered, a solitary white van drove off into the sable night.

---

four

Todd awoke twice in the next twenty-four hours.

At the first, he blinked awake. It was still pitch black outside the van, careening as it flung itself off various cracks and potholes in the country road, kicking up prodigious clouds of dust as it did so.

Everywhere hurt. Aches spread themselves throughout his body; infernos pitched against his mind. Even when he yawned, a fiendish agony unraveled against his face. As his head slowly cleared, he overheard something in the midst of his muddled mind.

"So, where are we taking this kid?" the first man, possibly the driver, asked.

"Don't know what the Institute thinks," replied a second.

Todd blinked and continued to listen.

"Have no idea what they do to these kids."

"Don't you feel bad? I hear they get tortured."

"Eh, it pays well for you," muttered a third, "just get on with your dang job."

"Shut up, Johnson, it's not like you pay us." said the second from the seat in front of him.

"What?" Johnson asked slowly, reaching for his hip. The driver coughed nervously

"I said, 'Shut-'"

With a deafening crack, Johnson's pistol went off, sending blood spraying into the air. Todd gagged as a splatter hit him square in the face, while the man in the second row slumped back into his chair. Johnson casually pocketed the gun and opened a window. Terrified and desperate, Todd swore that he would not allow them to capture him, whereupon he fell asleep again.

But by the second time he woke up, they already had him.

---

five

White. It was white. White fluorescents shone upon a gleaming white tile floor. All around him lay dull white machines next to pure white walls. Everywhere lay white.

Todd blinked. Two men were there. One was the kidnapper, the shooter, from what he thought was the day before. The other was new, silvery hair accenting a wiry frame.

He tried to look up and found he couldn't. His neck was strapped to a metal chair, wires slithering out of the chair, around his head, and into various instruments. Todd swallowed, knowing that he would have to take whatever torture they gave him.

"Ready?" asked Johnson.
"Ready," said the silver-haired one, sliding on a pair of goggles and pushing a button. snick.

Men in sledgehammers assaulted his mind. Todd reeled back, gasping, every neuron exploding in fireworks of exquisite agony. It shot forward in waves, sizzling through reason and logic and replacing them with pain and fear. Todd screamed; a machine was there to cover his mouth with a cheerful whirr. The pain took over, and he vomited into the machine as it jumped from mind to body, sending fiery aches throughout his arms and burning tingles about his legs. His hearing crashed and burned, but from the chaotic jumble he picked out a few words. He would find a way to escape this dystopian mess.

"Less ABC Beta…" somebody yelled, "…will fire…Johnson…overload….you'll fry his brain!"

"Yeah…only chance…overload…perform…circuits…analysis now…theoretically…strong one…scouting…superhydration key…add more…"

A few more buttons were pressed and the pain, which couldn't get any worse, got worse. Todd screamed as the siege on his mind broke through with ballistas. His mind was no longer in pain, it was pain. He screamed and screamed into the steady hand of the robot. Todd attempted to bat it away, but his arms were tied to his body. Explosions went off in his mind as his mind began to slowly numb. He could hear. There had to be a way out.

"Now reaching peak capacity, 12.3 megas. Current output 12.16," Johnson reported.

"Calculations say 5 centiliters, Johnson. Fire it in for peak capacity," replied the silver-haired man. A fresh wave of pain, exacerbating anytime else, dully absorbed into his mind. Todd couldn't feel his arms. He tried to move them about, do anything to save himself, but the ropes were too strong.

"Now approaching, 12.23 megas. 12.26. 12.29…peak capacity reached. 12.3. Mental factor approaching thirty from seventy." Alright, Baker, fire it up."

"Never seen one so high before," Baker remarked, "highest I've seen was 10.8. Peak Mental seventy means he was rebellious, too."

"This is the year, Baker," Johnson mumbled solemnly, reaching over to flick a lever.

"Alright. Subliminal is a go."

Can you hear me, Todd? Think of an animal. Any one, doesn't matter. Todd dully attempted to nod and thought of a tiger.

"Mental fourteen from thirty, capacity down to 12.24. Estimated three minutes remaining."

"Looking good."

"Mental six from fourteen, capacity down to 12.03. Estimated two and a half."

"I think it'll flatline at a minute or two, Johnson. Better start."

"Mental two from six, capacity up to 12.05. Estimated two and a quarter."

Todd doggedly continued to think of a tiger. Maybe if he did what they said, he could find a way out. He thought he saw a flicker on the ground.

"Mental one point six from two, capacity stable at 12.05. Estimated two."

"Looking good. Initiating."

Todd pulled from the ground with no idea of what to do. He thought of a tiger, and suddenly he saw a tail flickering on the ground. He continued to pull, drawing elements from the ground below.

"Mental point eight from one point six, capacity flatlining at 12.04. Estimated one and three quarters."

"We'll pull out thirty seconds clear if this works."

"It will, Baker."

The tail began to flicker and grow as Todd continued to think. Legs sprouted out.

"Mental point five from point eight, capacity flatlining at 12.04. Estimated one and a half."

His fatigued mind began to grind to a halt. He groaned, his mind cleared a little. What was he doing? They could torture him all they wanted, they wouldn't subjugate him.

"Mental up to twenty-four, capacity down to 8.56. Estimated twenty seconds."

"What?" Baker cried.

"Monitor doesn't lie. Oh God, we have to pump in more ABC-Beta."

"You'll kill him!"

"You still have Subliminal tuned to open!"

You'll kill him flashed through Todd's mind. He wasn't going to obey them. It echoed grimly, a promise of certain death. Was his only choice to obey? He had no chance to ponder as fresh pain surged and numbed again. He gasped in pain. The tiger flickered and reappeared, and he was caught back in their orders.

"Mental down to eleven from twenty-four, capacity up to 9.45. Estimated forty-five seconds."

"Oh God, we're not going to clear this."

"Kick in Subliminal Two!"

"It's way too early, Johnson!"

Todd watched as Johnson shoved Baker out of the way and flicked open the lever.

"You don't know how to operate Subliminal Two!"

"I have to!" Johnson screamed.

Todd. Todd. Can you hear me.

"You're doing it ALL WRONG!"

Todd's vision began to fade to black. He felt terribly sleepy.

"Mental flatlined at eleven, capacity at 10.59. Twenty seconds."

"Fine! Let me operate Subliminal."

Todd. Todd. We can return you to Whiting Point. Just do as I ask.

"Mental flatlined at eleven, capacity at 6.63. Five seconds."

If you don't, you'll be punished. This is the only way. We can go on an adventure.

"Capacity at 15.82. One minute. ABC-Beta at 385% recommended dose."

Todd was one to seek out adventure, wasn't he? He thought. No more tedium. Adventure….adventure…
But it seemed wrong. These were not the right men to work for.

"Capacity at 3.62. He's all over the map. Ten seconds. ABC-Beta output at five centiliters a second, it's the only way to keep this chance alive."

"You'll kill him!"

"Capacity at 15.02. Forty-five seconds."
"Capacity at 5.20. Fifteen seconds. ABC-Beta output at ten centiliters a second."
"Capacity at 18.06. Three minutes."
"Johnson, you're frying his brain," Baker implored. His concern was respectfully ignored.
"Capacity at 1.19. Five seconds. ABC-Beta output increasing to thirty-five centiliters a second. Total outflow at 1592% recommended dose."
"You'll either get in the history books or destroy him."
"You did the first twelve. I've got this one. Capacity at 4.20. Five seconds. ABC-Beta output increasing to eighty centiliters per second."
"How do we even have that much ABC-Beta?" Baker screamed. "You'll financially ruin us!"

Todd, still enthralled by adventure, dreamt numbly on the chair. He was asleep. In front of him, unnoticed by the two screaming partners, was a living, breathing, tiger.

"Well, even if we end up shattering him, we can use him to train the others."
"This revolution will end well, Baker. About time we got a grant for this stuff. It'd pay off the kidnappers, that's what it would do."

Todd, asleep, pledged himself to the revolution.

---

six

Todd sat down at his desk and flipped open the newspaper. It was going to be a busy first day back in Whiting Point. He'd had a strange fascination with the place after Johnson's suspicious death at the hands of the Easternofascists.

THE WHITING GAZETTE
September 30, 2035

SHOCKING REPORT: CORRUPTED ELECTION!
-by Martin Courier, lead columnist

After the election of High President Alexander Baker to the office of Imperial President-Elect of the newly formed United American Republic last fall over Easterners John Fitzgerald and Melvin Karros by an 800,000-vote margin, reports say that the election's results may be corrupted. Indeed, after Baker's slander campaign showed minimal support in polls after the death of Vice President-Elect running mate Eric Johnson late last fall due to natural causes, and Baker has no plans to share the power with anyone else…more on page A5

Todd picked up the phone and dialed his contact in Seattle.

"Hello?"
"Courier must die," he said, and hung up. Ever since that day a decade ago, Johnson and Baker had opened up a corridor to power for him. Johnson's death had hurt him as if the man was his own father, and here was Courier saying that the two were corrupt, child-torturing jerks. On his first day, he was supposed to interview candidates for some kitchen position, and the first of which was due in three minutes.

---

seven

She was regal in posture but sad in expression, her face bearing a great loss. Todd looked up as she entered in dirty but not tattered clothes, saying a drab hello, whereupon she dropped her resume on the ground and stepped back in shock.

"Todd!- After twelve years! You-you were here all along!"

"Um, ma'am, I-"

"Why, son! Your father and I have been-"

"You aren't my mother," Todd said confusedly.

"Why-"

"You're nothing," he said, and picked up the resume and read it. It was impressively unimpressive.

The other candidates, much more sane, took only an hour or so, and he selected one of the better ones and left work early, tunelessly humming a trumpet song he had heard from some place or another.

I think I have seen you before, even if we don't know each other well. Anyway, welcome aboard!

[StellarGate]

Look another story!
Payment

My name is Crystal.

I live in a world where everything you know and love costs money. The price may be as low as 1 credit, but it still costs you.

There are things in this world that cost more money than most will ever make in their life. Certain houses, tickets, space exploration. To solve this problem our world had turned to a not so simple system.

Your children are worth money. After an intensive study, hours of research, the world set up the 'perfect' system. Every year, from birth to 17 while under the care of their parents, children will be price marked with a year-long temporary tattoo until another is gotten. Children deemed prettier are worth more, twins and triplets worth more for science, teens price goes up with sports or high test scores. When a child's parent wants something expensive, if their child is worth the amount, they can trade the child for that thing. If someone is poor and is missing rent, their children will be sold and the extra leftover from fees and costs will be given to them.

This has turned us into objects. Genetic engineering is expensive, but that hasn't stopped parents from finding 'perfect' mates to make expensive children. I can already here you ask 'what happens to these children afterwards?'

Some get bought into new families. My friend Amanda had this happen when her folks bought a new car. Her name is May Tai Rae now. She wrote me a letter once saying that living with them is horrible. Never saw or heard from her again. Some are drafted into the work force as cute ways of advertising things or testing products. Some of the ugly ones just get killed and their body parts recycled or sold to doctors who want to test their medications.

What am I? I am a Perfection Child. I am tall, slender, my long blonde hair falls in nice curls which compliment my blue eyes. My skin is smooth, without a single flaw. I am an only child, my parents will never have another child, so that makes me worth more. When I hit puberty, everything filled out just right, I remember the surprise on the Pricer's face when the calculated total for me came up. I'm worth billions. My parents won't tell me, I can't read the tattooed barcode, but I know its a lot. Enough to fund a colony mission I think. Think of it. My parents never loved me. They helped with my homework sometimes, kept me out of trouble, but to find out that you have an asset worth enough to bring a a few thousand people with you and rule over them without any direction from anyone else? That's it. I thought I'd make it to 18, be able to flee and no matter what my parents do they wouldn't be able to get me back. I would be an adult.

But I wasn't able to. I am 17, standing in front of a mirror as my 'mom' adjust my beautiful dress and makes a comment about all the people I was going to make happy by funding this expedition. I didn't smile. This was wrong, I knew it was. She stood up straight, fixing a lock of my hair and left, planning on calling me once the initial bids were in.

I looked over to the computer terminal. it could be my last chance to use one, as the person that buys me... I have no idea what they would do to me. I walk over and sit down. Typing quickly I search 'colony expedition,' just to see what my parents would be doing. Then I frown at the top suggestion. A news story. I click and low and behold its about my parents expedition. They were going to test a new type of colony ship. Most of the people going were, and I quote 'sponsored by various people, to perform certain duties at the colony.' They don't listen, the colony gets its funding yanked. But what intriqued me more is who the colonists were. They were all children bought and given to this new adventure, set to learn new skills in stasis on the way to the colony, and considering the way stasis worked, they would be grown up by the time they get there. The article was glowing, but I saw something different. A chance. I knew where the launch site was, it was only about 40 miles, barely a half an hour for an aircar.

I stand, ripping off my dress and shoving on more comfortable clothes, a pair of pants and a regular shirt, I mess up my hair and pull it back, wiping off the make-up which had taken hours to perfect and grabbed the air car key which I had stolen from my parents room for when I 18 and able to leave. Well I was leaving early.

I open the door to my room and run down the hall, for all my parents' money, they did not have security, they thought I was good girl. I find my way to garage and look around, nothing there except the cars, the bidders probably were all dropped off. I grin and hop in a car, those simulations I did in the dead of night would pay off and I start the car and leave, not once looking back.

---

I pull the car into the parking building and throw the key as hard as possible over a ledge. No going back. Not now. With a sigh I walk demurely over to the guards who had not seen me drive here and they straightened.
"Girl, what are you doing here alone?"

I look up from the ground. "I am sponsored, my sponsors did not wish to be ashamed by being with me."

The guards nodded and one led me inside to a processing area, it looked like a very large classroom with no decorations, no guards, no cameras. I sit down and wait till the door is closed. No one is talking, jut sitting, waiting.

After I am sure no one is poking their head in I stand and walk to the front, everyone stares at me, young eyes curious, some of the older untrustful. I take a breath. "Children, I know why you are here. For the colony expedition, let me tell you I am not a part of it."

"Then who are you?" An older boy, one who looked strong and tall, said.

"I am Crystal, the 'child' of the ones who wish to lead this colony." I respond. "I do not like being bought and sold for money, so I ran away, my producers thought I would be nice and listen and stay. They were wrong." I pause. "When do you start loading up?"

"I heard someone say once the bid is over the colony expedition amount." A young girl chimed in, wearing nothing but a ragged dress. "Someone will come in and start checking us in to sleep for a while."

I frown and then smile. "Then you know what we'll do, we will do the ultimate run away from home. We will learn what we need while sleeping, and when we awake, we won't need our 'parents' anymore. They never loved any of you, if they did, they would of at least sold you to a nice family, not to be test subjects for a new government toy."

A lot of the younger ones looked confused, most of the older ones however, seemed to grasp what she was saying.

"But once we get to this place and we are all grown up... who will be the leader?" A girl asked.

"I can do that, I was pretty good at math and I'm sure that the ones selling me have stuff which can be uploaded to my brain. when we all have children in the future, we won't sell them, we won't listen to the mean people who made this sort of thing possible." I kneel down and a young girl, no older than maybe 5, walked up. She was pretty, like me, an object of perfection, perfect black hair, slim cute face wearing a nice white dress. I reach out and touch her shoulder. "I'll make sure all of you are safe and loved." I stand back up, now who is with me?"

There was a pause from the children, all of them looking around and some whispering to each other. soon enough a few young ones raised their hands, and then more, and then finally the last hand went up and she smiled, sitting down in a seat and waiting.

---

It was a couple hours later, I had sweet talked my way into the 'leader' compartment. I now wore a special jumpsuit thing which would grow with my body if it did any more during stasis. the worker had actually believed that I was supposed to leader, he must not of been very smart, his speech was horrible, and I felt bad, but I was doing something for the greater good. I had bluffed saying I was being sponsored by the 'leaders' as the ultimate test of this new colony. No one seemed to bat an eye.

The doctor person stopped me in front of one of the two stasis chambers.

"Where is your other?" He asked and I sighed, looking down and wiping at my eye.

"He... died. A jealous investor killed him, he was so handsome. My investors granted my wish, I will go alone as leader. There is more than enough others to sustain a population without my input."

The doctor nodded and drew a vial and needle out of kit. He injected me with something and opened the stasis pod. "I'm sorry," he didn't sound too sorry, I was just an experiment after all, "this pod has a program which will teach you how to effectively lead. You will still need to learn when and where to apply these skills, but it will give you a foundation. After you go to sleep, the ship will be launched, as you are the last person to stasis."

I nod and get into the pod, laying back as the doctor closed the lid. I sighed and close my eyes, feeling an odd sensation creep over my skin even through the suit and suddenly everything goes dark.

---

In the control tower people begin to make preparations, firing up their computers and calling for the grounds to be cleared and air space to be free of traffic. the large supports near the ship begin to back away as the thrusters began to fire.

"1 minute to launch." someone called and a timer appeared on the large screen. I began to tick downwards and people were making sure everything was in order.

45 seconds.

30 seconds.

20 seconds.

10 seconds.

"Stop!" A voice called and everyone whipped their heads around to the two people in the door. It was Crystal's 'parents' along with a guy in a very expensive suit. "That ship is not supposed to launch yet! It was ours!"

It was too late.

The timer reached zero and suddenly thrusters along with other technology meant to ease the load fired off, lifting the ship off the ground in a giant cloud of dust and smoke. The two adults watched with horror as their investment left without them and as it became nothing but a dot in the sky the woman became angry.

"How DARE you not check your facts! Who is the person that claimed to be leader?" She snarled.

"It was a girl, blonde hair, very pretty. I never heard her name directly, but others called her Crystal." A doctor said from where he was entering notes on the computer.

The two parents stood in shock and the man with the expensive suit was made, angrily saying something in Russian before leaving.

They had been outsmarted, outthinked by the product of their own creation. The woman fainted into her husbands arms just as a beep from a near by computer confirmed that the colony ship had left Earth's orbit, picking up the modules carrying supplies and was off to its planet.

---

10 years later

"Ms. Wilson?"

Crystal Wilson looked up from her desk with a smile at her aide, a young 16 year old girl with brown hair. Everything was going great, sure, it was still a work in progress, but the main city and basic needs had been set up by robots on a beautiful world appropriately called a garden world. Everyone seemed to get along fine, the police arresting only 2 people in the pasts months since settling the planet. She had taken the last name of her now boyfriend, Mark Wilson, a man who had learned to become farmer and biologist on this new world.

"Is it time already?" I ask and the young girl nods.

"We have set up the satellite which will transmit back to Earth. The studio in room 10B is ready when you are."

"Thank you Danica." I nod and get up, fixing my business suit of wrinkles as my aide leaves. I take a breath, making sure the bun my hair was in was in place ad walked down to the studio.

There was only a camera, few computers and the people working them. I stand in front of the camera and the man working one the computer pushes and button and gives a thumbs up. These things broadcasted to everyone on Earth, onto every screen, this would forever be etched in the minds of 'parents' who think of their children as objects, and in the minds of children like the ones who had been guinea pigs for this colony expedition. Eventually, it would make its way to other colonies via data drop from Earth, used to keep tabs on far away investments.

"People of Earth and eventually other colonies. My name is Crystal Wilson." I began speaking clearly. "I was once a Perfection Child to people who thought I was nothing more than an investment which would get them something they wanted, a colony expedition. They took care of me, but never loved me, I was nothing, an object. I did what most of you either thought or wish you could do. I left. It is wrong to see children this way, to barter them for cars or homes. At one point in Earth's history, children were loved and cared for, selling them was illegal, and the world, while not perfect, still turned just the same." I look away from the camera.

"I will tell you it is wrong. Children of all ages, I know it will not be easy, but if you wish, and you can get your own colony ship, then come to my planet. We are not bound by earth's rules, we do not follow their laws. We will not sell you, degrade you, or punish you for being a living being with thoughts and feelings. IF you have a child you do not want, send to me, I will welcome them." I said as I looked back into the camera, my voice sweet and pleasant.

Then my features grow dark and I lean threateningly. "And for you adults. Take this word of warning. We will not respond to any hails Earth, any ship sent here to enforce any sort of your law will be repulsed. You hold no power over my world. I am sick of your morals and your laws, and do not think that the throne you sit on is safe." I stand up straight with a triumphant smile, knowing the computer people are projecting an image of the colony, the capital of this world, and all the beauty that surrounds it.

"The world of Freedom is its own! And may whatever gods you hold dear judge you harshly when you die. President Crystal Wilson, signing off." I say and the man made another gesture, indicating the camera was off and I sigh in relief.

I exit the room and my face blossoms into a bright smile as Mark Wilson hugs me tight. "The big speech aye?" He says.

"Yes." I rest my head on his chest. 'We're our own now. It won't always be perfect, but by all the stars in this galaxy we will make it work." I pull myself away and walk over to an observation area, looking out over the beautiful buildings still being erected near an amazing blue sea with white beaches. "I still haven't thought up a name for our city. Freedom is the colony, but the city needs a name."

Mark chuckled. "Plowing the fields suddenly seems easy."

I smile at the comment but as I look over the city, my city, my smile grows soft.

"Hope."

Mark looked a question at her and she made a motion.

"Welcome to the City of Hope."

[Nazi Flower Power]

Look another story!
Payment

My name is Crystal.

I live in a world where everything you know and love costs money. The price may be as low as 1 credit, but it still costs you.

There are things in this world that cost more money than most will ever make in their life. Certain houses, tickets, space exploration. To solve this problem our world had turned to a not so simple system.

Your children are worth money. After an intensive study, hours of research, the world set up the 'perfect' system. Every year, from birth to 17 while under the care of their parents, children will be price marked with a year-long temporary tattoo until another is gotten. Children deemed prettier are worth more, twins and triplets worth more for science, teens price goes up with sports or high test scores. When a child's parent wants something expensive, if their child is worth the amount, they can trade the child for that thing. If someone is poor and is missing rent, their children will be sold and the extra leftover from fees and costs will be given to them.

This has turned us into objects. Genetic engineering is expensive, but that hasn't stopped parents from finding 'perfect' mates to make expensive children. I can already here you ask 'what happens to these children afterwards?'

Some get bought into new families. My friend Amanda had this happen when her folks bought a new car. Her name is May Tai Rae now. She wrote me a letter once saying that living with them is horrible. Never saw or heard from her again. Some are drafted into the work force as cute ways of advertising things or testing products. Some of the ugly ones just get killed and their body parts recycled or sold to doctors who want to test their medications.

What am I? I am a Perfection Child. I am tall, slender, my long blonde hair falls in nice curls which compliment my blue eyes. My skin is smooth, without a single flaw. I am an only child, my parents will never have another child, so that makes me worth more. When I hit puberty, everything filled out just right, I remember the surprise on the Pricer's face when the calculated total for me came up. I'm worth billions. My parents won't tell me, I can't read the tattooed barcode, but I know its a lot. Enough to fund a colony mission I think. Think of it. My parents never loved me. They helped with my homework sometimes, kept me out of trouble, but to find out that you have an asset worth enough to bring a a few thousand people with you and rule over them without any direction from anyone else? That's it. I thought I'd make it to 18, be able to flee and no matter what my parents do they wouldn't be able to get me back. I would be an adult.

But I wasn't able to. I am 17, standing in front of a mirror as my 'mom' adjust my beautiful dress and makes a comment about all the people I was going to make happy by funding this expedition. I didn't smile. This was wrong, I knew it was. She stood up straight, fixing a lock of my hair and left, planning on calling me once the initial bids were in.

I looked over to the computer terminal. it could be my last chance to use one, as the person that buys me... I have no idea what they would do to me. I walk over and sit down. Typing quickly I search 'colony expedition,' just to see what my parents would be doing. Then I frown at the top suggestion. A news story. I click and low and behold its about my parents expedition. They were going to test a new type of colony ship. Most of the people going were, and I quote 'sponsored by various people, to perform certain duties at the colony.' They don't listen, the colony gets its funding yanked. But what intriqued me more is who the colonists were. They were all children bought and given to this new adventure, set to learn new skills in stasis on the way to the colony, and considering the way stasis worked, they would be grown up by the time they get there. The article was glowing, but I saw something different. A chance. I knew where the launch site was, it was only about 40 miles, barely a half an hour for an aircar.

I stand, ripping off my dress and shoving on more comfortable clothes, a pair of pants and a regular shirt, I mess up my hair and pull it back, wiping off the make-up which had taken hours to perfect and grabbed the air car key which I had stolen from my parents room for when I 18 and able to leave. Well I was leaving early.

I open the door to my room and run down the hall, for all my parents' money, they did not have security, they thought I was good girl. I find my way to garage and look around, nothing there except the cars, the bidders probably were all dropped off. I grin and hop in a car, those simulations I did in the dead of night would pay off and I start the car and leave, not once looking back.

---

I pull the car into the parking building and throw the key as hard as possible over a ledge. No going back. Not now. With a sigh I walk demurely over to the guards who had not seen me drive here and they straightened.
"Girl, what are you doing here alone?"

I look up from the ground. "I am sponsored, my sponsors did not wish to be ashamed by being with me."

The guards nodded and one led me inside to a processing area, it looked like a very large classroom with no decorations, no guards, no cameras. I sit down and wait till the door is closed. No one is talking, jut sitting, waiting.

After I am sure no one is poking their head in I stand and walk to the front, everyone stares at me, young eyes curious, some of the older untrustful. I take a breath. "Children, I know why you are here. For the colony expedition, let me tell you I am not a part of it."

"Then who are you?" An older boy, one who looked strong and tall, said.

"I am Crystal, the 'child' of the ones who wish to lead this colony." I respond. "I do not like being bought and sold for money, so I ran away, my producers thought I would be nice and listen and stay. They were wrong." I pause. "When do you start loading up?"

"I heard someone say once the bid is over the colony expedition amount." A young girl chimed in, wearing nothing but a ragged dress. "Someone will come in and start checking us in to sleep for a while."

I frown and then smile. "Then you know what we'll do, we will do the ultimate run away from home. We will learn what we need while sleeping, and when we awake, we won't need our 'parents' anymore. They never loved any of you, if they did, they would of at least sold you to a nice family, not to be test subjects for a new government toy."

A lot of the younger ones looked confused, most of the older ones however, seemed to grasp what she was saying.

"But once we get to this place and we are all grown up... who will be the leader?" A girl asked.

"I can do that, I was pretty good at math and I'm sure that the ones selling me have stuff which can be uploaded to my brain. when we all have children in the future, we won't sell them, we won't listen to the mean people who made this sort of thing possible." I kneel down and a young girl, no older than maybe 5, walked up. She was pretty, like me, an object of perfection, perfect black hair, slim cute face wearing a nice white dress. I reach out and touch her shoulder. "I'll make sure all of you are safe and loved." I stand back up, now who is with me?"

There was a pause from the children, all of them looking around and some whispering to each other. soon enough a few young ones raised their hands, and then more, and then finally the last hand went up and she smiled, sitting down in a seat and waiting.

---

It was a couple hours later, I had sweet talked my way into the 'leader' compartment. I now wore a special jumpsuit thing which would grow with my body if it did any more during stasis. the worker had actually believed that I was supposed to leader, he must not of been very smart, his speech was horrible, and I felt bad, but I was doing something for the greater good. I had bluffed saying I was being sponsored by the 'leaders' as the ultimate test of this new colony. No one seemed to bat an eye.

The doctor person stopped me in front of one of the two stasis chambers.

"Where is your other?" He asked and I sighed, looking down and wiping at my eye.

"He... died. A jealous investor killed him, he was so handsome. My investors granted my wish, I will go alone as leader. There is more than enough others to sustain a population without my input."

The doctor nodded and drew a vial and needle out of kit. He injected me with something and opened the stasis pod. "I'm sorry," he didn't sound too sorry, I was just an experiment after all, "this pod has a program which will teach you how to effectively lead. You will still need to learn when and where to apply these skills, but it will give you a foundation. After you go to sleep, the ship will be launched, as you are the last person to stasis."

I nod and get into the pod, laying back as the doctor closed the lid. I sighed and close my eyes, feeling an odd sensation creep over my skin even through the suit and suddenly everything goes dark.

---

In the control tower people begin to make preparations, firing up their computers and calling for the grounds to be cleared and air space to be free of traffic. the large supports near the ship begin to back away as the thrusters began to fire.

"1 minute to launch." someone called and a timer appeared on the large screen. I began to tick downwards and people were making sure everything was in order.

45 seconds.

30 seconds.

20 seconds.

10 seconds.

"Stop!" A voice called and everyone whipped their heads around to the two people in the door. It was Crystal's 'parents' along with a guy in a very expensive suit. "That ship is not supposed to launch yet! It was ours!"

It was too late.

The timer reached zero and suddenly thrusters along with other technology meant to ease the load fired off, lifting the ship off the ground in a giant cloud of dust and smoke. The two adults watched with horror as their investment left without them and as it became nothing but a dot in the sky the woman became angry.

"How DARE you not check your facts! Who is the person that claimed to be leader?" She snarled.

"It was a girl, blonde hair, very pretty. I never heard her name directly, but others called her Crystal." A doctor said from where he was entering notes on the computer.

The two parents stood in shock and the man with the expensive suit was made, angrily saying something in Russian before leaving.

They had been outsmarted, outthinked by the product of their own creation. The woman fainted into her husbands arms just as a beep from a near by computer confirmed that the colony ship had left Earth's orbit, picking up the modules carrying supplies and was off to its planet.

---

10 years later

"Ms. Wilson?"

Crystal Wilson looked up from her desk with a smile at her aide, a young 16 year old girl with brown hair. Everything was going great, sure, it was still a work in progress, but the main city and basic needs had been set up by robots on a beautiful world appropriately called a garden world. Everyone seemed to get along fine, the police arresting only 2 people in the pasts months since settling the planet. She had taken the last name of her now boyfriend, Mark Wilson, a man who had learned to become farmer and biologist on this new world.

"Is it time already?" I ask and the young girl nods.

"We have set up the satellite which will transmit back to Earth. The studio in room 10B is ready when you are."

"Thank you Danica." I nod and get up, fixing my business suit of wrinkles as my aide leaves. I take a breath, making sure the bun my hair was in was in place ad walked down to the studio.

There was only a camera, few computers and the people working them. I stand in front of the camera and the man working one the computer pushes and button and gives a thumbs up. These things broadcasted to everyone on Earth, onto every screen, this would forever be etched in the minds of 'parents' who think of their children as objects, and in the minds of children like the ones who had been guinea pigs for this colony expedition. Eventually, it would make its way to other colonies via data drop from Earth, used to keep tabs on far away investments.

"People of Earth and eventually other colonies. My name is Crystal Wilson." I began speaking clearly. "I was once a Perfection Child to people who thought I was nothing more than an investment which would get them something they wanted, a colony expedition. They took care of me, but never loved me, I was nothing, an object. I did what most of you either thought or wish you could do. I left. It is wrong to see children this way, to barter them for cars or homes. At one point in Earth's history, children were loved and cared for, selling them was illegal, and the world, while not perfect, still turned just the same." I look away from the camera.

"I will tell you it is wrong. Children of all ages, I know it will not be easy, but if you wish, and you can get your own colony ship, then come to my planet. We are not bound by earth's rules, we do not follow their laws. We will not sell you, degrade you, or punish you for being a living being with thoughts and feelings. IF you have a child you do not want, send to me, I will welcome them." I said as I looked back into the camera, my voice sweet and pleasant."

Then my features grow dark and I lean threateningly. "And for you adults. Take this word of warning. We will not respond to any hails Earth, any ship sent here to enforce any sort of your law will be repulsed. You hold now power over my world. I am sick of your morals and your laws, and do not think that the throne you sit on is safe." I stand up straight with a triumphant smile, knowing the computer people are projecting an image of the colony, the capital of this world, and all the beauty that surrounds it.

"The world of Freedom is its own! And may whatever gods you hold dear judge you harshly when you die. President Crystal Wilson, signing off." I say and the man made another gesture, indicating the camera was off and I sigh in relief.

I exit the room and my face blossoms into a bright smile as Mark Wilson hugs me tight. "The big speech aye?" He says.

"Yes." I rest my head on his chest. 'We're our own now. It won't always be perfect, but by all the stars in this galaxy we will make it work." I pull myself away and walk over to an observation area, looking out over the beautiful buildings still being erected near an amazing blue sea with white beaches. "I still haven't thought up a name for our city. Freedom is the colony, but the city needs a name."

Mark chuckled. "Plowing the fields suddenly seems easy."

I smile at the comment but as I look over the city, my city, my smile grows soft.

"Hope."

Mark looked a question at her and she made a motion.

"Welcome to the City of Hope."

Cool beans.

[Respubliko de Libereco]

Here's my (not as good as I hoped) entry:

Is There Hope?

This empty shell of a city is my only reality. Its overgrown streets and collapsed parkades are my hunting grounds. Its unlit subway tunnels are my palace. The haunting cry of the wind, echoing through the skeletons of once-bustling skyscrapers, is my orchestra. It has been days since I last ate. It has been months since I bathed.

It has been years since I saw another human being.

Today, I wander the streets, though it pains me to walk. Fatigued, I stumble past ivy-covered streetlights that once cast a warm glow onto the sidewalk. Now, they cast only shadows, which grow long with the setting of the sun. I limp past the gaping entrances to dilapidated buildings, filled, not doubt, with corpses. Normally, I would pay these sights no attention, but today something is different. Today, I am searching. For what? I hardly dare to think it, but in my heart I know: I am searching for my final resting place.

Ten years ago, it was different. The world was no less desolate then, of course; the “event”, as my father called it, happened much further in the past, before I was born. Ten years ago, the streets were still cracked, the pipes still dry, and the buildings still collapsing. But they were not empty, and that made all the difference. There were only a few of us, but together we made the city a home. We hunted, cooked, and worked together. We sang, danced, and laughed together. We were strong, optimistic, and perseverant; in short, we were survivors.

At least, we used to be survivors. But the constantly overcast skies, the scarcity and blandness of our food, and the constant presence of death started to erode my companions’ spirits, as surely as the elements eroded the looming remains of civilization. One by one, they gave up on life, no matter how much the rest of us begged them to hold on. One by one, I watched them die, and each time a little bit of hope died with them. Some of them were stronger than others, but in the end they all lost hope and resigned themselves to oblivion. All except me.

After my last companion died, I thought the first year would be the hardest. I was constantly plagued by grief, and haunted by vividly-remembered faces that I couldn’t run from, no matter how hard I tried. When, after years of trying to erase them, my memories finally began to fade, I found myself cursing my own foolishness, and wishing that I had held on to them for longer. Alas, it was too late.

I say that they all gave up except me, but that’s not quite true. I thought I was a survivor, but those years of solitude were harder than I could have imagined, and finally, yesterday, something changed. Now, I take one last walk through this city that used to be my home, and that will soon be my mausoleum. I know there is no one to bury me, but surrounded as I am by abandoned towers, black against the red sky of evening, it’s not hard to imagine that I am already looking up from the bottom of a grave.

Ahead of me, I see a corpse. I am not unused to such macabre sights - the city is littered with the dead, and I gave up on burying them all long ago. This one is different, though - it is standing. As I draw closer, it waves to me, just as a living person might. I am somewhat surprised, but only somewhat; my mind, as well as my body, is weak from exhaustion, and I have seen stranger things than moving corpses over the past few days.

I draw nearer still, and see that it is, in fact, a living person, a hooded old man so gaunt and pale that I was almost justified in my initial assumption. Any other day, this would have been amazing news, but today I am simply sad that another suffers as I do.

“Is there any hope?” It’s been so long since I last heard a human voice that I don’t understand the question the first time. He asks again, “Is there any hope?”. This time, I understand. It is a question that I am very familiar with.

“No,” I say, “there is no hope.” A week ago I would have said otherwise, but now I see the truth. “There is no hope, and there never was. Everyone dies. This has always been true, and it always will be.”

“Of course everyone dies. No one knows that better than I. I just never really expected it to happen to me.” The old man lowers his hood, and I see that my initial assumption was correct: he really is a corpse. In fact, he is Death himself. I don’t know how I know this, but I do. “My question,” he continues, “is about what happens after death - is there hope then?”

“How can you expect me, a human, to tell you?” I ask, bewildered. “You, that have been the scourge of humanity for all of history?”

“I am dying,” he responds, “and I hoped that you could teach me what it is like to be mortal. Humans have lived in my shadow for millennia - surely your race knows more about dying than I do, having never died.”

“How can you be dying?” I ask, confused.

Death sighs. It is a haunting, echoing sound, very similar to that of the wind through the ruins. “Soon, there will be no need for me. My job is to usher souls out of this world, and you are the last such soul. As you die, so shall I.”

This news surprises me. Of course, I have long suspected that I might be the last man on earth, but something inside me always rejected the idea. Now, my suspicions are, unfortunately, confirmed. I pause for a moment to consider this revelation. Death remains as silent as the grave. The only sound is the mournful cry of some corvid in the distance.

“Perhaps,” I say at length.

“Pardon?” It is Death’s turn to be confused.

“Perhaps there is hope after death. There’s no hope in life, that’s for sure. If I am the last man on earth, then there is no future for me here, and I suspect that there never was. But maybe there’s something waiting for me in death. And maybe, just maybe, there’s something waiting for you, too.”

Death doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing more to be said. He simply offers me his hand, and we go into the unknown as equals. The sun sets on the sight of humanity and mortality dying together, side by side, hand in hand.

[Volmachtia]

Pretty satisfied with my finished story. I was working on a sci-fi story, but I decided on this other one I had been working on. Called Redwater Prison.

There was a murmur between the prisoners. The ever-watching Warden marched down the corridor, racking his baton against the rusted cell bars, eyes sweeping to and fro through the grimy, poorly-lit hallway. Fifty rooms on each side of a hallway, a hundred in all. The majority of the orange-clad inmates had been huddled in the backs of their cells, having attempted to catch some sleep, or at least clear their thoughts, before he arrived.

The flickering lights glinted on the smudgy lenses of the Warden’s wide-rimmed glasses as he observed each cell. Their occupants leered back at him wordlessly as the monthly inspection proceeded as it normally did. His handlebar moustache twitched as he continued, idly biting on an unlit cigar as he checked off every prisoner’s quarters. Every one of the hundred cells, and the hundred men in them.

Half an hour of utter, tense silence passed as the Warden completed the inspection. Eyes shot knives at his back as he turned and left, accompanied by the quartet of guards that usually patrolled the hallways until nighttime, when they returned to their quarters. A sigh of relief arose between the inmates as the heavy steel door creaked and slammed shut, bolts locking into place.

“Damn glad that’s over with.” Douglass from the cell to the right moaned, reclining on his ravaged cot.

“Until the next one, anyway.” Garza from the cell to the left snorted, sitting on the edge of his bunk.

“Is there ever an end?” I muttered, looking down at the cracked concrete floor with a mixture of apathy and apprehension. Garza shot me an amused look and shook his head.

“How long have we been in here? Nobody’s counted how many inspections have happened. It might as well keep going forever!” He said, spreading his hands wide before returning them to his knees.

“Well, why does it have to go on forever?” I inquired.

“Because.” Grude, a huge man from the cell directly opposite to mine, barked. “Nobody leaves Redwater Prison. You’re here for good, buddy. Get used to it.”

“I am. But isn’t there another way to live? Beyond the prison?” I asked, pointing a finger towards the door.

Douglass humored me with a response. “And do what? Y’know, I don’t mind being fed and relaxin’ the way I do all day.” He shrugged. “No responsibilities, just don’t piss off big W.”

I chewed my lip and thought about it. Yeah, there was no real difficulty in living in Redwater. Then again, there was really nothing to living in Redwater to begin with. No life for the Warden to interfere with, really. They had a meal of beans for lunch at noon, then at 2:00 they had an hour in the yard. Baseball, working out, jogging, whatever. Then back inside, dinner at 8:00 (Beans, too) and then closed hours until the next day. And every month, an inspection. For as far back as anyone could remember.

I cleared my head as I settled into my own rugged cot, pulling the crusty sheets over myself and trying to get some sleep, with minimal success. The night was full of twisting and turning, and whispers between other insomniac inmates. Eventually rays of sun pierced through the single skylight in the ceiling of the prisoner’s hallway. Keys jingled in the steel door. It swung open and the four guards walked through, one unlocking each door while the others directed the prisoners to the mess hall.

I walked with Douglass and Garza as usual. The group shuffled up to the old cafeteria line, foggy glass obscuring its contents. The older woman that prepared the food, her black bandana pinning up blonde hair that was in the process of turning white, came out as she usually did, getting out plates before heading back.

A few minutes passed before she emerged. She spoke with a guard in hushed tones, looking very much on edge. Eventually she went to the cafeteria line and addressed the assembled inmates.

The portly lunch lady shrugged. “Sorry, kids. Nothin’. No beans left in the store room.”

There was an audible disturbance between the inmates in the line. Douglass tapped my shoulder.

“She’s saying there’s no food left? Hell’s with that?”

I turned and said, “Yeah. And from the look of it, it probably means we haven’t gotten a shipment of new supplies in quite a while, then.”
Douglass cocked his head. “But… there’s a hundred men in Redwater, plus the Warden, his men and the few other people. Wouldn’t somebody have noticed we ain’t get a shipment?”

I frowned. “Doesn’t make sense to me, neither. You ever remember running out of beans before?”

Douglass furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. “No, don’t think so. It’s weird, right? Don’t think something like this has ever happened before.”
The prisoners stood in unease for a few minutes before the Warden arrived and ordered them back to their cells. No yard time today, for the first time that anyone could remember. Dinner time came and went. A guard walked into the hallway to announce that there was still no food.

Despite my trepidation and discomfort, I still tried to sleep. After a few fruitless hours, I simply rested on my back and listened to the chatter of the other prisoners. Nothing of any particular interest, besides predictable whisperings about the lack of meals that day. When morning came, the Warden came out to announce that food was still yet to arrive. Despite that, he also said we had yard time. The guards came out to escort us to the yard as usual.

People were visibly unnerved in the yard. There were few people lifting or playing baseball as there usually were. People were mostly sitting down and talking in hushed tones amongst each other, gossip passing around quickly. Nobody felt right about what had happened.

I saw Garza standing by himself, grinding the heel of a ratty shoe on the ground. Determined to figure out some kind of plan of action, something to figure out what was going on here, I approached him. He greeted me with a weak “Hey”.

“Hey, Garza.” I said. “So… what do you think about what’s been happening around here lately?”

“To be honest, brother, I don’t know.” He replied. “Nothing feels right since food ran out.”

I leaned in a bit closer. “Well, we should try and figure out what’s going on.”

He gave me a sideways glance. “Oh yeah? And how do you suppose we do that, man?”

I held up my hands, as if feigning guilt. “I know, I always say this stuff. But hear me out. Things are wrong. There’s stuff happening that shouldn’t be happening.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not like we can change it.” He groaned.

“Not if we try and get out.” I whispered. I knew exactly what he was about to say.

“There you go again. Escape.” I was right.

“Please, Garza. The Warden knows something. If we could get information from him…” I said, hesitantly, trying not to blatantly suggest a riot.
Garza snorted. “So what? What would he know?”

“He may know why food hasn’t come! He may know what’s gone wrong! Really, don’t you feel strange?”

He gave me a confused stare. “Like how?”

“Think about it.” I rasped. “We haven’t been fed for the last couple days and nobody feels hungry or sick!”

Garza crossed his arms. “Just… I don’t know, okay? There’s weird stuff here, just how it is.”

“Come on, Garza. When was the last time you had a proper deep sleep?” I pleaded.

Garza paused. “Well, now that you talk about it, I don’t think I’ve had good shut-eye since I can remember. That is odd. Ain’t that bad for you, no sleep?”

I nodded. “Even look at the prison itself, man. Everything’s decayed, even stuff that belongs to the guards. There’s something else going on here, Garza. You have to help me convince the rest to try and get out of Redwater!”

Garza was still in thought for quite a few moments. Eventually he looked back at me. “Okay. I believe you, pal.” He patted me on the back. “Something fishy is going on. Come on, we’ll talk to Geoff and his crew. They know everyone through someone in their gang. We get them on our side, we get all the prisoners with us.”

“Thanks, man. This means a lot to me.” I sighed with relief.

We walked across the dead yellow grass to a group of husky, heavily-built inmates that collected in a far corner of the yard. They were huddled and muttered amongst one another. The biggest one in the center, probably also the biggest guy in the entire prison, was Geoff. The group turned to look at the two of us as we approached.

“Garza. Tom? What’s up?” Geoff said, rising from his knees and walking forward a couple steps.

“Hey, Geoff. We need to talk about the prison. About what’s been happening.”

Geoff raised his chin. “Well, what do you want to say?” There was definite worry in his voice.

“You know as good as anyone that this place is wrong.” Garza said. Geoff nodded.

“I do.”

“So you should understand that my pal Tom here-“ Garza patted me on the back, a little harder than he needed to- “has a plan to make sense of all this.”

“That so?” Geoff said, taking on a tone of cynicism. “You’re the one that’s usually going on about the world outside.”

“I know. You can’t even see the region around us with the high prison walls. But just think- if all was right in Redwater, we’d have food. People could still sleep. Things would make sense.”

Geoff cocked his head, like a dog pondering a curious noise. “Okay, I get what you’re saying. But what I don’t get is what you want to do.”

“I say when we get out of the yard, we overtake the guards. Capture the Warden.” A torrent of whispers ran through Geoff’s group. He ordered silence from them.

“And if we succeed? Then what?” He questioned.

“We find out what he knows. He’s in control of this place. He knows what’s happening better than anyone, and he would never talk to a prisoner man to man an honest-like. Usually.” I offered.

Geoff pondered my words. Garza piped up.

“Geoff, think of when I snuck a couple cigs for you from the guard that one time. You won’t owe me one at all after this. If anything, we both owe you one.”

Geoff pursed his lips, then gave us a look of absolute seriousness. “Yes. I will help you.”

He directed a couple of his men to go spread the word among the inmates. Prison riot at the end of yard time.

On the clock at 3:00 p.m., the bell rang and a couple guards walked out of the main door and began directing prisoners back in. The prisoners began to group together and march back inside. But as the first few entered the door, the rest suddenly split and slammed into the guards, beating them down and knocking them unconscious. One guard managed to pull an alarm as he fell to the ground.

Frenzy filled the mass of prisoners as they realized that what they had only dreamed of idly was finally happening. The other two guards raced into the main hall, pistols drawn and safeties off, and the Warden walked up behind them, holding a megaphone.

“Inmates! You are violating the law. Turn yourselves in at once or face harsh consequences!” He barked in a raspy Southern drawl.

“Fuck you!” Someone in the crowd yelled. A collective roar filled the men as they charged down the hall against the guards. The guards opened fire and a couple prisoners collapsed and crumpled, leaking blood, but very quickly they were overtaken. The Warden stepped back in shock and attempted to run, but he too was run down. The faster, thinner prisoners got up to him and tripped him, sending him sprawling. They pinned him down until Geoff and the other big guys could grab a hold of him and drag him to the mess. The lunch lady and plumber were arguing about what to do when the prisoners marched in, Warden firmly captured. They slowly, wordlessly, joined into the mass of prisoners, with no other choice.
The Warden was forced down on a plain seat at a cleared table and surrounded by Geoff and the other brawlers while Garza and I sat in front of him.

“Alright, Warden. What do you know about this business goings on?” I opened.

“The government will have y’all sent to death row.” He snarled. “All of ya!”

“Is there even a government anymore? Where is it? Why haven’t they come?” I snapped at him. Even I was surprised at my own aggression.

“There ain’t gonna be no pardon for none of you.” He grinned devilishly.

Garza nodded to Geoff. Geoff’s heavy hand clasped onto the Warden’s head and slammed it into the table.

“I’m gonna love watching you fry in the chair.” He spat indignantly.

“Do it again.” I said. Geoff repeatedly bashed the Warden’s head against the hard steel table. Blood seeping from his mouth and bruises marking his face, he finally relented.

“Okay. Stop. I don’t wanna die. Now just what the hell do you want from me?” He begged. His eyes glinted fiercely from behind his cracked glasses.

I crossed my arms and leaned in. “You know something about what’s happened in the outside. We want to know too. Now.” I demanded, putting on as tough of a demeanor as I could.

“I don’t know what you’re on about, but there ain’t nothing to be said about the outside.” He replied.

“That ain’t good enough. I want to know about why we haven’t heard from the outside in what’s likely years. Why didn’t we get new food? How come nobody’s ever been released? Why can’t we sleep?”

“That’s just how Redwater Prison is. I can’t say nothing else.”

“Hey.” Geoff grunted, before tearing a key ring off of the Warden’s belt. He looked in despair as Geoff passed it to me. I nodded to Garza. He began questioning him while I took the keys and began making my way to the Warden’s office. The last time I remembered being there, it must have been the yearly one-on-one with the Warden. A couple minutes of hostile questions about our guilt and ongoing rehabilitation. Nowadays that mattered none, but still; if anywhere had answers, it was the office.

I unlocked the door and stepped into a finely-scented room. A window at the far side of the room was open from above to the world outside. I shouldered my way past chairs and crusty mahogany desks to peer through. Heavy grey clouds hung over a dead plain as far as the eye could see.

I wondered for a moment at my first good look outside Redwater for years. Stepping back, I began to open file cabinets, looking for anything that would hold information useful to me. After a couple minutes, I stumbled upon a number of labelled manila folders. Each folder had the name of a prisoner. They were labeled alphabetically; this one was D to I. I closed it and opened the box above it. I fumbled for the ones beginning with B. I finally found my name amongst the many others and took it out, taking a deep breath as trepidation filled me.

I began reaming through the file of Blake, Tom. Birthdate. Home town. Next of kin. As my fingers flipped through the pages inside it, a picture came to my attention. It looked like me. But it wasn’t my face as I remembered it. Fingers trembling, I held the picture up to a tall mirror while looking at my own reflection. The pictured man’s face was fleshy and bright. Mine was sallow and gaunt. His eyes were bright; mine were bloodshot and dim.

“What happened to me?” I said, staring in horror at myself. “What happened to us?”

Shaking, I walked back out and made my way to the mess. Garza noticed me in the doorway and left it to another inmate to continue the “interrogation”. By this point it almost seemed like people were taking turns hitting and yelling at the Warden. In a way, I felt bad for him. It didn’t seem like the happenings were his fault, but by this point there was no stopping it.

“Claims he hasn’t heard from the government in years, but continued his job at the prison because he wanted to keep us ‘dangerous elements’ in check.” Garza said, almost triumphant in his success over the Warden’s iron will. “What’s this you have?”

I showed him my picture. He gave a long, hard look at it and stared at me. His face washed over with the same blend of terror and wonder that I felt when I first saw it.

“Now just what the hell is this?” He said.

“It’s not just the outside, Garza. It’s us. It’s everyone in Redwater.” I said.

“What the hell happened?” He muttered.

I fanned through the manila folder again. It struck me how unfamiliar most of the names were. Hometown. Family. High school. Was my memory destroyed too?

“What do we do now?” Garza said. Some of the other prisoners began looking our way, noticing how tense we were.

“Let’s talk about it somewhere secure.” I resolved.

Garza and I found chairs in the Warden’s office. He found his own file, Garza, Brian Delgado. He clicked his tongue looking through it.

“Hell, it looks like me, but I don’t know a damn thing about what it’s all about in here. I can’t even recognize my mama’s name.”

“We need to leave. Redwater’s dead, and we may be too.”

Garza nodded. “I’ll tell Geoff.”

Word spread over the next couple hours. The cabinet of manila folders was emptied. Prisoners pored over their files, scratching their heads, puzzled. The warden, face dark with blood, scowled intensely.

After a time searching the prison, we found an old garage. A couple of us had some intuition working with the two trucks there and managed to get them running again, finding a few fuel canisters lying about. There was nowhere near enough room for the hundred of us, so Garza, Douglass and I took a handful of others with us. The Warden was tied up to a post in the yard and to be watched in hourly shifts while we were gone.

We drove out at midday, the sun beaming down a plain of gold. As far as the eye could see there was dead grass and corn, the soil long desiccated. On occasion, discarded cars lay strewn on the roadside.

“So we know what we’re doing?” Douglass said. I shrugged. Garza shook his head as he drove.

“There is no way to know what’s out there. We’ll simply have to make do with what we find.” I replied.

Douglass nodded. “Hell, it’s a plan at least.”

The road went on for a few miles. The simple asphalt started giving way to the ruins of highways. A couple times we had to drive around where sections of the road had crumbled. The two trucks dutifully put up with the stress, in spite of their age.

Tall grey splotches appeared on the horizon.

“Hell is that?” Douglass muttered, eyes squinting.

A few more minutes of driving took us close. A rotted sign read “Welcome to Saint Andersburg, population 44,510”. Crude graffiti was daubed on it in indiscernible patterns. We got out and started looking around.

This was a city. This used to be a city.

I looked out into the ruins, towards the crumbling, faded office structures we had seen in the distance. Concrete and brick had worn away, revealing steel rebar poking out like unshaven stubble. Small homes had been smashed in or utterly knocked out from their foundations. Tall, stringy wild grass grew from what had used to be a sewer grate. Overturned cars had become thickly lined with a dark orange cake of rust.
We stood there for some time, taking it in. Muttered curses and stamping feet went back and forth. There was no outside world. There was nothing left.

I stared into the remnants of what had been Saint Andersburg.

And before me lay the ashes of civilization.

[Wymyslensko]

My entry:

Under the sound's surface

Have you ever heard... silence? Yes, only silence, nothing more, just clean silence, no sound. Have you ever been in absolutely silence, without least voice, least noise...? No? And I’m living in this world all my life... however it isn’t entire truth. Truth is more weird and incomprehensible to most people that this secret is kept by me since I have known it. However last evens occasioned I must unveil my true face. This isn’t story about me. This is story about people like me.
I should introduce myself. I’m Heul Hartien and I live in Huhtern. This is a land; we don’t have towns or villages. My parents were officers – nobody important. They loved me and it was my luck. Maybe... Let it be. Later. So, when they knew I’m deaf (but I am not. Continue in reading), they try to teach me – and they was successful. However nevertheless, I studied in special school.
When I was ten year old I reflected that I was hearing! But these noises weren’t noises listened by other people. These wasn’t hallucinations, I was listening it again and again. That was real. Too real. I haven’t said my parents what I had listened. I haven’t see just sound, but later I listened voices and words. And I started to understand it. I learned talking and two years after this moment, I know to talk. I thought I’m alone, but everything was changed...
This everything was started, when I was walking around a forest. There was silence – my silence too. I want quit. I was this day in school, at home and I want to be without people, who loves me, but who thinks I’m some inferior man. Truth is, my parents and my family don't think it, by some familiars thinks that I’m not normal human. Yes, that’s truth, but while I am deaf for them, I have some rights!
Silence isn’t pretty. I sometimes hated silence, because only silence was listened by me my first 10 years of my life. But now silence was great. I was lying on the earth and I was hearing its noises when I listened voices. Like me voice, but I wasn’t talking. It was voice of some another person! And ti was ‘my’ sound, like I called it. Someone was like me! I thought that it was just hallucination, but I was still hearing it. It was real! I was exiting, but I haven’t run to the voices and screamed that I was there. No, I just heard their words...
“And this revolution must be. We are power of this world and our despisers must be destroyed. Does everybody understand?”
“Yea, just we must be infiltrated to high structures, but...”
“Revolution must be done, because we are the best people and we must rise.”
“Right, Peter, you’re right. We know this and... I heard somebody!”
I heard them. They heard me. They knew, I was there. They wanted to do revolution. They wanted to rule. They were like me. Like me! I couldn’t think for other things I listened. They were like me! I wasn’t alone! I was exiting and if they knew about me... I called out:
“I am like you!” They turned and I waved. “I’m like you! I...” One smiled.
“A... next person to our deaf revolution... Welcome.”
“You are real! I thought... I’m alone... that I’m only who...” He nodded.
“I understand. Everybody knows it. Everybody from us thought that they were alone. It’s ok.” He was... good. Then I hadn’t thought that he was like he was...
“And what are you doing here? In forest...” I asked.
“This is a place for revolution. Usual people don’t know our world. Usual ones think that we’re less than they. They despised us, they divide us, they swear for us, they’ve had their own empire for too long time and this is time for our empire! We are future of this world! We can have power which was taken by usual people! They called us ‘deaf’, but they hear less than we! We listen sound under usual surface and we should rule!”
Their ideals and words were so awesome and perfect that I’ve forgotten for everything wrong in their plans. I trusted them and I was one from them. I knew about our plans and it was... great... Heul Hartien like one from most important people in World... it sounded... excellent... I believed...
I didn’t want to hear about their plans with “usual” people. I still liked my “usual” friends and loved my parents... but I believed in revolution...
And there was this day. Today is this day. We were successful. We are new government. And I came home. My parents and sister fear me. And I haven’t noted it. I was happy, because we’ve won... but who are “we”?
“What have you done?” My mother wrote these words to some paper. And I started to think. What have I done? What world was made by us? What world will be followed our revolution? What time will be? Were my acts right? What am I doing? What have I done? What have we made? Our leaders left their families and they haven’t talk about them. But I love my family, they haven’t despised me... Why should I let kill them by our soldiers? Why? What should I do? Why have I believed that here’ll be safety for them? Why have I thought leader will have mercy? I believe in revolution, but should revolution be really like it is? Should we despise “usual” people because they’re “usual” and they don’t hear sounds under the sound’s surface? We are like they! We should be ideal, perfect... new imperium! Or do I just believe in this and I haven’t wanted to know truth?! What have I done? I see my family cries and they can’t understand what have I done, what have we done... what should I do... oh, god! We’ve wanted heaven and what have we made? What has our revolution been? We want power, power like “usual” people had... We haven’t wanted ideals... We’ve wanted to be like they! We’ve wanted to be them! There is no ideal, there’s just and just power... we weren’t idealistic, we were just jealous. We wanted to have their position...
“Don’t cry!” I yell, but my family doesn’t hear me. And I’m crying too. Our soldiers are coming here and I know what they’ll do. However I don’t know what will I do?! And what should I do? Should I be with murderers of my family and forget for them or should I be with my family and be murdered like traitor? It’s my sin, because I heard their words and I’ve forgotten...
I run to my mother and I hug her.
They see me and they look that they despise me.
They take a gun.
“A traitor,” They call me.
“Boy has run to his mother...”
“Shoot them.”
“And our man too?”
“He isn’t ours.”
I hug my sister and I feel her tears. I cry too.
He shoots. He was my friend, I note. And I’m dying now.

[Occupied Deutschland]

I believe I'll have to withdraw my tenative entry. My work has been slammed and I haven't found the spare while to come up with a good story. Good luck to ya'all who are writing though, and perhaps I'll see you in the next go-round!

[Nazi Flower Power]

I believe I'll have to withdraw my tenative entry. My work has been slammed and I haven't found the spare while to come up with a good story. Good luck to ya'all who are writing though, and perhaps I'll see you in the next go-round!

That's the downside of being employed.

I am not sure if we are going to have one of these in the fall, but you're certainly welcome to enter if we do.

[Nazi Flower Power]

Only a couple of days left. Any last minute entries?

[Vedria]

Only a couple of days left. Any last minute entries?

Imma try to put one in.

I haven't started yet, though.

[Nazi Flower Power]

Only a couple of days left. Any last minute entries?

Imma try to put one in.

I haven't started yet, though.

You really need to get crackin' then.

[The Dogma States]

Only a couple of days left. Any last minute entries?

Workin' on it, i'm typing it as we speak

[Nerotysia]

This is interesting. Since there are only like 2 days left and I'm currently engaged in another writing project, do you mind if I post a story I wrote a little while ago? It has not been published or posted elsewhere.

[Nazi Flower Power]

This is interesting. Since there are only like 2 days left and I'm currently engaged in another writing project, do you mind if I post a story I wrote a little while ago? It has not been published or posted elsewhere.

There is no rule about when you actually wrote the story, only whether it's been posted/published. IOW, go for it.

[Vedria]

Imma try to put one in.

I haven't started yet, though.

You really need to get crackin' then.

Welp, school just crushed all hope of putting in an entry.

I've seen some awesome work here, guys. Keep it up.

[Nazi Flower Power]

You really need to get crackin' then.

Welp, school just crushed all hope of putting in an entry.

Bummer.

[Vedria]

Welp, school just crushed all hope of putting in an entry.

Bummer.

Will there be a sequel of sorts in the future? Maybe then I can put in an entry.

[Nazi Flower Power]

Bummer.

Will there be a sequel of sorts in the future? Maybe then I can put in an entry.

There could be another contest if people are interested, but I have not made any definite plans about if/when I am going to host it. I am waiting until this one wraps up. If people would like me to host again, I am willing to do so, but only one thread at a time.

[Nerotysia]

Lovely. Here's mine. It doesn't have much of a plot, but y'know -

Rain

I flinched at the first crack of thunder. Soon after, slender fingers of rain began to tap the window, and I moved to close it completely.

I made no sound on the wooden carpet, as I was expert at crossing these floors undetected. Sliding back into the plastic chair we had stolen from the middle school, my gaze fell to the desk.

The room wasn’t a study in the classical sense. There were bookshelves; a mahogany-trimmed wallpaper of cracked spines and faded titles. There was also a grand mahogany desk, painted with papers stained blood red. There was even a fan, whose dust-coated spokes hadn’t stirred air in years. Aside from these things there wasn’t much else.

Except for the body.

No, his body.

I hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on. The normally transfixing gleam of the gun’s silver barrel was washed away by the shadows. The wooden handle, like all of the other wood things in this cursed room, was rendered all but black by the darkness. All of his hours of polishing gone to waste.

Then I looked, though I tried hard not to, at his head. The top of it, a flat skin-colored lake hemmed in by a forest of curled brown hair. Hair that looked almost like mine, before I began straightening it. Red droplets rested like animals in his locks.

The rain got harder, the taps against glass outstripping my heartbeat.

I looked at the gun again. It was like a viper, its head curled towards its prey. It would be well fed this night. Without my thinking, my hand came to rest next to the gun’s handle. I gazed bemusedly at it, only mildly surprised, before that line of sight brought me back to my father’s carcass.

I didn’t know why I cared. I hadn’t seen him since I was six. My thoughts had cursed him many times since then. I didn’t know why I cared.

“Fuck you,” I whispered, almost as if to test my tongue could move. Had he expected me to simply forgive him? After all these years? I repeated the insult, louder this time, more defiant. In the seconds following my pupils found their way back to the gun.

The rain was a drum now, with a tireless drummer.

I studied the guns spotless barrel as one would study a nasty wound. It lacked any aberrations that might break its monotonous linearity. Not one scratch, not one infinitesimal dent. The color ran uninterrupted; no rust of any kind ate at this tunnel of death.

The gun had been my father’s pride and joy. I had too many memories of him cleaning it in his few sober moments. He seemed to love it almost more than me. I grew to dislike guns over the years.

Thunder growled in the distance like a lion ready to pounce. A pale flash of lightning illuminated the brain matter on the desk in an unearthly greenish glow.

My hand, again without my conscious will, had gently cupped the handle of the gun. It was smooth, of course. Like a baby’s bottom. Or any other bottom, I suppose.

I looked back at him. For the first time, I noticed his fingers, hair-covered sausages, resting on the desk beside him. I remembered the feel of that hand, on my shoulder reassuring me that I needn’t be afraid to play Mary in the church’s reenactment of the birth of Jesus. I remembered it scrabbling at my arm, begging me to stop, begging me to listen. What was there to listen to after ten years?

Another flash of lightning briefly exposed the barrel’s brilliance, and I found myself drawn to it. I saw my hand clench firmly around the gun, like a baby clutching a rattle. I saw my hand slowly lift the gun, and I saw my hands cradle it between them like a crib.

There were people running across our windows, making such a loud noise I couldn’t think.

My mother would be home soon. I should probably call someone, do something. But I had been caught in the gun’s spell. I stared at this in my homemade crib, his child. Not my child. Not my sister either.

Why was he always so obsessed with the damn thing? He was such a coward outside of his hunting gear that I found it hard to comprehend. I repeated the Fuck You to the gun.

The howling of the gale infested our halls. The raindrops were bullets being fired as they hit the window, a million of them at once. I couldn’t hear anything else. It drove away all other sound like riot police.

The barrel was in my mouth. It was sour, like it had been coated in one of my mother’s spices. Metal mixed with saliva as my tongue explored this newfound object, unsure of what it meant. My finger found the trigger and held it like a long lost friend.

And then time stopped in that room, the site of my father’s suicide.

I contemplated the paths before me. One was warm, well-kept, smooth as the barrel and sparkling with sunshine. One was dirty and unkempt, damp leaves covering every square inch that wasn’t already occupied by a crow picking at a shriveled worm skin. Light only pockmarked this path.

And in the end, I let go, and my heart chose for me.

Ambiguous endings for the win!

[The New World Oceania]

Bummer.

Will there be a sequel of sorts in the future? Maybe then I can put in an entry.

There are generally two or three short story contests each year. Besides that, there are Improviser submissions, but I've rarely seen any other writing contests on NS.

[Nazi Flower Power]

A day and a half left for anyone else who wants to enter.

To clarify for anyone that is scrambling to get their entry done and wants to know exactly how long they have, the deadline is the end of the day (11:59PM) June 30th Pacific Time. I know there are some American NSers in the western part of the country, so I want to accommodate any of them who interpreted the deadline according to their own time zone.