Short Story Contest

by **Yesopalitha** » Fri Dec 02, 2011 12:21 am

Here is my short story:

by **Norstal** » Sat Dec 03, 2011 3:36 pm

I'll start reading over them once I'm finished with my finals, so here's my confirmation.

Wooo, something to do over my break. I bet I can put this on my resume too. "Judge of writing contest".

by **Manahakatouki** » Sat Dec 03, 2011 3:43 pm

Oh why not...

I've always wanted someone to critique a short story I wrote a little while ago...

The newly painted apartment was a marvel of originality and ingenuity. The white exterior, square to the finest of measurements, produced an image of freshness, beauty, and purity in all shapes and forms. Such beauty was actually quite dreary however. The neighbouring houses, with incredible accuracy, looked identical to the newly painted apartment, as did their neighbours, and their neighbours. Thousands of indistinguishable apartment homes were in rows, far past the weak vision of the ordinary person. Though they were architectural masterpieces, the buildings gave off a sense of lazy simplicity, merely being rows and rows of meek, obedient sheep. And just like the outside, the apartment spaces were all the same, with sleek metallic furniture placement and black and white wallpaper void of differences. All were single large bedrooms with a small bathroom, a kitchen, and a closet behind three doors, exactly two metres apart on the left side of the room. The right side was reserved for the small twin sized bed, and a small window was ajar viewing the other architectural clones across the street.

Yes, all homes were like this, so eerily similar that it was difficult to say that there were any differences at all. All of course except home 09122, on the third floor; the most newly painted home. Opposing the harsh laws of architectural equality, the room amazingly withstood the constant inspections of the terrifying Equal Police and their examination of all things different; to keep the people safe from the forces that are strange and unfamiliar of course. Different than the others, the apartment was multicoloured, thrilling, and original. Trinkets of varying size and origin were scattered in an arbitrary style among the walls and tables. The colours of paints, never viewed for decades, were expressed among the paintings that adorned the walls and though they were strange and provocative, they were delightful for the eyes to view. Even though it used the same technologically advanced cooling system everyone had for the overly hot winter days, the room gave off a sense of warmth and friendliness.

The room, blissful compared to the outside dreary world, did nothing wrong to those who wished for equality. Sealed with the most intricate of electronic systems, only those with a key could enter the “promiscuous” room and be subjected to the immoral behaviours it exhibited. Inexplicably, it remained how the room seemed to be created and maintained. The room was under the name of Smith 231123, Area 21 an outstanding person who had done nothing wrong in his/her life. Then again, he/she had never done anything right either. Come to think of it, he/she did nothing in his/her life that is mentionable...or on records. The manager (Brown 423312) of apartment building 09122 would always notice how patron 231123 never left his/her home. Not that that was uncommon though. Nothing was to be experienced outside that the comforts of an apartment home couldn’t provide. So though he noticed, the manager never really cared if patron 231123 ever left his/her home. Human error had thus made sure the home was kept in secrecy. It was a rare event however. Without the need for human decision making, thinking became a useless skill, rarely to be used. As long as humans didn’t need to think, the room would remain.

It all began when someone left the window open. Neighbours from the 09143 building began complaining about the strange look the room gave off from the open window. The shape and size was the same, but somehow the room was different than the others. So faster than the humans could think of what to do, an experienced team of professionals soon stormed the apartment building. The Equality Police were fast at their job, their thinking abilities heightened without human decision making and the like. Quietly, the 2 unit team swept past an unreliable human manager and his/her resting period, whilst a third was stationed to purify the black and white lobby and its unfortunate human occupants. An elevator door lifted the two upwards towards the third floor room, and with a unison sigh, they waited for the extremely efficient machine to pull them to the third story. It was a rather long ride for the Equality Police though, with teleportation being much faster. But the reliability of old mechanics and their simple design kept the old nuclear powered elevators still running. As the mechanical room gave off a harmonized mechanical F note 0.92 seconds later, the sliding doors slowly unfurled like curtains at a show to reveal the door of the third floor room. The pure white door gave off its final show of innocence, but was ignored by the purifiers. The Police punched the “skeleton key” into the password protected computer lock, and with a squeal of defeat, the room’s door creaked open for the pair to observe the inside.

The colours, which before were powerfully bright with true artificial life, now seemed to shrink back into the walls and furniture. The room of chaos and immorality had been found. The Police’s eyes were wide as they scanned the room, and in less than a second, had made the joint non-human decision that the entire room had to be purified. No emotions played into the equation of non human thought, and the beautiful colours and designs were nothing more than errors to the pair of perfectionists. With a metallic grin, the adversaries of freedom quickly emitted their pestilence upon the room, as the poisonous gas soon filled up the rooms every corner. Eating away at the painted face of a smiling woman, the gold of ancient civilizations, the wooden cross representing a once beloved humanitarian, the plague began its simple work of destroying the room’s true purpose; to store and breed the lost creativity of the past existence. And with the final molecular disposal of all the outlandish colours and objects in the room, the home became nothing more than an empty canvas, never to be painted again. Already the Architect had begun its work of placing ordinary beds and sofas of black and white colour from what seemed like nowhere onto the plain white carpeted floor and plain black and white wallpaper. It was a highly repetitive job, yet useful in purpose, that one would laugh trying to think of any other mind which could perform the work other than one without errors. The Architect seemed to admire its work, before it cooled down enough to retract back into the wall. The room of wickedness had been replaced by the room of true ignorance. Without errors, the pair of Police had soon closed the door, and finished the deed of purging the room of its hostility. The door seemed to whine one last desperate time before a click of the lock sealed the room inside itself. Without anyone to reside in the room, the lights above the tomb refused to turn on, and the Entertainer did not keep its guests amused in hypnotic visions across a screen. And then suddenly the room was very cold, an overpowering vent quietly pushed enormous amounts of air across and around the room. But that was perfectly normal of course. They were all cold like that. Cold, bland and colour blind compared to the beautiful world that once surrounded them.

by **Conserative Morality** » Thu Dec 08, 2011 9:36 pm

Don't want to lose this.

by **Metanih** » Thu Dec 08, 2011 9:43 pm

So...
Can i submit previously written work?

by **Nightkill the Emperor** » Thu Dec 08, 2011 9:44 pm

Metanih wrote:So...
Can i submit previously written work?

Yes.

by **Metanih** » Thu Dec 08, 2011 9:45 pm

Nightkill the Emperor wrote:
Metanih wrote:So...
Can i submit previously written work?

Yes.

Wonderful!
Will submit as soon as i complete it!

by **Lackadaisical2** » Thu Dec 08, 2011 10:27 pm

Bah, I just starting thinking about writing something, and now I see this thread. I suppose I might still have time, if I stop posting in RPs so much...

by **Foamy XIII** » Fri Dec 09, 2011 1:07 am

Here goes nothing...

by **Nationstatelandsville** » Thu Dec 15, 2011 8:44 pm

I had an excellent idea in the shower. I should finish by Monday.

by **Nationstatelandsville** » Thu Dec 15, 2011 10:24 pm

Nationstatelandsville wrote:I had an excellent idea in the shower. I should finish by Monday.

Or now.

A tad long but... buzz off.

by **Conserative Morality** » Thu Dec 15, 2011 10:27 pm

Nationstatelandsville wrote:
Nationstatelandsville wrote:I had an excellent idea in the shower. I should finish by Monday.

Or now.

A Legal U-Turn

Mike rested his left elbow on the steering wheel in order to rub his forehead, weary. Elise laughed a bit, bemused at a joke she had received via text, which did nothing to lighten Mike's spirits. Mike's spirits had been pounded into a profound density of negativity by the feet of a hundred men treading on them. He was a poor man, never successful through legal means. Never successful through illegal means either. He was an unemployed bum who did not try to improve his situation nor particularly wanted to, despite what the shiny new Corvette said. Truth be told, it wasn't even his. It wasn't Elise's either. Stealing hardly met Mike's moral standards, but he rarely met any of his standards. In regards to personal success, he was bitterly divorced and abandoned by his mistress. Elise was his most recent girlfriend, though Mike knew it would never last. She was young, eighteen years his junior. He'd met her at a bar. They shared a beer and spent the night in her apartment. This was only their third date, yet they were already going on a cross-country road trip from Phoenix to Las Vegas. Not because they kindled emotionally, but because Elise was a naive young girl with daddy's credit card. She could be called a "victory". His victories financially were non-existent. Four months ago, he'd been working in retail. He wasn't any longer. His wife had left him afterwards, his mistress soon followed, and then his sobriety. Mike's neighbors thought him to be scum of the earth. Mike thought himself to be scum of the earth as well.

Mike looked over at Elisa and sighed. She wasn't the most attractive, but he'd take any woman he could get at this point. She was only a bit better than homely, but had beautiful blue eyes, oceans of gorgeousness. Mike himself was a portly, balding pig. They were both dressed in casual ware, which was Mike's only kind of clothing. They were the only ones on this lonely expanse of desert road. Well, they were the only ones that they knew of. For, on the side of the road, was a man. An invisible man, one could say, but he was merely concealed from the couple. He was a short and portly man, somewhat like Mike. His hair was balding as well, though it was white in color as opposed to Mike's jet black, and the man on the side of the road had two sizable mutton chops going down his face. The man was squinting with his tiny eyes, taking in every detail of what he saw, which was much more than us, and recorded it in a small notepad.

Mike buried his head in his arm, which was now entirely on the wheel. He himself was almost falling out of his seat. He very easily could as well, with his seatbelt off. Elise was distracted by her phone, or so he thought. When Mike lifted his head up once more, he was no longer on the interstate and Elise no longer sat next to him. He was driving down the streets of Phoenix, past his old house. He looked into the window and saw himself arguing vehemently with his ex-wife, the argument ending with him striking her hard enough to start her crying. Mike blinked and shook his head, his confusion suddenly interrupted by a burning pain deep in his skull. He tried to scream, but nothing came out. He grasped the rearview mirror and adjusted it to allow himself a view of his cap, only to find a burn mark shaped like an one on his forehead. He gasped, then looked back at the road. He was now driving past a seedy motel, watching himself kissing his mistress passionately through the window. Another unspeakably painful burn, and the mark had changed to a two. He checked in the mirror once more and whimpered. He was driving down a new street once more, the street he'd lived on when he was little. He drove past the child version of him making off with his father's wallet. He barely even remembered doing that, but the man on the side of the road did. Mike inhaled sharply, the pain overcoming him once more. The mark was now a three, but Mike did not need to check to know. He looked outside his car again, terrified. He was now driving through a hellish land of fire, surrounded by unmentionable tortures and horrid abominations. He screamed again, sound finally bursting forth. Mike closed his eyes tight, suppressing tears and begging for it all to end. It soon would. He felt the pain subside, and when he opened his eyes once more, he back in the car with Elise. Unfortunately. It was slamming head on to a pick-up truck that must have approached while the two were distracted. Elise was screaming and hurtling towards the window, death itself waiting for her there. Mike's own head was hurtling forward, but his arm was close enough that he could stop his collision. Despite this, he reached across the dashboard and blocked Elise's trajectory, throwing her backwards into her seat while he himself smashed into the window. The impact cracked his skull open. His heart beat not. He took no breaths. He was dead. He expected to find himself in the Hell he saw, but he found himself instead bathed in a soft light. He did not know what it was... but it soothed him.

The man on the side of the road blinked. The burns on Mike's forehead, which no one but he could see, were gone, as if they'd never been there. Amazing what saving a life could do. More than met the standards for acceptance. Quite a success.

A tad long but... buzz off.

Don't worry, it's not even close to the word limit we have set.

by **Nationstatelandsville** » Thu Dec 15, 2011 10:31 pm

Conserative Morality wrote:
Nationstatelandsville wrote:
Or now.

A Legal U-Turn

Mike rested his left elbow on the steering wheel in order to rub his forehead, weary. Elise laughed a bit, bemused at a joke she had received via text, which did nothing to lighten Mike's spirits. Mike's spirits had been pounded into a profound density of negativity by the feet of a hundred men treading on them. He was a poor man, never successful through legal means. Never successful through illegal means either. He was an unemployed bum who did not try to improve his situation nor particularly wanted to, despite what the shiny new Corvette said. Truth be told, it wasn't even his. It wasn't Elise's either. Stealing hardly met Mike's moral standards, but he rarely met any of his standards. In regards to personal success, he was bitterly divorced and abandoned by his mistress. Elise was his most recent girlfriend, though Mike knew it would never last. She was young, eighteen years his junior. He'd met her at a bar. They shared a beer and spent the night in her apartment. This was only their third date, yet they were already going on a cross-country road trip from Phoenix to Las Vegas. Not because they kindled emotionally, but because Elise was a naive young girl with daddy's credit card. She could be called a "victory". His victories financially were non-existent. Four months ago, he'd been working in retail. He wasn't any longer. His wife had left him afterwards, his mistress soon followed, and then his sobriety. Mike's neighbors thought him to be scum of the earth. Mike thought himself to be scum of the earth as well.

Mike looked over at Elisa and sighed. She wasn't the most attractive, but he'd take any woman he could get at this point. She was only a bit better than homely, but had beautiful blue eyes, oceans of gorgeousness. Mike himself was a portly, balding pig. They were both dressed in casual ware, which was Mike's only kind of clothing. They were the only ones on this lonely expanse of desert road. Well, they were the only ones that they knew of. For, on the side of the road, was a man. An invisible man, one could say, but he was merely concealed from the couple. He was a short and portly man, somewhat like Mike. His hair was balding as well, though it was white in color as opposed to Mike's jet black, and the man on the side of the road had two sizable mutton chops going down his face. The man was squinting with his tiny eyes, taking in every detail of what he saw, which was much more than us, and recorded it in a small notepad.

Mike buried his head in his arm, which was now entirely on the wheel. He himself was almost falling out of his seat. He very easily could as well, with his seatbelt off. Elise was distracted by her phone, or so he thought. When Mike lifted his head up once more, he was no longer on the interstate and Elise no longer sat next to him. He was driving down the streets of Phoenix, past his old house. He looked into the window and saw himself arguing vehemently with his ex-wife, the argument ending with him striking her hard enough to start her crying. Mike blinked and shook his head, his confusion suddenly interrupted by a burning pain deep in his skull. He tried to scream, but nothing came out. He grasped the rearview mirror and adjusted it to allow himself a view of his cap, only to find a burn mark shaped like an one on his forehead. He gasped, then looked back at the road. He was now driving past a seedy motel, watching himself kissing his mistress passionately through the window. Another unspeakably painful burn, and the mark had changed to a two. He checked in the mirror once more and whimpered. He was driving down a new street once more, the street he'd lived on when he was little. He drove past the child version of him making off with his father's wallet. He barely even remembered doing that, but the man on the side of the road did. Mike inhaled sharply, the pain overcoming him once more. The mark was now a three, but Mike did not need to check to know. He looked outside his car again, terrified. He was now driving through a hellish land of fire, surrounded by unmentionable tortures and horrid abominations. He screamed again, sound finally bursting forth. Mike closed his eyes tight, suppressing tears and begging for it all to end. It soon would. He felt the pain subside, and when he opened his eyes once more, he back in the car with Elise. Unfortunately. It was slamming head on to a pick-up truck that must have approached while the two were distracted. Elise was screaming and hurtling towards the window, death itself waiting for her there. Mike's own head was hurtling forward, but his arm was close enough that he could stop his collision. Despite this, he reached across the dashboard and blocked Elise's trajectory, throwing her backwards into her seat while he himself smashed into the window. The impact cracked his skull open. His heart beat not. He took no breaths. He was dead. He expected to find himself in the Hell he saw, but he found himself instead bathed in a soft light. He did not know what it was... but it soothed him.

The man on the side of the road blinked. The burns on Mike's forehead, which no one but he could see, were gone, as if they'd never been there. Amazing what saving a life could do. More than met the standards for acceptance. Quite a success.

A tad long but... buzz off.

Don't worry, it's not even close to the word limit we have set.

Really?

MOTHERFUCKER! I EDITED OUT PARTS OF IT BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WAS!

by **Conserative Morality** » Thu Dec 15, 2011 10:32 pm

Nationstatelandsville wrote:
Really?

MOTHERFUCKER! I EDITED OUT PARTS OF IT BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WAS!

A useful tool if you want to do some editing.

by **Nationstatelandsville** » Thu Dec 15, 2011 10:33 pm

Conserative Morality wrote:
Nationstatelandsville wrote:
Really?

MOTHERFUCKER! I EDITED OUT PARTS OF IT BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WAS!

A useful tool if you want to do some editing.

963?

Urgh. How does it count them?

by **Conserative Morality** » Thu Dec 15, 2011 10:34 pm

Nationstatelandsville wrote:963?

Urgh. How does it count them?

EDIT: Says on the site

What does it count?

Words made out of the alphabet.
Words made from a combination of alphabets and numbers.
Words with an apostrophe ( ' ) and a hyphen ( - ).

by **Nationstatelandsville** » Thu Dec 15, 2011 10:35 pm

Conserative Morality wrote:
Nationstatelandsville wrote:963?

Urgh. How does it count them?

Presumably by the spaces between characters.

Eh.

Can I add more and resubmit tomorrow? I had it set up as more of a horror story but shortened it.

by **Conserative Morality** » Thu Dec 15, 2011 10:35 pm

Nationstatelandsville wrote:Eh.

Can I add more and resubmit tomorrow? I had it set up as more of a horror story but shortened it.

See my edit. And just edit your post, the link won't change. So long as it's in before January 1.

by **Nationstatelandsville** » Thu Dec 15, 2011 10:37 pm

Conserative Morality wrote:
Nationstatelandsville wrote:Eh.

Can I add more and resubmit tomorrow? I had it set up as more of a horror story but shortened it.

See my edit. And just edit your post, the link won't change. So long as it's in before January 1.

Alright.

I'll be back! Mark my words!

Really, please do. I'll forget by the 1st and will need to be reminded.

by **Conserative Morality** » Thu Dec 15, 2011 10:42 pm

Nationstatelandsville wrote:Alright.

I'll be back! Mark my words!

Really, please do. I'll forget by the 1st and will need to be reminded.

I'll be sure to remind you.

by **Nationstatelandsville** » Thu Dec 15, 2011 10:44 pm

Conserative Morality wrote:
Nationstatelandsville wrote:Alright.

I'll be back! Mark my words!

Really, please do. I'll forget by the 1st and will need to be reminded.

I'll be sure to remind you.

No you won't. You're lazy, remember?

by **Landereien** » Thu Dec 15, 2011 10:46 pm

*tagged*

by **Conserative Morality** » Thu Dec 15, 2011 10:51 pm

Nationstatelandsville wrote:No you won't. You're lazy, remember?

Oh fine, see if I edit the judges' score for you into the OP.

by **Nationstatelandsville** » Thu Dec 15, 2011 10:54 pm

Conserative Morality wrote:
Nationstatelandsville wrote:No you won't. You're lazy, remember?

Oh fine, see if I edit the judges' score for you into the OP.

I will see. With my eyes. That's how I see. With my eyes.

by **Nationstatelandsville** » Thu Dec 15, 2011 11:35 pm

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand done.

Short Story Contest

Who is online