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Winter Short Story Contest (2012) Winners Announced!

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Conserative Morality
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Founded: Aug 24, 2007
Left-Leaning College State

Winter Short Story Contest (2012) Winners Announced!

Postby Conserative Morality » Fri Dec 14, 2012 11:43 am

Our seasonal contest is back again for its one year anniversary! Open to all who can write fast enough to reach the deadline!

Rules:
Writing Deadline February 15th (Subject to change)
7500 word limit
No fanfic, public domain characters are fine
Stay within the site's rules
Must be a new/original story (IE one not posted on another site before this)
Praise the Black Goat of the Woods with a thousand young!

More info will come as we figure out more.

Judges:

Brittanic Realms
Miss Defied
Costa Alegria
Venaleria

Scoring rubric is as follows:

Code: Select all
[b]Characters[/b] - /25

[b]Plot[/b] - /25

[b]Setting[/b] - /15

[b]Creativity[/b] - /15

[b]Style[/b] - /15

[b]Grammar/spelling[/b] - /5

[b]Overall[/b] - /100


Congratulations to the winner of the Winter Short Story contest, Johz, with a combined score of 88.6!

And also to Esternial, the runner-up, with a score of 77.6


1. Johz: 88.6/100
2. Esternial: 77.6/100
3. Nazi Flower Power: 74.3/100
4. The Empire of Pretantia: 67.3/100
5. Forsher: 62/100
6. Aethyopea: 60.6/100
7. Kingsmouth 57.3/100
Last edited by Conserative Morality on Tue Mar 26, 2013 7:13 pm, edited 5 times in total.
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Conserative Morality
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Left-Leaning College State

Postby Conserative Morality » Fri Dec 14, 2012 11:43 am

Reserved for judgements.

Forsher

62/100

Characters - 15/25
Arthur, Jim and Lala are fairly well developed. Mr. Kao could be more rounded with just a few more sentences about him. Sarah/Jessica/Suzie? Too many people. Make one female character who interacts with Lala. It was confusing trying to figure out who was who, especially when no clear picture of any of them was painted. Bianca not at all necessary. Kill her. 

Plot - 10/25
Very loose but throughout the story it looked like it might be going somewhere, the class dynamic was changing,  until the end which wasn't really an end. Looked like you just felt like wrapping up the story.

Setting - 7/15
The first paragraph started to show the setting with,  
A hard-working squad of caretakers maintained the grounds and the school’s many buildings, including the hall which was popular

but then nothing more. Hard to visualize other than the standard rows of desks one sees when thinking of a class room.

Creativity - 10/15
There's a lot of exposition that could be revealed better. All the stuff about rugby this and Tongan that and welfare and cheating on welfare? Some of that can be shown to readers through dialogue between Alfred and Jim.

There was a paragraph where you used "ridiculously" about five times and I wanted to pull my hair out. Went I went back and re-read it, I noticed that the prior paragraph was:
“Once the school figures out that this class is ridiculously huge." Like most teenagers, Lala had a limited vocabulary and was prone to repetition.

So I thought that maybe your use of the word ridiculous afterwards was somewhat clever. I don't think it worked so great because it makes the writer look like a teenager prone to repetition. But I give you points for taking that risk with convention.
OTOH maybe  it was entirely unintentional and you have no idea what I am talking about.

Style - 10/15
As difficult as I found this to understand at times (largely due to cultural idiosyncrasies, which the notes helped with a little), I felt a genuine story in there and there are points of your writing that I really like. You need to learn to let go of the superfluous

Spelling/Grammar - 3/5
Too many apostrophes where they don't belong. Don't use them for pluralization, use them to indicate possession or contractions. 
A few typos too. Nothing obnoxious though.

Overall - 55/100


Characters 20/25

Plot 16/25

Setting 12/15

Creativity 12/15

Style 13/15

Grammar/spelling 3/5

Overall 76/100

Comments: I felt very confused with the plot in this story. I did not really understand what its purpose was throughout the passage. Your grammar was also a little "rusty". Good effort though!


Characters 18/25

A bit of a mixed bag. I can easily imagine the characters and what they would look like but I just hate the names. Alfred and Lala aren't the sort of names I'd expect parents to give children that young and that for me personally is something which kind of ruined the the story (and Mr Kao doesn't sound like a Fijian Indian name also).

Other than that, they sound exactly like I'd imagine and expect 14 year olds to sound like at that point in their schooling (sort of). "Isn't he hot" sounds a little stereotypical so you could have been a little more creative with their dialogue.

Plot 10/25

I'm not entirely sure where the plot is in this. I probably should have given you lower points but I can see (just)....actually, no, I can't see any plot outlines. This is probably my fault but I would like to see something that actually happens in a short story no matter what the setting.

Setting 8/15

I'm giving you reasonably high points because I liked the setting in which you set the storing. I have spent many a boring hour in those types of math classes and I could somewhat imagine what it looked like but some description of the class itself would be nice from my perspective.

Creativity 6/15

I'm giving you six points on the basis that I think that you have the essence of an interesting story there but you just needed to be a bit more creative with how you went about it. I think you could have turned it into a love story and instead of writing about what happened in the maths class, you could have mentioned it and turned the whole story into one about Lala's quest to become Alfred's girlfriend or something like that.

Style 8/15

You remind me of myself with how you write. It's very formal but it's also long winded and I got the feeling you were explaining too much and not enough at the same time, if you get what I mean. I felt that you were concentrating way too much explaining things about the character whilst at the same time, not explaining anything at all about them. I couldn't really get to understand the relationship between Lala and Alfred and whilst there was some potential there. I personally believe that there is a fine line between explaining too much and not enough and I think with time, you will get better.

I had no problems with your dialogue. It was succinct and straight like everyday speech is. However, you do have some issues with long sentences and repetition and I think you could easily work on these.

Grammar/spelling 5/5

There isn't much wrong with what I saw. Overuse of commas was something that is evidence and this stems from your knack for writing long sentences. As I said, shorten sentences.

Overall 55/100



Nazi Flower Power

74.3/100

Characters - 12/25
Lindsey is a xenophobic know-it-all and her dad is nostalgic for the past.
That's all I'm getting. I suppose through the father's telling about his past we can assume he is resilient, but I would like to see this in his interactions with Lindsey.

Plot - 22/25
The story itself, the telling of the wartime this guy experienced, is good. The problem is how it is presented as a flashback through a largely one-sided dialogue.

Setting - 12/15
Not sure where we are. Once you start getting into stories with spaceships a reader can no longer be left to assume that we are on Earth. Are the Confederates still around and they just made peace? Is Germany on another Planet? The setting in terms of describing the place of the wartime in the flashback is great. In terms of "place" though, where this guy is when he is talking to his daughter? Not so much. Confusing.

Creativity - 14/15
The descriptive writing itself is good. The paragraph about the female soldier with the "familiars" was top-notch; my favorite part of the story.

Style - 8/15
If this were just a story, written telling about the past of this wartime, I think it would be a lot better. I certainly got caught up with the story many times but then when it cut back to a dialogue it was very jarring. This guy sitting here delivering these lengthy monologues to his daughter isn't very authentic. Maybe if it was broken up with more interjections by the daughter, which would lead to greater character development, it would seem more plausible. 

Spelling/Grammar - 5/5
No issues here.

Overall - 73/100


Characters 22/25

Plot 20/25

Setting 14/15

Creativity 13/15

Style 14/15

Grammar/spelling 4/5

Overall 87/100

Comments: This was a very successful story in my opinion. Only a few comments: I felt the characters could have been described a little more in the detail and the plot was not as progressive or purposeful as it could have been. Good job!


Characters 20/25

I can easily imagine Lindsey as the sort of child who asks their father about what it was like "in the war" and her father as the sort of man who seems to be a war veteran even if he didn't fight or something like that. It somewhat reminded me of talking to my grandfather about what it was like growing up in Nazi-occupied Netherlands.

The only thing I didn't quite like was the lack of description of the characters. I could imagine what their personalities were like but not whether or not Lindsey was young or old or even how old her father was. You said he was retiring but people can retire at any age.

The dialogue I liked very much as it sounded like an older man telling a story to his younger son/daughter.

Plot 8/25

I'm only giving you eight points because it really is only him explaining why he wants to go there. There is some semblance of a plot about what he did after the war to look for the woman he seemed to be infatuated with but that was about it. It may just be me being crude though and not seeing deeper into it.

Setting 6/15

You get six points again because outside the man telling the story, there isn't any setting as to location, time period etc. although there were hints throughout the story. I mean again, it could just be me being crude but I like the idea of knowing where I am in a story rather than having to guess.

Creativity 12/15

I liked the creativity of how you mixed and old man telling a war story to his child and making it about some sort of cataclysmic war in the future involving space ships and such. I could somewhat imagine the conditions at that time but a little more description would be appreciated.

Style 12/15

Once again, another very formal tone from the writing and a new and certainly more interesting take on the story which basically focused almost entirely on dialogue and as I have pointed out before, the story could have done with a little more non-dialogue dscription. Shorter sentences are also in need here.

Grammar/spelling 5/5

Spelling from what I could tell is bang on but shorten sentences.

Overall 63/100


Esternial

77.6/100

Characters - 15/25
Could be better developed, though he is just a little boy.

Plot - 17/25
I'm not really sure what happens at the end there. I mean it's pretty cool up until towards the end and then "whaaaaa?" Is he going to die then? And just where is his father? LOL

Setting - 7/15
I'm struggling with this. There isn't much to the setting, but nor is setting necessary to this kind of piece. 

Creativity - 8/15

Style - 3/15
The problem with writing rhyming poetry is that it has to have meter as well for the rhyme to work.

Spelling/Grammar - 5/5
I was going to take off for your use of emoticons. Then I was like, meh, it communicates something. Whatever.

Overall - 55/100


Characters 24/25

Plot 24/25

Setting 13/15

Creativity 15/15

Style 14/15

Grammar/spelling 4/5

Overall 94/100

Comments: This was a very fun, creative read! I loved the characters and the rhyming you included! I think that it could have had a better rhythm than it does already as the text does not flow in the best way. Other than that, very good!


Characters 19/25

I loved Ben and the evil toys but you said there wasn't a lot of detail and I know that so I didn't want to penalise you for it.

And besides, detail would have ruined it anyway.

Plot 23/25

It was easy to follow and greatly amusing. All I can really say.

Setting 10/15

I liked the settting very much. Lack of detail is evident but it doesn't really matter.

Creativity 15/15

Top marks for this because I was grinning the whole way. I thought this was fantastic.

Style 13/15

It certainly made for a difference of style in the story that's for sure. I liked how you made it rhyme or at least tried to (there were a couple of hiccups). And the sentences were nice and short and succinct and this is what I would expect from a short story.

Grammar/spelling 4/5

I didn't really have any problems with it other than those weird smiley things. Please don't use them as they did spoil what is an awesome story.

Overall 84/100


The Empire of Pretantia

67.3/100

Characters - 20/25
Good start, but can show more, especially Krolov. Would like a bit more about their physical descriptions.

Plot - 20/25
Extremely well-developed plot. But the revelation to the reader that Krolov was completely wrong about his memories comes out of left field. It's very abrupt. And while it is a surprise element, could be better revealed. Maybe have Rieksa stick around and be the one to tell him how things really went down.

Setting - 10/15
Better descriptions of the room. Not sure where Rieksa came from because I thought the rebels were right outside the throne room getting ready to break down the door. When she showed up I was confused.

Creativity - 12/15
I liked the premise here a lot. I didn't see it coming that he was wrong about the past and "mad" back then, as opposed to just having been driven mad by the crumbling of his empire. But then I upon re-reading, you definitely foreshadowed the fact he was nuts:
Even when they were executed, the disembodied heads still babbled lies


Style - 10/15
A little flat, in that it reads like ... Well it reads like historical dramatic fiction I guess. I am trying to say that I didn't hear any distinguishable voice here.

Spelling/Grammar - 5/5
If there were problems, they didn't stand out to me.

Overall - 77/100

Note: When he is having the "flashbacks" that allow you to show the reader his version of the things that happened in the past, you can have them triggered by something he sees in the room. It will add to the setting and possibly character development.

Lose the ending with the Oni coming in. Have him realize he screwed up and is crazy or whatever and then the door gets broken down. THE END.


Characters 24/25

Plot 25/25

Setting 14/15

Creativity 14/15

Style 14/15

Grammar/spelling 5/5

Overall 96/100

Comments: This was surprisingly moving passage for a short story. I loved the characters and plot development! It showed a fantastic moral at the end which teaches us something about human nature and mistakes that we make. Wonderful!


Characters 7/25

Whilst I get the jist of what the characters are like, I think you have contradicted the description of the king. In the first paragraph, you described him as "twisted" and yet described him in the next one as "fair". Someone cannot be twisted and fair in the stereotypical king that is what is being described.

Also, Nichola is just the feminine version of Nicholas and I actually thought it was a woman. It also confused me somewhat as I though you'd missed the "s" of Nicloas a few times. And then you have Nicholai. Really, could you not come up with names that weren't as confusing and generally uninspired?

Plot 9/25

There is a plot there and that is basically it.

Setting 7/15

A last stand by a King, his sons and a crazed band of loyalists? Sounds like a good setting to me. However, I was a bit thrown off by the mention of adopting all-metal naval vessels and then one of the Nichola's being shot with a bullet. Generally speaking, it would have most likely been a musketball of some kind unless of course everyone had access to rudimentary bullets in those days.

Creativity 9/15

Yeah, not entirely sure what to put here. I really can't think of anything else.

Style 5/15

Repetition, repetition, repetition. Stop using the word no all the time. I found it annoying and unnecessary. It also made the story sound like the author couldn't make his mind up and continued on writing despite this.

Some sentences could have been re-worded to make them sound less awkward. For example "Rubbish; no, not mere rubbish: lies!" could be rewritten as "Rubbish! No, not mere rubbish. Lies!" or just simply "Lies!".

Grammar/spelling 2 /5

Semi colons overused way too much. Replace them with either commas or full stops. Commas used in the wrong spaces. The peiece of a paragraph between dialogue is a sentence and is therefore finished with a fullstop, not a comma. There is much debate about the use of a comma before the word "and". As I don't do it myself, I think it would be best if you didn't either.

Overall 29/100


Kingsmouth

57.3/100

Characters - 15/25
Want to know more about the Uncle. You gave "the goat salesman" a name at one point, Steve, but never again used it. I felt that you should have just used the name after that point.

Plot - 15/25
Could have more background about this deal the uncle made. Needs to be better developed.

Setting - 3/15
Really nothing there at all. A pub, a hill and a beat up shack.
needs way more. Show the reader just how creepy this place is.

Creativity - 10/15
Wasn't sure where it was going. The ending was neat and disturbing enough. Just would have liked to have seen more substance in getting there.

Style - 8/15
It is so dialogue-heavy.  Needs much more exposition. Good writing finds the proper balance of dialogue and exposition..

Spelling/Grammar - 2/5
You are so lucky this is only worth 5 points. :D Punctuation and format is very much a part of a story. This was so. Hard. To. Read. And it's not like I think you lack the ability or intelligence. You were just rushed and sloppy.

Overall - 53/100


Characters 24/25

Plot 21/25

Setting 12/15

Creativity 15/15

Style 15/15

Grammar/spelling 2/5

Overall 89/100

I thought this was an interesting thing to read. The characters were explained and described very well and the plot was gradually progressed. I enjoyed the dialect which you wrote in. However, the spelling and grammar on this was not acceptable. That category, in a way, is the most important. Good job!


Characters 5/25

I got some idea of the characters in your story from the very brief descriptions given. I liked most of their dialogue despite the mistakes. And who the hell is Shub-Niggurath? Who is Peter? Who is Steve?

Plot 7/25

What plot? A man complaining about his life selling goats for his uncle all of a sudden finds himself watching some werid fellow stab his uncle?

Setting 5/15

It would have been better if the reader actually knew where the setting was. There was some attempts but not enough.

Creativity 7/15

A goat salesman is not the usual protangonist for a story, so that is somewhat creative.

Style 5/15

Dialogue sentences need breaking up. Pretty basic language like "goat shop". Change of POV at random intervals.

Grammar/spelling 1/5

Some issues with punctuation (i.e missing fullstop at end of second sentence). Missed capitals. Same thing with regards to commas before the word "and". Overuse of commas where they are not needed. Missed quotation marks.

Overall 30/100


Johz

88.6/100

Characters - 20/25
I'd like to know more about Anna. What about her did James fall in love with? 
What made her fall in love with him?

Plot - 20/25
Good story.  Clear cut conflict, some of which is resolved. Never really show exactly why Anna went back to him. 

Setting - 12/15

Creativity - 12/15

Style - 13/15

Spelling/Grammar - 4/5
There were a few issues with tense changes that I can't specifically recall right now and I'm tired. I know it's hard to keep track when you switch from a "present" storyline to recollections of the past. I screw it up all the time.

Overall - 81/100

Sorry I don't give much feedback. There's actually not a lot I would change. Point of technicality: In terms of realism, can one actually die slowly from a blood clot?  If no, I would give her some other kind of illness.


Characters 25/25

Plot 25/25

Setting 15/15

Creativity 15/15

Style 15/15

Grammar/spelling 5/5

Overall 100/100

Comments: I think that was one of the best stories I've ever read. Impeccably neat, grammatically clean, and plot-wise, perfect. Very meaningful and emotional as well. Not much more to say about it.


Characters 20/25

I really like the description of Anna and the scene and how the two characters meet. That was brilliant and I did sort of wonder who people like Katherine were, although that doesn't really matter.

Plot 20/25

This was an interesting take on the traditional plot layout and I think it sort of worked given the fact that it started off in the present and then jumped back. There were a couple of instances where I was thrown off slightly, such as the paragraph about Anthony nursing the protagonist. I thought it was perhaps related to his mother's death but I wasn't entirely sure.

Setting 12/15

I liked the description of the campground and I was somewhat pleased with where the initial part of the story was set also.

Creativity 13/15

I think this was a nice and quite sad story that was well put together and somewhat creative, especially with regards to the description of Anna and the campground. I think for extra punch, at the end of the story, have Anna die. Because ending the story with the protagonist saying he loves her is a little cliche in my humble opinion.

Style 15/15

I really like your style of writing, or at least the one for this story. It's a nice mix of formality and poetics that just flows. It's a great read this.

Grammar/spelling 5/5

I saw nothing wrong with anything.

Overall 85/100


Aethyopea

60.6/100

Characters - 15/25
You give really good initial physical descriptions and we get a pretty good picture of what kind of kid Mago is, but there could be more. You can show a lot about these characters through the conversation they have. Is Himilco a classically handsome, physically strong dimwit? Show us!

Plot - 10/25
As stated, your submission was incomplete and I felt it only fair to judge on that, despite your additional plot outline in the note. That's why the low score on this.

Setting - 12/15
You give good descriptions, so your sense of surroundings is good. You can give more detail without getting bogged down in boring exposition.

Creativity - 10/15

Style - 8/15
No Chapters. You can give a sense of change in time through the use of extra spaces or even
-------------------------------------
this.

Spelling/Grammar - 3/5

Overall - 58/100


Characters 23/25

Plot 24/25

Setting 13/15

Creativity 15/15

Style 14/15

Grammar/spelling 3/5

Overall 92/100

Comments: This was a very satisfying read. It could've used another edit after it was written, but mainly, the grammar was fine. I think the notes you included saved you since they included information which explained how the plot might play out later. Good story!


Characters 10/25

You get points because they exist. As for description of what they look like, there is none. There is a little show of emotion but that's about it.

Plot 5/25

Firstly, the story isn't finished. That's a big reason and I should have given you nothing but that would be mean. Secondly, short stories normally do not have chapters in them. They are short enough that they don't need them. Thirdly, the two parts of the story (labelled chapters) do not relate in any way to one another. They may do to the author, but the reader doesn't know what's going on inside your head so you need to show how these two parts are linked.

Setting 5/15

So we get that it's an old town. Time is probably old also. Needs more description.

Creativity 5/15

I see a reasonable ammount of potential with this. I feel more description would have worked wonders.

Style 10/15.

I don't see any particular issues with how you write.

Grammar/spelling 2/5

Mostly grammatical issues. I felt that the use of the semi-colon in the first part of the story could have been replaced with a full stop. Lack of capital letters on personal titles. “Lord” and “Lady” are capitalised in the same way “Mr” or “Dr” is.

Also, a few issues with speech. Firstly, you missed the capitals on most of the starts of the speech. Secondly, commas which denote the end of a part of the speech (or dialogue) are inside the quotation marks.

You could also probably do away with some of the commas as well. You're not alone in this regard and I have had to remind others. Could probably replace colons with fullstops also.

Overall 32/100


Eskatonia

Characters - 15/25
Better development needed. Why is he doing this? Why can't his dad work?

Plot - 15/25
The beginning set up seems a bit jumbled and confusing. Also, why all the police action for him cutting school? Can't figure out why he is being chased or why he is even running. He should have done something far worse than skipping class for this to unfold in this manner.
Ending is abrupt while at the same time leaves a lot unresolved.

Setting - 12/15

Creativity - 14/15
After seemingly ripping you on plot and characters, I want to say that I really, really like many elements of this story. The whole idea of what his job is and the  "infrastructure" of sorts on the rooftops; of genetically modified fuel and food crops; airships being "hacked" and stuff; good stuff. And I ordinarily have little patience for sci/fi-futuristic fiction, so that says a lot coming from me. 
Also the initial "translation" paragraph when he first meets Chanchala in the stairwell is just so genuine of how awful translator programs are that it made me smile.

Style - 10/15
I think you give a lot of information that just isn't necessary. For instance the paragraph about his mother at the beginning seems to beg for more information that just doesn't come. Things either contribute to a story or they don't. If it does, make it mean something.  If it doesn't, cut it. 
Also parts of the exchange with dad about getting busted at school and parts of the chase with Chanchala don't advance the plot.

Spelling/Grammar - 5/5

Overall - 71/100


Characters 24/25

Plot 25/25

Setting 15/15

Creativity 14/15

Style 15/15

Grammar/spelling 4/5

Overall 97/100

Comments: Fantastic! The plotline was very informational. I felt as if the characters could have been explained just a tad more in the context though. Very well done!
Last edited by Conserative Morality on Tue Mar 26, 2013 7:07 pm, edited 8 times in total.
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Costa Alegria
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6454
Founded: Aug 29, 2012
Ex-Nation

Postby Costa Alegria » Sat Dec 15, 2012 3:24 am

Interesting. I want to enter and judge at the same time (now having a qualification automatically gives me the hubris and the confidence to assume that I know everything about creative writing when the opposite is the case) so I'll probably put my hand up for one or the either once I've decided and more information is available.
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Forsher
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 12357
Founded: Jan 30, 2012
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby Forsher » Sat Dec 15, 2012 5:36 am

I'm the first. I even made it a Christmas Story. Has notes so you get some regional stuff. (The edit... made a minor typo in the notes section, the annoying one where an I'll isn't capitalised correctly.)

Tulip Valley College was one of the larger high schools in the wider Auckland Region. As a decile six state school its academic success rate compared favourable with national averages. A dedicated senior management team provided excellent support for passionate students and staff in an award winning environment. A hard-working squad of caretakers maintained the grounds and the school’s many buildings, including the hall which was popular with a wide variety of community groups, from Rotary to Lions. Well, that was the utopian review presented in the definitely unbiased Tulip College Parent’s Guide. As year nine student Lala Smith would tell anyone, quite loudly and with all, the self-assurance of youth, it was an oppressive, hateful dictatorship, especially those parts of the school associated with one Mr Kao.

Lala Smith was just one of many brown haired, uniform flouting, stereotypical, fourteen year old teenage girls. She’d spend her lunches talking with many friends wearing equally short skirts, complaining about teenage girl things. Occasionally, they’d stop to giggle at some suave male peer: complete with shorts, Jansport bag and ankle-high knee-length socks. Mobiles were usually in pockets, just not so much when no teacher was definitely out of sight. In fact, the only thing that wasn’t normal about Lala was her knowing her timetable. So, in other words, Lala was a total nerd. However, this was simply to know when she could see Him. He was, as all her friends knew and eavesdroppers wished they knew, Alfred Bold.

Alfred Bold was anything but bold. With short brown hair, Asian friends, Polynesian friends, a mobile, an iPod, canteen money, a video game addiction and whole host of teenage boy stuff going on, bold was not a word that could be applied to his life. In fact, he also failed assessments in order to be popular, just like everyone else. Needless to say, he did not know his timetable. Naturally, Tulip Valley College put him in mainstream; so he saw more of his Polynesian mates than his Asian acquaintances, despite demographics suggesting an equal likelihood of Asians. Where Lala was almost totally normal, Alfred was, like, totally normal. As such he was far more likely to say “bro” than “like.” One fine Monday morning, that was exactly what his maths teacher caught him doing.

“Bro, can I borrow your calculator?” Mr Bold was also typical in this regard.

“Sorry, dude, I don’t have one.” Jim Hanthrop was incredibly out of touch: he wore his bag with a single strap as a stylistic choice rather than a temporary measure, had spiky hair and made his voice deeper than it really was. Unsurprisingly, his family was from a low socio-economic area and his psychological development had been affected as a result. To the normal person, being broke had given him a chip on his shoulder.

“Look, you lot need to have calculators now if you want to do well in next year’s exams, so you don’t stuff your life up in year eleven.” Mr Kao was, to Jim, clearly one of those men who did nothing but play rugby back in their school-days. This was obvious as Mr Kao was Tongan, not Fijian. To Alfred, whose parents were as old-fashioned as Jim’s, he had played league because, well, that’s what Tongans play. As it happened, both were wrong, and also slightly racist (but that’s irrelevant); Mr Kao had played cricket and even been in advanced classes… his dad was Indian.

“Exactly. Don’t need calculators this year!” That was from Alfred. Jim didn’t, to be accurate, have a spare calculator. As a poor family’s child he appreciated his education because, due to blatant racism, his family wasn’t Polynesian and, therefore, lacked welfare fraud as an acceptable lifestyle choice. Alfred, whose dad was rich since his mum married him, was already set for life. In a couple of years he’d discover that “trust fund kids” happened to other countries. This was why dialling 911 never got an answer.

“Just bring it next time or you’re going on report.” As a junior Alfred knew heaps of people on report. It was a done thing. However, it was a pain in the arse: how was one meant to chat to girls if one was stuck getting one’s report updated? The answer was to chat to the girls on report but they were violent psychopaths, not bros. That said even in the first week of school there were only so many fish in the sea. It was ridiculous. The result of this was affective threat and a hasty huddling with Jim, who had fetched the calculator from his bag. Since he was broke, Work and Income had paid for it, being on welfare was fine only fraud was unacceptable socially. Getting money for school was easy. In fact, even Mr Rich Arse Alfred’s Dad made use of it. Since he was rich, welfare fraud was an acceptable choice for him as well.

Across the room, as ordained by Mr Kao’s random seating plan, Lala nudged her nutty friend Sarah in the ribs, having caught sight of Him. This annoyed Jessica, on Lala’s right, as she wanted the gossip (that is first hand: she’d get it from Sarah’s best friend Suzie later). A few seats away the other twelve Jessica’s and thirteen Sarah’s sat and laughed about how ridiculously common their names were. Behind them, Asia Sarah made a note about the stupidity of the class’ size. With the exception of Jim, Alfred and Mr Kao, all the room’s males had no seats or desks; due to forty people being in a room designed for thirty at the most.

“Look at Alfred, isn’t he hot?” Lala pronounced “hot” as though it was some really long syllable. She found nothing odd about this. Jessica, on the other hand, thought that Lala was too much like girls in a movie written by a middle-aged man with no-ide of how teenage girls actually speak. The other Jessica’s felt as if Lala was written by an author who does know what he’s on about, as much as any bloke can, but was just too familiar with convention and how those conventions are applied in real life to actually capture the female teenager that Lala clearly represented, accurately. Sarah just thought Lala thought Alfred was hot.

“Not really.” Sarah disagreed with Lala as she knew Mr Kao’s first name and wasn’t into Tongans, being Samoan. Alfred Bold, on the other hand, was just some prick sitting next to Jim. (Sarah had been going out with Jim since forever. That is, since they met while their families visited the local welfare offices. Massive building it was too, huge employer Work and Income.)

“Fine, I’ll try and sit next to him.” Privately, Lala added, “Once the school figures out that this class is ridiculously huge.” Like most teenagers, Lala had a limited vocabulary and was prone to repetition.

“You’ll have to wait for a few people to be away for that.” Sarah took a more realistic view of things than Lala did. However, the school fixed the population problem by simply reducing the ridiculously huge zone, the following week. Most of the ridiculously common Sarah’s and Jessica’s found themselves out-of-zone. A few weeks later they were each identified as being the only white girl at the decile one Floyd High School, during the various transits of Tulip Valley College pupils to McCann Park for their athletics day. Naturally, the demographics of tFloyd High School were ridiculously heavily biased towards welfare recipients, but people can’t help being born brown. Or racist, for that matter, which was why the label was ridiculously off. Although an element of the infamous inter-college rivalry was at play.

Mr Kao’s maths class was next held on Wednesday. By this time, of course, the timetable problem was fixed (thankfully, the previous year it had taken until September). Naturally, some students now had an excuse not to know their timetables. To Lala’s delight in the reasonably sized class of 25, neither Sarah nor Jessica could be found (she now sat next to Bianca, who was a total slut, strangely that wasn’t a joke) but Alfred was. Lafway through the lesson, she put up her hand and flagged Mr Kao down.

“What’s the problem, Lala?” With a name like Lala there was no way that Mr Kao was ever going to forget it, Bianca, in contrast, was already a Nobody. It turned out to be a good thing the following week when she vanished with rumours of pregnancy in her wake. In reality, her family decided that she’d be better off being a slut in Australia because it suited her parents to move. Of course, she was pregnant but that didn’t matter.

“Can I sit next to Alfred?”

“Why?”

“I want to. I think I can help him with maths.”

“No”

“Why not?”

“Because, frankly, you’d both get worse next to each other.” Mr Kao turned away and for the next month that was maths for Lala.

In September, Mr Kao changed his mind. By this time Lala was in love with Jim, had a slight crush on Mr Kao because she’d read it in some girly magazine called Psychology Today or something like that and had hated Alfred ever since he started going out with George. It wasn’t that George was a boy, more that she had a bloody stupid name for a girl. Years later George would realise this as Lala discovered, when she opened a letter and the cars was signed, “Merry Christmas all, love Georgia (from school).”


Notes.

College is the popular perception of the NZ name for secondary school. In truth I find it leans high school but when it comes to names, it is a fifty-fifty split in my experience. While the Auckland region is real, all specific locations are fictional.

Deciles are a funding tool. Decile One is an extremely low socio-economic area while Decile Ten is the highest. You can assume that both Tulip Valley College and Floyd High School are in the suburbs as schools nearer the CBD tend towards decile ten, due in part to the Grammar Zone (I'll get to that).

Rotary and Lions are international community groups. But then "conscientious objectors" were meant to be international too. Award winning is more along the lines of "enviro-schools" which is for primary schools being environmentally conscious so that's a little naughty. Schools are like prisions, with staff, management, inmates, high spiky fences, uniforms and blocks with names like D Block. Really, that's the honest truth. However, each block tends to be a separate building or group of them or group of pre-fabs. Also, no metal detectors.

A typical NZ uniform in NZ colleges for boys is knee lenghth socks. Basically as many people wear them like that as wear trousers. So, in other words, the fashionably different. Girls tend towards tartan skirts of varying lengths. A canteen is like the sort you'd get at a building site. In Auckland at any rate, Asians tend to be as prevalent as Pasifika peoples. So, saying equal likelihood is also naughty as it excludes Maori.

At my school, if you stuff up Year Ten's exams you are screwed for life in some situations. Unless you are in advanced, year nine doesn't really matter that much. I've based aspects of Tulip Valley College's specific practices on my school. Mr Kao (my stock name for teachers, never come up with a new one) and his seating plan are general experiences. Reports are a legitimate disciplinary measure. Basically, just a card for teachers to fill in, remarking on whetehr behaviour is good. Common for junior students (year nine and ten) not so much for seniors (eleven, twelve and thirteen). And the quantity implied is a slight exaggeration.

Sarah and Jessica are common first names in my cohort. Turned that up to eleven (well, fifteen in one case) for here. Most classrooms are capable of taking no more than thirty students. One tech room I had could fit 28 in a class of 31. Never was a problem because enough people could be relied upon not to turn up. Including the teacher. The following year he resigned, before he was pushed as we reckon.

Samoans and Tongans are known for a degree of hostility. Not sure if it applies how I made it apply but artistic licence is my right as an artist (pronounced the prick's way). Nearby schools can have quite different demographics. Floyd High School would be closer to the heart of the area as, unlike within Auckland City itself, the desirable properties are on the outskirts.

School Zones are the areas from which schools draw students. Schools, to my knowledge, have arbitrary control over said zones. They are used to fix population problems, just usually before school starts in February (or early January as the case may be). WINZ really does make it quite easy to acquire money for uniforms and materials.

This is not a serious work. I wrote it for a laugh. I consider it a fun story. This is why the bit about Bianca's family moving to Australia is included. Basically Kiw Emigration to Aussie is NZ's equivalent of abortion threads. It is the topic.
Last edited by Forsher on Sat Dec 15, 2012 8:51 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Im Großen und Ganzen diese Übersetzung ist schrecklich, aber wer bin ich dann dazu zu äußern? Alles, was ich getan habe ist stehlen die Worte von anderen Männern und nannte es akademische.

Ich komme aus Neuseeland.

Die Welt ist wie nichts für nichts. Ich will damit sagen, dass die Welt alles für etwas, und immer mehr als nichts ist.

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Nazi Flower Power
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Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Nazi Flower Power » Sat Dec 15, 2012 9:15 am

I'm in.

SNOW


"Why do you want to retire to Seehof?" Lindsey asked her father. "It's the middle of nowhere."

"I want to see snow again,‭" ‬her father answered wistfully.

‭ "What?" said Lindsey. "When have you ever seen snow? It doesn't snow in Nürnberg."

"It used to snow during the war,‭" ‬said her father.

‭ "Yeah, because the Confederates were bombing us with asteroids and the dust clouds blocked out the sun," said Lindsey. "Why do you want something to remind you of a war that almost wiped out all life on this planet?"

"I don't miss the war,‭" ‬said her father.‭ "‬I just miss the snow.‭ ‬And the Germans.‭"

"What Germans‭?" ‬said Lindsey.

‭ "The Germans who came to bring us food," said her father. "During the war, we always had food shortages. For weeks at a time, we had nothing to eat but synthetic tofu, and not enough of that. We couldn't grow crops outside because of the Confederate Winter, and the lamps in our greenhouses kept going out because the bulbs broke or the wires shook loose. Even when nothing was broken, the power would go out because we had always relied on solar power and all of a sudden there was no sunlight. We couldn't build new power plants because we were all trapped underground in meteor shelters. When we weren't getting bombed, the dust storms usually made it impossible to go outside. And when we were getting bombed, even when we broke up the asteroids before they hit the atmosphere, the recoil from our own guns was enough to shake the entire city. It was pointless to try to build anything in those conditions, and nobody could think straight anyway because none of us had had any sleep. The noise from the guns kept us all awake. I've told you all this before, but you can't really understand what it was like to actually be there.

‭ "And our guns were nothing compared to the ones the Confederates were using to fire the asteroids. It takes a tremendous amount to force to move asteroids, and that means there is a tremendous amount of recoil. Sometimes the recoil was strong enough to blast debris and radiation all the way out of the solar system, into Free German space. The Germans didn't care about what was happening to us, but when their ships got caught in the recoil from the Confederate guns, they would demand reparations and the Confederates had to stop the bombing until they made peace."

"So what‭?” ‬said Lindsey.‭ “‬It's not like the dumb krauts ever got off their asses to help us.‭”

“I just told you,‭ ‬they brought us food,‭” ‬her father said angrily.‭ Lindsey had never heard him get upset like that when she made snide comments about foreigners. “‬Nobody ever talks about the food ships because the Confederates don't want anyone to remember how much suffering they caused and how careless they were with their bombing," her father explained.‭ "‬If they talk about the food ships,‭ ‬then they'd have to think about why we needed the Germans to bring us food in the first place.‭ ‬And the Germans won't talk about it because they're still embarrassed about Hitler,‭ ‬and they don't want to be associated with us; but things were so bad here, we didn't care why they were bringing us food, just as long as they brought it.‭”

Lindsey scoffed.‭ She didn't share her father's fondness for Germans, and she wasn't going to let his rambling about "food ships" deter her from her xenophobic attitude. “Free ‬Germans are shit‭!” ‬she said.‭ “‬They've got no self-respect for their history‭! And then they get this cocky attitude like they're better than us...”

Her father shook his head. ‭“‬You didn't see them," he said.‭ "‬Living in a backwater like this,‭ ‬we sometimes forget what it's like to meet really modern and civilized people.‭ ‬We're the ones who have no self-respect,‭ ‬letting our planet go all to hell.‭ It's pathetic! ‬If the Germans had ever come into the war on our side,‭ ‬they wouldn't have just beaten the Confederates.‭ ‬They could have wiped them out of the sky in a week.

‭ “The Germans threatened to come into the war on our side if the Confederates didn't pay for the ships they damaged, and they sent the food ships to prove they were serious. Their ships were as long as cities, and they tore apart the clouds so that the sun would shine for hours after they passed. That was the only time we ever saw the sun. Our own spacefleet had already been destroyed, and our ships were all grounded except when the Germans broke the blockade. When their ships passed overhead, it was like an eclipse. Everything went dark in their shadow, and you couldn't hear anything except the roar of their engines. Their escorts flew in with colors flying, like they were on parade. I think they did it on purpose to lift our spirits and to prove to the Confederates that they weren't afraid. When they were past, the sun was so bright and it came so suddenly that we all had to cover our eyes; and when we looked up again their holographic streamers would be stretched across the sky like long chains of black, red, and gold lighting from one horizon to the other. It was like they controlled the sky itself. To this day, it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen in my life. It was terrifying, to know that other people wielded that kind of power, but it was still beautiful.

‭ "They never landed close to the city because there wasn't enough flat ground for their ships. They would land in the desert and then send soldiers in trucks to deliver the food, or sometimes the bigger transports had to stay in orbit while smaller ships brought the food to the ground; but either way they knew how to make an entrance.”

‭ "So why don't you retire to Germany?" Lindsey said. She felt like rolling her eyes as she said it, but she didn't because she knew it would only offend her father.

‭ "I can't afford to retire to Germany," her father explained.

‭ "I still don't get why you want to retire to Seehof," said Lindsey.

‭ "I told you," said her father. "I want to see snow again."

‭ "When there was a break in the bombing and the dust storms died down enough for us to go outside, I used to love to play in the snow. Sometimes we would go sledding on scraps of metal or plastic or folded up shipping boxes. Or we would build snow forts and have snowball fights. That was the most fun I ever had when I was a kid. It was pretty much the only fun I ever had during the war.

‭ "And the days when we got to play in the snow were usually the same days when the Germans came to drop off their food. It was easier for them to come when the weather was calm, when there were no dust storms. There was a German soldier who used to bring us hot chocolate at the hill where we went sledding. Her name was Lenora Schneider, and she had two big beautiful white dogs -- familiars, like those psychic pigeons and telepathic drones everyone's blowing their money on these days. We didn't have telepathic relays back then, but the Germans did. The dogs moved with her, like they were part of her own body, much more graceful than those stupid drones. She could see with their eyes and smell what they smelled, and when you looked in the dogs' eyes, you could see that there was human intelligence behind them. You could just tell by the way they looked at you that they understood everything they saw. She could recognize us by our smells, without even looking at us, no matter how bundled up we were. She didn't look like anyone I'd ever met before, and I had never heard of a woman being a soldier or anyone controlling dogs. Our military was all men and machines, so she always seemed more like a cartoon character or an imaginary friend than a real soldier. She was short and gentle with wavy blue hair and a pretty delicate face, not intimidating at all, but she had the most pompous Prussian accent! She liked us, and she said she always asked her commanding officer to send her to Nürnberg whenever they brought in a food shipment so that she could see us. She would just laugh at us if we threw snowballs at her. She sometimes threw them back, but it was always fun. She never got mad or anything.

"And when we went home, there was real food -- rice and beans and noodles and sauerkraut and tea and lemonade and more hot chocolate.

"After the war it took a while for the dust to settle and the weather to get hot again, and I thought of her every time it snowed. Sometimes I half expected to see her again. I went sledding a few times, but it wasn't the same after the war. It wasn't as special anymore when we hadn't been cooped up in the meteor shelters. And Lenora wasn't there to tease us for talking like Bavarian peasants. I thought about her for a long time, long after the snow stopped for good, even when things got better and I could buy my own hot chocolate any time I wanted. I still miss her sometimes, even now. I tried to find out what happened to her after the war, but the Confederate censors always disconnected my calls. Eventually, I moved on, but lately, I've been thinking a lot about the war and the days when we played in the snow and Lenora brought us hot chocolate. That's why I want to see snow again.

"This hot weather just reminds me of the things I screwed up after the war, all the times I fought with your mother, and all the things I never managed to do. Even if it seems stupid, I'd rather be reminded of something I enjoyed."
Webcomic * Art Thread * Deviant Art
Like short stories? Entries wanted for the NS Short Story Contest.

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North Wiedna
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Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby North Wiedna » Sat Dec 15, 2012 12:19 pm

Conserative Morality wrote:Rules:
Writing Deadline February 15th (Subject to change)

glad to see i have two months to write something :)
Forsher wrote:I'm the first. I even made it a Christmas Story. Has notes so you get some regional stuff.

Tulip Valley College was one of the larger high schools in the wider Auckland Region. As a decile six state school its academic success rate compared favourable with national averages. A dedicated senior management team provided excellent support for passionate students and staff in an award winning environment. A hard-working squad of caretakers maintained the grounds and the school’s many buildings, including the hall which was popular with a wide variety of community groups, from Rotary to Lions. Well, that was the utopian review presented in the definitely unbiased Tulip College Parent’s Guide. As year nine student Lala Smith would tell anyone, quite loudly and with all, the self-assurance of youth, it was an oppressive, hateful dictatorship, especially those parts of the school associated with one Mr Kao.

Lala Smith was just one of many brown haired, uniform flouting, stereotypical, fourteen year old teenage girls. She’d spend her lunches talking with many friends wearing equally short skirts, complaining about teenage girl things. Occasionally, they’d stop to giggle at some suave male peer: complete with shorts, Jansport bag and ankle-high knee-length socks. Mobiles were usually in pockets, just not so much when no teacher was definitely out of sight. In fact, the only thing that wasn’t normal about Lala was her knowing her timetable. So, in other words, Lala was a total nerd. However, this was simply to know when she could see Him. He was, as all her friends knew and eavesdroppers wished they knew, Alfred Bold.

Alfred Bold was anything but bold. With short brown hair, Asian friends, Polynesian friends, a mobile, an iPod, canteen money, a video game addiction and whole host of teenage boy stuff going on, bold was not a word that could be applied to his life. In fact, he also failed assessments in order to be popular, just like everyone else. Needless to say, he did not know his timetable. Naturally, Tulip Valley College put him in mainstream; so he saw more of his Polynesian mates than his Asian acquaintances, despite demographics suggesting an equal likelihood of Asians. Where Lala was almost totally normal, Alfred was, like, totally normal. As such he was far more likely to say “bro” than “like.” One fine Monday morning, that was exactly what his maths teacher caught him doing.

“Bro, can I borrow your calculator?” Mr Bold was also typical in this regard.

“Sorry, dude, I don’t have one.” Jim Hanthrop was incredibly out of touch: he wore his bag with a single strap as a stylistic choice rather than a temporary measure, had spiky hair and made his voice deeper than it really was. Unsurprisingly, his family was from a low socio-economic area and his psychological development had been affected as a result. To the normal person, being broke had given him a chip on his shoulder.

“Look, you lot need to have calculators now if you want to do well in next year’s exams, so you don’t stuff your life up in year eleven.” Mr Kao was, to Jim, clearly one of those men who did nothing but play rugby back in their school-days. This was obvious as Mr Kao was Tongan, not Fijian. To Alfred, whose parents were as old-fashioned as Jim’s, he had played league because, well, that’s what Tongans play. As it happened, both were wrong, and also slightly racist (but that’s irrelevant); Mr Kao had played cricket and even been in advanced classes… his dad was Indian.

“Exactly. Don’t need calculators this year!” That was from Alfred. Jim didn’t, to be accurate, have a spare calculator. As a poor family’s child he appreciated his education because, due to blatant racism, his family wasn’t Polynesian and, therefore, lacked welfare fraud as an acceptable lifestyle choice. Alfred, whose dad was rich since his mum married him, was already set for life. In a couple of years he’d discover that “trust fund kids” happened to other countries. This was why dialling 911 never got an answer.

“Just bring it next time or you’re going on report.” As a junior Alfred knew heaps of people on report. It was a done thing. However, it was a pain in the arse: how was one meant to chat to girls if one was stuck getting one’s report updated? The answer was to chat to the girls on report but they were violent psychopaths, not bros. That said even in the first week of school there were only so many fish in the sea. It was ridiculous. The result of this was affective threat and a hasty huddling with Jim, who had fetched the calculator from his bag. Since he was broke, Work and Income had paid for it, being on welfare was fine only fraud was unacceptable socially. Getting money for school was easy. In fact, even Mr Rich Arse Alfred’s Dad made use of it. Since he was rich, welfare fraud was an acceptable choice for him as well.

Across the room, as ordained by Mr Kao’s random seating plan, Lala nudged her nutty friend Sarah in the ribs, having caught sight of Him. This annoyed Jessica, on Lala’s right, as she wanted the gossip (that is first hand: she’d get it from Sarah’s best friend Suzie later). A few seats away the other twelve Jessica’s and thirteen Sarah’s sat and laughed about how ridiculously common their names were. Behind them, Asia Sarah made a note about the stupidity of the class’ size. With the exception of Jim, Alfred and Mr Kao, all the room’s males had no seats or desks; due to forty people being in a room designed for thirty at the most.

“Look at Alfred, isn’t he hot?” Lala pronounced “hot” as though it was some really long syllable. She found nothing odd about this. Jessica, on the other hand, thought that Lala was too much like girls in a movie written by a middle-aged man with no-ide of how teenage girls actually speak. The other Jessica’s felt as if Lala was written by an author who does know what he’s on about, as much as any bloke can, but was just too familiar with convention and how those conventions are applied in real life to actually capture the female teenager that Lala clearly represented, accurately. Sarah just thought Lala thought Alfred was hot.

“Not really.” Sarah disagreed with Lala as she knew Mr Kao’s first name and wasn’t into Tongans, being Samoan. Alfred Bold, on the other hand, was just some prick sitting next to Jim. (Sarah had been going out with Jim since forever. That is, since they met while their families visited the local welfare offices. Massive building it was too, huge employer Work and Income.)

“Fine, I’ll try and sit next to him.” Privately, Lala added, “Once the school figures out that this class is ridiculously huge.” Like most teenagers, Lala had a limited vocabulary and was prone to repetition.

“You’ll have to wait for a few people to be away for that.” Sarah took a more realistic view of things than Lala did. However, the school fixed the population problem by simply reducing the ridiculously huge zone, the following week. Most of the ridiculously common Sarah’s and Jessica’s found themselves out-of-zone. A few weeks later they were each identified as being the only white girl at the decile one Floyd High School, during the various transits of Tulip Valley College pupils to McCann Park for their athletics day. Naturally, the demographics of tFloyd High School were ridiculously heavily biased towards welfare recipients, but people can’t help being born brown. Or racist, for that matter, which was why the label was ridiculously off. Although an element of the infamous inter-college rivalry was at play.

Mr Kao’s maths class was next held on Wednesday. By this time, of course, the timetable problem was fixed (thankfully, the previous year it had taken until September). Naturally, some students now had an excuse not to know their timetables. To Lala’s delight in the reasonably sized class of 25, neither Sarah nor Jessica could be found (she now sat next to Bianca, who was a total slut, strangely that wasn’t a joke) but Alfred was. Lafway through the lesson, she put up her hand and flagged Mr Kao down.

“What’s the problem, Lala?” With a name like Lala there was no way that Mr Kao was ever going to forget it, Bianca, in contrast, was already a Nobody. It turned out to be a good thing the following week when she vanished with rumours of pregnancy in her wake. In reality, her family decided that she’d be better off being a slut in Australia because it suited her parents to move. Of course, she was pregnant but that didn’t matter.

“Can I sit next to Alfred?”

“Why?”

“I want to. I think I can help him with maths.”

“No”

“Why not?”

“Because, frankly, you’d both get worse next to each other.” Mr Kao turned away and for the next month that was maths for Lala.

In September, Mr Kao changed his mind. By this time Lala was in love with Jim, had a slight crush on Mr Kao because she’d read it in some girly magazine called Psychology Today or something like that and had hated Alfred ever since he started going out with George. It wasn’t that George was a boy, more that she had a bloody stupid name for a girl. Years later George would realise this as Lala discovered, when she opened a letter and the cars was signed, “Merry Christmas all, love Georgia (from school).”


Notes.

College is the popular perception of the NZ name for secondary school. In truth I find it leans high school but when it comes to names, it is a fifty-fifty split in my experience. While the Auckland region is real, all specific locations are fictional.

Deciles are a funding tool. Decile One is an extremely low socio-economic area while Decile Ten is the highest. You can assume that both Tulip Valley College and Floyd High School are in the suburbs as schools nearer the CBD tend towards decile ten, due in part to the Grammar Zone (i'll get to that).

Rotary and Lions are international community groups. But then "conscientious objectors" were meant to be international too. Award winning is more along the lines of "enviro-schools" which is for primary schools being environmentally conscious so that's a little naughty. Schools are like prisions, with staff, management, inmates, high spiky fences, uniforms and blocks with names like D Block. Really, that's the honest truth. However, each block tends to be a separate building or group of them or group of pre-fabs. Also, no metal detectors.

A typical NZ uniform in NZ colleges for boys is knee lenghth socks. Basically as many people wear them like that as wear trousers. So, in other words, the fashionably different. Girls tend towards tartan skirts of varying lengths. A canteen is like the sort you'd get at a building site. In Auckland at any rate, Asians tend to be as prevalent as Pasifika peoples. So, saying equal likelihood is also naughty as it excludes Maori.

At my school, if you stuff up Year Ten's exams you are screwed for life in some situations. Unless you are in advanced, year nine doesn't really matter that much. I've based aspects of Tulip Valley College's specific practices on my school. Mr Kao (my stock name for teachers, never come up with a new one) and his seating plan are general experiences. Reports are a legitimate disciplinary measure. Basically, just a card for teachers to fill in, remarking on whetehr behaviour is good. Common for junior students (year nine and ten) not so much for seniors (eleven, twelve and thirteen). And the quantity implied is a slight exaggeration.

Sarah and Jessica are common first names in my cohort. Turned that up to eleven (well, fifteen in one case) for here. Most classrooms are capable of taking no more than thirty students. One tech room I had could fit 28 in a class of 31. Never was a problem because enough people could be relied upon not to turn up. Including the teacher. The following year he resigned, before he was pushed as we reckon.

Samoans and Tongans are known for a degree of hostility. Not sure if it applies how I made it apply but artistic licence is my right as an artist (pronounced the prick's way). Nearby schools can have quite different demographics. Floyd High School would be closer to the heart of the area as, unlike within Auckland City itself, the desirable properties are on the outskirts.

School Zones are the areas from which schools draw students. Schools, to my knowledge, have arbitrary control over said zones. They are used to fix population problems, just usually before school starts in February (or early January as the case may be). WINZ really does make it quite easy to acquire money for uniforms and materials.

This is not a serious work. I wrote it for a laugh. I consider it a fun story. This is why the bit about Bianca's family moving to Australia is included. Basically Kiw Emigration to Aussie is NZ's equivalent of abortion threads. It is the topic.

Nazi Flower Power wrote:I'm in.

SNOW


"Why do you want to retire to Seehof?" Lindsey asked her father. "It's the middle of nowhere."

"I want to see snow again,‭" ‬her father answered wistfully.

‭ "What?" said Lindsey. "When have you ever seen snow? It doesn't snow in Nürnberg."

"It used to snow during the war,‭" ‬said her father.

‭ "Yeah, because the Confederates were bombing us with asteroids and the dust clouds blocked out the sun," said Lindsey. "Why do you want something to remind you of a war that almost wiped out all life on this planet?"

"I don't miss the war,‭" ‬said her father.‭ "‬I just miss the snow.‭ ‬And the Germans.‭"

"What Germans‭?" ‬said Lindsey.

‭ "The Germans who came to bring us food," said her father. "During the war, we always had food shortages. For weeks at a time, we had nothing to eat but synthetic tofu, and not enough of that. We couldn't grow crops outside because of the Confederate Winter, and the lamps in our greenhouses kept going out because the bulbs broke or the wires shook loose. Even when nothing was broken, the power would go out because we had always relied on solar power and all of a sudden there was no sunlight. We couldn't build new power plants because we were all trapped underground in meteor shelters. When we weren't getting bombed, the dust storms usually made it impossible to go outside. And when we were getting bombed, even when we broke up the asteroids before they hit the atmosphere, the recoil from our own guns was enough to shake the entire city. It was pointless to try to build anything in those conditions, and nobody could think straight anyway because none of us had had any sleep. The noise from the guns kept us all awake. I've told you all this before, but you can't really understand what it was like to actually be there.

‭ "And our guns were nothing compared to the ones the Confederates were using to fire the asteroids. It takes a tremendous amount to force to move asteroids, and that means there is a tremendous amount of recoil. Sometimes the recoil was strong enough to blast debris and radiation all the way out of the solar system, into Free German space. The Germans didn't care about what was happening to us, but when their ships got caught in the recoil from the Confederate guns, they would demand reparations and the Confederates had to stop the bombing until they made peace."

"So what‭?” ‬said Lindsey.‭ “‬It's not like the dumb krauts ever got off their asses to help us.‭”

“I just told you,‭ ‬they brought us food,‭” ‬her father said angrily.‭ Lindsey had never heard him get upset like that when she made snide comments about foreigners. “‬Nobody ever talks about the food ships because the Confederates don't want anyone to remember how much suffering they caused and how careless they were with their bombing," her father explained.‭ "‬If they talk about the food ships,‭ ‬then they'd have to think about why we needed the Germans to bring us food in the first place.‭ ‬And the Germans won't talk about it because they're still embarrassed about Hitler,‭ ‬and they don't want to be associated with us; but things were so bad here, we didn't care why they were bringing us food, just as long as they brought it.‭”

Lindsey scoffed.‭ She didn't share her father's fondness for Germans, and she wasn't going to let his rambling about "food ships" deter her from her xenophobic attitude. “Free ‬Germans are shit‭!” ‬she said.‭ “‬They've got no self-respect for their history‭! And then they get this cocky attitude like they're better than us...”

Her father shook his head. ‭“‬You didn't see them," he said.‭ "‬Living in a backwater like this,‭ ‬we sometimes forget what it's like to meet really modern and civilized people.‭ ‬We're the ones who have no self-respect,‭ ‬letting our planet go all to hell.‭ It's pathetic! ‬If the Germans had ever come into the war on our side,‭ ‬they wouldn't have just beaten the Confederates.‭ ‬They could have wiped them out of the sky in a week.

‭ “The Germans threatened to come into the war on our side if the Confederates didn't pay for the ships they damaged, and they sent the food ships to prove they were serious. Their ships were as long as cities, and they tore apart the clouds so that the sun would shine for hours after they passed. That was the only time we ever saw the sun. Our own spacefleet had already been destroyed, and our ships were all grounded except when the Germans broke the blockade. When their ships passed overhead, it was like an eclipse. Everything went dark in their shadow, and you couldn't hear anything except the roar of their engines. Their escorts flew in with colors flying, like they were on parade. I think they did it on purpose to lift our spirits and to prove to the Confederates that they weren't afraid. When they were past, the sun was so bright and it came so suddenly that we all had to cover our eyes; and when we looked up again their holographic streamers would be stretched across the sky like long chains of black, red, and gold lighting from one horizon to the other. It was like they controlled the sky itself. To this day, it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen in my life. It was terrifying, to know that other people wielded that kind of power, but it was still beautiful.

‭ "They never landed close to the city because there wasn't enough flat ground for their ships. They would land in the desert and then send soldiers in trucks to deliver the food, or sometimes the bigger transports had to stay in orbit while smaller ships brought the food to the ground; but either way they knew how to make an entrance.”

‭ "So why don't you retire to Germany?" Lindsey said. She felt like rolling her eyes as she said it, but she didn't because she knew it would only offend her father.

‭ "I can't afford to retire to Germany," her father explained.

‭ "I still don't get why you want to retire to Seehof," said Lindsey.

‭ "I told you," said her father. "I want to see snow again."

‭ "When there was a break in the bombing and the dust storms died down enough for us to go outside, I used to love to play in the snow. Sometimes we would go sledding on scraps of metal or plastic or folded up shipping boxes. Or we would build snow forts and have snowball fights. That was the most fun I ever had when I was a kid. It was pretty much the only fun I ever had during the war.

‭ "And the days when we got to play in the snow were usually the same days when the Germans came to drop off their food. It was easier for them to come when the weather was calm, when there were no dust storms. There was a German soldier who used to bring us hot chocolate at the hill where we went sledding. Her name was Lenora Schneider, and she had two big beautiful white dogs -- familiars, like those psychic pigeons and telepathic drones everyone's blowing their money on these days. We didn't have telepathic relays back then, but the Germans did. The dogs moved with her, like they were part of her own body, much more graceful than those stupid drones. She could see with their eyes and smell what they smelled, and when you looked in the dogs' eyes, you could see that there was human intelligence behind them. You could just tell by the way they looked at you that they understood everything they saw. She could recognize us by our smells, without even looking at us, no matter how bundled up we were. She didn't look like anyone I'd ever met before, and I had never heard of a woman being a soldier or anyone controlling dogs. Our military was all men and machines, so she always seemed more like a cartoon character or an imaginary friend than a real soldier. She was short and gentle with wavy blue hair and a pretty delicate face, not intimidating at all, but she had the most pompous Prussian accent! She liked us, and she said she always asked her commanding officer to send her to Nürnberg whenever they brought in a food shipment so that she could see us. She would just laugh at us if we threw snowballs at her. She sometimes threw them back, but it was always fun. She never got mad or anything.

"And when we went home, there was real food -- rice and beans and noodles and sauerkraut and tea and lemonade and more hot chocolate.

"After the war it took a while for the dust to settle and the weather to get hot again, and I thought of her every time it snowed. Sometimes I half expected to see her again. I went sledding a few times, but it wasn't the same after the war. It wasn't as special anymore when we hadn't been cooped up in the meteor shelters. And Lenora wasn't there to tease us for talking like Bavarian peasants. I thought about her for a long time, long after the snow stopped for good, even when things got better and I could buy my own hot chocolate any time I wanted. I still miss her sometimes, even now. I tried to find out what happened to her after the war, but the Confederate censors always disconnected my calls. Eventually, I moved on, but lately, I've been thinking a lot about the war and the days when we played in the snow and Lenora brought us hot chocolate. That's why I want to see snow again.

"This hot weather just reminds me of the things I screwed up after the war, all the times I fought with your mother, and all the things I never managed to do. Even if it seems stupid, I'd rather be reminded of something I enjoyed."

jesus you guys work fast
I am not at all interested in immortality, only in the taste of tea.

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Manahakatouki
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Ex-Nation

Postby Manahakatouki » Sat Dec 15, 2012 3:40 pm

Now, I know I said I'd make one last time, I swear I will make one this time...
And so it was, that I had never changed.

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Nazi Flower Power
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Postby Nazi Flower Power » Sat Dec 15, 2012 10:02 pm

North Wiedna wrote:
Conserative Morality wrote:Rules:
Writing Deadline February 15th (Subject to change)

glad to see i have two months to write something :)
Forsher wrote:I'm the first. I even made it a Christmas Story. Has notes so you get some regional stuff.

Tulip Valley College was one of the larger high schools in the wider Auckland Region. As a decile six state school its academic success rate compared favourable with national averages. A dedicated senior management team provided excellent support for passionate students and staff in an award winning environment. A hard-working squad of caretakers maintained the grounds and the school’s many buildings, including the hall which was popular with a wide variety of community groups, from Rotary to Lions. Well, that was the utopian review presented in the definitely unbiased Tulip College Parent’s Guide. As year nine student Lala Smith would tell anyone, quite loudly and with all, the self-assurance of youth, it was an oppressive, hateful dictatorship, especially those parts of the school associated with one Mr Kao.

Lala Smith was just one of many brown haired, uniform flouting, stereotypical, fourteen year old teenage girls. She’d spend her lunches talking with many friends wearing equally short skirts, complaining about teenage girl things. Occasionally, they’d stop to giggle at some suave male peer: complete with shorts, Jansport bag and ankle-high knee-length socks. Mobiles were usually in pockets, just not so much when no teacher was definitely out of sight. In fact, the only thing that wasn’t normal about Lala was her knowing her timetable. So, in other words, Lala was a total nerd. However, this was simply to know when she could see Him. He was, as all her friends knew and eavesdroppers wished they knew, Alfred Bold.

Alfred Bold was anything but bold. With short brown hair, Asian friends, Polynesian friends, a mobile, an iPod, canteen money, a video game addiction and whole host of teenage boy stuff going on, bold was not a word that could be applied to his life. In fact, he also failed assessments in order to be popular, just like everyone else. Needless to say, he did not know his timetable. Naturally, Tulip Valley College put him in mainstream; so he saw more of his Polynesian mates than his Asian acquaintances, despite demographics suggesting an equal likelihood of Asians. Where Lala was almost totally normal, Alfred was, like, totally normal. As such he was far more likely to say “bro” than “like.” One fine Monday morning, that was exactly what his maths teacher caught him doing.

“Bro, can I borrow your calculator?” Mr Bold was also typical in this regard.

“Sorry, dude, I don’t have one.” Jim Hanthrop was incredibly out of touch: he wore his bag with a single strap as a stylistic choice rather than a temporary measure, had spiky hair and made his voice deeper than it really was. Unsurprisingly, his family was from a low socio-economic area and his psychological development had been affected as a result. To the normal person, being broke had given him a chip on his shoulder.

“Look, you lot need to have calculators now if you want to do well in next year’s exams, so you don’t stuff your life up in year eleven.” Mr Kao was, to Jim, clearly one of those men who did nothing but play rugby back in their school-days. This was obvious as Mr Kao was Tongan, not Fijian. To Alfred, whose parents were as old-fashioned as Jim’s, he had played league because, well, that’s what Tongans play. As it happened, both were wrong, and also slightly racist (but that’s irrelevant); Mr Kao had played cricket and even been in advanced classes… his dad was Indian.

“Exactly. Don’t need calculators this year!” That was from Alfred. Jim didn’t, to be accurate, have a spare calculator. As a poor family’s child he appreciated his education because, due to blatant racism, his family wasn’t Polynesian and, therefore, lacked welfare fraud as an acceptable lifestyle choice. Alfred, whose dad was rich since his mum married him, was already set for life. In a couple of years he’d discover that “trust fund kids” happened to other countries. This was why dialling 911 never got an answer.

“Just bring it next time or you’re going on report.” As a junior Alfred knew heaps of people on report. It was a done thing. However, it was a pain in the arse: how was one meant to chat to girls if one was stuck getting one’s report updated? The answer was to chat to the girls on report but they were violent psychopaths, not bros. That said even in the first week of school there were only so many fish in the sea. It was ridiculous. The result of this was affective threat and a hasty huddling with Jim, who had fetched the calculator from his bag. Since he was broke, Work and Income had paid for it, being on welfare was fine only fraud was unacceptable socially. Getting money for school was easy. In fact, even Mr Rich Arse Alfred’s Dad made use of it. Since he was rich, welfare fraud was an acceptable choice for him as well.

Across the room, as ordained by Mr Kao’s random seating plan, Lala nudged her nutty friend Sarah in the ribs, having caught sight of Him. This annoyed Jessica, on Lala’s right, as she wanted the gossip (that is first hand: she’d get it from Sarah’s best friend Suzie later). A few seats away the other twelve Jessica’s and thirteen Sarah’s sat and laughed about how ridiculously common their names were. Behind them, Asia Sarah made a note about the stupidity of the class’ size. With the exception of Jim, Alfred and Mr Kao, all the room’s males had no seats or desks; due to forty people being in a room designed for thirty at the most.

“Look at Alfred, isn’t he hot?” Lala pronounced “hot” as though it was some really long syllable. She found nothing odd about this. Jessica, on the other hand, thought that Lala was too much like girls in a movie written by a middle-aged man with no-ide of how teenage girls actually speak. The other Jessica’s felt as if Lala was written by an author who does know what he’s on about, as much as any bloke can, but was just too familiar with convention and how those conventions are applied in real life to actually capture the female teenager that Lala clearly represented, accurately. Sarah just thought Lala thought Alfred was hot.

“Not really.” Sarah disagreed with Lala as she knew Mr Kao’s first name and wasn’t into Tongans, being Samoan. Alfred Bold, on the other hand, was just some prick sitting next to Jim. (Sarah had been going out with Jim since forever. That is, since they met while their families visited the local welfare offices. Massive building it was too, huge employer Work and Income.)

“Fine, I’ll try and sit next to him.” Privately, Lala added, “Once the school figures out that this class is ridiculously huge.” Like most teenagers, Lala had a limited vocabulary and was prone to repetition.

“You’ll have to wait for a few people to be away for that.” Sarah took a more realistic view of things than Lala did. However, the school fixed the population problem by simply reducing the ridiculously huge zone, the following week. Most of the ridiculously common Sarah’s and Jessica’s found themselves out-of-zone. A few weeks later they were each identified as being the only white girl at the decile one Floyd High School, during the various transits of Tulip Valley College pupils to McCann Park for their athletics day. Naturally, the demographics of tFloyd High School were ridiculously heavily biased towards welfare recipients, but people can’t help being born brown. Or racist, for that matter, which was why the label was ridiculously off. Although an element of the infamous inter-college rivalry was at play.

Mr Kao’s maths class was next held on Wednesday. By this time, of course, the timetable problem was fixed (thankfully, the previous year it had taken until September). Naturally, some students now had an excuse not to know their timetables. To Lala’s delight in the reasonably sized class of 25, neither Sarah nor Jessica could be found (she now sat next to Bianca, who was a total slut, strangely that wasn’t a joke) but Alfred was. Lafway through the lesson, she put up her hand and flagged Mr Kao down.

“What’s the problem, Lala?” With a name like Lala there was no way that Mr Kao was ever going to forget it, Bianca, in contrast, was already a Nobody. It turned out to be a good thing the following week when she vanished with rumours of pregnancy in her wake. In reality, her family decided that she’d be better off being a slut in Australia because it suited her parents to move. Of course, she was pregnant but that didn’t matter.

“Can I sit next to Alfred?”

“Why?”

“I want to. I think I can help him with maths.”

“No”

“Why not?”

“Because, frankly, you’d both get worse next to each other.” Mr Kao turned away and for the next month that was maths for Lala.

In September, Mr Kao changed his mind. By this time Lala was in love with Jim, had a slight crush on Mr Kao because she’d read it in some girly magazine called Psychology Today or something like that and had hated Alfred ever since he started going out with George. It wasn’t that George was a boy, more that she had a bloody stupid name for a girl. Years later George would realise this as Lala discovered, when she opened a letter and the cars was signed, “Merry Christmas all, love Georgia (from school).”


Notes.

College is the popular perception of the NZ name for secondary school. In truth I find it leans high school but when it comes to names, it is a fifty-fifty split in my experience. While the Auckland region is real, all specific locations are fictional.

Deciles are a funding tool. Decile One is an extremely low socio-economic area while Decile Ten is the highest. You can assume that both Tulip Valley College and Floyd High School are in the suburbs as schools nearer the CBD tend towards decile ten, due in part to the Grammar Zone (i'll get to that).

Rotary and Lions are international community groups. But then "conscientious objectors" were meant to be international too. Award winning is more along the lines of "enviro-schools" which is for primary schools being environmentally conscious so that's a little naughty. Schools are like prisions, with staff, management, inmates, high spiky fences, uniforms and blocks with names like D Block. Really, that's the honest truth. However, each block tends to be a separate building or group of them or group of pre-fabs. Also, no metal detectors.

A typical NZ uniform in NZ colleges for boys is knee lenghth socks. Basically as many people wear them like that as wear trousers. So, in other words, the fashionably different. Girls tend towards tartan skirts of varying lengths. A canteen is like the sort you'd get at a building site. In Auckland at any rate, Asians tend to be as prevalent as Pasifika peoples. So, saying equal likelihood is also naughty as it excludes Maori.

At my school, if you stuff up Year Ten's exams you are screwed for life in some situations. Unless you are in advanced, year nine doesn't really matter that much. I've based aspects of Tulip Valley College's specific practices on my school. Mr Kao (my stock name for teachers, never come up with a new one) and his seating plan are general experiences. Reports are a legitimate disciplinary measure. Basically, just a card for teachers to fill in, remarking on whetehr behaviour is good. Common for junior students (year nine and ten) not so much for seniors (eleven, twelve and thirteen). And the quantity implied is a slight exaggeration.

Sarah and Jessica are common first names in my cohort. Turned that up to eleven (well, fifteen in one case) for here. Most classrooms are capable of taking no more than thirty students. One tech room I had could fit 28 in a class of 31. Never was a problem because enough people could be relied upon not to turn up. Including the teacher. The following year he resigned, before he was pushed as we reckon.

Samoans and Tongans are known for a degree of hostility. Not sure if it applies how I made it apply but artistic licence is my right as an artist (pronounced the prick's way). Nearby schools can have quite different demographics. Floyd High School would be closer to the heart of the area as, unlike within Auckland City itself, the desirable properties are on the outskirts.

School Zones are the areas from which schools draw students. Schools, to my knowledge, have arbitrary control over said zones. They are used to fix population problems, just usually before school starts in February (or early January as the case may be). WINZ really does make it quite easy to acquire money for uniforms and materials.

This is not a serious work. I wrote it for a laugh. I consider it a fun story. This is why the bit about Bianca's family moving to Australia is included. Basically Kiw Emigration to Aussie is NZ's equivalent of abortion threads. It is the topic.

Nazi Flower Power wrote:I'm in.

SNOW


"Why do you want to retire to Seehof?" Lindsey asked her father. "It's the middle of nowhere."

"I want to see snow again,‭" ‬her father answered wistfully.

‭ "What?" said Lindsey. "When have you ever seen snow? It doesn't snow in Nürnberg."

"It used to snow during the war,‭" ‬said her father.

‭ "Yeah, because the Confederates were bombing us with asteroids and the dust clouds blocked out the sun," said Lindsey. "Why do you want something to remind you of a war that almost wiped out all life on this planet?"

"I don't miss the war,‭" ‬said her father.‭ "‬I just miss the snow.‭ ‬And the Germans.‭"

"What Germans‭?" ‬said Lindsey.

‭ "The Germans who came to bring us food," said her father. "During the war, we always had food shortages. For weeks at a time, we had nothing to eat but synthetic tofu, and not enough of that. We couldn't grow crops outside because of the Confederate Winter, and the lamps in our greenhouses kept going out because the bulbs broke or the wires shook loose. Even when nothing was broken, the power would go out because we had always relied on solar power and all of a sudden there was no sunlight. We couldn't build new power plants because we were all trapped underground in meteor shelters. When we weren't getting bombed, the dust storms usually made it impossible to go outside. And when we were getting bombed, even when we broke up the asteroids before they hit the atmosphere, the recoil from our own guns was enough to shake the entire city. It was pointless to try to build anything in those conditions, and nobody could think straight anyway because none of us had had any sleep. The noise from the guns kept us all awake. I've told you all this before, but you can't really understand what it was like to actually be there.

‭ "And our guns were nothing compared to the ones the Confederates were using to fire the asteroids. It takes a tremendous amount to force to move asteroids, and that means there is a tremendous amount of recoil. Sometimes the recoil was strong enough to blast debris and radiation all the way out of the solar system, into Free German space. The Germans didn't care about what was happening to us, but when their ships got caught in the recoil from the Confederate guns, they would demand reparations and the Confederates had to stop the bombing until they made peace."

"So what‭?” ‬said Lindsey.‭ “‬It's not like the dumb krauts ever got off their asses to help us.‭”

“I just told you,‭ ‬they brought us food,‭” ‬her father said angrily.‭ Lindsey had never heard him get upset like that when she made snide comments about foreigners. “‬Nobody ever talks about the food ships because the Confederates don't want anyone to remember how much suffering they caused and how careless they were with their bombing," her father explained.‭ "‬If they talk about the food ships,‭ ‬then they'd have to think about why we needed the Germans to bring us food in the first place.‭ ‬And the Germans won't talk about it because they're still embarrassed about Hitler,‭ ‬and they don't want to be associated with us; but things were so bad here, we didn't care why they were bringing us food, just as long as they brought it.‭”

Lindsey scoffed.‭ She didn't share her father's fondness for Germans, and she wasn't going to let his rambling about "food ships" deter her from her xenophobic attitude. “Free ‬Germans are shit‭!” ‬she said.‭ “‬They've got no self-respect for their history‭! And then they get this cocky attitude like they're better than us...”

Her father shook his head. ‭“‬You didn't see them," he said.‭ "‬Living in a backwater like this,‭ ‬we sometimes forget what it's like to meet really modern and civilized people.‭ ‬We're the ones who have no self-respect,‭ ‬letting our planet go all to hell.‭ It's pathetic! ‬If the Germans had ever come into the war on our side,‭ ‬they wouldn't have just beaten the Confederates.‭ ‬They could have wiped them out of the sky in a week.

‭ “The Germans threatened to come into the war on our side if the Confederates didn't pay for the ships they damaged, and they sent the food ships to prove they were serious. Their ships were as long as cities, and they tore apart the clouds so that the sun would shine for hours after they passed. That was the only time we ever saw the sun. Our own spacefleet had already been destroyed, and our ships were all grounded except when the Germans broke the blockade. When their ships passed overhead, it was like an eclipse. Everything went dark in their shadow, and you couldn't hear anything except the roar of their engines. Their escorts flew in with colors flying, like they were on parade. I think they did it on purpose to lift our spirits and to prove to the Confederates that they weren't afraid. When they were past, the sun was so bright and it came so suddenly that we all had to cover our eyes; and when we looked up again their holographic streamers would be stretched across the sky like long chains of black, red, and gold lighting from one horizon to the other. It was like they controlled the sky itself. To this day, it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen in my life. It was terrifying, to know that other people wielded that kind of power, but it was still beautiful.

‭ "They never landed close to the city because there wasn't enough flat ground for their ships. They would land in the desert and then send soldiers in trucks to deliver the food, or sometimes the bigger transports had to stay in orbit while smaller ships brought the food to the ground; but either way they knew how to make an entrance.”

‭ "So why don't you retire to Germany?" Lindsey said. She felt like rolling her eyes as she said it, but she didn't because she knew it would only offend her father.

‭ "I can't afford to retire to Germany," her father explained.

‭ "I still don't get why you want to retire to Seehof," said Lindsey.

‭ "I told you," said her father. "I want to see snow again."

‭ "When there was a break in the bombing and the dust storms died down enough for us to go outside, I used to love to play in the snow. Sometimes we would go sledding on scraps of metal or plastic or folded up shipping boxes. Or we would build snow forts and have snowball fights. That was the most fun I ever had when I was a kid. It was pretty much the only fun I ever had during the war.

‭ "And the days when we got to play in the snow were usually the same days when the Germans came to drop off their food. It was easier for them to come when the weather was calm, when there were no dust storms. There was a German soldier who used to bring us hot chocolate at the hill where we went sledding. Her name was Lenora Schneider, and she had two big beautiful white dogs -- familiars, like those psychic pigeons and telepathic drones everyone's blowing their money on these days. We didn't have telepathic relays back then, but the Germans did. The dogs moved with her, like they were part of her own body, much more graceful than those stupid drones. She could see with their eyes and smell what they smelled, and when you looked in the dogs' eyes, you could see that there was human intelligence behind them. You could just tell by the way they looked at you that they understood everything they saw. She could recognize us by our smells, without even looking at us, no matter how bundled up we were. She didn't look like anyone I'd ever met before, and I had never heard of a woman being a soldier or anyone controlling dogs. Our military was all men and machines, so she always seemed more like a cartoon character or an imaginary friend than a real soldier. She was short and gentle with wavy blue hair and a pretty delicate face, not intimidating at all, but she had the most pompous Prussian accent! She liked us, and she said she always asked her commanding officer to send her to Nürnberg whenever they brought in a food shipment so that she could see us. She would just laugh at us if we threw snowballs at her. She sometimes threw them back, but it was always fun. She never got mad or anything.

"And when we went home, there was real food -- rice and beans and noodles and sauerkraut and tea and lemonade and more hot chocolate.

"After the war it took a while for the dust to settle and the weather to get hot again, and I thought of her every time it snowed. Sometimes I half expected to see her again. I went sledding a few times, but it wasn't the same after the war. It wasn't as special anymore when we hadn't been cooped up in the meteor shelters. And Lenora wasn't there to tease us for talking like Bavarian peasants. I thought about her for a long time, long after the snow stopped for good, even when things got better and I could buy my own hot chocolate any time I wanted. I still miss her sometimes, even now. I tried to find out what happened to her after the war, but the Confederate censors always disconnected my calls. Eventually, I moved on, but lately, I've been thinking a lot about the war and the days when we played in the snow and Lenora brought us hot chocolate. That's why I want to see snow again.

"This hot weather just reminds me of the things I screwed up after the war, all the times I fought with your mother, and all the things I never managed to do. Even if it seems stupid, I'd rather be reminded of something I enjoyed."

jesus you guys work fast


Mine was a story that I wrote a few months ago. I did a bit of editing before I posted, but it's still basically the same story that's been knocking around my hard drive for 3 or 4 months.
Webcomic * Art Thread * Deviant Art
Like short stories? Entries wanted for the NS Short Story Contest.

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Forsher
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Founded: Jan 30, 2012
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby Forsher » Sat Dec 15, 2012 10:10 pm

Nazi Flower Power wrote:
North Wiedna wrote:glad to see i have two months to write something :)


jesus you guys work fast


Mine was a story that I wrote a few months ago. I did a bit of editing before I posted, but it's still basically the same story that's been knocking around my hard drive for 3 or 4 months.


I was struck by inspiration on Friday night. That is to say, not Saturday night when I typed it up for here.
Im Großen und Ganzen diese Übersetzung ist schrecklich, aber wer bin ich dann dazu zu äußern? Alles, was ich getan habe ist stehlen die Worte von anderen Männern und nannte es akademische.

Ich komme aus Neuseeland.

Die Welt ist wie nichts für nichts. Ich will damit sagen, dass die Welt alles für etwas, und immer mehr als nichts ist.

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Nazi Flower Power
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Founded: Jun 24, 2010
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Nazi Flower Power » Sat Dec 15, 2012 10:15 pm

Forsher wrote:
Nazi Flower Power wrote:
Mine was a story that I wrote a few months ago. I did a bit of editing before I posted, but it's still basically the same story that's been knocking around my hard drive for 3 or 4 months.


I was struck by inspiration on Friday night. That is to say, not Saturday night when I typed it up for here.


You really do work fast. :shock:
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Forsher
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Postby Forsher » Sat Dec 15, 2012 10:21 pm

Nazi Flower Power wrote:
Forsher wrote:
I was struck by inspiration on Friday night. That is to say, not Saturday night when I typed it up for here.


You really do work fast. :shock:


Well, it isn't very long and I got bored at the end... also, it probably will get 22-30 points per judge like all the others so...

That said, it took me more than an hour to type and a few hours to write as far as I can tell.
Im Großen und Ganzen diese Übersetzung ist schrecklich, aber wer bin ich dann dazu zu äußern? Alles, was ich getan habe ist stehlen die Worte von anderen Männern und nannte es akademische.

Ich komme aus Neuseeland.

Die Welt ist wie nichts für nichts. Ich will damit sagen, dass die Welt alles für etwas, und immer mehr als nichts ist.

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Nazi Flower Power
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Postby Nazi Flower Power » Sat Dec 15, 2012 11:04 pm

Forsher wrote:
Nazi Flower Power wrote:
You really do work fast. :shock:


Well, it isn't very long and I got bored at the end... also, it probably will get 22-30 points per judge like all the others so...


It's close to the same length as mine. We'll have to wait and see what happens on the scoring.
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SaintB
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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby SaintB » Sun Dec 16, 2012 5:19 pm

Maybe I can help as a judge.
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Conserative Morality
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Postby Conserative Morality » Mon Dec 17, 2012 3:10 am

SaintB wrote:Maybe I can help as a judge.

Should I put you down as a judge?
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SaintB
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Postby SaintB » Mon Dec 17, 2012 4:12 pm

Conserative Morality wrote:
SaintB wrote:Maybe I can help as a judge.

Should I put you down as a judge?

I'm not sure yet, I'm in a bit of a transition right now and my schedule is uncertain, but I certainly would like to be one if I can manage it.
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Norstal
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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Norstal » Mon Dec 17, 2012 11:03 pm

North Wiedna wrote:
Conserative Morality wrote:Rules:
Writing Deadline February 15th (Subject to change)

glad to see i have two months to write something :)

Well, in Whoville they say - that CM's small heart grew three sizes that day.
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Esternial
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Postby Esternial » Fri Dec 21, 2012 8:43 pm

I'd like to write something. Might set my mind off things :)

I'm thinking something mildly disturbing, but still with the season in mind.

My mind is set on disturbing lately.
Last edited by Esternial on Fri Dec 21, 2012 8:51 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Britannic Realms
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Postby Britannic Realms » Sat Dec 22, 2012 12:53 pm

I would be willing to be a judge.
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Conserative Morality
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Postby Conserative Morality » Sat Dec 22, 2012 2:54 pm

Britannic Realms wrote:I would be willing to be a judge.

Alright, we got our first judge then.
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Costa Alegria
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Postby Costa Alegria » Sat Dec 22, 2012 3:42 pm

I suppose I could be a judge seeing as I have absolutely no ideas to write about.
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Esternial
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Postby Esternial » Sat Dec 22, 2012 5:46 pm

‘twas the night of Christmas eve, and one most special if you would believe. For in his bed sat little Ben, tossing around every now and then.
“That’s nothing special at all!” you would say, but hang around and keep your impatience at bay.


The little boy’s eyes were wide open, carefully exploring every nook and crevice he could perceive through the gloom.
There was nothing that drew his attention, nothing he hadn’t seen before in his room.
Inside his mind the child was dreaming of magical things, wishing for gifts and treats that any other would desire.
He could already imagine meeting the man in his red and white attire.
Surely the greatest gift of all it would be, if he could meet the man who brought him his presents every winter.
Sadly he was also very illusive, and probably a good sprinter.
Several years in a row he had stayed up late, hoping to catch a glimpse of the figure.
Several years in a row he failed, maybe he should reconsider?

No!

This year he would be successful, for a plan was brewing inside his infant mind.
This time his intent would be well-timed.
His thoughts slowly drifting, contemplating his set of moves while his flickering eyes stared outside.
Absent-mindedly he stared, hoping to spot the old man’s ride.
Snowflakes gently tapped the windows before they vanished from sight.
Mother had turned the radiator up for the night.

Then he heard it, a subtle but gentle sound.
In a split second, the little boy’s feet were out of bed and on the ground.
Spurting as fast as he could, Ben went down the stairs.
'twas there where he stumbled on the red and white figure with here and there a few grey hairs.
“Young child, you should be asleep” The old man whispered, nearly dropping his bag of surprises.
Ben became even more excited when he spotted colourful boxes in all shapes and sizes.
Before he could reply, the white-haired figure spoke again.
“If I were to grant you a wish, would you go to sleep then?”
The boy nodded, not uttering a single word.
His eyes had begun to shimmer bright as stars as he heard.
The old man delivered his final package, smiled and returned to his sled.
“Ho-ho-ho” he whispered as little Ben returned to bed.

“I wish for my toys to be alive!” Ben uttered underneath his sheets before closing his eyes.
Then he fell asleep, hoping the sun would soon rise.

When he woke up, little Ben’s jaw fell open in awe.
You would too if you could have seen what he saw!

On the ground they all sat, toys big and small.
All of them were alive, this was truly the greatest Christmas of them all!


“Hello Ben, we are your toys!” The little plastic creations sang in harmony; their little, beady eyes staring at the child, full of life and glee.
Ben smiled back and felt a warm feeling in his tummy, his head filled with thoughts merry and sunny!
The grins on the toys’ faces were more genuine than ever, and they were also very clever :3

“Can we do something to make you happy?” One of them asked the boy. Ben thought long and hard, his infant mind churning and ticking as he looked at the toy.

“I wished mommy and daddy no longer fought…it makes me sad.”
His parents were divorced, but Ben wished they never had.

The toys nodded - at least those that could - and ran off to do good.

An hour passed and they did not return, which brought Ben great concern.
He jumped out of bed to look where they were, and found them in the kitchen making pancakes – or crêpes, if you prefer.

Ben licked his lips as he stared at the delicious treat, wasting no time to take a seat.
The toys giggled and passed him a plate, staring at their bestest friend as he ate. :3

The syrup was sweet - 'twas barely all Ben could taste - but some kind of flavour turned the entire dish to waste.
He didn’t take another bite, something about those pancakes wasn’t right.

“Isn’t mother here to make something jummy?”
The toys still smiled, was what Ben just said somehow funny?

“Daddy is coming to pick me up…I should get ready” The boy said as he stood up and walked away, but suddenly the floor seemed to give away.
Face first he hit the ground, followed by a nasty sound.
Little Ben felt a sharp pain in his feet and turned his head, his eyes fixed on a knife - coated in red.

“Now you must stay!” The toys yelled merrily, and there was much rejoice – not that Ben had much of a choice.

The boy yelled and was definitely not happy, but luckily Boo had scissors that went snipper snappy!
Now Ben smiled and smiled with tears of joy rolling across his blushing cheeks, boy what fun they would all have – fun that would last for weeks! :3

Ben and his toys played some drawing games, using the red paint that came from his veins.
Everyone painted cars and dogs and all kinds of silly drawings, not a single of them sad. Boy what fun they had!
Sadly little Ben wasn’t feeling too well, but his face lit up when he heard the bell!
“Daddy I’m here!” He wanted to tell, but it would ruin the surprise if he were to yell. :'(

So the scissors went snipper snap! :3


There's probably not a lot of detail in there, so I don't expect a very high score, but it was fun making it :3
Last edited by Esternial on Sat Dec 22, 2012 5:51 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Nazi Flower Power
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Founded: Jun 24, 2010
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Nazi Flower Power » Sat Dec 22, 2012 9:24 pm

Esternial wrote:
‘twas the night of Christmas eve, and one most special if you would believe. For in his bed sat little Ben, tossing around every now and then.
“That’s nothing special at all!” you would say, but hang around and keep your impatience at bay.


The little boy’s eyes were wide open, carefully exploring every nook and crevice he could perceive through the gloom.
There was nothing that drew his attention, nothing he hadn’t seen before in his room.
Inside his mind the child was dreaming of magical things, wishing for gifts and treats that any other would desire.
He could already imagine meeting the man in his red and white attire.
Surely the greatest gift of all it would be, if he could meet the man who brought him his presents every winter.
Sadly he was also very illusive, and probably a good sprinter.
Several years in a row he had stayed up late, hoping to catch a glimpse of the figure.
Several years in a row he failed, maybe he should reconsider?

No!

This year he would be successful, for a plan was brewing inside his infant mind.
This time his intent would be well-timed.
His thoughts slowly drifting, contemplating his set of moves while his flickering eyes stared outside.
Absent-mindedly he stared, hoping to spot the old man’s ride.
Snowflakes gently tapped the windows before they vanished from sight.
Mother had turned the radiator up for the night.

Then he heard it, a subtle but gentle sound.
In a split second, the little boy’s feet were out of bed and on the ground.
Spurting as fast as he could, Ben went down the stairs.
'twas there where he stumbled on the red and white figure with here and there a few grey hairs.
“Young child, you should be asleep” The old man whispered, nearly dropping his bag of surprises.
Ben became even more excited when he spotted colourful boxes in all shapes and sizes.
Before he could reply, the white-haired figure spoke again.
“If I were to grant you a wish, would you go to sleep then?”
The boy nodded, not uttering a single word.
His eyes had begun to shimmer bright as stars as he heard.
The old man delivered his final package, smiled and returned to his sled.
“Ho-ho-ho” he whispered as little Ben returned to bed.

“I wish for my toys to be alive!” Ben uttered underneath his sheets before closing his eyes.
Then he fell asleep, hoping the sun would soon rise.

When he woke up, little Ben’s jaw fell open in awe.
You would too if you could have seen what he saw!

On the ground they all sat, toys big and small.
All of them were alive, this was truly the greatest Christmas of them all!


“Hello Ben, we are your toys!” The little plastic creations sang in harmony; their little, beady eyes staring at the child, full of life and glee.
Ben smiled back and felt a warm feeling in his tummy, his head filled with thoughts merry and sunny!
The grins on the toys’ faces were more genuine than ever, and they were also very clever :3

“Can we do something to make you happy?” One of them asked the boy. Ben thought long and hard, his infant mind churning and ticking as he looked at the toy.

“I wished mommy and daddy no longer fought…it makes me sad.”
His parents were divorced, but Ben wished they never had.

The toys nodded - at least those that could - and ran off to do good.

An hour passed and they did not return, which brought Ben great concern.
He jumped out of bed to look where they were, and found them in the kitchen making pancakes – or crêpes, if you prefer.

Ben licked his lips as he stared at the delicious treat, wasting no time to take a seat.
The toys giggled and passed him a plate, staring at their bestest friend as he ate. :3

The syrup was sweet - 'twas barely all Ben could taste - but some kind of flavour turned the entire dish to waste.
He didn’t take another bite, something about those pancakes wasn’t right.

“Isn’t mother here to make something jummy?”
The toys still smiled, was what Ben just said somehow funny?

“Daddy is coming to pick me up…I should get ready” The boy said as he stood up and walked away, but suddenly the floor seemed to give away.
Face first he hit the ground, followed by a nasty sound.
Little Ben felt a sharp pain in his feet and turned his head, his eyes fixed on a knife - coated in red.

“Now you must stay!” The toys yelled merrily, and there was much rejoice – not that Ben had much of a choice.

The boy yelled and was definitely not happy, but luckily Boo had scissors that went snipper snappy!
Now Ben smiled and smiled with tears of joy rolling across his blushing cheeks, boy what fun they would all have – fun that would last for weeks! :3

Ben and his toys played some drawing games, using the red paint that came from his veins.
Everyone painted cars and dogs and all kinds of silly drawings, not a single of them sad. Boy what fun they had!
Sadly little Ben wasn’t feeling too well, but his face lit up when he heard the bell!
“Daddy I’m here!” He wanted to tell, but it would ruin the surprise if he were to yell. :'(

So the scissors went snipper snap! :3


There's probably not a lot of detail in there, so I don't expect a very high score, but it was fun making it :3



You read the competition? Mine's not exactly bursting with detail either.

You do have a warped imagination, though.
Last edited by Nazi Flower Power on Sat Dec 22, 2012 9:24 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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The Ben Boys
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Founded: Apr 16, 2009
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Ben Boys » Sun Dec 23, 2012 1:04 am

I was searching for this in the writing discussion thread before NFP showed me the yellow brick road.

I must devise something in the next two months AND BLOW UR FREAKIN' MIND! 'CAUSE all caps BLOWS MY MIND!


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Nazi Flower Power
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Founded: Jun 24, 2010
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Nazi Flower Power » Sun Dec 30, 2012 5:28 pm

Bump

Don't want this thread to get lost. Happy New Year everybody.
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The Empire of Pretantia
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Posts: 17932
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Democratic Socialists

The Fall of a Nation

Postby The Empire of Pretantia » Tue Jan 01, 2013 8:57 pm

Behold: 2,725 words of "No John, you are the demons."

The palace was vacant of the lights that had once shone from the candles throughout the palace. Now the illumination came from the fires burning throughout Bravsky. Such had the Slavic empire fallen over a brief twenty years; no loyal servants remain to this day to light the palace. Only King Krolov Borschevsky and his most trusted men remain as rebels beat down the door to the throne room. The situation was nowhere near desperate; that is how far from hope the last of the monarchy was. The old, twisted king of the Slavs was as lacking in light himself as his final bastion was. Even as the guards told him; begged him; pleaded him to run while he still could, he remained in his throne, staring at the grand entrance to the throne room with a blank slate of an expression.

The rebels were at the gates; no, they were ramming the two massive doors that once welcomed noblemen before the king. Soon they were to be the rugs on which scum would walk, and not just the rebels; there were also the Oni for sure! Yes, it was those hypocrites that instigated the rebellion in the first place! Had it not been for them, this war would have never begun, and Queen Ana would never had betrayed her husband! It was the Oni spies, hiding in the shadows, whispering lies to the populace about Krolov. Even when they were executed, the disembodied heads still babbled lies to the public who witnessed the beheading. They are not men; they are demons! It would have been impossible to fight the Oni, as they would only be killed by silver; silver that had been taken from Slavia by the Vytorians, claiming it was to cover the expenses for some battleship King Krolov himself supposedly ordered to be built. It must have been Vytoria as well; they were in league with the Oni! No other creature would be so cruel as to deny someone a gift to the deceased! Oh how long it has been for a monarch of Krolov's wit to come to such obvious conclusion!

"Run, your majesty!" They screamed,"There is hope for you yet!"

Rubbish; no, not mere rubbish: lies! As he had always been told; by his sons, by his generals, by his ministers, and by his lovely Ana! His last subjects were no better! Such a betrayal; they swore to be loyal, but they betrayed their "majesty" with every lie they said. Hope? There is none; it was lost when the Oni forged Krolov's signature, and ordered that massive battleship; it was lost when Vytoria stole the only thing capable of killing demons; it was lost when the people of Slavia gave in to the temptations of the Oni and rebelled against their fair king; it was lost when the minds of everyone he held dear were infected by sin. What had Krolov done to deserve such a doom?

The thought of the end of the dynasty made its last king wander through his mind, dancing in his thoughts with the rhythm of the ram. Krolov was with his eldest son, Nicholas, discussing the possibility of full-metal battleships. The way Prince Nicholas put it made it sound so simple; make the vessel large enough in comparison to its hull's thickness, and the buoyancy force will exceed the density of the steel. It was brilliant! Krolov felt so proud of his son's absolutely revolutionary line of thinking, that he nearly embraced the boy for the first time in all Nicholas' years; nearly, as Krolov's second son, Nichola, had witnessed the discussion from afar, envious of his elder kin. He saw his father moving to hug Nicholas, and Nichola drew his pistol in a rage. As Krolov wrapped his arms around the eldest, the gun fired, and a bullet flew through the air into Nicholas' temple. The crown prince fell limp into the arms of the crowned king, who had hardly realized what had unfolded in one mere moment. The thought process brought Krolov to shock, then sorrow, then at last anger for Nichola. He cursed the treacherous pig a thousand times in the time it took guards to restrain and arrest the now illegitimate prince. A public funeral ceremony was held for Nicholas; an execution for Nichola in the same yard.

The second flashback took him to his youngest son, Nicholai. Of only twenty years, Nicholai was youthful and healthy. Yet he was not there for his brothers' respective ceremonies. No, he was off on an "adventure", searching ruins for gold and other such riches. He had never cared about his family; only about wealth. He spent a lavish amount on a mansion in Kilgrad, a fleet of yachts in Nurenkva, and a private army for both. He was a drain on the monarchy's wealth, and was as responsible for the lack in silver as the Vytorians. It was a sigh of relief when he was executed upon return to Borshevsky; neither his greed nor his absence would be further suffered by Krolov.

Krolov remembered his wife, Ana; oh, his lovely Ana; his beautiful Ana; his adulterous Ana. That whore; she was seeing other men behind her husband’s back! Krolov could not help that he was too busy commanding the armies unto the Oni and Vytoria in his son’s stead to pleasure his queen; so lustful she was that she would break her sacred oath for a little walt. Worse was that Ana had the audacity to approach her king and tell him that she was pregnant with another’s child; and that it was Krolov’s doing as opposed to whoever was planning to usurp him with this bastard child. Krolov plunged his sword into the cow right there on the spot, insuring justice was done against sinner and yet-to-be alike.

All the pieces fit together: Nichola was told by a noble that he would be next in line for the throne if only Nicholas would die; the noble knowing full well that both princes would die one way or another, thus leaving Nicholai as heir apparent. And then it was only natural for King Krolov to execute him for his selfishness. The final step was long in the making: a son to inherit sovereign from his alleged father, and to be a puppet for the noble who conceived both plan and child. Yes! Yet again had Krolov realized the truth too late; now his sons were dead, his wife was no more, and the Slavic Empire reached its doom at the hands of demons and sinners. No salvation remained for the fallen empire’s crowned king, as now even the once loyal guards betray him with false hope and empty promises. No one was left at his side now...

But then the last heir entered the throne room; Princess Rieska, the last on Earth who Krolov could trust to speak with honesty. The king perked up at the sight of her, ecstatic to reminisce of the moments the two had in their lives together, before fate separated them.

“Rieska!”,Krolov removed himself from his seat,”I am glad you live further. Now please: let us speak of the wonderful moments we’ve had, before doom comes unto us.”

Rieska did not seem so joyed as her father; she wore a face of sorrow, anger, and pity.
“I am sorry father; no, rather I am not sorry. We have no memories we shared together.”

Krolov’s joy turned to despair, then regret. She was right: she had hardly spoken to her father, being born a princess rather then a prince. The king hardly ever paid attention to his sons, let alone his only daughter. The last year only served to further distance them.

“And I will not share my last moments with you.”

Krolov dropped to his knees in both shock and heartbreak.

“The guards have shown me a secret tunnel through which we may escape. I am going to leave this fate forever, and live the life I choose to. You may stay here if you desire, but I will not waste the rest of my days with an insane murderer like you!”

Rieska stormed out of the chamber, to wherever the tunnel she speaks of may take her. Krolov simply slumped on the ground, crying. These were not the tears of a victim, but rather a regretful and cruel old man. This whole disaster was his fault; his family’s end, the ship, the war; and especially this fate.

Nichola had not killed Nicholas; it had been an assassin trying to kill all the Borshevskies. Krolov only thought the assassin had been his second son because the two looked so similar. Krolov had ordered a battleship of steel from Vytoria, in honor of Nicholas’ last great idea. When the Vytorians asked for their pay in silver, Krolov had denied them such, defending his decision by claiming the vessel should be free; as in honor of a great man was the ship laid. Vytoria had declared war on the Empire for their greediness, with the Oni joining them as was a condition of their treaty. And so began the first and second follies of the king.

It was true that Nicholai had a fleet of yachts and a mansion, as well as an army for both; he just wasn’t healthy, which was the reason his father bought him such luxuries. Nicholai had been born lame; he could hardly muster the strength to sit up, let alone to walk. The king gave his most unfortunate son a small country’s worth in gold of gifts; much to the chagrin of the eldest brothers. But even he could not escape his father’s insanity; when he returned from a doctor’s visit, he was accused of being a selfish wretch before he had even known what had transpired. King Krolov had his son beheaded for a violating a law that hadn’t even existed, further driving the already mad king off the edge of rationality.

The final nail in the coffin was Ana; oh, poor, pitiful Ana. She had been nothing but loyal and loving to her king, and had given him so much more than she could ever receive. She even bore another child for Krolov, as if to try and alleviate some of their pain. But Krolov had already been infected by anger and despair; he drew his sword, and plunged it through the queen’s womb, all the way up into the heart. Queen Ana had already left before the blade did. Krolov did not mourn for her then, nor did he allow anyone to move the body. Only now did he weep for her and the child within her; only then did he weep for others.

The screams and shouts outside continued with the ram’s pounding, unceasing in its rhythm against the doors. It was not long until the doors yielded and became the welcome mats for the doomed loyalists. More shouting joined the rebels; but these were not in Slavic. The words were more elegant, and longer; this was the tongue of the Oni. Not demons, as Krolov first claimed; merely human beings who happened to be better men than the tyrant behind the entrance. They put a stop to the noise the rebels were making, replacing shouting with marching, and the beating of the ram with their mantra.

“ARASHI! ARASHI! ARASHI!” They chanted, and two great blows struck the doors.

They repeated,”ARASHI! ARASHI! ARASHI!” Another blow followed, each one throwing the men bracing the entrance back. The beating of the door resumed; the begging of the guards to their king continued; the end of the Slavs inched closer. Krolov did not mind this end; it was fitting for the ones wronged to kill him. He simply lie there, weeping for his family and all the sins he committed. It was time to make up for tears unshed.

“ARASHI! ARASHI! ARASHI!”

The doors gave way and fell to the ground, nearly crushing a dozen guards. Two warriors stood at the entrance, wielding great hammers; the ones who breached, for sure. The two Samurai turned and retired, turning everyone’s attention to the horde of soldiers standing before the palace. Each donned a mask lined with brightly burning incense, and wielded a curved sword still sheathed. At the fore of the army was a man with a particularly ornate eagle crest on his helmet, holding a fan instead of a blade; their commander. This man raised his fan above his head, commanding the army to change their stance without a word. The fan fell, and the Oni mass drew their blades and charged. Some of the Slavic guards were still paralyzed from the Oni’s reveal; they were cut down before they could even gather their wits.

Limbs flew left and right, cleaved from body by the storm of blades conjured. Man by man the Slavs fell, with Krolov simply staring blankly at the carnage. Above the masses bobbed an eagle of steel and gold; the Oni commander waded to the Slavic king unimpeded by the waves of men and blood. At last he came before Krolov, drenched in blood. The commander gazed down at the broken man, his expression hidden behind the demon mask; the king looked up to the Oni, his expression full of sorrow and despair. He stuffed his fan into his belt, but did not reach for his sword. The two stared for several moments, until at last the palace fell silent.

Oni began crowding around the two in a circle, waiting to see who would make the first move. Eventually, the audience became impatient, and again began chanting,”Shi. Shi. Shi.

“Shi! Shi! Shi!

“SHI! SHI! SHI!”

They repeated it a dozen times, each time getting louder and louder. They wanted to see blood; they wanted to see a fight for the ages; they wanted someone to die. They chanted unceasingly, until at last the commander drew his fan and raised it in annoyance. The army again fell silent, still fidgeting for a duel. The commander finally made his move; he grabbed Krolov on the arm, and heaved him to his feet. They walked out of the throne room, flanked by crimson suits of armor. They walked down the stairs of the palace, followed by rebels dumbfounded by the Oni’s act of mercy. The whole city, once loud with unrest, was now as quiet as the twilight.

Krolov had the opportunity to see the faces of the people he did not deserve. He passed a man, holding a musket in one hand and a cloth over his right eye in the other. Another he saw was a young woman missing both her legs; possibly from a cannon. Below his gaze were children, their eyes filled with the same despair as he; but also with hate and anger for that evil man walking by them. He saw the people’s sorrow, their regrets, their grudges, and where they aimed their weapons. It did not take a man as stupid and foolish as Krolov to know that everyone in this city wanted him dead; all but one. Only the Oni holding Krolov by the arm did not wish to harm him, for whatever reason.

“Why,”Krolov gathered the courage to speak,”Why did you spare me?”

The commander remained silent, steady in his path through the streets of Bravsky. Did he not understand Slavic, or was he simply ignoring Krolov?

“I am not worth pity. I am beyond redemption. I was a tyrant. I killed sons and wife, and I lost my daughter’s respect. I’ve lost everything. Why do you let me live?!”

The Oni stopped and stood for several seconds, still surrounded by the bloodthirsty crowd. He stayed for moments, until he answered,”What would killing you change if you lost everything?”

Krolov was muted by his words. What had he meant? Did he mean that there was hope for Krolov yet, that he could still be redeemed? Or did he mean that death is worse than living with hands so bloodied as his? It did not matter at the moment; the Oni moved again, dragging Krolov with him. Through the street, down the market, and out the gates; that is where Krolov shall become new, no longer bound by kingship.
Tsundere for Pragia and Zeinbrad, kouhai for Nationstateslandville, yandere for Legital and Segmentia, and dandere for Vesperis. A reverse harem going on here.

Have you ever had moments where you just dread RPing?

We are Knights of the Imperium, and we shall slay the enemies of the Emperor with honor!

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