Summer Short Story Contest! (2012) Winners announced!

[Nazi Flower Power]

I actually wrote a sequel to the story I entered here. The sequel has better development of the setting and more backstory, but a less interesting plot.

Post the sequel at some point. I just finished your story, and I feel like the end would make for a good beginning. By the way, what's the title of your story?

This one is "Almost Human." The sequel is "Sendlinger Family Secrets." I am thinking of trying to sell it, which would mean not entering it in the short story contests here. I had some idea where I was going to send it, but I have to find the site again. We'll see what happens.

There will probably be more, but I am not sure of the titles.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Finished idea.

Now to do the boring part; actually writing it.

[Metanih]

I need to stop changing my mind about which story to write.

[Nazi Flower Power]

I need to stop changing my mind about which story to write.

Yeah, you are running out of time.

Finished idea.

Now to do the boring part; actually writing it.

I wouldn't say it's boring so much as just difficult.

[Nationstatelandsville]

I need to stop changing my mind about which story to write.

Yeah, you are running out of time.

Finished idea.

Now to do the boring part; actually writing it.

I wouldn't say it's boring so much as just difficult.

I still much prefer the actual genesis of an idea; that's much more thrilling.

If anything in the process is explicitly boring to do, then it's boring to read.

[Page]

Proof reading is boring. And shitty, because even as you correct the occasional mistake, looking at your own work with a critical mindset basically murders your confidence in it. Or maybe that's just me.

[Norstal]

Proof reading is boring. And shitty, because even as you correct the occasional mistake, looking at your own work with a critical mindset basically murders your confidence in it. Or maybe that's just me.

Nah, it's everyone.

[Nazi Flower Power]

Proof reading is boring. And shitty, because even as you correct the occasional mistake, looking at your own work with a critical mindset basically murders your confidence in it. Or maybe that's just me.

Nah, it's everyone.

Yup. It's everyone.

I kind of regret looking at my story again after I posted...

[Natair]

Ten days to work my magic with a pen?

[Nazi Flower Power]

Ten days to work my magic with a pen?

(Image)

It's less than 10 days left.

[Occupied Deutschland]

Nah, it's everyone.

Yup. It's everyone.

I kind of regret looking at my story again after I posted...

Yeah, I'm gonna second that.

[Nazi Flower Power]

Yup. It's everyone.

I kind of regret looking at my story again after I posted...

Yeah, I'm gonna second that.

Are you lazy like me and can't be bothered to fix it?

[Natair]

Ten days to work my magic with a pen?

(Image)

It's less than 10 days left.

Close enough, this gives me the motivation I need to finish this story I've had floating in my head forthe past two years but have never posted.

[Occupied Deutschland]

Yeah, I'm gonna second that.

Are you lazy like me and can't be bothered to fix it?

Yep. I mean, Id have to click the 'Edit' button and then 'backspace' a couple times. Way too much work.

[Forsher]

Nah, it's everyone.

Yup. It's everyone.

I kind of regret looking at my story again after I posted...

I wrote it, reviewed it, rewrote it all in a few hours. I the typed it up to put online for the first time whenever I added it here. I am happy enough with it, you won't catch me reading it again.

[Nazi Flower Power]

Yup. It's everyone.

I kind of regret looking at my story again after I posted...

I wrote it, reviewed it, rewrote it all in a few hours. I the typed it up to put online for the first time whenever I added it here. I am happy enough with it, you won't catch me reading it again.

That's probably wise.

Rereading your own work, you will always find things that are wrong with it. My dad has been reprinting some of his old novels that he has the rights back, and he was complaining that the writing was clunky and it bothered him when he reread it. These are novels that he sold and published back in the 80s or 90s.

[Forsher]

I wrote it, reviewed it, rewrote it all in a few hours. I the typed it up to put online for the first time whenever I added it here. I am happy enough with it, you won't catch me reading it again.

That's probably wise.

Rereading your own work, you will always find things that are wrong with it. My dad has been reprinting some of his old novels that he has the rights back, and he was complaining that the writing was clunky and it bothered him when he reread it. These are novels that he sold and published back in the 80s or 90s.

It's almost the same but I just looked at some work that I wrote back in Year Six/Seven and the like and hated the handwriting. I remember, quite clearly, liking it at the time.

It'd be more noticeable with the content but I have a ridiculous level of pride.

[Conserative Morality]

Six days left.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Six days left.

I'll try and churn it out by then, but don't expect anything.

Sorry.

[Norstal]

3 more days until the Soviet wins.

[Stedicules]

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

~~~

Her paper fangs


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

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

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

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

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

"She’s dangerous..." said an echo.

"She’ll kill you..." chimed another.

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

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

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

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

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

/|/|


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Republic Of Hell]

Shout out to Asimov and Baxter as I write this. They inspired me to write this. Maybe you'll like it, probably you won't. But you can't say I didn't try.

Why not. I enjoy writing sci-fi, even in shorter forms.

~~~~


It is the word of a fool to say that because something won't happen for a very long time means that it will never happen.

And the fools of humans thought they had infinity to prepare- but the truth was far different. For the humans expected to have trillions of trillions of years to prepare for the point of critical mass, but they only had a few billion to finish their mission. Humanity had come far in the last eight billion years, and now it was time to stand up. As the only contacted intelligent species, they were special. They were unique. They are one-of-a-kind, and it is their duty to protect themselves at all costs.

And they believed they were alone in the same way, having all the planes of reality to expand into- but even as transhumans and quantum computer-assisted efforts dissasembled entire galaxies into the near-Godlike hive of Earth's descendants, there were still greater things occupying the multiversal expanse.

Ultimately, these descendants had one goal- neutralization of mass through the use of physics-bending devices. They sent ships powered by Alcubierre drives throughout the galaxies, sending everything they came across into higher dimensions. Such an effort would take tens of billions of years to complete, even being directed by the network of Matrioshka brains that spanned the Milky Way. Ultimately, it would prevent the universe from reaching critical mass and collapsing in on itself.

They had the right idea on how to fix it. They were just wrong on its causes.

The critical mass was not from the native matter in the universe, but the humans refused to believe this. After all, no natural event could create matter; transferrance of particles was only possible in artificially created environments, the secrets of which had taken millenia of calculation to unlock.

But the universe was under siege by another race- a race determined to destroy humanity. At the thought of a race so quickly becoming a Type IV civilization, they were furious. And so they flooded us with dark matter, ripping apart our universe. Humanity's efforts did nothing more than speed up their destruction.

And so our descendants created spheres of stopped time as a last effort against their unseen foe- in other words, black holes. They would use dimensional manipulation to hide inside the singularity, pulled by the conflicting forces safely into a higher plane. Nothing could harm them there- to an outside observer, they would seem to merely be a mathematical point. Only one could go, and selected was a single transhuman. He would have forever to spend in there, regardless of what happened on the outside.

But there was only so much that could be done. Even as we realized what was going on, it was too late. Spheres of dark matter began causing stars to explode and destroyed the computer network that we held so dear. As a testament to our race, the last human stood...

In an infinite and eternal void of nothing but him and his thoughts to keep him company.



...


So yeah, human race just got fucked and the last one has a case of I Must Scream.

Have a nice day.

[Conserative Morality]

Deadline is at midnight tomorrow.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Deadline is at midnight tomorrow.

ACTIVATE BULLSHIT CANNONS!

[Norstal]

Deadline is at midnight tomorrow.

ACTIVATE BULLSHIT CANNONS!

Write all the things.