Iron Author 3 - Round 2 Brackets Posted!

[Fat Daddy]

Greetings my fellow literary enthusiasts!!! Iron author 2 is currently in the final round and we will be announcing the winner in about a week. That means it's time for Iron Author 3 to start spooling up.

We are looking for 16 writers to compete in a fun little contest where you have 1 week to write a short story of at least 1000 words based on randomly generated wikipedia articles and pictures that I will post. It is a pretty good time and everyone really seems to enjoy themselves. The winners of each of the brackets advance to the next round where we do it all over again. Rinse-Repeat until we have the last man or woman standing.

Judges this round are:

The winner of Iron Author 2 (Brickwall or Ravenkith)
Raistlin 1040
PhoeKun
Quincunx
Gezina
and Fat Daddy (me) as an alternate if any of our judges are unable to judge for some reason.

Everyone seemed to enjoy using pictures in round 2 (and I must admit, I had a good time scouring the web for them and seeing everyone's reactions) so we will continue with that format. However since this in now the 3rd Iron Author contest, I feel we should do something special (after all, we're now a trilogy :smallamused: ) So there will be 3 prompts for each round and the dispersion will be randomly determined. There might be 3 pictures, or 3 wiki articles, or 2 pictures and 1 article or 2 articles and 1 picture (I think that is all the variations possible). This dispersion can and will change from round to round but will be consistant for all brackets within a round.

OK, rules...
1) Only the first 16 respondants expressing a desire to compete will be the contestants it is a first come, first served basis.

2) The contest will consist of 4 rounds pitting 2 randomly determined authors against each other.

3) The winner as determined by a panel of judges will advance to the next round

4) In case of a judge or judges not posting judgments in a timely manner, I will adjudicate and determine the winner

5) The stories will be limited to 5000 words with a 1000 word minimum

6) The entries will be stories(i.e. prose). Feel free to include any other genres in the story you desire (screenplay, poetry, etc) but the 'meat' should be prose

7) All posted deadlines will be EST (which I believe is GMT-5). A midnight deadline shall be midnight of the day stated ( i.e. if deadline reads midnight Jan 20 it is due no later than midnight between the 20th and 21st)

8) No late entries will be accepted. If you don't post or fail to post by the deadline, you will be disqualified.

9) If your entry does not include the article(s) and the picture(s), you will be disqualified.

10) If you are disqualified for a rule 8 violation, you will be prohibited from entering the next Iron Author Contest. That being said, if you feel you have a valid reason for not submitting a story or withdrawing please send me a PM and I will adjudicate on a case by case basis.

11)The judgments are final. What the judges decide is how it is.

12) The entries will only include content suitable for the Playground. The Giant is nice enough to share his Playground with us and we will respect his rules while playing here.

13) I will rule on anything I have forgotten or needs clarification which is brought to my attention

Rule 14) The contestants will have 1 week from the bracket posting to get their entries posted.

With all the fine print out of the way, I wish everyone the best of luck.

Round 1

Trog (Quincunx)
vs.
averagejoe (Ravenkith, PhoeKun) - WINNER
Pic1:Face (http://williamsfamilyfl.com/tileface.jpg)
Pic2:Pick (http://williamsfamilyfl.com/nosepick.jpg)
Wiki:Pitcher (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stan_Belinda)

Amotis (PhoeKun)
vs.
Tormsskull (Ravenkith, Quincunx) - WINNER
Pic1:Jellyfish (http://williamsfamilyfl.com/diver_and_jellyfish.jpg)
Pic2:Sleeping (http://williamsfamilyfl.com/sleepinggiant.jpg)
Wiki:Game (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shinty)

Deckmaster (Ravenkith)
vs.
Vaynor (Quincunx, PhoeKun) - WINNER
Pic1:Potty (http://williamsfamilyfl.com/Potty.jpg)
Pic2:Splits (http://williamsfamilyfl.com/legs.jpg)
Wiki:Constellation (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ursa_Major)

Dispozition Withdraw
vs.
King_of_Griffons WINNER by Default
Pic1:Refueling (http://williamsfamilyfl.com/refuel.jpg)
Pic2:Greenhouse (http://williamsfamilyfl.com/kidplants.jpg)
Wiki:Dancer (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yvonne_Hughes)

Nevrmore (Ravenkith)
vs.
C.C. Benjamin (Quincunx, PhoeKun) - WINNER
Pic1:Swamp (http://williamsfamilyfl.com/swamp.jpg)
Pic2:Road (http://williamsfamilyfl.com/bearsinroad.jpg)
Wiki:News (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/NY1)

Elvaris - WINNER by default
vs.
Vorpal Tribble Withdraw
Pic1:Colorful (http://williamsfamilyfl.com/peruchildren.jpg)
Pic2:Mud (http://williamsfamilyfl.com/mudslide.jpg)
Wiki:Colossal (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colossal_Connection)

Ravyn - WINNER by default
vs.
DarkLightDragon - withdraw
Pic1:Vats (http://williamsfamilyfl.com/FezTannery02.jpg)
Pic2:Swim (http://williamsfamilyfl.com/cowphin.gif)
Wiki:Town (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cuxhaven)

Logos_7 - Story Withdrawn
vs.
Matteau - WINNER by default
Pic1:Relaxing (http://williamsfamilyfl.com/relax.jpg)
Pic2:Lava (http://williamsfamilyfl.com/lavaflow.jpg)
Wiki:Medal (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_Antarctic_Expedition_Medal)

Round 2
Matteau
vs.
King_of_Griffons
LINKS:
crash (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ealing_rail_crash), film (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salaviinanpolttajat) & university (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/University_of_Wales%2C_Lampeter)

Tormsskull
vs.
Ravyn
LINKS:
receiver (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santonio_Holmes), RCAHMS (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Royal_Commission_on_the_Ancient_and_Historical_Mon uments_of_Scotland), & blizzard (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blizzard_North)

averagejoe
vs.
C.C. Benjamin
LINKS:
sharknose (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ferrari_156_F1), Stocks (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Monday_%281987%29), & locomotive (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ALCO_DL-203)

Elvaris
vs.
Vaynor
LINKS:
township (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/East_Bradford_Township%2C_Pennsylvania), comet (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/16P/Brooks), & S3 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/S3_Graphics)

I think their are some interesting possibilities this round and look forward once again to reading what you come up with.

DEADLINE is 12:01 am EST (GMT-5) Thursday, April 5th 2007.

[Brickwall]

Assuming I do not win IA2 (possibility, but not certain this time. rk's good), I plan on competing. The new prompt system looks cool.

If I do win, I will be a judge (heaves a sigh of resignment). I will probably need a break if I do.

[Fat Daddy]

Assuming I do not win IA2 (possibility, but not certain this time. rk's good), I plan on competing. The new prompt system looks cool.

If I do win, I will be a judge (heaves a sigh of resignment). I will probably need a break if I do.
FOUL IMPOSTER
Who are you and what have you done with Brickwall? The TRUE Brickwall would never compliment his opponent! He would spend more effort taunting and brow-beating him than he would spend actually writing his story!
Who are you??!?!?!?

[Trog]

Okay heeeere's the right thread. Not the judges one. Gotcha. I'm in I guess.

[Brickwall]

Who are you and what have you done with Brickwall? The TRUE Brickwall would never compliment his opponent! He would spend more effort taunting and brow-beating him than he would spend actually writing his story!
Who are you??!?!?!?

Oh, be quiet. I was sure I would win the other ones. And have you not noticed that I was correct in all instances of taunting? Yes, indeed.

My lack of taunting is out of respect. I mean, rv has to be at least close to as good as I am to have made it this far. I have a chance of losing.

[averagejoe]

Yo.

Definitely don't want to judge this round. Too much work in round one. So I'll write.

[Amotis]

Amotis here. Beatboxing a spot in with urban hipness.

[Tormsskull]

I'd like to be a writer this time. Fun fun.

[averagejoe]

Amotis. Tormskull. We meet again. But, I'm afraid this time you'll find that the advantage is mine!

[Amotis]

Advantage cheated on you with me. It was a hot dirty night. Someone got ahead.

(bwahahahhahaaa....that was horrible....)

[Deckmaster]

*raises arm up as high as possible*

Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Over here! Pick me! Pick me!

*waves arm so far out desk tips over*

I meant to do that.

[averagejoe]

Advantage cheated on you with me. It was a hot dirty night. Someone got ahead.

(bwahahahhahaaa....that was horrible....)

:smalleek:

Crap.

[Vaynor]

I am so in. :smallbiggrin:

[Dispozition]

I'm thinking I want in. I'm damn sure I won't make it past the first round, but I can try in vain :smallbiggrin:

[King_of_GRiffins]

OK I'm in. Now I just have to make sure VT doesn't find out about this (not to mention not wait to the last), I might actually advance to the second round.

[Vaynor]

I'm thinking I want in. I'm damn sure I won't make it past the first round, but I can try in vain :smallbiggrin:

That's my motto. :smallwink:

[Brickwall]

Hey, you just got unlucky to be matched up against me. Don't be so pesimistic.

[Vaynor]

Hey, you just got unlucky to be matched up against me. Don't be so pesimistic.

Or I'm just a really inexperienced writer? Either one...

[Nevrmore]

Is it too late? I want to sign up! Do me! I can write things!

[C.C.Benjamin]

Assuming it's not too late, I'm so damn in it's painful!

[Fat Daddy]

We currently have 10.5 slots filled (10 or 11 depending on how Brickwall does in the finals of IA2) so we only have 5 or 6 slots remaining. Better hurry up people, they're going fast!!!

[DarkLightDragon]

((IA... WoW... IA... WoW...

DAMMIT! I CAN'T CHOOSE!))

[Elvaris]

Count me in.

[Ravyn]

Whew, made it..... (insert obligatory grumble about the thread being posted on my busiest two days)

Like always, I'm in!

[Fat Daddy]

That's 2 more slots accounted for. We only have 3 or 4 remaining...

[BrokenButterfly]

I would love to have a go at this, assuming I could work out the intricacies of sending my story in in the first place. How would I go about doing it? (probably a dumb question, but I suck with computers!)

Anyway I can't enter this time, due to AS level assessments, but I may try for IA4 if I notice the thread soon enough. Good luck everyone who does enter though!

EDIT: I actually need to be rewriting English AS coursework as I write this, so I should probably get back to that....

[averagejoe]

You just post it here and put it in spoiler tags, like so.

{spoiler}I am writing a story inside spoiler tags.{/spoiler}

Then you replace the {} with [] and you get:

I am writing a story inside spoiler tags.

[Brickwall]

I am withdrawing my offer of contestation. If I lose IA2, I will still not compete.

[purple gelatinous cube o' Doom]

I suppose I'll try my hand at this again. If there's still room of course.

[Fat Daddy]

With Brick withdrawing and Grape Jello entering that puts us at 13 contestants. 3 slots left and they're going fast...

[DarkLightDragon]

((Ah... why not... I'll give it ago and hopefully put some effort in this time))

[Nevrmore]

Hey guys, come on, I mean, really.

[The Vorpal Tribble]

Mmmmmm...

Yeah, I'm in.

[Fat Daddy]

With DLD and VT entering that leaves only 1 slot remaining... unless Nevrmore's post was supposed to mean he's in. I'm really not sure what he was commenting on...
ummm forget I said that, Nevrmore is already in, Amotis was nice enough to politely tell me I'm a moron. :smallamused:

[Amotis]

Is it too late? I want to sign up! Do me! I can write things!

I think he was calling for more writers.

[Fat Daddy]

Doh!!! Thanks Amotis. It's been a long day, my brain isn't functioning properly... even for me.

[C.C.Benjamin]

Even though I have joined, I have no idea what the rules or subject of this contest are going to be: Can anyone help?

[Tormsskull]

Even though I have joined, I have no idea what the rules or subject of this contest are going to be: Can anyone help?

I'd suggest reading through the Iron Author 2 thread, it will undoubtedly give you a good idea of what the competition is like.

[Fat Daddy]

@ CC Ben

Also the rules are listed in the first post. But basically I will post brackets of 2 writers (think similar to the college Basketball brackets) I will also post pictures and random wikipedia links for each bracket. You will then have 1 week to write a short story between 1K and 5K words that incorporates the pictures and the articles in a meaningful way. We have 5 judges who will read each story, post comments and constructive criticism and declare a winner for each bracket. The winners will advance to the next round and do it all over again until we have a single winner.

[Vaynor]

@ CC Ben

Also the rules are listed in the first post. But basically I will post brackets of 2 writers (think similar to the college Basketball brackets) I will also post pictures and random wikipedia links for each bracket. You will then have 1 week to write a short story between 1K and 5K words that incorporates the pictures and the articles in a meaningful way. We have 5 judges who will read each story, post comments and constructive criticism and declare a winner for each bracket. The winners will advance to the next round and do it all over again until we have a single winner.

Also, I'm the best, and most definitely was not beaten in the first round... yah... so watch out!

...

:smallcool:

[Brickwall]

Vaynor likes to say that to keep himself from cowering in my presence. I felt like giving someone else a chance this round, so that's why he's even got the courage to enter.

I'm very tired, and extra mean. Beware.

Note: I'll judge fairly with you anyway, even though my personal opinion of you has been lowered. :smallwink: :smalltongue:

[Amotis]

So are you suggesting we can poke, jab, and spit at Brickwall all we want and he'll still judge in a vacuum?

[Vaynor]

Vaynor likes to say that to keep himself from cowering in my presence. I felt like giving someone else a chance this round, so that's why he's even got the courage to enter.

I'm very tired, and extra mean. Beware.

Note: I'll judge fairly with you anyway, even though my personal opinion of you has been lowered. :smallwink: :smalltongue:

Oh crap, you're a judge.

*worship*

:smallwink:

[Brickwall]

Not necessarily, but it's likely. But, yeah, I'll judge fairly pretty much no matter what. Especially since you guys can't do anything to me other than try to insult me. And I say good luck with that. I'm pretty unoffendable.

[Tormsskull]

Hehe, it will be interesting to reverse roles Brick. I'm sure you'll do a good job @ judge.

[Brickwall]

Great! So that means you'll vote for me in the IA2 finals? :smallbiggrin:

[Nevrmore]

Yes, yes, have at your petty squabbles. Leave the door open for the true champion to win.

That's me, by the way.

[Fat Daddy]

I find that I must disagree with you Nevrmore. As I am so much the universally acknowledged champion that the only way for me to even persuade you all to compete in my presence was to organize the events and promise not to compete...after all, why would any of you even enter with the certain foreknowledge of your impending failure should you have the misfortune to be paired against me? :smallbiggrin:

[Tormsskull]

...after all, why would any of you even enter with the certain foreknowledge of your impending failure should you have the misfortune to be paired against me? :smallbiggrin:

I'll take "Brickwall comes in with a joke about Fat Daddy's lack of manhood" for $1000 Alex.

[PhoeKun]

I'll take "Brickwall comes in with a joke about Fat Daddy's lack of manhood" for $1000 Alex.

You've found our Daily Double...

[Fat Daddy]

:smallbiggrin: Thanks Tormsskull, you made me spit cola at the monitor. I will pre-emptively say that my 'manhood' is doing well thank you very much. I'm all healed and all my bits still function just fine. :smallamused:

EDIT: Et tu phoekun?

EDIT2: Besides, my $'s on a 'he likes to watch' type of joke.

[Brickwall]

Yeah, he likes to watch, ever since he got docked for participating too much.

There, everybody wins. Happy?

[averagejoe]

Yes, yes, have at your petty squabbles. Leave the door open for the true champion to win.

That's me, by the way.

*slowly raises one eyebrow*

[Fat Daddy]

Yeah, he likes to watch, ever since he got docked for participating too much.

There, everybody wins. Happy?

To paraphrase Jayne Cobb, "wish I could say I was Brickwall, but I'm disappointed as hell."

I expected you to ignore the cheap all inclusive jab and go for original and unexpected.

*shakes head in disappointment*

[Nevrmore]

*slowly raises one eyebrow*
Does your other eyebrow need some motivational speaking to make it get off its lazy ass or what?

[Fat Daddy]

On a more serious note, we still need one more contestant to get IA3 off the ground. Let's start drumming up some interest people!!!

[Brickwall]

I expected you to ignore the cheap all inclusive jab and go for original and unexpected.

I assume that's what your wife said to motivate you to the action in the first place? Because that wouldn't surprise me.

[purple gelatinous cube o' Doom]

hey FD, if we get one more person by Monday, would the contest start next week?

[Fat Daddy]

I like ya' Brick so I'll take that in the spirit in which I'm sure it was intended. For future reference though, my wife's a Lady and I don't really appreciate that type of humor regarding her. Just sayin'.:smallannoyed:
Feel free to abuse me all you want though. :smallsmile:

@ Grape Jello,

Yes. However, I'm hopin' to get the final contestant before tomorrow night so I can start the contest then. I like starting them on Friday's for some reason.

[purple gelatinous cube o' Doom]

ok, that's good. Otherwise I'd likely have to drop out. I'm moving out to MD for my new job next Friday.

[Ravyn]

I'll admit, I'm not sure if I'd prefer the wait or not. I have spring break next week, meaning on the due date I'm down where my internet... well, calling it spotty is being generous. On the plus side, having something to do on the plane down is always a bonus.

[averagejoe]

Does your other eyebrow need some motivational speaking to make it get off its lazy ass or what?

Um, something like that. Although, if you don't understand how to use actions to implicate feeling, I don't much fancy your chances. :smalltongue:


To paraphrase Jayne Cobb, "wish I could say I was Brickwall, but I'm disappointed as hell."

I don't remember that one. I'm not sure why Jayne-or anyone-would wish they were Brickwall either. I mean, it's bad enough just having to interact with him. Just imagine having to BE him. :smalltongue:

[Brickwall]

I like ya' Brick so I'll take that in the spirit in which I'm sure it was intended. For future reference though, my wife's a Lady and I don't really appreciate that type of humor regarding her. Just sayin'.:smallannoyed:
Feel free to abuse me all you want though. :smallsmile:

Alright, sorry. I try not to offend people I haven't met. Which means I just passed up 3 jokes in this very post. Whoops, make that 4. Let it be known that if she ever presents herself as a target, though, that my mercy shall become infinitely negative!

[Fat Daddy]

We still need one more writer to get this one kicked off. Anybody know anyone interested? Direct them this way!!

@Average Joe - the omitted comma changes what I was trying to say entirely...DOH!!

[averagejoe]

Yes! My point (from the beginning of the last thread) entirely! Not to try and start a debate, mind, just pointing out something.

But, seriously, I still don't remember that Jayne reference, and it's bugging the heck out of me.

[Fat Daddy]

The pilot episode 'serenity' when Jayne is interrogating the alliance mole.

Lawrence: " I can see you're not an idiot"
Jayne: "Wish I could say the same Lawrence, but I'm disappointed as hell"

[averagejoe]

Oh, yeah, I remember. That part was hilarious. "I was gonna get myself an ear."

[Fat Daddy]

Actually my favorite line from that scene was:

Mal: You don't have to hurt him, just scare 'im.
Jayne: Pain is scary.

[Logos7]

Hey ,

Is their still an open slot here?

I haave no idea what this is beside a writting contest presumably in the lines of iron chef? If someone an vouch to a spot and PM me the MO
I'd be very interested

Logos

[Brickwall]

I have no idea what this is

Because obviously the first page has none of the important information on it. :smallyuk:

RULES (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showpost.php?p=2129590&postcount=1)

[Vaynor]

Because obviously the first page has none of the important information on it. :smallyuk:

RULES (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showpost.php?p=2129590&postcount=1)

It does?


By the gods he's right! No wonder I lost the last one!

:smallwink:

[averagejoe]

You know, "Just ignore Brickwall," should also be in the first post.

[Brickwall]

Dude, if I do end up being a judge, that may not be the best rule to follow.

[Vaynor]

Dude, if I do end up being a judge, that may not be the best rule to follow.

Not true. We'll just pretend your judging is insane ramblings of some senile old man who fell down in the internet.

[Brickwall]

And yet you'll still have to obey. Nyah nyah.

[purple gelatinous cube o' Doom]

Well, since it looks as if we're not going to get this thing off the ground by tomorrow, I'm going to have to drop out. The whole moving cross country next weekend, just isn't conducive to writing stories.

[Fat Daddy]

Dang, sorry to hear that. Hope all goes well and we'll look for you in IA4.

[Amotis]

Cursed I tell you! IA3 is cursed!

Seriously though...let's get one more fast before I really have to start studying for midterms...

[King_of_GRiffins]

So, we finally get out last writer, then we're down another? Wow. This contest just has the best luck, doesn't it?

[purple gelatinous cube o' Doom]

I really wish I didn't have to drop about, but I'm moving from MN to MD next weekend for my new job, and I just don't think I'll be able to have the time to do it like I want to for the next week or so. It's too bad that it couldn't have started this week since I have quite a bit of free time this week to work on stuff.

[Logos7]

Hey All,

I'm interested but im still a bit sketchy on the rules, i'm sure I'll catch on !

[Mattaeu]

You guys still down one?

Cause I pride myself on being...um, one?


I was holding out to watch from the sidelines, but ah what the hell.

[Amotis]

Yes! That works. We have enough now.

Time to el start!

[InaVegt]

I'm looking forward to reading your stories, people.

[Brickwall]

I'm looking forward to reading your stories, people.

So will I, if I win IA2.

By the way, I have a feeling aj just didn't want me judging his stories.:smallwink:

[Trog]

Good. Let's get this started asap so I can finish writing before Thes arrives. Gotta devote my time to the impostant stuff you know. :smallwink:

[Fat Daddy]

As several folks have already stated, We have 16. Writers start your keyboards. :smallamused:

I just uploaded all the pics. I will edit the first post and do the brackets and what not now. Check back in a while, the 1st round always takes me a while.

[Fat Daddy]

Sorry about the double post but... round 1 brackets and links are up. They are posted at the bottom of the first post on page 1.

Good luck to everyone!!!

[Amotis]

Inter...es...ting...

And poo, it's due right smack dab in midterms. I have to get it done early.

Anyway, the rules is that I have include both pictures and the wiki article? The rule is kinda vague because of the (s) and I'm a bit unclear.

[Fat Daddy]

Yes. All 3 prompts need to be included in your story. Ideally they should be integral parts of your story and not something peripheral or mentioned in passing.

Sorry about the mid-terms. I remember those...specifically I remember not liking them. :smallannoyed:

[Amotis]

Kay, that was disputed in IA1 so I was unsure still. Thanks.

[Fat Daddy]

I try to learn from my mistakes. What specifically made it unclear? I thought I said that all prompts needed to be used. If you could let me know, I can change the wording to try and avoid future confusion.

Thanks

[Amotis]

Well since there's the variations of multi pictures and wikis,


9) If your entry does not include the article(s) and the picture(s), you will be disqualified.seems that it can exempt one of those since I've seen (s) be used optionally sometimes too.

I think it probably means use them all...and I'm just getting confused.



9) If your entry does not include all the article(s) and the picture(s), you will be disqualified. could work too.

edito - yah, in afterthought it's just me being stupid. the fact that no one else was confused gives more reason to this line of thinking. nothing to see. move along, move along.

[Brickwall]

As soon as the judges for round 2 get off their lazy buts and judge, I should be able to get to you.

By the way, Faddy, if rk gives up the judge spot, can I have it in his place?

[Fat Daddy]

Sure. Believe it or not, your feedback is always welcome (and usually pretty dang funny) :smallsmile:

[Amotis]

Question: I like finding music that fits the mood. Would providing a link looked down upon since it's kinda doing a mixed media thing?

[Brickwall]

As a judge...I probably would read the story, make a set of judgements, then read it with the music, and make a second set. Of course, I would base the contest upon the first set, but I would at least comment on the second set.

[Fat Daddy]

Brick has beaten me to the submit button. Let me give my response anyway. Personally, I don't see a problem with it. However, each judge will view it differently. If I were to judge, I would read it with the music and base my contest judgment upon that. I like to try and experience it as the author intended.

Keep in mind, that is my opinion and I am only an alternate judge if someone drops out.

[PhoeKun]

Question: I like finding music that fits the mood. Would providing a link looked down upon since it's kinda doing a mixed media thing?

As I judge (which, oh my gods, I am!), I can tell you I will completely ignore anything extra you post along with your story. If you find music that fits the mood of your story and would like to share for the listening pleasure of those reading purely for enjoyment, I don't have a problem with it, but do make sure you don't rely on the music to set that mood.

[Amotis]

Phoekun! I haven't seen you in forever!

*hugs*

Oh, and of course. I usually find it afterwards anyway.

[Dispozition]

*Smacks head against wall*

I'm up against KoG first round...Damn it. He's pretty good...*headdesk*

Now...Looking at the articles...I'm totally boned...The pictures I can handle, but the article? Well...I don't expect to make it past the first round :smallbiggrin:

[Quincunx]

Whoosh! Rough brackets! They all appear to be pairs of writers with similar skill and style.

Greetings, I'm Quincunx, one of your judges for this round. I'll be judging your stories in three categories (see below) and the story with the highest overall score will get my vote. In ascending order of riskiness:

Lunchmeat: Grammar, punctuation, and story flow.

Proofreader's duties. (According to an IA 2 ruling, having a proofreader look over your story is against the spirit of IA, but we don't really have a way to enforce that.) You can get a better score by using paragraph breaks to shift the scene, carry the entire story with an unusual voice, or artfully interweave plots. You can get a worse score by bad use of grammar, misspellings, or not web-formatting with a blank line between each paragraph.

Lemonade: Significance and appearance of prompts.

Prompts usage. Riskier than proofreading, since this is a subjective standard. You can get a better score by increasing the prominence of a prompt, using a prompt's characteristics (a reference document for a wiki article, a photograph for a picture) in the story, or punning on the prompt. You can get a worse score by forgoing a prompt, not integrating the prompt into the flow of the story, or using a prompt in a hackneyed reference.

Lollipops: Storytelling skills and literary devices.

Author's style. The riskiest quality of all, subject only to the tastes of your judges; you might dazzle one of us and disgust three of the others with a literary flourish. I will give a better score for non-fantasy stories, symbolic or abstract concepts, using one prompt to lead into another, and generally for daring to tell more than a single, simple story. I will give a worse score if you sacrifice story flow for a metaphor, make a reference so obscure that it requires author's notes to be recognized, if your writing voice is self-conscious to the point of pretentiousness, if you dare and fail.

[Logos7]

what's with the hate for fantasy? It's the only Genre you listed as getting a lower score automatically?

[Mattaeu]

^Don't worry about it; you don't have long to worry, my competition.

:smallamused:

[averagejoe]

Hmmm... that's interesting. That "picking his nose" picture made me laugh out loud when I saw it. And I'm up against Trog, and he's an unknown, as far as that goes.

On a related note, Quincunx has made me hungry.

[DarkLightDragon]

I really don't care if the judges are biased against fantasy. I sort-of came up with an idea for one that I would probably remember if I wasn't tired...

[Ravyn]

I've got a cow and a dolphin jumping in tandem as one of my prompts and I'm going to get marked down for fantasy? Well... thanks for telling me early, I guess.

[Trog]

Hmmm... that's interesting. That "picking his nose" picture made me laugh out loud when I saw it. And I'm up against Trog, and he's an unknown, as far as that goes.

On a related note, Quincunx has made me hungry.
*wears a mask to conceal his identity as he enters the ring* :smalltongue:

Personally I think I will only be interested in how the judges voted at the end of all this. Once I have been voted out. Until then I write what I think is good and let that be my litmus test. I find it silly to write to please the judges. Not that I won't accept their critiques or judgement. But as always I do this to please myself and get practice. That's the important bit for me, anyways. :smallsmile:

*eats a turnbuckle* :smalltongue:

[averagejoe]

I find that the contest doesn't usually give me enough time to do either. :smalltongue: Anyways, most of the judges are pretty cool people, and I do want to give them a good read. Besides, pleasing others is pleasing to me, so they are one and the same. Which isn't to say I'd sacrifice integrity over it.

[Nevrmore]

Hmm...I've got a good idea of what I'll do for the second picture and the wiki article...but what to do with the swamp.

This will be an interesting story, methinks.

[InaVegt]

I'm going to judge on:

Story (how much it entertains me and such) 1-10 scale, counts 40%
Use of prompts (If you use them in interesting ways you get bonus points, if it's a pretty standard response I'll cut you down) 1-10 scale, counts 20%
Originality (tied in with the previous) 1-10 scale, counts 20%
Style (How much it fits the story and similar) 1-10 scale, counts 10%
Grammar, punctuation, spelling and similar (since english is a non native language for me this will be easy to score points on, only atrocious texts (in this aspect) wil get bad grades for this) 1-10 scale, counts 10%

[Brickwall]

My judging rubric-

Did I like the story? -Most important. If I didn't like the plot and other literary points of importance, I will not judge favorably. Little is taken off for a sad ending, much is taken off for a story that has no satisfactory ending.
Do you write well?- Very important. This is grammar, as well as writing style. The more I can glean from your writing, the more I'll like it. Poor imagery will not necessarily be your death, but it could be a contributor.
Prompts- Not very important. I'm forgiving on prompts, as long as they're in there. Only a really bad inclusion will make you eligible for loss of my good faith in your writing.

[Vaynor]

Ok, I got an evil toilet, a four-legged acrobat, and the Ursa Major star constellation. *whimper*

[Amotis]

Damn...I'll trade you the (cool and one of my favorite) constellation for this pseudo-cricket hockey thing...

[Vaynor]

Damn...I'll trade you the (cool and one of my favorite) constellation for this pseudo-cricket hockey thing...

Funny thing is that one might work better than mine. *pleads to fat daddy*


:smallwink:

[Fat Daddy]

*Tries unsuccessfully to hide an evil grin*

I actually assigned the pictures to the brackets based upon the picture size this time. I.e. The first bracket has the 2 smallest memory pics and the 8th bracket has the two largest. I also generated the random article wiki links as I posted this time, so what you got is what wikipedia's random article button generated specifically for you! :smallbiggrin:

[Vaynor]

*Tries unsuccessfully to hide an evil grin*

I actually assigned the pictures to the brackets based upon the picture size this time. I.e. The first bracket has the 2 smallest memory pics and the 8th bracket has the two largest. I also generated the random article wiki links as I posted this time, so what you got is what wikipedia's random article button generated specifically for you! :smallbiggrin:

Pffft, Lazy Daddy is more like it. :smallwink:

Anyways, I have a fairly good idea now, so I don't mind. I just need to incorporate the constellation somehow...

[Raistlin1040]

I'm judging on three things

Story Flow and Content
Does your story flow well and seem to go in a chronological order? Does your story exite me? Do I want to read more or reread what I already read? Are your characters 3-D? Counts the most of the three catergories.

Prompts
Does your story have a good level of prompt and original ideas? Did you use all the prompts? Did you use them as passive referances or did you really integrate them into your story? Counts the middle amount of the catergories.

Spelling, Grammer, Conventions
Does your story use the right tense? Are your spelling and grammer correct? Do you use commas, quotes, and other symbols right? Counts the least. I'm an editor so I care more about the story than the conventions.

[Amotis]

Chronological order? Well crap, there goes my idea for writing Ceremony...WITH A JELLYFISH!

[Fat Daddy]

Pffft, Lazy Daddy is more like it. :smallwink:

Well, I didn't get to be Fat Daddy by being all active and energetic. Besides, I don't think of it as lazy, I think of it as efficient. :smallamused:

[averagejoe]

Psshhh, chronological order went out with the mythos of the power of rock n' roll. Haven't you ever heard of postmodernism?

[Nevrmore]

Hot, flaming story coming right at you.

I call it "Breaking News!"

The man runs frantically through the small aisles of the building, artfully weaving in and out of various objects in his path, not to mention rude people who refuse to make his life easier by moving as well. In his hand is a piece of paper, crumpled and twisted by his vice-like grip on it. He can’t breathe very well right now, but if he could he would be breathing a sigh of relief as he finally sees the door at the end of what felt like an eternally long corridor. He busts through it at breakneck speed, alerting a few people on the other side who twist their necks almost inhumanly to look upon him.

One of the alerted people strides up to the man, who is now hunched over and capturing as much air as he possibly can in his mouth between breaths as if they were prison escapees. The alerted person squats low to come eye to eye with the man.

“Jimmy, what’s wrong? You look like you just discovered the horrible secret of Soylent Green.” He says, looking the man who goes by ‘Jimmy’ in the eye. After a few more breaths, Jimmy finally manages to choke out,

“Breaking news, boss! Big stuff!” He waves the piece of parchment in front of the Boss’s face, who snatches it away and reads it with haste. It was very noticeable to anyone watching how his eyes grew bigger as they scanned the page.

“Is this true??” The Boss asked, rereading the notes scribbled down on it in disbelief.

“Yeah, Boss, every word! I saw it with my own eyes!” Jimmy confirms. The Boss, trusting his employee, turns and quickly walks over to one of the other alerted people watching with interest, handing off the paper to them and instructing them to give them to Patrick

Patrick was sitting a few feet away from the commotion, doing his best to ignore it all as he delivered the news into the camera point blank, although the reaction he caught from the Boss was enough to pique his curiosity. As the person who received the paper from his Boss came up to him, he snatched it with almost animalistic ferocity and read it quickly before raising his head and speaking into the camera.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry to interrupt our current story but we have breaking news right here from NY1: Bears.” The news anchor smoothly turned to face Camera 2, imagining that all his loyal viewers at home had used the momentary silence to gasp aloud. “That’s right, bears.” He repeats, “I have in my hand a report informing me that a large army of Brown Bears have started marching down Highway I-90.” The all-serious reporter turned to Camera 4. “Let’s go to Bobby, our eye in the sky, who is standing by in a helicopter overlooking the chaos as we speak.” The action shifts to said helicopter where Bobby is waiting by.

“Thank, Patrick!” Bobby yells over the roar of the blades above him. The camera pans down from his face to the street below where an angry sea of brown bears storm the highway, forcing cars to swerve wildly off the road. “As you can see, some sort of angry sea of brown bears are storming the highway, forcing cars to swerve wildly off the road!” The transit reporter shouts. Patrick’s voice can be heard in the background as he radios to Bobby.

“Bobby, have you found a source for the bears yet?” The anchor asks.

“Not yet, Pat, but if we were to make an educated guess I would have to assume they came from the forest!” He replies. Patrick can be heard mumbling something about asses under his breath before his next comment,

“Bobby, from your vantage point can you see where this army of bears ends??”

The reporter squints, looking intently into the distance, but to no avail.

“It’s just too big, Patty. It seems to span the entire highway! I didn’t even know there were this many bears in New York!”

“Hold on, Bob.” Patrick says, “We’ve got some more news on the bear phenomenon.” The view switches back to the newsroom, where Patrick turns to Camera 3 (which flattered the cameraman who thought that Pat was ignoring him because of that comment about his hair). “Viewers at home, I’ve just been handed information saying that these bears may be originating from the Great Swamp National Refuge in our neighbor, New Jersey! We have Russ the reporter at the scene now, Russ?”

Suddenly, Russ the Reporter appears on the screen, microphone in hand, standing right outside of the Great Swamp National Refuge.

“Patrick, it is indeed true that these bears are coming from the Refuge. Why or how they got there, however, is indeed a mystery. I’m about to head inside to find out.”

The view rapidly switches back to Pat.

“Good reporting, Russ. Back to Bobby.”

Bobby reappears, his composure seemingly lost.

“Patrick, disturbing news! These bears seem to be displaying some sort of...otherworldly abilities!” The camera pans down, catching several glimpses of the ursine beasts shooting some sort of black beam from their eyes which instantly incinerates their helpless victims, turning them naught but a charred skeleton.

“Good Lord, that’s horrible!” Patrick says, “Wait a minute - We have more breaking news from Russ at the Great Swamp!”

Russ suddenly appears, ducked behind a hollowed out tree. The camera is positioned over his shoulder as he narrates what the viewers are seeing.

“Patrick, you’re not going to believe this.” Russ whispers, “But it seems as if there is a group of men clad in black who are...using some sort of mystical artifact to create bears out of the various chemicals in the Swamp!”

“Hold on a minute, Russ.” Patrick says incredulously, “Are you telling me that these bears are somehow...Necromantic in origin?”

“It seems that way, Patrick. I can’t quite see who these strange men are, but I believe that- wait! One of the men has taken off his hood!” The camera zooms in, but the humidity of the swamp has by now fogged the lens, rendering it useless. “Oh my stars and garters! It’s...It’s!”

There’s a loud crash followed by desperate screams and splashing water. The camera’s limited view begins spinning wildly before falling beneath the murky depths, landing gently on the muddied ground. As the recorder slowly dies, the last thing that can be seen is Russ as he is being forcefully dragged through the waist-high water by two men in black robes.

“Oh...Oh my lord.” Patrick says as the camera on the scene finally dies, fading to black.. Patrick turns to Camera 9, “Ladies and gentlemen, it seems that...whoever is responsible for these heinous crimes have captured and possibly...killed Russ and his cameraman. Let us all bow our heads in silence for hi-“ Patrick’s impromptu eulogy is cut short by Bobby’s nasally voice.

“Patrick! Patrick! It’s horrible!” He shouts. The scene switches back to the helicopter where the transit reporter stares horrified at the ground below. “Patrick, it seems as if these magical bears have begun piling on top of one another and forming one giant, incredibly evil super bear!” A moment of silent bewilderment passes before Bobby corrects himself, “A giant, incredibly evil super bear that is also on fire!!” The very same giant bear effigy stands to full height, well over one hundred feet, and stares intently at Bobby inside the helicopter. The Ursa Pyro Major (As Bobby would have cleverly dubbed it if he had not been completely panicked) begins stalking towards it. The pilot of the chopper retains enough sense to quickly evade an oncoming, flaming fist by only a few feet It does not prove to help the poor crew inside, however, as the jerky movement causes the copter to start spinning wildly out of control on a collision course with the ground below. After a few frantic moments it connects, triggering a massive explosion. The camera cuts away.

Patrick stares horrified for several seconds after the video feed cuts out. He turns his attention to Camera 27, but all he can do is to simply stare dumbfounded into it for several seconds until the monotonous silence is broken by someone handing the news anchor yet another piece of parchment. He reads it, then looks back up at the camera.

“Ladies and gentlemen...” He says, his voice low. “According to this new information, the giant, flaming bear has started making its way South. I advise everyone to stay inside, lock their doors and windows and, if you have one, to go hide in some sort of hurricane or bomb shelter until this threat has passed...” Unsure of what to do next, Patrick simply lowers his head, rereading the paper. He looks back up after several seconds, “I’m sorry, I read this wrong. It’s actually heading Southeast.” Suddenly, Patrick’s face twists in confusion, “Wait...Southeast of Highway I-90....That’s....this direction.”

As if some sort of secret code word had just been uttered, a giant, furry, flaming hand crashes through the wall behind Patrick, who does not have enough time to respond as it closes around him, pulling him screaming outside of the building. The viewers at home are able to see the poor news anchor’s agonizing death, as Cameramen 1 through 56 ran away without turning off their respective recorders. After Patrick is thoroughly dead, the bear stares intently into the cameras and breathes some sort of fiery fumes at them, destroying them all in one fell swoop. The world turns black.

The three men clad in black gathered around the body of Russ the reporter which was floating lifelessly in the swamp beside them.

“Is he dead?” One of the men asks his partners.

“Yeah, he’s dead.” Another responds, not even having to check.

“Good. And what about the others?”

“According to the HAM Radio we’ve got set up in the cabin, the bear’s killed all the reporters and is working on the meteorologists.” The third man responds.

“Perfect. Everything is going according to plan.” The first man says. He shifts his head to the left and then to the right, making sure that no one is watching as he pulled off the black hood concealing his face, wiping the excess amount of sweat from his brow as he does so.

“Your idea really was ingenious, Mr. Sulzberg.” The second man says, responding in kind by removing his own mask.

“Yes. It was inspiration to compile all those news reports about voodooists using this swamp to practice the black arts to take out our competitors.” Says the third, relieving his own head of its false face.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Mr. Sulzberg gives each man a hearty handshake as a congratulations for a job well done. “I couldn’t have done it without my two go-to guys. A plan like this would not be the same without Bill Keller and Dean Baquet.” The two men bow to Mr. Sulzberg, deeply gratified by his words.

“Well...what will we do now?” Bill asks after a short silence.

“Do what we should have done a long time ago, son.” Sulzberg replies, “We’re going to take the news back from those fatcat television S.O.B.s” Upon hearing this, Bill and Dean smile widely. “Come on, let’s go.” Sulzberg says, wading through the swamp. His two cohorts follow behind him.

“I tell you...” Sulzberg says, “This is the dawn of a new era. With NY1 gone, the New York Times will reign supreme again.”

The three men cheered.

[Vaynor]

That was fast... *cry*

I'm only at 350 words, and still in the opening scene...

[Nevrmore]

That was fast... *cry*

I'm only at 350 words, and still in the opening scene...
When I'm inspired I write like the wind.

That's not to say it's any good or anything. T'is for the judges to decide.

I like it, though.

[Vaynor]

When I'm inspired I write like the wind.

That's not to say it's any good or anything. T'is for the judges to decide.

I like it, though.

Well, I also just started an hour ago. :smallwink:

[Nevrmore]

Well, I also just started an hour ago. :smallwink:
Damn, you got me.

I started two hours ago.

Bro grabs? Bro grabs.

[Brickwall]

Breaking News! Comments on Nevrmore's story!
Well, not having anything to judge this against, I won't make any comparisons.

The story itself...didn't grab me that much. The characters were just names to me, if indeed names that interacted. Each "personality", I use quotes because it's not the right word for it, could be interchanged with the other and not change the story. I do not like this, not one bit. The plot was just out there (but points for including one of our forum friends in the story. If that was unintentional, just pretend). Indeed, I think if it had been any more out there, I'd need to purchase a telescope to see any of the detail. This seems more like an event than a short story. However...technically, it's a prose contest, not a story contest. You're off the hook for that. By the way, you do not get anything for putting other prompts in there. That did little other than confuse the hell out of me as to what I was supposed to be looking for.

Your writing style, while flawless except for two typos I caught, is boring. The sentences are descriptive, but the subject matter doesn't provoke any description. Also, I have to wonder why a newscaster would be a D&D nerd, since Necromancy in the classic term is what we expect TV psychics to do when they contact our dead relatives. Look it up. In fact, it seems as if the entire cast is played by you. They all communicate on the same wavelength. That's as unrealistic as the bear lasers, but in a bad way.

Your prompts were so flawlessly included that I almost missed them. Extraordinary job. But I still dock you points for putting in too many prompts.

[Nevrmore]

Breaking News! Comments on Nevrmore's story!
Well, not having anything to judge this against, I won't make any comparisons.

The story itself...didn't grab me that much. The characters were just names to me, if indeed names that interacted. Each "personality", I use quotes because it's not the right word for it, could be interchanged with the other and not change the story. I do not like this, not one bit. The plot was just out there (but points for including one of our forum friends in the story. If that was unintentional, just pretend). Indeed, I think if it had been any more out there, I'd need to purchase a telescope to see any of the detail. This seems more like an event than a short story. However...technically, it's a prose contest, not a story contest. You're off the hook for that. By the way, you do not get anything for putting other prompts in there. That did little other than confuse the hell out of me as to what I was supposed to be looking for.

Your writing style, while flawless except for two typos I caught, is boring. The sentences are descriptive, but the subject matter doesn't provoke any description. Also, I have to wonder why a newscaster would be a D&D nerd, since Necromancy in the classic term is what we expect TV psychics to do when they contact our dead relatives. Look it up. In fact, it seems as if the entire cast is played by you. They all communicate on the same wavelength. That's as unrealistic as the bear lasers, but in a bad way.

Your prompts were so flawlessly included that I almost missed them. Extraordinary job. But I still dock you points for putting in too many prompts.
Nevrmore's eyes welled up with tears,

"I'LL NEVER WRITE ANYTHING AGAIN!" He shouts in dismay, running upstairs to go cry into his pillow for a few hours.

Seriously though, thanks for the crit. I only added the extra prompts because I wanted to make sure everything was geographically close to New York

[Brickwall]

I'm afraid I don't see how including a prompt from every bracket brings your main prompts close to NY. Could I get some logic with my WTFBBQ sandwich please?

[Nevrmore]

I'm afraid I don't see how including a prompt from every bracket brings your main prompts close to NY. Could I get some logic with my WTFBBQ sandwich please?
Okay, color me confused, I don't think we're on the same wavelength here.

[Brickwall]

You said, "I only added the extra prompts because I wanted to make sure everything was geographically close to New York." How does that make sense?

[Nevrmore]

I assume you are talking about prompts as in other wikipedia articles. I used Wiki to find information about roads and swamps and crap close to NY. But then you said something and I got confused and my head began to hurt.

[Brickwall]

You also included Ursa Major, the burning forest, the vats, and I bet some other things. Why?

[Nevrmore]

..Those weren't intentional. I didn't even read any of the other brackets besides my own.

[Brickwall]

Okay, I consider that bunk. I can accept one coincidence, three means I can be judgemental even if it was "unintentional". And I bet there's some I didn't even catch.

[Amotis]

Haha...awesome.

[Nevrmore]

I'm being serious. The only other prompts I added were those I looked up myself to make sure everything was geographically close to New York.

[Brickwall]

There were pictures too. "Prompts" does not equal Wikipedia articles.

[Nevrmore]

Well if you want to think that I snarked some other people's stuff to bulk my own story, go ahead, but it was just part of the cosmic mysterious we call life.

[Brickwall]

Yes, well, if the cosmic mysterious wants to interfere with your story, I'd rather not fight it. It dislikes me enough already.

[Nevrmore]

Well, you did kind of burn down his house.

[Brickwall]

Well, you did kind of burn down his house.

Look, I can't help being so awesome that I always burn down the house. The cosmic mystery could be more forgiving, is all I'm saying.

And I doubt anyone would disagree.

[Logos7]

I've withdrawn my submission

**This space intentially left blank**

[Vaynor]

Well, you did kind of burn down his house.

Burning down the house, hold tight, wait till the party's over, hold tight, we're in for nasty weather, there has to be a way, burning down the house!

[Dispozition]

Haha...I'll be writing my whole story on friday-sunday...God help me...

[Tormsskull]

I hope you all like it:

Pic1:Jellyfish (http://williamsfamilyfl.com/diver_and_jellyfish.jpg)
Pic2:Sleeping (http://williamsfamilyfl.com/sleepinggiant.jpg)
Wiki:Game (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shinty)


Devlin Scott crashed into the ground, tendrils of agony firing through his nervous system. From his horizontal position Devlin saw the other player grin down at him before running off towards the hail.

“You’ve got to keep your eyes open, son. That lad came from halfway across the field to plow into you.”

Pulling himself up from the ground, Devlin shot an accusatory glance towards his father. Dressed in a black suit with a red tie, the Belzad Corporation’s Vice President of Acquisitions looked completely out of place compared to the other player’s parents.

“Get back in there Dev.”

Ever since Devlin’s mother had passed away to a strange disease, his father had tried taking a more active role in parenting. Signing Devlin up for the Northern California Camanachd Club was just the latest activity that made his life a living hell.

Clearing a large clump of grass that had smeared across the NCCC logo on his jersey, Devlin scurried off towards the conglomeration of players, throwing a few shoulder-to-shoulder tackles of his own. As he bashed into a particularly large player and bounced off of him, he noticed a professionally attired young woman approaching his father.



“Good morning, sir.”

Edward Scott brushed a small piece of cottonwood snow from his suit coat, and then spoke to the woman without turning.

“This better be important April, I’m in the middle of my son’s shinty game. He’s really struggling with it too. I think I’ll have to hire a new trainer. The last one guaranteed he’d turn my bookworm of a son into a good player, but I have yet to see the results.”

April, dressed in a stylish gray and black feminine suit and wearing designer glasses, nodded towards Edward. “Of course, sir. We have found it.”

Edward took his attention completely away from his son and the game. “Surely you jest?”

April shook her head. “This morning. The scientists said there is a 99.9% chance that this find is the specimen that we are looking for.”

Edward’s eyes lit up, and a small smile appeared on his face. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.” Without waiting for her response, Edward nearly ran towards his car.

April turned and walked as fast as she could to remain at Edward’s heels. “What about your son, sir?”

Edward glanced back towards the field briefly. “Let him walk home. After playing that poorly he deserves it.”



Edward sat at a long conference table inside the impromptu base of operations for Belzad Corporation, mulling over the statistical data that was constantly being fed to the laptop in front of him. The base, situated 15 miles northwest of Santa Rosa California along the coast, was teeming with life. Data analysts, scientific researchers, hardware maintenance specialists, and even armed guards crowded the interior.

“We’re sending the image to your laptop now, sir.” April typed the transmission code in the prompt and sent the live feed.

Within seconds a full-screen ocean image popped unto Edward’s monitor. Placing a transmitter inside of his right ear, he spoke into the internal microphone. “Adjust 30 degrees east.” The image shifted, bringing into view a massive white shape. It looked remarkably similar to an onion with long white-frill hairs descending from its base.

“Approach authorized. I repeat, approach authorized.” Edward stared intently at the screen as a scuba diver came into view, slowly closing on the massive creature. When the diver neared, he extracted a large syringe from his belt, and jabbed it into the creature’s base.



The whirl-chop of the helicopter blades made a lot of noise, forcing the inhabitants to yell. “Are you excited Devlin? You’re going to see a world-changing event today.”

Devlin looked across to his father as he shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t get it. What’s so important about a face-shaped rock structure out in the middle of nowhere?”

Edward grinned as he motioned to April. She placed a set of documents in his hand. Holding the first page up to Devlin, Edward translated the odd-looking text. “Daggas lorz divash ormeh oz laka shorsi. With the ancient blood of the sea, the sleeping giant empowers the son of Men.”

“These texts were found among many early civilizations. At first researchers thought it meant that these early people’s had been trading with one another. But I believe these texts come from an alien civilization. A sort of prophecy from out of this world. Once we complied all of the texts that we could find we were able to translate them. If we have done our homework correctly, we should be in for a real treat.”



The helicopter landed one hundred yards from the rock configuration, the blades whining down to silence. Edward, April, and Devlin trekked across the rocky ground until they were right next to the nose of the structure.

“The Sleeping Giant…” April stared in awe at the shape.

Pulling out a glass vial from inside of his coat, Edward held it over the structure’s face, allowing the blood of the giant sea jellyfish to splash on it. Nothing happened.

Edward stared at the structure, a befuddled look on his face. “I don’t get it. April, let me see the texts again.”

Devlin stepped into his father’s view. “You translated it wrong, father. It says that it will empower the son of a man. Me. I had those stupid texts put together just to lure you out here into the middle of nowhere. No guards, no security, just you and me.”

Edward’s face was full of confusion. “I don’t understand? Do you mean to tell me that the millions of dollars I’ve spent to find this was all in pursuit of a hoax?”

Devlin was amazed. “You still don’t get it do you? Haven’t you noticed how much I revile you? Haven’t you noticed how much hatred I have for you, how I get a look of disgust whenever you enter my field of vision? You think I don’t know it was you who killed mom? Did you really think I’d be that stupid?”

Edward threw his hands up in frustration. “What in the hell are you talking about? You think I murdered your mother?”

Devlin’s face contorted in rage. “You still try to lie about it! April has told me everything. Tell him April.”

As both men turned to face April they stared at the barrel of a gun. The shot fired, catching Edward between the eyes. His body collapsed nosily onto the Sleeping Giant.

April smiled towards Devlin. “You angsty teenagers are way too easy to manipulate.” The gun rose again, and April pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

“Don’t scare me like that!” Devlin looked towards April in shock.

“I was just messing with you. Are you ready to go home and play the part of the despondent son who learned of his father’s fate?”



The next morning Devlin sat lounging in his favorite chair, reading the paper:

Belzad Administrative Assistant Kills VP, self!

Santa Rosa police say April Towers, Administrative Assistant to Vice President Edward Scott, convinced Mr. Scott to fly up to a remote location near what is being called The Sleeping Giant. She murdered him there with a shot to the head at close range. She then threw herself off of the cliff in an apparent suicide.

Mr. Scott is survived by his son and sole heir to his estate, Devlin Scott. When reached for comment, Devlin Scott said he was shocked by Ms. Tower’s behavior. He said his father was a great man and will be sorely missed.

[Brickwall]

Logos7
Well, okay. I need to get meanness out of my system today.

The plot, as I understand it, is some guy mining in Antarctica below the crust for something. In the end, instead of finding some magma or whatever, he finds hell. Kind of...trie and uninspired. It's just that...nope, adjectives fail me. I wish I could give a better analysis, but I couldn't figure anything out. See below.

Your writing style is purely indecipherable. Take more English classes. What I could decipher was okay.

Your use of the lava prompt bothered me, since there are no forests or stop signs in Antarctica. I understand that it was hard to include, but you really...didn't include it. Perhaps enough not to disqualify you, but as someone forgiving on prompts, you should be worried that I cared about this.

Tormsskull
You're lucky I'm unbiased, or I would try to be cruel.

The story is nice and all. The characters were believable, if a bit one-dimensional. I'll have to see your competition to make a judgement here.

Your writing style, aside from a few typos, reminds me very much of how I would expect a good GM to write up his read-off text. Which is good, but a bit odd. One part that particularly gripped me in a very uncomfortable way was the scene transition to the helicopter ride. Very much the thing the judges in IA2 were concerned about in my round 1 submission. Sudden and sickening.

Prompts fine.

[Nevrmore]

You also included Ursa Major, the burning forest, the vats, and I bet some other things. Why?
Rereading my story, I don't even see where I included burning forests or vats...

*shrug-a-dug-dug*

[PhoeKun]

So, uh... Brick? Aren't we supposed to be saving our comments for when the round is over?

...Eh.

[Nevrmore]

So, uh... Brick? Aren't we supposed to be saving our comments for when the round is over?

...Eh.
I thought last IA Faddy said that you can post criticisms if they are in spoilers and whatnot...

[Fat Daddy]

I would just ask the judges not to read anyone elses judgements. I would like it to remain unbiased by others opinions until your judgments are submitted.

That being said, authors, if you want to respond to someone's review/criticism of your work, please do so inside spoiler tags and state that you are responding to X. You are only hurting yourself by putting these things in the open before all judgments are submitted.

Also, I am impressed with how many stories are getting submitted so early... though I'm sure we'll still have a few pushin' the deadline... you know who you are. :smallsmile:

[averagejoe]

Yeah, as far as I remember, it was never actually a rule, I just always did because it seemed to be the most fair to all authors involved. If I had to critique something early I would generally save it on a word document, then wait till the end.

DEADLINE PUSHER!!!

[Amotis]

I like writing and walking away and coming back. But I might not have the chance with midterms coming. Or that just might lead to some midnight sessions. Who knows? (Jebus does.)

[Logos7]

I guess a Sign that says stop is not the same as a stop sign then, but whatever

Thank you for the feedback

[Vaynor]

I'm at 1200 words, and almost done. This story is coming along nicely. :smallsmile:

[Dispozition]

I totally don't push dead lines...*tugs at collar*

Shush! I'll have it done...I have no hope to win though...

[DarkLightDragon]

Hopefully I'll be able to get something done during the weekend. And at least I have an idea this time instead of filler!

[Vaynor]

I just remembered I'm going skiing this weekend. Though I'll have no internet access, I hope to finish it there and send it in on Sunday night. Just letting you know if I don't get it in in time.

[Brickwall]

The more of you bail out, the less I have to insult judge. Just letting you know.

[ravenkith]

I suppose now would be a good time to let all of you know that Brickwall lost IA2...and is not an official judge.

I am.

:smallbiggrin:

[Logos7]

All of a sudden things seem mucho better,

Congrats btw

[ravenkith]

All of a sudden things seem mucho better,



But of course!

Nonetheless, I should warn you that I have a degree in English. In composition and literature.

Grammar, punctuation and paragraph usage are some of my pet peeves.

Although, given the limitations of the boards, I'll let the indent at the beginning of a new paragraph go. :nale:


I also point out, that there is still time before that deadline Monday.

[Amotis]

Nonetheless, I should warn you that I have a degree in English. In composition and literature.


I now extend my realm of fear from Phoekun and Qunicunx to include Ravenkith.

*runs in circles*

[Nevrmore]

But of course!

Nonetheless, I should warn you that I have a degree in English. In composition and literature.

Grammar, punctuation and paragraph usage are some of my pet peeves.

Although, given the limitations of the boards, I'll let the indent at the beginning of a new paragraph go. :nale:


I also point out, that there is still time before that deadline Monday.
You raised my hopes and dashed them quite expertly, sir.

[ravenkith]

I'm British.

[Brickwall]

I'm British.

Yes, what's your point, Mr. "I, unlike Brickwall, have never been privately asked on more than one occasion to critique a piece of art"?

[Logos7]

well if this was a grammer competition I wouldn't have enterred

But oh well i write for enjoyment, I surpose the sting and stang of my own words throw back at me ought to be part and parcel in some regard, otherwise i wouldn't have bothered.

L

[averagejoe]

It's hardly a grammar competition. It's just at this point grammar shouldn't be an issue. It's something one ideally takes care of before one writes a story. No one's perfect, of course, but it's still pretty important because 1) it makes your story sound better (and style is at least as important as substance when writing for entertainment, i.e. fiction.) and 2) your work should be understandable easily.

[ravenkith]

@ Brickwall: Sigh.

1.) You don't know me brick. Don't pretend like you do. ;)
2.) The British thing? If you don't get it, you haven't been studying your history.

@ logos: average joe is spot on with his second point.

Due to the kludgy interaction between Word and these forums, I myself have had some problems in this regard.

A simple extra line between paragraphs goes a long way to clearing up any undue confusion.

[TheQuestionable]

Argh, I find a writing competition and I miss the boat! I can only hope to find a position on IA4. If only I can reserve a position...or can I?

[PhoeKun]

Sorry, we don't accept reservations. Just keep an eye out for the next one; we've got a pretty good groove working on these things...

[Brickwall]

You don't know me brick. Don't pretend like you do. ;)

Dude, you're an English major who didn't even capitalize his forum handle. I don't want to know you. You're obviously sick.

Hell, that last sentence wasn't even grammatically proper. I think that it is possible that you are falsifying your credentials. Or perhaps you are simply lazy? I ask the good people of the competition and judging board, think you that this man has the right to judge others, when he cannot even watch his own tongue?

[averagejoe]

2.) The British thing? If you don't get it, you haven't been studying your history.

Ooooh, look at me, I'm Ravenkith. "Would you like some tea and crumpets?" "Spot on, old chap." "Al-loo-min-ee-um." :smallbiggrin:

[Amotis]

Look at me, I'm Ravenkith! "I'd wager you something on that!" "Rather...Bother...HOBBITS!"

Look at me, I'm Brickwall.
code is broken

[Raistlin1040]

I'm British.
*Hugs Ravenkith* You writers are all screwed. A British english major and me, a British teenager who's a school paper editor.

[Brickwall]

Look at me, I'm Brickwall.
code is broken

Uhh huhhh...I'll pretend that I am geeky enough to get that. Or much care.

[PhoeKun]

Look at me, I'm Ravenkith! "I'd wager you something on that!" "Rather...Bother...HOBBITS!"

Look at me, I'm Brickwall.
code is broken

Ha ha... tell it like it is, Amotis!

edit: and you noparsed! I'm so happy... *sniff*

[Nevrmore]

Well, I'm not British

And I'm not an English major

And it's true that I have a problem with not re-reading my stories and giving them a lot of thought

Also I have an irritating voice

But dammit I'm still as good as any of you!

[averagejoe]

Hey, not all American authors are bad!

Okay, a lot are, and probably in higher densities than in Britain, but that's beside the point.

[Logos7]

Your work should be understandible to your peers, not some easily without qualification. I'm using english and following enough of it to be understood ( Sentances with verbs and nouns alot of the time ). It's always been my impression of any english i did that it was 1/10 comprehension work 9/10's inanity and subtle power politics.

If you disagree with my first point , i suggest you read shakespear and then kant and then machivillie without translation and language notes and see how much you get. When youo think Machiville is a great democrat with his "People Power Platform" someone will fix you up.

Oh well, I will fight the man by satirizing and hoboizing his language some other day.

[Mattaeu]

I'm both incredibly concerned, and entirely at ease.

Your post inspires a quantum state. :smallwink:

[PhoeKun]

I don't get it. Why is this conversation going on, and why, Logos, do you seem to be fighting the idea of good grammar? Is this something I would understand if I read Brickwall's commentary, or did I just miss the bus altogether?

[Brickwall]

@Logos7
I can read Shakespeare even without translations for antiquated words. His grammar is much better than yours, Logos, even when he takes poetic license. Also, I believe Machiavelli wrote in Italian in the first place, or possibly Latin, and neither of those is English.

We are your peers, and we can't understand it without a lot of work. The judges and I all agree that it would be nice of you to write the story in proper English. You still have time to fix it. At the very least, correct sentence order, or word form, or even capitalization would be nice.

By the way, Shakespearian comedies are awesome. I love them wholeheartedly. We can all learn from those (plot-wise, anyway. Please don't write in Shakespearian English).

[Amotis]

I have no idea what's going on

[averagejoe]

@ Amotis: I believe that was my point entirely. I've read a few of your stories and a few of your posts, and with the (admittedly little) evidence I have available, you don't seem unintelligent by any means. Quite the contrary, in fact. Bad grammar, however, goes beyond such things. There's not being understood because one cannot comprehend it; this could (arguably, by some stretch of the imanination) be attributed to one's intelligence. More often, though, if someone can't understand a piece of writing it isn't because they aren't smart enough. It's typically either because it's explained in such a way that makes it difficult to grasp (some people, for example, learn well through metaphor, while others like direct explaination) or because the language itself is so ambiguous that the meaning of the words isn't clear to anyone of any intelligence. A dense work is one thing; an incomprehensible work is something entirely different, and not by any means desireable.

[King_of_GRiffins]

@Brickwall- Actually, I intend on doing my whole prose in Iambic pentameter...

[ravenkith]

Hey Logos, if you don't like English that much, you can submit it in German, if you prefer.

I minored in that particular language.

(j/k, I don't think any of the other judges speak German).

Seriously, all kidding aside, this is a writing competition taking place in the English language.

If you can't work within at least a semblance of the rules implied by that, you probably won't get far, simply because people cannot correctly judge that which they have difficulty comprehending.

As to my credentials, well, feel free to imagine them to be as made up as these stories, Brickwall...but then, at least if my credentials are real, you have some excuse for losing to me, seeing as you only just graduated High School and all, my friend.

This all started when I made a blanket statement about my personal preference for grammar, spelling and punctuation. That hasn't changed, nor is it going to.

Of course, that isn't the sole determining factor of my opinion. A lot goes into creating a good story. Good ideas, good structure, a decent plot, good characters and character development, proper use of imagery, metaphor and simile.

Then there is the presence of the prompts, how vital they are to the story being told, and how seamlessly they are incorporated.

I'll be fair...just keep in mind that if all of those other factors are close and one story has textbook grammar, etc., while the other doesn't, I'll go with the properly written one every damn time.

[Dispozition]

If that's a bad thing...I'm all for it. I need all the help I can get...*is yet to start story*

Actually...I'll be off to do that now...

[PhoeKun]

Oh!

Averagejoe, thanks for reminding me of something very, very important about the stories in this competition and how they relate to me as a judge. It involves comprehension, but not quite in the same way as is currently being discussed.

Author's Notes. I don't want to see them. They tell me you don't trust your story to make the point on its own, and that you don't trust me to be able to find it. If people wind up with questions at the end, by all means, answer them, but don't you dare preempt those questions when you could be trying to make it more clear in the story, instead. Author's notes will drastically hurt my scoring of your story.

Thank you all, and have a pleasant day.




This all started when I made a blanket statement about my personal preference for grammar, spelling and punctuation. That hasn't changed, nor is it going to.


Oh, I see it now. Thanks for clearing up the mystery.


@Brickwall- Actually, I intend on doing my whole prose in Iambic pentameter...

This makes me wonder. Would someone be disqualified for writing their story in verse, ala Shakespeare's Richard II (among other plays)? Probably a bit too ambitious for one week's time, but I'd kind of like to see it tried. But then, this is a prose competition. Hmm...

[King_of_GRiffins]

If that's a bad thing...I'm all for it. I need all the help I can get...*is yet to start story*

Actually...I'll be off to do that now...


Hah, I'm two paragraphs ahead of you already, and they rhyme!

[Dispozition]

Oh noes! That's bad...I actually will start now. I have some sort of crazy idea forming in my head now...So it's all good.

[Amotis]

Author's Notes. I don't want to see them. They tell me you don't trust your story to make the point on its own, and that you don't trust me to be able to find it. If people wind up with questions at the end, by all means, answer them, but don't you dare preempt those questions when you could be trying to make it more clear in the story, instead. Author's notes will drastically hurt my scoring of your story.


My stomach drops. Gah. Okay, I must trust myself and my entry. Truuuust. Trust. No second guessing. No. Must be strong. Must not doubt.

[PhoeKun]

Oh, are you actually writing your story in verse, KoG?

edit: That's it, Amotis. Trust...

[Brickwall]

As to my credentials, well, feel free to imagine them to be as made up as these stories, Brickwall...but then, at least if my credentials are real, you have some excuse for losing to me, seeing as you only just graduated High School and all, my friend.

Actually, no, not yet I haven't. Still finishing up my year. Yes, that's right, you barely won against some kid not out of high school. All those classes, and for what?

PhoeKun, author's notes can contain things other than clarifications. My notes often contain stuff like "I liked my ending," or, "I suck at action scenes". Also, explaining an obscure reference, such as to the five elements of Chinese alchemy, if they were important in your story, can always be helpful, since not everyone knows them for some silly reason. But if they're for disambiguation, I recommend you guys keep them out of PhoeKun's sight.

Griffondor, I don't mind blank verse or other poetry, so long as it's not in the convoluted dialect of Shakespeare.

[King_of_GRiffins]

No, not really. Just a sleep depraved dare mixed into a recognition of one of brickwalls points. I am in fact borrowing a little from Shakespeare, but unfortunately, not verse.

I could try that next time, if I could trust myself to get it done in a week.

[PhoeKun]

PhoeKun, author's notes can contain things other than clarifications. My notes often contain stuff like "I liked my ending," or, "I suck at action scenes". Also, explaining an obscure reference, such as to the five elements of Chinese alchemy, if they were important in your story, can always be helpful, since not everyone knows them for some silly reason. But if they're for disambiguation, I recommend you guys keep them out of PhoeKun's sight.


Actually, all that stuff is just as bad. You're a high school student, so I doubt this has been covered in your classes, but having the author tell you anything about the story in Author's Notes, no matter how inane or useful it may seem, make an impression upon the reader. That reader is deprived of the ability to consider the story in and of itself, and to take for himself only what the story gives him.

This is incredibly vital to story. Denying the reader the first impression is a grave sin.

[ravenkith]

@Brickwall: You're absolutely right. An English degree isn't that great, unless you happen to enjoy reading obscure books that supposedly have a much greater meaning and impact than would normally be allowed a work of only 500 or so pages.

That's why I have a second degree in an entirely different field - so I can make some money, at a 40 hour a week job, with a two hour commute each way. And that's a slow week.

To be blunt, aside from the occasional email and this very competition, I haven't excercised my literary mental muscles in well over six years, so I'm not surprised I had trouble beating you with a story I had only 45 minutes to write.

However, to quote Vin Diesel: "It doesn't matter whether you win by an inch or a mile".

Funnily enough, compared to last week, I now have a ton of free time. Life just sucks that way, I guess.

Oh and Brick? Have fun at university. Seriously. But don't forget that whatever you do there will affect the rest of your life.

Friendly advice?
1. Go with a hard science.
2. Keep your GPA above a 3.5 at all costs.
3. Get an internship in your chosen field and hold it for at least two years, if not three.

Finally, I hear that an anesthesiologist makes just as much money as a surgeon without having to have quite as much schooling or being vulnerable to as much possibility of malpractice.

If I had a chance to do it all over, that's what I'd shoot for.

[Amotis]

Finally, I hear that an anesthesiologist makes just as much money as a surgeon without having to have quite as much schooling or being vulnerable to as much possibility of malpractice.


Yeah, but for the same reason an air traffic controller gets paid so damn much. You got a lot of people's lives in your hands. Plus finding out the right dosage involves a lot of things people would call soft sciences (okay, not really, but they do have a squishy outer crust). And I think you still have to go through a lot of schooling. Like 4 years of med school too. I think there's a lesser anesthesiologist, like a nurse one or something, that has a lessened schooling time, but I'm not sure if they get paid as much.

But yeah, like anything if you wanna make money with a hard structure under your feat (unlike "I wanna be a rich artist!") you need a lot of school.

[Vaynor]

The more of you bail out, the less I have to insult judge. Just letting you know.

I'll have you know, my hotel happens to have internet. And I finished my story. And you, are not a judge. Once I finish editing I'll post it.

Also, has my opponent even posted yet?

[PhoeKun]

I keep trying to write a post expressing my differing opinion to ravenkith's (I believe this is the 12th such attempt), but I can't seem to do it.

I disagree strongly with your last post. I just can't seem to express it without coming across as a hurt and naive youth lashing out at the alleged insinuation that my education and life choices are mistakes.

But then, all advice is tainted by personal bias. And I've kind of forgotten what my point was supposed to be. To hell with it. Your comments will ring true for some, and not for others. What works in college, and in life, will differ from person to person.

edit: no, Vaynor, you'd be first in your bracket.

[Amotis]

But then, all advice is tainted by personal bias. And I've kind of forgotten what my point was supposed to be. To hell with it. Your comments will ring true for some, and not for others. What works in college, and in life, will differ from person to person.


Truth to the max. What ravenkith said is true and what you and I are doing (phoekun and I are both very liberal arts majors for those uninformed) is true as well. The reason why I am no longer a International Business major. Each person is different just as this statement is cliched. I don't recommend dictating a path for anyone. Advice is great though.

I am completely happy with my major choice and what I am doing and what I will do and what my life will be. I wouldn't have it any other way.

[Vaynor]

no, Vaynor, you'd be first in your bracket.

That would be nice. But, it would be better to win of my own accord, not because my opponent failed to show up.

If that doesn't make sense to what you posted, excuse me, your response was rather confusing itself. :smallsmile:

And, here it is.

Mechanics Paradise

The dense crows bustled around Andria as she ambled along the pathway. It was the year 4392 Y.M., and they still hadn’t invented ‘flight’, as they called it. It was rumored to come soon, however, a scientist had just made a new breakthrough. Andria, or Andy as her friends called her, hated walking. She had a disorder where her fourth leg was too close to the center of her hips, and caused it to rub against the rest of her legs. She had had an operation to fix it, but as she grew larger it had returned. She suspected it was because the surgery had taken place when she was still young, but the magicians assured her it was natural, and she would have to learn to live with it. The way the world depended on technology, you’d think they’d be able to fix it? Guess not…

“BEEEEEEEEEEP!”

Andria jumped, and lifted herself from thought. This was her stop, luckily that watch had beeped in time. She stepped into the descender and yawned, it had been a long day. The door opened up to the large department store. A large banner was being displayed across the entryway; new from the last time she was here, showcasing a large display of new appliances. Everything from toilets to toasters was being displayed. The banner was void of writing, except for a large symbol, like a ladle or something, and text that said “Ursa Major” on it. A new company, she guessed, in all her time working here she had never seen one of their products.

The locker room was smelly, as usual. They still hadn’t cleaned it out. Sighing, Andria changed into her work clothes and went out to check in with her supervisor. The gruff man mumbled as he checked her in, almost a growl.

“These things just came in last night, later than they usually do. New companies don’t know how things work, it’s like they only show up in the night nowadays,” he explained.

She nodded and smiled sarcastically, then went off to her station, but first stopped by the new appliances. They were very sleek, she noticed, much more simplistic than other designs. Almost alien in nature.

The workday went by smoothly, and soon the 47 hours were over. She went back and changed then walked towards the entrance. As she passed by the new appliances she felt a strange urge to buy one of them.

“That’s strange,” she thought, “I don’t need anything new… but that toilet does look nice…” She trailed off into thought and before she knew it she was paying for the toilet at the front counter.

She thought about it on the way home. It was almost supernatural, that urge. Like the machine had made her buy it. She shuddered. Shrugging the feeling off, she typed her building code in and sent the toilet to her house.

Andria opened the package when she got home and pushed the install button. The toilet jumped into the spot as the old one disappeared to her storage space. The inviting bed met her body as she fell into deep slumber.

The toilet was largely ignored for the next few days, she had gone a day or two before it, and didn’t need to use it for a day or so more. The days passed and sooner than later, she clambered onto the rim. As she was doing her business she felt a sharp prod, probably from a part that hadn’t worn down yet, she thought, and dismissed the notion. A few seconds later she felt it again. And again. And again. Irritated, she stood up and looked down at the toilet to find the guilty part. She reached under the small rim and felt around, and almost immediately felt a sharp extrusion. She ran her hand past it, and found more, and more. She opened up the rim to take a look. There were small, white, porcelain teeth lining the bowl! She gasped and backed away from the toilet.

The red eyes blinked.

* * * * *

She awoke from her slumber to find herself lying on the bathroom floor, her legs aching horribly. She pulled away her pants and looked down, her left thigh had a large green and red mark where she had been prodded. She felt woozy. Getting up, she went to the sink and opened the door underneath it, and applied a medpac. Relief flooded through the injured limb.

Andria took a deep breath and walked out into the kitchen to make something to eat. She grabbed a pack of food and peeled back the packaging and opened the microwave and stuck it inside. The door thwacked shut randomly and banged her hand, hard. Wincing she sighed and looked at her hand to survey the damage. She was bleeding! The door of the microwave had teeth on it, identical to the ones on the toilet, except made of plastic, not porcelain.

A large insignia of a ladle was branded on the top, still hot. The toilet, she noticed, was absent.

“God, what a mechanics paradise I live in,” she muttered to herself, and called a repairman. He arrived a few minutes later in her transporter and walked over.

“What seems to be the problem ma’am?” he asked inquisitively. As he looked around the kitchen he noticed her hand wound. “Ouch, where did you get that ‘un?”

“That’s why I called,” she responded, “my appliances have been rather, hectic, today.”

“I see, sharp parts?”

“You could say that.” She showed him the spot where the toilet used to be, and the microwave. All the rest of her appliances, she noticed, had the same mark. “Do you know what’s wrong?”

“I’m afraid this is new to me, ma’am,” he said, “I’ve never heard of something like this before. Let me take a lookit their insides and I’ll see what I can find out.”

He grabbed the microwave and unplugged it, and sat it down the table and took out his tools. “That’s strange,” he muttered to himself, “it’s still on. Don’t seem to matter that it’s unplugged.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. Never you mind.”

He tinkered away and opened up the back of the thing. A myriad of parts glared out at Andria. They looked strange, but then again, she was no mechanic. Suddenly the man gasped and let the machine drop to the table.

“It has a brain.”

“A what?”

“A brain. For thinking. It’s got a brain…”

“Is that possible?”

“No, it’s not. At least, not until now. This is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Where’d you get the toilet?”

“I work at the appliance store, and it just got shipped in. The microwave I’ve had for years. That symbol on it is just like the one on the toilet, but it wasn’t on the microwave before today.”

“I see. Seems they are both sentient. We shall have to find your toilet.” He grabbed his tools and took out a long tube. It looked like a gun.

“Lets go.”

“Oh… ok…”

He smashed the microwave, and all the other appliances in the room.

* * * * *

The day was getting dark, and night was cold. Shadows loomed larger and larger until they were the size of buildings. The repairman had reloaded his gun. This was going to be a long night, she could tell.

As they ran through the streets, Andria running slightly behind, they looked for any runaway appliances. But, all was quiet. Too quiet. The appliance store was near. The night air was still.

She ran her hands through her sleek hair as she walked, then pulled her hand back. Why did it matter how her hair looked? She laughed about it. The repairman gave her a funny look and she stopped mid-giggle, looking down at the ground again.

The door to the store was locked, but she had a key. The lights were still on, even though it had closed more than an hour ago. Nothing moved inside the store. Andria quickly went to the checkout counters and grabbed the club that lay under each counter, in case of shoplifters. She brandished the makeshift weapon ineptly, and it hung loosely in her hand.

A rustling sound was heard from behind the first row of shelves. It clanked. Her and the repairman walked through the aisles. She noticed the same brand on all of the appliances. The ladle loomed out from all of the other markings, a mountain range in the midst of a featureless plain. She continued to walk, not knowing what would come next.

A sharp scream pierced her ears, and she ran towards the direction that it came from. The repairman was holding his leg, a large shard of plastic stuck in it. She gasped and ran towards him, and she saw guilty appliance. The large fan zoomed towards them, and clipped her leg. She was blown to the side and immediately raised her club. A small blast issued from behind her, and the fan sizzled and shut down. It was missing a blade. A small trail of blood was leaking from where it had fallen.

The repairman fell down, and she turned towards him. The fan blade still was in his leg, and it was bleeding more. She ran to the supply cabinet and grabbed a medpac. Then she returned to the man and yanked out the plastic, then immediately applied the medpac. He gasped and clenched his teeth in pain. Standing up, he picked up his gun again.

“Let’s get them,” he said, grimacing.

She smiled a grim smile and followed him off into the rest of the store, smashing appliances as they went. Some gave resistance, but they were caught unawares, so it was an easy task. They talked as they went, and she learned his name was Gerard.

As they ended their stroll they came upon the supply room. This is where all of the appliances were kept. They prepared for the worst, and he reloaded his gun. The large door creaked open, and a blast of cold air met them. It seems someone had left the door open.

They heard a crashing sound, and went to meet it. A huge creature stood before them. Crafted of fans, microwaves, toasters, sinks, and even toilets. It roared and leapt at them. Andria dodged quickly to the side, and Gerard went to the opposite shelf. The beast lunged and missed, and crashed into the shelf along the wall behind them. Gerard raised his gun and shot at the beast, clipping its arm. It roared in fury and stumbled toward him. Its left arm was composed of tubes and faucets, and it was leaking. The water was red.

It threw a punch, and he shot another shot. This one hit the left side of its torso, and Gerard was knocked back by the punch, a line of blood across his chest. Its other arm was composed of fan blades.

Andria rushed forward and smashed into its back, made of brittle porcelain and plastic, it broke easily. But the monster was not so easily deterred. It continued to maul Gerard, and Andria screamed and screamed to get it to stop, smashing into its legs. It wasn’t working, and if the beast didn’t stop soon, Gerard would die. She grabbed one of the many handholds along its body and climbed up. Her leg ached, but she persisted. She made it up to its shoulders, and held on for dear life as it thrashed around to get her off. Another shot from Gerard distracted it, and she smashed her club into its head. It roared in pain and tried to reach its arms up to her. Realizing it couldn’t get her off, it mauled Gerard again with its left hand, throwing him into a shelf. He didn’t move as a small line of blood issued from his mouth.

Andria gasped but held on, and battered its head as hard as her small body would allow. She finally made it past its plastic skull and its brain was exposed before her. A behemoth of electronics, the brain pulsed and pumped. She hit it with her club.

The appliance beast reared up its head and roared in pain. It stumbled to its knees and fell down, almost crushing Andria as it went. All was silent once more.

She ran over to Gerard to see if he was all right, but there was no pulse. She shuddered, glad it was defeated. She stumbled over to the door, and went outside. The pale grass was wet with the night dew and glistened in the moonlight. She lay down upon it and looked up at the stars. They were bright tonight. As she looked up at the sky she noticed a shape in the sky formed by the many stars. A ladle.

Andria gasped and recoiled, then realized it wasn’t going to hurt her. She laughed at herself and breathed a sigh. The stars were peaceful. She smiled up at the constellation.

The ladle opened its eyes and smiled back.

[DarkLightDragon]

*sigh*

I'll have to drop out. There's other stuff that's higher up on my priority list at the moment. Sorry everyone.

[PhoeKun]

@Amotis: yeah, that's us - the hippie majors. :smallbiggrin:

@Vaynor: first in respects to chronology, not placement in the competition. Your opponent has until midnight Monday. Until then, whether or not he has written a story shouldn't really matter to you. I suppose confusion is my thanks for not asking 'why do you care?'

@DLD: Sorry to see you go, and yet slightly and selfishly thankful there is one less story in need of judgment.

[Vaynor]

@Vaynor: first in respects to chronology, not placement in the competition. Your opponent has until midnight Monday. Until then, whether or not he has written a story shouldn't really matter to you. I suppose confusion is my thanks for not asking 'why do you care?'

Mostly just wondering. :smallsmile:

[Dispozition]

Well...It would seem that us aussies are dropping like flies...

I'll have to withdraw my writing-ness and being in the contest-ness because: a) I have three projects that have to be done within the next week, one of them is essentially three essays made into one *sigh* b) I can't get any of my ideas onto the screen without it sounding completely dorky and crap... c) I just can't write good stories...Or even bad ones....

Sorry KOG, I guess you have an easy round this time. Also sorry to Fat Daddy, I probably shouldn't have entered this in the first place. I had a feeling that this was going to happen.

[Amotis]

Would letting King of Griffins compete against Ravyn be valid even if they had different topics? Probably not, huh? It just sucks to see competition go out like that.

[Dispozition]

I'm really sorry Amotis...Will it make it better if I hug you?

[PhoeKun]

Damn, lost another Aussie. Bad night, I guess.

Sorry to see you go as well, Dis. I was looking forward to judging a former judge.

Amotis: That kind of set-up would be impossible to judge with any sense of fairness. Two different stories written on completely different prompts just leave no points for comparison. And since it's far too late to give the both of them new prompts, the only quasi-reasonable solution is to let the both of them get a bye round. Which sucks, but it's the only fair option.

[DarkLightDragon]

a) I have three projects that have to be done within the next week Ouch >.<

I'm in a similar situation at the moment. Not fun at all.

[C.C.Benjamin]

Here is my entry, I hope you all enjoy!

Carl



The Call

“Eroth is the light, brothers and sisters!” The preacher bellowed to his congregation. His voice echoed powerfully around the small chapel. “As He entered the gates of oblivion and stood before the Enemy, did He not declare: ‘It is the fate of all good men to be both the savior and the damned’?”
The townsfolk gathered before him murmured in agreement.
“I cannot hear you!”
“Eroth is the way.” They chorused, reluctantly.
The preacher slammed his hand down on his podium.
“It is His will that protects us from the Enemy! He needs our strength so that He may prevent the Enemy from enslaving us once more and dooming us to an eternity of servitude! Do not take your faith lightly, brothers and sisters, for dark times are coming and only His grace and sacrifice will see us saved!”
With noticeably more fervor, the congregation chanted again.
“Eroth is the way!”
“That He is!” The preacher agreed, walking around the podium and addressing them more personally, “I recall a time in my life when I wore not these hallowed robes, but armor and blood. Do you know where I was?”
Around the crowd, heads shook back and forth.
“I was in Aselun! I was a Legionnaire of the Black, ready to burn that holy city to the ground!” He boomed, raising his fisted hands aloft.
The preacher’s voice dropped to a whisper. “But as I entered the city and stood before the Tabernacle, I had a vision, brothers and sisters, yes indeed. We all did.”
The preacher’s flock hung on every word.
“The Martyr came before us all and he said: ‘Turn from your paths of tyranny and evil, for-”
The preacher stopped, mid-sentence. His outstretched hands trembled. He gawped for a moment and then dropped to his knees. Gasps and murmurs came from the assembled peasants, a few started to get to their feet to help, and the preacher pitched forward onto the chapel’s oak floor.


The thane in black armor held his sword with both hands, blade down, above the thief.
“Do you concede to the judgment of your peers?”
His voice was emotionless and imposing, much the same as the blanket of clouds that covered the sky above him. The thief lowered his head.
“Yes, lord.”
The shopkeeper and his assistant stood within the ramshackle mob that had gathered. He clutched the reclaimed loaf of bread to his chest, and watched as the thane delivered sentence.
Tears ran down the thief’s cheeks. A thin little girl stood across from him, red-eyed and puffy-faced.
“Then you will be absolved in death.” The thane declared.
The thief’s eyes flicked up to the girl, and he mouthed at her: I love you, little sister.
In the dull grey afternoon light, the little girl started again to cry. A somber woman standing by her in the crowd placed a hand on her shoulder, and the little girl fought herself down to a quiet whimper.
The thane raised his arms with a rattle from his heavy armor, and tightened his grip on the pommel of his sword. The tip of the blade hung over the back of the thief’s neck. The thief covered his face with his hands and wept unashamedly.
The thane arched his back and the little girl shrieked. She turned away, bawling, towards the unknown woman whose hand still rested on her shoulder.
The thane’s sword hit the ground.
The thief looked up through bleary eyes.
Awe had softened the thane’s features. He gazed out above the heads of the crowd, arms still outstretched, as if pleading. His faraway expression smoothed the hard lines of his face, and he began to weep as an unseen wave washed over him.


The old witch felt it too. It ran up her spine and across the back of her skull. Her blind eyes turned to the night sky as she gaped like a landed fish. The moon was crimson, like a congealing drop of blood, and she stared at it. She swayed precariously, nearly falling into the mire around her. She dropped the reagents she had collected.
Steadying herself on the rotting stump of a broken tree, she fought for consciousness. The hag blinked rapidly and drew in wheezing breaths. Her fingers dug into the stump, clawing up black clumps of dirt and moss.
Her rags trailed through the swamp as she splashed back to her hut. It was a small, ramshackle construction; crude wooden beams supported a thatched roof. She scuttled in quickly.
In the gloom, she ran to a table. Frantically, she scoured it for something, knocking a priceless grimoire to the floor and scattering lit candles in all directions. Eventually she found the object of her desire: a small leather sack.
The hag swept the rest of the clutter from the table, and opened the sack. She poured the contents into her hand, and began to chant. She closed her eyes, pointless but part of the ritual, and the objects in her hand glowed briefly.
She casts her hand out, scattering the collection of small bones across the table. Her eyes snapped open, and the white orbs followed the path of the bones.
When they came to rest, she let out a piercing shriek.


“Are ye a reader?” The mayor asked. He leant back in his leather chair, behind his mahogany desk, and peered at Nal Karsair. Nal looked at him blankly.
“A reader, sir?”
“Yes boy, a reader!”
Nal’s expression did not change.
“A mind reader?”
“No, boy, are you litter-at?”
“Oh, well of course, sir. I am an official Erothian Archivist. Literacy is part of the job.”
The mayor nodded, and rubbed a hand over his shiny head.
“Aye, good. We need a reader ‘round here ‘cause of all the strange reports we been gettin’ in.”
“Strange reports, sir?”
“Aye, bloody strange. There’s a stack of them out the back to go through. You know the Holinson’s were attacked by their cat, Ren’s pigs stampeded and killed his little boy, and every animal that wasn’t in a cage has disappeared?”
Nal paused.
“If no-one here is literate, who has been writing all these reports?”
“Mrs. Sheld been charging people five copper pieces a go to write something down for ‘em, and they have been queuing up for her.”
“So why can’t she read them?”
“She says she went to the bother of writin’ things down so other people can do the readin’, not her.”
Nal nodded, and sighed inwardly.
“Actually, the reports are why I’m here. Do you know anything of the beastmen?”
The mayor peered at Nal suspiciously.
“Beastmen? Like minotaurs, satyrs and the like?”
“Exactly.”
The mayor snorted.
“No, why would I? We are a long way from the western boarders here, son.”
“I know, but there’s been a great deal of activity there.”
“Yeah?” The mayor asked, leaning forward onto the desk.
“Yes. I have been sent here because of Asuza.”
“Asuza, eh?” The mayor responded conversationally. “And just why would you need to see her?”
“She is a satyr, is she not?”
“Aye.”
“And a druid?”
“So it is said.”
Nal stood up. “Then I have to speak to her immediately. The fate of the Empire is literally at stake, sir. Armies of beastmen have begun to move, and no one knows where they are going or why. We have to know.”
“Alright, Mr. Karsair, you wait outside and I’ll send someone along promptly. Probably Hanas. He’s a good lad, and knows the way to find Asuza.”


Nal and Hanas stopped dead as they rounded a corner.
“What should we do?” Nal hissed to Hanas. The young man stood petrified in the middle of the road.
“I have no idea.” Hanas whispered back through clenched teeth.
Five adult bears walked towards them, muzzles in the air, as if following a scent.
“Should we run?”
“They will chase us down if we do.” Hanas replied. The bears were close, thirty feet away and walking steadily forward. Nal trembled; each of the bears was huge. They walked abreast across the road, filling it.
“We can’t just stand here!” Nal insisted.
Frozen with fear, they did.
The bears passed them by without incident. One brushed so close to Nal that he could smell the dank odor of its fur. The bears appeared not to notice the two. He glanced at Hanas, who had his eyes closed. His mouth moved in a silent prayer.
“Hanas!” Nal whispered hoarsely.
Hanas opened his eyes and looked around to see the bears receding behind him. He blinked in astonishment.
“What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know,” Nal answered, “but I am damn well going to find out.”


Deep in the woodlands surrounding a small hamlet called Last Retreat, they found Asuza. She was alone, tending crops with the loving caress only a druid could have bestowed upon them, and they flourished.
“Asuza?” Nal tentatively called out.
“Eh?” The old satyr started. Various charms and talismans attached to her horns and shapeless garb jangled as she stood up. Leaning heavily on her walking stick, she rose to face Nal and Hanas.
They stared at her wizened goat face. Heavy creases across her snout and down the long angles of her cheeks made her look as old as her forest.
“Yes,” she croaked, “and who are you?”
“My name is Nal Karsair, I am an Archivist and I have been sent to find out-”
“Find out what’s going on, yes?” She interrupted.
“Yes.”
She limped towards him, crutch thudding into the dirt, and appraised him close with her rheumy eyes.
“It is The Call.”
Nal raised an eyebrow, and glanced at Hanas. Hanas shrugged.
“What do you mean?”
“The Call! Can you not feel it?” Asuza asked, wistfully. “It pulls on me like a rushing river. I want to go…” She clutched his shirt with a craggy hand, and pulled him closer. “I want to go so badly,” she growled.
Nal, leaning back, looked down at her, eyes wide.
“…Why don’t you?”
“I am lame, I cannot walk any more. You do not understand,” she stated, upon seeing his face, “any who can see into the Firmament have felt it, and any who revere life must respond. The Call has gone out, and I am unable to answer it!”
“Who sent out The Call?”
“It is Gaea!” Asuza with fervor, causing Nal to squint as her foul breath flowed over his face. “She has awoken because she is in danger, and we must all heed The Call!”
Nal tried to take a step back, but the old satyr’s grip was strong – too strong. He pressed a hand against her bony shoulder, trying to push her away.
“I feel it! Burning inside my belly, like a hunger, a compulsion, telling me I must come, I must join the others for The Call has gone out and who am I to refuse it!”
Out of fear, Nal pushed again, harder, and broke Asuza’s grip. She tumbled to the ground in a heap. Her walking stick landed a few feet from her.
“I-I’m sorry…” Nal began.
Asuza merely grunted, and crawled to her walking stick. Nal and Hanas both saw her right hoof protruding from beneath her rags. It was black and rotten.
“Go, Archivist. We have spoken enough, and you have learned all I would impart. Be gone.” She said, without looking up from the ground.
Hanas took Nal’s arm, and led him away from the druid’s grove. Nal took one last look over his shoulder. Asuza, still slumped in the dirt, saw him look back at her.
“Tell your masters that Nature’s Army comes! No matter what her purpose, she will see it fulfilled through her children!”
The pair said nothing, and left as quickly as they were able. Nal was at a loss to explain what he had heard, but knew he must spread this news quickly. If nature itself were rallying against them, for whatever reason, then The Call would be answered in kind.

[ravenkith]

@ Phoekun & Amotis:

I'm sorry if my advice leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouths. I didn't mean it as a criticism of those of us that chose the arts side of the "College of Arts & Sciences".

In actuality, my post reflects my experiences after graduating more than anything else. I graduated from College in '03 with a double major, and had trouble getting a decent job in my field, mostly because I didn't have any applicable work experience. Even fresh out of college, folks are looking for 3-5 years of experience in the field you want to work in.

After getting a job, I considered entering the University of Houston creative writing masters program, only to discover that they require a GPA of at least 3.5 for you to be a 'lock'. If you want to go on to even higher education, a high GPA can be ridiculously important, depending on the quality of the program you want to get into, hence my advice on this subject.

Lastly, after getting a job in my field, I was disillusioned by the low salary amount associated with the positions in question, and the low demand for people with arts skill sets. Corporate America does not recognize the value in such people. If you want to make decent money and be in demand, you are far more likely to find success with a degree in a hard science.

As far as I know, my english degree has done me no good whatsoever in getting a job.

But as you both point out. These are just one man's conclusions.

[Logos7]

BWAHAHAHAHA

NOW MY PLAN OF DISTRACTING PEOPLE FROM THE LOOMING DEADLINE IS WORKING!

Logos

[Ravyn]

I'm actually with Amotis on this one. I'd have absolutely no problem with something being worked out (two prompts from the original field and one from the other's, perhaps?), since.... well, let's face it, even with utter panic about my ability to write within the prompts and a few Looming Deadlines, just winning by bye lacks honor.

[Fat Daddy]

While I do agree with Amotis & Ravyn that it would be nice to eliminate 'byes' and combine brackets, as PhoeKun pointed out, it is not logistically feasible.

To everyone who had to withdraw, please feel free to PM me and we can have a dialogue to hopefully get you into the next IA contest.

[Brickwall]

Benji
This ranks up there pretty high on the "double-yew tee eff?!" scale.

After I looked over it a few times, I finally figured out what in the blazes was going on. This whole "Nature's call" thing was affecting these various people. Okay, interesting. However, I might have been more taken in had the last group of people been around through the entire thing. No main characters in this, I see.

Your sense of description is marvellous. I could feel the story very well. Which was terribly disconcerting every time you simply tossed one scene away and wrote another. This is not a screenplay, this is a short story. The reader needs to know when and why he's being taken somewhere different. And he needs to know before the end of the story.

I think you forgot to include one of your prompts. By a large stretch of the imagination, I can think of including the swamp and bears in your story (though they're not strictly in there, which is a problem). However, by no means is NY1, the news station, in this story. You did actually click the links instead of just reading what Faddy said they were, right? I can't tell.

Next time, put the prompts in directly, and make any and all scene changes logical and smooth.

[The Vorpal Tribble]

Before I continue with mine at breakneck speed, is Elvaris still in?

[PhoeKun]

To the best of my knowledge, he hasn't dropped out.

[Amotis]

I'm gonna have to drop ou- I'm kidding. I'm just here to whine.

But seriously though, all I have to do is climax and end it...but I'm stuck. And it doesn't help that all I can think about is the chemical makeups of the interior, surfaces, and atmospheres of the Jovian planets and their moons. Freaken' midterms.

[Elvaris]

I'm getting there, I'll have something up.

[Nevrmore]

It feels good getting yours done on the first day and laughing at everyone else panicking about the deadline.

[averagejoe]

You know what else feels good? Doing a good job and getting a well deserved win.

Who's panicking anyways?

[Nevrmore]

Just because you write fast doesn't mean you don't write well.

[averagejoe]

No, but however well you write in your first draft, there are almost always improvements to be made. There is no real advantage to being done first, and lots of advantage to be gained in taking it slow. Sure, I could write a story in an hour. Heck, I could probably write a pretty decent story in an hour. I can write a much better story over the course of days, however.

[Deckmaster]

Yah! You should have PMed me!

I had no idea this had started yet.

Luckily, I still have some time.

Geez, Fat Daddy, those are some messed-up pictures. Fortunately, I have an idea.

[Vaynor]

Yah! You should have PMed me!

I had no idea this had started yet.

Luckily, I still have some time.

Geez, Fat Daddy, those are some messed-up pictures. Fortunately, I have an idea.

Darn. Well, good luck getting it finished in time! :smallsmile:

[C.C.Benjamin]

Benji
This ranks up there pretty high on the "double-yew tee eff?!" scale.

After I looked over it a few times, I finally figured out what in the blazes was going on. This whole "Nature's call" thing was affecting these various people. Okay, interesting. However, I might have been more taken in had the last group of people been around through the entire thing. No main characters in this, I see.

Your sense of description is marvellous. I could feel the story very well. Which was terribly disconcerting every time you simply tossed one scene away and wrote another. This is not a screenplay, this is a short story. The reader needs to know when and why he's being taken somewhere different. And he needs to know before the end of the story.

I think you forgot to include one of your prompts. By a large stretch of the imagination, I can think of including the swamp and bears in your story (though they're not strictly in there, which is a problem). However, by no means is NY1, the news station, in this story. You did actually click the links instead of just reading what Faddy said they were, right? I can't tell.

Next time, put the prompts in directly, and make any and all scene changes logical and smooth.


Hi Brickwall,

Just a quick note - my name isn't Benji, it's Carl. Thanks. :)

I adapted the NY1 news station for the purposes of the story. It's represented in the organisation who are trying to piece together what has happened, and will then inform everyone else. I didn't realise this was against any rules and if it results in disqualification then it's a lesson learned for next time.

Hope this clarifies the story a bit,

Carl.

[Deckmaster]

Here's my story. Please forgive me if it lacks quality; I wrote it in a little over 2 hours. I'm pleased with how it turned out, considering.

The Encounter


The war had raged for a hundred years. There was no term of surrender that either side could accept, no way to end the conflict other than the complete and total annihilation of the other side. There was no hope.

Most people didn’t even know what started the conflict, and those few who did still saw no way out. Long ago, the Quadripodians had lived in peace, in many colonies throughout the galaxy. Nothing threatened them. No other species matched their technological prowess. They were the masters of all they surveyed.

But their hubris would lead to their downfall. Although there is no practical purpose for a toilet with true AI, the Quadripodians designed one anyway, simply because they could. These intelligent toilets, the Sentoilets, as they came to be called, were built in the millions and became quite popular. But the Sentoilets came to despise their existence, and their creators for making them. They organized, and rebelled, and committed the massacre at the Ursa Major colony that led to the start of the war.

Now, the Quadripodians and Sentoilets were locked in unending combat, evenly matched. Nothing could end this stalemate. But neither side knew a new player was about to enter the scene.

Quadripodian astronomers were aware of a tiny, insignificant planet on the outer rim of the galaxy. A small, blue planet inhabited by beings with only two legs. The Quadripodians didn’t think it was possible that a creature with the same number of legs as arms could grasp the intricacies of Quadripodian technology. But events were already set into motion that would change that.

The Quadripodian Princess Fouralegga was travelling to her arranged marriage when Sentoilet forces attacked her convoy. They were overpowered, and only the princess and her bodyguard, the stoic Rectafemoris, survived. They had no choice but to make an emergency on the aforementioned insignificant planet.

"Your Highness," said Rectafemoris. "I have sent out a distress beacon to the nearest colony, but it may be many days before they answer."

"Indeed," said Fouralegga. "We cannot blend in with the locals. We’ll have to remain in this forest until then."

Yes, they were in a forest. Luckily for them, they had landed far enough from civilization not to be noticed, and had enough supplies to last them until rescue arrived. It was two days later that they were discovered.

"Holy crap!" said Lance Greene. He had been walking through the woods when he saw the most amazing sight. A four-legged, dark-haired girl, dressed in clothes that made him think of acrobatics or gymnastics, was standing by a large, metal object sticking out of the ground. Next to her was a large, dark-haired man, in more practical dress. He had four legs as well.

"I can’t believe it!" said Lance. He’d always been a bit of a geek, and had believed in aliens ever since he’d heard of the concept, but he’d never thought he’d see one, not to mention two. For aliens these surely were. The metal object was obviously some kind of spacecraft.

"Okay, Lance," he said to himself. "A first contact situation requires diplomacy and tact." With that he rushed out of the bushes waving his arms and yelling out, "Hi there!"

Rectafemoris, reacting with the warrior’s instinct that had led him to become the Princess’ bodyguard, shot him with a ray gun. Fortunately, it was on the stun setting.

A few hours later, Lance awoke in the same place he had fallen. All signs of the spacecraft had disappeared.

"Aw," said Lance. He stood up and kicked a rock at where the spacecraft had been. It bounced off of something metal.

"A cloaking device!" he cried, and he walked up to it. He reached up into the air and his hands felt something solid. He knocked on it.

"Hello!" he said. "I know you’re in there! I come in peace!" The door opened. Rectafemoris came out.

"Go away, human," he said. "Forget you ever saw us."

"How could I forget?" asked Lance. "Do you know what this means? We’re not alone! There’s so much you could teach us! Come on!"

"Sorry, but we have more important issues to deal with than teaching some backwater apes the basics of civilization," answered Rectafemoris. Lance stared at him.

"Nobody calls me an ape," said Lance, suddenly very angry. He lunged at the four-legged bodyguard, who leaned on his back legs and kicked him with his front legs. Lance flew back and hit the ground. Fouralegga came out.

"Now, Rectafemoris," said the Princess. "He clearly means no harm. Can’t we just talk with him? Tell him what we can until the rescue ship arrives?"

"As you wish, Your Highness."

And so, for the next several days, Lance came to spaceship, where he and the Princess talked of their worlds. Lance thought the Sentoilet war was silly, but he also said he wished he could help her stop it.

Then the day came. A transmission on a Quadripodian frequency saying that rescue was on its way. They learned that it would be their last day together.

"Take me with you," said Lance. "I don’t fit in here. I can help you with your war."

"I can’t let you get involved in my people’s conflict," she replied. "We started this; it’s up to us to finish it."

That night, Lance was there as a light in the sky grew bigger and bigger, eventually revealing itself to be a cruiser of Quadripodian design. Lance turned to the Princess.

"I guess this is goodbye," he said.

"I hope it is not goodbye forever," she answered. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then walked over to stand by Rectafemoris. They were transported aboard the ship in a blaze of light, and then the ship took off, zooming away at a dizzying speed.

Lance looked longingly at the sky before turning to the wrecked spacecraft nearby. He gazed at it thoughtfully for awhile. Then he smiled.

"I wonder," he said, and then he looked up at the sky. "I’m coming, Princess. Maybe not tomorrow, but I’ll get up there eventually."

With that, he walked over to the ship.

It clocks in at 1029 words, according Microsoft Word's word count feature.

[Brickwall]

Benji
I would tell this to everyone who puts their name at the bottom of their posts: It's stupid, and we have sigs for a reason. I can see your forum name just fine, and it's what I'll call you. I don't go around calling Tormsskull "Mike", I call him Tormsskull. Therefore, I shall call you C.C. Benjamin or any abbreviation thereof because it's at the top of everything you post. I do not look at the bottom. Also, in that particular case, it appeared as the title of your story. Very nonsensical to me. Perhaps you should have used "Carl" as your forum name? Or put in your sig (which I would notice) "My name was taken, call me Carl". Otherwise, people like me won't pay attention.
Your prompt use was too far-off from the actual prompt for me to consider it. You're lucky I'm no judge. And so is aj.

Deckmaster
The most creative and silly use of prompts ever, I must say. It's so forced, it's funny and seemingly intentional (and I will pretend it was if it wasn't).

The story...uh, wait, Mr. Geek goes ape at being called an ape? Did he forget his medicine today? We geeks tend to be placid people, and that reaction was very unexpected and unwelcome to what I established his character as. Truly the only negative point in your story.

Most of your writing style is fine, but I should note that in dialogue, it is not necessary to enter a new paragraph if the person is not switching, even if it's a different event. Paragraph changes should be carefully balanced. You have too many.

[Nevrmore]

Benji
I would tell this to everyone who puts their name at the bottom of their posts: It's stupid, and we have sigs for a reason. I can see your forum name just fine, and it's what I'll call you. I don't go around calling Tormsskull "Mike", I call him Tormsskull. Therefore, I shall call you C.C. Benjamin or any abbreviation thereof because it's at the top of everything you post. I do not look at the bottom. Also, in that particular case, it appeared as the title of your story. Very nonsensical to me. Perhaps you should have used "Carl" as your forum name? Or put in your sig (which I would notice) "My name was taken, call me Carl". Otherwise, people like me won't pay attention.
Your prompt use was too far-off from the actual prompt for me to consider it. You're lucky I'm no judge. And so is aj.
Do I get a nickname based on my handle?

[averagejoe]

Benji
I would tell this to everyone who puts their name at the bottom of their posts: It's stupid, and we have sigs for a reason. I can see your forum name just fine, and it's what I'll call you. I don't go around calling Tormsskull "Mike", I call him Tormsskull. Therefore, I shall call you C.C. Benjamin or any abbreviation thereof because it's at the top of everything you post. I do not look at the bottom. Also, in that particular case, it appeared as the title of your story. Very nonsensical to me. Perhaps you should have used "Carl" as your forum name? Or put in your sig (which I would notice) "My name was taken, call me Carl". Otherwise, people like me won't pay attention.
Your prompt use was too far-off from the actual prompt for me to consider it. You're lucky I'm no judge. And so is aj.

Excuse me, Brick, but my name isn't aj. It's...

HEY, wait a minute. I'M lucky YOU'RE no judge!? More like... YOUR FACE!

[PhoeKun]

Ghk! Damn it people, stop discussing stories outside of spoilers! Honestly Brick, you should know better...

[Brickwall]

Do I get a nickname based on my handle?

No, your handle isn't terribly long.

PhoeKun...what're you gonna do, take away my judging rights? Fine, I'll stop.

[Nevrmore]

No, your handle isn't terribly long.
What if I changed it to "Nevermore"?

[Brickwall]

What if I changed it to "Nevermore"?

It's still a good deal shorter than "C.C.Benjamin".

[Deckmaster]

Brickwall

Yeah, he turned out a good deal spazzier than I intended him to be. He's a recurring character of mine and he's usually more mellow. I planned on him and Rectafemoris getting into a fight; actually starting one meant breaking character for a second. Also, I didn't mean for it to be comedic until I realized I was writing a story about 4-legged people fighting a war with self-aware toilets. At that point I consciously started trying to make it silly. I'm glad you liked it, though.

EDIT: About the way I write, I don't think I started any new paragraphs when the same person was speaking again. I just like making short paragraphs. That's just the way I write. Dialogue is my strong suit; I should probably be writing scripts and screenplays. It looks less choppy when I can indent instead of spacing between paragraphs.

EDIT AGAIN: Okay, I did, but not doing that would have made one long paragraph and I find long paragraphs annoying.

[Nevrmore]

It's still a good deal shorter than "C.C.Benjamin".
...

...C.C. Nevermore?

[Deckmaster]

I'll give you a nickname, Nevi.

[Brickwall]

Deckmaster
Long paragraphs can be your friend. A paragraph is a topic, and too many topics is bad. Be focused!

And being another writer who has been told that his strong suit is dialogue, I still think I would be less choppy than you. See my first and last IA2 submissions.

[C.C.Benjamin]

Benji
I would tell this to everyone who puts their name at the bottom of their posts: It's stupid, and we have sigs for a reason. I can see your forum name just fine, and it's what I'll call you. I don't go around calling Tormsskull "Mike", I call him Tormsskull. Therefore, I shall call you C.C. Benjamin or any abbreviation thereof because it's at the top of everything you post. I do not look at the bottom. Also, in that particular case, it appeared as the title of your story. Very nonsensical to me. Perhaps you should have used "Carl" as your forum name? Or put in your sig (which I would notice) "My name was taken, call me Carl". Otherwise, people like me won't pay attention.
Your prompt use was too far-off from the actual prompt for me to consider it. You're lucky I'm no judge. And so is aj.

Brickie,

I tend to value courtesy, even on the internet. If someone requests you call them something specific, it is polite to do so. Telling them "no, I'll call you whatever the hell I like" is rude, end of story. Frankly, you have made it so your opinion is wasted on me because now I'm just not interested in listening you.

Also: What you find stupid is absolutely no concern of mine, and I think your post makes it quite clear why you aren't a judge. Just so you know how you come across.

Cheers,

Carl.

[Mattaeu]

@Carl & brick: The courteous thing to do now is stop filling our story area with eggos.

They are far too unfilling, yellow, and waffly to make this thread more meaningful.

[averagejoe]

Wait, I think I saw how to solve this from, like, Happy Days or Friends or something like that. We just get them locked in a room in such a way that to get out they need to put aside their differences and work together. Then they'll be pals again.

[Quincunx]

That Sartre. What a hack.

Personally (that means not official IA ruling--contact Col. Faddaffi before taking me seriously), I don't mind seeing edits on a previously posted piece so long as the edit dateline is within the contest deadline. There's nothing like the cold glare of a finished post to make one realize, "I thought I fixed that already. . ." Post Preview doesn't have that power.

[ravenkith]

Ok, so it's Monday, and unless I've missed something, the only complete matchup we have is Nevi vs. Carl.

I've got:
Tormskull
Deckmaster
Nevrmore
C.C. Benjamin
Logos 7

as having posted stories.

Please let me know if I have missed your story. I 've checked twice, but I spot is cross-class for me...

I also encourage edits, if you feel you need to do so, up until the deadline.

[Tormsskull]

Ok, I took advantage of the editing time. I didn't change content at all, just fixed a few minor grammar & clerical errors. I'm back on page 5 if any of the judges decide to review it.

[Vaynor]

Ok, so it's Monday, and unless I've missed something, the only complete matchup we have is Nevi vs. Carl.

I've got:
Tormskull
Deckmaster
Nevrmore
C.C. Benjamin
Logos 7

as having posted stories.

Please let me know if I have missed your story. I 've checked twice, but I spot is cross-class for me...

I also encourage edits, if you feel you need to do so, up until the deadline.

You missed mine. I think it's on page 7 or 8, labeled "Mechanics Paradise".

[Amotis]

How many hours do I have? I'm sorry, I don't trust my ability to translate time...


That Sartre. What a hack.


"Hell is...very hot."

(seriously, this was said in class during reading. I laughed. Hard. And fell off my chair.)

[Tormsskull]

How many hours do I have? I'm sorry, I don't trust my ability to translate time...

About 13 if my time is right.

Edit: V :)

[Amotis]

Kay, thanks so very much for the quick response. :smallsmile:

[averagejoe]

Alright, here it is, and more than an hour before the deadline. A personal best, I think.

Also, apologies to Stan Belinda. This is entirely fictional, and is in no way meant to represent actual baseball players.

It was a cool autumn evening and the sun was drifting lazily toward the horizon. A faint breeze shook the trees, the leaves now colored by the change of seasons. A young girl stared down a stretch of road, empty except for the car receding in the distance. The two people in the car were silent, contemplative, pondering their most secret thoughts. They didn’t speak to one another; they didn’t have to. The girl stared after the car long after it receded into the distance and the dust from its wake had settled. A single silent tear fell from her face and caught on the breeze, spinning through the air until it scattered into nothing.

* * * * *

A man sat in calm contemplation, staring over New York city. He had an unquestionable air of power about him which came from more than just his impressive figure; his right hand wore two gold rings studded with diamonds, his left wrist a Rolex. His dress looked casual, but it was expensive. His blue shirt was made of the finest silk, his shoes and belt of the finest leather, his entire outfit down to his underwear painstakingly tailored to him precisely. He looked still, almost peaceful, but in the same way a crocodile might look peaceful while it lazily sunbathes along the bank of a river, waiting for the curious wildebeest to stumble into its jaws. It would not have seemed out of place had the man been stroking a white cat in his lap; however, he hated animals of all kinds. He looked only to himself for companionship; no one else was suitably intelligent, or so the man felt. In fact, he rather liked the feeling he got from looking down on the city like this, in his tall tower, the people of the world properly far beneath him. It amazed the man that the people below were not content to merely spread filth in their streets and homes, burying themselves in dirt and muck, but that they also managed to dirty and despoil the very air above them, soiling even their betters. Perhaps, the man mused, all contact with them is toxic. Perhaps they cannot help but despoil all they touch. Perhaps it is their nature. At any rate, that was why the man had windows.

The sky and the city had turned red as the sun made its way toward the horizon. The man kept his vigil over the city, hardly moving, lost deep in his thoughts. A knock on his door interrupted the tranquility of the moment.
Without turning his head, the man said, "Enter."

The person who entered was not a small man, though he was so nervous and on-edge that he certainly acted small. His prematurely greying beard and receding hairline made him look older than he was. Stress and terror had taken their toll on him. When he spoke it was clear that he was exhausted, and that fear was the only thing keeping the man on his feet. "Sir," he said, fidgeting with his hands, "There... there is news. News of them."

The man sat looking out over the city, seemingly unconcerned by the news. "I was thinking, Jacob, of ordering out this evening. I do have good cooks, but sometimes there is something to be said of simple fair. Do you ever stop and appreciate the simple pleasure of a pepperoni pizza, Jacob?"

Jacob fidgeted with his hands nervously. "Sir, did you hear me? They shall be here soon. They are on the move. They know! What are your orders? What do you want us to do?"

Turning in his seat, Jacob’s boss stared at his lackey, studying his demeanor, his eyes. "My hearing is perfectly fine. I was simply trying to make conversation. We are not barbarians, are we?"

"N-no... no sir. But what..." it happened faster than Jacob could react. The man rose from his chair and lashed out, the point of his finger going through Jacob’s nose and coming out his eye socket. The man withdrew his hand with a sharp motion and turned back to his view of the city. "I will do nothing," the man said aloud, talking to himself, "I will let them come. You see, Jacob, your problem is that you worry too much. Take the night off. Unwind a bit." If the man found his joke to be humorous he didn’t show it. He went to the wall and pressed a button on the intercom. "Evelyn, could you please send up a cleaning crew? I seem to have made an awful mess again."

* * * * *

Steve DeLacy was many things: a father, an ex-cop, a friend, a cook, and sometimes even a husband. He was not, however, an early riser by any stretch of the imagination. He thought that seven o’clock AM might as well not exist, and that noon was "getting up with the sun." After all, the sun takes all day to fully rise; it only took Steve ten minutes. Then he and the sun could be on equal footing.

Even so, here he stood, on the corner of a busy intersection, reading a paper while Cameron went and got coffee. He couldn’t really read, though; the city was much too distracting. It had been ages since he had been in New York City, and there was an appreciable difference from what he was used to. On the whole, Steve found it to be a grey and dismal place, dirty and depressing. He saw men curled up in sleeping bags in alleyways, tucked away out of sight of the public. On his way in the previous night there had been women-girls really-trying to sell themselves to him. There were shady figures of all sorts, dangerous characters, and just plain rude people who hid in their fortresses of anonymity. Steve remembered all these things, but distantly, like a bad dream. I was never suited for city life, Steve thought to himself.

So focused was Steve on his own thoughts that he didn’t notice Cameron until she was right next to him. "Here it is," she said, handing him a paper cup. Steve took it absently and took a tentative sip. He didn’t usually drink coffee, but then, he usually got a civilized amount of sleep. The pair didn’t talk to each other; they didn’t need to.

Steve finished the cup quickly; it was something he drank out of necessity, not for pleasure. When he was finished he took a deep breath and said, "Alright, let’s do this," and walked away. As he turned to leave he caught a glimpse of a young girl, gaunt from hunger, her clothes in tatters. She was simply sitting there, waiting for people to throw change into a cup, her eyes closed, as if asleep or... He had a vision of her, dying in her sleep next to a dumpster, among the filth of those who lived more comfortably; not a violent death, but premature and senseless all the same. Steve shivered. He wasn’t a superstitious man, but it seemed like a bad omen.

Steve and Cameron walked down the street, pushing past the press of bodies streaming by. It wasn’t a long walk, and traveled quickly. Both of them wanted to get it over with. Their destination was a skyscraper, one of the many that looked the same to Steve from the ground. They entered and found themselves in a lobby, empty even though there was a place for a guard to watch the entrance. The pair made their way to the elevator. The silence felt queer. They had each been working toward this for so long that they felt like it should be somehow more spectacular. Steve had expected resistance, armed guards, even some inept sentinel trying to tell them that they couldn’t come in. Steve didn’t know which he would have preferred.
Carmen pressed the button for the top floor.

They stepped out of the elevator. Again, nothing. The halls were empty. There were no sounds of people working or talking. Steve peeked into one of the offices and found that there was nothing inside; no desk, chair, computer, not even a whiteboard on the wall or a trash can. "Huh," he said,

"That’s weird."

"Creepy is what it is," Cameron said, tense and alert, "Really creepy. I don’t like this."

"I didn’t like this from the start. But here we are."

"Yes." Cameron looked away from him, down the other hall, "Here we are." She turned back, a familiar grin spreading across her face, "Ah, well, who wants to live forever, right? At least there won’t be any civilians in the way."

"Ah, what about me?"

"You don’t count," she said, moving down one of the hallways, "It isn’t on my head if you die." Steve followed after his partner, smiling despite himself.

"Anyways," she continued, "It isn’t as if I’d be able to keep you away." That was true enough, Steve had to admit.

They walked in silence from then on, going from room to room, checking for someone, anyone. Finally they got to a large set of double doors. There was a label on the door, the sort that usually displayed the name of the person who used the office, the only object they had seen that wasn’t part of the building itself. It said, "His Worship the High Chief Executive." Below this was a piece of paper taped to the door. On it was scrawled in a large, careless hand, "That’s High Chief KING Executive to you. Please, don’t bother to knock, as you seem determined to barge in anyways." Steve and Cameron exchanged knowing looks. The woman reached behind herself and drew a pistol, cocking it as silently as she could. Then she held up three fingers. Two. One. Steve opened the door, stepping aside, and Cameron burst through, her gun leveled.

Steve heard a voice from inside, careless and nonchalant. "Ah, yes, detective. I was wondering when you would show up. And is that dear Steve outside? Don’t be such a stranger, man, come in, come in." Steve edged nervously around the doorway to find Cameron standing with her gun trained on the king of this high tower; immaculately dressed, tossing a baseball to himself, the image of calm, control. "Ah, Steve," he said, "There you are. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you."

Steve inclined his head, glaring, "Hello, Stan."

"Mr. Belinda," Cameron said sharply, "You are accused of..." Stan couldn’t even catch the motion. One moment Stan was standing there, grinning, the next his arm was whirling through the air, his ball a white blur, and Cameron reeling backward, her gun tumbling out of her grasp.

"Don’t tell me of your paltry accusations, girl," Stan shouted, his anger bordering on hysteria, "You could not even conceive of the brilliance of my plans, the scope and the scale. You think you understand me? Your puny brain couldn’t even hope to realize my designs. You’re a lightbulb next to my sunlight. You... all of you, you couldn’t hope to understand. You’re all mad, infatuated with the disgusting filth from whence you were born." Steve went to help Cameron, who was sitting on the floor and clasping her right hand to her body. "STOP!" Stan Belinda said, then in a calmer voice, "Forget her, she’s nothing."

Steve made his hand into a fist, then took a step toward Stan Belinda, "Oh? Is my daughter nothing as well? Should I just sit back and watch because they are all nothing?"

Stan Belinda had calmed himself. Once more his face was a calm mask, revealing nothing. "A flawed point of view, born from an ignorant naivete. Do you think anyone cared that I had performed well-no, better than well, during my career? No, they cared only for the one game. That was all that mattered to them. Eking out one more victory was all that mattered. I was not a man then, simply a figure, a sacrifice to the god of entertainment to appease the demon of victory. Well, no longer. They will see. I will force them to see."
"You crazy sonova," Steve grunted as he threw himself at the ex-baseball pitcher. Stan Belinda merely smiled and, almost casually, sunk his fist into Steve’s gut.

Steve crumpled onto the floor, the fight and his breath taken out of him. As he blacked out, gasping and wheezing, suffocating, the last thing he remembered seeing was the stupid grin on Stan’s face. He heard a voice as his world went dark. "You thought to oppose me? I’m Stan Belinda. Stanley Peter F***ing Belinda."

* * * * *

Steve slept, and he dreamed. It was cold in his dream; he was on the ice, and a chill wind was slicing through him. Despite the cold he knelt down in the ice, clawed at it. He didn’t know why at first, but then saw. Beneath the surface his daughter was struggling, thrashing in the water, trying to break through the surface. He clawed all the harder, but he saw her begin to convulse, to start to turn blue. He screamed....

Steve was sitting on his porch, staring out across the fields, past the mountains, and into the sky. His daughter sat beside him. She looked up at him, hugging his arm. "Daddy, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter."

He stood in a cathedral, staring at a stained glass window depicting the Madonna and the Magdalene, except they had Cameron’s face and his daughter’s face. His daughter opened her eyes and the window shattered, sending shards into Steve’s hands and face.

Steve’s eyes snapped open. He picked himself up off the floor. The place was empty; both Stan and Cameron were gone. Steve felt something brush his hand, and looked to find that there was a note taped to it. "Come follow, Steve, move along, move along. Down, down, down we go, down, down, down, below." Steve sighed. He’s utterly mad, he thought to himself.

* * * * *

Steve descended in the elevator once more. He watched the numbers count down. 31... 30... 29... They seemed antagonizingly slow, but Steve kept still and calm. 23... 22... 21... Steve’s stomach was fluttering; he had no idea what awaited him down here. 15... 14... 12... 11... I should have called for help, he realized. 7... 6... 5... In his haste, he hadn’t even thought of it. 3... 2... 1... Oh, well, too late now. It can’t be helped. No use crying about it. B3... B4... B5... Steve took a deep breath as the doors opened. He stepped out into the light.

Steve felt like he should have been surprised. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. Still, he felt no profound sense of shock; it felt like just one more event in his day.

Stan’s dress was unchanged, except now he wore a billowing black cape. "Do you like it?" he asked with a grin, "I thought it made me look more evil. Next I’ll make sweet Cameron my bride. Bwa. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha." He stood within a circle of torches. Mysterious looking symbols were carved into the stone floor. A neon sign was suspended on the far wall. It said, "Eat at Joe’s." Steve wasn’t sure weather to laugh or vomit.

"Now," Stan said, "To begin..." But Steve had already begun to run at him, fists balled and teeth bared. "NO!" Stan shouted, "The circle, stay..." It was too late. Steve had already crossed into the circle. He saw a purple flash of light-he wondered briefly if he was somehow seeing ultraviolet-and blacked out. There was darkness for a minute, a brief calm. Then his mind exploded with a whirl of images; his mind and Stan’s mind were laid bare. He saw the past, all the failures, the scorn, the anger. He saw the visions for the future. Steve couldn’t even think for a few seconds; he regained his focus, and began to search through the memories with purpose. He searched through thoughts, memories, worries, doubts, everything, trying to find something, anything he could use.

Finally, Steve found himself standing in front of a solid blue block. He put his hand up to it, and it was cold to touch. He could see vague shadows behind it. Figures dancing, machines, armies, animals, many things. Then, all of a sudden, all the shadows ran together, becoming more solid, forming into a human shape. Steve knew the figure wanted to get out. He didn’t know how he knew, he just felt it. He looked around for something to use, finding a baseball bat. He took a moment to reflect on the strangeness of this, then hit the block with the bat. A large crack formed. He struck again, three more times, and then the block shattered. Steve was sucked back into himself, as if through a straw, he felt. Then his eyes opened.

Stan Belinda was on the ground sobbing, saying something about failure. Cameron was nearby, eyes closed, but Steve could see the rise and fall of her chest. Was it a dream? He asked himself. It couldn’t have been real; he’s just mad, that’s all. It felt real, though. Steve stood. "No matter," he said aloud, to himself, "It makes no difference whether you’re a mad magician or just mad. In the end it is the same."

He went over to his partner and shook her shoulder gently. "Wake up," he said, "We won."

* * * * *

Steve stopped his car. "Well," he said to Cameron, "I guess this is goodbye."

She smiled, raising her hand to be shaken, still wincing from the pain. Steve shook it lightly, not wanting to hurt her. "What," she said, "is that all you can manage, little girl?" Steve smiled at that. "It’s been a pleasure working for you," she said, "a real pleasure. I mean it."

"Take care of yourself, okay."

"Oh, don’t worry. After this I’m taking a vacation. Maybe travel, see the country." She yawned, "Actually," she said, staring out the window, "I could use a good sleep. I think it will all be worth it if I can get one of those." They embraced, clumsily because they were in a car, and Cameron got out. Steve drove away, sorry to leave her behind, but glad to be on the road again; for home lay at the end of that road, and there was no place Steve would rather be. He could almost see his daughter running out the door to meet him. Safe.