Fortnightly Writing Competition -PETTY DEITY (Results)

[Baron]

Petty Deity



It's almost hard to conceive these days, with several of the largest global religions now obsessed with a single deity with vast, immeasurable, almost laughably paradoxical powers, that way way waaaaaay back in time there was more of a continuum of the divine.  At the top there were indeed fairly powerful gods, but even they had to fear their sons or enemies, lest they be overthrown.  But beneath them there were a range of lesser gods, and even quasi- or semi-divine beings, blending at the bottom into the upper echelons of mortal society.  It is somewhere down towards the bottom of this continuum that I want our authors to focus this time.  Taking the Romans as an example: they had thousands of these petty gods, each looking after very tiny and specific elements of life.  Fontis (or The Fons, as he was sometimes known) was in charge of only wells and springs.  That's it: no other duties listed.  Lateranus (not a way of saying goodbye to someone you don't like) confined his powers to ovens.  Lacturnus put the sap in plants.  Serritor was in charge of holes and ditches.  And Cloacina has the honour of presiding over the main sewer pipes (but presumably even lesser deities were responsible for the feeder lines).  This got me to thinking: what if there were petty deities for all the minor contrivances of modern civilization?  Gods of light bulbs, or toothbrushes, or dryer lint, or nose piercings, or insoles, or oversized belt-buckles, or nail clippers, or the microscopic little ball at the end of pens, or the little nests of hair that accumulate in shower drains, or... well, you get the idea.  What would their eternal lives be like?  What would be their struggles, their envies, their rivalries or their distractions?  What would it be like emotionally to be divine and immortal, but at the same time pretty insignificant in the big scheme of things? 

You have two weeks to explore these themes or parallel ones of your own devising.  Voting may or may not be along the lines of the following:

Best Character: Probably your divine creation, but maybe some mortal he/she is tormenting perhaps?
Best Plot: Someone tries to resolve some sort of conflict in a gripping or entertaining way.
Best Tone: Can you bring the reader to some understanding of what it feels like to be omnipotently minor?
Best Background World: Is the setting more than just a blackened stage with a sole spot-light?
Best Style: Encouraging the composition of memorable turns of phrase, or bold new ways of combining words.
Most Substantive: The reader actually takes away something meaningful from their short time with your words.

Deadline will be Monday November 23rd at 11:59 pm Hawaiian time.  I look forward to lots of marvellously petty entries.  Have fun and get writing!

[kconan]

Outside a small Egyptian army station in town, a low-level soldier was sharpening his spear while a rich nobleman stood nearby visibly annoyed and holding his nose.  The nobleman said, “You lowborn slave warrior types disgust me.  All of your lot deserves a good rinse.”  The soldier put down his spear and whetstone, and glared at the nobleman.  There was a language barrier between the men, but the look on the soldier's face showed that he fully understood the slight.  With a satisfied nod the nobleman, known as Festus, walked off just as the Egyptian soldier began his silent incantation to invoke assistance from the Egyptian god of pranks.  Not Bes, who is known for many things including good humor and sexual pleasure, but the oft forgotten lesser deity known as YUCKHOTEP.  After his appeal to a very specific and underrated higher power was finished, the soldier started cleaning his bloodstained shield with lye and water as a sly grin formed on his face.

The nobleman needed to get some dark eye makeup for one of his mistresses, and so he stopped in to a small ramshackle roadside store made of mudbrick.  He browsed the various colors in search of something that his caught his eye.  Festus chuckled to himself at how superficial women could be with their fancy makeup, and then he noticed a wrinkle in his fancy linen skirt and very methodically began flattening it out.  Without warning, two barrels of red ochre and henna powder fell off of a top shelf and crashed on his head spilling the contents all over Festus and his expensive linens.  The proprietor hurried over, dusted his customer off, and apologized profusely.  Festus cursed the merchant and his poorly designed shelves, but ultimately shrugged the whole event off as bad luck and exited the store in a reasonably good mood to handle more pressing errands.

Festus hummed an old bard's standard as he swaggered down the street to Madman Ramases's Chariot Emporium.  He turned a corner, brushed ochre lint off of his fine linen skirt, and then proceeded straight into a bombardment of mudballs.  Festus blindly swatted and flailed as he was pummeled head-to-toe, and quickly took cover behind an old horsecart.  He collected himself, wiped mud from his eyes, drew a jewel encrusted bronze dagger, and charged back into the street to find kids running in all directions.  In their haste the little miscreants abandoned a firing line of toy mini-catapults.  Festus cursed Anubis and Set, and with considerably less swagger in his step, continued walking towards the second largest Chariot store in all of Egypt.  There was a faint, brief cackling sound ringing in his ears as he passed Smutankhamen, an infamous merchant known for selling “sinful” hieroglyphics scribed on papyrus, but Festus decided that these strange giggles belonged to the prankster kids currently in hiding.

The lavish entrance to Madman Ramases's Chariot Emporium loomed above Festus; a salesman hustled over to attend.  The chariot salesman wrinkled his nose in disgust, and Festus explained, “This was the handiwork of some filthy street urchins” and motioned a hand over his previously attractive and elegant linen attire.  From Festus's style of speech the salesman correctly deduced that he was dealing with a rich nobleman, and so he immediately launched into an overlong sales routine.  Halfway through, Festus dismissively waved his hand and declared, “Enough of your golden tongued prattle!  Tell your boss that I'll be in my usual spot.“  Festus strode over to the waiting harem, a fancy room designed for the posh chariot shoppers to relax, and dove into the luxurious bed.  The veiled attendants sauntered over, and Festus ogled as they belly-danced.  Feeling exhausted, he eventually fell asleep from following their seductive and mesmerizing movements.  Festus awoke to find a short, stocky woman with a club raised above her head kneeling on the bed.  He half-dodged, but a hard blow was still delivered to his forehead.  A sinister cackling followed the woman as she scurried out of the waiting harem, while Festus stumbled around rubbing a large knot that was forming.  In the process of feeling his forehead, Festus noticed that his formerly bushy eyebrows had also been shaved while he was passed out.  He was also beginning to wonder if the cackling sound was his mind playing tricks on him.

Festus angrily staggered out of the room and into the main hall; head swiveling around in search of the anonymous head bonker.  He bumbled into Ramases, who said, “Festus my friend!  How are you?  I like the new look, I always felt that those eyebrows were holding you back!  My friend you know we have the latest Silver Nefertiti in stock all ready for you to ride home!  I've added leather reign-grips and silver wheelbearings just for you!  The African ironwood we used will hold up forever, but it will even further last you into the afterlife with our rotproofing…which we can tack-on for a very small-” Festus held up his hand and said, “Your harem attendants are sneaky joke-sirens that need to be put in their place.  My father is the master scribe for the Pharaoh's brother!  I will not tolerate-“ and was himself was cut off by Ramases who countered, “Festus my friend, relax!  Let me show you the Nefertiti.”  They both moved to the chariot lot.  On the way, Festus stumbled over an old carriage harness which seemed to appear from nowhere.  He regained his footing coming away with only a slight ankle sprain, and once again a brief cackling laugh could be heard.

The Silver Nefertiti model chariot was an impressive piece of engineering.  Festus nodded approvingly as he examined every inch, and then he casually said, “50 gold pieces.”  Ramases exclaimed, “You take food right from my children's mouths!  75 gold pieces.”  The rich nobleman eyeballed the wooden spokes on the right wheel and queried, “Are these spokes steam bent?”  The Chariot store owner said, “Yes of course my friend!  Ok, it will bring much hardship to my family, but 67 gold pieces.”  Festus and Ramases embraced to finalize the transaction.  Rather than have a charioteer deliver the Nefertiti to his house, Festus opted to drive it home personally.

The upper-crust nobleman was cruising along in his new chariot when suddenly there was a loud bang from underneath, and then both wheels went flying in opposite directions and the front harness snapped off - which sent the horses running off into the distance.  Festus bashed his nose on the top of the chariot due to the sudden stop.  From the metal body of the now broken and immobile chariot, Festus looked towards the sky and shook his fists while cursing Ramases and his entire family lineage dating all the way back to the Old Kingdom.  The incensed nobleman then opened the built-in safebox and began examining the sales parchment for any guarantees.  A raucous cackling interrupted his study, and now before him was a huge creature with a donkey's head, a monkey's body, and large chicken wings protruding from a scaly back.  The monstrosity was holding a multi-colored Jester's whip.  Festus exclaimed, “By the eyes of Anubis!  YOU are responsible for my ill fortunes!”  YUCKHOTEP loudly cackled and then began wildly dancing around.  Festus turned and escaped in the direction of a nearby pyramid that was under construction.

Keeping his head ducked low, Festus scampered through the pyramid and eventually found himself in one of the chambers designed to house the Pharaohs treasury.  He was very sure that YUCKHOTEP had been summoned by the foul smelling soldier, and knew that bad luck would follow until the curse was lifted.  He ducked into a small antechamber, and heard what sounded like the snap of a spring-loaded trap.  Pain emanated from his rear-end, and Festus looked behind him to see two large spiked caltrops embedded in each of his butt-cheeks.  The disembodied sound of cackling could be heard as he ran screaming into an iron maiden, which in a rare stroke of luck, happened to be closed.  While lying face-down on the sandstone floor, Festus attempted to pry the caltrops from his behind and quickly gave up on the undertaking due to extreme pain.  Slowly rising from the floor, Festus evaluated his options and decided to backtrack to the entrance of the pyramid.  On the lookout for mantraps, he carefully made his way through the narrow, dusty passageways and corridors.

Upon reaching the main entrance, Festus scanned the area surrounding the pyramid for any sign of the freakish deity that had been haunting him.  It appeared that the creature was gone.  With a defeated sigh, Festus swallowed his pride and made a silent prayer/plea to YUCKHOTEP.  He noticed a limestone deliveryman heading back to town, and Festus was able to hitch a ride for a single gold piece.


The soldier was filing his helmet when Festus approached.  He looked up at the haggard nobleman and saw that his former ridiculer was covered in mud, with a broken, bloodied nose and a huge bump on his now eyebrow-less forehead.  From a side-view, the soldier could see metal spikes firmly embedded in Festus's behind.  The beaten-down nobleman threw a bag of gold coins on the ground next to the soldier, who paused his helmet honing just long enough to blow metal filings all over Festus's torn and muddy linen skirt.  The soldier returned to his work while Festus stood there with his shoulders slumped.  Several minutes passed, and the once-proud nobleman leaned against a tree next to the soldier.  Festus picked up a pair of leather arm bracers, and began wiping the bloodstains off with a rag.  The soldier smiled, respectfully nodded in the nobleman's direction, and began reciting a curse-removal incantation.

[Baron]

Nice work.  And waaaaaay ahead of schedule, too.  Impressive!

[SilverSpook]

This looks like a whole lotta fun here!  Unfortunately I don't know if I'll be able to join due to having a hard deadline at Neofeud at this point. 

Good luck to all entrants and I'll be sure to vote! 

[Baron]

Sorry to lose you, Spooks.  But remember, there's no minimum word count: I've seen many a high-quality short entry steal the show.  So if you are struck by inspiration at some point in the next three days, just write out the kernel of the story in a captivating way and see what happens.  

[Sinitrena]

Lost Children

He was watching the little girl cry herself to sleep. Actually, he was watching millions of little boys and girls all over the world through the eyes of his avatars at this very moment but this girl had caught his attention. He remembered her from a few weeks ago, clutching her tiger cub in her hands.

And then the avatar was forcefully taken from her. It fell to the ground into mud and rubble and people stepped on it. It lay there for a while while rain pattered down on it and its fur got dirty and the filling started to rot. It lost an ear somehow. He didn't know how. When the girl lost it, he didn't feel like looking through it again soon.

But later, when he felt that it was picked up again, he stole a peek. A boy, younger even than the girl, cuddled it to his chest. The boy didn't mind that it was filthy. He didn't mind that it smelled or that it was ripped along its belly and the stuffing came out. No, he was just glad that he had something to hold onto, something to love, something that would protect him.

Theodoros had smiled when the boy had found the tiger. The boy was one of his lost children, one of the children who lost their stuffed toys and therefore the contact to him. But he had found him again and knew that he was at least alive.

It took him longer to find the girl and even now he didn't watch her through the button eyes of one of his avatars belonging to her. Instead, he saw her through the stitched eyes of a bear dangling on a keyring someone had forgotten on a table in this chaotic room.

The keyring pendant was a stuffed animal but not a toy and so Theodoros' connection to it wasn't as strong as to other avatars. Key chains were, after all, first and foremost the domain of Keyla, who was responsible for keys and locks.

It was a long time since he had dared to move on of his avatars when adults were around. Children felt comfort and protection when a teddy wrapped its arms around their necks but adults generally got uncomfortable. He even remembered them calling one of his avatars possessed and him a demon, and how they burned the poor avatar. He was careful, of course, but he wasn't very strong and when a lot of people needed his comfort, he tended to slip up.

So many children cried for the comfort of their parents and the little joy a plush toy would offer them and so many of them weren't anywhere near one of the avatars. But he could at least see and hear the girl and so his obligation to reach her was strong â€" so strong that he threw caution to the wind and ignored everything in the room except for the girl.

Maybe this was the reason why he now swung the little bear on the key chain back and forth, trying to dislodge the the keys from the table and move the avatar nearer to the girl. The keys slid over the tabletop and jingled to the ground., startling some people awake. They hadn't slept very well before.

Theodoros' avatars never moved fast. His strength came from the belief that even something weak can protect and from the love he received when people played with his avatars. But his power was calm and homely, not fast and strong. Before the avatar could even turn around â€" it had landed on its face â€" and drag the heavy keys across the dirty floor, someone picked it up and put it back on the table.

Theodoros cursed, then stopped, realising that he was one of the gods that should definitely never curse, then cursed because of his cursing. He noticed the absurdity of this but he was always impulsive in some regards. He always realised the stupidity of his actions but never really managed to stop himself. It probably had something to do with the fact that his primary charge were children.

He sighed. He hadn't accomplished anything. The little girl still lay in this bed that was definitely not hers and cried because she had nothing to hold onto â€" not her mother who she really wanted and needed and not one of Theodoros' avatars, which wouldn't be as good but which would at least help.

“Keys are not supposed to move on their own,” Keyla said suddenly in his head.

It wasn't really in his head because they were non-corporeal but Theodoros was used to look through the eyes of avatars and hear with the ears of avatars and so he liked to think of himself in the form of a body, usually a teddy bear. After all, this was also where he had taken his name from. People called him by many names but Teddy was a very common one. It somehow just stuck with him after a while.

“Children are not supposed to be alone,” he answered.

“There are many people in this room. Nobody is alone. And what does this have to do with you moving my keys?”

“This girl is alone. She lost her father to the sea. She was separated from her mother. She lost her tiger. She needs my protection.”

Of course, Keyla didn't understand what he meant. For her, protection and safety had different meanings than for him. “She is protected,” she said, “The doors of the house are locked and chained. The locks are good. I just made sure of it. The keys to them are where they are supposed to be. The keys you moved belong to other doors. And keys are not supposed to move on their own.”

“And children are not supposed to be alone.”

He didn't receive an answer. Keyla had said what she had to say and then disappeared again. There was hardly ever a situation where the domains and responsibilities of Theodoros and Keyla overlapped.

And he still was no closer to help the girl.

He looked at her through the sad eyes of his avatar. It was strange. Adults freaked out when they saw his avatars move but they never realised that their eyes could become happy or sad. Children saw it, children believed it, but it seemed that most people lost this ability and their belief when they got older.

Sometimes he could even talk to children. And sometimes, yes, sometimes there were adults who also still reacted to his voice. It was rare and it was better for them not to mention it to anyone but they did exist and he was sure there was one living not too far from the place the girl slept now. It was a desperate idea, but it was better than nothing.

The man was about forty, though Theodoros usually just differentiated between child and adult. He lived alone and the two stuffed animals he still owned shared a shelf in the corridor.

Between the dog and the monkey lay a thick paperback book next to an e-book reader. Theodoros wondered how that was even possible. Kindulus and Papyrus didn't really like each other, after all. Papyrus thought of Kindulus as an upstart and thief. This reaction was pretty normal when a new god appeared. It was the same when Theodoros first came to be. He still remembered his fights with Kasperl, who was and still is responsible for all kinds of puppets, and had at least as many other names as Theodoros.

Theodoros sighed again, trying to focus on the task at hand. It was difficult for him to stay on one subject for long. Usually, he just allowed his thoughts to drift wherever they wanted to go. But today he wanted to help this little girl and so he concentrated.

In the next room a TV was tuned to the news and the man lay on the couch watching them. There was no way for Theodoros to reach the man from that far away and so he settled in to wait.

It was a long wait. He didn't know when the man usually went to bed, but it seemed like a very long time for him.

It didn't help that children all around the world constantly needed and deserved his attention. He wasn't one to leave anybody alone and so he whispered to the boy in Australia that his cough would go away soon enough and drank tea with a girl in Canada. He listened to a teenager in Spain rehearsing a speech for her crush for the hundredth time and snuggled with a newborn in Russia. He fought for the twin brother who threw their teddies at each other when they were angry and greeted a new friend in a shop in the USA. But he wasn't as into it as usual because he just couldn't forget the little fugitive girl that had nothing to help her through the most difficult time of her young life.

When the man finally turned off the TV and staggered first to the bathroom and then to bed, Theodoros used his powers again and dislodged the monkey from its shelf. The avatar fell on the man's head and then to the ground. The man picked it back up, cursing under his breath. His head already hurt. He didn't need anything to add to the headache.

But before he could put the monkey back on its shelf, Theodoros spoke up: “I need your help! I helped you in the past and now I need your help!”

The man looked at the monkey, confused, but didn't say anything and so Theodoros continued before the man thought of interrupting him: “There's this little girl from Syria. She lost her tiger and she's in a refugee camp not far from here. I need you to bring her a plush toy. It's not difficult, really. Anything will do. This monkey, a teddy, even an old-fashioned puppet â€" even though she's then the responsibility of Kasperl, but I think he'd agree with me on this point; that a child should not be alone. She's so lonely, you know, and I tried to go to her but that's really not as easy as it sounds. And I know you must think all of this is slightly crazy but...”

“Actually, I think,” the man finally interrupted Theodoros with a measured voice, “that I should really, truly stop drinking so much.” He tilted the monkey's head to the side. “I'm talking to a plush toy. How drunk am I?” Shaking his head, the man put the monkey back on its shelf.

Maybe it wasn't the best idea to talk to an adult. Theodoros roared with frustration. He knew that it echoed through all his avatars and he knew that this was unfair to his children but he couldn't stop himself. There had to be something he could do. He didn't know what but he just couldn't accept that he was powerless. His only purpose was to make children happy, to laugh with them when they laughed, to make it better when they felt sad. To know that there was even one child â€" and unfortunately he knew that there were many more â€" that didn't have access to his comfort was heartbreakingly painful to him.

But there had to be something he could do, at least for this one little girl. She was now in a country where you could buy a stuffed animal in every major and minor city, where thousands of his avatars waited patiently on shelves upon shelves in shops for someone to take them, where the most common prize in the carnival were toys.

But no-one seemed to care about this girl Of course, he understood that there were more important needs to meet, like food and shelter, and even he had seen the chaos in the refugee camps through the eyes of the very few avatars that did end up in them. It was just so frustrating that he couldn't do anything about it.

So very few children managed to bring even one toy with them and the countless volunteers tried all they could. Maybe he should have gone to one of them but after his last attempt he doubted that it would be a good idea. Besides, it seemed kind of unfair. They had enough to do already and he didn't want to frighten them and scare them off. They were stressed enough as it were. And even if he were willing to try it again, he couldn't think of one right now who still listened to him.

So what about the other children in the camp? There were more lost children among them than those he had contact with. And even those that currently had his protection needed so much more, more than they had, more than he could give. He couldn't ask one of them for help, although he had hope that one would act on his own. It had happened before. There was always hope.

But he wasn't willing to give up and the little bear on the key chain was so close to the girl. What did he care that Keyla would be angry? What could she do to him? Maybe he could even remove the pendant from the chain, then the avatar would be out of Keyla's domain and she could do nothing at all. It would require more finesse than the paws of a teddy usually had but he could certainly learn it, couldn't he? And then he would walk over the tabletop and after removing the chain, climbing down the legs really wouldn't be that difficult, would it? And then it was just a short distance to the bed and climbing up is no more difficult than climbing down, isn't it? No, Theodoros would not give up as long as there was even one child left that was lost. And if he had to move the avatars himself down from shelves and through security sensors and over miles and miles of roads, then he would do it. And to hell with everyone who tried to stop him, either human or god. He maybe was one of the weaker gods, but he cared.

---------------------------
Explanation for the names of the gods:
Theodoros, as mentioned in the story, because of "teddy" bear; Teddys are named after Theodore Roosevelt.
Keyla because it has "key" in it, thought he usual spelling of the name is Kayla.
Papyrus is named for the paper made from the papyrus plant. Books are a very old invention.
Kindulus is named after amazons kindle with a latin diminutive ending.
Kasperl is the name of a stock character of puppet theater in Germany and Austria.

[Sane Co.]

"Hey, be careful on that ladder, you wouldn't want it to fall," spoke a voice in a garbled whisper.
Greg started teetering, "No, I got this. I'll just continue to the top." He started to ascend again, looking onwards toward the end of the ladder. His hand reached for the next rung, it wasn't there. Greg continued climbing. He began to fall.

    Greg shot up from under the covers, pitch black. He reached for his phone on his bedside table, 1:20 A.M. Ugh... the night was off to a bad start, he laid back down.

    "Now listen up class, today we will be covering basic math that you should have learned in high school. Now if you don't know how to count raise your hand. Greg looked around, and saw his cousin with his hand raised. "Oh yeah, I'm visiting my cousin for the weekend," Greg jumped from his chair to greet his cousin.
    "It's so nice that you could come to class with me!" exclaimed Lesley.
    "I know, I just wish that I could stay later than Monday."
    "What day is it?"
    "Sunday."
    "Everyone, stand up," the teacher commanded.

    Greg sat up, it was still dark. Keeping his eyes squinted, he shuffled to the bathroom.

    There was a knock on the door, Greg went to answer it, "Hey there buddy, would you like to buy some llama traps?"
    "But it's the middle of the night." Greg squinted, "and you're a llama."
    "No, I'm an alpaca, some call me a llama with no mama."
    Greg wasn't sure if llamas were different from alpacas, but he wasn't going to question this salesman. "Hey Joe, there's a llama trap by the door."
    Joe rushed to the door. "Oh Greg, I wasn't expecting to see you."
    "Me neither, I haven't seen you in years, how's Lana?"
    "She was taken away."
    "Why?"
    "She stopped believing in Santa. I have a book about it right here."
    Greg took the book and opened it. 'Girl Stolen by Wild Elves is Kidnapped by Santa' the article read. "Wait a second, if I am dreaming, how can I read?" He looked again, 'aligator salesman dresses up as santa and eats grapes' "Wait, this isn't the same thing, I'm dreaming!"
    "I know," said Joe.
    "Wait, but if I'm dreaming, then I've overslept, I need to wake up now!"

    Greg unraveled himself from the bathroom carpet, he must have fallen asleep in there. If only he hadn't killed that last dream, sleeping on the carpet was better than no sleep at all. "I need to find a way to keep asleep," Greg said out loud to himself. “Aha,” he thought, he had read online that lucid dreaming, realizing that one is dreaming, allowed one to control one's dream. “If I can control my dream, then I can control when I wake up!” Greg was ecstatic. He shuffled back to his room and lay down in his bed. “I will lucid dream tonight, I will lucid dream tonight,” his brain repeated to himself.

   Greg sat up, it was still dark, and he had awoken again. I might as well read, reading puts people to sleep, he went to his bookshelf and picked up a book. How to Lucid Dream was the title. “I don't remember this book,” he thought. He opened it, and started reading, “This is awesome, if I can read books while dreaming, then I will have more time not to read them during the day. But if this is a dream, then the book I'm reading is not actually real, and my mind must have made it up, thus there is no point in reading. Wait a second! I'm dreaming!”
   â€œYou should wake up now, you're dreaming, you will miss work.”
   â€œNo I won't,” Greg thought, “I have an alarm set, I will wake up when it goes off. I'm lucid, this means that I can control my dream. I want to see what's been causing my horrible sleeping patterns.” He looked but didn't see anything, he turned around, and there before him was a beast with three horns growing out of its chest, purple eyes and a wide gaping mouth. It stood in front of him, mouth agape.
   â€œHello,” it said, “I'm the god of rude awakenings,” and with that the beast shoved Greg.
   Greg saw what the beast was doing. Resisting the urge to wake up, Greg made the ground start to fall away, there would be no landing. He started to hover. If this was lucid dreaming, it was awesome.
   â€œI have a few questions to ask you,” Greg stated, starting to right himself. “Why do you torment me so? What have I done to deserve this punishment?”
   â€œNothing really,” said the beast, “You're just human, and therefore cursed. Cursed I tell you, for your puny little minds cannot withstand my beating, no one can, and no one will.” The beasts voice was increasing in volume, “And you shall know that I have dominion over you, for you shall not have a good night's sleep, you will not sleep until morning, for this is what I have commanded!” The beast's voice reached a crescendo of loudness, beating down on Greg's ears making it almost impossible not to wake up.
   â€œI want quiet!” Greg screamed, and there was silence. Greg looked at the beast, its mouth was shut. “Listen here you, I have dominion over this dream, over this area, over you. You are in my dream, therefore I control you. Speak, quietly, tell me how I stop you from ruining my night.” Greg dropped down to the floor, to the god's level and leaned on the bookshelf.
   â€œYou can't defeat me, I shall forever haunt you, and you won't always be able to control me, for it has been decreed that I'm the one to wake all of you up. Without me, you will never wake up, you do not wish to banish me from your mind. There are those that have, but they either die or accept me back into their mind, for they cannot leave without me.”
   â€œThis is not what I asked, I want to know why you torment me, why must you ruin my sleep in the night.”
   â€œThis is because I need to, there is not much to waking you up. But I exist in your mind, in your subconscious, and the feeling of waking up is like a drug. I wake you up when I feel I need to. But you cannot conquer me, for I am part of you.”
   â€œWake me up no more tonight, you have gotten your fill, I have been woken up more than enough.”
   â€œI dislike your arrogance, but as you have come this far to try and defeat me, I shall abstain.”

   Greg opened his eyes, it was day. He had defeated the god, if only temporarily. He jumped out of bed, ran to the bathroom and began his morning routine. His ride to work was uneventful, just the same dumb people driving like maniacs.
   â€œI need you to complete this paperwork,” the boss said dropping five feet of paper on his desk.
   â€œOkay I'll have it done by tonight,” Greg said cheerily, and set to work.
   â€œBeep, beep, beep, beep, the fire alarm went off, it was at this moment Greg realized he was in a dream.
   â€œStupid beast can't even keep his promises, just wants to wake me up.” He opened the door to his office, and noticed the mayhem outside. Everyone was running around dropping paper on the floor. Greg ran into the crowd and hid under a desk.
   â€œI haven't seen you in forever, it was so nice for you to invite me to your office.”
   There hiding under the desk with him was his cousin Lesley.
   â€œYou hear that alarm,” Lesley said, “I'm the one who started it.”
   They sat there for what seemed like ten minutes, then the alarm stopped.
   â€œFalse alarm, everybody,” the intercom screeched, “Some monkey pulled the fire alarm.”
   Greg looked back at Lesley, who was no longer there. He just sat there.

   Greg opened his eyes slowly, the sun shone through his window, creating patterns of tree shadows on his bed. Greg felt refreshed, he was glad he was able to sleep the rest of the night.
   â€œI wonder what's on the news,” he thought, picking up his phone. He turned it on the time said 11:25 A.M. He looked for a second at the time, before it sank in, his boss would be so pissed. “Goddammit Beast!”

[Baron]

Nice to see this becoming a real competition.  A little more than 24 hours left, if there are any other takers!

[SilverSpook]

OK FINE FINE FINE!  This will be 500 words or less though.  I need to set that hard limit, and I'm posting it here to make sure I hold myself to it.  I'm also going to set a time limit of 30 minutes.  Readysego!

EDIT: Fail.

[SilverSpook]

Trevor vaulted his Casio and the tattered remains of his green sheet into the timehole, diving mic-first.

It was coming.  Coming like yesterhour's poorly curated social media self.  Like the divine wrath of a million offended and surrogately-offended millennials.

An edge of cloth was caught on the cookies-and-cream colored spike of VHS static.  "FUUUUUUooooAAAAUUUUCK" Trevor's voice pitchbent in and out of tune, dodging the ninjastar blizzard cast by moldy magnetic video tape.  He yanked himself free plunging through the screen.

The sky was the color of CRT channel 3, the timestamp in phosphorous-white Terminal font screaming at him.  00:00.

They were on him, and close.  Sprinting across a paralellogram of neon #FF0000 gridlines vanishing toward dead-LED black.  A golden isosceles hovered above like a holy low-poly mirage, an Illuminati pyramid, tiered with aliased black lines, as if rendered by the Doom engine.  Climbing to the top, Trevor stood before the God of Death, chiseled of 280 tessellated triangles in the shape of a Jackal-headed man.  Trevor fell to his knees, praying.

"Couldn't be BOTHERED to cast an actual *Egyptian* as Anubis?  SO boycotting this whitewashed crap." 

The major deity Anubis shattered like God in an undergraduate Nietzsche seminar, the shards blown away into a null infinity by the gales of rage. 

"Oooh, baby, baby, baby!" Trevor shielded his face from the hail of geometry with his Mask of Anonymity.  He punched eject, Sony VHS hi-fi servos spinning him through timespace.  "It wasn't my fault!" Trevor thought to himself.  Trevor's only non-white friend was a Syrian ex-pat East Ender, and he'd quit his Molly-hustling gig, fled to Syria for $700/month and a wife.

Trevor shouldered through a titillating army of blinding fuschia leggings and a veritable zoo of animal-print leotards.  Toned legs, windmilling arms doppleganged by video echo into many-armed Hindu icons of health and tackiness.  Led by the Goddess of Pop, in her Jean Paul Gaultier armor, veined biceps throbbing like the heart of a virgin.  Trevor hid behind her iconic cones, haloed by a Vaseline-lens glow. 

"Why do all these women look like Olivia Newton John in that Physical video?  #UnrealisticExpectations"

"Has he ever even SEEN a real woman outside of porn?   For all his womanizing pervert lyrics he probably IS a virgin."

The gym evaporated like a bad dream, the legion of fitness angels falling apart into a tangle of svelte nylon gams, flabless slap-on-braceleted arms, descending lifeless and plastic as parts of Barbie dolls dismembered by goth girls on Christmas morning.  Trevor leapt desperately from limb to limb like they were loose Mario platforms, the crumbling sexy stairway to the music video title card.   

"You're probably fucked up and broke up with your new boyfriend!"  An internet-consuming wall of flame war immolated the limbs like a wax museum in the Dresden Firebombing, nearly disintegrated Trevor into non-existence, but he faded out as the video cut to commercial.  Trevor gulped as he felt his forehead, the edges of his Robert Smith forelock singed off.  It'd crashed his New Retro Wave.

"What the hell is his last name, anyway?  Someone get Anonymous to dox him."

Trevor slipped, fell on his ass, sliding through a pool of red high fructose corn syrup, to the fountain of eternal death.  Pinheads and Kreugers tearing faces off and lacerating claymation flesh with fishing hooks for all eternity.  Jason and Michael Myers stabbing an endless supply of topless hippy chicks, potheads, and booze-guzzling jocks, locked in a slasher's arms-race.   Trevor threw down his Casio into the fountain, surfing the vertical tsunami of exsanguinated teenager blood up to the visage of Lord Carpenter, emerging from the eternal Thunderstorm of Horror Climaxes in an eerie green light. 

Hanging ten on his Casio SA-46 keyboard he toed-out a sawtooth synth riff that was reminiscent of the Thriller theme.

"Sick groove, dude!"  The Lord Carpenter's face boomed, and hummed out a haunting, repetitive bass line. 

"OMG this is so much violence against women.  This is basically mental-rape.  Where are all the strong female psychopath antagonists?  So much underrepresentation!"

"AAARRRGGGGHHH!!!"

The sky-filling Carpenter head exploded like it was pregnant with a Titan-sized chestburster, bloody glaciers of cheek and teeth falling like meteors into the suburban neighborhood below.  Trevor did a 180 on his Casio, barely dodging the red-streaked comet of Lord Carpenter's schnozz.  The head gave birth to the face of Trevor's nightmares, the minor goddess of the Tumblrina Feminazis. 

"SO I'M JUST A THROWAWAY 'minor' GODDESS?!?!  ALL I DO IS CHASE A 'NICE GUY'?!??  THIS IS THE KIND OF CHEUVENISTIC CHILDISH MALE FANTASY STORY THAT RUINS SOCIETY!  THIS STORY DOESN'T EVEN PASS THE BECHDEL TEST: IS THERE EVEN ANOTHER FEMALE CHARACTER WITH *A. SINGLE. LINE. OF. DIALOG.* TO TALK ABOUT SOMETHING OTHER THAN TREVOR?!?!?!!!  #LostFaithInManity."

The raging, fairly average-looking female face with arty makeup descended to swallow Trevor whole, and he fell, crashing into a pile of picked-clean bones that used to be a Kurt Russel or an Arnold or some other mythological-status, pop cultural male figure.  Other than Tom Hardy <3.   

"I thought you might like it here, you're goth right?" Trevor said, limping away from the mass grave of manhood.

"OMG YOU JUST *ASSUME* THAT I'M 'A SCARY CHICK' CAUSE I LIKE TO DO BIG CAT EYE MAKEUP!?!?"

"Uh, no!  You look nice today?"

"OMG MEN ARE SUCH PIGS!  I'M SICK OF BEING HARASSED!!!"

"(Ignore)"

"SO WE'RE JUST INVISIBLE TO YOU?!  I NEED ATTENTION TOO, ASSHOLE!"

A non-genderedly grey Samsung S6 case the size of an aircraft carrier swung down to squish trevor like a fly, and he rolled into an uninterred zombie grave.  The earth quaked, dirt and nail polish falling into his mouth, choking him.  He stared up, gasping for air at the S6's feed.   A flashflood of butthurt tweets tagged #TrevorGate and #TrevorShouldNotExist that threatened to wipe his internet-famousness from the internet.  His Youtube videos were torn down by bizarre copyright takedown notices.  All his Synthwave friends were unfollowing.  New Retro Wave even cut him from the playlists. 

"NOOO!!!!!!"

Still in horror land, it was incredibly dark, and Trevor had a last-ditch idea.  He tiptoed into a creepy, cobwebbed-filled abandon suburban house, slipping into the closet. 

There was a creak, creak, creak.  Trevor shivered, peeking out through a crack. 

He threw his green sheet over his head, color-keying himself out of the shot, invisible.  "They'll never find me now!"

"Trevor... are you there?  Trevor?  Why didn't you call me back?  Trevor?  Do you still love me."

It was there, in the room.  Impersonating his last summer lover.

"You're searching...  Searching for somebody."  Trevor whispered to himself.  Creak.  Creak.

"Jesus, save me!"  Trevor screwed his eyes shut and whimpered into his mic in terror-ridden prayer, but he was shit out of American Gods.   Then he remembered... the green sheet, it must've been stained red by the blood...

Black nails painted with silver ankhs ripped the sheet off his head.

"JESUS?!?!  WHY IS IT WE'RE ALWAYS FORCED TO PRAY TO A MALE GOD-

"AAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"


(And that was how Trevor Something came to Not Exist).

[Baron]

...And that's time, folks!  Four impressive entries this time around should make for an interesting vote.  Your participants, in order of entry, are:

kconan with his aptly untitled RETURN OF THE YUCKHOTEP
Sinitrena with her Lost Children.  Actually, I assume they're not her children, but that's her story.
Sane Co. with his/her/its Lumber of the BEAST
Silver Spook with his Questionable Existence of Trevor Something

Disclaimer: Some entries were untitled by their authors and have therefore been subjected to my titular editorial hack-jobbery.

Voting on the aforementioned shall commence forthwith and post-haste, and conclude at midnight Friday November 27, with votes tabulated at some point the next day to make sure we've given every time zone their fair shake.  The categories by which to judge the work of our sizzling scribes are:

Best Character: Probably the divine creation, but maybe some mortal he/she is tormenting perhaps?
Best Plot: Someone tries to resolve some sort of conflict in a gripping or entertaining way.
Best Tone: The reader is brought to empathize with the condition of minor omnipotence.
Best Background World: Is the setting more than just a blackened stage with a sole spot-light?
Best Style: Encouraging the composition of memorable turns of phrase, or bold new ways of combining words.
Most Substantive: The reader actually takes away something meaningful from their short time with your words.  Was a lesson learned or a message conveyed?

Let the voting begin!

[JudasFm]

Well, I couldn't participate in this one, but at least I can vote

Best Character: Sinitrena's Theodoros
Best Plot: Sinitrena
Best Tone: Sinitrena
Best Background World: kconan
Best Style: Sinitrena. Though I was seriously torn between Sinitrena and kconan for this one...
Most Substantive: Sinitrena

[Sinitrena]

Best Character: kconan's YUCKHOTEP - I just love trickster gods, though I think he's a rather powerful god. He can obviously screw up the lives of people pretty easily and it's difficult to get rid of him again.

Best Plot: Sane Co. - The struggle between man and god is well illustrated and the confusion of the dream comes across very well.

Best Tone: Baron's defenition of this category asks for stories that make us emphazise with minor omnipotence and I'm not sure any of the three stories actual show this condition: kconan's YUCKHOTEP doesn't seem such a minor god, Sane's god of rude awakenings seems to get what he wants or at least gets revenge when he doesn't, so he isn't that minor either, and I'm really not sure what is going on in SilverSpook's story. Nevertheless, I like Sane's god's creative way to deal with pesky humans, so he gets my vote.

Best Background World: The city really comes to life in kconan's story.

Best Style: SilverSpook - There are some interessting turns of phrases in this story, some fascinating description and it paints unusual pictures in my mind, so I think this story deserves a vote here. At the same time, I read this story three times and I'm still not sure what is actually happening. I have absolutely no idea what this story is about. It's confusing and the same interessting pictures it paints for me also make it nearly impossible to understand. Show, don't tell is usually good advice, but sometimes you should just tell the reader what's going on. (And now I feel stupid. Is it really that difficult to understand or is it me? )

Most Substantive: kconan - You shouldn't demean someone just because he is of lower status, he might know a god that is willing to help. It's a good message.

[kconan]

In a rush, visiting family so I can't expound too much on the entries...

Best Character: Sinitrena for Theodoros
Best Plot: Sane Co.
Best Tone: Sinitrena
Best Background World: Sinitrena
Best Style: SilverSpook, though I was confused as well.
Most Substantive: Sinitrena

[Ponch]

Best Character: Sinitrena
Best Plot: Sane Co.
Best Tone: Sane Co.
Best Background World: Sinitrena
Best Style: SilverSpook
Most Substantive: Kconan

[SilverSpook]

Best Character: Kconan
Best Plot: Sinitrena
Best Tone: Kconan
Best Background World: Sinitrena
Best Style: Sane Co.
Most Substantive: Sinitrena

@Sinitrena & Kconan: The secret to my story is you need to read it while crossing the streams with ecstasy and special K.  Hehe, no actually it's just too cryptic, obscure, and Thomas Pynchon-gonzo batshit for its own good.  The essence of it is the eclectic musical artist / internet phenomenon Trevor Something, who is known for his remixes / mashups of various 80's and 90's synthpop (and later horror soundtrack) music is being attacked by The Social Justice Warriors or the Feminazis as they are sometimes termed.  The SJW is basically the collective set of individuals (largely women) who spend a lot of time on the internet, and especially social media, attacking ranting and complaining about things which they dislike.  This can range from things like white male dominance in society to misogyny of guys in general to the absence of strong female characters in books/games/movies to a lack of minority actors playing minority roles, instead giving all the roles to white people -- AKA 'whitewashing' (they knocked Ridley Scott for casting Brit big-namer Christian Bale as the Egyptian Moses, for example, in Exodus).  Sometimes the ranting and raging is warranted, but sometimes it can become kind of unreasonable and recklessly damaging. 

This trigger-happy indescriminate blasting is what I was trying to bring out with the bit where Trevor says the goddess "looks nice", then she reacts by calling him a misogynist, then he doesn't say anything, and she calls him an uncaring asshole.  You can't win.

For example, over-focusing on the one "Prima Noctem" comment that Robert Downey's Iron Man makes in Avengers AoU.  The SJW called it "a pro-rape statement", and "revealing of Whedon's secret hatred of women".  There were calls by big names in the SJW sphere (including famous girl-geek site The Mary Sue) for a boycott to the film, made by Joss Whedon: a well-known, die-hard feminist, and really the INVENTOR of the strong female protagonist, at least where TV is concerned, in his 90's hit show Buffy The Vampire Slayer.  It was later revealed that Downey ad-libbed that comment and it wasn't even in the script.  But the social media hypefest had already taken off, all of the Tumblrinas and bloggers and Tweeters looking to score some followers and points jumped on the bandwagon bashing the director and film and Whedon ended up taking a major beating nonetheless.  (I'm not a huge fan of AoU, but the amount of attention that went to this tiny one-off joke was ridiculous.) 

It's like the most angry, man-hating Women's Studies class, manifested in Web 2.0 collectivist-sensationalist journalism, with a kind of Reign Of Terror mob-outrage.  It operates on a similar tribalistic rage-endorphin bug in the human psyche as Donald Trump's rants on why immigrants, blacks, and poor losers are what's wrong with America.  There's no policy, no rational thought, no discussion -- just the pure animal rage at a perceived injustice, shouting all the other even-tempered candidates off the airwaves.  And it's fed by the lazy, unscrupulous, or desperate media, journalists, talking heads who want to sell eyeball time to advertisers.

Anyway, long story short, the minor deity here, the goddess of the Angry Internet Girls, has turned her rage to Trevor Something, for no particular reason other than he is a convenient target and is kind of a womanizer (he says so in his songs).  So the joke is they go through his various albums, videos, etc. and rip it apart.  Trevor Something Does Not Exist has a lot of 80's cyberpunk, Matrix, Blade Runner, Phil K Dick references.  The fitness thing with the Olivia Newton John and Madonna reference is referring to the common occurrence of 80's fitness models showing up on the covers of a lot of Trevor Something and other Synthwave artist Youtube song-covers.

The last "world" with John Carpenter is referring to Trevor Something's most recent album, "Death Dream" which is hugely inspired by master horror director John Carpenter's self-composed soundtracks, who's signature is simple Casio keyboard themes, ominous bass lines, and a lot of repetition.  (I.e. the "Halloween" theme, "The Thing" theme, "The Fog", etc.).  There is an entire sub-genre of the retro/synthwave genre dedicated to horror-soundtrack music, and in fact one horror-music artist is named "Carpenter Brut". 

Anyway, hopefully it might make a bit more sense.  I will say, this story was written lightning-fast and ergo half- or even quarter-baked as I jammed it out in about 2 hours between 1 and 3 AM.  Any further confusion I will take the hit for and chalk up to caffeine deprivation and working overtime on Neofeud. 

[Baron]

Many thanks for all the votes and the analytical discussions.  Personally I thought Spook's story was about the minor deity of Exasperated Masculinity being pursued like a druid in christian times by a mortal collective of social-media witch-hunters....

But I digress!  It is time for the tabulation of votes:

In first place, with an impressive 14 votes, is Sinitrena!  I'd give you a golden trophy but I can't access my server right now.... (Oh noes!  A minor internet deity has seized control and is posing as a young Russian widow who just needs help cashing her inheritance cheque! ).  This was my personal favourite this time around, so I'm glad everyone else thought so as well.  What I loved most was the tone whereby you really captured the essence of what the competition was about: minor, almost trivial powers juxtaposed to an inflated sense of purpose.  Theodoros must strive to comfort all children, but has nowhere near the means to achieve this task, and this is something he has to struggle with for all eternity.  Outstanding concept, special marks for novel gods like Kindulus popping up now and again, and bonus points for adding in tension with other minor gods for good measure.  Great work!

In second place we have kconan.  Again, I'd post a silver trophy for you, but my server seems to have been hijacked by a minor Nigerian deity Phishospam.   But for the time being, your reward of adoration from your fans for creating a vivid background world replete with sleezy used-chariot salesmen will have to suffice.

In third place we have Sane Co. with an impressively disjointed dream sequence and an equally obscure deity of rude awakenings.  I personally would have preferred more information on his exact responsibilities: were there other deities responsible for peaceful awakenings or half-awakenings?  But the weirdness of dream-land was well constructed and engrossing, so good work.

And that's everyone.  At least, everyone who placed....   As always I was mesmerized by the ultra-social websphere of SilverSpook's mind, but this time it wasn't quite as apparent how his story fit the topic, which I think hurt his chances.  Nevertheless there were some brilliant turns of phrase, some terrific energy as the main protagonist flitted through cyber-zaniness, and a fair stab at a decent enduring message (undeserved hounding in the pack-mentality social-media, although I think more work in showing how unreasonable/undeserving this instance was would have made the reader more empathetic of Trevor's plight).

Thanks everyone for your hard work and votes.  I enjoyed this round, but as always look forward to actually participating.  So I turn the hall-monitor-sash of contest-administration over to Sinitrena, and look forward to her upcoming topic in the next exciting instalment of...

...The Fortnightly Writing Competition!

[Sinitrena]

@SilverSpook: When I said I didn't understand your story, it was less the philosophical background I had problems with (though your thoughts are certainly interesting to read) but more the actual things that happen one after the other and the classical questions in all texts of who? (introduction of the character; who is speaking?) where? (does it take place in the "real" world, is it some kind of cyberspace? Where are we?) when? (not so important here) and most of all what?; and you answered why? already, and this was the part that was easiest to understand for me anyway.
Please don't take my criticism too hard. I really like your style (as in the combination of words) and you have amazing ideas for your plots but you're not very good at conveying them to your readers. You probably need to take a step back and ask yourself what the reader can understand of your world after every sentence and if it's not clear in the end what you wanted to say you need to add the information you sure had in your mind but didn't write down. (And yes, I read that you wrote this in a short period of time and in the middle of the night, but I also found your other stories confusing (not as much as this one, though.)
And I'm eagerly waiting for Neufeud

Thanks everybody for your votes and see you all in the next installment of the Fortnightly Writing Competition!

[SilverSpook]

Please don't take my criticism too hard.

What I've learned is that I suck at communicating, and what the hell good is a story or an AGS game no one can understand?  Thank you for your honesty in the matter Sinitrena, as you've said what everyone else has been thinking all along but are too nice and polite to say.  I knew this whole writing and adventure game making thing was doomed to failure, and I need to get a real job.  I'll be posting the announcement on the Neofeud thread in a second that Neofeud development has been canceled. 


Just kidding. 

[Baron]

As long as you learned something it's a worthwhile experience.

Finally was able to connect to Ol' Bessy (aka my server), so here's the hardware:

Golden Flying Spaghetti Monster for Sinitrena.

Silver Flying Spaghetti Monster for kconan.

Bronze Flying Spaghetti Monster for Sane Co.

...And a life lesson with the bitter after-taste of introspection, which is something like cola mixed with mouth-wash mixed with pickle brine, for SilverSpook.