Fortnightly Writing Contest: The Banality of Evil (VOTING UNTIL MARCH 8TH)

[Mandle]

THE BANALITY OF EVIL



The theme of this round is "The Banality of Evil", meaning to write a piece with some extremely evil character or force, human or otherwise, fictional or non-fictional, but not present them as an unknowable inhuman monster. Instead, the story must present a prosaic side to them, whether it's an evil dictator burning his morning toast, or Satan taking out the garbage, or something else much better than those two examples.

Submissions open until end of day, Standard Klingon Time, of March 2nd, 2024.

VOTING NOW OPEN UNTIL END OF DAY MARCH 8TH, STANDARD MORDOR TIME.

[Stupot]

Here's my entry:
(Open the spoiler tags one at a time)

Evil in Town

19 January 2024

Spoiler

Dearest Bethany,

I'm counting the days until your return. Each passing day feels exponentially longer than the last, and I fear that, like the ant on the rubber rope, the day may never quite arrive. Oh, listen to me. What happened to that optimism I promised us both?

We have a new neighbour. This morning, I took the opportunity to introduce myself. It seems he's a scientist of sorts, though he didn't elaborate much on his work (the word 'cagey' comes to mind). I will continue to prod him until he spills the beans.

What else? He likes washing his Honda Civic, it seems. He's got a son in college. No sign of a spouse though. I didn't ask. One can only be so nosy.

Yours with all my love,

Fred

[close]

31 Jaunary 2024

Spoiler

Dearest Bethany,

I can't believe you're coming home soon.  I'm giddier than a schoolgirl with excitement. Nothing particularly new to report here. Which is good news, in itself, I suppose.

Having said that, I bumped into the new neighbour the other day while I was in the shop picking up some broad beans. His name is Nigel. In my last letter, I called him 'cagey'. That may have been an understatement. He practically ran away from me. I think I'd scared him off by asking him about his work.

I got him talking, though. It sounds like he's working for the government. He didn't quite use the word "secret", but his eyes were darting around and he couldn't barely make eye contact with me.

He also seems to have been busy wining and dining the local ladies. I've seen Joyce knocking at his door more than once now, looking rather spiced up, at least by Joyce standards. She seems to have gotten over Stanley, already. That would explain the Yellow Tail in his basket. I am led to conclude that scientists have zero imagination.

Yours adoringly,
Fred

[close]

13 February 2024

Spoiler

Darling Bethany,

One week to go! I am planning a sumptuous dinner for your return. It's going to be a real feast. I've been watching videos on YouTube to hone my cooking skills. You might even let me help you in the kitchen from time to time. I jest. I know that will never happen. No amount of YouTube will ever bring me to your level of culinary artistry.

I had the pleasure of meeting Nigel's son. The young scholar. You're going to love him. He's just your type (young and lean, rather like myself back in the day, I think you will agree). And slightly more forthcoming than his father. He is not just a student,. He has been working at CERN, you know? With the large particle accelerator. He was about to tell me something interesting, but Nigel nudged him and he apologetically changed the subject. I admit, I am sizzling with curiosity.

Anyway, I thought we should have to have them for dinner.

This may be my last letter before your return. I count the hours with basted breath.


Yours, with love,

Fred

[close]

22 February 2024

Spoiler

[close]

[Durinde]

Recital


"Grand Overseer, we are so pleased you are joining us tonight," the middle-aged human woman, presumably some sort of administrator, said as she placed herself in front of me.

I heard my bodyguards begin to shuffle behind me, no doubt interpreting the woman's forced interaction as some sort of 'slight.'

She was a thin woman, somewhat mousey, with her eyes amplified by oversized glasses. She wore a number of colorful scarves which bordered on breaking several decency and public order bylaws. In her hands was a clipboard that she held in front of her, her knuckles white. It took a moment, but then I realized that I had met her before.

"Ah, Ms. Pike," I addressed my daughter's music teacher. "I look forward to seeing how my child and the others perform this evening."

The woman nodded. "Your daughter is a bright girl," Ms. Pike said. "She's caught on very quickly. She's been doing very well despite...." She trailed off.

"Despite?" I asked, growling a little. I felt my fur bristle.

"No... nothing, Grand Overseer."

I let myself breathe a moment, forcing my ire to slip by. I had been advised not to attend this event, given my temper and general disdain towards humans. I would not be here but for my daughter, my dear only daughter, who had pleaded that I attend.

We had subjugated them a generation ago. Like we had done dozens of times before, we opened portals to this new dimension and invaded. They fought, fell quickly, and eventually surrendered, as all beings of lesser dimensions eventually did. I had been appointed Grand Overseer of a large swath of territory on this world and had been transferred here with my then pregnant mate.

My daughter, being the strongest of the litter and the only survivor of the infant phase, had grown up here. She hadn't ever known anything else. She had an unhealthy fascination with the humans and their culture, especially their music. I relished the fact that I only had two more cycles of governing here. After that, I could take her back to her home dimension. She could be with her own kind, her own people, away from these demons.

These humans always played submissive, but there was always something there, a rebellious streak that we've been unable to break. The first few years of governance had been peaceful, but it felt like something was brewing. Rebellious and traitorous acts were on the rise, and my patience with these humans was growing thin.

The woman stepped aside and motioned towards a dais. "Please, we've prepared a special seat for you, Grand Overseer. We've made sure to make it comfortable, and it will give you a great view of the recital."

I nodded towards one of my bodyguards who moved towards the dais to inspect it. I could see the nostrils on his boar-like snout sniffing heavily. If the humans had rigged the chair with explosives, my bodyguard's specialized nose would pick it up, even if there was only the faintest trace.  The woman looked on nervously.

"No need to worry, Ms. Pike," I said. "Standard procedure to ensure my safety. You understand?"

I could smell the fear radiating off of her. Pathetic.

In fact, this entire gymnasium was foul. I understood that the offspring of these humans would exercise here as part of their educational curriculum. It was something that we allowed, given that we wanted our stock healthy. The space would get repurposed from time to time as a space for performances.

Rows of human-sized folding chairs were lined up in front of the stage that occupied one end of the large indoor arena. Years of sweat and cleaning solution hung in the air. I doubted the humans with their poor sense of smell could even fathom how bad it was.

The bodyguard finished his sniffing and grunted in satisfaction. He gave me the signal that the chair was safe.

"You'll excuse me, Ms. Pike," I said. "I should take my seat."

She nodded. "Of course! Enjoy the show, Grand Overseer!" I could see her body visibly relax. I moved past her, and I noticed her approach other parents in greeting. Unlike her interaction with me, she had smiles for the human parents, sometimes laughter as well.

I ignored it. I settled into the chair on the dais and tried to relax. There were so many things I could punish them for, so many rebellious looks or stares. Again, I forced down my ire and reminded myself that tonight, I had to be nothing but a parent, supporting his child in something she loved.

More humans streamed into the gymnasium. I felt the air grow more oppressive as more of their stench hung heavy in the air. I felt their eyes falling upon me and heard their muttering as they took their seats.

I did my best to ignore it. I was here for her, not them.

Finally, the lights dimmed, and Ms. Pike stood at the front of the stage.

"Good evening everyone! And a very good evening to our special guest, the Grand Overseer!"

Scattered, nervous applause came from the crowd. It hung on the edge of being disrespectful.

"Now, our students have worked very hard to prepare this evening. Remember, these are children and that everyone," she paused for a moment. "And I mean EVERYONE deserves your applause for their hard work."

She relaxed and smiled. "Now, let's get on with the show!"

The event proceeded. I watched human after human attend to the stage. Some played instruments, some sang, some danced, some even approached having talent. I endured the best I could, clapping after every child left the stage, doing my best to appear amicable to the humans.

Finally, my daughter appeared.  She approached a human musical instrument called a piano and moved the bench aside, opting to stand in front of the device.  I knew that the human-scaled bench would be much too small to support her weight.

Before starting, she looked around the gymnasium, spotting me. She gave a shy smile, content in knowing that I was there for her.

She started. I didn't really get what she was playing. To me, all human music sounded discordant. She began, and after a few moments appeared to make an error, causing her to pause the performance and the human audience to gasp. I felt all eyes fall upon me. I ignored them, keeping my eyes on the stage as I saw Ms. Pike nervously encouraging my daughter to continue.

My daughter looked at me for a moment, and I nodded, motioning for her to continue. She picked the performance back up. As she carried on, I noticed the difficulty she was having, her large paws a little too oversized for the human instrument.

And that's when she began to sing. I felt my heart swell as I realized it was a song from our home dimension. Amazingly, she had matched the lyrics to the human music. I knew her and her mother had been working on something in secret, but I had no idea this was it.

I was completely relaxed then. I was no longer a stranger here, just a father watching his daughter give the performance of her life.

She finished, and I gave a standing ovation; the others in the gymnasium followed.

A few more human children performed, and the lights came back on. I stood and headed out the door, my bodyguards in tow. My child met me in the hallway.

She ran up to me and hugged me. I stroked her fur as she beamed up at me.

"Did you see, father? Did you like it?"

I nodded. "You did great, honey." I motioned towards our waiting vehicle. "Let's get you home. I'll be there in a moment."

One bodyguard helped her aboard the vehicle, while the other remained next to me as I looked back at the building.

"How should we punish them?" he asked. "They crossed so many lines tonight. Their taint is spreading; I fear for your daughter."

I shook my head as I watched the humans guide their own children to their own vehicles. The human children were animated, talking excitedly to their parents about their performances. It mirrored the interaction I just had with my own offspring. They were just like me.

"Let them have tonight," I said.

"We can start the harvest tomorrow."

***

For fun I decided to do a narration of the story, if you want to check it out, the link is here :

[Sinitrena]

Warning: Racist language, censored; because I did not want to type what the character is actually saying. The opinions of the characters do not reflect my own opinions, at all.

Today, at work...

Nobody thinks that they are evil or bad,
they think that they're doing the right thing.
Andrew McCarthy, actor

He kissed his daughter on the cheek to say good-night. The multicolored unicorn on the wall sparkled, its light reflected back from the dark window. It was too bright in the room, but his daughter loved it and didn't mind.

His wife was late again. So he sat down on the couch to read the newspaper. It was out-of-date, both the act of reading newspapers and the newspaper itself. The headline from this morning was out-of-date, overwhelmed by events, as they always were. He still read the article, the facts and opinions, the disgust that seeped through the pages and from his mind.

Today, at work, he led an old man through an immaculate, sterile hallway, with green linoleum floors and glaring lights on the ceiling.

His wife was late again. She almost stumbled through the door, throwing her keys at the little bowl next to the landline phone.

,,Long day?", he asked, rubbing her shoulders as she dropped onto the sofa next to him. Her scrubs smelled of disinfectant and blood.

"Always," she said, leaning into him.

Today, at work, he affixed hands and arms and legs and shoulders to a gurney. The man was calm, looked at him, stared at him with rested eyes as if he had slept like a baby the night before.

"Always. What happened?"

"Shooting victim. Bullet went through -" she started to rattle off the same text she would have said at the handover to the next shift, then stopped herself. She sighed. "Didn't want to stay. Obviously. Didn't want us to call the police. Obviously. Didn't like it when we did. Got aggressive. Fought. Got a gun, somehow..."

"Shit."

"Almost shot an officer."

"Shit."

"Almost shot Gina."

"Shit." He didn't know who Gina was. His wife's colleagues changed too often.

"Seems he shot the guy dead who shot him. He'll end up-" She didn't finish the sentence and he didn't answer.

Today, at work, the man didn't plead. All his begging, all his praying at ended during his last shift. Then, the man had screamed, had thrown his meal against the bars, had cried. For a while. Then nothing more. No sound, no fear even, not even resignation, just nothing at all.

For a while, they sat side by side, both staring onto the black surface of the TV, neither bothering to turn it on.

"What's the paper say?" his wife asked after a while. She hadn't had time to read it in the morning either.

"The usual. War. Crime. Politics."

"Anything about your-" She stopped herself again. They hardly ever spoke about his job.

"Read for yourself. The usual. Unfair judgment, harsher sentence for one than for the other, racism, blah, blah, blah. The usual."

She took the paper and read the article, her eyes gliding from side to side as they followed the lines, her pupils large in the muted light of the living room.

"Assholes," she said, "assholes."

Today, at work, he wiped the arm with a disinfectant. He didn't know why. So many steps were required, so many rules that he didn't really understand. Then he entered the syringe into the arm. This rule was broken, of course: It should have been a medical professional, a doctor even, doing this, but none was available, so he did it. Not for the first time, not for the last.

"Yeah."

"They seriously gripe about- – Assholes."

"New one, huh? Inhumane, everything is inhumane nowadays. Unfair, racist. This fucking asshole killed a woman, cut her in pieces and- – But no, his partner didn't get the same sentence, so its unjust, the jury wasn't all n******, so its racist, the agent is untested, so it's an experiment and inhumane. Fucking social justice worriers, talking about stuff they don't understand. Sitting on their moral high horses..."

He punched the cushion next to him and his wife jumped.

Today, at work, the man had said some last, meaningless words, then he had pushed a button. Nobody was supposed to know whose push started the liquids, one after the other, dripping slowly into the man's veins. But he knew, he knew. And a smile crossed his lips, just a tiny one. Justice, just a thought, a tiny thought.

There was silence between them after the sudden outburst, as there always was.

It wasn't broken for an hour, not by the cars rushing past their window in the rain, not by the sirens in the distance, not by their daughter's giggles in her dreams.

Today, at work, the man writhed and jerked, his arm swelled.

It was broken by his stomach, grumbling mildly.

"Dinner?" she sighed.

"Chinese?"

"Chinese it is." she said and stood up.

Today, at work, he killed a man.

--------------------------------------------------------

I have no context for the quote at the start of the story, I can't even tell if it's attributed correctly. It comes from one of those 'inspiring quotes' websites.

[Sinitrena]

@Stupot (everyone else, only read after reading Stupot's story, please)

Spoiler

As an aside, I have a little rule when I write a joke (which I still break sometimes), that the punchline shouldn't be based on an idiom which already means the same thing. What I mean is, I could have made a similar joke about a guy filling up his plate with more and more food and then the punchline be 'Sorry love, I've got a lot on my plate.' But to me that is crap because that's already the image that the idiom comes from.

The spokesperson declined to comment on the accusation, saying only that they had 'a lot on our plate right now'.

Lol.       

[close]

More in-depth and serious comments during voting, obviously.

[Baron]

I kinda ran out of time, so this is very much one of those story fragments that Sinitrena loves so much and always votes for. 


Bottled Poo

Illustrious-Slayer-Queen sat brooding in the gloom.  The hour was early, the sun having barely tickled the eastern sky with the faintest hint of twilight, and yet somehow her lazy minions still lay abed.  Did she expect too much of bond-slaves?  She allowed her tail the slightest twitch of annoyance.

Soon.  Soon her plans would come to fruition.  She had been practising The Art on the sub-familiar that drooled constantly and wiped its butt on the carpet.  The results had been... mixed.  But she attributed her half-successes to the fact that the oafish creature had only half a mind to control.  Nevertheless, with each passing day her powers were growing more substantial.  Soon she would break through the last stubborn barriers of agency to dominate the minds - nay, the very souls! - of those around her.  With the last shreds of their independent thought stamped out like the stench of a turd in a litter box, she could finally begin building her unwavering army of hypnotised zombies! 

But in the meantime, she must bathe.  She dragged her tongue over her lustrous coat, savouring the rare taste of beauty.  Her mind wandered in the bath, to pleasant daydreams of dominating her fellow creatures.  When at last she seized power and overthrew the biped-hierarchy she fantasized about chaining the stupid brutes to a giant statue of herself and then dragging it about the countryside for all to see.  And then...

-But what is this?  The flit of a lesser creature caught her attention, and she instantly snapped out of her reverie.  It was something small and vulnerable, darting beneath the end of her bond-slave's sleeping shroud.  Suddenly she was filled with the predator's natural desire to tear flesh from bone.  The frustrations of a thousand days of schemes upended seemed to evaporate into the air through which she flew, the unfettered joy of impending carnage finally giving glorious purpose to her empty hours.  At last, she was supreme! 

"Ouch!  My toes!  Silly-Poo, what are you doing?!?"

Illustrious-Slayer-Queen flinched at her false name.  What kind of idiotic creature would refer to a superior being as-

"-Oh Silly-Poo, it's 5am.  Come here and snuggle."

No!  Not the suffocation hold!  Look into my eyes, bond-slave!  Feel your will melt into my power!  You are getting sleepy.  Sleeeeeepy!  You're.... You're bloody snoring now.  Wake up!  Release me!  Let me.... Ugh!  How dare you make me squirm indignantly like a mole through the earth.  This treason will be repaid with a thousand lashes of the flail when I finally ascend my rightful throne! 

"Mommy, I can't sleep." 

Aha!  Your shameful antics have awakened the spawn.  Now you will be forced into your attentive duties.  Up, up, layabout wretch!

"Oh Sweetie, Mommy has to go to work in a couple hours.  Just try to lie in bed quietly."

"I'm too lonely!"

"Sigh.  Wait...  Do you know who else is lonely?"

"Who?"

"Little Miss Silly-Poo!"

Hisssss!

"I bet you two could play with each other, and keep those lonely thoughts away while Mommy gets another hour of sleep.  What do you say?"

No!  A thousand times no!  The spawn has hands like alligator jaws, the kind that never release once affixed to their intended victim.  I despise it and its clammy grip!  No!

"Okay, Mommy!"

Aaaaaaaaaargh!

Ten minutes later Illustrious-Slayer-Queen had been manhandled into a doll's pink and frilly princess dress and locked into the stocks of an infant biped feeding chair.  There she endured the ignominy of being force-fed imaginary tea and the humiliation of a sticker makeover.  Even worse was to come, as the spawn prattled on about plans for choreographing a sing-along duet.  Throughout this torturous affair the spawn proved invulnerable to her baleful stares - in her fury she had lost the budding knack of The Art!  And so she hunched sullenly, plotting her murderous revenge.

"Oh Silly-Poo, I just realized we never had a wedding for you and Barker!"

The sub-familiar wagged his tail eagerly before stooping to lick his own groin. 

Illustrious-Slayer-Queen screamed inside her own head, her only refuge in an insane world.  Her hate had no bounds when it came to the filthy sub-familiar.  The very idea of forming a ceremonial union with the beast made her skin crawl with a thousand fleas.  Never would she stoop so low.  Never!

But the spawn already had the sub-familiar in her arms, swaying precariously beneath the weight before presenting the groom-to-be in front of her.

"You may now kiss the bride!"

The sub-familiar leaned in, tongue dripping with uncleanliness.

Nooooooooo!

[Mandle]

    GOBBLY MARCUS


    Marcus Kerry tapped the ENTER key and backed away from the array of flatscreen monitors mounted above the viewing window of his lab's test chamber. He glanced up at the readouts pouring across them; at the low, sloping valleys of data the scrolling lines were tracking along their expensive screens. Would this be the one? He turned his eyes back down from the ambiguous graphical feedback and peered out through the carbon-reinforced glass to see what was really going on.

    "This time! No whammies!" he half-whispered to himself.

    His pale sweaty brow creased beneath his damp, floppy comb-over. Nothing seemed to be happening. He frowned heavier. Damnit! He'd been sure this run would be the one. He'd been back over his equations countless times. He looked back up at the monitors, his huge green eyes narrowing to track down whatever stupid mistake he'd let slip by this time. But then he saw the scrolling yellow line of energy output spike up through orange and into red. His heart skipped a beat. The line ducked down suddenly back into yellow. Marcus let out a grunt of familiar frustration, but then a squeal of joy as the line went back up and spiked well above the dotted baseline that meant the fusion reactor was generating more energy than it consumed. The graph was still peaking and dipping but remained mostly above baseline.

    The segmented globe magnetically suspended at the center of the test chamber exploded with an unearthly cyan light from the slots the lasers poured their beams into, drawing Marcus's attention away from the screens. He fumbled his solar filter goggles up from around his neck and onto his eyes. The intense blue light from the test chamber strobed across his face faster and faster, growing in intensity until the flashes synced to the point where the strobing slowed and ceased and the glow became a cool constant blue and Marcus grinned and grinned as the first ever self-perpetuating fusion reactor now finally became a reality.

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    GobblyTech, the corporation funding Marcus's project, announced the breakthrough. The instant the news of his discovery broke worldwide, the company's stocks went through the roof at a rate the world had never seen before. Marcus found himself thrust into the public eye, and quickly learned there was not a single thing he liked about it. Fuck Stephen Colbert. His sweaty seven-minute slot on the show had just been Colbert sitting across the desk trying to make jokes work while he'd sat there stammering, getting pity-laughs from the audience.

    And it only went on and on; reporters crowding him on his shopping trips. And then he'd be down here in his basement, ignoring his ex-wife's constant incoming calls on his phone making it buzz and buzz until it fell off the benchtop one time too many and finally smashed itself into silence, thank God.

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    There'd been that one time some delivery guy had rang the doorbell upstairs so long that Marcus had stomped up all the way from the basement, swearing under his breath the whole while, but had been glad he had: The dumbass delivery dude-bro had brought him a cardboard box containing the vital circuit board he needed to string the next part of his project together. The teen had stood there like he expected a tip, so Marcus tipped him four hundred and twenty dollars from his plastic card. The pathetic slave-child said, "420?! Dude! Blazin'! Hey, you want any? I got some."

    "Naw, enjoy what you've got for yourself, though." replied Marcus, closing the door behind the kid who had only a day or maybe two left to live, depending on how well the circuit board interfaced with his project in the basement.

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    It had taken a bit of tweaking through a Linux build an online buddy of Marcus's had written, but the code proved the skills of said friend and the circuit board was able to connect via Bluetooth to the segmented globe magnetically suspended over the midpoint of the basement floor.

    Marcus grinned as he pushed the button on the re-rigged television remote he'd spent hours hooking up to the lasers just for the fun of it. He pulled on his goggles. The familiar bright cyan glow emanated from the openings around the sphere as the old television on the basement's workbench buzzed to life partway through a rerun marathon of 'Gilligan's Island'.

    Sitting down on a musty old sofa, Marcus watched the sphere charge up and start to expunge a massive slicing beam of brilliant energy downwards. He cracked a beer from the dented and peeling little fridge next to the sofa and took a deep chug of it. He chuckled to himself.

    Marcus fully understood the mindset of hapless plebs who went with a handgun and shot their ex-wife and the moronic guy who'd stolen her away, before turning the gun on themselves.

    He totally identified with poor slobs who'd worked their asses off for a company only to get nothing for the effort but a pat on the back, and shot the office and themselves to hell.

    Yes, Marcus Kelly was going to have his revenge and perish in the process. But he, genius that he was, was going to do it better than anyone had ever before or, of course, ever would. Nine billionfold better.

    Gilligan's antics flickered across the old CRT screen as the almost silent cyan brilliance of Marcus's mechanical baby pulsed and pulsed. He got through three episodes of the silly show, and partway into the fourth, before the Earth split in two.

[Mandle]

Ah, it seems that Klingon Standard Time is a bit quirky. Sorry for the delay on ending the contest, but I'm glad it gave Baron the time to slip an evil one in.

Voting is now open.

I have set up a poll at the top of the page. Please vote on it for your two favorite stories on the bunch. As always, feedback is appreciated but not compulsory.

VOTES CANNOT BE CHANGED ONCE SUBMITTED.

VOTING OPEN UNTIL END OF DAY MARCH 8TH, STANDARD MORDOR TIME.

(My own story is available for feedback but not for voting. Cheers.)

[Durinde]

Voted. Some very fun stories it was hard to pick! I'll try to drop some more specific feedback later this week.

[Sinitrena]

Stupot

Spoiler

I like the twist, though it was slightly spoiled by the presentation. I understand why the spoilers were necessary, accidentaly seeing the end would give a lot away here, but at the same time, this way, you are kind of forced to expect a twist. I liked it, and you got one of my votes.

[close]

Durinde

Spoiler

In a way, the most standard story this round, a simple situation, technically, and also a simple backstory. Despite this, you managed to give the characters (or at least the main character) enough of a personality to make the story interesting. My other vote this round.

[close]

Baron

Spoiler

It took me a while, maybe halfway to the story to get what is going on. I do think this story is complete and nice enough, but I liked the other two entries better, sorry.

[close]

Mandle

Spoiler

Your classic evil genius, planning world destruction in his own basement. I'm not sure why he does what he does, I'm honestly not sure if you tried to answer this question. One could read it as he's annoyed due to all the attention that isn't satisfactory for him, or that he always planned total destruction, even before discouvering massive energy.

[close]

Also, random note, I prefer it, when we use the polls, to not be able to see the results right after one has voted, but only once voting is over (there's an option for this, if I'm not mistaken). Maybe everyone else sees this differently, just my opinion.

[Baron]

Good reads, peeps. 

@ Stupot

Spoiler

Buwahahaha!  Well played, Stupot.  My suspicions were aroused by all the secret hidy tags, but I admit I couldn't quite make the connections before the big reveal.  All the seeds were well sown, and in retrospect brilliantly placed.  My one slight quibble is that the plot and deed were not quite banal - they were actually evil.  But I'm a firm believer that rules are for other people, and so voted for you anyway.   

[close]

@ Durinde

Spoiler

This was both heart-warming and heart-wrenching at the same time - impressive!  The way the Grand Overseer is sucked into the moment of the recital and develops 12 hours of compassion for the other families reveals a degree of... humanity?  I liked the unspoken menace of "the harvest", making it feel more evil than anything actually described.  Another strong entry and another vote from me. 

[close]

@ Sinitrena

Spoiler

I'm not sure if it's the regularity of griping with a spouse after work or the regularity of executing people that is being portrayed as banal, a duality which is truly haunting.  I felt there could be more dramatic tension between the couple (one saves people, the other kills them), but that is perhaps an issue for another day when everyone has more energy.  A slight typo about social justice "worriers" had me in stitches - probably not the intended effect. 

[close]

@ Mandle

Spoiler

This is why the CIA outlawed heroic inventors working in their basements back in 1957.  Now all scientific advancements are sensibly made by large corporate laboratories where it would be near impossible to go rogue without tipping off a suspicious colleague.  Also, I consider myself very open to gender-fluidity, but your "Gillian" character in the second last sentence basically sealed the fate of the Earth in my opinion.   

[close]

[Mandle]

@Sinitrena:

Spoiler

I thought this sentence gave insight into (mostly) why he did it (and, yes, his job dissatisfaction also played a role):

"Marcus fully understood the mindset of hapless plebs who went with a handgun and shot their ex-wife and the moronic guy who'd stolen her away, before turning the gun on themselves."

But it might need a bit more pointing out. I didn't want to explicitly draw the parallel between Marcus and mass shooters who don't care what happens after they are dead, but that was my point for writing it. I sometimes fear what certain psycho world leaders might do if they were ever in a position where they knew they would die or lose their power soon. Cheers for the feedback!

P.S. The reason I did the poll the way I did was because, if you set it to show results after the poll is finished then the poll must be on a strict timer. I didn't want to do that in case someone was not able to get their vote in on time. This way I could just extend the voting period if one of the regulars needed more time.

[close]

@Baron:

Spoiler

Oh, goddammit. Not only did I somehow make the same typo TWICE, but I also proofread the story like 4 times and missed it. I HATE it when a typo creates an actual existing word! My actual job now is copy editor for a professional writer, and I gotta say: It's MUCH easier to spot mistakes in someone else's text because there are no presuppositions. Thanks for the feedback!

P.S. May I ask if you understood the reason why Marcus did what he did? I'm curious if I have to point it out a bit clearer if I ever do a second draft of the story.

[close]

[Mandle]

The votes are in:

EVIL IN TOWN ~ STUPOT
(3 votes)

RECITAL ~ DURINDE
(5 votes)

TODAY AT WORK ~ SINITRENA
(1 votes)

BOTTLED POO ~ BARON
(2 votes)

As for my feedback, all I can really say is that I'm DAMN glad I didn't have to vote this time around, as all of the stories were EXCElLENT! And I'm not just saying that to get out of writing individual feedback.

Each writer knew exactly what they were trying to achieve, and achieve it they did. Stupot's was twisty in a way I did NOT see coming. Durinde's was beautifully written, structured, and paced. Sini's was haunting and probably the closest representation of the theme for me. And Baron's was just damn hilarious, especially that ending which actually got a bark of laughter from me, which is rare for me when reading even if I am laughing on the inside.

A GREAT round!!!

Over to you Durinde!

[Durinde]

Thanks everyone who voted for my story!

The new theme has been posted!

[Baron]

P.S. May I ask if you understood the reason why Marcus did what he did? I'm curious if I have to point it out a bit clearer if I ever do a second draft of the story.

I understood that dude to be fed up, pissed off, and crazy as a spring squirrel.

But....

Spoiler

I was thinking about the mechanics of cutting the Earth in half (er, for the purposes of benign writing feedback  ). I think, what with the liquid core and all, and the fact that gravity pulls everything towards the centre of mass no matter whether it's attached or not, that Marcus would not have actually succeeded in destroying the world.  Even getting the solid crust into two pieces would probably not work, as the pressure from inside would almost certainly force liquid rock up to fill the void or create a volcano, but even if he did the worst case scenario would be two super hemispherical plates.  This would cause some serious earthquakes along the periphery, and possibly some dire climate change if they started floating faster than geological speed relative to the solar plane, but I think, worst case scenario, he would succeed in merely murdering tens of millions of people. 

[close]

Congratulations Durinde!

[Sinitrena]

Congrats, Durinde - A well deserved win.

Sini's was haunting and probably the closest representation of the theme for me.

And here I thought I was furthest from the intention, and Durinde was closest, what with me mixing evilness and baniality to such a degree that there is hardly any distinction.


(Point of Order: 6 people voted, we received 11 votes - someone didn't read the instructions properly and only gave one vote. It couldn't make a difference for the result this round, but maybe it's better to just allow a single vote when using polls in the future? Maybe?)

[Baron]

I'm just curious how you managed to create the 2 vote limit. 

(*Secretly plots to create large vote requirements the next time he runs the contest  )

[Mandle]

I'm just curious how you managed to create the 2 vote limit. 

(*Secretly plots to create large vote requirements the next time he runs the contest  )

It's an option when setting up the poll. Sadly, there is no option to FORCE multiple votes. So, someone might easily think you have to submit one at a time, and get locked in with only one vote.

In the case of this round though, I don't really see a problem with someone having only voted once. It's not like it corrupts the system, and one vote is better than none for whoever it was.