Fortnightly Writing Competition - Next Stop: THE FUTURE! (Winner Announced)

[Ponch]

Well, it's time for another fortnightly writing competition. So pack your bags and fuel up your jet pack.

NEXT STOP:

THE FUTURE!

That's right! This competition takes place in the world of tomorrow. Is it a gleaming future of flying cars and friendly robots? Or have the robots turned on their human creators and now force us to towel them off while they lounge in their oil baths? Or maybe an asteroid strikes the earth... an asteroid filled with pirate dinosaurs ready to turn the tables on the mammal usurpers and their even more usurping robot masters! Anything is possible in the future!

So pick up your laser pens and fire up your Univacs -- the future will be upon us before you know it (April 27, to be specific). And only you, AGS community, can shape that future into something worth reading about.

     

And In The Future, Everyone Gets A Trophy!

I await your visions of the world of tomorrow!

[KrisMacDee]

It's been a while since I last wrote for FWC but I'll have a think and see if I can come up with something.  

[Ponch]

I'll have a think and see if I can come up with something.  

Awesome. I look forward to reading it. And that goes for the rest of you, AGS community! 

[kconan]

The nasal voice behind the fancy marble counter repeated, “Sir, do you want a consciousness transfer into a new host body, a criminal, or an imperfect criminal?”  I considered the options, and asked, “How much to continue tweaking my existing host shell?”  The admin replied, “No offense, but that body is done.”  I was pretty beat, having already endured several heart ailments and a few organ transplants over the last decade.  This shell was nearing the half-century mark, which was unheard of in this day and age.  “Let me contact my wife, and I’ll get right back to you”, I told the admin who then returned to her game of 5D Holo-Tetris.

The options were detailed to my wife, who had recently transferred into the attractive body of a former female fitness model that had gone brain dead as a result of a car accident.   We had gotten lucky because her host body was a rare “floor sample”, which only happens in the case of brain damage where the body is otherwise unscathed and in the even unlikelier event that the donor family gives approval.  My wife explained, “Well, we can’t afford a brand new one this time, especially since we just moved into a mega-pod…so see if you can browse the criminals.”  I mulled this over and responded, “So what if my new “guy” isn’t hot enough for your new “gal”?  Are you going to dump me?”  My now semi-annoyed wife said, “Look, you know my preferences.  I advise you to strongly consider them when making your choice...Goodbye.”  While I don’t have smoking-gun evidence, I do think she is sleeping with my rich, fancy-pants neighbor who recently transferred into the body of a host that looks a lot like our old pool boy (robot pool cleaners don’t get in those hard-to-reach areas).  Neighborhood rumors abound amongst the pod-holds, since the pool boy mysteriously vanished around the same time as Mr. Fancy-Pants had his new consciousness transfer.

After returning to the admin's desk I asked, “Can I look at a catalog for both standard and imperfect criminals?”  The admin didn’t even look up from her game and said, “No sir, but you can give requirements on facial features, body type, etc…”  I queried, “What is the difference between “standard” and “imperfect” criminals?”  The admin glanced up from her game with an annoyed look, sighed, and explained, “All of the criminal host bodies are young and without any medical issues, but the imperfect ones are discounted because they have tattoos, piercings, scars, and/or other unsightly markings on their bodies.  This is reflected in the price differences, which is five million for a perfect lab-grown host body, one million for a standard criminal, and ten thousand for an imperfect criminal.”  This lead into my next question to her, “So if I choose an imperfect criminal, I can give body type requirements, but I can’t actually view the host body before the transfer?”  The admin had lost interest in our conversation, but she at least shrugged while giving a “yep.”  As I was walking away she added, “Don’t forget that the process to find a host can take up to six months, as it takes time to sift through the cryo-warehouses.  And even then you may end up on waiting list for a death row inmate if you have overly-specific requirements.”

The “imperfect host requirements” form 1178-A was brief and vague, with options like “short, medium, or tall” rather than anything exact.  It was when I got to facial features section that I started to feel dizzy, short of breath, and an unusual tightness in my chest.  I could tell this was more than just pre-consciousness transfer jitters.  I quickly signed the form, scribbled out a check, stumbled over to the admin desk, and handed everything to her.  The admin could tell I was in obvious distress, and exclaimed, “Sir, are you ok?!  I can go get the doctors.”  I wiped the beads of sweat that were dripping down my face with one hand while clutching my chest with the other, and stammered out orders, “Do it fast…Grab the best available host…having heart attack.”   I then staggered towards a small table, looked down and saw the latest copy of “Better Pods and Synthetic Gardens” amongst the waiting room magazines, and then collapsed on top of them.

My dreams were filled with fond memories of when I first met my wife.  It was so many lifetimes and host bodies ago…If I hadn’t taken one of those solar-powered dirigible airships to New Siberia, we never would have met.  She was so stunning those retro flight attendant outfits.  I remember our first date, we went for dinner and then to an Alternate Realityâ,,¢ simulator where we engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the long extinct aliens that had unsuccessfully invaded roughly five hundred years ago.  It was so cute when she put one of them in a headlock, motioned for me to come over, and I systematically ripped off the creature’s tentacles one-by-one and then pummeled it with its own former appendages.  We were a team, and truly loved each other back then.  It was only since I was in this current problematic host body that we started to have arguments, and then over time I grew suspicious that her eyes have wandered - though I am not quite sure if her body has followed those gazes.  Maybe we just needed something different to spice up our romance; something to re-ignite the fizzling romance flames.

I woke up groggy to a nurse gently prodding my fingers.  She asks me if I feel it, and I nod.  There are several nurses and a doctor in the room, and I pick up snippets of conversation through the haze of semi-consciousness.  I hear “horrible…major reconstructions…who would do that purposelly?” amongst other unintelligable dialogues.  As the room starts to come into focus, I feel a mask on my face.  Outside of a few tribal tattoos on my arms, which I can easily get lasered off, my hands and body look in-proportion and feel good.  The doctor walks over and says, “The good news is that you were lucky to be at the clinic when you had your cardiopulmonary arrest and your host body is in working order.  The downside is that there will need to be major reconstructive surgery done on your face before…well…before you go out into the world.  There was no time to select a proper host, and this one had major facial modifications performed while in prison.”  I felt around the mask on my face, and the doctor added, “Your brain stem can’t handle the trauma of another transfer for a long time, so that isn’t an option.”  I think to myself that it can’t be that bad and slowly take the mask off.  The nurses leave the room with horrified looks on their faces.  The doctor hands me a mirror and warns, “Brace yourself…In all my years of medicine I’ve never seen such horrific subdermal implants and bone graftings.  My guess is that the former owner of your body was not very high up on the...uhh...prison totem pole.”

I brought the mirror up, and slowly opened my eyes.  Bone had been fused into the forehead, my forehead, that formed letters spelling out “CHRIS’S”, and just below my eyes and across my nose were bone graftings that spelled “PERSONAL”.  And finally, I looked down and noticed that the chin also had the same modifications which formed the word “F-HOLE”.  Hmmm...This could explain why my new body has no teeth.

The doctor had a mortified look on his face and shook his head slowly while saying, “I’m sorry man…That could take years to properly remove; it’s actually harder than a transfer itself.”  Through a big beaming smile I exclaimed, “This is great!  What are the odds?!  She will love it!  This will re-ignite the flames of passion!”  With a furrowed brow the doctor inquired, “Excuse me?!  What are you talking about?”

“My wife’s name is Chris!”

[Ponch]

Excellent work! But I demand more entries! MORE!! 

[Tuomas]

I tried it once, a few years ago. Once it was ready to pop, I just held it down to see what would happen. Eventually the bread started smoking, a smell filled the room and I let go. After that it wouldn't go down.

Tried it out with the kettle too... Held the button down once the water started boiling. You know what happened? It just boiled until the whole thing was too hot to hold on to. It was plastic you know. I let go. It cooled down and I had some tea. After that the thermostat broke. Or I don't know, something broke. The button wouldn't stay down, so boiling water became a matter of duct tape and a quick interference. That's when I started drinking coffee.

Did you even listen at all? I burnt my hand that time. It hurt. Of course. My father opened the thing. You know, it had a plastic lid on the back, stuck onto it with only a single screw. So he removed it, took a look, thought maybe he could fix it. Couldn't. It seemed nothing had gone broken. No visible parts that is.

It's pretty stupid though. I never realised boiling water would heat up the whole kettle. It's like keeping a stick in a fire thinking it'll never catch fire.

Here you go, darling.

...

Suppose we'd buy one of those bread-grill things. My friend has one, yeah, you know her. You put cheese on two halves of toast, maybe a slice of tomato, some basil, something like that. Then you just put them in, close it and it'll grill them. Yeah, exactly. Hmm, I know, but it could be fun. Not just toast, we could grill them.

...

See here, I found one of those bread-grills we were talking about! No, it's actually quite cheap, maybe we could get one? No I didn't, you were there too. Hmph. Well maybe after that? But the deal's only on until saturday. No, they're closed on sundays. How do you know? Oh, okay. But it says 'only until saturday' here.

...

Hello there ma'am! How may I help you? Oh, certainly, we've just a few left, so you came just in time! Oh no, they're really wanted. That gentleman there just bought one, said it was the cheapest in town. Why? We're emptying our storages. Yes, yes. There's actually a new model coming in.

...

They're like sneakers, or trousers. They're no worse than the new ones, but they're no longer in fashion. No, I mean, well, yes. You see this? I bought this when it was red. Now it's grey. People just want their kitchens grey these days. So the red one was as cheap as... well, as cheap as this gadget here. Yes, I'm serious.

...

On the plastic boulevard there's a tiny little shop, just like in the old days. But they don't sell white bread nor jam. No, but there's people standing outside the shop, peering through the window. What's happening? It's sunday afternoon, so everyone has time a for a nice stroll, not in the park, but along the plastic boulevard. The shops are open, you see. There's a rich man standing inside with her well-dressed, good-looking plastic wife and a man, who appears to be the salesman. The rich gentleman is obviously enjoying the attention he's getting. People peering at him like he were the king.

It's not a new Ferrari he's buying, of course not. It's something for the wife. What else would she be doing there? There's something inside a box, the people are speculating: What is it? Is it a toaster? "What the customer orders, the shop delivers", states the commercial. For a tiny fee, they'll manufacture anything you ever wanted, anything you never thought you could get. Thanks to third world labour and massive resources of new age plastic, everything's cheaper than before (not that this couple would care). So the salesman loads the box in the back of an automobile. It seems quite light-weight, surely it's plastic at least. But the by-standers have no idea, yet, you can't blame one for being intrigued.

The man starts the carriage with a tap on the panel and shoots along the plastic boulevard. The people are left speechless, standing there, waiting for the next well-dressed, plastic wife to enter the shop of the future.

...

Remeber that horrible bread-grill you bought me back when we were dating, darling? You could only grill two slices on it, both together, and you had to grease it all the time, and wash it more often! Yes, that one. I mean, after washing you have grease it and then you have to wash it because it's all greasy! No, no I didn't. No, you bought it for me. Hmph, there's no use talking to you. I bought that plant there besides. And those pictures on the wall! So don't get me started.

Anyway, where was I? I suppose this thing would break down if I burnt it? The toaster, remember the toaster I told you about? No, no, no the one I broke down by pressing down the button! Well it doesn't matter. It had metal in it. And it broke. But they say these don't break. See, there's a life time warranty. What do you mean? Oh. And what if I dropped it? What do you mean? What's a lifetime then? Oh, heh, thank God we've got an insurance then. Oh well, at least it won't overheat or boil for too long or anything.

So what would you like, my dear? This thing does it all, a toast, a grilled toast, juice, tea, coffee even, imagine that! How did we ever manage without one?

[Ponch]

Another excellent entry. The only thing that could make this thread better is MORE ENTRIES! 

Six days left guys (and gals)! You can do it, AGS Community! I believe in you! 

[Ponch]

Two days left... And two trophies left! That's too big of a coincidence to be anything but fate. FATE, AGS community! You don't want to temp fate do you? Of course you don't! So get off your duffs and get a couple more stories in here before time runs out! 

[Sinitrena]

I'm working on something. Should be finished soon.

Edit:

And here it is:

Glass Dome

I've never seen something so beautiful, so clear, so pure. Every part was perfect, every color. An absolutely perfect hemisphere was in front of me, absolutely white, absolutely opaque. There was a half cylinder in every cardinal direction that extended to the horizon. Obviously, I could only see one of the cylinders from my position on the hill, but I knew that such a perfect construct could only be perfect in every aspect, could only be absolutely balanced.

They had warned me â€" my parents, my friends, my teachers, everyone: The Dome is not a good place. The people living there left everything behind that is beautiful, that is natural, but I just had to find it, had to see it. I wanted to get in there, wanted to live there, far from the fields we had to water in the summer, far from the houses that were cold in the winter. I wanted to be free of this hardship â€" and my freedom was in front of me.

I've never seen something so beautiful, so wild, so pure. Every part was perfect, every color. Green and blue and yellow and everything, everything made sense , nothing like the pictures I had seen. Everything was like it should be, everything was grown, not a wand painted pink and the next one beige just because someone liked it this way. There was width, freedom, the sky. Finally I could see all the things I had just read about before, could feel the sun on my skin. Inside the Dome there was only the light of the Dome. I stood next to one of the airlocks, which were halfway between the rail tracks to the other cities, and for the first time I breathed natural, unclear air.

They had warned me â€" my parents, my friends, my teachers, everyone: The outside is not a good place, not safe for people. There are germs and diseases. The people living there â€" if there are some left â€" die young and work day in, day out, just because their ancestors didn't want to move to the safe cities. But I just had to see the outside. I just couldn't stand it anymore to read about plants I would never see, to know that there were other creatures on our planet I would never touch. I wanted to be free of this confinement â€" and my freedom was in front of me.

I walked the last steps, ready to leave my old life behind, my old life full of pointless things, full of dangers and lies. Finally I would live in a world, that was once called our future and became the truth for so many people â€" just not for those like my family, that preferred to eat natural bread and vegetables and work for that.

I walked the last steps to the Dome and then I saw him, the <other>.

I walked the last steps, ready to leave my old life behind, my old life full of pointless things, full of gadgets and lies. Finally I would live in a world that had a real history, that had culture and life. That were truth â€" just not for those in the Dome, because they had cut themselves off from the world instead of seeing it, feeling it, understanding it.

I walked the last steps out of the Dome and then I saw him, the <other>.

He was human.

He was human.

His clothes were white like the Dome, in a clear and precise cut.

His clothes were colorful like the world, sewn wild and natural.

It looked like it was leather, even though I knew that there was no leather in the Dome.

It seemed to be made off Designgrowth â,,¢, even though I don't know if this wasn't invented after the Dome was built.

What did he want here? - on the way to the outside?

What did he want here? - on the way to the inside?

A long time the two strangers stood in front of each other and didn't say a single word. A long time they looked at each other. They didn't fear each other. There was never any enmity between the outside and the inside.

Eventually they both shrugged their shoulders and continued their way, continued their search for a better life.

The door of the Dome closed behind the one, closed behind the other and neither looked back.

Freedom from this hardship.

Freedom from this confinement.

Freedom.


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

I'm not sure if I like this story but I thought I post it anyway  

[Ponch]

Awesome! Another entry. And there's still seven hours to go (Texas time) until the end. So come on, AGS Community! I just know you have one more story in you!  

UPDATE: VOTE!
Competition is over. Time to vote!! 

[Atelier]

Here was my entry I gave up half way through.



I vote for kconan.

[Tuomas]

Sinitrena gets mine

[kconan]

After further review...I actually dislike all of them, including my own.  I'll go with Tuomas

[Sinitrena]

kconan gets my vote.

[Ponch]

Roughly twelve hours of voting left. Once I get back from the movies tonight, I'll tally the votes and declare a winner. So if you're going to vote, now is the time! 

[Ponch]

All right! The votes have been tallied and here are the results:

First Place: Kconan

Second Place: Sinitrena & Tuomas (TIE)

Third Place: Atelier

Honorable Mention: KrisMacDee for what surely would have been a good story if only it had been written.

So I now turn this whole shebang over to kconan. Take it away, sir!

[kconan]

  Thanks!  Cool topic, though I don't think it was done proper justice. 

  The ray gun prize is pretty sweet, thanks!  I'll start a new Writing Competition thread in a day or two.  8)

[Tuomas]

Nice going. I agree, mine was so awful