Fortnightly Writing Competition - Fate (RESULTS)

[Blondbraid]

I cannot say whether it was my interest for ancient mythology or my love of irony that got the best of me,
but the theme I picked for this Fortnightly Writing Competition is fate, or more precisely, the inevitability of fate.

The story must contain a prediction, or prophesy, and a character who in their attempts to prevent it from coming true,
inadvertently sets it in motion. Oedipus is probably the ur-example of this trope, but it shows up in various other fairy tales
and folklore as well, and I'd like to see your take on this theme.

Fortnightly Writing Competition ends in december 18.

[Baron]

It is foretold that I will be submitting something within hours of the deadline .  Ponch too, maybe, although the chicken entrails are a little muddled on that point.

[Stupot]

Choice of Law

    Parents' evening.
    “Your son could become a lawyer, even a judge, Mrs. Becker.”
    “Oh, wow.” Mum turns to me with pride in her voice and dollar signs in her eyes and says, “see, Nutty? A lawyer.” I smile, shyly and feel my face redden. That sounds like an awful lot of hard work. I don't even really know what a lawyer does.

    At home.
    The front door opens, closes.
    “Nutty?” my sister shouts up the stairs. I put down the Dreamcast controller and go downstairs. She's there with my mum, who has that same look on her face. “I just went to have my fortune told.” She knows I don't believe in all that.
    “What did she say?” I say.
    “HE said,” she said “that you will become a lawyer.”
    “Just like Mr. Staples said,” mum said.

    Christmas.
    “…and this one's for you.”
    A book. I start unwrapping it and I see the familiar look in mum's eyes and the familiar yellow and black “For Dummies” colour scheme.
    “My future ‘son-in-law,'” she says. That was actually quite good, for her. Still, I don't laugh.

    After school.
    “Why don't you want to go to university?”
    “I just don't know what I want to do yet. I need a year off to think about it. Earn some money.”
    “I thought you wanted to be a lawyer. Study Law.”
    “My grades aren't good enough. Anyway I -- ”
    “Well if you spent more time studying and less time playing fucking Nintendo…” She trails off into the garden.
    I go upstairs to play fucking Sega.

    Breakfast
    “There's one for you,” my sister says handing me an envelope. Inside is a letter. I turn to her, “What exactly did that fortune teller say that day?”
    “Which day? I've been like 12 times.
    “The day he said I'd become a lawyer.”
    “He said ‘Your brother will one day serve in the Courtoom.'”
    Mum comes in. “Courtroom?” That look again.

    In Court
    I'm standing in a glorious room with wood paneling, curly wigs and black robes everywhere you look. I could get used to working somewhere like this. I can't look the defendant in the eye. There's no doubt he did it. But even so, sending people to prison is a tough job.
   â€œAnd what is your verdict?”
   â€œGuilty.” I say and sit down with the other 11 men and women behind me.

[Baron]

Fate says I'm going to get my ass in gear this week, f'shizzle!  (Fate likes to rap it old school )

[Babar]

Fate says I'm going to get my ass in gear this week, f'shizzle!  (Fate likes to rap it old school )

Hahaha! I hereby laugh at your attempts, and mock your writing ability in an attempt to demoralise you into failing to meet the deadline!

[Stupot]

Yeah, where is everybody?

[Mandle]

THE TERMINATOR LIMERICKS

There once was a girl named Sarah Connor,
Who seemed like she might be a goner,
When a future A.I.,
Chose her to die,
Before she could have Reese's boner.

There once was a soldier named Kyle,
Who beat off to a photo for a while,
But then his friend John,
Rigged the joint with a bomb,
And sent him back in true '80's style.

There once was a T-800,
Who had killed dozens or possibly hundreds,
He crouched and he huddled,
Inside the time bubble,
His huge thighs concealing his nads.

There once was a leader named John,
Who, on the eve of a war nearly won,
Sent back his best mate,
To prove "There is no fate..."
Which is what he was told by his mom.

[Baron]

It is foretold that I will be submitting something within hours of the deadline.

The prophecy is true!  Stay tuned.

[Baron]

THE END IS SOOM!

     The one called Wispy scratched behind what passed for his ears with what might have been his hind paw.  Maybe it was his nose that twitched pensively, or maybe it was his tail.  It was hard to speak in anatomical specifics with his species, for each individual was unique in terms of shape and composition.  He was a dust bunny, and he was king of Greater Underland.

   Wispy had not always worn the copper disc diadem of royalty.  Indeed, he was not even a native of Greater Underland.  He started life in Corner Behind Door before a wanderlust and chronic draft had set him questing for a kingdom to call his own.  In one of the Lesser Under-Realms he had met up with his two faithful companions, Lintmore and Button-Snar.  They had battled fearsome beasts like the Playful Fanged Shedder and the Carpet Fouler before eventually making their way to Greater Underland.

   Oh, how beautiful it was!  The cheap liner sky stretched for feet in every direction, and sparkling floors seemed to glisten with chemical aromas that brought to mind foreign sounding terms like “meadow fresh”.  And the great expanses were almost entirely depopulated, except for Broken Lego and Holy Sock, who were apparently recent arrivals.  Admittedly the living was a bit lean at first, but slowly a gentle snow of daily crumbs and toe nails began to accumulate in a bounty quite unprecedented in Wispy's experience. 

   The only other thing of note in this pristine Eden was carved on one of the corner pillars that held aloft the liner.  The Words, carved in desperation or madness, Wispy knew not which.  Some said it was a history.  Others said it was a prophecy.  Wispy thought it was a load of bunk.  But The Words had an insidious power, gnawing at the minds of the fearful and the gullible.  And now matters were coming to a head.

   For as the years had passed and the bounty of Greater Underland grew, the population began to swell.  Some more dust bunnies drifted in from various outlands and began to breed like rabbits.  Toys and larger bits of stale food arrived, and there were even a few insects and arachnids that came to call Greater Underland home.  At length the ever growing population began to put too much pressure on the food supply, and rumours of apocalypse began to spread.  The Words were the seed that fell on that fertile ground, and grew into a cult that threatened the stability of the whole realm.

   And that was why Wispy now sat, or stood, or maybe lay now, with his companions Lintmore and Button-Snar, watching the bizarre procession before them.

   â€œSoom!  Soom!  Coming Soom!” the marchers chanted, waving placards that they had made by cutting up the sacred Do Not Remove parchment, symbol of an old religion that Wispy held dear but that these doomsayers had forsaken.

   â€œWhat does 'Soom' even mean?” Lintmore asked rhetorically, more to start up a conversation than in actual wonder of its definition.  They had all puzzled over The Words in the early years, analyzing their many potential meanings.  But it was a fruitless endeavour to try to unravel such mysteries, Wispy had concluded.  Prophecy or nonsense poem?  Either way, the greatest scholars of their age had puzzled over them and could not agree in the slightest as to their precise meaning.

   Wispy sighed heavily and recited The Words by rote:

“The liner sky shall fly, and then shall come the Doom!
The crooked-bristled Broom, or the banshee-moan Vacuum!
Either way the reckoning is surely coming Soom!”

   â€œI always thought it was a type-o,” Button-Snar began.  “I mean, if something were coming, wouldn't it make sense for it to come SOON?”

   â€œWell, obviously it's not SOON,” Lintmore retorted, falling into the rut of an old argument.  “If it were coming SOON, it would have surely happened already.”

   â€œI disagree,” Button-Snar shook.  “SOON is relative to different concepts of time, not an absolute measure of-”

   â€œOh shut up, both of you!” Wispy commanded.  “We've been through this a thousand times!  What's the point of arguing?”

   â€œSorry sire,” Lintmore apologized.  “You know my poor memory, on account of having a brain the size of a peanut.  Half a peanut, actually.  Look,” he said, indicating the dry-roasted legume protruding slightly from his fur.

   â€œMine's only a bit of broken button...” Button-Snar moped.

   â€œYes, yes.  We've been through all that too!” Wispy complained.  “Now, to the point.  The Words are like a festering wound that festers more and more with each passing day.  Always festering!  But we don't need to understand the infection, we just need to cure it!”

   There were blank stares from his companions.  Actually, Button-Snar might have started to nap; it was hard to tell.

   â€œIt's a bunch of nonsense!” Wispy proclaimed.  “And the way to make everyone see that is to prove it as such.  Follow me!”

   Wispy and his companions bounded up to the processional throng, and Wispy climbed up on their shoulders in order to tower impressively over his subjects.  Well, maybe it was their backs, or possibly their faces.  But it looked impressive, and that's what counted right now.

   â€œGood bunnies of Greater Underland!  Hear me, for I am your king!” he proclaimed.

   â€œHow do we know you're the king?” shouted one of the mob.  “You don't look any different from the rest of us!”

   â€œYes I do!” said Wispy regally.  “I wear the copper disc of kinghood!”  he bent down for everyone to see, and heard the uncertain murmurs begin in the crowd.

   â€œHang on!” called out the same voice.  Wispy couldn't make out for sure where it was coming from.  “Scruffy over there's got a shinier one of those, right over there!”

   The whole crowd turned to look at the one called Scruffy.  “Two, actually,” he admitted.

   â€œShiny?!?” Wispy shouted.  “Well that just proves that they're recent knock-offs!  Only I wear the true crown, an ancient treasure given to me personally by the Lady of the Lactose Spill, ordaining me personally as king of this land!”

   â€œThat's a cheesy story!” cried out a clump of fluff agglomerated around a cheesy.

   â€œHe's spinning us a yarn!” warned a spindly spider.

   â€œI'm not going back on the foot!” shouted Holy Sock.  “It's smelly, and sweaty, and I think there's some kind of fungal issue!  We must repent of our sins, or it will kick us all up our backsides!”

   â€œNo, no!  Friends, hear me!” Wispy orated.  “That's what I'm trying to tell you!  We don't have to be afraid any more!  The Words, you see.  They're all just a bunch of stuff and nonsense, no more real than satellite communication or the Monster under Bedland.  Don't you see?  Some huckster long ago got a real chuckle from the idea of good folks like you being taken in by his little gag.  There's nothing to be afraid of, because there is no prophesy.  There is no Doom, and there is no Soom!  And I will prove it to you, by leaving the safety of the liner sky.  I will charge out into the Unknown Beyond, and will return unmolested by Broom or Vacuum, because they do not exist either!”

   A great murmur erupted from the crowd now, and rather than getting tangled in another debate Wispy spryly lept from his companions' shoulders or, er, whatever, and began to bound for the crack of light that heralded the Unknown Beyond.  Scruffy and some of his companions tried to stop him, but they were too slow to catch him.  Holy Sock raved in fear at the foot returning, and fled to curl up behind the backmost column, but the rest of the crowd came to gawk curiously at Wispy's bravado.

   With all the chivalrous pageantry of his regal station, Wispy strutted out from under the couch like the a model on the catwalk.  Unfortunately, his only audience was a woman about to host a rather important tupperware party.  All too soom the true meaning of the prophesy was revealed to all....

[Babar]

THE END IS SOOM!

Oh no, instead of my laughter and mockery demoralising you into not submitting a story in time, it invigorated you into completing it.
Curses!

[Baron]

Oh no, instead of my laughter and mockery demoralising you into not submitting a story in time, it invigorated you into completing it.
Curses!

Ah, the power of spite!  Where would I be without it?

[Stupot]

Can we start voting, or do we gatsta wait for the green light?

[Blondbraid]

Can we start voting, or do we gatsta wait for the green light?

No problem, Vote away!
Voting will last until December 27th.

[Stupot]

Can we start voting, or do we gatsta wait for the green light?

No problem, Vote away!
Voting will last until December 27th.

Are there any categories?

[Blondbraid]

Are there any categories?

Oh, I almost forgot about that, here they are:

Best character Who came up with the most interesting character?
Best setting Which setting felt most immersive?
Best writing/ wording Which entry had the best writing, and was most easy and pleasing to read?
Best prophesy And which prophesy was most compelling and intriguing?

[Mandle]

Best character: Stupot for Nutty ("fucking Sega!")
Best setting: Baron (The little world was a lot of fun, although I still am confused by "Soom". Is it a wordplay on "Zoom"?)
Best writing/wording: Stupot (I liked the brevity, and the instant cuts between time periods. I felt this kept the length and pace of the story appropriate to the satisfaction of the eventual payoff. Telling us just enough to understand the O.Henry ending was very much in Mr. Henry himself's style, and works well for such stories where the "punchline" is the whole point.)
Best prophesy: Stupot (I couldn't really understand the meaning of "Soom" in Baron's entry, even after googling. I suspect it may refer to a brand of vacuum cleaner called "Zoom"? So anyways, I have to go with Stupot on this one.)

[Gurok]

Best character: Baron
Best setting: Babar
Best writing/wording: Stupot+
Best prophecy: Babar

[Baron]

Best character Oh c'mon it's gotta be Stupot+ for Nutty's mum.  She had such credulous hope for the future, poor woman.
Best setting I'm gonna keep Gurok's gag going by voting for Babar, mostly because there was no real settings in the other entries.
Best writing/ wording I've gotta give it to Stupot+ again.  Mandle's rhymes seemed a bit ...forced sometimes.
Best prophesy I really want to vote for Babar again, but that wouldn't be fair to Stupot+.

All too soom the true meaning of the prophesy was revealed to all....

To answer questions about the use of "soom", it's just a corrupt version of "soon" that happens to rhyme with the other perils of the dust bunny universe.  Clearly the spelling and pronunciation components of their educational system's language curriculum need to be re-examined by the relevant ministries of their government.... 

[Mandle]

Mandle's rhymes seemed a bit ...forced sometimes.

Do you mean when I rhymed "T-800" with "hundreds"?

NO! That was a brilliant visual rhyme on the number versus the word...

Okay... You got me... I needed something to rhyme with "nads" (kinda)...

[Stupot]

Best character: Baron for Wispy. Poor little guy.
Best setting: Baron. I like the idea of the land under the floorboards :-)
Best writing/wording: Mandle. I'm a sucker for lim'ricks.
Best prophecy: Baron. There's a joke here somewhere about cleanliness being next to Godliness.