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The graphics look quite good. Polished enough for a finished game. The animations were also fun and well-drawn.

There seem to be a lot of rooms in which there's not much to do. There was one shot of a purple hallway where the character just walks from one end to the other. In a future where teleportation is possible, why is he just walking around? Maybe you're going to implement some puzzles there in the final game, but as a general rule, it's bad to have rooms where nothing happens in a game. It would be like going down a warp pipe in a Mario game and finding nothing but an empty hallway with another warp pipe at the other end.

Also, the walk speed could be faster (or at least include an option for the player to adjust it to their liking).

But it looks like the game is shaping up nicely otherwise.

Um... yeah. I originally started writing this story for the "American Old West" Fortnightly Writing Contest, but I didn't finish by the deadline.
I thought writing a story as if it were a transcript of an IF game would be an interesting stylistic exercise, and it was! It was also a lot of fun. I thought some people here might enjoy reading the result, so here it is:


"West Quest"

You are standing on a bustling railroad station. There are trains boarding
for EAST, WEST, and SOUTH. What do you do?

GO WEST.

You board the train heading WEST and grab a seat in the dining car.
The gleaming buildings and cobblestone roads out your window are quickly replaced
by the blur of foliage and twinkling rivers. The next time you look up from
your paper, the view outside is nothing but a flat expanse of sun-scorched dirt
reaching towards distant mountains squatting on the horizon. You SLEEP, and
by the time you wake in the morning, you have arrived in DEAD BUZZARD GULCH.
You step off of the train into the STATION, carrying your SUITCASE with you.

LOOK.

The STATION is really run-down. Boards are missing from the bone-white
wooden floor in several places. Shafts of noonday sunlight pierce the porous roof,
lighting cobwebs with a golden glow. A tumbleweed bounces lazily past.
The TICKET MASTER squats in his small wooden booth. A STAGECOACH idles near
the tracks, waiting to take visitors into town.

GET TUMBLEWEED.

You are too slow.

USE STAGECOACH.

You step into the STAGECOACH and hand the grizzled old driver a DOLLAR.
He tips his hat and cracks a ratty whip, startling the pale, sickly horses
into motion. They plod along the dusty path to town at a slow but steady pace.
The driver drops you off on MAIN STREET and the rattling STAGECOACH continues
on to the BANK.

LOOK.

DEAD BUZZARD GULCH is a tiny frontier town with only the barest semblance
of civilization. The ramshackle wooden buildings seem to appear and vanish
in the ever-swirling dust. The bare, unpainted wood reflects the omnipresent
sun in knife-like shards of bleached brilliance. MIDTOWN is a GENERAL STORE,
a TAVERN lies UPTOWN, and DOWNTOWN there is an establishment which looks
suspiciously like a WHOREHOUSE.
The HEAT presses down on you like a heavy weight. You had better get inside soon.

GO DOWNTOWN.

The DOWNTOWN section is especially rundown and sordid. Slumped shacks, resisting
gravity by stubbornness alone, lean against a sleeping giant of a building that
dominates the street. What once might have been an upscale saloon is now festooned
with scarlet curtains to lure passersby. The tattered red fabric brushes against
the peeling paint and splintered wood like outstretched arms, beckoning damned souls.
A man was just recently ejected from the establishment via a window. He lies in the
street, surrounded by glass shards and loose planks of wood.

TALK TO MAN.

"Four finger... I'll show you a finger! How'm I s'posed to test the merchandise
without touchin'? I'll show that no-good..." He mutters deliriously before passing out.

GET WOOD.

You'll have to enter the WHOREHOUSE first.

ENTER WHOREHOUSE.

You climb the rickety steps and stand in front of the saloon-style doors. Rowdy music
and raucous laughter wafts out to you from the broken window. Below the window hangs
a sign: "Sumptuously satiated carnal desires - INQUIRE WITHIN." You step towards the
door, when suddenly you notice a scorpion blocking your path.

EAT SCORPION.

Tangy and sweet, with a somewhat bitter aftertaste. That bitter taste comes from the
deadly, deadly poison in the scorpion's tail you just chewed. You choke and die.

RESET.

You step towards the door, when suddenly

STEP ON SCORPION.

You squash the scorpion beneath the thick heel of your leather boot. Its ugly guts
squirt out in a deeply satisfying manner.

ENTER WHOREHOUSE.

You push the door open and walk into the house of ill repute. All around you are
signs of debauchery: broken bottles, women's undergarments hanging from banisters
and rafters, a thick haze of smoke tinged with the unmistakable smell of that Oriental
scourge - opium. Revelers and bums sway about like sailors on a tilting vessel,
wrapping arms and tongues around buxom young women with sunken eyes. From somewhere
beyond the writhing sea of bodies, a voice calls out to you - softly at first, then
loud enough to overcome the pianist's drunken quarrel with his keys.

"Is it? It can't be! You!"

Your eyes are drawn to the voice like moths to a cliche. A brunette, with eyes of
green fire, bounds towards you, shoving couples aside in her haste.

"Desiree?" You murmur, as if speaking a thought aloud.

Her beauteous form is suddenly eclipsed by what appears to be a wild boar stuffed in
a corset. On closer inspection, you realize it is actually a woman.

"Yappin' costs money too, Sonny." She says in her genteel Southern drawl. Her fat face
glistening with sweat reminds you of a honey-baked ham with lipstick on it. From the
subtle social cues she's sending you with her outstretched palm, you gather she is the
Madam of this establishment.

PUNCH MADAM.

You sock the old bat right in her stupid face. Stepping over her unconscious body,
you quip:
"I'm never one to mince words, when my fists can do the mincing."

Desiree pushes past the last line of "customers," wrapping her arms around you and burying
her face in your shoulder. She smells faintly of lavender.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She whispers. "I didn't want to leave you, it's just..."
She slowly raises her head to look at you, searching your eyes to gauge your reaction.
"You got so erratic. I didn't know what to do. I was scared."
She peels herself off and slumps onto a couch. Her eyes gaze off into the distance -
into your shared past.

"I remember when you started to take things from my room. Little things. Odd things.
I didn't mind at first... they weren't valuable. But you didn't stop."
Her fingers begin to rub against one another. She looks down at them absently.
"I'd put away your coat and find the pockets bulging with trinkets and garbage. Clothespins,
needles... bits of chewed candy. Daguerreotypes of people we'd never met."
She sat up straighter, resting her hands in her lap. This time, when she spoke, her voice
trembled slightly.
"What could you possibly USE that junk for?"

Her eyes dart towards yours, but only for an instant.
"I... I began to think you were mad. But that was only the beginning. Everywhere you went,
you'd pick up anthing that wasn't nailed down. Whenever my back was turned, I'd hear
something else go in your pocket, or your suitcase or... I don't know where you could be
keeping it all!"
She presses a hand to her temple.

"And you started drawing maps - not just of faraway places, but the route to the store,
to the pond, to the chemist. And then I'd find you, wandering, striking up conversations
with every person you passed, grilling them for information about the random items you'd
picked up! As if everything were connected, as if it all fit together - like pieces of a...
of a..."
She stops and looks up at you, eyes glistening.

SIT ON COUCH.

You sit down next to her. She rests her hand on yours.
"I just couldn't take it anymore. I wasn't strong enough. I should have stayed... I wish
I'd stayed." Once more, her gaze turns away from you. "But I just couldn't face it. So instead,
I ran away. I came here." She reaches into her bustier and pulls out a tattered old piece of
paper. She stares at the faded ink with naked disdain. "Golden opportunities..." Her voice
descends into a growl, which twists into a writhing chain of colorful obscenities. She shreds
the paper with frenzied hands and lets the pieces drop to the floor.

GET PAPER.

Seriously?

"It was all a mistake. A horrible, ghastly mistake." Desiree moans, plunging her head into
her hands. "There's no gold. No work. Nothing but dust and drunks and..." Her voice withers
away. When she turns to you again, her face is wet.

WIPE TEARS.

You cradle her head in your hands and gently wipe the tears from her eyes.

"There's... there's something I need to confess." She pauses. "When I got to this town, and
my money ran out, a man... offered to help me. A man named Horn. But he just bought me these
clothes and dragged me to this place, and... and I'm no longer a virtuous woman."

"I have a confession," You say, drawing her close, "I don't give a"

A gunshot cuts your sentence short. You look towards the door, and see a man with a gun and
a tin badge silhouetted in the doorframe. A teenage girl in too much makeup cowers behind him.
She must have run off to get help when you punched out the madam.

"If there's one thing I can't abide, it's a man who mishandles a woman." He says, lowering
his pistol and sauntering into the room.

"That's him, Horn. Right there on that couch, that's" the girl with him starts to say, before
he slaps her across the face.

"Don't interrupt." He slowly crosses the room and looks you square in the eye. "You drunk or
just stupid, boy?"

SHOOT HORN.

Your gun isn't even unpacked, let alone at the ready.

OPEN SUITCASE.

Your suitcase contains:
1 bottle of Rotgut-brand whiskey
2 tarnished silver keys
1 wad of chewed gum
19 dollars
1 loaded gun (with 6 bullets in the chamber)

GET GUN AND SHOOT HORN.

Horn presses the barrel of his pistol against your skull and cocks the hammer.
"I guess you ain't sauced or stupid. You're just plum crazy. If you want a shoot-out, I'd be
happy to oblige. But bring it outside. A man can't concentrate amidst all this sin
and corruption."

With his gun so close to your face, you can see that the pinky finger is missing from his
right hand.

Desiree squeezes your arm. "What are you gonna do? Stay or go?"

GO.

You snap your suitcase shut and lay it on the floor, then adjust your collar and stand
straight up. You secure your gun between your belt and your pants. As you start to follow
Horn out of the room, you hear Desiree whistling a song she used to sing when you were together.

"Cut that out!" Horn barks, whirling to face her. "I told you I never wanted to hear that
song again!"

She lets the melody die on her lips, then turns her jade green eyes to you.
"Kill him for me."

MAIN STREET seems emptier now. Even the wind has died down. The sun glares at you, flattening
everything beneath a shimmering ocean of heat.

"Anytime, varmint." Horn shouts from up the street.
Time seems to stop. A passing tumbleweed is the only sign of motion.

GET TUMBLEWEED.

Not now.

WHISTLE.

You lick your parched lips and whistle Desiree's tune. It bounces off the buildings like a
coyote's howl in a canyon. Horn's hand begins to tremble.

SHOOT.

You draw the gun and fire it with lightning quickness. Horn, unnerved by your whistling,
fails to react in time.

You miss!

Horn draws his gun, faster than a striking rattlesnake. He fires.

You are hit in the LEFT LEG.

SHOOT.

You fire again. Horn is hit in his RIGHT ARM. He drops his gun. He makes a motion as if to
plead with you.

SHOOT.

You shoot Horn in his HEAD, killing him instantly. He crumples to the ground and remains there.

Desiree rushes to your side. She drops your SUITCASE and wraps her arms around you desperately,
as if trying to hold you together. You wince as her weight presses on your LEFT LEG. Looking
down, she sees your wound and tears a scrap from the hem of her dress to bind it.

A loud thump from behind causes you to whirl around, gun in hand, only to find the
whorehouse madam tied up and lying in the dirt. A brawny redhead at the top of the steps crosses
her arms over her considerable chest.

"The Kitty Klub is under new management," she says, "thanks to you."

"And it looks like Horn will no longer have use for his horse," Desiree smiles, pointing at a
coal-black mare tied to a nearby post.

GET HORSE.

You unhitch the horse from its post and hop on. Holding the reins in one hand, you offer the other
to Desiree. She slides her boot into the stirrup and swings her body up onto the horse. The redhead
calls out to you as Desiree's arms encircle your waist.

"Where will you go, stranger?  Copperopolis up NORTH? Grande Tequila down SOUTH? Or will you just
wander the untamed territories out WEST?"

GO WEST.

You get a tight grip on the reins and dig your boots into the horse's belly. It trots up the street,
slowly at first, until you goad it into a gallop with a hearty "Yah! YAH!"

Its hooves kick up a billowing plume of dust as you ride WEST into the SETTING SUN.

Darius Poyer.

CaptainD gets my vote.

Thanks, ProgZmax.

You actually did a paint-over of one of my backgrounds aeons ago in the Critic's Lounge, so you're partly responsible for the level of polish on those screens. Although I look at them now and think they could still use a little oomph.

Well, they were fun to do, anyway.

I've kept a folder of game files on my desktop, under the delusion that I could one day return to them and untangle the mess I made of my first game. But after this thread made me go through my old 'design docs' I realized that there is nothing worth saving. Which is definitely for the best, as the game had no plot to speak of, and the puzzles mainly consisted of "wacky" item combinations of the "you've gotta be f***ing kidding me" variety.

But it wasn't a total loss - it taught me what NOT to do if I ever try making another game. It also forced me to draw my first game backgrounds, and make my first music tracks. And it was a lot of fun. Also, trying to code it was the tipping point that made me join these forums (so I could ask noob technical questions). And I've lurked here off and on ever since.

So to memorialize this very dead game, I hereby present two of the "best" backgrounds, and a sampling of my favorite jokes from the game.




(examine KEY) This is a key. It goes into the little hole under the knobby thing that you turn to open a door.
(lick KEY) "Oh yeah, I often lick things I find in the middle of the street. It's part of my quirky charm."
(use WEED on FLOWER) Weeds and flowers don't get along together. It's a gang thing.
(use BEER) "Woo! Slurred speech and questionable decision-making, here I come!"
(lick TOILET PAPER) This is the worst Fruit Roll-Up you've ever tasted.
(lick PORNO MAG) Oh, no. You learned your lesson about licking things when you got ink poisoning from your Keira Knightley poster.
(smell EAR) It smells very eerie. (drum sting)
(smell SOUP) It smells like burnt octopus farts.
(use DILDO on NOSE) "Ow."
(examine DEAD RABBIT) Look- it's four lucky rabbit's feet, attached to one very unlucky rabbit!
(use STICK on DEAD RABBIT) Poking dead things with a stick; isn't that the official leisure activity where you come from? "No, marrying your sister is the official leisure activity where I come from."
(use BEER on DEAD RABBIT) Shouldn't you be solving puzzles or something?
(use LUBE on PORNO MAG) You show off your lube to the girls in the magazine. Being seasoned veterans with battle-hardened vaginas, they are unimpressed.
(use SOUP on itself) Even your soup wouldn't eat your soup.
(use BEEF JERKY on CRAB) The crab tries to take a bite, but it hurts its... mouth-parts that crabs have that chew things.
(use BEEF JERKY on SEAWEED) Jerked beef and dehydrated seaweed go together like marathon running and diarrhea.
(use BEEF JERKY on FEATHERS) Generic Joke #39 not found. For technical assistance, please bang your head against the wall until blood starts to leak from your ears.
(use CRAB on DEAD RABBIT) If you wanna play Pokemon, do it on your own time. We're adventure-gaming here!
(use CRAB on SOUP) You try to jam the crab into the boiling soup, but its stupid will to live is too strong.
(examine AFROMAN TOY) He has a sexy frown that says "I'm a badass muthafucka who's also sensitive to a woman's needs, bitch."
(use LIGHTER on CASH) You set fire to the pile of cash and feel powerful and free ...for about 2 seconds. Then you feel like a dumbass who just burned all her money.
(use LIGHTER on PORNO MAG) Setting the magazine ablaze will have a negative effect on its collector's value.
(use LIGHTER on WEED) As you light the marijuana on fire, you feel a sudden urge to abandon all your earthly responsibilities and become a Ghostbuster. Which is totally a real career choice.
(examine UNICYCLE) "What am I supposed to do with one-half of a bicycle?" Pretend it's one-third of a tricycle? (drum sting)
(use UNICYCLE on SOUP) You're just about to stir the soup by pedaling the unicycle in it, but then you realize that it's a stupid idea, and anyone who says otherwise is a communist.
(use PAINTING on CRAB) The crab shows its opinion of your artistic work by chewing off a corner and spitting it at you.
(use PAINTING on DILDO) Your dildo is more of a Georgia O'Keefe fan.
(use LIPSTICK on DILDO) You draw a little smily face on it.
(use LIPSTICK on CASH) You draw an eyepatch and a ballgag on George Washington's face. I swear, modern art just keeps getting worse and worse.
(examine CASH) Did you know that if you flip a huge stack of cash like a flipbook, you can see... everyone around you grow bitter and resentful?
(use GLOVE on DEAD RABBIT) You pet the bunny on its fuzzy-wuzzy head. The head then falls off, and you smoosh it back in place.
(use LIPSTICK on GLOVE) You draw lips and eyes on the glove, and then start making out with it. "I do not! Stop making shit up!
(examine Hooker) Why can't hookers ever look like Julie Roberts in Pretty Woman? This one looks like the Olsen twins- if you smashed them together at high speed.

I know what you mean, DBoy.

In fact, I was going to do the same thing in my own game. And then I never finished that game.
So I would recommend worrying about your game's content once the game itself is finished.
If the game never gets done, it doesn't matter if there are any naughty bits in it.

Come back and have this discussion again once you've made your awesome game.

Jimbob, for his excellent use of period slang and a criminal being punished for... unrevealed misdeeds. Mysterious.

Hey, Armageddon, I liked your 3D rendering of a Dan Flavin sculpture.

NEXT: A dinosaur on a segway.

Really strong competition this time round. Ponch's read like the opening chapter of a great novel, and Atelier's reminded me of the super-spy stuff I used to write in high school... lots of fun.

But my vote goes to straydogstrut, because I think the writing style was the best overall. I could really picture everything, and it read like a published story.

Darius Poyer.

[The Light of Day]

This turned out much cheesier than I thought it would. Oh well.


The Light of Day


As her lips met his, he felt his heart pounding - felt the blood whooshing through his ears. He ran a hand through her dark hair, grabbed a handful, and pulled. Her cold lips curled in a smile.
"So you're one of THOSE types." She said, glancing down at his watch. "What time is it?"

"Always watching the clock, aren't you?" He pulled his wrist up to her chin. "2 A.M. Why, you got plans?"

"Two?" She said, pushing up off the couch. "Already?"

"Time flies when you're... where are you going?" He followed her to the door of the apartment.

"I... have to get home. It's very late."

"No, it was late when we met at the club. Now it's very early. Why don't you stay? I'll make waffles."

"No, I..." Her eyes flitted around the dark room, at the the couch, the refrigerator, the heavy curtains covering the living room window. Anywhere but his face. "If my mother catches me again, she'll"

"Spank you?" He smirked. "Alright, fine. As you said, it's very late."

"Terribly late."

"Later than you know." He chuckled, reaching for the doorknob.

"What?" This time her voice had a tinge of panic in it.

"I set my watch back five hours." He stated, matter-of-factly. I wanted to make sure we had plenty of time together."

"You..."

"More time than you gave Marty last week. Remember?"

Her voice quivered in the early morning air. "I don't... why are you doing this?"

"You might not have gotten his name. Tall, lanky fellow - coke bottle glasses, always had his socks pulled up too high. We were taking a late-night jog through the park. I stopped to use the restroom. When I came back, you were standing over him."

Her eyes grew wide. Her lips tightened.

"His blood was all over you, you vampire!"

She tried to run backwards, but he snatched her arm and held it like a vise.

"You're insane!" She hissed.

"You may be right." He growled. "Let's find out!"

He clenched his hand around the doorknob. She kicked and scratched and fell to the ground shouting as he wrenched the door open and stepped through the threshold.

As he walked he felt her arm grow lighter, and then he looked down and saw that her arm was all he held. Turning back, he saw the rest of her on the floor of the apartment, writhing in a rectangle of white-hot sunlight. She hissed and growled and cursed with all the air she could force through her melting throat. Her clothes burned with an eerie green flame. Her limbs thrashed and smoked and crumbled. And then they simply twitched. Soon all that was left was a pale lump of ash and a burnt patch of carpet.

As he turned to face the morning breeze, somewhere a bird began to sing. Somewhere, a dog barked. Somewhere, his friend Marty slept beneath six feet of dirt.

"Sleep well." He thought, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the golden sun.

I vote Ponch.

Well done, sir.

This contest was never officially closed, so here's an entry to remind people of that fact:

[Steve the Pirate Encounters an Old Acquaintance]

I got a little carried away with my entry, but then, isn't that the point?


Steve the Pirate Encounters an Old Acquaintance

"Stephen? Stephen Bly?"
Steve looked across the Captain's quarters at a fresh-faced young man in a starched blue uniform.
"Todd Dwyer?" A cannonball sailed through one wall of the cabin and out through the other. "I haven't seen you in a dog's age! What have you been up to?"
"I could ask the same of you!" Todd replied, pointing slyly. "I almost didn't recognize you in that tattered coat and skullcap!"
"Haven't you heard?" Steve said, his hands at his hips. "I'm a pirate now!"
"You don't say! I heard about the court martial, but I never thought..."
"Well, those children had it coming." Steve interrupted. "But, well, it was hard finding work after that, so I decided to go into business for myself. Took myself a boat..."
"Just took one?" Todd asked, folding his arms, his head cocked to the same side as his smile.
Steve grabbed the lapels of his jacket and puffed out his chest. "It's like they said at the Academy, Todd. You've gotta show initiative."

He was interrupted by the tinkle of glass as a young sailor was thrown bodily through a nearby window. "And what about you, Todd? Is that a star I see shining above your breast pocket?"
"Oh, this little bauble?" Todd mused, brushing the medal as he would a stray piece of lint. "It's nothing. I saved the Admiral's daughter from a pack of ornery cannibals, that's all."
"That's all? Well, I'll speak no more of it, then."
"Just betwixt us two," Todd leaned in, his tone confidential, "It was complete coincedence."
"No!"

Todd looked around the cabin, ignoring the screams and gunfire, "I was just rowing my skiff out to shore to procure some coconut milk for my breakfast, when who should I see crashing through the treeline and plunging into the surf but some blonde beauty in a camisole! Before I know what's what, she's flopped into my boat, and I'm rowing back to my ship under a hail of wooden spears and tribal invectives!"
"And the lady... sopping wet the whole time, was she?"
Todd waggled his finger. "Decency does not permit me to discuss such matters," he said with mock seriousness, "except to mention that her gratitude for her rescuer was multitudinous and passionate!"

Steve and Todd both chuckled at this until they were interrupted by a flaming arrow plunking into the opposite wall. Todd unstoppered a flagon of water with his teeth and doused the fire.
"Flaming arrows? Seriously?" he muttered. "I thought you were a pirate, not a Visigoth."
"That'll be Chang." Steve growled. "I keep telling him to cut it out with the arrows, but his English is as bad as my table manners, I'm afraid."
"In any case, we should get down to business," Todd opined as he sat down in his Captain's chair and put his spotless boots up on the desk. "I can see from here that my boys are getting their rears handed to them. So, what shall you do with my crew?"
"Not a worry, old chum." Steve soothed. "We're not animals. The crewmates who resisted will be swiftly put down, and the rest sold into slavery."

"Seems reasonable." Todd nodded. "And the women?"
Steve leaned his back against a bulkhead. "Well, I'll try my best, Todd- but I can't guarantee anything. My crew has been at sea now for three months. There may be a wee bit of rape here and there."
"These things happen." Todd said, shrugging his shoulders.
"You, of course, will be our special prisoner. I'll set up an extra bunk in my cabin- it'll be just like our school days! Until the Navy pays your ransom."
"I don't know." Todd sighed.
"What? Of course they'll pay your ransom! You'll be back in uniform in no time, with an heroic surviver's tale to boot!"
"That's just it" Todd sighed. "I don't know if I'd even want to come back. Ever since the promotion, it's just diplomacy this, contracts that... I spend more time escorting pleasure cruises than I do sailing the open seas."

Just then, a young man in a bloodstained blue uniform climbed through the broken window, pistol in hand.
"Cap'n Todd!" he cried, raising the gun at Steve.
"Not now, Higgins." Todd waved him away dismissively. "I'm thinking."
"But sir!"
"You know, Todd..." Steve said quietly as he raised his hands above his head, "there's one job where you can see all the seas you want."
"What?" Todd mumbled, distracted.
"Join us." Steve said, matter-of-factly.

"Permission to fire, Cap'n!" Higgins shouted, blinking through the blood dripping down his forehead.
"Sod off, Higgins." Todd sneered.
"Sir?" Higgins's eyes grew dark. "Sir, in light of your fraternizing with the enemy, I am relieving you of"
A thunderous shot punctuated his sentence before he could finish it. Higgins looked down at the gash in his chest and promptly sank to the floor.

"Yo ho," said Todd, his breath swirling the smoke from the rifle in his hand, "A pirate's life for me!"

[DuncanFx]

DuncanFx. His sprite just has some charm to it.
Though all the entries have their own personality and style. Great turnout for this comp.

Alright, I think it's time to wrap this up.

Two votes for kconan, and one each for Creed and Oliwerko.

The internet has spoken: kconan is the victor. And a well-deserved win despite stiff competition, I'd say. Mustard gas is a more brutal vengeance than even I anticipated. And I especially enjoyed the final line.

Kconan, the curse honor of hosting the next competition is yours!

Here I was, worried that I'd missed declaring a winner because of my illness, only to discover that not a single vote has been cast.

And for such unexpectedly thrilling and brutal entries! What do you want, an engraved invitation? Vote, somebody!

[vengeance.]

That jerk at work made you look the fool... your girlfriend left you for your best friend... your fellow scientists called you mad for your inventions (and all in the same week!)

Well, they're going to regret it, because this competition's theme is vengeance.
Write a story/poem/play/rap about you getting revenge against someone that did you wrong.

No restrictions.

(if there is a tie, I will cast the tie-breaking vote).

Write like the wind!