Messages

This reminds me of Ponch's corduroy underwear idea.... 

Congratulations Mandle!  I look forward to seeing what you come up with for the next competition (as well as which moves you bust out on the dance floor  ).

I feel like this is one of those middle-school dances where you aren't allowed to leave even though it's obvious no one wants to dance with you.    Save me, Sinitrena!  I'm having traumatic flashbacks! 

To further analyse Mandle's 144 word story in quite a few more than 144 words:

Spoiler

I appreciate your rationale in including the racist, misogynist, and bullying dialogue, as it does indeed make one hate the character.  I would have gone another direction (as I would have hated the character without the dialogue), but we can disagree artistically and still be friends.  I could see more sensitive people being more sensitive about it, but I'll leave it at that.

I think the real tragedy is how the deeper message you communicated in hide tags was mostly missing from the 144 words story.  I think in terms of serving the higher purpose of revealing the cowardly hypocrisy of the historic character that the violence towards an ethnic woman could be justified (in a story setting, obviously).  But I don't get the sense from the story that you are critiquing the character for being personally squeamish of violence and dodging responsibility for the obvious outcome of his attitudes and policies.  With your clarification in mind I can see that you made the character the complete opposite as a sort of grotesque parody, but I think the story could have been so much more powerful if you had somehow made your true message more obvious to the casual reader.  (As I said before, my instinct would be to edit out anything that strayed from the main message to free up words to make that happen, but I concede that the challenge is daunting given the constraints in your format and the desired result may just be beyond the reach of a mere 144 words.  Then again, if I myself were a master of creating genius stories out of off-the-wall concepts then my submission for this contest would have been of better quality....  )

[close]

[Best Character:]

Hey, I just gotta be me!   

In all honesty, my goal was to slowly turn a light and humorous outing into a horror experience of indeterminate nature.  I will admit to being frustrated in my goal (I think in retrospect, in terms of execution, that there were too many moving pieces for it to work), but I don't think it was the goal's fault, as such.  If the story started out all spooky, the rational reader would simply refuse to believe the idiocy of the characters putting themselves into harm's way ("What?!?  You're going INTO the mansion where those 16 other people were murdered?!  YOU MORON!!!!!).  I was therefore trying to craft a silly Baron story, which everyone knows is perfectly harmless, but then subtly change it into something more sinister.  Now, I know there's a school of thought that you have to consistently build an atmosphere of dread in order to get buy-in from your typical horror-genre reader, but the corollary of that is that all the foreshadowing and grim menace and melodramatic brooding feels cliche.  So in summary my experiment didn't work, but the concept was built on rational underpinnings.

Onto Mandle's work:

Spoiler

 
Holy shock-value twist, Batman!  I must admire Mandle's audacity at smacking political correctness upside the head with a pickled trout, although I can't help but feel like he is dabbling with one too many taboos for good taste.  I get that the jewish person was murdered as a clue to the artist's identity, but without a message of broader importance it comes across as insensitive at best.  I think I would have seen the artwork in my mind's eye more clearly if the L's were drawn as the canvass was rotated: I had the hardest time picturing what "the next side" of the canvass meant (was he flipping it over??).  Outside of the moment of shock at what is happening and the fairly basic mystery of who this sadistic character is, there's really not much to the story.  I understand I'm asking a lot of 144 words, but I think some ruthless editing of unimportant details (the spiteful words to the victim are superfluous, for example) and the careful inclusion of more nuanced clues could craft the piece into a more clever riddle.

[close]

So, on to voting:

Best Character: I vote Mandle for you-know-who (wink, wink!).  In 144 words the over-the-top monster is revealed for what he truly is, whereas in reality it took the world over 56 years to truly understand his vileness.

Best Plot: Again I vote Mandle.  I definitely had the confusing sense that something was beginning, an OH-MY-GOD moment of realization in the middle, and something of a denouement in the end.

Best Atmosphere: Well there were definitely some strong feelings instilled by reading his piece, so I vote Mandle again.

Best Writing Style: I'll go with Mandle again, for a bit of clever wordplay ("long knife" comes to mind).

Best Use of the Original Topic: 144 words exactly - I vote Mandle

I just realized that Mandle usually doesn't vote so.... maybe we should just call the competition now and save me the public embarrassment of waiting around to be stood up?      On the plus side, he comes up with better topics than I do. 

[Lunar Shadow]

This was written for the "Spooky Party" theme that I missed back in October of 2019.  According to the rules, the only serious requirements are that there must be a party with a spooky element.  All of the story is brand new, although the more I wrote the more I kind of remembered having a similar idea at some point (I'm not sure if it was for the same competition....  ).

Lunar Shadow

   The silent stillness of space has a kind of serene dignity not afforded the busier domains of matter and energy.  Or at least it did until the Epic Party Bus blasted by, blaring its techno-garbage music at a decibel level sufficient to create Doppler-effect sound-ripples in the very void itself.

   â€œIt's party time!” shouted Palarie from the pilot's chair, rolling the volume dial to supermax and punching the air happily.  “Am I right?”

   â€œThis is so awesome!” Kinsey shouted back from the co-pilot's chair, head swivelling like a lawn-watering spigot so as not to miss even a fraction of the cosmic panorama stretching out in front of them.  It was Kinsey's birthday, and she'd never been to space before.  Her best friend Palarie had a knack for making these occasions memorable, but this time she had outdone herself.

   â€œParty still going in the back?” Palarie called behind her.

   â€œYes sir, captain sir!” Breaux shouted back.  “Engineering reports that the party drive is revving at full capacity!

   â€œYeah, man!” Dudjak shouted, reaching over to cheers his buddy.  Unfortunately they would have had to clink their bottles together with enough force to smash them to pieces to make the sound audible over the music, but it was the thought that counted.

   â€œThis is Party One,” Palarie announced.  “All party stations please report in.”

   â€œParty Two, standing by!” Breaux shouted.

   â€œParty Three, standing by!” Kinsey hooted.

   â€œParty Four, standing by!” Dudjak parroted.

   The techno-garbage music funked along, filling the awkward pause in the party roll-call. 

   â€œHold on a second,” Palarie said, dialing the music volume down to background levels.  “Engineering, I think we've got a malfunction in Party Five station.  Please confirm.”

   All eyes turned to Woeber, who sat with her arms crossed in the middle of the back seat, eyes rolled towards the ceiling.  “Party Five, standing by,” she mumbled, and everyone cheered happily.

   â€œI still can't believe we're doing this!” Kinsey gushed.  “What did your boss say about you borrowing the ship?”

   â€œYou wanna know what he said?” Palarie asked.  She turned to the back row: “You all wanna know what he said?”

   â€œUh, yeah?” said Dudjak uncertainly.

   â€œHe said 'DON'T FORGET TO GET INTO THE PLASMA SHOOTERS IN THE COOLER!” Palarie cried, and the crew erupted into another chorus of cheers.

   â€œOoo, I want blue!” Kinsey called.

   â€œSave me a purple!” Palarie shouted.  “Captain's orders!”

   â€œThat's not what he said,” Woeber muttered, as an orange plasma shooter was thrust upon her.

   â€œSo where's this party at?” Breaux asked.  “It looks like we blew past Mars back there.”

   â€œWhat?!” Kinsey cried, pressing her face to the glass.  “We're not just cruising?”

   â€œNo way, Kins!” Palarie replied.  “We are jamming it up at the most exclusive Jovian orbital bar, Chez Europa!”

   â€œHey, I heard of that place!” Dudjak said between shooters.  “Isn't that the place with the zero-gravity lounge?”

   â€œNo man, you're thinking of Europa Blitz,” Breaux answered.  “I've never heard of Chez Europa.”

   â€œWell, it's a new club just doing a soft-opening for now,” Palarie informed the crew.  “Apparently it's highly automated, the view of dawn over Jupiter is to die for, and it's already had multiple A-lister sightings posted on Who's-App!”

   â€œWoo!” Kinsey shouted, ogling the golden entry tickets that Palarie handed to her.

    “Sorry party peeps,” Palarie shouted.  “I can't dock this bucket without some mean base rhythms to bounce us home.”  She turned the music back up to full blast as the Epic Party Bus made it's final approach towards a small space station orbiting the Jovian moon of Europa.  Shockingly as it docked, it's floorboards rattled to the even greater bass vibrations of even louder music emanating from the space club.  “Shit, this place is hopping!” Palarie gasped.

   Quickly the party crew disembarked onto Chez Europa, although not before Palarie had downed her purple plasma shot as well as Weober's orange one.  Soon they were through the airlock and waiting in line behind a couple of zorkrons in tight skirts and a group of people in old astronaut suits.

   â€œDamn, why didn't you tell me it was retro night?” Dudjak asked.  “I coulda worn my bell-bottoms!”  The zorkrons rolled their ocular tentacles at him.

   â€œWhy did we fly halfway across the solar system just to line up?” Woeber asked, arms still crossed.

   â€œThis place is exclusive, Woebs!” Palarie tutted her friend.

   â€œYeah, wouldn't be exclusive without the line,” Breaux commented, discreetly sipping from his hip-flask to keep his buzz going.

   â€œHey, d'ja bring one of those for me?” Kinsey asked, smacking Breaux in the chest.  Instead of soft flesh she hit what felt like metal armour.  “Ow!  What the- ?!?”

   Breaux just smiled.  He turned away from the robotic bouncer at the door and opened his jacket to reveal a range of flasks from which to choose.

   â€œYeah dude!” Dudjak cried.

   â€œIs that another plasma shooter in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” Palarie flirted.

   â€œIt could be both things!” Breaux winked, producing a pink plasma shooter for his captain.

   â€œBouncer....” Woeber hissed discreetly, grabbing the golden tickets from Kinsey and waving them distractingly in front of the robot bouncer while the rest of the gang subtly hid their outside booze.

   â€œWelcome human females and other miscellaneous humans,” the robot bouncer announced, scanning the offered tickets with laser beams from its friendly blue eyes.  “Please kneel to conduct the breathalizer procedure as per our space tavern license requirements.”  An articulated straw shot out of the logo plate towards the bottom of the robot bouncer's torso.

   â€œWhoa!” the whole crew spoke up at once, backing away.

   â€œThat's just..... creepy, man!” Dudjak exclaimed.

   â€œWoeber, you're pretty much sober,” Palarie nudged her friend.  “Get down there and give the robot a blow for us, would ya?”

   â€œYeah freakin' right!” Woeber shot back.

   â€œHa, ha, ha!” the bouncer laughed in a robotic monotone as it withdrew the articulated straw.  “You'd be surprised how often that works.  But seriously, our only requirement for entry is valid age identification.”  Four of the five friends chortled with laughter while Woeber just sighed to herself.  “Remember patrons,” the bouncer continued after all of the IDs were scanned, “at Chez Europa half-priced moon-mojitos are optional, but good times are mandatory!”

   The group walked past the bouncer.  Soon they were wandering futuristic tunnels filled with blinking lights and artificial mist, and the heavy base vibrations of some crazy sci-fi dance rhythms. 

   â€œWhich way to the bar?” Breaux shouted.

   â€œWhich way to the dance floor?!” Palarie cried.

   â€œWhich way to the bathroom?” asked Kinsey, grabbing onto Palarie's shoulder.

   â€œHa!  We'll meet up with you guys on the dance floor,” Palarie said, taking her friend down one of the psychedelic tubes. 

   The other three friends wandered through another tunnel and through an automatic hatch to emerge in the club proper.  Beings of all sizes and descriptions danced or lounged beneath a great glass dome through which the queasily vast crescent of Jupiter loomed.

   â€œAwesome!” Dudjak marvelled, busting out some muted dance moves.  Woeber noticed that Breaux had already slipped away, presumably to the bar, so she followed Dudjak as he weaved through dancing droids and aliens over a dance floor decorated with contorted rings that changed colour when stepped on.  She followed Dudjak's bobbing form up a short flight of stairs to an observation lounge.  The lounge was surprisingly less crowded, and there were a few empty couches with views of both the dance floor and the planet.  Sporadically throughout the lounge area there were bizarre plants and alien art pieces, and a few objects that could pass for both.

   â€œWhat the hell is that?!?” Woeber asked, her attention caught by a slimy green pod with what looked like a discoloured human hand sticking out the top.  Cautiously she approached, instinctively reaching for the neurotoxin spray she kept in her purse.  A kaleidoscope of lights danced over the pod, making it difficult to focus on, but she could have sworn she saw....  “Oh my god, it's twitching!” she cried.

   Suddenly the hand shot up into the air, grasping at nothing.  Woeber staggered backwards, neurotoxin spray ready to deploy.  And then over the loud music she heard Breaux laughing.

   â€œHigh strung much, Woeber?” he asked, walking casually up to the pod with two drinks expertly clutched in one hand.  “It's just animatronics.  Ooo!  And chips!”  Breaux grabbed what looked like a green leaf from the base of the pod, and dipped it into the pod itself, removing a small chunk, and then popping it into his mouth.  “Mmmm!  Astro-guac!  You guys gotta try this!”

   Woeber huffed and sat down on the nearest couch.  It was disturbingly comfy and smelled like new car.  Peering between her legs she noticed that the factory tag still stuck out from beneath the cushions.

   Breaux sat down next to her, placing one of his drinks (already empty) onto a side table and reaching over with his other hand between Woeber's legs to grab at the tag.

   â€œDon't get any ideas,” Woeber warned him.

   â€œWoeber, I'm not half as drunk as I need be to get ideas,” Breaux smiled reassuringly, ripping the tag out.  He examined it intently while chugging his second drink.  “Jeez!  Interstellar Protein Corp is making sofas now,” he scoffed.  “Fucking conglomerates.”  He handed the tag to Woeber, who idly studied the pretzel shaped logo.  Then she frowned, pulling out the golden tickets again.  The same logo appeared within the Chez Europa logo as well.  Come to think of it, the breathalizer panel on the robot bouncer also had the same logo.  And.... Woeber shot up from the couch to look over the railing at the dance floor.  It was teeming with dancers bouncing on the coloured swirls, but from this height the swirls unmistakably traced out the stylized peptide logo of the Interstellar Protein Corp.

   â€œFreaky,” she said, more to herself since no one was within earshot.  She noticed Palarie and Kinsey on the dance floor below and waved to them.  They beckoned her to join them, but she just shrugged.  She loved her friends, but she had to work tomorrow if she was going to make rent and pay her tuition instalment by the end of the month.  She was only 22, but it seemed the older she got the harder it was for her to let go of the cares that weighed her down.  She knew she was being a downer, and couldn't help but envy the carefree immediacy of her friends' partying mania.

   Instead Woeber stared out over the dance floor, vicariously imbibing the raw energy of its occupants.  There were a lot of helmets and face masks out there, which surprised her.  If she danced half as hard as they did her helmet would be a foggy, sweaty mess.  Suddenly the song was seamlessly phased into a new one, and the entire dance floor seemed to change rhythm instantly.  “Double freaky....” she muttered. 

   Woeber turned to relate her observations to her friends, but accidentally bumped into one of the men in an astronaut suit, now wearing a massive cowboy hat overtop of it.  He tipped his hat and raised his drink to her, which would have been the end of the encounter except for the small logo which Woeber recognized on the space suit.  Interstellar Protein Corp.

   Woeber's heart skipped a beat, and her stomach felt like she really had visited the zero-gravity lounge.  But Breaux was right: panicking would get her nowhere.  “Uh....” she said, staring at herself in the astronaut's reflective visor.  “Tell me, how do you cute fellas manage to drink with those helmets on all the time?”

   The astronaut cowboy scratched his head, looking from the drink in his hand back to her. 

   Woeber stumbled into him again, this time accidentally on purpose, clutching onto his shoulder in a drunken manner.  “Do you know, I think I've had a bit too much to drink,” she lied, getting close enough to the astronaut's visor to fog it up with her breath.  Impishly she drew a smiley face in the condensation, then giggled.

   The astronaut cowboy fumbled with his free hand to wipe his visor clean.  “I'll get it, honey!” Woeber said, grabbing a napkin from the nearby side table and purposefully wiping astro-guac residue onto the astronaut's visor.  This caused him to drop his drink and reach with both hands to rub at his visor.  The astro-guac smeared more and more, and in a moment the astronaut cowboy's futile efforts caused his outer reflective visor to open partially.  Inside the helmet was an unmistakably mechanical face.

   â€œSorry, sweetie!” Woeber said, stumbling away towards the couch.  Her spot next to Breaux was now taken by a curvy looking woman, also wearing a reflective visor.  He seemed very engaged in chatting her up.  She could see no sign of Dudjak now.  “Hey Breaux!” she called in her friendliest manner.  “Can you hook a sister up?”  She mimed drinking with her empty hand, jerking her neck towards a monolithic objet d'art at the edge of the lounge.  Breaux seemed torn between joining her and staying with his new friend, but in the end curiosity got the better of him and he left the couch.

   â€œHey, let's make this quick, Woeb,” he said.  “That space bunny ain't gonna wait around for me all night.”

   â€œShe's a freakin' robot, Breaux,” Woeber told him, leading him towards the monolith.  “They all are.  And they've all got this symbol on their space suits,” she said, discreetly showing him the couch tag.  “What's Interstellar Protein Corp's main business, anyway?”

   It was Breaux's turn to roll his eyes.  “Jeez, Woeber.  You think they built this whole place just to juice stupid humans and sell the protein to the....” he trailed off, suddenly pensive.

   They ducked behind the monolith, which was decorated with some kind of alien hieroglyphs.  Woeber's eye instantly seized on the contorted pretzel logo in the middle of it, and she pointed it out to her friend.  “Sell it to who, Breaux?”

   Breaux licked his lips, looking around.  They were cornered back behind the monolith, but mostly out of sight.  Ducking her head out, Woeber could see the robot woman in the space suit still sitting on the couch, staring impassively.  Woeber smiled and waved, and then quickly ducked her head back behind the monolith.  “Who?”

   â€œIt's stupid,” Breaux said, trying to brush it all off.  “How do you know they're all robots?”

   â€œWho?” Woeber repeated, grabbing him by the collar.

   â€œWell... er....” he stammered, trying unsuccessfully to back away.  “This is just going to stoke the paranoia further, but zorkrons are notorious for their protein heavy diet.  And the price of protein is astronomical these days, due to swine-flu ravaging the zorkron's ziglet herds.  There, I said it.”  Breaux pulled himself away, shaking his head.  “How do you fucking know they're robots?”

   â€œI peaked under that one's visor,” she told him, peering out again from behind the monolith.  The robot woman was now helping the astronaut cowboy clean his visor with a clean napkin.  Woeber turned to ask Breaux about Dudjak's location but was horrified to see that he was gone.  Turning back, to the lounge, she swallowed hard as Breaux stepped between the robot woman and the astronaut cowboy.

   â€œWhat the hell are you doing?!?” Woeber hissed at Breaux, but there was no way he could hear her over the music.  Besides, his body language clearly told the story of cocksure jealousy.  First he gently took the napkin from the robot woman, mouthing words that Woeber could only infer.  I'm so freaking stupid, didn't you know.  How'd you like to mince my insides to make zorkron protein shakes?  He was silent now, ear bent attentively towards the robot woman who must be speaking now.  Oh that's ok, sweet thing.  It happens all the time!”  Now Breaux absently handed the napkin to the astronaut cowboy and took the robot woman by the hand, leading her -unbelievably- towards the stairs back to the dance floor.  Woeber couldn't believe her eyes.

   Cautiously she followed.  The astronaut cowboy was still distracted with his greasy visor, but Woeber was all too aware that she was turning heads as she walked alone through the lounge.  Oh how she had once wished to be the type of girl to turn heads.  But with each degree of synchronous rotation all she wanted was to be invisible again.  Invisible, and far from Chez Europa.  There was a flicker of larger motion in her peripheral vision and she couldn't help but chance a glance behind her.  All the clientele of the lounge froze in unison, but in the most awkward half-standing pose.

   Woeber turned back to the stairs and quickened her pace.  Her stomach sank as she looked out over the dance floor to see that Palarie and Kinsey had disappeared into the throng.  She turned back to catch the lounge crowd resuming casual positions as if they had not just been lurching towards her in unison.  One of the creepy robot stalkers even faked a stretch as if yawning.

   â€œThis is the best party ever!!!” she could hear Dudjak shouting.  She turned back to see him crowd-surfing over the dancers.  Breaux had made it to the dance floor, his arm now around the robot woman's waist as she moved sensuously to the music.  And there at last she spotted Palarie and Kinsey, dancing with a pair of massive masked robot-hunks.  Seriously, who built robots shaped like that?!?  She looked around again to freeze her pursuers but her attention was caught by another, higher observation lounge that she had missed earlier.  It was filled with zorkrons, dressed as if to party, but standing grimly still, arms folded, ocular tentacles staring fixedly back at her. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, she thought.

   She wove her way down the stairs, past robot dancers illogically parked on the steps, but was stopped by a metallic hand before she could make the dance floor.  She looked up to see the robot bouncer (or a similar model), the calming blue lights that served as eyes now turned a sinister red.     â€œExcuse me,” she said, trying to push past, but the bouncer bot held firm.  It repeated to her in the same robotic monotone used at the front gate: “at Chez Europa half-priced moon-mojitos are optional, BUT GOOD TIMES ARE MANDATORY!”

   Woeber looked around frantically, noticing that the stairs behind her were entirely packed with her admirers from the lounge.  Bizarrely, her gaze came to rest on Breaux and his mechanical dancing partner.  In one fluid motion he dipped, shook his hips, and then yanked the female robot's arm right off.  Huh, he seemed to think to himself, catching her gaze, I guess Woeber was right all along.  She just shook rolled her eyes at him, then pretended to faint.

   Several robots lurched to catch her, but Woeber was already on the hypnotically flashing floor, crawling between the dancer's feet.  Over the pounding of music and feet she could hear the bouncer bot's creedo slowly being taken up by the mechanical army that made up the staff of Chez Europa: “GOOD TIMES ARE MANDATORY!  GOOD TIMES ARE MANDATORY!  GOOD TIMES ARE MANDATORY!”
   
   
   

OK, I tried to plan ahead, I really did.  We're off on this camping trip tomorrow, and I've been poking around at my story for a couple days now, trying to get it ready before we leave.  But the whole thing is just a hot mess.  I've got flat characters bumping into each other like it's a cardboard-cutout convention, more loose plot threads then the ripped knee holes of an 8 year old's favourite pair of pants, and a setting that's about as spooky as a loaf of bread on a tricycle.  I need more time to do some serious editing and rewriting.  What's the extension market looking like these days?

OK, I've decided to rehash the Spooky Party topic.  And by "rehash" I mean "do for the first time", since I managed to completely miss it the first time around.    I can't remember any ideas for the topic, so this will be a completely fresh attempt.

So, since this isn't really a premeditated topic, are you going to enter?

Wait, wait, wait.  October 2017 was three YEARS ago?     Oh, how the time flies....

Steampunk!    No, wait.  Absurdity! 

a complete plot that does not just collapse, but comes to an actual end. It's kind of a meta-plot. 

Most of my writing tends to suffer from an excess of meta-plot. 

[Baron, declare a winner!]

Baron, declare a winner!

Yay!!!!!!!  Oh wait, I misread that.  I thought you declared me the winner.  Ooops. 

OK, OK.  I'm feeling writey, so we need to wrap this up.  But I thought it only fitting that we count one more set of votes.  Since Mandle wouldn't share his thoughts, I had to go over his head.  The following is the transcript of my attempt to get votes directly out of the AI:

You are Baron, a rogue living in the kingdom of Larion. You have a long steel dagger and a length of rope. You walk down the city street looking for somewhere to steal from. You look around and see an old man in a nearby house, through a window. You could try to get into the house through the window.
You walk over and knock on the window.

> Mandle wrote an interesting but slightly disjointed story for your Fortnightly Writing Competition. Should he win in the weirdest plot category?

You sit at a table in a barn, next to a small fire. Two men stand on either side of you. One is fat and bearded, the other thin and angular.

> Kay.... So Sinitrena, she wrote a very Baronesque story that had lots of fun and went absolutely nowhere. Can you give her your vote for weirdest plot?

"This story isn't weird. It just has a weird concept," you say. "The other story was more bizarre."
"But the concept is cool," Ian says.

> Right. So the other story you are referring to must be Reiter's -got it. Now as for oddest character, should it be Sinitrena or Reiter?

You walk up a set of stairs and look down at the underground city of Derlerg. Bright lights shine down from above, and people mill about happily.

> Hmmmm. I'll put you down as "undecided" for that category. Now for purplest writing: Sinitrena or Reiter?

You walk into a room with a single chair in it. You sit down and put your head against the back of the chair.
"You are the king of this little kingdom, aren't you?" a voice says.

> So.... I should decide? Honestly, I think Sinitrena's Calliope-inspired purpleness takes the cake in that category. On to Funniest Larks: again, your choices are Sinitrena or Reiter?

You stick your head out of the window and look down. Several streets away is a large group of brawling soldiers.
"I'll give you a hundred silvers to let me in," a voice says.

> A hundred silvers, you say..... Well, Sinitrena has been around the FWC the longest, so I guess she's earned more silver hairs than the rest of you. Lastly I need a best overall. Sinitrena or Reiter?

You walk through a large crowd of people in the city streets. You look around and see that you are in the middle of an election rally. Both candidates for governor are speaking to a massive crowd.

> Yes, two candidates.... but who wins? Is it Sinitrena or Reiter?

You arrive at the gates of the Castle of Iron. A soldier stands on guard.
"Who goes there?"
"I go here."
The guard raises his halberd, pointing it at you.

> Me?!? I can't win! I'm the contest administrator! Should Sinitrena win for her wish-fulfilment conference debacle, or Reiter for his fragmented myth-yarn?

You wake up in the middle of the night with a start. You look around, but your bedroom is empty.
"Sinitrena!" you whisper.
No response.
"Reiter!"

> Yes! Which one?!? Sinitrena or Reiter?

You walk down the stairs and into the great hall.

> And.....

You wake up in a panic, finding yourself fully dressed and ready to leave your bed.
"Sinitrena!"
You begin to head towards the door, but are stopped by the sound of footsteps.

> Got it! Thanks!

Well, that evens things out quite a bit.  It is too bad Reiter couldn't vote, but summer is a time of absences, so we'll just have to soldier on.

Usually the contest administrator doesn't cast any votes, but this is an absurd contest so, ah, what the heck! 

Oddest character:  I'm going with Sinitrena's Calliope.  She's the best defined of the characters in all three entries.  In terms of character she's absurdly self-absorbed, effectively hijacking the whole "story", but I thought it made for great reading.

Weirdest plot: So the criteria was that the plot had to be discernible (so that we don't get random word barf entries), yet wildly outlandish.  All three entries were certainly wildly outlandish, but in terms of discernible plot.... that's more debatable.  I found AI's entry to veer confusingly between opposite scenarios in a way that obscured what was actually going on.  Did the old lady shrink or not?  Was the road well-maintained or overgrown and passably impassible?  Sinitrena's story, on the other hand, suffered from a textbook case of plot collapse in a classic Baronesque manner.  While it was entertaining to watch the train wreck unfolding, I can't in good conscience label it a plot.  So somewhat by default I must vote for Reiter, although I might well have done so otherwise.  I remember back in Latin class we spent pretty much the whole year deciphering this one play which was all in fragments, much like Reiter's work.  At the time I found it immensely frustrating, but I found Reiter's take on a similarly fragmented story absolutely hilarious.

Purplest Writing:  I think this comes down to Sinitrena vs. Reiter.  AI tried zer best, but I wouldn't describe zer language as "flowery".  Reiter had some fantastic turns of phrase (my favourite was the enchanted sword of glamrock), but in the end most relied on unexpected vocabulary more than descriptive writing.  Sinitrena on the other hand (or more appropriately Calliope?) was able to paint fawning word-pictures with intricate strokes of sycophantic pigment. 

Funniest Larks: Well, humour truly is in the eye of the beholder.  For the most chuckles per paragraph I must give this category to Reiter.  The technical battle death of warmistress Foam has already been praised, but also there was the unending end of days as the elves dragged out their demise over the eons, the necessity of chalking out croquet lanes in order to found a proper city, and the very thorough description of how well all the secrets of Mandolin were kept.  Sinitrena's work was a close second for me with its manic descent into struggling egos.  AI's work for me was less funny and more random.

Best Absurd Story: It was a tough choice, but in the end I must vote Reiter, with Sinitrena again as a close second.  The clincher for me was the imaginative sub-plots that each absurd twist of his story hinted at.

So, on to the totals.  The bronze metal (sic) of barrier-shattering goes to AI with three votes.  I hope I do not come across as condescending in congratulating AI on zer groundbreaking foray into creative storytelling.  I think with just a bit more practice you will be better able to cleave to the theme.  Keep at it!

The silver metal of silvery silverness goes to Sinitrena with 6 votes.  I think the Baronesque style suits you, and with more practice I have every confidence that you will master it. 

And therefore the gold metal of Oh-Look-How-Great-I-Am goes to Reither with 10 votes.  A well-deserved victory for a much-enjoyed silly story.

So, it is incumbent upon Reiter to start the next competition.  Should he be unavailable to exercise his right within the next three days, the mantle will then pass to Sinitrena for three further days, and then it will be AI's kick at the metaphorical can, after which time if there is still no new contest started I, Baron, will in fact be declared the winner. 

Great entries everyone, and I look forward to reading you again next time!   

What?!?  The absolute ABSURDITY of it all.  Request granted! 

This request is absurd!  I will consider it carefully for several days before coming to a decision one way or the other. 

[Chronicles of Mandolin]

And the window for submissions is officially closed!  We have three wild and crazy stories to consider in the voting round, listed below in no rational order:

Chronicles of Mandolin by Reiter
Jup by Mandle
Wish Fulfillment by Sinitrena

The voting criteria will be as follows:

Oddest character: Which character stood out the most for their qualities of being really, really different?
Weirdest plot: The winning story must have a plot that is both discernible and yet wildly outlandish.
Purplest Writing: If we're being honest with ourselves, the most absurd writing is over-the-top flowery.  Who used words in the most absurdly poetic way?
Funniest Larks: Which story had you giggling the most?
Best Absurd Story: Which story was overall the best in your opinion?

Voting is open till Friday July 17.  In general I don't like closing things on a Friday, mostly because I personally don't do things until the last minute and I also don't tend to do things Friday night.  So if you want to vote, but can't make the deadline, please post and I'll grant a voting extension.  In the meantime, it is time to read and enjoy!  Best of luck to all entrants. 

Ooo, when it rains it pours!  Keep 'em coming, peeps - you've still got a few days left!      

Are you saying I'm your muse?    Extension granted! 

It's summer and I'm feeling lazy, so let's extend the deadline to Monday July 13.

One week left, folks.  If you're the type of writer that likes to wait until the last minute, you've still got all kinds of time to procrastinate! 

Reality is always shouting nonsense.  Listening to it could be advantageous in a competition such as this. 

Well, logically that would make sense.  In a contest of absurdity, however....