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...And we're halfway through the competition.  I'm going to have to ask the more rabid followers of this topic to temper their enthusiasm by a couple notches, as we don't want you burning out before the deadline.

Meh.  Sixteen years ago I thought George Dubya would blow up the world.  One could make the case that he did a pretty good number on Iraq/Syria by unleashing a power vacuum, but factors before (radical Islam...) and after his tenure (Arab Spring...) have had arguably more impact.  The fact is the American system is pretty good at neutering itself.  While Trump's words and example set an embarrassingly low-brow tone, I doubt he will mess things up irreparably.  In the fullness of time, the worst of his exploits will galvanize the opposition, just as the Democrats did in the landslide of 2008 due to Republican ineptitude (and indeed, as someone holding the opposite political views that I do would think, just as the Republicans have now done due to Democrat ineptitude in 2016).

The really sad thing here is the swathes of society who genuinely should have been outraged by what Trump said on the campaign trail not turning out to vote.  About 51% of the US population is female, which alone should have lost Trump the election.  But it is an indisputable fact that many of those women just didn't seem bothered enough to vote against him.  Indeed, over 50% of white women supposedly voted for him (source).  Although not as large a segment of the population, the same could be said for target minorities (same article).  I don't want to be the guy that blames the victim, but if someone treats you worse than dirt and then you vote for him, then you're kinda the author of your own misfortune.

[Revolution]

This past year we've written a lot about politics (Revolution, Time to Vote), sociology (Scarcity, Last Will & Testament), the wilderness (Camping, Abandoned Place, and most recently Myst), and the occult (Mass Disappearance, Biblical Book, and for all intents and purposes Serial).  Now the pendulum swings and it's time for Sci-Fi once more.  Our topic this time is:

STEAMPUNK!



Any kind of story is permissible so long as it is your own original unpublished work, and contains futuristic technology as if it were devised in past times.  So to clarify, the technology in question need not necessarily be typical Victorian steam-powered machines, but could be elaborate medieval water-, wind-, or pendulum-powered; ancient steam-, animal-, or human-powered (à  la Roman galley?); or indeed prehistoric inventions that mimic futuristic or contemporary technology (mammoth dung-powered?).  Heck, you could even come up with a fanciful power source that some crazy inventor stumbled upon that even we don't know about.  The important thing is that cool shit goes down in historical (or fantasy) times due to wicked creative inventions.

Deadline for the contest is Saturday November 19, 2016, with voting to start the following day.

Voting will be based on the following categories:

Best Character: the most believable/captivating/magnetic/unique character
Best Setting: the most vividly evoked background world, or most gripping atmosphere
Best Plot: the best organized, coherent and well-executed story with appropriate pacing, climax, etc.
Best Word Choice: the technical art of combining words in a memorable way
Best Technical Innovation: Which invention/technology is most impressive from a creative perspective?
Most Substantive: Which story best reveals a lesson about the relationship between humanity and technology?

Good luck to all contestants.  Let the writing commence!

Thanks for all the votes, folks!  I have to agree with Sinitrena's assessment that my story just kinda petered out in the end.   I just ran out of time and couldn't kill my character off in an appropriately gruesome manner....   Great work, Blondbraid!  Hope to see you out next time (seeing as how I can't participate.... at least we'd get one entry ). 

New topic up soon!

Ooooooooo!  A tie!   Such an unanticipated plot twist!

Seriously, though, could we get another couple voters to break this stalemate?

[Blondbraid]

Character: I vote Blondbraid for Clara.  Her sparse words and absent-minded humming were perfect for a ghost.

Plot: I vote Blondbraid for a haunting tale with an appropriate reveal at the end.

Atmosphere: I vote Blondbraid for his vivid description of the eerie marsh.

Background World: I vote Blondbraid for the haunted marsh.

Word Choice/Style: I vote Blondbraid for some excellent descriptive language.  The skeletal hands of the branches spring to mind, but there were many others.

Spookiness: This was a tough one but, hmmmmmmm.....  I think I'm going to vote Blondbraid for an appropriately spooky Hallowe'en story.

Blood Fog

   The sudden knock on Jossie's door was urgent, as it always was at this late hour.  Her dogs instantly began to bark and scratch excitedly at their kennel doors, causing the small house to echo with their chorus.    It took Jossie somewhat longer to raise herself from the well of slumber, but the knocking and the dogs both grew so frantic that sleep became impossible.

   â€œMommy?  Is it the fog?” asked Carla's  timid voice.

   â€œNo Sweetie,” Jossie soothed without cracking an eye.  No one would be knocking at her door in the fog.  “Go back to bed.”

   â€œMommy, I'm scared.”

   Jossie sighed and stood up.  Fear was such a silly thing.  Forgivable, perhaps, in the mind of a young child, but quite a dangerous quality to retain when one grew up.  “Fetch Charmo and Lupins from their kennels,” she said sternly.  The child had to learn to face fear, or one day it would kill her.  And Jossie loved her child too much to let that happen.

   A moment later she had a lantern lit and her boots on at the door.  Jossie always slept fully dressed now, for the midnight knocks were too frequent these days.  When would the hunters learn to mind the hour....

   She pulled the door open to see a tall, thin man with hateful eyes stooping in the night chill.

   â€œMayor Hyrworth,” Jossie said calmly.  “Won't you come in?”

   The man sneered at the idea, then recoiled when the two dogs joined her.  Charmo was a huge creature, built like a wolf but brown like a bear.  Lupins was nearly as high in the shoulder, but lithe and black as pitch.  Both sat obediently for their mistress, but the Mayor cringed as if they were snarling and ready for the kill.

   â€œConfound it, woman!  Muzzle those monsters!” he snivelled, clutching at his chest.

   â€œYou know that the Carnivore Law does not apply beyond the village walls,” she lectured in an almost bored tone.  “Now was there something....?”

   The Mayor waved and a slender, cloaked figure emerged tentatively from the shadows.

   â€œThe eldest Poxon girl,” the Mayor muttered, jerking the hood off the young woman's head.  A bloom of reddish curls exploded from where the hood had been.  She couldn't be more than fifteen, Jossie thought.

   â€œI'm Falla,” she said shyly.  “It's my family, Ma'am.  I mean Mistress.  I mean, they're....”

   â€œSisters chased a rabbit while the father was chopping wood,” the Mayor interrupted curtly.  “Half the village out searching in the fading light, but now most are sensibly back within the walls.”  He spread his hands as if to say who could blame them, but stopped mid-gesture given his current company.

   â€œMother and father are still out there,” Falla spoke nervously.  “But they sent me to see if you would help?”

   Jossie had already grabbed her cloak from the hook by the door.

*   *   *   *   *   

   The night had the chill of late autumn and the moon shadows played tricks on the eye with the twisted bare-branches of the forest trees.  The leaves crunched out a measured rhythm under their feet, and double time under the paws of her two pets.  The Mayor had slunk back to the safety of the village walls at the soonest opportunity, so now it was just Jossie and the suddenly talkative Falla alone in the woods.  Jossie held a dog lead in each hand, Falla a lantern and a walking stick.

   â€œAren't you scared when the fog comes?” Falla asked inquisitively.  She was walking next to Jossie now that the dogs were well in front on their lengthy leads.

   â€œI am not afraid of my own babies,” Jossie replied.  “The fog comes and goes.  If you are prepared, then that is all it does.”

   â€œBut the... the curse?” Falla blurted. 

   â€œWhat of it?” Jossie asked.

   â€œWhat do you do when the madness sets in?”

   Jossie shrugged.  “I lock the kennel doors.  I'm sure you've noticed at your own home that the fog doesn't seep much indoors.  The madness passes quickly.”

   â€œBut, what about out here?” Falla asked.

   â€œOut here is trickier,” Jossie conceded.  She scanned the western sky from whence the wind blew.  There were clouds there, blocking the stars, but they seemed high and nonthreatening for the time being.  “Are we there yet?”

   â€œUm.... Close.  I think.....”  Falla looked confused by the darkness.

   â€œAlright,” Jossie said.  “Now don't panic, but I'm going to let the dogs off their leads.”

   â€œWhat?!?” Falla gasped.

   â€œThey need to run to sniff out the trail.  Don't worry.  They are very well trained,” Jossie assured the girl.

   â€œBut what if the fog comes?” Falla asked, wide-eyed in the moonlight.

   â€œThere are a lot of other carnivores in the forest at night,” Jossie reminded her.  “The two dogs will be the least of our worries.”

   Falla just shook speechlessly.  Perhaps Jossie was not as reassuring as she had meant to be, but unhitched the dogs regardless.

   â€œLet them sniff the shoe again,” Jossie commanded.  Falla shrunk back, terrified that the large dogs were now loose to pant happily at their mistress's side.  “It is the only way to find your family,” Jossie lectured.  Truly fear was the mind-killer.

   Falla very tentatively stretched out her arm, dangling the shoe about six feet from the dogs.  They looked at each other, and then to their mistress questioningly.

   â€œOh, for heaven's sake!  Every moment counts, Falla!  Go on!” she said to the dogs, and they promptly did.  Falla let out a fleeting shriek and dropped the shoe for the dogs, retreating to the safety of a nearby tree.  The dogs had their sniff, and then bounded off, zig-zagging through the forest.

   â€œCome on,” Jossie beckoned to the girl, but the timid thing wouldn't budge.  Jossie rolled her eyes at the absurdity.  “How many raccoons do you think live in a nice big tree like that?” she asked wickedly.

   Falla was instantly at her side once more.

*   *   *   *   *

   Within the hour the dogs had the scent, but sadly the trail led deeper into the thick woods that surrounded the village bounds.  This made even Jossie nervous, for every step they took deeper into the forest meant a step further away from the shelter of walls. 

   â€œShould we call for them?” Falla whispered.  Jossie understood “we” to mean “you.”

   â€œI don't hear your father calling,” Jossie replied as calmly as she could.  If the search continued, then surely they would hear voices calling.

   â€œMaybe they found them while I was getting you?” Falla asked optimistically.

   Jossie shook her head.  Not with the trail leading deeper into the forest, away from the village.

   An owl hooted hauntingly in the distance.

   Reluctantly they continued on.

*   *   *   *   *

   A rustle of dried leaves crinkled to their left.  The dogs were instantly between the two women and the sound, barking defensively.  Falla held her lantern aloft, the feeble light struggling against the brilliance of the moonlight.  A pair of glowing eyes flashed briefly, and then were gone.  A sudden growl shook the night.

   â€œOh my god!” Falla gasped, turning to run.

   â€œDon't move,” Jossie hissed, grabbing the girl by the cloak.  “They see movement!”

   The growl echoed again, and suddenly a dead tree creaked loudly and fell with a shattering thud.  A hulking shadow lurched from the darkness, stumbling as if drunk.  The slope of the land took it away from the two women, although the dogs barked for some time to prod the beast onward.

   â€œWhat the hell was that!?!” Falla asked, visibly shaking.

   â€œA bear,” Jossie said, licking her lips.  She didn't mention that its dazed behaviour was typical of a carnivore coming out of a fog-induced wrath.  That meant that there was fog nearby, or there had been within the day.  She scanned the sky again, which was becoming cloudier.  If they lost the moon behind the clouds it would be very difficult to navigate the thick brush of the forest floor.  The smart move would be to turn back now and wait for daylight.

   That's when they heard the scream of a small child drift faintly through the twisted branches.

*   *   *   *   *

   Now it was the women's feet that crunched the leaves at double time, while the two dogs bounded almost soundlessly ahead of them towards the sound.  Their path was blocked here and there by the tangle of thick undergrowth, made all the more unnavigable by the moon disappearing behind the occasional cloud.  In the deep blackness without the moon they felt their way more like moles than women, for the lantern cast a feeble light more than two strides out.  And then a root snared Falla's foot and the lantern was dropped, its flame extinguished.

   â€œOh god!” she whimpered.  “Oh god!”  Frantically she fumbled with the few matches she had, dropping them into the leaves in her panic.  “Oh god!”

   But Jossie saw the cloud was passing, and the moonlight almost breaking through.  And she heard the dogs ahead, sniffing at the ground.  Slowly, carefully, she picked her way forward.  “What is it, boys?” she asked, straining to see through the blackness.  Lupins sneezed, and kept sniffing.  Charmo whimpered.  Jossie knew that sound, and it filled her with an icy dread.  She drew her knife and crouched, stalking forward, sweeping the leaves gently ahead of her with her hand.  “Where is it, Charmo?” she whispered, afraid the fear in her voice might carry to Falla's ears.

   â€œDon't leave me!” the silly teenager whined, still fretting uselessly with her matches.

   And then Jossie found what she knew she would.  It was rigid but a little spongy, wrapped in tattered cloth.  The moon suddenly broke free of the cloud and she could see plainly that it was a severed human arm, still squeezing a bloody axe with a death grip.  Charmo stood sniffing at the rest of the remains, which were splattered about the small clearing, while Lupins had sniffed out a bloody trail that disappeared into a thicket.  “Lupins, no!” Jossie barked, and the dog obediently sat.

   â€œGot it!” Falla said triumphantly, holding aloft the glowing lantern.  Jossie turned to see the haunting glow of a dozen eyes behind her, floating in the shadows just beyond the light.

   The terrifying shriek of fog-maddened raccoons pierced the night.  Falla jumped, startled, sending the lamp hurling to smash on the ground where the oil ignited the paper-dry leaves, illuminating the deranged beasts like blood-smeared demons.  The flames seemed to hypnotise them ever so briefly.  Falla stood there, frozen, but Jossie had the presence of mind to thrust the walking stick into the fire, then use it to drive the wretched creatures back.  The dogs brayed and growled menacingly, but they instinctively kept their distance from the mangy creatures that spat like vipers and shrieked like wraithes.

   â€œCome on!” Jossie tugged her young companion who was quite paralyzed with fear.

   â€œWe're dead.  We're s-s-so dead,” the girl stuttered.

   â€œCome on!”

*   *   *   *   *

   Frantically they stumbled through the undergrowth, with only the faltering moonlight and the reddish glow of the embers on the end of the walking stick to guide them.  Twisted branches and gnarled roots grabbed at them, tripping them, tearing their clothes, and pulling their hair.  The sound of the shrieking raccoons and the barking dogs receded, replaced by the almost hysterical sobs of Falla.

   Jossie stopped dead, turned on the girl, and slapped her hard right across the face.  “Get a grip or you're fucking dead!” she hissed.  Falla was startled into silence, which is how they were suddenly able to hear other, quieter weeping coming from the hollow in a nearby tree.

   â€œMalla!  Halla!” Falla gasped with astonishment.  She hugged her sisters close.

   â€œWe're so scared!” one of the sisters managed between sobs.

   â€œIt's ok!  It's ok!  It's....” Falla soothed, but trailed off uncertainly as the moon rose again, showing a sinister bank of red fog rolling through the trees.

   Jossie was already staring at it, weighing her options.  The dogs were lost now, of that she had no doubt.  There would be a respite when they first breathed the fog, first choking on their own bile and then seizuring ominously.  But then once the madness took hold they would hunt them down like starving wolves.  They had three choices.  First they could hide in a tree, but the dogs would surely sniff them out and the raccoons would finish them off.  She had seen it before: fog-maddened carnivores working in an unholy cross-species alliance.  Second, they could find water to throw the dogs off the scent, but they had mere minutes to do so in the dark, and the sound of their stumbling about in the woods would surely alert any carnivore for hundreds of yards.  Third....  Well, there were no good options now, but it was probably their best bet.

   â€œInto the fog,” she commanded.

*   *   *   *   *

   The air glowed a hellish red inside the fog, but Jossie could still not see her own hand at arm's length.  It was quiet as the grave, too, with all sound being muffled by the evil vapours.  Jossie was counting on that.  Without sound or sight to guide them the dogs would be greatly slowed in their pursuit.  Feeling her way forward, she led the girls all in a line like a mother duck.  Down, down, always down slope.  There must be water soon, she thought.

   Suddenly there was a cold, flat surface blocking her path.  A cliff!  A cliff at the bottom of a hill?  She felt along its contours.  No, stone work.  A wall?  No, an abandoned stone cottage!  The door was missing, and the roof was half-collapsed, but it was the closest thing to shelter they were apt to find stumbling blindly through the wilderness.

   A spine-chilling roar nearby made up her mind for her.  The bear!

   â€œInside!” she shouted.

   Falla hesitated.  “What about rats?”

   â€œRats aren't carnivorans, they're rodents,” Jossie spat back.  She could hear the bear lurching menacingly through the undergrowth towards them.  “Just get inside!”

   Inside the cottage was quite ransacked by time and nature.  There was nothing in one piece enough to block the door, let alone the windows and the gaping hole where part of the roof had collapsed.  Jossie cast about the place frantically, looking for a weapon or a distraction, or a....

   â€œInto the oven,” she ordered.  The small girls fit easily, but for Falla and herself it was quite the contortion to squeeze inside the stone oven.  As the rage-possessed bear burst through the door she finally managed to pull her last limb inside and latch the metal door.

   Howls and shrieks and grating claws terrorized them for the rest of the night.  All three sisters wept and sobbed and shook and wailed.  But Jossie did not speak or sooth.  She knew the long hours ahead would make them hoarse and weary.  In the end girls would sleep, and eventually so too would the beasts outside when the adrenaline of madness finally wore off.  So Jossie waited.  Silently, patiently, and unafraid. 

    In the morning she would find her babies.

Spoiler

It runs pretty long as is, but I regret not being able to include the scene I originally envisaged when I started the project: the dogs approaching after a separation, and Jossie being slowly filled with foreboding, unsure if they were friendly or mad.  But then art is never truly finished, merely abandoned....

[close]

Gah.  I tried, but my project is in no state to be shared.  Can I have a couple day extension?  Otherwise I'll have to concede.

I've almost started!

That... was... Awesome!

Morning in the outskirts of Lisbon airstrip, before getting off without first aid. (9)

Spoiler

Alismturbation

[close]

I say you use Mandle-esque editing prowess to turn it into a completely different story, and then enter the contest. 

[Sinitrena!]

And the end is nigh!  Or upon us, or whatever.

Winning the golden book of supremacy with 8 votes is Sinitrena!  Isn't it funny how religions go off the rails once the original deities put things on cruise-control?  I also liked the fragmented format, as if it were unearthed from some ancient holy library.

Earning the silver book of secondness with 6 votes is Gurok.  An excellent first outing, may you have many more (new game project with Mandle notwithstanding )

Receiving the bronze book of biblicizing was Mandle with his short history of computing.  Is it sad that I've learned more about that topic through a biblical writing competition than 30 years of actually using computers?

And then there's Ponch.  We've missed you, buddy, although it's hard to tell from the number of votes you garnered.  I, for one, was a fan.  I especially liked the whole Aaron did begat instructifying the peeps in his pimptastic manner verse.  Unfortunately we have no trophy for 4th place, but if you just keep at it I'm sure you'll claw hoof yourself back up into trophy contention sooner rather than later.

And with that yet another biblical epoch draws to yet another spectacularly overwrought apocalypse, with flaming toads raining down from the sky with such heat that they splat their searing juices all over you upon impact, melting away the fickle flesh of vanity and exposing your inner being for ultimate judgement.  Or, more plainly and frankly accurately, this is the end of a simple competition and things will just keep keeping on, so don't sweat it too much, k?  The next host, by virtue of victory is Sinitrena, to whom I turn over the mantle of contest administration for the coveted October contest.  I look forward to her ghoulishly ghastly topic in the next exciting instalment of...

The Fortnightly Writing Competition!1!!

But really, how many authors of books in the bible must have felt the same way the next morning? 

[Sinitrena]

And now Judgement Day is upon us!   The following seek entry through the pearly gates:

Sinitrena with The Book of the Lady's Awakening
Gurok with The Book of the Young Jesus Christ Chronicles
Mandle with The Book of Unfinished Business
Ponch with The Book of Moo

But they must pass within in the order of merit, with the undeserving cast off into a gruesome writer's purgatory combining perpetual dark and stormy nights and their second grade handwriting instructors!

Let our sinners be judged on the following criteria:

Best Character: the most believable/captivating/magnetic/unique character
Best Setting: the most vivid background world (often inferred through sparse and/or exaggerated descriptions)
Best Plot Despite Format: which story really shone through despite the awkward format?
Best Use of Biblical Verse: the technical art of combining words in an arcane and opaque manner.
Greatest Truth: Which story best reveals a lesson about humanity, the world, or the nature of the divine?

Judgement Day shall span three mortal days, for there is a lot of judgement to be done.  Judgement shall cease on the 4th of October, and thereafter all shall be cool for the rest of eternity.

Nice to see a biblical bevvy of entries.

24 more hours to go!

Happy Days, Stu. 

That's the thing about doomsday.  It's always looming, but never actually nigh....   Let's set the apocalypse deadline for Oct 1.

...And on the seventh day the Flying Spaghetti Monster rested, for he knew that he had yet seven more days to finish his work.

Yes, yes.  We accept everyone into the fold around here.