Messages

Mandle:

Spoiler

I'm a huge fan of the 'single room, low-budget, The Cube'ish movies, and like Stupot this really gave me those vibes. It was a little hectic, and even if it was by design, it was kind of hard to keep track of the characters at first, probably because it was a bunch of new characters all talking at once and changing subjects around. Eventually they all clicked in, but it was a little tough at first. I liked the weirdness of the room and it really felt alien.  It did feel like there was 'something' going on in terms of a game that they had to play, but I didn't really get it until reading your spoiler.  But thems the breaks in a short story where you intentionally leave things vague!  Solid entry, for sure.

[close]

Stupot:

Spoiler

Interesting little story! My favorite part was how gross the vampire-thing was! You pretty much only get two types of vampires in mainstream fiction, either the standard 'I vant to suck your bluud' type ranging from Sparkling to Dracula, or a visceral monster ala I Am Legend (featuring Will Smith).  The fetid, wrinkled man-monster was a nice surprise, and it makes me more interested in the older Vamps, as well as their weird organization. Lots of interesting story threads in this one, but not a whole lot of answers!

[close]

Baron:

Spoiler

Oh how easily you slipped into the point of view of a pompous, verbose wordsmith!  Haha, this was great. The visualizations of the hourglasses and the metaphors strewn about were on point and fit very well with the character. If were to pick out any kind of niggling thing, it would be the introduction of Morgan, her appearance is kind of crammed in there with other metaphors and prose, that it took a second to realize that she was a new character. Other than that though, a solid, well-written piece throughout.

[close]

[A New Cycle]

A New Cycle

Congealed blood began to flow through desiccated veins, the oozing liquid slow, yet methodical. Each pump of the wizened heart brought more life to the husk of a corpse which laid curled upon itself, forgotten and alone in the dark. As blood reached the brain and began to flow through long disused twisting passages, no thoughts rose, only one pure and immutable feeling: Hunger.

Winston lay within his crypt as consciousness slowly returned to him. His eyelids scraped over dry orbs within sunken sockets. He always found this the worst part, other than the burning pit of hunger within his stomach: the dryness, the dehydrated state which he found himself as he awoke. Eventually, given enough time, the magic within his veins and his blood would bring him round to a more normal state, but he would be here for hours, unable to move as his muscles were nothing but long strips of dried meat.

Time passed and soon he was able to move, to twist and turn his aching muscles and creaking joints. He reached above his head, his fingers scrabbling through the grave dirt, until his fingers brushed along the glass jars he had left there years before. Too many clinked together hollowly as he searched blindly through the lot, their contents either leaking through impossibly small cracks, or making its way through the corks and wax which sealed them. At last his hand thumped into a jar and it resisted his feeble muscles, still full to the brim.

With shaking hands he pulled the jar from above his head, and after a few minutes he was able to pry the cork and wax from its resting place. He tilted the jar and let the water splash across his face and into his mouth. He heaved, his stomach refusing the vile substance. Ever since becoming one with the night, he could not stomach anything that wasn’t primarily blood, but he knew the water was vital to quickening the revitalizing process and he forced it down through his resisting esophagus.

Hours later he stood and moved the slab of granite which covered his grave. The slab was heavy, but the small portion of strength that had returned granted him enough power to shift it out of the way. The granite walls of his grave only reached his knees, leaving him curled upon himself, but the small space and heavy stone left little airflow, leaving his clothes relatively intact. He surveyed himself as he stood in the chill air of night. His posh clothes had survived well this time, the tight stones making an almost airtight seal, although he could feel some water damage along the back of his collar where the water had seeped out from the jars from years ago. No matter, his dark hair, now rejuvenated by the water and the magic within his veins, flowed neatly down his back and covered any offending stains.

The mausoleum in which he stood hadn’t faired so well. What remained of the structure was a pitiful sight indeed. Half of the marble stone walls had fallen into such disrepair that they left massive gaps leading out into the night. No doubt the magic of his kind had been the only thing that had kept him from being discovered… that and a healthy dose of luck.

His bloodline was known as The Sleepers. They were some of the most powerful of the vampires, their magics powerful and without equal, but they were only able to be active for a short amount of years before the deep slumber called them back to the earth. Winston had actually heard of a type of insect which followed a similar pattern, to sleep for more than a decade before awakening for a month to mate and then die. He felt a strange kinship to the little bug, as his existence was fairly similar; except he didn’t die at the end of his active period… he had done that centuries beforehand.

Winston strolled out from the mausoleum and stretched in the light of the full moon. Grave dirt still stuck to his clothes as he weaved between overgrown headstones but he gave it little thought. His looks and charm were of little importance on this night, the void of emptiness that ate away at his midsection was the only thing on his mind.

He moved his way past a large cast iron gate which marked the entrance to the cemetery. When he had first entered the graveyard a century or so ago, it was impressive and stood tall among the stones. Now, it was nothing but a pitted and rusted reminder of time’s slow march. His leather shoes clicked across some kind of hard packed road, where once a cobblestone street had once winded its way through the village. He nudged at it with the tip of his shoe, but he could not discern what kind of material it had been assembled with.

His thoughts and curiosity were pulled away as he noticed light approaching from down the road. His stomach panged and he could feel the incisors within his mouth sharpen with anticipation. He smiled and tried to tamp down his excitement as the motor car approached. Always a nice change of pace when your meal came directly to you. He smoothed down the front of his jacket and awaited the carriage’s arrival.

The hired man at the motor car’s wheel must have been in quite the hurry, as the car’s lights approached in record time, within seconds of his noticing of the headlights. He lifted his hand as the vehicle neared and it squealed and screeched as it swerved around him and came to a stop. He rose an eyebrow as he inspected the smooth lines and features that made up the vehicle, its entire frame completely enclosed upon itself in metal and glass.

He raised his hand in greeting as the driver’s side window slid down and into the door.

“Good evening, kind sir,” Wiston began.

“Hey, you fuckin’ cosplay weirdo, get the fuck outta the road before you kill somebody. What the hell is wrong with you? It’s midnight for Christ’s sake.”

Winston’s mouth hung open and one of his eyes was squinted in confusion.

“Yeah, just keep standing there, ya douchenozzle. Get bent.”

A loud squeal emanated from the tires and the car disappeared down the road before Winston knew what was happening. His hand fell to his side, but the confused expression stayed plastered on his face. He had run into uncouth gentlemen before but nothing like this, and what in the world was a douchenozzle? He would love to stay and ponder the interaction, but his stomach urged him onward, hunger overcoming the forefront of his mind.

With more tapping of his fancy shoes he moved from the outskirts and into the town proper, large domiciles were packed in closely together along spiraling streets. Most neighborhoods sported electric buzzing lights, casting wide arcs of yellow light across empty black roads. This confused Winston, why light empty roads in the middle of the night? He steered clear of the neighborhoods that were brightly lit and stuck to quieter areas.

As he neared a quaint brick house he nodded to himself, the tried and true method of infiltration was always a sure winner. Of course it wasn’t the most gentlemanly way of hunting, but the hunger that burned inside of him paid no heed to the proper way of doing things. He approached stealthily, his footsteps becoming lighter as he poured his attention into becoming silent as the wind. His magics were still weak in his state, but they would soon swell as he quenched his thirst.

A large wooden fence sat near the house and he sidled up to it. With a well-practiced move, he snagged the top of the fence and kicked his legs up and around. Lights blared to life around him and he froze, one leg propped atop the wooden slats.

Winston, wide-eyed, looked around and noticed the large pair of electric lights mounted far up the wall which had clicked to life as he crossed the fence’s barrier. A curious metal tube with a dark lens was also pointed in his direction and he stared at the strange device in awe.
A man’s voice from the other side of the fence tore his attention away from the lights.

“Are you serious, dude?” The man said, his tone more annoyed than agitated. He wore a thin blue vest and beige colored pants, a cigarette was held in one hand and the burning ember left streaks in the low light as he moved it around. “I just got off a twelve hour shift from Walmart, and now I got some creepy dude climbing into my yard.”

His free hand pinched at the space between his brows and he sighed quietly. “Will you please just fuck off before I call the cops? I really just want to finish my cigarette and go to bed without dealing with any more late night weirdos. Please?”

Winston nodded, let himself down slowly from the fence and once he was out of the man’s eyesight he turned and ran, his dirty coattails flapping in the wind. Once he was far enough away from being pursued he let himself slow and balled his hands against his temples. What in the world was going on? This was his sixth cycle of sleep, and nothing like this had ever happened before. Sure people changed, technology improved, but this world he found himself in was some kind of alien landscape.

A shot of pain echoed out from his stomach and he hunched over trying to quell the beast inside him. After a few minutes he was able to continue on, his brow furrowed in determination. He continued down sidewalks, now uncaring about the pools of light that shone down from lamp posts. He closed his eyes as he walked and reached out with his mind, letting the nearby lifeforces within the quiet houses guide him.

Soon he came upon what he was looking for and opened his eyes. A garishly painted yellow house stood before him, but the young woman inside was alone and ripe for the picking. He strode confidently up the front steps and stood before the entrance. He brushed at the errant dirt that clung to his sleeves, puffed himself up and rapped at the door. Sure, he was a bit dirty, but he had seduced many a women in many different states of dress and undress. A smile crossed his lip as his mind wandered back to better days, running through a count’s keep, the man's young bride’s hand locked in his, laughs light upon their chests.

A woman’s voice blared out from beside the door, pulling him out from his day dream. “Yeah?” she said, her voice tired and uncaring, “What do you want?”

Winston raised an eyebrow and searched around for the source of the voice and found a small white box attached to the doorframe. It sported a familiar black lens, but gave no further hint at what it could possibly be. He could feel the woman’s lifeforce somewhere on the other side of the door. No matter, his magics were weak, but he could still seduce a woman through a closed door.

“M’lady,” he said through a dangerous smile, “perchance I could have a bit of your time? I know it is late, but I am in need of assistance at this tumultuous time.” He could feel his mind connect to the woman’s somewhere within the house, a click as he opened a faraway lock.

“Ugh,” the voice next to the door blared out, “Is this that Vlad guy from Tinder again? Listen dude, I already told you to get lost, I am not even remotely interested in whatever weird roleplay you’re into-“

“No, no, no, m’lady, I am Winston of the Night Thorns, and all I ask is for but a moment of your time.” He pushed deeper with his connection and could feel his magics working to penetrate her mind.

“Oh,” she said, her voice less sleepy than before, “Yeah, not interested. Get lost.”

The connection was instantly severed and Winston reeled from the shock. It was as if a hundred doors had slammed shut within his mind and it left him staggered. He stumbled down the steps and back out into the street. This was the most confused he had been all night. A single woman of childbearing age that he had made a solid connection with had so easily resisted his advances? The door and the device had no bearing on his outcome, somehow the woman had shut him down without a second thought. Nothing like this had ever happened in the centuries he had been at this game.

He shook his head and sat down on the curb, his head in his hands. This world was nothing like the place he had come from, the people were just so incredibly different that nothing he knew from the old world had any kind of positive affect. Maybe he was just a massive douchenozzle?

After a few minutes of self-pity, his stomach urged him onwards and he stood. He could last a time without feeding, but he wouldn’t last forever. Failure and true-death wasn’t an option, he would make it in this world, one way or another.

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

Winston’s phone buzzed and jingled in his pocket and he rolled his eyes. It was probably his nightshift manager Brad, wanting him to work the dinner shift at Shenanigans, where he served onion rings to the most annoying Americans in existence. He sighed and let his head fall back against the sofa.

“Damn it,” his roommate Travis said as the tv screen turned red and his choices for respawning popped up.

“You need to watch the corners in the warehouse,” Winston said helpfully, “they like to sit and spawn camp in there.”

“Thanks, Winnie, you think I don’t know that?” Travis replied without looking over or taking off his earphones.

Winston ground his teeth together and stared daggers at the back of his head, he wanted nothing more than to rip his head off and drink from the spewing fountain of gushing blood… but he still had six months on the lease, and he had to submit his fingerprints under his new false identity, and there was no way he was going to jeopardize that and go on the run once more. It was way too much a pain in the ass to get a new identity in the 21st century, plus, he had worked hard on getting his credit built up and he didn’t want to have to start from scratch again.

He finally dug his phone out from his hoodie pocket and checked it. Surprisingly, it wasn’t Brad The Asshole, but his Vampire connection out in Pennsylvania who had a stalking slot available in two weeks. He did some quick math in his head and figured he could make it another few weeks without too much trouble and shot back a quick text letting him know that he would be able to make it.

Winston still had a few more years before he would have to head back into the deep slumber and he knew he could last until them, especially with a steady drip of easy Amish pickings once a month or two. The only people who didn’t have Ring doorbells on every damn porch. This cycle was a complete wash, but maybe the next one would be easier, maybe this whole global warming thing would knock modern humans back far enough to where his life wouldn’t be such a difficult hell.

Just a few more years, he thought, he knew he could do it. Life as a vampire in 2021 was not easy going.

His phone buzzed again and he checked it. “Fuck you, Brad,” he said under his breath as he looked at the clock and figured he only had 30 minutes until he had to be back at work.

[The Shopkeeper]

And so'eth ends the FWC of The Shopkeeper!

These stories were lovely, I laughed, I cringed, I raised an eyebrow or three! It was fun to see that everyone skewed a bit towards the darker side, what with us now descending deep into the month of Spooktober

Here are how the votes ended up:

Sinitrena: 7 + 6 + 4 = 17

Baron: 3 + 6 + 3 = 12

Mandle: 4 + 3 + 4 = 11

That makes Sinitrena the winner of our little competition and now must take up the role of Dungeon Master-, er, FWC Host for the next fortnight (plus extensions)!

As an aside to any readers out there, voting is still open until September 3rd of 2022. It won't influence the final vote tally, but a shopkeeper never goes back on his word!

Thank you to all our participants, I'll see ya in the next one!

Haha, well, that's a whoospie on my part.  Voting is open until September 3rd of 2022, but a winner will be voted in on October 3rd of 2021.

Don't post on little sleep, y'all.

[September 3rd]

And so endseth our Fortnightly(ish) short story writing competition!

Voting shall now commence until the end of September 3rd!

Each voter has 10 votes to spread out how they see fit.Click here to vote!

The voting process will be secret, but votes will be revealed after the deadline has passed.

Thanks to all our wonderful contestants!

[September 27th]

I do have this 'Monkey Paw of Deadline Extension' somewhere on that dusty shelf right there behind you.

Yep, that shelf.  No, sir, that's a 'Ape Paw of Deadline Shortening', are you missing your glasses? Everyone knows the differences between a monkey paw and an ape paw.

Yes, that one right there, slighty used, don't mind the dust or the dried blood. It's used, what do you expect?

Alright, alright, just bring it here, let me take a gander at its price tag.

Hmm. Well, all but one of the fingers are curled in, so I think I can let it go for 16 Veldmars.

No, you heard me correctly, and Mr. Baron, sir, please don't use that kind of language in my establishment, it's rude and rather unbecoming of a dapper man of your esteem.

Tsk. Fine, I will take 12 Veldmars for it, but I will do so with much disdain.

9... 10... 11... 12... You hear the disdain dripping from my words? I usually only use that much when I say hello to my mother-in-law, so count yourself lucky.

Sure, sure, take a nice healthy look at it.

What do you mean "How do I use it?" It's a Monkey Paw, you hold it within your hands, close your eyes and make your wish. In this case you'd wish for your Deadline Extension.

Yep, you'd close your eyes just like that and...

...

Did you just make the wish here?

No, I know you did. Look! Look there, the last finger has curled upon itself. Gods, man! You can't just make that kind of wish in the presence of others!

There are so many different kinds of way your wish could go wrong, and that burden lies on you, but now you have involved me within your wicked scheme!

Sir! Are you even paying attention? Why are you scrolling through your phone at a time like this?

That wry smile... I see, you read a post on some small niche forum that your deadline has been extended until September  27th? Oh, congratulations to you, I am oh so very happy for you, so very happy.

...

What am I looking around this shop for? Why, I'm waiting for something horribly wicked to come after you, it is a Monkey's Paw after all. I'm just hoping your ill-gotten gains don't have an affect on me, since I was in such close proximity when you made your wish.

Hm. That's odd, you usually get your comeuppance by now-

Wait! That jingling at the door, someone is entering the shop. Perhaps it is your driver, here to tell you that your vehicle has been struck, or your attorney who wants to inform you that the deadline for your inheritance to come into effect has been extended indefinitely, ooh, wouldn't that be deliciously ironic.

Wait... That voice... No, it can't be.

It's... my mother-in-law.

This is your doing! Damn you and your Monkey Paw!

...

Please don't go, I'll refund all of your Veldmars! Please, stop! Don't...

*Sigh*

Hello, Gloris. No, that's not disdain in my voice, I've just got a slight stuffy nose.

...

I know I'm so pathetic I can't even keep one customer in my little trinket shop. Thank you for pointing it out.

[The Shopkeeper]

Welcome to the Fortnightly Writing Competition where our local wordsmiths put together beautiful short (sometimes) stories for all to read and enjoy!

This week our theme will be:

The Shopkeeper



Oftentimes The Shopkeeper is an integral, yet overlooked individual in the world of fiction. Protagonists make their way through their shops, collecting the goods and baubles which will ultimately lead them to reaching their goals. But who is The Shopkeeper? Is there more to their existence than peddling goods? Do they have stories to tell?

In this FWC I challenge you to write a story with a shopkeeper integral to the plot. From the item shop selling magical swords to yet another hero, to the bored cashier who is just another cog in the corporate machine.

This fortnightly competition of writing shall end at midnight of September 22.

Thanks for playing and... can I offer you a candy bar to go along with your purchase?

By the by, my Mandle point was a joke, and my total vote was 11, with Baron getting an incidental extra vote.

Mandle's joke point is now fully rescinded! No cake for you!

A possible solution to stopping bad maths from happening again, is for the host to display the votes after the fact, either anonymously or whatever.

E.g.

Voter 1 ( 6 to Sini, 4 to Baron)
Voter 2 ( 18 to EjectedStar, 1 to Mandle)
Etc., So on and so forth.

(Also, when I am host, I PM myself my votes before I write up my 'vote now' post, just in case I need to show receipts/no vote manipulation)

That's on me! I never learned to count, so I sometimes forget to carry the one.

I gave Baron one too many points, so subtract his score by one.  Apologies all.  (I even gave Mandle 1 point for well-intentions this round.)

My votes have been cast!  Sorry everyone, haven't found time to write out impressions, I'm back to work after paternity leave and the hospital is p-p-p-packed, so I've been pretty busy as of late.

I enjoyed the stories though! 

[Ingress]

Ingress

Jay hated the wetness that followed a rainstorm.  The rain he didn’t mind, it could be exciting, or even relaxing, listening to the pitter-patter outside your window on a lazy afternoon. But the part afterward, where the air was the thick with humidity and puddles lined the street, he hated. Jay contemplated this as he shook his leg and the sneaker that had just found one of those such puddles, instantly soaking the entirety of his left sock.

He sighed and readjusted the small wooden crate in his arms, which held a random assortment of vegetables from his mother’s hobbyist garden. One of his footsteps squelched along the asphalt road that had been blocked off for the weekly farmer’s market, the air heavy from recent rainstorm earlier that morning. The only good thing about after-rain was the smell, especially in the small, quiet town of Rexford, stirring up the dirt and plants, leaving a slightly sweet pungent smell lingering in the air.

With an over exaggerated grunt, he set the crate down at his mother’s stall and waved back behind himself, “That’s the last of ‘em. Say,” he said with mock pondering “how much am I getting paid for this again?”

His mother turned to face him and placed her hands on her hips. She eyed him, but didn’t look particularly intimidating while wearing a bright yellow apron adorned with purple polka dots. “I don’t know,” she said, “maybe the continuation of a roof over your head? Tuition assistance? All the food you shovel into your bottomless stomach. All those video-“

Jay stopped listening as she ticked off items on her fingers. He wasn’t serious, and neither was she, but it was a ritual that they did occasionally whenever he was feeling sassy. “Right,” he said, moving to the other side of the stall and beginning to unload the vegetables into their assigned spots, “I’ll just shut up and look pretty.”

“See? I knew all that college learnin’ would sink into that noggin eventually. Such a smart boy.”

He rolled his eyes, but only because his back was still turned away from her.  He finished sorting out the vegetables and took his customary spot behind the wooden table that served as their check-out counter, a pad of paper and small lock box ready for a standard day of farmer's market bliss. The morning proceeded normally, selling off the late-year crops that his mother had tended to the last couple of months. The usual suspects came and went, mostly older couples needing something to do on the weekend, righteously supporting their neighbors instead of the big-box supermarket only a fifteen minute trip by the nearby interstate.

Jay perked up as he caught sight of a girl his age meandering through the stalls nearby. She was raven-haired, cut into a tight bob, soft features and a cute upturned nose. Absolutely adorable. Jay didn't see many early twenty-somethings at 9 am on a Saturday morning perusing through a farmer's market of a town where the median age had to be somewhere around 45. He tried not to stare too hard as she wandered nearer to their stall. She stopped momentarily as she drew her gaze across the radishes and spinach in front of him. Their eyes met for a few seconds, her eyes shone light blue, the color of the sky recovering from a morning shower that left the ground so annoyingly damp.

A faltering smile crossed Jay's lips and then she was gone, making her way down through the assortment of stalls that lined the street. He could feel his cheeks flush and knew it was silly to be embarrassed over simply smiling at a girl, but she was cute and he wasn't the greatest with the ladies. Thoughts of her lingered while he tried to help the next customer, Mr. Allen, with his question about 'what the hell is kale?'

After a very stimulating conversation that culminated in: ‘so it’s just fancy cabbage?’ Jay leaned his forearms on the counter, let his eyes glaze over, and stared at the browsing AARP members. There was a shout from somewhere down the road and he raised an eyebrow. Probably just someone upset over an overpriced wooden knick-knack down at old man Jenkins’s stall. More shouts came from that direction and he leaned back from his resting position. Sometimes these folks got so bent out of shape over the littlest of things. The commotion was coming his way, a mass of people moving down the street in a hurried and frightened fashion.

“What the fuck?” slipped out from Jay’s mouth and he heard his mother tsk in a well-practiced habit. All manner of people were now hustling down the street, their bags and groceries jostling against their bodies as they frantically ran. Then he saw the young woman from earlier appear out of the crowd, she was facing backwards, toward the unknown threat. An explosion rocked out across her chest, sending a puff of acrid smoke into the air and tossing her back and onto the asphalt.

Before Jay knew what he was doing, he was out and over the table, running to the young woman’s aid. As he ran, he realized how stupid he was being, what with gunfire or whatever explosion had went off threatening his well-being, but he was already on the way and with a mental shrug he knelt at her side. Her trendy, short leather jacket was in tatters, burned through and still smoking softly. He could see she had been burned, her hair singed and her cheek a bright red. An earpiece was clearly visible in her ear, her swept back hair revealing its presence.

She groaned and he placed a hand against her shoulder.

“Hey, you okay? What the hell was that?” Jay asked, his voice shaky from all the excitement.

Her lips parted to answer, but another explosion ripped its way through the air from down the street. Jay turned his head and could barely comprehend. The air itself had ripped itself apart 40 feet from where he knelt, glowing tattered strands opened what could only be a described as a ragged hole in space, it rose from the concrete and thirty feet into the air. There in the middle of the street, Jay could see through the rip and out onto an alien landscape: barren, dusty red hills and a night sky littered with stars. The surging mass of monsters charging up toward the portal was just icing on the cake.

The woman tried to stand, grabbing onto Jay’s shoulder to pull herself up, but as she bent to rise, pain flooded through her features. With her eyes wide, she coughed, spasmed in pain and fell back to the street.

“Close it,” she gasped between racking coughs.

“What? I don’t even know-“ he began to say, before she lifted a hand and held out a glowing sphere about the size of a baseball.

Sometimes Jay hated human psychology, he didn’t want the weird glowing sphere, but when someone offers you something, your lizard brain automatically reaches out and takes it. There he was, kneeling over a possibly dying stranger holding some strange glowing something, thousands of monsters bearing down on him, and a mission to ‘close it’, whatever that meant. Typical Saturday morning shenanigans.

The woman had already moved on from addressing him and had her hand pressed up against the side of her ear, activating the earpiece within. “Tier six,” she mumbled, her eyes closed and breath soft, “I repeat, it is a tier six threat.”

Jay stood; the sphere held in his hand down by his waist and looked toward the rift in the middle of the street. He could see the monsters clearer now as they approached, now only seconds away from reaching the portal. They were bipedal and rippled with muscle, beige, dusky skin and tiny pin pricks of black where the eyes should be. The rest of their heads were made up of one massive, slathering mouth full of serrated teeth jutting off in all directions. They ran in long strides up the dusty red hill, their muscled arms beating through the air.

“Yeah, there’s no way I’m heading toward those things.” Jay said, shaking his head.

The girl coughed, which now sounded a lot wetter and raspier than before. “If you want your town, and possibly the entire western seaboard flooded with those monsters, then go ahead, run… but it won’t do you much good.”

Fear was pulsating through Jay. He wanted to help, wanted to dash up to that weird ass rip in the air and close it all down, but there wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to play the hero and try to save the day by himself. Plus, by the time he got there, they’d already be through and gnawing on what remained of his corpse.

Almost in answer to his thoughts, and interrupting a rather vivid image of his arm being blended away with those maws of unending teeth, a screech of a vehicle further up the street echoed out from behind him. Jay twisted and took in this new development.

A blocky, matte black van squealed to a stop in the middle of the road, puffs of smoke wisping away from its tires. The side door was slung open without ceremony and within stood a shapely woman with long blonde hair and a hulking man of dark complexion, his head and face covered in bushy black curls. Between them sat a massive Gatling gun. Now, Jay had never seen a Gatling gun in person, but as the black man situated himself behind the massive gun and the six mean looking barrels began to spin up, he knew it was time to get the fuck out of the way.

He dove to the street, his arms instinctively covering his head, even though it wouldn’t be of any use in the hail of bullets that was about to follow. The gun exploded, or, as seconds passed, it continued to explode as bullets spat angrily out from its spinning barrels. Jay could hear the bullets pass through the air, whizzing only feet above his head, even over the loud extended ‘brrrrt’ noise that emanated from the beast.

Jay lifted his head and peered at the portal, now streaming with monsters as they jammed together and slammed through. They were being shredded as the swarm of buzzing bullets smashed into their frontlines; sprays of red mist splattered the surging monsters that pushed from behind those in the front, chunks and body parts raining down.

The woman sighed in relief and Jay saw her relax her head back from looking down the length of her body toward the rift. “Not all Entities are susceptible to kinetic energy attacks, if not, we’d be so dead right now.”

“W-what?” Jay sputtered out, a look of confusion plastered against his face.

“Just go!” she coughed weakly, “this is the only chance you’ll get.”

The Gatling gun went silent and Jay took it as his cue to follow her advice. He stood and took off in a dash toward the portal. Every inch of his being screamed at him to turn, take a detour out through some stalls and escape from this nightmare. But if the woman was correct, they’d soon be overwhelmed and the monsters would swarm through the hole, there weren’t enough bullets in that spinning death machine to hold back the hordes that still pushed forward.

He ran toward the gore that littered the street, and even though the frontline of monsters had been decimated, a new surge of the creatures began to press forward once again. A muffled shout of a gruff, deep voice from somewhere behind him prompted him to dive to the ground and a flurry of bullets met the monsters at the portal.

Seconds passed and as soon as the Gatling quieted Jay was up again, running full tilt toward what looked like hell. His foot splashed in another puddle and a quiet anger surged inside him, even a demon invasion couldn’t stop the rain from making his day just that little bit worse. But, of course, it wasn’t rain water he realized as he flicked his eyes down momentarily and saw that he had just stepped into a puddle of red gore. Nausea rose from the pit of his stomach, but another shout prompted him to dive down again, and he smashed into the ground as the bullets spun up once again.

He was up once again as the world quieted and now was only feet from the portal. At this point he came to the sinking realization that he didn’t even know how to use the sphere that was clutched in a death grip in his hand. Luckily, the thing almost leapt out of his hand as he lifted it up toward the portal and it shone into life. The portal started knitting itself back together. The glowing ripped edges of space began to throw out tethers of luminous string to their brethren across from them, and the space between the two ripped sides began to close together.

Unfortunately for Jay, the closing portal did nothing to deter the monsters beyond and they continued to stream forward through the hole. He turned and ran. Then promptly dropped to the ground for the umpteenth time as he saw the Gatling gun spin to life. Now that he was so close to the portal he could hear bullets whizzing into their targets, and the sickening thunks of gore falling to the ground.

His ankle exploded in pain and he rolled onto his back, kicking down at his attacker in surprise. A half shredded monster that was lying on the ground had speared its claws through his leg and began dragging him back into the hell world beyond the portal. Jay screamed and kicked with his free leg, slamming his sneaker down on top of its bald skull, but his attacks didn’t have any perceivable affect and the creature continued to drag him backwards across the red stained asphalt.

Jay continued to kick and scream as he was dragged. The rough surface of the road beneath him suddenly turned soft, as red sand and dark sky filled his vision. There were monsters all around him, closing in, their jagged mouths gnashing open and closed in anticipation.  With a quick jolt, an opposing force began to pull him back toward the portal as he felt hands clamp around his wrists.

Glancing up, all he could see was thousands of strands across the ripped space, the portal almost fully closed, obscuring his view back into his own world. With the last ounce of his strength, he pulled with his arms, and pushed with his legs and he felt the grip on his ankle loosen. As soon as the monster lost its grip he was through the hole, his vision going white as he passed through the strands that were pulling the ragged edges closed.

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

“Holy shit, he’s still alive,” a soft voice picked its way through the dark fog that made up his consciousness.

“Never seen anyone go through what was essentially a fully sealed portal like that,” a gruff voice replied. “And by the way,” the voice said saltily,” my arms are fine.”

Jay groaned as he swam back to reality, his head buzzing in pain and confusion. After a few minutes he was able to creak open an eyelid. He found himself bumping along the inside of the black van; the two individuals who had operated the Gatling gun sat on a bench against the far side away from him. He tilted his head and could see the woman who had been lying on the street, now lying next to him, her eyes closed and her chest bandaged in clean, white strips.

The blonde woman leaned over him and her hair brushed at his face, “Hey kid, you ain’t, like, mentally scrambled or nothin’ like that, right?”

Jay coughed and tried to sit up, but his head flared in pain and he thought better of the idea, “I don’t think so,” he managed to croak.

“Quick,” the large man said, nudging the blonde woman out of the way and looming his frame into Jay’s field of vision, “Yankees or Red Sox?”

“Uh,” Jay mumbled, confused and not being much of a baseball fan said, “Yankees?”

The man rolled his eyes in disgust and sat back, “Yup, his brain might as well be scrambled eggs at this point, better leave him here on the side of the highway, there ain’t no coming back from that.”

“W-what?” Jay said confused.

A cough came from beside him and Jay leaned his head over so see the woman now had her eyes open. Still cute, though a little singed and worse for wear. “Don’t mind Garret,” she said, her voice soft, “he’s had that same affliction for years.”

The big man only laughed at her jab.

“So… “ Jay said, propping himself up on his elbows and sitting up slightly, his head only mostly screaming in pain, “who are you people?”

“Ah, that’s kind of a long story,” the blonde woman said, looking over at her companions for reassurance, “but after what you did today, I think you’re due for an explanation. Which,” she tittered her head back and forth, “that’s a lot more than people usually get.”

Spoiler

Been kicking around an idea for a new novel, and since the 'vulnerable' tag corresponded with how I imagined the first scene, I present to you a rough draft of the first chapter!  A little different from my normal writing style, but eh, we'll see!

[close]

[Mandle]

The votes are in!  This volleyball and I pored over the votes all night long to get an accurate count, and this is what we came up with:

Mandle - 17

Sinitrena - 14

Baron - 9

Making our new Fortnightly Writing Champion: Mandle!  Congratulations my friend, c'mon over to the Mayor's shack and accept your slightly-larger-than-normal coconut as your prize.

Hm, where did Mandle get off to?  Anybody see him around lately?

...

Wait a a minute, we did see him milling around the raft construction that we've been working on for ages.  Oh gods no!

...

Welp, there he goes, off through the roiling waves and across the razor sharp coral reef that surrounds our tomb.  And wait... what is he doing?  Oh, that's a rude gesture, real mature, buddy.

Alright everyone else, start collecting palm trunks and fronds again.  At this rate, we'll never get off this dang ol' island!

Anyone bring any timepieces along with them on the three hour tour?

No? Nobody, not even you Mr. Howell?

Ah, fine, it'll take the Professor a few hours to make a watch out of some coconuts and some washed up flotsam.

Alright, Gilligan, little buddy, let's go scrounge up some coconuts. We'll be right back!

Mandle

Spoiler

I loved this. I was quite drawn into Holdington and Kenneth’s descent into the game world, from simple beginnings of just moving hunks of plastic around, to ‘real’ characters living their life. The quick shock of Kenneth either realizing the futility of his little world, or his bending of the rules causing that futility leading to his return to the mooring rope was great. 

I give this entry three hearty coconuts, ready for cracking.

[close]

Sinitrena

Spoiler

This was beautiful. I really enjoyed the imagery and descriptions throughout. The way you described the mermaids was awesome, lithe and beautiful, but dangerous and weirdly alien. I really enjoyed the revealing of information of the narrator, from hapless rube, to conniving mastermind. The world felt quite deep, enough information to show thought out backstory and worldbuilding, but not enough to be confusing or info-overload. 

I give this entry three pearlescent shells, gently floating in the surf.

[close]

Baron

Spoiler

The characters in this were great, even though we only knew them for a short time, their personalities shone through and I could easily pick out who was who in only a few paragraphs. Definitely something that isn’t easy to do. The island and foreboding was a fun read, the further you sank into the story, the clearer it became that it was no mere island. Purgatory? Some kind of hell? Or maybe some kind of alien object damning these wayward souls to a horrific end. 

I give this entry three colorful hermit crabs, each eyeing the other two with suspicious intent.

[close]

[Baron - The Survival ImperativeSinitrena - WavedancerMandle - ROSE IS LOVE]

Ahoy, I see you louse-infested rabble rousers have pulled yourselves from the rocks and are ready to vote! Mind getting any seawater on the tallies, since these are made from the remaining pages of the books we managed to save from the wreck and they're in short supply!

Here are our lovely entrants in reverse order of posting:

Baron - The Survival Imperative

Sinitrena - Wavedancer

Mandle - ROSE IS LOVE

Yada yada yada, you forced landlubbers know the drill, and if ye don't, spread 10 votes around to the entrants, all are welcome to vote.

Drop yer votes off here in the mayor's shack, and keep yer mitts off me shells!

Now, someone bring me some grog, and none of that diet stuff, it does a doozy on me digestives!

Voting ends at sundown, Friday, August 6th.

For the record, mine is just a joke post that doesn't count! 

We've got two lovely entries so far, but there is still some time to squeak in an entry!

🪨🚤🪨 Wrecked 'em, damn near killed 'em!

[A Short Story In The Fortnightly Writing Competition]

A Short Story In The Fortnightly Writing Competition

“What on God’s green earth is that?” Wiggin said, his mouth hanging agape. His eyebrow twitched and he stared off over the deck at the enormous creature that crashed through the waves.

“Don’t care,” Raymond grunted, keeping his attention to the wheel that was gripped tightly in his hands, the knuckles stark white in his exertions.

The creature almost looked like a mix between a centipede and a whale, segmented insect like body parts, all wrapped within the blubbery texture of a sea creature. It crashed through the swirling waves of purple that surrounded the ship, jumping in and out of the frothing ‘liquid’.

“Damnit Wig, I need more starboard power!” Raymond shouted out, his eyes still glued to the dials in front of him.

Wiggin jumped, snapping out of his fixation. He shook his head as if to shake away his thoughts and then turned back to his work. After a quick check of his own readouts, he corrected the listing of the ship with a pull of a lever, ratcheting it down a few notches. 

“’Bout time! We’re not here to sightsee!” Raymond said, the strain in his voice lessening, not having to fight against the tilting of the ship anymore.

“Actually,” Wiggin said, tapping a finger against his chin, “that is exactly the reasoning for the mission.”

“Y-you know what I mean,” Raymond stuttered out, “not here at least!”

With a quick glance across his readouts, Wiggin nodded to himself, assured that the ship was steady at the moment, and turned back to face across the deck.  “Never in my wildest dreams did I think anything would be able to live here in the timestream.”

Their vessel traveled through a type of wormhole, allowing them to transit through time and space. Years of research had delivered this opportunity to them. Being that the pair were the founders of the project and the lead researchers, it was only prudent that they would be aboard her maiden voyage.

The ship, which was more of a maze of complicated brass colored tubes and a control deck, traveled along the inside of a spinning tube of purple tinged liquid. Wiggin hadn’t the foggiest idea what the liquid could be, and was even more dumbfounded at the presence of life within what he had theorized would be an uninteresting black void.

“Approaching the halfway point!” Raymond shouted out, the readout on his display scrolling through data so fast that it made Wiggin’s eyes glaze over when he glanced toward his partner’s direction.

A booming crash came from somewhere on Wiggin’s right, and he had but only a moment to ponder it’s origination before he was thrown to the side, his head whipping dangerously about.  The wind was smashed out of his lungs as he found himself bent at his midsection, the brass railing slamming its way into his stomach. He slid to the deck, crumpling in a heap, his vision a jumbled mess. He could see Raymond straining at the wheel, trying to keep the vessel upright and in the center of the tunnel. Across the deck he could see the source of the crash, as a swarm of the insect-like beasts dove in and out of the side of the tunnel, slamming their way into the side of the ship.

He pushed himself up to his hands and knees, the breath in his lungs slowly returning. He crawled and scrabbled to maintain his stance as the deck lurched underneath him, beasts slamming into the side of the vessel. Something groaned deep within the ship as he reached Raymond’s position and climbed to his feet, a hand held firmly on the nearby rail.

“I can’t keep her steady,” Raymond said, finally turning his head and meeting Wiggin’s eyes.

Almost on cue, the ship, listing now from the damage began to slowly turn within the tunnel.

“Better hold on,” Raymond continued, “we’re about to find out what happens when you disrupt a wormhole from within.”

The bow of the ship met the side of the tunnel, purple liquid tinged with white froth sprayed across the deck and ripped the side of the tunnel open.  White light erupted from the gash and spread, engulfing everything in its path.

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

Wiggin awoke, an overcast sky hanging above him; a mass of grey clouds. He sat up, and his vision swam, a knot on his head pounded in pain and the hint of nausea tugged at his stomach.

He stood groggily and Raymond was there at his side, helping to steady him.

“You alright?” The man asked.

“Yeah, I think I’m okay, although now I think I know what a concussion feels like.” Wiggin rubbed at the back of his head and the tender spot. After a few minutes he looked around, they were standing next to a massive pile of brass tubing, in the middle of a muddy field, surrounded by trees.

“Where are we?”  Wiggin asked.

“Oh, come now, Professor, you know the answer to that.”

Wiggin scrunched his eyebrows together and after a few moments he revised his answer, “Alright, when are we?”

Raymond nodded and waved his hand around the area, “I’ve done a bit of scouting about while you took your cat nap.” Raymond ignored Wiggin’s eyeroll and continued, “and it seems as if we’re off course by about six hundred years.”

“What?!” Wiggin exclaimed, “we were only supposed to travel back two months, to the predetermined time!”

“Well, had we accounted for time beasties to attack the time machine…”

Wiggin waved him off and began to pace around the pile of brass tubing that lay nearby. “So? What’s the damage?”

Raymond sighed and picked his way through the mud and grass to stand next to his companion. “It’s not horribly mangled, and all of the important bits are in fine enough shape, but it will take time to put together, and of course, we didn’t bring the necessary tools to deal with such a large scale undertaking. With the right tools, maybe a year or two and we can head on back.”

Wiggin sighed, “What do we do?”

“Well, we can destroy the machine, and throw ourselves on our proverbial swords to spare the timeline, or we lay low, scrape up some twenty-first century cash to buy some tools and lodging and hope we don’t destroy the timeline so much that we can head home and not live like savages here in the past.”

“Ugh,” Wiggin said.

“Agreed,” Raymond nodded.

Wiggin thought for a moment as his eyes panned across the thick tree line. “A past version of the University is nearby, yeah? I could go back to teaching while we work on the machine, I’m sure a professor’s salary should be enough to buy the specialized tools we need.”

With a laugh Raymond shook his head, “First of all, you wouldn’t just be able to show up and say: ‘Yes, hello, I’m Professor Wiggin Hyrum Ansible-Mazer, I have mathematical knowledge from six centuries in the future, please give me a job. And secondly, you’re scatter brained enough that there is a high likelihood you’d go off on a tangent and reveal some high level formulae and some kiddo in class would disrupt the timeline with information that the world wouldn’t see for another hundred years.”

With a thoughtful nod, Wiggin agreed, “yeah, I could definitely see myself doing that.”

“We’ll have to lay low and scrape by. It won’t be glamorous, but at least there will be a future for us to return to.”

After concealing the time machine with an array of tree limbs, they hiked up a nearby hill and into the nearby woods, after about a half an hour, the pair came across an asphalt road weaving its way between the trees. Wiggin tapped at it with a shoe and fake gagged in disgust.

“Combustion engines,” he said, shaking his head.

“I know,” Raymond said, “that might be one of the worst things we’ll have to deal with here. Don’t they know how harmful pollution and the burning of fossil fuels is?”

“Oh, from what I remember, they know the risks and damage very well, they just don’t care.”

After a few minutes of traveling down the road Wiggin stopped in his tracks and sighed, letting his shoulders slump.

“What is it?” Raymond asked.

“The pollution won’t be the worst thing we’ll have to deal with,” he pointed toward a blue sign that had come into view.  In large white letters the name ‘Hervanta’ was clearly visible. “We’re going to have to learn Finnish.”

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

Knocks slammed against Wiggin’s door and he rolled his eyes. “What?” he called out, pulling the earphones down around his neck, “I’m busy!”

Raymond pushed his way into Wiggin’s room and looked at the computer the man was currently sitting at. Raymond shook his head and sighed. “Really? Its been two years, we’re days away from completing the time machine and you’re streaming? Again?”

“I’ve got fans who watch,” Wiggin said defiantly, “and they like my hot takes.”

“We’ve got other things to do! You can’t sit in here and stream games!”

“Hey! I do other things too! I write and make video games, I’m not just streaming.”

“And what about the timeline? Do you ever think about that? You even use an acronym of your real name!"

“Ah, the timeline will be fine. I’ve got a secret identity here, I don’t even use Wiggin!”

Raymond rubbed at his eyes in frustration. “Well, you better say goodbye to your friends and fans, this will probably be the last time you’ll get to talk to them.”

“But I was gonna write-“ Wiggin started before being interrupted.

“Make something up and apologize, we’ve got to get to work. We’ve got one last component to fit into place and we can head on back.”

“Heh,” Wiggin laughed and wiggled his eyebrows,” Back to the Future?”

Raymond groaned and turned toward the door, “You know I hate that movie! It’s not realistic in the slightest! We’ve got to get you out of here Professor, you’re ingraining way too well with this century.”

“Alright, alright, let me grab my stuff. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Raymond eyed him suspiciously and then with a nod headed out the door.

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

“And there we go!” Raymond beamed as he slid the last component into place.  It had taken two long years, blood, sweat and tears, but the machine was finally complete. They were finally going to head home.

He clambered up onto the deck and reached down to help his friend up. Wiggin took a step back and Raymond let his hand close slowly, confused.

“Look,” Wiggin said, “I’ll just come out and say it… I’m not going back with you.”

“What?” Raymond shook his head, “After all this, you’re just going to back out?”

Wiggin nodded, “I’ve got things to do now, here.  I’ve helped you with the machine and you can head back. I’ve completed what I wanted to do in the future, the machine is a success, and it works. I love it here, I can’t even see myself going back home, I don’t know what I would do there.”

Raymond pinched at the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“It will be alright,” Wiggin said, “Nobody will ever know who I am, I won’t disrupt the timeline, and if anyone ever suspects, or writes some kind of story about me on the internet, I’ll laugh and nobody will ever believe them, I’ll just be another regular ol’ Finnish guy making video games on the internet.”

After a few beats Raymond shook his head in defeat, “Fine. I can’t say I’m that surprised. You’re so well meshed into the twenty first century that I doubt anyone would ever suspect or ever find out.”

He reached his hand down again and this time Wiggin took it.  The two friends shook hands one last time.

Wiggin watched as the machine powered on, small electrical sparks shot out from random spots on the frame, but everything seemed to be in working order. Raymond lifted his hand and waved, and disappeared, machine and all.

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

Wiggin returned to his apartment and sat back in his computer chair. He was here, he was home, and barring anybody from the future taking control of the time machine and returning him to his proper place in time, this is where he would stay.

He clicked through a few tabs on his internet browser and his eyebrows furrowed together, “Ah crap,” he mumbled, “I totally forgot about that.”

He slid the keyboard into position and typed out a new post:

Haven't found the time to write, and truth be told I don't really have an idea, either. If I come up with one last minute, I might  give it a shot, but...

Sorry EjectedStar! :C

Loppu.

Lads and lasses, I seem to have misplaced all the spare lightbulbs in the lighthouse and... the last one just burnt out.  I hope nothing bad happens!

[Shipwrecked!]

Welcome to the Fortnightly Writing Competition where our local wordsmiths put together beautiful short (sometimes) stories for all to read and enjoy!

This week our theme will be:

Shipwrecked!



Here we stand before our vessel, broke down, inoperable, possibly beyond repair.  Whatever shall we do?

Entrants will be tasked with writing a short story that somehow includes being shipwrecked, whether taking the term literally or stretching the bounds of the word. Judging will follow the standard secret 10 votes at the end of two weeks.

I look forward to everyone's stories!

The deadline for entries will be: August 2nd!

There was some great competition this time around, and I was surprised I eeked out a win. Thanks everyone, I really enjoyed the other entries and their creativity. I can't believe we didn't get a Harry Potter-lite in there!

Here are some of my quick thoughts:

Stu - This was some great writing, all the dialogue flowed really nicely and felt distinct.  Honestly not much to complain about here.  I didn't like parenthesis within a narrative fiction piece, but that's just nitpicking at this point.

Sini - My favorite of the bunch.  I love the dark magic and concept, the differing viewpoints, the depth at which you described the ritual. *kisses finger tips* Magnifico! I think the only issue I had with it was the insertion of the differing viewpoint *within* the story, which deflated the experience of the Magician somewhat. My personal preference would have the demon bits after the story and getting that whole "Ohhhh!" moment.

Mand - This was long and had no magic!  Well, at least the first piece that I've read so far, and apparently with such glowing reviews, I'll have to make some time to read through! I really enjoyed the Kid and Dad parts, but was less endeared toward the yelling redneck couple, but then again, I've only just grazed the surface. I did just read the part about the 'magic trick' and all the blood, and now I'm intrigued.

Wha - Oozed atmosphere. I could smell the smoke wisps in the air, the clinking of whiskey glasses, and all I could imagine were the 'weasels henchmen' from Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Unfortunately a lot of the 'deal/magic' was implied and we didn't get enough meat to the story.

Life and D.K. was my first attempt at first person storytelling in something like... a decade? So, hope it turned out alright. Definitely tried to get a little deeper into descriptions than I usually get.  I guess the tonal shift from necromancy to court intrigue was a little too sudden and I should have continued on with more of the singular musings of D.K. rather than going off into another direction. Sinitrena, the nod toward the kiddos from the previous story was definitely intentional, I wrote an entire novel about those two and their magical plights, so I might as well slip them in occasionally. Haha, the ol' 'EjectedStar cinematic universe'.

We shall commence with the next FWC on Monday, once I wrack my brain for a fun premise. I am a bit sad that Baron was the host this week and we didn't get to see him write about some weird magic system!

ALAKAZAM!