VOTE: September '08 Challenge
Posted: September 25, 2008, 10:59:50 PM
NOTE: This will be the 1st challenge started under the new forum software, and will be set to automatically close after 7 days (Oct. 1). This was posted at 10:00, but the poll may or may not close exactly at 10 p.m. on the 1st. Since the polls don't seem to indicate when they are closed or not if you've already voted, the official announcement of the winner will appear on Thursday, Oct. 2, 2008. Remember, you must register to vote.
The 200 Challenge:
The task was to write the most compelling 200-word story opener possible in a SF, fantasy, or horror genre. Entries were limited to the "hook" only and should be judged on how much they make you want to read a story that could follow.
THE FOLLOWING ENTRIES WERE RECEIVED:
The 9 Ways of Truth
His was a soul seeking asylum.
From his vantage point Gunnar Truth surveyed the village wall. Though hidden by the morning fog now, he knew that the heat of the sun would quickly boil it off in the high places first, and he was behind a rock on a hill. Some sort of winged insect the size of a sparrow from back home whirred past his nose and made him jump back. Even after weeks he was still skittish and in this harsh land it was amazing he was still alive.
His hand reflexively caressed the butt of the pistol in his holster. What he wouldn’t give for a light-beam weapon, but in this case he was indeed thankful to God for this bountiful gift. Few who dropped had weapons of any sort. Any smart enough to make one on the surface usually didn’t have time. Gunnar had only nine bullets left... he felt like a cat.
It would be much safer in the village: warmth from the freezing nights, shade from the burning days, food, water. But before he walked down and introduced himself, he had to determine which sect they belonged to. He only prayed they weren’t Catholics.
[align=center]The End[/align]
Metamorphosis
I yawned, opened my eyes - and then immediately closed them again. The light was so bright! I let go with my feet and dropped, spreading my wings as I fell. I kept my eyes closed; by some instinct, I opened my mouth and sang instead. Only instead of hearing my own voice - as you might no doubt expect - I rather heard the objects around me singing. It was - I don't really know how to describe it properly. The best I can do would be to suggest that they sang back in colours rather than sounds - the bookcase, for example, was a bright white sound, while the unmade bed in the corner of the room was a muted and very dark navy blue.
Breakfast I thought. I left my room, went to the staircase, flew over the banister and -
- now, I realise I'm not exactly a morning person, but I have to admit that, odd though it seems to write about it now, at the time I didn't even notice anything strange. In fact, the utter weirdness of the whole morning only hit me when my sister first saw me, when she cried out:
"A BAT!"
[align=center]The End[/align]
Damaris's Sword
I curse my teachers of Latin with their fine letters, and those masters of rhetoric who drilled me for hours. I curse them for they taught me to write. I hate them for it -- for now I must write this. And I curse you who reads this most miserable missive in your hands. I hate myself for the writing.
A scratchy hay nest hides me as I compose. I have nothing to fear if I am discovered. I am in a barn on the Estates Coucy. All know me here as the youngest child of the Earl. I have two things to accomplish before stepping into my father's keep. First the words you read. Second, I must secret my treasure on the estate, throwing it into a bog on the eastern boundaries, seventeen steps from the gnarled oak tree with its wide and varied limbs.
I delay my tale...
“This sword does not stand between the king and his enemies. This sword trains the swords that do stand twixt the royal purple and its foes. Now, en garde.” Damaris charged me. My practice sword flew away into the air. I fell ignominiously on my flat ass, deflecting his blade.
[align=center]The End[/align]
A Metallic Pounding
Stephen woke to the metallic pounding of a nearby engine, felt its oily heat practically searing his skin. He closed his eyes again briefly, hoping that wherever he now was would go away and take the blasted machine with it. It didn’t. Giving in then to the heat, odor, and relentless sound, Stephen took in his new, alien surroundings.
“Hell,” he said, “I’m in hell.”
“Of course you’re in hell,” a nearby voice yelled, giving Stephen such a start that he nearly fell off the small cot on which he had been lying.
“Yiieee!” he screamed.
“Knock that off,” the voice said gruffly.
Stephen looked over to see a short, filthy character snarling at him.
“Get up and get busy.”
“You can see me?” Stephen asked.
“Of course I can see you,” the man said, “you bone-idle, jackanapes?”
“Hurry with that coal,” another man, standing by a large oven at one end of the large engine, called over, “and stop jibber jabbin’ wit yourself.”
“This is not happening,” Stephen said, shaking his head.
He closed his eyes again, but when he reopened them, the two men and the merciless machine were still there.
“Crap,” he groaned, “holy crap.”
[align=center]The End[/align]
Premonition
She sighed and plopped onto her squashy lounge chair. At last, after a long day at work, she could relax. She put her feet up and reached for the TV remote. And then suddenly – she felt it coming. She had learnt, now that she had been getting premonitions for almost ten years, to know when one was about to come.
It had started when she was still in school, with trivial things, like a premonition of what questions would be in a test. Over time, she had begun to see more and more important things, and over the past couple of years, whatever she saw was generally the top headline in the next day’s newspaper.
The dizziness… the feeling of very rapid movement… and then it came. A body… her father’s body! Everything went dark and she flashed back to reality, where she was whimpering and crying. ‘Dad… dad!’ She cried for hours, until she ran out of tears and just sat there, rocking herself in the darkness. Even then, in the silence, she couldn’t admit to herself what she had seen. She couldn’t admit that tomorrow her father would die, and that… that she would kill him.
[align=center]The End[/align]
The 200 Challenge:
The task was to write the most compelling 200-word story opener possible in a SF, fantasy, or horror genre. Entries were limited to the "hook" only and should be judged on how much they make you want to read a story that could follow.
THE FOLLOWING ENTRIES WERE RECEIVED:
The 9 Ways of Truth
His was a soul seeking asylum.
From his vantage point Gunnar Truth surveyed the village wall. Though hidden by the morning fog now, he knew that the heat of the sun would quickly boil it off in the high places first, and he was behind a rock on a hill. Some sort of winged insect the size of a sparrow from back home whirred past his nose and made him jump back. Even after weeks he was still skittish and in this harsh land it was amazing he was still alive.
His hand reflexively caressed the butt of the pistol in his holster. What he wouldn’t give for a light-beam weapon, but in this case he was indeed thankful to God for this bountiful gift. Few who dropped had weapons of any sort. Any smart enough to make one on the surface usually didn’t have time. Gunnar had only nine bullets left... he felt like a cat.
It would be much safer in the village: warmth from the freezing nights, shade from the burning days, food, water. But before he walked down and introduced himself, he had to determine which sect they belonged to. He only prayed they weren’t Catholics.
[align=center]The End[/align]
Metamorphosis
I yawned, opened my eyes - and then immediately closed them again. The light was so bright! I let go with my feet and dropped, spreading my wings as I fell. I kept my eyes closed; by some instinct, I opened my mouth and sang instead. Only instead of hearing my own voice - as you might no doubt expect - I rather heard the objects around me singing. It was - I don't really know how to describe it properly. The best I can do would be to suggest that they sang back in colours rather than sounds - the bookcase, for example, was a bright white sound, while the unmade bed in the corner of the room was a muted and very dark navy blue.
Breakfast I thought. I left my room, went to the staircase, flew over the banister and -
- now, I realise I'm not exactly a morning person, but I have to admit that, odd though it seems to write about it now, at the time I didn't even notice anything strange. In fact, the utter weirdness of the whole morning only hit me when my sister first saw me, when she cried out:
"A BAT!"
[align=center]The End[/align]
Damaris's Sword
I curse my teachers of Latin with their fine letters, and those masters of rhetoric who drilled me for hours. I curse them for they taught me to write. I hate them for it -- for now I must write this. And I curse you who reads this most miserable missive in your hands. I hate myself for the writing.
A scratchy hay nest hides me as I compose. I have nothing to fear if I am discovered. I am in a barn on the Estates Coucy. All know me here as the youngest child of the Earl. I have two things to accomplish before stepping into my father's keep. First the words you read. Second, I must secret my treasure on the estate, throwing it into a bog on the eastern boundaries, seventeen steps from the gnarled oak tree with its wide and varied limbs.
I delay my tale...
“This sword does not stand between the king and his enemies. This sword trains the swords that do stand twixt the royal purple and its foes. Now, en garde.” Damaris charged me. My practice sword flew away into the air. I fell ignominiously on my flat ass, deflecting his blade.
[align=center]The End[/align]
A Metallic Pounding
Stephen woke to the metallic pounding of a nearby engine, felt its oily heat practically searing his skin. He closed his eyes again briefly, hoping that wherever he now was would go away and take the blasted machine with it. It didn’t. Giving in then to the heat, odor, and relentless sound, Stephen took in his new, alien surroundings.
“Hell,” he said, “I’m in hell.”
“Of course you’re in hell,” a nearby voice yelled, giving Stephen such a start that he nearly fell off the small cot on which he had been lying.
“Yiieee!” he screamed.
“Knock that off,” the voice said gruffly.
Stephen looked over to see a short, filthy character snarling at him.
“Get up and get busy.”
“You can see me?” Stephen asked.
“Of course I can see you,” the man said, “you bone-idle, jackanapes?”
“Hurry with that coal,” another man, standing by a large oven at one end of the large engine, called over, “and stop jibber jabbin’ wit yourself.”
“This is not happening,” Stephen said, shaking his head.
He closed his eyes again, but when he reopened them, the two men and the merciless machine were still there.
“Crap,” he groaned, “holy crap.”
[align=center]The End[/align]
Premonition
She sighed and plopped onto her squashy lounge chair. At last, after a long day at work, she could relax. She put her feet up and reached for the TV remote. And then suddenly – she felt it coming. She had learnt, now that she had been getting premonitions for almost ten years, to know when one was about to come.
It had started when she was still in school, with trivial things, like a premonition of what questions would be in a test. Over time, she had begun to see more and more important things, and over the past couple of years, whatever she saw was generally the top headline in the next day’s newspaper.
The dizziness… the feeling of very rapid movement… and then it came. A body… her father’s body! Everything went dark and she flashed back to reality, where she was whimpering and crying. ‘Dad… dad!’ She cried for hours, until she ran out of tears and just sat there, rocking herself in the darkness. Even then, in the silence, she couldn’t admit to herself what she had seen. She couldn’t admit that tomorrow her father would die, and that… that she would kill him.
[align=center]The End[/align]