FLASH CHALLENGE: February '08

[kailhofer]

Remember guest votes and member votes are tracked by IP address only. A second vote from the same network will change your vote instead of adding another.

[hr][hr]

The challenge was: To use a "Mom & Pop" space-related business as a backdrop for a story. Stories were required to include an unpleasant individual/event and a hitherto unknown kind of candy.

THE FOLLOWING ENTRIES WERE RECEIVED:


[center] Blue Light Special [/center]



Sean Irizarry's eyes scanned his status board, searching out any red danger lights. All green: go for entry. He fired the hydrazine monopropellent rockets to angle his spacecraft toward the surface, and then flicked the toggle switch to extend the airfoils and turn his spaceship into a spaceplane.

“Whadd'ya do that for?” Ubuntu sputtered, his black face scowling.

“Oh, reflex. I saw the blue stratosphere.”

“That's not an atmosphere; that's a rock farting.” A faint cerulean haze floated about the surface of Zohartze. Ubuntu was correct. The gas was too thin to be called air, even air made mostly out of methane outgassing from the planetary body. This rocky satellite orbited its primary vertical to the Solar plane within Neptune's rings. The huge visage of the Water-God's planet filled its sky of heavily salted, pepper black, forever night. It was as big as the North-Eastern seacoast of America – the size of New England, New York, and New Jersey. Throw in Nova Scotia too if you would like. That all made sense to the navigation computer and its Solar Positioning System. It also was logical to Irizarry who could read the map co-ordinates facilely even though i (the imaginary square-root of -1) was included in the spacial notations.

Irizarry also knew how far Earth was, how many days travel would bring him home. He was acutely aware because the homeworld was currently on the far side of the Sun, precluding any video-mail blip-transmission. He only hoped his girlfriend had not found anyone else to go to the holograms with, or to watch the earthrise over the Sea of Tranquility.

Ubuntu and Irizarry's spacecraft was a supply heavy lifter out of the Mannaman Mac Lir. That ship was a long range cruiser, hauling cargo and passengers to the outer planets. The two spacers had spent months crowded onto the artificial biosphere with pioneers for Europa, and then enjoyed a more comfortable angled flight here to the other blue planet in the Solar System.

The Mannaman was owned by a Fortune 1000 company, but Ubunta and his dirtbound stockholders rented warehouse space on the large ion-powered floating city. Most of their clients were also independent businesses: mom and pop operations. Or in this case, Moon and Poppy, their customers on Zohartze.


[center]***[/center]

A small sign reading Provisions & Dry Goods hung above the airlock. Zohartze had a positive gravity; that is if you dropped something, it would fall, even if too slowly for even the Lunar trained eye. So, Irizarry knew enough to to keep a close grasp on his ale. Poppy gave one free drink to the space haulers, hopping for a costly second round. She did this in a small cordoned off corner of her shop. Actually it was Moon and Poppy's. Poppy was a dusky, little Pastoon woman. Moon was a tall Asian with straight, long black hair and slanted eyes. They were partners in ways not associated with their business too.

Ubuntu nursed his small single malt Scotch. Poppy's magnetic boots clip-clopped over to their tiny table.

“Here's the receipt for the remittance transfer. Every Yuan counts when you're a small business.”

Ubuntu grunted in agreement. He had his own venture. “You'll resell it all.” He pointed a thumb toward a Ringminer standing by the main counter, and Moon.

Irizarry's eyes looked in the direction. Other famous dwarfs were named Sneezy, Sleepy, even Sleazy , but this one must have been called Stout. A long blond ponytail trailed down his short environmental shellsuit. A miner's axe-pike hung down his back. Poppy stomped over to the short man with another set of papers.

“Here you go, Blaque,” Poppy said, handing over a yellow packslip for his order. “You're good to go on loading bay 5.”

“We no sell. We no sell,” Moon yelled, coming out from behind her counter, and kicking a crate of candy toward Ubuntu. It slid across the floor, stopping at the miner's feet.

“You can keep it,” Ubuntu said, his brain calculating two things – first the weight/distance price ratio to bring it back, and second, the fact that if Blaque liked it, he could get Moon to order it. The short man read the label on the side of the case.

“It's candy?” Blaque asked.

“Yeah, chewing gum. Made of 100% recycled materials.”

“Recycled gum? Ooo.” Poppy made a face.

“Not recycled gum, recycled plastics,” Irizarry interjected. “Plastic doesn't bio-degrade, or at least doesn't break down in human time. The organic-chemical companies developed their own microorganisms to do the job. These things aren't allowed back on Earth. The first designer genome was back in twenty-oh-eight, I think. Anyway, big plastic dumps are scattered about Luna. Artificial microbes cannot operate on Earth – only in safe zones. These artificial genome plants recycle the carbon strings. And bam, you got candy.”

“Gum,” Ubuntu corrected.

The Ringminer picked up the box and headed for the airlock. “Gotta pull some Hyperion isotope outta these rocks to pay for all these goodies,” he said.

“Careful Blaque. New Faithful's about to outgas. Every ninety minutes, you know.” Blaque cycled out the airlock.

“Whoa!” cried Irizarry. He was staring out a porthole at the barren surface of Zohartze.

The miner's case of candy began to bulge at the sides. An azure foam burst out from inside the box. It covered the miner. It ate away at the plastic components in his shellsuit. The hose connecting his atmosphere supply dissolved away. The blue foam blew away like debris in a March wind as the air exploded out.

“Blaque!” yelled Poppy. The dark woman ran for the airlock, grabbing her own suit. Moon placed one slender hand on her partner's arm. “Too late. You no can help. I so sorry.”

“The methane gas had to have done something to the microbes.” Irizzary thought.

[center]***[/center]

The message went out: ZOHARTZE QUARANTINED. MICROBIAL INFESTATION.

Poppy's next video-mail was sent to her lawyers on Callisto.

[center]The End[/center]

[hr][hr]


[center]Bill & Harriet's[/center]



"Hon, it's time to milk."

Harriet tried to squeeze the last pungent dregs of coffee from the tube. "It's too early. Not even 3 a.m. yet."

"Those cows aren't going to milk themselves. Aphelion One's launch date moved up, so if we want our cheeses on the trip, we need to start a big batch."

She knew she didn't need to see Bill's face to know there was that grin on it, the same one he had the day she met him all those years ago, sitting on the fence between their yard and his family's pasture.

"You, " she said toward the empty hatchway, "can't count what we've got in that back room as cows. Not really."

His voice called from the next room. "They still need milking, love."

"Fine." She floated after the voice, gliding into the room called The Creamery, the heart of their small business. The thought made her chuckle. It's more like Frankenstein's lab, with all these organs racked around the room. People don't like to talk about it, but we're the heart of the station and every mission to Mars, no matter how Rupert advertises his fancy zeoponics next door. Fresh cheese makes people feel like they're back home and that's worth more than gold.

She floated through her routine like she had so many days before, starting the nutrient flow and suction lines. The bulk tank came in from the cold, sterilizing vacuum outside, and was wiped down.

"You gonna help with this?" she called out.

Bill muttered something from the next room about arranging another ice allotment when the load arrived from the lunar mine.

Harriet shrugged. He was a better cheese maker.

She found herself staring at Aida, her top producer. Bill hated it when she named them, but somehow never remembered they were the same names as his families' cows. She remembered them all from the first time she watched him milk, even though they were just kids. Strong and handsome, she thought he was, and more than a little shy, too.

A voice yelled from the doorway. "Shit, Harriet!"

She brushed a lock of white hair from her eyes, and looked at her neighbor hovering across the room. "Rupert, you're a sight."

"It's shit, Harriet. I'm covered in shit from your damn monsters."

Bill roared with laughter from the other room.

She said, "I didn't know you caught it all in your bathtub."

"Not funny. We were changing the lines and the temporary holding tank overflowed. It's everywhere. Why the hell didn't you tell me you were making so much today?"

She put her hands on her hips. "Why didn't you tell us you were changing the lines? You know we milk at three in the morning, since you changed your inflow rate to charge more then."

"Your volume is more than the rest of the station. You should pay for keeping these things alive."

Harriet's tone was like ice. "You signed a big contract for both Aphelion One's and Two's greens. It's all over the station. I know you don't have enough fertilizer for that. You need our manure a lot more than we need your nutrient backflow, Rupert. You think about that. Now, get outta here before I call Bill."

"Bill?" his tone was uneasy. "Fine, next time just say something."

Weightlessness made it impossible for Rupert to stomp on his way out or she was sure he would have.

She felt Bill behind her. "Nicely done, love. I think that deserves an indigo whippet."

She shook her head. "Oh, no. Those candies are over twenty credits each."

"Nonsense, my dear. It's not every day you can tell that SOB off, and you know you love them."

She grinned. "I love the way they make my skin glow in the dark."

"I won't tell the health inspector if you won't. Besides, you're saving on the light bill, then. But don't take too long, we've got to pipe into the whey centrifuge soon or there won't be a clean break. Gonna make a couple wheels of cheddar today. That ought to be aged and sharp just when they decide to celebrate their arrival."

He paused. "We'll need something mellow for contrast, too. Maybe muenster."

She chuckled. "My man, the cheese artiste."

[center]***[/center]

"You see? And glowing, too!" Rupert was in the doorway again, this time with the station administrator.

"Dan!" she called with a big smile. "What brings you down?"

Dan jabbed a finger toward Rupert. "Stinky here does."

Rupert crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Aren't you going to do something about it?"

Dan stared him down. "This is the last, original, demonstrator businesses in operation on any of the ten Free Market Stations. As such, it has a different charter, so whatever happens to it is solely my discretion. Get lost or I'll inspect you next."

Rupert skedaddled.

"Annoying git," Dan muttered under his breath. "So, Mom, how are things going?"

She shrugged. "Same old cheese factory. Same old cheesemakers."

Dan grinned. "I remember when Dad told me about turning this old Columbus module into a cheese factory. Nobody believed it was even possible in microgravity. Now, folks sure love how he timed different cheeses to mature at different times throughout their trip. Always kept it fresh. Although really, it was your ship's storage design just as much. Brilliant, figuring out how to use the dark side of ships just enough to keep things refrigerated."

She nodded.

He sighed. "Look, Mom, you can't keep talking to Dad like that. It's not right."

"Think I'm crazy, do you?"

Dan looked at the floor. "Just knock it off when people are around, ok?"

Harriet regarded her son sourly. "Anything else?"

"We'll bring the kids for Sunday dinner. Give you some real company, ok?"

She nodded.

Watching him leave, she felt the spirit of her late husband wrap his arms around her.

"Kids." Bill said, "Never know as much as they think they do."

She smiled. "Nope."

[center]The End[/center]

[hr][hr]


[center]Little House in the Asteroid Belt[/center]



Dear Diary, big doins today. A bad storm came up from Old Sol and our receiver's down till Pa can get to the trading post at 1 Ceres for spare parts. If Ma hadn't called over to Mrs. Halverson on the lasercomm for her gossip, we wouldn't have known until it was too late. She quilted herself a program that tells her when the other homesteads are line-of-sight so she can 'chat.' I bet Pa never teases her about it ever again. Ma's quilting is almost as famous as her molasses chews. Nobody has her knack for growing sugar cane in the hydroponics.

When she told Pa about the storm, I could see him trying to figure whether he'd have time to stable all the grazers before they got fried. She offered to take the mule out to Payload but everybody knows that storms are hard on babies when they're still small in the belly, so he let me go do it. The mule's easy to ride. With only one CO[sub]2[/sub] thruster even an Earther could steer it. But Pa looked me square in the face for a long time and then he said: "You can do it, Half-Pint. Just make sure you check for rad and get back in plenty of time." My tummy felt funny when he said that, kind of high-up and in the middle.

He told Ma to get the storm cellar ready, then he took the wagon out to the South Range to tend the iridium grazers first. I was real excited about riding the mule till I saw the look on Ma's face when he'd gone. They'd been talking all season about how important this crop was going to be. With a new baby on the way, Pa was planning on moving the whole house over to Payload once he'd had a chance to sell the eggs, especially the platinum eggs from his 'lucky' rock. If he had to buy a whole new herd because of the storm, I don't know what we'd do.

I'd heard them talking, at night. The homestead is so small that I hear lots of things at night. Pa said that we were about to 'turn the corner' on the farm. That after ten years of hard work we were almost out of debt and about to start pulling ahead. They told us in school that was why the big corporates couldn't graze the asteroids. You can't pay folks enough to work sixteen-hours, seven days a week and barely make enough to eat and keep the air-recyclers working. But folks who wanted to leave the crowds and sickness of Old Earth and be pioneers could do it.

My job was the two grazers in Payload, but I guess I'm going to have to get used to calling it our house. Pa set two of his oldest, dumbest grazers to hollow-out the nickel-iron asteroid that got them through that first hard season, before I was born. I haven't been out there in a while and from what I can tell, they're almost done. I still can't believe I'm going to get my own room in the new house. The space inside the first compartment—Ma calls it our parlor—is bigger than our whole homestead.

With just a small hole where the airlock goes, it was kind of creepy being inside there by myself. The parlor is done, so I had to go in deeper to find the grazers. It was really dark till I remembered to turn on my helmet lights. I hardly ever need them, most times Big Jove is bright enough to see by, when I'm outside.

It's funny, Diary. The homestead is cramped, smelly and almost all metal everywhere you look. Since it's what's left of a mine-scout actually built on Old Earth, it's not even shaped right. Everything is up and down, which don't really make any sense out here. The big empty spaces in Payload should have made me feel free, like I could stretch-out in every direction but when I was inside there all alone, I just felt tiny. I felt like one of Ma's little dolls put in her hope chest all by itself with the lid closed. It was strange and I didn't like it.

I stabled the first grazer fine but had to wait for the "Shutdown Complete" on the second. It told me its "High Value" compartment was full and asked if I wanted to "Harvest" now. This was the oldest grazer we have. It's twice as big as the others but it's slower and dumber than an Earther. It was busted, but Pa traded a whole batch of Ma's molasses chews and some household-chores programs she quilted for it. It only took him a week to get it working, so he said it was worth it.

I didn't know what else to do so I pushed "Yes." I could feel some gears grinding 'cause I had my hand on its belly. I thought it was busted again and was worried about what Pa would say when I noticed a hatch on the bottom was open. Pa had said he didn't understand all of what this grazer did, so he just set it to digging holes.

Diary, inside was the biggest diamond I've ever seen! Big as my fist! There ain't much lenticular carbon out here, it's mostly from comets from out in the Oort. It probably took this grazer a hundred years to collect and egg this much diamond dust. No wonder it was so slow.

Pa made it back from the North Forty in plenty of time. Ma was worried and checked his dosimeter before he even had his boots off. She laughed when she told him there might be more young'uns after all. They think I don't understand them when they talk like that. But I'm not a baby.

I haven't told them about the diamond, yet. It's almost Christmas, after all.

[center]The End[/center]

[hr][hr]


[center]Best to Keep Moving[/center]



Uncle Chen was talking to a customer.

Well, maybe his mouth was talking to the customer, but his head was all over Auntie Chen Number 3.

She was his latest wife – a fresh import from Tulsa, and had only recently taken the name Chen legally.

Auntie Chen Number 3 was quite the looker – and the customers took notice.

She was tall, slender and overall very attractive, which made talking to people at the small convenience store all the more troublesome.

How can a man be expected to focus when someone else was busy eyeing his wife?

“Auntie Chen, could you please go in the back and see if we’re still good on Fyber Punk?”

She gave him a puzzled look.

“Uncle Chen, I believe we’re out of that and that in the month I’ve been here no one’s ever asked for it, anyway.”

What a nuisance.

“Please check, now?”

He was borderline yelling.

She went in the back room.

The customer sent Chen a screwy look.

“Everything alright, Chen?” the man asked.

“Yes, just that she’s new on the colony and in the store, she doesn’t quite have it yet.”

The customer gave him an understanding nod.

“Well, now that we’re more or less alone again, do you have those pulse rifles?”

“Let me guess, in the forty watt range, right?”

“Cute, Chen. No, I’m serious, those were supposed to be here last week.”

Uncle Chen agreed.

“Yes, they were supposed to, but the mule got caught coming out of Sol System. Don’t worry, they’ll send more. You’re here all the time, correct?

Just as the customer was about to concur, Chen’s Tulsa pick came out of the storeroom with a grin on her face.

“Look, Chen, the lady’s happy here after all! Listen, I’ll be back for those cigars later, alright?”

“Sure thing, man, safe travels”, added Chen as the customer exited.

He turned to his new wife.

“Auntie Chen, what is the grin for, please do tell?”

“Uncle Chen, I stand corrected. There was one Fyber Punk in there after all. How did you know?”

“I haven’t had the license for this place for over ten years for nothing, dear.”

“Nor did you go through three women in that time span for nothing, either, darling!”

“That’s clever. Please put this thing somewhere someone might actually pay for it. Is it expired by any chance?”

Auntie looked at the crinkly confection and reported the product still very much go for the next five Earth years.

Great, thought Chen – even out here between star systems luck tends to side with the mundane and mediocre.

Just as the thought cleared his mind and he was about to conjure something else for the wife to do, out from the steady trickle of people beyond the door emerged another patron, announced by the usual buzzing of the entrance.

Chen looked at the guy and smelled trouble.

No, literally, this one smelled foul – like something was rotting inside him.

It came off his body and in his breath – even Auntie Chen noticed, stuck there among the shelves with the Fyber Punk in hand, just staring at the recent arrival.

The customer was a big person, much bigger than average.

He was dressed like a crewmember – but not of something fancy, rather something rancid.

Like one of those terrible barges the companies used to transport building materials to new colonies.

Chen hated those ships – their crews were always dirty and always looking for something he had no incentive to stock.

But this one was clutching at his stomach, and Uncle Chen’s healthy intuition told him in advance what the man’s wide relief confirmed when he set his eyes on Auntie Chen and the Fyber Punk.

“Goddamn it, this is what I need! How much for that?”

The huge customer was wincing with evident pain in his gut.

“Fifteen credits”, said the Auntie.

Chen and the customer both looked at her.

That was ten times the MSRP printed right on the wrapper.

“Sir, is she an employee?”

“She’s my wife”, replied Chen.

“And that’s our last one, you want it you need to pay up”, added Auntie Chen Number 3.

“You’re being ridiculous, lady. This is an emergency, I got something blocking my stomach and it hurts. Mister, tell her not to play games, I don’t have fifteen credits on me.

“We take plastic and virtual”.

“Honey, please give the candy bar over so I can sell it to the man for the right price, OK?”

“No.”

The customer’s expression changed.

He was no longer wincing – his face became a mask of madness right before Chen’s unbelieving eyes.

The huge man was more than a man – and he also appeared to furnish a compact pulse rifle from his coveralls.

The sudden movement unleashed another spate of smelly unpleasantness.

“Lady, give the Fyber Punk over or I shoot you and the man here, I’m not playing!”

“No – why do you need it so bad?”

“This thing inside me, it wants fiber, lots of fiber, or it will come out!”

“Let it”, she said.

“Honey…”

With a scream, the man opened up on Auntie Chen Number 3 from Tulsa.

She dropped, most of her faster than the Fyber Punk – Chen always suspected those didn’t have the advertised fiber content.

As the enormous man turned to fire at him, Chen noticed a change in the pitch of his rage-scream.

Then it stopped.

The guy stopped, also falling to the floor.

Chen went over to his body, which was already bubbling over with rapid decomposition.

He picked up the guy’s rifle, and very quickly was forced to use it on some horrible wormy thing that remained in the hissing mess – a thing that was going for Chen’s face, no less.

As he waited for the cops to come, Chen’s first call was to his contact on Earth.

Time for Auntie Number 4.

Unlucky.

[center]The End[/center]

[hr][hr]


[center]A Change is as Good as a Rest[/center]



The respectable-looking man in the dark grey travel suit stalked along the row of display cases, his iron grey hair and pallid complexion giving him the air of somebody perpetually shrouded in fog. His face was lined, but not heavily so. Just enough to make him look learned, or experienced perhaps. He looked decidedly younger than the usual clientele.

“Can I help?” Cassie asked him, years in the business making her cautious about this one. He didn’t fit the profile. Her tone made Dan look up from his figures. Years of marriage had made him sensitive to every nuance of her voice.

“Yes,” the man replied, drawing out the vowel in a way that was somehow sinister. “How soon can you fit me in?”

Cassie glanced at the clock, though she new perfectly well there was plenty of time for a treatment before closing time. Dan nodded at her and came out from behind the counter.

“We’re free this afternoon,” he said. “Did you have anything in particular in mind?” he gestured along the row of cadavers preserved in pristine clear cases. The man pondered a moment as if uncertain, though Cassie could tell he was already committed. Something was driving the man, and whatever it was, it was unlikely to be good.

“We’ve been in the business twenty three years,” she said, “we’re family run, and all work carries a life-time guarantee.” It was a familiar patter to re-assure their usual customers who were normally quite shaken and unsure of themselves. Waking at the end of a long voyage to find that your cryosleep capsule has malfunctioned and you now look a hundred and ten can do that to you.

“I’d like this one,” the man decided, pointing at a rugged looking chap in his thirties with tightly curled black hair and prominent jaw. Convicted murderer, Cassie recalled. Mindwiped and put on ice three weeks earlier.

“A good choice,” she said. “Come through to the waiting room where we can take you through some preliminaries.”

She soon had their new client comfortable in a reclining chair while she asked several pertinent questions about his medical history.

“Have one of these mint soporigums to chew,” she said. “It’ll help you relax.” Dan bustled into the room as she was handing it over.

“No, no,” he said, “the mint is horrid. Take a fruit flavoured gum instead.” The grey man took the proffered sweet and slipped it into his mouth. Cassie moved away slowly.

“I’ll get everything ready,” she said.

Their customer quickly relaxed and fell asleep. His heart slowed, and stopped.

“What was it?” Cassie asked.

“I checked his image on the nets,” Dan replied. “He’s not come in off any flight. He’s an escaped convict. Slavery, torture, multiple murder, over in Istravia.”

“No extradition,” Cassie nodded understanding. “Much better this way.” She turned back to the silent figure in the chair. “Let’s get him sorted then.”

###

A while later the door to the shop opened and a young man in trendy felt kimono and fur-lined sandals entered.

“Hi mom, hi dad,” he said, walking across the shop to the door at the back that lead to their apartment. He paused. “New cadaver? Looks a bit old to me.” He walked on, not giving the new grey resident another glance in it’s gleaming display case.

“To somebody, he’ll look young,” Dan said, thinking of the ill-fortuned passengers that usually entered their shop. Cassie smiled up at him fondly.

[center]The End[/center]

[kailhofer]

Thanks to those souls who braved the eerie silence around here and took on this month's challenge. You're all tops in my book, and I love those candies you invented!

Nate

[kailhofer]

I noticed this morning that on Firefox, at least on a Mac, the size for the 2nd and subsequent stories was off, even though the /size tags were present. It changed to 15pt for the title and then back to normal text in the 1st one, but after that when it changed to 15 for the 2nd story, it never changed back again.

It did, however, display correctly in IE on one of my Windows machines at work. Not wanting to give any unfair advantage, I removed those tags entirely. Apologies to author of the 1st story, but it was only like that for about 14 hours.

Nate

[kailhofer]

good job everyone, some interesting reads there. i thought we were supposed to have seven of these though?

No, that was me being factitious. It was so quiet around here I was pretending there were only seven of us, trying to get more stories.

But yes, there were some interesting reads there, including yours.

Nate

[kailhofer]

Congratulations to... well, to me. You've voted my story "Bill & Harriet's" the winner of the "Mom & Pop's Space Travel, LLC" Challenge.

Thanks.


For the record, these were the authors of the stories this month:

Blue Light Special by G.C. Dillon
Bill & Harriet's by N.J. Kailhofer
Little House in the Asteroid Belt by Bill Wolfe
Best to Keep Moving by Lee Alon
A Change is as Good as a Rest by Gareth D. Jones

A great big thank you and virtual hug to each of these writers. The quality of stories submitted each month makes me proud to be a part of this and the Aphelion community as a whole.


Please feel free to slip these authors some comments. I'm sure they'd love it, and while you're at it, you might try giving the February issue's authors a word or two. They deserve it just as much.

Be looking for the Free Skate Challenge March 9th!

Nate

[kailhofer]

Ahhhh, what can I say?  Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.  I actually thought your story was a little better.  .  .but it was a squeaker.

Congratulations. The twist at the end was worth stealing.  .  .uh.  .  .emulation, I mean.  Though the humor was a little cheesy.

Bill

And here I thought everyone would know it was mine, since I am the only resident Cheesehead. And as every good Wisconsinite knows, really fresh curds do squeak against your teeth when you eat them... Cheesy enough?

I thought we were going to tie for a while there. Your time will come, Bill. Frankly, over the last year I was sure a couple times that you were a guaranteed win... but then that fickle finger of fate poked in.

It was just too bad that this time both of us couldn't stomp Dave...  ;) (He missed the deadline.)

Nate

[kailhofer]

Even some of my family voted for this one. . .correctly, that is. Since I refuse to tell them which one is mine, it does make for some interesting coversations around the old campfire.

Good Job, Dude,

Bill Wolfe

Thanks. Since I know you're good at this, that means a lot.

As for your family, depending on how well they know you, they may be able to pick yours out a little easier next time. That's the only hint I'll drop for now.

However, I'm changing the voting from here on out. Guests will still be allowed, but the results will stay hidden until the end. I noticed that the day the stories came out there were six members on at the same time (and a lot more than usual throughout that day), so if the winner announcement is a surprise, perhaps it will also bring more people to the forum (at least that next day) as well as more excitement for the participants (and making it feel more special to win). Plus, then there will be no point in checking the vote in-between time, leaving everyone more time to comment on the regular stories for that month.

Nate

[kailhofer]

Hey Nate is that you now in the avatar there? heh heh liked the previous one better!

but thanks once more for holding these. i've escaped public humiliation this month and endeavor to do the same next challenge!

It's either me or an alien Col. Sanders. I liked the last one better, too, but it's not really a ghosty time of year. (An actual picture of me does little to help any credibility I might have earned.)

Nate

[kailhofer]

Free Skate? As in 1k words in whatever we like?


-- david j?

Yes and no.

That was going to be my intent, but it depends whether or not I finish the example story in time (because I don't think it's right to ask someone to do anything I wouldn't do). I like the new idea better. If it's done, the challenge will give a lot of leeway, but not quite as freeform as that. Tune in Sunday night.

Nate

[Robert_Moriyama]

It's either me or an alien Col. Sanders. I liked the last one better, too, but it's not really a ghosty time of year. (An actual picture of me does little to help any credibility I might have earned.)

Nate

It must be Nate, 'coz it's so NEGATIVE!

;D

[kailhofer]

Yeah, that should be no problem in 1000 words! ::)

Nate

[Robert_Moriyama]

...and don't mind Rob M., he means well.

Boy, you don't know me very well. By the way, if you use a Photoshop-type program on Nate's new avatar and apply a "Negative Image" filter, the picture comes out looking like a Go'auld system lord (the eyes glow). So the ghosty avatar was probably Nate, too, wearing the latest fashion from Cloaks 'r' Us.

::)

[kailhofer]

Boy, you don't know me very well. By the way, if you use a Photoshop-type program on Nate's new avatar and apply a "Negative Image" filter, the picture comes out looking like a Go'auld system lord (the eyes glow). So the ghosty avatar was probably Nate, too, wearing the latest fashion from Cloaks 'r' Us.

::)

I wish I'd watched more Stargate. I'd have something snappy & funny to say, but I've only seen a couple more than the original movie.

I was just messing around with the PhotoBooth software & camera that came with my downstairs iMac (got one for the wife & kids so they'd stop using mine). The reversed thing was just a filter it came with. I tried inverting it at work after I read this.

It's somewhat disheartening to find out that a "real" picture of yourself is the creepy one compared to the negative image I chose...  I think I'd scare people away if I used that! Jeez. :(

Nate