Fortnightly writing competition September 15-29: Video games, WINNER ANNOUNCED

[olafmoriarty]

Voting has started and lasts until Friday, 8:45 AM GMT. You can vote for two entries, and the candidates are:

Bluke4x4: Warning forever
DanielH: Beneath a steel sky
Eggie: Rageball
Jack Sheehan: Dead rising
kaputtnik: Traffic department 2192
Krazy: Zworx
rock_chick: Runaway
TwinMoon: Sam 'n Max hit the road

________

Is it a bird?
Is it a plane?
No, it's the eight fortnightly writing competition!

This fortnight's rule: Pick a video game or computer game (it doesn't matter what genre or length or professionality it is as long as the game exists) and make a story that has the same title as that game has.

Apart from that, there shouldn't be any links between the game and the story except for the obvious ones (if you write a story called "Police Quest" you'll probably have to have police involved in some way, but you shouldn't make a game about Sonny Bonds).

A silly example: You write a story called "The legend of Zelda". The plot for that story could be the tale of an entomologist searching the Amazon rainforest in his hunt for the legendary Zelda bug -- an insect nobody until now has been able to prove that exists.

Post your story here, or link to it. All contributions should be in by September 29th, 9 AM GMT, but if anybody needs more time we'll see what we can do about that. The following 48 hours, we vote. Everybody can vote, and if four or more contributions are posted each person gets two votes.

No word limits, no style limits, no genre limits, no format limits. Decide for yourself what you want to write, we'll be happy to read it anyway :-)

[rock_chick]

Will you be making any picture trophies for the winner, just asking?

[olafmoriarty]

Uh. Good question. Problem is, my drawing skills suck.

But if that gets more people to participate, sure! Can't guarantee for the quality of it, but I'll do my best.

[TwinMoon]

Great subject! I know I won't be able to resist entering this.

[DanielH]

*Reserved For entry*

[Jack Sheehan]

Wahey! I'll be sure to enter this. Shouldn't that be september 15-29th though?

EDIT:

Finally I have an entry, sorry for holding up the contest but I worked hard on this one, hope you like it!


Dead Rising

All the answers I got were on the morning of the 99' Dead Rising. The townspeople aren't free about it during the year, all you get is blank stares and bland denials of knowledge. The occasion is something you don't talk about.

The town is so small you can see the 'Welcome to Willamette' sign from the 'See You Again Soon' one. A community of 500 or so souls, and half that many people.

I had stopped there for a coffee on my way through. I got talking to one of the waitresses for so long, before I knew it, it was dark outside. Funny, it was the first time in months I'd spoken over a few sentences to anyone at a time. There was something about the people there, a comforting anonymity you felt as the only stranger in town.

When I mentioned that I had to get back on the trail again, the waitress, Sarah, stopped me. It was far too late to drive, and the next town was hours off, she insisted. Why not stay here, she suggested.Stay at my place,you can leave your car here and get it in the morning.

Well, why not? I wasn't thinking so straight and her sudden generosity caught me off guard. I allowed myself to be led by Sarah into an old cream sedan, owned by her father, she said.

The house was a tall, white, beautiful period building, clearly a former courthouse or the like. An empty flagpole poked out above the door.

I was too muddled at the beginning to even notice the food I was shoveling into my mouth, but as the meal went on, my head cleared a little, like it hadn't in months. These were people I could talk to, anonymous friends who could offer advice without the history that pervaded everything I heard from others. I began to open up about myself, my life. What had happened.

The woman's father was an open and talkative man, looking like nothing so much as a child's drawing of his grandfather. He didn't seem at all disturbed that his daughter had brought home a strange man, complete with tales of his tragic past, for dinner. He said as soon as I canme in he knew I was troubled. He instructed me to sleep on it, and in the morning I'd have all the answers I wanted.

At first I insisted on finding a hotel, saying that I had imposed on their generosity far too much already. They weren't having any of it. This huge empty house, she said, is just waiting for someone to fill it.

The next day is so clear in my head that it's as if I'm living it every time I shut my eyes.

The sunlight flows in through the giant window beside my bed, a stark counterpoint to the yesterday's gray, overcast look. I get up and shower quickly. There's no sign of either Sarah or her father.

As I leave the house, after penning a note thanking them for their generosity, I notice the absolute stillness over the town. A few hundred metres down the road an oldish couple sit on the front of a car, talking quietly to each other.

I walk ito the centre of Willamette and all around me people are in twos and threes, heads close in intimate talks with each other. In the distance I spot Sarah and her father with a middle aged woman wearing a beautiful blue dress.

Someone taps me on the back. I turn and see a tall man of unguessable age, hair down to his shoulders, smiling at me. He wears an expensive bespoke suit and a look of sublime contentment on his face.

'I expect you're wondering who that woman is.'

'Well yes, an aunt or?' I leave the question in the air.

'Ha, no, that woman is Patrice Belkin, Sarah's mother.'

'But...'

'In case you did not know, she died on the first of March 1988.'

'But...'

'Before you ask, let me tell you a little story. Don't worry, it won't take long.' He smiles even wider and begins, 'In 1964 a child of Willamette died. How she passed is not something I wish to get into but on Christmas morning we buried her in the little cemetery behind the chapel. In a town this size a death is a blow to everyone, a child is...' he trails off slightly and he isn't smiling anymore,

'What that woman went through I can only imagine. A few days later, on the 30th, she came out for the frst time since the funeral. She wasn't wearing black, she seemed normal at first but we noticed that she was talking to her daughter still. None of us wanted to give the poor woman any more troubles than she already had, so we, uh, played along.' At this point he pauses, and slowly, like the rising sun behind the mountains, the grin returns to his face.

'It was Father Simon who saw her first, the little girl everyone loved tugging at his robe, her arms outstretched to hug him, like she did half the town.'

'The next day, well, she was gone. Her mother knew this and she moved on. the next year it wasn't just that woman who got to see an old face. So there you have it, stranger. Willamette's big secret. We don't talk about it, save for today, because there's nothing really to say, is there?'

I take this all in in mute astonishment but I don't for a minute question what he says. It doesn't feel like the sort of thing anyone would make up. I do have one question though, 'Where is the person you want to see?'

'Aha, well son, here she is.' He spreads his arms out wide, as if to embrace the whole town. 'And now, I shouldn't detain you, because it looks like someone wants to see you.' He points behind me.

I turn and there she is. There is nothing ethereal or ghostly about her. not made of fog or dreams but real, solid and in my arms again.

We talk for hours and hours about everything. How things are, how they were and finally, where they can go now, after this day ends.

As I hold her tight the dawn is approaching. I know when I let her go, she'll be gone once more. She whispers almost inaudible in as I release her.

'Take it slow and enjoy every minute of it. I love you.'

***

We do take it slow, Sarah and I. Every year we make a visit to Willamette, to meet with friends, old and new. To see those people in the next room. We travel a lot, talk a lot, about how someday we'll settle down, maybe think about the future.

For now though, we take it slow, and we enjoy every minute.

[olafmoriarty]

Wahey! I'll be sure to enter this. Shouldn't that be september 15-29th though?

Oops. Of course it should.

[Jack Sheehan]

A Little update, the Title I've chosen is 'Dead Rising' and it's not what you think!

It's about 1/3 done and should be up before the deadline.

[Akatosh]

This calls for pornographic "Little Girl in Underland" fanfiction. 

Anyway. Might do an easy one... "Fahrenheit" or "Oblivion" or something.

[kaputtnik]

I can't keep track of this. I don't know why I am here at all. This isn't a job for a human, this is a laser's job, or a mutant's, or whoever is willing to devote his time to such a petty exercise, or at best doesn't even have any feeling of time. And these cheap parking tickets don't even stick in this freaking vacuum!

Also, I really can't see the point in dealing out parking tickets in front of a 4D shopping mall. People could be parking all over the place, and if there is an emergency the diametrical history controller will be set off, rewind time to eliminate the trigger of the emergency and that's basically it. Well, of course, the job pays pretty well, but I once imagined my life to be filled with meaning and immanence. I imagine I'd wake up and tell myself: „This will be another fine day in which you'll aid the progress of humanity and also further the development of your own personality.“

But, what do you know, Amy got pregnant, I had to get a job fast, we moved into that apartment in a not-so-bad part of Zorbax 5, Michael was born, I had to accept responsibility. But then, there are these days. Days like today. Days all I wish for is to return to my former existence. Once and for all leave this godforsaken traffic department and all of my freaking companions in this interstellar misfortune, created in an act of paranoid bureaucracy by the only race in the whole galaxy living in the dreadfully traumatized state of compulsive control. I'll leave it all behind! Buy me a flute and a gun that shoots. Finally feel the feeling of transcendence and immanence again, and be the man I used to be such a long time ago.

The Legendary Stardust Cowboy.

[rock_chick]

                                         

Runaway

                                         

8 years ago:

The house was pitch black, only the eerie sound of creaking of old floorboards could be heard from within. As the sun rose it shined through the kitchen window to reveal to a nosy neighbor, smeared blood marks on the facet and sink. They merely suspected Mrs. Harold had cut herself cooking but went over to investigate further. Her persistent knocks were ignored. Since the Harold’s and their teenage daughter lived there she was overly suspicious that nowhere was answering, more than most would expect. In a panic she called the police and then the reality of what happened inside the house was revealed.

For most of the day the house was swamped with police from all different kinds of units. It appears the blood seen was not from a simple accident. On the floor just below Mrs. Harold was found bludgeoned to death with severe head wounds, she never had a chance considering she was repeatedly hit with force in the head with a heavy object, breaking through her skull. The reason no one answered the door was simple, nowhere was able to. Mr. Harold was the next victim found, he was in his study, on the floor but his death was caused by different circumstances. He was shot twice, both to the chest and it was lights out forever for him.

However the daughter was nowhere to be found. So the initial determination was she had been taken hostage by the murderer. She was never heard from again and after a few months of fruitless leads she was presumed dead. Despite the entire DNA and other evidence recovered at the scene there were no leads as to who killed the couple and possibly their daughter. Therefore it became known as, like many cases do, a cold case.
                                                     

Current Day:

A woman aged in her 20s sits in a holding cell on charges of shoplifting. Her license states her name is Julie Marson. The policewoman who processed her finds a startling discovering, this woman is not who she claims to be. A database lists her fingerprints as that suspected to be those of Julie Harold and she’s been missing since her parents’ murder in another state 8 years ago.

Upon entering the young ladies cell the officer sits down and shows her a case file, she announces she has an order to get a DNA sample from her. Julie protests in confusion. “What? Why do you need my DNA?” “Because I believe you are not Julie Marson, in fact based on your fingerprints I suspect you are the same Julie Harold that disappeared from Grove County when her parents were murdered. A DNA sample will confirm who you really are, or perhaps you want to save me the trouble and admit it instead.” Julie rolls her eyes and says “Take the annoying test, it’s not like I can stop you but I know who I am!” So the test was taken.

At a lab the test reveals what was suspected all along, this woman is actually Julie Harold. So the cold case team is called in as well as CSI to help re-examine the evidence from the original crime scene. So now it’s clear that the missing lady is alive and well but it doesn’t quite add up. She changes her name, appearance and moves states but evidence indicated she was at the house during the murders. Did she escape her captor, possibly kill him and try to start a new life, or was there a lot more to it?

Julie is held for as long as the police can hold her but she is not helpful, despite the evidence she still insists she’s not who they say she is. In the meantime the original evidence is reinvestigated and some anomalies appear that weren’t noted originally. For a start a friend of the family had stated that Julie was away on vacation during the attack and wasn’t due back until a week later yet her DNA, finger and shoeprints were found in the house that night. Also a friend of hers said she suspected Julie had run off with her boyfriend some weeks ago. The former was believed and they suspected she’d come home early and the latter was simply dismissed. However now things were starting to look a little clearer. So it was time to do a little further talking to family relatives who at the time said little to nothing about Julie, almost as if they wanted to avoid talking about her. After a lot of trying they finally found an aunt who admitted that Julie had runaway with her boyfriend before the attack because her parents disapproved of him, apparently he’d been in trouble with the law but she didn’t know his name.

Back to questioning Julie, finally she crumpled and admitted she was who they’d confirmed and that her aunt was telling the truth. Upon further pressure about the evidence she confessed that not only was she there that night but also with another male..

She and her boyfriend, Lewis had broken in during the late night to rob the place as they had little money and Lewis already had robbed houses before. He brought a gun with him; she said he only intended to scare her parents. However her father put up a fight and Lewis panicked and killed him. In the kitchen Julie and her mother were arguing, her mother was telling her she was no good and that she regretted not giving her up for adoption, after how she raised her the only reason she could see that she’d turned out like she had was that she was just rotten. This drove Julie into a rage; she picked up the kettle (found missing at the scene) and smashed it into her mothers’ head. After realizing her parents were dead she and Lewis fled and changed their IDs and tried to start a new life. They actually were still together. She gave up his whereabouts for a plea deal. Case closed.

Edited because I didn't proofread enough before posting and realised I could word some things better.

[Jack Sheehan]

Just a wee warning I may have to annoy everyone by asking for an extension. The story is written but I'm having trouble finding time to type it.

[Eggie]

RAGEBALL

Harry Merkin returned from a hard days work at the bone-fracture clinic and proceeded with his daily ritual of cupless baseball and masturbation. That night he slept restlessly, as if some new and unexperienced force was growing within him, reconfiguring his fundamental DNA.

Harry awoke that morning with a distinct pain on his inner thighs; a quick investigation revealed them to be severely bruised but this discovery was immediately eclipsed by the sight of what lay between these two pummelled pillars. For in the night Harry's testicles had grown threefold and turned bright purple. Harry felt faint and light-headed, what was this monstrous illness? Cancer? No... tumours didn't grow this large over night. Without an explanation or obvious solution to the problem; Harry called in sick for work and spent the rest of the day staring at his balls.

They were massive and had visibly grown in the journey down the stairs, by the time Harry had finished his breakfast he couldn't leave the house. Harry picked up the phone once again, only to find that the line was dead. by this time so much blood had been diverted from Harry's brain that he had no choice but to black out.

his sleep was restless, flashes of pain kept jolting him into consciousness. Fast, firm blows to the face which never seemed to let up. Harry eventually managed to summon the courage to open his eyes. He groaned, his gonads now took up the entire kitchen table. he somehow staggered to his feet and stood, John Wayne-like, at the foot of the fleshy mountain.

He was battered and bruised, he had a black eye and a missing tooth... a tooth which Harry realized, with horror, was embedded in his giant, pulsating left testicle.
"You did this!" cried Harry "You've been physically injuring me while I sleep! And I bet you cut my phone line while I was eating breakfast!But why?"
The balls said nothing for a while, but then spoke in a thin, raspy drone "Beccaauuuse, Harryyy...I needed reveeennngeee..."
"Revenge?" asked Harry "For what?"
"The basssseballlll! The radiation exxxpossssure! The ceassseless, ceassseless wankkking... you don'ttt knoww whattt it'ssss like... day afffter day being sssubjecttted to the consssstanttt abussse of a tthhing that'ss attaccchhhed to yoouuu!" The balls said, becoming more confident with language.
"Well, okay. Now I do." said Harry "Can you leave me alone now?"
The balls let out an awkward, gutteral laugh "You, Harryy, haven'tt ssseeenn anyythhhhiiing yeeet."

In an instant the mass of seething human tissue enveloped Harry, surrounding him on all sides, suffocating him, crushing him.
"You don'ttt know real pain yeeetttt" the voice came from all directions "I am Rageball! And I'm not going anywheeerreee!!"

THE END

[Krazy]

Zworx

Billy was in a painful situation. The girl of his dreams was about to walk out on him forever, all because whenever he tries to kiss her the alien that lives inside his head called Zworx devours the skin on her face.
"No! Don't you go! Stay with me one more day!" he cried in desperation "If we get through one more night, if we get through-"
"This is not a party where people know your name!" she said in an angry retort "This is NOT a sitcom where everything's alright, this is NOT a prison, with terror through the night." Faceless and dejected, she left his apartment building, forever.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" screamed Billy for twelve years, until he decided something must be done about his situation. But it was too late, in those twelve years Zworx had grown stronger, not only that but by saying "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" for twelve years he inadvertently triggered Zworx's self destruct mechanism. Suddenly Zworx exploded taking Billy with him. To this day, some say Zworx still haunts the only mansion up on the hill.

[Bluke4x4]

Warning Forever

Dan stood outside the gate. He'd been standing there for quite some time and he'd resigned to the idea of standing there for quite some time. He'd forgotten why he'd stood there, but then he remembered and he laughed out loud. There was a time when it would've made him frustrated and angry but now it was amusing. He gazed back at the mansion with a facial expression not unlike Barbara Bush's, whenever she makes any facial expression, ever.
He remembered that day- the day he entered the mansion- and smiled. Just imagine where he'd be without it! In a desk job, probably. Working for the MAN. Actually, dead, probably. Dead would make more sense. But still! Look at where he ended up! This was much better than anywhere else he could've ended up. No responsibilities, no cares.. Well, one responsibility.
A boy passed by, walking down the street. Dan cleared his voice. "Hey, you!" warned Dan. "You better not be thinking of heading for this here MANSION!" Dan gestured towards the mansion with his fingers, which he often used for gesturing to the mansion. The boy continued walking, now with a confused expression. "There's an EVIL WIZARD who lives in this mansion!" yelled Dan. "And if you bother him, he CURSES YOU!"
The boy used his entire surplus of cognitive strength to ignore the strange man. Dan grinned as the boy disappeared on the horizon. He'd been warned, there was no chance of THAT boy coming to THIS mansion! Dan folded his arms across his strapping young body, and also groped his strapping young groin. He had a definite boner for warning.
There was a time when he hated the whole idea of warning. But that time had passed and as the years went by he came to take his warning duty as a gift rather than what it was. He put more gusto into it. He would alternate between days; Mondays were gloomy warnings, Tuesdays were threatening warnings, Wednesdays were cheerful warnings, etc. He had to come up with a way to make it interesting.
The problem was, he could only warn. In the beginning he'd come out of the mansion and stood by the gate and his girlfriend couldn't carry on a conversation with him. She'd ask him how it was, if there was really a wizard, and all Dan could do was warn her. She'd come by from time to time, but nothing'd changed. She'd plead for him to say something, anything besides a warning not to enter the mansion, and he'd warn her not to enter the mansion.
The immortality definitely came as a blessing.. What fun was warning if people kept on bothering you with things not having to do with warning? He'd warn them, accentuating the "STAY AWAY" bit of his mantra so they'd get the point to get lost. Then, as his friends died off, he stayed and warned.
He found he was awfully good at warning.
He never wanted to stop.

[olafmoriarty]

Wow, five entries so far, and one more promised from Jack... this looks good!

Does anyone other than Jack need more time? DanielH? TwinMoon? Akatosh? Anyone?

[TwinMoon]

(Great to see you're back Krazy! I really liked your graphical style on Timothy Lande, and I'm still hoping you're doing a game with that bird)

Well, as long as this comp's still open, I might as well slip in a small effort (An attempt to translate Roadrunner cartoons into writing, cut short due to time shortage):


SAM 'N MAX HIT THE ROAD

Don't you hate it when there's pidgeon poo all over your front lawn? Sam and Max sure do!
So let's 'get that pidgeon'!


"There he is Sam!"
"We'll get that pidgeon this time, Max!"
Max lit the fuse and they both put their fingers in their ears and closed their eyes.
Which was unlucky, since they didn't notice the wood holding up the fireworks breaking, and the fireworks turning its direction towards the ground.

KABOOM!

"Did we get 'em Sam?!"
"I'll look through my telescope, Max!"
"Do you see 'em Sam? Do ya?"
"Hm, what's that? I don't see anything."
"Um, Sam?"
"Oh wait. There's something. Now what is that? It's  getting bigger."
"Sam?"
"What is it Max? Don't be so annoying."
"Why are we on a piece of rock floating 4 kilometers above the ground?"
"Why are we what?"

CRASH!

"We didn't get 'em, Sam."
"Fi know Max, fi know. We fit the road."
"We'll get that pidgeon next time, Sam."
"Max, help me flook for my teeth, will you?"

[DanielH]

Wow, five entries so far, and one more promised from Jack... this looks good!

Does anyone other than Jack need more time? DanielH? TwinMoon? Akatosh? Anyone?

Damn! Lost track of time. Give me a day, I'll get it done tomorrow.

Disregard that, see below.

[Jack Sheehan]

Guys I'm real sorry, but could I get a wee bit of an extension? Maybe 48 hours if that isn't too much? I've worked pretty hard on this one, and unlike my other fiction, is a bit of a sappy love story. Stay tuned...

[DanielH]

I don't need an extension, just finished-

Beneath a steel sky.

Daniel Hurton

     Steve Coopers stared up at the blank ceiling, sighed once, and looked down, resting his head in his knees. It was completely dark that night, save for the thin, pale strip of light descending from the moon into the window. Steve silently asked himself what happened to him. Climbing on to the hard bunk with a thin matress, he uncomfortably lied there for several minutes, and waited for sleep to take him.
     What had happened was awful. Steve could think of nothing else throughout the day, the only thing ever on his mind were the events two months ago. He naively believed that he would be safe within his sleep, expecting to be freed from the hellish visions he constantly re-lived during the day, but alas, no. Sleep brought dreams, dreams became nightmares, nightmares of the most terrifying things that Steve had ever experienced. What was the worst of it? he asked himself. The worst of it was, every night he woke up screaming and sweating,horrified to the point of wetting the bed. He was ashamed of himself, and there was nothing he could ever do about it. Looking at his room's cold, steel walls, he knew people could hear him. He screamed himself hoarse, and all that he got was a brief pair of eyes, darting through the slot in the door, to see if he was sick, dying, or dead. This was the worst of it. There were people, people who knew what he was going through, and they didn't care.
     After a month in the place, he'd forgotten how he got there. He knew why- because of what happened, the deaths, the fire, the slaughter and the demons. But he didn't know how he got there. All he remembers know is what happened, and waking up in his room, with his head shaved bald and nothing but what looked like gray pyjamas to wear. The room itself was like a prison cell, only much smaller, with an inch-thick matress, a thin, itchy sheet for a bed, no electrics, not even a sole lightbulb, a tiny barred window, which only let in a sliver of light, a toilet (actually a bucket), and steel. There was always steel. The walls were steel, ice cold to the touch, the floors were steel, which pained Steven's bare feet as he trod across it, pacing the 6'x6'x6' cell. Strangely though, what bothered Steven the most - the ceiling was steel.
     As Steven woke again from his sleep to beads of sweat falling off his nose, having once again relived the demonic images, bloody, disgusting scenes and foul creatures he saw two months ago, he stared blankly at the metal ceiling. The angle of the window prevented Steven from seeing the stars. Some nights, before what happened, he would just sit outside and stare upwards, into space. During the day, he would gaze up at the clouds, happy in the knowledge that he was free- with no ties, and not bound by anyone, or anything. Then it all changed. He was put through the most violent day of his life, and just as he was beginning to recover, was imprisoned. He was no longer free, no longer able to do what he wanted. It had been six weeks since he had seen the sky. The nearest thing to sky he got now was the grey, dull, imprisoning ceiling. Steven began to cry, terrrified at the thought that he was forever trapped...
     Beneath a steel sky.