Fortnightly Writing Competition - Broken Promise (RESULTS)

[Sinitrena]

People make promises all the time:

“I`ll be home by six.“
“I`ll help you with the dishes later...“
“I`ll never steal again.“

People also break these promises all the time. That is just the way we are.

For this Fortnightly Writing Competition I ask you to write a story in which a promise is first made and then broken. This promise can be something small like my first two examples or something big like a broken treaty between nations.

Deadline is the 15. Nov.

Enjoy writing!

[WHAM]

Home by dinner

The tiny metallic earpiece embedded in the ridge of Adrian's ear vibrated. For a second he considered ignoring it, but the translucent shape of a familiar face on his ocular implant convinced him otherwise. He paused his work, letting a half-connected bundle of wires float free from his hand, and tapped the earpiece. There was a beep, followed by a split second of static, and then her voice.

“Hi Adrian!”

Her voice had a lovely ring to it, as always. Something about it just made his stomach churn with excitement, even after all these years, and especially today. Adrian caught a glimpse of his hand in the dim light, and noted the glint of gold on his ring finger. He hadn't thought about his wife for a long time.

“Hey Carolyn, is everything okay?”

“Oh. Yes, yes! Hey, sorry to call you at work like this, but I just wanted to hear your voice. It's been too long and, well...”

“You wanted a head start for tonight, am I right?”

Adrian had been away from her for a long time. He frowned as he continued his work, wondering how long exactly. Well over a month, that much was sure. He snatched the floating bundle of wires and began to connect them one by one, wrapping them haphazardly around the metallic contact pins of the panel he was working on.

“Well, you know, Tom misses you and he wanted to hear your voice too, since he'll be out at his grandparent's when you get home. Tom! Say hi to daddy!”

“Hi daddy!”

Adrian grimaced, then calmed himself and forced himself to smile. He'd read somewhere that people could hear it in your voice if you were smiling.

“Hey buddy, how's things?”

“Mommy and me made you a surprise! And I scored two goals in the hockey game yesterday, and got an assist too! The coach says I might make the first line!”

The thirteen-year-old's voice was full of excitement. He sounded so young, despite his actual age, full of childlike wonder and energy.

“Sounds great, kid. You'll surpass me in no time!”

There was laughter on the other end, then some background noise as Carolyn picked up the line again.

“So, Tom's going to be away from the house, eh? Did you have something in mind?” -Adrian teased.

Carolyn gave a playful giggle, and Adrian could almost hear her blushing. Adrian smiled too, for real this time.

“When will you be planetside?”

That was the question he'd been dreading.

“Don't worry, I'll be home by dinner! Well, unless the elevator breaks down again. Hey, honey, I need to go if I want to make it in time. Say a prayer for me. Love you!”

Adrian tapped his finger on his earpiece, disabling the line before he could hear her reply. It had been a mistake to answer; his concentration and cool were gone. And he had lied to her. Adrian paused his work, took a deep breath and blinked hard. The tears clung to his eyelids and he had to drop his work once more to wipe his eyes.

He thought he had been ready, but somehow she'd gotten under his skin. And Tom... Damn that kid.

“Fuck!”

The word echoed and faded in the cramped space, pointless and meaningless, as always. Adrian shook his head and muttered a word of prayer for forgiveness. He should know better than to lie and curse like that. A single blast from a klaxxon somewhere far away jolted Adrian awake. The blaring sound faded fast and was followed by a tense voice over a loudspeaker.

“Engineer Adrian Conroy, please report to your quarters immediately. Engineer Adrian Conroy, please report to your quarters immediately.”

Adrian had hoped his disappearance would go unnoticed for a while longer, but it seemed such hopes were in vain. He would only have a few minutes before security would be alerted, and then a minute or two before they caught up to him.

Snapping the last wire in place and tightening the connection with a plastic frame, Adrian finished his work on the panel. Straightening his legs he pushed himself away from the panel so he could have a better look. Everything seemed to be in order: the panel and the antennae were all in place. There were now four panels that granted him access to the space elevator controls. One more. Using his arms as weight, Adrian rotated his body mid-air so that he faced the long and narrow tunnel head-on. With a kick he sent himself floating, leaving the discarded wire clippings floating behind him.

As Adrian rounded a bend in the service tunnel, he collided with a man. For a few seconds everything was a spinning blur as limbs, wires and harnesses entangled and flung in all directions. Unlike service personnel in general, this man didn't wear the light blue staff overalls, but the black and red of a security officer. He was a lean man, too tall for this narrow space, and he wore a red beret with the security insignia on it. As his pale green eyes fixed on Adrian's, they both froze. Adrian was the first to move, kicking the wall with his feet, sending himself crashing into the guard's abdomen. There was a yelp, then cursing and growling as the man strained to right himself. He failed and crashed hard into a fuse box, sending the cover panels flying off.

“You snake!” -Adrian growled in anger.

Adrian went after him, grappling and reaching for the man's belt, his sidearm, anything.

“I've got him! I've got ‘im! He's...” -the guard's voice was gruff, yet strained. His arms swung wildly as he tried to fend Adrian off, but to no avail. He clearly wasn't used to operating without gravity, whereas Adrian had had years of practice. He leaned back and sent his knee up into the guard's chin, interrupting him mid-sentence. Blood spurted from his mouth as he bit his tongue. His scream was blood-curdling, and it's echo was sure to bring others. Adrian was out of time.

He reached for his tool belt, snatched a screwdriver and unceremoniously drove it into the guard's eyesocket. There was a wet crunch as the metal tip penetrated deep. The man jerked violently, shrieking, gurgling and flailing, then, after only a few seconds, went limp. His body floated there like some macabre doll, gushing fluids which clung to surfaces and floated in the air. Adrian was breathing heavily and the force from his attack had sent him hovering backwards. Finally his back hit the cool metal surface of the wall and he came to a stop. He exhaled, his entire body shivering and shaking. He'd never killed anyone before! God almighty how easy it was! Adrian made a cross across his chest, smearing the bloodstains with his finger, and muttered a word of prayer. He had to have faith, he had to steel himself or his mission would fail.

For a second he considered grabbing the guard's sidearm, but the weapons were ID -locked and useless to him. He should have thought of that before. Adrian grimaced and covered his face from the droplets of blood in the air and pushed on.

The last panel was already uncovered, likely the work of some two-bit maintenance worker. Adrian tried to smile as he set to work. The reality of what he was doing was becoming clear in his mind, and for each step he had taken he could now see the Divine intervention. His escape from his quarters, evading the guards and his colleagues, staying hidden for so long, dispatching that guard and now this. God was on his side, that much was clear. His eyes focused on the last panel as he set to work, snapping off the old cables and twirling the new contacts into place.

“Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name...”

There was a banging noise and shouting off in the distance. The body of the dead guard had likely been found.

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in heaven...” Adrian's voice shook and he had to shake his head to get rid of a tear that had swelled in his eye.

“He's over here! Stop him!”

“Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive our treaspassers, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

The noises down in the corridor were frantic as boots smashed against the walls and men struggled to move forward in the narrow space. Just a few more wires.

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the Kingdom...”

“Engineer! Stop what you are doing! Show me your hands!”

“The power...”

The last cable was in place.

“And the glory, forever and ever. Amen.”

Adrian's finger tapped the panel he had just installed, and in an instant the panel and the four others blinked to life. Having bypassed the physical security layers in the system the chips began to override the controls of the gyroscopes which stabilised the massive space station perched atop the space elevator. A gunshot rang out, the bullet whizzing past Adrian's head. Another miracle. Adrian laughed, and as he laughed he could feel the vibrations as the station around him began to lose cohesion.

“What the hell did you do!?”

The voice was meaningless, the answer would take longer to give than they had time left. Adrian had planned and prepared for months and this was only the final touch. Explosions erupted somewhere deep inside the station.

“Stop it! Stop it!”

“You're crazy! You'll never get out of here alive!”

Adrian laughed even harder as the men panicked. The metallic support within the walls groaned under the stress as the gyro-cores began to tumble out of sync, tearing one another off balance. The walls distorted as the metal gave way, and Adrian could already hear the hiss of escaping atmosphere.

“I never meant to get out of here alive! You snakes will not take Eden away from mankind! God gave us Eden and you would escape it! I say no! i say come to God with me, and find salvation and forgiveness in his magnificence! Come to God and your souls will be absolved of sin! Come to God, and...”

There was a loud crack as the walls buckled, then silence as there was no more atmosphere to carry sound. Adrian's face, like those of the millions of people working on the orbital docks, froze into a death mask. Where Adrian's mask was that of devotion and happiness, the others were of fear, terror and disbelief.

[kconan]

  The Wolfeboro docks along the shores of Lake Winnipesaukee were quiet and serene.  The water created soothing rhythmic sounds as it lapped the shore.  The occasional interruptions of this rhythm were brief and hardly noticeable, as the few boaters that sailed or motored past were respectful of the wake and adjusted their speed accordingly.  A small flock of seagulls squawked from the boat ramp, but they were drowned out by the sound of the song sparrows who lined the main pier where Xavien Genovo and Anne Myers sat enjoying the sunset.  A cool breeze steadily blew past them, which was scented by the sweet aroma of Japanese honeysuckle that lined the banks of this particular dock.  The insects weren't biting today, and the gulls at the boat ramp ignored guppies which were boldly swimming around on top of the water nearby.  Anne looked behind her, and saw a lone muskrat briefly pop its head out of a minnow bucket that sat near the pillars at the pier entrance.  It glanced at the birds, and then shrunk back down inside its hiding place.  Anne turned back around and said, ”There seems to be an unspoken truce between the wildlife here today.  Even they respect the peace and quiet of this place.”  Xavien smiled, as they both held hands and swung their feet up and down at the end of the pier, and replied, “Yea, it's really nice here and I guess the docks are empty due to the holiday…Anyway, Anne…Look, I just want you to know that I'll never leave you no matter what happens.  I promise.”  Xavien looked deeply into Anne's eyes and she blushed and said, ”Baby, where did that come from?”  Xavien looked away, towards a marsh off in the distance, and quietly answered, ”Just worried is all…I mean my background is different from yours; checkered…Well, let's just say that there are skeletons in my closet.  And I worry when that closet is opened…Anne, I just worry.”  Xavien hung his head.  Anne said, ”Baby, I would never leave you-“ and was cut off by Xavien who insisted, ”Promise!  Promise me now Anne.  You have to do this for me...for us.”  Anne was shocked, never having been interrupted by Xavien before, and said, ”Ok, baby, I promise that no matter what happens I will always be by your side.”

  Anne mulled over what “skeletons” Xavien could be hiding.  She had known him five years and, while he was evasive in certain ways about his upbringing, Xavien talked extensively about his loving foster family in New Hampshire.  The one subject that Xavien always dodged was ethnic background, and Anne was curious to know more because Xavien looked like no one else she had ever seen before â€" which was partly what attracted her to him.  He was six foot five with brown sun-kissed tan skin and both a chiseled body and jawline.  Xavien also had no hair anywhere on his body, and Anne liked this feature as she had always been grossed out by body hair.  One thing she found strange was that his nails grew at an incredible rate; he was always clipping fingernails and toenails and would joke that he didn't want to accidentally scrape her with his “talons” in the midst of passion.  All other physical features of Anne's boyfriend were perfect, nearly flawless, especially his big gleaming teeth which Anne frequently accused him of whitening.  She also found herself lost in his eyes on occasion, as they were deep dark orbs which Anne never grew tired of admiring.  The handful of times she pushed him on his ethnic background, Xavien curtly ended the conversation with, ”I'm mixed…Next topic please.”  Anne considered herself average looking with only a few curves in mostly the wrong places, and so she didn't want to push her mysterious - but otherwise perfect - Adonis of a boyfriend on the subject.

  Xavien waved a big elongated hand in front of Anne's face and said, ”Are you there baby, hello?” and Anne shook her head vigorously and replied, ”Yeah, sorry I was out if there for a second.”  Xavien rubbed his bald head and said, ”So you will never leave my side?  Do not make promises you can't keep.  A promise is a serious thing where I come from.”  Anne stared at Xavien and said, ”Never, ever.  If one of us should even be the slightest bit insecure it should be me.  Sure you look unique, but my Xavien is smoking hot and the smartest person I've ever met.  You are always around, and treat me like a queen.” Anne recalled that the only times Xavien really got mad was when she was late or changed their plans, which he viewed as Anne “going back on her word”.  Even in those instances he appeared to keep his cool and never genuinely flipped out.

  Xavien said, ”Do you remember hearing about the first test tube baby?”  Anne, though a journalist by trade she always had a strong interest in biology and genetics, replied, ”Yes, Louise was her name and she was born sometime in the late 70s.”  Xavien sighed and explained, ”I'm much older than I look Anne.  Myself, and a handful of others who are still alive, were among the first.  We didn't make the press because we were all failures in different ways, and given large amounts of hush money to not go public.  I was lucky because a good family eventually adopted me, but back in those days the medication that keeps me even was in its infancy…so there were trials and tribulations to say the least.”  Anne closed her previously gaping jaw and asked, ”You mentioned the test tube babies being failures in various ways, what was your…uhhh…failure?”  Xavien gritted his teeth, tilted his head to the side, and said, ”Well there are pluses, like my reflexes and senses are heightened.  Also as you have noticed, I gain muscle easily through workouts and never gain a bad pound.  But on the failure side of things…Well that would be extreme chemical imbalances that cause IED, which stands for Intermittent Explosive Disorder.  I've hurt people in the past, Anne.  Some deserved it, and many others, not at all.  Both medication and my heavy bag helps keep my anger in check.”  Xavien's eyes started watering.  He leaned over and nestled his head against Anne's and said, “Baby please don't think I'm a freak.  I would never hurt you and my Anne is the first person who treated me with-” before being  interrupted by a large skinning knife that appeared between him and Anne.

  The Sun dropped completely below the horizon just as Anne turned back to get a look at the owner of the knife.  The man holding it was short and stocky with a scruffy beard and decked out in overalls.  He wore a stained trucker hat crammed on his head that prominently queried “WHO POOTED?”  She glanced passed him towards the pier entrance, and over to the small bait shop (which had been long shuttered) nearby where another more clean cut looking man appeared to keep watch for his knife-wielding partner-in-crime.  Anne also saw the muskrat near its minnow bucket, and the large rodent's hairy jowls were working as it sucked viscera from the decapitated head of a song swallow which it clutched in its blood covered paws.

  The short scruffy thief ordered, ”You are going to very slowly hand me your wallet and purse.  If this goes down any other way,” and then the man looked directly at Anne and finished, “…my friend back there will shoot your mandigo here and I will skin the pretty off of your face with my knife.”  Xavien hadn't even looked up at the robber, as he continued looking at Anne.  The only changes in his demeanor were the low growl emanating from his throat and the cracking from his fist clenching.

  Neither Xavien nor Anne moved an inch.  The scruffy robber kicked Xavien in the thigh, and he finally looked up and said in a venomous tone, ”I could smell you from about five-hundred yards away, and I heard your continuous scratching and expelling of gas from about that distance as well.  The only reason I wasn't concerned was because I just figured you were a poor homeless guy that came here to fish or scrounge.  Here is the deal…I'll give you three hundred dollars cash, and you promise to walk away.”  The scruffy man replied, “Alright, I promise.”

  Xavien counted out the money and handed it to the scruffy robber, who pocketed it and then grabbed Anne by the shoulder and hauled her up.  Xavien immediately stood up and yelled, ”You are breaking your promise of walking away from here!”  The scruffy man tipped his slogan trucker hat, began backing away with Anne in tow, and said, ”I'm walking away aren't I?”  Anne began shaking as she went with him, partly from fear and partly due to catching a big whiff of her captor's foul body odor.  Xavien stared down the robber who now had the long knife against his girlfriend's throat, and Xavien's knuckles popped loudly as he flexed and relaxed them.  He looked around for help, and could see that his assailants had timed their caper well since there was no one in sight either on the water or by the shore.  Xavien slowly walked toward the robber as he was backing up…

  …and heard a gunshot which caused him to instantly tilt his body sideways and then Xavian was propelled off the end of the pier into the water.  Anne screamed, and began struggling with the scruffy man that held onto her with a vice-like grip.  The scruffy man yelled, ”Damnit Clem you cross-eyed galoot, that one whizzed by me! ”  Anne foot stomped her smelly captor, which caused an unfortunate chain of events for everyone present at the Wolfeboro docks.

  The scruffy robber stumbled and before he could regain his footing he fell backwards over a small mooring which caused his left hand, that one that held the skinning knife to Anne's throat, to sharply drive upward.  The knife plunged into Anne's throat as she thrashed to pull away; her struggles caused the knife to briefly wiggle around inside before her scruffy assailant released it as he fell back.  The robber, who had been holding on to Anne's arm with his right hand, promptly let go of his victim and landed flat on his back.  Anne fell down face first on the dock, with blood steadily pumping from her gaping neck wound.

  Clem, the slightly better dressed of the two robbers with his slightly tattered flannel shirt and cargo pants, ran up to both Anne and his partner and said, ”Nice going Ezekiel!  Now Jeb is gonna be pissed!  You dumb lummox, you know he don't like them hurt none!”  Ezekiel flipped over, crawled to Anne, and felt for a pulse.  He then shot up and said, ”Forget it, let's go.”  They both turned to run and at the entrance to the pier literally ran into a wet and angry Xavian, who grabbed Clem's deer rifle and promptly tossed it aside in the water.

  Xavian's eyes were red as he roared, ”New deal!  You both die, I check on my girlfriend, and if she dies then I go track down and kill that guy Jeb and everyone else he knows!”  Clem spat, ”Mister, that ain't no deal-“ and was abruptly cut off by his windpipe being crushed from a lighting quick and powerful left jab to throat from Xavian, which he followed with an equally fast and devastating right cross to Clem's face.  As Clem fell to the dock with both a destroyed trachea and broken nose, Ezekiel tried to run past Xavian only to run headlong into an outstretched arm which quickly became a choke hold.  Ezekiel heard, ”It shouldn't take long for me to cut off your blood supply.  Tell me where Jeb lives and I promise not to do that.” whispered into his ear.  Ezekiel replied, ”The big place up on Junction Road.”  Xavian simply nodded and then wrenched Ezekiel's head left and then sharply right which resulted in a loud crack.

  Xavian dropped Ezekiel's broken form like a sack of potatoes, ran up to Anne, and kneeled down.  He started crying and held her hand.  Xavian said, ”I don't have my cell phone so I'm going to run and find someone to help.  Baby…Please, please hang in there.”  Anne slowly opened her eyes and looked up at Xavian.  She tried to move her hand for one last caress, but didn't have the strength.  Anne managed to croak, ”Lots of blood…Didn't…break…never break…my promise.  I love you Xavian, and all of your differences.  Baby, you are the best thing…” and Anne gently laid her head down on the old wooden pier and died.  Xavian stroked her cheek, and held her hand for one last time.  He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, and then looked skyward and wailed.  Xavian pummeled his fists repeatedly into the wooden dock until they were bloodied from both trauma and splinters.


  Exactly three weeks after Anne Myer's passing Jeb Worthington received a knock on the entrance to his large, broken down estate.  He opened the door to see a big man dressed in a Bloat-a-burger delivery outfit.  Jeb said, ”Git knucklehead!  I ain't needing none of that.  I'm trying to watch my MSG intake.”  With one hand holding a bag of burgers and the other in a tightly clenched fist, the man said coldly, “I'm going to make you a promise…When I am finished with you and the other murderous, hayseed cronies you have in there, I promise that you will all be begging me to put you down like the dogs you are.“

[Sinitrena]

We got two entries already and we're only halfway through this round. That's great, guys. But other than that it's a bit quiet in here and we do need even more entries, so I hope all of our other regulars are busy writing (and not for NaNoWriMo ) *nudge *nudge

[Baron]

Well, I'm not making any promises here... Although, really I might as well since breaking those promises would be in keeping with the theme.  So, sure, why not: I promise to have something written up in the next two days!  Probably.  I hope. 

[Sane Co.]

Background information:
    I go to this writing guild, however, for some reason, no one there seems to be very competent at writing. A while ago I had them implement a monthly writing contest. After winning ten times in a row I decided to try and see how horrible I could make a story without it loosing, so I wrote a confusing story (at least when read aloud). It got second place out of five. So I wrote yet another story, won again by a large margin. With this story, I manged to reach the threshold by only loosing by one point. We vote on a grade of 3 and there are approximately 15 to 20 people, so I didn't loose by a whole much. Now enjoy yourself, while you read one of the worst stories that I've ever written. Complete with a confusing plot, horrible characters, dumb humor, grammatically incorrect, huge changes in tone, stupid reveals that have nothing to do with the plot, horrible attempts at breaking the fourth wall, loads of ambiguity and sexist humor. And relish in the fact that this story only lost by one point.
Story:
    “I promise you this, in whatever you do I will have your back. I will be there to lay out a path for you, leading you, guiding you, teaching you. I swear that on the day I fail to do so, may I be exposed as the liar I am. I hope that just as the covenant with my father, I will keep my word with my son.”
    “I promise you this, if you do the aforementioned, I will continue to serve you with all my heart, soul, body, mind and strength. I shall never go against you, nor will I betray you in my loyalty. Nor will I ever step on a crack. If I fail to follow through, may I drown in mine own blood. Just as my son will keep his word with me, I will keep my word with my father.”
    “The bond between father and son may last forever,” chanted the observers, “and if these things come not to pass, may we have life in peace under our new rulers.”
    “The bond has been fulfilled, may the heir and the ruler keep their promises, so we may continue forever in eternal glory!” Exclaimed the robed one. “May all of you live in peace and harmony forever under our benevolent rulers.”
    Everyone except the people who had performed the ceremony shuffled out of the building.
    The robed man spoke, “May you continue to live healthy lives as long as humanely possible,” and shuffled out.
    “Father, why must we declare our allegiance toward each other? For do they not go unsaid? What purpose do they serve?”
    “They mean little, in that it is an already unsaid promise, but in the public eye, the bond means that they know they will continue to have a secure future.”
   
    After the ceremony Bob looked behind him down the hill. He had moved five inches up it's base and a wind had kicked in. If this was going to be the condition of the rest of the journey, he might as well quit now. He looked at his father standing behind him, however, there didn't appear to be any wind blowing in his father's face. “I'll leave you here Bob, I can go no further, for the wind eats at my soul and consumes me, when I face it, bye.”
    Well, that statement made Bob feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He started walking toward his father, the wind, however, had a different idea. It knocked him down and he hit his head on a rock. Blood came gushing out. The father turned around at the sound. He laughed and walked back. Bob was holding his head, trying to stop the blood flow.
    “I did that same exact thing when I was your age. Well except the wind didn't knock me down, it was a bear, and he cut my head off with his claws and mauled my face, and it wasn't here, it was in the castle's backyard and it was back when we had a zoo. But my injuries were much worse and I recovered.” He then laughed and walked away.
    Bob, who was starting to become delirious due to lack of blood flow, fainted.

    Back at the castle, Volgarr the Greatly Misinformed, Bob's father, returned from taking Bob to the hill. He was muttering to himself. His wife rushed out to talk to him.
    “Is Bob okay?”
    “Yeah he just got his head lopped off by a gnarly whomper, but Bob's a big kid, he can handle himself.”
    “So you just left him there, head cut off and everything?”
    “I said he can handle himself.”
    “But my maternal instinct has kicked in and I suddenly feel the need to protect my child.”
    “However, my paternal instinct has already kicked in telling me to feel overconfident about my son. And here in medieval times, before the age of the personal computer, my instinct matters much more than yours does.”
    “I guess you're right, in this time before particle accelerators and microwaves and refrigerators and Twinkies, I matter much less than you do.”
    “You are correct. Did I ever tell you about the time I was stabbed 102 times in the face?”

    Bob woke up from his blood induced nap. His scar had healed and he was no longer losing blood. He guessed he would continue on his journey, it's not like he could do anything else.  So he got up and stumbled to the path, this he followed for fourteen yards, where he stopped, because he was now at the top of the mountain. It wasn't everyday in Nonmountainlandia that  one climbed a fourteener. There sitting in front of him was a man in a black robe, who was sitting cross-legged and hovering above the ground.
    “How do you do float like that?” asked Bob.
    “Magnetic pants.”
    “You are the wise man right?”
    “Yes”
    “You're the same man from the ceremony earlier today, so why did I need to climb the mountain to see you?”
    “Your dad wanted me to tell you about the time he got mauled by a bear and got his head cut off.”
    “Don't avoid the question.”
    “Why must you avoid the truth?” queried the robed one.
    “I'm not. You know what?”
    “Yes, What is a good man.”
    “What?”
    “I'm sorry, the writer couldn't help but make it absolutely clear that a certain person wrote this story, and he wanted to make it even more obvious than ever. Not that it matters because everybody already knows who wrote this story.”
    “What?”
    “Yes, I told you, What was a good man.”
    “You're driving me crazy.”
    “Good. However, since I'm nice, may I point out the futuristic technology has nicely placed right in front of you by the author? It's called a sidewalk. Now, if you could follow this technology to it's end, that'd be great.”
    “First let me ask you a question. How wise are you?”
    “Wiser than you are.”
    “Okay, here goes nothing.” and Bob stepped onto the sidewalk. He took another step, and then another. Then, by fate... he didn't set his foot down on a crack, but the next time he moved, he stepped on a crack.

    “Aurgh,” said the mother back at the castle.
   
    Bob then tripped, fell and hit his head, causing blood to gush out and knocking him out. He then inhaled the pooling blood, and he drowned.

    Back at the castle, Volgarr the Greatly Misinformed ran up to his wife. “What's wrong?”
    “Bob stepped on a crack, and died because of the bond you have. So I screamed in sadness”
    “Wait a minute? Why isn't your back broken?”
    “I'm not his mother.”
    “What?”
    “Yes, What's a good man. But you are greatly misinformed, Volgarr the Greatly Misinformed. I am your wife's twin sister, Grace. She died five years ago. Oh, and by the way, are you going to help your son?”
    “He'll be fine. Did I tell you about the time I was eaten by a snake, and dissolved in it's stomach acid?
Endnote:
    Hope you got some enjoyment out of that. Yes, this is a competition entry. Sorry if you were put off by the quality and beauty of the story.

[Baron]

Obsession in Blue

   Wallace entered the living room in a happy mood, as if the weight of the world had never sat upon his slouched shoulders or weighed heavily on the unibrow nestled comfortably atop his thick black plastic glasses.  Now the working day was done, and he had all the time in the world to work on his top-secret game project.  In a playful state, he grabbed his suspenders and danced a nifty jig before somersaulting over the back of the sofa to land in a flawless TV-watching position.  He looked gayly from left to right, but there was no audience for his exploit.
   Odd.  He glanced at the TV which loomed impassively in it's off position.  The absence of its warming glow reminded Wallace of an emptiness in his soul, and he glanced around his surroundings again.  How very ....strange.  His girlfriend was usually here on the sofa when he came in, watching some sitcom or reality show.  How often had he laughed at her silly taste in television programming?   His gaze fell to the rut in the cushion on her half of the couch that gently preserved the arc of her shapely bottom, then to the back of the couch where her curly golden sheddings marked her girl-turf.  Where was the love of his life?  A moment of panic washed him over like a bucket prank in a highschool change room: Pookie had left him!
   Wallace rushed to the kitchen, his long purposeful strides made spider-like by the tight pants that he had hitched up two inches too high.  There, on the counter, in a vase, sat the Bloom.  He breathed a sigh of relief.  The large pink rose was a symbol of devotion: he had given it to Pookie to show the intensity of his love for her, and she had ever since preserved it as a gesture of her faithfulness.  By what dark feminine art she had accomplished this he knew not, for floral upkeep was not his expertise, but he understood the meaning behind it.  And here the Bloom stood, and so all was well.
   Or was it?  Wallace peered more closely at the petals of the rose, which seemed dry and a little shrivelled at the edges.  He gingerly poked at it, and heard the crisp crinkling of breaking organic matter.  Perhaps it was nothing: flowers got old, he told himself.  Even Pookie could not stop the sands of time from slowly grinding the life out this rootless efflorescence....
   Wallace delicately tilted the vase, turning it gently on the counter top.  There was no sloshing weight within it: the vase was dry.  Wallace gently righted the sacred Bloom, pensive.  What did it mean?
   He heard clicking from the dining room, and proceeded there directly.  Rounding the corner he saw her, seated at the table, staring intently at the content of her laptop.  She looked up and smiled at him, the radiant glow of dawn after a colder than usual night.  Wallace's heart skipped a beat before he smiled back at her.
     â€œPookie!” he snorted in his most endearing tone.  “What are you up to?”
   â€œOh, just a bit of work.  For the office.”  She smiled at him radiantly, then returned to her work.  That smile was bewitching, the tone so soothing.  What a stunningly gorgeous creature she was.  But Wallace's mind betrayed the impulse of his heart: something did not quite add up.  There, in the mirror behind her, he could see part of the reflected screen over her shoulder.  And on that fraction of screen he could swear he saw his game editor....

   Pookie was not interested in game-design.  Wallace considered that to be one of her more endearing features, and Pookie was well-endowed with many an endearing feature.  What was she up to?  The curiosity gnawed at him.  Sure, they had talked about his ambition of being an indy game designer.  He had waxed on about his dream project of a sci-fi cave-man cross-over, but all this had garnered from Pookie was wry bemusement.  Indeed, from her nest in front of the TV she had often wondered at his own taste in hobbies as he laboured away in front of his own laptop.  Why now the volte-face?  And why was she hiding her interest from him?
   Her lunch break, at the café.  She sat alone amongst the crowd, flawless beauty marred by a slightly furrowed brow as she stared, engrossed, into her laptop.   Wallace turned to look at her out of the corner of his eye, a fedora making his forehead sweat and a fake beard making his chin itch.  He idly traced the stem of the Bloom in his trench coat pocket before making his move.  The place was busy, and she was immersed: she would have no reason to suspect a stranger pausing behind her.  He ignored the quizzical look of the waitress as he stalked casually around the perimeter of the business.  In a moment he was in position, unfurling a large newspaper through which he had carefully cut two peep-holes through the zeros of a 100% guarantee in an advertisement.  Pookie was definitely using his game editor.  And was that a cyborg jungle-woman sprite?

   Definitely a cyborg jungle-woman sprite!  Her tight leopard print bra and grass skirt could not hide the mechanical arm and ocular implant.  Was that Seajun's work?!?  She was corresponding with his artist!  How had she even contacted Seajun -the guy was some sort of Bulgarian hermit!  Wallace looked from the busty jungle-woman cyborg on the screen to the busty Jezabel on the bed, brow ever more creased and posture ever more slumped.  He rocked uncomfortably in the clothes hamper, trying to get a better view through the floral plastic pattern, crinkling the desiccating flower in his pocket as he did so.  Pookie paused, glanced up momentarily, then plunged back into the project.  His project!  She was stealing his ideas.  Stealing his collaborators.  She was stealing his very identity!  Even his crooked posture was not sacred....  Soon she would be sporting his thick plastic rimmed glasses and snappy suspenders.  The rose crinkled again.

   He loved Pookie.  He loved game design.  How was it that the combination of his two greatest loves resulted in such an all-consuming hatred?  It was like his lover and his best friend had ran away together: the depth of betrayal cut him to the quick.  Every waking moment was now devoted to an obsessive jealousy; his listless sleep tormented by the horror of treacherous abandonment.  Was that a hybrid mastodon-space cruiser?!?  He fell awkwardly out of the tree, breaking the stem off the Bloom that he clutched feverishly as he landed in a puddle of mud.  Pookie, nose buried in her laptop as she walked through the park, didn't even look up.

   The impatient grunts from the dining room became more distressed, and were then followed a flurry of curses.  There was table smacking, then coffee cup throwing.  At length Pookie appeared in the doorway, but Wallace, sitting on the sofa, stared straight ahead.  His finger gently stirred the ice cube round and round in his whiskey.
   â€œI'm sorry,” Pookie started.  They had barely spoken since this whole thing began, and the breech of silence seemed like a fresh betrayal.  Wallace just stared, and stirred.
   â€œIt's just....  this thing.  Work.... you know.  I just....” she rolled her eyes to the ceiling and did a little frustrated jump that Wallace would have once labelled as cute.  Now a tear actually rolled down her cheek.  “Sometimes I just wish....”  And then she stopped.  Wallace stopped stirring, but still he stared, silent.  Pookie smacked the wall and smiled at him, disappearing again into the dining room.  “Ah ha!” she called triumphantly as the keys on the laptop started clicking furiously once more.
   Wallace started stirring once again.

   The rain had stopped, but the wind still buffeted the city with intense gusts.  Pookie entered the lobby of the building, while Wallace rolled off the top of the cab before it drove away.  He reached into his pocket, past the clump of pink rose petals, to grab his phone.  Summoning the pet-tracking app, he was able to track Pookie's progress through the building.  She was heading upward, ascending.  Wallace squinted into the night.  The building was probably thirty stories high.  He considered following her inside, but there was probably a door code, or a video feed of the lobby available to the building residents, or both.  He didn't want to be seen.  What was she doing here?  Who was she meeting?
   Wallace resolved to scale the building.  It was slick, and windy, but a stack of balconies provided ready grips for his gangly limbs to reach.  He supposed he would spy in through the window, like a wraith in the night.  Higher and higher he climbed, and the intensity of the wind grew.  He checked his phone at the twelfth storey, and she was at least on the seventeenth.  He inched higher, wind whipping at his face, a cold numbness stinging his hands.  But on he went.
   Seventeen.  But she was now somewhere above twenty-four.  On he climbed, though the wind howled in defiance of his plans.  Once he slipped, except for the fingertips of his left hand: fresh from the petals of his pocket those fingers clung with the desperate strength of the fear of loss.  He was an empty shell now, not appearing like a wraith in the darkness but actually being one: a soulless phantom on the fringe of worldly existence, haunting what was lost to him forever.  His love.  His game.  His life.  The petals were a remnant of an empty promise: he understood that now.  Now there was nothing left but the formalities of seeing this thing through to its obvious conclusion.
   Twenty-eight.  She was no more than three stories above, which Wallace reckoned put her on the roof.  The wind tore at his coat like the flag of a fallen soldier, waving a tattered vigil over a hopeless cause.  Through its ferocious gusts he now heard the screaming rants.  “F...ing insanity!  G.. d... f...ing ....project!  ......all utt... crap!”
   Wallace looked up from the rung to which he desperately clung, and saw his Pookie lit like a banshee in the moonlight on the roof's edge.  She was waving the laptop at the sky like a false idol before the reckoning.  And he suddenly knew what she was about; what her creative impulse was compelling her to do.  He wanted to call out to her, to stop her, but the shrieking wind stole the breath from his chest.  All he could do was feebly lift an arm towards her and think the words that he somehow heard her say: “It would never have worked out anyway.”
   And then Pookie tossed the laptop into the teeth of the gale, and it floated serenely away on a cushion of air.  All was released now.  Wallace knew, in his heart, that it was either her or the game, and he was suddenly happy, in an altruistic way, that she had sacrificed the game instead of herself.  All was forgiven now, and balance was restored to the world.  The source of discord in everyone's life was now swallowed by the fearsome wrath of nature.  He reached down with his frozen hand and grabbed a fistful of petals from his pocket, raising them to toast the inner strength of his one true love.
   And then the winds shifted violently, and the laptop came flying back to smack him in the face.  And the petals of the Bloom of promise were scattered like snowflakes over a cold, cruel world.

[Ponch]

Sadly, I've been working crazy long hours this week and have only half a story. I also has a sad.

Good luck to the participants.

[Sinitrena]

Sadly, I've been working crazy long hours this week and have only half a story. I also has a sad.

Aw, I always like your stories.

But time is up and we have 4 entries:

WHAM Home by Dinner
kconan
Sane Co.
Baron Obsession in Blue

Thank you for your participation!

I'm sure you're used to it by now: We do the voting in categories:

Character: You find one or several characters really believable/captivating/magnetic/unique, etc.
Plot: The story arc was well-organized, coherent, and well-executed with appropriate pacing
Atmosphere: This is all about feeling: did the story evoke strong feelings due to excitement/humour/intrigue/wonder/emotional intensity?
Background World: The best setting or milieu for a story; a place brought to life.
Word Choice/Style: The technical art of combining words in clever or gripping ways
Topic: How faithful or creative a story takes on the given topic

You can vote up to two people per category (just two this time, because there are only four entries). Every vote counts as one point. Whoever recives most points, wins.

Voting is open untill the 19th.

[Baron]

Character: I vote Sane Co. for the ignorant boastfulness of Volgarr the Greatly Misinformed
Plot: I vote kconan for the way he built up suspense, and then tied it all together neatly.
Atmosphere: In terms of feeling I think WHAM did best with the intensity of the rewiring in zero gravity with tight time pressure.
Background World: I vote WHAM for a unique slice of a sci-fi world and kconan for a a rural idyll with (brilliant!) hillbilly gangsters.
Word Choice/Style: I vote WHAM for his punchy style that communicates much while leaving a great deal of it unsaid.
Topic: I think technically kconan wins, since the promise and its breaking were both critical plot details, while in the other stories the broken promises seemed to be collateral damage.

[kconan]

Character: Sane Co. (Volgarr was fun)
Plot: Baron
Atmosphere: WHAM
Background World: WHAM
Word Choice/Style: Baron
Topic: Baron (a symbol represents the promise; nice)

[WHAM]

Character: Kconan (I'm partial to smelly robbers myself)
Plot: Kconan
Atmosphere: Baron
Background World: Kconan
Word Choice/Style: Kconan
Topic: Baron

[Ponch]

Character: Sane Co.
Plot: Kconan
Atmosphere: Baron
Background World: WHAM
Word Choice/Style: Kconan
Topic: Kconan

Good reads all around.

[Sinitrena]

All right, thanks for your votes.

We got four good stories and consequently four winners:

1. place: kconan (10 points)

What a great story, what an interesting main character. I love it that Xavien/Xavian (did you realize you spelled his name in the first half of your story different then in the second half? No idea why I even noticed that ) is so focused on promises. He actually seemes really obsessed with them. Nice interpretation of the topic.

2. place: Baron and WHAM (6 points each)

WHAM: A good, suspensful sci-fi story. Solid work. A bit more explanation of Adrian's motivations would have been good, I think.
Baron: It's interesting that we got two stories with characters that are so obviously obsessed with something. I liked that the promise in your story was not so much something someone had said, but more symbolic.

3. place: Sane Co. (3 points)

You got your votes for your characters. That shouldn't be a surprise, because it's easy to see the caricature in these characters. But all in all, I wouldn't say you story is bad, not when keeping your foreword in mind. Then it is a satire and not a bad one at that, in my opinion.


All right, this closes this Fortnightly Writing Competition. kconan, you're up, start the next one!

[kconan]

  Cool, thanks Sinitrena!  I'll come up with a new comp and put it up very soon!

[Baron]

Congratulations Mr. K. Conan!  Well written, and well deserved!