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All right, this prompt is too good to pass up. I'm going to enter the Thunderdome as a new challenger, and I'm picking Ray Chapman.quote:Ray "Chappie" Chapman, shortstop for the Cleveland Indians baseball team, was killed when a submarine ball thrown by Carl Mays hit him in the temple. Chapman collapsed at the plate, and died about 12 hours later. He remains the only major league baseball player killed by a pitched ball.
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May 30, 2013 04:13
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| # ¿ Jul 8, 2025 09:32 |
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Thinking Man's End (1115 words) I’m leading off the top of the fifth inning. Even though we’re up 3-0, I’m frowning. No lead is safe in baseball. Could be down to their last run, even down to their last strike. Can’t ever count anybody out, especially with the way Ruth swings. I stand in the on-deck circle while Mays warms up. I brush some mud spots from my face – it’s the middle of August, and I just dove for a grounder. But Kathleen isn’t here, and I’m sure none of the other fellas care. I hope this game gets over quick. Can’t wait to get off this hot field, take a bath, and spend the evening with the little lady. Blue calls me to the plate, and I don’t wanna take a strike without makin’ Mays work for it. I dig my feet into the box, and my daydream sits in the circle, waiting to rejoin me. The boys are countin’ on me to stand somewhere out there when it’s all said and done. Four wayward balls, or one in play, doesn’t matter. I squint. The sun’s bright – I wish I had something to make seeing easier. If it didn't make me a laughingstock, I’d swing the bat with one hand. For a moment, I question the architects, wondering why they’d place the stadium like this. Someone has to be at a disadvantage, though. Ruel shuffles outside. Mays looks in to get the sign. At the last moment, my eyes widen, and I call time. I glance into the dugout, and I see two slaps of the right shoulder. I puff out a sigh. I’ve already seen Mays twice, but Speak wants me to take the pitch anyway. Windup. Fastball, way outside. Nicks the dirt a bit before Ruel gobbles it up. Speak ain’t the manager for nothin’. Ruel passes Blue the ball, and gets a replacement. I already know before the next pitch comes in, the ball will have at least two brown splotches and some scuff marks. It ticks me off, but I’m just a player. I take one foot out of the box and glance to the dugout again. Speak signs bunt, but thankfully cancels it before exasperation fills my face. I need to tower over the plate just to see the ball, and that’s just beggin’ for one in the ribs. A bunt would be suicide. Windup. Spitter, low. Should be ball two, but Blue pumps his fist and grunts. I turn away, cheeks bulging and jaw clenched. Mays’ delivery irks me, an almost underhand motion that comes inches from touching the ground. I wish he would throw normally, but he likely wouldn’t be playin’ for the Yanks if he didn’t. With the ball flying up into the sun, tracking the ball is even tougher than normal. Speak decides not to yank my chain this time. I’m ready to swing away. Alls I need is one left up, or something I can turn on. Windup. Get ready! Crack! I don’t see the pitch. I suspect Mays may have called time, but then spot the ball trickle down the line. I didn’t hit it, but he runs at it anyway. I should run to first, but before I can move, I’m out. Well, he got me again. Crafty, but I’ve got at least one more. I hope they can call Kathleen, a part of me says. I don’t even have time to question myself before a doctor slides on his knees to reach me. I turn to Blue, expecting him to shove Doc away, but he, too, towers over me, finally giving me shade from the sun. I try to pick myself up and trot to the dugout. My legs don’t move. I recount the order of events: ball comes up, I lose it in the sun, it hits my bat, and Mays picks it up and throws me out. Did Ruel run into me? If so, that’s interference all the way. I feel – actually, I feel like Dempsey just socked me in the temple. The ball hit you in the head, that’s why, the voice says. I laugh, as I’d obviously know right away if that were the case. I turn to Doc, expecting a straight answer. He doesn’t seem to hear me. I try again. His lips move, too, but I can’t hear him. I understand now – I’m hurt. Not the way I wanted my career to end. Speak crowds in past the bystanders. We talked about ghosts the other day, and he’s imitating one. I figure he’s just teasing me. Finally, my legs function again, and I get up, though the Earth is shaking an awful lot. They’re scared. You should be, too. You need a doctor. Whatever this part of me is, it’s very alarmed. I shuffle toward the clubhouse in center field. It’s a long way to go, and I wish some guys would gimme a hand. I call out to them again. Dammit, why can’t they hear me? My lips are moving, for Pete’s sake. It really ain’t funny for the whole world to have gone deaf. I reach center field. Help isn’t too far away. I blink again, and grass pokes at my face. Percy, the trainer, appears at my side. I try asking him for Kathleen’s wedding gift, the keepsake I give him every day. He still can’t hear you. Fed up with tryin’ to reach him, I gesture to my third finger. Kathleen will kill me if I leave it behind. That may be the least of your worries. Obviously, that part of me underestimates an angry wife. Even under the August sun, it only gets hotter, and the sky has turned red and orange. People tell me this is how Mars looks – I don’t read, though, so I take their word for it. Down on the field, everything else takes on the red color, too. You know the reason why, the voice pipes up. Even though I’m hurt, I’ll be able to get some rest tonight, maybe for a couple of days, and then I’ll be back at it. For now, I just need to get out of the sun, but my path begins to blur. I wonder if the sun will swallow me whole. My eyes dart to Percy’s hand. It’s dark – black, even. Wait, if everything else is red… Oh. We shove into the clubhouse, and within seconds Percy is on the phone. He’ll probably call Kathleen, too. Now, out of the sun, things begin to cool – far too much actually. I cradle myself to keep from shivering. I have to tell him, before I go. “Percy.” “What is it, Chappy?” Finally, a response. “Tell Mays not to worry.”
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Jun 2, 2013 04:58
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I'm in. 4-6 Scrambler [Write a funny story about][a jittery][game show host][who lands on a faraway planet] I'll take a stab at this. Humor is not my strong suit, though, so who knows.
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Jul 6, 2013 03:59
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Scrambler 4-6 A funny story about a game show host trapped on an alien planet The Fall of Dan Fischer (1248 words) “Who is Dan Fischer?” “Yes, right.” The man in question realized his mistake before the sentence had finished. “Er, no, wait, that’s me.” For the third time that hour, he rubbed his eyebrows. “Look, I was on my way to Earth to record new episodes of Answer and Question.” “Our apologies,” the attendant said. Dan’s frustration escaped it, as two of its six eyes were focused on paperwork, three kept track of the gates, and the last was saved for that cloaca Col-Thurggh, who’d stolen its dessert from the warming pods in the break room three times in the last week. “Your transport was knocked off course by pirates. We have to ensure the craft’s safety before you can board again. It will take two cycles.” “What does that mean? Two hours? Two days?” It drew up one of its tentacles in a halfhearted shrug. “Whatever you wish it to mean.” But for two reasons, Dan would have reached across the counter and strangled the lanky cephalopod. The first, a disintegration barrier, would’ve removed his right hand within a second. At that moment, it had been undergoing repairs, so Dan could’ve punched if he wanted to. But that led into the second reason, a frequent answer in the Rhyme Time category to the question “What’s the saying against using aggression against them?” Not five minutes earlier, he’d discovered why. He preferred their purple state. So as to avoid having a million spikes driven into his skin, he plopped onto a nearby bench. Dan thanked his sponsors for the creation of the translator chip, but reintegrating bureaucratic language back in the newest patch defied all common sense. The sterile hallways weren’t worthy of merit in architecture or art categories, either. “Excuse me, Mister Fischer?” He turned to see a woman, a silk robe covering most of her body. The robe was tight, and she knew his name –he didn’t need to know anything else. He cleared his throat, and the game show persona turned on. “Yes, that’s me,” he said, fixing his tie. “I see you’re a big fan!” She held a hand to her mouth area and giggled. “But of course. Who else could know the answers to all those questions? My goodness, it’s like you’re a walking encyclopedia!” “Ah, well, it’s very difficult being as smart as I am,” he said. “Sometimes I need my staff on hand to make sure the contestants will be able to answer the questions.” “Aren’t you supposed to be on Earth right now? You’ll miss today’s episode.” He laughed. “No, no, we actually record the episodes far in advance. I recorded yesterday’s show last Earth year, actually. In fact,” he added, gesturing to his suit, “I was supposed to start recording again tomorrow. But, as you can see, that’s probably not happening.” “Oh, that’s terrible!” Her eyes opened wide, and she snapped two of her four fingers together. “Actually, you would know all about repairing a ship, right?” “Absolutely!” Dan exclaimed. “Well, if you can give us some help, I might be able to get you home sooner!” A beautiful woman, telling him exactly what he needed to hear, left nothing to be debated. Silly thoughts about betrayal or whatnot were tossed away. She motioned a finger to follow him, and he followed, thoughts on additional perks. She led him to a hangar, separate from where he’d been. The sky outside was orange with dust blocking the radiation from the system’s star – he forgot the name of the process, but eh, he could do without it for now. “So, what goes in the hyperdrive core that causes it to break light speed?” A softball for Dan. “Coridium-234, of course.” “How do you put it in the core?” “Well, you need a radiation suit, and a heavy one at that.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thankfully, we just obtained one the other day. Lastly, do you know the placement within the core itself?” His face paled. “Well, uh, I’m sure with a little trial and error, we can figure it out.” The ship itself was rusted in patches, and one of its windows appeared to be shot out too. Dan certainly wouldn’t know if it was spaceworthy or not, he was just helping with the conversation. She smiled and lowered the cover on her mouth. “I’m glad you know how to do these things, Mister Fischer. After all, you’ll be our volunteer today.” He blinked. “Excuse me?” Something prodded him in the back. “What, did you think you were going to help me and I’d have sex with you as your reward?” Yes… he thought. “Hah, you take me for a fool,” she said, revealing blue lips set against a green-yellow frame. Wait, did I say that out loud? He asked himself. “No, your face said it,” she answered. She motioned to a spot behind him, and a man brought out a radiation suit, exactly the one he had in mind when she asked the question. “Question: how long does it take the human body to succumb to radiation poisoning?” she asked. “As little as a few seconds,” he said. “Good. That’s why we have the suit.” She waved her four fingers as if to shoo a fly away. He entered the suit, and was handed the core, gripping it with a pair of tongs. Barely five feet had elapsed, and sweat already clogged his pores. Drop the core, and he would die now; misplace the core, and he would die later. The flavor of death a person chooses is bitter no matter what, and Dan really wanted to avoid the choice. When he inserted the core, the entire machine creaked. He ran, screaming, out of the ship. In fact, his screams were so loud, they could be heard from outside the building. Which, considering that the building was supposed to be abandoned, was not the best idea. As he touched down on the floor, fifty men pointed guns at him. The woman in particular could have strangled him with one of the sashes on her robe – Dan wouldn’t have minded that, actually. “Seems you’ve been uncooperative, Mister Fischer,” the woman said. “What? I’ve been helping the whole time!” That’s what he sincerely thought, but fifty guns aimed at his torso forced him to reconsider. “Fool! The police will be here-” Before she could say “any second,” the police mic boomed its standard warnings in that one second. All fifty guns fired towards the door immediately, and Dan hid behind a crane’s control box. Lasers and bullets alike pierced the air, until at last all the guns in the vicinity had been silenced. He emerged from his hiding place, and ran to the police. “Thank you so much!” he exclaimed “I’m safe!” The police, however, were already examining the bodies. On the woman’s, they found a picture of him, with the words “Chief Engineer” scribbled at the bottom. Dan couldn’t even protest before he was cuffed and flung into a prison transport. The charge? Aiding and abetting piracy, as well as being a high-ranking member of a major syndicate. Upon hearing of his crimes, the studio promptly fired him and hired little-known actor Felix Henderson. Henderson would catapult Answers and Questions to even greater galactic fame. By contrast, Fischer spent the rest of his days on an alien prison, barely able to eat the food there. All told, it wasn’t so bad. He could’ve been on an Earth prison.
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Jul 8, 2013 07:58
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My story turned out to be a lot more serious than I planned, plus I'm really terrible at being funny. Thanks, judges, for rightfully smacking that piece of poo poo down.
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Jul 10, 2013 08:17
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