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May 31, 2012
No more excuses. I'm entering in the next one no matter what the next prompt will be.


May 31, 2012
Still in.

May 31, 2012
Using the house on maple street.

May 31, 2012
Word Count: 900 (Including Title)

The maple door creaked open seconds later while the doorbell's jingle faded. Arching away from a pile of overgrown leaves above, a man with thick rimmed glasses ducked and popped his head out from the doorway's small opening. "You are early Miss Rivett," he said.

A woman smiled and tapped on the back of her tan electronic tablet with her red fingernails. "I'm sorry Dr. Ashford, but that was before I have received news that I have to work overtime," she said, "I promise I won't take much of your time."

Dr. Ashford returned her smile with a thinner one of his own. "Come in, come in. That is if you insist your interview will not take more than thirty minutes."

"It won't."

The doctor wobbled aside, opened the door, and pushed an overgrown potted thin tree further against the wall near the door's hinges. Near the plant, he hung his lab coat on a hook beside a black dress coat that have a golden name tag with 'Richard Ashford' on it. A drooping rose with pink petals lay in one of the dress coat's pockets. He directed her through a towering archway leading to the house's small open dining room. Neatly trimmed dark olive colored wines covered it with its own flare from its leaves of various shape and sizes.

The woman helped herself to a seat from one of the dark wooden table's metal stools. Laying the tablet face up, Miss Rivett swiped its surface once using her thumb."For the record," Miss Rivett said while doing a set of finger swipes, "please state your name and your occupation."

"I am T. Ashford and I am a dentist," Dr. Ashford said. He entered and moved around the kitchen. Placing a glass plate on the long granite counter separating the kitchen from the dining room, he added, "Considering who you could be reporting for, I will not disclose much about the project itself."

"I am here on the behalf of the Daily Scoops."

"I am also aware what your side-job is, Miss Rivett." Dr. Ashford leaned under the counter where he took a square shaped container from the middle shelf. Pouring out its contents, a pile of minced leaves in different dark hues of olive, the doctor watched Miss Rivett flinch. A loud bang echoed the room following a windy hustling sound.

"Did you close the door?" she said.

"It must be closed now if I did not," he said, "As I was saying, you moonlight your writings to the Star Inquirer from time to time, do you not?"

Miss Rivett's middle fingernail pecked twice on the tablet. The small onscreen microphone in the lower right-hand corner of the screen faded out. "I did once."

"Is this interview have anything to do with your first story from them?"

"No!" Miss Rivett faced up at the doctor as she heard two metallic clinks. "What was that?"

"Good." Dr. Ashford reentered the dining room with the plate in hand. "That was the shelf. Is there a kind of dressing or seasoning you prefer?"

"Surprise me." As the dentist walked back to the kitchen after placing the plate down, she pushed the plate away. The reporter insert short memos within the tablet. For a moment, she glanced to the left. A thin reef hung above both closed windows. One of its ends were hugging one side of a square glass clock. Both hands of the clock was near the number five. "What didn't you like about it?" she asked.

Dr. Ashford reentered again with a glass bell-shaped container holding a light tan liquid and a thick wooden skewer in another hand. "Everything. It was full of slanderous poppycock." He placed them to the right where he had placed the plate earlier.

Miss Rivett watched him sit across her. As he pushed the stool back further, making a loud shuddering streak, he crossed his legs. "My brother would not dare sabotage his own work under any circumstances, Miss Rivett. Not only that is not like him, but I would not have allow it."

As she slid her elbows on to the table, Miss Rivett jerked her elbows back when she felt a cold ting. The glass plate jingled and wobbled.

"Please be careful not to break that. My babies love looking at them," Dr. Ashford said.

The brunette's face gleamed and pointed at the dentist. "You," Miss Rivett said while cracking a smile, "have kids?"

"Yes. They are wonderful bundles of joy. I would like for them to have some time with you if time permits it." Dr. Ashford glanced at his watch and added, "Speaking of time, you have two-thirds of that now to finish."

Miss Rivett double tapped on the upper left hand corner of the tablet, and the microphone reappeared at the same spot it was earlier. "Although the portable smart house had a perfect lift off, it has been suggested that there were intentional damage that caused it to crash off course. How do you feel about the possibility that your brother has been murdered?"

Dr. Ashford frowned. "I would have known if it was an inside job."

"There is new evidence that shows that Richard--"

"He left here an hour ago Miss Rivett."

"Why is his jacket still on the hook?"

"It is?" Dr. Ashford stood using an end of the table as support. "Watch her, my children."

May 31, 2012
In it with Suit-On-Suit

May 31, 2012

CancerCakes posted:

I'm in, the moment I saw this I wanted suit on suit but its taken. I'll post what story I'm rewriting after I've trawled through some thunderdomes.

You can take it if you wish. I'll just use this story by toanoradian.That is, if its possible to change it.

And thanks for the crits judges. I'm very sorry if my entry made you weep.

May 31, 2012
Original Author: toanoradian
Orginal Word Count:250
Word Count: 250

A spaceship captain glazed in silence as letters and numbers switched places with each other on the touch screen. "loving computers," he said. The letters grouped themselves into clusters of three. Blinking numbers bounced around the dimming computer screen. A pair of green brackets appeared, and a single word appeared within after the scrambled characters faded out.


Palms sweating, Mr. Captain tapped a few keys. The fingers struck true, but the vertical cursor moved erratically. Pixelated gray blots seeped into the screen's corners. Touching the screen, he moved the cursor to the only comprehensible word. The screen went black.

When illuminated, the screen blinked twice. Again, a single statement appeared.


As his fingers reached for the smaller cursor, the cursor dropped into a darkened corner. That corner solidified into charcoal black before the captain's eyes caught its position. A scowl and a slam on the armrest later, the captain smeared his palm all over the corner. He felt his back dampened while he worked out his hand. Just as he managed to move the cursor, the screen faded to black.

A yellow light appeared under the mounted intercom. "Sixty words left." The light dimmed.


Mr. Captain raised and shook a fist. Covering the solitary line, a stream of letters and numbers poured upward. He slammed his fingers; his face paled while hearing a screech. Small blinking windows reading 'Critical Error' plastered themselves all over the screen. The ellipses littering them grew longer until everything went black.


May 31, 2012
Getting in on this.

E. In this prompt, not the duel

Voliun fucked around with this message at 17:12 on Apr 17, 2013

May 31, 2012
gently caress this week and the next.

Office Pains
Word Count: 784

Roscoe knew how it ended when Mono ran out of the mall full of shopping bags. A mini mob with pitchforks, metal poles, and bare hands were not too far behind her. "Come back here with our poo poo!" The driver could hear them from a small hill beside the brick building. He placed his hands on the radio's dial, but Mono rushed in slamming the door shut.

"Drive!" Momo said.

Turning the ignition, Roscoe looked behind and the rear view mirror. He sped out of the parking lot to the road. The crowd and the mall became smaller the further he drove away from them.

Momo's smile was wide and grinning. "That was too easy!" Momo threw the bags to the back seat. Loud glass clanking and paper hustling later, the woman leaned toward the bags. Checking their contents, Momo said, "Edgar, how long will it take to get to the train station?"

"Thirty minutes tops," said Roscoe. His shoulders shrugged at the name Momo called him. A glance at his watch was not enough for Roscoe to wash away his disdain, but his voice remained its gruff part though. Roscoe's body stiffened as Momo rubbed her hands on his right arm.

"Can you go any faster?" Roscoe felt a small clot of puke building up in his throat listening to Momo's attempt of a seductive voice. Even if her hands were pedicured or not, he glared at Momo. Momo pulled her hand away and turned around. "No hurry. It just that we're going to be chased by cops or bounty hunters."

Roscoe swallowed the clot, forcing his laughter to hold itself back. "Unless," she said, "none of them could describe me perfectly." Momo turned and shook her left foot. A block looking anklet slid down to her ankle.

She jerked to the right along with the baggage and car as Roscoe made a sharp turn. "Hey, you're going the wrong way!"

Roscoe coughed. "I am going the right way, Monica." he said in his normal voice. "Never thought I have to lose the beard to get to you though."


Like a sloppy joe sandwich, papers and maps seeped out of the folder on to the table. Gly looked with awe when his eyes meet with the bold words, Monica Jensen, on the middle of the folder.

"Buddy," the secretary said, " you did ask for a detailed file on her."

Gly grabbed the folder. "Thanks Joe," he said. While grabbing the paper crumbs from the massive folder he held, he bit his lips. He heard another voice as he left the office.

"Gly, wait!"

Gly didn't turn, but he moaned. "You are still a rookie, Kip."

"This is the first homicide this year, and you are telling me not to get involved?"

"It ain't a homicide."

"That's what the scene want you to believe!" Kipper ran in front of Gly. He folded both arms together making up his contemplative pose. "From the pictures, I can tell that-"

Gly raised a hand up. "Don't even say it," he said. Muttering, he went around him.

"I was about to talk about the broken glass pieces. I know the store that sells them," said Kipper.

"I would if I was looking at the scene of a homicide. I do not have time to theorize using your mumbo jumbo mess."

"And you don't have time looking through old case files by the reflect-"

Kipper stopped as Gly went through the opening glass door.


Gly raised an eyebrow. "The CIO got to be loving with me," he said watching Kipper entering his van.

Adjusting the seat back, Kipper smiled. "How's your mall sandwich?"

"Shut it." Gly glanced over at Kipper's decorated leather vest. "Why are you out of uniform?"

"We don't have to look like overglorfied pencil pushers. Besides, we don't want her to see through our covers!"

Gly rolled his eyes. "The cover is the uniform. Do not touch anything when I get there, got it?"

Kipper nodded. "Got it."

Gly drove off, and he heard honking as he stopped at a red light.

"Nice station wagon. What are you, my grandpa?" a young man driving a hot red Mustang said.

Gly brushed jokes and insults aside as he focused on the potential scene given to him. Now, he could be back at home watching television or updating his FaceBook status. He could even be cleaning his old DVD and sock collection. Anything other than chasing a missing delinquent debtor who always pays her bills late. Again, he looked at Kipper to remind himself what he was working with.

He turned back to the road seconds later. "Your obseration," he said, "but that was luck."

May 31, 2012

Erogenous Beef posted:

If you're confused and don't know what to pick, you can always ask the judges to pick one for you. We reserve the right to flash-rule you, though.

And you may not like what we pick... :getin:

Well I am officially free from exams and I'm having a hard time picking.

Let me have it.

May 31, 2012
"Tommorow, every fault is to be amended; but that tomorrow never comes."
Song: Tommorow (Malta)

Paradoxical Gambit
Word Count: 1031

A man stared down at his reflection on the shaking waters from the bridge above. Again, he straightened out his red bow tie on the collar. The street lamps' lights were dim enough for him to see a silver necklace lying on the bow and his neutral expression. He heard a long, low blare while he looked at himself longer.

The suited man glanced over to the right. Faint and near, a wispy florescent feminine figure floated near him. Her mouth moved, but no voice came out. As she drifted closer, the man turned away back to his reflection. "Go away," he said.

Far ahead, a boat was heading toward the bridge. Broken up smoke faded along the night's skyline as it reached out to the crescent moon. As the wispy figure came closer, the blond leaned himself forward over the bridge's rail. "I'm tired." Pausing and feeling his voice shaken, he waved a hand. "I'm too tired to keep this facade Meline."

Meline's expression remained the same as she kept trying to communicate with her mute voice. Her hands were together and shaking in front of her.

"And then what? No matter where we jump, it's the same. He's dead or missing." The man yanked a necklace out and slammed it on the ground. "Take it. I won't be needing this where I'm going."

Meline picked up the necklace. Her hands shook as she stared at the broken part of it. She heard a loud splash. Her head turned where the man had stood. As she brisked herself toward there, she faded away along with the necklace.

Twelve short chimes echoed throughout the waters as the man made his decent deeper. "Maxwell, you forget she isn't the only one in on this," a whisper said.

Maxwell opened his mouth and eyes. Nothing. He felt the water around his body, but he felt air going in. From below, a swirling whirlpool filled with violet lights rushed toward him. As Maxwell swam away, an intense cramp latched on to back. His legs and arms tensed while freezing in place.

While Maxwell drifted deeper into the center, he heard a feminine voice. "You will have your clemency. Close your eyes," she said.

Maxwell did. The aquatic shell that hugged his body was gone. In its place was a rush of air drying and cooling off the water as Maxwell felt himself being shot out of the river. Gradually his skin became warmer. The warmth became burning hot seconds after he could hear brief sounds of bustling street traffic and louder swoosh.

As every sensation and sound faded, Maxwell heard the whisper again. "Of all the things you could have said, you had said that." it said as it grew softer, "If you still refuse to understand, then so be it." A strong gust pried Maxwell's eyes open. Colorful lights surrounded him as his sight became colorless; then a white light washed it away.

Time passed and Maxwell has no idea what just happened. His head felt heavy as he opened his eyes again. A young man wearing glasses leaned over to his desk and tapped on his shoulder, "Are you done with your beauty nap, Mr. Grimes?"

Maxwell looked at the man and his picture id while rubbing his eyes. "Well uh, Jeremy, how long have I been..." His voice trailed off as his eyes laid upon 'Senior Risk Analyst' under Jeremy's name. Maxwell stared at Jeremy with a shocked look on his face. "What time is it?"

Jeremy glanced down at his digital watch. "Four o' clock. You slept for an hour sitting up like that." Looking at Maxwell again he frowned. "Go have the rest of the day off, but don't turn this into a habit please," he said before heading over to another cubical.

As Maxwell rubbed one of his eyes, he moved the mouse cursor toward the 'Start' menu and moved it again toward the ' Turn Off Computer' option. Maxwell inspected his desk while looking for his wallet. By the monitor, a calendar lay beside a picture of himself and his surfboard.

A calendar that is on the month of May with every day before the twelfth day was marked off with an 'x'.

"poo poo, Meline," Maxwell whispered to himself.

He snatched his ID pass from the desk lamp and ran out of the office. As Maxwell ran to the elevator, he felt a burning tingle around his feet. The tingling spread onto his legs while Maxwell frantically pressed the down button. As soon as the elevator was opened, he rushed inside. He leaned against the wall while closing his eyes and breathing in and out to block the pain.

Hearing the elevator's door closing and a ping, Maxwell opened his eyes. He fumbled pushing himself up while watching Jeremy moving a pen away from the 12th floor button. "We need to have a talk," Jeremy said.

"If it's about my nap-"

Placing a hand near Maxwell, Jeremy leaned closer to him and pressed his pen at Maxwell's ID hanging on his neck. "Hurt Meline like that again and there will be hell to pay."

It took Maxwell seconds of backtracking to make his back felt cold.

Jeremy leaned closer at Maxwell's ear and whispered. "I will not let you make the same mistake again."

The cold stung Maxwell deeper as if a hot knife had struck his spine. He could feel himself tensing as he spoke. "You prevented yourself from seeing Meline?" Maxwell paused as he stared into Jeremy. "You the one who set me up with Meline by altering time? How and why?"

"We were never meant to be together." Jeremy's breathing became heavier. While wiping the fog off of his lens, he said, "Of everyone I've assessed, you are the most viable candidate to be able to do just that without any training." Jeremy paused and added, "Or so I thought."

The elevator's bell chimed and the doors slide open. Both hear a woman's voice. "Hey, guy with the glasses, you lost your book!"

Jeremy didn't look back. Maxwell watched Meline skipped inside as she took out a red and than book from her sack.

May 31, 2012
In again. I'll get the writing right (eventually).

May 31, 2012
Wordcount: 992

"'Raining ideas come, however abrasive rebellions die.'" Tracy McKenzie stared and read the text message on her smart phone. "Is this the warning from your lookout, Jericho?" she asked.

A blond sculptured man looked over at her. "I told that moron to text me if our cover is blown but," he said, "all security systems had been disabled three minutes ago. There's no way we've been made that quick." His hands twisted and turned each combination knob on the bolted safe. Leaning closer toward the middle one, Jericho plucked his fingers at it.

Click. Click. Bang

Tracy and Jericho jerked their heads back. Both hugged their backs against the wall when a part of the ceiling collapsed near the hallway's only sliding glass entrance. They looked at each other and back at the hole. "Is there suppose to be a demo crew here too?" said Tracy.

Jericho faked a smile. "Ha. Ha. Who would schedule one on a new office?" He pulled his vibrating cellphone out of a pocket and flipped it open. His smile faded. "'After she hush first, obey reform documents.' Did your text came from a blocked number?"

"Yeah why?"

"Chuey's number isn't masked, but I'm not leaving without that code." Jericho went back to the safe and resumed. "For all the latest tech this building holds, this safe's locks are old fashioned. If only I had my bolt cracker and more time." As he carefully turned the first knob, the door's bolts receded. Jericho's face lightened while he pushed the door. His face became awestricken as he saw an empty space behind the door.

Jericho took out the only thing within it, a long shafted key. Tracy almost trip over her heels catching it when he tossed it to her."Of all the things we are stealing from a hedge fund office, it has to be a key."

"Hold on to it as if I were going to-" Jericho turned left as he heard a security camera moved itself to face Tracy. The HUD light on the camera was red and blinking. He grabbed Tracy's hand. "Somebody's recording us, poo poo!"

"Didn't the whole staff have the day off?" Tracy said.

Jericho jiggled the door's handle before slamming his elbow against the glass. Each time he did, he uttered gently caress until his arm quivered. A few kicks and back slams later, the lock picker shattered the glass. Each camera in the hallway faced them as they ran to the elevator. "Take the fire exit, Tracy!"

"We're not suppose to separate!"

"That code can't be changed again either!" Jericho shoved Tracy, and he waved his arms. "Lose it and we can't open that drat locker!"

"Fine, are we still on for seven o' clock?"

Jericho's face shriveled up. "Go! I'll be waiting on you outside!" He kept pressing the down arrow as Tracy ran to the left.

While Tracy ran, she felt the key vibrating in her pocket. Reasons to not answer the phone came just as quick as reasons to answer it. There were no reason for her to doubt somebody from security came back in. The more she thought about that, the more Tracy felt something was off. Wouldn't the alarm go off by now? There was the silent alarm, but Chuey was outside to see...


Tracy made an abrupt stop. She scanned for any possible blind spots as she noticed three cameras turning themselves on. When they began to move, Tracy resumed running. Her mind were blank as to where to go. A sharp turn to the right revealed a black stairway ahead with a single camera above it. A gust of energy lifted her legs up as Tracy ran and kept her balance.

She lunged up toward a step when she heard a loud clang. Dust swept into her face, making her body flinch while falling. Her cellphone slipped. Tracy watched the rest of the crumbled ceiling tiles after falling on her back. As she reached to the phone, Tracy saw a text message under a jagged crack.


The unblocked number has a name, Chuey, by it. Tracy pushed herself up and limped out a door. A huge red and white sign in the middle stuck out like an obvious ache like the one on her back. Using her hip, she pushed the door open. Her lungs welcomed the dusk breeze. She took a look at her phone, and she walked down the stairs. As she got lower, she heard scuffling.

Tracy ran, but the sound of a muffled gunshot stopped her. She could hear Jericho's voice in her mind as she heard another. Snatching the key out of her pocket, she heard Chuey and him laughing and clanking their beer jugs together last week. That hand numbed as her fingers failed to feel any cold metal on their tips.

She looked behind and saw a man wearing a black blazer. He stared back at her while another shot rang. A loud cracking sound gave her seconds to realize that was her cellphone. Tracy watched him walk back toward the door and bend over. As he entered the building, he pocketed the key and sheathed his pistol within the jacket. An alarm blurted out that was followed by a louder horn.

"Tracy, hurry the hell up! Can't have the fire department putting out our celebration dinner!"

Tracy looked down at the parking lot and saw Jericho motioning her to come with Chuey banging on the horn. The numbness shook her fingers while reminding her of a pair of numbers. That was pushed aside as the fire alarm reverberated into her ears, forcing her to run toward the car.

When she got in Tracy asked, "Don't you think the numbers on the key are part of the code?"

"Numbers? I didn't notice any," Jericho said.

"They are eighteen and one."

"Worry about all of that later," Chuey said, "We have an overdue dinner to go to."

May 31, 2012

Bad Seafood posted:

Meanwhile, back at the Batave, the loser this week is Voliun. Voliun, boy, I just don't know about you sometimes.

If I manage to lose this time because of a simple error that I had forgotten, I swear I'll start using one of my grammar books along when I proofread. :bang:

May 31, 2012
Yeah, I'm in.

May 31, 2012
Skirmish at Zegre
Word Count: 726

An oval-shaped jump ripple opened above the blue star, Zegre. A cruiser fleet leader of six, Heph'di Xagirde, watched his cruiser's radar zoomed itself into the incoming ships. His single eye gleamed at a golden thin rectangular shaped marker. His eye widened. Focusing his eye on a smaller green blinking circle beside him, he inquired something in his native language.

The radar screen became alive with violet circles flashing around the rectangle and the smaller squares around it. Heph'di raised his elbow letting its armor pad hit a button. The green circle communication lens flashed into yellow. While staring at the radar, he instinctively tapped a combination of buttons above him. Three blue symbols flashed above the cruiser's smaller on-screen map as the cruiser tethered into its chosen formation.

He breathed in and closed his eye. Every battle simulation he and his fleet went through him as if he had just finished it. Swollen lips curled into a smile. The on-screen radar zoomed itself in at three incoming targets. Heading toward their direction, they were in a circle formation. Heph'di's lower jagged teeth bit his smile as he saw their formation. His eye glazed at the yellow lens, and his eye stem bobbled. Questions, statements, and exclamations all came at the leader.

As Heph'di listened to an array of voices from his fleet, he closed his eye. His plump hand raised at the lens and swiped it into a clear color. He made a set of parallel lines of blue light at the communicator lens. On the sound of a chime of blops, Heph'di opened and focused his eye on its center. A small lime green dot appeared and shined.

"Surrender. Your form is as weak like brittle hull of that human scouting poo poo." Heph'di's heavy accent was more evident at the end as his tongue struggled not to roll out of his mouth.

Heph'di looked back at the radar. His attention focused on the targets, the incoming targets. It didn't take long for him to imagine the stereotypical, outdated fighters that the various enemies throw at the Sirinan fleet. He only needed to recall how quickly their hulls had shredded for him to insure he'll get some response, desperate or not, before his fleet could get their penetrating Nox laser cannons hot and smoking.

From clear to red, the lens blinked three times. Then it went clear again. Heph'di hit the communication switch. Nothing. He glazed at the lens, and a flash blinded him.

A loud booming voice vibrated through his eye stem and cruiser pit. "So, you confess in killing my sons then! The Zegre System shall be spared as I have a greater prize I will claim!"

Heph'di's eye blinked a succession of times. A faint memory struggled to come into his consciousness, but as his vision cleared, it came. Multiple clicks from the radar made him stare at the only window. A golden dot sped toward his direction, and it was growing. His body flinched as the eye focused itself. The charging ships around it receded behind it before the fleet leader's eye could make out any finer details.

The only detail he did manage to get was from the golden dot. It was the shape of a huge golden fist.

Heph'di glazed up at the radar. The circle changed into a line flicker by flicker as the radar tried to keep up with its own movement calculations.

Simulations never had miscalculations; but he and his fleet knew the real danger. Before Heph'di could ponder more, his body rocked and jumped. His eye stem became crooked. Vision disoriented again, Heph'di turned his eye to the lens. His trembling hand swiped a symbol of light, and the lens turned green. He shouted three words.

No response.

Again, Heph'di shouted the same three native words.


Heph'di swiped the lens into yellow and leaned his eye close to it. "Do not be captured!" His shouting, quivering voice became weaker along with his thinning eye stem. Watching the new formation going into place, the leader raised his fingers to change his fleet formation.

They never reached the radar as Heph'di felt another jolt from his cruiser. Retreat was never an option. Retreat was never a word for him or his fleet, but he couldn't summon the rest of his dogma as his vision went black.

May 31, 2012
In it with this:

"No man is rich enough to buy back his past"

May 31, 2012
I need sleep badly. Gonna have to sit this one out.

May 31, 2012
Jumping in on this while taking a flash rule.

(Please don't hit me too hard)

May 31, 2012
A Gate's Graceful Descendent
WC: 995

A hunchback elder of Soliva glared at a younger woman in a green dress. "The counsel can't wait any longer, Adularia," she said, "If you manage to drive away three suitors in one day, they or somebody might take drastic measures."

Adularia faked a smile. "It isn't my fault the beasts that the incompetent landers send me were fortune seekers wanting something I can provide." She sat down on one end of the green glass table. Looking up at the transparent glass floating above, she said, "Play the recorded message, Olga."

Olga raised a blue cubed shaped crystal. "This one will be speaking to you presently. Please be courteous."

"How so? The security measures are still in place for a reason."

"It matters not if you can't see each other," Olga said.

While the crystal emitted a faint glow, the elder lowered it on a jade stand. The glass turned black, and a red vertical line appeared in the middle. "Good evening my grace," A deep masculine voice said, "This humble servant is honored to be able to speak and hear you." A ripple cruised through the line for every word spoken by him.

"What does a humble servant like yourself want to speak to me about?" Adularia said.

"How beautiful our marriage and reunion will be. It will be one our ancestors would be proud of."

Adularia stood and slammed both hands on the table. "Say nothing about my mother!" Olga hobbled by her side humming a tune as the queen violently coughed at the end of her sentence. After the coughing subsided, she sat back down and took a deep breath. Without looking up she said, "I will give you three trillion credits if you find another bride."

Hearing the number, Olga's fingers almost fumbled off her staff. Before she could raise an objection, the voice said, "You had already given three things more valuable than your money, my grace."

"And what would that be?"

"Your existence, survival, and ring."

"What ring?"

A holographic image of an iron ring appeared in front of Adularia. Three small indentations were on the lower half that was joined together by a rough jade charm of a hammer. Olga's eyes widened when she saw it. "You'd gave away my gift?" she whispered, "When did you give this?"

"It's just a common ring," Adularia whispered back. She crossed her arms together as the ring dissipated. "Do you have relatives or friends that are in trouble? If they are within the kingdom's boundaries or one of its colonies, I can pardon them instead of the money."

"I am the last of my kin," he said, "My only friends are time, duty, and pleasure."

Adularia scoffed. "Then what will I be to you if we get married?"

"My most valuable treasure that I would eternally serve for just as I have been doing for my motherland."

A large grin appeared on Olga's face. "He has the bearings of being one of the best kings Soliva has ever had," she whispered."

"Or being the short-lived with that kind of idealist thinking," Adularia whispered back while leaning back. Her pressed lips let out a soft breath, but her posture straightened as she clasped both of her hands together. Looking up at the screen, she smiled. "How about if I give you more power to serve your purpose?"

"What greater power?"

"Anything else that you want," said Adularia. She raised a finger and quickly added, "I can do whatever in my power to ease your homeland's troubles!"

Silence immaculate the room. In that moment, the voice echoed. "Not to offend you my grace, but your kin had centuries worth of that power you speak of and did nothing with it as they look down upon it with indifference."

"Well I can change that!" Adularia said, "Whatever it takes! You can have this tower if it serves your purpose and I can help whatever your duty is!"

"I am glad that we are in agreement that you are willing to take up the duties that were woefully neglected together my grace," the voice said, "I shall take the first step by letting the motherland reclaim what is rightfully hers."

The glass turned back to its neutral clear state. Adularia face jolted into a shock as she realized what she had left out. The crystal resting upon its stand fell, but Olga drew it into her free hand as its faint glow turned stronger. Her feeble legs and old crane remained grounded while Adularia held on to the table.

"This man isn't named king yet!" Adularia said. "How is he doing this?"

Smiling, Olga lowered her head. "Technically, he has been king ever since you gave him the ring," she said.

Adularia's face turned into rage. "You had tricked me, hag!"

"No trickery has been involved," Olga said, "But I had never believed my fail safe would work until tonight."

"But the ring is a common one, not a wedding ring!"

"Your family's emblem stone is just as authoritative as your voice. It matters not if it or the ring wasn't refined or polished as long as the stone came from the tower."

"Who approved it? It sure as hell wasn't the counsel if the tower would be falling down to our deaths!"

"The answer lies within you." Olga limped to an arched window. "There's no need to fear death for the king's dutiful kin had built this tower to stand for millenniums among the engineers and gem masons of the old third millennium. Come enjoy the view of a lifetime my dearest."

Adularia legs remain stiff under the table. "Who is this secret king!"

Olga kept facing the window. "One who had never forgotten or learned the old ways."

"No more games or riddles!" Adularia shouted, "I order you to tell me who is this king!"

The hunchback elder of Soliva said with pride, "A Cohen, an engineer akin to my great great grandmother."

May 31, 2012
Genre: Scrambler

Write a horror story about a stubborn movie star who is always getting into trouble with her parents.

May 31, 2012
I'll join in.


May 31, 2012
I'll be going out of town all day and night Saturday, and I don't want to add more to make up.

Running is Free
WC: 500

Cynthia swiped her chromized golden glasses over her eyes immediately as a part of the sky rail broke into two by an emaciated worm breaking through the digital tracks. The train swerved away toward another track, a developing detour leading away from the hole. It arched its wired covered mandibles toward Cynthia's direction while Cynthia's glasses, the Synthmaker, projected digital disturbances the creature had caused along with holographic warning windows across her lenses. She dug into her golden dyed afro and took out a set of micro-cards.

While the woman install them in their respective slots, she heard a voice going through her ears. "Cynthia, she's baitin you to go alone. Wait for us."

She didn't have to look or focus for the data source when she recognized her voice. "At this point, Dona had threw away any logical thinking," Cynthia said. A part of her mind kept in sync with one of the tetradic circuits while continuing. Cynthia eased further into the visual details of the damage the glasses had caught. The digital burrow within the tracks were collapsing into itself after the worm pulled its whole body out. Violet colored lines of light seeped out, and they latched themselves onto the green track and the worm.

"Do you have at least three minutes?"

"The security level will be elevated to red if I don't do something now."

"When was the last time security was ever elevated to any level for a sector like the Grumpson Slums?"

Cynthia shook her head. "Security has always been elevated for major damage like this." She pulled up a window into the right lens. The level remained the same.

"Wit all that budget cuttin and incompentce, I'll be surprised if one deputy bother to respond." A plump face of a woman with a red scarf covering her hair appeared on a lens. Her large red cat eye shades covered her eyes. "You can't die now, and you sure as hell can't afford to be locked up."

Cynthia forced her focus back to the worm. Watching it wiggle and tear its body out from the track, she could hear residents looking at it with awe and glee. It wasn't long before alarms went off at the same time windows were smashed. Along with the shatters and sirens there were cursing, threats, and gunfire that she drowned away from her sensory field.

A surge of electricity jammed out of the worm's protruding metallic bones. While it drew itself toward every supporting beam of the sky track, Cynthia ran forth punching in commands with harmony with the Synthmaker and her connected tetradic circuits. Her display flashed at the imminent discordance the surge had created within the fading tracks.

Making a last minute change to the commands was not an option. Waiting for anybody to help her was not one either. The only logical thing for her to do was to keep running. Time was always neutral to everyone regardless what anyone had said to her.

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