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 DECEMBER MONTHLY FICTION CONTEST 2014: SEASONS' GREETINGS  Well hell, it's been a long time since we've had one of these. A new month is just around the corner, and I think it's time for another big monthly fiction competition. The stakes have never been more existent, because we've got  FABULOUS PRIZES for the top 3 stories.Here's the deal: you have to post in this thread before December 15th to sign up. You may enter your story at any point in December, but you're encouraged to spend some extra time polishing it up. Entries before or after December will be disqualified, with a little bit of leeway given for different timezones. So what should you write about? Well, in my weirdo part of the world it's high summer, and in TVland it's winter. I want you to choose one of those two seasons and set a story in it. The season must be important to the story: if you write a winter story, it couldn't happen in any other season. If you write a summer story, it couldn't happen in any other season. Apart from that, it's up to you: let your imagination run wild. Word count is 2000-3000. No restrictions on genre except no erotica, and no fanfiction. I'm not going to ban anime, but you should know that the last guy who tried to write a sexy harem story for one of these competitions lost so hard that his children and their children will be illiterate for seven generations. Ah, and what about the prizes? They're not amazing, but it doesn't hurt to have a little incentive. 1st Place: $20 Amazon Gift Card, one forum upgrade up the value of $10 2nd Place: $15 Amazon Gift Card 3rd Place: $10 Amazon Gift Card You may sign up at any time, but hold your horses on posting your story. You may seek outside help, but please don't do it in CC. That's it! Good luck. ------------------------- The tl;dr version JUDGES: Myself, Sitting Here, Soundmonkey WORD COUNT: 2000-3000 SIGN UP DEADLINE: December 15th SUBMISSION DEADLINE: New Year's Day THEME: Choose Summer or Winter, then embody it BANNED STUFF: Erotica, Fanfiction DISAPPROVED OF STUFF: being too drat anime FABULOUS PRIZES: Amazon Gift Cards, SA stuff ------------------------ Entrants: ZeBourgeoisie Entenzahn Morning Bell No Gravitas thehomemaster Bobby Deluxe Popular Human hotsoupdinner sebmojo jonked Mercedes Chairchucker Grizzled Patriarch Icon-Cat December Octopodes SadisTech malleusmalefic RedTonic Martello libluini God of Paradise kurona_bright ScaryJen 22gears PunkAssBookJockey fraidykat Ironic Twist Crabrock Quiet Feet SurreptitiousMuffin fucked around with this message at 10:35 on Dec 16, 2014 |
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Nov 24, 2014 04:52
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Ah yeah, I'll sign up.
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Nov 24, 2014 04:55
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Ok.
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Nov 24, 2014 08:21
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In.
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Nov 24, 2014 08:27
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It will suck. I don't have time. I will be laughed at. Ah, screw it. I'm in.
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Nov 24, 2014 08:27
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I'm in.
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Nov 24, 2014 08:48
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I'm gonna do a words for you guuuyyysss
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Nov 24, 2014 08:48
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I'm in.
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Nov 24, 2014 16:16
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I'll sign up.
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Nov 24, 2014 18:49
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Slap me down.
sebmojo fucked around with this message at 00:54 on Nov 25, 2014 |
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Nov 24, 2014 23:45
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Oh, I will. With my words.
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Nov 25, 2014 02:59
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Okay, why not.
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Nov 26, 2014 05:06
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Why not.
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Nov 26, 2014 05:25
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:you're encouraged to spend some extra time polishing it up LOL Also, in for this
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Nov 26, 2014 10:33
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Yeah ok.
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Nov 26, 2014 17:25
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In--so very in. Glad to see these coming back.
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Nov 26, 2014 23:57
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I'm in.
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Nov 27, 2014 09:44
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I'd love to participate.
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Nov 28, 2014 12:55
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I am interested in participating.
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Dec 1, 2014 15:34
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Nano's over, so I'm signing up.
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Dec 1, 2014 16:31
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I'm gonna write about BLOOD in the SNOW. CYBERBLOOD.
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Dec 2, 2014 17:11
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I'm in. I think I'll try my hand on something light-hearted and winter-related.
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Dec 3, 2014 23:29
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Why not? I'll do it.
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Dec 4, 2014 00:14
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I'm signing up. Hopefully I'll start working on it earlier than the last week of December.
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Dec 4, 2014 08:39
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I'll enter.
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Dec 5, 2014 05:44
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I'll give it a shot.
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Dec 10, 2014 12:25
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Five days remain for signups.
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Dec 10, 2014 13:15
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I think I would like to do this.
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Dec 11, 2014 21:02
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I'd like to take part if I can still sign up. edit: hey, maybe I should read a few posts in before posting! Count me in anyway!
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Dec 13, 2014 04:10
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I'm in.
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Dec 13, 2014 17:35
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OK, i thought of something; in.
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Dec 13, 2014 17:52
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Sign-up closes in one hour.
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Dec 15, 2014 01:03
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Edit: Ah, NM. Just noticed the time stamp on the last post. Quiet Feet fucked around with this message at 01:03 on Dec 16, 2014 |
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Dec 16, 2014 00:59
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Quiet Feet posted:
SIGN-UPS CLOSED. SUBMISSIONS DUE JUST AFTER NEW YEARS'. GET WRITING YOU DOGS.
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Dec 16, 2014 10:34
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:
How do we submit?
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Dec 16, 2014 10:40
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Post your story in the thread, or link it in here via google docs. Don't post it before it's finished. No edits or backsies will be allowed. NB: if you want crit on your piece, please say so. Anybody reading this thread can crit, regardless of whether they're entered or not, but please only give crit if the author has asked for it.
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Dec 16, 2014 10:45
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:Post your story in the thread, or link it in here via google docs. Don't post it before it's finished. No edits or backsies will be allowed. Can I link it over my blog? I wanted to restart posting stuff on that poor, neglected thing, but thought I should ask before I commit some sort of writer faux pas.
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Dec 21, 2014 01:42
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Sure.
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Dec 21, 2014 04:31
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I'm entering tonight because I'm leaving for Christmas and don't foresee having time to work on this once I'm back. Let this serve as incentive to finish your projects, CC: you wouldn't want my little story to win by default! "Snowfall" — 2079 words. Critiques are welcome. ========== My niece is mumbling; I can’t make out what she’s saying from up here, at the top of a hill that to her must seem a grueling and perilous slope. She’s floating a question to her mom. Karen listens, then: “Ask him,” she says. Iona turns to me and yells: “Uncle Charlie, will you go down on the sled with me, really, really fast?” “Sure thing, kid,” I tell her, and I let her bring the sled up, one of those cheap plastic jobs—it’s purple, which matches her snowsuit. “Don’t walk in the path,” I remind her halfway up. “You wanna keep the sled path clear.” She takes charge. “Don’t get on till I’m ready.” I get on anyway. “Don’t go till I’m ready,” she says, and this time I obey. Iona—how she got stuck with that name, I don’t know—seems under the impression that timing matters quite a bit in sledding. Her shouts are sharp—“Ooooone, twooooo”—and on “three” we push, and we are lucky, because it’s a good run, and I see my sister smile as she gets us more or less in frame on her phone. My hands are thrust skyward, aping Rocky; Iona has offered a Platonic ideal of a “Whooooaaa.” As our sled nears flat ground again I roll off and deposit myself into snow, well aware that it’ll look good for the video. Karen gets the shot. “That was close,” says Iona, who’s coasted to a stop a mere seventeen feet from a tree. “You wanna go again, kid?” I chirp. “I’m gonna go myself this time,” Iona says. I stand beside my sister and review the footage with a practiced eye. “I can’t believe you’re not cold,” she says, gesturing at my pants and shoes. “I’m fine. You’ve just been so used to dressing Iona up in snow pants and stuff.” “You ready?!” calls Iona, from the top of the hill. “We’re watching,” Karen calls back. “Watch this,” says Iona. “Watch.” Only when she’s convinced that we’re really, really watching does she make another run. “Good stuff,” I murmur. It’s a hell of a day. Blue skies and enough clouds to keep the sun from glaring—it’s coming down through leaf-stripped trees to cast soft cobalt shadows on just-a-little-steel-blue snow. We’re playing in a tucked-away corner of a small park near my sister’s place in Fort Greene. I had to walk to be here, but it wasn’t too bad, and anyway I like being out in the snow. “… and anyway I like being out in the snow,” I finish explaining to Karen. “But I guess you know that.” “Well, it’s very cool that you were able to make it out,” she says. I shrug. “My beloved industry really slows down in the winter. No one’s shooting.” This is not a lie. “I’ve barely earned a buck since Thanksgiving. Maybe this is why everyone’s telling me I should be in L.A.” In New York you don’t have tornado warnings or wildfires out in the hills or those earthquakes that Californian locals brush off. You have hurricanes and snow. And the hurricanes were a recent addition. They say the winters here are bad, but they’re all I’ve ever known, and most of my memories are good ones. A New York winter is a beautiful and inconvenient thing. It forces the fastest-paced place around to go slow. Once a season a storm blows through and blankets the city in snowfall, stopping all trains in and out and cooping everyone up within their neighborhoods. This is when the people who have people snuggle up beneath their covers together. This is when the children take to the hills. The winter months: for when you’re okay with the world stopping cold. “You remember how Dad used to take us down the hill?” I ask. “At Grandpa Barry’s place?” “I’m surprised you remember. You were so young.” “Eh—Iona’s age, probably.” “You think?” Iona hasn’t been down the hill in a while—she’s at work on a ramp. I still have enough of a kid-brain to know what she thinks it’s gonna do and it isn’t gonna work. “Whatcha doin’ there,” I shout, as neutrally as I can. “I’m gonna go over,” she says, sounding sure of herself, packing more soft snow together. “Ya think?” Trying not to judge. “I’m gonna go up and go flying.” She does not detect that neither her mother nor I seem concerned for her safety. “Kid’s hard at work,” I observe, only loud enough for Karen to hear. “She’s a trooper,” she says. “Probably inspired by Elsa summoning the snow, don’tcha think—I’m not getting her Frozen crap this year, incidentally,” I say. “It’s gonna be classic books again. I don’t care if they sit in the corner.” Karen rolls her eyes a bit. “I’ll welcome literally anything into my house that doesn’t play ‘Let It Go’.” “Kind of funny ‘cause you took me to Rent, back in the day, with Adele Dazeem,” I ramble. “You loved ‘Take Me or Leave Me’. Now you’re sick of her voice.” It wasn’t the most concise argument I ever made, but Karen understands. “Almost done,” Iona calls, apropos of nothing. “Well, she’s finishing the job,” I say. “Dad woulda been proud,” Karen decides. When the ramp is complete my niece trudges up the hill with an admirable determination. This time she remembers not to walk in the path. The are-you-watching ritual transpires. “One… two… three!” Iona shouts, and she guns for the ramp. She clips it at the side, but that’s not what stops her flight—the snow is just too soft, it’s not packing, it bursts like monochrome confetti and she knows what’s happened even before she looks at the remnants of five minutes’ work. This is where we have tears. “Oh, come on…” I’m using my encouraging, avuncular voice. “It’s all right.” “It broke!” she shouts. Unproductive discussion commences. I stay out of my sister’s attempts to calm my niece and stare at a nearby tree; one of the side joys of being just an uncle is that no one expects you to do any serious work. “It was supposed to work!” screams my niece, throwing snow. My sister takes charge. “Iona—eyes on Mommy. Iona—you can try it again, but you can’t throw a fit if it doesn’t work out.” Sometimes after all the shouting stops I offer some words of postmortem counsel to the kid. I might tell her, hey, you can always try again; I might tell her, maybe you just need a different kind of day. “You want Uncle Charlie to help you?” Karen says, her voice sliding upwards. “No,” decides Iona. “I’ll do it myself.” She tries the whole ramp thing again, and it doesn’t work this time, either, but this time there are no tears. * * * Saturday. Cold in the city, though never quite as cold as in the outer boroughs—there is something in the pulse, the heat of warm bodies and yellow cabs and friction that makes Manhattan less inclined to freeze over. My mom gets a call from me between errands—my errands, not hers, my last gasps of shopping in brick-and-mortar stores. I get the machine—she’s still on a landline—and I tell the machine that I love it. I like the older generation. You never feel bad about leaving them a voicemail. I tell her the city is all lit up for Christmas. I do not tell her I need money. I figure she’ll have some when I get home— I hope. The stores are packed and painful. But I know what I need and it’s not at the popular counters. It’s just enough to spend to keep appearances up; it goes without fuss. Everything fits in one bag. I guess I got used to the warm blood pushing past me—only when I leave Macy’s proper, and its crushing sea of human mass, does the outside world seem cold. The sky is a slate gray giving way to midnight blue. The lights of Herald Square give the buildings an unnatural glow, courtesy of advertisements for sporting goods and lingerie. I’ve got time, so I walk. Everyone I pass seems annoyed. * * * Brock is ten minutes late to dinner. He picked the place—Mexican, but classy Mexican, not chili. Still okay for me. Entrees under twenty bucks. “It’s been too long,” I inform him, and he does not disagree. We’ve been best friends since we were young enough to still care about ranking friends—I mean, he called his wife “[his] best friend” in their wedding vows and I didn’t get rankled. I ask him what he’s up to and he tells me. He asks me what I’m up to and I lie. Slowly the talk becomes small. His sister-in-law just got pregnant; “Well, that’s good for you,” I tell him. “Being an uncle is great. You just do fun things and don’t have any of the responsibilities.” “I bet,” he says. (He and Joanna are in year two of maybe-next-yearing on a kid.) “No, for real,” I say, and I tell a sledding story. “It’s weird, though. I don’t really think of Iona as my niece—like she’s my relative, you know? I don’t even see her as Karen’s kid—I can’t believe my sister has a kid. I just see her as, I dunno, Karen’s little roommate.” I am halfway through my paragraph before I sense that he has no idea what I’m talking about. “gently caress it,” I conclude. “You ordering dessert?” “Do men ever order dessert, when they’re out with other men?” I shrug. “We could call it your birthday cake.” “Aww. You remembered.” Perfect deadpan. “Yeah, I won’t see you Friday, will I. We’re past the age for birthday parties.” “We’re even past the age for just announcing on Facebook, ‘I’m gonna hang out in a bar from eight till twelve, come by.’” “I bet it used to be a real drag having a December birthday,” I snicker. “Lazy aunts trying to make one gift pass for both occasions, stuff like that.” “Nowadays it doesn’t even matter,” he says, by way of agreement. “You know what I’m doing for my birthday this year? Taking Joanna to a show.” “If it’s your birthday why is she picking—” “Don’t ask.” We part. I take the long way toward my train. Snow in Manhattan. This is the snow we were warned about, the kind the Mayor was talking about in both English and Spanish on the news, the kind that goes national so people in Cleveland and Phoenix can marvel at what happened up here. The city is winter’s now; streets are pure white. Cars are wary. A snowball fight has erupted in Times Square. New York is ghosting over. The staircases jutting off the midtown office buildings have turned into soft slopes and hillsides. It’s hard to tell if you’re on the curb or not. I walk. The snow in the air is light and fluffy, crinkling and crunching beneath my feet. There are girls bundled up in red coats with toggles and black coats with buttons and long scarves and fuzzy white hats. The snow makes a curtain in the air, backlit by the city, and the atmosphere glows and it’s not even cold any more. I reach something lovely. Rockefeller Center is packed. There’s a ring of carolers next to the tree—I don’t know if they were a group to begin with or if they’ve come together, but, I’d like to think—it’s not important. The tree reaches heaven and every glowing pinpoint is perfectly balanced by every other color and it’s brilliant, inspiring, perfect. All around it, light pollution from the towers fills the air with electric white haze. The carolers strike up “The First Noel”. I bathe in the light. It is magic, the city, and it slips these moments into your life just when you think it’s stopped paying attention. I shut my eyes and say a silent prayer under first, fresh snow. It only takes a minute to ask God to help me to be better. I take my leave. Five minutes later I slip on the ice outside Radio City and land on my rear end with a thud. Iona will enjoy this story some day, I decide, and I pull myself up and back onto the ice and carefully take little baby steps into the whitening world.
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Dec 24, 2014 01:01
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What I did on my summer vacation by Jack Frost 2278 Words Jack wiped the sweat off of his brow. The blisters that had formed so easily at the start had burst and faded, and now his rough hands complained only a little with every strike of the pickaxe. The sweat poured down his face, making him yearn for the water break. The water they gave was a precious thing, and far to important to waste on a futile attack. The suited bastards never gave enough, just the barest amount to keep the prisoners alive. They had taken him months ago, just as winter had been approaching. He had seen an ice giant slowly waste away under the burning summer sun. It seemed they had taken every mythic being related to the cold. A suit had returned, and signaled a blessed, but all too short break. They had established a system, after the first few incidents. A chain of suits passed water out, always just a small bowl, and the slightest jostle could send the precious fluid down to the thirsty ground. When he had first arrived he had tried to freeze the blood in the suits' veins, but they only turned and smiled, eyes seeming to glow behind their sunglasses. One of the other prisoners always slurped their water noisily allowing it to splash onto their face. The waste made him sick, but communicating was punished severely, and the lines for water had too many eyes watching to risk it.. The man in the rabbit suit finished, and wiping his damp face, turned back towards where Jack had left his pick axe. Not wanting to risk a beating, Jack carefully finished every drop of water, and rushed back to claim his tool before the bunny suit could cause any problems. He had tried to keep a close eye on him and thought he was doing well, but after a guard blocked his sight he found no sign of what had to be the Easter Bunny. By his tool he noticed a single painted egg. Making sure he wasn't observed he slipped the egg into his sleeve and hefted the familiar weight of the pickax. The suits insisted that they keep digging straight down, and made no efforts towards safety. He had seen them haul off a gnome weeks, months earlier shouting about shoddy craftsmanship. He hadn't returned. The sun finally began to set, and mercifully the suits called out for work to end. It seemed entirely random as to whether they stopped at sundown or worked long into the night. Dropping off his tool with the others he returned to the tiny shack that now formed his home. Locked in for the night he made sure to wait until the guards finished their rounds before finally cracking the egg he had found. Inside was a scroll with tiny, delicate writing. He had to place himself just by a crack near the door to have enough light to read by. Jack, it's the Easter bunny. They captured me, but somehow missed the Easter Goddess. I've been slowly working on supplying the others and informing them through my eggs. Keep your head down, but keep an eye out for my next egg to you. When it comes it will be time to escape. I'll need you to pick a fight, but be sure to hide the egg on your person well before starting it. You have to get to the man in charge with the egg still on you. From there you'll know what to do. After you read this please eat it to eliminate the evidence, and don't worry about the taste. It's sugar. I devoured the note and relished the traces of sweetness that lingered on my lips. It was one week later that the time finally came. Finally I noticed the egg after returning from a water break. As I touched it I knew it was full of water, not much, but enough to take out one person. Tucking it into my sleeve I kept working, waiting for my opportunity. The next time the water break was called I find myself standing in front of a dwarf, more stone than flesh. A silent apology crossed my mind as I threw my elbow back, clocking the dwarf in the head. In a cry equal parts rage and shock he reacted kicking the back of my knee as a fist landed on my kidney. I gave as good as I got, but I was dragged away with the beginnings of a black eye as the suits laid their hands on both me and the dwarf. I was dragged towards some nicer buildings, and sighed with relief as a wave of air conditioning hit me. For the first time in months I didn't feel weak, and knowing it was winter back home I took heart from this chilled hallway. The suits escorted me, with a tight grip on my elbows and wrists, and as we reached a heavy oak door they stopped me and patted me down. I carefully kept a blank face as they patted me down, and somehow, miraculously failed to notice the egg up my sleeve. I guess the Easter Bunny's eggs can only be found if they want to be. As the door opened I was pushed inside and stared at the man behind the desk. "Sam." The man wore a star and stripes bandanna, but otherwise matched all of the war posters I had seen back in the States. "Jack, please, call me Uncle." "Well, Uncle, what the hell are you doing here? Australia's a long way from home isn't it?" "Hah! No place is to far for our democratic ways to reach. How did you know it was Australia by the way?" "It's the middle of winter back home, but here I am sweating to death in a heatwave on red soil. I took a guess." "Well done, well done. It's a shame you had to go and make trouble like this. Why I was prepared to let all of you go, once we were done." A rictus smile grew on his face. "Bullshit. What the hell do you have us digging for that you couldn't set soldiers or your suits to dig?" "Hmm. I suppose I could answer your question as a last request. We're mining the Songlines." "The what?" "The Songlines, the leylines, the lines of force that made Australia. We tried using soldiers at first, of course, but it proved impossible to find with humans doing the work. So we started capturing mythic folk, gives us a cleaner shot at finding the drat lines. Some aren't as popular so they don't last long, but others, like you, well you've stayed nice and strong." "Why are you telling me this?" "It's real simple boy. You have two options. You can join me, keep the others in line, and enjoy some power. Hell, just being in this AC is doing you wonders. The other option is to die like a dog. You know too much now for this to end any other way." I knew the answer even before I raised my left arm, egg still concealed by my wrist. In an instant the water inside had formed an icicle, shot out, and pierced Uncle Sam's eye. "I'll take door number three." As I reached the door, flinging it open. I glanced back for an instant, and where I had hoped to see him slumping over I saw black ooze flowing out from his ruined right eye as he raged. "Get Jack Frost!" He had the presence of mind to turn on his intercom, and yelled into it as I slipped further down the hall. Two of the suits came in, guns ready. I would have been worried if the vent above hadn't been pouring out cold, cold air. With the suits frozen in place I quickly made my way outside, back into the sweltering summer heat. The others had turned on the guards, but far more prisoners than suits lay motionless. I saw the Easter Bunny on the level below flinging Easter Eggs like they were hand grenades, and receiving similar results. Behind me I heard a terrible sound of metal shrieking. Turning I saw Uncle Sam, a heavy metal door hanging off it's hinge, and the foam at his mouth as he looked at me with both eyes, though the right was now solid black. "I'm gonna make you bleed boy. You'll wish you were never born." The Easter Bunny had come up to the top level, as I saw an egg slap against Sam's producing a yolk instead of a satisfying blast. Without shifting his eyes from me he drew a gun from the holster at his waist and shot out. I heard EB's cry, but knew looking would be a mistake. He started approaching and I had no choice but to back up. "Jack, catch." I turned my head for an instant, and almost fumbled the egg lobbed in my direction. I turned back to see Uncle Sam a moment before he tackled me bringing me out above the pit. He started scrabbling at me, fighting to claw the egg out of my grip. Knowing the height was enough to kill a mortal I curled up, sheltering the egg as Sam and I plummeted to the Earth. My eyes were shut, and so it took a moment to realize that the wind no longer whistled past my ears. The searing heat had faded, and as I opened my eyes I was struck by how blue everything was. The pit, the suits, the prisoners were all gone, and Sam and I were now laying on blue tinged soil, under a wide open blue sky. "Well, this worked out better than I had hoped." Sam said, a manic glint in his eye as he pulled out a second gun. He was still smiling right as he pulled the trigger only to frown at the click it made. I let go of the breath I had been holding as he opened up the gun, only for dirt and leaves to slide out. "What in sam hill? The hell have you done boy?" He threw the gun aside and glared furiously until a vast voice rung out surrounding us. "The cold one has done nothing. We will not tolerate your crude weapon in the Dreamtime." I noticed again how the soil at our feet the trees, rocks and sky above all seemed to glow with the same shade of blue. I couldn't see the voice who had spoken, and could only hope it meant well. "Crude? I'll have you know that firearm was top of the line." "Your little explosions will do you no good here. I say again it is crude like your efforts to reach us." I suddenly saw massive shapes at the horizon they resembled pillars or towers, until they drew nearer and I recognized them for legs. With every stride they seemed to say the exact same size not growing enormous as I expected. As they drew closer I saw they were in fact shrinking, until finally I could see the torsos connected still high above us both. "Cold one, violent one, what is it you want from the dreaming?" I still couldn't see their heads, but they had already covered half the distance. "Power, I came here for power." Uncle Sam cried out. "I just want to be safe at home." I spoke, and could barely hear my words as they came out. "Power and Comfort. It is well that two have come." They had covered half the distance again and I could begin to make out their faces, still incredibly massive but somehow shrinking to accommodate our senses. Soon enough five figures stood surrounding us, each twice as tall as Uncle Sam. "We will determine which of you will gain their wish. A contest. A race." I couldn't see any one of them move their mouths, but felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise up. "A race? Bullshit! I came here for power and that's what I aim to take." He reached for yet another gun, only to find a stick in his hands. Suddenly we were on a beach, and though everything was still blue, it seemed like the other colors were pulsing, fighting to break out underneath. "You will each seek out the heart of the dreaming, and from it you will find what you seek. The first to find it will receive their wish. We have spoken." They vanished and the world resumed its normal pace. The blue had been taken away as well leaving us on a beach. "Well, the heart of the dreaming. Looks like all I have to do is take your sorry rear end, and I'll rule the world as I please." His right eye had changed again with the black oozing out to resemble an eye patch. He pulled out a phone and spoke into it. "Gen-I, where is the heart of the dreaming?" "It is at Uluru once known as Ayers rock, once known as Uluru." The voice that rang out had an accent not quite disguised by the electronic speaker putting it out. "Directions?" "GPS not possible from this location. Please try again later." He spit on the ground, and looked over at me. "First thing I do when I get there is put your sorry rear end in the ground." He shaded his eyes, taking in the sun and started running. The sun beat down on me, but at least I didn't have to dig anymore. I walked away from the shore and started to run.
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Dec 24, 2014 03:27
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