Last month's winner was The Joker. His story Crooked Walls was rich in it's description and totally unpredictable. I am extremely frightened of maggots so when they were mentioned within the storyline it instantly creeped me out. x: There was also a pleasant mix of formal storyline mixed with informal thoughts of the narrator. This month's theme is Piracy. Your stories this month have the potential to be whatever they like, as long as they shiver me and the other judge's timbers! /terrible joke We want cruel seas, fight scenes and amputations resulting in wooden legs! Deadline is the 30th of November. Looking forward to some intresting entries this month.
Okay, here's my story. CaughtIt was a dark moonless night. The stars were shining bright, a cool breeze gently blew the grass on my front lawn. My DVD burner was ready, my ISO set in IMGBurn. My project was Crash Bandicoot: Mind Over Mutant. The DVD spun, the laser engraving a series of ones and zeroes into the shiny underlayer of the disk. The progress bar moved, 30 percent, 31, 2, 3, and so on. I logged on the KH-Vids, and immediately click at the Spam Zone. My life was normal. I wasn't doing anything wrong. Or so I thought. 10:15 PM, my computer went black. 10:16 PM, a message appeared. "Don't move. Don't turn off your computer. We have you under constant surveillance." I sat there, staring at the message. 10:20, another message appeared. Do you understand? Without thinking, I typed Yes Son, are you aware that you are violating a federal law? No sir. Well you are. Now here's what I want you to do. Take the DVD out of your computer, and take it to a trash can. Then, break the disk over the can. Remember I'm watching your every move. So that's what I did. The glass in the DVD shattered into the tiniest shards imaginable. I walked back to my computer, and began typing. Okay, it's done. You did good son. Now I'm not going to arrest you, or even tell your parents. But you will have a criminal record, one that can't be erased under any circumstances. And I'm going to have your computer under constant surveillance. Don't ever try this again, because I'll know. My screen went back to normal. It was over. That was the day that I swore I would never pirate another game for as long as I lived.
Time and Tides Spoiler The sun glistened faintly over the cool Atlantic waters, its rays gliding over the tiny imperfections in the immaculate liquid gracefully. It was six o' clock, a perfect time to watch the sunrise at this time of year. Even though the young boy, completely taken aback by the stunning sight outside his bedroom window, was accustomed to waking much later, the mellow orange orb's ever so gradual ascent made the sacrifice of sleep entirely worth it. He always did love the ocean. He wondered if he could manage to escape to the outside and watch from the docks down below. His parents wouldn't approve of such a thing, but what did they know? They were too busy snoring their lives away. He stealthily tiptoed down the staircase, one step at a time, anticipating the disturbing creek at the climax of each of his paces. At last, he arrived at his destination after a lengthy journey of approximately fifteen feet. With a bit more confidence, he opened the front door, throwing on a light jacket simultaneously. He sat down at the dock, mere yards from his home, his feet dangling over the vast canyon of water, whose radiant blue tint reflected little glimmers of light. It was all so amazing to him, nothing could compare. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a disruption of sorts, something that didn't quite fit in with the placid natural vista, but was a beauty to behold, all the same. A magnificent galleon was about to drop anchor at the port a few hundred feet away. The sight fascinated him, but he kept looking out to the ocean, examining its ripples and waves. He heard creaks behind him, several in fact. He turned slowly and saw a group of men wearing uniforms that were signature of the Icelandic navy. He could tell that they were the ones who had come off the vessel that had just drop anchor. The idea of sailing the seas as your life's work was completely fascinating to him, while conversely everything else in the world seemed to bore him. He lay back and eventually fell asleep at the dock, much to his parents' disapproval. *** It was difficult to determine which was louder: the sound of pen and paper being thrown against a brick wall whilst boots stomped a wooden dock, or his screams, barely contained, and released only in small grumbles. He marched back to his home, his dream still a dream. For the umpteenth time, he was denied the privilege to wear the uniform of the navy. He looked out to the ocean again; it was glistening brilliantly, the midday sun casting its bright radiance upon the waking waters. He always did love the ocean. The ocean was a beautiful temptress; striking in appearance, practically begging him to come join her, but always out of reach. To be with this maiden was all he wanted. Any other way of life was a waste; it wasn't living. He strode off, more level headed than before, away from the docks, back to his home. At age eighteen, he really needed to find a way of life that would work for him, but as it had been so obvious for years, nothing away from the water would satisfy him. Walking by an alleyway, he noticed a rather stocky, well dressed man walking through with an heir of deviance. He led a promenade of odd looking fellows (not sailor-like at all, practically bums, if anything) towards a ship which seemed to be anchored in an unauthorized area. Not only that, but there were very noticeable differences between this slightly smaller vessel and the ones that the Navy sailed. How could it be that these seemingly ordinary men could commandeer a ship for themselves without government authorization? Hell if he knew, but the only thing that rivaled his lack of knowledge on the matter was his peaking interest. *** Thick, muddy waters engulfed his feet up to his ankles. Each stride was like a walk on a beach after a torrential downpour, however he didn't recall the beach having nails in the sand. In the very lowest sector of the ship was where the emergency rations were located. The depressing aspect of this was the fact that even their backup supplies were severely limited. He gathered what he could and, as ordered, brought food to the captain first. He ascended the steps to the main deck. Looking out to the ocean, reflecting the afternoon sun, surrounding him on all sides, he recalled how eager he was to become a pirate. He chuckled, though the situation was far from humorous. The ocean just had a way of making him more relaxed, he supposed. He always did love the ocean. No time to gaze out now, much to his dismay. Though it was uncalled for, since it wasn't as if it'd be going anywhere anytime soon. He returned to his duties and headed towards the captain's quarters. He always had a great sense of envy whenever he entered the room, for the captain lived the life he had always aimed for: that of an aimless sailor, navigating the waters, whose only task was to make sure he and his mates could eat. That was life. He opened the door cautiously, such as to not disturb the captain in whatever task he might be attending to. He peered inside in horror, mouth agape, eyes rivaling it in diameter. There stood the first mate, dagger in hand, blood running down his fingers. The captain's body, visible only after the door was further opened, was motionless in the luxurious armchair. But he made a misstep; one misplaced foot led to a deadly creak. He found himself to be in the cross hairs of the murderous first mate. The assailant approached him slowly, grinning. He simply stood his ground in the doorway, partly out of fear, partly out of instinct- an instinct to uphold his captain's honor. Sure, he endured hours upon hours of mind numbing work, but he found undeniable pride in that work, and had the captain to thank for everything. Slipping a hand slowly and inconspicuously into his pocket, he positioned a few rusty nails between his fingers. What was the first mate to think of him? Nothing more than a defenseless witness in a crime that was common among pirates. He could tell that the first mate was arrogant: a clear path to the first mate's torso and face was clearly visible. He could take him out right now, making himself captain of the entire crew, which was of a fairly respectable size. Or he could allow the first mate to either kill him, or let him live with a larger work load. The choice was rather obvious to him. With the speed of an assassin, his hand darted from his pocket, directly up to the eye of the first mate. A howl of pain echoed throughout the room; its volume would surely cause it to be heard throughout the ship, and, at least from his perspective, around the entire world. The strike went entirely as planned, and he had opened up the first mate to another assault, and a rather easy one at that; the first mate's dagger had been lost in the hysteria of the first mate's injuries. Picking up the knife slowly and gently, he walked over to the now kneeling first mate. Drawing the knife back, he released it forward again like the propellant unit of a catapult. Out of the first mate's back came a display of crimson beams. They stained his hands. Looking down at them, looking at the marks of blood, he was entranced; entranced to such an extent that even the first mate's bellowing cries of agony didn't so much as phase him. *** He found it funny how paranoid he was at first. Right after attaining the position of captain, he was constantly watching his back, afraid that just as quickly as he had risen to the title, he would then fall down into hell. After several years of commanding his crew, this fear had finally gone, and it showed; he made orders with the utmost assertiveness and didn't ask, but expected. He walked out of his quarters. The sky was getting darker as the sun made contact with the water. Its rippled reflection gave the immediate area around it an almost pink glow. He stared out in awe; he had finally done it. He always did love the ocean. He grinned as he leaned a good amount of his body weight against the railing. He had attained the sheer simplicity of life that he had always longed for. The path he took was tainted by blood, mostly that of others, but he seemed to have reached the end of it, and the payoff was simply incomparable. For some reason or another, he instinctively moved his hand down to the grip of his cutlass. Something about the atmosphere felt off. He nonchalantly looked over his shoulder; the deck was eerily devoid of any other life. He turned around, never moving his hand from the ready position, and started to walk back to his quarters. As he reached for the door, he heard the all-too-familiar sound of steel on wood. He grinned even wider. Turning to see who was making this noise, he noticed that it wasn't one of the usual suspects- the first mate, the navigator- but a lowly deckhand who came across a spare cutlass. It was held out in the ready position the tip seemed to be mere inches from his face when the deckhand was positioned at least ten feet from him. He chuckled a little and drew his cutlass. Impatient, he walked towards the deckhand, sword along his side, not even in the ready position to defend against an attack. He got within six feet of the deckhand before the first strike was made. Lunging at him with just a slight heir of nervousness about was the young deckhand. This eager move proved to be an unwise one, as he reflected it fairly easily. The two squared off under the growing glow of the moonlight. It seemed like hours, days even. They stepped to the dance of death for an eternity. He dropped from his stance and left himself open. He grunted cockily, practically begging the feeble deckhand to slice open his torso. The deckhand obliged, making a movement to his chest, but then pulling downwards, incapacitating his left leg instead. He took a knee, not only out of the undeniable need to, but out of admittance of the fact that he had been defeated. The grin never left his face for a moment. He looked into the deckhand's eyes. He accepted his red fate. *** The sun glistened faintly over the cool Atlantic waters, its rays gliding over the tiny imperfections in the immaculate liquid gracefully. It was six o' clock, a perfect time to watch the sunrise at this time of year. But not today. An entire crew of men watched as four individuals carried out a crudely made casket. Loyalty is a fickle trait among pirates; used sometimes, misused and abused at others. The situation was a difficult one for the crew. How to feel? Emotions were mixed as the uneven wooden box was raised up to the level of the main deck's railing. Those who carried it rested it on the top of the railing and looked out to the ocean, perhaps expecting it to tell them how to feel. Getting no answer, they turned to their captain, who did nothing but nod. They pushed the casket over the edge. The shoddy wooden container had many imperfections, which included holes and cracks in the material. Water began to flow into the casket slowly. The crew looked on as the wooden box sank lower and lower. No one said a word, even after the makeshift coffin had been completely engulfed by the water. It sank to the depths of the ocean. The currents cradled it with care, and, slowly but surely, it explored every last inch of the mammoth body of water. He always did love the ocean.
If I actually have whatever time in my four remaining days I shall attempt to enter a quick story. Consider this a possible reserve post.
Inspiration Here's my submission, entitled "Inspiration." Spoiler There are a lot of galaxies. In each galaxy, there are countless systems, which are made up of many planets. There could be anywhere from three to fifty planets in any given system. On some of these planets, there is life. This life is made possible by certain traits aligning to create hospitable conditions. Out of all the life-forms on these planets, only some are considered to be "sentient." There is a race of these sentient beings known as humans. It is the story of one of these humans that you will be hearing here today. Johnsal Jakl was an ordinary, Earthling boy. He dreamed of being a captain of a space ship. And not just any space ship. He wanted to be captain of the famed and feared pirate ship, the Inspiration. It was said that the current captain of this ship picked such a name as Inspiration due to his up-bringing by famous author, Fari-Sol of the Jupiter Landing. Fari-Sol brought The Captain, (which is what everyone calls him seeing as nobody knows his true name), to Earth when he was only fifteen years old. It was quite an experience for The Captain to go to where his parents were said to have been murdered by the Great Sahra-Andra, a space pirate from Andromeda. The Captain was afraid that he'd incounter his parents' killer while there. He was right to be afraid. Fari-Sol was killed two days after they arrived. She was killed in the same way that The Captain's parents had been killed -- an electro-bullet to the head. It was uncanny how all three deaths had been incurred by a single, electrified bullet to the same exact spot in the brain. It was as if the murders were planned. And so, having nothing left but Fari-Sol's star ship, The Captain left Earth, off to scrounge around for a living, which he found becoming the one thing that could stand up to Sahra-Andra and his crew -- a space pirate... Johnsal loved these stories. He longed to see stars zip by from the bridge of a Striker-class, modded battleship. He wanted to walk the corridors of the Inspiration and sit at the table of the famed man known as The Captain... He wanted it all! And he would get it. But not in the way that he had planned... [MARQUEE]THREE YEARS LATER...[/MARQUEE] Johnsal was seventeen now, old enough to get his Sky Skimmer license. He was excited, ready to soar through the skies on his very own Sky Skimmer... There was only one obstacle that kept getting in his way: the last test that is requred for getting a license. He kept getting incredibly close to passing, but just one or two questions would be wrong each time! It was driving him mad! He was on his way into the DFV, (Department of Flying Vehicles), when he spotted a cloak whipping around the corner into an alleyway to his left. New York's West District was being rebuilt after the recent end of World War III, and that's where the DFV was. Why would anyone besides lowlifes, aspiring flyers, and construction robots be doing here? That guy looked like... A captain of a ship... Johnsal followed the cloaked man around the corner into a long, shabby alleyway that was lined with stores. He stayed relatively far back to not draw attention to himself. He followed this man for three and a half blocks away from downtown when they got to the next main road. The man's cloak was red and gray, which rang a bell to Johnsal for some reason... The man turned into another alleyway. This time, there was no way out. I was dead end. Johnsal stayed at the entrance to the alleyway and hid at the corner. The man didn't turn as he reached into his pocket pulled out a compact communicator. He held the talk button and it crackled. He smacked it against his other hand and swore, saying something about, "...damn first mate gotta gimme this piece o' crap...." So he was a captain! Johnsal was getting excited. He was thinking of going up and talking to this captain when the captain spoke into the communicator. "Jolaj!" A crackled reply came back. "Ready the Inspiration. We depart as soon as I'm aboard. I fear that the American government is onto me." "Roger!" Johnsal froze as soon as he heard the man say "Inspiration." Is that...? Could it really be...?! A teleporter ring appeared around the man that Johnsal now knew to be The Captain. He freaked out and ran toward him, diving into the teleporter ring as it separated and took the two of them to the Inspiration, which was cloaked up in orbit... [MARQUEE]ABOARD THE INSPIRATION...[/MARQUEE] "Damn boy! Ye realize what coulda happen'd?!" The Captain screamed at Johnsal as he got up off the floor of the bridge. "I'm sorry, sir. It's just that --" Johnsal scrambled to apologize, but The Captain cut him off. "I don't give two shakes o' a tutuoiwa's tentacle! Ye coulda kilt me! Ye coulda kilt both o' us!" "Shall I trow 'im ou' th' cahgo bey?" A man said, presumably the first mate. "Aye! He be a stowaway!" Another man cried. "Nay, ya fools! He be but a child! He came 'ere o' 'is own free will!" The Captain waved his hand at the crew, who dissapated. The Captain turned to Johnsal who looked down, blushing. "Now. Boy. Tell meh yer age." "Uh..." Johnsal sputtered for a moment, making The Captain laugh. "Ye fergotten? Ye must be senile, then! Fro' th' look o' ya, Ah'd say yer abou'... Se'en an' ten, no?" "Yes, sir..." Johnsal nodded without looking up. "Ye don' need ta fear meh, boy. Ah'm no monsta. 'Tho, ye shoulda thought it ou' a li'l betta afore ya jump inta a tele-ring!" Johnsal nodded. "Now, as 'tis, ye won' be goin' back down ta Earth. If ye haven' put two an' two togetha, Ah'm on th' run. Damned government's afta me hide agin. So, 'till we can find some reason to go back, ye're stuck wit' us. Make yerself at home. Ah'll send me first mate up in a momen' to take ye to yer bunk..." And so began Johnsal's journey on the Inspiration... [MARQUEE]TEN YEARS LATER...[/MARQUEE] "Captain! Inspiration to port!" "Damn! Fire all auxillary weapons at her! Don't let her get near!" "Yes s --" *BANG* "What the hell?! What're you --" *BANG* *BANG* *BANG* *BANG* "A'ight! S'all clear!" The crewman with the gun waved in the first mate and his assistant. "Ye know th' plan, Johnsal?" The first mate said as he set up a box next to the gunner's post, throwing the body out of the way. "Aye. We're setting this here freighter on a collision course with that bastard's ship." "Aye. An' remember. This mission cost us se'en o' our own. It took a lot ta get us onta th' biggest freighta in th' galaxy! So... DON' BOTCH IT!" "Got it, sir!" And Johnsal set up his box next to the navigator's post and started keying in the code to open it. When he got it open, he pulled a set of red wires out and plugged them into the side of the contol console which controlled the navigation systems. The first mate did the same with the gunner's control console. "Done!" "Aye, let's get offa this soon-ta-be junk heap!" They were about to get off when The Captain came on Johnsal's ear communicator. "Johnsal!" Johnsal answered as he keyed in the code for the tele-rings. "Aye, Cap't?" "Don' get off yet! There be a turncoat wit' ya!" Johnsal foze. The others were getting ready for teleportation. He lowered his voice. "Who? Do you know?" "Ah don'. Jus'... Kill both of 'em." "Are you sure, sir?" "Jus' do it! We don't got time! That ship's got five minutes tops afore it crashes ol' Wanna-Be Pirate's party. Just do it and get off!" "A-aye, sir..." Normally, Johnsal would've done his job with no problems. He'd killed other pirates, government officials, civilians... But never any of his own crew. And, to top it all off, his mentor was among the people he was being asked to kill! He pulled out a flash grenade. He pulled the pin and tossed it into their midst. There was a moment of sheer confusion as the other two realized that there was a grenade at their feet. The grenade went off as Johnsal hid behind the tele-ring command console, protecting him from the effects of the bomb. He stood slowly and pulled out his gun as the others stumbled around, trying to get their bearings. Johnsal's hand shook as he shot at the crewman who had shot the gunner and the captain. He missed twice, but the last bullet found its mark, hitting the crewman in the temple. The first mate, Jolaj, had jumped with every gunshot and yelled out. "Wait! Don' shoot! Who are ye?!" "I..." Johnsal leveled the gun at his mentor. "I'm sorry." *BANG* [MARQUEE]BACK ABOARD THE INSPIRATION...[/MARQUEE] Johnsal appeared on the bridge of the Inspiration and looked around. There was nobody around. He frowned. Where was The Captain? "Looking for someone?" A silky voice came from behind him. Johnsal whipped around and raised his gun at... "Sahra-Andra?!" "That's CAPTAIN Sahra-Andra, if you want to be technical..." He was wearing a light robe of a purple chainmail-like substance. He had long, shiny, black hair and the most pale skin Johnsal had ever seen. It was so pale that it looked shiny. Almost like it was... Wet. Johnsal glanced down at his gun's ammunition display. Two shots left. "You can save me the trouble and use one of those shots on your dear 'captain.'" He stepped aside to reveal The Captain lying on the ground, bleeding profusely out of gaping wounds in his arms and legs. "And then you can use another of them on yourself... However, if you don't use that first shot wisely, then you might never get the chance of using that second shot." "So... The order to kill the other two..." "Tha' be me, aye." Sahra-Andra said in a flawless impression of The Captain's voice. He grinned evilly. "Your move." Johnsal's temper got the better of him. He raised his gun again and shot both shots at Sahra-Andra's head. They bounced off, ricocheting all over before falling to the floor somewhere, the only sound in the room. "That was unwise." Suddenly, Johnsal's arms were being held by two large men in the same kind of cloak as Sahra-Andra. Sahra-Andra smiled, smugly as he said, "Turn him to face the front of the ship." They did so and Johnsal heard a few whispered words from Sahra-Andra before a loud *CRUNCH* sounded around the bridge. Johnsal winced. That didn't sound good. Sahra-Andra came around to the front of Johnsal. He now had a large sword in his hand. He whispered a few words to himself and brought the sword down. In that split second, Johnsal looked away. He looked out at the stars that were passing by as the ship's engines slipped out of warp and the stars became still. And the image that was burned into his retinas was that which he had always dreamed of seeing... Stars blurring past from the bridge of the pirate ship, Inspiration. THE END
