| Writing Prompt Competition |
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Deadline for entries -> 3/29
Write a short creative story using the follow three images: [Image: fYelBiT.jpg] [Image: EGNxw4a.jpg] [Image: trPKUn3.jpg] Stories will be judged on: Theme - How well does your piece incorporate all three images? Creativity - How creative and engaging is your story? Coherence - How coherent is your story? The winner will get a shout out on the TSP WFE and mention in an official dispatch and NSGP post! Post your story in thread (properly formatted please) or send via TG! See here for samples of stories written by TSPers writing group! Escade ~ Positions Held in TSP ~ Delegate | Vice Delegate Minister of Regional Affairs, | Minister of Foreign Affairs | Minister of Military Affairs ~ The Sparkly One ~ My Pinterest
"You are now reading Violet", the first voice chimed in.
"There was a report," continued Violet, "that a warlock existed on an Atoll Isle #3568. ComSat's analytical reports noticed a new ocean phenomenon. 2 year Low Earth Orbit cycle of ComSat illustrates it best. [coordinates omitted] Year A shows open ocean. Then at those same coordinates Year A plus two years' scan cycle shows a 66 Nautical Isle chain in a ring with an impacted and deep well at the center that ComSat's radar measures <= 2km deep. The atoll's ring from LEO GPS measures from 1-6 nautical miles wide variations of protruding neo-terra! A tsunami that devastated costal nuclear power plants of several countries, a massive costal flow seen on every island in the pacific, tides falling below the shelf and rising to the high grounds of the continents... cataclysm after oceanic cataclysm and we sent a team consisting of three scientists, four marines, and a cleric." "The cleric reported, 'only by devouring a unicorn's heart could I have lifted its curse.'" Violet halted. and waited. And continued, "The cleric by any means was not hysteric, and, upon a polygraph held 99.9% truth and accuracy." Violet made a rustling sound that could be papers filing into a folder. "On a professional note we concluded that a warlock did in fact turn out to be a correct conclusion and our department..." "You've no real evidence that this actually occurred. My report says that your cleric was a thirteen year old female" chimed in a second voice. "Earl of Koi, speaking." The Earl of Koi cleared his throat, a smoker's voice that had been overworked by fifty years of frustration, "SARA found evidence that the cleric was ill prepared to handle the task of reporting investigation. Her warrant was not to go beyond this ordained task, and now six people are dead. Scientists and marines. Corpses. We airlifted the stiff pickles home and had to dispose of them politically." "Earl of Koi, would be wiser to stick to the secular means of his duties. We do have evidence," calmly replied Violet. A silence. "Shall I continue then?" "Do. Please", replied the Earl of Koi. There was a mutter of a legion's laughter. "We have the warlock's head in this basket that our cleric thoughtfully delivered upon her warrant. I will have you visit our evidence locker here. I will e-mail you the photos through our departments’ telecoms, my honorable Earl." assured Violet. “I believe you, Sir Knightwood have visited the evidence locker?” A cough proceeded a mellow, “Yes Ma’am”, when the third voice chimed in. “The head,” verified Sir Knightwood, “is not human. I’ve been sixty years in the Armed Forces. I had never seen anything animal nor otherwise that had the shape of that skull. It had. Well it had a horn and…” “It was a unicorn skull?” asked Violet “It”, there was a thinking man’s pause, “it… it…. could have been, yea. That’s what made the situation so queer”, admitted Sir Knightwood. “The cleric told us that she had had the skull of the warlock is my point for this report.” A piece of paper sounded as if folded over a stapled stacked report. “We have a tape recording of the cleric’s polygraph interview. I shall now play.” The sound of a large button and the rotation of magnetic reel tape distortion came over the telecom. *********TAPE TRANSCRIPT EDITED BY DPCB*********** “Okay,” now the tape was in playback, “ January 8, 2012,” a young man’s voice. “I am here with Cleric 33409192c [name omitted], Can you verify that you are Cleric 33409192c, please?” A boyish teen girl’s voice on the tape answered, “I am [name omitted] Cleric 33409192c.” The young man begun, “Can you tell us what happened on AI #3568.?” “Yes,” she said meekly, “ First, when we were in the Oceanic jet liner laboratory, the scientists [names omitted] {“Y” “X” and “W” scientists} {1a-1d marines} had assured themselves that nature was to explain. [X] was very excited to see something he said might ‘get him published again’. [W] had given into his theory but was the only skeptic of the group. [Y] gave the biggest most passionate arguments that it hadn’t anything to do with the occult.” She drank what seemed to be water to clear her throat. “I really prayed that [Y] was correct.” The young man debriefed, “Yes, we retrieved the laboratory’s blackbox data. We want to hear from its catastrophic event, namely, the crash.” “At first, I didn’t really know why a cleric had to go on this awful ride. The jetliner is a huge ‘vomit-comet’. The wing was struck by something foul and we tumbled out of the sky into the ocean. Two marines drowned I think there names were [1c] and [1d]. I don’t remember much of that tumble it happened so fast. I remember the alarms from the cockpit and then swimming and then waking up on the atoll’s shore. It was rough and I think the tide may have carried me ashore. I woke up alone. There was debris scattered along the beach that had washed up with me. By God’s will my carryon bag followed me. It had everything I needed. It was divine. With my sword in possession and my magic bag… The young man interrupted, “For brevities sake and for the secrecy of your special division I do not think it is appropriate to relay those details. When did you meet with your other crew members?” “Yes. I never again saw [1c] and [1d] but I first found Sgt. [1b]. He was face up under a palm tree’s shade, hand over chest and breathing rhythmically. Unfortunately, the material debris around him was useless and consisted of smaller parts that had broken off from the whole of the jet-liner. He was immediately protective of me which, although flattering at first, was a signal of a possessive attitude. He later became possessed like [W] and had to be culled.” “You say they were possessed,” the young man questioned, “whom possessed them?” “Not whom,” the cleric responded almost giggling, “a what. Night fell upon us and in the twilight all of us had seen, one way or another, the black unicorn. [X] and [1a] were inspecting a rock formation when both men had seen it in a grassland inland the beach. [W] saw it and thought it was a mirage from thirst. [1b] and myself saw it latter in the dusk running on the coast line away from our direction” “According to my notes, that leaves out [Y],” said the young man on the tape. “She had born a massive concussion before I and [1b] got to her”, replied the cleric, “[1a] was dragging her behind him on a palm leaf make-shift gurney.” The cleric paused and gave a small sniff. Listeners now could her her crying. “[Y] was the first one mauled that night.” “Mauled?”The young man sounded shocked and frightened. “She was… everywhere. A head sliced in half. A ribcage exploded and venting its bile and spilling intestine. Arms severed. Thighs split. A pool of blood being sucked dry by the sands of the atoll. Then it was [X] to disappear. We found [X] impaled upon a bamboo-like spear: the tip protruding outward exiting the mouth. The face was terror stricken.” “Did you hear their screams?” Asked the young man. “No, not through the constant humming.” “What did that sound like?” “It sounded like chanting was being done all around. No one could pinpoint the ear splitting hum. I knew that warlock was hungry and how it liked to hunt. I felt that I could get this warlock and devour its heart.” “Why would you devour a warlock’s heart?” “Look, I have very high degrees in divinity. I am respected by many paladins, preachers, and ministers and rabbi and imams. I am not some crazy you all think a chaplain may pose to be.” “I didn’t say that”, gently said the young man, “please continue.” “When I went to school. I did a fine study on the dark arts. I studied the darkness in myself to be able to see the darkness of others. I was taught that the only way to assure the defeat and death to a warlock was to consume its heart. What I didn’t know until today is that a warlock’s true form is a black unicorn.” “Unicorns are white”, rebutted the young man “You’re correct”, said the cleric, “warlocks appear to be black unicorns. They are and are not Unicorns.” “Which is it?”, scoffed the young man, “are they or aren’t they?” “I said they appear to be black unicorns. See I brought back its skull for you.” Movement sounded out on the magnetic taper. “Here.” “OH! My God!”, exclaimed the young man who seemed to go from skeptic to believer in a millisecond. “What in the Hell is that thing?” “I took its head first, though admittedly, with many swings expended upon the task. The beast had been impaling and drinking the blood of our party.” “Have you consumed that warlock’s heart?” “Yes, I consumed this one’s. I knew this one wanted to maul and hex so…” The young man interrupted again in question. “What do you mean ‘this one’?” “There is a whole league of these things roaming El anillo de Satanás. That’s what I have chosen to call it.” **********************END TRANSCRIPT****************** The tape switched off and there was the low din of innumberous mutterings. As Violet continued to speak the muttering din hushed, “Our cleric did manage to find, and with the aid and sacrifice of Sgt. Boniface and Cpt. Sterling, discovered the cause of the atoll’s miracle creation in The South Pacific.” “What is your recommendation Dean Violet?” chimed in an authoritarian voice. “We must set up a protection zone around El anillo de Satanás to secure the herd of warlocks”, Violet responded immediately. “The cleric will be appointed to official culler maid. Because, she consumed a warlock’s heart to secure its defeat she not also not only managed to preserve her life but extend it beyond ‘normal’ years. Virtually we can expect the cleric to be alive for another eight or nine generations. As for the geological anomaly I leave that up to the scientists at SARA.” “This is beyond SARA right now”, interceded the Earl of Koi, “we defer to your department Dean Violet. I hope there won’t be a demand for this on the markets.” “No.” The authoritarian voice halted the conversation. “You will not allow our markets to harvest warlock heart for the extension of our lives’ time. Perhaps, even immortality, simply for profit.” “The banks will not allow their black market counterparts nor clients expose the happenings of El anillo.” reassured Sir Knightwood. “Good next topic…” The Dean moved on.
TAC described this as "If Dr. Seuss had rose from the grave and continued writing."
 THE BRONCORES
Now, the Horn-Head Broncores had horns on their heads. The Plain-Head Broncores had nothing but scorns. Those horns were quite big. They were quite far from small. As you might expect they mattered above all. And because they had horns, all the Horn-Head Broncores would brag, "We're the best kind of Broncores on the shores." With their muzzles in the air they would whinny and they'd neigh, "We'll have nothing to do with the Plain-Head array." And whenever they met some, when they were out trotting, They'd traipse right on past them without even prodding. When the Horn-Head ponies went out to consume fine fescue, Could a Plain-Head join for a meal...? Only if they made it past an unending queue. You only could eat if your heads had horns. And the Plain-Head Broncores had nothing but scorns. When the Horn-Head Broncores had gatherings on the coasts, Or timothy or bermuda or alfalfa toasts, They never invited the Plain-Head Broncores. They left them out cold, in the dark of the shores. They kept them away. Never let them come near. And that's how they treated them year after year. Then ONE day, seems...while the Plain-Head Broncores Were moping and doping alone on the shores Just sitting there wishing their horned counterparts were riddled with lacerations... A stranger zipped up in the strangest of braytions! "My friends," he announced in a voice clear and loud, "My name is Nicholas Bartley McCloud. And I've heard of your troubles. I've heard your quite mad. But I can fix that. I'm the Fix-it-Up Laddie. I've come here to help you. I have what you need. And my prices are low. And I work at great speed. And my work is one hundred percent guaranteed!" Then, quickly Nicholas Bartley McCloud Put together a peculiar machine. And he said, "You want Horn-Head Broncores with an unnatural breach...? My friends, you can have them for three dollars each!" "Just pay me your money and hit the road." So they clambered around, to lock and to load. And it klonked. And it bonked. And it jerked. And it berked. And it popped all about. But the thing really worked! When the Plain-Head Broncores pulled trigger, they left excavations! They actually did. They gave them perforations! Then they yelled at the ones that had horns at the start, "We're stronger than you! We'll tear you apart! We're all gonna mame, now, it's too late for hearties! And now we can end your arrogant parties." "Good grief!" groaned the survivors who had horns at the first. "We're still the best Broncores and they are the worst. But, now, how will our species continue to grow," they all frowned, "If there's a hole in our gut, or on the ground they are found?" Then came McCloud with a very sly wink. And he said, "Things are not quite as bad as you think. So you don't know who's to lose. And you'd like to choose. But come with me, friends. Do you know what I'll do? I'll make you, again, the best Broncores on the shores. And all it will cost you is ten dollars mores." "Tolerance is no longer feasible," said McCloud. "What you need is to be armed with my Life-off Anti-crowd. This wondrous contraption will take them all down. So you won't have them within your town." And that handy machine working very precisely Removed the Plain-Horns quite nicely. Then, with muzzles in the air, they paraded about And opened their mouths and they let out a shout, "We know what to do! Now there are no doubts. The best kind of Broncores are Broncores with horns thereabouts!" Then of course, the remains of those without got frightfully mad. To be with no horn became frightfully bad. Then, of course, old Nicholas Bartley McCloud Invited them to repurchase his Life-off Anti-crowd. Then, of course from THEN on, as you probably guess, Things really got into a horrible mess. All the rest of that day, on those wild screaming shores, The fix-it-up Laddie kept fixing Broncores. Downed again. Armed again. Shot again. Loaded again. Throughed by machines they raced round and about again. Shooting each other every minute or two. They kept paying money. They kept firing true. Until neither the Plain nor the Horn-Broncores could tell Whether this one had fell...or that one was in hell Or which one was not well...or what one was a living meat shell. Then, when every last breath Of the Broncores had ended in death The Fix-it-Up Laddie had packed up And he went And laughed as he drove In his cart up the shore, "They never would learn. No you can't out-war a Broncore. And McCloud was right. I'm quite sad to say. That the Broncores were quite stupid that day. The day they decided that other Broncores were anti-adors. And one kind of Broncore is the best on the shore That day, all the Broncores no longer had horns And whether they had one, or not, didn't matter because they had no further morns. "All life begins with Nu and ends with Nu. This is the truth! This is my belief!...At least for now." — "The Mystery of Life," vol. 841, chapter 26 [Image: AliveBar_zpsdd94d5aa.gif] House of Lampshades Story Contest Winner TBR Loses Founder Wrote:7:01 AM <•ChurchofSatan> And TBR is scrambling. It's beautiful.
I am completely disqualified by the word count (which I somehow missed the limit for), but here it is anyway:
Founder of the Church of the South Pacific [Forum Thread] [Discord], a safe place to discuss spirituality for people of all faiths and none (currently looking for those interested in prayer and/or "home" groups);
And The Silicon Pens [Discord], a writer's group for the South Pacific and beyond! Yahweo usenneo ir varleo, ihraneo jurlaweo hraseu seu, ir jiweveo arladi. Salma 145:8
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