300 WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #6 (July) -- VICTORY TO HEX

[r_j_dando]

Re: 300 WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #6 (July) -- READ FIRST POST!!!!

My Little Big Sister

Three weeks of baking sun have parched the playing field to a yellow-brown, and left the soil dusty and baked hard like clay. I crawl under the broken fence on my hands and knees, emerging with scuffed jeans and dirty hands. Brushing the worst of the mess off, I stand and look around.

The empty playground still echoes with voices and laughter from my memories. Over there, bindweed grows up the rusting frame of the swings where we always used to play; white flowers now wilting in the heat.

She’s waiting for me on the seesaw, as always. Brown hair in pigtails, jeans that are too short, and a yellow t-shirt with Superted emblazoned on the front. She grins when she sees me, gap-toothed and excited.

“Lizzie!” She scrambles off the seesaw and comes running over.

“Sorry it’s been so long.”

She bounces, all energy and happiness. “I’ve got two things to tell you about, no, three things - there was a red kite, you know how you showed me they have the fork in their tail, and…”

Chattering, she leads me over to the swings, where we sit down and she continues telling me about her week. I kick my feet against the ground, pushing off from the scuffed marks where hundreds of children have gone before me.

Emma stops talking. “I want to come home,” she says, after a long pause.

“I know,” I reply. My heart breaks, as it always does when I come here. “I want you to come home too.” My gaze strays, despite my best intentions, to the climbing frame. Wood bleached to grey after years of weathering, ropes rotting where they hang. Long grass grows through the ground below, hiding the spot where my big sister fell, nearly twenty years ago.

 

[Ursa major]

Re: 300 WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #6 (July) -- READ FIRST POST!!!!

The Future’s Orange​

When I was little, my best friend, Billy, told me that some chimneys were guns for firing people into space. He said he’d read it in a book. After much prompting, he admitted his uncle had read him a story about a trip to the moon.

Complete nonsense, of course. Who in their right mind would want to go there? Isn’t the Earth dull enough already? If you’ve seen nothing better or more exciting—if this world is the only one you’ve seen—you may be satisfied. I never was. Not that I could do anything about it, not when my father was determined to remain.

While I do appreciate being brought into existence, my father should never have had children, not when all he wanted was to bury himself in his work. What made it worse, though, was his desire not to be seen in a bad light: he couldn’t abandon his family. Instead, mother and I had to travel with him.

No gun firing into space for us, just a long and uncomfortable journey in a sleeper carriage. (One is, of course, meant to sleep through all this, but somehow the experience becomes imprinted on one’s mind, in a way that defies my ability to explain.) Eventually, we found ourselves in Dundee, of all places. Not really a surprise, I suppose; not when your father’s project concerns fruit preserves.

Speaking of which.... Today I’m being marmalised, so to speak. We’re returning home, using the only means available. The state of every fundamental particle in our bodies will be recorded and embedded in the sleeper carriage, a beam of information in hyperspace, leaving our physical selves—okay, our ‘human’ forms—to be ripped apart, to be disintegrated.

This had better work. Otherwise we’re toast.


.

 

[jimness]

Re: 300 WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #6 (July) -- READ FIRST POST!!!!

The Freeze

For as long as anyone could remember, the Tower had been home. Level 17’s compulsory history classes meant that everyone knew where they had originally come from, all those Freezes ago. But that time was so distant, so remote from their current lives, that very few accepted it as fact. Only their current dwelling had any meaning for them, despite its obvious disadvantages; for most of the time, it was the perfect residence.

The previous Freeze was now a distant memory, seven generations past. It had been predicted, of course - the meticulous records kept by the ancient scribes meant that the dates of every Freeze would be known for thousands of generations to come. But knowledge is futile when faced with the utter devastation that every such event brings. Almost a quarter of the entire population had perished in the last one; most from the cold, many more from malnutrition; a not insignificant number choosing to take their destiny into their own hands before it was taken from them.

Now, the academics from Level 3 were constantly reminding everyone that the next Freeze was coming. Preparation - well, what preparation was possible - had begun, but there were few who lived without a sense of dread at what would follow. Some said that it was a necessary cleansing of the population, engineered by a higher power. Their counterparts suggested that it was just the natural order of things. All were equally afraid.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You ready yet?" Alf queried.
"Nearly there, mate,” answered Dave. A pause. “Furnace Four now shutting down," he added formally, as he did at this same time every Monday morning.
"Alright, let’s get this thing cleaned up. Put the kettle on - I’ll give you a shout when you can fire her up again.”

 

[TheDustyZebra]

Re: 300 WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #6 (July) -- READ FIRST POST!!!!

Sound and Fury


“That &#$% fence nearly cost us the whole mission!” Ken muttered as we skirted the field, heading for the racetrack.

“Only because they missed the drop time,” I pointed out. We were eight hours late.

It's much harder to steal a horse in the middle of race day. At least MuchAdo wasn't a famous horse ... yet.

MuchAdo was Mr. Robert Benedict's horse, but Mr. Benedict wasn't anybody, either ... yet.

MuchAdo was about to win his first race today, and he wouldn't stop winning for three years, which would make Benedict very wealthy. Benedict would make his second fortune in social engineering.

When the G'Dorn ship arrived at Earth, Benedict would increase his fortune exponentially, this time in reverse engineering alien technology.

Finally his company cracked time travel, and Benedict owned Earth. For all time.

Benedict was not a benevolent dictator.

But the source of his power was his downfall – the Time Complex existed inside a bubble that remained unaffected; otherwise, a change in the past could render the machine nonexistent. We, the people who worked in the bubble, were the only people on Earth who knew what Benedict was doing to history. And he couldn't pay us enough to destroy our whole planet.

So here we were, in a field in Scotland, early 21st century horse thieves.

For time travelers, with period staff uniforms, stealing a racehorse was nothing.

Absent any evidence (and horse), the investigation stalled; Benedict missed his first fortune. He didn't have a fortune to gamble on the first wave of social engineering, and when the G'Dorn arrived, he was not in position to leverage the new technology. He never became ruler of Earth.

The Time Complex remains, however – with a new mission.

MuchAdo ... Secretariat ... Seabiscuit.

Anyone for the box trifecta?

 

[The Judge]

Re: 300 WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #6 (July) -- READ FIRST POST!!!!

And did those feet...?


“If you listen carefully, you can still hear the bells ringing...”

Untrue, of course. They’d removed the bells months before the valley was flooded. But the guides thought it added a frisson of excitement for the trippers. She smiled. A pardonable sin.

“Below us now, at a depth of – ”

“God, this is boring.” Twelve years old. Torn between child and adult, ignorance and... more ignorance.

“Is it?” she replied.

The boy frowned at her – suspicion at a stranger talking to him. He glanced at his father, but he’d heard nothing.

“This is paradise,” she continued, “compared to how it was. Let me show you.”

She held out her hand. The boy took it. They always did.

*

The church first. Grey stone; cold, hard. The bigots, the ambitious, the fire and brimstone preachers, the hate.

The factories next. Tall chimneys, belching smoke. The noise, the crushed arms, the stifled lungs, the tyranny of boss and overseer, the hate.

The houses then. Cramped hovels, rat-infested. The stench, the overcrowding, the too many mouths to feed, the rows, the blows, the rapes, the hate.

Then, because truth was important, she showed them all again.

Faith, charity, the spirit uplifted, love, hope.

Trade, prosperity, leisure, hope.

Love, joy, companionship, hope.

*

“This is heaven,” the boy said, gazing around – at the green land where she walked with him, the mountains beyond.

“Compared to that, yes. Compared to what you will make of it, no.”

“Me? I can’t do nothing. I’m only a kid.”

“For now. Not always, unless you choose never to learn. I was a child. Once. Long ago.”

*

A rainbow of gold shone above the waterfall as the clouds parted. The boat rocked. The trippers took photos.

“Pretty here, ain’t it?” his dad said.

“Paradise one day,” the boy replied.

 

[The Spurring Platty]

Re: 300 WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #6 (July) -- READ FIRST POST!!!!

Wearing the Chain of Events

Even winter’s harsh breath couldn’t dull the sickness that covered the land. It seemed to permeate every living thing with a miasma of despondence. After the subjugation of the populace, few adults were left. The able ones were assigned tasks in the foundries, fueling the ever-fire. The rest were discarded, the dross of a conquered civilization. Children no longer played. If they survived, they laboured, transporting the hot slag from the smelting process until it left their faces leathery and their hands numb to any sensation. They took the slag and dumped it in the river, to poison it. Everyone depended on the conquerors for even basic needs: water, food, even a purpose. All to provide the sacred metal.

For the past year Eliza had been the model for subservience. She worked hard, even with only one good arm left. At night in her dreams the ghosts of the children haunted her.
“Douse the flames!” they cried.
“Snuff out the torment-fire and set us free!” they pleaded.

So each day she schemed a little bit of sabotage. A chipped stone here, a crack in the mortar there, all cunningly placed. When the next shipment went out, she was certain the weight would crumble the rail, taking out the wall. The wall would collapse and the tower would cave in. Without the ever-fire the town would be useless to the overlords. Everything inside would be lost, her friends, her life. But a few would survive and they could start over. Healthy winds would again blow. She heard the rumble of the automated rail coming through the tunnel. Soon she wouldn’t here the children’s cries. Soon she would be free.

...

 

[Moonbat]

Re: 300 WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #6 (July) -- READ FIRST POST!!!!

The Bookshop​

Damn kids 'ave no respect for their elders. Could've killed me. I can't get up. Lying prostrate on the pavement, no one stops to 'elp an old man. I drag me-self to the nearest doorstep. The bookshop (shudder). It had to be the buggering bookshop.


Somehow the door opens.


The rain is falling hard so I pull me-self inside, into the abyss. The old shop 'as been preserved, such is the fear that we daren't destroy it. We couldn't burn it down even though some argue it'd be best, so 'ere it stands, a remnant of the past, a memory of the plague that infects us. Inside t'is a labyrinth of books, pamphlets and pages. Piled 'igh to the ceiling, in leaning towers of precariously balanced tomes. I lean up against a bookcase to catch me breath.

A picture falls from shelves above, lands at me feet, shatters me world. T'is a picture of the 'igh street, but not this 'igh street, that one. The forbidden one. The people look normal, t'is old and there are 'orses in the street. I don't understand, why are they there? On the back there's a phrase that tells me all I need to know.


They lied to us.

Worse than that they did something to our memories. I'll find out why, figure out what 'appened there. Why were we evacuated, and why won't they let us back in?

The next morning, I'm going to the field. To stand by the fence and stare out across the field, at the church and the chimney. What secret are they 'iding from us. I have to know. I'll creep through the bars.....

 

[Gary Compton]

Re: 300 WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #6 (July) -- READ FIRST POST!!!!

The 2058 Great Depression...


They said it would never happen again but it has. The fields were empty, as were the shelves. Food had ran out. Now everything had to be re-cycled, including people. But who would be chosen? New New Labour would decide after checking tax records, the criminal records bureau, and other sources.

The elite: top politicians, businessmen and people in the know had left the earth on a one -way Virgin Galactic flight and taken our riches with them. All that was left was the middle classes and the “B,” listers who couldn’t get on Arc 2.

The working classes had long since died of malnutrition.

The world’s biggest supermarket bought the rights from the politicians before they’d left. Tesco’s built “the Factory.” A place where birds would never sing. Jews, Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, religion didn’t matter this time. It was simple, if you fiddled, you’d be griddled.

At night, their cries of innocence danced on the wind.

‘It was perfectly legal,’ was a common plea.

‘It was a mistake and I’ve apologised to the House,’ was another.

‘The system made me do it,’ was the one that incensed society the most.

The excuses were futile. The camp would process the shirkers into food. Bankers, politicians and comedians who’d gorged themselves on a tax evasive banquet were now, themselves, on the menu.

Jimmy Carr with a rosemary and garlic sauce or Danny Alexander with a hint of ginger were a couple of choices. Sir Gordon Ramsay, now in his nineties and more wrinkled than a bulldog licking p*ss of a thistle, had put the recipes together along with Bernard Mathews Ltd.

“F***ing Bootiful,” was the brand and the wrought iron sign above the camp entrance said it all:

‘Every little bit of flesh helps.’

 

[mosaix]

Re: 300 WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #6 (July) -- READ FIRST POST!!!!

And Finally...


August 3rd 2:00pm

“Breaking news. We’re going over to our correspondent, Martin Davies, outside a factory in central Scotland.”

“Thanks, Sue. We’re in a fairly isolated valley about 40 miles from Glasgow. Shortly after a party of visitors entered the premises this morning, armed demonstrators stormed the building and barricaded themselves in.

The factory manufactures circuit boards and associated components. That’s about all we know.”


August 4th 8:00am

“We have some information on the hostages. They are scientists, including a couple of Nobel Prize winning physicists, visiting from an international conference in Glasgow. So far, no demands.”


August 6th 8:00pm

“Earlier today two local members of parliament negotiated their way in but nothing since. The place is swarming with police, helicopters and world media. The owners, Global Electronics, tell us the site incorporates their Advanced Projects Division – whatever that is.”


August 8th 8:00am

“Overnight, what looks like a directional antenna array has appeared on the roof. Unlike anything I’ve seen before. The police have decided to cut power to the site tonight.”


August 9th 8:00am

“The power was cut but, mysteriously, the lights continue to burn. No sound of generators and more antennas on the roof. Interference with local electronics is being reported, helicopters are grounded.”


August 10th 7:00am

“Low cloud, heavy snow and ice – in August – and a landslide has blocked access to the valley. Completely cut off – total chaos.”


August 13th 10:00am

“A communiqué. They want a firm commitment by world leaders to work towards nuclear disarmament. Significantly, it’s signed by workers, scientists and the MPs. Deadline: mid-day, the day after tomorrow.”


August 15th 11:59am

“Well, no commitment and the deadline approaches. I wonder what they will …”

“Martin? Martin? We seem to have lost… Wait, breaking news! We’re going live to the Faslane nuclear submarine base!”

 

[Ursa major]

Re: 300 WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #6 (July) -- READ FIRST POST!!!!

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