Favourite ever 300 and 75er?

[Jo Zebedee]

Since we're celebrating each others' stories, I wondered if any stood out as I loved that one and remember it. A few starters for ten:

Cul's nightmare merchant. It was my first 75er (nov 2011) so that might be why it stuck.

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

The Nightmare Merchant

The thimble-sized jars with neat labels held monsters, endless falls and other fears. One, though, was unlabelled; it wasn’t for sale.

Each night he would open the jar and let the contents chase the waking day away. She never visited his dreams, and instead he’d bottled this, his nightmare.

So, each night, though she died in his arms anew, first he saw her face, then they kissed their last kiss, and it was enough.


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

This one by Alc. It stayed with me for weeks and weeks:

Searching


Alone; his room; bedtime. In futile hope, she twists the dial a millihawthorne altwise.

Nothing. Another empty parallel universe, an alternate world of familiar pain.

She twists again, and – Stop!

A voice, her own; light and carefree as she once was. "Good night, love."

She waits, fingers trembling, a lifetime in a heartbeat, and he speaks. "Night, mummy."

She locks the dial and sobs, willing herself to silence as his gentle breaths turn towards sleep.



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


And this one by reivier cos it was so well written:


Re: 75-WORD WRITING CHALLENGE -- December 2012 -- READ FIRST POST!
Moscow-7

The star atop Spasskaya Tower was a gigantic festive decoration, standing out against the night sky. Frost burned my exposed skin, but I reveled in the exquisite pain. A figure in fur coat approached, her boots crunching on the new snow.

She smiled, displaying prominent canines that rivaled my own. “Konrad.”

“Greta. Merry Christmas.” The body lying behind me groaned.

“A gift?” She displayed her body, naked beneath the coat. “And I brought only myself.”

I also loved Harebrain's steampunk one (and Reivier's entry that month) but danged if I can find it.)


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





For 300, one stands above all for me:


The Dream Factory


The wires hum against my forehead, burning out the first time she kissed me. After school, lips liquorice sticky -- always afterwards, the taste of astonishment and lust.

Ah, Lisa. I never deserved you.


* Account credit: £30 *


They offer £60 for our wedding.

Cider and sunshine and the fat seals on the Tay. Later, in the slick darkness, giggling at the noises the old iron bed made.

Regret closes my throat, but the gas bill's due. "Aye. Take it."

The chimney where the dreams burn looms over the city. Only the desperate go there.

But we're all desperate now.

#

The house has just two rooms, but she loves the garden. We drag the iron bedstead down the path; it catches in the fence and knocks her onto the grass. Her hair tangles black among the dandelions. Her skin tastes of salt and rain.

That's £20.

#

Lisa's breath purrs in the darkness. She'll never forgive this. When I'm finished at the chimney, she'll be a stranger.

I want to wake her, tell her what I'm doing. But this is all I have left to give her.

#

She's mopping the kitchen floor. Her hair tied back, sweat shining on her neck. When she looks up, her smile punches through me.

I have to tell her the mill's closing.

£5. Holo-dreamers don't want unhappy.


# # #




She's standing outside the chimney, a black-haired woman so lovely that for a moment the world fades.

"I'm empty," I tell her, and turn to go.

"Jamie." Her fingers close tight round mine. "Come home with me."

"You don't understand. I sold all my memories."

Her grip tightens. "You don't understand. They're my memories too. We'll share them."


When she kisses me, her mouth tastes of liquorice.

 

[alchemist]

I remember that 300 from Hex very well also, and thanks for the nomination, springs

At the risk of exposing Ursa again, this was one of my favourites, and a winner too. There's nothing like a comeuppance story.

Paradise Lust
by Ursa major

What a bargain! A few days' planning, a painless moment and in return...? Eternal Paradise.

He suspected a catch. Surely they must be ugly, deformed? But he had faith and accepted the trade.

Everything was as promised. He felt nothing of the explosion that tore him apart. And here he was in Paradise. All seventy-two of his companions were perfect goddesses.

Truly perfect: they despised his twisted soul. They would remain virgins. For eternity.

##

And I don't know how this anti-war epic by Mouse, in the by-now-infamous Kipling month, only got one vote (mine!)...

Somerset Sheeps and Apples

On my way to battle, I sees fields of sheeps and apples.
In these fields are trees through which sunlight softly dapples.
They apples go to make the cider. It says so on the sign I pass.
I wonder if they sheeps like cider and eat the apples or the grass?
Mayhap I can ‘ave some cider, if I make it ‘ome alive.
Or mayhap I could eat a sheep. That’s if we all survive…

##

I also remember this one well. Mine tied with it for third, but mostly I remember it for the clever chess motif, and for the fact Oxman is unfortunately no longer with us

War Games

Queen Bialy moved from the castle’s shadow, forwards on the tiled courtyard, glancing behind at her knights. She was infinitely more powerful than the small, black clad footsoldier, yet she didn’t strike, instead stepping into the path of his clumsy diagonal thrust.

Bishop Weiss saw the lady fall, closed his eyes and whispered a prayer.
“It wasn’t in vain,” his King said, beside him. “Now you have a direct route to the Dark Lord.”

Checkmate.

##

And just to lighten the mood, possibly the funniest I've ever read; Harebrain's, on the theme of Colour...

Victory


‘God-President, your solar spectrum reconfigurator fleet awaits your command.’

‘All colour will be removed? All tone but bright white and black made indistinguishable grey?’

‘Yes. But Sir, surely —’

He raised his hand. The Space Minister’s head exploded brains and blood.

‘You?’ he asked the Chancellor. ‘Any doubts?’

‘None, Sir.’

He opened his desk drawer, and beheld the ancient device that had defeated his powers for so long.

‘Soon,’ he told the Rubik’s Cube. ‘Soon …’

 

[TheDustyZebra]

Sephiroth's poem from May 2010:

A HOPEFUL CASE?

My siblings: demons born of Night.
Bound in the darkness, filled with strife,
they circumduct ‘twixt walls so tight that none might percolate without.

A maiden with long red-gold hair,
with silver gown and aspect fair,
lifts the lid of our eldritch snare, and into Gaea’s realm they spout.

Anesidora! By thy wiles,
thou hast bestowed on Man the trials
of Sickness, Death, and other Ills—wilt thou return and let Hope out?

 

[Teresa Edgerton]

Here is one of my favorites from the 75 Word Challenge:

Consequences – Terrifying rape of yesteryear fuels a long, long siege
by The Judge

A god he comes, and male, but not a man,
Concealing brutal lust from jealous eyes.

He strikes. Cruel beak engrasps her neck,
Heedless of her pain as Leda cries.

Pale naked body laid between white wings;
Webbed feet, as black as pitch, subdue the ravished thighs.
A savage thrust, and honour dies.

Illium thrown down, great Hector slain,
Ten years of war, of death, of blood-filled lies,
For momentary pleasure in a swan’s disguise.

And another:

Sadly Missed
by springs1971

R. I. P.​

HERE LIES​

RUSTY THE​

BEST DOG IN​

THE WHOLE WEST. WE FOUGHT TOGETHER WHEN WE CONQUERED THE ALIEN INVASION​

OF 1871 AND SAVED EARTH FOR THE GOOD GUYS. WHEN THE ZOMBIES OF 74 CAME WE ​

DID FOR THEM. THE VAMPIRES OF 78 GOT HIM AND DRAINED HIM UNTIL HE WAS DEAD.​

PA AN’ I LAID​

HIM HERE IN ​

GOOD GROUND ​

I MISS HIM ​

JOEY BOLON​

1878 DALLAS​

Another from the 75:

Changeling
by Hex

Thin and brittle and made of twigs, it's nothing like your fat baby.

It doesn't even cry. Not when you lift it from the cradle and try to feed it. Not when you scream, tear its twig-thin limbs apart and bury it in the frozen earth.

Later, you dig it up again, weeping in the grey moonlight.

It's all you have left. Alien and broken, cold forever.

And this from the 300:

Time and Son
by digs

It is odd, to be running out of time in a place where time does not exist. Elsewhere I can spin the slipping-by seconds like thread. I can weave hours and stretch days, send months rolling in reverse, gather centuries in my arms and pluck years like petals from a flower, letting them fall haphazard.

But here we are the guests of strange masters, and I have risked enough in bringing you. For what? I can traverse, spiderlike, the web of aeons, stalking the time-strands, tweaking this and that – but I cannot alter your future. This is nothing more than an exercise in futility. And I dare not linger here.

Oh, but I dream. How I dream for you, my little one. Dreams so large, so full, that galaxies die beneath their bloated weight. Let me tell you what I dream. Let me – no. Our separation approaches. I will tell, instead, of what will happen next, in the hope that some ghost of memory will comfort you with its haunting when I return you to the clamour of time.

It happens quickly, like this: a battered childhood, a lonely adolescence, a bold climb into manhood. A wife, a daughter; the death of one, the hatred of the other. A ragged fall into desolation, a lonely decline, a tormented end. Your life a solitary arc, a neat diagram of the symmetry of loss.

We must return now. To let it begin. Do you hear my beating heart? It is the steady rhythm of time itself. If nothing else, remember this. When the clock ticks or the shadows lengthen, remember my resonant heartbeat; know that I held you, pitied you, and loved you, and that, in my own way, I have taken this moment and made you endless.

And this:

The Dream Factory
by Hex​

The wires hum against my forehead, burning out the first time she kissed me. After school, lips liquorice sticky -- always afterwards, the taste of astonishment and lust.

Ah, Lisa. I never deserved you.


* Account credit: £30 *


They offer £60 for our wedding.

Cider and sunshine and the fat seals on the Tay. Later, in the slick darkness, giggling at the noises the old iron bed made.

Regret closes my throat, but the gas bill's due. "Aye. Take it."

The chimney where the dreams burn looms over the city. Only the desperate go there.

But we're all desperate now.

#

The house has just two rooms, but she loves the garden. We drag the iron bedstead down the path; it catches in the fence and knocks her onto the grass. Her hair tangles black among the dandelions. Her skin tastes of salt and rain.

That's £20.

#

Lisa's breath purrs in the darkness. She'll never forgive this. When I'm finished at the chimney, she'll be a stranger.

I want to wake her, tell her what I'm doing. But this is all I have left to give her.

#

She's mopping the kitchen floor. Her hair tied back, sweat shining on her neck. When she looks up, her smile punches through me.

I have to tell her the mill's closing.

£5. Holo-dreamers don't want unhappy.


# # #




She's standing outside the chimney, a black-haired woman so lovely that for a moment the world fades.

"I'm empty," I tell her, and turn to go.

"Jamie." Her fingers close tight round mine. "Come home with me."

"You don't understand. I sold all my memories."

Her grip tightens. "You don't understand. They're my memories too. We'll share them."


When she kisses me, her mouth tastes of liquorice.

And another for the 300:

Requiem​

We called them Space Whales, but that was an unfair appellation really. In truth they were knows as the Al-Fariar-Dom-Ne Mare, and it seemed as though they were older than the stars. So few got to see them that they were known mostly through stories and rhymes.

But you knew you had a soul when you heard them sing, that was what you were told, and how could you resist that? Despite the impossibility, you wanted to see. You wanted to hear. To believe.

How was it be possible, that such creatures could exist; swimming on the solar winds, living in a vacuum? Surely they were as impossible as mermaids, and yet the tales persisted. Of how big they were, how they dipped into a stars coronas, feeding on stellar radiation; how they breathed on newborn light. Their super-dense rainbow skin; eyes as bright as moons, their diaphanous fins and wings became glorious in the celestial light, more durable and beautiful than the finest silk.

Just stories they said.

And there I stood in the grey dawn, on a world of mud and stagnant sand, looking at the fractured ribs that rose from the shore, climbing toward the distant sky. Cracked and broken, more immense than anything living had the right to be.

Consumed by sand they were part of the world below, slowly being consumed by time. Yet they stood tall, their own grave-marker, worn by winds and the passage of years, yet still strong, still a memory of what once they had been.

And if I dared to lay my hands upon one of those dwarfing tines I could feel a vibration that ran through them still, an echo of a song older than time.

Just stories they said, but not all stories lie.

.

 

[Victoria Silverwolf]

I was really struck by this one by HareBrain, because it combines all the qualities of a short story -- plot, setting, character, style, dialogue, theme, and so on -- in fine form.

The Small Hours


Worshippers spew from the lamplit porch. Huxley leaves last, shoes crunching frost. I stand from Mother's gravestone.

'Christmas again, Reverend. Shall I win?'

'Bartholomew. It's cold.'

'Your aged blood thins. Death creeps near. Join me.'

'I'll not be your prize.'

'Like your "saviour", I've transcended nature. Unlike him, my existence is indubitable.'

'My wife's making cocoa. Goodbye.'

The idiot departs. Cocoa! Next year he'll plead to be turned. Or the next.

I've plenty of time.

 

[Culhwch]

Terribly chuffed to be picked as amongst someone's favourite stories - thanks, springs!

I don't have the best memory, I'm afraid, but this one has stuck across the years - from the January 2011 75-worder:

Back Country
by digs

We collect absences: of water, crops, of Natalie now she's gone. It was all too much, she said, but she meant it was too little.

There's one day, and it repeats endlessly. Nothing new. Just the silence of a land dying beneath hard skies.

When the clouds come, I'll take Alice outside and we'll spin and spin until the red mud coats our feet and we can't tell rain from tears.

And we'll begin again.

 

[Jo Zebedee]

I'd forgotten the Leda/swan one from Tj and I loved it, too. And dear old Rusty. One day I will write that MG bbok. One day...

 

[Jo Zebedee]

I finally found the Harebrain one. I loved this, so many ideas in so little words. (I also loved Revier's from that month.)


Naval Engagement
by HareBrain

‘Miss Featherhill,’ said the Iron Admiral, ‘Your little brother’s Aeolus is splendid.’

The boy pushed the yacht out onto the park's boating pond.

‘And your own model, sir. Wonderful.’

‘A perfect replica of the steam dreadnought Warspite.’

‘It’s — good heavens! On deck?’

‘Miniature clockwork sailors. I said, perfect.’

Tiny turrets swivelled towards Aeolus.

‘Sir! You would not be so cruel.’

The Admiral’s metal arm slid through hers. ‘And you’ll join me for tea, my dear.’

 

[Karn Maeshalanadae]

As far as 300 goes, last month was perhaps my favorite, actually. Not only did it give me a chance to explore one of my favorite themes-mythology, and specifically, Celtic Faerie folklore, which is one I've taken a recent interest in-but also gained inspiration from a special place for me-music.

 

[Hex]

I'm a little late to this thread, but ever since springs posted it I've meant to add this story by HareBrain, which remains my favourite ever challenge entry (and there are many, many stories I have loved).

I Married Cthulhu


‘That is not dead which can eternal lie,’ he often says of our sex-life. And in the beginning, our lovemaking was tentacular. But ancient beings come with ancient attitudes. I have to clean, though R’lyeh’s impossible geometry makes vacuuming a chore. And his clothes! Too gargantuan for Calvins, he still wears the underpants he brought from Beyond Space.

But it’s hard not to love someone with stars in his eyes. I can change him.

 

[Jo Zebedee]

This one by @Cascade joins my hall of perfection, up there with Alc's Searching:

96

Football isn’t this.

Football isn’t meant to be this.

Football is colour and life.

Football is jumpers for goalposts, not advertising hoardings for stretchers.

My police radio is a crackling mass of static and panic and incoherent shouting.

They are carrying bodies from the Leppings Lane end.

A young girl, 16 comes up to me crying.

“What is happening?” she asks

And I stand mute ‘cause I have no bloody idea.

 

[Teresa Edgerton]

I'm a little late to this thread, but ever since springs posted it I've meant to add this story by HareBrain, which remains my favourite ever challenge entry (and there are many, many stories I have loved).

I Married Cthulhu


‘That is not dead which can eternal lie,’ he often says of our sex-life. And in the beginning, our lovemaking was tentacular. But ancient beings come with ancient attitudes. I have to clean, though R’lyeh’s impossible geometry makes vacuuming a chore. And his clothes! Too gargantuan for Calvins, he still wears the underpants he brought from Beyond Space.

But it’s hard not to love someone with stars in his eyes. I can change him.

I had forgotten that one. It's hilarious.

 

[Juliana]

The 75-worder that will always stick in my mind was HB's win from October 2012. It was my first month taking part in the challenges, so it was the first month where I really paid attention to the entries. I remember reading his story and thinking, "So that's how it's done!"

Lots of faves since then, of course, but this one stayed with me.

OCTOBER 2012
Winner: Origin of Parish Byelaw 428 by HareBrain
Theme: To The Stars | Genre: Open


Origin of Parish Byelaw 428

Others endlessly gazed heavenwards, lost in awe and frustrated desire, but Bezel’s crooked neck hurt to look up. The villagers mocked his downcast life. What joy could there be without the wonder of the constellations?

One night, passing a pool, Bezel saw stars: not up, but down.

He couldn’t fly, but he could fall, and be first to reach them.

They found his body floating, stars all around. They erected a sign: No Swimming.

 

[Dan Jones]

I sense a theme emerging, and I'm going to continue it. The one I remember above all others was from the very first challenge I entered, not that long ago.

It was Victoria's killer last line that made me think "ah, ok, so that's how you do it." And then had me scratching my head for about six months.

The Gift - Victoria Silverwolf

It's a lousy night to be pounding a beat on Skid Row. My boots slosh through gray sludge. I walk up to a drunk sleeping too close to a barrel fire. I nudge him awake with my nightstick so he won't burn to death. He rolls away and mumbles something in his sleep. I toss a couple of sandwiches wrapped in plastic at his feet. He won't care where they came from. Merry Christmas, Dad.

 

[Droflet]

So many great stories over the years but this one from Cat's Cradle I'll take to the grave, smiling.

The Milk of Freedom (A Modern Fairy Dairy Tale)

“Get away, cow!!”
“Mooove--I’m flying now…”
******

Standing offstage I think back on those heady days, when the fate of an oppressed population was decided by the bold actions of desperate individuals.

I’m Bertie, and I was a privileged thing, raised a pet and fortunate to have viewed piloting instructional films that my Scottish owner watched on a laptop in his barn. I was one of 52 Highland cattle being flown, against our will, to new owners in Russia.

Fate provided this golden opportunity: trans-European flight, token security onboard, and I, a dreamer who could fly a Douglas Skymaster. I struggled with the pilot as others stampeded on cue, knocking down our keeper--Elsie, the oldest, sat on him, yelling “Teats to tonsils, buddy! Wanna steal my milk now?” It became a legendary saying, inspiring the patriotic play “Teats to Tonsils--the Milk of Freedom”. In that moment of insurrection, we found our Voices; others, now, could hear us.

We crashed in northern Finland. The kindhearted Samis took pity, and ceded us, and cattle they controlled, 12,000 square kilometers as our homeland. We petitioned the UN as refugees from the inhumanities of humanity, and were granted unconditional freedom, and statehood. Thus was Mooravia birthed from the forests of Finnish Lapland.

Our economy’s foundations were viable: as reparation for enslavement we’d been granted exclusive rights for European dairy production. Mooravia’s political theory was easily summarized: “All for Herd--Herd for all”; Cowmooism spread rapidly to disenfranchised species everywhere. Our wealth liberated our international brethren to embassy-pastures established worldwide.
******

Today, I’m an Oscar-winning actress, performing the role of a lifetime in Broadway’s revival of Teats To Tonsils. Old as I am, I never study for this part; I know the role by heart--it’s one I was born to play.

 

[Cat's Cradle]

AHHHH! How exciting!!! Thank you, kind Droflet!!

(I will mention here that I originally had a wonderful line in the last segment, that was a victim of word count...it involved a parenthetical aside wherein it was mentioned that Meryl Streep would be playing one of the cows in this production of Teats to Tonsils using her advanced knowledge of moothod acting. I think it ended thusly: Meryl Steep can play any role! It was a real groaner, but I really liked it!)

 

[Cat's Cradle]

Having been honored by having Droflet mention one of my stories as a favorite, I thought I'd contribute an answer to the question posed by the thread, and add my two fave 75 worders.

The first was from February, 2014, before I joined the site. I'd been ghosting for a few months, mainly for the classic SF threads, and the writing challenges. I read this first story, and loved it so much, that I joined so that I could enter challenges that had such beautiful writing from the members.

From Jo Zebedee (then springs); I kept the spacing as it appeared in the story.


A Rose for the Faerie-ring


Music sounded, sly and deep, and I turned, poised to run. Twelve smooth stones, laid in a ring, trapped my daughter. She spun, her arms outstretched, and laughed as the music soared.

My hands closed on empty air.

#

We bring a yellow rose and kneel. Our silent plea is answered by music from afar, our offering matched only by last year's shrivelled bloom, and our Maeve still dances where we can never reach her.


The next is from, I believe, July of 2014. It moved me more than any story I have read in any of the challenges. It has what is, to this day, my favorite last line of any challenge story -- in context, it is brilliant, and just lifts my spirit. I've never wished I'd written a challenge story as much as I wish I'd written this one. From Victora Silverwolf:


Sister

The man who came home with me that night was pale, thin, and quiet. When we reached my apartment I asked him to leave the lights off. He helped me remove my shapeless dress. His questing hands found my sister. Slender fingers growing from my shoulders, blind eyes beneath my breasts, silken hair on my abdomen, fragile bones beneath my skin. I expected him to leave. Instead he kissed me. "It doesn't matter," he said.


ps--there's a story entered early in this month's 75 worder that may make its way onto my list, after I let it digest for a few months, to see if it still affects me so much by then.

 

[LittleStar]

I haven't got around to reading to all of the past stories, but I had a flick through some of the 75ers a while ago and I can be pretty sure that 'Back Country' by digs would be right up there for me. And I noticed that Cullwch has already posted this one up in the thread. I just love every single word of that story.

EDIT:
Just went back to find the second story that stood out in my mind from reading over them, Cullwch's 'Nightmare Merchant'. Such a brilliant idea behind the story, and great execution of it. But upon returning here I see that Jo has beaten me to it, and in the very first post no less. In my haste to post, I missed it

I wish I was around and active in the challenges at the time, because I would have loved to have given these stories my vote