The Perp Challenge

[Perpetual Man]

Write a story in a genre of your choosing (although Chrons related genres are always going to be firm favourites). The maximum length of the story is to be strictly no more than 250 words.

However, each story must contain the listed 20 words in the order given!

ONE entry per person

NO links, commentary or extraneous material in the posts, please -- the stories must stand on their own


WHEN WRITING YOUR STORY, PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS A FAMILY-FRIENDLY FORUM

All stories Copyright 2017/2018 by their respective authors, who grant the Chronicles Network the non-exclusive right to publish them here

Contest ends at 11:00 pm GMT, January 15th 2018

There will be two winners, the first chosen by popular vote – in the case of a tie there will be tiebreaker poll.


The second will be for the entrant who writes the shortest coherent story, featuring all twenty words in the given order.

In the case of one entrant winning both sections I reserve the right to give the prize to the next shortest entry.

Voting Ends at 11:00 pm GMT, January 31st 2018


You do not have to submit a story in order to vote --
in fact, we encourage all Chrons members to take part in choosing a winner


The Magnificent Prize:-

The Dignified Congratulations/Grovelling Admiration of Your Peers and a prize of my (Perpetual Man’s) choosing, one for each winner. (I’ve got two ideas and have not quite decided on which to go with.)


This thread to be used for entries only.
Please keep all comments to The Discussion Thread

We invite (and indeed hope for) lively discussion and speculation about the stories as they are posted, as long as it doesn't involve the author explaining the plot.


The words to be included are:

History

Imagine

Breath

Famous

Important

Peculiar

Perhaps

Thought

Actually

Weight

Meet

Knot

Meddle

Permission

Curious

Picture

Finally

Preferred

Limited

submarine​

 

[Victoria Silverwolf]

Homecoming

Because I knew something of the history of the Gray Tower, it was not difficult for me to imagine it a haunted place. As I climbed the steep hill, my breath forming ghosts in the frigid air, I pondered its past. It had served as a famous and important point of defense in the time of Alfred the Great, the peculiar ashen stones a stark warning to the Northmen. Perhaps they thought of it as a god.

I smiled at my own fancies. It was actually nothing more than a pile of rocks, the weight of each enough to have proven a burden to a dozen strong men.

I had not expected to meet anyone here at this time of year. He stood facing the raging sea, tying a mariner's knot in a thick cord he held in his gnarled hands.

"Not to meddle, Miss," he said.

"Sorry," I said, although I had no reason to apologize. "With your permission? I was curious about this place."

He was the picture of indifference. I grew tired of watching him fiddle with his cord. I finally decided that he was a harmless eccentric. I would have preferred to be alone, but my time was limited.

I entered the tower, stepping carefully over the detritus left behind by careless tourists. I made my way down the secret passage to the submarine chamber, where my sisters waited for me. I tore off my human skin and dove into the icy water.

 

[Mouse]

I'll sit here beside the seaside while you eat your ice cream and tell you a tale to curdle your blood. You see, I have a tragic history. Imagine the foul breath of a famous actor wafting beneath your nostrils on an almost daily basis. Foul like rotten eggs and cheese. It'd send the sanest person mad.

He was an important person – in his opinion. I said he was peculiar. I don't know why he was happy to work with me.

Perhaps he thought I liked him.

Actually, I couldn't bear him.

He was arrogant and spoiled and carried too much weight.

He was aloof with the fans he'd meet.

He ruined my career. A knot was tied in my fate the day I met him. I was a make-up artist and he'd meddle with my kit. Like an irritating child.

I never gave him permission but he was curious. He'd mess with the eyeshadows as if they were paint. Urgh. And can you imagine that breath? Imagine hard.

Picture him breathing in my face as I was applying a dusting of foundation to his pimply skin.

Eggs.

Finally it got too much for me.

I preferred to work with other actors.

But he made sure my clients were limited until there was only him.

So I killed him.

I killed him and dumped his body in the ocean. Nobody'll find him unless they have a submarine. And how many people have one of those? Not me that's for sure.

 

[Luiglin]

Past, Present, Future?

History has always been my weakness. I imagine being in the past, sharing breath with the famous during important times.

It’s a peculiar fascination I know. Perhaps, for some, a touch too far?

I’ve thought about taking a step back, to actually live life in the now. Yet the weight of the present is too much to meet. It’s like a tight knot deep within.

So, I turn back to the past, deliberating on what it would be like to meddle without seeking permission from time. Curious with what ifs. I can picture them all.

Finally, the future gives me my chance.

Yes, I’d have preferred other moments. Yet, the implications for the timeline are, I believe, limited. In my past, only 317 from 1196 survived the USS Indianapolis.

I yell, “Submarine!”

 

[Teresa Edgerton]

Given his history with the service Lazlo did not imagine this could go well. He took a deep breath. His last mission had made him famous: it had been important but . . . well, peculiar, even for the agency. Perhaps, he thought, this one would actually be easier.

He laughed wryly. Fat chance of that.

He picked up his rucksack, feeling the great weight of it, loaded with weapons, the obvious and the not-so-obvious. Too much? Too little? But considering those he went to meet, best to be prepared for anything. Making up his mind, he tied the sack with a secret knot, impossible for anyone to unravel who wanted to meddle with the bag and didn’t know the trick of it.

Hastily, he made certain other preparations. He’d not been given permission to share the purpose of the mission with the merely curious, no matter how high up at the agency. Yet if things went wrong he wanted someone to understand what had happened. Searching up pencil and paper he scribbled a picture that Jenkins — still side-lined by injuries from their last mission together — should be able to decipher. A circle and seven dots. A stick figure that was nearly all mouth. A cross and an anchor.

Finally, he was ready. Even knowing he might not return, he preferred to go now without spending his limited time on lengthy farewells to his family.

And the submarine was already waiting to take him to the submerged spaceship.

 

[Cat's Cradle]

A History Imagined

Draw breath, exhale, dream – you’re famous … important (peculiar, perhaps, in malicious peoples’ thoughts, but actually the weight of those perceptions cannot meet your exaltation). Exercise your fantastical omnipotence: bind her matrimonially in knots of ruptured heartstrings – you’ve meddled without permission, ruined her, curious to picture yourself finally with the woman preferred within your perpetual delusions.

But it’s a dream … so limited, angry; it shouldn’t be another’s nightmare. Try again: yourself with a coke, chips, a submarine, and your dog, Hazel.

 

[Glisterspeck]

Say “history” and folks imagine the breath of the famous, the important, the peculiar. Perhaps a thought for the mothers or wives of these, but mostly, they equate history with the weight of great men. Not me.

Meet history as I have, a knot of tentacles floating deep beneath the sea, a vast consciousness formed solely to meddle with the past, to spin from its black clouds of ink, with no permission from reality, a curious picture of distorted memory, of lies and alternative facts.

Dive deep, between winding tentacles. Turn your spotlights to pierce the inky and deceptive specters of yesteryear. Finally, find your preferred truth entombed in the knot, attempt to decipher the great glyphs of that truth, and realize how little the limited lights of your submarine reveal, how little you can read through the mirky deep, how little there is to comprehend. How little there is to truth.

 

[Joshua Jones]

The Barkeeper's Story

“In Azaroth’s history, one cannot imagine a breath as famous (or infamous) as the imp Ortant. Peculiar, perhaps is the thought of actually famous breath, but true.

“Once, Mr. Weight and Ortant arranged to meet at Woodcutter’s Knot to meddle, without permission, with the curious picture. Finally arriving, Weight ambushed, restrained Ortant, as the sheriff preferred. However, Ortant's breath melted the chains, and no longer limited, he escaped.”

A drunk man interjected, “What? No submarine?”

 

[Starbeast]

History at it's End​

"Just imagine, taking a breath of what's suppose to be fresh air, then dying. Radiation contamination, doesn't care how famous and important you are. Just like the poor souls who were within range of nuclear testing in the 1950's. Extraterrestrials warned that we'd poison ourselves, but we didn't listen."

"The Greys, always remarked that humans are, peculiar. Perhaps decades ago, we thought that our scientists could actually keep the demon of radiation caged. Unfortunately, the generations before us kept delaying an implementation of a clean energy solution, now the weight of the problem is overwhelming."

"I was informed that you will meet with officials to discuss utilizing the Tesla Arc."

"It gives me a knot in my stomach. to share free energy. I'm already stressed, by alien races that meddle in our lives. Permission was never given to any extraterrestrials to dissect cattle."

"They were curious about contamination side effects. They understood the big picture."

"I finally accepted that. I preferred when they, used to keep themselves hidden, and only limited exposing their presence as a strange light in the sky."

#

Days later, a submarine carrying multinational officials, departed. An agreement was made to safely dismantle all nuclear weapons and power plants, then properly dispose of all contaminated waste. Unfortunately, it was too late to save the human race. However, resources were shared among all countries, until supplies ran out, and every person, in time, passed away......

 

[Peter V]

Coincidence.

I am a humble history professor and I cannot imagine why they selected me to be their champion.

So here I stand on the outside of the towering city walls. My breath steams in the frigid air and I shiver, but only from the cold.

"You will be famous", they told me, "one of our most important citizens." But truly I am a peculiar choice. Perhaps they thought me capable but actually I am even struggling with the weight of my weapon. Good job I won't need it.

Then it dawned on me. It all started when I went to meet Chancellor Knot. He warned me not to meddle and to keep teaching according to the scriptures. I sought permission to include my research, surprised that he wasn't curious when I outlined the whole picture but finally realized he preferred his limited and safe worldview.

But it is so hard to teach untruths. I know it is no Kraken that rises from its submarine depths to assail the city every five hundred years. It is a series of natural disasters; a flood, an earthquake, a comet from the heavens. I laugh inwardly at their foolish superstitions. Well, if this is his doing, he will soon see the truth - it is pure coincidence that these things happen exactly to the day every...

In front of me the sea swells and starts to boil. A dozen huge tentacles break the surface.

I look at the axe.

Coincidence.

 

[holland]

Kill and Repeat​

History repeats.

Imagine inhaling the foul breath of a famous important war historian for a thousandth time while he drones on about peculiar events from days long gone. Perhaps I once thought that actually his enormous weight would make him meet his maker. But the knot around his neck does not tighten. To ask him about how much he actually weighs would be to meddle unnecessarily without permission, but I'm curious. I picture him finally landing in one of his preferred battles of choice, his movements limited in a tiny two-man submarine that is sinking to the bottom of the sea.

But instead I stab him in the heart with a knife and watch him die on the floor. Then I snap my fingers and return to the beginning. His breath is still as foul as his soul.

 

[Mr Orange]

Time to Spare


“History says I’ll fail, but imagine, in one breath I could-”

“Be famous? Important?”

“A peculiar view, scared, perhaps? I never thought you’d actually refuse a challenge.”

“…Centre the weight where the beams meet, the temporal knot. And don’t meddle-”

“Not asking for permission.”

~

The machine’s a curious picture, but finally finished. Not my preferred quality; resources were limited.

~


A flash, then a burning submarine. I take father home.

 

[Parson]

“The Danger of Timeline Manipulation under Screwtape”​

Allison shivered with fear. She’d just read Screwtape’s note to Halbert. Halbert, a brilliant Timeline programmer, was her roommate. She hadn’t seen him the last three days, and that was unprecedented. Now, she’d been summoned to Headmaster Screwtape’s office for her final exam on the Timeline manipulation machine. The fear inducing note read:

“Halbert,

Remember my advice. When writing Timeline history, you have to imagine a commoner’s life breath. Writing about the famous or important will leave me a peculiar taste, perhaps a stimulating thought, but actually, the weight of such Timeline manipulation won’t meet my muster. The experience is like eating a wooden knot. It’s detestable in the extreme! Be warned; if you much meddle too much with the timeline you’ll need my permission. So, you’d best be curious and inventive but you must also be the picture of cautiousness.

Finally, remember that my preferred timelines give others only a limited opportunity to submarine my pleasure. Don’t fail, or you’ll be my delicious treat.

Screwtape”

She knew that the next several hours were not going to be pretty.

They weren’t. What came next was much worse.

 

[johnnyjet]

Sympathy of a Crawler

In all of history, the time crawler didn't imagine he would observe the last breath taken by someone so famous, so important to mankind. He considered it peculiar that it should be he of all persons who would stumble upon this dying man after perhaps his most disturbing time crawl yet. His first thought was it would actually have been more appropriate for the full weight of this discovery to rest upon the shoulders of someone more compassionate than himself; even a total stranger one would meet in passing would be better suited.

The knot in his stomach told him he should not meddle in this historic event. Who gave him permission to witness it, let alone allow him the discretion to tweak it? It was a curious predicament. As he slithered away, the picture of the dying man remained etched in his mind. Finally, he could take it no more: he crawled back hours before the man's demise. Though he preferred long term intrusions, his options were more limited in this situation. He whisked the popular socialist leader away in a stolen submarine before his enemies arrived. He sighed, expecting a better future now for Germany and the world. This was not his usual modus operandi. However, he crawled back into his huddling place in timeless space, content that Adolf Hitler would fulfill his destiny.

 

[nixie]

If you could travel through history , can you imagine witnessing the last breath of the famous, important people you had only read about before.
Time travel is peculiar, perhaps if we thought it was actually possible we would weight up the consequences of our actions on the people we would meet.
Would you have a knot in your stomach if given permission to meddle in the past.
A curious picture finally emerges, of mistakes and disasters that time travel can cause.
Weighting up the odds, I think my preferred time machine would be limited to a submarine so I can observe from a far.

 

[TitaniumTi]

From Jules Verne’s Diary

I glanced at the book’s title - ‘A History of All You Imagine’ - and opened it on a whim. The first page stole my breath. I was no longer satisfied to study the precepts of famous men, or lend assistance to self-important fools.

These are the words that changed everything: ‘There is peculiar freedom in an unbound mind, the freedom of the word “perhaps.” Banish any thought that includes the word “actually.” It carries the weight of expectations you need not meet.’

But I had no control over my life; it was a knot of obligations. I was trained to meddle in the lives of others, as if a lawyer’s gown was sufficient permission.

Indeed, men sought my meddling with curious alacrity. Each one told me the story of his conflict, oblivious to the unflattering picture painted by his words, and expected me to act as mirror to his own complaints. None showed any interest in my ideas.

Finally, Monsieur Hetzel agreed to publish my stories, although even he rejected my opus, Paris in the Twentieth Century, calling it ‘impossible’ and ‘too pessimistic.’ He preferred stories limited by popular taste - tales of submarine conflict and grand exploration.

***

My books will carry my thoughts down the stream of years. Another book, hidden on a high shelf, holds a warning from the future. One day, perhaps, money alone will rule the world. But only perhaps.

 

[mosaix]

When Mates Fall Out…

“History. What’s it good for?”
“I imagine so we can learn from...”
“Wasting your breath!”
“But there’s the famous line ‘Those who ignore…”
“It’s important to remember…”
“Stop interrupting! You’re peculiar! Perhaps - ”
“But I thought…”
“Interrupting again! I actually - ”
“To add weight to my argument…”
* sigh * “Okay. Compromise? Meet each other…”
“Why?”
“So we don’t get in a knot and a meddle - muddle!”
“I don’t need your permission to speak!”
* resigned sigh * “Okay. I’m curious. Put me in the picture.”
“Finally, you want to listen!”
“I’d have preferred not to but time’s limited. The submarine is leaving!”

 

[LittleStar]

Red String

George always said, “History has a way a’ ‘peatin itself. Imagine a breath, cloudin’ in the air; disappearin’. Then a second later, that cloud’s back again.”

I breathe. Icy waves lap my ankles.

He’s the only real friend I had. Plenty people wanted to talk, on account a’ my skin; glows like a firefly, see. Strangest thing anyone saw. Made me famous, important to science, helping cure some or other peculiar disease perhaps.

But George never thought I’s special, I’s jus’ me; but that didn’t mean I weren’t good. It was him taught me conkers; wrestling; even how to swim, best he could leastways, never actually done mor’an paddle without his hand holding my weight.

Waves hit. Sucks air right from my lungs.

When war started, we went to meet the recruiters together, but what they want a firebug for, lighting them all up for pilots?

George said there’s a knot none could meddle with tied us together. But he still asked permission. I braved his leaving; playin’ excited, curious… but could only picture weeping myself to sleep.



Finally, news.

Think I preferred ignorance. Least I’s limited to feared and lonely imagination. But, you can’t ignore black an’ white in the paper. His submarine ripped like a tin can. All perished.

But he wouldn’t.

Waves wash the tears.

He’s stuck down there, tugging our rope.

Salt fills my nose.

Jus’ needs someone to teach him to swim again, an’ light the way back to the surface.

 

[Warren Kramer]

“History has shown that the violence we’re about to unleash rarely improves our lot. I imagine Ming knows this.” I whisper a breath to Wan.

A leader as famous and important as she would be aware of even the most peculiar teachings of elvenkind. Perhaps she thought herself above these laws. Or that her grand entrance would actually add weight to her new advantage. I had planned to meet with her and discuss this. But she was tied in a knot of battle-preparation and her message warned me not to meddle in things I do not understand.

Well, I don’t need her permission to defend my people. So here we are in these trenches, curious about what this picture will reveal when the battle is finally finished. I heaved a great sigh, knowing I would’ve preferred to settle this peacefully.

Until recently, she had seemed of limited resources. But now she has arrived on these shores in the device she called a “submarine,” I’m no longer sure of our chances. Nevertheless, I here I lay, waiting for the right moment to give the order to attack.

 

[Alex The G and T]

It's a waste of my time to write a history of this Snarg-bitten colony. I can't imagine why anyone would care to read my ramblings. The air, here, is so foul and sultry, it corrupts one's very breath.

This cess-pit of a planet is famous only for Jungle Rot, Impending Doom and the Nameless Dread. Nothing I have to report is important to anyone who isn't peculiar enough to dream about following me here.

Perhaps I'm not making myself clear enough. I thought that I was saying that this "colony" is actually the most hideous hell-hole in the entire galaxy. The alleged riches to be mined here are hardly worth their weight in sludge.

I have yet to meet anyone here, at all, that didn't need a knot tied into their sacroiliac. And there's not one rascal here that won't meddle in business which is none of their own.

I surely gave no one permission to be curious about my picture on any counterfeit "Wanted" poster from my alleged "Home" planet.

I fancied that I had finally found a place where I could rest, undiscovered. I would have preferred a tropical, sun-soaked island, with plenty of Babes, Booze and Bikinis; but my options were limited.

Ironically, it's sounds weird; but the driest, safest, cleanest place on this whole slimy, sticky, disgusting planet is at the bottom of the sea in a submarine. Dive! Dive! aaaaooogah!