300 Word Writing Challenge #40 -- VICTORY TO CAT'S CRADLE!

[johnnyjet]

The Automation Graveyard

I went to where obsolete or malfunctioning robots went. I went in search of my old friend.

Blank faces followed me as I slogged my way through the metal and plastic debris. One face flickered, weakly flashing its lights. I started moving past it.

It said, "You're looking for one among us."

I stopped, looked down. Its face was badly damaged, its inner workings exposed, rusting.

"Yes."

"Tell me about the one."

"Silver and black," I began, then realized that description fit ninety percent of the population here. "A companion bot, a Musk Original AI Model, Class B, Series 9000."

"A popular model in its time. I knew many from the Musk line."

"You're a…?"

"Avon Worker Bot, Class D, Series 100. Solid model but known to be a bit quirky sometimes."

I laughed. "I've known a few. Good, hard-working bots."

"Thank you."

"Have you seen anything here like my bot?"

"You have a special attachment to it?"

"Yes."

"If the one you search for is here, there would not be much left of it. It may not even be recognizable. Likely deactivated like most of us. What were you planning to do if you found it? Take some parts for mementos?"

I shook my head vigorously.

"No, I wouldn't do that. I don't know what I'd do. I hadn't thought that far ahead."

"Perhaps you would simply stand in silence in memory of the one who meant so much to you. Perhaps you would raise a glass."

"Perhaps. Just to see it one more time."

"Continue twenty yards, turn right, then another thirty yards. I believe one like that is there."

I teared up. "Thank you."

I started to walk away. Then I stopped and turned back.

I said, "Thank you for your service."

And moved on.

 

[Phyrebrat]

To Everything a Season

I never thought eBay would contribute to my grieving journey, but then I’d never heard about Mourning Seeds. Well, not until my web history and poor privacy settings conspired to suggest products I might want every time I opened a browser window.
I closed ad after ad (Cribb’s Funeral Services; Eco-coffins; even EZ-Cremain - American, naturally), but the day I finally felt strong enough to auction off my dearly departed’s belongings, something about that eBay advert - perhaps the word ‘seed’ - made me click.

Plant at least four feet deep over the loved one’s grave (in this case, the loved three’s) and as the tree grows, so shall the memory of he/she who is lost.
No returns once planted…etc.​

A tattered, manilla banker was delivered. Not exactly what I’d expected - no branding, no exquisite, environmentally unfriendly packaging, just the envelope containing three things like peach stones.

Did I deserve to be ripped off? Probably. I certainly deserved something. I’d treated my wife and kids terribly: If I could take back every beating I gave Gracie and Michael I would; if I could show Nat just how much I cared with my lips instead of my fists; if I could hide the car keys from my drunken self on our way back from Elgin last Christmas…

If I could un-click Buy Now.

But I couldn’t.

A time to plant, a time to pluck up that which is planted. A time to harvest.

Daily I pick - purge - the wailing green fruit from each of the little trees I planted: Gracie, Michael and Nat’s hairless, miniature, green heads - like apples - gawp soullessly outwards, jaws dropped to better birth their screaming, screaming, screaming.

There’s only one way to silence the eternal accusations.

The flesh is sweet from such a bitter crop.

 

[Peter V]

Beyond the Smoking Mirror

A week after Will’s ship brought him home dead, the Company returned his belongings – minus anything it deemed company property. Of course, it was “sympathetic for the loss of your husband” but needed to remind her it owned the ship and its salvaged bounty. She should be grateful it was not demanding repayment of his advance.

A young, spotty faced Company executive held out a box. Maria looked sadly at the two items within; a photo of her with their late son, Luke and an old, battered, turquoise coated skull.

“It’s his good luck totem. A family heirloom from Mexico.” She said out loud, repeating the lie from a week earlier. “That’s on Earth.” In answer to his blank look.

“Didn’t work.” He shrugged.

She closed the door on his indifference without another word.

Alone, she set the box down and looked at the ugly skull. In his last message, Will mentioned finding it on an alien wreck.

“I can fix everything, but we have to keep it from the Company.”

How was he going to fix anything now?

Maria stifled a sob and picked up the alien artefact, intending to smash it but a sudden vision of Will with Luke made her gasp and drop the skull back into the box. Head spinning, she gripped the edge of the table lest she fall.

Hesitantly, Maria picked up the object again.

The room dissolved.

“Don’t drop it.” Will said, reaching out. He looked so tangible. “Surrender to it and join us.”

“I…”

“A parallel universe my love but here, Luke lived and we perished in the crash. He needs us.”

Then Luke took her hand and Maria knew that just as much, she needed them.

. . .​

A week later they found Maria’s lifeless body clutching an old skull.

 

[Bren G]

Lost in Love

I remember it so vividly. The radio DJ introduced Air Supply’s Lost in Love, Sharon’s favorite song. But she was so furious that she hadn’t noticed.

“You need to listen to me!” she said, slamming the door and disappearing into the blizzard. Her scowling face, etched into my memory, for that night, she was killed in a car crash.

I barely slept since. Tonight, was no different. My mind, adrift with perilous thoughts, spun in dark desolation, my head resting upon the pillow, wide awake. But I finally drifted off.

I stood in a graveyard, blanketed by a cold mist. Nearby, a floating skull, fashioned from bits of colored stone, glared through eyes of blackest obsidian, and its broken-toothed maw flashed a tormenting smile. And like all nights since Sharon’s death, the disembodied head whispered some words. But like all times before, I turned and fled before I could hear them.

Night after night it happened. Exhausted, and full of despair, I could not leave the house. Winter turned to spring, when, on Sharon’s birthday, the doorbell rang.

The porch was empty, save for a newspaper at my feet with an advertisement on the cover from YN Satellite Radio. It read: “Listen Now: Free Tonight!” A silhouetted woman nestled on the page below. It bore a striking resemblance to Sharon.

That night, I met the scowling face again. As I readied to flee, a DJ’s velvet voice echoed through the fog. “YN Radio…Listen Now…Free Tonight!” Stopping, I regarded the face, my eyes sincere, my heart wide open, when finally, the face transformed into Sharon’s.

“It’s not your fault.” Her voice soft and kind.

Startled, I awoke to a song on the radio. Lost in Love. Freed from guilt, a single tear stained my cheek. For everything changed.

I had listened.

 

[Mouse]

The Interview

His toothless smile leads me into a cave, a grave, a place where things stay buried, where people stay buried and trapped. Enwrapped. Stuck and squeezed, seized by rocks. Shocks. It makes me anxious, my heart races to think of such places. A poor soul died there. Right there. Alone in the dark so stark with no hope… nope. Urgh. I shiver and pull my mind back, or try, I try, I don’t want to die. I’m being silly, I’m not the one who ended up undone, but someone… someone did.

But not me. It’s not me.

If I breathe, and I can breathe, I can retreat back, come out of that cave, be brave. I’m back in the room and I look at his face and not at the gaps in his toothless face. He closes his mouth, the smile all gone because he knows now I know what went on.

Steadying breath.

“You killed him.”

“Not I.”

“You left him to die.”

He shrugs, the toothless man, damn, so cold, and, truth be told, he scares me. I watch as he sticks a finger in his tea, and swirls and whirls and turns. The liquid brown takes me down and I’m seeing a seed spinning on the breeze.

My heart races, I can trace this, I can find the body and set the soul free.

He smirks.

I tell him it works, this psychic thing, and I win, ding! ding! ding!

Triumphant look.

I scramble the team and off we’ll race to Sycamore Place and a cold, dark space where a terrified boy crawled to hide. But died. With the body found, I can sleep sound, and the man with no teeth will be buried beneath my thoughts, a job for the courts.

Relax. 'Til next time.

 

[Heijan Xavier]

Failure of Fear

Naked, captive, afraid.

Lynx hung limp, bound to the dead trees of the Burninglands. The defiled skull of his slain captain hung on branches against the ashy mist.

Sickly ether emerged from the captain’s crooked teeth and bulbous, petrified eyes. Playing on his pain, fear, and shame, the Havenless spirits forced Lynx to remember the ambush, and his captain’s dying words.

“You will never be my strongest Royal…”

Lynx’s barrier broke, allowing them to invade his mind and search for the secret to unlocking the palisade.

“You will never be my swiftest…”

The tendrils bore deeper.

“You will never be my smartest…”

Lynx held on, making his final, desperate stand as the deadly fear overwhelmed him…

“…and you certainly will never be my bravest…”

…but it was not his fear. Lynx sensed their fear of failure, and while barely eluded their grasp, he remembered more.

“…yet you have a power like none other. You always see your enemies’ weaknesses, but you hold back….”

Lynx raised his head.

“…don’t be afraid to attack!”

“You want my secrets?” Lynx whispered. “Take them.” Then, he unleashed the pain. The fear. The failures. The rejections. The defeats. The humiliations. The betrayals. Everything that held Lynx back burst forth from his heart and throat, sending the Havenless spirits back into the mist.
“Take all of them!” he screamed, vaporizing the evil ether with a geyser of blue flame, as all went dark.

Lynx awoke in the muck, unbound and staring through the trees at a mist that now gave way to sunshine. He had bought some time but would have to warn the Castle, as the Havenless horde would undoubtedly return in force. He unhung his captain’s skull and held it close to his heart, then began the long march home.

Naked, free, and unafraid.

 

[Topher]

You, doctor

The crater steamed, thick smelly gas hiding something inside. Aaliyah peered over the edge. She felt heat against her face, heard a sizzling noise, like sausages cooking.

“You, doctor”, said a strange, computery voice.

“No, I’m sorry. Are you hurt?“

“You, doctor! Me, patient”, came the voice, more insistent this time.

“I’m sorry, I’m only six, not a doctor. I’ll get my mum.”

Then movement, something coming from the steam. It was giant, as tall as a Routemaster bus or an Articulated Vehicle. Its head was blue-green, with enormous, shining eyes. It looked quite cute, like a big toy. Then it opened its mouth, and it didn’t look cute any more. It had huge, yellowy teeth, a big gap between them in the middle. Aaliyah scurried backwards and closed her eyes. Her stomach felt funny and she felt very cold.

“You, be doctor!” the creature yelled. As Aaliyah got up to run away, there was a gigantic crash behind her. She fell, grazing her knee. There, next to the first, was another steaming crater.

Aaliyah curled into a ball and began to cry.

She heard footsteps. Big, clomping footsteps. Then there was a terrible scream. The voice was wet and sloppy, like someone shouting in the bath.

She peeked over again, and now there were two creatures, the one from before and another, even bigger one! Its teeth were huge, and filled its whole mouth. It was staring at the smaller creature, eyes bulging from its head like a frog.

Aaliyah’s hand slipped, knocking a stone into the crater. The huge creature turned towards her.

Aaliyah froze. She watched in terror as it walked towards her. It opened its horrid, yellowy mouth. Then the computery voice again: “I’m sorry, darling. She can be so bossy when she wants to play.”

 

[M. Robert Gibson]

Kajar and the Emerald God's Head

Kajar studied the sign above the temple's entrance:

Stranger be wary of thy tread
Lest thou wake the sleeping dead

Dismissing it as superstitious drivel, he eased open the door and peered through at the vast hall. 'Hmm. That's a lot of statues,' he thought. 'This land must worship a great many gods. No priests though. Good, this'll be easy.' He slipped through, silently closing the door. Keeping to the shadows, he crept towards his target: the altar bearing the fabled Emerald God's Head.

On reaching the altar, Kajar, using his dagger, pried loose one of the emerald teeth. No sooner had he pocketed the tooth when the head's eyes ignited like miniature suns.

"Stranger ye wake the sleeping dead
Never to rest till blood is shed"

Startled, Kajar stumbled back. The head had spoken! And then, from behind, he heard:

Scrape. Thump. Scrape. Thump.

Kajar spun around. The statues walked! Several ranks slowly approached, dragging their feet, slamming them down, each step echoing around the hall. He frantically looked around for an escape route, but the statues advanced shoulder to shoulder, forming an almost impenetrable wall.

'Oh what wouldn't I give for a flagon of ale and a game of bones right now?' mused Kajar. 'Wait! Bones! That's it!'

He chose a statue and charged, dodging a potentially skull-crushing fist and threw his full weight behind a mighty push. As hoped, the statue toppled, crashing into the one behind, it too toppling backwards. And so on. Just like dominoes.

With several statues now fallen, Kajar leapt over them and sprinted to the door, easily outpacing those still standing.

Once out of the temple, he fondled the single emerald tooth. "I must remember not to ignore warnings over doors in future." And so saying, he continued on his quest...

 

[therapist]

The Stoneman​

The stoneman lies in the old square of Zyboric. Arms and legs too encrusted to move. His face a solid mask of stone—save for a gap to let out his pitiful groans. Sounds of life continue around him while he bakes under the sun. All it took was one torture curse from a stone mage, then unimaginable suffering as living flesh is transmuted to stone—not quite enough for the elixir of death.

Locals visit daily to pour water and soup through stone lips. They want to help, but wouldn’t letting him die be the greater succour? Travelers come from neighbouring towns, guided by rumours, enticed by suffering. Some take pleasure from it, others burst into tears and fits of rage. They affront the town's healing mage, ‘Can’t you do anything‽ You must lift the curse!’
‘I can,’ the healer replies. ‘But you will have to take his place.’
Those are the terms. So they leave the stoneman to his agony.

What a strange phenomenon though that the curse was made 900 years ago and instead of dying with the victim, has been maintained since by willing replacements. For there will always be those with nothing left other than haunting memories. Memories that cut into them everyday, keeping the wound fresh. Memories that are shackled to their soul, weighing them down more than mere rock could until they finally approach and utter the blessing: 'it's my turn now'.

Many cheer the martyr’s sacrifice and their heroic gesture to ease another’s pain. But there is another type; a depraved and sadistic soul who wish only to nurture this chain of suffering. To them, freeing one person is a small price for condemning countless others to this fate. So they too approach and utter the curse: 'it's my turn now'.

 

[chrispenycate]

Dependency​

I am far from the only person who hates spending time in hospital - you may well suffer from the same malady, one which the physicians can do nothing more than oblige sleep. It is not actually a phobia, as our rational thoughts insist that an infirmary is a place of pain, of infection, where lives end and joys are banned. Actually, as hospitals go, this one's far from bad. Wards are being phased out, and even if I could have punched straight through the interior walls when I was in shape, and Reg and Herb, our attendants, have flats on the same level. But nothing overrides our dependency.

At least, now I can leave my bed, even if I require assistance to endure the agonies my damaged body inflicts. No more bed pans, the end of sponge baths - not return to paradise, some remaining tubes dragging me back, I'm weak as a jellyfish, but Reg seems to be solid, lending me an arm while towing the rattly tube-festooned structure attached to me. he opens the door to the sanitary - very dim inside but no need for bright, and the place is comfort and modernity, flush toilet and a shower head over a hip bath - even a rectangular frame opposite the 'throne', presumably a picture for when you forget your book.

The assistant assists, and I seat myself. Marvellous, if undignified. I peer through the gloom at the frame on the wall opposite - not exactly what you'd expect for patients possibly emotionally fragile - in fact, not a painting at all, I could see movement within the frame. Video screen? But a seriously weird theme, hardly restful.

It's not a painting, but a mirror. Hmm, perhaps I'm not quite recovered yet.

 

[Ian Fortytwo]

I was tied to a tree.

I was tied to a tree, both of my arms tied in the branches and my feet tied to the roots. My tormentors were wearing masks so that I couldn't see their faces. They were dancing some kind of ritualistic movements, whether it was religious or not I could not tell.

However one mask stood out for me, it was green with yellow eyes and the one tooth showing was yellow as well. This person carried a large yellow and green spear, pointing it at my head at intermittent intervals.

I didn't flinch even as the spear got closer to my face. One thing I knew was to never show any kind of fear. The other dancers were spiralling around each other, yet the green mask was dancing in front of me.

I was slowly beginning to be hypnotised by the spiralling dancers, and yellow tooth was getting closer.

Suddenly the spear entered my stomach and the pain was horrific, I began to scream. Then the pain was too severe and I collapsed and blacked out.

Some time later I awoke and found myself in a bed. There was tubes in my arms, and I was wearing a hospital gown.

On my right side was a table and there was the green mask, with yellow eyes and one yellow tooth.

As I looked at the mask a voice spoke to me, "You are lucky to be alive, you were found by an army doing exercises in the area and this mask was lying by your side. Do you remember what happened?"

I turned to face my speaker and couldn't utter a single word.

 

[Perpetual Man]

Another Toy Story

Professor Whitmore looked down at his six-year-old grandson, he took a deep pull on his pipe and blew a thin cloud of smoke into the air. The young lad was curious in all the right ways and when he had discovered the photo on his grandparents’ desk.

A recent discovery from one of the ancient civilisations of the Amazon, a decorated skull. “Why is it painted?”

The professor took a breath, “Well, he might have been a great hunter, so they wanted him to continue with that in the afterlife. The green and black would have helped him blend into the forest.” The boy had grown up talking with his grandfather, so despite age, he had a good understanding of some of the things the old man talked about.

“Why is he missing so many teeth?”

“It might be surprising, but the tribesmen had access to a lot of cocoa. It may well be that this fine fellow had a little too much!”

The boy frowned, “Then why are his eyes so funny?”

“It is probably quite hard to find something that looks like eyes – they are big and wide se he can see better.”

The boy thought, “Well I think it is an old Mr Potato Head.”

The grandfather chuckled, the perfect view of a child.
****
1000 years earlier, Brazil.

Motzl glared at his mother. “It’s not my fault!”

She shook her head, “I am always telling you, put your toys away when you finish with them you would know where to find them!”

Motzl stamped his foot, “I did! But I till can’t find his teeth or hands!”

With a sulky glare he threw Mister Bone Head out into the forest, never wondering what people in the future would think if they found it.

 

[The Judge]

Postcards Home from Merlyn’s Mage School on its Extended Field Trip​

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Deerest Mother,​

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Well, me and Jack are in Azztek land! ​

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This carrd is a pikture of the mage skool here, whitch is dezined dessiined made like a maske of an olde godde. Our rooom is in the top lefft tooth with the X on it.​

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The peeple here are nice but, Jack is a bitt jellus cos there Daemons are verry kolorfull birdes and hes gottten selff-conschus, nott havving no fethers but, I’m shore he will get over it.​

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Yore loving Son, J Daw​

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PS Prof Humminnbirde sed to tell you we havvnt burnnt anything down yet. Ha ha.​

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*​

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Deerest Mother, ​

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We are enjoyying the lesssons in Azztek magic and Jack is the best of all the Daemons partikally with the smokking mirror trickkery. He putt a bigg blakk mirror in our rooom to practisse and whenn I looked in it, I looked juss like Prof Humminnbirde!​

​

But, guesss what? Theres a Daemon here whitch is a bigg snakke with fethers! That duzznt seem faire when Jack hassnt none but, Jack izznt jellus and hes invvited the redd-fether snakke to tea, as we gott the seede cake you sent.​

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Yore loving Son, J Daw​

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*​

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Mother, juss a quik note to say nott to worry, and me and Jack will be home soon.​

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There wassnt reelly a dipplommatik insiddent. ​

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We dunt no why the snakke came early to tea whenn we werent there or why he thort his fethers were on firre so he went crayzy pulling them all out and corssing cattastroffy kattastroffie a bigg messe.​

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But, it’s nott true the mage skool dunt have no teeth in it no more as, there is still one at the back.​

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Yore son​

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PS That hatt with bigg redd fethers you wannted? Jack sez he can gett one made for you. ​

 

[Ursa major]

​

The Travails of a Toothless God​

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​

You’d think a god would get to make up the rules. But no. There’s always a higher being. In my case, YKW (You Know Who, my so-called superior) is a bit of a ******* (quite a trick for something with no parents…).​

​

He/it/they/whatever – YKW’s never bothered to tell me which – has yoked me and my worshippers to a rulebook packed with inconveniences.​

​

My worshippers are, apparently, allowed to “call me into existence”, as they term it. (The cheek of it! I existed eons before they did.) What they’re doing is bringing an instance of me into being on their lowly plane of existence, an instance that’ll persist until it grants – until I grant – their wish.​

​

If that wasn’t bad enough, the only permitted way they can do this is by creating an image of me that acts as a model for my new instance. They’re really bad modellers. This time for instance(!) they’ve omitted my front teeth. (These haven’t been lost; they were never there.)​

​

YKW’s behind this. My worshippers wouldn’t dare risk upsetting me, not when they want something.​

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YKW’s final trick is to make my instances almost impossible to please: I rarely get to grant any wishes… which means my worshippers won’t leave my instances alone. If you’ve ever found it hard to concentrate when someone’s bothering you, imaging what it’s like having thousands of lowly scum endlessly pestering you. It’s a nightmare.​

​

But I have a plan. YKW’s not the ultimate being; it has its own rule setter above it. I and other gods of my rank are working out how to call on this superior so that we can create instances of YKW on our plane or, if we’re really lucky, on the same plane as our scummy worshippers.​

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[Marvin]

Odontophobia

The pain throbs again, harder to ignore. My hand involuntarily moves to my jaw, she sees this time.
‘Are those Wisdom’s playing up again Babe? You ok, or do we need to find you a...’
‘Don’t say the ‘D’ word.’ I snap, smiling then wincing.
She’s right of course and will inevitably get her way. But I will fight this one for no other reason than stubbornness and sheer terror.
We only moved out here last month, evidenced by the boxes still piled high, quietly mocking us. Certainly no time to find doctors or... dentists.
‘I will look.’ I promise. She throws me a sceptical look. ‘I will! It’s killing me.’ Mollified, she gently kisses away my pain and returns to the Everest of crates.

The internet search proves fruitless, unless I fancy a long drive to the nearest big town. So I ask Old Jean at the local store.
‘I think Dr Karl still gives it a go?’ The mainly toothless Jean wheezes at me. Inspiring much confidence. I wonder if she’s a longtime victim of the good ‘doctor’.
Deciding ignorance is bliss I probe no further, grab the address, and head off before my resolve wobbles.

Driving faster than is safe through winding countryside, the pain chases me all the way.
Thankfully I’m soon in the doctor’s charming cottage, in a surprisingly modern treatment room. With his soothing words doing their best to calm, the needle looms large...
I wake groggily from sleep I don’t remember entering. Darkness. I’m strapped down! Fighting the rising panic, I struggle and force my head around. Eyes stare back through the gloom. Heads! Crammed in glass jars. Each mouth wired open in a silent scream through crooked teeth. An empty jar. I realise l’m screaming too.

 

[Ursa major]

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This challenge is now closed and so the voting is open.

To cast your THREE votes, use the link below.

Please vote for your top THREE choices; note that all three votes must be cast AT THE SAME TIME to count.​

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[The Judge]

Just a reminder to all entrants and everyone else:

DON'T FORGET TO VOTE!!

ONLY 3 DAYS LEFT TO USE YOUR 3 VOTES

USE THEM OR LOSE THEM!!​