SHORT STORY/ART CROSSOVER COMP - "THE RACE"

[Bad City Blue]

The deadline is Oct 31st, Droogies - give it a go

[Heath C Ackley]

Sorry no entry from me again folks - like last month. Things have been 'turbulent' of late (Relationship ended, virtually homeless and couch-surfing relative's homes until I can move into my new place in the middle of Nov) and I'm temporarily separated from my beloved laptop.

Please, please have a go at this comp. It needs to survive. If you fancy submitting a Future Shock then comps like this one are a good way to hone your skills. With a 500 word maximum you have to cut out the bull and get down to the bones of the tale.

Don't just sit there yer' freaks! WRITE!

[Echidna]

Yeah, what Zippo said. I can't believe nobody's done a Supersurf or Mega-City 5000 story yet. Mine's coming along, sort of. So far I have a 200 word intro, which features no racing. Even when I'm working, I'm prevaricating...

[-MikeD-]

Okay... as there are so few entries I thought I'd type up an idea today. 497 words.

---
The Splitto Slip.

You're the owner of the premier space trucking company, you sport the stabbiest, jabbiest point that ever graced a Garp's gurney and you're so famous there's a pair of Splitto boots named after you. And yet... and yet... you've never won a medal at The Tucker Trucker's Games.

GBH regularly won gold in the boxing biffos. Feek the Freek had proved a natural at the lug-jump. Ace, on the other hand, had never won a thing.

This year would be different. He'd been practising, tearing around the lower decks in his eponymous Ace Sport Splittos. Mort's Sports had assured him that these boots were rugged, reliable and fast. So, thought Ace, winning should be spammy. All he needed to do was tone up his hustle muscles, keep off the MacMac, and turn up on time.

'Slow down, Ace.' warned Feek as Ace sprinted past during a lap of the powerhouse. 'Feek just polish deck!'

'Come again, boney buddy?' called Ace, but it was too late. The speeding  lugger was unable to brake. He hurtled across a gantry and through a bulk head door before hitting a sudden wall and falling into a crumpled heap on the floor.

'I've bent my gurney!', howled Ace, 'Boil over here, you boney bugjock, I'm gonna...!'

'On the other hand, you shaved another three seconds off your personal best.' harrumphed GBH, who was stood by the bulkhead door with a stop-watch.

'I did?', exclaimed Ace, 'Whoop! Then the lugger's chase is as good as won!'

'But how, Ace? You can't rely on a slippery surface on the day, and this polish is Feek's own recipe.'

'Sloop juice, skrim oil and avocado. Plus secret heh-heh ingredient.'

'Well, start stirrin', boney buddy,' grinned Ace, 'The Big A has a plan so slippy we're gonna need a whole drum!'

-

One week later, Ace returned to Speedo Ghost with his first gold medal in The Tucker Trucker's Games. Feek had reluctantly greased the track the night before and Ace's totally friction-less, cheapo splittos had ensured he'd rocketed to victory. Winning by a pointy head over his closest  rival Jago Cain.

Jago had protested, 'That was more skatin' than sprintin'!' he'd howled. But the bar was opening and no-one had the stomach for a re-run, so Ace Garp was crowned that year's zippiest lugger and Jago won the MacMac slap for sorest loser.

Sat in the jock box with his feet up on the console, Ace grinned from ear to ear. It had all been worth it. The exercise, the diet, all of it. 'If you ask me, it was a team effort', buzzed Ghost, interrupting Ace's reverie. 'Feek and GBH helped you win that medal.'

'Ten-four to that, digital buddy, I was just thunkin' the same. Get my lugbuddies on the 'choker and I'll divide the prize!'

And with those words, Ace unwrapped the gold foil and snapped the mock-choc medallion into three equal pieces.
---

[Jacqusie]

I'm nearly there, honest I am, give me five more minutes please sir... 

[Echidna]

Hey Jacqusie, are you in a mad rush to finish too? I think we might be taking the brief too literally

I dunno, two months' lead time and inspiration waits until literally the last day to strike. I cut the intro I mentioned, and most of the race too. Sometimes a story wants to go in a different direction, you know?


BIRDS OF PREY

The finish line was in sight. Cassius lashed the horses with renewed vigour and recalled the sacrifices he had made - mostly other men's blood, he had to admit - to make this victory possible. For a centurion to become a charioteer was almost unheard of; to be crowned with the champion's laurel wreath in the presence of the Emperor himself was unprecedented. The crowd roared in anticipation as Cassius raised a triumphant fist into the air.

Without warning, a dark, cloaked figure leapt from the crowd and collided with Cassius, knocking him from his chariot and thrusting him to the dirt track. The man, a massive Nubian with terrifying, pure white eyes and an imperial eagle carved grotesquely into his chest, lifted him effortlessly off the ground and placed his sword beneath Cassius' chin. His low, measured voice was audible even over the din of the horses and chariots thundering around them. "I am Aquila, Butcher of Rome, and I have it on good authority that you know where a man can find his soul."

Before Cassius could speak, Aquila was distracted by a strangely familiar cry. He looked up and saw, circling overhead, a great, dark bird, much like those he remembered from his homeland.

"Hold! This man's life is mine to take."

The call came from behind him. Aquila spun on the spot, causing a gurgle of fear to escape Cassius' throat as the blade pressed more firmly against his neck. Striding towards them across the track was a centurion. Like Aquila, he was a Nubian, not quite as tall nor as broad, but no less imposing a figure. And, like Aquila, he had the blank, featureless eyes of a man without a soul.

"Do you mean to fight me for this coward?" asked Aquila.

"Only if I must. His true name is Crassus. I have traveled far to find him. Many years ago, he captured me and made me a slave of the Roman Empire. And when I won my freedom, he sold me into the service of an altogether different empire. I have discovered that he is in league with... creatures; demons who took my soul from me." At this, a look of recognition passed between the centurion and the charioteer, who let out another terrified croak as his last shred of hope abandoned him.

While the two were talking, a squadron of guards had gathered around them, their weapons drawn but each reluctant to be the first to challenge the intruders. One coughed awkwardly, as though embarrassed to interrupt.

"It seems we have the same goal," said Aquila, "but there is still a battle to be fought. I suggest we turn these men into corpses and find somewhere more private to continue our discussion."

The man known as Black Hawk nodded and drew his sword. Cautiously, the circle of guards moved in closer. Aquila flung his helpless prisoner over his shoulder and stood back-to-back with his new ally.

"You know, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship..."

[Jacqusie]

Singing Stones and Kindly Fires...

The pitchstone and chisel ring as one, as I work the grooves and lines into the hard onyx black gritstone. Each furrow made, a pattern of loops and whirls, circles and tracks cut by the chalcedony method, exposing the acid greens of the inner crust.

The glorystones provide us with rough work, a Gennyans skin does not harden and develop callous over time and the heavy hand tools bite into my forgiving palms. My race does not share many traits of the humans that come to Gennyo-Leil, one of them being the toughening of the labourer in his knees, shoulders and my bones feel the effort of each blow of the journeyman's mallet.

The sudden rush of the tree tops cause us to look up from our work, sprayseed falls from the branches and I feel the swirl of wind that one experiences when the Kesheen approach. Two huge bulks appear with wingspans that fill the sky, these are the flanks of the blue/purple species that rise above us, their flinty yellow eyes searching for signs of smoke out towards the tierways in the underwoods. I raise a weary hand in acknowledgement and the pilot signals back to me as he takes the Kesheen on their scouting mission. A live glorystone slowly follows silently, just above their trajectory and we become engulfed in its tourmaline black shadow, as it journeys on its quest.

I can still feel the ozone as I turn back to our slabstone, which will spark with the same energy when the glyphs are finished. They form but one part of our telepathic link to one another and getting the cyphers correct takes time, until the last skew-chisel mark is made and the form slowly lifts to join its travellers.

My shadow-self looks at me and raises a half smile. We Gennyans only live a ridiculously short lifespan and as our time runs out, we get a foretaste of our future spirit selves, they come to guarantee us of our time in the next life. An assurance, a hand held toward the knowledge that our race will go on and endure no matter what the universe throws at us.

The Firekind have been burnt, persecuted and butchered in our time and we remain stoic no matter what, safe in the knowledge that our otherself is there to take us to the next domain. I'm already 28, I won't be here much longer, the all spirit, Asha-Khadrarine will take me when it's my time to go into the animist collective of the rain, animal, sun, wind and the sea.

The water's edge that kisses the white sand of the beach is my favourite place, watching the Hatchet birds dart and spin, catching wheelfish in the granite rock pools. Yet I know nothing more than this moment, my shadow-self, the dark stones that will vibrate and call out and so we must finish the sets of deep cut hieroglyphs before the grey woodsmoke rises idly across the pink sundown.

[Jacqusie]

Hey Jacqusie, are you in a mad rush to finish too? I think we might be taking the brief too literally

Yep! But then from your brill story it appears we work better under pressure! Good thinking - I missed that idea completely and yes it pays to be unconventional too, I was expecting lots of racing so I didn't go there either!

Nice one & good luck 

Si

[Bad City Blue]

Okay let's get the voting thread up.

Here's the final entry, my clumsy tribute to my hero.

The Race


"Hey there, citizens, and welcome to the Mega City 1 parkour championships. As you join us Stefan Dillon is in the lead - he's jumping like a bionic frog out there, although remember that rules stipulate no actual bionics are allowed. Parkour is one of the few remaining sports where it's all natural, folks, so sit back and enjoy the fun.

So here's Dillon, a stunning scramble up a fifteen foot vertical, and surely nothing can stop him now.. Wait! What's this? It seem Dillon has a competitor, only it's not a competitor at all - it's Judge Dredd! For some reason Mega City's finest lawman is chasing it's finest free runner!

Hold on, folks, I'm getting some ear-formation here... it seems Stefan Dillon is in fact the notorious Cat Burglar, and has been stealing citizen's cats in a crime wave that no one really cared that much about. Old Dredd cares, though, and he's actually gaining on Dillon as the athlete springs over the unsuspecting Citi Def unit on manoeuvres out of Frank Castle block. Ha he... old Frank Castle won't be forgetting Dillon in a hurry! Oh My! Dredd took the more direct route there, scattering the weekend warriors like RatFat candles, who incidentally are our sponsors today.

This is really turning into quite a race, folks, with Dredd almost in touching distance of Dillon as they approach the Tyranny Rex memorial fountain, dedicated to a poor girl who got merged with a dino in a bizarre teleporter accident. Nasty business, but at least it wasn't a fly - I hear that can really mess up your day!

Just look at Dillon, leaping like a robo salmon, and what a jump this will be if he can clear the fountain in a single bound. Holy synthi cow, I think he's going to make it! But wait! Dredd stretches out the long arm of the law and manages to catch Dillon by the foot, bringing in crashing, or should I say splashing, down into the water. Oh it's all over for the parkour loving perp now as Dredd drags him dripping top a holding post. I guess we're having a new champion this year, but let's go to Hap Hazzard, who has managed to get a few words with the man himself - Hap?"

"Thank you, Zack. Judge Dredd, you just ran down a man we thought was the finest free runner in all Mega City. You must do a lot of training."

"I'm over seventy years old, I'm wearing boots  and shoulder pads and I still caught this creep. Training? Try over half a century on the streets, and if after that you can't catch some gimp who steals cats it's time to hand up the boots. This interview is over. Stefan Dillon, for feline burglary I'm sentencing you to fifty four years in the cubes."

"Fifty four years? As come on Dredd that's way too long!"

"No... it's not nearly enough."