Spookymilk Survivor All Stars: Dust Cover/Episode Guide

Well, it's been a while since I did a Spookymilk Survivor writeup. The game is currently in its 'All Stars' iteration - a little over halfway through it, in fact. Not all of the weeks will get writeups, since some weeks wouldn't make sense for that sort of thing (and then there's the fact that I could be eliminated at any moment). So, I guess love it while it's here.

This week, players were tasked with creating a dust jacket for a self help book, and creating an episode guide for a TV show. The book and TV show in question were up to the player. Here's what I came up with.

OVER 60 FULLY ILLUSTRATED POSITIONS!

Are you tired of the same old, white bread sex when you hook up with drunken co-eds? Are you interested in adding a little bit of spice to your love life? Are you really, really into sexual positions named after animal and plant life?

Vātsyāyana's Kama Sutra solves these problems and hundreds more in minutes.

Learn SAFE and EFFECTIVE ways to maximize pleasure and flexibility while also having fun! Everyone can find something inside, from the pimply-faced teen hoping to score a couple quick nudie pics to the experienced Casanova. You'll be having flora and fauna-themed sexings in no time!

Includes complimentary life lessons, including (but certainly not limited to):

• Relaxing and obtaining girls
• Duties and privileges of wives
• Arousing weakened sexual powers via the power of Indian Mysticism
• Renewing friendship with former lovers

It's time to make love the exotic way. The Kama Sutra can help.

- - -

"With the Kama Sutra, Vātsyāyana truly joins the ranks of self improvement greats like Bob Vila and Dan Gookin. This book is a treasure trove of tips and tricks for both novices and experts alike!"

• Do It Yourself Monthly, April 2011

"I'm pretty sure that some of these positions are actually pretty dangerous. Then again, if I'm given the opportunity to truthfully tell my friends that I did something called the 'Clinging Creeper' with the waitress from Bennigan's, I guess I'll chance a ruptured tunica albuginea."

• Overheard at local Bennigan's last Friday

OVER 60 FULLY ILLUSTRATED POSITIONS!

Are you tired of the same old, white bread sex when you hook up with drunken co-eds? Are you interested in adding a little bit of spice to your love life? Are you really, really into sexual positions named after animal and plant life?

Vātsyāyana's Kama Sutra solves these problems and hundreds more in minutes.

Learn SAFE and EFFECTIVE ways to maximize pleasure and flexibility while also having fun! Everyone can find something inside, from the pimply-faced teen hoping to score a couple quick nudie pics to the experienced Casanova. You'll be having flora and fauna-themed sexings in no time!

Includes complimentary life lessons, including (but certainly not limited to):

• Relaxing and obtaining girls
• Duties and privileges of wives
• Arousing weakened sexual powers via the power of Indian Mysticism
• Renewing friendship with former lovers

It's time to make love the exotic way. The Kama Sutra can help.

- - -

"With the Kama Sutra, Vātsyāyana truly joins the ranks of self improvement greats like Bob Vila and Dan Gookin. This book is a treasure trove of tips and tricks for both novices and experts alike!"

• Do It Yourself Monthly, April 2011

"I'm pretty sure that some of these positions are actually pretty dangerous. Then again, if I'm given the opportunity to truthfully tell my friends that I did something called the 'Clinging Creeper' with the waitress from Bennigan's, I guess I'll chance a ruptured tunica albuginea."

• Overheard at local Bennigan's last Friday

K: Okay, it may not have the one big belly laugh, but a lot of this was a lot of fun.  The complimentary life lessons were the star, for me.

I had originally planned on having the writeup written in the voice of a person who thought that the Kama Sutra was, in fact, a homeowner's do it yourself book. It was going to be filled with cheesy double entendres and references to hammering and screwing. I realized pretty early on that I wasn't going to be able to shoehorn the type of jokes I wanted in there without making the whole thing seem stupid, so I switched to a more conventional tone. I do like the idea of Do It Yourself Monthly ranking the Kama Sutra in the same ballpark as Bob Vila and Dan Gookin (who wrote the first "For Dummies" book). I don't like the Bennigan's guy. I think I could've come up with something better there.

Oh well. On the day that everything was due, I realized that I would be best served by submitting the second challenge, as well. The problem was that I had fifteen minutes to conceptualize and write an episode guide, and I'd given it precisely no thought.

Mad Men

1      1-01                03/Dec/09   A New Family/The Tanned Triangle
The cast members are introduced. The Situation ogles some bar skanks, only to find out that one of them is Snooki. The gang spend the next nine days trying to coax him out of his room, where he is huddled in the fetal position, gently sobbing.

2      1-02                03/Dec/09   The Tanned Triangle
Snooki gets drunks and vomits on the Queen of England. After an all-weekend bender, The Situation wakes up in bed beside an aardvark. J-Woww tries to figure out where the extra 'w' in her name comes from.

3      1-03                10/Dec/09   Good Riddance
Pauly announces he's going back to college. The Situation tries to change his mind by throwing him a party, which turns into an all weekend bender. Snooki gets drunk and passes out in the Louvre.

4      1-04                17/Dec/09   Fade to Black
Christina Ricci guest stars as the gang try to fence stolen diamonds, not realizing that the 'diamonds' are, in fact, simple cane sugar. Snooki gets drunk and punches a hobo, who turns out to be Richard Branson in disguise.

5      1-05                31/Dec/09   Just Another Day at the Shore
J-Woww and Snooki decide to build a rocket ship, but have trouble obtaining the necessary rocket fuel. The Situation tries to help, but his definition of 'help' is 'having sex with J-Woww'. Hijinx ensue, and Snooki ends up drunk and on Quaaludes, screaming obscenities at a helpful nun.

6      1-06      106-60    07/Jan/10   Boardwalk Blowups
Some shit happens. Fuck, man. I dunno, I was pretty drunk during this one. I think Snooki might have peed on a cop car?

7      1-07      107-60    14/Jan/10   What Happens In The AC
The Situation plots to destroy modern civilization. Pauly does ALL the cocaine. Snooki gets a gin enema.

8      1-08      108-60    14/Jan/10   One Shot
Meet Grady, a twenty-nine year old construction worker. After coming home from a hard day's work he walks in the door of his trailer park home to find his wife in bed with another man.

9      1-09                21/Jan/10   That's How The Shore Goes
J-Woww and Pauly are now in full production in the new lab and are easily producing the 200 lbs per week of meth, as agreed. Fearing for their lives, they hatch a plan to eliminate The Situation, who is growing increasingly neurotic and dangerous. Snooki gets drunk and flashes a group of kindergartners.

K: A fairly bizarre take on the challenge that I didn’t put together immediately (and I’m only half-sure I get now; are these Mad Men episode titles?).  I’m really not the target market for this one, as I’ve never seen Jersey Shore.  Well, I saw five minutes once.  I was mystified; how the hell can it actually be a show?

So... I came up with that. First off, the Mad Men at the top is entirely extraneous and dumb, as this is a fake episode guide for Jersey Shore. I have not seen more than five combined minutes of the Jersey Shore (though I guess I've seen enough clips on The Soup to have a decent idea of the premise). I took the actual episode airing dates and titles from a Jersey Shore episode guide (such a thing exists), and made up fake episode recaps. I was running short on time (again, only fifteen minutes), so I threw as many references to stupid shit as possible.

Episode eight is just the intro to the third verse of "Guilty Conscience" by Eminem. Episode nine is essentially Breaking Bad with different people (plus Snooki flashing kindergartners). The jokes are cheap and I'm not a fan of it on any level other than the absurd, but whatever.

Spookymilk Survivor Podcast - Featuring Me!

Just because I haven't gone on and on about Spookymilk Survivor lately doesn't mean I'm not playing it (I am in fact playing the All Stars season right now). The problem has been that Turbo featured stuff that I wasn't particularly proud of, and last season featured total anonymity, which prevented any in depth discussion.

Luckily, for all of you who were curious to catch up on my exploits, there is now a way.

Kelly started a podcast series where he and a guest discuss that particular guest's Survivor history. Last week, it was my turn. Be warned, I talk a lot, and I have a horrible microphone (I actually stole it from my Playstation SingStar game, so... points for versatility?).

Feast your ears, and be prepared to adjust the volume a lot.

Turbo Survivor: Aesop Alteration

Catching up...

Our judges gave us a couple stock Aesop fables and asked us to write a more interesting story to reach them.

Here's mine.

It was the deal of a lifetime.

Well, maybe not of a lifetime, but certainly the best deal Martin was likely to see anytime soon.
Two thousand Silver Sussex eggs were to be delivered that evening. He had happened upon the deal by chance. A farmer had fallen upon hard times, and needed to sell his stock. Martin smiled as he thought of how he had driven the man down from his original asking price. These eggs were worth ten times what he was paying for them. He had lived like a king last night, he planned on doing the same tonight – only bigger.

Rob looked quizzically at Martin. “So, these Silver Essex”

“Silver Sussex” Martin corrected.

“These chicks. They’ll make us money?”

“Lots of money. A week-old chick can sell for up to $700.”

“That doesn’t sound like much.”

“We have two thousand of them on the way.”

“That’s…”

“A little under one and a half million dollars.”

Rob said nothing, choosing instead to give a low whistle.

That evening, the truck made its way to the barn that Martin had forced Rob into renting. When the truck pulled up, he impatiently signed the waiver and threw open the locked doors.
The wave of heat hit him square in the face, then the smell nearly bowled him over.

It took a moment for Martin to take in what he was seeing. All of his and Rob’s money being turned into a fucking omelette.

Martin’s heart sank as he called the phone number provided to him by the farmer, only to be greeted with a disconnected number notice.

The truck driver simply spat on the ground and chuckled.

“You know what they say, boys. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

Stef: Funny and a nice lead up to the saying. I enjoyed the dialogue and the plot. Nicely done!  GOLD

DK: It was pretty straightforward where this was going, but I still found this moral usage hilarious. It was set up clearly but also subtly enough to not telegraph itself too much.  GOLD
Medal Count:  10

Ah! There we go.

I'll be honest. I had no idea  what Silver Sussex chickens were, but I googled "most expensive chicken" and that was the first result. I don't know what the logistics of keeping two thousand chicks would be, but from previously having chickens, I know that even if all two thousand eggs survived the trip, they'd lose a ton of them almost immediately. Martin isn't too good with the business transactions.

I decided to go with something straightforward, because it was late, and I was exhausted from moving the contents of my office in and out so that the room could be carpeted. I'm not at all displeased with how it turned out (I like the dialog between Martin and Rob, and the omelette line felt good to write), but I liked the Fortune Cookie story a lot better. If I'd had a little more snap to it, maybe we wouldn't have lost KG - sorry, man.

By the way, the farmer was some manner of shyster, if that isn't blatantly obvious.

Turbo Survivor: Fortune Cookie

Wow. When you're doing 3 challenges every 2 weeks or so, they sort of pile up.

Anyway, the challenge before this past one was to make a story about a fortune cookie coming true.

Here's mine.

“The fuck…”


I let my voice trail off as the laughter dies around me at the table.


“What’s wrong, honey?” Sarah asks.


I’ve read the words on the fortune ten to fifteen times, but they didn’t make any sense. Nothing seems out of place in the restaurant – other than the slip of paper in my hands.


“Let’s leave.”


“But we can’t…”


“Now.”


She doesn’t persist. I mumble my goodbyes and toss money on the table and we leave. We’re blocks away by the time she’s able to stop me to ask what’s wrong.


“Read for yourself.”


She looks over the slip of paper before reading aloud “’You will kill Dante Collins tonight.’ Who’s Dante Collins?”


“I’ve no idea” I tell her.


“It must be a sick joke. Some dumb kid. Probably laughed his ass off.”


“What kind of…” my words are cut off by the sound of the payphone.


We both stare awkwardly at it. It stops, then starts ringing again. We evacuate. Lightly jogging, then running. By the time we stop, we’re ten blocks away.


It starts snowing. I can tell that Sarah is tired, terrified, and cold, so we duck into a coffee shop to warm up. We’re there for a couple minutes when the barista motions me over.


“What?” I ask him.


“I dunno, the guy on the phone wants you.”


I feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut. “He what?”


“I told him we don’t do that sort of thing. He was pretty insistent about it.”


I pick up the receiver.


“You didn’t think it was a joke, did you?”


“What do you want” I mutter.


“Kill Dante Collins. He’ll be in an abandoned complex on 12th and Nokomis. Hurry, Mr. Mitchell. The night is slipping away, and you’ll want to be getting the lovely Ms. Davis home safely tonight.”


I don’t even hang up the phone. Grabbing Sarah, I flee into the snow.


“Why do they want this Dante guy dead?”


“I don’t know.”


“Where are we going?”


“12th and Nokomis.”


“Why?”


I can’t answer that. What will I do? What if Dante Collins is a trained killer? How can I prepare for that?
A couple of blocks away from our destination, I see a few dumpsters and tell Sarah to hide amongst them. I feel like a fool bringing her this close, but I can’t shake the feeling that she needs to be somewhere where I can see her.


I arrive at 12th and Nokomis. I wait around for fifteen or twenty minutes, but there’s still no one. I check my watch – twelve ten. Something’s wrong.


Sarah.


I sprint back as fast as I can toward the dumpsters. I’m a hundred yards or so away when I hear the gunshot. Sarah’s feet come into view. My mind disappears.


I find myself on the ground, covered in Sarah’s blood.


“Oh, God” a voice says.


I look up. Before me stands Dante Collins. My target – the man who has just murdered the love of my life. He drops the gun as if were about to bite his hands off.


“They had Sue…” he begins, trembling and falling to his knees. “They said I had to…”


I get to my feet in a daze. The world is spinning, but I find my attention fixed on the ground beside the sobbing Mr. Collins. I stagger over to the gun and pick it up.


“They were going to kill her.” he pleads, “I’m so fucking sorry.”


I say nothing. There’s nothing left to say.


Two shots later, three bodies lie in the slowly accumulating snow.

Well isn't that... touching. How'd the judges like it?

Beau:  While some of the prose is awkward here, I really like how much plot is crammed into 600 words here.  This kind of reads like the plot of a Koontz novel (minus the golden retriever).  The only criticism I really have here is that the motivation for Mr. Mitchell to follow the orders is never quite explained, but then I can intuit it as the reader to a point.  Anyway, great work here.  GOLD
DK: This has a relentless, engaging pace, and I like the way the tension builds throughout the story as a result.  BRONZE
Medal Count:  6

Okay. better than it's been lately. I really liked the story I came up with for this one, but the word count really shredded it. I needed to remove 300-some words in about 15 minutes. I started getting desperate toward the end, and I'm not sure the story's backbone could really support what I did to it. I really wish I would've saved the original, because if the word limit was 1000 words, I could've done great things with it.

Ah, well.

Spookymilk Turbo: We Come in Peace!

I'm on a cold streak. Time to get turned around.

This week's challenge was as follows...

So many books and movies about extraterrestrial life focus on the silly humans. It’s all fraidy-cat this and don’t-kill-us that.

Your job is to write about the first encounter another species has with Earth and it must entirely be from their perspective. This can be taken many different ways and they’re all okay; just keep the perspective with the alien.

Word Limit: 400 (HARD LIMIT)
Time Limit: One hour

Okay, 'first contact from the aliens' point of view'. Fair enough. Here's my story.

We watched them for a while. After Brimspark, we knew to we had to do that much, at least.
The communications we intercepted indicated a violent race capable of great things, but content to wallow in id-fueled squabbling. Each new time we checked in on them, we felt certain that they’d used their fearsome arsenal to render the planet an uninhabitable mess.

Then things turned around. Slowly, but surely, they began to turn from the death and war that had previously defined them and began to advance themselves, as we had always known they could. They were finally ready.

Our first meeting was nearly disastrous. They may be moving forward as a race, but violence is a part of their nature. We met with their leaders, only to be met by thousands of armed men. We told them that we meant no harm, and that we merely desired to know more about them, but it didn’t allay their fears. As I looked into the crowd, I saw nothing but fear. I had seen this look on Brimspark, and it ended in catastrophe.

Suddenly, a young man dropped his gun and began to walk towards our group. As his friends looked on incredulously, he approached our group. He stood in front of me and extended his hand to me, smiling warmly. I gave my closest approximation of a smile and took his hand and shook it. Instantly, the tension in the crowd dissipated. We spoke to the leaders, who promised to do all that they could to allay the fears of the larger public. We gave them a few good faith gifts. That soldier’s simple gesture seems to have melted the distrust. If only someone had done the same on Brimspark.

We need a new homeworld, but above all, we need a pristine homeworld. Brimspark was a failure because we thought we could simply sweep the primitives out. If we are to colonize Earth, we will need to take a more long term approach. Our ships have been put on long-term standby. This might take years, but we don’t have anything to worry about this time. When this is all over, maybe we’ll build a statue commemorating Handshake Guy. It’s the least we can do, really.

Beau: Nice. This is obviously reminiscent of “To Serve Man,” but I like the approach this one takes a little bit better. It doesn’t have the “gotcha” punch-line like that episode did, but this one feels more realistic and more depressing. SILVER

Stef: Do aliens ever really come in peace? Doesn’t look like it even if it seems like it could. BRONZE

Okay, it's not a golden triple, but it's a start.

First things first, I regret the ending - specifically the 'statue of handshake guy' portion of it. It feels cheesy in what was sort of meant to be deadly serious. It was an absolute last second addition, and I regretted it right away.

The rest of it is...okay. It's better than the stuff I've been coming up with lately, for sure. The payoff might be a little obvious, but that's mostly because - like Stef says - it seems like Aliens never actually come in peace. I was sort of inspired, weirdly enough, by a short story I read on the net (while writing this recap, I tried to find it again, with no success). Basically, the story has aliens watching earth from afar, seeing that they will eventually doom everyone, and deciding to kill off the planet before they can do it. Obviously, that's not the direction I went with, but it laid some of the mental groundwork for the headspace I was in.

Like I said, it's a decent start at getting back on track. Hopefully the next challenge will build off of it.

Survivor Turbo: After the Happily Ever After

Survivor Turbo is relentless.

This week's challenge was to write about the happenings after a fairy-tale ending. I was given 350 words and fifty minutes.

Here's what I came up with...

They think I’m crazy. It was just a night of dancing – but what a night! Such a charming girl, and so beautiful – princes have married women for worse than fitted footwear.


The first weeks are blissful. Though Ella’s gorgeous, she’s no delicate flower. She insists on doing her share around the house. She is tremendously popular with the help (except with Gaspar the chef, who doesn’t appreciate interference in his recipes). She’s simply a pleasing woman to be around.


One morning, a few weeks after the wedding, I’m jolted by a horrified scream. Putting on my robe, I rush downstairs to find Ella sobbing.


A dead cat lies at the base of the wall. ‘The Past Never Dies’ is smeared in crimson, coagulating letters. An investigation is conducted, but no culprit is apprehended.


Shortly thereafter, Ella announces that she is entertaining some friends from her old village. I offer to prepare a grand party, but she tells me that her guests are tired, and that there will be plenty of time for parties.


That night, as I walk through the halls before I retire, I see a light still flickering in the guest room. I decide to introduce myself to Ella’s friends. At first, I knock politely on the door. Hearing no reply, I inch the door open.
“Excuse me? I thought I should like to…” I stop. There’s no one in the room. In fact, the bed is undisturbed.
Confused, I peer around the room a bit. It is late, and guests should not be out. A foul odor coming from the trunk beside the bed. Taking out my key, I open it. Several dead mice are all that the chest contains. Their now rigid bodies meticulously stuffed into little shirts.


I stand there for a minute or two, not knowing what to make of my discovery. A noise behind me brings me to.
Ella is standing in the doorway. Blood covers her dress. In one of her hands is a chef’s hat, in her other a knife. A deranged smile is set upon her lips.

I got just one medal, so there's only this bit of judge's critique.

DK:  Really like the darkness here, and it connects well with some of the oddities of the original story, the kinds of things that don’t seem weird when you look at it as a fairy tale, but would if you didn’t.  BRONZE

So... I'm a bit disappointed in how this one turned out. I liked the concept a lot, but there just wasn't enough space to flesh out the growing unease. Even my first draft didn't quite do it, and that one was 570 words. One of the tough things about this format is how it forces you to ruthlessly cleave away needed bits of context to fit the constraints of a particular challenge. What it ends up leaving you with are bits like "The Past Never Dies". By itself, it means nothing, in fact, I don't remember what it meant in context, as I'm pretty sure the context was the first bit to go. I need to stop falling in love with a particular concept in this game. In the last game, I could afford to, as most of my concepts were able to be molded - but the word limits were insanely high last time. I didn't even need the whole thing half the time.

Most of the things I liked about this don't end up reading so well in the final draft, but I liked the references (the dead cat is supposed to be Lucifer from the movie, the dead mice are obvious her forest friends). The idea is, of course, that Cinderella was a functional psychopath. All of the movie was delusions, and she was actually locked away in a misguided attempt to keep herself and others safe. That's not exactly a 350 word concept, so it fails. Better luck next time.

Survivor Turbo - Moo With Me!

This week's challenge was to write a story about something major from the perspective of an animal.

Here's what I submitted:

The life of a cow is a simple one. I stand in my stall, chew my cud, and watch the farmer’s wife screw the random gents she finds God-knows-where. This is my nightly routine, why should tonight be any different?
Well, the farmer could come home early. I guess that could liven things up in a hurry.

“Oh, Patrick, this isn’t what it looks like” Farmer’s wife says.

“What… you…”

Farmer looks furious, the young naked man scrambling backward in the hay looks terrified. He should.

I’m not entirely sure what happens next. All I know is that about ten seconds later, the suitor is lying nude in a pool of his own blood, the pitchfork shoved crudely through his chest. Farmer O’Leary is standing over him with a crazed look in his eyes, watching the life drain from his cuckolder.

Miss O’Leary is crying uncontrolably as the Farmer returns to his senses. He begins to look frantically around the barn, but the damage has been done. He’s a murderer. He’s a dead man.

In his haste to exit the murder scene, he doesn’t notice the oil lamp. My bedding instantly bursts into flames. The farmer grabs his hysterical wife roughly by the arm and runs from the barn as the timbers catch flame.

With the barn door hanging ajar, I take my chance and trot out of the blaze and on down the street. I guess I’ll find my own meal tonight.

Because of last week's discussion, the judges will only comment on those stories which they gave a medal to. Prepare for silence on this one.

Beau:  O’Leary’s cow!  Very smart cow, too, it seems.  And awfully fond of Mrs. O’Leary.  Apocryphal, but it doesn’t make it any less fun.  BRONZE

So, obviously this is terrible. The tone of the cow's narration is inconsistent (I am confident that I will never type that sentence again), the subject matter is blunt, and the end deviates pretty heavily from the writing style of the rest of the story. Wonderful. What the hell happened?

Well, the rules of Survivor Turbo dictate that the writer is unaware of the challenge until they send in an email to an address, which gives them an automated reply back outlining the challenge and the parameters (time limit, word count, etc). Sending the email starts the clock, and the writer has a limited bit of time before the challenge is up. Anything sent in after the time is up is invalid and counts as a nonsubmission.

The night in question, Linds was working in her office and I was sitting watching the Twins get beaten up on TV. I decided I had a spare hour and sent in for the challenge. Almost instantly thereafter, Linds came out of her office and decided now would be a good time to discuss our plans for the coming weekend. Fifty minutes later, I was able to get back to the process of writing, but I only had ten minutes left.

I knew what I wanted to write about (the fabled cow that 'kicked the lamp over' and started the Great Chicago Fire), but with ten minutes, the above was the best I could do. I wasn't happy with the result at all, but at least I was able to dupe one judge into voting for it (though he's since admitted he would take my medal away if he could).

There's not much else to say about this one. It sucked, and it was up against some great entries. I guess I'll have to try to do better next week.

Survivor Turbo - Let's Talk About Sex

Today: Sex!!

My submission:

“We don’t have to do this.”

The hell they didn’t. Victoria knew as well as he what was to happen. Both desired nothing else for weeks. The furtive glances, the flirty quips, those smoldering glances that Gladstone thought she hadn’t noticed. Oh, she noticed.

He came for her, carelessly knocking over an antique end table in his path – the mahogany finish chipping on the floor. Victoria knew his ways. She didn’t care; his violence only fueled her lust.

She forcefully grabbed him and began to kiss him. He enveloped her in his strong arms and threw her onto the bed. Her arms splayed, knocking over the nightstand in the process. The original wood stain of the table remained untarnished, but the gold inlay did not survive their passion. The table’s ruination was lost on the passionate lovers as they fell further into each other’s thrall.

This had gone on long enough. Victoria pushed him back, and undid his belt. She worked his pants to his ankles before giving him a playful nudge. He staggered, his weight crashing down on the footstool, which had survived centuries and two world wars undamaged, only to be sundered by their lust.

They made love for what seemed like hours. Finally, as Victoria moaned in the ecstasy that only he could provide, Gladstone gave one final thrust. As waves of pleasure wracked her body, the headboard of their seemingly sturdy Colonial-era oak bed cracked. It’s shattered boards forever bearing testament to their decadence.

And here are the judges' critiques

Beau:  Something about this story just makes me smile.  I think it’s the reminder that antiques are usually just somebody else’s old junk, and I wonder how many people buy things at those stores not knowing that people had sex on them.  BRONZE

Stef: Interesting descriptions of the room here. Not sure what point, if any, is being made in describing the room being ravaged. I can see it as a way to show how passionate they are, I guess. SILVER

DK: I like the setting, I just didn’t find enough else that really stuck out in the way the story was told.

So, the story is essentially a romance novel where the narrator gets sort of bored of the action and becomes more interested in the antique furniture in the lovers' bedroom. It's a goofy, sort of dumb concept, but it made me smile when it popped into my head, so I went with it.

My original concept was going to be a romance novel where the narrator began to describe stranger and more deviant actions until the couple in question lost the mood. It was going to be a little difficult to pull off properly given both the time and word constraints. The one I ended up coming up with ended up being exactly the right number of words (I checked something like four times).

Given how mine was, I figured that the only way it would medal is if someone was a particular fan of the oddball idea. It seems like I confused people, more than anything, so mission failed, I guess. Still an idea that no one else went with, so better than nothing, I suppose.

Previously, On Spookymilk Survivor, Turbo....

So hey, I won Spookymilk Survivor X. That's pretty cool.

Since when have I ever been content to go out in a blaze of glory, though? (let's pretend for a moment that there have been a lot of other blazes of glory that I have embarked on). A new season has started, with crazy new rules, and lots of hijinks have ensued.

You all know what this means. Lots of navel gazing and discussion on what the 100 word story I wrote really meant to me... I know you're excited. I'm excited. Let's do this.

To recap:

• I wrote a story about a mythological bird. It's my favorite story that I've written so far this season. I don't know that I could've improved it very much.
• Some crazy person freaked out after she got eliminated. High comedy.
• My team and I wrote a story during which we were unable to coordinate with each other, the result was hilarious and uneven, culminating with the protagonist rejecting an offer to fornicate in a hospital supply closet, opting instead to murder the propositioning woman by throwing her into the starship's reactor core (surprise! it was on a spaceship! I did not know that...)
• Shawn Ashley got eliminated. It was crazy, though she did accidentally vote for herself to allow it to happen.
• I wrote a couple of things I wasn't incredibly happy with. The idea of only having a half an hour to conceptualize, plot, and write a short story is truly a daunting task.

That sort of catches you up. I'll be trying to give proper updates form here on out (or at least from here on to the point where my luck finally runs out and I get eliminated). Best of luck, Team Sponsorship! Let's control the shit.

Spookymilk Survivor X: Judgement

Last week, I pulled a rather surprising immunity on the final challenge of the game and eliminated the previously untouchable Matt Novak, leaving Beau and I clear to the finals. We each wrote a concept 'plea', as opposed to the standard "you should vote for me because" normalcy. Then we waited.

Last night, with both finalists, both judges, and a number of other players and well-wishers in attendance at Old Chicago in Apple Valley, we concluded Survivor X. A great time was had by all (I hope I'm not going out on a limb in saying that, it seemed like everyone had a pretty awesome time). Spooky read off the results live, and we proceeded to chat about everything Survivor and Werewolf related for the duration of the evening (and beyond, actually, a group of us didn't leave even after the bar closed, opting to stand in the parking lot and continue or conversation).

So... that leaves the results. I won't go over the vote comments themselves, for that you can go to the concluding post on the site proper. I'll just note who voted for which candidate.

Shawn Ashley: Pete Bruzek
Dan Kautz (DK): Pete Bruzek
Matt Novak: Pete Bruzek
Kelly Wells (Spookymilk): Pete Bruzek
Brooks Maki (Daneeka's Ghost): Pete Bruzek
John Wreisner: Pete Bruzek
Colin Woolston (Grey): Pete Bruzek

I'd love to play it all cool, but I was pretty excited to win. I'd been chasing it for four seasons now, and it was thrilling to get to experience it with a lot of the people that make the Casa de Leche the great community that it is.



This was an exhausting season. It seemed as though the 1000-word challenges started right around week three, and continued unabated after that. I burned out pretty seriously right around the merge, and combined with an extreme busyness in general life, it contributed to a few 'meh' entries. I think I caught a second wind about a month ago, though, and it kept me to the finish.

The actual strategies and whatnot of the season itself were talked about in serious depth last night, and I don't really have much to add to that. I'll just say that during this season, the talent level was insane. I was in constant awe at the writing, and everyone in the top 10 had the chops to pull off a win. I just happened to be given a ridiculous team, and circumstances ended up working to my favor through a combination of design and a bit of serendipity.

A sincere thank you to both DK and Spooky for their excellent judging.
A huge thank you to the Vogons. I can't imagine there will ever be another team like this.

Spookymilk Survivor X: Final Challenge

Wait, did we skip a week there? I think we did. Let me see if I can remember how it went. I made a loosely biographical story about my dad putting down a cat who had been run over by a car. It stretched the rules to the breaking point, but I felt alright about it, considering the schedule I was on. Then I went to Mexico, not finding out my fate until I returned this past Wednesday. Happily, I made it to the final challenge.

That final challenge was an absolute doozy. A story where every 250 words, everyone forgot the events from the beginning of the story to that point. The final section was 'mercifully' allowed to have 600 words.

The intel was good, Malaracher is definitely here.


I slip away from the party to the basement beneath. It won’t be easy to find him or the bomb down here. It will be far more likely that he finds me. I begin to wish that I hadn’t told Hewitt to stay up with the party guests – I could really use a second pair of eyes watching my back.


The gunshot I hear and the blinding pain I feel in my side let me know that my fears have been well rooted in truth.


Dammit, I’ve been sloppy. He knew someone was trailing him, so he doubled back, and he knows the layout of the tunnels much better than I do. Despite the vest, his bullet manages to find at least one or two vital organs. I rise to my feet and try to give chase, but I slip on my own blood and fall hard to the marble floor. My gun clatters away from me, I scramble in vain to retrieve it, but my limbs suddenly feel so heavy. Malarcher disappears into the darkness and I begin to feel woozy from the blood loss.
I retrieve the cylinder from my jacket pocket and press the button.

---

Five minutes – not a second more or less.


The synchronization alarm goes off to let me know that the forced loop was activated. That means that the first try must not have gone well. In this situation, I suppose it’s natural to over-analyze what mistakes could have lead to the need to start the loop, but that only leads to situational paralysis, and if I’m going to prevent whatever Malarcher’s got in the basement from going off, I’m going to need to have my wits about me. Of course, that doesn’t mean that I don’t make a mental note to exercise caution.


Reminding myself to stay aware, I make my way to the basement. I need to move with some haste. The clock’s ticking.


The basement turns out to have a labyrinth of tunnels. I knew this to be the case because of the mission briefings, but there are a great number of tunnels that simply do not show up on the map I was provided. I know the building is large, but this is ridiculous. I try to think of where the premium location for a bomb of this type would be. The briefings said that it would probably be under the conference rooms, but when I go there, all I see are some scuffs in the floor, implying the device may have been here before, but was removed for some reason. A tip off, perhaps?


I’m still mulling this over when the Janus activates – indicating a wasted loop.

---

The synchronization alarm sounds. I quickly glance down to check the number, and sigh with relief when the display reads only fifteen. You get one hundred and eighty three five minute loops before you and your surroundings get so out of sync with the prime timeline that re-merging is impossible.


I set about sweeping the maze of corridors and rooms in the basement as fast as I dare allow myself to. I practically stumble across Malarcher and the bomb in a secluded area of the basement, in a room situated right beneath the first floor’s main banquet hall. I’ve caught him by surprise, he looks up from the bomb to see me, and he reaches for his weapon. Without hesitation, I put two bullets in his chest.


He slumps to the floor, and I go to investigate the bomb. As I make my way past him, he mumbles something I can’t quite make out. I look at him inquisitively.


He points at his chest twice, then at the bomb – a deadman switch?


That worry is confirmed seconds later when Malarcher’s heart stops. The bomb gives a loud screech and immediately detonates.

---

My first fifty one trips back have apparently been fruitless. There’s something ominously difficult about this mission. It was supposed to be a fairly standard “prevent the terrorist from blowing up the building with the VIPs” scenario, but I would think that I would’ve lucked into a solution at this point. It’s time to think outside the box. Cell phones won’t work, since we’re currently cut off the prime timeline, and with it the rest of the world, but the walkie talkies that Hewitt and I carry will still function. I radio him and ask him to meet me in the basement.


He has to know that I’ve started the Janus, even if he isn’t any more aware of each passing loopback than I am. He certainly does seem to take his time getting to the basement, though. By the time he does, two and a half precious minutes have elapsed, and we’re left with a worryingly small window to work with.


Having two people sweeping the basement is much faster, and much safer and we get to Malarcher’s lair fairly quickly. He hasn’t seen us yet, but something doesn’t seem right.


Hewitt’s shot is already fired by the time I’m able to voice my concern. Malaracher drops to the floor, his head a gaping mess. I don’t even get to finish my sentence before the blast annihilates us.

---

The synchro-alarm blares an ugly threatening tone and the little red light indicates I’m nearing to synchronization breaking point. I check the indicator – one hundred eighty.


I only get three more tries at this.


No one really knows what happens when re-merging is unable to occur. The optimists insist that the timeline fractures and all of the events play themselves out in a new timeline. Most theories figure that those who can’t reconnect with the prime timeline get lost in some sort of timeless void. All I know is that the few times it’s happened, the unfortunate people who were unable to re-synch simply disappeared. My uninformed opinions always sided with the latter.


The one time I got even close to the resynch threshold, I was tasked with preventing a member of an eastern extremist group from assassinating a group of middle eastern diplomats. There were more of them then we had expected, and our contact had been found out and killed before we could determine who the assassin was.


It turns out there were two of them. If Hewitt hadn’t been along and helped me piece it together on try one seventy seven, I would’ve had to abort the mission. Aborting was an option that time, this one’s been given red status – I am to prevent this bombing, even if I have to pass the threshold to do it.


On try number one eighty one, I don’t even find Malarcher. One down, two to go.

---

I don’t recall what I’ve done on any of the previous loops. Only the device itself persists through the loop back, no actions or memories make the trip, so each time I start out, it’s like I’m flying blind. It’s frustrating, the knowledge that any action you take is one that you’ve probably already taken – perhaps dozens of times – to no effect.


This time, I get lucky, catching Malarcher unaware. He never sees me coming, so I’m able to take my time and execute a leg shot. I get to the bomb, and it doesn’t seem as though he had a chance to activate the countdown. I’m about to enter the code to cancel the next loopback, when I feel the bullet penetrate my back.


A second terrorist?


I crumple to the floor. I can’t turn to see my assailant, but he steps into my sight soon enough, anyway.
Hewitt.


“Why?” I weakly gurgle as he rips the Janus out of my jacket. He fiddles with the device for a couple of seconds.


“You changed the synclock…” he waves his gun in my face.


I did. He can’t cancel the return jump. He doesn’t have anything to threaten me with in these last twenty seconds. He seems pissed off about both of those facts.


I need to find a way to warn myself. Shit. I don’t even have access to the Janus. Even if I did, there’s no way to send yourself a message back in time. Maybe if I…

---

Last try.

Everything has to work this time, or I have to be willing to condemn myself and everyone in the building to timeless oblivion.

I manage to find Malarcher in a room that doesn’t appear on the provided blueprint. I’m about to make a kill shot, but caution stays my hand, and I opt for a non-lethal shot. I detain the terrorist, and have a look at the bomb. It doesn’t appear as though the countdown had been initiated.

Something’s not right. I don’t think I would have failed a hundred and eighty two times if this situation could be taken at face value.

I hear footsteps coming down the hall. Already feeling jumpy, I raise my weapon and sneak a quick peek at the Janus – one minute remaining. I need to figure this situation out immediately.

Suddenly, Hewitt bursts into the room. He sees that I’ve got my gun trained on him and gives me a questioning look. Then he sees Malarcher restrained in the corner. He gives me an approving nod, and I return it. Time to stop the countdown.

Hewitt catches a glimpse of the Janus device as I pull it from my pocket – the blinking ’183′ prominently featuring. “Looks like we almost got desynched. Lucky break, I’d say. Cancel the loopback and let’s clean up” he says.

That catches my attention. I was the only agent notified of this mission’s Red status. To minimize leaks, everyone else, including Agent Hewitt, thought this to be a standard Blue status terrorist hunt. If this were indeed a Blue, there would be nothing to cancel, only critical orders would trigger a loopback past the threshold. Even a standard ordinance bomb wouldn’t be enough to justify a red, so what reason would he have had to think otherwise? A quick look at his face show a man who just admitted to knowing more than he should know. With the clock ticking, I think back.

Hewitt saved me in Paris, but the leaps in logic he made to determine the locations of the assassins never made sense to me, even back then. The mission itself was viewed as an unqualified success, but we later learned that the biological materials that ended up being put to use in this very bomb were stolen that evening, while the agency was out tracking a conspicuously high number of high-risk cases – many of which turned out to be false leads. How did Hewitt track Malarcher – or me, for that matter – to this point? A point which, according to the basement map provided by our contact doesn’t even exist.

I look at my watch – only fifteen seconds left.

Hewitt knows that he’s overstepped his ability to backtrack. “Cancel the countdown and let’s talk this over,” he says “you know what allowing this to reset will mean.”

I do. In ten seconds, an embassy full of dozens of diplomats and dignitaries will blink out of existence, along with two terrorists and one thoroughly defeated agent. It will be a disaster, the public will call for the heads of my entire agency for allowing it – no, causing it – to happen.

“Still better than a biological weapon going off in downtown London.” I reply.

Hewitt gives an angry scowl and draws on me and fires.

Hopefully, the optimists are right. Hopefully, there’s time enough still for me to fix this, no matter where or when that might be.

The last seconds tick off the clock. For better or worse, I guess we’ll find out what’s beyond this timeline soon enough.

Is the bad guy's name Malarcher or Malaracher? What lies beyond the threshold? How did I come up with the name 'Hewitt'? I'll answer two of those questions, but first the judges' comments.

K: This one has some grammatical missteps and the spelling of Malaracher/Malarcher changes an annoying number of times, but this concept was extremely engaging. I feared that we were going to be paid off with “It’s a video game,” but in the end, I supposed that even if that was going to be the case, the story had drawn me in enough that I could’ve dealt with it. The characters don’t show much of themselves here, but otherwise, this is tons of fun, and a nice ending to the season.
Character: 4
Creativity of Reason for Forgettings: 5
Overall Story Effectiveness: 4

DK: I love this one. I’ll start by saying the characters aren’t outstanding here, either – I feel for this guy because of his situation but other than a few hints here and there, he doesn’t feel especially complex or anything on his own. The good news is that it doesn’t matter for the way this story is set up – the concept is the star here. There’s great care taken in this idea for the memory aspect that shows in how its mechanics operate, and the buildup of tension is pitched superbly to a payoff that feels surprising and yet inevitable at the same time. And satisfying, above all else.
Character: 4
Creativity of Reason for Forgettings: 5
Overall Story Effectiveness: 5

27/30

First question: Malarcher is named for the old Negro League infielder Dave Malarcher who was, for one reason or another one of my favorite Negro League ballplayers growing up. I was going to run the whole document through a find and replace to weed out the various spelling mistakes I was fairly sure that I was making, but alas, it never happened. "Hewitt" came as I was trying to think of a good agent-y name. The copy of Maxim that randomly shows up at my house every month (you think that's a "oh, good one" excuse... it's not, I do not know who decided I need Maxim magazine, but I'm sure they could've done something more interesting with their money) has Jennifer Love Hewitt on the front cover. At that point, Hewitt seemed like a good name.

In the comments at the Casa, Beau mentioned that he was nearly constantly reminded of Source Code. That seems pretty accurate, I suppose. I certainly didn't mean for that to happen, but I could tell it bore a resemblance before too long, and actually made sure that I scrapped a couple of elements to avoid too close a comparison. The 'controlled time travel loop' just seemed an idea worth exploring. Source Code had those elements, but I feel that I took it in a more satisfying direction (though I did end up liking that movie more than I thought I was going to).

He also mentioned that the ending was a bit over explaining. This also had a reason. In the original draft, on try number 182 (one try before the threshold) the protagonist thinks he completes the mission and turns off the automatic loopback, only to have Hewitt gun him down and detonate the bomb.The betrayal reveal was going to happen the jump before. I figured this season had seen enough bleakness, so I let the ending be a little enigmatic, so that there's the hope that even if he hasn't saved himself, he still might redeem himself in whatever capacity he's allowed to.

Okay, so...... did I survive to the finale? Am I one of the final two?

Yes. Yes I am. Against all odds, my 27 just barely beat out Matt's 26 on this final challenge and I won immunity, choosing to eliminate him (sorry again, man) and advance to the final jury vote with Beau (who had a fairly surprising evening of his own, though in a far different way).

On Tuesday, I make my case for why I should win. I think there are plenty of good reasons, but I guess we'll see shortly whether or not the jury will feel the same way. Good times.

Spookymilk Survivor X: Interrogation

Sorry everyone, it's been a crazy last couple of weeks (during half of which, I was not in the country... sorry to those that tried to get in contact with me). Because of my absence and the running around leading up to that absence, I'm behind in.... everything. Let's catch up.

Two challenges ago, I was tasked with creating an interrogation in which there was a clear advantage to one of the characters. At some point during the story, the advantage was to swing dramatically to the other character.

This is what I came up with.

God, my head is pounding. I suppose a concussion will do that to a guy.

There’s not much light in the back of the transport vehicle, but I think I can make out the shape of two or three armed guards. They’re all wearing the helmets, but I could still give them a shove if I wanted. Then again, that’s how I came by the concussion in the first. Maybe I should rein it in a bit.

I don’t have to tap their thoughts to know they’re terrified of me. They should be. If it would prove anything, I’d kill them all in a heartbeat. They and their phobic kind have hunted me since I was fourteen. All I want to do now is even the score a bit.

The transport finally stops. They very carefully lead me out of the vehicle. It might appear that there’s nothing here but a shack at the end of a dirt road, but I know better. Sure enough, the head guard hits a few buttons in the shack and a door whooshes open, leading to a staircase to the underground detention facility.

The antiseptic sheen of the building is truly unnerving. The place looks like an iPod, shiny, soulless nothingness everywhere – and they say I’m a threat to the soul of humanity. They lead me down a seemingly infinite hallway, past dozens of rooms. I can’t tap into anything in any of them. This place was made to make people like me disappear.

They sit me in a room with a shiny and very securely bolted metal table and two very securely bolted metal chairs. The table has hand restraints built into it, which I find darkly amusing. If I were to try something, I could certainly do it without lifting a finger. The tall one motions for me to put my wrists into the restraints. I grudgingly comply. Then I wait.

He comes into my room after about two hours. He’s not wearing a helmet. I should have figured they’d send in a Shroud. My usual tricks will be worthless. He takes a seat at the table and spends the next ten minutes acting as if he doesn’t know I’m in the room. Finally, he speaks.

“Edjis Simonovski, you have been found guilty of the following crimes…”
“I don’t recall ever attending any trial.” I interject.
“You have been found guilty of the following crimes.” He continues without comment or delay.
“Meeting with and participating in illegal activities with the terrorist group Broken Birch.”
“We weren’t terrorists, we were activists.”
“They are a group who advocates the continuance of activities deemed criminal by the court of San…”
“It’s who we are. Why should it be illegal to be superhuman?”
“’Who you are’ is an affront to God and nature and a crime in this country. You were given multiple opportunities to submit to rehabilitation.”
“I don’t believe compulsive lobotomies count as rehabilitation.”
“That is not your choice to make.”
“Surely you didn’t just bring me down here to debate Superhuman rights.”
“Where did you place the other explosive devices, Simonovski?”
“I told them. We didn’t plant any bombs. We picketed. We held protests which were marred by arrest and rioting by the intolerant fucksticks that people like yourself have spoonfed your lies to. I tell you what, though. If I would have known then what they really did to people like me in that facility, I would have blown the place to hell where it belonged.”

I see the man grimace for a second, and for an imperceptibly short bit of time, I glimpse… something. I wouldn’t be able to do that to a Shroud, but the only other possibility is…that he’s a clairvoyant. That bastard’s been hunting his own and sending them to face every manner of atrocity, while he live sin comfort. He probably sleeps like a baby. He’s going to send me to my doom, and by all rights, he should be sitting right alongside me.

It is now my life’s goal to take this son of a bitch down.

He looks me dead in the eyes. He knows I know. This won’t be easy, I tell myself. He’s surely had others accuse him of clairvoyance, and if he’s made it this far, simple accusations aren’t going to stick. I’ll need to get his guard down somehow – get him to slip up.

“You don’t mind if I call you ‘Judas’, do you?” I ask, making sure that the guards and the recording devices hear me.
“Whatever you want to call me is fine. Just tell me where you placed the other devices.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re connected to this in a way you’re not letting on?”
“Don’t try to cloud the issue, Ed…”
“You haven’t told them, have you…”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Guards prepare the prisoner for transfer…”
The restraints release my wrists, and one of the guards steps toward me to usher me out. I’ve hit a sore spot, but I have to cut to the chase, and I have to do it quickly. In another couple of minutes, he’ll have me out of the cell, and I’ll have lost the chance to out him. I have to get him to drop his guard.
“Whoever it was, they deserved it.”
That gets his attention. “Maria never did anything to you freaks.”

A girlfriend? A wife?

“Did she even know about you? Did she know that the the bastard she was fucking had less in common with her than the ‘freaks’ she was putting down like dogs?”

The expression is “if looks could kill”, Judas just shot me one that actually could, if he had just a little less constraint, and a little more intent. I feel a quick wave of energy pass over me, like a barely perceptible breeze. I can tell that the guard standing by me felt it, too, but it wasn’t enough to lead anyone to where I need them to look. I’m going to have to rile him a bit more.

“Maybe she did know…”
“Stop it.”
“Yeah, maybe she had a thing for freaks like us…”
His pupils are dilating. I’ve almost got him. This ought to be good.
“Maybe if someone hadn’t blown her to smithereens, I could’ve had a shot at her, myself. Hell, if you believe what the know-nothings say about clairvoyants and their necromantic abilities maybe I still could.”
“I will kill you.”
“Where did they bury her again?”

I feel like an asshole, and for a moment I wonder if it’s worth mocking Judas’ dead wife in front of him. Then I think of the legion of my kind he’s sent off to be sterilized, lobotomized, and worse and I know.
It turns out that my concern was unnecessary, he’s been pushed past the edge. The shock wave pins me against the wall. The guards look shocked; rightfully so, considering their prized interrogator has been sending his own kind to their doom for god knows how long.

“Maria was a good woman, and I will not have filth like you speaking ill of her.”
His mental power far exceeds my own. I should probably stand down, but it’s too late for that. I continue to needle him.

“Cat’s out of the bag, Judas. You’re a freak, and your dearly departed was a whore with a mentalist fetish.”
I don’t know if that’s true – I suspect it probably isn’t – but it did the trick. His guard has completely dropped, giving me a look into his mind. I see a devoted husband and father – then I see hundreds and hundreds of my compatriots shuffled in and out of rooms like this over the years. Judas had tremendous power, and he used it to extinguish his clairvoyant kin. I don’t even need to say anything more, he already knows my take on what I’ve seen by the mocking smirk and my quick glance up at the rolling surveillance camera.

He’s totally lost it. One of the guards tries to settle him down, but he won’t be stopped. He breaks the guard’s neck and continues after me. There’s no way I can hold up. Another wave knocks me against the wall. I can feel that my ribcage is broken in a dozen spots, and that my internal injuries are going to do me in even if he stops now, but he isn’t going to stop. The other guard is huddled against the wall in the fetal position, waiting for the others to come clear this mess out. Judas is going to get the lobotomy and maximum security detention center that they had meant for me. He takes a couple of steps towards me, clearly coming in for the kill.

I’m coughing up a lot of blood now, but I can’t stop laughing…

Next, we have Spooky and DK's critiques.

K: I have a similar love-hate relationship with this one as with the last, as it too has a couple of single-minded characters who have little in the way of surprises (even the twist didn’t shock me much). We’re in a comic book world here, but I’d still like to see characters who aren’t so obviously good and evil.

DK: Like a lot of great (and some not great) science fiction, there’s an undercurrent of potential allegory I detected here, although it’s not necessary to consider that to enjoy the buildup and the action. I love the concept, and the rise as Simonovski draws his interrogator into the open is really strong.

I've had a while to go over this one, and I still don't really know what to think of it. I like the concept (I've liked most of mine this time around), and there are parts that come together the way that I was hoping they would, but parts of it feel flat. It feels like the worlds I've been creating are interesting, and the framework of the stories I've been writing have been strong, but the little details that would give them any lift have been lacking lately. Intricacies, when I've been giving them, have been sort of vague, and it's resulted in pieces that don't "pop" like the should. Next writing season, I need to spend less time perfecting the concept, and more time fleshing that concept into an actual world with three dimensional characters and attractions.

Bonus trivia: Edjis Simonovski is an approximation of my uncle's birth name. He changed it shortly before the birth of my cousin to give his kids an easier time of things in grade school. To my knowledge, he is not a psychic.

Spookymilk Survivor X: Machine of Death

He knows I’m in the room. I’m half surprised he can’t hear my heart beating. He’s flipping desks, scattering chairs and cursing loudly. I don’t even know what the suitcase contains, but they’re very insistent that I return it and promptly die. My free hand slips into my pocket to pull out the vial. I’ve never had to use it before, but it’s always at the ready.

He’s getting closer, and he’s definitely getting angrier. “When I find you, I’m going to…” he doesn’t finish. They never really do, these low level thugs aren’t really the imaginative types. I just need to wait him out for couple minutes, but that’s going to be tough to do in a room this size.

The thug finally reaches my row. I try to scramble around to evade his line of sight, but I’m not quite quick enough. He utters a quick profanity and starts after me. I hear his gun go off and feel a quick burst of pain in my back. The vest takes the killing force of the bullet away, but it still hurts like hell, and in the time it takes for me to gather my wits, he’s on me. I turn around just in time to see his fist coming in. The foresight allows me to duck mostly out of the way, but he still connects enough to knock me to the ground.

For the next punch he throws his weight behind it. This one strikes true, and my world goes dark.

***

Five years ago, I was nobody. I lived under a bridge and spent my days as a pickpocket. The one thing I had going for me was the fearlessness of a very specific Machine result. I was to be killed by Grapefruit. The barrio is a terrifying place for a teenage girl; it’s a slightly less terrifying place for a girl who knows that all the guns and knives in the world can’t touch her.

That sort of fearlessness gets noticed after a while. I had attracted the attention of a local radical group called The Collective, they used me a courier. The longer I stayed with them, the more they felt like the family I had never had. I began to do more…dangerous work for them.

The Collective’s exploits gained more and more notoriety, until finally, the law took notice. One night, agents began to pour into one of The Collective’s local hubs. During the raid, one of the agents drew down on me and demanded that I stand down. Instead, I beat him senseless with his own weapon. I was about to end him when a man stepped out of the shadows.

“You’re fearless.”

I pointed the weapon at him, “It would seem you are, too. Either fearless or stupid.”

“Don’t mistake this for stupidity. ‘Gunshot’ might not be in the cards for you, but there’s nothing that says that I’m going to kill you.” he motioned off to my left and right, where agents were beginning to accumulate, tranquilizer rifles drawn. “How would you like to put your boldness to a more… constructive use?”

“I won’t betray my brothers and sisters.”

“I don’t doubt that. The name’s Henter, by the way. We’ll be getting aquainted over the coming months.” he said. With that, he motioned to his men. I heard the shots of the tranq guns, and the lights went dim.

Over the next months, I and the other recruits were trained. Project Samson was filled with a group of people like me – people whose ultimate fate was a strange, non-violent death. 

By day, we trained until our bodies could scarcely take any more; by night, we sat around drinking and concocting different scenarios in which the incense candles, aloe vera plants, and grapefruits from our machine readings could do us in. We all hated our handlers, but the hatred gave us purpose, and we felt a kinship in it. Over time, I began to feel the camaraderie that I had felt with The Collective.

Then, one day, Henter came and told us that our training was complete. We were herded into vans and shipped out to our assignments. I never saw any of my Project Samson friends again.





***
 
I come to a few seconds later to find him hovering over me, briefcase in one hand, pistol in the other. He gives me a slap to make sure I’m awake before rudely demanding to know who I am and who sent me. The guy is an amateur. If he knew anything he’d know that I’m not going to tell him anything, and he hasn’t even gotten around to restraining me yet. Maybe he doesn’t think a woman could do any real damage to him, but that’s a sexism that I can use. I tell him to fuck off, and he points his gun at me and furiously repeats his demand. A smirking head shake is all he gets. Completely losing his cool, he shouts so loudly that spittle flies out of his mouth, and he pulls the trigger.

*click*

Judging from the slack expression on his face and the quizzical way he stares at his gun, he wasn’t expecting that. Unfortunately for him, I was. I jump to my feet and drop him with a quick but potent kick to the knee. He screams in agony as he goes down, he has the sense to swing the gun around toward me, but as he does, I kick it out of his hand. I smile at him and speak a single word, 
“Grapefruit”, as the charge blows out the window across the room. The helicopter is right on time. I’m a mile away by the time the bomb I set goes off, obliterating the facility.

Henter takes the briefcase from me and opens it. He smiles and pulls out the pulls out a couple of pages of paper.

“What are they?” I ask him.

“The locations and Machine readings from everyone in Project Samson.” he says. “Good job, Grapefruit”.

“Always a pleasure, ‘Concrete’.” I say.

It takes him a second to take in what I just said, he face goes ashen. “Where did you find that out? What are you do…”

He reaches for his gun, but I’ve already unlatched his seat-belt. The pilot activates the emergency hatch to Henter’s left and I quickly shove him out of his seat and into the black night.

“Where are we headed now, Claire?” the pilot asks.

I flip through the report. “‘Footstool’ is closest to our current location. Let’s start there. We’ve got some old friends to look up.”

Here's what the judges thought of it.

K: Okay, I LOVE this concept. The fearlessness that comes with knowing a person’s mode of death has been touched on by a few writers in the book, but this group – this larger idea – is something so obvious that I feel like it should be official canon. I would have spent more time with Grapefruit here, and I like that the writer didn’t feel the need to explain her death in this story. But… “we’ll be getting antiquated?”

DK: This one, on the other hand, I kind of wished there was a little more of. The flashback section could have used a little more fleshing out, I thought; I did really enjoy the action of the present-time sequences. I try not to comment on mistakes like this, but I couldn’t stop chuckling at “We’ll be getting antiquated” and that kind of threw me out of the mood that the first section set up really nicely.

Okay, a couple things. First of all, against my better judgement, I've edited this. When I first typed this all up, Henter (the name 'Henter' is a nod to the best pitcher in Bases Loaded for the NES, besides which, it's just a cool sounding name) simply said "I don't doubt that" before ordering his men to sedate the protagonist. I had already typed everything up and copied it into Hotmail to send off when my attention got drawn to that and how... fulfilling it looked. Because of my tight schedule (we'll get into that in a second), I added the sentence you see above - unfortunately, I made a typo on the word 'acquainted', which was instantly caught by spellcheck. Any other time, and I would've taken my time and checked which word I was pulling from the spellcheck list, but this time I rushed it and sadly chose the word 'antiquated'. Now, antiquated is a kickass word... a perennial favorite, however, it makes zero sense in the context, and ended up standing out horribly. Truly unfortunate.

When I first figured out that I was going to be getting to this point in the game, I was excited, because I've had an idea rumbling around in my head for quite a while. Long story short, I was simply unable to cram it into the confines of this week. I started a few times, but each time, the concept felt forced, and the word count (3500 words!) felt insufficient. It's a good idea, I know it is, but I just ran out of time to make it work for this week.

So I punted. I came up with a brand new concept on Sunday morning with about an hour to round it out. My mother-in-law's birthday was yesterday, and Linds was already irritated that I was sitting on the computer writing instead of helping her get ready to go and cook her mom's birthday meal. I came so close to non-subbing this week that it isn't even funny. I went to bed Saturday night an absolute annoyed wreck, just knowing that there was no way I was going to able to come up with a decent concept and hammer it out in time. Luckily, I came up with a concept that I liked (how has that not been touched on before? the military would jump on that in about 2 seconds), and was able to come up with a semblance of something decent. I really wish I had started the week with that concept, and I might actually expand on the middle section as DK suggested, and see what I come up with.