The Three Hundred Word Challenge Roll of Honour

[Culhwch]

APRIL 2011

THEME:



WINNER:

Boxing Day Dinner
by Boneman

He stared up at the clock, turning the phone over and over in his sweaty palm. Checking endlessly as the orbs and hands approached the confluence that would allow him to make the call. He had one chance to change things; to make them right again.

It had been six years; six years of grief after the horror, the hope and hopelessness, and the numb acceptance of the loss. His daughter and grandchildren taken, his wife destroyed by the pain and anguish that weakened and then broke her heart, dying on the dreadful anniversary of their loss. Her grave lay in the churchyard. He’d come here every Boxing Day, looking up at the clock, lost in his own misery, wondering how long he could go on.

Then, three years ago the phone had rung, and he stared mutely at the number that was calling him: his daughter’s. The phone that was lost forever. The phone company must have re-allocated the number. He angrily punched the call button. But the laughing voices of his grandchildren came to him, wishing him Happy Boxing day, and he knew he was losing his mind.

When the chimes struck, the call cut off instantly.

It took him three years to understand. The alignment wouldn’t happen for another thirty years; he’d be dead long before then.

It was time. He dialled the numbers, his hand shaking. It rang.

“Happy Boxing Day, Dad.”
“Caroline!” he shouted. “You have to get off the beach! There’s a tidal wave coming – get back to your hotel, get upstairs, get the children safe!”
“Dad—”
“Caroline, please! Get off the beach!”

The chime sounded. The phone went dead. Then it rang, startling him.

“Dad, where are you? Mum says dinner’s on the table, and the kids are starving.”
“I’m coming home.”

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Challenge Thread: http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum...ctory-for.html

[Culhwch]

JULY 2011

THEME:



WINNER:

Bringer of ...
by The Judge

“Push, my dear. For the One.”

“Yes, honoured midwife,” the girl says between gasped agony. “For the One.”

A dutiful response, spoken serenely. More dutiful, more serene, than I have ever encountered, and I have heard hundreds of such. Her parents smile: she has learned her lessons well. The recordings will show the One was born into duty and serenity.

And tonight He will be born. The prophecies cannot be wrong. Not again. Our Lord will come down to us. He will be one of us. Millennia of pain and oppression will end and we will rise under His glory.

The baby crowns. The midwife urges more effort. He is there. I move forward to take the child, to hold him and feel the light...

There is no light. Only another child.

“This is not the One,” I say. The wait continues. “I name this child...”

No one speaks. No one has prepared a name, so sure were they.

“... Corin,” I say. My father’s name. Much good will it do the child.



I leave them.

The night is bitter, baleful. As ever it is. No other child is registered to be born this year. I walk without caring where my feet take me.

A scream stops my reverie. I follow the noise. A girl, lying in the gutter. I kneel at her side.

“Push,” I urge, echoing the midwives I have heard so often.

“I... am... ****ing... pushing.”

I laugh. Never before have I heard an honest response.

The baby crowns. Another effort. He slips into my hands. I go to speak but...

Light... the light comes! Pulsing through me. A coruscating beam of hope and splendour, its radiance kindling the midnight sky.

“This is the One,” I sing. The long wait is over. “I name this child... Lucifer.”


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Challenge Thread: http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum...ictory-to.html

[Culhwch]

OCTOBER 2011

THEME:



WINNER:

To Accept with Serenity
by TheDustyZebra

The pictures in our hallway trace the lifetime of our angel; cherub-cheeked baby, laughing little girl, impish smile in school pictures -- one, two, three, but no more. The last picture tells a tale we don't repeat to anyone, ever.

Grace disappeared on her 8th birthday, on vacation in France. She went to bed after her party and simply vanished. Months of endless nightmare followed: fruitless searching, skeptical and then downright hostile interrogations in a language we had quickly to master, and in the end, no trace. No Grace.

When the call came, my wife sent me to talk to the old man; she'd had more than she could take of false hopes.

I met him at the specified church, noting that he had failed to mention the adjacent graveyard.

“I know where your Grace is,” he'd said, but the tale he spun was ludicrous, impossible.

“I've lived here all my life; I've seen things.”

He showed me the statues -- hundreds of years old, all, yet this one over here appeared only a dozen years ago, and that one just a few years before it. He showed me pictures. Pictures of the graveyard over the years, and pictures of missing children, clipped from newspapers.

“But that's ridiculous,” I said. “How could that be?”

And then he took me to the last statue. My angel Grace's sweet face, there in that stone monument at the edge of a cemetery in France.

“But this statue is ancient, just look at it!” Reason warred with emotion in my heart.

“Well, yes -- and no. It's been here for about 200 years. But it disappeared for years, and only recently reappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“This angel was gone for eight years. Well, 8 years and 9 months, to be precise.”

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RUNNERS UP (TIEBREAKER): One Dastardly Plan by The Spurring Platty; Cast a cold eye by alchemist; and When A Restraining Order Just Isn't Enough... by mosaix

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Challenge Thread: 300 WORD CHALLENGE -- number 3 — READ FIRST POST!!

[Culhwch]

JANUARY 2012

THEME:



WINNER:

AMID THE COLD OF WINTER
by Teresa Edgerton

It was a difficult climb stumbling up the hill. Esther’s legs already ached. But the children had said, "A Christmas tree down in old Mr. Spangler’s meadow." She’d come to humor them. Where did they even get the idea? There had been no Christmas trees, no Christmas, no celebrations of any sort since she was a child and everyone had finally realized that Earth had forgotten them.

Forgotten this ball of mud and ice circling Bettelheim’s Star. The supply ships that used to come regularly had stopped. No one knew why. War or environmental disaster, maybe. What did it matter? The colony had troubles of its own. The native vegetation was inedible and the climate was changing for the worse. Under the thin cloud cover, the crops they’d been growing in vast greenhouses were fewer and sicklier. Two years, maybe three, that was all the time they had left.

Damn it, the grade was too steep. It seemed she could hardly get enough air in her lungs, but the children had no trouble. They ran ahead, laughing and calling back to her, "Grandma, hurry." The thought of their certain disappointment when they discovered their mistake made her heart hurt. She remembered a line from an old book, "Always winter and never Christmas."

But she crested the hill and there it was in the meadow below: Not quite the right shape — sleeker and more slender — but silver as the tinsel trees she remembered, and glowing with lights. Tears filled her eyes; the breath caught in her throat. A door had opened at the base of it, and out stepped three figures all in glittering silver.

Three men who followed the light of a star, and came bearing gifts.

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Challenge Thread: 300 WORD CHALLENGE -- No. 4 -- VICTORY TO TERESA!!

[Culhwch]

APRIL 2012

THEME:



WINNER:

Scriptorium
by alchemist

>enter<

The silent word was like an icicle in some primordial part of my mind. I pushed open the door and swallowed my disgust at the creature's bitter smell, a mingled odour of vomit and camphor.

It sat behind a desk with a book and blank sheet of paper. The room's one lamp illuminated its featureless face; no eyes, no mouth, no hair.

I stepped inside. "I need to send a message. Quickly."

>of course<

Relief flooded through me. "I have money."

It shook its head and pointed towards the blank sheet. >no money. your name and address only<

My name? Nobody could know I had been here. I took the quill and wrote, "Ivan Ivanov, Lubyanka Square." The torturer. I smiled at the irony; the creature would be none the wiser.

>where is the recipient?<

"St Petersburg."

It turned the pages of its book -- all blank -- until it settled on one.

>who?<

I took a deep breath and gave it my friend's name.

>begin<

I closed my eyes, unable to look at the creature anymore, and recited the message I had rehearsed. "Dearest Pyotr..."

It wrote, each letter existing for a moment before fading away, leaving a virginal page behind.

"...we are undone. Natasha has..." I choked, consumed by the thought of it "...has been taken to the Lubyanka. I flee tonight. Meet me at The White Rose on the fourth, when we may sail for London. Yours, Nikolay Sergeivich."

It finished writing.

"Has he got it?"

Its face twitched. A frown, perhaps? >the message has been received<

"Are you sure?"

>do you not know?<

A cold knot of fear took hold of my stomach.

The scribe pointed to my head. >did you not get your receipt, Ivan Ivanov of Lubyanka Square?<

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Challenge Thread: 300 WORD CHALLENGE -- number 5 -- VICTORY TO ALCHEMIST

[Culhwch]

JULY 2012

THEME:



WINNER:

The Dream Factory
by Hex

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

Ah, Lisa. I never deserved you.


* Account credit: £30 *


They offer £60 for our wedding.

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

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

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

But we're all desperate now.

#

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

That's £20.

#

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

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

#

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

I have to tell her the mill's closing.

£5. Holo-dreamers don't want unhappy.


# # #




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

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

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

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

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


When she kisses me, her mouth tastes of liquorice.


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Challenge Thread: 300 WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #6 (July) -- VICTORY TO HEX

[Culhwch]

OCTOBER 2012

THEME:



Photo by kneesamo on Flickr.

WINNER:

Mega-Man Comix: Issue 658; Mega-Man’s Vacation. Written, drawn and inked by Dan Cooper
by Grinnel

==============================

FRAME 1:

ARTWORK: Steve Wilson, Mega Man’s alternate identity, lounging in cabin; boots off; sock feet propped near an old wood stove; tea kettle on stove.

NARRATION: MEGA-MAN ENJOYS A WELL-EARNED VACATION IN THE WOODS!

SPEECH BUBBLE: AHHHHH!

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

Really? A weekend off? No costume? No cries for help? No having to watch every freakin’ word for the young readers?

Awesome! Thank you, Dan.

I might even learn to fish. This is my first time off since MEGA-MAN 264; INTRODUCING GALAXY GIRL.

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

FRAME 2:

ARTWORK: Streak leading from sky to forest. Trees falling.

NARRATION: MEANWHILE, NEARBY:

SOUND EFFECT OVERLAY: CRAAASH!!

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

Meanwhile nearby? Aw, c’mon! Don’t do this! I am so tired of getting bashed and beaten every month.

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

FRAME 3:

ARTWORK: Same as FRAME 1

SOUND EFFECT OVERLAY: Small ‘boom’

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

Just ONE lousy weekend off, Dan! Just one!

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

FRAME 4:

ARTWORK: Same as FRAME 1. Note: FRAME 5 overlaps bottom right quadrant.

SOUND EFFECT OVERLAY: Progressively larger Boom! Boom! BOOM!!

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

Not gonna happen! I can’t heeeeear you! LALALALALALALALA!

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

FRAME 5:

ARTWORK: Close up of Steve’s head, facing reader, startled expression; action lines show head turning.

SOUND EFFECT OVERLAY: BOOM!

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

Noooooo! Get Galaxy Girl: she loves this crap! She wants her own series!

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

FRAME 6:

ARTWORK: Robotic arms tearing roof off cabin.

SOUND EFFECT OVERLAY: CRRRRRUNCH!

ELECTRONIC SPEECH BUBBLE: HAHAHAHA! I HAVE YOU NOW, MEGA-MAN! I’LL CRUSH YOU LIKE A BUG!

MEGA-MAN SPEECH BUBBLE: YOU’LL RUE THE DAY YOU ATTACKED ME, ROBO-TIC!

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

Seriously? Rue? Nobody says rue anymore.

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

FRAME 7 (full quarter page):

ARTWORK: Steve Wilson (sans Mega-Mancostume) leaps to attack, his fists

“Dan.”

“WHAT?”

“Supper!”

“COMING!”

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

Hey, waitaminit! You didn’t finish! DAN, COME BACK HERE AND DRAW MY ARMS!

...I hate him!

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Challenge Thread: 300 WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #7 (October 2012) -- VICTORY TO GRINNEL

[Culhwch]

JANUARY 2013

THEME:



Photo by Charles Knowles on Flickr.

WINNER:

Live Forever, Die Alone
by Mouse

I go into the chippy and watch the young lad plunge the basket into the boiling fat. My stomach rumbles as the potatoes crisp and, if I imagine hard enough, I can even smell it.

It's empty now though. There is no lad. No chips. Everything's covered in dust. Nothing to eat here.

I wander back outside and walk along the promenade. The wind blows papers and bits of rubbish across the street. It's the only noise I hear.

Sometimes I wonder if I've forgotten how to speak. I don't bother trying. What if I have forgotten? Not that it matters. There's nobody to speak to but myself and I've never been a very good conversationalist.

I wish there were zombies. Or vampires. Or some sort of monster you used to see in films. Something I could hunt, or play with or, I don't know. Shag. Eat.

I'm so hungry I want to cry. There's nothing left anywhere. Nothing.

God, I wish the sun would blow up. Or an asteroid would strike. I wish aliens would come and take me away.

Please come and take me away.

I clamber over a wall, stumble across the pebbled beach and keep going until I'm waist deep in the sea. The sea is stagnant now, like a pond. The tides have gone. Everything's gone. Sometimes I remember that it's weird.

I take a breath and disappear beneath the water, breathing out, watching bubbles rise, and then I breathe in until my lungs fill with water.

I've done this before.

I didn't die then either.

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Challenge Thread: 300 WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #8 (January 2013) -- VICTORY TO MOUSE!