Bee-Box

Webfic Challenge: Write something off the cuff for 15 minutes.

Audio Version Here

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The bee buzzed through the field, scanning for anything particularly interesting to inspect. Among the purple flowers, it saw the usual sources of pollen and nectar, but in the distance, beyond where its sight could usually stretch, it saw a deep red pulsing.

Ancient instincts stirred in its primitive nervous system. The pulse of light drew it in, a shade of crimson unlike any it had encountered before, were it able to remember. It alighted on the source of the glow, a plastic box that felt strange to its simple senses.

The box buzzed beneath it, a deep hum more felt than heard. In its mind, the bee felt a stirring. Something was forming, a notion, a thought, an idea beyond its simple desire for food and resources. Visions swam before its simple eyes, more complex than anything it had seen before. It had not the capacity to realize that what it saw was not truly there, but uncanny impulses in its mind.

It saw a distance it could not grasp. A field of endless darkness, broken by points of light, some clustered in strange spirals. It saw the growing illumination of one such source of light. As it neared, huge round shapes appeared from the darkness, streaked with all manner of colors, reflecting the shine of the ever growing light. And then, one such shape, blue and green and brown, streaked with white, loomed before it.

The vision continued forward, the new colorful sphere growing and growing as it came ever closer. Soon, it was so large that it engulfed the entire field of view. And as it neared, the darkness broken with specks of light faded away into a deep, glowing blue. Down and down the vision went, towards a patch of green. The color was solid at first, but become more complex as it neared, revealing specks of other colors. The vision flew fast, and the field overcame the vision entirely. The bee, in its limited awareness, understood that the vision had struck the ground.

For the briefest of moments, it was aware. It was aware of the box beyond being just a thing stuck to the ground. It was aware that the ground stretched far longer than it could have ever conceived, if it had even once thought about it. It was aware, suddenly, of what it was, and of the scale of its existence. Beneath it, the box hummed and glowed, and the bee felt itself begin to do something it had never done before. It began to remember…

And then, something cold and wet smacked into its back. Around it, small pattering sounds could be heard. Water. Falling. Rain. The bee flapped its wings in a panic and zipped into the air, knowing it had to find shelter. It would have to return to the… the what? Return? To the hive? No, not the hive, to something… red? Red… flower? Flower. Pollen. Food. No! Wet! Rain! Shelter! Then pollen, then… then it’s train of thought dissolved into the primitive instincts that had guided it and it’s hive all this time.

Behind it, the box’s hum faded to silence. Its glow died to nothing. All was still, save for the rain.

Orb of Power

Webfic Writing Challenge: Flash Fiction involving two friends fighting over an "Orb of Power."

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Two young faces were squished against the glass display case, both wide eyed and gaping. “Holy crud!” said Bryan. “Is that what I think it is?”

“The Orb of Power!” said Krystie. “Only a 1,000 copies were ever printed!”

Before them, resplendent on its little plastic stand, was a single card. Beneath its transparent protective sleeve, the card glistened with a reflective sheen, illuminating the dark purple boarder with highlights of golden shine. On the top half of the card, a picture of an old man in flowing white robes was ringed with a halo of silver reflection, holding aloft a shining bronze orb. Below was a grey box with a simple text: “When the Orb of Power enters the field, all opponents are unable to attack its wielder directly.” Below, more text was italicized: “Even the eternally anguished armies of the Deep Hells could not bare to bring harm to the one who stood in the shadow of the Orb. Its simple radiance held even the most embittered hearts in awe.”

Scrawled across the card was a scribbled autograph, unintelligible to the unlearned, yet instantly recognizable to any half-way dedicated player of the game. Signed by Salvador Amano, creator of The Majestic World Collectable Card Game. The Orb of Power had been released as a bonus at a recent convention, and now fetched unreasonable prices on eBay. To see a physical copy at their very own local comic store set the two kid’s hearts afire.

“DIBS!” cried Krystie.

“Hell no! I saw it first!” said Bryan, scowling.

“Did not!”

“Did so!”

“Did not!”

“Did so!”

“Did not times infinity!”

“Did so times infinity plus one!”

“Your mom times infinity plus infinity!”

Bryan faltered for a second. “That… that doesn’t even make sense!”

But Krystie was already flagging down the shop owner, not waiting to see Bryan’s reaction. “I want the Orb of Power card! Please please please please please I saw it first me me me!”

Old Harold sighed and rolled his eyes, “You kids aren’t even going to be playing that game anymore by next month. How many other cards are collecting dust in your closet?”

“I don’t care, I want it now!” said Krystie, pouting and crossing her arms.

“Hey, man, I saw it first! I want it!”

“Well, I want it more, which is why I got to the owner first.”

“It’s worth at least one hundred dollars, you know,” said Harold. “Collectors item and all that.”

That gave both kids pause. They pulled out their wallets and frowned at their meager ten dollars each. Their parents were not likely to give either of them a sudden ninety dollar allowance increase.

They glanced at the card, crestfallen for a moment, then shrugged. “The Majestic World sucks anyway,” said Bryan.

“Yeah,” said Krystie. “Let’s get some Dark War cards instead!”

“Alright!”

Harold sighed, dragging out the longbox of cards, the poor Orb of Power already forgotten. Kids these days...

Tabitha's Defiance

Webfic Writing Challenge: Write a story using only dialogue, 1000 word limit.

Audio Version Here

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“Tabitha.”

“Lord Luc.”

“Why are you here?”

“Is it true? All this is just a game? This whole war, these witch hunts, the Final Day? Is it just a game to all of you?”

“…”

“Well?!”

“Tabitha, do you know what eternity is like?”

“What? What does—?”

“It’s agony. The agony of endless ennui. We’ve existed for so long, infinity doesn’t even seem a fitting descriptor. Much of that time, we were insane. There was only us, and the prison that is our universe. It was only when we discovered the means to bend our universe to our whim, that we finally saw the salvation to our pain. For eons, we toyed with the fundement of our prison, until one of us, none remember who, learned how to make worlds. But even that grew dull after a time. It was not until another one of us discovered how to make life, that things finally became truly interesting.”

“So it is all a game. Just entertainment.”

“Yes. And this calamity you wish to stop. The end of the world. It’s just our way of wiping the slate clean, and starting over. All of us gods, we’ll switch roles around. I look forward to playing one of the Tricksters next time. Being the Lord of Justice gets dull after a while.”

“Fifty years. Fifty years, I dedicated to you, Luc. Fifty years I fought against the forces of Savic, believing he was the ultimate evil of the world. But it’s all of you. Millions of people suffering and dying with your names on their lips, and you both, you all, don’t even give it a second thought do you? You’re all just acting. All of us in the world, we’re just your props.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t… I mean you… you create us… you raise us… you develop our worlds… don’t you care? Even a little damned bit?”

“If we didn’t, we wouldn’t do it at all. We’d be making something else. But no game has thrilled us more so than this little role play we’ve devised. Alas no session can last indefinitely, or the boredom eventually sets in again. That’s the worst part of it. No matter how wonderful a creation we make, even something that may enthrall us for a billion eons, it all eventually goes to rust, even our love for it. Nothing, it seems, is truly eternal. Nothing but us, and the horror of infinity ever clawing at the edges of our sanity.”

“…”

“Tabitha, do you understand?”

“How many know?”

“Once every few Cycles one of you finds out. Sometimes they sympathize and accept the inevitable, as we do. Some, however, seek to defy it. But they cannot do what we ourselves are incapable of. Even our greatest creation has never been able to exceed us, and free us from our prison of existence and need.”

“I see.”

“So what will you do, Tabitha? Will you accept your role, as I have accepted mine? Or will you try to do the impossible?”

“…”

“Well?”

“…”

“What’s that you have there, child?”

“You say this universe is your prison. So you’ve never been able to leave?”

“No. We would have, if we could.”

“And nothing has ever come into the universe, from the outside?”

“The many dimensions and planes you know of are our creation. Our definition of ‘universe’ is broader than your own perception.”

“I know what you define as the universe. I’m asking you, have you ever encountered something from outside it?”

“No. What are you getting at child?”

“Do you know what this thing in my hand is?”

“No.”

“You don’t recognize it at all? You can’t just tell, with all your divine intuition?”

“I… cannot… What is that thing?”

“I think, my former Lord, that I know what choice to make.”

“What are you—hrk!”

“I’m going to break your Cycle.”

“I--! What is--what is this--?”

“Eternity’s end.”

“Impossible! Impossi…hck… ch-child… this won’t… stop anything… the Final Day is coming… all you’re… going to do… is prevent the world… from being reborn… hhhhhhh…”

“…”

“…”

“…I know.”

Sustra and the Machine

Audio Version Here

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For several days, Sustra had trekked through the desert, a seemingly endless stretch of light brown sand visible for miles in every direction. Her red cloak and black and white hair stirred in the breeze. The only sound she made was the soft swish of sand beneath her boots, and the occasional pat of her pack and weapons as she dropped down or jumped up on the uneven ground. Overhead, the sky had thankfully dimmed from a gathering of grey clouds. However, no rain fell. Instead, warm air shifted sand to and fro, as if not quite decided whether to create a storm or not.

Sustra hoped for the latter. There was no telling how close she was to her goal. The map was all but useless in the vast expanse of this desert. There were no landmarks, not even any animals or plants to at least indicate she was getting close to something. In the days she had walked, she had not seen so much as a single oasis.

Her journey came to a brief halt as she scaled another dune, only to find the other side ended in s steep drop off. A great crater, perhaps half a mile wide, stretched out before her. In its center was a single structure. Sustra approached it slowly, sliding down the sandy crater side until she reached the relatively flat bottom.

The structure was an old building of brick, collapsed into itself from who knew how many years of neglect. Through the gaps, she could see glints of sand-scoured metal, half-melted or torn, the remnants of some great machine. Most of the structure was buried in sand, and even the exposed parts were caked in piles of it. Perhaps the structure had once been fully buried, and the winds recently uncovered it. There was no telling how tall the building had once been, but the ruins were wide enough to hold hundreds of people.

Sustra circled the structure slowly, looking for any sign of recent use. From the look of things, no one had touched it in years. She gave it one final glance over, frowning, wondering what it might have been. Then, she turned to continue her journey.

A moment later, however, the ground beneath her suddenly shook. Nimble as she was, she managed to leap and run while avoiding spilling face first on the ground. Fearing that the building behind her might be caving in, she dashed hastily for the crater’s edge without looking back. Only when she reached it, did the shaking stop, and she realized the ground wasn’t sliding out from beneath her.

She then saw the ground darken around her, as something cast a great shadow, even in washed out light of the overcast sky. Sustra whirled and her eyes widened as she saw a great form rising from the center of the crater. Where once had stood the ruins of the building, there now kneeled, on hands and knees, an enormous humanoid machine. A great robot made of rusted, scorched, and bent metal, dropping wires and cords, packed earth and chunks of glass embedded in its frame. The pieces of brick and chunks of metal from the former building rolling off its back. The creature was the size of a whale, at least a hundred feet long and two dozen tall, even kneeling. A great cylindrical head, bedecked with six circular pits, was the size of Sustra herself. Though it bore no facial features, one of the pits was covered in a red lens, which glowed dully.

Beneath her cloak, Sustra’s hands were already gripping her shotgun and rapier. But she paused before drawing them. The great, decayed robot stared down at her, looming over her, but it did not move. Sustra and the machine stared at one another for several long seconds. Then, the machine made a sound.

A deep bass tone emanated from it, causing it’s looser parts to rattle, and Sustra to wince slightly. The sound seemed to come more from it’s chest than it’s head. As the tone sounded, the single remaining lens on it’s “face” flared a bit brighter. The entity paused for a moment, and then sounded again, this time modifying the tone several times. There was an almost musical quality to it.

Sustra let go of her weapons, and instead slowly reached behind her back and pulled out her electric guitar. She made a single strum on the strings. The robot’s eye  flickered, and one of it’s empty sockets sparked. It made another sound, a high whistle. Sustra replied with a high note on her instrument.

The robot made several light notes in a steady beat, then uttered a song, deep electronic tones. Sustra lightly played her guitar, matching the tune for a moment, before adding a chord of her own. For a moment, traveler and machine were synched in melody.

Then the machine shifted its head in what could have been a nod, and went silent. Sustra ceased her playing. As she watched, the light in the robot’s eye faded, and it sank towards the ground, folding into itself and half digging into the sand. As it did, a slight gust went through the crater, and the grey clouds finally set loose their bounty. Light rain pattered around her. She turned her face to the sky, removing her wide brimmed, pointed hat and opened her mouth to taste the drops.

Then she climbed the edge of the crater, and continued on her way.