Well, as much as you can call these things "finished" anyway.  But it is fully operational, with a search function, feedback, and a number of pictures and stories.  From now on all my new work will be posted there, although I will still be hanging around here.

Check It Out

Dio's Challenge

The waiting room was typical of a small psychiatry practice. A bookcase was on one wall with the usual assortment of layman oriented self-help books, the furniture was well sat-in, but fairly modern. Stanley was the only one in the room, Dr. Perkins was in his office with a patient. Stanley smiled to himself, then willed a worn magazine to levitate itself to him. He grabbed it, and started reading about some gossip he really didn't care about, though it passed the time. A short time later the office door opened, and Dr. Perkins ushered a woman out of his office.

“Thank you Dr., I will see you next week,” she said as she left.

When she had left the waiting room, Perkins turned to Stanley. “Well Stanley, how are you today?”

“OK Doc, I have a lot to talk about today.”

“Well, let's get started then.”

They entered the office, Stanley sat on a couch, while Dr. Perkins took a notepad and a pen from the desk, and had a seat in his chair.

“So last week you were telling me you were still having problems at work, and were about ready to sell your soul to the devil,” Dr. Perkins chuckled, “any luck with that project? Just kidding of course, so where did you want to start?”

“Let's start with 'After I sold my soul to the devil,” Stanley suggested.

“I see, so how did the devil manifest itself to you?”

“As a lawyer. The devil has a sense of humor it seems.”

“Look, Stanley, we don't seem to be making progress here,” Dr. Perkins said as he leaned forward and accidentally dropped his pen.

The pen lifted itself from the floor, and came to rest on top of his notepad as Perkins stared wide-eyed.

“That was a good trick Stanley...,” he started, then a lamp levitated off a table and hovered in the air next to him.

“I figured you could use a bit more light doc. You were saying?”

Dr. Perkins quickly regained his composure. “So you are saying you traded your soul for telekinesis? Are you sure that was a wise choice?”

“Well it doesn't work like that doc. For starters there is no contract to sign in blood or anything else for that matter. The devil looks into you, sees what you actually want, then gives you that power. It is still your choice whether you use it or not, and if you do decide to use it, how you use it. You have a month to decide if you want to keep the power. If not, you just give it back, and you keep your soul.”

“So the devil is a lawyer and he works with negative option contracts sort of like a book club?”

“I guess.”

“Can you do anything more than levitating small objects?”

“I'm just learning to use my powers, I haven't tested them to their limits. I have gotten even with my boss at work though.”

“How so?”

“I keep hiding what he is looking for. It's driving him nuts.”

“So you are using your power, which you obtained from the devil, to torment a person? Do you think that is wise?”

“Well considering where I am heading anyway...”

“True. So why did you show up for your appointment today?”

“The devil likes new recruits, and I gave him your name. I get a 20% commission if he signs you, and 5% of whoever you recommend to be signed.”

“The devil does pyramid schemes and negative option? Sounds like he has all the bases covered.”

“He also sells time shares.”

“Why am I not surprised. Any idea when I can expect a visit from him?”

“No idea doc, though I suspect it will be soon. The devil likes to stay busy.”

“I see our time is about up. I don't suppose you want to set up another appointment?”

“No thanks doc, be seeing you, thanks for the help.”

Stanley let himself out, and Perkins stared blankly at his notebook. He really didn't believe a word of what Stanley said, but...

There was a crash as the lamp dropped to the floor and Perkins involuntarily jumped. He stood and stared at the lamp on the floor, and a chill ran up his spine. He picked up the lamp, placed it back on the table, and closed he office for the day.

Sleep didn't come easy that night, and he had disturbing dreams when it did.

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

A week went by without incident, and while Perkins did not forget about his last visit with Stanley, the memory was driven to the back of his mind by other issues. He still had a large caseload, and most of his patients were long term. He was controlling a lot of their problems with medication, which worked, but he yearned for a better method. While the medications stabilized them, it also tended to have nasty side effects. He checked his list for the day, and noticed a new name on it. He didn't think anything more about it until that afternoon when the man came in for his appointment.

The man was well dressed, confident, and seemed in control when Dr Perkins stepped out of his office.

“Mr. Grigori?” Perkins asked, extending his hand.

The man stood and shook his hand. “Dr. Perkins, pleased to meet you. I have heard a lot about you.”

“All good I hope,” Perkins chuckled as he led the way into the office.

He took his usual seat, and Mr. Grigori sat on the couch.

“That's an interesting name you have, what is its origin?” Perkins asked.

“Old Testament. My first name is Satanael, you can call me Satan for short.”

“I see. I suppose you heard about me from Stanley.”

Satan chuckled. “No, I have known about you for a long time. You have done a lot for the mental health field, and are pretty well known. I confess to using Stanley as a means of introducing myself to you. Most people can't handle me all of a sudden without any warning.”

“So was it necessary to buy his soul?”

“Actually I don't traffic in the things. I just put things in terms he would understand. His soul is his to do with as he pleases. How he uses those powers of his will dictate it. I don't suppose he talked to you about conservation of good and evil?”

“No that seems to have slipped his mind. He was too busy telling me about your business organization and how he was tormenting his boss with practical jokes.”

“Yes, that sounds like Stanley. I suppose you are familiar with the concepts of yin and yang, order and chaos, that type of thing?”

“Yes I am.”

“Well, good and evil are much the same. You can't have one without the other, and there are always equal amounts of both in the universe.”

“Partially your doing I suppose?”

“No, the other guys. I work under his rules.”

“So what you're telling me is that if someone does a good deed, someone else does a bad one?”

“Not exactly, just that the amount of good and evil stays the same. What you accomplish by that good deed, is evil for something else. Oh, one other concept you need to be up on. There are four dimensions to the universe, not three. Time is the fourth. There will not necessarily be the same amounts of good and evil at the same instant in time, but over the life of the universe, they will even out.”

“Um, can you give me an example?”

“OK, let's say you find an injured stray cat, and you nurse it back to health. Would you consider that a good deed?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then that cat goes and eats a bird. Was that deed good or evil for the bird?”

“OK, I get the point but...”

“Let me put it another way. Let's say you save someone's life in an accident.”

“And...?”

“And that person later turns out to sire the man who is the father to Adolph Hitler? You see, you did a good deed, it got more than balanced out.”

“But you would have no way of knowing...”

“Correct. But you only took one bite.”

“Pardon?”

“You only took one bite of the Apple from the tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Therefore you can only tell the direct consequences of your act, not the indirect ones. Which is fortunate for you, if you had eaten more you would have lost your free will.”

“There is a point to all this I'm assuming?”

“I have a proposition for you Doctor. You are the person best suited to the task. What I am offering you is the ability to be able to cure people from their mental illness without drugs.”

“In exchange for my soul?”

“I already told you, I don't buy those. In exchange for you having to make a decision in the future in which you will be using that ability. Where you end up depends on how you decide it.”

“You already said I would not be able to tell in the long one whether my decision would create good or evil?”

“To be exact, I already told you it wouldn't matter. There are always equal amounts of both. What you are going to be deciding on is which one is going to be greater in your immediate future. How the other guy is going to judge that decision I haven't a clue.”

“So how long do I have to decide?”

Perkins grabbed his head as the room started spinning. He was almost overcome by a wave of nausea then a sharp pain emanated from the center of his head. He gasped involuntarily, then everything was as it was before. He looked up to see Satan smiling at him.

“Stanley must have covered that part, negative option. You have the power, you must decide whether you are going to use it or not. Knowing how you think, you will use it. You will know when the important moment comes. Good luck.”

With that Satan faded out, and for the second time in a week Perkins was left wondering what exactly had just happened. He was stirred from his thinking by a knock on his door. He looked at his watch, it was past time for his next appointment. He stood up and opened the door.

“I'm sorry to disturb you doctor, but...”

“No, no, entirely my fault Sarah, come on in. I was concentrating on my last session with a new patient and lost track of time.”

Sarah came in and lied down on the couch. Perkins sat in his usual seat, and noted how she looked both tired and depressed. He had problems with her taking her medications before. She would dutifully take them for a while, feel better, then stop. He assumed this was another one of those times.

Then he realized he could get into her mind and he stopped assuming. He could see where the process was going wrong, how long she had stopped taking the medication, exactly what the medication was doing, and how to go about fixing the problem permanently.

“Sarah, you look like you are having a headache...”

“All the time doc.”

“Do you mind if I come over there and massage your head a bit?”

“If you think it will help.”

Perkins walked over and placed his hands on either side of her head. He discovered two things. One was that he could change the chemical processes in her brain. The second was that he probably didn't need to physically touch her to do it. In any case, he completed some changes at the cellular level, and noticed processes starting to work normally again. He walked back to his chair, and sat heavily.

“Is something wrong doc? Hey, my headache is gone!”

“Is it? That's good to hear. No, nothing is wrong, I just felt a little dizzy. It happens sometimes when I bend over.”

“Have you seen a doctor about that?” Sarah asked, concerned.

“I have an appointment to see one. Sarah, I am going to try pulling you off of all your medications. I gather you stopped taking them anyway?”

Sarah looked down at the floor, shame-faced. “Yeah, doc, I'm afraid I've been bad again.”

“How long have you been off them?”

“About a week.”

Perkins nodded. “OK, so probably part of your problem was withdrawal symptoms. You should be over that now, that headache was probably the last of it. We'll leave you off them. You have my number if you need me in an emergency, and we will schedule your next appointment for Tuesday.

“OK doc, thanks.”

Sarah left his office looking a lot happier than she had in a long time.

Perkins saw a number of patients that week. He modified their brain processes, and started weaning them off their medications. The one or two patients he had that weren't medicated he found he could effect the changes needed anyway. He had to wait a week to see the results.

Sarah was the first one to come back after the original appointment. She looked like a huge burden had been lifted off her, there was a bounce to her walk that was absent before, she had changed her manner of dress and her hair style, and laughed as she entered his office.

“Doctor, I can't tell you how much better I felt last week. My boss noted it too, and I am getting a promotion I never expected to get! I don't know what you did, but thank you!”

“I'm glad to hear it Sarah. You didn't have any bouts of depression the last week?”

“No, none.”

“Great. We will schedule one more for next week, and see how it goes. I think we might start going monthly after that.”

One by one his patients came in, each with their own amazing success story, and Perkins was feeling good about himself except for two items: He was soon going to run out of caseload, but the system was so overburdened that would take care of itself in short order; and he couldn't publish a paper, let alone teach his technique to anybody else.

The next week Sarah came in looking more somber. When they both had a seat, she told him about what happened.

“There was another girl in the office, Jane, who was originally expecting the promotion I got. Two days ago she hung herself. The note she left blamed me.”

“I'm very sorry to hear that Sarah, you do know that wasn't your fault?”

“I know. I could see she was depressed, I tried to get her to come see you. I guess she just couldn't handle it.”

“So how are you doing?

“Things like this happen. I'm saddened, but I'll work it out. I just can't help thinking if I wasn't seeing you, that could have been me.”

“Do you want to come in again next week?”

“Yeah, I'd like that doc.”

Sarah left the office, and Perkins sat in his chair to contemplate things. He suddenly realized he wasn't alone in the room. Satan was sitting on the couch.

“You appear to have come across your first bird,” Satan said.

“Yes. Nothing I could do about it either. Would Sarah have committed suicide if I hadn't intervened with her?”

“It's not for me to know, but I think it would have been likely.”

“So I save one person and another dies. Good and evil balanced out.”

“Yeah, welcome to hell.”

Perkins looked up at Satan sharply.

“Just joking. You don't go through an eternity of this without getting a certain dark humor about you.”

“So are you really evil?”

“Let's just say the other guy and I don't see eye to eye on things. Of course he is running things, I have to play by the rules he set down.”

“That didn't answer my question.”

“If you had been listening you would know that question cannot be answered. You had the bite, you are supposed to be able to tell these things. If you can't look at me and answer that for yourself, how am I supposed to do it?”

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

Perkins decided when his current caseload ran down, he would take a vacation before requesting a new batch. This proved to be a mistake. In the confines of his practice he very rarely came across people that weren't his patients. When he went to the yearly mental therapist's convention he was among crowds.

And he could read the mental status of every...single...one...of...them. It turned out his esteemed colleagues had hangups that would have made his patients blush if they ever heard about them. Since they weren't his patients though, he suppressed the natural urge to fix things; he didn't have their permission to do so.

It was at day two of the convention when he was approached by his supervisor, Dr. Henley, a man who apparently had a thing for bananas and feather boas, who reached his hand out for a handshake that Perkins gingerly returned, all things considered.

“Malcolm, good to see you. I was looking over those reports you turned in. You have had a rather amazing string of successes with your patients recently.”

“Yes, I have been trying a new technique,” Perkins started, then realized he would have to describe said technique, which was after all impossible without being laughed out of the room. “It allows me to quickly reduce the required medication,” he finished not explaining.

“Well you'll have to tell me all about it in one of the break-out sessions,” Henley said, thankfully spotting someone else in the room he needed to talk to.

Perkins wasted no time checking out of the hotel and heading home, where once again he needed time to think things over.

It seemed to be turning out that his new-found skill was both a blessing and a curse, sort of a good-and-evil balance thing. He wondered how Stanley was doing with his new-found abilities when he realized once again he wasn't alone in the room.

“Lousy,” Satan said, “The silly nit is turning everything into gold. He's lucky if he doesn't get himself burned as a witch. You're getting better at this I see. You didn't even flinch this time.”

“Getting used to it I guess. More than I can say about my own powers. I can see where they are more than I bargained for. Any chance of you taking them back?”

Satan chuckled. “Getting tired of floating through everybody's mind already? It does have an on-and-off switch you know.”

“No, I didn't. You must have forgotten to give me the manual to it. So how do I do it.”

Satan pointed out a section of his mind.

“Ah, I was wondering what that was for.”

“Still want to give them back?”

“I don't know. What are the consequences?”

“Now you know I can't tell you those in advance. Let's just say you will be taking yourself out of an extremely important decision involving humanity if you give them up. The decision will still be made, you just won't be the one making it.”

“Exactly how important is it?”

Satan just smiled.

“OK, let's try another angle. By giving me this power, you are letting me make a decision I would normally never be in a position to make. So why me?”

“Oh crap, I was afraid you were going to ask that one,” Satan said. “See, the rules say if you ask that one, I have to answer it. I have to give full disclosure. Are you sure you want the answer? It may effect the decision you finally make.”

“Will it effect my decision in a good or evil way. Oh crap, I already know the answer to that one. The amount of good and evil equal out, so there is no way to answer it. OK, let's try this again. Will it effect my decision in a way that I will see as good or evil?”

“Circular again. I will tell you this, all it will do is make you make the decision earlier, with less information. You will have less control over the outcome. There will be no other effect of me answering that question.”

“Why are you here tonight?”

“To answer any questions you have.”

“Well your doing a bloody poor job of that aren't you?”

Satan grinned. “I am what I am. Any further questions?”

“No”

Perkins threw a pillow at Satan's rapidly disappearing form.

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

He started on his new caseload shortly thereafter, which left him too busy to think of much of anything else. He soon got that batch's sorted out and was working on the third group when two stern looking men paid him a visit.

“Dr Perkins?” one of them asked.

“Yes”

“Come with us,” the man said, showing him his badge.

Perkins decided it probably wasn't too wise to question a secret service agent's orders, and walked meekly between the men to a car. He was guided to the back seat where another man was sitting, the first two got in front, and the car drove off.

“Is somebody going to tell me what is going on?” Perkins asked.

“You'll be fully briefed at headquarters,” the man beside him said, as the rest of the trip was spent in silence.

He was led to a room, and was shown to a chair opposite a man in a military uniform who was sitting at a desk.

“Dr Perkins, I am General Small, MD. We have a problem we need your help with. I am sorry for the circumstances of your arrival, but this is classified top secret.”

Perkins decided now would be a good time to turn his ability on, regrettably it wouldn't work directly as a lie detector, but it would be able to tell him something about what this man was about. What he found was a sound, if troubled, mind.

“We have noted you have had some rather amazing successes with people who are suffering from major psychological problems over the last six months. We also note that your reports do not offer a clue as to how you do it.”

“Yes sir. There have been no reports because it is not a scientifically repeatable method I use.”

Small nodded. “It doesn't seem to be drugs either, at least you aren't prescribing any. So how are you doing it?”

“I'd rather not say sir.”

“Doctor, this isn't time to hold secrets. We have a huge problem on our hands, and I need a way to judge you. Now how are you doing it?”

“I find I can alter the chemical composition inside of the brain through physical manipulation.”

“Poppycock. Can you prove that?”

“Do you have a test subject?”

“Captain, bring Private Carter into the room”

A gurney was wheeled into the room with a comatose man on it. Perkins instantly saw what was wrong.

“May I start now General?”

“Please, we are running short on time.”

Perkins got up and placed his hands on the mans head. He knew that wasn't necessary, but there was no reason for the General to know that. After about 30 seconds Carter's eyes fluttered open.

“Where am I?” he asked, climbing off the gurney.

“I remember the platoon being ambushed, and that's about it.”

“Very well, you can go now. Captain?”

Carter was guided out of the room.

“That isn't the way it happened you know,” Perkins said.

“Yes, I know. He lost it, and massacred his own platoon, then went catatonic. We haven't been able to snap him out of it.”

“So I just made it possible for him to make it to his court marshal?” Perkins asked.

“Not for me to say.”

“You sound like someone else I know,” Perkins answered, “so why am I here?”

“In all likelihood, a very important person has gone paranoid to the point where he may be a danger to everybody around him. This has put us all in a dangerous situation.”

“So why isn't he just relieved of duty?”

“Because the constitution makes it real difficult to do that to a President.”

“Who made the diagnosis?”

“I did. His personal physician doesn't agree.”

“What are the symptoms?”

“Auditory hallucinations, delusions, anxiety, anger, argumentativeness, self-important manner.”

“Aside from the Auditory hallucinations, that sounds like the last five presidents we have had.”

“This isn't a joke sir.”

“I wasn't joking. What kind of auditory hallucinations is he having?”

“He hasn't confided those with anybody but General Hammel, who served with him in the military. The General is the one who brought it to my attention.”

“So he hasn't discussed it with his doctor, and the rest of those traits he has had to some extent all along.”

“They're getting worse.”

“That's a problem. Can I speak to his personal physician?”

“Why?”

“Because what you want me to do will effect his behavior. Being he has no reason to trust me, I'm assuming it needs to be done without his consent, I could be up for treason, and I'd like to know what I am getting into.”

“The only other option is a coup.”

“Or you just let him finish his term.”

“There is a very real danger his term will end with the start of World War III”

“If he gave the order to fire the missiles would the Generals in charge do it?”

“What do you think? It's either that, they get tried for treason, or a coup. Are you beginning to understand now?”

“A lot of things. I still need to asses the situation for myself before I get involved. Can you make that happen?”

“That I can do.”

A short time later the president's personal physician was ushered into the room.

“Dr Perkins, this is Dr Brown,” General Small said. “Dr Brown, this is the mental health specialist we have brought in.”

“The President cannot be placed on any mood altering drugs, we've been through this already Small,” Brown angrily shouted.

“Perkins doesn't believe in using drugs,” General Small retorted.

“What do you believe in then?” Brown asked, turning to Perkins.

“I believe I would like to examine the President. There is no way to know what I would recommend until I do.”

“He is unlikely to consent to an examination,” Brown pointed out.

“I believe if I get into reasonable proximity of him I can gain what I need to know.”

“I'll arrange that,” Brown said.

After he left, Small cleared his throat, “Dr, you don't actually have to touch the patient to perform a cure do you?”

“You've been watching me a lot closer then you are letting on,” Perkins said.

“It's my business. You may only get one shot at this. Are you going to be able to cure him from a distance.”

“If I can determine what is wrong, yes.”

“Then I strongly suggest you do so.”

There was a period of time before Brown returned. What was bothering Perkins wasn't whether or not he could cure the President, he knew he could provided there was a chemical imbalance involved, it was that if what he was preventing was possible nuclear war, what was the trade off in evil down the road, and how far down the road was it? He decided he was better off letting you-know-who sort that one out.

Brown returned, Perkins was prepared for entering the oval office. The security procedure didn't leave much to chance. Perkins was with a group of people standing to the side of the desk in the oval office for a bill-signing. The president entered the room, looking about warily. Perkins looked into his mind and saw what needed to be done.

In the middle of signing a bill, the President slumped over his desk. As aides rushed to his side, he pushed himself up, smiled, and waived them off.

Dr Perkins was escorted back to General Small's office, and told to wait. The last thing he noticed was a funny odor...

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

When Perkins awoke, he was in a foggy and dreamlike state. He knew there was something important, but he just couldn't concentrate long enough to grasp it.

Small and Brown entered the room.

“He is properly medicated?” the General asked.

“Yes sir, as you requested, and I agree, this man is much to dangerous to allow him to ever again regain use of his mind.”

“Very well. It seems a tragic waste of his life, but I don't see any safe way around it. Make sure he stays medicated at all times.

“Yes sir. It will be attended to.”

After the men had left the room, Satan appeared.

Perkins felt the cobwebs lift from his mind, but only when he concentrated on Satan.

“You were wondering what the counterbalancing evil to saving the world from a nuclear Holocaust would be. I assume you are figuring it out now.

Perkins nodded. “It's my soul, isn't it?”

“Now that would hardly be fair would it? I'm still not the one who is going to judge you, but I am pretty certain you will pass with flying colors. Good and evil are only balanced on this plane of existence. While you are here however, you will be kept in a constantly medicated state, never again regaining your full consciousness, only enough of it to know you are entrapped. In other words, the one thing you were trying to save everybody else from. Your fate is not hell in the afterlife, it is hell on Earth. I do have one question though. Knowing that, would you do it all over again?”

Perkins thought it over slowly. “Good and evil have to stay balanced. So what you're telling me is my suffering is going to counterbalance the suffering the rest of humanity would have to go through. As I recall, there was one other time in history when you asked someone else that question. Why would I answer any differently then he did?”

“So if I offered you a do-over?”

“I'll keep my soul, thanks.”

With that Satan left and the mists of confusion quickly closed back in.

I finally got my first comic done.

You can view it here:

Flagon and the Three Little Pigs

Bonnymom's Challence

We learn a great deal about others from conversation. Imagine you are engaged in conversation with someone. This can be a conversation between you and someone whom you wish to know -- you decide whom -- or between two fictional characters. Write that conversation. In either case, it will clearly be fictional. Try to make it clear in the conversation whom you are talking to, and also what the subject is.

DIALOGUE ONLY, PLEASE!

Read the rest of the entries here

Good afternoon.  Please allow me to introduce myself...

Satan?  what are you doing here?

Dio sent me to interview you.  Did he not tell you I was coming?

Well he said someone was coming, but he didn't say it would be you.  I'm not sure I should even be talking to you due to my contractual obligations...

Oh pish-posh.  You aren't a religious figure by any means.  You are the remnant of a pagan spring ritual, aren't you?

Yeah, technically anyway, but 'Pagan Spring Ritual Bunny' doesn't have the same ring as 'Easter Bunny'.  By the way, how come your speech is coming up pink?

Is coming up wha..?  DIO YOU GONZO WIZARD!  AM I GOING TO HAVE TO SAVE YOU A PARTICULARLY WARM PLACE BY THE FIRE?!!? Much better.  OK, where were we?  Oh yes, your contractual obligations.  So you are a religious figure... how exactly?

Well, I, say you really are a cynical bastard, aren't you?

I don't exactly spend time hanging around with the Saints.  From my information though, your sources of funding are the candy industry and the Association of Dentists, aren't they?

Yeah, well a rabbit's got to make a living.  I also hold the concessions for Halloween and Christmas.  You might know me by my other name: The Tooth Fairy.

I figured as much.  So how did they rope you into this business anyway?

They promised me I would be working with a lot of young chicks.

And you accepted, and they handed you a basket of eggs I take it?

Yeah.  The Omnipotent one either has a vast sense of humor or a lousy grasp of slang.

So the chocolate was your idea?

I figured if I was going to get roped into it, I might as well make some coin off it, so I looked on how to monetize the holiday.

And then you branched out I take it?

Yeah, Christmas is of course the biggie.  Took a lot of work getting people to forget what that one was about though.  I figure after I managed to do it with Easter everything else should be relatively easy.

Ah, it is all starting to make sense.  You had help of course.

Of course.  Mankind is incredibly greedy as well as gullible, as you well know.

Tell me about it.  You sound like my kind of guy though.  Ever thought of switching employers?

Why, am I not sending enough people your way as it is?

Too many actually.  Hell is getting rather full.  I was thinking more of a campaign to send them to heaven.

OK, I am confused.  The devil wants to enlist the Easter Bunny's aid in getting people into heaven.  Have I got that right?

Exactly.  You're the genius at marketing.  Think you can pull it off?

Yeah, might be just the ticket.  I've been getting bored lately anyway.  So let me make sure I understand this.  I somehow have to get mankind to treat each other as they would want to be treated themselves, at least as how I understand it.

Right.  You can't do anything that appeals to their greed, or self-need, or biases.  That will send them straight to me, and that's what I want to avoid.  I have them stacked up to the ceilings already.

That's a tall order.  What's in it for me?

The thrill of the challenge as always.  What else did you desire?

That should do it.  I take it promising them 40 virgins in the afterlife is out?

Depends.  What were you going to promise the 40 virgins?

Good point.  Let me think about it and get back to you.

Skyerider's Challenge

You come home from work and open the door.
Sitting in the middle of your living room is... What?
Write a story about what you find there.
It must be something that doesn't belong in a living room.
Tell us how it got there, how you feel about it, and what you do with it.

Click here for other entries

Dio was about to unlock the front door returning from a shopping trip.  Flagon as usual was carrying all the bags, she preferred it that way, she ate half the stuff they bought before they ever got home.  Dio paused and cocked his head to one side as if listening for something.

“What, you hear your masters voice?” Flagon asked.

“There is something strange in the middle of our living room, I can't make out what it is, but it seems to be magical.”

Flagon sighed and put the bags down.  “And I suppose you want me to go in first as usual?”

“Being that you're the least prone to damage of the two of us, yes,” Dio affirmed.

“Great, OK, whatever you say boss.  But I ought to get hazardous duty pay for this.”

“I give you time and a half whenever you do things like this and you know it.”

“Yeah, but if you ever paid me anything that might be worth something,” Flagon replied as she opened the door.  “Now there is something you don't see everyday.”

“You mind giving me some sort of description?” Dio asked.

“Yeah, it's a little blue man sitting on a toadstool.”

“Great, just great,” Dio muttered, “I don't suppose he has a white beard.”

“Yeah he does.  How did you know?”

Dio sighed, and opened the door the rest of the way.  “Just what I needed.  Poppa Smurf.  So what brings you here to soil my carpet?”

“Don't give me that, the carpet was already soiled.  You had a hole in the roof, and I found the toadstool growing in the middle of the floor.  If I had my way I would have poofed in a hollow tree.”

“Flagon, you didn't happen to hire the dwarves to fix the roof did you?” Dio asked.

“Well, they said a couple of shingles were loose and...”

Dio slapped his head.  “OK, whatever.  So once again, why are you here?”

“Not rightly sure,” Poppa Smurf said, “It isn't for the grub anyway, you don't have any.”

“Which is why we were out shopping.  Want some toasted knights?” Flagon offered.

“No thanks ma'am, the armor gets stuck in my teeth.”

“How about some cookies then?”

Poppa Smurf turned... well, he's naturally blue, so if you turn green you're sort of aqua.  But not a good kind of aqua.  Maybe a “sea foam green” such as Rubbermaid used to have before somebody noticed what it looked like after you put garbage in it.

“Gee, I wonder what color a smurf upchucks in?” Flagon wondered.  Dio quickly shooed her out of the room.  “Make yourself useful, put the food away, “ he said, then turned back to the smurf.  “You OK now?” he asked.

“Yeah, but don't mention that word again.”

“Feel like talking about it?”

“Well things got kind of slow in the smurf business after they canceled our show.”

“Kids are so fickle don't you know...”

“Yeah, but losing out to Teletubbies?  Not to mention that stupid purple dinosaur?”

“So what did you get into?”

“We sank pretty low.  Even sold some cheesecake pictures of Smurfette on the Internet.”

“Oh really?  I hadn't seen those.”

“And a good thing too,” Flagon chimed in from the kitchen.

“Anyway, you were saying?” Dio asked, ignoring her.

“Well times got pretty lean until we were approached by this baking company.”

Dio's jaw dropped.  “You're the Keebler Elves?!!?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah, we spend a lot of time putting on the makeup to hide our blueness, but they needed beings that did not look out of place in a hollow tree.”

“And that's where you baked the coo... er, snacks?”

“Oh hell no, you ever tried to put an oven in a tree?  Burn the place down in a heartbeat.  No those blasted things were baked by the thousands in industrial ovens.”

“OK, so what was the problem?”

“Well we had to not only eat some, but we had to look like we enjoyed it.”

“A lot of people seem to like eating those things.”

“Yeah, but we had to do it through 37 takes.  That and Jokey got the idea it would be funny to lace the fool things with Tabasco sauce.”

“You know, it is all coming back to me now.  You folks had some members that would make one long for the dwaves.”

“I'd take them in a heartbeat over Grouchy, Jokey, and Lazy.”

“Well at least you didn't have a Dopey equivalent.”

“How about Vanity and Poet?  I swear, there were times when I wanted to sign up for Gilligan's Island just to be away from them.”

“I see your point.  But I still would like to know what you are doing here?”

“I was hoping you could use a hand.  I have good organizational skills, and a lot of experience dealing with adversity.  What do you say?”

“Sounds tempting, but I don't think I could handle the copyright violations.”

Poppa Smurf shook his head sadly.  “Yeah, we are still licensed characters aren't we?  Well I guess it's back to the hollow tree with me.”

“Sorry man, wish there was something I could do,” Dio said, as Poppa Smurf faded out.

Flagon finished up in the kichen and came out into the living room.  “Did he leave already?”

“Yeah, afraid so.”

“Darn, and I made up a plate of Pecan Sandies for him too.”

Dio heard a faint retching in the distance and smiled.  At least it was out of range.

Dio's Challenge

Finally gotten to the point where I am doing comics.  The Flagon Tails stories seemed to be best suited to this to start with.  First ones that will be done:  Flagon and the Three Little Pigs, Flagon's Billy Goat Gruff, Flagon' Cinderella, and Little Red Flagon Hood.

I will post some of the pictures here, but due to copyright issues, the full stories when they are created are going to be on my site which hopefully will be set up to sell some of these.

Celticfrog's Challenge

Write a story using the following two words ...

Munificent
Ubiquitous

You can use any form of the words, and write any kind of story.
Poetry is good as long as it tells a story.

Read other entries here

When Flagon arrived at the office it was dark.  Dio was sitting at his desk, reading by the light of a sputtering light spell.

“City having a power outage boss?” Flagon asked, even though she could see the lights on across the street.

“No, I think it is more local, though it is only temporary,” Dio replied.

“As in 'temporary until you pay the electric bill?”

“Or Remora gets here and loans us some electricity, whichever comes first,” Dio admitted.

“Boy would I like to take a bet on that one,” Flagon muttered under her breath, just as a tapping sounded at the door.

Flagon opened in.  “Remora, come on in.  I gather Dio has told you his problem?  The part about being a deadbeat I mean.”

“I heard that dragon,” Dio said.  “I'll have you know this is only a temporary shortage of funds due to my munificence...”

“Heck Dio, the only thing you are munificent about is in handing out your debt, let's face it,” Remora laughed.

“I intend to pay it back fully in due time,” Dio protested.

“Yeah, but your idea of 'due time' varies wildly from everybody else's,” Remora pointed out.

“It isn't my fault they don't know how to handle time correctly.  I can pay the electric bill last Friday, on time, in about 5,000 years.  I simply have to go back to then and pay it.”

“Which you haven't done yet,” Flagon pointed out.

“Because humanity hasn't chosen that probability path yet which is hardly my fault.”

Remora looked bewildered.  “Flagon, do you actually understand what he is saying?  Frankly I am about ready to just recharge some equipment and leave while I am still ever-so-slightly sane.  Insanity is ubiquitous around here.”

“Yes, well... wait a minute.  What did you just say?”

“I said insanity is ubiquitous around here, just like it says in the script.”

“Let me see that a second,” Flagon said, as she took the script and read it carefully.  “Hmmm... something fishy going around here.  Dio what where you reading when I came in?”

“Me? Reading?  Whatever are you talking about?” Dio said as he attempted to stuff a pamphlet in the top desk drawer.  

Flagon was too quick though and grabbed it from him.  “21 Days to Better Writing”, she read.  “Well that explains a lot.  “Lesson 3: Improve your writing through vocabulary.  Hmmm... there is also a section about improving your poetry skills here.  I imagine you were saving that for later.”

“Satan won't like that,” Remora pointed out.  “He is currently using Dio's poetry as a recruiting aid.”

“How so?” Flagon said, scratching her head.

“If anybody asks him what hell is like, he hands them one of Dio's poems, then asks them to imagine what it would be like having to listen to that through eternity as performed by Willam Shatner.”

Flagon shuddered.  “It would scare me straight, that's for sure.”

“If you don't mind...” Dio said, as the power came back on.

“What made you change your mind about paying the bill?” Flagon asked.

“I didn't , you will.  I threatened to hold a poetry reading marathon, and you caved in.”

Dio's Challenge

Fall is upon us, and let's face it, people do a lot of goofy things in preparation for winter, and dressing up in costume is not the worst of it. For this challenge, write about a goofy thing done on a yearly basis in the fall. What you write about must be based in fact, the event or activity actually has to exist, Punkin Chunkin, for example. The twist you put on it can be entirely fictional.

***

Note:

My town does something every year called Cow-a-dung-o, where everybody pays $10 to bet on where a cow poops on a football field on October 23rd. Keep in mind, I am not making this up.

http://lancasterreddevilsband.com/

BTW - for those not familiar with Punkin Chunkin, it is a yearly event in Delaware to see who can hurl a pumpkin the furthest. The record is about one mile:

http://www.punkinchunkin.com/schedule.htm

Be sure to check out the photos.

Also see other entries for this challenge here

“I have something special planned for today,” I said.

Flagon yawned.  “Knowing where we are, I suppose I don't need an evening dress and a pearl necklace to attend.”

“Considering it is going to be held at a High School Football Field, no,” I replied.

“Dio, if this event includes either a Tractor Pull or Monster Trucks I am just naturally going to have to hurt you.”

“No, no, it's completely organic in nature.  It's called 'Cow-a-dung-o'”

“This doesn't have anything to do with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles does it?” Flagon asked, puzzled.

“No, that was 'Cowabunga'.  In any case, put on a jacket and let's go.”

We arrived at the football field, the stands were already populated.

“Pretty good turn out for this, whatever it is, Flagon said.”

“It's a yearly charity event to raise funds for the Marching Band,” I replied.  “The winner gets a scholarship.”

“The winner of what?  Hold that thought, I see an concession stand, and I am so hungry I could eat a horse,” Flagon said, wandering off.

“I hope they sell horses then,” I muttered as I wandered up to our seats.

Flagon wandered up soon afterwards, patting her stomach and smiling contentedly.  “So OK, what's this about now.”

“Well it sounds kind of strange, but see how the football field is marked off in a grid pattern?”

Flagon stared down at the field.  “Yeah, and they even sprayed numbers in each square.  So?”

“Well they lead a cow onto the field, and it has nature's calling in one of those squares.  If it does it in your square, you win a scholarship.  The profits go to the band.  We have squares 14 and 37.”

“You mean to tell me we traveled out here to watch a cow poop?”

“Yeah, sort of, if you have to put it that way...”

Flagon got an unhappy look on her face.  “Uh-Oh,” she said.

“What, your snack disagreeing with you?”

“Not exactly.  It isn't my fault.  There weren't any horses around.”

“Flagon you are talking in riddles.  What does that have to... Uh-oh!,” I said as it suddenly dawned on me what she had done.  “Tell me you didn't eat a cow instead.”

Flagon just nodded her head.  “Mighty tasty too.  I flame-broiled it first.  It was just standing around, I didn't think anyone would miss it.  Here I saved the tail.  Want some?” she said, handing it to me.

I took the tail, and had the glimmerings of an idea that might salvage the situation.  “Yeah, thanks, now let's climb down and go behind the bleachers a second.”

We started down, Flagon following me, and when we got to a secluded spot I handed her the tail back.  “Here, hold this a second would you?”

Flagon complied, there was a poof, and a cow was now standing where she once stood.

“Nice,” she said looking at herself.  “One joke about my udders though and the world is going to see its first fire-breathing cow.”

“Wouldn't think of it,” I replied half-truthfully.  I might think about it, but I wasn't stupid enough to udder, er utter it.

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“Go out on that field and poop of course.”

Flagon got a dangerous look in her eyes.  “I usually do that in private for good reason.”

“Well we will make an exception today.  Think of it as your chance at stardom.  The show must go on you know.”

“Well I always wanted to be in show business, and I figured I would have to get in on the ground floor, although I didn't expect the ground would be this low.  OK, if you say so I will do it.  Keep in mind, this was your idea.”

I traveled back to my seat as Flagon ambled off to a spot on the field.  There was a -poof- and a puff of yellow smoke and accompanying smell that announced who my new seat-mate was.

“Thought I would drop by for the show,” Satan said.

“Wonderful.  So glad you could make it,” I lied.

“Yes, I bet.  So Dio, ever seen a dragon poop before?”

“No, as a matter of fact I haven't.  Flagon is usually pretty private about it.”

“And for good reason, remember you did order her to do this.  Here, have an umbrella,” Satan said, handing me a re-enforced steel on with heavy duty material.  He opened his up, I followed suit.”

“I hope I am not sending anybody your way today,” I said.

“Nah, I just love to watch train wrecks.  This isn't going to hurt anything other than egos and self-images.”

There was a roar from the field that sounded like a dam bursting, and well, nobody really wants me to describe what happened next.  Let me just say that the judges called the event a draw, and offered to give everybody their money back.  Considering the condition it was in, nobody took it and the band made a fortune from the event, minus the cleaning charges of course.

I was quiet on the drive back home, Flagon just kept looking over at me and snickering.  I suspect we will be moving out before they come with the tar and feathers.

"Credit" for this Challenge idea goes to a recent Worth1000 Advanced writing contest.

View other entries here

 Preferably Now. Without Reading any further. Trust me.

Sumax's Challenge

Write a Monorhyme poem about school in 250 words or less.

 

You can choose anything that happens at school, from first day, learning, playground games, fighting, teaching or playground supervisor, et al ... but the subject matter should convey the idea of a school setting.

 

A Monorhyme is a poem in which all the lines have the same end rhyme.

See example here …

http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/types.html

 

The entry must be in Monorhyme.

If is it not in Monorhyme and/or exceeds the 250 word limit, then it will not be accepted.

Time for school so I closed up the workshop
And made my way for the place on the hilltop
The one where learning is almost non-stop
Cause nobody wants to end up in a sweatshop
So I got me a soda from a machine that is coin-op
And sat in a chair and listened for the clip-clop
Of the teachers shoes, his hair was in a flattop
And the way he was dressed he looked sort of like a bellhop
Flagon came in and she sat with a plop
And wrinkled her nose at me until I told her to stop
So she ignored me and played with her flip-flop
Until the teacher sent us all to the bookshop
When we were in the hall someone called Flagon a milksop
And I wandered quickly off, not wanting to eavesdrop
Behind me I heard something go “ker-plop”
And Flagon mumbled something about needing a new doorstop
Well we looked at the book prices, and we would clearly need a pawnshop
Cause to pay for it all I was going to hock a gumdrop
Well we went outside but I thought I felt a raindrop
When we walked across a field and reached the school's shortstop
So we made our way back across the blacktop
We went to the cafeteria and ordered us some slop
And I'd write more, but with this word count I have to stop
Yeah I know, you just shed a teardrop... grin

Karenisme's Challenge

Write a short story no more than 500 words, in the style of a fairy tale.
Make it as magical as you like.


“Flagon we need a fairy tale...,” Dio said.

“OK, once upon a time there were two guys named Bruce...”, Flagon started.  “What?”

“Not that kind of fairy tale,” Dio said tiredly.

“I didn't even get to the part about the magic wands yet.”

“FLAGON!!!”

“OK, what a grouch.  So what's the word count?”

“Less than 500.”

MUCH later, when Flagon finished laughing, she managed to wheeze, “Dio, you can't even clear your throat in less than 500 words.  Give me a break.”

“I consider that a command.  What do you want broken?”

“Your head if you keep it up.  I'll help.  So do you have any ideas oh magical one?”

Yeah, let's see if I remember this one correctly...

(See other entries here)

Flagon tied the Princess to a post.

“Too tight?” she asked.

“Left wrist binds a bit,”  the Princess replied.

Flagon loosened the ropes.

“Better?”, she asked.

“You are not supposed to be considerate”, the Princess replied, much relieved.

“Why?” Flagon asked.

“Well, er,” the Princess said, confused, as Flagon sat on her haunches.  “So why am I here then?”

Flagon scratched her head.  “The script says to tie a princess to a post.  What should I be trying to do?”

The Princess screamed, “Are you crazy, you should... er, well I don’t know.  The fairy tails never said.  Um, eat me maybe?”

“I am not hungry, I really would not want to eat you if were.  Now if you were a knight perhaps...”

“So can you just release me?” the Princess asked.

“Against Dragon code,” Flagon flatly replied.

“Why?”,  Remora asked.

“If I FLIPPING knew you would NOT be tied to that post now would you?” Flagon said.

Then HE showed up. “Prepare to DIE foul beast!”

“You know him?” Flagon asked the Princess.

“Yeah, dude has been after me since that Grand Ball my father the King threw the other week”

“You like him?”, Flagon asked.

“Yeah, as if.  Dad is a moron.”

Flagon grinned, and started heating up.

The Princess smelled the smell.  “Just take Tarzan out, not the villagers that came with him”

“Why?” Flagon turned and asked.

“The Fairy Fire Marshall wouldn't like it”

“Yeah, I know, I've had problems with him before,” Flagon admitted.

The idiot, er The Prince was approaching, clad in gilded armor, riding a large white charger.

“Prepare to die foul dragon!” he shouted.

“Um, and why?” Flagon asked.

“Evil, evil you are.  You will meet your fate!” the prince said.

Muscular he was, strong of jaw he was, noble of purpose he was.  On strong drugs he was.  An idiot he was.

“Are you immune to fire?” Flagon asked.

Well, he was not a complete idiot.  “Return the princess to us, and we will not harm you!” he replied, noticing THAT smell.

“OK,” Flagon responded.  That would be your sister, right?

“That would be my future wife!”, the prince responded.

“OK, and she has said she WANTS to marry you, right?” Flagon asked.

“She has no choice.  Our kingdoms must be joined!”, he replied.

Flagon looked meaningfully at the rest of the crowd surrounding the prince.  They got well out of the way.

“FLAAAAAAMMMMMMEEEEE”

Horse was ready to be dinner.  Sword dropped, Armor worthless.

“10th one this week”, Flagon commented as the villagers cheered like idiots.

Dio just shook shook his head as Flagon walked towards him.

“What?” she asked.

“Flagon, I gave you a perfectly good pair of guns you know...” Dio said.

“These little things?  These are just cap pistols,” Flagon said, looking down at her hips.  “You couldn't possibly have expected me to do anything with them.”

“They throw 50 caliber slugs, and can't be fired one handed by anything much less than an Ogre, Troll, or Dragon,” Dio said, exasperated.  “You could punch through concrete with them.”

Flagon shrugged.  “So I pretty much demolished the target anyway.”

“Yeah, and anything within 500 yards of it.  Including the scroll we were looking for.”

“Oh that thing.  Well we wouldn't have gotten it anyway.”

“And why not?”

“Razbar was holding a match to it daring me to come any closer.  Meanwhile his minions were taking aim at me.”

“So you saved him a match so to speak.”

Flagon reflected.  “No, that pretty much went up in smoke anyway.”

“Along with the minions, buildings, and surrounding forest,” Dio observed, looking over her shoulder.  “I don't suppose you could have been less thorough?”

“I don't like holding back once I start.  It gives me heartburn,” Flagon said.  “Will there be anything else?”

“A large fire extinguisher I would think,” Dio said, eying the approaching flames.  “Well we can't stay here much longer, that is for certain.  Next time remind me to send Magfoola.  He is easier on paper products.”

“Details details,” Flagon said.  “I don't suppose you could get around to saying thanks by any chance?”

“For what may I ask?”

Flagon pulled a scroll out of her suit. “You were right, the gun did throw a pretty neat slug.  I grabbed the scroll then flamed the place.  Didn't seem to be any reason to waste more ammo.”

“Flagon, if I didn't think it could give me third degree burns I would kiss you,” Dio said, taking the scroll.  He unrolled it and deciphered what was written on it.  “Ah, just what we need!”

“Oh goodie, and I thought it was going to involve another quest,” Flagon sighed.

“Don't be silly, of course it will.”

“Figures,” Flagon muttered under her breath.

 

Shadowlight’s Challenge

 

Use as many of the following phrases as possible.

You can use them in a song, poem, scene, chapter, or a story of 500-1500 words.

Read the other entries here

 

* born on the night of the blue moon when shooting stars filled the skies

* drowning in a sea of unsaid words

* sacred time

* blank canvas

* The breeze at dawn carrying secrets came softly through my window

* through a glass darkly

“I'm drowning in a sea of unsaid words,” Doc said, looking through a glass darkly.

“Huh,” responded Grumpy.

“Don't do that, you sound like Bubba.”

Grumpy scratched his head.  “OK boss, what's the scam this time?”

“Dio of course.  He is looking to have us born on the night of the blue moon when shooting stars filled the skies.”

Grumpy started backing away from Doc and eying the exit.

“I'm just getting my last licks in.  It's a sacred time.  Dio is starting us over, we are currently a blank canvas awaiting an artist's brush.”

“Um, yeah.  You want to try that again in English this time?”

“It's very simple my friend, he has to give us a make-over or tempt the wrath of the mouse.”

“The mouse?”

“Micky Rodent, or some such company.  So to use us in his stories, we have to have new names and appearances.”

“And personalities I hope.”

“Not for the good I'm afraid, we are going to be remade as hillbilly workmen.”

“Oh cra...”

“Yeah.  That too.  New looks, new names, and some new personalities.  I'm still leader.”

“And why is that I may ask?”

“You want the job?  Oh, let me tell you about the rest of the crew.  Bubba, er, Dopey, is going to be as always.  Sneezy, Sleepy, and Grumpy, that would be you Pa, are going to have the same personalities but new names.  Bashful and Happy are going to have complete makeovers as well as knew names.  OK, so now, you want the job?”

“Er, no.”

“You want any of the rest of them as boss?”

“I suppose it can't be the dragon?”

“Yeah, I suppose she could do with about seven poppers right now.  Go fetch some tin foil and we will roll up in it.”

“OK, OK, you're still boss.  So what are the rest of the names going to be?”

“Dio is throwing that open to the audience.  Rename the seven dwarves, including Dopey if you like.  The names must be Hillbilly/redneck/blue collar sounding.”

“We get new pictures to go with it?”

“I understand he has someone working on it.”

“That's good.”

“Not really.  We did a home improvement job for her.”

“Think she remembers us?”

“I saw what she did to Dopey.  Yeah, she remembers us.”

Grumpy sighed.  “I don't suppose Dio is accepting resignations?”

“He might be.  You need to talk to the head of human resources.”

“Who is?”

“Flagon.  You want some tin foil?”

“I'll pass”

OK folks.  So here's the deal.  The dwarves need new names.  The current ones are:

Doc
Grumpy
Sneezy
Sleepy
Happy
Bashful
Dopey

Pick new ones keeping in mind that Doc will still be a con man and leader of the group, Grumpy, Sneezy and Sleepy will still have their characteristics, Dopey will be remarkably stupider than anybody else, and considering this group, that is a remarkable feat.  Happy and Bashful you can come up with new personalities as well as names if you wish.  And all names have to be hillbilly/redneck or blue collar sounding.

Prize:  The dwarves swear NOT to do any home repair for anybody that successfully names them.  

Dio's Challenge

Flagon was packing her bag when I entered the room.  “Going some place?” I asked.

“Didn't you get the memo?  We are going to take a vacation in a foreign land.”

“Really, how foreign?”

“England.”

“That doesn't seem too foreign, why did you pick that one?”

“Dio, how many languages other than English do you know?”

“Well, there is, um....”

“Yeah.  Um.  Which pretty much limits us to tour groups or three countries doesn't it?”

“Two and a half actually, if you consider Quebec.”

“Well I picked England.  I always wanted to see the leaning tower of Pisa anyway.”

“I... oh, what the hell.  OK,” (Like I was really going to try to convince Flagon there wasn't a leaning tower of Pisa in England).

We finished packing and then I climbed on board air Flagon and we winged our way to “sunny England” (at least according to Flagon).

We landed in a pasture, and Flagon took out a guide book.  “So what do you want to do first:  Take a gondola down the Thames, see the leaning tower of Pisa, better known by the locals as ' The Tower of London', or watch the chariot races while eating a nice pasta dinner?“

“Is that all in the guidebook?”  I asked.

“Why yes, of course it is.”

“I see.  And just how old is that guidebook?”

Flagon flipped through it.  “Ah, here it is: 300 BC.  A little out of date isn't it?”

“Just a little,” I agreed.  “Not to mention whoever printed it was apparently psychic.  So where did you find this gem?”

“Well, I was telling Carrie about our vacation plans, and mentioned we were thinking of coming to Australia. She sort of turned pale, rushed in the house, and brought this out a little later.”

“Good thing you didn't mention it to Sue too, we probably would have ended up in the tropics of Canada.”

“Even warmer then Sunny England this time of year.  Well, since we are here, why don't we visit the Tower of London first.”

We soon found ourselves standing in front of the tower of London, and Flagon was frowning. 

“That doesn't seem to be leaning,” she remarked, turning her head sideways.”

“A recent earthquake knocked it straight I heard.”

“Well it won't make much of a landmark that way,” Flagon said walking up to the building, and pushing it until it tilted to about a 30 degree angle.  “There, much better,” she said, admiring her handiwork.

“Um, yeah,” I managed to say.

Just then a motorboat putted by, and Flagon grabbed my arm and jumped into it.

“Oh goodie, time for our gondolier trip down the Thames!” she exclaimed.

The guy at the stern looked at me puzzled.  I felt for him, but frankly my sense of self-preservation had kicked in long ago.  You see, I am not like other people.  I don't like pain.  It hurts.  And since it was obviously him or me, and it couldn't be me, I shrugged and whispered “I would humor her if I were you.”

The man was about to say something when Flagon swatted at some bugs that were pestering her, then emitted a 20ft stream of flame which incinerated them all.  “Pesky things, those,” she said.

I pulled a 10 foot pole out of my hyper-pocket and handed it to the guy.  He took it without a word, and started poling down the Thames.

“Aren't you supposed to sing while you are doing that?” Flagon asked.

“Sorry, miss, touch of Laryngitis today,” the man said in a froggy voice.  I had to admit one thing:  The guy was a quick thinker.

“I'm so sorry to hear that,” Flagon said sympathetically.  “Well, could you take us to where the chariot races run?”

“The wha... oh yeah, chariot races.  Sure thing,” he said.

He dropped us off in front of a wall where a statue of a Roman was displayed.  “Right here miss.  You might be a bit late for today's races though.”

“Oh bother,” Flagon said.  “And I so hoped I would see them.”

The man quickly made his exit as we stood in the roadway, and a scholarly looking man in a tweed jacket came by.

“Pardon me sir, are we too late for the chariot races?”

The man chuckled.  “I would say so, by a good 2,000 years.  We did unearth one of the ancient tracks back in 2005 though if you wanted to see one.”

“Thanks, but I was hoping to see a race.  I guess the guidebook was a bit out of date after all”

“Sorry miss, enjoy your stay here,” the man said, as he walked quickly down the road.

“So did you want to eat?” I asked.

“No, I am ready to go home.  It was a fun trip though, and I learned a few things.  How about you?”

“More than you will ever know,” I replied honestly.

This Challenge is borrowed from a Worth1000 contest idea.

*

 

Sumax’s Challenge

 

Write a short story (800 - 1,000 words) about a strange encounter on a beach.

You must use the following words …

Birthday

Alpha

Lifeguard

Fish

Seaweed

Read the rest of the entries here

I actually wrote one for this a long time ago...

My wife, Janice, decided she wanted to go to the beach for her birthday. Since things were starting to get cold around here, I figured stretching summer another week wasn't a half-bad idea, and bought a couple of plane tickets to Bermuda.

We got there, checked into our hotel room, and made our way to the beach, where some fisherman had some fish in bait buckets for use in surf fishing. It appears though that all they were catching was seaweed.

We made our way down the beach to a spot by an empty lifeguard tower, and spread our blankets. We spent the rest of the afternoon sipping beer and soaking up rays.

Suddenly Janice tugged at my shoulder.

"What, did I forget the suntan lotion or something?"

"Nooo....," she said, and pointed.

There on the sand, staring at us, was what looked like a large crab in a clown suit. It had on a pointy purple hat, red frizzy hair, and its front claws were pink. I swore off beer for the rest of the afternoon.

"I hate to have to ask you this, but I need your help," the crab said.

To heck with the afternoon, I swore of alcohol for the rest of my life and answered. "So you can talk? I have heard of Alaskan King Crabs before, but not Bermuda Clown Crabs."

"I am an Alpha but around here we are called 'shorts'.

Janice started giggling. "Bermuda shorts eh? Aren't you supposed to come in pairs?"

"Actually I come from Alpha Centauri, where else would an Alpha come from?" the crab asked.

Well, the crab had me stumped on that one. "You said you needed our help. What exactly did you need us to do?"

"Save me from the Kentaurus of course," the crab said.

"Of course," I said, looking around. I saw exactly three of us on the beach, myself, Janice and the crab. "So what do Kentaurus's look like anyway?"

"You will know them when you see them," said the crab, "here, take this surfboard and this plastic knife."

I took the requested items, and they were immediately transformed into a shield and a pitchfork. I heard a far off rumbling.

"Come, there is no time to lose. Pick me up and carry me up that lifeguard tower," the crab commanded Janice.

"And what am I supposed to do?" I asked.

"They will throw balloons at you. Break the balloons with the pitchfork, block any you miss with the shield. They will be throwing blame balloons, and you don't want to get any blame on you."

Well that was clear as mud. I swore that if I was ever re-incarnated I would forgo alcohol in that lifetime too.

Then they came into view. They looked like an angry mob of unpaid circus performers - clowns to be exact. Yet there was something about them that didn't seem quite human. I didn't have time to think about it before they attacked. It was almost like a video game - first a few balloons were tossed, which I easily took care of with my pitchfork. Then they started coming in faster, and I was having to catch some with my shield. I don't know what 'blame' was but it smelled horrible and looked worse.

"A little help here guys," I shouted.

"Use the smart bomb," the crab said from the top of the lifeguard tower.

"What smart bomb?" I screamed.

"The beach bucket by your feet."

Well, nothing else made any sense. I dropped the pitchfork, picked up the bucket while covering myself with the shield and threw it. The bucket immediately expanded in size and covered the clowns. They sounded like a buzzing bunch of battling bozos boxed in a beach bucket.

"You have been waiting your whole life to use that line, haven't you?" Janice asked.

"Climb the tower, there is no time to lose," the crab said, which was the first sensible thing I had heard all day.

I dropped the shield and started climbing. Meanwhile behind me the bucket had started melting and the clowns started pouring forth. I made it to the top, the clowns following me up the ladder. There was a beach ball on the platform. I dropped it on them expecting nothing much to happen, but it cleared the ladder of the clowns as if they were bowling pins. Then I noticed the tower was getting taller. When it stopped, we were around 200 feet off the ground. The crab was at the front, fiddling with a device, and the clowns were climbing again.

"Here it is, get in," said the crab.

"Here what is? I don't see anything," Janice wailed.

"Of course not, it is an air car. You aren't supposed to see them."

"Oh just get in, we can't stay here," I observed as the lead clown reached the platform.
Janice got in gingerly, the crab followed, and I brought up the rear, slamming the invisible door to the car. We floated off, the crab at the controls, with the clowns angrily shaking their fists at us.

"Shall I take you home?" asked the crab.

"Well we did pay for a whole week here," I said.

"Home, now," corrected Janice.

He dropped us off, gave us a fist full of jewels as payment, and took off, never to be seen again. Things returned to normal, except we do not go to circuses, eat crabs, and no, I don't drink.

Caghs’ Challenge

 

Write either a story or poem about a stolen feather. It can be fiction or a real life, either is fine.
- if you choose to write a story, it must either be flash fiction (twist at the end) or a metaphor, and must be 250-750 words in length
- if you choose to write a poem, it must either be a haiku, or a limerick, or a rhythmic rhyming poem that is 10-50 lines in length. It may not be free verse.

See other entries here


Dio and Flagon were sitting in the office when a portal opened up and the dwarves all marched through.

“I know I am going to be sorry I asked this, but where were you?” asked Flagon.

“More of when,” replied Doc, “we had a repair job to do in the past.”

“One of many I would assume, pretty much every job you have ever done I would think,” muttered Dio.

“Nice to see you are getting work these days.  Apparently they never heard of you I take it?” Flagon remarked.

“We don't have to stand here and take this,” Grumpy growled.

“No, you can certainly go somewhere else and hear the same thing there,” replied Dio, “by the way, what's with the feather in your cap?”

“It was given to me by a grateful customer,” Grumpy replied.

“I'll bet.  Does he know he gave it to you, or did you sort of just find it laying around.”

“Well if you are going to be that way about it, here, take it,” Grumpy complained handing Dio the feather as the dwarves all trooped out of the office.

“I take it you have no idea what you are going to use that for,” Flagon commented after the dwarves left.

“No, nor when I need it, it just seemed important,” replied Dio.

Just then there was a knock at the door, and it opened before Flagon could get it.

“Time to pay your taxes to the crown knaves,” a man dressed in the clothes of a royal tax collector announced.

“Uh-oh,” said Flagon.

“Er, why is the crown trying to extract taxes from US citizens?” Dio asked.

“None of that nave, we settled that centuries ago.  You colonialists never give up do you?  Now pay up, or it's in the lockup you go.”

Dio got out his wallet and examined the money.  “Royal Bank of England”, he read.  “OK, so how much do we owe?”

“Everything in your wallet to start with.”

“Well it won't buy you much, but here you go,” Dio said, tossing him the wallet.  “Keep the change.”

The man left, and Flagon turned to Dio.  “Any ideas?” she asked.

“I think we need to head back to 1776 or so,” Dio replied.

They poofed back in time to Philadelphia, July 4th, 1776.  There they found a group of men milling about.  Dio went up to one of them.

“Problems?”

“Yes, we hired a group of short men to clean out the horseflies from the stables across the street so we could sign a document without having to swat at things.”

“I can see how that would improve the penmanship,” Dio said, “What happened then?”

“Well they left, the flies stayed, and the quill pen we were going to use to sign the Declaration of Independence is missing.  If we don't find it soon, everybody is going to get irritable, and go home without signing, and then where will we be?”

“The continuing property of England I would think.  The missing pen, did it look anything like this?” Dio asked, offering Grumpy's hat ornament.

“Thank heavens you found it!  Where was it?”

“One of the workmen accidentally walked off with it.”

“Happens all the time.  That's why the banks chain them down,” the man said.  “Well thank you for bringing it back, now we can get on with business.  Thomas, we found the pen!”

“Thank goodness John, now put your Hancock on this before we lose it again.”

Skyerider’s Challenge

 

Why is a raven like a writing desk? Lewis Carroll's famous riddle from the Mad Hatter to Alice in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland has intrigued new Alice readers for several generations. There is a riddle game between Bilbo Baggins and Gollum in Tolkien's The Hobbit, and in J. K. Rowling's fourth Harry Potter book Goblet of Fire, Harry has a riddle game with a Sphinx in the maze. Indeed, in Greek mythology, the Spinx herself was the guardian of Thebes and in order to enter the city you had to answer her riddle. If you failed, she killed you!

I remember being fascinated by riddles as a child as most children seem to be. Often it is the first form of humor a child learns. Use a favorite riddle from your childhood as a basis for a short story. There is no word count requirement on this one, but do try to give us a nostalgic smile or two!

See other entries here

It was a gorgeous spring day when Dio and Flagon made their way to the baseball field.  Flagon had managed to land a job as a relief pitcher for the home team, and Dio came along to root her on.  Her, team, the Mythical Creatures, was playing the Jungle Animals for the first time, and the game had seesawed back and forth when finally, in the ninth inning, with the score tied 7-7, Flagon entered the game.  At bat was a huge player named  Jumbo.  She asked her coach, a Banshee, how she wanted her to pitch to him.

“How many strikes does he have?” the Banshee asked.

“According to the pitcher I am relieving, one.”

“Find out how many balls he has,” the Banshee replied.

Flagon scratched her head and thought about that one.  “Don't they usually have two?”

“Didn't the pitcher tell you before he left for the showers?”

“No, I don't think he knew Jumbo that well anyway.”

“Well then ask the Umpire.  I need to know if he has three balls.”

Flagon scratched her head again.  “Er, coach, I think two is pretty much the limit.  I mean, through accident or birth defect it could be less, but I believe two is pretty much the limit.”

“Just ask.”

Flagon shrugged. Banshee's weren't all that stable to start with, and she was thinking this one had just about lost it, but it didn't hurt to ask.  She went up to the Umpire, a Unicorn.

“Er, I don't suppose you know how many balls Jumbo has by any chance?” she asked.

“Three.”

“Three?  How did he get that many?”

“Your starting pitcher gave them to him.”

Flagon's jaw dropped.  She wondered how in the world a dwarf, even one as dumb as Dopey, could give Jumbo one of his balls.  She figured she was better off not knowing.  She went back to her coach.

“I am not sure how, but you are right, the elephant has three balls.  What should I do?”

“Walk him and pitch to the giraffe of course.”

Dio's Challenge

Oobleck!

With all the weather the East Coast of the US has been experiencing lately, I am getting really tired of all the same old snow/sleet/freezing rain. Give me something else. In fact, give me something that has never been seen before. I want a new kind of weather. And, um, no Oobleck please!. Really. It's been done before.

The challenge is to write a story about weather like nobody has seen before. Cats and Dogs, Eggbeaters, It's Raining Men, whatever. 

To view the rest of the challenge entries, click here

It was another boring day at the office.  Outside it was gray and drizzling, inside it was just boring.  Dio was cheating at solitaire again, while Flagon was gazing wistfully out the window, wondering if she should change the place into a sauna.  The rain stopped, and then small objects started falling from the sky.  Flagon couldn't tell what they were at first, but they started becoming larger and she realized what they were:  potato chips (crisps for those on the other side of the pond ;) ).

She watched in fascination as the chips slowly fell to the ground starting to make small piles.  A few landed on the window sill and she tasted them.  “Not bad,” she said.

“What's not bad?” Dio asked, bored.

“The potato chips.”

“I thought Kangaroo cleaned us out of those days ago.”

“He did.  They are falling from the sky.”

“What?” Dio said, as he got up and walked over to the window.  He sampled a chip Flagon offered him.  “Not bad,” he said, looking down at the street below.  The chips were already piling up, and cars were crunching through them.

Dio scratched his head.  “You know, I am getting a bad feeling about this.”

“Why, I think it's fun.  Nobody appears to be having a problem with it, and the derelicts are scooping them up faster than they can fall.”

“Rather depends on how much of it falls doesn't it?” Dio observed, “still, have you ever heard of a potato chip storm before?”

“No, but there are a lot of things I never heard about before I met you,” Flagon said.

“Well I think I know what is causing this, and it might be a problem.”

“How so O wise one?”

“Flask had Vinny ask me about how to disperse an insecticide across a whole planet of intelligent plants that were being attacked by large verminous insects,” Dio explained, “I created a weather poofing machine that could take whatever Wilbear and Gardener produced and seed the clouds with it.  They never needed it, and the device has been sitting on my workbench ever since.”

“And you thing someone pilfered it?”

“It would appear that way.”

“Well the dwarves were by the house the other day to do repairs.  They could have taken it.”

“Yeah, I know, I had to repair their 'repairs'.  But this doesn't look like Dopey's work.”

“Well the only other being to come by was...,” Flagon slapped her head, “Kangaroo, of course.”
“Yeah, that's what I was thinking too.  Hop-a-long Fur-butt would do this, lazy soul that he is.   We better find him before he makes it rain beer and really messes the place up.”

“We better find him either way.  It is starting to get nasty out there,” Flagon said, noticing the “snow” was accumulating now, and people and cars were starting to have trouble getting through it.

“Shall we poof the the house?” Flagon asked.

“We better fly, I don't want to try poofing through a poof.  We might end up made of chips”

Flagon changed form, and they flew though the chip blizzard to their house just outside the city.

There they encountered 10 foot drifts of chips, which Flagon burned a hole through, and made their way inside.  There was Kangaroo, feet propped up, drinking beer and watching TV.  Every once in a while he would put his hand out the window, and pull in a handful of chips.

“Comfy?” Flagon asked.

“Yes thanks, though you are about out of beer,” Kangaroo said.  “Plus there could be better reception on the TV.”

“I suppose so,” Dio said.  “The signal must be getting partially blocked by the blizzard of potato chips some idiot let loose.  You wouldn't know anything about that by any chance?”

“Me?  Of course not!” Kangaroo said, quickly closing the window.  “Why do you ask?”

“Just a feeling.    Because if we don't find that machine soon, all hell will break loose.”

“Machine, what machine?”

“The gray box that was sitting on my workbench.  The one that is now acting as your footrest.  That box.”

“Oh, THAT box, yeah, well I noticed it, and thought what harm could come of...”

Flagon picked him up by the back of the neck, and carried him to the front door.  She opened it, it was completely blocked by potato chips.  

“Well, I suppose that could be a problem,” Kangaroo said, muzzle smushed up against the chips.  

“I suppose so to,” Flagon agreed.  “So make it stop.”

“There is one itty-bitty problem with that,” Kangaroo pointed out, “I don't know how to make it stop.”

“Then you shouldn't have started it, should you?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Dio was tinkering with the box.  “Well I got it turned off, but I have no idea how we are going to get rid of the accumulation.”

“I do,” Flagon said, turning to Kangaroo.  “Start eating.”

“But I...”

“EAT!”

Kangaroo turned around and started eating the chips blocking the door.

“That could work if we gave him about ten years,” Dio pointed out.  “I think we need something a bit quicker.”

“Can you reverse the machine?”

“No.  What we need is a gigantic vacuum cleaner.”

“Do you know where we can get one?”

“Of sorts, yes.  I am sending out a call for help now.”

Remora poofed into the room.  “You rang?”

“Yeah, have you had a look outside?”

“Yes, I figured that is what it was about.  You want a tornado I take it.”

“If you wouldn't mind.”

“Not a problem.  But I need somewhere to send the chips.”

“His place,” Flagon said, pointing at Kangaroo.

Remora nodded, and a freight train sounding thing materialized outside the house.  The tornado sucked up all the chips from around the house, then started off towards the city.

“Better get him home before the tornado dumps its load,” Remora suggested looking pointedly at Kangaroo.

“But, but, but”, Kangaroo protested before Dio poofed him.

“How long do you suppose it will take him to eat himself out of there?” Remora asked.

“I don't know, but it will be a lot quieter around here in the meantime,” Flagon said. “Meanwhile, let me take this thing back to where it belongs,” she said, picking up the weather machine.

She walked it back to Dio's workbench, as the sounds of large metal objects crashing came from outside.

“What the...” Remora said, and opened the front door.

“It's raining toasted knights.  Figures,” Dio said.  “Oh FLAGON!!!”

Dio’s Challenge

 

By now you are probably pretty familiar with the seven dwarfs: Doc, Grumpy, Sneezy, Sleepy, Happy, Bashful, and Dopey.

Today's challenge is to write a story with characters possessing at least two of those personalities. It can be any kind of story you want, serious or humorous, but you have to include two of the personalities above. Personalities mind you, not characters.

You cannot write a story that includes the dwarfs themselves, nor use the actual words (Doc, Grumpy, Sneezy, Sleepy, Happy, Bashful, and Dopey.), although you can use variations of the words (Ahchoo, he sneezed uncontrollably, and what brings you here?)

Your readers should be able to tell which personalities you use. It is up to you whether you use the more obvious ones (Sleepy) or the not so obvious ones (Doc).

Flagon and Dio were walking down a path when they came across two egg shaped beings.

“And who might you be?” Dio asked them.

One started jumping up and down excitedly “We are the guardians of the path.”

“Contrawise, we might be sentries, either way you must stop," said the second, “Achoo!” he continued.

At this the first one jumped up and down happily and poked the second one with his finger.  “None of that!” he giggled.

Flagon turned to Dio.  “Any ideas?” she asked.

“None whatsoever, except we appear to have run across a pair of Conundrums,  Dio replied.  “So tell me, what do we need to do to pass?”

“Why you give us the password of course,” the second one stated.

“Contrariwise, you could guess our true nature,” replied the first.

The second being went into a veritable fit of sneezing, causing the first one to hop around in glee and poke him repeatedly.  “He's doing it again!”  he exclaimed.

“Doing what?” Flagon asked, scratching her head.

“His true nature, I would assume,” replied Dio.

“Exactly, and in every case,” Being #1 replied.

“Contrariwise, if I wasn't, I wouldn't be,” suggested Being #2, coming out of a daze long enough to utter the words, the launched into another sneezing fit, while Being #1 did cartwheels around him, pummeling him with his feet.

“Any ideas boss?”

Dio considered the situation.  “Well considering the path we are on, they have to be one of seven personalities.  It can't be two of them, it would be too obvious.  It must be two of the other five.

“In that case it must be....” Flagon replied.

See other entries here