Bardothren
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Post by Bardothren on Mar 3, 2018 22:10:33 GMT
March 2018 Espresso Shots
This is the thread for submitting the March 2018 Espresso Shots. The due-date is March 24, 2018 by 11:59 PM GMT +0 (approx 20 days and 2 hours from time of posting).Voting will start immediately after the submission date and end on March 31 at 11:59 PM GMT +0.Just to reiterate, the word count for an Espresso Shot must be between 100 and 500 words. Submit them by replying to this thread. Any replies that aren't submissions for this event or votes for said submissions cast at the appropriate time will be deleted.And without further ado, this month's theme...Luck.Misfortune by Oddy has won this round. |
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Oddy
Playwriter
I'll drip if you swirl.
Posts: 20
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Post by Oddy on Mar 4, 2018 13:57:01 GMT
Misfortune
They say the Changebringer is one of the most powerful gods in Arynia. Personally, I never was never much one to be putting much faith in any higher powers. After all, I worked my land hard, and when I did the wheat would grow and when I didn’t the wheat would die. Whole lot you can learn about life from your crops.
Of course, this ain’t looking to be much of a story if it didn’t have any real change or plot. Which it does of course.
Now see, I mention the Changebringer because was not a week ago that I done found the biggest dang gone emerald you ever done seen down at the bottom of the old dried up well on my farm and believe it or not I done tell you the darn thing was chained with pure silver.
Now, after finding this thing I done told my wife I was going to try and sell the thing in Zlane. I walked out the door, hitched my horses to my cart and started off. Now I tell you, the backroads of Thierd are usually rather dangerous, especially for a single fella like me out by himself. But I tell you what, I ain’t ever had as quiet a ride down to the capital as I did then. And shoot, normally there’s a line a mile long to get into the gates, but they must have had one quiet morning because there was nobody there when I arrived.
Now after I got in the city, I was pointed towards a jeweler in the Market District, who offered me a whopping seven hundred gold coins for my gem, but could you believe it, before we made a deal I had this elderly man with kind of pale skin telling me he would pay me two thousand! Well, I hastily agreed to the old fellow’s¬ request. He said he had to get some money from the bank, and that made sense to me so I followed the fellow through an alleyway before he stopped and seemed to whisper something that caused my head to hurt real bad before I felt a blade pierce my neck and the gem pulled from my pocket as I lay there in the dirt.
Now I don’t know about you mister death sir, but that sure seems to me like a classic case of miss fortune.
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Post by Estrello on Mar 4, 2018 19:14:34 GMT
C o i n s
Rain slashed through the sky like shining swords shimmering in the moonlight. Street light failed in its aspiration to illuminate the cobbled marching street. Droplets of water cut in to the constitution of all walkers on that wakeful night. Lightning shattered the skies like breaking glass. A fleeting flash fell, briefly shining on a coin flying through the air, silver and intricate in design, coiling around the edge leaving space in the middle, glimmering from the droplets embalming it. On its centre, sat the sign of death, bones contorted in to a menacing grin, a noose wrapped around his spine like a scarf. Plastered on the other side, was the sigil of life: Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, his arms and legs stretched to span the circle.
The airborne coin fell in to the glove of it’s owner, a man who wore a wide brimmed hat and replaced his face with a dramatic mask, bearing the static face of shock. He stepped idly down the street, merry amongst the darkness, his native realm. “Why,” He had said, “Why wouldn’t I enjoy it?” The Masked Man had recently acquired a book regarding the paradoxical nature of fate and free-will. This had imbued him with a curiosity regarding Luck.
As he continued down the ancient streets, he continued to throw his coin in to the air, refusing to look at the outcome, as if it existed only to busy his hand.
Noise erupted from a side street. The Masked Man paused casually and witnessed the robbing from the other street that the alley led to. Above, some constructors busied themselves, working in to the night, moving a crane that held a huge block of stone, two women guided it down.
As the unremarkable man made away with the snatched purse, he careered past the workers and toward The Masked Man. This was it. The coin was placed on his finger above his thumb. He released the tension and flicked it in to the air, it spiralled around and around like a gyroscope out of control. It was exactly that – devoid of all control. To be fair, although he gave this an impression to the people he knew, he did not know everything. He didn’t even know if the result was controlled by him, pre-destined fate, or free-will. His friend was under the impression the book would pose no intellectual question, assuming that The Masked Man already knew the answer.
He did not.
The coin flipped and flipped but now fell on side of Death. By moving his gaze to the coin, the bone engravings lit up with sanguine red. With a thunderous snap, his fate was sealed, as they say. The heavy object freely fell down upon the robber’s head, crushing his bones and squishing his flesh in to a concentrated splatter of meaninglessness. Blood stained the cement grey brick. Horrified, the lower workers stood aghast. The upper workers sighed, now they would be unable to use that stone.
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Flamingo
Playwriter
Cows are beautiful animals.
Posts: 379
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Post by Flamingo on Mar 4, 2018 20:30:31 GMT
A Tale For The King
It is said that in the temple where gods are to be prayed to once lived an elderly man, of incredible wealth and knowledge. Having visited every corner of the country, he’d secluded himself to an everlasting peace inside.
People gathered around the building to hear his tales; soon enough, the stories he’d collected during his journeys reached the ears of the king, who, hastily, travelled to the temple atop a royal carriage.
The king sat before the sage, and so another story started. “I’d never been a lucky fellow,” the elder said, “so I couldn’t but feel happiness when my feats caught the attention of a lord in a faraway country. I was asked to assist to his castle; a feast was done in honor to my prowesses, and a party was held on the main hall, where people from all across the land danced and played for me.”
“The games ended, and dusk began to hover over the castle. The lord had drunk all of his wine, and eaten all of his food; in a miserable state, he sat besides me and asked for a trick. The folks formed a circle around me, and waited for me to do as I was told.”
“I couldn’t refuse, for there was nothing I feared more than death, and not wanting to grant a lord’s wishes would only get me to my execution. I took a coin from one of the attendants, and started. ‘You see,’ I smiled, ‘it is well-known that luck may as well be just a masquerade for simple mathematics: look at this coin, for example. It has two sides, and, therefore, there are only two possible results. If I flipped the coin and the heads arose, you,’ I looked at the lord, as he followed the explanation with difficulty, ‘would have to give me all of your gold. And, if I flipped it and the tails arose, I’d have to stay by your side forever, to only grace you with my tales.’”
“The lord accepted, clearly helped by alcohol, and saw as I put the coin in my wrist. I made a fast movement, and the coin flew up, rolling in the air whilst the people surrounding us looked. It quickly fell on my palm; I closed my hand over it, and waited for the lord to take a conclusion. Once he did, I opened it, and the heads appeared.”
The king sat still. “So, luck was on your side that time.”
“But I wouldn’t be anywhere if it were solely for luck!” the sage retorted. “The lord ignored my wit, and I took advantage of his drunken state to change the results. I formed a punch over the coin, and rapidly moved it. Because, while luck might be a close friend of ours, we can never rely on it; and this story will let you see that.”
The sage died one morning. The years went by, but the king never forgot his words.
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Bardothren
Moderator
We're working on it!
Posts: 218
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Post by Bardothren on Mar 4, 2018 23:14:16 GMT
Wow, this was more of a challenge than I thought it would be! Original word count came at 557 words, and had to trim it down. Kinda tough figuring out what can go and what should stay. I can't believe a few people beat me to the punch, and I'm excited to see people participating! Woohoo!
Metronome Madness By Bardothren Terry caressed the last pokéball on his belt as he stared down Whitney’s Miltank. It was his only pokéball, but calling it his last and drinking down four sodas a day filled Terry’s blood with an addicting cocktail of sugar and adrenaline.
The bovine pokemon stamped its hooves and snorted at Terry. “Can we hurry this up?” Whitney called across the field. “I have other trainers.”
A quiet, maniacal giggle bubbles from Terry’s throat. “Afraid to lose?”
Whitney crossed her arms. “Will I need to have Jessica throw you out of the gym again?”
Terry’s eyes darted up from the pokéball. The aforementioned trainer was leaning against a peach-colored pillar and cracking her knuckles. Terry swallowed and threw his pokéball.
“Alright Demon Slayer, this time for sure!”
The Togepi that Terry had called out opened its beady black eyes, yawned, and rubbed the floppy spikes atop its head.
Whitney smothered a giggle. “Alright Miltank, use Stomp!”
Terry raised one hand towards the heavens and bellowed, “Metronome!”
The Togepi flinched at Terry’s orders. Its arms waved back and forth.
“Cower in fear at the might of Metronome!” Terry said. “Who knows what nefarious outcome could befall your fiendish cow?”
As the Miltank raised a foot over Demon Slayer, the Togepi’s arms stopped. A white light enveloped it. The Miltank’s foot slammed down with enough force to crack the concrete floor, but the Togepi weathered the stomp with a smile.
“Aww, just Iron Defense?” Terry said. “Come on, do it again!”
Whitney frowned. “Miltank, use Rollout! Break through its defenses!”
Concrete flew in the wake of the rolling cow. It rolled into the Togepi and bounced off. A second pass nearly knocked the egg Pokémon off of its feet. As the Miltank came around for a third hit, Togepi’s arms lit up with an orange light. It threw one stubby arm at the Miltank, and a loud crack echoed off the pillars.
The Miltank reared, wobbled on its hind legs, fell, and cradled its bruised head.
“Nice!” Terry shouted. “Alright, one more time, just like that!”
Togepi’s arms waved. Whitney stamped her feet and called out to her Miltank.
“Come on, don’t let that idiot beat us! Give it one more Stomp!”
The Miltank lurched to its feet. Wobbling side to side, it slowly approached Demon Slayer and raised one foot. It fell forward, missed, and crushed the Togepi beneath its belly.
A few seconds later, a bright light flashed from underneath the cow. A deafening boom shook the glass panels overhead. The Miltank sailed twenty feet into the air and landed in front of Whitney. Smoke trailed from its blackened skin, and its glazed eyes stared lifelessly at her.
In the center of a crater, the smoking remains of Demon Slayer cooked like scrambled eggs.
“So,” Terry asked as he called back his Togepi, “Do I win?”
Whitney nodded to Jessica. She grabbed him by the collar, hauled him out the front door, and threw him in the gutter.
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Pudding
Moderator
Hang on in there!
Posts: 218 
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Post by Pudding on Mar 7, 2018 1:06:41 GMT
To Wish Upon a Star Underneath a full moon sat a lone Trubbish on a mossy rock. He watched as the stars sparkled iridescent lights, instilling a sense of awe and bliss in the small critter. Together the sky broke through the forest's thick canopy in the form of pillars of light.
Serenity and tranquility. This was his escape from the day to day struggles of staying alive.
"Ummmm... yeaaaah, imma make a wish," he mumbled as the wind caressed the leaves, releasing a faint lullaby. "I wish, to um... I wish... oh, geez. I kinda don't know. A friend?" Trubbish focused on one flickering star amongst the plethora, mind deep in thought. But unlike the rest, the blinking star began to grow. Little by little it increased in size, capturing the Trubbish's attention. It mesmerized him. It brought joy. Never had he witnessed such an odd-
Wait. It's getting bigger. And bigger. Too big - oh, OH, now it's practically bigger than the moon itself and it's beginning to look like...
"ARCEUS." Without a moment to spare he ducked and heard a flaming bullet roar feet above him. It had left a trail of smoke that was already fading away upon him looking up, melting into the environment. It left a path of burnt bark and scattered branches accompanied by a strong scent of burning metal. The odor only strengthened as the startled Trubbish followed the wavering wisp of smoke.
Within minutes he was greeted to a small crater of sorts, the source of an eerie fuschia glow that dimly lit the area. From this debris emerged a pink Minior. They slowly, yet clumsily, floated out of the crater, only for a strong case of vertigo to send them plummeting to the grass below. Immediately the bystander babbled incoherently, unable to believe what he was perceiving.
Soon the Minior regained their composure as the garbage Pokémon continued to lose himself within a sea of conflicting emotions. "Hai," the pink star squeaked out, hovering before the nervous wreck. "...hai."
And that was all it took.
The endearing voice broke his spell, reverting him back to reality. "H-hello," he stuttered in return. "A-are you... the friend I asked for?"
Perplexed, Minior blinked rapidly as they swelled up in ecstasy. "Friend!" they blurted out. Without warning the fallen star pressed itself against the stranger, giggling uncontrollably. "Yes! Friend friend friend!" His eyes lit up upon the show of affection, stunned.
A flame of hope flickered to life inside Trubbish. And for once luck had been bestowed to him, for he was gifted a friend. |
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Post by krwillburrough on Mar 15, 2018 14:20:35 GMT
Luck
Lupita Meijers frumpled around in her wallet. Hidden between an epistolary of receipts she could find a crumpled up five dollar note. It looked like it had imploded, existing in less space than should be possible. Its edges were torn, its colour faded, the remnants of a purple lipstick still hidden between its fibres.
The tearing had happened over many years. Freshly printed, the bill had ended up in a father’s wallet and was quickly hidden away in a register as he bought an action figure with it. Then it was spent on a cheap bottle of wine and a hangover. And after that, as the faith of some dollar bills is, it spent a year in a piggy bank, only to be spent on new shoelaces. But the owner of that shoe shop managed to spent it a lunch with a lovely woman. They’re still dating. The lipstick is from more unsavoury purchases. Or donations, rather. They tend to happen towards the end of a bills lifecycle. Not because that’s when they’re spent, but because those unsavoury places change a bill. It takes no imagination to deduce where the lipstick comes from, then. The women who earned it that night spent it on milk, and at that same supermarket, Lupita received it when she tried paying with a ten dollar note. She insisted, insisted, on the cashier keeping the change, but alas, it still ended up in her wallet.
She unwrapped the note and handed it to the boy, as his eyes went big. For a moment, he looked at the world with two dawning suns, and with starlight. He pushed the pack of toilet paper towards the man behind the register. He glimpsed at Lupita, and with a smile that was as innocent as devious, he added a chocolate bar.
Lupita nodded and wrinkled together a smile.
“Thanks,” the boy said, scratching his back, his eyes focusing on the beige of Lupita’s shoes.
“Ah, don’t worry about it, the bills lucky to have you.”
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MC Kapper
Playwriter
Engaged to.. someone uwu
Posts: 23
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Post by MC Kapper on Mar 16, 2018 13:23:32 GMT
The love game She went to the same Coffee Shop where she had met him yesterday. He came late, and told her that he had to do an errand for his Mother. She shrugged and said it was fine, it was the beginning of a beautiful relationship, or better yet, a beautiful lie. They had ordered tea, but the waiter told them they were out of tea, so they ordered coffee.The man took a long time, around fourty five minutes or so. When he finally came back with their coffee, the Waiter appologized saying that they had a lot of orders and that he recieved an important call, but it was an obvious lie.The Coffee Shop had barely any customers that day. It was a Thursday evening. She knew that most people in this town had work at this time of day. She listened to the waiter's lie as she put sugar in her coffee, she liked it sweet. Meanwhile, her guy pushed the pot of sugar away, gently. He liked his coffee bitter. They talked a lot, about a few things. They talked about politics, about the failed arabic revolutions. and they made promises. They had nothing in common. Nothing but their promises. It was getting dark, probably around 10 , he had to go back home, said that he's needed there to help around the house. She didn't particularly feel disappointed, because at that moment she knew what will happen eventually, so she decided to enjoy the game while she could. "I won't take more of your time then." She said as she picked up her purse. They walked for around an hour, enjoying the breeze of the night before they had to part ways. "See you later." he said as he walked away. She didn't reply, she decided that replying was unecessary at that time. When she was home, she tossed her purse and her leather jacket in her closet, and then she went to take a shower, as if to wash away her feelings. She was certain that it'll be over, that it was only a matter of time before he makes his excuses and disappears from her life. When she was done, she went to sleep. Around nine in the morning, she woke up, she checked her phone to see if she had recieved any new messages, she had that habit of checking her phone whenever she wakes up. She had recieved a message, the number was all too familiar, it was him. She read the message. He left the town. Said that he was sorry, that he had to work in order to support his family, And that one day they would meet again. She simply shrugged and said" Oh well, it was nice while it lasted." I suck at writing rip |
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Post by Winter on Mar 19, 2018 4:34:45 GMT
ARCANA There was a newcomer to the Bazaar. In the northeast quadrant, there was a change in atmosphere. The other merchants woke up to a looming tent of midnight billowing in the vacant corner where the colourful Patchwork once was. Since old Patchwork had retired back to the Glades, the rest of the Bazaar had been wondering who would take his lot. Astralis was woven in gold and silver silk, embroidered above the tent’s entrance, curtains flapping in the morning breeze. The first to visit the Astralis was the friendly Lady Lumiere from Lumiere’s Jewellery, with gift box in hand. “Oh, I can’t really say... but it was very pleasant...” was all she reported. Piqued, Ansel the young carpenter went to the Astralis before closing hours. He left the tent, watery-eyed but walked with his chest a little more puffed-out, his footsteps a little more firm. Come morning, he showed up outside Lumiere’s Jewellery with a bouquet of roses. One by one, the Astralis had visitations from its neighbours — the baker, the apothecary, even the reclusive bookbinder. Yet there was someone who remained skeptical throughout. To Hiero, the stories were just inconsistent. Everything was unclear, even the owner's identity. Hiero felt that something dark was at play, and he'd be the first to expose this enigma. Once preparations were made, he sauntered up to the Astralis one evening. He paused outside, examining the storefront. “Come in. You don’t have to be punctilious, Hiero.” He was startled by the susurrant voice but he kept his composure. As he stepped inside, a warm luminescence welcomed him, a cloaked figure turning around. “I’ve been expecting you, Hiero of Clocksworth. I’m the Ringmaster.” From behind a table clothed in purple velvet, the Ringmaster proffered a gloved hand. He met the hand with a firm grip and shake. “Pleased to meet you at last, Ringmaster.” Hiero turned the alias over and over in his head. “It’s just a name,” the Ringmaster chuckled, shuffling a pack of cards. Hiero squirmed. Was it magic? But how? He came prepared, amulets tucked in every pocket. “Oh, I do hope those trinkets didn't cost much.” “H-how did you know?” “The cards.” Hiero wheezed incredulously, “So it’s all luck?” The Ringmaster tut-tutted, as they laid cards across the table. "Do you believe in destiny? The cards do not. They simply show the ways we could write our fates." "So if you're not a fortuneteller, what are you? What do you sell?" "Why, I sell everything and nothing. I'm merely a translator; my service is to give words to what the cards are trying to say. It is not my business what you make of my words. I'm no fortuneteller, I'm a storyteller." Hiero was handed a small box before he left, the Ringmaster's last words echoing in his head. "Luck can't be fixed, but you can." |
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Bardothren
Moderator
We're working on it!
Posts: 218
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Post by Bardothren on Mar 24, 2018 13:56:02 GMT
As of the time of this post, you have 10 hours and 3 minutes to submit your Espresso shot. Anything after that will not be considered for the contest but will be welcome anyways. After that time, you may begin voting.
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Bardothren
Moderator
We're working on it!
Posts: 218
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Post by Bardothren on Mar 26, 2018 15:24:17 GMT
...alright, I'm a little late on the draw, so I'm giving you exactly one week after this post to get votes in. Anyone on Playwrite is welcome to vote in the poll above and give their thoughts in the thread below. No more entries will be accepted.
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Bardothren
Moderator
We're working on it!
Posts: 218
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Post by Bardothren on Apr 2, 2018 17:43:29 GMT
MFW I didn't get to vote because of the expiration I set on it. Ah well, the event is over, and Oddy has won the first ever Espresso Shot. Congrats!
I would've voted for him anyways
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Oddy
Playwriter
I'll drip if you swirl.
Posts: 20
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Post by Oddy on Apr 4, 2018 7:06:50 GMT
First of I would like to thank the academy...
Seriously though thanks guys! Mind telling me what exactly made you pick mine over the others? Or did you just only read mine because it was the first one posted.
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Pudding
Moderator
Hang on in there!
Posts: 218
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Post by Pudding on Apr 5, 2018 21:31:14 GMT
First of I would like to thank the academy...Seriously though thanks guys! Mind telling me what exactly made you pick mine over the others? Or did you just only read mine because it was the first one posted. I read all the entries and I can say they were all good. It was a lovely competition with good writers! However, the reason I made the decision to nominate yours was due to the plot twist and how you pulled off the first-person story. But, mostly the dark twist in the end I loved. |
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Bardothren
Moderator
We're working on it!
Posts: 218
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Post by Bardothren on Apr 6, 2018 4:52:29 GMT
For me, it was the voice. I could practically hear the character talking to me.
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