Twitfic Challenge #1 – Unexpected Surprise

Here are the entries for our first ever #twitfic challenge. The challenge was hosted on twitter, and had to be written entirely in tweets – a challenge in itself! Much brevity is required to write within the confinement of 140 characters – but we decided to be nice to them and give them 20 tweets to play with.

You can vote for your favorite here, and read the stories in full below:

(oh and… there will be prizes)

Here’s the rules.

* Each tweet must be self-contained (no continuing the sentence from one tweet to another)

* Maximum 20 tweets per story

*Abbreviations are allowed so long as they’re understandable

* Entries must be in before the end of Monday 23 August 2009

* Twitpic and other media allowed so long as the story can still stand alone without them.

* Participants may enter more than once, but must differentiate between one story and another by posting a “THE END” tweet after each one.

* All tweets must contain the #twitfic hashtag.

The title of the challenge was Unexpected Surprise

Here’s how they did:

The Burning Deck

Presenting, an original #twitfic by Wildfeather:

“Mummy!”  ”Get that kid outa ‘ere!”  ”Mummy!!”  ”Man the braces!”  ”Muuum–*sob*-uhh-*sob*–mmeee!!”  ”Douse the fire there, quickly man”

Fire everywhere, the loud rapport of cannon.  Salt spray..  ”Ach this is nay place for a kid, poor wee thing, whayre’s ‘is mather?”

“Dammit I’ll scupper her before I’ll let him get my ship! We’ll come round for another broadside, what say you?”  A lusty cheer: “AYE!”

“Bosun, are all the passengers below?”  ”Aye sir, thems as can still walk.  Save that wee lad, now where’s he got to?”  BOOM!!!!

A deafening crack follows the explosion, a shudder runs the length of the ship, and slowly like a ponderous tree, the mainmast falls.

Now everything is a tangle of canvas and rope.  Sailors hack away at the sheets, hoping to rescue the ship which is listing heavily.

But Confusion, as if unsatisfied with the chaos yet wrought, chooses this moment to pepper the deck in a volley of gunshots.

Screams and groans echo through the smoke as sailors and passengers alike fall foul of the deluge.  Where is the boy?  Forgotten?

He stands amid the wreckage, unharmed, but shaken out of tears.  A sense of forboding descends on his small shoulders.  The volley stops.

The shadows ahead are moving; ghostly shapes in the swirling smoke and flame.  Laughter, and oaths echo across the water.  Here they come.

The hiss of steel on bone.  ”Here’s a pretty thing!  Gold too.  And it’s ticking.” “Finders keepers!” the laughter surges again.

The boy peers into the gloom.  Something is emerging from the smoke, yet still he remains, rooted to the spot, mouth agape; shivering.

They meet face to face, one all grogam cloth and swagger, a lighted taper hooked over each ear; the other, frozen, eyes wide in horror.

“The boy stood on the burning deck…”  The pirate Captain murmers to himself, amused, fiddling with the end of his moustache.

“Fer pity’s sake boy, run!  Hide yersel’!”  It’s the Bosun, injured, lying against the bulkhead.  Something snaps inside the boy, he flees.

Into the dark, into the groaning oaken cavern, into the bowels he runs helter-skelter, blind with panic.  Got to hide!  Got to hide!

Evening.  The Pirates rouse themselves with song and toast to their hoard.  ”What’s in that chest there?”  ”It’s heavy!”  ”Full of gold!”

“Open it then ye lubbers, what’re ye waitin for?”  Captain orders.  Out springs the boy, all fists and thundering heart, ready to fight.

“Now there’s a surprise!” Captain leans forward stroking his beard.  The boys shrill voice breaks the silence  ”Drink up me hearties, yoho! ..er..”

Captain throws his head back and laughs.  ”He’s a natural!  Welcome aboard, ships boy!”  He ruffles the astonished lad’s hair and passes the grog.

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Ian Starward

mousewords: FICTION TIME! The following 20 tweets  are my entry for @MassTwitFic‘s “Unexpected Surprise” #twitfic challenge!

Ian slammed the door and leaned on it, exhaling and drawing a sleeve over his face.  His housing cell’s darkness was a relief.

Guard pod search beams painted Colony City alleys in a red blaze.  They weren’t looking for him; but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

News lines said they hunted a killer—armed, desperate.  Desperation wasn’t new to Colonists.  But only MasterNet troops had weapons.

He threw his bag in the corner, then jumped at the sound of a yelp.  A dog?  In the city?  He called for lights and froze in shock.

A strange woman knelt in the corner, clothes dirty and torn, star-blue eyes wild & haunted.  Ian relaxed.  Only a stray.

“You’re safe.  They’re looking for a killer.”  Her head shook.  ”Warnings” she whispered, raising a forearm striped with red tattoos.

Ian whistled.  ”More than me.  You can stay here till they go.”  He turned.  Her hoarse voice stopped him: “You’re Ian Starward.”

“No.  Just Ian.”  ”You ARE Starward.  You must take me offworld.”  He laughed: “You think I want a last warning?  Stars are dead to us.”

“We’ll be dead if you don’t.”  She raised her other arm, bleeding from a silvery gash.  His throat clenched.  A fresh tracker wound!

By now he was tagged with track motes, marked for death as a sympathizer.  Pods would come in minutes.  He cursed and grabbed his bag.

Death wasn’t so bad, but sympathizers didn’t get it quickly.  ”Offworld it is.”  He tore off a vent grate and dropped into musty dark.

A soft weight hit his arm as the stray followed and fell.  He lifted her.  ”What’d you do to get tracked, escape the farm?”  No answer.

The run to the old towers wiped him out; but the sight of his cruiser was worth it.  Hidden for years, covered with moss, sleeping.

Inside, Ian awoke the controls, thrilling to the old routine, aware it was likely his last flight.  The stray watched, silent.

Thrusters ignited, and the launch force pressed them back.  Joy almost choked him as stars filled his view.  He’d been away too long.

It wouldn’t last.  ”They’ll shoot us down, but a fireball’s better than torture.  Humor me.  What’d you do that we’re dying for?”

Her pale eyes glazed over.  ”I’m a murderer.”  Light flashed as she pulled a smooth shard from her pocket and jerked toward him.

With one swipe Ian disarmed her; but it wasn’t a knife.  She whispered:  ”That chip holds MasterNet’s entire AI.  The Master’s dead.”

Alarms blared as ships followed.  Ian stared at the thin crystal in his hand.  ”With this gone, our people will be free.”  She nodded.

“Now that’s worth living for.” With new purpose he drove his ship starward, and gave the enemy a chase they’d never forget.

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Last Man Standing

Mothman: the following 20 #twitfic tweets is a short  story I wrote.

The silence sings.  The silence breathes.

The world outside is frozen.  A pristine testament to the sins of the past.

They say it took six day to bring about creation.  It took us only one to end it.

Damn.

I cough, and my hand brushes against the stubble encrusted side of my face.

I should shave.  Not that it matters.  It’s not like there’s anyone left to judge.

My heart sinks as that notion settles in like an anchor dropped in an already turbulent sea.

It’s true.  There is no one left to judge… except for me.

Again I cough.  No blood.  That’s good.  All things considered.

I huddle closer to the fireplace.  The flames within offer little comfort.

Still, comfort is hard to come by these days.

Once upon a time this cabin was my escape from the world.  My refuge from the noise.

Now I pray for a sound.  One human voice in the world besides my own.

Is that too much?  Why must we silence each other so that only our own voices can be heard?

Whatever the reason, it won’t matter much longer.

The cough returns, and with it the crimson red that I’ve now seen from so many others.

How could we treat each other as we did and still find it surprising when the bombs fell?

I suppose on some level I knew this day would come, but what was I to do?

I was just a voice in the crowd.  Now I’m the last voice of man.

Is anybody listening?

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Death Fabricarnate

JimGleeson: my #twitfic entry for the short story competition.

Rarely, am I expected. But chances are, you should depend upon my arrival.

I am that dark place you fear that you cannot fathom through weary eyes.

I am that uncertainty you feel when you wade into murky waters.

I am the reason why you turn on the light in the bathroom.

I am why you lock your doors and check the rear-view after the sun goes down.

Turn on the news, and you can be sure, I am mentioned.

I rain on both the just and the unjust.

I am death incarnate. I am the reaper.

“And I am Mary Poppins” the voice says staring down at me. A nurse in scrubs, “Time for your medication, death incarnate.”

“I-”

A small gnat lands on my arm and I flinch. It crawls over me.

Her lower lip curls as she slaps. it The red marked-sting, broken wings and body, dead on my forearm.

“Death incarnate, my ass.” she says offering me a smile, “Keep on thinking that, the only thing you kill is skin cells.”

I feel the pills in my mouth, promising me some time of reprieve, or the cloudy numbness of release.

A sliver of comfort, of detachment, for which I can escape the truth.

What truth? I begin to wonder after washing the medication down.

The truth…that I am.

I am that dark unexpected end to rationalization.

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J’wyl

Presenting a short #twitfic by Jwyl:

Ariana started. “What wast THAT!?” Her horse just blew air, it wasn’t always necessary to answer her. The path ahead was clear.

Ariana listened and squinting, she searched the rocks and weeds to the left, where she thought the sound had originated. Nothing.

Deciding it was her imagination, Ariana nudged Realto with her heels to get him moving again. “Pfttttt-POW!” Realto balked slightly.

“So you heard it that time, too?” asked Ariana with just a hint of I-told-you-so in her voice. “Indeed” replied her horse.

They both looked to the left of the path where a small tuft of weeds between two rocks was now burning. Realto twitched his ears.

“Pfttt-POW-POW-POW!” Eyes wide and stepping back, Realto shook his mane. Ariana reined him in and away from that side of the path.

Several more small fires were now in evidence. Ariana dismounted Realto.  She pulled her gloves more snugly on her hands.

She carefully stepped around some burning weeds and climbed around a boulder. A dead dragon lay there. “Huh” was all she said.

She stood staring for a few moments. After all, it isn’t every day you see a dragon, especially a dead one. It was beautiful.

Moving closer, she could see the arrow protruding from it’s right eye. Why hadn’t it’s body been plundered of scales? “Pftt-POW!”

Ariana felt heat as a flash of fire glanced off her leather breeches. She carefully moved toward the dragon’s left wing.

“Poor thing, how far did you fly before you died?” she murmured. Ariana reached out and gently stroked the shiny green scaled wing.

“Pftttt?” Blinking, she watched as a small damp bundle of scales creeped out from under the wing. Two golden orbs peered up at her.

“Oh!” she exclaimed softly, staring into the golden eyes of the newly hatched dragonette. Transfixed, she held out her gloved hand.

Golden eyes wide and staring deep into the green of Ariana’s eyes, the baby dragon climbed clumsily into her outstretched palm.

Ariana very softly stroked the fine tufts of firey red mane down the dragonette’s back, thinking how precious and lovely it was.

Slowly she realized she was hearing another sound, soft and sweet “Pfttmmmrrrrrrr” Did dragons purr? How extraordinary and wonderful!

Holding the little dragon carefully in her hand, Ariana pulled out a leather pouch with the other hand. She searched the area.

Finding a few scatted scaled, she retrieved the smallest of them and put them in the pouch, then settled the baby dragon atop them.

Walking back to the path she called ahead, “Realto, boy do I have a surprise for you!”

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Universal Truth

ExplodingDragon: Presenting a #twitfic entry: A @RickyRedShirt short!

Just hit planet side to help Captain with first contact of new species. What fun /sarcasm.

Fun fact! 4 out of 5 red shirts do not survive first contact missions. I hate starfleet.

Ten minutes in, everybody’s still alive, a rare occurance. No wait, the aliens are mad at the captain for no reason.

Two seconds later 3 of the 5 of us are dead, along with the captain. Okay! Gotta run!

Aaand they’ve bombed the shuttle. Calling ship for beam up I get put on hold. If this weren’t typical I’d vaporise myself.

I find a hiding place in a universal truth, storage cupboards. Looks like I’ve got cleaning fluids and brushes for company.

The aliens knock on the door and tell me to come out. I bluff that I have hostages, they call it. Gotta think fast!

Throwing cleaning fluids worked well, they all bent over shouting  ’My light based senses!’  Now to find another hiding place.

Still running in this government centre, I find why the aliens don’t like us. They don’t believe in aliens! What a gyp.

A big painting showing the stars as a wall just beyond the sky, they don’t know there’s a whole universe. Ignorant savages.

If they don’t know about the universe why did we even come here? I bet captain was just bored.

Oh no, the savages have caught up with me. Looks like the end of my adventures; where I barely avoid getting killed.

Just as they fire I get beamed up. If I believed in God I’d thank it, as I don’t I’m gonna shower. Another day in the life.

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Ocean Dream

ZAmmi: My #twitfic entry- a homage to Helen Dunmore.

Weatherbeaten, gnarled hands rested on the handle of the shovel as she straightened her back and listened to the surf.

It roared in the cove sending up spray so high she could see it from the cottage garden. It took her back, oh my it took her back..

..The water, so rich & alive engulfed her head. She struggled against it churning bubbles. The fear, the panic; fingers outstretched..

It all came back, that moment beneath the water.  She’d seen her life slip past her flailing arms. But then… a hand grasped hers!

Firm, strong; she’d gripped it desperately, absorbing the life personified in that solid touch amidst a world of bubbles. Needing it.

Deep eyes, deep as the ocean looked into hers. “Breathe!” he said. “Open your mouth and breathe!” Her mind revolted. He’s mad!

I’ll drown! She thought, frantic. I’m dreaming! “Trust me.” – how could he speak underwater? She looked down at his legs, and gasped.

She chuckled now at the memory – that first struggling breath..how his lithe body turned summersaults in the water, sleek as a dolphin.

The wonders she’d seen! Her eyes grew misty. He had warned her: warned that someday her heart would lead her back to her own people.

She had not believed him. “I’ll stay forever!” she had cried, so young, so full of hope… so long ago. But he had been right.

Now her feet were so well rooted to the soil, she barely recalled how to swim. Most days the only things she spoke to were her bees.

She raised her bowed head and listened to their hum, imagining it was him she could hear singing. The sound echoed in the cove below.

Wistful instinct made her turn towards the beach once more; feet treading the well-worn path without having to be reminded the way.

The humming increased, no bees this close to the shore – then became a song. She broke into a run, surprising herself with her speed.

There he was! Powerful, muscular, sat with his back to her at the edge of the bay; looking like a diver, his wetsuit peeled to his waist.

But no. She halted. It was a young man. He would have been old, so old by now. The figure heard her, he stopped singing and turned.

She let out a stifled gasp. His face! Was it him? Did they not age? Those same eyes. She gazed at his dark, smooth tail “Who are you?”

“I’m looking for Shingle Croft” the voice was different. He did not know her. She tried to hide her disappointment “It’s up there.”

He looked up at the cliff “I seek the Koweth of The Mer.” “That’s me.” her old name! Was it news he brought? Was her beloved dead?

“Mamm kerenza!” -dear mother! Her mouth dropped in an oh of surprise. “My son!” He buried his head in her chest “I’ve come home.”

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Life Hack

Presenting patrickgates‘ #twitfic entry.

It was noon and aspiring programmer Frank Dunstan was staring at a monitor, becoming increasingly stressed out.

“Error #398: Cannot import file life.c” was flashing all over his computer screen, it made him feel even more depressed then before.

It felt like his life was like a piece of trash, discarded, and unneeded.

He was alone, without a friend, hadn’t had a date in 5 years, and felt like he had no life whatsoever.

His only human contact was with his players on World of Warcraft, On which he had become a revered player from playing 24/7.

He spent his time coming up with contraptions that would help make his life simpler, an automatic toaster, set to a clock, etc.

Suddenly a knock came at his door; this was an exciting prospect for him as he ran to get dressed and struggled getting decent in time.

Shaving his face & screaming “ONE SECOND” seemed easier said than done, he charged to the door to find a guy in a nice suit waiting.

His name was Jonathan Brosnan (no relation to James Bond). He was an entrepreneur who had heard through the loop about his inventions.

This was the change he was waiting for, sitting at his door, like a 5 million dollar bill beckoning him on to fame and fortune.

He was interested in the levitation mechanism he stumbled upon while creating the waffle flipper.

*1 YEAR LATER* Frank Dunstan had become a household name: inventor of the first ever levitation plane allowing new speeds in travel.

He was about to go on the first date in what seemed to be forever, she was a beautiful Argentinian supermodel.

When suddenly, it was all gone, it all drifted away and suddenly the world he had grown to love was no longer, he was the same old guy.

He was back at his desk, with Error #398. But then, to his surprise…he heard a knock.