75 WORD CHALLENGE - December 2011 -- HareBrain Victorious!

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Moonbat

Chuckle Churner
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RULES:

Write a story inspired by the chosen theme in no more than 75 words, not including the title.


One entry per person.


All stories Copyright 2011 by their respective authors, who grant the Chronicles Network the non-exclusive right to publish them here.


The complete rules can be found at Rules for the Writing Challenges.


Contest ends at 11:59 pm GMT, December 23 2011

Voting Ends at 11:59 pm GMT, December 28 2011


You do not have to submit a story in order to vote -- in fact, we encourage all Chrons members to take part in choosing a winner.


The Magnificent Prize:


The Dignified Congratulations/Grovelling Admiration of Your Peers
and the challenge of choosing the next month's theme or genre.



The Theme for December:



Toys


The Genre:



Steampunk

Merry Writing, and a happy new story.​
 
The House On Jeter Lane

The slow beat of a heavy-bladed ventilation fan. Blinds drawn against the glare of a Constantinople summer. Gordon Pasha’s bribe in my pocket.

Josephus the Tailor glared at me over his half-moon spectacles. “You were commissioned to build an automaton, a neo-golem to defend the Temple, not this, this toy.”

My steam-powered ballerina pirouetted, flourished a needle gun, and shot the Pharisee in both eyes. “Stitch that, Jimmy.”

Well, it made me laugh.
 
Naval Engagement


‘Miss Featherhill,’ said the Iron Admiral, ‘Your little brother’s Aeolus is splendid.’

The boy pushed the yacht out onto the park's boating pond.

‘And your own model, sir. Wonderful.’

‘A perfect replica of the steam dreadnought Warspite.’

‘It’s — good heavens! On deck?’

‘Miniature clockwork sailors. I said, perfect.’

Tiny turrets swivelled towards Aeolus.

‘Sir! You would not be so cruel.’

The Admiral’s metal arm slid through hers. ‘And you’ll join me for tea, my dear.’
 
THE TOYMAKER'S LEGACY

The warehouse doors finally broke, revealing a gigantic bear with clockwork eyes; a painted soldier, funnel large as an omnibus. Beyond, a pierrot, lopsided and sad.

Adams picked it up.

"Don't tou--!" Doug's words were drowned by the thunderous roar of boilers, the creak of huge limbs.

The roof splintered as the bear stood. Eyes whirring, it spoke over the pierrot's manic laughter.

"First Corinthians, gentlemen. Time to be put away by childish things."
 
Toy Soldier

A world of insufferable abuse. Unrelenting humiliation. Intolerable treatment.

A roaring fire fuels the beast.

Being used, the amusement of a little boy. Black hat, shiny boots, red uniform. A creation without my consent.

Steam billows from the great machine.

Childish laughter. My torment. Aching for release.

The sound of a whistle.

Leaping from the platform. Escaping possession. Freeing myself.

Gears grind. Iron wheels create sparks. Stopping inches from my head.
 
Jo and Li shiver, snow is falling. The cold makes their clothes feel more ragged and their feet more bare. They hear a strange sound and are towards a small shop with chipped paintwork. In the window a little man in a green hat is winding a minature, yellow, engine. Steam blows from it's funnel and it peeps as it runs round the tracks. It's hypnotic effect warms their body and feet.
 
Poor Rudolf...


“This new airship she’s steam powered, she’ll hit speeds you’ve never even dreamed of.”

“How about storage?”

“Room for everything you need and then some, you won’t be disappointed.”

The big man walked a circuit around the vessel, tugging at his beard.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

He pulled out a musket.

“Sir? What are you doing?”

“I have to shoot Rudolf, he’s useless now with my new toy,” Santa said.
 
Backing into a crate-lined cul-de-sac, the would-be burglar suddenly understands why breaking into Felix's Frivolities was so easy. It's the leaving that's hard. Leaving intact.

Hydraulics hush-hiss in the shadows, scissor-claws slide from brushed-brass paws and the warehouse's watchman slinks forward. More graceful than mere automata, the mechanicat's head draws level with his and tilts to one side. A slight smirk reveals the glimmer of crystal teeth.

"Hello, little mouse," it sneers. "Hello, little toy."
 
Tis the Season Dr. Watson



"Holmes, how did you defeat Mr Hyde?"

"I knew Jekyll would return to the scene of the crime and use his alter ego to steal Rathbone's secret technologies. Therefore I waited for him to show up, then activated one of the late Professor's inventions to thwart the super strong doctor."

"Which invention?"

"A seven foot mechanical clown, son's gift. Unfortunately it killed Jekyll."

"Egad, a machine toy man. Who knew such things exsist in 1886."
 
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Breaking Into The New Modern Century; AKA Revenge On The Mega Stores




“Sir, are you sure this will work?”

“Of course. Steady…there we are. This new steam-powered hydraulics cannon will help us meet quota like we never dreamed!” The fat old man laughed with a hint of cruelty that scared his workers. Some turned from their benches to stare at their master, the old man's laugh tossing his full white beard all over his face.

“Not to mention…it will clean my naughty list.”
 
The Death of the Little Ballet Dancer

I was walking down the lane. A window was being opened with a ruttling, tossing noise and something was thrust out of it. It was a little beautiful figurine of a ballet dancer in a nice white dress. The church bell stroke and the dancer stopped dancing. Vapour was coming out of her little ballet shoes. Every time the bell stroke again, a bit more of the dancer got burned - until she vanished for ever.
 
CHRISTMAS ON THE CUT

Christmas was Jeannie’s favourite day when the painted boats stopped, moored up, their rocking ceased, not even the butties driving forward on their way to the smog laden piers.
This year; the excitement of something new, the cracker, the prize rolling under her seat. She crawled to find it, afraid it would be lost forever.
She held it up; the little toy barge, in its intricacy the perfect working replica of her world.
 
Why Play On

Steel-grey sand trickled slowly between twinned green glass orbs, measuring the countdown to “Game Over”.
Stepping back from between the burnished brass reciprocating arms, I watched dim blue magnetic fire flicker behind the viewing window, slowly forming itself into the corporate likeness of Our Empress of India. Below that familiar image, the legend “Continue/End?” presented itself.
With no remaining appetite to play, I sat back; satisfied between the welcoming leather arms of my favourite Sheraton.
 
Wind Up

Blankness.
And then he could see. Bronze gears spun against brass knobs, ticking and whirring. An ever constant buzz followed wherever he walked.

He stepped up to a makeshift vehicle; welded with rusted pipes and adorned with blades. It was a thing of beauty. He approached and a giant hand cranked it to life.

He would have taken the car for a ride. Then, like before, the constant buzz slowed, then stopped, and blankness returned.
 
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The Little Giant.[/FONT]


[FONT=Arial, sans-serif]The sound of powerful machines in deep chambers. The smell of coal and hot oil.[/FONT]


“[FONT=Arial, sans-serif]You are privileged” Voice like rusty gears: “I allow few down here”[/FONT]


[FONT=Arial, sans-serif]A humanoid shape moves in the shadows[/FONT]


“[FONT=Arial, sans-serif]Toys, they said. Useless. My human body died at the age of fifty-three. All I have achieved since has been thanks to those toys. Yes, the engineer is God!”[/FONT]


[FONT=Arial, sans-serif]And so began my interview of Isambard Brunel.[/FONT]
 
The Mechanics of Christmas Shopping


The shop was warm, a welcome relief from the winter weather outside. Alfred Carter unbuttoned his coat. The old toymaker looked over telescopic spectacles and smiled.

'Good evening, sir. I have your purchase ready. I used nano-clockwork...'

'Yes, but it's as I asked?'

'She will be your daughter's companion for years to come.'

Travelling home by airship to Cloud City, Alfred held the "doll's" hand. She would be the perfect Christmas present for Emma.
 
[FONT=&quot]Serenade in the Nursery

[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot][/FONT] New steal strings tautly wait for plush fuzzy fingers.


The moon rides high illuminating a brightly painted box of new tin soldiers as a hush of anticipation stills the crowded shelf.


The band assembles.


Cossette (black clad doll), Flopsy (velveteen rabbit), Winifred (teddy bear), and Monocle The Monkey prepare to begin their set when out pops a dashing young officer with a trumpet.


Tonight the steampunk band will play ska, while children dream of revolutions.

[FONT=&quot][/FONT]
 
Short On Time

The steam powered clock clicked as the girl appeared at the end of the tunnel. She swore she’d been taller, older, when she’d entered.

The smell of burning flesh expelled from chimneys opposite. Memories haunted her. She’d escaped once before.

Her dying wish, would she have time to retrieve him from his hiding place and return to the tunnel?

Bare-footed she ran through the hole in the fence avoiding capture. Teddy was waiting.

Tick, tick......
 
Lost Boy


We found him wandering alone, cold and scared. We took him in. We guessed he was about five.

He never smiled, cried silent tears, never uttered a sound. Gaslight and machines terrified him.

When the old man approached we expected him to run and hide but he took the offered gift, a tiny flying figure with wings. His face lit up and he found his voice. Laughing as he hugged his toy.
 
.
New Haiti Mischief

How she cried when daddy left, but New Haiti was promising.
Eventually he found a job.
He returned with a battered robot figurine for her from a salvage store.
Not automata, but not inherited from her brother.

- - - - - - - - -

Their zeppelin transport was crowded.
She checked her figurine’s hidden compartment.
Confident his hair was still inside, she thumped its metal head.
One seat back, her brother yelped.

It would be a fun trip to her new life.


...
 
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