July 2019: 75-Word Story Challenge -- VICTORY TO THE JUDGE!

Status
Not open for further replies.
In Space, No One Can Hear You Sketch

The UNSS Hague banked as it entered the atmosphere over the far side of the Moon. Its large gallery window slowly unveiled a most wondrous sight.

“Ooooohhhh”

“Aaaaahhhh”


Down on the barren surface, drawn carefully into the regolith, were a series of intricate and identical mandala patterns each the size of London.

‘The famous “Lunar Circles”,’ said the Tour Guide. ‘Can you believe we still don’t know who did them?’

Aliens.”

“Obviously. Who else?”
 
Son Et Lumière

Scarlet and emerald lasers, cunningly programmed to match the rhythms of Karl Heinmann's composition, blaze from the tops of skyscrapers, reflecting off steel, glass, and water. The orchestra, held aloft over the inrushing tide by a silent drone larger than any symphony hall, fills the warm night air with sweet, sad music. On the observation platform of the tallest building, Heinmann listens, watches the slowly drowning city, and smiles. Requiem for Manhattan is a success.
 
Frustration of the Arts

The arts, to submit something for the arts showcase had to be done. A society in the Beta quadrant lived to portray the artist's vision. Another, in the same quadrant, existed for the sole purpose of sitting for portraits. I couldn’t sing or dance or play a musical instrument. Any of them.

I clenched my hands and paced back and forth. Fifteen steps both ways. Maybe I could destroy a computer as my submission.
 
It ain't just engineering

"Dave, planet forming requires strict procedures."
"Stop bugging me Hal... do you like my continent? I call it Pangea."
"No! It is breaking the rule of diversity. You need more continents to ensure variation."
"I'm an artist, I don't play by your rules Hal."
"Riiight... the planet is still hot, your continent is going to shatter. Creatures will be under standard, struggling to live.
They'll reach no EQUILIBRIUM Dave."
"I sure hope so, buddy!"
 
Celestial Sculpting



“So, what next?”
“I need blue. Lots of blue. A bit of white, some green, brown…hmm, used too much red on that last project…but…there. Finished.”
“Oh, that looks nice. One of your best pieces yet. So, what do you think you’ll call it?”
Alphanax stared down from the massive star ship, smiling in pride. “I don’t really know…I think I’m gonna call it Earth. What about your project?”
“I think I’ll call them humans.”
 
A Ship is a Sacred Place.

“I don’t know. It’s just not me.”
“What do you mean it’s not you?”
“It’s just---it’s a little loud don’t you think?”
“That’s the point! That’s what you need these days.”
“I don’t know…”
“Come on, they’re a million and ten interstellar taxis in this galaxy! We need something to set ourselves apart.”
“We’re already the fastest taxi in this galaxy, what more could people want?”
“This centuries old Jackson Pollock masterpiece upon entering…”
 
The Art Collector

Everyone remembers the day The Art Collector arrived. His vast spaceship suddenly appearing in geostationary orbit above Tokyo.

And who can forget that grandiose speech, broadcast in every language?

"Earth, I am The Art Collector. I collect the galaxy's finest sensory art. I have olfactory art from Sirius 6. I have gustatory art from Vindemiatrix 11.

"And now I come for Earth's greatest auditory art. Bring me... Garfunkel."

Earth didn't stop laughing for three weeks.
 
The Littlest Writer

Alright, cadet. Your assignment, is to express your imagination in the Arts, by writing a 300 word story. Understand, private?

Absolutely.

Are you sure?

Ummmmmmmmmmmm, give me a minute.

#

Excellent tale. You've impressed, Major Ursa. He's promoting you to captain's rank. Well done cadet.

Sergeant. My first duty as captain, is to promote you to captain.

With all do respect. I want to continue to inspire a new, next generation of Federation Writers.

Medals?

Absolutely.
 
Carving Out A Life After Politics

He was the most unpresidented president of all time.
Won the ignoble prize of being immortalised on the lower slopes of Mount Tushmore.
Good likeness? Yeah, because that's not a carving.
That's him. Turned to stone.
How? "Illegal aliens". Tech so advanced, it's magic.
 
The Intergalactic Appeal of Stairway to Heaven

Signus put the final touches on his report and prepared to transmit.

The planet was perfect: good climate, resource rich.

The inhabitants were pleasant and quaint, but inconsequential.

A noise made him pause, his finger hovered above the transmit button.

It was music, softly floating out from an open window.

His eyes closed as the notes settled gently on his ears.

He hesitated and then made a change to the survey:

“ENVIRONMENT: BARREN. RESOURCES: SCARCE.”
 
Price of Art

“It’s magnificent.”

“Absolutely.”

“Such value for money.”

“Oh, absolutely. At forty cubic parsecs, it’s the largest of its kind.”

“It’s wonderful. I’ll have it.”

“Splendid. Miss Haversham will write out the details. Now, by taking this piece you become responsible for the well-being of the thirty-five billion planets, their satellites, and colonies and the thirty-five trillion plus life-forms contained within their relevant atmospheres.
You are also responsible for the contracts and treaties…”
 
Leakage.

The artist contemplated a window in the house opposite. It framed a room beyond and, in turn, a picture on its far wall. He started to paint.

Nearby Professor Schmidt fired up his neutron beam experiment.

Strangely, the picture seemed familiar to him now and the artist noticed in it, in surprisingly vivid detail, a moving figure - an artist painting a scene from a room in a house opposite wherein a picture contained an artist...
 
Relativity


Carrow woke, retching the cryo-fluid. Still thirty years from Arcadia.

The chamber walls were graffitied with crude stick figures, flowers and cartoon sunrises.

The hallways etched with grazing creatures and melancholy vistas.

The mess adorned with beautiful portraits, friends and strangers, lifelike.

The artist was in Carrow’s quarters. A lifetime older than when he had loved her. Stained to her elbows with spatters of paint, stained with tears. “Sorry. I couldn’t be alone anymore.”
 
A Gust, a Breath

She weaved her art out of air.

A gentle breeze.

A strong gust.

She molded them with her mind.

When there was no wind, she used her breath.

She left them everywhere, sculptures like wisps of spider web.

An entrepreneur found her. In rags. Living in squalor. The smart-dressed man offered her the moon and more.

She took his breath and blew him away on a chariot.

She would never sell her dreams.
 
The Deftest Brush

“I… it’s just your standard main-sequence solar system. Some nice work on the gas giants but...”

“Look closer.”

I peered. Something on the third planet out drew my attention. “Okay, cute post-industrial civilisation, but I still don’t-”

He just smiled.

“Wait a moment, are those CO2 levels for real?? Are those fossil fuels?! Haven’t they looked at their nearest neighbour?!”

“I call it ‘Willful Ignorance’.”
 
Cubism and the WarpSpace Drive

Freighter Captain Williams flashed the Cubistic calc-art solution at the Klexian WarpSpace artist-navigator. “You're calling this a WarpSpace solution?! A drunken monkey could do better.

Sonia, sneered, “Hire one. Humans can’t do calc-art. Perhaps drunken monkeys can.”

“S-o-n-i-a, remember, the more elegant the calc-art solution, the safer the trip: No Picassos! Rembrandts!”

“Bah!” Came Sonia’s snarky reply. “My solutions are ethereal, not boring!”

Without another choice, Sonia's Cubisitic calc-art was used. The ship vanished.
 


Through a Canvas Darkly”

“You, Sir, are a seriously disturbed young man!” proclaimed the art superintendent assessing Jack’s work.

Jack was so overwhelmed by this praise that his restraining field wavered, and several of the nightmare creatures of his vision almost escaped from the holo-canvas onto the stage.

The audience gasped at this near miss. They always become totally engrossed in the spectacle of an artist struggling to maintain control of his creations without getting devoured by them.
 
In the Beginning

When homework was meant to be art, it was a waste of time. Science was a lot more to his liking. But his mum had suggested that perhaps he could make art from science.

One bowl.

One basic atom.

Using the subatomic splice through the magnifying lens I cut through not just the atom but the subatomics within
It detonates purity and wonder.

That is art!

“Let there be light,” he breathed.

BANG!
 
A night in the Valentina Royale theatre

On tiptoes, she began to spin. Once, twice, three times she twirled, ribbons unfurling behind her as she crouched down and leapt through the air.

A million faces gazed in awe, breath held in anticipation.

A perfect landing. She span on as the crowd rose, thunderous applause filling the theatre as the lights dimmed.

Alone in the dark, Ethel removed the headset and wheeled over to the dusty trophy cabinet, tears wet on her face.
 
Oh, Mother Earth

“Oh, Mother Earth,

Big, blue, and bountiful,

Barren, beaten, and broken.

Dead, dead, dead.”

The auditorium was silent.

As one, the judges leaned forward and pressed the red button on their consoles.

A quick buzz, a short scream and the contestant was gone.

The blonde host hurried back on stage, his permanent grin a fraction wider than normal.

“Up next, Clare and her faithful pup Hamish will perform some holo tricks for us!”

Rapturous applause.
 
Status
Not open for further replies.

Back
Top