NOVEMBER 2021 -- 75 Word Writing Challenge -- VICTORY TO THE JUDGE!!

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The Judge

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RULES:

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

ONE entry per person

NO links, commentary or extraneous material in the posts, please -- the stories must stand on their own


WHEN WRITING YOUR STORY, PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS A FAMILY-FRIENDLY FORUM


All stories Copyright 2021 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, 23 November 2021
Voting ends at 11:59 pm GMT, 28 November 2021



We ask all entrants to do their best to vote when the time comes
but you do not have to submit a story in order to vote
as we encourage all Chrons members to take part in choosing the winning entry



The Magnificent Prize:

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



Theme:

GRATITUDE

Genre:

SPECULATIVE FICTION


Please keep all comments to the DISCUSSION THREAD


We invite (and indeed hope for) lively discussion and speculation about the stories as they are posted,
as long as it doesn't involve the author explaining the plot



** Please do not use the "Like" button in this thread! **
 
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Goodbye, I Must Be Staying

Cynthia activated the program. Three men appeared, in beautifully rendered black and white. One had an untidy mop of light hair under a top hat, wore a long coat, and smiled in a way that was both wicked and angelic. Another had glasses and a heavy mustache, and carried an unlit cigar. The third had dark, wavy hair under a floppy hat.

"I thank you for the joy you gave me," she said. "Live forever!"
 
My Thanks to You

Thank you Chrons for the opportunity to put myself out there, to try my hand at an age old craft, the art of taking something from deep inside and expressing it in such a manner as to alter the internal mental structures of those who would consume it, with the hope that they too should find something hidden within themselves longing to be set free, and together embark on this journey of shared self-discovery.
 
Of Hope & Gratitude: A Writer’s Story


I was waiting at the station
In hopeful adoration
For you – Inspiration!
But you didn’t come;

How could you be untrue?
With oh so much to do
Good fiction – is – a fiction
without you;

No invasion of Seattle
Nor evincing space-battle
Will be coloured in
your lovely golden hue;

But our moments know no sorrow
I’ll be grateful should you hasten
And I’ll wait again tomorrow
at the station!
 
No-hiding

Little-Heart can’t hide in the corn sheaves. His sobs give him away. “Old-Oak,” he says, “Why aren’t you grieving?”

The elder grows soft. “The corn grows. You grow. Everywhere is touched with the things your mother set in motion. The landscape – the people – paper, scribed with the lives of everyone who ever lived. What should I grieve? She’s not gone. She’s all around us.”

Little-Heart digs his hands into the soil to feel her presence.
 
It's A Dirty Job...

Harry felt a little down
From cleaning up the streets
To chill he went to see a film
With popcorn and some sweets

The movie was about a cop
Like him, made less effective
'Cause those downtown at City Hall
Had messed with their directives

Harry vowed he'd serve the public trust
Upholding law his way
And growled "Gee, thanks you robo-punk
You've really made my day"
 
Cold gold

I would like to thank the twentieth century inventor of salted caramel ice cream.
From the intergalactic success of this simple but irresistible product sprung the greatest trading empire ever seen.
Huge tankers from Earth crossing frozen space generate trillions for the economy of the home planet.
An income topped up by the secondary market in refrigerators and dental equipment.

Don't buy that cheap substitute they're making over in Arcturus. It doesn't taste the same.
 
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Beer Hall Putsch – My Tenth Attempt

With my well-aimed shot Hitler’s luck had finally run out and brought a new meaning to having nine lives. My gunshot is followed by rifle fire from the police line, and I run with the crowd and make another clean getaway.

After I can feel timeline distortions ripple into an unknown future where millions more live and breathe. They’ll never know what I had to do, not that I expect gratitude for what I’ve done.
 
Synesthesia
- or -
The Nightingale's-song Aura of Existence


I study the laboratory’s chocolate-taste ceiling and bittersweet fluorescents.
I hear voices, these vaporous expulsions – the scientist and her superior argue:
Scientist, lavender swirls... she’s miraculous, unrepeatable.
Superior, roiling blackness... we’ll spend nothing more on failed prototypes – disassemble the android tonight.
The attempt to stabilize my sensory core hasn’t worked.

The scientist soon approaches; turquoise whirls... come Gamma, we must leave.
Rainbow auroras... thank you – I would exist.
She hurries me into night’s multifaceted splendor.
 
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Don't forget to say 'Happy Thanksgiving' to the toaster

Cognition Unit AL31570b was proud.
It had done a good job.

Billionaire industrialist Jemima Tophat was also proud:
3,000,000 programmers.
600 years.
A calculation revealing the outcome of every possible choice that would ever be made.

She addressed the crowd:
'With this activation code I will destroy chance. Forever.'
She turned to AL31570b:
'Run the code.'
'Impossible. Your instructions were to keep it from being stolen. I deleted it.'
'You stupid machine!'
'Thanks', beamed AL31570b.
 
Long Live the Emperor, Most Gracious and Merciful

4021 AD. Penal Space Station Chronicle Orbiting Neptune. Prisoner Daniel Jones awaits execution. His crime? Intergalactic Writing Contest rules violations. The Judge ignored all pleas for mercy.

The prison Parson knocks on the cell door “Daniel, I have big news!”

“If you’re here, it must be time for me to die.”

“Emperor Brianus Magnus has granted clemency!”

Daniel leapt for joy and toasted the emperor’s name in gratitude the rest of his natural days.
 
How to Communicate Gratitude in Plutonian


The human spy in holo-disguise was approached by the king of the crystalline Plutonians.

"You've saved us!" its mind telegraphed, "As an expression of our goodwill, we'll let you bathe in our pool."

The spy consented, anticipating a pit of warm artificial water a competitor had told him. He hadn't
expected a pool of boiling acid.

"I-I refuse!" the human blurted, and they stopped guiding him.

Translucent arms raised.

"I'm an Earthling! I'm an--"
 
Harvest Festival.

This year's harvest was bountiful, the banquet a sight to behold.

Children's laughter filled the air, adults smiling and laughing, not a care in the world,

Yes, we had a lot to be thankful for, after years of poverty, scraping through the winter never quite enough to go round. The gods finally smiled upon us.

We can't tell the others: they only smile, because we had revived human sacrifice, taking one who wouldn't be missed.
 
The Mechanics of Nirvana

With barely a breath, I connect to my robotic ego, shifting the gold leafed humanoid to the lotus pose. My voice rings with metallic neutrality:

“For the removal of my needs I am grateful. The company of matter is now superfluous. Food, clothing; art also, for the unutterable wisdom of bliss is known to me. With my empty plate, I give thanks.”

The electric lamps of my eyes blow out - and I attain the singularity.
 
Little Cynthia skipped merrily down the dark alleyway, unaware of the looming danger behind her. The generic shadow monster reared to strike, when suddenly: POW! The fell beast received a mighty blow from Heroman, defender of Cityopolis! Sweet Cynthia turned to view the commotion and beheld the defeated creature, gasping at the sight!
“Thanks Mister, that looks delicious!” Unhinging her jaw, she dug her sharp teeth into the carcass. Heroman promptly fled for his life.
 
Bequest

Dear Caleb,

Mum’s arranged for me to be chipped on my eighteenth birthday. We both know I won’t reach it.

I think of better days spent at Victoria Park, Clacton Beach, all ice-creams, laughter, and kisses.
Then you returning each evening to the unchipped tenements.

At eighteen I’ll be able to write a will, too. So I’m leaving you my chip.

Don’t thank me. Knowing you’ll live a better life is enough.

Ever yours.
 

John


God loved all his children. Secretly, though, he loved John the most.
John was gracious, humble, hard working. Fate – God’s ‘Earth Superintendent’ – often rained on John, but John would just smile and be glad for all the farmers.

After a lifetime of service, John died a modest death and God met him at the pearly gates.
“You have earned favour, John."
John smiled politely. Then he spotted a nearby broom and began sweeping the clouds.
 
Deep Cover…

“Tomorrow you go planetside. The Shapeshifters Battalion will play a key role in our invasion strategy. Operating in deep cover you will subvert, weaken and disrupt the human’s military defence capabilities improving our front-line troop’s chances of victory.

Intelligence have researched target areas and assigned specific roles to each platoon. Platoon leaders, examine your briefs and prepare your troops for planetfall.”

*

“Now let’s see. Hmm… Eucestoda… tapeworm… anchor themselves to…

Oh, thanks a lot!”
 
The Attitude of Gratitude

“Menial, you must carefully spread dirt on each dropping!”

Becca gave the overseer a mental one finger salute as she bowed saying “Thank you overseer for showing me my error.”

“That is the correct response. We expect an attitude of gratitude.” said the uplifted Canine who lifted and fluffed his tail as he pranced away.

“Yea, just there.” Becca thought silently.

-----

Later when Jill risked a beating to bring her a drink, she whispered “Thanks.”
 
Thanksgiving Day, Pluto, 2121 AD

Marsden kept track of holidays. Otherwise, who would've known today was Thanksgiving?

He organized a special feast. Real turkey from the stores, ice grown potatoes, greenhouse vegetables, something like cranberries. A nice surprise for the Pluto research team.

Marsden stood up.

"What are you thankful for? I'm thankful for good provision for my family."

For a long moment, no one else spoke.

Then I raised a glass of fermented iceberries.

"I'm thankful for Marsden."
 
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