MARCH 2022 -- 75 Word Writing Challenge -- VICTORY TO LUIGLIN!

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The Judge

Truth. Order. Moderation.
Staff member
Nov 10, 2008
nearly the New Forest


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


All stories Copyright 2022 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 March 2022

Voting ends at 11:59 pm GMT, 28 March 2022

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


The option of having your story published on the Chrons Podcast next month!





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! **
Double Time

Earlier, she’d rewatched that GI News film – her father alone, last man in a column of soldiers marching away from Omaha Beach.
She checked the android, touched its uniform’s name patch, Kowalski, then returned to the time pump and hit send. The android disappeared.

On her father’s 100th birthday they watched the film, her dad marching, laughing beside his buddy.
“Look, it’s Kowalski! Did I ever tell you how he saved my life in Belgium?”
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The March of the Evil

The Demon army marched to the beat of powerful drums and to the sounds of whipping and growling. They invaded the human country during the night, keen to brand and colonize that inferior race. Their boots thrashed beautiful flowers and corrupted the soil, leaving behind a dry wasteland.

Orbovsky The Marauder slowed his pace.

“What’s wrong, Orbo?” asked Wortgov The Usurper.

“I’m just thinking, Wort,” Orbovsky said. “Are we the baddies?”
Let's Move March Somewhere Else.
Spring normally starts in March, however this year its going to be quite different. I'm aiming for August this time, that'll mess everybody's year, especially for harvesting, because that'll probably be in midwinter.
Why am I doing this?
Because I am omnipresent and would like my holiday in October.
Another reason, I'm a malignant and malicious God.
Why is a Raven Like a Writing Desk?

The new patient had large ears and prominent teeth, so the staff of the mental hospital christened him the March Hare. They called his medication time the Mad Tea Party. They were wiser than they knew, for he remembered his previous incarnation – savoring sweet grass, fleeing foxes and hawks, mounting does during the frenzy of mating season – and mourned for it. He knew the answer to the unsolved riddle. Because neither of them can weep.
Walk in a measured tread

President Ferdiad Judotickle was furious:

'Say that to me again Director?'

'Irregular non formation walking.'

'How could you even suggest such a thing be permitted? You've just signed your death certificate. If there's one thing I will not stand for it's humans walking their road how they want. Didn't you hear my decree that without exception anyone who utters those words must die by my sword?'

'What words President?'

'Irregular non formation walking you fool.'
Step Right Up

Down at heel?

Going nowhere in life?

Why not try these on for size...

Seven League

Be the envy of your friends with our enchanting footwear.

Guaranteed to put a spring in your step!

But don't just take our word for it...

"Who needs slippers? With Seven League Boots I'm the life and sole of the party!" Cinderella

"I wish I had a pair of these!" Aladdin

"Simply charming!" Charming

Hurry, stock going fast!
Closer to March

Alas, Spring! When flowers bloom from the corpses cold,
From brown blood grows blue-green and gold.
Songbirds welcome Summer and those memories fade,
Nevermind, I say, time is short anyway.
But Autumn asks me to value the colour,
And wave goodbye to yesterday's mother.
But to Winter I say I wont reminisce,
I'm forever the pessimist on the precipice.
It's Spring again and my body now rots,
And from my belly blooms forget-me-nots.
The March of The Punished

I chose each convict for their similar voices.

My score begins when thirty cages clang open. Zapping tasers from the players halt running convicts, mostly killers and sex fiends.

The players rhythmically beat the convicts, going from fists to hammers and finally, whips. Convicts scream harmoniously.

My piece ends on thirty synchronized guns blasting.

Those in the audience not too queasy stand to give their applause, blood flying from some’s hands, back onto the stage.
Beware the Ides

“Et tu, Brute?” The grand viewing portal closed, and the chamber filled with the applause of thousands, as it had for a thousand years.

The emperor leaned over; “Do you know why we mark this day?”

I smiled inwardly. “No, your majesty.”

“Those who fail to remember the past - “

My compatriot’s psiblade choked the rest from him.

“It’s ‘Those who fail to learn from the past.’”

The galaxy was long overdue for intelligent leadership.
The Waste Land Revisited

She said her name was March, and I said, “That’s unusual.”

“Why? Lots of girls are named after months.”

“It’s true,” I admitted. “I know a June and once lived with an April.”

“How did that work out?”

“Badly! She was sleeping with my best friend the whole time.”

Later, she took me home; to her room. Black leather, shackles, whips.

“And you thought April was the cruellest month.” she said, closing the door.
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Only a Wee Bit o' Luck Will Do

The leprechaun had made his wish. His master had been mistreating him, cursing him to
die at the end of March while halfway through that month. Fortunately, the leprechaun
discovered his master to also keep a djinn. Sneaking from his room one night, he released
the djinn.

"Make March eternal," said the leprechaun.

"Wish granted."

And it was so.

All it took was darkness, an ear for accents, and a bit of luck.

Shop till you drop

The new mall had been open three days. Business, a little slow.

The environment was relaxing, with people gathering around the fountains and indoor palms as Debussy wafted from the speakers.

"I'll give them something livelier," said the manager, selecting the Stormtrooper's Imperial March.

Cameras showed the crowd roused by the beat. Soon the walkways began to resonate in lock step. Plaster beginning to fall, cracks appearing.

"Quick, boss! put Clair de Lune back on."
Beware The Ides of March

Sharp knifes flash, as treacherous souls surround me.

That strange smiling Soothsayer was right, there was a murderous plot against me.

In a frenzy of hate, snarling and spitting the whole Senate move against me.

Thankfully the Soothsayers amour held, as he said it would, and my moment was now.

The Soothsayers weapon from Hades felt heavy… God like… as searing heat turned my attackers to ash.

‘Et tu, Brute,’ I shout, again and again.
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Just put the right left foot in front of the other, surely?​

Another pile of bodies.

“Fine, they can’t tell left from right,” grumped the Dark Lord. “How about painting their left feet red?”

A while later, and the orc wodge stood ready, left feet glistening red.

“Red, march!” bellowed the orc boss.

The wodge moved as one, just a pity their feet didn’t.

The Minion hazarded a guess while waiting for the brawl to reach its inevitable conclusion.

The Dark Lord rolled his eyes, “Colour blind?”
Leonard Battalion Reporting

Now I've heard there was a secret chord,
If played just right, enslaves a horde;
Believe within music lies awesome power!
They move like this: left foot, swing fist,
Banners unfold, mind's balance shifts,
As from the speakers crackles every order:

Listen up now,
Move your feet now,
Don't resist now,
Come to me, eee-eee-eee, now.


March loved its job.
It loved being yearned for, from the frigid souls waiting for spring’s new shoots to pierce winter’s blanket of pallor to the heat frazzled folk craving for autumn to come and steal the first lumens of glare from summer’s relentless, bleaching light.
It loved the equinox, the myriad Human observances, and the sense of renewal.

But March was happiest when presiding over Easter every few years: the ultimate celebration of rebirth.
The Outer Marches

A thousand paces to the mile, a thousand faces dare to smile,
That's home, another day and we're arriving
The girls will never look askance, but dare to risk the oldest dance,
We've beaten odds, and got home while surviving

Fields where no-one's tries to slay you, only exhaustion can delay you,
Fields that you'll sweat to reap this autumn
End of a phase, you're out to graze
Before agrarian despondency to come.
The March Between Awake And Sleep

As the sun sets, I wake. I scurry soundlessly over jagged rooftops where chimneys silhouette the darkening sky like broken teeth. In the march between awake and sleep, I hunt. I chase fragments of thoughts. Gorge on joys of the day, grow fat on elated memories. I steal happiness and leave droppings of dread. Defecating anguish and panic. My foulness the seeds of terror. As morning crows I sleep, sated on despair and nightmares.
New Earth tales The Prologue

In the weeks before the torrential rains of April on New Earth, it was common for people to walk to Canterbury, site of the first landings and known for the finest brewery on the world, probably.

Shunning transporters and personal ornithopters folks would take the Long March; a way to celebrate the richness of their new world, to exchange stories and to gain an honorific. Marcher of 83, for example, read well on your CV.
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