Post by Ethan Hawkeye on Feb 11, 2005 20:59:07 GMT -5
You all did great and your stories were well done, unfortunatly not everyone is a winner in a contest and though some see things their own way other dont. There were 4 judges and each gave their own mark on 10, the marks were then added up for a total mark on 40, here are the results.
BDR: 34/40
Pimp: 26/40
Eyesore: 25/40
Amadeus: 23/40
BDR'S:
I had just finished writing the greatest story ever written. A writer knows when they just wrote something magnificent; the world implodes and explodes simultaneously, causing fireworks to combust into a million colors, the residual smoke wafts up setting off fire alarm after fire alarm until your head is full of noise and lights. Your soul leaks into your fingertips and then dances across the keyboard stringing together words and thoughts and magic. Time exists only to tell the story.
Forgive me for the description I gave, for it doesn’t begin to describe the moment I felt when I completed my story. It was beyond description. It was the most profound experience of my lifetime, each word built to the next in a crescendo that would make any orchestra green with envy.
At any rate, I had just finished writing the greatest story ever written. Of course, the hawkgames staff immediately gave me first prize. In fact, the judges had already given me first prize by the second paragraph. By the third paragraph they had fainted from the sheer euphoria of it all. It took them three days to read the full story from all of the fainting. After being pushed for a while, I tried to get a magazine to publish my story. Fearing rejection, I sent my story off to every magazine in the world...
Well, that’s when the trouble began. If only you could comprehend the understatement I just wrote. My story wasn’t rejected: oh, no, far from it. It was accepted. It was accepted by EVERY magazine. In the March issue of every magazine in existence, my story was scheduled to be published. Well, People heard that Newsweek was going to publish it, and Newsweek heard that Mad had it, and Mad heard that Cosmopolitan had it, and Cosmopolitan heard that Time had it, and Time heard that Hunting and Fishing had it... you get the picture. Well, by the end of February, everyone knew that everyone else was going to publish it.
For some reason, magazine editors really hate not having original material. So, every magazine complained to the other magazines that they had the story first. Of course, they had all gotten it at the same time, but that didn’t make a difference to them. Rising anger between the magazine factions grew and grew, until finally it erupted. Thus began the Great Magazine Wars.
In war, no one is the victor. People took sides and before I knew it the world was dying. Newspaper stands were bloodied, convenience stores burnt to the ground, and once great buildings now lay in ashes. I stood on a mountaintop and stared at the desolation. Why? Why did I cause this madness? Was I the only one left? How can I correct this all?
So, I set about the rest of my life to find an answer. My minimalist knowledge of quantum mechanics turned into a vast sea of facts throughout the years. My once proud mane of reddish-brown hair had turned gray. However, I had created something in all of my years of toil: the Black Hole Generating Device, or BHGD. Nobody really knew what happened when you stepped into a black hole. Scientists hypothesized that it was possible to go ahead in time by utilizing a black hole, but it was impossible to go backwards in time. Well, they were right, to a certain degree. What scientists did not know was that time is not a straight line... it’s a circle. By utilizing the BHGD, I would be able to go forward not millions, not billions, not even trillions of years, but something far larger. It was a span of time so great that it had not even been given a name by mathematicians. I called the time a CTC, or complete time cycle. I set the BHGD to generate a black hole that would propel me one CTC minus 60 years, to the very day that I wrote my story.
The CTC was a smashing success. I now sit beside myself, typing my story for all to see. My other self looks baffled and a little saddened. I’m a bit saddened myself: I had to erase the greatest story ever written.
PIMP'S:
In the year 2300 people first started to move to other planets. They each created a their own style of government. The population of earth is small. And most city’s are in ruin. Earth’s government has fallen apart. Now the other planets fight who will get earth. Rebels are still on earth Tring to protect it. But there are way out numbered. And their tech is out of date. You are a warroir sent by the government of mars to take out the leader of the rebels. But in the middle of our hero’s story he finds why the people fight. The planets just want earth so they can turn it in to a weapon to destroy the rest of the planets now will the help of the rebels you must travel to mars and fix this problem. But the journey will be hard filled danger......... when you finally destroy Mars government. Mars get’s attacked and now a another damn thing to do. Plotu’s whole army is here so you must travel to the center of the planet to plant a bomb. When our hero plant’s the bomb
there is not enough time to escape to what dose he do. The noblest thing a man can do destroy the planet and him self. Now earth has gotten back on track in the middle of the capital is a statue of the man who killed him self to save earth our hero kao. and to add 4 square mi's of fields were growen weed and smoke on the day he killed him self
EYESORE'S:
It was a cold autumn morning... ah, such a lucid recollection. In my bed I lay anticipating, like a child readying himself for christmas eve, but sadly only half awake. The night before had been uneventful... it was anticipation which denied my rest. Yes, anticipation of what I sought out to do this day.
After hours of mental struggle, I forced myself out of bed. I scanned the premises, to find that my surroundings went hand in hand with my mission. Three walls and a set of bars. I was imprisoned here, but not for any longer!
Lunch time arrived, and I was released by one of the guards. From my coat I released a machete, which I used to slice through his throat and kill him instantly. Two more guards approached, one from each side. One wielded a gun; no matter. Like the fool that he was, the man threatened to shoot without the intention of actually ending my life. This, of course, would be his hearse. I ripped it from his hands and murdered him and his comrade with it.
Cursing loudly at the obesity of the corpse which I had been dragging, it would have appeared that another guard became knowledgable of my escape. I heard him behind me... how trite. I hacked at him repeatedly with the machete until, long after he had died, it was wedged deep into his shattered spine, and I was incapable of pulling it out. This did not burden me at all, for the gun was still in my possession.
Suddenly, an alarm sounded. "What the fuck," I cursed. "why is it that only NOW they choose to sound that fucking thing?"
In my rage, I had not taken notice of my surroundings, which were now that of conscious life instead of corpses. "You're coming with me!" one of the men said. "Fool!" I replied, as I lifted up the fat atrocity that I had slain earlier and covered myself... he was my human shield, what irony. I would thank him by wishing that he had not died by the hands of another, though it was his corpse which had bred my gratefulness.
His girth absorbed the bullets, as it was meant to, and at the opportune moment, I dashed away and made my escape. That was it... the product of my anticipation.
BDR: 34/40
Pimp: 26/40
Eyesore: 25/40
Amadeus: 23/40
BDR'S:
I had just finished writing the greatest story ever written. A writer knows when they just wrote something magnificent; the world implodes and explodes simultaneously, causing fireworks to combust into a million colors, the residual smoke wafts up setting off fire alarm after fire alarm until your head is full of noise and lights. Your soul leaks into your fingertips and then dances across the keyboard stringing together words and thoughts and magic. Time exists only to tell the story.
Forgive me for the description I gave, for it doesn’t begin to describe the moment I felt when I completed my story. It was beyond description. It was the most profound experience of my lifetime, each word built to the next in a crescendo that would make any orchestra green with envy.
At any rate, I had just finished writing the greatest story ever written. Of course, the hawkgames staff immediately gave me first prize. In fact, the judges had already given me first prize by the second paragraph. By the third paragraph they had fainted from the sheer euphoria of it all. It took them three days to read the full story from all of the fainting. After being pushed for a while, I tried to get a magazine to publish my story. Fearing rejection, I sent my story off to every magazine in the world...
Well, that’s when the trouble began. If only you could comprehend the understatement I just wrote. My story wasn’t rejected: oh, no, far from it. It was accepted. It was accepted by EVERY magazine. In the March issue of every magazine in existence, my story was scheduled to be published. Well, People heard that Newsweek was going to publish it, and Newsweek heard that Mad had it, and Mad heard that Cosmopolitan had it, and Cosmopolitan heard that Time had it, and Time heard that Hunting and Fishing had it... you get the picture. Well, by the end of February, everyone knew that everyone else was going to publish it.
For some reason, magazine editors really hate not having original material. So, every magazine complained to the other magazines that they had the story first. Of course, they had all gotten it at the same time, but that didn’t make a difference to them. Rising anger between the magazine factions grew and grew, until finally it erupted. Thus began the Great Magazine Wars.
In war, no one is the victor. People took sides and before I knew it the world was dying. Newspaper stands were bloodied, convenience stores burnt to the ground, and once great buildings now lay in ashes. I stood on a mountaintop and stared at the desolation. Why? Why did I cause this madness? Was I the only one left? How can I correct this all?
So, I set about the rest of my life to find an answer. My minimalist knowledge of quantum mechanics turned into a vast sea of facts throughout the years. My once proud mane of reddish-brown hair had turned gray. However, I had created something in all of my years of toil: the Black Hole Generating Device, or BHGD. Nobody really knew what happened when you stepped into a black hole. Scientists hypothesized that it was possible to go ahead in time by utilizing a black hole, but it was impossible to go backwards in time. Well, they were right, to a certain degree. What scientists did not know was that time is not a straight line... it’s a circle. By utilizing the BHGD, I would be able to go forward not millions, not billions, not even trillions of years, but something far larger. It was a span of time so great that it had not even been given a name by mathematicians. I called the time a CTC, or complete time cycle. I set the BHGD to generate a black hole that would propel me one CTC minus 60 years, to the very day that I wrote my story.
The CTC was a smashing success. I now sit beside myself, typing my story for all to see. My other self looks baffled and a little saddened. I’m a bit saddened myself: I had to erase the greatest story ever written.
PIMP'S:
In the year 2300 people first started to move to other planets. They each created a their own style of government. The population of earth is small. And most city’s are in ruin. Earth’s government has fallen apart. Now the other planets fight who will get earth. Rebels are still on earth Tring to protect it. But there are way out numbered. And their tech is out of date. You are a warroir sent by the government of mars to take out the leader of the rebels. But in the middle of our hero’s story he finds why the people fight. The planets just want earth so they can turn it in to a weapon to destroy the rest of the planets now will the help of the rebels you must travel to mars and fix this problem. But the journey will be hard filled danger......... when you finally destroy Mars government. Mars get’s attacked and now a another damn thing to do. Plotu’s whole army is here so you must travel to the center of the planet to plant a bomb. When our hero plant’s the bomb
there is not enough time to escape to what dose he do. The noblest thing a man can do destroy the planet and him self. Now earth has gotten back on track in the middle of the capital is a statue of the man who killed him self to save earth our hero kao. and to add 4 square mi's of fields were growen weed and smoke on the day he killed him self
EYESORE'S:
It was a cold autumn morning... ah, such a lucid recollection. In my bed I lay anticipating, like a child readying himself for christmas eve, but sadly only half awake. The night before had been uneventful... it was anticipation which denied my rest. Yes, anticipation of what I sought out to do this day.
After hours of mental struggle, I forced myself out of bed. I scanned the premises, to find that my surroundings went hand in hand with my mission. Three walls and a set of bars. I was imprisoned here, but not for any longer!
Lunch time arrived, and I was released by one of the guards. From my coat I released a machete, which I used to slice through his throat and kill him instantly. Two more guards approached, one from each side. One wielded a gun; no matter. Like the fool that he was, the man threatened to shoot without the intention of actually ending my life. This, of course, would be his hearse. I ripped it from his hands and murdered him and his comrade with it.
Cursing loudly at the obesity of the corpse which I had been dragging, it would have appeared that another guard became knowledgable of my escape. I heard him behind me... how trite. I hacked at him repeatedly with the machete until, long after he had died, it was wedged deep into his shattered spine, and I was incapable of pulling it out. This did not burden me at all, for the gun was still in my possession.
Suddenly, an alarm sounded. "What the fuck," I cursed. "why is it that only NOW they choose to sound that fucking thing?"
In my rage, I had not taken notice of my surroundings, which were now that of conscious life instead of corpses. "You're coming with me!" one of the men said. "Fool!" I replied, as I lifted up the fat atrocity that I had slain earlier and covered myself... he was my human shield, what irony. I would thank him by wishing that he had not died by the hands of another, though it was his corpse which had bred my gratefulness.
His girth absorbed the bullets, as it was meant to, and at the opportune moment, I dashed away and made my escape. That was it... the product of my anticipation.
