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- Aug 22, 2008
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Bahahaha, I've just figured out an awesome idea and I'm going to figure out how can I get on with it. Wish me luck! 
It says it has to be written in the third person. If another person in the story is telling the story, is that still considered third person? Or is that like fourth person?
Nope, because then it wouldn't be third person anymore. A more accurate way to describe third person would be to avoid anything that refers to him-/herself. So I, we, us, our, my, etc. are all forms in which it's being told in first person. So if the character is part of the story, there will be some point at which he will refer to himself, otherwise he's no part of the story, which makes it a first person tale.
If it would've been some sort of flashback to support the general story's setting, it would've been debatable, but I think this is focusing too much on the present to be considered third person. You should PM TWIF about this to check.
Luckily, it's very easy to turn first person stories into third person if it needs to be done. The other way around is a little more annoying as some have experienced in the last contest![]()
It says it has to be written in the third person. If another person in the story is telling the story, is that still considered third person? Or is that like fourth person?
Anyway I have a WiP on the way...
Romulus
It was the eve of Christmas 2209 that I discovered the long lost tale of Captain Romulus Turbine. I was a down-on-my-luck writer out for a night of drinking and procrastinating. When I walked in I sat down, and dropped my notebook on the bar table. The bartender walked over and asked with a whisper,
“The usual?”
“That’d be fine.”
I said. He brought me a beer, and I sat quietly swallowing away my inhibitions and worries. I was on my second beer when a woman walked in, hair like golden silk, breasts like ripe melons, eyes glittering gleefully… And the short-mini skirt. “What chance would I have?” I thought to myself, “Probably none.” I was persuaded to continue my path to slow suicide, drinking was my only skill set. I sat there for at least an hour, before this strange old man came walking in. He sat down to my left on one of the bar stools, and got a pint of brandy. While he was sitting there guzzling down that pint, I was scribbling in my notebook, ideas for my next novel. I was deep in a constructive process. I thought to myself
“This is it, the next big thing!” When suddenly he nudged me and asked,
“What are ye’ writing there son?” I grunted back,
“Like it’s any of your business.” He pulled away quickly and continued gulping down his brandy.
“I’m sorry… I’m drunk, I think…” I said,
“…I’m just scribbling down ideas…”
We sat there for a while, quiet, and drunk witlessly, weeping the night away. It was about fifteen minutes later when he nudged me again and asked,
“Did ye’ ever hear the tale of Captain Romulus Turbine?”
I said no and he grabbed a hold of my shirt and pulled me close, I thought he was starting a bar-room brawl, but the worst he did was breath in my face.
“Well, son, take a seat,” he said.
“I’m already sitting,” I said
“Oh, right…”
“…That ye’ are…”
“Well, grab hold of yo’r britches this is a long adventurous story, with turns and twists…”
“ With all the…Nooks, and uh… Oh yes, crannies.”
That would be first person narrative, sorry =/
You just created an account and this is your very first post on this entire site, and think anybody here can rely on you to be a fair judge?
Yea, I don't think so...
Final Entry - In a Fair World
IN A FAIR WORLD
And, as it so happens, this is my 2,000th post. It was a pleasure writing this, and I hope others can enjoy it as I have.
INTRODUCTION
In a fair world, Fred would be the one making the decisions in upper-management; mistakes would be treated loosely and forgiveness would be dealt out more commonly than pink slips. But in this world, Fred had a smoking habit that seemed to worsen with each passing day. Fixing commercial-class engines was hard work, especially with the added pressure of having expensive cargo transports depending on their running smoothly.
It was a typical Saturday in open space; Fred had gotten a little careless and dropped a cigarette into a small pool of ship fuel during his rotation. The fire scorched a sub-unit of a commercial-class engine, and rendered it useless and beyond repair. After the panic of the crew had subsided and the fire had been doused, Fred was summoned to the overseer’s office.
“Just give me another chance to make it up to you,” Fred pleaded. Craig, the dark-skinned overseer of the repair bay, considered nothing of the sort.
“You’ve had more chances than most get. I’ll give you until tomorrow afternoon to be packed and ready for transport.”
“Don’t do this, Craig! It’ll be years before I can get a gig like this again. Listen to me, I’m begging you, I’ve lived and worked with you on the Terra Platform for three years now—“
“—this isn’t up for discussion; especially not with a man who can’t be bothered to buy a goddamned nicotine patch, for god’s sake!” Fred had heard this all before, but the last time he had an argument about his smoking habit Craig had threatened to flush him out an airlock, so he decided to let it be.
“I wish we had ended this differently, because I know I’m the best damn repairman you’ve got and you’re going to need me if you expect to get these engines out in time for the next cargo haul.”
“The best, yeah, of course,” Craig laughed.
“When your uncle recommended you like a prime rib at a steakhouse, I was interested because I thought you had potential. It took… it took about a year after the accident before I realized what would become of you.
“Truthfully, I wish I would’ve ended this sooner.”
The discussion hadn’t gone in Fred’s favor. It seemed odd having to return to Terra, maybe it was the connections he had made with some of the crew aboard the platform, or how he could maneuver around the bay blind-folded if he had to, or that he knew if he left now, he would be leaving behind a part of his life that he could never get back.
ACT 1 - PART 1
As if losing his job wasn’t enough, after the engagement was over all of the vendors aboard the Terra Platform were given strict instructions not to sell nicotine-based products to the low-and-behold Fred Kirby. While walking the green mile back to his quarters, Fred remembered his life on Terra, what he had learned, and why he had left.
About the time Fred started working on the platform it became apparent to him he hadn’t any family left; he was an only child when his parents had died in the Terra confederacy. He had spent most of his life living and working with his uncle. When he was old enough, his uncle hired him to begin working in his citizen-class ship bay, adjusting fuel lines and bolting down metallic plates until he could be trusted outfitting engines. Eventually, Fred had outdone his uncle. Much like a blacksmith’s apprentice must make his masterpiece before exceeding in rank; the lowly-repairman had begun refitting engines with the precision and speed of an entire crew.
Things were going smoothly and his work had become his one-and-only passion. His uncle had taught him everything he knew, and from his example he had become a master of his art. His uncle was proud, and sent him on a pilgrimage to the Terra Platform when he was nineteen. They gladly hired him after watching him repair a civilian-class engine faster than their overseer did when he worked the line.
After a year had passed he felt truly comfortable in his new home. He had a sense of belonging, and the pressure did him some good. He was fit from lifting engine parts for examination and repair every day.
But everything changed when his uncle died. It was from there that things had begun to go downhill. He embraced living above Terra, though; he felt above all of his problems, above all of those who he loved and cared for. He felt like a ghost, present and unseen; from then on, he liked the idea of being an unknown entity.
After awhile being away from it all wasn’t enough. He thought of life as useless, meaningless, even, and took up smoking as a result. He liked the taste, the smell, and the way others looked at him when he used. He felt intimidating, worthless, and wasted, someone others would deter from being with. He didn’t want to make any connections he wouldn’t be able to keep; he’d made that mistake too many times before.
ACT 1 - PART 2
Fred threw his clothes into his workbag like bin-boys sift through trash, and then squished his bag down so everything would fit. He was packed and ready to leave, to head back to what he once-called ‘home’.
He dreaded walking to Shipping and Stationing. It was a trek he hadn’t made since he got there three years ago. Once he got there he packed his things aboard the commuter transport and swung around to the cockpit. The driver was a drunkard pilgrim with red hair and beard. He paid little attention to Fred when he passed by the cockpit.
“I’m Fred.”
“Lose your job, Fred?”
Fred paused. This driver was blunt, and he hadn’t given the commuter business any information as to why he was leaving the platform.
“…yes,” he replied, hesitantly.
“I bet you fucked up real good and proper to get kicked out of here,” the driver laughed, adjusting the crotch of his pants. Fred angrily climbed into his seat, which was cramped and uncomfortable. There were four chairs in the back, but he decided to take the co-pilot seat for a proper view.
“Do you like your job?”
“Can’t say that I do,” the driver replied. He was flicking switches and pulling levers all over his control panel, it looked so alien to Fred.
“I don’t understand the first thing about flying, but I’ve fixed commuter engines all my life—a thousand-fucking-times-over.”
“Well, I’m sure your poppy’s proud.”
The trip wasn’t short, but there was little dialog between the mechanic and pilot. They landed without conflict, and the pilot reminded Fred to ‘take his shit out of the back’ as he left.
Terra wasn’t as green or inviting as the name would suggest. The entire planet was covered in massive construction bays and industrial cities. Fred grew up here, and he knew the area well.
“Eh, Highlander, got any cigs on you?” asked Fred.
“Believe it or not I’m out of favors for your sorry arse. Now get the hell off my ship!”
Fred walked the streets of Terra for sometime before he reached his old home where he lived with his uncle. It was a small, humble shanty—even smaller now that it was dwarfed by nearby looming skyscrapers and military-class construction bays. It seemed another family had moved in during him and his uncle’s absence. It reminded him of something his uncle had once said a long time ago, when they tried to kick them out of their home.
I built this house with my hands, and my time, and my blood! I’ll be damned if I’m going to let the ‘people’s government’ get their hands on it!
It took him half a decade in court to get them off his back, something about tax codes and regulations. Not really anything Fred had much knowledge of. In fact, the more he thought about what he knew, the more he realized how little he actually did know.
Fred continued down the street that lay out in front of him for quite some time after stopping at his old place. He kept thinking about his life on Terra prior to the platform. He remembered a pink-lipped girl named Sammie, who never even gave him so much as a handy after two months of expensive dating and needless complimenting. After a few more regretful thoughts about relationships and schooling, he tried to remember his parents, but he found it difficult. He didn’t remember their faces, and they didn’t keep any photographs around for fear of the government ‘seeding them out’. All he remembered about them was their voices, when they told him not to worry, and that they loved him more and more after each passing day. There was irony in his memory of them however; the more they loved him the less he remembered them at all.
ACT 2 - PART 1
Vladimir wasn’t a man that anybody wanted to fuck with, but he was a man that would fuck with just about anybody. At one point in his adolescence, he got in a fight with a bully at school. Before it was all-said-and-done, he had bitten off the bully’s finger, and had chewed it into a bloody pulp.
Twenty-odd years after that case of petty-crime and playground cannibalism, he had become an irreplaceable asset of the Terra Confederacy; his job was to deal with unwanted people, mostly government agents and reporters. He specialized in making people ‘disappear’, and his methods were completely unknown to everyone but him. That’s why most people inside the Confederacy called him Vlad the Magician.
At the time of Fred’s arrival on Terra, Vlad was following orders to pursue and dispose of several possible undercover government agents as well as any notable members of either the government or pro-government citizenry. Surprisingly, Vlad was more than compliant to follow orders given to him by Confederate leaders; in fact, he quite liked being a part of the Confederacy. They considered themselves anarchists, people who wanted to make life hard for those who complied with the government and those who followed their lead—everything about them inspired Vlad to channel his deadly energies and keep focused his otherwise unstable mind.
While maneuvering the streets in search of his targets, he was bumped into by a man in a long suit-jacket. He recognized the man—he was a writer for a government-owned newspaper called ‘The Daily Judgment’. Vlad quickly headed into a nearby alleyway so as not to be seen.
Vlad had been following the reporter for several blocks, always letting him have about a hundred-yards leeway, before he found himself in a position to strike. The reporter was about to pass by an abandoned residence, and the only would-be witness was faced away from both him and his would-be victim.
He emerged from the shadows behind the reporter, and fastened his pace to reduce the distance between him and his target, making little noise while doing so. He had spent years learning to control his heart-rate and had built up a good-amount of endurance as to not run out of breath too easily, thus giving away his position.
When he was about twenty-yards away, he darted behind the abandoned house the reporter had passed not-too-long-ago, and emerged on the other side ready to kill. The reporter was caught off-guard, and by the time he noticed the man leaping after him his fate had already been sealed.
ACT 2 - PART 2
The reporter awoke to find himself tied to a chair with a gag in his mouth. He panicked, shaking violently in place, trying to free himself.
“Stop it,” said Vlad. He had noticed him struggling and had begun maneuvering toward him from behind. The reporter had tried to scream but his voice was so muffled only quiet whimpering emerged from his lips.
“I don’t like to have to repeat myself. So I’ll just let you know that if you keep trying to scream I’ll pull out one of your eyes and dangle it in front of you.”
The reporter immediately silenced himself, and closed his eyes tightly at the thought of them being plucked out of his skull.
“Good.
“Now, I’m going to take this gag off you. Do I have your word you won’t scream for help when I do?”
The reporter nodded and opened his weeping eyes so he could look at his captor. Vladimir had an ‘X’-shaped scar on his forehead, and his left ear was badly malformed.
“What do you want from me?” the reporter asked.
“Oh no… it’s not about me. It’s about the government.”
“What? You work for the government?”
“Do I look like a fascist to you, you ignorant fuck!” Vlad yelled, striking the reporter across the face with the back of his hand.
The reporter coughed-up blood and he began to bobble his head.
“Look at me. Look at me!” Vlad yelled, grabbing the reporter’s head in his hands.
“Remember what I said about repeating myself?” Vlad pushed the reporter’s head back towards the chair and reached for his pants pocket, pulling out a carpenter’s knife.
“No, please!” The reporter pleaded, once again shutting his eyes tightly as though his lids would stop steel from parting his eyes from his head.
“Please?” Vlad laughed.
“Are you begging me now? Good. It’s nice to know that I have your attention.
“There’s a man by the name of Anders Manchester, you’re going to write an article about how he’s exploiting the lower-class, and you’re going to accuse him of the murder of Joanne Elise.”
Elise was a city-council member, who had secret connections to the Confederacy, but that many people idolized. She had a large amount of support among the lower class, and her loss was devastating both to the poor people of Terra and the Confederacy.
“Wait… you’re going to let me go?”
“Would you rather I pluck your eyes out first?” Vlad smiled. Rarely did he let his subjects go, but when he did he found he enjoyed breaking them down to see their true nature. The reporter said nothing but kept his eyes shut tight.
“Now I’m going to untie you. If I found out you told anybody about what happened here, I’m going to find you and rip out your right eye. Then I’m going to make you listen as I chew it, slowly. Then, I’m going to spit whatever’s left of it all over whatever nice new outfit it is you’re wearing that day.
“Oh, and you might want to change your pants before you start writing. If you’re anything like the other reporters I’ve dealt with, I’d bet a dollar you’re carrying a diaper’s load of shit in your pants right now.”
ACT 2 – PART 3
Vlad sat in a Confederate safe house; he was engaged in conversation with one of the Confederacy’s leaders, Jacobs.
“I suppose you’ve heard of the Kirby incident,” assumed Jacobs.
“It’s one of the reasons I joined,” explained Vlad.
“So I’ve heard. When they were killed amidst rioting in the People’s Square, the Confederacy really took off. They became the face of our movement that we so desperately needed.”
“Those were truly deplorable times,” Vlad felt it was a good idea to sympathize with victims of the early-days of the Confederacy. Truth was, he only knew of the incident because it was around that time that the movement became violent, and that violence was what truly brought him to the Confederacy’s doorstep.
“Well, as crucial as their death was to our cause, we may have something much, much bigger on our hands.
“Their only son, Fred Kirby, arrived on Terra yesterday morning.
“Problem is he was raised by his seemingly pro-government uncle—“
“—real issue here is me not knowing why you’re briefing me on the job of a fucking fence,” Vlad interrupted.
“You’re not recruiting him, magic-man. I need someone who can follow him without being seen, someone who can find out whether or not we can trust him. He checked into Hotel Fahreed last night, chances are you can find him there.
“He’s a smoker and he’s out of a job on the Platform, chances are he’s looking for money and drugs. Persuade him to talk to you if you can. I’ve seen you in action; I know you can break a man down to his very core. That’s why I keep you around—that’s why I’m calling on you now.”
You don’t understand, Jacobs. Vlad thought to himself. You need me a hell of a lot more than I need you.
ACT 3 – PART 1
Fred was sitting at the bar of the Fahreed Hotel, pondering where he should start as far as interviewing for a new job. He thought of the government ship-bays where his uncle used to work, or maybe he’d apply for the military-class ship bay on the Platform. Either way, he knew he’d have to get back into repairing engines; it was all he knew, all he was any good at.
“Can I have something… strong?” Fred asked the bartender.
“Well, this is a bar,” replied the bartender.
“I want something different, though
“I want something that will make me think everything’s great, like nothing’s wrong.”
“Ah, I think I know what you’re getting at. Hold on,” the bartender went into the back of the bar and disappeared from view for a few minutes. At one point Fred thought of getting up and leaving, but then caught a glimpse of the bartender preparing his drink. He had poured some juice into a flask, added some olives that disintegrated within seconds, and began pouring in a mixture of strong bottled drinks that he couldn’t recognize. The bartender frequently passed in-and-out of view, grabbing different ingredients from shelves and burrows all around the bar. Finally he returned to Fred with his concoction.
“Here you are, my specialty,” the bartender handed Fred his drink. It was the color of the ocean, and something about that relaxed him.
“Thank you,” Fred reached for his wallet, but was interrupted by the bartender.
“—no, it’s on the house, my friend.”
“Oh, thanks again,” Fred motioned away from his wallet and gave the bartender a thumbs-up. Then he wrapped both hands around the flask—as if it had no handle—and lifted it to his lips. As he tasted it, he became transfixed. It tasted of all the fruits of the earth, and the more he drank the less he cared about the events that had scarred him in his life. His discussion with Craig had become a joke, his uncle’s death had faded from memory and he felt like a new man. With every passing moment, he remembered more of the good, and less of the bad.
“This is incredible,” remarked Fred.
“Yeah, I get that a lot. Just between you and me, what really does it is the Blue Extract.”
“Blue Extract, huh? Sure beats the hell out of tobacco.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” the bartender laughed and wiped his brow with a towel. He had thick eyebrows and wrinkled features. His thick black moustache mirrored his thick head of hair; he looked like he had had some time to figure out what he was doing behind the bar.
“Do you—“
“—no, I quit four years ago,” interrupted the bartender.
“Oh. Good for you.”
“Yeah, thanks,” the bartender laughed.
“So, what’s your name, anyway?” asked Fred.
“My name’s Clyde, what’s yours?” the bartender was now cleaning a flask with the same towel that he had used to clean his brow.
“Fred, my name’s Fred.”
“Glad to hear it. Listen, if you want to quit, you should get in contact with my supplier, her name’s Sammie, she’s big into the Blue Extract business. Just tell her Clyde sent you, she’ll know what to do.”
“Where can I find her?”
“She works out of home, about three blocks from here in a red condominium, you can’t miss it.”
ACT 3 – PART 2
“Wow, I really didn’t think it’d be you,” said Fred as he walked into the condominium.
“Yeah, I know, right? Long time, no see,” answered Sammie. They had dated before in high school, but there had never really been too much between them. She was a cute blond and was a talented dancer back-in-the-day.
“So, you’re here for the Blue Extract, right?”
“Yeah, just so happens that Clyde sent me.”
“Oh my peach-muffin is always sending me customers.
“Oops, don’t tell him I said that. You see… he doesn’t like people to know we’re together, he says it’s bad for business,” Sammie held her hands in front of her like a shy schoolgirl, which turned Fred on completely—but alas, she was taken.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Fred hated himself for saying that. It was something he wanted to take back right after the words had been vomited from his mouth like bad spaghetti. He hated cheesy catch-phrases.
“Right… so, I’ll go get it for you. Do you want to smoke it, inject it, or digest it?”
“I’d like to smoke it, thank you.”
Sammie had brought him a large bag of Blue Extract, which looked like small blue flower-pedals smashed into a bag. She had warned him about smell of it, which could cause you to give you a dangerous unfiltered high if it was snorted in too large of a dose. Then she explained that she’d only take payment in cash, regrettably Fred didn’t have enough cash on hand, but Sammie said she knew he was good for it.
Fred hid the extract underneath his clothes, but found it was impossible to mask the smell of sweet-roses drifting from the bag. It was captivating, really. The more he smelled it the more at-peace he felt, so much so that he barely knew he was walking at all. Then, Fred looked down at the pavement below him, and saw that there was Blue Extract pouring out of his now split-open bag.
“Hey, you, stop right there!” said an approaching policeman.
“Don’t you fucking move!” screamed his partner.
Clyde emerged from the hotel to see what all the noise was about, only to see his referred partner-in-crime being surrounded by policemen.
ACT 3 – PART 4
Vlad emerged from the Fahreed Hotel with his carpenter’s knife in hand. Vlad immediately leapt toward Clyde like a tiger pouncing after its prey.
“What the fuck—“
Clyde was interrupted by a knife in the eye, and he emitted a terrifyingly-loud scream. Vlad tried to cleanly pry the knife from Clyde’s eye socket but mistakenly took the entire eye with it, and was forced to begin stabbing the his stomach with what now looked much like a sharp eye-ball kebab. After slaying the would-be witness, Vlad delved into the darkness of a nearby alley.
“Lord have mercy,” muttered Fred.
Suddenly Vlad emerged from an alley behind the officers and leapt toward them. He had the same blood-covered knife in hand, and half of Clyde’s eye remained dangling from the blade. One of the guards immediately fired at Vlad and narrowly missed. Before he could get another shot off, however, he had sliced through his throat with his trophy-knife. The guard fell to the floor clinching his bleeding windpipe and kicking at the pavement in a desperate manner. The other guard, shaken from his partner’s death, anxiously reached for his side-arm. Vlad quickly sliced at the back of the guard’s neck three times in rapid-succession, causing the officer’s head to lean and dangle forward before finally snapping off and hitting the floor as his body followed suit.
Fred began to run, pouring a trail of Blue Extract in his wake.
“You won’t be too hard to find, Fred!” Vlad yelled after him, smiling.
“Your bad habits are going to catch up with you!”
FINAL ACT
Fred had run in least three blocks down when he heard Sammie’s screams. He couldn’t turn back now, though, he had to get out there.
Vlad leapt in front of Fred, unarmed, and smiled at him. Fred immediately turned around and ran through a nearby alleyway, leaping over boxes and even climbing over a chain-link fence before emerging on the other side, assumingly safe from harm. Fred stopped to catch his breath, and saw no sign of his would-be killer.
“Don’t move,” Vlad held a knife to Fred’s throat, and his head was so close he could feel the spittle spew from Vlad’s lips as he spoke.
“Make it quick,” Fred’s entire body tensed up, tear began to form in his eyes and he felt a primal rage brewing inside of himself.
“Easy enough,” Vlad moved the blood-soaked blade from Fred’s throat, securing it safely in his pocket.
“Oh, and don’t thank me now,” Vlad said.
“But I just saved your life.”
“Oh yeah, how’s that?” before Vlad could reply Fred had landed a haymaker to his face, which dropped him to the floor without a moment’s hesitation.
“Fuck!” Vlad spat blood on the ground as he got up. Fred began to run once more, only now knowing he had a head start. He quickly headed into a nearby alley, found a door and then burst into it like a burning man through a skyscraper window. He found himself in a busy pizzeria, and as he ran through the building the kitchen staff cleared in front of him in fear. Once he had exited from the restaurant, he found himself on a busy street. To his left he could saw a Shipping and Stationing building, and immediately began running toward it.
Fred reached the Shipping and Stationing building, but it was locked. They were apparently closed.
“Fuck me!” Fred grabbed his head in his hands in frustration. Then, he looked around for something that could break through glass. He found a sizable rock and picked it up in both hands, and then tossed it into the ‘S&S’ window, shattering it.
“Stop running, shithead!” Fred heard Vlad yell from behind him.
“Shit!” Fred yelled as he climbed through the broken glass window.
The lights in the building immediately turned on as he climbed inside. There was a single ship here—the same type of ship that brought him to Terra from the platform.
“Okay… okay… now I got to fly the fuck out of here.”
Fred tried to remember everything he could from his trip with the pilot, but all he could think of was what an asshole he was.
“Shit, think!” Fred was in the cockpit now, trying to decide what to do, and how to do it.
“Alright, I think I turn this…” Fred turned a knob that had a different speed acronym on each spoke: ‘KM/SS/LS/FTL’.
“Good! You’re getting there buddy, come on, hang in there!” Fred had turned the knob to KM, the lowest speed setting, and then thought of what to do next.
“What the fuck are you doing in that commuter? What do you think you’re going to do, fly away?” Vlad had climbed through the windows moments before, and was now covered in blood streaming from his now-broken nose.
“Fuck!” Fred tried frantically to get the ship to start, but even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to land it.
“Get out of the cockpit. Now” Vlad stabbed his dagger through the glass windshield, leaving cracks and splinters where Fred would have seen the stars pass him by.
“Okay. You know what, you win,” Fred got out of the cockpit with his hands behind his head.
“Good. Now stay the fuck there.” Vlad went around to the back of the commuter. He saw that the engine wasn’t operational; it had several missing components and a leaking fuel line.
“The engine’s busted. That’s why you didn’t make your getaway, kid,” Vlad was furious, but a little relieved to have caught up with his target.
“I can fix it. I can fix the engine,” Fred walked to the back of the commuter and inspected the parts as Vlad watched.
“Good. Fix it so we can fly out of here. Together,” Vlad smiled. It still hadn’t occurred to him that Fred had no idea who he was or what his intentions were.
Fred worked silently, fixing the engine and using spare parts from around the garage and industrial-strength tape for the fuel line. After about ten minutes time, the ship was operational.
“Get in the passenger seat. I’ll fly, not that I’ll be able to see a fucking thing—but that doesn’t matter, really, I know the way to where we’re going,” Vlad sat down in the driver’s seat.
Fred hesitated, and looked down at the engine. It was ready and fully operational.
This is my only chance, Fred thought to himself. This is it, this is all I’ve got.
Fred removed the Stabilizing Unit from the engine, and walked to the passenger seat.
“Good. Sit down,” Vlad commanded. Fred sat down and buckled himself in, his eyes shut tight, and tears coming to his eyes.
“You remind me of somebody,” Vlad laughed. Fred knew what was going to happen. But in his heart he felt it was better than being stabbed to death.
“Take us up,” Fred said, looking out his passenger window at the brightly-lit garage he had just worked in.
“You don’t need to be worried, Fred, I’m with the Confederacy. Which, I was trying to tell you before you broke my fucking nose.”
“Why should I give a damn who you work for? You just killed an innocent man and two policemen!” Fred looked at Vlad furiously.
“He should’ve known better than to get in a man’s way.” Fred was stunned. He was flying with a hired-killer and a sociopath.
“My job is to bring you to Confederate high-command. From then on you will be taking orders from Jacobs. I’m just a lowly henchman, if you can believe that.“
“Oh, that actually sounds like a lot of fun. It’s too bad you’re going to be dead when we get there.” Fred smashed Vlad’s head against the command console, splattering the windshield with his blood. Vlad slowly recovered, then fell back, unconscious. As the ship quickly descended toward the city below, Fred leaped out of the passenger-side of the commuter and landed hard on a high rooftop.
The ship exploded, blowing up an entire building and sending several on-lookers running out onto the streets, destined to burn to death.
Fred lay nearly motionless, croaking on a solid concrete roof. He had fallen nearly twenty feet onto his back, and he’d never felt better.
"Adrenaline... I think I might've found my new addiction," Fred rolled over onto his back and gazed up into the stars. Much as they were
the only orbs lighting up the night-time sky, the ignited men running amok in the streets were, in essence, their own and only lights in which
to see. Fred pondered whether or not he'd ever work on the platform again, and as he saw it loom into view in orbit, he could almost feel
his comeback. He'd go back, work harder than ever, and not have any need for drugs. Because now, he didn't care much about anything.
Not even himself.
Agreed was a good read only a few points though:
"Fixing commercial-class engines was hard work, especially with the added pressure of having expensive cargo transports depending on their running smoothly"
This sentance doesnt make sense after the comma. Just reads really oddly.
Also i have a concern about the exact genre of this story due to the fact that a steretypical "SPACE OPERA" is on a "LARGE SCALE" and can or usually includes "Distant romance"
I love the ending xP "Adrenaline the new drug addiction"
I purposefully made it a run-on sentence so it'd flow more quickly, and get the reader on with the story. Also it's not really that important. But, I see your point.
Key word: Stereotypical.
Nah, I had the same concern truthfully. I decided to have small aspects of space travel just for more interesting story-telling, but the story could've been made in modern day--which I guess is one of the better things about it.
Thanks, I wish I could've made the story longer, but, alas, it could've been dragged out for another 30 pages for backstory. I originally had it setup where Fred was arrested by the police inside the safe house, like they raided it and found him covered in blood and in possession of Blue Extract. But, I decided the action would be better suited to end in a chase scene than another interrogation scene, as I already had one of those.
Well, why have it any longer than it needs to be? And so far I'm the only one who's submitted, and I know I'm probably going to get docked for not having blue and purple space orcs running amok on Terra, but I don't really care too much for alien species--especially not biped aliens who have the ability to speak english.
@Avator, I told you TWIF would go MIA, I haven't seen him yet. Also the contest host can't submit, it's against the rules.
Yeah, I agree 100%, I tried not to make my story to cliche. You can't really get a good story out of Space Opera, it needs some tweaking, and most people didn't submit exactly as it is supposed to be in the rules.
Only two entries? Then I'll enter and write the shortest shortstory you have ever seen and get third place without competition! Muahahahahaha >
Shortstory WIP:
Hi.
One thing may i ask when posting your wip please post it as a hidden tag part of a post or as a Plain text.
For the people who do not have Word :L Ty
i = I
will = would
stonneash = no judge material
I thought 3 people without skill being turned down would be enough to understand the formula of how someone can qualify to even ask for a judge position...