Challenge: The story of Hansel and Gretel envisioned as an autobiographical tale.

I sit here looking at the moor,
And waiting angry for the morn,
For three have passed and one return,
Looking forsaken and twice spurn.

Looking at the morning dew,
As the ravens all subdue,
As the breadcrumbs say adieu,
To the kin-forsaken two.

Wandering in Dreamland,
Fell asleep in Dreamland,
Never found in Dreamland,
Never again.

Gathering of flowers,
Showering of flowers,
Dancing under flowers,
Never again.

Fell asleep in Dreamland,
Had a dream in Dreamland.
Gathering in Dreamland,
Never again.

Shades and highlights slushing away,
Gushing pond water under the quarter moon,
Rust off metal, chipping, falling,
Atop a glittering light,
Moving carpet of insects,
Feel this crawling sensation,
See this firefly tasselation.

Silver thread guardian
Of crusty tubes, whirling dirt
Organic styx barricade,
Mindless travellers,
Fair in their unfazed glory.

Dripping, dipping,
Gushing pond water under the quarter moon,
Sewer water under bright lights.
Feel this crawling sensation,
See this firefly tasselation.

Selling seashells by the sea-shore,
On a sailboat by the see-through
Sailing sailor on the sheer boat,
Calling out to people's lives.

And I wonder what a sailor,
On a sailboat by the sea-shore,
By the sheer boat calling out to,
Would want with people's hearts.

And I wonder why a sailboat,
Sailing see-through by the sea-shore,
Sporting sailor, sail, and sea-shell,
Would stand by in solitude.

And the sheer boat calling out to,
The sailor by the sea-shore,
Selling seashells by the scruple,
Stands by in solitude.

And the two boats standing silent,
by the sailor calling out to,
by the fierce winds blowing on to,
They stand by in solitude.

litterlight
shining bright
city stars
gaining sight
whistles play
in the ears of many,
wishing in a fountain with a lucky penny.

winter birds
singing
in dew

Chestnut ashes,
By the fire.
Break your back,
And you'll be higher.

Pretty fires,
Petty flames.
Pick your penny,
And go play your games.

[1984 fanfiction?]

Butterflies, pretty flies,
Nothing special in their eyes,
Lord of the year, go down the drain,
It's common courtesy to be so plain.
Pushing, pulling, little frame of fame.
Smiling, shiny, as long as we all stay the same.
Teeth lightly sparkling in the star's light,
Caught in the middle of a fascist catfight.
Sweat-catching tongue out of deep-grinning lips,
Shiny yellow polka dotted lolly-pops,
Made from cow's milk and other such nonsense.
Charismatic walking sticks in an uncaring world,
Where schools of catfish take refuge in a top secret code.
Universal apologies, mouths open and closed.
Fully clothed barbarians living in a civilized world.
Never mind the people living in 'poverty and shame'
We have to have our catfights, our outlets and canes.
'Cause if we don't have power, we have nothing else to gain.
And if we can't have that, well, then who's to blame?

Challenge: The story is about a construction worker who is mysteriously connected to a rude physicist. It takes place in an intergalactic nation. The critical element of the story is a war.

"Damn!" Bob cursed as he dropped his controller. He'd been playing this new Star Wars game for about five hours, and after planning so many intricate strategies and complex tactics, he was finally beat. Bob was surprised at the game's quality, as these types of commercial products tended to overall royally suck. But this baby had an internet connection, multiplayer features, a messenger, and best of all, it's own personal weapon's shop. Yes, it was stupid, not to mention dull, to waste your money on weapons for a video game. But this was Bob's passion, it was the only thing he was good at, the only light in his day after working a nine hour shift at the factory, testing toy blocks for little brats.

Which was precisely why he just had to call these so called "players" (in reality just some stuck up "colleagues" from work), and request a rematch. There was no way some idiots could just jump in and ruin his near perfect record with their distracting taunting and frighteningly realistic scenarios. So this is why Bob just had to call them and even the score.

So he got out his blue Nokia cellphone, and dialled number five on the speed dial. He didn't use the phone-book because that always reminde him that number five was the only number in his phone that wasn't work, the phone company, or any other place that could threaten to cut off his financial life support on a whim. So Lil' Bobby used speed dial on his phone.

And a squeaky voice answered. A squeaky voice always answers. "Hello?"

"Hi! Is that you, Jake? Good game, though I must say, you really did a number on me, with the way you used those distracting defe-"

"Hello, who is this? Is it you meddling kids? Are you tapping into my phone lines again? Eh?" The increasingly screechy and squeaky voice continued on and on in the same fashion, and got so loud and incomprehensive, that Bob finally had to turn off the phone. He waited for a moment, annoyed that some old crooner had dared to foill his plans, but then quickly calmed down and picked up the phone again. It was only a phone call, after all.

There was a beep. There were a couple of more beeps, but by that time Bob was no longer listening, at least not to the beeps comng from his phone, but instead from the beeps coming from somewhere else. At first he thought that it was his smoke detector going haywire, just like last week, but the building's superintendant had been there just a few days ago. (For a clogged toilet, no less, courtesy of the so called "colleagues".) So that was no cause. Then he contemplated the possibility of finally becoming insane, and found schizophrenia to be a fairly likely possibility, living as he is. But then he listened closer, or perhaps the noise just grew louder, and he looked out the window at his normally relatively dormant street. There were, indeed, beeps coming from beyond the little openings in the wall, even if his windows were closed.

So Bob, being as most Bobs almost always are, naturally came to the inevitable hypothesis that the beeping must be for him. He got dressed, all the while complaining about annoying friends, poor plumbing, expensive bankruptcy, the high cost of penguins, and his world in general. Finally, after a good two hours, the insistent beeping stopped, and instead changed into a defeated beeping, slowly fading away. And so cynical Bob stopped being a cynical Bob, and instead was upgraded to a New and Improved, Enlightened Cynical Bob.

Challenge: The theme of this story: psychological mystery. The main characters: athletic wizard and fear ridden explorer. The start of the story: tradegy. The end of the story: critical injury.

(A wizard accidentally makes himself small and falls into deep anxiety, as well as off his chair, earning him amnesia. He soon needs water, and goes exploring in his home, utilizing the methods of Parkour. We get descriptions of walls an heights, but no actual defining details. Finally, he is attacked by a vicious beast that looks suspiciously like a cockroach, and the readers find out his problem. He is saved by a wave of light hitting the cockroach, and then killed with an acid shower, and a loud booming voice, " I swear, if he doesn't stop doing all these weird experiments...")

23:15
A blond haired individual looked around once, then twice. He blinked, standing a bit unsteadily as the ground he was on tried to give way under his feet. 'Where am I?', he thought, as well as all the usual thoughts associated with disorientation. It was a black barren desert, radiating heat from the ground up. No end in sight. He began walking.

23:35
He was tired. The heat was getting to him and he wanted to lie down. But he feared what might happen. Would he suffocate from the heat? Would he be buried in the gray never ending sand? Would the wind carry him away? Now that he thought about it, there was a strange breeze coming from the east, steadily increasing and disturbing the peaceful landscape. No longer did the sun shine it's brilliant light upon him. He smelled a sand storm coming... So he ran. He ran as if his life depended on it. Which it probably did.

24:35
A dirty-blond haired individual looked around once, then twice. Then he looked up. He blinked, trying to stand as the sky above him darkened, and thunder boomed. He thought he'd be struck by lightning as a variety of projectiles swirled about him, blocking his view. They stopped, and he calmed down. 'Where a-' his thoughts were cut off as a violent earthquake shook him and the objects around him. He heard a loud boom of various tones, that sounded suspiciously like a loud voice, saying "Ay are, if Tah dahs-CRUNCH-

THE PAST

Roaches crawl
bugs are so small
But grass hoppers are tall
fruitflies fall
I once had a flie named Paul
An exterminater I had to call
I wouldn't want to benamed Hole
I expect someone disgusting to have bugs in their soul

THE PRESENT

Requim For A Spider

This spider was a spider,
It was crawling up the wall-
Untill I glued it to the wall.
This spider's not a spider anymore.

THE FUTURE

-unfinished-