June Challenge

Greetings fellow syndicators! This week's challenge is aimed at foreshadowing.

Your challenge, should you choose to except it, is to write a piece (600 words or less) that contains your best attempt at foreshadowing. The end action should be silently indicated, suggested, or warned of throughout the work, which adds to the impact of what is about to happen. 

I can't wait to see the ways you work it into your writing. Till next week!

Signing off, Johny A. Crow

May Challenge #2

Hey guys!

I hope this next challenge is helpful for you. 

Outline the first act of your story, keep it simple, and 500 words max.

The first act should have four points:

The Hook

“What Is It? Your story begins with the hook. This is your first opportunity for catching your readers’ attention and convincing them to read on. The Hook will always be a question (perhaps explicit, but probably implicit), piquing your readers’ curiosity and urging them to find out, “What happens next?”

“Where Does It Belong? The Hook must show up in your first chapter, preferably on the first page, and even more preferably in the first line.”

Excerpt From: K.M. Weiland. “5 Secrets of Story Structure.” iBooks.

The inciting incident

“What Is It? The Inciting Event is the turning point in the First Act when your character first brushes the story’s main conflict. To identify your Inciting Event, ask yourself, “What event starts the ball rolling in my story’s plot? Where does the conflict begin? What sets the story’s action in motion?”

Where Does It Belong? The Inciting Event is the turning point halfway through the First Act (one of the secret pieces of story structure!). This timing allows for the story’s Normal World to be properly established. Don’t confuse the Inciting Event with the Hook. The Hook will be the first in the line of causal dominoes, bumping one scene into “What Is It? If the Inciting Event is where your protagonist first encounters the main conflict, the Key Event is what irrevocably engages your protagonist with that conflict. Even if you have a great big Inciting Event (like, say, the beginning of a war), it can’t affect your character until the Key Event drags him into the mess (as would happen if he were drafted into the Army).

The key event

“What Is It? If the Inciting Event is where your protagonist first encounters the main conflict, the Key Event is what irrevocably engages your protagonist with that conflict. Even if you have a great big Inciting Event (like, say, the beginning of a war), it can’t affect your character until the Key Event drags him into the mess (as would happen if he were drafted into the Army).

Where Does It Belong? The Key Event occurs toward the end of the First Act. Often, it will be so closely linked to the following First Plot Point as to be almost inextricable. Other times, the Key Event and the First Plot Point will be two distinct moments. More on the Key Event in Chapter 3.

Excerpt From: K.M. Weiland. “5 Secrets of Story Structure.” iBooks.

The first plot point

“What Is It? The First Plot Point marks the end of the First Act and the beginning of the Second. This is where everything changes for your character. Up to now, the First Act has mostly concerned itself with setting up your character’s Normal World and introducing the supporting characters, the settings, and, most importantly, the stakes. But now, the First Plot Point rocks that Normal World. Everything changes, and your protagonist will be forced to start reacting to the new status quo.

Where Does It Belong? The First Plot Point will occur roundabout the 25% mark in your book. This placement doesn’t have to be absolutely precise, since a book is long enough to allow a less than exact structural timeline. But aim to have your major plot points dividing your book into rough quarters.”

Excerpt From: K.M. Weiland. “5 Secrets of Story Structure.” iBooks.

The Hook

The reader won't want to leave. When they see the comrades in the shabby frigate they won't want to go back to the dull world. They'll hear the jokes of sailors. They'll see the starlit night outside the porthole, stretched above the city these men love more than themselves. The ambiance that surrounds this place has a magical quality, one which you can't experience in the world outside.

While sitting in that Danish defence frigate, the reader will notice the ironmonger, the fisherman, the contract soldier, the umbrella maker from Paris, and they won't want to leave them. They've already become like friends to these people.

The Inciting Incident

When the first cannon fires, that is when the story has started. Diplomats stare out of palaces at the watery battlefield they caused. War is on. Every soldier screams valiantly for fatherland and patriotism. Britain has mustered a mightier fleet than that of the poor Danish Navy. The old ships destined for the junkyard were hastily restored for this purpose, and now the day of battle has begun in a sudden early-morning moment. Two worlds of action and suspense unfold; one of war and soldiers, the other of governments and diplomacy.

The Key Event

The key event is when Fritjof leaps off the vessel, when his feet crash into the smokey harbor, when the icy waters nip at his skin, when everything is shrouded in gun smoke, when he realizes the magnitude of his decision, when he unconsciously tips the first domino, and when nothing but battle cries and bullets can be heard.

The real battle began in the heart and mind of that one man.

The First Plot Point

In my story, I had a hard time discerning the first plot point from the key event. It's probably since they're closely linked. The key event is when Fritjof decides to stop the war, and the first plot point is when he does so. 

Fritjof knows that the Danebrog is the flagship, meaning she is the one to hoist the white flag should the Danish commander choose to do so. What he didn't account for was where the flagship was. His vantage point gives him no indication as to its whereabouts. Also, he can't tell an English ship from a Danish one. Nevertheless, he doggedly persists in his mission 

Signing off, Johny A. Crow.             

Excerpt from Peace Unattainable.

May Challenge #1

Your mission, if you chose to except it, is to:

Write a short scene (500 words max) set in a place that will be in the story. It doesn’t really matter what character(s) are in the scene, but they of course will affect what is noticed and described.

So chose a location that will be featured in the story, and bring a character there to get us acquainted with it. Try to use as many of the 5 senses as you can, and as much as possible show and don’t tell. Don’t say straight out that you’re in a market in ancient Rome, give your readers a description that will lead them to that conclusion.

     The morning air was a little more chilly than I and the residents of Vicksburg were used to, with it being summer and all, and the sunlight was nearly parallel with the ground, casting long shadows everywhere and coating the little city in a soft, warm, orangish yellow glow. I would even go so far as to say that it was beautiful, that is, if I used words like beautiful, which I don’t. It did however, cause me to catch my breath. It was an odd feeling, with the air and breeze battling to steal my body heat, while the sun fought back and tried to replenish what was lost, giving me the sensation of being both cold and hot at the exact same time, and my nerves just couldn’t decide which it was, hot or cold.

However, that wasn’t the only odd feeling I had that morning. Although I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, something just didn't feel right. Despite my uneasy feelings, everything looked normal, peaceful even. The bottom of the sun was now slightly above the horizon, framed perfectly by the buildings that ran up and down main street. And the clouds, oh man, the clouds! The were so brilliantly lit, the edges sparkling with bright colors of pink and orange and yellow. They all looked like sheep who had missed their sheering for the hundredth time, and then fell into buckets of brightly colored paint, and then lost their heads and legs, leaving behind a soft, pillowy mass that just caught and held your attention, sort of like this very odd and slightly deranged and creepy simile did just now. 

But as much as I would have loved to stay and stare at the headless legless sheep way up there in the sky, I was late for my morning cup of coffee at the cafe. I loved to sit and chat with all the old men who had so many interesting stories, some of which got told multiple times in the same sitting, but nobody cared because they where great stories, and everyone had forgotten that the story had been told just a few seconds after the laughter subsided, including the the man who told it. It was great fun. That was when I realized what was wrong. On any given morning at this time, the sounds of laughter, and coughing and wheezing from the attempt of laughter, could be heard coming from the cafe. But not today. I hurried quickly to the faded and chipped blue door of that wonderful old place, expecting to find it locked, and maybe to see a closed sign, but instead, it was slightly ajar, and there were no lights on in the place. There were several paint peelings on the ground outside the door, and all the curtains were drawn shut. There was no movement coming from the other side. I gently and slowly opened the door, but it had only made it a few inches when it bumped into something, something squishy. Something that if I pushed hard enough I could probably move, but I was afraid to. I sucked in my stomach and squeezed through the door, blue paint chips fluttering to the ground as I wiggled my way inside to take a look.

-Gaal Warbeck

      As much as Domnius loved the weekly meetings, with every bench filled with people and their songs of praise echoing off the stone walls, this was his favorite time to come.

       Morning light streamed through the arched windows, open to the cool breeze that brought along the scent of the sea, and flowering cherry trees. Here in the quiet sanctuary he could talk to his God and be completely alone with his Creator.  Somehow the small, unassuming structure could feel spacious, yet intimate at the same time. This place of worship was so different from the colonnaded temples of the empire’s numerous gods and goddesses. Domnius looked up at the vaulted ceiling, and his eyes traveled down to the cross carved in granite wall facing the door. There was no grand statues, no places to burn incense. God wasn’t pleased with meager attempts at trying to impress Him, He wanted peoples’ hearts, because He had done everything to bring them to Himself. If only they would see…

       His head fell into his hands as he prayed for the people in the city. They told themselves they were serving deities from the heavens, but they were really only serving themselves. Please, Lord above, open their eyes and help them see Your truth! What You have sacrificed for them, far beyond the blood of animals or gold and jewels.

     He heard the heavy double doors swing open on their hinges, and the tread of multiple pairs of boots on the tiled floor.

     “Domnius Antios, bishop of the church of Salonae?” a voice barked.

     “Yes?”

      His peaceful morning was over. He turned to see three soldiers standing in the back of the church.

      “By the order of Emperor Diocletian, you are under arrest.”

-Beatrice Ravencroft, "Mithras & Myrrh"

They arrived long after sunset. The asphalt and concrete gave way to grassy lawns and well kept shrubs. Skyscrapers towered over the evergreens and peered down at the cozy community. The night clamor from the city penetrated through the trees, polluting the peace and quiet.

            They walked through silent streets, a streetlight posted on each block. Three shadows stretched behind the group, shrinking until they vanished under an amber spotlight. Then they sprung up before them and grew with each step.

            All of the houses huddled close under the heavy indigo sky. An odd lit window was the only sign of life. Each house was different from the next; an arched doorway, a dormer window, a porch swing that creaked in the breeze. Everything was neat and precise, from the fresh cut grass to the perfectly positioned houses. Young trees, each staked and tied stood like guards at Buckingham Palace. The air carried the bright, earthy, smell of lumber, tinged with new vinyl.

            Felix glanced around suspiciously, "This is wrong..." His voice was low, yet in the quiet it was startling. "I can't say why, but there's something wrong."

            Rory shivered and pulled her arms inside her sweatshirt. Keeping close to Felix, she had the same uneasiness. It was a perfect neighborhood.... too perfect, too new. Somehow it didn't seem real, like it all sprung up overnight, or it was a set for a movie.

As they walked past another house, he scanned the front yard and elbowed Rory.

            "I don't like the way that gnome is smiling at me."

            "Shhhhh." Gilead's whisper came from ahead of them. He motioned to a smaller home, one of six in a little cluster; a candle flickered on the porch railing. The sidewalk made a loop to the half dozen homes, branching off to each front stoop. The group walked to the little house, passing close by three other front doors.  A window lit up as they walked by and the gingham curtain moved.

            Gilead blew out the candle when they stood on the porch. He knocked softly three times, paused, then knocked four more. Felix turned to face the street, looking at the neighbors. All the windows where dark again... But he could still feel the eyes on them. This was too risky.

            "Gil, I think we should get out of here-" He stopped and whirled around as the door opened slowly. With shy smile at Gilead and a hushed greeting, a teenaged girl hurried them inside. She pushed the door shut and turned the lock.

            "I'm glad you're here, we were starting to worry you wouldn't make it. Did anyone see you?"

            " No one out on the street. I'm sure a few insomniacs spied us through their blinds. What about the cameras?"

            "They started malfunctioning this afternoon, it's got the maintenance baffled. Papa said God was getting ready for you. Don't worry about the neighbors; we've mentioned that some friends were coming to visit. They shouldn't be much trouble."

            A shaky exhale betrayed Gilead's stoic attitude.

            "The Lord is faithful." He breathed.

     -Rosewood, "In The Present Age"

The city had forgotten this place long ago, and would in the years to come. It used to be that this area was full of people, and standing in the center was the jewel of its community. But after a devastating fire everyone fled and didn't return, leaving it forgotten. Now the old jewel stood, looking out at the city which ignored it.
The surrounding silent streets suffocated the city's sounds before they arrived. Only the meadowlark's chirping was to be heard.
When the street he was walking on widened into a square his common haunt loomed impressively. Stepping through the grey atmosphere he began to relax, finally the pressures of his life receded, ephemerally. To him this was a place of thought. Like a non-physical place set in a physical world. It was the entrance to his mind. He had retreated to this place in times of mental need so often it felt as though it was linked with his conscience. When the thoughts crowded in and he had to step back from life he came here. Even the sight of the place evoked philosophical clarity.
He circled around the back and climbed in through a window, catching a sliver on the rotten windowsill. The aging stairs beneath his feet spiralled dreamily upward as if they never ended. He began the uneasy climb, grasping onto the iron railing and leaping over holes in the floor. After every step up the stairs he began to think faster, after every glance at the cobbled walls things became clearer. Whenever he reached the top it was then his thinking become preciously clear and precise.
After he finished trekking the endless mountain of stairs he went and sat by the window. He liked this window very much, it had a clear view of the city. Mainly because there was no window pane.
The leaky roof made for puddles, which sat like liquid mirrors on the floor. His whole being had one selfless mission which consumed him like a virus, and he couldn't step back from it all until he was here. If a mind could experience joy, then for him it was obtained here. His dusty thoughts received a spring cleaning as he gazed out the window, looking down at the city which he kept from falling into doom. Here he had planned many of the Danish government's actions, as was evident from the schematics and writing etched haphazardly on the wall.
He slumped down contentedly, breathing in the salty air which drifted in from the sea.

Signing off, Johny A. Crow
Excerpt from Peace Unattainable.

The quiet humming of the starship as it sped through space was a soothing sound for Variina. The planets and stars blurred into a tunnel of light.  Her brothers were sleeping peacefully in their cabins, so she was free to sit and enjoy the calm of the ship.

  She bent down over the ships main control panel to examine the map. It wouldn’t be too long before they reached Tatooine.  Variina got up and walked out of the cockpit down a hallway.  She paused in front of Shazar’s room when she heard Dual’s soft “who, who.” Variina waited a moment until she heard the faint sound of ruffling feathers.  She grinned a little and then walked on to the end of the hall and into a small, well organized room filled with weapons.  She had managed to collect them over the years from friends, bounties, and scrap heaps. Removing a bow-caster, her latest find,  from the wall, she sat down at the small desk toward the back of the room.  She ran her hands over the cold metal of the weapon and then fiddled with it for a little while, trying to find ways to improve it. Variina heard the creaking sound of a door opening, a low whistle, and then the creak of the door again, and a few foot steps.  Variina turned to see Shazar, who seemed to be always accompanied by a barn like smell, standing at the door with Dual perched regally on his shoulder.

- Dido

 Looking up from her Bible, Florence breathed deeply of the  spring air. Sparrows flew to and fro, singing their sweet melody throughout the Aspen trees that bowed and bent with the breeze.
     Florence rose from the fallen tree trunk on which she had been reading, and walked beneath the verdant canopy. She dodged soggy puddles where rain had gathered, holding her skirt higher to avoid the inevitable splashes that were caused by rain dripping from the leaves. She joined the birds in their song which echoed around her, as of an hundred woodland beings praising their creator.
     This was why she loved being here. Nothing questioned its existence or its reason for being. Here the Creator could not be denied.
     "Why can't it be like this all time?" Florence asked aloud. "Why can't everybody acknowledge the Creator as they should?"
     Of course nobody answered, as she was alone, with nothing to hear her except the inquisitive squirrels and gentle breeze, who could not answer her even if they wanted to.
     Florence turned her head as a rustling sound cut short her monologue. From the rustling bush emerged a soft velvet muzzle, then two black eyes, then a tiny prickly body.
     "Culley!" Florence greeted. The little hedgehog scuttled toward Florence with joy.
     "How are you, my little one?" She asked the creature. Culley squeaked with pleasure as she picked him up.
-Evilas Cuson 

April Challenge #2

The second challenge this month is aimed
 at getting to know your characters a little better. 

Writing Prompt

Write a short scene featuring your character in a “typical moment.” Try to choose an activity that will allow your character to illustrate the core of his personality, as well as something that is a typical occurrence in his life. This doesn’t mean you have to choose a mundane daily routine; if your character routinely gets into scrapes, his scrape could be something wildly out of the ordinary.

Excerpt From: Weiland, K.M. “Crafting Unforgettable Characters.” 

Ready?

Get set...

WRITE! 

Completed Challenges:

       Rory put another record on and cranked the volume. Sinking back in the pillows on the window seat she closed her eyes. The sunlight shone red through her lids and warmed her face. It glinted off her honey hair that hung wild and loose over the cushions. She felt the rhythm pulsing and immersed herself into the melody. Turning off her thoughts and focusing on the lyrics, all she wanted was to drown out her life. 

       She hated silence. That’s when the emptiness surfaced. It was harder to feel when the music was blasting. Grams was gone. Rory had the apartment to herself, for a few hours. She was alone. The only way she could fill the void was with sound.
      The stress unwound with each rotation of the vinyl. Each song pulled her in deeper. Paradise.

Wham! Wham! Wham!

     Paradise shattered. Her eye snapped open at the first impact. She knew he'd come. He beat on the front door. The neighbor obviously didn’t feel the same way about music as she did.
    “Turn that music down!” He shouted.
     Rory sat up, reached for the volume and maxed it out. She grinned as the neighbor cursed in the hallway. It was loud, too loud even for her, but that didn’t matter. With the noise as a cover, she darted to the door and closed one eye to see through the peephole. Oh, he was mad. His stubbled jaw was sharply defined and the tendons in his neck protruded. His brown skin was reddening. As he lifted his arm to the door, she jumped aside. She certainly had his attention now.
      “You turn that music off or I’ll come in and do it for you!!”
      He meant it. With those bulging biceps he could do it too. Tingling with excitement and fear Rory looked through the peephole again. Tousled black hair fell over his forehead. The thin undershirt he had on stretched across the muscles of his chest. He swung his fist against the door, Rory jumped back, but then leaned in for another look. His right arm was a swirl of ink. Gears and bolts running from wrist to shoulder. His thick brows scrunched over his eyes. Rory shrank back, maybe she shouldn’t antagonize the hot neighbor guy.
     “This is the last warning kid!”
      She didn’t move. The record was on the last song and in a moment, would turn off on it’s own. He took a few steps back in the hallway. Was he going to kick the door in? Rory’s eyes widened as she heard the last line of the song play over, and over, and over, and- It was skipping! She flew to her bedroom, slipping on the record sleeve and crashed to the floor. The needle got over the scratch and the song faded out, too late.
      The front door exploded as the neighbor burst in. Rory curled up on the floor and pulled a pillow over her head.
      “I’m gonna die.”

- Rosewood, "In the Present Age"



        Calla Rathbourne and her three younger siblings chased each other around their seven-acre estate, engrossed in a game of tag. She scooped up the giggling children and tickled them until they squealed.
    "You'll never escape now!" she teased.
      Eight-year-old Deysi wriggled out from under her older sister's arms and laughed with delight. "Haha! I did it!"

       "Help us!" the remaining two begged.
        Deysi circled around to Calla's back and wrapped her arms around her sister. Calla fell back and released the two struggling boys, who proceeded to tickle her relentlessly.
      "Okay, okay, I give," she protested.
       "Not until you say the magic words," Angus insisted.
       "Never!" Calla cried.
        Thane picked up a beetle off the ground and waved it over her face.
      "Oh alright. I'll bake you cookies."
      "Yay!" the children chorused.
      "You know," Calla said to her brothers as she rose from the grass, "You two are the most ferocious six-year-olds I've ever met."
     Angus and Thane bowed mockingly. "Thank-you, kind lady," they said in unison.
        Deysi and Calla giggled at the boys' gesture.
       "Now," said Thane, waving an imaginary sword, "Where are my cookies?"
       "I'll get to it, just as soon as I wash my hands. Look what you did to them!" she displayed her dirt-caked palms to the boys.
       "I'd say we done a good job, what about you, Thane?" Angus asked.
      Thane shook his head. "I'd say we did a good job."
      Angus rolled his eyes and shoved his brother in the shoulder.
      "Hey!" Thane protested as he plowed into his twin, sending them both sprawling across the lawn.

-Evilas Cuson




      Fritjof needn't remind himself to limp, the rock in his shoe was ample enough.
      The doors to the Opera reached high into the dark night. The man ahead of him gave his invitation and envelope to the guard, then entered the Opera house. Fritjof walked slowly up the stairs, using a cane to support himself.
      The doorman looked closely at the letter while the guard spoke. "Mister Anthony Merry, the host said you wouldn't be coming; he said a sudden illness had struck you. I see you have recovered."
      Fritjof hesitated before responding. "Yes, all I needed was a walk through the cool night air." He said in the best impersonation of English speech he could. If the guard believed him, then all that was needed was for the forged invitation to withstand scrutiny.
      The doorman lifted his eyes from the letter. "Well, we're glad to have you. I'm afraid you missed the first act of the play, but fortunately your box isn't occupied yet. I'll send a servant to notify the host of your unexpected arrival-"
      "No, no, there's no need for that. I'll find him myself," Fritjof interjected. His face and palms were beginning to sweat, which was shifting the delicate clay disguise on his face.
     The doorman held back the door. Fritjof clapped up the stone steps uneasily, since his shoes had three inch thick soles in order to compensate for the height difference between himself and Anthony Merry, the British envoy stationed in Copenhagen.

-Signing off, Johny A. Crow
Excerpt from Peace Unattainable



     Bas stood up and looked up at the desert sky. Stars sparkled across the dark expanse.He loved the beauty of the wilderness above the dome. The sand, a dull blue in the night, shifted as the young caretaker turned to oversee the dozen children in his charge.
     “Form up!” He called to the youngsters. “It’s time for bed!”
      The children gathered into two neat rows and removed their backpacks. Rolling out each of their sleeping bags in rows, they all slipped into the bags. They watched as he approached, his path lit by the light pylons they had set up earlier in the evening.
      “Looks like you guys are ready for bed.” Bas walked to the end of the rows, and smiled. He loved kids, their natural creativity and wonder was refreshing from the rest of his dull life as an adult. Most of his teenage and young adult life, up to this point, had been filled boring academic discussions and practical training. It wasn’t until he began training as an visual arts teacher that he truly began exploring the extent to which he could take his life.
     “Hey, Mr. Bas?” A youngster sat up and faced him. “Can you and Mr. Ril tell us a story?”
     “Yeah!” A large figure seemed to pop out of the night shadows and crouched next to Bas.
     “So, can we tell them a story, Mr. Bas?” The children giggled at their instructors.
     Bas laughed. “Well, since you asked nicely, I think Mr.Ril and I can tell you a story.”
     He began drawing figure and designs in the sand in front of him. This was one of his favorite parts of teaching, expressing his own creativity to a bright, imaginative audience. It was good for them to hear a story now, before he and Ril would have to leave them for the night. Tomorrow afternoon they would have to choose between the harsh desert and their comfortable, enclosed lives in the eco-dome, Under Eden.

- Dom I. Nayshun



     “Good night!” Milo called over his shoulder, stepping out of the physician’s storefront onto the dark street.
     “You mean good morning,” Linus called after him, “Don’t let anyone catch you on your walk home.”
     Milo grinned as he glanced down at his bloodstained tunic. He would certainly need to get cleaned up before taking his master’s son to school.
     As he rounded the corner he met one of the shopkeepers getting an early start in preparation for the day’s business. The burly man’s face shifted from a smile to a narrow eyed frown as Milo stepped into the light of his lantern.
     “Something happen to you? Are you alright?” he said.
     “No worries, it’s not my blood.”
      That didn’t seem to ease the man’s mind any.
      “How’s the other fellow then?”
      “He’ll live. It was a nasty knife wound to the abdomen, but he’s a strong one. It would take more then that to kill him.”
    “You weren’t trying to…” The man trailed off, and Milo almost laughed.
    “Oh, not I. I was on the other side of things.”
    “Hold it, you’re the doctor’s apprentice, aren’t you? I heard he had one, but never saw you about.”
     Milo nodded, and the smile returned to the shopkeeper’s face. As Milo turned to continue on his way, the man broke into a fit of coughing, a deep, rasping cough that shuddered through his entire body. It sounded painful and set Milo’s teeth on edge.
     “How long have you had that?” Milo asked, once the man straightened up.
     “Cursed thing hasn’t left me alone for a month or so.”
     “Have you gone to a physician? I’m sure there’s something that could be done for it.” Mentally, Milo began going through a list of herbs that would help soothe a cough.
     “Those sorts can be trusted for patching up wounds and such, but not much else. I’ll be fine.”
      Milo kept his mouth shut. It was the man’s decision, and though there was much he could benefit, Milo wouldn’t force him. It wasn’t his place. Sadly, the shopkeeper’s opinion was true of many doctors, but not Linus Gallius, and not the physician Milo hoped to be.
      He bid the man farewell and hurried on his way. Even though he eagerly anticipated each night learning under the doctor, he sacrificed valuable sleep for it. His limp was more pronounced when he was tired, and his uneven step echoed back mockingly through the narrow stone street. The entire day lay ahead of him, and if he gave in to thinking about how weary he was, he’d be useless- a very dangerous state for a slave.

-Beatrice Ravencroft, "Mithras & Myrrh"




      The mayor grasped my hand with his sweaty sausage fingers, his large handlebar mustache twitching and dancing with every word he spoke. It was very clear by the tone of his voice that he would much rather be someplace else.
     We posed for a picture for the paper, and I’m pretty sure it was the only time that the mayor even smiled the whole time.
    “It is with great honor and respect,” said the great white dancing mustache,” that I congratulate you here today.” The mayor rattled it off so nonchalantly that you would wonder if he was simply talking in his sleep. “And as a token of our thanks, I present you here today with a gift of gratitude, a key to the city”
     The little key hung from a thin red cord, and was obviously just a random key from the side of the road that someone had picked up and colored gold with a can of cheap spray paint. The mayor threw the key around my neck, with obvious disregard for my handsome face, which he hit right in the center. There was no need for the mayor to assume any form of a civil or proper attitude, as there was really no one there except for Clarise. Heck, I wouldn't have even shown up if it weren't for her. She convinced me that needed to accept whatever “honor” it was that I was receiving, wether or not I deemed it “important”. The thing was, the city gave a key to every Bill and sally that came along, and all I did was track down a 20-something year-old who held up a convenience store.
      Anyway, the ceremony was over now, and Clarise and I were walking down Main Street with some Coke and red licorice, which we were using as straws. I was trying to forget the last twenty minutes of my life, but Clarise wouldn't let it go!
     “Come on Charles, if you ever want to be the great detective that you say you will, you need to be willing to accept gratitude for even the simple things.”
    “But this wasn't just simple, it was easy! A two year-old could have solved it!”
    “But a two year-old didn't solve it, you did. Oh wait, maybe it was a two year old!”
    “Ha ha, very funny Clarise, but I mean it, I wanna do something big, get recognized for something that actually means something! I’m tired of being a nobody!”
      “You're not a nobody, Charles, you're a great guy, a good detective, and you're my best friend, that’s got to count for something, right?”
    “Yeah. Right.”

-Gaal Warbeck

“Not that one, not that one either; oooooh, that one looks interesting.”  

“Variina, what in the world are you mumbling about over there?” 

“Hhmmm?  Oh, hey Anon; I am just looking over the new list of available bounties.”

“Is there anything good?”

“Only one so far, it’s from a Twi’lek on Tatooine whose daughters were kidnapped after a pirate raid.”

“Are there any other details?”

“No, it just says to meet him at a cantina in Anchorhead.  I was thinking I would leave after breakfast.”

“Mind if I join you? It’s been a while since I have had a good bounty to go after.”

“Sure, I could use the company.  Shazar might want to come as well.  If you go tell Dad that we are going to head-out today then I’ll see if Shazar wants to come.”

- Dido