Well done, Hillbilly Grasshopper

The poll is closed and it's official - Hillbilly Mom is this week's winner!!!

Stop by her blog and congratulate her or just say it here - she checks in here often while she bounces her chilly Ice Baby on her hillbilly knee.

Okay, so now Hillbilly Mom, it's up to you to provide us with a new list of The Words by Thursday. Get crackin', by cracky!

To everyone else, tell your friends, tell your neighbors - we need more story submissions! (We also need more voters, but we'll tackle that after we get more writers.) So write! And make your friends write! They'll thank you for it. Trust me.

Questions? Email me. The little white box in the upper part of the sidebar tells you how to do it.

Super Tiger Dragon wants you to vote

Voting is open in the second Writing Challenge, the one known as Super Tiger Dragon. Your humble host did not participate this round because her life sucks this week. You can forge on without her this once. Super Tiger Dragon has faith in your abilities, Grasshopper.

Vote once for your favorite story and feel free to leave comments.

Voting closes Monday night around 10ish.

When you think you are all alone in the Outback…

When You Think You Are All Alone in the Outback

by

Cazzie!!!

The day was set to be a lovely clear one. Nothing in particular seemed out of place, it all appeared normal. That was until I turned around, what I thought was my shadow, was not my shadow. It was, indeed, the sky above, becoming darker and the air felt cooler by the second.

I looked to my left, over there, behind the hill, there was a place to find cover. In the Outback, the weather can change so suddenly. A cloudburst could dump thousands of litres of water in a matter of minutes. The wind could whoop up and push away the clouds and the Sun would shine through vividly. The ground, so arid, would sop up the rain in minutes, leaving the place looking just as it was before the rain even came.

Plodding footsteps came from behind me. Could it be a kangaroo? No, it was too heavily set to be a kangaroo, and I was not about to stop and look around, I wanted to get undercover.

Flummoxed by the sound even so, I kept my pace. I finally reached the hill, I found a rock ledge protruding from the hill and took shelter there. A cacophony of screetches ensued. It was the sound a flock of Gala’s flying hurriedly for cover, alerting each other to the ensuing rain.

Then, it hit, the deluge of water making the rock face all shiny and smooth looking. Those footsteps from before, they were those of a little Aboriginal fellow. He began speaking in his native tongue, I could not understand him. His expression on his face one of excitement, mixed with alarm. I was not sure what it was he wanted. He scooped up some of the Outback dirt in his hand, held it out under the running water that was dripping off of the rock above us and made the dirt into a paste.

With finesse, he proceeded to mark the underbelly of the rock with indigenous art icons. I remembered in high school, the study of general arts. Australian aboriginal art is a representation of visual history of the stories, song, dance and spiritual beliefs of the indigenous people of Australia. It plays an important cultural role in the "passing on" of traditions, myths and history. Originally, the art was painted on surfaces such as walls of caves, rocks and Aboriginal bodies for ceremonies. The form and style of Australian Aboriginal art is very different by region in Australia and by artist. Indigenous Australian art is tribal in nature, often with imperfections, with color and iconography or symbols used as part of the story telling process.

The boy was drawing me, evidently, a white woman with a scarf on her head, then he drew himself, the boy with long curly hair, strikingly white teeth and a bright yellow T-Shirt. Then, I thought he was finger painting an image of a monkey, but it turned out to be that of, what seemed to be, a little girl. Yes, it was a little girl, she was stuck inside a corrugated iron shed. This thought triggered a plethora of emotions for me, I was remembering a time when I was trapped as a little girl, down in a water well…

I had to get a grip. I knew that we needed to make a break for it, run for it, but to where? He seemed to know the way. I followed, using his footsteps as guidance, as the rain was pelting down again. We came to an abrupt stop. The boy ushered me underneath the verandah of the shed, the one he drew. I could hear a call for help. Inside my backpack I remembered I had a key. I felt around for it, through the change that was floating around the bottom of the bag, as well as the pens and crayons and markers I had in there. Ahhh, the key, I unlocked the door to the shed, it was, afterall, my place. The girl had gotten in through the small loo window, and could not get out. Her sigh of relief was music to her brother’s ears.

Today I had met two lovely friends, who would soon teach me the customs of the Indigenous people of this land. What I had to offer them in return, I was yet to figure out.

Rainy Days and Mondays

Rainy Days and Mondays

by

Mrs. E.

The sun was shining for the first time in many days. Bobbi couldn't bring herself to actually go outside to enjoy the break in the weather. She was totally flummoxed. How could she act normal? What was normal? She had just received the notice that the divorce was final.

She was relieved or at least she thought she was. She had been waiting on the papers for some time now. So she and Joe were now officially divorced. After all that was what she wanted. So why did she feel so empty. Their relationship had never been amicable. It was just that animal magnetism thing. The only thing they had in common was they were good together in bed. Ah yes, those were the best times they had had over the past few years. They had nothing else in common. What had she been thinking? Well, you know sometimes passion has been known to monkey around with clear thinking. Oh well, she was thinking clearly now and that was what counted.

Bobbi thought that she had handled the break up with great finesse. She had packed up all of Joe's things, set them on the front porch so that he would find them when he got home from his business trip, and changed the locks. Sure the cacophony when he returned home and couldn't get in was quite annoying. The neighbors sure had been insensitive to what Bobbi was going through. If they had just been patient and waited for a few hours before calling the police, she was sure that Paul would have stopped all the ranting and plethora of cursing. Oh well, the police did take care of everything, showing up with their shiny badges and weapons. At least that whole bad scene was over.

Bobbi's problem now was that she couldn't shake off this feeling of depression. She had thought that by this time she would have been ready to get back out there on the dating scene. She knew that even though she was older now, she still had what it takes to get noticed by the opposite sex. Some good looking hunk out there would want to monkey around with her if she could just once force herself out into the world again.

Bobbi looked out at the sun and decided that today was day to start over. She showered, fixed her hair and makeup, and headed out the door. But where was the sunshine? Where had all of those clouds come from? How was she supposed to start her life over? As the cloudburst poured down buckets of rain, Bobbi thought I could sure use Joe right now.

The Ice Baby Cometh

The Ice Baby Cometh

by

Hillbilly Mom

She was born into a cold, heartless world. The Ice Baby. Never having known her own family, she was chunked unceremoniously into a bag, a bag which was immediately cinched shut. The Ice Baby, and countless other ice babies born that day, were abducted from their birthplace within minutes, and trucked across creation.

It was cold in the truck. OH SO COLD. The Ice Baby held her breath. If she ever had a breath of life to call her own. The back of the truck was pitch dark. The Ice Baby could not see, but sensed a plethora of ice babies allaround her. Crushing her, even, in their flummoxed, disoriented state. The Ice Baby did not think to panic.She endured. It was her nature.

The truck rumbled through the land, bumping, thumping, jouncing its precious cargo without remorse. Where it stopped, the Ice Baby did not know. The door was flung open. Intermittent flashes of light flooded the compartment.The calloused hands of hard-muscled men grabbed at her. She did not want to leave the cold, dark truck. Certainly she would perish, once removed from her safe haven. The men tossed her this way and that, in the rough manner of men, with little finesse. The Ice Baby would not have fought them if she could. It was not in her nature.

The Ice Baby was thrown onto a type of wheeled conveyance, and rolled through a sudden deluge into her new foster home. This cloudburst was surely an omen of the life that lay before her. Upon exiting the truck, a cacophony of epic proportions had greeted her. The Ice Baby knew not what the sounds were, but only that she longed to return to her peaceful existence in the cold,dark truck. But the Ice Baby did nothing. It was her nature.

The chapped, chilled hands of the men grabbed the Ice Baby again. She was tossed into her new room, a room shared with a great number of her ice baby companions from the truck. The Ice Baby didn't mind sharing. It was normal for her. In fact, she would have thought it odd if they were separated. If the Ice Baby was capable of thought. She had been at her new home for a mere week when the Boy came into her life. He was a medium-sized boy, with a bit of a monkey face. He chose the Ice Baby from the multitude lying about the room with her. His hands were smaller than those of the men, more gentle. The Boy slid the Ice Baby from her resting place. The Ice Baby did not resist. It was not in her nature.

The Boy had been sent on this mission by his Mother. She provided him the funds to purchase the Ice Baby. But with Mother's money came strict instructions: do not cradle this ice baby like the last one. Yes. The Boy understood. He knew he had held the last ice baby too tightly, and had overheated her little body. They had barely made it home with her. This time, he was careful. He did not cradle this Ice Baby. He grasped her by the tousled topknot, careful not to touch her precious body.

The Ice Baby dangled, and swung to and fro as the Boy carried her to the car. She felt no pain. No fear. She had never been cradled, anyway, this Ice Baby. The shiny silver barrette in her pale hank of hair did not even slip. This Boy was calm, careful. The Boy placed the Ice Baby on the back seat, beside his Brother. He laid her on his old coat, and covered her with his new coat. He didn't need the coats. The temperature had reached 81 degrees today. The boy wanted to protect the Ice Baby from the sun, which had emerged from the unexpected cloudburst, unscathed. It did not enter his mind to strap the Ice Baby into a car seat. His Mother grunted,"Get in the car. We've got to get her home." The Boy climbed in.

The Ice Baby could not see where she was going. She layon the softest thing that had ever touched her small body.This ride was smoother than the truck ride, though noisier.The family talked, but not to the Ice Baby. The Ice Babydidn't mind. It was her nature.

When the family arrived home, Mother parked the car inthe garage, and gathered her purse. The Boy and hisBrother jumped out of the car and ran up the steps to theporch. Three dogs and two cats greeted them, amidst muchgalloping and gamboling and whining and licking. Motherwent into the house to start supper. The Boy and his Brotherstraggled in to do what boys do after a long day of school.

The Ice Baby lay patiently on the seat of the car. She began to get quite warm. A bit of liquid seeped out of her. The IceBaby was not embarrassed. Nobody had ever fussed over her. She waited. She expected nothing. It was her nature.

By and by, the Mother had a feeling that something was amiss. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it lingered near the fringes of her consciousness. What was it? She screamed: "THE ICE BABY! We've forgotten theIce Baby in the car! Boy! Go get her! NOW!"

The Boy ran to the car. He saw the Ice Baby, prone in apuddle of her own secretions, and was ashamed. The IceBaby could not care for herself. He had left her alone inthe hot car for nearly 30 minutes. Mother would be angry.He picked up the Ice Baby by her tresses, and carried her gingerly to the kitchen door, drops of her essence leaving a trail across the sun-faded boards of the porch. Holding the Ice Baby at arm's length, the Boy poked his head into the kitchen. "Look at her, Mother. She's full up to her waist, and she's still leaking." He held her up for Mother to view, much the way a fisherman holds a prize catch for a photographer.

Mother grabbed a sharp, black-handled kitchen knife."Don't bring her in here! Hold her over the rail!" The Boy moved quickly across the deck, and dangled the Ice Baby over the 15-foot drop to the backyard. Mother rushed to his side, and quietly, deftly, stabbed the IceBaby's bottom with a flash of her kitchen knife. Two sharp jabs. "There. Hold her until she's done."

The Boy held the Ice Baby dutifully. When Mother was gone, he hugged the Ice Baby close to his chest. Her fluids drained quickly, splashing onto the barren ground below. The pets watched, heads tilted. A yellow cat ran down to lick the Ice Baby's juices from the soil.

"I think you're done now," the Boy said softly. Adjusting his grip on the Ice Baby's topknot, he carefully carried her through the kitchen. "Put her in the freezer," commanded Mother. "She's worse than the last one." The Boy placed the Ice Baby on the third shelf, next to a box of State Fair corn dogs.

"Don't worry about the Ice Baby anymore, Mother. She's in a better place now."

Vox Oraculum

VOX ORACULUM

by

Cap'n Neurotic

The costumed hero floated gently down to the rooftop astride his unlikely cotton-colored conveyance, alighting easily and quickly sinking through the cloudlike mass as it dissipated back into the ether from which it was called until he stood firmly on the building itself. He took a few strides to the edge of the roof, glancing over the side to catch the work of a potential recruit in action; he would have had a much better vantage point from the sky, but had been afraid that one of the earth-bound players would have noticed a 6’3”, 240 lb. figure in a brightly colored costume floating over-head on what could easily be mistaken for a cumulonimbus. If he had been forced to engage in the battle below, it would have been a chaotic mélange of brute force, sonic booms, and broken bones, as opposed to the exercise in finesse being practiced by the rookie hero unknowingly under his scrutiny, the latest in a long line to adopt the costumed identity of Balance.

He grunted as he noted how long the fight was taking; the new Balance obviously outstripped her opponents in every way, and could have easily trounced the thugs in the amount of time it would take for their pilfered possessions to fall to the ground from out of their limp arms. But instead, the lithe brunette was drawing the confrontation out, content to furnish three or four lesser blows to each combatant in lieu of the finishing blows that were wide open to a super with her enhanced physicality.

It was a trait he had observed in some of the pervious Balances – the only one to actually be a member of Vox Aequitas had explained the philosophy behind it as an attempt to demoralize opponents

“If I take them out with one blow,” the middle-aged Balance had explained in a thick brogue, “then there’s every chance they’ll use their immense powers of self-delusion to talk themselves into thinking I just got in a lucky punch. But, if I prolong the battle, and outshine them at every turn, then they may finally get it through their thick skulls that they’re outmatched, and possibly be willing to forego engaging in such activity again.”

"Either that, or they’ll spend all of their time in the pen obsessing over how you humiliated them, and set out to become your new arch-nemeses.”

The British Balance had merely laughed at his teammate’s gruff prognosis. “A ray of sunshine as always, my friend, a ray of sunshine.”

The hero closed his eyes in regret; it hurt to think of the former Balance, just as it hurt to think of any of the long gone members of the Vox. But he had spent too much time in regret, too much time wallowing in seclusion, a fact he had recently had his nose rubbed in thanks to some tough love from the vigilante known as Bloodstain. Now, he was determined to reform Vox Aequitas and wipe away the shame and disappointment which had accumulated

"Shame, shame, Cloudburst. I’m disappointed; very disappointed.”

Startled by the words which seemed to echo his thoughts so closely, the hero whirled around, instinctively sheathing his fists in miniature storm clouds crackling with energy instants away from blasting the figure hidden in the shadows.

“I mean, I can’t believe you’re getting the band back together and haven’t asked me!”

As a tall, lanky figure in a motley costume ambled from the shadows into the light, Cloudburst allowed the energy encircling his fists to discharge harmlessly around him; he was all too familiar with this character.

“Ooo, shiny!” the wiry man exclaimed at the light show produced by Cloudburst’s energy release.

“What do you want, Gremlin?”

“Um, I believe I’ve already established that I’m here to lodge a complaint about not being asked to be a part of the Vox reunion tour.” Gremlin cooked his head quizzically. “Now, is it deafness or senility to blame for you missing that? I know how spotty you old folks can be.”

Cloudburst silently gritted his teeth and counted to twenty – getting irked by Gremlin’s antics served no purpose, but it was nearly impossible for him to control his temper around the wisecracker. Choosing to ignore the senior citizen crack (especially since, from what he had gleaned, Gremlin had probably been around for the signing of the Magna Carta), Cloudburst addressed the complaint directly.

“First of all, it would be hard to ask you to be part of a reunion since you were never on the original team –“

“True, but then again, neither are ¾ of the group you’ve recruited so far.” Gremlin flashed his bizarrely wide grin, which Cloudburst strove to ignore; he wasn’t about to fall into the trap of pondering how Gremlin knew about the reformation of Vox Aequitas, let alone who had been selected. The pest popped up in the most unlikely of places, equipped with information as infallible as it was esoteric, making him both an indispensable aid and an infuriating nuisance.

“Second of all,” Cloudburst continued, “when you actually were invited to join Vox you refused membership, claiming that you didn’t, and I quote, ‘play well with others’.”

Gremlin gasped in exaggerated shock. “Will wonders never cease . . . you actually do listen to what I say.”

“Well, for once, I agreed.”

Gremlin smirked. “I’m sure you did. And, I hope that you’ll agree with what I’m about to tell you now, because you definitely need to listen this time, ‘Burst; a lot of lives depend on it.”

Cloudburst’s jaw tightened as he heard Gremlin’s voice take on the sonorous tone which signaled the quirky crime had been overtaken by the power of prophecy.

“Heed your instincts, ‘Burst,” Gremlin intoned, “for the Voice of Justice has rarely been needed as sorely as it soon shall be. But remember that lesson once hard taught, that few are what they seem, and mysteries reside within us all, whether we acknowledge them or not; the new chords added to your symphony might sound pure and true at first, but if not carefully tuned, your harmony will breed cacophony, which then will spell calamity.”

Cloudburst shook his head, flummoxed by the windings of Gremlin’s pronouncement. He had once been told by the occult adventurer Mister Myster that those with the mystical gift of prophecy (as opposed to the more mundane gift of precognition) were slaves to whatever forces spoke through them, so he couldn’t very well blame Gremlin for the words which had just escaped his lips. But at the same time, Cloudburst had always had a strong, almost primal, distaste for all things connected with magic and mysticism, and any encounter with such supernatural forces instantly set his teeth on edge.

“And what, pray tell, does that mean?”

Gremlin’s eyes lost their thousand-yard star, and regained their normal twinkle. “It means this, my literal minded friend: Some serve as a boon / some serve as a curse / some secrets for better / still others for worse.”

Cloudburst allowed a small growl to escape his lips; the initial prophecy may have been the product of some larger guiding force, but that last bit of doggerel was all Gremlin. “You realize that you’ve just given me reason to doubt every single member of the team; I’m going to be second-guessing each of them every step of the way.”

The enigmatic hero nodded sadly. “True enough, I’m afraid, but ask yourself this: would not the old Vox have benefited from such questioning?” The question left Cloudburst momentarily speechless; it was difficult to refute Gremlin’s point. In many ways, it reflected thoughts that had dwelled in Cloudburst’s head ever since the unfortunate events which marked the final adventure of the previous incarnation of Vox Aequitas – reflected the thoughts so well in fact that, not for the first time, Cloudburst wondered if, despite frequent claims to the contrary, telepathy was included in the large back of tricks wielded by Gremlin.

Although he thought he knew what the answer would be, Cloudburst still felt compelled to ask the question. “How do I know that you’re telling the truth?”

The wiry hero drew himself ramrod straight, puffing out his chest and fixing his face into a rictus of outrage. “How dare you question The Great Gremlini!” he exclaimed, twirling around and sweeping his arms around his head with a theatrical flourish. “Am I not the Jester of Justice?” he cried, suddenly bounding through the air over Cloudburst’s head, then springing off sideways to the northern edge of the roof. “Am I not the one chosen to wield the Wrench of the Monkey?” he asked, his long arm sweeping out to graze the rooftop AC unit, which instantly began to stutter and hiss, a victim of Gremlin’s innate anti-technological nature. “Am I not –“

Cloudburst drew in a deep breath, tuning out the indignant rant. He knew that once his mercurial companion had slipped into such histrionics, there was only one way to put a stop to it: sink to his level.

“Am you not done yet?” he barked as his overly dramatic companion launched himself into the air yet again. At Cloudburst’s outburst, Gremlin clutched at his chest, let out an agonized groan, and slammed into the ground.

“Bad . . . grammar . . . my only . . . weakness . . . how . . . did you . . . know . . .”

Cloudburst squeezed his eyes shut, reaching up to fiercely massage the bridge of his nose before letting out an exasperated “Grem . . .”

Gremlin – who had drawn himself into a fetal position, twitching frantically – rose to his feet in a fluid motion, affixing Cloudburst with a mischievous grin.

“Well done with the grammar-bomb, ‘Burst; there might be hope for you yet. You really need to laugh more; it’ll add years to your life.”

“Is that prophecy or platitude?”

“Can’t it be both?” Gremlin asked earnestly before shaking his head. “No, ‘tis not one of my plethora of prophecies, I’m afraid, just some advice from a long-time ally.” Gremlin paused, as if carefully weighing his words. “’Burst, I know we have our differences, but you know I’ve never steered you or any of the others wrong in the past. Take my words with a grain of salt if you must, but do think on them; I promise it’s important.”

“But you have no idea why it’s important?”

Gremlin just shrugged; most of his power worked more on instinct than anything else.

“Besides,” Gremlin continued as he began to move back towards the shadows, “pondering that might take your mind off of other things.”

“What other things?” Cloudburst asked, regretting the question as soon as it escaped his lips.

“Oh, you know, things like the fact that you still don’t know why, 25 years ago, you suddenly manifested super-powers, almost like . . . well, magic.”

Cloudburst’s jaw dropped, but before he could utter a word his impish companion let out a maniacal giggle, burst into a double back handspring, and launched himself into the dark corners of the roof. Cloudburst didn’t even attempt to follow; long experience taught him that once Gremlin wanted to disappear, he was gone, and no tracker alive could find him.

The hero’s attention was diverted from the shadows which had swallowed the soothsayer by the sound of police sirens below; he walked back to his original post overlooking the alleyway where he could now see Balance’s easily bested prey, trussed up in immaculate knots awaiting their impending arrest. Cloudburst allowed himself a moment to admire her handiwork before the question set in: “What’s her secret? Is it a boon or a curse?” He tried to shake it off, but Gremlin’s words held fast in his mind.

“He said everyone had a secret,” he thought glumly. “Does that include me?”

As the uniformed officers swooped in to corral the helpless offenders, Cloudburst turned away from the roof’s edge, conjuring forth his once pristine conveyance, now dark and stormy to match his mood, and rode it into the sky, oblivious to all but the echoes of the voice of prophecy ringing in his ears, his head lost in the clouds.

Doom Strikes Anew!

Ajax Stewart, Engineer of the Impossible
In
Ask not for whom the Wedding Bell tolls!

Part Two: Doom Strikes Anew!

by Bubblegum Tate

The Pyramid has hung above Rio de Janeiro for a little over a year and roughly five miles up. Easily several miles across at the base, it is a giant pyramid made of thousands, perhaps millions, of smaller interlocking pyramids and triangles. Its construction resembles clear PVC pipe threaded with purple neon tubes, although many have seen it withstand blows that would splinter such sundry materials. It looks like an advertisement from Blade Runner. Or a floating casino. Or an overindulged rich kid’s art project. It looks nothing like a time machine so, naturally, that’s what it is. Many would call it an affront to science and many more an affront to good taste. The city of Rio, where good taste is something that happens to other cities, has grown accustomed to the Pyramid. Even the weird attacks that come with hosting the Quantum Pharaoh seem normal to the average citizen of Rio. Even so, the boom of a massive explosion draws every eye upwards and familiarity is shot to hell. Giant, neon pyramids hanging five miles above your city aren’t supposed to flicker like that…are they?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Some hours earlier…

Piloting his one-man mini gyro, Ajax rose slowly towards the Pyramid. Avel’s Something New was “something so new, it comes from the future.” Before he even read exactly what it was, Ajax knew he was going to have to deal with the Quantum Pharaoh. He had not been looking forward to it.

When the Pyramid first appeared over Stewart Heights five years ago, Ajax instantly went into panic mode. Although it didn’t look like anything Avel would have dreamed up, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going through a retro phase and 50s-style robots with death dealing laser blasts emitted from eye diodes weren’t going to suddenly erupt from the bottom of the neon construct. As five days passed with no change in position or response to any message sent to it, Ajax shifted from panic to worry and finally to annoyance. When every news agency in the world started showing up on the same day and telling Ajax’s employees they’d been invited to a press conference, Ajax’s annoyance reached epic proportions. At 9 am precisely, a man dressed like a Hollywood fever dream of an ancient Egyptian god-king, except with a lot more silver lame and purple neon, seemed to float down from the bottom of the Pyramid. The theatrical bastard had even brought his own podium, made from the same PVC and neon construction as the rest of the Pyramid. Resplendent and shiny, the man calling himself the Quantum Pharaoh began to speak to the citizens of the world. As he did so, the annoyance Ajax had felt up until that moment was a candle in the face of a million blazing suns.

The Quantum Pharaoh said he was from the future. He said he had fought untold menaces at the dawn of time and under the rays of a dying sun. He proved this by checking his watch and announcing an earthquake was about to occur in Croatia, blipping himself and the Pyramid out of existence, reappearing in Croatia and stopping the earthquake by pumping seismic waves into the ground that cancelled the tremors. After performing this miracle and rematerializing at Stewart Heights to massive applause, he said the only thing that could have gained him more notoriety. “I’ve been sent from the future by my father to aid his younger self in a time of terrible crisis,” the Pharaoh said as he smiled at the millions of viewers, “and that’s why I’ve parked my Pyramid over his building.” Ajax gripped the edge of his chair so hard the steel frame bent a little as the Pharaoh turned to him and said, “Dad, I’m here to help.”

Dealings between Ajax and the Pharaoh had been strained. After a couple of adventures, Ajax couldn’t deny the Pyramid was a time machine. Still, he refused to believe that this overly theatrical dilettante was his son from the future. And if he was Ajax’s son, had the future Ajax sent him back in time just to get rid of him?

Nearing the Pyramid, one of the triangular sections seemed to iris into itself and a bright white light emanated from within. Ajax angled towards the bright, triangular shape and the unmistakable silhouette cast by the master of the Pyramid. As he choppered in, Ajax was again amazed by the tesseract technology that allowed the interior of the Pyramid to be vastly larger than the exterior would suggest. Some theoretical physicist speculated that the interior was infinite, but those types of physicists will speculate anything just to get attention.

“Dad,” the Pharaoh beamed, “I knew you were coming” (Ajax couldn’t help rolling his eyes at this) “how can I help you?” “Shiarra has been kidnapped,” Ajax began, “by Dr. B’hadgai and he’s given me a list of things to collect to save her life. I’ve already got Something Old, and now he wants me to collect Something New.”

The Pharaoh nodded knowingly, “He wants something so new it’s from the future, doesn’t he? He wants the Celestial Stele.” Despite himself, Ajax was a little surprised by the Pharaoh’s insight. “He’s lusted after it ever since he helped us fight off the attack of the Tachyon Trapper. As the power source of the Pyramid and the basis of my time travel abilities, nothing else would ever be good enough.” Both men lapsed into a grim silence thinking of their arch enemy. An outside observer would be struck by how similar the men looked at that moment, despite their obvious difference in fashion sense.

Shaking himself from his reverie, Ajax said “I know we’ve had our differences, Pharaoh, but if you really believe what you say, you have to help me. It’s the only way to save your…mother.” Ajax nearly choked on the last word. The Pharaoh wordlessly turned and headed deeper into the Pyramid.

Ajax followed him through a plethora of twisting and turning routes that led further into the crystalline depths of the Pyramid. After what seemed hours, they finally reached a large, circular door. It was jarring; everything else in the Pyramid was built on triangular theme. The door irised open from the center and the two men walked across a long platform into the center of a spherical room so large that the Pyramid, at least as it appeared from the exterior, would fit with room to spare. Hanging at the end of the platform and in the center of the room, haloed by a purple nimbus of light, was the Celestial Stele. It was shaped and sized like a prop from the Ten Commandments and appeared to be made of a substance so black that it made areas between stars look bright in comparison. Worked into the black substance with such finesse as to make a grown man weep were hieroglyphics that seemed to be etched in violet neon. Ajax had once tried to decipher them, but he had slowly realized that, though the changes had been subtle, the message of the Stele changed over time.

Both men were mesmerized, but worry for his bride-to-be finally overcame Ajax and he cleared his throat before speaking. “Pharaoh, if this is the Pyramid’s power source, shouldn’t we land it somewhere before removing it?”

“Remove it?” the Pharaoh replied, spinning on Ajax wide-eyed and flummoxed. “We can’t give it to that madman! Dad, even if mom’s life is at stake, even if it creates a paradox where I don’t exist, we can’t just hand it over that villainous mastermind!”

Instantly, Ajax slumped. No matter how much he disliked the Pharaoh on a personal level and hated the fact that he just might be speaking with his own son as an adult without ever getting to know him as a child, he knew the Pharaoh to be a courageous man willing to do the right thing at great personal cost. What he feared was that the Pharaoh might be a more courageous man than Ajax himself, because Ajax was willing to trade all the items of power on Avel’s list to save the life of his one love. The look of sorrow appearing on his face was like a cloudburst out of a clear blue summer sky.

The Pharaoh put his hand on Ajax’s shoulder. “We’ll find her, dad. Look at me, I’m living proof that she doesn’t die, not for a long time!”

“I’m sorry,” Ajax whispered.

“You don’t have to be sorry, dad, I understand. Now isn’t the time to tell you all about her, but let’s just say that there’s a young lady in the future, the far, far future, that would certainly make me commit dangerous acts to save her. But this…this is just too dangerous, even for us, dad.”

It was at that moment that Ajax, for the first time, believed that this young man was his son. Did he hear himself in the Pharaoh’s voice or see Shiarra in his eyes? He couldn’t tell, but something about this moment swept all doubt from his mind. With eyes squeezed shut and fists clenched tightly he said,

“No, son, I’m sorry for this.”

Ajax brought an uppercut all the way from his toes and landed it squarely across the unsuspecting chin of his son. The Pharaoh was literally lifted from his feet as his shock-filled eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets. He fell backwards and landed on the platform with a dull thud, his headdress fell off and showed bright blond locks just like his mother’s. His head lolled to the side, eyes shut and mouth hanging slightly open. Ajax took a deep breath, stepped over his fallen form and grabbed the Stele from where it floated.

As soon as it left the nimbus of light that transfixed it, the entire Pyramid seemed to flicker like lights during a lightning storm. A cacophony of alarms and klaxons began to sing, chirp and wail. With a sickening, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Ajax felt the Pyramid list. He couldn’t tell which way he would fall in the topsy-turvy world that made up the Pyramid’s guts, but Ajax was certain that outside, in the world where physics worked, the Pyramid was dropping.

Ajax stooped, lifted the Pharaoh and threw him over his shoulder and ran for the circular door. With the Celestial Stele in his hand, the entire architecture of the Pyramid suddenly made sense to him. It was as though the Stele was singing in his head and, though the notes seemed strange and alien, they caused the world around him to come into a sharper focus. He thought of the mini-gyro and the triangular panels in the floor seemed to glow and he knew without knowing how he knew that, if followed, he would be led safely to the hangar. Without giving time to marvel at the miracle of technology or magic he held in his hand, he started to run.

As he followed the twisting and curving directions of the humming Stele in his hand, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched or followed. Did the Pharaoh have companions in the Pyramid? He mentioned a girl, but could he also have servants living here? Had Ajax just doomed an untold number of people living within the tesseract to death? It was too late to figure it out now, he would just have to hope for the best.

He rounded the last corner and found himself in the cavernous hangar with several of the Pharaoh’s wondrous vehicles and his own mini-gyro. Suddenly, the feeling of being followed seemed to collapse in on him, as though he were a tiny man living in a house of cards he’d never noticed before. The Stele screamed in his mind and a blinding flash of light took his vision even as a concussive force blasted him off his feet. The Stele went one way, the Pharaoh the opposite and Ajax straight back.

Ajax, being a man of action who had found himself in plenty of tight scrapes, hit the ground rolling and came quickly to his feet. He fell into an easy fighting stance and begin to listen for sounds that would give away the location of his attackers to the blinded fighter. If he strained his ears he could hear tiny servos, but nothing else. As his vision returned, he began to wonder if his eyes had suffered permanent damage.

Surrounding him were a more than ten man-sized shapes. They seemed to either be men dressed in armor or automatons fashioned somewhat after a medieval knight. The armor appeared to be highly decorated, almost more suited to a parade or display than actual fighting. What’s more, the armor appeared to be almost clear or crystalline and filled with different shades of neon light, not unlike the Pyramid’s interior, though it was always the monochromatic purple of the exterior. Though the armor was beautiful, each of the shapes carried a wicked sword in both hands. The blades pulsed with the same neon energy as the armor. One of the shapes stepped forward and leveled its bright blade at Ajax.

“You have attacked a Paladin of the Knights Temporal,” it said in a voice that was deep and strong, but resonated with the same sing-song quality as the Stele, only from far away as though some distant voice sang accompaniment with his words. “You are also charged with the theft of a holy artifact of the Temporals. These crimes cannot be allowed! Give over the Stele and pray that the Quantum Pharaoh is not permanently harmed, Ajax Stewart!”

Ajax’s mind raced! Paladin? Knights Temporal? Even in all their adventures, the Pharaoh had never mentioned these things! And he was obviously highly regarded by these men, whoever they were. Regardless, he had to get the Stele and escape them. His eyes flickered to his left, glancing at the Stele.

“Do not move, Ajax Stewart! You are a great hero of your time and one day will be both the progenitor of the Pharaoh and the technology that birthed our holy order. Today, however, you are a criminal to us and if you force our hand, we will cut the evolution from you with our blades of pure Time. One good cut, and you will find yourself a monkey!”

Again Ajax’s mind was sent whirling. Progenitor of time travel, is that what they meant? Could it be possible, that HE would harness the Stele at some point in his own future and create the miraculous chrono-engine that was/is/would become the Pyramid? He was startled by a croaking, but familiar voice, from behind the Knights.

“Dad,” it said with great strain, “catch!”

From over the Knights, the Stele flew, singing its siren song of cosmic wisdom. Every helmeted head looked skyward and, although no face could be discerned, the horror was plain. Ajax caught the heavy tablet and it caused him to stumble backwards and fall, ass over teakettle, into the cockpit of his mini gyro.

The Knights spun on the Quantum Pharaoh, their horror turning to utter shock. Before they could say anything, Ajax was righting himself and could see the Pharaoh crackling with the same purple energy that coursed through the Pyramid!

“I’ve spent tens of thousands of years harnessing the Stele and I’ve learned to sing some of its celestial arias,” the Pharaoh intoned, the faraway accompaniment growing louder and stronger as he spoke. “Knights Temporal, I respect your holy Order and we have aided each other many times in the past. My bodily progenitor is your spiritual Progenitor, but I tell you now, no matter how close the ties that bind us, that man is flying out of here and I am taking you someplace where you will be unable to impede his plans!”

The Quantum Pharaoh’s voice was raised and he sang as the Stele had sung, great forks of purple lightning arcing from his body towards the walls. The voice was beautiful, enchanting, and it enraptured Ajax in the midst of firing up the mini-gyro.

The song broke for a split second, and with it went Ajax’s reverie. “Get gone, dad, these men won’t trouble you again!” The entire Pyramid seemed to flicker again and even the Pharaoh and the Knights seemed to go insubstantial for a moment.

Ajax threw the gyro in gear and cranked the stick, gaining altitude and spinning in place at the same time. He broke for the shimmering pyramidal door that had to be the way back into normal space. Straining the small craft to its limit, he sped towards it while the Pyramid’s flickering began to make it look like an old film about to break.

Ajax hit the hole into normal space at full speed and suddenly felt himself whipped around by the warm air of the southern hemisphere of earth, circa 2007. He was spun hard, just in time to see the Pyramid flicker out of existence, leaving a violet triangle-shaped burn in his retinas. He blinked back tears and hoped that he hadn’t sentenced his son to a death in some far reach of space and time. Tapping his ear bud, he spoke to his assistant, Julie.

“Jules,” he said with a throat suddenly sore and parched, “I’ve got the Cosmic Stele, start telling me about the Something Borrowed while I chopper back to the Rio office.”

“Boss, we just read a chronal energy shift that buried the needle! What happened?” Julie asked frantically.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Ajax replied, “My son gave me the Stele, saved my life and probably the entire timeline so that I could save his mother.” Ajax’s jaw tightened with new purpose, “He won’t be allowed to make that sacrifice in vain. It’s time to borrow the Borrowed and give that boy a future!”

The deadline looms once more

Tonight.

8pm.

So far, I've received 4 entires. Come on, people! It's not like y'all are working or anything right now. In between data entry, graphic design or whatever else you might do in your real job, peck out a story. It won't kill ya. Promise. Might getcha fired, but kill you it will not.

Tonight. 9pm. (I forgot tonight is Scrubs night)

The Writing Challenge Super Tiger Dragon Edition

The Cap'n has taken his winner's task very seriously and sent me this challenge's name and The Words list on Tuesday. I've been sitting on them for two days now (no, not literally) and can wait no longer! Btw, I know he's a kindred spirit because he used one of my favorite words - plethora!

I shall now stop sitting on The Words and share them with y'all. Here are The Words for
The Writing Challenge Super Tiger Dragon Edition

Cloudburst
Flummoxed
Shiny
Cacophony
Plethora
Finesse
Normal
Monkey

The writing challenge is open as of right NOW and will be open until April 5th. You only have one week to write and submit your stories this go'round, so don't procrastinate (Cap'n). Submissions will close at 8pm on the 5th and voting will begin that night. Don't forget to highlight The Words in your story!

WRITE!