A little while ago I wrote a short story for the L. Ron
Hubbard "Writers of the
Future Contest". I did not win, and I know why, my story is
really more horror than Science Fiction or Fantasy. But I decided that I
will post each chapter here on my blog. There are 37 very short chapters,
for a total of 15,000 words, about a fifth of a modern novel. Here
is the start.
Chapter 15:
Maxwell and Wilton arrived at the
source of the voice. It was a Guess Your Weight booth at the terminating line
of game stands and concessions stalls.
It was at the end of the particular row of booths and games, creating a
dead end. The booth itself was stark
black and white with numerous spiral images and twisted, broken numbers
featured on every surface. A the center
of the booth was a massive scale, a black steel plate suspended in front of the
most massive spiral, surrounded with broken numbers denoting the weight of the
participant.
Maxwell and Wilton looked at the
booth. “Honestly,” said Maxwell. “I was
expecting more?”
Wilton turned slightly to Maxwell,
his eyes humorless and narrow.
“Sarcasm uncalled for?”
“I guess not,” replied Wilton.
“My greetings to my new challengers.”
The owner of the beckoning voice finally
became apparent. One of the spirals
opened like a camera shutter, and out stepped a tall and spindly man, dressed
like a mime. In his right hand he held a
large, bright red antique megaphone, in his left a clipboard and pen both also
bright red.
“And you are?” Maxwell decided to do the talking.
“Here to guess your weight,” the
talking mime replied.
Wilton’s eyes remained narrow and
fixed though a smirk pulled across his face.
“Any prizes?” Maxwell was hoping that playing into the
carnival theme would help. “Or are we
just playing for fun?"
The talking-mime-clown gestured to
another spiral shutter where numerous stuffed animals appeared. Sitting amongst
them were three familiar bundles: the White Hat Kits, more specifically the
parts that had the guns in them. “Just
some brick-a-brack… toys that fill one
with so many hopes.”
“We’ll play.” Wilton said.
“You sure we-?”
“We’ll play.” Wilton cut off
Maxwell’s question with a half growl and a cavalier smirk that said 'go along with it'.
“Well then,” said the
non-mime. “We’ll start with a few
questions. Then, you get to sit on my
scale to see who the winner is.”
No comments:
Post a Comment