Flexo Presents...
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Flexo
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Well who says your town gets to be THE town?
Hey, when you start writing your own stuff, you can refer to whatever hellhole you came from as "THE town."
Deal?
If not, we'll comprimise on what town is to be THE town by finding the mid-town between your town and the current THE town.
Also, no moving towns. That's cheating.
Flexo
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The Derelict Spacecraft
Globs of energy drifted between two twelve foot tall receptor cones. The salvage crew's captain acted like a captive to their luminescence. He and his crew stood inside an abandoned spacecraft; a derelict for decades. The vessel had run aground on an asteroid. And now the asteroid was fatally ensnared by the gravity of a star and would soon cease to exist.
Captain James A. MacCarthey and his team had come to claim the ship. They had dared reason and safety to board the ship so near its final moments, and they were all going to die. Greed had trapped them on the ship and destiny would not allow them to return. To state it simply, the sun's gravity was too much to overcome.
Some men prayed. Some cried. One frantic man babbled on about the lack of escape pods. Th vessel had none and never had. The first mate paced back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Sweat rolled down his face, and he gnawed his nails away.
The captain sat in front of the floating energy gobs. They were the only functioning part of the ship, and no one had a clue about their function. They provided the only source of light. Not even the inboard lights would activate. Bolts began to groan from the stress.
The first mate cracked. He sprang towards the captain, clutching at his neck. In his mind, the captain had lead them astray and abandoned them for the mystery of the glowing energy. No ship in the galaxy used that form of energy. In fact, the energy was of an unknown variety. It was brilliantly radiant, and defied gravity. To the best of anyone's knowledge, it was unique.
The captain shoved the first mate away and held him at an arm's length away. "Don't you see why there are no escape pods?!" The captain screamed. "It's because of this! This, this machine! David, can't you see? This machine is our salvation. Trust me, please!"
Violently, the ship lurched. The tail section began to disintegrate. Men were yanked into the vacuum of space. Several men managed to clutch onto the interior just long enough to plead for help. Help that did not exist.
"David, follow me. It's the only way!" The captain bellowed his words. He spun back to the machine and, without hesitation, sprang into the energy. His skin peeled away, his muscle melted, and his bones decayed into a black dust. The first mate heard no screams, but imagined them in his head. He turned his back to the machine to face doom. The universe ripped his flesh and tore his lungs from his chest.
Meanwhile, Captain James A. MacCarthey sat on a distant world, waiting.
Globs of energy drifted between two twelve foot tall receptor cones. The salvage crew's captain acted like a captive to their luminescence. He and his crew stood inside an abandoned spacecraft; a derelict for decades. The vessel had run aground on an asteroid. And now the asteroid was fatally ensnared by the gravity of a star and would soon cease to exist.
Captain James A. MacCarthey and his team had come to claim the ship. They had dared reason and safety to board the ship so near its final moments, and they were all going to die. Greed had trapped them on the ship and destiny would not allow them to return. To state it simply, the sun's gravity was too much to overcome.
Some men prayed. Some cried. One frantic man babbled on about the lack of escape pods. Th vessel had none and never had. The first mate paced back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Sweat rolled down his face, and he gnawed his nails away.
The captain sat in front of the floating energy gobs. They were the only functioning part of the ship, and no one had a clue about their function. They provided the only source of light. Not even the inboard lights would activate. Bolts began to groan from the stress.
The first mate cracked. He sprang towards the captain, clutching at his neck. In his mind, the captain had lead them astray and abandoned them for the mystery of the glowing energy. No ship in the galaxy used that form of energy. In fact, the energy was of an unknown variety. It was brilliantly radiant, and defied gravity. To the best of anyone's knowledge, it was unique.
The captain shoved the first mate away and held him at an arm's length away. "Don't you see why there are no escape pods?!" The captain screamed. "It's because of this! This, this machine! David, can't you see? This machine is our salvation. Trust me, please!"
Violently, the ship lurched. The tail section began to disintegrate. Men were yanked into the vacuum of space. Several men managed to clutch onto the interior just long enough to plead for help. Help that did not exist.
"David, follow me. It's the only way!" The captain bellowed his words. He spun back to the machine and, without hesitation, sprang into the energy. His skin peeled away, his muscle melted, and his bones decayed into a black dust. The first mate heard no screams, but imagined them in his head. He turned his back to the machine to face doom. The universe ripped his flesh and tore his lungs from his chest.
Meanwhile, Captain James A. MacCarthey sat on a distant world, waiting.
Flexo
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The Ghost of Kings Mountain
Part 1 of 2.
January 7, 1781
Kings Mountain, North Carolina
Crunch. Crunch crunch. Crunch.
Snap! (Silence)
Moments passed.
Crunch.
POW! POW! POW! POW!
Bullets whizzed in every which way. One man, a dirt made American farmer in a previous life, caught several bullets in the chest. He took several lurching steps and sputtered to the ground. Red coats and no coats unloaded their guns at one another, fixed bayonets, and charged. Men on both sides dropped blood over the snow-covered clearing.
Isaac de Wolf stood at the edge of the battle. Slowly, he took aim. A British man dropped dead. Isaac calmly placed his rifle into its holster, and left it with his horse. Casually, he stepped into the fray. Unlike the other men, he did not bother with bayonets. Rather, he used a sword. A family heirloom. The sword's hilt was gold, carved in the likeness of a wolf. Isaac had earned a reputation. The British told stories of his cruelty; they thought of him as a bogeyman. He was known as a monster that walked into battle howling.
He thrust the sword into the man nearest him, plunging the blade all the way down his back. He yanked the weapon out, spun, and slashed a redcoat's throat. A man lunged for him and was knocked to the ground. Isaac stomped on the man's chest until his screams turned into a gore chocked gargle. People laid crushed and mangled; it was difficult for him to take a step without tripping on a corpse. Isaac whirled around, furiously stabbing everything around him. A bullet ripped across his chest. The battle had become hopeless, and he escaped into the nearby woods. The sounds of battle grew distant, but he kept moving.
The forest became dense. Isaac came upon a small river. He moved to get a drink from it, but paused. His reflection was wrong. The more he stared at the water, the more his image seemed to alter. His eyes receded, skin cracked, hair disappeared. The picture was a skeleton. He smashed his hand against the water and jumped away from the bank. Then he heard it. A whisper that built up into a shriek. The cawing of crows. The sound seemed to effeminate from everywhere; the trees, the ground, below, above, inside. He cranked his head back and forth, looking for the birds. They weren't just squawking, they were calling him. "Isaac! ISAAC! ISAAC!" Isaac clamped his ears shut and screamed for the sound to stop. Minutes passed, and he finally opened his eyes and listened. Silence. There were no birds. No horrible chants. There wasn't even the footfalls of a rabbit to be heard.
Isaac gathered his wits, raked his hand over his hair, and resumed walking.
Hours passed, and no exit could be found. The sun set, and Isaac decided to rest. As he lay on the ground, he heard phantom noises. Twigs snapping, snow crunching, and a creaking. He slept with one eye open, startled awake by every possible alarm. Until he heard the ticking. Tick, tick, tick, tick. A golden chain poked out of the snow. He grabbed the chain, but it refused to move. After scooping the snow away, he saw the watch. It was tarnished gold with a smashed face. Isaac knew the watch ...
Home sweet home. Isaac de Wolf arrived home a day early from his trip. He slipped past the door, making the least amount of noise possible. He wanted to surprise his wife. Peeking around corners, he saw no trace of her. He came to the last unchecked spot; the bedroom. Gently, he pushed the door open only for his soul to die. In his bed lay his wife with his neighbor. Silence. Both parties locked eyes and a wave of nausea swept the room. Without a word, Isaac turned around and stepped away from the room. He heard a crunch, and looked down to see it. A new, shiny golden watch ...
Isaac held the watch in his hand. He hurled it into the woods. A whisper slid around the trees.
" 'The wheel has come full circle: I am here.' "
Part 1 of 2.
January 7, 1781
Kings Mountain, North Carolina
Crunch. Crunch crunch. Crunch.
Snap! (Silence)
Moments passed.
Crunch.
POW! POW! POW! POW!
Bullets whizzed in every which way. One man, a dirt made American farmer in a previous life, caught several bullets in the chest. He took several lurching steps and sputtered to the ground. Red coats and no coats unloaded their guns at one another, fixed bayonets, and charged. Men on both sides dropped blood over the snow-covered clearing.
Isaac de Wolf stood at the edge of the battle. Slowly, he took aim. A British man dropped dead. Isaac calmly placed his rifle into its holster, and left it with his horse. Casually, he stepped into the fray. Unlike the other men, he did not bother with bayonets. Rather, he used a sword. A family heirloom. The sword's hilt was gold, carved in the likeness of a wolf. Isaac had earned a reputation. The British told stories of his cruelty; they thought of him as a bogeyman. He was known as a monster that walked into battle howling.
He thrust the sword into the man nearest him, plunging the blade all the way down his back. He yanked the weapon out, spun, and slashed a redcoat's throat. A man lunged for him and was knocked to the ground. Isaac stomped on the man's chest until his screams turned into a gore chocked gargle. People laid crushed and mangled; it was difficult for him to take a step without tripping on a corpse. Isaac whirled around, furiously stabbing everything around him. A bullet ripped across his chest. The battle had become hopeless, and he escaped into the nearby woods. The sounds of battle grew distant, but he kept moving.
The forest became dense. Isaac came upon a small river. He moved to get a drink from it, but paused. His reflection was wrong. The more he stared at the water, the more his image seemed to alter. His eyes receded, skin cracked, hair disappeared. The picture was a skeleton. He smashed his hand against the water and jumped away from the bank. Then he heard it. A whisper that built up into a shriek. The cawing of crows. The sound seemed to effeminate from everywhere; the trees, the ground, below, above, inside. He cranked his head back and forth, looking for the birds. They weren't just squawking, they were calling him. "Isaac! ISAAC! ISAAC!" Isaac clamped his ears shut and screamed for the sound to stop. Minutes passed, and he finally opened his eyes and listened. Silence. There were no birds. No horrible chants. There wasn't even the footfalls of a rabbit to be heard.
Isaac gathered his wits, raked his hand over his hair, and resumed walking.
Hours passed, and no exit could be found. The sun set, and Isaac decided to rest. As he lay on the ground, he heard phantom noises. Twigs snapping, snow crunching, and a creaking. He slept with one eye open, startled awake by every possible alarm. Until he heard the ticking. Tick, tick, tick, tick. A golden chain poked out of the snow. He grabbed the chain, but it refused to move. After scooping the snow away, he saw the watch. It was tarnished gold with a smashed face. Isaac knew the watch ...
Home sweet home. Isaac de Wolf arrived home a day early from his trip. He slipped past the door, making the least amount of noise possible. He wanted to surprise his wife. Peeking around corners, he saw no trace of her. He came to the last unchecked spot; the bedroom. Gently, he pushed the door open only for his soul to die. In his bed lay his wife with his neighbor. Silence. Both parties locked eyes and a wave of nausea swept the room. Without a word, Isaac turned around and stepped away from the room. He heard a crunch, and looked down to see it. A new, shiny golden watch ...
Isaac held the watch in his hand. He hurled it into the woods. A whisper slid around the trees.
" 'The wheel has come full circle: I am here.' "
Flexo
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Part 2.
The ground shook, rocks came crashing down, and the tree branches violently swayed. Odd noises filled the air. Screams, cracks, creakings, and booms. A cluster of branches pulled together in the parody of a face. The makeshift lips of the figure moved to allow the breeze to be its voice.
Isaac refused to listen.
He plunged into the woods with complete abandon. Twigs scratched at his face; he did not slow. His foot snagged an upturned root and he tumbled down. Minutes passed, yet he remained sprawled in the moist dirt, refusing to pry his eyes open. The past leaked into his thinking.
A worm crawled up his nose.
Mania clenched his thoughts. He dashed to the fireplace. There! There it was... a family heirloom. On the mantel lay a sword. Gold hilt, carved like a wolf, glimmering. His mind was working in clips. Fragments. Flares of hate. How could he do this? George. George, the ever friendly neighbor. George, the backstabbing wife thief. George, the dead man. George mumbled apologies somewhere distant. Isaac yanked the sword from its display and spun.
Suddenly, he calmed. "Hello, George." He slammed his fist into George. There was a crunch, and then a stream of blood gushed out of his nose. George dropped to his knees and begged for forgiveness. Not for an end to the assault, but for forgiveness. Isaac stabbed him. Without another word, he turned his back on his wife and left.
A worm crawled out his nose and in his ear.
The memory jarred his eyes open. He wished he had left them shut. There stood the dead man. Suddenly, Isaac calmed. "Hello, George."
The ground shook, rocks came crashing down, and the tree branches violently swayed. Odd noises filled the air. Screams, cracks, creakings, and booms. A cluster of branches pulled together in the parody of a face. The makeshift lips of the figure moved to allow the breeze to be its voice.
Isaac refused to listen.
He plunged into the woods with complete abandon. Twigs scratched at his face; he did not slow. His foot snagged an upturned root and he tumbled down. Minutes passed, yet he remained sprawled in the moist dirt, refusing to pry his eyes open. The past leaked into his thinking.
A worm crawled up his nose.
Mania clenched his thoughts. He dashed to the fireplace. There! There it was... a family heirloom. On the mantel lay a sword. Gold hilt, carved like a wolf, glimmering. His mind was working in clips. Fragments. Flares of hate. How could he do this? George. George, the ever friendly neighbor. George, the backstabbing wife thief. George, the dead man. George mumbled apologies somewhere distant. Isaac yanked the sword from its display and spun.
Suddenly, he calmed. "Hello, George." He slammed his fist into George. There was a crunch, and then a stream of blood gushed out of his nose. George dropped to his knees and begged for forgiveness. Not for an end to the assault, but for forgiveness. Isaac stabbed him. Without another word, he turned his back on his wife and left.
A worm crawled out his nose and in his ear.
The memory jarred his eyes open. He wished he had left them shut. There stood the dead man. Suddenly, Isaac calmed. "Hello, George."
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