To be honest, I don't really like this. Oh I'm going to enter but I'm fairly certain it's going to be a small contest.
I never get it when you poo on a contest. I've seen you turn ideas around to your advantage and be completely brilliant about it. No reason this should be different. Just because that envelope looks ominous doesn't mean it has to be ominous. It doesn't really even have to be the point of the story. It can be a jumping off point to something completely different. And then whatever you did for the guy, you imply a repeat of for the girl. Voila. :)
@stumpy49er: On the other hand, he's not completely wrong. For whatever reason, give 'em more than a picture or "create a villain for ___," and it's crickets chirping...lots and lots of crickets chirping. We'll see though. ;)
@cbishop: Yeah, I get that. I just had the idea for this and wanted to do it at some point.
Next time (if there is a next time) I'll go with a simpler challenge.
That said, I do think it's open enough that writers can pretty much go wherever they want with their story. I already have several ideas I can go with this.
Hopefully there will be multiple entries for this. We'll see.
@cbishop: It's not the ominous letter, it's more the restrictive, mandatory opening and closing lines. I'd almost rather Pokemon...no, no I wouldn't.
It's an okay condition, I just don't like it is all. I didn't like the Pokemon one either, but I entered. I'll enter this one too. It's a competition and whatever clauses are set, are the clauses that are set. I'll abide by them, don't have to like'em though :)
(This is a work of fiction and in no way reflects real people, businesses, or their business practices though REAL names and places are used.)
“The young man opened his mailbox and saw the ominous, black envelope addressed to insert character’s name. As he opened the envelope…what is this shite?” Mark Millar’s Scottish accent ripped across the room like a whip.
“It’s, um, the start, um, of…”
Mark narrowed his eyes at the young man sitting on the lone chair in his office at MillarWorld. “Is this fan fiction?”
“No, sir.”
“Well it isn’t very good.” Mark stood tapping the nine page, double spaced opus the man had written. “It’s like you watched The Ring last night and wrote it in the wee small hours.”
“I’ve never seen it, sir.”
“Please, call me Mark!” His face lit up. “Look I’m being harsh on you because it will do you good in the long run. You’re very lucky to be here, Kevin.”
“Thank you.”
“So what’s the idea of this Black Envelope, don’t tell me. It arrives and grants…oh this is a Gaiman rip off.”
“No it’s not.”
Mark tapped the manuscript on his leg. “Regardless, it’s rubbish and needs editing!”
“Did you read the whole thing?” Kevin asked nervously.
Mark looked at him in complete shock. “Why would I bother? You didn’t grip me from the get go, so it’s not worth…”
“Just like your MPH,” Kevin muttered as he stood up. “Thank you for your time, Mr Millar.”
“WHAT are you doing?” The Scottish in his voice became very clear. “You don’t walk out on me!?”
“Well if all you’re going to do is yell and berate me,” Kevin shrugged. “I’ll take this over to Boom Studios.”
“Ha! Ha! Ha! You’re only here Kevin because you won my competition,” Mark chuckled.
Kevin made a sarcastic face of bewilderment. “Then what is your problem? I won your talent search!”
“Which got you here,” Mark smiled like a shark. “Now you’re here, is THIS the best you can do?”
Kevin stared at the fist holding his idea. If he had super powers he’d off blasted the little Scotsman’s arm off with an eye laser, or dived across the room pumping millions of rounds of ammunition from a concealed twin Uzi he pulled from his back. Instead he stared until he realised that Mark was looking at him.
“No…no it isn’t.”
Mark stood up and tossed the manuscript into Kevin’s lap. “Good to here. Now go somewhere, somewhere you like and write. Deadline is tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Mark.”
__
“So,” Mark smiled flicking the pages quickly. “What do you think?”
“What do I think? About what I wrote?” Kevin replied. “It’s good.”
“Is it your best?”
Kevin shrugged. “That’s for me to judge, is it? Are you going to read it?”
Mark opened the first page and gazed at the words. “This…is just a scene change for Black Mirror.”
“What?”
“The Canadian Prime Minister stares intently at the large pink pig,” Millar read. “Black Mirror. Are you stealing all your ideas off television?”
“NO!”
“Well this certainly isn’t your best,” Mark tossed the script back. “Final chance tomorrow. Another day, another deadline. I want your best.”
__
Kevin stared at the computer screen. The thin black cursor mocking blinked into and out of existence. “Scottish bastard! Half his ideas are regurgitated rubbish. Comic gore at best! But…he’s IN and that’s where I want to be. SO think, Kevin, THINK!”
Kevin picked up the black envelope beside his computer and spun it in his fingers. It twirled for possibly hours, possibly minutes, he didn’t recall but was jolted back to reality as it gave him a papercut across his index finger. Small, sharp, and searing as only papercuts manage.
Kevin sucked it to soothe the pain, in doing so he looked out the window to see a pretty girl depositing something into the large blue post box. A smile crept across his face as his neurons rode his imagination down to his fingers.
__
“Final try, Kevin my boy,” Mark said as he held his hand out eagerly. “I push you because I see something in you, something, well like me.”
“Thanks,” Kevin hesitated with his work. “I…I’m not really happy with this. It’s rushed. I’ll just go.”
“Not so fast,” Mark stated standing up. “You work for me, so what you’ve written is mine.”
“That’s not how t…”
With almost impish like speed he leapt over the desk and sat on the edge, producing a large scroll with the terms and conditions. “Like most people, you don’t read the fine print. Hand it over.”
Kevin threw it on the floor in disgust and stormed out. Millar, like a homeless man spotting a coin was on it.
__
Eighteen months later, Kevin stood at his local comic shop staring at the new releases. There, big, bright, and bold was the latest work by MillarWorld; The Black Envelope. With great trepidation he took it off the shelf and opened it up. Slowly his eyes saw his own words appearing before him, though disguised as someone else’s. A bitter sweet tear welled in his eye.
“The young, red haired woman looked in her mailbox and saw a black envelope.”
The young man opened his mailbox and saw the ominous, black envelope addressed to Peter Dragonetti. As he opened the envelope he felt a mixture of trepidation and hope.
He pulled out the white letter which read:
Concordance Extraction Corporation
"Powering humanity into the future."
Date: August 10, 2507
Congratulations, Peter Dragonetti.
Upon reading your application to join our illustrious company and your insightful essay on the wonderful religion of Unitology and it's importance in the lives of space miners, we are happy to invite you to join the USG Ishimira on its newest venture in space to bring much needed materials to EarthGov and the Earth colonies. While we aren't at liberty to say which system we will be traveling to, I can assure you all devout Unitoligists will be quite happy with the experience.
The USG Ishimira is our flagship Planet Cracker, being the oldest in the fleet. Helmed by Captain Mathias, a devout Unitologist such as yourself, I can assure you, you will be in good company and in good hands.
I myself have benefitted greatly from the wisdom and love of Unitology, after the death of my only child. Unitology saved me from a fate worse than death. It will be good to have such a faithful, deep thinking mind such as yourself join us.
Altman be praised!
Samara Griffin, Chief Personnel Officer
Concordance Extraction Corporation
"What does it say?" came a female voice from behind Peter. He turned around and saw his neighbor, Sally, the cute, red head he had a bit of a crush on. "You look speechless."
"It's from C.E.C. They liked my essay." Peter told her with a dumbfounded look. "They're inviting me to go on their next Planet Cracking mission."
"Seriously? Congrats!" Sally threw her arms around him in a big hug. "You're so lucky. This is your ticket off Mars. I'm so jealous."
Peter smiled as he began making plans for the big change.
**
That night he had trouble sleeping.
He got out of bed and walked to the kitchen. Staring at the sink he started to hear a scratching noise at his front door.
He opened the door and saw nothing but darkness.
Then he saw his mailbox. The scratching noise was coming from there.
He walked over to the mailbox in the darkness.
Inside the mailbox was a middle aged, blonde woman's head.
He knew instantly that it was Samara Griffin. Her eyes opened and she began talking to him. "Congratulations Peter Dragonetti, you have been chosen to join us in the great transformation. Our bodies will become one. Altman be Praised! Death is the beginning. You will die. You will Transform."
Tentacles grew out of her mouth and grabbed Peter, dragging him into the mailbox.
He woke up in a sweat, screaming.
Then he fell back to sleep, forgetting the nightmare.
**
Six Months Later- USC Ishimira
"..with Unitology, we bring peace and unity to the galaxy. Altman be praised!" the preacher said, ending his sermon.
"Altman be praised!" the Unitoligist Church replied as one.
Peter Dragonetti gathered his books as he got up to speak to the preacher.
"Thank you, Deakin Abbott. The sermon was insightful." he said as he shook the preacher's hand.
"Ah! Dragonetti. Doing more research?" Abbott asked. "Soon enough, you'll be giving these sermons. Have you talked with Captain Mathias yet?"
"I have. He is a devout Unitologist, as I was told." Peter replied. "I was actually hoping I could get some information on Samara Griffin, the CPO of the company. I'd like to thank her personally for recruiting me. I've re-read her letter several times and her personal story touched me."
Deakin Abbott gave Peter a concerned look.
Dragonetti continued. "I asked Captain Mathias about her but he said he didn't know her. He told me to ask you."
"Samara Griffin hasn't been the CPO for three years." Deakin Abbott sighed as he told Peter the news. "Ted Granger is the new CPO of the company."
Peter fumbled with his pockets and pulled out the black envelope. "Well, this letter I received six months ago was from Samara Griffin."
"Samara Griffin went missing three years ago." Abbott explained. "She disappeared on a scouting mission. I was very close with Samara. She came to my sermons often after the tragic death of her son."
"Why would the Chief Personnel Officer go on a scouting mission?" Peter asked.
"Well, I'm not one for gossip but as I've been told, she had a relationship with the scouting ship's captain." Abbott explained.
"This happened three years ago?" Peter asked. "She couldn't have sent me this envelope.."
"It was probably an error." Abbott interrupted Peter. "Ted probably forgot to change the signatures on the letters he sent out. I've heard he's not very organized."
Peter shook his head. He had a hard time believing that. Samara put personal details in the letter. Deakin wasn't telling him everything.
"It was a sad time when the scouting mission went missing. I gave many sermons about them." Abbott continued. "In fact, they were lost in the territory were headed to now. Aegis Seven."
Peter gave Deakin Abbott a concerned look.
"Oh, don't worry. There have been many more scouting missions this way since." Abbott said as he patted Peter on the back. "Unfortunately, the scouts never found out why Samara's ship went missing. They have reassured us though, that Aegis Seven is quite safe."
Peter felt an edginess.
"In fact, I've been given some hopeful news." Abbott said. "Though we have to keep it a secret for now."
"What secret?" Peter asked.
Deakin Abbott's smile gleamed with excitement. "Our researchers believe Aegis Seven contains a Red Marker."
Peter's eyes widened. "A Red Marker?"
"Altman be Praised!"
**
That night Peter had trouble sleeping.
He got out of his cot as he saw a light coming from the communal living quarters door.
He walked towards the light. He could hear humming throughout the empty corridors.
"Altman be Praised!" he recognized the voice. It was the same voice he heard when he dreamt of Samara.
As he walked towards the humming noise and Samara's voice, he felt a tingling in the back of his neck. Something was behind him. Many things were behind him. Crawling noises.
He kept walking towards Samara's voice and the humming. The noises blended together. He opened a door and looked up to see the Red Marker. He was standing on Aegis Seven.
Creatures screamed in the background. He could hear flesh tearing.
Samara walked out of the Red Marker towards him.
She hugged him.
He woke up screaming. He looked around himself at the the other cots in the communal living quarters.
He was not the only one who woke up screaming.
**
One Months Later- Aegis Seven
"This is shite!" cried an angry voice. "This whole situation is rubbish. I wish I never received that dang, black envelope."
Peter looked at the small, balding, angry man. 'Did he just say black envelope?'
"Will you stop complaining, Big Kenny?" said a tall, calm man. "Everyone is tired of hearing it."
Peter Dragonetti sat in a huge supply closet, surrounded by four other men and a woman. They all carried weapons and had scared, tired looks on their faces.
"Give me a break, Stumpf." Big Kenny yelled. "I'm stuck in this damn closet with all you morons."
Stumpf ignored Big Kenny as he watched a Gravity Ball game on his portable vid screen.
"Did you just say black envelope?" Peter asked Big Kenny.
"Everyone be quiet." said a man wearing a security outfit, his name tag reading C. Bison. "Those things are out there. They could hear us."
"They've taken over the whole ship." said a woman wearing another security outfit, with the name tag reading I. Chavez. "We're screwed."
"I think we'll make it, Isabelle." replied a man with a lost look on his face. "Or I will, anyway."
"Oh, great!" Big Kenny said, rolling his eyes. "If Don Keifer thinks we'll make it, then we're saved."
"Why you always picking on Don?" Bison asked.
"He's just mad that Don scored with the captain's daughter." Stumpf chimed in, lifting his eyes from the vid screen.
"I don't care about that." Big Kenny said. "She's fifty!"
"She was from Norway!" Don blurted out. Everyone gave him a confused look. He was often misunderstood.
"Right! You don't care." Stumpf said. "I seem to recall you bragging to everyone who would listen, that you were going to score with her. The captain's daughter would be another notch on your belt. Then she chose Don. Not you."
"Yeah? I have more notches on my belt than you." Big Kenny bragged. "I have more notches than any of you. I'm the big dog around here."
Stumpf looked back at his vid screen.
"Besides," Big Kenny continued. "I wanted Don to score with her. It was his first time, right Donny boy?"
Stumpf raised his fist in the air as his favorite Gravity Ball team, the Mars Capita Rioters, scored a Nuke Down.
"Viva la Capita!" he yelled. Just then a bone blade pierced his heart, killing him instantly.
A necromorph stood up from the shadows behind Stumpf.
"Shite!" Big Kenny cried, before a tentacle wrapped around his neck and pulled him up into an air vent.
"How did they get in here?" Isabelle yelled.
"The air vents!" Peter yelled as he started shooting the necromorphs with his laser cutter.
"No way!" Don yelled as he was surrounded by four necromoprhs.
Peter, Bison and Isabelle all ran out of the huge supply closet, firing at as many necromorphs as they could. Peter heard screams as he ran.
He looked back and saw Isabelle and Bison share a kiss as they were swarmed by necromorphs. They were both holding explosive packs.
A huge explosion went off in the middle of the swarm.
He kept running. He could hear a humming noise as he ran.
The Red Marker was calling him.
He ran towards the humming. There were horrors all around him. Finally he made it to the Red Marker. He stood in front of it. Necromorphs wouldn't go near it. He was protected.
Samara walked towards him from within the Marker.
"Why? Why did you send me the black envelope? Why did you choose me?" he asked, crying. His tears were bloody.
"You are ready for the convergence." Samara said as she hugged Peter. "Join us!"
"Altman be Praised!" he said, as he walked away from the Red marker, towards the swarms of necromorphs.
**
Three Years Later- Mars
Sally had trouble sleeping.
She went to the kitchen to get some water. As she poured the water into the glass she could hear her neighbor talking.
'Probably Dragonetti again.' she thought as she walked to her front door.
'Still celebrating his return from Aegis Seven.'
She opened the door and saw Peter standing in front of his door, his back to her.
He was whispering something. Or was he humming?
She walked up to him and said "Hey there, Peter. Hero of the Ishimira."
She put her hand on his shoulder. Then she remembered the Ishimura never returned.
Peter turned around, his face was torn apart. Bones protruded from his body.
"Congrats Sally. We've chosen you. Praise Altman. Welcome to the convergence."
Then he bit into her.
Sally woke up screaming.
**
Sally waited in her living room. She was nervous. She had applied for a nursing position on Titan Station and was waiting for the reply from EarthGov. She wanted to leave Mars. Titan Station was an exciting opportunity.
She heard the mailbox open and closed. Running to the door she squealed with excitement as she saw her mailbox lever was up.
The young, red haired woman opened her mailbox and saw the black envelope.
@stumpy49er: Great story. I get historical referencing, but the Trump lines don't work. It injects a piece of reality that feels like it doesn't belong in this sci-fi/horror epic. At the least, change the name to something made up. That would preserve the commentary on today's bickering over candidates without taking the reader too far out of the story. They'll instead be wondering who President Fictitious is as they move on with the story. <--Just an opinion, obviously.
@batkevin74: Funny workaround for something you didn't like. Nice. Did you get anywhere on the Millar contest btw? I wound up not entering.
Wasn't sure about it. Thought it was funny but honestly, there's too much politics on the internet anyway.
Also, as you imply, it takes the reader out of the story. The year is 2508. In 500 years, no one will be talking about Trump. This really didn't belong in the story.
Plus, I'm not even sure if the Deadspace series takes place in the same timeline as the real word.
@batkevin74: As loathe as I am to admit it, I actually thought that limiting the contest to only being about his properties was a good idea. Limits the "he stole my idea" complaints. Still, I had only just read the time travel story he did (I've forgotten the title now) and Starlight not long before that... and the first issue of MPH lol. I couldn't muster the time to get into it. Le sigh.
@stumpy49er:Ah, see? I didn't know about Deadspace. I thought this was all original lol.
@cbishop: One other reason why I'm glad you pointed it out is that I think I'd prefer my writings be more timeless rather than topical. Something people can read in 20 years and still like.
Not that being topical is all bad. It can be a good motivator in story telling. In fact, my fairy story was kind of motivated by certain topical issues. Maybe it's best to strike a nice balance between topical and timeless. Still, I'd prefer timeless.
Anyway, just pontificating.
By the way, hope you and @impurestcheese can sneak a story in before deadline.
Hopefully my contest didn't kill everyone's motivation.
@stumpy49er: timeless is what I was thinking towards. As for entering, I'm hoping to get something written tonight, but I've been focused on other stuff. It's not your topic, but my own distractions.
Great story. I get historical referencing, but the Trump lines don't work.
Absolutely. Real presidents never fit into fictional stories. That's why we never made a fantasy contest about President Lincoln. Nope. Never happened.
The young man opened his mailbox and saw the ominous, black envelope addressed to Noah & Juno Hu. He turned it over in his hand several times on the way back into the apartment, and stood at the breakfast bar looking at it for a minute, before his wife looked up from the couch and saw the concern on his face.
"What is it, Noah?" she asked softly.
"I...I'm not sure," he said with some concern. If they were back in Chinatown, they both knew what this would mean. But here? In Larsen? He exchanged looks with his wife one more time, and then grabbed a knife from the silverware drawer. As he opened the envelope, he breathed a sigh of relief and laughed. "HA! It is only an invitation to your sister Wanda's fortieth birthday party!"
"Psht!" said Noah's wife, laughing with relief. "I've lost count, but I'm pretty sure she counted thirty-nine a couple of dozen times!"
"Now, Juno," cautioned Noah. "You should be nicer to your sister. You know she is not that old. Forty is hard for some people."
"Not for me!" Juno said happily. "I'm gonna be thirty-nine forever, baby! That's eighteen and twenty-one, all wrapped up in one package! That's cute little ol' me!" she cheered with a giggle.
"Oh ho, is that right?" laughed Noah.
"You better believe it," she said with an I dare you to say otherwise look. "Y'know what? C'mere."
Noah smiled as he crossed the living room. "Yeeess?" he said with a smile as he leaned on the back of the couch looking down at his petite wife.
"No, I meant down here!" she said as she jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck, dragging him over the back of the couch and on top of her.
They laughed and tickled and kissed for a long minute, before Juno put both hands on his chest and stopped. "You don't think she'll invite...you know...do you?"
Noah lost his smile. "To invite her would only invite trouble. Surely your sister would not do such a thing?"
"I hope not," pouted Juno. "I don't like that ginger harpy."
Noah pursed his lips for a moment, contemplating his wife and this new possibility for the party. "Best not to let it upset you. I think that even your sister could not hold a grudge for that long. She invited us to the party, right?" he said, kissing his wife gently.
"Hm," she hummed. "Well. You're probably right. It would only ruin her big day."
"Yes. One a couple of dozen years in the making," smiled Noah.
Juno couldn't help smiling back. Then they laughed. Then they kissed. For the moment, they forgot the black envelope and its invitation altogether.
***
The young, red haired woman looked in her mailbox and saw a black envelope.
@wildvine: I didn't say real presidents don't work in fiction. I said the Trump lines don't work in this one. Waezi' posted one later that also had a thinly disguised Trump reference, and I didn't think it worked there either.
The Lincoln contest was specifically for stories about Lincoln injected with a fictionalized element. So of course they worked.
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