Team Challenge #1: Winning Story
The Inkslingers' Motto:
We are the Inkslingers, specialist ass-kicking pantsers and outliners, hard-word slaying machines, Ministers of Lead.
We charge into a book on our giant fire-breathing erasers and say what needs to be said at the point of a pencil. We hold nothing back . . .
Honestas Virtus Fidelitas. AMEN!
TEAM CHALLENGE #1: TAG–YOU'RE–IT!
The Prompt:
"Time travel has been invented.
Every day this week, you receive a completely unexpected package from your future self."
"THE PUROLATOR ENIGMA"
(Alternate title: "Contents Outside the Box are Fragile")
by the NBR Inkslingers
(1) Life, until this point, had seemed mundane at best. It was the same old routine: alarm clock sounds, get out of bed, shower, dress, cup of coffee, piece of toast, and off to my daily grind. That was until I opened my front door this morning to find this package.
(2) The parcel's appearance was odder than its unexpected arrival. By the time it was on my table the big flashing bow wasn't the most astounding thing about it anymore. I stared at the note taped on top.
"We avoided the apocalypse. Look inside." There was a smiley at the end (3) with Xed-out eyes. My 'what-are-you-thinking' nerves jangled as I broke out my trusty Leatherman and sliced the box open, right through the middle of the smiley.
I hit the damned box emoji, and my Leatherman got stuck. The Xes glowed red, and the knife disappeared inside the box.
(4) Suddenly, the room began to shake, causing the table and the box to tip over. My vision blurred as I collapsed and the red eyed emoji stared at me from its thin paper prison. I could see the handle of my knife within the box when my eyes settled on (5) strange visions of things to come. It was my future. I saw war, blood, images of savagery I commit. But how does this happen? How do I become a weapon, a minister of death and violence? Who was that woman, that man that I tortured, and why (6) did I suddenly have the taste of cinnamon in my mouth?
I shut my eyes, trying to regather my equilibrium, fighting to remember who I was. When I reopened them, the box was on its side. It was just a cardboard box again.
I opened the flaps to see a (7) small ball of fur, about the size of a tea kettle, all curled up into a corner. As I leaned in to take a closer look, the thing moved and two slits glided open, revealing yellow eyes staring back at me. Another gap in the fur (8) revealed razor sharp claws, tipped with what seemed to be tiny transistors.
The ball of fur had been sent to spy on me! Its sharp claws were meant to keep me from interfering. It was then I recalled a conversation (9) I'd had with my friend, Dapper Dan. We were both quite drunk, having indulged in far too much of his homemade moonshine, and his words made little sense at the time.
"If ever faced with transistor claws, make sure you have eggnog on hand...and rum!"
Luckily, I had just returned (10) the previous night, from my ex-wife's Christmas party, having nabbed all the eggnog and hightailed it out of there. Rum was, of course, always on hand.
I dashed to the kitchen, praying to God I hadn't left it unrefrigerated. Who knows what horrors would arise if I doused the (11) kitchen cabinets with all the bottles of rum I keep stacked, preparing for a day like this. I flung open the first cabinet, and nearly shrieked – that fur ball with yellow slits for eyes and transistors for claws was curled up in the cabinet, watching me.
(12) Without warning it jumped at my face. It turned my cheeks to bloody ribbons. I ran to the door, fighting with it the whole way, I threw it in the yard, slamming the door shut. Afterwards, I poured half a bottle of rum on my face and drank the rest.
(13). Face stinging, and rum taking its sweet time to numb the pain, I went to the window to check on the fur ball. It returned my stare from the middle of the lawn, unblinking. It took considerable effort to turn away from those eyes, but I had to find a (14) link between the enigmatic message attached to the first of five packages to arrive unexpectedly during the week and the unfolding nightmare of today's events.
Then, a rustling sound drew my attention back to the overturned box on the floor. A cylindrical object rolled from the opening toward (15) the basement. From within its depths, I heard a piercing cry growing louder as it moved closer to the door. My hands shook, blood and rum soaking my skin, as I followed it. It rolled down the stairs, each thud on the staircase echoing within my own heart. Finally, it (16) hit the dingy basement floor and rolled out of sight. The pain in my face warned me not to follow the cylinder blindly, so I sought the wall next to me for the light switch. Before I could reach it, a bright flash pierced through the darkness, illuminating three words...
(17) "IT ENDS HERE".
What was that supposed to mean? I hesitated as my fingers found the switch, but there would be no turning back. Curiosity had a hold of me; I HAD to follow the cylinder. I flipped the light on, but the bulb only flickered for a moment before (18) the cylinder rolled under a set of shelves, bounced off the wall with a clink, and then rolled back toward me, my foot halting its advance. As soon as the sole of my foot lifted off the cylinder, my surroundings morphed from a creepy basement to a leafy green jungle. (19) Sunlight streamed through the trees.
"What in the world..." I closed my eyes for a brief moment of peace—until I smelled the rotting flesh. The trees burgeoned into large umbrellas, and I fingered the ground to find the cylinder. The darkness pulsed in the stuffy air and morphed into a (20) shape that was all too familiar.
That fur ball with the slits for eyes! Bigger this time, it was towering over me. I scrambled away from it until I tripped over something and fell. Pushing myself up, I saw the elusive cylinder. A bright light flashed from it almost blinding (21) me as a policeman leaned into my car.
"Have you been drinking ?" he asked. "Go inside and sleep it off," he said, holding his nose because I stunk. Since I'd passed out in my driveway, I obeyed. I grabbed some kale juice gummy bears and began a seven day cleanse.
(22) The flashes of fire and premonitions of apocalyptic genocide returned occasionally, shattering any hope of writing off the incident entirely as the insanity which grips the subject of a drunken stupor. The visions plagued dark recesses of my mind, disturbing me in my weakest moments. I can never be sure (23) of how real the event was.
It's morning now, and I hear the doorbell ring. I stumble to the door, yanking it open to find a new box, complete with a flashing bow and the damned smiling emoji. The attached note reads: "Apocalypse is back again. Thanks for nothing, idiot."
(24) I flipped over the note. "Open the box and you will save us."
But this time curiosity didn't get the better of me. This time I didn't want to "help" anyone, or be important to anyone. For once, I really liked my monotonous routine. Down the trash the parcel went...
Key:
1
3 JWCMaher
10 burnedoubt
11 Casparita
12 henry_scott
13 Ickyrus
14 LyndaCoker
16 Reaweiger
17 ReneeShantel
18 EricDabbs
20 fatfaceheart
21 HardeeBurger
22 ChuckDonahue
23 niamhbran
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