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They called him Stampy. He was born to it, and it seemed he was determined to live up to it. He pounded at the ground, forming craters and depressions in his wake. Every now and then, he stopped to let out a roar simply for the sound of it. The trees trembled. The ground quaked. The herbivores kept their distance, scattering at the sight of his large head, tiny arms, and humongous teeth.
Stampy, for his part, usually stomped after them. They were tasty, and besides, the chase was fun. Their squeals of terror, the booming cries of anguish as he tore flesh from their bones, those were the things that Stampy enjoyed most. Sometimes he would leave them like that, bodies rotting while the creature lived, and just watch.
Occasionally, a young bull, eager to prove himself, would challenge Stampy, and the older male would laugh to himself. He would decimate his competition - usually fairly literally, tearing the youngster into pieces and scattering them to the winds. He did not kid himself that he merely ensured his own survival -- Stampy was in it for the slaughter, and he was just fine with that. He was also, he was the first to admit, in it for the rutting. The swagger, the thrust, the-- no, you don't need that kind of mental picture in your head.
It was while Stampy was thus engaged that a strange thing happened. It started with a stamping, a thud-thud-thud-thud that gained steadily in volume. The trees tumbled. The ground cracked. Had any herbivores remained in sight, they would surely have scatted, and then scattered.
Stampy looked up. And then he looked up some more. Standing over him was the largest dinosaur Stampy had ever seen.
"Excuse me," it said, politely. "I'm a little lost."
Stampy told it where to go. That was his first mistake. His second mistake was to follow it up with a direct challenge. It was also, unfortunately for Stampy, his last mistake. The last thing he heard before an enormous foot splattered his skull into the ground, was a very polite, but nonetheless firm, "you should not have done that, sir".
Stampy, for his part, usually stomped after them. They were tasty, and besides, the chase was fun. Their squeals of terror, the booming cries of anguish as he tore flesh from their bones, those were the things that Stampy enjoyed most. Sometimes he would leave them like that, bodies rotting while the creature lived, and just watch.
Occasionally, a young bull, eager to prove himself, would challenge Stampy, and the older male would laugh to himself. He would decimate his competition - usually fairly literally, tearing the youngster into pieces and scattering them to the winds. He did not kid himself that he merely ensured his own survival -- Stampy was in it for the slaughter, and he was just fine with that. He was also, he was the first to admit, in it for the rutting. The swagger, the thrust, the-- no, you don't need that kind of mental picture in your head.
It was while Stampy was thus engaged that a strange thing happened. It started with a stamping, a thud-thud-thud-thud that gained steadily in volume. The trees tumbled. The ground cracked. Had any herbivores remained in sight, they would surely have scatted, and then scattered.
Stampy looked up. And then he looked up some more. Standing over him was the largest dinosaur Stampy had ever seen.
"Excuse me," it said, politely. "I'm a little lost."
Stampy told it where to go. That was his first mistake. His second mistake was to follow it up with a direct challenge. It was also, unfortunately for Stampy, his last mistake. The last thing he heard before an enormous foot splattered his skull into the ground, was a very polite, but nonetheless firm, "you should not have done that, sir".
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I... have no experience with noir, and I'm pretty sure it shows. I know it's not the absolute best fit of noir because it was really hard to work a hardboiled style into it with the dinosaur and stuff, but hopefully it'll still count for the challenge. Anyway, day 16, challenge day.
Challenge was to "write a piece of flash noir fiction, where your protagonist isn’t human".
Challenge was to "write a piece of flash noir fiction, where your protagonist isn’t human".
FFM Links- 16 July 2015Oh look we've made it past the halfway mark! The return stretch has begun and we can slowly start reaching to the hopes of August!
But not yet, we still have more to do! Don't start packing up yet- leave that computer on and get tapping away. Especially as we know some of you have slipped a few days and need to catch up, don't panic!
It's a Challenge Day!!!!!
Today’s challenge is a genre one! We can hear the “yay” from your computer screens already
We challenge you to look at the classic genre in fiction known as “Noir”. Noir is a form of hardboiled fiction, where the protagonists tend not to be the heroes, but in fact the opposite. They are the villains, the criminals, those who will lose by the end of the story. They could be innocent, they could be victims, but either way their ending will not be pleasant. The more unpleasant you make this piece, the better .
To make the challenge a bit more challenging, we are ask
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I love this: Stampy looked up. And then he looked up some more. Standing over him was the largest dinosaur Stampy had ever seen."Excuse me," it said, politely. "I'm a little lost."
Stampy told it where to go. That was his first mistake. His second mistake was to follow it up with a direct challenge. It was also, unfortunately for Stampy, his last mistake. The last thing he heard before an enormous foot splattered his skull into the ground, was a very polite, but nonetheless firm, "you should not have done that, sir".