Sponsored Writing Contest: A Day in Your Life
Elaine of the Snowy Forest
Dearest greetings to my friends and enemies,
It is with great pleasure that I announce Elaine’s Cabin has been sponsored by the Office of the Vice President of the E-United States of America to host a weekly writing event for our beloved citizenry. It’s all thanks to your enthusiastic participation in my last contest! Seriously, I am very grateful for all of your lovely poetry. I have additional interesting news to share in the future, so keep your eyes peeled for that as well 🙂
This week we’re going to do something a little special. I want you to write about your eCitizen’s daily life. Who is your citizen? What are they like? What do they do every day? The genre is up to you, but any post by an eUSA citizen over 1000 characters long will receive either ~25 weapons or ~250 food. I don’t know the quality, but I doubt our deeply adored and appreciated sponsor would be stingy! Additionally the most voted story will receive 5 gold. I will also hand out some leftover donated rewards from last week to anything that particularly catches my fancy. This contest will run all weekend, until Monday morning when I will take stock of the number of posts and then send a request for an appropriate amount of prizes for you incredible, creative, thoughtful folks.
The rest of this post will be my own short story to get us started, so feel free to stop reading here and just scroll down to begin typing your own in the comments section below!
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Elaine was grumpy. Dust and smoke obscure her entire field of vision. An acrid, burning smell assaults her nostrils. Serbian infantry had successfully signaled her entrenched position to their air support, which happily obliged their concerns regarding her elevated defensive position. Anti-air artillery was being rushed into place to secure the defensive line: all she had to do was hold out for a while longer. Elaine hasn't been in Kentucky long but she was already way out of her depth. Serbia had hoped to catch the Americans off-guard, and Elaine was certainly a little off for a guard. She wore an old, military surplus BDU with a Bear Cavalry patch and a plain, black medical face mask. In her hands is an old but serviceable AK, with a simple phrase carved in the stock: “sic semper tyrannis”. There’s shouting in the distance, probably an enemy mountain infantry unit. As she lays down suppressive fire, she wistfully recalls yesterday night.
Not many hours ago, Elaine was cooking a perfectly good pot of stew while listening to eNPR on the radio. A pleasant fire was going, and her cat Camus was peacefully asleep in front of the mantel. Soon she would be by the fire, reading and full of warm broth - her preferred way of passing the evening in her mountain refuge. Unfortunately, this perfect evening would never come to pass, and Elaine’s pursuit of coziness was interrupted by frantic banging against her cabin door. It was her friend, What a Guy. She had scarcely opened the door for him when he frantically said “There’s no time to explain, we need to kill Serbians in Kentucky!”. Now, normally Elaine would demand further explanation from a statement like this - but she trusted What a Guy, on account of what a good guy he was. So she grabbed her go-bag and hopped in the back of his van, seeing several other Bear Calvary members already suited up and ready for battle. On the way down the Blue Ridge Parkway, she was briefed about the situation. Serbia had finally come to take the 11 secret herbs and spices crucial to eAmerica’s agricultural exports. If the mountain vault holding the recipe was breached, they would likely never recover from the financial damage. A desperate combat was about to begin...
To Be Continued, maybe (pausing here to get the contest out on time. Will finish later - hopefully)
Comments
FIST
old sub.
the Blue Ridge Parkway does not go to Kentucky. the Cumberland Gap would be your ticket into Kentucky from VA
Sun was rising troughout the horizon and there was smoke coming out from the combat airplane. The jet engines were burning heat and the gun turrets went out of ammo. As the drums of the ambience music were playing, the level of fuel started to deplete and now, the plane is loosing altitude. Beep, beep. beep: "Damn commies.." I say. Suddenly, y start looking for the eject lever but I realise it is jammed. My only faith, to maneuver the falling angel into the least of the bad landings. These clouds opacity increase around as speed increases, that unfoldable speed that makes human race to seek among stars. I see mud, the wheels break and the iron crashes. I can see nothing because the glass cracks, time stops. The AG symbol of the paint remains on the structure. Everything is black.
Moon is full on the sky toguether with many stars, as always. "These damn commies." once more I say while crawling into the dense forest stepes "I will return".
Congratulations on getting the most votes!
Oh thank you very much! I apreciate it! have a good day
While typesetting the next bombshell issue of “Radio Free Dixie”, his comrade-in-arms, style editor and best friend Mabel asked RF, “So what does ‘RF’ stand for anyway?”
“Revolutionary Fart”, he said, grinning.
“Nah. Really. What?”.
“Robert. Robert Franklin. Robert was my Dad’s name. Franklin was in honor of the Great Cold-Hearted Snake, Franklin Stone.”
“Franklin Stone!?”, Mabel guffawed, “But he’s still e-alive! And you’re like, what, 189 years old, isn’t that right old man? So if you were named after him, then how old is he?”
“Lord knows, Lord knows.” RF sighed, “Some people say he’s been here since Day 0.”
Continuing their work, they quietly pondered the wonders of e-time and e-life.
“La vida es dura,” Mabel offered, as a particularly naughty look crept into her eye.
“Si, querida,” RF replied, responding with a sly look of his own, “Y tenemos que bailar y celebrar, antes de que nos pase.”
“Siri,” he said, “play our song.”
Squirreled away in a hidden corner of a Bear Cavalry safe house donated to the militia years ago by SFP’s long-defunct “Marxmen” unit, nestled behind crates full of donated bombs, AK-47’s, ammunition, piles of hand-rolled blunts, and dozens of copies of “How to Build a Co-operative Society” by Chairman Rontgen, in all the langages of the New World, the RFD office filled with the dulcet tones of Cesaria Evora singing the eternally beautiful “Besame Mucho” by Consuelito Velázques.
They whirled and they twirled and they tango’d, laughing and singing their jam so loudly that two of the great ravens guarding the various SFP enclosures dotted throughout the Black Hills flew down to peer in the window.
Mabel saw her bird friends watching them as she rose up from the elevacion. Waving to them, she sang, “Besame, besame mucho”.
As he dragged Mabel about in the slow friccion they’d done a hundred times, he sang along with Cesaria too, while gazing into Mabel’s eyes, “Que tengo miedo a perderte”.
Enjoyed reading your story! Looking forward to seeing what others write. keep up the great work!
★★★★ Baaaaaa ★★★★
Thanks for the great work! And a big thanks to the sponsors!
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