Ended BYC Writing Prompts! A Short Story Contest

[LhickenChicken]

Good luck y'all!

Second that.
Good fortune! (Although I do... hope I am going to win?? It was nice participating tho...)
I suffered from lack of inspiration for the second story...

 

[Blue Raptor]

Now, for the moment you've all been waiting for! The judges have finished judging, and we have our winners!
@Amer, @ColtHandorf, @Boppo, & @Sally PB​

First Place - @Amer

Prompt: Fairy Tale
Title: The Beggar's Unicorn

Once upon a time, there was a rich man. He had fine clothes, a large house, and all the luxuries that he had ever wanted. He also had a great amount of gold stored away in the safe in his cellar, and another fortune in the bank.
One day he was taking a stroll through the town market. It was crowded with stalls and people jostling to buy and sell. Beside one stall stood a hunched beggar. His clothes looked like they had once been fine, but now they were ragged. He carried the tired look in his eyes of someone who has watched helplessly as his prosperity slipped through his fingers. He looked up at the rich man, noted his rich clothing, and muttered “He’ll do.”
The beggar approached the rich man. “I have something no one has ever offered to you before, truly, it will be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you,” he said.
The rich man turned, wondering what this beggar was trying to swindle him into buying. “What is it?” the rich man asked curiously.
“A unicorn,” the beggar said simply. To the rich man’s great astonishment, when the beggar tugged on a rope, a gleaming white unicorn strode out from behind the stall where he stood. She was tall, slender, and beautiful, with a twisted, pearlescent horn sprouting from her forehead. “Probably the last of her kind. They’ve near died out. Partly because they’re hunted for their healing horns, but mostly because of their diet. There just aren’t enough diamonds and gold lying around anymore, so they all starved. I’d hate to see Pearl languish like that.”
The rich man knew immediately that he had to have her. For who else in the world owned such a magnificent creature? “How much does she cost?” he asked. He was prepared to pay any price.
He expected the beggar to demand millions, but instead, with a twinkle in his eyes, he said, “All you must pay is a penny and a promise.”
The rich man was confused, but he pressed a penny into the beggar’s palm, though he felt it was robbery to take the only thing of any worth from the beggar for such a paltry amount.
“What you must promise me is this,” the beggar continued. “Pearl will always be well taken care of, and she must be protected from hunters and robbers. They’d do anything to get her healing horn. She only eats gold and jewels and promise me that you will never give her any less than she needs.”
“I promise,” the rich man said. What was a little gold for such a marvelous beast?
The beggar looked at the gleaming penny sitting in his palm with a smile. “You’d be surprised to hear that this is the first penny I ever got in return for my investment in her.”

The rich man walked home joyfully with “Pearl” trotting behind him.
When he arrived home, he proudly showed his prize to his wife and explained her rather particular requirements.
“Looks more like a white elephant than a unicorn to me,” was all she could say.
The rich man guided her carefully to his stables and put her in a stable with the softest straw and fed her with a bucket full of gold he retrieved from the great safe in his cellar. She ate ravenously, and the man wondered how she could have lived with such a poor man. Barely, probably. He felt fortunate that he could provide for Pearl and felt obliged to hire a guard for her to keep her safe from robbers at night.
The rich man quickly discovered just how expensive it was to own a unicorn. She ate like a horse, and even a pound of her food was worth a fortune. Soon he found that all of the money in the safe in his cellar had run out. He began to dig into the money he had in the bank.
But the rich man never considered getting rid of her. The longer he owned Pearl, the more he felt responsible for her. No one else was capable of caring for her like he was, and he didn’t want such a remarkable species to die out.
He considered restricting her diet but remembered his promise to the beggar. He was thankful she had only cost a penny.
The money in the bank was running dangerously low, but the not-quite-so-inexhaustibly-wealthy man still needed gold for Pearl and to pay her guard.
So he made the difficult decision to downsize. It started off easily enough.
He could sell a few extra horses, could get rid of some of the clutter in his home, could do without the furniture in the guest room upstairs.
But even all that hardly fed Pearl for a day.
So the man reduced the size of his estate.
Every day he got poorer and poorer. His wife left him. It was long since he had sold his large house when he found himself penniless in a tiny stable that he shared with Pearl. He realized then that he didn’t have anything left to give her. The last drop of his gold had run out.
He knew what he had to do. He tied that old rope around her neck, the same one he had brought her home with, and took her to the market. The man leaned against a stall, looking no better than a beggar. Maybe that’s why the stall owners pitied him and allowed him to stay. Maybe that’s what he was now. A beggar.
Please, take this unicorn. That’s what he wanted to beg. He didn’t think long about the price. Any more would be a robbery.
He waited until he saw a man that seemed fit for the undertaking, dressed in rich crimson silk. “He’ll do.”
“How much?” the rich man would ask.
“A penny and a promise,” the beggar would reply.

Second Place - @ColtHandorf

Prompt: Science-Fiction; de-extinction; climate change
Title: The Mammoth Steppe

Dmitriy Nikiforov looked up from his notes to watch the world below him. The plane was approaching the runway, and he sighed in relief. It had been a long flight, and Dmitriy still had more traveling to do before he reached his destination. He flipped through his notes on the project again, studying an area of particular interest.

The project’s primary aim is to re-create the steppe environment lost 10,000 years ago to manipulate ground cooling throughout the winter months, curbing the thaw of permafrost during the warmer months and lessening the emission of methane, carbon, and other harmful greenhouse gases. Global warming cannot at this time be reversed, but it can be slowed with intentional human intervention through the restoration of this ecological habitat.

The density of megafauna must be raised as the population is too low to affect the environment positively. Areas of the proposed Pleistocene Park will be fenced, and populations will be raised through their introduction, concentrating our efforts on localized areas.

He thought back over the years. The first grazing experiments began with the reintroduction of wild horses. Then they’d brought more moose to boost their numbers, and reindeer, muskox, European buffalo, or wisent, bison from the US, and Altai elk had been released in sufficient numbers to establish breeding populations. Recent additions of domesticated yak, cattle, goats, sheep, Siberian roe deer, and Bactrian camels had significantly boosted the numbers of herbivores in the park, and shipments of saiga were scheduled in the coming months.

Scientists have observed and documented tangible and measurable changes in the forty years since the project began. The grazers trampled the snow and helped keep the permafrost intact. This was recorded through temperature, and high towers in the park allowed researchers to watch the animals and monitor levels of methane, carbon dioxide, and water vapor in the immediate atmosphere.

But the researchers still had to manually and artificially create the effects of large animals on the landscape to create paths through the mosses, willow, shrub, and young trees. But after the call he had received from George Church of Colossal Biosciences, it seemed that would finally change.

Dmitriy had monitored the biotechnology firm closely as they’d partnered with Pleistocene Park. Church had already been instrumental in the discussion of de-extinction and had successfully cloned the Pyrenean Ibex after previous attempts had failed. The Quagga Project and Aurochs Project had opposed the work of Church and his colleagues as the successful cloning of those extinct species undermined the decades of work that had gone into selective breeding programs to re-create them. But the United States owed the reintroduction of the passenger pigeon and the Carolina parakeet to the former Harvard researcher. And Colossal Biosciences had publicly announced an effort to restore the thylacine, or Tasmanian tiger, to its former range.

The plane set down with a bounce, jolting Dmitriy from his ruminations. He organized his notes and waited impatiently to disembark.

The Russian researcher reached an undisclosed location in the Northwestern United States early the following day. After the commercial flight, he’d boarded a private jet and landed at a small, private airstrip. He saw a vehicle waiting to take him to the facility. The door opened, and George Church greeted him as the driver took his bags and placed them in the rear of the car.

The two men greeted each other enthusiastically with a broad hug and thumping on one another’s backs.

“Dmitriy, my friend. It’s good to see you! I’m glad you could come.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” the researcher said. “How many animals did you say you’ve bred?”

“I didn’t say,” George said with a laugh. “But you’ll soon see for yourself.”

The vehicle moved down a road, winding through thick conifers. Dmitriy could see mountains capped with snow through occasional breaks in the trees. It was growing lighter, the sky a pale blue as it brightened. And then he heard it; the unmistakable sound of an elephant trumpeting in the cold morning somewhere past the trees. Dmitriy rolled the window down, and the air chilled him, but he listened again and heard an answering roar farther away. George was grinning like an idiot.

They burst out of the forest with unexpected suddenness, and a broad grassland stretched below them; a river wound through the thick grass with the mountain range as a glorious backdrop. The sun had fully risen, the plain glowed golden in the early morning light, and the snow reflected the light, making his eyes water as he looked toward the rugged peaks.

And there they were; elephants. They continued along the road, drawing closer to the magnificent animals. Tall at the shoulder, with long, curved tusks of ivory, shaggy coats, and small ears held close to the head. He saw they weren’t elephants. They were woolly mammoths, an entire herd feeding on the grasses. Dmitriy leaned out the window, counting the animals. He was so excited his breath was coming in short gasps, but by his count, he saw thirty-nine animals. Four adult bulls were identifiable by their larger tusks and more robust frames, twenty-eight animals that could be cows or adolescent males, and seven calves between several months old and a couple of years.

Dmitriy sat back in shock but couldn’t take his eyes off them. He thought they were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. The vehicle stopped in front of a nondescript building, and the two men climbed out, separated from the animals by a strong cable fence. The Russian scientist stood there silently, watching them raise their trunks from the grass to feed themselves. The largest bull jostled a younger one as he browsed. One of the young calves was suckling, and he smiled. Dmitriy raised his hand to his face and realized his cheeks were wet with tears.

“This is more than I could have ever imagined,” he said to Church, never taking his eyes away. He felt like he’d stepped back in time.

Third Place - @Boppo

Prompt: Poultry
Title: Chicken Stories
The tree hums low and slow. It stretches up to the sun, and out through the soil. It lives on the scale of centuries.

The grass trills high and quick. It also stretches up to the sun and out through the soil. It lives at a faster pace, rising and dying in a single season.

While the tree has its head in the sky, waving its arms toward the clouds, the grass moves like a low wave, a colonial creature that ruffles with the wind. The grass does not know much about the tree – it is a shadow against the sky. The tree does not know much about the grass, either.

But in between the grass and the tree flit creatures that move much faster than either trees or grass. They know at least some about both the grass and the tree. The grass noticed them first. It took the trees much longer because they are just that way.

A robin flew down to the grass and flipped over a few dead leaves, looking for some tasty worms or beetles. The grass was so surprised to notice this creature that it was gone almost before the grass could take it in. The grass was used to the slow massage of earthworms and the tickles of the roly poly bugs. But it had never known there were creatures that could zip down, and then zip away again.

To the grass, and the worms and roly polies, the sky was just a myth, a blank brightness above that dimmed and brightened in mysterious patterns. Creatures that reached up into that brightness just seemed to disappear in a most mysterious fashion. It was as if they popped into being and then popped back out. Each time the robin came, it seemed to the grass like a new robin.

Then came three little hens. The grass really got to know them. The chickens were fond of the grass, and liked to take a little leaf now and then. They mostly liked to scratch around in the dirt and leaves to see if they could find worms or beetles – much like the robin. But the chickens stayed around the grass much longer, so the grass felt it got to know them much better, and it could see they were the same creatures all day long, and even day after day.

The chickens sometimes just enjoyed sitting on the grass, when the sun shone. They would just lie there and cluck gently or be silent. The grass was just amazed at how these beings came and went, and sometimes stayed a while. They didn’t pop up into that strange blankness of the sky, but would promenade in a little line off to a new section of grass or into their mysterious pen. Sometimes, one hen would choose a pebble and swallow it! Was the chicken becoming like the grass that swallowed stones in its own way? Once in a while, the hens would sort of flutter and scramble along at a much faster pace, but they stayed close to the grass, rather than disappearing. The grass appreciated this.

The chickens crooned and clucked and peeped stories all day long for the grass, which just loved hearing it all. News of a world the grass could never see! The chickens would tell the grass all about the sky, and the sun, and shade. They talked about their pen, which was very mysterious to the grass, and about the delicious food they got there.

The tree had not noticed the chickens yet. They so far had stayed down around the roots, and just didn’t stick around long enough for a tree to notice them. But one night, first one chicken, and then the others, flew up into the branches of the tree. They roosted there all night. The tree began to notice these large birds then. It had hosted robin and other bird nests before. But these birds did not build nests in the tree. They just came to sleep. How strange!

The chickens lived between the grass and the tree for a long time. It seemed to the grass that chickens had always been there. The tree remembered better, but enjoyed having the chickens for company. The chickens got used to the grass and the tree. They would tell the grass all about the tree. And at night they told the tree all about the grass, and the little creatures they had found there all during the day. The tree became very fond of these feathery visitors. They came all year long, not just when it was nesting time. They always had stories to tell, though they were mostly about tasty leaves, worms and roly polies. These birds did not peck holes in the tree looking for more bugs, which the tree appreciated.

One day, the grass noticed there were only 2 chickens visiting. The tree never did notice the difference. Trees are not very good at math.

After some time, though the missing chicken came back, bringing a bunch of little fuzzy fluffballs. These began to learn how to scratch and peck around the grass, and the grass slowly realized that these were also a kind of chicken. By the end of that summer, all the fluffballs were looking more like the other chickens, and suddenly, they began flying up into the tree.

The tree did not notice the difference. Trees are not very good at math. But it did enjoy the stories.

Fourth Place - @Sally PB

Prompt: dystopian. But for a challenge to myself, I put all of the prompt words in the story. (Some are part of a larger word, or span two words.)
Title: We Are Done Here


“Poultry… 35,” the chief inspector said.

“Recount!” I demanded. “I only have 17 birds!”

“There are 18 eggs on your counter,” said one of the robots. “Since you have a rooster, they are likely fertile and could hatch.”

Cussing at myself, I couldn’t disagree. It wouldn’t have done any good, anyway.

Survival in the western sector was hard. The unspoken, number one rule: Don’t call attention to yourself. Head down, under the radar, no drama. Do not ever exceed the animals limit during an inspection, as that was a punishable crime.

Five of my precious eggs were going to go bye-bye. I wished I’d eaten them for breakfast. If I’d known an inspection was imminent, I would have.

It still amazed me that humans chose to move here. Historically, this area had been for those who liked adventure. Or, had the fantasy that they would make their own utopian fairytale, growing their own food and “living off the land.”

Ha! The only creatures who did that nowadays were pirates and dragons. The pirates roamed the land and waters, taking whatever they wanted. The robots left them alone; pirates served a purpose. The dragons had been created in an apocalyptic attempt to make more edible meat. Medieval DNA experiment gone way, way wrong.

The robots encouraged humans to move here, selling the swashbuckling mythology of the west. Live your own sci-fi thriller. Reality was much more dystopian.

That there was work for everyone was a big selling point, but it was mainly working the crop fields. Planting, cultivating, irrigating, harvesting. Due to a ban on most pesticides, there was also the dirty job of “bugging:” searching for “the bugs that eat your food.” Crop yields were abysmal if the buggers didn’t keep the pests down. The pests were processed and fed to animals. The robots considered humans to be animals. They were right, taxonomically.

Humans had been trying to bring the pesticides back. Problem was, they didn’t really work, not like they once had. Like Endosulfan: fickle, though it did wipe out the bees. The robots said that just guaranteed more work for the humans, pollinating the plants. So They got the last laugh on that.

“Human!” barked the robot. “You are over your animal allowance. How do you plead?”

“No contest,” I muttered. There was no defense, as it was true.

“As it is your first offence, leniency will be offered.”

“Thank you,” I said. It was the only response permitted.

“You will be sentenced at 1600 hours.”

I had six hours to prepare. Better than what I expected. “I am grateful,” I said, nodding my acceptance and appreciation. The sooner They were gone, the better my chances of doing what needed to be done.

“We are done here.” The robots packed up their instruments, got in their hover craft, and left.

They hadn’t alluded to what the sentence was, but there was no mystery, no wondering, and no leniency. I’d probably be a bugger the rest of my existence. I had two other options: suicide (a noble choice, since you were relinquishing your food and water to others), or trying to escape. No one had ever succeeded.

I could receive a harsher sentence, I thought. I could become dragon feed.

To many, the dragons were still an interesting phenomenon. Fiction made fact. Dragon fights were a big draw, a huge credit maker. An odd mixture of ancient history and modern genetic tinkering.

I thought about what was to come. Dying would be better than being a bugger, but hope – the cruelest item in Pandora’s Box, if you ask me – still burned in my cells. I might have one possible ace up my sleeve.

In the age of virtual this, interconnected that, and cyber everything, I’d flown under all the radar, so far. The eggs this morning had blipped somewhere, on something. My bad, my very stupid bad.

I went back inside. Down, down, down, deep underground was my own personal Faraday room. Inside, I was undetectable. Inside, I had been working on my own portal.

Space-time portals were entirely robot controlled, but there were rumors of rogue builders. Like everyone else, I scoffed. “It’s the age of Cyber, punk! Like you’d get away with anything, without Them knowing about it.” You didn’t ever, and I mean EVER, even hint that you might know of or know about anything to do with a private portal.

I was so close to having my own. Could I finish it in under six hours? What if They came early? They wouldn’t be able to detect me down here… would They?

The only part of the portal that wasn’t finished was the re-entry function. I wouldn’t have any control over when or where I landed. Sitting there, looking at the Doorway, I knew I didn’t have time to work out the algorithms necessary to wrap up this loose end. Que sera, sera. I’d have to take my chances and just go. I took a deep breath and set the reentry date and location for 1962, Michigan, USA.

I returned to the chicken coop and fed them one last scoop of treats. I petted each one, stroked feathers, looked into those wise beady eyes a last time. “I’ll miss you all, ladies and gentleman.” I swallowed the lump in my throat.

It was already noon. Time to leave, lest They came early. I left the run, turning my back on my feathered friends.

“Bawk-bawk,” Stormy clucked softly. I turned around. She was at the fence, watching me, ignoring the treats.

I went back in the run, scooped her up. “Hey, Stormy Bird,” I whispered. “Do you want to go with me?”

​

@Amer, @ColtHandorf, @Boppo, & @Sally PB, I will send you instructions on how to claim your prizes in a bit!

A HUGE THANK YOU to all who participated, this wouldn't have been possible without all of your entries!!!!

Great job, everyone, this was so much fun!!

~ Shout out to all of the judges that took the time to judge all of the contests. I know they were incredibly difficult to judge, and I appreciate all of you! ~

And THANK YOU to our BYC Sponsors (click to view & support them)​

 

[Kiki]

Congratulations @Amer
@ColtHandorf
@Boppo
@Sally PB

 

[EmmaRainboe]

Congratulations to all the wonderful winners

 

[Lacy Duckwing]

Congratulations @Amer, @ColtHandorf, @Boppo, & @Sally PB!! You all did great!

 

[TwoCrows]

Congrats to the winners!
@Amer, @ColtHandorf, @Boppo, & @Sally P

 

[azurbanclucker]

congrats @Amer @ColtHandorf @Boppo and @Sally PB!

 

[Boppo]

Oh, I am astounded and humbled. Thank you. I assumed Amer and Colt Handorf would sweep all categories, unless Sally PB widened her entries! Congratulations, guys! And thank you, Judges!

 

[azurbanclucker]

Oh, I am astounded and humbled. Thank you. I assumed Amer and Colt Handorf would sweep all categories, unless Sally PB widened her entries! Congratulations, guys! And thank you, Judges!

Your piece was good! Don't sell yourself short.

 

[GreenJay]

Congratulations y'all!!

@Amer
@ColtHandorf
@Boppo
@Sally PB