Dear friends, thanks to you all for participating to day #5! Last week it's been a great fun and you have exceeded yourself! I admired your vivid creativity which outmatched my first part of the freewrite.
This week I will confirm a pot of 2 SBI per day of contest: let me share the fun and wealth as much as I can with all of you freewriters!
Here is how this contest works:
1. I write an unfinished fiction story/freewrite
2. You finish it with a comment in the comment section (relax..no long stuff needed!)
3. I will donate up to 2 @steembasicincome shares to the freewriters with the most interesting, fun, original, crazy ending (I'm the unquestionable judge. Well, technically not me.. the bananafish voices within my head are).
It's super simple and I hope we'll have loads of fun together! Basically you comment, as you always did, just this time you can be rewarded with one or even two SBI share!
Nothing is mandatory here..Just enjoy and prepare for a trip into my delirious fiction world!
For those that don't know what the @steembasicincome is, we're talking about a great project run by @josephsavage which - based on your amount of shares in it - will grant you a permanent vote on all your posts!
Here you will find their most recent post with details
Steem Basic Income is a social experiment to bring a basic income to as many Steemians as possible. Members join by sponsoring others into the program. Steem Basic Income is delivered through providing regular upvotes to member content.
Too much writing! Here's the story based on @mariannewest today's prompt "artichoke":
The guttural cries and the trivial drum sounds came from the containment pit, like a fist throwing toward the sky.
The darkness of the eclypse penetrated through what looked like a distorted St. Patrick well, made of steel sheets and gears fused with each other.
It was said that the origin of that enormous hole in the middle of the Western Erg was to reconnect with the core melting of an ancient experimental nuclear power plant. The frightful wound created would never be recovered. While the uranium bars continued to eat the bowels of the earth, that cursed place became the centre of the tournament where warriors, strengthened by technological progress, were exposed to new challenges.
Down in the well's bottom, in the cold and sinister obscurity of the eclipse, the sounds of blades hissed and whistled, leaving beams of evanescent light on the retina of the spectators' eyes. The two Masters had abandoned long-range weapons and had gone into combat at close range. There was something hypnotic and fascinating in their synchronised and harmonious movements. The Dai-Katana of Mastro Zekhie, known as the black heron, did not need to strike with precision, being implemented with a destructive vibration that spread through a considerable radius around the sword. The red warrior, on the other hand, was much more supple and fluid in his movements, even though, at the moment, he seemed to find himself in increasing difficulty. Despite the speedy twist, which aimed to hit the opponent's back, now the warrior clearly began to withdraw. Mastro Zekhie, after a series of revolutions in full charge, was now preparing for the final thrust towards the sternum of the contender.
"Artichoke". In a fraction of a second, the black heron's mind registered with horror the black object that was unfolding between its legs, almost unnoticed. All caught up in the attack had not noticed that the red warrior had dropped while backing a grenade with selective electromagnetic explosion, nicknamed artichoke.
The petals of the weapon instantly hugged Zekhie's exoskeleton. An impressive vibration was emanating ever louder. He was still and reacting trying frantically to reconfigure his exoskeleton internally in the few remaining seconds at his disposal. The red warrior looked placid, unable to approach, and left the petals of the artichoke the tranquillity of carrying out their deadly work.
"That technique, those movements," thought the black heron widening his eyes overwhelmed by intuition, just before the thunder made the ears of the spectators in the front rows bleed. Blinding light. Explosion.
The smoke was thinning. Stunted but very clear, from the shapeless mass that had been Mastro Zekhie came a name: "Miriam ..".
The red warrior winced.
