Challenge Gallery 47: Original
This week we feature stories inspired by the challenge prompt, “original,” which was also the prompt over at 100 Word Stories. Some of our entries are accompanied by their 100 word stories. It wasn’t a requirement, simply a nudge to participate in both challenges.
Crap Mariner posts his podcast on Sunday mornings, so be sure to listen to the participants read their own stories tomorrow morning. Crap’s mental meanderings are just a happy bonus.
Before we get to our gallery, the prompt for next week is, “Stream.” Make of it what you will.
Challenge Gallery 47: Original
She’d been safe in the shelter of his arms, the cocoon of his protection. She’d wanted to stay that way forever, sunlight pouring through their windows, warmth moving throughout the day.
Until he could no longer be warmed, and arms grew too frail, too weak to remain about her waist. Until all that remained were his unwashed sheets, abandoned wrappings with a fading scent.
She wrapped herself within them, burrowed deep, lain still to let the sunlight bake her into something else. No warm safety for her transformation. No witness to her rebirth.
Painted in sunlight, she conjures the storm.
by Masha Runya
Original DNA of Meandra
My avatar got herself a DNA string, brain and pounding heart. It’s supposed to give a feeling of unique origin. But ‘original’ is a word we often abuse. It has this smell of magic, which turns every common person into something very special. Sure, we all are unique by DNA and in that way original. But being unique by DNA does not make us behave in the same sort of unique way. Who we are is how we learn to use that special self. But remember, most of that is being teached by others, which makes us just a copybot.
Sheila’s original recipe burgers were hugely successful – the succulent, juicy meals she served up turned fast food into fine dining. The recipe was, of course, a closely guarded secret and despite numerous cash offers from several giants of the food industry, it wasn’t for sale.
Despite her success, Sheila never sought the big time, selling her burgers from a mobile kitchen at the roadside. She’d stay for a while, never more than a few weeks in one place, then move on.
Oddly, the neighbourhood cats and dogs seemed to follow her – because there were never any about after she’d gone.
by Serendipity Haven
“…No matter What, I will never be an original Queen !” by Awesome fallen
“How original…” by Crap Mariner
“A True Original. A deeply artistic collage by a good friend of mine called Absinthe Wednesday. She’s a totally original artist, honest. Alternatively, I could say that the main image is located here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/whiskeymonday/8636660965/.” by Cad Lorakeet
“We all try to be original, but all we end up as are copies.” by Haisley
“Original (Not)” by Sinjin Cooperstone
“The Original Plan” by Maybe May
“Original and Deluxe Flavor” by Dioridhe Quandry
Original Ideas – Take Your Pick
“Where do you get your ideas?” they asked.
“How did you get so creative?” they wondered.
If only they knew how easy it is. Original ideas grow on trees. They can be plucked from the gnarled branches in bushels. Ideas are the fruit of the stubby trees of despair, euphoria, loneliness, and strife. These trees feed from the loamy soil of hardship, watered by the rays of a smile and fertilized by longing. For every idea that is picked, three more grow in its place.
Just pay no attention to the serpent, out on a limb.
“100% Original Profile.”
I recently came across someone who had copied my SL profile into her own. It made me take a good hard look at how important it is to be yourself, the only true original.
It also pissed me off.
I died again and it’s starting to bother me. I know it shouldn’t. We are taught that the Self is nothing more than identity and the continuity of our memory. So every time they restore an archived brain scan into one of my clones, it is the real I who awakens.
But what about the lost memory of each death? All gone. A sniper’s laser. A drone’s warhead. An enemy’s blade. Abandoned in the black hole between my last scan and the last breath of each incarnation. They who died are dead and gone. Irrecoverable. May we rest in peace.