Result 3

Gene contributed the first sentence. Of course, who else would've said it?



"What a funny looking elephant. Normally the hippies can at least draw, but it's obvious this granola-head can't." He gestured to the distant streaks of pinkish tint staining the pine forest below us.
"Is that what this is all about? You wanted a picture of an elephant?" I watched the plane banking. Looked like it was going to fly off, now that it was out of slurry. I wished it could come pick us off this mountain - it was a long hike up here.
"Well, yeah. It's your birthday! Surprise!" His stupid grin was almost as wide as his helmet. I wanted to smack him, but he was too far away. How would we explain this?
"You know he's not coming back with our plane, don't you?" My companion's brow furled, like a dirty flag sagging its way up at dawn. He looked at me like I was speaking some sort of Moon-language.
"I know. I sold him the plane. How else was I going to pay for that sort of artwork?" He waved his hands dismissively, then gestured at the pink mess. "But have you ever seen a bigger elephant?!"
"You..." I lost my words for a moment, and stared at him. Then I stared at the 'elephant' that was going to cost me my job. Neither made any damn sense at all. We were firefighters! Park Rangers! What business did we have selling a government plane? Or wasting firefighting supplies like that? And funny-looking was a terrible way to describe that post-modern mess of pink streaks. It looked as much like Chinese or Arabic as it did an elephant. At least, I couldn't have told the difference between the three. What the hell did we need an elephant picture for, anyway?
I turned back to my idiot friend. "This is not just the worst elephant I have ever seen. That damn hippy was probably high as a kite, and it's hard to draw with slurry anyway, but this is far worse. Do you know why?" I considered letting him answer, but decided I didn't want to waste my time. "Because this is my birthday, damnit. You can't sell a plane, just like that. And you had me hike all day to get here! Just to see this fricking streak of pepto-bismo diarrhea across our damn forest! The forest we're supposed to keep from burning! How the hell are we going to do our job without a plane?" I noticed my fists were clenched tight. I was shaking, too. And my ears were ringing - I guess I was yelling.
He just looked at me. Then he started laughing.
Next thing I knew, we were on the ground, and I was trying to force my fist through the side of his head. Fortunately for him, his head was winning. He somehow rolled out from under me, stumbled around for a second - and without warning, lunged straight at me. He managed to slam my back into an uncomfortable pile of rocks. While I was dazed, he pinned me down, and then, to my surprise, he resumed smiling.
"Man, that fuckin' hurt! You punch hard! But there ain't nothing to worry about. See, I worked it out." I tried speaking, but all that came out was a wheeze. The side of his face was an angry, swollen red, and I thought I could see it throbbing a little. That had to be painful.
"It's like this: we don't like hippies, right?" My lungs allowed me to mumble something close to a yes. Dumb bastards thought they could commune with nature, and as a result we usually had to rescue them from something or other.
His face lit up...at least, the part that wasn't already red. "Well, that hippy just stole our plane. A slurry bomber could be used for terrorist stuff. You know, spreading chemicals. He's got one. We just saw him flying over the forest, doing a practice run with some slurry. He's not supposed to be in that plane. So we call the police, or someone, and tell them a terrorist hijacked our plane. They'll arrest him, we'll get the plane back, and everything's good." He smiled even wider. I guess he was done.
"That's...the whole plan?" He let go of my arms, and stood up a little shakily.
"Yup."
I brushed myself off, then slowly, painfully rose to my own feet. "Do you really think anyone's going to believe that?"
"Oh, maybe. It helps, too, that I found him some very interesting mushrooms. He ain't gonna remember shit about today, and the cops'll be willing to believe a drugged-up hippy would try something like this." He shrugged and smiled.
"Well...." I had to admit, this might work. I still wanted to re-arrange his teeth. Just not as much. "Alright. I guess I'm sold. Not much choice now, right?"
"Yeah, there you go! Man, let's radio the cops, then head on back. I wanna catch this on the news." He started fiddling with the radio.
"Gonna be a long hike. Can you walk okay?" He still looked a little wobbly.
"Oh, mostly. Gotta say, you really hit hard. You alright?"
"I've had better birthdays."
He chuckled.
"Oh, by the way - why an elephant? Did you think I liked them?" He held the radio, ready to transmit our message.
"Nah." He shook his head, slowly. His smile seemed to stop at the boundary of his welt.
"Well, what the hell kind of birthday present is that?"
"Oh, I was watching Dumbo, and they were talking about pink elephants or some shit, and how they never forget - I don't remember exactly, I guess I was a little drunk - but I decided - this will be a birthday you'll never forget. Why not have a pink elephant?"

Result number Two!

This one is thanks to something Kirin wrote - she inexplicably sent me this first paragraph (which I did some minor editing on), so I just as inexplicably wrote a story!



"I like ducks," he said with great earnestness. "But did you know ducks belong to the sub family Anatinae? Not only is this grouping the largest group of waterfowl, it is also the most diverse." His beady eyes shone brightly in the harsh light. "The characteristics generally held in common by ducks when compared to geese and swans are the small body size, shorter necks, narrower wings which are more pointed, and wing beats which are more rapid." He seemed to have reached some conclusion, but I couldn't figure out what.
I blinked. This was not what I had expected. I blinked a few more times so I'd remember what it was like. 'Sharky' was supposed to be a brutal killer, not - well, not this. Not some sort of nature freak. I looked at my watch. Bedtime was long gone. Hell, I don't even go home anymore, so there's not much point talking about it. I sleep at my desk, when I can, and make up for the rest with coffee. Well, and other things. Our evidence room fills up quickly, so I help clean it out once in a while.
I turned back to Sharky, who was eagerly smiling at me. That was a little strange, sure - most fellas don't smile when they're under police interrogation. And most don't file their teeth into sharp points, either. But I honestly couldn't find anything criminally wrong with him - he was odd, sure, but then, so are most folks.
"So, let's go over this again - you have no idea why another squirrel's paw was found in your car?"
His bushy tail twitched a little. That made me nervous - I thought he might be ready to jump at me. I was glad I'd tied him down. Sure, that was illegal, but he was crazy. I doubt he'd even noticed.
"Well, sir, did you know that ducks are also warm-blooded? It's true! Modern scientists agree that class Aves, of which all Anatidae are members, is most likely descended from dinosaurs! And ducks have gizzards! Truly incredible!"
There were better ways to spend my time. I imagined a lengthy examination of my eyelids, from the backside. Yeah. That sounded nice. I put a paw to my forehead. My hat felt a little crooked, so I pushed it into place. It never sat quite right over my ears.
"Alright," I started, "I like ducks as much as the next guy -"
"And what's even more incredible," he continued, "is the taste."
"Wait - what did you just say?" I wasn't sure I'd heard him right.
He actually looked at me - like he noticed I'd spoken. That was new. "Oh, yes! Their skin is so crispy and fatty and greasy and hot and drippy and...", he was starting to pant, "oh, it's so good."
My stomach started up, trying to squeeze itself dry. I held myself together. I'd seen worse. "You eat ducks? After all they've done for us?"
He seemed not to notice. "Oh, they have a special term just for roast duck in China. They aren't shy. They know just what they want. They call it kaoya - literally, flamed duck. I highly recommend it."
I decided not to bring my associates in just yet - they were dependable mallards, but there was only one of me, and they'd probably try to kill this guy. I might not be the best cop, but I don't kill anyone I don't have to. Or let it happen. Well, not yet.
"So," I started, cautiously, "why do you eat ducks? Is it just the flavor?"
"Oh, I suppose." He looked around like he was stumped. "That's really all there is to it." He licked his lips.
"Don't you - ." I wasn't sure how to say this. "Aren't they a lot like you and me? They fought on our side in the war, remember?" We wouldn't have won without them - together, we'd been able to banish the dogs to the coldest, most hellish parts of the world.
"How silly. Of course they're like you and me."
"Well, then...then, why are you eating them?" I realized I was almost happy about all this - I could bust this freak for something! I wondered if I should feel ashamed.
"I just said. They're a lot like you and me. Do they not have the same blood pumping through their veins? Are they not made of flesh, just as we are? Are they not delicious?"
That hand in his car took on a new meaning. "Are you saying," I grimaced, "that you eat squirrels, too?"
"Hey, winters get long, man. You don't know what it's like out there. Squirrel's got to look out for himself. You know that. you were in the war, just like me, right?"
"Damnit! I don't know about you, but me and my guys, we took care of each other. Like brothers! We weren't fucking cannibals!" He'd gotten to me. That bastard was really smiling now - those knife-edged teeth of his gleamed in the harsh light, and I wondered if that's what he used - it probably was. I guess he wasn't called 'Sharky' for nothing.
"Oh. Well, enough about you. Did you also - "
I cracked my fist into the side of his head. Little needles shot up my arm, and he reeled back like a punching bag. He careened right back to me like one, too, due to my fine ropework.
He started drooling, and his eyes got distant. "I saw God once, you know." He looked ecstatic, even though he was drooling a little blood. I just clobbered this guy - what the hell was wrong with him?
"He understands me. He said I was special. He showed me the way."
I was more bewildered now than angry. What was he getting at? Was he really going to tell me something useful, or was this just more babble? I had enough to charge him with something already.
"He told me something else special, too." He looked at me, like a child would look at its father - seeking approval, admiration in his bright eyes. "If you force them to eat, and eat, and eat - a miracle happens."
He was rubbing his paws together through the ropes, and his eyes wandered like lazy summer bees. I let him continue.
"After a while, they get sick. And then, you take out their liver, and - " my eyes must've widened, because his suddenly darted to me, "and it is so, so good."
I couldn't keep quiet. I had to know. "...What you're saying...let me get this straight. You force-feed ducks, and, when it starts to kill them, you pull out their liver? Just like that? How many times -"
"Oh, it's nothing. There's a special term for this, too - it's called pate. It's really easy!"
I kicked his chair over. He crashed to the floor, and I smiled, knowing I would crush his worthless skull. I had a sudden vision, of cleaning his evil, splattered brains - his evil thoughts - off my boots with a hose. Then the door burst open.
"Sir! Are -" They started, but then stopped when they saw me. Damnit. It was the mallards, too. They froze.
"Boys. This -" I pointed at the floor. I couldn't call that thing a squirrel. "This thing, here, has...shit, he's evil."
He seemed to have recovered himself - or at least, to have returned to whatever was normal for him - and he looked right at the ducks. His eyes lit up, he smiled, and even though he was on his side, strapped to a chair, he started chanting, "pate. pate. pate. pate. pate..."
The mallards looked at me nervously. "Sir? What is he -"
I hung my head. "Boys, you're not gonna like this. There's a reason you never hear that term. It's a special term for...well, for your liver. After it's diseased and fatty."
"But why -"
He kept chanting, quietly but insistently, filling the short moments of silence. "Some sick bastard must've decided to eat it a long time ago. I've heard about it. He must've liked it, too, because it was considered a delicacy."
Sgt. Plume, the older one, cocked his long neck back. Officer Scutt just looked dazed.
"Look, I'm done here. We need to lock this guy up, have a look around his place. I get the feeling he's done a few things we'd like to know about."
Smiling a little, Sgt. Plume said, "like, or need to know?"
"Yeah, you're right." I nodded. "Who wants to know this stuff?"
They moved in, and I walked out. My tail was spasming a little - time to go find a fix.
I had to wonder, and not for the first time, why I get so many of these nutcases. Yeah, those ducks like to say it's because I'm a squirrel, but I'm tired of it anyway. I'm tired of cracking them open. Well, this one isn't going anywhere yet. Maybe, for once, I can get some shut-eye. Yeah. They can handle things for a while. I'll just check up on the old place. Just a little nap. Not too long....

First result

So you know what's going on, I posted a bulletin a few weeks ago, asking people to send me a sentence or two so that I could write something from it. My cousin Alex sent me the first line. Here is the resulting story.

"This is fantastic! ... but why is it shaped like Sonic?"
Zhang Li was excited, but stumped. That couldn't be what it was. It was far too large - at least the size of a small hill. The colors were right, though. He turned his head to look at his comrades - they were all looking back at him, with the exception of the cultural officer, who was busily but quietly speaking into a transmitter.
The captain, his face creased into his best likeness of unconcern, asked, "What is a Sonic?" Li almost shook his head with pity - he couldn't believe he was working with such country bumpkins. How did they ever make it out here? Country bumpkins belonged on the earth, with their farms, not up here among the stars.
"Sir, it is an American restaurant chain. You drive into the parking lot, and then they bring you food. The service is fast, and often they have serving girls wearing roller-skates. We have many in the cities."
Nodding sagely, the captain said, "Oh. I see." Li knew he didn't. He was a bumbling fool.
Turning to view the..well, the object, he would have to call it; he said, "So, Sir, why would this be here?" He waited for the foolish response his captain would surely make. Privately, he was burning with curiosity - the astrogeologist in him badly wanted to see what was in this...thing. Could it really be a Sonic? What was it made of? As large as it was, it could probably be mined, and it was surely full of valuable metals. He might be promoted for this discovery! He might even get the attention of senior Party leaders! But he had been on this ship for months now, forced to tolerate this man whom his comrades all looked up to. They were all so backwards. This man had grown up on a pig farm. He was not a stoic leader! He was nothing!
The deck was quiet. Zhang felt his skin crawl a little, and then little beads of sweat crept out under his arms. He wondered if he'd gone too far - the captain might have taken offense, and so it was with some hesitation and caution that he turned his head.
The captain smiled down beautifically from his chair. His fingers splayed out and came together, looking like the fangs of a particularly nasty predator. There they rested, on his desk, and Zhang noticed that they were in fact very muscular. The rumors he'd heard crept into his mind, like spiders from a black pit. Whispers filled his mind - of the captain killing a man bare-handed - that he had once shoved his fingers into a man's eyes, and then held the blinded fellow until his shrieking stopped. After that no one agreed what happened, except that the man had died. Zhang shuddered a little, and hoped it went unnoticed.
The captain finally spoke: "You are the the science officer. You tell me." His smile had gone unbroken. Zhang's heart jumped at each word, anticipating some sort of horror: he was relieved that it had not turned out badly, yet.
"Sir, I," he started, his voice shaking, "...that's not my specialty Sir!"
"Well," the captain said, "it isn't mine, either. If you can't do what you're here for, I fail to see why I should keep you."
"Sir! I...Sir! I'll look into it. Send me in, Sir!" Blackness was devouring Zhang's mind - things had been so good only seconds ago, and now he was facing possible dismissal, or maybe worse. Zhang decided the captain probably did deserve more respect.
"Very well, Zhang." Being addressed by name was never a good sign. "I want you to investigate this for me." That wasn't so bad; in fact, this was a pretty good turn of events. He could investigate the composition of the object! He could prove his usefulness! Zhang's vision became less black, and he noticed the cultural officer scowling, clenching his communicator. That bastard! Zhang hated those Party tools. They were always looking for people to rat out. Well, his luck hadn't run out, yet. He was born lucky. That little rat of a man would have to find someone else to report on for today.
"Even before you said it was an American restaurant, Zhang, I suspected this might have something to do with their accident. For that reason alone it is worthy of investigation." The captain's gaze was faraway, and Zhang wondered if he was remembering the exploratory mission in America. The captain had first gained fame there, after all.
"Sir, are you saying -"
"I've heard enough from you, Zhang. Gather your team and go." And though he hated being dressed down, hated being addressed by his family name, he decided this was best. He had other things to think about, now - like the idea of solving the American mystery. That was exciting. He would surely win fame today.
And then it occurred to him - his captain had ordered him into a Sonic. "What a ridiculous universe," Zhang thought, as he made his way to his quarters.