You be the Bard Storytelling Contest

Let me first just say to all the entrants, you got game! Thanks so much for playing. I had a great time reading your submissions!

The Fab-o-u-lous Entries:

from la yen

Challenge 1:
Tyson and McKenna

In Fair Mantua 'twas there a school
For plucky tweens and such
And there, in class, two lovers met:
O'er dissections their palms did touch.
But lo! The bell doth ringeth and in time
They parted. Off to chemistry and math
Separated they, sad partings, wo,
Yet their digits still, they hath

Saith he: QT, ILU
WWYC. Wrote she.
H2CUS. WKD?
KOTC, ILU2
NOT OTC, BUT OTL
MoS! She sent
But 'twas too late; the phone was gone
Not to be returned until well after Lent.

Two star-crossed lovers, cried and moped,
Without texting, they were naught
'Twas Friday night and how to meet?
They had to chance being caught.

So under humblest pretext of
A library study date
They left next morn to meet again
And betwixt them plan their fate

Twas unconscionably cruel, they two agreed
To confiscate her cell
Did'st not her mother know that separated
Young lovers were in hell?

And so to show her mother just
How cruel was her decision
They planned to unite in their true love
With perfect teenage vision

And so they kissed, upon the lips,
For parting was such sorrow
And vowed to reunite again
In perpetuity tomorrow.

He had with him a box of juice;
Imported from Capri
And laced it they with tiny pills
Purchased from a guy named "Zee."

And so they drank the tainted juice
"And with thy hand in mine I die"
"'Twas total bliss these past two days.
Forever with you I will lie."

But soft, what yonder vision broke
Next morning at first light
But two dumb teens, embracing still,
Frozen, in eternal spite.

Challenge 2:

"Maybe I should have thought this through better..."



from melody

What Darwin Didn't Know

No one had told them how steep the hill had become after the last earthquake or how fragile a young woman is when she is in love. She paused, watching him move steadily forward. She wasn't certain of why her head hurt and her heart was racing. She thought she felt the ground tremble beneath her.

She called to him. He stopped his pursuit, turned and joined her. She asked him to rest with her for a while in the shade of a juniper bush. He set down his tools, pulled the water vessel from his bag and offered her the first sip. He looked over his shoulder and called for the dog, but it had run far into the distance chasing a smaller version of what would evolve into a mule deer. They needed the meat and he understood what it meant to slow the hunt. But he had come to believe she was more essential to his survival than food.

Her mother had begged her to stay in camp, to behave like all the other young women when their men went hunting. But she couldn't. She couldn't miss a moment in his life. She was one of several like her in the tribe, young people who had broken away from familiar patterns, had moved in a new direction where mating was something beyond sweat and rhythm.

The day was almost over. In time the pain in her head softened and her uneasy mind had stilled just a little. The dog hadn't returned, but they expected him to find them later and perhaps bring a bird in his mouth for breakfast. He would have given up the other hunt when his master changed course.

They made a bed and ate the dried figs and flat bread she had packed. He cooked a squirrel he had caught earlier. By the time darkness came they found they were exhausted, fell easily into each others embrace.

They spoke of the future, of how the earth was changing; how the sky shot fireballs toward the ground at unexpected times. Sometimes entire valleys were destroyed in a moment. They talked of their families and wondered if they too were quieted for the night. They couldn't have known about the great mass falling from heaven toward the next mountain, that in an instant while they slept they would suffocate, forget their memories and surrender every cell to millenniums of cold. They couldn't have known they were the beginning of the next phase of man and the end of their kind.

Her breathing slowed, she let her thoughts move toward the other world while he whispered near her lips, "I've never felt so warm."



from lyle

As archeologists continued exhuming the grounds where the “Romeo and Juliet” skeletons were found, they came across a series of texts and have had moderate success in translating the text into what appears to be an explanation of these two eternally bound remains.


The Prophecy- [A translation]

In the year of the missing season, when winter’s clutch shall fail and the earth shall struggle to give rebirth upon the land, there shall be a great lament upon the land for eighteen cycles of the earth. Crops will fail and the beasts shall flee and winter will be vanquished for a spell. And the fruits of the ground shall dwindle, dry, turn to dust and utterly fail. There shall come forth from the womb a woman of muted mouth and boy deprived of sight. Only upon the union of these two, will the nature turn away her anger and bring the solace to earth’s empty womb. This union needs be bound in life and death and only from their deaths will hope sprout and reclaim the barren land.

The tale:

The text further indicates that many seasons passed and generations drifted to eternal slumber and what was once considered as truthful slipped into myth and lapsed into ramblings of a lunatic.

And in the year 349 [according to their calendar] a certain peasant mother in the town of Nanocia died giving birth to a daughter that never heard the cry of pain or anguish of the father who sought the cold companionship of his lost beloved, leaving the babe to be raised by the midwife. And so began life for Anony

Not quite six months later, in a neighboring village of Hamollian, a baby boy was brought into the world, unable to behold the visual beauty of his mother’s eyes and father’s joyous smile. But, Mistick could hear.

During the initial years of the famine, local villagers had gone through great lengths to establish trade routes with neighboring kingdoms. But due to the economic strain, many left the once abundant land in search of a new hope, a land free of the natures scorn and the population dwindled. Anony was only four at the time she followed her Ginny to the lands across the mountains and deep fertile valleys of Barushe.

Mistick’s family stayed put in Homallion where Mistick learned to use his lack of sight to his advantage. He was blessed with great musical talent and drew crowds [mostly made of merchants]. At the young age of eighteen, Mistick’s parents encouraged him to establish himself as a musician in a larger town [which would certainly be more lucrative].

Mistick’s journey led him to the town of Barushe and it was there on his very first night’s performance that he encountered Anony, who had stopped long enough to see what could draw such a large crowd. She was smitten by his looks and prayed for the day that she could hear his music. He was smitten by her gentle, soft, and soothing voice that could transcend his physical limitations.

The two were soon wed and made the return trip to their homeland. It was while visiting her Ginny that they encountered Ruolonge the priest that their moment of bliss began to crumble. Upon seeing the two of them together, Roulonge remembered the words of the prophecy that had been recorded so long ago.

Roulonge used all his powers of persuasion to convince them that they were indeed the ones spoken of in the prophecy, but neither Mistick nor Anony would hearken to such absurd tales and bid the priest and Ginny farewell as they continued their journey to visit Mistick’s parents.

That same night, the priest, in a fit of rage [at being so close to the focus and solution to the prophecy] secretly followed the two newlyweds to Homallion. It was upon their bed, in the home of his parents that Ruolonge smothered them in their sleep. Naturally, Mistick’s parents were very sorrowful and as a final tribute to their departed loved ones, they buried them side by side in a honeymooner’s embrace.

The priest was eventually found guilty of the crime and was promptly hung. The day that he was hung was what would have been the start of the winter solstice. The following day, it snowed and snowed and snowed. Winter had returned and spring followed just two months later. Crops were planted. Crops were harvested and the famine retreated for good.



from sarah

Challenge I:

Betty: Wake up sweetie, the volcano is erupting again. Could you get the kids up and load the cart?

Joe: You know I got the kids up last time the mountain blew. It's your turn.

Betty: Yeah, but I was up all night washing your loin clothes for work and I'm tired.

Joe: And I couldn't sleep until 2 a.m. because of your annoying snoring. Seriously, babe, you better do it. That lava's coming pretty fast and I'm beat.

Betty: I'm sick of you putting all the household duties on me. Did you know that stay-at-home moms put in at least twice as many hours as you "working" men? Honestly, I ask you to do one little thing...

Joe: Okay, well what if you get the kids ready while I load the cart?

Betty: Just get over your manly pride and do it. Honestly, you had about 20 dirty loin clothes this week. It's like you get them dirty just to spite me!

Joe: Jerry's wife never makes him deal with their kids...

Betty: Are you saying you want me to be more like Jerry's wife? Her arm got eaten off by a lion and she has a full beard. Is that what you want?

Joe: No honey. It just seems like a man should have some respect in his own home. That's all I'm saying.

Betty: Fine. I respect you. Now go wake the kids.

Joe: I bet Jerry's wife has their family to the bottom of the mountain by now.

Betty: Enough about that woman!

Joe: What's that smell?

Betty: The dog is on fire...


Cue the lava...

And so they lie, a testament to humanity's fierce will power that enabled people to even live on the sides of volcanoes in the first place. Betty and Joe will forever lie enshrined in their bed as a monument to the triumph of the human spirit. Let us look to them in our lives when we too feel tempted to cave to the senseless demands of our spouses.

Challenge II:

"This is all your fault!"



from cardine

Challenge 1

Writing Sonnet 116 Over Again

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. A staring contest is not won
By altering vision when it alteration finds,
Or ends with an object on the move
Oh no! Stare at an ever-fixed mark
Through tempests, be not shaken;
Look not toward the dog that barks,
Whose hunger's unsatiated, 'though he found the bacon.
Staring's not time's fool; though chapped lips and cold cheeks
And needing to tinkle's time has come:
Staring alters not with its brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never played, nor no man ever won.

Challenge 2

"I think the dog is chewing on your foot."



from geo

Sand for brains. I always had them. My heart was yours before time—but
where was my mind when you came of age? In my pockets. My empty
pockets. The pride in me cried, "Poverty! What else have you got to
offer a girl like that?" So I hung my foolish head. I studied the
ground and made earthy plans: work and save. Hunt and gather enough
coins to jingle out a proper proposal. "Won't she have me then!" I
comforted myself.

Then he came along, not a free man as I was, and with leaner pockets!
Yet he carelessly piloted you into young love, past your mother,
beyond your father, through whispers of scandal. One day he confessed
his guilt to you and went away. Why was I slow to step in? He returned
too soon in a season, untethered and ready. I watched, paralyzed.
Again he took flight, but this time you flew with him, across a state
border that divided your parents' consent from your own secret will.
You eased back into your home, even the same night, pretending to be a
maiden. You held him off with "Don't tell!" but he couldn't stand the
separation for long; he confronted your angry kin, refused to be
annulled, and carried you backward across the nuptial threshold into
open air.

That's when my stumbling, heavy feet of clay took me far, far. I
joined the army. I married a mean woman. I chain-smoked the fires of
regret and burned my inside away till my heart and breath and guts
were ash. But the sand in my mind and those ashes inside kept loving
you.

Forty years you belonged to him. For longer than that my sister
belonged to your brother. That was a tie of torment for me. "How is
she?" I asked from far away, forever.

Again: "How is she?" Forty years of forever, always asking just once more.

"Oh, didn't you hear? Her husband died."

In that instant forty years seemed no more significant than an hour of
sand falling in a glass, and I could clearly discern the last grain as
it slipped through the slender neck. I felt its landing in my heart.
"Won't she have me now!" I comforted myself. My wife was gone to her
paradise. My money was gone to terrible treatments. My health was gone
to smoke and dust, but how I could still love you! I had never
stopped.

I wrote you a rapturous, daring letter, this time holding nothing
back. I asked my son, the one almost as broken as I, to take me to
you. I proposed to you that first day, before our first hour was gone.
I unburdened my soul. Earth had no more power to hold me down; I could
fly! You asked for time to think. I stayed close by with my son, in a
rented room, waiting, loving, certain. In a few days you said yes.
YES!

"The Lord won't let me die now," I swore to you. "Don't you see? He
meant for us to be together. He's going to heal me!" I recognized that
I was God's miracle, a phoenix rising to live a second forever, this
time with you. In every way I could imagine and found the strength
for, I made up to you the tender opportunities that we'd missed—with
kisses, with flowers, with words, with slow embracing steps to music.
Did we argue? Not once. Did we waste a moment? We feasted. We were
beautiful and everything else fell away.

And then I followed. The ground called for me. "I will stay with her!
I can fly!" I argued. But my strength was fully spent. I was an empty
pocket. You brought Home to me in every sterile place I was taken for
last-ditch therapies. You lay beside me on a hospital bed till our
touching turned to pain. "Six months" was my doctor's verdict. Six and
no more. Just so. And I went back to the earth.

I watched you afterward, from my new place. My perch. I watched you
marry, and soon after divorce. I was never concerned about that one;
his jealous nature made him stupid. I watched you marry again years
later. He was so country simple and good that I couldn't wholly
begrudge him some of the time that should have been mine; I was just
grateful you didn't have to be alone in the interim. Then I watched
you become a widow for the third time in your life. I saw the changes
age worked upon you; I loved every wrinkle and evidence of decline;
they brought you closer to me. I waited, counting the years . . .
twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. Would I have to
endure a full forty more?

At last it was our moment. I saw its thrilling approach, knew it was
coming, even before you did. Perhaps you never knew until you'd
already left the ground. You flew first to the comforting, exalting
embrace of "Well done," and then—oh, then!—it would finally be my turn
to receive you, and my arms would keep you close forever.

I waited long, but you didn't come.

"Where is she?" I asked again and again, feeling far away, lost in forever.

"You haven't seen? She's with her husband."

But wasn't I your husband? Had he flown you past us all again?

I cannot bear to stay, to wait, to watch, to perch, to dream any
longer in the open, empty air of forever. The only chance left for me
is in the ground. I always had sand for brains. Before the last grain
falls and the morning hour of resurrection dawns, I will hold you
again. I will break open the strong box that shelters my rest and I
will fly to you through the earth, riding gusts of soil and currents
of root, passing clouds of rock and billows of worm. I will breathe
deeply my dust, hunt and gather you, and our bones will mingle again.
Won't we have a time!"



from jennifer b.

Fourteen candles flickered and cast dancing shadows on the wall. One
candle for every month Ella had known and loved him. One candle for
each night they had been apart. When Sal broke the news that he was
going to have to make a trip out to the family estate outside of Paris,
he knew it wasn’t going to be well received.
“But Sal! It’s our first Valentine’s as husband and wife!”
“I promise to be back in time to celebrate.”
With considerable effort, Ella smiled and nodded. Upon Sal’s
departure, two days later, she managed to wave and hold back the tears
until he had ridden out of view. Ella had lit one candle each night in
his absence and let it burn from sundown until she went to bed.
Finally, all fourteen lights were burning. He would soon be home. All
day she had lovingly prepared their celebratory meal--pounded the
chicken for cordon bleu, roasted and ground hazelnuts to make the
perfect crust for a delectable fruit torte, torn five different greens
that were a perfect blend of fresh and bitter flavors. When the final
dish was complete, Ella put all the utensils in the sink to soak.
There wasn’t much, as Ella believed in efficiency in the kitchen. Soon
everything would be ready.
The distant pounding of horse’s hooves thudded in unison with Ella’s
heart. He was home! Sal swept Ella up in his arms and for a time they
stood frozen in a fierce embrace. When they eventually sat at the
table, everything seemed perfect. Candlelight, a delectable meal, and
the joy of reunion filled their hearts.
“Mon Amie. Mon Ella. Je T’aime.”
“Oh Sal!”
“Mon Ella!”
Three days later, Sal and Ella were discovered. Rigor mortis had made
it nearly impossible to separate the couple and they were buried
together. As a warning against careless culinary practices, Sal and
Ella's last words live on to remind us of their tragic end. Don't let
their deaths be in vain--as you contemplate re-using that cutting board
or sampling that raw dough, remember Sal and Ella and think again.



from moi

(I made the mistake of reading some of the entries before I wrote mine and to quote the poor jilted lover--and master of understatement--in "Twister," immediately knew "I can't compete with this." You are, however, graced with my response to Challenge II. This entry is NOT eligible for voting or prizes galore--for obvious reasons.)

"Honey, I think I left the iron on."



(There's more to that story, too. And, oddly enough, it has a little something to do with Shakespeare as well. Only it smacks more of Lady Macbeth than of Romeo and Juliet. Another post, perhaps.)


Now it's time to cast your votes at henfeatherz AT gmail DOT com Please feel free to bestow in the comments lavish praise on ALL the entrants who took time out their busy Valentine's week to regale us with romance. But e-mail me your vote for your favorite entry. Votes will accepted (only one vote per person) through midnight next Tuesday and the winner announced next Wednesday, Febrary 21.