FaceFic

It’s competition time!

If you’re a facefic contributor, or you think you could be, now’s the time to submit new facefics. The inaugural BBE FaceFic Awards begin now and will run for two weeks, ending at 00:00 UTC on the 23rd of June 2009. All facefics submitted before then will be judged, and the best will be announced here and awarded an interesting and valuable¹ prize!

Your judges are the three most prolific FaceFic posters: Eric TF Bat, Andrew Blake and Emma Evans. That’s the “BBE” in the name. They are, of course, open to bribes, but due to the financial downturn combined with their incredibly high standards, bidding for a place in the final shortlist starts at “pay off my mortgage” and goes up from there, so you’re better off using innate talent instead.

Remember: the competition is open right now, and finishes in a fortnight. Better get writing. And remember: 420 characters, no more, no less, always!

¹ Your idea of valuable may not necessarily match ours, but it’ll be better than nothing, so give it a go.

The dragon stares menacingly from the ramparts watching the brief mortals scurry past, anticipating … something. Time passes not swiftly for one ancient and immortal, yet he wearies not. The wait will prove its worth. Attention usurped by the distant sound of wings, he looks up and spies his mate; luminous, lithe and majestic. She alights at his side and he succumbs to her, helpless in her embrace, as legend is born.

“Sir! They’ve turned around for another attack!” “Bring all cannons to bear, Ensign.” “Aye Sir. Targeting online.” “Incoming Transmission: ‘Surrender or die’… Nice to see they’ve worked on their social skills…” “OPEN FIRE, ALL BATTERIES!” “AYE SIR!” “INCOMING MISSILES!” “HARD ABOUT!” “Aye Captain!” “Brace for impact! In Three… Two… On…” The transmission reached the newly lifeless Earth, 23 years too late…

A sound wakes you from your slumber, it wasn’t a normal sound for your house. Quietly, you get out of bed and fumble in the dark for your slippers and your old squash racquet (kept close for such occasions). You move silently down the hall, a little nervously. Your heart is making enough noise to fill a stadium as you round the corner… to see your partner at the fridge, holding the ice cream bucket and spoon close.

Blood drips onto the snow leaving bright red welts. Laboured breathing gropes the frigid air. The crisp white is torn by two sets of ragged footprints ending in a crumpled mass. “Come on husband, get up!” the woman wails, her voice broken beyond tears. On her knees, she tugs at his clothing and beats at his shoulders; her hands too cold to close into fists. The snow swallows her moans, and the hounds are closing in.

“They’re inconvenient is all I’m saying. Sure, I can get from A to B fairly quickly and they’re great for avoiding traffic – especially in the larger cities where no-one ever looks too closely anyway – but when all is said and done, they just get in the way. And,” he continues, “have you ever tried to find a suit to fit over wings? It’s not easy!” I laugh quietly, my eyes glowing red. Angels, whiners the lot of them!

The world didn’t end with a bang. Disappointing. I had always hoped it would. But instead it slowly choked, while weeding out the very elements that could have lead to its salvation. Like a parasite consuming its host, the creatures upon it devoured everything in their sight. Poor, beautiful, Pyraxia never stood a chance. An interesting exercise… I think I might give it another go. I think I’ll call this one Earth.

The mighty huntress spies her prey in the distance. She watches – waits. Choosing her moment she closes in, with stealthily sinuous steps, so as not to alert other nearby predators to her find. Negotiating the terrain with swift precision, she makes her move with practiced deliberation, skillfully taking down the sitting target and dragging it off. The hunt ended, the victorious roar issues forth: “Woo Hoo! 50% Off!”

She had always wanted to go to Dubbo to find Elvis and Princess Di working at Dubbo Macca’s. Despite zero proof, except the urban myth, she went. She pulls up and walks in prepared for anything. She sees Di serving Diet Coke, Elvis running drive-thru in satin. She snaps a picture and calls her sister: no signal. She drives: no tyres. She walks, and wanders with all the other myth-busters, forever lost. Now she knows.

To hold your shape, come what may. To be admired, studied, and have none of your facets found undesirable. To become entrenched in a setting that keeps you secure, and allows you to shine. To always be surrounded by precious things. To be hard and cutting, yet bring unbridled joy to someone’s life. To always know that you are the brightest and most beautiful thing in the room. Women love diamonds. No. They envy them.