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Voting closed: August 16, 2009, 08:05:58 AM

Author Topic: Voting for Short Story Challenge #53  (Read 1157 times)

Offline amakepeace

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Voting for Short Story Challenge #53
« on: August 13, 2009, 08:05:58 AM »
We've come to the end of another Short Story Challenge. This challenge had a few hiccups, namely that I had to move in the middle of it and was unable to promote it enough--or I must have picked a theme that was too difficult or just unliked because there is only 1 entry!!

Vote if you like, but the winner is Dwin.  ;D

Snowball, the Guardian

As Monty the mole sat there chewing a worm, Roger the rabbit looked at his watch and Freddy the fox took the drink offered by the hunters. Outside Snuggles the cat slept in the pram, his legs kicking as he dreamed of the hunt while Herman the horse suddenly realized he knew the way home.

As night turned into day Lenny the Lion began to think over the comment from his friend Chris the crow, ‘What a come down for one of the greatest carrion crows in history, a barman…’
Inside, Mickey the dormouse was drunk again, curled up in a ball on top of the bar, his coat soaked in whisky. Tiger the cat was in the corner, out of his mind on catnip once more, whiskers twitching and eyeballs rolling. Rover the dog was there too; head down on the bar with his paws dangling at his side and his tongue hanging out in such a manner it looked like some other animal trying to escape. Seemed like Snowball the Badger has missed another good night in the ‘Howling Moon’ pub, but it had been worth it.

Out doing the rounds of the wood in the late evening he’d come across the strangest of sights, there on the ground in front of him were two moles fighting to the death. As he stood there one of the moles speared the other through the snout with his talons causing the stricken mole to go rigid and fall to the ground unconscious. The victorious mole stood over the unconscious one and thrust his talons deep into its throat, causing a shudder to run through the now dying mole.
Murder and death were not uncommon in the woods, a lot of the time it was a matter of survival, but this had been done with such brutal finality that it sent a shiver down Snowballs spine.

The surviving mole turned around and saw Snowball standing there watching him, “I don’t have much time to explain this mate but I could do with the use of those big powerful claws of yours. Take it from me there is a plague coming this way that will wipe out these whole woods in weeks if not days. This one here was sent to stop me warning anybody but they didn’t reckon on my training in the mole special forces.’

If Snowball hadn’t seen the viciously coordinated, cold manner in which the attack took place he could have laughed all the way to the Howling Moon. As it was a voice in the back of his head said this guy was telling the truth.

‘OK, saying I believe you who do you want me to kill that you can’t?’

‘I don’t need you to kill anyone for me pal, the bigger they are the harder they die but they die. This wood is almost surrounded by a stream, we need to change that. We need the whole wood surrounded by a stream so no one can get in for the next forty eight hours, then the animals carrying the plague will have either passed us by or died of its effects.’

‘No one getting in means no one getting out.’

‘We can get over that by building a damn afterwards and backfilling the moat you’re going to make. But we’re going to need defenders patrolling the riverside to stop any attempt by the affected creatures getting across.’

‘I need to know a bit more before I help a complete stranger totally isolate this community.’

‘Look, there is something out there that is totally intent on wiping out animal kind, I’ve seen them, vile monsters on two legs that use mechanical devices to tear up the earth and chop down the trees. They lay poison down to kill our kind, they spray chemicals on the plants they grow to keep us away, they build their nests on our homes, plain and simple we’re in their way. We need to survive so that we can find some way of fighting back but this last trick of theirs is a beauty. They’ve introduced something that turns us mad, that turns us upon ourselves, but the affects are short lived. Two to three days at most then the affected creatures die.’

‘How do you get affected?’

‘It’s transferred by blood, just don’t get bitten.’

‘OK, you show me where you want me dig and I’ll tell you where to go for more help.’

For the next three hours Snowball had dug for his life, and for everyone in his forest. At the end of this time the river had become a moat and the mole had returned with Snowballs cousins.

The next forty eight hours were a continuation of patrolling the river, defending against crazed rats and foxes that attempted to swim the river. There were casualties on Snowballs side, one of his cousins got dragged into the river by a pack of crazed rats and voles, the whole lot swept away by the river, a struggling, writhing, fighting mass of bodies.

At last there was no more fighting to be done and the exhausted defenders lay down to sleep, all except Snowball. He wandered deep into the heart of the wood, into where no of the other animals had any idea of the danger they’d been in, into the Howling Moon pub.

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