Things like meeting writer Joe-La Dowdy. She did this challenge and wrote 365 stories for the year. That is a lot of stories. I thought to myself, I need to do this. Then I thought, I don't know about this. I just don't know.
The other side of me said just do it. It'll be fun. But then I do love these kind of challenges
So, I'm doing it. And that's that.
Actually if you hop in your time machine and go back to the days when writers were writing for the pulp mags, that's pretty much how they did it.
Ray Bradbury says that quality comes from quantity. He should know.
This challenge serves several purposes. One it gets you writing and keeps you writing. The more keyboards you wear out the better you become.. to quote Micheal Arnzen. I've always learned a ton of stuff during these type of challenges but this one really does push your limits.
Joe is an awesome writer and when I hit her up on facebook she was very excited to hear I was participating and was kind enough to give me some great tips. You can check out her site here called THE PETULANT MUSE
It is pretty cool.
I will be posting a story each day for those wanting to read it.
I hope you stay with me for the ride cause it's gonna be a blast.
Cause here we goooooooooo.
Number 1 prompt was to write a story in the view point of vultures having a bloody feast.
They came in a large black kettle. Their feathered bodies long as a jet airliner. Wings wide as a football field.
EAT'M UP...EAT'M UP... EAT'M UP...
Ear-piercing screeches filled the air. Below they could see the Earth Pests looking up. Mouths open and eyes wide with fear.
Scurrying like ants.
Some would get a away.
That's okay. There was plenty to fill their rumbling gizzards.
Thunder erupted with flapping wings.
They no longer need dead flesh. Ha. What a silly myth. Live human flesh is the bestest of the best.
Not old fart flesh. Old fart flesh smelt musty and mildewy coupled with ammonia that made the tips of their beak curl.
What a way to ruin an appetite.
It was the shrill of the kill that filled them with uncontrollable excitement. They could taste the sweetness of the blood at the tip of their beaks.
A National Guard chopper fired off several rounds. But even the choppers were no match for the huge beasts.
One of the choppers thought he got him one. He saw the pilot smile. And mouth the words gotcha sucker.
What a fool.
No chance there.
The bird swooped a sharp left, maneuvered above the chopper and snatched it in its talons.
They could hear the cries of the solders.
Hear their prayers.
Get'm while their hot.
Talons dripping with blood closed over the chopper, engine hissing and puttering as their claws crushed it like a tin can then it tossed it out into nowhere land.
EATM' UP...EATM' UP...EATM' UP...
To add some fun to their smorgasbord each of them dumped their load of black and white sludge, covering the cars like a huge fish net.
Gets'm every time.
Cars sped up trying to get away only to be snatched up and carried off
Mommies holding onto their little ones that were soon to be taken back to their nest and devoured by the smaller ones.
Those who had guns fired upon them but the bullets were not large enough to make so much as even a dent in their feathers.
Screeching and gurgles as the kettle swooped down in a black cloud.
Plenty enough to go around, they said.
Like a kid in a candy shop.
Below Earth Pests thought they were ready for them. Them with their tanks and jeeps equipped with missiles.
A Tomahawk headed straight for them. He tilted his beak and fluttered his wings to alert the others.
Earth pests were sure they had'm this time. They were certain of it.
Perhaps they were a little too certain.
The bird snatched the missile in its beak and flung it.
Good catch, one said,
Well done pal, another said.
I get the one in the blue shirt.
And I got the one that is running into the ditch,
Me first... Me first... Me first... They all chanted in unison, Then let out with more screeches.
Another missile came toward them and was a near miss.
We've been through this town before, one said.
I recognize that lady standing in the water.
That's supposed to be a statue.
Is that what that is?
Yes. Can't you tell the difference between a human and a statue?
Yum yum yum says the big hungry birdie. Look what we got here. The Staten Island Ferry was steaming across the river.
Check this out. This one thinks its going to escape.
Not a chance.
BOMB DUMP! They all screeched.
A ton of white goblins tumbled down and splashed into the water creating a massive wave so large it capsized the ferry.
Passengers shifted and slid over the decks, splashing into the river and jumping over the side as if they were escaping from the Titanic.
How you like them apples?
Good shot, Pal.
Couldn't done better myself, another said.
Teach me to poop like that, Dad, kiddie birdie said.
I will son. Just give it time.
They grouped back to form their huge kettle and charged to town. Each of them snatching up a piece of fresh.
A cacophony of tearing and ripping as hundreds of beaks unzipped flesh. The prey crying, pleading for help as thousands of razor sharp talons punctured through crackling rib cages.
SNAP... CRACKLE... POP
Beating hearts being punctured by their beaks like they were Star-Kist fruit gushers.
Slithering tongues lapping up blood.
The shrill of the kill ruffled their feathers with delight. The more they screamed, the harder they pecked.
Cracking skulls like walnuts.
They each grabbed hold of a piece of flailing meat. Arms and legs kicking, the birds flew high and released them so they could watch their bodies splatter on the ground then swooped down to lap up the tiny pieces.
This is the bestest ever.
You can say that again.
This is the bestest ever.
We better get out of here, one said.
The other birdies are going to think we're crazy.
What would give them that idea.
They all gurgled in unison.