April 28th-30th, the Writer’s Alliance attended its first ever Sci-fi on the Rock Festival. Along with admiring the attendees’ amazing costumes and the wares of local artists, we met tonnes of local writers working in the sci-fi and fantasy genres. And horror. And steampunk. Too many genres to mention!
Thanks to everyone who stopped by our table for a chat and participated in our communal writing project. One line or paragraph at a time, contributors constructed a handful of stories with some of the most acrobatic plot twists we’ve ever seen.
Here’s one of the completed stories:
The Bird King
“I’m just doing what the fortune cookie said,” he said, holding the gun to the rooster’s head.
“Caw!” Replied the crows to the threat of their kin.
The fortune cookie, objecting to this with rancour, caused the street lights to go out.
Once darkness had taken over the street, then the rooster raced away. He stumbled through the darkness, focused on nothing but returning to the love of his life, Helen. Helen was a lovely white hen who he had loved for years. He raced on for her until he came to the edge of a great lake.
The water was so clear he could see the red of his feathers reflected back up at him. The clouds in the sky parted and the goddess, HeleKat, looked down at him with pity as the gunman ran towards to cornered rooster. At the goddess’ command, the waters parted for the rooster to cross through. Bullets flew after him, but the crows flew into them, sacrificing themselves for the rooster.
Once the rooster had reached the other side, then the goddess allowed the waters to flow and crash against the bank, stranding the gunman on the opposite bank without any bullets.
“I will get you Bird King!” The gunman screamed before turning away.
The remaining crows landed around the rooster and bowed down to the king of the birds.
“Thank you,” the Bird King said. “But I must return to my queen Helen, the hen. Will you help your King?”
“Of course,” General Irontail said as she looked up at the rooster.
With the bank now free of threat, the crows lifted their king back to the other side.
“We must consult the crumbs of the fortune cookie,” said the rooster. “In its sweet, broken fragments will be the secret to Helen’s location.”
They landed, forming a circle around the fractured cookie, who had sacrificed herself to conjure the blackout. The sun was lifting its lazy lid on the horizon, illuminating her jagged remains.
“Helen is in another castle,” the crows read, cursing the oracle who wrote the prophesy. With a sigh they took off, going to the next castle, where they found Helen after doing battle with a giant turtle.