A contest with a pot of 6 @steembasicincome shares + 2 STEEM? You're in the right place!
105 @steembasicincome shares awarded till now through the contest in 24 weeks!
Here are our brand new fluorine-potassium empowered prize categories:
1st place by popular vote: n. 4 steembasicincome shares (this time is serious business.. vote your favourite and be voted!)
2nd place : n. 2 solid STEEMs (..and you can use them as you like!)
3rd place: n. 2 steembasicincome share.
@f3nix here, your prêt-à-porter bananafish prophet. I missed you, brave storytellers, and through my arcaic Vedic mantras I invoked the bananafish hallucinogenic blessings over your heads..did you sense them? ..hope not. This contest is unique, from the brand to the amazing community behind it (Join here our chat]). One of the things I like the most is that we here prefer spontaneity over rules, hence here are the ..
Things that please the Bananafish mighty god!
vote, vote, vote your favourite story!
use the #finishthestory tag.
Try to post your story the earliest possible and not at the last moment.
Sustain, comment and upvote each other as a true group of friends and fiction lovers.
Respect the 500 words limit.
Post in your blog instead than in the comment section.
help our contest & workshop to grow by giving it some visibility.
In the eyes of the couple, the slate-paved street of the village revealed a cornucopia of crafts, sweets and jubilant peasants. Along the noisy main street, colourful festoons hung from the balconies of typical mountain houses, made of solid stone and original woodwork. The buildings themselves, due to the abundance of decorations, seemed to curve over the long snake of stalls.
There had been an imperceptible moment of silence when the two had laid their feet on the dark pavement of the village, nothing but a quick counterpoint to underline the next wave of noise of the festival in its full becoming.
It had been enough to turn left on the path between the conifers marked by the navigator and their journey had moulted with grey scales now transformed into coloured harlequin’s diamonds.
"Fasnachat". That bizarre writing on a shaky sign had tickled their imagination.
"If Google had reported this village party we could have left two hours earlier." At her voice’s sound, Ben instinctively thought of two Dolce & Gabbana sneakers on the 100 meters starting blocks.
"A break cannot hurt us, but let's not forget about our timetable," he replied, not without a trail of scepticism in his voice.
Ben's senses captured fragrances, widened eyes and inebriated laughter. That joy was as disruptive as it was contagious.
"We do not need to remind ourselves of what it means being late for Grandma Maude's birthday dinner," he said, turning to his wife, whose hand was already wriggling from his, ready to compulsively stuff the car with the many bits and bobs offered by the fair.
Debated between the growing curiosity and the thought of his father-in-law blaming him for the delay, Ben had not even noticed that he had already lost sight of Joelle.
Like a pebble escaping the river’s current, the flow of the crowd had carried him in the middle of a small square dominated by a soaring wooden stage. An acute, strangely cacophonous, chant of stringed instruments enlivened a typical traditional group dance, where couples slapped each other’s feet and bodies.
Under the ever more pounding rhythm of the dance, among almost hypnotized and swaying villagers, his eyes increasingly focused on the show.
For a moment, he thought he saw Joelle surrounded by villagers who invited her to eat something viscidly black. The substance seemed to smear the white aprons and faces of the women, perhaps even that of Joelle who had joined them in a wild chortle. She seemed so lighthearted and it felt good. There was one thing Ben could not remember and squatted in the back of his head, but maybe it wasn’t that important.
He returned to plunge into the dance: it was simply wonderful. He felt he could not miss a movement, not even a note. He smiled at the villagers as a strange heat flared up inside him. An empty and collective smile painted back on the villagers’ gaunt faces.
In a frayed embryo of thought, Ben recorded the distant verses of Joelle, who, strangely, had fused together in a long animal bleating.
Join the fun! Here is how this contest works:
An unfinished fiction story or a script is posted.
You finish it with your own post or a comment in the comment section. A limit of 500 words is recommended.
YOU WIN! 6 @steembasicincome shares + 2 STEEM to the writers with the best ending.
The result will be out on Tuesday 28th August, 14:00 PM - two o' clock in the afternoon GMT+7 (U.S. West Coast time zone) avg. Submission deadline: Monday 27th August, 12:00 PM - noon GMT+7 (U.S. West Coast time zone)
The great and generous @bananafish rewards the faithful!
So join the core, support the mission! Pledge your allegiance with your delegation, show your continued support through by joining the curation trail, and all will share in the glorious bounty of the @bananafish!