The challenge this week was to create a character with a seemingly useless superpower, then give them an opportunity to use it (for better or for worse).

“So. Martin.” The cold, direct voice of The Administrator filled his office. “You know why I called you in here?”

Martin remained erect, but frozen, in the steel guest chair.

“Of course you do,” he lamented. “You know, they told me that you weren’t cut out for this. That your psychological profile was…unsatisfactory. But I saw something in you. Perhaps I was blinded by your striking resemblance to me. Perhaps my instincts have softened in my old age. Regardless, it turns out they were right.”

The Administrator approached from the shadows, his jet black shoes clapping against the limestone floor. His chiseled face revealed less emotion than his tailored suit. Towering over him, his thumb and index finger cupped Martin’s chin. He let go.

“I thought I could prove your worth to us. You know, start you off slow.”

Martin stared blankly at him, watching him place a cigarette between his lips.

“After all, we couldn’t give you the ability to start the world on fire until we were sure of you.” On cue, the cigarette lit itself.

“The ability to make someone else sneeze seemed pretty innocuous. Easy to keep hidden. And a quite effective tool at extending someone’s life. Have to admit, you impressed us when you saved the Senator, delaying his first step into the crosswalk.” The Administrator turned his back to Martin, resting his hands on his desk.

“But you couldn’t help yourself. You had to play with your new toy. Showing it off at parties, placing bets on who would sneeze first. Making the President embarrass himself at his own inauguration. All fun and games, I know. But telling your wife was the last straw. This organization has the power to make this world a better place, but only if our secret is kept.” The Administrator paused, then turned around. “We’re now half way to keeping that secret.”

Martin’s eyes darted at his boss, rage masking the pain behind them. He kept quiet.

“It’s a shame, really.” He put the cigarette out. “I don’t like killing anyone, even for the greater good. Even though I’ll gain your power when you die.” The Administrator laughed. “Now, do you have any last words before you spontaneously combust?”

Martin did not.

“Alright, then. I admit this will take a few seconds longer than my cigarette. You seem to like parlor tricks. How about we end this with a magic word? Shazam? Presto-chango?”

Martin’s expression remained unchanged.

“Oh, I got it. Here we go.” His splayed his hands out in front of him as if it were necessary. “Abracada…ah! Ah! Ah-CHOO! Abracachoo!”

Martin rose from the chair, watching The Administrator clumsily stumble with an endless sneezing fit. Walking behind his former boss, he waited for him to rise from his latest attack. In one motion, he cradled his head and snapped his neck. The lifeless body slumped to the floor.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. “Come in!” called Martin, finishing the last button on his new suit.

“Sir!” barked the young man as he entered. “Are you done in here?”

Martin nodded.

“Good. We may not have much time. Talks are breaking down between the U.S. and China. And both sides have their bombs aimed and ready.”

“Well then,” Martin replied, looking down at the body. “It looks like we’ve got a fire to put out.”

“Sir?”

Martin looked up. “So to speak, son.” He approached the young man, putting his arm around him as they exited his office. “So to speak.”

Spooky: Hot damn, all y’all. Another thorough beatdown of the challenge’s parameters, and although the ending was apparent enough, it was still satisfying as hell to get there. 4

DK: I think I appreciate inherent cheesiness more in this challenge than most of the others. The line about the striking resemblance really, really got me for some reason, but again, this is a fun power too. 4

My story is all kinds of obvious.  I’m probably the ninety-four thousandth person to use “The Administrator” as the antagonist, and like Spooky said, the ending was the most natural way for the story to progress.  I also was never quite satisfied with the mood, having a mix of suspense and goofiness all in one.  I mean, it’s pretty hard to make a superhero story bone-chilling.  I tried, and I think I just missed it.

Still, I think it’s pretty fun, and I’m glad the judges enjoyed it.

What I didn’t enjoy was a teammate non-subbing, making the Vogons have to send another member to the guillotine.

This week we got to the challenge I created several weeks ago during an optional week.  Basically, the rules was to get three wishes granted to the main character.  One had to turn out very good, one very bad, and one ambiguously.  And the wishes had to be extraordinary.

Desiree clutched the ticket in her hand. Twenty-four. The LED lights shone sixteen. Not eager to guess her upcoming fate, her mind drifted to the events of the past two months.

***

“Fuck! Trish, that was awesome” he said as he pulled out and laid beside her.

Desiree liked her pseudonym. It sounded fun, not trashy like her given name.

“You know what?” he continued. She lit a cigarette, ignoring him. “You’re not like the other girls. I really like you.”

Desiree had two kinds of repeat customers. There were the men who had a particular kink that she was willing to oblige. And then there was this type, the lonely ones who genuinely thought they could fall in love with a few thrusts and a hundred bucks. There was really only one way to deal with them, and that was to pretend not to know them the next night.

“I need to shower,” Desiree said without inflection, avoiding the inevitable attempt at cuddling. Kicking off her heels, she got out of bed.

“I gotta leave, hun” he said, jumping up and putting on his slacks. “Conference downstairs, but I’m here all week. Can I see you tomorrow?”

“Sure,” she lied, grabbing her purse off the bathroom door and then closing it behind her. She enjoyed her shower more than usual, knowing he wasn’t going to be there when she was done.

The night still young, she reapplied her makeup before slipping on her dress and heels. On her way out, she saw a hand-written note on the bed:

I COULD LOVE YOU. ASK FOR ANYTHING YOU WANT.

There was a blank line underneath. Desiree smirked. Grabbing the pen, she wrote “a fucking tip”.

***

The LED display now said eighteen.

The next day, Desiree had received a shock when a tobacco shop clerk outside her usual corner delivered an envelope. “AS YOU WISH” was on the outside. On the inside, a thousand dollars.

Her tempered excitement didn’t last long, however, as later that night her pimp had found out about the extra money. He took it, of course, but not after taking it out on her.

***

“I’m sorry,” she told him, shivering. “I’m just too sore. I can go down. With a discount, of course.”

Shaking his head, he sat up beside her. “What’s wrong, Trish?” he asked, not out of annoyance but with genuine concern. Desiree did not know what came over her, but she told him everything. Not just about the night before, but troubles and
feelings she hadn’t shared with anyone. By midnight, she found herself next to him, her head on his chest.

“You know I can’t have sex with you anymore.” she said, somewhat embarrassed.

“That’s okay,” he said. “This is better, anyway.”

“Maybe. If only I could charge you for talking.”

“Look. I have plenty of money. I can make sure you always bring home the right amount.”

She squeezed his hand. A tear fell.

***

“Twenty-one!” a voice called in the distance.

Their arrangement had worked really well for a while. Even on nights when he was not around, he gave her enough money to make it looked like she was doing business. And she felt like she was slowly developing a friend. The following month had been one of the best of her life.

But eventually word got back to her pimp that she was noticeably absent on the streets at night. She cracked under interrogation and spent a night in the hospital for “falling down the stairs.”

***

“Now why did I have to pick you up at the corner tonight?” he asked. She told him.

“We can’t continue like this,” she said. “You’ve been amazing, but it’s just too risky. This has to be the last time.”

He was visibly frustrated, but held her closer. “Dez, do you think we could be more?”

She looked into his eyes. “Than friends?” She paused, then couldn’t finish her thought. Averting his eyes, she choked up. “I wish he was dead.”

“I’m better for having known you,” he said through his tears. Turning her chin, he kissed her. There was no hesitation. And for the first time, they made love.

***

It hit the front page two days later. Double-homicide. Two men, their connection unknown to everyone except Desiree. Both dead from gunshot wounds.

And now, a week later, Desiree was broke and homeless waiting to speak with a welfare worker. She felt a tug at her sleeve, breaking her thoughts of self-pity.

“Mom, when is Daddy coming back?” His brown eyes looked up at her.

“Daddy’s not coming back, hun. Not ever again.”

Her boy hugged her leg. “Are we going to be okay?”

She found the strength to hug him back. “I hope so, sweetie. I hope so.”

The counter changed to twenty-four.

K: I don’t know what to say about this one that y’all can’t already see. I absolutely loved these characters by the time of the surprise but fair ending. Desiree might be my favorite female character ever written in Spookymilk Survivor, and I’m not exaggerating. I would follow her through any number of words. 5

DK: Man, this is really good. I was really drawn into the situation and I liked how the wishes played out. I guess I don’t usually like things that start in media res, but this used it pretty effectively. 4

K: I almost exclusively like things that start in medias res. Huh.

First of all, the Vogons are back to their winning ways, so no elimination for our team this week.

Secondly, thank you to the judges for the compliments.  I am in love with this competition.  I’m writing better than I have in my whole life and it’s damn good fun.

I decided early in the week I wanted to write about a hooker.  I quickly decided the ending (sans child) as well.  Took me three days to come up with the actual wishes.  But when I started writing, it took me about two hours.  There’s really no background I can give as I didn’t base this off anything.  It just came out.

Spooky mentioned that I tend to write women well.  I don’t know why, but I’ve always felt more comfortable writing from a female perspective.