Champion Chess King of the Office Orchastra

The King felt mighty as always. Walking through the streets of his beloved city, turning between the stalls and shops, weaving his way to his glorious castles throne room. Looking upon his subjects with an absolute authority. They paid him no respect of course, as they were distracted with their own daily duties, some hacked away at slabs of meat, others arranging displays of goods. One weirdly toying away with a strange contraption that produced parchments with a strange dialect, one after another, dozen after a dozen. It made no difference, it was what was required to run the city of this magnitude. He reached his throne room and sat down. Placing his sceptre and de-robed his velvet gown. he looked out beyond his realm…
  “Do you have those reports?” asked Paul – his “advisor”. The monarch looked up distracted.
  “Hmp?” The monarch was unduly addressed and ill prepared.
  “Do you have those reports I asked, the one with this months expenses!?” asked the manager clutching a tome of paper.
  “Oh yes…I’ll send them right now…I finished them at home.” said John in a culpable way. He plugged in his USB stick into the computer and within seconds the screen on his desk blurred his vision for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the radiant light. Windows appeared one by one as he took hold of the poor little mouse and with a few swipes and squeaks, his royal duty was performed. Digitized into pulses of energy and shot across his realm into a distant corner where their intended destination. Ordered Emissaries carrying out the royal decree.
  “…and sent, Paul. Is their anything else you needed?”
  “Yes, would you mind staying after work for a bit? We need to go over a few things ready for the CEO’s visit tomorrow.” John knew it was more of a command that a request.
  “Uh…” John paused to think of anything, his eyes darted upward and side ward looking for the relevant information behind them…his friends would have to wait at their appointed dinner date.
  “Is there a problem?” Asked Paul in a overbearing way, already expecting a “yes”.
  “No Paul, that should be fine.” John complacently relented away his free time. Paul walked off beyond the partitioned wall and could be heard faintly speaking to an unknown entity…it sounded like Mark from accounting. When John felt that Paul was out of ear shot he let out a quiet sigh, it still seemed to echo and caused an un-euphoric wave for fear of being heard.
  The Champion chess player had slumped into his chair feeling relief that the move he just made wasn’t as bad as he first though…he wouldn’t have been a Champion if it was. Putting his opponent in a position just where he wanted, it was all apart of the master plan, smirking on the side of his face for a moment as he contemplated further action. He arranged his pieces neatly with an intense focus, making sure they were all facing fully in opposite direction, facing down the other army on the other side of the board. Polished, gleaming. Ready for war.
  “Their my beauties, will win this infernal game!…The check might be yours for now Sir! But mine will superseded a “mate”!” John whispered to himself…it was a Championship match after all.
  “So once again the “champion” is held back once again!” spoken by a mysterious figure. Who in fact said “chump” not “champion”.
  “What?” asked frustratingly.
  “Paul has you working late again doesn’t he?” said the accountant – Mark was his official name. Unofficial one everyone else knew him by “that twat”.
  “Oh yes, third time this week.” John looked towards his screen continuing his work, not wanting to engage further.
Mark added a snide addition “Have fun!” as he sleuthed beyond sight, chuckling and readjusting his tie and tidying his slick gelled hair. Taking a sip of his cappuccino, or mocha. They all smelt the same to someone who hated machine brought.
  The hours were monitored winding by, the wall mounted device and it’s twelve numbers was the conductor and the black batons instructed the entire orchestra to play in tune. The audible sound of instruments made an unattractive music that everyone was forced to bare. Click after click, ring after ring. The occasional “Oh shit” when coffee was spilt on important notes. Or the creaking of the main office door that needed better hinges. John felt sure that his music would be glorious. Standing in front of the audience waving his batons with styled flourishes and flicked gestures. His conducting would sound magnificent and the piece would end with the anticipated crescendo of “finally it’s 5:30”.

 This was for my first homework for English class at College. A story in the style of “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” (1939) by James Thurber.


Laura Steel © 2014

A monstrous critter…just because


After a few hours messing around in Blender (a free 3D modeling program), I tried to recreate a monstrous critter I had envisioned in my fictional fantasy world. The texture is crap but I am new to 3D modeling. I think it’s ment to be a small barnacle sized carnivorous crustacean that swarms in the thousands…hell if I know really.

Laura Steel © 2014

Inevitable Consequence

It’s normal to expect the best out of people but coercing it is a different matter. Either through a gentle means of encouragement or a somewhat backhanded form of manipulation.

Any aspect of life can be affected this way; social, economical, spiritual, etc. Even the mind and soul of a person can too, including the body through surgical or genetic alteration.

Always wanting the best in something can bring out the worst in people, specially the worst in those not content enough to accept flaws. Flaws in others or themselves, in anything they believe in or have any control over.

Some things are inevitable, they will happen with or without a helping hand. It’s called evolution. To actually force the issue is almost always at the detriment of the subject.

It can be instantly or as an unforeseen series of consequences lasting generations.

Almost always because the person(s) manipulated has found out about the transgression that has been thrust upon them with out their permission.

It’s one thing for them to offer a hand and hope it’s reached back. It’s another to and have them dragged along, kicking and screaming. More than anything you can expect either a cold calculated move or an over emotional response.

Retaliation in protest or retribution as violence.

Laura Steel © 2014

Prompt :


Trying to write with this infernal headache, its driving me insane. That I am unable to construct a coherent thought when at the forefront of my mind is nothing but the pain. It is always there, on the left, just behind the eye. Why wont it stop! I would do anything to relieve myself from its nagging control over the side of my brain. Why doesn’t the right side stop it. Can it not share the load to make it all bearable. Or perhaps the right is the cause, laughing at the left as it remains unaffected.

Could it be a rooted parasite sucking the life out it’s latching point? How can you burn off this leech if its protected with a barrier of hydrocarbons and calcium phosphate. Knocking it doesn’t dislodge it, working instead to only to intensify the agony. The only path is to let the creature have it’s fill, letting the creative juices flow once more. Sleep maybe?…yes sleeping may fast forward it’s consumption…that’s what I’ll do…I’ll sleep on my right so that it can leave through my ear. I hope it doesn’t return or I’ll never get this writing done.