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Wolf Tracker written by Kathy White. Read by Kathy White.
A Voice in the Caves written by Tania Hutley. Read by Kathy White.

Science Fiction - Volcanoes, Craters and Melting Eyelids with Elena

"Science Fiction is the improbable made possible." Rod Serling

What a great lot of imaginative stories this week! Hot topics included, volcanoes, Neil Armstrong and twins. Most of you included all the setting and character elements set for the challenge, but keeping to the science fiction genre proved to be harder. Magical elements appeared in nearly all the stories, which meant they were more fantasy than science fiction.

There were lots of tasty beginnings, quite a few crunchy endings, but many of the plots went a little bit soggy in the middle and lost their way. It can help to have a brief outline of the plot in mind before you start writing.

Best beginnings: Callum's, "It was another ordinary day at school in the crater," Kendra Smith's attention grabbing, "Gulp! I Zeeblebarf just ate the mighty, monstrous, massive, monumental, mammoth sized super supreme ... bbbbuuuurrrrpppp ... ham ... buuuuurrrrpppp ... burger," with its great use of alliteration, and Claudia Weston's lovely "I can't get to sleep, it is utterly impossible with "the lights" flashing purple and orange against my window pane."

Best ending goes to Imogen Wiseman "My name is Zeeblebarf but my friends call me Zeebie. I am only 8 years old and my powers are so bizarre that I could turn you into a frog if I wanted to. If you don't mind I have to go now."

Best single image to Thomas Beckett, "The Professor's eyelids melted off like icecream on a cone on a hot day."

There were also some horribly (in a good way) inventive characters created. For instance, Thomas Coulter's flesh eating strawberry called Derrick, with his razor sharp teeth called cuttles, made a debut appearance, as did Zeeblebarf's friend, Potato, invented by William Laughton.

Dylan Rush and Felix Cameron's stories both made great use of the first person and were full of energy.

Jamie and Harriet, whose iced tea tasted like "squashed cheese with salt and boiling water poured over it," and Hannah Berry (who also had great character development) used the senses and detail to bring their stories to life.

But there can only be one winner ... or maybe two.

The winner of the intermediate category is Caroline Moratti. As a writer, one sure way of getting the audience on your side is to make them laugh. Caroline made great use of humour with her wonderfully funny parodies of Doctor Who, Star Wars and Star Trek characters.

The winner of the primary category is James Kerr. James' story was fast paced and energetic, with great sound effects. I also liked the clever use of time travel (and super powers) and the open ending.

Special mention also goes to Joshua Thompson and Matthew Illing for their superb stories.

The Great Blue Void

by Elena de Roo

Zeeblebarf took his last measurement - finally, his map was complete. As far back as he could remember, he knew he was destined to be a map maker. He had made it his life-long task, to complete a survey of the world, but in the end, it hadn't taken as long as he had thought. Here he was, still young, with his survey all but finished. Now what?

Next to him, the wall of the world sloped steeply upward, as far as he could see. How far it extended above the tangled canopy of the rain forest, was impossible to tell. But he did know, from his survey, that the jungle stretched unbroken in all directions. He also knew that the world was an almost perfect circle - if you followed the wall for long enough in one direction, eventually you would end up where you started from.

Once, he'd asked Beeblebarf, one of the elders of the tribe, what was beyond the wall? The great blue void, was his answer. He wouldn't say any more. After that, Zeeblebarf would occasionally catch a tiny glimpse of blue, through the leaves above. He had a hundred questions he wanted to ask, but it seemed he was the only one who was curious.

The others in his tribe thought he was odd, bizarre even. 'You have to understand, Zeeblebarf,' they'd say, 'that you're a new generation. You see things differently to us. You can put two and two together and make five hundred, but we only ever get four.'

They were twenty six, in total. The others carried out their assigned tasks - collecting rock samples, mining the earth for radioactive materials, maintaining the power packs. They never asked Why? or What if?

As he looked up at the steep wall, Zeeblebarf knew what his next task would be. The others were right - he was different. He couldn't live out his days not knowing what what lay beyond. But how to start?

He thought back to his years surveying the circumference. Had there been any part that looked climbable? As far as he recalled, it was equally steep all around. Then it came to him. The crevice ... that was it. That would be his way out.

It took him two weeks to find his way through the undergrowth, but this was something he was used to. The crevice was just as he remembered it - a jagged crack in the rocks about a metre wide, forcing its way upwards, like a bolt of lightning, towards the great blue void. He had no idea how far up it went, but there was only one way to find out.

He wedged himself between the two rock faces, and slowly and carefully, using opposing forces, see-sawed his way upwards, towards the unknown.

How long had he been climbing? He'd lost track of time. The view from the crevice was limited to a tiny slice outwards, upwards and below. The tree canopy must be far below him by now, but he didn't think about that. His vision was trained on the crack of blue far above, that was growing, ever so slowly, larger and closer.

It was many hours later, but at last Zeeblebarf crawled out of the crevice. The light was so bright here. The featureless earth looked faded, the space above glaring, over-exposed. He supposed it would take a while for his vision to adjust. Nearby, some large hairy creatures ate the tender green shoots which grew everywhere underfoot. Judging from their anatomy they would be very slow moving compared to the creatures in his world. So this was the great blue void. How flat and empty it looked.

A strange sound made the air around him vibrate. What did it mean? He couldn't understand. He tried signalling, but the sound just got louder and more shrill ...

***************

The boy and his father were moving their herd of hairy moonstock out of danger. Usually the cattle wouldn't venture this close to the crater, but an unusually dry year had driven them to eat the long grasses which grew near the edges.

'Dad, look!' shouted the boy, 'some kind of metally, stick insect thing's crawling out of the crater. It's got purple eyes. No, wait ... maybe they're not eyes ... they're flashing orange now.'

'What the ...? said his Dad. 'By golly ... I wonder ... I say, I never expected to see anything like this in real life. It looks just like the picture in The Classic Robots Manual. If I'm not mistaken, this one was the last of the Eebelbarf series. If you'd have come along to the Classic Robots Club with me last month like I asked, you'd know all this. Doctor Eebelbarf? Ring any bells? No?

'But Dad, it's getting away.' The boy sighed, he knew his father was unlikely to listen to him, once he'd got started on one of his long winded explanations, and he was right.

'He was famous back in his day. Because of the dangerous levels of radiation in the crater, he designed a series of robots to explore it instead. Twenty six, the good doctor made in total - one a year. A different model for every letter of the alphabet, from A-eeblebarf to Z-eeblebarf. But none of them ever returned. The Z model was the doctor's last hope - a new generation nanotech robot, with advanced, artificial intelligence, that could adapt to any terrain. Of course he's long dead now, but if only he could see what we're seeing now, son ... Hey, where's it gone?'

***************

Zeeblebarf rotated swiftly along the flat ground of the vast blue void, leaving the shrill noises far behind him. He had a survey to complete.

Thrilling Words On Writing Thrillers...

BB the Clone and the terrible secret – Judge's Report by Michele Powles

With clone tanks, Mentos and coke bombs, the ghost of Captain Blackbrain, a dog who is in love with clones, water dynamite and a lot of blood, guts and even brain-eating, there was a great range of stories this week. Awesome work! There were certainly plenty to choose from and it made picking a winner very hard.

A quick tip is to make sure you read instructions carefully – just like when you’re doing a test at school! A few of you missed that 67XY3BB (BB for short) was a clone rather than a human resident of Paradise Island. Remember too that this week’s genre (type of story) was thriller. Unfortunately that meant stories that were fantastic but missed these ingredients didn’t take top prize.

Best opening goes to Caroline Moratti – “ Mr Tim Cruise frowned over his morning glass of sparkling water and his freshly delivered newspaper. "Mercurium prices are dropping," he darkly mumbled to his wife, who was standing very still in the corner, with a blank look on her face.

Honourable mention has to go to Mikayla Carter and Chloe Hicken for their idea of projecting a fake castle, what a cool concept. Miriam Leonhardt for her clone’s extra long ears, Alex Dougan's United Nations dish-washing traps, Erica’s sparkly Tinkerbell eyes, Rebecca Skelton’s ghost of Susie Smith-Williams, and Hannah Berry’s wonderful descriptions of the baby clone incubator. But this week’s winner is ten year old Matthew Illing. Well done! Good job on getting inside BB’s head in first person and keeping the tension up for the Thriller genre.

For next week remember to check that your punctuation and tense are consistent (that you use the same time period all the way through your story) and that you don’t rush the ending. And of course remember to use the character, setting and genre set out by the FABO2 writers. Great job everyone who entered and we look forward to reading your entries next week.

BB the Burger Clone and the Dream Virus

by Michele Powles

The vibrating was new. So was the humming sound. For fifteen years, clone 67XY3BB had looked at the smooth walls of his station and noticed nothing except their blank white sheen. That they now moved and hummed should be noted and passed on to his supervisor. He didn’t move. Not for the first time he wished someone else shared his station so he could check this was real.

“Whatchu waiting for BB?" The voice came from nowhere and everywhere. “They’re gunna catch you if we don’t do this thing soon.”

BB held his breath but no one burst through the door.

The voice gave a little chuckle. “That’s the way, good to be on alert. It won’t be long now. I hope you’re ready.” Then there was silence.

The walls stilled and the quiet grew till BB was sure he could hear the rapid thurrrrump of his heart beat. He let his breath sigh out. “Just dreaming,” he muttered. Turning back to his workbook he checked again that the ingredients were in the right order and ready for assembly.

“Burger buns, check. Salad, cheese and beetroot, check. Tofu peanut patties, check.” His muttering was against the rules; he’d lose merit points and they might even put him on report if the Incubator Supervisor clone caught him at it, but with everything that had been happening lately he needed reassurance that things were normal. Or at least normal-ish.

It had all begun innocently enough. A word had appeared in his brain. Dreams. He’d looked through his workbook to be told what to do about it.

Nothing.

He’d gone to his supervisor for advice. But when he’d opened his mouth to speak a voice had whispered through his mind. “No. Say nothing.”

Eyes bulging BB had snapped his mouth shut, laid his daily report on the white counter and shuffled out of the room in the correct manner.

Back at his station he whizzed through his burger building tasks, all the time expecting a pair of Incubator Enforcers to break down his door and drag him off for reprogramming.

“They can’t hear me. Just don’t react and you’ll be fine.” The voice was low, silky and smooth like the tofu BB blended in his vegetarian burger pattie mix.

“Who are you?” BB hissed at the quiet empty walls of his station.

“I’m a figment of your imagination,” said the voice.

“A what?”

“Damn, that’s right, you lot got stripped of imagination. Must be awful.” The voice sighed. “Have a look at this.”

A picture of a tall building sprang into BB’s mind. Its surface sparkled and glinted, reflecting some wondrous warm light that BB had never seen before. Inside its windows he could see people walking about, talking to each other, their faces twisted into strange shapes. “What’s wrong with their faces,” he asked.

“Wrong?” The voice paused a moment, then burst into a strange sound, something joyful and light. “Bahahahaha,” went the voice. “They’re smiling, that’s all. Their faces aren’t wrong, they’re how yours should be.”

“Smiling.” BB tried out the word but it sat strangely on his tongue. “And what was that noise you made just now?”

“Oh dear, we have a long way to go with you don’t we. I was laughing. Laughing!” And the voice made the strange sound again.

BB tried to make the laughing sound. “Bohohohoheheha.”

“Hmmm. Well you can’t really expect to get it right first time. But don’t worry, you’ll get it. You’ll get everything. The sun on your face, a share of the Mercurium mine, it’s all going to be yours. Better go, someone’s coming. Laters.”

After the chatter in his head, the silence felt big and heavy to BB. Worse, he hadn’t been able to ask what he was supposed to do next. Or what Dreams were made of. But he didn’t have a chance to think about it too much as the Incubator Inspector walked into his station and held out his hand to test BB’s burgers, all twenty five different flavours.

Since that first meeting the voice had put hundreds of new words into BB’s brain. Some of them had been long and curly, words that twisted BB’s tongue when he tried to get them out but which sounded bright and round and beautiful when the voice spoke them. Other words had been short and spiky and BB knew even without it being explained that these were words that meant bad news.

Over weeks and months the voice filled BB with new knowledge and BB began to be able to paint his own pictures in his mind, to imagine, and to dream.

“So you understand the importance of all this?”

A chill crept over BB’s skin. The voice wouldn’t let him forget it. “What if I can’t do it?” he said. “What if you’ve got the wrong clone?”

“Impossible. I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t the one. The virus would have created me in someone else instead.”

“But I’ve only got a week to go until I graduate. Soon I’ll be Outside on FABO2. They’re making me chief burger boy for Mr. Presley.”

“Exactly.”

The chill grew till BB was sure there was a living thing crawling over his skin. Something that crept up his back, coiled its fingers through his hair and wouldn’t let go. “How will you tell me when it’s the right time?”

“You will know.” As usual the voice disappeared before BB could ask it anything else.

And now the walls had started vibrating and there was a humming that hadn’t been there before.

The sunshine was just as the voice had promised it would be. After all these years cooped up in the Incubator, BB couldn’t quite believe that just beyond his workstation the world of FABO2 had been waiting. “Oh my.” The ocean surrounding Paradise Island hushed in and out, its surface flecked with glitter.

“Everyone report to their new supervisors. You know your roles. Do not soil the good name of The Incubator.” BB’s old supervisor turned away and was swallowed by the smooth white walls of the Incubator Pod.

Five other graduates stood with BB but their faces were blank. None of them showed that they even noticed the sun or the ocean or the clean unfiltered and salty air.

BB opened his mouth to say something but realised that just talking to the other clones was pointless.

The word formed as if it had been painted in front of him. Dream. Of course. Now that he was out here it was obvious what he was supposed to do. BB shut his eyes and let the thought of dreaming flood him. He undid the lock that had been placed around his imagination at birth and let the unrealised hopes and ideas and wishes of a million billion Incubator clones fill him up to bursting. They twinkled there a moment, ready. Then he set them free.

Across Paradise Island the fat lazy Residents looked up from their dinners and tennis games and televisions. Their world seemed suddenly empty. No one came when they called.

Across Paradise Island the clones began to smile.

Mysterious happenings on Planet FaBo2 with Kyle Mewburn!

Wow! What an amazing collection of mystery stories you sent in this week. And talk about mysterious. I was scratching my head the whole time, trying to solve the mystery before Sher did. (And no, I don't have fleas!) Lots of you scattered cunningly clever clues through your story, which is exactly what a good mystery needs. There were lots of trapdoors and secret passageways, too. Which is always good for adding mystery to a story. And in Chloe & Sophie's story, Sher had to unravel some clever alibis, just like a real detective.


There was lots of blood, too. Grace's story had a blood-stained dagger and people dying like flies. While in Maddie's story, Sher cut a monster in half and ate its two hearts! Urggghhh!


There were mysteries about missing jewels, a missing Star of Scotland, missing cupcakes, missing wallets and even missing grandmas. There were poisoned drinks, a plague and a murderous king. And talk about imagination! The Over Council of FaBo2 will be amazed when they read this week's stories. There was everything from magic wands to dragon trainers to talking dogs (called Ricky and Leonard) and even talking FURNITURE! And there were lots (and LOTS!) of goldfish, too.


Along the way, poor Jock McWat (who was supposed to be Sher's best friend) was everything from her brother to her boyfriend, a villain to a hired assassin! That was very confusing. I liked Sally's story about terrible King Humphrey, too, but it was more like a fairytale than a mystery.


But there can only be ONE winner! And this week I've chosen Caroline Moratti's story. Caroline is in Year 8 at Balmacewan Intermediate in Dunedin. I loved her quirky humour and the way she made Sher come alive. I also liked the twist at the end. You can read Caroline's story by clicking on the tab above! Caroline not only gets an awesome prize, she will also have a place on FaBo2 named after her. Check out what it is on the Planet FaBo page.

Hmmm, actually, the Over Council has just informed me we're now going to pick TWO winners each week - one primary and one intermediate. What a generous council! So this week's primary winner is Matthew Illing who is in Year 6 at Maungawhau. (Who is currently Number 1 on our Best Schools list. Well done!) A special prize is on its way to Matthew. He also gets a planetary feature named in his honour.

Oh, and a special mention to Millie Brown of Maungawhau for her great introduction! You can read it on the winning entry page as well.

In the meantime, here's MY mystery story called ...


The Mystery of the Missing Mist

Jock McWat twisted the lens of his telescope one way, then the other until the towering spires of Glottis Castle came into sharp focus.

“Hey, Sher, check this out!” he called.

"Mffflogrmmmlfrrt?” came the reply from behind.

“What?” Jock asked as he turned to where his best friend, Sher Lock, was busily polishing her gumboots by the fire.

Sher spat out the ends of her pigtails. She always sucked them when she was concentrating. Which is why they always looked more like two wet rat’s tails than pigtails. “I said - I’m busy.”

“No, seriously, you have to check this out,” said Jock. “It’s ... it’s ... I don’t know what it is.”


He sighed. It was a very long sigh. Sometimes it was very frustrating not having an imagination.

Sher’s sigh was even longer. It lasted all the way from the fire to the window. Considering she was dragging her feet as if they were made of Gloomstone, it was a very long sigh indeed.

“So what’s sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo important, McWat?” she asked, rolling her eyes dramatically. Nobody could roll their eyes quite like Sher. The thick lenses of her glasses magnified her eyes to the size of those weird puffballs that grew in Thompson Swamp.

Jock was so mesmerised, he could only point.

Sher’s eyes swept along Jock’s arm, leapt off his pointy index finger, then plunged out the window. They vaulted over the sleepy village of Gloomingdales, skipped across three mirror lochs and raced up the rocky slopes of Epi Hill, before finally landing on the stark shape of Glottis Castle outlined clearly against the clear, blue sky.

Her jaw dropped and her glasses nearly fell off her nose.

“It’s ... it’s ...” she stammered. “It’s totally weird.”

“I know,” said Jock. “Isn’t it amazing? You can actually see the castle. And the sun! The mist is like totally gone!”

Sher rolled her eyes even more dramatically.

“Nooooooooooo,” she said. Even though what Jock said true enough. For the first time in her entire whole life, there was no mist filling the village streets, and no dark cloud concealing Glottis castle from view. Which was totally weird when you thought about it. But Sher wasn’t going to tell Jock that. Besides, there was something even weirder than a clear sky in the Gloomingdales.


“I didn’t mean the sky. I meant the castle. Look at it! Have you ever seen such a weird-looking castle?”

Frowning, Jock stood studying the castle and tugging his left pigtail. (Everyone in the Gloomingdales wore pigtails. Even though it made most of them look pretty silly, they couldn’t imagine any other hairstyle they might choose. So pigtails it was.)

“I guess it does look a bit weird,” said Jock.

“A bit???” said Sher. She started to roll her eyes again, but stopped when Jock’s cheeks turned as red as a strawbeet.

“OK! OK!” cried Jock. “It’s like totally weird. It’s the weirdest castle I’ve ever seen.” (Which was true, too, because it was the only castle he’d ever seen.) He cleared his throat. “So what do you think is the weirdest part?”

Sher pushed her pink deerstalker hat back and scratched her head.

“Well, for a start, have you ever heard of a castle with four enormous chimneys?” she asked somewhat hesitantly, glancing slyly at Jock to check his reaction. After all, she had never seen a proper castle, either. But she had read about them in fairytales so many times, she could almost imagine what they might look like if she had an imagination. One thing for sure, they wouldn’t look anything like Glottis castle. No way!

Jock shrugged. “It’s probably cold living in a castle.”

Sher sighed. “Aren’t castles supposed to have towers and battlements and moats and stuff, too?”
“I guess,” said Jock. The castle did look a bit odd. It was a long, squat rectangular, grey building that needed four adjectives to describe it because it didn’t have any features except for the four towering chimneys. “But what’s that got to do with the missing mist?”


“I’m not sure,” said Sher. “But it’s our first clue, I think. Let’s go.”

The normally bustling streets of Gloomingdale were eerily quiet. If it wasn’t for the sounds of children laughing and a moghorn symphony drifting on the breeze, Sher and Jock might have thought the whole population had vanished with the mist. (Assuming they didn’t notice the signs on every shop reading “Gone Fishing” or “Closed until further notice”.)

As they puffed their way up Epi Hill, Sher kept stooping to inspect strange objects littering the path. There were octagonal stones with grooved holes through the middle. Peculiar sticks that looked like mushrooms, with grooved stalks just thin enough to fit through the holey stones. And the hillside was dotted with tangles of rusting gloomstone.

“What are they?” asked Jock each time Sher paused to peer at an object through her magnifying glasses.

“More clues,” said Sher.

Finally they reached the castle entrance. There was no moat or drawbridge, just a simple door with a sign reading – “Glottis Gloomstone Co.”

“Just as I suspected,” said Sher.

“What?” asked Jock, scratching his head. But his voice was drowned out by a loud creaking as Sher heaved the door open.

Inside was a vast, silent cavern with a damp, stone floor. As Sher paused in the doorway to allow her eyes to adjust to the gloom, huge shapes slowly separated from the darkness. Her head swivelled left, then right. When she saw the small, red light, blinking like a dying star on the far side of the cavern, she gave a grunt of satisfaction, then set off towards it.

Her hand touched cold metal first. The skin of some enormous machine. Then she found the light. With one gentle press, it turned green.

The cavern filled with clanking, grinding sounds as Sher retraced her steps. By the time she reached the door, the first holey octagonal stone rolled off the end of the machine’s conveyor-belt tongue, and onto the pile that had been creeping towards the machine like a slow-motion avalanche for a hundred years.

“What did you do?” asked Jock.

“Nothing,” said Sher with a smug smile. “I just solved the mystery of the missing mist. That’s all.”

As they wound their way down Epi Hill, the famous Gloomingdale mist began to thicken around them. At the foot of the hill, Sher glanced back over her shoulder. But there was no sign of Glottis castle.

The people of Gloomingdale never suspected their famous castle might be a factory. So they never imagined the sun might return again with a single push of a button.

And Sher? Well, she never imagined it might be a good idea to tell them.

A FaBo Fairytale : Melinda Szymanik

Well it was an interesting bunch of stories submitted this week to start this year's Fabo story challenge.

Melinda certainly rose to the challenge of introducing imagination to the FaBo Planet...nostril hair tho?

Check out the winning students story on the Winner's page and Melinda's report to get some cool writing tips and join us for this weeks challenge, (see the sidebar....)

Take it away Melinda!

The Three Arty Faeries

Once upon a time, in a far away place, there lived a proud and important man. Lord of the Over Council Imagination Committee, Professor Nottin Spyre had been charged with the job of protecting his people from their own imaginations. He had a beautiful wife, a perfect baby daughter and more power than any ordinary man could ever wish for, although he lived in a dull, grey world without art or creativity. Not long after the birth of their first child, Enid, the couple planned a party to celebrate her arrival. They invited everyone they could think of but because they lacked any imagination they forgot to invite Gouache, Arpeggio and Grammar: the three faeries of the Arts from the abandoned Institute of Combined Arts and General Creativity. One of the Professor’s first tasks when appointed Lord of the Over Council Imagination Committee, had been to shut the institute down. Now parents kept their children away from the derelict building where strange coloured figures were seen flitting along empty corridors and weird noises were heard, with haunting tales of mysterious ghosts.

On the day of the party guests bestowed their best wishes on Enid as they arrived and passed their gifts (mostly nappies, socks and soap on a rope because they lacked any imagination), to Professor and Mrs Spyre. Everyone enjoyed their glasses of water (without flavouring or carbonation because of the absence of imagination) and bread without any spreads (you can guess why if you are getting the hang of this no imagination thing by now). The guests shared boring chitchat and admired the pale cream walls of the grand hall at Spyre Mansion. The Professor and his wife remained at the front door, their baby cradled in Mrs Spyre’s loving arms.

The sky darkened. In a flash of searing brightness three faeries suddenly stood on the doorstep.

In unison they spoke,

“Imagination cannot be denied…”

Then Gouache, dressed in a rainbow coloured gown said, “My birthday gift to your daughter is the gift of art. Her paintings will be beyond compare and will inspire anyone who looks on them.”

“My gift is the gift of poetry,” recited Grammar, clothed in sweetest pink. “She will combine words in a way that breathes new life into them.”

“And my gift,” sang Arpeggio, in a cloak of shimmering blue, “is the gift of melody. Your daughter will put her poetry to music. Her songs will delight and cheer everyone who hears them.”

The three cackled in chorus, waved their wands over Enid’s head, turned three times and were gone.

The professor turned to his wife. “We can’t allow this,” he said so only she could hear. “This would be the end of my job if word got out that our daughter is artistic.”

Meanwhile, ignored by all, a fourth faerie in a black cape bestowed a gift. “You cannot suppress the imagination forever. On her sixteenth birthday a dashing hero will come and unlock young Enid’s creativity.” The sprite breathed on Enid’s head and before anyone even noticed she was there, she had gone.

When the party was over and everyone had left, Nottin locked his daughter in the highest tower of his palatial home, paid a woman to take care of her and never spoke of Enid again. When she realised she could not persuade her husband to change his mind, and too afraid to have another gifted child, Mrs Spyre consoled herself with McRonald’s burgers until she eventually died of a broken heart. The years passed and Professor Spyre, satisfied that he had well and truly eradicated any sign of imagination, stepped down from his job with the Imagination Committee. Now deaf and more than a little vague he had forgotten all about Enid and the faeries and how many years were passing.

Young Dash drove his clapped out Fabota car through the dark forest. He’d left his home in New Yawn on the east coast of Allerica days before, bored with everything and sure there must be more to life than this. With no car radio or audio books to listen to he began feeling sleepy until suddenly a shadow stepped out of the shadows. It was an old woman, hunched over with age, swathed in a black cape. Dash slowed the car as he watched her raise a knobbly thumb in the classic hitch-hiker gesture. The Fabota slid to a halt and Dash wound down his window.

A vicious smell blew into the car. Filth crusted the old woman’s cape and Dash saw enough dirt under her fingernails to grow pomatoes in. But Dash didn’t mind. He covered his nose and said,

“Need a lift?”

The old woman shook her head.

“What a nice boy you are. You will find what you are seeking. Take this magic hamburger,” she said passing him a small round parcel wrapped in greaseproof paper. It felt warm in Dash’s hand. “And these three hairs,” she continued, pulling three long, dark, brown ones from her left nostril. “You will know what to do with them when the time comes.” Dash took the gifts and climbing back into his car, cranked the handle, pumped the gas pedal and took off into the gloom.

The trees closed in around him, growing taller and thicker and closer together with every passing mile. Again he felt sleepy. Dash wound the windows down to try and keep himself awake with the cold night air. Instead a strange noise came down the road towards him and like a magnet he felt drawn towards it. Soon he found himself parking in front of an old mansion house in the middle of the overgrown forest.

There was that noise again, a lilting sound floating down from above. Dash could not help but feel cheered. Looking up he saw a fair young woman peering from a window in the highest tower. The wonderful sound was coming from her and Dash was overwhelmed with the desire to meet her.

“Um,” he said, staring up at the smooth wall above him. He pulled the old woman’s gifts from his pocket. The package was mushed but he opened it up and the smell of the burger was so delicious he gobbled it up immediately. He felt strong but the window was too high to jump up to. Dash needed a ladder. As he looked at the three nostril hairs in his hand they thickened and lengthened until they were each like a rope.

“Hey that’s cool,” he said scratching his head but he still couldn’t figure out what to do. Someone tapped him on the shoulder.

“A bit of creative thinking would have been handy,” a voice said. Dash wheeled around. The beautiful young woman stood behind him, a bed-sheet rope dangling down the wall behind her.

“It’s alright,” she said. “I’ve been climbing down for years. My name’s Enid. I’m the singer in a band ‘The Faeries’ down at the Institute. Then I teach an art class at eight. Can you give me a lift there? Walking is such a drag.”

“Sure,” Dash said smiling and he unlocked his car and opened the passenger door for her.

The End

Launching Now...Off To Planet FaBo

Hi Everyone,

WE ARE BACK!

The 2011 FaBo Story Challenge is now live. Our magnificent student winner, from last year, Angus Smith has provided the first story to get you into the FaBo story atmosphere and he has set the challenge for all of you this week.

Don't forget that one of the FaBo team will be taking up this challenge along with you. Their story and the best story submitted by you will be up next week along with the next story challenge.

The Fabo team are looking forward to seeing what you come up with this year. We are ready to pit our writing wits against you (we've been practising...)

Bring it On Kiwi Kids...

Take it away Angus.

Mr Groat Becomes Confused

Deep in the velvety blackness of space, parallel to the Great Nebula of Pork-Chop, spins the ancient planet of Fabo2. Now, Fabo2 is not a particularly remarkable world. It looks quite similar to Earth in fact, although the poles are slightly different and the continents positioned oddly. Anyway, that’s beside the point. Hurtling through space towards Fabo2 at that moment was a meteor. At least, that’s what it appeared to be.

Mr and Mrs Groat owned a plantation south of the Missislurpy, a muddy river running almost the entire width of the Combined Districts of Allerica. The old couple raised goats and gardenias on their land; although, due to lack of imagination, not much raising was involved. Mr and Mrs Groat and the goats usually just sat in front of the telescreen with their feet and hooves up, munching on the hamburgers they had had delivered from the fast-food restaurant McRonald’s in the city.

One ordinary, unimaginative evening, Mr Groat put the trash out (even those without imagination have to do chores). Grumbling under his breath, he detached his bulk from the sofa and scooped up the rubbish bag from the bin.

‘Mrs Groat, I’m taking the garbage out,’ Mr Groat said, stomping out the kitchen door.

‘That’s nice, Mr Groat,’ Mrs Groat said with disinterest. She was watching a Poppy Street sing along for kids. (‘Arm bone connects to the hand bone, hand bone connects to the Eye-Phone, Eye-phone connects to the internet, internet connects to the Goooogle, Goooogle connects to the Over Council.’)

Mr Groat waddled down the dusty track leading away from the farmhouse. He dumped the fetid bags of filth into the battered steel bin then turned to walk back up the track. But something made him pause. He turned his podgy face skywards.

There was a burning orange light in the sky, gradually getting bigger as it came nearer. A faint roaring noise, like the sound of a fire flaring up when you toss human body parts into it, accompanied the light.

‘What on earth is that?’ Mr Groat frowned. He had no imagination, so he couldn’t work it out.

Shrugging, he began to plod back towards the house. A few seconds later, a massive meteor entered Fabo2’s atmosphere and slammed right into the Groats’ property. Ash, piping hot space debris and asteroid rocks flew everywhere, crushing the house and all the surrounding landscape flat. Mr Groat had been a strongman in a Travelling Sir Cuss, so he managed to stand his ground.

Mr Groat blinked and looked around in despair once the oily black smoke had cleared. ‘No!’ he moaned. ‘The gardenias! The goats! Mrs Groat!’

A swishing noise made him turn to look at the meteor itself. In fact, it wasn’t a meteor at all. It seemed to be metallic, and was a perfect sphere. A door-like section at its centre lay open, and a figure was crawling out of it.

The person emerging from the spacecraft (although Mr Groat didn’t know it was a spacecraft, as he had no imagination) was very similar to you and I. He, for it was male, had on a suit and carried a cane in one hand and a large movie encyclopaedia in the other. The man blinked, then noticed Mr Groat.

‘Toto, I’ve got a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore,’ the strange man enunciated slowly, after a moment of consulting his movie encyclopaedia.

‘Eh, wot?’ Mr Groat frowned, squinting at the man leafing through the thick leather-bound volume. ‘Who are you? What’s the meaning of crashing your thing on my land? By ecky thump, this is positively queer!’

‘Here’s looking at you, kid,’ the man said solemnly, advancing unsteadily towards the rather confused Mr Groat. ‘Bond. James Bond.’

‘O-okay, Mr Bond,’ Mr Groat stammered. ‘Will you bloody well tell me what you’re doing here? I don’t know, see, ‘cause I have no imagination.’

Mr Bond rested a hand cautiously on Mr Groat’s shoulder. ‘Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.’

‘My name’s not Louis, it’s...’

‘I’ll be back,’ Mr Bond told him, patting Mr Groat jerkily on the back. He then marched off briskly in the direction of the city, umbrella and movie encyclopaedia tucked under one arm.

Mr Groat stood blankly for a few seconds, attempting to think. Eventually he gave up. All he knew was that his house was destroyed and his wife probably dead. Then some instinct took him over, and Groat hurried after the stranger.

‘Wait! You can’t just leave me here!’ Mr Groat pleaded, tugging on the back of Mr Bond’s jacket. ‘Can’t you at least take me with you?’

‘You had me at ‘hello’,’ Mr Bond said. Without any further ado, he punched Mr Groat hard in the face. There was a metallic crunch.

Mr Groat drooped to the ground, unconscious. Mr Bond hauled him up and effortlessly slung him over one shoulder. He began the long walk to the city.

‘Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.’

Mr Groat opened his eyes. He seemed to be lying down, and could see a row of trees to his left. He rolled over, to see a busy sidewalk to his right. He sat up. Groat’s back hurt something dreadful, probably due to the park bench he was laying on. In the distance he could see the Urbandome and the Mall of Allerica.

‘What?’ Mr Groat frowned. ‘I’m-I’m in Mineapplepolice! But how…’

It was then that he noticed Mr Bond standing behind him, beaming and holding out an icecream cone in his direction. Groat coughed uncomfortably. ‘Is that for me? I don’t like icecream.’

‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,’ Mr Bond said, after flipping through the movie encyclopaedia.

Mr Groat was confused. No one had called him ‘dear’ before. ‘Say, can we go and get a hamburger?’

They sat together at a booth in McRonald’s, Fabo2’s premiere fast-food eatery. Mr Groat was halfway through his eighth Heart-Attack-In-A-Bun. Mr Bond watched him eat with interest, his own food remaining untouched.

Mr Groat finished the burger then began to study the menu again.

‘Take me to your leader,’ Mr Bond blurted out abruptly.

‘Huh?’ Mr Groat looked up from the menu. ‘Leader? Like, the most important person?’

Mr Bond paused to look over his movie encyclopaedia. ‘Marilyn Monroe?’

‘No, no. You must be meaning the High One, the head of the Over Council.’

All of a sudden, a change came over Mr Bond. He leant across the table and grabbed Groat by the collar. He hissed into his ear with a metallic-sounding grate to his voice. ‘TheHighOneHasTrickedYouAll.YouAllAreNotOfRightMind.TakeThis. Imagine.BeFree.LIBERATE.’

Mr Bond pressed a yellowed envelope into his palm, then stood up and walked briskly away. ‘May the force be with you.’

‘But…where are you going?’ Mr Groat asked, watching helplessly as Mr Bond walked away.

‘Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy night.’

And then he was gone.

Mr Groat cautiously drew a piece of parchment from the envelope and began to read the words typed onto it. After a few moments, there was a curious buzzing in his head and he had to put the paper down. A small voice in his head whispered: Forget it. Have another burger.

‘Waiter, I’d like a Double Everything With Extra Cheese, thanks,’ Mr Groat said automatically.

Forget that nasty stuff you read, the voice purred. The High One has helped all his people be free. Now your minds are uncluttered and you have bliss. Isn’t that right?

‘Dunno, I don’t have any imagination,’ Mr Groat said out loud, although he was unsure whom he was talking to.

Exactly, the voice purred.

Planet FaBo - Into A New Dimension

FaBo 2 -The Next Frontier

Spinning in the velvety blackness of deep space is a wondrous blue planet known as FaBo2.

On first glance, it looks a lot like Earth. But the second glance informs you that the familiar continents of Earth are missing. There are no super sized continents. The Poles are not as large and have moved slightly. It looks like Earth from a long time ago.

The inhabitants of FaBo2 are a very evolved species. They have the same hopes, dreams and desires as the people of Earth. They want peace, wealth, beauty and a really decent hamburger. But what they all want more than anything else, is imagination. Because, sadly, somewhere along their very long evolutionary journey, imagination became extinct.

The people of FaBo2 are barely content and terribly bored.

The Over Council of FaBo2 want their people to be happy. So they have called in the fabulously dynamic FaBo team to help.

But writing stories to inspire imagination and creativity (as well as aid their search for the perfect hamburger) for an entire planet is a BIG JOB. That's why they need YOUR help.

Each week, the Over Council will choose a genre, setting and inhabitant for a story. One of the FaBo team will take up the weekly challenge. And they offer you the chance to write alongside them for a share in the fame.

Simply write a story using the genre, setting and inhabitant specified by the Over Council (1000 words maximum) and send it to fabostory@gmail.com by Friday 5pm.

Each week the Over Council will select the most briliantest stories to go forward to their planet where there will be rejoicing and lots of hamburger eating. They will also be posted on the FaBo blog (http://www.fabostory2.blogspot.com/)

Winning authors will have fame and fortune across the planet, and the occasional gift from the Over Council judges. Planet features will be renamed in your honour and your stories will become part of all school teaching on the planet for generations to come.

So sharpen your wits and your pencils and get ready to write!

Lift off: June 13 2011