Those who frequented the old "FLea Forums" may recall the Flat Robin thread - a sort of collaborative pot-luck Flat Earth story, co-authored by anyone who wanted to have a go.
About seven or eight people jumped in on that one, penning an epic tale in nearly twenty short episodes. Helena, Eddie and Lance frequented an Amish strip club, dealt with a cursed beer chiller, were assaulted (and insulted) by a wretched midget demon named Sassy-Frassy, were dragged into the depths of Hell to stand trial for something or other, and finally escaped with the help of a Pink Floyd musical number, and directions to the surface from Dante and Virgil.
Unfortunately, the thing was later moved to Ezboard, which meant it was obliterated in the Great Hack which came just a few short weeks later. A backup copy may have been prudent. Never mind.
Anyway, I reckon it's about time we did another one, just because and so forth. So here we go. Same drill as last time - I'll provide the first episode, then it's open to the rest of y'all.
Rules and Tips:
1) Your contribution should be somewhere between 400-600 words long.
2) One person can't post consecutive episodes - wait for someone else to have a go.
3) You should end your episode by providing the title for the following one - for example, Next: Attack of the Disorganised Marauders! or Next: Romance Blooms, For Some Reason. The next guy should then start their episode with that title, and do what they can with it.
4) Try to keep the characters in character. We shouldn't see Helena falling in love with Lance, or Eddie mowing down schoolchildren with a machinegun. If you're unfamilar with the characters, go here or here. Read and learn.
5) The title for this story is Flat Robin II:
The Island. It begins with the characters being stranded on a mysterious island
(which may or may not have something to do with me recently buying a second-hand copy of Lord of the Flies). Whatever twists and turns the story may
take, I'd like the island to be the long-term setting. Where the island actually is, who and what lives there, and what strange adventures might occur, all
remain to be seen. But like poor Gilligan, the characters should be stuck there for the duration.
6) I've started a second thread for feedback and
comments. Let's keep this one just for the writing.
In the immortal words of Buck the Orderly - "Other'n that, it's all good, buddy."
FLAT ROBIN II: THE ISLAND
#1: Life's a beach
Helena woke up with a face full of sand and a nose of seawater, and she immediately knew it was Lance's fault.
She didn't exactly remember how she'd come to be here, or where here was, or why it tasted of salt and dead fish. She was so disoriented after fighting her way through the surf onto dry land that she wasn't sure which way was up. But there was one thing that was clear, one fact that was solid and unshakeable in her dizzy head, and that was it was all Lance's fault.
She lay in the sand, occasionally sneezing up salt water, letting her thoughts drift around her pounding head like lost tourists in an airport.
Airport. There'd been an airport. Hedgerow Airport, Sundry City. They'd been boarding a plane. Not a large plane. Or a very new one, for that matter. Helena didn't know much about aviation, but it looked like a DC-3, and not a well-maintained one. Her brow furrowed as she tried to recall the legend painted on the side…
AIR AND BACK AGAIN.
She groaned as memories flooded back. The radio contest. Zeke and Gomez's Breakfast Burnout on K-WHY radio. Lance winning a holiday. Something about being able to name every Playmate of the Year dating back to 1960. Four tickets on a budget airline to some third world dictatorship, redeemed only by its tropical climate and lax tariff regulations.
Helena shouldn't have gotten on the plane. She wouldn't have, if she'd been sober. But it was Friday night and it had been a trying week, and she'd had one too many glasses of wine after dinner, which had then led to three two many rum & cokes. And that was before Lance had said "Let's go clubbing!" and Helena was just drunk enough to say, "Yeah!" and dragged Eddie into the cab with them. And then there were bright lights and loud music and sarcastic barmen and a short hairy man named Chaz who kept asking her if her father was a thief, and there was drinking and more drinking and still more drinking, and that was when Lance had pulled out the tickets and said the magic words "free holiday".
The last thing she remembered was staggering up the steps onto the antiquated DC-3 and asking the pilot if he had any sick bags on board because she was "drrrrrrrrrrunk, mishter" and then she'd fallen into the nearest seat and passed out.
When she woke up, the plane was nose-diving into the ocean. She wasn't at all surprised.
The cold water had sobered her up, or perhaps it was the terror of impending death. Either way, she'd managed to swim out through the big hole where the tail used to be, and fought to the surface. Spotting land in the distance, she'd struck out swimming for it. She hadn't seen anyone else.
And here she was. Wet, dirty, exhausted, hung over, and with no idea where she was. Why did all her holidays turn out this way?
Dragging herself up, she looked at her surroundings. She saw sand, and trees, and rocks, and mountains. And not much of anything else.
That figures, she thought.
Where was Eddie? And Lance? And…?
Wait- there were four tickets. And there'd only been the three of them at the club. Yet she definitely remembered a fourth person on the plane. So who…?
She looked around to see a short, hairy, silk-shirted figure staggering up the beach, seaweed wrapped around his balding head.
"Hey, baby," said Chaz, spitting out seawater. "Are we there yet?"
NEXT: What's become of Eddie?




