# Short Story Contest!



## JoergS (Dec 17, 2009)

Are you into writing AND into slingshots? Then this is the contest for you.

Write a short story (max. 2000 words) about slingshots. Can be a TEOTWAWKI/SHTF scenario, can be a fictional crime story or your coolest childhood story, no limits except no drastic sex, please.

Post your story here.

Some members here aren't native English speakers, and may want language streamlining (like myself). I am looking for volunteers who are willing to edit short stories that have been submitted and that need corrections. If you want to help us out, PM me please.

This will run until April 7, 2011 (my birthday). I will then name the winner.

The winner gets his FREE PICK from my slingshot collection. No limits, even my most prized pieces are included.

Jörg


----------



## NaturalFork (Jan 21, 2010)

I am in.


----------



## NaturalFork (Jan 21, 2010)

May I write more than one?


----------



## JoergS (Dec 17, 2009)

Of course!


----------



## PJB21 (Nov 1, 2010)

omg now that is a prize! definately in for this one.

also great birthday, the day before mine =)


----------



## bleachbone (Nov 15, 2010)

does that include crossbows and pistols?

even if not i am so in


----------



## JoergS (Dec 17, 2009)

A rubber powered weapon should play an important role in the story. That does not mean that you can't include others weapons too.


----------



## jmplsnt (Jan 1, 2010)

Very, very generous Jeorg. That definately is putting your money where your mouth is and should have pretty good participation on this one.


----------



## ZDP-189 (Mar 14, 2010)

My entry:



> ka*POW*!!!


Comfortably under the word limit.


----------



## JoergS (Dec 17, 2009)

Well Dan, that sounds like a good title for the upcoming anthology.

Jörg


----------



## zille (Oct 25, 2010)

Just a quick one before work:


Hunger...can't think straight, because of this rumbling pain in my bowels. How long? Four, five days mabye a week since the last meal...They eat. They eat plenty. 
I watched them feast on what used to be my fiancee. They eat. Death, blood, gore...it feels so natural to me since the day of the glow.
No time. Traps have to be checked, my water-supply is running out slowly but steadily. The woods, maybe I'll try hunting, the dim daylight lasts for another hour or two. Hunting. Cold stones, 15 gramms...20 gramms...they can stop a rodent in its tracks, shock is causing a seizure. Propelled from rubberbands taken from an old tire. The fork...carved from a birch...one of the last trees not having burnt to a bizarre black monument of human failure.
Hunger...waiting...hoping that something survived the last raid of them...they usually take everything that's still capable of a heartbeat. They...us...we were one of a kind before the day. 
What the? Maybe a rat or one of those little...no. It's way too huge. Shadow upright...heavy breathe...there's a ...oh my god it's a hand. Have they found me? 
Hands shaking, knife, slingshot? Cold stone...maybe 20 gramms...the rubber makes a funny little noise when drawn to its full extent. 
Theres the head. So ugly...wild stare...uncombed...dirt. Piece of ****. 
With a hissing noice 20 grams of granite travel through the cold air of an august afternoon. 
Eating...eating plenty. They, me it's all the same since the glow...


----------



## JoergS (Dec 17, 2009)

Very good! A fine TEOTWAWKI story.


----------



## zille (Oct 25, 2010)

Thank you sir. Mistakes maynoccur cause english is not my mother language.


----------



## Rayshot (Feb 1, 2010)

Had to google SHTF and TEOTWAWKI, since I didn't know . And for those that don't know.

SHTF = ___ Hits The Fan.

TEOTWAWKI= The End Of The World As We Know It


----------



## dgui (Jan 12, 2010)

If it is a good enought story will you make it into a movie???


----------



## Darb (Sep 14, 2010)

bleachbone said:


> does that include crossbows and pistols?
> 
> even if not i am so in


Since they're illegal (for non-military/non-police personnel anyway) to transport via mail (in most but not all countries and states), I think it'd be safe to predict the answer would necessarily have to be a polite "No".


----------



## zille (Oct 25, 2010)

Slow day at work, so...yet another one. (Excuse my lack of expertise in the english language)

Everything went well until he arrived. The 5-pound, slightly underweight nuisance called Matthew. My little brother. Don't get me wrong...he was an adorable little fella, blue eyes always smiling and wiggeling his little arms, when I entered the room. I was looking forward to the day, my little brother Matthew would complete our family like my mom used to tell me. She seemed to have quite a hard time, I heard her crying at night but when Matthew finally entered our small home, she seemed to be so happy...so happy.

It started slowly, an unheard cry, a missed good-night-kiss, my beloved mac and cheese...served just a tad too cold. I felt the love of my mom was focused on that little bundle, this pink worm with hands. He couldn't talk so she uttered strange noises, when she held him. He couldn't eat so she was feeding him. 
I felt robbed. Little Matthew took my mom away from me. He was evil. An evil little worm, rolling helplessly in a tiny crib.

I didn't want to hurt him. I wanted him to be gone. Gone for good. These were my presents, my hot chocolate out of my kitty-cat-cup. I was here before and he took it from me. I wanted him to go, I wanted to wipe that childish happy smile from his bald little face. I loathed Matthew.

Tin cans fell one after another. Plink, down...plink, down. I loved the sound of the steel balls ripping through the softer metal of the cans. I loved my little plinker. And I felt its wooden forks pressing against my leg as I entered Matthews room. His ugly little nose greedily breathing...my air. The peaceful look on his face made me sick in my stomach. Rubber...wood...metal...bone. Plink, down...blood spilling happily from a tiny hole in his soft fontanel...something struck me like touching a socket...matthew chuckled happily in his sleep. My left hand held the slingshot 2 inches away from his head, rubber tense, steel ball waiting to penetrate skin and tissue.

...

"Whats that? Gimme gimme!"

"Nothing Matt! Tell dad, your old crib isn't up here."

I loved my little catty...plink down.


----------



## Delaney (Nov 22, 2010)

Sounds like my kind of contest! Let the process begin!


----------



## Darb (Sep 14, 2010)

Enjoy.

*Marvel Comics Presents: The Punisher (Issue 687)*










_[Fade in on a darkened back alley, to a series of close-in panels. Two muscular bikers, still wearing their helmets, are holding someone immobile between them. A third figure, in full Helll's Angel regalia, is beating the captive figure, landing one heavy punch after another. Sweat rolls down his heavily tattooed arms.]_

_
__[Off to one side, about thirty yards away, a stranger lands nimbly atop a closed dumpster. In a fighter's crouch, two arms suddenly spread wide, like the wings of a crane. Moonlight shimmers off a pair of tightly stretched bands. The stranger takes aim along one outstretched arms, and releases with the other.] 
_

_
_*Thhhhwwwwiiiiiiippppp !!*

_
__[Something slams into the gang leader's skull, stunning him. The projectile bounces away crazily, and the figure stumbles about, groaning, cursing luridly, and clutching his face.]_

"Arrrgh !! What the fu &#8230; ?!"

*Thhhhwwwwiiiiiiippppp &#8230; CRACK !!*

_[A second impact slams into the visor of one of the helmeted gang members, dead center, causing a spider web of cracks. Surprised, the figure lets go, and his erstwhile captive suddenly smashes a mighty forearm into the solar plexus of the last biker, who drops as if guillotined. The stunned gang leader, and the other helmeted thug, stumble off, cursing.]_


_[The battered figure straightens up, and a white jolly roger is suddenly revealed in the darkness. It's The Punisher &#8230; bloody, but unbowed. He was in a particularly black mood. Good moods were rare enough for him, but getting worked over by common thugs while he was in his 'professional attire' left him feeling especially grim.] _


_[His benefactor glided out of the shadows, as he finished putting cable-ties on the stunned thug's wrists and ankles.]_

"Took your time getting here, Torsten. Bastard cracked two of my ribs." growled the Punisher.

"Schadenfreude, natürlich" chuckled the figure, who quietly began dribbling a small black superball. It was Torsten, aka "Schleudermann". The Slingshooter.

"One of these days, you're gonna have to show me how to shoot one of those things."










Wordcount: 342 (essentially a "micro-short", or "teaser")


----------



## Rayshot (Feb 1, 2010)

Darb said:


> Enjoy.
> 
> *Marvel Comics Presents: The Punisher (Issue 687)*
> 
> ...


what makes this amusing is the unexpected weaving one of our own into the story. And it is written in the "classic style" of a dramatic scene like this one.


----------



## HOE (Nov 13, 2010)

Here is mine, I'm just expressing my own fantasy, since anything goes. I think this can make a good video game.

---------------------------------------------------------------

""*Slingshot Hunting Nightmare*""

Lee and John was on a trip to hunting in a bushy area, armed with slingshots, with Lee carrying a machete while John carries a club, these are for the purpose of finishing off injured games humanely. The area they are heading is deserted, there seem to be no sign of life at all other than the greenery. So, Lee and John continue searching for preys, walking deeper and deeper into the bush.

Suddenly a large squirrel appears and caught their attention. "Look, there is a squirrel! Get ready your slingshot," said silently by Lee. As the team was about to take aim, the squirrel suddenly dashed out of their range and thus the team started to chase the squirrel. The squirrel disappeared from their sight in the bush, but the team stumbled across a mansion instead! It seems to be abandoned for a really long time, with plants wrapping around the whole mansion. The hunting trip turned into an adventure instead! Out of curiosity, Lee and John approached the mansion and found out that the main door is not locked! Without hesitating, they entered the mansion. It's dark, gloomy, and smelly too!

"Hey, what kind of smell is this, it's so disgusting", said John. "Hmm, it smells like rotting flesh, probably there are some dead animal carcass here", replied Lee. Both of them whipped out their torch-light and started searching around. Some areas in the mansion are not accessible due to the wrecks, broken furniture, trash, and so on. As they go in deeper and deeper into the mansion, they reached a large wide area which seems to be the main hall. There, they heard some slow, eerie footsteps. "It seems that we're not alone in this mansion, maybe there are another adventurers like us here?" said Lee. Now, the rotting flesh smell is getting strong and stronger! "Lee, do you notice that disgusting smell is getting stronger and stronger!?" asked John. "Yeah, I notice that too", replied Lee. "Hello! Is there anybody there?!" yelled out Lee. But there was no reply.

All of sudden, a sudden sound of sand and gravels being stepped on is heard from their back! Lee and John looked back and there is a rotting corpse walking towards them! "It's a zombie!! Oh no! RUN, RUN!!" yelled John in surprise. So, the rotting smell is now revealed to be the smell of zombies! "What the **** is going on over here?!" said both of them while running for their life. Because of the size of the mansion, the team now find themselves like in a maze, with zombies blocking the path back to the main entrance. They have no choice but to search for another exit while avoiding the slow walking zombies! Slowly, a horde of zombies gathered together, coming out of their respective pitch black rooms. Lee and John were horrified by the sight of their flash-light.

Now, it's time to get offensive! Lee and John took out their trusty hunting slingshots and started shooting at the zombies head with lead-filled hex nuts while running! The nuts went into the skull of some of the closest zombies and some dropped dead on the floor while some continues walking with their punctured skull. The team retreat while shooting continuously at the horde, luckily they brought along with heap loads of ammo! While retreating, a zombie suddenly grabbed Lee in the shoulder, coming out from one of the dark rooms. John reacted immediately and pulled out Lee's machete and instantly slashed off the zombie's hands and kicked him away forcefully and proceeded to chop off its head. Juices ooze from the rotting body.

The team continues to search for an exit, now they finally reached the back door, and they closed the door of the room they just escaped to prevent the horde of zombies from coming in. It's a big hall with some lights shining in from the broken windows and walls. However, there is a fierce looking, hulking corpse sitting near the exit. It seems to be the owner of the mansion. Upon hearing the sounds of the team, the corpse turned out to be a zombie too, and it started angrily charge at Lee and John, it's walking speed is not like the zombies they encounter, it runs so fast! It was chasing John around and he was helplessly yelling for help. "Help! Help! shoot him, shoot him!!" Seeing that his regular slingshot didn't do enough damage, Lee took out his another slingshot, the BIG slingshot! He loaded a big lead ball in the pouch and asked John to run towards him, luring the zombie king within the range. So John runs towards Lee while Lee makes a full BUTTERFLY draw with the big slingshot! Lee yelled! "Run to the left!!" And he released the big shot and the lead blast through the skull of the zombie king as if it's a watermelon! Brain matters were blown out; however the zombie is still standing lifelessly but is stopped in its track. Lee 'butterfly' another shot into the zombie's neck and the head fell off!

After they had calmed down, and seeing that they are safe to escape, they opened the door they just closed and started to massacre the slow walking zombies. With John holding the flash-lights and Lee 'butterflying' big shots through the corridor! Nightmare is turned into fun!


----------



## Longbow (Jan 1, 2010)

The town bully.
Tom was bigger than the rest of us in the third grade. In the little country town where I grew up we all tried to stay away from him. He would beat us up and take what little money and lunch we had.
He could out run most of us and would run us down if we tried to get away.
As we lived out in the country , most of us carried slingshots around our necks with the tree branch on our chest like badges or something.
Tom was no deferent. One day he cornered three of us on the play ground and told us he would beat us up if we didn't give him every thing in our pockets.
Well Bobby Carr was the smallest of the three of us but he stood right up to Tom. We thought he had gone nuts and was about to get killed.
When Tom grabbed for him Bobby fell down but grabbed Tom's sling shot and pulled it with all his might. When he turned it loose it hit Tom right under the chin and knocked him out cold
along with a touth.
From that day on Tom stayed away from all of us and we even started to shoot rocks at him when nobody was looking.
Well that was over 50 years ago and I still have to chuckle about it when ever I thank about it.
Longbow


----------



## JoergS (Dec 17, 2009)

Guys, this is fantastic! We have a very good start with some great stories. Zombies, SHTF, The Punisher featuring a forum member, even some splatter... that is EXACTLY what I was hoping for.

At the end of the contest, I will make a full blown ebook out of all these stories and we'll stickify the download link. By then we probably have a veritable anthology!

Jörg


----------



## Darb (Sep 14, 2010)

JoergS said:


> At the end of the contest, I will make a full blown ebook out of all these stories and we'll stickify the download link.


If you're going to do that, it would probably be prudent to include some intellectual property rights verbiage at the bottom of the post at the start of this thread ... the usual disclaimer about posts made to the thread automatically granting free and unrestricted use in perpetuity, yadda yadda yadda. As a published author, you probably already know the deal.

I used to help host/run a free online community of book lovers and authors, and I've occasionally run similar threads, so I'm used to making sure all the usual i's are dotted and T's are crossed.


----------



## Itamar J (Aug 7, 2010)

This is a great idea for a contest!!!
you got sort of a "Canterbury Tales" thing going

just curios 
why are you doing this?


----------



## Longbow (Jan 1, 2010)

The weather was sunny and bright when the plain left to take the party of 4 out to our wilderness on a hunting trip. A bout two hours into the flight the plain crashed into A Wilderness lake. I did get out while the plane went under but I was the only one. A bag sufficed so I grabbed it and swam the 2 or 3 hundred yards to the shore.
The trees were thick and the mountains were snow capped and beautiful. Inside the bag there was some blankets, a hunting knife, some water proof matches and some slingshot rubber with the pouches on them.
After building a fire and drying out I put some line on a limb that I cut and found some grubs In a dead tree and went fishing. I caught a lake trout about 18 inches long and cooked him. While he was cooking I found a folk 
from a tree and carved myself a slingshot. With some smooth stones from the lake it shot harder than I would ever believe. I kept the fire going all night but I did get a little sleep. As I lay there by the fire I pondered my situation and thought about trying to hike out of there. But that was nuts. Which way would I go? Would they send a risque plane out for me? I already knew there were bears around.
That next morning I took the slingshot and tried to get some food. I shot a fool hen and he fell out on a point of the lake shore. When I walked up to him I could not believe what I saw. There was a nice log. cabin in the cove. I ran up to it and pounded on the door .Nobody was there. It was locked but i did manage to get in. It had a nice stone fireplace, a canoe, a cook stove beds plates silverware covers and an ax.
Moving my stuff in the cabin and the boat out to the lake I chopped enough wood to last for a while. I cooked the hen and had a nice supper. Just before dark I went behind ate cabin to a grassy clearing that had quite a few rabbits feeding in it. I shot 3 with the slingshot and prepared them to eat. Along with the small game and the fish I caught I lived pretty good for 2 weeks.
I awoke on that morning and fixed some fried squirrel with some bird eggs that I found. I had just finished eating when I heard the plane. It was throttling down when I made it outside and watched it land and taxi over to the dock by the cabin. When three guys got out of the plane they came up to me and ask me what I was doing there. I was setting on the porch crying when they approached me. Upon hearing my story they called rescue 
and flew me out. I spent over knight in the hospital and was greeted by my Wife And Kids the next Morning. When we arrived home 2 days later, I took an added two weeks off work to be with my family. 
During that two weeks I took my Son And Daughter out and bought them new slingshots. I set a target up in the back yard and we spent long hours shooting and laughing and clowning around. After a week my Wife ask me where her slingshot was.
After nearly loosing my life I was home with my family and we had a new sport or hobby or what ever you wonted to call it. LIFE WAS GOOD AGAIN. Longbow
.


----------



## Master Sling (Nov 28, 2010)

Okay heres my story

It was early morning. I could see remainsof the plane everywhere. I lay there for a couple of minutes trying to remember what had happened. I remebered that there had been a storm. Our plane went down becuase we were struck by lightning. I traveled with one other passenger and the pilot. I got up and started to look for them. I found them both dead. Looking for what ever I had to survive with, I found a watch, fifty dollars, and a compass on the pilot. On the passenger I found a military badge, a box of matches, a letter addressed to Laurie, and a metal slingshot with the word ''COUGAR'' engraved on it.


----------



## Master Sling (Nov 28, 2010)

sorry heres the rest
I learned to shoot, start a fire, and pray that week. I wouldn't have survivedif it wasn't for a durable, well designed slingshot. I killed rabbits, birds and even a turkey with it. I cooked them on the fire and ate a meal every day. Finally after being in the wild for two months, I was found and rescued. I was lucky to be alive and I was changed forever.

Thats my entry and theres more to come, thanks. MS


----------



## Jaybird (Dec 20, 2009)

Here is a true short slingshot story.Years ago when my two oldest boys were 11 and 12 I was setting on the porch watching them shoot a slingshot.They weren't doing to good.I called them over and asked them to see the slingshot.While I was looking the slingshot over I told them"when I was your age I shot birds out of the air with one of these"They looked at me kind of funny and the expression on their face said,ya dad another old time story.Just about then I saw a blackbird coming right over my head,I pulled the slingshot up and hit the bird.When the bird came down there eyes got as big as silver dollars.I said that is how you do it.Of course I didn't try to shoot another one.At the time I hadn't shot a slingshot for 10 years.That goes to show you when you learn to shoot hand eye co-ordination it stays with you.Of course there was some luck involved.
Jaybird


----------



## HOE (Nov 13, 2010)

That was cool Jay!


----------



## jmplsnt (Jan 1, 2010)

I'm really enjoying this thread and all the good stories. I like them all, but the true one by Jaybird is killer as I can only imagine the looks on the kids' faces as the grackle fell to earth......and the absolutely not DARING to take another shot of Jaybird!!!!!! Good one JB.


----------



## Longbow (Jan 1, 2010)

After my 4 year hitch in the Navy was over I went back home to Texas where my family lived. Mom and Dad and Sheila my 19 year sister were ecstatic to see me again. Dad booked a flight to Hawaii for a 2 week vacation.
I grew up shooting and hunting with slingshots and was getting back in good shooting forum when we left. Don't ask me why I took one of them with me along with about 50 steel bb.
Our hotel was right on the beach and every thing was perfect. As always that was about to change.
My sister which i was always close to ask me to take her sailing. I rented a boat and we left for a days cruse, I took my slingshot and ammo along thinking I might take some shots at some birds.
After 6 hours out I could see the storm in the horizon and it was heading our way fast. When it hit I was busy doing every thing in my power to keep it from sinking. The storm lasted the rest of the day and all knight. It blew us far out to sea and off course that I had no clue where I was.The boat had sufficient damage and we were at the mercy of the currents and winds. For 2 days we drifted and the boat washed up on a a typical island.
I secured the boat with the anchor just as a norther storm hit. I grabbed my sling shot pouch and we ran into the jungle. It didn't take long to find a cave and seek shelter. I build a fire and we laid down for some much needed rest. My sister put her head on my shoulder and told me she loved me. I said " Be have brat " and received a punch to the stomach. With an Off I laughed and went deep into thought.
that is when I herd it. It was a growl.
It sounded like a big dog. I rose on to one knee and grabbed my slingshot. In the camp fire I saw the most hideous creatucre I ever saw. It looked like a big dog with 6 inch fangs and was hearer than a bear. Its yellow eyes glowed in the firelight. I placed a bb in the pouch and drew back as far as I could and fired. The projectile Flew straight to the creatucre s head and struck with a horrible thud. The animal was down and I heard what sounded like a whole pack of them. They pounced on the dead one and tore him from limb to limb. I stayed awake all knight while my sister slept. 
The next day there were no sign of them so with the weather clearing we made our way back to the boat. I gathered enough wood to keep a fire going on the beach at knight . Sure enough, at dusk they showed up again. I put another one down with a bb and the pack of about 25 attacked it with vicious gusto. It happened again ounce before dawn.
It went on that way for over a week when one afternoon a plane flew over. It came back twice and we were out jumping and waiving at it. It waved at us with its wings and flew off into the southwest. We were visited again at dark and this time I shot 2 of them with some hideous results.
I was setting on deck on guard when the light shined in the horizon. It took about 45 minuets to reach us. It was a navy vassal. They took us to a navy base near by and interrogated us. When they learned that we were not spies or any thing like that they made us sing forums that said we would be held libel if we told anyone. It was apparently a Government secret experiment. They flew us back to Hawaii and reunited us with our parents.
After our hugs and crying was over my cute little sister walked over and gave me a huge hug and thanked her big brother for saving her with a big kiss on my cheek. With my best Texas Hillbilly draw I said " aww shucks maim it tawesen't nothing" Thwack Off another punch in the gut.
Longbow.


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

Love the idea, I'm in. It's a tempting prize and a wonderful medium. Very good indeed.


----------



## Simon Van den Broeck (Jul 28, 2010)

*The zombie attack

*No this isn't a story about a long long time ago , but it's a story about the future. Not a far away futur, I mean in about 2 Years from now.I'm just going to tell it to you guys,I am a clairvoyant. And when i finished my exam yesterday I just had a vision .and I'm going to tell you what the vision was all about .I saw a whole bunch of people. No , more like a gigantic Group.And someone was qpeaking to this Group. And now you all want to know who this was , well guy's i'm just going to tell you it was are own leader, Joerg Sprave.he was talking to us about something very bad that happend. There was an attack fo zombies.SO that was the reason why Joerg was talking to that gigantic Group to Group had just everyone of the slingshotforum like shot in the foot, bunnybuster,zdp-189, Bill Hays , boyston stu, these guys were standing in the front rowbut really it was a gigantic Group. The groupand we where planning an attack at the zombies. So we were making everything ready.Everybody had their slingshots witht them and Everybody brought all of his scrap metal because we were going to melt it down to make ammo out of it.and also did joerg made alot of the flechettes. He made hundreds of them . and also there were just regular people that wanted to help . so we learned them how to make a slingshot and shoot a slingshot. And so the other day when the night falls we were ready to attack and when the sun was under the zombies came out of there holes in the ground and they didn't brought any weapons with them but they were very hungry and ready to kill. But they didn't had any defence at all and we were ready .when the zombies started to get closerthe archers rised up on the roofs and shot lots of arrows out of joerg's designed slingbow's but then there were no arrows anymore so then evrybody at the grouynd just started to fight and yes we were winning but then the unthinkable happend .gigantic zombies zombies com out of the holes and normal ammo didn't harmed them at all so luckely we had the flechettes and bonecrushers that joerg also cam up with and the gigantic zombies fell one by one.now it was easy but normal zombies keep coming but then joerg had an amazing ideawhat if we First killed the leader then probablythe zombies couldn't do a thing so we looked for the leader and in a couple of minuteswe found him . we saw him ; he was the ugliest of al of them . he had only one eye and his face was allmost gone we tried to kill him but no one cloud shoot sof ar because the bands weren't good enough but then there was joerg with his W slingshot and his silver theraband and aimed and shot right in the one remaining eye eye of the zombie leader and we were right all the oeter zombies just fell down on the ground ansd we all cheered and then FLASH and i was back to normal in the classroom so now when i get home and i finish all my exams i'm going to make a lot off slingshots so i'm prepared for THE ATTACK OF THE ZOMBIES !!!!​


----------



## King Cat (Dec 19, 2009)

THE OLD MAN AND THE TREE
BY JACK KOEHLER (aka King Cat)
Walking through the woods in the back forty was an experience that brought back pleasant memories of my youth. Back then, I hunted with my slingshot to help put food on the table. My hunting resulted in many taste tantalizing meals of squirrel stew. (A little meat of any kind made the potatoes taste good.) I don't know why but I recently had a craving for squirrel stew.

Suddenly I saw a squirrel up ahead sitting on a deadfall. I loaded my slingshot with a lead ball and carefully aimed and released the pouch. The ball struck the deadfall and glanced off into the air. The squirrel retreating up into a maple tree. I slowly circled the maple tree -- slingshot at the ready. Suddenly, I could see the squirrel's head peaking at me from behind a large branch. I took the shot and the squirrel came falling to the ground. I had the makings for my squirrel stew but somehow the headless squirrel made me wonder if it was worth it.

I looked at the slingshot that I held in my hand. Just looking at it brought back a flood of memories. I recall the day my father made it for me. He started by cutting a large branch from a maple tree which had several prospective forks. From the large branch we selected a beautiful perfectly formed fork. He carved, whittled, and did his magic. What resulted was the magnificent squirrel shooter that I still use today.

I had assumed my son would have been the one to make a slingshot for my grandson. Unfortunately that will never happen. My son was a war hero -- all that title got him was a body bag and a son without a father. What a waist. For some time I have been intending to make a slingshot for my grandson.

I think this would be a good time to start that project. This majestic old maple tree that I'm standing under would be a great place to start my fork hunt. The tree seems to be in pristine condition - that is, except for that scar on the trunk where a branch use to be. I'm confused, why would someone saw off a branch and leave the rest of the tree? Could this be the same tree that my father and I harvested my slingshot fork from some fifty years ago? The more I think about it the more I am convinced that this is the same tree.

I can see a beautiful symmetric fork up in the tree but it is quite far up. I only have a pocket knife so I can't cut the whole branch off. I'll have to get as close to the fork as possible so that I can whittled off the fork portion of the limb with my knife. Up we go. I'm discovering that climbing up a tree at my age is exhausting so I'll have to take it slowly. This climbing is even harder than I thought. OK, rest a little then climb some more. Now, all that is left is to shimmy out on the branch closer to the fork. Just a little closer and I can start whittling. Just one more step closer - CRAAAACCKK --- Ohoooo Noooo.

[GRANDSON] My Grandpa died of a broken neck when he fell out of a tree. I miss him so verry much -- who is going to tuck me in at night, who is going to comfort me when I have a bad dream, who is going to guide me into manhood? Mom does her best but she just doesn't know about those man things. Mom says "the old fool had no business climbing around in a tree at his age". She is probably right; I guess we will never know what he was thinking. At his funeral I slipped his old slingshot into his casket, I feel good about that -- I think it is something dad would have done.


----------



## JoergS (Dec 17, 2009)

Wow, Jack, what a sad story! Good writing indeed.

Jörg


----------



## Darb (Sep 14, 2010)

Yes, excellent story concept. Really enjoyed it.

The last few paragraphs have some fairly minor technical issues with person/tense that would benefit from some re-finessing.

Great job.


----------



## Devoman (Oct 15, 2010)

This is so crazy, you should make it into a book of short stories and sell it, proceeds to benefit the slingshot forum?


----------



## JoergS (Dec 17, 2009)

I did just that with another book of mine, started it the same way. It is an anthology called "Der Füllhalter des Grauens", translated that would be "The Fountain Pen of Horror".

http://www.amazon.de/F%C3%BCllfederhalter-Grauens-Gruselgeschichten-Sprave-Herausgeber/dp/3939937053/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1292528588&sr=8-4

Collecting fountain pens is another hobby of mine, that is how I got into that forum.

In the end, I had to choose 14 stories from over 1,000 submissions...

The book is a success for the small publisher who put it in print.

Who knows what will happen with this fun little project?

Jörg


----------



## hawk2009 (Dec 30, 2009)

THE FLU.
Iv'e been off work all week with flu unable to make slingshots as well,but sales have slowed so that's a plus,but not for financial gains at christmas.I got myself a router this week it came off ebay nearly new and cheap,I struck it up it seems ok but in my condition iv'e put it away,I hope next week that I can play cough cough sneeze







when will it go away.


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

First one off the board, a fabricated history.

In a land far away to most, a long time ago, the rubber trees grew.
In one of the tribes of the forest there was a hunter, smaller than others, but with a keen eye and sharp wits. He'd seen the rubber being used for cuts, and for sealing water bottles and to make balls for the children to play with; but one night, when the hunting had been good, laughter had been loud and no-one had wanted to go to bed, he had a dream. In the morning he rose, and being a day when there was little for the men to do, he decided to go and find the rubber trees, and to sit with them for a while. It wasn't long after noon, when he first attached the long strip of rubber to his bow. The arrow, at first, was of course too short, so he trimmed his new string shorter, to make it stretch more; the second attempt, made the arrow fall a few feet away. 
Weeks passed, the inventive hunter slowly but surely, re-adjusted his bow and it's new string, time and again; and the arrow was always getting further and further away. One day, after struggling to get the most out of his new way, he thought it might be hopeless to expect enough power to kill anything more than a small bird, even then only close by; he was annoyed and didn't want to give up, when he thought, simply, that to get more power, he needs more rubber. He decided, instead of using a bow, he would simply tie a length of rubber between two trees, and use a very long arrow, with a brace to rest it on (by now, hunting had almost gone from his mind, and he was simply trying to get results) this proved good, but the arrow, no matter how thin, was too heavy and would not fly far. Disappointed and feeling low, he was sitting by the bank of the river, watching the children of the village playing in the water; he noticed one of his friends, a man good with a rock throwing sling, practicing his art across the way. He swam across the water and started to watch his friend closely; after some discussion, his neighbour allowed him to borrow one of his slings, as long as he took care of it, and kept it from sharp rocks and thorns; the hunter ran back to his trees with the length of rubber still tied between them. 
He sat on the ground, staring at his tools and the trees. It came to him, like a stone from above, he cut the rubber length in the middle and attached his friends sling. Drawing it back (much farther than he could with the arrow, for it needed no rest) he placed one of the stones his friend had given him in the pouch, and let go. The stone flew far up over the trees, and he heard it crash and send birds soaring. 
The years passed, and slowly but surely his skills became more and more refined, as did his tools. Though he would not take his new weapon with him on the big hunts, he would often have it in his belt, as he walked through the trees on his days of rest. Towards the end of his life, he would impress the children and adults alike, shooting things much smaller than could be got with an arrow, and there were many who wished to learn this usefull skill. And so the art was born, long ago, far away to most, deep among the rubber trees.

Hope you like it, PLEASE, let me know what you think, good or bad. I have at least one other story in mind, but that will come later.


----------



## Tex-Shooter (Dec 17, 2009)

Removed - Published


----------



## jmplsnt (Jan 1, 2010)

Great stories from WhipCrack and Tex-Shooter. I like the inventiveness of the WhipCrack one and the nostalgia of Tex's really gets down to business. I almost caught myself a little teary-eyed at his mention of a 6-oz soda!


----------



## JoergS (Dec 17, 2009)

Fantastic stuff for sure! Thanks a lot for these wonderful contributions.

Jörg


----------



## Dan the Slingshot Man (Nov 21, 2010)

Those endless rat filled days of summer, drinking lemonade and waiting for school to start again. But I, had a very important chore; we had a rat problem as a child. Rats were dying every where and breeding fast. Poop every where caused the parents to become mad. I had a job to do! Dan the rat terminator. Back then my family didn't have the money to buy me a Daisy Red Red Ryder which I seemed to dream about constantly. So only one choice, wonder from oak tree to oak tree to find the perfect fort for my catty. Morning after morning I went roaming the hills of California looking for the one. On a hot Monday in August I finally found the one. So I got my trusty axe and knocked it out of the tree, it was just what I was looking for. I ran right back home and was ready to finish it.

Once I got home it was time to get it ready for some rat hunting. I used the kitchen knife to peel off all that tough bark and made a mess of our tiny kitchen. It rued my parents day. So finally time to find the rubber. Every day when the mail man came I begged him for some rubber bands. Each day he gave me one and in one week I had a sufficient amount. Then it was time to find the leather for the pouch so I headed down to the junk yard a couple miles from my house and asked if I could cut a small piece of a leather couch. He let me take some leather and I was thrilled to have every thing for the catty. So I used all the mind a 8 year old can muster and I put it all together. Not a beauty, but it worked.

So off to our back yard for some hunting, but to my despair I missed every rat I saw. I did this routine every day, shoot miss, shoot miss and so on. After days turned to weeks it started to cause me melencolly because my parents moods got bad from the rats. The next day I found a place with high ground and I aimed; I hit the rat square in the head. It was a thrill to finally get one. Having the rat problem started my life long love of slingshots.


----------



## King Cat (Dec 19, 2009)

I want one of Joerg's slingshots.

."]THE LAST SHOT[/b]BY JACK KOEHLER (aka King Cat)
[SETTING] 
The year is 2030. Most countries have outlawed guns, bows and most all other shooting implements for "security" reasons. It is said that slingshots have been exempt from these laws in order to allow the "poor" to shoot rodents and other small animals for food. Because of the widespread use of slingshots, international competitive slingshot shooting has become a very important sporting event. Some countries go to great lengths to help their shooters win these prestigious shooting titles. This story is being told by the world champion slingshot shooter.

It was the first time the world title event had been held in Upper Bovia. All of the major contenders from all over the world were in attendance. Upper Bovia was represented by a shooter that goes by the name of Uppity, that's not his real name but that's what he is known as worldwide.

After two days of shooting there were only two of us still in contention, me and Uppity. The only target left to shoot was the forty-meter ring target. That target would be shot the next morning.

That evening I was in my hotel room. I had double checked all the equipment that I would need for the next days competition. All was in order. I finished doing my arm exercises and was preparing to retire to bed when there was a knock on the door. This was no time for autographing a fan's whatever. I cracked open the chained door and asked who it was. From outside the door, "This is the Minister of Foreign Affairs and I would like to have a private word with you". I peered out beyond the chain and saw the Minister (I recognized him from his constant TV appearances) and two bodyguards. I let the Minister in, the bodyguards stayed outside my door.

The Minister said "It is critical that I do what I can to insure that Uppity wins this important world title. Winning this tournament will put Upper Bovia on the map; it will mean recognition, and confidentially, we could use some positive press. In that pursuit, I am prepared to do anything and everything to guarantee a victory for my country. Do you understand?" It was obvious that I was being forced to throw the tournament. I responded, "What exactly is your intention, are you going to cripple me, bribe me, or what?" The Minister forced a cynical laugh and said," No, no, nothing like that, those things could easily be traced back to us and it would cause me and my country great embarrassment. I am here only to give you some information, that is all." "I don't want your information", I said, "Now would you please leave?" The Minister responded forcefully, "I'm afraid I must insist -- *If Uppity looses he will be BEHEADED*.--- Goodnight". I had no doubt the Minister meant what he said, after all, beheadings in his country were not rare. What was I to do? I struggled with the dilemma the rest of the night. I finely concluded that I could not live with myself if I was a party to a beheading.

The next day Uppity and I both proceeded to shoot the final target. Hitting the target is worth anywhere from two to ten points depending on how close the shot is to the bull's eye. We alternated shots. Up to this point I had intentionally shot poorly trying not to run up the score. But for some reason, Uppity shot equally bad; he seemed to be unstable which was contrary to his normal rock solid stance and demeanor. I wondered, could he have been told the same thing I was told last night?

I was one point ahead as we prepared to shoot the last shot. I shot first. At this point I was extremely worried about not loosing so I intentionally missed the entire target. Now it was Uppity's turn, all he had to do was hit the target to win the tournament, miss and he loses. His hands were trembling; he seemed to have difficulty even standing steady. He could normally hit the ten ring nine times out of ten, now; all he had to do was hit the target. He dropped a ball as he tried to load the pouch with his trembling fingers. He managed to put a new ball into the pouch. He drew the pouch back and aimed, his sling hand was visibly shaking. I could feel the blood drain from my face as I feared the consequence of this shot. He shot. My gaze was on him therefore, I didn't see if he hit the target. What I saw was the slingshot falling from his hand, and then two of his countrymen helping the wobbly shooter into the tournament director's tent.

Several years have passed since that moment; I have never shot another shot.


----------



## Flatband (Dec 18, 2009)

My Story,

When Gary was a young boy of around 10, he always had the far away look in his eyes. He played football, and all the other sports, but even though he was from the inner city, he had that eye for the fields and the woods of the country. He lived close to a public park. Behind that park down near the river was a big swamp and with a few ponds. Gary spent as much time down there as possible, There were rabbits , muskrats, rats, pheasants,ducks,shorebirds,etc. It was a great place for a youngster with a yearn for the natural world to learn and shoot his slingshot. One of the ponds had 2 little islands in it. Islands are like other worlds for any youngster and they must be trod upon. Myself and 3 or 4 friends took the task on of somehow getting over to those islands. We figured,there must be a bunch of interesting things over there. Many stories had been passed down about what was on those islands. Over on the other side of the highway was the city dump. It had been dumped in for many years. Many stories had been told of that dump also-mobsters being buried there, stolen money and jewels cached there. We knew of the stories but didn't put much credence in them. We did know one thing,this was a dump and many useful things could be found. Things like materials for the construction of a boat or two! Our plan was to make two small boats and row on over to the islands. We found wood planks and cans of discarded roofing tar and asphalt. We borrowed nails and tools from our fathers work shops. We would work on the boats (2) (which really looked like little square coffins probably about 3 feet long by maybe a foot and a half wide) and then cover them with weeds and go home till next time.The day finally came when the "Exploration" would commence! Gary could barely contain himself! It was agreed upon that the oldest kid( if I remember it was Jimmy) would go first, take a rope with him across and attach it to a stump with a clothesline set-up so we could pull ourselves across.The pond itself wasn't that deep( may be 4-5 feet) but if you tried to cross you would sink up to your chest in very soft muck and would not be able to move. Nasty stuff. I think there was 5 or 6 of us. You know kids-the story of our proposed adventure got out and everyone wanted to come! If I remember correctly it was Gary, Jimmy, Tommy, Eddie, and Mark. (this was 40 something years ago so I might be wrong. Anyway we started out and did really well. Jimmy made it across with no problems and the pulley system worked perfectly. We set up camp at the base of big willow tree. Mark, immediatly climbed the big tree to check for cops or any other trouble. Gary and Eddie did some exploring, Jimmy and his brother Tommy did the camp set-up and fire starting. Gary had 2 Pheasants flush right in front of him scaring the heck out of Eddie who had never experienced it. ( It is an awesome sight!). We also found some other interesting things, birds nests, and also an old lean too that maybe a bum had once used. Eddie and me got back to camp and Jimmy had made soup and Tea. If anyone has ever ate out while camping well,let's just say I never had better soup or a cup of Tea! ( I learned to drink my Tea black from this experience and still do to this day) We were having a great old time when Mark ( always looking out for problems) suddenly announced that there were some kids on the other side that were fishing and saw us moving around on the island. Jimmy went to talk with them and they wanted to come across. Jimmy said no and to go away and leave us alone. They didn't go and started taunting us so we started back. Eddie happened to be standing close to the shoreline when an arrow landed inches from his foot! They had shot an arrow at us! I flipped out (Eddie was my best friend) so I go my slingshot out and put a steel ball in the pouch. Eddie knew steel balls were like gold to me and were only used for hunting. He said" Gary don't shoot them!" I said don't worry. I then drew back from behind some reeds and let fly and the pellet hit squarely into their tackle box. The box shattered and cracked. The kids ran away screaming in fear! What a lucky shot! My friend were all patting me on the back and everything. We went back to our soup and Tea and thought that was it. It wasn't. Some time later the ever alert Mark screamed "Cops!". There was a patrol car on the dirt road coming our way and to our astonishment a boat coming towards the island! Well, we had no place to run to so we waited. Well the look in the cops eyes when he rounded the corner of the weeds and saw us all sitting here having soup waiting for our punishment was priceless! Well they,trashed our boats,put us all in their boat and then the squad cars and onto headquarters. They searched us and found nothing. Apparently the kids told the cops we had a gun! I had thrown my slingshot in the lake as soon as we saw the cops. ( It was an old Scope Shot with the scope blown off!- A favorite!) They called our parents-while waiting Eddie proceeded to wet himself-he was really scared about what his father would do to him -we all were. His father was a mountain of a man. Well our parents came and my father who is an excellent speaker told the Chief " we'll take very good care of these little troublemakers" You can be assured of that Chief. We all got outside and my father said-"now you will all get the punishment you so deserve" We all started crying and stuff and it was Eddies father who said " stop crying and tell us all about your adventure-He was smiling!!
We couldn't believe it! We did not get punished. Our parents spoke to each other and I found out they all said we could have done a lot worse things. Some day in the future some Archeologist will find a "Y" shaped Aluminum object in an old dried up lake bed and wonder "I wonder what story this object can tell" . If he could only know! True story and thanks for letting me tell it. Makes me feel young again!







Flatband


----------



## HOE (Nov 13, 2010)

I love real adventure stories.


----------



## Rayshot (Feb 1, 2010)

I like how you said; "We borrowed nails ...."

Is that like the latex dish washing gloves you borrowed to make bands for your slingshot?

Funny Gary!

Childhood exploration and adventure memories are great!


----------



## Flatband (Dec 18, 2009)

Guys , I wish I could re-live those times over and over again. I had an absolute awesome childhood! Flatband


----------



## jmplsnt (Jan 1, 2010)

Excellent work Flatband, both back in the day and with the keyboard present-era. I am loving these stories.


----------



## bunnybuster (Dec 26, 2009)

JoergS said:


> Are you into writing AND into slingshots? Then this is the contest for you.
> 
> Write a short story (max. 2000 words) about slingshots. Can be a TEOTWAWKI/SHTF scenario, can be a fictional crime story or your coolest childhood story, no limits except no drastic sex, please.
> 
> ...


Joerg,
I am going to write a story to enter the contest.
I need to get my feelings, and endeavors in the right frame of mind.
Glad I have some time.
This is exciting to me.
Hope non fiction is ok?
Tom


----------



## JoergS (Dec 17, 2009)

Tom, great to hear that you want to join the contest.

Of course non fiction is perfectly OK.


----------



## JoergS (Dec 17, 2009)

The seventh seal

Master Caproon looked out of his window. He saw the familiar scenery of his beloved village. Massively fortified against the Undead, it had survived many attacks and had never been overrun, even though it had been tight a couple of times.

The Master had contributed his fair share to the survival of the village. He was the weapon maker of the small 900 soul community, and without his weapons it would have been impossible to fight the ghouls back.

In the early days, right after the Dead took over, weapon makers still made firearms. First they had enough machines, materials and skills for repeating breech loaders, then they switched to muzzle loaders. But there was no known source for saltpeter, and with sulfur and coal alone, gunpowder could not be made. So firearms had disappeared. They were too loud anyway, regular dinner bells for all the Zombies in earshot.

The village had a blacksmith, who reformed scrap iron into useful things, like swords and spearheads. But against the Undead, projectile shooting weapons were needed.

And the members of his guild provided such weapons. Slingshots, of course.

A well made slingshot, used by a trained shooter, could silently kill a Zombie from 50 yards. And all village folks started mandatory slingshot training at the age of four. At ten, everybody was an expert.

Caproon was old, at 60 springs he was far older than any other villager. That was because he was so valuable that nobody ever forced him to go hunting or scavenging. He had lived his live behind the palisades of his home town.

Now he had an apprentice, Dornbuk. The boy had learned the first six of the secret seals already. He had learned how to cut rubber so it does not nick. He learned the constriction knot so he could attach the bands securely. He learned how to select the right forks, and how to dry them properly. He had excelled in pouch making. He even completed his first sling-x-bow, a weapon that was in great demand and could even be traded against precious items from the days of the great civilization.

But today was a very important day in the live of Dornbuk. He would learn the seventh seal.

Caproon had heated the oven already, and now he showed Dornbuk how to regulate the temperature. It had to be just right, otherwise the procedure would fail.

The sulfur was already boiling in an old, large steel pan. Noxious smells evaporated from the oven, and the two men wrapped their faces with wet linen bandages, forming crude masks. Caproon added the important ingredients, sacred secrets that were not to be told to outsiders. Zinc oxyde, stearic acids, some more chemicals Caproon had stored in clay containers. Dornbuk had to recite the quantities over and over to memorize them, as the art of reading and writing was long lost amongst the remaining humans.

Last not least the raw, uncured rubber was added. The village maintained a veritable forest of the trees needed to harvest the precious substance, and many people died each year during the harvest. The forest was beyond the fortifications, and roaming ghouls constantly attacked the workers.

It took about ten minutes, and then the rubber was cured. Caproon taught Dornbuk how to identify the good parts in the pan, and how to retrieve it. Large patches of thin, flat rubber were the results, which Dornbuk would later cut into bands.

Tomorrow would be the day of Caproon's retirement. Dornbuk would have to kill a Zombie with a sling-x-bow made entirely by himself, as the tradition demanded. Caproon had no doubts that his apprentice would master the challenge. He had given him a bag of fine corundum stones, just the right size and weight for the purpose.

Right after Dornbuk's return, he would be installed as the new master weapon maker of the village.

Then Caproon would fulfill his last duty and offer his flesh for the big feast. He would die soon anyway, and it was better to be eaten by his fellow villagers instead of becoming an undead monster. The old master sadly looked at his beloved shed, which he would lock for the very last time in just a few minutes.


----------



## Flatband (Dec 18, 2009)

Very Cool Joerg! I enjoyed that one Bud. To tell the truth, I loved all of them. We have some genuine writers on here! Here I am I thinking only Clive Cussler , Micheal Creighton, and Robert Ludlum could be some of my favorites! I now have a bunch more! Oh the majestic pen of the story teller!







Flatband


----------



## John McKean (Dec 24, 2010)

TROLL UNDER THE BRIDGE (non-fiction ;mostly!)
John McKean

"THWACK!!!" Feathers flew and the brightly colored little critter plummeted straight down, seemingly dead as a doornail.

No, we weren't hunting game birds, but rather fishing, or trying to, underneath a bridge that harbored a nice deep hole. Wooded all around, it was **** near impossible to cast with any real accuracy, and the water was a bit too deep to wade. Yet if we could chuck a small jig well under the bridge we had a superb chance to lure in a wily largemouth bass, slab sided crappie, spooky carp, or a massive channel cat! This was the only deep hole in the stream, directly down from a spillway of a well-stocked lake. But delicately tossing the necessary distance into the small opening with an ultralight jig proved almost too challenging.

Old buddy Sam, the above mentioned "thwacker," had once again slammed his cast jig into the concrete wall of the bridge and watched his banged up leadhead drop ineffectively into the current below. "Son-of-a-****!," he bellowed. "I'm usually highly accurate with this light action 7' graphite rod! But I can only get into that small window of brush-free-air one cast in 5!"

Of course I terminated his ravings by producing a strange 22" cut down rod section that possessed only one guide. It was rigged with a small spincast reel, my small hand tied feather jig, and 12# test braided line (heavy for me, especially with very light jigs, but I've taken fish in this hole up to 20 pounds!).

Sam had seen me use rather strange outfits previously, but looked on with mouth hanging open, absolutely speechless (for a second or two, anyway!). "Oh, you'll NEVER get that 1/24 oz jig out far enough with THAT "ice fishing" pole to reach under the bridge, and I really don't believe even you have the accuracy to avoid the tree limbs & bushes all around us!"

"Right you are, Sam," I countered, "but do you remember me telling you about the bow-and arrow cast, that some real old-timers used to use by propelling baits with hand bent fiberglass poles? Well, I've devised a method that'll take that one step further!"

To Sam's utter astonishment, I pressed the spincast button, placed my stubby rod into the notch of a quickly acquired forked stick, which was shoved into the ground, and pulled out my new "secret weapon" from a back pocket. I placed the tiny jig within the pouch of my powerful, old fashioned SLINGSHOT!!! Pulling the strong flat bands to my jawbone, I quickly acquired my target area and let loose. Line flowed freely as my lure quickly flew, straight as an arrow into the back end of the bridge hole! Then I merely had to slowly retrieve (or "troll") with about the only lure size that seemed to consistently fool these highly wary lunkers!

No, my first cast (or "shot"!) did not produce a strike. Nor did a second slow troll beneath the shadows of the ancient bridge. But, sometime during its third swim the tiny jig was lambasted by a speeding "Mack truck!" After fighting and running for 20 minutes, a really thick 28" catfish came thrashing to net and was released.

Then it was Sam's turn to learn the fine art of slingshot casting! Though a complete novice, his first shot landed true, using the specially shaped leadhead jig that I pour by the hundreds. Of course I had to warn him to place the jig into the pouch head first, hook pointing toward the target, to prevent any possibility of launching sharp pointed steel into his own skin. After further advice to feed fishing line in through the FRONT of the forks, Sam commented upon firing that the feathered little lure flew straight and true just like a well balanced dart.

I enjoyed coaching and allowed my buddy to continue plinking. Fortunately he always remembered to depress the button on the spincasting reel, and I've still yet to have an outfit launched out into the drink! About 10 minutes into his exciting new hobby, Sam thrilled to a fat 17" largemouth bass leaping high above the water's surface, firmly attached to the jig hook! Some of you slingshot making artists are gonna soon be hearing from old Sam!!

I doubt any pole other than an ultra short, cut down model, due to its lack of length or guides, will allow this unusual, long distance casting method. Nor do I know of anyone that can be more accurate, more often in tiny, tight areas than an experienced slingshotter. So, with winter here right now, it's a superb time to acquire (or build ) a slingshot and PRACTICE (even in the snow!) an unusual new "dual sport"!


----------



## Rayshot (Feb 1, 2010)

* Ringing the Doorbell of Death

A horror only certain souls can comprehend. A horror animated by the dizzying nausea that filled his torso, the hopelessness of escape. The hopeless agony&#8230;&#8230;.finished!! Yet, his small fingers still loosely wrapped around his slingshot, with what looked like that familiar affectionate handhold, while dying trails of tears bore witness to his face to face with death.

The days before today, Henry's little life was replete with sun light alarms through smooth young eyelids. Happy, bouncy, steps to the morning meal, set out, ready to eat. Warm greetings, big smiles, singing birds, his golden lab's exuberance matching spring time's vigor pursuing summer. 

Once excused from breakfast typically began Henry's one curiosity moving unconsciously to another or morphing to some imagined entertainment. There were bug investigations, wild safaris, deep jungle excursions, and toys developed effortlessly, be it a stick, a rock or simply from nothing at all. Whether in his hand, pocket, or perhaps tucked inside a shirt fold, hidden from some contrived enemy, was one thing that wasn't imaginary, his favorite plaything. A beloved slingshot. In proportion to him, it was like clothes a parent will buy for a child, a little bigger than necessary, to grow into. It was cut by his father, specially for him, from a branch of the first fruit tree great grandpa planted on this fertile valley farm. It was typical Y shape, paired with stretchy rubber and pouch, made unique, like a royal seal, by grime mixed with hand oils from uncountable hours of play, along with the awkwardly scratched initials, H.I.T.. He loved that his initials spelled "HIT" but the middle name Ignatius would stay a mystery to anyone that asked. 

From behind him as he walked, you could see the bouncy rubber strips appearing, every other of his determined steps in hunt for some quarry. It was as if the slingshot rubber strips were eager eyes to catch a glimpse of some new quarry, and quarry there was. There was almost nothing that hadn't been fired upon. Trees, and leaves, fence posts, tin cans, horse tail hair hanging from fence wire, tree knurls, bee hives, big bugs, little bugs, and one of his favorites, the old rat trap. He would set it before shooting at it, so a hit was like a double applause, emphasizing, "Good Hit"! 

Yet, even good young boys with their unrefined rational, make mistakes, and so did, Henry Ignatius Taylor. It wasn't a purposeful, mischievous, delinquent act. It was one of those mistakes that young boys make. The mistakes that are preceded by a feeling, by a little voice inside that says; "This could turn bad in some way", but the allure of; "This would be so great!&#8230;..I wonder if can?&#8230;., I think I can do this!&#8230;..I bet I can do this", conquers all reasoning. 

On this warm, bright spring day only the special stones would due, perhaps just one of the three would be needed. Found, way down by the old barn foundation, where long ago the elements claimed it's once useful wooden shell. These stones clearly not from around here, rounded and smooth. According to his imaginative mind, certainly these stones were purposely place by some unknown mysterious entity, to be used for a special time, a special target. He nearly ached from how long he was saving these for that special target. Two weeks already! Nearly and eternity.

Like a flash of lightning he saw and knew, there was no thinking about it, the perfect target. A true long shot challenge. Made all the better by being tightly framed on either side. On the left, the corner of the hay wagon a small way in front of him and farther forward framing the target to the right, the new stack of lumber to replace the weather beaten porch. Instinctually, catty in his left hand, in his right, the smooth stone securely in place at full draw just under his jaw below his ear, between his thumb and fore finger. At the very moment his right eye finished its squint, fingers loosened, Snap! Zip! RINGGGG! That dinner bell by the front porch steps RANG!! with the first shot! By golly, it rang with a ring, (that truth be told), could not be more perfect to the ear from any bell.

If only the beauty of that bell's ring could have resonated away like ripples on water fade. It did fade, unnoticed though, because of the startling crash of window glass. Therefore, any glory and satisfaction of the most beautifully sounding shot he ever made was gone in that premature finale of falling glass. 

It's disconcerting in life, when in one moment all there is, is contentment, fun, happiness, all feelings and everything is like bright light, then in an instant, good, happiness and fun blinks away and pain and panic, shoved in it's place. Henry's fun, now gone, replaced with hot waves of radiating panic originating in his stomach reaching to the very tips of his fingers and toes. Followed by cold sweats of fear. Morbid fear, and the reproof of the too little voice in his head, only moments ago, that said; "If this goes the wrong way&#8230;" 

He stood frozen, the blood draining from his face. Panic and dread tightening his chest and stomach. Legs and knees but a second ago steady, relaxed, now quivering and weak, tears of fear welling in expectation of the creaky screen door announcing the granite, bear of a man with a knack for never missing a chance for justice being served. Like marble pillars with athletic grace his fathers legs narrowed the distance as they followed his sharp blue eyes locked on an empty slingshot dangling at the end of a limp arm.

Henry was scared, very scared, fair to say, deathly scared! Scared the way young ones are, after some transgression committed that before the act, were firmly and repeatedly told to, not do, not steal, not get in to trouble with this or that, and not break,&#8230;.Or Else! This time Henry got too close to sacred territory with his absent minded bell ringing. Hence, now he was fully across the threshold of minor offenses and was about to experience the worst of...Or Else! Oh he had his share of spankings but now standing scared and baffled how he could have let himself come close to breaking something that would make papa have to pay for and fix something. 

Mixed with the acute fear, frustration and irritation at himself, he felt like the glass had a life of it's own and on purpose, crashed loudly, like a tattle tale sibling, or a too loud annoying alarm clock, just to intensify the anger of papa! 

All the discipline Henry received before this moment, physical or verbal, was nothing compared to the dread he felt during the pause when his father stopped within arms reach, looked down, narrowed his eyes and slowly, seemingly like slow motion to Henry, reached to the scruff of Henry's neck, wadded the back of his collar in the vise of his hand and nearly carried Henry one handed to the back shed as his feet barely touched ground, his slingshot still in hand. 

It's sad and strange how death comes in tragic ways unjustly, as if on the whim of a wind. Suddenly, death was breathing upon Henry at this moment, without a chance of resistance, as his father with machine like power, methodically seized Henry's beloved slingshot turned tool of destruction. 

First came the death of his slingshot and slingshot playing, and Henry wasn't sure how or where on his body the beating would begin but in a baffling twist, papa set him upon his knee, face still firm, the severe eyes mysteriously melted into a far off gaze, and papa's story began. There was no beating, no slingshot death, no death at the back shed, just the scariest trip to the back shed and papa's childhood tale illustrating how we all can do a stupid thing in thrill of the moment. Also, that papa realized Henry Ignatius Taylor, H.I.T., wouldn't do it on purpose, surely, a careless mistake. Though make no mistake, a sever tongue lashing was not neglected.

Still in a daze from the turn of events, after a hug and a pat, the horror was over, nausea gone, things weren't hopeless, his small fingers again wrapped around his slingshot in his familiar, loose and affectionate handhold while drying trails of tears bore witness to his "face to face" with the scariest, most perfect shot he will ever make. 

*


----------



## Flatband (Dec 18, 2009)

Unreal! The talent on here is great. Excellent stories guys! Flatband


----------



## Rayshot (Feb 1, 2010)

Holidays are over, anymore stories? There must be some in the works.


----------



## Sam (Jul 5, 2010)

I was all ready thinking about the story I was going to write until I read: "no drastic sex", oh well!









I'll happily edit a couple for those who want me to though.









_*PS:* You and my brother both share the same birthday Joerg, Mines 10 days later on the 17[sup]th[/sup], my Dad's 10 days after that on the 27[sup]th[/sup]... _


----------



## NoSugarRob (Jun 3, 2010)

.


----------



## Rayshot (Feb 1, 2010)

NoSugarRob said:


> A young girl was skipping through the forest with her hood up when a huge wolf jumped out in front of her. She quickly took her catty out and shot the wolf, right between the eyes.......
> ...............................................................................
> ......................................................
> .............................
> ...


It has been said: "There is genius in simplicity."


----------



## Daomeng (Sep 3, 2010)

NoSugarRob said:


> A young girl was skipping through the forest with her hood up when a huge wolf jumped out in front of her. She quickly took her catty out and shot the wolf, right between the eyes.......
> ...............................................................................
> ......................................................
> .............................
> ...


:lol:LOL. AWESOME


----------



## Sam (Jul 5, 2010)

Rayshot said:


> A young girl was skipping through the forest with her hood up when a huge wolf jumped out in front of her. She quickly took her catty out and shot the wolf, right between the eyes.......
> ...............................................................................
> ......................................................
> .............................
> ...


It has been said: "There is genius in simplicity."
[/quote]


----------



## Holzwurm (Nov 5, 2010)

Alright , folks ,........I'd just like to contribute a little story from my teenage years about 35 years ago , ....calling it

"Nasty Slingshot Tricks"
or
"were you should never drop a turd "

Back during the mid 1970's we were teenage schoolboys and quite crazy about slingshots .

It happened on one misty autumn afternoon that me and a good school mate hung out in our small hometown waiting for the local youthclub to open , ....as usual we had carried our homemade slingshots and some lead ammo with us .

As we got bored very soon and there were still two hours to go for the youthclub , we started to stroll the grounds of an old and deserted dominon , that was located right in the center of town , .......all buildings empty and ready to be torn down for rebuilding a new supermarket on that patch of land .

At the edge of the dominon's ground there also was an old store building , which was supposed to fall soon as well, ........this building had a front facing the main street .

We had never been inside of that empty building ,......curious about what we would find in there we entered from the backyard and made our way trough , .........soon we found a staircase and climbed up the 2nd floor .

There really was nothing worthy to be found in there , all full of litter and debris , ........but soon two or three small windows caught our interest , ......really not much more than square holes in the wall just underneath the roof and bare of any glass , ............one could peep through all over the main street , the sidewalk and shops on the opposite side without to be seen from down below .

There still was a longer wait ahead of us and we soon got bored again , so I had the idea of shooting our slingshots through these small windows , aiming at the people passing by on the opposite sidewalk at least 15 metres distance .

Off course we did not mean to hurt anybody , as we were quite aware about the damage our slingshots could do , .....we just wanted to play nasty tricks on the pedestrians and shot at only 1/3 to 1/2 draw , ........the small lead pellets , that we had "salvaged" from the curtain weight bands of our school classrooms just popped against the overcoats of the people that we've hit , always causing them to look into the skies determining whether it had started to rain and me and my buddy always had a good laugh about this .

At least I was quite a good and accurate shooter back then , so I even did dare to shoot at full draw two or three times blasting the tiny lead chunks right into shopping bags hung over bicycle steerings of people pushing along their bikes on the sidewalk , ........on one of these I even saw some milk spilling out on the floor after my hit .

Well , my buddy was not as good , .........he hit the big window of a small shop located right at the sidewalk for several times , .......though it did not cause any damage , every impact resulted into quite a considerable banging noise , that even we could hear in our hideaway over the road .

At some time we left the building again through the backdoor, as the youthclub was about to open and we caught up there with some other friends and classmates to chat , play games and listen to our favourite music .

More than two hours later , ........it was past 7 'o' clock in the evening , the shops had already closed and the streets had become deserted , I decided to get back to the little shop at the sidewalk and try to gather our lead pellets back , as good slingshot ammo was pretty precious to us those days , ........my buddy gladly followed me , because same time it was his way home .

So the two of us were creeping round the pavement in front of that shop , the street lanterns shed enough light for us to see and we had already gathered some of our ammo back when I suddenly looked upon a pair of neatly polished black shoes right in front of my face .

I slowly raised my head and looked further up and saw a pair of green trousers , a green uniform jacket with silver buttons and finally a white police cap with an angry looking face underneath .

"Whotchu lookin' for there ?" the office barked at us .

"Ahm , ahm , Sir , ........we've lost our house key somewhere here , so we're tryin' to find it , ...but it's already pretty dark" my friend replied with a noticable shiver in his voice , .....and I quickly told my buddy ......"don't think , you've lost it here , let's go check the other place over there" and we tried to slowly walk away .

"Buddies , you just stay right here" the policeman hollered , ......."doesn't accidentally happen that you're looking for this ?"......same time lifting his hand in front of our faces holding one of our little lead chunks between his index and thumb .

"You guys come on now and follow me" he sharply said and guided us to his Volkswagen "Bully" police van , that he had parked at the cinema's parking lot nearby and told us to sit down in the back seats .

"You've been shooting slingshots there , didn't ya ?" he questioned us , " the shop owner's called us some time before , something hit his window for a couple of times , ....... from were did you shoot ?"

We boys had already started to be shaking in expectation of the big trouble that we would get at home , ......my friend was almost in tears , so we admitted to have shot from the building on the other side of the road and on demand we handed over our slingshots to the officer .

"Gonna take you to the police station now , we need to write a report" ....the cop said , obviously being very happy about his quick success , and he started the engine of his van .

The police station of our hometown was located only about half a mile from that spot , but we had to make it over the old railroad crossing , that had separated the town back then ,......... due to most frequent railroad traffic the crossing was shut down about half of the day .

As the Volkswagen "Bully" stood there waiting for a train to pass , I've noticed a strange crappy smell coming from down below my seat , .......I lifted my right shoe and in the streetlight falling in I noticed a fat piece of dog crap sticking all over and around it's sole .

"Darn" , I thought to myself ,....." must have stepped inside in the dark on the way to the van , ......what am I gonna do now ?"

As for obvious reasons being pretty nervous , I was unable to think that well , so I acted rather instinctively and wiped off the turd on the floor carpet of the police van as good as I could ,....got my shoe reasonably clean without the officer behind the steering wheel even taking notice .

But just a few minutes later as we rolled up the driveway of the police station , the policeman turned back at us shouting "What the heck is stinking here ?"

"Sir , Sir , ......I'm so sorry , .......I've stepped into dog crap , as you've loaded us in , ..... not my fault , Sir , it was so dark there !".........I replied , ........being so glad that he could never sense the deepest grin inside of me .

He sharply ordered us to get out , dashed by the sidedoor of his van and now saw all of the smelly mess inside , which resulted into massive cursing and shouting better not to be repeated here , ....I was even afraid that he would pull his truncheon on us anytime .

Well , after calming down a bit , he ordered us inside the rooms of duty , filled up a waterbucket and passed us some paper towels and we were told to clean up the worst part of the crappy incident , which we instantly did .

After we got our hands clean again and he wrote his report , he took us to our homes ,...... but since nobody had claimed for any damage we got away with it , ..........some trouble with the parents , some smacking ,........ something , that we boys were quite familiar to , anyway , ..........but at least nothing to pay for .

Our slingshots were gone for once more , ........but it really didn't take that long , until we had new ones , we boys simply could not do without !

greetz , Holzwurm


----------



## Noah Harper (Jan 4, 2011)

hello, this is my first post on this forum.. thank you J.S. for inviting me to join...

I do have a bunch of wonderful small game hunting short stories I could submit.... but I have something different in mind. On January 14th (in the deep deep snow of upstate New York-about 4 feet fresh) there will be a winter paintball game with a showing expected to be around 60-80 players split between the two sides... a smaller game because of the weather. I will be attending and not using my normal arsenal of paintball markers... but a special adapted target slingshot with a special pouch... yes, I will be hunting live people all day long...

I think I'll write about that after it's over and done









P.S. I just came back from my grandmothers house and while I was there I found my fathers natural dogwood slingshot from when he was a boy... this is around 40 years old now and still looks great.. I'm banding it tomorrow.


----------



## Chuff (Dec 25, 2009)

Hi Noah, would love to see pics of the old dogwood. Old catties look great.


----------



## Noah Harper (Jan 4, 2011)

Chuff said:


> Hi Noah, would love to see pics of the old dogwood. Old catties look great.


sure, I could take some pic's... do you have a link to the correct page to post them on?

As far as my short story goes... YES I played about 7 hours in 2 foot deep snow yesterday.. the slingshot came with me and YES I made 1 kill with it. My short story will take a little while to write (I'm a stagehand, not a writer) but that's fine...


----------



## King Cat (Dec 19, 2009)

THE POLITICIAN
A politician (Mr. John Hill) hired a powerful political consultant to help him get elected to office. The consultant gave Mr. Hill the following advice and guidance:

Mr. Hill, we will start with a simple but important premise, that is; the general public is about as dumb as a cabbage. Their gullibility (if not stupidly) has been proven over and over again as evidenced by all the incompetents that I have been voted into office. Elections are won by those that use every trick in the book and I'm here to teach you those tricks. You must project the illusion of honesty, integrity, intelligences, and mental stability. Ironically, these very characteristics are more of a hindrance than a help in winning a campaign.

Every successful campaign must have a central emotionally charged issue. The perfect issue must elicit the most powerful of emotions -- fear and hate. There was a recent incident where some unknown person used a slingshot to shoot out a window at the police station; we will focus on this incident. Our issue will be the outlawing of slingshots. Our objective will be to stir up fear and hatred of slingshots and slingshot owners. Then, we will persuade the voters that you are the only one that can protect them from this horrendous slingshot scourge.

The police are interrogating anyone and everyone that owns a slingshot. This is good because it will help perpetuate the fear of slingshots. Go anywhere policemen congregate (dally debriefings. union meetings, donut shops) and get your picture taken with as many police officers as possible. We will caption the picture such that it appears that you and the police are unified in your quest for outlawing slingshots. Infer that if the voters are for law and order they must also be for you and the outlawing of slingshots.

Always think of the voting public as sheep; if you think of the voters as sheep it allows you to say anything that is to your advantage without restraint. If you think of voters as intellectuals, you limit your lies for fear of possibly having to explain them away. And don't worry about losing the intellectuals; they are just as gullible as the dummies when fear and hate is a motivating factor. People's bias and predigest always trumps intelligent assessment. Even highly educated people will not be swayed by facts when evaluating an emotional issue.

Exaggerate the facts, if there are 10 slingshot vandals tell them there are 10 thousand. By the time your opponents gather the evidence to prove you wrong, the election will be over. And in the off-chance they are able to prove you wrong you can say it was a minor "miss-statement". Keep in mind, you can lie - then - if you get caught, you can retract the lie. The initial lie will have 8o percent more impact than the retraction so it is still a net positive. While we are on the subject of lying, it is a proven fact that if an obviously outrageous lie is repeated long enough, and often enough, people will start to believe it. For example "Obama is not a citizen". I started that one in 2009 and it's still going strong. It's like the snowball effect, once you get it started it keeps on growing.

There are many slingshot videos on Utube that can be used to scare people. All you have to do is delete the original sound track and add your own. For example, show that clip of a slingshot being used to shoot at the eye of a manikin (actually testing safety glasses). Your narrative will say the shooter is trying to penetrating the brain by shooting through the eye socket. Show clips of coconuts being used to simulate head shots in terrorist training. Another clip can shows how slingshot terrorist are being trained to shoot sharpened steel bolts into a person's chest.

When addressing a crowd, try to act and sound like a preacher. Tape all those Sunday preachers on TV; train yourself to mimic their mannerisms and voice inflections. People are conditioned from birth to unconditionally believe their preacher, act like a preacher and people will believe you without knowing why.

Use the powerful "gateway" argument at every opportunity; -- tell the people that slingshots are a "gateway weapon". The general population believes pot smokers graduate to heroin users and therefore, slingshot vandals will graduate to vandalizing with shotguns, rifles, and eventually bazookas. Pick out two serial killers (any two) and say they started out with slingshots. If you use only one example the sheep may think the correlation could be a coincidence. Using two examples eliminates the coincidence possibility in their little minds.

All good political campaigns have a slogan. Devise a catchy slogan. Repeat your slogan like a mantra, eventually the people will be repeating it like zombies. Can you imagine how many times the slogan "Wheaties the Breakfast of Champions" has been repeated for free? I suggest you start with this slogan: "Slingshots Kill, Vote for Hill".

Use analogies liberally; fortunately there are no rules on the accuracy or applicability of an analogy. Here's an example you may consider using, "Finding a law-abiding slingshot shooter is as hard as finding a needle in a haystack". Obviously not true but many people will accept it as a fact because somebody said it. An analogy can be a complete lie and the beauty is that you can use it with complete impunity. Obviously, there is absolutely no down side in using absurd analogies because the lies are hidden, improvable, and strangely, widely accepted.

If the press asks you about your previous embezzlement convection, just says you were framed by a crazed slingshot lover. Warn the voters that the slingshot perverts could accuse and convict any innocent citizen of embezzlement. See how we have turned a negative into a positive. And as a bonus we have added yet another fear ingredient into our hate-slingshot stew.

[ELECTION RESULTS]
Mr. Hill won the election by a landslide. As he promised, he was instrumental in enacting severe laws against slingshots. There is now a minimum mandatory sentence of five years in prison for anyone using or possessing a slingshot.

By Jack Koehler
aka King Cat
Only movie rights are reserved.

==============================================================


----------



## Holzwurm (Nov 5, 2010)

@ King Cat

I've pretty much enyoyed reading your story , .........actually one could replace the slingshot topic for anything else , and it still shows the true colors of those wanting to get or remain in political power ,.......... you've really hit it straight to unmask their ruthless ways







!

Thanks for posting , ........greetz , Holzwurm


----------



## Felicko (Jan 23, 2011)

I'm in.


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

This is a fiction about two of my heroes, Rufus Hussey, and my nephew, Archie. I tried to get permission to use the Hussey name, but nobody ever got back to me, so I hope I don't offend.

DON'T HASSLE THE HUSSEY

I was ten years old the day I stepped off the bus, onto the dusty ground in Carolina. I'd been sent there for my summer
vacation, whilst my little sister stayed at home, with her friends nearby. I was annoyed and jealous, not looking
forward to seven weeks in the middle of nowhere. And I had been told my aunt and uncle didn't even have a telephone, let alone 
a television. 
I was drawing a picture of my sister in a giant spider's web, in the sand on the ground, when I heard a low growl;
it was a sound to chill the heart of any small boy. There, only a few feet in front of me, was a large, flea bitten dog. No 
ordinary mutt I found out later, but a Carolina Dingo, one of the eldest of the blood-lines of our canine friends. But at that 
time, with that particular dog, I was not on friendly terms; though I did get the feeling, that the dog would like to have me
stay for dinner. I stared, it growled and took a couple of steps forward; I stared some more and the dog decided, then would 
be a good time to attack. As it sprung into the air and let out a howl, I will admit I felt scared, but the dog scurried off 
as fast as it could, leaving me standing in the middle of the hot, dusty road; scratching my head in confusion.
'That won't be the last we see of him!' I heard my uncle say. And I turned to see him, he was having a hard time walking but
I didn't care at the time.
'Uncle, Rufus?' I said in surprise. And I must say, I also added a couple of words un-suitable for a boy of my age, to utter 
in public. 'Why aren't I, dead?' 
''cause your mother asked me to look after you, and I don't like that dog, he's always botherin' someone.'
'But, why did he run away?' And my uncle looked at me, strangely.
'It has been a long time, you must've forgotten.' And he removed a slingshot from his back pocket, thrusting it into my hand
'This is gonna be fun!' he said. Slapping me hard, on the back.
The rest of that morning is a bit of a blur, I remember standing against the barn wall, a pop-can on my head. 
'Actually, uncle Rufus, I've been thinking I don't really ... JEEZ! ... that wasn't funny! Can you show me how to do it?' 
After a little tuition, I was standing aiming at the same can which had been knocked off my head. I never knew where the first
two rocks went but I know for certain, that the third one hit my thumb. And for the rest of the day, I was laughing and 
jumping, throwing things for my uncle to shoot and cursing that I'd hurt my hand so badly.
That evening set in, it slowly became too dark to shoot and my uncle, aunt and myself sat down to dinner; the house creaked,
though there was no wind, but the light was warm and the smells of food good.
'What's this?' I said. As a plate was put in front of me 'It smells good. I didn't mean ...' 
'It's rabbit pie' my aunty said smiling 'And roast corn.' and two corn-cobs dropped onto the steaming pie. 
'It's not, Flossy, is it?' My guardians looked at each other, then me. 'Wilma's rabbit; I don't mind if it is, I was just 
wondering?' 
'Boy, how would we get a hold of ...?'
'No deary, it's not your sisters pet' my aunty said 'This morning, that little critter was bouncin' around, eating his fill. Then your smart
and handsome uncle, knocked his brain sideways, and we get to eat. Now hurry, before it gets cold.'
'I'm not sure I want some now.' I said, but it did smell very good, and once I'd eaten the sweetest corn I'd ever had, my 
appetite won whatever argument it was having with my brain. And before I knew it, my hands and mouth had already tricked them
both; it was very tasty.
I woke the next day, after dreaming of a world filled with slinghots and pop-cans, to see my uncle in the doorway. 'Are you
ever going to get out of bed?' I heard him say 'I don't have school 's the 'lidays' I replied, and pulled the covers tighter.
I don't know exactly what bit me on the behind, but I definately heard the snap of elastic; they didn't like layabouts, in 
that household. After three boiled eggs, five rounds of toast with honey and a hot bowl of oats though, I was ready to 
sit somewhere soft and watch cartoons.
'We gotta get going, Archie.' My uncle said. And he handed me an empty bag 'We gotta catch dinner, before we go to work.'
When we were walking through the fields that morning, the sun low on the horizon, I could see a long way off; I remember 
thinking it was wild and empty there, but I would find out that it was full of life, you just had to stop and look. During 
the first part of the walk, I was watching my uncle, trying hard to get along at speed. He was walking badly I now noticed, 
but when I would mention it, I would get shushed 'I don't need your legs, to get me dinner.' 
At one point, I was waiting for my uncle, when I saw a snake on the ground near my leg; its head was reared, poised to strike. In the blink of an eye, it was cut in half. 
'It's getting warmer by the second boy, but still, you must've nearly stepped right on 'im; best stick by me' And I did. 
Three times I turned my head, to see a dead rabbit tumbling through the air 'You gotta be quick, Mr Bunny, to hop away from me' After a while we stopped, he placed his hand on my shoulder and pointed to a herd of rabbits in the distance.
We came back with five rabbits that day, and I came back with a new attitude, though I didn't know it then. There were so 
many things I was introduced to over that holiday, that I still think it's amazing I know anything else. I went back for the 
next three summers, every year saying I would always come back; I showed my friends how to make the best slingshots, and 
they all wanted me to teach them how to trick shoot, like my uncle. But like all things, it came to an end. Not because of my
uncle's passing, I'm almost ashamed to say, but because other things, like girls and partys came into my life. But I always 
had a shooter in my pocket, and learnt how to make many types 'You never know, when you might meet a snake' I would say. But
crowds would always gather when I started to shoot things out of the air, and I would always tell them fondly of my uncle, 
Rufus.


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

Anyone read my story?


----------



## Winnie (Nov 10, 2010)

I've never written a story before but a choice like that makes it worth trying.

Second Childhood

Joe chuckled quietly to himself. Here he was squatting behind a bush with a slingshot out on his friend's farm thinking about some of the things he had done as a kid. Maybe this is what a "second childhood" really looked like. Oddly, trying to differentiate between his thirteen year old self and his fifty year old self was half the fun. Out on the "back forty" of his friend's property sitting behind his makeshift blind was a bit comical for sure. Calling his bush a blind might be overstating it a bit too . A few twigs and a huckleberry bush would have to do the job. But the point was that he was out-of-doors, and he was hunting for his dinner.

He had been practicing with his slingshot for months now. He had become pretty good too. Put a pop can out there thirty or forty feet and he could hit the bottom of the can fairly predictably. Do that with a half inch lead ball and he was thinking he had a fair chance of cleanly killing a rabbit.

On some levels it seemed pretty silly. He could always have dinner at home or go get a burger. His wife was torn, on the one hand, wanting him to have dinner at home. But, on the other hand, the prospect of being able to weave a good story for her friends was appealing too. Goodness knows she did have some stories to tell about him.

As he hunkered down behind the bush and began to adjust the branches of the huckleberry he hoped his makeshift blind would be all he needed. He had chosen this spot because the sun would be at his back and he would be downwind from the field in front of him. Crouching in the bushes this close to the field he could see the crisscrossing of the rabbit trails in the thin grass before him and a bit further beyond that the patches of sweet clover the local rabbits seemed to love. Around him little spider webs were being built by the parachute spiders that had drifted in that morning using a small tendril of web as a sail. They would jump off a twig or leaf and the short piece of web carried them to wherever the wind would blow. 

It had been less than six hours since he had left work early and pulled into his friend's driveway. He unloaded the few things he needed to set up his weekend camp and within a couple of hours he had things packed in and set up. It was not a fancy camp. In fact, the point was to keep it simple. He had used some plastic tarp to build a lean-to. A fire pit in front of the lean-to and a log or two beyond the fire to reflect some of the heat back into his sleeping area completed most of his preparations. It was amazing that having set everything up no more than several hundred yards from the county road he felt as though he was in the wilderness.

He squeezed closer towards the huckleberry. He could almost feel the daily stress begin to flow out of him. It was replaced instead by a growing awareness of his immediate surroundings. The sun drenched grass had a smell that resembled mown hay and the breeze gently blowing towards his hiding spot brought with it the sweet smell of the clover just beyond. When he shifted his weight to the left he could pick up the sweet fruity smell of the ripe huckleberries growing on the bush he was hiding behind. "If this works out," he thought to himself, "these huckleberries might go well with wild rabbit." He had grabbed some onions, some garlic and a few sprigs each of rosemary and sage as he had passed by his friend's large garden earlier shortly after getting out of his truck.

Assorted ways of cooking rabbit over a camp fire started to work their way across his thoughts when a slight movement some thirty feet to his left brought his visions of roasting rabbit to a sudden halt. His awareness suddenly narrowed to a singular purpose and a hope that his quarry would soon emerge into the green clover target zone just ahead.

It is funny how a simple encounter with a grouse last winter had gotten him thinking about slingshots after so many years. He had played with them as a boy. He and his friends would make them out of the forks of branches and inner tubes. But that was then and this was now. Now he had the internet and the ability to do research. What he had with him today was a slingshot of his own design. It was small, only three and a-half inches wide and four and a-half inches tall but it packed a wallop. He had cut his own bands out of flat latex stock and he had designed the whole package to be small enough to always keep in his pocket and yet to be readily accessible and always loaded. He accomplished this by carving a notch into the bottom of the handle that was deep enough and wide enough to hold the folded-over elk leather pouch that contained the lead ball tucked into it, with only friction holding the whole arrangement securely up against the handle of the slingshot. 

Fortunately he had preloaded it when he had stepped out of the truck. While playing with the branches of his blind and getting himself situated, he had become so involved with the process that his slingshot still sat in his pocket.

The movement was there again. 

His left hand instantly started to ease towards his back pocket and he was thankful the huckleberry bush was on his left. It blocked both his and his quarry's view of each other as he, in one smooth motion, reached into his pocket and felt the leather pouch holding the lead ball in place as he lifted the slingshot free. He had trained himself to, without looking, orient the slingshot, and now, with one hand on the slingshot and the other on the pouch, he pulled the pouch and ball free. Keeping his eye on the area from whence he had heard the sound, he un-wrapped the bands in the reverse of what he had done when he had wound them around the slingshot earlier. The smooth motion continued with his left arm extending towards the target and his right hand retracting past his ear. The same instant that he squared the slingshot towards his target and he felt the bands come to full extension he saw movement just beyond the clump of grass about thirty feet from where he stood. 

Practice had taught him that aiming seemed to be fifty percent actual aiming and fifty percent instinctual. And, sometimes, not often, but sometimes, it all clicked. It had happened to him just yesterday. It was like a jet fighter locking onto the target or like one of those kung-fu movies where the only thing you see is the target and you "become the arrow" and all that stuff. One of those times that makes target practicing really fun. He almost heard his mind click. It was happening now. And this was not target practice.

It was in that same moment, as his world shrank down to a furry spot just behind the eye and below the ear of the rabbit before him, in that same moment that he knew he was dead on, he felt the band reach its full draw and he knew he was going to enjoy roast rabbit this evening. All that was required was the quick and crisp release of the pouch containing the lead ball and that had already happened almost without thought.

His shot had been true. His quarry had died instantly.

As he stepped around the bush he felt like that thirteen year old again. He felt proud and pleased in a fundamental "me against nature" sort of way. Gone were the extra hours and the extra worries that dogged him with this crazy financial recession. Gone were the mortgage payments and the price of gas and the thousand little things that he kept alternately at bay.

What he had here was a fine rabbit and he would shortly have a fine fire to cook his fine rabbit. Tomorrow was Saturday he wasn't due back until Sunday night.

And anyway, with all of these huckleberries close by, there ought to be a grouse around here somewhere too.


----------



## JoergS (Dec 17, 2009)

Great stories! I will re-read all of them when the time has come. Selecting the best one will be a tough decision.

Mind you, my birthday is fast approaching, and if you want to participate, then you should hurry.

Also, I plan on combining all the stories into an ebook (.pdf) - will contact the authors via PM for their permission to do so. The ebook will be free to download for everybody, to boost the community.

Jörg


----------



## Ram (Jan 19, 2011)

Okay here's my attempt at a story for Joerg. It's a Hollywood-style zombie slayer with (just slightly) improbable heroic slingshot action.









Terror on the Island.​
A short story by Moreluckthanjudgment.

I stood twenty feet from the catchbox. Drawing a small lead pellet from the pouch on my hip I re-loaded and fired again. A satisfying sound, but once again, the shot was infuriatingly off-center.

This was my favourite part of the day. Dinner was finished. My son, Ben, was asleep in bed, and in the background ACDC were informing me of their exploits in a series of raucous single-entendres.

Ahead of me lay an evening set-aside for catapult practice, searching for that elusive perfect shot. The one where the target seems in sharper focus; the one where you don't have to aim; the one where you know you've nailed it even before you reach full draw.

There was a sudden, explosive crash and my heart leapt. What the **** was that? It wasn't the noise of glass being broken in the street outside, it was closer and my senses were screaming at me that the danger was immediate. My curtains were moving. Someone had smashed my living room window and was climbing into the house. My house!

I stood, too shocked to react as my curtains were ripped down and a man, short and well dressed, with a look of terror etched on his face clambered awkwardly into my living room.

Without thinking, I raised my catapult and shot. The lead pellet smacked hard into his forehead. There was enough force in the shot to stun a man for several minutes, but he kept coming. The wound was pouring blood into his eyes yet he hadn't even stumbled. He kept advancing towards me, moving strangely, stiffly, as if he'd just learnt to walk.

Numb with shock I stood still as he approached. His arms came up and his fingers locked tightly around my neck. I fell backwards beneath him and tried to shove him away. Despite being smaller than me his strength was devastating. I wrenched at his fingers but they wouldn't budge. Knowing i would be finished if I didn't get away, i scrabbled with one hand for a weapon, any weapon. My fingers found the ammo pouch on my belt; no good. Then they closed on the metal slingshot lying beside me on the floor. I gripped it hard and looked at his face, searching for something to attack; his eyes or his throat maybe.

There was a strange lump on his neck, white and pulsing. It was positioned just to the side of his jugular. Whatever it was, it was in reach and it looked painful, so that was my target. Gripping my catapult by the forks I jabbed its handle into this strange growth on his neck. It burst like a giant blister and i was showered in white puss. My attacker collapsed as his strength vanished and he lay half on top of me, holding his neck and sobbing in a weak voice, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I hadn't realised until now, but this was the first time he had made any sound at all. I shoved him off me and pulled myself to my feet. I had no idea what was going on but all I could think about was grabbing my son and running to safety.

I staggered, still fighting for breath, upstairs to Ben's bedroom. His door was ajar, the bed empty. How was this possible? He was two years old, he didn't have the strength to turn the handle.

I ran, in the grip of a new wave of panic, back downstairs. There was no sign of him. I barreled through the kitchen door and into the corridor. My front door was wide open and what i could see outside was like a vision from ****. More people, maybe fifty, moving in the same awkward way as my crazed attacker, all with the same mysterious lump on their necks and some carrying sticks or knives as weapons.

I stumbled out into the street, half blinded by the setting sun. A siren wailed from out of nowhere and a police riot van screeched to a halt beside me. Four uniformed men leapt from it. Forming a line in front of their vehicle they knelt down and brought assault rifles up to the firing position. One of the policemen yelled towards the crowd, "If you can understand me, get down on the ground NOW." I hit the deck. Shots rang out and some at the front of the crowd fell down, only to get straight back up again. I shouted, "Stop! Stop! I think they can be saved." But my words were drowned out by a policeman yelling, "Aim for their heads, aim for their heads."

I lay on the pavement not three feet from the closest gunman, and watched in horror as they shot in unison and four of the 'zombies' nearest us dropped suddenly, shot dead. I kept shouting and trying to get the polices' attention, but these were professionals, totally focussed on their targets. I watched, unable to tear my eyes from the carnage. The crowd kept advancing, and although their numbers were thinning, they were no more than thirty yards from us now.

An old man, reaching the front of the line, fell as a round exploded his skull. Behind him, and now at the front of the advancing mob, was a young boy with long blonde hair that really should have been cut a week ago. It was my boy, Ben, and he too had a lump on his neck that had not been there an hour ago.

The policeman nearest me swung his rifle towards my son. "No!" I yelled and leapt, grabbing at the gun. The policeman lost his balance and fell to the floor, his weapon discharging harmlessly into the evening sky. He instantly re-aimed the rifle at me and his fingers closed on the trigger. "Stop!" I screamed at him. "We can save them, they don't have to be killed."

He didn't look convinced, but I was still alive so maybe he was going to give me a chance. It appeared they were already aware that if someone can speak, they're not infected. The other policemen had stopped firing and were staring at me.

I wouldn't have more than a few seconds to convince them so hastily jammed my hand into the ammo pouch on my belt. Lead balls scattered everywhere but i managed to cling on to one and load it into the slingshot still in my hand.

"Just watch" I said, and brought it up to the aim. I had one chance to save my son, and this was it. The bands drew back smoothly as the muscles in my back tightened. The bulging lump on my son's neck was less an inch from his windpipe, this was going to have to be perfect. The target came into line with the forks, sharper and clearer than ever before. I shot, smoothly.

My world moved in slow motion. I saw the lead pellet impacting on my son's neck, and a sudden burst of white spray. He swayed for a moment, then fell forward with arms outstretched and hit the floor. I didn't turn to look, but could feel the men beside me bringing their guns up to fire again. Then Ben started crying.

I heard a barked command, "He's alive. Cease fire, cease fire" from behind me. Ben was holding his neck and struggling to his knees. I felt a surge of elation run through me, I had saved him! Then, as a cold chill swept through me, I realised my mistake.

Ben had been part of an infected, crazed and murderous mob. Now, he was no longer one of them.

My hand shot back to the ammo pouch.

A man, early fifties, staggering murderously towards my boy. Acquire the target, focus, release. He dropped to the floor, hands on his neck. A woman, long dark hair, wielding a samurai sword such as people hang on their walls for decoration. Acquire, release. She fell forward clutching her neck. I took a step forward and shot again, totally focussed, no longer even assimilating the details of my target. Shoot, step forward, shoot, step forward.

I was making progress, but not quickly enough. The mob was closing on my son who was sitting helpless in the road crying. I was almost there, nearly close enough to grab him and run but suddenly I was out of ammo. Towering above Ben was a giant of a man holding an old hockey stick. I was still too far away.

The man raised the stick high above Ben's head about to bring it down. I was helpless, I couldn't reach him in time. Then, as if from nowhere, the long, curved blade of a sword carved through the air behind him. It swung in a graceful arc, striking him on the neck and passing clean through. His lifeless torso fell to the ground a few feet in front of me. Standing there, motionless, with tears in her eyes and a blood-stained katana in her hands was the woman with the long dark hair I had shot and 'freed' moments before. "Come on," I yelled at her, bending to pick up my little boy.

As i bent down, I saw the man's severed head. It rolled towards me and i noticed it had been cut through just below the growth on his neck. The growth was the bloated abdomen of an insect-like creature. It had attached itself to his neck and was now trying to extricate a myriad of long thin tentacles from his brain. I stamped on it and it popped beneath my shoe like a small water bomb.

I ran back to the Police line holding Ben tightly. The woman with the sword and a few of the other people I had freed with my slingshot were already there. The police C.O. was shouting at us. "Get in the van. NOW!"

We all piled into the riot van. As we sped away from the scene I got my first look at Ben's injury. It was no more than a small bruise on his neck with the burst remains of the insect still attached by its tentacles. I couldn't bear the thought of it in Ben so i pulled gently at the creature's flesh. The tentacles slid out easily, leaving nothing but tiny red dots on his skin.

The policeman who had been giving the orders had been watching me closely as I worked on my son. "What's going on?" I enquired. "Is help coming?"

"No." He replied. "Nearly everyone's infected. The mainland's got it just as bad as us so we're on our own for now."

He shouted to the driver, "Head for The Arena." Then he addressed everyone in the van. "The Arena is a secure area and the only way in is through the turnstiles. We'll get inside and attract the infected to us with the p.a. system. We'll let 'em in one at a time using the turnstile, drag 'em to the floor and rip the bugs off 'em. Any questions?"

It didn't sound like much of a plan, but right now I didn't have anything better.

THE END LOL.


----------



## Ram (Jan 19, 2011)

I think it's automatically edited what it considers expletives. Where there's **** it should read the opposite of Heaven!


----------



## The Gopher (Aug 25, 2010)

Mountain Accident, A Fictional Tale

By Dan Little

As I began to stir, all I remember is the pain and the cold. I drifted in and out of consciousness while trying to piece together what had happened. My left leg was broken below the knee and cuts and bruises covered my body. The last thing I remember is driving along a mountain road listening to an old Led Zeppelin album. Now my car was lying in a small creek and I was barely alive. Somehow my cell phone survived but had no signal and the battery was dying. A sharp pain in my wrist turned my attention, I found a piece of glass from my watch face buried in my wrist. The watch had stopped nearly 20 hours ago according to the broken watch and assumed correct time on the cell phone. A brief survey of my surroundings showed about a 200 foot canyon I went down. Even more discouraging was the relative absence of a visible path my car followed. Unless there was a telltale sign from the road, nobody would know what had happened. I needed to start a fire and try to patch myself up. 

The fire was an easy job since a friend of mine had left a cigarette lighter in the ash tray. Upon warming up a bit I focused on myself. Perhaps the one thing I had going for me is that I am a medical student and make it a point to carry a rather full first aid kit in my car. I also carry a multitool with me, usually for fixing my bicycle, but I'm sure glad I had it now. Although much of the first aid kit was useless to me now I was able to close up the bigger cuts and make a cast from sticks and a bootlace. Fresh water from the creek, a warm fire and a few painkillers from the first aid kit had me feeling OK considering the circumstances. Then it hit me&#8230;the hunger. 

Getting around was difficult and painful but with the help of a stick as a crutch I managed to collect a few blackberries. The hunger pains continued. When I saw tracks along the creek bed my spirits lifted, how could I catch or kill one of these critters? Almost as quickly as I saw the tracks my memory took me back to a hot summer day on my grandpa's farm. My older cousin showed me how to make a slingshot from a forked branch. We linked several rubber bands together, cut a rectangle from and old boot tongue and managed to shoot a pigeon from the barn rafters. The nostalgia quickly diminished as a hunger pang shook me back to reality. Unloading the first aid kit again I grabbed the section of surgical tubing and pulled it. When I let go the sting I felt on my hand was more than enough to tell me it would work as bands for a slingshot. Hobbling to the nearest tree I used the little saw on my multitool to cut off a fork that looked as though it would fit in my hand. My cousin would have removed the bark but I didn't have time for that. I used the knife to cut grooves in the top of the forks and cut a chunk of leather from my car seat for the pouch. Putting it all together was a bit more of a challenge. All the thread I tried to use was too weak. Eventually I stole from the car again, finding the heavy sewing thread on the seat cushions to be sufficient. Once the slingshot was complete I headed back to the creek to pick a handful of smooth round stones and take a few practice shots. The first few shots were a bit wild but my accuracy improved dramatically. I was confident that I could hit a rabbit from 20 feet. After refilling on stones I hobbled around the bend of the creek to get away from the car and sat down between two bushes. 

What seemed like hours passed before I heard a saw a rabbit hop out into the open, I was surprised by how silent it was and made too much movement in my scramble to get a shot off. The rabbit was gone before I had a chance to shoot. Fortunately it was only 10 minutes before another rabbit (perhaps the same one) appeared. I pulled back, let go and watched the rock sail harmlessly over the top of the rabbit. Just as fast as the rock disappeared the rabbit did too. "Well," I thought, "if this was easy we would all be doing it". I shifted my position a bit and started the waiting game all over again. Each time a rabbit came within shooting distance I missed by a narrower margin. On the fifth try I connected directly with the critter's head and killed him on the spot. I have never been more elated in my life, and although I had been exposed to hunting I never took to it. But this was different, this was something primordial, a spark flashed and in no time I had the rabbit skinned and gutted and was hobbling as fast I could back to the fire. Within 20 minutes of shooting the rabbit, I was eating fire roasted rabbit meat and drink cold mountain stream water. I managed to kill one more rabbit the following morning and was rescued that evening when someone had seen the path my car made off the mountain road. 

In the hospital I had plenty of time to reflect on the series of events. Although, I would have survived without food, I didn't know when I was going to be found. The slingshot not only raised my spirits by allowing me to harvest two rabbits but the act of making the slingshot took my mind off the immediate situation and the pain and forced me to focus on something distinct. It gave me hope that I was an active part of my own survival, it stirred something in me and I felt alive. 

Since the accident I've made several more slingshots and with each one I get the same feeling as the first, a new beginning, using what nature has to offer, and turning nothing into something. This is all that anyone can ask for.


----------



## Winnie (Nov 10, 2010)

The Stalk

It was not just the sun beating down on him that was taking its toll. His muscles were beginning to ache too and a small rock that had originally been unnoticeable a few minutes ago was now demanding he shift his weight to relieve the pain he felt coming from his left knee. He could feel some sort of insect crawling up his right leg beneath his pants and, as he watched, an ant was crawling across the knuckles of his left hand. His body was screaming at him to move or to shift his weight, but his instincts demanded that he continue holding still. He hoped it would only be a moment longer even though a moment at this juncture looked like, felt like, an eternity. 

His slow careful stalking had paid off. He had worked himself into this position over the last half hour. He had started on foot but the last twenty minutes had been mostly on his belly. Moving slowly and incrementally he was now in the perfect position. Up ahead was his quarry not more than twenty feet away. It was completely unaware of the danger lurking so closely.

As it dropped its head to snatch something hidden in the grass Joe slowly pulled back on his slingshot. His grip tightened on the steel ball held in the pouch as the latex bands stretched more and more.

The heat and the rock and the bugs were momentarily forgotten as he approached full extension. It would be only a moment now and all the effort would be worth it. "Only a moment more" he thought.

"Joey! What are you doing? You get up out of there right now! I haven't been feeding those birds all year long so you can shoot them with your slingshot."

" Grandma, I almost had it and you scared it away!"

"Let me tell you buddy, you shoot one of my birds and there's going to be a lot of slow walking and sad singing and it isn't going to be for the bird" she said with a twinkle in her eye. "Now you get in here. I've just finished making some soup for lunch."


----------



## philly (Jun 13, 2010)

NoSugarRob said:


> A young girl was skipping through the forest with her hood up when a huge wolf jumped out in front of her. She quickly took her catty out and shot the wolf, right between the eyes.......
> ...............................................................................
> ......................................................
> .............................
> ...


Rob, you have a very funny but warped sense of humor. Keep em coming, I look forward to your hillarious comments.















Philly


----------



## jmplsnt (Jan 1, 2010)

There have been some great stories on this thread, and lots of them at that. I have to say, in all honesty, if I were Jeorg I'd be asking Rob what his taste in slingshots was so I could go ahead and post it to him.....

Very simple and might I say heroic literary effort. I loved this story.


----------



## JoergS (Dec 17, 2009)

Remember the time has come, tonite at 2400 hours Berlin time the deadline runs out. So if you still have a story you would like to submit, the time frame will close soon.

I will re-read the stories and will publish the winner on Saturday, the 16th of April. I will fly to Vegas for a business convention next Monday and will have to kill two days in Vegas after the show ends, couldn't get an affordable flight out earlier than Sunday. This will give me the time to select the winning story.

Jörg


----------



## NoSugarRob (Jun 3, 2010)

I


----------



## philly (Jun 13, 2010)

NoSugarRob said:


> I'm so gonna win this.. i'm on a bit of a roll with the old good fortune at the moment.


Ya got my vote bud.









Philly


----------



## Longbow (Jan 1, 2010)

I shot a slingshot and roamed the hills of southern Indiana all my life. I became a pretty good shot on small game.
When I turned 20 I was drafted into the army and sent to Vietnam and was placed out in the combat zone. I carried 
a slingshot pouch and rubber attachment with me and one knight I went on petrol with 5 other guys.
They put me on point and I got ahead of them several yards and spring several traps when I heard the Vietcong talking ahead of me.
I raced back to my petrol only to find them captured.
The too groups of enemy solders had me between them so I slipped off the trail into the jungle. Not a safe place to be in the knight.
I kept up with them until they stopped for the knight. they left 6 guards to watch them. I crawled around on the ground and found 12 
good shooting rocks.
I cut a fork with my knife and attached a slingshot harness with a thread of nylon from my canteen.
Can you image what it was like hoping not to get bit in the dark by a poison snake.
I creped to within 20 yards of the too rear guards. I shot them in the head and took them out of action before they knew what was
even going on. 
The guard that was in the middle must had heard the commotion and came back to investigate. I shot him right in the temple. He was probably 
dead before he hit the ground.
The men in my petrol was puzzled by what was going on but they were tied up and couldn't do anything.
I slowly worked my way up to the front 3 guards. I was afraid to shoot them with my rifle because I would probably bring other enemy troops 
back to our position, so I shot the first one in the head. While the other too was trying ot figure out what was going on I shot the second one
in the throat and he bent over gurgling blood. the last one bent over to see if he could help him and I charged him and cut his throat with
my knife.
I cut my men loose and they got the guns from the dead enemy. The sergeant led us back to our lines and told the captain what I had done.
The captain put me up for a Medal.
The next day a chopper landed to take some wounded back to Saigon and had orders foe me to go with them.
They made me a guard at the headquarters there until my enlistment was up.
I was sent back to the states and debriefed and given an honorable discharge.
I never herd any thing about the Medal or saw any of the old buddies from over there again.
I was glad to get back to the hills of southern Indiana where I still go hunting with my slingshot but now my too boys join me.
When ever my wife or sons ask me what I done in Vietnam I just tell them I was a guard at headquarters and never saw action.

longbow


----------



## Longbow (Jan 1, 2010)

Happy birthday to us I put a story on here but it went to the forum Its on page 18 called swamp. I don't know
how to get it back to here. I also don't know if it will count being in the wrong place. thanks.
longbow


----------



## slingshot_sniper (Feb 20, 2011)

My short story

So I've been shooting a slingshot for just over a month now, it's surprising how fast time goes when you're having fun but what surprised me the most is how well I've been shooting I simply don't miss.

Tearing cards has been a breeze even at 100 feet and find it no problem at all I can even tear them in mid air,hitting a gong through a 1/2 inch hole at 150 feet feels like second nature my success rate is 100%










And in the last four weeks I have entered 10 competitions winning them all "of course" was easy,I felt sorry at times for the other competitors but hey! what can I do if I can't miss.

Oh man I feel in slingshot paradise and life can't get any better for me









THEN!!.................
......................................

...........................................

I woke up to my wife shouting "dummy get up you've missed the bus to work"


----------



## NoSugarRob (Jun 3, 2010)

[


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

After the draw, I'll help edit if you want, just let me know when they're ready?


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

But I won't touch Rob's delve into perfection.







No I won't!


----------



## NoSugarRob (Jun 3, 2010)

h


----------



## NoSugarRob (Jun 3, 2010)

o


----------



## mr.joel (Dec 21, 2009)

****, I missed this one...I might be willing to edit though, PM me


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

Oh Yeah! Happy birthday, big man!


----------



## JoergS (Dec 17, 2009)

OK - this was a tough one. Really tough. I had eight stories in the final round, and all of them could have won, they are that good.

I slept over the issue and finally selected

*DON'T HASSLE THE HUSSEY*

by *Whipcrackdeadbunny.*

The story touched my heart, and it honors the mythical grand master as well.

Congratulations!

So, WCDB, now the choice is yours. You don't have to decide immediately, take your time.

What will it be?

Let me know if you need more pics than those here, in my blog or on youtube. I did give a few slingshots away already, but 99% of the frames I ever presented are still with me and yours to choose. There is no exception, I am opening my vault for you without holding back anything.

You can tell my by PM, but I am sure others would like to follow your sweet torture of decisionmaking, so I recommend publishing your thoughts and final choice here.

At this time I would like to say a BIG THANK YOU to all that have participated and commented. I will try to put an ebook together, so the project is not finished. Stay tuned!

Jörg


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

Thank-you Joerg; it was very kind indeed that you would offer such a personal prize. I feel for you others who tried, I really do. I've been on the losing end of a few of the contests here; but I'm sure there will be other chances for you. Maybe not for NoSugarRob, I think anyone who has the condition he has (by the look of his picture) probably won't live too long anyway.

About the catty!

I wouldn't know where to start, I hoped I'd win but didn't think I would, I like most of (if not all of) your designs, so I think I should start watching some of your old videos again; I remember you had a 'beautiful catapults' phase not so long ago. That might be a good place to begin. All ideas on the why, where and when of your favourite designs by the German, George Doors, would be welcome.

Sincerely, A Very Happy Bunny.

P.S. This one's for you, Big Man


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

In case you're wondering, Can is a predominantly, German group.


----------



## NoSugarRob (Jun 3, 2010)

[


----------



## NoSugarRob (Jun 3, 2010)

W


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

NoSugarRob said:


> Well done Whippy ya lucky sod.


Thanks Rob, I bet it was hard for him to decide between our stories.


----------



## slingshot_sniper (Feb 20, 2011)

Well done WCDB a worthy winner


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

slingshot_sniper said:


> Well done WCDB a worthy winner


Thank-you mate.


----------



## slingshot_sniper (Feb 20, 2011)

whipcrackdeadbunny said:


> Well done WCDB a worthy winner


Thank-you mate.
[/quote]

Please let us know what you choose and a video of your hands shaking when you open the package


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

I can't do videos at the moment, my camera is broken, and I don't have a video phone; but I'm sure we can find something, for this special occasion.

I spent three or four hours looking through Joerg's videos, the two nights previous; I've made a small list of the ones that really stand out. I'm thinking, I would not like to have this gift hanging on the wall; I have no fondness for pretty things wasting my time. But I would hate to ruin anything I get, by over use, or fork hits. Then there is the future to consider, such a masterful catapult maker, all his really unique pieces are bound to be worth a great deal; so that inclines that I would not use it at all. What I would wish from a catty for everyday use, is toughness and a user-friendly nature. But from a specialised hunting or target catty, I would expect a unique form, designed for such purposes. Then there are the shooters I already have, to consider. I've spent what little money I have to spare on such things, with very specific results in mind (quality not quantity) so it would be almost a waste, to double my designs. Then there is the fact, I would hate to unwittingly remove one of Joerg's sentimental, or cherished pieces; just because I wouldn't wish to upset him (though I know full well, he said no pieces excluded) Then there is the fact that I'm no stranger to working with tools, and though I don't do metal work, I can see my way to replicating quite a few of the designs; if I were so inclined. So all-in-all, there seems to be quite a few things to solve, before the final choice is made (and there's likely to be more to consider) so it may be a little while yet. 
If you readers would like to offer your favourite pieces, please do, I'd appreciate all the opinions I can get.

Still, I'm very happy I won!


----------



## NoSugarRob (Jun 3, 2010)

m


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

They call me Billy Whizz!


----------



## jmplsnt (Jan 1, 2010)

My favorite of all his pieces are the little pocket Ring Shooter and the Neanderthal Antler Phoenix. Both interesting and very practical slingshots that you don't see anyone else making. Both are also very shootable and I wouldn't hesitate to use them both in the yard on soda cans and afield for whatever presented itself. Were I to hit him up it would be one of those two or perhaps one of the cool bearing-handle W's.

Congratulations to WCDB for winning and also I'd like to recognise Joerg for being very generous with his offer!


----------



## BaneofSmallGame (Sep 22, 2010)

Congrats WCDB!!!! This is a win for the ages if I do say so myself....

I am a little disappointed in myself that I forgot all about this contest. I had a good storyline going that may have stood a chance, maybe next year!!!!!

Well, I would honestly like to ask Joerg a serious question.......did NoSugarRob's story get serious consideration? I would love to know how far it got in your rounds of elimination, we would all love to know in fact....honestly, it was brilliant

Cheers - John


----------



## NoSugarRob (Jun 3, 2010)

[


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

jmplsnt said:


> My favorite of all his pieces are the little pocket Ring Shooter and the Neanderthal Antler Phoenix. Both interesting and very practical slingshots that you don't see anyone else making. Both are also very shootable and I wouldn't hesitate to use them both in the yard on soda cans and afield for whatever presented itself. Were I to hit him up it would be one of those two or perhaps one of the cool bearing-handle W's.
> 
> Congratulations to WCDB for winning and also I'd like to recognise Joerg for being very generous with his offer!


Funnily enough, those are two of my favourites as well; and thanks.


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

BaneofSmallGame said:


> Congrats WCDB!!!! This is a win for the ages if I do say so myself....
> 
> I am a little disappointed in myself that I forgot all about this contest. I had a good storyline going that may have stood a chance, maybe next year!!!!!
> 
> ...


Thanks to you too; and maybe you should write it anyway? Joerg, may very well put it in the book.


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

One day, I'll hold a contest of my own, and I'll only tell you, Rob.


----------



## NoSugarRob (Jun 3, 2010)

[


----------



## NoSugarRob (Jun 3, 2010)

x


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

NoSugarRob said:


> just pick one and lets go !!! sorry sorry, I had a flash back to the last time i went shoe shopping with the ex


I'm slowly narrowing down the options; only a fool would rush this decision (and I didn't expect to win, so I've a lot of thinking to do) At the moment, some top contenders are 'The Howitzer' (adonized and Neanderthal) 'The Cougar' 'The Pheonix' (in metal or with wooden forks and handle) and the 'Carbon Fibre' (pocket edition) And that's simply putting some aside, because I have to only pick one ... there are so many beautiful shooters.

So Mr NoSugar, next time I remind you of an ex, keep the butter away.

P.S. I think it might be better to go ex shopping, with a shoe.


----------



## JoergS (Dec 17, 2009)

wcdb, as a word of advise, I would probably not choose a frame that is still made and sold by commercial manufacturers (namely the Howitzer and the Cougar). The value of the handmade one-of-a-kind frames is probably higher.

But of course it's your decision!


----------



## Gwilym (Dec 9, 2010)

I agree I would choose a one off hand made by joerg. That would be a real collectors piece. 
You should choose the gattling slingshot


----------



## JoergS (Dec 17, 2009)

I had a US TV producer who wanted to buy it (the Gatling) from me today... I had to turn them down. This weapon is unshippable.

I think I could make a whole comedy show around me trying to ship this beast... I mean what am I gonna do - declare it as a supersized golf bag? I don't think they make any cardboard boxes big enough for it.

I think look on the faces of the customs officer when they first see this monstrosity would be priceless.


----------



## Flatband (Dec 18, 2009)

Congratulations to the Whip man! Well done Buddy! A lot of real wonderful stories there were. There could be another story in the making-Joerg trying to explain to customs what this "wheelie thing" is and why a farm implement would be going to a TV producer! Great job to both of you! ENTERTAINMENT YEAH!







Flatband


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

Thanks for the advice guys, and the congratulations. Slowly, the list is getting shorter.


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

Hi folks! I've narrowed it down to 3! All thoughts are welcome. It's been one month since the draw, so I'll make up my mind in one week, and have to be happy with it. It's either that or it may take me forever to decide; I've been spoilt for choice.

Desert Ironwood.


----------



## Gwilym (Dec 9, 2010)

I would say the Massive or the desert ironwood. If you are going to give it a lot of use go for the massive if its for display then the DI one. Did they offer you much for it joerg. I would have thought they could have found someone to make one easy enough.


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

I really like the handle on the Massive, the palm-swell is a fine piece of design.


----------



## BaneofSmallGame (Sep 22, 2010)

Just my input here, those are some good choices, but all I have to say is I feel that the massive is something from Joerg that is less unique than many other slingshots of his. It is a metal frame, very similar to one you can buy at any time from Hogans. If I were in this position, the slingshot I would chose would be the most unique and beautiful he has, or one of them because it is impossible to narrow it down. A one of a kind from Joerg will be a treasure for many many years to come.....

Good luck choosing one

Cheers - John


----------



## As8MaN (Mar 6, 2011)

Joerg has much better slingshots that u can choose.. those are not his top 3 if ur asking me, but if u want those, then i'd go for the desert ironwood.. congrats







.


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

Thanks guys, all input welcome. I'm looking at the 'Massive' because it was the start of a particular blend of form and function, which I think is a tribute to the art of making the 'ultimate' (for want of a better word) catapult; and it is useable without much worry of degredation.
I don't think these are his top three either; however, after some careful consideration, these are currently my top candidates for possesion. For one reason or another. I have a week to change my mind, so any models you can suggest are welcome.


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

Desert Ironwood; for its sheer beauty, and collectability.

Sling of the Ring; For it's at the peak of this series, and I can't imagine a much more precise shooter with so much power. It is probably the one I could use the most, with no fear.
There was another product of this design that came after, but frankly, I thought this looked nicer.

Massive; because of the reasons I've stated above; essentially it's a blend of the other two. And, most importantly I feel, it was made by Jorg himself, so it's a worthy candidate.


----------



## JoergS (Dec 17, 2009)

All of these frames are still with me and available for you, wcdb.

The DI "Phoenix" one is a beauty, but not the most effective shooter I have because of the fork height (it is a hammer grip frame, unsuitable for finger/thumb support).

The "Sling of the ring" is an effective hammer grip shooter for sure, can be shot with chinese looped tubes as well. But it is not made for beauty.

The "Massive" can be shot in support style. It is an intermediate shooter, the fork is higher than on my newer Phoenix models.


----------



## huey224 (Apr 12, 2010)

could you choose a slingshot crossbow?

if i had won it i would have chosen the carbon fiber slingshot.


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

JoergS said:


> All of these frames are still with me and available for you, wcdb.
> 
> The DI "Phoenix" one is a beauty, but not the most effective shooter I have because of the fork height (it is a hammer grip frame, unsuitable for finger/thumb support).
> 
> ...


Thank-you, I think I'll have another look at your later Phoenix models.


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

huey224 said:


> could you choose a slingshot crossbow?
> 
> if i had won it i would have chosen the carbon fiber slingshot.


I thought hard about the x-bows, my favourite was the sidebyside shooter, but it was un-clear where the legality lay, so I put them aside (also, I can replicate most of them myself, if I so choose). I also really liked the carbon fibre 'pocket' version, but thought it was not worthy when there were so many other wonderful shooters around.


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

One more contender has been discovered; at first I disregarded it, as it was made of materials I might come into contact with. It also looked too large for my hand, so I'd like to know the dimensions if possible. And now I think its particular design would be an excellent addition to my collection, and that it's unlikely I will ever purchase multiplex, as I spend so much time using the natural alternative anyhow.
But most importantly, I think this shooter could be used very specifically for hunting purposes, and whereas at the moment I use smaller, pocketable slingshots, this is because I often go out for many hours, or a couple of days; so this would serve perfectly for those afternoon and morning walks. 
And after studying this video a little more, it looks sufficient to match the most universal band attachments on the market; that would save money, and make it a most practical prize. It's looking like a high contender, at the last moment, from the back of the field.

The multiplex and antler; and if it doesn't have a name, may I suggest the 'Stag' or maybe the German alternative (google says) 'Hirsch'


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

whipcrackdeadbunny said:


> could you choose a slingshot crossbow?
> 
> if i had won it i would have chosen the carbon fiber slingshot.


I thought hard about the x-bows, my favourite was the sidebyside shooter, but it was un-clear where the legality lay, so I put them aside (also, I can replicate most of them myself, if I so choose). I also really liked the carbon fibre 'pocket' version, but thought it was not worthy when there were so many other wonderful shooters around.
[/quote]

The sidebyside shooter really is cracking! but I think a more classic shooter would be that much more wonderful.


----------



## JoergS (Dec 17, 2009)

The antler and multiplex frame is one of my best, really. The handle is thick, though, not good for people with small hands. If you choose it and it does not work for you, we can exchange it of course.


----------



## mr.joel (Dec 21, 2009)

Is there a possibility of a new contest? I missed out on this one.


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

JoergS said:


> The antler and multiplex frame is one of my best, really. The handle is thick, though, not good for people with small hands. If you choose it and it does not work for you, we can exchange it of course.


Thank-you Jorg, I think that has swayed it for me ... by the end of tonight, I'll decide.


----------



## whipcrackdeadbunny (May 22, 2010)

I've decided; it goes to the late entry, the antler and multi-plex ... I'm going to call it the Stag I think ... and if it does prove to be too big, then I'll have to take you up on your offer of an exchange. 
Thank-you, kind Jorg, for this wonderful opportunity; I'll cherish the piece as a true fan.
Mr Bunny.


----------

