The famous doctor of Nevada, Las Vegas was once again back on the streets to reach out to the community. The last time they had spoke, he had encouraged the gentlemen of the world to come to him for a prostate exam, free of charge. But this time he had something less embarrassing and actually engaged both sexes of the world, a storytelling competition. 

"Hello and welcome friends. I am coming back out to the street today looking to engage in another fantastic story competition! The rules are quite simple, I shall provide a creative prompt and you just need to give us a tale to go along with it." Kenneth said to those who had gathered. 

"The prompt for this competition is as follows," there was a slight pause to build anticipation and excitement around the event.

"We've all heard the proverb before, "When the cat is away the mice will play." You've never put too much thought into it before this morning when you first heard the announcement on the radio during the news, "Police Striking for the next 48 hours. No laws will be enforced within the city. Proceed with extreme caution" 

"Now, forgive me but all contests have rules that must be followed, so please see the sign behind me that you've all politely ignored up until this very moment, I'm sure." Kenneth Said. 

Competition Rules:  Your story should be at least 100 words and a maximum of 600 words. You must follow the prompt, but you are free to take your story in any direction. One entry per person. This competition is open to everyone. Prizes will be paid out to next of kin should (with verifying information) anything happen to a participant.

Deadline: All entries should be submitted by the end of the day Sunday Jan 30th. 

Competition Prize Pool: Prize pool will be 100 credits, split between 1st, 2nd and 3rd places. 

"With the formalities covered, we will now open the stage to hear your exciting stories. Should you have any questions, comments or concerns feel free to reach out to me directly and I'll happily answer them for you." He said. Walking a few steps towards the stairs down from the stage, he paused and quickly resumed his position at the microphone that had been set up for this very event. "And a reminder, I will still check your prostate should you require it." 

Bacon walked up to the announcement posted to the streets' bulletin board. There was a new event on the shores. Upon reading the note he decided to take a nap on the park bench nearby.

Bricktop was hoping to catch a glimpse of some of the potential participants and knew a few may be local celebrities. He noticed the paparazzi around the corner as he walked up from down the street.

Waking from a short nap, Bacon proceeded to yawn and stretch his arms out before returning to the spot of discussion.

"Relevant to the recently announced writing competition, I wanted to mention that I had a dream while I was napping on the bench. It felt sort like an eureka type of moment that maybe Albert Einstein or Sir Isaac Newton simliarly experienced. Albeit, the latter ended up eating the apple that theorized gravity after a bird dropped it on his head. Regardless, my point is that the gods from somewhere up above have delivered a valuable connection related to the writing contest. The dream held a vision of the shores' new coffee shop in the Lounge District of the streets." 

Bricktop went on top explain that the name appeared in his dream as #RP and shimmered brightly with the outlining of neon lights blinking intermittantly as passerbys gazed at the coffee shop's neon sign being installed. Besides the coffee shop's name it included several USD ($) symbols to indicate potential jackpot winnings from the competition being offered at the establishment.

It had appeared the caffeine inducing business opened specifically in the hope of uniting like minded individuals who desire to compete at a high-level and perhaps one day even to a degree demonstrated by that of a outright writing professional.

Clearly, these weren't just amateur gangsters roaming the streets looking for a quick buck. Supposedly, the passcode to get through the coffee shop's entrance was 'slash' "invite" hashtag "RP". No clue of the meaning behind those particualar characters and words as that was anybody's guess. But, one thing was for certain. These were influential people who frequented the streets however there were no rules or criteria for entry. The only cavet being that you had to contribute in a meaningful way for the betterment of all parties involved. 

Who knows, maybe the alleged competition was called off for poor particpation. It had seemed no one had been incentized to prove to the streets who really was the top dog in the associated field of criminal studies. The bragging rights alone were immense. Even MRFBI's public enemy number one, Mister K. Kucaloo, would saliva at the idea of winning such rewards and prestiege. The notoriety that you would obtain if you won paled in comparsion to that of John Diligener or Chaos Spike, Stan Sticks, or Ronald McClank. Winning meant you were an overnight celebrity and had hit the big time.

At the heart of the topic was in essence the true show of the streets and not some homeless person's bias, subjective perspective. 

Once again Pepsi finds his way down the old cobblestone road. This time he stops in his tracks as he listens to the words "When the cat is away the mice will play." Aye Shakespeare was indeed an absolute genius. Never truer words spoken. He grins and begins to reminisce on this old proverb. Feeling weary, he locates a bench to rest his tired bones. As he was reaching for his cigarettes, he realized he had his black book in his possession. Staring at the book for what seemed like an eternity, he opens it up and a tear rolls down his cheek. No matter how many times this book was read, tears of sadness and joy came from this diary. Each page he turned consisted of mistakes and successes made by his lineage.  

Pepsi was determined to learn and carry on with their successes and learn from their mistakes. As he nearly endlessly walks these shores, he is reminded often of the familiar mistakes that are in the black book. It is these moments he simply shakes his head.

He learned every decision made in life is of vital importance. Nothing will be handed to him. I cannot judge unless it concerns the Catanzaro Organization. When a mistake is made brush my knees off and keep grinding away. He places the book back into pocket.

Before he leaves the audience, he concluded his thoughts with another old proverb. "Better late than never." 

"Ooooh, Creasey look!" the small girl said, tugging on her bodyguard's arm. "A contest, a story telling contest!" Maxine said as the pair made their way over. She listened intently, her tiny face squinching up as she concentrated and then raising a hand in the air she shouted, "Oh, pick me! Pick me! I have a story!" Maxine ignored the sigh of the large bodyguard next to her and once the attention was on her, she started to tell the tail of a pair called Jorts and Jean. 

In a basement office of a small brownstone in the heart of Chicago, two Cat-burglars lazed about. The room was comfortable, with prime napping spots, and places to hone their skills with their weapon of choice.  The radio was playing softly from the counter and had been since they had acquired it, as neither of them were allowed on the counters to turn it off. Jean batted at a ball, sending it across the room with the gentle tinkling from the bell inside it. Staring after it she contemplated hitting it again when the music cut out and the announcement started playing. 

“Breaking News, the local Chicago Police Department has officially gone on Strike at the encouragement and support of their Police Union.” The announcer said. “They currently feel that crime is running rampant in the city and suburbs of Chicago, and for putting their lives on the line day in and day out, deserve better wages and insurance while in the line of duty.” The ball forgotten Jean looked over at Jorts, his short orange hair matted down slightly from the margarine he had gotten in it earlier that day. “Jorts!” Jean hissed, getting up and running to him, but he was in a very deep cat-nap. Giving him shove he slowly came too, with a wide-open yawn that showed all his teeth. 

“What is it Jean?” Jorts said, before rubbing the top of his head, further smearing the mess in his hair. 

“The announcement Jorts! Did you not hear it?” Jean said, she was practically purring with excitement over it. “The Cops have gone; the city is ours!” 

“That’s nice,” Jorts said before getting off the sofa to go to the bathroom, not really listening to his partner in crime. “Real nice.” Jorts was not blessed with a fair amount of brains, unfortunately. 

Jean bristled, practically ready to claw his eyes out of his stupid head, “Jorts!” she hissed at him, “We’re cat-burglars, there are no cops!” she waited until she could hear the sounds of Jorts finishing his business and hiding it. Once he appeared again, he looked slightly more with it. 

“So we’re going to…?” Jorts asked, understanding enough that tonight was a great night for catastrophic proportions of crime, but not sure what the target would be. 

“Tonight,” Jean said, “We’re going for the big score, the Nip.” 

Finally, Jorts had the lightbulb in his tiny skull switched on. “The Nip?” he said, voice full of awe. “But ain’t no one ever robbed the Nip before.” 

“Which is why this makes it the purrfect crime for tonight.” Jean said smugly, ready to pounce. “Get your things together. We’re leaving in fifteen.” She said. 

Unbeknownst to either the woman they shared the office with had woken from her afternoon nap and now stood in the door way. She was frail, and used a cane, but she was strangely fond of the pair, although Jean merely tolerated sharing her living space.   

As the woman stood there, she listed as the small black-haired cat, and the slightly longer haired, now covered in margarine, cat, had what appeared to be a very intense conversation, meowing back and forth, a few hisses here and there, but the woman was endlessly amused. 
“Whatever are the two of you planning?” she asked before struggling over to her seat and scooping Jorts into her lap for scritches. 
 

Maxine started giggling to herself as she concluded her story, "Well, whatcha think?" she asked Dr_KennethNoisewater with a big smile, "I think it was pretty gosh darn great!" Maxine said. 

All hell broke loose as soon as the news got out about the imminent police strike, but nowhere was quite as chaotic as it was in the Absurd headquarters. While civilians were focused on securing their homes and finding ways to defend themselves, the people in Sinaya’s side of the world were plotting their biggest heists, cons, and hits yet. Her crewmates, in particular, had intricate plans of their own; for example, Sisyphus was going to try to publicly be a male prostitute while beluga was thinking of setting ablaze all the vegan restaurants he could find. 

Everybody’s hidden desires were surfacing and while it was amusing to watch, she realised she was yet to lock down plans for tonight’s festivities. The options were endless… but soon enough she found herself mindlessly getting inside her car. While everyone was going to museums, banks, and other high-value establishments, Sinaya was making her way to a nondescript two-bedroom house on the outskirts of New York instead.

As she drove through the streets and watched the world figuratively and literally be set on fire, memories of that night flooded her brain. The biting wind howling while the sound of someone pleading for their life was echoing through the night – that someone being Sinaya herself. Living in a rough part of town as a teenager, she and her older sister lived in a tent in a back alley and lived off of hustles like pickpockets and running errands for the bigger crews in town. One day, however, they put their fingers in the wrong person’s pockets: an off-duty cop who just happened to be the most hot-tempered one around town. She watched in horror as her sister, who was standing frozen in shock, was shot mere meters away from her, and felt sick to her stomach when he looked at her and smiled. “I’ll keep you alive, at least you had the courtesy to grovel.”

The flashback ceased as she pulled up to the rundown house in the middle of a quiet street. All these years, she’s kept tabs on this man but never got the guts to do what she’s always fantasised of doing until tonight. She’d killed so many people before but whenever she would drive down here, she would just sit in the car for hours until the sun came up. But tonight, fueled by hearing the unfiltered desires of her friends, she decided that it was about time she finished the job.

As expected, the house was poorly-guarded and smelled of alcohol. She heard the television in the living room and walked towards it, her gun loaded and the safety turned off. His snores were audible from afar, and as she drew closer, the floorboards creaked and woke up the man, his eyes still as cold as ever. He was a lot older now and was retired from the force, but it was definitely him. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” The look of confusion on his face was quickly replaced by recognition. “Wait, I know you…” He reached for the shotgun next to him but before he could even grab it, she unloaded the chamber into his body. She kept pulling the trigger until all she could hear were clicking noises and didn’t even bother to look at him before heading for the door. 

With that being out of the way, she then proceeded to go to the nearest pizzeria to commit the biggest, most unspeakable crime: eating a pizza with pineapples on it.

Thanks to our entrants so far! 

With only a few days left we are running out of time to get those entries submitted! There is some good money up for grabs here, so make sure you get any of those last minute entries turned in, or else..

Competition Rules:  Your story should be at least 100 words and a maximum of 600 words. You must follow the prompt, but you are free to take your story in any direction. One entry per person. This competition is open to everyone. Prizes will be paid out to next of kin should (with verifying information) anything happen to a participant.

Deadline: All entries should be submitted by the end of the day Sunday Jan 30th. 

Competition Prize Pool: Prize pool will be 100 credits, split between 1st, 2nd and 3rd places. 

If you have any questions feel free to ask and I'm looking forward to seeing what everyone can produce!  

Bacon rose from the park bench on which he had been napping to ask, "Does my contribution meet the competition's criteria for consideration?" 

Well, we had two entries for the competition. Big thanks to Sinaya and Maxine for taking the time to share their stories. 

I've decided to split the prize between the two of them. 

Hopefully next time we'll get some more traction, but that is it for now folks. Thanks for the fun and best of luck out there. 

With her pockets full with half of the prize money Maxine skipped around, occasionally a few coins falling out here and there. "Thanks Dr_KennethNoisewater I had lots of fun coming up with a story." She stopped skipping and her eyes went really large as she turned to the man, "Do you think it was make believe or could it be true?" she asked, "Could there be a Jorts out there covered in margarine?"