Since the first exquisite corpse went over so well (or was it under, as in six feet under?), I decided to host another one. The following brave Steemians answered the call:

We have two more than last time. This should be good.

Image from Pixabay.

Here's the way this will work

Each person in the chain should write a #Steemit post of 350-1,000 words picking up the story where the previous poster left off and leaving room for the next person to take the baton and run the next leg. It's like a relay race with literature. The last person should try to wrap up the story with a good ending. Each person should strive to have their part of the story posted within three days of hand off.

There's no requirement to keep the #story on the same arc as previous writers or to maintain a consistent voice or tone. This is a writing exercise for fun. Use your imagination and give us something to like. That's about it.

I'll write the first part of the story. After that, we'll move in reverse alphabetical order. So the posting schedule is as follows:

@sarez
@quillfire
@ireenchew
@fromage
@dranuvar
@blueteddy
@bennettitalia

When you make your post, tag us all so we can keep up with the story, and make sure you mention the next person in line after you to let them know it's their turn. You might also give a short explanation before the story to let your readers know what they are reading. I'll upvote each participant's part of the story with a 100% upvote.

Now, without further ado, let's get on with it. Shall we?

If you haven't joined us yet, join the Speculative Fiction Writers of Steemit Discord group where we get weird, horrific, scientificky, and fantastic in strange and beautiful ways.

If you do join, check out our #farmpunk and #exquisite-corpse channel. They are to kill for!

Get Off My Farm, Punk!

_{Image from
Pixabay}

Quetzalcoatl burst through the fog and slid into Main Street in Flushing, Queens with a jolt of energy he hadn't known since exploding through his mother's birth canal. His feathers were on fire and his serpent head twisted so that his neck appeared to be tied in knots while his face and eyes examined the big city landscape behind him. The tractor beneath his cockatrice-green body puttered to a standstill, blocking traffic in both directions.

Moments before, he had been on the farm where his father had trained him to harvest the best maize and squash among his clan. Confused, he tried to think his way out of this absurd predicament. The cacophany of car horns, industrial machines, and other city noises prevented him from focusing on the problem at hand. How did he get here, and how will he get home again?

Unable to think, he dismounted the tractor, wondering what the hell that contraption was anyways, and stood in the middle the street blowing at the flames emanating from the feathers on his wings. When it dawned on him that his neck was twisted, he craned it until it snapped back into position.

"Yeeeeoww!"

That hurt.

"Hey buddy!" A man in a suit and tie yelled out the window of a yellow Porsche. "When you're done screwing around with your Halloween charades, why don't you get your damned tractor back to the farm you escaped from. You freak!"

Quetzalcoatl contemplated chewing the man's face off, but decided he had better things to tend to, like getting back to the historical epoch from which he came. Whenever that was. Being a cultural deity was hard enough without having to deal with human issues like time, egos, and sun glasses. He inhaled and let loose a gust of oxygen onto both wings, first the left then the right, to put the fires out. That was annoying, he thought to himself.

He glanced both directions down Main Street, then pushed himself past the Porsche and a small sedan driven by a mousy old grandma toward the most beautiful building he could see. When he reached the steps of the Queens Library, he climbed them and stood in front of the glass door contemplating whether he should enter.

Public domain.
He could hear, behind him, the perturbations of a Chinese man with a high-pitched voice. The Mandarin dialect was as foreign as the current landscape, but he could tell the man was upset. He pushed himself through the glass entrance of the library and strolled through the first door he saw. It happened to be the ladies room.
steemit bloggers

Okay, that's it. Strange beginning. It's up to the rest of the writers to get this from Point A to Point Z. Whether we go through points B through Y or not is up to fate and authorial license. Don't worry about the challenges of overcoming weirdness, it's all a part of my diabolical plan. The idea here is to have fun. Go whatever direction you think is best, just give us a ride to remember.

And with that, I'll hand it over to @sarez.

Get your weird lit on:

The Biblical Legends Anthology Series