Second Annual .Org Writing Contest

[shifty157]

Eh. Might as well. Heres a quick little anecdote i wrote a few months back. See if its any decent.
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Down The Barrel

I looked down the underside of the six inch steel barrel, nicked and scratched from countless forgotten suns of use. Despite the revolver's obvious age it was clearly well made. The parts carefully hand machined from an era long past made it more of an antique than a killing tool. With a few touch ups it was reasonable to assume it could fetch a decent price displayed on red velvet in some auction house where naive rich men cared to keep alive the deaths of the past. The gun was heavey. You could see it in the strain in his arm. He'd been holding it against my forehead for the past thirty minutes. I don't think he had planned on it taking this long but it has and now the strain which he was trying so hard to conceal was showing itself. I almost felt bad for him. You could hear the strain in his voice as he tried to keep himself collected. He was rushing. He was tired. He was amateur. I let the barrel lead my eyes down its worn steel to its base. Five .38s smirked back at me nestled snuggly within their open chambers. I stopped at each one and fancied feeling them caress my skull in the way that only a high-velocity hollow-tip round could when its launched through the rifling. Designed and perfected over the years by those paid well and those unknowing not only to shatter bone but also to collapse in on themselves upon impact and splinter. I wouldn't have to worry about that though. This shot was going clean through. He twitched on the trigger. White with nervousness and impatience, sweaty and shaking ever so slightly with exertion his hand barely held a grip on the oversized bludgeon. Small men like him were never meant to use such a big gun. Its no wonder they took such pride in it. His plump eyes drew me away though. Angry, tired, and aggitated. He was ready. And so was I. He asked the question. I blinked and ran my tongue over my blood soaked teeth. The newly resettled silence was only disturbed by the metallic ticking of an unlocated clock and the seductively calming voice of the revolver.

[Dimeola]

Hi all, been a long time for me. I just wanted to post an example of my work. What I will do is to give the winner my email and we will figure out what you want.
Good luck gentlemen,
Dimeolas

[master of the puppets]

Out of the morning mist a shadow slithered unseen into the camp.
it made no sound as it moved but it was solid, its jet black pupils slithered from side to side taking in the entire camp in a matter of moments.
the air was cloying with the smell of withering burning death. smoke rose in a solid gray stream, covering the sky.
thunder rumbled in the distance, a growl that shook the air and somehow emanated the horrors which will soon arrive.
all was quiet as the thing wrapped its hand around the electrified fence, it made no show of the pain it undoubtedly felt as its muscular ulcerous fingers bent and broke the metal links that made up the fence.
its twisted fingers snapped and rent each chunk of metal until there was a gaping hole, it pushed its body through the hole and into the quiet camp.
The towers high above swooped lights about the floor of the camp, over the shacks where the skeletal creatures slept in starvation and fear.
and suddenly the light touched the creature and it paused. the creature did not make a move to avoid the all convicting glare but started up at the tower.
two men sat up there, one guided the light with one hand while rest the other upon the mg34 that was attached to the side.
he sat stock still his eyes locked with those of the thing, its horrid black eyes staring into his light blue ones.
his comrade walked over and gazed out to see what had so perplexed his friend. seeing the thing he raised his mp43 and took aim.
but he was to slow, for his own comrade drew his luger and pumped three shells into the SMGer.
a look of shock passed over the mans face as he looked at his friend slumped and bleeding, and he tried to scream but he could not.
because there was someone else in his head, like fire in his skull it blanketed his conscious and stifled the scream he wanted to let free.
and so that overpowering force pushed him to take a step forward, and another, pushing his legs until he was pressed right up against the wooden barrier that separated him from a 30 foot drop.
and suddenly that barrier was pointless as the being within his mind ordered him to put his leg up on the barrier and leap into open space, and so he did.
and in the last second of the fall the fire left his mind and he had control once more, so he executed the only act he had power to do, scream.
with a crunch the body landed at the creatures feet, a little chuckle escaped the creatures throat.
he took a few steps towards the next tower where the guards sat blissfully unaware until there minds were consumed by a violent force, one watched in horror as his brother in arms pulled a grenade from his belt.
the blast blew apart the tower and threw the camp into wakefulness. an Unteroffizer rushed out of the nearest barracks and was quickly taken by the creature, his mind free unlike the others but some invisible physical force pushed his arms to his sides and began to drag him.
to the horror of the 50 or so soldiers that had arrived on the scene the officer screamed as the unholy force dragged him closer and closer to the electric fence.
he kicked his legs and struggled with all his might but showing a lack of patience the officer was suddenly hurled backwards where he landed on the electric fence spread eagle, his eyes were wide with horror staring at the shocked soldiers.
the force pinned him to the fence he screamed and went into violent convulsions his limbs flailing as the electricity carved paths through his body.
a violent maniacal laugh poured out of the creature as all eyes shifted from the still convulsing officer to him.
he, it was tall at least 2 meters tall. his body scared but under the skin rippled muscles, his black hair and eyes him seem merciless, and so he was.
and then he spoke, his voice was completely inhuman, it was deep and cold, it sounded mettalic like metal scraping upon metal, almost synthasized.
"its the day of judgment and you god is calling" it crooned as it stalked twards the petrified SS troops.
"now i want you to think of all the horrid, barbaric things you've ever done" it said "that way you will go straight to hell when i kill you" and then it lauged.
one brave foolish soldier shoulder his rifle. the creature pointed at the fools head and some unknown force struck him snapping his head back and shattering his spine.
as the body slumped to the ground the creature said "and when you meet the gods tell them that the master of puppets sends his regards" and he charged.
nmost turned and fled but smome stayed devoted to there poisonous madness and tried to shoot him. as there fingers laid upon there triggers he was upon then. lashing out with invisible chains he struck into them breaking each of them one by one. none dared to get close to him but it was no matter as he entered the group his chain lashed out wrapping around the waist of one soldier he hurled him skyward where he would then plummet to his death.
chains whipped out and smashed into ones torso collapsing lungs and hearts. a liquid silver chain lashed out striking the skull of one which exploded his head like a watermelon.
it went like that for a moment, in a ring of death the master of puppets broke each of them like rag dolls.
Those who ran did not get far, and that night the master of puppets alternately laughed and cried as he walked away from the smoldering remains of the death camp.

srry, its so long (still under a tousand )but i got kinda caught up lol

[Nevyn]

Here's the opening in my present story in the .com forum.

OPENING MOVES

The city of Rome, the eternal city forged in blood, destined to greatness and favoured by the Gods. The city of Romulus. After hundreds of years of war the Italian peninsula was mostly under Roman rule. Rome’s sheer military power had made the rest of the cities submit to Rome, either by choice or by force. Either way it was the 600 men of the Roman Senate that ruled the Latin lands. And with power follows responsibility. To uphold the republics safety and ensure it’s survival the Senate and the city of Rome held the power to field several legions that were to respond to the Senate’s whims, legions that fed the lands of Latinium with endless streams of blood with their warfare. Today, the powerful family of Julii upheld Rome’s urge to fight. They battled the Gaul hill tribes to the north of the Roman republic. A war that brought them increased power and influence with every victory they collected. To the west the family of the Scipii, the wealthiest and by many reckoned to be the most powerful family of Rome (if by nothing else than their sheer economic might), had made land fall on Sicily. With a diplomatic Coupe the Gras, they had taken control over the city of Messana, right under the nose of the powerful Carthaginians. In the centre and to the east the Brutii held their influence. The ancient family of devious politicians ruthlessly holds control over the Senate. With their network of spies and diplomats they were among the decision makers in the Roman hierarchy. And it is these three families that will shape tomorrows Rome and only the Gods know who will come out on top.

In Rome, as almost everywhere, the decisions were not made in the main arena but on the sidelines. Two men slowly walked through the great garden, one of many in the eternal city, in soft conversation. As opposed to the many philosophers, senators and even a couple of lovers or two, these two did not take in the great beauty the garden had to offer. Even though they were given great berth by the rest of the gardens occupants. But then again the men in question was not just you’re average Roman Patrician. The eldest, a tall and prominent figure dressed in the finest of cloths, gave off a feeling that he was used to get what he wanted. If seers set their eyes on him they would see his commanding aura shrouding his entire being as in a veil. He was none other than proconsul Flavius Julius, patriarch of house Julii, one of the most powerful men in Rome and a war hero. By his side, a younger version of himself walked confidently. Flavius son Vibius Julius was a Senate favorite after his many victorious battles against the Gaul’s. These two had cleansed Etruria and Umbria of foreign threats a few years ago and were spoken highly of throughout Rome. For this remarkable achievement Flavius were given command as proconsul of the northern provinces of Etruria and Umbria, increasing their power stance even more. The house of Julii had suddenly become a powerhouse and was now mentioned in the same sentence as the Brutii and Scipii. And with new power comes new threats. The Brutii family recognized the growing threat and had put the family under a close watch. The family’s spymaster had dedicated several spies to this newly developed danger.

“How did the meeting with Publia Sempronius go? They accepted?” Vibius showed obvious apprehension as he awaited his father’s answer. The further growth of their house demanded expansion and the plebian leader Sempronius held a vital position in furthering house Julii’s quest for power. With the plebeians on their side they would be certain that further resources like men and money would befall them. Resources they needed to grow and uphold the war effort. “We need worry no more. They have accepted to vote with us. Two more cohorts have been assigned our two Legions. Although it was costly, I promised them a great number of slaves and a trade agreement. Much of the trade and slaving from the new provinces will be given to the plebeians, thereby robbing us of much needed currency. Damn those Plebeians, all they ever think about is money.” Flavius took a deep breath to calm him self, now was not the time or the place. They would just have to deal with the greed of the Plebeians later. “I have started the process of convincing the Senate that Leguria is vital to further secure Roman rule in the north. I’ve even ordered a few farms on the border to be burnt to further our cause.” Flavius flinched as he saw the horrified expression of his son as he processed the last sentence. “It has to be done and worse, the village has to be sacked and sold in to slavery. To Sempronius off course, part of the deal and it will help train the new men before we get cart blanc from the Senate on the war on the Gaul’s.” Behind them a man slowly slipped away after following them for the better part of their stroll. His job was done; Luca would be most interested in what he had heard. As he walked away he pondered the ease of his spying, wondering if it was intentionally by Flavius to let him hear or not. This wouldn’t have worked with the Scipii, and the Brutii would have all out killed him for the effort. Political spying was after all their livelihood, and bad performance was rewarded with death. Again he praised his luck on being on the right side as he started to lie out his messages throughout the city of Rome for Luca Brutus Antonius to find.

[Kings Archer]

My Agincourt

"Ok, Ok! let me get my breath back!"
"Just tell us... twice?"
"ugh!" Oweyn gasped for breath whilst bent over with his arm on Rubens shoulder;
"no, more."
"three times?" asked Rubens.
"keep guessing."answered Oweyn.
"For God sake Oweyn, just tell us!" Shouted Rubens.
"Well, from what they said, five."

Oweyn was everyones friend. If you wanted to know something, find replacement weapons or armor, Oweyn was the man to do it. He had friends everywhere. He had just been talking to another group of archers further down the line and they had heard news of the French army that were to confront them.

Oweyn, Rubens and Benlin were life long friends, they had been called up together to serve and it was a miracle they were still together. Rubens was of the true warrior class, he had a story for every scar. His armour was a mongrel collection of items from his sorry victims and his sword, ironically, was never sharpened yet he killed endlessly those who stood in his way on the battlefield especially against the Welsh but that is another story.

As for Benlin, well that was me...

That day, myself and Rubens had been trying to get out of Oweyn the suspected numbers that were marching on us after our fun at Honfleur, we had spilt so much French blood on this soil and I was under no illusion of what was to face us. When I heard the news I knew I was a dead man, twenty five thousand men or thereabouts! can you think of it? that many against our small band of starving, diseased men. Of course Rubens took it as he always did.

"Well anyway, now I know the good news I better head back to my boys, they will want to hear what a glorious day the King has delivered us."

Rubens was part of the 'Old Guard' as he called it, he was in with a small group in the men at arms and they were without fear, either that or they really did not think they would die, but then why would they? They had always been the first in to fight and the last out. The worst that came of them was a bloodied sword and the odd arrow wounds that were merely brushed off as scratches. They called themselves the old guard because they took it as a personal mission to keep one eye on the King whilst fighting with the other. To you and I they were insane.

I was an archer back then along with Oweyn and we had just been forcing in our stakes for the oncoming onslaught. I expected to die that day...

"Archers make yourselves ready!" screamed a voice down the line. By now silence had descended down the entire line and only a faint rumble could be heard. In the distance a vast field of metal emerged.

"Good Luck Benlin" Oweyn said to me in a frightened tone, he looked at me with a tear in his eye, he was as tough as they came, but this day, well this day was like no other for me. Oweyn always seemed to know what was going to happen. Ironically this battle he didn't reassure me that I would live, which at the time I did not think anything of. It wasn't until...........

"Archers ready!" Before I could reply to Oweyn our order came.
"Draw!"
"Loose!" The volley of arrows slid from our bows and whistled through the air and then silence.
"Archers draw!"
"Loose!" Again volley after volley we fired, the site was pitiful, the French were slowing down, their crossbowmen hardly touching our line and now their cavalry falling and sliding all over the field, what a sight it was. Some men were up to there knees in mud, others just their ankles, whilst the more unfortunate where up to their waists in this bog. Our hail of arrows seemed to be effecting the foot soldiers, the cavalry however seemed little effected by us rather the ground beneath them seemed to be there ultimate foe as they slid and piled up.

Then the order came through.

"Advance!" past our line our own men at arms and cavalry pushed forward, my King himself advancing cheering us on. Then I saw Rubens!

"Here we go again Benlin!" He laughed at me as he advanced followed by his men who rushed off before him, all I could hope was that he would kill my five as I could not see if my arrows had penetrated. Although the hail of arrows brought so many men to there knees, we never had that personal bitterness with our enemy as those men at arms.

As I saw Rubens move on he suddenly jolted to a stand still and raised his sword, I looked but could not see what his eyes had caught and I broke my line and ran over to him simply out of impulsion to protect a friend. As I was running a French Knight was charging him down and before I could reach him he was driven into the ground by the horses power, I heard his armour break and his bones crack as he was crushed. I was struck with fear. My friend was dead...

Looking back now it wasn't all that painful for me. there was a cold feeling through my chest, it felt strange, I was confused. Whilst I had seen to Rubens the same Knight had thrust his sword through my back. I remember feeling so very cold, so weak, I collapsed to the earth. The stench of that mud that day I will never forget. I was dying. For me it was the end that day as I lay by my friend. As I drifted into my dark sleep I could see the Kings colours. As I fell away from that field, he looked at me, the King looked at me for one split second as I lay dying there that day.

I had done my duty.

As for Oweyn, well who knows where he is now or what happened to him, he can probably still be found trying to sell some French armour to our own men. One thing is for sure though I will see him again, I want my money back for that damn back armour he sold me!

[Azi Tohak]

As I sit here, looking at the map of our Empire, I cannot help but think about the man who gave me the courage and strength I needed to become Emperor.


To my father

When I was growing up, I always knew you loved us, the family you could not take with you. Maybe you could not be around as much as some of my friends’ fathers were, but you always told us you were proud of us. No matter what we did and how small we thought it was, you sent us letters from the front, telling us to keep up the good work and make you and our mother proud. And we always did our best.
When mother was getting sick and you were fighting the Turks, trying to protect your Empire, every night my sister and I would write you, telling you how mother wanted to see you again before she passed. The doctors did all they could, but she got worse and worse. When you were captured because of treachery, mother seemed to know you had been taken. The very day that damnable Dux gave you to the Turks, her resolve hardened and she took over control of the Empire. I was only 15 at the time, but mother knew she must protect the Empire while the negotiations were underway. I could see her failing, a little more each day. Sister and I slowly began to take the reigns. We knew we had to get you back before she died. We knew that we had to hold on and give you an Empire to come home to.
On your arrival in Constantiople, fresh from being released, you ran straight to the Blachernae. You did not see the Patriarch, nor address the people. You ran, as fast as you could through the city, your guardsmen struggling to keep up. I will never forget the look on your face when you opened the door and saw her, with Sister and I by her side, in that bed. You looked at her with tears in your eyes as you slowly walked in, and took her by the hand.
“You did well…to get back…in time,” mother said. I remember, for none of us could say anything. Sister and I were holding each other and mothers’ hand, weeping. You were standing there, the Emperor of the greatest Empire on Earth, crying. None of us could say anything as she breathed her last.
After that, you were a bastion of energy. You fixed the internal problems that had arisen during your incarceration. However, the terms of your release had been harsh. We, as an empire, had lost Lesser Armenia, Anatolia, Cyprus and Rhodes in the treaty. The loss of income could have destroyed the Empire, shaken as it had been by your capture and the rebellion of the Dux. But you managed to persevere.
Your death came as a shock to everyone. I remember rushing to you, in the woods, and holding your hand while you whispered your last words to me.
“My son, you have become a good man. I’ve always loved you and your sister, more than anything in the world. Make me proud.” I could not hold back the tears. I knew I was going to miss you, the best father a boy could ask for.
Sister and I were devastated. To lose you, so soon after mother…we were stricken. But the man you had appointed to watch over us, Monk Photius, would not let us shirk our duties. I was old enough to become Emperor in word and deed. Thanks to your foresight, you had placed people loyal to our family in every important position in the Empire. The transition could not have gone more smoothly, internally.
But, as I am sure you could have predicted, the Turks and Egyptians immediately moved on the Empire. Our armies in Nicaea were routed and only the brilliant actions of Cousin Manuel just outside Trebizond kept the Turks from over running that theme. On my 18th birthday, I was on my way to confront the Egyptians who were fighting with the Turks for Anatolia, remembering you and the way you always lead your army. That memory, and the memory you inspired in our soldiers, gave us the ability to crush the Turks, and then annihilate the Egyptians. I will not bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that I followed your example. I followed up the victories by running the Turks back to the Hell from which they came. The Egyptians, bereft of leadership with the death of your old nemesis Aziz, were nearly destroyed. I marched into Antioch with the governors blessing. Jerusalem, the City of God, welcomed me with open arms. I heard that they were expecting you to arrive. They remembered how magnanimous you were in victory, and I followed your example. Measures were taken to ensure the loyalty of the populace; celebrations were thrown to honor the return of our Faith to God’s land. But in all the triumphs, the best complement I received was from old Monk Photius, when I returned to Constantinople.
“You are your father’s son,” he told me with a smile. That is all I had ever dreamed to be.
You taught me well father. Every battle, every siege, every victory, I thanked God for your example. And now, our Empire stretches farther than it has for hundreds of years. Without your guidance, leadership, experience and love, I do not think our Empire would have been able to withstand your death. I know I almost did not.
But the last words you spoke were always on my mind, no matter the circumstance that faced me. I would not let you down. I would not surrender to despair. I would carry our people forward.
I hope I have made you proud.

With all my love,

[aw89]

Lord

”Lord, give me the power to endure what I cannot change” the man in the ragged brown cloak chanted while walking over the old oak floor. He made his way to the northern wall, and knelt by a small cross. He sat there silently for several hours.
After night closed in, the critters around this shack could hear the fierce chanting from the man in the ragged brown cloak. “Lord! Give me the power to endure what I cannot change!” he chanted out in the night. When the moon had reached its height, the chanting had started to drop in volume and could soon only be heard by the keenest hearing animals.
A bat flew past one of the few windows in search of insects. And it heard the quiet mumbling which the chanting had evolved to. “Lord, give me to power to endure what I cannot - should not - change” it heard from the man in the ragged brown cloak.

A rabbit jumped around in the clear morning, and could see in the distance, a mushroom cloud in the sky.

EDIT: I forgot the title, could I add it? (No editing rule)

EDIT 2: I added a title, I sent a pm to monk before he dicided not to judge us. (computer trubble, no chance before now to check the forum)

[Ludens]

This is my story. It is a bit out of place in all the blood and violence: my story is, ahem, different. It is 716 words long and without a title. I hope you like it. Feel free to comment on it, though please do so via PM.

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   As the first light beams of a new day entered the hotel room, she lay in bed, watching the patterns the light created on the ceiling and thinking about what happened last night. She sighed and stepped out of bed. Her clothes had been thrown carelessly over a chair. She picked them up and walked towards the bathroom. The bedroom door next to hers was open. She couldn’t resist the temptation of looking in. He was still in bed. He had thrown the covers on the floor and slept under a single sheet to make the hot night more bearable. His crumpled clothes were laid out on the floor.
   She leaned against the doorpost and mused that he was actually quite pretty. Not handsome, but pretty in a boyish sort of way. Only his expression didn’t quite fit, but now he was asleep and his face expressionless, he was pretty.
   Suddenly, he opened his eyes and looked straight at her. “Good morning,” he said in a clear voice.
   She stepped back instinctively, but answered, “Good morning,” in the same unaffected voice.
   An awkward silence fell. Finally, she said, “You awake quickly.”
   “I have been awake for several hours,” he answered. She didn’t reply. After a while he added, “I have been thinking about the usual things you think of when you lie in bed in the morning. About what happened last night, about what I am going to do today, about whether I should stay here or go to the toilet.” The last words were said with half a grin, and he moved his upper body in an upright position.
   “Be my guest,” she answered, smiling as well.
   “I already went two hours ago.”
   “At five o’clock?” she asked in amazement.
   “Yet lag, I suppose,” he said, half-shrugging.
   “It is only a time difference of one hour,” she replied, as if interrogating him.
   “So? I always get up at six.”
   Another silence fell. This time, she was the one to break it. “About last night –” she started.
   “Not before I’ve had a shower,” he interrupted, not quite looking at her. She stared at him for a moment. Then she turned and walked to the bathroom quickly. As she closed the bathroom door she saw he was lying down again, but his eyes were open and staring at the wall. For a moment, she thought she could see them flash toward the bathroom door.
   She took a short shower and dressed. As she stepped out of the bathroom, she saw he had gotten out of bed and was sorting through his clothes. He yawned.
   “Not used to rising early, I see,” she said with a smile.
   “I –” he started, and then stopped. He looked at the wall and shrugged. “Apparently,” he said. She waited for a further reply, but he only felt his cheek, still gazing at the wall. She turned around and stepped into her bedroom.
   She saw him walking past, clothes over his arm and an electric shaver in his hand, but he didn’t look at her. She heard him shave and take a long shower. As she waited, she made a half-hearted attempt at reading, but her eyes kept straying to the window or to the bathroom door.
   As he walked out again, fully dressed, he yawned again.
   “Not used to rising early and not fully awake even after a long shower. You must have very interesting things to do each evening,” she said, smiling. He gave her a stern look, but she returned his gaze and kept her smile.
   Finally, he said, “The petit dejeuner starts at half past seven. It should be lovely quiet now. Shall we have breakfast, miss?” with an inviting gesture towards the door.
   She took a moment before answering, “Yes, I would like some breakfast,” adding, “sir,” with emphasis.
   They did not talk on the way towards the breakfast room. She was determined he should be the first to mention the subject. But he didn’t bring it up when they sat down at a breakfast table. He didn’t say anything at all, apart from asking her to pass this or that or inquiring whether she wanted something. Finally, when breakfast was almost over, he spoke, “About last night –”
   “Yes?” she said urgently...
...
..
.

[Leonin Khan]

1000 words precisly, if youre not counting the title, wich i hope you dont

The Stranger's Quest

It was a beautiful night. The sky was bright and the pale moonlight shined upon a rider. If you’d looked closer you’d saw a deadly tired face. From were did this stranger come. Miles away from here that was sure. At an inn he stopped as he dismounted his horse, the stable boy arrived. “Take extra care of my horse,” the stranger asked as he tossed a coin to the boy. Then he stumbled inside the inn.
He asked: “Host can I have a hot meal and a place for the night?”
“Yes you can, stranger,” the host replied. “That will be 17 silver denarii’s.”
The stranger pulled out a little leather sack out of his pocket. With greedy eyes the host looked at it. How more coins the stranger took out of it, the wider the eyes of the host opened. Never had he seen so much money. After he had paid the host he walked back to an empty table in the corner of the inn. He sat there resting for about an hour when his meal arrived. It looked delicious. He ate and he ate, till he could eat no more.
When he was finished the host came to him and asked: “did you enjoyed the meal, Sir?” “Yes I did, it was delicious,” the stranger answered gentle. “Now I would like to know where my room is.”
“Wouldn’t you prefer to play some cards with me and those gentlemen over there?”
“No I don’t, I’m very tired and I would like to sleep now. The undertone in the strangers voice made clear that he couldn’t be persuaded to loose his fortune in one night. Now the host had to seek another way.
“Just follow me, Sir,” the host said onderdanig as lead the way upstairs.

In the middle of the night when the stranger was sleeping, the host sneaked into his room. He silently searched for the little leather sack. He was so busy searching that he didn’t noticed that the stranger was awake. His two eyes were waiting to cross the eyes of the host.
“Hello, what are you doing there,” the stranger asked nicely when his eyes crossed that of the host. Stunned by these words the host didn’t answered.
“What are you doing there?” This time the stranger became mad.
“I…eh…I.” That was all the host could bring out. The stranger stood up from his bed. This was where the host was waiting for, he hief his knife and tried to stab the stranger in his back. But with a fast move of the stranger’s leg, the host flew through the room and fell on the hard wooden floor. He lied there dazzled by the hard crash.
“Now I want to know where Sir John’s castle is,” the stranger asked with his normal gentle tone.
“I don’t know where you’re talking about,” was the answer. Without saying anything the stranger reached for his sword. Immediately the host changed his mind and said:
“Go west, go west and ask it there.”
“If you’re lying I shall return.” And he disappeared from the room.

When the sun set, you could see a rider appear on the horizon. No one knew who he was, but he was going west. He quickly got up with a farmer that was bringing his goods to the market.
“Sir John’s castle, where can I find it,” the stranger asked the farmer.
“You must follow this road till it splits in two, then go north,” the cheerful man answered. “Though I wouldn’t go there if I was you.”

As the stranger neared his target the night begun to fall. When he had finally reached Sir John’s castle it was pitch-black. He decided to wait for the day, for the castle gates were then opened. He kneeled on the ground and prayed:

“Oh god, may I succeed in my quest.
Let me finish what tried to finish me once.
May the Ancestor strengthen my hand and guide my blade
I too shall be brought low be death
But until then let me have glory”

Thunder broke the brittle silence of the land. A surge of raw energy lifted the stranger’s body into the air and briefly, in the heart of the flash, he saw the face of god. Glory surged through him and radiance surrounded him. All things were possible with blessings of the Divine.
With these new powers he decided to wait no more and kill the man that haunted him in his dreams for a decade.

He walked straight towards the guards at the gate. Stunned by the mere presence of the Stranger, the nimble guards quickly fell on their knees. He didn’t paid attention to these unholy men, and continued his path as the gates opened by the touch of his magic. A rain of arrows descended but none of them seemed to hurt him. They all fell dead on the ground inches before their target. The soldiers didn’t believe their eyes. That stranger had just survived a vicious rain of deadly arrows. Many fell on their knees and prayed to the Lord to rid them of this devil.

Sir John that had awakened from all the noise. Stumbled down the stairs to the main hall, what he was about to see would haunt him the rest of his short life.
“Do you remember me,” a powerful voice asked. Sir John looked around but saw nobody.
“I’m the son of Leonin Kha, the one you’ve so cowardly killed in his sleep.”
“No…that can’t be.” “You must be dead, no man can rise from his grave.”
“I didn’t died that day, but you did.” “Now I come to finish what you didn’t.”
The stranger pulled out his sword and with one mighty blow he beheaded Sir John.
Seconds after this event the guards came in to only find Sir John dead. The only thing that betrayed that the stranger had once been there was a black cape on the ground.

[Monk]

For a very special friend.

==================
Cyriaca knelt to the ground as she breathed in the cool, morning air. Her eyes closed in her exhaustion as she could feel her body screaming for water, begging for rest. Yet she couldn’t stop. Her eyes darted open as a ray of sunlight cast through the trees hit her face. Her ears perked up as she sat silent for a moment, listening. There, mingled with the breeze, rolling along the ground. Racing footsteps; her hand strayed to the hilt of her sword and suddenly she sprang from her seat on the ground. Her throat seized up and demanded water but she paid it no heed, she had to keep moving.

The huntress burst from the bush as she came into a path between the heavily wooded areas. A small piece of animal fur dangling from her armor as she breathed heavily, Cyriaca scanned the area around her, the many trees made it impossible to see anything unless… There! A shadow darted from tree to tree, moving as quickly as lighting and melding into shadows before her eyes could identify it. “You’re mine” her face was overcome by a slight smile and her eyes took on a blue glow. Kneeling down slightly she got ready; her hands reached the ground and she looked for the shadow. It would not escape again. Suddenly out from under a high tree it appeared, moving quickly to the west. Without another word Cyriaca sprang from the ground and ran after it, a cloud of dust taking up after her until she disappeared into the bushes once more.

The shadow jumped from side to side in front of her, moving under the safety of the trees. Yet Cyriaca kept pace with it easily, her speed matching the strange object’s easily as they both raced through the wilderness. Her sword clicked and clanged against her belt, drawing the attention of the shadowing object. Reacting to the coming hunter it increased its speed and began to pull away. Cyriaca’s surroundings were but a green blur she moved so fast, and when the object began to move faster her eyes took on a frustrated glare. “Not this time!” she cried as she summoned all her strength and poured it into her legs.

Faster the two went, and slowly the gap began to close. The shadowy object was slowly being overtaken by the hunter. She had him now; Cyriaca reached her hand out as she came closer and closer yet just as she was about to grab hold of it, it vanished right before her eyes. A wave of confusion hit her right before she ran through a wall of green leaves. Her eyes were overcome with light and she became blinded by a wave of warmth and sunlight. A huge gust of air took her as she felt herself falling; the ground below had all but disappeared and as her eyes slowly adjusted she saw why. The object had led her off a ridge. She was overcome with embarrassment that she’d let herself be fooled.

With a loud thud the huntress hit the ground, her legs bending to absorb the recoil; yet the fall was too much. Her legs flipped out from under her and she found herself upon her back with the warm morning sun on her face; a slight pain coursing through her legs and chest. A roar filled her ears; and as she looked to her side she saw a waterfall not far off. A long river ran near her and she now lay upon an open field of green grass. She let out a sigh, realizing her defeat. Slowly Cyriaca’s eyes closed, enjoying the feel of the warm sun on her tired and aching muscles.

As her eyes opened she saw falling toward her green leaves, they drifted down effortlessly like snow and fell beside her. One fluttered and weaved its way upon her face; resting on her nose. The cold leaf felt good to the huntress.

A low growl grabbed her attention, her hand reached to her sword hanging from her belt. Only too find it was gone! Cyriaca’s face flushed with fear, she must have lost it in the fall. Yet her fear turned to amusement when she looked up. For standing over her was a tiger striped cat. In the cat’s mouth sat humbly her sword; the huntress let out a soft laugh as she slowly sat up and looked upon the cat. She reached out and took her sword and nodded in thanks. The cat sat down and lifted a leg, scratching the back of its ear.

Cyriaca just smiled. She grabbed a container from her belt and opened it, squirting a cold liquid into her mouth. Her dehydration melted in a moment as the water soothed her tired muscles. The cat looked upon her, and she upon it. Their eyes met and the huntress laughed.

“I’ll catch you one day Loki; then you’ll be it!” she laughed between pants. Loki just yawned, the game had worn him out.

Tag
By Monk

[Voigtkampf]

The Avenger
==========


The pain that would take the very heart of me.

I am on my hands and knees; conquered; broken. The world is filled with blood and death and suffering. I can’t hold my sword; my fingers are weak, like those of a child. Are they mine? Is this broken hand mine? Is this shredded arm mine? Or is this a dream? A midsummer’s dream I fell into under the old oak near my house, a spoiled dream that sprung from some half-digested thought like a corn of sand brings forth a pearl in the shell? This can’t be real… This ghost in the shell…

I touch the grass, beautiful green grass, and smear my blood over it. The grass is so green that it screams in my eyes, but there is not even enough will in me to close my eyelids. It doesn’t seem real either. Only blood is real.

Has the time stopped? Have I stopped? Thoughts come slow, disjointed, like colossal icebergs floating over a dead sea. Shivers run down my back and forearms like the wind sweeps over high grass. Suddenly, there is a sky above me. I see the blue sky and the white clouds, small, few in numbers, sprinkled over the pale blue carpet that is hung above my head. Where are you going? Can I come with you? I think of becoming a cloud, and for a moment I feel myself drifting in the heights, watching myself from far above, lying on the trampled meadow, bleeding, dying. What do I care? It is so peaceful here, high up, away from the ground that must be violated and torn open to even bring forth life. We are all prisoners of the ground, trapped, cursed to be wingless. Sky and the clouds… That is the resurrection. That is the redemption that opposes us every day, sometimes it seems as if it mocks us, sometimes it seems as if it pities us.

I weigh eons. My body is a hull that pulls me down, but I want to go up, up, high and above, away from the jealous fingers of earth and the invisible bonds that tie me to it. I am trapped in my body, I can’t go up, it is a prison of flesh and bones. I am alone.

I would die thousand deaths to see her again.

To touch her face, to look into her eyes, to hear her laughter. Her laughter of thousand smallest, gentlest bells that are swung in a spring breeze. Her eyes like mountain lakes, deep and warm. Her face, like promise, faith and hope, all in one.

Her face covered in blood.

I don’t want to see it, but I see it again. Her face, her gentle, sweet, innoncent face of an angel, covered with dirt and blood. Her eyes, wide and empty, like pieces of glass. Her cry, cut off in half, gone in time, yet captured in my mind, to hollow for an eternity to come.

The dying cry of our unborn child.

Pain returns. As long as there is life, there will be pain, and as long as there is pain, I’ll know I’m alive. I feel the burning once again; my body is my home again. Back to earth, back to pain and suffering…and blood. Blood, running through my veins, blood, on her face, blood, on the green grass. Blood demands, and blood must be served. All things serve the blood.

I open my mouth, and it is wrong and bad but also good and right to feel it as my own again; I scream. I roar. One long, painful, angered shout that comes out of me, gets lost in hundreds of other screams of the battlefield, I can feel my blood gurgling in my throat as this cry of pain and hatred leaves my body, and as it leaves my body, so does the pain returns.

So does the life returns.

Hate. It is feeding me, making me strong, making me forget that I am dying, that my soul has touched the other side already, and came back marked from it. Pain now feeds me too; her face, her lovely face covered with blood is before my eyes again, it is before my waking eyes and I scream again in anger and pain and bitterness that would take the very heart of me.

It is not my muscles that move my body. It is my will, bare, naked will, soaked in anger and pain and bitterness and endless sorrow. I get up, force my limbs to move, stretch my arm, open my hand, close the fingers around my sword. It weighs hundred tons, I will never be able to lift it, and then I see her dying face before me again and I would lift the earth itself out of place, rip it out of its fundaments and hurl it into god forsaken oblivion. The sword now is light as a feather.

My body and my mind, my will that moves me, all is on fire.

I breed in power and breed out my soul. I do not care; all I need is strength. More strength, to spill blood so I may put restless blood to ease. Blood with blood. Pain to pain. Revenge to justice.

I know that I am a great giant of old days, who now walks the earth. Death shell follow me tightly, and it shell collect the souls I leave behind in the blood soaked path that my iron will guides me on.

When love dies, send hate to avenge it.

[King Henry V]

It was a murderer's moon.
A crow perched on a solitary, decaying tree stump, glimpsing for some fresh carrion in a sea of yellow mud. Like everything else, it was silent. The birds had not sung here for several years and even the stutter of the machine guns and the thunder of the artillery which had turned these once green and pleasant pastures into a place of doom had gone, moved on to somewhere else. All that was left was Death.
Through this barren wilderness trudged a soldier in his khaki great coat, his hand clasping a bayonet hanging from his belt. Though in his early twenties, his hair had already begun to grey and he bore the harrowed look of a man twice his age. Nearing the top of a high knoll, he stopped surveyed this plain of death. The mud which spread all around him was not brown. Instead it was covered with a sickening yellow-brown slime, the residue of countless gas attacks. The stench of death was everywhere. Though all was silent, the man could still hear in his mind the bursts of machine gun fire, the yelps of his former comrades as they were mown down as so many cattle and the dying cries of the wounded as they slowly drowned in the mud.
The man decided to set off again. He had a mission to complete and dangers were everywhere. But above all, he wanted to leave this place of carnage. As he reached the bottom of the hillock, he glimpsed a rotting hand protruding from the mud. He hardly even paused in his stride. He had seen much, much worse. However, near the decaying tree stump, he stopped. Something was wrong. He felt a sharp tingle down his spine. He was a killer by profession and a killer always knows when something is not right. After a few minutes the tingle went away and he resumed his march. He did not notice the glint of the silver blade as the knife sliced through the air towards him

[KukriKhan]

"Midnight, and all's well!! Midnight, and all's well!!" bellowed the watchman.

And so it is. Thank you entrants for your most excellent submissions. The judging will be tough, I'm sure.

For now, this thread is closed, to prevent accidental late submissions.

[The Shadow One]

APOLLO LUKEIOS

A Short Story by

The Shadow One


1

I love my new research assistant.

Nine years of teaching the hidden mysteries of the human mind to an endless ocean of students with thick glasses and bad complexions, and finally the Gods see fit to bless me with this radiant display of vitality and beauty. Cascades of long hair, dark as shadows with streaks of rich mahogany. Mysterious, volatile gray eyes set within a perfect sea of mocha. If there's a flaw –

"You should smile more, Atremia." I say as we walk down the aseptic-smelling corridor.

"You might not like my smile," she replies. Then she asks about the next patient.

I sigh. "Name is Cameron. Came in last night. Claims to have seen the Greek God Apollo. Works as an accountant for the firm that manages our accounts, I believe. Works long hours, lives alone. Probably suffering from acute exhaustion and delusions brought on by too little sleep, an overactive imagination, and a desperate, solitary existence. Never good for a man to be alone, I say. What do you think?"

Atremia doesn't offer an opinion.

I unlock the door. The room is dark shadows, the shades drawn. I call out: "I'm turning on the light."

"Go ahead," a soft voice replies.

I flip the switch. Lying on the narrow bed is a thin young man in his mid-twenties. His features, like his voice, are soft and feminine, his eyes blue, his hair a Scandinavian blonde that would look almost white in the sunlight. "How are you today, Cameron?"

"I'm fine." He swings his legs off the bed, sitting up. "Are you my doctor?"

"I'm the psychiatrist assigned to your case. This is my assistant, Atremia." I wave a hand in her direction, my fingers brushing her jacket. A spark, like warm ecstasy flows up my arm.

"Hello." He nods at me, smiles at Atremia.

I assume my down-to-business voice. "Let's shed some light on the subject. Atremia, will you open the blinds?"

"No," he says quickly. "Please don't."

Aha, I think. Already the psychosis reveals itself. "Why not? Is something wrong?"

"Well, it's just that – he might find me."

"Who?"

Cameron hesitates, staring at the floor. "You don't believe me, do you?"

I motion Atremia to one of the patient-proof chairs, while I take another. "I haven't heard anything to disbelieve yet. Why don't you try me?"

He smiles slightly. For the first time, I noticed his mouth is sensual, heart-shaped. With a face like that, his childhood must have been a nightmare.

"Well," he begins, "I went to the park for lunch. I go there often, to get away from the chaos of the office. I can walk in the woods and fields. And there's a creek there, people wade in it. A bridge crosses the creek, there's woods on both sides. Cross the bridge and follow the path and you come to a series of open fields where people play soccer. And that's where I saw him."

"Who?" I asked, opening my notebook.

He didn't answer for a moment. Then, he whispered, "Apollo."

"The God Apollo?"

"Yes, the God Apollo."

I assumed my quiet-patient voice. "What did he look like?"

"Golden."

"You mean, like, solid gold?"

"No, of course not. Golden – like dazzling perfection. A perfect body, perfect smile, perfect hair, perfect everything. The kind of person you can't help but fall in love with."

I coughed. "Did you . . . fall in love?"

He snorted. "Didn't you hear me? I couldn't help myself."

Glancing down, I wrote "homoerotic fantasies" in my notebook. "What did he do to you?"

"Nothing. He just talked to me."

"What did he say?"

"I don't really remember. Not all of it, anyway. It was like a feeling, more than anything. A feeling of warm joy. He said I was – "

"Yes?"

"Well, beautiful."

I wrote the word "egotistic."

"And then he said this: ‘I'll come and get you. Not now, but soon. You can come and live with me.' But that's when I got scared."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because he's a powerful God and who knows what he'll do to me. Besides, I'm not gay."

"Of course not. Can you describe his hair color?"

Cameron frowns. "Well – no, I don't remember."

"Eyes?"

Another pause. "No, just that they were beautiful."

"I see." I close my notebook and rise quickly. "That's enough for today. Try to rest and take it easy. If you get bored, there's television." I motion to Atremia and we step from the room.

"Well, there you have it," I say, as soon as the door is closed and locked. "Illusions of fantasy. So fresh and new, he hasn't even worked out the details yet."

"Do you really think so, doctor?" Atremia's voice is pure music.

"Absolutely. I'd bet my career."

2

I'm walking the same aseptic hallway later that afternoon when I freeze, my eyes staring ahead in horror. The door to Cameron's room stands wide open.

"Atremia!" I cry, running for the room.

"Yes, doctor?" She is already there, standing in the middle of the narrow room, the shades drawn back, the wind whistling through the open window, blowing out her long hair. Familiar as I am with her beauty, I've never seen her like this before, radiant and transcendent. My mind aches to look at her.

"Where is Cameron?" I demand.

She doesn't answer. Instead, she dispenses a laugh so full of demented delight and frightening potential that I'm convinced my mind will shatter like glass. Then I see something that convinces me my mind is already blown.

Outside the window, a tree, a slender laurel tree, trembles and shudders in the act of growing upward, sunlight coloring the leaves to pure gold, branches lifting towards the overhead sun in an act of ecstatic worship. And in the bark, the forming, twisting bark of the tree, I see all that remains of Cameron's feminine face.

Impossible.

But Atremia laughs again and I can't keep the scream from lunging from my mouth.

[Word Count: 999 per MS Word (not counting titles)]

*********

Just a note of thanks to Monk and everyone else who took the time and effort, and donated the prizes, to make this contest possible.

The Shadow One



Been gone awhile -- yes, a long while.

[RabidGibbon]

We Who are about to die....


“We’ll I don’t know what your all so miserable about, I’ve always been a great fan of the Games - I can’t believe I’m actually getting to take part. This is amazing!”

“Your insane, leave me alone, just stop talking ok?”

“Jesus will save me, Jesus will save me, Jesus will save me.”

“Oh great, I’m going to be fed to the lion with the Christians. That’s just great that is.”

“What does it matter, I think I’m more upset about the fed to the lion than who I’m with.”

“Well everyone will think I’m a Christian won’t they? I‘ve got a reputation to worry about.”

“Is everyone in this place mad?”

“Jesus will save me, Jesus will save me, Jesus will save me.”

“Hey no one else is going to get fed to the lion.”

“HOORAY”
“Awwww…”
“Thank Jesus!”

“They just set a Gorilla on it - It wasn’t pretty.”

“I thought Gorillas were quiet timid creatures?”

“I’d say this one is more sadistic and imaginative personally.”

“Ohh I hope I get to meet one of the Gladiators, that’d be f**king A that would.”

“Right you ‘orrible lot, oo’s next? You’ll do.”

“No NOT meeee, NOT meeeeeee…..”

“Poor little sod”

“Hey wow, he’s a bit of a nutter this guy - he just bit the Gorilla!”

“Ha ha, I think he’s going to…..”

“Oh”

“I think I’m going to be sick again.”

“Jesus will save me. Jesus will save me. Jesus will save me.”

“I didn’t know people could lean backwards so far.”

“They can’t.”

“He just did.”

“I think that’s called being snapped in two by a rampaging gorilla. Its not a form of exercise likely to catch on.”

“You know I think they’ve filed that Gorillas teeth to points. It shouldn’t have been able to bite that guys head off like that.”

“Jesus will save me, Jesus will save me, Jesus will save me.”

“Right, let ’ave another one.”

“NOOO… Take the Christian, THE CHRISTIAN!!!”

“That’s an original approach. I wonder if the Gorilla understands begging for mercy.”

“Hmmm, judging by that I’d say no.”

“Unless he was begging for the Gorilla to do that to him.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“Hey… did you hear that - Maximus Killerus is coming on later. Wow, I’m his biggest fan. I hope I get to meet him.”

“I’m just ignoring you now.”

“Jesus will save me, Jesus will save me, Jesus will save me.”

“You’d think that guy could at least tried to last a little longer, for our sakes I mean.”

“Why? Are you enjoying it in here?”

“Urrrm, no not really.”

“Have you ever seen Maximus Killerus? He’s like completely great.”

“Heh Heh, ‘nother one for Mr Gorilla.”

“What, no wait you don’t understand - I didn’t do it. I DIDN’T DO…..”

“Hey look the Gorilla’s escaping!”

“What!?”

“Its just hauled itself over the parapet into the crowd!”

“Ha Ha, serve ‘em right the bloodthirsty sods!”

“Awww yeah, this is why I love the Arena, you never know what’s going to happen next!”

“That Gorilla sure can shift it!”

“Too right - Go Gorilla GO!”

“It’s heading for the emperors box!”

“Ha Ha, I never knew Praetorian guards heads came off so easily.”

“Look out Gorilla… LOOK OUT.”

“Awww, that was a dirty trick.”

“Are you kidding - that was top notch arena entertainment. That running dive with outstretched Gladius was technically flawless! Wow, this is the best afternoon I’ve ever had at the arena.”


“I have a funny feeling it might get worse.”

“What’s coming out next?”

“Umm its some guy…”

“Is it Jesus?”

“I don’t know - Is Jesus 7 foot tall and the same across at the shoulders?”

“Oh..”

“Hey it is.. It really is…”

“Right, lets be ‘aving the Christian.”

“No, Take me, Take me!”

“Jesus will save me, Jesus will save…”

“TAKE MEEEE.”

“I thought you were having a good time in here? Wadda you want to leave for?”

“Do you know who that is out there? That’s only the Dacian Disemboweller! I’d give anything to meet him.”

“Oh….. Right.”

“Hey, A Jesus just saved the Christian!”

“What?”
“Really?”
“No way!!!”

“Only kidding - I tell you what though, for a little guy he sure does bleed a lot.”

“Blerugh”

“Oh thanks, I was really hoping someone would be sick on me today.”

“Right then, oo’s next?”

“Meeeee… Meeeee.”

“Fair ‘Nuff lad. S’always a pleasure to get an enthusiastic one, y’know that?”




“Look at him, he seems so happy.”

“Strange that.”

“Yeah, I mean most people find that sort of thing incredibly painful.”

“It was quite obliging of the gladiator really, carving his autograph into his chest.”

“Oh yeah, he can’t do enough to help others that guy.”

“Oh won’t you all just shut up. I don’t want to know what’s going on out there, Ok?”

“Fine I will.”

“Cor, what a miserable sod. What’s your problem eh?”