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| 1. You have to use the prompt offered but the characters that you use are entirely up to you. Just realize if you use your own characters, you're being pretty obvious. 2. Don't get mad if people figure out that its you right off the bat. Its just for fun. :) 3. Contestants will have a month to write and submit their short stories via PM to the host. After that month is up, the host will then post up the short stories for everyone to read. For this first contest, the submitting period will be between April 12th and May 12th. On May 13th, the stories will be posted up. 4. Both entries and regular members will be allowed to guess and yes, I will even give points for guessing which entry is your own. I'll leave this rule to flip flop between hosts. 5. The winner won't really get bits or DEP for winning; mostly it'll be bragging rights. However, if they want to and if this thing does well enough, they will definitely be welcome to host the next one. |
| QUOTE (Entry A) |
| "Have you ever felt lost?" Amanda didn't even look up from her iPhone; she didn't pause in her texting or bat a thickly mascara'd eyelash. "No, "she said simply. "My phone has GPS." She tapped something on the screen with a tone of finality and pocketed the gadget. She still didn't look at Cole, not just yet; her green eyes were instead focusing on a smudge on her lacquered nails. Cole found his eyes drawn to them as well. The nails had been painted a deep blue with a delicate white design. "Why do you ask?" Green and light blue eyes met and Cole didn't bother to correct her misunderstanding. "I was just wondering if I'd be able to make it from Grenada to Oxford okay, "he lied easily. An elegantly waxed eyebrow raised itself on Amanda's face. "Right, "she said. "It's just a straight shot... not that hard." The bright pink iPhone made a return and a violent squawk told Cole that she'd started up Angry Birds. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose and turned back to watching Wooded Drive. Behind him, the off white water tower of Grenada stood proud. Underneath him, he shifted on the trunk of his old, 1987 Mazda 626. The tiny car moved as he moved, a testimont to its lightness. The area around them was nothing but trees and road and dirt; it almost seemed like the water tower was the only speckle of civilization for miles. Sometimes, Cole wished it was. He moved again, this time to unfold his gangly, jean clad legs from his chest. It was just half past four and in the fall, that meant darkness was fast approaching. He jangled his keys lightly. "Lemme take you home, 'Manda, "he said and she pushed off her leaning position and walked around to the passenger side. She was completely absorbed in her phone; it was a wonder she didn't trip. Cole wandered back to the driver's side and slid in. He cut the car on and worked the clutch, carefully wiggling the gear shift into reverse. The car had been his Great Grandmother's; it only had thirty thousand miles when he got it and learned how to drive on it. His dad had only let him have it under very tense instructions to be gentle and safe with it. Cole drove it like it was made of easily scuffed pearls and fragile glass crystals. He drove Amanda south and then west over Branscome. He turned onto Carrolton Avenue and followed it straight to the Perry Estate's Subdivision. There, he let her off at the stop sign between Goza Street and Perry Avenue. She walked into the corner house and he made his leave. It only took him fifteen minutes to make it back to town. There, he came out onto the main five lane road, traveling straight in the inside lane. He came to the four way stop light that served as the center of town and tapped his his fingers on the steering wheel. Stretched out in front of him was the downtown area and the orange sky with cotton candy pink clouds. The sun was low in the sky behind him, making everything look like black cut outs. The light turned green and he coasted on through. He made it through the next two stop light before flicking on his turn signal and merging into the turn lane. He turned onto Cemetary Road took the tiny road through the forest of tombstones. The quietness and the stillness was thick; despite this, there was a distinct lack of tension. He slowed his car to a stop and parked it next to a blank, mossy headstone just off the road. Cole cut the engine and pushed the door open, sliding out of the small car. He closed the door with a thump and relished in the echo that went on for miles. Lightly he tread onto the grass and came to stand before it, relaxed and hands in front of him. A soft breeze ruffled his dark hair. "Hello, "he said simply. The stone was quiet. Cole's lips twitched. "Yes, sorry... I came really late today, "he said. "'Manda wanted to eat lunch and then we had to go to Batesville... she didn't even get what she wanted there so... we're going to go to Oxford next Wednesday..." The stone was quiet still but Cole laughed as though it had spoken. "Yeah... I think she needs to get her own car took, "he said, agreeing with the unspoken words, "but at least she pays me gas money... You should appreciate that much." Cole shifted and lowered himself slowly to the ground. He folded his knees up and rested his arms on them. He stared at the pocked surface of the granite, eyes far away. "Its so boring here, "he said softly. "I feel like I'm suffocating sometimes... Everyone expects something and I don't think I can give it to them... They think I'm going to be something great... I'm not... I'm not anyone..." The headstone was silent. Cole sighed, stood up, and brushed his pants off. "You're lucky, "he said. "You're dead." |
| QUOTE (Entry B) |
| "It has been 7 days, seven days since father left the city and headed out into the country land. Mother had told me that fathers job was very important but I didn't much believe her or want to believe her. Everyone in the city knows what my father does every year at this time of year. My father and one hundred of his best soldiers..." The wind blasted by at my back and I held the diary close, it was not every day that an schollar could find something of this level of beauty ... of this strange dialog. I would say it was a text sent down for me by god but that would be far too ironic. It wa the journal of an angel... Likely female as never has a journal of an angelic male ever been located in the ruins of Cetera the Pillar City. Adjusting my glasses and holding my shoulders I look around... I have been traveling days into the jungle to find these ruins of Cetera... a thousand years passing but everything seemed so still and undisturbed. The only thing bringing a waking to the area is the wind brushing through and the highly unique plant life native to the jungle overgrowing the stone and ruins of this place. The ppace was left undisturbed so long because of the many dangers in the jungle but quietly like a mouse I managed to avoid the monsters native to the jungle... Not without seeing some of their grotesque forms. Animals polluted with lost magical energy, If one of the creatures had found me ... Surely it would mean my death. I continue to read... "Fathers job was to travel down the pillar to the barbaric world below the clouds... He was to pass judgement on all the creatures living below as a way to controll the populaces. He did so with a grey sword he called Tetracotta- The Soul Seeker. father had showed me the sword and said it was nothing special when pointed at an angel... But for the people who lived below it was able to judge their lives with great accuracy and decide ... whether they deserved to live... or die..." I opened my eyes... This made so much sense... A thousand years ago the war started... Humanity rebelled against Angel kind for a chance to live, They feared the judgement of the angels and wishing for life they fought this envoy of a hundred soldiers. The most perplexing statement was that the city Cetra was above the clouds... Yet the pillar fragments had been everywhere when traversing the jungle ... It seemed impossible that it could have reached up into the heavens... To be so high in the sky yet having ruins so preserved on the earth? Was very bizzare... "Upon asking my mother why father had to go kill away the species who lived below she explained it was because those creatures are all born with souls... Souls? I would have asked her and she nodded peacefully. Souls were something most creatures were born with and it made them have unpredictable emotions... It made them dangerous and a menace not only to themselves but to angel kind who lived high above and ruled over all the species... Why don't Angels recieve judgement as well? I asked my mother... She sighed deeply and responded... "Angels don't have souls" " I blinked a few times... That was an odd ending for a journal... I flipped through the pages ... deeper and deeper I became lost in the books writing... Nearing the end I noticed in the smallest print I had found in the whole book... I held it up close to eye ... the wind chilling my back and giving me the shivers truly... "I'm Sorry... ... I have no soul." I could feel the air grow stagnant around me... I turned around and would continue holding the book... There was a little girl there with white wings holding a sword out to me... The sword was a dull grey... As she continued to point it she fluttered her wings ... Stretching them slightly ... I took a step closer despite my fear of what this could be... The wind had stopped all around me... Why did everything seem so still? "I-Idiot... Humans are so stupid...." The girl said with a sad expression... Suddenly I would feel the intensely sharp pain of something cutting through my legs ... my arms.. What was going on!?!? The girl would laugh slightly... Her sword glowing white... "You had a good soul too ... idiot..." And as I blinked I would realize A monster had eaten me... It was all a magic spell... A trick ... Something I should have known when the wind had grown so warm... and stopped. A cruel trick... even for a monster ... Or was it an angel? A mystery to be solved by one with a stronger soul. - Sandra Oville - Scholar |
| QUOTE (Entry C) |
| The brutes were coming. Fireworks lined the sky above the desert. The festivities on land continued, the cheering louder than the light show above. Laughing, he pressed a hand to his ear when a loud blast echoed from his left. Another firework. It sounded like a large one. Was it a cherry bomb? Cherry bombs were fireworks like its namesake - a massive explosion in tandem with a loud boom. The light was singular, monochromatic, but utterly beautiful. He followed the sound, head rotating, tilting, staring. But there was nothing. He felt confused. Where was the cherry bomb he'd heard? It was so loud, so clear. Perplexed, he stepped closer to the alleyway - and then - the ground shook. He dropped to his knees out of instinct. No! he thought, as the world closed in on him. The wind fluttered his robes. Kicked sand into his agape mouth. Rolled pebbles into the crevices between his fingers. Caught thundering footsteps (horses! he could hear the horsemen!). Wafted the gentle scent of ambrosia to tease his olfactory senses. And the wind caught his life, sweeping it into the darkness of the earth. |
| QUOTE (Entry D) |
| The ocean. Bottomless, rolling, chaotic. It was a wild frontier. People were dared to tame it, and by its nature it sought to crush them. A wooden craft sliced through the waves. On deck stood a single female figure. Strong hands worked the sail, keeping the craft on course. A flowery dress had been dampened by the ocean's spray, but the lithe sailor stayed focused. Eyes swept the waves. Ears listened for the creaks of the craft. By touch, she balanced the craft, moving her weight around the deck in an ever-shifting dance to keep the craft balanced. For a full day she had driven across the ocean. The skies had been clear thus far, but an indigo harbinger clouded the horizon. The flash of lightning looked distant and harmless. But her grip tightened. Was there a way around? No. This was a challenge. One did not shirk from it. She had already passed her trials, but just passing was not enough. Muscles relaxed, allowing a calm before the storm. Stay the course. |
| QUOTE (Entry E) |
| It was a dark, windy night; the kind of night that you could only imagine in books or movies. It was one of those nights that was just like a horror movie. The wind was incredibly fierce outside; shaking the structure of the old decrepit house a man was in. This man was old, very old. His body was hunched over, probably from the weight of life. He was completely bald and his eyes were gray and showed barely any feeling, like he was close to death. He got up out of his old beaten down chair to look at the outdoors. As he made each step, the floor creaked. The man looked at the wind as it blew fiercely; he noticed trees were bending to the force. They practically became as bent as his back. He kind of felt for the trees, maybe because in his eyes, he and the trees were the same, at least for this moment they were. As he looked outdoors he thought of a windy day in his past… The man had thought back to when he was about twelve and a very windy day then. He was playing Frisbee with his friends. “Can you get this before it hits the ground?” The man’s friend had asked as he threw the disk very hard. The wind had even caught it, pushing it even further. “Please, I am the fastest!” The man, at age twelve, replied. He dashed towards the disk with all his might. He was probably the best sprinter his age. And he was going to prove that nothing could stop him. He ran and ran, and he finally caught the disk as he skidded to a stop. “Now you take it!” The man yelled as he threw it back. The man’s friend had chased after the disk as well, and followed it to a tree that was starting to bend over. Suddenly the tree began to creak. And almost right when the man’s friend was underneath it, it cracked under pressure. The tree had landed on top of him. The moment that image had flashed into the man’s head, he was snapped back into reality. He continued to watch outside, now tears pouring down his face. He had convinced his friend that day to keep playing. It was his fault. Then the man thought, no matter how ridiculous it sounded, maybe he could become a part of the wind. He slid his window open and began to climb outside. He balanced himself onto a small ledge. Then the man jumped forward, his arms flinging outward, he hoped that in death, he and the freedom of the wind could become one… |
| QUOTE (Entry F) |
| A splash of cool in the heat of the unyielding heat. It was the only smallest little gesture of relief in the cruelty of the rolling dunes. There was no water, none for mile even. The smallest kindness the desert could offer was greatly appreciated. That said that kindness might be replaced by cruelty in the blink of an eye. That was the way of the dessert; you requested nothing, complained about nothing, said nothing against the desert. As such was tradition; as such was the way things worked in this land. He wiped the sweaty brow under his shawl and looked across the vast expanse of golden sand. Gold was as beautiful as it was treacherous. It moved so gracefully, the desert’s only way for moving the sand was the same grace he felt now. It was beautiful to watch, yet was dangerous as well. Those changing sands were as life and death. If you were not experienced in the ways of the desert you’d soon perish. That was how he lost his first son… He readjusted the reins on his camel, taking another sweep of the desert landscape. Another small grace blew across his face. The desert’s way of telling him to continue on. He nudged his steed with his heels and slowly started across the desert, the long trek home. He saw that majesty that the deserts grace provided to the sand. He narrowed his eyes to see if it was danger, snakes had a similar effect on the sand. Thankfully not the case. Another gust blew across his face and unveiled his grey bearded face. He could feel the deserts effect on him. He was tired, and someday, he’d surrender to the desserts whisper and rest eternally. But this was not the time. He readjusted himself, and felt one more breathe of wind cross his face. Time to move on. |
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| [b]Entry A Guess:[/b] [b]Entry B Guess:[/b] [b]Entry C Guess:[/b] [b]Entry D Guess:[/b] [b]Entry E Guess:[/b] [b]Entry F Guess:[/b] |
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| Entry A: Lost Entry B: Destiny Entry C: Koen Entry D: Vn Entry E: Phantom Entry F: Celtic |
