The December Challenge

[Drall]

The soldier appeared in the courtyard, next to the archstone, ready for duty.

His shield and spear at his side, and with the hollow, empty feeling that came with being a spirit, the soldier strode forth. He could see the King's Tower from here. It was not much further now. He had suffered through more trials than a mortal could suffer. With persistence, cunning and skill he had defeated every Demon. Not much further until his last demon, and perhaps the most powerful of all.

The Demon Slayer, the Maiden Astraea had called him, before she drove the knife through her heart, laying bare her soul for him to take. The poor Maiden had been a kind woman, looking to spread hope and compassion among a people who sorely lacked both virtues. He had defiled their sanctuary, killed their guardian, all for the Demon Soul she possessed. The soldier had walked away from that swamp with a heavy heart, his duty forcing him onwards, as always.

All that was left to him was his duty. Boletaria would never be the same. His homeland. A land of demons and undead and insane guardsmen, each hungering for souls. And now he was to slay the King he had sworn to defend. How had his duty gotten so twisted?

Three crossbowmen stood atop a dead dragon up ahead, by the main gates of the Keep. The soldier raised his shield, and their bolts all bounced off the dark silver surface. Garl Vinland's armour had served him well. The man had been Astraea's guardian before the soldier slew them both. Perhaps he should have felt guilt, but dark silver was invaluable, and the soldier needed all the assistance he could get. And so the nameless soldier had donned the renowned knight's armour.

His spear was his own, however. The same spear that had vanquished Archdemons, that had been his sole companion since this whole mess began. He advanced upon the crossbowmen, climbed the dragon, and stabbed one of the sane-less men. His shield came up just in time for another bolt. Without emotion, he slammed the shield into the broken man's face. The last man had jumped down from the carcass and took aim with his crossbow, but luckily his aim was off. The soldier descended the dragon and dispatched the final man as he reloaded.

The thick, colourless fog that blanketed the land of Boletaria had grown even more malicious the closer he came to the King's Tower. The fog that had been brought on by the Old One. The fog that would consume all the world, if he did not stop it. And so it was upon his shoulders that all the hopes and fears of humanity were thrust, the dutiful soldier without a name. To history, he would be the Demon Slayer. Perhaps they would depict him as an eight feet tall monstrosity, barrelling through hordes of enemies to vanquish the Old One and destroy it once and for all. In truth, he was simply a soldier like any other, a soldier on a quest to lull a God back to slumber, a soldier who would not die.

He no longer questioned his apparent immortality. It was just another aspect of life now, as was the constant battle with Demons and their minions. He had not slept, had not eaten, had not drank. He felt no such needs. All he had was his duty. But a duty to whom?

The Keep's battlements were just above. The soldier spotted the doorway that would lead him up. He peered within the dimly lit room, and jumped back when two ghostly, red eyes appeared in the black. A split second later, a sword clanged against the ground, and the knight readied for another attack. The soldier fled back into the open, the Red-Eye Knight in hot pursuit. The soldier barely dodged a swipe of the knight's sword before thrusting his spear with all his might. It was of no use, however; the knight brought his shield up just in time to catch the spear. The knight pressed his attack, and his strike managed to pierce the soldier's arm. The knight gave a hellish laugh, and flourished his sword. He strode forth as the soldier retreated.

As he was a spirit, the soldier felt no pain, and so what would have been a crippling blow for a mortal only served to weaken his link to the world around him. The knight charged him, and he sidestepped, moving in behind before the knight could react. His spear gutted out from the knight's chest, and with a last, demonic groan, the knight's soul exited his body, and entered the soldier's.

All at once, he felt more rejuvenated. Souls were the only thing that kept him going. Was this how the Demons felt, when they consumed human souls? It had been a subject much on his mind since the death of the Maiden Astraea. Perhaps he, in turn, had become a Demon. And what if he was? Would that change anything?

He climbed the stairs up the tower to the battlements. And there was the dragon, its scales a grungy blue, standing atop a higher rampart. The dragon didn't notice the soldier as he walked atop the battlements. Its attention was focused on the numerous crossbowmen and magicians who were simultaneously attacking the great beast. A gout of flame burst forth from the dragons mouth, licking the battlements and roasting a half of the soldiers assembled before the magicians were able to cast a spell of Warding. That was when the soldier made his move. He sprinted across the rampart, dodging burnt corpses and soulless magicians in an attempt to get to the next tower before the dragon noticed him. He made it, dodging magical blasts of energy from the magicians, Soul Arrows. But behind him he heard the familiar sound of fire raging and knew that the dragon was now unoccupied. The soldier climbed a level and left the tower.

The dragon turned its head and screeched at the soldier. The soldier sprinted forth. He only had seconds to get beneath the dragon. The dragon reared its head back, and the soldier knew he hadn't been fast enough. But something suddenly caused the dragon to turn. It screeched again, but was answered by the bellowing laugh of Biorr of the Twin Fangs. “Come and get me, you flying lizard!” Biorr loaded his crossbow and launched another bolt at the monster's head. He ducked behind a pillar as the dragon's fiery breath scorched the ground before him. “I'll distract him, slayer, you get yourself to the King!”

The soldier nodded. He rolled underneath the dragon's body and came up on the other side into a run. The King's Tower was just up these stairs. Behind him, he could hear the taunts and laughter of Biorr as he duelled the dragon. Biorr was brave, and had aided him once before, in fighting the Demon known as the Penetrator. Biorr was also mortal, and for all his bravery, his distraction would become his sacrifice. The soldier did not feel sadness at the loss of what could be considered a friend. He simply entered the King's Tower.

The Tower had seen better days. The soldier crawled over rubble and corpses as he made his way to the rickety old elevator at the end of the hall. He opened the door, stepped inside the elevator, and pulled the lever on the wall. The elevator began to rise.

After several minutes, the elevator stopped once more. The soldier's grip on his spear tightened. Here he was, at last. King Allant's throne room. He opened the door, and stepped inside.

King Allant turned when he heard the door open. He was clad in a white robe, which matched his flowing hair and gruff beard. In his hands, however, was a blade blacker than the blackest night. Around him was an aura of greyish energy, as if he had consumed more souls than his physical form could handle. He spoke no words at the sight of the slayer of Demons. He merely grunted in acknowledgement, raised his sword, and charged.

In less than a second, the King had crossed the room and struck where the soldier had stood. The soldier had anticipated the attack, however, and had rolled out of harm's way. The soldier did not expect the King to suddenly turn and slash his sword in an arc. A blast of wind came forth from his black blade and flung the soldier back against a wall. The soldier slumped to the ground, feeling the souls he had consumed begin to slip away. He rose to face the King, who wasted no time in charging once more. The soldier brought up his shield, but it was battered aside by Allant's fierce onslaught. Then the soldier brought up his spear to face the King's second strike. It snapped in two.

The third strike took the soldier's life.

He felt the familiar sensation of being ripped apart, and then he was floating through the air, his soul taking to the wind. He rushed away from the False King and the Tower, from the dragon and poor Biorr's corpse. Back to the archstone in the courtyard.

And there he rose, in a new body. He had no weapon, the spear that had been his constant companion, yet he steeled himself for another attempt at slaying the King. This time he had no Biorr to save him from the dragon, and the King would be more powerful from the souls he had consumed upon the soldier's death.

With all odds stacked against him, the soldier went forth to do his duty.

[Deleted]

“Good guns, Spartan!” Keyes voice came over the comm, “All stations, brace for castoff!”

I climb down from the gun, watching as the ship lifts off. Its massive engines grew brighter as the maneuvering jets detached, sending it tearing away from this doomed paradise.

“This is the Pillar of Autumn. We’re away. The Package is with us.”

Those were the last words I heard before everything burned around me. My whole team was decimated, lost defending one of humanity’s last bastions of survival. I hope Jun got out alive with Halsey, but looking out over Reach’s charred landscape, I have my doubts. Still, I had done my duty, to the best of my ability. It’s strangely peaceful sitting here, watching the end of the world. The towering beams of plasma in the distance are beautiful in a way, even as they scour the beauty Reach had been known for.

My hand tightens into a fist as I stare it all down, feeling helpless. Emile’s body lay broken a few feet from me amid a pile of zealots. He had been a good man, through all his bluster. In the distance, a faint outline of a Scarab burning along with the rest of the world lay. Carter’s ashes drifted in the breeze, watching over the world from the beyond. Kat’s body had been buried amid the scrap of New Alexandria, the place she had given her all to protect long enough to get most of the population away safely. Nothing remained of Jorge but a memory and the dog tags buried in one of the pockets in my armor; cold and warm at the same time, as if the metal were alive.

They had all died to protect Reach. And I was still here. So I walked, leaving the massive gun, climbing down the mountain side where a few flashes of plasma and gunfire chattered away at each other. Maybe I could make a difference, give some marines enough time to hide in the caves or shelters. Something. I couldn’t just sit here. I lose my grip as I descend, tumbling end over end, pain lighting up all over my body. And it stopped. I can’t breath as I stare at the red and black clouds of plasma-lit ash. Everything becomes dark and indistinct, dust kicking up around me. I have to get up, even though I can no longer hear the machine gun fire in the distance.

So I walk, my DMR cradled in my arms, until I come upon a broken ruin of what looks like a pipeline with demolished huts all around. It’s hard to see, even with my visor enhancing my vision. I walk along, carefully, my weapon raised as I stalk the ruins. My boot hits something hard and I look down. Staring up at me is a shattered visor and I feel the urge to throw up. A Spartan, one I don’t even know. I kneel down and reach for his dog tags, yanking them away and bowing my head slightly. I keep moving, it feels like forever I walk through the ashy ground, not even stopping for the bodies anymore. Spartans lie dead everywhere, all different armor permutations. Stab wounds, plasma wounds, limbs missing. This is our Thermopylae.

I hear the whine of repulsors in the distance, a faint shape of a Covenant dropship flying toward me. I stand there, dropping my gun to the side, standing defiant. I’ll fight until the end, among my brothers and sisters. This is where I make my last stand.

Another dropship follows the first as they draw closer, disgorging Grunts, Jackals, and Elites from their bulbous, violet frames. I raise my weapon, bracing myself against a broken wall and fire. Two of the small forms drop - blue gore coats the rocks behind them as the bullets tear through their skulls. Instantly, plasma flies at me as the Jackals and Elites return fire. I duck behind a broken superstructure, turning and firing through a gap in the middle of the wall, catching a Jackal in the chest as it moves forward carelessly. I duck again as the Covenant commanders roar over the sound of plasma scorching the masonry. I close my eyes, hearing the blood pumping in my ears and my own breathing drowning everything out. It’s hypnotizing.

I jump out again, running to the left, pumping the last of my clip into a tank squatting close to the Elite’s position. Fire consumes the immediate surroundings, shrapnel ripping through the alien’s shields and armor, piercing the skin beneath. I feel like I can actually hear the death rattles.

Fire comes from my left, a needle ricocheting off my visor, cracking it. I drop my weapon and dive toward the nearest Spartan body, coming up with a Sniper Rifle. Two shots, two Skirmishers drop. More fire comes from behind me, blasting into my shields until alarms ring in my ears. I turn and fire, expending the last two bullets in the magazine to obliterate a Brute’s brainpan. The pitter patter of feet behind me warns me of another enemy.

I swing the rifle around, catching a charging Grunt in the head and bending the rifle into a v-shape. Useless. More fire comes from behind me and I run toward it, my shields holding long enough for me to slam my shoulder into an Elite’s chest, knocking out its shield overlay. I rip out my knife and stab it in the neck before it can recover, purple blood coming away on my blade. I’m breathing hard now, a familiar stitch in my side from my days in boot, surrounded by my “family”.

I can almost hear them cheering me on as another shot cracks my visor. I pull my helmet off, feeling the dust and heat assaulting my skin instantly. A nearby Assault Rifle lies on the ground and I stumble toward it, smiling as I pick it up and remembering the first time I had ever done so. I can feel my fellow Spartans holding me up as I empty a quarter of the clip into a charging Elite. Plasma catches me in the back, my shields long gone, faint warmth spreading along my spine. Still they hold me up as I turn, shouldering into another alien before ending its life with my sidearm. More fire from the left. I shoot another quarter of the clip. Plasma rips into my side, blood leaking from a dozen wounds. I reach for my side arm, shooting yet another Elite while holding others off with the Assault Rifle.

Suddenly I find myself flying backwards as a heavy weight crashes into me, knocking my breath away. I look up just as it comes at me with a plasma dagger, kicking it away with my armored boot, strength slowly fading. Another one comes from the right side but I slam the butt of my pistol into its four pronged jaw. The one I kicked away comes back, stabbing into the dirt beside my head as I deflect its arm with my own. I laugh as the other Elite comes back with another dagger. It comes down slowly, all the pain slowly vanishing as my vision blurs.

I see my family clustered around me, welcoming me back home. All my fellow recruits from the training facility on Onyx. Carter, Kat, Jorge, Emile, their helmets all off and smiling. Other, nameless Spartans standing around them, hands on each other’s shoulders. They were all there, waiting for me to watch over the survivors with them, to share stories of our exploits and adventures, and most of all, to remember each other.

There was a lot of catching up to do. So I stood up and joined them.

[Kaez]

A woman lies on a bed in a room with no boundaries. A room with nothing. An empty room, flooded with boundless, radiant light. A gentle, ethereal glow settles down like soft mist over the bed where she lays. And there are words. There are just these few words, and her. And she is the perfect human.

She is the perfect human.

Her skin is the palest shade of pink, kissed with the faintest drop of sun. Her lips are rose and ripe and soft. Her hair is long and dark and shines. Flowing, silken streams of undulant, inklike waves that pour away from her and onto white, fragrant sheets. Her eyes, inundated by a brush of shadow and depth, kindle pastel radiance – a symphony of dancing, tangled hues erupting with a vibrant effervescence.

What is she thinking?

What is the perfect human thinking?

Look at her.

Look at her laying down.

How does she lay down?

How does she look this way?

How is she like this?

How is the perfect human like this?

Her legs move in fluid motions, hips and knees extending and contracting; turning and pulling in slow, smooth strokes. Her feet push at the sheets, collecting folded layers of clean, thin fabric. Her toes curl, enticing a delicate ripple of white to twist and and turn. Her arms extend, palms gliding effortlessly across the field of linen – then contract, her fingers teasingly tracing gentle, serpentine trails over the bed. Her chest raises, her lower back extending into a mild arch. The wells of phosphorescence are veiled by fragile, pinkish eyelids and her neck cranes. Her head turns and she moistens her lips, locks of hair tumbling and gliding into place.

She is the perfect human.

How is it to touch the perfect human?

How is her skin?

Is it smooth?

Is it warm?

Is it soft?

Is it well cared for?

Her breast expands and she draws in a deep breath.

How is the skin of her cheek?

Her legs?

Her arms?

Her neck?

She lays upon the bed. She moves gracefully, like a slow and quiet dance upon a backdrop of white. Her bed, a soft spring mattress. This is the bed in which the perfect human sleeps and makes love.

What does the perfect human sound like when she sleeps?

When she makes love?

What is it like to hear the perfect human?

Her head rests lightly upon a pillow and she exhales. It is long and soft and the sound is faint and airy. The sheets rustle, skin caressing fabric. Her tongue runs over her lips with a small, dewy sound. Her eyes open again, but it is silent. The perfect human looks. The perfect human opens her eyes and looks.

What is she thinking?

What is the perfect human thinking?

Is she thinking about the room?

Is she thinking about the sheets?

Is she remembering something?

Imagining something?

Is the perfect human thinking about love?

Hope?

How she feels?

How she doesn't feel?

What is the perfect human thinking?

Her cheeks rise but slightly. The shadow-stained skin beneath her eyes is raised and her brow barely falls. Her eyelids compress only barely, her expression tepid and ambiguous. Her blush, glossy lips part. The perfect human opens her mouth.

The perfect human opens her mouth.

“Today, too, I experienced something I hope to understand in a few days.”

How is her voice?

How is the perfect humans voice?

Is it soft?

Is it deep?

How does she speak?

How does the perfect human speak?

How is her voice?

“Around my left hand was shining a ring of hazy, white flames. I considered carefully the left side of my own dark coat.”

She is alone in the room. She is alone in boundless space on her bed. She is alone in a white, radiant glow.

Where is the perfect human?

How did she get here?

“In the middle of my heart, there was a small, white spot. I don't know what it's supposed to mean.”

What is her name?

What is the perfect human's name?

She closes her eyes. The perfect human closes her eyes. Her lips touch. Her brow falls back, her cheeks rest. The perfect human is quiet again. She lays and is still and quiet and there are these words. There is the perfect human, on a bed, and just these few words.

Her breaths draw in slowly. Her movements grow sparse and she is quiet. She is asleep, now. This is her sleeping. This is the perfect human sleeping.

How does she sleep? She sleeps like this.

Does she dream?

Is the perfect human dreaming?

What does she dream of?

Does she dream of joy?

Does she dream of fear?

Does she dream of someone?

Who does she dream of?

Who does the perfect human dream of?

How long will she dream?

How long does the perfect human dream for?

Her eyes are open. The perfect human is awake. She awakes and opens her eyes and the medley of color returns to her gaze. The perfect human is looking.

What is she thinking?

What could she be thinking?

What could the perfect human be feeling?

She blinks and lays in the bed, in the boundless space. She stretches her legs in slow, fluid motions and curls her toes. She runs her palms along the fragrant sheets and arches her neck. She moves upon the bed before parting her lips again.

Why is she perfect?

Why is she the perfect human?

“Today, too, I experienced something I hope to understand in a few days.”

[James]

Injin:

Spelling & Grammar - 1/2
Ease of Read - 2/3
Use of Topic - 2/5
Entertainment - 1/7
Quality - 3/8

Total -- 9/25

I have to say this, Injin. After the first round’s strong piece for you, this was a disappointment. And I hope that you look at both entries you have written so far and see where the first one worked and this one didn’t.

You lost a point in spelling and grammar for a few mistakes. When someone is breathing, it’s breathes. You breathe in and out. You do not breath in and out. Also there was a few other little errors, like having the full stop outside of the speech mark and stuff like that. Besides those errors, it was relatively easy to read.

But I just did not like it. And this is someone who’s actually fan of breaking down the fourth wall when I write comedy and taking it to the absurd every now and then. But if you’re going to do that; you have to do it right. And you didn’t. There wasn’t a single moment where I laughed. It was just completely random and you gave no explanation for it until the end with some cheap self-contained ‘it was the author and it was fun’ line. The way you wrote it, it didn’t even need to be Harry Potter. It could have basically been anyone.

I hope you don’t take this too harshly, Injin, because like I said you’re first piece was actually one of the best piece of writing I’ve seen from you and I want to see you keep on trucking. But just from these two entries, that I’ve seen… stay away from the comedy, maybe?

Allya:

Spelling & Grammar - 1/2
Ease of Read - 3/3
Use of Topic - 3/5
Entertainment - 5/7
Quality - 7/8

Total -- 19/25

Another strong piece, Allya!

There was the occasional mistake throughout the piece that lost you a point: a missing comma or full stop, the states should be capitalised to the States. But nothing that disrupted the flow of reading too much, and there was a flow to it. It was very easy to read.

It was a great use of topic. It wasn’t something I was expecting and I think you got into the mindset of that ‘world’ very quickly. The worrying about the fillings, the disregarding of her mental state; it all felt right. It felt like you were just continuing on from the story. However there was one problem that cost you points in the Use of Topic and Entertainment.

And it was a lack of tension. This is The Thing. It’s all about tension. And I felt a little let down that I didn’t get it. The ending was fantastic and made-up for it a little, but I think the story was a little bit too short for the horror and tension to build-up. You could have used those free 500 words to great effect, I think. However the writing itself was great, as I come to expect from you, and it was still a strong piece.

Reffy:

Spelling & Grammar - 1/2
Ease of Read - 2/3
Use of Topic - 5/5
Entertainment - 6/7
Quality - 6/8

Total -- 20/25

Reffy! Grr. I wanted to give this a higher score, but this was as high as I could go. A few missing commas and things like that lost you two points; one for the grammar mark and one because it actually made me have to go back and reread sentences because they didn’t quite make sense.

However after that, it really was quite excellent. The Use of Topic mark is so high because you nailed the Pratchett vibe, I think. To the point that you actually got a sense of his political satire… that I’m not sure you even intended. It was an entertaining read and the writing was really good. There’s not much more I can say beyond that. Another careful read-over might have scored you a 23.

Erakko
Spelling & Grammar - 2/2
Ease of Read - 2/3
Use of Topic - 4/5
Entertainment - 6/7
Quality - 8/8

Total -- 22/25

I echo what Allya said in the Discussion thread; this was very good. I didn’t spot a single grammatical mistake. However I think at one point you said that Amy was going to have to meet with Amy’s parent… which I think was meant to be Maddie’s parent. And that just hit the flow for a moment and cost you a point for the ease of the read.

Once I actually found out what the topic was, I felt it was a good approach. I liked the idea that it was both meta and also kind of not. It was well-worked. And it was entertaining. The mixture between the banality of life and that almost pervasive hint of supernatural made it a great read. And the writing itself was fantastic. I loved some of the descriptions that you had, like the Jackson Pollock painting.

Great work.

Silver
Spelling & Grammar - 2/2
Ease of Read - 3/3
Use of Topic - 4/5
Entertainment - 5/7
Quality - 6/8

Total -- 20/25

I thought that was very good. And you’ve scored some important points on the fact that I didn’t pick up on any mistakes as I read, and it was a pretty easy read as well. Taking 5/5 from those first two categories always put you in a good position.

I don’t know a whole lot about Warhammer, but the fact that I never felt lost showed that you used the topic well. You got the balance right between too much detail and not enough. So, well done there.

It was an entertaining read. It was a nice short self-contained story. I thought your use of skipping time was actually very well played. The line “Only Kristoff remained untouched by the words” really built a nice bit of tension into the story. My only disappointment was it ended up moving too fast at the end. I think you had sort of dug yourself into a hole by the time you got to the climax of the story and you had to breeze through telling the story because you were running out of words.

But well done, Silver. Good work.

Drall:

Spelling & Grammar - 1/2
Ease of Read - 2/3
Use of Topic - 3/5
Entertainment - 5/7
Quality - 5/8

Total -- 16/25

This reminded me of something you wrote long ago. It had something to do with a castle and a dragon. And I liked it, I thought it was a good piece. My problem with this one is that there was no growth. I liked it still, but if you look at people like Silver and Tam; their writing has improved considerably. And I know you can do better, we’ve all seen you can. I think you’re main problem is maybe leaving too long of a length without writing. So you end up getting rusty on what you do know, and not improving on what you don’t.

Anyway, like I said, this piece was alright and I liked it. There was a few errors I caught (like the dragons breath where it should be dragon’s breath) but nothing too bad. And it was relatively easy to read.

I had to google to find out what you were actually talking about. But other than that it was a good use of topic though. Nothing special though, you sort of kept yourself firmly tied to the story that your subject had given you I felt. I think I felt a lack of confidence in your piece compared to say Silver, which was a similar subject but he wrote like he owned it.

It was quite entertaining, you did well to give a good backstory and make a connection between reader and protagonist. And the writing was good, but not great. You started to breeze through your story and everything started to happen a bit too fast for my liking, and I think that came down to you trying to say too much for this short format.

But a good effort, Drall.

Tamwyn:

Spelling & Grammar - 1/2
Ease of Read - 3/3
Use of Topic - 4/5
Entertainment - 5/7
Quality - 6/8

Total -- 19/25

As you noted in the Discussion thread, this is a typical topic for you. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t do it well, Tam. It was a good little story.

I think I caught one missing comma and one spelling mistake so that knocked a point off. But it was an easy read, I didn’t find the narrative clunky or hard to read. I thought it was a nice perspective on an event in Halo lore, so marks there. And you felt comfortable within the world.

It was entertaining, if not slightly predictable. I mean last man standing against an invasion isn’t the most original story, but it was still fun to read. And the writing itself was very good and I enjoyed the comparison to Thermopylae. So a good, strong, if a little uninspiring story, Tam. And an improvement on last round’s one.

Kaez:

Spelling & Grammar - 1/2
Ease of Read - 3/3
Use of Topic - 5/5
Entertainment - 5/7
Quality - 7/8

Total -- 21/25

… that was interesting. No, honestly that was another experimental and successful piece. And I think my scores are awarding you for such boldness in your writing. It’s brilliant to see.

There were two mistakes. You repeated the word ‘and’ twice. And you forgot a possession ‘s at some point. And I’m pretty neither of them were for artistic reasons. However despite that, it was very easy to read to the point that I nearly missed the double ‘and’ completely. I think you’re melding together your poetry and your prose into one style of writing, which is creating a style that just flows superbly.

Now, on the use of topic. I almost considered that you actually pushed the rules a little too much, I mean fan fiction has a definite meaning that we all know. However I don’t want to punish creativity and sheer clever idea, I want to reward it. So I did. Because you really used the topic, in a new way, to perfection.

Like I’ve said, it was a flowing, beautiful read. Quite enjoyable, good sir. And the writing was excellent, as usual. But I have one complaint. And it’s going to bring back horrible memories of ‘O’ for you. I feel like you overdid the repetition, that’s my personal opinion anyway. At first, it helped with the flow, it helped build an unseen backstory, it was really working. And then it kept going. And going. And by the end of it, I felt it just became too familiar. I do realise that it would have also been hard to stop the repetition half way through, because then you lose your symmetry. But perhaps it could have been spread out further with the more narrative pieces?

Regardless, another excellent entry, Pete.

Round Two Scorecard

[/size]
1st Erakko – 22 Points
2nd Kaez – 21 Points
3rd Reffy – 20 Points
3rd Silver – 20 Points
5th Allya – 19 Points
5th Tamywn – 19 Points
7th Drall – 16 Points
8th Injin – 9 Points

Round Two Winner is Erakko![/size][/center]

[James]

Round Three
Topic: A BEGINNING - what I want is a convincing beginning to a story. You don't need an ending, in fact you shouldn't. You should have something to pull me in. What I'm looking for is to finish reading your entries and then be incredibly disappointed by the fact that I'm not going to find out the rest of the story.
Deadline: 11:59pm EST - 16th December

[Deleted]

The smell hit him first, striking his nostrils with all the subtlety of a siege tank. It was a ghastly odor, a combination of what seemed to be sour milk and a million decaying animals. It stuck to the back of his throat and burned his nose, even through the mask he was forced to wear in the toxic air. Refuse littered the ground, loose paper dancing through the air on thermals billowing out from a thousand vents. Green gas smoked lazily from them, a pale, white substance dripping from the grates to the acid-eaten concrete below.

“Are you sure this place hasn’t been infested by Zerg?” Matthew Horner sniffed haughtily, stepping in something gooey that stuck to his thick, brown boots. Fortunately, they were used, Matt having bought them just for the occasions when he had to blend in with his friend’s clientele. Dark, billowy trousers authentically patched and stitched, along with an oil-stained shirt and light jacket tied around his waist completed the ensemble. To anyone who looked his way, he would just be another downtrodden mechanic walking around this junkyard of a planet. Now I feel like one too, he thought as he scraped the gunk off against the sidewalk.

“Not even the Zerg would want a place that smells this bad, Matt,” his companion replied jovially, smiling through a mask of his own. Dark hair framed the visor, touched with gray at the temples, a matching beard cut close to the skin. His customary attire was currently replaced by clothes similar to Matt’s, a long leather duster covering the identifying tattoo of the Heaven’s Devils - Raynor's old regiment. A belt covered his midline, just a hint of the pistol he kept at his side peeking through the jacket. A frown cut through the joy, wrinkles appearing around the man’s eyes and forehead. “’Sides, Deadman’s Port’s strategically useless for ‘em. Nothing to absorb into the Swarm.”

“Unless you count the locals.” Matt grinned, nodding to a gigantic human with bleached hair glaring at them from a doorway. What looked like a tattoo of a giant bird of prey was etched along the side of the bouncer’s face, lending a bestial aspect to the already dangerous persona. A large and very illegal sidearm hung from the man’s hip in warning to any who dared approach, lit neon green from the light that he stood under.

“There’s that,” Raynor returned with a small smirk on his lips, a little of his former swagger returning to his stride. Matt followed, looking up at the fantastically green sky and wondering how such a disgusting world hid such beauty. Bright stars from the garbage that littered the orbital dump tracked across the view in a celestial dance. In the distance, a battered ship lifted off and rocketed to the sky, pieces falling off as it went, only for the detritus to be seized in mid air by the patrolling trash droids.

Shaking his head at the state of affairs on this planet, Matt checked his watch. Half past ten, the old-fashioned clock read, silver hands ticking silently around the disk. The meeting they were heading to was five minutes away, but Matt was totally lost. The street they were walking down was as dirty and broken as the last one, prefabricated buildings hastily built along the sides in haphazard manners. Stacks of cubical, compacted trash lay along one side, a man loading them onto a Vulture bike’s huge rear end. The owner sped off as they walked closer to it, turning around a corner until they could only hear the buzz of the engine. The rattle of automatic fire pierced the air, far away in the night.

“I hope you know where you’re going, Commander.” Matt tucked his sleeve over his watch quickly, looking around suspiciously. The watch meant a lot to him and he wasn’t about to let himself be mugged for it.

“Relax, kid. Tavern’s right up there. And forget all that “Commander” stuff. Just call me Jim.” Raynor pointed at a doorway on their right. “Can’t have any unwanted ears listening in on somethin’ that sounds so military. Scares folk ‘round these parts.”

“Yes, Comm- er, Jim,” Matt replied nervously, sucking in a breath of preparation before following his commander through a glass door that was covered in the same green goop that he had stepped in earlier. He’d known the other man for years and had been known to share a drink with him, but “sir” and “Commander” were the two words that came to his mind when he saw him. Not just “Jim”. Of course, his nervousness was only partially based on names.

The sound of bells clinking together lit the air as they entered, almost drowned out by the general din of the establishment. Soft music played in the background from somewhere in the ceiling, the speakers expertly hidden. A television above the bar proper was spouting Dominion rhetoric, subtitles scrolling quickly across the bottom for those who couldn’t hear it over everything else.

They took off their masks and slung them across a rack near the door, Matt secretly glad to breath in fresh air with only a hint of the outside atmosphere. However dirty the bar looked on the exterior, they had some good air recyclers.

A bartender cleaning a glass with a rag that looked like it had seen better days looked up at them and nodded toward the curtained off room in the back. That was where the meeting would take place, according to their contact’s instructions. He made a move toward it but was stopped by a slight motion from his companion’s hand.

“Why don’t ya nose around a little while I talk to our friend there? See if you can pick up anything useful about him. Sudden betrayals, dirty dealing, his reputation,” Raynor listed off quietly, leaning in to make himself heard and gripping Matt’s shoulder.

“I’ll do what I can…Jim,” Horner replied, catching himself. The Commander grinned at him and squeezed his shoulder in silent support. Raynor turned around and wandered over to the curtained room, looking all the world like a character from Old Earth’s western era. A few moments later, Matt was alone in the den of thieves and cheaters.

Modulating his face into a mask to cloak the anxiety that suddenly blossomed in his stomach, Matt slowly walked up to the bar and leaned his elbows against the surface. Flecks of colored marble were enclosed by a thin sheen of glass; the surrounding walls covered with what looked surprisingly like real wood. Dark brownish-red paneling that matched the walls edged the bar, adding a tasteful blend of respectability despite the location. Stools made of what looked like salvaged metal were at odds with the display, though the owner had seen fit to color the cushions an approximation of the other décor.

He listened to the television for a few moments, taking the sights in and affecting a suitable persona with which to blend. He stooped his back a little and cracked his neck, checking the exits and entrances nonchalantly. The feel of the cold glass on his skin relaxed him slightly, shoring up his courage enough to raise a finger to the bartender. The bald man nodded at him, still cleaning the glass as if he was trying hard to fit the stereotype. A dark, course beard covered the bottom half of the proprietor’s face, suspicion filling his eyes as he moved. Despite the wiry facial hair, his dress was relatively neat, consisting of a velvet vest that matched his surroundings and a subdued black shirt underneath. The bartender looked almost out of place on this kind of planet. Matt idly wondered how the man kept the clothes clean in this atmosphere.

“You need somethin’, boy?” the man asked in a rumbling, ponderous voice, as if he were unused to using it. The beard quivered as he spoke, his hands still moving the cup around in a winding motion as he cleaned it. Matt smiled pleasantly and tried to imitate Raynor’s bumpkin accent rather than his own posh one.

“Just a bit a’ water, please. Don’t suppose ya have anything good to eat ‘round here?” Matt replied questioningly, privately proud of himself for not stumbling over his own tongue. The bartender leaned back a bit and arched a brow, glancing over his shoulder at the lines of wine and ale against the wall.

“No food, just drink.” The man looked over at the alcohol again, as if trying to persuade Matt to buy that instead.

“Just the water, then.”

Sighing, as if he was disappointed with the choice, the man turned around entirely and stuck the cup he had been cleaning for the past few minutes under a bright, silver faucet. Clear water fell, which was another shock to Matt’s preconceptions. He had figured the best he would get would be slightly discolored liquid imitation of the drink.

“Six creds, kid,” the tender said, smoothly depositing the cup in front of Matt’s crossed arms. Horner almost gaped in disbelief, but stopped himself from looking totally a fool. He mentally controlled himself and kept a neutral voice.

“Six?”

“Water ain’t cheap. ‘Specially out here in the outlyin’ systems. You’d know that, if you were from around here,” he replied in a low voice. “You’re lucky we even accept credits here.”

[Jenny (Reffy)]

"Sir?" A man dressed in a well kept suit pushed his way into the office, not once hesitating or slowing in speed.

"What happened to knocking, Dave?" The man in the office looked up from the papers that had been strewn across the mahogany table, inlaid with green leather. Worry lines carpeted his forehead in a weave that could tell stories. Each line had been mercilessly picked out by the luminous glow of the table lamps. The man at the desk had obviously been wearing a suit at some point during the day but now it was crumpled over the arm of a spare chair, the tie discarded, and the top button on the cool-blue shirt undone.

"There's something I think you ought to see." Dave stopped at the table and produced a package containing several more sheets of paper. He didn't wait for the recipient to take the delivery before dropping it on the desk. Several of the other letters were pushed away with it's arrival, some of them still requiring attention.

"There's always something." One shaking hand placed the pen carefully down on the desk, while the other attempted to soothe away some of the worry that was hanging around his shoulders.

"To be expected, Prime Minister." As soon as Dave had arrived he was leaving again. The shadows in the room threatened to lengthen even further as daylight disappeared outside. It was summer but now light was fading fast. The Prime Minister had spent most of the day and now part of the night in the office signing papers, and letters, and addressing things that should have been looked at months ago.

He paused. The package sat and waited patiently, covering the name plate on the desk, which would read "Edward Klintock – Prime Minister." The heaviness of worry still curls around Edward's neck like a snake around a vine. For a brief moment he considered not touching or opening the delivery. There was a bed somewhere calling his name and a wife.

With quick hands he picked up the envelop and opened it hastily. Edward knew this was no time for stalling. Any news that was important enough to rush into the office, especially during these times, was not to be ignored or postponed. From the package he pulls a few photographs. A cursory glance allows him to recognise a few of the people but an unknown location. There's also a printed email in there and more documents.

Once he had all of the information in front of him, Edward tried to continue the fast pace but a pair of dry eyes stalled his eagerness to dissect the news. The shaky hands rubbed his eyes back to working order and with a few blinks he started to read again.

To: Laura Mushley [[e-mail]]
From: Brenda Cross [[e-mail]]

Your offer has been accepted. The incriminating evidence will be placed as requested. Please send the money to the bank account below.

Sort code: 30-20-11
Account number: 4678 9802 2738 1387

The account is not traceable and will be closed within the week. This is from a secure account. I suggest you take the same actions.

With the email read, Edward turned to the photographs. He only studied them for a moment before a realisation of the truth became evident in his eyes. The desk was pushed away, sending paper flying, and the chair sent rallying into the wall. Edward hurried out of the office. Forces were at play and they needed to be stopped.

[JMDavis ((Silver))]

She sat up slowly, her vision blurry. She could still hear the shells falling. Still hear the chatter of gunfire. Smell the death in the air. Hear clocks ticking.

Wait, clocks ticking?

“Been out for quite a bit,” the voice was quavering and frail. Her watery eyes focused on a hunched, pale man. His ears large and drooping, his two front teeth displaying a prominent overbite. The ticking grew louder the closer he was to her. “But then, none of my watches agree.”

Her vision cleared a bit more. Clocks and watches, timepieces galore dangled and jangled from the small man. He winced as another mortar landed with a colossal sound, “An hour, a day, a minute, a second, I don’t know anymore!” He threw his hands in the air before shuffling off, fingers adjusting dials and pendulums as he went. “I’ve been late when I should have been early, early when I thought I was late. Important dates missed, forgettable ones attended! But does anyone bother me? No, no! Leave me in my tower, alone and at ease.”

He paused and turned, eyes narrowing, “Except for you.” He was once more in front of her, his face inches from hers. His nose shifted and twitched, his eyes focusing, “Why did you follow me through the hole?”

“W-What, what hole?” her words were slurred, and she shook her head. Honey-blond hair brushed her face with the slow motion, “I don’t even remember…”

“Don’t or won’t?” He gave his nose a final twitch before moving away, “Well, you can’t stay here. No, no! I will not have strangers in my tower while I’m away!”

“But you’re not away, you’re here,” she watched the funny little man curiously as he darted about the room.

“Not for much longer for you see I… I…” he stammered, trailing off as he looked at a clock, “I’M LATE!” He stumbled around, grabbing papers and quills. Ink splattered across the room and a pristine, white hat with a red ribbon soon sat atop his head. “I’m late! I’m late! I know I’m late!”

He rushed to the door, spilling more scrolls and throwing it wide open. “Out, out, out! I’m late, you’ve made me late! She’ll have my head!” At the girl’s blank stare the man rushed over and began to shove and kick. Finally he managed to get her up and moving, “Out, out, out! I’m late; I’m late for a very important date! No time to say goodbye, wasted it saying hello, I’m late, I’m late. I’M LATE!”

As she stumbled out into a washed out world, she saw the furtive form dart off. “Wait! Wait! I don’t even know your name!” She cried out, watching as the man didn’t stop. She frowned as he disappeared around a corner near a bombed out restaurant. The sign broken, once whole words now left partial ‘…eat Me…’

She continued on through the ruins of the city, only pausing at a stained window. There were tears in her blue dress. Blood discolored the left shoulder, though she felt no pain. Her face was stained with dust and grit. Only her golden hair and bright blue eyes seemed to be untarnished. Taking slow, hesitant steps to the glass she pressed her fingers against the window. “Who am I?” She whispered, looking in as if to find a clue.

But her vision was obscured. Choking smoke filled the streets. Noxious gas began to engulf her, hacking coughs flecking the glass with blood. A tall figure strode through the smog. His eyes were large and glassy. His arms were too many, each seeming to clutch a long and thin pipe. “Now, who are you?” the voice was low and muffled. As the face loomed closer, the smoke began to clear. She now saw the glassy eyes were the lenses of a gas mask, the many arms the tubes of two pipes.

“You don’t look like one of hers… not in all that blue,” the smoke began to diminish and with it her troubling cough. “The exposure was short enough for you to live, for now… but the question remains. Who are you?”

The girl looked up with tear-stained eyes, “I… I don’t remember.”

“Hm, how curious,” the amused tone was clear even though the thick leather of the mask. Placing one of the pipes into a loop on his belt, the man began to stroke his chin with his long fingers. “There are someone who can help.”

The words made the girl frown, “That isn’t proper… that’s not the right way to speak.”

“Are you sure? I thought you didn’t remember.”

“It just sounds wrong.”

“Wrong or right
Day or night
None of it will matter
When you see the Hatter.” The words were a sing-song poem, the lean figure shifting and sitting back against rubble.

“How will a hatter help?”

“Not a hatter. The Hatter. It’s a nickname for a man who knows a thing or two about time and memories.” The man’s head tilted upward, “Though, getting him to make sense will be the real challenge.” With his free hand, the tall man indicated the road to their left, the way the girl had been wandering. “Follow the road until the second right turn, make a left instead and skip the flowers. Two rights, then another left and you’ll find The March Hare, to get in you’ll need to ask the answer to a riddle.”

“A riddle?”

“Yes, a riddle. A simple riddle, really, ‘Why is a raven like a writing desk?’”

“You said I’ll need to ask the answer to a riddle… that sounds like the riddle and not the answer.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re not quite making sense, sir.”

“Trust me, my dear, no one here makes sense anymore.” The man pushed up from the rubble, holding out his hand to help the girl rise. “If the riddle doesn’t get you in, though it should, ask for tea and tell him the clock stops at 6,” the man paused and added almost as an afterthought. “Let him know the Caterpillars send their regard as well.”

“Wait! Why is he called the Hatter?” her voice rang after the retreating figure.

“Because he’s as mad as one!” He didn’t break stride as he left the confused girl behind. He glanced over his shoulder, “And welcome to Wonderland.” The words were flat, dead. The man turned his head away and vanished, his pipes once more covering him in noxious smog and leaving the girl alone to her quest.

[Injin]

Darkness….. It was all he could see on this terrible night. He kept running, only looking back to see if he was being pursued. After a few more miles he collapsed into the tall grass by the road, hoping that whoever was chasing him now would think he kept going along the road. He couldn’t really afford to stop now, but he had to. He had been running for hours now. He remembered what caused him flee as he lay there quietly in the grass. He remembered his father yelling, “Zell, run!” before being cut down by one of his traitorous brothers’ horsemen. “ I should now be in the territory of my brother, Koto, by now,” the man though as he lay in the grass. Koto was about a year or so older then him, but he was still smaller. He always had been small.

Nonetheless, he and Koto, as the youngest of the two brothers, had always been friends. He’d never betray him like their older brothers had. Daie…. Tangus….Desro….. All had betrayed him. Sure, he had more brothers, but they were now likely either being pressured into joining the three traitors or being killed. However, Koto’s territory was the closest one and would be almost be guaranteed to be safe. After all, his village was up in the hills, and he was always paranoid about something like this happening. Koto had warned him that they were planning something, but like an idiot, Zell didn’t listen. As the one apparently anointed by the ancestors and the Gods through his pure white skin and deep blue hair, he had been raised to think that nothing could harm him. He didn’t believe that of course, but it had made him cocky. He never could have…. Thought… that his older brothers would turn on him.

Zell shook off his thoughts as he began to survey his surroundings. The tall grass was leading towards an off road path that he and Koto had always used when sneaking off to the hills. He had apparently jumped at the right place, because through the grass he saw the path that he had used when he was little. He began to crawl across the ground, hoping to not gain any attention from the soldiers he knew would soon be marching up the road. After a few minutes he reached the small foot path through the grass and got up. The grass was so tall here that aside from the path, there was little to no visibility from the immediate surroundings. You’d have to be on the path or nearby to even see a little of it. As he slowly walked towards possible sanctuary, he saw the sun, slowly rising. Had he really been running since the sun had set, he asked himself as he continued to limp towards possible freedom.

He stopped to rest for a minute, and sat on a rock that was in the middle of the path. This had always marked the halfway point for the two of them, as they had dragged the rock from the road almost a decade ago. He used this time to look towards the rising sun and remembered what had happened that might have caused this….

It was cloudy day at Lake Pedron. It was always cloudy here for some reason. The large lake was normally just the right size to see all the way to the other side, but that day it was foggy. At the center of the lake should have been an island. But when the fog finally rolled away… the island was gone. There had been a village on the island. Mina’s village. His younger sister… It, the village she governed, was gone. The lake has also fallen a few inches as well, as if it was filling in the gap the island had left behind. He remembered the tears he had shed, crying as his father had dragged him off, so that the council could decide what to do next.

“Mina…”, he thought as he sat on the marking stone. The sun was now high enough that he could see Koto’s village. It was only another miles through the foot path, and he would be safe. He got up and began to walk along the path, hoping that he could reach his brother’s village before dusk set in again. His strength was draining out and his wounds were beginning to reopen, the haste of Zell’s movement causing possible further injury. If he was to be caught now, he would die. As he moved along, he heard a rustle in the grass, and the sound of two voices. He quickly jumped into the grass as two soldiers began to walk down the path from the road.

“Lema, we should have found the kid by now. When are we going to find him, boss?” the first one said, his shoulders hunched over and his eyes squinting as if he was not sure where he was. “Shut it Kunk, one of the wolf sons said that his scent went this way, towards Koton. If he’s reached the village by now, we’ll have to turn back, but I don’t think a man with his wounds would’ve arrived yet. The wolf sons said that he’s here somewhere, but those unreliable wolf-men were likely lying to us. They’re dead anyhow, so there’s no helping it. See that rock Kunk? Stand on it and see if you can tell whether or not Koton is preparing for assault. If so, we’ll know if the blessed bastard of a prince has shown up”. Nodding rapidly, Kunk hopped up on the rock and surveyed his surroundings, “Nope boss. The village seems to be going one with their day. Maybe we can steal a couple of their women and-” and he cut off by an arrow to the throat. As Kunk fell over, Lema began to run into the grass, right where Zell was standing.

Reacting quickly, Zell took out his hunting knife and stabbed the military man in the gut, and before the enemy could yelp in pain, snapped his neck. As he did so, a few of his wounds opened up and he groaned loudly and fell into the path, nearly getting an arrow to the face for his troubles. Reacting quickly, he scrambled up and noted who had shot the arrow. The man was dressed in Koton colors, but he wasn’t sure whether the man was friendly, as the sun was blurring out his face. As Zell covered his eyes so he would be blinded, the man began to speak, “You alright Zell? Oh dear, your wounds don’t look so good. C’mon over here, I’ll get you to the shaman”. By the tone of the man voice alone, he knew immediately who he was being talked to by, “Koto! Father has been-!” and was cut off by the man’s continued words as he walked closer, “Brother, I know. One of the elders we had sent for the conference arrived here last night saying everyone was killed. He didn’t think you had survived. I’m glad he was wrong. Then again, had I actually hit you in the face with that arrow he wouldn’t be. Come on already, we can talk about what happened after you get patched up”. Koto picked Zell up and began to drag him a short ways to the village.

Koton, it seems, had indeed known about the likely upcoming assault, and had set up the defenses last night. At least, that was what It looked like to Zell as he passed out. When the pale man woke up, he was covered in a multitude of bandages and an old man was sitting next to him in a wooden chair. “Yer feeling better, boy? Got some erbs into yer mouth while yer were sleepin’, should make yer as good and peachy as possible if’n yer rest fer a spell. Chief Koto said yer should stay in bed fer now. He’s a talkin’ with a few other chiefs from ’round these parts. Think he has a plan, boy, and I’m a thinking’ it will involve yerself when yer get better, so no movin’, boy”. The shaman rose and looked out to the doorway, before leaving the room. From the other side of the room, another man was sitting there. Unlike the shaman, who at least looked the part, this man looked more like a simple tribesman. An old one at that. The man just stared for a few moments before walking towards Zell. The old tribesman got really close before long and whispered in Zell’s ear, “The Eyes of the Falcon watch you young Prince. Make sure that you don’t look like prey”. Startled, Zell began to get up, but before he could rise out of the bed, the man was gone.

[Matteo ((Taed))]

It took me a long time to realize that I was awake.

That’s a weird feeling, isn’t it? That sensation of your brain running on autopilot without any directions from home office? Your thoughts go round and round in these illogical circles, shooting off on random tangents wherever they please, and it takes you a while to piece together that you’re even thinking at all.

Maybe that’s what death will be like. All your leftover brainwaves spilled out and diffused across the interstellar medium with nothing to focus on. Nothing but half-remembered dreams that you’re not even sure are your own. A cosmic Ouija board spelling out answers to questions nobody asked.

Look, I’m doing it again; I’m not making any sense.

There came a tap, tap, tapping at my chamber door. I stirred restlessly, and as thoughts began falling into place I realized how very cold I was. I pawed about blindly and my fingers squeaked against the condensation-coated walls of my chromium coffin. The tapping continued and now I could tell it was more of a pounding—a hollow, truncated sound, like someone was banging on a plastic soda bottle.

I forced my eyelids open, breaking the thin layer of ice that coated them, and waited for the blurry patches of light and darkness to resolve. The change as my surroundings came into focus was underwhelming. I was staring at a concave screen of translucent material, frosted over with fractal whorls of ice. Shadows shifted outside the screen against a backdrop of dim fluorescent light. I could hear muffled voices discussing something. Arguing. Had someone just said my name?

The thought made me look up and see the stencilled writing just above the translucent screen. “ALAN TYCHO” in crisp white letters, and beside them my blood type, my penicillin allergy, and a small computer chip holding the genomic data necessary to flash clone any of my major organs or appendages. I took the chip with numb and shaking fingers. The safety briefing had said we should always keep it with us.

Safety briefing ... Cold and syrupy memories finally dribbled into the proper arrangement. Was I on a spaceship--?

A heavy pipe wrench smashed a hole in the plastic canopy of my cryo tube. It jiggled about for a bit, distending the breach into a larger opening, and then withdrew. Grasping hands swarmed in through the hole and I recoiled away from them, unable to flee in the cramped space. One of the hands fumbled about for a handle and tugged on it. Seals relaxed with a hiss and the hands grabbed the edges of the breach, tugging the canopy up and away. As the first breath of fresh air hit my bloodstream, driving out the trace gases of sedative still floating inside the tube, I found myself finally thinking clearly.

The paunchy face of Eric Fortaire poked into view and he grinned down at me. I returned the expression wanly, struggling against the protests of my cold and cramping face muscles.

“Wake up sleepyhead,” he sang out. “We’re all going to die.” I groaned and tried to stretch in the cramped space of the tube.

“Can I just have five more minutes?” In answer, the hands returned again and hauled me up and onto my feet.

The cryo bay was cramped and chilly. Tubes identical to my own were stacked lengthwise against the walls. The rubberized floor was textured for traction, and grates were set into it intermittently to drain off meltwater and chemical effluent. In addition to myself and Eric, three other people stood nearby. I recognized Vinita Lensherr, a security grunt, and Sanjay Ashai, an engineer like Eric. There was also a woman who I didn’t know, but the nametag on her jumpsuit read ‘Sally Armitage.’ Everyone in the room except for me had the red and yellow chevron denoting emergency staff fastened to their lapel. And everyone except for Eric looked deathly serious.

“All right, Fortaire,” Officer Lensherr said. She was holding a gun, I realized dully. “We’ve got your friend, now let’s get the hell out of here. Show us how to override the Pod Controls.”

“What about these other people?” Sally Armitage said, gesturing at the still-sealed cryo tubes. “Should we wake them up to?”

Lensherr immediately shook her head. “That’s just throwing more chum in the water. Besides, with the ConNet the way it is, half of them will glitch out like Tycho’s. We don’t have time to crack them all open.”

“But--” Sally began.

“Acceptable losses,” Lensherr snapped. “Now stow it, we’re Oscar Mike.”

“Um? ... Guys?” I said. “What the fuck is going on?” Officer Lensherr stared daggers at Eric and he grasped my shoulder and began moving me forwards. His smile had faded.

“Alan, buddy, it’s bad, man. There’s no time to explain right now but trust me, we have to get off the ship.”

“Off the--? Are we at the colony?”

Eric shook his head no. “Just ... just keep walking man. You’re still defrosting, you need to work the kinks out.”

We were just reaching the far end of the long, narrow bay when Sanjay Ashai called out from where he was lagging at the back of the group.

“Can we ... Can we stop for a minute?” He panted. “I just need to catch my breath.” He leaned heavily against a bundle of piping.

“No way,” Lensherr barked back. “We’ve stayed still long enough, we have to get to the escape pods. Keep moving or die in space, those are your options.”

“I just ...” he was still panting, and sweating heavily now. “Just two minutes. I really don’t feel very we--” Sanjay’s eyes bulged wide and he choked off what he was saying. A sudden grim understanding seemed to pass between the original four members of the group.

“Shit,” Lensherr breathed, and raised her rifle.

“Vinita, stop!” Eric shouted. “Maybe he isn’t--”

“Please don’t,” whimpered Sanjay.

“Move, Fortaire! Out of my way!”

“Wait, Vinita,” Sally Armitage was crying. “Just wait and--”

“Please don’t.”

“Guys, what the hell?” I yelled. “What the hell is going--”

“GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!” Lensherr roared. “Get down on the ground and--”

“Please don’t.”

Sanjay Ashai doubled over with a groan then arced impossibly backwards. He looked like a gymnast trying to touch the floor with the back of his head while his feet stayed on the ground. His considerable beer gut jiggled comically from the contortion, then tore apart like wet tissue paper. Three fat worms came slithering out, their segmented carapaces bristling with bladed pincers, and their bloody mandibles clacking excitedly.

Sally screamed and Eric threw himself out of the way as Officer Lensherr opened up at 2000 rounds per minute with her coilgun. The worms burst and disintegrated under the withering barrage, as did Sanjay Ashai’s flaccid remains. An eye blink later and there was nothing left but twitching meat. Vinita Lensherr trudged over and nudged some gore aside with the toe of her boot, then delivered one last round into the bloody mess. The twitching stopped. She turned around and pointed the steaming barrel of her weapon at Eric.

“Next time you listen to what I say. Last chance. We’re moving.” She marched back to the head of the group and hit the door control. A hatch slid open and she continued through. The rest of us slowly moved to follow her. The hallway was lit only by emergency lighting. Its walls were smooth basalt, carved from the retrofitted asteroids that comprised most of the UNV Orcades’ mass.

I glanced over at Eric beside me. He looked back, and obviously my expression conveyed all the ‘what the fucks’ that were necessary. He sighed.

“It started about twenty-seven hours ago. The command staff woke up all us first responders,” he tapped the red and yellow chevron on his suit, “because of some sort of problem. Details are still sketchy, but ConNet was fucked all to hell, and the engines had shut down, and there was something weird in the logs about a containment breach and ... I don’t know man. There were these ... things. They kill people, and they eat people, and sometimes they lay their eggs in you and let you go. It’s all fucked.”

I shook my head. “Eric, I’m a farmer for God’s sake. I was supposed to stay on ice until we got to the colony. What can I do here?”

“Nothing, man. We’re getting out. The escape pods got locked down somehow, but I know how to fix them. I made Lensherr take us to get you first, because I couldn’t leave you behind, but it’s smooth sailing now. We’re gone.”

Lensherr reached a thick exterior hatch marked with caution decals in six different languages. She hit the release and the heavy iridium portal split open. A translucent curtain of orange neon plasma hung in magnetic suspension just beyond the hatch. We were grateful that it was there, seeing as how it was keeping our oxygen from escaping. We were not so enthusiastic about why it was there.

The UNV Orcades was a colony ship, made up of two honeycombed asteroids three hundred meters apart, connected by a cradle of high-tensile struts. The cargo hangers and docking ring—where the escape craft were located—lay halfway between the two asteroids.

As we looked out through the orange glow of the plasma screen, every segment was where it should have been, but the struts connecting them where nowhere to be seen. Inertia kept the asteroids and cargo hub in formation as they drifted on through space, but there was over a hundred meters of hard vacuum between us and our means of escape.

“Well shit,” Eric said. “That I was not expecting.”

[Allya]

The dream is always the same. I’m sitting alone in my favorite comfortably worn armchair with a reading light casting a warm orange glow about my living room. The house is silent except for a distant dripping. It could be coming from the eaves or perhaps it’s the slow drip of the kitchen faucet. Wherever it is, I ignore it and go back to reading one of the old books I’ve pulled from my favorite stash.

But I can’t concentrate on the words; they jumble up before my eyes as the dripping becomes louder and more insistent. Soon the sound is all around me, spattering at the windows, drumming on the roof, pinging the sinks, and even running in a thin stream down the chimney. I walk over to put another log on the fire and lose my balance as the ground begins to rumble beneath my feet. Something’s coming and it’s big.

I drop the wood onto the fire and rush to peer out the window and into the moonless night. I see no stars, no clouds, no light at all. There are dark, shapeless shadows shifting in the black but I can’t make out their form. I hope they are only the pines but fear they are not.

I step back from the window as the house begins to shake. The windows rattle, the pipes groan and creak and water starts running in rivulets down the walls. I run to the front door and fling it wide hoping to catch glimpse of the fury bearing down on my house but I am rewarded only with stinging rain and thunderous roar that has swallowed all the familiar night sounds of my old home.

With great effort I fight to close the door and lean against it exhausted by the task. I press my sweaty palms against it and stare wide-eyed into my home, watching as the water rushes down the walls and chimney puffing out the fire and rearranging my furniture. Soon the windows are shattering as water pushes through my carefully chosen double-paned glass, all while a cacophonous roar drowns out my screams. As the giant wave of water bears down on my home and peels away my walls, I brace myself against the door and close my eyes.

I always wake up drowning.

I don’t know why I write this. The dream isn’t real. I’ve never had such a home. It’s dangerous to write such things though I have taken every precaution I can think of. You’ll see, of course, that I was smart enough to use paper instead of a digi-pad. I taught myself letters using chalk first just like Carl told me and then moved to pen and paper. It was hard to come by but…I have to hope. I have to believe you’re out there. I can’t be the only one.

I walk these gray, one way streets full of high rises and low people talking out both side of their mouths and I look. I search for you and for others. I search for that spark behind the eye that says there’s more. I’m looking for light in all these shapeless shadows. God I hope it’s there.

[Kaez]

"Emma."

"Don't. Just. Please, don't. There's nothing we can do about it now. Just go. Just get safe."

Ptolemy's sobs clouded the phoneline.

"If you ever loved me, you'd hang up this phone right now," she said, her voice tempering into a cry.

"Emma.

"You have to hang up the phone." Her voice distorted into gasping exhales and whimpers. "You have to. Pt-"

The phone clicked dead. He didn't consider it, he didn't make a conscious effort. His arm just dropped the plastic onto the receiver and let it go. Let her go. She was gone. Her voice was gone. Forever.

He stared blankly through a blurred film, catching the wavelike trembling of his hand, dangling above the receiver, clenched around the empty space left behind.

"Ptolemy!"

He turned to the voice, echoing from the opposite side of the house, his feet firmly planted where her last words dissolved away.

"Ptolemy, get out of here right now. We have to go. Now."

As unconscious as his ending the call had been, he found his legs moving beneath him, carrying him off toward his sister's calling, the flicking lights of the waning electric melding through the opaqueness of his vision. At some point she'd grabbed his hand and practically dragged him the rest of the way. He knew because he'd seen her do it. His hand seemed numb. His whole body seemed numb; some limp, inanimate vessel in which he'd abruptly found himself.

The memories of the shelter from his childhood had been pleasant ones. His family had done their best to be light-hearted about the drills, making them into half-games. It wouldn't have done much good to get the children panicky and distressed when the most important thing was, after all, staying calm. That's what his father had reasoned, at least. But the charm it held had faded with the years. Had faded when he learned what it was really for.

He'd always assumed it was something nuclear, like they'd had in the 80's. Or for tornadoes or hurricanes or, as his sister suggested at the time, "the boogey man." He wished it was. He wished he didn't know better.

But now, it didn't matter. He was detached. He had become a spectator to the present and was entirely removed from the future. When that phoneline died, he was caught in it; locked in the past, removed from further contention. He'd become an observer, a mere witness, no longer a participant. Passionless and without will.

He heard the flurry of voices, gentle sobs, firm commands. His family's interactions swarmed around him, their figures made into colorful silhouettes that floated across his vision. He'd been stripped from his position in the world and thrown back into Aisle 12, watching his senses absorb the world around him like a patron in a theatre -- processing the information as not personal; indirect and insincere, actual, but not immediate.

His sense of self rooted itself firmly in her last words. He'd hung himself up on her last syllable, her last fading, moaned word, cut off by an action inexplicable.

WHIR. WHIR. WHIR. WHIR.

Shelter sirens screeched from every direction at once, the high wail draining out the chattering sounds of his panicked family. With the back of his sleeves he wiped at his eyes, draining away the tears that fogged them, his vision slowly sharpening into definite shapes and hard lines, depth fading back into place. His senses fell back into him like a leaf swaying, falling, tumbling until, undramatically, silently, being right there. Nothing tidal or booming but simply an awakening, a returning to that which had existed, if only in the background, all along.

"Do we have all the food? Did you check the food?""Dad, is this one for real? This one isn't a drill, is it? Dad?"

"Stay calm. Relax. Just. Please."

WHIR. WHIR. WHIR. WHIR.

"It's not a drill, is it? It isn't. Oh my god. Oh my god."

"Hon, just. Calm. Alright? Everything is going to be okay. I promise. Just."

WHIR. WHIR. WHIR. WHIR.

"That fucking siren!"

"How long will this last us? I don't know. Oh Jesus Christ, Richard. I don't. Will you come look at this?"

He tried to return to his senses, tried to sweep his cluttered mind up into a nice, tight, comprehensible thing -- something straightforward and factual. "This isn't fake. This is really happening. My family is here. This isn't just a drill. Mom and dad are staying calm. Ashley's panicking. This time is real. Emma is gone. This is really happening. Emma is gone and I will never see her again. This is actually happening. I am alive and awake and this is reality and the sirens are blaring and I'm in the shelter and this is real."

WHIR. WHIR. WHIR. WHIiiiiiiii...

The whining alarm system trailed off, as though it, too, was fleeing for safety, tucking itself away somewhere. Ptolemy's parents grew quiet and still with it, his sister's weeping contorting into acute interest and alertness at the immediate, penetrating silence that suddenly fell over everything.










No cars, no voices.












No creaks of floorboards, buzzes of electronics.













Silence, echoed back from concrete wall to concrete wall -- silence so unnatural and uncommon that he brought his thoughts back to a repetitious mental reminder, a sequence of words over and over again in his head. "This is real. This is real. You're not imagining this, you're not dreaming. This is real."





He could faintly decipher his mother's soft, labored breathing.





His sister's hard swallows.













Stillness. Even in his mind, the constant loop of self-reminders eventually collapsed in on itself and he was left with nothing but some chaotic mess of everything that had happened these past few minutes. Of loneliness and detachment. Of Emma. All of it left in the background, lying in wait -- his whole attention and mind on pause, caught like a deer in the headlights, so afraid just to be existing in this moment, baited and frozen. Waiting in silence.


Silence.















And then it started.

[Drall]

The Beginning

Allan wept as he held Lisa's body close to him. He had not believed it possible. They had threatened him, warned him even. Yet here he was now, in his daughter's room, the baby blue walls smeared with gore, the teddy bear dipped in blood, and vomit resting in pools around the two.

He should have been free from them, from himself. He had paid for his crimes a dozen times over, in blood more often than not. His daughter should have had a normal life, ignorant of the atrocities her father had committed. She should have been safe. Yet they had taken her too. Would their hunger for death ever be sated?

It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered. He was overcome with rage and depression. His heart throbbed more than if it had taken a sword. Everything he had striven for in his life, gone. His last joy, his only hope of giving to the world something beautiful, had been wiped out.

“You had what you wanted!” he screamed, clutching Lisa. Tears streamed down his face as he sobbed. He couldn't bear to look at her like this, with her stomach wide open, her face contorted in...in...

Allan had hung on for the longest time. After the murders, after the payments, after everything he had loved had been stripped, he still found something to hold on to, something to keep him sane. But he couldn't do it anymore. Allan broke.

“Nasty bit of work,” came the voice behind him. The faintest trace of pity could be detected, but Allan was too far gone in grief to hear it. He hugged his girl all the tighter, not letting go, not looking back. He didn't care what was done to him now. He wanted an end.

“Allan. You know why we had to do it.”

“K-kill me,” came the strangled reply.

“Now, now, Allan. There's no need for that. It's over. Your debts are paid. You owe us nothing.”

“I killed her!” Allan sobbed. “I d-did as you bid. Why...” Allan choked, and a fresh wave of tears poured from his eyes.

“Your wife's life was not enough, Allan. Or have you forgotten your crimes? Blood will be repaid in blood, we said. Remember?” Allan did not answer. The man sighed. “We take no joy in this, Allan, believe me. We all have our parts to play.”

Allan dropped his lifeless daughter from his arms. He turned, staring up at the man in the black coat. The hairless man. The man who often haunted his nightmares. Now, Allan only felt numb as he looked up at him. He grabbed the man's coat, his watery eyes imploring him. “Please. End it.”

The man gave a sad smile. “I will, Allan. I will give you something to make the pain stop, to make all of it stop. Would you like that?” When Allan nodded, the man let out a deep breath. “Alright. Get up, Allan.”

His knees trembled, and he had to cling to the man for support, but he made it to his feet. The thought of an end was all that kept him standing. The bald man took a little, clear package out of a coat pocket. Inside were two small, white tablets. The man waved the package in front of Allan's face. “Listen carefully, Allan. Take one of these tablets, and let it sit on your tongue. It will dissolve quickly. Don't mind the taste. Wait a few seconds, and then take the second tablet. Do you understand, Allan? It will be all over, then. This life will be over. A new beginning awaits.”

Allan eagerly took both tablets in his hands. He gave the mutilated corpse of Lisa one last look, then took the first tablet. It tasted sour, but Allan still had the taste of bile from when he first entered the room, so he barely noticed. He let it dissolve, then took the second.

Then his whole world went black. It was over.

***

A man awoke, naked, in the middle of a dew laden meadow. A stream babbled somewhere off in the distance, and birds whispered in the trees, ready for an early morning snack. The man sat up, scratched his head, and listened to the sounds of the wild. He had a puzzled look on his face. A squirrel hopped towards him, judged the man as not much of a threat, and moved on.

The man realized he was holding a crumpled slip of paper in his right hand. He unfolded the paper, and looked at the words written in red ink. He stared at them for several moments, as if not understanding. After a minute, however, he was able to make out the words.

“you are allan”

[James]

Tamwyn:

Spelling & Grammar - 2/2
Ease of Read - 3/3
Use of Topic - 3/5
Entertainment - 5/7
Quality - 6/8

Total -- 19/25

Right, just one things before I start with the judging. And don’t worry; you’re not losing points for this. But I was a little disappointed here because you’ve stuck to your base again. I think you suffer from chronic writing self-esteem problems that stop you from being bold with your writing. You don’t back yourself. And that ends up with you writing a lot of good stories but never any fantastic ones.

Anyway, I think you are always the writer that leaves me with the most research on how Americans misspell spell certain words. There weren’t any problems there and it was a breeze to read. Good work there.

Now, Use of Topic is where I felt let down. It was a great start. It was an interesting opening paragraph. Then you built some tension, you introduced a plot, showed off some characters; it was going nicely. And then it stopped. You gave me a part of a start, you gave me a bit of an opening scene; you didn’t give me a whole beginning. And that cost you some points.

It was entertaining enough, like I said you managed to build a nice start there and I wasn’t bored. However there’s one thing I want to comment on. And I’m going to allow someone far more talented than me sum the point up:

Which brings us to rule number seven: AVOID THE GROCERY-LIST APPROACH TO DESCRIBING CHARACTERS.”

– Terry Brooks[/center]

It’s okay to do it every once in a while, sometimes it’s necessary. However the main crux of Brooks’ point is that where you can you should show the reader the character, not tell them about him. Within the first four paragraphs you hit me with three long list-like descriptions of characters: he had this hair, and his face was like this and he was wearing these types of clothes. It would have been okay once. I might not have noticed it twice. But you did it three times in quick succession. And just disrupted the flow and pleasure of reading a little.

However 19, not a bad score there. Good work, Tam.

Reffy

Spelling & Grammar - 1/2
Ease of Read - 2/3
Use of Topic - 4/5
Entertainment - 5/7
Quality - 5/8

Total -- 17/25

Credit where credit is due, Reffy, for trying something I completely didn’t expect from you. It’s good to see you challenging yourself.

Now, and this is probably going to suck hearing this, but that wasn’t your strongest work. There were a few mistakes sprinkled throughout. Envelop where it should have been envelope. And at one point you completely changed tense from past to present:

“A cursory glance allows him to recognise a few of the people but an unknown location. There's also a printed email in there and more documents.”

Firstly, you had the entire entry in past tense except that one sentence which was in present. Secondly, it unfortunately highlighted probably the weakest sentence in the piece. “There's also a printed email in there and more documents.”? I know and have seen before that you write better than that. That is a textbook example of telling where you should be showing. Describe documents overflowing the envelope and the e-mail floating to the desk. And this was something you did throughout. You strangled me. You TOLD me EXACTLY what was happening. You didn’t SHOW me and let me decide what was happening.

Other than that though it was interesting to read. I’m definitely intrigued from that beginning at what was to happen next so you did well. I feel that this was a case of the writing letting the story down. But I wouldn’t worry too much because these aren’t mistakes I usually see in your writing, which suggest that’s it a one-off problem.

Also I loved some of the descriptions scattered throughout that piece. Snakes around a vine. Lines carpeted across his forehead. Great stuff.

Silver:

Spelling & Grammar - 1/2
Ease of Read - 3/3
Use of Topic - 4/5
Entertainment - 5/7
Quality - 6/8

Total -- 19/25

I kind of want to say the same thing to you, Silver, as I said to Tam. As I’ll get to later, that was a really cool idea that I enjoyed. But in all three rounds I think, you have relied on some manner of ‘fan fiction’. If this was on its own I wouldn’t have noticed but you haven’t written anything wholly original in this competition so far. And I see you mentioning ideas and asking for advice worldbuilding all the time, so I don’t know why.

Anyway, it didn’t cost you any points.

There was a mistake or two in your piece this time, which did cost you. However it was very easy to read. It was a strong beginning. I’m intrigued at what is happening and a lot of that comes from the clever use of the setting. The allusions to Wonderland but the presence of modern signs of war really builds up the intrigue. And that’s why I think it was a really clever idea; such as the restaurant sign.

It was fun to read and you really captured a tone in your narrative and dialogue. It felt like everything belonged in the story so congratulations there. It was a strong piece and I certainly enjoyed reading it. In the context of the competition though, I really wish to see you do something wholly original before the end.

Injin:

Spelling & Grammar - 1/2
Ease of Read - 1/3
Use of Topic - 4/5
Entertainment - 4/7
Quality - 4/8

Total -- 14/25

I’m glad you took my advice, Injin. That was far better than your round two entry. I just want to cover a few basic things that you should learn for future writing:

• Ellipses – those dots you put in. They should be formatted… like that. Three dots… and then a space. And you shouldn’t overuse them. Technically speaking, they signify an omission. However you made use them to show a pause, but only do so in dialogue generally. If you want the reader to pause during your narrative; throw in a comma, semicolon or full stop. Or heck, even start a new paragraph.
  
  
• Dialogue – One paragraph should only contain one person’s dialogue. When someone else new speaks you should start a new paragraph. It makes it easier for the reader. So:

“Lema, we should have found the kid by now. When are we going to find him, boss?” the first one said, his shoulders hunched over and his eyes squinting as if he was not sure where he was. “Shut it Kunk, one of the wolf sons said that his scent went this way, towards Koton…

Would become:

“Lema, we should have found the kid by now. When are we going to find him, boss?” the first one said, his shoulders hunched over and his eyes squinting as if he was not sure where he was.

“Shut it Kunk, one of the wolf sons said that his scent went this way, towards Koton…

You see how much easier that it to read?

Anyway, because of the clumped together dialogue and a few mistakes, it made the piece quite difficult to read. However I felt that was actually quite a strong start. You introduced the story, the characters and you brought the ending together. So well done there.

Taed:

Spelling & Grammar - 1/2
Ease of Read - 3/3
Use of Topic - 5/5
Entertainment - 7/7
Quality - 7/8

Total -- 23/25

Well shit, that was… actually pretty expected. A fantastic start, which leaves me hoping that you’re month of productivity writing wise will at least see some sort of finished product from you. Be it novel or a short story.

I think I caught one mistake where there should have been a ‘were’ instead of a ‘was’. Other than that, it was all clear and a pleasure to read. And it was an excellent beginning. It pretty much gave me everything I wanted and yet still left me eager to read more. You introduced characters, antagonists and a problem that needed to be solved. Excellent.

There’s not much else to say. You know the writing was probably strong and entertaining. And also, if other people are reading this review and haven’t read the actual entry, go and do so. Because Taed highlighted the use of showing, and not telling. For example just by having Lensherr mutter “Oscar Mike” it shows off some sort of military training background without needing to explicitly state it.

You need to write more, Matteo. You need to write more, good sir.

Allya:

Spelling & Grammar - 2/2
Ease of Read - 2/3
Use of Topic - 4/5
Entertainment - 6/7
Quality - 7/8

Total -- 21/25

Short and sweet, a good beginning, Allya.

I didn’t catch any mistakes throughout the piece. However some of your sentences just seem to carry on for a little too long. It almost leaves me breathless even though I’m not reading it aloud, and that does affect the ease of read. So I think that’s something to watch out for every now and then.

It was an excellent start. You built up tension with some very strong writing, made me consider what was going on and then BAM, there’s a twist. And I love a twist. Now there’s another thing to consider beside the dream. It was very clever. I liked it. And as I said, the writing was good and the description of the dream was superb.

Great work.

Kaez:

Spelling & Grammar - 1/2
Ease of Read - 2/3
Use of Topic - 5/5
Entertainment - 6/7
Quality - 7/8

Total -- 21/25

While I didn’t let it affect my judging, damn. That was good for less than an hour’s writing, Pete.

There were a few typos through out. Missing spaces and stuff like that which did hamper the piece a little. But beyond that you were fine.

Just like Taed, you captured what I wanted when I said ‘Beginning’. I wanted an introduction. I wanted tension. And I wanted a hook. Now I’m sitting here pissed off that I’m probably not going to know what the hell was happening. Well done. And besides that, there’s not much I can really comment on.

Drall:

Spelling & Grammar - 2/2
Ease of Read - 3/3
Use of Topic - 4/5
Entertainment - 5/7
Quality - 6/8

Total -- 20/25

The Drall is back!

I liked it. I liked it a lot. I didn’t detect a single error (if I’m judging that the failure to capitalise at the end of the piece was intentional). And it was a breeze to read.

Then moving onto the bigger picture, it was just well-written, mate. It was a nice start. We entered in the middle of something that the reader doesn’t understand. We get hints. We get clues. But we don’t get a definitive answer. And then everything changes and the reader is left waiting for more. Fantastic beginning.

It was an entertaining read; I was interested throughout trying to figure out what was happening. And the writing was strong except for a few weak spots, like:

“It tasted sour, but Allan still had the taste of bile from when he first entered the room, so he barely noticed.”

It’s a little too simple, it’s a little too direct. You could have gone with:

“It tasted sour; however the bile that had risen up his throat at first entering the room hid most of the taste.”

… Okay, that’s not much better. But you can see it’s a little more pleasing to the eye. ‘, so he barely noticed’ just seems so bland.

But really well done, man.

Round Three Scorecard
1st Taed – 23 Points
2nd Kaez – 21 Points
2nd Allya – 21 Points
4th Drall – 20 Points
5th Tamwyn – 19 Points
5th Silver – 19 Points
7th Reffy – 17 Points
8th Injin – 14 Points

Round Three Winner is Taed!

[/size][/center]

[James]

Round Four
Topic: HORROR - Write me something scary. It can be gothic, it can be paranormal, it can be psychological. Just make me terrified.
Deadline: 11:59pm EST - 20th December