RolePlayGateway™

Hello, everyone. Fall is here, even if the weather isn't any indicator, and that means it's the time of year for many, many writing contests. I thought it would be appropriate, then, if RoleplayGateway had its very own contest which is, of course, what this announcement is about.

Starting immediately, that is, October 4th, 2007, RoleplayGateway's first (hopefully annual) Short Story Writing Contest will begin. Any member is qualified to enter, from administrators to those who just stumbled over the threshold.

Entries may be submitted from any point between now and November 14th, after which the topic will be closed and a winner will be chosen, along with the top two runners-up. I look forward to reading all of your stories, and I'm sure that this contest is going to yield more than a few gems.

Again, those deadlines are:

Contest begins: October 4th, 2007

Contest ends: November 14th, 2007

There is no limit to the length of the story, but as the saying goes, a short story should be something that can be read in one sitting. The genre and style are completely open, as well.

Write your hearts out, RoleplayGateway.

-Treize

So... do we just post it here? ;-;

Yes, story entries should be posted here in this topic. Thanks for bringing that up.

Winter stole quietly over the sleepy suburbans streets claiming everything it touched. While Mist, that sultry handmaiden, curled langorously through the quiet caul-de-sacs and drapped itself over manicured front gardens; her icy brother frost carressed the slumbering forms of mercs and bmws, tracing his delicate patterns across the glass. Though the first feeble rays of the Sun trickled over the horizon, Night, Winter's lover, still held sway, leeching the colours from freshly painted doors and letterboxes. It was the turning, the time between times. Already the trees had withered, stripped bare by the lashings of Winter's cruel tongue and ever on the horizon hung the threat of Snow. Even the air itself carried Winter's taint. Thin and crisp, she breathed it in, feeling the icy fingers slide across her throat and tip toe down her spine. She shivered, exalting in the power of the sensation and the relentless conquest of Winter. Let it take them, she thought.
The whole suburb was a testament to middle-class thought control. Nice, quiet, safe. The kind of place you go to die or raise your 2.5 over-indulged children. 'Happy' families huddled behind double glazing, double brick and double garage homes. Cowering in fear, they eeked out their insignificet lives in denial of the savage world they lived in. Let it take them all. In her mind, the servants of Winter slipped icy tendrils through the cracks. They crept through unlit hallways and passed like ghosts through closed doors. Unchallenged, unstopable they crept into the very bones of their unconscious victims. The voyeuristic delight of the image brought a smile to her blue black, glossy lips.
The tap of her metal capped heels dissected the silence like a scalpel as she strode through their little town. Wrapped head to foot in her velvet-trimmed, black leather coat she was a stranger among them, an outsider. A spider crawling through over their carefully controlled lives. She imagined a silky web spinning out from her in all directions, like the delicate black lace that traced it's way across her body. Beneath the coat, it's silky threads wound all the way from her fingertips back to the heavy, ribbed leather that buckled tightly over her breasts and corsetted in her waist. A pair of tights, split at the sides, coated her legs from the corset down to her knee-high boots. She loved her boots, all buckles and laces, metal and leather. Besides they matched her collar. Just thinking about all that leather and lace carressing her body excited her. She knew she looked hot, like sex on a stick, like Kate Beckinsale in that movie 'Underworld'. So what if she was carrying a little extra weight. If there were a few more bulges that peaked out from beneath the corset and above the tights. If her body wobbled slightly with each step. If the few people that she passed tended to snigger as she passed. So what, she knew she was sexy. What did she care what those insignificent worker ants thought? Her master, she thought with a smile, would be pleased. She shivered again but this time not with the cold.
She was nearly home now and anticipation quickened her step. There was nothing obvious about her house. It was indistinguishable from the other carbon copies that lined the street. It had no wiccah pentagrams, goat skulls or candles. Not on the outside anyway. She felt around in her bag, leather of course, fishing out her keys. They slid into the lock with a satisfying click. There was no ominous creak as the door opened or b grade special effects. Just the comfort of slipping quietly out of their world and into hers.

Ok, So anything right? Even if it is a fanfic? *My tummy is all flip floppy from nerves...* Ok Here is goes, my fanfic of Kingdom Hearts...I hope this isn't too childish.

She was a normal kid. Active with sports, school, anything she could get her hands on. Throughout her childhood, she was involved in gymnastics. It consumed her life. Four hours a day everyday of the week. No break. This also included long days at school. She ran every year for class president, winning the title in 3rd grade, 4th grade, and 6th grade. She participated in all the school musicals and plays. She even picked up and instrument. She loved the flute. IT brought her peace in her times of chaos. She excelled in class, getting straight A’s. She was wonderful. Although she wasn’t far from trouble. She liked to rough house with the boys on recess. She was tough in kickball, tag, soccer. She wasn’t going to let anyone win. Competition was the one time she turned into a hellfire. But this was all normal for a child.
The thing is though, she wasn’t a normal child. Born Suzen Mari Ech, no one knew she was the Key. In high school, she changed directions a little. Becoming a star marcher of the marching band she excelled wonderfully in music. The thing that soothed the best became the beast’s pastime. She soon picked up pole vaulting as well. She slowly faded from gymnastics, wanting to explore other options. She loved pole vault. It was the aggression coming out in her again. Competition, everyone could see, brought flames to her eyes and set her a glow. This she excelled in as well, becoming ranked number one in the State and eventually moving on to college.
College is where our story begins. Unaware of the events from two years ago, Earth happily rotated in silence. That is what it was meant to do. Two years ago, the worlds became unlocked. Heartless seethed through them causing damage and eventually taking out numerous worlds. Earth was protected though. It sat on the edge of the known universe; the closest world was a trip and a half for any Gummi Ship. This kept the Key Child safe from anyone who would use the child for wrong doing. This was soon to be broken. Xemnas, leader of the Organization XIII, had caught wind of the mythical child. It was an ancient myth passed in secret to one generation to the next. A child born with the Key to Kingdom Hearts. This child was neither good nor bad, possessing both qualities equally. The child was the master of the light and the darkness. It was pure myth; just like Kingdom Hearts…Xemnas was secretly searching for the child scanning all the worlds known. Until one day he happened upon a silent world. Hidden within the edges of the universe. King Mickey, who had turned a blind side to Xemnas’s searching, finally began to worry...
Suzen was now in college, it was her first year. She was so excited! She had received a scholarship to be on the track team for pole vault. She was planning on majoring In Political Science and having one heck of a time in the best four years of her life. One night early in the first semester, she was walking home from a long evening at the study tables for athletes. It was almost dark. The sun had already set. She was making her way back to the dorms when about 5 feet in front of her a purplely warp hole appeared. Not believing what she was seeing, she stood there watching it. It was when a black gloved hand emerged from it that she ducked behind a nearby bush. The rest of the figured emerged as a tall, obviously male, person with a black cloak. The hood was up so she couldn’t see the man’s face. The warp tunnel disappeared behind him and he looked around. “Hmm…this isn’t right…” She heard a male’s voice come from the hood. He then turned around and created the purple warp tunnel and started to go back through. Somehow Suzen was drawn to it. She wanted to see what was on the other side. She followed behind him, he never knowing she did.
Suzen closed her eyes as the warp tunnel took her to King Mickey’s Castle. She landed with a -THUMP- right outside the castle gates. She slowly opened her eyes to see Pluto the yellow bloodhound bounding towards her. He was barking and she was a bit scared at first hoping he wouldn’t attack her. He came right up to her and gave her a big lick on the face. She laughed and stood up. Mickey came running towards her from the gates. “Oh! Suzen Mari! You made it safely. Good. Please hurry inside before the Organization has realized what they have done!” Mickey grabbed her hand and pulled her to the castle gates. What they didn’t know what that, the Organization member had stopped there on purpose. He looked over from the side of the castle wall and lowered his hood. He had red spiky hair that gave the illusion of being on fire and emerald green eyes with distinct marks below them. Axel was given the duty of watching the Key to Kingdom Hearts. “The thing is…” He said crossing his arms as Mickey and Suzen went inside, “She’s too pretty to be a Key…and I have more important things to deal with as in getting Roxas back.” He pondered for a moment. “Yes, I will get back to this Key later.” He disappeared into the Warp Hole.
In the castle Mickey tried to explain everything to Suzen. She understood for the most part. She even somehow got a hold of a keyblade, 2 keyblades that is. Since she was the Key, she had one to lock and one to unlock Kingdom Hearts…
Her blades were beautiful. One key, the Key of Eternal Light, was a pure white. It had a ribbon design climbing up and down the blade in a pure gold coloring. The teeth of the keyblade were angel wings. The wings of a Guardian Angel. On the keychain was a small child with four white wings protruding from each side. Creating an opposite energy was her other keyblade, Hellfire. It was pitch black with flames, almost life like, racing up and down the shaft of the key. The teeth of the key were Hellish demon wings. On the keychain was a demon child with pointed tail and bat wings. The keys were truly opposites.
After learning what the universe had endured the past two years, Suzen was sent to Hallow Bastion to wait for Sora, Donald, and Goofy. King Mickey shooed her off the Gummi Ship and told her to look for a man named Leon.
“Great…” She said to herself as the King’s ship sailed off. He apparently had some urgent items to take care of immediately. She sighed and started to head off towards the town. Her copper red hair blew in the wind as she walked. Half of it was pulled back in two clips to keep it from coming down into her emerald eyes. The rest fell to just the tip of her shoulders and every layer flipped out at different lengths. She still had one problem her bangs, side swept to the left. Continued to fall over her left eye. It was slightly annoying but she told herself to get use to it. She was focused on tightening the leather gauntlet on her right wrist when she ran head on into a girl about the same height as herself.
“OUCH!” Cried the girl. She was petite and childish looking, but appeared to be the same age as Suzen. She had short black hair with a bandana tied fashionably in it. On her back was a shurikien.
“Hey, watch where you’re going….Heeyy…aren’t you that Suzen girl? Leon was telling me about you!” She said looking at Suzen still sitting on the ground rubbing a small goose egg on her forehead.
“Yeah, that’s me…wait did you say Leon? King Mickey told me to meet up with him!” Suzen felt this girl was on the same side as herself so talking about the King did not bother her, although it was a small piece of information so being bothered by it quickly faded. The girl, who Suzen was quickly finding out was just as child like as her appearance held out her hand.
“Here, let me help you up! Since you’re new around here I’ll let that crash pass…but next time, you should watch where you’re walking!” She laughed and pulled Suzen up into a standing position.
“Thanks” Suzen replied looking around.
“Ok, so we’re off to see Leon! Follow me!” She said tugging on Suzen’s bare arm. She was off. Running at top speed.
“Hey! Wait up! I don’t even know your name!” Suzen cried running after her. She could see this girl becoming a pain in her side…
“It’s Yuffie…that’s her name.” A soft voice said as Suzen ran by a close opening. Suzen stopped to see who it was that said it. It was a young woman in a white and pink halter dress. She was very beautiful. Her brown hair was pulled into a long braided ponytail and her emerald eyes shone in the sunlight.
“I’m Aerith, by the way. And you must be Suzen. I’ve heard a lot about you!” Aerith said smiling. Suzen couldn’t help but smile back at her.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you! More of a pleasure than Yuffie!” Suzen giggled at her own joke. “I mean she’s nice and helpful, Yuffie, I mean…but it seems she gets a little ahead of herself…” Suzen corrected herself when she noticed Aerith didn’t laugh.
Aerith smiled. “Yes. She is always ready to help out sometimes skipping a step or two. Please let’s hurry before she notices that she lost you!” Aerith turned and started to walk up the stairway that lead to a small village at the base of a very large castle. Suzen stared at everything taking in everything she could. It wasn’t that every day you travel to different worlds and are the Key to saving the universe for ultimate baddies.
Aerith continued through the town when all of a sudden just before reaching the entrance of the castle, a dark purple warp tunnel appeared. Aerith flung her arm in front of Suzen in a maternal way, halting her in her spot. Suzen looked up, once again not watching where she was walking and saw, just as before an arm and then a body cloaked in black appear through the wrap tunnel. As the tunnel dissipated, Yuffie and a man with brown hair and a scar across his nose appeared behind the Organization member. Suzen assumed that man was Leon.
“Well, well, if it isn’t a party! I should have invited more! I feel…out numbered…” The hooded man laughed at his sarcasm. No one else was laughing though. Leon pulled out a sword that looked as if it were attached to a gun. Suzen furrowed her brow at the sight of it.
“Leave now, or are you looking for a fight?” Leon said stepping closer to the Man. The man shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
“Nah, I’m not here for a fight. I was sent to spy on her” he pointed to Suzen, “But I guess I caught. Too bad…” He said turning to face Leon and Yuffie and placing his back to Aerith and Suzen. Yuffie pulled out her weapon as well now. Suzen felt it was time to summon hers. Out of nowhere in a cloud of feathers The Key of Eternal Light appeared in her left hand and in a burst of flames, Hellfire appeared in the right. The Organization Member turned quickly and rushed at the girl. He quickly got around her pushing Aerith to the ground and wrapping his left arm tightly around Suzen’s neck. His weapons, the Chakras, where in each hand. Leon tried to rush him but he knew he would crush Suzen’s throat if he even tried. In the event of rushing Suzen, the Organization Member’s hood had fallen from his head revealing his identity. He was pale skinned with emerald green eyes. Under each eye was a scar pointing down. His hair was a flame red and spiked all over the place. He began to laugh.
“Oops…I’ve let my hood down. Now, you know who I am! The name’s Axel, A-X-E-L, got it memorized?” He looked down at Suzen and smiled at her. “Well, you’re not of much use now…I’ll come back when you’re a tad bit…how shall I put this better equip to fight.” He laughed and let go of her and shoved her towards Leon and Yuffie. Yuffie and Aerith caught Suzen as Leon jumped past them to try to confront Axel.
“Too bad you need some lessons too!” Axel laughed as a burst of flames erupted right in front of Leon as Axel made his escape through another purple warp tunnel. Leon had to jump back quickly to narrowly miss getting licked by the flames. In doing so he had lost his balance and had to take a knee to the ground.
“Ohhh! I hate those guys! They are such a nuisance!” Yuffie said letting go of Suzen and stomping her feet. Leon watched her from the ground and then slowly stood up with the help of his gunblade.
“We better get inside now…” He said standing once again. “At least there the security system works.” Yuffie nodded. Once Suzen had regained her balance, she as politely as she could shrug off Aerith. She began to walk towards the spot where Axel had disappeared. She stood silently thinking…The true reality of the matter was finally starting to sink in. She may not come out of this alive…
Leon and Yuffie had already started for the entrance of the castle. Aerith stayed, waiting patiently for Suzen. “Suzen?” Aerith finally said after a moments. Suzen came out of thought and turned to face Aerith.
“Who was he?” Suzen said after a few more moments. “I honestly don’t think he wants to hurt us…” Suzen crossed her arms and started to walk towards Aerith. Aerith stood silently and smiled at Suzen.
“Maybe you’re right.” She said when Suzen met up with her and they turned and headed for the entrance as well. “But, right now we need to be getting inside before anything else shows up.” When they entered the castle it was a massive maze to get to the control center. It seemed all castles were like this…For the majority of the walk Suzen stayed relatively quiet. Aerith was asking her about her home and Suzen was answering them absent-mindedly. After a few more moments Suzen saw a picture of a whitish haired man on the wall. She asked Aerith who he was. Aerith replied, “Ansem” Then Aerith explained everything about their previous leader. Although interesting, Suzen thought there was something fishy about the portrait.
They finally made it to the central systems, where Yuffie was prancing around and Leon was fiddling with a large computer with another man. He was much older than the rest of them. He had sandy blonde hair and was chewing on a long piece of toothpick.
“@#!%$# Why won’t you work!” cried the older man.
“Cid, calm down…Umm…You’ll figure it out.” Leon was getting aggravated by Cid’s short temper. Yuffie stopped, looked at the two guys and then spun and brought her gaze upon Suzen and Aerith.
“Heeyy! You guys finally made it!” She bounced up to the two and then mumbled under her breath, “These two have been at each other for the past 20 minutes!” Yuffie was rolling her eyes as Leon turned around quickly. He nudged Cid, who was still cussing at the computer. Cid turned around quickly and sputtered an annoyed “What?” Then he realized why everyone was so quiet.
“Erm, hi…I’m Cid!” He managed to say after turning a slight shade of red. Suzen laughed, knowing he was embarrassed for the way he was acting.
“I’m Suzen! It is a pleasure to meet you!” She paused for a moment, then turned her attention to Leon. “So Leon, King Mickey told me to find you, which I have, thanks you Aerith and Yuffie but now, where is Sora, Donald, and Goofy?” She had placed her hands on her hips and was staring, hard, at Leon. He shook his head. Obviously he did not know.
“They should be here any moment now.” Suzen nodded. “Right, he did after all tell me to wait!” She smiled which soon faded from her face and she began to bite her lip.
Later that evening Suzen snuck out and decided to take a walk around. She came upon the Bailey and sat in the crudely carved stone window. She stared intently at what appeared to be a rundown castle in the distance. She soon became bored with that and fell into her own thoughts. She was so “focused” on her own concerns and worries, that she didn’t realize a dark figure had appeared behind her.
“You know….If you think any harder your head might explode!” It was Axel, the man from earlier that day! Suzen jumped into the air, almost falling off the ledge but, Axel grabbed her just in time and pulled her back over the window sill. She stood silently staring at him in disbelief.
“What? You look like you’ve a ghost…” He said smiling. Suzen wasn’t smiling though and she finally gathered her thoughts.
“Why, if you are with the Organization, are you helping me? You could have used me today but you didn’t and now, you just saved my life. I don’t get it!” She was staring hard into his eyes, studying his for any emotion. HE just shrugged his shoulders.
“Eh…I like you? I don’t know, you just seemed, like the type that needs saving!” He crossed his arms over his chest and walked over to next to her. He turned and looked out the “stone window”.
“Watch yourself, Suzen. You honestly have no idea what you are dealing with. He’s on your trail. Once he finds you he’ll have you unless you get stronger.” Then he grabbed her wrist and with his other hand he pulled from one of his pockets what appeared to be a tiny chain. He placed it in her opened hand and then closed it with his.
“Consider that a mark of our friendship, Got it memorized?” With that, he slowly stepped away from her and a warp hole appeared behind him, which he got in and disappeared into the darkness.
In Suzen’s hand was a necklace. It was on a beautiful silver chain. The pendant dangling from it was a silver circle with a flame in the center. Suzen immediately put it on and smiled. She really didn’t know what to think about her “new friend” if it was real or fake.

typical day in my life finds me,waiting
after school,in one of those classrooms
our schools walls harbor. I walk in,the door
making the famillar but forboding click
as it shuts behind me,the lights are off
in the classroom and i can barely see where
the tables are, as the light from the doors
miniscule window dimly spreads some light
across the room.

hullo

My voice cautiously wavers out, the echos coming
back to me from the cobwebbed corners of that room.
No teacher, no one, alone,these thoughts rob my
mind of its sanity,leaving only those nightmares
I had once been able to escape. I hear the door open behind
me and click shut again. I turn around,seeing my teacher,
inwardly i breath a sigh of relief.

"I just came by to get some help on those math
problems from tonights'home work that i did not
understand"

"ok,let me see them."

He comes over to the table I am standing at
and leans on it next to me, a sensation
fires into my heart and quickly spreads,
even as I reach for my book, my mind is far
away from those problems. I sat it on the table
with a thud,but this does not break me from
my love induced stupor.

"Hey. You need help with those math problems right?"

"Oh,yah i do."

My slighty unfocused eyes look down,the symbols and number
meaningless to me, as they mesh together.

"Are you ok?"

He must have seen something in my eyes and i curse
myself for being so transparent.

"Yah, fine.lets just do the math."

I restarted the problem I had left off on earlier that day,
writing out the remainder of the formula. He puts his hand
on mine, to point out a mistake i had made, so early in the
start,but only if the boy knew what he did to me.

"You should have put parentheses around those negative numbers"

I nod,my face flushing for the embarressment of messing up
and the emotions I feel for him. He looks up from the paper,
his ice green eyes meeting my pale blue ones, i glance down
to avoid letting him see more than he already had.

"Chris.. I am your teacher and there are implications to everything
in this life,i am sure you have figured this out, as i have figured
out some stuff today. In this world we are always learning
and always changing, always discovering."

I look at him,almost hopeful, but wondering why he decided
to share such thoughts with me. He steps closer to me, for the
first time i realize he is not as imposing as i had once
thought he was, but merely a person just like me and everybody
else,no matter what he means to me. I close my eyes for a brief
second and open them again, he hesitate before me, his eyes level
with mine. He smiles,as usual,its comforting effects wash over me
and i feel at ease,even as the unfamillar touch of his lips on mine
suprised me, the touch of his fingers on my arm. He gently pulls back,
sliding a strand of my hair that had faller to the front, back behind
my shoulders.

"did you need any more help with that math."

I shake my head no, the words trapped in my throat,
merely because anything i could say would feel
highly inadequate to explain anything.
I gather my books in my shaking arms and I put them back into
my bag, feeling his eyes watch me as i go about this.
He moves to the doorway and i go to walk past him, he puts a hand
on my shoulder, turning me sharply. My back presses into the doorframe
and he leans into me, meshing his body to mine,kissing me more fully
this time.

"Chris,make the move for what you want,let me know what you decide,
see you tomorrow. Have a good night."

I walk off,more dazed and more confused, but with a sort of twisted
clairity to my purpose and who i am,rather than living in a fog
of what I think people want to see,rather than hiding. I guess teachers
might actually be useful and i guess you truly do learn something
every day, no matter on how small a level or who the knowledge you
recieve effects.

the fallen lies with dark winds

his cold purtrude arm screamed his viens out for lost life as he fearlessy stared at green dark depths of live soil with whirls of his sister's moans. the decapitated fingers fimly grasped each other like frail iron as the 3 firm ones burned the oil from the rigid cliff.
.His eyes cursed the vicious steal as it hammerd into the dead flesh of his tanned shoulder. arghhh !!! pierced the hero's voice, but the pounding steal drowned his throat in an uproar of dark blood which stained the lovely coat of the this greedy disfigured axe.
The war was done as the last king son's head was crippled to a dark pulp by his own bewitched dead brother , Hagen. Not knowing night or day , the jester's lively body searched for its head as it kissed the sharp fingers of rushing clubs.Once again evil had claimed the heart of life and the future of kingdom Delfort was perished.

Well, I think I'll take a shot at it. Heres my entry, even though it can hardly be considered a short story.

Madness

Its cold. Freezing Actually. The sun, usually spreading its fierce light across the realm, has not been seen for, how long? Hours? Days? Months? Years?

Time. How does one tell time when there is no sun? There is only that feeble light on the ceiling, flickering. On and off. On and off. Do I wait years for it to turn back on when its light fades? Or is it only seconds? Do I wither away, and die when the light is out? Only to be reborn when it shines again? Who can tell me? No-one. I am alone.

Alone. Was I always alone? Did others use to watch the light fade with me?
Did they talk to me? Laugh with me? Why did they leave? Did they wither away in the darkness, like me? But forget to be reborn? What if I forget to be reborn? Will I move on? Will a find a new light to watch? Will I find the others? Will they find me? Will I sit in darkness forever? Alone? Waiting for a light that will never come? Or will I simply cease to exist? Like the others? Did the others ever exist? Do I even exist? Am I simply a dream of another? Am I doomed to die when they awake?

The Light is out again.

I can feel myself aging, dieing. I can feel my skin melt, and my bones turn to dust.

I am nothing, I am everything.

Free. My dust fly in the wind. The wind sings to me, caressing me, loving me. It shows me things I’ve never seen, the others, I never knew, the sun that left me, long, long ago. I am happy. I run in fields, swim in lakes, climb mountains. I laugh with the others, I love again, I am loved again.

The light is on again.

Its cold. Freezing actually.

I do believe this is right up my ally. Now the question is, what to write? Deadline is still a bit away, time is on my side yet. Give me a bit...

“This is going take some serious DownBlack if I’m going to Work it, that’s for sure,” Ikaneal said.

“How serious?” Alriel asked.

“You ever heard of DownWhite?”

“No.”

“Me neither. But I'm going to need it, probably.” The mage was playing one of his games. Alriel was not in the mood.

“DownWhite doesn’t exist, Ikaneal. How are you going to use something that doesn’t exist?”

Ikaneal grinned that damn grin of his that meant he was up to something. “I suppose I’ll have to create it then.” Alriel gave him a blank stare. One did not simply ‘invent’ new kinds of magic. A new School, or new method of looking at an existing strain, perhaps, given the expertise, and the odd practitioner had discovered new kinds of magic, but not for thousands of years, and the last had been during the Walk. No, Ikaneal was just being difficult.

“And how would you go about doing that, oh great mage?”

“With Lenses, of course. Three, I should think. And I don’t appreciate the sarcasm.”

Alriel gave his longtime accomplice a blank stare. “Lenses.”

“Lenses,” Ikaneal answered.

“Three of them.”

“Three of them,” Ikaneal assured him.

“Do you know -” Alriel began.

“Yes,” Ikaneal said, cutting him off.

“And that no Lense -”

“Yes,” Ikaneal said again. What the hell, Alriel thought after a moment. Stranger things had been planned. Besides, it’d be worth the adventure just to see if Ikaneal could do it.

“Which ones?” He asked the mage.

“Glad you came round. The Lenses of Thunder and Apocalypse, for certain, and, erm . . .” Ikaneal trailed off, staring into his drink.
“And?” Alriel pressed.

“And you’re not going to want to hear it.”

“Tell me, Ikaneal.”

“The eight parts -” This time Alriel cut the mage off.

“No. No. And no. Don't even finish thinking what I think you're thinking.”

“- of the Prismatic Pain Lense. See? Told you you wouldn’t want to hear.”

“Ape’s ghost eyes . . . why does it have to be that? What? Why do you have that ‘you’re not out of the gorgon’s bed yet, Alriel’ look?” Alriel called it that because he had once had a run-in with a gorgon that Ikaneal simply refused to let him hear the end of. He had learned to accept it.

“Because getting the eight parts of the Prismatic Pain Lense isn’t going to be the uh, hard part . . .” Ikaneal muttered.

A blank stare from Alriel.

“The Lenses are just so I can make DownWhite. The rest of it will take, um, well, four of the Diadems, for one. Danger, Insanity, Deceit and Peace, to be precise.”

“Oh, is that all? Well, let’s just waltz into the courts of the four in possession of each of those and offer them each a chicken in trade, then, shall we?” Diadems were not something lightly given up by rulers, be they kings, queens, dukes or whatever. Ikaneal was silent. Ikaneal was never silent. “What?” Alriel asked. “That isn’t all, is it?”

“Erm . . . no. Not really, no.”

Alriel took a deep breath. “What else?”

“Sigils,” Ikaneal muttered.

“Sig-“ Alriel began to shout, and caught himself. It would not do to be shouting about Sigils in the Crying Imp. Even whispering the word might cause trouble. “You know what it takes to get even one of those?” he hissed across the table. “Because I do, I have, and that is not an experience I wish to repeat.”

“I know, I know,” the mage said, looking guilty. “But I need Dreams, Lightning and Disease if this thing is going to work.”

“Three.” Alriel shook his head in disbelief. Three Sigils. Having seen a Sigil - a real one - could be considered an accomplishment. To receive three . . . was inconceivable.

“Ikaneal,” Alriel began quietly. “What are we into that takes three? One would be enough for anything I've ever heard of you going after, and that includes your Abyssal days.”

“I also need the sphere of an Infernal Angel. Several would be better.”

“Ikaneal . . .”

“Alright. Fine.” The mage looked pale, and worried, but also more exhilarated than Alriel had ever seen him. He leaned forward over the table, beckoned Alriel to do the same, and then uttered a single syllable before leaning back, looking satisfied.

“You’re insane,” Alriel said, standing up.

“Maybe,” Ikaneal said as Alriel walked away. “But you know I’m right.” As Alriel left without a backward glance, Ikaneal took a worn, rough card out of his robe and stared at it a while. That card had not been part of any deck until a few years ago when Ikaneal had drawn it. He put it back, dropped some Princess shillings on the table and left whistling, thinking he was a little closer to understanding what the Pin meant.

Here is my entry. I hope you enjoy it!


.....


Cho settled herself against the oddly shaped boulder, gazing out at the stretch of ocean she had recently claimed as her own. It had been relatively simple to do: with no one else to argue, she had been successful in asserting her ownership of the entire fifteen feet of desertion she had named “Silver Beach.” It seemed a decent name at the time, though there was not a scrap of silver on any one of the fifteen square feet that made up the sad excuse of an island. Still, it seemed only fair, granting a generous name to the bit of sand that had saved her life. She did not remember the details, only a dim flash of storm and ill luck that had resulted in the loss of her fishing vessel. From the point the infinitesimal crack that she had been in too much of a rush to fix became a steady leak, right up to the moment she found herself desperately clinging to what had once been her mast, the night that she had been separated from her simple, predictable life in her village remained a vague blur.
As waves eased themselves closer, licking at her toes, Cho smiled, just a bit. Her brown eyes wandered about at her new belongings...a boulder that made a decent seat, the sand that winked in the fading sunlight, the remains of her mast and sail that had been kind enough to follow her, allowing for a sort of lazy lean to, and the bits of weed and leaf that she had managed to fashion into a new fishing net. It wasn't much...but it was more than she had had to herself in all her nineteen years.
Her mouth eased into another smile as she wiggled her feet a bit deeper in the sand, thinking back to the life she had led, wondering if she would return. Wondering if she had ever felt this peaceful...this rested. True, at first she had been panicked, she had made several efforts to swim in any direction away from what she had first seen as her prison. She had screamed and cried, and pleaded with whoever might have been listening for a second chance against the storm. She had curled up in the hateful sand and whimpered like a child, clenching her eyes and struggling to wish herself away, anywhere other than where the world had locked her up. And then, when she had felt the last bits of her soul fading to gray, she caught sight of herself.
The sun had hit the water, which had grown unusually calm, at a perfect light, creating a liquid glass that shimmered with her reflection. Cho stared at Cho. Her own raw hand lifted to touch her own sallow cheek, and her eyes had widened at their own sad condition. She came to realize that while she had been weeping and pleading, she had completely forgotten to struggle. And as the clouds awakened and hid her from herself, her resolve hardened. She began tearing and fighting with the bits of debris that had been led by the waves to her new home, forcing them to become useful. She ceased her cries for pity, and set to work using what had been given to her. She claimed the very earth beneath her as her own, the sea became her availing neighbor. The frightened girl began to live.
“What's done is done,” She told the tiny fish that swirled a few yards away in her ocean. “If I am to spend the rest of my days here, then so shall it be.”
She leaned back a bit further, seeing the clouds as her blanket, and smiled once more. “If I am to be rescued, let rescue come. I will be ready.”

My entry, a sci-fi story influenced by Halo and a few other things. It is part of something larger I wrote, but it works on its own as well. I'm retitling it here, because its present title doesn't make much sense without the rest of it.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Routine Patrol


“Nikolai, that’s not what I think it is, is it?” Commander Zachary Spencer nervously ran his fingers through his short, dirty blonde hair.

Nikolai’s translucent silver form shimmered as he ran the objects through his memory banks. It took him all of a tenth of a second.

“It is difficult to tell at this distance, commander, but I believe that it is indeed a Void battle group.” Nikolai said with his trademark care and deliberation.

“How many?” Spencer said, the tension in his voice audible to his crew, putting them all on edge.

“Two Kronos-Class cruisers, two Oranos-frigates, five Oceanus-destroyers, and a Tartarus-battleship.”

Spencer sighed. “Ten ships.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Identify their course, Nikolai.”

Nikolai’s eyes went blank. Then, the black pupil reappeared. “All ships headed directly for us. ETA five minutes.”

“Jesus, they’re really hauling ass… We don’t have time to charge the engines for a jump.”

Lieutenant Karraker turned his chair to face the commander. “Orders, sir?”

“Give me a minute.”

Spencer tapped his fingers on the console in front of him. His ship, the Chiron, an Olympian-Class cruiser, was formidable indeed, and the Ajax, an Argonaut-Class destroyer, was no push-over either, but they were outnumbered and outgunned. To make matters worse, a Tartarus was the most powerful warship ever built.

Oh, how wrong the Admiral had been! Of course, he should have known. Nothing described as routine never went according to plan.

“Four minutes.”

He might be able to outrun them, but he couldn’t outrun their Toxotes missiles. Individually, they weren’t guaranteed to hit him at this distance, but ten ships could easily hit him just by sheer volume of projectiles.

Or he could fight. Survival was unlikely there, as well.

“Nikolai, calculate probability of survival in battle.”

Nikolai placed his hand on his chin. “The odds of succeeding in this battle are approximately three-thousand, seven-hundred, and twenty to one.”

“And if we run?”

“About the same.”

“Jesus.”

“Three minutes, commander.”

“Recommended course of action?” Spencer said hopefully.

Nikolai shrugged. “‘Go down swingin’ in a blaze of glory’, as you humans might say?”

Spencer looked up at the view screen. The ten ships had grown exponentially. He could clearly see their formation now. The massive Tartarus slid ominously across empty space at the head of the group, flanked by the Oranos frigates. The Kronos cruisers followed closely behind the Tartarus, on the wings of a line of five Oceanus destroyers. It looked like the ships would destroy them soon enough. Well, if they were going to die, he may as well let his men decide how.

He turned to his crew, who stared at him anxiously. Lieutenant Karraker had broken out into a sweat. “Orders, sir?” The lieutenant said tensely.

Spencer scanned the room, looking each of his soldiers in the eye. “That depends upon, your choice, my crew. We have two options. Run, in which case we will likely be destroyed,” Spencer paused. “Or fight and likely suffer the same fate. I leave the choice to you.”

“Two minutes, commander.”

He stared at them. “All in favor of retreat?”

Dead silence.

“Fight?”

“Aye.” All said it, but without emotion. The voices of dead men.

“Then, get to it.” Spencer said. He spun on his heel and looked back to the view screen. “Mister Karraker, arm Toxotes bays one through fifteen. Lock on to the frigates as soon as they are within range.”

“Ensign Hatchet, arm a Ragnarok.”

“Aye, sir.” Hatchet said, his voice thick with worry. He punched in the code to disable the safety on one of five Ragnarok nuclear warheads the Chiron carried.

Spencer turned to Nikolai, whose form was criss-crossed with mathematical equations. “Nikolai, send a message to Captain Stevens. Tell him to arm a Ragnarok and fire on the Tartarus as soon as it’s in range.”

“I will commander, but you know that a Tartarus can survive a direct hit from any weapon we have, thanks to its shields.”

“I don’t doubt it can survive one.” Spencer said. A small, wily grin crept up his face.

“Then why waste the missile?” Nikolai asked.

“I’m not wasting a missile. I’m spending a missile. Just do it.”

Nikolai concentrated a moment, sending the message. “There.”

“Good. Now, when the Ajax fires its warhead, fire ours so that it impacts exactly five seconds after theirs.”

Nikolai nodded. “I can do this, give or take a millisecond or two.”

“Make it so.”

Nikolai faded away. No point in being around as a distraction. He was still there, just without an avatar. But, now that he had already done the calculations and told the warhead when to fire, he had another job to attend to.

Spencer tapped a button on the bottom of the view screen, so that he was now looking out of the starboard camera. Roughly five seconds later, a jet of blue fire erupted from a port on the bottom of the Ajax, then quickly faded. A forty megaton dose of pain soared through space.

“Ragnarok impact in twenty seconds.”

Silence.

An anxious crew held its breath.

Five streaks of yellow arced from the Tartarus battleship.

Spencer cursed.

The Chiron fired its warhead.

The Toxotes missiles from the enemy battleship impacted with Ragnarok.

A ball of nuclear fire.

The Chiron’s missile soared past it.

Spencer cringed. His plan had failed and the surviving missile would be stopped by the Tartarus’s shield. The enemy’s battleship would survive.

Nikolai faded back in. “Don’t worry, commander.”

A second Ragnarok screamed out of the Ajax.

Spencer’s eyes went wide and he shot a glance at Nikolai. “You clever bastard!” He shouted, laughing. He quickly switched
his view back to the forward camera.

The first missile slammed into the Tartarus’s shields, which suddenly appeared and shimmered translucent yellow, then flickered out.

Before the shields could regenerate, the second warhead impacted. The Tartarus-Class battleship, a ship of the most powerful type in existence, detonated into a supernova.

Nikolai smirked. “I predicted that they would counter with a salvo of missiles, so I took the liberty of firing another warhead, exactly five seconds after ours. They had no chance to fire another or bring their shields back online.”

“Brilliant. Truly brilliant.”

“Of course, it was your idea, originally.” Nikolai said. The AI construct grinned. “‘Nothing too tough for a good ol’ nuke’ as you might say.”

Spencer looked over his shoulder at the crew. They were noticeably relieved. Lieutenant Karraker sighed with relief. He let them enjoy a moment more.

“Look alive, people! We aren’t out of this yet!” Spencer turned back to his view screen. “Let’s blow ‘em straight to hell!”

A rousing cheer rang out across the bridge.

“Karraker, arm fifteen more missile bays. Lock on to frigates and fire on my command. Split the number of missiles evenly between the two.”

“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant immediately set to work.

“Sir, the cruisers are moving to fire gauss cannons.” Lieutenant Akira chimed in.

“How long do we have before the electromagnets are charged?”

“Ten seconds.” Akira bit her lip.

“Karraker! Fire five pods of those Toxotes; target the nearest cruiser’s gauss cannons! On the double!” Spencer turned to Nikolai. “Have the Ajax do the same!”

Karraker’s fingers flew like lightning across his console. Twenty-five missiles flew like lightning across the view screen, all aiming for the ten forty-foot long cannons on the prow of the cruiser nearest the Chiron.

Twenty-five more missiles launched from the Ajax. The Chiron’s missiles impacted.

The shields died after only fifteen missiles, not being anywhere near as strong as a Tartarus, the remaining ten hitting full force. The gauss cannons, glowing with electricity, were suddenly turned into piles of molten slag.

Spencer breathed a sigh of relief. A gauss cannon shot would have knocked out his shields. Ten would have torn the ship asunder.

The commander looked back at the view screen and saw the other missiles hit their mark. Spencer nodded approvingly. The Ajax had gotten a better hit. A missile had soared through the bridge, destroying it utterly.

The spine of the ship detonated bit by bit, a chain reaction, when suddenly the lower decks were engulfed in fire, the oxygen inside the ship burning. The cruiser went into blazing oblivion.

In response to this atrocity, the destroyers brought to bear their mighty pulse lasers. Deadly accurate and capable of melting and cutting clean through the armor of nearly any ship, shields or not.

The long gun atop the bridge of the ships began to glow fluorescent green, charging what could be a fatal shot.

“Nikolai! Perform evasive action so that we move exactly one second before they fire!” Spencer shouted.

Nikolai’s avatar flared brightly.

The Chiron violently lurched to the left, throwing crewmen out of their seats, and knocking Spencer to the floor, hitting the edge of the console. He felt his forehead be split open by the corner of the machine.

The crew crawled back to their positions as Spencer tried to stand up. Blood filled his vision. Seeing red, he thought.

Spencer felt an arm lifting him up and he looked over his shoulder. He could barely see through the blood, but he was fairly certain it was Lieutenant Karraker.

“Sir? Are you alright?” Yep, that was Karraker. “Hey! Ensign! Get me a bandage! Now!” Karraker’s blurry red form turned back to him. “Commander?”

“I’m alright.” He said weakly. He willed himself to stand up. “Just… Need a bandage.” He wiped the blood out of his eyes with the sleeve of his uniform, staining it probably beyond cleaning.

Karraker handed him a long piece of cloth, which Spencer promptly tied about his head. It quickly turned red, but it kept most of the blood out of his eyes.

“Commander, they’re charging lasers again.” Nikolai said.

“Karraker, back to your position! Arm and launch half of our missiles at the destroyers!”

“Sir, that’s nearly two-hundred fifty projectiles!” Karraker exclaimed.

“I said fire, lieutenant!”

“Yes, sir!”

Karraker jumped over the rail and down to his station, sliding around the console into his seat. He gave the command to fire two-hundred thirty-seven Toxotes missile on board, divided between the five destroyers.

The lasers burned with red light.

The Chiron vomited forth a storm of screaming high-explosive. The cloud of azure flame surrounded the ship, a great ring, a halo. The jet trails of a tempest of Hell streamed off, ready to send their targets into the Abyss.

Spencer watched with satisfaction, even as the pulse lasers obliterated missile after missile. Soon enough, the lasers would run out of charge, and the Chiron’s weapons would strike.

A good hundred-fifty missiles made it through, roughly thirty to a ship.

The bridges of the destroyers melted and exploded, sending the ships spiraling out of control. One of the destroyers pitched to its starboard side, locking the twisted remains of its bridge onto the hull of an adjacent ship. An explosion ripped through one of their bellies, igniting their nuclear reactors.

They disappeared from radar.

“Sir!” A cry came. Spencer didn’t see who it was, but he immediately looked to his view screen.

“Missiles to port!” Nikolai announced.

“Evasive action!” Spencer screamed.

“Too late!”
An alarm sounded. The bridge was flooded with blinding light, and the temperature soared. The entire ship rocked with the impact.
Spencer was able to catch himself on the console this time, slamming a few buttons in the process, changing the image rapidly.

The ship steadied. “Damage report!” Spencer ordered.

“Shields down! Hull breaches on decks five, seven, eight, and eleven in sections alpha and gamma! Ragnarok firing system damaged. Gauss cannons inoperative.” Ensign Allard read.

“Casualties?”

“Still coming in.”

“Dammit…” Spencer said under his breath.

Allard looked up. “Five in engineering, thirteen in electromagnetics, eight in Ragnarok bays, and one on bridge.”

Spencer quickly turned and looked across the bridge. An ensign was being carried off by two deckhands. His console had exploded, killing him instantly.

Spencer slammed his fist onto the console in anger. Nothing pissed him off more than losing soldiers. Fine men and women had just died.

“Sir! The Ajax!”

Spencer turned to starboard.

The mighty Ajax was burning.

“Nikolai! Hard to port!”

“Gladly!”

The Chiron shot violently to the left, just as the Ajax’s reactor went critical.

The temperature aboard the ship spiked, more blinding light, a nuclear inferno.

Spencer steadied himself.

“Damage report!”

Allard read off the figures. “Ragnaroks inoperative, engines at twenty-one percent, gauss cannons destroyed, thirty-two Toxotes pods damaged or inoperative, four fighters damaged, one shuttle craft destroyed. Hull breaches at decks two, five, six, seven, eight, and eleven in all sections.” Allard looked up, fear in his eyes. “Sir, most of our starboard hull is melted.”

Spencer felt a chill run up his spine.

“Casualties. Seventeen more in engineering, nine more electromagnetics, forty-three in Ragnarok bays,” Spencer shivered. “Ninety-four marines, one mess-hall, fifteen hangar staff, four pilots.

“Nikolai, who hit the Ajax?” Spencer asked, his heart heavy.

Nikolai hung his holographic head. Even the AI could feel his pain. “The frigates got them while we were distracted."

Spencer looked at the floor. “The Ajax has been lost with all hands.” He said to his crew. The wailing cry of a bugle came over the speakers all over the ship, the haunting tune of Taps. Every instinct told him to run, to flee, but he knew they were more likely to be destroyed that way, especially with his engines at such a low level.

Spencer looked up.

“Nikolai, what weapons do we have that do work?”

Nikolai put his hand on his forehead, scanning. “Forty-one Toxotes pods, two-hundred 50 mm cannons, and…” Nikolai looked up. “The crew have gotten one Ragnarok operational.”

Karraker turned to the commander. “Sir,” He said pleadingly, eyes full of fear. “What do we do?”

Spencer turned to him, an eyebrow raised. His anger, it had given him new resolve.

“What do we do?” Spencer repeated. “Well, I really hadn’t thought about it that far in advance, but I suppose… I suppose I will put my foot up their ass.”

Nikolai looked at him. “That’s a rather old-fashioned expression.”

Spencer shot a glance at him. “Well, I’m about to open up a good old-fashioned can of whoop-ass on them.”

Nikolai rolled his eyes.

Spencer turned back to the helm. “Karraker, arm half our missile pods. I don’t care which ones, just half. Hatchet, arm the nuke. Akira! Plot a course, top speed, directly away from the frigates.”

“Away, sir?” Akira asked.

“Away, lieutenant.” Spencer replied.

“Right away, commander.”

The Chiron began to turn around, a sluggish, reeling motion, thanks to the extensive damage. The battered cruiser slowly retreated, becoming an enticing target to its foes. The frigates began to accelerate after it.

Spencer turned to his crew. “Men, I just want you to know… That you are one of the finest crews in the Sol Alliance. It has been an honor to serve with you and I am grateful to be in command of a ship with a crew so skilled,” Spencer continued. “As to destroy an entire ten ship fleet by themselves!”

“Now, listen up people! We have to destroy them before they fire, because we can’t take any more abuse,” Spencer said, eyes full of fire and voice filled with verve. “But I know, I know, that no lieutenant or ensign or marine in the Void, can match anyone here in Sol!”

There was a red flash from behind the Chiron. Spencer flipped the view to the aft camera.

Hundreds of glowing crimson pinpoints shone against the blackness of space, their launchers following close behind, the windows on the bridges like razor-edged fangs.

“Nikolai, how many missiles do you believe it would take to destroy their missiles?” Spencer asked.

Nikolai raised an eyebrow. “If I aim them perfectly?”

“Yes.”

“More than we have.”

“How many can we afford to let hit us?”

Nikolai paused. “Five.”

Spencer looked at Nikolai, then away. “Karraker, arm all Toxotes. Let Nikolai do the aiming.”

“Yes, sir.” You could have cut the tension in Karraker’s voice with a knife.

The bridge was silent except for the tapping of keys. Nikolai looked to Spencer. “We don’t have enough missiles, commander. Even if I aim them perfectly. There’s no way I can stop all of them.” He explained.

“Then, aim more than perfectly.” He looked back at Lieutenant Akira. “Akira, divert all engine power to shields.”

“That will boost shields to thirty-one percent.” Akira said.

“See it done.” Spencer ordered. Then, he reconsidered. “Divert all non-essential power to shields. That includes light and heat in crew quarters. Nobody should be in their quarters right now, anyway.”

“Aye, commander.” Akira replied. “Shields up to forty-six percent. We can now take”

“Commander! Missile impact in six seconds!” Nikolai shouted.

“Fire missiles!”

The two clouds of missiles flew at each other, red versus blue, Void versus Sol.

“Impact in three seconds.” Someone on the bridge said.

Silence. Tension.

“One.”

The Toxotes exploded into a massive inferno, the red and blue gases mixing into a deep, ethereal, violet mist. For a moment, no one could see how many missiles made it through.

A dozen red pinpoints drilled through the cloud.

Spencer instinctively ducked behind his console.

The missiles impacted. Red fire engulfed an area just outside the ship, quickly oozing through the shields. The heat on the bridge shot up like a bullet. Spencer poked his head above the console, only to see metal dripping and warping off the front of the ship.

Then, as suddenly as the blaze had come, it was gone. Spencer shot up. “Damage!”

“Shields dead, minimal hull breach on deck twelve in sector Alpha.” Allard announced.

“Well, what now, commander?” Nikolai asked.

“Hmmm… Well, I do have a plan, but it hinges on one factor.”

Nikolai arched a brow. “What would that be?”

“Is it true that Void captains are generally chosen for traits of sadism and cruelty?” Spencer asked.

“Yes. What are you thinking?” Nikolai asked.

“Do you think a Void captain would capture a helpless enemy just to torture him and watch him suffer?”

“Possibly, especially if victory looked assured.” Nikolai said, a smile playing on the edges of his silver lips. He’s figured it out, Spencer thought.

“Allard! Send a message to the hangar. Tell them to load our operational Ragnarok onto a shuttlecraft. Tell them to set its timer to detonate in…” Spencer paused. “How long do you think, Nikolai?”

“About five minutes.”

“To detonate in five minutes.” He continued. “Set the shuttlecraft to autopilot right between the two frigates. Make it dock
with one of them.”

“Yes, sir.” Allard said. “Message sent.”

“Now give me a com channel to the Void commanders.”

The screen flicked to a split-screen picture of two men, one on each side. They were both angry-looking, wearing a perpetual sneer. The one on the left had long black hair streaked with gray, far longer than Sol regulations would have allowed. He had a slick goatee, impeccably trimmed. The one on the right had short spiky blonde hair and was considerably younger than the other. His eyes were actually black, a side effect of working with Wormhole technology for too long.

“Ah, our so very unworthy foe comes to plead for his life.” The older one said.

“How… delectable…” The younger one said, actually seeming to take pleasure in this event.

Spencer looked the one on the left square in the eye. “I have indeed come to negotiate the terms of surrender. I have sent over a peace envoy,” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shuttle flying towards the frigates. “To show our diplomatic intentions.”

The younger captain laughed. “I hope you didn’t care too much about the pilots, because they just docked with my ship.” The shuttle craft disappeared into the belly of the frigate on the left. The captain cackled again. “This will be fun…”

The older one sneered even more. “Oh, come now, commander. You couldn’t have sent a few pilots for me?”

Spencer faked a smile. Thank God, he thought. Thank God, it’s on autopilot. No telling what torture the pilots would have been subjected to. Of course, they wouldn’t have suffered anything except a nuclear explosion, but that was bad too.

“I’m sending troops in to capture them as we speak.” The younger captain said sadistically.

Spencer’s blood ran cold. There was still a minute on the timer. They could find the nuke and deactivate it!

“Excuse me a moment, captains.” Spencer said hastily. He made the “kill” gesture at Ensign Allard, who quickly ended the transmission.

“Allard, please tell me that they hid the nuke.” Spencer said.

Allard typed something, and then, after a moment, read the reply. “Yes. They hid it beneath the floor.”

Spencer sighed with relief. “Open transmission.”

The captains reappeared. They looked impatient. “What is the meaning of this?” The younger captain said. “There are no people aboard the shuttle!”

“Oh? I didn’t realize.” Spencer said sarcastically. Spencer looked at Nikolai, who mouthed ‘Twenty seconds’.

“What have you done?” The older captain roared.

“Oh, nothing.” Spencer said nonchalantly, making it all the more irritating.

The younger captain screamed with rage. “Fire the gauss cannons! Blow them to hell!”

The guns began to charge.

The younger captain leaned forward, hungry for the kill. But then, something inaudible to the Chiron's crew was yelled on his bridge. The man shot out of his chair. “What? Deactivate it! Deactiv-”

The transmission was suddenly cut off in an explosion, a firestorm that engulfed both frigates.

Before the explosion had even faded, Spencer said, “Lieutenant Akira, plot a course for Halcyon VI. Patch me in to Admiral Illyanovich as soon we are within range of communications. He needs to know a certain something about routine patrols.”

Not sure if I can enter this, and if I can't, that's okay. Anyway this is a very original story that I wrote and a very great deal of the story is non -fiction. Helium published this for me a while back, but changed the title from "Tiffany Stone" to "Soldier Tales" and of course, I always questioned Helium's reasoning, since the story is written about a sailor.

Anyway, this is the link to http://www.helium.com/tm/102720/thought ... am-couldnt "Soldier Tales" and even if the story does not qualify to be in the contest, I still hope that everyone will enjoy it.

This is a pretty random one: I took the word 'Sweatiness' and went from there. I honestly couldn't bring myself to do part 3 since I'm pretty busy at the moment. On the bright side...you can make up any ending you like. Personally, I reckon the main character gets too drunk and ends up killing the fat 'Santa Claus' guy, winding up in jail and making an absurd escape. Cheesy, eh? Anyway, I hope you nonetheless enjoy the reading so far!

Sweatiness

It trickled, not unlike a new-born dribbling. Writhing around creases between muscles before sliding along, carrying blackened sediment. A brow is wiped, a ticket stamped, a lamp snuffed. They began loading the carts in the sweltering sun, sweat teeming from their very shovels. Black upon black, upon grime, upon black. And the cart dragged away, rocking ever so slightly. Scum marked their faces like war-paints, smeared by oozing perspiration, leaving flesh-tones indistinguishable. Another wagon rolled up, and they began to load coal again. Too long before the next shift, and another drink. Meanwhile, they continued to lose fervour and moisture. Drip.

The sun began its descent, glowing like a drained ember, yet continuing to bake the ground. Cracks formed deep crevices in the earth, disfiguring it like shattered pottery. It was now arid outside the mine. The only discernable movement was the rumbling carriages making their journey over worn, gliding tracks. Tracks of solid iron: groaning and yielding to the savage sun. The men emerged again, their forged muscles riveted in sweat.

I wipe my brow, and squint at the horizon, questioning it. Why it decides to bombard me with infinite salvos of piercing light. I longed for that great ball of fire to sheath its golden rays. I noticed the long handle of my shovel still gripped in my blistered hand. I drop it in the designated wheelbarrow and wander listlessly to the train. We sit upon mounds of glistening coal, those streams of shimmering black, and I look on the men who scramble up the still-moving carriages. One man joins my perch, and offers me his water. I shake the leather flask, surveying its contents. There is a fifth left, and I ask him, ‘How much?’ He smiles like I take him for a fool, and tells me, ‘Every drop’. The water slides down my sandpaper throat, permeating every gnarled strand of my withered being. It feels like ambrosia; a revitalising, entrancing nectar. I return his smile and shake his hand. We talk idly while the train bears us home. I promise him a beer at the tavern and invite his wife as company for my own. He accepts, and the journey draws to an end.

We meet in town. All exchange greeting, the formalities that acquaintances are used to. I crack a joke, we laugh, and we walk through town. A small town, but with endearments that give it an earthy charm. Buildings are constructed of large stone slabs. I wonder how heavy each is as a pause in conversation arises. I notice that in our group there are comfortable pauses, as if awkwardness is an alien concept. It feels good to be relaxed. His wife is attractive, I think. She has a rosy complexion, a slim body, and features, though not striking, that most men and women alike would admire. I can’t help but observe the elegant rise of her breast as she breathes. I wake myself and reassert my principles. It doesn’t work, and the thought itches the back of my mind like coarse wool. We arrive at a tavern.


The Tavern

We enter the realm of the sordid. They slouch, gorge and roll over in their seats. Occasionally food rumbles off their large trough-like beards, and splatters in silence. What they say is inaudible, but their laughs echo across the floor in booming waves. So I order my drink, and I wait. I eye one of them, unimpressed, but interested. It’s like they have their own magnetic fields, perhaps because of their vast, rotund builds. Yet something intangible draws me. I face the barmaid again, and pay her, slipping in a wink and another cliché. Swaggering over to our seat with a smirk, I place the drinks upon coasters and fall into a leather armchair. I’m facing the louts. I try not to acknowledge them, and give attention to my companions. We talk, and all is well.

Time floats by in a drunken amour, alike wafts of aroma in an old cartoon. The atmosphere is great, splendid, spectacular; and interjected with more raging laughter from across the room. The lights are dim, the people chatty, and if it weren’t for those rowdy men in the corner the ambience would be perfect. I want to get up and tell them to quieten down. I feel cold and Clinical.

It was actually quite warm in the tavern, a lustrous kind of warmth that one soaks in with pleasure. I ordered another frosty pint. I lit a cigar. Not a normal cigar, a big one. A big, Havana cigar. I wondered if anyone in the room had seen one before. It was certainly a work of art. Gilded tobacco leaves that swirl into a glowing tube of luxury. That description doesn’t do it justice. It’s more than that, and the feeling of the dense milky smoke, that for some reason reminds me of gliding chocolate syrup, is beyond surmising. I always inhaled, and did so with an ease of mind that surprised myself. My shoulders slumped, only to be woken by a question drilled directly at me. My reverie ends, and I’m back in the conversation.

The evening was going well, and yet, they still sat there. I analysed one briefly, drawing a summary in my mind: ‘Large, round, kind of like a ripe plum, and laughing like Santa Claus on a bender’. He had a large beard, capable of submerging caravels. His eyes were mad. I’ve read books where people are described as having mad eyes, but never really pictured it. His were mad, like an outraged stallion’s. They were bloodshot, as if bursting from his skull. I gulped down some frosty beer, which felt more like a hot coal searing its way to my stomach. I feel spite in me.

I’ve never been to this tavern before, I know none of the clientele, and my friends are oblivious to my detached mind. Santa gets up, and walks in our direction, dragging his left foot along the ground like a mauled hoof. I purposefully ignore him, and deepen the conversation. I am quite drunk, hot-bloodedly so, and I feel the instinctive rage storming from centre to fingertip. I’m not angry, but calculated, ready for bloodshed. My veins are engorged, muscles I didn’t know of seem to be swelling and tightening in preparation for onslaught. He taps my shoulder gently and asks me for a light. I oblige, and he journeys back to his seat.

I cross my arms and dig my nails deep into the flesh of my left arm, leaving defined, deep marks that feel like seething gouges. I’m awake, and nothing happened. It’s a strange feeling of relief, and I wonder what from. I see him, and he raises his hand in thankful gesture. I respond accordingly, and return to the airtight bubble of our conversation.[*]

RIT wrote:Here's my entry.
1739 words
I did end it with a possiblity of adding more, so if I have a random brain-wave before November 14th, I'll be sure to update the story.
Cheers and luck to everyone entering.

Misdirection

This is a story about mistakes and lessons. I suppose it’s about more than that, but essentially, that’s what it all leads back to. Whether the mistakes were my own, my mother’s or the world’s, I’m not all that sure, but without them I’d have no story to tell.

My name is Jeff Wilson; I was only 17 when I decided to leave my home. It’s not like I was doing all that much there anyway. I had dropped out of school and lost my job. My father was long gone, my mother was an alcoholic and my grandmother, our sole provider, was dead.

Simply put, my life has never been easy. I grew up in a household with a violent mother and a grandmother that worked two jobs to support us. My grandmother cared a great deal about both my mother and I, but she really wasn’t around often enough. I suppose she must have felt a bit guilty because for my tenth birthday she bought me a way out of this less than mundane life: a guitar.

I often found myself alone as I had few friends and not much of a family. Now, I had something to busy myself with. I sat around hour after hour, day after day, painstakingly teaching myself to play. To this very day I still can’t read music and I can’t name a single chord, but that never mattered. As long as I could play, I was happy.

I started listening to my mother’s old records more and worked my way through the songs, learning every part of each song that caught my interest.

Around my thirteenth birthday, I managed to get myself a part-time job at the local supermarket. The few friends I did have drifted away even further since I didn’t really do much else outside of school, work and music. Occasionally, I’d break up that cycle with a meal here and there, although not as often as I’d have liked due to my mother’s drinking tendencies. Overall, it wasn’t too bad.

It wasn’t until I was about sixteen that it started to really deteriorate. I stopped going to school because I wasn’t doing all that well and eventually I just dropped out. It wasn’t hard to get my mother to sign off on it, as all I had to do was find a moment when she was drunk and awake. I started working fulltime so my grandmother could quit one of her jobs. After all, she was getting up in her years. She wasn’t happy I’d quit school, but never made too much of a fuss about it. It was only a few months later that she fell ill.

A few weeks into her illness, she had to quit her job, as it was getting too hard for her to get out of bed. I dropped a few shifts at work to stay home and care for her. Eventually my boss fired me because I couldn’t get to work as often as he needed me. We turned to living off what little collage fund I had saved over the years, knowing I’d never make it to collage anyway. Those days were really tough, it seemed that all I did was take care of my grandmother and avoiding my drunken mother.

In the few moments of spare time I did manage to get, I turned to my guitar. Music was my only escape from the harsh reality of my life. I started to write songs. A few riffs, simple chord progressions, and basic melodies later, I found myself with a few songs on the go. The only thing I had trouble with were the lyrics. Everything I wrote seemed contrived and boring. I suppose lyrics, like anything, can’t be forced.

When my grandmother finally died, about a year after she first fell ill, I knew it was time to leave. We were worse than broke and her death was a wake-up call for me. She had left me a letter. The letter was quite long, and I must have read it a thousand times over, but every time it was different. Some of the letter was about our family’s history; some of it was just little things she had picked up over the years. The letter also mentioned the guilt she felt for never giving me a better life than I had. She also mentioned a shoebox that she had hidden under a couple of floorboards in her closet that had some money she’d saved up over the years as well as a Swiss army knife that had apparently belonged to my grandfather. When I finally dug it up, it was far more than I’d have thought she’d saved.

That was all I needed, and my bags were packed. I had few belongings: just some clothing and my guitar, really. My mother had never cared for me or I her, so I knew it was time to finally leave.

I hitchhiked my way into the city and found myself a small apartment. I suppose I could have bussed it into the city, but I wanted to save all the money for when I’d really need it. The apartment was small and smelled of stale cat pee, but it was all I could afford. Plus, the landlord there was the only person who was willing to overlook the fact I was only 17, a minor. There was a girl living in the apartment next to mine that was about my age. On the other side, there was a grouchy old man that had a tendency to shout at nothing.

I managed to procure myself a job as a waiter in a small restaurant. I had the daytime off mostly, so I would go around to the small clubs that needed musicians. I was always rejected since all of my songs were nothing but music. I did manage to find work in a small café that wanted my lyric-less songs, although there I was merely background noise.

I was living alright, and it was better than before, yet I was immeasurably unhappy. I still don’t really understand it. My one job was quite pleasant and the other paid well and let me get to know people better. Sure, my apartment was still horrid, but it wasn’t that bad. I guess I was frustrated. I tried to write lyrics to my songs so I could play elsewhere, or even get a chance to record a demo. But I couldn’t think, and all the lyrics were uninspired.

It was then that the depression that I’d thought my music had under control shone through. It crept up on me when I was least expecting it, the one time I figured I could be okay: when I was playing.

I was playing one of my more morose songs, attempting, once again, to write lyrics. I had the melody, but no words came to mind. Finally, I just put down my guitar in the middle of playing. I looked at it in disgust, leaving it sitting on the stained couch and walked the three steps it took to get to my bedroom. The bedroom was more like a closet with a single bed stuffed in there. I sat on the bed and looked back at my guitar. And that’s when it really hit. I started sobbing, and I wasn’t sure why.

Was it because I had failed to make it musically? Or was it simply the sorrows of my life finally adding up. It was odd, I don’t cry, ever; I hardly shed a tear when my grandmother died and I cared for her deeply. I couldn’t figure it out; I didn’t know what I wanted. The fact that even music couldn’t bring me back to life was what really messed me up. That was when the thought of an early death came to mind. I wasn’t sure how to do it, but I new it wouldn’t be too hard. I walked out of the apartment and found myself wondering the streets.

I finally found what I was looking for, a quiet park free of the usual population of drug addicts and their suppliers. I took out the Swiss army knife that I had found in my grandmothers box. The letter had said it was my grandfather’s. I found a nice old willow tree and sat down under it. Taking out the knife I rolled up my sleeves and took a deep breath. A moment later I looked down at the blood pouring out from the wound I had evidently inflicted upon myself. I sighed and felt my eyes getting heavy. As the world darkened, I heard a shout in the distance.

When I woke up I found myself in a bright white room that smelled so sterile it burnt my nose. I looked to my right arm and saw an IV needle sticking out of me. I was in a hospital.

“It’s about time you woke up,” a quiet female voice said.

I looked over to see a young woman sitting on the chair in the corner of the room. I tried to ask who she was but found my mouth dry. She handed me a glass of water that was sitting on a table nearby and spoke again.

“I’m Jess; I live two doors down from you. I heard you crying and then you stormed out so I figured I’d follow you. When I saw what you had intended to do I called for help, and they brought you here.”

It was in that moment I was thankful to actually be alive. Someone, a stranger no less, seemed to actually care about me? It was excruciatingly odd to realize this.

When I was able to leave the hospital, Jess was to take care of me for the next little while. The doctors said I seemed stable but would need supervision. Over a short time we built up a close relationship, a friendship that I’d never known could even exist until then.

I finally was able to write the lyrics for my songs. The first few were about struggling; the song I had been playing when I finally broke down was about just that; and there was one song I wrote about love and friendship, as cheesy as that may sound. Jess helped me record the songs using her computer.

I finally had my demo.

fin

“Russian men are not weak. We do not show pain.”
He looked at me with an indifferent expression, honesty reverberating throughout chocolate-colored eyes with absolutely nothing sweet about them. His voice dripped with malice and what seemed like an overdose of sympathy, making me feel all the more pathetic, like some squirming amoeba attempting to avoid the bright flash of the bulb on the microscope as he said to me,
“Russians are miserable.”

I did not bother arguing with him, knowing that there must’ve been some truth in the terrible words that he spoke. Just like I did not argue with you as your eyes glinted at me in the moonlight, studded with love and lust and promises I knew you would not be able to keep, but I smiled at you anyway as if I believed that they would come true as you pulled off my shirt and promised that I was beautiful. But as your kisses stray past lips and towards the skin of my neck, smooth and soft hands as gentle as guillotines groping for my chest, I cannot stop the thoughts from echoing through my mind, guilty eyes looking away from the top of your head and out the window, hoping for an escape on the stars shooting through the sky.
Boys are not beautiful.

Shadow sits in a corner watching us, a smoking cigarette tucked behind her ear as I lie next to you in bed, sheets drawn up to my neck and knees bent. I’m feeling dirty and impure, screaming inwardly at myself at what a mess I’ve made, what a mess I’ve made, what a mess I am. Nevertheless, a fake smile is plastered on my face and my arms wrap around you, and even though you cannot tell the difference in my eyes as you smile at me and poke my nose gently, telling me you love me always and forever. It makes me want to cry salty tears and drown out the voices screaming “LIAR” within my own head, so I kiss you so gently that it makes you shiver and you do not mind as much when I leave a few moments later, shaking as I dress myself and leave with the girl that smells like smoke leaning against your closet wall. She shoots you a pitying look as I begin to walk down the stairs, shaking her head and whispering so quietly that you cannot hear her as you roll over and attempt to hum yourself to sleep.
“He can never give you what you need.”
As she walks out of the door I can hear the echo of your voice down the hallway,
“I love you, Shaela.”

Now I’m sitting in a chair looking at the reflection in the mirror before me, tears running down my face as she stands behind me, scissors in hand and a patiently sympathetic expression on her face as she awaits my decision. It’s fluttering around my head like a flock of drunken birds, so lost on the map that they can only travel in one circular direction just out of reach of my fingertips resting on a pathetic five-foot-two-point-five frame. I look at her with remorse in my eyes, fingering my shoulder-length locks distractedly as I confide within my breathing journal, as I confide within a soul that no one else can see and no one else can hear as her teeth click rhythmically against over-chewed nails. Mahogany eyes twinkle with pitying tears as I confess to her, my voice cracking with suppressed sobs that burn guilty holes in my esophagus like a magnifying glass in the clutches of an immature being burns ants alive.
“She called me by my birth name.”
“I know,” Shadow speaks, her voice so appropriate to her name as it washes over me—soft but husky, stubbled like a man’s chin after two days without shaving. She spoke with the melody of an accent foreign to this part of this stars-and-stripes country, but commonplace in the rough-and-tumble neighborhood she no doubt came from (but in that sense she is a little fake, an heir to upper-middle-class wealth). The lisp from her tongue ring—her stamp of blatant individuality not already expressed by the eyebrow ring, lip ring, or underlying sense of queer-dom—becomes apparent with her next words. Her nimble fingers hold my hair gently as she snip-snip-snippety-snips away the dirty-blonde, slight-frizzy mass, matching smiles spreading slowly and unobtrusively on our lips as the pile on the floor grows.
“It’s okay now, Sam.” Her fingers gently squeezed mine as we grinned proudly at the image in the mirror—an overly-feminine boy. “Shaela left the mirrors.”

You cry the next time you see me, your face like that of some beautiful, martyred angel as you reach out to fix the tie around my neck that right now I’m wishing is a noose. But you shake your head at my apology and tell me it’s okay, it’s okay, I love you no matter what. This makes me smile, and I’m not faking it as my hands slide around your hips and my lips press up against yours, not as gently as before because I’m not trying to make up for something. But I’m starting to think that I should be making up for something because that night you do not kiss me the same way when I’m the one on top and my hands explore your chest and taboo places we do not describe in writing, because no one wants to read that I get off on the touch of a hot clit against my fingertips. You let me hold you as your breath slows back to a normal pace, but your smile isn’t as bright, like someone threw a blanket over you and tried to smother it out like a stray flame before it spread into a wildfire. You’re laying quietly and probably wondering if I heard you moan her name, and I’m kissing your forehead trying my very very hardest not to feel betrayed because I looked in the mirror to finally see what I told Mom and my kindergarten class I wanted to be when I grew up. But your breathy, pleasured whisper is ringing through my head like the echo of an out-of-tune chord played on a real shitty piano recorded on one of those old-ass vinyl records that Jenna just adores.
“Shaela.”

The world was falling, crumbling like the pillars of the grand coliseum, but even tiny bacteria can creep in through the cracks of the caesarian cement and eat away at the pride. It was dissolving and disappearing, large slabs of my reality coming loose and falling from their foundation, crushing foolish hopes and dreams that scurried around like naïve Chicken Littles, crying because their sky is falling, their sky is falling, oh my god the sky is falling. It was so terrible that my heart began to palpitate and oxygen refused to enter my lungs, leaving me gasping through cardiac shock like a fish thrown onto a burning wooden deck. So it was Glacier who came to me, weed in hand and on his clothes and on his breath, calmly smoking the old ganja and letting its lovely incense diffuse through the room as silver eyes watched me through the shower curtain. I’m scrubbing away furiously at all the hideous growths and (lack of) appendages that give me away. I can sense the sinister smile on the blue-haired boy’s face as I press harder with the soapy loofa and make the scalding hot water even hotter, my usually-pale complexion replaced with cherry-red skin as I hope and pray and scream for these lopsided hemispheres to be infected by the protists of the Roman monuments, so that these wretched tumors may too break apart and drip acidic into the spray of ardent water to wash down the drain, never to give me away to doctors and school nurses and physical examinations again. But Glacier blows a suffocating, perfumed smoke ring at me and I cough, sputter, gag, cry as he asks,
“Did you get bigger?”

Shadow cries and tries to reach out for Sam when he holds a shard of a shattered hope against his neck, as if her embrace would change his mind. It probably would have, and he wished upon starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight that she might break free from where she struggled against Glacier’s icy hold. His hands tightened around her wrists, held behind her back, as he looked Sam up and down, licking his lips as he thrust his hips. His eyes gleamed with fire, with satisfaction, with knowing that he broke Sam and made him pathetic. The cracked boy looked uncertainly into the mirror, his throat letting loose a prick of blood from where the shard cut into it when he swallowed. But Glacier nodded curtly, lips set in a rigid line, his eyes thirsting for the sight of the beautiful red blood to come pouring from an innocent boy’s regretting veins as his oblivious heart beat on faithfully. He cackles gleefully and tips his head back, opening his twisted, rotting, weed-infested mouth wide open for the blood as it spurts out, exploding through the air like gruesome fireworks erupting over a lake, just without crowds of children and families and star-crossed lovers cheering for more. He lets go of Shadow for this and she falls to the ground, crying big, sloppy, salty tears over the tattered boy’s body as I step out of the shadows, timid in my approach and feeling quite nauseous with guilt as if it were my fault that Sam hadn’t waited for Shadow to break loose. I do not have time for remorse as the cobalt boy turns to me, eyes ablaze now with lust and envy, saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth as he smiles and moves towards me.
“You’re much more arousing as a girl, anyway.”
I look away from him, blushing as I think I am supposed to, but this only invites him to lay a hand on my shoulder. It sits there like some hook that he can use to propel his body forward, and I can see my distorted reflection in the spit he has covering his revoltingly golden teeth, feculent breath hitting my cheeks as he whispers viciously,
“Fuck her. Suck her. Lick her clean and leave her wasted, fagged and shagged and begging for you to climb on top of her for another ride, pretty girl. Because you are what she has been waiting for, and I’m ready to jack off to the sight of my little creation and her little darling. You’re a special kind of couple, so go and finger-screw ‘til you can’t feel your hand no more and your fingers fall off, my lovely lovely disaster.”

Your smile is back the next time you see me, and I know you’re smiling honestly as you hug me and tell me how much you love me, even though I’m feeling a little self-conscious as if the whole world can see it written on my forehead that I’ve driven a perfectly good boy, an honest boy, a boy who loved you with every fiber of his being to death. And I wonder, as you kiss my lips less than gently because the jeans I have on are pressing tight against my skin and they’re giving you ideas, if you will hate me when you find out what I’ve done, if you will scream and yell and throw things and tell me to get out, get out, you filthy, horrible monster, get the fuck out of my pants, bed, heart, house. Because one day you might wake up and roll over to see me sleeping next to you, and kiss me even though I have morning breath but you don’t mind so much because I’m here in the morning instead of sneaking out the back door to get home to my own bed, and maybe you will realize that you did not fall in love with this girl. Perhaps one day it will come to you, like a long-awaited boomerang that you threw like a Frisbee, ready to let go and never to see again until it hits you in the back of the skull and you realize as you rub the freshly-forming bump that you missed it, that you fell in love with Sam and you never really knew Shaela. Perhaps then you will realize that you cannot love her, no matter how hard you try, because you never knew her, never met her, never understood what you were getting yourself into. And by that time, my silly love, it will be too late to go find Sam hiding in the back of my closet with all the boys’ jeans, because I burned him in the fire when I burned the wonderful denim, and you cannot call a ghost back to life through magic, magick, or an Ouija board. And it will be then that I will stand in front of your house in the rain and remember how you said that you’d love me no matter what.

“I was weak,” I told him as we lay in the grass by the track or in the stairwell of a high school or in the rows of chairs in an auditorium. I was falling apart from this world, tied to the ground only by a plastic fishing string that was ready to break at any second because he was not fighting for control over the rod or reel and letting my dorsal cut at it as I flapped about, eyes fluttering shut and snapping back open so I would not go to sleep. I was so terrified of sleep, because Sam came to me and simply watched me and cried, cried, cried because I had the girl of both our dreams, but she loved my body and she loved his soul and three cannot make a couple.
“I showed pain,” I whispered, and this time when he looked at me his chocolate eyes were sweet and melancholy and tears struggled against the barricade of eyes that struggled to stay open against the coercing poison of sleep. But today he was merciful, and he kissed closed my eyelids and smothered me with a pillow, stealing the book he had wanted to borrow from me for so long from my messenger bag as he walked away, a tear that was more emo than mine dripping from his sorrowful eyes.
“You were miserable.”

Author's Note: This writing for a more mature audience on the psychology behind gender dysphoria. It is the work I am most proud of, and I am happy to share it with you. If you need to reach me, I am "Radclyffe" on DeviantArt

This work is copywrited. Do not steal. Plzkthx

Here is my go. I call it Quests End:

She trudged through the forests as the thick fog swirled at her feet. She was tired, the shield strapped to her back was getting heavier by the day as was the sword at her hip. It was getting hard to even keep her feet moving but she had to. If she did not then she would never be accepted as the heir, despite her father's decree. She brushed a few strands of mouse brown hair that had come loose from the tie, from her face and paused. This forest was so still, she was beginning to wonder if there was any life here at all. Then a sound reached her ears. She cocked her head to the side in curiosity. Was that? Yes, the sound of a horse. The thud of its hooves in the dirt, the jangle of bridle as it shook its head with a snort. Her initial elation at finding another being in this place dimmed quickly. What if the rider was not one she would want to encounter. The young knight quickly slipped behind a nearby tree, hiding in the roots that rose from the ground, waiting for rider and horse to pass. She peeked around the tree. The mists seemed to part as the horse approached. She was amazed by the great size of the beast. The eyes of the animal seemed to glow with a strange light. The rider looked to be another knight. As they came closer she could see the barding on the horse was forest green, decorated with golden leaves. The armor of the knight was also green. Her eyes widened in suprise, could this be him? She sucked in a breath as the rider pulled his mount to a stop. The helmed head turned left, then right, finally it seemed his gaze settled on her hiding place.

A voice drifted from the depths of the helmet, deep and commanding. "You seek the Grail?"

It must be him. The guardian of the grail, the one she must challenge before she could drink from the holy relic. She gathered her courage and stepped out from behind the tree. "Yes..I seek the Grail."

Without a word, the Green Knight raised himself from the saddle, swinging his leg over the back of his great steed, dropping to the ground. The horse, pawed the ground, shaking it's great black head, snorting. The Green Knight began a slow steady walk toward her, drawing his sword without a sound. She watched in a trance as he raised the sword, glowing with a strange green light. Somehow she managed to the first swing, drawing her own sword at the last possible instant. The ring of steel on steel drew another snort from the Green Knights steed, as it raised up on its back legs, front hoofs kicking at the air before it landed once again with a thud to stand absolutely still. "None shall pass," came the ethereal voice of the Green Knight.

"I will," she said through gritted teeth, leaning to the side, releasing the taller knights blade, causing him to fall forward. She swung her sword aiming for his now exposed back but with nimbleness that surprised her he blocked the blow. This time however the Green Knight did not lock blades with her. The two fighters traded blows with lightening swiftness. She knew she had to end the battle quickly, for she could not keep pace with him for much longer, not as tired and hungry as she was. She ducked under an incoming swing and charged forward, surprising the unearthly knight, the tip of her sword finding a chink in his armor. She felt the blade pierce through flesh and bone. The Green Knight took a step back, wrenching the sword from her hands. He stance was not that of a man who had just received a fatal wound but that of one freshly ready for battle.
Everything was still once again. The only sounds she could here were that of her own ragged breath and her heart thudding in her ears. The Green Knight started towards her again. She stood ready to dodge any blow he might try to deal but all he did was walk slowly past her. He remounted his steed and with a slight tug on the reins the animal turned, walking back from the direction it had come.

"No, wait!" she cried, breaking into a run, somehow barely keeping up with the seemingly slowly moving horse. Soon she lost sight of him in the swirling mists. "Wait!" she called again but to no avail. She was alone again.

She fell to her knees in the dirt. Had she come all this way only to fail? Bright light exploded around her, causing her to throw up her arm to shield her eyes. In the light she could make out a form. The light faded a little, revealing the form was a female, clothed in the purest white robes, hair flowing down her back in a golden cascade. Tiranth stood, taking a step towards the new comer. "Who...who are you?"

The woman smiled but did not answer. She turned and lifted a golden chalice from a stone that young knight did not remember seeing there before. The beautiful woman stepped forward, bare feet making no sound, and held out the chalice. "Drink Tiranth of Acadia. You have proven your valor before me. Drink."

Tiranth reached out and took the Grail, raising it to her lip she took a drink of the liquid that appeared within. Warmth flooded through her body, chasing away the weariness and hunger. Strength returned to her journey weary limbs. She looked up at the Lady, then fell to her knees before her deity. "I pledge my allegiance to you and the lands you hold sacred. I would give my life to protect the ideals you embody," the words poured from her lips like water from a spring. She continued, pledging her body and soul to the Lady.

The Lady reached out with a snow white hand and took the Grail from Tiranth, smiling all the while. Then in another blaze of blinding light was gone. When she could see once again, she found that she was no longer in the mist enshrouded wood. Instead she was laying beneath a huge pine tree in soft green grass. A noise to her left drew her attention and she gasped in wonder. There looking at her expectantly was the most magnificent creature she had ever beheld. It stepped closer to her, nuzzling her stomach. Tiranth sat up, tentatively reaching up a hand to stroke the silver muzzle. Black tipped wings flared out from it's shoulders, as it shook its head, the black mane tossing from side to side. She laughed, the pegasus seemed to be telling her to get up. "All right, all right," she said, standing. "Will you carry me home noble pegasus?"

The great head nodded up and down. Then it turned to the side, encouraging her further to mount. Soon Tiranth was soaring with the clouds, on her journey home. She wondered as they flew what the others would say when she returned. She knew that most of them expected that she would die on her quest. She smiled and patted the pegasus's neck. "Well, I'll certainly show them a thing or two."