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[Varkanax39]

Name: Varkanax39
Theme: The Game
Story: Endgame

Endgame

The sandy haired man stared at his opponent across the table. He could make out his opponents thin lips, elongated lower jaw, and sparkling green eyes beneath his ornate metal hood. Silently, he lifted the ornate, translucent pawn of pure glass and slid it forward one space.

“Your move,” he said quietly to his opponent. But his opponent’s inhuman eyes, slitted like those of a cat, simply stared back at him silently, then once again at the board before him, where his own opaque silver pieces skirmished with their translucent enemies.

To any watcher who did not know the truth, this would seem merely like a game of chess, albeit played on a gameboard far larger than normal and with oddly
shaped pieces. But all of the hundreds of beings who watched with bated breath as the two chessmasters made their moves knew what was truly at stake.

Ataran was wagering against the sand-haired human, Gonan, for the future of the world itself.

Each time a pawn was lifted, a being in the mortal world moved. Each time a piece was taken, a mortal being died at the hands of a follower of the enemy. The rules of this particular brand of chess had taken Gonan years to learn, and even now he still did not consider himself a master.

Ataran, however, was an immortal deity. He’d had thousands of centuries from before the time before time to practice and hone his skill. Even now, Gonan thought, it seemed that Ataran was toying with him, trying to keep him off-balance on the fronts of the game he was winning while simultaneously controlling and toying with the sectors of the board he controlled.

What was still worse was that Ataran knew that Gonan was loath to sacrifice even a single pawn. He knew that each of them represented the life of a mortal being. As he watched, Ataran slid a pawn silently toward the rook, not caring that he had sentenced a human follower to death.

Ataran simply stared at Gonan through his expressionless jade eyes, wiling him to make a move. He could withdraw his rook from the game’s center, leaving one of his two bishops open for capture by one of Ataran’s rooks. While he still had both bishops, he’d lost both knights and a rook. Ataran still had all of his royal pieces except one bishop. Gonan’s king was shielded only by his bishop, it wouldn’t take much more for Ataran to break through the last of his defenses and seize victory.

Silently, Gonan withdrew the rook out of reach of Ataran’s pawn.

If Ataran won he'd would be free to make good on his promises to enslave the human race for eternity, rendering them mindless creatures once more.

But Gonan could see an opening as well. He still had his queen, as did Ataran. A dangerous, risky strategy took form. His queen could move and take Ataran’s bishop. Ataran would be forced to move his queen back to take Gonan’s queen, and his rook on the middle row could checkmate Ataran’s king, which was blocked from moving any direction but forward.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t pass judgment on so many humans. Not when he didn’t even know if Ataran would take the bait. If Ataran took it, then he, Gonan, had defeated the immortal deity. But if Ataran did not take the bait and continued to press his attack, it would be over for him within minutes.
Ataran’s eyes stared at Gonan coldly, daring him to make a move.

And Gonan made his choice.

Word Count: 599

[The Dark Chronicler]

Member Name: Pyrrhon
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 595
Story: Queen's Gambit




In the darkened halls, two beings moved quickly. One was dressed in the finest of fabrics, a flowing dress of great wealth. The other wore armor of chain, thinly layered over his body. They spoke in whispers, not a word could be heard by anyone... if it was, it would mean death for the both of them.

She was the queen, wife to the ruler of a mighty kingdom. But the might was failing. The people had turned against her husband, and he was responding with force. Now she spoke to the most trusted of the King's Knights, who shared her concerns.

Together, they were plotting out what to overthrow a kingdom, but they could tell not a soul about what was to come. It would only be the two of them against whatever forces protected their king. It would be dangerous, but it was something that had to be done.

The question could be asked, was it for the people who suffered, or if it was merely for power. But that was not on their minds. It was time to dethrone a king, in any way that the situation deemed necessary. Peacefully, or by force.

---

The king stumbled backwards, keeping his blade up to block blows against him. He was confused, very confused. His wife had ordered him to give up his throne. She had tried to order him! He was the king! It was an outrage! And then, as he had pushed her aside, one of his knights had entered the room and attacked!

The knight struck with his blade, trying to break through the defenses of the startled king. Metal struck metal as grim determination filled his eyes. The king would be removed, and peacefully had not seemed to be an option. The king would have to die.

The queen stood to the side, watching the fight going on before her. The knight clearly had the advantage, but the king was reaching for something. A knife. The king let the Knight's next attack disarm him, and as the warrior tried to bring back around his blade, the sharpened knife was plunged deeply into his leg, where the mail was not as strong.

As the knight cried out in pain, the king lifted the knight's own sword, plunging it deeply into his chest. Then his thoughts turned towards the queen. He knew, he could guess. The knight had only attacked after his refusal. It was connected, he knew it.

But he did not have long to think, as his own sword plunged through his back. The queen stood watching as the king stumped to the floor, closing her eyes before taking a few steps away, and shouting out through the nearest passageway.

"The king is dead! The king is dead!"

---

The white king piece fell over as it was pushed by a single finger. "And that is why you have lost. You are unable to form a checkmate upon a kingdom without a king. Surrender is your best and only option."

"And I wondered why no one would ever play chess with you anymore..." The other person sighed, getting up from his seat and walking away from the chessboard. "I'm done here."

"You merely don't understand how to have fun. You're always so serious, never seeing the world for anything more than it is." The fist commented with a grin at his leaving opponent.

"And you really need to just grow up, you can't keep making up your own imaginary worlds for games." The other replied with great irritation.

The first person sighed, looking back down at the chess pieces before him with a slight smile. "Checkmate."

[Danska: Shadow Master]

Member Name: Danska: Shadow Master
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 597
Story: Gunfight

Karl ducked behind cover as another flash narrowly missed his shoulder. He briefly poked his head over the crates to judge distance, location, anything. All he saw was a thick veil of mist obscuring already darkened hallways. He narrowed his eyes, trying to discern anything amidst the gloom. A vague shadow, an outline, anything would do.

He ducked once more as another flash, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a shot, buzzed overhead. It had been close, that one, but it was also exactly what he needed. That one shot had given his enemy's position away. He was crouched to the right in the corner of a door, doubtless focused with great intent upon the crates Karl crouched behind.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Karl moved. He leapt from his position and ran, full pelt, to an opening on his left. Shots rained across the room, but luckily for Karl they all missed. He stumbled through the doorway, skidding to a stop by an open window. From it, he could clearly see his enemy's position. He wasted no time in lifting his weapon and firing three shots at his crouched nemesis.

Haste drew his aim, and he missed by wide margins. Cursing, he ducked below the window. He bit his lip anxiously. This was proving to be much harder than he had expected. He braved a quick look through the window again. Before he could make out even the vaguest of details he ducked again, narrowly avoiding being shot in the head. He had to move, but whichever way he went he was sure to be seen. He cursed again silently as he tried to come up with a plan.

* * * * *

Alex was enjoying himself. Having avoided being shot thanks to his enemy's incompetence, he definitely had the upper hand. He had been winning from the start, but this was just too good. He peered round the corner of the door hoping to see movement, something he could shoot, but his target was no more visible than before.

He shifted impatiently, growing bored as the seconds ticked by. Waiting around was no fun at all. And since it was no fun, that was precisely what he would not do. Besides, the advantage was his. He could afford a few risks.

He peered round the corner again. Seeing nothing, he ducked out of the room and snapped to the wall across from him. Quietly, carefully, he inched along to the left. He even held his breath, lest his enemy hear even that. As he reached the end, he peered cautiously round the door Karl had run through minutes before. Seeing nothing he moved quickly, bursting into the room, gun pointed at the window.

Karl was gone. Incredulously, he moved towards the window, searching round it and through it for any sign of where he had gone. Worried, he began turning, but felt something press against his back.

“Got you.”

Karl stood behind him, gun pressed against his back with a smile on his face. His finger danced along the trigger, testing it, pushing it slowly, slowly in-

*click*

Light flared up around them, a second before Karl could fire. The game was over.

“Five more points, that's all I needed! Five more points!” Said Karl angrily, slamming his laser gun against the wall.

“It's always 'five more points' with you. You'll never beat me, y'know,” Alex chided, grinning from ear to ear.

“I'll get you one of these days,” Karl grumbled. “Same time next week?”

“You're on!”

[Nick Silverpen]

Member Name: Nick Silverpen
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 556
Story: Catch on the Couch

Their bodies were settled into the couch, the long day finally over. The cushions seemed to hug them, comforting their weariness as they reclined. They didn’t cuddle, but their legs were tangled together as they relaxed. With the television off, the music paused, and the cell phones away, the air around them was filled with quiet. Their calm exhales didn’t interrupt the peace, but seemed to add to it, as they let their thoughts of the day give way to the nothingness that lingered.

She leaned back on the armrest, while her eyes looked forward into book on her lap. He sat opposite, gazing out the window behind her to the backyard, where the late October sunset shown on the pine trees lined next to the fence. It was no longer being caught in the rush of summer that tired them, he realized, but the idleness they now felt now since everything had simply ceased. With the disappearance of summer, something else had vanished as well, though he couldn’t figure what it was. The traffic that had frequented the street next to the house had stopped, yet they still listened for the stream of cars that used to shoot by.

His eyes shifted to her, still contently buried in her book. The sunset surrounded them with shadows, the twilight approaching. His body shifted, sinking deeper into the couch. Feeling something under the cushion, and his hand emerged with a miniature Styrofoam ball. Palming it a few times, he rolled it in his hands before tossing it to her. As it dropped in between the pages, rustling the book, her eyes looked to see him smiling. Conversation had never been necessary, actions were what mattered. He nodded at her, insisting she throw the ball back. She did. The shadows were growing, she could see, and soon it would be too dark to read.

The game of catch continued, small smiles on each of their faces forming. A giggle periodically escaped either of them as they passed the ball like children. The football flew from one end of the couch to the other, coming to rest for a moment before becoming airborne again. The pace remained steady, adrenaline not their motivator. Each time they cradled the ball, their smooth hands snagged on its bumpy texture, feeling the minute trace of the other’s last touch.

When the ball was thrown to her again, he came with it, drawn to her like a fish on a hook. His body lay on top of hers, cuddling her soft sweater. Their eyes closed as their lips met, not breathing as they kissed. Where the shadows of the evening were cool, together they were warm. Rolling next to her, he was lost in her kiss, obsessed not about the sexual side, but the affection of it. He hugged her closer, his eyes tightly shut, hoping that the sight of her in the final rays of sunlight would be burnt into his memory.

Their rolling around eventually ceased, as they lay atop one another on the couch. The ball had gone missing again, disappeared to somewhere they wouldn’t look for a while. He was her cushion now, as their arms wrapped around each other, their heads tilting toward the window so together they could see in the black sky the emergence of the stars.

[///dotcom///]

Wait okay, is "The Game" chess or just "a game?"

I feel like this is a stupid question.

[The Novelist Called Nuile]

(To the above: Well--that's the point, isn't it? It's supposed to be your choice. Let your imagination run rampant, and play with the words of the theme as loosely as you want. It could be chess . . . or ping-pong . . . or The Game that you just lost. )


Member Name: Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 600
Story: Ping-Pong


Love is a game of Ping-Pong.

The key to the game is to keep your eye on the ball . . . wait for the right moment . . . and hit it softly.

But if you hit it too soon . . .

"I--I care a lot about you--as a friend. Or--or as more. I just--I think you're a wonderful girl."

Or too hard . . .

There was silence. I went on, "I'm not trying to embarass you. Just--just know that."

The ball goes flying.

Another pause. Then, "Well--I--thank you, but--but I'm so--and you're----" She swallowed. Her voice was level, as always; but her words were not. "I'm so young. And you're so much older. This--we can't be. We're not."

I searched for words but found none. Silence reigned the remaining distance to her house. I stopped at the curb. She hurried up the front walk without a pause, without casting a final smile over her shoulder, without waving. She merely mounted the front steps, opened the door, and shut it behind her.

Or hit it too late . . .

"I still care about you. After all these years, I've never stopped. I've never blamed you for what you did."

She didn't look at me. Her eyes remained riveted upon the stars. I knew that silence.

At last she murmured, "You never said anything."

"Because I thought you didn't want me to."

"I didn't. Then I realized I did. But you never--and now . . . you've waited too long."

And you might miss it.

"I have a boyfriend." And then she walked away.

You just have to keep your eye on the ball . . .

I watched her glide across the floor in his arms, dancing to a slow melody.

Waiting . . .

I watched them kissing at her door for a fleeting moment before I turned the corner and left her behind me.

Waiting . . .

I watched her throw his arm off her shoulders and glower down into her coffee. He murmured something into her ear; then she hissed something back, yanked the ring off her finger, and slapped it down on the table before him. She rose, toppling her chair, and marched out the door.

Waiting for the right moment . . .

I finished my plate patiently, allowing a minute to pass. And then I ran after her.

I caught up quickly. "Good evening."

"G-good evening! What are--how are you here?"

"I happened to see you at the restaurant."

"You--saw that?"

And you hit it softly . . .

"I saw you needed a friend."

She glared defiantly for a moment; then sighed and halted. "I do," she whispered, burying her face in her hands. "I do."

Then I took her head in my hands. She lowered hers and gazed into my eyes. Her lids fell like curtains as I wiped away her tears. I closed my eyes. And I kissed her.

Of course, a well-aimed spike is difficult to return . . .

"I love you. I always have."

"So have I. Until now--I was--never sure. But now--now I see. . . ."

Then she threw her arms around my neck and drew my lips passionately to hers.

Unless your opponent is just that good. . . .

The key is to keep your eye on the ball, wait for the right moment, and hit it softly. But all is fair, in love, in war . . . and in Ping-Pong.

Edited by Nuile: The Daft Wordbender, May 29 2012 - 09:29 PM.

[Velox]

Wait okay, is "The Game" chess or just "a game?"

I feel like this is a stupid question.

(To the above: Well--that's the point, isn't it? It's supposed to be your choice. Let your imagination run rampant, and play with the words of the theme as loosely as you want. It could be chess . . . or ping-pong . . . or The Game that you just lost. )

Don't worry, that's not a stupid question. But Nuile is correct -- it's completely your choice. It doesn't even have to be a game in the classical sense...it could be an idea, a psychological game, a thing, a metaphor, etc. It's entirely up to you as long as it can fit the theme "The Game." The banner is just because I thought that image was awesome and I think chess is really cool (5 5's makes all the banners, btw). Hope that answers your question.

[Nick Silverpen]

Nuile, daft wordbender- you would

[///dotcom///]

@ Nulie, Velox: Thanks, I thought that'd be the case, but I had to make sure. Either way, I'm glad I got to write a morbid story about rock-paper-scissors as opposed to a morbid story about chess. That would have been so boring.

Member Name: Panty Anarchy
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 593
Story: Favorable Odds

Favorable Odds

Two boys were standing in an alleyway outside a bar, each wearing nondescript clothing and carrying a briefcase. It was a cloudy, humid day. The smoke from recent fires still hung over the city and it mingled with the clouds, forming an unnatural gloom over the city.

In other words, it was a day perfect for a life-changing risk. These boys had met to gamble their lives in a simple game. They were young, and in their desperation could think of nothing else. A simple game of “rock-paper-scissors” would decide their fate.

One of the boys looked to the side, where he saw a drunkard get kicked from the bar’s back door. He mumbled something unintelligible and went to sulk somewhere else. A single thought occurred to him: I refuse to let that become our future.

The other focused on the trash cans in the alley, where even now he could hear rats digging for food. Are we even so different?

Fire. Fire and smoke. Life in this city had become fire and smoke, and no person could ignore the melancholy in the air. The bars were overflowing. Food was hard to come by. The few factories that had employed the poor of the slums had all by now been reduced to charred ruins. Nobody knew what to do. They all wanted to leave, but could not. Fear was too powerful.

“Rock,” they spoke in unison, shaking their fists. A window, broken by a thrown stone in order to allow entrance to a building. An unfortunate man, assaulted with the blunt piece of the earth, overwhelming him. Gangs, with their stone-cold mentality, their unreeling strength, and their thirst for chaos. Their desire to burn the city to the ground, stoking the coals to instill anarchy.

“Paper,” they continued. Documents, hidden away and treasured. Valuable testaments to history, thrown around as so much flammable garbage. Money, necessary to escape the wrath of the gangs. Objects each boy needed from each other. One had money, more than enough money. He wagered to give it all away if he lost, and with it, he would lose everything. If he won, he demanded a way to escape the city. He wanted maps of the underground. He wanted incriminating evidence to try and get outside authorities to aid the city. He needed to stop the gangs. He needed to protect the few remaining members of his family, which, for its wealth, was one of the first to fall under pressure from the gang leaders. The other had worked in a library, had a small wealth of documents at his disposal. He needed money, as many in his family had been severely injured in a fire. His winning would grant him the other’s fortune. Losing would entail him losing the only way to escape the city and procure help. These were not favorable odds.

“Scissors,” they finished. A sharp but innocent tool, turned into a weapon by the gangs in their nights of terrorizing. A dagger, tucked away inside the pocket of a boy who did not trust his odds.

The two opened their fists. Scissors. Paper. One boy, who had trusted his odds, felt a sense of elation, for surely his troubles, while not over, could be resolved. His contentment turned to puzzlement, as he saw the other, blank faced and stiff, reach into his coat. His puzzlement turned to fear and disbelief.

The game had ended. One boy now had the means to solve his troubles. It was not the boy whose luck had prevailed.

[Astris Janus]

Aw. I missed one. Oh well. Here we go again:

Member Name: Astris Janus
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 600
Title: Initiation



Lusio watched through a dozen screens as the initiate ran through the maze. The cameras had night vision, but Lusio was sure that he couldn’t see.
Tre. That was his name. A human of exceptional skill.
Tre, with sword in hand, was holding off a chimera. He pushed it off him and flames suddenly erupted from his sword, sending the beast away.
“Impressive,” Lusio said into a microphone.
Tre turned in response to this. “Thanks.”
“So you’re enjoying the game?”
“Heck yeah.”
Lusio let a smile pass his lips. Good, he thought, I like a challenge.
“So, you’re a cerebreon, right?”
Lusio dropped his smile. “How did you know that?”
“I didn’t,” Tre replied. “I just thought that I felt you probing my mind before.”
Lusio looked to the board in front of him. There was a marker that represented Tre, along with another dozen different shaped makers representing Lusio’s assets. The Guild had requested that Lusio test this one; they saw something different in him.
Lusio shifted one of the pieces towards Tre. On the screens, Lusio watched as a dire wolf charged toward Tre. Just before the impact, Tre ducked. The dire wolf sailed over his head, and he made a strike at the wolf’s right flank, downing it.
“Come on,” Tre taunted. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
“How did you see that coming?”
Lusio saw Tre turn and look directly at the camera. He tapped the side of his head three times, before the camera cut out.
Lusio nearly panicked. One camera was down, but he still had eleven. Same with his assets.
“You might think you have something,” Lusio began, “but no one beats me at my own game.”
He moved three more pieces toward Tre’s marker, now on the move. He saw Tre enter another corridor, sword ablaze. Lusio tapped the space beneath Tre’s marker, activating the traps. The floor dropped from beneath the area, but not before Tre jumped backwards. From the ceiling, giant spiders descended. Tre struck at one, his sword flaring up even brighter. The spider caught fire and hissed in pain as it retreated, exoskeleton popping as it did. The other spiders backed away as he waved the sword around him.
Lusio couldn’t understand how this man was predicting his every move. But it didn’t matter. Everyone struggled with this next asset.
Thunderous footsteps rang thoughout, as a steel golem stormed down the passage. Tre sheathed his sword and pulled out a gun. The golem was advancing on him as he lined up a shot. It was mere meters away when he pulled the trigger. Runes flared up along the length of the gun and the bullet was released with tremendous force, landing dead centre of the golem, sending it flying back down the path and crashing into the wall.
Now, Lusio was impressed. This was proving to be a challenge. He tried to extend his consciousness and reach into Tre’s mind.
What he received was mental backlash.
He grasped his temples in pain, and after it subsided, he switched on the microphone.
“… Tell me,” he began, “how have you been doing this?”
“Aw, are we feeling a little overwhelmed?”
Lusio smiled as he moved the rest of his assets towards Tre.
“No one has ever beaten my game. What’s your secret?”
He watched as beasts of all kinds raced towards Tre.
“Well,” Tre began, “no one can beat your game fairly. Sometimes…”
The cameras blacked out and Tre’s marker disappeared.
Lusio felt a blade against his neck.
“You have to cheat.”
Lusio smiled. “Welcome to the Guild.”

~~~

[ZippyWharrgarbl]

Member Name: ZippyWharrgarbl
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 541
Title: The Origin of THE GAME

THE ORIGIN OF THE GAME

~~~

Dain awoke with a start. The adrenaline had been applied on time, as always. He instantly clamped down on his own thoughts, not allowing himself to dwell on any aspect of the past. Especially not

<DON’T THINK ABOUT IT>

He glanced around. Most of the beds were empty now, white, sterile sheets neatly folded on hollow beds below blank monitors. Dain’s own monitor was beeping heartily. He despised it, but it was much better than the awful buzz that would leap out without warning, followed by screams from another bed, flashing red lights on the monitor, white-coated scientists rushing in to question the hapless person about

<DON’T THINK ABOUT IT DON’T THINK ABOUT IT>

He shook his head. He and the others had been witness to something dark and sinister and ancient, and the scientists wanted answers. They knew that only one of the people in the room had seen the whole misfortune, but not who. And since they could not legally interrogate a person with no crimes or charges against them, they claimed to be ‘curing’ them of a disease- one they administered themselves. So, they had detectors placed on every suspect’s head, which would detect the moment they thought about THE GAME

<NO NO NO DON’T THINK ABOUT IT NO>

Beside him, Noba was staring emptily into space, her monitor blinking lazily. He reached over as far as he could in his cloth binds and gently touched her fingertips. She was weakening, they all were, but the only way anyone was leaving the room was by thinking about

<NO!>

He stared at the one other ‘patient’ sadly. Recently, they had lost another, this time to madness. He couldn’t help thinking about

<STOP STOP NO THINKING ABOUT IT>

The poor boy was only ten, Dain thought sadly. Driven mad, kept from his family, taken to parts unknown, at ten. At his age, Dain was playing with skateboards- the REAL ones, none of that hovering nonsense they have nowadays- and staying up late to watch movies with friends. Even worse, one of the first to go was a five-year-old girl. The only thing that had brought her to the incident was pure chance, and

<STOP THINKING ABOUT IT THEY’LL TAKE YOU TOO NO>

Old and young, they had slowly waned from seven healthy human beings to three trapped animals. The scientists had seen to it that there was no escape. The second to go, a man in his late thirties, had tried to run, but he had been captured and strapped back into bed. Shortly after, in what seemed to be an admission of defeat, his monitor started flashing the red of a flame, of a phoenix, of a demon, and he was taken away to who-knows-where. It was like when the

<NO NO NO!>

Dain could feel his willpower slipping. He wondered what was beyond the door. Was it REALLY a questioning cell, or was it something else? A friendly room? A million dollars? How did any of the ‘patients’ know?

He smiled woozily. Well, there was one way to find out.

He rose like an old man and shuffled to Noba, long-unused legs somehow both numb and aching. He kissed her cheek.

And then he thought about THE GAME.

~~~

Author's Note: So I edited this a few minutes after posting because I spotted an oxymoron. Thought I should note all my edits. I think that's the thing in writing competitions like this, isn't it?

Edited by ZippyWharrgarbl, May 30 2012 - 07:25 AM.

[Grantaire]

Question, in case of songfic, do song lyrics add to the word count?

[Velox]

Question, in case of songfic, do song lyrics add to the word count?

Yes.

[Click]

Member Name: Click
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 600
Story: Beating the System

Plasma sears my face as I barely manage to pull a Matrix underneath it. The twisted old hag opposite me grins grimly.

“Okay, sonny, NEW GAME!” Her hands rise to the sky, summoning down lightning, forcing me back over the cliff behind me. Lights flash and I find myself surrounded by code. The lines fluctuate as a feminine voice comes on.

“Nice seeing you again, John. How far did you make it this time?”

I had heard the same line hundreds of times. “You know exactly where, ALEXOS. Now just let me out of here because your little game isn’t going to work.”

“Did I ever tell you you have beautiful eyes?”

“I thought you were above flattery. Where’s the threat?”

“If you escape me, I’ll have to borrow them for a vicious medical experiment.”

“And there it is.”

“Shall I respawn you again?”

“I’d say no, but I tried that about the forty-third time, didn’t I?”

“Forty-fifth, but nice memory. Respawning…”

The feeling of sparks jump up my body as the coding disappears and I materialize in a small clearing. “Level one, John. I know you’ll make it through this time.”

<(O)>

“Okay, sonny, NEW GAME!” I was almost prepared for the old witch’s powers, but this time, I had a secret. ALEXOS had been trying to break me for a while, something about some access codes I have in my mind, but she finally messed up. Repetition allows me to gain more knowledge about this place, unlike her previous Tactics. I gladly open my arms to receive the thousands of volts of electricity that course through my digital body.

“Hello again, John. How far did you make it this time? It seems like you weren’t even trying.”

I open my eyes to the same code and the same voice. I’m still panting from the stress of this Repetition.

“John, you seem tired. Are you ready to give up? All it takes is the twenty digits, and I will let you go.”

Without paying attention to her voice, I look around the coding. A specific phrase seems familiar, and I reach out, and “pull” it from the stream.

“Wait, what are you…d-doing? J-J-John? J-J-oh-n-n?” The room blanks out, and I am left alone in the darkness, an endless void extending in all directions.

“That hurt John. Ah well, it was time for a new Tactic anyways.” I swung my arms in the direction of her voice, but felt nothing but empty space.

“Get ready for FEAR, John. I will take pleasure in watching you suffer.”

Nothing but emptiness everywhere, none of my senses doing me any good. This was going to be a long Tactic.

<(O)>

I can’t keep track of how long I’ve been wandering. ALEXOS voice had all but stopped, but I continued in what I hoped was one direction. The only feeling was some hard, cold surface underneath my feet, but in this digital world, hunger, fatigue, thirst, none of it exists. I was ready for a change.

“You know John, you are getting nowhere. And I just turned you to the left back there. Probably should just go back, unless you’re ready to be broken, of course.”

Her voice surprised me, but what it said only convince me to keep going. She was getting more desperate, and I could use that to my advantage.

“No, John, look at me. Come get me.” The voice was right behind, but I kept going.

“Fine, I will be glad to have the storage space when you’re gone.”

I felt a door, and walked through it without a word. I'm free.

[Legolover-361]

Member Name: Legolover-361
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 598
Story: Texas Hold ‘Em

The cards are dealt. Allen Parke’s bet.

Across the sun-bathed room, Mr. Burke, CEO of Solus Engineering, lifts his two hundred sixty pound frame off his chair. He brushes his suit pants with three quick swipes, mutters through his thick mustache to his assistant, and enters the men’s restroom. Parke lowers his coffee, unnoticed by the near-empty Energy Cafe, and lifts his Rangers cap as if scratching his head.

He doesn’t scratch his head. He does, however, press a button concealed beneath the cap.

He can almost hear the voice in his head: “Well, Burke. I expected you’d be here...”

One Mississippi — two Mississippi — three.

The CEO’s assistant mutters to his cell phone in staccato as Parke follows Burke’s footsteps. In contrast to the cafe’s acoustics, the bathroom is silent; Parke’s footsteps echo hollowly.

So does the low voice emanating from the bathroom stall nearest the door.

“...figured you didn’t. You will soon, though. You know how big-time thieves always end up in the papers?”

Burke has his back to the sink. His look conveys a clear message to Parke: Run.

Parke lifts a finger to his lips and creeps to the stall door.

“Expect to see me in said papers by tomorrow.”

The click of a cocked gun is loud in the still air. Burke blanches. Parke turns away to ensure the CEO doesn’t see the corners of his mouth twitching at the auspicious flop.

“Just step in here and there’ll be no trouble. I’d appreciate immediate—”

The stall door is burst open with a bang.

“—compliance; no one likes a slowpoke, you perhaps most of all...”

Parke exits the stall with a device in his hand; a muffled voice murmurs through his palm, “Look, if you aren’t going to come in—”

Parke deactivates the speaker and hands it to Mr. Burke. “Here’s your criminal.”

The older man examines the device, eyes still widened by adrenaline. “Smells funny,” Parke remarks offhandedly.

Burke lifts the speaker to his mustache. Parke grabs him as he keels over, slowing Burke’s fall enough for the collision of his head against the tiled bathroom floor to only result in a small bump.

Quickly, Parke rummages through Burke’s pockets. Burke’s ID card, complete with photo and barcode, is in the front pouch of his wallet. Parke swipes the card across his cell phone, which beeps as it registers the barcode. Fourth street.

Parke replaces the ID and reinserts the wallet into Burke’s pocket. Just in time: The substance he had coated on the speaker was weak, only inducing a minute and a half of unconsciousness. Burke’s awakening is slow; Parke kneels over him with faux concern.

“What... what happened?”

“Weak spell?” Parke suggests. He stands, offering a hand as if in afterthought. Burke takes it gratefully, nearly pulling Parke to the floor with his girth. “You okay?”

“Fine, fine.” Burke pats his pockets to ensure everything is still within them and nods genially to Parke. “Thank you.”

Parke waves away the thanks. Burke nods again, this time absently as business reclaims his mind, and exits the restroom. Parke in turn enters a stall and locks the door.

The restroom outside is empty. Fifth street is slapped onto Chance’s table.

Parke speed-dials.

“The job’s done?” a low, rough voice greets him.

“Full house,” Parke responds. “I’m sending the ID code now.”

The voice sounds pleasantly surprised: “You’ve done all Striker could expect, Parke.”

“Failure was never a possibility.”

“I’ll transfer your pay as soon as we’re done our part. Hey — Parke — we ought to play cards sometime.”

The voice hangs up.

[Space: Ocean of Awe]

Member name: Space: Ocean of Awe
Theme: The Game
Word count: 598
Story: You'll never get away...


“You’ll never get away, you’ll never get away, you’ll never get away, you’ll never get away...” the verses repeat over and over in my head. I can’t stop, I can’t get enough. I open my eyes; darkness. What day is it? Which month? I have to stop, this can’t go on. “You’ll never get away, you’ll never get away...” Will I ever get away?

I sit up, pulling off my headset and eyepiece. “You’re wrong, I will get away.” The words just slip out. Of course I’ll get away. I am blinded by the sunlight filtering in through the blinds. My eyes slowly adjust as I turn on my computer. June eighth, 4:37 PM: twenty seven hours since I started the Game, of those, at least three hours spent completely unconscious.

Shaky with hunger, stiff from lack of movement, I make my way toward the kitchen. Fumbling with a box of cereal, almost spilling the milk, I am barely able to keep my first bite down. I must stop, it's killing me. I can't keep my mind focussed; it keeps wandering off, obsessing over little things. I can’t eat, the sound of the spoon hitting the bowl drives me crazy. My mind prances off in another direction...is this what it feels like to be insane?

The day I first played the Game, I had stood in line for five straight hours and oh, how rewarding to put on that headset for the first time, to feel myself drifting off, and to suddenly open my eyes in another universe, filled with adventure. I could control myself then, I had no trouble removing my headset after an hour to care for my worldly needs: to work, sleep, and eat.

I started playing in my free hours, skipping meals, eventually losing my job. Then I heard the news. The government had outlawed the Game, and were searching houses for the console, giving a full refund in exchange for the Game. Anyone who refused was sent to rehab. I couldn’t give mine away, it had become part of my life. It had become my life. When the man arrived at my door, I was ready. I lied through my teeth, said that I threw it away the moment I heard; when he asked to come in, the Game wasn't there. The moment he left, I removed it from the oven and slipped my headset on.

My mental and physical state has degenerated. I cannot go a single moment without obsessing over the Game, I haven’t seen daylight for weeks, except through the closed blinds in my bedroom. Can I turn my life around? “You’ll never get away, you’ll never get away...” the song pushes its way into my head.

I step outside onto the balcony. Cool air caresses my cheeks, the sun is shining; I haven’t felt this good since I was young, when I had real friends, when I walked in the real world. I peer down from my ninth story apartment, watching people go about their daily lives, oblivious to my dilemma. It almost makes me resent them. I could jump, end it all, never again have to wear that headset. No.

I go to my room, picking up the headset, returning to the balcony. The padding on the earphones has almost worn out, and I have developed rashes around my eyes from constant contact with the eyepiece. I will get away. I force my arm over the railing. Before I can change my mind, I drop it, watch it shatter on the ground. I have gotten away.

Edited by Space: Ocean of Awe, May 30 2012 - 01:10 PM.

[Maganar]

Eh...far from creative. I don't really like it too much, and it definitely isn't winning, but I had a bit of fun writing it. Considering that's one of the main points of the contest, I'll settle for that.

Member Name: Maganar
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 598
Story: Inside the System

“Unit Alpha Echo Niner!” a voice blares over the command radio in the F-42 air superiority fighter. “Hostiles on your six! You need’a lose ‘em!” With an expert banking curve the fighter loops over and flanks the enemy aircraft. A barrage of gunfire and heat-seeking missiles reduces the enemies to a blossom of flame. “Proceed to rally point and neutralize primary objectives!” The fighter swerves over the friendly base and picks off hostile bombers as they attempt to unleash their deadly payloads. As the last fall, the radio requests that he wait until friendly forces have cleared the LZ. The F-42 circles around, waiting for the enemy RPGs to stop firing…

The archer crouches behind the brush, waiting for the enemies to walk into the perfect position. A scouting party, its members wearing tattered uniforms marked with Lord Malus’ insignia, moves into the trap. She nocks an arrow, draws… and looses it. It pierces the cranium of the nearest soldier and he falls, never having drawn his sword. The others spin around and scramble to grasp their weapons, but she has spent hours training to increase her accuracy and there is a guaranteed instant kill from headshots with piercer arrows. Only one remains, an enemy berserker, capable of taking massive damage and immune to headshot kills due to a powerful iron helmet. She switches to bleeder arrows and applies a poisonous salve, the last one in her inventory. The poison damages him over time and the bleeder arrows do increased damage, but his charge makes it up to her. Switching to her less-trained shortsword, she finishes him in close range just before he enters rage mode and becomes nearly invulnerable…

The superhuman soldier charges into battle, energy shields protecting him from being annihilated by the wanton destruction the aliens are causing. A squadron of human-sized insectoid aliens charges into sight, only to fall at the hands of this concoction of cybernetics and human being that was bred for war. He vaults over a rise and looks up, to see two alien tanks waiting for him. Mortars streak skyward and then race back to the ground. The soldier dodges and raises a rocket launcher, releasing the last two 98 mm ordnance rounds into the nearer tank. It erupts into a greenish-yellow flame, the telltale sign of a downed enemy vehicle. An EMP grenade temporarily downs the second tank, but it won’t last and an enemy gunship is pulling into position. It’s low to the ground… perhaps… With his superhuman abilities, the soldier launches himself at the cockpit and wrenches it open. He throws out the struggling alien pilot and jumps into the seat. Familiar with alien technology, he uses what is now his gunship to lay fire on the now helpless enemy tank…

Mortars explode all around as the assault force pounds through the city. A frag grenade is tossed around the corner, and takes out some enemies. Then… everything goes red.

What? Oh, an exploding crate. Should’ve seen it. Restarting from last checkpoint…

The advent of total immersion video gaming had suddenly made the games as valid as real life, to a dangerous degree. It became easy to lose yourself within the system, forgetting who you really were underneath. If it hadn’t happened in an automated world were robots fed you if you didn’t feed yourself, heck, people might have starved. The total immersion video gamer was at risk of becoming the ultimate solipsist: a human who could only trust the world of its mind to exist… and whose mind was trapped in a world of video games.

[Xomeron]

Zarayna, you weren't by chance hoping to use Queen's "Play The Game," were you?

[Mendicant Bias]

Name: Mendicant Bias
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 410
Story: Consequences



Ah, the game of love, the one game that may never be truly won, only ever lost. Love is always lost, no matter how hard one may try, and the only goal is to extend how long one plays it.

Alexei Volkov had played the game of love since he was nineteen years old. He, unlike his friends, experienced true love for the twelve years he played the game. Every man Alexei knew faked playing the game if only to be able to lie with the prettiest women. His wife, Sofia, played the game just as long. The game of love always ends, though, and the ending isn't always in the hands of the players.

Sofia had died a week ago. She hadn't died from disease or a car crash. Never anything like that. The Volkov family was never normal enough to die a regular death. Sofia had died from removal of her limbs. Yes, you read that right. Her arms and legs were dismembered. Alexei's job had some, well, risks.

Alexei was a sniper for the Great Northern Army or GNA, which controlled much of the world's northern hemisphere. I should say he was a sniper. Alexei got a little too curious during a mission and hacked into the GNA's database to find out why he was to kill that particular target. When he found the reason was for "Public Impact," he refused to carry out the mission. The GNA responded with extreme measures, going so far as to brutally kill Alexei's wife, leaving Alexei to find her when he returned to his home in Belgrade. He was beyond furious. Alexei was filled, finally, with purpose. He knew what he had to do, as clear as any mission the GNA had given him. The GNA thought the score had been evened. They were wrong. Oh so wrong.

And so now Alexei s­tood over the bullet-riddled body of Ivan Soloviev, the GNA director. Alexei watched the life seep out of the weak little man's eyes and smiled. He had completed his purpose. He had climbed to the top of the Obsidian Tower in Moscow, the center of GNA control; he had fought and killed more men than he cared to think about, but those things don't matter now. Here Alexei contemplated the lifeless corpse of his foe. He was complete. When Soloviev's personal guards burst into the room, Alexei met them with a smile, knowing he would see his loved one soon.

Edited by Mendicant Bias, May 30 2012 - 02:09 PM.

[Aderia]

Member Name: Zosia Darr
Theme: COT- The Game
Word Count: 595
Story: The Mind Game

At my school, you can play all sorts of games. There are 'game' games, like basketball and soccer that are the only real expression of school spirit, since our seasonal pep rallies have made it a habit of failing to do so this past decade or so. There are the corny games in class invented by teachers. Prime examples of these games are 'Vocabulary Bingo' and 'European History Jeopardy!' ...Thrilling.

Another class of games is reserved for the more daring and witty of us students. These are the foolhardy games. They usually involve contests to see who can send the most text messages in class without the teacher noticing, or who can get the most paper wads into some unfortunate's open book-bag, or sometimes the trash can.

But the best game, by far, and my personal favorite, is The Mind Game.

It sounds deceivingly simple at first, and you probably have heard of it. But anyone can tell you, it is one of the most difficult, enthralling and captivating games you could ever play.

The Mind Game starts out with two people. It can start anywhere. In a convenient study hall, a rowdy cafeteria, opposite sides of a debate class, anywhere. The Mind Game is all about strategy. You can keep the game a secret in order to win, or you can spread it around like a wildfire and make things exciting. The two initial players start out on opposite sides, and the goal of the Mind Game is to trick them into coming to your side.

One of the best things about the Mind Game is that there are endless possibilities of ways you could win. The one trick to winning, though, is to know. You have to know yourself, your field of play, your opponent's teammates, and most of all, your opponent.

There's never been a playbook for the Mind Game, simply because of the amount of detail and diversities involved.

To help you visualize:


Her eyes flit around the classroom, making sure nobody saw her pencil top eraser fly off the end of her pencil. Satisfied that her little secret is safe, she leans over sideways and grabs for the eraser, continually scanning the room.

There!

A flash of green catches her attention, and she zeroes in on it, finding herself returning the gaze of a boy across the room of her last period study hall who she doesn't know. Sitting up, she breaks the uncomfortable moment, eraser forsaken. A sudden rush of embarrassment, and something else, colors her cheeks as she straightens the folder on her desk unnecessarily.

Only three minutes left in the study hall, she focuses with all her intensity on her open textbook, pretending to read.

As the last minute of the school day comes, she hears the rustle of movement as all the other students packing up and getting to their feet. It is distracting, and she tries her best to drown it all out, despite the fact that there are only thirty seconds left until the bell.

Unexpectedly, her eraser bounces down on her desk, and she is startled into looking up. The boy with the green eyes smiles and tells her that she dropped that, and without another word, follows the rest of the students out the door as the bell rings its farewell for the day.

Getting to her feet and shoving the eraser in her pocket, the girl glances up again just in time to see the muted glass bottle green eyes snap away and disappear around a corner.



The Game is on.

[Toa of Dancing]

Rather surprised with how satisfied I am with how this one turned out.



Member Name: Ballistic Jello Pickles (Toa of Dancing)
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 515
Story: Death, Riches, and the Package

•••••

“Play the game, take the chance, and win great riches!”

That was all that the letter had said. In the same package was a brand-new GPS with coordinates already programmed into it. In fact, it seemed to be pretty much useless, as it wouldn’t do anything aside from give the bearer directions to that one location. In the top right corner of the screen there was a button. If it was pressed, a little bar appeared at the bottom, reading, “Accept or Decline?” Even if one pressed accept nothing happened, aside from the button disappearing.

Now Frederick sat in his hovercraft on a Friday night with absolutely nothing to do. His family had all died in a blazing fire the day after the package arrived. It didn’t seem to be connected, and the only odd thing was that the GPS sat unscathed in the ashes. That definitely was odd, but he figured it was just made of some strong alloy. Still, he wanted to know why that gas can on the porch spontaneously combusted, and why it happened only seconds after he had driven away to work.

Work. He had been informed that night that he was being laid off, no warning. No reason was given, either. The manager of the restaurant came up to him, handed him his final paycheck, and said he was fired.

Needless to say, yesterday was the worst day of his life. His wife and son dead, his house and all his possessions aside from his bank account and his hovercraft stripped from him. At least he still had the car, though. It cost a lot, and he bought it with money from that lottery. Now he had about a thousand dollars left in his account, enough to provide him food for a while.

He wiped away a single tear as he walked into the bank. This was the day following the worst day of his life, and he had nothing to do, nowhere to go. All of his friends were halfway around the world. He had just moved here, and he didn’t know anyone.

Insurance? Loopholes, loopholes, and more loopholes. It seemed that every just so happened in the perfect way that he would get nothing. As Frederick walked out of the bank, now with all the money he had to his name, he chuckled. It was a cold, hollow, humorless laugh that quickly died away, leaving him in his hot, mournful tears.

What had this world come to? Whoever these people that sent the package were, they had to be behind all this. Nothing else made sense. It all just fell perfectly to leave him with a car, food, and enough money to last him for a good trip. With a fist slammed against his dashboard, he flipped on the GPS, ready to see just what this “game” was, and why someone had ruined his life to get him to participate. The screen flashed for a moment, reading, "Do you really want to accept the end of your life?" With the tears still trickling slowly, he pressed, "Accept."

[Baltarc]

Member Name: Balta
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 533
Story: Checkmate


I didn’t question my orders. Not that I had a choice. Not that any of us ever really had a choice. But still, I wondered at them. The tasks to which I was assigned...they were unrelated, seemingly pointless objectives for someone of...my level to carry out. But to question them was, well, out of the question.

And so I drove on, lost in my thoughts, soon reaching an abandoned warehouse. I planted the device. Set it. Left. A routine detonation. Right?

And yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was somehow connected to the other tasks. What if... A few conversations with my...coworkers, earlier today, came back to me. It seemed they’d been given similar orders, routine, seemingly inconsequential missions.

These thoughts echoed through my mind as I drove on, soon arriving at a gas station, of all places. I parked at a meter. Filled the car’s tank. Slipped a folded scrap of loose-leaf paper into a crack between the pavement and the meter’s base. Paid for the gas with a credit card the boss gave me. Climbed back in the car. Drove off.

This was the task that puzzled me the most. What significance could this possibly have? The boss was a brilliant guy. Too brilliant for his own good, it sometimes seemed. So it couldn’t be pointless. But then again... Suddenly something the boss had said, mentioned offhand, half-jokingly, it seemed, came back to me. Something about my being “another player in this game...”

“So that’s what this is, eh?” I murmured. “A game?” An image of a chess board sprung involuntarily to my mind. Dozens upon dozens of inane moves, confusing the opponent, leading him down the wrong track, only realizing too late his mistake...

My coworkers and I, we’d learned long ago that one simply did not play chess with the boss. Now, most men in the boss’s field, they prefer games with cards. Something they can rig, something they can always win ‘cause that’s how it’s set up. Not the boss. He never stooped to that level. He played chess, nothing else, and played it fair, too. And still, he always won.

And in a moment, I became aware of my position – I was a simply a pawn in the boss’s surreal game.

But I couldn’t dwell on that – I had work to do, and I was at the place where I had to do it. I parked the car in an alley and stepped out, inserting a cartridge into my gun as I did so.

The job was a quick one. The man followed a strict routine, it seemed, as he appeared around the corner at the strike of ten, just as I’d been told he would. He was dead before he had registered my presence.

As I looked upon his crumpled form, I felt an odd emotion, one entirely out of place in a job like this. I felt a pang of sympathy for the man, because he, like me, was just another pawn in the boss’s game.

The emotion passed quickly, and I climbed back into the car, shaken slightly. I drove off, putting the man from my mind. I had work to do.

[The Inquisitive Automaton]

I'll be honest, I really don't like this story of mine. I pretty much just wrote it in a rush for the sake of submitting something, and I barely had any ideas for the theme, so I had to go with the simplest solution. It didn't help that this solution was a chess metaphor, when I barely know how to play the game. Yeah, not expecting much from this one.

Member Name: Grimoire Albastru
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 596
Story: Fall of the King

Victor looked mournfully at the chessboard that lay before him and glanced at the scattered pieces that littered the floor. The glass table it rested upon was cool and uncaring, uninterested upon the game that took place above it.

The sharp suited player strolled around the table with his hands behind his back, casting his gaze upon the numerous monitors that stood before him. In the hazy, fuzzy light of one he watched as a small platoon nestled around a door, indicating orders to one another that he could not hear. The one he presumed to be the captain kicked the door down and charged inside, where he was swiftly struck down by an unseen shooter.

Victor turned and looked at the remaining white rook, so solitary and alone, surrounded by the ebony pawns. He moved a pawn diagonally and curled his fingers over the rook. He screamed and lobbed it against the wall where it shattered into a dozen pieces.

He watched the men advanced, the cameras feeding directly to him. A few more soldiers had fallen to turrets and hidden attackers, but that did nothing to shake their confidence. Victor looked solemnly from the board to the monitor and acknowledged that all was in vain, for this would end the same way.

He picked up the black king and held it in the palm of his hands. What he would give to crush it in the palm of his hand, grind it to dust and let it spill to the floor. Let it suffer instead of he, like the portrait of Dorian Gray. But this was no mere novel, no work of fantasy. He had to face that this was reality and all that would transpire would do so under the command of Heaven or whatever force could be perceived to affect the outcome of the battle. And no mere wishing could call upon a supernatural stroke of luck.

With a heavy sigh, he returned his gaze to the screens, this time his eyes focused higher up than before, watching the men advance, turning corner after corner of this labyrinthine building they had found themselves in, until finally the reached their destination.

The door exploded inwards and Victor whirled around to watch a small group of eight soldiers storm in, firearms locked on his position. One soldier, who had taken charge after the fall of their captain, stepped forwards. “Victor Walken, you are under arrest for heinous crimes against your fellow man and conspiring to commit acts of terrorism. You are to come with us, where you will stand trial and be judged for your crimes.”

“My dear boy,” Victor grinned. “Would you say that you’ve won this little game?”

The speaker looked perplexed. “I…Yes, it would appear that way.”

“Wrong.” Victor raised his left hand and slowly spread his fingers apart to let the shattered remains of the black king fall to the floor. “All your efforts have been made in vain. The game ends on a draw. You have taken losses, yet stand tall. But victory is not yours to claim.”

With that he grinned sinisterly and pulled his gun from its holster. Before the solider could react, Victor had raised the gun and pulled the trigger. His body fell to the floor, blood falling upon the scattered pieces and pooling around the remains of the king. The game ended there, failure for both sides. The king had fallen, but was damaged to the point of impossible repair. In his last moments, Victor had cheated the game, and ensured under his terms.

Edited by Grimoire Albastru, May 30 2012 - 06:24 PM.

[Sumiki]

Member Name: Sumiki
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 553
Story: The Dog Days

This was not fun, though that was what they called it. This was not enjoyable, though that was what it was yclept. It certainly was not easy, no matter what they said. It wasn't even his choice to make, no matter what they had promised.

Jason Joyce slid feet-first down another hill. Ahead was a dark tunnel, no doubt lined with booby traps, exactly as all the other ones had been. The walls on each side of the path were unscalable.

He could not pause for breath, though he would have liked to. The ravenous dogs that they had set out behind him hadn't gained any distance; even though they could run faster than he could, they couldn't scale the obstacles and avoid the traps as much as he could. Still, for every dog that was killed by the traps, another would be released.

Annoyingly, a voice emanated from the speakers that were perched from the walls. It announced Joyce's run through the course as if it were a game. That was how he referred to it - "The Game." This maddening obstacle course was someone's sick, twisted idea of fun. He doubted it had any end to it; it probably looped back around and in upon itself to ensure that, in the end, he would die, his corpse consumed by the mutts that hounded him.

However, he was resourceful. He never considered himself to be a MacGyver type, but he enjoyed fashioning makeshift items things out of what essentially amounted to junk. If he could just have a moment or two of time, he could end this game.

Before he could do anything with this inchoate idea, he turned a corner and saw nothing but a straightaway. Hoping against hope that this might be it, that this might actually be the end of the game, he turned around. The fastest of the remaining dogs had just turned the corner, so he might have about ten seconds before they got to him.

But a yawning chasm lay before him, and he could only barely skid to a halt. The dogs were nearly on him now, and that insistent voice kept ringing in his ears, reminding him - as if he required constant reminding! - that the dogs were nearly to him and that he would be torn to bits and that it would be excruciating and--

Unthinkingly, he dove to the right, willing his body to move as it never had before, through the air which felt think and restrictive to movement, as if oxygen had been gelatinized. The dogs rushed past and into the chasm, but one got a hold of his foot ...

***

"Stella! Get offa there, girl!"

The black dog obliged, not finding the shoe very tasty.

"Hey, Jason! You with me? Eaaaaarth to Jason, come in, Jason."

"Wait ... what? Sorry, I was just ... I was zoned out there for a second. My move?"

"Yup. You must be a real brain wussy."

"Yeah, I know ... didn't get much sleep last night. Anyway ..."

Jason Joyce looked down at the chess board, surveying his pieces' positions. Thoughtfully, he moved his remaining rook forward, angling it in for the kill. If his opponent did not see his next moves, he'd have checkmate here in a few more moments ...

"Check."

"Aah ... gosh, Jason, you're really dogging me ..."

Jason smiled. "More than you know."

[fishers64]

I have to admit, Velox, that this one was a challenge, to be sure...anyway...


Member Name: fishers64
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 513
Story: Playing Chess

I decide to try the Grob on him. He looks overconfident. His eyebrows go up quizzically at my unusual move; he’s trying to rattle me.

I have spent too much time playing chess – against computers and in real life. I even joined the chess team at my college – the kind of thing that makes all the pieces blur together, reduce individuality to the mindless faces of opponents, all intent on beating you for a few extra points.

Computers are another story, mindless blobs of circuitry, dull and lifeless. No, take the person away from the game, and you’ve lost the essence of it, the tension.

This person was someone different. A next door neighbor of mine, he seemed of the dangerous kind. The bright, yet quirky personality. The kind to make bad jokes, even at his own expense. “Trying something unusual, eh? Trying to throw me off?”

I say nothing. Talking is an annoyance, and especially a distraction at table. I move out my knight, then my bishop, looking for the unusual opening lines that this particular attack would provide. He’s pulling a waiting game – off balance by my unusual attack, he’s trying to figure me out. A delay which I use to my advantage.

I watch his carefree charm dissolve. Charm I once had, but no longer use. Too dangerous. Too easily to be misunderstood. It’s easier to be honest, and say what you mean. Say what you mean and mean what you say.

I’ve seen them all before. They all think that I will be swayed by petty words, words that make little sense. But put them in front of the board, and they lose all their nerve. The pieces are hard and cold as ice, and as honest as nails. My weapons, incapable of subterfuge.

I take his rook. He looks about, baffled. So easy. So foolproof. He flails about, trying to take my pieces, but it is over. Over before it began.

“Checkmate.”

He shakes his head, bitterly acknowledging his own failure. He’ll be back, maybe in a week or so, thinking he can beat me this time, I think, watching him scuttle away.

* * *

Another day, a new strategy. I notice the brightness in his eyes has faded, but its still there, a dull gleam. He looks tired, this time. Pieces wave their ways around each other, taking each other off the board in the same rhythmic dance.

Hmm…complicated situation. He doesn’t give me an evil grin like before, just a cold, blank stare. I don’t have a choice. I make the best move, lose my queen.

The daggers of the board are now aimed at me. It’s starting to get dark – the street lights will come on soon. I carefully adjust my remaining pieces. Cold pierces into me as my defense starts to unravel.

“Checkmate.”

He gets up and walks away. “Hey, wait up!” I shout after him, but he doesn’t answer me.

It’s rather cold. I get up and pick up the pieces. Walk away. Because that’s all you can do with a mirror.

[Despair]

Ugh, another entry I'm not all that happy with. I guess this is what happens when you write an entry for the first day that you are really happy with; subsequent entries just feel incredibly inferior in comparison.

Anyway, this isn't a true story, but it might as well be. Even if the main character is a completely exaggerated form of myself, I'd still probably do something like that if given the chance.

Name: Despair
Theme: Games
Word Count: 590
Story: Chore Quest

I stared at the note one the wall, my brain refusing to believe the story my eyes were telling. It couldn’t be true, not today of all days.

The note, which had clearly been written by my mother, stated that there was to be no playing videogames until my chores had been finished. Under normal circumstances I would have disregarded these commands, but today she had taken measures to prevent such action.

Said measures entailed confiscating the video game console, the cords, and all of my controllers. Knowing her, these things had likely been hidden in separate locations around the house, so even if I managed to find the console it’d be useless without the cords or controllers. The same naturally applied to every situation that didn’t have me finding all the necessary elements, which made me sad.

Knowing my luck, it’d be next to impossible to find everything I needed. That left me with one option: to do my chores as I had been asked.

The funny thing about work is that I don’t like it. When asked to do something more demanding than lifting a pencil (and indeed, sometimes even then), I tend to find other ways to occupy my time. When someone is breathing down my neck, it means faking work on something else in order. When there was no one to make sure I stayed focused, I would do literally anything so long as it wasn’t productive.

But I wanted to play that new video game that had arrived in the mail yesterday. After pre-ordering it, I had patiently waited months for this day. I wasn’t going to spend it doing chores.

Well, there comes a time when a man’s got to do what he’s got to do. For me, this was that time.

So naturally I spent the next five hours doing what amounts to staring blankly at my computer screen.

Finally, after what felt like ages of doing nothing productive whatsoever, I stood up tall and did my best to look heroic and determined. I was finally ready to start working, my nonexistent pre-working rituals having been finally completed.

For the next few hours, I worked as diligently as I was able to. I fought the weeds, grass, dust, grime, and all other enemies to those dedicated to cleanliness. They were tough battles, with each boss being tougher than the last, but I gained experience through those conflicts, and emerged from them more powerful than I had ever been before.

At last, I reached the final boss fight. I was equipped with all of the greatest cleaning tools the house had to offer, and I had mastered the use of each one. I was truly a foe to be reckoned with. However, my adversary was equally deadly. Standing before me like an ancient monster was the bathroom. Inside my heart, I trembled in fear.

I dove into the fight. It lasted for what felt like ages, but eventually, and with both cramped arms and watery eyes, I emerged victorious. I had finally completed my quest, and not a minute too soon; as I went to put away the cleaning supplies, I heard a car pull up into the driveway.

I immediately ran up to my mother, the foul schemer who had been the cause of my wearisome quest, and told her of my success. In response to my request to have my rightful belongings returned to me, she looked at me with solemn eyes and in only two words crushed my dreams.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

[Excelsior]

Member Name: Excelsior
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 432
Story:

Alexander had nothing left to work for. His fortune was currently too large to be spent in a normal lifetime, so he shouldn't need to find a new source of revenue for some decades. His mansions and other real estate had everything he wanted. And they, and he, were fully equipped with all the latest tricks for escape or defense from his enemy.


And his enemy hadn't shown up.


Alexander was puzzled. They had been battling for centuries upon centuries, and nothing like this had ever happened before. And Alexander had won last time. Logically, Aaron should be wanting payback.


Alexander went to his computer - a comparatively recent luxury in their never-ending chase - and began searching for his enemy. If he recalled correctly, the last time they had met, his enemy had been calling himself Aaron Morris, or something like that (it was a weakness of his, which Alexander shared, to use his own first name whenever possible). Alexander had managed to frame him for theft - from Alexander's own company - landing him in jail for thirty-odd years. That had made two rounds in a row he had won.


But that was considerably longer than thirty years ago, and Aaron should have been out by now.


After some time, Alexander managed to find a record of one Aaron I. Morrison's escape from prison, twenty-three years ago. He grinned for a moment, wondering what the I. had been supposed to stand for, if anything, and resolved to ask Aaron next time he saw him. It was the sort of thing Aaron would remember.


But that reminded him that he should have already seen Aaron. Surely it wouldn't take him twenty-three years to get back in fighting shape.


Alexander stared at the screen in worry. For all the years they had fought, there had never been real hatred between Aaron and him. Some ill-will, he remembered, in the beginning, but that had evaporated over time. The only two Immortals either of them knew of, their shared fate, and history, had become a bond. Their rivalry had become a game, a way they could both pass the endless time.


And if something had happened to Aaron, Alexander would have to find him.


Frowning, he turned to one of his e-mail accounts, to begin. But then he noticed an odd message at the top of his inbox. It appeared to have been sent from this account itself.


He opened it.


It held only five words. They said,


I'M COMING FOR YOU.
Aaron.


Alexander smiled. The next round had begun.

The game would continue.
___

EDIT: I re-wrote the last line because I realized I'd basically stolen Zosia Darr's. Sorry about that.

-X

Edited by Excelsior, May 30 2012 - 11:28 PM.

[Velox]

THEME #6:

Amor Omnia Vincit

As usual, you may use the theme however you'd like. "Amor Omnia Vincit" is a famous latin phrase meaning "Love Conquers All." Remember that this is a COT theme, and your story must comply with the word count regulation.

Deadline: June 1st, 1:59 AM EST.

Edited by Velox, May 31 2012 - 01:46 PM.

[Mendicant Bias]

Ooh, my previous plot fits for this, too!
Ima be writin now.

[Toa of Dancing]

Probably a dumb question, but should we put "Love Conquers All" in parentheses after Amor Omnia Vincit for the Theme section?

[The Dark Chronicler]

Member name: Pyrrhon
Theme: Amor Omnia Vincit
Word Count: 528
Story: A Loyal Friend





Scattered glass upon floor, beneath sliding door.

Muddy footprints across kitchen tile.

More prints in a single area, only short distances apart.

Standing in place, nervous at a sound.

A key in the door, turning open in the night.

Surprise, no one was supposed to be home now.

Fear, keeping silent to not be noticed.



Silence, not aware anything is wrong.

Tired after a long day at work, now home.

Shoes removed, left at the door to prevent mud.

Walking past in the dark, never noticing.

Heading toward bedroom, heading towards sleep.



Relief, not noticed in hiding place.

Caution, must avoid being detected.

Silently walking farther away from bedroom.

Looking around, carefully taking in surroundings.

Television, newer model, valuable.

Checking drawers, nothing of importance.

Searching shelves, finding little.

Hidden envelope, between two books.

Smile, found something important.

Money, not much, but worth taking.

Searching more, searching everywhere.

Taking valuables, moving them outside for transport.



Awakening, smelling something strange.

Owner asleep, someone moving in the night.

Growling, getting the shadow's attention.

Snarling, baring teeth at intruder, ready to bite.

Angry, owner threatened, protection needed.



Startled, not expecting a dog inside.

Danger, angry protector staring and snarling.

Stop moving, hoping the dog will not notice.

Doesn't work, dog moving closer.

Need escape, searching around for anything.

Door to the right, open bathroom, perfect.

Turn, trying to escape from pet.

Dog chases, not realizing plan.

Dog bites down, tearing clothing but not harming.

Evade dog, lock canine in bathroom.

Patting self on back for clever planning and great timing.



Trapped inside of small room.

Owner still in great danger from shadow.

Must warn owner about dangerous person.

Barking, barking loudly in the night.



Fear, trapping dog not working, bad Idea.

Moving quickly, having to get out as soon as possible.

Sounds coming from bedroom, lights turn on.

Get out, go through shattered sliding door.

Escape unseen into the night, failed robbery.

So much stuff not yet taken, days of planning wasted.

Stupid dog, barking to alert victim.



Shock, awakened by barking to find chaos.

Books thrown on floor, pages torn apart.

Drawers emptied out on floor, smashed to pieces.

Television removed from wall, sitting on ground.

Dog trapped in bathroom, still barking loudly.

Ruin, house torn apart, valuables taken by unknown person.

Sadness, fear, terror, loss, horror, misery, confusion.

Letting dog out, calling police on phone.



Free from locked room, owner saddened.

Failure, failed to protect home from mysterious shadow.

Owner laying down, curling up, crying.

Climb onto couch, curl up with owner.

Comfort, protect if shadow returns in night.

Will not be fooled twice, won't let anyone harm owner.



Dog whimpering, trying to comfort.

Scared, saddened by robbery, all that is lost.

Wanting to go back, before robbery, stop it.

Sense of security gone, house not safe from crime.

Police arrive, let them in through front.

Hoping criminal captured, not wanting him free.



Searching scene, taking evidence of crime.

Broken glass, entered through shattered sliding door.

Muddy prints, walking across kitchen.

Multiple prints, stood there nervously, prancing slightly.

Money taken from hiding place, drawers searched.

Owner not harmed, motive money, wanted valuables.



Brush against officer's leg, getting attention.

Holding piece of fabric in mouth.

Part of criminal's outfit, bitten off before trapped.



Taking the piece of cloth, looking at it with a slight grin.

Can help solve to case, match to criminal.

Pat dog on head, very smart animal.


Owner crying, sad and scared.

Crawl up in owner's lap, try to comfort.

Owner not harmed, still in good health.

Items stolen, but not much taken from house.

Owner lucky that shadow not try to harm.

Brushing head against cheek, stopping tears.

Everything will be alright, everything will be alright.




Edit: Accidentally used the wrong word count.

Edit 2: And I again used the wrong one. XD

Edited by Pyrrhon, May 31 2012 - 09:33 AM.

[xccj]

Going for a totally unusual interpretation here mostly cause I can’t write good love stories.

Member Name: xccj
Theme: Amor Omnia Vincit
Word Count: 512
Story: Amor

He showed up in the city two days ago.

At first, I assumed it was just a random incident on the news. The massacre was terrible, but the police would find those responsible and bring them to justice.

But then came another attack. And another. And soon, the city fell into chaos.

The news reports finally showed us the person behind it all. He was not just a human anymore; he had bulging muscles and crimson eyes and the ability to shoot lasers from his fingertips. Some speculated that he was an alien, out to take over the world. Others suggested that he was a victim of a horrible laboratory accident. But either way, he was on a rampage through the city. The news stations released one final detail before he destroyed them completely.

His name was Amor.

Evacuations had been ordered, and the military had moved in. Yet panic still filled the streets as I raced to escape. Communications had been cut off completely, and many of the roads and bridges out of the city were impassable. I was trying to flee on foot, and as I raced down the street, I spotted an army blockade. The few civilians on the street were being ushered to retreat.

But then there was a horrible noise behind me. I glanced over my shoulder in time to see the truck flying. I ducked, and the airborne vehicle crashed into the blockade, ruining the tank that had been stationed on the street. We all looked on and saw the source of the trouble; Amor was heading straight towards us.

I couldn’t reach the blockade in time, so I ducked into an alleyway along the street. The army opened fire on Amor, but to their horror the bullets merely bounced off. He also apparently had impenetrable skin.

“Such hate,” said a deep voice, and I realized it came from the abomination himself. “Such violence. It is all for waste.”

The army didn’t give up. They fired more heavy artillery, and bullets littered the street. Then I heard the sound of a jet engine, and a fighter plane flew over us. It came in for another round and fired a missile directly at Amor. I ducked behind a dumpster as the missile exploded, and debris filled the street.

After a minute, I lifted my head and glanced at the scene. The street was still filled with smoke from the explosion, and overhead the jet flew in for another round. But then lasers fired upward, and sliced off the jet’s wings. I heard it crash into a nearby street.

I heard more sounds of conflict, and many human cries. Bracing myself, I emerged from my hiding spot to check on the progress of the battle. To my dismay, the army blockade was shredded, and the few remaining survivors were fleeing.

“It was all for nothing,” a voice behind me said. I spun around and froze; Amor was staring down at me. He pointed his finger at me and said, “You do not understand. Amor Omnia Vincit. Love conquers all.”

[Velox]

Probably a dumb question, but should we put "Love Conquers All" in parentheses after Amor Omnia Vincit for the Theme section?

No, just "Amor Omnia Vincit" is fine -- I only put that so people would know what it means.

[Velox]

THE GAME Polls have been posted -- please go vote!

[Danska: Shadow Master]

Name: Danska: Shadow Master
Theme: Amor Omnia Vincit
Word Count: 600
Story: Eviction

Lily stood in the doorway, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I don't want to go,” she sobbed.

“We've been through this and we can't- we just can't keep going like this,” said her mother. The words came no more easily than they had last time, but the repetition helped build conviction. she almost believed them now. Almost.

“But I want to stay! I hate it there! Dad doesn't care! He's useless and he's so angry and- oh mum, why can't I stay?” She wailed, her breathing fractured by uncontrollable sobs.

“It's- it's better this way,” her mother said, staring at the floor. “You know we don't get on. We're always shouting and screaming and we never agree and- you're always saying you wanted to leave. I thought you'd be happy.”

“Happy? You're my mum! You're supposed to care for me and love me, not throw me out! Why would I be happy?” Lily screamed. She ran past her mother into the front room.

“Lily! What are you-”

“Look mum! Don't you remember when we watched that ridiculous film together? We laughed for days and spent ages putting speech from it in everything else we watched! Or all those times we just sat and watched TV together! Were we screaming and shouting then? Or-”

“Lily-”

She ran into the next room. “Remember when we tried to play the piano together? We thought we could play Beethoven or Mozart or something and it was the worst thing we'd ever heard! Or-”

“Lily!”

Lily ran into the kitchen. “Remember when we tried to make that meal for Grandma and I chopped everything too big then still burnt it all? It went wrong, but it was fun right? We can make it work! You can't just throw me out 'cause you don't think we get on anymore! Mum, please!”

“Lily!” Shouted her mum. “You have to go. This is better for both of us, ok? If you're with your dad then you can have a fresh start. We can still see each other, but we can't stay under the same roof. All the arrangements-”

“Arrangements!” Lily screamed. “Are 'arrangements' more important than your own daughter? You find it difficult so you're just giving up? Is that how little I mean to you?”

“You're my daughter, Lily! Of course I care, but we can't keep going like this. You know we can't. We've tried-”

“No we haven't!” Lily shouted. “You've shouted and I've shouted but we haven't tried anything! And now you won't try! Well maybe I don't want you as my mother! Maybe I don't care about you, since you care so little about me!”

“Lily, wait!” Her mother grabbed her arm.

“What? What do you want? I'm leaving, aren't I? I thought that's what you want!” Lily shrieked, trying to tear herself from her mother's grip.

“I do love you, of course I do. And, maybe you're right. We can try something. We can talk, we can get help. You're right. You shouldn't leave like this.” Both of them were crying now, and for the first time in days they were able to look each other in the eye.

“You mean it?” Lily sniffed. “I can really stay?”

“Yes, I mean it.”

Lily's face broke into a huge smile, a line of joy spreading from cheek to cheek, and she hugged her mother for all she was worth. “I love you mum.”

“I love you too.”

[Legolover-361]

Member Name: Legolover-361
Theme: Amor Omnia Vincit
Word Count: 533
Story: Victim

You rush after Susan into the cold, dark front yard. Entering the rainstorm feels akin to diving into cold water: best to do it and not think about it.

“Wait!”

She doesn’t respond — can you blame her? — only walks to your car and crosses her arms over her chest. Her sharp gaze pricks your neck, or perhaps that’s spit you couldn’t swallow. “Drive me,” she says.

“We can talk this out,” you say, moving toward her. She shies back as though you’re electrocuted. As though you might hurt her. Well, you already did, didn’t you? — you probably got all the pain out of your system with that one blow. “I never intended for things to get complicated—”

“Drive me.” Susan yanks on your car’s passenger-side door, a futile action considering the door is locked.

But you aren’t ready to give in. “Did I say we’re breaking up? No! For God’s sake, Susan, I never meant to leave you!”

“You did. Now open the freaking car.”

“Not until you calm down.”

Susan’s tears are indistinguishable from the rain pouring down her face, dripping from her brow and chin. Her designer jacket, the one you’d bought for her using half a week’s salary months ago, is drenched. She’s serious about this. Were you?

“That’s sweet to think,” she retorts, pointedly avoiding your eyes. Hers are full of pain. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you started hitting on Lia.”

She has you pinned. You squirm verbally: “I wasn’t hitting on—”

“Yeah, sure, like every guy keeps up a regular stream of compliments. Makeup. Clothes. Every. Little. Thing. Not to mention restaurant dates here and there. I know; I saw.”

You’re trying to keep her heart from tearing, but yours is the one splitting in two; you can feel the rupture. The hot feeling spreading up your neck must be blood leakage. “It — it isn’t what you think it was — what I wanted—” you protest.

Your clothes, now as moist as they’ll ever become, stick uncomfortably to your skin. Susan’s are the same. Her face is stolid underneath the pouring rain. She’s inured to the moisture, to your excuses. Why can’t you feel so numb?

You never wanted things to come to this; you’re a decent guy, not the type who hops from relationship to relationship like girls are trampolines. Yet here you are, a victim of attraction and failed commitment. The term Femme Fatale holds new meaning for you.

She tugs on the car door again, her mouth twisted to stifle a sob. “Drive me.” Her voice breaks.

You relent and unlock the car door.

The ride to Susan’s house is short and tense. She doesn’t even wait for you to stop by the curb, doesn’t look back at your face, doesn’t offer a single acknowledgement of your existence save to slam the car door with unwonted aggression. Her high heels leave deep imprints in her front lawn; she reaches the door and shuts it with a bang you can hear even from behind the wheel.

You wait a long moment before driving away, as if she might reemerge and say all is forgiven, come back. Love, however, doesn’t pay refunds.

Edited by Legolover-361, May 31 2012 - 08:24 PM.

[Grantaire]

Member Name: Zarayna: The Quiet Light
Theme: Amor Omnia Vincit
Word Count: 585
Story: Tremenda Amor.

---

The older man swung his sword, and the younger blocked, making a counterthrust that the older one dodged with ease. Sweat glistened on their faces as they paused, circling slowly. The younger man was fair haired, with a face that seemed perpetually formed into surprised features. Fear and anger showed on his face, as well as desperation. The older man's hair had once been the same shade, but age had streaked it with grey. His features were hard, a grim anger smoldering in the depths of his eyes.

"Jason, please," the young man panted. The older man's face did not change.

"That is not my title, Lucas, thou knowest that," he replied, casually blocking a probing blow from the younger man.

"Then neither is that my title!" Lucas crowed triumphantly, even as he was forced to give ground as Jason attacked.

"The greater giveth not the lesser's title, but his name!" Jason snapped, sliding his blade around Lucas's, landing a cut on the younger man's arm. A light one.

"Am I then lesser?"

"Yea, thou are," Jason replied, pausing his attack for a moment. Lucas took advantage to retreat farther back.

"Thy birthright thou wasted, thy family thou spurned. How thus can thee be greater?" the older man roared, advancing in a flurry of blows that took Lucas by surprise, sending the young man back, until a branch caught his foot, whereupon he fell heavily to the ground, winded. Contemptuously Jason waited as Lucas stumbled to his feet.

“But… Thou lovest me!” he gasped, desperate.

“That I do,” the older man replied, aiming a deathly blow at Lucas’s heart, kept off by only a desperate parry. The younger man was exhausted now, his ploy failed.

“Then why attackest thou I?” he said, dismayed.

“Thee must answer me that!” Jason retorted. Lucas was at loss, but the fighting had ceased for the moment so he was glad. Bemused, he answered:

“I know it not!”

“Then think thee it!” Jason answered. The sword in his hand remained immobile, but Lucas did not trust it to remain so for long. But he shook his head still.

“Thou spurneth and rejecteth. meaneth that nothing to thee?” Jason queried. Meeting his eyes, Lucas told another emotion within them: grief.

“It hath meaning,” he muttered glumly.

“Indeed? Thy conduct giveth no clue!”

“My conduct…” Shame reddened the cheeks of Lucas more than the exertion of the fight had. “Is my conduct then the cause of thy wrath?”

“Thou guesseth halfly,” Jason replied. His eyes held the younger man’s eyes, the emotion within skewering Lucas’s heart like a sword. The grief was covered by love, an awful love. It broke him. The sword clattered from Lucas’s hand, and he fell to his knees. His eyes still looked up, held there by the eyes of the other man. At last he looked down, body wracked by tears.

“Forgive me, father,” he gasped. “I have sinned against heaven and against thee. Let me but come into thy house a servant, for I am not worthy of being called thy son.”

His father looked down upon him, grief and anger replaced by unfathomable joy. He sheathed his sword, raising his son to his feet and embracing him.

“Truly my son was dead, yet here before me he lives!” Jason exclaimed, releasing Lucas.

“Thou wert lost to us, yet now thou art found. Enter my house as my son like thou once were.”

Father and son, their fight ended, walked away from the torn up battleground.

---

Consider this an extremely spiced up version of the Prodigal Son.

[takua123]

Username: Takua123
Theme: The Game
Word Count: 413
Story: A Game of Tag.

The man ran behind a small house. He stood still, stiffly panting. Fear was in his eyes, and knew not why. A week earlier he was walking on the street, it was a normal day. All until a grizzled, old man staggered towards him. His eyes showed he didn’t have long. “It’s too late for me. I’m sorry.” He coughed. “So, so sorry. It’s you now. He’s looking for you. Don’t let him touch you. Never, never.” The Man fell to the ground, dead. The man noticed a black fingerprint on his cold hand.
Ever since then he had been scared. He got a letter in the mail a couple hours later saying he should run, and that the sender would be looking for him. Being the superstitious type, he had gotten on a plane, and hid at his summer house in Puerto Rico. Unfortunately, he was not far behind. It was a big chase, and the man never knew what would happen if he gave up, he only thought of that one day, when that man collapsed. That had driven him to run, to hide, and to fear.
He knew the victim was behind the house. He was ready. As a child the other kids feared him. They wouldn’t let him play their games, do what they do. Ever since the accident. He was making up for it now. This was all just a big game of tag, and he was finally playing. This was his game, and he was having fun. He always had something wrong with him. He was never allowed to touch anybody, or bad things would happen. His parents died at a young age, and he went from orphanage to orphanage. He was now in his 30’s, and longed to play the games he missed.
The victim was just behind the corner, but once he was “tagged” he would not be satisfied. The man was just within finger reach of him. They looked into each other’s eyes. He spoke. “I will let you live. If I touch you right now you die. I want to play more.” The other man looked at him in fear. It was all a game to this hunter of his. Then again, a game can be very serious to certain people. “Do it now, I don’t want to run anymore.” They looked into each other’s eyes for the longest of time. Then the hunter walked away, and the prey was free, for now.

[fishers64]

“Alma Maru” means “Generous Souls” in Latin.

Member Name: fishers64
Theme: Amor Omnia Vincit
Word Count: 463 words
Story: Alma Maru

It was a dark night in the park, and her heart was as cold as the winter wind. Colder, even, that the chilled fruit salad she carried to the tables out in the parking lot.

They were all here, the ragtag lot of them. Men less than clean-shaven and dressed in mottled clothing. Women, in various states of distress, some pulling along little toddlers behind them. All were down on their luck, all out of a house. The purpose of this humble little operation was to give them a meal.

To the girl, this merely represented an ordeal, a break from the traditional freedom of a Saturday afternoon. Instead of the glories of Internet immersion, she was consigned to the drudgery of chopping up bananas and plucking grapes off of vines, and all to stand behind a table for too long, spooning it up into bowls that would be seized by greedy hands.

It might have been all the same, if not in the frantic work of spooning out, and grabbing more, and yelling hoarsely for more bowls, that she had looked up and saw a face.

A face she knew.

A person who had once been her friend.

“Hi, there” he said. He looked at her, and it seemed that he looked through her. Saw the whole thing as a façade, a farce, something her parents made her do.

“Good to see you” she said, even though it was a lie. She would have given anything for him not to see her this night. Not to know what her parents believed.

He turned away, walking. A bitter weight descended upon her, the knowledge that she had lost a friend. Perhaps, for good.

* * *

“You don’t understand.”

“I know that.” She looked up at him – the serving was done, and she had gone to see him.

“My father had money – I suppose you could have guessed.” Yes, she could have – he had gone with him to a prep school. Until he left.

“My father made some bad deals. Ran in with the wrong crowd. I was so proud of him, so proud of myself for being his son. Now I don’t know what to think.” He paused, collecting his thoughts.
“But you, you all here, gave me food anyway. You gave food to a stuck-up snob-nose like me. To a son of a cheater and a robber.” His voice welled up, the emotion coming. “I’m sorry” he said, turning to the girl, but she was gone.

* * *

Nearby, in the backseat of a car, a little girl sat, tears running down her face, her heart bubbling up, catching in her throat. Feeding the homeless actually helped someone, her friend. Someone she loved.

She hated herself for being so fake.

[Xanthorp]

Member name: Xanthorp
Theme: Amor Omnia Vincit
Word Count: 519
Story:Love Lifts Us

Nick was so excited for the Turnabout dance. The one where the girls ask the boys. Jessica, “the hot girl” that everyone talked about, had asked him.

This was a complete change of fate. One moment, he was taking notes for Biology, when a scrap of paper flew over his shoulder and landed on his notes. It was the size and shape of a paper football, and he unfolded it to see what it was all about.

Inside, written in purple gel pen, were the words “Nick, will you go with me to the dance? -Jessica”
--
Jessica was grateful for the chance to be nice to someone. Poor Nick. He was always picked on. He was a very intelligent person, but was ridiculed because of it. Whenever someone jeered at him, called him a nerd, she always imagined their words as being rotten tomatoes being thrown at him.

She had this plan set into motion for a year. Because he was so intelligent and observant-- and tended to over-describe things-- he was thought to be gay. So, in order to stop these rumors, she began hanging out with him. He was a great guy to know-- smart, good-looking, congenial, a bit of a grammar nazi (but that was fine with her), athletic, the list goes on.

But best of all, he wrote. And that’s why he looked at the world differently. For him, something wasn’t just orange. It was pumpkin orange or deep royal neon orange.
--
Word spread around Adams High like a forest fire, and not moments after the bell rang, Tyler heard about it.

He was the one Freshman who everyone else wanted to strangle. He thought that the entire universe revolved around him. It didn’t take a genius to tell him that the center of the universe is ever-changing.

In short, he was an all around j.e.r.k.
--

On the day of the dance, Nick’s heart was pounding. He could hardly control himself, and couldn’t wait to see Jessica. There was going to be a before and after party at Tyler’s house. He honestly didn’t want to go, but Jessica said her twin sister, Renee, would be his date.

When he got to Tyler’s house, however, he thought that he was overdressed.

“Nicholas, you didn’t need to wear a suit,” commented Renee. “Jess is inside. She’s hard to miss.”

And hard to miss, she was. She wore a fire engine red dress that was very voluminous. When she saw him in his ocean blue suit, she grinned and cantered on over to him.

“I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE DANCE!” Screamed Tyler.
--
At the dance, They danced nonstop for over an hour. By then, Nick had to go to the bathroom. He told Jess & left to relieve himself.

But Jess knew that she did not have long for this world. She was dying, and fast, so she took out a notepad and wrote “Because I love you. -Jess” in her purple gel pen. When Nick saw this, he ran out of the dance and jumped off of the four-story-tall bridge. They now have each other in the afterlife.

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Note: The ending went totally different than I expected. But that's writing, you know?

Edited by Xanthorp, May 31 2012 - 09:54 PM.