Glass Preliminary Poll - Lens

[Velox]

 

Vote here for your favorite Glass story; entries have been randomized. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on July 7th at 11:59 PM EST. Entries that do well will move on to Glass Final Poll, which will be posted at the conclusion of the 10th round preliminary poll.

 

Choice #1:

 

"City of Glass"

The skyscrapers pierce the azure sky, rising until up and up even after they reach the clouds, going up and up thousands of stories tall, up--up, always extending.

The City of Glass. The Kingdom of Skyscrapers. Skyscrapers taller than any others in the whole universe. They rise, up, up, up--seemingly never ceasing in their elevation. The architecture is magical--fictitious even in this advanced age. It is only when one visits do they finally believe the stories--stories that have been passed on from father to son, from mother to daughter, from grandparents to grandchildren.

It is a legend, surely--a legend and nothing more, they all say. A legend inside the homes of many--until they actually see for themselves. Until they witness the awe-striking, amaranthine beauty.

Walking through the streets, below the alabaster, crystal, glass, emerald, ruby, amethyst, and sapphire towers, one walks in a fantasy. The feeling is like a dream--a dream of imagination and disbelief, where one expects to wake up and discover that it was all fake. Yet none ever wake--for it’s not a dream.

The towers are real. Very, very real. And when you walk up to one, the wall of the building rises farther than you can see. But when you enter it is a different experience entirely. Some are filled with translucent stairways, circling upward and leading to different floors. Some are filled with clear boards, raised by transparent strings, all moving together and shifting here and there in perfect grace, taking people to various floors and rooms, never colliding with one another.

In the heart of the city lies perhaps the most magnificent of them all. A Cathedral made entirely from pure diamonds, as clear as glass, said to rise far above all the others. Yet once again one can hardly believe it, nor can one even confirm the tale as each building rises higher than the eye can see. The top of the Cathedral holds a bell-tower--bells that ring above every other commotion of the city, a magnificent ringing that reverberates throughout the entire planet.

When the bells toll, the whole population stops to listen to the beauty--the sounds that never get old or become any less amazing then the first time one hears them, ringing morning, noon, and night. They are entirely captivating and bewildering, amazing and awe-inspiring, fantastic and fanciful.

They are the Glass City Bells--perhaps even more captivating than the towers themselves, for the pitches and harmonies, tolls and chimes, all create a beautiful symphony.

***

But one morning, the bells miss their toll. The cityfolk slowly stop their work, looking at each other’s watches to make sure the time was right. But the bells never ring, and the first tower falls.

Admist a giant uproar of shards of glass and dust, the Cathedral crumbles, shattering, showering the town with the powder and splinters of broken diamonds. People scream in panic and confusion, shrilling voices piercing the air. Some don't even move as the building falls on top of them, still stuck there unbelieving of what their eyes tell them. In a matter of moments the Cathedral has completely collapsed.

The day ended.

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Choice #2:

"The View"

Lenny faced the glass, towards the source of the light emanating from the summer sun.

Children played, laughing and frolicking among the many flowers in the fields. Their parents conversed about lively subjects such as the results of the Super Bowl and what move their kids would pull next. A slight breeze moved the blades of grass so that they were leaning over at an angle of no more than 16 degrees. The trees swayed as well, and the branches moved like distorted limbs. The sun, radiant as ever, shone its light on the populace below, blinding those foolish enough to gaze into its stare. Picnic baskets, surrounded by litter, were a source of food for those wishing to help themselves.

It was a beautiful summer day, the first of many to come, and it was such a beautiful view.

But Lenny saw nothing, for he was blind.

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Choice #3:

"Just a Glass"

A young man was nervously tugging on his collar, the anticipation and fear was making his suit feel all the more uncomfortable. He was sitting at a table with an older man whose face was that of a man who had seen all the horrors and joys of life. In the corner of the room was a double door, at which stood a young servant standing tall and straight whilst awaiting the older man’s instructions. Other than him there was very little furnishing in the room, save an old fireplace and a large window overlooking the city.

However there was a very good reason for the young man’s fear, the old man of the city was none other than the Father of the city and the young man still wasn’t sure why he had invited him. Dinner with the Father was either a death sentence or a beautiful blessing, the trick was figuring out which.

“So Richard,” the Father finally spoke, breaking the awkward silence. “Do not be so on edge, laugh, have fun! I want my guests to feel welcome, now would you care for a drink?”

Richard nearly gulped on the spot, barely struggling to maintain his composure. A drink was one of the worst things he could be offered, refusing would be spiting the Father, however if the Father wanted you out of the way there was a good chance the drink might be poisoned. It was a no win situation for someone who lacked the reason for his summoning.

“I don’t wish to impose,” Richard began only to be cut off by the Father’s wave of a hand.

“Richard, loosen up, it truly is no trouble for me,” with that said the Father snapped his figures and almost immediately a servant came out with a glass of wine, before gently placing it down in front of Richard.

Once more Richard barely restrained himself from gulping on the spot. “Thank you,” he mumbled half-heartedly as he raised the glass in the Father’s direction, before taking a sip. After all refusing would also be terrible. When he realized he was still alive, Richard could help but let out a sigh. However by the time he realized the momentary drop in his guard the damage had been done.

The Father was now laughing from hearing Richard’s sigh. “My dear boy, did you really think I was going to poison you?” He let out a hearty bellyache, “I would think you had more faith in me by now.” The man replied in a rather joking tone.

“Heh, one can never be too cautious,” Richard chuckled nervously, desperately trying to salvage the situation. “One can never be too careful right?”

“Hah! It’s just a glass, if that scares you so much I can only imagine how you’ll react to what’s about to be become.”

“A glass can be viewed in many different ways, half empty, half full…” Richard began only to be cut off by the older man.

“Or, in your case, poisoned,” The man added.

“Yes, that too.”

“Well,” the old man chuckled, “Now that you’ve overcome your first hurdle I can’t wait to see how you handle the real fun that’s about to come.”

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Choice #4:

"America Discussing the Glass Ceiling"

On July 4, Monosmith sat on the porch with fellow great American authors Mark Twain and Edgar Allen Poe. They talked about things that writers talked about, which turns out to be the exact same things that everyone else talks about, only they had a propensity for covering a grand spectrum of subjects.

“Suppose we were to arrange the legends our culture has produced, and they could talk,” said Monosmith. “Each one would be a true-blue representation of America – but lo, how different each one would be!”

“As far as I am aware,” said Poe, “There is Columbia and the Bald Eagle.”

“Uncle Sam,” said Twain. “Not to mention Lady Liberty. They, too, have come to personify our country.”

“Since your times,” said Monosmith, “I grew up with Rosie the Riveter as a symbol of the people, and Superman as a symbol for our ideals, become not just a symbol, but a brand new idea ingrained in our philosophy. He is the American Legend.”

“I grew up with Uncle Sam,” said Twain. “He is my favorite incarnation of our collective conscious – but alas, I do confess to bias. I like the name Sam.”

Monosmith didn’t smile, but nodded approvingly at Twain’s wry humor. “I wonder what it would look like.”

“Well, we are writers,” said Poe. “Let us imagine this scene and together watch how it unfolds.”

So Monosmith, Twain, and Poe looked out from their porch, and this is what they say:

At the base of the Statue of Liberty, Uncle Sam and Rosie the Riveter stood. Columbia stood beside Sam, his muse, offering him cryptic words of wisdom.

Barely a speck in the open sky was the Bald Eagle, looking down sagely. It was more than just a personification of the country, but its true soul. Only it knew fully the American way, but it said nothing, leaving those below to figure out for themselves.

Before these great personifications stood Wonder Woman with a traveling back. She clung to Lady Liberty for protection as Uncle Sam pierced at her with his gaze, and Rosie looked on contemptuously.

“This Amazon came to our lands wearing our flag as her underwear,” said Sam. “Send her back to Paradise Island, where she belongs. She has no right to associate with us.”

Rosie added, “Yes, and I think it’s absolutely terrible that we claimed her as our own for this long in the first place. Why does the world have to be so much about us? Why do we have to take other people’s things and claim them as our own? This is ridiculous, and I don’t want to be seen as a jingoistic reader.”

Wonder Woman held her head in shame. She looked at the little girls on the NYC shore, and realized that she had just been an accessory. She fought for the rights of these people, but ended looking silly and doing more hurt than healing.

“I’m sorry,” she was about to say, but before the words could leave her mouth, Superman swooped down from the sky.

“Don’t apologize!” said Superman. “They can send you off this land, but that will be their loss, and it will be up to another nation to take you up as their mantle to progress human rights. You will only lose if you apologize, but you did nothing wrong.”

“What am I?” said Wonder Woman. “I only stand for feminism. I stand for girls and women, but not America.”

“No,” said Superman. “When I walked around the moon, thinking about American way, I saw down on Earth men with WW t-shirts. You’re a symbol for more than just women. You represent all of us. You are these things for all human beings. Uncle Sam,” he said, switching his attention to the government, “If you expel this woman, you betray your wife, Lady Liberty, and I have nothing to stand for. I fight for truth, justice, and the American way. She is truth. She is justice. She is the American way.”

“You are beneath my authority,” said Sam. “You do not have my permission to be here, friends though we may be.”

“Not the way I’ve been written lately,” countered Superman. “You accepted me, a Kryptonian. For God’s sake, a poet even gave us a Greek goddess, Columbia, for which we name our capital!” Columbia blushed.

Sam looked for the Eagle. If the truth was anywhere, it was in his soul.

And just then, Monosmith winked and stopped imagining and let the story hang.

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[Excelsior]

I voted for #1, although I actually thought it might be better without the last three paragraphs. I really liked the descriptions of the glass city. Is there such a thing as glasspunk?

 

May the best story win!

 

-Excelsior

[BBBBalta]

I voted for number 1. 3 was also good, but I felt that 1 was the clear choice here.

[Velox]

Polling period over; topic closed.