Amor Omnia Vincit Final Poll

[Velox]

Vote here for your favorite Amor Omnia Vincit story. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on June 23rd at 11:59 PM EST. The entry with the most votes will be the winner of the Amor Omnia Vincit theme and will then be either judged or polled against the winners of the other themes.

1. Debts He was not a simple man. He was a scientist, a doctor and researcher. He had no need for the supernatural. He was a practical man. But he believed in love. It was an emotion too powerful to ignore. Love was everything to him, for he owed everything to love, or perhaps more accurately, to his love. She had been everything to him, and now that she was gone, he could not cope. It had been years since she had given her life for him. To him, the pain was just as fresh now as it had been then. Their love had meant to last forever. That is the reason people loved; to spend their lives in communion, trusting, respecting and treasuring each other for the entirety of their lives. It was not meant to end, not so soon. It was not meant to end and leave him like he was. He almost couldn’t bear it. But he would not give in to despair, for he believed in love. He believed he could accomplish the impossible for love. Lying in a table near him was a body. It was an engineered body, an amalgamation of parts reassembled into a human form. This was no patchwork monster of an old, tired story. It was an almost perfect recreation of his wife, a perfect form, designed to be a healthy, strong, immune being. But it lacked life. It was ready, yet incomplete. She had given him her life, and he would give it back. It was only the right thing to do. It defied his logic. It defied his laws. But it was love, not logic, that dictated his actions. He refused to reflect on what he was about to do. Questioning himself would be futile. He did not care. It was unimportant. Without her he might as well be dead. He sat in a table parallel hers. A transparent and sleek machine sat in between the two tables. “Begin warm-up. Get ready for custom procedure number 98.” The machine came to life in response to his voice. Several mechanical limbs extended from the machine’s main body, testing its joints and the security of its equipment. A green signal in its heads-up display indicated everything was in order. He lay down in the table. “Begin custom procedure 98.” How to give life to another human? It was a difficult question. He didn’t have an answer. All he had were ideas, hope, and most importantly, love. It was a theoretically simple procedure. It could probably be performed without him, but he refused to consider that. He would give his life. He had no other choice. His body’s energy, the flow of his blood, the beating of his heart, every little thing that generated change in his body, would be harnessed to create one massive charge, and this would carefully be infused into her body. Coupled with her engineered body, she would live, and he would have given his life for her. He would repay his debt. As he prepared to let go, he realized that he had no regrets. Not now, that his love would let him accomplish the impossible. Not now. ** A woman sat up. She was on a operating table, next to a strange machine. Beyond the machine she could see an unmoving man. She was puzzled by his immobility. She had a feeling that he would not wake again, and felt a pang of sadness, though she did not know why. On the heads-up display, a single word was written. She understood it, somehow. LIVE. She understood. ------
2. Existentialism on Prom Night She sighs and holds up a finger to her friends, stepping out of the front door of her father’s Hyundai Genesis faux-luxury car and pulling out her iPhone. Twenty minutes away, in another world, another lifetime, he can hear her pick up the phone, and he lets out a sobbing cry of relief. “I’m glad you picked up…” “Jack, your voice is slurred. What have you—“ “Listen, I just…I really need to talk to someone right now.” There’s a sharp static hiss, like a viper trying to intimidate its prey before it moves in and strangles its unsuspecting meal. He closes his eyes, as if expecting a verbal lashing. There isn’t one coming. “We broke up eight months ago. This is prom night. What do you think you’re playing at, Jack, calling me tonight of all nights?” It’s his turn to sigh, and with the sigh comes another couple tears as it finally begins to dawn on him just how badly he screwed up. “Jen, please, just…please. I’m not the best right now, and I think I really need somebody to talk to before I—“ Now she really is angry, and he knows immediately that this was not the best thing he could have said, but it’s too late because now she’s screaming and cursing herself hoarse, and from twenty minutes away, in another world, another lifetime, he can hear her yells start to fade as she begins sobbing. This, instead of sobering him, merely releases another bout of sobbing. “You think I’m the best right now, Jack Gunn? I’m going solo to prom because my monster moron monster ex-boyfriend felt that he had the right to embarrass me in front of his friends just to get a rise out of them! You disgust me! You’re everything that I wish I could despise, and you’re lucky that I’m not hanging up on you and never casting a glance in your direction again, you pig!” By this time, he can feel his heart starting to crumble and crack, like a Greek monument that has had its resistance torn to pieces by inclement weather and the ages that’s sick and tired of standing resolute. He tries to put in a word edgewise, but it’s fruitless, and all his shallow explanations end up doing is getting her more angry. If she gets lucky and ends up getting famous, she’s going to go all Adele on this poor sap and he’ll never be able to show his face in public again after the embarrassment she piles on him. Then again, he has to remind himself, he had embarrassed her first. But how was that his fault? The poem had been dropped on the ground, he had read it out loud, and she had absolutely raged at him, calling him a psycho and a manipulative prick and that if he ever touched her again, she would personally dig his grave and drop him into it half alive. All the clever lines, all the dry examples of wit in the world, none of them could possibly save him at this point. None of them except for one. “If you pick me up now, we can still head to prom and be there in time for the King and Queen voting.” She’s silent, and he starts to wonder if all this did was royally infuriate her even more. Finally, she speaks. “Where are you?” ------
3. Not Alone Life wasn’t worth living anymore. Kaitlin knew that too well. Everything kept going wrong, and she was afraid of what would happen when she stepped out of her own door. The world hated her, and she hated it. May as well cut off the living **** in which she lived. It would be today. Slowly drifting away Lost and so afraid Where is the hope In a world so cold? She used to have friends. That was what kept her alive. Then they all left her, so she turned away from them. Two or three remained. Soon enough, she realized that that was because they wanted her money. Looking for a distant light Someone who could save a life Living in fear That no one would hear your cry If she had someone, then maybe things would be different. But Kaitlin Stonewell was alone, and no one gave a second thought about it. Can you save me now? She might as well tell everyone that this was the last day. All the “friends” on whatever social networking sites. Her family. I am with you I will carry you through it all I won’t leave you I will catch you When you feel like letting go ‘Cause you’re not You’re not alone Jonathan glanced at his phone. New update from... Katy? She never got online anymore. He saw the first words–“Goodbye, world”–and began to panic. Your heart is full of broken dreams Just a fading memory Everything’s gone But the pain carries on A call? Someone with a quick eye trying to dissuade her. ...Jonathan? If anyone would care, Katy guessed it would be him. Nice guy, she used to be a good friend with him before he moved into the neighboring county. Lost in the rain again When will it ever end? The arms of relief Seem so out of reach He had to stop her... This was insane! Why would she commit suicide? She seemed like such a happy girl two years ago. But I, I am here … The door was blocked. No one could climb through the window. Now it was time to take the pills... A knife would be too painful, and she didn’t have a gun. Jonathan silently thanked God that the traffic was light as he drove as fast as he could. Her house wasn’t too far... just across the county line. And I will be your hope When you feel like it’s over And I will pick you up When your whole world shatters When you’re finally in my arms Look up and see That love has a face No water... She had forgotten a glass. Saliva would have to do... It would take a while, though. … He slammed on the brakes in front of her house, jumping out of the car as he heard sirens wailing. C’mon... Sirens? Someone called the law. Seconds after she heard them, she heard a banging on her door and Jonathan yelling. A knife it had to be, then. Slowly drifting away Lost and so afraid Where is the hope In a world so cold? “A chainsaw, anything will work, mister Stonewell!” Jonathan yelled down the stairs. He heard the sound or shuffling in her room... she was still alive. Then the policemen arrived. They rushed up the stairs and burst into the room with their equipment, Jonathan pushing through despite their attempts at holding him back. The knife had quickly been snatched from Kaitlin, and all that was left was to wrap her in his arms and whisper quietly. ------
4. The Thoughts of a Recently-Rejected Teenager Love will find a way. All you need is love. It’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. These are all phrases we have been taught since childhood, their words engrained into our minds. Some people choose to model their entire outlook on life off of sayings like these. I am not one of those people, especially not now. Not now that I’ve been in love and been rejected, not now that I’ve experienced the agony of heartbreak. Yes, third phrase, I’m referring to you. Yes, you do have a special place in my heart. No. I do not agree with any of you one bit. Love is like a hurricane. Oh look, there’s another stock saying. I wasn’t even trying to come up with one that time, and it just came to mind. Great, just great. But wait… Comparing love to a type of storm, and one known for the devastation it tends to leave in its wake, may actually be the most fitting thing comparison I’ve seen yet. Love is a horrible, horrible reaction, and one that the human race would be infinitely better off without. I would love to take back all the time I spent building up the courage to tell you how I felt, only for you to bluntly reject me in the span of two seconds. I’d- Sorry, I have some things on my mind. You know, in case you hadn’t noticed. Which isn’t very likely… Anyway, love is a hurricane. Yup, I’ll agree with that one. Let’s move on to the next one like a museum tour guide and his flock of paying customers and bums who are following the main group. Yup, my little tour will go right past the broken hearts of a billion teenagers, all while I’m spouting random garbage like, “And on your left, you can see the infamous words that drove these poor souls into committing such reckless acts, defying all logic in their attempts to win the heart of another person. Oh, and on your right is another similar sight. Isn’t love just great?” Yes, I’d make an excellent tour guide. Maybe one day, when I’m a bit more level-headed, I’ll make a museum like that. No wait. That’s stupid. Forget I said that. Oh, oh, oh… The granddaddy of all stock saying just popped into my head. Oh, this is infuriating. Wow, I’m having difficulty just typing this, I’m so irritated. Okay, deep breath. In. Out. Love conquers all. You know what, world? I’m calling you out on that one right here, right now. False. Oh so very false. ------
5. The Kidnapping Sickness "It was nice to meet you, sweetie!" Grandma pats his hand and is wheeled back into her room by the caretaker. He doesn't understand. He has only just visited Grandma two months ago. How does she not know him anymore? He turns to his mother with a question, he sees her retreating hastily back down the pink tiled hallway. "Mommy!" He calls, trotting after her. "Mommy, wait for me!" He catches up to his mother and wraps his arms through the dangling leather handbag, trying to pull her to a calmer pace. "Mommy, does Grandma not remember me?" He wheels around to see his mother's face, hopping backwards to keep her bent face in view. A raindrop hits him square in the forehead, and he is alarmed into crying out. But he looks up and is even more frightened to see that his mother is crying. "Are you okay, momma? Did you get hurt?" The little boy wants to find out, and his light-up sneakers squeak on the floor as he stumbles. Finally, his mother slows down. But she still does not stop, nor does she respond to his questions. "Mommy?" He turns with his mother into a small lobby, deserted except for a monitor-faced secretary. He follows as his mother sinks into the closest velvet and wood chair. He can't tell if she's still crying because her hand is covering her eyes, and he climbs up next to her, tugging the hand away. "Can I give you a hug, mommy?" He remembers that when he is upset, his mother always gave him hugs. He also knew that those hugs cheered both of them up. "Oh, Christopher," He is pulled into her lap, and she sobs and laughs all at once. "I'm so sorry, Christopher." "It's okay, mommy. But why are you sorry?" He needs to know. So much is happening. "Mommy, I don't understand." He feels his mother's lips press into the top of his head in a kiss, and his hair feels tickly when her breath makes it move. After a few deep breaths, her voice reaches his ears. "Chris, you're a big boy, aren't you? You're almost five and a half," She says. "I think you're old enough to understand." "Understand?" He wriggles in her grip, trying to see her face again. "You see, your grandmother is very sick, Christopher. And the kind of sickness she has, it gets worse and worse and worse, and the doctor's can't make it go away." She loosens her grip, and turns him to face her. "Not even the smartest doctor?" "Not even the smartest doctor," She acknowledges. "And Christopher, you have to understand that this is no ordinary sickness. It doesn't make grandma cough, or give her a fever, or even give her aches and pains in her bones." "What? Then what does this sickness do, mommy?" His mother takes a deep breath. "This is the kidnapping sickness. It kidnaps her memories, and locks them away so she forgets things." And he furrows his brow as his mother chokes to a stop. "How can Grandma forget things? Big things, like you and me? Doesn't she love us?" He feels tears welling up in his eyes, encouraged by the free-flowing tears of his mother. "Of course she does, Christopher. That's what you must understand. Even though the kidnapping sickness takes Grandma away from us, she is still there for us," His mother reaches up and flicks away his tears expertly. "Even though she can't remember us, she still loves us." "Why, mommy?" "Because love conquers all." ------

[Toa of Dancing]

I will not say that I am exceptionally skilled at writing songfics, but I think I did okay enough with this one. Thus, number 3.

[shadow pridak money gang]

Number 5 needs to win. I mean...needs to win.-Teezy

[fishers64]

Agreed. Number 5 FTW.

[Nick Silverpen]

Number 5. My heart is melting from it.

Edited June 20, 2012 by Nick Silverpen

[Ballom Nom Nom]

Number five got my vote. It's a very well-written, heartfelt entry, and deserves to win.~B~

[Velox]

Voted for #5, but #2 would've been my second choice.

[Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa]

#4. What can I say? Hours after reading (and forgetting to vote) I can still feel it.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

[Velox]

Polling period over; poll closed.