*Incoming Transmission*

Forgive me if I'm being somewhat dense, but I am slightly confused. Why are we supposed to post a piece of writing? Is it just to be able to participate in the contest? And is the theme for the contest itself or the piece of writing, or both?

Again, forgive if I come across as slow of mind.

*End Transmission*

You're writing a short piece so I can see which of the entrants work well with each other, and put you guys in groups. The theme you're writing for is the chars of your team members--exactly what that means you'll have to wait and see!

It's no problem.

Glistening crystals reflected the pale light that filtered through the snow-laden skies. Snow whipped through the howling winds as more of it came pouring down. Visibility was nearing zero with each passing second, but fortunately, that was no problem to the only signs of life in the area.

 

Draezeth broke a piece of ice off the wall and sucked on it, gulping down the melting water. He wasn't thirsty, but it was the only form of entertainment one could hope to find in an ice cave. Well, that and watch the crystals reflecting the pale sunlight. Or both, as he was doing now. Of course, he could always strike up a conversation with Hoc, who stood leaning on his bright red motorcycle nearby...

 

Hoc would have loved to talk with Drae, but the icicle-drinking human (at least he thought he was human) always cut him off when his voice got too loud, which tended to happen a lot. Hoc polished the motorcycle's gleaming side affectionately. He glanced back at Drae again.

 

Draezeth was a medium-sized young man with electric blue hair, and skin so pale that it, too looked blue. He always wore a pair of pointless blue shades which disguised his true eye color from Hoc. Right now, he wore a white and blue jacket and a pair of waterproof blue pants. He didn't have any gloves, and wore thick boots... also blue. He didn't shiver, despite the cold, and held the icicle as if it were a carrot, despite its subzero temperatures.

 

Hoc shivered as he watched Drae sitting completely unphased, and silent. Hoc wasn't made of ice, as he suspected Draezeth might be, but he had his own secrets he would be reluctant to let Draezeth know. But if the snow continued, they would both have to start spilling the beans or they might be stuck for weeks. At least, that's what Hoc kept telling himself.

 

And then there was that weir creature that followed Draezeth around. It had unnaturally blue fur, and purple horns. It slightly resembled a deer, only it was much too small, and, of course, it was blue.

 

Getting irritated by the solid blue, blue and more blue, Hoc pulled a pair of red shades over his own eyes, and kept them focused on his own black, white and red snowboarding outfit.

 

Realizing that he had been polishing the same two inches of his bike, he stopped and massaged his sore hand, "Look, man. I don't get you. Why in the world were you out here, why is your hair blue, why is your skin blue, why is that animal-thing blue, why aren't you shivering, and why aren't you packing any food?"

 

An ironic smile touched Draezeth's face. He slowly got to his feet and, still smiling, "You've asked me those questions at least a thousand times over the last two days."

I could have written more, but I got bored with it.

Hay, can we give you something previously written, or something we whipped up right here on the spot?

Gotta be written on the spot. You can definitely put a lot of effort into it, it doesn't have to be just typed as fast as possible and drawn from the first thought that popped into your head (unless that works for you); it's intended to see your individual abilities at their rawest level, and to compare your guys' styles so I can make groups that don't end up chaotic together.

Gotta be written on the spot. You can definitely put a lot of effort into it, it doesn't have to be just typed as fast as possible and drawn from the first thought that popped into your head (unless that works for you); it's intended to see your individual abilities at their rawest level, and to compare your guys' styles so I can make groups that don't end up chaotic together.

What if your style incorporates a bunch of random elements and doesn't really specialize? I mean, mine is just a conglomerate of everything I read, and it can have epic descriptions, or short ones; built-up tension, or constant action. Not trying to make this hard for you, RM, but my style makes no sense whatsoever XP

Okay, RM, here ya go. Whipped up in about 45 min. on a word doc.

Up the stairs, down the hall, the second door on the left.

 

That door has been closed for three years.

 

She walks past it, like she does every day. But today, the things that lie behind the door call to her.

 

It has happened before, and she has tried to ignore the curious yearning, an almost insatiable longing to find out what she already knows, that stirs up inside of her. She has learned to shun, push down, and lock away the urge that is welling up inside her like one resists the allure of just one more cigarette.

 

The girl steps forward, resting a thoughtful hand on the painted brass handle, almost daring to lean her weight against the cool, solid whitewashed wood. She inhales slowly, and a whisper of a familiar scent teases her.

 

It was nothing. Only a frustratingly evanescent memory, come back to haunt her.

 

She lets the breath out.

 

She turns away, not wanting to tempt herself. But her hand still rests on the doorknob.

 

She takes a deep breath again.

 

In her mind’s eye, she sees the picture of her family, which sits, all but forgotten, atop the mantle this moment.

 

A family of four stands before a wispy willow tree. They smile in the picture, but not in her mind. There is a mother, and a father. There are two children. The girl recognizes a younger version of herself. And the boy beside her, only two years older than her, bears a striking resemblance to her. They share their father’s thoughtful, caring eyes, and their mother’s proud, strong nose. The eyes of the boy in her mind blink, and find hers. Not the little girl beside him, but her, as if he knows he’s being spied upon. He mouths her name.

 

The girl lets out her breath, the image of the boy still fresh in her mind.

 

And suddenly, she can stand it no longer.

 

She twists the door handle almost desperately, and stumbles into the room.

 

In three years, nothing has changed. Scuffed up white walls, with lyrics painted over them, a simply designed ceiling fan with layers upon layers of dust on the blades, a rather large bookshelf against one wall, a tall mirror next to an empty laundry hamper, and a worn out bean bag chair next to a barely used work desk.

 

The last thing her eyes find is the lonely, undisturbed bed. The blue and white patterned bedspread looks abandoned, uninviting, and lifeless.

 

Even so, it is all the girl can do to make it over to the forgotten bed before the memories flooding through her cause her eyes to swim and shimmer like the scales of a fish through water.

 

As she collapses onto the bed, and as dust is stirred up and gradually begins to resettle, the image of the boy from the picture flashes through her mind again.

 

Again, he blinks, but this time, she with him.

 

And as she does, she lets the tears overflow.

 

After holding herself together for three years, it was good to cry. It was okay to lie there, vulnerable and raw. It was relieving to come to terms with her loss. And it was freedom to allow herself to think of her lost brother once more.

(Edit: Author's Note- yeah, I dunno where I was really going with that. But is that what you were looking for?)

Hawk--Just write.

Guys, let everyone know about this! You don't have to be a member of the WA to join the contest!

I have one picture to say...

*Incoming Transmission*

Eh, here is mine.

Dylan slowly traced his finger along the table's edge as everyone yelled at him. Well, he thought everyone was yelling at him. It might just be his brother. His abusive brother, Kyle, the one whose father did not stop him when he began to beat Dylan.

 

Dylan's sisters sat on the couch, staring at him with those hateful eyes. His dad stared at Kyle with a look in his eyes that was almost respect. Dylan hated that.

 

"Are you even listening to me?" Kyle shouted, right in Dylan's face.

 

Dylan lifted his near-lifeless eyes up to his brother, but he did not answer. Instead, he turned toward the table, leaning on it.

 

"I asked you a question!" Kyle yelled, swinging his fist wide toward the back of Dylan's head.

 

Dylan did not try to dodge it. There was no point. Kyle's fist smacked so hard into Dylan's head that his whole upper body lurched forward, sending his face into the table with a thud.

 

Dylan immediately knew his brother was not done, and he knew that the next blow would also be on the back of his head. He didn't really want that, no. So he rolled sideways off the table, doing his best to ignore the pain in his face.

 

Kyle's fist slammed into the table with a crack, and Kyle howled. Probably broke his hand. Too bad for him.

 

Dylan ran toward the door.

 

"Boy!" his father yelled at him. "You haven't finished your chores! Don't you dare run out that--"

 

But Dylan did not stop to listen. He ran straight out the door.

 

As he ran across the lawn, Dylan heard his dad yelling.

 

"You better not come back, boy, if you ain't gonna appreciate what I do for you and go and run away! You hear me...?"

 

His voice faded away. Dylan ran all the way to the bridge over the river. The river was fast and had a terrible undercurrent. Perfect.

 

Dylan slowed at the bridge. He though of his brother. His father. His sisters, who had both, at some point, tried to drown him when he was younger. That wasn't worth it. None of it was.

 

He jumped.

I'm not sure where exactly the talent is in that little story, but whatever.

*End Transmission*

Cold wind blew against the man; he scuffled along the hard sand, the moonlight guiding him as he trekked across the desert. Frost had formed on his armor, his eyes were dry from the wind. He stopped a few times, getting his bearings, then continued onward. He looked at the cliffs, seeing small caves in them. Hesitantly, he began climbing upwards towards one of them. After a few scares, he pulled himself into the cave, thankful for being out of the wind. He striked a match, pulling out a torch and setting it on fire. He struck it into the fine dirt, getting it deep enough that it didn't fall over. He looked outside, staring at the three moons. One went across the sky at amazing speeds, while the other two did an intricate dance around each other. Many would call this sight glorious; the man knew he'd see it many times more.

 

He looked at the stars; he could dimly make out a tiny star, which he knew to be Sol. He was so far from home, so lost. He retreated into the cave, pulling out a picture. It showed a family, playing in green grass in a brightly lit day. They were happy; so happy. Sighing, the man put it away, looking at his cracked armor. He had salvaged as much as he could from his fighter, but it was pointless; he only had enough supplies to last a few weeks at best. He had been ****ed to an slow death. If only he had avoided the blast... perhaps there were more survivors, but he himself had only survived re-entry because he came in at a shallow angle.

 

He took his armor off, pulling a sleeping bag from his backbox. Letting it roll out, he pulled himself into it, zipping off the top and waiting while it automatically warmed. A faint light glowed, giving him some reassurance. This planet wouldn't get the best of him; rescue efforts would come, and he'd be there waiting for them. No matter what.

Hardly my best, but it works.

Alright, wqrote the first part last night, but had to get off before I could post it.

Two titans stood leaning against one of the many small houses in the slums of Nerdak town. The were commonly known as petty thieves, although they wouldn't hesitate to rob if they got the chance. Right now their gaze was fixed on a Le-Matoran who was striding confidently in their direction. They ignored the fact that he definitely had the look of someone who you would not want to mess with. But the two thugs ignored that, after all, how much harm could a single Matoran do to them?

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kemaru almost grinned as the two thugs came at him. Heh, fools. Why everyone thinks a Matoran is easy pickings is beyond me, he thought, placing his hand on the leather grip of his blade. The two thugs swaggered up, laughing at the Matoran's defiance.

 

"Hey there, little bud. How about you wipe that look off your face. A traveler, eh? Hand over your cute little sword and bow, and your pack as well. Then thank your spirit that we're going easy on ya!" one of them snarled. And the look on Kemaru's face turned from defiance to anger. In a moment his weapons were out.

 

The first titan snatched a broadsword from his back and threw himself forwards, aiming an overhand blow at Kemaru. The second simply fired a blast of energy at the Le.

 

They both hit nothing. Kemaru had thrown himself to the side, neatly avoiding both strikes. A quick shot from his crossbow sent one of the titans to the ground, his head blasted by an energy bolt.

 

The remaining Titan took one took at his fallen comrade and fled, several energy bolts hissing through the air around him.

 

Kemaru smiled slightly as he continued waling, acting like he hadn't just been fighting for his life.

Now guys, don't judge, writing isn't one of my stronger talents, which is why I joined the WA.

Josh had always been a loner. He had always relied on his wits rather than his trust in people. He hardly trusted himself.

 

But tonight, tonight all that changed. He was meeting someone who could change that. Someone who, according to his dying friend had told him, would change his life.

 

He had no hope. He never had. He had only done it to succumb his dying friend's wishes. The man who he trusted. In a world without trust. The man he thought of as a brother.

 

No longer did he believe in rules, or government. He was a loner. Yet here, now, he was walking into a deep cave.

 

At the moment he saw electricity, he knew something was wrong.

 

He felt a knife. And he knew that he was right in how he had always lived. He should not have trusted his "friend". The only person in the world he cared about, had betrayed hm. Now, he accepted it.

Arcanio's steps seemed to split the earth itself.

 

A giant of a man, Arcanio literally shook the earth with each step his comically small legs took. That is, comically small compared to the hulking mass of muscle and sinew that was his torso. Covered in armor fashioned of a silver metal, he appeared to be a monstrosity even more so when one examined his right arm. Unlike Arcanio's left arm, it was covered in a mishapen mass of metal that made it three times thicker than the other arm. Claws came out of its stumpy ending instead of fingers, lethal stilettos ready to stab. Half of his face, as well, was covered by the same gunmetal blob. Dangling lose at his belt was a war hammer, and a serious-looking one at that. Covered in glowing red and white runes, the hammer had a huge axe blade on one side, whereas the other had the traditional metal head. To top it off, literally, the top of the hammer had a huge spike mounted upon it. His face was covered by a helmet shaped like a wolf's head, which was appropiate considering his company. Next to the giant, a gray wolf plodded along faithfully, its blue eyes showing a stoic determination like its master's. Virgil was the pet's name, but Arcanio did not consider Virgil a "pet"; rather, to him, the canine was his partner.

 

The two travelled on through a canyon, its walls a rusty red. Once, long ago, a stream had babbled there. Now, the only sounds were the shaking of the earth under Arcanio's feet andt he cawing of crows. He saw a throng of them overhead now, descending. It was all prefectly normal-

 

-Except for the fact that crows didn't live in the desert.

 

Suddenly, one of them dive-bombed Virgil, biting the wolf in the ear. Howling, Virgil twisted this way and that, trying to shake the bird off, but more were coming, and soon, the wolf was covered in crows, snapping and clawing at him.

 

And then Arcanio descended upon them like a thunderbolt, literally. He had been preparing all this time, storing his magic, and now he unleashed it, lightning sparking off his right arm and hitting the crows. They scattered, shocked, then re-formed, and turned to attack Arcanio himself.

 

At first, their pecks were just a nuisance as he shocked them off, but gradually, he realized two things: his electric attacks weren't affecting them any more, and his armor was being penetrated by their beaks. Slowly, ever so slowly, he was losing.

 

Now, he decided, was time to fight. Grasping his war hammer's hilt, he threw it, spinning, into the crowd of crows. They screamed, trying to get away from it, only to die smashed by one head, impaled by the spike, or cut in half by the blade. Flying around, the hammer cut another swath through his foes before Arcanios caught it. That dealt with most of his enemies.

 

However, the few left were still pecking and clawing at him, and he was, by this time, covered in stabs and slashes made by the crow's natural weapons. Arcanios tried to punch them off, but to no avail. The crows seemed to have a near-magnetic grip on his armor, not to mention a near-metal constituition of their feathers. Closing his eyes, Arcanios prepared to die-

 

-And then heard a howling battle cry. Reopening his lids, the titan saw Virgil, descending upon the crows once more. Smiling, Arcanios used his last bit of magic to turn Virgil's fur into metal temporarily, and the iron wolf literally wolfed down his enemies as they fultiley tried to pierce the wolf's armor, gulping them down like chicken.

 

Finally, the battle was over, the canyon floor covered with the corpses of the birds. Sitting back and relaxing in the shade of the canyon, Arcanios and Virgil licked their wounds, then, tired from the combat, went to sleep.

Sorry about the length, cuz I know I went a little overboard here, but I couldn't help it. I love this dude <3 I might actually be using him in an epic, if I get the time. I mean, I have a lot of writing projects coming up...

Yup, tomorrow at midnight.

Yup, tomorrow at midnight.

Yayz.

 

Um... my final writing is about 850 words. I like it a lot, so I'm going to post it as a flash fiction story and enter it here. Is that okay?

 

 

 

--Mr.M

Yup, it's no problem--just remember, don't expect a review.

Yup, it's no problem--just remember, don't expect a review.

Yeah, of course.