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. -------------------------------------- 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. -------------------------------------- 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.” -------------------------------------- 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. --------------------------------------

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: "Children!" Four little feet pounded on the ground, four little legs pumping like a steam engine, two little mouths puffing like kettles. The little eyes were wide with terror and red with the oncoming wind, and their cheeks were red. Yet still they kept on, their bare feet ruffling the throw rug. Four more feet rejoined the stampede, a tongue lolled and panted after them. Guilty paws pursued shamed children, spreading dirt down the hallway and shedding hairs on the stairs. A yowl broke the parade and the cat joined in, pursuing those annoyances, sharp claws longing for the flesh of the loud people Soon four creatures found themselves in hiding, concealed in a little corner, of a large closet. Clothes hung to obscure their guilt, and tired lungs held their air, silent, ears listening for footsteps. Hearing none, two boys sighed, one dog slobbered, and a cat hissed. "Is it safe, do you think?" "I hope so. What should we tell Mommy?" Two little minds toiled, brainstormed, pondered. "I know!" Said one, using a blouse to absorb the puddle that pooled beneath a dog's mouth. "Fido did it!" "Of course!" Two little boys congratulated themselves on their cleverness while downstairs a mother came upon a mess. With a shake of her head, she called out. "Boys? Did you break Mommy’s plate? Now, where are you hiding?" Of course she knew very well where they might be. Two tired feet followed trails of dirt, hair, drool. “Oh no, she’s coming!” “Shh!” Dog and boys huddled as cat licked herself. Stern footsteps approached and stopped. A doorknob turned and breaths were held. “Where might those boys be?” A light switched on, more revealing than a prison watch light; a grown-up loomed, taller than the watchtower. Terror wriggled into two little hearts. In times of terror drastic measures must be obtained. “Oh Mommy, we broke it! We’re so sorry!” “We didn’t mean to, it was an accident!” Repented and redeemed, two little boys and a dog ran of, to make more mischief, as mother and cat retired downstairs to put things right. -------------------------------------- Choice #2: "Broken Glass" The choices that we make Determines what is to pass And when one’s a mistake It can sting like broken glass The problems people face Could I solve them, every one? But much to my distaste My solutions could solve none I did my best to try And do right by everyone But I aimed up too high And got burned down by the sun I wanted to do well With my facts and science But my high ideals fell And my skills lacked compliance I’d make the world better But I only made it worse Now my eyes are wetter The memory makes me curse It was results I craved From that one experiment I wanted to be praised Oh, I was so arrogant It had started out strong But I miscalculated And then it all went wrong I was far from elated An unwanted flame rose An explosion did follow A debris cloud arose Until my lab was left hollow Beyond my lab, it reached Spreading toxins in the air Into water they leached Spreading poisons everywhere The public was not split Onto me they placed the blame My life was now forfeit My actions brought only shame My lessons has been learned But it’s too little, too late My reputation’s burned I’ve only earned people’s hate A mad scientist, they say That is what I have become Now they all stay away I’m treated lower than scum This world, can I still try To make it a better place? Now my hands they do tie From actions I can’t erase And now I must repent For my faults and past misdeeds Now all my time is spent To find where redemption leads The choices that we make Determines what is to pass And when one’s a mistake It can sting like broken glass -------------------------------------- Choice #3: "Just One Hit" “And CRASH!” “Crash?” “Crash.” “Why crash?” “Well, because it breaks, obviously.” “But…why?” “…Because I’m going to hit it.” “I got that part. But why are you going to hit it? And why do you think you can break it?” “Don’t be a moron. It’s just a glass eye. It’s just stupid glass. One hit and it’ll shatter. Crash.” “Okay, stop saying crash, it’s annoying. And putting aside that that’s not what a glass eye is, tell me why you want to hurt Mike.” “What do you mean why? He’s a freak. His eye is creepy, and so is he. You’ve seen the creepy looks that friendless creep gives.” “You’re a moron, Adam. He hurt his eye. He can’t help that you think his stare is creepy.” “Oh, shut up, Dick. That guy has no friends. Nobody cares what happens to him or his stupid glass eye.” “That’s not true at all either. That girl Beth is always with him. She’s been for a while.” “Yeah. I know.” “Oh God, is that what this is about? Adam, why do you always do this?” “What are you talking about?” “You beat up Thomas in fourth grade because Liz gave him a hug after he sprained his ankle. Where did that leave you?” “Shut up. That was different.” “And in sixth grade? Seventh? You have been suspended far too much for you to pretend that you don’t have a problem.” “Shut up.” “And now you’re going after Mike? What in the world is your problem?” “Shut it! I don’t care what you think. I’m breaking that kid’s glass eye.” “Yes, you do. Say what you will about Mike, but you aren’t surrounded with friends yourself. Who else but me is there? Trevor never forgave you for what you did to his car. Or his sister. Or his cat.” “That guy…was a complete loser.” “And breaking Mike’s eye? It’s not made of real glass, stupid. Even if it were, how in the world does anyone ever think that breaking something inside a guy’s skull would be a good idea?” “It’s just some glass…” “Don’t be a moron. Don’t do anything to Mike. Heck, don’t do anything to anybody. You’re going to end up in real trouble.” *** “It was just some glass…” “What the blazes did you do.” “It was only glass...” “What did you do.” “Just…” “I told you not to do anything. And now you’re arrested. What were you thinking?” “Just…glass…” -------------------------------------- Choice #4: "Sand and Lightning" A dark figure stood on the shore of the cove, long hair falling to her feet. The waxing moon shone down clearly on the scene. Around her curved the beach of fine white sand, with jagged cliffs surrounding on all sides. Before her stretched the ocean, dark waves glittering as they rolled in. She dropped to one knee, placing a square, unfilled frame upon the beach. It was made of painstakingly fitted yew and alder wood, carved with mystic signs. Many hours she had spent speaking incantations over it and brewing spells.Now she began tracing patterns in the sand it encompassed, delicately using one forefinger. Her other hand scooped up more sand, letting the granules sift through her fingers and join their brethren in the frame. After a few moments of this, she began chanting lowly, hands never ceasing their rhythmic movements. "Gather to me, chosen grains. Gather to your brothers, separate, single grains, and become one. Pure sand, sand of power, gather to your destiny. Come! Be one! Gather together!" She lifted both hands, rising to her feet and stretching her arms to the sky. Her voice raised itself, a high cry to the heavens. "Gather in the sky, celestial energies! Come, O swift spear of the heavens, to strike these disparate elements and fuse them into one! Unite them, that their powers may reach their zenith and run freely through the whole - that all here may be completed!" Wisps of cloud began to gather, obscuring the stars. She bent once more to the sands, fingers running through them and voice chanting to them once more. She paused her hands only once, removing a tiny bag from her girdle and pouring its contents into the frame. The dark purple grains contrasted starkly with the white of the beach, and she began sifting and stirring once more. And so it continued for hours, her voice and body rising and falling between the sands and the sky, occasionally adding something to the former as the latter grew ever more threatening. The clouds never obscured the moon, however, which shone serenely down on the scene below. Finally, her chant ceased. She straightened, holding her arms in a circle at the level of her waist, embracing the air above the frame. "Now is all gathered, all is complete. Let it be finished! "Strike, O Lightning! Unite, O Sand!" And a bolt of blinding lightning descended between her encircling arms, striking directly in the center of the frame's hollow with a deafening crash. When it had ended, she withdrew her arms, pressing her hands first to her eyes and then to her ears, as if to undo the effects of the lightning's glare and noise. Then she knelt down to examine her handiwork. The frame was no longer empty. It was filled from edge to edge with a smooth sheet of glass, mainly white but with barely detectable streaks of color swirling across its still-warm surface.Picking it up, she stroked it tenderly. "I have made it, just as I intended," she whispered. "In this, all that is shall show its true nature, without artifice or concealment, whether beast or flower, star or man. This night I have created a Sight-Glass of True Sight." -------------------------------------

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: "Magic Glass" It's glass, but it's magical glass. Through it you can see a garden, or maybe a tree, or a driveway. Maybe you can see another house, maybe you can see someone else's lawn, or maybe all you can see is a dumpster. Or maybe you can't see anything at all. Maybe it's entirely blank, nothing but pure blackness. But it could even be a jungle. Tall trees stretching their being into the heavens, creeper vines stringing about the place, animals noisy or quiet but always beautiful, gorgeous flowers and vistas of indescribable wonder. Another possibility is the ocean. Maybe you see a beach, with endless sand stretching in either direction, the waves gently caressing the land from across unfathomable distances and flowing back out to touch the edge of the sky. It could be a prairie, with a sea of another kind. A greener one. Maybe there are grunting bison or wild mustang, thunderstorms or great birds of prey as free as the wind. A great precipice, with stony walls threatening you with a thousand foot drop but also promising an incredible view. A waterfall cascades over the side while a peaceful forest stands invitingly in the opposite direction. A mountain peak looming above you, while mountain goats or grizzly bears shuffle along. Conifers stand erect like soldiers in a line, dotting the steep incline here or there while great boulders offer some variety. Or perhaps you see a dump, an amplitudinous array of things once having a home with good people, or even the not so good, forming itself comfortably in a high peak all its own. Old belongings now staining our world with unnatural death and decay. What if its the tropics you see? Crystal-clear ocean waves with a small island and palm-trees in the distance. The merciless sun beats down on you, but with your SPF 50 you hardly notice anything but warmth and peace. Maybe endless desert sand stretches as far as the eye can see, while hazy lines offer spectacles of interest and dances of exotic variety. A camel or a gemsbok passes by, on an epic journey of survival. Or the stars. A sprinkling of light spread across a handsome black carpet. Here and there a red star, or nebulae of enormous wonder and beauty. Maybe a planet, or an asteroid, comet, or meteor. Interstellar bodies on endless voyages of discovery. All this and more can be seen through the glass. It's glass, but it's magic glass. -------------------------------------- Choice #2: "Through the Window" Years ago, it was . . . decades, probably centuries for all I can remember these days. But some things you never forget. And of course I can't forget that day, when my life changed forever. Not in a small way like walking a different way to work or brushing your teeth with your left hand in stead of your right. But it wasn't a big way, either, not like winning the lottery or having a near-death experience. It changed my life, not too much and not too little, for the better, or for the worse. I don't know what it will mean for you, and I don't know if it will change your life like it changed mine--probably it's the sort of thing you have to experience for yourself; but still I hope, in some small way, you'll be a little wiser a few moments from now. I was traipsing through a woods, and wise would be the last word to describe me that day. Nothing was going right for me. I had recently lost my girl, not long after I'd lost my job; and I'm not sure the two were disconnected. I'd had little luck finding a new job since then, and even less luck finding a new girl. The woods was the only place where the world was simple, but unfortunately it wasn't simple enough to be distracting. My feet shuffled along hiking trails, but I'd left my mind pretty far behind me in a world of commercial horror and romantic despair. I'll keep this short. A bright glimmer of light caught my eyes, and everything else seemed to vanish, in my mind and all around me. You know how it is, when the most trivial thing becomes a sudden obsession, taking over your being. Well, it was that way with this light, only I'm not sure if you would know how powerful this was. It wasn't just my mind playing a trick on me and trying to escape from heavy thought, it was an engrossing enchantment. I followed the glimmer through the trees. There was something warm and inviting and beautiful about it, or at least the spell made me think there was. Not that it matters why I followed, I just did, and when I came out the other side of the trees into a clearing, I gasped in surprise and delight. Right there I found a huge glass wall, tall, broad, like a giant window; and through this window I saw the most incredible sight I'd ever seen. It was a city of gold: golden buildings, golden streets, golden-haired women. The sky was tinted with it and the sidewalks were littered with it, shining in the sunlight to take my breath away. There was El Dorado before my very eyes, mine for the taking, here in the backwoods behind a rustic middle-of-nowhere town. All I had to do was step through the window. Dazzled, spellbound, eager greed eating away at my every nerve, I stumbled forward. And then it was gone. There was a loud plunk and the glass rippled, El Dorado shivered and disappeared. The window was shattered. I looked up at into the very real, very black-haired face of a pretty young woman wearing an indescribable look of grim fear, of shock and relief, all misfitting the handsome smile she wore. And you know, I only just remembered why that day was so important to me. To tell you the truth, it probably won't have the same effect on you as it had on me, because it wasn't the lake at all that changed my life . . . -------------------------------------- Choice #3: "Hard to Break" "It's easy to break a promise..." "No come on, I did my best to get the cup for you and I di-" "You were in the restaurant! How could you forget?" "I didn't! Hear what I'm trying to say. I got a whole story for you." "…spill!” *** He sighed, taking another swig of his pint of Guinness. They were in an Irish Pub, a special Irish Pub, that Alex and Mitch had decided to stop at. Alex lowered the drink to the bar. Out of all the places he'd visited while in the Big Apple, the Empire State Building, China Town, Times Square, and wherever else Mitch wanted to take him, this bar was high on the priority list. However, as he stared down at his buffalo chicken pizza, which was nasty with all the added blue cheese and celery in it, he hung his head. "We look like a gay couple, wearing matching plaid shirts..." "Hmm," Mitch correctly responded. His friend gave him a side glance. "I don't care what other people think..." "Harder to pick up girls if we're giving the wrong impression." "Let's just get the cup and leave..." Mitch said in his easy voice. He had a casual demeanor. "...it's been ten minutes. Go find the guy." Alex ran his hand through his hair. They'd been here for an hour now. The meal had been okay, but nowhere near the great pizza that New York usually offered. But the service... had been horrible. "This cup, does your sister care about it that much?" Alex looked at his unfinished beer. "She doesn't get to come with me on these trips anymore. She's got too much work to do, responsibility, the kids." He paused, lost in thought for a moment. "…And so the last time she was here, years back, she talked about how she wanted the glass pint. These glasses in our hands that say, "I'm gonna make it, anywhere". But we never got it." Mitch lightly laughed, with a rare smile on his face. "Bah... I just love her, you know?" Alex felt a firm grip on his shoulder. "Yeah, I know." Mitch looked him in the eye, and nodded. They both smiled in their plaid shirts, thinking it’d been a good day to wear them. *** "Eventually our server came by, and when we told him about the glass, he told us that because he ruined my pizza by adding all the extra toppings, that we could just walk out with the glass when he wasn't looking..." He hadn't told her all the details about their trip at the bar, or at least not the parts that were mentioned about her. "You can't do that..." "Well that's what I told him! I'm like ... 'So you mean steal it.' and Mitch is just staring at the guy like he's an cool dude... So we told the manager about how terrible the guy's service was... guess what happened?" "He gave you the glass?" "Yeah. But first he fired the server. Told us he had gotten a lot of complaints and was giving his friends free food. Anyway, we got your cup... well...” *** The breaking of glass hit the cement floor of the subway station. Just for a second, the people rushing by all stopped and took one moment out of their busy lives to see what had broken. The two young men just stood there in disbelief. "I... I …" Alex fumed. Mitch reached down and started picking up the main piece with the handle. It was ultimately unusable. A middle aged woman, who stood near Alex, muttered a sorry before continuing on her way. "She bumped into me." "It's alright, pal. Come on..." "She's gonna hate this." "Nah." "It's not worth giving it to her now." Alex held half the glass in his hand. "Yeah it is." "Can't drink from it, just half a mug of glass... part of the quote's missing too." He said, dishearteningly. "Yeah. But give it to her... alright?" His friend took the glass from Alex's hand, and inspected it. "I think what’s left is good enough." *** "'Gonna make it,'" she read aloud. A small smile crept on her face as she looked at the glass that was taken from her brother's bag. She pulled her hair back and let out a choked laugh. She did like it. And somehow it was just what she wanted. "Thanks..." she whispered under her breath, as she moved forward and hugged him. -------------------------------------- Choice #4: "Windows to the Soul" They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. How do I know that? Um, because it was in an old book of Foxtrot comics I have laying around somewhere. Jason and Marcus are building a giant T-Rex or something and they need to study Paige’s eyes to figure out how to make it look evil. Kinda funny how things like that stick with you, huh? But yeah, that’s what I was thinking about now, for some reason, as I sit here, bored, a bit apprehensive, too, for some reason. Idly I pick up my pencil and flip it around between my thumb and forefinger; its ends fly back and forth like a seesaw on stimulants. I barely notice the action, barely notice anything, really, as I just sit here in class, waiting for something to happen. Well, okay, there’s something I notice, namely the girl sitting one row right, one seat forward. Hard not to notice her, really, at any given time. For a second my gaze lingers on the back of her head before flitting over to the window. Not much to see outside. A tree. Must be a bit of a breeze ‘cause the leaves are shaking a bit. The glass could probably use some cleaning. My glasses could do with cleaning themselves, now that I think of it. I slide them off, turn up the corner of my shirt, wipe off the dust. Glance down at my paper as I do so; everything looks right. Except for number 6, which could really be one of two answers, and whichever I pick’ll undoubtedly be the wrong one. Oh well. I fish a sheet of paper out of my backpack; might as well get some writing done. Writing about, um, um… Yeah I don’t know. Maybe I’ll draw something. Predictably, a couple seconds later, “something” has amounted to a few random lines. I slide the paper beneath my book. Back to pencil-flipping. My forefinger slips and the pencil falls next to her desk. Wordlessly she reaches down, grabs it, hands it to me. For the briefest of moments I can see her eyes. Windows to the soul. Then I blink and take the pencil. “Thanks.” She turns back around. “You’re welcome.” I slide the paper back out and try again to think of something to write. Still nothing, surprise surprise. But for some reason that’s not quite as annoying as it was a few minutes ago. --------------------------------------

Polling period over; topic closed.

Polling period over; topic closed.

Polling period over; topic closed.

Entry #1: "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. -------------------------------------- Entry #2: "Just One Hit" “And CRASH!” “Crash?” “Crash.” “Why crash?” “Well, because it breaks, obviously.” “But…why?” “…Because I’m going to hit it.” “I got that part. But why are you going to hit it? And why do you think you can break it?” “Don’t be a moron. It’s just a glass eye. It’s just stupid glass. One hit and it’ll shatter. Crash.” “Okay, stop saying crash, it’s annoying. And putting aside that that’s not what a glass eye is, tell me why you want to hurt Mike.” “What do you mean why? He’s a freak. His eye is creepy, and so is he. You’ve seen the creepy looks that friendless creep gives.” “You’re a moron, Adam. He hurt his eye. He can’t help that you think his stare is creepy.” “Oh, shut up, Dick. That guy has no friends. Nobody cares what happens to him or his stupid glass eye.” “That’s not true at all either. That girl Beth is always with him. She’s been for a while.” “Yeah. I know.” “Oh God, is that what this is about? Adam, why do you always do this?” “What are you talking about?” “You beat up Thomas in fourth grade because Liz gave him a hug after he sprained his ankle. Where did that leave you?” “Shut up. That was different.” “And in sixth grade? Seventh? You have been suspended far too much for you to pretend that you don’t have a problem.” “Shut up.” “And now you’re going after Mike? What in the world is your problem?” “Shut it! I don’t care what you think. I’m breaking that kid’s glass eye.” “Yes, you do. Say what you will about Mike, but you aren’t surrounded with friends yourself. Who else but me is there? Trevor never forgave you for what you did to his car. Or his sister. Or his cat.” “That guy…was a complete loser.” “And breaking Mike’s eye? It’s not made of real glass, stupid. Even if it were, how in the world does anyone ever think that breaking something inside a guy’s skull would be a good idea?” “It’s just some glass…” “Don’t be a moron. Don’t do anything to Mike. Heck, don’t do anything to anybody. You’re going to end up in real trouble.” *** “It was just some glass…” “What the blazes did you do.” “It was only glass...” “What did you do.” “Just…” “I told you not to do anything. And now you’re arrested. What were you thinking?” “Just…glass…” -------------------------------------- Entry #3: "Hard to Break" "It's easy to break a promise..." "No come on, I did my best to get the cup for you and I di-" "You were in the restaurant! How could you forget?" "I didn't! Hear what I'm trying to say. I got a whole story for you." "…spill!” *** He sighed, taking another swig of his pint of Guinness. They were in an Irish Pub, a special Irish Pub, that Alex and Mitch had decided to stop at. Alex lowered the drink to the bar. Out of all the places he'd visited while in the Big Apple, the Empire State Building, China Town, Times Square, and wherever else Mitch wanted to take him, this bar was high on the priority list. However, as he stared down at his buffalo chicken pizza, which was nasty with all the added blue cheese and celery in it, he hung his head. "We look like a gay couple, wearing matching plaid shirts..." "Hmm," Mitch correctly responded. His friend gave him a side glance. "I don't care what other people think..." "Harder to pick up girls if we're giving the wrong impression." "Let's just get the cup and leave..." Mitch said in his easy voice. He had a casual demeanor. "...it's been ten minutes. Go find the guy." Alex ran his hand through his hair. They'd been here for an hour now. The meal had been okay, but nowhere near the great pizza that New York usually offered. But the service... had been horrible. "This cup, does your sister care about it that much?" Alex looked at his unfinished beer. "She doesn't get to come with me on these trips anymore. She's got too much work to do, responsibility, the kids." He paused, lost in thought for a moment. "…And so the last time she was here, years back, she talked about how she wanted the glass pint. These glasses in our hands that say, "I'm gonna make it, anywhere". But we never got it." Mitch lightly laughed, with a rare smile on his face. "Bah... I just love her, you know?" Alex felt a firm grip on his shoulder. "Yeah, I know." Mitch looked him in the eye, and nodded. They both smiled in their plaid shirts, thinking it’d been a good day to wear them. *** "Eventually our server came by, and when we told him about the glass, he told us that because he ruined my pizza by adding all the extra toppings, that we could just walk out with the glass when he wasn't looking..." He hadn't told her all the details about their trip at the bar, or at least not the parts that were mentioned about her. "You can't do that..." "Well that's what I told him! I'm like ... 'So you mean steal it.' and Mitch is just staring at the guy like he's an cool dude... So we told the manager about how terrible the guy's service was... guess what happened?" "He gave you the glass?" "Yeah. But first he fired the server. Told us he had gotten a lot of complaints and was giving his friends free food. Anyway, we got your cup... well...” *** The breaking of glass hit the cement floor of the subway station. Just for a second, the people rushing by all stopped and took one moment out of their busy lives to see what had broken. The two young men just stood there in disbelief. "I... I …" Alex fumed. Mitch reached down and started picking up the main piece with the handle. It was ultimately unusable. A middle aged woman, who stood near Alex, muttered a sorry before continuing on her way. "She bumped into me." "It's alright, pal. Come on..." "She's gonna hate this." "Nah." "It's not worth giving it to her now." Alex held half the glass in his hand. "Yeah it is." "Can't drink from it, just half a mug of glass... part of the quote's missing too." He said, dishearteningly. "Yeah. But give it to her... alright?" His friend took the glass from Alex's hand, and inspected it. "I think what’s left is good enough." *** "'Gonna make it,'" she read aloud. A small smile crept on her face as she looked at the glass that was taken from her brother's bag. She pulled her hair back and let out a choked laugh. She did like it. And somehow it was just what she wanted. "Thanks..." she whispered under her breath, as she moved forward and hugged him. -------------------------------------- Entry #4: "Children!" Four little feet pounded on the ground, four little legs pumping like a steam engine, two little mouths puffing like kettles. The little eyes were wide with terror and red with the oncoming wind, and their cheeks were red. Yet still they kept on, their bare feet ruffling the throw rug. Four more feet rejoined the stampede, a tongue lolled and panted after them. Guilty paws pursued shamed children, spreading dirt down the hallway and shedding hairs on the stairs. A yowl broke the parade and the cat joined in, pursuing those annoyances, sharp claws longing for the flesh of the loud people Soon four creatures found themselves in hiding, concealed in a little corner, of a large closet. Clothes hung to obscure their guilt, and tired lungs held their air, silent, ears listening for footsteps. Hearing none, two boys sighed, one dog slobbered, and a cat hissed. "Is it safe, do you think?" "I hope so. What should we tell Mommy?" Two little minds toiled, brainstormed, pondered. "I know!" Said one, using a blouse to absorb the puddle that pooled beneath a dog's mouth. "Fido did it!" "Of course!" Two little boys congratulated themselves on their cleverness while downstairs a mother came upon a mess. With a shake of her head, she called out. "Boys? Did you break Mommy’s plate? Now, where are you hiding?" Of course she knew very well where they might be. Two tired feet followed trails of dirt, hair, drool. “Oh no, she’s coming!” “Shh!” Dog and boys huddled as cat licked herself. Stern footsteps approached and stopped. A doorknob turned and breaths were held. “Where might those boys be?” A light switched on, more revealing than a prison watch light; a grown-up loomed, taller than the watchtower. Terror wriggled into two little hearts. In times of terror drastic measures must be obtained. “Oh Mommy, we broke it! We’re so sorry!” “We didn’t mean to, it was an accident!” Repented and redeemed, two little boys and a dog ran of, to make more mischief, as mother and cat retired downstairs to put things right. -------------------------------------- Entry #5: "Windows to the Soul" They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. How do I know that? Um, because it was in an old book of Foxtrot comics I have laying around somewhere. Jason and Marcus are building a giant T-Rex or something and they need to study Paige’s eyes to figure out how to make it look evil. Kinda funny how things like that stick with you, huh? But yeah, that’s what I was thinking about now, for some reason, as I sit here, bored, a bit apprehensive, too, for some reason. Idly I pick up my pencil and flip it around between my thumb and forefinger; its ends fly back and forth like a seesaw on stimulants. I barely notice the action, barely notice anything, really, as I just sit here in class, waiting for something to happen. Well, okay, there’s something I notice, namely the girl sitting one row right, one seat forward. Hard not to notice her, really, at any given time. For a second my gaze lingers on the back of her head before flitting over to the window. Not much to see outside. A tree. Must be a bit of a breeze ‘cause the leaves are shaking a bit. The glass could probably use some cleaning. My glasses could do with cleaning themselves, now that I think of it. I slide them off, turn up the corner of my shirt, wipe off the dust. Glance down at my paper as I do so; everything looks right. Except for number 6, which could really be one of two answers, and whichever I pick’ll undoubtedly be the wrong one. Oh well. I fish a sheet of paper out of my backpack; might as well get some writing done. Writing about, um, um… Yeah I don’t know. Maybe I’ll draw something. Predictably, a couple seconds later, “something” has amounted to a few random lines. I slide the paper beneath my book. Back to pencil-flipping. My forefinger slips and the pencil falls next to her desk. Wordlessly she reaches down, grabs it, hands it to me. For the briefest of moments I can see her eyes. Windows to the soul. Then I blink and take the pencil. “Thanks.” She turns back around. “You’re welcome.” I slide the paper back out and try again to think of something to write. Still nothing, surprise surprise. But for some reason that’s not quite as annoying as it was a few minutes ago. -------------------------------------- Entry #6: "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. -------------------------------------- Entry #7: "Through the Window" Years ago, it was . . . decades, probably centuries for all I can remember these days. But some things you never forget. And of course I can't forget that day, when my life changed forever. Not in a small way like walking a different way to work or brushing your teeth with your left hand in stead of your right. But it wasn't a big way, either, not like winning the lottery or having a near-death experience. It changed my life, not too much and not too little, for the better, or for the worse. I don't know what it will mean for you, and I don't know if it will change your life like it changed mine--probably it's the sort of thing you have to experience for yourself; but still I hope, in some small way, you'll be a little wiser a few moments from now. I was traipsing through a woods, and wise would be the last word to describe me that day. Nothing was going right for me. I had recently lost my girl, not long after I'd lost my job; and I'm not sure the two were disconnected. I'd had little luck finding a new job since then, and even less luck finding a new girl. The woods was the only place where the world was simple, but unfortunately it wasn't simple enough to be distracting. My feet shuffled along hiking trails, but I'd left my mind pretty far behind me in a world of commercial horror and romantic despair. I'll keep this short. A bright glimmer of light caught my eyes, and everything else seemed to vanish, in my mind and all around me. You know how it is, when the most trivial thing becomes a sudden obsession, taking over your being. Well, it was that way with this light, only I'm not sure if you would know how powerful this was. It wasn't just my mind playing a trick on me and trying to escape from heavy thought, it was an engrossing enchantment. I followed the glimmer through the trees. There was something warm and inviting and beautiful about it, or at least the spell made me think there was. Not that it matters why I followed, I just did, and when I came out the other side of the trees into a clearing, I gasped in surprise and delight. Right there I found a huge glass wall, tall, broad, like a giant window; and through this window I saw the most incredible sight I'd ever seen. It was a city of gold: golden buildings, golden streets, golden-haired women. The sky was tinted with it and the sidewalks were littered with it, shining in the sunlight to take my breath away. There was El Dorado before my very eyes, mine for the taking, here in the backwoods behind a rustic middle-of-nowhere town. All I had to do was step through the window. Dazzled, spellbound, eager greed eating away at my every nerve, I stumbled forward. And then it was gone. There was a loud plunk and the glass rippled, El Dorado shivered and disappeared. The window was shattered. I looked up at into the very real, very black-haired face of a pretty young woman wearing an indescribable look of grim fear, of shock and relief, all misfitting the handsome smile she wore. And you know, I only just remembered why that day was so important to me. To tell you the truth, it probably won't have the same effect on you as it had on me, because it wasn't the lake at all that changed my life . . . -------------------------------------- Entry #8: "Broken Glass" The choices that we make Determines what is to pass And when one’s a mistake It can sting like broken glass The problems people face Could I solve them, every one? But much to my distaste My solutions could solve none I did my best to try And do right by everyone But I aimed up too high And got burned down by the sun I wanted to do well With my facts and science But my high ideals fell And my skills lacked compliance I’d make the world better But I only made it worse Now my eyes are wetter The memory makes me curse It was results I craved From that one experiment I wanted to be praised Oh, I was so arrogant It had started out strong But I miscalculated And then it all went wrong I was far from elated An unwanted flame rose An explosion did follow A debris cloud arose Until my lab was left hollow Beyond my lab, it reached Spreading toxins in the air Into water they leached Spreading poisons everywhere The public was not split Onto me they placed the blame My life was now forfeit My actions brought only shame My lessons has been learned But it’s too little, too late My reputation’s burned I’ve only earned people’s hate A mad scientist, they say That is what I have become Now they all stay away I’m treated lower than scum This world, can I still try To make it a better place? Now my hands they do tie From actions I can’t erase And now I must repent For my faults and past misdeeds Now all my time is spent To find where redemption leads The choices that we make Determines what is to pass And when one’s a mistake It can sting like broken glass -------------------------------------- Entry #9: "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.” -------------------------------------- Entry #10: "Magic Glass" It's glass, but it's magical glass. Through it you can see a garden, or maybe a tree, or a driveway. Maybe you can see another house, maybe you can see someone else's lawn, or maybe all you can see is a dumpster. Or maybe you can't see anything at all. Maybe it's entirely blank, nothing but pure blackness. But it could even be a jungle. Tall trees stretching their being into the heavens, creeper vines stringing about the place, animals noisy or quiet but always beautiful, gorgeous flowers and vistas of indescribable wonder. Another possibility is the ocean. Maybe you see a beach, with endless sand stretching in either direction, the waves gently caressing the land from across unfathomable distances and flowing back out to touch the edge of the sky. It could be a prairie, with a sea of another kind. A greener one. Maybe there are grunting bison or wild mustang, thunderstorms or great birds of prey as free as the wind. A great precipice, with stony walls threatening you with a thousand foot drop but also promising an incredible view. A waterfall cascades over the side while a peaceful forest stands invitingly in the opposite direction. A mountain peak looming above you, while mountain goats or grizzly bears shuffle along. Conifers stand erect like soldiers in a line, dotting the steep incline here or there while great boulders offer some variety. Or perhaps you see a dump, an amplitudinous array of things once having a home with good people, or even the not so good, forming itself comfortably in a high peak all its own. Old belongings now staining our world with unnatural death and decay. What if its the tropics you see? Crystal-clear ocean waves with a small island and palm-trees in the distance. The merciless sun beats down on you, but with your SPF 50 you hardly notice anything but warmth and peace. Maybe endless desert sand stretches as far as the eye can see, while hazy lines offer spectacles of interest and dances of exotic variety. A camel or a gemsbok passes by, on an epic journey of survival. Or the stars. A sprinkling of light spread across a handsome black carpet. Here and there a red star, or nebulae of enormous wonder and beauty. Maybe a planet, or an asteroid, comet, or meteor. Interstellar bodies on endless voyages of discovery. All this and more can be seen through the glass. It's glass, but it's magic glass. -------------------------------------- Entry #11: "Sand and Lightning" A dark figure stood on the shore of the cove, long hair falling to her feet. The waxing moon shone down clearly on the scene. Around her curved the beach of fine white sand, with jagged cliffs surrounding on all sides. Before her stretched the ocean, dark waves glittering as they rolled in. She dropped to one knee, placing a square, unfilled frame upon the beach. It was made of painstakingly fitted yew and alder wood, carved with mystic signs. Many hours she had spent speaking incantations over it and brewing spells.Now she began tracing patterns in the sand it encompassed, delicately using one forefinger. Her other hand scooped up more sand, letting the granules sift through her fingers and join their brethren in the frame. After a few moments of this, she began chanting lowly, hands never ceasing their rhythmic movements. "Gather to me, chosen grains. Gather to your brothers, separate, single grains, and become one. Pure sand, sand of power, gather to your destiny. Come! Be one! Gather together!" She lifted both hands, rising to her feet and stretching her arms to the sky. Her voice raised itself, a high cry to the heavens. "Gather in the sky, celestial energies! Come, O swift spear of the heavens, to strike these disparate elements and fuse them into one! Unite them, that their powers may reach their zenith and run freely through the whole - that all here may be completed!" Wisps of cloud began to gather, obscuring the stars. She bent once more to the sands, fingers running through them and voice chanting to them once more. She paused her hands only once, removing a tiny bag from her girdle and pouring its contents into the frame. The dark purple grains contrasted starkly with the white of the beach, and she began sifting and stirring once more. And so it continued for hours, her voice and body rising and falling between the sands and the sky, occasionally adding something to the former as the latter grew ever more threatening. The clouds never obscured the moon, however, which shone serenely down on the scene below. Finally, her chant ceased. She straightened, holding her arms in a circle at the level of her waist, embracing the air above the frame. "Now is all gathered, all is complete. Let it be finished! "Strike, O Lightning! Unite, O Sand!" And a bolt of blinding lightning descended between her encircling arms, striking directly in the center of the frame's hollow with a deafening crash. When it had ended, she withdrew her arms, pressing her hands first to her eyes and then to her ears, as if to undo the effects of the lightning's glare and noise. Then she knelt down to examine her handiwork. The frame was no longer empty. It was filled from edge to edge with a smooth sheet of glass, mainly white but with barely detectable streaks of color swirling across its still-warm surface.Picking it up, she stroked it tenderly. "I have made it, just as I intended," she whispered. "In this, all that is shall show its true nature, without artifice or concealment, whether beast or flower, star or man. This night I have created a Sight-Glass of True Sight." -------------------------------------- Entry #12: "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. --------------------------------------

Member name: Velox Theme: Glass Word count: 523 Story: "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.

Theme #9: Paradise Any interpretation is valid. Remember that this is an Bionicle theme, and your story must comply with the contest rules.Deadline: July 6th, 11:59PM PST. Note: The deadlines are now midnight PST (3am EST), giving you three more hours. Also: The Order Polls have been posted! Still time to vote in The Mask polls, as well as enter the Glass theme.

Vote here for your favorite The Order story; entries have been randomized. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on July 6th at 11:59 PM EST. Entries that do well will move on to the The Order Final Poll, which will be posted at the conclusion of the 10th round preliminary poll. Entry #1: "The Law of the Jungle" Nui-Kao: the Great Tree, its topmost branches reaching to heights in the sky no Le-Koro treehouse could dream of. There was no bigger tree in all Mata Nui, none even came close. The canopied roof of the jungle spread out far below, like a sea of green, disheveled and wrinkled, rippling in the whistling winds. In odd places a family of colorful Kewa or playful Brakas breached. That was my home. The most Mangaian abysses of the jungle, where no Matoran foot had ever dared to tread. I only ever shared it with the trees, the Rahi, the wind and the rain--and Hahli. My companion and I sat alone on the highest branch of the Nui-Kao; it was our private cloud, floating us over the vivid colors of the sea below. "You know the sea, Hahli," I said. "I know the jungle. But they're not that different. Look out over the ocean and you'll see dangerous enigmas and inconceivable wonders. It seems like chaos, but when you get closer, you realize it's nothing but an order you don't fully understand. "I am the jungle. I feel every tree, every stone, every Rahi; all speak to me, and form a unity that I can't describe. I know the whisper of the wind through every tree in this jungle, I've seen the sunset on every leaf, I've smelled every flower, growing between the lowest roots in winter, or blossoming in the springtime sun above the highest stem in all the jungle. It's all different, it's all unique, and none of it's ever the same. But somehow, every day it all blends together to make a new order that I've never seen before. "The rain comes, and waters the jungle; new plants grow; Rahi eat the plants; Rahi die; the plants and earth absorb their bodies; the plants dry up, and the water returns to the sky, where it's taken away until the next rain comes. The only jungle law is that everything must go on. It's not even about survival. It's about the survival of the whole jungle. "It's life. And death. Plants die, Rahi die, only to be reborn, or replaced. Someday, I'll die. I'll be replaced. There must always be balance. The jungle is balance, and it's chaos. It's light and dark, good and evil, joy and woe, hope and despair, strength and weakness. It's awe-inspiring, and at the same time it's pathetic. It's planned to every finest detail, it's just--just everything, Hahli--but--but it's not--" I shook my head. "It's just always been there, to me. It was all I had ever known, nothing particularly special; but then you came here, and saw it with fresh eyes. I showed you the beauty of the way it all comes together in one perfect, eternally perfect order. And suddenly, I could see it, too. You made me see that." Soon the sun began to set. This was the most magical time of all, and it was always Hahli's favorite. The sun would disappear; the gilden greens would fade into bronzes and blacks; the jungle’s bird-chorus would sing a lullaby so sweet, so perfect, it would take Hahli’s breath away; and then she would lean on me, sighing contentedly, and I would wrap my arm around her. "Nothing," I said, as the last sunlight died, "nothing ever made me as happy as the moments when we would sit here like this. "It's beautiful today. I've never seen it prettier. I only wish you could be here to see it too, Hahli . . ." My companion let out a screech, chittered throatily, and brakiated away down amidst the branches. I watched the Brakas until it disappeared, then turned my deformed face north-eastward, casting my mind toward Ga-Koro. "I wish I could see it. No--I wish I could see you. Hahli--without you this jungle, all this glorious beauty--has become nothing. It's lost the magic you showed me it had. I can't see it anymore! It's lost any meaning--even the order I once reveled in, taking it for granted, is gone. No matter how hard I look, it doesn't make any sense any more. Nothing--nothing makes sense anymore." I raised my face to the stars. I loved seeing them best; they reminded me of the twinkle in her eyes. "Without, you, Hahli, the jungle is a troubled sea of confusion and chaos. And . . . I am the jungle." ------------------------------------ Entry #2: "Twenty Four" One, two three, four, five, six. The Toa stood in a row. They were the six the leader had chosen, along with six Matoran, six Vortixx, and six robots, two each made in the image of each group. The Toa of Water gave a quick glade to the Toa of Fire to her left. He was trying to stop his friend of Air from falling onto his shoulder. Following him were Toa of Earth, Ice and Stone. The Matoran were organised in the same pattern, and the Vortixx in height order. Their captor had their face shrouded in a thick veil, and a Vortixx wondered if they could see out of it. She raised a hand and stepped forward. "Yo." "What?" snapped the decidedly female figure. "And get back in line, or I'll have to mutate you." "The name's Valda," she continued, folding her arms. "What are we even here for?" The veiled woman clicked her fingers. A Boggarak scuttled to her heel. "Are you sure you want to find out?" Valda shrugged. "Sure, why not?" She grinned as the person now ordering the Visorak in their language shook with anger. When pincers poked her back, however, her face fell into a state of shock. "Take them," she heard the woman hiss in something that only just sounded like Matoran before she was swept away. 00110010 00110100 A flickering light told Valda that she was now awake. The veiled woman was now gone, but was replaced by protosteel shackles and a small, grey character who looked a little like a Matoran. The four groups of six were sat next to the wall on a stone bench. "Oh, my!" they exclaimed, clapping their hands. "Friends!" The Toa of Stone raised an eyebrow. "Friends? I do believe that is an incorrect term." The Matoran (Was it a Matoran? Something seemed off about it.) frowned. "You don't have to be my friend," it pouted. "It may be optional, but I highly recommend it." "I'll pass." "Are you sure?" With a quick glance at Valda, he replied, "Sure, why not?" The echo of a Vortixx were his last words. The Matoran looked up to see what would be the veiled woman, but she had removed it to show a grubby blue Komau. "Great, Flute!" it grinned. "I wish he had come to his senses, though." "That'd be unlikely," she replied cooly. "Toa of Stone are as dense as their element. Let this serve as a warning to the rest of them to not speak out." The Toa of Earth looked at his friend's corpse in shock, before moving to remove his mask. "Uh, uh!" the Matoran said. "We're playing a game now. The rules are that you have to play it, and I choose the rules! Another rule is that you can't touch a dead player." He stood suddenly, pulling the other Toa into awkward positions. "What am I able to remember him by, then?" The Matoran tutted. "Another rule is that if they die, then they never existed." As it was, the Toa of Stone's shackles were now empty. His brother slumped back down onto the bench. "I'll be your friend." Valda watched him intently, quashing the desire to comfort that lost her many jobs. "Hey, Vortixx!" grinned the Matoran suddenly. "What's your name?" Valda looked up, but he was addressing the short male on the other side of the row. He looked into the Matoran's eyes, and Valda realised suddenly that they were black pits. She made a mental note to never look at them again when her fellow Vortixx stopped speaking. "Is he dead?" asked the Ta-Matoran. The six Matoran had been silent, along with the robots. Now that they were being stared at, they fidgeted uncomfortably, and the Po-Matoran burst into tears. "This is a happy place," it smiled widely. "You can't cry here." As the wails intensified, the Matoran's eyes narrowed. "Stop it. Stop crying now. I don't want to kill you. Actually, maybe I should. but then I'd have to kill that Vortixx and one of the robots." Flute grabbed the short Vortixx, who hadn't moved since. "This one?" "Yep!" he replied. "Can you decapitate this one?" Valda closed her eyes and hoped for the slaughter to stop soon. ------------------------------------ Entry #3: "Justice?" “Chaos is the law of nature; Order is the dream of man.” -Henry Adams The Le-Matoran watched as the grinning Vortixx and the stoic Ta-Toa clashed in combat. The Matoran knew his fate lay in the outcome of this battle, yet all he could do was hope and pray. His hands tightly clutched the stone that had caused this predicament. “I will gave you one last chance,” the Toa stated to the Vortixx, his voice noble and regal, “Back away from the Matoran and never speak of this encounter, otherwise I have no choice but to end you.” “Hah,” The Vortixx merely laughed in response, “We issuing threats now? What happened to the ridiculous motto of Toa don’t kill, or are you guys above that stuff now? Then again, I always did find that policy idiotic.” Even as he bantered, the battle continued to rage on: The Vortixx would leap in, his daggers locking with the Toa’s sword, the Toa would then try an elemental attack and the Vortixx would leap back. Eventually the Toa realized that the Vortixx was too fast for his elemental attacks and began focusing on weapon combat. “Do not speak of that which you cannot comprehend,” The Toa retorted back, as his blade blocked another attack from the Vortixx’s daggers. “Our outdated code restrained us from properly carrying out justice and ensuring order.” The Toa then stepped back, twisting his body away to allow his blade to swing towards the Vortixx’s side. The Vortixx, with only a moment to respond, swiftly pivoted on his foot, narrowly avoiding the attack. “What a load of Muaka dung,” the Vortixx responded as he darted in, his daggers aimed at the Toa’s stomach, only to be parried once more when the Toa slammed his massive sword into the ground. Then, taking advantage of the lull in the Vortixx’s assault the Toa smashed a gauntleted fist into the Vortixx’s jaw. Rolling away, the Vortixx spat out some blood and readied his daggers while the Toa ripped his sword from the ground. “Alright Toa,” the Vortixx snarled, “You want me to speak about what I can comprehend? Fine. What I comprehend is that your sense of Justice and Order can go to Karz.” The Vortixx stated before dashing in once more. At first it appeared his daggers were again aimed at the Toa’s gut, but when the Toa’s sword came down to intercept, the Vortixx sidestepped, swinging his daggers to the side of the Toa’s chest. Unfortunately the Toa and his Calix were faster, allowing him to masterfully swing around, rip his sword out and block the daggers. Their blades locked once more, the Vortixx continued speaking his mind. “What sort of Order requires you to kill a Matoran?” He demanded. “All I see is a bully afraid of the power that Matoran may acquire, you’re scared of a new Toa.” However, the Toa would have none of it and flames erupted from his blade to send the Vortixx flying back. The Vortixx collided with a tree next to the Le-Matoran with a sickening thud. He struggled to get up, but found only the Toa’s blade at his throat. “You understand nothing!” There was rage in the usually stoic Toa’s voice. “We do this because we must, a new Toa would upset the balance of power, order needs to be established. Without it the entire land would be plunged into chaos. How can you not see that this is our Duty?” The Vortixx only laughed bitterly, “Don’t feed me that nonsense. There’s no justification for the murder, no, genocide you commit upon your own people.” “Then this is your end.” The Toa responded as he hefted his blade in the sky before bringing it crashing down towards the Vortixx’s neck. “STOP IT!” A new voice begged in desperation, it was the voice of the Le-Matoran. “Kill me, but please let him go. He’s only protecting me, he’s done nothing wrong!” “I cannot do that,” the Toa began to reply only to be taken by surprise when the Vortixx seized the opportunity and tackled him. “Run kid!” He yelled before being skewered by the Toa’s blade. “Fool,” the Toa grimaced as he began to make his way towards the Matoran, never noticing the barely standing figure of the Vortixx. “Hey mate,” the Vortixx coughed out as he hefted one last throwing dagger, “I’ll see you in karz.” His dagger flew straight and true towards the Toa’s heart causing both beings to collapse. ------------------------------------ Entry #4: "The Disorderly Orderlies" Two axes rested on a table, one beside the other. To the right was a respectable looking round shield, and to the left a zamour sphere launcher. These were the weapons and defences of Mal and Sordak, two members of the Order, who sat just in front of the table. Behind the table was an empty chair, hard and straight backed so as not to provide any incentive to slouch. The chair was empty, as it was not yet time for its owner to enter the room; she had said that she would enter at a quarter after, and she was not one to go back on her word. It wasn't a matter of the immorality of lying; this Toa was not faint hearted, nor was she moral without reason; it was the simple fact that a lie can cause havoc, confusion, and disorder - likely the worst facets of existence, in her opinion. At precisely one quarter past, the Sordak and Mal were not in the least surprised to see Helryx; they were, however, extremely disappointed that they had not been able to arrange their weapons and defenses in a proper manner before her entry. Now it was their duty to themselves to pray to the one they were sworn to serve that Helryx was in a good mood. They hastily did so as they rose in perfect, practiced unison to welcome their leader. The Toa of Water flowed smoothly around the desk, and sat in her chair, relishing the structure that it leant to her back. Just as her mind began to obey her commands to order, her eyes fell upon the horrid pile of vile weaponry that scarred her desk. She rose at once, though still maintaining her air of discipline. Immediately the two orderlies of the Order followed suite, each wondering why the Toa before them was of water, which was surely a very disorderly yet calm element, and not at all suited to her personality. Soon, however, they came to understand that no element could be quite as ferocious as water, and as such perhaps it was the perfect element for her personality. Shortly thereafter they found themselves in the briefing hall, awaiting their leader. Whispered conversations were hushed as the doors parted, and in walked Helryx, with a cold air that would put of Toa of Ice to shame. “Today I feel it important to share with you the importance of law and order; from the simple task of aligning one’s equipment to the care of a land, our organization has sworn to bring order to the chaos that creeps throughout the lands, threatening the Great Spirit Mata Nui.” Her eyes swept the crowd as she spoke, and every member with any sense cowered beneath her gaze. “In order that we carry out our duties, we must be inwardly organized. This begins with your lifestyle and discipline, which allow us to enforce important routines, bringing us together into a strong agency, with its feet planted firmly in the ground, rooted against the winds of change. Without structure we are useless at our jobs; we would have failed at every victory, been reduced to scattered vagabonds. One way to organize one’s life would, for example, be to respect authority and align axes in a perpendicular fashion...” soon her words were drowned out in a sea of thoughts. Every member of the Order secretly cursed those two orderlies, who surely must have been the root cause of this wearisome lecture; now they could expect for rules to be upheld with more vehemence than ever! And to say nothing of their leader’s mood. ------------------------------------

Vote here for your favorite The Order story; entries have been randomized. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on July 6th at 11:59 PM EST. Entries that do well will move on to the The Order Final Poll, which will be posted at the conclusion of the 10th round preliminary poll. Entry #1: "Change" Vakama sighed, looking out over the island below him. He stood high on the slopes of the Mangai Volcano.It was from here he had first planned Ta-Koro, a fortress amid the lava. Now he saw the bustle of working Ta-Matoran, and the slowly forming outlines of walls.He smiled for a moment at their work. But then another picture rose up before his eyes - Ta-Metru, glowing not with flowing lava but the controlled fires of the forges, with the Great Furnace and the massive protodermis plants - and he sighed, leaning more heavily on his staff."Mata Nui," he whispered. "Why did this have to happen?"Three months ago, I was a Matoran. We had Metru Nui - we were a people of crafters, scholars, scientists. Dume was the Turaga and the Mangai were our Toa. Life was right. It was the proper order of things.And then it was all destroyed. The Mangai are dead, the Turaga has left us, our city is a heap of rubble we cannot return to. Everything and everyone that defined our way of life are gone!Now look at us. We six are the Turaga. Our friends and co-workers - our superiors, some of them - look up to us as the wise ones, the guides. I went from a maskmaker to an elder with his prime behind him in less than a month.There are no Toa at all here now, no protectors. We are alone and undefended.And we who once belonged to a great city are now trying to carve out a living in a savage wilderness. The Matoran of Metru Nui are degenerated intomalformed farmers and miners and trappers!He stared at the island below with angry eyes, seeing only the glories of Metru Nui. "Why, Mata Nui?" he said between clenched teeth. "WHY?""Turaga!" a cheerful voice called from below, interrupting his black thoughts.He looked down again. Directly below him was a small red-and-yellow figure, with a distinctive light-blue Pakari.Of course. Vakama rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "Do you have an actual reason to be here, Takua, or were you just looking for an excuse to avoid work?""Umm...a little of both?" Takua glanced away. "Jala wanted to ask you something about construction...""So you took off up here without bothering to check if he actually wanted you to ask me?""It's just so...boring lugging rocks, Turaga!" He paused. "But how did you know?""Because I'm your Turaga." Because I've known you for fifty-nine thousand years. He supposed that was one advantage. He knew every inhabitant of Ta-Koro, if only slightly."Should I assume you also neglected to find out what exactly Jala's question was?" Vakama shook his head, but couldn't help smiling. "Never mind, I should go back down anyway. Just try to stick to your work after this."He nodded soberly. "I'll try, Turaga."Vakama lingered a moment, wondering what to do about Takua. He did mean well, but it was too much to hope his work ethic would improve now. How would Turaga Dume have handled him? he wondered. By siccing the Nuurakh on him and shutting down his mind, his brain replied.He realized suddenly how grateful he was that this island had no Vahki. Surrender or Run seemed better suited to Makuta than to the leader of the Matoran.He supposed Dume had seen no other way to keep the thousand Matoran under him orderly and efficient. And it wasn't as if he had had any personal exposure to the Vahki's enforcement techniques.But here, Vakama thought, maybe here, we can all work together. Maybe he'd been too caught up in nostalgic memories of Metru Nui to realize the bright sides of their new life.Maybe he needed an unbiased perspective.He turned back to Takua. "Takua," he asked, "what do you think of the island?"His face lit up. "It's amazing!" he said enthusiastically. "Actually, it's probably too amazing - I just want to explore all the time." And he grinned at his Turaga in a way he never would have dared to with Dume.Vakama smiled, looking out again. Now he saw beauty as well as wildness. The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfills himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. ------------------------------------ Entry #2: "New Order" On the way back to the city, he looked up to see it on fire. Sky blackened and sun dying from the smoke arising from the surface. As he ran into New Metru Nui, he saw chaos and destruction plaguing the streets. The Order of New Metru Nui had fallen, and now everyone that he knows is either dead or hiding. The Wander is a Toa of Magnetism. He has no name, but people just call him a wanderer since that’s what he does. He runs towards the Coliseum to find the Turaga and Helryx. Helryx is the only thing that could be the reason of the collapse. As he reaches the Turaga’s quarters, he finds the head of the Turaga on the floor, and Helryx being bashed by a horrific creature with a massive jaw, claws and blades on his arms. Just as he was about to slam her to the ground, he turns to see the Wanderer standing there at the doorway. His face was pale as snow and horrified by the destruction of the Order. “So, you wish to take me on,” boasts the creature. The creature then throws Helryx to the Wanderer. He falls to the ground with Helryx on top of him. She is badly bruised and broken in spirit. “Go, before it’s too, late,” says Helryx trying to muster the last of her strength. The Wanderer gets up, holding a dying Helyrx over his shoulder. He looks at the creature who has won the battle for now, but it is now the Wanderer who he shall face. He leaves the quarters to take Helryx to safety and to heal her wounds. “Yes! Run! Shelter yourself for I, Botar, will certainly be you demise.” It appears whoever brought back Botar from the dead, has him under their control. He has taken control of all of New Metru’s systems including the security forces. Botar then turned on the video screens on in all of New Metru. His savage face can be seen on screens all over the place. “Citizens of New Metru! I have liberated you from the Order’s corrupted system, and made way for a new one to take over! One, where no one will restrict you on what to do!” The criminals of New Metru began to cheer; their roars of glory can be heard throughout the city. “Welcome, to the New Order.” He then turns of the screens and he looks behind him. Three figures with crimson and black armor with what appears to be bat wings, approach him. “Go forth and bring me the head of Helryx,” orders Botar. The three nod and the ceiling above them opens. They fly off into the burning sunset of New Metru to find Helryx. They leave with blood curdling screeches and trails of shadow can be seen from their wings. The ceiling then closes, and Botar is left standing in the room. He overlooks at his New Order that has now caused chaos and destruction. It has been too long since he has been trapped in the Red Star. While wandering the land of the dead, someone had approached him. The mysterious figure had somehow managed to gain control him to do his bidding. Then Botar looked at a map of New Metru, and punctured a location on the map with a knife. “You cannot hide from me Helryx. I will find you.” The location, in which he punctured, is a furnace in the Fire District which is a known secret hideout of the old Order. His bat beings will soon assault the base and kill anyone in there. ------------------------------------ Entry #3: "Dark Days of the Glatoarian Order" My name is Toa Tahu. As the most powerful member of my Order, along with being one of the most experienced warriors and leaders among us, I was chosen as Head of the Order. I oversee all the doings of the Order around the globe of Spherus Magna, as well as being the personal guardian of New Atero. The Order also includes those who recently joined our ranks of elemental guardian warriors, the Glatorian, whose experience with their newfound powers does not yet match many of our own, though they are learning quickly. The one called Ackar is a trusted advisor of mine, while the exploits of Gresh have been most noble. Together we merged the Toa with the Glatorian into a single unit, the Glatoarian Order. I stand watch over New Atero and the entirety of the United Cities of Spherus Magna as the foremost guardian. During all my time here, the reign of peace has remained seldom unbroken. Very rare were the circumstances under which I was forced to exercise my Makuta-level of power. That is, until now. It all started when, after a century or two of peace, our imaginations turned to the stars. The peoples of our planet had solidified themselves into one united civilization, and we thought that if we could extend our reach to the stars, why not? So we invented machines and other devices that could transport us through the vacuums of space. Why, the Kanoka Disks of Interstellar Travel were a marvelous invention by our own Toa Nuparu, and from these we were able to forge Masks of Power with the same capabilities. It was soon after this that we discovered: We are not alone. Even within our limited reach were other civilized worlds capable of interstellar travel. This fact didn't perturb us at first, because we were quite confident by this time of our united strength and power. Oh, were we so proud. . . Fools, we were. Fools! Our ignorance is destroying us. Our First Contacts were nothing if not diplomatic and friendly, but as destiny would have it, the first race to which we extended the hand of peace spat in our face and prepared for war. They invaded us swiftly and decisively, without warning of any kind. Powerful as we were, these invaders brought powerful machines of their own. Complex, incredibly advanced technologies that made many of our own look like mere toys. I cannot describe to you the black anger that consumed my proud heart when I witnessed their preemptive and unprovocated strike, which brought much death and destruction. After the death of Teridax, so long ago, I had not suspected that we would ever come across beings not only as vile, but just as powerful. I suppose the long years of peace had dulled my imagination. In response I marshaled our own forces and fought back in a terrific battle. In our pride we still thought that victory would be assured. What fools we were. . . We were decimated. The memory still brings me great pain. I alone survived that day, and not because I was trying to. From there I returned to Spherus Magna and did what I could to strengthen our defenses, even during the chaos of invasion. I was forced to watch as the Order crumbled around me. Toa were slain by the thousands, and the Glatorian by the tens of thousands. From then on our pride was shattered and we strove in desperate fear to repel the invaders. New Atero was destroyed and much of the Order forced into hiding. We have been a Rebellion ever since, striking on occasion and simply trying to help our people survive. The invaders have not destroyed our people, but rule over them as dictators. They remind me so of Teridax. But I swear, by all my power, that even if it means my death, I WILL see Spherus Magna free again. Mata Nui, I know I promised you rest, but the power of the Mask of Life must be called into action once again if we are to survive. My name is Toa Tahu, and I watch in agony as my beloved Order crumbles around me. ------------------------------------ Entry #4: "In Which Artakha Almost Gets Me Killed, Multiple Times" Screw Artakha. I hate that guy. Man, most of the people in this universe don’t even think he exists. Spirit knows how bad I wish they were right. Dude has an insane superiority complex; thinks he can boss us around, do whatever he wants, just because the Great Beings made him out to be some kind of god-figure. Which, by the way, he’s not. OOOOOOH, look at me, I’m Artakha! I can use telepathy that’s a little bit stronger than anybody else’s! I can teleport anywhere, not just to places I can see! Yeah, sure, he builds cool stuff. Seriously, though, who cares? Give me a mask that shows me exactly how to make whatever I want and I’ll do the same thing! So basically his powers are being a little bit better at reading minds and at getting places than most people are, and he can wear a mask. Amazing. Seriously, this guy is infuriating to work for. Like— Okay, I could rant on and on about this, but I’ll just give you an example: the crystal serpents. Ol’ Arty thinks he can make rahi all by himself. Guess what, he can’t. Creates these giant crystal snakes that kill anything that moves with some heat ray thing. But of course he’s too conceited to admit he failed and decides to – instead of killing ‘em off before they murder anyone else – release the things into the wild where they can laser anybody they like! And since he’s too busy designing (read: copying a design from his mask of) some upgraded kanohi thing, he tells me to take them out and set them free. And then, a couple centuries later, when he’s getting worried that “Northie” (as he calls the one that lives on the north coast of the island) is sick or something because there haven’t been any reports of laser-induced death from the north in a while, guess what he does? He figures that I should go check on him, since I was so good at not getting melted by heat rays the first time he had me deal with them. Yeah, so, after the thing ambushed me and lasered my left arm off is when I called it quits. Just triggered my Kualsi – what do you know, I can teleport too – and landed behind the thing and crushed its head in with my warhammer before it had any idea where I’d gone. Stole a boat, ditched the island, blah blah blah. Got the Ghosts to build me a new arm – those guys are so much better than Artakha, seriously, their craftsmanship is almost as good and they’re actually reasonable, imagine that. Settled down in the Southern Islands, found people there who actually appreciated my skills and whatnot. Started up a good business building stuff that a mask didn’t churn out the blueprints for. ‘Cept then yesterday some guy in a Sanok comes knocking on my door and tries to put a dagger through my heart. Artakha’s behind this somehow, that piraka. No way to prove it, of course, but… Spirit. Met up with one of my old contacts, a merchant with his ear to the ground. Says the guy after me’s with the Order. I know Arty had some dealings with them a while back, but why he wouldn’t have just gone with the Hunters if he wanted me gone is beyond me… Eh, it doesn’t matter. Either way I’m probably dead. Screw Artakha. I hate that guy. ------------------------------------

Vote here for your favorite The Order story; entries have been randomized. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on July 6th at 11:59 PM EST. Entries that do well will move on to the The Order Final Poll, which will be posted at the conclusion of the 10th round preliminary poll. Entry #1: "Execution" “We have our orders, Krika. Teridax specifically asked us to execute Miserix. And you know how much Teridax hates being disobeyed.” For the first time, Krika didn't see holes in Spiriah's logic. Teridax, newly elected leader of the Brotherhood, wasted no time in executing his Plan. Of course, he was bound to assign a few Makuta to perform The Order. The Order, as any organization knows, is the execution of a deposed leader. And so Krika found himself with Spiriah, a Makuta who would better have served as a Matoran, weak and cowering. Their escort was Makuta Miserix, former leader of the Brotherhood of Makuta, currently a shackled denizen of the Fortress's dungeon. “Look, Spiriah. I agree, Teridax would vaporize us on sight if we let Miserix go. But if you have any sense in yourself, you'll know that Miserix was right: Teridax's plan could destroy the universe. I don't want to kill our former, and in my opinion better, leader.” “Could, not will. It's a mere word, but it makes all the difference, Krika. His Plan aside, we've already established he will kill us if we let Miserix off. And not just kill, he'll...well, you know.” As if to punctuate the point, Spiriah mock-slit his throat. “I'd rather not let that happen.” “Spiriah, I...” Krika paused, reorganizing his thoughts. “I was thinking we'd 'dispose' of him, but not actually kill him. Say we hid him somewhere far away. I mean, it would technically dispose of him.” Spiriah huffed. Arrogant as ever. Shame he didn't have anything to back it. “Krika, I think you're too attached to Miserix. Say Teridax found that out, what would he do? Maybe you're a detriment to the Plan? He wouldn't like that...” Krika figured out this was going nowhere. “Don't dare doubt my loyalty to Teridax. While his Plan may be suicidal, his intellect is not. We'll discuss this tomorrow.” The meeting of two adjourned. -------- In the dark of night, as every Makuta either slumbered in their quarters or concocted in their labs, Krika stole to the dungeon. Once inside, he moved straight to Miserix's cell. The sight that met him wasn't pretty. Draining cuffs sap the wearer of their powers, and Miserix was no exception. He was bound with a pair around his wrists. The former leader was sitting with his head down, no doubt aware of Krika's presence. “Miserix, it's time to go.” “Well, if it isn't my personal executioner. Weren't there two of you? Or did Spiriah's incompetence get him kicked from this most important of honors?” “Miserix, it's time to go.” Krika repeated himself. The former leader, under the impression that this was truly the end, went into a passive state. He let Krika guide him out of the dungeon and to the execution site. Then Krika did something no one would have expected: he shattered Miserix's shackles. Miserix, taken aback by this sudden action, said the word most appropriate for the situation. “Why?” “Hurry up and turn into a dragon. Fly us to this island.” Krika pointed to a map, lit only by a small flashlight he'd brought along. Miserix complied, and in less than a minute they were on their way. “I repeat, why? I understand you're the most reasonable of those fools that dare call themselves Makuta of the Brotherhood, but the answer still escapes me.” “It's simple, Miserix: you're a leader I would follow, not Teridax. We're going to a volcanic island, where you will be chained with draining cuffs. Rahi will stand guard, and you will be a prisoner yet again.” “So you're simply moving me from one prison to another?” “Miserix, this isn't a prison, it's a test. Someday, when you're powerful, you'll break out of your chains to take back the Brotherhood. And besides, we both know your rage requires culling. This isn't the right time for a rebellion.” Miserix sighed, then nodded. “Krika, sometimes I wonder why I didn't make you my lieutenant.” -------- “Well? Where's Miserix?” Spiriah was furious. This was the execution deadline, and a missing Miserix meant absolute death. “I killed him, Spiriah. He's dead. I didn't want to waste my day setting up the equipment and all. Our work is over. Report that to Teridax.” Spiriah, still grumbling, walked away to deliver the news. Krika smiled. The Order had been averted. Teridax wasn't the only one who could formulate masterful plans. ------------------------------------ Entry #2: "Thirty Minutes" “This is definitely the worst misappropriation of our abilities imaginable.” “Putting aside the irreparable falseness of that statement, I’d say you’re right.” “We’re Toa, for Mata Nui’s sake!” “Indeed. This really is work best suited for Matoran couriers.” “But no.” “Nope.” “They send Toa to deliver the Turaga’s food order.” “A crueler joke hasn’t ever been told.” Rimoto decided to stop talking to catch his breath, an act that his partner, Forr, also thought appropriate. “Holy Mata Nui. This Turaga must be a glutton…what kind of food order requires two crates, and ones of this size? What even is in these?” “Well, my dear Forr, you’re better off not peeking. You know how Greva is, always peeking around and sticking her eyes in other’s business with her creepy mask. I don’t want to have to be reprimanded because you were ogling the Turaga’s berries.” “Hey now, these are way too heavy to be berries.” “Anyway, you know it’s an order to not look into the order. It’s a secret. A secret secret.” “That is the best kind of secret, I think. Also preferably the only one…” “What kind of stupid rules are these, though? Deliver the food in thirty minutes or the negotiations are off? I get that we’re in a tense situation with that village, but this just seems excessively inane.” “And why did we have to be the ones to go?” “It might be because we’re so annoying.” “Maybe. But that seems really risky. We waste so much time, we may not get it done at all!” “That’s…unlikely. It’s a very safe road and we aren’t that terrible. There really isn’t any way to mess this up.” “Yeah, but really…why us?” ”Greva is too busy to waste her time like this…though I worry about sending two thirds of the village’s defenses away on such a random mission.” “What two thirds? That would be Greva.” “Ha ha. I suppose…” They reached their destination soon afterwards. Looming before them was a massive, ornate fortress carved of pitch-black rock. “That…that is a really big house for a Turaga.” “No joke. Not to mention dark and ominous.” “Maybe he’s in a bad mood (because of the hunger) and redecorated to match.” “…Yeah. That is definitely the most likely explanation.” “I’m glad you agree.” “Either way, how do we get in here?” “Try knocking.” “…yeah, okay.” A shaken-looking Turaga answered the door, though, at seeing the two Toa, his expression brightened. “Oh! The order has finally arrived. I was lucky. A few more minutes and I would have been in trouble. But by all means, come in, come in.” “Uh, greetings, wise elder. We don’t mean to intrude. We’re just here to deliver the order. We’ll be leaving, if that’s all.” The Turaga, deaf to their protests, ushered them in. “Oh, don’t say such silly things, come in!” “But…” The Turaga led them through a dark corridor, and at the end, they faced a grand door. “This is where you go.” “Sorry. I thought you ordered this?” “Huh? Oh, goodness, no. The order was for food for the Master. I’m just the aide.” “Hmm? So there’s another Turaga in here?” “Oh…sure. But do hurry, he’s been grumpy lately.” As the two entered the chamber, they noticed it was shrouded in total darkness. “Hey, what’s with the dark? We might bump into a chair or something.” Shutting the door, the Turaga apologized. “Oh do forgive my Master, great Toa. He’s been out of it for a bit now. It's the hunger. You see… …it’s been a while since we got a pair of fresh Toa around these parts.” Then there was the sound door being locked, and silence. ------------------------------------ Entry #3: "Artahka's Hand" One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. That had always been the order. Fire. Water. Earth. Air. Stone. Ice. Tahu. Gali. Onua. Lewa. Pohatu. Kopaka. But before them was a different order, and before them was an even older order. Artahka's Hand. This is the story of an Order before all others... ------- Helryx rose her shield, blocking a strike from the sword of a Dark Hunter. She quickly struck back with her mace, sending the opponent over the edge and into the water. It was raining wickedly. His head went under and never came back up. But that wasn't Helryx's problem- she spun around and kicked out a Hunter's legs, sending him skidding across the wooden deck of the Hand's ship. As Hydraxon finished off a Hunter of his own, she slid down to her prey and grabbed ahold of his head. At first, he thought she was going to kill him. But no, he was too useful for that. She activated her mask, and instantly saw the inside of the ship he had come on. She looked up, nodded to Hydraxon, and saw him- The Shadowed One -standing there on the deck of the opposing ship. "Helmsman! Ram that ship!" The Matoran at the controls turned their vessel, ramming the entire thing into the starboard side of the Hunter's ship, creating cracks all through. Helryx, using the connection, leaped across, followed by Hydraxon. The two pointed their weapons at The Shadowed One, securing themselves against the railing. "You are under arrest by the authority of Artahka," Helryx called out. The large being laughed, and this laugh was the last thing Hydraxon saw. He was tossed into the water, sinking quicker and quicker. Helryx never saw him again after that. The Toa of water and the leader of the Dark Hunters clashed weapons, each formidable and strong. She blocked strikes with her shield, but he simply redirected the mace blows with his staff. Even then, Hand members were streaming over and fighting off Hunters as their leaders fought. But Helryx was downed in a few seconds, not by her opponent's blade, but by a Hunter from behind, slashing at her back. She fell, head hitting the ground with a loud noise. The Shadowed One stood over her, ready to kill. "You are declared dead, by the authority of-" PSSHHHHHHH A nova blast destroyed both boats instantly. Everyone was dead, it seemed, save for Helryx, who had forced the water away from herself, and the Shadowed One, whose method of survival was never clear. She awoke later to see Artahka and an incarnation of Mata Nui. "Helryx, we're going to need a new Order..." ------------------------------------ Entry #4: "The Shadow’s Orders" It was another sunny day in the Po-Koro market, and Ahkmou stood at his stand, where he sold Comet Kohlii balls. They were currently the biggest hit in the village, because they were the best boulders to use in the stadium. But the good news about his sales was countered by the epidemic, which was spreading across the village. Matoran were falling ill, and nobody knew the cause. Nobody except for Ahkmou, and the news pleased him. “Weaken Po-Koro’s defenses,” the Shadows had said to him. “Make it so I can take the village. That is an order.” Ahkmou had allied with the Shadows long ago, due to his dislike of the Turaga and Matoran on Mata Nui. He had joined their civilization, but secretly plotted against them. He had waited years to finally take Turaga Onewa and the other Po-Matoran down a notch. And he had finally received his order. But while the Shadows desired a particular outcome, they were willing to let Ahkmou select the method. He had chosen to infect his fellow villagers with the Madness. With help from the Shadows, he had crafted the perfect Kohlii ball, which was balanced and lightweight. But the boulders were also tainted, due to them having been recovered from a Nui-Jaga’s nest. After using them for a period of time, a Matoran would fall ill, and then the Madness would set in. Already, members of the Po-Matoran guard were dropping like flies. Kohlii was such a popular sport that all the Po-Matoran played it, and now almost all of them had a Comet. Soon, they would all be too sick to properly defend the village. Ahkmou daydreamed of the near future, when his plans would come to completion. The affected Matoran would fall into Madness, one by one, and be no better than the infected Rahi who wandered the deserts. Some, like Turaga Onewa, would persist. He couldn’t sell a Comet to everybody, after all. He had even tried to pass one off to a Ta-Matoran wanderer, but the traveler had passed it up. But those who stayed sane wouldn’t be safe from Ahkmou’s vengeance. When the time was right, the Shadows would send the infected Rahi to attack the desert village, and with so few defenders left, Po-Koro would fall. Ahkmou had been told that the Rahi would spare him, and he relished the thought of watching a Nui-Jaga take down the tyrannical Turaga Onewa. And then he would be the last of the Po-Matoran. And he could begin plotting against the other villages in earnest. He already had ideas for how to destroy them, from flooding the tunnels of Onu-Koro to burning down the trees of Le-Koro. But before he could begin to get his revenge on all the Matoran on Mata-Nui, he would need to deliver Po-Koro to his master’s hands. That is what he had been ordered to do. The merchants around him started talking excitedly, shaking Ahkmou out of his daydreams. He overheard their discussion, and doubt quickly began to gnaw at him. The Ta-Matoran traveler, known as the Chronicler, had been seen heading for the Quarry, with a key in hand. Furthermore, Toa Pohatu had raced off after him, and rumor was that they had discovered the source of the epidemic. The Nui-Jaga nest where Ahkmou had collected the Kohlii balls was located in the Quarry, so that news was enough to make him nervous. But he had locked away the nest, so it was unlikely to be discovered. Yet as Ahkmou searched for his key, he realized that it was missing. Ahkmou retreated from his stand and searched his hut, but the key was not among his possessions. He was returning to the market when he happened to spot Turaga Onewa and two Ta-Matoran guards at his stand. That was the last straw; he now knew that his plan had been discovered. He didn’t know what had given it away, but now he had more important things to worry about. He needed to flee before the Turaga could apprehend him. His thoughts lingered on the Shadows, who had given him a direct order. But he had followed that, Ahkmou thought as he raced for the village’s gate. He had weakened the village’s defenses. He had followed his orders. Things had not gone exactly as planned, but he had tried his best. Hopefully the Shadows would be merciful to him as he retreated out into the desert. ------------------------------------

Polling period over; topic closed.

Polling period over; topic closed.

Polling period over; topic closed.

Theme #6: The Order Entry #1: "New Order" On the way back to the city, he looked up to see it on fire. Sky blackened and sun dying from the smoke arising from the surface. As he ran into New Metru Nui, he saw chaos and destruction plaguing the streets. The Order of New Metru Nui had fallen, and now everyone that he knows is either dead or hiding. The Wander is a Toa of Magnetism. He has no name, but people just call him a wanderer since that’s what he does. He runs towards the Coliseum to find the Turaga and Helryx. Helryx is the only thing that could be the reason of the collapse. As he reaches the Turaga’s quarters, he finds the head of the Turaga on the floor, and Helryx being bashed by a horrific creature with a massive jaw, claws and blades on his arms. Just as he was about to slam her to the ground, he turns to see the Wanderer standing there at the doorway. His face was pale as snow and horrified by the destruction of the Order. “So, you wish to take me on,” boasts the creature. The creature then throws Helryx to the Wanderer. He falls to the ground with Helryx on top of him. She is badly bruised and broken in spirit. “Go, before it’s too, late,” says Helryx trying to muster the last of her strength. The Wanderer gets up, holding a dying Helyrx over his shoulder. He looks at the creature who has won the battle for now, but it is now the Wanderer who he shall face. He leaves the quarters to take Helryx to safety and to heal her wounds. “Yes! Run! Shelter yourself for I, Botar, will certainly be you demise.” It appears whoever brought back Botar from the dead, has him under their control. He has taken control of all of New Metru’s systems including the security forces. Botar then turned on the video screens on in all of New Metru. His savage face can be seen on screens all over the place. “Citizens of New Metru! I have liberated you from the Order’s corrupted system, and made way for a new one to take over! One, where no one will restrict you on what to do!” The criminals of New Metru began to cheer; their roars of glory can be heard throughout the city. “Welcome, to the New Order.” He then turns of the screens and he looks behind him. Three figures with crimson and black armor with what appears to be bat wings, approach him. “Go forth and bring me the head of Helryx,” orders Botar. The three nod and the ceiling above them opens. They fly off into the burning sunset of New Metru to find Helryx. They leave with blood curdling screeches and trails of shadow can be seen from their wings. The ceiling then closes, and Botar is left standing in the room. He overlooks at his New Order that has now caused chaos and destruction. It has been too long since he has been trapped in the Red Star. While wandering the land of the dead, someone had approached him. The mysterious figure had somehow managed to gain control him to do his bidding. Then Botar looked at a map of New Metru, and punctured a location on the map with a knife. “You cannot hide from me Helryx. I will find you.” The location, in which he punctured, is a furnace in the Fire District which is a known secret hideout of the old Order. His bat beings will soon assault the base and kill anyone in there. ------------------------------------ Entry #2: "Twenty Four" One, two three, four, five, six. The Toa stood in a row. They were the six the leader had chosen, along with six Matoran, six Vortixx, and six robots, two each made in the image of each group. The Toa of Water gave a quick glade to the Toa of Fire to her left. He was trying to stop his friend of Air from falling onto his shoulder. Following him were Toa of Earth, Ice and Stone. The Matoran were organised in the same pattern, and the Vortixx in height order. Their captor had their face shrouded in a thick veil, and a Vortixx wondered if they could see out of it. She raised a hand and stepped forward. "Yo." "What?" snapped the decidedly female figure. "And get back in line, or I'll have to mutate you." "The name's Valda," she continued, folding her arms. "What are we even here for?" The veiled woman clicked her fingers. A Boggarak scuttled to her heel. "Are you sure you want to find out?" Valda shrugged. "Sure, why not?" She grinned as the person now ordering the Visorak in their language shook with anger. When pincers poked her back, however, her face fell into a state of shock. "Take them," she heard the woman hiss in something that only just sounded like Matoran before she was swept away. 00110010 00110100 A flickering light told Valda that she was now awake. The veiled woman was now gone, but was replaced by protosteel shackles and a small, grey character who looked a little like a Matoran. The four groups of six were sat next to the wall on a stone bench. "Oh, my!" they exclaimed, clapping their hands. "Friends!" The Toa of Stone raised an eyebrow. "Friends? I do believe that is an incorrect term." The Matoran (Was it a Matoran? Something seemed off about it.) frowned. "You don't have to be my friend," it pouted. "It may be optional, but I highly recommend it." "I'll pass." "Are you sure?" With a quick glance at Valda, he replied, "Sure, why not?" The echo of a Vortixx were his last words. The Matoran looked up to see what would be the veiled woman, but she had removed it to show a grubby blue Komau. "Great, Flute!" it grinned. "I wish he had come to his senses, though." "That'd be unlikely," she replied cooly. "Toa of Stone are as dense as their element. Let this serve as a warning to the rest of them to not speak out." The Toa of Earth looked at his friend's corpse in shock, before moving to remove his mask. "Uh, uh!" the Matoran said. "We're playing a game now. The rules are that you have to play it, and I choose the rules! Another rule is that you can't touch a dead player." He stood suddenly, pulling the other Toa into awkward positions. "What am I able to remember him by, then?" The Matoran tutted. "Another rule is that if they die, then they never existed." As it was, the Toa of Stone's shackles were now empty. His brother slumped back down onto the bench. "I'll be your friend." Valda watched him intently, quashing the desire to comfort that lost her many jobs. "Hey, Vortixx!" grinned the Matoran suddenly. "What's your name?" Valda looked up, but he was addressing the short male on the other side of the row. He looked into the Matoran's eyes, and Valda realised suddenly that they were black pits. She made a mental note to never look at them again when her fellow Vortixx stopped speaking. "Is he dead?" asked the Ta-Matoran. The six Matoran had been silent, along with the robots. Now that they were being stared at, they fidgeted uncomfortably, and the Po-Matoran burst into tears. "This is a happy place," it smiled widely. "You can't cry here." As the wails intensified, the Matoran's eyes narrowed. "Stop it. Stop crying now. I don't want to kill you. Actually, maybe I should. but then I'd have to kill that Vortixx and one of the robots." Flute grabbed the short Vortixx, who hadn't moved since. "This one?" "Yep!" he replied. "Can you decapitate this one?" Valda closed her eyes and hoped for the slaughter to stop soon. ------------------------------------ Entry #3: "Thirty Minutes" “This is definitely the worst misappropriation of our abilities imaginable.” “Putting aside the irreparable falseness of that statement, I’d say you’re right.” “We’re Toa, for Mata Nui’s sake!” “Indeed. This really is work best suited for Matoran couriers.” “But no.” “Nope.” “They send Toa to deliver the Turaga’s food order.” “A crueler joke hasn’t ever been told.” Rimoto decided to stop talking to catch his breath, an act that his partner, Forr, also thought appropriate. “Holy Mata Nui. This Turaga must be a glutton…what kind of food order requires two crates, and ones of this size? What even is in these?” “Well, my dear Forr, you’re better off not peeking. You know how Greva is, always peeking around and sticking her eyes in other’s business with her creepy mask. I don’t want to have to be reprimanded because you were ogling the Turaga’s berries.” “Hey now, these are way too heavy to be berries.” “Anyway, you know it’s an order to not look into the order. It’s a secret. A secret secret.” “That is the best kind of secret, I think. Also preferably the only one…” “What kind of stupid rules are these, though? Deliver the food in thirty minutes or the negotiations are off? I get that we’re in a tense situation with that village, but this just seems excessively inane.” “And why did we have to be the ones to go?” “It might be because we’re so annoying.” “Maybe. But that seems really risky. We waste so much time, we may not get it done at all!” “That’s…unlikely. It’s a very safe road and we aren’t that terrible. There really isn’t any way to mess this up.” “Yeah, but really…why us?” ”Greva is too busy to waste her time like this…though I worry about sending two thirds of the village’s defenses away on such a random mission.” “What two thirds? That would be Greva.” “Ha ha. I suppose…” They reached their destination soon afterwards. Looming before them was a massive, ornate fortress carved of pitch-black rock. “That…that is a really big house for a Turaga.” “No joke. Not to mention dark and ominous.” “Maybe he’s in a bad mood (because of the hunger) and redecorated to match.” “…Yeah. That is definitely the most likely explanation.” “I’m glad you agree.” “Either way, how do we get in here?” “Try knocking.” “…yeah, okay.” A shaken-looking Turaga answered the door, though, at seeing the two Toa, his expression brightened. “Oh! The order has finally arrived. I was lucky. A few more minutes and I would have been in trouble. But by all means, come in, come in.” “Uh, greetings, wise elder. We don’t mean to intrude. We’re just here to deliver the order. We’ll be leaving, if that’s all.” The Turaga, deaf to their protests, ushered them in. “Oh, don’t say such silly things, come in!” “But…” The Turaga led them through a dark corridor, and at the end, they faced a grand door. “This is where you go.” “Sorry. I thought you ordered this?” “Huh? Oh, goodness, no. The order was for food for the Master. I’m just the aide.” “Hmm? So there’s another Turaga in here?” “Oh…sure. But do hurry, he’s been grumpy lately.” As the two entered the chamber, they noticed it was shrouded in total darkness. “Hey, what’s with the dark? We might bump into a chair or something.” Shutting the door, the Turaga apologized. “Oh do forgive my Master, great Toa. He’s been out of it for a bit now. It's the hunger. You see… …it’s been a while since we got a pair of fresh Toa around these parts.” Then there was the sound door being locked, and silence. ------------------------------------ Entry #4: "The Shadow’s Orders" It was another sunny day in the Po-Koro market, and Ahkmou stood at his stand, where he sold Comet Kohlii balls. They were currently the biggest hit in the village, because they were the best boulders to use in the stadium. But the good news about his sales was countered by the epidemic, which was spreading across the village. Matoran were falling ill, and nobody knew the cause. Nobody except for Ahkmou, and the news pleased him. “Weaken Po-Koro’s defenses,” the Shadows had said to him. “Make it so I can take the village. That is an order.” Ahkmou had allied with the Shadows long ago, due to his dislike of the Turaga and Matoran on Mata Nui. He had joined their civilization, but secretly plotted against them. He had waited years to finally take Turaga Onewa and the other Po-Matoran down a notch. And he had finally received his order. But while the Shadows desired a particular outcome, they were willing to let Ahkmou select the method. He had chosen to infect his fellow villagers with the Madness. With help from the Shadows, he had crafted the perfect Kohlii ball, which was balanced and lightweight. But the boulders were also tainted, due to them having been recovered from a Nui-Jaga’s nest. After using them for a period of time, a Matoran would fall ill, and then the Madness would set in. Already, members of the Po-Matoran guard were dropping like flies. Kohlii was such a popular sport that all the Po-Matoran played it, and now almost all of them had a Comet. Soon, they would all be too sick to properly defend the village. Ahkmou daydreamed of the near future, when his plans would come to completion. The affected Matoran would fall into Madness, one by one, and be no better than the infected Rahi who wandered the deserts. Some, like Turaga Onewa, would persist. He couldn’t sell a Comet to everybody, after all. He had even tried to pass one off to a Ta-Matoran wanderer, but the traveler had passed it up. But those who stayed sane wouldn’t be safe from Ahkmou’s vengeance. When the time was right, the Shadows would send the infected Rahi to attack the desert village, and with so few defenders left, Po-Koro would fall. Ahkmou had been told that the Rahi would spare him, and he relished the thought of watching a Nui-Jaga take down the tyrannical Turaga Onewa. And then he would be the last of the Po-Matoran. And he could begin plotting against the other villages in earnest. He already had ideas for how to destroy them, from flooding the tunnels of Onu-Koro to burning down the trees of Le-Koro. But before he could begin to get his revenge on all the Matoran on Mata-Nui, he would need to deliver Po-Koro to his master’s hands. That is what he had been ordered to do. The merchants around him started talking excitedly, shaking Ahkmou out of his daydreams. He overheard their discussion, and doubt quickly began to gnaw at him. The Ta-Matoran traveler, known as the Chronicler, had been seen heading for the Quarry, with a key in hand. Furthermore, Toa Pohatu had raced off after him, and rumor was that they had discovered the source of the epidemic. The Nui-Jaga nest where Ahkmou had collected the Kohlii balls was located in the Quarry, so that news was enough to make him nervous. But he had locked away the nest, so it was unlikely to be discovered. Yet as Ahkmou searched for his key, he realized that it was missing. Ahkmou retreated from his stand and searched his hut, but the key was not among his possessions. He was returning to the market when he happened to spot Turaga Onewa and two Ta-Matoran guards at his stand. That was the last straw; he now knew that his plan had been discovered. He didn’t know what had given it away, but now he had more important things to worry about. He needed to flee before the Turaga could apprehend him. His thoughts lingered on the Shadows, who had given him a direct order. But he had followed that, Ahkmou thought as he raced for the village’s gate. He had weakened the village’s defenses. He had followed his orders. Things had not gone exactly as planned, but he had tried his best. Hopefully the Shadows would be merciful to him as he retreated out into the desert. ------------------------------------ Entry #5: "Justice?" “Chaos is the law of nature; Order is the dream of man.” -Henry Adams The Le-Matoran watched as the grinning Vortixx and the stoic Ta-Toa clashed in combat. The Matoran knew his fate lay in the outcome of this battle, yet all he could do was hope and pray. His hands tightly clutched the stone that had caused this predicament. “I will gave you one last chance,” the Toa stated to the Vortixx, his voice noble and regal, “Back away from the Matoran and never speak of this encounter, otherwise I have no choice but to end you.” “Hah,” The Vortixx merely laughed in response, “We issuing threats now? What happened to the ridiculous motto of Toa don’t kill, or are you guys above that stuff now? Then again, I always did find that policy idiotic.” Even as he bantered, the battle continued to rage on: The Vortixx would leap in, his daggers locking with the Toa’s sword, the Toa would then try an elemental attack and the Vortixx would leap back. Eventually the Toa realized that the Vortixx was too fast for his elemental attacks and began focusing on weapon combat. “Do not speak of that which you cannot comprehend,” The Toa retorted back, as his blade blocked another attack from the Vortixx’s daggers. “Our outdated code restrained us from properly carrying out justice and ensuring order.” The Toa then stepped back, twisting his body away to allow his blade to swing towards the Vortixx’s side. The Vortixx, with only a moment to respond, swiftly pivoted on his foot, narrowly avoiding the attack. “What a load of Muaka dung,” the Vortixx responded as he darted in, his daggers aimed at the Toa’s stomach, only to be parried once more when the Toa slammed his massive sword into the ground. Then, taking advantage of the lull in the Vortixx’s assault the Toa smashed a gauntleted fist into the Vortixx’s jaw. Rolling away, the Vortixx spat out some blood and readied his daggers while the Toa ripped his sword from the ground. “Alright Toa,” the Vortixx snarled, “You want me to speak about what I can comprehend? Fine. What I comprehend is that your sense of Justice and Order can go to Karz.” The Vortixx stated before dashing in once more. At first it appeared his daggers were again aimed at the Toa’s gut, but when the Toa’s sword came down to intercept, the Vortixx sidestepped, swinging his daggers to the side of the Toa’s chest. Unfortunately the Toa and his Calix were faster, allowing him to masterfully swing around, rip his sword out and block the daggers. Their blades locked once more, the Vortixx continued speaking his mind. “What sort of Order requires you to kill a Matoran?” He demanded. “All I see is a bully afraid of the power that Matoran may acquire, you’re scared of a new Toa.” However, the Toa would have none of it and flames erupted from his blade to send the Vortixx flying back. The Vortixx collided with a tree next to the Le-Matoran with a sickening thud. He struggled to get up, but found only the Toa’s blade at his throat. “You understand nothing!” There was rage in the usually stoic Toa’s voice. “We do this because we must, a new Toa would upset the balance of power, order needs to be established. Without it the entire land would be plunged into chaos. How can you not see that this is our Duty?” The Vortixx only laughed bitterly, “Don’t feed me that nonsense. There’s no justification for the murder, no, genocide you commit upon your own people.” “Then this is your end.” The Toa responded as he hefted his blade in the sky before bringing it crashing down towards the Vortixx’s neck. “STOP IT!” A new voice begged in desperation, it was the voice of the Le-Matoran. “Kill me, but please let him go. He’s only protecting me, he’s done nothing wrong!” “I cannot do that,” the Toa began to reply only to be taken by surprise when the Vortixx seized the opportunity and tackled him. “Run kid!” He yelled before being skewered by the Toa’s blade. “Fool,” the Toa grimaced as he began to make his way towards the Matoran, never noticing the barely standing figure of the Vortixx. “Hey mate,” the Vortixx coughed out as he hefted one last throwing dagger, “I’ll see you in karz.” His dagger flew straight and true towards the Toa’s heart causing both beings to collapse. ------------------------------------ Entry #6: "Artahka's Hand" One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. That had always been the order. Fire. Water. Earth. Air. Stone. Ice. Tahu. Gali. Onua. Lewa. Pohatu. Kopaka. But before them was a different order, and before them was an even older order. Artahka's Hand. This is the story of an Order before all others... ------- Helryx rose her shield, blocking a strike from the sword of a Dark Hunter. She quickly struck back with her mace, sending the opponent over the edge and into the water. It was raining wickedly. His head went under and never came back up. But that wasn't Helryx's problem- she spun around and kicked out a Hunter's legs, sending him skidding across the wooden deck of the Hand's ship. As Hydraxon finished off a Hunter of his own, she slid down to her prey and grabbed ahold of his head. At first, he thought she was going to kill him. But no, he was too useful for that. She activated her mask, and instantly saw the inside of the ship he had come on. She looked up, nodded to Hydraxon, and saw him- The Shadowed One -standing there on the deck of the opposing ship. "Helmsman! Ram that ship!" The Matoran at the controls turned their vessel, ramming the entire thing into the starboard side of the Hunter's ship, creating cracks all through. Helryx, using the connection, leaped across, followed by Hydraxon. The two pointed their weapons at The Shadowed One, securing themselves against the railing. "You are under arrest by the authority of Artahka," Helryx called out. The large being laughed, and this laugh was the last thing Hydraxon saw. He was tossed into the water, sinking quicker and quicker. Helryx never saw him again after that. The Toa of water and the leader of the Dark Hunters clashed weapons, each formidable and strong. She blocked strikes with her shield, but he simply redirected the mace blows with his staff. Even then, Hand members were streaming over and fighting off Hunters as their leaders fought. But Helryx was downed in a few seconds, not by her opponent's blade, but by a Hunter from behind, slashing at her back. She fell, head hitting the ground with a loud noise. The Shadowed One stood over her, ready to kill. "You are declared dead, by the authority of-" PSSHHHHHHH A nova blast destroyed both boats instantly. Everyone was dead, it seemed, save for Helryx, who had forced the water away from herself, and the Shadowed One, whose method of survival was never clear. She awoke later to see Artahka and an incarnation of Mata Nui. "Helryx, we're going to need a new Order..." ------------------------------------ Entry #7: "Dark Days of the Glatoarian Order" My name is Toa Tahu. As the most powerful member of my Order, along with being one of the most experienced warriors and leaders among us, I was chosen as Head of the Order. I oversee all the doings of the Order around the globe of Spherus Magna, as well as being the personal guardian of New Atero. The Order also includes those who recently joined our ranks of elemental guardian warriors, the Glatorian, whose experience with their newfound powers does not yet match many of our own, though they are learning quickly. The one called Ackar is a trusted advisor of mine, while the exploits of Gresh have been most noble. Together we merged the Toa with the Glatorian into a single unit, the Glatoarian Order. I stand watch over New Atero and the entirety of the United Cities of Spherus Magna as the foremost guardian. During all my time here, the reign of peace has remained seldom unbroken. Very rare were the circumstances under which I was forced to exercise my Makuta-level of power. That is, until now. It all started when, after a century or two of peace, our imaginations turned to the stars. The peoples of our planet had solidified themselves into one united civilization, and we thought that if we could extend our reach to the stars, why not? So we invented machines and other devices that could transport us through the vacuums of space. Why, the Kanoka Disks of Interstellar Travel were a marvelous invention by our own Toa Nuparu, and from these we were able to forge Masks of Power with the same capabilities. It was soon after this that we discovered: We are not alone. Even within our limited reach were other civilized worlds capable of interstellar travel. This fact didn't perturb us at first, because we were quite confident by this time of our united strength and power. Oh, were we so proud. . . Fools, we were. Fools! Our ignorance is destroying us. Our First Contacts were nothing if not diplomatic and friendly, but as destiny would have it, the first race to which we extended the hand of peace spat in our face and prepared for war. They invaded us swiftly and decisively, without warning of any kind. Powerful as we were, these invaders brought powerful machines of their own. Complex, incredibly advanced technologies that made many of our own look like mere toys. I cannot describe to you the black anger that consumed my proud heart when I witnessed their preemptive and unprovocated strike, which brought much death and destruction. After the death of Teridax, so long ago, I had not suspected that we would ever come across beings not only as vile, but just as powerful. I suppose the long years of peace had dulled my imagination. In response I marshaled our own forces and fought back in a terrific battle. In our pride we still thought that victory would be assured. What fools we were. . . We were decimated. The memory still brings me great pain. I alone survived that day, and not because I was trying to. From there I returned to Spherus Magna and did what I could to strengthen our defenses, even during the chaos of invasion. I was forced to watch as the Order crumbled around me. Toa were slain by the thousands, and the Glatorian by the tens of thousands. From then on our pride was shattered and we strove in desperate fear to repel the invaders. New Atero was destroyed and much of the Order forced into hiding. We have been a Rebellion ever since, striking on occasion and simply trying to help our people survive. The invaders have not destroyed our people, but rule over them as dictators. They remind me so of Teridax. But I swear, by all my power, that even if it means my death, I WILL see Spherus Magna free again. Mata Nui, I know I promised you rest, but the power of the Mask of Life must be called into action once again if we are to survive. My name is Toa Tahu, and I watch in agony as my beloved Order crumbles around me. ------------------------------------ Entry #8: "The Disorderly Orderlies" Two axes rested on a table, one beside the other. To the right was a respectable looking round shield, and to the left a zamour sphere launcher. These were the weapons and defences of Mal and Sordak, two members of the Order, who sat just in front of the table. Behind the table was an empty chair, hard and straight backed so as not to provide any incentive to slouch. The chair was empty, as it was not yet time for its owner to enter the room; she had said that she would enter at a quarter after, and she was not one to go back on her word. It wasn't a matter of the immorality of lying; this Toa was not faint hearted, nor was she moral without reason; it was the simple fact that a lie can cause havoc, confusion, and disorder - likely the worst facets of existence, in her opinion. At precisely one quarter past, the Sordak and Mal were not in the least surprised to see Helryx; they were, however, extremely disappointed that they had not been able to arrange their weapons and defenses in a proper manner before her entry. Now it was their duty to themselves to pray to the one they were sworn to serve that Helryx was in a good mood. They hastily did so as they rose in perfect, practiced unison to welcome their leader. The Toa of Water flowed smoothly around the desk, and sat in her chair, relishing the structure that it leant to her back. Just as her mind began to obey her commands to order, her eyes fell upon the horrid pile of vile weaponry that scarred her desk. She rose at once, though still maintaining her air of discipline. Immediately the two orderlies of the Order followed suite, each wondering why the Toa before them was of water, which was surely a very disorderly yet calm element, and not at all suited to her personality. Soon, however, they came to understand that no element could be quite as ferocious as water, and as such perhaps it was the perfect element for her personality. Shortly thereafter they found themselves in the briefing hall, awaiting their leader. Whispered conversations were hushed as the doors parted, and in walked Helryx, with a cold air that would put of Toa of Ice to shame. “Today I feel it important to share with you the importance of law and order; from the simple task of aligning one’s equipment to the care of a land, our organization has sworn to bring order to the chaos that creeps throughout the lands, threatening the Great Spirit Mata Nui.” Her eyes swept the crowd as she spoke, and every member with any sense cowered beneath her gaze. “In order that we carry out our duties, we must be inwardly organized. This begins with your lifestyle and discipline, which allow us to enforce important routines, bringing us together into a strong agency, with its feet planted firmly in the ground, rooted against the winds of change. Without structure we are useless at our jobs; we would have failed at every victory, been reduced to scattered vagabonds. One way to organize one’s life would, for example, be to respect authority and align axes in a perpendicular fashion...” soon her words were drowned out in a sea of thoughts. Every member of the Order secretly cursed those two orderlies, who surely must have been the root cause of this wearisome lecture; now they could expect for rules to be upheld with more vehemence than ever! And to say nothing of their leader’s mood. ------------------------------------ Entry #9: "The Law of the Jungle" Nui-Kao: the Great Tree, its topmost branches reaching to heights in the sky no Le-Koro treehouse could dream of. There was no bigger tree in all Mata Nui, none even came close. The canopied roof of the jungle spread out far below, like a sea of green, disheveled and wrinkled, rippling in the whistling winds. In odd places a family of colorful Kewa or playful Brakas breached. That was my home. The most Mangaian abysses of the jungle, where no Matoran foot had ever dared to tread. I only ever shared it with the trees, the Rahi, the wind and the rain--and Hahli. My companion and I sat alone on the highest branch of the Nui-Kao; it was our private cloud, floating us over the vivid colors of the sea below. "You know the sea, Hahli," I said. "I know the jungle. But they're not that different. Look out over the ocean and you'll see dangerous enigmas and inconceivable wonders. It seems like chaos, but when you get closer, you realize it's nothing but an order you don't fully understand. "I am the jungle. I feel every tree, every stone, every Rahi; all speak to me, and form a unity that I can't describe. I know the whisper of the wind through every tree in this jungle, I've seen the sunset on every leaf, I've smelled every flower, growing between the lowest roots in winter, or blossoming in the springtime sun above the highest stem in all the jungle. It's all different, it's all unique, and none of it's ever the same. But somehow, every day it all blends together to make a new order that I've never seen before. "The rain comes, and waters the jungle; new plants grow; Rahi eat the plants; Rahi die; the plants and earth absorb their bodies; the plants dry up, and the water returns to the sky, where it's taken away until the next rain comes. The only jungle law is that everything must go on. It's not even about survival. It's about the survival of the whole jungle. "It's life. And death. Plants die, Rahi die, only to be reborn, or replaced. Someday, I'll die. I'll be replaced. There must always be balance. The jungle is balance, and it's chaos. It's light and dark, good and evil, joy and woe, hope and despair, strength and weakness. It's awe-inspiring, and at the same time it's pathetic. It's planned to every finest detail, it's just--just everything, Hahli--but--but it's not--" I shook my head. "It's just always been there, to me. It was all I had ever known, nothing particularly special; but then you came here, and saw it with fresh eyes. I showed you the beauty of the way it all comes together in one perfect, eternally perfect order. And suddenly, I could see it, too. You made me see that." Soon the sun began to set. This was the most magical time of all, and it was always Hahli's favorite. The sun would disappear; the gilden greens would fade into bronzes and blacks; the jungle’s bird-chorus would sing a lullaby so sweet, so perfect, it would take Hahli’s breath away; and then she would lean on me, sighing contentedly, and I would wrap my arm around her. "Nothing," I said, as the last sunlight died, "nothing ever made me as happy as the moments when we would sit here like this. "It's beautiful today. I've never seen it prettier. I only wish you could be here to see it too, Hahli . . ." My companion let out a screech, chittered throatily, and brakiated away down amidst the branches. I watched the Brakas until it disappeared, then turned my deformed face north-eastward, casting my mind toward Ga-Koro. "I wish I could see it. No--I wish I could see you. Hahli--without you this jungle, all this glorious beauty--has become nothing. It's lost the magic you showed me it had. I can't see it anymore! It's lost any meaning--even the order I once reveled in, taking it for granted, is gone. No matter how hard I look, it doesn't make any sense any more. Nothing--nothing makes sense anymore." I raised my face to the stars. I loved seeing them best; they reminded me of the twinkle in her eyes. "Without, you, Hahli, the jungle is a troubled sea of confusion and chaos. And . . . I am the jungle." ------------------------------------ Entry #10: "In Which Artakha Almost Gets Me Killed, Multiple Times" Screw Artakha. I hate that guy. Man, most of the people in this universe don’t even think he exists. Spirit knows how bad I wish they were right. Dude has an insane superiority complex; thinks he can boss us around, do whatever he wants, just because the Great Beings made him out to be some kind of god-figure. Which, by the way, he’s not. OOOOOOH, look at me, I’m Artakha! I can use telepathy that’s a little bit stronger than anybody else’s! I can teleport anywhere, not just to places I can see! Yeah, sure, he builds cool stuff. Seriously, though, who cares? Give me a mask that shows me exactly how to make whatever I want and I’ll do the same thing! So basically his powers are being a little bit better at reading minds and at getting places than most people are, and he can wear a mask. Amazing. Seriously, this guy is infuriating to work for. Like— Okay, I could rant on and on about this, but I’ll just give you an example: the crystal serpents. Ol’ Arty thinks he can make rahi all by himself. Guess what, he can’t. Creates these giant crystal snakes that kill anything that moves with some heat ray thing. But of course he’s too conceited to admit he failed and decides to – instead of killing ‘em off before they murder anyone else – release the things into the wild where they can laser anybody they like! And since he’s too busy designing (read: copying a design from his mask of) some upgraded kanohi thing, he tells me to take them out and set them free. And then, a couple centuries later, when he’s getting worried that “Northie” (as he calls the one that lives on the north coast of the island) is sick or something because there haven’t been any reports of laser-induced death from the north in a while, guess what he does? He figures that I should go check on him, since I was so good at not getting melted by heat rays the first time he had me deal with them. Yeah, so, after the thing ambushed me and lasered my left arm off is when I called it quits. Just triggered my Kualsi – what do you know, I can teleport too – and landed behind the thing and crushed its head in with my warhammer before it had any idea where I’d gone. Stole a boat, ditched the island, blah blah blah. Got the Ghosts to build me a new arm – those guys are so much better than Artakha, seriously, their craftsmanship is almost as good and they’re actually reasonable, imagine that. Settled down in the Southern Islands, found people there who actually appreciated my skills and whatnot. Started up a good business building stuff that a mask didn’t churn out the blueprints for. ‘Cept then yesterday some guy in a Sanok comes knocking on my door and tries to put a dagger through my heart. Artakha’s behind this somehow, that piraka. No way to prove it, of course, but… Spirit. Met up with one of my old contacts, a merchant with his ear to the ground. Says the guy after me’s with the Order. I know Arty had some dealings with them a while back, but why he wouldn’t have just gone with the Hunters if he wanted me gone is beyond me… Eh, it doesn’t matter. Either way I’m probably dead. Screw Artakha. I hate that guy. ------------------------------------ Entry #11: "Execution" “We have our orders, Krika. Teridax specifically asked us to execute Miserix. And you know how much Teridax hates being disobeyed.” For the first time, Krika didn't see holes in Spiriah's logic. Teridax, newly elected leader of the Brotherhood, wasted no time in executing his Plan. Of course, he was bound to assign a few Makuta to perform The Order. The Order, as any organization knows, is the execution of a deposed leader. And so Krika found himself with Spiriah, a Makuta who would better have served as a Matoran, weak and cowering. Their escort was Makuta Miserix, former leader of the Brotherhood of Makuta, currently a shackled denizen of the Fortress's dungeon. “Look, Spiriah. I agree, Teridax would vaporize us on sight if we let Miserix go. But if you have any sense in yourself, you'll know that Miserix was right: Teridax's plan could destroy the universe. I don't want to kill our former, and in my opinion better, leader.” “Could, not will. It's a mere word, but it makes all the difference, Krika. His Plan aside, we've already established he will kill us if we let Miserix off. And not just kill, he'll...well, you know.” As if to punctuate the point, Spiriah mock-slit his throat. “I'd rather not let that happen.” “Spiriah, I...” Krika paused, reorganizing his thoughts. “I was thinking we'd 'dispose' of him, but not actually kill him. Say we hid him somewhere far away. I mean, it would technically dispose of him.” Spiriah huffed. Arrogant as ever. Shame he didn't have anything to back it. “Krika, I think you're too attached to Miserix. Say Teridax found that out, what would he do? Maybe you're a detriment to the Plan? He wouldn't like that...” Krika figured out this was going nowhere. “Don't dare doubt my loyalty to Teridax. While his Plan may be suicidal, his intellect is not. We'll discuss this tomorrow.” The meeting of two adjourned. -------- In the dark of night, as every Makuta either slumbered in their quarters or concocted in their labs, Krika stole to the dungeon. Once inside, he moved straight to Miserix's cell. The sight that met him wasn't pretty. Draining cuffs sap the wearer of their powers, and Miserix was no exception. He was bound with a pair around his wrists. The former leader was sitting with his head down, no doubt aware of Krika's presence. “Miserix, it's time to go.” “Well, if it isn't my personal executioner. Weren't there two of you? Or did Spiriah's incompetence get him kicked from this most important of honors?” “Miserix, it's time to go.” Krika repeated himself. The former leader, under the impression that this was truly the end, went into a passive state. He let Krika guide him out of the dungeon and to the execution site. Then Krika did something no one would have expected: he shattered Miserix's shackles. Miserix, taken aback by this sudden action, said the word most appropriate for the situation. “Why?” “Hurry up and turn into a dragon. Fly us to this island.” Krika pointed to a map, lit only by a small flashlight he'd brought along. Miserix complied, and in less than a minute they were on their way. “I repeat, why? I understand you're the most reasonable of those fools that dare call themselves Makuta of the Brotherhood, but the answer still escapes me.” “It's simple, Miserix: you're a leader I would follow, not Teridax. We're going to a volcanic island, where you will be chained with draining cuffs. Rahi will stand guard, and you will be a prisoner yet again.” “So you're simply moving me from one prison to another?” “Miserix, this isn't a prison, it's a test. Someday, when you're powerful, you'll break out of your chains to take back the Brotherhood. And besides, we both know your rage requires culling. This isn't the right time for a rebellion.” Miserix sighed, then nodded. “Krika, sometimes I wonder why I didn't make you my lieutenant.” -------- “Well? Where's Miserix?” Spiriah was furious. This was the execution deadline, and a missing Miserix meant absolute death. “I killed him, Spiriah. He's dead. I didn't want to waste my day setting up the equipment and all. Our work is over. Report that to Teridax.” Spiriah, still grumbling, walked away to deliver the news. Krika smiled. The Order had been averted. Teridax wasn't the only one who could formulate masterful plans. ------------------------------------ Entry #12: "Change" Vakama sighed, looking out over the island below him. He stood high on the slopes of the Mangai Volcano.It was from here he had first planned Ta-Koro, a fortress amid the lava. Now he saw the bustle of working Ta-Matoran, and the slowly forming outlines of walls.He smiled for a moment at their work. But then another picture rose up before his eyes - Ta-Metru, glowing not with flowing lava but the controlled fires of the forges, with the Great Furnace and the massive protodermis plants - and he sighed, leaning more heavily on his staff."Mata Nui," he whispered. "Why did this have to happen?"Three months ago, I was a Matoran. We had Metru Nui - we were a people of crafters, scholars, scientists. Dume was the Turaga and the Mangai were our Toa. Life was right. It was the proper order of things.And then it was all destroyed. The Mangai are dead, the Turaga has left us, our city is a heap of rubble we cannot return to. Everything and everyone that defined our way of life are gone!Now look at us. We six are the Turaga. Our friends and co-workers - our superiors, some of them - look up to us as the wise ones, the guides. I went from a maskmaker to an elder with his prime behind him in less than a month.There are no Toa at all here now, no protectors. We are alone and undefended.And we who once belonged to a great city are now trying to carve out a living in a savage wilderness. The Matoran of Metru Nui are degenerated intomalformed farmers and miners and trappers!He stared at the island below with angry eyes, seeing only the glories of Metru Nui. "Why, Mata Nui?" he said between clenched teeth. "WHY?""Turaga!" a cheerful voice called from below, interrupting his black thoughts.He looked down again. Directly below him was a small red-and-yellow figure, with a distinctive light-blue Pakari.Of course. Vakama rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "Do you have an actual reason to be here, Takua, or were you just looking for an excuse to avoid work?""Umm...a little of both?" Takua glanced away. "Jala wanted to ask you something about construction...""So you took off up here without bothering to check if he actually wanted you to ask me?""It's just so...boring lugging rocks, Turaga!" He paused. "But how did you know?""Because I'm your Turaga." Because I've known you for fifty-nine thousand years. He supposed that was one advantage. He knew every inhabitant of Ta-Koro, if only slightly."Should I assume you also neglected to find out what exactly Jala's question was?" Vakama shook his head, but couldn't help smiling. "Never mind, I should go back down anyway. Just try to stick to your work after this."He nodded soberly. "I'll try, Turaga."Vakama lingered a moment, wondering what to do about Takua. He did mean well, but it was too much to hope his work ethic would improve now. How would Turaga Dume have handled him? he wondered. By siccing the Nuurakh on him and shutting down his mind, his brain replied.He realized suddenly how grateful he was that this island had no Vahki. Surrender or Run seemed better suited to Makuta than to the leader of the Matoran.He supposed Dume had seen no other way to keep the thousand Matoran under him orderly and efficient. And it wasn't as if he had had any personal exposure to the Vahki's enforcement techniques.But here, Vakama thought, maybe here, we can all work together. Maybe he'd been too caught up in nostalgic memories of Metru Nui to realize the bright sides of their new life.Maybe he needed an unbiased perspective.He turned back to Takua. "Takua," he asked, "what do you think of the island?"His face lit up. "It's amazing!" he said enthusiastically. "Actually, it's probably too amazing - I just want to explore all the time." And he grinned at his Turaga in a way he never would have dared to with Dume.Vakama smiled, looking out again. Now he saw beauty as well as wildness. The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfills himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. ------------------------------------

@ Sinclair ~ Yeah, I've heard the same. I'm hoping I'll be able to read it at a time when the beginning doesn't bother me too much so I can get to the more interesting parts. =P @ Ballom ~ Yes, definitely! That would fall under the "many more (classics) that I'm blanking on." =P Definitely plan to read that some day. @ Sumiki ~ Eh, these are books I actually want to read. =P

@ The Lonesome Wanderer ~ That is definitely near the top of my "to-read" list, as I've heard many great things about it. @ Lyichir ~ Ah, yes, that's another book I must check out soon! I've heard so many amazing things about it already, and just about Neil Gaiman in general. Planning to read American Gods first, though. Thanks for the GN recommendations! I've been recommended Sandman more than I can count, and I know how Watchmen is another of those "must-reads." Can't say I've heard of the other ones, but they sound interesting and I'll have to give 'em a shot. @ V1P2 ~ Nice! I've been meaning to give the Wicked books a read at some point. Definitely agreed with how impressive Tolkien is. @ Kraggh ~ My main response to your post: ... =P But I'll have to check out some of those other things you mentioned. Sounds like you've been reading some awesome things. @ Ben ~ Yeah, that's just yet another thing I love about Nolan's version. =P I have The Prestige DVD, and there's a short making of where Priest is actually one of the commentators, so it was really cool to see some things he had to say. It's always awesome when authors are happy with their film remakes.

So I'm not completely sure why I waited to do this (probably to wait until the Flash Fiction Marathon is over), but there's no harm in doing it now: It's my pleasure to officially announce that the second Ambage anthology is now on sale! Constellations an Ambage Anthology of Science Fiction (amazing artwork by 55555) Buy it from: Createspace Amazon If at all possible, we definitely do prefer you purchase it from Createspace, as that way it supports the Ambage, whereas buying it from Amazon only supports Amazon. =P Either way, we hope you purchase it at the incredibly low price of under $7 and enjoy the 30-odd science fiction short stories written by your fellow BZPower members! Note: The price was set at the lowest price possible, giving us none or very little profit depending on where you buy it -- we're not looking for profit here, all we want is for people to buy it, read it, and enjoy it.

Theme #8: Glass Any interpretation is valid. Remember that this is an OTC theme, and your story must comply with the contest rules.Deadline: July 5th, 11:59 PM PST. Also: The Mask Polls have been posted! Please vote!

Vote here for your favorite The Mask story; entries have been randomized. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on July 5th at 11:59 PM EST. Entries that do well will move on to The Mask Final Poll, which will be posted at the conclusion of the 10th round preliminary poll. Choice #1: The monotonous drone of marching sentries fills the air. I crouch in a dark corner as I wait for them to pass. Not impatiently, no, I cannot afford impatience. A little haste and the whole operation could be ruined. Perhaps I should introduce myself. I’m a spy and saboteur. My name is not important and you don’t need to know my affiliations. All you need to know is that this base contains the deadliest weapon in the enemy’s arsenal and we need to blow it sky high. If we can do that, this cold war will finally be at an end, the Antarctic will be restored to its natural beauty and the world will be saved. You know the drill. It’s a tricky job. The sentries here shoot on sight and their weapons are specially modified lasers, designed to first freeze and after a few shots, kill. And if I get rustled out, my team has no chance. Yeah, I have a team. No, I don’t need to mention where the rest of them are. Being a spy is complicated. You constantly have to maintain a mask behind which you hide your emotions, your ambitions - your very personality. As the leader, you cannot show the slightest doubt to your teammates, who rely on your judgment. You have to be perfectly impassive and suppress any internal turmoil when you do what’s necessary. Fortunately, most agencies prefer their operatives to stun rather than kill. Equally efficient and fewer legal ramifications. Quickly, I shoot the two sentries in my path, leaving them frozen for five minutes. I advance towards the inner chambers, creeping from shadows like a lynx stalking its prey. The door has a clever mechanism. It requires another operative in a separate location to operate a switch, which in turn can only be accessed by the cooperation of two other agents. All of whom are in danger of being detected by guards who will trap them and sound the alarm. That’s why they choose us. We’re one of the most trained and cohesive teams in the agency. We’ve been working together for over ten years, well before this war even began. My agents are stationed right where they should be, so well-disciplined it’s like our team has a hive mind. I barely need to use the radio to signal Radia. There, you see? She’s got the door. The epitome of a well-trained operative. Silently, I slink forward and am about to finish wiring the explosives when- “Go Dash! Wooohoo, we finished the game!” Where on earth did that come from? I look up at the ceiling and then straight out, at the wall opposite. No, I don’t believe it. I, Dash, leader of the Alpha team, cannot be made a fool of like this. This entire set-up, the fortress, the mission – it’s all an illusion, a form of entertainment for these untrained youth. My actions and this scenario form the veneer, the professional mask of espionage for a simple action computer game. Spy games evidently hold considerable glamour. There are two children on a computer, treating me as a simple puppet. They tug their controls like a marionette’s strings. Whatever happened to free will? Helplessly, to my immense frustration, I wire the detonator and leave the room. Safely outside of the fortress, I hit the button. Kaboom. The fortress is gone, the Artic is safe and two children have won their video game. And all that it took was my disillusioned dignity. ---------------------------------- Choice #2: "Dr. Acula" I halted before the entrance to the dentist's office. I don't know, something about it just gave me the creeps. Maybe it was the old and rickety-looking wooden door, maybe it was the little cracks in the window-glass, or even the faint, eerie light that emanated from within. Something just didn't feel quite right. Dr. Acula had just recently arrived in town. He came from a European country, I had forgotten which, but the reputation he had brought with him was phenomenal. People had been flocking to see him during the short few weeks that he had been here, and people were always ranting about the fantastic work he did. Thus despite my trepidations, I boldly stepped forward and through the door. If I had been a little spooked before, now I was downright nervous. Cobwebs hung from every corner of the room, and all the furniture was of an old Victorian-style, while the light I had seen from before came from from various candles around the room. There weren't any electric devices of any kind, as far as I could tell. On one side was a door, which assumably led to the operating room. To one side sat a receptionist behind a desk. I must admit I found it strange to see that instead of a computer, a long piece of parchment sat before her, along with a quill pen and ink bottle. Her physical appearance seemed normal enough, her clothes seemed respectable and all, and she wore a nice pair of glasses. But did I only imagine that she looked a little pale? It was hard enough to see clearly by the candle-light, much less through the obscurity of recollected memory. "You have an appointment?" she asked with a smile. Her voice bore a heavy accent, though I couldn't quite identify it. Dutch? Bulgarian? "Y-yes," I replied. Something about the way she was smiling at me put me off a bit. "My name is Norville." "Norville. . . Ah, yes, here ve are." She nodded to me and then directed me to a couch. "The doctor shall be with you shortly." I hesitated for a moment, my eyes darting unwarrented towards the door, before I obediently retreated to the indicated seat. It was old and uncomfortably soft, and a spring stuck into me, but whether by good manners or something else I didn't complain. As I sat, I continued to find my eyes darting intermittently towards the door, almost without my consent and awareness. When the door of the inner room finally opened, I must admit that I jumped. "Vell vell, our next victim has arrived?" As the man entered the room, I finally recognized the accent. It was Transylvanian. He stood tall but thin, and had a somewhat antiquated taste in clothing. The black pants and the jacket with its tails; the stiff, clean undershirt; the ruffed collar; and the high society shoes completed an outfit that I felt would look quite at home in a museum exhibit. Although I had to admit that it fit the atmosphere. But strangest of all was his face. The high cheek bones and wrinkled forehead looked almost unnatural, somehow. It looked a bit stiff and artificial, to be completely honest. I also imagined that his hairstylist must be very well-paid, to put up with a man who wanted such an elegant and triangular cut, not to mention how much work and hair-gel must have been involved. Somehow I managed to find enough of my voice to offer a greeting and extend a hand. "Dr. Acula, I am here for my appointment. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir." Somehow I felt obligated to apply my highest manners. It was when he shook my hand that I got a close look at his eyes. Strong and penetrating, and was it just my imagination that made them look a little bloodshot? I hoped so. "Yes," he replied. "Vell, the public will exaggerate. They vere probably 'under my spell' as it vere." With that he laughed, and the receptionist and I laughed with him, although after a moment I wasn't sure if I was laughing or crying. As he led me into the operating room, I couldn't help but notice a small sliver of white skin on the back of his neck, as if the outer skin had been cut through to reveal a different skin underneath. In that moment I wondered what in the world I had gotten myself in for. ---------------------------------- Choice #3: "A Vigilante’s Mask" Some call me a vigilante. By one definition of the word, they’re right. I seek out those who choose to break the rules, and I punish them accordingly. Only I do it outside the law. Nobody knows who I am. Most of my victims are in no state to identify me when I’m finished with them. Few witnesses ever get more than a passing glance at me before I’m gone. The police search for me, in addition to those I hunt, but they don’t even know where to look. But, most of all, nobody knows who I am because I wear the mask. It’s a simple, featureless mask. Its sole purpose is to hide my facial features, and disguise my true identity. I made it with my own two hands, and I wear it when I embark on my missions. It is the mask I hide behind when I fight evil. Oh, but don’t think of me as a hero. I am not wearing the mask to become some sort of symbol. There are criminals who know who I am, and others who do not. Some fear me, and some underestimate my abilities. None of them escape my wrath. The mask is not a means of protection either, for myself or those close to me. I did not start my fight because a loved one was killed by the gangs who roam the street. My relatives live far away, and I am not close to them at all. I have no true friends or acquaintances. I was already a loner, and I have nobody to shield from the evils of humanity. The mask doesn’t offer me any powers, any special abilities, any edge for a fight. The mask itself is barely important; it is my fists and knives that take down criminals. The mask has one simple purpose; it hides my identity. But why must I hide my identity? I’m not hiding it from those I punish for breaking the law; I’m hiding it from the law itself. Why am I hiding my actions from the law? Why am I fighting crime in the first place? Why have I embarked on a journey of vigilantism with this mask? It’s not for some personal grudge or revenge. It’s not for some perfect ideal of right and wrong. It’s because I like to fight. It’s the thrill of the conflict. It’s the pain I cause to those who deserve it. I realize it’s not a healthy reason. It’s an adrenaline addiction; a crave I cannot help but give into. My morals are too important to me to take out my lust for battle on the innocent, so I do not engage in crime directly. But to join the police or the military stifles my actions and would not be enough. So I take matters into my own hands; I’ve found my own way to satisfy my needs, by fighting fire with fire in the darkest regions of the city. I hide behind my mask, because it is the only way society will accept me for who I am. ---------------------------------- Choice #4: "The Jester" I wear this mask to hide my name, Cover my face, cover my shame. This painted grin, burden it's been; A laughing glance, cover my pain. I laugh and dance, I joke, I sing, For peasant low, for queen, for king; I make you smile, and all the while, Deep in my heart, my soul crying. I show the world a merry face, I spread good cheer all round the place: Ever after, behind my laughter, Behind this mask, sulks sad disgrace. Long years ago, I had nothing, No paint, no lies to force a grin; I walked for miles, wore joyous smiles, Now that's all lost, slain by my sin. Who knew a chain could be so weak? One small blunder, my joy could take? Hard to believe, that I should grieve, For all this time, for one mistake. One word let slip invokes a curse. A desperate try tightens the noose. For the stars sailing, all else failing, All demons, worms, and fears let loose. Buried beneath earth damp and cold, Those eyes once bright, that heart once bold: The remnants of my long-lost love; Now laid to rest like pirate's gold. Of joy and grief I've been bereft, A hopeless void, an empty cleft. I've danced and twirled, made laugh the world, But in my heart there's nothing left. I wear this mask to hide my tears. The sun is gone, shadows are here: This painted grin, burden it's been; My sad heart can still offer cheer. I wear this mask to play a fool: A puppet and a broken tool . . . Though I am dead, joy I can spread; And make this world less dark, less cruel. ----------------------------------

Vote here for your favorite The Mask story; entries have been randomized. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on July 5th at 11:59 PM EST. Entries that do well will move on to The Mask Final Poll, which will be posted at the conclusion of the 10th round preliminary poll. Choice #1: "Masks of a Sith" Kleskizhae took deep breaths as he put on his helmet, preparing for the coming battle. “Why do you wear that mask?” Aeziya, his Twi’lek lover asked him. The voculator of his mask gave him what he thought was an intimidating monotone. “Don’t want anyone to ruin this pretty face.” She snorted. “Right, what a shame that’d be. Bigger shame you have to hide it.” There was a fine line between sarcasm and a compliment in there. That’s what Kleskizhae liked about her. She was always willing to speak her mind. She hid behind no masks. She gave him a kiss on the cheek of his helmet as they leaped down to the landing zone, with Kleskizhae’s red lightsaber blazing and Aeziya’s pistols ready and aimed. The battlefield was almost empty, they had come for clean up after a larger battle, to make sure that the Jedi Master leading the attack on Ilum was dead, and there were few better Jedi killers than Darth Kleskizhae and the infamous mercenary, Aeziya. Master Illius was a Miraluka, and a veteran of many battles. She’d been on the Empire’s most wanted list since the Battle of Balmorra, and in numerous battles since then, had won victory for the Republic. That was unacceptable. She had to be eliminated. The battlefield was a mass of bodies, unidentifiable save for the white armor of the Republic, the black armor of the Empire, the brown robes of the Jedi and the black robes of the Sith. But Kleskizhae sensed that a powerful presence in the Force still lingered. Illius stood over the body of a Jedi, one of her comrades, and the body of a Sith, who presumably was the one who killed the Jedi. Kleskizhae pointed his lightsaber at her, getting into stance to prepare to strike. “One last chance, Illius. Surrender or be destroyed.” She smiled without looking up. “Not often a Sith offers a chance at mercy. What would happen to me if I surrendered, I wonder, what would happen to me? Would you send me to Imperial Intelligence? Would you try to break me?” She looked up at him. “You’re an odd one. I can see it in every swirl of your aura. You try to mask it, but the Light is with you.” “Nonsense,” Kleskizhae spat. “I’m a Sith.” “There’s more to this than Sith and Jedi. This is a battle of balance in the Force. I’d like to counter your offer. You can take off that mask and come with me, where you will be safe. Those with compassion don’t last long in the Empire.” “So that you’d have me murdered? Or worse, made a Jedi? Aeziya, let’s kill this Jedi and be done with it.” Aeziya smiled. “Taking out chatty Jedi? Always a pleasure.” “Fine then,” she said, drawing her green lightsaber. “Someday that mask will come off, and I won’t be able to help you then. I only hope that I will be the only one who can see your true self.” She was injured, and despite her power, she was no match for one of the Empire’s best lightsabers, much less the Empire’s best shot. After the battle, Kleskizhae took off his helmet and sighed. “Something wrong?” Aeziya said, placing her hand on his now exposed face. “We killed a Jedi, we get paid. You don’t actually believe her, do you?” “I . . . I don’t know. They say Miraluka can see your alignment in the Force, attunement to the Light or the Dark side of the Force. You don’t suppose I use the Light side like a Jedi?” “That’s a bunch of nonsense and you know it. Light side, dark side, who cares? I wouldn’t be with you if you were a typical Sith. And I’d definitely never be with you if you were a Jedi. All that matters is that we’re alive and she isn’t.” Kleskizhae smiled. “I suppose you’re right.” But inside he worried. She didn’t understand Sith politics, not the way he did. There were days when he felt like he was wearing more masks with his fellow Sith than he did on the battlefield. And they served the same purpose. Protection. Survival. Saving his pretty, pretty face. ---------------------------------- Choice #2: "Halloween" Halloween, fifteen years oldSitting on my bed, staring at the plastic mask in my hand, picked it up from the dollar a few hours agoTrying to decide, you know, whether I’m too old for thisTrick-or-treating and allI mean, I’m fifteen years oldToo much, rightWell maybe, not like there’s any set rules for this or anythingFlip the mask over, rub my thumb on one of the creasesIt’s Iron ManBecauseThe truth isI am Iron ManHaha that line is so greatTony Stark is best AvengerHahaLook over at the rest of my stuffDark red shirt and pants, got ‘em cheapBottle of gold paint, for if I decide to do this, actuallyAnd some light blue, tooObviouslyLook at the mask againI mean most people I know are just staying homePassing out candySome are going out, sureBut they’re all going with a bunch of peopleFriendsAll planned out and everythingNo one invited me to do anythingSoI guess I’ll justStay here butLikeIt doesn’t seem rightSomehowI’ve been doing thisTrick-or-treating, I meanAs long as I’ve been aliveSo to justStopIsWeird, I guessKnock on my doorIt’s my mom“Are you going”“Dunno yet”“You should decide soon”Yeah, I knowLook back downIron Man’s eye sockets stare backEmptySoullessWell no duhHe’s a maskSo should I go orHmThink of last year and the few before thatHouse on the end of the street gives out full-size SnickersAnd I meanUsually there’s plenty of Crunch bars to go aroundThings are amazingYou like, can’t get those anywhere anymoreExcept that one drugstore I never go toButStillAnother knockLittle sister“You going”Look at Iron Man again“Dunno”“Please”Back to Iron ManTip the mask a littleHe smiles a littleSort of, if you squint“Yeah whatever”Screw it, I’m goingAnd by God I’m gonna have fun with it ---------------------------------- Choice #3: "Truth Behind Lies" When you think of the word “mask,” you’re more often than not thinking of an object to be worn on your face. Whether for protection, for veiling, or even for the purpose of being annoying, more often than not we conjure up images of these faces on top of our faces. When you think of those masks, you’re thinking of the kind we see every now and then. Every day, we walk around other people, each one wearing a mask of his or her own. We’re all filled with lies and secrets, with horrors and terrors, with things we’d rather not reveal to the outside world. Our masks never truly come off. Oh, we’ll carve slits for eyes and noses, maybe a few cuts here and there to unveil some things. Best friends, lovers, and family are often allowed access to these areas, but as with a real mask, you can’t really determine someone’s identity just by looking through one or two holes. No matter how hard we try, no matter how much strength we believe we have, we will never take off the masks we don. We will never unmask our true selves, the selves that are who we really are. We never come out in the open, we don’t dare reveal ourselves. What the world sees is a boy wearing a mask, a girl wearing a mask, a man wearing a mask, a woman wearing a mask. All we do is fake, all we see is fake, and all we share is fake. We’re never real. Nothing we do, nothing we see, nothing we share is real. All of it is a lie, some way or another. We lie with our masks, too afraid to unveil the sinister truths hidden behind them. So it’s really a simple question, then: who can you trust in this world where everyone wears a mask, but no one dares take it off? ---------------------------------- Choice #4: "Simple" It’s really quite simple. More than anything else, people fear what they don’t understand. Everyone hates not knowing. Everyone wants to feel like they’re in control, like they know why everything happens, what everyone else thinks, why everyone else thinks what they think. What they don’t understand, they rationalize away in simple terms. Everything has an explanation. Everything is perfectly rational when you give it some thought, really. So why do I do what I do? It’s perfectly simple, perfectly rational, when you give it some thought. Surely I was traumatized as a child. Surely I witnessed some heinous act of violence, from which I could not recover. Surely I come from a terrible, abusive family situation. Surely I’ve suffered countless losses. Surely I am a victim in some way, and I only lash out because I’m lonely and lost. Surely, beneath this mask of violence and joyful hatred, I am a perfectly nice person. Perfectly rational. Perfectly simple. Just one of many, a victim of circumstance. And it’s true. So long as it’s convenient, they are right. I only mask my inner, placid, peaceful self out of fear and desperation. My mask is not physical, but a fabricated feeling of loathing, a false, if overwhelming, desire to see every last thing in ruins and every last person in pieces. But, it’s perfectly rational. It’s perfectly simple, when you think about it. It isn’t my fault. I don’t want it. I definitely do not enjoy it. But here’s a question. When you give it some thought. Who is behind the biggest mask? Those that hide their fear and their lack of understanding behind half-hearted explanations and rationalizations, or I, who wear my feelings on my sleeve? The answer is quite simple, once you give it some thought. ----------------------------------

Vote here for your favorite The Mask story; entries have been randomized. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on July 5th at 11:59 PM EST. Entries that do well will move on to The Mask Final Poll, which will be posted at the conclusion of the 10th round preliminary poll. Choice #1: "Happy Hour" On the way back my mask slowly came on, of course don’t be a moron, this isn’t a real mask I’m talking about, it’s just the hollow nincompoop I use to get by during the day. The stupid fool I’m supposed to be like, this normal man, is just your average run of the mill Joe… And he sickens me. I mean really? What’s the point of being this perfect person, the guy who worked hard in high school, then hard in college, and then got a good job. The guy who’s apparently a blast to hang out parties with, despite the fact that he doesn’t actually fun when there. Not to mention this moron is also unable to let me do anything. So every morning I leave the house without the mask on. I run around the city having fun, of course most people would are too stiff to even want to go out in these parts of towns, after all the crime rates have been pretty darn high, there’s even been a slew of murders. I however needed to meet with Joe’s boss, guys who didn’t leave their front door were cowards. Now you see, the boss had been pretty annoying to Joe recently, and normally I wouldn’t really do any favors for my mask, but he had making him stay overtime which meant he was cutting into my time, and that, well that’s just not acceptable. More than that… It’s downright terrible, and I needed to fix things. That had been my thought process as I entered the arrogant slob’s house, he hadn’t exactly invited me in, but the window was open so why not? Well it was open once I found it, may not have been the case before. It was also in pieces when I was done with it, but hey the guy had plenty of other windows, who cared if one ended up broken. Anyhow, sorry, I got sidetracked; I tend to have a habit of doing that. You understand though, right? Who am I kidding of course you do, you’re on the internet right. And ugh, you made me break the fourth wall. Ahem. Sorry, moving on. So yeah I entered the guys house, all sneaky like, picture a Mission Impossible movie, you’ll get the idea. Play the soundtrack as well, it’s rather fitting right now. Regardless of the chosen OST playing right now, I entered the slob’s bedroom and gently woke him up. When I say gently I mean I threw him onto the ground but all’s fair in love and war right, and I just loved seeing that moron hit the ground. “Joe?” He asked in confusion, the old man was still half asleep. “JOE!” He yelled this time, horror entering his eyes as he realized the predicament he was in. “My god Joe!” Yes we get it old man, I look like Joe, can we please move on? I have only 750 words and you’re wasting quite a few of them. “What the heck do you think you’re doing Joe, barging in here in the middle of the night and throwing your boss to the ground?” The old man was now berating me, funny that he still thought he had the power to do so. “Calm down man,” I cooed with my very charismatic voice, “I’m a friend of Joe, and well let me put it this way, you’re keeping Joe so busy and well I can’t have that. You understand right?” “I’m not sure I follow,” I’m still not sure why I let the moron continue talking, “Joe are you okay? Do we need take you to the hospital or something?” Have I mentioned how much I hate this guy? “POW!” I yelled as my hand slapped across the man’s face, I really love making sound effects. Then I grabbed the man by his collar and held him against the wall. “Do I really have to explain it again? I’m not Joe, now I think we’re done here.” The old man’s eyes widened when he saw the knife in my end, and suddenly they went blank when the eye was now in his gut. Remember those murders I mentioned before? Yeah, my bad. Anyhow, satisfied with a job well done, I departed from the fool’s house. Once I made it home, I made sure to give back control to Joe, he was going to be quite surprised tomorrow when he found about my present to him. Yup, life’s awesome. ---------------------------------- Choice #2: "Three Forms of the Mask" Once, in three different cities, there lived three brothers, who all had become superheroes. They each took their own approach to the problem of a secret identity.The eldest brother was named Lawdog. He performed his heroic deeds unmasked and under his own name, scorning any secret identity. Man and hero were both Lawdog, with no separation of personality. The second brother was named Tyrannis. When he had moved to the city he protected, he had changed his name, and constructed a quiet, average life as James Blackwell, salesman. But when he donned his black and deep red mask, he became the hero Tyrannis, guardian of the city, and his true self.The youngest brother was named Cosmas. He had developed a civilian life under his true name and as the person he truly was, and did his duty as a hero under the name and silvery mask of the Protector. In this guise he spoke as little as possible and suppressed all individual character. Each of them thought his own solution best. None of their solutions were perfect. --- Cosmas considered his best, for no criminals would be able to gain a personal advantage over such a characterless adversary, and in his own time he could simply be himself.Of course, he felt stifled whenever he wore his mask, and it was only when he took it off that he considered himself free. And even unmasked and himself, he carried the secret of the Protector with him. Tyrannis considered his best, for he had his secret home to retreat to when life as Tyrannis became too much, but formed no attachments while living the lie of normality. His "normal" persona led a solitary and uneventful life, while, as a hero, he showed his personality freely, concealing nothing about himself. However, his method meant any true friends he made could be targets for his enemies. Also, he loathed his bland, dull life as a salesman with all his heart. He could never be himself then. It was only when wearing his mask that he felt without disguise. Lawdog considered his best, for he had refused to live two lives and make either a lie. He had said, when he first revealed himself to the world, "I refuse to wear a mask."But in that move he had lost privacy. He had a secure base, but every robber and hitman knew its location, and he was too exposed to risk many friendships. Moreover, in the attempt to live his entire life as a crime-fighter, some aspects of himself were inevitably lost, sacrificed to the necessities of being a hero. The suppression of these traits was a mask he could never remove, but must wear permanently. --- And so, though all the brothers tried to live honestly, it seemed none of them could entirely avoid the mask. ---------------------------------- Choice #3: "Thinking cap" "Wait a moment!" I yelled; I couldn't let father go yet. "I have a request before you retire for the night." I could see his hands fiddling with the elastic bands, hear his impatient feet tapping. It was understood that he was not to be disturbed when he wore the mask; this was my only chance. He seemed annoyed at my hesitation, not curious as to what was so important that I interrupted him so rudely. He was never himself when pining for the mask. "What's so important about this?" I'm sure if, God forbid, something should happen - a fire or some such - when he was immersed in that mask, he would just sit, oblivious and useless, in that old chair of his, even as all the wires and tubes were slowly burned and melted. He would remain motionless, absorbed in his useless fantasies. He grumbled and grasped his mask more firmly, disentangling the wires, tubes, attached to it. This was, with no doubt, my last chance to speak to him tonight. He graciously offered me a reply, making little effort to hide the sour note in his voice: "I have told you too many times, that your mind could never conceive of what I see." He raised the mask to his face. The conversation was over, and I would lose him once again. Determined to see that prophecy deemed false, I snatched the mask from his hands. "Let me at least try it," I pleaded, as his hands pulled uselessly at my fingers. He, in turn, pleaded for me to return it to him. It was a pathetic scene. "You wouldn't be able to take it. You won't understand!" His quivering hands snatched the mask from my fingers, and his fingers toiled over all the wires, switches, and buttons as he readied most precious possession for use. He raised it to his face once again, and again I parried, taking a firm hold on the curved metal, freeing it from his hands. I stood for a moment, considering what to do next, and he stood across from me, his eyes praying that I wouldn't harm his masterpiece. A minute passed. I could simply end this harmful device, but the pitiful sight before me troubled my conscience. How could I just destroy the greatest prize of my genius father? Yet how could I let I live on, ruining him, ruining me, ruining us all. I lifted the mask high to let it shatter on the ground. Taking a breath, I urged my fingers to let go, my eyes religiously avoiding my father's. But the mask didn't fall, bend, twist, shatter on the ground. I found my face enveloped in its smooth, cool curves. Darkness obscured my vision. All noise was blocked out and I found myself the beholder of a curious sensation, of floating. It was relaxing beyond anything I had ever experienced and likely ever will. It was beautiful, more so than the most amazing landscapes or brilliant sunset. Suddenly I knew everything. I was sure that if I only thought for a moment, I could solve the world's greatest problems, discover wonders beyond comprehension, invent machines too great to behold. Nothing was beyond my grasp. Everything I had ever hoped for could be achieved with no effort, my every dream realized. It then dawned upon my transcendental mind that my hopes and dreams, everything I strived for or would, was so utterly pointless. My joys and sorrows became insignificant blips in a dull life. Now I could see, yet I was blind to everything that seemed worthy. Now I could understand father, how his evil thinking cap had taken his life. Then I felt fear. Fear of having this sensation taken from me, of the horrid, boring life I had. I panicked, and my imagination fled, leaving only the darkness of the mask. The feeling of cool metal against my face returned, I could feel hands, and light punctured my panic. Father kneeled above me. His face displayed anger, but in his eyes I saw fear. He looked tired and thin, but more alive than ever before. I vaguely saw my hands, quivering. Beyond them father came into focus again, and mother. Now both looked relieved, and I felt them drop onto me, pulling me into a hug. As the daze left me, the horrific memories of wonder faded. I made no effort to hold onto them, instead embracing mother and father, inviting them back into my life. Father gripped me tighter, accepting the invite. ----------------------------------

Polling period over; topic closed.

Polling period over; topic closed.