Newgrounds.com — Everything, By Everyone.

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If you want people to even finish reading, you'd better break up the giant wall of text into easy to read paragraphs.

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At the sound of the name, Demo's face drained of colour.

'You know a way?' Colette said. 'How?'

'If I tell you, you'll give me hell,' Gabriel replied. 'It involves some personal risk to myself.'

'Oh, Gabriel,' Colette's lip quivered, and she touched his hand. 'You just got here.'

'And I'll be leaving soon, for better or for worse,' he looked at the sad eyes of both of them, and decided to change the subject. 'Well, I've had a long journey. I hope you don't mind if I use the shower - '

'Mr Brown!' Demo nearly shouted, and threw his hand up to his forehead. 'Anything I can do to help?'

'No, no, ' Gabriel turned away so they would not see the sudden wetness in his eyes. 'I'm doing this alone.'

Faces of Eventus members flashed across his mind, some young, some old, and the tears threatened to break through. He bit his lip and said, 'Although, there is one thing you can do for me.'

'What?' both Colette and Demo said together.

'Do you know...where the rest of Eventus have gone?'

Silence hung over the room. Colette looked at her feet. 'We tried, but...we can't find anyone else. It's only the three of us...and...and...' she sounded as if she wanted to cry herself. The sudden downturn in the mood was palpable. '...and...the rest...who went over to DJ.'

Gabriel had expected as much. 'Well, it's just as I thought.' He didn't want to say it, but somebody had to. 'Eventus is gone.'

Once more, the room was quiet, broken by Demo. His face was beetroot for different reasons and he was making funny squeaking sounds. Gabriel crossed over to the bathroom, and just as he was about to open it, Colette spoke up.

'Eventus is not gone,' she said. 'There's still the three of us.'

He paused.

'Let's hang out sometime,' she said.

'Tomorrow, then,' he surprised himself by saying.

Her traditional grin was back. 'You promise?'

'Of course. I came to your motel for a reason, after all.'

Demo smiled too, and Gabriel smiled back. For the first time since he had come here, he felt at home. Maybe, just maybe he would actually begin to enjoy himself for once in five months.

'You remember where Eventus was?'

'Yes.'

'We'll buy dome drinks and go there.'

'You promise?'

Gabriel nodded, sarcastically crossing himself. 'Promise.' His free hand groped the doorknob, pushed, and turned. He couldn't help but wonder if he was putting himself at risk if he wasted a day reuniting with his friends. Hell, he was already at risk. DJ and company probably knew he was in Singapore already, and it was only a matter of time...

He saw what was in the bathroom, and his heart stopped. Sitting on the toilet seat was a cowboy hat.

Before he could duck, leap out of the way or warn his beloved friends, he heard a whooshing sound, and then -

--

Colette saw the hat on the toilet seat. She opened her mouth to shout a warning, just as the hat shot towards Gabriel like a bullet, and then, the next thing she knew, she saw three things flying through the air.

The first was the wide brimmed beige cowboy hat she knew all too well, spinning madly through the air, and it embedded itself in a wall, a glint of metal peeking out from under the brim. The second thing she saw was a spray of blood.

The third thing was a human head, which landed on her dressing table with a thump.

'No,' she found herself whispering, looking at Gabriel, who was lying on the floor. His body was missing a head, his collar stained with blood. 'No. No.'

'MISTER BROWN!' Demo shrieked, his hands scrambling at his head, and in a flash he was next to what used to be Eventus's leader. 'MISTER BROWN!!'

'No no no no,' Colette repeated, staring at the body. 'Nonono.'

She felt someone grabbing her hand, and her mind registered it was Demo. 'We have to get out of here, Mrs Wellington!' he sobbed, tears streaming down his face.

'I-I-' Colette couldn't bring herself to do anything but wish that this was all a dream. Surely he couldn't have - after all he'd been through - he could have -

Then she was wrenched out of the room, and the first thing she saw was the poster. The hat that was on it was curved upwards, like a mocking smile.

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Just the start of a novel. it's sort of like Stephen King's It.

The man that was currently going by the name of Gabriel Brown reached into his pocket, and his fingers felt the heart shaped trinket that he had been carrying all these years. As the scenery flashed past, his fingers caressed the token, tracing its worn out lines where it had received many scratches. Memories suddenly surfaced; times spent with his classmates at back in Eventus Primary School. He longed to take out the token, and simply hold it in his hands, let the weight of it comfort him. But of course he couldn't do that. In a taxi, where the driver was not one of them, anything could happen if the token was brought in his sight.

Eventually, they stopped at a shabby looking motel. The driver cast one glance at the place, and his lip tightened. 'Wa lao,' he said in the usual Singaporean slang, 'How a rich guy like you can stay here, ar?'

Gabriel stayed silent, and opened the door. Digging into his wallet, he gave the cab driver a twenty. 'Keep the change.'

'Thank you very much sir! Xie xie!' the driver nodded enthusiastically, and sped off. Gabriel watched him go, and then, when he was sure the cab wasn't going to come back, walked into the motel.

There was only one occupant, a wizened old Chinese man who looked like he was gas asleep. Or dead. Gabriel ignored him, slipped past him, and took the lift to the fifth floor. As he pressed the 5 button, he noticed his fingers were trembling.

Looks like I might be losing it after all, he thought glumly, and made an effort to steady his hand as the lift rose. Everyone who still belonged to Eventus respected him, even looked up to him as a leader of their group, and it wouldn't do to show weakness in front of them.

When the lift doors opened, he was greeted by the sight did not nothing to augment his fears; a poster on the wall across him, showing a cowboy hat on a black background.

Gabriel got he urge to run forward and rip that poster to bits. But, as with the other five posters he had passed, he resisted the temptation. Desecrating posters such as that would only draw deadly attention.

Once at the fifth floor, he knocked on the door of five-two-one. He heard footsteps as someone approached the peephole, and fished out his token.

It was a carefully crafted piece of hardened clay in the shape of a heart. It had been white in the beginning, but after fifty nine years its colour had faded to a dull grey, there was an immovable smudge on the left side and there were seep indents running across it. Sighing, Gabriel held the token up to the peephole.

There was the sound of a chain moving, and then the door opened to reveal another man, with a greying shock of hair that stuck up at odd angles.

'You!' the man shouted, pointing at Gabriel in excitement. 'You're finally here! You're - '

Gabriel held up a hand. 'Relax, Demo. Someone might hear.'

The man named Demo scratched his head. 'But...why would someone hearing us...be bad?'

Gabriel sighed. 'Just trust me on this one, Demo.'

'Sure thing!' the old man raised his hand and performed a smart salute. 'I trust you completely, Mister - '

'I now longer go by that name,' Gabriel cautioned. 'That man is dead. I'm Gabriel Brown now.'

'Gabriel Brown....' Demo rolled it around in his tongue. 'Hey, that's a neat name! Please, come in!'

They both entered the motel room, which was as shabby as the exterior. The room was a mess, bedsheets and clothes strew about the floor.

'Good thing you came Mister, er, Brown. They were looking for me. Ut you'll make it all right. You always do.'

'Has she arrived yet?'

'Actually, she's staying with me a few days. But she went out to buy...what was it.. groceries!'

There was a chair at the corner of the room, and Gabriel sat on it. 'Tell you me, do you still have it?'

'Uh- what?'

'The token,' Gabriel held up his own clay heart, his brow creased in frustration. 'Our symbol did you lose it?'

Demo leapt back a few meters, in a frenzy of excitement. 'Mr Brown! I can't believe you'd think I'll lose that, of all things! Don't worry, Mr Brown, its right in this room...somewhere.'

He went down on his hands and knees and looked under the bed. Despite himself, Gabriel found himself smiling. It had been a long time since he had had any contact with Demo, and seeing the poor fool on another one of his antics brought back a huge wave of nostalgia.

All of a sudden Gabriel realised that he would give anything to see all the members of Eventus, every single one, even Mr Hodges and Dexter, from the bathroom and wish him a hello. But that wouldn't happen. Eventus was forever broken.

I can give you that, a voice laced in evil spoke up in his imagination, a thought so clear it was if someone had spoken right next to him. I can give you their lives for yours.

Gabriel clutched his token tighter. There were some things he wouldn't give, he knew, such as his very soul.

Someone knocked on the door, a gunshot in the stillness. Demo jumped, and hit his head on the desk above him. To his credit, he stifled his moans, looking up at Gabriel for support.

Gabriel patted his former classmate gently on the shoulder, then went over to the floor, looked through the peephole. He saw a white heart, miraculously unblemished after all this time,absolutely spotless. How did she manage to do these things, really?

He opened the door and let Colette in.

She was exactly as he had remembered her - a British woman with a green beanie on her head and sparks in her eyes. When she caught sight of Gabriel, her mouth dropped open. Before he could say anything she dropped her bag of groceries and gave him a giant hug.

'I heard you had died,' she whispered, her voice breaking.

'I haven't. I came here to finish what I started.'

She borke away from him, her eyes wide. 'You don't mean... you're....'

Gabriel knew what she was thinking, at it pained him, but he interrupted. 'No. Not that. Eventus is gone, Colette, and there's nothing we can do to bring it back.'

She looked disappointed, but her face slowly formed a grin, hiding the sorrow dwelling within her. 'Still, it's good to see you in one piece.'

'His name's Gabriel Brown, now,' Demo chipped, his face red with joy at the two pillars of Eventus finally reuniting with each other.

'Gabriel Brown,' Colette giggled. 'You chose an English name, out of all things?'

Gabriel smiled back. The vastly different nationalities of Eventus had been a running joke among them, with racist comments hurled back and forth, both friendly and spiteful remarks. 'No, no, it's just than England's a big country, and it'll be harder to find me.'

'But now that you're here, you'll stick out like a sore thumb,' Colette's grin dropped a notch. 'What did you come here, for anyway?'

'To stop DJ.' Gabriel shrugged, trying to curb the sudden urge to tremble. 'What else?'

---

You want small details, I'll give you small details.

she could tell that it was a man-a fellow Ikir with his violet hair and his channeling stones-that moved with the kind of stealthy grace that she had mastered for herself.

it should be 'she could tell that it was a man - a fellow Ikir with his violet hair and his channeling stones - that moved with the kind of stealthy grace that she had mastered for herself.' leaving a space in front and behind of the dashes.

At least, that's how I do it. Dunno if you're allowed to do it the way you did, but whatever.

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At 1/26/11 02:14 AM, TimeBender wrote: Actually now that I've read the thread. I'll say call of duty has some of the best characters in a game, much better then your usual deep voice alpha male shooter guys. these characters (COD) have depth and shit.

What are you smoking?

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Ironically enough, this is probably the only place I'll get to talk to teenage girls.

Seriously though, I haven't had a decent conversation with a gril around my age in my entire life.

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At 1/25/11 05:13 PM, yonokowhat wrote: you know hows badass?

Sgt. James Doyle

Fuck yeah.

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At 1/25/11 11:35 PM, InsertFunnyUserName wrote:
Heyhey boys hows it goin! do u like my new hair style? my bf thinks its sooo cute!! ^_^ :D XD

btw this is tots a pic of me but its not vry good so don't be mean!

SOUNDS LEGIT.

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I don't know if we're allowed to post things outside gameplay (my first time on this forum) but whatever.

I'm fed up with Ghost from MW2 getting all the attention. Oh, he so badass, everyone says. They even made a freaking comic series about him. Actually, Ghost is perhaps the least badass soldier in the game.

Compare him to Gaz. Gaz had his moments, with semi-witty lines and standing up to Kamarov. Not as badass as Price, but he was fun to be around if. Now take Ghost. All he does is say, 'Yes sir,' 'I've got a clear shot,' basically the stuff any old random soldier off the street would say. He has absolutely zero personality. Furthermore, his accent fitted horribly with his mask.

Ah, yes. His mask. With a skull painted on it. Wow, just by wearing that he's fucking badass. Yeah, right. I hate him, not only because he's boring, but he gets undeserved attention.

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Just curious, are you guys knee deep in submissions or do you only have a handful on your plate?

Also, how many submissions have you accepted?

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Here's the beginning of a story I'm writing, which I may submit to the anthology. Anyway, tell me if this is an interesting enough introduction.

The prospect of death is a strange thing. When faced with it, many men experience a turning point in their lives. This turning point comes too late for many. I am one of them.

I have made many mistakes in my life, and although I can try as hard as I can to blame others, it really was my fault from the very start. My death is drawing near, and I have no time to time to repent, but what I can do is write this all down. I don't even know why I am scribbling on pieces of paper when I could be busy making myself comfortable for my last stand. Perhaps I need to let off some steam. Perhaps I am desperate for my side of the story to be known so that people will feel sorry for me. Probably the latter

If I can recall the series of events clearly enough, it started with my visit to the butler in his apartment.

He was elegant. Graceful. He moved like a swan, twisting the bottle open, fetching the glass and pouring the whiskey in less than two seconds, wearing a polite smile the entire time. You can see it in his aged face - here is a butler which will not let you down. If things had been different, I would have taken one look and hired him on the spot.

Yet, the circumstances were radically dissimilar. My collar was plastered to the back of my neck, no doubt by the huge bucketfuls of sweat I had been producing during the journey here. A voice, my conscience, spoke up in my mind. It's not too late. Leave.

But then the butler handed me the glass of whiskey, and that action more or less sealed my fate. He gestured to a chair, and I sat.

'So, what does a business tycoon want with a lowly butler like me?' he said in perfect, mellifluous English.

I leaned forward. 'You know perfectly well what I want.'

He gave me another polite smile. 'I'm sorry sir, but I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about.'

'You're not a butler.'

We stared into each other's eyes, and it is only then that I realise how paralyzing his blue pupils are, unblinking and inscrutable. But I wasn't going to back out just because he stares at me. My mind flashed back to the feverish hours spent on my computer trying to find this man, sacrificing countless minutes of productivity just to track this butler down. My employees were giving me hell behind my back, but for all they were worth they were just flies in my ear. The only goal in my life, back then, was to find this man.

'I'm not a butler?' he said. 'Please elaborate, if you will.'

'You're an assassin.'

Silence fell over the room. I had the sudden thought that he was going to reach over and twist my neck just like he twisted those caps right off the bottles.

'Interesting,' he says at length. 'If I am - for argument's sake - am an assassin, and you have just uncovered my true identity, what makes you think I will not kill you right now?'

'I'm not a cop. I'm a client. I need you to kill someone.'

His expression never changed. 'Killing another human being is a horrible thing.'

I stayed silent. I didn't need to point out the irony. He recognized my expression, and his smile dropped. 'Killing is like working. You hate doing both, but it's your job.'

I wished he would stop with the philosophies. I wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible.

'Do you have the sufficient funds?' he asked.

'I have a lot. How much?'

'Depends on the target.'

'Kevin Bard.'

The smile returned to his face. 'Ah. Of course.'

'You know who he is?'

'I subscribe to Fortune. I see you are looking to knock off some competition.'

'It's not just that!' I nearly shouted. He just looked at me calmly, and took a sip of his whiskey. My own glass was still sitting on the table.

After all while, I realised he was waiting for me to elaborate, and I did. 'We've been friends since high school. Well, not really friends. Rivals. We'd do our best to beat each other in everything. It was a friendly game at first. But then it went too far. He stole my girlfriend.'

'Ah, lost love,' the butler shook his glass gently, sending the brown liquid sloshing about. 'A common - '

He must have noticed something in my face, and stopped talking. That man could read me like a book. That meant he probably knew I was angry. Angry at him for assuming.

'Do you really need to know all this?'

'As I said,' the butler murmured, 'my fee depends on the target.'

I continued my ballad. 'It didn't stop there. Even after we graduated, he continued to be my rival. We entered the same job together - accounting. Both our dreams were to become CEO. The only difference between us was that he was willing to use all sorts of dirty tricks to beat me. Once, that creep told on me.'

My fish clenched. 'He fed lies to my boss. I was demoted. It was a miracle I wasn't fired. As a result, he became CEO first. He rubbed it in my face. Sarah joined in.'

'Sarah?'

'My girlfriend in high school. The one he stole. Funny, she used to be a nice girl until she hooked up with Kevin. Even today, she's still plotting with that idiot, schemes on how to ruin me. And I don't even know why,'

I threw out my hands in frustration, knocking the whiskey glass off the table. The butler's hand darted forward and caught it. I barely noticed. Later I would wonder what had possessed me to spew out all my woes onto this evil little butler, but a man's anger knows no bounds. There's a part of me, when released, will not stop.

'The point is, Kevin's been out to sabotage me ever since we were kids. Believe me, I've tried making amends, but that bloody bastard won't have any of it. Even now, when I've dethroned him as the new CEO, he's still trying to get me. Last night, he sent me a blackmail letter. '

'Oh?'

'It's a tape of me having a conversation with Saddam Hussein, of all people! I know it's a fake. But he sent me a copy, and I listened, and it's a pretty good fake. Lord knows where he made it. And now he's threatening to realise it to the world if I don't step down. But you know what? Even if I do, he's going to publicise it anyway. Because that's the kind of man he is.'

'I see,' the butler nodded understandingly. 'So you want me to kill both of them.'

I jerked back in my seat, nearly overturning my glass again. 'Both?'

'Don't you want this Sarah to die too?'

'What do you take me for?' I snapped. But my anger was fading out of me, only to be replaced by that same dull fear which had enveloped me when I first entered the apartment. I remembered for the umpteenth time that I was playing a dangerous game, and it was I who would decide who lived and who died.

'Just Kevin Bard. Make it quick. Get rid of the tape.'

'I understand.'

'Don't kill her.'

'If she is a witness, I will be forced to, of course. But not to worry, sir, I will select a moment where he is alone.'

I swallowed, and nodded. 'What is the fee?'

'Five hundred Grand.'

I brought out an envelope from my pocket. 'I've got the necessary amount right here.'

He held out his palm, and I deposited the correct number of bills in his hand. Once that was done, I felt a certain sense of relief wash over me. The hard part was done. I would now go home, sleep it off, and when I woke up, all my problems would be gone.

'The job will be done not more than a week for now,' the butler said, and I noticed his smile had faded again. I stood up, and extended my hand.

'No thank you, Mister...?'

'Drake.'

'Mister Drake. Pleasure doing business with you. Are you going to finish your whiskey?'

'N-no. Look, the murder cannot be traced to me.'

'Consider it done.'

And then I spun round on my heel and walked towards the door. I could hardly believe I pulled this off. I could scarcely fathom that I was actually going to get away with ordering the death of a man. To be honest, I half expected a policemen to come bursting open the door, and arrest me for my heinous crimes. But none appeared. I was home free.

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It'll be interesting if you can add some sort of karma meter, and when you die the game over screen can show whether you've landed in heaven or hell depending on what you've done that day.

Maybe dying and ending up in heaven can be considered a good ending.

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Choose C

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Time to return the favour.

At 1/15/11 10:02 AM, ZeeAk wrote: "Ben!" Marcus cried out once more, deathly afraid that his words were explosively loud in his head, yet inaudibly quiet in actuality. "Where are you going?"

Why was he afraid? I don't get it.

"Ben!" He called once more, in a vain attempt to grab his brother's attention. Marcus collapsed to the ground, one of his legs too damaged to fully support his weight. The tears flowed now, as a faint crack in the sky foreshadowed a storm. Even in the darkness, through his facial injuries, he managed to make out some basic shapes. He saw elongated rectangles, and a quiet clicking. He thought he felt the ground begin to softly vibrate. Awkwardly struggling to his feet, Marcus tried to focus on the distance where he'd watched his brother vanish into the dark. The clicking grew louder now, as a sharp whistle shattered the sombre silence. The crack in the sky was louder now; far more violent, far more proximate. A viscerality can't be generally ascribed to nature seemed to grip the blackened clouds, as they ripped open. Rain instantly began cascading down. Marcus, standing on his wobbling feet, felt the rain slam into him like a vertical wall of water. He nearly collapsed again under the torrential downpour, instead dropping unceremoniously to his knees. Tiny missile-like pricks of rain stung at his numerous wounds, as the blood washed away into the softening dirty. Marcus kneeled, feeling completely defeated. His mind was an absolute mess, barely able to comprehend the reasons how or why someone would inflict such pain and devastation upon him and his family. The tears, a rarity for him, were evidence enough that his spirits had been broken. Physically, his skin was split and bleeding. He was a wreck, inside and out. The rain was plastering his bloodied clothes and matted hair to his skin and scalp. Now indistinguishable in the rain, his tears flowed freely. Chest heaving as he cried, the vibrating began a metallic thrashing. The whistle resounded again, this time unable to split the air that was already filled with audio violence. Fleetingly, the sounds triggered an impulse of recognition. Lost in the act of simply trying to monitor his breathing, Marcus didn't hear the footsteps as they squelched in the now muddy ground.

My eyes. I would advise separating this into a simpler paragraphs, so that some of your more shocking descriptions can get more attention.

A viscerality can't be generally ascribed to nature seemed to grip the blackened clouds, as they ripped open.

Sorry, but I don't really understand what you're saying. Anyway the phrase 'can't be generally ascribed' seems out of place in this apocalyptic description.

Ben carefully approached, his love for his brother overwhelming his unnatural urge to simply stare.

Then why did he punch his brother to the ground?

I have to confess that I didn't get what was going on. Did their dad beat up both of them? Why did the big bro suddenly try to commit suicide? Maybe it's just me, but unless you're planing to continue this, the story wasn't really clear.

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Will you contact us if we don't make it?
I can't stand the suspense.

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George stares at the card in shock. He stares and convinces himself it's not true, the red number etched on the paper is not a B, it is an A. It can't be a B. It was A. He ought to have his vision checked, yes, he'd ought to get spectacles, because that was definitely not a B...

Next to him, there is a shout of joy. He turns his head to see his classmate waving a report card in the air, a triumphant A stamped at the corner of the page.

He got an A? George thinks, sweat running down his neck. It can't be. This particular classmate was disgusting. Never showed up for class, always slept during lessons, never did his homework...how could he possibly get an A?

There was a mix-up. That must be it. George had gotten an A and that stupid classmate had gotten a B. They had just switched report cards. That was all. Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

And so George strides up to his classmate, trying to convince himself that everything is alright, yet his whole uniform is drenched in sweat, and he's shaking. George asks his classmate to return his report card, but the classmate doesn't hear him. The classmate is being congratulated by the the teacher, who is in tears. 'I can't believe you scored, Brandon. All that hard work paid off...'

And that's when George picks up the whiteboard duster by the desk, and brings it down. It lands squarely on the classmate's forehead, sending him the floor. George ignores the shouts around him, ignores the unpleasant taste in his mouth, but continues hitting the classmate with all the strength he has, while tears gush down his face in a neverending stream.

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Trolls in the writing forum! Again!

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Where's ZeeAk when you need him?

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'Good God,' Cap muttered under his breath, as he watched Mendy fall.

'American schwein!' laughed Smiley hysterically, and began shooting at Mendy's dead body. Scarface angrily shouted at him in random German, and Smiley's grin vanished, replaced by an equally angry look. After a few heated conversations in German, the three began moving forward.

Cap retreated behind the statue. They were passing right through the cemetery, right where he and Rude was, and therefore - Rude! Where was he?

Cap looked around wildly. Rude was crouching beside a gravestone. His back was turned to Cap, and he seemed to be doing something with his knife. Cap's heart jumped. The Germans were walking directly towards him.

'Rude!' Cap whispered as loudly as he dared. 'Get over here!'

Rude stared at his captain impassively, and then waddled over to his position in a low crouch.

'Was war das?' Cap heard Big Nose shout.

Immediately a gunshot kicked up snow by Rude's feet. The American soldier dived to the ground just as another shot rang out.

'Shit!' Cap swore, lighting a fourth cigarette and sticking it in between his teeth. He raised the M1 rifle and peered round the statue.

He saw Smiley aiming at Rude, who was still scrambling to his feet, and Cap fired his M1 Garand. Smiley ducked behind a gravestone just as chips of stone flew upwards.

Rude had now managed to reach cover, behind a white pillar. He took out his knife, and looked at it morosely.

'Rude!' Cap shouted, popping off shots at Smiley to no avail. 'Help me out!'

Rude looked blankly at him, and then back to the knife.

'Fuck!' Cap shouted, as he continued to fire at Smiley. Big Nose popped out from behind a cross and joined his comrade.

As Cap reloaded, Rude sat in his position, holding the knife with his right hand. He brought it down to his wrist, pressing it down on the skin. A small drop of blood oozed out.

He held the knife there for a while, and then slowly put it back into his sheath. He stood up.

'Rude!' Cap cried in disbelief. 'Get down!'

Rude slowly moved forwards, like a man on death row. Bullets slammed into the tombs around him, but Rude continued.

'Get back here!' Cap screamed, trying to distract the Germans, but they were too fixated on the easy target. 'Rude!'

A bullet slammed into Rude's left shoulder. Blood and bone splurted out. Rude didn't even slow. Two more bullets hit him in the chest, but he kept going. Cap spat out two cigarettes and inserted one more. With a shaking hand, he lit it, and leaned back on the statue, trying to hold back tears.

Just as Rude sustained a wound to his thigh, he bent down, picked up the shiny red ball by Mendy's body, turned round and threw it. Flying through the air it shot through the church window perfectly.

Three more bloody holes appeared in his back. Rude turned slowly round, his expression the one of a man who was looking forward to a good rest, and then pointed his middle finger skywards.

There was one last crack, and then Rude fell down, landing softly on the snow.

Cap saw him fall, and sighed. He lit another cigarette and leaned out. Bignose and Smiley had gone. All that remained were the bodies of his comrades, turning the pure snow a dark red.

Cap crouched and moved forward, his rifle at the ready. Adrenaline was pumping in his veins, and he was itching to see a German pop out from a gravestone so that he could shoot that bastard. He had to kill them. He had to kill them all.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something blue. Throwing himself to the ground, he pulled the trigger.

Nothing. A dull click. He was out of ammo. One of the Germans - Smiley - had ventured out of cover. Now that he saw Cap was helpless, he walked over to him.

Smiley laughed, a high pitched, unpleasant sound. 'American schwein!' the German giggled, and then his hand went to his rifle.

Cap grabbed the snow lying beside him, and hurled it. It was a direct hit. Smiley cried out, trying to rub the icy slush away from his eyes. Cap grabbed for his sidearm just as Smiley started to recover.

'Merry Christmas, motherfucker!' Cap shouted, pulling the trigger. Smiley dropped, a bloody hole in his chest. Cap fired again and again at the body, puncturing holes and staining snow. Only when the trigger clicked uselessly did he bitterly lower the pistol.

He reloaded the pistol, panting. This was screwed up. He hated himself, and he hated the world. Three men had died on Christmas day, all killed by each other. Fuck up world this was. He cursed, and then cursed some more, and then Bignose came barreling out from the mass of gravestones.

Instantly both men leveled their weapons at each other.

'Fuck you!' Cap shouted. The only thing stopping him from squeezing the trigger was that the fact that Bignose would instantly return fire.

Bignose must have realized the same thing. 'Senken sie ihre waffe!' he yelled, his face contorted in hatred.

'Fuck you and your German ass. Drop your weapon!'

'Sie haben ihn getotet!'

'I'm gonna kill you, you know that?!' Cap's voice was coming out in ragged gasps, and he gripped the pistol as if it was his lifeline. 'I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!'

'LASSEN SIE DIE WAFFE!' Bignose's finger tightened, and at that moment, Cap knew the German was going to pull the trigger, Cap was going to pull his, and then both would end up dying in the snow, on the ever so wonderful Christmas day...

There was a cocking sound, and a rifle was pointed at Bignose's face.

'I suggest you drop your weapon,' Al said calmly. 'Before anyone gets hurt.'

'Al!' Cap shouted in surprise.

'No one else is going to die,' whispered the rookie, his whole body trembling. 'Cap, lower your pistol.'

'Are you cra - '

Al suddenly felt the cold steel of a German Luger pointed at his head.

'Bleiben noch,' said Scarface, the officer's badge on his uniform gleaming.

The floor of them stood in a standoff in this cold, snowy graveyard, two Americans and two Germans, at an impasse.

'Listen - listen,' Al spoke rapidly. 'You can't do this. We can all walk away from here.'

'He won't listen to you, Al,' Cap shouted. Indeed, Scarface's expression remained stony faced.

'Please,' Al pleaded, looking into the cold eyes. 'I promise, if you guys lower your guns we'll lower ours. Please, just trust us.'

Scarface's facial muscles did not move an inch. He inclined his head, and shouted an order to Big Nose. 'Keine notwendigkeit fur die bekampfung.'

Nobody moved. Cap waited, sweat trickling down his face. He had no idea what had just been said, but he knew it would take just one shot for this to end in a bloodbath.

'Nein,' Bignose replied, a snarl on his face.

Scarface stared his comrade directly in the eye. 'Es ist Weihnachten.'

Dead silence. Then, as one, Scarface and Bignose lowered their weapons.

'Merry Christmas,' Scarface snarled in broken English. He holstered his pistol, spat on the ground, and walked out of the cemetery, Bignose following uncertainly behind. They didn't look back.

Cap covered them with his pistol until they were out of sight, and then he lowered it. 'Damn, Al,' he swore. 'That was a stupid thing to do.'

Al held up a red ball. 'Well, Cap, I guess I just found my Christmas spirit.'

Cap noticed he was smoking dead cigarettes, and spat them out. He didn't insert another one. 'Come on, let's bury them.'

The two of them set about doing their grisly work. Ordinarily Cap wouldn't have bothered burying the German as well, but hey, it was Christmas. Whatever that meant.

---

So I was digging through my hard drive and found this. I would appreciate any critique, especially on structure.

Cap jammed yet another cigarette into his mouth, lighting it in less than a second. Behind him, Mendy was sitting on the altar, chugging down a bottle of beer. Wiping his hairy stubble, he started on another, knocking over his rifle in the process. Cap watched him with a kind of disgust, and turned to check on his other two companions.

Rude was playing with his commando knife, tossing it from one hand to another, staring at it intently. Al was looking at the floor, with a slack-jawed expression, absentmindedly rubbing his blonde hair. He had assumed that expression ever since a Jerry grenade had gone off him, almost tearing his face apart. Al hadn't spoken since.

But, after all, he was a rookie. The others weren't, but to him, it was all the same. They were all human beings, men he had taken upon himself to keep alive. Right now, they were taking refuge in an abandoned church, and as soon as they had rested enough they would move.

'Fuck,' Mendy groaned, throwing away his third bottle. It landed with a crash, and Al jumped. 'Fuck this war, man. Just fuck it.'

'It would by my pleasure, but unfortunately we don't have that luxury,' Cap snapped.

'Join the army, they said,' laughed Mendy. 'Uncle Sam wants you to get your goddamn asses killed!' He subsided into silence for a while, and then added, 'I envy those fucking kids.'

'Why?'

'It's Christmas now. They're all be opening their presents now and we'll be sitting here freezing in this damn church.'

Christmas. Cap had forgotten about that. He'd even forgotten what month it was. Al raised his head. 'Christmas?' he repeated. 'Doesn't that mean...a truce?'

'I do beg your pardon, cissy boy,' drawled Mendy. 'Are you fucking nuts?'

'I've heard stories,' Al looked down, red flushing to his cheeks. 'That on Christmas day last year, all the Germans, and the Americans, they just - lay down their rifles, and went to play soccer. Embraced each other as friends.'

Cap had heard stories - but there only Christmas he had spent in this war, he hadn't had a chance to see if it was true. Before he could reply Rude got in first.

'Everything's the same,' Rude murmured, never taking his eyes off the knife. 'There will be no truce. Never a truce.' His voice sounded weary, a true veteran's voice. He was the only one with his helmet still on, like he couldn't be bothered to take it off.

'Fuck you,' Mendy downed half of his fourth bottle before continuing. 'Fuck everyo - '

'Shh!' Cap bolted up to the altar and clapped his hand over the American soldiers' mouth.

There was an eerie silence. Al nervously shifted his rifle Rude stopped playing with the knife and now clutched it tightly, the blade gleaming wickedly in the moonlight.

'What?' Al whispered, his whole body shuddering.

'I thought I heard something.'

More silence.

Mendy prised his mouth free. 'Fuck you, Captain.' He said loudly. Cap and Al flinched, but the church doors didn't burst open. No German soldiers came barging in.

'Germans? Here?' Mendy snorted. 'What reason would they have? This is a deserted town. No resources, no strategic positions, zilch.'

'They could be stragglers like us. Now shut it!'

But the Al had relaxed, and Rude had gone back to fiddling with his knife. Cap sighed, and lit another cigarette.

'You gonna have two at the same time?' said Mendy incredulously.

'Helps to distract me,' murmured Cap, taking in deep, unhealthy breaths.

Quiet settled over the church. Al suddenly took out a clean, red ball from his pocket and began staring at it.

'Hey wimp,' Mendy growled. Cap could smell the whisky on his breath, and turned away in disgust. Mendy jumped down from the altar, nearly overturning it, and walked over to Al. 'What's that ball?'

Al shrank back. 'It's my mam's. She gave it to me for Christmas.'

'How sad,' Mendy stood there swaying on the spot for a moment, and then grabbed the ball.

'Hey!'

Mendy ignored him, tossing the ball up and down. 'This seems like a high quality ball. I wonder how fast it'll go - '

'Oi!' Cap shouted, but it was too late. Mendy raised the ball above his head, and hurled it with all his strength. It zoomed out of the window.

Al made a strangling noise of despair, and then rushed to the window. 'My...' he croaked.

'Oops,' Mendy giggled drunkenly. 'Threw it too far. Never mind, I'll get it back.' He stumbled towards the church doors.

'Mendy!' Cap hissed. 'Are you crazy? Get back in here.'

If Cap had been heard, it didn't show. Mendy flung open the doors. Cap started after him, but his feet slipped on one of the beer bottles lying on the floor, and he tumbled to the ground, cursing. By the time he got up, Mendy had gone.

'Damn it!' Cap swore. He turned to the remaining two men. 'We have to go after him. There still might be German's out there.'

Neither of the two looked especially willing to go. Al looked scared, while Rude just looked plain tired. Cap sighed. 'Rude, you're with me.'

Rude gave him the finger.

'Rude!'

The veteran slowly got up, still holding his knife in his hand.

'I'm sorry,' Al said. But he made no move to get up.

Every nerve in Cap's body screamed Coward. But he wasn't exactly willing to shout at Al, the young rookie. No time for that. He motioned to Rude, and they left the church, closing the door behind them.

The two slowly proceeded down the ruined buildings, looking for any trace of where Mendy had gone. But he had disappeared. All this snow falling on Caps' head made it hard for him to think. He discarded a cigarette and added another one.

'Over there,' Cap pointed to a clump of fences. 'That's about where the ball landed. He'll be there...I hope.'

They jogged over there in silence, aware of the many windows and alleys where German's could be lurking. Rude didn't usually talk much, but suddenly, he said, 'Do you believe that, Cap?'

'What?'

'That Christmas makes everyone all jolly?' Rude replied, his voice dripping with weariness.

'Maybe,' Cap crouched at the entrance of the street, determined there were no snipers, and then continued. 'Who knows, maybe the old Christmas spirit brings out the best in everyone.'

Rude sighed. 'We're all fucked,' he simply said. 'We're all going to die in this war.'

By now, Cap was used to listening to gloomy proclamations of doom from his comrade. 'Don't worry, Rude. If Germans show up, I won't be taking any chances.'

But Rude hadn't finished. He was being unusually talkative today.

At that moment, they arrived at the town cemetery. Mendy was there, holding up a bright red ball in triumph. Just as Cap was about to call out to him, three Germans melted out of the trees.

Cap jerked back in shock, and instantly darted behind a statue of Our Mother Mary. After a while, he peered round his cover.

The three Germans had noticed Mendy. One of them, a young one with a broken smile on his face, raised his rifle, but one of the others stopped him. This one was an officer, as displayed by the cap on his forehead. He had a long, jagged scar across his face. The third German had a big nose. Neither of them looked remotely friendly.

Scarface stepped forward. 'Guten Abend!' he called out.

Mendy looked around, saw the three Germans, and then raised his hands. 'Son of a shitsack,' he swore.

'Was machst du? Totet ihn!' Smiley shouted.

'Halt die klappe!' Scarface shouted back.

'Oi!' Mendy shouted. 'Christmas, yeah? Don't kill me, yah?'

No one paid any attention to him. The two Germans, Smiley and Scarface, seemed to be arguing with each other.

'Horen sie, sir, ich weib, du bist uber weihnachten aufgeregt, aber das ist lacherlich!' Smiley argued in rapid, incoherent German.

Big Nose raised his rifle uncertainly. Mendy swore. 'I ain't gonna die on Christmas day,' he growled.

Scarface slapped Bignose's rifle away. 'Hor mir zu!' he spat, and then Mendy made his move. He grabbed his pistol from his belt and aimed it at Scarface.

The German officer didn't even blink. Faster than Cap could light a cigarette, Scarface drew a revolver and shot Mendy twice in the face.

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Did you create the website yourself?

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Wait, what? Why are people discussing in the entries thread?

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Moar details please

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Do we have to ask the artist for permission in using their audio?

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A snake can't stumble.

Also, take heed that description isn't a must, contary to popular belief. Be sure to describe only the parts of the forest in which you think is relevant in contributing to the story. Overexcessive description can risk boring the reader.

Omigosh, I sound like Deathcon now.

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At 12/25/10 09:57 PM, Gangstercake wrote: The man gasped in horror as he saw it was the ruler impaled and dripping blood. The man panicked and ran to alert the guards...

No. Join the two sentences, at least.

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So... is the judging proceeding according to schedule?

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At 12/25/10 02:57 PM, TheAustaku wrote: If anyone would like to read a story preview I posted on dA I'd glady accept any feedback. And trust me, I love blatant honesty when it comes to this stuff, so if you think it's utter garbage, tell me. :P

http://fyrehart3000.deviantart.com/art/T houghts-Can-Be-Deadly-Preview-182887123

In my humble opinion, the last paragraph (little did he know etc...) is very cliched.

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At 12/27/10 12:19 AM, Drainar wrote: Okay, just give me a random cool word, any random cool word (not a dumb one, like a curse word) that you can think of, and I'll pick one and make a story about it, how's that? GIMME A WORD!

No.

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Hey, that was better than I expected.

One thing though, vary your sentence structure. Instead of just saying(example): 'He walked to the house. He opened the door. He found food' you could say 'Eagerly, he walked to the house, opening the door. Inside was food, which he quickly spotted'