Mwc9 : July : Scintilating Sounds

[gumOnShoe]

++ ENTRY THREAD ++

DO NOT DISCUSS THE CONTEST IN THIS THREAD. ALL QUESTIONS, CONCERNS AND COMMENTS GO IN THE DISCUSSION THREAD: HERE!!!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Welcome July's 2009's Monthly Writing Contest: - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - MWC9 - July - Scintillating Sounds - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

We'd like to make this an annual contest, mayhaps, and have it based off of the Audio Portal. So, for this contest, you need to make a "musical" piece of writing. Don't worry, you don't have to sing it. What you do have to do is pick a song from the audio portal, and then base your story off of it. The music you pick should set the tone for your story. Your story should be written in a way that flows like music. Here are some things you should be aware of in the music you pick and how you might figure them into your writing.

> Tempo is important! Tempo is distinctly different from something like rythm. You'll need to decide how fast you want your piece to move and you'll have to write your story so that the tempo is purposeful. You don't have to keep the same tempo the entire time. There are tempo changes in music, but it should be purposeful when you accelerando or decellerando (speed up/slow down). Similary, any rests pauses or breaks in your writing should also be purposeful.

> Dynamics are important! There's something called volume, and you'll notice that if you've picked a well crafted song the volume of various parts changes. Sometimes you'll find the emphasis on individual notes, other times you'll find entire phrases change.

> Flow is important! You'll find that a majority of good songs aren't choppy. You're piece also shouldn't be choppy! So if you introduce an idea, make sure it has a place in the story that doesn't make the reader stop. You're story should guide the reader through just like a song propels a listener through its events.

Now, as you can see word choice and timing are going to be pretty important, as well as your sentance structure and structure from paragraph to paragraph.

Since you have so much to worry about I'm not going to limit what you can write about, so long as you've picked a song you feel you're relating to. Songs are fairly abstract, so even if you've just managed to carry the general mood of the piece into your story you'll have something to be proud of. Don't let that stop you from shooting for more. You may write in any genre about anything, so long as its compelling.

RESTRICTIONS

1) Word Count Minimum: 1000 words
2) Word Count Maximum: 4500 words
3) You must acquire your tone from a song in the Newgrounds Audio Portal
4) You should pay attention to musical elements and how they could apply to your story.

DEADLINE: August 1ST, 2009; MIDNIGHT STD, EST (ie midnight between August 1st and August 2nd)

PRIZES*

1st) $30 Newgrounds store credit and first choice among a pool of volunteer voice actors to narrate your story.

2nd) $30 Newgrounds store credit and second choice among a pool of volunteer voice actors to narrate your story.

3rd) $30 Newgrounds store credit and third choice among a pool of volunteer voice actors to narrate your story, number of volunteers permitting.

4th & 5th place receive honorable mentions in the winners thread (and possible VA narration!).

USERS ARE WELCOME TO OFFER UP ADDITIONAL PRIZES, BUT RETAIN SOLE RESPONSIBILITY OF DISTRIBUTION.

* From now on, a pool of voice actors is being provided for winners to pick their actor from. So, if you'd like a recording of your story and you've won, you also get to pick the sexy voice to accompany your sexy words.

SUBMITTING

1) Post your stories in this thread.
2) Do not post revisions in this thread. They will be deleted.
3) You may submit one story only, one time. Posts will not be deleted at your demand so make sure your work is perfect before posting here.
4) Post the link to the song either at the beginning or end of your story. You can do this by posting

the link to it on its own line without any tags as shone in the following picture:

DV-The Days We Remember, by DenVessidence Type: SongGenre: Techno

[gumOnShoe]

MWC RULES

1) Contestants may submit exactly one entry. No more. Users found trying to smart ass their way around this rule will be disqualified from this and an arbitrary number of future competitions to be agreed on by the judges. (You are your alt and vice versa)

2) Users caught posting writings which they do not own will face imediate disqualification from this and any future contests. That means don't try to pass other's work off as your own, you will fail and we'll all hate you!

3) Users must submit on or before the given date. In the past allowances have been made. That won't happen this time, your entry must be in on the given date.

4) You must follow the rules of this BBS. If you have a question about whether you will be breaking them, contact a moderator.

5) HAVE A BUNCH OF FUN! OR ELSE!

GETTING REVIEWS

The judges do not HAVE to review your work and give you a detailed critique, there are too many entries in most contests for that to be a plausible option.

You have the following options none the less:

1) I highly recommend that you review someone else's work, in that way, they may return the favor. ;)

2) There is both a writing club & and writing guild in the Clubs & Crews section which is there as an open forum for writers to post their work.

3) PM the specific person you would like to review your work and hope they will.

4) Post a link to a newspost on your user page which contains your story again, in either the discussion thread or at the end of your official submission in this thread.

JUDGING

If you'd like to judge, feel free to volunteer by PMing Zerok. You must of course be well versed in writing and reading and judging fictional works. If you are still in your early years of high school, its probably better to wait a while and get your writing up to snuff. Judges can't be in it for the prizes, so don't get down if you aren't selected to judge.

If you really want to be a judge and haven't been accepted yet, the best way to be noticed as a good candidate is to review your fellow writers' works for them. Let them know how they can improve, what their weaknesses are, and what you enjoyed in a respectful well put way and you'll be one step closer to judging in the future.

Judges for this completion are:

gumOnShoe
Zerok
BankingOnTheEnemy
Blakedatch
[Mystery Judges] - (1 slots still open as of July 10)

Users have requested in the past know exactly how contests will be judged. This is our attempt at being open with our process. If you have specific issues with the way we judge entries, you are encouraged to pm a judge. Posting in threads about the system used to judge pieces is off topic, so please don't do it.

Judges rank users on a 10 point scale. And then submit their results to the contest organizer, that's me. I then take the top five scoring submissions from each judge and give them a set number of points to eliminate any bias present from the 10 point scale. A judge who gives a piece his highest rating, gives that piece five points. The second highest piece gets four points and so on. Points awarded from judges are totaled and the user who has scored the most points is considered the winner. In the event of a tie, the averages of the 10 point scale results are used to break.

As a board of judges we attempt to read all submissions posted to the contest. In the event that there is unexpected turn out, we may move to a two phase system. The first phase is an elimination phase where stories are split up between judges, with overlap. Top scoring submissions from each judge make it into the final round of judging and we revert back to the system described in the previous paragraph for the final set of stories.

By submitting a story, you not only agree to abide by the rules and regulations of this competition, but you also agree to accept the terms by which we judge your piece. If you cannot do that or feel there need to be changes, you may PM Zerok.

Please note, judging takes roughly 2-3 weeks. Please be patient.

LET THE CONTEST BEGIN!!! GOOD LUCK!

Protip: If you want to win, write something that isn't lord of the rings! Also, double return between paragraphs.

[gumOnShoe]

New Talk Thread: http://www.newgrounds.com/bbs/topic/1081 536

[TechFlash]

Mad World

A teenager walked down the street to his school, his backpack loaded with a Walther P99 and a Glock 36. He experienced a brief flashback of two large football players ramming him into lockers, slamming his head into walls, and other public humiliation. He flashed to an image of his mother being beaten by his father, the flesh on her face being torn apart layer by layer from broken wine glasses and beer bottles.

He entered his school with a look on his face of peril, depression, and fear. He walked into his home room and sat down in a desk in the far off corner, waiting for the 8:00 bell to ring, and his plan to begin to take place. He took the guns out of his backpack and set them into his pockets.

As soon as the bell rang, the teenager reached into his pocket, pulled out the Glock 36, and shot at his teacher sitting quietly at her desk. He looked at his classmates in the front of the room, each of them with a look of fear and panic and screamed in terror as the teenager shot at each and every one of them. Blood covering the floor, the sound of alarms going off and people running through the halls, the teenager continued through the hall shooting at any peer in sight with a look of vengance and fear.

As he continued through, he spotted the two football players who had previously tormented and humiliated him. The football players ran through the halls with looks of panic and turmoil as the teenager chased after them. One of the football players tripped, and fell down the stairs starting a chain reaction for the second player. Bruised and bleeding, they laid down at the bottom of the stairs, awaiting their demise from their angry classmate. The teenager reached the bottom of the stairs, guns cocked, and ready to shoot at his rivals. But as he saw his peers with looks of fear and sadness, he stopped to breathe. His look of anger quickly turned into a look of consent and realization. He walked up the staircase quietly, pulled out the Walther P99, took the gun to his head, and breathed a sigh of relief before committing suicide.

THE END

[TechFlash]

Woop sorry, forgot the link to the song.

{RB6ELITE} Mad World, by RB6ELITE Type: SongGenre: Ambient

[Earthshine]

Here's my entry. Sadly, only 600 words though.

There once was a man named Tomas Fulp. He created a website called Newgrounds.com. It soon became a popular website. It was known fondly for its flash portal. Inside that portal, hits were made. Characters were created. Pico, Tankman, Alien Hominid, all originated inside the portal. The site also came out with an audio portal. There the users were free to post their music have people review it, listen, and download it. When the art portal came out in 2009, people were excited. They made art and put it there for the huge world of Newgrounds to see. Many people became famous from these portals. Egoraptor, Luis, and many other artists are some examples. These are what made people love the site. Unbeknownst to some, there was another section to the site. Far away, in a dark place, creatures came crawling from the depths of hell to lurk and destroy. To many people this place was known as, The BBS, a horrid name, for a horrid place. It is where people could post about anything they desired. Many feared its power would be too much to contain. Many wished to destroy it. Many hid from it. Some brave souls traveled it. They walked along the shredded pieces of topics that were picked as "unacceptable" for the BBS. These threads were called "Spam", and there were a lot of them. It was thought that these "Spam" threads would ruin the BBS. So in order to protect the sanctity of it, the administrators chose a select few people to keep the BBS in order. They were called the moderators. People called them mods for short. They had the power to delete threads, Lock them, delete posts, and even ban users from posting. They were feared by everyone, yet this made them happy. They had the power to wield the mighty banhammer and used it often. They compiled a list of rules. If a rule was broken, you were banned. People thought this was unfair. They didn't care. These moderators would sometimes have meet-ups in which they would have massive moderator orgys. Only to post about it later on their own secret forum. Also inside that forum were plans on how to make all of the users suffer. Tom had no clue on how these mods were using their power. Some tried to warn him. He didn't believe them. Some complained. He ignored it. It drove some people as far as to hack accounts, burn down schools, or even as far as to make people print out child porn. Each year, users got crazier and crazier, and the mods just got madder and madder. Some mods left. Some users left too. They would cower in the corner for hours on end until the mods left. One mod in particular was feared by almost everyone. His name is Eyelovepoozy. He and his crane would dominate everyone in the forum. Everyone was his bitch. There was no way to stop him. Too this day there is still no way. Another mod named Sanjay was known as the master of monopoly. He would defeat any challenger who stepped up to face him. Anytime someone saw his camel on the board they knew they would lose. He would buy properties and build up the Sanjay hotels. Later he would claim the entire board. Jadetheassasin is one of only two female moderators (BBM). Also she is the only one with a penis. Seeing her on the forums causes grave confusion and embarrassment. No one wants to be forced to have to deal with her. She'll break your heart, and then leave you banned. All of the moderators love their job because it gives them power. They all have the power to say "YOU'RE BANNED"

Here's the song.

You're Banned, by Rig Type: SongGenre: Voice Acting

[DarkLink777]

~Burden~, by hania Type: SongGenre: Goth

[ 1,130 words, according to OpenOffice Writer: ]

I grimaced as I opened my eyes, the pain from the fall still throbbing and burning throughout my entire body. I tried to sit up, but it hurt too much to move, so I waited for the pain to subside.
I knew that wasn't high enough, I thought, recalling my plunge through the silent night air.I knew it probably wouldn't kill me, but I still jumped. Don't know what I was thinking...
Unable to move and with only my thoughts to distract me, it wasn't long before I found myself thinking about her again, and now the pain was emotional as well as physical. Hanna had been her name, and it was because of her that I decided to jump.
No, that's not true. It was my fault, like everything else.
Hanna was the only person I'd ever really loved. She and I had been engaged to marry when I lost her forever. As I've said before, it was my fault she died. If I had been stronger, if I had acted faster, I know I could have saved her. If I'd been more courageous, I would have attacked the man with the gun. Sure, odds are he would have shot me, but it would've provided enough of a distraction for Hanna to escape even if it failed. Instead, Hanna was the one who acted, and Hanna was the one who was killed.
I ran. I don't remember deciding to run, I don't remember thinking about whether or not Hanna could still be alive. All I remember is running, and it wasn't until after I'd collapsed from exhaustion that the thoughts came creeping into my mind like some sort of twisted vine. It was then that I knew the true meaning of despair.
Experimentally, I wiggled my leg. The pain was still there, still intense, but I gritted my teeth and moved through it. I was able to draw my legs up beneath me into a kneeling position. I leaned forward, hands resting on the ground, my breathing ragged. The physical pain was enough to take my mind off of my emotions for awhile, so I decided to keep moving, slowly rising to a standing position. Immediately I stumbled, falling against a wall. I leaned my head back against it, looking up into the clear night sky as I tried to catch my breath. The wind felt cool against my sweaty brow, and the moon and stars created a beautiful tapestry. I stared at them, mind carefully empty, until I felt I could move again.
I was still relying heavily on the wall for support, but at least I could move; slowly I made my way back towards the open door at the base of the tower. A tight spiral staircase rose up before me, one I'd already climbed once before. It had been a challenge even then, and now I was severely injured. Still, I knew what I had to do, and I began the arduous task of ascending the steps. As I climbed, her voice came whispering in my ear, causing me to pause.
"I love you."
I knew it was just my imagination, the stress and ache of the situation finally getting to me, but it still made me pause.
Was I doing the right thing? Hanna had many times said those three words to me during life, but would they still have been true after the way I failed to protect her?
No. Of course not.
I shook my head to clear it (which only caused a sharp stabbing sensation), then proceeded up the stairs.
Eventually I found myself at the first window, the one I'd jumped from before. Looking down, it seemed like a long drop, but I knew now from experience that it took no time at all to reach the bottom. I would have to keep going. After a last glance at the ground below, I continued.
After what seemed like an eternity of climbing, I found myself at the second window. Looking out, it seemed like a fall that would certainly result in my death, but I wanted to take no chances. No, this time I intended to jump from the roof. I resumed my ascension.
Several times I lost my balance and nearly went tumbling down the steps, but each time I managed to catch myself against the wall. After such an incident, I would rest for a moment before continuing upward.
Now, finally, I was nearing the roof. Above me I could see the exit, a rectangle of relative light in the darkness. The moon and stars looked even brighter to me after being in the dark tower for so long, and I fervently climbed toward them.
It was windy on top of the tower, and there was nothing to hold on to. As such, standing was a risky endeavor, and I instead elected to crawl to the edge. Looking down at the ground provided a dizzying sensation, and the whole tower seemed to be swaying violently in the breeze. I knew this wasn't actually the case, but it still made me uneasy. I found myself amused at my fear of accidentally falling off when my plan all along was to jump.
I carefully rose to my feet, arms out for balance. I was standing at the edge of the tower, the tips of my shoes protruding over the enormous drop. I stood there, awestruck, my body still throbbing rhythmically with the pain from the first jump. I was about to end my pain forever.
"I love you."
The shock of hearing someone speak nearly caused me to fall; I pinwheeled my arms wildly in a successful effort to maintain my balance. I knew that voice, it was Hanna's. Like the whisper that had come before, though, I knew it was only in my mind. Still, I glanced over my shoulder to convince myself that I was alone on the tower's summit. I was. I turned back to the edge, frowning in contemplation.
Hanna had truly loved me during life; I believed that. That being the case, is there a chance she would have forgiven me for running? For not saving her? I found myself reluctant to accept that. Still, it made sense, didn't it? After all, if she was willing to risk her life to save us from the gunman, then wouldn't she have wanted me to escape?
As I came to this realization (so obvious in retrospect), I felt myself slipping, and I tried to step back hurriedly, certain that I was about to go plummeting off the tower.
But I didn't.
Instead, I fell backwards, collapsing to the ground in a harmless heap. I blinked in surprise, then cradled my head in my hands and cried.

[brmalone]

The tale of vincent

a knight a hero a legend a myth.Something that should not have been forgotten was lost

decades ago there was a town home to some of the bravest knights and dragonslayer in the land.people were nice children were playing on the streets,merchants were bringing goods to the town market.some of the priests called the town paradise because of the feeling they got just from living there.

But one day a great darkness sweep across the land children were killed and murdurd old woman were slaughtered,the bishops prayed for a hero to come and save the but no one came to them in their our of need.Everybody was to afraid to go to the town for they knew the darkness would destroy them.

on the place outside the front entrance a inscription wrote''A great evil walks the earth'' almost ass if the darkness has made the town it's home.

People prayed and prayed but nobody came.But one day........the front gates were opened to an unlikely hero a paladin.

the paladin came from as if from nowhere as he smighted the darkness back to the abyss and seal it away forever.the towns people cheers for there new hero.the paladin then rode back into the horizon as the people cheers for him.

almost a year past since the paladin saved the town.the paladin was known from that they on as god's right hand for how he saved the town's people.then other towns called for the hero but he never came some people say he never existed and neither this the darkness he sealed away.

one thay the darkness that the hero sealed away came back and engulfed the town in ever lasting darkness.one day the arch bishop talked to the darkness and asked what it wanted the darkness replied,''I want the paladin''.the people prayed for there hero but he never came.to this day the town is still trapped in darkness and the people still pray for the paladin to come back and save them and the darkness still waits for his enemy to return waiting,waiting,waiting

The end

Edge of Faith, by NemesisTheory Type: SongGenre: Video Game

[EpicFail]

HOT Fiery Anger, by JinNJuice Type: SongGenre: Heavy Metal

My story is definitely over 8,000 characters. Also over 50,000 so I had to host it

here. But that isn't the full story.
See the next part, here.

The viewing passwords are: newgrounds

Hope you guys enjoy!

[ForFinnegansSake]

Apocalyptis Mk. II, by sshafty1 Type: SongGenre: New Wave

My story 1021 words. Hope this is the type of thing wanted for the contest. Wooh I'm worried, this my first post.

These Streets

These streets are torn and bloody. My feet smack the broken pavement beside the shrill sounds of sirens and screeching tires, gambler's shouts and police walkie-talkie static. There are silenced screams pouring from over the broken windows, piling down where the glass lays shattered. The sun is hidden behind red haze, black smoke, steel towers, and it falteringly illuminates the dusk.

My hands fiddle agitatedly in pockets. My knife has grown warm inside the grip of my sweating palms. Clench and unclench, clench and unclench. They are spasming like little epileptic boys caught in the rave, reeling on ecstasy, and hearing their own hearts pounding against the white muscled prison, begging for release.

I will lay the knife gently against his throat, I will ask for his money, he will hand the wallet over willingly, no struggle. I consider it over and over in my mind and think about all the ways it could go wrong-a bullet in the gut, a knife in my throat-wrong, wrong, wrong. And they haunt me, these possibilities, while I walk beneath the red haze and the faltering sun.

Bump...Bump...Bump...Bump. It is steady, the rhythm of my heart. It is like cool glass being filled calmly with warm water, filled and filled, but never outflowing, overflowing the rim along which rides the wet finger that makes the glass sing methodically.

There are too many sounds in this dusk turning night, too many feet pattering down steps, too many pianos leaking solitary notes into the air, too much ringing in my head, too many twinkling stars, too many soundtracks seeping between the cracks in the shoddy movie theater wall.

I must walk. Keep walking, slap-slip, tap-tip, flap-hit feet on this pavement. Keep walking until the darkness glides in from the East, descends on this mad city and the bloodshot eye in the bloody sky crawls down below the horrible horizon. I must walk and I must not talk, must not susurrate, must not stammer, must not mumble to myself when I stalk these alleys and hover in these brothel doorways. Because if I whisper, and if I stutter, and if I babble blindly in these streets of Babylon-Yes, Babylon, bronze city turned to end of civilization, Yes, Babylon, the final and the first-then they will know me in my muttering, they will ascend and drag me down, those specters of transgression-those shades who live beneath the city's avenues and smother men who plan to sin. They are locked beneath the gravel of this city, the asphalt and the paint, the iron and the flesh, because their carmine liquid squeezed through crevices in the black ground as they lay dying, victims of sin-rape, robbery, violence, hate-and then murder...

***

There is my victim. He is walking lonely on this lonely road. He is my only victim. He is thin and his arms swing with the movement of his body. His hair is tussled and his back shrieks "MURDER" as it watches me descend upon him from the East. This night has come, my talk is none, the sun has run beneath the cover of the street, there is no light save the palsy flicker of a dying bulb in a sad streetlamp.

Steps quicken. Heart palpitates more fiercely in its cage. Clip-clop, slap-slop go the feet on the floor, running now to catch my prey in a hollow of time where there are no bloodshot eyes to watch my twinkling blade ascend upon his neck and drag down his flesh, because for some reason now the money doesn't matter, my fiend has awoken and it's his carmine liquid I want flowing down the front of my shirt in the blackness of this mad city while ghosts below still can't hear my sin acoming.

But he has heard my footfalls echoing closer towards him and he turns his head to see who could be running behind him on this dimlit path littered with splintered glass. And he sees my face twisted by insanity and psychosis, and I watch his expression shift and shape into a mien of frenzied horror, terror of the blade wielding man consuming the distance that separates.

And though he tries to twist his body in the form of escape, tries to pedal his legs against the ground, he is trapped in a nightmare and so though he moves, it is slowly, sluggishly, against the deathly current.

I glom his neck and with my knife keening brilliantly in the wavering white illumination of a crescent moon slip it coolly across his throbbing adam's apple, holding his convulsing body lovingly, pressing it close like a mother would her dying child and confide quietly to him that there is no pain, no pain, no pain and repeat it again and again until his eyes are staring confusedly at wondrous gates and his knees buckle weakly and I steer his body toward the cement. He shakes and I linger long enough to feel his death rattle, hear it issue from his sickly lips, bloodless and faint.

***

Now the passion has lost its hold and I stagger mournfully against the trash barrels, fall heavily into them and vomit. There is an uneasy calm that has threaded itself throughout this tenebrous murk, there is a beat that has hardly changed its steady tempo though its dresses have changed and spiked and fled, and even here at my end-I can't go on, not like this, not a monster-this calm weaves itself into my mind, hunkers there while I cry in the dark night suddenly wishing for light.

I have finished. There is no more for a murderer in these Babylon backstreets, they will find one of the bodies and they will find me, stained with red juices and bring me down to the hellhole prison where I will rot before I die. No, no...I will end this here tonight, beneath the twinkling stars with a knelling knife, as the music from the club around the corner-DumDumDumDum DumDumDumDum-and the faltering moonlight wash over me.

[TheAutocrat]

So heres my post. I wasn't going to post this one, I was going to do another one and compare... but this went perfectly with the song. I wasn't going to initially go with the same theme as the song title, but this went perfect and my mind sprouted with ideas. Enjoy.

Children of the Hill

The night was especially still that evening. I had never recalled the surroundings to be so tranquil on my routine walks as it was then. I remember thinking that the fields had frozen even though the weather was fair. As I strolled down my usual path, I remember getting the strange feeling of being stared at. All I could do is shrug it off, not to let my imagination get the best of me. At the time, there were these hills nearly a mile from my house. I always knew I was getting close to home when I came across these hills. Flowers grew all over them, making them such a pleasure to look at. All of the vibrant colors swaying in the occasional breeze, definitely a highlight of my walks.
But on that night, there were no flowers. They had all disappeared. I found this very strange; I remember when I had left I picked one small red flower. My wonderment sent a chill down my spine that forced me to shiver. All I could do is look away from the hills and continue my walk. I picked up my pace; I admit, I was a bit frightened.
My steady pace and constant thought about the flowers had taken my mind off of what I was doing, so I looked up to see where I was and just as my eyes had met the horizon, I noticed there was something unfamiliar to me.
I glanced over at the figure, and what I saw startled me a bit. A small boy in homely attire had been staring at me with a staid face. He looked as if I had frightened him, so I waved and smiled at him. He made no attempt to wave back or even say hello, so I moved on.
As I left the child behind, my mind went on a rampage with curiosity. I don't remember having any neighbors very close to me, and the neighbor I did have was too old to have any small children. Another chill raced down my back, and my heart began to beat faster inside my chest. Again, I was frightened at the strange things I had seen. I have never in my life imagined me, a grown man, being scared by a small boy. But this was beginning to become too eerie.
I finally worked up enough courage to look back behind me and I saw only the hills. The child must have run off. My thoughts slowed down and I felt bad for feeling scared for myself. The poor child must have been lost, I had thought. I took a breath and turned to move forward to home.
I nearly choked when I looked ahead. There was another child. A little girl, her clothes were gray and she had long blond hair. She held a single red flower in her hand and she looked at me with a smile. By this time, I didn't know how to reply. I knodded at her and grinned nervously, and before I could stop myself, I heard my voice. "Hi there, little one." With that, her smile faded and her expression resembled that of the little boy. She dropped the flower and slowly retreated further away from me. I reverted my eyes back to the ground in front of me and moved my feet once again.
I managed to focus more on getting home instead of the odd happenings I had witnessed on my journey. The walk became exhausting for me, as it seemed I had been walking for quite some time. I stopped mid-step and looked around. I was surrounded by the hills and the dirt path I usually walk was right beneath my feet and stretched out across what seemed to be forever. I looked behind me and saw only the same thing. The starry sky peered down on me and I felt lost in a place so familiar to me.
I trekked, still, ahead of me thinking it must just be my mind. I must be a bit vexed from seeing these children, making it seem I have been walking for miles. I picked up my pace again, and I was hoping to see the lantern in my window soon. I didn't pick my eyes up from the ground; I had been spooked enough as it was.
Some kind of morbid curiosity rose up inside of me. I wanted to look. I wanted to see the children. I wanted to see if they were following me. I wanted to be sure they were gone. My steps were heavier, and my heart was steady pounding in my chest. I found myself slowly, so very slowly, raising my head to the hills. Before my eyes could reach anywhere near the hills, the wind suddenly began to blow. Dust was blown directly in my eyes and I blinked tight to clear the dirt. I had not stopped walking, and I raised my hand to my face to rub the residue from my face and eye. When my vision was clear, and my eyes stopped burning I opened my eyes. I stopped my walking completely and felt a rush of fear sweep my breath from my lungs.
The hills were not empty. There were children standing everywhere. All with a blank expression or the look of quiet fear washing their little faces completely of what a normal child should wear upon their face. My breathing was heavy and fast, and the little boys and little girls all stood somber on the hills. I could feel their eyes on me. I didn't try to hide the fright this time; I began lifting my legs in a sprint following this same path. I felt as if I ran forever.
I looked ahead and around, stumbling every few heavy steps. The hills were dotted with these children; so sullen, so eerie. I felt my body slowing down, and still I had seen no sign of my house or even any other sign of life around me. Accept for all these children.
When my breathing became painful, and my legs were beginning to argue with me, I dropped to the brown path beneath me. I didn't feel it when I hit the ground; all I could do is roll on my back and stair at the heavens. The stars were gone, and the win picked up. My body became cold as the air hit the sweat on my arms and legs. My chest pounded and I felt as if I could black out. I blinked a bit of sweat from my eye, and saw that the children had began walking towards me. I could not move fast enough, as my body refused to cooperate with me.
Before my eyes closed, before my consciousness left me, I saw the children. They made a tight circle around me; there were hundreds of them. I closed my eyes and could think no more.

Children Of The Hill, by karthon Type: SongGenre: Goth

[EKublai]

THIS IS MY OFFICIAL SUBMISSION!!!
I am posting a slightly censored version on here since NG won't let me post certain bad words.
Enjoy.

Dying Memories

Written By Ekublai
Words: 3405

Inspired by the song "Nightmares of Past" composed by DayDreamingFox

Nightmares of past, by DayDreamingFox Type: SongGenre: Ambient

You know where you are. Keep telling yourself that.

Gordon reopened his right eye, a difficult feat as both lids had swollen hideously while he had been unconscious. As numb as his face was, he could still feel the blood trickle down from the gash in his cheek to the corner of his mouth. His hands were tied through and behind the rungs of a heavy metal chair. Gordon's neck strained so he could glimpse his surroundings, though there was not much to see except the single hanging light-bulb that illuminated his position in the small, seemingly underground room. Dust floated thinly in front of the ink-blot background, shimmering slightly as Gordon's labored breathing took hold of it.

So this is what happens to skinheads.

Gordon knew there was no point in regret, no point in trying to plea his way out of this situation.
He heard heavy steps above his head on an unseen ground floor, as well as an odd scraping sound that might have been someone moving a piece of furniture. A door opened, up and in front of Gordon, letting light flood onto a narrow staircase from the landing that was blocked from view by the ceiling. He heard someone stumble and the scraping sound became more erratic, yet more pronounced. The door was shut abruptly, once again casting the room in a velvety blackness. Even though Gordon already knew who was walking down, he realized that the scraping steps were coming from another pair of shoes being held dragged by the other set of steps. Gordon squinted through his cracked glasses into the dark, but tears were already blurring his vision.

"Kyle?"

Gordon was not sure whether he had merely thought of his friend or had actually uttered the question to the menace approaching.
The steps stopped right before they encountered the ambiance of the light-bulb. Then a long, brown face loomed ahead into the penumbra, his ugly wide nose flared upward like a hog, eyes half-closed and staring at the crumbling Gordon. Gordon turned away from the black man, his neck creaking from the degree of his strain. He did not fear the man in front of him, but he feared for who this man was obviously dragging towards him.

Feral Filth. tears and sweat. Won't give him the honor of my eyes. the lies we tell ourselves. Take a stand in the face of all adversity. like the pride in courage. I can't believe I pitied you. forgotten causes to be forsaken. Your she-bitch had it coming, that's right. like the remorse of an impasse. You got your "ma' n*ggas" waiting upstairs I bet, waiting for you to finish me. I had a real brother, you... the sweet taste of Dying Memories.

You can't trust any of 'em.

Gordon had only found out about Kyle's involvement in the Fat Thumb, the local skinhead gang that stuck like glue to the East Quarter, after six months of referring to him by username on a health discussion forum. They soon established that they were both from the same city, nearly in the same neighborhood. Gordon asked Kyle if they could meet up sometime. Friendless and estranged from his parents at 23, he needed to sort his life out, needed something new to invigorate him. A hunch told him that meeting this online comrade would do just that.
Gordon didn't pay much mind to his rapidly changing views of the world. He was comforted by the fact that things were starting to make sense to him in ways they never had before. Memories of repulsion at Kyle's "inter-racial marriage breeds health troubles" forum topics gradually vanished as he spent more time with Kyle. Kyle was self-assured, funny, and wise even to the older and more contemplative Gordon. He was also honest and up-front about his gang life. Within a week Gordon requested to meet and possibly join Fat Thumb. Shaking his head, Kyle said seriously,
"They're not like me. They don't easily trust outsiders." Sensing Gordon's disappointment, he added with a smile, "It's the hair. They don't like people with hair. But I can vouch for you to do some menial missions and we'll see what happens. Okay?"
These menial tasks comprised mostly of handing out White Nationalist pamphlets to people crossing the streets on the North Side. It wasn't rewarding, but Kyle never left Gordon's side. After two months-

he was more of a brother than I ever had in the dying tree that was my family-

Gordon realized he had never asked him what his last name was and so one rainy evening as they came back from a mission, Gordon did ask.
"Why do you want to know?" An answer and question Kyle often posed to Gordon in response to any question he threw at him. Trying to stay as serious as possible, Gordon replied,
"Because I want it. Fuck my surname and everyone else who's got it, you're the only family I got. You're my brother." Kyle didn't smile, but his eyes betrayed both his uncertainty and his humble embarrassment. He looked at Gordon as if for the first time.
"Taylor," he said heavily. The previously distant thunder closed in on them and the rain intensified. They started jogging and got back to Gordon's apartment as a downpour began. As Gordon was about to close the door, Kyle asked if he would like to join him on a special mission the next day, explaining it would probably convince the higher ranking Thumbs that he could be trusted. As Gordon nodded, Kyle put on the dripping, wide smile that he had restrained earlier. He seemed to fade into the drowning night as he walked away.

The storm had not retreated a bit the next morning when Gordon awoke. Biking the way to Kyle's the next morning, Gordon was cutting through a residential neighborhood when he heard intense shouting and arguing ahead. He saw a young man shouting at someone in a car that was halfway backed out of a driveway in front of light blue house that sat abruptly against the fence of an empty playground. As he approached, he recognized Kyle. He was shouting at a tall, black man who was crammed into a small car the same color as the house. Sensing trouble, he called to Kyle, but he didn't hear him. Gordon picked up speed and could now hear their words more clearly.
"The fuck you call me, son?" Shouted the black man.
"N*gger you dumb shit. N*gga'," replied Kyle mockingly, "That's right, you don't like it when I say it, do ya? Nah, thought not. You almost ran me down you son of a bitch. My brother's coming down here, and when he gets here we're gonna kick your motherfuckin' ass."
"Oh yeah? Get off my property before I call the cops!" The black man kicked the door open just as Gordon called out again. This time Kyle heard him and looked up. The black man looked as well, halfway through his eruption out of the car. The man looked at Kyle, who leered at him maliciously, and quickly decided to get going. He threw one last dirty at Kyle before backing into the street. Kyle spit in his direction but he had already gone.
Gordon didn't ask Kyle about what had happened. Kyle looked in no mood to answer questions. They both ate lunch at a local diner as the dark clouds overhead covered the streets in shadow. Gordon could see that Kyle was thinking very carefully about something. The moment he finished his sandwich, Kyle told Gordon to follow him quickly. It took Gordon a moment to realize that Kyle was taking him back to the blue house of the black man. It was a fairly short walk, but they were both soaked by the time they got there.

read on...

[EKublai]

"Ready for the mission?" He asked, though he did not wait for Gordon to respond. "That guy you saw me talking to, besides being your typical, lazy, unemployed negro, is in deep with a loan shark at West Front. The shark is a very good friend of a high-ranking Thumb. This guy isn't going to pay up. He spent all he burrowed on this house in this nice neighborhood. Thankfully, I expect he's got a few nice possessions in there that we can nab to return the payment. It's not stealing, we're taking back what's owed." He said all this very fast, betraying his nerves.
Gordon decided to go along with it once Kyle convinced him no one would get hurt as a result. Kyle once again surprised Gordon by picking the front door lock skillfully, making it look easy. Kyle froze with the door halfway open as he heard loud barking. But it was coming from the left side of the house. Gordon from the porch and saw an immense dog, barking viciously at him from behind a fence. Gordon let go of a deep breath and told Kyle it was safe.
"Okay you take anything you find in the kitchen," whispered Kyle, "I'll take a look in the den." But he had barely taken a few paces before they both heard a high-pitched scream and watched as a black woman, whose hair curls looked like lengths of telephone wire, darted from the kitchen into the den and leapt behind a couch and into the corner of the room. Gordon rushed forward to tell her to calm down, that there was nothing to worry about as long as she cooperated. But he was tripped up as Kyle pushed him aside and drew out a 9mm from the inside of his parka. Pointing it at the crouched woman, he advanced and snarled, "Up! The wall, bitch!" He grabbed her hair with one hand and pulled up. Crying and shouting incoherently, she rose with his hand. Kyle laughed, though it sounded more like retching gag reflex. "Where the fuck is your loser husband now, huh? Got kids honey?" He seethed, putting his face very close to hers before turning and shoving it against the rain-beaten window. The gun point never left the center of her chest. Gordon was paralyzed in his shock.
Then several things happened very quickly. A huge carpet of lightning illuminated the den for a moment. Gordon saw something creeping into his peripheral just in time to see the enormous white and grey hound bound in from some dark, narrow hallway, aiming for Kyle's turned back.
"Kyle! Behind you!" He heard himself shout. Kyle immediately turned and saw the dog, raised his gun and pulled the trigger just as the canine leapt in attack. The shot rang through the den as the bullet slay the wolf through the bottom of its mouth and exited through the top of its head. The dog's dead weight hit Kyle in the chest and toppled him over. The woman shrieked and jumped away from the corner, rushing past Gordon to make for the door. Gordon could not process what to do. The front door opened with a loud bang! Gordon turned to see the tall black man, wild-eyed from fear at the sight of his wife running towards him with blood smattered against the wall behind her. Gordon thought she was going to make her escape, but Kyle had already recovered. He climbed over the couch and pulled the trigger of his 9mm again as the husband screamed,
"No!"

It was an odd, out of body feeling for Gordon. He watched as if viewing the scene of a very old and degraded film. Kyle shouted at the husband distantly to stop trying to save his wife, who was bleeding profusely out of the hole in her back. Somehow, this barely legal kid was able to push this large, 30-something year old man onto the couch as his wife laid at his denim knee, dying or perhaps already dead. Kyle poked Gordon sharply with the handle of the gun. Gordon looked at him as Kyle held the gun out expectantly. For some reason he seemed extremely calm.
"Take it. I have to go check and see if we attracted attention." Gordon took it robotically and stared at the weapon, then back at Kyle, and pointed it at the man on the couch. Kyle smiled, "Crazy day, huh?" With that he climbed out a side window. Gordon watched him as he stole through the rain before lowering the gun and staring at the black man, who was still transfixed by the form of his dead wife. Gordon started to turn away, but stopped when the man spoke in a whisper so sorrowful and quiet, it did not even sound like a threat.
"I'll kill you both. I know people who want to see you racist bastards dead in your beds too." Gordon turned back, overwhelmed by what he was hearing.

Where am I?

He slowly backed into the kitchen and collapsed into a chair, letting the gun slip from his grasp. The past ten minutes flooded him in a storm even stronger than the one outside. He could not bear this weight, not at all. He could not comprehend when this evil day started. He finally began to tremble. He gripped the sides of his chair in order to stop himself. Tears began streaming over his eyelids as he shook and he tried to control himself by closing his eyes. He did not want to become audible to anyone in this house. He opened his eyes and his gaze caught the kitchen phone.

Call someone.

Gordon did not know who to call. His building? The Police? His... family? No. Gordon brought the phone to his ear, and still weeping, called the first number that came to his mind, calling one of the few numbers that had ever helped him. The phone crackled and rang, and as it did Gordon's breathing shallowed, as though his lungs were filling with rocks. Finally a woman picked up,
"Fight the Gamble: Casino Addiction Hotline, Jewel speaking, how can we be of service?"
"I... I have troubles."
That was all Gordon managed to say through his tears. He did not hear the footsteps quietly moving from the den into the kitchen, didn't care enough to realize the weeping had ceased in the other room, and so did not even register the whoosh and crack of something heavy and blunt crashing into the back of his head. Had his memory not been so merciful, Gordon would have been able to describe what it felt like to be struck by lightning.

read on...

[EKublai]

And once I'm dead, I don't think I'll have to care anymore. I guess that's what happens to all skinheads.

Not knowing whether shielding his crying eyes or determinedly making eye contact made him the better man, Gordon opened his eyes as if reawakening. He immediately realized that something was off about the man in front of him. Before he had time to wonder though, the man who had killed his friend, the man who had threatened to kill Gordon and then had tied him up, who had driven like a coward away from his house, leaving his wife unprotected; this negro who in reality had done none of those things, fell dead into the full circle of light at Gordon's feet, a wound still dribbling blood from the crown of his head.

Funny, most people would care.

"Does it really matter who tied me up?" Gordon gasped hoarsely to no one in particular, his throat feeling like it hadn't been used in years. He watched as the light glared off the presence of the shiny bald head now moving into, as they say, broad daylight. As always, Kyle didn't look the least bit crazy or unhinged. He was, of course, not smiling. He spoke in his typical careful tone,
"The Fat Thumbs kicked me out a year ago. Said I was too aggressive. But look where they are. Hiding, passing out those idiotic pamphlets. Look where we are brother, down two n*ggers and soon a race-traitor."

I couldn't stop believing those eyes.

Gordon realized what inside Kyle had attracted him so much in the first. It was his caution with the world, his refusal to answer questions, the lies he had to concoct to make his other lies work. Did Gordon really know anything about this guy?

Three months out of 23 years and I called him brother.

Gordon was again filled with a choking sadness. He felt like he had gone crazy. He realized then, that was what Kyle did to people like Gordon; he made them go crazy when they couldn't stand how sound of a mind he seemed to possess. And yet...

Kyle is crazy.

For some reason this calmed him significantly. He stopped crying and as if Mother Nature had been waiting just for that cue, the dark clouds parted outside and the sun shown in through a small window in the basement Gordon hadn't realized was there, it had been so dark. Gordon could see the empty playground. Then there was a faint sound. Kyle seemed to hear it too for he turned towards the window.

Laughing. There are dark-skinned girls and brown boys coming out to play. Running around outside, laughing.

"You ever play on the tire swing Kyle?" Gordon asked suddenly. Kyle looked at him and said nothing. "You remind of this kid I knew growing up. Older than me. He went to the playground everyday and all he did was swing on a tire swing. He loved that tire swing. Never let anyone else near it if he could help it. It became a problem as he got older. He stayed at the playground much longer than he was supposed to. He became a hazard since he was older and stronger, more dangerous on the tire swing. Sometimes kids would get too close and he would whack them with his flailing limbs. He never apologized as he thought it was their fault in the first place. Finally one day, a kid got his nose broke by the kid on the tire swing. A little girl witnessed this and ran to tell her mother. The kid chased after her and caught her before she could reach her mother who was not watching carefully. He carried her with his hand over her little mouth back behind a building and beat her up within an inch of her life."
Birds began chirping loudly outside and the sun was now shining with such intensity through the window that the room might as well have been outside.
"The police caught him, of course. Needless to say, his time in detention then foreshadowed a lot of the results that came from his later decisions." Kyle turned towards him, staring. He shook his head in curious confusion. "You still don't get it? Kyle... my brother, you've outgrown your tire swing, and now what are you? Where are you? You're nothing, and you are still on your tire swing. You have nowhere to go now, you've ended your life here. What's going to happen, Kyle, when you come out of hiding and step back into the world? Kyle, you dumb shit!"
With that, Gordon threw his head back, laughing wildly, nearly toppling his chair over. As he did the laughing of the children and the chirping of the birds outside grew exponentially in Gordon's mind, so loud that when he looked back at Kyle, who was now pointing his gun at him, he could only make out his words by the shape of his lips.
"The fuck?" Finally, even Kyle thought he was crazy.

My mind hasn't been this clear in years.

Gordon stopped laughing. He began to close his eyes just as Kyle pulled the trigger, and it was perhaps by some measure of forgiving karma that in the race between Gordon's eyelids and Kyle's bullet, Gordon won. It allowed Gordon one last moment of solitude in the dark. Shutting his eyes and opening his ears, the choir of swooping sparrows and contented children filled him with calm. They were making the most of their time between storms, using the golden sun as their guide.

The nightmare was past. Oh, the sweet taste of Dying Memories.

~End

[UpoqvoSAMMIovpoqU]

Official Entry - "Neglectful" - By UpoqvoSAMMIovpoqU

Neglectful, by NeglectfulSpawn Type: SongGenre: New Wave

Music by NeglectfulSpawn

http://neglectfulspawn.newgrounds.com

*Authors Comments after the story*

........................................
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(1,236 / 3,926

You wake up twitching and aching. With great effort you lean to the side, cough up bile and let it ooze from your dry mouth. The morning breeze holds you and carries you to your feet. You stand hunched and round shouldered. You crush cans and cardboard boxes as your stagger gradually becomes a walk. Your tummy rumbles, but the remains from the party still digest inside you. It begins again with another desperate search.

Down a residential street you begin to wander. You become transfixed at the chequered skirts of a group of girls and beg for a fairy to send you back in time. You imagine for a moment the possibilities that could have been open to you as you stare down at the base of a tree. The bright stars from silver cars impair your vision. The lawnmower grinds your skull and shreds every sensor in your ears; your shaking hands barely able to grip them and drown it out. Patterns appear in fences while roads summon a million fluffy imagines; the white lines sometimes becoming a thick waxen grey.

You turn right onto the main road into town. As trucks quake past the fumes choke your confidence. Car horns alarm you and pelican crossings daze you. The tall city buildings stand as monsters; the reflections from the thousand windows dazzling. The whiff of burgers makes you scream inside; the rich clean businessmen scoffing them outside. You sit for a moment under a well placed tree and look up at its shield from the sun.

You raise your neck to look at the dozens of hotels and apartments fittings hundreds of individuals unlike you. Your neck cracks as your eyes try to scale the top of them. Some of them look down at you. You are an alien to them. Your clothes have become a part of your skin and they fear that they cannot fulfil their responsibility come the winter.

You ponder around the market square. People avoid you. Stalls become empty as you approach them. The vendors watch you suspiciously. You stop and stare at the cookie stall and as mother buys twinkling stars for their sons and daughters you begin to cry inside; the waterfall in your heart compressing your sanity; the pressure becoming intolerable.

You run away from the pain, retreating from the battlefield of this happy metropolis. The afternoon calls you to the wilderness. There is no lunchtime. There is no noon. You continue up and down community hills, past terraces and eventually farmhouses. You check everywhere for food; your eyes becoming that of a hawk. You find nothing and your sigh is heard by no one. You're so thirsty that you have no choice but to drink from a pond in a field which you optimistically perceive to be clean. You sip the muck and filth and gurgle the tepid water around your mouth. The refreshing sensation pulverises your sadness for a moment as you suppress the fear of illness. As you raise your head you notice the world around turning darker. You rush back onto the main road as you feel the low air pressure covering your oxygen with its moist palms.

Gradually the rain begins to pour down. You shudder and run for cover; each rain drop becoming a slowly heavier bombardment of stones and rocks. They crack and break your brittle bones turning your mind inside out. Finally you hide under a bus stop and lie down. You look around and then urinate, covering up somebody else's hard work. Lightning strikes nearby and roars a horrible tremor through the air and the vibration of the abyss makes your petite fingers tremble uncontrollably. It lasts forever; the echoes of Mephisto and Zeus pounding away at you. Their hate cast upon your innocent self; their mindless rage against your childhood purity, regressed to its fullest form with all the fears of loneliness chained to you. There is nobody to hug anymore; such cruelty for love to tease you.

The rain stops and the air freshens. You climb to your feet a little more effortlessly now you've rested and you take a slightly deeper breath and proceed along the country road. For miles there are dark green bushes barricading you in. The wind picks up and the grassy sidewalk becomes narrower and thicker. It becomes harder to keep your balance and you slip and twist your ankle; the excruciating pain rushes to your mind like a spike and every twig in your brain snaps. You roll sideways into the deep gutter and cut your head on prickly thorns while spicing your hands with stinging nettles. You feel overwhelmed by a mixture of exaggerated pain; your malnourished body multiplying each sensation. Your nerves unanimously votes to shut you down.

Your unconscious rules your sleep. No one notices you as the Earth tucks you in. For hours leaves bless your body as you dream of nothing else but a home you both love and hate. Your own confusion scares you and your dream turns into a nightmare as you fail to control your fears. You witness, once again, the endless sodomisation and abuse. The hundreds of little, but big lies, proclaim and shout at you again and again. You hurl yourself through all thoughts and you portray yourself in such despair that your tears and cries wake you up.

You struggle to free yourself from the goblins of the trench and eventually you climb out. Being just about able to bear weight on your ankle you press on down the endless road. Fields of corn and marshland flow as the carpet before you flutters in the wind. The road gets busier and busier as the sun shows the first signs of settling. The evening had already begun to pass. From afar a crystal sheet shines. You had finally reached the shoreline.

The summer sun turns air to dust as straight paths bend. Your steps become both frequent and infrequent, slowly losing their grace as vigour diminishes. The flowers stink and the sea is sickening. The sky is a merciless vacuum and the hair whirlwinds together as a tangled net of dirt and grease. As you tread along the beach the winds picks up and sand blasts at you so discriminately. You have no choice but to rest on a high fence until it passes. You look sideways into the diamond ocean; the sparks of evening fireflies dancing along the waves. Your imagination is a burden to you as you picture yourself with imaginary friends and family as you build sand castles and eat ice cream.

As you become absorbed into the fantasy you feel faint, but recover and walk along the fence; the challenge amusing you. But you fall off and feel your light body smash onto your knees. You rest in that position and cry; deeply ashamed of yourself. After two minutes you face up to the delay and continue on, to nowhere. You find some steps onto the highway and climb them as the sun becomes fully cushioned by the night.

You've lost count of the days now. You've been travelling down the highway for hours. The moon and wind keep making love to you and with each passing moment its proposals seem more valid. Nobody stops to check up on you; probably most can't even see you, but the red and white lights illuminate your skeleton.

*Story continues in second post*

[UpoqvoSAMMIovpoqU]

*Continues from first post*

(2,553 / 3,926 words)

You soon reach the largest city of all. Here you hope to find a glimmer of hope and begin a new life. The midnight sky, occasionally haunted by shadowy clouds, watches your every ghostly move.

00:06-00:28

"So much becoming of fear and freedom.
Burning away at your body so blemished.
Wishing forever would instantly end yeah.
No use of thinking about tomorrow,
For the calamity of hope devolves you.
Your cries are calls for your confronting.
The sickening stare of others embitters you."

You enter the suburbs and the occasional sound of barking dogs frightens you. You sensibly choose streets with pathway lights that turn branches into bright brown glow sticks. The large city condominiums are totems in the distance, like pillars of god erecting beyond your belief. The streets remain quiet for a long time. In one house a large blue aura shines through the clean window and it mystifies you. You listen and hear chatter and music. You wander off remembering all the programmes you used to watch and that sudden fear of never seeing them anymore looms over you and wraps your body in a constricting blanket of despair.

You come closer to the city centre and neon lights begin to distort your sight; their glowing cosmos illuminating the world in a majesty of colours. Bar areas seem busy and loud music pumps out shaking the ground beneath you. You look up and notice what you initially thought was a large glittering fly chopping the air; its light remaining strong even amongst the rainbow streets.

You stop and hold yourself. You need to defecate and there is nowhere to go. You begin searching for a quiet dark back alley and eventually you find one. You close your eyes hoping the scent of your faeces does not attract anyone, or anything. You look around for something to clean yourself with but find nothing. You have no choice: you rip another piece of your coat and smear it with your impurities. You overcome the initial sogginess when you start walking again.

You think it is Saturday and guess that the huge spotlight trails in the sky must come from a city festival. You walk for two miles; the buildings getting taller and taller. You occasionally feel claustrophobic, especially as you tread down the brick layered public walkways. The remains of market stalls, retired from trade for the night, remain desolate as the wind blows on fabric and red tape. Along the walls graffiti of all talents call forth a deep yawn. The words seem friendly and familiar. You look under one of the stalls and find a dirty apple. You spit on it repeatedly and then take a vampire's bite. The juices explode in your mouth and water your eyes. You frantically look under every stall trying to find more but they are all desolate.

Holding on to your apple you leave the bazaar and continue inwards to the core of the city. You notice human rats dozing off like ambient attractions. A few pigeons can be seen digging at each other, trampling over a chip fork, contesting for the last bit of fish.

You continue to stroll unnoticeably to the angel beams in the sky. You finally reach a huge open area and very soon you become one with the crowd; anonymous once again, but for the better.

Your eyes adjust to the bright lights on stage. There are two celebrities chanting away, making jokes and playing prank games with the public. You look at them and you clench your first tightly. They make stereotypical jokes about the working class and ugly people. They get the audience to agree with their views. You're the only one not laughing and some begin to look at you; they laugh harder.

You run away from the crowd trying to hide the fact that you're scared, but your emotions are so fiery that it becomes extremely difficult. You look behind you and find no traces of that ghost train attraction but in doing so you trip over a magical obstacle that you should have seen. You fall, your weak puny hands not even being able to withstand you. You collapse on the side of your face and let your tongue play with a broken tooth. You try to scream in agony but fail to commit to the energy. There are very few people around and you believe that even if they saw you they wouldn't help. Everyone was a bystander, nobody cared. You pondered if it would be different if you were clean and pretty.

It takes so much effort for to return to your feet. Your tired and dehydrated self seems rock solid. Your golem-like stance makes you feel truly vulnerable.

You begin to move as each step feels robotic. The whole journey had been so draining but you still couldn't think of where to go or what to do now you had reached the most reliable place. All you are aware of is that you are of no use to anybody.

The wandering ghosts that shine off every glittering panel begin to take its toll. Your regular senses become intertwined and you feel dizzy. You feel more nauseated as you move further around the city; not knowing where to go. You wish you could just ask somebody for help but, like a young cat, you feel an overwhelming panic at any interaction. You feel so ashamed of yourself for not being able to realise that none of it is your fault. The slow crawling of fate climbs your back and for the first time you begin to feel truly alone. You feel like lying down, never to get up again, but you force yourself onwards. You seem to be going the wrong way as you turn down a dark avenue. A noise disturbs you and you look into the parallel cavern. It was only a cat falling off the recycling bins.

You stagger upon each step and like a drunken fool you begin to lose control of your face making odd gestures at the occasional person; however it is so dark that it is unlikely that they will notice, and you presume that they won't care. Instincts take over and you become a simple animal that longs for a habitat.

There are only parked cars down the avenue. The light bewilders you so much that you only look straight ahead into the darkest regions of the pavement. It becomes a game and you find a little bit of amusement in it. You look up for a moment and laugh at gravity.

It's been a long while since you ate the apple. You start to feel really hungry again and wonder if you should try knocking on doors. You forfeit the idea out of a fear of rejection so powerful that it could deter a winner of a lifetime supply of confectionary to claim his/her's prize.

You reach a busy intersection and walk across the road, with a little hope that a really fast car would hit you. You reach the other side unhurt and after a sigh of careless relief you walk down another quiet road. The sky looked slightly brighter now morn was breaking.

You have to stop and rest, so you slant your back on the edge of a bridge out of everyone's view. You stare at the water and even put your finger it; the warm feeling making you smile. For a moment you want to drown in it and go to heaven, but you begin to sip at it - the holy water resurrects you.Suddenly you feel a wet surge of liquid spurting from your vagina. It's been a long time since your last period. You don't care about it though and you simply raise the only layer of clothing blocking it from nature's soil and let the blood mark your territory.

*Continues on third post*

[UpoqvoSAMMIovpoqU]

*Continues from second post*

(3,171 / 3,926)

The midnight calamity had strained on for too long. The bridge looked comfortable enough to sleep in so you slither inside and convey your eyes to the deep blackness. You adrift immediately, effortlessly falling into the dank uncontrollable shadow of memory. The cellar where the endless rapes took place cave your subconscious in. You look to escape but your instincts are to stay and fulfil your function, for he, and her sometimes, would punish you for disobedience in unimaginable ways. You remember trying to explain it to people. You remember how they explained it to you. You remember the day that you decided that explanations were pointless. Only now you desire an explanation from god.

00:50 - 01:18

"This is your tale of fate and friction.
Covering you with heartless wasps yeah.
No use of begging because they hate you.
Don't try searching for the light ha!
Because you can't be sure where it is.
And bite the dust you shall oh baby.
It shall taste so fresh and homely.
You are not adult or child.
And you shall grow to become neither..."

The immense bust of a car horn pops you out of your sincere collapse. You slept for over half a day and again it was evening. Upon peaking from your nest the evening sun seemed almost welcoming.

You push yourself out of your little cave and brush off debris and wet leaves. You begin to follow the row of cars streaming for home; the glittering effect from the evening sun keeping you focused. You find it difficult to cross a busy junction and your impatience almost adjoins your shins to a motorbike.

About a mile on you hear high pitched cheering and banter. You walk by a secondary comprehensive. It hypnotises you. You stare uncontrollably at the kids wrestling and chasing each other, aware of the innocence they assume. As their parents begin to take them home you feel a huge burning sentiment. The sheer jealousy consumes your mannerisms and the entire world in your mind becomes inflamed by your desire to maim and slaughter. You sit and stare in an uncontrollable rage. Finally it snaps and you start to approach the school but you stop yourself from entering through the gate. Instead you raise a fake hand and wave goodbye.

The sun descends further. Kebabs shops fill and restaurants light up their visual attractions. The sniff of food sickens you and the crushing pain of starvation leaves a trail of bio in your wake. The roads are endless and straights are windy. You travel onwards, forever backwards.

You again feel greatly fatigued. You have had enough of this and you don't know where you are, or where to go. You think of the first possibility that comes into your stupid mind - a hospital. You decide that you might be able to get food if you flash your scrawny body around and claim an illness. So you begin to wonder in search of somebody to ask...
But everywhere you go seems barren. The few deserts of the city hold little human substance. The blank, oily industrial factories pollute your senses. Your views are so unattractive.

The sun settles behind a tall apartment in the furthest layer. As the lights switch on and off it makes your brain twitter and you gaze at it with the curiosity of a young puppy. You tread on in search of humanity but instead find nothing but pools of chewing gum failing to camouflage itself on the pavements.

You walk by a shop selling clocks. The swinging gongs and odd chimes make you feel dizzy. You notice that a funny looking clock face embedded in a skull has stopped...

*Continues on forth post*

[UpoqvoSAMMIovpoqU]

*Continues from third post*

(3,926 / 3,926)

Suddenly a car stops beside you. A voice calls you over. "Are you okay miss?" he asks. You stutter a slow reply... "Yes, erm..."

As you pluck up the courage to ask you look into his deeply serious but distracted eyes. Eventually you try to speak, but it comes out as a whimper... "Erm... I'm looking for the nearest hospital..."

"I know where that is," he says and offers you a ride in his black polished saloon. "Ermm... no thank you... I'll walk..." your instincts command you to finally say.

He insists but you begin walking again. After a few more blocks he appears again and inquires to know about you. He drives slowly, following your every step with a perfect cruising speed. You continue to walk very steadily, trying your hardest to ignore him. You notice a large sparkling tower down the end of an alleyway. You begin to feel excited when you notice an NHS sign and successfully remember what that means. As you begin to walk down the alleyway you hear the car engine stopping and its door opening.

"Hey, why aren't you answering me! Hey!" he asks. You press on through the dark alleyway noticing thin ladders leading to side entrances. The man begins to follow, his footsteps clearly faster than yours. You feel a sudden panic and begin to run, but with your degraded body you're barely able to stay up. As you traverse halfway down the alley he runs and grabs hold of you. His grip is so frighteningly strong you can't move even your fingers.

"Huh! Where do you think you're going bitch!" he demanded and threw you to the ground. Your fall is barely broken by a plastic drains pipe.

"What... what...? Uh... please... I just want to get there..." you explain. "Oh you will be going there," he warned. He falls onto your ribs and tears your mucky clothes off. You feel his knee pressing against your chest; your lungs struggling to gather breath. He finally strips you naked but you smile as your imagination conjures up the image of a young innocent girl losing her purity in your place. You lose such very little...

He brings himself to orgasm and leaves you to shake naked in the cold. You sigh in relief. But then a very still wind breezes around you. You look up and see a huge knife faintly reflecting a distant street light. You're too weak to even move as it comes hastily down to meet you and impales you with meteoritic force. He starts slowly, enjoying your mild weak screams as you stare down the remaining passage of death. He continues to stab at you so effortlessly; like needles when knitting. As your blood streams so slowly from your body your breath quickens then stalls. He finally stops and you stiffen up. It is wet all around you. He laughs at you and runs back up the ally. You watch him flee in his getaway vehicle. You make lots of effort to turn your head 180 degrees but although you succeed, this is your final accomplishment, the damage has been done.

The pain begins to die down as you become one with the cracked ground. In the silence you see in the distance a mother carrying her child down some steps. You begin to cry as your silent tears are a witness to the many millions of ghosts that have suffered just like you. You close your eyes and the entire rainbow of memories sweep through your mind. The very few moments of happiness in your life cuddle you in their friendly palms for your last few seconds, the last thought being what could have been. The wind around you makes way and your body is now fully lifeless, only a witness to the endless space and stars, your only true friends...

2:00 - 2:29

"Come on, oh come on, oh come on, oh come on, oh come on, admit it.
You are, a failure, an idiot, a waste, a tool, just leave us.
There will be, no home, no love, no cuddles, no point yeah.
You'll burn, you'll break, you'll fall, you'll rot, you'll die, just like them.
But hey, don't worry, not everybody, will forget, about you, oh baby.
So praise, the dreamers, who wish, the world, would not be, neglectful..."

Your story is of silence and noise; one that can never be heard or quietened, for the screams and whimpers of those lost are left for imagination to discover...

........................................
........................................
...........................

Author's Comments

The choice of song is unbiased. I looked around the audio portal for a while and choose this music purely on the grounds of compatibility and image. Although I think the music is highly listenable, it is not my favourite piece, however I feel there are sheer amounts of emotion that can be derived from its dirty roughness. I did not choose to enter this competition with prior intention to do a distressing story.

If you would like to narrate or review feel free to PM me at anytime. Also I particularly want to encourage people to PM if they are confused as to the meaning of any lines in the story as some are extremely poetic. I would be happy to provide an education.

Feel free to comment on my profile on this and another story, "Unspoken Blue", that was written for possible use in a collaboration.

I would like to alert all judges, reviewers and NG users that I will not be available to read or reply to personal messages or e-mails during the dates 24th July - 1st August GMT.

Sammi

[TheMetallkyling]

EDGE OF FAITH

Edge of Faith, by NemesisTheory Type: SongGenre: Video Game

mood:dark
Scenery Night, building top
Tempo: slow

"finally... it will son be over..."
A lonley man stands on the top of a building, streching his arms out.
"FINALLY THE NIGHTMARE WILL END"

He stared to smile... somehow...
It was a cold night and the wind was picking up as he stared out from the rooftop, looking thru the windows of the building next to it, lights, eminating from the windows. Mayby in one of them, there would be someone for him, someone he could rely on... someone he could love...
He strts to laugh whit the thought of someone having fun right now, mayby on a party whit friends and family... after all... its Christmas eve...

In the building next door theres probably a kid sneek peeking in his gift, or a parent putting them out for their kids...
"The seasons of miracles they say" he mutters, "The time where santa brings present to both naughty and nice... heh..."
A voice in his head kept telling him "dont do it! you have a choise!!" but no, in his heart, he knew that was not true, he doesnt...

Scene: high school hallway, one guy and two girls, one reghaired and one blonde pigtailed girl.
Mood: still dark.

" YOUR WHAT?" the voice said, echoing from the day before, "Get away from me you FREAK!"
standing leaned towards the locker holding her books stood an angel in his eyes, red hair draped over her shoulders and whit a face that was clearly touched by god.
He had ben in love whit her the entire year, he knew he must have been crazy, a girl like her loving a guy like him? BLASPHEMY!
Yet... he just had to try... "better to have loved and lost then not loved at all".... right?

"i... i love you..."
"YEAH RIGHT!" a high pitched voice practicly screamed from his left, "DONT MAKE ME LAUGH!" the last he could remember was him running trough the corridor, almost crying, laughter echoing from the hall... and a silent "wait..." from the redhead.

(back to the roof top)
The wind had realy picked up, our guy standing on the ledge.
"BETTER TO HAVE LOVED AND LOST YOU SAY?!" he shouts out towards the sky, "WELL THEN... I GUESS YOU HAVE NEVER LOVED SOMEONE!".
those where his last words as he steped off...
falling and falling, into the never-ending abyss, streching his arms toward the sky mumbling "here i come you old mother fucker".

Scene: a girls room, one redhaired girl crying over a picture of a man, the same man that just three days ago said he loved her... not knowing She loved him too..

[Nousentre]

This story is more of a scene, and it goes out to Danman87, for his inspiration, even if I don't win. It's in a first person perspective, as you see through the characters thoughts in post-dialogue. Alright then.
It's called:

"Entering the Stronghold"

- I couldn't see the moon that night. I remember the crescent glow penetrating the moist clouds, and it give hope, but just not enough. The first rain drop fell. I stared down the colossal towers and their ever-gazing eyes rub the ground. Intimidating, I kept repeating, but that just meant I'd have to be swifter. Sticky mud clashed my shoes in dreadful brown. My arms were aching from beating lashes and tender wounds. Sweat dripped down my forehead. "I will save them", I told myself, "I will save them". Now, I felt ready. "Everyone is waiting on me now, and dammit Alexa, I won't turn away now. I see the the spotlight of the watch tower, but it can't catch my presence yet. No, not yet. And hear me out, I'm getting closer. And not ever will I turn my back on these people." And even my own weak words, my last breaths of heroism, never hindered me. Nothing to regret anymore now.

The strong smell of mingling rain and mud brisked my scents; my shoes were covered in filth. My hands clawed at the concrete wall of wet cracks, and I knew I was almost at the top. I gave just seven more seconds. The light was still moving left. Six. Seven. I plopped down and rolled over mesh of autumn leaves, if only I knew back then and there, but I had to keep moving. They were waiting. I took nine steps into the dark. I held my breath, waiting as they turn their gaze elsewhere. I moved again. With only a few meters till the entrance. I counted once more: four, five. I leaped for the door. But no one saw me yet.

Nothing of me fell exposed to the light. But they weren't going to stop. They never would. Numbers ran my mind again: seven, eight. And the rusting iron of a barren door struck my path. Without second thought, I was in. The smell of carcass greeted me. But I could be a hero today, and I will be. Everyone is waiting for me.

I lunged through the corridors, and kept my eyes open for the cells. The detention center; no one else but me and the prisoners were here. I saw green lights illuminate above cell doors as I pressed the controls release button. I ran to the nearest one, and reach my hand in. Something else reached back. I pulled him out, and moved toward the next cell. My hand was a breath of fresh air for most whom I was helping. And even in darkness, I still saw their young faces. Each one a child, beaten and scarred, but freedom was at their little grips now. As they started scattering, bells rang outside the stronghold; I knew some had already been caught. And as I headed back to exit my entrance, a young blond girl stood in the path of the wavering spotlight. Her hand met mine as I approached her, and she climbed into my arms, silent as a mouse. I ran.

My feet slipped all over the mud as I could barely hold my adrenaline pumping through my veins. It was the only thing moving me. Fear caught my throat and slit it. It left me breathless as every step I took was closer and farther from danger. I never looked back. The bells kept setting off. Gunshots were nearing me. A frightened girl clenched my body. The vibrations of whizzing bullets hitting the ground shook me. I saw the wall. And then, I tripped. The girl, still silent, flung out of my arms. I rolled over murky grass and dirty water. My head was spinning. I saw no wall; just the night sky past the fog of war. The steep cliff I hit brought me down. And even in my confusion, in my dazzle, I still heard the pulling trigger of that weapon. A girlish yelp ricocheted my ears. Wish it was me, not that girl.

I stood up after my hill-side hell voyage came to a halt. I gathered my thoughts, and looked out into the night I mistook for that concrete wall I thought I climb. And then, I looked down; shivers of fear, tears of misery, and rage took over my petty body. The sight of ten thousand men, pushing daisies over the cliff side, welcomed my gaze into their hell hole. I never thought the stench of rotting corpses would go away. I heard footsteps above me; the soldiers were looking to fry my ass just like the rest of the kids I helped. I hugged the hill bank, and only hoped they saw me. Their flashlights rallied messages of my death, as they thought I joined they community of the dead; too bad I wasn't lifeless yet. They turned away and walked back. As I followed, I reminded myself the same thing over and over again. How I'd like to see their blood on the asphalt, in the name of all the fallen.

Turn your eyes back to me, cowards; its my move now. -

Entering the Stronghold, by Danman87 Type: SongGenre: Classical

[PARABLK]

The Shadows of Loneliness, by Jabicho Type: SongGenre: Goth

What chooses to be alone?

A girl stares down a long narrow corridor, her hair dirty, yet her white kimono seemingly in perfect condition. She started walking down the quiet hall, one step at a time. She had her right hand over her left hand and both were pressed against her chest, slightly shaking with fright, as was her entire body. Her quivering head would turn to the left and then to the right to show two frightened eyes staring suspiciously at the yellowish brown walls as she past by them.

"Dau...ghter...."

The girl stopped in mid-step as the eerie voice crept throughout the hallway, she started to take a step back, but the second she did, she felt something soft and squashy underneath her left foot. She quickly took a couple of steps forward and decided to take a look at the bottom of her left foot. Suddenly, her eyes began to widen and her closed mouth slowly began to open in fright as she lifted her hands to cover her speechless mouth, while shaking her head in disbelief. For the soft and squashy thing that was underneath her left foot was a bloody brown eye, oozing a clear-like substance. The girl panicked and violently tried to kick away the grotesque eye from the bottom of her left foot, but to no prevail. As she was doing this, an eerie shadow in the form of hundreds of bodies crawling, started to slowly make its way toward her. Finally the girl got fed up with the eyeball on her foot and lifted her left leg up a little bit and used her right hand that was once on her face and began to peel the bloody eye from her foot as if it was a piece of dead skin. She put her foot down and stared at the eye for a while until it started to shrivel up like a raisin. The crawling shadow grew even closer, eclipsing everything it came across. The girl became disgusted by the sight of the now shriveled up brown eye and quickly threw it to the ground. Only for it to vanish before it could reach it. The girl shook her head in disbelief again and started backing away, not realizing that with one more step, the mysterious shadow would be within arms reach of her legs.

"Such...lust...our daughter..."

Another eerie voice echoed throughout the hall as she took her final step back. From within the mysterious shadow surface hundreds of slimy, black hands without hesitation, reach out like a bunch of venomous snakes pouncing on their prey and grabbed her legs. The girl turns her head and becomes even more terrified as she sees hundreds of hands oozing a black substance tightly grabbing her long smooth legs. She tries to pull away from them, only for their grips on her legs to get even tighter.

"Let me go!" screamed the terrified girl sadly.

Her cries go unheard and the eerie hands start to pull her closer toward the eclipsing shadow. She tries to use all of her strength to stay where she is, but the hands overpower her and with one mighty tug, they get her off her feet and she comes crashing down to the floor, hitting the back of her head in the process. The hands use this as their opportunity and begin dragging her into the murky darkness of the shadow. The girl starts to come in and out of consciousness as her legs slowly become submerged under the mysterious shadow. She tries to lift her head up, only to feel a slight sting in the back of her head. She glances to the left and then to the right and realizes that she's moving, but before she can do anything, two slimy hands grabbed her by the right and then left arm and pulled her back up, only to submerge her completely into the shadow.

"Help!" cried the girl, "someone!"

The girl screamed even louder for help, but no one could hear her. She tried to escape from the liquid-like darkness, but it was too little too late and from within the darkness of the left wall leaped out a feminine being with one brown eye, dripping the same black substance all over her body as those eerie hands that consumed the girl into total darkness.

"Hellish...slut..."

"Unwelcome...little witch!"

"Yes, witch!"

"Ohhhhhhhhh...."

Everything was gone now, the long corridor, the strange voices hidden within the darkness, everything, except for the young girl, who laid in the empty space of nothingness, curled up in a ball, shivering with fear.

"You forced me to," said the girl softly, "all of you forced me to."

"Lies..."

"Yes, lies..."

"You enjoyed it..."

"Yes, every minute of it."

"No," responded the girl, "I had to...protect...myself."

"Protect yourself?"

"From what?"

"Tell us..."

"Yes, tell us..."

The girl slowly opened her eyes and saw three human-like creatures circling around her. Two out of the three seem to look like grown men and the one in the middle seem to be the same feminine being that sent her into this world of shadows. She tried to move her arms and legs, but it seems impossible, as if they no longer had any purpose in this realm of mystery.

"Answer us...demonic witch..."

"From what...do you seek..."

"Protection from..."

The girl started to think to herself about what, she sought protection from, when the feminine being, who had yet to say a single word, floated toward her and stopped a mere inch from her head. She stared into the girl's frightened brown eyes, seemingly looking right into her very soul. The girl did so as well, only staring into one eye and realizing that the grotesque eye that she stepped on was this mysterious being's, which really got to her.

'I...I just want to be loved,' thought the girl to herself, 'I don't want to be alone anymore.'

"Excuses!"

The girl was shocked that they could hear her thoughts. Yet she asked herself if what she said was really an excuse to hide what she was really going to say.

"Did it excite you?"

"Was their blood all that you desire?"

"Such a pure body..."

"Yet an impure mind..."

The girl started to become frightened by their words and tried to block out what she knew they were trying to say, while the feminine being's breasts started to ripple and change shape.

'I did nothing wrong,' thought the girl sadly, 'they understand that.'

"Understand...what?"

"That you gain pleasure from it..."

"That it was their blood that you loved..."

"And not them..."

"You're...you're wrong," answered the girl softly, "they were...they had..."

"What?"

"Warm blood..."

"Was it tasty?"

"Like your mother's...milk..."

"Shut up!" shouted the girl angrily, "just shut up!"

The two male beings only smiled at her words and seemed excited that she would show them the anger that lay deep within her. The female one started to smile as well as her left breast started to morph into what look like a male face and her right breast a female one. The girl saw this and became petrified by what the two faces were saying.

"Dau...ghter..."

"Forgive us...our sinful child."

The girl's eyes started to water as the darkness surrounding her started to change. The two men began to slowly float away with their demonic smiles still gloating over the fact that they finally got the answer to their question. In the distance, the dark void started to rapidly phase between this world of emptiness and the very corridor that the girl was walking through not so long ago.

"Mom...ma," murmured the girl sadly, "Pap...pa..."

[PARABLK]

What chooses to be alone? cont...

The feminine being floated closer to the girl as frightened tears ran down her pale face. The being's cold, slimy black hands started to make their way toward the girl's face and she could do nothing to stop it, from fear of what it might do to her. It gently placed its hand on her cheeks and used its thumbs to wipe away the tears on her face. The girl tremble in fear as the faces on the being's breasts began to vanish, but a little relieved. Until she started to see movement coming from the being's right eye socket. She was too afraid to see what horror would appear next and decided to close her eyes, only for the being to forcefully open them with her index fingers.

"You must pain...our daughter..."

"Such...indescribable desires..."

The girl slowly shook her head in terror as two familiar faces shared the empty socket. One had a beard that seemed to mix into the other one's more feminine face. The surroundings phase more and more back into the long corridor, but something was terribly wrong and disturbing about it. The being started to hold the girl's face more tightly and began to slide her moist thumbs closer to the girl's eyes. She tried to pull away, but it seems now that even her head was paralyzed in fright.

"Momma, Papa," cried the hysterical girl, "why?"

The two faces began to show what look like two evil smiles as the being removes her index fingers from the girl's eyelids to allow her to close them, but in a matter of seconds, started pressing down on her eyes. The girl screamed out in pain like a banshee in the moonlit skies, but there was nothing she could do.

"You like licking..."

"The blood..."

"From our..."

"Rotting meat!"

The girl's lower lip began to shiver at the thought and yet again, she screamed out, but the only thing that came from it was the mysterious being pressing in harder on her eyes.

"Stop it!" screamed the crazed girl, "stop it now!"

The being responded to her pleas by pressing even harder into her eye then ever before, digging her slimy nails into her very flesh, blood started to run down the girl's face as a sickening grin appears on those two, cold faces.

"Do not hide..."

"Your nature..."

"From us..."

"We understand..."

"Your retribution..."

"Your vengeance..."

"For it's understandable..."

"For what we've done..."

"To..."

"You..."

The phantom-like woman grew the most disturbing smile that anyone could ever imagine and began to stick out a slimy black tongue, oozing the same black substance as her body and seductively licking around her pure black lips.

"I...I don't understand," murmured the girl softly.

All became quiet as the feminine being moved her head close to the girl's and licked the blood running down her face all the way back to her left eye and then her right eye in a seductive manner. The darkness completely phases this time, taking the feminine shadow and the two faces with it, but before they vanished, the feminine shadow spoke for the first time with bone-chilling words.

"The love you seek is an excuse to satisfy your most erotic desire...the desire to...kill!"

The girl slowly opens her eyes to see herself back in the corridor with everything, as it should be. She quickly rubs her eyes to make sure the blood is gone, but she feels nothing in or around them. She looks puzzled and sees a mirror at the far end of the corridor. She begins taking baby steps then regular steps and finally into a mild jog to get there, while looking around the corner for the devilish shadow that sent her to her own personal hell. As she got closer to the mirror, she noticed how the floor, the walls, and the ceiling had mysterious red stains sprays all over them. She started to get nervous as she reached the mirror and looked down the left intersection and then the right and saw even more red stains throughout both of them.

"What is going on here?" thought the girl to herself.

The girl turned and looked into the mirror and suddenly became petrified with fear, for within the mirror was a reflection that showed her completely covered in blood from head to toe. The girl started backing up, when a drip of blood fell from her own nose.

"Blood?"

The girl lifts her right hand up and slides it down her face. To her horror, her entire hand was dripping blood. She lowered her head and saw that her white kimono was now soaked in blood. A part of her was freaking out about the situation, but a sudden excitement also started to emerge. She couldn't understand why she was feeling this way, when suddenly a loud scream echoed throughout the right intersection. She turned her head in that direction and started to realize that the scream sounded very familiar.

"Mother," said the girl softly.

The girl ran as fast as her legs could take her down the right intersection, but it seems like it went on forever. After running through it for two or three minutes, she saw a bright light at the end of the bloody hall, but before reaching it, she stops to see a small shiny object, about a foot away from her left foot.

"What is that thing?" questioned the girl.

She bends over to pick it up and then goes into a horrified state, for the shiny object was a bloody Kunai with tiny chunks of somebody's flesh, but instead of dropping it, a part of her starts to enjoy the sight of it as she stands back up and looks at it.

"This feeling," thought the girl, "why does it feel so...good?"

The girl keeps asking herself this question, as she approaches the door with a sudden curiosity, but as she walks through the door, her eyes widened to the point that they were going to pop out of her tiny head.

"My...my God" cried the girl sadly, "no!"

The entire room was splattered with the flesh and blood of her own mother and father. She fell to her knees at the sight of her mother, stabbed multiple times all over her body. Her black and pink kimono was ripped apart, exposing both of her full breasts with lacerations and dripping blood all over them. The girl shook her head in fright, when she saw her father's stomach slit wide open with his intestines dangling out.

"Who...who could have done this?" cried the girl angrily.

"You did..."

"And with such..."

"Delight..."

Suddenly, the girl's grip on the Kunai started to tighten as the entire room phase back into the nothingness that she had thought she had escaped. Her eyes that were once frightened show only an indescribable intensity and her mouth opened to show her licking her lips in bliss.

"You're getting hot?"

"Aren't you?"

"Your fear..."

"Is an excuse to hide..."

"Your erotic fantasies about..."

"Death," said the girl softly.

The two male beings appeared before her and their smiles grew even bigger than they ever had before. The girl began walking toward them, tightening her grip on the Kunai to the point that her veins were showing. She saw from the corner of her right eye, the feminine being in the distance, seemingly waiting for her.

"Showing me this," thought the girl, "brings such warmth..."

The two males started laughing at what she was thinking, when suddenly she started to run in a dead sprint toward them. She lifted the Kunai up toward her chest and the tip pointed toward them. She leaped forward and stabbed the male being on the right in the throat and then spun around and stabbed the other one, right in the forehead. She pulled the Kunai out to reveal it dripping fresh blood and dangling pieces of the left one's brain.

[PARABLK]

What chooses to be alone? Concludes....

" Such lovely blood for me to drink," said the girl softly.

She place the Kunai near her mouth and started to lick it clean, as the bodies of the two men started to fade away. She closes her eyes to try and take in this new feeling, but unknown to her was that the female shadow was slowly making her way towards her at a speedy pace.

" Drip...drip...drip...drip...that's the sound that blood makes..."

The girl hum those words over and over again, while opening her eyes to see the woman of darkness standing across from her. The woman seem to like the tune that she was hearing and bend down before her feet. The girl stops humming, while lifting the Kunai above her head. The woman started to open her mouth slightly to say what seem to be her final words.

" Tell me what chooses to be alone?"

The girl smile at her as she struck the woman in her left eye, slowly cutting through it like a piece of white bread. The girl just stare at what she had just done and quickly pulled out the Kunai from the eye , only for it to spray out blood and a clear-like substance onto her amazed face. She dropped the Kunai and lifted her right hand towards her face and gently wiped all the blood off of it. Then she moved her hand away from her face to get a good look at all the blood that was dripping off it and without hesitation, started to lick the blood off her hand very slowly as everything around her started to phase.
THE END

[mariomasher]

An Epic Battle

"Crap! It's the Scrin!" Bert, a wraith, exclaimed. "But why are they here?"

"What are the Scrin?" David, an archer, asked.

"They are merciless creatures. They attack in huge hordes the one coming at us. The haze is a bunch of Scrin. They have a clawed mouth, bat wings, razor claws, raptor-like toes, and a few spikes jutting out from its back. You will notice that some of them look human. Well, they used to be. They have small drones in the horde that attack your main organs by latching on and biting through your skin, bone, and other tissues. Once the victim is dead, these drones inject a disease in the body. In a matter of seconds, the body turns into another Scrin. Watch out when we go into battle." Bert explained.

"Here they come!" Sour got into a battling stance. The horde of Scrin reached the heroes. Sour hacked one in half. The top half of the marred body slashed Sour in the back of the leg. Sour fell to his knees. Aggravated at the Scrin, he smashed the creatures face with his fist. "Aw, this is brand new armor! Stupid mucus-covered Scrin!"

"Don't let it stop you, 40," Jacques ordered.

"Oh, so we're back to numbers now?" Bert laughed. He teleported into the air and launched a Scrin into the horde. It obliterated about seven Scrin, excluding the one thrown. David shot an arrow through three Scrin, killing each one. Jacques hacked away but they didn't stop coming. Not even Gabe was fast enough to hold them off.

"This is getting ridiculous!" Gabe yelled.

"You're telling me. I'm not as fast as-" David was interrupted.

"RIDICULOUS!" Gabe screamed. Jacques chuckled at this old joke. He turned and cut a Scrin in half, but before he could block, he was tackled by a drone.

"Hey! Get off me!" The drone was tearing at his flesh. He closed his eyes tight and when he opened them again, the drone was frozen. "What..."

"38! Get up!" Sour was attempting to hold off the horde of Scrin around Jacques. Dazed, Jacques got up and assisted Sour.

"There's no way we'll make it out alive at this rate!" Bert yelled as he withheld a Scrin in dark matter.

"I agree!" Gabe yelled from a distance. "There's no end to this horde!" As Gabe and the others kept fighting, they migrated to the center of the horde.

"I'd be fine if we weren't so close to these things!" David shouted over the screeches of the Scrin. "I don't do well close up!"

"Now's when you learn," Bert replied.

"Guys, look up!" Jacques ordered.

"Why?" David asked.

"Just look!" Jacques demanded. When the rest of the group looked up, there was a helicopter flying overhead.

"That reminds me. Why do we use medieval weapons?" David inquired.

"I don't know. We just are," Sour said. Jacques saw a figure in the helicopter. The figure shot something into the horde. It was a grenade. As soon as it made contact with the Scrin, it exploded, destroying at least forty of them.

"Holy @#%*!" Bert yelled.

"What?" Sour didn't know what he said.

"Why did you just say 'at number percent star'? Gabe asked.

"Just because," Bert replied. Another grenade was shot into the area. A hole appeared in the horde. The Scrin now focused on the helicopter. They dove at the aircraft and grabbed onto it. The helicopter began to spin out of control. The gunner jumped out as the vehicle exploded into the horde. The mysterious man took out a shotgun and shot all the creatures that came within three feet of him. He was untouched.

"Okay, now I'm really confused as to why we use medieval weapons," Gabe said. A Scrin slashed the shotgun in two. Both pieces became electronically charged. The man threw both into the horde and they exploded in a matter of seconds, destroying about 100 Scrin total. The gunner then whipped out dual pistols. He pointed then in opposite directions and shot rapidly into the horde. Sixty Scrin were annihilated. They overheated and had the same effect as the shotgun. He threw them into the horde and destroyed 46 Scrin total. He then took out an M16 next and shot at a bunch of Scrin.

"Where is he getting these?" Jacques exclaimed.

"I don't know but you can tell that he is very discerning," David said.

"VOCAB WORD!" Jacques yelled.

"Err...Ok?" Sour was a bit shocked at MM. The mysterious warrior took out 70 Scrin but saved one bullet. He then took out a S.P. Lazzr.

"What? Are we in Halo 3 now?" Bert asked. The man fired it once and destroyed 37.978 (yes, 978 thousandths of one) Scrin. He muttered to himself some Scientific and mathematical terms and then took the rapid fire cartridge in the M16 out and put it in the S.P. Lazzr, transforming it into the S.P. Lazzr R.F. He shot the rapid fire lasers around the area and destroyed a lot of (as in OVER 9000!!!) Scrin.

"That was intelligent," David said.

"Yes, but he'll burn out faster," Sour corrected. Sure enough the gun burnt out. He put it away and he took out a sniper rifle.

"Alright, that's enough weapons for one guy!" Jacques said. The man sniped off 7 Scrin heads with an additional 24 kills. He ran out of ammo. He pulled out a small object that was blinking and beeping.

"Pipe bomb," Bert muttered.

"What is it?" Jacques asked.

"The Scrin are attracted to blinking lights and loud noises. This bomb is meant to attract Scrin to it so they can be destroyed," Bert explained.

"So..."Sour was still confused.

"Just watch!" Bert said, getting annoyed. The man threw the bomb and all of the Scrin rushed over to it. He took out his M16, still with one bullet, and aimed at the horde. He shot. The bullet came in direct contact with the bomb between the thousands of Scrin. BOOM! The explosion was so severe that it destroyed all the Scrin around it and blew back the user and the four heroes.

"Holy crap!" David yelled as he stood up. The man seemed to be out of ammo, not including his long belt of grenades. The man stood up and walked towards the others. Just as they thought they were in the clear a muscular Scrin punched Kin, the gunman.

"Ah! Blasted Tank!"

"You know, this kind of reminds me of Left 4 Dead, but I don't know why," Sour pondered this for a moment. "Next thing you know there's going to be something like a--"

"WITCH!" Gabe called as he spotted a small girl who was crying. "Nobody get close to that thing."

"Why? We should help her. She obviously is hurt." David said.

"No, don't--" Gabe warned but it was too late. David and Bert were approaching the small girl.

"Don't cry," David said as he sat next to the girl. He then heard a loud growl. "Bert, look around for enemies. I heard a growl."

"Guys--" Jacques was trying to tell them when he was attacked by the Tank, now focusing on him.

"There are no enemies around except for that Tank," Bert reported.

"Okay," David then put his hand on her shoulder. The moment he made contact with her, she began to make growls that sounded like an older woman. She stood up and made loud screeching noises. "Holy $h1t!" He was struck as Bert killed the witch.

"Are you okay?" Bert asked as he helped Sour up.

"Yeah, I'm fine," He replied. The tank was under a bombardment of bombs made of silver energy, propelled by Kin. The tank fell, dead.

"Well, that was epic," MM said.

[mariomasher]

Madness 4, by cheshyre Type: SongGenre: Techno

theres the music i used

[Blind4156]

19th edition blood stain.

Nothing sharp, nothing metal, nothing blunt, nothing at all. This section of the facility housed some of the most gruesome fiends to ever tread the earth. Or I should say fiend; one whole wing of the facility was for but one truly twisted individual. If Satan did in fact exist in this world he himself would bow down to such clear dedication to a life of sadistic acts and inhumane taboo.

Paul Gio, fresh out of school was working his new orderly position. Clean and provide for the clearly unhealthy patients of the asylum. Click, click, click echoed the hallway and the somewhat majestic sound was heard by one man in particular, Grinning Greg. Greg's eyes lit up and his muscles tightened in his straight jacket. Rolling on the soft padding Greg made his way to the stainless steel cage door that kept him imprisoned for 19 years to that day. His legs barricaded the bottom slot of the door making it impossible for the baby mush they called food to enter his padded home. Gio approached the door like he did the rest. He pressured the Styrofoam mess plate through the slot but no luck. No prior information was given to him about the particular patient. He unsheathed his key ring and swiftly opened the lock. Pure ecstasy infiltrated Greg's limbs as the lock tumblers meshed opening the door. A loud snap could be heard from any cell and all rooms in the area. Paul's body grew limp with fear as he witnessed the man dislocate his shoulder and tear through his wrappings. Almost as quickly as the jacket fell, Greg relocated his shoulder and tackled the orderly to the floor. You would think after not having murdered a man with his bare hands for so long he would be out of practice, not so. Greg's hands coiled around the poor boys neck. Grinning Greg was grinning wider than he had in a long time. His arrival had finally come, his resurrection. Greg enjoyed the pure thrill and arousal he got from killing his victim slowly but there was no time to dilly-dally, tick tock. With his hands already tightly gripped on Gio's neck the experienced killer forced his thumbs into the boys throat until there was nothing but silence. Drool leaked from his heaving mouth onto the once living corpse. He searched for his prize. Greg shook the body with vigor and almost like a piñata, his golden prize rolled out onto the floor. Like a greedy child with candy, he snatched the item. The token was an average size pen, ballpoint and golden rims. He ran his light fingers across the button and pressed down on it creating a familiar rhythm of clicks. After clicking the trigger one last time the pen was now fully exposed.

He knew from personal experience that at the most the guards would be carrying small stun guns. Nothing he couldn't handle. In the end Greg was the most dangerous weapon, he had always been. He scoured the halls with the pen in his forefront palm ready to assault any and all that approached him. "Warning! Warning! Patient 49Q has escaped his cell. The facility will close down in 1 minute. Make your way to the main lobby immediately. Patient 49Q is classified as Red care, do not approach at any cost." Greg cackled in tempo with the alarm. Just like his shadow, chaos seemed to trail behind him every inch of the way. He knew that the lobby closed down and became a stronghold in this situation. He had to make it there before the doors sealed. Greg sprinted down the halls like a rabid cheetah on ice. A woman was helping one of the patients escape, wheeling him through the hallway. Greg never let anyone go. The woman could never see it coming; Greg thrust the pen in a manner that made him feel like a warrior, the pen was mightier than any sword in this situation. The metal tip entered her right breast. She collapsed from the shock and knocked the patient she was caring for down to the floor as well. 1,2,3 STAB! STAB! STAB! The puncture wounds where perfectly symmetrical on each side of her neck, he wanted nothing more than to marvel at his craft but time was of the essence. He retrieved his beloved pen from the woman's engorged neck and quickly mutilated the weak patient. With that he continued through the halls and made his way to the lobby entrance. 20 or more men and woman huddled up cowardly. Greg made it in just as the doors were closing a man behind Greg begged for his help. The man was on the closing end of the door and stretched outward for Greg's hands. He was too happy to comply; Greg pulled the man halfway under while the door closed with immense force. "Help! The maniac could be behind me! Pull me in please, I beg!" Greg's cackle evolved into a maniacal siren. After the man was secure under the door Greg allowed the door to crush and cave in his chest slowly. He watched as the dyeing man stared into his satanic pupils, no soul. Foamy blood curdled from the soon to be corpses mouth, Greg's grin never once dissipated as the man stared at his maker, it stayed the same contorted demonic smile only now it began to grow, still grow. The people in the lobby watched in horror as they realized they were now trapped in the room with the exact reason they had congregated.

The terror was palpable in the crowed lobby, Greg paced up and down in a sarcastic manner just clicking his precious pen in that same melodic fashion as before. People waited for the mad man to choose his first victim, no they couldn't let one man over come all of them. United they had to be strong enough for one scrawny maniac only wielding a pen. The crowd of employees and patients stood together. A tactic was formed in all of they're minds at the same time. Like clock work half of the crowd (mostly the bigger men) mounted the attack against Greg. It was beautiful unison as the group tackled the one man. As the dog pile came to a stop three men laid dead or dyeing with puncture wounds to they're neck and eyes. Greg squirmed from the pile but the men would not let him leave so easy, 7-8 men still remained and succeeded in pinning him to the floor and removing his deadly writing tool. One of the female nurses ran to the aid of the men and quickly injected Greg with enough anesthetic to kill a man. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he began to violently convulse in every direction, his heart thumped rapidly and his brain began to cook. The dosage that was administered was enough to kill any man, but Greg lost his humanity a long time ago. He was something more, a demon. Greg sprang up from the cold floor like a jack in the box latching onto the first person he could, the woman who gave him the drugs fell into his clutches. He pulled the needle from her hands in one motion and in another stabbed the metal tip directly into her heart. Everyone around was petrified, what they had just witnessed was not possible. No man would have survived. Greg continued slashing and stabbing every man and woman in the facility. His body sprayed and engulfed in his victims glorious stew. Greg's face stayed stained in that blood for the rest of his life.

The outside world never intended on opening the door to the asylum. Those people were destined to die in the hands of Grinning Greg. Greg sat patiently waiting for the door to open for another 20 years. Maybe one day the world will be curious enough to find out what happened that day. Maybe one-day civilization will release yet again one of the most potent evils to ever exist.

The Panic Hornet, by Monkeyboii Type: SongGenre: Video Game

[RandomParadoX]

mindthings-Rebirth, by mindthings Type: SongGenre: Classical

(:00) It's just another quiet night. The sound of rain pecking at the roof and walls can be heard outside of my apartment. A car passes by, sirens are heard in the distance. I hear the neighbor's televisions, the nightly newscast and the laughter of a prime time sitcom. My wife and child are in the living room playing a game, one that only makes sense to them. Their little secret I suppose. It's rare to have such a peaceful evening.

The peace is interrupted by two light knocks on the front door.

(:18) My wife looks at me, sadness and shock in her eyes. She knows it is time. They have come to take me away for the crimes that I have committed, for the things I have done. The crimes against the State and all it stands for, for those I have aided. For those I have helped in support of the Cause. I knew this day would come, and so did she. This is no surprise. She gets up and proceeds to the door. Without undoing the latch, she opens it. Two men in dark, non-descript suits are standing in the hallway, badges displayed in hand. They are the Collectors, here to take me to the Executioner.

(:32) They begin their standard spiel, like they have many times before. They ask if I am at home, even though I am in their line of sight. It's just protocol. I know they see me, sitting in my chair, eyes fixed to the wall. They know I'm not going to put a fight tonight. They explain what I have done and what I am wanted for, though my wife already knows. She knows all too well. I've never kept anything from her. This was our little secret. The Collectors ask for her full cooperation. They want to bring a vile criminal to justice. To protect the good people of the Nation. They are comforting her by saying that she is protecting her neighbors. Her friends. Her family. She closes the door and unlatches the lock. She opens the door and lets the Collectors in, her head down. In shame or in defeat, this I will never know.

(1:03) They begin their march towards me. They seem to move in slow motion. Times stands still. The Collectors show no emotion, for this is simply their job. They have not personally seen what I have done, only what is written on their orders. It's just another day, and another dollar for them. I stand up, and turn my back towards them. My hands are already behind me, awaiting the restraints. One of the Collectors holds my arms tight while the other shackles me.

(1:18) My crimes are now being read to me. Criminals like me have no rights, no trial. I'm not listening. As they read, I stare into the eyes of my child, and she stares back into mine with confusion. She is too young to understand, too young to remember me. A year from now, she'll have forgotten me and this night. Maybe my wife will tell her about me someday, but I highly doubt she will for their own safety. The Collectors turn me and walk me to the door. My wife looks up and looks in my eyes. This will be the last time we see each other. Her lips move, silently speaking, "I love you."

(1:34) We leave the building and I can feel the raindrops hitting my head. The streets are cold and wet. The lights are dim and the moonlight is blocked by the apartment building. There are no onlookers, no one on the sidewalks. There is only the dark limousine where I will meet my fate. A fitting mood for my final living moments.

One of the Collectors opens the rear door, while the other puts me into the seat. The Collectors get into the vehicle, one on each side of me. The only sounds I hear is the rain gently hitting the roof. In front of me is the man who will pull the trigger. The man who will be my final punishment. He is the Executioner.

He is an older gentleman, time has not aged him well. There is a scar across his right eye. The man has seen many battles, and has fought for many causes over his lifetime, not unlike the cause I was fighting for. What he is doing is just to him. I wouldn't have it any other way.

(2:03) The Executioner reads the list of crimes to me. Most of them are made up in order to justify this action, while others are distorted fabrications of the truth to make the State look good. Like the Collectors, the Executioner is not aware of the nature of my crimes, nor that the list in front of him is a clever fabrication.

I'm not listening to his words. All I hear are the raindrops hitting the pavement outside and the car roof above. My mind drifts back, taking a quick look at my life. My childhood up until now, reliving the good memories. My mind comes upon the decisions that I have made, and I ask myself if it was all worth it. All I see in front of me now are the faces of those families and individuals I have saved. Those lives I have helped. The faces of those who will continue the fight for the Cause. My decisions were just, and my death will not be in vain. Everything was worth this price.

(2:19) The man pulls out his gun, a silencer on the end. I hardly notice. The man cocks the weapon and inserts the clip. There is only one bullet. It would be easy for me to run, but what good would that do? The cold metal barrel is placed against my forehead. I shut my eyes slowly, and let out my last breath. The man pulls the trigger. I can barely hear the pop.

(2:22) I can no longer feel the rain hitting the limousine.
I see only blackness.
I hear only silence.

[Koji98]

A Young Mind, by Bosa Type: SongGenre: Classical

Many years ago, I happened upon a miracle. Well, I wouldn't really call it a miracle, but something on the lines of a phenomenon. I remember it taking place when I was twenty years old; the lowest point in my entire life. I'd just finished three semesters of college, yet still without a clue on what I really wanted to do. "Just go to college" was what I'd been told during that time. Society had created a rule about one needing to go to college regardless of their situation. Though it didn't help me, well, except to kill time and burn a hole in my wallet.

I was in a rut. The night before hand I contemplated whether suicide was a good thing to do at this point, just after I spent hours wasting away on several forums, each more pitiful than the last. The next day, I brought this up in a conversation with my sister, only to end up making her worry about me more than ever. That was the last thing I wanted, people worrying about me.

I couldn't take it. My apartment's walls closed in on me, suffocating my lungs. No longer could I escape reality through the internet, music, movies, games, or even books. This safe haven had become a hell for me, and my body was at its limits. So, I threw on my coat and left. With a pack of cigarettes in one pocket and a cellphone and wallet in the other, I went on a walk.

Outside was dangerously cold. The ground was layered with a thick slate of white. In the sky, clouds covered the stars, making the atmosphere more depressing than I wanted it to be. All the trees in sight were bare, naked by winter's wrath. As I walked down the street, the occasional car passed me by. Whether they were people who were either having an evening drive or going to the next party to get drunk, I didn't know. Just another pointless thought going through my mind.

With a cigarette in hand, I placed it in my mouth and flipped open my zippo. A mixture of humidity and smoke exhaled from my lungs. As far back as I could remember, I knew that smoking was bad, but I didn't care. It was a means of escape at one point, though that excuse evaporated over time, leaving me broke in the process. I stopped and held out my stick of cancer, then sighed. After I returned to my walk, I was met with a local park.

"Haven't been here in a long time" I whispered under my breath.

Next to the entrance was a sign. "Park open hours: 6 AM - 10 PM" it said. Cellphone in hand, I checked the time. The dimly lit screen displayed 3 AM. That didn't deter me, however. Onward I moved across the snow covered path. A line of lamps paralleled the sidewalk, however none of them were on. Outstretched before me was a field of darkness, with a scant of trees out to the distance. Funny, I thought, how the scenery fitted my current mood.

Snowflakes began to fall. Even though the wind was light, it still carried the sharp prick of unbearable chills. My arms wrapped around my body, trying to hold in any remaining heat I had left.

"Why am I out here?" I wondered out loud. As I talked to my self, I began to hear footsteps following me. I ignored it and continued on without a change of pace. However, the footsteps didn't go away. My head slightly turned to the side, as if I was trying to hide the fact I was trying to see what was following me. Nothing was there. I shrugged and kept going. Yet, the footsteps returned. Was this a sick joke? I turned around again, only to be met with nothing. This stupid game, I thought, needs to end or I'm gonna let loose. I took a step, with a similar sound coming from behind me again.

"That's it!" I yelled.
I swung my body around, ready to fight as a nearby street lamp flickered on. Nobody was there.
"Who the hell is following me!?"

In reply was a weak cough coming from below. I looked, and there stood a little girl no older than six. She was dressed in a red winter coat, black boots, and two brown mittens which covered her hands. In her hair was a red bow, which tied her hair back.

"Don't scare me like that, kid." I tell her.
She gave no reply.
"Anyway, shouldn't you be home by now? It's the middle of the night."
Again, there was no reply.
"Well, good luck getting home."
I tried to go on, but the girl grabbed my pant leg.
"Huh? What is it?"
"I'm..." she muttered, as her voice trembled.
"Yeah?"
"I'm..."
"Spit it out."
"...I'm lost."

That took me off guard, as I stepped back in astonishment. The situation played out in my head. A little girl was lost in a park at night in the middle of winter. Her face was pale, so I thought she couldn't have been out there that long.

"How long have you been out here?"
"I dunno."
"Do you know your address?"
"No."
"Phone number?"
"No."
"Well, your in quite the trouble then. However, I don't have time for this. So see ya."

I quickly headed toward the exit, not wanting to get dragged into her problem. Yet, as I walked, the sound of scurrying footsteps followed me. I turned around, and was met with the girl again. A small cloud escaped her small body with every breath.

"What now?" I questioned the girl.
"Can you help me, please?"
"I already told you I'm quite busy right now, so please go find someone else."
"I tried, but nobody stopped to listen to me."

I began to feel guilt build up in the bowels of my stomach. A little girl asked me for help and I lied to her just so I didn't have to deal with her. I caved in and agreed to help.

"Okay, I'll help you."
"Thank you."

The two of us exited the park. Even though I said I would help her find her way home, I had no clue where to start.

"Uh, do you have any idea on which direction your house might be?"
The girl pondered for a moment.
"I think that way." she said as she pointed north.
"Then let's try going that way first."

We began our walk, heading north as she had pointed. Store after store passed us by, each wielding a "Closed!" sign upon its door. With each street pass, I turned to see if she hinted at a different direction for us to go, but all she ever did was stay close behind me. Neither of us spoke a word to each other during this time. It became eerie, so I decided to break the silence.

"So, what's your name?"
"Amber Gray."
"Okay, I'll remember that. My names James Mitchell."
"Mr. Mitchell."

She repeated my name, yet the word "Mr." infuriated me. Back then, I believed the only people with the word "Mr." in their names were old people and businessmen.

"Call me James. I'm not old enough to warrant a 'Mr.' in my name."
"Oh, okay."

The coldness started to get a hold of me. There was nothing I wanted more than to be inside where it was warm. Luckily, an opened gas station crossed our path.

[Koji98]

(Continued from above.)

"You want something warm to drink?"
Amber replied with a nod.
"Alright then."
Inside, I went to the coffee machine.
"What do you want to drink?" I asked.
"...Hot chocolate."
"Hot chocolate? Well, lucky for you, they have it."

After I handed her a cup of hot chocolate, I made myself a cup of coffee and paid for them at the register.

"Whenever we find your place, I'll have your parents pay me back."

She didn't reply. Instead, she tried to take a sip of her hot chocolate, yet quickly pulled it away from her mouth.

"I burnt my tongue." she whined.
"You need to be careful when drinking that. Let me see if real quick."

She handed me her cup. I opened the lid and blew the contents for a bit. Lid secured back on, I handed it back.

"How's it now?"
"Better."
"So does the area look more familiar to you?"
"Kinda."
"Do you know which way to go from here?"
"I think that way."
"Let's go that way then."

As we made our way, I tried to start up another conversation.

"How did you get lost?"
"I don't remember exactly. I remember being at home alone, then one of daddy's friends came and picked me up."
"Oh?"
"He said that daddy didn't want me to be home alone, so he took me to places."
"Like where?"
"The movie theater, a restaurant, his house, then the park."
"Did he leave you there?"
"I dunno. I think he did."
"What an ass. Oh, never repeat that."
"When I woke up, I was alone at the park."
"Wait, you fell asleep there?"
"No, I fell asleep at his house, then woke up at the park."
"That's weird. Why would he take you to the park and leave you?"
"I dunno."

At the time, I didn't think too much of what she had said. I continued to walk, listening to her story. The snow began to weaken, and eventually to a complete stop. Clouds overhead started to break apart, allowing the stars to shine. The snow under our feet crunched with every step. The two of us passed by house after house, without a change from the melancholic look coming from Amber's face. Turn after turn, we continued to walk. Over time, we somehow ended up back at the park.

"Now how did we end up back here?" I asked. However, I got no reply. I pulled out my cell phone to check the time. The dimly lit screen displayed 5:30 AM.
"Jesus Christ, have we really been walking for two hours? I could have swore it was less than that."

Amber looked down at her feet, as tears began to fill her eyes.

"Aw, don't cry. I'll get you home somehow. How about we go back in the park and sit down at a bench?"

She nodded. I grabbed her hand and led her through the entrance. Layers of snow had collected on the benches, so I brushed it off to the ground and made a seat for her and I. Only a scarce amount of clouds were still in the sky. A soft wind shook the tops of the trees, which made the branches clatter with each other. Amber didn't make any kind of motion. She sat there looking down at her feet the entire time. I could only think about what it felt like to be in her place. The sun began to crept into the skyline, which dyed the last few clouds orange and red. The night was over, I thought to myself.

"Think we should get going?"

Amber didn't reply. I stood up and stretched out my arms, then held out my hand, hoping it would prompt her.

"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Like I said, I'm gonna help you."

Tears began to flow down her face. At the same time, small orbs that almost resembled fire flies started to appear around her.

"What the?" I said, startled at what was going on before my eyes. It almost seemed like her body started to fade away. She jumped off the bench and grabbed a hold on my hand. We stood there, without a single word or movement. She quietly closed my hand and jumped back.

"Thank you for helping me." She told me.
"What's going on?"

She halfheartedly smiled, and before I knew it, she vanished. I was stunned. I remember thinking, "What on Earth did I just witness?" among other things of that same nature in a fraction of a second. My hands clenched without me noticing, until a sharp pain in my palm knocked me back to reality. I opened my hand, and noticed a small bracelet. "AMBER" was written across a metal plate, along with several small charms. Exhausted, I went home. In my apartment, I flopped onto my bed and fell asleep, with the bracelet still in my hand.

I woke up hours later. My head was aching, but I disregarded it. The memories of the night before flourished instantly in my mind.

"Must of gotten drunk last night." I said.

I turned on the news as I made myself something to eat. Something came up that piked my interest. It was a report of a missing girl, age six, who disappeared a couple days ago. They showed a picture of the girl along with a phone number and address for any insight on where she might be. Quickly, I took a piece of scrap paper and wrote the address down. The next day, I went to the address and returned the bracelet.

I'm not sure exactly what had happened that night. To this day I question, what if I had gotten Amber home? Would things have changed? Every winter since then, I take a walk to that park during the middle of the night, hoping that I may see her again. Walking across that snow covered path, under the lamps that never work, listening for those quiet footsteps.

[Lunaful]

First off a massive thank you to EKublai, who took a look at my work and pointed out my reading and spelling mistakes. Taking his own time to look at my error riddled work means a lot to me.

Blue Roses (BC Remix), by BrokenCrossfader Type: SongGenre: House

Title: When a man flirts with a woman.

As the sea gently caressed the shore, the turquoise stroked the pearl-white sand tenderly. I exited my apartment. The sun rays bounced and danced off the glass of the office blocks which were stacked in neat little rows against the old city's winding and bending streets, the arteries and veins of the metropolis bulging with people.

I strolled at a leisurely pace; my mind was full of the sights, sounds and smells of the early morning. Bakers wafting the sweet aroma of buns, young women with baskets full of flowers and other bits and pieces, preparing for the festival later in the day, my heart overzealous with joys of the moment and the joys of life. I proceeded to make my way to a cafe; I ordered a coffee and sat in the shade of the canopy. I scanned the sights before me, the tourists looking banal and gawking at everything and the adolescents on their brightly coloured mopeds.

There she was, sitting across from me, her long auburn hair which draped her shoulders, her olive brown skin stood against the pallor of the sun's light .She wore a beautiful floral patterned dress which seem to elegantly grace her skin. Time seemed to have stagnated .Gazes were exchanged numerous times like a game of who could catch the other out. The coffee came and was paid for but I barely took a sip. It seemed like an era passed before I took a mouthful of the now cold coffee, my gaze returned to her but she was gone the only thing which denoted any presence was the dainty hand bag he had.

I clutched her handbag and set off at a blistering pace. I caught a glimpse in the peripheral of my eye of the train of her dress and followed in hot pursuit. The crowd's lethargic flow hindered my efforts as I waded through and chased her throughout the meandering streets of the old city, a haze of constant colours from banners and posters that gleamed my eyes. In one way or another I was constantly impeded but she was always within sight.

She headed in the direction of the town square, the focal point of the festival, to honour the old saint native to these parts, The square was pulsing with life, from the native dancers in their outlandish local costume to the statue of the saint which was draped in a cacophony of colours, the thick crimson of a rose as well as the African tulip's glossy orange scarlet.

Through the hullabaloo of the event she had gone. I sighed heavily and sat on one of the square benches and watched the crowds and the street merchant's converse while looking for her."This is pointless, there's just too many people "I thought as the square brimmed to capacity. I picked myself up and started to walk back to my apartment. The sky was now turning to a hue of orange as the blue slowly became diluted. People were still on their way to the town square where the festivities were now in full swing.

My apartment bordered on the point where the old met the new, the skyscrapers met the Renaissance. It was contemporary and pristine giving you the false impression of a hospital. I sat down on my sofa and sank deep into thought, "How could you have lost her? She was right there in front of your face ". As the thoughts in my head started to congeal and then slither again, I realised her bag was still in my hand, the small dainty little piece of cloth with tiny white leather straps. After observing it for a moment I placed it on my coffee table. Without thinking, I opened it, and saw that there wasn't any lipstick any of the sort of things you would find in a woman's bag but only a sliver of paper with the words "Call me" and a phone number.

I was bemused. I rang the number and was greeted with "Took you a while didn't you"
"Only because you turn our little staring match into a sprint" I replied.
"Well I hope you can run faster than you did earlier. I'll meet you at the city centre arch in ten minutes."
She hung up. This was starting to border on the absurd. The orange hue was starting to be cloaked by a blanket of lavender night.

I bolted out of my apartment and ran as fast as my legs would carry me, dodging taxis and other obstacles and leaving annoyed motorists in my wake. The city was alive with the thumping of base and the dazzling glow of neon. Clubs and bars were busy with the insane amount of punters from the gala in the town square. I was reaching ever closer to the arch, it was lit up with lights at its base, which cast large shadows in every direction. It was a colossal marble structure which seemed dominate the skyline against the backdrop of cold steel buildings.

She was there, still in her floral gown. She spotted me and with a smirk and a grin I approached.
"You made it" Her smirk grew ever more present "To be honest I thought you'd packed it in".
"Me? Never, the thrill is in the chase," I replied with a smile. We continued with pointless chit chat until,
"I would like my bag back if you have it?"
"Ow I left it on my coffee table, but I have my wallet." I waved the tanned leather pouch in her face, "and if you don't mind, I'd like to buy you a drink and later on you can come back to my apartment and get it."
"Okay , that sounds nice ." We set off down the street , strolling and talking about ourselves and each other , all the while in the distance the sea was still gently pampering the shore , stroking it back and for with tender care.