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Mwc12 :may: A Riveting Truth

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Mwc12 :may: A Riveting Truth 2012-04-24 12:25:42


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Welcome May's 2012's Monthly Writing Contest: - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - MWC12 - May - A Riveting Truth - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

So I'm starting an (unofficial) May writing contest with a rather different theme. A little background about the theme first:

The art of literature is beautiful, and one of the things that has always captivated my interest is how a skilled writer can take the most mundane of stories and turn it into something amazing. An example of this is Stephan King's work, specifically "Just After Sunset" which is a series of short stories. One of which is a story about a fat guy riding a stationary bike. That's all. A boring premise you might think, but that was one of the most horrific horror stories I ever read that could only be described as a mindfuck.

So the theme is non-fiction. The challenge is to try and pick a story that you yourself personally experienced and create a story out of it. That could include maybe a day at the mall where your mind wandered to interesting places. Or a night spent with a lover. Basically anything that isn't too much out of the ordinary day to day lives we all lead.

The point is to try and convey a normally uninteresting event or story into one that's completely riveting through the tools of literature. So basically the entries would be of people talking about their lives in very unique and interesting ways.


1) Word Count Maximum: 4500 words
2) Story must be a non-fiction

DEADLINE: May 25th, 2012; MIDNIGHT STD, EST (ie midnight between May 25th and May 26th)


1st) $40 Newgrounds store credit.

2nd) $20 Newgrounds store credit.

3rd) $15 Newgrounds store credit.

4th & 5th place receive honorable mentions in the winners thread.

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.

If you would like to judge, please PM me (it would also help if you show you are a good writer in order to be able to judge).

I would like to experiment with another form of judging where the entries are encouraged to rate and review other entries, and these ratings will be taken into account in the final judging.

So I hope you have fun with this challenging theme. Good luck!

Response to Mwc12 :may: A Riveting Truth 2012-04-24 12:27:51

Response to Mwc12 :may: A Riveting Truth 2012-05-01 14:50:52

Welcome to May, people. Let's get things going! First, I want to apologize for the content. I'm just trying to get you into my shoes. Second, I took dramatic license, since I don't remember words verbatim, or an exact play-out of how things happened, but I did retain the attitudes, mood, event, and results. I know it's embarrassing given that I was technically beat up by a girl. But the most important thing to take away from this is how I dealt with the situation. Please, guys and gals, don't be as short-sighted as I was. Unhealthy relationships are killer, mentally, emotionally, and sometimes literally. They're never worth it. Be with someone who brings the best out of you, not the worst. And now...
Deathcon's Riveting Truth
Total word count: 1,930 words
Part 1 of 2 - Blowing of Steam

The car swerved for more than the fact that the driver was drunk. His eyes darted to the rear view mirror; he was afraid of who might be behind him, but the road was empty for miles. Then his eyes fell on her. She sat in the passenger seat, every inch of her small frame poised to hit him again. "Are you insane?" he yelled, as he did his best to keep the car within the lane. "You can't hit me while I'm driving!"

She didn't respond; instead, he sensed her shift, brought his arm up, and smacked her hand away, but the sudden motion upset the steering wheel and sent the car swerving into the grassy median. A stream of curses erupted from his mouth as he slammed down on the brake pedal, trying to stop the car's wild slide. When it finally stopped, they both sat quietly, the only sound the pounding of his heart in his ear. He tensed, expecting the sirens of a police officer. But they never came. "Are you..." he began, but then realized he didn't care. "This is your fault - just shut up." He said, cutting her off.

Her tiny fist caught him awkwardly across the cheek, her other hand pounded against his chest. Still drunk, he barely felt the blows. "What the fuck?" He tousled with her as she struggled to hit him again. When he finally pinned her arms to her side, he gave her the hardest glare he could muster. Immediately she burst into laughter, her eyes alight with mirth as her body shook. Exasperated, he let her go and got back on the road. "I'm never taking you drinking again."

"You're an idiot. I hate you." Her speech was slurred, and she was obviously drunk.

"Oh yeah, you do? Well, fuck you too," he said, as he glanced toward her. She looked so tiny now, deflated, melted into her seat.

"You wish."

"Bitch," he muttered, but his anger was dissipating. Tonight would be the night, he decided. Tonight he was going to break up with her. A part of him wished she'd hit him again; get his temper going. In his peripheral, he saw her push herself upright out of her seat.

"Excuse me?" she said, her voice taking a threatening tone, challenging him to repeat what he had muttered. She had been bouncing between hostile and drunk since she had forced him to leave the party. So he was flirty, big deal; he had never actually cheated on her. And yeah the girl he was flirting with was hotter than she was; but that didn't change how attracted he was to her. Maybe he should have been paying more attention to her, but he was ready to have fun, and her sour attitude always made it difficult. He felt a smile start at the thought of tonight being the last night he would have to deal with her.

"You think I'm joking? I could kick your ass." He didn't bother responding. After a few moments, she melted back into her seat. "Pussy," she said, then started to laugh again, but it was half-hearted.

"Why did you even come? You never do anything but stand around. And you barely speak to my friends, but you don't mind drinking their liquor?"

"I don't know any of them."

"Bullshit. We've been together a year and a half, how much more time do you need?"

She shifted to look out the window, putting her back to him. "If I hadn't come you'd be fucking that bitch right now. You're a dick," she said, but her voice quivered.

He glanced at her, but couldn't see her face. He wasn't going to let a few tears stop him. He was going to ride this out. Hopefully she'll be cried out by the time he broke up with her; spare him the guilt trip. "If I needed a chaperone to go drink with my friends I'd call my mom."

"Your mom is a dick."

"Wha- do you hear yourself?"

"Fuck you and fuck your friends, they're all idiots," she said as she pulled out her phone.

"No." He grabbed her phone and threw it out the window as he pulled into her driveway. Before he was at a full stop, she slapped him and shot out of the car to retrieve it. A fierce grin split his lips as he followed her out. She was just getting her key into the door when he reached her. "I'm tired of your bullshit," he began, but she spun on her heels and grabbed his lips in her hand.

She got up on the tips of her toes and looked straight into his eyes, her own filled with fury. "I will murder you if you ever do that to my phone again." She shoved his face away roughly and pushed into the house.

He stepped in and slammed the door shut. Up the hall, he watched as she rounded the corner into her room. He stormed after her and found her undressing in her closet. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out, shoving her into the center of the bedroom. "You want to hit me?" he asked, his voice intense with anger. "Do it again."

But she just stood there in her bra, holding her arm, an angry red ring rounding it where he had grabbed her. Her face was a mask of terror.

"Do it again," he yelled. He felt it now; the anger in him was fire hot, as if someone had dropped a flame on the alcohol in his veins. There was no thought, just action. He cocked his hand back, but before he could release, she shrieked and fell backward onto the bed. And just like that, his fire was doused. The sudden change left him reeling, choking on the cold emptiness.

She pulled a pillow closer to her and covered her face with it, trying to hide herself.

"What are you doing," he heard himself ask her. But the question came with the startling realization. This was just the way she was. She could hit him, she could curse him, she could piss him off; no matter what she did, though, he would never hit her; ever. He would never hit any woman. No, she can't be afraid of him. He laid a hand on her bare stomach causing her to flinch. "I'm sorry," he whispered, but it wasn't enough. He felt dirty; wrong. In his mind he could still see her face full of fear; afraid of him. He fled the room.

Response to Mwc12 :may: A Riveting Truth 2012-05-01 14:53:17

Deathcon's Riveting Truth
Total word count: 1,930 words
Part 2 of 2 - Making it

"Wait," she yelled after him.

But he had to get away; needed to get away. As he reached the front door, she crashed into his back, squeezing him tightly.

"Don't go," she pleaded, tears moistening his shirt.

He spun in her arms and returned her embrace, squeezing her. Afraid of what he would do if he let go. "I can't do this anymore. That wasn't me - this isn't me."

"Don't go," she repeated.

"We're done," he breathed into her hair, but the thought of actually hurting her, now, after what he had nearly done, was too much to bear.

She clawed at his back, trying to climb up him, her eyes panicked, searching his for answers. "No... no."

"I'm so tired-"

"No." She reached up and kissed him, her tears stinging his lips. "You're not tired. You're not. You're drunk," she said, punctuating each sentence with a kiss.

He saw her in double. Whether it was the tears threatening, he wasn't sure. But he was sure of one thing: he was drunk, and her kisses were doing something to him. "I am drunk..." he agreed, holding on to the admission as if it could bandage his guilt. She looked up at him, her pleading eyes a sad sight. But looking down at her, he could also clearly see her cleavage. Pressed against him, her breasts were nearly pushed from her bra. No, the sight was not sad at all. In fact... His arms, wrapped around her waist, began to shift, his hands sliding along her skin. Soon he was squeezing her ass and pulling her against him, leaning into her kisses. Apologies tumbled from the space between their mouths.

She was pulling on him, leading him; however, he was drunk, and her kisses were blinding, so it wasn't until he fell onto her bed, and she was astride him, that he realized where she was taking him. His shirt was off, his pants undone, and they were bare chest to bare chest, her bra lost along the way. He flipped her over; freed her legs, and tossed the bundle over his shoulder; then dropped heavily atop her, his mouth hungry for hers.

Her hand worked over his body, pulled him against her, scratched the skin of his back, as her other hand held his lips to hers, their tongues tumbling over one another. Her feet shuffled against his legs, until they slipped his pants off. The clang of his belt falling to the ground, like Pavlov's dog, awoke a sudden hunger in him. He was desperate to be inside of her. He wrapped his arm around her back, scooped her up, and dropped her wholly onto the bed. Before she hit the mattress, he freed himself and was inside of her. The first thrust drew out a moan and caused the headboard to clatter against the wall. He thrust again. She bit into the side of his neck. Again. She tightened her thighs against his waist, giving her leverage as she rolled her hips into him. Again. The speed and force of his thrusts growing together. Again. Again. His mind melted into a hot, steaming mass, and soon his body was thrusting of its own accord. His only hold to the present was the staccato of the headboard, the rest of him was lost in ecstasy.

After an indeterminable amount of time, her moans grew fewer and further in between. Her hands began to cut grooves into his back as they tried to find purchase. He could hear her sharp breaths in his ear. Each breath stoked his growing excitement. Each stab into her caused pleasure to blossom throughout his body. It grew until it was nearly unbearable. Suddenly, the world fell into focus; the burning lines along his back, the curves of her body pressed against him, the point of himself that divided her; in one perfect moment, he felt it all, separate and unique, yet one. And just as suddenly as the feeling had set in, it was gone, and he was panting, propped up on an elbow.

She let out a breath he hadn't realized she was holding. The tension in her body melted until she lay there, looking just as exhausted and satisfied as he felt. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she drew him into a deep, lingering kiss. "I love you," she said at last.

"I know," he responded solemnly. How could he be so selfish? She needed him, and he was determined to be there for her. Fix whatever was wrong. Shit, he would be the best thing that would ever happen to her. No, "I am the best thing that ever happened to you."

She smiled softly, her eyes sultry; her cheeks were still flush. "Yeah you are." She ran her fingers through his hair then grabbed two, tight handfuls. She pulled him close, until her lips brushed against his ear. "Happen to me again..."

Response to Mwc12 :may: A Riveting Truth 2012-05-15 15:59:15

Every grain of sand is so similar and at once familiar that it's hard to tell one apart from its brethren as they lie together under your feet. All the grains merge in the mind and the desert appears obscuring the grit.
The bell rang and he packed his bag.
There are moments like those grains, weeks with granular days, memories all so similar it's hard to sift them apart. Repetition can build a desert in the mind but the mind can build an oasis in the desert.
The bell rang and he packed his bag.
Some days seem to last an eternity with all their hours sprawled out like cacti on the arid dust, pushing the night so distant it's but a speck on the horizon, its darkness rendered unimaginable by the ferocious sun blazing above.
The bell rang and he packed his bag and he stood up from his seat and he tucked his chair under his desk and he put his rucksack on his back and he put his hands in his pockets and he walked out of the classroom.
He thought the bell always rang and the bags were always packed and the classroom was always left and there were always hands in pockets and churning bodies and twittering chatter and today was no different. But he felt different. Yesterday there were teachers and children all learning and leaning on one another for social support and for emotional stability, there were cute girls with large breasts and funny boys with strong laughs all packed into classrooms eager to learn and eager to live. But today... What today?
Turning down the corridor he lifted his legs one after the other, falling and catching himself with each stride, his eyes moved in semi-synchronization as they glanced around at the postered walls and back down at the plasticized floor. He waited impatiently for someone to enter the building before stepping outside through the door. The wind chilled the top of his neck just between the collar of his blazer and the end of his hair. The wind chilled the tips of his ears and his stiff hands reached up to rub and warm them. And his thoughts reached up to the celestial plane above, his eyes reluctantly following to gaze into the infinite expanse of everything up there. By the clouds there was so much space, too much nothing. He thought about what might fill it.
He thought about what grand design could conquer that conclave of clouds because he wanted nothing more than to pierce their awful gathering and send them scurrying away across the sky, scattered like rats. He deliberately felt conspired against and quietly savoured the thought of being an enemy of the nimbi with a sad lusting for individuality and importance.
Because today there were dogs all prancing on leashes and hushed by laws and quelled by threats. There weren't winsome girls with whims and wishes, all were swapped for societally enforced gender identities spouting commercially enforced material desires wearing uniforms enforced by mass media marketing living lives as instructed by tiresome traditions and endless evolutionary histories. They'd said that science wasn't prescriptive but descriptive but he hadn't understood. To him in his sleepless sleepiness a description of what has happened and what will happen sounds like a prescription for what should have happened and must happen after. He got muddled when tired and he always was.
Tired too.
But he wasn't tired today. He remained there for some time, rooted to the spot gazing up at the clouds with hatred in his eyes. People passed by him without noticing his odd stance and eventually like a ruin crumbling to dust he began to walk again. Onwards towards his next lesson he roamed - both spatially and temporally gaining ground. He wondered whether his life was getting shorter or longer.
He was living more so in that way his life was getting longer, he was extending the amount of time he'd been alive for.
But he was also using up his allocated living time and every moment he spent alive was a moment cut from his future, so perhaps his life was actually getting shorter.
Suddenly the pungent aroma of science seeped back into his mind and he shuddered at the thought that perhaps his life's length was unchanging. A buxom child from two years below stood before him and reached up for a hug. They embraced and pulled apart as he let out a sigh.
"How are you?" he asked, the words dropping from his mouth almost entirely without thought.
"Heh, not too bad thanks!"
She sounded more than not bad and looked more attractive than was modest. A coquettish smile appeared between her freckled cheeks as she leant forwards slightly tilting her head up at him. He gazed in to her eyes and felt himself slowly emerging from the swamp of self absorption.
There was a silence too tense to be awkward. He felt as though this were his only chance of escape, as if to get out of the sump he lived in he need just spend a few more moments with this wondrous girl. He began to panic at the thought of her leaving and rummaged through his thoughts for a thing to say. But there was nothing clever or witty or charming or fun. It was all dull or perverse and yet she thought him droll. The tension continued building and the silence stretched. Suddenly the bell rang and she smiled.
"I'd better go."
She said and then worse still, she did. His moments clarity was gone, the clouds returned and blurred all thought. The idol of gold, the perfect child goddess had toyed with him and left. His legs began to move again. His mind that had stopped at the sight of perfection began its slow roll once more.
He no longer walked with ease and began to hurry through the empty cloisters that hissed at him he was lagging behind. Arriving at the grey building of the psychology department he took a left through the glass doors and entered his classroom.
"Sorry I'm late".
"Hurry up and sit down".
The lesson had not yet begun and the hive was still humming with the unpacking of backs so recently packed and the sharing of tales so recently lived. "heh, did you see joel this lunch? Apparently he ate a whole chocolate cake in one go." "big brother was so shit last night" "ha ha, really? i heard someone else talking about. why did he do it?" "because nobody got evicted? T.V shows suck in general, i only watch videos on the internet now" "no honestly, you don't understand how tired i am" "I know right! I just don't understand. Apparently it was a dare or something" "well the geography mock is going to be impossible. i genuinely don't get how people can get As in it. there is so much stuff to learn!" "yeah i would do that but my internet connection is too slow. literally it takes like 10 minutes just for a 2 second clip on youtube to load" "i am always tired these days. my mum complains its cause i don't exercise enough" "true. i've barely even done any revision for the chemistry either. fuck" "who cares? he's always doing dares"
"All Right class! Today's lesson is all about classical conditioning. We are going to watch a short video about Pavlov and his dogs and then I'm going to ask you some questions, so make sure you focus."
He'd barely finished unpacking his bag but saved time by not having to unpack any tales to friends. All the science he'd learned was making him sick, every mystery he'd loved was getting explained away. The virgin goddess had become the chemical vat, nothing but neurons and synapses reacting to environmental stimuli. That beautiful girl from two years below was dissected to nothing but atoms.

And the desert was lost to the sand.

BBS Signature

Response to Mwc12 :may: A Riveting Truth 2012-05-17 10:38:31

Every time he stepped through that door a new battle began. It was a battle of wills, where stealth and cunning counted for more then brute strength and power. Every moment spent within these halls risked discovery and defeat. He knew all this but still he returned time and time again. He needed the money. He knew that each time he entered could be his last. When he left each day his joy at having survived was tempered by the knowledge that he would have to repeat it the next day. This was life working part-time as a book shelver at the university library.
Upon entering he passed through the security check-point, flashing his student ID to the pretty girl who worked behind the front desk. This was the one small ray of light in the shadowy morass of the library circulation department. He smiled at her as he passed through the turnstile. She smiled back and asked how he was doing. He indicated his surroundings and made a strangling noise. She laughed. As he left the lobby of the library and entered the work room the little bit of warmth that he had felt from their interaction disappeared.
Arrayed before him was line of sullen human beings grabbing books from an ever replenishing stack of returned items, sorting them into bins to be sent to the appropriate floor or marking them to be held for pickup at the front desk. Many of the people who worked here were students like himself but several were elderly men who should have retired long ago. Some claimed to have been working here since they had graduated from this very university. A spike of terror shot through his spine every time he thought of them, scanning books and putting them in bins every day for over thirty years. He didn't want that to happen to him. That was why he resisted. He refused to let his spirit be crushed by the awful banality of the library's inner workings.
Behind him an alarm sounded for a few seconds. Another student had just obliviously walked out the emergency exit again, despite the many posted warnings. The girl just kept walking, listening to her Ipod, unaware of the ear-splitting sound causing havoc inside the library.
âEUoeDid you just set off the alarm?âEU When he turned back to the workroom he found his boss standing in front of him glaring accusingly at him. Here was his chief antagonist. David was in charge of all the stacks department and took his position very seriously. Formerly in the army he has served a tour of duty in Iraq followed by a stint as an MP in Germany. David had never completely let go of the life of an MP and treated the shelvers like they were part of an army division.
âEUoeNo it was some girl on her Ipod.âEU
David relaxed visibly and said âEUoeWell did she at least look embarrassed?âEU
âEUoeNo, I don't think she even noticedâEU
David stared at him evenly.
âEUoeWell we can always hope she gets hit by a busâEU
He was never sure how to respond to David's âEUoejokesâEU, which often covered topics as varied as the stupidity of elected officials, the laziness of black people, and the random acts of violence he often wished upon those who had transgressed against him. David returned to his office, his desk adorned with pictures extolling the virtues of heavy firepower and its liberal application to ones enemies.
Checking the day's schedule the student saw that he was assigned to shelve books on the fifth floor of the library for six hours. Six hours of pushing carts up and down the shelves of books, stopping only to take a book off the cart and place it in its correct location. A monotonous torture that should have been proscribed by the Geneva convention and disavowed by all civilized nations as a crime against humanity. They were trying to destroy his will to live, to create another mindless drone to work in the bowels of the library for the rest of his life.
As he took off his jacket and hung up his backpack he mentally prepared himself for the battle ahead. He left his mp3 player and headphones, he had already listened to every song a hundred times and even the music had begun to turn his brain into mush. He required something more stimulating if he was to keep his sanity among the mountains of books. He would find what he needed within the library itself and so took nothing with him.
He took the elevator from the workroom to the fifth floor and stepped out into a train wreck of book trollies. A dozen of them were jammed into the small space allocated for sorting books onto temporary shelves before putting them back on carts to be taken to their final resting places. He grabbed one of the carts that seemed to be mostly in order and wheeled it towards the shelves. He had to shelve just enough books that it would appear that he had spent his time working. If anybody were to see him now they would assume that he was a model worker, diligently performing his duties.
In truth he was attempting to get as much done in as short a time as possible. He was a blur of book-shelving fury. He emptied the cart in record time, pages fluttering as the books containing them flew onto the shelves. He went back for a second cart and shelved that one too. The rest of his plan hinged on accomplishing at least the minimum amount of labor.
When he could bear the terror of shelving books no longer he took off down the hallway, intent on escaping this pit of horrors. Salvation lay only a few floors away. He took the stairs down, wary of meeting another library worker using the elevator. In the staircase he could at least turn around and head back up or duck onto another floor if he saw someone who would recognize him coming the other way. In the elevator there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. If the doors opened and his boss were standing there he would be doomed. Turning the corners of the staircase, the drab colors and harsh fluorescent lights creating a dizzying vortex as he raced around and around.
Finally he reached the floor of his destination: Fiction. Checking to make sure that there were no other shelvers in the near vicinity he dashed for the shelves. He froze as he heard the unmistakable rumbling of a full cart of books being pushed across the pitted tiles of the library floor. He flattened himself against the end of the shelf and peered around the corner. The shelver was approaching with his cart of books. It would be only a matter of moments before he was spotted. He rushed to the other end of the shelf and turned the corner, waiting with his back pressed against the little card that displayed what call numbers were held on this shelf. In his ears the rumbling grew louder to his right. He prayed that there were no books on that cart that needed to be shelved in this specific spot. The rumbling grew louder for what seemed like an eternity before finally receding to his left.
He let out a sigh of relief and then continued towards his goal. He found where the library kept all of its books by H. P. Lovecraft. He found the collection of short stories that he had been reading and took it down. Glancing around he went to one of the âEUoecagesâEU set into the walls of the library. Intended for studying, each cage had steel walls, a steel chainlink door, and a small wooden desk. Utilitarian was too good a word for it. However they did provide a good hiding place. He flipped through the pages of the book, trying to find the place he had left it last time he worked. Finding the correct page he scrunched the wooden chair up to the rough desk which bore engravings of genitalia, drawn by an artist who favored the abstract style, messages lecturing him on the horrors of one class or another, or invitations to contact someone at a certain number for what the messages assured would be âEUoea good time.âEU Ignoring all of these messages no matter how tempting they might have been he began to read.

Grungy Mech action in 1940s Russia! Read Iron and Ice!

Response to Mwc12 :may: A Riveting Truth 2012-05-17 10:40:00

In this claustrophobic little cell, the green painted walls gleaming dully under the bright fluorescent bulbs he passed the hours of his shift. Although the cage offered relative safety he couldn't help but cringe every time he heard footsteps pass the cage door. It got worse when he heard a cart rumble by. When this happened he would hunch over the desk as much as possible to ensure that anyone walking by would not be able to see his face. The combination of eldritch horrors and constant fear of discovery bred a very special brand of paranoia in his mind.
As the end of his shift approached he replaced the book on its shelf, determined to finish it at a later date. The sense of paranoia grew in his mind as he headed towards the work room to collect his things and punch out. What if David had come searching for him at some point during his shift? What if someone had noticed that none of the carts on the fifth floor had moved in the last few hours? What if David had decided to fire him? Was returning to the work room as good as walking into a trap? What would he say? What would he do? He could make up some excuse about helping a customer find a book that was on another floor, but what if they come looking for him multiple times? He couldn't claim to have been assisting a customer for over four hours.
He could already imagine getting fired. No more job. That meant no more money until he could get another one of course but it wasn't like he'd actually miss working at the library. They payed him minimum wage and were actively trying to drive him insane with inane work. No more library meant no more endless book carts, no more sneaking through the halls like he was being hunted, no more of David's bellicose management, and no more threats to his sanity.
No more pretty girl at the front desk.
Before he even realized it he was on the ground floor, with the work room just around the corner from the stair well. He decided to go down the hallway in the other direction and observe the room for a moment from behind one of the shelves of books. If anyone saw him now they would probably call security about the suspicious individual peering around the corners by the Sports Illustrated magazines. He couldn't see anyone in the work room. Maybe David was in a different part of the library? No way to be certain. Maybe he could just rush in, get his stuff, and punch out before anyone even knew he was there. But what if someone came in just as he was in the middle of punching out? There would be no place to hide. He would be cornered and then he would get fired.
What if no one had thought to check on him? What if everyone was completely oblivious to his regular jaunts to the Lovecraft section? It was possible. No one had even mentioned the fact that books on his floor never seemed to get shelved as fast as they used to.
He would have to risk it.
He walked towards the work room door. Every step brought him closer to the reckoning. He had gambled everything on the complacency of his enemy, not a sound strategy by any means, but the only one available to him. His footsteps rang in his ears and he held his head high like a defiant criminal being taken to the gallows. This was it. The final countdown.
Dammit. Now he had that song stuck in his head.
Upon entering the work room he saw that it truly was deserted. He didn't waste any time getting his things and punching out. There was no telling when fate would reverse the good fortune she had bestowed upon him.
As he was passing the check out desk and moving towards the turnstile which would grant him his sweet, saucy freedom he noticed David sitting behind the desk staring at a computer screen with disdain. Lowering his head and turning it the other direction he tried to increase his pace without looking like he was increasing his pace. He had made it! He was free! He could do anything he wanted, be anything he wanted! The world was wondrous and vast place made just for him!
Just before hitting the little metal arms of the gate, he heard David's voice.
"Have a good one, see you tomorrow."
Stopping he thought to himself: "Right. Tomorrow. When I have to come back here again."

Grungy Mech action in 1940s Russia! Read Iron and Ice!

Response to Mwc12 :may: A Riveting Truth 2012-05-25 17:15:29

The following story is a very personal story, please keep that in mind. You have every right to judge me.

âEUoeAnd that is how it's doneâEU I told her. Now I have to begin by stating that I am a horrible teacher, I can't stand it when I have to explain things over and over again, (over and over again, being âEUoemore then onceâEU in my mind), and I get easily annoyed when people don't pay attention to the things I'm saying.

I release my grip, and felt time slow down, as I slowly began to fall back to the ground. I love that sensation, it's a feeling of being alive; just for a fraction of a second when the rest of the world is gone, and you are slowly plummeting to the ground. A satisfying thud on the soft ground notified me that it had ended.

I made It looked easy, but that is the thing with experienced climbers the make everything look so graceful and logical, put your arm here, extend your leg a little there, and see that minuscule little ridge right on that gigantic wall? If you just wrap around it like this, it's absolutely a breeze. Of course it's true for every sport, but believe me when you see the ease with which climbers graciously fly up the wall, everyone immediately becomes a little arrogant themselves

I watched my female companion as I encouraged her to push herself just a little harder, after about five minutes of the usual âEUoeI can't do this, it is to heavyâEU, âEUoeI haven't got any strength in my arms etcetera etceteraâEU I rolled my eyes for and let out an obvious sigh (somehow suppressing the urge, to simply leave)

She showed every sign, of being a novice climber, relying on her arms to much, repeatedly scraping her feet against the wall, and most noticeably the general disability to get up the wall. âEUoeTry the yellow grip to your left, âEUoe I said, getting bored by her continuous failure. Not that she didn't try , she did try , in her own special

She scraped er foot against the wall, flaying her leg around trying to get some sort of grip somewhere. I decided on the exact manner in which I was going to give her some advice, IâEUTMm not an expert either, but I knew that I could play on her insecurities and bluff myself all the way through, if only she had known.

She couldn't quite get her leg up, For most men, the tightening of the fabric would have been the most important part, but I was interested in something far more perverse then that.

I wanted, to see, her fail

I probably considered her one of my friends, not my closest friend but still a friend nonetheless. I wanted her to fail, so I could show of my superiority to her, I wanted to prove that I was better then her.

I showed her some more things, gave her some more things to do, new challenges. But every time I did it, I made it such that it was slightly above her skill level, sometimes she'd manage to do it anyway and I would compliment her on that, she probably even thought that I genuinely meant it. Sometimes I would give her tips and encouragements, knowing the words wouldn't quite do what they where supposed to do.

I knew then, that I had to change. What I was doing was wrong, it was unethical, it was downright evil and perverted, but I gave in to it anyway.

I tried to change myself, over the course of many year, I adjusted my behaviour and alter my actions whenever I caught myself manipulating some else. It wasn't easy, it required the help of many outsiders, people whom I trusted, either due to the fact that they were paid handsomely to not tell anyone, or would truly understood what me to the very core of my soul. Many hours were spent contemplating over the grounds of my behaviour, and many more trying to alter the future.

She to changed during these years, I could see her change, see her growing more and more confident. I did to, funny how that works, it made many pieces fall in place, it made me understand events from the past so much better. Finally I can begin to phantom the motivations of those who harmed me in some way.

I want you guys on newgrounds to remember it, when you this. This story was only written today, because today was the day I finally talked with that person about this. I wont waste time making excuses or tricking you about why I send this in so late. I'm actually quite proud, that I'm now able to admit, that the idea of talking to her scared me. I wouldn't be able to confess such things earlier.

I figured the conversation with her would be awkward, of course it would. Her possibles reactions scared me. I was not so much afraid of anger, I knew deep down that I probably deserved that. Nonchalance would be okay for me, knowing that she didn't care about it, this might have been a big deal for me but it might not have been for her. Realising that I ought not to have the power to make things more important for other people than it should be was a big step in the learning process.

I still recall her reaction, when I was done explaining. The pause I expected, she didn't pause to form an emotional stance on me, she paused because she wanted to say the exact right words. âEUoeI'm just so glad you changedâEU. I nodded, and left in silence, went home and started typing this.

We both hope, that you, the reader understand.

She is still the better person for this.

I am sorry for what I have done.

BBS Signature

Response to Mwc12 :may: A Riveting Truth 2012-05-31 13:33:22

An UnJoyful End
Word count: 2504

I heaved a somewhat heavy sigh as I walked slowly forward. The breath I uncaged felt rather forced. I knew I should have been panicking by now, or at least be somewhat nervous, and yet I was strangely calm despite the dangerous situation I was foreshadowing. The area around me was quiet and the atmosphere serene. Perhaps that was the reason behind my peculiar state. I gazed at the grass below that my feet were trampling. On another day I would have sat down and felt mother earth caress my body as the moon peered from above. Not today though, I had more important matters to attend to.

I suddenly shifted my eyes forward as I started to walk more briskly over to my destination. Ahead lay a short stone building that would have usually appeared cold and unfriendly. Tonight however, basked in the golden aura of the luminous posts surrounding it, it looked as if it was inviting me over, asking me to move quicker. I had planned a different route, but I decided I'd take the risk.

I lugged my helmet under my left arm and my sword in my right. "There was no reason to be nervous," I thought to myself, mouthing the words. I wasn't sure if I actually said these words aloud or not, but that wasn't my biggest concern.
As I finally neared the corner around the building, an array of assorted benches peeked from behind. This exact place used to be a very lively area. A place where teenagers flocked and kids crowded, producing a cacophony of laughter and inaudible speech. Tonight however, the place was deserted. I preferred it that way, it made me feel special. It didn't take long for the three figures at the very last bench to materialize. Two were sitting, one was standing.

My eyesight wasn't perfect, and I could barely even make out the genders of these people, but my heart shuddered and my mind froze as I studied the person standing. My body was unaffected and just kept moving towards them. As I slowly got closer, I could feel my heart pounding harder and harder, almost as if it was pleading to be let out. My brain did the only thing it could do and released much adrenaline as my mind cried out "shit!".

As I finally arrived within talking distance, I stopped thinking. There was no time to think, or perhaps I couldn't think. Either way, the prize atop my temple that I had treasured for so long and have even been envied for was now as useless as a pile of bricks.

"Hey guys!" I said in a tone that fortunately hid my state of panic. I was acting on pure instinct now. I was relieved to see that I was quite familiar with the two boys who were sitting down. As I shook each boy's hand, I never turned to face the standing girl. I assumed my greeting of the others would hide my eagerness to look at her. I finally turned to her and said, "Hey Sarah" before quickly averting my gaze once more.

I only barely got to look at her, but her face was hammered into my mind. I pictured her beautiful face with two hazel diamonds that always seemed to be dilating. Her white complexion highlighted her reddish cheeks. I always wondered if they were naturally that red. I'd never seen a girl whose cheeks were always rosy. Then again, I never really paid much attention. Her lips were small and faintly red, but her hair was a tease. I was only permitted a few locks of brown hair atop her head due to her veil. She was wearing a large, brown fur coat and matching brown boots.

"Oh what's this?" Karim, a kid with a large Afro, blurted out, pointing to my sword. I handed it to him. I enjoyed playing fencing, perhaps not as much as the company of my instructors, but it was definitely worth being the guy walking around with the sword.

The two boys stood up, unsheathed the sword and started flailing it around each other, incorrectly I might add. Mina, the larger boy but with the smaller Afro started to poke Sarah with the sword. She wasn't too fond of this sort of play.
I watched the hyperactive two and Sarah, frustrated by their immaturity. She finally turned to me and said "Why do you even walk around with that all the time?". I couldn't possibly say anything funny or witty in the state I was in, so I simply said the first thing that came to mind, "I like showing off". This was met by a giggle and her reply "I like how honest you are". Normally I would not have been able to contain myself with excitement at receiving a complement from Sarah, however tonight, I was barely able to muster a smile as I took another glance at her.

Her face was simply, like her last name, a Joy to watch. Again, I averted my eyes, hoping not to stare for too long. This was a horrible disaster.

A few months ago, an incredible event happened in my life. Sarah called me late at night, asking about something. This was the moment I realized I was in love with her and it was such a pivotal moment that I, oddly enough, wrote a story about the phone call and actually gave it to her. I used "Joy" as a synonym for her last name instead of her real name for a bit of subtlety.

Now she said she loved it, and loved how vivid all the details were, but she never mentioned anything about the love implied in the story. I had been chasing after the girl for so long, I decided I finally needed an answer. In a moment of despair I asked a friend to tell her that I was in love with her. Her response was that she felt that we should just be friends.

That was fair, that was exactly what I expected. I just wanted to hear it from her now.

So I told her there was something I wanted to tell her in person, and the day had finally arrived. The problem was that I had no idea what I was going to say. There was a lot I wanted to say, but choosing the words to express it felt like such a daunting task with her inches away from me. I had planned on outlining everything before calling her and asking where she was. I never imagined I would bump into her like this.

And so the night kept going, and several friends of ours kept coming and going. The only ones that remained were Sarah, Mina and I.

I felt incredibly out of place. People were joking, talking and having fun while I was in turmoil. I didn't even attempt to partake in their conversation. I was desperately trying to conjure anything to say that might finally give this futile romance the closure it deserved. My efforts at winning her over for the past 9 months were almost as useless as my efforts to try and think of something coherent at that moment. I finally just reclined onto the fact that perhaps somehow, this was all going to fix itself and life would be awesome.

As the night went by, it was getting late, and it was finally just me, Sarah, Mina and another girl who had joined us. I was still sitting with a blank expression on my face when Sarah spoke and uttered my name, "Omar, there was something you wanted to tell me...face to face?"

That was it. There was no going back now. I had to do this one way or another. I followed the rules I had practiced in dealing with social crisis's, one of which was to speak slowly and carefully, and not to try to sound more confident than I actually was.

"Yeah...I uh...had something to ask you." I said. Her sweet lips formed into a smile as her left leg bent delicately and her arms stretched out slightly to the sides. She looked like an elegant, beautiful bird, "Well here I am" she replied, "ask me".

Now this was when I got confused. I knew the gist of what I was going to say. I was supposed to propose my love to her, and she knew what I was going to say. I know she knew I loved her, and I think she knew as well. I just wanted to say it, but was she expecting me to confess my love in front of our friends? I had never done this before, so I had no idea how I was supposed to act.

Response to Mwc12 :may: A Riveting Truth 2012-05-31 13:34:23

"Erhm.." I continued, taken aback. I thought I'd recite the only line I had thought of the previous day as the opening statement to this confession "Do you remember the story I gave you?". "Yeah, I still have it" she reassured. I took a pause before continuing "You understood it, right?". She said she did. I repeated the question. "You understood it.....right?". She just repeated her answered. I paused for a few seconds, just looking at her, waiting for something, giving her a confused look.

She finally broke the silence saying "I really did understand it, I know I never said anything about the part you're talking about but I did understand". Perhaps I should have stopped there and gone home. But I didn't.

"Oh" I uttered. I hadn't thought of anything past this point. She gave me an expression that said 'well?'. There was absolutely nothing that was coming to my mind. I finally said "Just...gimme 5 minutes to think". She giggled, once again I assume amused by my honesty and told me to go ahead and think.

I tried, but my efforts were fruitless. I decided I would just get her alone and then I would say whatever came to mind and end this horrible night. Little did I know that I had yet to see the real horror of the night.

I thought I would just ask her to go buy a juice or something. It didn't really matter how cliche or stupid the excuse was, I just wanted to get her alone with me. The words, however, came out wrong. I was supposed to ask her if she wanted to buy something *with* me. Instead however:

"Sarah, is there something you want to buy...with me?"


"...Are you sure?"

"Yes...is there something you want to buy?"

"Yes yes, just..come with me"

She awkwardly got up and walked with me. And thus began a symphony of social awkwardness, incoherent-ness and bad, bad communication. It was also the night I realized I tend to raise my voice when I get nervous.

"Sarah I've..erhm, just wanted to say that, you inspire me"

"I do?"

"And uhm, uhm..that" There was so much I wanted to say, why was none of it coming up???

We arrived at the snacks shop, I was standing unusually close to the stand, perhaps as a means of hiding.

"I've always wanted to tell you that...you're beautiful"

"Could you lower your voice a bit? I think everyone just heard you" She said, taking a step back.

"Alright...sorry..umm, and I wanted to say that, just being around you has given me reason to--"

"Your voice is seriously really loud"

"Sorry sorry...umm"

"Do you really wanna buy something?" She said, taking a step back again.

"What? Yeah sure. What was I saying...you know I gave the story to the english teacher" It wasn't the most romantic thing to say, but I was desperate for words.

"What english teacher??" She snapped back. I was referring to the teacher whose class we met in.

"That teacher...was her name?" It was no surprise i couldn't bring up her name either.

"Mrs Nagwa?" She asked


"Do you seriously want to buy something?" She repeated. I thought I should buy something then. I turned for my wallet. I couldn't find it. I must have forgotten it back where we were sitting.

"I..forgot my wallet.." and then came the stupidest thing I had ever said to her "do you have any money?"

She reluctantly got out 5 pounds, saying she didn't have much money with her.

I took it and gazed around, trying to decide what to buy. It took me moments to realize how bad it looked for me to take money from her and buy something I didn't even want.

"Just..here take it" I handed her her money.

"So you don't want to buy something?"

"No I don't want to buy something!" I almost yelled back, frustrated at how she keeps spacing herself away. I motioned for her to come closer.

"No! Why are we standing here so close? I feel like the guy is with us in the conversation!" She said those words with a look that felt like my own sword, sharpening and dug deep into my gut. I couldn't tell why, but her ferocity in that split second almost killed me. I just swallowed whatever dignity I had left and moved away from the shop towards her.

"Did you like the part where I referred to you as Joy?" I asked, trying desperately to remember anything of the volumes I wanted to voice.

"Yeah...it was nice" she said in a tone that sounded unimpressed and an expression that I couldn't really place, but it wasn't good.

"I just wanted you to know that you're like the only girl I know well--"

She interrupted me again, "your voice is seriously really loud. I feel like everyone is listening"

I couldn't take much more.

"I just wanted to say that I loved you." I had no idea why I used the past tense. Pehaps at that moment, her once beautiful face and warmth-emanating body was now impaling me with ruthless spikes that drained all the love away. Or perhaps it was just easier to say that way.

And then came her reply. Her awful, awful reply. It was not rejection, but oh how I wish it was.

"Well..I'm not really good at replying to this stuff.." were the words that were left hanging in the air.

We were silent for a few moments. I couldn't bear to look at her face anymore. A face that shifted so quickly.

"Well..let's just go back" I said.

"Are you sure? There's nothing else you want to say?" She inquired. What was the point? She didn't seem like she wanted to hear anything anyway.

"No, nothing to say, let's just go back"

"Okay.." she replied, reluctantly.

And those were the last words I heard from Sarah for months, despite us being in the same school and sharing many classes together.

I went home that night, and cried. It felt good though. I hadn't cried in years. It was strange. As soon as the tears began to flow, this amazing feeling landed upon me, and as soon as it did, the tears recoiled. They refused to come out again and I was stuck with the this dark, dreadful feeling of worthlessness and self pity.

Those were the last words I said to Sarah, but they weren't the last she said to me. Months later, a few more words emerged from her beautiful lips to me. And those words were:

"Thank you, Omar".