Welcome to the voting stage for the ninth round of the Writing Competition. This time, for the theme of Free Choice, I received three entries which can be found in the spoiler tag below. Once you have read them all, vote for your favourite entry. And while you're at it, why not leave a little feedback at the same time?
Entry #1:
To my fellow Kokiri:
This last Midsummer's eve, which was yesterday, I was walking through the Lost Woods, I happened to stumble upon Link. As many of us know he has been missing for quite some time. He was in a bad state of mind when I found him, he was dancing, laughing and talking to himself. When I approached him he told me a story. He claimed he had went to a place called “Termina” and saved if from a moon that was going to crash into it. After futher anlysis of the area I found that there were large quantities of Forest Mushrooms consumed by Link. It has long been believed that Forest Mushrooms are poisonous but apparently this is not so. I can only conclude the mushrooms have caused him to hallucinate and he lost track of accurate time.
I managed to get Link out of the Lost Woods but he is still in an altered state of mind. He keeps saying the words, and I quote, “Tingle, Tingle, Kooloo Limpah!”. I dare not leave him un-monitored in this state, and I do not know when the effects of the mushrooms will wear off. My main concern is that they will have a lasting effect on his mind damaging it or even causing him to be addicted to the mushrooms - he did in fact consume a lot of them it seems. Only time will tell what will happen to Link but I think this should raise awareness that Forest Mushrooms should be considered even more dangerous than they once were. Let us not forget the terrible “Magic Beans” incident a few years ago, Forest Mushrooms could pose that same problem and should be viewed as a enemy to society.
I plan to use Link to plead my case to eradicate Forest Mushrooms from our forest completely, but it all depends on how Link will act after the mushrooms wear off. In the mean time I urge everyone to stay away from Forest Mushrooms!
Sincerly, Mido
Der Medo:
Y U got rid of fowezt mushwoomz? Termina wuz da coowezt!
By by, Wink
Entry #2:
I've been wanting to tell you guys for a while now. I just… I was afraid.
I guess I've known since I was fourteen.
What? Why?
I'm still me.
It's not a phase.
No, it's not!
IT'S NOT!
Oliver. His name's Oliver. Why can you never remember that? We've been friends since primary school.
Yes, I love him.
You… You hit me.
Disgusting?
I don't believe in Hell.
Go? Go where…?
I don't have any.
I've got nowhere else to go.
What do you mean 10 minutes?
Don't make me. Please, I don't want to.
I'm begging you.
I'm still your son, I'm still…
I'm right here.
You can't. Don't ignore me!
Mom!?
Dad?
TALK TO ME.
Please, I love you.
No, don't.
Please stop.
Dad, no.
Sto—
Ow! You're hurting me.
I… can't… breathe.
I can't…
I…
…
..
.
Entry #3:
I enlisted a few weeks ago, hoping to escape the poverty and mediocrity is was living in New York, never expected to end up in Georgia, getting my ass chewed out for not making my bed with hospital corners. With reception, the constant shark attacks from the sarcasticly bitter Drill Sergeants, and overall complaints from my fellow "peers," I wanted out. It became clear that we weren't an organized company, just a bunch of *****y scumbags, and asshole instructors. All I have to do is blow the marksmanship test at the end of white phase; I wasn't going to end up like Peterson, some guy that told a Drill Sergeant that he was going crazy and was going to kill himself. Poor guy constantly had eyes on him until out processing, his bed was moved to the middle of the 60-man bay we slept in; and since we're in white phase, not a round was given to him, his weapon taken away, and he just sat, sat alone, probabaly going even more crazy. He's probably in a psyche ward. No, not me. I'd just wait until the 11th, then bomb the test, and get kicked out. Maybe join community college or something.
It was the end of summer, but the weather still scorched the hell out of us. Every day, we were at the range, practicing for the test on the 11th. Every day, the sun peered down on us, witnessesing our slow and painful transistion from civilian to soldier. We sharpened our skills for combat through repetition, repetition by our Drill Sergeants. They were either telling us what to do, calling us pieces of ****, of telling us the ins and outs of the military life. Infantryman, tankers, a few snipers, lead by our Senior Drill Sergeant, a green motha-****in' beret. Badass as they were, they were still jerks, and none of us liked them. Poor Peterson had the gull to tell one of them to shut the **** up during PT, a group of them got in his face, screaming and spitting on him. I don't care if he shouldn't have done that, when I see people in need, I feel like I got to help them. All I had to do was turn to them and say, "Drill Sergeant." Boom, one week straight of CQ, that's two hours less sleep than they already give me. It was all going to be over after white phase, the final marksmanship test is a few days, then I can get out without them thinking I'd kill everyone. I just want to go home to NY. I'd learned that I'm fine with poverty and laziness, anything but this hell.
The day before the test we were cleaning our weapons, and I finished cleaning mine first. It was just M16, simple to take apart and clean if you paid attention to the Drill Sergeants, which barely anyone did. I looked up to see one of our Drill Sergeants staring at me, gesturing to me with his finger to come to him. "Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit," I thought. I got up, and went to him, thinking about what he would want me for.
It was Drill Sergeant Spence, a infantryman that served in the Gulf War. One tough son-of-a-*****, but that's all we knew. The other Drill Sergeants would share stories about life in active duty, on deployment, combat. But he would usually just stay quiet, let the other Drill Sergeants do the talking for him. Ominous, though, to see him standing there, staring at me as I approach him.
He holds his hand out, "May I inspect your weapon, warrior?"
"Yes, Drill Sergeant."
"There a reason you are not cleaning it?" He says, taking apart the upper and lower recievers.
"I've finished cleaning it, Drill Sergeant." I responded.
"Why'd you leave a little carbon on the bolt carrier?" He looks at me like I put cocaine in it or something.
"Drill Sergeant, I left a little carbon on the bolt carrier because I feel it would help lessen the friction between the boltcarrier and upper reciever."
"Where's your 15W40 lubricant, warrior?" He's motionless, unreadable, a damn statue.
"I gave the rest I had to Miller, Drill Sergeant." ****, I just know he's gonna destroy me.
"Why?"
**** my life, that's why. "Because he was out, Drill Sergeant, I didn't want him going into the test with a dry weapon."
"Why do you even care what happens to him?" By this time, eveyone else noticed the conversation, and is quiet to hear my answer.
"Um...I guess I just want to help, Drill Sergeant."
He re-assembles the weapon and gives it back to me. "Go help others clean their weapons. As a leader, your soldiers will always need you."
"Yes, Drill Sergeant." Wait, did he just call me a leader?
He walks forward to observe the company, who's awaiting whatever words he has. He scans the 40+ people sitting on the ground at his feet, anticipating his next words. He points at someone, and tells them to stand up."Why'd did you join the Army, warrior?" He asks them.
"I joined to pay for college, Drill Sergeant." The private answers swiftly.
He points at another, "Why'd you join?"
"To serve America, Drill Sergeant."
Another.
"For citizenship, Drill Sergeant." Everyone laughs, but Drill Sergeant Spence is serious.
"You all come from different backgrounds, you all have different beliefs, and you all joined for different reasons...but you all just don't give a **** about eachother, do you?" He was met with utter silence from his crowd. "What would you do for the person next to you, huh? Would you kill for them? Would you die for them? Would you leave them to the enemy to do as they please with 'em? You're infantry, when you're outside the wire, all you ****ing HAVE is eachother. Let me tell you something, privates, as we speak, our enemies are training to kill us. Every day, they wake up, they're ready to die. They HATE us, they're willing to do anything to bring us harm. You must take this training seriously, warriors. We aren't in war right now, no, but America never stays out of war. We are the world's police, so we will always have enemies. I know you think we're assholes, jerks, hypocrites, or some **** like that, but there's a reason why we do what we do. You MUST be tougher than them, you MUST be better than them. You MUST beat them. But the only way you can do that is by being a team; moving, communicating, fighting, thinking, as a team. Yet, you don't even know why your battle buddy joined in the first place!"
He takes his cover off, and starts rubbing the top of his head. "During Operation: Desert Storm, my battalion was part of the force driving out the Iraqis from Kuwait, and I lost many, many, friends during that time." He's biting his bottom lip. "Honestly, I don't want you having to go through that. You don't know what it feels like to have a friend die that you could've saved, and to live with it." He's squeezing his cover now, and his voice is tightening, "Everyday I think about those we've lost, I wishing I had done more...more to save the friends I've lost, save their families from their suffering, more to save people across the ****ing world that....that we just couldn't save." He turns to me, "...Private, how hard are you willing to fight for these people here, and for the people across the world?"
"..."
"How far are you willing to go to help your battle buddy, and for the helpless people across the world, private?"
"...Far, Drill Sergeant, I'm willing to go far for them."
"Why?"
"Um, I guess I just want to help, Drill Sergeant."
"Good, cause you'll lead these men one day. When **** hits the fan, they will have you on their side, and you will help them." He turns back to the crowd, "Privates, for the sake of eachother, do your damn best on this test tomorrow. Because that's who you'll end up fighting for, eachother. Not college, not America, not for honor or glory, but for the person sitting next to you. Reassemble your weapons, and head to the barracks." I slowly start to walk, thinking about my previous views about the people here, and the Drill Sergeants. It was deep, and I could tell he was thinking about this for a while. Do they all feel that way, or just Drill Sergeant Spence? My peers, are some feeling the way I am? Can I help them not become like Peterson? Drill Sergeant Spence said I'd be a leader one day, how the hell can I do something like that?
I write a letter to my family back in New York explaining the day, and how I'm not so sure I want to quit. For some reason, I feel we'll need all the help we can get, my company, at least. Suddenly, I'm motivated to stay strong and see it through, like my grandfather did after Pearl Harbor. The Drill Sergeants instruct us to date the letters a certain way, but I know my family won't be able to comprehend it, so I usually just put the normal way. I ask them for advice and tell them that I love them, and date it "September 10, 2001" before taking it to the mail box outside our barracks.
To my fellow Kokiri:
This last Midsummer's eve, which was yesterday, I was walking through the Lost Woods, I happened to stumble upon Link. As many of us know he has been missing for quite some time. He was in a bad state of mind when I found him, he was dancing, laughing and talking to himself. When I approached him he told me a story. He claimed he had went to a place called “Termina” and saved if from a moon that was going to crash into it. After futher anlysis of the area I found that there were large quantities of Forest Mushrooms consumed by Link. It has long been believed that Forest Mushrooms are poisonous but apparently this is not so. I can only conclude the mushrooms have caused him to hallucinate and he lost track of accurate time.
I managed to get Link out of the Lost Woods but he is still in an altered state of mind. He keeps saying the words, and I quote, “Tingle, Tingle, Kooloo Limpah!”. I dare not leave him un-monitored in this state, and I do not know when the effects of the mushrooms will wear off. My main concern is that they will have a lasting effect on his mind damaging it or even causing him to be addicted to the mushrooms - he did in fact consume a lot of them it seems. Only time will tell what will happen to Link but I think this should raise awareness that Forest Mushrooms should be considered even more dangerous than they once were. Let us not forget the terrible “Magic Beans” incident a few years ago, Forest Mushrooms could pose that same problem and should be viewed as a enemy to society.
I plan to use Link to plead my case to eradicate Forest Mushrooms from our forest completely, but it all depends on how Link will act after the mushrooms wear off. In the mean time I urge everyone to stay away from Forest Mushrooms!
Sincerly, Mido
Der Medo:
Y U got rid of fowezt mushwoomz? Termina wuz da coowezt!
By by, Wink
Entry #2:
I've been wanting to tell you guys for a while now. I just… I was afraid.
I guess I've known since I was fourteen.
What? Why?
I'm still me.
It's not a phase.
No, it's not!
IT'S NOT!
Oliver. His name's Oliver. Why can you never remember that? We've been friends since primary school.
Yes, I love him.
You… You hit me.
Disgusting?
I don't believe in Hell.
Go? Go where…?
I don't have any.
I've got nowhere else to go.
What do you mean 10 minutes?
Don't make me. Please, I don't want to.
I'm begging you.
I'm still your son, I'm still…
I'm right here.
You can't. Don't ignore me!
Mom!?
Dad?
TALK TO ME.
Please, I love you.
No, don't.
Please stop.
Dad, no.
Sto—
Ow! You're hurting me.
I… can't… breathe.
I can't…
I…
…
..
.
Entry #3:
CAUTION: STRONG LANGUAGE
They call it white phase, the 2nd phase of Basic Combat Training for the US Army. It focused solely on physical fitness and marksmanship. 7/20th Battalion earned it's name "Beach Breachers" after their participation in the invasion of Normandy Beach during World War Two. I'd hear stories of my grandfather who joined just before Pearl Harbor, and decided to reclass to infantry after the attack. He wasn't alive to see me born, I often think he could've helped me prepare a lot for joining the military.I enlisted a few weeks ago, hoping to escape the poverty and mediocrity is was living in New York, never expected to end up in Georgia, getting my ass chewed out for not making my bed with hospital corners. With reception, the constant shark attacks from the sarcasticly bitter Drill Sergeants, and overall complaints from my fellow "peers," I wanted out. It became clear that we weren't an organized company, just a bunch of *****y scumbags, and asshole instructors. All I have to do is blow the marksmanship test at the end of white phase; I wasn't going to end up like Peterson, some guy that told a Drill Sergeant that he was going crazy and was going to kill himself. Poor guy constantly had eyes on him until out processing, his bed was moved to the middle of the 60-man bay we slept in; and since we're in white phase, not a round was given to him, his weapon taken away, and he just sat, sat alone, probabaly going even more crazy. He's probably in a psyche ward. No, not me. I'd just wait until the 11th, then bomb the test, and get kicked out. Maybe join community college or something.
It was the end of summer, but the weather still scorched the hell out of us. Every day, we were at the range, practicing for the test on the 11th. Every day, the sun peered down on us, witnessesing our slow and painful transistion from civilian to soldier. We sharpened our skills for combat through repetition, repetition by our Drill Sergeants. They were either telling us what to do, calling us pieces of ****, of telling us the ins and outs of the military life. Infantryman, tankers, a few snipers, lead by our Senior Drill Sergeant, a green motha-****in' beret. Badass as they were, they were still jerks, and none of us liked them. Poor Peterson had the gull to tell one of them to shut the **** up during PT, a group of them got in his face, screaming and spitting on him. I don't care if he shouldn't have done that, when I see people in need, I feel like I got to help them. All I had to do was turn to them and say, "Drill Sergeant." Boom, one week straight of CQ, that's two hours less sleep than they already give me. It was all going to be over after white phase, the final marksmanship test is a few days, then I can get out without them thinking I'd kill everyone. I just want to go home to NY. I'd learned that I'm fine with poverty and laziness, anything but this hell.
The day before the test we were cleaning our weapons, and I finished cleaning mine first. It was just M16, simple to take apart and clean if you paid attention to the Drill Sergeants, which barely anyone did. I looked up to see one of our Drill Sergeants staring at me, gesturing to me with his finger to come to him. "Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit," I thought. I got up, and went to him, thinking about what he would want me for.
It was Drill Sergeant Spence, a infantryman that served in the Gulf War. One tough son-of-a-*****, but that's all we knew. The other Drill Sergeants would share stories about life in active duty, on deployment, combat. But he would usually just stay quiet, let the other Drill Sergeants do the talking for him. Ominous, though, to see him standing there, staring at me as I approach him.
He holds his hand out, "May I inspect your weapon, warrior?"
"Yes, Drill Sergeant."
"There a reason you are not cleaning it?" He says, taking apart the upper and lower recievers.
"I've finished cleaning it, Drill Sergeant." I responded.
"Why'd you leave a little carbon on the bolt carrier?" He looks at me like I put cocaine in it or something.
"Drill Sergeant, I left a little carbon on the bolt carrier because I feel it would help lessen the friction between the boltcarrier and upper reciever."
"Where's your 15W40 lubricant, warrior?" He's motionless, unreadable, a damn statue.
"I gave the rest I had to Miller, Drill Sergeant." ****, I just know he's gonna destroy me.
"Why?"
**** my life, that's why. "Because he was out, Drill Sergeant, I didn't want him going into the test with a dry weapon."
"Why do you even care what happens to him?" By this time, eveyone else noticed the conversation, and is quiet to hear my answer.
"Um...I guess I just want to help, Drill Sergeant."
He re-assembles the weapon and gives it back to me. "Go help others clean their weapons. As a leader, your soldiers will always need you."
"Yes, Drill Sergeant." Wait, did he just call me a leader?
He walks forward to observe the company, who's awaiting whatever words he has. He scans the 40+ people sitting on the ground at his feet, anticipating his next words. He points at someone, and tells them to stand up."Why'd did you join the Army, warrior?" He asks them.
"I joined to pay for college, Drill Sergeant." The private answers swiftly.
He points at another, "Why'd you join?"
"To serve America, Drill Sergeant."
Another.
"For citizenship, Drill Sergeant." Everyone laughs, but Drill Sergeant Spence is serious.
"You all come from different backgrounds, you all have different beliefs, and you all joined for different reasons...but you all just don't give a **** about eachother, do you?" He was met with utter silence from his crowd. "What would you do for the person next to you, huh? Would you kill for them? Would you die for them? Would you leave them to the enemy to do as they please with 'em? You're infantry, when you're outside the wire, all you ****ing HAVE is eachother. Let me tell you something, privates, as we speak, our enemies are training to kill us. Every day, they wake up, they're ready to die. They HATE us, they're willing to do anything to bring us harm. You must take this training seriously, warriors. We aren't in war right now, no, but America never stays out of war. We are the world's police, so we will always have enemies. I know you think we're assholes, jerks, hypocrites, or some **** like that, but there's a reason why we do what we do. You MUST be tougher than them, you MUST be better than them. You MUST beat them. But the only way you can do that is by being a team; moving, communicating, fighting, thinking, as a team. Yet, you don't even know why your battle buddy joined in the first place!"
He takes his cover off, and starts rubbing the top of his head. "During Operation: Desert Storm, my battalion was part of the force driving out the Iraqis from Kuwait, and I lost many, many, friends during that time." He's biting his bottom lip. "Honestly, I don't want you having to go through that. You don't know what it feels like to have a friend die that you could've saved, and to live with it." He's squeezing his cover now, and his voice is tightening, "Everyday I think about those we've lost, I wishing I had done more...more to save the friends I've lost, save their families from their suffering, more to save people across the ****ing world that....that we just couldn't save." He turns to me, "...Private, how hard are you willing to fight for these people here, and for the people across the world?"
"..."
"How far are you willing to go to help your battle buddy, and for the helpless people across the world, private?"
"...Far, Drill Sergeant, I'm willing to go far for them."
"Why?"
"Um, I guess I just want to help, Drill Sergeant."
"Good, cause you'll lead these men one day. When **** hits the fan, they will have you on their side, and you will help them." He turns back to the crowd, "Privates, for the sake of eachother, do your damn best on this test tomorrow. Because that's who you'll end up fighting for, eachother. Not college, not America, not for honor or glory, but for the person sitting next to you. Reassemble your weapons, and head to the barracks." I slowly start to walk, thinking about my previous views about the people here, and the Drill Sergeants. It was deep, and I could tell he was thinking about this for a while. Do they all feel that way, or just Drill Sergeant Spence? My peers, are some feeling the way I am? Can I help them not become like Peterson? Drill Sergeant Spence said I'd be a leader one day, how the hell can I do something like that?
I write a letter to my family back in New York explaining the day, and how I'm not so sure I want to quit. For some reason, I feel we'll need all the help we can get, my company, at least. Suddenly, I'm motivated to stay strong and see it through, like my grandfather did after Pearl Harbor. The Drill Sergeants instruct us to date the letters a certain way, but I know my family won't be able to comprehend it, so I usually just put the normal way. I ask them for advice and tell them that I love them, and date it "September 10, 2001" before taking it to the mail box outside our barracks.
