Garo
Boy Wonder
Welcome to round 14 of the Zelda Dungeon Writing Community Competition! Last round, we had five stellar entries, but the winner - in a runaway victory by 5 votes - was Ganondork, with his piece detailing a touching brotherly moment between Assassin's Creed protagonist Ezio and his brother. This round, we had a fantastic six entries, all based on the theme of Flight - as always, you can read the pieces in the spoiler tag below, and be sure to vote for your favorite in the poll above.
The theme for the next round will be:
As a note, be creative with the theme! Note that I haven't specified whether fall refers to a literal fall, or the season - I want you guys to have as much freedom to write as possible. Be creative with your use of the theme and you may be surprised with the results! Your entries will be due on Friday, December 14th at 9:00PM EST.
A Link In Time
The Power of Flight
The Wright brothers gaped at the opening clearing before them. They had finally harnessed the power of the birds or so they thought. What da Vinci had pioneered, they had perfected.
“Orville, are you sure this contraption is safe to pilot?” Wilbur inquired in his usual dull tone.
“Most certainly, brother; you have nothing to worry about. We’ve been preparing for this day for years”.
The beach stretched before their eyes. Would the waters swallow their flights or would they soar? The calculations had been precise but with machinery there was always an unknown. The weather might be poor, a part might break, delayed reaction time might result in permanent maiming.
Trying to suppress these thoughts, Orville boarded the plane. Constructing it had been no easy task as car engines were no fit for the job. Yet after many hardships the task was complete. Zipping his jacket, Orville boarded the machine. It was chilly but not frosty outside, a pleasant December afternoon.
“Let it rip!” Orville exclaimed. Off he went. The sensation was unparalleled, the glider lifting off the ground. The adjacent Kitty Hawk loomed far below, he could hardly discern the houses. The flight was over sooner than it had started but the experience was among his life’s most satisfying.
“How about it, Wilbur? Want to give it a spin? “
“Most certainly, brother; I promise I’ll outdo you”.
The plane prepared for liftoff once more.
3-2-1-launch.
It glided longer than ever before. One revolution around the beach, two, three; Orville smiled catching a hint of a wink from his brother up above.
“We did it, we did it. If birds can soar then man can too.”
Wilbur touched down joining his brother for the celebration. How different it was to travel in air than on land or sea. Their life dream had been fulfilled. A seagull landed on the sand several meters from them. It was an unusual season to see one perched. Perhaps it was a sign. Yes, a sign. A sign of equality and recognition from the people of the skies.
Cfrock
Fight or Flight
The city was dead. The sound of a thousand wailing moans sang through the air. The stench of rotting flesh and blood saturated every space and even now it seeped steadily into the warehouse in which Dario Rosso had taken refuge. The last three days had been a living Hell. He had seen his wife die, his daughter die and even his mother too. All of them, killed by those things outside.
He was no fool. He knew that the building was surrounded by the monsters that took his family. He knew that they could smell him, knew that they were trying to get in. His only hope was that the doors would hold until rescue arrived. Rescue would come. Someone had to be on their way… Surely…
‘Of course rescue is coming, what else do I pay my taxes for?!’ The thought kept Dario calm. Things were pretty bad but the government would never just leave innocent citizens to die like this. They would send help.
Dario tried to stay calm by writing in his journal but he couldn’t keep his pen moving for long. What was the point? Was anyone ever going to read the words he had written? What if the zombies broke through the door and tore his flesh from his bones like they had to his beautiful daughter? Would his words mean anything then?
Dario felt a shock of guilt at the thought of his daughter. He hadn’t been able to protect her. His only child and he failed to keep her safe. But what could he have honestly done? The only option had been to run and hide and wait to be saved. There was nothing he could have done for her. Fighting those beasts was suicide.
‘That stupid woman,’ thought Dario. ‘She was an idiot to go out there. Did she really think she could survive?’ Dario remembered with anger the woman who had hidden in the warehouse with him and tried to convince him to leave. She claimed to be some kind of police officer but she just looked like a prostitute. Dario felt confident that she had already died. He was right to stay put. He would live and then he could honour his daughter’s memory by writing a book about this horror. Yes, Dario Rosso: I Survived, a guaranteed best seller.
The fragile fantasy that served to keep Dario sane was shattered by a metallic crash that told him the door had been breached. The scream caught in his throat as the zombies poured in and forced their way towards him, scrambling over each other in their fervent hunger.
The last thought that went through Dario’s mind before the yellow stained teeth sank into his flesh was that flight had been no better than fight.
Hero of Time
"Lost Ones"
The city that never sleeps
A sunny autumn day
No one could be prepared
For the beauty to wash away
Businessmen in suits
Construction men in boots
Bask in the sun with elation
Firemen idle in their station
A flight from here to there
No one could be aware
Kids watching clouds without a care
No one could be prepared
The city and the flight
So soon would they unite
Two towers from the ground erected
No one could have expected
Another flight enters the sky
As the first slowly declines
A man rids of the pilot
And flies toward a tower to defile it
Metal meets metal
The city lost in a daze
Fire grows higher
The city lost in a haze
And within seconds
The fire climbs to the heavens
Firemen no longer idle
As the fearful await their arrival
And just as some begin to adapt
The second flight hits with blast
No one saw it coming
And with fear more are running
In the growing fire sun is reflected
No one could have expected
The growing fire emits a glare
No one could have prepared
Only their tears could put out the fire
As with the sun it burns brighter
Stuck in the towers, and still they try
With no hope left, the bravest suicide
People scared and alone
Parents never return home
Lives will never be the same
Filled with perpetual pain
Soon the whole world hears the news
But there's nothing they can do
To the TV their eyes are glued
But there's nothing they can do
The city falls apart
To be rebuilt from the start
The towers reduced to rubble
With each body found the pain is doubled
United with tears
No longer with fears
And through all the pain
Some hope still remains
Families join back together
While others are torn forever
With courage they close their eyes
Wipe away a tear and say goodbye
Through it all the sun still shines
And caresses the broken ground
Through all the destruction
There's still some hope to be found
But still the memories remain
A nightmare to withhold
Their lives forever stained
Never to change as they grow old
Families devastated
Buildings desecrated
A day always in remembrance
For the lost ones we hold with reverence
Two attacks without warning
A city forever mourning
Two flights without a proper landing
Two towers no longer standing
Families devastated
Buildings desecrated
A day always in remembrance
For the lost ones we hold with reverence
MadameMajora
Starlight
She stands at the bridge. Stares at the black water 60 feet below. She leans down and picks up a tiny rock, tossing it over the concrete railing of the bridge, sticking her head over to watch it fall as it hits the water and vanishes without hardly making a ripple. She waits, and watches as the water becomes glass-like once more. She can see the moon reflected on it. She's glad she picked such a beautiful night to do it. If she could choose what the world would be like when she left, it would be like this, calm, quiet, with a cloudless sky with the stars twinkling innocently overhead. She glances around, pulling her collar up slightly. There's nobody around, and she slowly takes a breath, watching it turn to steam in the cold October air...wait. There is somebody. A homeless man, ragged and dirty with a scruffy beard. He catches sight of her.
"Ma'am..." He wanders over to her tentatively. She looks at the ground, wondering if her intentions can be sensed from the look in her eyes. She wonders if she should just run. Come back later, when she’s sure nobody will be around. She’s already taken great precautions to make sure she isn’t seen- picking a bridge at the back of town where people rarely frequent, and coming at 3 am, when she knows nobody will be out. He approaches her slowly, but he doesn't appear hostile, and so she doesn't run.
"Ma'am...d'you- sorry to bother yeh, know it's late an' all...I was jus' wonderin'...could yeh spare a bit o' money? Please, ma'am, I dun need a whole lot."
He trails off as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her battered leather wallet. It smells like home, like coffee and old paper, her mother's baking and her father's cigarette smoke. All of that, gone now. She is entirely alone in this world. Everyone has left her behind. Of course, if they hadn't, she wouldn't be here. She unbuckles the old strap, fishing out a wrinkled twenty dollar bill. He takes it in his grubby fingers and looks at it in awe.
"Th-thank yeh, ma'am." He turns to leave, when she says "Wait." He stops, looking back at her.
And she hands him the whole wallet, stuffed full with more bills. This is it. She's handing over the last part of her old life. In a way, it’s oddly symbolic, that she parts with this cherished item she’s had her whole life- her old life, right before it ends and she moves on to her new one.
He opens it with trembling fingers, and his eyes fill with tears as he looks at the wads of crisp bills, freshly withdrawn from the bank only hours ago.
"Are...are yeh sure, miss?"
She smiles faintly. "I don't need it where I'm going. Take it."
"Bless yeh," he whispers, tears trickling down his rough cheeks into his beard. "Bless yeh, miss."
"My name is Anna," she says simply.
"Anna," he corrects quickly."God bless yeh, Miss Anna. Yer a kind, kind soul."
He turns his back, and she thinks he knows. But he doesn't say anything. Does he simply want to keep her money? Or does he understand? Does he understand that this world has nothing left for her?
As he vanishes down the dark street, she faces the bridge again. Breathes in. Out. There's an iron-wrought lamp post beside her, with its dull bulb flickering feebly. She grabs the cold metal pole, using it to pull herself onto the thin stone railing of the bridge. She shuffles her feet around, and for a brief, terrifying minute, she loses her footing. Her heart leaps out of her chest as she clings to the lamppost, wrapping her arms around it, her feet skidding on the stone. After a heart-stopping few seconds, her feet are firmly planted on the stone. Her heart is fluttering like a tiny bird trying to escape from her chest. Don't worry, she tells it. You'll be free soon. But she isn't ready to fly, not quite yet.
The stony railing is just wide enough for her to stand on comfortably. Slowly, she unwraps her arms from the lamppost, crouching down and perching on the railing.
She closes her eyes. A tear runs down her cheek, onto her lips, and she can taste the salt. She reminisces on how she got here. She knows there's no turning back. Not now. There was no going back the minute she walked out of her apartment.
She made the decision consciously, a while ago. Years of neglect and torment had led up to it. Her grandfather had always said simply that she was born to fly, that her wings were simply clipped. Now he was gone, too. Everyone was gone. She rests her hand on her stomach, remembering how even her own baby bird had left her before it had even hatched. It had been given to her one dark night, after too many drinks and an inability to fight. She had always been frail, and it had destroyed her. But she had promised to look after it, until she lost it.
And now she was here. She had loved, and she had lost, and it felt like her wings had been clipped and broken so many times that she could never fly.
She gets to her feet shakily, using the lamp post as a guide. The wind ruffles her limp brown hair. Slowly, she lets go of the post. And she is standing on the edge of the bridge, without holding on to anything. A small smile creeps onto her face. She’s never really done anything this dangerous before. She’s never been the daredevil. Too afraid to fly, she sat back in a corner while others did. Gently, tentatively, making sure to hold her balance on the bridge- she doesn’t want to slip and go before she’s ready- she raises her arms and stretches them out. The wind catches her coat and it billows out behind her, flapping. She breathes in, relishing the cool air and the feeling she gets. Pure exhilaration. It's her time. And she’s not sad. She’s not crying.
She is at peace. She looks down at the water, and sticks out her foot. She leans forward ever so slightly, and lets gravity do the rest.
And she is flying. She is free. Her wings are no longer clipped. They're whole. Her hair is whipping around her face, her coat rippling like a cape.
As she makes her flight, she jerks her head up and opens her eyes, wide.
She wants her last sight on this world to be the stars in the sky.
mamono101
SECRETS ONLY NOBODY KNOWS
The moon seemed to effervesce as its full illumination pierced the darkness, casting asymmetrical shadows over everything it touched. As the stars began to shimmer, a hostile wind began to blow across the rooftop causing Alastair Jones to shiver as he stood there, gazing at the 15 story apartment block on the other side of the road.
There was nothing to be seen apart from an endless array of transparent glass windows. A faint glimmer of light could be seen around the edge of each window but between the light and the window was a curtained barrier which the light was not able to overcome. It was almost as if each glimmer of light was trapped inside trying desperately to shine through the cracks, but as the night wore on, each light failed in its endeavour for freedom and was subsequently extinguished as a reward despite all its efforts to be seen.
As the last light lost its struggle, he could feel his inner light beginning to evanesce. No matter how hard he tried, no matter who it was he spoke to, the curtain over his emotions would never allow his light to shine through. Every little crack had been boarded up. Nobody would ever be able to know the real him.
How can people say that they understand my true feelings when even I myself am unsure of how I feel? Nobody can know...
Everyday after school, Alastair would go searching for his true light. In front of the bathroom mirror, he would strip. From the medicine cabinet, he would fetch the one thing that never lied nor judged him - his razor blade. He would cut himself in the hope that his light would finally have a way through his inner barrier but not once was he able find it. No matter how often he cut, nothing ever changed and he remained just as invisible as he ever was at school.
I have always known that I'll never be loved because of who I love... these feelings will never change...can never change...
People at school always seemed to be happy. ‘Happy’ appeared to be normal. ‘Happy’ was everything he wasn't. But if being ‘happy’ was really as wonderful as everyone made it look, why does happiness make people cry? Alastair always wondered how people could be so happy that they hurt on the inside. He used to conclude that whether or not it hurt to be happy, the pain of happiness was probably better than the pain that came with being sad.
It hurts so much, always being sad on the inside.
His pain would soon be over. In just a few short minutes, he would fly over the edge of the building in an effort to free himself from not only his suffering but the ennui that was life. With his back towards the now light-less apartment building across the road, Alastair ran to the opposite end. Just before he reached the edge of the building, he bent his knees, spread his arms and jumped.
I always denied the person I am on the inside. I just wanted to fall in love. That's just another impossibility. All because they say I'm not normal...
As the cold winter wind whistled past his face, time seemed to distort and he could feel his stomach churn as terror began to set in. This flight was one way only and there were no flight attendants to offer him peanuts and a refreshing drink. The in-flight movie was not that great either. He could see himself playing with Nobody as a child. Nobody had been his only friend and as he grew up, he knew that Nobody would always be his friend. Nobody always wanted to play with him. Nobody loved him. Nobody had gone with him to prom. Nobody cared that he had run away from home in order to take this once in a lifetime flight. He was even positive that Nobody would shed tears for him at his funeral.
He felt the familiar sensation of tears trying to escape as the in-flight movie reached it's climax. He had swan-dove over the edge of a building and the movie faded to black.
His flight had finally come to an end. He hit the pavement head first, snapping his neck in the process, although death had not yet come. His skull had caved in and blood was gushing past his face. He could feel his life's energy fading as he began to feel dizzy and light headed from blood-loss. He began to cry. However these tears were not tears of sadness. For the first time in his life, Alastair was happy. Happy that he no longer needed to endure the overwhelming feelings that came with being alive.
As he slipped into unconsciousness, a smile crossed his lips for his light had finally been freed from its cage.
No matter how much I loved him, no matter how much I pined for him, I knew he would never be able to reciprocate my feelings. The sad thing is, only Nobody knows how I truly feel...
Wiggy
“OH DEAR GOD THE FLAMES ARE EATING MY SKI..Oh!” Jimmy suddenly realised that he was no longer on fire. It occurred to Jimmy that this was a fortunate turn of events considering what had happened in the last ten minutes.
“Now, where am I?” thought Jimmy. This certainly wasn’t Spain, his intended destination; it was much too cold for a Spanish summer. It was quite dark where Jimmy was, and the area lacked… definition? Detail? Maybe his eyes were damaged from the crash, or maybe he’s still in the plane and the smoke is obscuring his vision.
“I do hope I’m not still in the plane.” Exclaimed Jimmy; who had not really considered the implications of permanent eye damage.
“Nah mate, yer in afterlife wot you are.” Boomed a bodiless voice.
“JESUS-WHA?” Jimmy panicked something awful at this. “You, you don’t sound like the captain, he was a lot more… a lot moreeeee…” Jimmy paused in thought. “….Eloquent!” Jimmy beamed with pride at his impressive command of the English language.
“Yoo mean he speak funny and whatnot?” said the voice.
“No, I mean he was rich or something.” Replied Jimmy.
“Are all rich people smart?”
“Yep.”
“Then wot about that Donald Trump then?” Said the voice.
“He, err. He’s the exception that proves the rule!” replied Jimmy, positively radiating with superiority at his impeccable debating skills.
“Wot does that mean?” Asked the voice.
“Wha-How? How do you not know what that means?” Asked a baffled Jimmy.
“Hey now! Don’t yoo be giving cheek lad. I demand you tell me what it means!”
Jimmy felt somewhat threatened by the sudden authoritarian tone the voice had taken on, no matter how poorly it executed its elocution.
“Well…” said Jimmy, who felt the rest of his explanation was not about to pass muster. “…It means that by being the very thing that proves a statement wrong, it proves it right!” It certainly seemed to lack a certain weight for a logical argument.
“I think yoo got yer words wrong there mate.” Chuckled the voice. “I don’t think yer very wealthy at all.”
Jimmy was somewhat offended by the derisory comments being made by the voice. Suddenly, and without warning, Jimmy’s brain kicked in and he started having all sorts of ideas, chief among which was the thought that he might have banged his head in the crash and this voice was in his mind.
This was a rather depressing thought since not only did it suggest significant brain damage, but it also meant he didn’t have a particularly confident ego. His brother always said a confident ego was the key to picking up girls. Jimmy never understood why he would pick up a girl when he could have sex with them instead.
Quite loudly, and with a stunning amount of misplaced confidence, Jimmy asked: “Are you my brain?”
“Wot? Wot kind of stupid f**king question is that?” the voice replied, utterly confused because it had failed to follow the peerless line of thought Jimmy’s brain had careened off to. “No mate, I am not yer brain. Yoo don’t have a brain anymore.”
Jimmy knew he wasn’t the sharpest spoon carelessly placed amongst the knives, but even he felt this was a harsh insult to his intelligence. “I may not be the smartest but I do have a brain…I think you’re stupid. I couldn’t do that without a brain, could I!” Again, Jimmy felt like he had achieved much more than he actually had.
“Nah mate, I wasn’t calling yer silly. I was tellin’ yer, yer head melted in the crash.”
Jimmy felt this statement was simply too alarming to be true.
“Yer dead mate. I’m here for yer.” Said the voice, with a hint of sympathy.
In front of Jimmy, the darkness contorted into form. A drab grey robe, patched into repair stepped out, wielding a large scythe. Jimmy would have pooped himself at this point, but of course he had no anus. That too had melted, as did the poop.
“Are, Are you… are you Death?” stuttered Jimmy.
“Nah mate, I’m Billy. Death died a while back.” Answered Billy.
“Death… died? How?” Asked a significantly perturbed Jimmy.
“Oh, he starved to death. Always had a weight problem that fella, kept saying his robes were too tight, noffin but bones by the end.” Billy lamented. “Doctors said he ‘ad some eatin’ disorder, I reckon he were just too busy wot with all the people dyin’ and wotnot.”
“That is a flaw of ours, yes.”
“Anyway fella, I’ve gotta take yer to the Otherside.”
“Oh, where’s that then?” asked Jimmy, stalling for time.
“It’s just over here mate.” Motioned Billy.
“Err…. Err….Take no yet!” Jimmy garbled his words, each one in competition with each other in an apparent race to the end of the sentence. Jimmy restructured his composure: “Ahem, sorry. You cannot take me there yet!”
“Why not?” Billy asked, quite rightly so.
“Erm, err….” Jimmy started scouring the area around him for something, anything that could help him. “Err…” Sadly, the choice was limited. “Err… AHA! I have it!” In a moment of madness, Jimmy picked up the nearest object to him and said, quite seriously: “You can’t take me yet, I have a potato!” Jimmy then brandished said potato.
The Power of Flight
The Wright brothers gaped at the opening clearing before them. They had finally harnessed the power of the birds or so they thought. What da Vinci had pioneered, they had perfected.
“Orville, are you sure this contraption is safe to pilot?” Wilbur inquired in his usual dull tone.
“Most certainly, brother; you have nothing to worry about. We’ve been preparing for this day for years”.
The beach stretched before their eyes. Would the waters swallow their flights or would they soar? The calculations had been precise but with machinery there was always an unknown. The weather might be poor, a part might break, delayed reaction time might result in permanent maiming.
Trying to suppress these thoughts, Orville boarded the plane. Constructing it had been no easy task as car engines were no fit for the job. Yet after many hardships the task was complete. Zipping his jacket, Orville boarded the machine. It was chilly but not frosty outside, a pleasant December afternoon.
“Let it rip!” Orville exclaimed. Off he went. The sensation was unparalleled, the glider lifting off the ground. The adjacent Kitty Hawk loomed far below, he could hardly discern the houses. The flight was over sooner than it had started but the experience was among his life’s most satisfying.
“How about it, Wilbur? Want to give it a spin? “
“Most certainly, brother; I promise I’ll outdo you”.
The plane prepared for liftoff once more.
3-2-1-launch.
It glided longer than ever before. One revolution around the beach, two, three; Orville smiled catching a hint of a wink from his brother up above.
“We did it, we did it. If birds can soar then man can too.”
Wilbur touched down joining his brother for the celebration. How different it was to travel in air than on land or sea. Their life dream had been fulfilled. A seagull landed on the sand several meters from them. It was an unusual season to see one perched. Perhaps it was a sign. Yes, a sign. A sign of equality and recognition from the people of the skies.
Cfrock
Fight or Flight
The city was dead. The sound of a thousand wailing moans sang through the air. The stench of rotting flesh and blood saturated every space and even now it seeped steadily into the warehouse in which Dario Rosso had taken refuge. The last three days had been a living Hell. He had seen his wife die, his daughter die and even his mother too. All of them, killed by those things outside.
He was no fool. He knew that the building was surrounded by the monsters that took his family. He knew that they could smell him, knew that they were trying to get in. His only hope was that the doors would hold until rescue arrived. Rescue would come. Someone had to be on their way… Surely…
‘Of course rescue is coming, what else do I pay my taxes for?!’ The thought kept Dario calm. Things were pretty bad but the government would never just leave innocent citizens to die like this. They would send help.
Dario tried to stay calm by writing in his journal but he couldn’t keep his pen moving for long. What was the point? Was anyone ever going to read the words he had written? What if the zombies broke through the door and tore his flesh from his bones like they had to his beautiful daughter? Would his words mean anything then?
Dario felt a shock of guilt at the thought of his daughter. He hadn’t been able to protect her. His only child and he failed to keep her safe. But what could he have honestly done? The only option had been to run and hide and wait to be saved. There was nothing he could have done for her. Fighting those beasts was suicide.
‘That stupid woman,’ thought Dario. ‘She was an idiot to go out there. Did she really think she could survive?’ Dario remembered with anger the woman who had hidden in the warehouse with him and tried to convince him to leave. She claimed to be some kind of police officer but she just looked like a prostitute. Dario felt confident that she had already died. He was right to stay put. He would live and then he could honour his daughter’s memory by writing a book about this horror. Yes, Dario Rosso: I Survived, a guaranteed best seller.
The fragile fantasy that served to keep Dario sane was shattered by a metallic crash that told him the door had been breached. The scream caught in his throat as the zombies poured in and forced their way towards him, scrambling over each other in their fervent hunger.
The last thought that went through Dario’s mind before the yellow stained teeth sank into his flesh was that flight had been no better than fight.
Hero of Time
"Lost Ones"
The city that never sleeps
A sunny autumn day
No one could be prepared
For the beauty to wash away
Businessmen in suits
Construction men in boots
Bask in the sun with elation
Firemen idle in their station
A flight from here to there
No one could be aware
Kids watching clouds without a care
No one could be prepared
The city and the flight
So soon would they unite
Two towers from the ground erected
No one could have expected
Another flight enters the sky
As the first slowly declines
A man rids of the pilot
And flies toward a tower to defile it
Metal meets metal
The city lost in a daze
Fire grows higher
The city lost in a haze
And within seconds
The fire climbs to the heavens
Firemen no longer idle
As the fearful await their arrival
And just as some begin to adapt
The second flight hits with blast
No one saw it coming
And with fear more are running
In the growing fire sun is reflected
No one could have expected
The growing fire emits a glare
No one could have prepared
Only their tears could put out the fire
As with the sun it burns brighter
Stuck in the towers, and still they try
With no hope left, the bravest suicide
People scared and alone
Parents never return home
Lives will never be the same
Filled with perpetual pain
Soon the whole world hears the news
But there's nothing they can do
To the TV their eyes are glued
But there's nothing they can do
The city falls apart
To be rebuilt from the start
The towers reduced to rubble
With each body found the pain is doubled
United with tears
No longer with fears
And through all the pain
Some hope still remains
Families join back together
While others are torn forever
With courage they close their eyes
Wipe away a tear and say goodbye
Through it all the sun still shines
And caresses the broken ground
Through all the destruction
There's still some hope to be found
But still the memories remain
A nightmare to withhold
Their lives forever stained
Never to change as they grow old
Families devastated
Buildings desecrated
A day always in remembrance
For the lost ones we hold with reverence
Two attacks without warning
A city forever mourning
Two flights without a proper landing
Two towers no longer standing
Families devastated
Buildings desecrated
A day always in remembrance
For the lost ones we hold with reverence
MadameMajora
Starlight
She stands at the bridge. Stares at the black water 60 feet below. She leans down and picks up a tiny rock, tossing it over the concrete railing of the bridge, sticking her head over to watch it fall as it hits the water and vanishes without hardly making a ripple. She waits, and watches as the water becomes glass-like once more. She can see the moon reflected on it. She's glad she picked such a beautiful night to do it. If she could choose what the world would be like when she left, it would be like this, calm, quiet, with a cloudless sky with the stars twinkling innocently overhead. She glances around, pulling her collar up slightly. There's nobody around, and she slowly takes a breath, watching it turn to steam in the cold October air...wait. There is somebody. A homeless man, ragged and dirty with a scruffy beard. He catches sight of her.
"Ma'am..." He wanders over to her tentatively. She looks at the ground, wondering if her intentions can be sensed from the look in her eyes. She wonders if she should just run. Come back later, when she’s sure nobody will be around. She’s already taken great precautions to make sure she isn’t seen- picking a bridge at the back of town where people rarely frequent, and coming at 3 am, when she knows nobody will be out. He approaches her slowly, but he doesn't appear hostile, and so she doesn't run.
"Ma'am...d'you- sorry to bother yeh, know it's late an' all...I was jus' wonderin'...could yeh spare a bit o' money? Please, ma'am, I dun need a whole lot."
He trails off as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her battered leather wallet. It smells like home, like coffee and old paper, her mother's baking and her father's cigarette smoke. All of that, gone now. She is entirely alone in this world. Everyone has left her behind. Of course, if they hadn't, she wouldn't be here. She unbuckles the old strap, fishing out a wrinkled twenty dollar bill. He takes it in his grubby fingers and looks at it in awe.
"Th-thank yeh, ma'am." He turns to leave, when she says "Wait." He stops, looking back at her.
And she hands him the whole wallet, stuffed full with more bills. This is it. She's handing over the last part of her old life. In a way, it’s oddly symbolic, that she parts with this cherished item she’s had her whole life- her old life, right before it ends and she moves on to her new one.
He opens it with trembling fingers, and his eyes fill with tears as he looks at the wads of crisp bills, freshly withdrawn from the bank only hours ago.
"Are...are yeh sure, miss?"
She smiles faintly. "I don't need it where I'm going. Take it."
"Bless yeh," he whispers, tears trickling down his rough cheeks into his beard. "Bless yeh, miss."
"My name is Anna," she says simply.
"Anna," he corrects quickly."God bless yeh, Miss Anna. Yer a kind, kind soul."
He turns his back, and she thinks he knows. But he doesn't say anything. Does he simply want to keep her money? Or does he understand? Does he understand that this world has nothing left for her?
As he vanishes down the dark street, she faces the bridge again. Breathes in. Out. There's an iron-wrought lamp post beside her, with its dull bulb flickering feebly. She grabs the cold metal pole, using it to pull herself onto the thin stone railing of the bridge. She shuffles her feet around, and for a brief, terrifying minute, she loses her footing. Her heart leaps out of her chest as she clings to the lamppost, wrapping her arms around it, her feet skidding on the stone. After a heart-stopping few seconds, her feet are firmly planted on the stone. Her heart is fluttering like a tiny bird trying to escape from her chest. Don't worry, she tells it. You'll be free soon. But she isn't ready to fly, not quite yet.
The stony railing is just wide enough for her to stand on comfortably. Slowly, she unwraps her arms from the lamppost, crouching down and perching on the railing.
She closes her eyes. A tear runs down her cheek, onto her lips, and she can taste the salt. She reminisces on how she got here. She knows there's no turning back. Not now. There was no going back the minute she walked out of her apartment.
She made the decision consciously, a while ago. Years of neglect and torment had led up to it. Her grandfather had always said simply that she was born to fly, that her wings were simply clipped. Now he was gone, too. Everyone was gone. She rests her hand on her stomach, remembering how even her own baby bird had left her before it had even hatched. It had been given to her one dark night, after too many drinks and an inability to fight. She had always been frail, and it had destroyed her. But she had promised to look after it, until she lost it.
And now she was here. She had loved, and she had lost, and it felt like her wings had been clipped and broken so many times that she could never fly.
She gets to her feet shakily, using the lamp post as a guide. The wind ruffles her limp brown hair. Slowly, she lets go of the post. And she is standing on the edge of the bridge, without holding on to anything. A small smile creeps onto her face. She’s never really done anything this dangerous before. She’s never been the daredevil. Too afraid to fly, she sat back in a corner while others did. Gently, tentatively, making sure to hold her balance on the bridge- she doesn’t want to slip and go before she’s ready- she raises her arms and stretches them out. The wind catches her coat and it billows out behind her, flapping. She breathes in, relishing the cool air and the feeling she gets. Pure exhilaration. It's her time. And she’s not sad. She’s not crying.
She is at peace. She looks down at the water, and sticks out her foot. She leans forward ever so slightly, and lets gravity do the rest.
And she is flying. She is free. Her wings are no longer clipped. They're whole. Her hair is whipping around her face, her coat rippling like a cape.
As she makes her flight, she jerks her head up and opens her eyes, wide.
She wants her last sight on this world to be the stars in the sky.
mamono101
SECRETS ONLY NOBODY KNOWS
The moon seemed to effervesce as its full illumination pierced the darkness, casting asymmetrical shadows over everything it touched. As the stars began to shimmer, a hostile wind began to blow across the rooftop causing Alastair Jones to shiver as he stood there, gazing at the 15 story apartment block on the other side of the road.
There was nothing to be seen apart from an endless array of transparent glass windows. A faint glimmer of light could be seen around the edge of each window but between the light and the window was a curtained barrier which the light was not able to overcome. It was almost as if each glimmer of light was trapped inside trying desperately to shine through the cracks, but as the night wore on, each light failed in its endeavour for freedom and was subsequently extinguished as a reward despite all its efforts to be seen.
As the last light lost its struggle, he could feel his inner light beginning to evanesce. No matter how hard he tried, no matter who it was he spoke to, the curtain over his emotions would never allow his light to shine through. Every little crack had been boarded up. Nobody would ever be able to know the real him.
How can people say that they understand my true feelings when even I myself am unsure of how I feel? Nobody can know...
Everyday after school, Alastair would go searching for his true light. In front of the bathroom mirror, he would strip. From the medicine cabinet, he would fetch the one thing that never lied nor judged him - his razor blade. He would cut himself in the hope that his light would finally have a way through his inner barrier but not once was he able find it. No matter how often he cut, nothing ever changed and he remained just as invisible as he ever was at school.
I have always known that I'll never be loved because of who I love... these feelings will never change...can never change...
People at school always seemed to be happy. ‘Happy’ appeared to be normal. ‘Happy’ was everything he wasn't. But if being ‘happy’ was really as wonderful as everyone made it look, why does happiness make people cry? Alastair always wondered how people could be so happy that they hurt on the inside. He used to conclude that whether or not it hurt to be happy, the pain of happiness was probably better than the pain that came with being sad.
It hurts so much, always being sad on the inside.
His pain would soon be over. In just a few short minutes, he would fly over the edge of the building in an effort to free himself from not only his suffering but the ennui that was life. With his back towards the now light-less apartment building across the road, Alastair ran to the opposite end. Just before he reached the edge of the building, he bent his knees, spread his arms and jumped.
I always denied the person I am on the inside. I just wanted to fall in love. That's just another impossibility. All because they say I'm not normal...
As the cold winter wind whistled past his face, time seemed to distort and he could feel his stomach churn as terror began to set in. This flight was one way only and there were no flight attendants to offer him peanuts and a refreshing drink. The in-flight movie was not that great either. He could see himself playing with Nobody as a child. Nobody had been his only friend and as he grew up, he knew that Nobody would always be his friend. Nobody always wanted to play with him. Nobody loved him. Nobody had gone with him to prom. Nobody cared that he had run away from home in order to take this once in a lifetime flight. He was even positive that Nobody would shed tears for him at his funeral.
He felt the familiar sensation of tears trying to escape as the in-flight movie reached it's climax. He had swan-dove over the edge of a building and the movie faded to black.
His flight had finally come to an end. He hit the pavement head first, snapping his neck in the process, although death had not yet come. His skull had caved in and blood was gushing past his face. He could feel his life's energy fading as he began to feel dizzy and light headed from blood-loss. He began to cry. However these tears were not tears of sadness. For the first time in his life, Alastair was happy. Happy that he no longer needed to endure the overwhelming feelings that came with being alive.
As he slipped into unconsciousness, a smile crossed his lips for his light had finally been freed from its cage.
No matter how much I loved him, no matter how much I pined for him, I knew he would never be able to reciprocate my feelings. The sad thing is, only Nobody knows how I truly feel...
Wiggy
“OH DEAR GOD THE FLAMES ARE EATING MY SKI..Oh!” Jimmy suddenly realised that he was no longer on fire. It occurred to Jimmy that this was a fortunate turn of events considering what had happened in the last ten minutes.
“Now, where am I?” thought Jimmy. This certainly wasn’t Spain, his intended destination; it was much too cold for a Spanish summer. It was quite dark where Jimmy was, and the area lacked… definition? Detail? Maybe his eyes were damaged from the crash, or maybe he’s still in the plane and the smoke is obscuring his vision.
“I do hope I’m not still in the plane.” Exclaimed Jimmy; who had not really considered the implications of permanent eye damage.
“Nah mate, yer in afterlife wot you are.” Boomed a bodiless voice.
“JESUS-WHA?” Jimmy panicked something awful at this. “You, you don’t sound like the captain, he was a lot more… a lot moreeeee…” Jimmy paused in thought. “….Eloquent!” Jimmy beamed with pride at his impressive command of the English language.
“Yoo mean he speak funny and whatnot?” said the voice.
“No, I mean he was rich or something.” Replied Jimmy.
“Are all rich people smart?”
“Yep.”
“Then wot about that Donald Trump then?” Said the voice.
“He, err. He’s the exception that proves the rule!” replied Jimmy, positively radiating with superiority at his impeccable debating skills.
“Wot does that mean?” Asked the voice.
“Wha-How? How do you not know what that means?” Asked a baffled Jimmy.
“Hey now! Don’t yoo be giving cheek lad. I demand you tell me what it means!”
Jimmy felt somewhat threatened by the sudden authoritarian tone the voice had taken on, no matter how poorly it executed its elocution.
“Well…” said Jimmy, who felt the rest of his explanation was not about to pass muster. “…It means that by being the very thing that proves a statement wrong, it proves it right!” It certainly seemed to lack a certain weight for a logical argument.
“I think yoo got yer words wrong there mate.” Chuckled the voice. “I don’t think yer very wealthy at all.”
Jimmy was somewhat offended by the derisory comments being made by the voice. Suddenly, and without warning, Jimmy’s brain kicked in and he started having all sorts of ideas, chief among which was the thought that he might have banged his head in the crash and this voice was in his mind.
This was a rather depressing thought since not only did it suggest significant brain damage, but it also meant he didn’t have a particularly confident ego. His brother always said a confident ego was the key to picking up girls. Jimmy never understood why he would pick up a girl when he could have sex with them instead.
Quite loudly, and with a stunning amount of misplaced confidence, Jimmy asked: “Are you my brain?”
“Wot? Wot kind of stupid f**king question is that?” the voice replied, utterly confused because it had failed to follow the peerless line of thought Jimmy’s brain had careened off to. “No mate, I am not yer brain. Yoo don’t have a brain anymore.”
Jimmy knew he wasn’t the sharpest spoon carelessly placed amongst the knives, but even he felt this was a harsh insult to his intelligence. “I may not be the smartest but I do have a brain…I think you’re stupid. I couldn’t do that without a brain, could I!” Again, Jimmy felt like he had achieved much more than he actually had.
“Nah mate, I wasn’t calling yer silly. I was tellin’ yer, yer head melted in the crash.”
Jimmy felt this statement was simply too alarming to be true.
“Yer dead mate. I’m here for yer.” Said the voice, with a hint of sympathy.
In front of Jimmy, the darkness contorted into form. A drab grey robe, patched into repair stepped out, wielding a large scythe. Jimmy would have pooped himself at this point, but of course he had no anus. That too had melted, as did the poop.
“Are, Are you… are you Death?” stuttered Jimmy.
“Nah mate, I’m Billy. Death died a while back.” Answered Billy.
“Death… died? How?” Asked a significantly perturbed Jimmy.
“Oh, he starved to death. Always had a weight problem that fella, kept saying his robes were too tight, noffin but bones by the end.” Billy lamented. “Doctors said he ‘ad some eatin’ disorder, I reckon he were just too busy wot with all the people dyin’ and wotnot.”
“That is a flaw of ours, yes.”
“Anyway fella, I’ve gotta take yer to the Otherside.”
“Oh, where’s that then?” asked Jimmy, stalling for time.
“It’s just over here mate.” Motioned Billy.
“Err…. Err….Take no yet!” Jimmy garbled his words, each one in competition with each other in an apparent race to the end of the sentence. Jimmy restructured his composure: “Ahem, sorry. You cannot take me there yet!”
“Why not?” Billy asked, quite rightly so.
“Erm, err….” Jimmy started scouring the area around him for something, anything that could help him. “Err…” Sadly, the choice was limited. “Err… AHA! I have it!” In a moment of madness, Jimmy picked up the nearest object to him and said, quite seriously: “You can’t take me yet, I have a potato!” Jimmy then brandished said potato.
The theme for the next round will be:
Fall
Max. 1000 words
Max. 1000 words
As a note, be creative with the theme! Note that I haven't specified whether fall refers to a literal fall, or the season - I want you guys to have as much freedom to write as possible. Be creative with your use of the theme and you may be surprised with the results! Your entries will be due on Friday, December 14th at 9:00PM EST.
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