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ZD Writing Competition Round 23 - The Results

Jirohnagi

Braava Braava
Joined
Feb 18, 2010
Location
Soul Sanctum
Gender
Geosexual
Heya, one and all welcome to the results of the 23rd Writing Competion, one again i'd like to thank the Entrants for their stories and secondly i will put their names alongside their stories for everyones consideration (and for those who want to read it all in one shot)

Link stepped back. He had finished viewing the final memory of the olden days. Slowly, he put his sword back into its sheath, the memory of the Champions still burnt into his mind. A single tear fell down his face.

He created a nearby campfire and started to munch on some unidentifiable food. He did his best to suppress the urge to vomit. At the very least, it was better than nothing.

The world had descended into chaos because of him. He wasn’t there when everyone needed him most. He had let down the princess.

Suddenly, he felt a sensation as though someone were calling out to him.

Where did it come from?

He looked around and saw no one.

Then, he realized a slight glimmer emitting from the Master Sword. It was as though the blade were trying to comfort him, as if it had a soul of its own.

Link couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but it gave him a familiar reassurance as though an old friend were by his side.

“Friends don’t want friends to suffer,” he thought.

This wasn’t the time to sulk. The past had already been decided. But the future is yet to be written.

He turned around and began to approach the castle. The final battle awaited him.



We Can’t Go Back, And That’s Okay
ZD Writing Competition: Round 23
Theme: Recollection​

Ugh, this again.

How many times did this make now? There’s one every day. A middle aged woman comes in and she’s absolutely livid about her coupons being expired. She looks like a soccer mom. Probably in her kid’s PTA. Very entitled. Just listening to her ranting and raving is mentally exhausting.

“I’m very sorry to hear that you’re having trouble, ma’am. May I call the manager for you?” Cynthia said with a forced smile.

“You damn well better, if you’re going to be so useless!” the woman shrieked.

Cynthia observed the fat folds of her neck jiggle, and her expensive earrings bounced along with it. The lady’s obnoxiously red lipstick seemed to turn sticky with spit as her lips curled into a disgusted scowl. The eyes behind a thick layer of purple eyeshadow were bloodshot with anger. All this rage over a few expired coupons. Dressed as she was, there’s no way she didn’t have the money to spare. What a piece of work, this lady was.

Soon enough, Cynthia’s manager came out and began trying to tackle this wrathful beast. Their battle seemed to drag on, and it was like half the grocery store was entranced by the scene. Flailing folds of fat around the lady’s neck caught Cynthia’s eye once more as she continued to scream her lungs out.

I bet she’s the type who has kids that don’t call her anymore. ... That was kinda mean... Man, I just want to go home.

* * *
Cynthia fumbled into her apartment. The sun had already fallen below the city’s skyline, but as always, a sharp beam of light was able to sneak past the surrounding buildings and burn a hole right into her face as she entered the place. With a disgruntled sigh, she undressed from her work clothes and hopped in the shower. She dried off, and took a look in the mirror. Though still wet, her brown hair had a disheveled nature she couldn’t seem to shake off. The bags under her blue eyes were getting deeper again.

After throwing on a t-shirt and shorts, Cynthia made her way to the kitchen and took out a TV dinner from the fridge. She heated it up as directed, and peeled the sticky covering off. The condensation made the flap latch to her finger, and she had to wiggle her hand to get it off. She snatched a fork from the drawer, sat down, and began to dig into a meal of processed chicken and peas. As per her usual routine, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her notifications until one of them caught her eye.

“Oh...” she said aloud.

Judy’s marrying her boyfriend, huh? ... Good for her.

Cynthia sighed, as she always did when she saw what her high school friends were posting about on Facebook. She remembered days of hanging out with Judy in the hallways between classes. She remembered the time her boyfriend first confessed to her. Judy was a nervous wreck and didn’t know what to do, but she had helped her pull together enough nerve to answer him.

She felt a smile begin to shape her lips, but it quickly faded. She also remembered that she was always the one in her friend group without a date. No boyfriend or girlfriend to spend time with. She would settle for either, but neither were ever interested in her. However, she couldn’t forget the smiles on her friend’s faces. Picturing those smiles again made her own start to return. Those friends were always there for her back then, weren’t they? But...

“... Those days are over, huh?” Cynthia sighed as her smile vanished once more.

* * *
“What are you, braindead?! This item is half-off today! Scan it right!” shouted an older man with slicked hair.

“I’m sorry, sir, but this item is not half-off today. The label on the shelf was for the item above it.” Cynthia said.

“Are you calling me a liar? You cheeky punk! All you kids these days are the same! No respect for your elders! Get your manager out here!”

Here we go again.

Cynthia tried very hard to keep her smile plastered on her face as she endured the man’s entitled whining. Her manager once again appeared to take the brunt of the onslaught. Cynthia watched the look on the man’s face change as he began to realize he was wrong, but stubborn pride refused to let him back down. He went at it for a good while longer before finally storming out of the store in a grand display. Cynthia let out a great sigh, and then quickly clasped her hand over her mouth. If her manager had heard that, she might’ve been in some hot water.

“That was just awful, wasn’t it?”

Cynthia’s attention was pulled back to the grocery line. A very pretty young woman had already loaded her items on the conveyor belt. She looked to have been waiting patiently.

Agh, damnnit, how long was she standing there? I bet she heard me sigh. Shoot, pull it together.

“Y-yeah, I suppose. Let me ring these up for you.” Cynthia said, quickly grabbing the first item.

“Thanks. I’m sorry you had to put up with that guy. That looked pretty brutal.” the nice girl said. “It’s a shame how people like that treat retail workers. I’ve been there myself, I work at a clothing store.”


“Oh... Yeah, it can be pretty rough sometimes.” Cynthia said.

She’s nice, thank goodness. What a relief it is to talk to someone as understanding as her... It makes me miss my friends...

Cynthia’s mind began to wander back to her high school days as she continued ringing up the nice girl’s items, with an almost robotic efficiency. As her hand swiped a loaf of bread over the scanner, she remembered a time when her best friend, Rebecca, had stood up for her to a clique of popular girls that had been viciously bullying her. She began to wish she still had Rebecca’s protection for days like this. But alas, she was the only one to stay in town after graduating high school. All of her friends lived too far away now. She’d need a plane to get to most of them.

“Here, all done. Will that be cash or credit?” Cynthia asked, her mind still in the glory days.

“Credit.” the nice girl said, handing her a card to swipe. “Take care of yourself, okay? We retail girls need to stick together.”

“Yeah, thanks... Makes me miss my friends...”

“Huh?”

... Oh God, did I say that out loud? What is wrong with me?!

The nice girl watched Cynthia’s face go through the five stages of grief in a single second, and just laughed. “It’s okay, don’t worry. I hear you.” She began to give Cynthia an encouraging smile. “Stressful times can make us miss the good old days. Sometimes I feel like I wanna go back to them... I know we can’t, though, and that’s okay. We can always find something to keep us going. Keep your chin up, fellow retail worker!”

With a playful salute and a wink, the nice girl walked off with her groceries. Cynthia felt a little taken aback. It was like that girl knew exactly what she’d been feeling like. She found a strange sense of comfort in the girl’s words. She was very pretty, too, on top of being nice. Cynthia began to regret not asking for her name. However, these feelings were forgotten fast when she spotted a fuming woman with gray hair and lots of jewelry stomping her way to the register.

* * *
Cynthia slammed the door behind her as she arrived home. That wretched sunbeam in her face just felt like fuel on her fire. The nice girl had only managed to brighten her day for a moment, as the rest of her shift was filled with complaint after vile complaint. She had been called useless more times than she could count. She didn’t even bother taking a shower, and flopped down onto her couch without preparing dinner.

She felt as if she were being swallowed up by something. A great black pit was in her stomach, and it was shouting up obscenities to her brain. She could almost hear a taunting ditty calling her useless over and over echoing in her head. She began to feel dizzy, so she pulled out her phone to try and find a distraction. Without really thinking about it, she began scrolling through her notifications again. She regretted it almost immediately.

One of the very top alerts was for a Facebook post from her old friend, Rebecca. She had just gotten her dream job as an engineer. She was going to have her own lab and everything. It’s what she always wanted. It’s all she talked about wanting to be when she was in high school. Cynthia would always happily listen to her go on and on about how amazing science was and how she wanted to be an engineer ever since she was little. She had finally gone and done it.

And where am I? Stuck in the same town in a dead end job, being screamed at all day long...

Cynthia felt like something within her broke. It was like a thick haze had eaten her right up. She thought she had gotten up from the couch, but now it felt like there was a banshee screaming in her ear. It was laughing, too, cackling that word over and over again: useless, useless, useless! Cynthia’s eyes began to feel clouded. She felt as if she were looking into a murky sea. Her throat felt closed up. She had a difficult time breathing. She grabbed around for something to hold onto, and it felt like she had touched something metal. What was it? She didn’t know.

There were some odd sounds coming up in between that banshee’s laughter. It almost sounded like car horns and tires screeching, but she couldn’t hear them clear enough to be sure. That banshee had pulled a wool blanket over her ears, and she couldn’t make sense of her surroundings. She gripped the metal thing in her hands tighter, and pulled herself forward. At this point, an odd sensation came over her body. It was almost like she was getting vertigo. What’s going on? She didn’t know.

She stood still, and tried to let her senses figure this feeling out. Her sense of touch began to feel fuzzy, and the metal thing she was holding onto started slipping away from her. The banshee seemed to have went off somewhere, but the pit in her chest was still calling her names. Her vision began swimming, and smokey figures of her old friends from high school appeared. It looked like they were having fun.

A familiar scene spread out before her. It was the high school cafeteria. There was the table she always sat at. Over there was the food line, and on the other side was the snack bar. Her friends were sitting in their usual seats. They were chatting about homework and boyfriends and video games. They were all smiling and enjoying their lives to the fullest.

I want that, too... I want to go, too... I want to go back... Back to those days...

Cynthia lifted her leg and held it out before her. She was about to take her first step into that place, to where her glory days were. She was going to go back.

“We can’t, though. We can’t go back.”
The nice girl’s voice burned away some of the scene before her. Cynthia started remembering that nice girl’s face. She had her own happy smile. The light from this smile seemed to make the scenes of her glory days burn up into nothing.

“We can’t go back, and that’s okay. There’s always something out there for us. Something to keep us going. We just need to find it, and never let go of it. It’s going to be hard, but we can’t live trapped by the past. We need to move forward and make a new life with new memories. It’s so much better than what we had before. The memories of those old days, they’ll stay with us forever. They’ll always be a part of us that we can never get back. And that’s okay. We’re going to find something that’s way better, and those memories will get to be what they’re meant to be. Not chains that keep us locked in place, but happy memories of days gone by. You’ll find it, I know you will.”

Cynthia had no idea where these words were coming from. The nice girl hadn’t said all that. Not with her mouth, at least. Perhaps this was what her heart had been trying to convey. Cynthia’s head didn’t hear it, but her heart caught every word. And her heart refused to let them go.

At last, Cynthia understood what she was doing. She gazed down at her extended foot. The concrete beneath it was far, far below. The vertigo she felt before settled as acrophobia, and she quickly lurched back onto the ledge. She clamored back over the metal railing that cordoned off the edge of the building. She collapsed onto the roof, her chest heaving with ragged breaths as she clutched her knees. She was now safe from falling, but the feeling of standing on the edge of the building was haunting her worse than the banshee from before. She shook her head, and tried her best to hobble back inside her apartment building and return to her room.

* * *
Cynthia collapsed in her bed. Her body was smeared with sweat, and her heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Was she actually going to jump? She was. She was going to jump. She wanted to go back to the old days, but that was not the way. It’s impossible. What on Earth was she thinking? She continued to yell at herself. She writhed around in the sheets, getting them soaked with her sweat and tears.

At last, she was able to calm down. She laid on her back, with her gaze fixed on the stars she couldn’t see through her ceiling. She survived. She didn’t jump. She’s alive. Those memories didn’t drag her down. She broke free. She broke free! What a feeling this was. She felt renewed. Still shaking, but renewed all the same.

“I hope that nice girl comes back tomorrow... Maybe I’ll ask her for her number. No, I should start with her name. I bet she has a pretty name...”

Cynthia smiled, and it felt like the most genuine one to ever spread across her face. Her cheeks felt hot, and her head became flushed. A giggle escaped her lips. She actually felt excited for something. How long had it been since she felt this way?

No more old memories for me. It’s time to make some new ones.

I felt the tears start to trickle down my cheeks as I looked into my father’s eyes, knowing this was the last time I would ever see the life behind them. Well that’s not entirely true. While he was laying on his deathbed, I saw life behind those same eyes every day when I looked in the mirror. People always told me that I had inherited all of my dad’s features, and as a child I would flash them that same charming grin that he had. After all, I did consider myself a ‘daddy’s girl’.

Growing up my mom was emotionally distant - neglectful even. It was a nasty side effect of her alcoholism. I don’t think I can remember a time when she was sober to tell the truth. While she was never abusive, she did spend most of the time holed up in her room either drinking whatever she could find, or sleeping. I distinctly remember a few times when I had woken up in the middle of the night, to get a drink or go to the bathroom, and I could hear sobbing muffled by the walls between our rooms. I’ll admit I was worried, as any kid would be hearing one of their parents crying, but I had been warned to never enter mommy’s room when she was in there. And so I left it alone.

Despite all of that, anyone observing the situation would have never guessed I had a neglectful parent. That’s because my dad more than made up for in the areas where my mom slacked. He wasn’t just a great caretaker to me though. He was my best friend - my hero. Every morning when I woke up for school I always had breakfast waiting, and a sack lunch packed. He even left me little notes in them each time, usually telling me how much he loved his “little girl”. And when I got home from school, he was always waiting to help me with my homework. Working through the problems together really made it fly by, so I never really minded having homework like other kids.

Plus, whenever we finished with school work it meant that it was play time! And once again, dad was there by my side to to encourage my creativity and imagination. Some probably even considered me spoiled, and I can’t say that wasn’t true. Not just with the affection he showed me though. Every so often, out of nowhere, he would surprise me with gifts. Sometimes it was new pretty clothes to wear. I would excitedly model them for him, strutting around the living room as if it were my own personal runway. Or sometimes he would play dress-up with me and we would pretend we were at a tea party or going to a fancy dance. Other times he would have new toys for me. Things like stuffed animals to add to the ever growing pile on my bed, a gameboy where I could immerse myself in the world of Pokemon, and even a sleek bike that had a bell, basket, and handlebar streamers - the works! He was the one who taught me how to ride that bike and always kissed my skinned knees whenever I fell (which was plenty).

It didn’t just stop there though. The best gifts - the ones that meant the absolute world to me - were the friends he brought around and introduced me to. Sure it seems like kids can make friends like it’s no big deal. When you’re that young anything can bring two people together, even something as simple as having the same pair of shoes as someone. But for me, it was hard to create those bonds, seeing as my family moved frequently. I was always the new kid, and a shy one at that. But dad always knew where to find another little girl that was just like me! He even always let them play at our place where I had all the cool toys. But before I knew it, it would be time to move again and I wouldn’t get the chance to say goodbye.

However, as I grew older things started to change. There were no more gifts, no more friends to be found. Dad stopped leaving me notes in my lunch and there would just be a bowl of cereal set out for breakfast. And while I had outgrown most of that little kid stuff like dress up and make-believe, I still wanted to spend time with him. Maybe go to the mall, have him help paint my nails. But instead he just grew distant. He was still nice and a good parent. He just didn’t treat me like his little girl anymore. It’s like we were now acquaintances instead of best friends. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t get him to put the cape and mask back on and be my superhero and not just my father. And the most frustrating part of all is that I couldn’t understand why! What had I done to cause all of this.

It wasn’t until later that I found out I hadn’t done anything wrong at all. He had. And that’s why I’m now sitting here, glass separating us, as he lies strapped to a table awaiting his execution.

All of those wonderful memories of my childhood will be forever tainted by the one that occurred when I was fourteen. When I walked up to my house after school only to find a cop car sitting outside. I feared the worst - that something had happened to my dad or that my mom had drank herself to death. Little did I know that my mind wasn’t even capable of imagining the real horror. I opened the door to an officer sitting on the couch, my mom in the recliner, and a box of stuff between them. My stuff. Even though my dad had changed, and I was a bit to old for them now, I had kept all the gifts he had given me. They held so much sentimental value that I just couldn’t bring myself to throw them out. I guess it was lucky that I didn’t. My mom sat me down and held my hand as the officer explained what was happening. How my dad was taken into custody under the suspicion of kidnapping and murdering 13 different children. How they had a warrant to search the house and happened upon my box of memories. And how they had reason to suspect that those gifts had once belonged to my father’s supposed victims.

My world fell apart as I learned that everything had been one big lie. Those girls I considered friends were victims. Going along with what my father had told them to do because they were scared. Hoping that if they played along they would soon be seeing their own families again. But no, he just robbed them of their innocence and then showered me with the things that once belonged to them! No wonder we were constantly moving, changing states, changing lives. He was trying to stay one step ahead at all times. And the distancing as I grew older wasn’t for no reason. I had just aged, matured, outgrown his “age range” while the other kids were perpetually stuck as that age for eternity now.

That day was the first day I ever saw my mother sober, and the day before that was the last I ever saw her drunk. She did know my father was a monster, just not that kind of monster. Behind closed doors, ones warned not to open, she endured years of abuse at the hands of her husband - both physical and verbal. She saw how he interacted with me. With so much love and kindness, and me viewing him with so much admiration. So she lived with the yelling and the beatings, drinking to numb the pain. All for me.

And now, as the coroner calls the time of death, she sits next to me. Hand clasped over mine in a firm, but protective embrace. Reminding me that memories aren’t always what they seem and the way you view them can change in an instant.

"Recollections."

I can't say the word 'Traces' anymore.
I can't think the word 'Traces' anymore.
I can't tell my mother that there's traces of milk in the sink, and I can't think that there's traces of ink in the milk.

I can't listen to 'Traces' by Vildhjarta anymore, and it was one of our favorite songs.
Our anthem. Our hymn.
Our lullaby as the sunset covered our nights together in gilded shimmers.

I wake up in a bed that feels slanted.
Without you next to me there's an uncomfortable shift in the weight distribution, like my end of the bed wants to slowly slide me down to the floor.

Life slid you away from me.

There's traces of you in the way I brush my teeth in the morning. You always told me to brush the inside of my teeth, because that was one of many advices that your dentist gave you.

Now there's traces of you in the advertisement for dental services tragically slapped onto a street lamp next to your school.
There's traces of you in the staircase leading up to that particular hell.

There's traces of you in the milk.
Why are they still there?

I hate everything about this.

I can't say the word 'Memory' anymore.
I can't think the word 'Memory' anymore.
I can't tell my mother that you're gone, but I can tell her other things are gone, instead.
Like my notepad, my toothpaste, my bags, my candles, my second credit card, my life, my lies and my promises.
Like your copy of A Link to the Past.

I won't play A Link to the Past anymore. It was your favorite game ever. Our game.
Our passion. Our commitment.
Our shared infatuation for the palace, the weirdos, the princess girl and the entire world.

There’s traces of you in the dark.
There’s memories of light in the bleak brightness of Lost Woods.
I pulled the sword for you.

I cry, I dry up, I cry and I dry up again.

This time, the mirror won’t leave a portal behind.

I walk up the staircase leading up to that particular hell.
My life is hell.
My bags are gone. My notepad is gone. My second credit card needs to be redeemed.
There's traces of you in the way the bank account manager pronounces 'Time.'

I move away from the masses.
I cry, I dry up, I cry and I dry up again.

I hate everything about this.


I can't say the word 'Recollection' anymore.
I can't think the word 'Recollection' anymore.
I don't want to recollect every creative curse you came up with during our first Thieve's Town together.
The small key that took forever to find.

You will take forever to find.

I don't want to cry, but I dry up, I cry and I dry up again. Again.

Math class calls for me.

There's traces of you in math class.

I don't want to recollect the moments we spent under the pine tree in the back yard of that particular hell.
Our place. Our sanctuary.
Our first kiss.

I cry, I dry up, I cry and I dry up and I cry.

But I know that this time, I'll never dry up again.

I hate everything about this.

And finally to announce the Winner this Month.

Congratulations to @Morbid Minish for winning this month.


A quick thank you to Users:
@Azure Sage
@A Link In Time
@Sheikah_Witch

Thank you each of you (and of course the winner) for entering this month, I hope to see you entering again in July ^^

Thank you one and all for Sticking with us and voting this last week as well and i hope to see y'all next time and possibly even more stories to be submitted in July.
 

Morbid Minish

Spooky Scary Skeleton.
Forum Volunteer
All of the entries were great! You all put up some stiff competition.


Thanks to everyone for voting and reading though. It may sound a bit silly, but this actually means quite a lot to me. I debated on even submitting my story after I had written it. I've always felt really self conscious about my writing and have a hard time letting others read it. It was a huge passion of mine as a kid and I would fill notebooks with stories then. But as I got older I started to write less, to the point where I could rarely bring myself to finish any piece I started. I mostly did this competition as a way to try and push myself to get back into writing and to make sure I finished a story for once. And to partially try to overcome my fear of others reading my stuff and feeling like it's not good enough. So really, thanks again! I'll try to enter more often, even if just to keep up on my writing.
 

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