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ZD Writing Competition Round 28: Results

Which Entry Do You Enjoy the Most?

  • Entry 1

    Votes: 1 14.3%
  • Entry 2

    Votes: 3 42.9%
  • Entry 3

    Votes: 1 14.3%
  • Entry 4

    Votes: 2 28.6%

  • Total voters
    7
  • Poll closed .

Spiritual Mask Salesman

CHIMer Dragonborn
Staff member
Comm. Coordinator
Site Staff
Welcome one and all to the 28th ZD Writing Competition! For the foreseeable future I will be your new host (I swear this isn't an April Fool's joke) and I'm excited to be in this position! I've participated in this competition quite a bit over the years, as a result, this event in particular has a special place in my heart. I hope to do the hosts of the past justice by providing thought provoking themes so we can all produce some spectacular creative writing!

But enough monologuing! Since this marks a new chapter for me on the Forums, as well as a new chapter for this competition, let's stick with this concept: this month's theme will be New Beginnings!

Send all submissions to me via PM by Friday, April 24th, 2020 at 23:59 EST (GMT -4)

Have some fun with it, in the meantime, I'll be looking forward to everyone's entries!
 

Mido

Version 1
Joined
Apr 6, 2011
Location
The Turnabout
But enough monologuing!

source.gif


I like the prompt! Perhaps it's time to hop back in after a few years; and thank you for hosting!
 

Spiritual Mask Salesman

CHIMer Dragonborn
Staff member
Comm. Coordinator
Site Staff
Voting

The deadline for submissions has been reached. We've gotten a total of 4 entries this month, all really good in their own right! Voting will commence today, April 25th through April 30th, 2020 at 23:59 EST (GMT -4)

Rain poured down, droplets streaming down the cat’s soaked pelt. She quickly shook her head, sending small water drops flying into the air. Her breath was uneven and ragged as she limped through the forest, her belly heavy with unborn kits. She was weak, and alone, but she still kept going, for her and her kits sake. She occasionally tripped over small twigs and branches, landing with a lump in the cold snow littering the ground. But she trudged on, her bright blue eyes fierce with determination.

She looked for a place to stop, a sheltered place to rest, but could see none. Nothing but trees and snow for miles it seemed like. It was dark, and gloomy in the night air, and that seemed to have an affect on the cat. Her steps became slower, and her strength weakened. The snow seemed to get harder and harder to step through. Her eyes grew heavy, and the world began to fade around her. She collapsed on the ground, panting. Her eyes clouded.

Suddenly, two long ears shot up beside her in the bushes. A large rabbit crept awkwardly towards her, his sparkling brown eyes bright. His rusty brown fur still held hints of the snow white pelt he once had weeks ago. He sniffed her warily, his small pink nose twitching. He pawed at her belly, sniffed it, then quickly bounded off into the forest. The cat by now had given up all hope, and was waiting for the worst to come. Either a predator such as a fox would get her, or she would die of the cold.

Surprisingly, the ears popped up again, and another pair was beside them. The rabbit crawled out again with his mate, who also was pregnant. She tentatively sniffed the poor cat’s head. Then she quickly began to push her, along with her mate. The cat was now unconscious. The rabbits knew they should be running, but…they felt something. Maybe because she was pregnant just like the female rabbit, and they felt compassion, but, they’ll never know why exactly they did it.

They pushed her all the way into a log, sheltering her from the cold winds and snow. They then proceeded to surround her with leaves. They then brought in several small blue berries, not knowing if she could eat them, but putting them there anyway.

One of the rabbits turned to look back at the cat, compassion swelling up inside her. Her burrow friends called her and her mate new and strange, but she didn’t care, she knew she was doing the right thing. They then bounded off, ready to be back in their warm burrow.



The cat woke up, disoriented and confused. She saw wood all around her, and she panicked for a minute. But she finally calmed down as she realized what she was in. But how did she get here? Did those bunnies have anything to do with it? Of course not, rabbits are naturally scared of cats, they wouldn’t do this. But her blue eyes widened as she looked down at the floor of the log. There were berries. No predator would do this and leave her berries! It would have to be a prey animal. She was incredibly thankful, but still a little confused about why they would do that for an enemy.

Nevertheless, she scooped up the berries and quickly ate them. She was starving. Even though it wasn’t meat, it was indescribably good, to a starved cat. She was nice and warm too. She knew if those rabbits didn’t save her when they did, she wouldn’t be here now. She also knew that she wouldn’t survive on these berries alone. She really needed meat, and these berries had given her strength to go hunt.

She rose to her paws. But as she took a step forward, intense pain sprang through her belly. She collapsed on the ground, spasms going through her.

The kits are coming!



The make rabbit shook his pelt, making water fly off him. The snow had been melting all day, which had made the ground so wet, and had leaked into the burrow, getting him all wet too. It was now just getting to be dark, and he decided to check on the cat, chances are that the feline would be gone and had moved on, like cats do.

He bounded through the forest, jumping over fallen trees and stones. When he finally came to the log, he peered inside. His brown eyes widened. There, in the log, was a mother and her two kits. She looked up at him, pure gratitude in her eyes. The two kits were small, tiny things, with small pink noses. They had high pitched cute mews for their mother, and tiny paws.


The rabbit respectively nodded his head a quietly padded away, smiling.

Their mother gently licked the kits, and pressed them against her belly. It was new beginnings, for the kits, their mother, and the world, for as they were drinking their mother’s milk, the earth was getting warmer, the snow was melting; spring had come at last.

How the Other Half Live


"GOD DAMMIT!!” I scream at the top of my voice. Hard enough to burst some blood vessels.

Screaming isn’t enough. I grab a chair from under a nearby desk and hurl it across the room. The chair clatters against the wall.

“DAAAAAAAAAAMN!!”

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Why me? Why did it have to be me?! Five years I’ve survived this hell and this is how it ends?! Dammit!! That damn zombie. That God damned zombie! I should have seen it. I should have seen it but I bloody didn’t!!

It isn’t fair! It isn’t God damn fair!!

“DAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN!!”

I kick the nearby desk and realise where I am. A classroom.

I’d ran. I’d ran without a plan. Ran away from that zombie after it had bit me… As if running was going to help after the fact!

The classroom is 4AJ. My old classroom from back in the day. Why here? Why did my legs bring me here? I guess it doesn’t matter where I am. Dying here won’t make any difference to anything.

Oh God, I’m going to die. I’m going to become one of those freaks. I’d blow my brains out if I had a gun. I could go to the roof. I could jump. It wouldn’t work, this is a primary school, it’s only one storey high.

God… How long will it take? Will it hurt?

“Damn… DAMN. DAMN. DAMN!!”

I kick another desk—

“UuUuuuuUghhhh….”

Jesus. There’s one in the doorway.

A woman. A dead woman. Standing in the doorway.

Her frumpy clothes are torn. I can see parts of her body that I shouldn’t be able to see, like her naked chest and the exposed bones where her left breast should be.

I hate her. Her cold vacant eyes betray the mournful expression on her face.

I hate her. I can smell the putrid stench of her exposed innards from here.

I hate her. This is all her fault!

I hate her! I hate her!!

I stride over to her and grab two greedy handfuls of her lank blood-stained blonde hair.
She claws at the air and scratches my arm as I drag her into the classroom and towards the nearest wall.

“I hate you!” I slam her head against the wall. “I hate you!!” I slam her head against the wall. “You did this to me!!” I slam her head against the wall.

Her scalp slides off of her skull and I fall backwards, tearing half her face off as I hit the floor.

She looks down at me. What is left of the skin on her face is flapping around and dripping blood as she stumbles towards me. I’m not going to let her have me.

She lunges through the air and throws her putrid body on top of me.

I’m not going to let her have me!!

I use the momentum of her lunge and roll around on the floor with her until I manage to pin her down beneath me. She swipes at me and slashes my face across the cheek with a ragged fingernail.

I punch her exposed skull.

“I’m not going to let you have me! You hear me!!” I punch her skull again and it cracks.

She writhes beneath me, flailing wildly. She rips my skin again.

I grab her exposed skull with both hands and slam it against the floor. Again and again and again and again! I hate her!

Her skull collapses and her body falls limp beneath me.

“No!! Not yet!! Not yet!! DAAAAAAMN!!”

I wasn’t finished! I wasn’t done!

I grab her stinking motionless corpse by the shoulders and bite her throat! I tear off a chunk of her necrotic flesh, spit it out to the side and go back for seconds… and thirds…

I think it’s time.

Time for a new beginning.

Time to find out how the other half live.

The sounds of voices flow wavelike throughout the room. Murmurs turn into shouts, which return to whispers. Such is the living nature of an audience. They laugh and cry. They talk and reminisce. They discuss and debate. They jeer and mock. An audience takes on many guises, and very few can tame the nature of these forms. It takes a certain kind of practice, a type of honed skill, to bend what is not malleable. Those who possess such a skill have the power to captivate, entrance, and hypnotize. They carry with them a power that sculpts perception, twists dispositions, and perhaps most importantly, grants reprieve from the world beyond the moment of enchantment. This power is one that many an individual desires, and just as many who desire the siren's kiss of this tool fail to attain it. Those who do succeed in their endeavor to access such an ability have access to the most breathtaking arsenal of perks one can have at their disposal. However, as expected of such a gift, the number of those who do endeavor upon the gift's secrets is low. It is then a wonder why a humdrum fellow such as myself is in pursuit of such a gift? I suppose that, in spite of the stakes, I too am infatuated with the allure of the gift like many before me.

To some, the gift manifests early. These happy few are skillful in the seizing of opportunity, recognizing their affinity with the skill over an audience early on their journeys. For others, the realization arrives late. The manifestation differs for everyone, but the call of the siren's song remains the same. Those who happen upon the song desire to enamor audiences with their gifts, to provide for them in ways impossible to accomplish via conventional means. Still, only few don the mantle of this skill that endows to them its most satiating perks; and much like any perks, the early birds are often the ones who indeed get the worms. With this acknowledgement, what does this mean for everyone else?

I consider this question frequently as I tiptoe to the tune of the siren song. How does one take inventory of the ways they can access at least some of the perks that come with the skill? What does someone have to do to maximize their pursuit? Is there a deadline? How does someone be patient? When the call arrives later, how does someone avoid resentment or bitterness? Is it even fair to be at least a little resentful? The question regularly assumes the form of a hydra, more questions sprouting from the source. The waves of audience noise becomes louder. The waves crash and collide, the noises so sharp that the mind fogs....

Once the fog clears, I seem to always reach the same answer. The only thing any person, regardless of when the song is discovered, is begin. Without that, there is no pursuit, no chance of even sampling the perks that associate themselves with the practice, the skill, the gift; whichever term we use to address it. The noises never truly silence, but beginning can keep them at bay for a time. Once we begin, we put ourselves out there; and the, quickly or slowly, the fruits of our beginnings germinate.

Throngs of voices continue to encompass the room. This time, however, the sound begins to diminish; the show about to begin. I approach the curtain, my right hand slightly trembling with a microphone in hand. Once the light passes through the curtain space, the show officially begins.

Taphophobia

Darkness.

Darkness all around me.

Thick, black, darkness, everywhere.

I reach out, but it’s wrong. My arm is going the wrong way. My hand hits something hard and rough about ten inches in front of me. Above me?

I’m on my back and the realisation makes my stomach lurch.

A coffin. I’m in a coffin buried in a grave. Buried alive.

OhGodOhGodOhGod

The panic can’t be stopped. Chest heaving, head spinning, I hit the wood above me as hard as I can, wanting to scream but producing nothing but sobs.

I’m in a box underground.

I’m going to die.

Within moments I feel exhausted. Fear saps the energy from me, my hands scraped and sore. I can barely move and the darkness is compressing on me, closing in like a vacuum seal. Crushing me. Can’t breathe. Oh God, my chest hurts, breaths too shallow, feeling dizzy. I can’t orient myself. I’m falling backwards through shadows without landing, my body untethered from everything, in a void with no room to move.

Have to get out. I have to get out of here.

Air. How much air do I have? How much do I have left? Is it already too late?

I need to calm down. Calm down? I’m buried alive, how am I meant to calm down?

Slow. Just slow down. Breathe. In… Out… Slow. In… Out… Take control. Lie still.

I breathe for a few minutes, counting the seconds. Fear prickles along my skin, in my guts, through my head. I can’t tell if my eyes are open or closed, but I’m not as dizzy.

I visualise myself in the coffin. It doesn’t ease the ripples of panic rushing through my veins but it anchors me.

In… Out…

Out. I need to get out. Now.

Phone.

I slip my fingers into my pocket and fear knots in my throat. Where is it? Why is my phone gone? I’ve never not got my phone, where is it?

They took it. Whoever put me here took it, I know it.

Oh God. Someone put me here. Someone did this to me.

Someone wants to kill me.

In… Out…

I’m being murdered.

In… Out…

Still alive. Still alive. I can get out.

In…

Out…

I check my other pocket. Keys and a lighter. A lighter. I take it out, eager to dispel the dark, the unforgiving dark everywhere around me. Thumb on the wheel, I stop just in time.

The flame will breathe all my oxygen. It’ll kill me.

I drop the lighter, not trusting it. Running my hands along the box I feel a depression in the lid above my chest. Something heavy is pressing down. The soil. The weight of it is buckling the lid.

Weakening it.

I thread my keys through my fingers and thrust up as hard as I can at the depression.

The THUNK bangs around my head, through my ears, and the impact vibrates along my bones, up my arm to my shoulder. I punch again. Another THUNK, another shockwave. Again. Again. My knuckles are red, arm aching. Again. Again. Again. I stifle gasps and sobs as I hurt myself against the wood, thinking about my air. I feel it running out, like water draining from a bath.

Don’t think. Keep punching.

I hear the wood splinter, feel my keys penetrate it. I punch again, harder, again, until I feel cold grit trickle onto my belly, unexpected and shocking.

Hope swells inside me. A tiny light struggling against the dark, it could fade in a moment. But it’s there and I try to hold on to it.

I rest my arm, smothering the desperation to force my fingers into the gap, to tear it apart, and scramble out. If my strength gives now it’ll all be over. Once I start I can’t stop.

Another trickle of soil falls from above and a vision enters my mind. Sitting up in the coffin, soil falling on my head, burying me again, without air, without hope, without a chance.

How am I going to get through the soil without suffocating?

In… Out…

Think. What do I have?

Keys. A lighter.

In… Out…

Shoes. Socks. A shirt.

A shirt…

It seems stupid. Maybe it is. But what’s the alternative? If there’s even a chance this will work I have to do it.

I brush the soil off my belly and lift the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head but not taking it off completely. With my shirt inverted, I bunch up the hem and tie it tight. It hangs loose about my head, like a bag, resting gently on my face, the heat of my breath washing over my skin. If it can just keep the soil off my head, give me even a few minutes of breath, of life, I might make it.

In… Out…

I hit the crack in the lid more and hear it split wider. There’s a low groan as the weight of the soil buckles the weakened wood further. I worm my fingers into the gap and start pulling sharply down. The lid cracks and snaps, soil sprinkling over me. I sweep it aside, keep pulling. A piece of the thin lid comes off, making a hole, letting a flood of loose dirt cascade down.

I sit up as far as I can, back aching with the angle, and sweep the dirt behind me. If I pile it I can rest my back on it. I dig out more dirt, spreading it behind me, to my sides, to my feet. Sweat drips across my face, arms aching, back screaming for relief, but I can’t stop, if I stop I die.

The dirt behind me is high enough to rest my back on and the release is incredible, like a kiss from an angel. Soil is still coming down so I keep digging, push it away, draw my legs up, packing the dirt beneath my feet. I’m going to have to try and stand up, try and get my head and arms through the hole. I sit up again, tucking my head low, lining it up with the hole I’ve made.

I have to get this right.

The coffin fills with dirt as I wriggle to stay on top of it. Scrunched into a ball, all I can move is my arms clawing at the hole, making space for the rest of me. The fear in my guts is now just pain, torso doubled over, squashing my insides against my ribs, against themselves. My joints shriek at me, knees, shoulders, neck, all on fire, pleading for relief, for an end.

I cannot stop.

When there’s no space for my body I know I have to stand up. I raise my head into the hole, feet shuffling under me, taking my weight. The jagged edge of the lid scratches down my bare back, sweat and dirt mingling with fresh blood and the heat of the pain. My arms are numb, digging frantically. Long red lines of searing pain are drawn down my back as I stand up further, further. Soft earth falls on my head, settling on my shoulders, threatening to pack around me, but my shirt keeps it away from my mouth, my nose, gives me the little room to breath that keeps me alive.

As I dig I pack the dirt under my feet, stand on it to get higher, higher, closer to the surface, so close I can almost feel it now, my breath getting faster, my shirt going in and out of my open mouth.

My legs are fully extended, I must be close, can only be a few inches from salvation.

And then, a miracle.

My fingers touch cold, air.

I feel dizzy again, my face wet, skin burning, blood and filth streaking down my back, my whole body fighting me to stop, but I keep going, faster, harder than before. I tear at the ground like a wild animal, delirious from my desire to escape, to live.

When the cool night air touches my face through the fabric of my shirt I gasp it into my lungs like a drowing man. I swallow it down, devour it, and I feel the tears falling as my chest rises and collapses with gulping sobs.

I’m alive.

I scream it to the world.

“I’m alive!”

My cries turn to laughter that rings through the still night. Stars twinkle blessedly far above me, an endless sky over my head. I tear my shirt apart to free my head, the soft breeze a lover’s hand against my hot skin. Sweat stings my eyes but I’m free, I’m alive, and I’ve never felt so good as I do right now.

“Not exactly, my friend.”

The voice startles me, like a ball of ice falling in my gut. The hairs stand up on my arms, my neck, and I struggle to turn, still embedded in the earth. I hear slow claps behind me and just like that my joy evaporates into the night.

“I knew you could do it. That’s why I chose you. Why I made you one of us.”

Ice cold hands grip me beneath the arms and I am pulled from the ground like a flower, effortless, the grit and soil giving way like water. There’s soil in my pants, chafing and itching. My skin is plastered with brown, long streaks where sweat has turned the dirt to mud. The cold hands leave me sitting on grass beside my escape and their owner walks in front of me.

"Welcome to the first day of the end of your life."

They smile.

Memory returns to me. The bar. The stranger. The dancing lights.

The teeth.

The pain.

And then, the darkness.

Be sure to vote, folks!

Now, as a small bonus, I wrote a piece following the prompt, one that I hope you all get a kick out of!

Revenge of the Staff

On the morning of February 14th, Community Coordinator Azure Sage called for a private meeting with me in his office. Naturally, this was a big deal, so I entered his office in time to make a good impression. Not that it'd matter, Az and I have known each other nearly a decade.

"Guards, leave us." He ordered in a stern tone. The guards promptly left the ornate room leaving only the two of us. Azure was sitting at his desk, he inquired how things were going with the Shoutbox Council.

"I get the feeling they don't fully trust me…" I confided in him.

"It's because they fear you. They have seen your future and know your powers will be too great to control." He boasted, standing up from his seat and placing his left hand on my right shoulder in a mentoring manner. We walked forward a few paces towards his small art gallery, it was filled with paintings of scenes from Skyward Sword, Breath of the Wild, and various anime shows I had never seen. "You must break through the fog of lies the Shoutboxers have created around you." He said, as we entered the gallery. "Let me show you the subtleties of the Forum." Azure suggested calmly.

"You know the ways of the Forum?" I asked in curiosity. At this point he had taken his hand off my shoulder. I turned to look at him as we walked, but he continued to look forward to the other end of the gallery, where a Fi statue stood.

"My mentor taught me everything about the Forum. Even the nature of the Moderation side…" Az said euphorically, as if the Moderation side was particularly alluring.

I walked ahead of Azure, stopping and facing him. This whole conversation had swiftly become stranger. "You know the ways of the Moderation side?" I inquired.

"Maskman, if one is to understand the great mystery, one must study all its aspects, not just the dogmatic narrow view of the Shoutboxers. If you wish to become a complete and wise leader, you must embrace a larger view of the Forum." He responded with an almost sinister smirk. Things were not feeling right anymore for me. We bagan walking in a circle in a confrontation. Azure's kind and gentle manner faded, he looked intense. "Only through me can you achieve a power greater than any Shoutboxer! Learn to know the Moderation side of the Forum, and you will be able to save your Blog from certain death." He enticed with a smile after his speech.

"What did you say?" I said in disbelief.

"Use my knowledge, I beg you!" Azure pleaded.

I was feeling a mix of emotions. Confliction that someone I believed to be my friend may be horribly corrupted, yet remembering all the good times we spent together, and thinking he was incapable of such a thing. Yet here we were. I drew my Lightsaber and faced it at him.

"You're the Staff Lord!" I deduced.

We continued to circle each other, gradually I lowered my weapon as I listened. "I know what's been troubling you... Listen to me! Don't continue to be a pawn of the Shoutbox Council! Ever since I've known you, you've been searching for a life greater than that of an ordinary Shoutboxer… A life of significance, of conscience." He mentioned. I brought my saber back up as he turned his back to me. "Are you going to kill me?" He asked, however he didn't sound afraid.

"I would certainly like to!" I responded with anger. I knew anger was wrong, but he was the enemy we'd been trying to find for many years, and I felt like a friend had betrayed me.

He turned his back to me, "I know you would. I can feel your anger. It gives you focus, makes you stronger." He praised.

I contemplated a bit, eventually deciding not to strike him down. I turned my saber off. "I am going to turn you over to the Shoutbox Council." I admitted to him.

"Of course you should. But you’re not sure of their intentions, are you?" Azure said in disappointment.

"I will quickly discover the truth of all this." I thought aloud.

"You have great wisdom, Maskman. Know the power of the Moderation side. The power to save The Spirit Realm." He said, smiling.

***

I left Az's office chambers, and immediately made my way to the Shoutbox Temple. There I met Shoutbox Master Deus and told him that Azure Sage was the Sith Lord we had been looking for.

"Then our worst fears have been realized. We must move quickly if the Shoutbox Order is to survive." Deus quickly deduced.

"Master, the Community Coordinator is very powerful. You'll need my help if you're going to arrest him." I suggested.

"For your own good, stay out of this affair. I sense a great deal of confusion in you, young Maskman. There is much fear that clouds your judgement." Deus ordered.

"I must go, master." I insisted. If it is my destiny to bring balance to the forum, I thought, this is something I should be involved in.

"No. If what you've told me is true, you will have gained my trust. But for now, remain here. Wait in the chat until we return." Deus sternly ordered.

I finally submitted, much against my will, "Yes, Master."

Deus gathered together other Shoutbox Masters, and together they went to Azure Sage's office - of course, he was expecting their arrival.

"In the name of the Zelda Dungeon, you're under arrest, Community Coordinator." Deus said with authority.

"Are you threatening me, Master Shoutboxer?" Azure Sage remarked with disgust.

"The Dungeon will decide your fate." Deus responded.

"I AM the Dungeon!" Az said with an evil tone.

"Not yet." Deus reminded him.

"It's treason, then" Azure Sage replied, his saber flipped out from under his sleeve - it's hilt was a replica of the Goddess Sword. He lunged from his desk swiftly as the group of Shoutboxers were drawing their sabers. With the first lunge Azure permabanned a shoutboxer. In no time he picked off the other Masters, leaving only Deus standing toe to toe with him.

"Midna from Toilet Princess was a terrible companion!" Azure jabbed.

"Fi had no growth arc in Suckward Sword!" Deus fiercely countered.

Locked in vicious combat, with neither one backing down, finally Deus gained the upper hand by pulling out a block of cheese - the Staff Lord's main weakness - it worked like Kryponite!

Just then I walked into the room. Azure was laying on the floor near a large broken window with Deus standing over him holding the cheese block.

"Maskman, I told you it would come to this! The Shoutboxers are taking over!" Az said in defeat.

"The oppression of the Staff will never return, your plot to regain control of the website has failed! It's over! You have lost!" Deus gloated.

"No, no, you will be BANNED!" Azure cackled, shooting database errors at Deus, but the Shoutbox Master blocked them with his Saber. "He is a traitor!" Azure screamed.

"He is the traitor!" Deus yelled, straining to hold back the Community Coordinator's fury.

"I have the power to save the Blog you love! You must choose!" Azure said with sincerity.

"Don't listen to him Maskman!" Deus interjected.

"Don't let him kill me." Azure Sage weakly, with worry. "I can't hold it any longer… I - I - I can't… too weak… Maskman! Help me!" Azure pleaded, it seemed he had expended all of his energy. Deus had regained the upper hand, holding his cheese block to deal the final blow.

"I'm going to end this once and for all!" Deus decided.

Something stirred within me. I couldn't let Azure be banned.

"You can't, he must stand trial!" I reminded Deus.

"He has control of the Dungeon and the Wiki, he's too dangerous to be left unbanned!" Deus was adamant.

"No, no. I'm too weak! Don't ban me, please!" Azure cried out.

"It's not the Shoutbox way, he must live!" I insisted.

However, Deus could not be reasoned with. He drew back the cheese block to do the deed.

"I need him!" I blurted out, while the anger boiled inside me.

Deus swung.

"NO!" I screamed. In a split second I used my saber to cut off Deus' hand that had the cheese block. He cried out in agony, and then Azure released another barrage of Database errors!

"POWER! UNLIMITED POWER!" He yelled triumphantly.

Deus was banned. I collapsed to the ground after this intensely emotional moment - I was just involved in the ban of a Shoutbox Master. "What have I done?" I wept in disbelief of my own spur of the moment action.

"You are fulfilling your destiny, Maskman." Azure Sage replied.

There was no going back now. I wanted my blog to be saved, and I would be lying not to admit that the allure of the powers of the Moderation side were enticing. I bowed before Azure. "I pledge myself to your teachings." I said.

Maybe it was time for a new start? Time to be horribly corrupt? And oh, how glorious the corruption is! Mwhahahahahahaha!

This piece contains altered dialogue from Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith.
 
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Spiritual Mask Salesman

CHIMer Dragonborn
Staff member
Comm. Coordinator
Site Staff
Voting has ended. The winner of the 28th ZD Writing Competition is... @Spirit with her entry titled "How The Other Half Live"!

Entry 1 - Echolight
Entry 2 - Spirit
Entry 3 - Mido
Entry 4 - Cfrock


Thank you to everyone who submited entries, and to all the voters! I'll see you all again with a new writing prompt in June! Until then, stay chill, and eat Skittles in healthy moderation! ;)
 
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