Writing Contest #1 - Post your Work here
This topic is locked from further discussion.
After all entries are judged, I will post this winner in the topic.
The Entrants are:
- TheGamemannn - Has Submitted his/her work
- xSpitFire3x - Has Submitted his/her Work
- daqua_99 - Has Submitted his/her Work
- OddballTECH
- Jacash3492
- Rrael - Has Submitted his/her work
- Rintaran - Has Submitted his/her work
You will post, for this league a total of Four Entries, the entry periods are as follows
Feb 28 - March 9 - Entry 1
March 10 - March 16 - Entry 2
March 17 - March 23 - Entry 3
March 24 - March 30 - Entry 4
Each week you will submit one piece of work. Your entry can be a poem, a song or a short story (Nothing over a page or two). You will be marked by 3 judges, one of which is myself and the other two will be revealed later (they are already chosen ... but they don't know it yet.).
You will be marked out in three different areas by each judge. These areas are: Content (5 marks) , Flow (5 marks) and Overall Impression (5 Marks).
Content, is the piece of work something original or is the idea stolen, does it create something new or is it the same thing that we see 20 times a day. Is there substance in this piece of work? or is it just a bunch of words. All those goes into your mark for this one
Flow is just the technical aspects of your piece of work, does it have tons of grammar/spelling mistakes, do the words seem out of place and all those kinds of things fall into this category.
Overall is just the impression left on us, the judges, its not whether we liked it or not, but more of, did it make a point, did it stir emotion in us, that kind of thing.
Points earned for each work will be announced each weekend.
If you do not post your work one week, you will be given the minium amount of points in each category.
Also, please note that any pieces of work submitted must be new works and cannot have been posted on the forums already.
If you have any questions, ask me via Private message or on one of my instant messaging programs.
Should Madness Prevail
It is a hard thing to condemn a man to death. Perhaps I do not do it physically, much to the contrary, but it is from my hands that the gun is passed to those who would. Oh they say these men are cruel and evil, deserving of whatever justice is doled out, and yet at the end of the day it is my clothes stained by the smoky residue of gunpowder. What right exists that the populace are voicing? I am the hooded figure behind the executioner, it is I who hands him the axe, and it is I that strings the rope of the gallows. They have no bearing on the ending, no more than I have on the process. At least that was what I used to tell myself, until I met Jacob Singer.
The sun was painted high in the sky that afternoon when he walked through the rotating doors of the precinct and took the left elevator. The right one was broken, and I have to imagine the drab and powerless life I might have lived if he had been able to take it instead. We ran into each other quite literally that day as he exited the elevator, sending his files and documents scattered to the floor. I realized then, glancing but momentarily at a police report in his handwriting, who the striking young man with the fiery passion of justice in his eyes was. Jacob was young for a detective, twenty seven and already a legend at his previous precinct, so it was with some amount of contempt that I helped him to straighten his files out again. Anything less would have been rude, even coming from the “old dog” of the force.
Despite my reservations we got along well, and he was assigned to be my partner. I could see from his work ethic that he was all that they said, leaving no claim uninvestigated or case file unwritten. He was a beacon of purity, and I despised him.
It began one late night as the moon shone through my office window, as I sat cramped and motionless reading through another of his near perfect reports. Every angle was covered; there was just no fault to be found in his work no matter how many times I scanned through his documentation. Nor could I find any problem with his conduct at the scene. I began to contemplate ways I might teach him a lesson, nothing too serious, but the saying came to mind, that many little screw ups were better than one big one. At the rate he was progressing it would be a career stopping screw up that finally caught him. It would be good for him to taste a little failure.
Early the next week I found myself standing in the rain watching yet another crime scene unfold before my eyes. A middle aged woman slain in the dark alleyway beside a bar, her purse lay torn on the ground nearby, its contents spilling out onto the wet pavement. Blood had pooled on the ground during the night, the rain water now washing it away down the alleyway and into the streets. I imagined it a horrific scene for the onlookers, but naught was to be done about it. Nature had its will and we were fools to circumvent it. Jacob appeared by my side, his approach silent as a wraith under the rhythmic fall of rain drops splattering on the pavement.
“This case was solved before it began,” he said solemnly, “the perp couldn’t have left more clues for us.”
“Nothing is ever certain, you would do well to learn that.” I tempered those words as well I could, knowing that this would be the case Jacob would never forget.
That evening I went through and scanned his past case files, looking for something, anything that I could use against him. I had to find something he lacked to capitalize on; so that blame was unlikely to ever fall on his superior. And suddenly it was there staring me in the face. He had once misplaced a key piece of evidence and caused a trial for assault to be put on hold several weeks, so it would strike no one odd if he made the same mistake again, except maybe him.
I left then, a smile on my face and a plan newly hatched in my head. I cooked dinner for my wife, helped the kids study, and set them to bed. But my thoughts were elsewhere. I crept out silently as the clock struck midnight and headed to the precinct; the security guard Bobby waved me by with only a glance.
“Forgot something,” I said with practiced ease. Ten minutes and I was out, the evidence was gone permanently, and Jacob would be left to answer for it. I could see the look on his face, and it was nirvana. The suspect might not be convicted, a murderer unpunished, but that was the price of real justice.
I dreamt deeply that night. Images of my years as a detective streamed through my unconscious mind, and everywhere I saw his face, taunting me. I realized then what he was, and what I had been as well, an abomination of nature. Law and order served only to condemn natural behavior, and without those to act upon their baser instincts, would madness not descend upon us all? Nothing in life was so sure as death, and I had denied justice to those wielding it.
When I awoke that next morning I was changed, I felt truly awake in a way that I had never before. It was with great certainty that I entered the court hearing that blistering autumn day, certain of my place in the world, my purpose. The time came, as I sat behind the bar in silence watching the proceedings, that Jacob was called forth as a witness. He stood tall and took his place in the witness stand, the fiery passion of the law was more apparent in his eyes that day than ever before. His words were precise and measured, his demeanor reflecting experience and age, neither of which he had, and more than ever it angered me.
The evidence was called for, and failed to arrive. Jacob became blustered, and he seemed neither the confident young man or legend of precinct thirty-two, his youth finally showing through the guise of mastery he hid behind each day. The glee spread unwilling over my face, and only with great will power did I manage just a grin as the first stepping stone in the end of his career fell into place. Afterwards he was quiet and reserved, the very opposite picture that he had always painted. I patted him on the back then as we walked down the long hallway out of the courthouse, the walls covered with portraits of evil men who had served law blindly as he had.
“There will always be more to catch detective,” I said with falsely sympathetic words as we came to a stop outside on the sidewalk. “He will be convicted with or without the murder weapon, you’ll see.” He said nothing, only turned and walked away. The verdict came not guilty several weeks later, and Jacob quit his job soon after, a cloud of shame still following him everywhere.
Since then many detectives have come and gone, and with them many criminals justly released to the freedom that nature wills all her animals enjoy. I never did find out what happened to Jacob Singer, only that his body was discovered in his apartment some months ago. The rumor was suicide, and I suppose that in some small way I feel sorrowful that he had to be the one to spark my flame, when his had in its own twisted way, burned so much brighter.
Here's the first draft of what may be the prelude for my next vampire novel. Maybe. Currently running with the title Aleister LaVoi. Not really much substance or meaning in the prelude, but everything has to start somewhere.
The Prelude
“Monsieur LaVoi?” A man in an expensive looking suit hollered over the roar of Benny Benassi’s Satisfaction, into my dark back booth. I raised my brown eyes from the glow of my laptop screen, my fingers still tapping constantly on the keyboard as the chain that ran from my ear to my lip fell onto my cheek. I stopped typing and ran one hand through hair dyed black with blue tips.
“Who do you represent?” I asked before taking a swig of my frosted bottle of Kieth’s. My eyes looked over the man, following his uncomfortable shifting from foot to foot, and the way his eyes followed the ebb and flow of the crowd at Axebait, the gothic techno bar on William Street in Upper Innsmouth. The man moved stiffly into the red cushioned booth, and sat across from me. He pulled an ivory white business card from his pocket and placed it flat on the table between us before sliding it over to me. I glanced at it, reading over Lawrence Corelli, Viewmount Securities Inc. written in raised red lettering.
“Monsieur LaVoi, we’ve heard about your progress from some of your professors at Innsmouth University. Designing and implementing an advanced firewall and security system, with dynamic adaptive AI is quite a feat. We would like to acquire your services.”
“Contract work?” I asked curtly, my eyes returning to the work in front of me, “Not interested.”
“No Monsieur. We were thinking of something permanent. We offer full benefits, including moving expenses. We’d like to start you off at $120 000 a year.” The man shifted uncomfortably as the music continued to blare in the background.
“Job description?” I asked as I sat back and took another drink. For the first time I bothered to give him my full attention.
“Head of electronic security system operation. Create and upkeep a high tech security system and lead a team of developers in the upkeep and adaptability of the programs and interfaces in use. The system must be rock solid, no holes, and impervious to viral attack of any sort.”
“Why don’t you just buy my program when it comes online?” I raised an eyebrow inquisitively.
“Systems change. Hackers evolve. The program is good now, but we want the creator of it, to ensure its applicability later.” I smirked, containing laughter.
“That’s all you want me for?” The man nods, “Where do I sign?”
“It’s at the office. My Mercedes is just outside. I’ll have my driver bring us there and we can get you oriented immediately.” I shrugged and finished my beer before folding up my laptop and following the stiff businessman from the bar. His shiny black Mercedes came complete with tinted windows. My eyes weigh heavily as the car begins rolling.
“Don’t worry, you’ve made the right decision.” The man said as he smiled and moved closer to me. A metallic smell wafted off his breath and I leaned back further in the seat, held in place by my seatbelt.
“Now you’ll be with us forever.” The driver let out a high pitched laugh, and I swung my eyes to him for a moment. Suddenly a weight descended upon me, pinning me in place. I tried to turn my head, but hands held it to the side. I screamed at the sudden pain, at the liquid warmth running down my arm and staining the seats.
“Welcome to Viewmount Securities Monsieur LaVoi.” I heard the words as the world spun for the last time in my life and finally faded black.
Prologue (part 1): This World Needs A Savior
This is present day with all the intricacy of a sledgehammer. It was all very obvious. war was abrupt everywhere- except in the most obvious place- in the minds filled with the begging anticipation of hope. Here, war was as common as rumored. It is to be a place of common class and love ,and until the birth of the Neoswordmaster, there was no pandemonium whatsoever. When the Neoswordmaster arose, it didn't take long for the folk to realize The Neoswordmaster was destined to fight in the upcoming threat.
The courts master paced along the stone cold floor on which he stood, waiting for his messenger. This world needs a savior he thought repeatedly, and, he heard a call behind him:
"Courts Master Courts Master!" he yelled as he sped at him top speed, clutching a parchment letter. The courts master turned to him, and, as the quick-minded person he was, easily eluded him.
"Stop!"
The messenger stopped to a screeching halt, his eyes bulged just slightly out od astonishment. The courts master turned to him once again, and put his hands over his elbows as if to say: "I'm busy, what do you need?" The messenger revealed a quick shiver.
"C-Courts M-m-Master, we have a th-threat letter from our e-enemy Xal." he stammered.
"XAL?!" The Courts Master screamed "WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY SO!" He snatched te letter out of his hand:
I am afraid if you are resistant to surrendering, then my slave will do it for you. I am a man of my word, you fool, and it is best you give up now. We have outnumbered your king's pitiful solders, and The Neoswordmaster is of no use to you. Admit defeat now, or let your ruler fall under his castle ceiling in cold death.
The obvious thing for the courts master to do is fret frantically, but, as a real man, remained calm.
"Come here." The courts master beckoned. The messenger, as shy as he was, scotched toward him nervously.
"May you find King Buck Markus?"
"F-find him s-sir?"
"Yes, find him."
"He's um... I'll find him." He ran out of the speed he came in.
"Don't forget about the Swordmaster!" The Courts master called. He watched him run through the palace walls.
The Secret Society of Underground Gamers
Hurrying down an almost-deserted street in the brisk of the night. The sun was down, moon covered by clouds and the streetlights derelict beyond repair. Cracks in the pavement threatening to trip me did not slow me down – as I was late. My watch already rang 11.04, and there was always punishment for being late.
I began to slow. Looking at what looked like abandoned townhouses from the 1970’s, the numbers barely readable were my main focus. 43, 45, 47 …. Finally I reached 51, the place of this agenda which I knew oh so well.
Knocking on the door the secret knock. Tap-tap-tap … tap-ta-tap-tap-tap … tap … tap-ta-tap-tap-tap. The door suddenly flung open I jumped in, just before the door was slammed shut behind me.
I was greeted by a hooded being. I knew who he was, good old Karmus Indium Macquarie, but he did not know me. “Who shall be that who entered this room?” the hooded fellow asked.
“It is I, Marinus Consitus Genesis, co-leader of the federation of gamers of Nintendo and Head Consultant to the Gamers Federation. Who may you be?”
“I am Karmus Indium Macquarie, Social Chairman of the federation of gamers of Microsoft. Glad to see you again, Marinus”. At this point the hooded figure unveiled himself and, sure enough, it was Karmus. I unhooded myself and greeted him with a handshake.
“Sorry about being late, where will I be able to get into the meeting” I asked.
“Just down the hall. They don’t like lateness you know”.
“I don’t give a **** about what they like and don’t like, I just want to get as many Nintendo games as possible on the next shipment.”
As I walked down the hall, I could hear discussions which were occurring in the surrounding rooms. Parts of conversations were drifting out, “… this new set of TV’s, exclusive to Gerado, how will this effect the efficiency of games …”
As I walked into the hall, I was greeted with an abrupt “You’re Late, Marinus”. I took my seat at the edge of the circular table. “I’m afraid I was disrupted on my way here” I answered. “So, let us continue, fellow members of the Gamers Federation.
“I have the latest update of the video game shipment. As you know, the Government of Gerado is pulling all lengths to stop what they deem as ‘illegal entertainment’ … “
“How can they call video games ‘illegal entertainment?” speaks an old man from the other side of the table.
“… as I was saying, this is probably going to be the hardest shipment we have done. Years of planning come down to this shipment of games. And this shipment will provide many with years of entertainment …”
To Be Continued
When we (The Judges) are done judging :P ... I will post the scores.
Also, start working on next weeks entry, it is due by Friday March 16.
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