{ inklings writing contests } NEW CONTEST

[The Pirate Dragon]

Marking!

[FaerieBoy]

I would like to mark this. I'm a little curious on the rules, however, and shall PM you promptly.

[FaerieBoy]

..... It all started when I was five. I don't actually remember it, everything's a blur from eight years old and backwards, but that's supposedly when it started. That's when my brother, all fame and glory, first caught the attention of the world. My older brother, at only ten years old, had... Superpowers.

..... Some would think having a superhero as an older brother would be great, he'd protect you from bullies, and he'd do amazing things to you, but no. No, my brother was an absolute jerk to me. To the rest of the world, he was an angel, and to me he was the jerk-wad brother who's shadow I was always stuck in. Even if I had become a prodigy, I would never ever ever compare to him.

..... Life continued on for me, as I grew older, ten, then fifteen, and now twenty, having to hear about my brother's great talents every second of my life. It... It never ended. The thought of him made my head ache, and brought angry tears to my eyes.

..... My brother would fight great villains, and I always cheered on the villain, because I wanted someone to notice, I wanted him to notice... But he always won, fighting the villain, and succeeding, and throwing him into jail. Here I was, an unemployed pickpocket who watched his battles through the glass of a television store...

..... And then it happened. My brother wanted to come by, so of course I had to clean, I had to cook, I had to be a good little host~. I hated it. But then he came, and he spoke. He told me, "Eric, do you hate me?" I was dumbstruck, before I could finally speak in response. "N-No, of course not!" We spoke in strange casualty the entire evening. It was strangely comforting.

..... Soon his brother was off again, gone, saving the world and all that junk. And I was alone again. I was always alone...

..... And here I stare at the screen once more, through a dirty glass window of a store, watching my brother fight enemies, this time cheering him on. It was a strange new feeling. But something was different. Charles wasn't... He wasn't winning... I watched as our hero, my brother, then died right before my eyes.

..... It was then, and only then, that I understood something. I wasn't different from my brother. I had superpowers too. And were they god awful. They corrupted me, and somehow... I liked it.

[Ranger of the North]

Prompt entering:

In this contest, you will write a story from the outsider's perspective. Not the
hero of the day, not the ruler of a rebellion—simply an outsider. You may use
any story, even if it's a made up one.

Inspired by:

Jesus's birth; Christmas, and all that. (Written beforehand.)

The Story

Away in a manger...

xxxxxBy God’s bidding an angel descended and spoke to a woman. They spoke of many wondrous things, and the girl trembled with the fear and wonder of it all while the trees bowed down to listen, budding joy curling up from their trunks to the tips of their youngest branches.
xxxxxThe time had come, the messenger said, for God’s Rescue Plan to commence. And she, Mary, would conceive and bear forth a son.
xxxxx“But how?” she queried, troubled and trembling like a new-bloomed flower in the sun. “I am a virgin.”
xxxxxThe trees stretched forward eagerly, gentle green fingers anxious to hear every word spoken; would their lord truly come?
xxxxx“Do not be afraid, Mary,” the messenger replied, “for you have found favour with God. You will remain a virgin, yet give birth to a son; his name will be Yehoshua. Emmanuel—God with us.”
xxxxxAt his words the trees rejoiced and clapped their hands, singing with silent tongues as they flung their limbs skyward, praising their lord for deigning to save their crippled planet.
xxxxxPure joy rippled through their twigs; their leaves whispered the news to a passing wind, and deep down in the soil their very roots groaned in ecstasy, crooning it to the passing grubs and grass-shoots.

No crib for his bed...

xxxxxThe grass soaked the news through their roots; heard the wind roaring it to the world as it wound and danced above the hilltops, and their little heads glowed golden in rapturous delight.
xxxxx“The king is coming!” they whispered among themselves, and sighed in ecstasy to think that their lord still cared.
xxxxxWondrous joy was so great in their slender stalks that they danced in the good dirt, flinging their young seeds to the wind that they, too, might hear the good news.

The little lord Jesus lay down his sweet head...

xxxxxPricking their ears, the lambs and sheep of the meadow raised their heads, grass hanging from their mouths like green whiskers as the birds sang out in the dark of night.
xxxxx“It’s time! It’s time! The king comes tonight!” their warbling songs danced over the night-green fields like joyful bells, and the sheep trundled to their feet, bleating urgently for strayed lambs.
xxxxxExcitement and joy tingled like electricity in their wool, setting the lambs dancing with glee as they frolicked down the hillside, calling their shepherds to come pay tribute to the king.

The stars in the night-sky looked down where he lay...

xxxxxThe wind raced through the night, dancing as it whistled over hilltops and down into valleys. Cupping flowers in formless hands it whispered softly to their young buds, singing the Great News with a soundless voice; it danced on the green hills, tickling grass with fingerless hands and humming with the seeds.
xxxxxSuddenly bored, it shot up and swung from the branches of a tree, singing from the roots to the furthest leaf, and the planet trembled with joy.
xxxxxTrilling tunelessly the wind danced across the plains like a wraith, then, with a sudden flare of strength surged upward and carolled to the stars themselves before dipping down and dancing amongst the plants once more.
xxxxxHearing the joyful news the bright stars wonderingly turned their gaze to the scene below, watching as the wind hummed across the land and abruptly stilled, swirling around a small stable with motherly tenderness.
xxxxxMoving with eager speed the stars’ light trickled through crevices in the roof like liquid, peering curiously at the humble baby in the food-trough—and surprise dimmed the yearning light.
xxxxxThis was their lord? Their creator?
xxxxxStirring, the tiny baby opened his eyes a little—eyes that had seen all the glory of God’s throne-room; eyes alight with an unquenchable fire as comforting and innocent as it was formidable and wise—and a small, wavering cry issued from between toothless gums. Small, scrunched fists batted helplessly at his own tiny face, wanting his mother, and suddenly the starlight understood.
xxxxxIt listened, caressing the babe with fingers of light as the wood—the tree—fashioned as a manger sang with uncontainable joy. It watched in wonder as the grass beneath the small body cradled their lord tenderly, whispering amazed words of worship and praise. And, as the lambs nervously stepped forward with their awestruck shepherds, the starlight understood.
xxxxxTheir lord loved them enough to become the humblest of creatures; loved them with such a love that he had arrived with the smallest beginning of all, allowing his creation to welcome him into the world.
xxxxxThis, the starlight knew, was for them the greatest gift of all.

The little lord Jesus asleep in the hay

[watermelon.]

a new contest has been added on the front page, please check it out!

[The Pirate Dragon]

Looks cool! I may consider donating some prizes soon.

[Greenleaf]

Thought this looked cool, so I gave it a try. Hope I'm doing this correctly! I haven't written anything in a while so this was good practice.

Prompt #1:

Jim was twelve when he first saw the riots happening in the capital on the silenced TV. He glanced up from where he’d been playing on his PS3 and was startled to see massive crowds gathering onscreen below the houses of the government, waving signs that with black bold words like “JUSTICE FOR DEVIANTS” and “WE’RE THE SAME AS YOU”, mouths moving in inaudible shouts. He didn’t know what drew him to keep watching, but he did, letting the player die in his game as he let it drop, forgotten, onto the seat. He was struck by the emotion he could see in the protesters’ eyes, the passion. It was pouring rain and yet these people doggedly stuck it out, screaming to the heavens even as their clothes were plastered to their skin.

“Hmph,” his mother sniffed, rustling her newspaper with a snap as if shielding herself from the images onscreen. “This is all they bother covering, nowadays. Don’t they have anything interesting to show?”

Jim didn’t know what his mother was talking about. He’d seen deviants before in films and all that, for who hadn't? The very video game he was playing had the main character fighting off a huge crime cartel all composed of them, the boss of which was seven feet tall and breathed fire. Once he had passed by a real deviant on the street - they were usually indistinguishable from the rest of the population, of course, and usually kept their abilities hidden from the public eye, but once he’d seen a woman in a café filling up her cup with water generated from thin air, and his mother had dragged him out at once, pressing his face uncomfortably into her arm and ordering him not to look. But this was the first time he’d seen a deviant up close, even if it was through a screen. He wondered how the news crews were filming this. They zoomed in on a young girl hardly older than himself, and her springy curls were pressed limply to her head even as her eyes stood out starkly from her dark face, staring defiantly into the camera as if daring it to judge her for standing up for her rights. Jim shivered at the sheer intensity of her gaze.

“Give it a rest, honey,” his father said lightly as he passed by. “It’ll likely be ending soon - look! The police are already coming.” And they were - multicoloured lights filled the screen and soon the protesters were scattering every which way as uniforms swarmed the area.

“Why are they still protesting?” Jim asked, dumbfounded. “Don’t they know they’ll get arrested if they don’t stop?” Even as he spoke, one man had his sign knocked out of his hand and was forced to his knees by an officer, but the smile was, unbelievably, huge on his face.

“Oh, the freaks just never know when to give up,” his father chuckled. “Almost admirable, if you can overlook what they are. Don’t ever get yourself involved with one of those, Jimmy.” He pointed a finger sternly at him. “It’ll only get you into trouble.”

Jim nodded distractedly, still glued to the television. The girl deviant from before was now being cuffed, but the proud look in her eyes remained even as the camera suddenly shuddered and panned downwards as the journalists were shooed away. After the television was switched off and he was tucked into bed hours later, he still couldn't forget that look. He lay awake for a long time after that, beginning to question for the first time exactly how, besides the obvious, deviants were considered so unlike normal people, and wondering if they were really that different from each other in the first place.

[Megaguirus]

Entry for contest number two:

Warning, this is just a one-shot with minor edits.

Song: Off With Her Head - Icon For Hire

They've come.

She stood at her window, staring down at the soldiers storming her gates. She knew this wouldn't last forever, but why now? Their cries were heard loud and clear despite being so far down. "Burn the witch!" they cried. "Make her pay for all that she's done to us!" The threats were clear. And without her spellbook, she was helpless. Her dirty blonde hair, with raven feathers scattered in it, was matted from her running her claws through it. The dragon wings that now made up her arms were torn and tattered from a previous fight. She was grounded, and all of her healing pixie dust had been stolen along with the spellbook.

There was nowhere for her to go. She was just biding her time for them to burn down her castle.

"Can't say I didn't warn you," a voice said from behind.

Her nerves were so tense that she whipped around and would've snapped the figure in two with her tail if it was solid. "Fancy seeing you here!" she screeched at the figure. "You always do come at the worst of times."

The figure appeared at the window and looked down at the army, laughing. "Wow, they really hate you, don't they?"

"What do you think?" the witch snapped in reply, crossing her wings.

"Ooh, they even have sorcerers of their own," the figure mocked.

"Shut up and help me! There must be something you can do." she pleaded.

The figure laughed. "I'm sorry, but I'm not here to help. Warn, sure, but help? Oh no, you're soul is already damned, it would be pointless."

"Then why are you even here?"

"To enjoy the show." the figure replied sitting down on the witches throne.

The witch grabbed her staff and pointed the purple bauble on top down at the soldiers. "A curse, on all of you!" she shouted and used whatever magic the thing had left in it at the army. They fled a little ways away to avoid the lightning bolt, but once the fire went out, they resumed their witch hunt. She growled and broke the staff, throwing the two pieces at them like javelins.

She turned back around so quickly the spikes at the end of her dragon tail scraped on the brick, causing a horrible screeching sound for a moment. She didn't flinch, though, she was used to making those sounds. "If only that man didn't steal my spellbook and clip my wings, I would be able to fight those fools off!" she yelled at the figure.

"Hey," it said with a shrug, "Don't go yelling at me, I didn't steal it. Besides, we all know you let him. Come on, after thirty years of this, anybody would give it up. Admit it, despite your fears, you want this."

She looked at the figure, tears running down her cheeks and staining the dragon-bone masquerade mask on her face. One of the crown-like horns was already broken from her panic. "But must it be this way? Why the burning, and pitchforks and sorcerers?"

"Because you're a witch, that's what they do." the figure stood and walked towards her. "Every witch comes to this fate one way or another. Should've had fire as your element, maybe you'd be immune to it."

Suddenly a crash and clatter was heard and they rushed to the window. The gates had been broken, as were the castle doors. They're coming inside. She panicked and threw as much furniture as she could at her door to block it.

"You can prevent it as long as you can, but there's no hope it avoiding it."

The witch let out with a scream before falling to her knees. "I don't want this! Save me! Get me out of this!"

The soldiers were quick, for soon there was pounding on the door. She turned to watch through tear stained eyes as the door and furniture shook.

"Burn the witch!" they called. "Off with her head!"

She stood again and grabbed a sword. "I'm not going to go down without a fight. I'll kill them." she said through her sharp teeth.

"Wow, you went from sad to angry really quick," the figure mumbled as she saw the witch poised for a fight.

Eventually, the door broke down and the furniture was heaved, chopped or thrown aside.

"Evelyn Black, Scourge of Thridlemire, we've come here to arrest you." the leader of the guards announced.

"Not without a fight!" she screamed and charged at them. She was a good fighter, killing many men with her wings, sword, or tail, but in the end, a sorcerer cast a spell on her, which tied her limbs with chains. She struggled and growled, but was no match for the magic. She looked at the figure watching from afar and begged her. "Please! Do something. Save me!"

The figure did not reply, and the soldiers, who could not see it, spoke among each other. "Wow, she really is insane isn't she? Talking to nothing."

The Scourge of Thridlemire was dragged, squirming and screaming, out of her castle. Once they all were out, one of the sorcerers cast it ablaze, and the witch was forced to watch her castle burn. Tomorrow, the same fate would befall her. Standing on the sidelines was the ever-prominent figure, watching the scene with an emotionless gaze.

"There is one thing I can do, Evelyn," it said in a whisper. "I'll meet you in the dungeons,"

[Bunny!!]

-mark-

[TheSongOfTheStars]

viewtopic.php?f=57&t=2709844&p=90732505#p90732505 for contest #2, the song is linked at the top of the post.