Fortnightly Writing Comp. – „... A LIGHT IN THE DARK ...“ (24/3 - 7/4) *WINNER!*

[Tabata]

Just a short note inbetween:

My next messages in this thread for you will be done in „stealth- mode“,
that's the reason, why I want to tell you „personally“ already today,
how happy I am about such a lot of great stories untill now ... .
...and it still seems to come more!       

I am proud being a member of this forum with a lot of nice people from all around the world,
helping each other and having fun together.

   

        Tabata

[straydogstrut]

Aww that's really nice Tabata=)

Not 100% yet but feeling well enough today to finish my story. This can't be counted though as it's past even the extended deadline. I have no problem with that - please, no sympathy votes! - I just really enjoyed taking part anyway. Thanks for arranging this competition Tabata, it was a really good one to get the creative juices flowing=)

This is complete fiction by the way - probably best to think of it as set on an imaginary world entirely - so any similarities with our world are purely coincidental. <-- that's my get out clause for anything that's inaccurate;-)

It's a bit wordy since I have a real problem being brief, so here it is as a pdf for anyone who wants to read it.

Thanks.

[Atelier]

Take the Bait

The rain had eased, leaving a heavy, scented air.

A stranger paced a platform, which gleamed like ice under the cold, solitary lamplight. Dominating the starscape were mountains which reared like the silvery teeth of ice gods. The train was due any minute. His contact had not appeared. And several men were picking their way up the track in the darkness.

From his travel-worn suitcase, plastered with stamps from across the globe, the stranger produced several items.

A pair of assault gloves.
A pristine combat knife.
A compact tactical bag.
And a Ruger, LCR, with tritium dot sight.

Without hesitating, he jammed a moon clip into the revolver, and hurled the suitcase into some bushes. He clipped on the tactical bag so it hugged his deadly muscles tightly, then like a fox he crept back to the shadow of a doorway, far from the stare of the light.

The scraping of hobnail boots was drawing closer. He couldn't see for darkness. His hands trembled gently; but he was never scared. His eyes twitched slightly; but he never flinched. His missions had left scars which could not be seen. For tonight only, his name was Phantom.

There was a shuffling, as at least four men mounted the platform. With absolute precision they spread out and adopted vigilant stances on the platform. All four men were swaddled in black, so as to melt into the very night. They all carried assault rifles with night scopes, through which they surveyed the night like owls searching for mice.

Phantom could see their breath form soupy clouds in the lamp light. Adrenaline surged through his body and hijacked his senses. He saw like an eagle, heard like a hare, and his heart roared like a lion. He clamped the knife between his teeth and tightened the gloved grip on his revolver. One of the men was backing up right towards him. They were almost level with the alcove.

In one swift movement Phantom lunged out at him like a trap-door spider, thrust his knee into the small of his back, put his hand over his mouth, and snapped his neck backwards which a crunch. The sound of their companion's gargling dispatch drew the gaze of the three others and their barrels.

With phenomenal speed, Phantom aimed his pistol's dot sight at the lamp, and dealt a .38.

The night went black, at least until the blinding flash and smoke from Phantom's Ruger settled, and so descended Hell with three demons.

In the pitch black Phantom tore from the alcove, his knife raised, just as a cone of light from a rifle torch snatched a glimpse of him. Three others sprang up like searching eyes, darting madly back and forth.

At that moment Phantom heard the train fly into the station like a missile. Its lights were dimmed. It pulled neatly up to the platform and a door swung open as planned. A shadow beckoned for Phantom in the doorway. This was no commuter train.

Phantom ran as the bullets snapped at his heels. Like a wolf, he leapt off the platform and made a rolling dive into the carriage. The door slammed behind him as it was punctured with several rounds. The train shook as the engines engaged, and it screamed out of the station like an untamed rocket.

The man in the carriage helped Phantom to his feet. "I'm Parrot," he said, lighting a cigarette and sucking on it like fresh air. "A man of many colours. Your co-ordinator. And... where is the contact?"

They were in a cluttered utility room somewhere near the front of the train. Phantom slumped on a box. "Our contact defaulted," he explained, filling the one empty slot in his Ruger. "I was set up. Four men appeared out of nowhere; the bastards were good. No government army packs people and weapons of that calibre. I... managed to help one on their way." Phantom looked down at his hands. He still had the blood snaked around his fingers like scarlet ribbon.

Parrot, a mysterious man with beady eyes and a hooked nose, took a long drag and stared into the distance. Phantom didn't like him. Usually his mediators looked more like civvies than ex-army brutes.

After a moment of silence, Parrot flicked his cigarette into the shadows. The train was still rumbling along at breakneck speed. The bulb overhead flickered as it jolted over bumps in the track.

"You didn't meet the contact at all?" he asked intensely.

"No," replied Phantom. "The bastard double crossed us."

"Then I have one word of advice, my friend." Parrot exhaled the last lingering smoke from his lungs with satisfaction. "Before you get in a car... check who's driving."

Phantom stood up and grabbed his Ruger. In a flash Parrot kicked it from his hand and it went skidding down the carriage. Phantom countered by throwing a blow that cracked his opponent's jaw and sent him staggering, then he grabbed his head from behind and drove it down to his awaiting knee. There was a click and a spurt of blood as Parrot's nose broke. Phantom jabbed his stomach and Parrot collapsed on the floor, winded, dazed, and clawing at his broken nose.

Phantom lunged for his Ruger. He thrust the barrel of the LCR onto Parrot's temple.

"Who the fuck are you!" Phantom growled. "I swear to God, I swear to God, I'll ki-"

The door at the end of the carriage burst from its frame. A man stepped in with a heavy machine gun at his hip. It roared like a buzz saw and didn't stop. Phantom dived out the way behind a metal cage. The utility room was filled with smoke and bullets richocheted everywhere like hornets. Parrot was caught in the crossfire and was shredded like grass against a lawnmower. His blood scattered for metres and streamed down the wall like crimson raindrops.

As suddenly as it had started, the machine gun stopped eating the mag. The last cartridges jingled on the floor and rolled down the aisle of the turbulent train. The whole carriage was filled with electrifying tension.

A skylight caught Phantom's eye. It had stopped flashing like a stroboscope, and he suddenly got a build up of immense pressure in his ears; the train had entered a long tunnel. The Ruger's red laser slashed the air like a wound - it was heavy with gun smoke. Phantom squeezed the trigger and took out the glass of the skylight.

In slow motion, Phantom vaulted the cage, sent a few rounds at the machine-gunner mid-air, and grabbed the rim of the skylight. The jagged glass cut into his fingers. The man at the doorway went prone as the 38s zipped over his head. By the time he returned fire, Phantom had hauled himself through the skylight.

Above, the wind in Phantom's ears was deafening. It robbed the air from his lungs and ran its icy fingers through his hair. He clung to the roof of the train, trying to keep his centre of gravity as low as possible. Even that was not enough. The ravenous train was eating up the rails. Fast. Phantom couldn't hold on for long.

On the opposite track another train was approaching. It was a focus of light in the long, harrowing darkness. Phantom pulled out his combat knife and held it with an iron grip. There was only one chance. He unclipped his tactical bag and cast it off the side. The wind toyed with it before it tumbled to the ground.

The other train finally drew level with a rush of air. Phantom leapt across with extraordinary agility and tumbled onto the other roof. He slipped. He dug his combat knife into the top of the train. The metal buckled and gave way. With a terrifying wrench the knife slid down through the metal like it was butter. Phantom held on for his life.

The man appeared through the skylight on the opposite train. He flared up his machine gun as they rapidly got further and further away. The windows of the carriage Phantom was dangling upon shattered, and inside people screamed. Phantom suddenly felt a searing pain in his leg, like a hundred stubborn biting crabs, or hungry vultures dissecting his leg. His legs were pumped with bullets in a zig-zag pattern like a sewing machine on fabric.

With a snarl, Phantom used his free arm and shot at the man on the other roof. It wasn't precision, it was luck. The bullet passed straight through his heart. With open eyes, the man slipped from the roof. He slid between the two trains and his carcass popped under the wheels.

Phantom's sinewy arm was straining to hang on. The two end carriages had just passed one another. The knife lurched. He had to let go!

He let his hand slip from the handle.

Phantom crawled on his hands and knees to the embankment. He hazily blacked out.

[Calin Leafshade]

MY TURN!

I did a reading too if anyone would prefer to listen rather than read :p

http://www.thethoughtradar.com/VA/Scary.ogg


Horror at 3am

I heard a noise downstairs.
Not quick nor sharp but a gentle hum in the dark punctuated only slightly by a cat's meow coming from beyond the car park.
I brought my attention to the quick, climbing out of bed whilst giving my ears a slight flick and putting a newly blazing flame to a nearby candle wick.
It wasn't that i was scared as a I ventured carefully down the flight of endless wooden stairs but I thought that perhaps I should say my prayers given the admittedly unlikely possibility that my kitchen might be home to some hungry bears.

I saw a light beyond my diminutive little efflorescence, too dim to betray the presence of an unseen agent of vengeance clamouring for my quick demise but I pressed on, knowing only that the truth may set me free from this ever-present feeling of what just 'might be' and maybe allow me to get some god-damn sleep!

Reaching the bottom of the stair case I did a sharp about-face coming face to face with the shaft of light extruding itself across the floor. Step by step I advance upon the door becoming ever more aware of just what I've got myself in for and just as i reach the wooden pane carved from trees of yore I stop.

And wait.

And listen.

The noise and light which emanated from the door-crack to my right played into their hands and elevated my mind quickly to a height which could only be described as fright. Should I take flight or stand and fight? What if they over power me and leaving me bleeding in the night?

That's it! I had to do it! I flung wide the door and planted my feet like I meant it. "Begone!" I shouted "Back to hell, fiend!"

Silence.

Now, I don't know if it was the fact that I'd spoken or the silence that I'd broken but the monster stood in my kitchen quite frozen. I adjusted my stance, scanning the room for a weapon to be chosen but then my eyes adjusted to the lack of motion and it seemed that, in fact I had simply left the fridge open.

[Dualnames]

"It was around 1986 or so, when I got to meet her", he said. He paused for a bit.

He put his left hand on his pocket.

"It wasn't a very nice time to live in, but then again when a person looks back, it can't be helped to feel nostalgic", he added, glancing occasionally up.

"It's not like anyone remembers the bad times when looking back.

It's not like it matters really. Not to her.

It didn't matter ", he said and drank a bit of water from a glass he had next to him. He spilled some, but he didn't seem to notice.

"It can be said we were friends", he continued "But I felt it was much more. It wasn't love in the sense that everyone considers love to be. It was caring.
Caring not to see a person get hurt. Mentally and physically."

She'd say it probably was, what it was. That would be more like her. Everyone knows how we met, so I won't bother anyone with that story. I always told that story though", he smiled.

"Even when she was present, she'd have me, no wait, ah.. force me, to be the one to tell that story", he said and suddenly it was apparent that he was struggling with himself. 

"I wonder how she'd tell the story herself," he closed his eyes for a moment, and a tear started falling from his eye to his cheek."How would she describe me", the tear kept falling, "what kind of things would she mention."

The tear was almost near the edge of his left cheek.

"The last time I saw her, she told me Don't be a light in the dark. They'll blow you like a candle."

And then it fell.

[Gilbert]

(Since Tabata is in Stealth mode ATM I'll take over the voting and announcement tasks for her.)

**VOTING**
------------------
Our writers did present wonderful stories to this competition, but who did the best job?
As you know, I'm not very good into English but I want it to be fair. There may be nuances, I don't recognize or simply don't understand the meaning of a phrase correctly.

Therefore I want everyone, who did read the stories:
Please give your voting for the winner-story!

For making decision, please think about:

Which one meets all requirements best and who was able to wake a feeling, matching the chosen interpretation of the theme?

I know, this is quite hard, because we have several veeery good entries. Myself won't be able to vote (no internet avaliable for me these days :-( ), but Iceboty was very kind to me and gave my post to you.

I hope you can agree to this process and participate in very active.

Let's give it 24 hours,

starting: NOW!

So, who wrote your favorite story?

[Atelier]

Domithan!

[Jimbob]

Ponch!

[straydogstrut]

If the 7/4 deadline isn't coming into play then i'd vote for Calin's. Otherwise, my vote goes to Domithan. Both brilliant pieces regardless and I can see Calin's working well as an illustrated children's book. He should seriously consider self publishing this;-)

[Gilbert]

The comp has been extended (either way, I'll consider it closed just after the voting process started anyway, and thus all entries count), so I'll take your vote as for Calin.

Seems that not many people have voted atm, I'll wait a bit and see whether I should extend the voting period for 1 more day.

[Anian]

Yeah, I guess my vote will go to Calin as well, it had a nice tone and quite good use of the text size constraint.
Close behind would be Oddysseus and Jimbob's. But seriously, all were rather good entries and entertaining in their own way.

p.s. straydog, why did you copyright the story?  

[kconan]

Ponch

[LRH]

Hmmmm I'll say Ponch's too.

[Dualnames]

I'm saying Ponch as well.

[Oddysseus]

Really strong competition this time round. Ponch's read like the opening chapter of a great novel, and Atelier's reminded me of the super-spy stuff I used to write in high school... lots of fun.

But my vote goes to straydogstrut, because I think the writing style was the best overall. I could really picture everything, and it read like a published story.

[Ponch]

Ponch's read like the opening chapter of a great novel

Thanks. Ever since I wrote it, I find myself going back to that world whenever I have a chance to let my mind wander. There were loads of tidbits I thought of but didn't include because I didn't want to turn it into some sort of jumbo-sized entry. But I think I may make an AGS game out of that story one of these days.

Also, I'd love to vote for Ponch (I hear he suffered a terrible humiliation in the last MAGS contest and is still crying himself to sleep every night ) but that would probably be gauche. So I'm voting for Atelier instead. Very groovy stuff.

[straydogstrut]

p.s. straydog, why did you copyright the story?  

Uhh force of habit?? I know copyright is automatic, but nothing says 'violators will be shot' better than a big neon err.. footnote. Nah, feel free to run with it if it gives you an idea. In the unlikely event that you make your millions from my stories, a little mention wouldn't go amiss;-)

But my vote goes to straydogstrut, because I think the writing style was the best overall. I could really picture everything, and it read like a published story.

Wow, thank you for the kind words! That's really made my day=D

[Gilbert]

(Alright. It's time!)

***WINNER***
--------------------

We have some new owners of post lamps!

I am proud, to present you:
= Ponch for giving "his perve...great story" to us (4 votes)
= Calin Leafshade for doing "Horror at 3am" (2 votes)
= Domithan,  straydogstrut and Francis de Mont for the entries of "The Library", "The Veil of Light" and "Take the Bait" respectively (1 vote each)

I want to thank you all for participating!

... and a special extra "Tank you" to my rescuer, for sending my posts, while I'm not able to:     Iceboty

It was a pleasure for me, that I was allowed to host this competition.

Well, if you are still without a lamp post, please take this one: ... as a little memory for writing a story about "... a light in the dark...".

And now it's time to pass the torch to Ponch, who is next coming up with a new theme.

Wish you all a very happy easter and

C U somewhere around in the forum - Tabata
---------------------------------
Thank you very much again

Tabata

[Atelier]

Nooooooo Calin beat me

[Ponch]

Nooooooo Calin beat me

And you wrote two stories! That should count for something!

Anyhoo, thanks for all the votes, everyone.    I'll try to get a theme for the next contest together in a day or two.