Adventure Game Studio

Okay then, let's hope that Kelma (our last competitions winner) is well and go on with writing:

I would like to read your storys about „ ... a light in the dark ...“.

There are lots of lights to show someone a possible way to go, like a star, a lit candle in the window or it may be a thought. So you may use the theme for a romance, sci-fi or even a horror-story. Let your phantasie go...

You are free in interpretation but let it be part of the title of your story and make us happy, sad or shudder while reading â€" whatever feeling you like to wake.

I'm sure, you all know about the light at the end of the tunnel!?
Beware!

Spoiler

It could be the next train!

[close]

So, now it's your turn -   (http://www.smilies.4-user.de/include/Schilder/1-towork.gif)  and have fun!

If we get a minimum of three stories, I'll do my best to present some trophies for the winners, who want it. (http://www.smileygarden.de/smilie/Schilder/trust_me-001.gif)


(Please let me know, if I made a mistake somewhere)


Edit:
Hopefully a nice little memory for the winners with the best stories about “... a light in the dark...“:

                   (http://www.bildermonster24.de/images/313_light01.gif)                    (http://www.bildermonster24.de/images/394_light02.gif)                    (http://www.bildermonster24.de/images/971_light03.gif)

... and because no one should be left alone in the dark, there is a participation-award, too:

                                                    (http://www.bildermonster24.de/images/648_light04ff.gif)


Edit:

We take the chance to get some more nice stories for all of us and give it two more days!

                                                                       (http://bestsmileys.com/writer/1.gif)

                                                new deadline is set to Saturday, 09th of April

greetings

Tabata

Now closed. Congratulations to Ponch!

Do I have to worry about “the silence” in here?   (http://bestsmileys.com/water/16.gif)

Did I choose a wrong theme (I thought, that it was possible to be interpreted in a lot of differend ways), or are you all working on an epic story?

If you want the thread closed for coming up with a new theme or some examples to start with, just tell me ... What ever you want. It would be no problem. I only want you all to have fun with this.

Don't worry at all. There's almost always silence almost the whole time until a few days until the deadline  :)

The theme's great, I'll try to come up with something  ;)

Yeah!
I am relieved! - Thanks for your nice words Oliwerko!   (http://smilies-smilies.de/smilies/community/jep.gif)

I'll start to tinker with the trophies then  ...   (http://bestsmileys.com/thinking/8.gif)

Tabata, you are an emoticon addict!

 ;D

I saw your post earlier Tabata, but Oliwerko's answer beat me to it. I agree; I think it's a great topic and I will definitely try to enter this one too.

A Year Without Light

After the second month, I think I had finally accepted it. Sounds came through with a renewed clarity, every scent began to reveal more secrets of my surroundings, and my hands built up shapes in my head of the places around me. I was still bitter, I guess; there were always things - patterns and colours - that I was going to miss. My memory still acted out with images of how things once were, but more and more I had to rely on my other senses.

I think when I realised the things I could still do, the things I could at least fall back on, maybe half a year later, like continue to interact with my friends and family, just to talk and laugh, to read (at least, it took me longer to get through a novel than it used to, my fingers were still slow without practice) and to make music. Oh music! There were hurdles to overcome, of course; I had always tried to practice the guitar with my eyes closed, but now I had no choice.

Back in the beginning I used to hide away in my music collection as if it was the only thing I could enjoy anymore, as if that damn accident had actually ended my life right there but then cruelly left me in some afterlife limbo of darkness. Eventually, I realised that instead of music being an insular activity I could really use it to be myself again, a form of expression I had forever took for granted before.

I have the time to just sit and think a lot now, and at least three months ago I started to feel comfortable actually talking about it to people. The usual questions would come up, "How do you cope without it?", "What do you most miss?", but I felt I could answer them confidently now. It's weird that it should've taken this long, I always thought I'd be ready for anything, but as is often the case - it doesn't always work out that way.

Nowadays, there's the occasional science report I hear that talks about electronic retinas and wired links to the visual cortex; the miracle of sight restoration becoming a reality in the modern age. But I think I've finally found my own light at the end of the tunnel. If offered, I'm not sure I would say 'yes'...


[This is completely fictional. I've got terrible eyesight, and whilst at the moment glasses and contact lenses mean I'm okay, I'm still terrified that one day I'll go blind. So I guess this is kinda how I hope I would be able to take it.]

The Library

Mold rolls down each dark, dampened wall
And there sit in silence my books in each hall

I sit quietly here, in the center by myself
As I decide which is next to be plucked from the shelf

You see these people are the only I've got
Ever since that day, when the world began to rot

Still,I think it lucky the only light I've got left
Was a lamp I'd taken from the store, a shameless theft

It was the last of days and they all took things
Yet theirs were useless... money or golden rings

It was I that had the wisdom and experience to see
That these material tragedies would be useless to me

I watched the fires roar and consume them alive
Yet I somehow escaped to this home with one faithful dive

Now all else is gone and all there is here
Are millions of books, and not one single peer

In one swift moment I heard a horrid sound
Everything dark, and nothing around

Tragedy always strikes twice, this is truth, this is right
For you see, the bulb has just died on my light.

Quote from: Tabata on Thu 24/03/2011 16:26:17
If we get a minimum of three stories, I'll do my best to present some trophies for the winners, who want it. (http://www.smileygarden.de/smilie/Schilder/trust_me-001.gif)

That's great!
We already have some stories and some more are announced!  :D  Thank you!

It was about time to do the trophies and I thought, that maybe some „lights“ for the winners as trophy would be a nice memory of this theme.

They are placed now in the first post to "enlighten" all writers.

So please play rollercoaster with our feelings and go on with posting your wonderful storys!

Darkness. Always the same darkness. Perfect in its blackness. Some days, the only thing about this job Venn could stand was this one moment before the light. This ephemeral moment inside the helmet when nothing in the world existed. A perfect darkness for a man who had nothing but shadows left in him. How far had he gone to find this darkness?

“A man’ll go a long way for the right woman.” Gabrielle’s words. She was right.

At the thought of her, the light. It grew from a tiny pinpoint to a star that swallowed the black. He adjusted the valve until the light was a manageable thing, something he could control.

“A man’s gotta have a trade if he’s gonna get by in this world.” His father’s words. What passed for wisdom from the old man.

In the broiling confines of his welder’s mask, Venn Cody smiled. It wasn’t the sort of thing he did when other people could see his face. But here in the darkness, the rules didn’t apply. Gabrielle had taught him that.

Venn finished the last seam and lifted his mask, letting the world back in. Casually he thumbed the gas off and the welder died quietly, without protest. Just like his dad. He traced a gloved finger along the seam of the enormous pipe he straddled. The gorge yawning wide beneath him was so far below that it didn’t seem real. It had opened up the same day the world had cracked apart.

Well, he thought to himself, if the walls of the world hadn’t fallen down, then there wouldn’t be work for men like him, trying to patch it all together again. And there was still plenty of work out of there. Good thing too. This job was almost done. Another day or two and these pipes would be finished and ready to pull water up from The Dredge and out to the cities on the far side of the choking dust of The Drift.

Lots of thirsty people still clinging to life over there, he mused. And they paid a lot of money for water. Even shitty water like this. Not that Venn was gonna see all that much of that money.

“Tommy! Come in off there! Didn’t you hear the bell? Shift’s over! And it’s payday, jackass! What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?” The voice of his foreman carried across the gorge, mixing in with the wailing cries of the wind, and only barely reaching his ears.

“The Devil’ll always come if you call him.” His mother’s words. He still remembered the voice, but her face was long gone. Had it ever been there?

The job site was a ghost town. But that’s how it usually was after the shift was over. Doubly so on payday. Venn walked along the network of pipes snaking across the abyss, the safety line of his harness stuffed in his pocket, where it always was.

“Damn it, Tommy! What did I tell you about safety?” Porter hissed, holding out a helping hand that Venn ignored as he slid down the side of the pipe to the ledge that marked the edge of the site.

“Who remembers?” chuckled Venn, taking the envelope in Porter’s other hand. It would be filled with his wages: half company scrip and half cash money. Venn had just enough pull around here to demand that.

“Got this for you too,” Porter said, working his mouth around the wad of flavorless gum he chewed. “A ‘gram from some garage. Better not be a competitor trying to snake you off my site, Tommy boy. I can’t afford to lose no welders this close to finishing.”

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere till the job is done, Porter. You know that.”

Venn scanned the telegram. He didn’t recognize the name. But he recognized the address.

“I FOUND THAT THING YOU WERE LOOKING FOR. BRING YOUR BAG.”

Two minutes later, Venn Cody was in his room, a ramshackle affair fashioned out of an old cargo unit. It was a dump, but he had it all to himself. He had just enough pull around here for that too. The wind wailed mournfully in the half-open doorway.

The bag was an old saddlebag. All that was left of his bike. The bag was stuffed under his bed and everything of his old life was stuffed inside it. It smelled faintly of motor oil and old leather. He opened it and the smell filled the room.

The old jacket was scuffed, but the emblem was intact. A double F, one mirroring the other, stretching across the back of the jacket like a pair of wings. And beneath that the words ”The Few. The Free.”

There never were too many of us, mused Cody. And now there’s just the one.

Bundled inside the jacket was a pistol and thirty-one rounds of ammunition. His dad’s gun. Besides the know-how for welding, it was all he had left of the old man.

Inside the jacket was a lighter. It was almost out of lighter fluid. But what little it did have would be enough.

Venn closed the door to his room and the room was plunged into darkness. The accusing wind was almost silenced. Almost. He thumbed the wheel of lighter and flame leaped up. He lit the corner of the telegram and tossed it into the ashtray. In the flickering shadows, Venn put the jacket on and loaded the gun.

A man will go a long way for a woman.

But he’ll go to the ends of the broken world for revenge.

Ten minutes later he stole Porter’s truck and hit the blacktop.

Those trophies are groovy! In case I don't get round to making one I'll put this in here so I can at least bag a participation ;)

And then God said "let there be light!" Was there? It's up to you!

                (http://www.bildermonster24.de/images/781_time_s_running_forum.png)

                   Please don't forget to come up with your stories!

Quote from: Tabata on Tue 05/04/2011 20:56:22
Please don't forget to come up with your stories!

I have words, and i'll share them with you tomorrow;-)

But, bloody hell, the entries already are fantastic..

EDIT: I'm really sorry but I won't be able to finish my story in time. I'm come down with some kind of stomach bug today and am really not feeling up to finishing it=( I might post it after the deadline anyway if anyone wants to read it, but I look forward to seeing how the competition turns out. Sorry again.

I'm getting something ready, just have to see when I'll be done tomorrow depending on available time, but this post is a reservation of sorts.  :) It won't be as thought provoking as some of entries so far, but I think it'll be fun.


EDIT (Apr 9th, 1am): Fair warning - this is a trashy pulp horror story (can't have enough of those, right?). Thank you for the extension, Tabata. Not that much time to rewrite, but personal stuff got in the way...and I was lazy.  :P
Seems like a good turnout, good luck to everybody.  :)


Greetings from the New World

It was clear skies and fresh winds of glory, that were promising fortune and fame upon our return. Months have passed since we arrived and I was looking forward to going back. Europe meant home, fame, families, paycheck, and I would probably be getting a promotion and finally some decent wages. Excitement was high among the crew, even during the long shifts while the cargo was being loaded. Sails were brand new and the whole hull was mended, almost as good as new.

I was finalizing my work as well. Captains's list of errands was getting crossed out fast and I was delivering the last of his papers to the port authorities when the ship's bell sounded off. The time has come to depart.

All was fine and journey might have been easier than the one we made from home. I fulfilled my duties as the captain's servant, brought him his meals, passed on his orders, kept track of the navigation and organized shifts now and then.

Then four weeks into our journey home, everything changed, everything started to go wrong. There was some commotion down one of the cargo compartments. Some of the crew were complaining about the smell, which was unusual among the sailors in itself. It was the part where we stored salted meat from rare animals that were hunted in the New world but not seen in our kingdom until now. But it did not smell right, it smelt foul and rotten. As we unsealed the door, the smell got worse. Door swung open rather easily andfew sailors and I went in. The hull creaked around us and the whole space shifted as the insides of ships do. The room was underneath the water level so no portholes were on the walls. The timid light of our candles left most of the room in the dark, even as we dweleved deeper in. The barrels were all empty, just dried blood traces that turned almost completely black. Now the look into the dark began to make my skin to crawl. Eyes were running on the shadow edges and then we saw it in the corner. It was not hiding, but feeding on the last piece of meat. The men drew their knives silently and carefully, it seemed we had a stowaway and they are going to have some fun tonight. But they would not even see the next time stars would fill the skies, they did not even have time to scream.

The thing fed on the remains of the three sailors that accompanied me and fear overcame my body. I ran for the door and shut it behind me. Putting the heavy lock back on them. And I grasped the key tight in my hand. Sweat moistened the cotton of my shirt and tears ran down my face. Next thing I remember was waking up in the captain's quarters. He gave me a cup of wine and started to question me thoroughly. As I answered his questions, more horrid truth came out into the open. Still the conversation repeats in my head.

Very little details were said by me. He mentioned her native clothes, her long dark hair, her small figure, the torn rope around her wrists and feet, things I was not even aware I saw. The thing, or as I found out, the girl, was not a stowaway at all, but was meant to be the captain’s future wife. He bought her of some wild men, some slave traders that roamed the New world. After they escaped the justice that awaited in Europe, the slate was clean on the new coasts, but that did not change their foul nature. The captain, although until then I thought of him as wise and fair man, was not that different from them. Passion, desire, fever he never felt before, he said. At first she resisted, but then she stopped, at first she cried, but then she just went limp and then he wanted her even more. Then she started to get sick, but she was different from the women back home, he said, he was going to take her to a proper doctor, make their “love” legitimate and confess his sins to the priest, and then it was all going to be right with the law and Lord. I could not believe what I heard.

We were so close to home, so close to being safe, this incident should not stop us. Next day, after a talk that I thought convinced him, the captain went down with a few men to kill the girl, the monster. An hour passed before I summed up the courage to go down below the deck myself, to see if it was done, to ease my mind. Alas the nightmare was far from over. As I went down the stairs the smell I smelt yesterday grew stronger, and I was not even close to the compartment where I locked the girl. Soon I saw the walls covered in blood. At first I thought the water started leaking, nothing but a few simple fixes, but then I realized it was all blood, it was all death. Shadows came alive.

As sun crossed the sky, storm gathered in the east, we were heading right into the eye of it. The crew tried to contain the growing number of these monsters, but it was a losing battle. Parts of the storage compartments and cabins have fallen into their grasp and soon, what once was a formidable crew of more than sixty strong, brave men, was now reduced to five of us trapped on the deck. We did not have a lot of time, doors and hinges were buckling under the monsters’ pressure.

Their thirst for flesh was primal and untamed. They were fast and seemed immune to pain. Even through the thunder and the sea I could hear the scratching on the doors, nails and bones breaking on the hard wood, without mercy, without mind. The men who were not eaten to the bone, soon turned into them and only thick oak protected us from the horde.

The storm was blocking our view of the land, but I calculated that we must be near. I looked around the group, but the only officer among us was sitting down and badly bleeding from his arm and screaming in pain. Hope has long dwindled and fear has found a nest in our hearts and minds, but then I saw it in the corner of my eye. A lonely sparkle and beam of light fighting through to the ship. The Northstar lighthouse. Nestled on the rocks just south of the harbour, saving whole fleets from certain wreckage for decades. A plan formed in my mind within seconds.

Might be too late for us, but this ship must not reach the docks in this state. The carnage and chaos that would ensue, if those beasts were released into the city…that must not happen. Into the rocks we must go. Sink a mile away from the harbour, the only way to at least save our souls if we cannot save our lives. But more sails had to be raised and course had to be corrected.

Two men held the door to give us more time, while one tried to turn the helm and, with our only blade, I climbed the mast to cut the ropes and release the sails to give us speed. I was exhausted, but each time I would lose my strength, the light from the lighthouse brought new hope.

Alas, hope is nothing without chance. Just as I was done, through the noise of the wind, I noticed the screaming from our wounded survivor was gone. The sailors supporting the door, never expected the monster coming from behind. Within seconds it left their bodies as a pile of bones and organs splattered and broken, and a trail of blood lead to the upper deck where the last sailor was struggling with the helm.

As the doors cracked, I was running back across the deck. From within the dark gut of the ship they came. Their thirst at it’s prime. The first I hit with blade. Some blood gushed as the steel went into where once was an eye. Another monster came behind it, but by now I felt teeth and nails piercing my skin on my legs and my back.

For a few feet I crawled even under the weight of them on me. Floor was sticky with blood. Even in the rain, the malice of this eve was not to be washed away. Before they tore me apart, I saw the light in the dark, still a strong and confident beacon, unaware of our cursed vessel. Then the light got muffled as the approaching piers offered theirs. Last I heard was the bow crashing and men shouting from the docks…

We were home.

Hello there,

I got news for you!
I was asked about an extension for this competition and it seems to me, that this would be a good thing for several other writers, too.

So let's take the chance to get some more nice stories for all of us and give it two more days!

                                                                    (http://bestsmileys.com/writer/1.gif)

                                            new deadline is set to Saturday, 09th of April


@straydogstrut:
These are sad news! I hope you get well soon and of course we like to read your story, whenever it is done!

This turned out much cheesier than I thought it would. Oh well.


The Light of Day


As her lips met his, he felt his heart pounding - felt the blood whooshing through his ears. He ran a hand through her dark hair, grabbed a handful, and pulled. Her cold lips curled in a smile.
"So you're one of THOSE types." She said, glancing down at his watch. "What time is it?"

"Always watching the clock, aren't you?" He pulled his wrist up to her chin. "2 A.M. Why, you got plans?"

"Two?" She said, pushing up off the couch. "Already?"

"Time flies when you're... where are you going?" He followed her to the door of the apartment.

"I... have to get home. It's very late."

"No, it was late when we met at the club. Now it's very early. Why don't you stay? I'll make waffles."

"No, I..." Her eyes flitted around the dark room, at the the couch, the refrigerator, the heavy curtains covering the living room window. Anywhere but his face. "If my mother catches me again, she'll"

"Spank you?" He smirked. "Alright, fine. As you said, it's very late."

"Terribly late."

"Later than you know." He chuckled, reaching for the doorknob.

"What?" This time her voice had a tinge of panic in it.

"I set my watch back five hours." He stated, matter-of-factly. I wanted to make sure we had plenty of time together."

"You..."

"More time than you gave Marty last week. Remember?"

Her voice quivered in the early morning air. "I don't... why are you doing this?"

"You might not have gotten his name. Tall, lanky fellow - coke bottle glasses, always had his socks pulled up too high. We were taking a late-night jog through the park. I stopped to use the restroom. When I came back, you were standing over him."

Her eyes grew wide. Her lips tightened.

"His blood was all over you, you vampire!"

She tried to run backwards, but he snatched her arm and held it like a vise.

"You're insane!" She hissed.

"You may be right." He growled. "Let's find out!"

He clenched his hand around the doorknob. She kicked and scratched and fell to the ground shouting as he wrenched the door open and stepped through the threshold.

As he walked he felt her arm grow lighter, and then he looked down and saw that her arm was all he held. Turning back, he saw the rest of her on the floor of the apartment, writhing in a rectangle of white-hot sunlight. She hissed and growled and cursed with all the air she could force through her melting throat. Her clothes burned with an eerie green flame. Her limbs thrashed and smoked and crumbled. And then they simply twitched. Soon all that was left was a pale lump of ash and a burnt patch of carpet.

As he turned to face the morning breeze, somewhere a bird began to sing. Somewhere, a dog barked. Somewhere, his friend Marty slept beneath six feet of dirt.

"Sleep well." He thought, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the golden sun.

My entry. It feels like it needs work, but I wanted to contribute something:


The days turned to weeks, the weeks turned to months, and the months felt like they could be years. I had been captive here for almost as long as I could remember, the cell a musty black. I could smell the fear and dread of the previous occupant, who I was pretty sure died here. My cries for help went unanswered, and hope of seeing my family again soon became despair.


My wife and kids were but a distant memory, their faces and features were beginning to fade and I knew I would never see them again. I longed for the day this would be over and my tortured soul could be put to rest.


The blood curdling screams from the other cells where all I had to distinguish between one day and the next. They grew closer, until the cries of agony and anguish could be heard from the nearby cell. I begged for him to stop, the screams only growing louder as I realised my attempts of reasoning where futile.


Finally, silence. I would live another day…

Or so I thought. The sound of the keys jangling and the lock turning as the door creaked open. A ray of colour shone through the room.

A light at the end of the dark…

I don't typically enter these things, since frankly I'm not much of a writer, and it's been ages since I've written much of anything.  But I really liked the theme this month, and thought I would try my hand at it!

-------------------

Dully he stared at the door, hands laid limply on his worn trousers as he sat on the metal frame of his bed.  He had long ceased to notice the smell of old urine and stale cigarettes that pervaded the apartment.  In the distance, a child laughed; another police car passed by, siren blaring.  His alarm clock ticked on the nightstand.

Slowly he came to himself, arranging his hands in his lap.  His gaze focused and he realized that it was already late evening.  The purple light penetrated the grime on the window, illuminating the nearby desk.  Books lay there, still open from the morning's studies; papers littered the floor nearby.  Soon they would not matter anymore.

Taking a last look at the clock, he rose, knees protesting.  He closed the threadbare curtains; the room was dark.  His eyes closed briefly; he shook his head and opened them again.  He took his rumpled jacket from the bed, turned the doorknob, and left.

The train ride to the office building was uneventful, as usual.  He looked up at the squat building, wedged between a mediocre restaurant with upper-story apartments on the left, and a hotel on the right whose heyday was some half century in the past.  The gentrification process had not shown any signs of reaching this part of the city.  The harsh light from the neon sign on the restaurant flickered as he went inside the office.

The security guard grunted acknowledgement of his presence, then turned back to his tabloid.  The man opened the door at the back of the cramped lobby.  He followed the same route down the gray concrete corridor that he followed every night.  He entered the cleaning closet, put his jacket up on the hook, pulled out the battered vacuum cleaner, and got to work.

He was diligent in his work, and did not complain.  The others barely noticed him.

Arms aching, work finished, he put his jacket on and left.  The security guard did not look up.  On the way back to the train station, passers-by saw his uniform in the streetlights and snickered.  He climbed the stairs to his apartment, ignoring the couple arguing loudly on the third floor.  His gaze shifted to the small framed photograph of his mother on the nightstand.  He set the alarm clock, lay down on his bed, and fell asleep wondering what she would have thought of him now.

Three hours later, the alarm awoke him.  It was Saturday morning.  He rose, showered, dressed, left the apartment, and went downstairs.  His step quickened as he opened his compartment of the mailbox.  He carefully leafed through the envelopes, but seeing that they were all bills and junk mail, left them.  His pace slowed again, and he walked to the train station.

After his two consecutive shifts at the factory, he returned home, and slept.  On Sunday he rose at the same time, kneeled by his bedside, and gave thanks to God that he was employed and was able to pay for food and rent.  He rose, showered, dressed, and went to the train station.  After working for two shifts, he came back home again, and slept.

On Monday he did not need to go to the office until evening, so he slept in.  He showered, dressed and prepared a small breakfast.  He went downstairs and checked the mailbox -- and he saw what he was looking for: the letter from the university.  Hands trembling, he took it upstairs.  He laid it on a stack of papers on the desk and stared at it for a little while, afraid to open it.  But he realized that he could not wait forever.  He carefully inserted a penknife into one corner, slit open the top, and opened the letter.

He had been accepted.

A smile slowly spread across his face.  He looked over at the photograph of his mother on the nightstand.  He wondered what she would have thought of him now.

I've been trying to come up with a more creative title, but nothing seemed to catch the point of the whole thing better than the title itself did, so... whatever, this is the entry.

A LIGHT IN THE DARK

In deep shadows of my mind
tenderness of yours I find,
and where the darkness meets the light
I have you to guide my sight.

I neither have to, nor I must
put in yourself all my trust,
yet I feel safe when your hand
makes me on your guide depend.

I feel that through your gentle touch
I can look and see so much
and even though all is black
you make my long lost sight come back.

In the sound of words you say
I can see the light of day
and despite being trapped in night
I see you shining clear and bright.

Under the taste of your kiss
all colors I cease to miss
and take my blindness as a cost
for that our paths have crossed.

With every other word you say
you reveal and light my way
and darkness would split where you tread
and make black seem white instead.

Many curses I have tossed
for how come that sight can be lost,
but one thing in my life I've learned:
that we do get what we earned.

And maybe darkness in my eyes
is nothing more than just a price,
for deep down in my heavy heart
I believe we'll never part.

You've cut my sorrow like a knife
and brought me back to life,
and blindness now simply seems
like space for you to fill my dreams.

For years my life was doused and sad,
but now, though eyeless, I feel glad.
My life caught fire, you're the spark.
You are my light in the dark.

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!        (http://smilies-smilies.de/smilies/tanzII_smilies/tanz42.gif)

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.

    (http://www.smilies.4-user.de/include/Schilder/smilie_schild_025.gif)

        Tabata

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 (http://straydogstrut.co.uk/projects/writing/the%20veil%20of%20light.pdf) for anyone who wants to read it.

Thanks.

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.

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.

"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.

(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!
(http://bestsmileys.com/thinking/1.gif)
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?

Domithan!

Ponch!

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;-)

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.

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?  ;D

Ponch

Hmmmm I'll say Ponch's too.

I'm saying Ponch as well.

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.

Quote from: Oddysseus on Tue 12/04/2011 02:26:05
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.

Quote from: anian on Mon 11/04/2011 15:39:40
p.s. straydog, why did you copyright the story?  ;D

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;-)

Quote from: Oddysseus on Tue 12/04/2011 02:26:05
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

(Alright. It's time!)

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

We have some new owners of post lamps!

I am proud, to present you:
(http://www.bildermonster24.de/images/313_light01.gif) = Ponch for giving "his perve...great story" to us (4 votes)
(http://www.bildermonster24.de/images/394_light02.gif) = Calin Leafshade for doing "Horror at 3am" (2 votes)
(http://www.bildermonster24.de/images/971_light03.gif) = 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:   (http://www.smileygarden.de/smilie/Schilder/held.gif)  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: (http://www.bildermonster24.de/images/648_light04ff.gif) ... 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

Nooooooo Calin beat me :-[

Quote from: Atelier on Tue 12/04/2011 21:16:55
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.