Fortnightly Writing Competition - Coersion [WINNER: Sinitrena]

Started by WHAM, Mon 02/09/2013 07:20:00

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WHAM


The winners!


SINITRENA
DURINDE
BARON

Thanks for participating and welcome back! :)



COERSION
Or: How I was forced to do something against my will.

Write a short (or long, we won't mind) story in which the protagonist is coerced to do something against his/her/it's will. The most classical example would be the bank teller being forced to shovel cash money into a bag at gunpoint, but I'm sure you guys will come up with more creative methods, settings and characters than that bland example of the concept.

Simple as that, get to work! :)

The deadline is September 15th, 2359 PM, earth-standard-time


Random mood-setting picture FTW!
Wrongthinker and anticitizen one. Pending removal to memory hole. | WHAMGAMES proudly presents: The Night Falls, a community roleplaying game

Adeel

First of all, congratulations WHAM, for winning the previous competition.

You've chosen a very interesting topic. This topic will bring different variety of stories (nod).

I'll try to complete it within the deadline. So, count me in.

LostTrainDude

#2
Hi there :D

First of all: this is my first Fortnightly compo, so don't be afraid to beat the hell out of me if I did something wrong (laugh).
English is not my main language, so I apologize if I wrote something that is unclear or made some mistakes with verbs (correct me, if needed).

I hope I didn't go off topic, since I didn't show any actual coercion but tried to convey it as a constant feeling.

DISCLAIMER: It contains some strong language but nothing else.




In that very moment Jall was angry at anybody, but the only one he couldn't really deal with was himself.

As she streched her right leg over the table, he couldn't do anything but begin to inject the black ink under her white pale skin.
- Drenna, this is crazy and you know it.
- I told you to shut up, Jall. - she was as firm as a mountain and seemed that not even a gun pointed to her head would make her change her mind.

In that very moment, he was so angry that he was afraid to cause her pain with the needle. Trying to stay focused he felt that as the worst moment of his career as a tattooist.

Each time he thought he noticed a wrinkle of discomfort in her expression, he would lift the needle for a couple of seconds, then massage the area with a sterilized cloth.
- Jall, I'm no kid, so don't treat me like one. - her words stung like the needle he was using to tattoo her.
The shape of a fist was slowly beginning to form on her skin.
- I don't think of you as a kid. - replied Jall, letting out a little hint of anger.
- Oh, I know what you think of me, Jall. - she used to call him by name whenever possible. To her it felt like a way to keep the distance, which for him was exactly the opposite.
- Ok! - startled, Jall suddenly stopped injecting, lifting away the needle from her leg - Let's listen, then.
Drenna, half stretched on the tattoing table, just turned her head a bit to check his eyes and stayed silent for few seconds. Her worn-out tanktop was covered with sweat stains but her attitude didn't let out any kind of anxiety, fear or whatever. She slowly folded her arms, staring his eyes.
- What do you want, Jall, hm? - She asked, somewhat provocative. She was capable to inject even more anger in Jall's heart, which couldn't stop pumping hard in his chest.
- Don't you know what you're getting into?! - He answered with a question, elusive, standing up and trying to win the staring contest at least once.
- Of course I do, dumbass! - she replied, winning again.
- So why are you doing this?
- I won't become the thing I hate, Jall. Don't worry. - her head turned to the other side - Do you mind finishing your job?
Jall shook his head while sitting again, next to her leg. The needle stuck again under her skin. The black fist tattoo was getting clearer.
- I hate you, Drenna. I hate you so much.
- Fuck you, liar. - she replied, as she knew that it was coming, but didn't turn her head again.

The buzz of the tattoo machine became a white noise quite instantly, after few seconds of silence.

The Ystervuis' clan tattoo was almost done. That was her key to join the clan.
- Shit... - said he, quietly.
- What?! -  she turned her head, worried - Did you got it wrong?
Jall shook his head, denying
- What, then?! - she was getting nervous
- It's perfect. - he quietly replied.
- So what, Jall? What the fuck is wrong?! - she became nervous, at last.
He startled again, throwing away his tattoo machine and almost torning his sterilized gloves, freeing his hands.
- I didn't want it to be perfect, Drenna. That's all!
She puffed, checking her new tattoo.
- If I had been wanting to take a risk, I wouldn't be here, Jall.
- Why are you doing this to me? - he said, breaking few seconds of silence.
- To YOU? - she jumped off the tattoo table, carefully landing on her boots while reaching his tattoo-covered throat with the right hand - Ystervuis abducts people, kills, raids each corner of this goddamn pile of shit we live in and I'm signin' in to join them. Where are YOU in this situation?
His neck started to ache a bit, though she wasn't trying to strangle him.
- I tattooed your ticket inside and I didn't want to. - answered Jall, firm but somewhat calm.
- Well, it's your fuckin' job, Jall! You inject ink for a living!
- You didn't pay me.
- Of course, I didn't. You love me, remember?
He stood silent as she continued, while moving her face closer to his.
- It would have been too easy if I had paid you, Jall. Credits would have been an easy excuse. - She began loosin' her grip on his neck as her strength left place to tenderness in a slow and sweet caress - But still you did it. You almost didn't oppose.
Jall was still silent and a struggle to say something was won by a whisper - Oh, how much I would have opposed...
- Yet you didn't, Jall.
- Right, I didn't.
- You don't know how much I would avoid joining the Ystervuis, but I won't.
- You're still in time, I can make that iron fist on your leg look like a blooming rose in no time.
- One day, Jall. Not today and I don't know when, so don't ask.
He went silent again, moving away his stare from her dark eyes. All the doubts and fears were stoking up a fire inside him that didn't know how to burst itself out.
Now, Drenna was afraid of every single thing outside that tattoo parlor as well, but wouldn't show it for no reason in the world.
If he were staring her eyes in that moment, he could have noticed her guard lowering for just an instant.

The undercity of Kys was facing another warm dawn, as the sky, over three hundred meters above, was almost hid by the uppercity. Loud whistles marked the beginning of a new day of work and sweat beaten up by tons of steam and steel. This broke the silence in the tattoo parlor, as the two were about to say goodbye.

- So this is it.
Jall turned to look her again, as she was slowly walking away from him.
- Yes.
- May I ask you just one thing, Drenna? - he folded his arms, now alone against a wall whose plasterwork fell off almost completely.
- Ask. - she replied
- Just... Why?
She was packing her things, while listening his question and took some seconds to answer
- Why did you, Jall?
- It was long time ago.
- It's not an answer.
- I didn't want to.
- Still not an answer.
- I...
He wouldn't say. But she knew far too well the answer.
- So, put two and two together, will you, Jall?

She wrapped up all the necessary in her backpack and headed to the door. As she was leaving, she gave him a smile, the first one in a long time.
Jall was alone, when turned off the lights of his tattoo parlor, calling it a day just when everybody else's one was about to begin. For once in a long time and for just few seconds, he felt free.
"We do not stop playing because we grow old, we grow old because we stop playing."

Durinde

Hi guys,

It's been a while since I did any creative writing. I've been trying to force myself to start writing up an adventure game idea I have... but I'm pretty much stuck on what to do next. Anyway, I threw this together. Not sure if it fits the theme as intended. Anyway I hope you enjoy it.

The devil on my shoulder was talking to me again.
"The store is on your way home. Just drop in, grab a six-pack and enjoy the weekend."
As always, the angel was there to respond. His voice always seemed a shade weaker.
"You know you don't need it. You've gone a three months without touching the stuff. Everyone has been telling you how proud they are."
I continued to tidy up my desk. Killing time really until the clock hit five and I could finally leave the office.  The devil always had a counterpoint. Always pushed his agenda.
"Exactly! Three whole months! It's not like you had a problem anyways. Besides, you have a reason to celebrate! The car is finally paid off!"
The angel never usually raised his voice. He usually was the calm one. I could hear him starting to lose patience. "The car WE almost lost! If it wasn't for the fact that the cop that pulled you over was a friend from high school..."
The angel trailed off. He was always so logical. He always had a point. He also seemed to be losing his will to fight.
The clock continued to tick. Why was the boss in this afternoon anyways? He was usually had meetings at the head office friday afternoons. Of course he was around this week.... the week where everything I did was wrong. The week of early morning and late evenings to make up for MY mistakes.
I pulled up my bank balance on the computer. I was hoping to give the angel a bit of ammunition by pointing out my lack of funds. The devil was delighted.
"Ahh, looks like your bonus came in! You're up a couple of hundred bucks with nothing to spend it on. Hell, you could even afford to hit McGill's for a bite to eat and a few pints. Maybe that cute waitress is still working there!"
I licked my lips. It had been ages since I had a nice basket of wings and had hung out with the guys at the pub. After the week I had, the thought of just being able to cut loose sounded really appealing.
The clock ticked. It was 4:58... close enough. I knew the clock on the boss's desk was a couple of minutes ahead anyway. People began slipping away from their desks. As I pulled on my coat, the angel attempted a hail mary.
"You promised your mother."
The devil knew he was defeated. I could feel him shrink away and leave the battlefield all together. My shoulders felt lighter.
I sighed. Tonight would only hold a quiet movie and some popcorn. Nothing extravigant, but I knew it was the best thing for me.
It was exactly five when I passed the door to the bosses office. I stopped in my tracks when he called my voice. He would probably ask me to stay late again.
"I know it's been a tough week, but we made it to friday!" My boss smiled, "Want to come with me for a drink?"

Baron

Awesome!  It's good to see competitors chomping so much at the bit.  This old warhorse needs a bit of time to get up to full speed, but I have every intention of producing something by the deadline for such a psychologically intense theme.

Ibispi

#5
A MAN WITH NO MOUTH

Long time ago in a country where people thought and spoke, lived a man with no mouth.
From the day when he was born he didn't know how to speak; nor did he intend to.
He worked at a Butcher Shop in that same country where people thought and spoke.
His simple and rather diquisting job was to clean the Butcher Shop.
He was a janitor - a mouthless janitor.


One day while he was cleaning blood from the floor with his mop he came across an enormous Pig Head.
He didn't know what to think for a moment, and then he came to a realization: "This Pig Head shouldn't be laying on the floor, I should get rid of it.".
And just as he approached it, the Pig Head spoke: "Hail, Mouthless Man!". The janitor panicked for a moment then stood there stunned. "I have a question for you.", the Pig Head cried, "What is your name?". The man was speechless. Silence. The Pig Head was waiting for an answer, but the silence prevailed. The Pig Head muttered: "Alright, if that's what you want, then I will give you a little insight into what you have been doing all your pitiful existence on this planet.". Janitor stood confused. "From day one everyone you know and meet tells you that you have no mouth. They tell you that you can't speak, you can't make noises, and that you should never try to do so. You believed them. You believed everything they said to you. You never questioned it. And now i question you - what is in my mouth?". The question was very hard to answer from the position where janitor was. He wanted to change that position. His curiosity forced him to do that, and he opened Pig Head's mouth. It contained quite ugly and dirty teeth and an old tongue. There was something on the tongue. That something was green and smelled horrible. It was a rotten apple! The man backed out and felt very sick - so sick that he wanted to leave Butcher Shop for good. And with a Pig Head talking, he thought he was hallucinating. "Come on, don't be afraid!", the Pig Head yelled,"Eat the apple!". Janitor was shocked. Why, he asked himself, would he listen to a talking Pig Head to eat a rotten apple. Everything that was happening felt like a dream. So he came to a conlusion; he decided to eat the apple. As he put it into his mouth he started chewing it. This process lasted for few minutes, as he swallowed the whole rotten thing and felt so sick - he vomited.

"So tell me", the Pig Head said, "Are you really mouthless? If you can eat, doesn't that mean that you have some sort of mouth? Does that mean that those people lied to you when they said you had no mouth? Yes. Yes it does.".

After eating this apple and coming to realization that he had a mouth, the previously mouthless man was so happy that he ran out of the Butcher's Shop and started dancing in front of it. Unfortunately he didn't notice he was dancing on the road and not in a disco club.

He was crushed by a medium sized car.

R.I.P. Man WITH Mouth

The Pig Head Yawned.

The End



EDIT: Fixed some grammar mistakes.
EDIT num. 2: Added a few fancy font effects.

Ponch

Wow! Look at all these fresh faces! It's like the writing contest has suddenly become the hip new place to be! I feel so fashionable! :cheesy:

Adeel

Quote from: Ponch on Fri 06/09/2013 05:35:41
Wow! Look at all these fresh faces! It's like the writing contest has suddenly become the hip new place to be! I feel so fashionable! :cheesy:

Thanks to ME, I made new people realize that this competition is so much fun. I also made them realize that it doesn't matter if English isn't your first language or if you make small grammar mistakes (you veterans are so forgiving, after all!). I also made them realized that you can win trophies too! Look at my two 'tanned' artifacts. ;-D

Yes, I AM their inspiration! Thank you, thank you very much for the honour! (laugh).

Spoiler
This post isn't meant to insult ANY competitor whether new or veteran. It's just a joke, inspired from our very own Ponch ;-D
[close]

Ponch

Quote from: Adeel S. Ahmed on Fri 06/09/2013 10:52:19
Thanks to ME, I made new people realize that this competition is so much fun... Yes, I AM their inspiration! Thank you, thank you very much for the honour! (laugh).
Well done, Adeel. But you won't stay cool for long if you don't write a story. All the cool kids are doing it, don't you know. :=

Sinitrena

Quote from: Ponch on Sat 07/09/2013 03:30:18
But you won't stay cool for long if you don't write a story. All the cool kids are doing it, don't you know. :=

The same holds true for you, Ponch. Where's your story? ;) I need more competition. :tongue:


Warnings (just in case): depictions of violence and implied sexual content.

The wilting flower


Unfortunately, law, justice and morale are not the same thing. Often, they are not even comparable. Sometimes, they are complete opposites. I always knew this, I think, but to actually understand what it means... I learned that the hard way.

I lie on the ground of the temple for the second time in my life. My nose touches the floor, my arms and legs are stretched away from my body, a flower is being crunched in my hand. The first time I had broken the law and I felt remorse. I had come to confess and to atone for my sins. The second time, now, isn't that different: I have broken the law, I feel remorse and I'm here to confess, but I doubt I will ever be able to atone for these sins. I don't think it would be justice.

It's been three days since I lay down on the hard ground and began my prayer for forgiveness. The priests came soon after, asking me questions, demanding that I explain myself, requesting that I tell them my reasons, telling me to repent. That is the only way to save my life. My crimes are punishable by death. I have come voluntarily, no-one had to coerce me â€" not the first time, not the second. This is necessary by law: The criminal has to come voluntarily to the temple before the law suspects him, he has to show remorse, he has to pray to the Gods for their forgiveness and he has to actually receive it. I had seen the lights of pardon once and I had spend four years as a slave afterwards to completely atone for my sins. The Gods' forgiveness saves a life and it shortens any sentence but it doesn't remove all punishment. The first time the Gods helped me, but I'm not even sure if I forgive myself this second time.

There is no sign of the Gods' acceptance of my remorse. Normally, it comes a lot sooner than that, if it ever comes. For three days I haven't moved from my place on the ground. Soon the priests will declare me unredeemable and my remorse a lie. Then the guards will drag me away to my execution. I'm waiting eagerly for my final hour.

The priests ask me the same questions over and over again in an endless circle. It already feels like punishment, along with the pain of lying on the cold, hard floor without moving. I'm well aware that I more than deserve it. I have a suspicion that the Gods won't forgive me because it's not really their forgiveness I want. But Lily doesn't know everything and I hope she never learns all the details. - I hope she never smelled the blood, I hope she didn't hear the screams, I hope she didn't see the bodies, I hope she never learns of my past â€" one betrayal is enough.

The endless circle begins anew: “What is your name?”

“Valerian.” I don't know how often I have answered this question.

“What brings you here?”

“I'm here to beg for the Gods' forgiveness.” This is the standard answer.

“Is this your first time asking for the Gods' pardon?”

“No.”

“Why did you ask the first time?”

I know every single question and every answer by heart and my mind begins to wander, remembering details I don't want to tell the priests.

*

There she sat on the circular bench surrounding the fountain â€" my beautiful Lily, wilting Lily. Sun rays were bathing her in a fluorescent light. She was combing her long hair, listening to one of her friends, laughing with the others. She is the only child of one of the most powerful patricians of the city, rich, carefree, adventurous, trapped in a gilded cage. I was her guard, standing a few feet away with my comrades, protecting her from a danger that never seemed real. There are high walls around the estate, walls that are patrolled by even more guards, walls that keep her enemies out, walls that lock her in.

She beckoned me over, asked me to show them one of my tricks, as she called it. What is a trick to her â€" was a trick, I'm sure she changed her mind by now â€" is a deadly skill to me: I am a swordsman, I was a murderer-for-hire, I worked as a mercenary, but Lily only knew that I can swing a sword in an enticing and beautiful manner, and I hope she never learns the rest. She thought of the moves I do for my exercises as seductive and alluring, of the sweat on my upper body as sexy. I was flattered and not very surprised. She is a 17 year old girl who isn't allowed to leave her family's home, who doesn't have any male friends, who is seldom alone and who always hears of the balls and adventures of her girlfriends. I smiled, removed my shirt and did as she asked. The girls giggled and I'm fairly sure some of the other guards did too.

The men probably realised that my motions and my exercises didn't correspond with what they had learned when they were young and most of them had trained with me at least once and discovered that I usually restrained myself and defeated them nonetheless â€" they still laughed. The girls only saw a sweaty man breathing heavily and probably thought of other activities and a different sword. I didn't mind. I wasn't that young any more and the women that complemented me in my former life were normally paid to do so.

The girls asked me why my body was laced with scars. I lied. Telling the truth would have meant to talk about my past, about the fights I had participated in. Most people don't fight as often as me, most don't live as long as me if they do, most are not trained by a little group from the age of 15 on to sneak up on their victims, avoid guards and slay hapless men and women for money. Most are not specialised killers. I'm the only one left.

*

“Why have you come to the temple this time?”

“I betrayed my employer, I abducted his daughter.”

“Why did you betray him?”

I clench my fist, crushing the flower even more. This question is the most difficult to answer. This is the question where I fear my answer might be a lie. You can't lie to the Gods. There are crimes you can't repent for, there are things about which you have to always tell the truth or always lie. There are lies that require more lies, there are cases where the lie seems to be the only option, even though you know it's morally wrong and against the law and where injustice would follow if you told the truth. There are situations that don't allow an easy solution.

“Someone offered me money.” That's technically true. But this was not the main reason nor would it have convinced me.

*

This evening I intended to drink a glass of wine in one of the better Taverns of the town. I was a regular at this bar. The innkeeper knew me and he was aware that I preferred to be alone in the middle of a crowd. That's why he kept one of his alcoves, which are separated by a curtain from the main room, reserved for me on the days I usually came by.

As always he pointed me to one of the alcoves with a closed curtain. But this time someone already sat there. I apologised for interrupting and tried to close the curtain again but one of the men stopped me. He asked me to sit with them.

This was an unusual encounter but these people didn't seem threatening at all so I complied.

They told me they knew of my past. They asked me if my employer did too. They reminded me that there was one crime for which I couldn't ask for the Gods' forgiveness.

I had lied to the patrician. I had received the Gods' forgiveness, I had served my sentence but I hadn't been honest about it afterwards. There are professions where a past like mine doesn't matter. The captain of a brigade of mercenaries doesn't care whether his people have killed before no matter the kind of killing they did â€" even if it was actually a crime. But a rich patrician who needs a guard for his delicate certainly doesn't want a former assassin.

Everything I did when I confessed for the first time was right. I was absolved from my crimes, a lot of people learned why their relatives died and even though a lot of soldiers were killed in the process, my confession destroyed an old group that had trained assassins for a long time. As far as I know, I'm the last one alive.

I didn't want to stay a mercenary forever. I actually wanted to stop killing people. That is why I betrayed my people in the first place. But the only thing I really know how to do is fighting and stealthily killing. I assumed that qualified me to protecting someone as well.

Unfortunately the law is very clear in this one point: never conceal a former Gods' pardon. There's no coming back from this, there's no forgiveness for this â€" and there is nearly no way to live a normal life if you do tell about it. I had lied and the men at the table knew it.

There were four of them, four men I could easily kill right then and there. But they said the man who had told them about my past and for whom they were working wasn't with them and if I wouldn't bring them the patrician's daughter until the end of the night he would go to the law and there was no mercy for me then. There was a way to escape and become a fugitive â€" this was the first possibility. I could go to the patrician and tell him myself and he might decide that it wasn't important to him and that I therefore had not really concealed it and not broken the law, but that was unlikely. I could abduct the daughter and pretend in the morning that I was as shocked as anybody else, maybe later go to the temple when it was too late for Lily.

*

The fourth day begins and the Gods are still silent. The statues of the seven Gods stand unmoving and as impassive as ever. The town went to sleep and awoke anew. Different priests ask the same questions as ever. I hope no more, even though I was never sure what I hoped for in the first place. They should have found Lily some time ago and I wonder whether the flower is withered by now.

The questions don't stop and they don't change. I'm tired, exhausted, and sore all over but I can't stand and I can't move, otherwise I would forgo the Gods' pardon and the law alone would decide my sentence. I'm tempted to just do it and be done with it but I haven't come to the temple to give up. I thought I could give up my life even though I did not want to, but I am not ready to die yet. The one lesson I took to heart from my training was to do anything to survive.

*

I sneaked into Lily's bedroom and put my hand on her mouth and a finger to my lips to shush her immediately when she woke. She panicked for a second before she recognised me and calmed down. She looked innocent when she slept, even more like a child than usual, even though she is a young woman with an obviously female body. She wasn't afraid of me â€" she really was innocent.

It was easy to convince her that I would bring her on an adventure, even easier to tell her that she was save with me. She didn't doubt me for a second. She was happy, she felt free. She was downright bouncing with excitement.

She didn't even mind that I stayed with her while she changed behind her folding screen. Although beautiful and flattering, her dress was hardly practical but at least she had the good sense to wear a dark-violet cloak with a hood that masked her blond hair and the pink lily she had put in it. At least she listened to me and kept quiet while we left the villa, only moved when I told her to move, didn't speak and walked as silently as possible with a crinoline dress.

Long story short, I smuggled my charge out of the villa without incident and without anybody noticing. I could do everything I wanted with the child. She was completely defenceless and her naiveté helped a lot.

The four men waited for us in an abandoned tavern â€" The Blooming Blossom. The windows are nailed shut and even though it has a pretty name there is nothing pretty about this fragile building or the part of town where it stands. Lily showed some signs of unease but she trusted me still and went with me.

The men put a woollen bag over her head and dragged her away. I pretended to fight. They wanted to keep me in the good graces of her father, they wanted an inside man for future endeavours. Lily screamed and I picked up the flower that had fallen from her hair.

*

“Why?” It's such a simple question and her voice seems so alien in the temple that I startle and try to move my head and look at her.

The priests seem equally startled. It's not proper behaviour to interrupt a priest, it's not proper behaviour to speak at all while someone else asks for the Gods' pardon. The priests look at her but I can't because she stands â€" or sits â€" behind me.

“Why?”, she asks again. I'm sure it's the only question that is left to her. It's also a question I can't properly answer. There is this problem of the lie I told before, the lie that could cost me my neck, but the absolute truth is that I simply don't know.

“Why?”, she asks for a third time when nobody answers.

“I'm sorry.”, I mumble.

“Are you? You abducted me, you left me with these men, alone. You went straight to the temple to save your life. You left me behind. You thought only of yourself. You feel sorry â€" for yourself.”

“Lily, I'm sorry, I...”

“No. No! Do not apologise, do not find excuses. Explain! Do nothing else but explain!”

“I did not leave you behind. I killed the people who hired me.”

*

I hid in the shadows and waited, waited for the fifth man and clenched a flower in my hand. He came a short while before dawn. I remembered him from a time when I lay on a cold hard floor and questions were asked of me. I knew him from the day seven statues stopped staring at each other and send their lights to me. He was a priest. I knew nothing else of him. I didn't know his motives, I didn't know what his connection to Lily's father was or why he had any interest in the girl. I only cared that he was here and that he was no danger to me any longer.

The men guarded the main entrance and the back door to the kitchen but they didn't bother with any of the upstairs windows in the back. I scaled the wall and broke a window on the second floor that leads into one of the guest rooms. I cracked the door open and peeped through, saw one of the men just in front of me on the balcony that is overlooking the dining room. I slit his throat before he even noticed me and let him gently slide to the floor, crouching down next to him.

There were three men down below, including the leader. I already knew that the last one was in the kitchen guarding the back door and Lily whom they had most likely put in the pantry. I crept down the stairs, hidden behind a solid banister and got the second man, who stood at the bottom of the stairs with his back to them, with my knife. He fell to the ground with a thump.

The ringleader stood to my left. He noticed me first but I was prepared. I rammed my second knife in his stomach with my left hand that was still holding the flower too, and let go of both of my weapons to unsheathe my sword instead. He wasn't dead immediately. Instead he was in for a long and painful death unless I later decided to put him down out of mercy. I doubted it.

The guard at the door had time to shout out and to get his sword but he was no match for me. An underhand cut to his femoral artery shocked him, a stab to his heart killed him.

The last man had heard the screams of my victims and had come to the main room but he was incapable of moving for a split second when he saw the massacre. It was enough to kill him as quickly as the others. I left the leader dying and screaming on the ground and went into the kitchen.

I found Lily in the kitchen as I had expected. Her arms and legs were bound and she still had the bag over her head. Her dress was ripped and revealed more of her breasts and legs than was decent and there was blood on her legs. I left her there and went to kill the innkeeper who had set me up with these people.

After that I came to the temple and confessed. I told them where Lily was when they asked.

*

“I don't care. I don't care!”, she says.

“Lily, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Please. I had no choice.”

“Of course you did! Of course you had a choice! You had a choice and you chose wrong â€" legally, morally, just wrong!”

“Lily, please...”

I realise that she is no wilting flower any more but a strong blossoming one.

“Lily, please, the Gods ...”

“Might forgive you. Actually, may they forgive you. May the Gods forgive what the people can't forgive.”

“That's the prayer for an execution.”, I say.

“I'm aware.”, she answers.

We both mumble the whole prayer while she leaves the temple: “May the Gods forgive this dead man what the people can't forgive, may his body find an undisturbed sleep and may the mourners be consoled.”

The God's pardon never comes. I let go of the dead flower in my hand the moment the axe severs my head from my shoulders.



WHAM

Ze deadline, it looooms!
Great entries so far, hoping to see a few more before we end the competition!

-W
Wrongthinker and anticitizen one. Pending removal to memory hole. | WHAMGAMES proudly presents: The Night Falls, a community roleplaying game

Adeel

I'll not be participating this time. Boo, Adeel, Boo :(! I started but couldn't complete it. Too bad, they still haven't made devices which would directly convert your thoughts into text. Oh, well....

But that's not going to stop me from voting for others' entries, unless WHAM decides to kick me out.


Baron

The Missus Throws Dishes

     Twas the finest of Sundays, as Sundays do go.   The sun shone gently through the open window, and a spring breeze wafted warm and gentle in the air.  I was on the sofa in my favourite spot, where the rut gives proper support to my aching back.  On the TV was a bit of sport, in my hand was a beer just starting to sweat, and the Missus was out with her church friends.  Life, or at least my life, is sparing with its perfect moments, so when they come around I like to enjoy them.  At my 64 3/4 years, you start thinking it might be the last perfect moment, and that gets you trying to enjoy them even more.
     Maybe retirement would be like one long Sunday....  I closed my eyes wistfully and imagined the day, none too distant now, when I could leave that satanic mill and never go back.  It had sucked my youth, bent my frame and twisted my very soul into some greyish shadow of a man, but if all those many years of hard toil would yield an infinite number of Sundays, then by gar it would have been worth it twice over.  I cheers myself and took a drink, and it tasted sweet.
     And then there was a fidgeting of the key in the lock, and a frown smothered the fond dream on my mind like a thunderstorm squelches a bonfire.  The Missus.  I'd forgotten about her.  Suddenly work didn't seem like such a bad place after all.  Maybe they'd let me stay on part time....
     Click!  The lock yielded, and there was a squeak of hinges, followed by a barrage of muttering.  I looked at my beer with resignation, and then sucked it back fast as I could.  There was some peeved stomping in the foyer, then a pause, like a lioness sensing a new prey on the wind.  Then the living room door banged open.
     "I thought I told you to mend the fence!" the Missus spat.  I turned to look out the window, but the sun was gone now and a bank of ugly looking clouds was rolling in.
    "The thing being, Peaches," I started, but she'd have none of my guff this day.  She took her hand and slapped it against the wall.  The house echoed, and a fine seam of dust trickled down from the ceiling.  I cringed, waiting for the echo to stop reverberating, dreading where the first assault would come from.  There was a foreign creaking noise -oh god, where was it coming from?  My eye cast about the room, and settled on the crooked bookshelf mounted over the television.  Oh no!  The plaster under the screws gave out, and the whole thing came crashing down, taking out the TV in the process.  I sat there, mouth agape.
    "Useless man!" the Missus shouted.  "Damn useless man!  Useless shelf-builder!  Useless wire-runner!  Useless washing machine repairer!"
    Now this was all pretty standard fare so far.  The Missus was big on pointing out my many flaws, and her critiques didn't bend the truth none too much.  For the fact of the matter is I'm pretty bad around the house, mostly because I'm so tired from work that all I can muster is a half-arsed effort most of the time, but restly because I don't half know what I'm doing in the first place.  I'm never the one to say I picked things up fast, so as things turn I'm often the dog in my own house, being hounded for things I reckon I can't much help.  For the Missus' part, I think she enjoys being the drill sergeant, as it gives her a feeling of purpose and self-worth.  So in a way our relationship works well, or at least it has these past 40 years.
     But this day the Missus seemed especially aggravated, which got me wondering what it was that I'd done so especially poorly.  Maybe she'd found her cutting board that I'd used to prop up the sagging stair.  Or maybe she finally found that dead possum from the attic that I was supposed to have thrown in the garbage but just stuffed into the Christmas ornament box that we hadn't opened in fifteen years.  Whatever it was, there was sure a burr under her saddle now, and she was working herself into a right lather.
     "As I recall, there be a list as long as my arm on the fridge that needs tending, and all I get out of you is a lumping on the sofa all day!  Here!" she called out, stepping into the kitchen to fetch the list.  She kept shouting this and that, but even a sharp-tongued minx like the Missus runs out of new things to say after 40 years and I've gotten rather good at tuning her out.  Instead I chugged the rest of my beer and then looked down at my toolbox next to the sofa.  Could this be the day?  The day the reed shifts the wind?  I wondered....
     "Lawn mowing!" She shouted, coming back from the kitchen.  "And the toilet needs fixing!  And the entry needs painting!  And-!"  her words were cut off as she went through a plank in the doorway and lodged herself halfway to the basement.  Today was definitely the day!
     "BLOODY ALMIGHTY!" she screeched, working herself up into a right fit.
     "You know these old places," I started calmly, knowing it would just get her going more.  "There's not any of us getting any younger, and every once and a while a whole piece just gives way...."
     "BLOODY USELESS MAN!" she screamed.  "DON'T JUST STAND THERE!  DO SOMETHING!"
     "Alright, Cookie!  Alright!  I'll go down to the basement, and push you back up!"  I grabbed the toolkit as I left.  I could hear her raving as I padded down the stairs, and almost chuckled at what was about to unfold.  On my way by the fuse box I stopped and started playing with the wires.  And then I stopped by the pipes and wrenched me some valves.  And then finally I made my way beneath the old bird and gave her a good shove back up into the light.
     By the time I made my way back up to the kitchen she'd shocked herself on the light switch and been sprayed by a fowl brown water from the tap.  She turned on me, like a bull, face red, eyes burning, and she pointed her finger.  Not a word came out but a blood curdling screech, and then the dishes began to fly.  Oh, I dodged most of them, but she had a good aim and a quick arm, for someone of her age and ill-health.  "But Sweetums!"  I begged, but really I egged her onward.  Already she was almost choking on her rage.  It wouldn't take much now....  "You know I love you!" I crooned, and then the final plate flew.  I ducked down beneath the table, heard the shattering of china on the door frame, then silence.  One second, two seconds.  I dared not look, and then Wham!  She hit the floor.  The gentle trill of broken china settling, and then just the breeze through the window.  I peeked, not daring to hope.  There she lay, lifeless in the middle of the kitchen.  I felt like a doing a song and dance like a munchkin after a tornado, but instead all I did was step daintily through the debris to get another beer from the fridge.  Of course there was some work ahead of me tidying before I could call the paramedics in, but I was feeling self-indulgent again.  All things in good time.  For the moment I was enjoying the moment when the coerced had finally become the coercer.  Here's to many a Sunday more!

WHAM

Hear ye, hear ye!

The entrants are in and the voting is on! The participants this time around were:

LostTrainDude
Durinde
Bogdan
Sinitrena
Baron


Really glad to see some new names (...or are you people new? Have I just missed you until now!? Whatever: WELCOME!)

As before: CATEGORIES!

Character: You find one or several characters really believable/captivating/magnetic/unique, etc.
Plot: The story arc was well-organized, coherent, and well-executed with appropriate pacing
Atmosphere: This is all about feeling: did the story evoke strong feelings due to excitement/humour/intrigue/wonder/emotional intensity?
Background World: The best setting or milieu for a story; a place brought to life.
Word Choice/Style: The technical art of combining words in clever or gripping ways
Topic: How faithful or creative a story takes on the given topic

You can vote up to three people per category. Every vote counts as one point. Whoever recives most points, wins.

Voting is open untill thursday, if that's okay with everyone. That would mean that a new comp can be started on friday, and I like to write on fridays. If you can't find the time to read all the entries until thursday night and reeeally want to vote, drop me a line and we'll fix that.

(Oh! And I have a trophy design in mind! So, maybe, trophies! Yay!)
Wrongthinker and anticitizen one. Pending removal to memory hole. | WHAMGAMES proudly presents: The Night Falls, a community roleplaying game

LostTrainDude

Congrats everybody for such creative pieces :D
And thanks for the welcome 8-)

Anyways, let's cast some votes! (I find voting stuff always so hard to do...)

Character: Durinde, Bogdan (if I can vote for the Pig Head :P)
Plot: Sinitrena, Baron
Atmosphere: Sinitrena, Durinde
Background World: Sinitrena
Word Choice/Style: Baron
Topic: Durinde
"We do not stop playing because we grow old, we grow old because we stop playing."

kconan

Cool topic, and some new writing comp faces!

Character: Bogdan, Baron
Plot: Sinitrena
Atmosphere: Sinitrena
Background World: Sinitrena
Word Choice/Style: Baron
Topic: LostTrainDude

Baron


Character: Sinitrena for Valerian, who was a complex character, and Lily as well -I thought she nailed the 17 year old girlishness. 
           Durinde for the Angel and Devil, but also the boss: he was only mentioned in 2-3 sentences, but you know exactly the kind of guy he is.
Plot: Sinitrena: as always a wonderful fantasy adventure that keeps you guessing
      Durinde: in such a short space, it was quite the back and forth ride.  Plus I loved that twist at the very end.
Atmosphere: LostTrainDude: the grungy distopian atmosphere is palpable.
Background World: Sinitrena: Again a wonderful world explored through glimpses: crowded inns, fountains in the sunlight, oppressive temples... :)
Word Choice/Style: Durinde: Shoulder's feeling lighter (metaphorical and literal!), as well as coercive language used by Devil -it just fit perfectly.
                   Sinitrena: the sexual double-entendre was well crafted, but also wonderful descriptive language brought the scenes alive.
Topic: Durinde: The perfect coercion story.



Ponch

Character: Sinitrena, Bogdan
Plot: Sinitrena, Durinde
Atmosphere: Sinitrena, Baron
Background World: Sinitrena
Word Choice/Style: Smutitrena (Sex sells!)
Topic: LostTrainDude, Durinde

Sinitrena

Character: Bogdan Love the pig head. What a great and unique character.
Plot: Baron Well crafted story with an interesting end
Atmosphere: LostTrainDude I could feel the general oppressive character of this world very well.
Background: LostTrainDude This story takes place in a world where obviously a lot is going on. A few more details and some more explanations might have been good.
Word Choice: Durinde It was well written. I don.t have anything else to say to that. :smiley:
Topic: Baron I think this story was most faithful to the topic. It's faszinating how the wife tries to make the husband do all these chores and where it leads to in the end...

Smutitrena? :-D :-D :-D

WHAM

The results are in!

And the winner, without a doubt, is Sinitrena! Congratulations!

Thank you to all who participated, see you around next fortnight. :)
Wrongthinker and anticitizen one. Pending removal to memory hole. | WHAMGAMES proudly presents: The Night Falls, a community roleplaying game

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