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Event 3: Good Guys Finish Last



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Mon Feb 10, 2014 9:51 pm
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Revelations says...



Cain


Thought I would give this a shot.


Spoiler! :
In the deep dark of a moonless night, huddle five figures around a dimly burning fire. An ancient man sits amongst these members. Upon a log sits he, staring into the swirling flames with eyes clouded by old age. A white beard grips his chin. The length of it reaches down his torso and comes to rest in his lap where he twirls the end idly. His appearance was one of tranquility. How far from the truth it is.

It has been a long time, too long. He speaks the words in his mind as he has done before on many occasions.

Let me take you back. To my youth. He addresses the group in his mind. Dare he speak these words aloud?

I had a brother back then. He pauses on this thought. Yes, I had a brother and his name was Abel. And a righteous man was he. My brother tended to the sheep and I to the crops in the field. When the time came to offer up our gifts to the Lord, Abel gave to God his firstborn sheep and the fat of his flock. I gave fruits from the ground. Because of the selflessness of Abel’s gift he was respected by the Lord but I was not. A terrible anger besieged me. “Why,” spoke the Lord, “are you angry? If you do well, will I not accept you?” His words offered no relief. Abel, I thought. He has done this to me. I have lost the favor of the Lord because of Abel. The old man pauses again to clear his mind.

You see, I had abandoned reason. An unholy fury had gripped my heart and was pulling me to a terrible resolution. Behind the old man’s eyes welled tears that threatened to break his ruse of tranquillity.

I killed my brother Abel. From his eyes broke free droplets of tears and down his face they slithered.

Why do the righteous suffer at the hand of the unrighteous? It is I, not he that should be dead.

“Father.” The sound frees him from his waking nightmare. “Why do you cry?”

Through blurry eyes he spots the figure that spoke. His son Enoch.

“No reason son,” replies the ancient man. He returns to idly twirling his beard still free from the thought of his dreadful tale.

To ashes turns the wood of the fire, the only sign of the fleeting time. Soon his opportunity would be spent.

Will I remain silent another night? He lets the question weave its way around in his mind. Do they not deserve to know that I am no righteous man? He comes to a decision.

“Let me take you back. To my youth,” begins the ancient man. He recites from memory as he has done many times before, only this time he speaks aloud.
Last edited by Revelations on Mon Feb 10, 2014 9:57 pm, edited 1 time in total.





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Mon Feb 10, 2014 9:56 pm
Blackwood says...



___
T h e . S u r g e o n

(Written by Blackwood)


Spoiler! :
The Surgeon



___The halls were flushed with heavy brown light that filtered through unpolished windows. They were clean from the inside; more than clean...impeccable; but washing from the outside was a waste of effort, the dust and dirt from the humid weather had tainted them their sour colour.
___This colour was the only source of light that was allowed to seep into the system of offices, theatres and labs, as there was no point to leave on the flickering electricity when there was nobody around; nobody except one.

___The hardened soles clapped against the firm tile floor. The shoes were not ones suited for the surgery. Rough, black and laced, the heels leaving long rubber scuff marks across the white slate.
___The tapping of the dauntless footsteps was echoed distantly by the rapping of flimsy double doors at the entrance of the complex.
The shoes stopped, the ring of keys were dropped from the right sleeve. The chain was unpadlocked, unsealing the doors as they were swung open.
___Two flustered officers stood to face the figure inside the dark intestines of the open door.
___“Inspector.” It nodded, “Can I help you?”
___“D-Dr J.Martin?” Asked the older and more podgy of the two, lowering his rounded hat.
___“Yes?” The surgeon replied, head turning between the visitors to the facility.

___Dr J.Martin wore a flat surgical mask across the face. It was not one of the disposable kinds, but rather one crafted for lasting durability, made of washable rubber, the colour of a pale grey wine.
___The surgeon was not the type of person easily distinguishable between male or female, if at all. Narrow eyes, and a chin caught between soft and angular. Hair was often pulled back tight, if not beneath the protective cap, or in the case of today, a wide brimmed hat, that resembled a doctor outdated by five centuries.
___The voice was mild, if it left any trace of identity, it was muffled by the mask itself.

___The inspector wiped his hand across his chin several times. He seemed to be irritated that J.Martin was wearing the surgical mask, and the gesture indicated that he wanted it removed. It would not be so. He had no such power here.
___After a moment of awkward wiping, the inspector coughed, and J.Martin stepped politely aside, the leather of the two shoes tapping together at the ankles, gesturing politely through the door.
___“Gentlemen, do come in, I expect you have arrived here for a reason.”
___The inspector clutched his hat tighter, glancing around the dully lit halls, the younger officer removed his oversized shades and tucked them into his pocket, saying nothing.
___“It’s quite dark in here... the lights? Where are your staff?”
___“No staff come in today.” Martin said flatly, closing the double doors and dropping back the latch.
___“So you’re not in operation?” The inspector’s eyes darted to the mask then back at the floor. “You seem to be working, but...”
___“I administer what needs to be done at any one time. And today there are no staff. Do you have a problem with that?”
___The stout man gulped, then spoke again, coughing into his sleeve to obscure his voice as much as possible.
___“We have received some complaints in the past month, and have come for flash inspection, although we did expect you to be fully staffed. Are you completely alone?”
___“Today, it is just my son and I.”
___“Your son? Where is he now?”
___Dr. Martin began to walk briskly down the hall, taking broad strides. The younger followed first, with the shorter scurrying along hurriedly, pointing out to each door for the younger to take a quick peer into.
___“Do you have no children, inspector?” The surgeon said, continuing on the the conversation the small man had started.
___“He’s at school, of course.”
___“Of course...” The inspector muttered lightly. Marten glared; the man was irritating.

___The trio reached the end of the hall. The surgeon turned on the heels of the boots. The inspector had slunked back a fair distance, and this time the younger had stepped forward into the dominant position, producing a clipboard.
___“So what were these... ‘complaints’ you received?” Martin inquired, unsure who to now address. The younger spat out the pen from his mouth. He had returned the shades to his eyes, rendering them unreadable.
___“What type of work do you do here again? A form of biological engineering? There was some fancy term for it I know, but to put it simply, cloning.”
___J.Martin said nothing and simply tipped the head to the side, stabbing at the shaded shield with piercing eyes. The youth was unfazed and continued to speak, tapping the pen on the clipped wood.
___“You’ve all sorts of licences registered, but it’s all very vague. There’s something you’re obscuring, but I know what you’re up to. You’re working on humans. Human tissue. Human clones. Don’t try to deny. Save your breath for telling me all your excuses about how it’s all gonna benefit human kind.”

___The surgeon chuckled lightly at the youths fortitude and leaned forward, feet fixed firmly together, hands behind back, and wide brimmed hat bending down to shroud the eyes.
___“My research is simply out of my own curiosity. And for the fact that I can.” The surgeon straighted. “It’s crass of you to make such blunt assumptions.”
___The young officer moved back, but kept his chest pushed high.
___“What you’re doing is morally incorrect! Not to mention legal difficulties I could raise if evidence is...”
___The surgeon had had enough. The scalpel was out from the back of the belt and balanced quickly below the youths lightly-shaved chin.
___“Your morals are none of my business.” The small blade turned, beneath the frozen form of the punk.
___“The two of you will find everything is in complete order. Now, unless you are offering your personal assistance in my research, then I advise you get out before things become... complicated.”


[body word count 998]
Hahah....haha.....ahahaha.





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Mon Feb 10, 2014 10:11 pm
TinkerTwaggy says...



Cursed Inferno


Writer's Note:
For those who have read my Gemsworld Quest, you've probably heard Dyrow mention the Pumpkin Ghost several times already. Consider this a sneak peak of the character he admires so much!
As for those who haven't read any of my chapters, you can just enjoy him in action anyway.

May you all feast your eyes on EVIL!!



Spoiler! :
"Run for your life! It's Pyrospook! The Wicked Wizard is here!
I smiled internally. It has been a while since the last time I heard people cry in fear upon my arrival in a new city.
I quickly chanted and began to morph thanks to the power of my incantation.
A sudden fire lit my entire being, as if coming from inside my body. My hands became long and sharp, powerful enough to slice a throat as easily as cutting a bug to pieces. My mage tunic was magically spared by the hellish apparition, but I couldn't say the same for the flowers around me. People were fleeing before my flaring gaze, and I was delighted by how fearful I still was wherever I marched. It felt good to, at last, be feared and respected.
"Decked out with his scarecrow best, the Wicked Wizard shall destroy the pest!" I singed, overjoyed.
I opened my hand and aimed a random house. A fireball came out of my demonic palm and set the house on fire. I could hear children screaming inside.
"Devilish spirit, strength of all! Who shall be the first insect to fall?"
A group of men armed with rusty swords made the delightful mistake to approach me. With a gracious movement from my hand, I created a fire circle around them. They could not escape. They could only scream in pain and pray for mercy.
But they would only burn slowly.
"After the insect come the rabbit. Save your life, hop for it!
I tranquilly went past the burning men and threw more fireballs at the pathetic houses all around me. Over the screams and desperate rushes of the people, I could already hear some habitations collapsing, consumed by my devilish flames. This time, six armored knights stepped in front of me, two of which on their horses, with spears ready to impale me.
More entertainment.
"Persistent nuisance? No matter, I only need you to dance!"
I chanted once again, eager to play with my new toys. A rain of fire balls fell down from the sky and hit the city even harder. The knights and the horsemen abandoned their positions and ran away, their armor in flames. The horses fled with them but fell on the ground after a couple of quick steps.
Nobody would escape my flames.
I stopped walking for a moment and looked around, satisfied. I took an abandoned branch in my hand. It immediately took fire, to my utmost enjoyment.
I had no words to describe my forbidden lust. More than causing destruction and chaos around me, more than the almighty feeling I had when doing so, more than the satisfaction blazing bodies brought to me, it was the beauty of flames that pleasured me the most. They lit everything in their chaotic path. They carried my infernal vendetta. They brought despair to the ones who once brought despair to me. I went down in flames because of their foolishness: so would they because of my fury. I could not be more content. But I too, one day, will be consumed by my own flames. I knew and felt it: it would not go on forever. Yet I had to enjoy every minute of destruction I caused, for the simple reason that I was treated as evil, and decided to become evil.
"You...You monster..."
I looked down. A wounded kid was staring up at me, full of hatred.
"You're the enemy of God, aren't you? You're Lucifer..."
I gently smiled at the kid.
"You know, little boy, Lucifer means light bringer. He used to be an angel, an Archangel even, but was banished. Just like I was. I'm not Lucifer, kid, but you could consider me as a modest emissary. I do bring light, but a kind of light that only I can enjoy. And that's good enough for me.
Tears of sheer rage came out of the boy's eyes. It was almost touching.
"You'll perish! You hear me?! You'll PERISH! You'll have to wash your disgusting hands after all the crimes you've done, and even after a thousand times, they'll stay as dirty as they should!"
"How troublesome. Then I simply won't ever wash my hands."
For some reason, my answer seem to confuse the kid.
"You... You won't ever wash your hands?.."
"No."
My palm silently approached the kid's face.
"'Cause I'm evil."
The kid didn't even have the time to scream: his body was instantly consumed. At least this one didn't suffer.
While walking away of the destroyed city, I couldn't help but wonder why was washing my hands so important to the kid's eyes. People really put too much attention into meaningless details sometimes.
Last edited by TinkerTwaggy on Mon Feb 10, 2014 11:13 pm, edited 9 times in total.
"Is there a limit to how much living I can live with my life? How will I know if I've gone too far?
And why did I spend my life savings on sunglasses for a whale?
I shall find the answers... to these questions."





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Mon Feb 10, 2014 10:17 pm
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ongoeslife says...



My entry. I just read "The Tell-Tale Heart", by Edgar Allen Poe before writing this, so perhaps that contributed to the idea a little. But anyway, here is my story. Word count exactly 625, including the title.

Spoiler! :
Swan Drive

I widened my hazel eyes winningly, my arm slung companionably across the shoulders of a boy my age. "Yes, Mrs. Hall, I'll take good care of him, as always. I'll watch over him like a praying mantis." The boy nodded eagerly.

A mantis about to strike, I thought. 'Poor, trusting fool.'

Mrs. Hall, our tutor, pursed her lips before consenting. "Alright, but be back here by 4:30. That gives you two and a half hours."

"Oh, thank you, ma'am!" I cried, throwing my arms around her. Sometimes you have to go a little overboard to come off as innocent.

I positioned myself behind Jason’s chair and wheeled him outside into the bright sunshine. It was almost too pretty of a day to kill someone. We might have actually enjoyed this day, had things—but things weren’t different. I lifted Jason into the passenger seat of my Jeep, stowed the wheel chair in the back, and climbed into the driver’s spot.

“Where to?” he asked with a smile. That cursed smile… He had no reason, no right to be so happy, especially not when my life was so miserable.

“I thought of going to Bernie’s for some ice cream. Sound good?”

“Sure!” His grin was blinding.

We pulled out of our driveway, chatting idly. About 10 minutes down the road, I turned onto Swan Drive.

“Hey, this isn’t the way to Bernie’s!” Jason arched an eyebrow at me.

“It’ll get us there eventually,” I lied. “Hey, wanna go fast?” Jason loved speed—his chair frustrated him tremendously, though you never would have guessed it.

"You bet!”

I floored the accelerator and watched the speedometer needle climb. Laughter burst from the seat next to me. Jason’s head was out the window, his shaggy blond hair buffeting wildly around his face, his eyes closed in bliss. “This is great, sis!”

Good. It will be easier on him this way.

Narrowing my eyes at the bend ahead, I allowed my left hand to slip onto the door handle. A great banyan on the corner loomed closer and closer. Jason was still unaware of his danger.

But he’ll be so much better off after this—and so will I. It’s a win-win situation all around, I reminded myself firmly. I had planned this out over and over; all of the models had proved to work. My timing was perfect as I swerved to the left and opened my door, slamming the passenger side and its occupant into the tree and ejecting myself at the same time. I hit the rough pavement just as the air bags exploded. It hurt, but I knew it was unavoidable. If I had to explain Jason’s death by way of a freak car accident, it had to look like I had been in one, too. I thought of every depressing thing I could, focusing on the sadness and pain of each event. When I had enough tears to sound convincing, I pulled out my cellphone and called Mrs. Hall.

“Hello, Tess. What seems to be—“

I didn’t let her finish, adding a whine to my voice to portray hysteria. “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry… I—It wasn’t supposed to happen! I didn’t mean to!”

“Tess.” Mrs. Hall sounded stern. “What is going on?”

“I—I—I lost control. There was a tree…” I let out a hiccup.

“Are you saying you crashed? Is Jason okay?”

“NO!!” I wailed. “He—He hit the tree, too.”

“Oh… that’s terrible. I’m sorry. Are you okay? I’ll call an ambulance and be right over. Where are you?”

“Swan Drive.” I made my voice sound as though I was trying to stop crying. “I’m o-okay. Just come quickly. I need you…”

I hung up and huddled on the ground, not looking at the wreck. I heard a car pull up, and Mrs. Hall was suddenly next to me. I was surprised that she sat on the ground and put her arms around me.

“I’m so sorry, Tess. Your brother was such a happy boy.”

Yes, he had been.





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Mon Feb 10, 2014 10:35 pm
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Elinor says...



Father and Son

[The infamous 'I am your father" scene from The Empire Strikes Back from Darth Vader's perspective]

There he is, at long last, in front of me, and I've made a fool of myself. A night has not gone by that I thought of what I might say to him on the chance that we would one day meet. When I found out he was alive, that was when my mind really started to soar.

He looks into my eyes--or, the mask that covers my eyes and shades everything in tints of red--and I can see, anger, fear. I've cornered him and he backs slowly onto the bridge. He thinks I'm going to kill him. No, I just want to talk.

It still feels surreal, my son before me. How old is he now? Eighteen? Nineteen? He's tall and handsome, and I can tell he has Padme's spirit. But I can't imagine what he must think of me after all of the things he's seen me do, after all of the lies Obi-Wan must have fed him. No doubt he turned my own son against me, as if cutting off all my limbs and leaving me to die wasn't enough.

We continue fighting. Put down your lightsaber, Luke. I don't want to hurt you, I just want to talk. He must be so afraid of me right now.

I'm looking at my son, so handsome, so brave, so strong, and suddenly it's twenty years ago and I'm holding Padme on the balcony of our apartment.

"There's this row of pretty houses by the sea on Naboo," Padme says, "we could move there, raise the baby. There will plenty of space for him or her to play."

I wanted so much then to quit the Jedi, to leave it all behind me. But fate brought her death and confined me to live out the rest of my days as a machine.

"It's useless to resist," I try. He ignores me. Then, I'm not thinking. Twenty years of anger and rage at all that should have been boils up inside of me as I thrust my lighsaber. I hear him scream. I cut off his hand! He clutches it with his good one and winces. He's in visible pain. He falls to his knees and cowers before me. Oh god, he's in so much pain.

He inches away from me, and I try to say whatever I can to stop him. It doesn't work. Now, if I'm to convince him to stay with me, to keep from hurling into empty space, to stand by my side.

"I'll never join you!"

I have to tell him. Now, or he's going to jump off. I can't bear to lose my son again.

"Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father."

"He told me enough....he told me you killed him!"

I don't believe it. Of all the lies I imagined Obi-Wan told him, this is the worst. He sees me as a villain, a monster, a cruel despot because he thinks I took his father from him.

"No, I am your father."

This has the opposite effect I imagined to. He says no repeatedly, and then he jumps.

Rather than acknowledge me as his father, he'd rather descend to open space. It's hard to swallow. In that moment a million emotions cross my mind at once. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. He has so many things to be proud of, but I am not one of them. These twenty years, none of it is worth flat rejection from my son, my only reminder of the life I had before the accident.

I'm sorry, Luke. I wish things would have been different. I wish I could have been there for you the way a father is supposed to be there for their child.

I stand there on the bridge in shock. The force tells me he's alive, that he's been rescued. It also tells me that this will not be our last meeting. Somehow I'll find a way to make it right, to make him see I love him and I only want what's best for him.

I call the Star Destroyer.

All our dreams can come true — if we have the courage to pursue them.

-- Walt Disney





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Mon Feb 10, 2014 10:48 pm
racket says...



Place hold...story in progress!
"The one who reigns forever,
He is a friend of mine!
The God of angel armies,
Is always by my side!"
"I was cup-bearer to the king." -Nehemiah 1
"I've lost all my marbles, but I promise they'll come back."





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Mon Feb 10, 2014 10:52 pm
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vetas says...



I'm addicted. I really am Doc. I get this crazy feeling each time I get my hands on one. They are just so delicious. My mouth waters each time I see one. Each bite I take out of them is just full of flavor. So salty and chewy Doc. I know I have a problem. I know it's wrong but I can't help it. I've tried other things, but they don't satisfy the craving. I absolutely love the parts that just crunch when I bite into them! Later on, I can just pick out whatever is stuck between my teeth. Oh Doc, please help me! I'm a monster! I need them now! Give them to me now! Give me children!





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Mon Feb 10, 2014 11:44 pm
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Pamplemousse says...



Only Wish


It wasn't easy being the thing that killed Augustus Waters. Do you know how difficult it was to slowly kill him from the inside? To take his leg and "disappear," just to show back up and take his life? How hard it was to snatch him away from the people who loved him the most?

I have killed many people, but Augustus was the hardest person to kill. If I were a human being, I would have been crying like an infant when I was killing him. The look on Hazel's face when she was told that Augustus had passed away was a look of pure sadness. She had lost the one person she loved the most, and it was because of me.

Why was I created to hurt people? I don't want to hurt people, but it is my duty. If I could have one wish granted, it would be to never have to hurt anyone ever again. That is the only wish I have.
“Admire my gaytime in the mist of purple~” -lostthought, 2015.
~~~~~~~~~~~Usernames~~~~~~~~~~~
Pamplemousse (4/16/14-Now)
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Mon Feb 10, 2014 11:55 pm
UshertheThird says...



The Dealer of Death
(It contains some mild language)

Spoiler! :
Behind the barrel of every smoking gun is a hero. Or, as some like to say, a villain.
My gun belches smoke in torrents, and it hurls pellets of lead like a free-flowing river. And yet, such names are of no concern to me. Whatever I am, I am the greatest of them all.
I kill people. That is my work and my passion. And a lucrative one, at that.
Murderer, the people call me. They spit the word in my face, as though it is an insult, as though I am some monster.
No, I tell them calmly. I do not murder. I am no lowly assassin.
To make certain the truth sinks in, I shout this next part: I am a Hunter worthy of the ranks of Artemis, a Soldier as strong as Alexander’s men, a Warrior as great as the Lord Khan himself! Do not dare to call me a murderer.
I wear each of my titles as a badge of honor upon my chest. I am a noble killer, if I am a killer at all.
Sometimes I like to think of myself as an artist. Through my actions, I create human expressions, and in this way I make the world a greater place. But most days, I know myself to be something much greater: I am a Keeper of Life, and a Dealer of Death. It is my duty and my privilege to remove every living blemish from the surface of the Earth. I work to destroy every man and every beast--even the noblest and most splendid--that does not deserve to walk upon the spinning ground beneath my feet.
Most people believe I am a disgusting creature, a man without morals, bound to Hell from my first breath. In one way, they are right: The flames of Hell lick my feet already. But I do my duty on Earth, and I will deal with the afterlife when I get there. Perhaps I’ll take out Hades, or something. But in the meantime, I’ll make sure the underworld becomes packed with as many souls as it can stomach.
I am currently hiding just outside the palace of the King. In a short while the Prince, the King’s first-born son, will step through the palace gates. He will go to the Main Square and announce the beginning of the kingdom’s Festival, which is the greatest event of the year. The Prince is a much-loved man, and deservedly so. Every human, creature, and child in the kingdom adores him. He has a kind heart, and he has brought great improvements to the kingdom. The people expect him to soon become King, and a fine day that will be for all the world.
They expect wrong. The Prince will die today; I am going to kill him. His death will be a great loss for the kingdom, and I pity everyone who will mourn him. I am saddened already to think of his passing. But such is the nature of my work. I do what is necessary for the world, not what is wanted by the people.
There is an enormous crowd around the gates; most people in the kingdom have come to see the opening of the Festival. Music blares as the gates swing open. Costumed guards ride through the gates, some on horses, some in carriages. They pass by slowly, and finally the Prince comes into my sight. He pauses just outside the gate and raises his ceremonial sword into the air, saluting the people. The crowd cheers wildly.
I stand and aim my gun. I have a clear path to the Prince’s head; I prepared well for this shot. He sees me and takes a calm step toward me. A look of pity overtakes his face. He lays his sword down at his feet.
“Please,” he says, looking into my eyes. “Put down your weapon. It will be better for all of us.”
The pity on his face disgusts me. It is as though he thinks I am a lost fool, a sick beggar who kills out of desperation. He is just as bad as the rest of the people.
“Please,” the Prince says. “We can get through this together.”
I meet his gaze steadily. I fire the gun.
The Prince crumples like an empty bag. His blood decorates the cobblestones.
People scream, and guards draw weapons. But my work is finished, and I am already gone.
Hidden from the people’s eyes, I walk on in search of my next victim, wherever that may be.
No, I think to myself. Not my victim. My friend.
Beneath some feet, the world goes on turning as the gods intended. Beneath others, the spinning abruptly stops with the jerk of my finger.
Such is life, and so it shall be until the world rips its bleeding dirt from the clutches of my toes.





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Mon Feb 10, 2014 11:59 pm
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Iggy says...



Harry Potter fanfic

From underneath the cloak that blended in with the night, a pale hand rose, holding a slender wand. It waved once and the doorknob before the wizard clicked, then turned and slowly creaked open.

Inside he went, casually taking step after step, his wand arm resting loosely to his side. He had a sudden urge to start whistling and managed to restrain himself, chuckling.

"Come out, come out, little rats," he sang, his feat carrying him down the living room.

One moment, there was no one, and then a man jumped out from behind the couch, raising a wand, the incantation of a spell on the tip of his tongue.

James Potter may be fast, but the Dark Lord was faster. Quick as a viper, he jerked his hand and a bolt of green shot from the tip of his wand, barreling into the man's chest. He crumpled instantly.

He gave the body no thought, merely continuing his way down the hall, his feet breaking the crooked arm of the dead body as he stepped on it.

He could hear her, in the room at the end of the hall. Her quiet sobs filled the air, stopping every once in a while to whisper her son's name.

He dimly heard her chant an incantation, but it did not concern him. She was not strong enough to withstand his spells.

"Filthy Mudblood," he spat underneath his breath, raising his wand as he neared the door, then kicked it open.

It was a toddler's room, made precisely for a little boy. The first thig he saw was the woman, who was impossible to miss by her fiery red hair that matched the flames in her eyes. She was standing in front of the crib, wand at the ready.

"Step aside."

"You won't touch my son," Lily Potter said in a calm voice.

His lips curled at her foolish words. "I promised Severus I would give you a chance, and that is what I am doing. Now move."

"You can't do this. Please, he's my son!" She begged, the flames in her eyes extinguished by her tears.

"Move."

Behind her, he heard a whimper and a rustling of the sheets as the child squirmed.

Her body wavered upon impulse, wanting to comfort him like a mother should. But she stopped, hardened her stance, and looked him straight in the eye. "Go to hell."

They raised their wands at the same time, but again, the Dark Lord was faster.

Once she crumpled did he really get a good look at the baby. Dark curly hair, bright green eyes, chubby cheeks. The innocence that radiated of him was pure, but he knew better. One day, Harry Potter would grow up to kill him. One day, unless he was killed before that could happen.

He raised his wand and pointed it at the boy's forehead. The baby blinked up at the cruel face of the wizard.

"Avada Kedavra." Voldemort hissed, waving his wand. Then the world went black.
“I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then."
- Lewis Carroll





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Gender: Female
Points: 382
Reviews: 26
Tue Feb 11, 2014 12:00 am
PinkPanther says...



I am ready before Little Anna's alarm starts vomiting cocophony. As she writhes and snivels at the prospect of climbing out of her bed, I smile. She is always weak in the morning, and I do not fail to use that to my advantage. When she lifts her head, I whisper "I can stay in bed for just a tiny bit longer." Little Anna puts her head back down. When she stands on her feet, I murmur "This isn't fair." Little Anna makes a sorrowful expression. When she sways over the sink, I make her think "I can't. I can't." Little Anna's tears mix with the water she throws on her face. I am smug all this time, but the real progress begins when she has to interact with other people. I convince her she is fed up with her parents, that she doesn't need to thank the bus driver, that her friends were talking about her before she walked into the room. She confuses me with herself more often than not, but sometimes she does overpower me. Today, at lunchtime, she gives a stranger a cookie. I 'm not discouraged. I know I have many more victories to savor before Little Anna's life meets its termination.
The strong mind can confront lies and illusions without being lost. The strong heart can withstand the poison of hatred without being harmed.








I will call them my people, which were not my people; and her beloved, which was not beloved.
— Romans 9:25