1,000 Meter Flash Fiction Challenge Submission Thread

[Shaun]

All submissions for the 1,000 Meter Flash Fiction Challenge go here. Please post them below in any way you feel fit (using spoiler or quote tags, or no tags). This is an individual event, so only one member per team should submit.

This event requires participants to PM the judges to get a theme. The judges are as follows: Bowie20049, Fi, Fiction, Wolfie, Majyk, Shaun, Mercy, and Draxzar. PM them all at once so you can get the theme for this event as quickly as possible (all judges have all the hidden themes).

What is the 1,000 Meter Flash Fiction Challenge?

It is an event where the participant must write a flash fiction story using the theme and no more than 1,000 words. This is a timed event. Once you receive your theme, you have exactly 2 hours to produce a story.

So, get your theme and get started.

P.S.: This event ends on 6/22/2010 at Midnight (EST).

[Inkweaver]

"I don't like this place." said Nicolai as he clambered across the boulders littering the riverbank, his father leading the way. "It gives me the creeps."

"Just shut the hell up and keep walking!" said his dad, a bottle of beer in one hand and a case of beer in the other. The rain clouds overhead didn't help Nicolai's uneasiness. Nicolai trusted his father, but not when he drank - which was almost all the time.

"Why are we doing this again?" he screamed over the torrent of water raging to his right.

"We're doing it to catch fish, you sorry little fu-"

Suddenly, Nicolai's father tripped and fell into the water below.

"No!" howled Nicolai as he raced up to his father, but it was too late. His dad was immediately swept away with the current.

For two whole hours Nicolai knelled beside that river, never moving more than a single inch. But, no matter where you are and what happens there, night always catches up to you. The temperature dropped from cold to freezing as soon as the sun fell below the horizon and the only action Nicolai took against it was falling back and laying down.

Nicolai awoke with a full moon overhead. His entire body was numb from the biting chill of winter. Luck was on his side that night, for he would have surely frozen to death if those clouds had produced any snow. From there, the morning came quickly and with it arrived the long awaited warmth of sunlight. Nicolai had to use all his strength to get to his feet. The river had risen a few inches, which meant that it had snowed in the mountains to the north and will probably be snowing here in a matter of hours. Nicolai began walking back in the direction where he had come; back to his father’s car and, hopefully, civilization.

After an hour’s walk he arrived at where he thought they had parked. But, there was no car! Not even tread marks! That’s when he heard it, a laugh - low in volume and high in pitch.

“Who’s there!” he asked - happy to hear another human’s voice, but startled by the tone. Two boys stepped out of the tree line to Nicolai’s left. They both had on leather jackets and steel-toed boots. And they both had shaved heads.

“I think we should teach this little shit a lesson.” said one of the boys more toward Nicolai than to his partner.

“He’s not a nigger.” said the other.

“I don’t give a fuck who is and who isn’t a nigger, I just want to kick some ass!”

Nicolai’s adrenaline began to go wild. He sprinted in the opposite direction of the boys, back toward the river, but they caught up in a few seconds. He screamed as loud as he could, but he new in his heart that there wasn’t anyone to hear him. One of the boys landed a punch into Nicolai’s lower back, sending him sprawling on the rocks. The other boy shoved the heel of his boot into Nicolai’s face. Then he pulled out a knife and jabbed it though Nicolai’s right eye.

“That should do.” said one of the boys. The boy standing above Nicolai lifted up his boot and pushed him into the water. Then… the boys simply walked away to the stolen car and away from the completely innocent boy they just slaughtered.

[avettica]

She was a vulgar woman, sleeping around like she did; there was a different man in her bed every night. It made him sick seeing how she was treated, how she was abused and thrown to the side like a rag doll forgotten by a child. He was the only one that understood that she was a beautiful flower hidden by crude actions and behaviors.

“I have to do this” she had said to him when he caught her yet again this time lying beside his brother. “It’s the only way I can take care of my family.”

“I can help you.”

“No you can’t” she said, and walked away, so he did too. He found a new love, and cherished her for their many years together. Occasionally his mind would flash back to hers, but he would immediately focus back on his wife, his beautiful wife whose chocolate brown eyes somehow looked so much like hers. One day he called his wife by her name. His wife saw his pain, and touched his face ever so lightly.

“Go if this woman is that important to you, you must go.” He listened to her. She was his wife, but doing this seemed wrong, he was going back to what he used to be, abandoning what I’d become. When he finally reached the apartment where he had last seen her something felt wrong terribly wrong. He heard sobbing coming from the apartment, and he knocked on the door. He waited seeing if anyone would let him in, but when he heard her scream he banged down the door, and unleashed the horror from within.

Lying on the floor dead was a young girl who looked just like her, same chocolate brown eyes same black hair same soft nose same everything. The sight almost made him throw up. He turned to her, her black hair in tangles hanging from a loose ponytail, her chocolate brown eyes stained by tears that made her eyes look like mud.

“What happened?” he asked checking the girl to see if there was any chance she was alive. Then he saw the blood, the blood flowing from the fresh gun shot wound in her head.
“She misbehaved” a voice said from behind him, a very familiar voice. It was the voice that he had always heard calling him in for dinner, the voice that had called I’m ready while playing hide-and-go-seek, it was the voice of his brother. He turned to see the small pistol that had taken the life of the small innocent girl.

“How could you, taking the life of a child?”

“It could have been her.” At that he saw her crawl back into the corner of the room, out of harms way.

“Don’t you ever talk to me again, you make me sick.”

“Why because you walked away, and left us here.” He gulped as his brother spoke. “We found out she was pregnant with her, not to long after you left. Doesn’t that make you feel bad?” He closed his eyes trying to pretend it wasn’t his fault, but it was. He didn’t know why he had criticized her vulgar actions when his were much more disappointing. He didn’t have the guts to bring her home, away from the behavior that led to this.

[Killian]

I slammed my hands down, glowering at the couple in front of me. They cowered back, the fools. I wasn’t meant to be a councillor, that much was obvious, but I still had a duty to my sister.

“Why, Mr. Smith, were you in affairs?”

“I wasn--”

“No excuses!” I snapped, “Give answers.” He turned to look at his pale wife--I would deal with her next--and I had to try and shove my disgust down. How could my sister deal with people like these every day? “Answer.”

The man said, “I wasn’t in affairs. Yes. I have female friends but that’s all they are. I suggested counseling because my wife refuses to believe me and we need to work on trust.” He grew more firm as he went on and I rose an eyebrow.

“So, you’re saying the files and your wife lied?” He nodded. “And I am to believe this?” He sighed and for a moment, looked the age he was--twenty something years older than me. Startled, I decided to listen. “Well, tell me your story.”

Noticing my softened voice, he began. “My wife is determined to discover me during my ‘midlife crisis’ she has been for three years. She seems to think I’m going to buy new things behind her back, cheat on her with younger women--” He snorted here. “I’m fifty-eight. ‘Younger women’ to me remind me of my daughter and her friends.”

I interrupted again, slightly intrigued. “You don’t find them attractive?”

“Impossible, right?”

He was more comfortable than before, letting himself lean back in his chair. The woman beside him however was paler. “Mrs. Smith, care to elaborate on what you said before?”

“Yes.” She whispered, “He’s going to cheat on me if he hasn’t already. I know he will.”

“Why?” I was starting to get used to this.

With a trembling lip, she said, “Because he’s done it before.”

The man sighed, shaking his head. “I was stupid. And that was before I got married. I’m married to you, Sharon. Married. I haven’t eyed other women since I was twenty-nine and I admitted to that shortly after it happened.” Darkly, he added, “And you used to admit to eyeing other men.”

Screw the earlier thought. These people had problems that I couldn’t really help them with. I wasn’t married, I didn’t have any romance in my life--Not since college. I thought back on my last one and realized I had absolutely no background to help them with.

“Ma’am, sir, calm yourselves. Why don’t we get everything out in the open now.”

Mr. Smith turned to glare, “I let everything out. I want to know why she’s so much more clingy to the fact I’d chase after other women. We have kids. A house. A nice car. Yes, I’m getting closer to retirement. Yes, I have grandchildren. Yes, I’m losing my sight. So? I am still as much--No, I am more of a man than I ever was when I was younger.”

I was going to trust his story. I turned back to the woman, trying to get back into it. “You? Why don’t you answer his question? You’re obviously hiding something.”

She sighed and small tears seemed to collect on her eyes. “Why do I have to be hiding things?” She stood, slamming the chair back. “I’m not going to let you tell me what to do and listen to his lies! No one believes me! No one!”

“Don’t go out that door!” I shouted. She stopped and turned, eyes wide. “Sit.” I barked and she obeyed, slumping down. After a moment, she buried her face into her hands and cried. She was too old to be acting like a child.

Scowling, I looked back at her husband. He obviously seemed hurt by her outburst. “Sharon... Don’t be like this. I just want to know...” He hesitantly rested a hand on her back and began to rub circles.

I rose an eyebrow. If I were him, I’d be sickened--I was sickened. Her behavior was indecent. “Well, Mrs. Smith, are you going to reply?” She was quiet for a long moment and then, very quietly, mumbled something. “I can’t hear you.”

She looked up and, sobbing, answered. “I-I... I was... There was a man.” Mr. Smith stopped his comforting and pulled back, eyes shining with surprise.

“Sharon?”

“H-He came in and.... I don’t know. He said some things and made me... Made me feel young again. And... He was a lot like you, James. And I just got swept away and I’m s-sorry and I... I...”

“Did you... Did you have an affair?” I pitied her husband then. Worst place to learn about an affair, I’d think. Next to walking in and seeing it.

She nodded and her husband recoiled. I sighed and asked an annoying question. “Why didn’t you just say it after it happened if you were so sorry?”

Sniffing, she replied, “I thought... If I had given in... That he would’ve, too.”

“Three years ago. It was three years ago, wasn’t it?” The look on his face was so stunned, I wondered if it was really sinking in. She nodded again. “...With Mike?” Again, sobbing harder, she nodded. “...Why didn’t... Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shook her head. “I.. I...”

My head was starting to hurt from the drama. How did Meredith put up with these couples? If they were all like this I was going to have to fix her some homemade doughnuts when she got back.

I zoned back in and realized just how bad of a councillor I was, the man had his wife’s hand in his and seemed to have taken my role. She didn’t deserve to be comforted. She accused him first and he was comforting her.

My first and last client turned back to me, “I think we’ll leave now. Thanks for your help.”

“I didn’t really do too much.”

He smiled, “You did more than enough.”

Love. Who the hell understood it?

[hanzy911]

Okay, so maybe stumbling upon the princess of Razarna wasn’t exactly the best way to introduce myself, but it wasn’t my fault!

The princess, who was in her royal chambers at the time, had, haphazardly, left the door to her bedroom open. As I blundered in like a headless chicken trying to escape the devil hounds, she was stood, rather inconveniently; half dressed. She was waiting for assistance from her personal servant, who had, by now, been sidetracked with a plate of pheasant for the king.

A squeal of surprise echoes along the corridor, ringing in my ears until my eyes roll sarcastically.

“Good Lord, there is an intruder in my chambers!” the princess exclaims, automatically covering herself with a conveniently placed gown.

“Shh, enough with the screaming! I’m not an intruder. I though this was the king’s quarters, what with the ornate carvings and huge doors, y’know?” I babble, hastily trying to calm the startled princess.

Her servant bursts into the room, whistling merrily. A long dress hangs from his arms like a wilted flower. He catches sight of me and a look of grim horror shadows his face.

“Princess! Are you alright? Oh my, who is that filthy commoner?!” He cries, glowering at me. “I’ll get the guards at once!”

“No, Daemon. Father will only order for him to be executed, and where would the logic be in that? I’ll deal with him” The princess insists, a smile playing at her lips.

Daemon hovers uncertainly, before the princess shoos him away with a wave of her dainty hand. Nodding respectfully, he scurries away, leaving the dress on a nearby chiffonier. He mutters to himself about ‘a waste of precious time’, before disappearing down the hall in hot pursuit of the cleaning maid.

“Aceline,” The princess says, holding out her hand.

“Caden,” I reply, taking it and bowing politely. I plant a kiss upon her smooth, tanned skin, hoping she won’t mind. She looks on, clearly amused by my actions.

She pulls her hand away, before looking me in the eye. They seemed to gleam mischievously. The playful look unsettled me.

“So, you’re a commoner? A little juvenile I must say. No disrespects to your family of course,”

“I’m an apprentice, your highness. I am to be a watchtower guard, that’s why I was in search of the king, you see?” I reply, gesturing towards the window.

“Now that is interesting, it just shows how much outside communication my parents allow me. Absolutely zilch” Aceline smirks, reaching for her dress.

I watch in silenced awe as she slips the hued green velvet over her head, taking careful care not to ruin her immaculate hair.

“How are they training you? I’ve always been very interested in the systems of my guards; do you have a specific role?” Aceline asks, returning to sit on the edge of her bed, gazing at me inquisitively.

“Well, my lady, your guards are pretty harsh… and fat!” I answered; I was feeling somehow nervous, so I let the words spill out of my mouth without taking a second thought. “Our sleeping quarters are disgusting, old, smelly or broken armour is just lying about, and there are flies everywhere! Living in such filth and grime makes me sick to the point of nausea, but I have no choice.”

The princess smiles sympathetically.
She looks like an Angel who fell from heaven and lost her wings on her way to Earth…

“Fat, you say?” Aceline asks.

“Your highness, the chief needs only one single pound to become an official Sumu wrestler!”
I looked at her, and she was, for the first time, letting out peals of held-back laughter.
We both stopped talking for a moment, until the princess’ giddy voice broke the silence.
“I wonder how you normal people live… I’ve never been out of the castle.”

I felt sorry for Aceline, royalty and high life deprived her from discovering the world. I stood further from her.
“Why don’t you come with me?”

“What?” The princess seemed to look stunned, but there was this look in her eyes that said ’take me with you’.

“I’ll help you escape from the guards surrounding the castle, and I could show you my village.” I continued.

The princess nodded, speechless, until a large beam was plastered across her face. “I’ll get ready at once!”
I waited patiently in the corridor, glancing every now and then at the silken tapestries and broken battle weapons which adorned the walls.

The princess finally emerged from behind her door, her face a picture of serene beauty. “Why are you gazing at me so intently?” She giggles nervously.

I look away, a hot blush seeping through my veins. “Come, let us be going. The sooner we leave the better.”

As we creep through the halls, our footsteps ringing against the marble floors, Aceline turns to me. She grabs my arm, her eyes glittering. Without a word, she leans forward, and kisses me!

“W-what was that for?!” I stutter, shocked.

“My way of saying thank you,” she shrugs.

Warmth spreads through my entire being, and I try to hide my satisfaction.
In the courtyard, several guards patrol the palace entrance, repetitively trudging back and forth, armour clanging.

“How do we get past them?!” Aceline whispers.

Pressing a finger to my lips, I gesture for her to remain in the shadows.

“Ekon, intruders, they’re invading the palace!” I pant, racing over my fellow guard-in-training.

“What, where? I’ll go and warn chief!” Ekon exclaims, rushing off to find his overweight leader, his helmet plume billowing in the breeze.

“Come on!” I hiss, beckoning Aceline to my heel.

We scurry across the courtyard, remaining in the shadows.

“Quick, out here!” I usher her out of the palace gates, checking there were no guards in the watchtower.

Passing villagers frown at us, their faces puzzled.

“It’s the princess!” One yells, pointing.

“What is she doing out, with Caden?!”

“How vulgar!” Ekon appears behind them. “I’m coming too!”

[Alice Glitterhorn]

The edge of the pond lapped at Mina’s feet like it was trying to suck her into its cloudy depths. With the gentle flap of wings, a bluebird flew down to sit on a log in the center of the pond; the log acted as a stage while the bird started to sing a sweet song that made Mina’s eyelids droop. An air of peace had settled over the pond, while the quiet rhythm of the sun-dappled water lulled the little girl into an easy daydream. She imagined the bird to be an opera singer, a large lady with a puffed-out chest in a soft blue dress, singing about magical lands where fairies painted flowers in rainbow candy colors.

An iridescent green dragonfly hovered above the water, only a foot away from Mina. She smiled lazily at it and started doodling in the air, drawing a butterfly for it to play with. The dragonfly fluttered away with the invisible butterfly, dancing in the air and doing somersaults over each other. Mina started humming along with the bird, whose song had begun to play in a repeated pattern, like a skipping record.

A pink line flashed across the pond, startling Mina awake into sharp clarity. The butterfly was left alone, and it sadly disappeared like the pop of a bubble. The girl’s attention was drawn to a little green shape hopping towards her in threes; a sort of froggy waltz.

“Obscene.” Mina stared at the frog that had so nonchalantly eaten her dragonfly. The frog grinned, showing the remnants of a delicate wing on his lip. “How could you go and eat my friend? What an obscene thing to do. You have no manners, Mr. Frog.”

Still grinning, the frog hopped again and plopped down on Mina’s knee, paying no attention to her words. “I have been waiting, my lovely little tadpole! Waiting so long for you!” He spoke as if singing, and to Mina’s disgust, a bit of dragonfly was flung onto her leg. She brushed it off and knocked the frog off of her. He righted himself and continued to smile. “Just a kiss, my lady? I swear I will be your prince in shining armor.”

“I don’t kiss little froggy lips. My mother had the good sense to warn me of your type. I bet your father was the pond drunk for you to have such terrible manners!”

The frog was taken aback. He shrunk into an even smaller form and turned around, hunching over like he was going to cry. Mina crossed her arms and went back to listening to the opera bird’s song. However, the lack of sound (besides the lapping of the pond, of course, but that was a given, and nothing would make it stop) made her look wildly for the log. She couldn’t bear to be left alone with this frog, with not even the music of a beautiful bird to accompany her.

The bird was gone, and the log rolled over. Something had just jumped off it. From the corner of her eye she saw a blob of orange; it turned out to be a very naughty cat, and hot, angry tears stung the girl’s eyes.

“Oh no, the opera bird!” Mina cried, her hand flying to her mouth. One lone blue feather hung from the cat’s mouth, which was twisted up into a malevolent grin. Mina stood up and stomped her foot into the soft mud of the pond’s edge, trying to scare the cat off. “Go on, you! I won’t speak to you ever again, Puss!”

The cat sat next to the frog and licked his paws. “Oh, but Mina, my little kitten-face, can’t I have a kiss? I promise to be your prince in shining armor.” His voice was deep, like Mina’s father’s, but she wished she had the heart to throw that cat in the pond. He stood up again and pawed at Mina’s knee, scratching her and causing her to cry out.

She knocked the cat onto his back and started to walk towards the other side of the pond. The peace had been broken by the coarse creatures, but Mina didn’t want to leave just yet.

The cat and the frog followed her, hopping and plodding along with their belly’s full of Mina’s little friends. She kept walking, around and around, until there seemed to be a sort of shift in the air, like waking up after a long nap. Another bird started to chirp, taking the place of her lost opera singer, and a group of dragonflies flew past her, playing a game of tag. Mina yawned and looked up at the sky, which had become cloudy since the last time she had looked. The pond water was no longer speckled with flecks of sunshine.

Hesitantly, Mina looked behind her. The frog and the cat were gone; she breathed a sigh of relief and sat back down, laying out near the water’s edge. “What vulgar company they were,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

[Apocalypse]

1,000 words exact! -- but I didn't have time to revise or edit... lol

Title: A Day I Will Never Forget

I’m not excellent at telling stories, but I must tell this one...

I walked like a God among men. My refined clothes and the parade of bodyguards behind me showed that I belonged to the royal family. A small crown graced my head, encrusted with rubies and diamonds.

My father had decided to interact with our people. He thought that by doing so, we would create harmony and would be able to enforce stability and peace easily. I had tried to dissuade him from that... I didn’t like relating to the peasants. I felt it was useless anyway. We would oblige peace in our country, even if violence were needed – so what was with the necessity to walk around and giving out money or food?

I would never understand my father’s definition of a good heart.

He walked beside me, two steps ahead. Everyone fell to their knees as he passed, goggling at his fancy coat and glorious crown. His, compared to mine, showed more magnificence and splendour and had big, exquisite rocks encrusted to it – some from Bilbanye and Stranghtan, which were unruled and very wild lands.

After our people knelt like the slaves that they were, they would stare at our polished boots and how they exuded grandeur. Some dind’t even have the courage to look, but the ones who did had their eyes bulging out with avarice.

The extended succession of the royal guards being displayed ended with our women slaves giving out bread, fruits, and fresh water. Every farmer and his family would run to the women dressed in white. They would take whatever they were given and thank numerous times before backing away and falling to their knees again.

I smirked, knowing more than a handful of our people were jealous of our comfortable life-style... knowing their greed was endless yet impossible to fulfill. But just as my haughty smile had blessed my features, a frown intruded.

A girl in ripped and torn clothes hadn’t knelt. Her face was dirty and her eyes wore blue bags under them. She had hair resembling the color of the sun but it was dry like a broom’s twigs.

I glared at her and stopped my march. Everyone came to a halt after me except for my sire.

“Father,” I called, feeling insulted.

He turned around slowly, a graceful smile on his lips.

“Yes, son?”

“The girl,” I said, frowning further more. “She did not stoop down.”

The thought of this offensive kid made my anger increase by considerable amounts. Who would believe we would have such ungrateful people after all we do for them?!

“It’s of no concern, my son.”

He turned away from me and began his march again. My chest welled up with rage, a tornado of fury telling me how wrong my father was. I fisted my hands and reluctantly tried to abide to my sire’s words.

But it had been of no avail.

Feeling I couldn’t let a vulgar, low-class worker get away with such a rude act, I decided to do something about it. If I would have to take her back to our manor and punish her in the dungeons without food for three days, then be it. If I would have to let one of our guards whip her until she screamed her forgiveness, then be it – unless she screamed too early, which was the most probable, then I would have to order the guard to whip her until she bled.

“You!” I said, pointing at the girl. Thoughts of imposing a penalty on her and her family gave me more courage.

She had been looking at my father – wide eyes with amazement and a sweet, full of love smile. But the second I caught her attention, her eyes ran out of feeling and she just stared back.

“Kneel,” I commanded, her dull eyes bringing my rage to a whole new level.

A sitting man next to her pulled her from her clothes, trying to bring her down to her knees. She stumbled and fell. Her neck was in an awkward position, but she still stared at me, fierce hostility exuding in waves from her eyes and hitting me like the angry sea would push a boat.

Her dull eyes transforming into an inner battlefield between me and her made me realize how she had been actually defying us... no, me right from the beginning.

I strode towards her, my hands shaking in rage. I grabbed her by her hair, somewhat disgusted by the dirt in it. Shaking her, I saw tears well up in her eyes.

“Do not challenge me, you vulgar, little kid!” I threw her to the ground and looked at her from my standing position. Like that, she seemed like an ant to me. I rejoiced in my threatening stand.

“Son,” I heard my father calling, his voice low yet grave.

I turned my head, my moment of victory lost, and saw the shame in my father’s blue eyes. His face depicted aversion and I felt belittled for a moment; his lips were furrowed just like his brow, and his cheeks were red with what I could guess was anger.

Blood rushed to my face for reasons I couldn’t understand. I sensed everyone’s eyes on me -- even the guards’, who were supposed to act like stones and statues if they were not marching or watching the welfares of my home.

I didn’t understand. My mind was in a state of shock -- What had I done wrong? I looked down again at the little girl and saw streams of tears running down her cheeks, making a clean path. She rubbed her face with her little hands and realized that she was messing her looks even more. Pulling up her shirt to hide her face, she showed me her bare, flat stomach and how malnourished she was.

Ashamed of myself and how I had acted, it hit me that I was the vulgar one and not her...


I don't have a team. Hope that's no problem... :blush:

[Prowl]

I looked through the window at my parents as they spoke with principal over my behavior. I felt bitter resentment as their faces turned angrier, not at him, but at me. Of course they would believe him over me. They always believed anyone over me because I’m not good enough to be believed. I faintly heard something about ‘stopping this vulgar behavior.’ Mom nodded at the principal while Dad stormed toward the door. I quickly ducked and sat down in my seat, pretending that I’d been there the entire time. The door burst open and Dad grabbed my upper arm and started dragging me through the hallway. I heard Mom’s lighter footsteps behind us, catching up with us quickly.

The drive home was made in silence. Dad’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel and Mom’s lips were pursed as she kept her gaze on the road in front of the car. I stared out the window and said nothing, preparing myself for what I knew was coming when we got home. Dad swung into the driveway without slowing down and I was almost thrown through the window. I rubbed my head where I’d hit it and heard the driver’s door slam shut. A few seconds later my door was flung open and I was jerked unceremoniously out of the car. I started to fight as we got closer to the house, my entire body tense as I tried fighting the inevitable. Dad wrenched my arm harder and I nearly fell on my face.

“Boy, behave!” he snarled as he pulled me to my feet.

My bottom lip trembled as he pulled me into the darkness of the house. As Mom slammed the door shut behind her, I swallowed and braced myself for the first blow. Not two seconds later, agony exploded from my left cheek as Dad punched me and I went down. The coppery tang of blood flowed across my taste buds and I ran my tongue carefully across the inside of my cheek. There was a cut on the inside where my teeth had torn into it, and I could feel the bruise spreading across the skin. A large hand grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me to my feet.

“How dare you start a fight?!” Mom snapped. “You should know better!”

I said nothing; anything that came out of my mouth would be twisted and used against me. Why should I give them more ammunition to degrade and humiliate me? When I gave no answer, Dad punched my again, this time in the stomach. I gasped as the wind was knocked out of me and I went to my knees as my lungs tried desperately to get oxygen. Mom hit the back of my head and I hit the floor again. Where she’d hit throbbed as she growled.

“When I ask you a question, you answer it, do you understand?”

When no answer was forthcoming, she stomped her foot down on my back, bringing a cry of pain to my lips as my back bowed in an attempt to get away from the pain. She kept her foot threateningly on my back as Dad hit me upside the head.
“Answer your mother!” he commanded.

Fear of more pain brought an answer from me.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said hoarsely.

They both made soft noises in their throats as Mom removed her foot. Dad dragged me up from the floor again and I swayed slightly as he let go of me as a wave of came from where Mother had hit the back of my head. I managed to stay on my feet, but immediately wished that I hadn’t as Dad slugged me in the face again. I hit the wall before sliding down to the floor.

“If I ever hear that you started a fight again, your punishment will be much worse,” Dad said coldly. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, sir,” I croaked, my voice broken from all the pain.

“Good,” Dad said with finality. “Now, your mother and I are going out. Behave or else.”

I stayed still and silent until the door shut behind them, then I struggled up from where I’d fallen and whimpered as the world tilted almost violently. I gripped the wall to keep myself upright and took a deep breath to steady myself before heading slowly to the bathroom. When I got there I started the shower and adjusted the water to the right temperature before stripping carefully out of my clothes, trying not to cause myself more pain then I had to. I finally was undressed and stepped into the warm water, gasping as it hit some fresh cuts. I didn’t notice that they’d broken skin other than in my mouth.

I shuddered and let out a soft sob as tears started to slip out of my eyes and down my cheeks. Leaning against the shower wall for support, I let the tears fall freely as the pain became nearly overwhelming. I don’t really know how long I stayed there like that, but I eventually moved and reached for the soap to start washing myself. I gingerly went over the bruises and cuts, hissing as the soap got into the wounds. I rinsed the suds off and turned off the water, reaching out and grabbing a towel off the towel rack. I wrapped the towel around my narrow waist and stepped out of the tub onto the cold tile.

After I grabbed another towel and dried my hair, I wiped the mirror down and stared into it. I looked blankly at my reflection and thought back to the fight. I had started it because they’d called me weak and scared. My Dad and Mom always did that when they punished me. When the kids had said that, I did to them what I wanted to do to my parents.

When the principal mentioned my vulgar behavior, did he realize he was staring at the people who had influenced it?

[Jako Pear]

It’s more than a bad habit, I think. There’s no way it can be justified. It won’t be happening for long - it’s a fallacy, a mistake. Nobody can be as crude as she is and get away with it. She can’t keep doing this to me. Things just don’t work like that.
And yet, somehow, they do.
The people adore her for her ability to speak out however she likes, whether her words are ridiculous or not; the journalists love her for her ability to sell the newspapers. A picture is worth more than a thousand words – in her case, a thousand dollars.
But surely it can’t be endured for any longer? Nobody can listen to advice from a woman who got lucky and hit the big time. Especially not in the way that she did. Who pays attention to the whores on street corners? Certainly not me.
I did, though, once.
Look where that got me – in exactly the same position as she was. No money, no possessions, no clothes to speak of; not even my body is mine.
Is it too much to ask for even a share of the recognition? It was me that got her that far. Movie star? Ha. She’s a self-obsessed moron. I don’t understand her fans. How can they love someone that they’ve never met? It confounds me.
Am I jealous?
No.
In a way, I guess I am jealous – but not of her fame; I don’t want her stuffy, glam-oriented lifestyle. I don’t want her money. I don’t need adoring fans and a thousand strong following. I could do without a life full of offensive rivals and greedy clients. I have that already.
I just want someone to look up to me as a role model – if I had my way, I’d be a hundred times better than her, and in a thousand different ways. I don’t swear blindly, even in the worst of times. When I can’t afford for myself to eat, I’ll get food for those who need it. I make do. I won’t begrudge her for her looks – it’s really the only thing that she has going for her. I’d make a better ‘movie star’ than she ever will.
But who’d look up to someone who lives in other people’s bedrooms and, on good days, has a different woman every night? The streets are my home now; I spend more time there than anywhere else. On the bad days, I don’t eat, and I don’t sleep – that makes it even more unlikely for me to get work the next day.
She’s coarse, unable to speak fluently without cursing. She’s barely able to keep her hands to herself, and not one aspect of her personality is remotely decent. If that’s what the film industry wants, then they are welcome to have her – I can do without her awful, vulgar presence in my life. It’s distracting to the extreme. I taught her the tricks of the trade and then she left me. She hung me out to dry and ran to Hollywood.
Am I a fool for trusting her?
Certainly – but at the time, why shouldn’t I have done? I loved her – I thought she loved me. I still have a signed photograph of us in my wallet. It’s the only thing in there, except for a few odd coins that don’t amount to much. I can’t deal with her behaviour any more. She came back to me last night, drunk out of her mind and begging me for forgiveness. I don’t know how she found me, or escaped her bodyguards. I wasn’t on my regular route. I bought her a coffee with money that I didn’t have. I took her back again. I don’t know why.
She was gone again the next morning.
It left me hollow and empty inside; I should be used to being left behind in the morning, considering my line of work. I should be used to being used. I thought I was – but every time she is involved, I fall to pieces.
It seems that I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with an uncouth woman that I can barely stand to look at because of what she has done to me. I can’t move on with my life, either, because she is everywhere – on the sides of buses and buildings, the huge billboards in the city. She is everywhere I look, her gorgeous face mocking me.
A bad habit?
Leaving me one day and reeling me in the next. It’s more than a bad habit – there’s no reasoning behind it, no possible motives other than seeing me suffer – it’s become a way of life for her. She’s a liar and a cheat, dragging down her saviours to float back to shore.
I don’t understand her. I doubt that I ever will. Is it insanity that drives me to try, or my inexplicable attraction to her? All it does is make my life far harder than it needs to be, more difficult and confusing than it already is.
In the Sixties is a cruel place to live. Halfway into her vulgar, derogatory heart is even worse.
I wonder - did she ever tell her Hollywood heroes that she was gay?

[Queen Kanen]

980 words, although I was a little rushed on the editing. I only got one look-through.

Luqui

He was the bully of the village. Rude, cruel, lewd, and all together vulgar. And, when the day came for him to be reborn as a man, the Elders named him so. Luqui – the Vulgar One. They had hoped that would knock some sense into him. But instead of illuminating his childish ways, the name only seemed to sink him deeper into his nature. He bore the name with the pride and arrogance that befit one of the High Lords of the south. No lesson, no punishment that they possessed had sufficed to teach him the ways of a True Man, and it appeared that nothing ever would. And so, the Elders resolved to cast him out, before he seriously hurt someone, or worse. Maybe one day they would let him return, finally matured, but until then, he was to be exiled.

The Council came to him as the moon rose into the sky, a few of the younger men on their heels; if things got violent, there was no doubt they would need their protection. The Elder’s frail, aging bodies would have no chance against the thick, muscled arms of Luqui, heightened even more so if he let his anger get the best of him – which he often did. So, four guards in tow, they made their way to the hut on the outskirts of the village.

The hut was small and barren; the thatching on the roof was beginning to crumple, and one of the two windows lay blanketed in a sheet, the glass and paneling destroyed in one of his bouts. The single flower bed sat in the grip of strangling weeds. No wife was there to tend to it, to plant roses or lilies, to water the soil and cut away the overgrowth. No family in their right minds would hand their daughter over to a man like Luqui, or they ran the chance of finding her beaten to death in the morning. The tiny square of lawn was calf-high in itchy grass, and several empty ale bottles stood by the door. To Herith, one of three women on the Council, they seemed a warning.

Her nerves stood on the edge of a knife, swaying back and forth as if dancing, her heart keeping a rapid beat for them to follow. What would happen when he learned the news? Would he accepted it and just leave? Would he beg for a second chance, say he could, he would, change? Would he attack? The thought of his huge, calloused hands around her neck made her tremble.

Qaith, the Head Elder, rapped thrice across the door; the hinges rattled, looking as if they would give way at that moment, before settling down again. From inside, she heard a groan, glass breaking, cursing, and then stomping towards the door. The thin piece of wood flew open as Luqui all but ripped it from its hinges. Broad shoulders, fat neck, sinuous limbs, and a face like a boar were all it took to send her trembling once again. Why had she even come? They had agreed that Qaith would do all the talking, what need was there for her to
be there? In answer, Qaith’s voice sounded inside her head, “It’s tradition.” Damn tradition!

Luqui squinted at them for a moment, as if he couldn’t make out who they were. A fresh ale stain ran down his already-ruined tunic. And he’s drunk! Herith resisted the urge to turn and run, planting her feet as she balled up her fist. She was an Elder of the Council that governed the village of Aritha. She would be strong.

“What do you want?!” he spat finally, his speech slurring slightly. Qaith’s back straightened, his hands clasping behind his back.

“If you would, Luqui, please step outside,” the High Elder said, his voice calm and steady; but Herith had the feeling that he was just as frightened as her, probably even more so. The Vulgar One stumbled across his threshold, revealing the half-empty bottle in his right hand; he took a quick swallow of it before refocusing on them.

“What?” The man’s eyebrow rose in emphasis. Qaith took a deep breath and began.

“Since you were born, this Council and others of the village have attempted to teach you the ways of the True Man, of honor, loyalty, kindness. But you have refused us. You take in our wisdom like a strainer, filtering it all out and leaving only the parts that benefit you behind. You have become a menace to the village and as such, must be disposed of. The Council of Elders exiles you. From this day forth, you may not step foot onto our soil, under penalty of death.”

The monster of a man sat there a second unfazed, soaking in Qaith’s words. As comprehension spread, anger rose to his cheeks. The High Elder stepped back as a sausage of a fist raised to strike, the guards moving forward. Herith fought the urge to cover her eyes. Luqui’s gaze shifted from the old man, to the guards, and then back again, before he let the hand drop. A crash sounded into the night as he flung his ale bottle against the side of the house, curse after curse escaping his lips. Herith thought that at the moment, his name suited him like a fish in water.

“You may gather what you wish to take with you. These young men will escort you to the border,” Qaith said between swears.

Luqui stomped back inside, the house shaking under his feet. When he returned, a coat covered his chest, and his bow and quiver hung from his back. The guards walked him down the street, Herith watching as the Vulgar One slammed his fist into his palm.

Afterwards, she wondered if that rage might have saved the burning of Aritha from the Invaders.

[x3naurus]

Everything will be okay, Mr. Bubbles. It will all be okay...

The cool, sage fog wraps around my shivering little body. My legs start to give way, but I continue on, clenching my stuffed bear, Mr. Bubbles, even tighter. Everything will be okay... I constantly glance at the windows, crimson-eyed shadows lurk in the abandoned buildings. Everything seems not to have color... almost as if everything is like the historic cartoons with only music in the background. But here, there was no music. Only the whispers of the wind making me cold, inside and out. The longer I walk, the more the silence is.

I stroke the blonde hair out of my eyes, still hunching down in fear. Another howl of loneliness keeps my hands squeezing each other until it starts to become purple. A blur to tears, falling on Mr. Bubbles, darkening it in a web. I rotate the bear to face me, revealing the eyes made of black buttons, although one is torn out. The hidden smile becomes a contagion, and I kiss the top of it's head, letting the curled fur blanket my face. I slowly release it, realizing my legs seem like a robot's.

I thought this would be an escape, Mr. Bubbles... I thought it was over...

The sage turns to only a venomous green, making all vision impaired. My eyes snap everywhere there is a sound. A trash bag. A can. A fleeing cat. My breathing slowly increases, and my vision constantly blurs from the tears, and I constantly shake my head. The fur becomes like an ocean as I stroke it repetedly. My voice squeals when my body forces another wave of tears.

Why did You do this to me? Why me?

I play another song in my head... one from my favorite movie: Annie.

"It's the hard knock life, for us! It's the hard knock life, for us! 'Steada treated, we get tricked! 'Steada kisses, we get kicked! " I imagine all of the orphans dancing around the room, singing, and I forget my fears instantly.

"It's the hard-knock life! Got no folks to speak of, so It's the h--" My play-back is interrupted with laughter. Not playful laughter... a deep, mischeivous laughter. It startles me. My fears slowly come back.

"Dude, that was sweet, man!" I hear.

"Yeah, brah, I know!" My eyes snap everywhere, until I see figures of three people past the fog.

I'm scared, Mr. Bubbles.

"Hey, guys, you see that?"

"What?" One of them points at me. The figures don't come to clarity, only a silhouette. My blood thrusts through me when they point at me. I start shaking my head again.
"It's a girl..." They all start laughing, and they start running to me. I involuntarily scream, but their intimidation stops me.

"Hey, little girl. What'cha doin' out here, all alone?" They start laughing again. I look down at Mr. Bubbles, and close my eyes, wishing for them to just go away.

"What, you're mother leave you here? Goin' off bein' a WHORE?"

I feel nothing. Nothing, except their words.

"No... no, don't say that..." I mutter under my breath. An image of my father, grimaced, and pure hatred in his eyes shows for only a second. Their words, they echo... especially the Hate Words.

"Haha, she's such a FUCKing BITCH, huh? You wanna cry, you peice of SHIT?" Tears fall, and my hands are numb, looking almost like pale branches. I start shaking my head.

"Hey, look at that bear! Haha! PUSSY..."

"No... don't say that..." My eyes clench further, and my blood rushes back.

"Gimme that, BITCH!" I feel a tug on Mr. Bubbles, and my eyes shoot wide.

Mr. Bubbles?

I thrust my body back, taking Mr. Bubbles with me.

"NO!" I scream.

"Oh, come on, little PUSSY! Quit bein' a DAMN BITCH!" I feel a knot in my throat, and grit my teeth.

"Come on, you DICK! FUCK this..." he says. They come closer. I begin crawling away, screaming "STOP!" I feel a press on my foot, and the pain rages inside me. I scream again, shaking my head, hard, making my tears rain around me. One grabs hold of Mr. Bubbles, and my eyes widen. I pull as hard as I can. The smile on his face... the same as my father. I scream again, knowing it's useless. I stare into Mr. Bubbles, the only figure of hope I have. One last tug, and it's released. They laugh, and I scream.

"MISTER BUBBLES!!!"

* * *

A bright white light, and only a blurred silhouette of... someone. I hear words, but can't quite figure out what they are saying.

"...innocent! You...girl...for death!"

"...killed three teenagers! You... understand... death." I scream, and then I can see. I'm in a dark room, and I see a woman, and my... mother.

"Sara!" I hear from my mom.

"What's going on?"

"What do you mean what's going on?" the woman says. "You know exactly what happened. You went in a rage and murdered those three teenagers."

"Murdered?" I become so confused. "I didn't murder them! They were hurting me, and took Mr. Bubbles from me!"

"Okay..." she says, and I start crying again. "Then how do you explain that?" She points to my hands. I slowly raise my hands, and a crimson liquid drips down from my fingernails and all of my hand.

"No..."

[Amour]

Managed to just finish. Exactly 1,000 words.

A man lives in slum city, and it looks slummiest under the October moon. Cigarettes are strewn across the makeshift floor, and most of them are his or Maddy's, but some belong to that old man from the flat above them. That old, weeping, man; the one that's always moaning about his lost wife. He sweeps the cancer-sticks right off the edge of his balcony and onto theirs, but they don't complain. It's like an art piece out there, raining trachea rot and painting malignancies just centimetres from their home.

Slum city is a place of convocation. A place where strangers assemble. That shopkeeper who was robbed the night before, is connected to the thief that uses stolen dollar bills to feed his pet dog, Roger, the night after. That business woman, pristine and clean, with pearls around her neck is connected to the seventeen-year-old dug addict who's screwing his best friend's mother. Slum city is just a dirtier phrase for a formal event: the happenings of the world.

Maddy desperately wants to leave. She packs her bags on a Tuesday and steals his cigarettes, suckling on the tip of one that isn't lit as she hums to herself. She works as a waitress at the local cafe, always wearing a crooked nametag and burning her yellowed fingers on pie plates. They've long since become calloused, and she brushes back her blonde tresses with the pads of them. The miserable grandpapa from upstairs begins wailing about “Amelia”, but she's used to his sobs now. The woman was murdered in that very apartment years ago, and unlike her negro-faced boyfriend – soon to be ex-boyfriend – Maddy hadn't seen the mangled corpse. It was a result of drugs and sex, and a whole slew of shoddy affairs that didn't concern her. All that really mattered was the wad of cash packed in her back pocket, and the nicotine tug between her lips.

She's leaving him for another man, a politician who contributes half of the slum to their city in the first place. Maddy doesn't know that the politician, Dennis Newman, is a facade in a suit, and wouldn't leave his wife or reputation for a little girl who makes the shittiest pie. In fact, her negro-faced boyfriend, a middle-class high school graduate with tar in his lungs, just bought a winning lottery ticket and only has plans of taking care of her. But Maddy is low-class trash with a swagger to her hips, and the politician has such an honest smile. They all do, she thinks, while happily zipping up her worn jacket and heading out the door. A couple of bags are hung over her shoulder and her thin body sags under the weight of them. “Goodbye Calvin Putt with the cute dimples, and hello big money.”

Amelia herself was such a nice lady, and liked her neighbour, Calvin Putt, quite a lot. Even in a slum city, where the men and women are pleasant masks to cover ugly hides, Calvin and Amelia had shared a bond. Like mother and son. When she died, Calvin started antidepressants that soon became a quick degradation into a life of drugs. That's how he met Maddy in the first place; they were both high, and she was just so pretty. Like a little doll.

When Putt returns to his empty apartment, the TV is on and Dennis Newman is winning the elections. Calvin doesn't know that he is connected to the politician scum, but only understands that he needs a cigarette and there are none. He steps outside his balcony and watches the sunset glow, before picking up one of the used sticks and fingering it. The old-man-neighbour begins wailing again, about being so very alone.

Amelia had made fantastic pie, and she once brought over the recipe for our young minority male. Calvin kept it safe, and handed it over to Maddy who tried so hard to bake the dessert at the small place she worked. But her dirty fingers never quite rolled the crust right, and she never had Amelia's smile, nor her sweet-tooth. Maddy doesn't need to make pie anymore, she thinks, as she rings the doorbell to the Newman residence.

There's a young boy there, with doe-eyes and a girl walks up next to him. She looks bored, and stares at Maddy with distaste. The little-waitress-gone-homewrecker feels smug when she realises that she's going to tear this girl's family apart.

“Is Dennis there?” Maddy's voice is quiet and rhythmic; she sounds like she's on a permanent fix. The girl wrinkles her nose, but the younger boy nods.

The politician scum comes to the door with steaksauce crawling up his lip, and his blue eyes grow wide in shock. From inside, a jazz melody is playing and there's a woman's laughter. Maddy thinks that Dennis should wear a bib, because he's a messy eater and wearing such nice clothes. But Dennis doesn't return her warm smiles. Instead he ushers his children away and shuts the door.

Maddy expects a warm embrace, and perhaps a quickie like last time, but Dennis' eyebrows pinch together like he's angry. Our little anti-heroine is so very confused. He tells her quickly and quietly, as though paparazzi are everywhere, that she shouldn't expect anything from him – that they had only met once, and that he didn't even remember her name. Maddy thinks back to her negro-boyfriend, handsome Calvin Putt who, unbeknownst to her, has just committed suicide by jumping off his balcony. Calvin's body lands in cigarette butts as Maddy pulls out one fresh from a new pack.

She thinks she remembers a picture of Amelia from local newspaper clippings, and she thinks she can hear the old, wailing man's voice echoing from just above her. As she walks, Maddy spends her stolen cash on toffees, each wrapped individually. She eats them alone, and throws the wrappers into the street gutters, provng that city streets are slummiest on October nights.

[Shaun]

The challenge is now over. Thanks to all of you for participating. We will have the results in the next three days (barring disaster). They will appear in the Medals thread.