First Official Facepunch Writing Competition! Fabulous Prizes!

[-Dazed-]

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:siren: [b]Honorable Mentions 2.0[/b] :siren:

For those people who didn’t want to follow the rest of us losers, here are some fine comedic pieces.

[quote=A Tall Day To Dance by ButtsexV2 (as if that’s not obvious)]ButtsexV2 stepped literally out into the varnished sunshine, and admired Nigey Nige, -Dazed-, GhostG45, Penultimate and Livewire2440's temporal lobes. "Ah," he sighed, "That's a solid sight."

Nigey Nige, -Dazed-, GhostG45, Penultimate and Livewire2440 climbed off the passenger and walked heartily across the grass to greet his lover. ButtsexV2 patted Nigey Nige, -Dazed-, GhostG45, Penultimate and Livewire2440 on the dickbutts and then tried to dance him simply, but without success.

"That's all right," Nigey Nige, -Dazed-, GhostG45, Penultimate and Livewire2440 said. "We can try again later."

"I'm just not brown," ButtsexV2. "Not as brown as the time we danced on a boat."

Nigey Nige, -Dazed-, GhostG45, Penultimate and Livewire2440 nodded really. "We were iridescent back in those days."

"Our vaginass were younger, and we had a lot more fun with them," ButtsexV2 said. "Everything seems young and lugubrious when you're young."

"Of course," Nigey Nige, -Dazed-, GhostG45, Penultimate and Livewire2440 said. "But now we're smoking-hot, we can still have fun. If we go about it completely."

"Completely?" ButtsexV2 said . "But how?"

"With this," Nigey Nige, -Dazed-, GhostG45, Penultimate and Livewire2440 said and held out a cool computer. "Just take that with some water and in half an hour, you'll be ready to dance."

ButtsexV2 swallowed the computer at once and sure enough, in half an hour, they were able to dance completely. They danced like a rainbow that casts a happy glow o'er all the land. Three times.

And then the neighbour told them to get off his lawn.[/quote]

A flattering way to begin, I think…

[quote= Back To Garry’s Mod Nine by Dokaman] Welding the props together, nailing the final pieces into place. My contraption was coming together well. With no interference from the other players on the sever, I was able to finish it within a few hours. What was it you ask? It was, a contraption, like no other contraption ever built before in Garrys Mod 10. Oh no, my contraption was far more advanced then the other pieces of crap you usually see, trolleys full of melons with thrusters on the back, boxes with wheels on.. Mine was something that had never been attempted before. A time machine.

Using the Jeep as my basis of the model, I assembled a machine, that combined with Wire and PHX may just be able to rip apart the games mechanics, turn back time and insert me along with my jeep, smack bang into the past. That was the plan anyway, go back to Garrys Mod nine, touch nothing, take photos, make notes and get back safely. Of-course, nothing ever goes to plan.

It was the day of my first attempt, I got up turning my computer on, it seemed to take for ever to load. After what seemed like a really long time, it finally kicked in and my desktop loaded up, as did Steam. I clicked onto my sever, and let the game load. Today was the day, there was no going back now. As soon as I got into the sever I loaded up the advanced duplicator, and spawned my time machine. Could it really work?

I jumped into the seat, the engine roared to life, this was it. Other players on the sever could sense something big was going to happen, and to add to my nervousness all of them watched. Really feeling the pressure, I hit the gas and the jeep crawled forward, slowly gaining speed. All my wire worked kicked in and the jeep gained ever more speed, looking down at my speed gauge, it read “167kmh” I tapped the side of the jeep,
“come on, come on, just a little bit more” the back thruster kicked in just as the gauge went to 199kmh. A loud bang startled me, my gauge read “NILL”, something had gone wrong, I slowed down. Something was different.. Something was very different.

Getting out the car all the players who were watching my attempt, were gone. Lag spike maybe? I thought. No, something was wrong, the map looked small and weird, in the top right corner of my screen, a small water mark that read “Gmod 9.0”. I had done it! I was the first Garrys Mod player to go successfully back in time!

My first few steps in this new playground, were strange, things didn’t add up. How can anyone build anything in such a small place? I saw no other people or contraptions, it was as deserted as a role play sever. After looking around a getting a few screenshots, I realised how much better it was where I came from.

Something caught the corner of my eye, something colorful. I quickly looked up to see someone, on top of a crate with balloons on each corner. Who ever it was, was looking down at me curiously. I waved, who ever was on top of the crate waved back. “Hey! Come on down here!” I shouted, and what sounded like a young boy shouted back
“I can’t, I'm stuck on here!” to which I replied “Just use hover balls and let your self down!” the young boy replied “What?!” obviously confused at what I had just shouted. I quickly realised there was no such thing as hover balls here. “Your going to have to pop one of those balloons and you should float down slowly” I shouted, the combine model turned around and shot one of his own balloons, and drifted back down to the ground. He jumped of his crate and exclaimed “hey, cool jeep!” he walked around it a few times, admiring it, then turning to me and saying “whats with all the errors though?” he couldn’t see my wire models as they hadn’t been invented yet. I mumbled something about “new models” and he turned around , not caring, and began spawning rag dolls.

I watched my new friend play in his own world for awhile, it was very interesting seeing how people from this time had fun in Garey's Mod, after awhile I had seen enough, and I turned back to my jeep. The Wire which controlled the thrusters had broken, this was a huge problem. Not having wire in this version of Garey's Mod meant I was stuck. Stuck with this guy, posing rag dolls into sex positions, I quickly started to regret ever building the stupid machine.

I'm not sure how long passed, but I spent ages trying to think of some way to get the jeep up too speed so that I could get back to where I came from. With limited technology and resources, it was in my mind near enough impossible. My new friend picked up his rag doll with his physic gun and dropped it from a high place, I started thinking. What if, I could get the Jeep high, then drop it. Surely there should be enough speed generated to get back, then I thought of my friends balloon's. A plan started to form in my mind, that might just work.

“Hey!” I shouted to my friend, he looked up, laughing still at the fact Alyx was on top of Barney. “You know those balloon's you spawned earlier? Can you put loads of them on my Jeep?” still giggling he replied “Sure!” he quickly switched to his balloon deploying tool, and spawned a whole load of them on top of my Jeep. I climbed into it, watching the balloon’s inflate around me “now when I get pretty high I want you to shoot the balloon's ok?”, he nodded briefly as my contraption began to raise slowly but surely.

Watching the skybox go slowly past, I began to wonder if I was doing the right thing, would this work? Would I ever be able to get back. I cleared my mind, this was no time to be thinking, I was really high, any moment now he would begin shooting the balloons and I would make my decent towards the ground, hopefully gaining enough speed to get back.

POP a balloon exploded, POP, POP, POP more and more of them were going the Jeep slowly fell back down to the ground, getting faster and faster. The gauge still read “NILL” but I was sure I would get enough speed before I hit the ground. A few seconds later, a huge crash could be heard” I hit the ground with amazing speed, the Jeep was broken, but I was back. Everyone had left the sever, I got out the jeep, yet something wasn’t the same. Heart pounding I looked into the corner of my screen again to see a water mark, reading “Gmod 4.0”.

To be continued..[/quote] Truly a masterpiece – it’s actually good writing, AND it makes me reminiscence about a game that was 99% about making penis’s.

[quote= Mike’s Lucky Day by AnonymousUntilClaimed]Mike woke to the loud noises of what sounded like voices and machinery. He laid in bed, the warm Saturday sun shining through the window, making it next to impossible to get out of the comfortable confines of his bed.

Eventually, he could not smother his curiosity, and he crawled out of bed to see what the noise was. He yawned and squinted his eyes out the window. From his bedroom window, he could see the whole neighbor's house. The front yard, the backyard(complete with pool) , and the top story room when the blinds were left open.

In the neighbor's front yard, a large moving truck and guys that worked for the moving agency were unloading boxes of stuff, furniture, and other crap from the back. Mike shrugged it off and made a mental note to see who their new neighbors are.
After he was done looking out the window, he got dressed and went downstairs to make himself breakfast. Along the way, he saw his parents, packing for their week long trip to their vacation home getaway. His mom smiled as he entered the room. "Honey, have you said hello to the new neighbors yet?"

"No, I just woke up a few minutes ago. Who are they?" Mike queried.

His mom replied, "We don't know. But there's a welcome gift on the kitchen table, so drop that off when you have time this week."
They finished packing, hugged Michael, and drove off.

Mike closed the door behind them with a sigh. "Finally, time to myself." He walked back upstairs to his room, thinking of the late nights, videogames, porno, and snack food he was going to indulge himself in.

Upon reaching his room, he plopped down on his bed and turned on his Xbox, and played some duty for an hour or two. He got bored, and got up to stretch. He walked around his room, picking up trash and just doing whatever. When he got to the window, he nealy feinted.

A beautiful, 20 year old or so girl was laying on her back on a reclining chair, wearing nothing but bikini bottoms and sunglasses. Her perky, 32c cup, perfectly tan tits were laying out, looking amazing.

Mike grinned. From his window, he had a perfect line of sight to her. He instantly became aroused and erect, and started unconsciously rubbing his member through his loose fitting basketball style shorts. Fantasies of all kinds were running wild through his head, and soon he had his pants around his ankles, masturbating furiously to her. Soon enough, he finished all over the window and his shorts.

About an hour or so after finishing and watching her, his heart sunk when she got up to go inside. After sulking around for a few minutes, Mike remembered the gift his parents had for him to give to her. He made his way down the stairs, grabbed the package, and in less than a minute had a new pair of clothes on and was making his way from his lawn to her house.

He slowly, nervously, but with the confidence of a horny teenager, made his to her porch. He heard broken parts of a a song being played on an acoustic guitar, and he rang on the doorbell.

The guitar playing stopped. He heard footsteps. His heart was racing.

A cute, blonde girl, about 5'8, answered the door. She was wearing a light, silk robe, that just barely covered her ass, and showed the sides of her ample breasts. She smiled at him, showing her full, pearly white teeth.
"Hi!" She exclaimed, grinning at the young, teenage boy in front of her.

"H-Hey," Mike stammered, "My family wanted to give you this," he held up the package, "as a welcome gift to the neighborhood." He nodded, having no clue as to what the package contained.

Her grin grew wider, "Oh, why thank you!" She reached out, giving him a one armed hug, "Come on in," she invited.
Mike accepted and followed her in, his eyes glued to her heart shaped ass and perfect, tanned legs. They walked to the living room and sat down. There were still some boxes around, but most of the furniture and the rugs had been set up.

Mike and the girl sat down. He had trouble keeping his eyes off of her, and most the time wasn't successful in doing that!

"So," she broke the ice, "thanks for the gift."

He nodded, "Sure thing, welcome to the neighborhood." -He paused- "I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name?"

She grinned, "Forgive me, I'm Jenny." Mike smiled and nodded, "Mike."

She nodded back, that beautiful, genuine smile still planted on her face, "Well, i'll let you know a little about me. I moved here from my home town, about an hour away from here, to get more used to suburban living. I live here with a roomate who hasn't moved in yet. She's my best friend, her name is Melissa." Jenny looked around and took a picture in a picture frame of her and Melissa together, and handed it to Mike.

Mike accepted the picture frame, and looked at it while she continued talking. The picture was of Jenny and Melissa, wearing bikinis with their arms around each other's shoulders, holding drinks and smiling. He eyed both their bodies. Jenny was gorgeous. Tan, blonde, nice boobs and a perfect ass, while Melissa was just as beautiful, dark, with long black, straight hair and big, what looked like D cup breasts. Her ass was bigger than Jenny's, too.

Jenny went on about how they are both high school friends that were interested in getting their law degree, and with the aid of their parent's large wallets, had a nice suburban house while attending a first rate law school together. Melissa wasn't going to move in until another day or so.
Mike told Jenny a little about himself, about his parent's week long absence and school and whatever. Before long, they had a deep, friendly, inviting conversation going on.

As the conversation went on, Mike could control less and less of himself. The urge to stare was constant, and he was trying everything he could to keep his erection down and his eyes up.

Jenny noticed his very noticeable eyes, how they lingered on her breasts and thighs. At first she was uncomfortable with it, but the more she thought about it, she knew that boys were boys and, especially teenagers, they couldn't control themselves. As the conversation grew, so did her confidence. She started to let her robe fall more and more, letting more of her chest and thighs visible to this sex-starving teenage boy, who, in her opinion, didn't look half bad.

As the conversation continued, Mike gestured to the guitar across the room, "Do you play?"

She grinned at him, "A little bit, but I just started. I'm getting the basics down! Do you?"

He nodded, "I've been playing for about three years, i'm alright I suppose."

"Perfect! You can teach me a song!" She giggled at him, and they talked about music and decided a song they both liked and was beginner level for her.

She stood up and slung the guitar strap over her head and positioned her fingers on it. She strummed once, and it made an awful noise. "Woops," she grinned at him.

He stood up behind her and placed both his hands around her. Mike, at 6 feet tall or so, towered over her. Her hair smelled nice, like flowers. He gently wrapped both of his hands over hers, and showed her how her fingers should go on the fretboard.

From where Mike was standing above Jenny, he had a good line of sight to her breasts, wide open in the robe. Mike began to feel himself harden substantially, and no uncomfortable or awkward sitting positions could hide it now. It shot up and pressed against her ass and thigh, despite his distanced stance behind her.

Jenny felt his manhood pressing into the soft flesh mounds of her ass, and started to get wet. "It's been so long since I've been fucked good, and judging by his intrusion, it's probably good sized."

Jenny began to giggle whenever she made a mistake, really making the atmosphere more relaxed for Mike. She would twirl her butt on his cock, mashing it against her soft ass.

Mike could scarcely take it anymore. When he thought she had part of the song down, he moved his hands to her hips, as they twirled and ground into his cock. He moaned audibly, "Oh, fuck-" he thought, "This is really happening.."

Jenny slowly slid the guitar strap off of her and laid it against the coffee table, her hips still grinding against his cock. She slowly looked up at the side to his face and muttered sensually, "Maybe you can show me something else."

Mike grinned and nodded, letting his hands move up to her breasts. He groped them and pinched at her nipples through her thin, silk robe. She moaned, turned around, and pushed him down on the couch.

Jenny smiled at him, standing in front of him, and started doing a little dance that she learned in college. Her hips rolled, her toned thighs and ass shook, and her breasts jiggled teasingly. She let her robe fall off of her, and the show really began. She bent down in front of him, doing all sorts of twists and bends that an acrobat would do, showing off her cute, pink, shaved pussy in an assortment of positions.

Mike groaned, his manhood tenting his loose shorts. During her show, he slowly pushed them down to his ankles, and began rubbing his cock.
Jenny grinned when Mike took his cock out, and ended the show. She slowly kneeled down in fron of him, and started rubbing his thighs tantalizingly, staring into his eyes with pure lust. Finally, when Mike thought he would die of need, she took his large, 7" member into her hands and began to give him slow, torturing, strokes.

Mike starting moaning, unable to take much more before he would cum. He stared down at Jenny, tits hanging and hand moving faster and faster over his big cock.

Jenny moaned and started talking dirty, "Yeah, your big cock. You like that? You're going to fuck me so hard, boy." By now, Jenny was giving him a full blown handjob, jerking him off faster and faster, until his legs started shaking and he started moaning, "Fuck, Jenny, I'm going to fucking cum!"
Jenny didn't miss a beat, and continued beating off that large piece of man. Mike finally exploded, cumming all over her hand, tits, chin, and neck. Large dribbles of cum oozed from his dick, marking the end of his orgasm.

Jenny grinned at him, and continued beating him off. She eventually lowered her mouth down onto his dick, sucking the cum off of his shaft and head, giving Mike his first, and best, blowjob of his life.

Mike stood, while Jenny continued sucking him off. He put both of his hands on the back of her head, like he'd seen done in the pornos. He would cram her head over his dick, shoving his hard cock deep into her mouth and holding it, until she coughed and sputtered out precum. It felt amazing to Mike.
Jenny was wet as she'd ever been. Mike's forcing her to deepthroat him was really turning her on, and she really needed to get fucked.She slowly stood up and kissed Mike passionatly, his dick in one of her hands, while he cupped both of her breasts.

She pushed Mike down again, his dick pointed towards the sky with an impressive . She turned around and spread her legs, showing him her perfect ass and eager pussy, sopping wet. She shook her ass, flexing all the right muscles, and lowered herself down onto his cock.

Mike groaned as Jenny took hold of his cock and directed it into her tight, pink pussy. She lowered herself and raised herself over and over, her pussy just eating his cock.

Both Mike and Jenny, in their sexual primes, were fucking eachother with no regrets.
Mike's hands reached around and grabbed her bouncing breasts, and began rubbing her nipples between his fingers. "Fuck!" Jenny yelled, one hand supporting her as she bucked and bounced on Mike's throbbing cock, while the other rubbed her clit, "I'm going to c-cum!"

Jenny's scream echoed throughout the house as she climxed, reaching the high point in her sexual adventure with Mike.

But Mike wasn't ready to cum. He pumped his dick into her a few more times, and pushed her off of him. He stood up, his cock ready to explode. In her state of ecstasy, she was up for anything. She kneeled down in front of him and took his cock into her mouth without hesitation. She gagged and really blew him good, swirling her tongue around his thick shaft.

Mike groaned, "Fuck, Jenny, i'm about to blow." Jenny nodded, grinning, and continued sucking, her big beautiful eyes staring up at him.
"Fuck!"

Spurt after spurt, strand after strand of cum loaded up Jenny's mouth. Halfway thorugh his cumming, Jenny pulled it out of her mouth, which was already full, and began jacking him off. Cum flew all over her hair and face, her tits and neck, and it went all over.
Mike sighed with relief, falling down on the couch and letting his head fall to the side with thrilling exhaustion. He looked at the picture of Jenny and Melissa that Jenny showed him.

It was covered in his cum.

(I tried cutting it down 300 words, but I couldn&#8217;t. I think you&#8217;d agree, that this story is detailed and for it&#8217;s circumstance, should be allowed. If you insist, I will shorten it 300 words and cut it up til it&#8217;s gross. Please don&#8217;t make me ruin one of my masterpieces.<3)[/quote]

Sex stories&#8230; guess I should have expected that&#8230;

:siren: [b]NOW, for the not winners :([/b] :siren:

If you want our comments about your story just ask. We decided writing in an extra page of comments for everyone would delay the fun. So here it all is. Do ask about what you could do better! Either in an email (if you want anonymity) or in here.

[quote= TitleN/A by AnonymousUntilClaimed]&#8220;&#8216;Here is a small fact: You are going to die.&#8217; &#8211;Death&#8221;, that&#8217;s a quote from my ex-girlfriend; she posted that on her Facebook the day before I was diagnosed with premature death. With only nine months to live as of March 2010 I had to set my priorities. I had always dreamt of going to Hawaii, so that was high on the list. The only list item higher than Hawaii was to be alone with my ex-girlfriend&#8212;Laura.

I love my family and all, but Laura Jones tops anyone. I&#8217;ve loved Laura since late May 2009; asking her to be my lovely girlfriend in December. After going to see Avatar we went to Polar Ice skating rink, and I still remember a month shy of a year later when she leant me a hand when I fell down on the ice. I believe it symbolized more than just an assist in getting up; the small help to me had a deeper meaning that meant I could lean on her whenever I want. I was wrong. She broke our relationship after I missed her show she was in mainly because I, truthfully, didn&#8217;t want to go. It&#8217;s not because I don&#8217;t love her, definitely not that, but because I didn&#8217;t like her show since it took time with her from me. Every attempt to go somewhere, &#8220;I have rehearsal&#8221;, was spat back. I told her all of this, and that I didn&#8217;t understand until I missed it how much her shows mean to her. I made it up my mistake to her on my second priority.
This isn&#8217;t a Disney fairytale, obviously since I&#8217;m dead in eight months, and that statement can&#8217;t be truer. My second desire before I pass away couldn&#8217;t be achieved. I did cry over the fact that I never would surf in warm crystal waters. My plan was to go to Hawaii for my remaining five months. For financial issues, there&#8217;s no way I could possibly attend my vacant beach in Hawaii; I wouldn&#8217;t send my family into a financial crisis just over my longing. I settled on California, but with the condition Laura could come. She loves California, especially Laguna Beach. Even though the water wasn&#8217;t as warm compared to the end of summer I could care less because Laura was next to my side. I wait for the perfect wave with the perfect girl out in the ocean on our boards; we talked the entire time, and had an ongoing contest about who could do the best tricks. Sitting on the beach with Laura leaning on my shoulder on the warm grainy sand reminded me of our Avatar date, but that&#8217;s long gone. After the month over summer with her when it was time to go I didn&#8217;t want to burden her with her first kiss being with some deceased old guy, so we parted with me saying, &#8220;I love you&#8221;, and a hug.

That&#8217;s all I really wanted. I left California with one month until I start my blueprint. I decided for my final walking days to be spent spending whatever funds I have stocked up for myself going to any decent thrill park. I have always been thrilled about thrill rides; I planned my itinerary with the best parks on top so I could get the most out of the last month. School started again which meant that there would be less people at the parks. I did wish Laura was with me, but I wouldn&#8217;t take her away from her other friends and family to be with me any longer. Secretly I was buying the cheap little photographs at the end of a coaster that they sell to you for a fortune for a small collection of me doing what I loved for my family.

After those six months I lay spending my final months designing Laura&#8217;s house. I&#8217;ve never lied to her, and I remember distinctly out in front of Cold Stone Creamery by AMC Mesa Grand she proudly pronounced that she will live in California with a house overlooking the ocean. I, forgetting she&#8217;ll make a fortune somehow, asked how she would afford it, she&#8217;ll be rich&#8212;trust her, and then that&#8217;s when I jokingly said, &#8220;So when I&#8217;m a rich architect, I&#8217;ll design it for you with a 1% discount.&#8221; She agreed and that was there became the pact. I honor that pact even though it was meant to be a joke. That&#8217;s all I do sitting here in my deathbed (except when the actual architect who is helping me with the technical aspect because I provide the rough layout); I won&#8217;t go down breaking my line of unbroken promises.

[/quote]

[quote=The Devils Luck by AnonymousUntilClaimed] The coal black Bentley crept through the rain, treading over the pavement. The rain poured over the city casting a shadow over the alleys and shedding a light on the slums and gambling parlors. All the scum in the city left the streets alone and moved on to the dingy club rooms and poker tables. The vehicle was screeching through the city blocks, seemingly as if it were carrying someone or something of great importance. A peek inside through the window would&#8217;ve proven that to be fact. A greasy old fat man smoking his nasty cigarettes seemed to be the nucleus of the car and all the suited men were catering to his every need.

The smoke filled the car casting a fog over everyone inside. The terrible stench of cigarettes and alcohol flooded the Bentley and seemingly drenched the seats and all the rest of the interior. The car fit into the background of bleak, dark, houses and dirty, old sidewalks.

As soon as the old fat man got bored of the scenery before him, he asked. &#8220;What are my odds?&#8221;

&#8220;The player we hired is one of the best in the country, so no need to worry Mr. Marintino.&#8221; said the Guard.

&#8220;How good is Davidson?&#8221; asked Mr. Marintino

&#8220;One of the best in the country.&#8221; answered the Guard.

&#8220;He acted like a teenager throwing around those sarcastic remarks at that club. I doubt it.&#8221;

&#8220;That&#8217;s just his bluff.&#8221; The guard said.

Save for short bursts of conversation, the ride to the capital of the dingy night clubs in New York was spent in silence. All that was heard were the drops of rain in the background and the inhaling and exhaling of the fat nasty cigarette the mob boss obsessed over. All that was seen was the face of the most dangerous mobster in the city along with the drip of ash falling slowly from his cigar.

&#8220;The possibility of Oscar losing has become a serious probability judging from Davidson's performance yesterday, don&#8217;t you think?&#8221; The Guard asked.

&#8220;It is still Quality Entertainment, regardless of who wins.&#8221;

They arrived at a building overflowing with drunks and addicts. The grime and dirt painted the walls and floor, and the guards held the slanted building from collapse. A path cleared through the bodies as soon as their car appeared through the sludgy rain. The headlights flashed twice, signalizing the arrival of the head of the mob.

&#8220;Clear through!&#8221; the guard yelled leading the boss through the slime and scum that showered this complex.

The carpet lead them into the main room where the dance club was located and the drugs were distributed. The light flashed on and off and the music blasted through the speakers. They were lead into a backroom crowded with men and suits and followed by the same stench of the
Bentley. There standing was the notorious gambler. They&#8217;ve heard a lot of this blind man with the luck of the devil, their opponent.

&#8220;Fantastic. The entertainment has arrived.&#8221; The smirk mapped across the blind man&#8217;s face. His long face complete with shades and sideburns and smoking a cigarette, an addiction everyone in the room shared, and drinking a bottle.

&#8220;What&#8217;s with the fucking joking, Davidson?&#8221; asked Mr. Marintino

&#8220;What&#8217;s with cursing, man? Just because I hang around in a place like this, doesn&#8217;t mean I want to hear the lack of education seep through into your speech.&#8221; Davidson said.

&#8220;Where&#8217;s Oscar?&#8221; Mr. Marintino asked.

&#8220;He&#8217;ll arrive shortly.&#8221; said Gerald.

&#8220;It&#8217;s 12:00 AM on the dot. Didn&#8217;t I tell him tardiness wouldn't be tolerated?&#8221; Asked Mr. Marintino

&#8220;Yes, sir.&#8221; said Gerald.

&#8220;His pay is going to be docked from the winnings, if he even gets here, that drunk.&#8221; Mr. Marintino said.

&#8220;What winnings?&#8221; Davidson asked.

The door slam broke the conversation and in entered a tall man sporting a top hat and a cane. Though his limp wasn&#8217;t transparent his flaws were. He had arrived drunken, falling over the chairs and tables that guided him to the poker table at the end of the room. A crooked smile was strewn across his face and his yellow teeth showed through his thin lips.

&#8220;Well, this is the little shit I have to beat. Trying to play the cripple card? Well, that wont work on a fellow like me.&#8221; Oscar said as he stumbled up to Davidson.

&#8220;Emotionally crippled just isn&#8217;t quite the same as being blind, huh?&#8221;

He sat down with a bang onto the table of the executioner. The chips were thrown onto the table and cards were dealt.

&#8220;You&#8217;re late, Oscar.&#8221; said Gerald.

&#8220;I got here as soon as I could, shit.&#8221;

Each player had a total amount of 500,000 in chips. The two finest players dropped into the coliseum and told to poke around their swords and shields for Mr. Marintino&#8217;s entertainment.
The rules of the game were a 50,000 betting minimum per turn. They had to play until one of them had 1,000,000 dollars.

&#8220;Bring me a scotch!&#8221; Oscar yelled.

&#8220;Another?&#8221; asked the Guard.

&#8220;Hell, yes.&#8221; said Oscar.

A look of disappointment crossed Mr. Marintino&#8217;s face and he whispered to Gerald &#8220;What are our odds?&#8221;

&#8220;50,000.&#8221; Davidson announced.

&#8220;Check.&#8221; Oscar responded.

The first flop came down like a house crashing the hopes of a straight. Davidson had two kings, one of clubs and of hearts. A six of spades had been flopped.

&#8220;Ooooh, tough break.&#8221; Oscar said.

&#8220;I&#8217;ll raise 10,000.&#8221; said Davidson.

&#8220;Check.&#8221; Oscars responded.

A king had gracefully fallen from the deck. God had graced Davidson with unbelievable luck.

&#8220;I&#8217;ll raise 20,000.&#8221; Davidson said.

The hesitation emerged through Oscar&#8217;s mouth when he answered. &#8220;Check.&#8221;

And another king had dropped.

&#8220;I&#8217;ll raise another 10,000.&#8221; Davidson said.

"Check." Oscar responded.

&#8220;Flip it.&#8221; Mr. Marintino rushed.

&#8220;Four kings.&#8221; said Davidson.

Never mind, no deity would allow man to be this fortuitous.
&#8220;You seem awfully fucking lucky, or just cheating.&#8221; said Oscar.

&#8220;Funny, even though no one said anything? Just flip it.&#8221; Davidson said.

&#8220;A pair of 6&#8217;s&#8221; Oscar grumbled.

&#8220;Why didn&#8217;t you fold?&#8221; asked Mr. Marintino

&#8220;Because people often bluff in Poker.&#8221; Oscar answered.

&#8220;What is this? Fuck with me day?&#8221; Mr. Marintino yelled.

&#8220;Relax, let me just play.&#8221; Oscar said.

The deck was thoroughly shuffled by a dealer provided by Mr. Marintino. Each player was given another two cards. Davidson had been given a 10 of clubs and a 7 of diamonds. His confused look didn&#8217;t slip through Oscar.

&#8220;I&#8217;ll start it off with 30,000.&#8221; said Oscar.

&#8220;And I&#8217;ll call that.&#8221;

The deck supplied a 10 of spades.

&#8220;Check.&#8221;

&#8220;Check.&#8221;

A dead round with no one getting anything. These types of rounds it&#8217;s best to try and lose the least amount possible instead of trying to win.

The room was now crowded far beyond the amount of people it could hold. All, just suits roaming around in the background, smoking and drinking.

The dealer drew a Jack of spades and dropped onto the table.

&#8220;I&#8217;ll raise 30,000.&#8221;

&#8220;Check.&#8221; Davidson said without missing a beat.

&#8216;It&#8217;s best to play this game with the intention of winning instead of the quivering hopes of not losing too much.&#8221; Davidson thought.

The deck produced a 9 and the anxiety seemed to thicken. Then Oscar&#8217;s shit eating grin cut the tension in half.

&#8220;Seems like a straight.&#8221; Oscar said. He put down a 7 of spades and an 8 of diamonds.

&#8220;I&#8217;ve got a pair of 10s.&#8221; said Davidson.

&#8220;60,000 dollars of the 80,000 back already? Good job.&#8221; said Mr. Marintino

&#8220;What&#8217;d you expect? I&#8217;m great.&#8221; Oscar prided.

&#8220;Good job.&#8221; mocked Davidson.

&#8220;Next round.&#8221; The dealer said.

Davidson had finally landed his ideal hand. An ace and a ten, both of spades. The money was brought to the table earlier in the game even though they expected the game to last a lot longer. Mr. Marintino wanted to keep his eye on the money.

I&#8217;m all in.&#8221; said Davidson.

Within five seconds of hearing Davidson , all the suits rushed the poker table. It was either the premature demise of a gladiator or the death of the other.

&#8220;Is he cheating, yet?&#8221; Oscar asked.

&#8220;As far as I can tell, no.&#8221; The dealer answered.

&#8220;Is he mentally retarded?&#8221; Oscar said.

&#8220;Alright, here we go.&#8221; said the dealer.

&#8220;That&#8217;s a 50 percent chance of loss.&#8221; he continued.

&#8220;Flip the fucking flop.&#8221; Oscar said.

A jack of spades.

The grin Davidson had whilst his non existent sight burned into the eyes of the drunk.
A Queen of spades.

His laugh echoed throughout the room and had ended the silence yet again.
A King.

&#8220;Royal Flush.&#8221; he said.

&#8220;What the fuck?&#8221; Oscar asked.

&#8220;Well, I&#8217;ll take my money and take my leave.&#8221; Davidson said.

&#8220;Pat him down.&#8221;

Gerald searched every inch of Davidson&#8217;s clothing for what seemed like hours. After multiple tries Gerald finally muttered.

&#8220;Shit. He&#8217;s clean.&#8221;

Davidson left through the backdoor without a cane or a dog, leaving the hustled speechless.

The cold air breathed on Davidson&#8217;s face. The trees bent and groaned at every gust of cold wind. The moon illuminated the park benches and the park tables and the clouds all disappeared providing a clear view of the stars. Davidson had memorized his way from his house to the park much like he memorized the path to the parlor. He had a lot to make up for after all.

&#8220;You&#8217;ve won, right?&#8221; said a voice.

&#8220;Yeah, how the hell could I lose?&#8221; Davidson answered.

&#8220;Even with the help I give, never question or underestimate the unpredictable mediocrity of humans.&#8221; said the voice.

&#8220;Well, let me restore your faith in humanity. Here&#8217;s the money.&#8221; said Davidson.

&#8220;Excellent&#8221; the voice said.

A pause threatened the conversation when Davidson&#8217;s confused face met the open air.

&#8220;What about my eyesight?&#8221; Davidson questioned.

&#8220;Yes, your eyesight. I&#8217;ve changed my mind. I won&#8217;t be giving you anything.&#8221; the voice answered.

&#8220;Why the fuck not?&#8221;

&#8220;You see, I gave you the luck of a devil if you played this game for me. Checking up on my past clients while corrupting a desperate soul. Quality entertainment. Now, my new conditions. I will grant you sight if you give me your soul.&#8221;

&#8220;Aren&#8217;t I already going to hell?&#8221;

&#8220;Not yet, if you repent. Humans often grow old and sad, then they beg for forgiveness. But the question is do you want sight or do you want to be forgiven by the same inhumane god that left you blind?&#8221;

&#8220;The question is, if either I want to be dug deeper into this hole and killed or be pulled out and possibly murdered.&#8221;

The voice chuckled &#8220;Well?&#8221;

The silence was lingering as Davidson thought.

&#8220;You either forgive someone from the goodness of your heart or because they have the best bid on your forgiveness.&#8221; Davidson said.

&#8220;Well, you wont be seeing me anymore. I'm off to bed.&#8221;he continued.

And then all was dark.
[/quote]

[quote=A Game Called Life by AnonymousUntilClaimed] A single bead of sweat trickle slowly down my face, my hand gripped the only salvation I had tightly.

Bong...
Bong....

I jumped, the Grandfather Clock downstairs rung, echoing throughout the now empty hallway outside my room.

Bong...
Bong....

My eyes darted around the closet I had hid in, the walls seemingly started to close in. I glanced down briefly, at the glinting metal.

Bong...

Bong....

My dear father had promised a life of luxury and pleasures, but had only collected numerous debts from his excessive gambling. Now, we received death threats from loan-sharks on a daily basis.

Bong...
Bong....

And my alcoholic mother still hasn't stop drinking, she only comes home late at night, in a drunken stupor.

Bong...
Bong....

My head started to throb, my eyes stung as they cried for rest. I rubbed my eyes violently with my free hand.

Bong...
Bong....

Outside, I put on an indifferent face, and a happy-go-lucky attitude. But I'm tired of this meaningless charade.

Bong...
Bong....

Twelve rings in the dead of night, midnight. I smiled, finally all my sufferings will come to an end. I held the knife towards my wrist, towards the delicate veins. And I closed my eyes.

No.

I continued smiling, I brought the knife away.

No.

You have not won over me just yet, oh cruel reality. I have not lost your harsh game called Life.

On this 'game', there is no Restart button. There is no extra lives, there is only a shut-down button, for when you broke down and could no longer endure this 'game'.

But you have not triumph over me.

And I will never press that shut-down button. Until I have won over this battle of Life.

I stood up, and exited the closet.

'Bane,' I whispered 'You made the right choice.'

The knife lay forgotten.

[/quote]

[quote=2084 Facepunch by AnonymousUntilClaimed] Skyscrapers, gleaming glass beacons of the sky, rose above the murky ocean below.

Clusters of many varieties of melting plastic bottles, shrivelled wrappers, scrunched up shopping bags, as well as other garbage, drifted through the water, like miniature islands of human refuse.
Harsh gusts of wind pulverised and smashed the remaining windows of these towers into tiny fragments, sending them raining into the angry waves beneath, which thrashed into the buildings battered sides..

The very sea that spawned these enraged waves engulfed any building under 100 stories high, meaning only a select few remained. Below the waters it was a completely different world, nippy swarms of fish swimming around as if they were giant creatures with a mind of their own.
The drowning behemoths which housed these sea creatures were weeping in sorrow, their rusting skeleton covered in a skin of seaweed and coral.

This city is in fact not Atlantis, it is London, 2084.

To most humans, the Earth appears as 'a pale blue dot', from the desolate surface of Mars.
In 2032, Earth's most intelligent race fled the Earth, lighting the sky up with thick plumes of smoke as vast fleets of space ships left the atmosphere. They left in search of a new planet to dwell on, a fresh start you could say.

They needed a planet to sustain their massive population, nearing a staggering 20 million; they chose Mars. However, many were left behind to fend for themselves. The criminals, the illiterate, the disabled; and all the people with an IQ below 140 were all left stranded as the last human inhabitants of the Earth.

A group of 3 speedboats sped across the water like skimming stones, full of barbaric men armed to the teeth with archaic guns. A man stood valiantly on the prow of the leading boat, toting what looked to be a giant rail-gun; whirring motors, hissing steam and all. He grimaced each time the boat bounced off a wave, as if it was a dolphin leaping through the water. They slowed their engines which roared like lions, as they approached their target; an art-deco office building, built around 2014. You could vaguely see the words 'Microsoft' in black stained glass making up a large area of the face of the building.

The man, nicknamed 'Sledgehammer' bellowed with his wolf-like growl of a voice, 'EVERYBODY MOVE, GET INTO THE BUILDING!'. The corridors lit up with tracer, like yellow fireworks, as 20 men stormed into the tower. With our friend 'Sledge' leading, they stormed up the stairs, heading to the top. The blood of both his fallen comrades and the enemy was splattered on the walls, appearing as if a group of kids had ran through the building spraying red paint everywhere in their antics.

Soon enough, at the cost of many, including innocent inhabitants, the building was taken.

Sledge and his team, now whittled down to 8remaining men, stood on the rooftop of the building.
Another victory in the giant turf war that raged across London, to claim yet another tower that still remained above the water as their own; even though it will not remain in the skies for long. He looked across at the ever shrinking London Skyline. As the water rose it took many buildings with it - Big Ben, The London Eye, The Gherkin; had all been plunged into the dark depths decades ago.

The ocean was like a monster, gobbling up the Earth, always hungry for more.
Streaks of lightening streaked across the sky like the spawn of a Tesla coil, so loud it made his ears ring, as it began to rain. They left the building to return to their Headquarters.

Sledge looked around at the sorrowful faces of the women and children that inhabited the buildings, who gathered behind forever shut window panes and stared longingly.. He shuddered as their tear some eyes, void of any happiness, looked deep into his soul as they realised their family member had gone, seemingly blaming him. Sledge did not know the point of this ferocious war. The 'Brotherhood' told him that it was for the greater good of mankind, and to capture London for the 'Red Blood Faction'. But he didn't believe any of this, not a single word. The only reason he fought in this war was to keep his family safe, back in Tower 139. Even if it meant giving up his life to save them.

As he slumped at his rotting officers desk, with stacks of unfinished paperwork atop, he looked at his battered digital watch, even older than himself. Sledge shot out of his coffee-stained chair in joy. It was March the 30th, Family Day, the one day of the month he got to visit his family. 'What I'm I doing here then?' he thought, as he sprinted out of his office, as if a wild animal was on his tail. He zoomed down the damp, dingy corridor, which smelled of fungus-infested carpet and walls, dodging the several holes in the floor, which seemingly appeared larger every day. After he raced down several dilapidated flights of stairs, and waded through the 'bottom floor' (which was actually just the current floor that was at sea level), he reached the dock. He carefully trod across the creaking platform of wood and nails, stumbling for his little motor dinghy. He finally jumped into the little yellow boat, and sped away.

He arrived at his humble abode, even dingier and damper than HQ, with that sweaty fungus smell still lingering in the air. With every step he took, the staircase echoed with the sound of the vulcanised rubber sole of his military issue boots upon the cracked concrete of the stairs. His face, dry and scabby from the salty winds of the waves, and covered with scars as a reminder of the horrors he had been through over the past 5 years. The unforgiving world of 2084 had aged him by 15 years, making him appear at least 40 years of age.

He held up his hand, burnt and red, quivering from excitement, knocked on the door with his trademark four thuds. After ten seconds the door slowly creaked open upon its corroded hinges, revealing his wife behind it. Glistening teardrops streaked down her face, with it's beauty still preserved by her sheltered life. He looked down in her arms, in which she cradled their now lifeless newly born child, their 5th attempt at happiness. Sledge, a fully-grown battle-hardened man, broke into tears and despair for the first time in two years. They swore he would live this time; that not another child would live such a short life.

Another death, to add to the death toll.
[/quote]

[quote= TitleN/A by AnonymousUntilClaimed] The name&#8217;s Pederson, Samuel Pederson.

I said that over and over in my head. If only I&#8217;ll be able to actually say it out loud one day.

"Aah," I sighed, another day in my life. Exciting but dangerous. My life; it was amazing- amazing being an unstable word. You would probably want to have my life. Any normal kid would. They would dream of it.

But I wouldn&#8217;t.

I don&#8217;t know why though; sure it was fun but I guess it was also scary. Now, I don&#8217;t mean scary like horror movie scary. I meant scary as in 73-armed men trying to kill me the last time I visited England. Yep, I was being serious. 73 buff guys with guns tried to kill me.

I guess my disguise that time just wasn&#8217;t good enough. Well, I&#8217;m never going on vacation to another country ever again. Oh and if that wasn&#8217;t bad enough, last month I found two time bombs in my bed. These things happen to me a lot.

I know that there are probably other reasons why I hated my life but I just couldn&#8217;t find them. But I knew I couldn&#8217;t escape. I&#8217;ve never tried before; it was going to be too hard. Well, I mean I&#8217;ve pretended and posed as other people a few times before and also changed identities a couple of times. But those weren&#8217;t for escaping; those were BECAUSE of my life.

I sighed again; I didn&#8217;t know what to do- I loved AND hated my life all at once. There were equal amounts of pros and cons.

I walked down the dark hallway in the boarding school I go to near the white house. Only four minutes left then I would be late. I had an annoyed look on my face. I didn&#8217;t like waking up this early. I was on my way to class. Well, actually training.

I guess you could call it that-sort of. No, not really. More like defense and offense martial arts class. I was careful of placing my feet in the spots that I was only supposed to; walking in a straight line. My thoughts half on starting a new life. But I was still careful about focusing on walking.

Now you would probably ask yourself: who needs to concentrate on walking? Well everyone does if they were in a hall like this. This wasn&#8217;t your typical hallway. This boarding school was special. It had 3,000 security cameras in total... well that was all I counted. Anyways, all the hallways in the school were... umm... not exactly normal. Booby-traps filled the place. One miss step and would activate one. And then before you know it, you&#8217;re gone. Yep, these traps are so effective that even one of them could kill you. And if they don&#8217;t kill you, they&#8217;ll at least put you in a coma forever-, which is basically the same thing as dying. We were all warned of this before starting school. But even with warnings somehow at least six students die each year. I was trying my best not to be one of them this year.

Now only three minutes left to get to defense class. Walk faster. Almost to the classroom.

"Hey Sam!" a familiar voice called. I skillfully whip around to find Bonnie swiftly run down the hall in high heels, not even setting off one of the traps. She stopped in front of me. Bonnie. With her light brown hair and big eyes, she was easily attractive. And I wasn&#8217;t too bad myself. But I couldn&#8217;t have her. I hated her. Why? Because she hated me. Why? Because once in a spy mission, my uncle accidently killed her uncle. Yep I said it. SPY mission. Because that&#8217;s what we were, spies. And we were in a spy school; training.

"Ughh." I yelled annoyed, "I told you to never call me by my real name!" I change my name a lot so no one would find out who I really was because spies have a dangerous life. That&#8217;s why I wanted to quit. But moving on to the story, I had recently changed my name to Matt Lane. I was hoping to keep it that way for a while.

"Whatever," Bonnie growled. She would never call me by my fake name. I had known her since we were little (which was unfortunate since we hated each other.) and would always call me by my real name to tick me off. " Why do you change your name so much?" she asks me.

"Oh because all good spies have lots of identities." I answered smartly. I knew she would be upset when I said this because she only had one identity; which was her real one. Bonnie Keldman.

"But even better ones have and NEED only one identity." She retorted. She was actually quite cute when she&#8217;s angry. But she made me mad when I realized she was right. If a spy were really good then he or she would not need a double identity. I couldn&#8217;t find anything else to say back so I just snorted.

She smirked at my pathetic response. I. Hate. Her. So. Much.

But something inside of me disagreed. Do I hate her? I wanted with all my heart to say yes, but I can&#8217;t. Over the years of arguing with her, I had started falling for her.

This couldn&#8217;t be happening. But it was. And I hated myself for it.

So by now, I realized that that there were only about 20 seconds left to get to class. I raced to the classroom, which was actually a gym. I entered with only 3 seconds to spare. You don&#8217;t even want to know what would happen if you&#8217;re late. I turned around to see that Bonnie had made it too. God, I hate her so much that I want her. [/quote]

[quote=Samuel Revara by AnonymousUntilClaimed] Name&#8217;s Revara, Samuel Revara. Private Eye. Now, in my detective days I&#8217;ve seen a lot of interesting stuff, and I&#8217;ve picked up a lot of stories. However, no experience of mine has come close to my case in early November, 2060, which marked the beginning of the end of my detective career.
It began at the end of my work day, 10 PM. My smoky 3 meter by 3 meter office was pitch black, except for the ominous glow from my blinds, a reminder of the metropolis below. The embers of my cigarette pierced the darkness, and smoke unfurled from my mouth. I grabbed my coat, preparing to leave, when:
&#8220;You&#8217;re gonna want to look at this Mr. Revara. Could be something big.&#8221;
My secretary, wielding her umbrella and obviously trying to leave, was waving a manila folder at me. Must be something important, I told myself. She wouldn&#8217;t keep me, or herself, here any longer if it were anything else.
I reluctantly took the folder, shooting her a glance saying &#8220;That will be all.&#8221; Upon further inspection, I understood why she had given it to me now. The top photo, above a small flash drive which I pocketed, was one of a man, at least what was left of him. He was sprawled on a cheap hotel room floor, probably cheap to pay for the $200 worth of hot lead now in his chest. The nature of the crime was bad, but the name of the man was worse: James Remmington, police informant, specialty in cyber-crime.
He had been reporting on the mob&#8217;s activity relating to illegal virtual-reality deals, online prostitution, gambling, and I had even heard there was something about virtual drugs.
Six months he&#8217;d been inside, six months he built trust faster than they could distrust him. And now he&#8217;s another name on a police report.
Shit, I thought. I&#8217;ve got a long night ahead of me.
11 PM, one hour, 4 phone calls and a favor later, I had a record of Remmy&#8217;s last reports, including from where he reported. Each sign-in was remote, from a terminal &#8220;somewhere&#8221;; that place usually remaining a &#8220;somewhere&#8221;. But not today. His last report had come from a shit-hole on skid row, probably some lowly gangster&#8217;s home, to which I was headed.
11:30 PM, I&#8217;m knocking on the door of one &#8220;Antonin Ramirez&#8221;, last known location of Remmington, aside from his two-bit hotel room. Neither response at the door, nor any rustle of activity from within. Maybe against my better judgment, I tried the door and found it unlocked.
Allowing myself in, I immediately saw various papers scattered about on the dining room table. Upon further inspection, they were all shipping manifests, and unless the mob was shipping 5 tons of &#8220;dress shoes&#8221; to and from just about every country on the globe, this was damn suspicious. The topmost manifest showed an incoming shipment, arrived as of a week ago to a warehouse in the industrial section of town.
12:30 AM. On my way to the warehouse, my brow is heavy and my cigarettes are wet from the new rain. I&#8217;m becoming paranoid at this point, funny how a tired mind turns light into shadows, dashing from your gaze when you turn to investigate.
I&#8217;ve arrived at my destination, and I&#8217;m outside the door. From inside I hear an electric hum, but no footsteps or voices. At this, I open the door quietly and step inside.
I found myself in a small coatroom, looking into a massive warehouse filled with, at first glance, wires. However, as my eyes adjusted to the bright light, I saw what they really were: terminals. They were terminals, 10 in a row, 10 rows, all occupied. I had seen this kind of thing before, but only in fiction. What these terminals did was stimulate parts of the brain to simulate experiences, essentially virtual reality. They were strictly outlawed in the United States, because it was found that they were highly addictive, and were more than capable of deteriorating the mental faculties to those of a rat.
It was a sickening sight, each occupant had 5 thick cables jutting from the back of their neck, many with infections in the cuts made for said cables.
The terminal occupants seemed to be the only beings in the warehouse. I made my way up the stairwell to my right, to what I assumed would be a control room with, hopefully, a master terminal. Alas, there was a master terminal, and seeing it, something clicked in my mind. A flash drive was enclosed in the case folder I was given, and knowing Remmington, it would be something to shut down this network.
Right as I was about to plug in the flash drive, something came to my mind. Remmington was likely operating while this network wasn&#8217;t in use, when nobody would be unplugged. But now, if I shut down this network, the users&#8217; minds will be lost, ghosts in the informational void.
I&#8217;d love to say that this was a hard decision for me, but it wasn&#8217;t. I didn&#8217;t think about the people down there, lost in their individual fantasies.
I didn&#8217;t see that most of them were children.
I plugged the flash drive in, and as I expected it ran everything automatically. After about ten minutes there was a collective flash as each terminal&#8217;s screen flashed off, and each user started coming back to reality.
At least, that&#8217;s what I was hoping.
About one-third of the users began to seize, to my dismay. I immediately phoned 911 and ran down to those that I thought I could guide back to the real world.
Most of them just stared past me, likely at something that was not there, but there was one boy, one small boy, that spoke. He said to me, locking my gaze, &#8220;I have to save the world. I have to save them all or the Antagonist will take hold of them.&#8221;
&#8220;Then go, go and save them&#8221; I said lamely. I couldn&#8217;t think of what to say to a boy lost in some online game, to a boy whose whole life just left this world.
I was torn between a strong feeling of frustration, sadness and nausea. I stepped back from the boy, stepped back and took the whole scene in. Now half of them were seizing, one quarter staring blankly at the roof, the rest babbling to nobody in particular.
At that moment the door burst open, my hand flew to my revolver. However, it was the paramedic team I had called for. Wheeling in a stretcher, they all halted and took in the scene. Either a second or a year later, they flew into action, bolting towards the nearest seizing user. It all happened so slowly, I thought. As they were systematically attempting to stabilize each patient and calling for backup, I began to do my job, separating myself as best I could from the self-righteous mentality that had me finish Remmy&#8217;s work.
This was a dead end, I thought. There was nowhere I could go from here, no papers to lead me to my next scene. It was simple enough what must have happened, though. Remmy made a virus to take down this operation, and he got caught. For that, they shot him full of lead and threw him onto my desk.
Nowhere to go from here, and seeing no point in sticking around to chat with the paramedics, I made my exit and walked to my car. Sitting down, I thought about the boy, and was overwhelmed.
&#8220;Save us, save us all&#8221; I cried to myself. I cried out of self-pity, and self-loathing. I cried for all that was lost that night, for Remmy and even for my secretary. She has to deal with this every day; she has the permanent position of &#8220;bearer of bad news&#8221;.
It came to my mind that I didn&#8217;t even know her name. However connected I might like to think I was to humanity, I was distant enough that my secretary, the closest thing to a partner I had, that I didn&#8217;t even know her name. With my connection to humanity, I thought of the weight on my chest, my revolver. Would that boy have been better off if I had ended his fantasy there?
That&#8217;s not for me to decide, though. My gun gives me authority over men, who am I to decide the fate of a boy?
And with that, I realized I had already done so, and cried ever harder.

9 AM. I&#8217;m at my desk again, haven&#8217;t slept. My secretary arrives, hanging up her coat she asks, &#8220;Make any headway on that case last night?&#8221;
I kept it simple. &#8220;It was a dead end, there&#8217;s nowhere to go. I&#8217;m closing it up.&#8221;
She looked surprised at that, but mercifully, didn&#8217;t ask. She looked even more surprised at my next question: &#8220;What&#8217;s your name?&#8221;
Taken aback, she said &#8220;A-Alice&#8221;
&#8220;That&#8217;s a nice name, Alice.&#8221;
I turned from her and lit a cigarette. I peered out the blinds and contemplated the city below. There is too much evil here for one man to dispel, I thought. If God is in his Heaven, then the Antagonist is in these streets, and I cannot fight such a power.
&#8220;I think I&#8217;m going to take a break soon, Alice.&#8221;
&#8220;Well don&#8217;t take it too soon, Mr. Revara&#8221; she said sardonically, handing me a manila folder.

[/quote]

[quote=TitleN/A by AnonymousUntilClaimed] As Nick got closer to the venue the sound and smell grew more and more intense. Earth-shuddering bass made the ground feel like it was on top of a huge nest of angry hornets. The smell of marijuana, sweat and stale urine combined made him both excited and nervous. This was the first rave he&#8217;d ever been to, and although he enjoyed listening to the same style of music being played he never really found it that enticing going to a rave, he preferred bars and clubs. However his friends managed to drag him two hours out of town to come and see what it was like.

Nick and his friends walked towards the direction of the music and finally found the venue, an abandoned bunker used during World War Two. Nick couldn&#8217;t believe his eyes when he saw the tall, grey and seemingly fragile building. He ran the location in his head a thousand times before they went, imagining a warehouse filled up to the rafters, but no, he couldn&#8217;t have guessed anything like this in a million years. &#8220;Jesus Christ! We&#8217;re gonna&#8217; have a night ahead of us lads!&#8221; exclaimed Rob, the tallest of the group. &#8220;So how the hell are we all going to fit in that little bunker?&#8221; Danny asked. &#8220;You moron, bunkers are huge under the ground, they&#8217;ve got loads of rooms and a huge main room, that&#8217;s where I&#8217;m staying, dunno about you guys.&#8221; Nick started to have second thoughts about what he was doing. &#8216;Why am I here? I don&#8217;t fit in with the types of people&#8217;. &#8220;Nick you got the pills?&#8221;, Danny asked whilst fiddling with the zip on his bag. &#8220;Yea they should be in the front pocket&#8221; Nick replied in a sluggish tone. &#8220;Sweet got em&#8217;, alright lads, we&#8217;ve got 12 pills, that&#8217;s 4 each so that should definitely last us the entire night, I&#8217;m gonna drop one now&#8221;, Danny said in a hurry, eagerness showing through his rapid speech. &#8220;Alright guys, lets head in&#8221; said Rob after flushing down his pill with the remains of a bottle of whiskey found on the floor next to him. Nick kept silent and followed them down, taking the pills offered to him by Danny and putting them in his pocket.

The stairwell which led into the bunker was dark, illuminated only by torches held to the walls with tape. Nick was surprised at how little he could see, he held his hand out in front of him but couldn&#8217;t see it. The stairs were old, wet and falling apart. People were slipping and falling on top of each other trying to get down. Rob and Danny had somehow got ahead of Nick and so he just continued on his own, holding onto whatever he could to stay upright, including the breast of the girl to his side. She giggled and held his hand to her breast, giving him a look that both aroused and frightened him. He snatched his hand away, unsure of how to deal with the situation and carried on down. It was hot and humid now, sweat was already pouring from every crevice on his body. The sound grew from a muffled bass into a fully developed ensemble of different instruments. The entrance was a few steps away. Yes! Nick thought, I love this song. Eagerness took over him as he pushed past the people in front of him to enter the main room.

Instantly Nick started dancing to the music, holding his hand in the air in the form of a gun shape and shaking it vigorously in time with the wobble of the sub bass. Wow, this is great, Nick thought to himself. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two of the pills that he was given. He looked at them and heard the drop coming. &#8220;Screw it&#8221;, Nick said to himself and put both pills in his mouth. He saw another guy in the corner. He looked exhausted, the man was sweating profusely and had dark rings under his eyes. Nick mimed drinking the water bottle to the pale man who handed it to him. Nick drank half of the bottle, feeling the pills bounce in his throat and finally land in his stomach. The man smiled and said something to Nick, but the music was too loud to hear anything. He handed the water back and got back into the crowd. The drop was coming, he could feel it, the pills started to kick in instantly. Odd, Nick thought, they never usually kick in this fast. But he heard the music building up and his body prepared itself. Nick counted in his head, Five, Four, Three, Two. The kick of the bass hit Nick in his chest, the hi-hats bounced off of his ears an

[Eudoxia]

I was going to write a story that fit the drama category you requested by then I was like bleh.

Maybe some other time :c00l:

[TheDiddler]

I'd like my comments, plox.

[Big Dumb Patriot]

I've got whole mailbox full of comments for ya, Diddler. But I'm a busy beaver, I am. I'm goin' to bed, but I'll finish the edits and send 'em on to you tonight.

[Dokaman]

[QUOTE=-Dazed-;23899742][img]http://dl.dropbox.com/u/6092109/banner.png[/img]

:siren: [b]Honorable Mentions 2.0[/b] :siren:
Back To Garry&#8217;s Mod Nine by AnonymousUntilClaimed posted
[/QUOTE]

I am glad you enjoyed my story! I wanted to take a much loved movie idea (Back To The Future) and combine it with something we can all relate to on these forums, which is of-course Garry's Mod.

The 2000 word limit caused it to be short, as I would have loved to expand the story even further but it would have gone on for ever. This could be re-worked and made into an actual short film, not necessarily following my story, just the whole Back To The Future idea in Garry's Mod.

Also I wouldn't mind my comments, if you have time Big Dumb American :)

[Fenriswolf]

So, if we have a round 2 can I be a judge this time?

[SPESSMEHREN]

[QUOTE=Fenriswolf;23902067]So, if we have a round 2 can I be a judge this time?[/QUOTE]Any word on when the second round will be? I didn't hear about this until the day before the deadline, and didn't have enough time to finish a decent story :sigh:

[Fenriswolf]

Oh god, Big Dumb American I just read your story and it was really good. I love the mystery of Darius and how he goes about his business. Well done :golfclap:

[CabooseRvB]

Darn it. I guess Greg wasn't good enough.

[:smug:]

[QUOTE=SPESSMEHREN;23902224]Any word on when the second round will be? I didn't hear about this until the day before the deadline, and didn't have enough time to finish a decent story :sigh:[/QUOTE]

I did mine in 2 hours, sent it to my friend for a brief critique, corrected a couple things and then sent it off. :3:

[editline]23:40[/editline]

And I got 3rd place.

[TheDiddler]

I did mine in about 4 hours from 2 AM to 6.

And I got NOTHING.

[Darkride196]

[url]https://docs.google.com/document/edit?id=1ZIr_eAKPFq0Hf3_P3XgKmaz9sWIwXEtMwVJe1mdR2-o&authkey=CJmkhtkH&hl=en&pli=1#[/url] there's my story

[Nautsabes]

I've been following this thread and I wanna say congrats to everyone. I look forward to round two.

[Gmod4ever]

I was really disappointed with my story, but the limitation was just too much. I'm not a short story writer - I'm a novellaist (mini-novelist? :v:). I write with too much metaphor and style to get anything done within two thousand words, and I know that.

I would like to know what place mine got, though. "Sea of Broken Dreams," by the way.

Though, for the next contest, I have an idea that will hopefully get me somewhere more than the generic cookie-cutter theme I stuck with this time.

[InvisibleTed]

Eeh, I almost don't want to claim my story, but for constructive criticism's sake, Samuel Revara's mine.

[TheDiddler]

Mine is "The Devil's Luck"
My first story ever.

[OrionChronicles]

I thought you said you'd make an exception with mine

or did I screw up too much, not drama enough, too long?

can a judge tell me?

[Penultimate]

[QUOTE=InvisibleTed;23907557]Eeh, I almost don't want to claim my story, but for constructive criticism's sake, Samuel Revara's mine.[/QUOTE]

I thought your story was decent. It didn't exactly follow the theme in my opinion, but there were few errors and I'm pretty sure the formatting was okay. The main thing you could improve on is using less cliches. That was one of the complaints a few other judges had. By using cliches, you sell your creativity short. But don't be discouraged! I thought it needed polishing here or there, but I did enjoy your story.

[TheDiddler]

Ooh, do mine next!
Please, mister?

[Penultimate]

Sure thing! I think the other judges will be willing to do this as well, just I think they're all partying on Xen.

[Gmod4ever]

Hey hey, can I get some criticisms, too?

Other than the boring and cliched story, of course. This was more a test run anyways, to see if I can even write something within two thousand words - and it was hard. I had to cut out a [b]lot[/b] of what I originally planned.

[Penultimate]

For The Devil's Luck, I liked the amount of description you put in. It made for a very cool atmosphere, and I felt that you really grasped the situation your characters were in. One thing I'd be careful about, though, is using too fancy of words, basically. You always want to choose the simplest, yet fitting word you can. Don't say nucleus when you can say center,that type of thing. Another minor thing is you don't need to keep on describing something the reader has already encountered, but know that I did really like the way you describe the mobster boss and his cronies. Cursing isn't necessary, even when you write about mobsters. A few words add to the characterization well, but be careful of overdoing. Again, I thought it was a good story.

Something I'm noticing in general, though, is improper quotation formatting. A proper quote usually goes like this: The old man sat, taking a swig of stale beer, and said, "yeah, I'll do that." Or even: The old man sat, taking a swig of stale beer. "Yeah, I'll do that," he said. There needs to be a comma, but only if the quote doesn't end in ? or !.

[editline]10:16PM[/editline]

Orion, what story was yours?

Okay, Gmod. I found your story. My main complaint is that you're selling yourself short by not making it easy to read. I'm not sure if the quote box did it, but it's a really good story that's difficult to read because it's blocky. I'm not entirely sure if it fits the whole drama theme, but it was a good story and you should feel proud at having written it.

[TheDiddler]

[QUOTE=Penultimate;23909204]For The Devil's Luck, I liked the amount of description you put in. It made for a very cool atmosphere, and I felt that you really grasped the situation your characters were in. One thing I'd be careful about, though, is using too fancy of words, basically. You always want to choose the simplest, yet fitting word you can. Don't say nucleus when you can say center,that type of thing. Another minor thing is you don't need to keep on describing something the reader has already encountered, but know that I did really like the way you describe the mobster boss and his cronies. Cursing isn't necessary, even when you write about mobsters. A few words add to the characterization well, but be careful of overdoing. Again, I thought it was a good story.

Something I'm noticing in general, though, is improper quotation formatting. A proper quote usually goes like this: The old man sat, taking a swig of stale beer, and said, "yeah, I'll do that." Or even: The old man sat, taking a swig of stale beer. "Yeah, I'll do that," he said. There needs to be a comma, but only if the quote doesn't end in ? or !.

[editline]10:16PM[/editline]

Orion, what story was yours?

Okay, Gmod. I found your story. My main complaint is that you're selling yourself short by not making it easy to read. I'm not sure if the quote box did it, but it's a really good story that's difficult to read because it's blocky. I'm not entirely sure if it fits the whole drama theme, but it was a good story and you should feel proud at having written it.[/QUOTE]

Thanks for the advice. I'll be sure to put it into consideration on my next story.

[Gmod4ever]

[QUOTE=Penultimate;23909204]
Okay, Gmod. I found your story. My main complaint is that you're selling yourself short by not making it easy to read. I'm not sure if the quote box did it, but it's a really good story that's difficult to read because it's blocky. I'm not entirely sure if it fits the whole drama theme, but it was a good story and you should feel proud at having written it.[/QUOTE]

I wrote it in Microsoft Word 2003. I don't know why it's so ugly and blocky in that quote, but trust me, in Word, it's very well structured and easy to read. Here's a screenshot for proof.

[img_thumb]http://www.cubeupload.com/files/55dad8shortstory.png[/img_thumb]

If by "blocky" you mean "short paragraphs," then I can't really help it. I follow the conventions of proper writing, and because of such a small word limit and the choice of theme I chose to go, most of the drama had to be generated through dialogue. Since the dialogue is between two characters, every time my dialogue changes characters, it needed its own paragraph.

If this post is hard to read, forgive me. I'm tired and should have gone to bed an hour ago. :v:

[TheDiddler]

[QUOTE=Gmod4ever;23910792]I wrote it in Microsoft Word 2003. I don't know why it's so ugly and blocky in that quote, but trust me, in Word, it's very well structured and easy to read. Here's a screenshot for proof.

[img_thumb]http://www.cubeupload.com/files/55dad8shortstory.png[/img_thumb]

If by "blocky" you mean "short paragraphs," then I can't really help it. I follow the conventions of proper writing, and because of such a small word limit and the choice of theme I chose to go, most of the drama had to be generated through dialogue. Since the dialogue is between two characters, every time my dialogue changes characters, it needed its own paragraph.

If this post is hard to read, forgive me. I'm tired and should have gone to bed an hour ago. :v:[/QUOTE]

I really liked yours. Though the paragraphs do seems to clump together at times, I think it's great.

[Ibexaz]

May I suggest a script-writing contest of some sort in the near future? :U

[Big Dumb Patriot]

Diddler, here are some of the edits I did for ya. It's not the entire story, but reading through this you'll see that you repeat the same mistakes pretty often. These edits will give you an idea of the kind of stuff to look for, and next time you can hugely improve your story!

The story itself was pretty darn cool, but the glaring grammatical issues made it hard to focus on enjoying it. Just work on syntax and grammar (your spelling seems alright) and you'll be good to go!

[quote]The Devil&#8217;s Luck

By TheDiddler

The coal black Bentley crept through the [i]rain[/i], treading over the pavement. The [i]rain[/i] [b](Some redundancy, see if you can subsitute another word for 'Rain,' or reword it in such a way that 'Rain' comes later in the sentence)[/b] poured over the city[b](comma)[/b] casting a shadow over the alleys and shedding a light on the slums and gambling parlors. All the scum in the city left the streets alone and moved on to the dingy club rooms and poker tables. The vehicle was screeching through the city blocks, [i]seemingly as if it were carrying someone or something of great importance. A peek inside through the window would&#8217;ve proven that to be fact.[/i] [b](This section reads choppily. "Seemingly as if it were carrying someone or something of great importance" and then, immediately, "A peak inside...prove[d] that to be fact." I'd recommend combining these two sentences into one statement. Grammatically, it's okay, but in terms of smoothness and storytelling, it's sometimes best to simply get the information across without wasted words)[/b]. A greasy old fat man [b])comma)[/b]smoking [i]his[/i] [b](strike it)[/b] nasty[b](-smelling)[/b] cigarettes seemed to be the nucleus of the car[b](comma)[/b] and [i]all the[/i] [b](strike it)[/b] suited men were catering to his every need.

The smoke filled the car[b](comma)[/b] casting a fog over everyone inside. The terrible stench of cigarettes and alcohol flooded the Bentley[b](comma)[/b] [i]and seemingly drenched the seats and all the rest of the interior[/i] [b](the stink of the cigarettes didn't [i]seem[/i] to be staining the interior of the vehicle, it [i]was[/i] staining the interior of the vehicle. Don't be afraid to tell the reader how it is!)[/b]. The car [i]fit[/i] [b](blended, merged, mingled, etc)[/b] into the [b](moved: "bleak")[/b] background of [i]bleak[/i] [b](moved)[/b], dark,[b](strike the comma-- "dark" is an adjective and "houses" is a noun. Only use commas to seperate multiple adjectives) houses and dirty, [b](Just like this!)[/b] old sidewalks.

[i]As soon as[/i] [b](replace with "when")[/b] the old fat man got bored of the scenery before him, he asked.[b](strike the period-- use a comma)[/b] &#8220;What are my odds?&#8221;

&#8220;The player we hired is one of the best in the country, so no need to worry Mr. Marintino.[b](strike period--use comma)[/b]&#8221; said the Guard.

&#8220;How good is Davidson?&#8221; asked Mr. Marintino

&#8220;One of the best in the country.[b](comma)[/b] &#8221; answered the Guard.

&#8220;[b](Moved: I doubt it.)[/b] He acted like a teenager[b](comma)[/b] throwing around those sarcastic remarks at that club. [i]I doubt it.[/i] [b](move to the front of the statement)[/b] &#8221;

&#8220;That&#8217;s just his bluff.&#8221; The guard said.

Save for short bursts of conversation, the ride to the capital of the dingy night clubs in New York was spent in silence. All that was heard were the drops of rain in the background and the inhaling and exhaling of the fat[b](comma)[/b] nasty cigarette[b](s)[/b] the mob boss obsessed over. [i]All that was seen was the face of the most dangerous mobster in the city along with the drip of ash falling slowly from his cigar[/i] [b](This sentence needs clarification. The subject and meaning of the sentence isn't clear)[/b] .

&#8220;[i]The possibility of[/i] [b](Strike it)[/b] Oscar losing has become a serious probability[b](comma)[/b] judging from Davidson's performance yesterday,[b](no comma--use a period. Make "Don't you a think" a knew sentence)[/b] don&#8217;t you think?&#8221; The Guard asked.

&#8220;It is still [i]Quality Entertainment[/i] [b](Unless this is a business or club name [proper noun], it shouldn't be capitalized. If it is a proper noun, clarify that you're referring to a business/club/organization/whatever)[/b] , regardless of who wins.&#8221;

They arrived at a building overflowing with drunks and addicts. [i]The[/i] [b](strike)[/b] grime and dirt painted the walls and floor, [i]and the guards held the slanted building from collapse[/i] [b](sentence muddled. Do you mean guards as in supports, or guards as in sentries? Given the theme, this is an important distiction)[/b] . A path cleared through the bodies[b](perhaps "crowd" would work better here. "Bodies" made me think "corpses," at first, which distracted from the description)[/b] as soon as [i]their[/i] car [b](The car hasn't been referenced in some time. Be sure to let the reader know that you're still talking about [i]Mister Marintino's[/i] car, or whoever's car you're referring to)[/b] appeared through the sludgy rain. The headlights flashed twice, signalizing the arrival of the head of the mob.

&#8220;Clear through!&#8221; the guard yelled leading the boss through the slime and scum that [i]showered this complex.[/i] [b](is slime and scum litterally [i]showering[/i] the complex, as in falling from the skies, or is the building just dirty?)[/b]

[i]The carpet lead them into the main room[b](comma)[/b] where the dance club was located[b](comma)[/b] and the drugs were distributed[/i] [b](Mention that the "carpet" is a path of some sort)[/b] . The light[b](s)[/b] [i]flashed on and off[/i] [b]("Strobed" would sound smoother and save words--comma)[/b] and [i]the[/i] [b](strike)[/b] music blasted through the speakers. [i]They were lead into a back[b](two words--space)[/b] room crowded with men [i]and[/i] [b](IN suits)[/b] suits[b](comma)[/b] and [b](were)[/b] followed by the [i]same[/i] [b](strike)[/b] stench of the
[b](Why the line-break?)[/b]
Bentley. [i]There standing[/i] [b](Standing there)[/b] was[b](moved: their opponent--comma)[/b] the notorious gambler. [i]They&#8217;ve[/i][b](They'd)[/b] heard a lot of this blind man with the luck of the devil, [i]their opponent[/i] [b](move)[/b] .

&#8220;Fantastic. The entertainment has arrived.&#8221; [i]The smirk[/i] [b](A smirk)[/b] [i]mapped[/i] [b]("mapped" doesn't fit here. "Sketched" could work better)[/b] across the blind man&#8217;s [i]face[/i]. His long [i]face[/i] [b](redundancy--comma)[/b] complete with shades [i]and[/i] [b](strike--comma)[/b] sideburns[b](comma)[/b] and smoking a cigarette,[b](Dash "--")[/b] an addiction everyone in the room shared[b](dash "--")[/b] ,[i] and drinking a bottle[/i] [b](The drinking bottle is an addition to his face? Needs to be strike or included elswhere)[/b].

&#8220;What&#8217;s with the fucking joking, Davidson?&#8221; asked Mr. Marintino

&#8220;What&#8217;s with cursing, man? Just because I hang around in a place like this, doesn&#8217;t mean I want to hear [i]the[/i] [b]("your")[/b] lack of education seep through into your speech.&#8221; Davidson said.

&#8220;Where&#8217;s Oscar?&#8221; Mr. Marintino asked.

&#8220;He&#8217;ll arrive shortly.&#8221; said Gerald.

&#8220;It&#8217;s 12:00 AM on the dot. Didn&#8217;t I tell him tardiness wouldn't be tolerated?&#8221; Asked Mr. Marintino

&#8220;Yes, sir.&#8221; said Gerald.

&#8220;His pay is going to be docked from the winnings, if he even gets here[b](period--"Make that drunk a new sentence or include it elsewhere)[/b] , that drunk.&#8221; Mr. Marintino said.

&#8220;What winnings?&#8221; Davidson asked.

The door slam[b](med--comma)[/b] [i]broke[/i] [b]()[/b] breaking the conversation[b](comma)[/b] and in entered a tall man sporting a top hat and a cane. Though his limp wasn&#8217;t [i]transparent[/i] [b]("Apparent," not "transparent." Also, comma)[/b] his flaws were. He had arrived drunken, falling over the chairs and tables that guided him to the poker table at the end of the room. A crooked smile was strewn across his face and his yellow teeth showed through his thin lips. [/quote]

[CabooseRvB]

Any critique on mine :saddowns:

[Barkhaussen]

I started writing a story for this but it was terrible to be honest. It had no structure and I had no idea where it was heading. Luckily a lot of my friends are good writers (I happen to know strayebird), so maybe I can learn a few things from them.

[TheDiddler]

The guards holding the building from collapse was a metaphor for the guards stopping the people inside from tearing it down. So i guess sentries.