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Welcome to my new contest!! Now this one will only be a single round, this one. All the information you need to know is in the next few posts and the prompt is right there below! I hope you enjoy this contest!

_________Deadline is June 30th!___________________________________________________________

"Once we are dead we aren't truly gone forever..."

Prompt: You can see the future and ghosts, but what will you do if you see your own death and violent end?

Write me a story about you or a made up character with the ability to see the future. Tell me you or your characters reaction when you see your or their violent death.

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-Must be longer than 2,000 words
-Send me your story! (Also post it on the thread)
-Must be an original creation!
-Be nice to others
-No spamming
-No cybering
-Bump freely! 3nodding
-Will add more rules when needed!

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1st: May or June's Letter!
2nd: 15k
3rd: 10k
HM: 5k

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I will be the only judge of this contest...unless I get a lot of stories and I mean A LOT.

Here is my score sheet:

Grammar: 25 out of 25
Creativity: 50 out of 50
Intrest Level: 10 out of 10
Originality: 30 out of 30
Rules: 15 out of 15

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W i n n e r



“Lark, help me…

“Lark, help me die. Please. It’s all I’ve ever wanted in this world. And I’ll just die anyway. So why not die a fighter and be honored? And you’d get to kill me. Please, Lark, I don’t have much time, the thorn is already growing and hurting me….Look, Lark, it’s already stabbing my neck…I don’t know how much longer I have to live. Lark, Lark, Lark…kill me? Before it’s too la—”

And the thorn pierced her neck, right there in front of me. Blood spilled down her collarbone and onto her clothes. My fantasies of tenderly licking her blood, as if I was a vampire, tried to take over, but I couldn’t touch the poor girl. It pained me to see her die. I loved her. I loved this girl. Why was I just noticing it now, after she was gone? Why didn’t I stop her?

Because I wanted her to die, too. There were two warring sides in me, love and hate. I was supposed to have made a decision. Now she’ll never know how I felt. Why couldn’t I have said I loved her?

Because I knew. I knew she would die. And I wanted her to die happily. She had always said she didn’t need love.

She was wrong.


It was summer. Where we were located, it was always cold, though. We were high up in the plains and received no snow, no matter how cold it became. It was stressful, this time of year, because there was one event that everyone looked forward to. It was the big thing that everyone lived for: the Tournaments. Many people fought in the Tournaments. It was a battle of worth, skill, and honor.

I was going to be a part of the Tournament this year, along with The Dark Horse—my roommate, Cerise. Her name was everywhere. She was bound to be one of the best.

The Tournament was a demonstration of your skill as a fighter. Cerise was not only good; she was great, and a fast learner. Her movements flowed like honey, smooth and beautiful, yet when made to attack, she could lash out with the power of a tiger. The only reason why no one expected her to win was because they wanted to go with the crowd. And besides, there were many other better warriors out there.

But for me, Cerise was the only competition. She was the master of stealing things. She stole the title in the preliminaries. I wanted her to fall. I wanted her gone. She stood in my way of making it to the top. Fortunately for her, she caught on to things well, and believed I was truly her friend. She had no idea how much I despised her.

It was the day of the first round of the Tournament, and we were a part of a 1024 person lineup. If we made it to the top, we would go to the finals, held between the 32 top fighters of the area. Cerise and I both had dreams of getting to the top. But she had no clue about my hatred towards her, and she still joked about one of us fighting the other one and it ending in a tie. She believed that I was better than her. And she was right. But she might as well go down with some honor.

On the first day, we both survived the fights. Over the course of the next two weeks, we both won every fight we were put into. We were two of the eight that moved on to the finals.

“Hey, Lark,” she called after the fight. Bruised and bloody, she put on a smile for me, who was unscathed. “You did well out there. I can’t wait until the final fight, can you?”

Her eyes sparkled with joy and made me sick. If only I could have taken her down right then and there!

Struggling to maintain an indifferent face in front of the object of my spite, I replied, “Yes, well, just be careful. Things could get ugly out there.” I realized that I had slipped her a warning of my intentions. “I wonder if you’re the only girl there?”

“That would be so cool if I was! Don’t you think?” she asked.

I rolled my eyes and controlled myself. “I dunno. Some people may view that as an advantage to you. You look so frail and hopeless, to be blunt.”

“Well, that’s fine with me. I’ll just have to try my hardest.”

I scoffed and walked away, because how else would I act? She followed me out of habit, and we came to our shared apartment. She claimed the shower first to clean all her wounds, and I was left to think.

I could go in the shower and take her life, right then and there, with one of the many knives in the kitchen. It would be fast and easy, but would leave a mess, and God knows I’m no good at cleaning up blood. I could drown her, but she would kick me and possibly kill me, so that idea was out. Let’s see, how else could I dispose of her quickly and easily…?

In my roundabout thoughts, I had failed to realize that in three days she would turn sixteen. I had forgotten of the necklace she always wore and could never take off, and I did not notice that I would not have to end her. Someone else would do it for me.

She came out of the shower in clean clothes, her damp hair brushed straight and smooth. The way she walked, with happiness and joy, almost made me throw up. I merely gasped, a reaction I did not expect.

“Lark,” she said, calling my attention. My body moved on its own accord, sitting up straight. “I have something to tell you, so listen well. No interruptions, alright?” I raised an eyebrow but kept my mouth shut, which surprised both of us.

She put her hand around her neck, where her necklace was. It was really a choker of thorns, permanently wrung around her porcelain neck, digging into her skin and occasionally making her bleed. When the red droplets adorned her neck and dripped down her collarbone, it aroused within me the strange desire to throw myself upon her and make more of her precious blood spill. And that does not refer only to death.

“You know my birthday is coming up. This necklace will grow one more thorn in three days’ time. That’ll be sixteen thorns around my neck, sixteen years I’ve been alive. But you know I’ll never live to see the sun rise four days from now. I won’t survive the Tournament, and even if I do, it will be useless waiting for the sixteenth thorn to grown and penetrate my neck. So I must ask you a question.

“Would you help me if I wanted to die?”

My eyes widened. This was the moment I had been waiting for! She was requesting assistance for the one thing I knew I could help her with. “You…you want me to kill you?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m just searching for answers, and the only way to get them is to die. But I can’t do it myself. I need your help, Lark. I need your help.”

I looked down, calm on the outside, bursting with joy on the inside. She wanted to die. But assisted suicide was illegal where we lived in the plains, and if anyone knew, I would be gone.

“I know what you’re thinking. It’s illegal to do assisted suicide, right? Well, what if you killed me in the fights? We’re going to have to fight each other sometime, anyway; so why not just get rid of me in a fight, where it’s legal?”

Yes, I wanted to say. Yes, I’ll kill you. But something inside me stopped and caught my breath. Did I really want her out of my life? It wasn’t like we were together or anything. There was no harm in our living together. Besides, we slept in separate rooms. When did my thoughts take this turn?

But isn’t it what you want? To be together?

No. She must die. She is worthless to me. She does nothing but follows me around and get hurt. I have to pretend to be the parent all the time. It’s time she tried to fend for herself, even if she dies trying.

You’re a cold-hearted, merciless fool. Why do you think she asked you to help her? Because she doesn’t have any other friends? Or because she wants to die at the hands of her—

Don’t say it. It’s not true. I don’t. I don’t. I don’t.

You do.

My eyes darkened, knowing that I had cornered myself. My brain had the tendency to work in circles, and so I admitted to myself: I do.

“Lark? Is something wrong?” She looked at me, her finger still hooked around the thorns, drawing blood. “Can I help you with anything?”

My eyes, widened, zeroed in on the red liquid seeping out from her neck. I stood up. Her face brightened. “Does this mean you’ll help me?” she asked.

I bent my neck down and held her still, my thoughts racing through my head. She asked you for three days’ time, not now. You could get a disease. It’s not good for you to fall in love with the maiden whom you’re destined to kill. Get away from her, the poor girl! Don’t taint her precious skin with your dirty desires.

I let her go. “You want to leave this world, then?” I asked her, my back turned toward her.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I do. It won’t make a difference how.”

“Then consider your wings to have arrived.”

The dark horse smiled. “Thank you, lark,” she said. “I’m not alone anymore. Thank you for everything.”

“Sure, no problem,” I said. The weight of her joyous eyes was almost too much to bear. Within me stirred the desire to kiss her and kill her at the same time. And if that wasn’t enough, I couldn’t decide which one I wanted to do more. It was like a game of tug-of-war, and neither side was about to give up without a fight.


The day of the final rounds of the Tournament arrived; three days after Cerise confronted me. She had signs up in the crowd, waving their brightly colored words, trying to get her attention. She wore a smile on her face and stood up straight in her black uniform. I felt sick to my stomach with anxiety. The day was here. She was destined to die, whether I liked it or not.

If I had signs up in the stands, I took no notice of them. My eyes were on her, all the time, watching her carefully, judging how to accomplish my goal. The first pair of fighters came up. It ended within minutes; one of them had slipped out of the ring and the other stayed in. It was soon the time when I would have to fight Cerise—the Dark Horse—my love.

We stood up and moved to our places in the ring. The proctor made us shake hands and bow to each other before assuming a guard stance. Her eyes bore into my mind, and I think she could tell of the struggle that was going on inside me. To kill, or not to kill? To love, or not to love? It was a never-ending cycle that had me running in circles.

The proctor commanded us to begin, and jumped out of the way. We began to move in slow circles, maintaining the distance between us, never letting the other’s eyes wander. My brain froze, the two parts of me—the killer and the lover—fighting for dominance and causing me great amounts of mental stress.

“Just because I’m going to die doesn’t mean I won’t go down without a fight,” she whispered, and I barely had a second to process her words before she struck the side of my face.

She continued to hit me, all the while the fans cheering her name. “Cerise! Dark Horse! Cerise! Dark Horse!” they chanted. It distracted me and she kept on pummeling me.

“Come on, aren’t you going to strike?” she taunted. “I’m not going to die with any honor if you don’t attack!”

“You want me to attack?” the devil in me said. “I’ll attack!” I lashed out, my fingers raking her face, catching on her thorns, making her spill precious red blood. She recollected herself, and eventually we were fighting for real.

“Why do you want to die?” I asked her through the punching.

She breathed heavily, strained from the effort. “Because I’ll die anyway, so why not get it over with and die a fighter? It’s not like I have a chance of surviving, anyway.” She boxed my ears and I kicked her back.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” I said, keeping her away from me. I would tear her heart out if I wasn’t already preoccupied.

“Oh, but it does,” she replied. “Who are you to say that these thorns will not puncture my throat and will leave me breathing? How do you know that? Why do you fear this happening? Just come at me!”

My brain started working again and I came up with a plan. I let out an earth-shattering yell in agony, and punched the ground. Instantly, dust covered the arena, and we could not see the stands or the proctor.

“I want them to see,” she protested, and waved her arms around, trying to clear the dust. “I want them to see you win,” she said louder.

“All they see right now is a cloud of dust. Get ready; I’m coming at you!” I dashed up to her and tackled her, bringing her to the ground. She struggled to break free of my iron grip, but I pinned her arms down to her sides. The dust held up, and I kicked the ground again, causing more of the cover to appear.

Leaning close to her, I could see the sixteenth thorn on the choker, still small, but growing at an angle that when full grown would take her life. The ruby-red blood from her face and neck continued to pour, and I pressed my nose to it. It smelled like death and impending doom, and my anxiety came back in a wave of terror.

“What are you doing?” she whispered to me as I slowly approached her ear.

“Killing you,” I said suavely. “But I have something to do first.” Her body, smaller than mine, quaked and trembled under my weight. I held her wrists tightly, and in a first and final effort to make her understand, I pressed my lips to hers and ignored her pleas to stop.

“What was that for?” she asked me.

She had stopped moving, so I tentatively released one of her hands and moved it to the pouch on my leg. “Before you die, I need you to understand something. I’m in love with you and yet I’m killing you. Am I crazy? Maybe. But I truly want you to know that I am doing this for you. I swear I’ll find you.” And I continued to kiss her, and I felt the hilt of the knife in my pocket, and slid it from its sheath.

Our romance was short lived and unexpected, but she seemed to understand it well. With all her heart she and I came together, melded at the mouth, souls screaming for each other. This would not last. This love was never meant to be. It never could have been, not with what was bound to happen.

The dust was beginning to settle. I didn’t have much time to keep indulging in her. With one last passionate kiss, I slid the knife in between her ribs and watched as she gasped her last breath in my face, and sputtered out like a candle drenched in ice cold water.

I quickly stood up and backed away from the body as the dust began to clear. Her eyelids dropped down, the muscles no longer controlled, and her whole body seemed to relax. The sixteenth thorn never had a chance to pierce her skin and kill her.

The proctor looked at the body, eyes wide and mouth open. “She’s dead,” he muttered. “She’s dead! The Dark horse has fallen! The Dark horse has been slain!”

The crowd erupted in shouts of disgrace and anger and joy, and tears welled up in my eyes as Cerise began to glitter. Her body lit up from within, and then shattered as if she were made of glass. Something broke inside of me at the same time. Thousands of yellow shards flew through the air, her spirit flying with them, leaving only the necklace of thorns where she used to be.

I picked it up and wiped the blood from my mouth. It was all that was left of her: a ring of thorns decorated with her blood. It was all I had left.

“She died a noble fighter,” I convinced myself. “She wanted it anyway. It would have happened. There was no way you could control destiny.”

I still felt her warm breath on my face, and clenched the thorns tightly. I didn’t care that they stabbed my skin. I cared that they had threatened to take Cerise away. My Cerise. She was mine. She would never be anyone else’s. I had her thorns. I had the only thing left of her.

She was a master of stealing things. And before she died, she stole one last thing: My soul.
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Aint No Elvis

See? The future.

I saw the winning lottery numbers in the light shining off of a pickle jar.

I saved a kid from being hit by a bus. I was watching Futurama, and when there was a sequence with "Hypnotoad," I was lulled into a trance. As I awoke from this trance, I found that I had the precise date and time of some kid's violent death. I stopped it.

I could tell my friends the dates for all of Mr. Matson's pop quizzes when I was in high school. The only catch was that I had to fold a paper in half three times first.

Maybe I don't see the future in the most conventional way, or maybe, as my wife believes, I don't see the future at all. Whatever I do, though, I know I can change whatever needs to be changed.



I'm falling, falling through something, somewhere, all I can feel is the falling, the fleeting sensation of air rushing up around me, and then the ground coming to meet me. It's me this time, not someone else, splat against the hard concrete, bones broken, blood everywhere, no pulse, no heartbeat, no thump-thump. My mind rushes to cover up for this, I'm hallucinating, I'm dreaming, but no. I'm so scared I can't think straight, no I can't think, can't... think...

"Honey! What's wrong! Oh. My. God, John, you've... you've wet yourself!"

Indeed I have. My concentration returns in a flash. My surroundings become clear once again. My wife is looking at me with a mixture of anguish and worry. Embarrassed, perhaps, to be with this crazy man. I become acutely aware of the warmth that really shouldn't be between my legs, as well as the other shoppers staring at me, and at... it. I can tell that I'm blushing, I can feel the heat in my face.

Oh my god, the heat in my, between my, oh god. The embarrassment is only catching up to me now. This feeling is indescribable, and I my heart plummets. I thought that this kind of shame wouldn't follow me after high school. I didn't count on pissing myself in the middle of Albertsons, either.

Without even putting down the can of tinned meat in my hand, I leave the store. The sound of theft alarms follows me to the car, echoing through my head. I open one of the four doors to my obnoxiously large, obnoxiously red truck.

Behind the steering wheel, I take solace in the familiarity of the layout and equipment.

The shame hardly matters, I realize, if I'm about to die. I remember the vision so clearly. It's almost as if it has been recorded on a tivo in my memory. Unfortunately, this is one tivo I can't turn off. I hear my own scream reverberating through my ears. I can almost, almost feel the pain as my body hits the ground. If only I could turn these sensations off.

Suddenly, the crystal veil of thoughts surrounding me is shattered by the metallic crash of the car door slamming shut. I look over to find my wife sitting next to me.

"Just drive." she commands. I obey, only because I feel that not following her instructions would probably put an end to my life prematurely. "WHAT was that all about?" she's practically screaming now. I keep my eyes focused on the road. "You know how EMBARASSING that was for me? Do you even UNDERSTAND what I had to go through to make sure they didn't follow you to the car and arrest you for SHOPLIFTING? I'm sorry, it must be impossible to contemplate for someone with the mind of a SIX YEAR OLD! Because, John, who besides a six year old would PISS THEMSELVES in the middle of a GROCERIE STORE? I am SO ANGRY right now, I doubt you even understand!"

"But, hone-"

"Honey my a**. John, don't make excuses for yourself. Take me home. Now."


"NO BUTS! Shut up and drive."

Would I be wrong to feel that I'm being treated unfairly? I mean, I sort of understand, but wouldn't it be more embarrassing for me and not her? Even so, I love her too much to even disobey her instructions. When we reach the house, she storms inside, making sure to slam every visible door. I stay behind, laying my head on the steering wheel. She will never believe me. She doesn't believe in my visions.

Knowing that avoiding my problems is no way to solve them, I open the truck door. Before I enter the house, I stop at the front of the truck. I pat it twice, just so it knows that it wasn't at fault for today's events. Julie treated it so badly...

I realize that I'm practically talking to a truck. Shaking my head, I slowly march to the door, or perhaps to the gallows, I can't tell anymore if there's a difference.

Opening the door slowly, I find Julie waiting for me, leaning against the kitchen cabinet with her head in her hands.

“I’m sorry, John. I’m not giving you a fair chance. What happened, exactly? Really, I’m sorry, now that my anger has dissipated… I’m just left with guilt. I was horrible.” she moaned.

“It’s fine, J, but can I just go and change my pants before we get into some long discussion?” I ask, with a smile teasing the corners of my lips. She waves me on, and I head to the bedroom. I pull on fresh pairs of boxers and jeans, as well as washing myself off in the sink.

My heart is beating faster. With Julie, I think I can get through this. I can change my future. I turn off the bedroom lights as I leave.

Suddenly, movement in the corner of the darkened room catches my eye. I turn just in time to see a cat, pale as moonlight, jump up onto our dresser and, to my amazement, fade away. I rub my eyes, but the cat is still gone and I am still positive that the ghostly vision was just that. A ghost.

I run out of the room and down the hall. “Honey!” I screech, praying that Julie won’t think I’m insane. “I just saw something incredible!”

Julie stares at me for a second. She’s probably surprised by my sudden change of attitude, but I don’t care, this is too amazing to keep to myself. “”Honey, I think I just saw a ghost!”

“Um, John, are you feeling okay?”

“No, seriously! It was a white cat, and it hopped onto our dresser and then faded away! I swear to god! I’m not crazy… I’m… not…”

“So is that what all that in the store was about? Did you see another ghost? Have another vision? John! Wake up! You’re not psychic! These things simply don’t exist.”

My heart drops. I know she won’t understand. I look to the ground and mumble something unintelligible.

”What was that?”

“I said that you’re probably right. I was just jumping to conclusions again. Come here for a second.” She looks at me, confusion in her eyes, but she steps forward, towards me. In one swift movement, I grab her hand lightly and bring her close to me in a tight hug. For a second, she is unresponsive, but it isn’t long before she is clinging to me as well.

“John,” she whispers, “sometimes I just can’t take all of these things you say… sometimes I worry that you’re… crazy…”

I pull her chin up, so she’s looking into my eyes. “It’s okay. If it freaks you out, I won’t talk about it anymore. I love you so much.”

I lace my fingers in between hers, and stoop slightly, first brushing my lips against hers, then kissing her deeply, trying to make her understand how much I care about her. Trying to pour my very soul into hers.


I wake up screaming, feeling salty sweat clinging to my palms. The vision has come to me again, and every detail is the same. The fall, the sickening crunch of my bones, everything.

By some crazy twist of fate, Julie is still snoring softly beside me. Even a scream can’t bring her back from that deep sleep she falls into every night. I sit up in bed, thinking that perhaps a glass of water would do me good. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, maybe a little too quickly, because I feel lightheaded.

To my surprise, in the doorway, I find the milky white cat staring up at me. I stop in my tracks, not wanting to scare it away. It begins to trot down the hallway, easy as can be, and stops about halfway, looking back at me. I think it wants me to follow.

I oblige, and follow as it dissolves through the door. In the cool night air, the cat seems more opaque, almost like a real cat. However, the wisps of smoke beneath his feet betray his true nature.

I look at my bare feet, and realize that I’m wearing nothing but the boxers I put on earlier. I can follow the cat no further, tonight at least. I turn, walking back through the still open door, and enter the kitchen. I pour a glass of water and return to bed.


As I awake for the second time this morning, the first thing I notice is that Julie is already out of bed. I pull myself up, sitting cross legged, but I don’t feel like doing anything. I feel like sleeping all day, like never moving again.

If I’m going to die anyway… why bother going to work?


A week passes quickly, like a flash. Every day I slept in until noon, and spent the rest of the day doing basically nothing. Maybe, if I never leave the house, I won’t die.

Julie doesn’t seem to mind too much, though she looks at my dirty clothes on the floor and unshaven face and sighs. Maybe she is more accepting than she is letting on.

Every night, I dream about dying. Every night, I see the cat in the doorway. Every night, I ignore both of these things. As I said, if I don’t leave, I can’t die.

However, I’m starting to realize that this is barely a life at all. Maybe it would be better just to die. My conversations with Julie are becoming few and far between. Though she doesn’t criticize my new lifestyle, she is giving me the cold shoulder more and more often…


I was fired from work on Tuesday. Nothing has changed.


I’m slowly beginning to realize that this is no life at all. This is a living hell, one step from a slow and painful death. I want to end this waiting.

Two days ago, Julie left me. She said that she can’t stand to see me slipping away like this, and that after careful thought, she realized that she never loved me anyway. I still love her so much. I can’t handle this anymore.


I climb the stairs one at a time. There are no windows in this vortex of memory and pain, this pathway leading up to hell, this… this salvation. My breathing has no rhythm, no beat, no pattern. Three more stairs to the final landing. A plain wooden door, light in its construction and seemingly fragile. A faded exit sign hangs loosely just below a tiny window.

I glance backwards, this is my last chance to back out, my last chance to live. I feel something brush against my legs and see the flickering of a tail fading through the door. I push it open against the wind. My hair whips around my face and I walk to the edge of the roof.

The apartment building I chose was nothing fancy, but anything less modest would do nothing to compliment such an empty end to such an empty life.

I turn my back to the ground and look to the sky, my feet perched precariously on the edge of the roof. My heels are hanging off of the ledge.

The cat stares up at me, mocking my choice, mocking my feeble attempt at closure, at happiness. I breathe in deeply, one final rush of oxygen, and fall backwards, arms spread out like wings.

All I can feel is the falling, the fleeting sensation of air rushing up around me, and I realize that I had the chance to prevent all of this. If only I could go back… do things over… I could have changed my future.

My bones crunch against the pavement.

Everything is black.
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The rain came down in thick sheets on the windowpane, no pit pat, no- this was a choking downpour that would rend the outside world wet and soggy for months, marring the roads and making them unfit to travel. Not like such a thing mattered, after all- nobody ever visited accross the moor. In the evenings it was simply the calls of lonesome beasts and creatures, the howls of wolves perhaps, as they wandered- looking for thier lost kin. They were lucky to ever find them in all actuality. The moor had it's own secrets, the mud that blended so well in the heather was suffocating, suctioning on anything that would manage to step in it. The only sign of such a thing could be heard now at those rare moments when the chilling screams echoed accross the plains as a moor pony had found itself stuck and fighting death's cold fingers lacing over it's body through the muck.

Celeste sat on a bench next to the windowsill, her gray blue eyes mirroring the melancholy skies stretched out lazily overhead. She was clothed in the finest things that could be afforded in those days. From head to toe she was expensive fabrics and delicate lace, she looked like a doll, a pretty, delicate doll. Her black hair pulled up from her pale, unhealthy face. Her posture rigid as she kept her gaze on the forbidden outside world. She was different from most people, she couldn't walk. Her legs bound up in metal braces- keeping her confined to the manorhouse. Her parents could come and go, explore the grounds around the large, foreboding building if they wished- though there wasn't much to look at, overgrown weeds and untended buildings. For people with so many fineries indoors, they paid little if any money on servants to tend for anything. The entire building was a coffin, everything inside it dead or dying, gathering dust and age rapidly. Even young Celeste was grown far past her age. She was mature for a child of thirteen, she never smiled. The dreary gaze of the child would follow imaginary spectres and beings, she'd even occasionally speak to them, but other than those moments she was silent. Deathly silent.

Though the girl's eyes looked through the windowpane, her mind was far elsewhere, enraptured in some picture... she knew what it was- she had requested such a thing to be shown to her. What she hadn't expected was what it brought her... in asking the spirits about the house how she would die... she brought thier predictions to morbid life.

Her eyes saw it, a spray of blood and the crunching of bone, her body falling silently into a mass of torn velvet, silk, and lace. She wouldn't be given time to scream... but plenty of time to weep, weep for the corpses about her- for the fallen from what she had brought to life, from what she had seen.

"Celeste!" a crisp, clear voice like a bell rang through the expanse of hallways, snapping the youth from her vision. "Roland and I are going to go check on the horses, is that okay with you?" she almost seemed to be requesting permission from her words themeselves though her tone read she would go anyways. It was simply informing the child that she would be gone for a period.

The doll nodded, her gray eyes looking towards the doorway which lead to the hallway, her eyes resting on a portrait hung on the wall, a stoic figure of a man dressed in a suit, his eyes like hellfire in thier darkness. It sent shivvers up Celeste's spine. "Okay, Aizabelle!" she called in response as she started rolling her chair out of the room, cautiously eyeing the art before she started making her way down the hallway, past millions of scrutinizing eyes that seemed starving for the warmth of life, watching the slim young woman... waiting to pull her into death and take her warmth.

The autonomy of her life ever droning as she wheeled herself into her luncheon room, her noontime meal laid out before her. Gray porridge made as it always was, crystals of brown sugar lacing the edges and a silver spoon splunked into it's warm mess. The richness of their life shown in the way everything was presented, the dishes made of intricately designed china, the silverware etched with delecate roses like those of the springtime that seemed to never come. Celeste shook her head at the display, she wouldn't eat the porridge, atleast not now. It was too crowded to eat, it would be too rude to show how live you were in a room filled with so many disdainful dead.

Her eyes wandering from each spectral essense that was only faintly shown in her vision, she could see them, and they could see her- though she sometimes wondered who was perhaps the ghost here? The possibility that she herself was dead and watching all she could see of the living was a thought that occurred all too often.

if I was...

the ghost?

and they, were the living?

What if I...

was the haunt in thier home?

She shook her head, such a thought was madness, but a churning, itching madness that the mind couldn't shake. Even now, as the drunken sky darkened prematurely, bringing an early night over the land she called her prison- though she had been told it was to be called home. She heard the laughing and the opening of the grand oak doors as Roland and Aizabelle- her parents- reentered the house, muttering something about the replacement costs of this or that.

Celeste shook her head, though she didn't dare close her eyes- the shimmers in the air around her, the ghosts, they were restless. Her vision. Her unearthly talent and sight, it would come true... tonight

Her eyes could only faintly catch the glimmer of the angelic figure of death moving as shadows over the rain soaked lawn, she smiled as the ghastly being explored the premises, traveling along after it's vessel to carry out it's duty. She brushed a loose lock of her ebon hair behind her ear as she looked down the hallways, already thinking through what was to happen in order for her to meet the end she had been predicted to have, to die in the bloody heap with her parents... she had seen it coming. The figure of the killer ready to take his final victim... it was all too perfect. She would get the last assurance that all these years locked up in her own personal hell, she was the one alive... she would get to finally be assured truth and be assured of her existance.


Hours passed in slow progression, creeping like coagulating blood through a wound, losing force as the heart died. The mansion silent as death continued to explore the premises, poking it's vile head into every corner and scanning every window with bloodshot eyes as it's rancid breath left mist crawling over the windowpanes. "Not much longer..." she muttered to herself, a villianous smile creeping over her face. Those who kept her here, they would go first.

A chilled scream.

The first step to this end.

The footsteps rang heavy on the stairs, running up, up, Aizabelle ran, her green eyes wide with terror as her persuer closed in, his eyes burning with madness and devoid of humanity. Slaughter. Kill. Crush. That's all that could be read from the being, Aizabelle had to escape the damnation that only a vicious animal like such a form as the thing could bring.

Celeste laughed, hearing the chase come closer, ever drawing nearer to herself and her chair. Her throne. "Yes, mum dear... all this pain, and quiet... all of it, it's almost over..." she whispered.

"I'll give you money, anything! Leave them alone!" Roland's deep voice came as he tried any ploy he could possibly think to use in order to save this family. "We mean no harm to you! Please, try listening to some reason!" he shouted, his tone growing more desperate with every syllable.


Another scream, again- it was Celeste's voice ringing down the hallway. Thud.


"Celeste... you beckoned us to come... don't you wish to see our face?" came the voice, sounding every bit as normal, as casual as someone coming over for brunch on a sunday morning. Familiar, warming as it spiraled through the ear and into the brain.

Slowly, with an eager glint in her eyes, Celeste rolled down the hallway, her wheelchair silent on the hardwood floor as she saw the scene, the grooves in the wooden plankinfs turned into channels for the blood. There, standing with his front tinged dark red was her savior, "Yes, I beckoned..." she said, her voice calm, young, clear as a silver bell in the cold snowy air.

The stranger nodded, but didn't make a violent move towards the girl- instead he bore a smile. "This isn't what they told me!" her mind went sharp, her eyes dull and she missed the blur of movement as the knife came down- missing her completely. Instead she tumbled to the ground, her chair dislodged and accross the hallway, out of her reach. She looked up and the figure, the being she had called to end this... was gone. "Come here and finish it!" she bellowed, "Come back!" her shrill voice echoed through the dusty building, the torrent of rain continuing to crash down over the surrounding area, the empty, lifeless moor listening tiredly to the rage of the girl who lay sprawled on the floor amongst the dead.

The moor ponies stopped, as did the wolves, thier ears attentive to the anger of the misty gray eyed being who was now curling herself into a ball, protecting herself from the silence of the place, from the monotonousness that clung greedily to the air, closing her eyes from the judging, longing eyes of the portraits that watched her with hunger. She was alone now, finally alone. She smiled, a slight trickle of laughter dripping like bile from her lips. Nobody lived on the moor, nobody except that small household, it was a place for hermits to live, it was where they lived, the small family in thier manor. No, it was a coffin. The entire building was a coffin, everything inside it dead or dying. Like Celeste... left without her chair, no means to escape the crippling silence, she was unable to walk, unable to escape- and with no rescuer, this was how things would be.

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Honorable Mention

I Don't Want To See

“You look like death warmed over,” Stacie said, watching me as I dragged myself to my position behind the registration desk. I was not feeling well and she didn’t realize exactly how close to the truth she actually was.

“Damn and I thought I was a ray of sunshine,” I joked. In truth, I was exhausted. I had only managed a few hours of sleep the night before. All I wanted was to go home and curl up in bed for a few more hours of shut-eye. Too bad I was now scared as all hell to shut my eyes for long. “Let’s just get through this day, ok?”

Stacie nodded her agreement and we both went to our usual tasks for the morning. I printed out the various reports we needed while she filled out the documents required by our manager. I couldn’t help but start to wonder. Why had I had that nightmare? Was it another vision? I hoped to hell not, I wasn’t ready to die just yet.

Before I could stop myself, I said, “Hey, Stacie, what would you do if you knew how you were going to die?” She paused, staring at me like I had three heads.

“Gees, girl, where the hell did that come from?” She hesitated, finally shrugging. “I don’t know, probably try to do everything I’ve always wanted to before I die. Maybe apologize to people I’ve hurt. What about you?”

“I’m not sure. I guess I could let some grudges go and make amends with people. And I did always want to answer this damned phone as Grand Central Station,” I grounded out as the phone’s incessant ringing interrupted our conversation. “Thank you for calling The Main Street Suites. This is Morgan speaking. How may I help you?” And with that, our conversation ended. I still didn’t have a clue about what to do, but it was time to work now and worry about that later.

“Thank god, I’m so beat,” I said as Stacie and I loaded onto the elevator on our way to clock out for the day.

“Me, too. Hey, what was with that ‘knowing when you’re going to die’ question earlier?”

I froze, staring at the reflective doors as they slid shut in front of me. “I, uh, was just wondering. Something that was on my mind last night.” I hurried off the elevator as the doors opened on the bottom floor, punching the code in to access the employee area. “Haven’t you ever wondered that before?”

“Not really. You’re not going to do something stupid, are you Morgan?” Stacie was one of the few people that knew about my past experiences with depression and I should have expected she would make that connection.

“No, no. Really, I was just wondering about it. I mean, think about what must go through the minds of cancer patients.” I sifted through my purse, pulling out my time card and swiped it through the system.

“Yeah, true. I’ve got to hit the bathroom before leaving, catch you tomorrow?” She asked, swiping her own time card before turning in the direction of the break room.

“Sure, tomorrow.” I hurried out to the parking lot. That had to have been one of the more awkward conversations Stacie and I had ever had. She knew I had a depressive past, but she didn’t know I had a tendency to see the future, which had me worried as all hell.

It was a short trek from the exit to my car. The small, purple Chevy Berretta wasn’t very hard to miss with the collection of bumper stickers on the back and layer of dirt covering it. Most of the guests at the hotel drove expensive cars, as did most of the employees. I slid into the driver’s seat and turned it on. I couldn’t help but smile when the heavy thump of my favorite music started to vibrate the vehicle.

Reversing out of my parking spot, I began the drive home. It was a good twenty minute drive that I always used to mull over topics that were bothering me. Today, I was wondering about the dream from last night. I had a tendency to have prophetic dreams which would wake me up in the middle of the night. Usually they were about trivial things, but this one was about death, my death to be precise.

In the dream I was driving. I wasn’t sure if I was driving home or towards somewhere else. I just knew that I was in my vehicle on my way somewhere. Something had caused my car to act up and finally stall on some train tracks just as a train started heading at me. I couldn’t get out of my car for some reason; it seemed like my door had jammed shut and I couldn’t get over to the passenger door in time. The driver of the train must not have seen me soon enough because he was too late hitting the brakes.

Then I woke up, panting and frightened. I knew my family was down the hall, but I wasn’t going to bother them over something as silly as a dream. Instead, I had lain in bed all night worried, frightened, and too damned afraid to close my eyes again. It didn’t help that I had to cross three sections with train crossings on my way to and from work.

I had been so focused on reminiscing about the dream that I didn’t realize as I had driven past the West Grove Cemetery, I had gained a passenger in my car. Glancing to the side, I was startled to find a young man sitting beside me with his arms crossed. “Damn it, Michael. Was it necessary to frighten me like that?”

“Only when you’re so wrapped up in you’re mind that you’re not paying attention to the road.” Michael stated, continuing to stare at me. Michael had become a good friend, well, as good of a friend as a ghost could be. He couldn’t offer me hugs when I needed them or high fives for congratulations, but he could offer companionship and conversation.

“I am paying attention, just thinking.” I said, considering my next words carefully. “What would you have done if you had known you were going to die?”

Michael hesitated, turning to look out the window. “I sure as hell would have beaten the crap out of Johnnie.”

“Michael!” I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He had been 23 when he died and quite attractive, too. Certainly if he had been alive I would have been trying to date him. Even though he was quite transparent, I could make out the shaggy brown hair and hazel eyes. In life, he had had a lean, but muscular build, a jock no doubt. “I’m being serious! What would you have done?”

He shrugged, obviously thinking it over for a moment. “There really isn’t anything I would have done differently. I lived my life to the fullest. Of course, that’s what got me killed in the first place.”

“You never did tell me how you died.”

“And I’m not going to.” He stared out the windshield, guilt apparent on his face. I obviously wasn’t going to get any more out of him.

“Fine. Then help me decide what to do before I die.”

I could see him start then, out of the corner of my eye. “Before you what?”

“Before I die.”

“What… what makes you think you’re going to die?” I could hear the disbelief in his voice.

“I had a dream last night…”

“That’s just a dream!” He interrupted.

“Michael, just listen.” I waited until I saw him settle back down. “I had a dream last night. I occasionally have these… psychic dreams. Normally, I just see a conversation between someone else and myself. Or I might see an action I’m going to take.” I took a deep breath, gathering myself to actually say the words. “Last night, I saw myself die.”

He shook his head. “Not possible. Not going to happen.”

“It is going to happen, Michael. I just don’t know when.”

He hesitated again. “How?”

“A train is going to hit me. My car is going to stall; I’m going to be stuck in side.” I shivered, tensing as I guided my car over the first set of train tracks on my way home. I watched him shift again out of the corner of my eye. “You seem worked up about this. Why?”

“You can not die. You should not die.”

“It is going to happen eventually. I would just prefer it not to be so painful.” I cringed, guiding my car over the second set of train tracks. I let out a sigh knowing there was only one set left and they were not used as often as the first two were. “However, I can not choose how I die.”

“You are too full of life! Too full of beauty! You can not die!” It took me a moment to register what Michael had said, first getting over the fact that for the first time, he had raised his voice.

“Michael, what did you just say?”

“I just…” He seemed to be collecting himself. “I just do not think that you deserve to die.”

I blinked, shrugging slightly. “I don’t think it is whether or not I deserve to die. It’s more whether or not it is my time to die.” He remained quiet, staring out the window.

It was only a few more minutes before we were at the last set of train tracks. I pulled up to the stop sign right before, cringing as my car made a stuttering noise. “No, no, no.” I muttered. It was my turn to go, so I had begun to inch my car over the tracks as it sputtered. With no warning at all, the car just stopped… on the tracks. I look over at Michael, who was looking both in both directions.

“I do not see a train. Come on, unbuckle and get out of the car.” He waves his transparent hand as if trying to hurry me along. Nodding, I unfastened the buckle and went to open the door.

“Uh, Michael, it won’t open.” At that moment, the lights signaling an oncoming train began to flash and I could hear the faint sound of the approaching engine.

“It what?” He didn’t seem to believe me.

“It will not open! I don’t know how else to say it!” I gulped as I saw the train come around the bend. “Hit the damned brakes.”

“Why don’t you go out this side?” He said, moving his own body through the door to stand outside the vehicle.

I nodded, starting the painstaking process of maneuvering in such a small car. “Worth a shot,” I muttered. With one foot positioned one the passenger seat, I went to move the other and was stopped by a tugging on my foot. Looking down, I let out a string of curses. My shoe lace was stuck around the gas pedal. “Damn it!” Scrambling to try and remove the shoe, I looked up just as the train blew its horn. The last thing I saw was the front of the train colliding with my car.

It seemed like forever before the blackness lifted. I opened my eyes to find myself standing about fifty feet away from the crash, Michael beside me. “Welcome to death, sweetheart.” He said, turning his face to look down at me.

I glanced at him for a moment before focusing my attention on the various people moving around the remnants of my vehicle. Emergency personnel, fire fighters, police officers, I had always wanted to be a part of a scene like this, just not on the dead side. “It really happened. Just like I saw it.” I watched as they brought a tow truck close enough to start pulling the pile of scraps onto the flat bed. “Did they already remove my body?”

He pointed off to the right, where the cement road met dirt. There, covered with a white sheet, was what looked to be a human body. “They had to use that ‘jaws of life’ thing to get you out.” He shivered. “Damn, you looked bad. Good thing the wounds did not carry over.”

“That was not funny!” I flung my hand back, pausing as I realized that it actually connected with his stomach. “Holy hell.” I turned to stare as I gently brushed my fingers over him. “I can touch you.”

For once, he actually smiled. “Well, duh, you’re now made out of the same stuff I am.” Just as fast, his smile vanished and he stood there, staring at me.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

With a tug, he pulled me into a tight embrace, “You were not supposed to die, Morgan.”

I blinked, slowly wrapping my arms around his waist. “It’s not like I had any control.” I closed my eyes, cursing myself for my horrid abilities at comforting people. “At least now we get to hug each other.”

“And I’m never letting go.”
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I declare this contest offically open! blaugh
dangerous xx L I A S O N's avatar

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You've never been so divine
In accepting your defeat

And I've never been more scared to be alone...

First post! -victory-

This looks...interesting. I have an idea...I think.

...if love is not enough to put my enemies to sleep,

Then I'm putting out the lantern
Find your own way back home
Interesting, and I'd like to say that I just love the title haha.
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Interesting, and I'd like to say that I just love the title haha.

blaugh Thanks! I thought so myself!
I have a few different ideas for this but they need developing. But I'm subscribed to this thread so I'm sure I'll be back.
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I have a few different ideas for this but they need developing. But I'm subscribed to this thread so I'm sure I'll be back.

Cool! I hope to see you around!
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I already sent my entry to you, I wrote it kinda in a hurry so there are a few spelling mistakes that I didn't catch untill after I sent it to you, and it's not as good as I could have made it but I hope you enjoy my story- even if it might not be exactly what you had in mind...

I try to be unique with it...

sorry if my uniqueness might be a bit morbid. ^^;

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