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| What should the next contest be |
| Poetry |
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34% |
[ 13 ] |
| Another Short Story. |
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26% |
[ 10 ] |
| Some form of art |
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39% |
[ 15 ] |
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| Total Votes : 38 |
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 Posted: Mon Mar 20, 2006 7:23 pm
Feafaroth I wouldn't mind doing this. Does it matter if the story just happens on St. Patricks day? I mean, does it have to focus on it? no, the theme was just to semi tie it all together, it doesn't have to focus on that day.
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Posted: Tue Mar 21, 2006 6:06 pm
Last Saint
I wandered outside our small school in the early Monday morning, waiting inside the old ticket gate that led to our humble football field. It was March 13, and all anyone would talk about was a huge party to be thrown by Zach Ballard, one of the most liked guys in our grade. He had invited everyone to this huge bash at his home, and I mean everyone. The telephone lines were probably lit up like fuses when word got around. But, even though Zach was known as one of the nicest and coolest guys around, even I was surprised when he had invited Christopher Mallor. Chris was one of those quiet kids that no one ever makes fun of because he never gives anyone a reason. Even the most violent left him alone, just because he was, like, the little brother of everyone in our grade. If you messed with him then you would become one of the most hated people in our grade. Preps, goths, and everything inbetween just didn't mess with him, hardly even spoke to him.
It was different for me. I had known Chris for over eight years, we had been best friends since first grade, though we had begun to drift apart since we got into Junior High. Though we were hardly best friends anymore I was one of the few who would go to Chris and hold a conversation with him. So, besides Zach and Chris himself, I was the first to know he had an invite. I wasn't for long, of course, and word soon spread that Chris was going to be there. All that day people congratulated him and started talking about how smart and quiet he was. I suppose it was embarrasing for Chris, but I didn't think he'd show myself. He was too quiet for a real party. That was yesterday.
I looked up and saw Kevin walking towards the ticket gate. "Hey man." I said.
"Sup man." He dropped his bags and stood on the steps that led into the gateway. He didn't say anything else and so we waited in silence. It wasn't long though. More and more people showed up from the crowd we hung out with, the semi-goths. Brittany, my girlfriend showed up and set her stuff down, then walked over and kissed me on the cheek. I smiled at her. "Hello, my lovely goddess." She groaned and pinched my arm. "I told you not to call me that!" she laughed.I just tickled her and the morning continued, until Chris showed up. He walked by the ticket gate and everyone instantly turned to him. Cheers and shouts went up and congratulations were sung. Chris, I had to say, took the attention well. He hurried past, his face only reddening slightly. He vanished from view and we continued with their normal conversations, that is, everyone but I did. I just looked at where he had gone and sighed. I had a feeling that the party wouldn't go well.
The rest of the week went by as usual, except with a lot of party-talk. Plans were made and dates set up. I just worried more and more, and when the night came, I almost didn't go. I told everyone who asked that I just wasn't feeling well. I was dragged to the party anyways by Brittany, and what I had said about everyone being invited seemed true. The turnout was enormous. Cars were parked every where, drinks being passed around, barbeque grilling in the far corner of the yard and everything. It was amazing. I wandered around, eventually breaking off from Brittany. I saw one small, dejected corner of the yard, and there was Chris. He had been left alone, at this huge party. I felt horrible and so I went over and started talking. He smiled, grateful I supposed, for anyone to talk to. We covered games, movies, everything he was interested in. Thats when a fight broke out somewhere in the yard. I could see the bunched up crowd of people surrounding the fighters heading towards the lonely part of the yard. I held my breath, knowing that this was it, what I'd been afraid of. I watched in awe as one of the fghters, a big blonde boy, tore into a runt of a boy. The big one wasn't holding back, and swung at anyone that tried stopping him. I gasped when the runts head shot up from a tremendous blow, revealing his face clearly for the first time. Next to Chris, Stephen had been one of the greatest friends I had, and still we were pretty tight. I ran in at the same time as Zach and several other boys, to try and hold down the big boy. One huge fist slammed into my face and I felt something break. I landed in a heap next to the struggle, just as Chris rushed in.
I tried to warn him to get back. He and I saw what noone else did. As the blonde boy was eventually thrown to the ground, Stephen had picked up a thick limb from the ground, apparently intending to get back at the boy for turning his face into a mass of bruises and cuts. He pulled up the limb and brought it down with everything in him, just as Chris rushed in front of the big boy to try and block it. The limb cracked across Chris' head. For a second the quiet boy stood there, his mouth open, his eyes bright with tears. I tried to say something but my jaw had swelled and blood poured from my nose, unnoticed till now. I reached out one hand as Chris fell to the ground, unconcious. Stephen fell to the ground, tears streaming down his bloody face. "I didn't mean to." he blubbered. Everyone else was quiet. The blonde boy stopped and everyone let go. He looked at Chris and left, just turned and walked away. I walked over to Stephen, and patted him on the back. "He'll be alright." I hoped.
Zach's father called the hospital and the party goers began to leave, one by one. Stephen and myself were examined as Chris was put into a stretcher and carried out. I was okay, except for a swelled jaw and a brokennose, which the doctors set and Stephen had to get a prescription for extremely powerful pain medicene and several doctors appointments. I watched the ambulance until it's lights died out in the darkness of that night. I went home and crawled into bed. Sleep was my momentary escape, from the pain in my jaw, and from the memory of that limb snapping across Chris' head. I fell asleep with Stephen's words echoing through my mind like an dark mantra, "I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. I didn't mea...." I found out later that sleep wasn't just my escape. It was also Christopher's. Only his was deeper, his would never end. He was called the Last Saint of our school from that day on, and I don't think he would have minded too much.
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Posted: Fri Mar 24, 2006 4:55 pm
Has this topic ended or something? Is the contest over or what?
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Posted: Fri Mar 24, 2006 5:12 pm
Contest ends March 30th, so you're not too late. I just wish I could figure out who to donate to to make the prize bigger.. I have 1000G in my bank account and I've seens some damn good stories, excluding mine because my grammer sucks monkey butt!
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Posted: Sat Mar 25, 2006 12:11 pm
My Last Day
It was Saint Patricks day, another day for all those who worshiped alcohol to bask in inbrieated idealisms. I hated this day, for it was just another day for my father to beat me. His favorite thing to say was, "You're not wearing any green, boy." Then he would just start beating me, usually starting on my back, trying to get a green bruise to show up. Even then he would say, "Oh, now some green? That's not going to stop me, you're only doing that to make me stop." He would just keep hitting and slapping me all night. I couldn't do anything to stop him. How could I? This all started when I was eight....
Me mum died the night before Saint Patricks day, which is my birthday. I was going to turn eight that day. How amazing is that? Eight years of life on this earth, and I was the happiest I could have ever been. Until the accident. Mum went out to get what I believe to be my cake, but she never came home. My dad worked third shift, so I couldn't talk to anyone about it, being an only child and all. The minutes turned to hours, and the hours turned to days. My farther went out looking for her, every day. He stopped going to work, he eventually quit. Every day, he would look til he couldn't walk anymore. Then he called up his buddy, whom was a taxi driver, and always brought him home.
A year after he disapearance, it was my birthday. We didn't even celebrate my birthday, the pain was still to fresh. The night of my birthday was the night dad started drinking. Light at first, just a few drinks every night to calm him down, help with the pain he said. But after a couple of months, the heavy drinking started. He would start out with Vodka, just pouring cup after cup after cup. To this day, I've never seen another man who could drink as much as my dad could. It must have been all that pain inside.
I'm 15 now. I've lived in seven years of pain, torment, and grief. I had no friends, not a single one, I couldn't even keep an imaginary friend. So no one knew of what my dad did. I only went through kindergarten, so, no friends there either. I was all alone in my world since it went downhill. Dad has gotten really strong now, due to the nightly beatings. I'm afraid of him, if I hit him back, he only hits harder longer. If I stay quiet, he punches me til I cry, if I cry, he hits me til I stop. No matter what I do, he hits me. As if it's all my fault. Eventually, that's what I believed to, mum's disappearance was all because of me turning eight. But tonight is different.
I was sixteen that night, congradulations to me. I couldn't even think of anything anymore, all I Knew was sleep the pain off, and wait for dad to wake me up and start beating me. But today, it was Saint Patricks day. I should be able to be happy right? I should be able to put on stupid colors of green and run around drunk like dad, right? But I didn't want any of that. Green was still my least favorite color, they were the color of mum's eyes. I'm tired of all the pain. Every day, every night, more and more hits. I had even become immune to feeling anything anymore. What's the point in living, if you can't feel?
Even if I couldn't feel anymore, I wanted to live. Life to me was all I had. I had no real tallents, I had no friends, no love, nothing. I lived in a world were all I could do right was live. Heh, how amazing is that, life. But when it's all you have, you want to keep it to the end, and this is what I had planned.
Dad was still sleeping. That was a miracle, it was late night, and he was sleeping, and not even snoring. So, I went to the front door. Beyond that door was freedom. I could do anything once I passed that door. All I had to do was get out. I reached for that beautiful nob, but I just couldn't grasp it. I couldn't bring myself to just grab that silly little nob, turn, and walk out. Through all the years of being here, I thought of freedom, but never once what it meant. I had no money, only the ragged clothes on me. I had no car. I had nothing, but me. What good can that do? I turned around and looked at dad. He was still sleeping. Soundlessly, too. Which meant he wasn't dreaming of mum.
That is a break from reality. I had dreams of mum, too. They were pretty much just the memories I had of her. But the eventually stopped coming, and I was left in my world of torment. I envied dad though, he was strong, and knew what he wanted in life. While as dad may have only wanted another gallon of vodka, and to beat me til he couldn't even hold me still anymore, he knew what he wanted. I didn't know what I wanted, besides freedom.
So I stood there, looking at my sleeping dad, and figured that all I truly wanted was right in front of me. I was home. I had a life all along. I just couldn't see it. I finally knew what I wanted. I wanted to be just like dad.
So I picked up that glass of vodka that dad just couldn't finish. I started drinking it, but spit it out right away. My mouth was on fire. The burning kept choking me, and all the time, dad kept sleeping. But I had to be just like him, so I picked that glass up again, and forced the burning liquid down my throat. Then another cup, and another. I kept it going til there was none left in that huge bottle. I looked for me, stumbling around. For some reason the house kept moving on its own, which didn't help my search. I finally found one near the front door.
Then I woke up in a room I had never seen before. It was white, I was laying in a strange bed, and there was a woman there with me. I couldn't recognize her, maybe she was the person who brought me there, but I couldn't ask. She was alseep in a chair. I tried to lift my arms, but they were strapped down. What was going on? I yelled for help, and that's when the lady woke up. She looked me straight in the eye, and I knew who she was.
After all those years, mum was back. But she looked different. She wasn't the same smiling mum I had before. She was sad. An emotion that I hadn't felt in a long time. She just stared at me, and I stared right back. We sat there for what was an eternity. Finally, the silence was broken, "Dad's dead."
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Posted: Sat Mar 25, 2006 12:11 pm
My first attempt at a story, ever.
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Posted: Sat Mar 25, 2006 12:35 pm
But Siermana by far has my vote. That is an amazing story.
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Posted: Sun Mar 26, 2006 3:00 pm
I sighed longingly, looking at all the families in the St. Patricks day parade. Why I couldn't be one of those people I didn't know, but I guess everyone has a plan in life... And mine was to live a penniless extience with a drunken mother.
My dad left 8 years ago on St. Patricks day, saying that he couldn't handle my mother and her drunken frenzies. Year after year, on this day, I wait for him to come home admist the college jocks drinking beer and the older men leering at the skimpy costumes.
This was a place that if you didn't wear green you were beat up until you were dead or someone comes to save you. Which doesn't happen very often I can tell you. On this day everybody gets drunk, just to make fools of themselves in front of a seedy bar.
On this day I lock myself up in my room, closing the door tightly shut with my body, hoping my mother won't come home tonight. When it looks safe I sit on my window sill and watch the men luring women into their houses with a drunken stupor. If I look hard enough I stll swear I can see my father slamming the door shut, saying for one final time.
"I love you Ashlyn, I really do. You're my little angel. But daddy's got to go somewhere and get away from mommy. I'll see you soon. I promise."
But you know what dad. You never came back. Because year after year on St. Patricks I go looking around at all the places we used to go to try to find you. You're never there.
Suddenly I hear a shout of 'Happy St. Patricks day!' from our street corner and turn to see my mom waving a whisky bottle around to passing cabs.
I sighed. Another St. Patricks day, another hope... I hear the clock strike midnight. Another disapointment. Maybe next year dad, maybe next year.
And soon I can swear that I hear one final call from him. 'Happy St. Patricks day!'
"Happy St. Patricks day indeed." I muttered, standing on the edge of the window.
"At least I won't have to witness one again." With this I mock-saluted to my life and jumped.
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Posted: Wed Mar 29, 2006 11:32 am
[ Message temporarily off-line ]
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Posted: Wed Mar 29, 2006 6:08 pm
I like that.
It lets the mind picture it all. Good job.
hell, they are all better than mine!
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Posted: Wed Mar 29, 2006 9:20 pm
WHO DO I DONATE TO TO MAKE THE PRIZE BIGGER? I HAVE 1000 GOLD PUT AWAY FOR THINGS LIKE THIS AND WANT TO MAKE SOME TALENTED STORY WRITER HAPPY (I have a spare 1000G that I need to get rid of stare
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Posted: Wed Mar 29, 2006 9:36 pm
DarknessxFire WHO DO I DONATE TO TO MAKE THE PRIZE BIGGER? I HAVE 1000 GOLD PUT AWAY FOR THINGS LIKE THIS AND WANT TO MAKE SOME TALENTED STORY WRITER HAPPY (I have a spare 1000G that I need to get rid of stare GotGothGuild the guild mule. 3nodding
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Posted: Thu Mar 30, 2006 10:08 am
Very nice competition, just wish I'd found out a little sooner, darn. Anyways, enough darning and here with supporting, great comp guys 3nodding how about a song writing comp next? (obvious kudos to people who send in full orchestra-accompanied church-choir-backed ten plus minute masterpieces all for a bit of gaia gold blaugh )
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Posted: Thu Mar 30, 2006 10:15 am
Isobel Bellamy Very nice competition, just wish I'd found out a little sooner, darn. Anyways, enough darning and here with supporting, great comp guys 3nodding how about a song writing comp next? (obvious kudos to people who send in full orchestra-accompanied church-choir-backed ten plus minute masterpieces all for a bit of gaia gold blaugh ) *huggles the isobel* Aww, sorry that you didn't catch it sooner. It's good to see you around though. *nods* Hmm, a song competition just isn't quite the same on the internet though, you can't hear the music.
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Posted: Thu Mar 30, 2006 10:22 am
lurichan Isobel Bellamy Very nice competition, just wish I'd found out a little sooner, darn. Anyways, enough darning and here with supporting, great comp guys 3nodding how about a song writing comp next? (obvious kudos to people who send in full orchestra-accompanied church-choir-backed ten plus minute masterpieces all for a bit of gaia gold blaugh ) *huggles the isobel* Aww, sorry that you didn't catch it sooner. It's good to see you around though. *nods* Hmm, a song competition just isn't quite the same on the internet though, you can't hear the music. True, but I'd bet there's some way of uploading a song so that it can be played or linked to on forums, though I was half joking sweatdrop
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