Vote for the best - topic Aftermath

Poll closed Oct 6, 2007.
  1. Domoviye - They Failed

    3 vote(s)
  2. wordwizard - Tribute to Tyler

    2 vote(s)
  3. anthraxx - Callings from the Church

    1 vote(s)
  4. The Freshmaker - Not Ready (Under Word Limit)

    1 vote(s)
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  1. Gannon

    Gannon Contributing Member Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
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    Manchester, England

    Short Story Contest (10) - Voting

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Short Story Contest Archives' started by Gannon, Oct 3, 2007.

    Short Story Contest (10) - Voting

    The winner will be stickied for until the next contest winner.

    This week's topic was an aftermath.

    Voting will end 6th October 07. It is possible to vote for yourself, but I would hope in the name of good sportsmanship you will only do so if you have read all the other stories critically and given them your honest evaluation. Winning is fun, but these contests are, like everything else on the site, about improving your writing. You gain nothing if you base your vote solely on how you feel about the author or whether you have personally invested time and effort in the story. In the end, your conscience is your only judge.

    (With thanks to Cogito for stealing his words.)

    Good luck to everyone.
  2. Gannon

    Gannon Contributing Member Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Manchester, England
    Domoviye - They Failed

    They Failed (1,160 words)

    Sir Rodrick rode at the head of the calvary. He was becoming nervous and had to keep from pushing his men to hard. Too much depended on them to recklessly lead them into an ambush or exhaust them right before the coming battle.
    They had to find where the Warlord Hale was leading his army. Otherwise the Alliance wouldn't have any chance of defeating the enormous host. The heroes they had sent to defeat the Warlord had failed. As Rodrick had told the leaders, the heroes had been too few. They couldn't hope to kill the Warlord, or stop him from summoning his demons. Only the battlefield would stop the Warlord once and for all.
    The Alliance of Nations had already faced five invasions in the last decade from the Northern Kingdom. The Warlord summoned apocalyptic demons to act as a spearhead destroying everything in their path. The Warlord followed these abominations with insane spell casters who risked their lives and sanity with ever more dangerous spells. Behind these two nigh unstoppable hammers fanatical warriors who's only wish was to destroy the enemy before them. Every time they marched they took more land, only held in check after too many battles that bled both sides dry.
    Rodrick clenched his fist, that would not happen this time. They would stop him here, before any cities or towns were razed.

    "My Lord," a scout cried as he galloped towards the main group of cavalry. "My Lord, the enemy is in sight. They have raised a white flag."
    Sir Rodrick went to meet the scout, incredulous at the news. Once the Warlords army marched he always attacked first and then demanded negotiations. What trickery was this.
    He reached the breathless scout. "What exactly did you see?" he demanded.
    "My Lord, the Warlords army is stopped five leagues due north of here, in an open field. No walls or barriers have been constructed, only sentries appear to be on guard. White flags ring the entire camp." The scout voice lowered to a whisper, "There was not a single demon in sight."
    Rodrick thought carefully for few moments. This was impossible. The Warlord had never acted like this before. He had to inform his leaders, and he had to act on this now. He waved the scout to follow him back to the men. His Lieutenants came forward waiting to hear what was going on.
    "The enemy is five leagues north of us, camped and with white flags," he told them. "Give this man a fresh horse," motioning to the scout," and a guard of twenty men. They are to memorize everything he tells them, at least one man must get through to tell the Alliance. We will advance on the Warlord, stopping one league away while ensuring a retreat is possible. Then myself and ten others will advance under white flag to discover what is going on. Understood?" they all nodded. "If we come under attack keep out of reach of their demons. Harass them until the army reaches us, but don't get into any battle you can't retreat from."
    The men immediately started shouting his orders, preparing for what everyone believed would be a bloody and desperate battle.
    Rodrick hoped he wasn't making a mistake.

    The camp lay before the small group that Lord Rodrick led out of the woods. They were on top of a small hill which allowed him to see most of the field. His practiced eye estimated the number at maybe twenty thousand. Far smaller then he had expected. More curiously there wasn't the organized bustle of a well ordered camp, this looked apathetic and weak. This was what you saw when an army had been defeated, or knew they were going to die. The Warlords army had never appeared like this. Even when they retreated they did so more like a wild animal that is momentarily forced away from its prey, not a dog fleeing with its tail between its legs.
    His squire Sir Edmund lifted the white flag high in the air, signaling their wish to talk to the camp below. Almost immediately a white flag rose in the camp and ten horsemen left the camp under the flag.
    Rodrick tried to hide the apprehension he was feeling. This wasn't normal. He'd much prefer to be fighting right now. When the unexpected happened he became nervous. But there was no way to turn back now. "Lets go," he told his men and rode down to meet the group.
    The first thing Rodrick noticed clearly was a deformed and broken ivory mask of the lead rider. The Warlord always wore an ivory mask into combat. Rumours said it had once shattered a battle axe that should have killed the Warlord, without gaining a scratch. But the mask was blackened, and melted. The lower half had been torn off, revealing a scarred jaw and mouth.
    Was this the Warlord Hale. People who had met him off the battlefield reported that he was not scarred. He wasn't handsome, but he wasn't deformed either. The armour was definitely that of the Warlord, and only he wore an ivory mask. So this was either a ruse, or the Warlord had been in the most deadly of combat.
    "I am Sir Rodrick, General of the Calvary of Light," he said as soon as they were within speaking distance. "You have invaded the Kingdom of Luth, the Alliance of Nations demands you return to your lands immediately."
    The possible Warlord lips curled in disgust. "I am the Warlord Hale. I would like nothing more then to return to my Lands. But I have no lands left."
    Rodrick couldn't hide his shock at the Warlords words.
    "The heroes you sent to kill me failed. But they did far more damage than you could possibly imagine. They destroyed my portal to the Apocalypse Realm," he said in fear.
    Rodrick smiled, "Then they did well. Without your demons you are nothing."
    The Warlord laughed. "You fool they broke the portal. They didn't close it. Demons are now entering our world almost at will. Before they were under my control. Now they just do as they please, which means killing everything in sight." He pointed at his mask, "I barely escaped my castle with my life. My cities are drowned in blood. My armies were decimated trying to force them back. I have maybe fifty thousand men scattered in these woods."
    Rodrick felt his body grow cold. "You can't be serious."
    "Now you understand," the Warlord said grimly. "Your heroes failed in their quest, they have brought us to the very edge of Apocalypse. Now it is up to us to save the world. You have the army, and enough spell casters, I have the knowledge. Take me to your Council, I will take only my nine men I have with me right now, to keep you at ease. We must work together and we may just survive."
  3. Gannon

    Gannon Contributing Member Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Manchester, England
    wordwizard - Tribute to Tyler

    Tribute to Tyler. (1,508 w)

    A few things I would like to point out is that this story is not based on a specific incident, and the M/C is fictional. I also would like to point out that I did not reveal the name of the main character because the boy is an outcast and nobody really knows him anyways-until it is to late. I am not sure which POV this is in. I guess it is in Diary format without the dates Enjoy

    The stiff bed and bright lights were the second thing I felt waking up in that frantic hospital. The first thing I felt was confusion. The beeping of my heart on the monitor was racing and seemed to alert the chaotic people around me; that I was once again awake. Blurs of white linen nurses were rushing all around me. They started asking me questions, and sticking flashlights in my eyes.
    This made me grip the sides of the bed making my fingers shake and go white. My whole body tensed like a plank of wood. A male doctor with dark shaggy hair came rushing forward. He looked so young. He reminded me of Dougey Howser. All the people talking sounded like a hive of bees. I could hear everything, but couldn’t make out the words. I opened my mouth to protest, as I seen the doctor lift his closed fist and knuckle his full weight onto my chest. The pain is shocking, and made me gasp in my first breath since waking up. I gulped, frantic for air, and rubbed my sore chest, realizing I had not been breathing that whole time. The monitor beep slowed down to a normal pace and the crowd of people started to disperse. Many of the buzzing nurses rolled their eyes at me and hurried away.
    I looked around the hospital and seen so many familiar faces. Blood was everywhere. What happened here? My brain is so foggy, yet I know a few of these faces lying in the beds next to me. The doctor disappeared writing on his clip board. He had been asking me questions that would not register in my head. I couldn’t focus. He looked irritated but my head was spinning like crazy. My life seemed to be spinning out of control and I had no way of knowing how to stop it. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths to steady myself. The bright lights warmed my face but did little to soften the cold sterile bed I was laying on. I lifted the scratchy blanket to find I was in a backless hospital gown. It was white with miniature green flowers. My pale white legs stuck out below. Bruises marked my legs like giraffe spots.

    My parents came in the day I woke up, with swollen tear soaked eyes, and hugged me like they haven’t seen me in years. The days now seem to have flown by since I awoke here. My family and I figured out together, that my memory is pretty hazy. I remember simple things like who I was and my life history…but I could not remember what happened the last day I was at school. The day of the shooting. The police have come and gone; asking me questions and trying to trigger my memory, but the therapist told my parents not to fill me in on the details. He said it was a bittersweet thing to have happen. Not remembering any gory details is sweet, but losing a full 24 hours and never know what happened is a pretty scary thing. It took me awhile to reason things out. Why were my classmates in the hospital with me? I figured that out when I turned on the hospital TV in my private room. Kids were running everywhere out of my school. They kept replaying this scene of this girl being quickly carried out of the school. She was as limp as a Raggedy Anne doll. These images did nothing to me. They didn’t scare me, they didn’t quicken my heart. Things seem so surreal….what was wrong with me? Why can’t I remember?

    I leave today from the hospital. I can’t help but think of those other kids who came in the hospital with me, but won’t be leaving the same way I am. I overheard that ten kids from my class died. Their names have yet to be released, but I do know that Tyler mason, the boy who did the shooting, took his own life before the cops could get to him. I knew Tyler. He didn’t seem like the kind of kid to go psycho. We weren’t friends but talked sometimes in science class. He was like me, not cool but pretty invisible to the popular crowds. Tyler seemed like he was a nice guy. I watched the hospital TV all day until it was time for my discharge. I learned many gruesome details, and couldn’t believe I was actually there when it happened. I am pretty thankful that I had only got a bump on the head. How it happened? Who knows! One of the girls in the hospital said she seen Tyler push me down a flight of stairs and I was lucky to be alive. I was lucky he didn’t blow my brains out. She laughed as she said this. I think her brain is a bit frazzled too, so I can’t be to sure if what she is saying is true. I don’t blame her though. She did have a huge chunk of her arm missing where a bullet went through it. I think I would be a little off too.

    Footsteps echo as I run slow motion to get away from the monster that is behind me. It sounds like 30 guns are going off all around me and hitting every surface of my body. Pain rips through me and I fall to the ground. I look over to see faces explode with blood and a shower of their blood flies all over me, going in my mouth and tasting of metal. Bone fragments scrape my arms as I arm crawl as fast as I can to get away. I get to the edge of the stairs and stand up. So close to freedom. I need to get out of this Hell. I can see the doors from here. A tap on my shoulder feels like a nail is being pounded in instead of a finger. I turn around millimeter by millimeter. To scared to come face to face with this haunting figure. I turn to see a smiling Tyler. His face is spray painted with blood but he is so happy. Things are now in fast forward. I look down to see a gun in his hand and start to scream at him. “Tyler man, what has gotten into you. What the **** are you doing? Are you crazy? You need to stop and go out to the police man. You need to stop and think.” Tyler’s smile slowly disappears and he begins to weep. He shoves me hard …and I am falling…..

    I wake up with a jolt in my bed. I am too afraid to move. I feel like someone is sitting on my chest and I finally cry out and sit up. The sheets stick to me.The first night back and I am already having nightmares. My parents come running into my room in their pajamas. My moms hair looks like it has been in a tornado, and she looks more monster than Tyler did, but I am so glad to see her. I never want her to let me go..

    It has been three years since the shooting, and I wake up every week from the same bad nightmare to live a new one. Tyler is dead but he lives on in my dreams. Each time I dream I learn a bit more of what happened. The police come around every now and then and ask me questions, but there will be no answers to give to the families that lost their loved ones. I am graduating from high school today. Oddly enough I lost all my friends the day I survived the shooting. Everybody thinks I was in on it. Like I conspired with Tyler just because he didn’t shoot me like he did the others. They kids now push me in the hallways and throw my hat around in a game of monkey in the middle. Sometimes I wish he did kill me. Even though we weren’t close I think Tyler was the only true friend I had. True friends stab you in the front, and that’s kind of what Tyler did. He pushed me down the stairs knowing I wouldn’t be hurt. He pushed me down face to face, man to man. The kids I am pushed by now talk behind my back and make my life Hell. I don’t deserve to be shunned like this. Everyone still speculates why Tyler killed all those kids. They say things should change. Yet here I am living the life Tyler used to live. It is a lonely life. I know why Tyler killed all those kids now.

    I hear the bells sound in the school. I put on my cap like all the other graduates and feel the tassel tickling my cheek. Today is my day to pay homage. I finger my gun hidden in my pocket and walk through the doors. Here’s to Tyler.
  4. Gannon

    Gannon Contributing Member Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Manchester, England
    anthraxx - Callings from the Church

    Callings from the Church (1,942 words)

    Her oceanic eyes were so deep and full of meaning. Like a whirlwind rolling within a lagoon of ice. Like a world trusted in her little heart, there was a smile curving out like a rainbow. But now, it was all enveloped in red wine, mixed with the red of blood. Joseph couldn’t tell which was which.
    Her fawn and amber hair once rolled in a Chinese bun now lay flatly open on the ground. With dyes of red all over her hair, for once Joseph thought that she would’ve looked ugly with red hair. He kneeled down, caressing her face, feeling the ambiance underlying her radiant skin. Yes, she didn’t mind. Joseph did, though. He minded every single thing that had just happened.
    He didn’t know why he didn’t feel happy. In his mind was picture of himself, vainly stepping over her dead body and screaming out in victory: he had won his trophy of success. Still, there was no grandeur in his heart. Instead he felt feeble and vulnerable. Plus the terrible six-letter feeling – guilty. He asked himself: Why? Why did he kill her?
    To be honest, he didn’t know. He hadn’t even killed her. It was so natural that even Hayah didn’t seem to mind. He knew it very well that it wasn’t right, though. Events raced through his mind. As much as forgiveness tried to dominate him, more guilt poured in.

    It all started that Tuesday morning when he returned from Church. The benches needed repairing, thus he had worked all morning to fix them. He felt so upset that the Church people for being so well-off, when he was the one who kept it all well and clean. Still he didn’t get anything in return. It was very bugging.
    To top it all, he wasn’t alone in his life. There were other termites and beetles to take care of.
    “Yes nana…”
    Joseph rushed into the green room, where his grandmother was making new photographs for her quarterly club newsletter. She had had holocaustic experiences in the past. The doctors they had gone to had recommended some interesting pastime. Alleluia…here it was.
    “Your mother was calling you.”
    “Couldn’t you have said that? I had to walk all the way from downstairs to the top floor.”
    “Stop cribbing and move. You have chores to do.”
    Joseph sighed, and almost like a rebellious teenager, he marched angrily downstairs, towards the pantry.
    “Yes mom?
    Evangeline didn’t even look up, and just pointed the piles of freshly caught fish in the corner.
    “I’d expect you to season them, add spices and make me a nice bowl of stir-fried fish sticks from those in the back.”
    Joseph nodded, and started counting the fish.
    “Also, this place needs cleaning.”
    Before Joseph could even look over the size of the room once again, she said once more:
    “Plus you have to do the laundry.”
    Joseph was busy creating a schedule to fit all of this, when Mrs. Evangeline finally got up and said:
    “And before I forget, Mrs. Henry and Emily will be visiting tonight. For your marriage date.”
    Joseph almost cried. Why couldn’t anyone understand how overworked he was?
    “What are you waiting for?”
    Evangeline snapped at Joseph, who nodded his head and secured the frozen fish in his arms. She left right away, leaving Joseph to sulk. As fast as possible, he cubed the fish, and in midst of tears and sniffs, he prepared a colossal dish of fish. Slipping it into the oven, he heard a saunter.

    “Who’s there?”
    He said, a dubbing effect coming to his voice. A purring war cry surrounded him as Hayah shook him from the back.
    “Gotcha gangster! Cooking fish? Mmm…leave some for me.”
    She laughed, pulling out Joseph’s cheeks. He grinned and Hayah got off him.
    “Grow up, Hayah.”
    “No way! If I grow up, I’ll become like you.”
    Hayah dilated her expressions, and in an imitating voice:
    “I have only one purpose in life. To serve the Church and my family. Capisci?”
    Joseph groaned, turning back to the stove.
    “Bad mood, eh?”
    Hayah said gently, brushing through Joseph’s hair.
    “Many chores?”
    “Emily coming over?”
    “No one listens to you?”
    “It’s a stagnant fact. Why do you ask each time?”
    “Because,” Hayah began with rather force, “you forget each time that your sister here will always listen to you.”
    “I know. But-“
    “But what? I don’t belong to your religion anymore? I’m an outcast?”
    “No…not at all. You’re better than the others, at least.”
    “No, really. I know your mom – my mom, for that matter – thinks I’m going to hell and stuff. But, that’s deeper stuff. I’m still your sister, Joseph. You can talk to me anytime you want.”
    “I know, I know. But it’s not going to last. I’m getting married next month. To a girl I hate. Then we’ll never meet again.”
    “God, no! Why not?”
    “Mom comes under pressure the fact you’re her daughter. It’s different for Emily. She’ll say: She’s gone from Honey to Hayah. And I should move too.”
    “God. You need to stop sulking. I’ll teach Emily what’s the different between Honey and Hayah.”
    “You wouldn’t dare.”
    “Duh I would. You know me.”
    Hayah had started cutting the vegetables without letting Joseph realize. He immediately placed his hand on hers, saying:
    “Bad girl. You promised that you won’t do any housework for me.”
    “Come on. Just one cucumber!”
    “No ways. Then again, mom will say it’s food from Satan if she catches you. Now you don’t want all my work to be considered satanic, do you?”
    “Oh, okay.”
    Hayah let go of the knives, patting her brother’s back.
    “Don’t worry. Emily’s a good girl. She’s done her Masters in Horticulture, and she just did a two-month course in Graphics. She’s a fun person.”
    “But you know I love Eunice!”
    “I can’t convince mom on this one. Eunice is Asian, remember?”
    Joseph dropped down the culinary, and grabbed his head. Hayah immediately scrambled his hair, saying:
    “Don’t fret. God’s with you.”
    “I thought you consider Christians of today the citizens of Hell.”
    “God doesn’t discriminate when it comes to mercy. But He is just.”
    Hayah bit her lower lip, remembering something. Searching through her purse, with continued squeaks and crunching noises, she pulled out a timetable.
    “I have to go now. My Chemistry professor will kill me if I miss today’s convention.”

    Dinner table was all set. Evangeline poured the carrot juice for Emily, who was helping her mother cut open the bottle of milk. Joseph helped himself with a cube of fish, keeping an eye on Sylvester, Emily’s little brother. Finally as everyone settled down, Evangeline started the difficult talk. Bah.
    “I’m thinking…September.”
    Joseph acted aloof to the conversation, his ears on the doorbell. Hayah had messaged him that she might come, just for sneak peaks. Joseph didn’t even bother pretend he was hearing. Evangeline noticed that just well.
    “How about…19th of September? The day will be merry, considering it a Thursday. Bryan’s free on Thursdays too.”
    Joseph almost gagged, shocked. His mother had done that on purpose.
    “It’s perfect! Emily’s college ends Monday, 16th September.”
    “Wait…I’ll be busy on 19th.”
    Joseph forcibly swallowed the fish, knowing he was losing edge in the conversation.
    “Why darling? Let me guess, it’s that witch’s birthday?”
    Evangeline retorted, almost shaking the dinner set. Joseph lowered his gaze and prepared himself for another insult.
    “Let me tell you, darling, that it’s 19th and that’s final. Emily wouldn’t want you to keep seeing Hayah anymore. So forget her and move on.”
    Evangeline scooped another handful of fish sticks, saying:
    “And clean the store room, would you? I was thinking of moving your room over there. Emily needs to stay here until the marriage.”
    That was all he could take. He flung his plate at his mother, and drawing out his chair, he stormed out of the house, onto the streets. His blood was gushed angrily into his nostrils, and he was further dulled when he checked the message he had just received on his mobile.
    “Sorry but I can’t come. Tell me what happened tomorrow. Luv, Hayah”Joseph threw the phone straight at the billboard staring back at him, and seeing the mobile broken to pieces, he felt even more agitated. For the woman he had just been so crucial, she wasn’t even coming.
    “Thanks, Hayah. For everything.”
    He said out loud, gritting his teeth as he made way to the Church.

    He had almost passed the portrait of Mary when a scuttling breeze blew forcefully towards him. He turned around to see if there was someone. Yes, it was. A dark-looking man, dressed in linen trousers and a furry coat, was all he could see at first. As he moved closer, his menacing envy green eyes became apparent. He had sullen features but his sinister grin stood out. He shook his head and said coarsely:
    “You’re doing it all wrong, kid.”
    “Excuse me?”
    Joseph was greatly surprised. Some accusation.
    “You’re tolerating it. But tolerance will not help. It’s time you went head on.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    Joseph’s fear kept moving.
    “If you do what I say, you’ll not only marry Eunice, but you’ll also be a rich and successful man who everybody will respect.”
    Joseph was startled, though a valid amount of horror still hindered his smile.
    “You need to kill someone.”
    It was then, that Joseph stopped adhering to Hayah’s suggestions. She discouraged him from listening to the man’s idea, but he was so sure of myself. That man had told Joseph many things about him he had never told anyone – to Joseph, he was a noble saint. It all seemed so true and perfect, that Joseph finally said something to Hayah which broke her into tears.
    “You’re from amongst the infidels. You are just like them – bound to destroy others.”

    Joseph recalled how tonight had been. Walking into the hotel room, without even asking permission, and stabbing a girl from behind as she prayed, were the basic details. But as Joseph turned her around to see her face, he dropped his knife and tried to wash away the face from his mind. It was indeed Hayah.
    “You’ve done well, Joseph.”
    The very instigator of this act causally walked in, with a grim look on his face. Joseph snapped back to the present and felt the urge to kill him as well.
    “Why? Why did you do this?”
    He roared, clutching his throat, digging his fingernails into his flesh.
    “I-I…did this for y-you…”
    “You liar! Tell me!”
    “I…s-swear up-pon…the s-sacred h-heart of…Jesus!”
    Joseph let go, letting him completed in a flow.
    “She was an infidel…who had denounced Christianity and must have been killed. She was making you sin, and the only way to stop her was to kill her. And the only way…you could repent for your sins, was murdering her yourself.”
    He said, clearing his throat.
    “You lied to me! You…pretended to be a saint, not a crazy benefactor.”
    “You are truly a devil! You must…and really, you must die. You have been poisoned by her.”
    “Let me, do the honors.”
    18th August, The Rockaway Daily:
    A dead body of a Muslim woman, a Bishop and a church employee was found in Hotel Barracks around ten in the night by the hotel staff. After further investigation Officer John found that the two had been killed by the church employee, Mr. Joseph Stevens, who had attempted suicide in the end. The deepest remark Officer John could make on this tragedy was, ‘all of these deaths were a supreme example of rather obscure callings from the church’.
  5. Gannon

    Gannon Contributing Member Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Manchester, England
    The Freshmaker - Not Ready (Under Word Limit)

    Not Ready (578 words) (Under Word Limit)

    I lie in the middle of my bed, not moving to answer the phone as the shrill rings cut through the silence. Five rings leave my ears buzzing while the answering machine picks up.

    "Hi Natalie, it's Rae. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay. Burt told me what happened...just call me back, all right?"

    Not two hours has gone by, and people already know. Will they think I'm crazy, or just prude?

    The oscillating fan in the corner blows cool air over my body, and dries the tears that run down my temples. Perhaps I am crazy. This can't be that big of a deal, can it? Plenty of people do it with no misgivings. It's supposed to feel good. It's supposed to be fun. So why do I feel so horrible?

    Burt was so nice about it, too. He didn't pressure me. He didn't even ask more than once. He just told me to let him know when I was ready. I thought I was.

    The bloodstained sheets are crumpled in the corner, under my Natural Born Killers poster. I should probably take care of them before my mother gets home, but I just don't feel like moving. I feel like melting into this mattress and never walking out into the world again.

    Burt and I skipped school so that we could be alone while my mother wasn't home. He brought me roses, and had even stolen a bottle of champagne from his parents' liquor closet. How did I deserve a guy like this, really?

    Almost before I knew what was happening, we were in my bed together. Our clothes were off, and Burt was asking me if I was sure I wanted to do this. Of course I was sure! Maybe I was sure. Was I sure? It didn’t matter, because he was entering me and it hurt. Was it supposed to hurt? Why was I doing this? Did I really love Burt? Would I regret it? I probably would regret it. I have to stop now stop now STOP NOW!

    When Burt didn’t get off me immediately, I screamed at him. I told him to get out of my house. He was visibly confused, but at that point I had absolutely no sympathy. All I could see was that he was stealing from me, stealing my innocence. He was just another guy who wanted to get inside my pants. I didn’t want him around.

    After a couple attempts to calm me down, he put his clothes back on and reluctantly left. I tore the sheets off of my bed, and threw myself onto it. So I am now.

    Half-dressed with smeared makeup, I must look like a rape victim. I feel like one. Why is that? Burt wasn’t mean to me, and he didn’t force himself on me. Perhaps…perhaps I forced him on myself.

    What is so important about sex, anyway? Everyone wants it. No one stops anymore to think that it might mean something. Perhaps I should have stopped. Perhaps I was so intent on fitting in that I didn’t stop to think that maybe I wasn’t ready.

    I’m not crazy. I’m just not ready. Well, maybe that is crazy in this day and age. But it works for me.

    I roll over and pick up the phone. I dial Burt’s number.

    “Hi…Burt? It’s Natalie. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry, and that I’m not ready after all.”
  6. Torana

    Torana Contributing Member Contributor

    Mar 13, 2007
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    Good luck to all who entered. They are wonderful pieces.
  7. The Freshmaker

    The Freshmaker <insert obscure pop culture reference> Contributor

    Oct 10, 2006
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    St. Petersburg, FL
    Damn. I thought the minimum limit was 300 words for some reason. Um...quick, no one vote for mine!
  8. Torana

    Torana Contributing Member Contributor

    Mar 13, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Voting ends in two days people so please cast your votes.

    Thank you kindly

    Torana :)
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