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Please vote for the piece you feel is most deserving

Poll closed Nov 25, 2012.
  1. Sackninja - Through the Storm

    0 vote(s)
    0.0%
  2. steve119 - The Storm

    0 vote(s)
    0.0%
  3. Jovon Green - Omega Blade: The Heavenly Storm

    1 vote(s)
    12.5%
  4. BritInFrance - When the storm came.

    6 vote(s)
    75.0%
  5. cfcilldara - The Raging Storm

    1 vote(s)
    12.5%
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  1. Lemex
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    Lemex That's Lord Lemex to you. Contributor

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    Voting Short Story Contest (122) Theme: The Storm

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Short Story Contest Archives' started by Lemex, Nov 12, 2012.

    Voting Short Story Contest (122) Theme: The Storm

    Thank you for all your entries. The winner will be stickied until the next contest's winner is crowned(maybe). No more entries are allowed in this contest.

    Voting will end Saturday 25th November to give you all a chance to read the entries.

    It is possible to vote for yourself, but I would hope in the name of good sportsmanship that you would only do so if you have read all the other stories and given them your honest evaluation. 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.

    Any entries under or over the suggested word limit will be flagged as such - they are still entered in to the contest. It is for you to decide whether they are still worthy of your vote.

    Any entry not in accordance with the theme will be dealt with on a case by case basis to determine eligibility. Consider how the author has responded to the theme in making your decision.

    Good luck to everyone!
     
  2. Lemex
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    Lemex That's Lord Lemex to you. Contributor

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    Sackninja
    Through the Storm (550 words)

    Max was tired. Really tired. He had no clue how long he had been walking for. He convinced himself it was days but it had probably only been hours. He never had been very fit. Now he wished he had got into shape. As it turned out walking a hundred and fifty miles wasn't easy.
    At least for most of the time the track had been even. Then, about a mile or two ago, it all turned to dry mud. His only consolation was it hadn't rained the whole time. That and the route was pretty straight and flat.
    He had almost forgot why he was walking. Almost. He had to walk the hospital to visit his niece. The nearest hospital was a hundred and fifty miles away. That was one of the disadvantages of living in the jungle. The others were of course that there was no roads, no electricity and no shops to name a few.
    He couldn't see the sky through the tops of the trees and it was constantly dark. He had to use a burning stick just to light the way. But, to be honest, the journey was going well for him.
    Then the storm came. Just light rain at first. So light he could only hear it. The trees shielded him sufficiently. At first. Then it came down hard. His torch went out quickly but that was the least of his worries.
    The rain was seeping through his clothes, immediately making him freezing. The ground under was becoming muddy once again and he was sinking in. The wind was howling through the trees smacking him in the face with leaves and twigs. One of them dug deep into his skin and made a deep cut. Blood was flowing freely from it.
    He could now here thunder roaring in the distance. He hadn't ran into many animals until now but the thunder must have scared them out of hiding. A snake slithered across the ground right in front of him. If it had paid any attention to him it could easily killed him. The thunder was still roaring and the rain still pelting down.
    He kept going but continually had to stop to let snakes past. He had never seen so many before. That was when he could see them. He was really starting to struggle to see anything. The only thing that helped him was the lightning that was now lighting up the sky. As it turned out this was bad news.
    The trees were getting thicker and thicker now and he was losing his path. He could be going backwards for all he knew. Then lightning hit a tree and the fire started. He figured at least he could see now. But the fire was spreading fast. He broke out into a run.
    He was stumbling over branches and mud and quite possibly a snake or two but he kept going. He couldn't stop. The fire was chasing him and gaining fast. He thought he could see a clearing ahead.
    He took the chance that it was and sprinted all out as fast as he could. Nothing was in his way now. He burst out into the clearing, into the light. In front of him was a small building. His house. Damn it!
     
  3. Lemex
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    Lemex That's Lord Lemex to you. Contributor

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    steve119
    The Storm (782 words)]

    The black clouds massed in the sky above Highgate swirling violently. Ritchie Danforth stood beside the tomb of Karl Marx looking up at the darkening sky.

    It’s supposed to be July for god sake.

    He thought to himself but Ritchie new that there was nothing natural about this weather. The rain began to lash down hard, stinging the skin as it struck his face. The weatherman on the TV said it would be clear and sunny all day. It turned out the Meteorological office didn’t take egomaniacal warlocks raising armies of the undead into consideration when writing the forecasts.

    Ritchie looked over at Marie stood next to him. “You know?” she said as she turned to meet his gaze.

    “If we don’t make it I just want you to know that I”

    “I Know” he replied interrupting her.

    She didn’t need to say it and he didn’t want her to say it. Saying it would be like saying they knew they weren't going to make it through this.

    Why couldn’t they be like normal fifteen year-olds?

    He thought angrily. They could be sat in a McDonalds somewhere sharing a milkshake or making out somewhere quiet while he tried to cop a feel. There was however nothing normal about their lives. Not since they became operatives of MIST (Ministry for Interception of Supernatural Threats).

    MIST had always taken on orphans as operatives as they knew their operatives had the life expectancy of a Mayfly and orphans would not be missed as much as those with parents. A policy they took from the Pony Express in America. This had always been the policy of MIST. Ever since they had formed in 1888 after a particularly violent Incubus had run rampage through London that year.

    The one upside of working for a secret government agency was that they had kept the cemetery closed today. That had been no easy task in its self due to Highgate being the most famous cemetery in Britain. Not due to the fact many famous people were buried here like Karl Marx and George Eliot. More due to the fact that the Media had sensationalised a story of a vampire roaming the cemetery back in the early 1970’s.

    So here they both stood ready to stop another apocalypse. There seemed to be one running once a month through Britain these days. Ritchie feared not for him but for Marie She had only just completed her training and had never faced anything more dangerous than a minor wish demon. Today was not going to be any minor threat Ritchie knew that in the cemetery somewhere was Raymon Langdon. Raymon was the most powerful Warlock and Necromancer in Britain.

    Ritchie was not only afraid for her safety but was afraid of losing her. She meant the world to him though he would never admit it out loud. Even now facing death he couldn’t bring himself to tell her how he really felt.

    Ritchie’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the blinding flash of lightning. He knew that meant that the Warlock was close to completing his spell. Soon the dead would start rising in the cemetery as the warlock called up Zombies to do his bidding. Ritchie still called them Zombies even though his trainer at MIST insisted they should be called reanimates.

    Political correctness for monsters whatever next.

    The thought brought a wry smile to his face. Ritchie knew that the job that fell to Marie and him was not to find and kill Raymon. There were warlocks and witches back at the ministry working on a counter spell. The job they had been given was simple contain the threat and not allow a single reanimate to get out of the cemetery.

    Two teenagers to face a horde of undead may seem crazy to most but Ritchie knew this was how the government worked. They felt that if too many teenagers were seen snaking into the cemetery that people may call the police thinking they were going to vandalize the graves. He also knew that the only way to stop a zombie was full decapitation. Just stabbing them or shooting them in the head like the movies said was about as much use as the Popes testicles. Completely severing the spinal cord was the only thing that worked.

    The wind grew stronger almost blowing him off his feet. The lightning blindingly bright the thunder was deafening. Ritchie and Marie readied their blades as a hand broke up through the earth on the grave ahead of them.

    So it begins.

    He thought as more graves started to open around them. Now they were truly in the eye of the storm.
     
  4. Lemex
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    Lemex That's Lord Lemex to you. Contributor

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    Jovon Green
    Omega Blade: The Heavenly Storm (Words = 500+)

    The storm is coming, you had better be prepared. What do you mean? God sent me to test and prepare you oh man of mortal birth. Impossible, there is just no possible way. God does not exist. In time you will believe, you unrepentant soul. Then the angel returned to the sky like lightning to the east, followed by the raging force of wind. You might say I am insane, in fact thats incorrect. The only reason why is because I was awake. My name is Opallos, the unbeliever.

    In all intent and practice up until the task, I have been first and most importantly a person who has no belief in God.
    Then in one moment my very way of life is shattered. Broken and alone in a world where no men believe in God. Nor has anyone seen or heard of a bible since the year of 2012 b.c.e. The current era is the know as the era of peace, the year is 3345 c.e.I in my search for a bible must bring war to the hidden evil that poisons mankind.

    Strange... where is this place I am? When I awoke from my disoriented sleep I was in the middle of other sentient beings. I looked around and the beings looked like robots far more advanced than anything I have ever seen, nor ever cared to comprehend. I being a man of God was rocked to the core of my existence. The force of the shock made me blink beyond the confines of space and time. Why did this occur?

    I have no clue. Who or what caused it? I dare not answer for I have no answer for that. From what I understand and know is I have been locked in a near ten year debate with an evil force. The evil forces name is "extinction" this being has forceful might beyond the limits of what I can do or defend against. One would think that this force in this universe would have killed me instantly, such is not the case.

    Though I fight my fight against, one a force of *evil intent. It can do all evil and almost crush and rob my soul. Yet in all truth there is only one who can save the soul. His name is Christ the son of God.
    Extinction did begin to use his greatest skill of this I felt all life within begin to fade away, yet even then with my dying breath I served the God of all. God is life as I read and pray each day. I did not when of my own accord, give at any turn. Yet of all things God led me to think of all this is true:

    The day I let go of pride, On that day I could destroy my enemies plan, for of all I did it was clear,
    It was not of my own accord. For the line of what I cannot say I left for you to guess.
    Why did it try, to steal my very self in an attempt to become what it is not, is a deep seeded evil.
    As it were I called on God near the end of my true state of being. Then at the end of such a long and hard fought journey, all God asked as He is Lord, why did I wait ten years? For all I needed was to call on God and He would have heeded the call, from the very start. I leave you with this poem and much more left to wonder as well as a following clue.

    Omega Blade: The Heavenly Sword

    What lofty heights they desire.
    Though I did not get tired.
    Once I forged the Omega Blade.
    No hope for most of humanity left,
    when the war did creep in.

    The way of war I felt at last.
    Yet the price was worth the wait.
    I no not when the hearts of most men grew as cold,
    as rock and steel in winter.
    Yet when it did no one said why.
    I was not told of this I am sure.

    Glory be to God above, I still stand still here.
    The tenth year now spent.
    They should not have let their heart grow ever colder,
    than words can express.
    I will write more in time, in any case, my time is not done yet.

    The love of many has waxed colder than the sum of subzero frost,
    in starless space beyond the edge of all stars.
    Some things I know are not for me to write.
    All in all of this I know, I now have the fear of God.
    Just remember this one clue, I am not God, I am Opallos the former unbeliever.
     
  5. Lemex
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    Lemex That's Lord Lemex to you. Contributor

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    When the storm came. (Words 806)

    "You're in a bad mood," his mother said, when he entered the kitchen. "You're putting me right off my breakfast, with that face-like-thunder."

    She grabbed his left hand and bent back his two smallest fingers. He used to think they would break, it hurt so much, but she knew when to stop.
    He felt a tear roll down his cheek, despite his best efforts not to show he was in pain. His mother let go. She made a sound that resembled a chuckle.

    He went over to the sink and pulled a bowl from the pile of crockery and gave it a rinse under the tap and a wipe of the towel.

    "Giving me the silent treatment, are you boy?" she said.

    He said nothing. He could feel her eyes burn a hole in his back, as she watched him pour cereal into the bowl.

    "There's no milk," she said. He could hear the laughter in her voice and could picture the expression on her face. That one sided smirk, that glint in her eye. She was trying to make him angry again, she wanted the excuse. He wouldn't give it to her. Not this time.

    "You'll have to go to the shop," she said. "I need milk for my tea."

    He kept silent. He returned to the sink, and found a spoon, and took his bowl to the table. He sat down and concentrated on eating his cereal. It was dry and tasteless. It took all his saliva and a lot of energy to chew it, and swallow it down. But he was used to swallowing things that tasted bad.

    "Don't make me ask you again, boy," she said, after a while.

    He could hear her unwrapping a packet of cigarettes, but still he said nothing. He stared at the remaining cereal in the bowl, and chewed. He heard her lean back in her chair, heard the click of the lighter and heard the sharp intake of breath as she inhaled. He waited and was rewarded with a cloud of smoke blown into his face.

    "Go and get the milk, love" she said, her voice suddenly gentle, kind even. "There's a storm brewing, and I wouldn't want you to get caught in it." He flinched as he felt her hand stroke his cheek. "Hate you to catch your death," she said.

    He raised the spoon to his mouth, but it never reached it's intended destination. He flinched again, as much at the sound of the spoon clattering against the cupboard door, as the feeling of his mothers hand as it clamped his own to the table.

    He said nothing but raised his eyes to meet those of his mothers. He knew what was coming. It had happened before. Many times. This time he wanted to look her in the eye as she pushed the burning tip of the cigarette into the flesh on the back of his wrist. The pain wasn't as bad as the first few times. But it hurt, all the same. She would bandage the wound later, and he would wear long sleeves. He always wore long sleeves.

    She held his stare as steadily as she held the cigarette, as she gave it a final twist before releasing her grip. She left the cigarette, were it was and leaned back on her chair.

    "You think you scare me, boy?" she said, reaching for another cigarette. "You think, I haven't seen that look, before?" She toyed with the lighter, and waved the unlit cigarette at him. "Your father was an evil man, boy," she said. "And it is my job to see that you don't turn evil, too.” She lit the cigarette. “I will break you, boy, just like I broke him".

    He said nothing. He stood up. The crumpled cigarette fell to the floor. He picked it up and put it in his bowl. He fetched the spoon, and placed them, carefully, in the sink.

    "Money's in the top drawer, boy," she said. "Better get some more cigarettes, whilst you're at it, and a bottle of gin,” she smiled at him. “You're a good boy," she said.

    The money was there, as she said it would be. He took it. He paused at the open drawer, staring at the thing which lay at the bottom.

    The storm came then, as he knew it would. He had felt it building for a long time.

    Later, when the rain came, he stood outside.

    He lifted his face to the sky and wondered if ten-year-old boys could live by themselves. He stretched his arms wide and let the storm wash his mothers blood from his face, hands and clothes.
     
  6. Lemex
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    Lemex That's Lord Lemex to you. Contributor

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    cfcilldara
    The Raging Storm (Word count: 1076)

    Outside the small apartment off Leeson Street, the storm raged, battering the windows with invisible fists, an angry leviathan from a distant world forgotten eons ago, roaring at the world in rage. Those souls who had braved the outdoors now cursed themselves as they clutched vainly at hats rising into the air as the fierce wind grasped them away, or battled unwinnable wars against their upturned umbrellas before giving up hope and seeking shelter where they could. The storm was fierce and angry and unforgiving. But compared to the tempest which raged inside of the tall man sitting inside the apartment on the couch, hands clasped together as if in silent prayer as he stared unseeing into the fire, it might have been a mere gust of wind through the city streets, felt for one moment and then forgotten about.

    His clothes were the oddest thing about him, to those who met him, usually only the once, they were the first thing to jump out. He favoured blues and purples, richly cut suits from expensive materials, combined with hats from a long departed era and his favourite walking stick. His face was at once forgettable and memorable. If he stared at the ground as he walked by then you might not even recognise his existence. But if the square jaw lifted, startling blue eyes became instantly visible. They were the eyes of a person who wasn’t of this world, a person who could at once both see you and see through you, a person who could see the thoughts you kept squirreled away in the back of your head, a person who could see into your very soul. And yet for all the world this tall, thin, exquisitely dressed man with those piercing blue eyes couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. But the pain he felt at that moment stung him like a thousand lifetimes full of sorrow all rolled together and released in the same instant.

    She lay in front of him on the carpet, quite still now, pretty as she had always been yet paler, even with the flickering light of the fire passing slowly over her face before casting her body back into darkness once more. A little burnt hole had been forged in her jacket just over her breast; the blood had long since dried to a colour that was almost black with just the slightest hint of copper to its tone. She lay more peacefully across the plain carpet than she had when he first found her on the floor, spread-eagled, eyes still open in a plea from beyond the grave. He cursed himself for the thousandth time that hour. If only – if only he had returned just a little sooner, if only he had never left, if only he had never met her in the first place. A thousand ifs and buts and maybes, each one as pointless as the last for the damage was done, and irrevocably so and sitting there in front of her he was as helpless as a sapling in the face of the storm.

    He knew, of course, who had done this. Those same treacherous people who had killed him earlier that very same day, who had poisoned him and left him to die at the bottom of the dirty river which wound its way through the capital city. Life had returned to his veins with the same jolt as it always had, twisting and flailing like a puppet on strings from above, life and colour flooding back into his tortured body in one chaotic stream, consciousness returning in a flash as his brain restarted, his synapses began to fire once more as memories echoed in black and white across his eyes. He could remember bobbing through the water, then blackness…hauling himself from the quay as the water dripped from his soaking clothes, staggering through the evening crowds bustling through the city on a never-ending trip from home to work and back again, and he moved through them all with a single thought on his mind – her. But he had been too late and by the time he staggered through the door she was already gone, her last breath having passed her soft red lips and gone, gone forever. His head swayed once more and his forehead dropped as his hands rose and he groaned.

    But self-pity wasn’t in his nature and he rose from his ruminations, searching for a plan to keep his mind occupied. His life had been exactly that - a litany of plans and projects each designed to keep his unnaturally lengthened existence from descending into monotony and dreary boredom. And she – she had been the biggest and most welcome distraction of them all, but no, he couldn’t think like that, those thoughts were as much a poison as the chemicals they had pumped into him, crippling, overshadowing logical thought and action. He had one purpose now, that much was clear and he stood up as the simple plan formed unbidden in his mind, the path ahead was simple and straightforward. Revenge it was said, he recalled, was a path where two graves should be dug before one set out upon it – one for the other and one for yourself. But if there was one thing in the world he didn’t need, it was a grave, and if there was one thing he was certain of it was that by the time he was finished, they would need far more than two graves.

    As the storm outside still swirled and raged, the wind still howling wildly as the heavens still poured upon the earth below, the man in the apartment picked the woman from the ground ever so gently, her head lolling back across his sleeve as he laid her gently down upon the couch. A solitary tear threatened to leave his eye as he traced a gloved finger across her cheek, curling a lock of that soft blonde hair behind her ear. The tear welled behind those bright blue eyes and finally burst for freedom, trickling down his cheek and splashing quietly onto hers. He straightened up and retrieved the small black bag from beneath the rain streaked window, its metallic contents clinked and rattled against one another as he raised it onto his shoulder and left the apartment for the last time, heading outside into the storm that raged outside and towards the fiercer storm that was yet to come.
     
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