Welcome to the February EMDAS Writing Competition!(Rules - READ FIRST!) Theme: Origin!
"In the beginning was the Word..."
(The Holy Bible, John 1:1-3)
This month's theme is "Origin"! To commemorate the origin and birth of this new competition, write an entry about origin. This can apply to anything like birth, creation, beginnings, etc. The exempt above is a good example, as it refers to the "origin" of the world/life.
Voting! (February 15-24)
After the final entries have been submitted, all non-entrants may read over and vote on their favourite entry. Entrants may not vote, especially with the one vote/person rule in place. Anybody who votes more than once will have all of their votes removed.
There will also be no comments involving attempts to coax the votes in somebody's favour, as making such comments will remove your votes or (should it be an entrant who does so) entry from the competition. We want this to stay fair for everybody.
When voting, please write down the username of the entrant and the title of their entry, like so:
Quote:
Harper Lee: "To Kill a Mockingbird"
Like the entry phase, all votes must be posted before 11:59:59 PM PST of February 24. Any voting after that will be void. (Counter)
Also, if you want to make your votes privately, simply send a private message to my inbox with your votes and they will be added during the tallying phase.
First, a footfall: our steps move
brimming with afternoon sun.
I watch while you stretch the fabric folds
of your muscles into anticipation —
a form tense,
wearable, sleeveless.
Then: lazy sunshine, its loose glare,
wraps its last fingers around the flush of your cheek.
After you, please:
you let our strides burst into pace
like frames
for slower runners in still life: shrinking, receding —
The want for air moves us – a common desire,
pulses loaded with adrenaline.
You know: I’m only faster with you around,
when you’re
a blur of jersey like a flag —
a bullet off the lines. One that hits
here:
in the deep crease of my panting soul
till I have you run with me,
until the hour crickets whistle
for us to slow down, for your footballs
to bury themselves in silence.
And everything is stilled,
where floodlights cast you:
luminous, a halo of sweat,
the only thing aglow on the dark track,
as evening overtakes us.
Spoiler for papermario13689 - Genesis II:
Genesis II
"In the beginning, God created the heavens and the Earth."
Laughing a sick and somewhat desperate laugh, the man crumpled the sacred pages with both of his hands. He looked up to the heavens and exclaimed:
"Created the Earth?! Well then God, you tell me where the hell everybody disappeared to. Is this a sick joke, God? I'm telling you...I'M NOT LAUGHING!"
It had been 7 days now. The worst cycle of monophobia was beginning to rise from within the man, and he had finally broken down on the day of the Sabbath. He had no memories except for the fact that mankind had left him in this cruel world.
"Heh. Hehehehe. HAHAHA!" the man was literally almost in tears at this point.
"You know, it IS somewhat funny! Destroy all of humanity but physically leave the Earth behind...SICK, but funny."
With no options left, the man began to circle the mysterious garden where he had awoke. Lush trees with colourful fruits rose up from every inch, and it was all perfectly edible. The man had been feasting off of the fruit since awakening, but for an unexplainable reason, he would not eat the fruit from the center tree. There was nothing holding him back, but a sharp pain came to him whenever he even considered tasting the oddly shaped delectable.
"Another day of the same food. I can't stand this for much longer, but at least I'm not starving." the man took a bite of one of the fruits, looked at the skies and yelled:
"You hear me, God? I will defeat you and your sick world! You can't bring me down THAT easily!"
And the instant the last word escaped his mouth, the man fell into a state of deep sleep. He slept and he slept, and several hours passed before he awoke again.
"Ah, good. You're awake!"
The man heard it. The voice of a human, but to him, it was the voice of an angel. Turning around, he caught a glimpse of a young woman, standing nude without shame. Within a few seconds, the man cried heavy tears. The woman hunched over and consoled him without a second thought.
"O' great Lord, I thank thee!" he exclaimed.
The woman had no memories of her own, as the man quickly found out. Conversation was almost impossible as there was nothing to reminisce upon and nothing they had in common. Yet they lived in the magical garden, living off of the fruits that seemed to be infinite. But they never dared to touch the fruit from the center tree. It seemed that the woman shared his fear of the middle tree.
Living off of one source of food, nude and not knowing. This continued for several days; the same repetitive thing. The man was sick of it all, and his faith was almost on the brink of destruction. All he wished was to go back to his old lifestyle with his two sons and wife. While alone and deep in thought, the man heard a sinister voice.
"Ssssooo, you want to know what'sssss happened to your world?" slithered the slippery voice.
It was already too late, the man was beyond intrigued. Something about this voice wasn't right, but the seduction of knowledge rendered the man useless.
"Yes, yes! What had happened? How can I return?" he desperately asked.
"The fruitssssss on the tree in the middle. They hold the anssswer you sseeeek. Eat one, and you will know all."
"I don't know...there is something wrong with eating the fruit from that tree." said the man, not having a reason behind his claim.
"It'sssss fine...It'ssssss just sssssome fruit, ssssame as the otherssssss. It'ssssss the only way."
And with that said, the man was convinced. The woman was nowhere in sight, but that didn't matter. Slowly, he made his way to the center tree, and despite the sharp pain he felt, he plucked one of the fruits and took a large bite.
In an instant, it all came back.
"Where have you gone? It's time to eat!" shouted the woman.
With a booming voice, the man yelled: "EVE!"
"E-Eve? Is that...my name?" she shuddered.
"One bite of this fruit and you shall know all."
And without hesitation, she took a bite.
The only word she could tearfully speak a second later was: "ADAM!"
Their memories had returned. Adam and Eve patched together coverings from fig leaves, now ashamed of their nude skin. It was odd, but Adam thought he could hear a sinister laugh slithering away.
"Eve, you remember! You truly...re..mem.."
And with that, the man dropped. Comatose, but not dead.
In shock, the woman began to scream for her husband. "ADAM! A...DA..."
And the woman immediately joined him.
"W-WHA! WHAT IS THIS?!"
A strong jolt awoke the man and he was in the garden, alone. There was nobody in sight, and all he clutched in his hand were the sacred pages of God's word.
"W-where is everyone? Am I the only one?!" he cried.
The wind carried a declaration from the Almighty, and Adam swore he heard it.
"Thou shalt not eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil."
Spoiler for felix - Emperor of One:
Emperor of One
Origins, File 1
"The year is 39 PA (Post Apocalypse), current time 11:32 AM. My name is Kouta Kurou, I am a student here at very average and plain Kyu Kyoto North Highschool (KKN). There's not much to brag about this shabby place other then delinquents, rumors and its age. To be perfectly honest, I'm surprised it's even standing after the great war. The architect must have been some sort of paranoid maniac—"
Kou
"Um— TEACHER!"
Teacher
"What is it Mr. Kurou?" the teacher responds firmly while still glancing at his newspaper
Kou
"I was just wondering. Does writing this crap actually count for our grade?"
Teacher
"Hhm hm—" the teacher chuckled "Judging by your legendary progress of dropping three years in a row at that previous place before honoring us with your presence, I in your position would try even adding the zeros and praises in hopes of maybe passing." replied the teacher with a smirk on his face, "Now sit down and get back to work! And next time you add crap to a sentence I'll feed you to the class piranha."
As he glanced back down at the newspaper the rest of the class directed their attention back at the assignment. All but one Mao Manami, who continued to give Kou the cold stare as he took his seat.
Mao
"You idiot." she whispered as she turned her head back onto her paper
Kouta was left with a depressed look on his face, took his pen and continued writing: "And this is another glorious day in the life of me. Yet again I've been scolded by the teacher for asking a perfectly legitimate question; I just have no luck." Kou sighed "Before coming to this place I was a student at... another school which shall remain secret. Because of unforeseen circumstances beyond my control I've ended dropping three years in a row. It was sad leaving the few friends I still had there behind but I couldn't bear the looks and rumors anymore, so I transfered to KKN in the hopes of starting anew. It's been one month since I transfered here and I've somehow managed to fit in. It was good fortune my super crappy attempt at kansai-ben earned me some humor points with everyone, otherwise things would have been bleak." Kou sighed again, looking towards the rest of class 0-N.
Mao kicks Koutas chair, planting Kouta face first onto his desk. As Kouta pulls himself up he takes a short glance over his shoulders at Mao and continues writing. "My seat is in the left furthers most corner of the class, near the window. The classroom is towards the sun and there are no trees nearby so the rest of the row is empty. The hole building is like a tower I'm trapped in, literally. Most of of the class has positioned themselves on the left side in the shade. The teachers don't seem to mind. Basically, I'm isolated… well, almost" Kouta frowns as he looks at a reflection of Mao in the window "behind me is Mao, our class— nono, our schools! eccentric, egoistic, self centered PE maniac! For whatever reason she insists she must stay near the window. Her record of arguing with teachers is even worse then mine." Kouta writes quickly as he leans towards his desk and paper "Every day since I came here she's given me the same look. Like its my fault the teachers told me to sit in front of her. To make it worse she has this voice problem. She apparently is too lazy or cool to speak with anything more then a calm voice or whisper. She even has some kind of medical nonsense to make the teachers accept it. Because of that I have to repeat everything she says each time one of the geezers asks her something. Probably why those bastards put me near her to begin with—"
Teacher
"Ohoho. And who might these bastards be Mr. Kurou" the teacher asks as he slams a ruler between Koutas fingers
Kou
(Damn you eagle eye bastard!) he whispered to himself while still glancing down
Teacher
"After school, come see me." the teacher said in a low but sharp voice, before slowly looking over the class "Ok, shows over, the lot of you get back to work!"
The time is 1:49 PM. Kou arrives at Mr. Rei Katashis office. The scent of tobacco greets him at the door; the inside a big mess of papers, flour pots and cigarettes. Even though called a office there's just a chair and a table and mountains of various student papers everywhere.
Rei
"DONT you know how to KNOCK?" he shouts at Kou while lifting his eyes from the newspaper.
Kou
"Um—" confused he takes a few steps back and tries to turn around
Rei
"Wait— Just come here and sit down."
Kou
"Yes— Katashi-sensei…"
Rei
"<Your Majesty> will do."
Kou frowns and pretends he didn't hear.
Rei
"Haha— I'm just joking kid." the teacher laughed "Anyway, to business. How much do you know about the girl Mao?"
Kou
(What's this all of a sudden?) Kou pondered avoiding eye contact, "Um— aside from the fact she has excellent grades in PE, attends the archery club, kendo club… and every other martial arts club… somehow. I— don't really know anything…" Kouta mumbles as he looks down
While looking at the arrangement of the teachers desk Kouta spots a particularity.
Kou
"Could it be you're suspecting her of the murders from last year?" Kou asks with a firm voice
Rei
"Oh— And whatever gave you that stupid idea."
Kou
"On your desk there's a pile of files."
Rei
"I'm a teacher idiot." Rei responds swiftly
Kou
"The top file reads Riku, Ren— she's one of the students that got killed!"
Rei
"Hm?" Rei looks over "Ah, your right, must have picked it up by mistake."
Kou
"What of the other four files, did you pick them by mistake too?" Kou asks giving Rei the stare, a short moment of silence and he adds "The two at the bottom are black so it's probably a teachers file. I heard two teachers were murdered last year; even if one of them is your file, they can't be both yours… Mr. Katashi." before Rei can respond, Kou adds "I thought I heard you quit the force last summer due to a unrecoverable leg injury?" and stares at Rei
A deep silence covers the room.
Rei
"Heh— thought huh." Rei catches his breath for a moment, "I didn't quit the force, this is just a extended vacation. My leg will heal but the process takes several years, so I just took this as a part time job; beats sitting at a desk doing everyone elses paper work." Rei gigles, raising his finger "And after the incidents this school was in due need of personnel so you can think of my presence here as— charity work.", as he sights he then adds "—but, yes that's right the files are of the victims, however you got some facts wrong KID." Rei smirks as he grabs a cigar "…the murders didn't happen last year! not all of them. Only the girl Ren was murdered last year, the others happened the year before." Rei pauses as he lights his cigar, "I'm not even from this district you know, though my friends here told me the two cases were considered to be distinct and currently they are both closed, for some reason or another. So you can stop worrying your little head."
Kou seems to want to reply, but keeps silent.
Rei
"Anyway kid… don't get the wrong idea, I didn't call you to solve the murder or chase Kanibal" he scorns at Kou, showing him the newspaper
As Kou glances down at the newspaper the title reads: "Kanibal on a Rampage!", The article seems to be a interview with Col. Bearwolf, leading Arm forces. On the right a big picture of the monster, Kou can't help but stare. Blindfolded skull for a head, teeth of a demon, horns of a goat, purple cloak with ominous eyes drawn on it, sleeves ripped off, arms made of what looks like muscle and steel with no skin attached, chains for braces, claws for nails, and skull boots up to his knees. And to top that a tail. Kou is a little intrigued but adverts his eye from it after a moment.
Kou
"So whats this business then?"
Rei
"Follow Mao"
Kou gives him a strange look but doesn't respond back.
Rei
"Look it's not lik—"
Kou
"Just follow? —so what's in it for me?"
Rei
as Rei puts out his cigar he adds "And write a report. If you do that I'll make sure you get a passing grade— Deal?"
Kou
after a short pause, "Fine— Deal"
Rei
"You're not going to interrogate me on why—"
Kou
"It's none of my business."
Kou leaves the office.
Kou
(And with that defensive talk of yours probably not safe to ask.)
Spoiler for wassupimviet - Playing at Purpose:
Playing at Purpose
“R. Dorothy Wayneright!”
“Good morning, Roger.”
“‘Good morning’ indeed…”
The sun breaks through windows and streams over an old black piano, where I sit. My fingers fly over piano keys, pushing this one and that one, and the sounds of resounding strings fill the air. I turn my head to the man in black—and usually in style. Right now, he just wears a dark heavy coat, unkempt hair, and a foul disposition. The last is no doubt because of the piano, but I feign ignorance. Roger Smith’s face grows a little more irritable with each note as I continue to search for and find the right keys. It’s a typical morning-past-noon.
“Norman is already preparing breakfast,” I say, while the piano sings another meter.
“That’s great, Dorothy, but—”
“Yes?”
He searches for the right words. I suppress the grin that wants to show itself. It’s better this way, honestly. “We’ve been over this already, right?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The piano, Dorothy. The piano.”
My mouth stretches just slightly as I turn away. “You’re such a louse, Roger Smith.”
I strike a final key and the sonata slowly fades.
“I won’t be returning until dinner,” Roger says from behind his newspaper while sipping the last of his coffee. “I’m expecting the negotiations to take a while.”
“Of course, Master Roger,” says Norman Burg, impeccable as ever. “Shall I prepare the megadeus?”
“Big O? What would I need Big O for?”
“You have a penchant for getting into trouble, Roger. Your negotiations always end that way,” I say, a little payback for his rude habit. A black eyebrow rises above the edge of a page. “I’m unsure of how you managed to gain your reputation, Mr. Negotiator.”
Norman chuckles for a second, but a pointed glance from Roger stops him. Roger, smiling, folds up the newspaper and leaves it on the table.
“You’d never think that behind that gentle exterior is a tongue like that. I know better, though,” he says, half amused, half annoyed. “I shudder to think that the old man built you to be that way.” Almost immediately, Roger tries to pull the words back into his mouth, but it’s too late. I stare at him, no expression betrayed on my face. “I’m sorry, Dorothy. I— I shouldn’t have said that.” Roger hurriedly stands up and starts for the door. “I’ll be going now, Norman—Dorothy.”
“Oh, dear,” says Norman with a sigh and a shrug.
I return to the piano and sit down, but I don’t play anything. Instead, I think. About my father, Timothy Wayneright, about why I was built. About how I lost both things. I remember that last night at the Nightin’ Gale, that night when a song ended Father and R. Dorothy began. He had built me to replace his daughter, my origin was her fate. I had been content with that. After that night, that was gone. I feel like a piano left silent for years whose strings have long since degraded beyond being able to play music.
“Dorothy?” Norman asks with a severe look as he steps into the room.
“Hello, Norman.” I try to appear unreadable, but it won’t matter. Norman knows.
“What are you doing sitting here? Dorothy, you should enjoy yourself today,” he says, kindly and good natured. “I’ll busy myself with cleaning this dusty old place.”
“But, Norman—”
“Oh, I’ll be having none of that. I will see you return by dinner, yes?” He smiles faintly. “Off you go.”
I find myself walking outside the domes, heading towards the café called Amadeus. I’m not even at the door when I hear the slow, smooth refrain wafting from the perfectly tuned piano inside. The composition isn’t so precise; the sheet music isn’t exactly followed. But I like it. I turn the knob and open the door, letting more of the sound lift outside and away before stepping inside into the café with dim lights and eased patrons. R. Instro plays his instrument with infallible fallibility.
“What a surprise to see you here, Dorothy,” he tells me, after the piece has finished, “and even more so to see you without Roger.”
I feel something like embarrassment, but I don’t let my face say it. “I’m not always with him, Instro.”
“No, of course not,” chuckles he. “Regardless, I’m happy to have you here.”
Instro invites me to play a piano duet. As always, he plays beautifully, but I don’t put myself into the music, and I know he can feel it. I came so I could find common identity with Instro; he had lost his father as well, and he had almost lost his purpose. I don’t want to communicate these things to him, but I feel a shared identity with him.
“Is there something wrong, Dorothy?”
“No, Instro.” Thoughts and thinking drip from me. They make the floor wet with regretful reminisce.
“Dorothy.”
“This is your old piano, isn’t it, Instro?” I ask, trying to shift the conversation away.
He allows it. “Yes, it is. I couldn’t find another one quite like it. There are very few people left with the Memories to properly craft a piano. Those that do remember make each one with a profound sense of intent. Their origins are very deliberate and their purpose very specific. I can’t imagine a piano not meant to be played.”
I remember my own original purpose, now lost. “Like us,” I say, monotone but despondent. I expect Instro to feel the same way, having lost his own pur—.
“Not like us.” Instro stops his hands. “You and I may be built, Dorothy, and perhaps built with a purpose in mind. In that way, we are similar to this piano. But, unlike this piano, I can create without being played by someone else. We’re more than the sum of others intentions for us, bad or good.”
I turn to Instro, surprised. The emotion in his voice is something I haven’t seen since that day when he broke from his father’s legacy.
“What I was built for doesn’t matter, Dorothy. You and Roger taught me that. Have you forgotten? It is the me now and the legacy I create that determines my impact in the world.” Instro deftly plays a quick, lively tune. “And I am a pianist.”
“Instro.” His words fall on me like feathers. I’m speechless. I had forgotten. Though what I was made for may be gone now, I have something more. I have more. I have Ro—I won’t finish that sentence, I think. I struggle to keep my voice level. “I…thank you, Instro.” I mean it, terribly. He looks at me, and I catch some knowing in the pianist’s eyes.
“And you feel things that your creator may not have meant you to feel, don’t you, R. Dorothy?”
“Yes,” I say, and this time awkwardness finds its way into my voice. Instro nods.
“I have a new piece to teach you. An elderly man with a fragment of memory came in and asked to borrow my piano. He said that it had been written for a woman. But I'm sure it has long outgrown that purpose.” He flexes his metal fingers and, with a flourish, begins to play the notes of what I feel is a very old song.
I return home that evening, before dinner. Norman greets me on the way in and gives me a kind smile before returning to his preparations. I think he senses that everything is well. Stepping over to the piano, I think about what Instro has said. I sit and play the new meters on the old piano, letting the notes flow this way, that way, every way. I don’t think about the sheet music or the symphonies or the solo piano concertos that came before. What comes out, I think, is beautiful.
“Well, well, I haven’t heard this one before,” says the Negotiator. He alights with a smile.
“You’ve returned, Roger. Did you not need Big O this time?”
“That’s right. It seems my reputation is deserved after all.” He approaches me nervously. “Dorothy, about before, I—”
“It’s fine. There is nothing that should be said.”
“Oh?” There is a questioning pause. I nod my head.
“Yes. There’s nothing to worry about.”
He chuckles and sits down next to the piano. “Thank you, Dorothy.” Relief lifts him, and I’m happy to see it that way. I see his fingers moving to the melody. “So, where does this wonderful sound come from?”
“The origin doesn’t matter, Roger.” I say it with pride welling in my chest. “Do you need to know to appreciate what I am playing now?”
“No, Dorothy, I suppose I don’t,” he says, chuckling lightly. “It’s not often a man can appreciate a beautiful girl playing a masterpiece just for him.”
I turn away and smile a little more fully. “You’re a louse, Roger Smith.”[/QUOTE]
Spoiler for lordshadowisle - Origin Story:
ORIGIN STORY
Intense pain, chest area.
I took down the gangster easily enough, but I didn't expect him to manage to hit me. Firing his handgun with one hand; unaimed, random shots. Desperate shots, but he got lucky.
Armor not penetrated. Heavy bruising, fractured ribs possible.
It hurts bad. Body armor isn't all that it's made to be. I was even winded momentarily, but the momentum of the leap was sufficient to carry me forward and land on the enemy. Thankfully, he was alone. But he has done enough damage.
The pain is affecting me worse than I had imagined. If I wasn't expecting bigger prey soon, I would have used painkilling drugs. Or called it a night. But tonight is too important. And slowed reflexes and dulled senses aren't nearly enough to stop them.
Distract self from pain. Adapt tolerance level. Think.
I can endure. I just need a few moments to adapt to this level of pain, a few moments to trick the body into believing that this is the default state. One or two minutes should be enough. But first I need to distract my mind from the hurt. And then I think back. On when, on why.
On when I became Vigilante.
The results had been limited. Stopping some two-bit robbers, beating up a few no-name mobsters, foiling a few drug transactions; merely drops in the bucket, the lowest rungs of a dark empire. The Undercity spread in spite of my actions. Deeper. I needed to go deeper. It was more dangerous, but it was a necessary choice. Then I began targeting the predators higher up on the food chain. Destroying drug warehouses. Wrecking gambling dens. Crushing underground arms transactions. Crippling money laundering operations. It was strikingly effective.
Did I become Vigilante then? Did I only become Vigilante when I discarded ineffective methods and took on a grittier, a more exacting approach?
No, that is only the origin of the Vigilante feared by the Undercity.
I started going out at night, to the darkest places of the Undercity. Places where people don't want to go, places where people stay because they can't leave. A place of villains and victims, and often both in one. My plan was simple, too simple perhaps; I simply addressed personally the things I previously left in the hands of the police. The difficult part was the fighting; my physique was exceptional, honed from many years of training, but was I a fighter? In the end I managed, using my superior focus of mind and a combat style that exploited the many weak spots on the human body- eyes, nose, and groin. Effective, unscrupulous, and sometimes difficult to escape unscathed, but it was a choice I made.
Was this the beginning? Was I only a hero when I got down to things, and got my hands dirty?
No, that is only the origin of the Vigilante that prowled the nights.
Captain Shearer accepted a horizontal posting to the next state. I don't blame him; nobody wants to raise a family in this city. He has provided enough help. Which is more than I can say about his replacement, a career bureaucrat interested in lowering crime only when he could claim credit for it. Unreliable. The cops stopped following my tip-offs. I made a decision. The next day I gathered the materials that I had prepared for such an outcome. A mask that covered only parts of the lower face, leaving field of vision and ease of respiration unaffected. Camouflage cream, a far easier way of disguising facial features. Lightweight clothing that had a dark exterior, with a white interior to wear in lit urban environments. Bulletproof armor, procured from military surplus and modified for mobility at the cost of protection. Guns, a last resort when all other avenues are exhausted. And training, a lot of training, and experimentation. Experimentation on how to apply and wear gear for maximum mobility and effectiveness. Experimentation on the areas of weakness in bulletproof armor and on how to reinforce it, on how to exploit it.
Vigilante was forged from such methods and materials. But this is not the origin, the moment where one stops being merely a silent observer.
It still surprises me what knowledge one can get from patent databases. Coupled with a bit of ingenuity in obtaining encryption codes, I was able to build a functional radio transceiver with access to police operating frequencies. In the beginning I masqueraded as an police element, directing officers on the beat to crime hotspots I learnt of from my research. Though the cops were initially confused about the mysterious source of accurate tip-offs, they eventually traced the information back to a single sender, whom they named "Unidentified Vigilante". Despite not knowing of my identity or methods they continued to rely on my information. I did not even need to disguise myself under some police call-sign. The heavy crimes unit even instated an unofficial protocol for acting on my tip-offs. I heard that the protocol was created by a Captain Shearer. Valorous enough to capture the criminals, and effective enough to collect the evidence for the prosecutors to do their jobs.
I did something, at last. Vigilante did something. Was it enough? Would she say that it was enough?
No, she will never say that. This was only the beginning, for it will never be enough.
I joined my mother's charity organization. Even after her death I could have used her connections to obtain a considerable position within the charity, but that would not have met my purposes. No, I choose to put myself on the frontlines, to work directly with people. It was what my mother would have done. It also gave me good reason to needle in and out of the Undercity, to see and hear things. Alone, the things I learnt on the ground would be useless. But I also had access to information from other sources, information that few had thought to use. Ambulance dispatch locations from A&E departments, housing prices and rental rates, number of cabs hailed from particular locations; with analysis, all these provided information on patterns of crime.
Amateurish work. A start, but only a start.
On her deathbed my mother confessed a regret. She wished that she had done something about Kelly, anything at all. Those were my mother's final words before succumbing to cancer. After that I was truly alone. There was a considerable inheritance, more than enough for me to live out two comfortable lifetimes. I could have chosen that path, a path of blissful, hedonistic ignorance. I could have pretended not to notice that the city was slowly decaying, that the Undercity was spreading to neighborhoods that were once places to raise families. I could even have moved to another city. But my parents wouldn't have agreed. Kelly wouldn't have agreed.
Good people aren't good because they don't commit evil. Good people stand against evil.
There was a mocking irony that the manner of her funeral was far more lavish than the life she had lived. Contributed and sponsored by the media. It was after all a big story- "Bright girl on scholarship killed by addict father". Pulled the whimsical heartstrings of the citizenry. The follow-up story a few months later made news too... "Murdering parent killed in mob gunfight". The media called it poetic justice. I didn't feel the same. My father would have said, "There are causes, and then there are the causes." Kelly was killed by her no-good father, a drunkard, addict, and small-time pusher. She was also killed by a bullet. Both are causes, one merely more immediate than the other. And stepping back, moving further up the chain of causes, was the corruption and depravity of the Undercity. The Undercity, a place where vice festered and spread, an inexorable sinkhole that drowned and smothered its inhabitants. What chance did she stand?
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. More reinforcements to take down. Still some time before they reach my hiding location. Enough time for one last recollection.
My father met Kelly only once, before his unfortunate medical mission. "This one's a keeper", he whispered to me. How he came to that conclusion, I don't know. She had a nice smile for sure, and the fact that she studied her way into a prestigious school despite her circumstances meant something. She seemed destined for greater things, and not only for herself. But it was not destiny or fate. It was an outcome she chose.
Nearby. Almost here. Wait for the moment...
It is always about choices. It begins with a choice, a choice between stepping back for your own good, or stepping out even if it costs you. It starts at each and every moment where such a choice can be made. It never ends. We must always choose, and keep choosing. That is the origin of Vigilante.
I leap out from the platform into the darkness, into the unknown.
Spoiler for The_Seth - Teddy (Sent via PM):
In the beginning there was...Teddy.
Teddy was a very shiny stuffed bear. He was baught by a man with a smile on his face and a woman with a very big tummy.
Teddy had a feeling that he was bought for a special purpose, a purpose that would see him experience one of the greatest wonders of the world.
It wasn't long before Teddy met his special purpose, through the miricle of birth Teddy was now a friend of Baby Boy.
Teddy was always with Baby Boy. Teddy was there for Baby Boys first tooth, Teddy would become chew toy for Baby Boy as he cried in pain.
Teddy was witness to Baby Boy learning to crawl, it was ofcourse to get Teddy to chew on.
After a tantrum or two Teddy was witness to Baby Boys first steps, which resulted in Teddy becoming a cushion for Baby Boy to fall on.
Teddy was even lucky enough to becoming Baby Boys first word, Mum and Dad where very jealous.
Time would slowly pass, and Teddy was as happy as could be. He went with Baby Boy to playschool where they made friends and learnt to paint with their fingers, or in Teddy's case his face. It was at that time that Teddy realised Baby Boy was no longer, he was now Boy.
Boy would grow to greatly enjoy playschool, sometimes even getting so excited that he would forget to take Teddy, but a few minutes later Teddy would always hear the car return home, and the cries and quick footsteps of Boy running to get him. Teddy hoped these days never end.
A year of playschool would pass, and Teddy had become anxious as Boy was starting school. It wasn't that Teddy was fearing being forgotten, but rather that he wouldn't always be there for Boy. But teddy was put to ease as he went to the first day of school with Boy, Teddy watched on as Boy attempted reading, counting and telling stories.
Time moved quickly after this, Teddy was always there for Boy after school, listening to Boy talk about his day, helping him read and count, Teddy even meet Boys friend's. Teddy was very happy, no matter how much Boy grew he always had a spot in his life for Teddy.
Until oneday, Boy had a different kind of friend over to play after school one day, a Girl. Teddy did not like the look of Girl, she didn't seem to be very fun to play with, and she commanded every moment of Boys attention. Boy seemed to be under some kind of spell and Teddy could do nothing. Teddy watched on in horror as Boy and Girl sat on Boys bed, looking into each other's eyes, their faces moving towards each other slowly, Teddy wanted to scream out and warn Boy that Girl was trying to headbutt him!
But it was already too late, their heads had met. Teddy was struck with fear, he knew that Boy was no longer Boy, he had become something far more dangerous and evil. Boy had become, Boy in Puberty!
The world inverted, Boy in Puberty was growing overnight, his voice was squeaking and gradually getting deeper, and red spots began to appear on his face. Boy in Puberty stopped playing with Teddy, rather he placed Teddy on his desk close to his new computer.
It was in this place that Teddy watched everything that was familiar be wiped away by bigger beds, posters of angry looking people standing like the handicapped, and music was being played constantly. And it was definately not 'Ring around the Rosy' which used to be Teddys favourite song. It was now music about feeling's, and everyday situations. Teddy would curse this music.
Boy in Puberty still talked to Teddy but it was mostly about girl's, car's, money and how he had a lacking of all of them. Teddy also had to watch Boy in Puberty play very violent and foul games on his computer, whilst occasionly seeing Mum and Dad peer into the room just to see what all the noise was. They where almost as confused as Teddy was, but they still seemed to smile, almost as if they where remembering a time long ago. Such strange people Mum and Dad where.
After a few very long years, Teddy was getting a grasp on Boy in Puberty's emotions, it seemed that Boy in Puberty was starting to calm down.
He had a firm footing on the world, he acquired a part time job, he had started driving around with Dad, and had a very embarrassing conversation with Mum about something that likened to tango.
Teddy had no idea what they where saying but Teddy would sigh in relief, Boy in Puberty was no more, he was now Boy in Adolescence.
Boy in Adolescence was much easier to get along with, the posters on the wall's where now of drawings, advanced maths and even some poetry. Boy in Adolescence started working harder and his friends started to come by more often, but it wasn't just boy's, it was girl's too.
And they all watched movies together and laughed out aloud. Boy in Adolescence even began a deep and meaningfull realtionship with Girl from all thoes years ago, they studied together a lot, watched movies together, and on one night when Mum and Dad where away they disapeared into Mum and Dads room for the night. Teddy wasn't sure what they did in there but it must have had something to do with all the late night computer searches that Boy in Adolescence was into.
Time moved by very carelessly over the next few years, Boy in Adolescence spent less and less time with Teddy, and more and more time working and studying. Boy in Adolescence must have been very tired as Teddy saw him come home very late one night being barely able to stand. Mum and Dad where waiting for him with stern looks on their face's, and a bucket. Boy in Adolescence was very sick the next day, Teddy was very worried but Mum and Dad where laughing in the hallway, he would be ok.
Not before long Boy in Adolescence would manage to finish school, buy a car with the help of Mum and Dad and get a new better paying job. Teddy watched Boy in Adolescence work hard and have lot's of fun with his friend's, and especially Girl. It seemed that Boy in Adolescence and Girl where planning to go somewhere far away where they could learn very difficult thing's. This place was called University. Teddy had heard Mum and Dad discussing University, it would mean that Boy in Adolescence would be moving out from home and he would only come back very rarely. Teddy had become afraid, was it possible that Teddy and Boy in Adolescence where going to part ways?
Teddy had been with Boy in Adolescence since day one. He had watched him grow from a crawling, crying Baby Boy, to a fun and excited Boy, to a scary and evil Boy in Puberty, and then to smart and caring Boy in Adolescence. And no matter what Teddy was always talked to, patted on the head, smiled at whenever he was looked at, after all boy's need their teddies.
However the day would finally come. Boy in Adolescence had packed up his room into a few boxes, some of which where loaded into the back of his car, Girl was there talking with Mum and Dad, telling them that they had bought a mobile phone and would always be in touch.
Mum was so happy that she could bearly stop the tears from flowing, Dad was standing tall and proud, laughing as he watched his son come back into the house for the last time.
Dad shook Boy in Adolescence's hand, he told him that he was very proud, Mum began to cry. She told her son that she would call every day, and that if he ever needed anything they would always be there. Boy in Adolescence looked very happy, and very strong.
That was until he glanced over into his old room, where Teddy sat silently on the desk. A small tear formed in his eye.
He slowly walked over to Teddy, Mum, Dad and Girl watched on. Boy in Adolescence picked up Teddy and held him close, with a single tear running down his face he said to Teddy.
'You've always been there for me, you never judged me, you always listened, you always smiled, you are the best friend a boy could ever have.
I will miss you Teddy.'
Teddy was placed back down on the desk and watched Boy in Adolescence wipe the tear from his face, turn around and walk away.
Teddy's work was done, the Boy in Adolescence is no more, he was now a Man.
First of all... to all contestants, thanks for the nice read... if only I can vote for many participants....
Voted for Papermario13689...
~ Honestly I never ever imagined or thought about what is on the mind of Adam when the world were first created, he's kinda a rebel >_<
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And sorry, we had quite a large number of conversations on the production; do you mind detailing what it was you said?
The person who chooses the theme is always favored by it; which is not to say they are guaranteed to win, but in a contest where supposedly "fitting the theme" is part of the requirements and good deal on which some may base their votes (given the difference between entries) the one who chooses the theme always gets a pretty heavy advantage over everyone else. Say someone chooses the theme "collusion," he has no problem with it and it will just come naturally for the idea of what he wants to write, but it may be far harder for you who want to write about Adam and Eve to work with it.
Anyway, this discussion has already been done; if you want the detailed version look at the other thread—I already said I'm not going to debate over it anymore.
So by that line of thinking, you're saying it could cause a dangerous chain reaction; he/she who wins once continues to pick the next theme, ergo giving them an advantage for every competition that follows.
That's an interesting point. I still have a feeling that while that may be somewhat true, it's not a turnabout factor in the voting system. I'll keep this point in mind though; let's see how it works out next month, shall we?
Confliction. All entries include two opposing forces at some point. This could include an argument, a fight against good and evil, man vs. himself, etc.
Anyway congrats on the win papermario, you definately had a very interesting story that deserved the win.
Now as to next months theme it definately sounds like a lot of fun, confliction is much easier to write about and i've already got a few ideas in mind.
2011-02-19, 06:51
Graphic Designer
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