A Writing Contest

[Tariel]

I love these games, so I decided to make one. The idea is to show me a character. The character MUST be original. You can use any means you want to describe him/her (dialouge etc). Contestants will be judged based both on the quality of the character and the quality of the writing. There is no limit on how long it should be; take as much time as you feel you need to accuratly portray your character. It's ok if the character is from a story that you are already working on, but he/she MUST be origianal.

Contest will be judged on August 1st.

Prizes are:
7,000 blessings for first place
5,000 blessings for second place
3,000 blessings for third place

HAVE FUN!!

PM me if you have any questions.

 

[jesusfreak10537]

I'd love to enter! It might take me a bit to decide what character to use, though...it's good thing August is a long way off!! lol.

 

[oncewaslost]

less than 30 days. i'll see what i can do but i don't really understand what you're looking for, could you clarify?

 

[NeoScribe]

I think I'll enter, but could you give us an example of what you want to see?

 

[Steadfast7]

Yay! A contest! This will be fun, thanks Tariel!

 

[Tariel]

I think I'll enter, but could you give us an example of what you want to see?

if you give me a few days I could find you an example (I'm on a new computer and have none of my documents).

But mostly what I'm looking for is a piece of work--a descritpion, a piece of a story, an entire short story...whatever...that you think clearly shows your character. Does this make sense?

If it doesn't, give me a few days and I get you some examples.

 

[Peace Eternal]

I 'rewrote' in a way, a Greek Myth. But the story only told the characters names and the one big thing that happened. I added stuff yet kept the ending the same. Could I use that? Or parts of it?

 

[Balugon]

This one is done in two segments. The character's name is Ron Dascheck.
--
Segment 1


Ron walked into The Juicer, the local hang out place for Edgewood High School teens. He was looking for Nathaniel, his best friend since six grade. The place was packed. Jocks, cheerleaders, and everyone else you could possibly imagine eating, drinking, and talking was there.

Ron looked toward the back corner seats- sunkist orange and pleather- where he noticed his buddy waving him down. He slipped his way through the numorous students chatting about football and Amy and he plopped down across from his friend.

"What's up Nate?"

"Not much Ron. ...Hey, how do you think you did on today's math quiz?"

"I think I did alright. Mrs. Tubbleberry's quizzes sure are hard though.
Did you see the new BlasterBaxter game they have out?"

"Yeah! It looks awesome. I wish I had the money to get it."

"I just got it today," said Ron, with the cool stud look on his face.

"You got it!?!" said Nate.

Ron's green eyes gleamed and his spotless white smile showed through. "Ooohhh Yea."

"You know we totally have to play it tonight, don't you?" said Nate.

"I only have eight whole hours reserved for it," said Ron.

The two both mentally drooled at the thought of turning countless armies of zyborg zarfar into space dust.
----

Segment 2

It had been three years since Ron had to deal with his real father last time. He didn't know what to think. "Do I really have to visit him? ......It's been a while since I have seen him last. ...Maybe I would just be better off not ever seeing him again..." he said to himself. "I mean, sure, I get my black hair and italian background from him, but what else has he given me? ...He's never there..." Ron swallowed the sadness that started to well up. "I have to do what I have to do." Ron got ready to go downstairs and face the one he had not seen in years.
---
End of Segments

There ya go. There is my entry. I really didnt feel like writing a whole short story, and if u got a lot of entries, it would take forever to read them all if they were that long.

Anyway, whether I win or not, u could always use this one as an example.

 

[Tariel]

I 'rewrote' in a way, a Greek Myth. But the story only told the characters names and the one big thing that happened. I added stuff yet kept the ending the same. Could I use that? Or parts of it?

could you post the myth as well? If you post the myth so that I can see exactly how much you did it should be fine

 

[Tariel]

This one is done in two segments. The character's name is Ron Dascheck.
--
Segment 1


Ron walked into The Juicer, the local hang out place for Edgewood High School teens. He was looking for Nathaniel, his best friend since six grade. The place was packed. Jocks, cheerleaders, and everyone else you could possibly imagine eating, drinking, and talking was there.

Ron looked toward the back corner seats- sunkist orange and pleather- where he noticed his buddy waving him down. He slipped his way through the numorous students chatting about football and Amy and he plopped down across from his friend.

"What's up Nate?"

"Not much Ron. ...Hey, how do you think you did on today's math quiz?"

"I think I did alright. Mrs. Tubbleberry's quizzes sure are hard though.
Did you see the new BlasterBaxter game they have out?"

"Yeah! It looks awesome. I wish I had the money to get it."

"I just got it today," said Ron, with the cool stud look on his face.

"You got it!?!" said Nate.

Ron's green eyes gleamed and his spotless white smile showed through. "Ooohhh Yea."

"You know we totally have to play it tonight, don't you?" said Nate.

"I only have eight whole hours reserved for it," said Ron.

The two both mentally drooled at the thought of turning countless armies of zyborg zarfar into space dust.
----

Segment 2

It had been three years since Ron had to deal with his real father last time. He didn't know what to think. "Do I really have to visit him? ......It's been a while since I have seen him last. ...Maybe I would just be better off not ever seeing him again..." he said to himself. "I mean, sure, I get my black hair and italian background from him, but what else has he given me? ...He's never there..." Ron swallowed the sadness that started to well up. "I have to do what I have to do." Ron got ready to go downstairs and face the one he had not seen in years.
---
End of Segments

There ya go. There is my entry. I really didnt feel like writing a whole short story, and if u got a lot of entries, it would take forever to read them all if they were that long.

Anyway, whether I win or not, u could always use this one as an example.

very good

I wrote an example for this thread too...so I'll post my example

 

[Tariel]

alrighty...this is an EXAMPLE

The character is Tariel

Why did he provoke her? She would be invaluable right now–young, intelligent, strong. She possibly would even know where he could find the secret.
"Fuingul."
He turned around. It was her. That beautiful, powerful monster. "How did you get in here?" he demanded. "What did you do to the guards?
She laughed. "Don’t worry, I didn’t kill them. I didn’t even hurt them; I just want to talk to you, Fuingul."
"Talk to me?"
"Remind you I’m still alive."
"I...knew you were alive. You were in Melair."
"You could sense me out there in Melair, but you can’t find Laurefin’s daughter?"
"I know you well–I trained you for years, remember?"
"Yet you couldn’t kill me; why is that?" He didn’t respond. "Fuingul, please. I need to know. For six years I have been living, but have not known why. Only you can put an end to this."
"I–I can’t help you. If you don’t understand, then it’s even more of a mystery to me."
She stared at him for a moment with that deadly, searching gaze. "I...understand. I should leave then." She turned to leave. "Thank you, Fuingul." Then she was gone.
Why was that girl still alive? Why hadn’t he even tried to fight her just moments ago?
Did a part of him deep inside realize that he could never compete with her? Or did he have other reasons for wanting that young creature alive?
Was he trying to avoid another wave of the remorse that had haunted him since Laurefin died?
Since he murdered her.
He had tried to tell himself that it had been necessary, that it was all her fault, but still the guilt oppressed him. "What was I thinking?" he muttered. "Why did I kill her?"
"You wanted her dead."
"You’re still here?
The young woman stepped out of the air. "Of course I am. You didn’t really think I’d leave so soon, did you? I came all the way from Melair–"
"Enough, Tariel. Tell me what you know."
"Know? About what?"
"About Laurefin! About why I killed her, but you still live!"
The girl absently played with a small ball of fire. "I already told you what I know–you really did want to kill Laurefin. If you didn’t want her dead, then you wouldn’t done it."
"You’re lying."
She stepped towards him. "Look at me. You know me better than anyone, Fuingul, so look at me and tell me if I’m lying."
Fuingul, surprised, did what she asked and forced himself to match that dangerous gaze. She was telling the truth, as he had always known she was. But in that moment he learned something else: she missed him as much as he missed her. "We can start over," he said. "You can come back and be my student." For the first time in her life, Fuingul saw her startled. "Please, Tariel. It hasn’t been the same since you fought me."
Slowly she backed away. "There was a time when I would have gladly accepted your offer," she said slowly. "There was a time when I was willing to forgive you and start over. But–I don’t know anymore."
"Tariel, you’re like a daughter to me. My daughter...and my friend. My only friend."
"Maybe you should have thought about that before you tried to kill me."
"I’m sorry. What more do you want."
"Time. I need time to think."
"What? What is there to think about?"
"I–I don’t know. You tell me I’m like a daughter to you–and you know that you’re a better father than mine could ever be. If what happened six years ago was the only issue I could forgive you. But...but I just can’t help you kill Eliel!"
"So that’s what this is about?"
"I’m sorry, Fuingul. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Trust me, if there was any way that I could convince myself that things would be different now, I would join you again. Thank you for everything you’ve taught me."

 

[Spartan006]

I'm taking it that we're just supposed to post our characters and/or stories here. If I'm wrong then someone please correct me and I'll fix it.
~An excerpt from SquadAK47.~
Full story may be found at HBOFF.BUNGIE.org
------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 1 : The Last Few Days​

William's pulse raced as he rounded the corner. He smiled when he found a dark hole in the side of the marble wall. As he sat down he checked the weapons he had left he knew his pursuer would soon find him. Okay ,Jude, we both have no ammo left, you have an energy sword, and I have a plasma grenade. I know I will die, but I'm taking you out with me he thought as he stood back up.

"So, William," said a voice from the outside ,"ready to die?"

Perfect."No ,Jude, I'm not." said William calmly as he activated his plasma grenade ,"Are you?"
Swinging his energy sword Jude tried to stop William ,but it was to late. As he watched William's decapited head fall to the ground Jude thought of how stupid he had been. Then the plasma grenade exploded.

Jude's pupil's dialated as his eyes grew accustomed to the bright lights of S.o.T.o.F. (Spartan Training Facility).He yawned as the simulation pod opened and released him from the cramped tube. As he exited the simulation pod something hit him in the back with the force of a Warthog. Oh no, he thought as he turned to see William's face. It was blood red from laughter.

"That's the third time this week that I've got you that way ,Jude!" said William still hysterical with laughter, "you must have the memory of a goldfish or something!"

"Very funny ,William," answered Jude as he shut the simulation pod,"but I almost had you this time. Just a little bit lower and you would have missed." Jude continued his conversation as they entered the barracks. He knew today was special ,but the reason for it being special had slipped away."I can't remember what today is!"said Jude irritabely."Do remember what today is ,William?"

"It's Tuesday ,shrimpfest at the seafood bar at Sector 3 ,the night they send us the report from Reach ,and the one you forgot was that today is the day we are having the last of the sparring matches to decide the members of the permanent teams."

Jude just stared at William for a moment. "How do you read people's minds like that?"he asked shaking his head.

"It's a gift,"replied William as he opened his weapon's closet.

"Do you know the outcome?"he aked ,half-heartedly believing it would come true.

"No,"answered William as he put on his helmet,"but I have a feeling it will come down to me and you...again,"and with that being said he left the barracks to go sample the shrimpy goodness of the bar at Sector 3.

I sometimes wonder about him thought Jude as wondered the halls of S.o.T.o.F.. If I'm going to win I will have to practice,but there's no time left for practice.I need to be more patient is what it is.

"Hey ,Jude," called a voice from behind,"wait for us!" As the figures came closer Jude tell that it was Ranger and Jim."Jude, we just heard from the counselor that they are going to move the battles up two hours. We'll be starting in about forty-five minutes.Isn't that awesome!"said Ranger. He was already suited up for battle mentally and physically.

"They've already put up the battle orders too,"said Jim who was also suited up."It seems that you're up against William ,16IQ ,Hashbrown ,Kiley ,Laura ,and spartans from different stations."

"Are there any from Reach?" asked Jude who was now deep in thought.

"No, the last anyone heard from them a small Covenant force was about to attack it."

"Don't worry Jude,"said Ranger,"they have the Master Chief. What could possibly go wrong?"

"I guess you have a point." said Jude ,still lost in thought."I'll see you guys after I win the sparring matches."

"Whatever,"said Ranger sarcasticaly as he and Jim walked down a different corridor.
__________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 2 : Debriefed​

"All spartans report to combat simulation for sparring matches. I repeat. All spartans report to combat simulation for sparring matches,"barked huge speakers from S.o.T.o.F.'s blindingly white ceilings. Jude was suited up and ready for anything. As he walked to the simulation room he could feel the tenseness in the air.

The best trained units in the NAVY were about to try to kill all the others so that they could be the leader of their very own death squad. Jude knew it would be tough not only did he have to face spartans whose moves and battle strategies he knew ,but he would at the same time have to face opponents whose strategies and moves he did not know.

As he entered the simulation room he was amazed at how many spartans were here. There must be at least one hundred and seventy-five! He stepped up to the registration machine and began his usual and frustrating endevour to get the machine to let him in.

"State your verification number ,spartan."said the machine in a raspy emotionless voice.

"Spartan-258. Name Jude."

"Please, state verification number only."

"Spartan-258."

"State verification pasword."

Why do we even have these stupid registration machines? "The koalas eat flesh at midnight."

"State rank."

"Petty Officer."

"Welcome Petty Officer-258. Please enjoy your stay in simulation hall 1/B."

"Finally," thought Jude as he entered the main hallway,"I'll enjoy my stay when they get rid of those confounded registration machines." Five minutes later all the spartans from S.o.T.o.F. were gathered in Locker Corridor-A to be debriefed on the way things would be working during the battles.

"Four teams of four spartans each will be battling in the first round."stated Sgt. Hypes,"Who will be on which team will be decided by the battle network computer. The first team to lose all their members will be illiminated. After that round you will be divided into two teams. These two teams will join the remaining spartans from the other bases. After a few more rounds of that the rest of the battles will be no teams. Are there any questions?"asked the sargeant. After a few moments of silence the sargeant issued the spartans to simulation pods to begin the battles.
__________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 3 : The Battles Begin​

Jude opened his eyes to the lush ,digital ,simulation world he knew so well. By seeing his surroundings he could tell that they were at Battle Creek ,or Beaver Creek as it was now known. His team ,green team ,was composed of Kiley ,William ,Bubble ,and himself.

"We'll go over the rules one more time before we start,"said Sgt. Hypes from inside their H.U.D.s,"You will each have one life. If you get killed you will be out the rest of the match. If you die and your team wins ,you will be automatically transported to the next arena. If your team loses you will be pulled out of simulation mode ,and you can watch the rest of the matches from the lobbies in halls 1/B ,4/F ,and 11/D. The match will begin now!" Even though the match had just started there was already chaos. Bubble had accidentally committed suicide with a rocket launcher while trying to take out Jim. Toting his sniper rifle Jude rushed up the path opposite of the giant arch and jumped into a nearby tree. His cobalt armor blended well with the leaves in the tree.

"William, I am in position ,over,"said Jude over the com.

"Copy that ,Jude , I'm in position as well."

"Good,"said Jude as he lined up a spartan's head in his crosshairs,"very good."

After about two minutes of intense fighting Jude was suprised by the fact that he hadn't seen anyone in two minutes. He knew Beaver Creek well ,and knew that it was quite small for four teams to fight in. Must be only on or two left per team he thought. As he reached for his sniper rifle ammo he noticed that he no longer had any ammo left. Even though he figured that there were only about six more adversaries he also knew that the best were always last. He leaped stealthly from the tree as he headed for Blue Base. As he entered the base he felt a sudden chill. I probably won't need this for long he thought as he dropped his sniper rifle to pick up a magnum. He moved silently through the base ,knowing that an adversary could be right around the corner. As Jude entered the back room of Blue Base he felt that sudden chill again.

"William," called Jude over his com as looked around the room,"I need to know how did you do that fancy grenade trick 'cause I think I'm going to need it."

"Just throw the grenade right before he kills you." replied William as he fired off a sniper shot.

"Okay ,thanks," said Jude as he pulled out a grenade for his unknown enemy. Then ,from behind he heard the hissing sound of an activated plasma grenade. He whirled around quickly and through his own fragmentation ,but right after he threw it the plasma grenade was stuck to his face plate. He tried to move it so he could see his killer ,but the grenade fuse was to short. His grenade went off first. The screech told him he'd hit his mark ,but his joy was quickly extinguished by the grenade on his now torched faceplate. Next thing he knew he was in the post-battle room surrounded by the surviving teams.

"Did we win?" asked Bubble in an anxious voice.

"Of course ,Bubble. Did you think we'd lose?" stated Kiley sarcasticaly.

"No, I was just asking ,so knock it off." said Bubble with a little tone of anger in his voice.

"Okay you two," boomed a loud voice from above,"we're about to start the next match. The teams this time will be Jude , Hashbrown , Kiley , Goober , Joseph , and Laura on Red Team. Bubble , William , Ranger , Jim , Estev , and Bob on Blue Team. The level will be Foundation. The rules are the same as before ,first team to lose all their members it out. Ready...BEGIN!!!"

The teams were ready for combat , they were ready to kill their opponents ,and they were ready for victory.

"Jude,"said Goober,"Kiley and Hashbrown wanted to go on recon ,but I decided I would let you command the team. Is that okay with you?"

"Sure ,I'll be the leader. Go ahead and tell Kiley she can take Joseph and Laura to the center bunker. Have them set up a position there then we'll give them further orders from there."

"Yes ,sir!" replied Goober as he trotted over to Kiley.
As Jude sat down in the corner to look over a map of the level he heard an extremely loud "What!" that almost caused him to fire his magnum. He looked up to see Kiley arguing with Goober.

I better fix the problem I've just created he thought as he waltzed over to were Kiley was standing. "Is there a problem ,soldier?" he asked in a stern ,calm voice.

"Yes ,there is a problem ,sir!" she yelled ,as Jude tried to restrain himself from backhanding her halfway across the room."Why on this good planet were you going to send Laura out with us on recon? She's not good at stealth! She is good at blowing things to smithereens!"

"The reason she is going with you ,Kiley , is because you are not just going down there for reconnosince. You are going to watch the enemy until they notice you ,then you will engage and destroy. That is why ,soldier."

"Oh...," remarked Kiley sheepishly ,"I'm sorry ,sir. I shouldn't have doubted your decision." With that she rounded up Laura ,and Joseph ,her brother ,and headed for the center bunker.

"What would you have me and Hashbrown do ,Jude?" asked Goober.

"Grab your sniper rifles ,and watch for the enemy." Jude said as walked towards the exit ,checking the amount of shells in his shotgun ,"Although I can't tell you who will win ,I can tell you that this battle won't last long."

 

[Tariel]

I'm taking it that we're just supposed to post our characters and/or stories here. If I'm wrong then someone please correct me and I'll fix it.
~An excerpt from SquadAK47.~
Full story may be found at HBOFF.BUNGIE.org
------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 1 : The Last Few Days​

William's pulse raced as he rounded the corner. He smiled when he found a dark hole in the side of the marble wall. As he sat down he checked the weapons he had left he knew his pursuer would soon find him. Okay ,Jude, we both have no ammo left, you have an energy sword, and I have a plasma grenade. I know I will die, but I'm taking you out with me he thought as he stood back up.

"So, William," said a voice from the outside ,"ready to die?"

Perfect."No ,Jude, I'm not." said William calmly as he activated his plasma grenade ,"Are you?"
Swinging his energy sword Jude tried to stop William ,but it was to late. As he watched William's decapited head fall to the ground Jude thought of how stupid he had been. Then the plasma grenade exploded.

Jude's pupil's dialated as his eyes grew accustomed to the bright lights of S.o.T.o.F. (Spartan Training Facility).He yawned as the simulation pod opened and released him from the cramped tube. As he exited the simulation pod something hit him in the back with the force of a Warthog. Oh no, he thought as he turned to see William's face. It was blood red from laughter.

"That's the third time this week that I've got you that way ,Jude!" said William still hysterical with laughter, "you must have the memory of a goldfish or something!"

"Very funny ,William," answered Jude as he shut the simulation pod,"but I almost had you this time. Just a little bit lower and you would have missed." Jude continued his conversation as they entered the barracks. He knew today was special ,but the reason for it being special had slipped away."I can't remember what today is!"said Jude irritabely."Do remember what today is ,William?"

"It's Tuesday ,shrimpfest at the seafood bar at Sector 3 ,the night they send us the report from Reach ,and the one you forgot was that today is the day we are having the last of the sparring matches to decide the members of the permanent teams."

Jude just stared at William for a moment. "How do you read people's minds like that?"he asked shaking his head.

"It's a gift,"replied William as he opened his weapon's closet.

"Do you know the outcome?"he aked ,half-heartedly believing it would come true.

"No,"answered William as he put on his helmet,"but I have a feeling it will come down to me and you...again,"and with that being said he left the barracks to go sample the shrimpy goodness of the bar at Sector 3.

I sometimes wonder about him thought Jude as wondered the halls of S.o.T.o.F.. If I'm going to win I will have to practice,but there's no time left for practice.I need to be more patient is what it is.

"Hey ,Jude," called a voice from behind,"wait for us!" As the figures came closer Jude tell that it was Ranger and Jim."Jude, we just heard from the counselor that they are going to move the battles up two hours. We'll be starting in about forty-five minutes.Isn't that awesome!"said Ranger. He was already suited up for battle mentally and physically.

"They've already put up the battle orders too,"said Jim who was also suited up."It seems that you're up against William ,16IQ ,Hashbrown ,Kiley ,Laura ,and spartans from different stations."

"Are there any from Reach?" asked Jude who was now deep in thought.

"No, the last anyone heard from them a small Covenant force was about to attack it."

"Don't worry Jude,"said Ranger,"they have the Master Chief. What could possibly go wrong?"

"I guess you have a point." said Jude ,still lost in thought."I'll see you guys after I win the sparring matches."

"Whatever,"said Ranger sarcasticaly as he and Jim walked down a different corridor.
__________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 2 : Debriefed​

"All spartans report to combat simulation for sparring matches. I repeat. All spartans report to combat simulation for sparring matches,"barked huge speakers from S.o.T.o.F.'s blindingly white ceilings. Jude was suited up and ready for anything. As he walked to the simulation room he could feel the tenseness in the air.

The best trained units in the NAVY were about to try to kill all the others so that they could be the leader of their very own death squad. Jude knew it would be tough not only did he have to face spartans whose moves and battle strategies he knew ,but he would at the same time have to face opponents whose strategies and moves he did not know.

As he entered the simulation room he was amazed at how many spartans were here. There must be at least one hundred and seventy-five! He stepped up to the registration machine and began his usual and frustrating endevour to get the machine to let him in.

"State your verification number ,spartan."said the machine in a raspy emotionless voice.

"Spartan-258. Name Jude."

"Please, state verification number only."

"Spartan-258."

"State verification pasword."

Why do we even have these stupid registration machines? "The koalas eat flesh at midnight."

"State rank."

"Petty Officer."

"Welcome Petty Officer-258. Please enjoy your stay in simulation hall 1/B."

"Finally," thought Jude as he entered the main hallway,"I'll enjoy my stay when they get rid of those confounded registration machines." Five minutes later all the spartans from S.o.T.o.F. were gathered in Locker Corridor-A to be debriefed on the way things would be working during the battles.

"Four teams of four spartans each will be battling in the first round."stated Sgt. Hypes,"Who will be on which team will be decided by the battle network computer. The first team to lose all their members will be illiminated. After that round you will be divided into two teams. These two teams will join the remaining spartans from the other bases. After a few more rounds of that the rest of the battles will be no teams. Are there any questions?"asked the sargeant. After a few moments of silence the sargeant issued the spartans to simulation pods to begin the battles.
__________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 3 : The Battles Begin​

Jude opened his eyes to the lush ,digital ,simulation world he knew so well. By seeing his surroundings he could tell that they were at Battle Creek ,or Beaver Creek as it was now known. His team ,green team ,was composed of Kiley ,William ,Bubble ,and himself.

"We'll go over the rules one more time before we start,"said Sgt. Hypes from inside their H.U.D.s,"You will each have one life. If you get killed you will be out the rest of the match. If you die and your team wins ,you will be automatically transported to the next arena. If your team loses you will be pulled out of simulation mode ,and you can watch the rest of the matches from the lobbies in halls 1/B ,4/F ,and 11/D. The match will begin now!" Even though the match had just started there was already chaos. Bubble had accidentally committed suicide with a rocket launcher while trying to take out Jim. Toting his sniper rifle Jude rushed up the path opposite of the giant arch and jumped into a nearby tree. His cobalt armor blended well with the leaves in the tree.

"William, I am in position ,over,"said Jude over the com.

"Copy that ,Jude , I'm in position as well."

"Good,"said Jude as he lined up a spartan's head in his crosshairs,"very good."

After about two minutes of intense fighting Jude was suprised by the fact that he hadn't seen anyone in two minutes. He knew Beaver Creek well ,and knew that it was quite small for four teams to fight in. Must be only on or two left per team he thought. As he reached for his sniper rifle ammo he noticed that he no longer had any ammo left. Even though he figured that there were only about six more adversaries he also knew that the best were always last. He leaped stealthly from the tree as he headed for Blue Base. As he entered the base he felt a sudden chill. I probably won't need this for long he thought as he dropped his sniper rifle to pick up a magnum. He moved silently through the base ,knowing that an adversary could be right around the corner. As Jude entered the back room of Blue Base he felt that sudden chill again.

"William," called Jude over his com as looked around the room,"I need to know how did you do that fancy grenade trick 'cause I think I'm going to need it."

"Just throw the grenade right before he kills you." replied William as he fired off a sniper shot.

"Okay ,thanks," said Jude as he pulled out a grenade for his unknown enemy. Then ,from behind he heard the hissing sound of an activated plasma grenade. He whirled around quickly and through his own fragmentation ,but right after he threw it the plasma grenade was stuck to his face plate. He tried to move it so he could see his killer ,but the grenade fuse was to short. His grenade went off first. The screech told him he'd hit his mark ,but his joy was quickly extinguished by the grenade on his now torched faceplate. Next thing he knew he was in the post-battle room surrounded by the surviving teams.

"Did we win?" asked Bubble in an anxious voice.

"Of course ,Bubble. Did you think we'd lose?" stated Kiley sarcasticaly.

"No, I was just asking ,so knock it off." said Bubble with a little tone of anger in his voice.

"Okay you two," boomed a loud voice from above,"we're about to start the next match. The teams this time will be Jude , Hashbrown , Kiley , Goober , Joseph , and Laura on Red Team. Bubble , William , Ranger , Jim , Estev , and Bob on Blue Team. The level will be Foundation. The rules are the same as before ,first team to lose all their members it out. Ready...BEGIN!!!"

The teams were ready for combat , they were ready to kill their opponents ,and they were ready for victory.

"Jude,"said Goober,"Kiley and Hashbrown wanted to go on recon ,but I decided I would let you command the team. Is that okay with you?"

"Sure ,I'll be the leader. Go ahead and tell Kiley she can take Joseph and Laura to the center bunker. Have them set up a position there then we'll give them further orders from there."

"Yes ,sir!" replied Goober as he trotted over to Kiley.
As Jude sat down in the corner to look over a map of the level he heard an extremely loud "What!" that almost caused him to fire his magnum. He looked up to see Kiley arguing with Goober.

I better fix the problem I've just created he thought as he waltzed over to were Kiley was standing. "Is there a problem ,soldier?" he asked in a stern ,calm voice.

"Yes ,there is a problem ,sir!" she yelled ,as Jude tried to restrain himself from backhanding her halfway across the room."Why on this good planet were you going to send Laura out with us on recon? She's not good at stealth! She is good at blowing things to smithereens!"

"The reason she is going with you ,Kiley , is because you are not just going down there for reconnosince. You are going to watch the enemy until they notice you ,then you will engage and destroy. That is why ,soldier."

"Oh...," remarked Kiley sheepishly ,"I'm sorry ,sir. I shouldn't have doubted your decision." With that she rounded up Laura ,and Joseph ,her brother ,and headed for the center bunker.

"What would you have me and Hashbrown do ,Jude?" asked Goober.

"Grab your sniper rifles ,and watch for the enemy." Jude said as walked towards the exit ,checking the amount of shells in his shotgun ,"Although I can't tell you who will win ,I can tell you that this battle won't last long."

the idea is to post parts of your stories that you think accurately portray a particular character of yours. Yours looks good...just let me know which character is the one that you're trying to show. And feel free to make any changes you feel are necessary.

 

[Spartan006]

The main person would be Jude. Also if you would like to read the rest of it I would be happy to send it to you.

 

[Tariel]

The main person would be Jude. Also if you would like to read the rest of it I would be happy to send it to you.

sure, that would be great I would love to read it. Just let me know if you want feedback...

 

[jesusmysaviour76]

This is a character called Sheree that I am using in the new book I'm currently writing.

Character one.

Sheree was born in the year of 1993, blonde hair tightly curled and slicked to her head. Her mother’s face that of relief and worry, listening for her small babies first cry that doesn't come. Doctor’s begin rushing to snatch the baby away; tubes begin to be inserted into the tiny mouth. Sheree hadn’t started breathing, her mother panicking not knowing what is going on. The room, a mixture of panic and action, everyone had a job to do, but no one seemed to know what they were doing. Nobody could answer the cries of a desperate mother praying that her daughter hang onto life. Nobody noticed the blood that began to flow, no one saw as one life came to be, another slipped away.

Sheree raised by her father had not only lost her mother the day of her birth, she had also lost her ability to talk, walk or function properly in society. She had been born with a debilitating illness called cerebral palsy. Sheree hated it; she hated having to be put into a school especially designed for others like her. But one thing Sheree's mother had left her with in those few moments was her faith. Sheree knew that she wouldn’t always be this way, yet one day she would be able to walk, she would be able to communicate through her own voice box, not that of her desk computer, she would be able to reach out to her father and hold his face in her hands.

Every night she prayed that God would heal her; she believed she would see that day come to fruition. Now at the age of thirteen with the pastor of her church Michael Adams, her father and new stepmother, she tentatively took the first step from her wheel chair. Everyone was cheering, praising God, it was a miracle. Sheree could feel nothing but elation as the power of God’s hand moved through her in a way she had never felt before. She felt that she was on a cloud, how wonderful it felt to have her feet on firm ground, to feel the strength in her legs, her muscles surging, lengthening, and becoming stronger. The room become surreal. Sheree’s ears began to ring, fear gripping at her throat, and a feeling of love, wanting to cry out and cheer alongside the many people watching at the revival tent. No longer could she hear the deafening sound of the people, all she could feel was a ominous power moving her legs one at a time. Stepping out into the stage. Looking around Sheree felt God’s hand guiding her as she looked out to the audience, fear struck her as she began to see people falling to the ground and running out of the tent.

Light, brighter than anything she had ever seen before, shone from the back of the tent piercing Sheree’s body like a knife. Wings huge, covering the entire tent, light glowing around them in a pure white, it was blinding. Sheree's legs began to buckle underneath her as the glory of God fell down around her in droplets of white glory, the stage began to flood as the white drops grew into a river, torrenting it's way through the many empty seats and onto the grassed area, covering everything it touched in bright light, and rainbow colours.

Sheree wanted to stand as tears fell from her cheeks flooding the stage in front of her, suddenly from the pit of her stomach she felt a guttural roar surge it’s way through her throat as her lips felt the vibrations of a scream. For the first time Sheree spoke in the presence of her father, stepmother, pastor and hundred’s of onlookers. Her words were simple, “thankyou” she screamed over and over until her throat ached and she couldn’t speak above a whisper.

Suddenly the light became even brighter and those left in the tent, some were hiding, some who had fallen face down on the ground, began to run for their cars, fear flooding throughout as a voice so loud shook the stage and the tent.

“Your path has been chosen Sheree, you are My warrior, and it is My will that you work the work of righteousness”

Sheree, felt comfort as the angels, full of light and glory began to walk forward, she watched in amazement as the tent simply lifted as the drew near, like the tent grew legs and was as afraid as the people. Knowing she too should be afraid, but feeling nothing but peace for these large creatures, nothing like she had seen in pictures before. Their faces were that of a ferocious lion, their wings that of eagles, they did not fly or walk yet simply glided towards her.

"Lord" Sheree whispered, yet the bigger angel of the two shook his head slightly.

“Sheree, we are only mere messengers of the Lord on high. You have been chosen, you are one of seven to battle the war of righteousness”.

Sheree was not of understanding as she walked forward wanting to ask what the battle of righteousness was, wanting to understand what was going on, why she had been chosen. But before the words would form in her mouth the angels had left, the tent was back in place; the seats overturned where people had been sitting, and the people all gone. Sheree turned back to see her father and stepmother laying on the ground their face buried into the stage, and in the corner Michael crying out to God, the only sound to be heard, were his sobs asking for forgiveness.

So Sheree’s path began, her search to become a warrior, her search to find the truth, to find the war of righteousness, her search of understanding.

 

[Bernergirl]

This is a story I just wrote. I wasn't sure whether I wanted Daniel or Sarah to be my character, but because it is written from her perspective and, thus, more intimate with her, we'll say it's Sarah.

***

I didn’t quite know what to think at that point. I would rather no one had seen the horror that was galloping through my icy veins, but the silence told me that it was as plain as a Polaroid snapshot. Meanwhile, Daniel just cried.

Really, what is one supposed to assume when one’s attempt at bravery results in giant teardrops? I had simply asked the boy to accompany me to a school dance, thinking that I would just casually drop the question, get the answer, and be off to hang with my friends. But life never is quite that simple.

“Daniel…” I had not the slightest idea what I ought to say to remedy the situation. “I – I’m sorry if I upset you. Um, here, have a tissue.” I pulled a Kleenex from the little travel pack that my mother insisted I bring with me to school. He didn’t seem to notice.

“No, that’s okay,” he whispered, wiping his face with his shirt sleeve. “I’m okay. It’s just, I – I’ve never been asked to a dance before.”
I thought I ought to say something like, “I find that hard to believe,” or, “Why not? You’re certainly dashing enough,” or something charming like that, but the words came to mind too late to seem fitting. I admit that I was wondering why in the world he was crying for it having been his first time asked to a dance. The thought crossed my mind that he had wanted me to ask him, or vice versa, but I cast it out as foolish.

At this point, most of my classmates had returned to their own business, leaving us in the classroom with only a few other people. The lunch bell was still ringing in my ears. Or perhaps it was something else making that terrible sound. Either way, I paid it little attention.

Daniel began to gather his books silently, not daring, I supposed, to explain why he had wept at my simple proposal. But God again proved me wrong, as he began to talk after a moment’s pause. “I guess I just don’t really expect these things – normal stuff – to happen to me. I just can’t help but feel like I’m completely isolated in my life because I am under different circumstances than everyone else.”

Different circumstances? What different circumstances?

“I don’t really understand…”

“What, you haven’t heard about me? I’m apparently all over the local grapevine.” He wasn’t merely dripping sarcasm; he was practically puking it up.

“I don’t like to gossip,” I responded softly, slightly hurt that after having had the confidence to ask him to the dance, I was now the subject of his sarcastic comment.

He apparently got the message. His expression warmed and he said in a lower voice, “I didn’t mean to suggest you were a gossip, Sarah. I just… Sometimes I really don’t like being me…”

My response sounded somewhat akin to the voice of my three year old sister as she pleads with our mother for something she wants, “Why?”

“Sarah, I’m – I –” He looked at me for a moment. His eyes were not the carefree eyes of a simple teenager. They were weighted down with the burden of early age. He was sick; I could see it. His illness was spiritual and his hunger was much. I did not know, however, that in that analogy I had hit the mark precisely.

Daniel looked away. “Sarah, I’m sick.”

And it was then that I knew that Daniel was not going to be simply some date to the dance.

THE END​

 

[Steadfast7]

well, here is my entry. I hope it is alright.


(Note: “Padraic” is Irish, pronounced “Pad-rick,” and he is my character.)

Blood, dirt, sweat. The only reality. He had to get away, he had to escape. Run. Hide. No! Fight. But he could not. He could not take the life of another, could not taint his sword with the blood of an enemy. An enemy who had a life, a family, a home, all like he did. He was a doctor, not a butcher. A healer, not a destroyer.
He had to escape. Where, he did not know. But far away from wars, from the needless shedding of innocent blood.
Already the army of the enemy was nearing the village. Soon there would be fire and tortured screams of the dying. But at the moment there was time to get out of the village.
There was time…
With that final thought, Padraic O’Craige turned sharply and strode quickly into the barn, ignoring the desperate cries of women as they tried to barricade their homes and say a last farewell to husbands heading off to their doom. His large work-hardened hands moved swiftly as he secured a load to a frantic donkey.
“Padraic!” A sharp, hardened call from the front of the barn.
Padraic turned slowly, not wanting to confront his father. His father was all that he was not; brave, loyal, steadfast.
His father did not wait for an answer, gathering his son’s intent to leave. “Padraic. You are going to take up the family’s sword. Defend our honor to the death, for death shall surely be upon us. Do not ruin our name by fleeing like a heartless coward!”
Padraic could just stare numbly at this man who raised him, until he seemed to gather together his senses.
“I cannot.” His answer sounded surprisingly firm to his ears.
His father stiffened, like he had taken a blow he would never quite recover from. He crossed the barn and looked into Padraic’s eyes, his stare icy. “If you walk away, you can never return. You will ruin our honor. One who does not fight, does not take up his sword to defend his family, his life, should never have been born.”
With his words lingering in the air, the father turned his back on his son. Forever.
Padraic was left standing there next to his snorting donkey, knowing all was hopeless. His father would be killed, his mother and sisters taken as slaves or killed as well.
With a cry of anguish he dropped to his knees and clenched his fists. “Why? Why will they not come with me? They would rather stay in this village to die!”
Suddenly his head snapped up. Far away, a faint, dull pounding. A pounding of millions of footsteps belonging to the legions of the Army.
No one had ever defeated the Army of the North. They came in the night, pillaging and destroying, and falling back to the North. Where exactly they went to, no one knew. But they left whole towns ravaged, with not one creature, animal or man, left alive.
His mind blank, Padraic slung the rest of the load over the kicking donkey, strapped on his sword for good measure, and led the animal out of the barn. Everywhere there was mayhem; screaming and crying and last farewells.
Hoping no one would notice, he slipped through the crowds and made it to the entrance of the village, which was being barricaded by the men. He managed to squeeze through the gates just as they were being closed.
He did not look back. He could not look back, knowing his resolve would be lost. But he did realize something; he had to get off the road. Looking north, he could see the Army rapidly approaching, the soldiers’ footsteps resounding doom in Padraic’s ears. Pulling the donkey with him, he half-ran, half-walked as quickly as he could, to get far away into the forest. Knowing he risked being seen, he tied the donkey to a somewhat concealing thicket, and then ducked himself behind a tree.
And then the forest was alive with death.
Padraic was a large man, tall and ruddy and sturdy of stature. But he wished he was smaller as the Army passed by him by not three feet. Their swords glinted off the dusky moonlight, matching the wicked gleam in their eyes. Their endless marching footsteps tormented his mind; with each one, they were closer to his village. And he could do nothing to halt them.
Suddenly, as quickly as the Army came, it passed through. The forest was quiet and dark and comforting once again. Padraic had grown up in this forest; he knew the trees and the birds and the fleet-footed deer as well as he knew his trade as a healer. He could shoot a sling at a hair’s breadth and not miss; he was tanned and strong from long hours in the sun.
Perhaps I could just live in the forest, Padraic thought. But no, I have to get away. The survivors in my village, if there are any, will be horribly mad at me for deserting them.
Deserting them…
That, in essence, was what he had done, was what he was doing. He was a spineless coward in everyone’s eyes, including his own. He fingered the sword at his side as he reclaimed his donkey and began his journey.

***​

The night was still as Padraic bounded down to a rushing stream. He had been sitting under a tree far enough away from his village so that he could not hear its destruction. Padraic, despite himself, had not figured out what to do. He could not bear to wander aimlessly; he had to have a goal in mind. He was, in fact, a rather thoughtful man, always thinking about anything thoroughly before he did it. That was why, people said, he made a good doctor.
Suddenly he paused. A noise. Padraic knew it did not belong to a deer. They did not crash through the woods, panting.
Someone was coming.
As quickly as a deer he lithely sprang behind a nearby rock. Then the sounds ceased. He raised his head, curious, and then quickly lowered it again when a deep, fearsome bellow pierced the air. He waited to be surrounded, to be run through with an enemy sword, but nothing came.
Slowly, cautiously, Padraic stood, his keen eyes searching the terrain in the darkness about him. Furrowing his brow, he hiked back up from the riverbank, wondering who had yelled.
He froze. There, in a grove of trees in front of him, was a woman. A frightened, pale woman, pressed desperately up against a tree. But it was not her that made him freeze. It was the formidable, burly man standing over her, holding a sword to her throat. He was obviously a soldier from the Army as witnessed by his armor. His words, gruff and grating the very sound of ruin, reached Padraic.
“You will die, woman. What did you seek to gain in running? Escape is useless. Pointless. The Army of the North is undefeatable.” The large man bent down until he was looking her in the eye, and sneered at her.
The woman seemed to be gathering her bravery in the face of certain death. “No! Your pride will be your downfall. You will never be able to snuff out all life.”
At this, the despicable soldier grabbed her hair and turned her head towards his already bloody sword.
“Your blood shall be mingled this night with all your other hapless kinfolk’s. There is no hope left in the land, for you or anyone else!”
He drew back his sword, taking a last leering look at the woman, who now had a resigned, defeated look on her beautiful face.
And Padraic could not stand any longer. With a roaring cry of outrage, he leaped into the clearing, drawing his sword with a metallic ring that resounded through the trees.
Shoving the woman down by her hair, the man turned towards Padraic. His burly features were drawn up in a menacing snarl.
“So you wish to die as well, boy.” It was a statement, not a question.
With another roar of pent-up anger, Padraic threw himself at the man, taking him off guard for a brief instant. But the soldier, battle-hardened and fierce, raised his sword and met Padraic’s thrust, parrying his well-aimed blow.
Soon Padraic felt himself losing ground, being pushed towards a tree. He desperately put all his muscle into swinging the sword, which only put a look of scorn on the experienced soldier’s face. Padraic was being pushed backwards, ever backwards. Soon he would be cornered against the tree. The big man raised his sword above his head and brought it down on Padraic, who recovered in time to meet the blow, the crash of it resonating into the night.
Suddenly Padraic felt the hard wood of a tree pressing against his back, and knew he had lost, would pay for it with his life. In despair he lashed out at the soldier, kicking with all his might. His kick hit something, for he heard the man cry out. His thoughts a blur, he turned around and climbed up the large tree behind him, which fortunately was sturdy enough to hold him.
The soldier below him stood up with a roar, looking around for his opponent, his sword held in front of him threateningly in the darkness.
Padraic threw himself out of the tree onto the man, feeling the sick crunch as his sword met bone. Pain pierced through his side, but he did not notice it. His enemy’s sword fell with a clatter on the hard ground, as still and silent as its former wielder.
With a moan Padraic rolled himself out from under the body of the man he had just killed, shocked by the deed he had not yet let himself believe he had done. He stood and noticed his side was pouring sickeningly red blood. He sank to his knees and gasped, the pain suddenly coursing through him.
Only then did he notice the woman, still crouched under a tree, staring at him as if she could not fathom what had just taken place.
Padraic pressed his hand up to his side and quietly moaned as he held it back up, stained red.
The woman quivered slightly, not sure if he was an enemy, but realizing he was bleeding to death.
Padraic bit his lip until it bled. “Please…my donkey…down by the river. Bring it…” His breath was coming in short, jerky gasps, and he struggled to remain on his knees.
The woman seemed to come out of a trance at his words, and resolve returned to her eyes. She nodded and sprinted down to the river, bringing up the bleating donkey.
He was lying on the ground, struggling for breath as his lifeblood poured out of him. Terrified suddenly, the woman grabbed a tunic from the donkey’s pack, the first thing she could find, and raced over to him. She pressed the shirt against his side to quell the flow of blood. He stiffened from the pain, and then laid still on the ground, unconscious, the agony too much.
Bringing the donkey’s pack down next to where he lay, she bound another tunic to his side, which was almost instantly soaked red. She continued to do this until finally the bleeding slowed, leaving her not knowing what to do, on the ground next to at least ten blood-soaked articles of clothing and a dying man she knew nothing about. He was breathing shallowly, so shallowly she could scarcely detect he was breathing at all.
She looked him over, seeing with relief the gaping puncture in his side was his only wound. He was tall and looked strong and agile, bronzed by the sun. He had hair the color of a sunset, red and gold and brown at once; mussed and dirty, it curled slightly over his forehead. Before he had shut them, she had seen his eyes, a piercing light green color. He looked all too young, too young to die...

There's more to the story, but I didn't want to make it too long. I can post it if you want to read it though, since that ending stinks

 

[jesusfreak10537]

Sorry I got this in so late! My character is Grayson.


The map showed the town of Volet, located in a picturesque and prosperous state in the Midwest, as one little dot amid the cornfields. This depiction was, indeed, quite apt; Volet was surrounded by endless cornfields. But the fact that Volet was only one dot was completely incorrect. The one dot should have been split in half, just like the current state of the town.
Rival gangs and vandals had torn the once-sleepy town apart. Murderers roamed the streets; petty and experienced thieves alike prowled through neighborhoods that shown with streetlights that had been lit in a vain attempt to keep them away. Shoot-outs were common, though these were not the almost quaint gunfights as shown in the Old West towns to appease the tourists. These were bloody affairs, ripping both the town and the families of the town apart. Fathers saw their families shot in drive-by shootings, widows starved as the rich gangsters of the town feasted on the blood of Volet, and homeless children trudged through town, searching for food and anything other than the greedy hands of the thieves that ruled the town.
So went the dark thoughts of one of those homeless children as he leaned against a tall building in a back alley. Here he had found a brief respite to the violence, a small sanctuary where he could at least catch his breath. He had been running all day, not just from the thieves, but from the local policemen. The teenager rolled his eyes and slunk deeper into the shadows as a shrieking siren roared by. Half of the police force was bought off by the gangsters, and the other half conveniently looked in the other direction. But the boy didn’t care about that. Right now he just wanted to sleep.
Grayson Renaulte considered himself lucky to have found the alley. It was not being fought over by other hungry teenagers, nor was it a hideaway of more thieves. His cobalt blue eyes flicked across the alley, examining it as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his tattered jacket. He overlooked nothing, and noted with satisfaction the pile of old tires in the middle of the alleyway. It would make an excellent shelter for the scared, fugitive teenager.
At the age of sixteen, Grayson should have been neither a fugitive nor especially scared. But the tall, lanky teen— he had once been a football jock— had experienced a life-shattering jolt two months before. He shuddered as he folded his large frame into the shadows behind the tires. He could still smell the smoke, feel the flames, hear the screams as his school had been burned by arsons, killing his mother, who was a math teacher, and his father, the school principal. With all the other deaths and destruction, he had been overlooked. The arsons next burned his house that night, leaving him with just a few precious objects he had managed to salvage. In less than a day, his life had been destroyed.
Grayson sighed and leaned his head against the cold stone wall, wincing momentarily at the distant sound of gunfire. More killings. Not unusual. He relaxed and wrapped his hands around his threadbare backpack. The backpack held his very existence: some cans of food, a lighter, a worn t-shirt, and a ripped, faded copy of A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. The book was especially important to him. His dream was to be an English teacher, to pass on the amazing English language to children, and have them read great literary classics. The book represented this last, fading dream. But at least he still possessed the classic. His dream would probably never come true now, but at least he had this last thread of his old life.
Grayson was jerked to consciousness once more. Screams filtered toward him in the air, followed by gunshots, then the night again faded into a deadly silence. This time he alertly raised himself to his feet, his left hand reaching toward the army knife tucked away in his jeans pocket. His blond hair caught in the glow of a nearby streetlight, shimmering as he moved lithely toward the edge of his rubber-smelling refuge. He had heard footsteps running down the alley, and now he was forced to investigate who had run into his sanctuary. It had cost him before to not be overly wary; a black eye and a vicious scar on his forearm bore proof to that. Grayson had since learned it was better to injure before he could be injured in the town of Volet.
He heard the sound of panicked breathing to his left. He moved in that direction, only to bump into a tire. The heavy tire hit the cement heavily in the darkness, and the breathing ceased. Now Grayson didn’t know where this new enemy was hiding. The streetlight had seemed to go strangely dim, and he paused to recalculate.
He was knocked over, sent flying into the firm brick wall as a tire slammed into him from behind. He saw a small form dart out from behind a tire, and he stumbled to his feet. “Who’s there?” he rasped, his voice sounding strangely hollow in the whirling dark. He held his knife in front of him for protection.
The small form flew at him, flailing wildly. Grayson realized the person was trying to make it to the other side of the alley, to escape, but not without killing him first. This realization was cut short as the figure slammed into him, knocking him into the wall again. The figure then turned to run down the alley.
Time to stop thinking, Gray, he thought to himself with steely resolve, I have to survive. I’ll never learn to defend myself if I just let all my assailants run away. He launched himself to his feet and sprinted after the person, using his football skills to jump into a flying tackle. He slammed the person to the ground, surprised when he heard a grunt of pain. Oh, my goodness, I hurt someone! he thought, panicking momentarily and loosening his grip on the person’s arms.
The figure jerked his head into Grayson’s. It didn’t work like it does in the movies, and they both recoiled in pain for a second. Then the struggle began.
Grayson resumed his death grip on the person’s arms, more scared at what would happen if he didn’t than thinking of his own welfare. The person managed to kick at Grayson and was rewarded with a hurt-filled grunt as sparks pf pain shot up Grayson’s spine. The person’s knee had landed squarely in his back. Angry now, Grayson fought back fiercely. The figure was small compared to Grayson, so he managed to shove the person against the wall. He had lost his knife, but he could see it glinting in the dim light a few feet away. If he could just reach it…Wait! I can’t actually kill someone!
“Wait!” the figure suddenly screeched, “don’t hurt me, please! I didn’t do nuthin’! Well. I did do somethin’, but it weren’t to you! Just let me go!”
Grayson happily abandoned thoughts of his knife and glared down at the person. “You shoved me into the wall! Twice! And kicked me! And barged into my alleyway.” His blue eyes glinted almost savagely.
“You aren’t gonna kill me, are ya?” the person whimpered softly.
“Well—no, I guess not…but what were you doing—?” Grayson’s question was cut off as the person ducked, wrenching Grayson’s arms loose and sprinting past him. “Hey!”
Grayson grabbed the person’s arm, twisting him around violently. “I was asking you a question—” Now his words were not cut off from an interruption, but because he was bewildered.
The dirt-sodden cap had fallen off the person’s head, and amber-colored hair flowed around his—her!—shoulders. Grayson bit his lip and stepped back. “Y-you’re a girl!”
“Duh.” The girl replied, brushing herself off defiantly. “Now will ya please step aside and let me run outta this alley here?” She twirled her hair around her fingers and tucked it back into the cap.
Grayson involuntarily stepped back, stooping down to pick up his knife and stow it safely in his pocket. “But what are you doing out here?”
The girl sighed. “We all got our troubles, ya idiot. Thanks for letting me run through yer esteemed alley.”
He frowned. “But what could you be possibly running from?” Stupid question, Gray. You always have to think too much.
“We’re all running from somethin’.” The girl pursed her lips, and then jumped as shouts reached them. “And here comes the thing I’m runnin’ from.” She paused for a second, then turned and sprinted out of the alley.
Grayson was only alone for a few seconds. Three fully-uniformed police officers jumped into his alley, shining their floodlights into his eyes. He squinted and held up a calloused hand. It was rare to see police in this part of Volet.
“Hey, you!” an officer barked. “You see anyone run this way?”
Grayson glared at the officer. “You mean out of the myriad of thieves, gangsters, and general unsavory characters all running past here? No.”
The officer smirked. “Unsavory characters? You’ve been reading too much, boy. And has it ever occurred to you that you may be one of those unsavory characters?”
“I’m not.” Grayson insisted. “I’m only here because I have no other place to go.”
“Whatever,” the officer snapped impatiently. “Let’s start at question one. You see anyone run past here?”
Grayson hesitated. “Yes. A couple of minutes ago. Went that way.” He pointed in the direction the officers had come from.
“Well, maybe you do have a brain after all.” The officer chuckled. “Thanks, kid. You’re really helpin’ out the gangsters. They really want that arsonist.”
“Arsonist?” Grayson frowned.
“Sure thing. She burned down a school and an entire neighborhood belonging to the gangsters. They want her bad.” The officer chuckled again and then left the alley with his cohorts. Grayson was left alone in the sudden darkness. Even the lone streetlight seemed to have disappeared.
Arsonist. School. Neighborhood. Could it be…? Grayson winced. It could be true. But why would the gangsters have owned the school his father was the principal of? Unless his father had been a gangster.
Grayson looked in the direction the girl had disappeared in. The police officers would never find her. She was one lost person in the haystack that was Volet. He shook his head. He needed answers. He needed to find out the true nature of his deceased parents. He needed to get out of this town! Grayson sighed heavily and retreated to his stack of tires. He could sit down and go to sleep right now, and wake to another day of violence and perhaps even death. Scowling fiercely, Grayson sat down next to his pack and stared into the darkness. He could feel his eyes getting heavy. Grayson reached for his pack to make sure it was safe…and felt his ripped book. He grabbed it almost reluctantly and clutched it to himself. Closing his eyes, he could imagine himself teaching children, reading novels, doing good, being successful…
His blue eyes shone in the darkness as he tucked the book back into his pack. He stood slowly, warily, and slung the pack over his shoulder. His tall frame melted into the blackness of the night as he left his alley to face the world…or at least the volatile town of Volet.

 

[PaladinWithGun2]

Here's my entry, but maybe it's not quite what you're looking for. Anyway, it's from the first chapter of a novel I'm working on (and working, working, and working...)

"Officer Harris, what do you think of the jury's verdict in the case?" The Eyewitness news talking head shoved a microphone at me, which I batted away like a bug.
"No comment. And you can quote me on that."

Once I was clear of the reporters at the courthouse I did my best to take the tie off without shredding it or choking myself, even though either action would have been a release from the frustration I felt. Still surrounded by a pack of newsies, Emilio Vargas-Rios stopped crowing about the victory for justice he had received just long enough to see me and smile. I kept a poker face, but could not avoid slamming the door of my Jeep shut. I used every ounce of cool I possessed to keep from running the piece of garbage over with the Cherokee as I pulled out onto Stone Boulevard.

A little more than a year before, Rios was just another drunken jerk that had decided to beat the crap out of his pregnant wife, Lupe. From what I learned later, it seemed to be a regular occurrence on any day ending in Y, except this time the neighbors in Barrio El Rio had had enough, and called the cops. My partner Phil Herrera and I answered the call.

I hated domestic disturbance calls. I had been through a dozen or so in twelve years in the force, but one was too many. I had not seen one that ended well for anyone involved, and I had yet to find a single cop in Tucson who would question my findings. On one occasion the wife was beaten so badly I could not tell what race she was, and yet these women would stand by their men, bail them out, and be used as a punching bag before a week was over. Sometimes they even tried to attack us for trying to arrest their men. At least the law had changed so we no longer needed them to press charges. If we saw any blood on Mrs. Jones, Mr. Jones got the cuff-and-stuff.

We pulled up in front of the Rios’ house just in time to see Mrs. Rios get launched through the front door and collapse on the front porch, crying hysterically. Blood was coming from her nose and mouth, and her left eye was swollen shut. As I approached the house Phil went to her side, talking in Spanish.

I had made it to the first step when Rios came charging out with a butcher knife, screaming obscenities in English and Spanish. He was so close I could have shot him and been exonerated by any court or IA hearing, but I did not want to kill him, so I pistol-whipped him with my Glock. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision I would later regret.

Rios was arrested and charged for attempted murder of a police officer and domestic violence, but with his trial a year or more away he was out on bail. He used his time efficiently, I have to give him that. He managed to clean up his act, borrow a good suit from his lawyer, and slapped the City of Tucson and me with a civil suit for excessive use of force. In the petition Rios claimed my “caveman tactics” had given him headaches so bad he could not work. Considering the idiot was a flagman for a street paving company, I thought it was pretty damned amusing.

I had been cleared by the department’s investigation, so I went the trial thinking Rios’ lawyer was going to get spanked. The spanking was mine: by the time the jury had heard from Rios’ doctors, Lupe, and some expert witnesses flown in from Los Angeles they could not wait to award the poor victim of police brutality a cool million in damages.

I was seething. I could not even get any comfort from knowing the criminal case was airtight, and that Rios would have a hard time spending a million dollars when the prison at Florence only lets an inmate spend forty dollars a week at the commissary. With that kind of money behind him, I realized that Rios could put together a legal team that might let him walk, even after trying to kill me.

I should have shot him, I fumed to myself. No chance of appeal from a sucking chest wound.

I was so worked up that I was almost home when I realized I still had to check on my Uncle Martin at Hansen’s Liquors. Cursing a blue streak, I quickly turned the Cherokee around and headed back towards the center of town.