First Place: Oncewaslost
Very beautiful, elegant, and yet so unelegant all in one. It's wonderful. I really can't say what it's like. Very wonderful.
The sky was deceptively blue. The air still, holding its breath as if waiting for a mighty blow. The grass fields stretched out toward the mountains, slowly becoming brambles and briars before climbing the cliffs. Silence settled over the land. A chilling cry rang through the air as buzzards circled overhead, announcing death and destruction with their presence. They moved in lazy circles, mere specks in the sky, but the observer could tell they were swooping lower on the nearly non-existent winds. Death on silent wings. The bodies of men spread across the field like broken and forgotten dolls. No sign of life moved though the battle had ended hours ago. The air was rank with the foul stench of the bodies and in the center of charred stretches of grass that littered the field, the shapes of what used to be men. The trees groaned, weeping for the lost souls, lifting bare branches to the sky in mournful supplication.
A city lay quiet, its walls blackened by soot and crumbling from the effects of war, overlooking the gruesome sight of what was once a battlefield. The victorious army straightened its ranks and marched to the walls of the city. The circling buzzards called for more blood and settled on bare branches as if to watch yet another battle. Beady eyes watched hungrily as the general stepped forward with two of his soldiers and hollered out. "Surrender the city. Your army is defeated and lies dead in the fields. The great city of Athens has fallen."
The words rang harsh in the air. The great city had fallen. Silence greeted them as they awaited official surrender. The silence stretched and the general sneered and prepared to pull his army back to lay siege on the city. Finally, the city moved. The thick wooden gates opened wide enough to let several, half-starved elders out. The general watched them shuffle forward, taking in their ragged appearance. Their robes hung off thin frames and dirt smudged their faces. The buzzards snapped their wings open and took flight with loud squawks, rising into the air to circle above the army. One of the men clutched a bundle to his chest, fingers tense in the fabric as he raised watery eyes to the general. The men bowed before the general and the bundle passed to the general. "The city is yours."
The general unwrapped the object, revealing a gold scepter, intricately engraved with the stories of the gods. The general smirked and rewrapped the scepter, dismissing the ragged men. The men scurried back to the city and the general turned to his army, thrusting the bundle into the air. The army cheered, raising their weapons in kind. The city cowered before their thunderous voices.
Bad news spreads like wildfire. The battlefield was still and the foreign soldiers marched in the streets. A crowd gathered to read the notice nailed on the post in the square, jostling each other to get a better view. The crowd was silent as those at the front read the notice aloud. Worried murmurs rose and spread through the city. Athens had fallen. A foreign nation was now in control of the city and the citizens had to pay the price for resistance. A man backed away from the muttering crowd and hurried from the forum. He wound his way through the nearly deserted streets and made sure no one followed him before he stepped into the dark interior of a home. He heard the sound of feet scuffling and a harsh whisper for silence. He smiled and called softly, "Thalia?"
A young woman stepped around the corner as she drew a small girl close to her body. "What's the news, Belen? What do they say?"
He grimaced. "It's not good."
A boy in his early teens stood next to the young woman and straightened his shoulders, puffing out his chest. "We can still defeat them, father."
Belen smiled sadly at his son. "I'm afraid not, Chiron."
The young girl clutched at her mother’s robes and whimpered in distress. Thalia returned a comforting hug, her eyes on her husband. "What do they say? What are the reparations?"
Belen grimaced again, looking down at his daughter in Thalia's arms. She gasped and pulled the girl back, fearing the answer she saw in his eyes. "No! I won't give them my daughter!"
"It's not certain yet, love." He sighed wearily, moving to take his small family in his arms. "You're aware of Minos' labyrinth? He's requiring seven of our most beautiful youths to be fed to the monster that lives inside."
She gasped, her eyes filling with hope. "Only seven?"
He shook his head. "Seven every year."
Thalia looked down at her daughter. Behind the baby fat and rounded features was the promise of a beautiful woman. Tears stung Thalia's eyes and she looked frantically at her husband. "What are we going to do?"
He touched his daughter’s plaited brown hair, heart breaking at the look in her eyes. "We must hide her. It's her only hope of survival."
Chiron looked at his parents, confusion in his eyes. "Hide my sister? Where?"
Belen looked at the frightened girl, coming to a decision. "The Temple."
Thalia shook her head stepping back from her husband. "No, I don't want my daughter to be a temple–"
He cringed, quickly cutting her off. "There are other temples. We'll find one that's safe. She'll be a priestess."
Thalia bit her lip. "But you need spiritual powers for that."
Belen hugged his family close, smoothing his daughter's brown hair affectionately. "Don't worry. We'll figure something out."
Second Place: Tariel
Very lovely piece of work. Like most of yours. It is very imaginative (sp?) and it gives a sence of wonder and expectation.
It was more than an underground city. It was even more than the underground kingdoms that had played such fantastic roles in the nearly-forgotten stories.
This was an entire underground world.
Yet this world was painfully barren; stone roads traversed stone fields between strong stone cities and delicate stone villages. But it was the rocky sky—that bleak ceiling—that hurt the most.
How many children would grow up believing that the imprisoning wall that hung above their heads was the sky?
How many would reject the tales of open land where the sky was blue and the grass was green?
The sun had never been so enticing, the grass never so alluring.
Yet the numb land was beautiful, once the eyes stopped searching for familiarity. Once the longing for life subsided, the majesty of the dead world was revealed. It was smooth, seamless, unnatural. The great cities melded into the ground and so were joined with even the humblest of villages. The palace, the ceiling, the huts, they were all one. Unity. That was the secret. Without unity, the hidden world would fall. The people must be united like their homes, or this defiance would be worthless. The people must bind themselves to this desolate land, and to each other. This cold, ancient air must become their breath; the haunting glow of the ceiling must become their sun.
The realm of light and of grass and of wind has rejected them; their only hope rested in this tomb.
A cruel, torturous silence covered the land. The habitual sounds of living—the conversations of animals and people, rush of the water, the laughter of the wind—were gone. It was as if the heartbeat of life itself had been silenced. In its place was the cry of the rock, begging to be recognized. Begging to be appreciated for its own worth.
Third Place: Kriegermädchen
It's good, but I don't know what the boys look like, the setting of the room, it's not very descrptive. But it did give me a feeling of urgency. Did this really happen?
Not far away from where I was sitting, two of the boys started wrestling and playing loudly. Remembering my role as the babysitter, I headed over to quiet them down. Mitchell, the older of the boys, had just stood up and started running away from the other when, unexpectedly, the brightly colored mat beneath his feet slid out from under him. The boy fell backwards, the back of his head hitting the sharp corner of a nearby table. Immediately he began screaming while clutching his injury. Maternal instincts kicking in, I rushed to his side and pressed my hands over his. I cradled the boy in my arms, trying my best to assure him that everything was alright. After several minutes, the boy’s sobbing had mostly subsided. He removed his hands from the back of his head, and to his horror, discovered that they were drenched with blood. My nurturing attitude rapidly transformed into a pure adrenaline rush as I fought back the urge to panic. Instantaneously Mitchell’s crying turned into wailing, causing my heart to beat that much faster. I reeled around to look at the child’s wound and discovered at the base of his skull a V-shaped gash, spurting blood down the back of his neck. Pressure, I thought urgently, I need to put pressure on that cut. Seizing Mitchell’s hands, I replaced them firmly over the site and pressed mine on top. Just keep calm, I told myself over and over.
