AOTW Hall of Fame

[Bliip]

Well people, this is a treat, and what some of you have been asking for. This is the Hall of Fame, where past AOTW winners will be recognized for their talents, and praised by comments and discussion from their fellow writers. Rules:

- You are allowed to, as it says above, comment and discuss winners from AOTWs past.
- NO SPAMMING!!! Please, just stay on topic.
- NO FLAMING!!! Only praise.
- Remember, it's not required to rep the winners, but it's always appreciated.

I still need subs 1-4, and i'll count 5.5 as Sub 5, because AOTW 5 never had a winner... so, here you are!

AOTW #3- Winner: darkisaac (Entry on Page 1)
AOTW #5- Winner: Faded (Entry on Page 1)
AOTW #6- Winner: Raven (Entry on Page 1)

 

[Bliip]

Entry #3- darkisaac

~Too Young to Die~

I hadn’t been ready for it.

Until now, it hadn’t seemed real. Hell, it hadn’t felt real; I had thought it was an abstract reality wholly isolated from my safe and predictable world. But now I realized I had set up illusory barriers, hopeful mirages, in order to detach myself from the world. Ironically, my pathetic attempts at escapism only served to augment the impact the truth would ultimately have upon me.

The earth shook in blazing anguish.

I closed my eyes and reached desperately for cover as the cacophonous roars from outside shook the poorly constructed walls of the room, threatening to bring the unbearable pain from the outside world into my small haven.

The room around me seemed to be spinning; the windows vibrating with ominous force and barely allowing a pale, opalescent shaft of light to enter and penetrate through the dark and dreary gloom. Dust had collected along every surface, giving the place the appearance of having been abandoned for some time; an assumption confirmed by the shredded, dismal appearance of the curtains, the cobwebs which hung flimsily all around, and the presence of a shattered mirror sprawled on the splintering wooden floor.

Another roar. This one more violent and deafening than the last; my ears rang painfully as the windows exploded in a crystalline shower of glistening gems. The dust in the room whipped up with surprising force, and the walls began to crack in defiant protest against the merciless beating they received.

Then came the silence. A brief pause to gather my thoughts.

Beside me, a poor soul groaned in writhing agony, I didn’t know him; but I knew he was going to die. The man’s side was stained in a deep crimson, which seemed to seep and spread with each painful grunt that escaped his lips. And it was the crimson which caught my eye; I knew that with each drop of the sacred nectar, the man’s life inched ever closer to dark and cold oblivion.

His eyes seemed to plead…or perhaps reminisce? I couldn’t tell, I was a stranger to death, and the man’s pain was lost on a kid like me, who couldn’t fully comprehend the poignancy of these final seconds in his existence; what’s worse, I found myself not focusing on the dying wretch, but rather on myself, and my own survival, and it left me with a sick and disgusted feeling of guilt.

I looked away briefly, my eyes scanning the now destroyed window for any signs of movement. By the time I turned back, the man was gone, and the pool of coagulating gore had spread to my fingertips; it was warm and sticky, and in the darkness of the room it was a rich scarlet. I felt my throat tighten and a burning feeling of grief grip my chest, and there it lingered, threatening to suffocate me and tear my very soul as the tears swelled to my eyes.

I realized just how real war was.

It had all happened so fast. Most of my platoon had been wiped out in a single blow, while the rest were either shot down in cold blood, or struck down by the hailing debris.

It had been chaos. The dust had blinded everyone, and the incessant, thunderous crashes had been more than enough to disorient the men. Nobody had known which way to run, where to fire, or where to hide.

That’s how I learned that confusion and fear are much more effective weapons than bullets or cannons; they kill men’s hope, they kill their spirit, and they kill their morale, and after that, killing them physically is like shooting panicking dodos.

I held my breath for a moment. The silence was both relieving and troubling at once. I felt alone in the darkness, my lips trembling both from the terror and the cold. I erected myself and crouched furtively towards the window, taking scrupulous care not to stick my head out too prominently. My eyes worked, but my heart froze. The enemy soldiers were everywhere. They seemed not like men, but like beastly demons, prowling in the umbra, their eyes shining with a carnal bloodlust; their teeth, like monstrous canines, hungry for the dying flesh of their enemies. I was completely surrounded.

I held my breath.

I had never been religious, but I found myself calling to every deity I had ever heard of; pleading frantically with the omnipotents to shelter me from the world. I closed my eyes and began thinking of home; I thought of my mother, who had always nurtured my wounds, both mental and physical, my father, who had never been a man of words, but had cried in solitude when I had received the draft notice, and my sister, with whom I’d always pick fights with, but whom I loved dearly.

Before I knew it my cheeks were warmed by moist and salty tears. I cried with a morbid fervor, and in my mind I escaped to a different place, a peaceful place where war was not a reality, where death was not an all-powerful entity constantly hanging around us, robbing us of happiness with its mere presence.

I was so caught up in my own fusion of grief and delusion, that I never noticed the crashing door, the murderous screams of the callous men who stormed the room, or the clicking of safeties and the shuffling of rifles. They were here, like a pack of fierce and carnivorous wolves, their killing intent palpable in the air, visible in their maniacal smiles and demonic grunts.

I looked up, and wiped the tears from my eyes. Soon, my view came into focus, and the first thing I saw, due to its heavy contrast with the dark and musky Hades in which I’d been hiding, was the bright, almost cherry-red, armband on the soldier‘s bicep, which bore what had quickly become the universal sign of hate. And I knew I was dead. But one last flash of defiance gave me the courage to stand, and before the killers had a chance to fire their guns, I gave them the finger.

“Fuck Hitler, fuck the Nazis, and fuck you German pieces of shit”

I can’t say if they heard me; the deafening dissonance of the raging bullets might have drowned out my final message, I’m not sure. And I can’t say if the anger in their faces was a result of my comment, or the innate hatred they had for Americans.

Then again, did it really matter?

My chest convulsed and my mouth filled with blood, the pain was unbearable at first, but then, I slipped into a soporific reverie, my senses became diluted and threatened to shut down. I didn’t hear the soldier’s voices, I felt distant and detached, and all I could hear was my sister’s nagging, and my father’s gruff advice, and my mother’s ever so gentle voice. I felt my eyes go blank and then the darkness grabbed a hold of me, never to let go.

 

[Bliip]

ENTRY #5- Faded

For years, was it?

For five years he had taken the mask of justice. Every bullet screamed truth, even as they seared through the skulls of the transgressors. Truth! He and his brothers lived for it. “Let us bring down a revelation,” they said, faces in shadow. “Men are equal in the sights of God.” Through bullets he would teach this. For fame is a sin.

The door slammed shut behind him, rejecting entry to the angry rains outside. It was as if nature had answered today’s teaching. The water beat down on the lonely street, devoid of life and mirth, and even the windows were dim in light. He walked to the center of the room, a room of sparse furnishings—merely some chairs here and a table there, nothing more but a single light bulb. The scoped rifle he placed on the table gingerly, and he regarded it some time with solemnity, as if contemplating the deeds it had done. It is for truth. For fame is a sin. Those who reveled in the arrogance and wantonness of fame and fortune had to die, to let truth seep in through the holes.

He opened his eyes, grey as they were, and said, “You may reveal yourself, Brother.”

A tall man materialized from the darkness. He was garbed much the same way as he was; in blacks and grays and dull beiges. Upon a gaunt face were a set of clouded eyes and a mane of dark hair. He had his gloved hands entwined behind his back.

“You disposed of them, Charlemagne?” the man asked, voice icy.

Charlemagne nodded. “Indeed. Quick and swift, for that is the way of our mighty Brotherhood. None stood in my way. In the face of truth, their highborn lordships could do nothing.”

His Brother did not answer, only stared at him with those clouded eyes, which seemed colder than usual and not quite so blurred anymore. He withdrew a hand and flung a newspaper onto the table. With his other hand, he held a gun to Charlemagne’s temple.

For a while, Charlemagne was dumbfounded. “Brother, what is the meaning of this?”

“Truth is all the meaning you need, Brother.” The gun pressed against his forehead. Only then did Charlemagne take a glance at the headline on the newspaper:


ASSASSIN OF MANCHESTER STRIKES AGAIN

“Truth, Brother; that is what we live for, for fame is a sin.”

 

[Bliip]

Entry #6- Raven

The Window Room

All his life, Jackson Orspheed lived in an enclosed space. It was like that for everyone. They all lived in a single building called Barricade. The building had the length and width of a school and was fifty stories high; at least, that was as high as the people had ever gotten. Each floor was different, painted with a different color scheme and style of architecture. Though, they all had the same basic layout. The residential sections were at the end, and the commercial sections were in the middle. Dead center of it all was a large plaza where people could gather and chat for as long as they wished.

There was one other thing that each floor had in common. There were no windows or doors to the outside world. Most didn't care about the lack of a door because they were happy in Barricade, but some would have loved seeing what the rest of the world looked like. On both ends there was an elevator that took you to whatever floor you wanted, save for one. Just above the button for the fiftieth level, there was another. This other button had “51” written above it. Many people pressed the button, trying to reach that mysterious floor; but every time they do, they are sent to the fiftieth floor and no further.

Despite this desire, people were content with their current lives. Once the initial curiosity wears off, it no longer becomes important. People were so satisfied that they felt no need to seek it, no need to find it. They just gave up and went back to their lives, except one man. Jackson was completely obsessed with floor “51”. To the people around him, he was a freak, a social outcast. His brown hair was always dirty and greasy, his clothes were a wrinkled mess, and there was never a day when his eyes didn't have large bags under them. He would often be seen sitting in the corner of one of the elevators, desperately trying to make it go to that fifty-first floor.

Every now and then, he would come out of the elevator when he needed food or the restroom. When he did, most people avoided him. They didn't want to catch his case of the crazies. Of course, there were those that openly walked up to him, ready to mock and persecute him for his unnatural obsession. No matter how many times it happened, it never bothered him. He was used to that kind of treatment. That's why, when it happened again, it came as no surprise. Jackson was heading back to the elevator after a meal when a couple of tough, teenage boys stepped in front of him.

“Hey, Jack, how's it goin' today?” said the boy on the left. They always started out that way. It was never long before it changed to name calling and violence. He tried to walk around them, but one of the boys grabbed him by the shoulder and kept him locked in place. “Where you goin'? We just wanna talk to ya!” The boy who had grabbed him gave him a quick push backwards. “You been to number “51” yet? What's it like? I hear it's real pretty up there.” He gave Jackson another push and he fell backwards on his butt. “Hey! We're talkin' to you!”

What followed was series of sharp kicks to his gut, back, head, and anywhere else their feet could land. Through each blow, Jackson never made a sound. He learned that it was best to let them do what they like. Eventually, they would get bored and leave him alone for the day. He didn't like the beatings or the name calling, not one bit of it; but for the sake of the fabled fifty-first floor, he had to endure whatever they threw at him.

Only a couple minutes later, the beating stopped. He saw them as he lay curled up in the fetal position. They shoved their hands in their pockets and walked away. As they left, he heard one of the boys mutter, “This guys no fun.” Jackson waited a few more moments before getting up, and heading back to his elevator, where he would sleep until the next day came.

- - - - - - - - - -

A violent shaking woke him from his slumber. The lights inside the elevator had turned a deep red. Startled, he opened the elevator doors to see what was happening. Outside, people were panicking, darting this way and that like a flock of headless chickens. From the looks of things, all of the power was out because of the bizarre shaking. The only things that seemed to be working were the elevators. Once the people noticed this, they all swarmed to it, wanting to get back to their own floors and homes. Jackson cowered back inside and huddled himself into a corner, letting wave after wave of people go in and out of the elevator. Eventually, the waves of people grew smaller and smaller until the last few people exited onto their floors.

As the elevator doors closed, Jackson looked at the number, “51”, and his heart started beating. He wondered if now was his chance, if now was the moment he had waited for. He hoped that maybe, under all this confusion, that button would finally take him to where he wanted to go, to the only floor that he had wanted to see. His body trembling, he managed to press that top button, hoping for a chance or a miracle to occur. On the digital screen, the numbers seemed to be counting the seconds as they went up, floor after floor.

One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . . Jackson could feel his palms sweating as he watched the number steadily increase, rising upwards to that ever-elusive number. Twelve . . . thirteen . . . fourteen . . . fifteen . . . . His chest tightened. The suspense was almost too much for him to handle, but he wanted to see it, he wanted to see what so many others had given up on. Thirty-eight . . . thirty-nine . . . forty . . . forty-one . . . forty-two . . . . He was so close. His breaths came in short gasps. It felt like the time needed to travel between floors was one eternity, and he only had a few eternities left to go. Forty-seven . . . forty-eight . . . forty-nine . . . fifty . . . . Jackson's pupils were fully dilated, his breath was erratic, and his heart felt like it was about to burst out of his chest. Just one more floor, that was all he needed. Just one floor that separated him from what he longed for the most.


. . . Fifty-one . . .

The elevator came to a stop one floor above the fiftieth. Jackson looked in disbelief at the digital readout. He was really there. He was truly, finally there. He could finally see the thing he had hunted for all this time. At that moment, he forgot all the pain and suffering he had gone through to get to this point. This point was all that mattered to him, and there wasn't a single thing in the world that could have ruined it for him.

The pneumatic hiss of the elevator doors caught Jackson's attention. After all this time, he would finally see what sat on the top floor. He stepped out of the elevator and into the object of his obsession. What his eyes met, was an empty, cement hallway that worked its way to the far end of the floor. There were no residential areas that he could see; no market, no plaza, no sense of life whatsoever. Even so, that didn't stop him. He refused to believe that this was all there was to the floor. So he walked, step by step, down the long hallway. It seemed to go on forever. If he hadn't been used to it, the sheer loneliness would have eaten him alive.

As he went further and further, he could see the ending of the hallway getting closer. Getting closer, he saw a single door at the far end. He picked up the pace, going into a full sprint, and nearly ran into it. He braced his hands against the door, catching his breath, and just stared at it. It was a simple door, the same color as the gray, cement walls. He noticed the brass knob in the corner. It stared at him, dug into his mind. He couldn't help himself. He just had to open the door. He had to see what was on the other side.

The door swung open with ease. Not a single noise could be heard from the hinges as the door glided on them. There was a single room on the other side of that door. It was barren of any and all manner of furnishings. The only interesting feature was one that made up for the lack of all the others. The far wall, the entire far wall, was a giant window. It was the first time Jackson had seen one, yet he knew exactly what it was just by looking at it. He walked up to it and touched the glass with the tips of his fingers, running them along the smooth surface. He was so mesmerized that he forgot that the purpose of a window was to look through it; but when he remembered, he saw something that his eyes could scarcely believe.

He saw giants. The giants had on long, white coats and clipboards in their hands. He stared at them intently, hardly knowing if this was all real or not. He watched them as they went about their business. Jackson saw them fiddle with liquid-filled tubes, small circular discs, and random cages that lay throughout the room. Every now and then, he would see one of them jot things down on one of their clipboards. He kept watching, even as one of him came up to him. Their eyes met, and Jackson thought that he could fit inside one of those mass eyes. The giant waved over to one of the others in the room, who hastened to him.

“Sir, one of them seems to have found us,” said the first to the second. His voice held an indifference that Jackson couldn't quite figure out.

The second giant sighed and responded, “Oh well, I guess it can't be helped. Purge the floor. Once one of them see us, they can no longer be used in the experiment.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the first, as he flipped a switch just out of sight.

Jackson continued to watch. He was completely transfixed by what he was seeing. He didn't even notice an unknown smoke pouring into the room. He just kept staring at the giants. Within minutes, he could feel himself getting strangely tired. He collapsed to the floor, devoting the rest of his strength to witnessing the giants as they worked. As the edges of his vision began to blur, he was slowly taken over by impending darkness. Despite the shadows that cast themselves on his eyes, one thought kept recurring in his mind.

“I knew there was something. I just knew it. I'm so . . . happy.”