Ah, it's great to see the Writing Prompt Contest go onto its 2nd round. =D

Here it is, and with TEN WHOLE ENTRIES.

Writers are to write according to a prompt but within word limitations.

<b>Prompt:</b> "The first steps were the most difficult."
Word Limitation: 5,000 words

Please take the time reading through and enjoying the written works of the contestants. East post has two entries. Contestants may not vote until February 27th, and at that time please don't vote for yourself. Thank you. Posts will be editted after voting is recorded.



Constructive Criticism is welcome. Only Constructive Criticism.

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Entrant A (1,091 words)
"Pressing On"

The first steps were the most difficult; the first steps always are the hardest ones. We all know this to be true. That’s what he has always thought. That’s why he has always kept going, kept waking up on these sometimes miserable mornings; even if he didn’t want to. He rolls out of bed, forgets to stop himself, and lands harshly on the floor with a loud thud. He grunts, but manages to pull himself up and groggily makes his way to the window on the other end of the room. Rubbing his eyes, he stares out to find what the day is like. It’s a new habit he has recently developed; he finds it helps him to get a start on these sometimes long and difficult days. Yes, he confirms himself. The first steps were the most difficult, but he is trying to make his way through all of the trials.

How he hates the time when he is awake! His days have gotten to be so busy now. First he has physical therapy, and then he has more therapy so he can learn to use his left hand better. And, today he has to go to the hospital for the fitting of the new prosthetic hand they’ll be ordering for him. He stares ghostly at his right arm, which was recently amputated right below the wrist. It was an accident, it happened on a road side bombing while he had been deploying in Iraq.

They had done everything they possibly could, but they hadn’t been able to save his hand. He didn’t mind the loss, he was just happy to be alive; he was just happy he was the only one who was hurt. But why did it have to be that way? Why did it have to be him? He dealt with it as best as he could, but he still was often frustrated.

One thing encouraged him more then anything else in the world possibly could. That “thing” was his family and his friends. He felt that no one else in the world was as richly blessed with loving people as was he. In fact, when he first lost his hand, he had so many buddies surrounding him, concerned about him, that they had to be kicked out of the area by the corpsman. After his operation, he found his father and mother by his side when he awakened. They had flown all the way to Germany just for him? He still couldn’t believe it! But out of all his loved ones, only one person had brought the tears flowing uncontrollably to his eyes; Sienna.

His beautiful Sienna, as she had agreed to marry him right before he deployed. The pretty girl with the dark brown curls, the smooth skin, and the striking deep brown eyes. She never ceased to amaze him. He had loved her all through high school. He earned all his athletic achievements with impressing her stuck in his mind. He had been so afraid she wouldn’t want him any more after he lost his hand. He didn’t know where the worried feelings had come from, but they had made him as sick as any human being could possibly be. Imagine his delight when she raced in and kissed him softly on the forehead! It was after that that he knew he would never worry about himself again. All he could think of was getting through this ordeal for Sienna.

Months passed quickly and productively for him. He focused on healing and learning how to live with a prosthetic hand. He learned quicker then he had expected, and grew happy with the fact that he would no longer have to be dependent upon anyone at all. He stayed active duty in the Marine Corps; they could use him with or without his right hand. He met other enlisted amputees, and followed in the career path of one man he especially admired. He was so close to accomplishing his goal! Every spare minute he had he was with Sienna. If wasn’t with her, she was on his mind. They both set a date for their wedding. It would be on the tenth of May; the date he had first left almost two years ago to deploy…

He felt his cheeks blush as he stood in front of the crowd gathered in the church. They were all staring straight at him! He turned his head, and took a deep breath. He began to feel calmer, but he could still feel the eyes burning into the back of his head. Then the music started. He knew that tune, well, everyone knew it! The popular “Wedding March” played on echoing through the church’s halls. Only this time it was for his wedding; his and Sienna’s. Sienna walked through the doors, and he felt his stomach churning. It flipped back and forth, upside down then right side up. He couldn’t be panicking! Not now! He wanted to turn and run, but he wouldn’t be able to move his legs even if he tried.

So he looked at her, and looked deeply into her eyes; she looked back. She was so beautiful, she moved through the isles with such a confidence, with such a simple grace. He saw her eyes smile at him, they danced playfully. He couldn’t help it, and he smiled back. He didn’t care about anything but her right now. At that minute, he knew she loved him, and that was just enough for him. She approached him, and he took her hand. He led her up the platform, towards the minister. The wedding continued on. He heard the words of the minister, he even replied to him with a couple of those I do’s, but all he really saw and heard was Sienna. Then all of the sudden he knew he was supposed to kiss her.

He felt excited and scared at actually being supposed to kiss her. He leaned over, and met her lips. He felt her cool touch, and her gentle inspiration; he felt her quiet passion and her sweet commitment. Then he looked back at her and realized this was now his beautiful wife. His mouth began to form the words that he had been afraid to say all along, “I love you.” These were the words he had wanted to tell her more then anything, and now he could! Those first months, those first little steps, had been more then difficult. But surely, they were more then worth it in the end!


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Entrant B (2,449 words)
"The Silent Holocaust"

"The first steps are the most difficult. Careful, Mr. Bailey."

"Daley," the man corrects, for the second or third time. He hobbles a few more steps, then sighs and pushes wisps of hair like clouds out of his eyes. His head feels as though he fell asleep without a pillow.

Odd, the thought of sleep. The longest nap I've ever taken, I reckon. Where am I?

"John Walter Daley," he murmurs to himself, rolling his name over on his tongue, smacking his lips on the last syllable. He stares at the tiles beneath his slippered feet, and he knows that the white-coated men and women watch, their smiles as cold as the whitewashed walls leering down at him. The fluorescent lights are blinding. Looming on either side of him, the machinery gleams and hums and skids against his nerves.

His arthritic knees, surprisingly sensationless, take him two more steps.

"Good morning, Mr. John Walter Daley. How are you this fine day?" Fascinated, he repeats the question to himself, before meeting the gaze of the nearest smiling doctor. "Where am I?"

The doctor exchanges triumphant glances with his colleagues, a flush staining his pale cheeks. Too pale, as though the sun hasn't brushed his skin in years. "Congratulations, Mr. Bailey. You are Experiment 594A, the 'A' connoting the experiment's success. You are at the Institute of Advanced Biocytology, headed by the Vice Chairman of the Alliance for a Better Planet, or A.B.P. It is the year 2103, and good Lord, man, you're alive." The recitation is well rehearsed, and he rattles it off without a stumble. As an afterthought, he adds, "I'm Dr. Phillip Morgan, R17." He looks expectant.

John blinks rapidly and wets his lips, letting his bleary eyes assimilate the reflective surfaces, the jungles of wires, the holographic display of a window on the far wall. Within the hologram, sunlight filtering through tangled greens crowns the head of a mockingbird trilling a simplified Beethoven's Symphony No. 9. He looks at his withered hands, turns them over and over, stroking his palms. Bones, bones. That night, stretched out under the blankets in the hospital bed... "John, oh, John. I'm going to miss you so very, very much."

He wets his lips again and croaks, "Where's Sarah? I want Sarah. My wife..."

Dr. Phillip Morgan, R17, lowers his brow. "I don't think you heard me, Mr. Bailey. You're alive again. Blessed, Mr. Bailey, blessed with a miracle. About the 500th miracle we've had since June, in fact. You should be thankful that science has made it this far." He goes off, reciting something about stem cells and telomeres -- nonsense that rattles like tin in John's ears. The mockingbird in the window strains a high note in "Ode to Joy." The overhanging leaves are too bright, too green.

John closes his eyes and wonders at the price of heaven.

"...and if you don't mind, we're going to hold you for a couple more weeks to execute gene testing and observe your physiological patterns..."

"No," he says, softly.

"...also closely monitor your neuron activity, all with your permission, of course. If you'll sign here, Mr. Bailey."

"No," he repeats, louder this time.

Dr. Phillip Morgan, R17, frowns. "No?"

"No. I don't give my permission. And my name is John Walter Daley." His knees feel fine, but from habit he picks up a cane propped against the wall. "I'll be leaving now. Good day, doctors."
__________

He never knew the sun could be so close. It throbs behind the slate of gray clouds, and instantly upon stepping through the sliding doors, the naked skin of his face begins to blister. He ducks his head and wanders away from the glass tower of the institute, a lonely figure between the gleaming edifices, his slippers flapping against the concrete.

It is snowing. The flakes dribble from the colorless skies and sway drunkenly through the heat, their crystalline facets winking as they dissipate near the ground in tiny trails of steam. He catches one, and the sharp fragility of it crushed between his fingers reminds him, like everything else on this street, of glass.

The river of lights from a procession of cars mesmerizes him, and for a long while he can do nothing but stand and watch the cars glide by with grace reminiscent of metallic swans. A few pedestrians drift on the sidewalks. One of them strides toward him. A woman, half her face shaded by a translucent mask, the other half obscured by a screen held in front of her face as she walks. Her heels click on the pavement.

"Excuse me," ventures John.

"...did he really, now? How dare he?" She clicks right on by.

Clutching his cane, John staggers to catch up with her. "Excuse me..." He puts a hand on her arm.

She recoils as if burnt. "Sorry, Lucy," she gushes into the speaker. A manicured finger pushes a button, and the screen blinks out. She whirls on him. Underneath the mask, not a wrinkle mars her marble complexion. "What do you want?"

The shadow of a bloated aircraft rumbles above the blanket of clouds, the flame spewed by its thrusters simmering vermilion across the gray. A heartbeat later, every trace of it is already gone, perhaps a hundred miles away, and the woman glares at him impatiently.

John glances skyward. His knuckles pale on his cane. "Where... where am I?"

"The insane asylum is that way, in the M District, old man. Don't ask stupid questions. I've got an appointment in four minutes." The screen buzzes back to life. "As I was saying, Lucy..."

He lets his hand drop. People continue to drift by, mindless, their chiseled, pale faces shielded by translucent masks. The glittering synthetic snow stings the blisters on his nose. Somewhere around the block, a music player croons Christmas carols with notes that drip like rain on the warm wind. A single tear rolls down the angle of his cheek and clings to his chin, before he absently brushes it off.

No destination in mind, he commands his feet to carry him down the sidewalk.

Glass and steel. Steel and glass.

The skin on his face is already raw and peeling when he spots the garden. It blossoms on the other side of the street, a tropical island of colors, its vastness dwarfed by the edifices towering on either side of it. Splashes of pink and red and gold... Dizzied and hardly daring to believe his eyes, he clambers onto a pedestrian bridge spanning the street.

The flowers are beautiful, more beautiful than he would have thought possible for such a cold city. Marigolds and tulips flame in the gray twilight. Vines twist their way up arbors as fine and graceful as spiders' webs, then bloom at the top in starlike buds that graze the skies. Beneath the slender arms of magnolia trees, water lilies slide on ponds and ghostly petals float on air.

He collapses onto a sculpted bench. Alone. I am alone in the world. This paradise is mine, mine alone. Come sit beside me, Sarah. How I wish... Perhaps if I sleep... Sweat stings the blisters on his brow. Gripping the cane, he slowly rises to feet that grow weary of supporting him.

Outside and to the right of the gardens is a shabby café that seems to cringe, embarrassed, on the gleaming front of the building it shares. A bell shaped like a mistletoe chimes above the automatic doors, announcing John's arrival.

Behind the counter, a young man in an apron and a baseball cap hastily shoves his comic book under the seat. "Would you like dine-in or take-out, sir?"

The aroma of grilled chicken and mashed potatoes wafts from the kitchen. John swallows and rasps, "A cup of water, please."

The waiter shrugs and points at a screen over his head. Noticing John's slack jaw, he shakes his head. "Hey, our water's cheaper than the pub's across the street. Some people are just trying to empty your pockets."

The thin shirt and pants that the institute clothed him in has no pockets. He wets his lips. The skin on his face burns. "But I... I have no money."

The waiter shakes his head again.

"Please. Can't you spare an old man a cup of water?"

The waiter studies him. Coughing slightly, he picks up his comic book and turns away.

John rubs his throat. Light from the city traffic outside streams through the window, polishing the rusty tables and empty chairs with an icy shine. An electric broom creaks as its mechanized arms sweep the black and white tiles.

Another cough. "Water's expensive these days."

He looks back and, to his astonishment, the waiter is setting a half-filled cup on the counter.

"Use it wisely. You're not getting any more."

"Thank you. Thank you." He seizes it, dips his hand, and bathes his face. He then sips it deliberately, letting its purity dribble down his parched throat.

The waiter is studying him again. He appears to be a nice boy, with freckles and ruffled brown hair under his cap. His nametag reads Andrew, Q47.

"Wow. You look terrible, Mr...."

"Daley."

"Mr. Daley." Andrew nods. "You have red splotches on your neck. I think you've contracted something. Did you forget to take your vaccinations this morning?"

"Vaccinations?" John sets the empty cup back onto the counter.

"Yeah. I saw you coming out of Memorial Park. You like it, huh? That place gives me the chills."

"The gardens? Why?"

"I don't know. All those dead bodies, I guess."

The legs of a chair scrape across the tiles as John's own legs give way. He falls heavily into it. "What?" he whispers.

Andrew stares. "You're not from around here, are you? Don't you know? Those gardens sit on a mass grave from the Third World War. Twenty thousand people. How do you think those flowers grow so well? Here, let me get you something to eat." He disappears into the kitchen.

John sits there and stares at his withered hands, turning them over, clenching and unclenching them. Each time, his fingernails drive into his palms with acute pain, as though he can deny his flesh and blood, his very existence.

Where am I... where am I... Oh Sarah, oh God, where am I... why am I...

Why?

Andrew returns with a platter of buttered bread. John accepts one and takes a bite. The bread is thick and seasoned, but it crumbles like ash in his mouth. Slowly, he crushes the rest of it in his hand.

"Is there... nothing... left?"

The silence trembles. Outside, the drab twilight is dimming. In the room, shadows pool, evaporated only by stripes of headlights gliding beyond the window.

"The last oak grove in the world is in the center of the city," Andrew says quietly. "The A.B.P.'s cutting it down tonight."

The silence squeezes its fist around John's chest. It suffocates him, little by little. He stands. "How do I get there?"

Andrew opens his mouth, then closes it again.

"How do I get there?" John repeats, gently.

A gradual release of breath. "On the left, three blocks down. Then take another left."

"Thank you."

His hand is already on the door, when he hears from behind him, "Wait." He turns just in time to catch Andrew's baseball cap. "It won't block much UV, but it's better than nothing. You know, ozone debt and all." Andrew shrugs and grins slightly. "The Cubs lost the playoffs on Sunday anyway. Horrible luck."

John returns a bit of the grin and, securing the baseball cap on his wispy head, steps out onto the sidewalk.

The gray has deepened to black by the time he reaches his destination, and the slate of clouds has shattered before a spray of city lights. The synthetic snow has ceased, and the air is less tepid, less stifling.

In the center of the city stands, as promised, the oak grove.

The trees stand erect and bathed in shadow, their gnarled limbs crowned in emerald, groping for the distant heavens. Proud. Enchanting. Sacred -- yes, sacred. Sacred survivors in a sea of steel, sacred victims of a silent holocaust, in which the perpetrators saunter on past in their perfect, mechanical lives. In which the blindfolded remnants of humanity couldn't care less.

He ducks under the yellow caution tape and leaves behind the world.

Within the grove, mist lighter than the down of goslings clings to the moist earth. The oaks expand on all sides of him, monolithic guardians of a secret long dead. His cane drops, and he follows soon after, lowering himself onto the ground to rest against the trunk behind him.

If he tilts his head and lets his eyelids fall just enough, he can push out the people, push out the city, and pretend that the buds of radiance peeking through the tangled branches overhead are not fluorescent lamps, but stars. The same stars, winking above the farmhouse roofs, that he counted as a boy. When the swollen bulk of an aircraft sears by on flaming thrusters, he closes his eyes and pretends not to see. The rumble of the aircraft passes, and all is quiet once more. He only feels the stout bark scraping against his back. He only hears the silver wind plucking the treetops. Nothing else exists. Nothing else matters.

Hush.

There it is now. A steady hum of machinery and screech of blades. Distant in his ear, as though from across a vast canyon. The grove groans and settles on its ancient roots. The wind kisses the outstretched arms one last time. The oaks are weeping.

I'm lost, so lost. Sarah, Sarah, come sit beside me. Sarah, won't you wait for me? His shoulders shake with unuttered sobs.

The humming and screeching grow louder. The canyon grows thinner.

"The first steps are the most difficult. Careful..." The toddler plunges headlong into those first steps, never imagining that monsters of mind and metal prowl the wonders outside his door, never imagining that his road is already paved. Where would that road lead?

Above the cacophony, an amplified voice, brittle, cutting: "Attention, all civilians in the area. Please remain outside the yellow boundaries. I repeat, remain outside the yellow boundaries. Preparing to demolish in five... four..."

The machines roar, and the blades are screaming, raking through the warm air with the scrape of a thousand shards of glass.

"...three... two..."

Beneath the tempest, one can faintly detect murmured words, soft and insignificant. "Good morning, Mr. John Walter Daley. How are you this fine day? Just fine, just fine. I know exactly where I am now. I've found myself, you see."

"...one."

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Entrant C (1,015 words)
No Title

The first steps were the most difficult. However, as soon as his feet began to move, Neville realized that walking became easier. Rain was coming down in freezing sheets, but only a few drops filtered through the thick canopy of strangling branches and leaves as he entered the Forbidden Forest. It was eerily silent, the animals all hiding from the cold and wet or scattered much deeper in the wood, skittish at the terrible presence that hung about the grounds. Now that Dumbledore was gone, even the sun seemed dimmer in the sky – when it decided to shine. It was as if the happiness of life had been drained away.

Neville tried to distract himself from his growing unease by counting out his steps in groups of 47. He decided that such a random number would force his brain to work harder to concentrate. It worked for a while, but soon he grew so used to the pattern and repetition that his mind began wandering again. Apparently such pressing thoughts could not be kept at bay for long.

So much had changed since that terrible day last June, the night the Death Eaters had attacked, and brought true Death with them. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were gone – leaving Neville here, alone and helpless. It was harder and harder to believe the news that Ginny was bringing him from her family. They’re on a mission of some kind. I don’t know more details myself – no one will tell me – but I’m sure they’re searching for Voldemort. We need to keep trying, Neville! We can’t give up; not now, after Dumbledore died to help us carry on.

But Neville wanted to know why it was always Harry’s responsibility. Why did he, Hermione, and Ron insist on being so secretive, so exclusive? Hadn’t he, Neville, proved himself at the end of their 5th year, surviving the battle in the Department of Mysteries, and not only that, actually helping them win it? He had thought they were his trusted friends, that they wouldn’t abandon him. There’s your mistake, Neville, he thought to himself. You trust them, but do they trust you?

And that brought Neville back to the reason he was in this forsaken forest in the first place, even though he could be severely punished if he was caught. He was searching for some clue, some sign of where the trio had gone to. Neville had noticed over the six years he had spent with them, Harry, Ron, and Hermione spent a lot of time with Hagrid, many times even venturing into the forest.

After searching the castle up and down for the past few months and finding nothing, Neville decided this was his last resort. If he couldn’t find some trace of their plan here, he would stop searching.

He was deep in the forest now, still on the path, although it was growing fainter and fainter. His search thus far had led to nothing; he began to think that maybe he should turn back now, before he got himself lost, eaten, or worse – captured by some unknown woodland creature. But for some reason, maybe a desire to believe that his friends really did want him to know where they had gone, he pressed on. The murky light filtering through the trees gradually dimmed; soon Neville would need to cast one of the most-used spells in Wizarding history; Lumos.

He strained his eyes to see as far into the forest as possible. What he was looking for he didn’t know, but he hoped that when he found it, he would know.

Minutes passed, measured only in the drip, drop, of the rain and the soft crunch of leaves underfoot as Neville walked. Surely he had been looking for a good three hours. Maybe it really was time to leave. The dark wood seemed to press in around him on all sides, barely restrained by the small disk of light emanating from his wand. The sounds of nature that had seemed missing at the beginning of his search began to appear, louder and more threatening than should be normal.

All of a sudden, Neville’s feet lost the path. He didn’t know if he had wandered away from it accidentally, or if it had just ended. All that he could tell was that it was neither before nor behind him. Panic seized the boy, accelerating the beating of his heart. Thump-thump……thump-thump……thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump…He wanted to scream, but who would hear? Only the forest birds, which would probably only attack him anyway. Spinning around in a desperate search for some sign of the path, Neville noticed a flicker of light coming from somewhere far outside the halo of wand-light.

This time the horrifying loss of control almost brought Neville to the ground. His heart stopped beating all together for a moment or two, and his muscles tensed up – completely rigid and motionless. He couldn’t run now even if he wanted to. However, he did have the common sense to douse the light of his wand.

After minutes of motionless terror, Neville began to relax, trying to believe the light he had seen was only a trick of the mind. But then it flickered again, and his muscles froze once more. A few seconds of quick thinking brought him to two conclusions: that if whatever was creating the light had seen him, it would have attacked by now; and also, if it was dangerous, it hadn’t seen him yet. Which still left the question of what to do.

Deciding that he couldn’t stand motionless forever, Neville very slowly, centimeter by centimeter, sat himself on the cold floor of the forest to wait and observe. Maybe the flickering light would disappear, or maybe it would come closer and he would discover its source.

The seconds seemed to crawl by as he waited, and after what felt like hours (although it was probably only a few minutes), Neville saw the light again, closer this time, and with a sound accompanying it. The sound was of footsteps, and they sounded like they were hurrying toward him.

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Entrant D (2,096 words)
"Remembering Anna"

The first steps away from her dead form lying there in the casket were the hardest.
Why? Maybe because I was so reluctant to believe it was over. My life as I knew it had come to a final screeching halt. My best friend, Anna, had been killed in a car accident.
Because that would be the last time I could see that beautiful face. She was smiling at me. I wondered if she missed me. I’d cried for her so much. I wondered if she had cried for me. Probably not. You’re not allowed to cry or be sad in Heaven. Suddenly I envied her.
"Just find more friends," They'd say, "You're a popular girl." But that wasn’t it. That wasn’t why I was sad. I knew I had other “friends” but she was more like a part of my soul, sometimes when I was with her I forgot that I wasn’t her sister. We were just two strangers who had been shoved together by some miracle. It was the most beautiful thing…
We had promised to do every major thing in our lives together. Everything. We got accepted into the same college and were going to leave at the end of the summer. We had planned a road trip in July, but all of that, would never happen.
Why?
Because half a person can’t eat a huge sundae by itself, it’s not possible. I can’t be myself without the other half of my soul. I lay in bed for days. Not eating, not sleeping, not listening to music, not even reading. Just laying there staring at the ceiling. My eyes had stopped producing tears on the day after the funeral. How many days ago? Was this all a dream? I was in bed… maybe I was sleeping?
I got up and called Anna’s cell phone number,
Ring,
Ring,
Ring,
“Hey this is Anna, I’m probably with Megan right now so leave a message and if we feel like it, we’ll call you back.” Then I heard my voice mixed with hers saying bye to whoever was calling.
Oh, I was calling. I flung the phone across the room. It knocked something over, but I didn’t care.
Anna would have cared. Shouldn’t I care? No. She was gone and she’d taken a piece of me with her that I couldn’t retrieve. Could I? No one cares. My parents hadn’t even had the time to come to the funeral. They both had “important business meetings” to attend. I wished my mom had been there. To just sit with me, hold me for a while, it would have made things easier. Maybe.

I listened to whispers of thoughts like these cloud my brain for hours. I don’t know how many. I’d thrown my alarm clock and broken it in a fit of rage after Anna’s mom called. I don’t know how many days this cloud of thoughts has been hanging over me. A week? A month? With Anna gone I was always second guessing myself. Losing track of time, in a general state of oblivion.

I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the ground, I’d not stood up in days. My legs forgot how to work.
The first steps were the hardest, but I got to the bathroom where I brushed my teeth and showered. The water felt like tears all over my body. I got out, dried off, then washed my face and combed my hair. My eyes were swollen in the mirror, swollen from the thousands of tears that had come out of them. I went to the kitchen, after clothing myself in a robe, and drank some water.
I was a hollow shell for the rest of the summer.

June, nothing but eat, sleep, sleep.
July, eat, sleep, watch television, didn’t really pay attention to anything, including my parents.
August, eat, sleep, pack, listened to some music.

The month of August had passed quickly, I blinked and the next thing that I knew I was packing up the car and heading to college to begin moving into the dorm. Before I left Anna’s mom called me over to her house, she said it was important. I drove from habit trying not to look around, because then I may realize where I was and turn around before I got there. When I arrived I parked in my usual spot halfway off the driveway to make room for her family as they came and went. Then I realized that I wasn’t staying over and I was only there to get something and leave. I sighed.

The house looked just as it had before. I’d describe it to you but I don’t want to remember it yet, too many memories were made in that house.
The first steps out of the car and towards the house were the hardest, but I got it after about five steps or so.
I went to the door and her little brother, Adam, answered the door, I asked where his mom was and was directed to the kitchen.

“Oh, Megan. I’m so glad to see you. How’ve you been?”
She was cautious to ask this question, I could tell it in her eyes so I answered, “I’m fine.”
She said that she had been going through some of Anna’s notebooks and found an envelope with my name on it. She picked it up from the counter and handed it to me. She said that I could take it home and open it if I wanted. I could go upstairs to her room and read it if that was what I wanted to do. But I just smiled at her and said that I’d be going. On my way out I stopped by the living room to give Adam a rub on the head, disheveling his red hair. He smiled up at me and said goodbye. He looked so sad, so young and so sad. It broke my heart.

I walked to my car envelope in hand and set it in the passenger seat. I stared at it sitting there for a minute then started the car and backed out.
When I got home I went about my evening routine, fix dinner, eat, wash dishes, begin bedtime ritual.
When everything was done and I was forced to face my fear, the envelope, in my room I seriously considered burning the thing. Not even opening it, just setting it on fire.
I ripped it open and began to read,

Megan,
I’ve written this letter to tell you what I can’t say to in person:
I’m dying.
I have cancer around my heart and another near my brain stem. Please don’t be mad at me for telling you first thing, but I wanted us to have fun together while I am alive without having to be afraid of the future. I don’t want you to fear your future without me there to back you up or hold your hand, or make you do things that you want to do but are to afraid to do alone. When I’m gone I want you to be happy for me, because I wont have to deal with the pain anymore. Mom, dad and I decided that I wouldn’t do any kind of chemotherapy or anything. It was not just their decision. I’ve seen what those patients go through and I don’t want that. I’ve been praying about it and I think I’ve made the right decision and that God wants this, too. I feel at peace about my decision.

Now enough about me, I want you to listen and listen good, (or read and read good…) I know that this will be a harsh reality but I still love you. I asked my mom to give this to you after I’m gone, because then you’ll have to listen to me and do as I say or feel really guilty for the rest of your life (muahaha!)
I want you to not be sad, depressed or regretful. I want you to go to college and do what you want to do. I want you to make friends, and date hot guys, and all that fun stuff. I want you to have fun with life, because as we both know, it can be turned around in the blink of an eye.
Most of all I want you to do what you are best at, get that book that you wrote and send it to a publisher. I’m not going to be there to tell you to send it or even send it yourself, I want you to finish it and edit it or whatever it is you writer-folk do and send it in. You have too much talent flowing from that weird shaped head down to that long-fingered right hand not to send it in. This is my final wish from you.
You always used to tell me that with writing the first steps are the hardest, but once you get going, there’s usually no stopping you. I want you to apply that to your life, I’m not asking you to forget about me; just don’t let me hold you back.

I love you so much.
Make me proud!

Anna Elizabeth


I didn’t cry. I just sat there and read her words over and over again. She said not to be sad. She had cancer? She was going to die anyways? This is very morbid but the more I thought about it the happier I was. I mean, she would have suffered in the end. She’d have been in pain and sick but she had died instantly. I could suddenly breathe again.
I knew what I had to do. I got up and walked to my desk, pulled out the typed version of my book and wrote down the publishers address on a big brownish-yellow envelope. I wrote a short note and in the cover page wrote, Dedicated to Anna Elizabeth, you are my other half, you manipulative devil, you.
Sealed it and slipped on some shoes. As I walked out to the mailbox the envelope began getting heavier and heavier, I shoved it in and raised the red flag on the side. I sighed.
The first steps away from that mailbox were hard, but I just kept telling myself, “Anna wanted this. You’ve got to do it. She’s right about the book. The worst they can do is say no.” I could do this. I jumped up the porch steps and ran to my room.
The letter was gone.
I don’t know where I put it. I calmed myself down and sat on my bed to think, it’s no big deal. Just stay calm. I fell asleep with the light on.
When I woke up I looked out the window to see that the little red flag on the mailbox was down. The mail carrier had taken my book and was taking it to the publishers’ office. I sat at my desk. “The first steps are always the hardest,” I heard Anna’s voice in my head, “But you’ll get through.”
I was suddenly at peace.
Weeks later I got a package forwarded to my dorm on campus. It was sent to the house but my mom had sent it here. I went to my room and opened it.
A letter came out that said, “We’d love to publish this book, please call us at…” It gave the number and other information and went on to say that my work was lovely and stuff but what caught my eye was that there was another paper in the envelope. I pulled it out and a folded piece of paper with a yellow sticky note was in my hand, “I found this in the envelope and was not sure if you wanted it back or not. I’d love it if you could write about this girl “Anna Elizabeth” she seems like she’d make a great character, and from what I gather she’d like you to. Signed, Morgan Brown.”
I opened the folded paper to stare at my friend’s handwriting. The words that my eyes landed on first were:
You always used to tell me that with writing the first steps are the hardest, but once you get going, there’s usually no stopping you. I want you to apply that to your life, I’m not asking you to forget about me; just don’t let me hold you back.

And I did get started, thanks to my friend Anna. And, I think more for her than for me, I never held back.

_________________
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THE HALLOWFEST 2010
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Entrant E (1,045 words)
"From the Ashes"

The first steps were the most difficult. Upon the colt’s first lurching stumble, Terran felt his heart jump painfully into his throat. Please…please… his every pore urged it on, crouched as he was among fragments of straw in the stall, arms outstretched to catch the colt if it fell. It stopped, legs splayed for balance, and eyed the ground uncertainly.

“Come on,” said Terran, aware of the pleading in his voice.

Another halting step, and another. When the little creature toppled, he caught it, and for a moment both lay sprawled in the straw, panting. Terran closed his eyes, feeling a bitter sort of fierce pride well in him.

Getting to his feet, he snatched up the makeshift waterskin that he’d been feeding it out of for three days, now intending to refill it. Three days of sleeping, waking by its side…three days of fear and bitter hope.

“We made it,” he said aloud in the empty stillness of musty stall and quiet stable. The colt snorted softly behind him, as if in agreement.

And for the first time in three days, Terran felt whole inside again.


He’d fought to free the pregnant mare from the stable, charging in blindly through blistering flame without being sure of even the direction. When he’d found her, surrounded by burning timber and terrified as only a horse can be, she had refused to move. With the terrible lethargy of one in a nightmare, he’d torn off his shirt to fling across her eyes.

From there, he could only recall heat and orange fire licking at his feet and the terror of the horse behind him, in an unending blurred sequence. It had taken an eternity to reach the door, and when he had, he’d fallen to his knees on the flagstones and choked down clean – if smoke-laced – air like nectar of the gods. Slowly, he’d become aware of the mayhem around them. Smoke billowed from every stable surrounding the courtyard, and the square of cobblestones itself was a frantic mesh of horse and human.


Horse. The thought had filtered through. He’d staggered to his feet to take her head and murmur to her, though even he could not have told what he said. All he could remember, later, was the endless repetition of “it’ll be all right. It’s all right.”

He’d never forgive himself for not seeing her sides heaving, not noticing her bloody nostrils. It was only when she stumbled that he looked, and saw the burns.


Unwillingly, Terran rose. Should he glance down to the other end of the stable, he would see the blackened timbers. Ash still rose at a footstep, there where fire had run rampant. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Did a lantern, fallen to the hay, perhaps remain there – there where he’d dropped it? How could be have been so stupid…in a stable made of wood and full of straw, fire swept through like an avenging angel of death, entirely without mercy for anything in its path.

It was his fault. Because of his own carelessness, the stables were blackened and collapsed. The horses…he couldn’t bring himself to think of the horses. Terran dashed a hand over his eyes, but there were no tears there. He hadn’t cried, not since smoke had stung his eyes and throat. What he felt was beyond tears…akin to the raw edges of a wound that did not heal, something that would scar forever.

The colt headbutted him and he looked down to find it standing, four small hooves planted in the straw. It nosed the waterskin with purposeful singlemindedness. It didn’t know what he’d done…it could forgive him.

Slowly, Terran knelt, reaching to steady it. The colt snorted as if to render his attentions superfluous.

Was this, the pain as his heart leapt within him, what hope felt like?


He never knew how he’d wrestled the mare past the flames and the noise and the crush of people and horses, but she collapsed in the first vestiges of long field grass that they reached. He hadn’t been able to look at what the fire had done to her back legs, her hindquarters. With desperate, hopeless love he’d pulled her head into his lap.

Suddenly her every muscle had tensed as her sides, round with colt, heaved convulsively. Terran had leapt to his feet, aware that his hands were trembling uncontrollably, and looked down at her body in the grass with terrible helplessness.

Then he'd seen the tiny hooves.

Unlike the confusion of fire and crowd, he remembered every moment of this. He recalled the mare’s every agonized, last-ditch effort…but he’d tried to forget the hopelessness that smote him when he knelt there in the grass, the mare’s dead body beside him, and in his arms a colt that did not breathe.

It was too small, too early. He could not even save this life. He'd dropped his head, numb with the guilt of it.

Then the little form in his arms had given a shudder.


The colt, feet planted, seemed determined to draw every last drop of sustenance from newly replenished milk-filled waterskin. Terran couldn’t help but contrast it with the quivering wet bundle of a few days before, the one he’d thought could never live. He wondered, suddenly, if the little creature supported his life on four unsteady hooves, as well as its own. The first steps were the most difficult. The next tottering attempts did not promise to be easy…but now, at least, the hope of life was closer than the threat of death.

He straightened, finding his eyes drawn to blackened timbers once more. Guilt, perhaps, would never quite cease to weigh, however lightly, on his heart. Scars do not heal in a day, nor do their marks disappear. They can twinge with the remembrance of pain long after the wound is gone.

Terran found the corner of his mouth perhaps twitching up in the ghost of a smile. The unfounded sensation that filled his chest could not be called happiness; grief was still too near, and ash and blackened timbers too vivid in his mind. But perhaps, just perhaps, it was closer to hope than to despair.

First steps were the beginning. He’d thought that flames had marked the end.

+++++++++++++++++++


Entrant F (424 words)
No Title

The first step was the most difficult.
It was my first step toward freedom, my first step out on my own.
I turned and looked back at my master, hoping it wasn’t a trap of some sort. He motioned for me to continue on, and a second step followed. I raised my head high. I was free – free at last. For ten long years I had been enslaved by many masters, being traded from one to another. But finally I had gained my freedom.
I was free. Free. Free.
The word echoed through my mind with every heart beat. I held papers in my hand that said I was not a slave, that said even though I was black slave traders couldn’t take me and sell me again.
No more anger against white men, no more dirty work, no more being shouted at or whipped… I was FREE!
Free like a bird, free like a mustang, free like a dolphin in the ocean.

Yet I couldn’t seem to grasp the feeling of freedom.
I was still the same person, people would still look at me the same way. They would still shun me because of the color of my skin.
I questioned this. Was this really freedom? Was I really like a bird, mustang, or dolphin, able to go wherever I pleased, do what I wanted?
Was walking down the street and getting rotten fruit thrown at me true freedom?
Was asking for a job and getting it denied because I was darker than the other workers true freedom?
I knew the answer in my heart: no, this was not freedom.

So what was freedom?
I searched my heart for any sort of answer, my mind whirling with thoughts as I sat down on the grass of the Green.
Freedom was not being held down by anything, not having anything slowing you down… freedom was leaving old hurts and scars behind and giving second chances. Freedom was opening your heart up and soaring… freedom was a choice to take care of yourself and not be bound to anyone or anything.
Freedom was a song your heart sang, an inward joy.

These things in mind, I came to a conclusion.
None of us are ever truly free.
We are all bound and held down by sin.
Yet we have a chance for freedom through redemption…

I stood.
I had a second chance ahead of me, a chance to make a new start in life.
And I would get as close to freedom as I could.

_________________
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THE HALLOWFEST 2010
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Entrant G (930 words)
No Title

The first steps were the most difficult. As I walked out the door, out of his life, I didn’t even remember what had happened. No home, no money, nothing. My tears continued to stream out. How could this have happened? I asked myself. What did I do? His words repeated in my mind, ‘Get out! I hate you! You are worthless, and will never make it without me!’ What did he expect of me? He abused me so much that I couldn’t do much, and even without the bruises and cuts I couldn’t help it. I was only seven! My mother cowers in the corner when he abuses me, and no one can blame her for that. I can though. She let me walk out…walk out of her life. I enjoyed getting out of his clutches, but I had no one else. How did she expect me to make it?

Then, one month later, he was right. I had been living in a house, but with no roof. I was lucky if I could ever get a full meal. Normally I ate some cheese and crackers. Water was my only drink. Never had I had soda pop or juice, not since he kicked me out. I had to beg for everything..

I guess it helped me grow up. The first few days were the hardest, actually, the first week or two. I didn’t eat for a couple of days, and then I was considered a beggar.

But now, I want to tell him how I’ve flourished. But every time he comes into the Café or calls, I don’t answer. I can’t ignore the abuse and the hardship he showed towards me. Now, as I work at the Café, I have a life. A great life. A house, with a roof, with three healthy meals per day.
Then he came. He physically came into the Café. I stared as I recognized his face and touched the scar on my cheek. “Lea.” He said. His voice was soft, something I wasn’t used to. “Kevin.” I said, and though it came out colder then I had expected, I didn’t regret it. But the shock on his face when I didn’t call him “daddy” was enough to make a tear come out.

“I…can we talk? Over coffee or something?” I was taken aback. I thought he was going to apologize. “No. I have to work.” I walked over and got a customer some more coffee. When I saw he hadn’t left I got an extra cup of coffee and set it down in front of him. Pushing the red curls out of my face, I looked at him in the eye, something I hadn’t done for years. “What do you want?” I asked him.

His reply came as a shock. Actually, there was no reply. There were tears. “Please…. please take me back! Come back to me and…Kelly.” His tears stopped and he looked back up. “What? Kelly? My mother’s name is Diane!” He lowered his head again. “I’m so sorry. After you left…she got so mad…I got so mad back… at her.” Now it was my turn to cry. “Dad, what did you do?” I was so caught up I didn’t care if I let him no that I still had a little part of me that loved him.

“She is okay now. I did something awful…something I will never again speak of or do again. I regret it so much. Please, forgive me. I remarried. Your mother forgave me, won’t you?” I couldn’t breathe. The man, this awful man who tried to deliberately hurt me, wanted me to forgive him and come back? “No Kevin.” I put emphasis on his name. “I can’t forgive you, let alone come back to you. You wanted me hurt! When I heard your truck pull into the driveway my heart died! I was so scared! And you kicked me out when I was seven! Seven, Kevin! How could you?” The tears streamed out now, and many people stared. But I didn’t care.

“You’re right, Lea. I’m sorry…so so sorry! I… I guess there is no explanation for it, huh?” He chuckled a little. “I didn’t expect you to forgive me. But, mark my words, Lea, I’ll be back soon, after you have been able to think about it. Remember, Lea, how sorry I am and you just think about it okay? I…I still love you Lea, my love, my little golden girl.”

“Well, I’m sorry. I can’t come to your place because I’m not a little golden girl anymore. I had to toughen out. And I’m not little, Kevin! I am seventeen now! Its been ten years and I” Kevin cut me off. “Yes, love, ten years!” I couldn’t do it anymore. “Kevin, get out of the Café and don’t come back to me! You hated me then. I hate you now. There is a part that still loves you, but until she comes out then you won’t be back in my life. Sorry, sir.”

“Lea please don’t do this to me!” He was crying, sobbing his heart out from ten years before. “Please!” He begged and pleaded until I could stand it no more. “Sir, please, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” My voice choked and cracked, tears streaming down my face. He stood up though, and left. I backed up against a wall and I slid down, sobbing now. Everyone saw, and nobody did anything.

The first steps were the most difficult, but the last were right next to the first.


+++++++++++++++++++



Entrant H (843 words)
"This is My Choice"


The first steps were the most difficult.

That was what ran through his mind as he looked upon the waterfalls. He awoke that morning, knowing what he was going to do – what had to be done.

Yet, he still did not want to do it.

He first heard that saying long ago, from his father. The first steps were the most difficult. His father told him never to forget that. He didn’t speak to his father much, and he was really, really young when his father told him this. It was one of the only times he ever saw his father in person or spoke to him. His father gave him a lot of advice that day, in the Royal Courtyard, the last few days of peace he would ever remember. He even remembered his fathers’ exact words.

“My son, you must never forget to do what is right. Things…things will unfold that cannot be refolded, things you will want to change…turn away from. Yet you can’t. The first steps will always be the most difficult, my son, but once you make it past those few first steps, you will succeed. Whether it is for the good of this kingdom, the good of another, or the good of yourself, sometimes you will have to choose from what is right but will be difficult, and what is wrong, which will be easy.”

He shook his head. It was almost dawn. She would be awake by now, and he would need to be setting off soon. The sooner he left, the more of a chance he had at leaving without her noticing. It was paining him enough to leave her, but he wanted her burden to be as painless as possible. He would live with this regret for the rest of his life, but he didn’t want hers to end sooner than it should because of him. She would give up everything for him and even though he loved her, he did not want her to give up life’s grace for his love.

He took his bags (of which he had little) and put on his cloak, and went down the circling spiral steps, skipping one as he hurried. He had already talked to her father and he would explain everything to her for him, so she would not think that he did not love her, because he did. More than anyone ever would. Yet, sacrifices had to be made to protect her from the evil that had submerged out from the darkness once again.

He looked up at the horizon. He was almost there. No one was about. The Elvish land was peacefully quiet and the leaves blew in the wind as the Elves slept quietly, deep in slumber.

Then, someone came out of the shadows.

He stopped abruptly, knowing immediately who it was. He was torn between the feelings of joy to see her one last time, despair because he knew he would have to explain himself, and grief for knowing what the future was about to unfold.

“You leave so early…dawn as barely reached the earth, yet you are already departing from this land. Does this land not please you anymore, as it once did?” Her voice was graceful and elegant; something that first caught his attention when he met her. Then, he looked at her, as she finally came fully out of the shadows.

She was beautiful.

This encounter was not making it any easier for him.

“You must sail on.” He told her, his voice sincere. He hoped – prayed – she would understand. He would hate his last moment with her to be one of hate and anger. His last memory…

Then, he saw her eyes grew wide. She knew of what he spoke, for she was not blind. She also knew that what he was asking of her would change her life…their life…forever.

“Why do you do this?”

“I can’t have you give up your life…not for me. You would die before your time.”

“It is too late. My heart has already been given. Why do you want to give it back?”

He sighed heavily. He would never want to give it back…how could he? He loved her as much as she loved him. But, he was doing this for her. He was doing this to protect her. To save her.

“It is not that I want to give it back. If I had it my way, I would stay with you or go with you to the sea…”

“Then why do you choose to leave? What has my father said to you to make you do this?”

“Your father had nothing to do with this…it was my choice. I do this because I have to, Arwen, and because I love you.” He walked up to her and put his hand on her shoulder, whispering,

“Hebo estel, Arwen. Goheno Nin. Gerich meleth nîn.” Then, before she could speak, Aragorn turned away, leaving all of it in his past…even though, he wanted it to be, with all his heart, his future.

_________________
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Entrant I (409 words)
No Title

The first steps were the most difficult. Leaving behind one’s only home and loving family can cause terrible agony in the mind and heart. Only imagine leaving them behind you, dead, not even having time to perform the proper burial rites. Imagine running away from that which you once loved, because that which you once loved betrayed you. That is the worst kind of hurt. Still, the steps took effort to make, but once going, I could not stop.

As soon as I stepped through the gate that fateful morning, I could feel that something dreadful had happened. Unfamiliar boot prints marked the ground, heavy like a soldier’s tread, yet light, as if the person had been trying to be silent. A metallic smell permeated the air, reminiscent of the village slaughterhouse. I went up to the door and slowly pushed it open, but wished that I had not. My family lay all in pools of their own blood, dead. Stricken, I searched their faces: my two eldest, Mary and Ben, lay by the stairs; my youngest, Jeremy, lay in his mother’s arms. My wife was alive, but barely, she would soon join the ranks of the dead.

Kneeling beside her, tears running down my face, I asked, with choked voice, “Sarah, who did this?” Her last, forced, words to me, “Cutler… Beckett… he said… you… were a pirate…” Then her eyes rolled up in her head, and she passed away, like all her children.

Beckett, the name that even now leaves a foul taste on my lips. Beckett, the nephew I once loved as my own son. Beckett, the traitor to his family. Beckett, whose vile deed scars my heart and leaves it bleeding to slowly rot my body from the inside out.

I made my way to Beckett’s house, revenge growing on my mind. Climbing in through the window, I stood over his bed, poised to strike. I couldn’t do it, much as I hated him. Instead, I went to his prized collection of irons for branding criminals. Selecting one, I heated it in the fire, and crossing the room, left a seared M in the flesh of his wrist. “There, murderer, we’ve left our mark on each other.”

Then I ran. For days I ran, not caring where, or how. Months later I found myself here in Tortuga, a drunken wretch, running into the rum bottle. But that was 10 years ago. What’s your story, mate?



+++++++++++++++++++


Entrant J (1,619 words)
No Title

<i>The first steps are the most difficult. Just take the first steps.</i> I stood at the edge of my family’s farm, staring out into the Ireland night.

“Caitlin, what’s wrong?” Quinn, a few steps ahead of me, turned back, his brown eyes meeting mine.

“I…” I hesitated, then said quickly, “Nothing. Let’s go.” Taking a firmer grip on my bag, I strode past him.

We walked in silence until we topped the crest of a hill, where I paused. “Go on. I’ll be right there.” I said to Quinn, forced lightness in my voice. He hesitated, then nodded and walked on ahead.

I turned around to take one last look at my home of the past seventeen years. Cold silver moonlight shone on the dewy grass and the damp potato fields. In the midst of the fields, our wooden house stood, firm and solid. How many times as a child had I come running to the house, asking Mama to tend my skinned knee, or take out the splinter in my hand? In the summer, we would gather on the grass outside, while Papa would play his fiddle and we would sing and dance. When the days turned cold and frost settled on the ground, Mama would make hot meals to eat in front of the peat fire, and we would tell stories.

I had put my note on Mama’s rocking chair. She would find it in a few hours when she woke up. <i>Dear Mama and Papa, Quinn and I are going to America. I’ll write to you as soon as we get there. I love you all.</i> What would they do? Mama might cry, but not in front of my brothers. Papa would likely hurry to the docks to fetch me back, but the ship would have sailed by then.

The scene in front of me swam, and I blinked back tears. <i>It’s for the best.</i> I told myself, repeating words that Quinn had said a few days ago. <i>We can both get jobs and send the money back here, until the blight is over.</i>

After one look back at my home, I turned and walked after Quinn.
-------------------
The brisk sea wind sweeping across the docks was a welcome change from the stench of rotting potatoes that seemed to fill the countryside where we walked. Even as early as it was, the wharf was packed with activity, people running in all directions, talking and shouting. Overwhelmed by the sights and noise, I reached over and brushed Quinn’s fingers. He gripped my hand firmly and pushed forward through the crowd, searching for the ship we would be boarding.

We weren’t the only ones sailing to America, it seemed. There was already a long line in front of the ship. It seemed like they were all farmers and their families, carrying, like Quinn and I, all their earthly possessions in canvas sacks or piled on wheelbarrows.

A strange feeling seized me, half-fear, half-hope. “What if the ship’s full and we can’t get on?” I asked Quinn.

“We’ll wait for the next.” His voice was calm, but I could see his knuckles were white from gripping his bag nervously. He was trying to put on a brave face for me, so I didn’t say anything more about it.

If we weren’t able to get on the first ship to sail, though, we wouldn’t have the chance to get on another. Papa would reach the docks, thunderously angry, grab my hand, and march me home without a look back. Quinn’s father would come as well, to take his son home. I found myself counting how many were ahead of us, and trying to guess how many the ship would hold. If there wasn’t room for us, I wouldn’t have to go to America, wouldn’t have to leave my home and my family. It also meant that Quinn and I would have to wait out the blight, along with the other farmers around us. <i>One less mouth to feed.</i> I thought. My parents had enough trouble putting food on the table for my three brothers sometimes.

The line crept forward, agonizingly slow, and my mind started drifting. Everything had moved so fast since those three days ago, when Quinn had first talked to me about his idea.
--------------------
<i>”It’s no bloody good!”

I looked up, surprised by Quinn’s outburst. I had known him practically since birth, and he wasn’t given into temper. “What?”

“This-“ he waved hands to indicate the potato fields around us, full of wilting, brown plant leaves. “Father keeps saying that it’ll pass soon, we just need to wait it out, but after this harvest, there will hardly be enough for us to eat, let alone to keep for seed or sell. And what if it doesn’t stop after this harvest?”

“Yes, but what else can we do?” I said, kicking at clods of damp soil.

He didn’t answer for a few minutes, walking in silence with his head down, and I thought he had dismissed the subject. “Well, I best be heading back.” I said, half-turning.

“Wait.” Quinn grasped my arm. “We should leave, Caitlin. We should leave Ireland.”

“What?” I gasped. “Have you gone mad, Quinn Daley?” I tried to pull away.

“Just listen to me.” He said quickly, earnestly. “It’s no good staying here, and you know that. We can go to America. There’s plenty of work there. We’ll send the money home, and move back after the blight’s over with.”

“No, Quinn! You </i>have<i> gone mad.” I brushed my brown hair out of my eyes impatiently, still trying to pull my arm from his hand.

“Caitlin, calm down. I’ve thought it all out. I’ve been saving money- I have enough to get us both on a ship. We leave three days from now. The captain can marry us, and-“

“What?” I shrieked again. “Marry us? You’re asking me to marry you?”

Quinn swore, let go of my arm, and ran his hands through his hair like he did when he was upset. “Cait, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up like that. I just so carried away and…” He swore again under his breath and looked down, digging the toe of his boot violently into the dirt.

After a moment, he took a deep breath and looked back at me, calmer. “Caitlin, will you marry me?”

For a moment I couldn’t speak, half-choked by nervous tears. What on earth was going on? He wanted me to run away from home and marry him, leaving behind my family, my home, everything I had ever known? No, not everything; Quinn would be there, as steady and comforting as he had always been. He looked so earnest as he talked.

Taking a shaky breath, I nodded. “Yes.”

We stood there awkwardly, an arm’s length apart. Finally Quinn said, “Thank you.”

I turned and started walking towards my house slowly, Quinn walking beside me. “Don’t tell your parents.”

“Why not?”

“They’ll try to stop us, you know that. We’ll leave at night and leave a note. Don’t tell them we’re going to be married, either.”

“Quinn, what would be the harm in me telling them that?”

“If you tell your family, everyone in the county will hear about it within days. Relatives coming to visit, wedding plans, you know. It’d be a mess.”

I just nodded silently. Quinn was right in at least one respect- this was already quite a mess, a mess I didn’t know how to get out of.</i>
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“Almost there.” Quinn’s voice brought me back to the present. I realized we were almost to the gangplank, only a handful of people in front of us. Just a few more in front of us, but how many had already climbed on board? The ship didn’t look that big.

I stared around the docks, trying to distract myself from memories and worries. More people were arriving, setting the area buzzing with activity. Seeing a tall man with dark hair out of the corner of my eye, I whirled, thinking for an instant it was Papa. It was just another stranger, though, who carried his gear towards a fishing boat.

“Is something wrong?” Quinn asked.

I shook my head, suddenly realizing my hands were shaking. I slipped my fingers from his, not wanting him to notice how nervous I was, but he could tell anyway.

“Caitlin, it’s all right.” He looked at me, and tried to smile confidently. “We’ll be fine.” He put his arm around my shoulders.

Rain started slanting down from the grey, cloudy sky as we finally stepped onto the ship and walked below deck. I couldn’t help but frown at the cramped area and small bunks, but slung my bag onto an empty one. We were going to America, and there wasn’t any reason to start the voyage off by complaining. Squeezing past other people, I made my way back to the deck, Quinn following.

I leaned on the railing and stared back at the land, oblivious to the activity around me. Past the docks, past the muddy roads, I could glimpse green hills through the rain. Closing my eyes for a moment, thought of the house, my family gathered inside around the fire, and felt terribly homesick.

When I opened my eyes again, the ship was moving away from the dock, the hills vanishing into the rain. Quinn stood beside me, staring back at the land. “We’ll come back, right?” I asked quietly.

He looked down at me, swallowed hard, and forced a smile. “Of course we will. We’ll see Ireland again.”

The hills slipped out of my view, and I turned away from the railing. “Of course we will.”

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THE HALLOWFEST 2010
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*bounces*

So many amazing entries!

It will be sooo hard to vote!




But don't let that stop you! *brandishes evil voting sword of doom*

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<center>icon & banner by me
skyward-thoughts</center>

Will no one vote? Very well... I can't vote since I'm one of the entrants, but I'll critique.

A - The protagonist's strength of will grabbed me from the first two paragraphs. I love a tragic war hero, and the romance was a nice bonus. It's easy to get into his head about his feelings for his friends and his prosthetic hand, but how about some enlightenment about his actual personality? More description on Sienna's character would be interesting, as well. You described her "quiet passion and gentle inspiration" well, but perhaps you could elaborate. Include a few memories about how they met, etc.? Another thing - you spoke of hardships but didn't really give specific details. The readers should feel as though they've been through all the trials with him to make the ending all the more worthwhile. In general, good optimistic story with a clear theme. I like how you kept referring to him as "he"... makes it seem as though "he" speaks for every soldier.

B - Nice hook, makes the reader want to know what else is going on. The twist at the end is interesting as well... morbidly ironic, but interesting. The descriptions are quite poetic, for a sci-fi story, but perhaps a little more? You've landed us in this familiar yet alien world, and I'm curious as to the scope of this world and the nature of the individuals populating it. What else do they do besides wander around the city? More introspection could be inserted at the garden episode, which seems a bit brief. What else does he think about, besides his wife? Perhaps a few references to interactions with his friends or grandchildren, if he has any? Also, the ending seems a bit rushed and physically detached. How was he impacted by his interaction with Andrew? Does he still have the cap on? Anyway, cynically intriguing and debatable story.

C - Atmosphere is well set early on, drawing the readers in but subtle at the same time, not outright announcing that it's a HP fanfic. I especially love how you described the forest so well in the first paragraph. You portrayed Neville accurately - his resentment towards Harry and that odd thing about counting to 47 sounds just like him. Neville doesn't get enough spotlight in the series, so I'm glad you had the guts to fill in the gaps. Only thing, could you have ended it a bit more dramatically? Yes, I'm a sucker for ostentation, and maybe this has some relevance to HBP (I haven't opened the book in a while), but perhaps you could have ended it more conclusively than footsteps hurrying toward him. Either that, or leave off at a very dramatic cliffhanger. Overall though, the flow and suspense are well written.

D - You've portrayed emotions wonderfully well. I can acutely feel her grief. The friendship between the girls is realistic and tangible, especially in Anna's letter. I think many people can identify with loss, and everyone can identify with having a friend like that. Something I'd recommend though - it doesn't flow very well. Excuse me while I sound like an English teacher, but try reading it out loud and inserting more commas, especially between sentence clauses. Also, I know the protagonist isn't in a mood for describing things, but perhaps more description for the readers' sake, to promote the atmosphere and establish a clearer picture. I'm also curious as to what she wrote her book about. Was its plot impacted in any way by Anna? It's very rare for a book to be accepted so quickly by a publisher. I'm not saying it couldn't happen, but what made this book special? Overall, well formulated story with a poignant message.

E - The first aspect that struck me was the style. The style in general is beautifully written, flows well, and has few words that don't serve a purpose. Portrayal of the colt and the protagonist's guilt is realistic, and the suspense during the flashbacks is gripping. I could feel the heat, the panic, the entire sensation of "being there." Wonderful descriptions, but perhaps you could have added a bit more to sketch the finer points of the atmosphere. How you describe the scene - cheerfully sunny or blindingly sunny, for instance - can say much about a character's state of mind, in place of "to be" verbs like "felt." Also, maybe a reference to some interaction between Terran and anyone else who works at the stables? Expand the world a little. In general, beautifully written, with a clear message and heartwarming simplicity.

F - I've developed a sympathy for blacks after reading To Kill a Mockingbird, and this piece struck a chord. Short and sweet. At the same time, it addresses a universal and debatable philosophy - the definition of freedom. The introspection make it easy to sympathize with the protagonist. Maybe you could elaborate a little on his background by referring to his experience under slavery or back in Africa, if he was born there. Again, more description. Due to its brevity, this piece has to be very "in the moment." The reader has to experience every minute sensation that enhances the mood - the sunlight, the grass, the fields. Perhaps he could look over the hills and be inspired by his ability to go wherever he pleases. I admire your ability to capture the emotion of the moment, though. It shows that not all short stories have to be long to capture the theme.

G - Angst+abusive fathers+angst+troubled families=happiness. Pity for Lea is inevitable, but the readers have to admire her courage for picking herself back up and finding her own life. Dialogue between her and her father is natural, though I would like to hear more of it since it's so interesting. But I feel that the exchange left a few questions unanswered. Lea was only seven when she got kicked out of her house. How, exactly, did she make it? Did anyone help her? Perhaps you could incorporate a wider range of feelings, besides grief and longing and a bit of love. Some anger would heighten the atmosphere/suspense. More anger directed at her father for abusing her, more anger directed at Lea for not understanding. Extremely enjoyable read, though.

H - Emphasizing what has to be done in the first few lines draws the reader in - nice job. You portrayed his turmoil and sense of duty warring with love very well. Nice twist at the end too. I thought it reminded me of LotR until I got to the end and found it to be deliberate. The foremost aspect that could be improved, I think, is the writing style. The dialogue is magnificent, very fantasy-ish, but some beginning parts sound a bit out of place, like the "really, really young" or "a lot of advice." Also, more description. She's beautiful, but how is she beautiful? Can you describe her beauty more specifically (I know this is difficult to do without giving her identity away)? Overall, the interaction between them is insightful and interesting.

I - You hooked the readers and let them figure out the story's connection with PotC - good job. I like the protagonist seems to be talking to the reader, especially the witty twist in the last paragraph. Back to that though, he's talking to the reader, so perhaps you could modify it in a few places so that it sounds more casual, more conversational. I can't help but wonder though, as I'm not familiar with Beckett's backstory - was the protagonist really a pirate or was he falsely accused? If he loved Beckett so much, why the sudden betrayal? Was the affection not returned? Also, I find it hard to believe that the ever-cunning traitor would stay in his house after murdering a whole family. Perhaps he tries to hide, but the protagonist finds him anyway? I do like how he left his mark on Beckett but spared him. Makes him seem more human.

J - I commend you for doing some research and attempting historical fiction. A successful attempt, by the way. The writing style is beautiful, characterization is interesting, and the story as a whole flows well. I like how you incorporated introspection into your descriptions. Quinn's marriage proposal was heartwarming; I caught myself grinning. Only advice I have is the same thing I told Entrant E - slant your descriptions one way or the other to portray the character's feelings. "The area was buzzing with activity" - what kind of activity? Was it exciting activity or terrifying, claustrophobic activity? A historical Irish port is an ideal location to really land your reader "in the moment." Describe everything... the smells, the sounds, the crowds pressing in. You ended it well, though. It brings the story to an optimistic close but leaves the reader imagining what'll happen once they get to America.

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I'm reading through them, and I will vote and critique after the 27th! They're all so great, I'm not sure how I'll be able to choose!

I shall likewise critique now, and will be voting later. *goes after people with a stolen chainsaw* VOTE!

Entrant A - my favorite part in this one was the paragraph where you describe how his buddies had to be forcibly removed from the area after he was hurt. The mental image made me grin The latter part with the wedding was also a bit wryly humorous - I think every guy must think that on a wedding day at some point. I would have liked a couple flashbacks, maybe a brief one of how he met Sienna, or what happened when he lost his hand. I think it gives the reader a bit more of a sense of being there, rather than just hearing him describe it. Couple little grammatical things - I know it's heresy, but maybe a couple fewer commas (:P). Overall, sweet little vignette - I'm all for the happy endings.

Entrant B - had a hard time even finding stuff to critique about this one. I like how the beginning ties together with the end in particular. I did wonder about the main character's connection to the Thirld World War mentioned - did he fight in it, and is that why the mention startles him like it does, or is it just the general thought of it compiled with everything else? Also, why were they cutting down the trees? There didn't seem to be a particular reason. Again, I really liked the ending...like I believe I've already said, I'm all for happy endings, even if they're a bit bittersweet, too.

Entrant C - yay for Neville I like his characterization here, it's true to his personality. His thoughts and actions are consistent with Rowling's portrayal, which can be hard to do with canon characters. Just a couple things - I haven't read the books in a while, but why is he searching in the Forbidden Forest? I mean, if he wanted to know, there are easier ways. Also, I felt that the ending was a bit abrupt. You built up to a climax, and then it didn't really have one. Neville didn't really accomplish anything. Maybe hint at who was coming toward him? For example, if it were, say, Mad-Eye Moody, you could put in that he caught a glimpse of an electric blue eye by the light of his wand, or something. Something to make the reader feel as though Neville has found something.

Entrant D - my favorite parts of this were the phone message that Megan listens to, and Anna's letter. Both characterized her very well, so that you almost felt like you knew her, despite the fact that she's dead. She seems like an interesting person, as you say at the end. The ending itself was well thought out, but I would have liked a bit more fleshing out - I imagine a lot of rigmarole comes with getting a book published, and like LDM said, it's pretty rare for that to happen on the first try. Also, perhaps change the final paragraph or two to include a mention of first steps? Instead of "and I did get started," maybe "I took the first steps." Well formulated plot, I liked it.

Entrant E – Sweet premise, I like the flashbacks mixed with introspection. Terran seems like a thoughtful, sensitive sort of character – maybe add in some interaction with other stable hands after the fire, to emphasize how he was at fault? He seems like the sort who would remember that kind of thing, and find it painful to experience. You use vivid descriptions, but maybe a few more. The colt is lovable – perhaps have him think briefly about a name for it? Short but sweet. It wasn’t quite a happy ending, but bittersweet is just as good

Entrant F - Unique premise, I like it. The last few paragraphs grabbed me especially, about the definition of freedom. Good job, I think you portrayed his thoughts very well. I think I would have added a little more emotion, reactions to the event (him being freed) rather than the introspection. Not to say I didn’t like it, not at all, because I did, but perhaps a bit more…what’s the word…impulsive reaction, I guess. Nicely done

Entrant G – compelling main character. I liked her will to live, to go out and make something of herself despite her circumstances. Perhaps a little longer? The first sequence, which sets the tone for the rest of the story, seemed a bit rushed. A few encounters from her life by herself – having to steal food, maybe, or when she got her job at the café – would have helped to build up to the end a bit more. I did like how the ending was bittersweet. It’s true, stuff like that is hard to forgive. Maybe, in order to make it fit slightly better, have her dad be a bit…rough around the edges. People do change, but it takes work. If he did in fact kick her out of the house at age 7, he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to call her ‘little golden girl’, though that could be just my interpretation. Neat idea

Entrant H – yay, LotR! Aragorn/Arwen has always been one of my favorite pairings. I really like how you didn’t make it obvious that the story was from LotR, but sort of let the reader figure it out. One thing I would suggest is to write…almost like the character would talk. It’s not archaic, but it’s not quite modern English, either. For example (and this is just how I would do it) instead of “She would be awake by now, and he would need to be setting off soon” maybe something more along the lines of, “She wakened early, and despite his love for the realms of the Elves, he could not linger.” Again, very nice bittersweet ending. Apparently I like those just as well as happy ones.

Entrant I – oooh, and PotC! Very creative backstory. Beckett’s connection with the family of the main character says something about how ruthless he becomes, to kill even them. I would have liked your end scene to be a bit longer, more descriptive – perhaps the character’s thoughts as he goes to Beckett’s house, or some description of the setting. It wasn’t as easy to get into his head at that point. Also, you write the story as the character tells it, we learn at the end. Effectively, it’s a bit of a flashback. Maybe in italics? The end seems a tad abrupt, a few more things leading up to it might be effective. Cool idea

Entrant J – I like the length of this one! The flashback effectively characterizes both your main characters, and the marriage proposal in particular made me grin. Their reactions to having to leave are realistic – I’d be afraid, too. Maybe, in your first scene, add a bit more tenseness. They’re effectively running away, so I don’t imagine either of them has especial mental peace – maybe they’re a bit sharp with each other. Their interaction on the ship is sweet, though. With the first scene, too, describe a few more sensations. Maybe it’s windy, or cold, or it’s dark and hard to see. Sweet story

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Thank you for those who have posted comments and critiques. Since contestants can't reveal themselves, I shall thank you commenters on their behalf and I'm sure your advice and comments helps them tremendously.

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THE HALLOWFEST 2010
<a href="http://www.arwen-undomiel.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=20958">information here</a>

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*Looks at calendar* Okay, all you contestants, you have no excuse not to vote now

1st: Entrant B
2nd: Entrant J
3rd: Entrant A
HM: Entrant D

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All right, so I was just scribbling down things as I was reading, so here they are.

Entrant A:I liked this story immensely. The prose was very agreeable, a thorough sense of diction, very few grammatical errors and no spelling errors that I could detect. The entrant took time with their story and demonstrated care and attention to detail. The description of Sierra was very thorough, which made it easier to envision as you read along. I enjoyed how the story showed growth in not only the physical aspect of the character, but also in his relationship with his fiancée (i.e. finally having the courage to tell her that he loved her). I really appreciated the subtle sense of humour. The main character was so deliciously human that it made him easy to relate to, which I believe is a quality in writing. I would have liked more allusion to his time in Iraq and maybe a few more details about his family. But a fine entry on the whole.

Entrant B:
This was a brilliant entry. This story was a grim but powerful forewarning. Extraordinary use of personification and similes. It adds a lot to the story. I also must applaud this entrant for their use of present tense. The ending was very powerful, as was the theme. I love endings that have a real purpose to them, that leave you with a “Wow!” feeling, which is exactly what this ending did for me. Had there not been a limit on the length, I would have liked to have seen the description of what exactly had changed since Mr. Daley was alive the first time. All in all, very well crafted. Again, the entrant had patience with their writing and pleasing results ensued. Really, the only criticism I would have is to find a different verb than “edifice”. As both a reader and a writer, I find that when a noun that isn’t used often in modern speech like “edifice”, if it’s repeated, the reader often picks up on that instantly. Very, very accomplished story. I am thoroughly impressed.

Entrant C:
I thought that the conflict and atmosphere were well-explained. However, the ending was a little anti-climatic for me. I would have liked a brief description of what he saw, or just something more menacing that would seem to put him at greater risk, something more fear-inspiring. The tension wasn’t built up enough to make the ending suspenseful for me. I can speak for no one else, but that was just me. But I did love that Neville got centre-stage for this story. Neville’s long been among my favourite characters for a considerable length of time now, and I really respect the entrant for centering the piece around him.

Entrant D:
I liked the introduction to this piece. It gives the relationship depth, and makes it the degree of anguish that the protagonist is experiencing so much more real and feasible. The severity of her grief was brilliantly described and demonstrated. Loosing a loved one is a pain that we all have experienced, or will experience in the days to come. I believe the theme of hope is always and always will remain appropriate and meaningful, which was certainly present in this story. I would only suggest some structural improvements to this story. But stories of growth and silver linings are always agreeable with me, so well done!

Entrant E:
This entry was rather reminiscent of Black Beauty. And I mean that in a good way as that was among my favourite movies as a child. Again, good personification and descriptions in addition to good diction. I particularly liked the flow; it was almost poetic. The flashbacks were also a nicely added touch. Great concluding sentence as well. I’m partial to a story that ends off on a positive, hopeful note. I would suggest more information as to the result of the fire, and what else happened during the fire.

Entrant F:
I really admired that this entrant condensed their thoughts so effectively. It was condensed without loosing any of is meaning. I think some elaboration as to the protagonist’s experience as a slave would have aided the reader in fully comprehend his jubilation and the promise of new life. I liked that the character stopped to ponder what it is hope meant to him, and what it was precisely. It gives the character intellect. The format was a bit choppy. It started to appear that it was in poem format rather than a story format. Positive stories are always pleasing.

Entrant G:
A very effective closing sentence. Respect and admiration for this character is accumulated early on. She is obviously a very headstrong, dominant character that is determined to overcome and be better than her circumstances. I would have preferred to see more of the “in-between” time, as it were; the time that she spent out on the streets. The entrant gave a description of what the protagonist was experiencing, but didn’t really delve into the character’s emotions. For instance, how humiliating and degrading it must have been to be reduced to the level of desperation as to have to beg from her fellows, or the pain and anguish that would have been hers when she had been exiled by her father. So I admire the character’s strength, but I would have liked to see the more intimate side of her, more of her emotions.

Entrant H:
Ah, an Aragorn and Arwen story! I liked how this entrant took the frame of the story and altered it so that it became their own. I would suggest more description of the setting so that the reader can completely immerse themselves in the details, so that they can imagine themselves right there as all of this is transpiring.

Entrant I:
Very interesting ending. The introduction really set the stage for the rest of the story. I think the protagonist’s agony was communicated very efficiently. But I think it would have been an improvement if his emotions had been elaborated on even more. He’s just lost his entire family. I think there would have been more of a delay before he made any retaliating action. I enjoyed the PotC connection, though!

Entrant J
The first sentence was a little awkward. Perhaps “Ireland night” might be replaced with “Irish night”? It would make it flow a little more easily. There were a few grammatical errors along the way, but we all make them. Interesting setting! I don’t think many people would have thought to set it in Ireland during the potato blight. I liked how the entrant added the bit about the stench of the rotting potatoes. It gave anyone who was uninformed as to the history insight as to what a potato blight might be. I enjoyed the optimistic ending, as well. I liked that the protagonists’ body language effectively demonstrated their tension as well.

And for my votes...
1st - Entrant B
2nd - Entrant A
3rd - Entrant J
HM - Entrant D

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Thanks to Revenge for the lovely set!
~Married Legolas of Gondolin April 6, 2006~<center>

Everybody's entries are great- I wish I could vote for all of them!

<b>Entrant A</b>
I like how you describe what the character is thinking and feeling- tiredness, frustration, love, nervousness, etc. It helped me to feel for him. I especially like the wedding scene- it's so sweet! A couple of suggestions- I noticed a grammar error or two. Also, I think you could put in more description and backstory. What is the character himself look like? What about his family life? You mention his mother and father coming to Germany to be with him. Did they have a good relationship to start with, or was it a surprise to see his parents together? Etc. Great job!

<b>Entrant B</b>
Wow.... wow. I really liked this entry! I thought the present tense worked very well in the story, as did the description and metaphors. It was consistently grim and almost depressing in tone, and the ending fit the story. One thing (and I'm nitpicking here)- Dr. Morgan's speech is described as sounding rehearsed, but the phrase, "good Lord man, you're <i>alive</i>." struck me as being more spontanous. Overall, I'd just like to know more. It sounds like the world is in trouble (water being expensive, vaccinations, etc.), so why are people being brought back to life? What happened to the world in general? Things like that. It would also be nice to find out more about John and Sarah.

<b>Entrant C</b>
I'm not really familiar with Harry Potter, but I'll see what I can comment on. I like the tone you used- the description painted a good picture of the forest, and kind of creeped me out. His memories of how he got to the forest seemed to be integrated well into the rest of the story- there aren't jarring breaks between the present and memories. One little thing- I might take out "(although it probably was only a few minutes)" from the end. It didn't quite seem to fit the tone.

<b>Entrant D</b>
I really like how you used 1st person- it really brings out Megan's feelings and thoughts. The story seems realistic, too- Megan reacts in very... human ways. Even though the readers never actually meet Anna, you give a good snapshot of who she was through the letter and Megan's memories. Maybe you could separate each paragraph with a space to make it easier to read. Otherwise, great job!

<b>Entrant E</b>
Very good entry! I like the description, it's very vivid and shows just what's going on, especially when you talk about the horses. I like the flashbacks, too, and how they're interspersed with the present. A couple of suggestions- maybe you could talk a little bit more about what happened after the colt was born. Where are the other people you mentioned? Is Terran the only one who's helping the colt? A few places seemed just a bit wordy to me- "feeling a bitter sort of fierce pride well in him." is one part that stuck out at me.

<b>Entrant F</b>
I like it! It's a good snapshot, sort of, of this important moment in the character's life. I like the conflicting emotions, how the character isn't sure how to react. I think you could stand to put in more description, not only of the character's emotions, but of the actual character. The story doesn't say much about the character- male or female? How old? I'd be interested in reading more about the character's past, too. Good story!

<b>Entrant G</b>
You did a great job of describing how the character felt. I like that you didn't made it into a bitter sort of ending, instead of a happy ending. It might have been nice to know what time period this is. It was a little hard for me to believe that Lea could raise herself and beg without someone noticing and talking to the police or anything, if it takes place in modern times. There were a few errors (make sure to start a new paragraph when a different person is talking ), but overall, very good!

<b>Entrant H</b>
Very nice! I like how it isn't obvious at first that this is fanfic. You seemed to represent the characters well, in their actions, thoughts, and speech. I might be nice to know more about Aragorn's feelings at this time, and it could stand a little more narration during their conversation. How are they standing? Do they make eye contact? What sort of emotion comes through in their voices?

<b>Entrant I</b>
Very nice fanfic- I like it! I like the description you gave of him finding his family- good word choice, and sad. One comment- it seems a little strange that Beckett doesn't wake up when he's being marked. It could be interesting to read what would pass between them if he did wake up.

<b>Entrant J</b>
I like the setting, and there's some good description, too. I like how you worked in some of her memories and the flashback. I think you could stand to put in more description, though, especially of the docks and how she's feeling. Maybe put more of her life before she left, and make it clearer why she wouldn't want to leave.

And, my votes!
1st- Entrant B
2nd- Entrant E
3rd- Entrant C
HM- Entrant A

Hey, Kitoky, could I say something about my work, as no amount of voting is going to place it? No one is getting what I meant out of it.

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Married Artemis Fowl on July 16, 2007
[!+^$%=#?&]
The Seemingly Nice But Actually Really Nasty Nazgul
School ate my life. *sigh*

All you critics have given some dead useful advice

1st - J
2nd - E
3rd - C
HM - A

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Well, I'm afraid I can't do anything about that----but let it be a lesson to be learned, and next time make it so that you can make your point clearly.

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THE HALLOWFEST 2010
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