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 Posted: Sat Aug 11, 2012 4:29 pm
Your Challenge, should you chose to accept it.
Elements: Night, thunderstorm, raining. Police cars and Ambulances with their lights flashing. (Male) outside grieving for lover. (Female) inside dead.
Senses to use: All
Write 3-5 paragraphs describing the emotion (male) feels towards (female) and the event of tragedy.
Contest ends: September 1
Prize:
First Place: Forgotten Reverie + September Monthly Collectible
Second Place: September Monthly Collectible + 10,000 GG
Third Place: 5,000GG
Length of post will not determine the winner. However your post must be at least 3 paragraphs. Spelling and Grammar will be taken into account.
Prizes will be handed out by Writer King Hermes. Our Guild Mule
There will be no First Place winner By default. If there are less than four players, each player will receive 10,00GG.
Good Luck
UPDATE:Since the Forgotten Reverie has gone down in price in the Marketplace. First Place winner may chose between the Forgotten Reverie or Septembers Chance Item.
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Posted: Sun Aug 12, 2012 12:34 am
The thunder boomed.. echoing the tragedy. The silence of night was crashed by the sirens of Police cars and Ambulances. Kane (male) couldn't bear the flashes of light and knelt down, unable to bear more pain.
Rain drops falling on his face hid the real tears, though his face still bore the marks of the tragedy. Would there be anymore to this world without Sara (female)? he thought and grief seized him as he choked. The melancholy affected the whole area as it looked that even the sky is weeping on the death of Sara.
The sadness swallowed him and he could only feel numbness spreading in his mind. What will be my purpose of life then? he thought, then suddenly memories broke up upon him as he saw all the happy moments he had spent with Sara. He felt darkness gathering around him, the light felt far away in the tunnel. Thats all thank you
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Posted: Tue Aug 14, 2012 7:57 pm
The sound of crashing thunder drowned out the wailing of the police sirens surrounding a small house in the neigborhood for a moment. The dark and gloomy weather of the night seemed to mirror the mood that had befallen the street in light of the horrific event that had just occured. As people poured from their houses to get a better look at the tragedy, an ambulance showed up, its flashing lights blinding most and warning them it was in a hurry. In the midst of the chaos was a young man, keeled over in agony, though it was not physical pain he was suffering from.
After interrogating the man for a while and searching the house, the police gathered the young woman the man had been married to killed herself while he was working over time. From the evidence found, the woman had done the deed by poisoning herself, mixing a deadly substance in her drink, so that when the man came home, it was to a dead wife. During the interrogation, the man was able to get out that his wife was going through a lot of trouble at work which may have led to her suicide. Feeling this must have been the case, the police removed the evidence from the house.
The medics that arrived on the scene brought the woman out on a gurney, though there was no help for her now. She was gone and they all knew it. Before they loaded her into the ambulance, the young man came to her side, taking her hand, her fingers feeling cold and stiff in his. The tear tracks on his cheeks glistened as lightning flashed across the sky, providing light other than that of the sirens from the police cars and ambulance.
"Why, Gabby?" the man asked his deceased wife. "Why did you leave me?"
After saying his goodbye, the man sulked back to the front steps of his house where he continued to sob. By the way he grieved, it would seem he had loved the woman, Gabby, a great deal. No one could have guessed the ecstasy he felt at the moment. He was free; free from the woman that had been suffocating him for the past five years. Not one more day would he have to put up with her insanity. He had finally escaped the cage that had kept him from living a happy life. Yes, by the way he grieved and carried on, no one could have guessed that he had been the one to poison dear Gabby Smith.
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Posted: Wed Aug 15, 2012 9:40 pm
hope you enjoy this, it was interesting for me to write: sweatdrop
There were sirens... so many sirens-- because of them I could hardly think straight anymore. The girl of my dreams, dead; dead because of one man’s lust and envy. We had such a simple, easy life. A nice home, and a wedding in the spring, our winters being cold and rainy always. This night, the night of her death will always be remembered. I could never forget the sirens, wailing and screaming down the streets; our home smelling of iron, of blood, and of gun-powder. How I wish I could forget it. Me, sitting there, drowning in the flood of tears that I had released. The officers came eventually and lifted me up with the gentlest of touches, and covered me in a blanket. They gave me a strong coffee to drink, to drown out the taste of blood in my mouth. A clap of thunder took me back-- back to the scene I walked in on. The curtain of darkness arose with the lightning, revealing the gruesome scene-- my lover dead. Eyes glazed over from the miniature hole, carved from a low caliber shot.
The rain, soaked me through, even the blanket drenched. Drenched in the tears of sorrow from the sky, sharing the colors and emotions of mine. Eyes that will never see my true love again closed slowly, and slowly the tears stopped, letting the sky take their place. Lightning cracked as officers sloshed over, hoping I would be ready to listen. Ready to listen, and to talk about the one I lost; the one I loved. "Never," I told them softly, "never will I be ready to speak of this." The pain fresh ripped my heart asunder, tearing it into smaller and smaller tatters, until finally only shreds of oblivion remained. Ambulances came slower than the cops did. They appeared minutes, hours, and days later. No longer could I tell time, my body, and my functions, slowly shutting down and tuning out the world. Sirens, voices, the rain, all became a low white droll; a white noise to me. Movements,and people, all became a blur to me-- like a surreal dream.
I was moved, guided by an unseen hand. Someone led me to an ambulance and took me to a room some distance off. I never noticed the change. I was numbed... Numbed by the pain of losing her. I could never tell if I dreamed that night, or lied awake. All that is remembered is the sound of the storm, and the painful darkness. The voices, sirens, rain,and thunder all were one that night; all a white noise beating on my ears. The rain, the blood, the iron, the powder from the gun, and the coffee all smelled the same by the end of the night. The rain, the hands, the blanket, all pressed memories to me, nothing more. The coffee, and the blood from my fingers all tasted the same to me, bitter. Bitter were the tear stains on my cheeks, bitter was the entire night to me. Nothing would be the same. My life ended that night. Every day since then is nothing but a blur of motion-- an amalgamation of sounds. Nothing carried flavor anymore. My life had become robotic, maintained by years of habit I moved. I ate. I worked. I slept. I followed my routine. But nothing was the same, because I never could love again.
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Posted: Thu Aug 16, 2012 6:59 am
"Who did this?!" A young man by the name of Christopher yelled at a policeman. The many tears running down his face made it look as if he were not angry but sad. He was, angry with the person who killed his wife and sad because they had only been married for a week.
"We still have some investigation, sir. Please take a seat while we clear out the hotel." The officer practically pushed Chris over to the sidewalk and sat him down. Someone offered him a cup of water, and he accepted it. The sidewalk was wet from the ongoing thunderstorm, but that didn't bother Chris. He just sat down and thought about what had just happened.
"Yes, clear out the hotel, where we were merely staying for our honeymoon," Chris whispered to himself. "You won't find anything besides my dead wife and the knife used to kill her." Chris was enraged, who killed his wife? Nobody he knew had anything against her. Did a crazy murderer decide to come in the hotel, go to the ninth floor, pick a random suite, and murder the person in there? No, he thought, the odds of a crazy murderer going to the tenth floor when there are twenty floors is just bizarre. And picking our hotel is even more suspicious. This was planned.
Chris wanted to stand up and go talk to an officer, but he couldn't. All of his muscles were stiff and the cold rain pouring down in sheets did not help. People he didn't even know tried to comfort him, but he just shooed them away. Nobody knew what happened, and that's all Chris wanted to her. He didn't care about their, "I'm sorry this happened to you," or, "It's okay to cry, you can get through this." He couldn't get through this. He went to the lobby for a couple minutes to pick up the Chinese they had ordered, and he came back to a dead wife.
Chris just sat there. He missed the gurney taking his wife away. Soon everyone started to clear out, but nobody even offered to help him up or tell him the police were leaving for now. He just sat in the pooring rain, all night until whatever was in his cup of water slowly eased him into death. Whoever killed her was trying to kill him too. "Good-bye, Melony," he said, and there he closed his eyes to be with her again.
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Posted: Fri Aug 17, 2012 12:29 pm
The air smelled of cinnamon and lavender, mixed with woodsmoke and mortar. The arid, biting smell of heat and fire cut through the first winter's rain, leaving him overheated but shivering. He watched the tea shop go up in flames, the pieces of his heart each a lead weight in his chest. Why had this happened? Why had it been her? Why couldn't it have been him?
He dropped the torch, listening as it fizzled out in a stream of water running towards the grate in the sidewalk. The shop had been his and his darling wife's pride and joy. It was only right that it go down with her. She had wanted to be cremated. And, luckily, so did he. The firelight cast streams of orange and yellow through the night, projecting a man's featureless shadow on the rough brick he sat down on. The brick was wet; so was he. He had no umbrella. Dead men did not need them. He watched through the broken window as the smoldering checkout counter collapsed into itself, the shelves behind it toppling into the nearly empty room, reducing the tins of tea to crumpled containers of ashes. Her coffin sat in the middle, the gilded wood finally catching fire. It had not been right. She had not wanted to be buried. This was how it had to be, how it had to end. A shock of lightning flashed across the sky, ripping the horizon in two. Thunder rumbled through him, the proximity of the storm tangible in the way his bones rattled with the crashing of the clouds.
Finally, the sirens came. He almost confused the wail of the police sirens and the fire trucks with another clap of thunder. An ambulance would be along shortly for good measure, he supposed. He did not have long, then. The old man heaved himself to his feet, and picked up his cane. It had been a good life. Without her, though, he would hardly miss it. He hobbled into the tea shop, thinking of her and the many years the pair of them had had. There was nothing without her. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he passed through the cracking entryway and past the crumbling tins of tea. Bergamot, his favorite. White apricot, hers. Every morning she brewed the tea while he put out the toast and butter and honeyed cream. Bending down and picking up a pinch of burnt-up tea, he placed a charred leaf of amaranth on his tongue. It tasted of ashes and dirt, hot with the flames of hell around them.
He sat down on the ground beside her coffin. It had been a long time since he had sat on the ground. This time, he would not have to worry about getting up again. He would never find another woman like her, and he did not want to try. For even if he did find another woman whose hair smelled of cinnamon and lavender, with a little peaked nose that she complained about in the cold, with wiggly toes that walked beside his when they walked on the beach, she would never be half the woman his wife was. The orange of the tea shop's fire, the black of the suffocating smoke, and the red of the many sirens outside blended into a single color as he looked out the window through tear-filled eyes. This was the color of sorrow and anguish.
The air smelled of cinnamon and cloth and fire as the coffin finally went up in flames. He was soaked to the bone, the cold, wet wool of his sweater a stark contrast with the heat of their final resting place. The fire was welcoming him home. The scent of spices and flowers was cut with fire and rain, as the firemen yanked him back out of the burning building. The old man struggled valiantly, but could not resist them. He beat helplessly at the strong-backed men who brought him to the ambulance and restrained him, to take him to the hospital. The orange of the fire and the red of the sirens gave way to the yellowish lamplight, reflecting off the rain-soaked pavement as the ambulance began to drive away.
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Posted: Sat Aug 25, 2012 3:36 pm
As the overnight storm raged on, thunder rocking the entire city, ambulance in the distance and police interrogating witnesses.eric stood at the rubble of his wife's car. He recalled the last moments he had seen his beloved Karen.
Eric had seen Karen's credit card bill, and was in a great heat of rage. "You need to stop spending all your money Karen! We don't have this kind of money!" "That's why I used a credit card!" exclaimed Karen. Eric couldn't handle these kind of fights."Just please stop wasting so much, please!" Karen had had enough, and she wanted nothing to do with him at the moment. Karen hollered, "Leave me the hell alone! I'm going for a ride!"
After she left, Eric sat down crying. He just couldn't handle the repetitive fights. He just wanted it to be like the old days. To be the way it was when Eric and Karen had first got together. After almost two hours, he decided to call Karen and apologize. He found his cell phone and dialed...no answer. He called again...still no answer. After hanging up the fourth or fifth time, he got a call from the state police department. "Eric, your wife is dead. She was in a collision with a drunk civillian." Eric couldn't believe the news! She can't be dead! Eric took his bike and rode over to where the collision had occured.
He could still taste the horrific bitter ash from the fire that was recently put out. He looked again over the rubble and kneeled down, his eyes drenched in tears. "Why me? Why did my one true love need to die? This is all my fault. I shouldn't have over reacted." As he said this he couldn't help but feel she still deserved an apology. Eric knelt down once again and said, "Karen, I'm so sorry for the pain I've caused you! I hope that one day we can again be together in heaven." As eric said these touching words to her deceased wife, he realized nothing can bring her back.
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Posted: Sat Aug 25, 2012 4:19 pm
Everything can be taken away from you in a blink of an eye. You never expect it; you never dream it could happen. And then when it does you look not at what’s happened but at yourself. You blame yourself. “I didn’t say I love her.” “She called and I never answered.” “We fought before he died.” “It’s my fault, I was horrible to him.” You go over and over and over all the things you did. You blame yourself. But it’s never your fault for someone else’ death. Unless you killed them, of course. Then you have to realize it’s real, and you’re left alone. Your left there without them. That’s how Anthony was the night Rachel died. “How did she die?” Anthony had asked her doctor. He was standing outside Rachel’s hospital room, the blanket over her face made it clear that she had just passed over into the other world. “She had internal bleeding from the crash. Her lungs filled up and we couldn’t save her. I’m sorry for your loss,” the doctor said to her boyfriend. It seemed at the word “crash” Anthony was reminded of the scene he had pulled up to several hours earlier.
The moment that the crash had occurred Anthony had been sitting at home, eating away at the kettle corn popcorn he loved so much. “Please bring back some when you come home babe,” he had asked of Rachel as she ran out to the store. “I will,” she said with one of her heart breaking smiles. How could anyone not love the sweet slightly buttery taste of kettle corn? He had been watching one of those romantic comedies that not many men were into but since he and Rachel had begun going out over 3 years ago, he couldn’t get enough of them. He was laughing when suddenly he heard his cell rang. Without much thought as to who was calling he picked up the cell and answered. “Hello?” he said with a smile on his face. “Is this Anthony Dilren?” a male voice asked on the other end of the line. Catching Anthony’s attention he paused the movie, furrowed his brows and sat up straight. “Yes?” he said waiting on the other man. “This is Officer Anderson. Your girlfriend, Rachel Wells, was in a car accident. She’s in bad condition,” the officer said and then continued to give Anthony directions to the crash site and what hospital she was being taken to. Once he hung up Anthony shut off the not so funny anymore comedy and looked at the wall. The rain in the background was the only noise in the whole apartment. Suddenly, thunder shook the room and Anthony bolted upright, grabbing his keys and jacket as he slammed the door leaving the apartment.
The whole way to the crash site all he could hear was the drizzle of rain, the loud cracking of thunder up in the clouds. He didn’t care at all about any of that; he cared about Rachel. He slammed the car in park, got out and splashed through the puddles until he got to a tall man who held him away from the cars and police tape. “That’s my girlfriend’s car!” he said as he moved past the man and another office, which he assumed was Officer Anderson, stopped him, this time keeping him in place. “Go to the hospital Anthony. She needs you. We got this under control,” the man said as he looked straight into Anthony’s eyes. Vaguely, Anthony had a feeling the man had done this before. He made sure Anthony’s eyes were locked on his, this way the man could hear the words he was saying before blaming himself. Looking around at the mess he didn’t know what to think. There were at least four police cars at the scene with their annoying lights and a fire truck putting out the fire of the other car, which was now smoking. There was also an ambulance but he didn’t dare to see what was happening over there. The red flashing lights seemed blinding and the sounds they normally made replayed in his head even if they weren’t actually going off. Then he found Rachel’s car and fell to his knees. The bones connected with the road and made a sickening sound, a hard thump. Her driver’s side was pushed in, the front end of her car was destroyed almost so bad that it seemed like she was driving a Mini Cooper, when she clearly wasn’t. If the car was in that bad of damage, how bad was she in? His head was spinning and to keep himself from crying, Anthony stood up, turned on his heels, and ran back to his car.
Now, he was back in the hospital, the smell of rubbing alcohol strong in the air. He looked around at the people that walked the halls and all the doctors. They didn’t know how he felt. He had just lost the woman he loved. The one he was going to marry. The one who smelled of peaches with a hint of butter milk from the lotion she wore. The one with the heart breaking smile that had been the first thing he saw in the morning and the last thing he saw at night. The one who would give him the softest kisses that tasted like her, sweet and soft, like the peaches she wore on her skin. The one he had forgotten to say “I love you” to before she left. The one he had failed to protect. The One. He had lost The One and he wasn’t ever going to get her back. He wasn’t going to feel her soft skin, or put his face in her hair and smell her conditioner. He wasn’t going to wrap his arms around her and have her heart beating so loud he could hear it in time with his own. He wasn’t going to have any of that. He wasn’t going to have the movie nights under the soft cotton blanket, their bodies lying together as they enjoyed both the cinema and their closeness. All of that was gone, in the blink of an eye. He was there, in the world, without her. He wasn’t sure if he could handle it. The doctor had said he could have a moment alone with her and after blaming himself he walked into the room where she had been brought. He pulled up the guest chair that was left for visitors and pulled back the sheet before sitting down. She was still as beautiful and wonderful as when she had left that night. His heart thumped heavily and tears spilled out. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it as he took his other hand and brushed it over her forehead. Her parents would be there soon, so for now it was the two of them. As the tears fell he leaned over and kissed her cheek which was still warm and began to sing to her.
“I think about you baby and I dream about you all the time. I’m here without you baby, but you’re still with me in my dreams. And tonight, it’s only you and me. I love you Rachel,” he whispered, standing up and leaving her sleeping form behind.
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Posted: Sat Sep 01, 2012 3:32 am
The rain is falling from the sky, the thunderstorm roaring. A night breeze blows, and I stand out in the wet, freezing but not caring. The rain beats faster, but my own tears ran down swifter than even the quickest animal in the world.
I am dazed and shattered, and my head is spinning like a whirlpool in the ocean. The police called me and told me that my wife was dead from a car crash. The world is taken from me in moments, and now, what had I to live for? If my wife was gone, then so was the world. There was no point in living.
“Here, you should go inside,” says one of the police officers. He grabs my hand and leads me into the hospital, and I numbly sit down in one of the chairs, my hands shaking so that I nearly spill the cup of hot ginger tea the police officer gave me.
I drink the tea reluctantly, forcing the liquid to go down my throat. Finally, more officers come, wheeling a gurney inside. A blanket is covering the body, and it is stained with blood. My fists tremble as I lift the soft, white fabric, bracing myself for the sight of the broken body of my deceased wife. But still, the glimpse of the mangled body in front of me took the breath from me. I let out a low moan, and memories begin to flow through my mind. A cop asks me if I am okay, but I shake my head and say, “I’ll never be okay.”
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Posted: Sat Sep 01, 2012 1:15 pm
The contest is officially over
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