The Monthly Writing Contest February Edition
-Created by Yttrium and Undead Fiend

How This Works:

At the beginning of each month a theme will be given, the writer is expected to write a short piece of prose that fits said theme. All stories will be submitted on the thread and may be commented or critiqued by other writers. But Yttirum, Drop_Dead, and Tycho the Wanderer currently the only judges as of now and we remain the ultimate factor on who wins the contest. Also, Undead Fiend is no longer a judge, so he will be entering a story this month.

What do you get for winning? The chance to show off your awesomeness and to have bragging rights. You could also display it colorfully in your sig. The winner also chooses next month theme.

Rules:
-It must be prose (poetry is more abstract, and thus harder to judge)
-Though there are no length requirements, remember that a short, short story may not get everything that needs to be said, said, while a long story may say too much.
-It must incorporate the theme.
-Must meet the end of the month deadline (February 29th at 11:59:59 PST).

Anyone can submit an entry and you may submit as many as you like, or revise an old one as many times as you like up until the deadline.

This Month's Theme:

Hope

And just in time for Valentine's Day! A time for love or for a good old-fashioned massacre You choose.

Hall of Fame

October: f8Icobra:http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1235108-monthly-writing-contest/page__view__findpost__p__18778378

November: kdn003: http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1249814-monthly-writing-contest-november-edition/page__view__findpost__p__19154847

December: Josh gro-Graz: http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1313249-monthly-writing-contest-december-edition/page__view__findpost__p__19864553

January: Styles: http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1335272-monthly-writing-contest-january/page__view__findpost__p__20166889

Here's a quote from JE Sawyer about how to get out of a creative slump. I thought I would post it here since this is a creative writing competition and since I couldn't think of anywhere else to post it. The source is JE Sawyer's formspring.

False Hope

The play was about to end, as Alexander lookout over the audience from behind the curtain. All the key players had come to watch the play this night; each one of them with the power to decide the future of his city. Alexander wasn't confidant in the play's ability to sway the minds these important players, but the Director believed in the power of words.

“The pen is mightier than the sword Alexander. Always remember that” he would say whenever Alexander expressed the need for better defenses.”

“This was the noblest Roman of them all. All the conspirators save only he did that they did in envy of the great Caesar; He only in a general honest thought and common good to all, made one of them.” The Director’s line broke Alex of his thoughts. He turned the spotlight on the Director, knowing he would get an earful from him later for missing his cue.

He couldn’t see Ranger Felix in the evening twilight, but he knew he was watching. Most likely he was keeping his distance from Rattus, Caesar’s Frumentarii and invited guest of the Director. Alex could clearly see Rattus, sitting front row center with two of his goons sitting next to him. Shaven bald and overweight Rattus watched the end of the last act at the edge of his seat. Behind Rattus was Jason of the Follows of the Apocalypse.

“To part the glories of this day” was the cue for the lights to turn out. Rattus was the first to stand, clapping his hands in delight.

“Bravo!” Rattus shouted as the others around him stood to join in his applause.

“Come with me” said the Director, as he removed the robes of Mark Anthony. He was not pleased with Alex.

“I am sorry my lighting wasn’t up to standards tonight sir, its just that I have a lot on my mind” Alex said, doing his best to keep up with the Director.

“Never mind that, we have final negotiations to attend" he said without turning to look at Alex.

The two made their way from the back of the courtyard stage and headed toward the Vault door, and from there they would go to the Director’s office. Before Alexander’s time, the Directors of the city went by another title, Overseer.

The two were startled when they opened the door and found Ranger Felix standing beside the Director’s desk; a tall man, over six feet, steel blue eyes, greying hair and wearing his Ranger uniform. He had a lit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth and his helmet, hooked to his right hip.

“Ranger Felix, I wasn’t expecting you so soon. Didn’t you watch the play?” asked the Director as he made his way to his chair.

Taking a long drag from is cigarette “I watched it” he said as he blew the cigarette smoke from his nostrils.

“And?” The Director asked.

“And it was good” Felix responded as he put out his cigarette in the ashtray on the desk. “Let me cut to the point Director” Felix said as he sat down in one of the three chairs Alex had set in front of the Director’s desk. “My men and I have been sent to aid in the defense of your city from the Legion. As we talked about before, you and your people will become a part of the New California Republic.”

“As I told you before, our city doesn’t need any aid in its defense. Our ancestors built this city with the aid of GECKS and built a strong defense system that has served us well for centuries. We will maintain our independence from the New California Republic and the Legion.”

Felix took out his pack of cigarettes. Tapping the pack on the palm of his hand and removing another one “We have dealt with such defenses before.”

“Is that a threat? The Director asked.

“Of course it was” loud voice from the doorway. Felix didn’t turn to look; instead he lit the new cigarette.

“His kind always resorts to such baseless threats when they don’t get their way” Rattus said as he walked into the room.

Alex stepped out of the way of Rattus, giving him extra room so that he could take his seat. His two goons stood outside the door next to three of the Director’s guards.

As he sat in one of the three chairs, leaving an empty one between himself and Felix “Director I must congratulate you and your people once again on another magnificent performance. Caesar himself can’t wait to watch one of your outstanding plays.”

“And we would be honored to perform a play for Caesar and the NCR” the Director smiled.

The addition of the NCR to that sentence made Rattus’ smile fade. “Yes of course the NCR would be most welcome” Rattus said lying though his teeth and trying his best not show it.

“Caesar has ordered the construction of an amphitheatre in Flagstaff, and he wishes you and your people to settle there and teach others your wonderful art” Rattus said with a false smile.

“And what would happen to our city while we are in Flagstaff?” The Director asked

Felix chuckled to himself when Rattus ran out of colourful lies to cover the Legions true intentions.

“They will burn it” came yet another voice, this time one of a young man in his mid-twenties. Only a few years younger than Alex, Jason walked into the room. Unlike Rattus and Felix, Jason had no goons or soldiers with him. Pinned to the briast pocket of his leather jacket was a white flower, a symbol of the Followers of the Apocalypse.

“That is a lie!” Rattus shouted, turning to face the young man.

Ignoring Rattus, Jason spoke to the Director. “It is no lie Director. The Legion will break up your people, burn your city and salt the earth so that nothing will grow again.”

“Lies! All lies!” Rattus’ cheeks were beet red. Felix sat back and smiled with delight, at Rattus finally showing his true colours.”

“And the NCR will impose their laws, their way of life on your people. Burden you with taxes and draft your young for their wars” Jason finished as he took his middle seat. Felix was no longer smiling after Jason’s remarks.

“And what do the Followers want with us?” the Director asked.

“We want nothing but to learn from your people and in turn we hope to help with whatever peaceful endeavors you may have. Such as farming and medical knowledge” said Jason.

“Do you wish to gain control of our city?” Asked the Director.

“We wouldn’t think of it” Jason said ignoring Rattus’ venomous gaze and Felix's look of contempt.

The Director leaned back in his chair. “I have come to a decision” his three invited guest focused their attention on him.

“We will remain independent of the New California Republic” Rattus smiled at the Directors words. The Director turned his attention towards Rattus “and Caesar’s offer is generous but I am afraid we will not be abandoning our town.”

Rattus jumped up from his seat “Caesar’s forces will conquer this place and see you and a cross by tomorrow night!"

Alexander knew Rattus’ threat was not an ideal one. For the past week he had been getting reports of a Legion encampment, three miles from the walls of the town, growing ever larger with every passing day. After defending the town against countless enemies over the centuries, Alex had a genuine fear that the automated defense system could no longer handle a force as great as the one Rattus commanded. This made him mad because for years he expressed this concern to the Director, and for years his concerns were dismissed.

Rattus was free to storm out of the office unmolested by the Director’s guards, even after his threats. Rattus was an invited guest and to detain him would be against the Director’s wishes. Even now, the Director believed in a peaceful solution to this situation.

“As for the Followers of the Apocalypse, I can see no ill will in your offer and your people are most welcome in our city” said the Director.

The meeting ended with Jason and the Director shaking hands, as Felix calmly stood up and made his way to the door. Alex did not stay to see the final talk between the Director and Jason; instead he followed as best as he could after Felix. For a man in what had to be his mid to late 50s Felix was very agile and hard to keep up with.

Alex followed Felix down a hall, where there were no guards, as he intended. He lost sight of Felix as he rounded a corner. When Alex turned the same corner, he couldn’t see Felix.

“Felix where are you?” He said out loud as he walked down the hall.

A hand reached out from a dark doorway and pulled Alex into the dark room. “Be quite you fool” Felix said as he released his grip on Alex.

“I am the one that asked to meet with you remember?” Alex asked as he smoothed out his shirt.

“Yeah and you also told me you wanted it to be secret, so it doesn’t help to be yelling my name out like that” Felix said stepping back so the shadows covered his face.

“You’re going to deliver the ammunition, explosives and weapons we agreed upon tomorrow right? My men and I are counting on those supplies for the coming fight with the Legion” said Alex.

“The supplies are already on their way, as long as you keep your deal after it’s all over” Felix said.

And with that Felix put on his helmet and disappeared into the darkened room. Leaving though another door lost to Alex in the dark. It unsettled Alex that Felix had such an extensive knowledge of how to get around in the city, and for him to be able to see in such darkness.

He felt more unsettled going behind the back of the Director, but as head of security for the city, it was his duty to insure the safety of the city and its people. Alex knew that the Followers are pacifist and would not help in the defense of the city. The New California Republic was their only hope to hold out against the Legion.

Rattus was as good as his word. In the early morning light Legion troops began their attack. The auto turrets came to life on top of the towers, cutting down the Legion troops.

“See Alexander I told you we had nothing to worry about” The Director said as he placed his hand on Alex’s shoulder and stood beside him.

Alex could see what the Director could not. That some of the tower's guns were not rotating, some weren’t even firing.

“Where is the ammo we were promised?” Alex said to himself.

“What was that Alexander” the Director asked.

Before Alexander could explain himself there was an explosion, but it came from inside the Vault. The Vault's lighting system shut off and the gun towers along the North wall stopped firing.

“What is happening? The Director asked clearly shaken by the turn of events.

Alexander didn’t know what had happened, but he ordered his guards to man the North wall, as is men took their place along the wall, another explosion; followed by the gun turrets shutting down along the east wall. Legion troops made it to the walls of the town.

From a hill top overlooking the battle Ranger Felix watched with his men. Felix smiled as his plan unfolded before his eyes. He knew the Director would never agree to join the NCR. Having weakened the defenses of the city, the Legion would be able to take it. Felix made sure that the defenses weren’t totally taken out, he didn’t want to make it to easy for them, and after they take the town. Felix would disable the rest of the defenses and take the town back from the Legion. The New California Republic would be seen as heroes.

Felix lit another cigarette as he admired his handy work.

Theodicy

If God is all-seeing, alll-knowing, all-powerful, and all-loving how and why can there be such evil in this world?
This is the question, Theodicy is the search for an answer.

Leaving aside that question, for their can be no quantifiable answer to such a question, one philosopher posited that each decision made ny each individual leads to a new reality. Another gathered from that that there must then be one universe which is the best. The best of all possible worlds.

I considered this, for some time, in my garden.

This is certainly not that world.

Years ago my people came into a small settlement. That small settlement soon thereafter turned against itself. The man that led my community did what he could to protect the few of that group that he believed in. The result was years of bloodshed. I remember it well.

We lost our leader, the closest thing to a father a wretch like me will ever know, and our tribe was scattered to the four winds.

I have traveled much in the intervening years. Alone mostly, though occasionally another lost vagabond has joined me. I have encountered a few of my tribe and a few of that settlement, and found that both groups have proved to be a blessing and a curse to this world.

If there were, or is, such a universe, or world, or reality, which was the best of all possible realities, on what grounds would good and evil be judged? How would a measurement unit be determined? If there are several universes, among them one which can objectively be called the best, there must've some unit of measurement. Is a tear equal to a laugh? Are three tears then equal to three laughs? What about laugh length? Where does this come into play? What about the different sorts of tears, distinguished by the emotion that is their route?

Is a tear derived from loneliness equal to one of pain, or one of unrequited love.

And what of smiles. What is the smile to laugh ratio.

Or what of negative emotions that do not elicit tears. What about the anger of betrayal.

Where does intent play into all of this. Harm caused by accident is surely not as bad as harm caused willfully. What is the dividend?

Until such calculations can be properly done, I think the best of all possible worlds is one where each occupant does his or her utmost to live without harming another. Thus any unfortunate consequences of ones actions are unintended and are thus, to some as of yet undetermined degree, less offensive.

I hope that somewhere in the libraries still held by the Followers of the Apocalypse, I might find the data to complete my formula for that best of all possible worlds.

Pandora's Box

You're all familiar with the story about Pandora's Box, correct? Long ago, before the war, in an ancient land across the irradiated sea was a girl with a box given to her by the "Gods." As a cruel joke, the gods included all of the evils of the world inside that one box.

As Pandora, the girl, opened the box unknowingly, all the evils spilled from the world. You think Super Mutants are bad? The things that drove them to create Super Mutants came out of that box. But after all the evils spilled from this world, one fragile piece was left inside the box. The only thing good that ever came out of the box:

Hope.

Isn't that what we use to get out of bed every day? The thing that makes life have any meaning? The idea that we aren't going to perish in the desert or be eaten by cannibals?

I pondered this for a while. Pandora's Box. It is a great metaphor, is it not? Just as the evils of the world was released after opening the box, we opened our own Pandora's Box...three hundred years ago. We call it the "Great War" but it was more than that.

It gave us all the new evils and amplifying the old vices that plagued mankind. Ironic it seems that we were to die from the same vice that was spread along with the other evils within the box: Greed.

Still, if anything were to be amplified more than all the evils around us, it was hope.

And that's why I walk my lonely road. That's why I get up in the morning, every day, not knowing if I am to survive another day. Hope...that's what drives everybody in this wasteland.

- Lone Wanderer

Untitled

Waking up, what a pain. You have to get up and wake yourself up. Your body is asleep, but your mind is never asleep. Always thinking, always making decisions. Those decisions can be wrong. Your mind doesn't care about morals and rationality. All it cares about is is you. Your it's host, your it's slave. The mind has no soul, the soul has no control over the mind. I learned a long time ago I had no soul. Mind over body right? It's always been like that, mind over body. Your controlled. Not by you, not by a government, not by some voice in your head. Your controlled by your mind. Everything you do, from tieing your shoes to firing a gun is controlled. You may have control of the body, but the mind has control of you.

When I lost my soul, it was a sunny day. I was walking down the street, pistol in holster, caps jiggling as I went along. Then, a little girl, not even above the age of 7 stepped out holding a knife. I remember it vividly, I lost control. I didn't have control of myself. My mind made me pull out the pistol and shoot that girl in the head. She died quickly, I didn't care. I holstered the weapon and walked away, like it was nothing. I've felt remorse ever since then. Living through a life as a child killer? Something you were forced to do? It's a life filled with remorse, regret and reliving that moment. What keeps me going? Hope. Hope I can save someone to make up for the other. But hope will never fill that gaping hole in my soul. *Click* How many times had I done that? How many times did I pull out a empty pistol just to hear that click? Too many times. My mind made me walk over and grab it. Hope that my mind wouldn't do it had subsided, what's the point in hoping in something that'll never happen? Unless it's by your own hands. *Boom*

-Not my best, but writing on hope is not good for me. (P.S I've dropped out of the judging until I want to join back.)

I added to an interesting Q and A about creativity to the opening post, you might be interested in reading it. It's something JE Sawyer said a while back that I saved, but never really got around to posting anywhere, so I figured this thread was a good place.

Hopeless

What is the point hope in a place like the wasteland? Thought Mark as he trudged along the path towards what he felt in his heart was going to be the place where he breathed his last breath upon the radiation blasted earth. His thoughts turned like they always did to his dead wife, killed almost a year to the day that he was marching off to meet an enemy that he knew that he couldn’t fight. He remembered the day that he had met her ten years ago as she had come into his small town on a trading caravan and captivated his thoughts all day. When he finally had the chance to talk to her he had been nervous and apprehensive, but she had been friendly and funny so he was soon talking to her as if he had known her for years.

Then with what he considered unfair quickness she had been killed by a group of raiders who had been passing through while he was out in the fields working. He hadn’t known there was any trouble until he heard the screams, but when he’d gotten there she lay dead on the floor and his house had been a smoking wreck. So here he was marching off to the place where that same band of raiders was camped planning their assault on a small farm much like his own. Mark had but one gun to his name, an old hunting rifle that had been passed down to him from his father. It was worn and slightly cracked but he loved it like the son that he knew he would never have in his pockets jingled thirty shots.

He knew he was out gunned but this was the only way that could ever hope to redeem his conscience for what had been his fault, besides he had passed beyond caring or hope for anything better. He picked a place right in the middle of the route that he knew the bandits would take and took cover behind a group of rocks. Even if I can’t kill you all I’m at least going to make you bastards work for it! He thought furiously. While he sat there waiting for the raiders to walk into his sights his mind drifted back to a happier time when his every thought wasn’t about revenge.

Her blonde curls fell to her shoulders as she talked happily to him about the next caravan that she was going on. Her intelligent blue eyes looked him over and she said worriedly.

“Mark you shouldn’t work so hard, I really appreciate what you have done with this old farm but like I always tell you it isn’t our main form of income, you don’t need to kill yourself every day to keep us fed.” He had simply smiled, shook his head and told her that if he didn’t do it then what good would he be. His mind was suddenly forcibly pulled from his memories by the noise of the fifteen raiders coming down the path. They were a disgusting group covered in dirt and mud; their armaments were the usual mix of smgs and assault rifles with the occasional shotgun thrown in for good measure. A short fragment of a conversation between two of them drifted up to him.

“it was a good catch, a very good catch, that little girl will be worth a lot more then that other blonde [censored] that we picked up a year ago.” Said one in a slimy voice

“I know, I wonder who gets her first?” said one with a giant nose piercing. This made Mark pause; they had picked up someone a year ago? No it was impossible he had laid her charred body in the ground a year ago, it can’t be her he thought to himself, and yet he had begun to hope. While he thought he had been lining up his shot and when he pulled the trigger the lead raider’s head exploded in a large puff of blood. He then fired off two more shots before the enemy saw his location and began to pour fire at his position. When they had to reload he popped up and dropped another two raiders into pools of their own blood.

“Come on out grandpa we just want to kill you!” one of the raiders jeered at Mark while he ducked behind his cover. This’ll teach that little punk to call me grandpa, Mark thought as he fired another round straight into the raider’s chest. As he reloaded he realized that the raiders were no longer firing at him, which could only mean trouble. That’s when the grenade landed beside him oh [censored]. The grenade explosion threw him backwards and he landed against the rocks hard, luckily his armor stopped most of the shrapnel but he now had a shallow cut running along his temple. Well I always knew it was hopeless he told himself I just wish that I had killed more of them! Blood was running into his eyes from the cut and it was making his vision very blurry.

“Leave him alone you [censored] bastards!” yelled voice straight out of his memories, he started to cry but his eyes wouldn’t make the tears, those had been cast a year ago. He stood up aiming his rifle at the raiders who were looking at his wife who was standing behind them in annoyance.

“Oh or what, will you shoot us?” asked the slimy voiced one. Mark took the opportunity to remark.

“Probably not, but then that always was my job!” he fired off five rounds so quickly that the last four raiders were only just hearing his words when their friends hit the ground. He reloaded his battered old rifle and fired again and another raider dropped to the ground blood pooling around his chest. The other three returned fire but by some miracle missed him, his rifle kicked three more times, and the last three fell dead. His wife ran up to him and embraced him in a furious hug while he sputtered.

“But you’re dead I put you in the ground myself!” his wife just laughed and shook her head before saying.

“No my husband, you put the women who I killed with our kitchen knife in the ground. As for me they took me prisoner and have been looking for a price ever since, I knew you would find me. I never gave up hope that my strong willed husband Mark would show up and save me, now we have a little girl to return to her parents.” Maybe there is a point in hope in a place like the wasteland. He thought, it helps people live another day, and that was good enough for him.

Finally did it, Tycho! This is for you, broski.

HOPE IS COME.

A cold, hard-pressing fear cloaked itself over Nameless. Not only a constant fear, but pain and misery of what was, and what is to come. To be taken - stolen! - away from your family at such a young age, only to be wounded in ways emotionally, mentally, physically and sixually by rabid, cruel monsters is a lifelong torture. In a world without law, justice and compassion, only the innocent died. From the time the bombs swallowed the world in atomic fire, mankind, compassion, love and mercy perished along with the earth.

Until now.

~o0o~

Nameless sat in a dark, dank room. Icy cold licked her bare skin, but she had more to worry about than the cold. Dried blood coated the once-white-tiled floor. A stench filled the air, so pungent and putrid it made for hard of breathing. The air was thick with evil, so thick that you could feel it. The slavers didn’t keep her chained or bound and trussed – and certainly no collar worn. No, she could just run out the door and into freedom. But the metal door - that damned door - was locked. Slavers had the power of Hopelessness on their side.

Hopelessness was no freedom. Hopelessness was not being able to have the power to fight back. Hopelessness was and is a powerful force; it tripped you up, and you were fearful of such. You could not live without Hope. So what Hope was there?

Every night…everyday…Nameless felt great pain, her wounds cut so deep it became infected with Misery, Helplessness, Worthlessness, Hurt, Hate, Anger, Lies. It became so infected, she became disfigured. She didn’t know who she was anymore. Nameless knew it all about men: they were bastards. And they would break a woman’s dignity and steal her childhood. She just knew. Nameless saw them all, one after the other. Those men didn’t care! Her anger flared in her chest. She hated them all. When people looked at her, it was either filled with lust, or it was a lofty glance. She thought she knew how everyone was. They don’t know me. Why should they? They don’t even know themselves. The Paradise Falls slavers threw her here. Stole her freedom. Made her forget what was good in the world. Damn them all. Damn Moriarty, and damn Eulogy. None of them were in the least human.

Hopelessness caressed her in his cold embrace. “You’re never leaving,” he sneered, “you’re stuck here. No one will help you.”

“Nobody loves you.” Added Lies. He smiled devilishly. “You’re worthless.”

“Worthless.” Agreed Worthlessness.

“Your mother isn’t here. Your father isn’t here. Not even your brother. They don’t love you. What worth is your life?” Lies spat.

Nameless gulped. For a second there, she believed it. She felt that prickling feeling behind the eyes that meant a cry.

“Do it.” Worthlessness stared Nameless down, her thin lips curled into a cruel smile.

Deceit scoffed. “Why do you hesitate? Why are you afraid?” She bent down and grabbed Nameless by the shoulders, “Isn’t death just? Isn’t it the way out?” She leaned in closer – so close, that Nameless could smell her putrid breath. “It’ll end your suffering.” She whispered. “You don’t enjoy this. I know you don’t. You hate being forced to sell your body, don’t you?” And with that, each one of the shadows whisked away, scurrying off to torment another poor soul. The air felt…lighter, and Nameless could breathe again. However, her misery didn’t dissolve into air as they. It stayed, feet planted deep.

Nameless breathed out. Closed her eyes. She felt like someone was banging a hammer on the inside of her chest. Was it from fear? Anxiety? Conflicted thoughts of “do it” and “don’t do it” rushed through her mind. Wouldn’t death end suffering? Death is the only way out, isn’t it? Life is meaningless, life is suffering, life is insignificant. Her life was nothing, and most of all, she was nothing. So wouldn’t her death do some good? Her daughters would grow up as she had, and her sons would become abusive monsters as their fathers. Her daughters would see it as a normal thing to sell your body, and to be beaten. This will carry on for generations and generations and mankind will see nothing wrong and immoral about that. Wouldn’t death grant redemption? Wouldn’t death save her children from being murderers and prosttutes?

Light scattered into the room, sending shadows drawing back into the corners. Nameless had to squint against the rude intruder, eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. A tall figure darkened the doorway. Just another slaver come to take her to a strange city and make caps. The bastard. Tonight, she thought. Tonight.

~o0o~

Rivet City, a great hulking piece of floating metal – otherwise known as a “ship” – was home to many. Maybe a little crowded for Luc’s taste, but you stuck with what you got. No complaining around these parts. Living on the water meant safety distance from Super Mutants, and that was luxury enough. Luc closed his eyes, cutting all distractions from himself. How many years was it now? How many years from when his sister was taken? Ten years. She should be 22 years by now. Same as he. Twins, they were. But he knew…he just knew, that she was out there, somewhere. The hope was strong. She had to be alive. Passionate women were like that. Luc could never give up now. He’d been searching for her for, what? – ten – years now. He breathed out. There were times, where he thought he saw her – just a glimpse – and when he ran to her, she wasn’t there. Was this…was this his grief? Was he just lying to himself, hoping for something that would never be true? Both his parents had died of grief. Was this his way of coping with it?

Luc shook off his doubt, and made his way up a set of stairs to a small balcony overlooking the marketplace.

“Don’t think you’re ever gonna find her, Luc.” A cold, icy voice sneered behind him.

Luc turned to face where the voice came from. A man, in his early thirties was seated, a lit cigarette between his fingers. He was dressed in a business suit, with polished loafers. The man was tall and thin; just meat and bone, thin-pressed lips, oiled dirty-blond hair, and a pair of dark eyes behind silver-framed glasses. Hopelessness.

Luc wanted to attack the man. But he couldn’t. “Leave me.” He said sternly.

Hopelessness let his stare linger over Luc for a while, judging him. He scoffed, “No.” Then his face mirrored the devil he was, “No. I like what I do.” Hopelessness smiled a serpent’s smile. Like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “It’s been ten years now, Luc. Ten years. Do you even know what happens to people like her? Have you in the slightest? That – that is a test of human strength. Only the weak crumble. Only the weak rid of themselves. And, well, the weak are,” he shrugged, “all of them. That’s how all of you are. Weak. Pathetic.” Then he was gone.

Luc sighed. He buried his face in his hands, and wept. He didn’t want to believe it. Just couldn’t.

After wiping his tears, Luc made exit to Rivet City. Before he could reach the door, his heart dropped. It was like the world stopped. There, he saw her. The beautiful girl with cornflower blue eyes and cool brown hair. Rachel. Sister. She saw it too. They locked eyes for a moment, mouth agape. His legs felt weak, and if he didn’t find something to support him soon, he’d fall over. Then that man came. A slaver, most likely, who took her outside.

Luc’s heart was beating rapidly. He followed the man, tailing behind, but not so close that the slaver would notice. When Rachel was joined by other slavers, he knew there was no way he’d fight them off. It was hopeless.

“I’d like to see you save her now.” Hopelessness mocked from behind.

Luc’s hands were clammy. He ignored the comment, and tailed the slavers some more. Where are they headed? Hopelessness was right. He couldn’t do anything in this. No, no! After ten years…ten long years, he’d finally seen her. And it might be the last if he didn’t do anything. I’m coming, Rach. Just you wait.

~o0o~

As Rivet City loomed in the distance, Rachel could only smile. Tonight can wait. Hope is come.

"Begin Again"

*A background story for my fanfic "Project Phoenix"

A new era was dawning. A new future in sight, looming just over the horizon. Indeed, it was a bright one, but also dark and grim. There was a storm brewing up in the skies and the geniuses at the Montreal Biodome saw it coming. They watched the world crumbling down. The Resource War, Anchorage, the campaign at the Chinese mainland, the breaking down of United Nations, the wars that tore across the Middle East; it was evident that the world was going downhill, and it was going down hard and fast.

The scientists wanted to help the world as talks of nuclear attacks became common amongst the masses. They pondered on solving the problem of the resource-deprived nations. Seeing how the nuclear holocaust would destroy the environment, the great minds of Montreal Biodome assumed the responsibilities of trying to stop it, staying true to their main dogma but also taking a new one. They saw themselves as the ones who would usher the world out of the hole it has dug itself in---a great, dark abyss with little to no hope of climbing out.

Every second, minute, hour, day, week, month, year, the world’s problems consumed their minds. For those who enjoyed their scientific work, those were the best days of their lives filled with excitement as if on a grand adventure to unlocking the deepest secrets held by the Universe. For those who were concerned about the future, those were the most stressful days of their lives, as the ominous Doomsday clock kept ticking ever so close to the final event with little desired progress towards their goal.

In danger of intervention, such as a government take-over of the facility to further the war effort, they didn’t want the outside world to know the on-going research in the facility. Taking their families and relatives with them into seclusion, the scientists formed a subterranean community in their newly-built underground complex. In there, the scientists escaped the government’s watchful eye. One can hear noises from the Robotics Department, the Biotech Department, the Weapons Research Department, and the Energy Research Department all day long. Occasionally, these departments became silent like ghost towns, aside from the humming, whirring, buzzing, clashing, and clanging of the computers and the machinery. Everyone would be tuned in at their underground hockey rink as East Wing’s and West Wing’s teams battled it out on the ice and the spectators cheering enthusiastically from the sides. On other days, as the scientists worked in their respective departments, their families and relatives can be found strolling along the lobby, drinking and making merry in the kitchen area, and the kids would be in their desks at facility's school, reading classical textbooks, being educated by the brightest of minds, or falling asleep, drooling, on their desk…mostly the latter one. Even under the surface, this little community, hustling and bustling, continued their humdrum ways as they did above ground.

One stressful night, however, as the whole community held on to their chairs as the exciting hockey match unfolded---there was much cheering amongst the West Wing crowd---a scientist by the name of Robert Feynman of the Robotics Department struck gold. He has finally solved the world’s biggest question on resource crisis---miniaturization. Through miniaturization, things would require less energy to function but work just as efficiently.

There was much cheering that ensued, even for the East Wing hockey team which unexpectedly lost the match at the last minute. All work stopped at the other departments as they headed down the kitchen area for a feast. The Chief Scientist made sure that Feynman and his team, but especially Feynman, would receive full recognition for their efforts and their discovery. Still, even after their purpose was done, the scientists of Montreal Biodome continued researching just as they have done for many years.

Meanwhile, Feynman, his team, and the head scientists sat down to talk about what to do with the revolutionary technology. When they walked out the closed-door meeting, the scientists of Montreal Biodome again took a new mission. This time, it was to be the guiding light, the beacon of humanity’s future. In the meeting, Feynman convinced the head scientists that the world was too corrupted, too deep in the hole to be saved. It was too late for redemption. So, the scientists held onto the technology the world desperately needed. The outside world eventually found its way of miniaturization, with organizations like RobCo and Big Mountain hard at work, but it was far too late.

With their new mission, the scientists again worked tirelessly, making ground-breaking discoveries that would help in the post-apocalyptic future they hoped to master. They horded as many Old World knowledge as they can fit in the library, in forms of books, holodisks, holotapes, and holovids. Though their library was much smaller, the knowledge they contained was comparable to those held in the National Archives.

Then, the bombs fell. Thus, Project Phoenix was in operation. Like the mythological creature, they hoped to give birth to civilization again from its nuclear ashes.

It was time to “begin again” in the new world…

…and “let go” of the old one.




***Also, I wanna ask. How many entries can I have?

As many as you want.

Fantastic! XD

The deadline is in a couple of days though, so write fast if you want to enter more than one story this month!


:-D Can't wait to read it Schmuty! I shall do so once the time limit expires (or probably before it expires, but then I'll read it again once the time limit is up in case there was any last minute editing).

So you can win a story? COOL SIGN ME UP

Reading comprehension fail. Please don't spam threads like this.

Alice

Alice shaded her eyes with her right hand, as she looked across the bleak expanse of wasted earth below her. It’s been two years, since she emerged from the protective walls of Vault 101. A lot has changed. No, that wasn’t right, nothing has changed. SHE had changed. Alice was no longer the na?ve, “blue eyed” girl she once was.

Nobody would dare to steal a sweet roll from me today, she thought with a grim smile.

A low growl by her side brought her out of her reverie.

“What is it, Blue?” she said and crouched down next to her trusted companion; a dog she had picked up a few months back. He was a tough one, a good fighter, loyal to a fault and also an early warning system. Alice trusted his instincts explicitly.

Blue didn’t take his eyes off the wasteland and Alice followed his gaze. Two raiders rummaged through a trash heap, just a few paces to the south.

“Shhh boy, let’s continue north. I don’t have time or enough ammo to deal with these lowlifes right now,” she whispered into the dog’s ear. Slowly, they turned and head into the opposite direction, away from the scum, who occupied more and more areas of the known wasteland.

***

Alice and Blue traveled for a few days until they reached Big Town. Here she thought to rest up on her journey north. For months, she had been traveling north, always north; following whispers of a place to inspire life, hope, peace and most of all a blossoming tree. Not the dusty, sad excuse of burned earth and barren trees.

As soon as they entered the town, Alice thought they had opened a gate to the pit of despair.

“What you want, wanderer? We have nothing to give, nothing left to rob, if you take our lives, it will be a relief.” The guard, if you could call him that, even held out his pistol to her.

Alice shook her head and even cracked a faint smile. “Nah man, I’m here to get some provisions and maybe even get a nights rest,” she told him, while gently pushing his hand with the gun away.

“Oh alright then, we don’t have much in terms of supplies, but you can go ahead and rest in the common room,” he pointed with a thumb over his shoulder, after he holstered the gun again.

After only a day in Big Town, Alice was even more determined to find the green place up north. After a fairly good night’s rest, they hit the road again.

Two weeks after they had left Big Town, Alice noticed a large creature in the distance. The fallout had spawned a multitude of mutations, but staying in the low lands most of the times, she had no idea what really awaited her up north. She had fought her fair share of those so called Super Mutants, but nothing, nothing prepared her for the sight of this devilish looking creature. It had long, deadly claws and Alice instinctively knew that she had to either take that thing out from the distance or try and make her way around it. However, right now, she was facing only one of those things. Maybe she should just stay on course, deal with this lone creature and not gamble by going out of her way, only to run into a horde of these “Deathclaws”.

Not bad, Alice, not bad, making up names for strange creatures on the fly, she thought with a grin, but grew immediately serious again, when Blue issued a low growl.

The Deathclaw turned its head into the wind and for a moment it stood still. Alice stiffened; afraid he would pick up their scent, before she had time to properly set up a sniper position, somewhere high above the creature, preferably. Agonizing seconds ticket away. Alice didn’t move, the creature didn’t move and even Blue stopped growling. He simply stood there, frozen.

Suddenly, the creature uttered a strange sound and turned to face Alice directly.

“Too late, Blue, we need to improvise,” she hissed as she began to sprint towards the creature, gun drawn, and shooting.

Her bullets found their targets, one in the right knee, one in the left chin, one in the chest, but nothing seemed to slow the creature down. Just before they collided, Alice hit the ground head first, curling into a tight ball and let her momentum carry her forward and between the legs of the creature. Blue was on that thing the next moment, tearing at its legs.

Alice sprang back up and took time to aim. The bullet flew towards the back of the creature’s head and splattered its brains over the grey dirt. Slowly, Alice exhaled a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

“Good boy, Blue!” Alice stroked his head and they continued on north.

***

It was dark when they arrived; both weary from their battles, but happy to be alive. Alice limped through a small canyon, as they approached their destination. Her left pant leg had been shredded by another Deathclaw and she would carry the scars for the rest of her life. Dried blood crusted the edges of a makeshift bandage. It still hurt, but the pain had been reduced to a quiet throbbing.

Alice swallowed hard, then blinked, then turned around and looked back the way they came. Slowly, she shook her head.

“No, no, this can’t be it. Who started this rumor, only to lure people here, to prey on the hopeful? WHO?” She shook her fist at the sky. She sank to the ground and buried her head in her hands.
Blue sat at her heels and joined her lament. He let out a mournful howl that echoed through the still night air.

Alice leaned against a small brick wall that contained the faint outline of a blossoming tree.

Could hope fade away like these colors? She wondered. In her heart, she knew that hope is what you made of it, and so she pushed on.

Dear Big Guy With the Tattoos,

Hi, my name is Susan. I am seven years old and I live in Goodsprings. I live on a farm and work very hard. I live with my mommy and daddy and sister. We have a lot of fun there, and I don’t know why you took me. Since your a grownup and have a lot of grownup frends, I don’t know why you took me when you can play with them. I don’t know why you took my sister either. When you came you grabbed me and her, and it hurt when you hit me, but thats okay. Even thoh you are mean, my dad says to forgive people.

I want you to let me go please. I don’t know where my sister is and I miss her. I haven’t seen her in a while and I think you have here some where. Wat did you do with her? Did you make her go to sleep like you did with my friends at Goodsprings? Will you do the same thing to me? Some times I hear loud screams and noises at night. It sounds like some one’s geting beat up. That really isn’t nice, and you should stop doing that. My dad says you guys aren’t good, and if I ever saw you I should run. I did run when I saw you, and it lookd like you guys were hurting my friends. But I think you guys have some good in you. Every one does. I have hope.

I really hope that you let me go, its very dirty and nasty in here and I have trouble going to sleep. I hope you appreshiat this letter, I tried to spell all the words right. I want to go back home with my sister, because it isn’t happy here. I hope that you read this, and I hope that you let us go.
Singed, Susan

P.S. I have something for you if you don’t, from me and my sister. Its kind of a present, but only for naughty people like you. But you don’t want that present, because your realy a good guy hoo will do the wirhgt thing.

He walks through the room and heads for her cell. The bars are rusted and slimy, black paint that was applied so long ago that mildew could be seen growing from it. Behind the bars lay the little girl, fiddling with her dingy summer dress. Her auburn hair fell over her face to her chest. How her small fingers moved . . .

Below her hands is a folded piece of paper ripped from the burnt book that lay on the floor beside her. He banged on the rungs with his bludgeon pipe, she looks up startled and surprised. He jumped up and ran to the bars with the paper in her hands. She handed it to him. Here you go mister, I wrote you a letter. I hope you like the letter.

“How did you write this?”

“Someone left a pencil in here.”

He took it and looked at the paper. He looked back at the girl, and squatted down so she could look at his eyes. Her eyes were nice and bright, still innocent. Reminded him of all the eyes he’s looked into. All the innocence he’s taken. He hoped they were fearful.

“You’re never leaving here.”

The girls eyes flashed as she registered what he said. But then, just as quickly as her sadness had emerged, it vanished, leaving her with a blank stare. She looked down and backed to the wall again. He left away laughing to himself. He crumpled the paper and threw it at the floor. He didn’t know how to read anyway.

Little did he know in very small print was a P.S.S on the other side of the paper at the very bottom.



P.S.S. That present I have for you? Its small, round and metal. You never did check me when you took me away from my freinds, my family. Now, I’m taking you away too.

Susan pulled her dress up and reached for what her dad managed to give her. He told her to keep it for when they took them. It was the last thing he said before they took her.

“He’s probably sleep now. They put them all to sleep. It’s okay, I’ll see him again.”

She pulled the pin. “I have hope.”

Project Hope

“We are all gonna die. Just a question of when”

Those words echoed in Mac’s thoughts. They were the last words of an old friend. Cut down by a barrage of fire from one of those [censored]Bots while trying to retrieve ammo from an old military truck.
Mac buried him near Rockbreakers. He wrote an epitaph on a piece of wood, stuck it at the head of the grave, “Here lies a good man. And my friend, Jack Bannan”.

Mac went through Jack’s supply bag, looking at it’s contents till he reached something that caught his eye. It was a Holotape. It said on the outside “Project Hope”. Jack had always been very secretive of his reasoning for heading westward. He only said that there “was hope in the west”. Mac was already headed in that direction but for a different reason. Revenge. It was at that moment Mac thought that the better man had lost. But nothing was fair in the wasteland.

Mac loaded up the holotape and began to listen.

“Project Hope is an initiative of the Brotherhood of Steel Hope for Children of the Wasteland and Rebuilding America divisions”.
The tape went on to talk about bringing the lost, the abandoned, the sick, and the needy children of the wastes to a location beyond the borders where they could receive the help they needed and give them a future. To give them hope.

Mac looked out over the horizon. He questioned his character, his motive. What would be left after the fire dies down? But revenge is strong motivation. Mac took a photo from his left side pocket. A mother and young child smiling for the camera was all the motivation he needed.

Mac gathered his things. His Pipboy showed a couple of possible locations up ahead. It was a good two hours walk.

“Two hours.” Mac thought.

That’s a long time to come across nothing. It’s not just the sun you feel on your back, but eyes. It’s like you’re always being watched. It takes a brave man to wander out in the open alone. You gotta keep your finger on the trigger. But that was second nature to Mac, and a couple of one shot kills on some Radscorpions was proof of that. Jack once told Mac that that you could svck moisture out of their glands for hydration. Maybe that’s why they left him alone.

With the onset of the afternoon Mac knew he needed a place to sleep and that’s when he saw the sign for “Little Lamplight Caravan Park”. It looked abandoned. A couple of old vans and an outhouse sat beneath a backlit ridge. It was a beautiful silhouette. It almost looked brand new.

The sound of a gun being cocked shattered the moment.

“Reach for it mister!”

Suddenly three kids appeared out of nowhere with rifles pointed and ready to fire. Mac couldn't believe his eyes.

“I’m just looking for a place to sleep and then move on guys.” Mac said while looking surprised.

“Be quiet mister!” said one boy.

He was dressed in clothes a few sizes too big but it didn’t seem to bother him.

“McCreedys gonna deal with you.”

“Is McCreedy your dad?” said Mac.

“I’m McCreedy!”

Mac turned to look up towards the ridge. A silhouette of a young kid stood strong with a rifle rested on his shoulder.

“You a slaver mungo?” demanded McCreedy.

“No. I’m just passing through.” replied Mac.

"We kill slavers." said one kid. His shotgun looked like when fired would throw him ten meters away.

“He doesn’t look like a slaver.” said another boy.

"I shoot slavers." said Mac.

"Quiet!" yelled McCreedy.

There was a brief silence while McCreedy assessed the situation.

“So you kill slavers huh?" asked McCreedy.

"I sure do kid." replied Mac.

"Well why didn’t you say so.” Grinned McCreedy.

I liked those last two posts. Yes I did.

Just a reminder that the contest will close in ~6 1/2 hours. A winner will be announced by the end of the weekend (hopefully).

Yeah, after my failed attempt at writing, I think I'll go back to judging.

Yeah introductory post Sniper Shack. Wayyy better than my first.

Lookin forward to this months theme. I'll be able to submit something I think. If a theme isn't already in the works yet, maybe we can do something along the lines of Eye for an Eye or Revenge to make up for last months more brighter theme?

LOL to make up for the brighter theme... I can guess where your karma level is at the moment... hahahaha Revenge would be a cool theme though.

The winner gets to pick the theme.

Yeah, which also leads me to the question, Tycho are you guys close to finding out the winner?