[Writing Contest] - THE ARENA

GOURANGA!

“Are you ready, Big Man?”
“I’m not going to fight tonight Skip. Call it off.”
“Call it off? Quit joking around Mikey, and get your head in the game.”
“No joke. I’m done Skip. Call the fight off - I can’t do this anymore.”
“You can’t just quit. You’re Mike Dexter – two fights away from becoming World Champion Cage Fighter and record holder of most consecutive wins. I understand you’re nervous, but get a hold of yourself – we’ve got big money riding on this.”
“God Damn it, Skip, I said I’m out and I mean it, so call the fight off and find yourself someone else to represent, because I’m finished.”
“Represent? Represent? Is that all I am to you Mikey? A manager? After all we’ve been through?”
“You know that’s not what I meant. You’re my best friend.”
“Then as my best friend, go out there and kick some ass!”
“I can’t do it. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“Of course you can do it. You have to do it. For me. For the little guy. For the guy who can’t fight his own fights. For the guy who got the crap beaten out of him every single day as a kid, until Mike Dexter came along and stood up for the school punching bag. You’re the people’s champion, my champion, and two fights from now, the world champion. So what the hell is stopping you?”
“Vlad’s dead, Skip!”
“What?”
“Annette called a few minutes ago. I killed him Skip. I killed him. And I won’t fight again.”
“Mikey, what happened to Vlad was an accident – he was warned not to fight last night. He knew the risks - it wasn't your fault. But I understand. I’ll call the fight off and we’ll go for a drink. Drink to Vlad’s honour. Ok?”
“Thanks, Skip.”

When the dazzling light faded, he opened his eyes and realised he was no longer on the space station. Instead, he found himself in an enormous coliseum, filled with an audience of thousands of hideous green- scaled creatures. The aliens roared a sudden cheer and a chill ran down his spine. He turned and saw an enormous monster with dark red skin and three cranial horns, running on all sixes towards him.

He scanned the area for weapons. Feet away, he saw them: spears, knives, firearms, scattered across the arena floor. He scrambled forward and too late, the creature turned to follow. He lifted a rifle, turned and fired. An energy beam exploded from the muzzle, knocking the beast to the ground. He ran back towards it.

"Please," it groaned. "I'm the..."

Taking no risks, he fired again.

The audience cheered and a blinding light flashed behind him. He turned and saw a purple creature, smaller than the first but with five legs, standing in the middle of the arena.

"Is this the afterlife?" it shouted. "I'm the last of my kind!"

The spectators guffawed, and suddenly he realised why. The nuclear war at home had finally killed everybody else. He too was the last...

And he would stay so. He took aim and fired.

The creature collapsed, fatally wounded by the energy blast. The rifle flashed "Empty Battery," and he dropped it, kneeling to pick up a knife instead. He understood the game now. When this creature died, another would appear, and they too would duel to extinction.

The light flashed and another creature appeared. Like him, it had two legs, but only two arms instead of four, and brown fur covered its head but not its pasty white skin.

"It looks weak," he thought. "Like an easy kill..."

Three deaths vs one death.

The people want what the people want

GOURANGA!

Next?

They say when you're about to die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. As Geraldine saw that truck bearing down on her, she only saw regrets.

Three years ago, when Adam moved to New York, she should have followed him. Long distance relationships don't work. They'd tried it for a while, but drifted apart. She loved him, but five thousand kilometers of ocean may as well have been five million.

Two months ago when Dad died. She got the call to say that her Dad had an episode and was in hospital. She should have dropped everything and left, but that pot-bellied prick of a supervisor pleaded with her to stay an extra hour to do that customer call. Dad had another turn that day, and if she'd left earlier, she would have had a chance to say goodbye.

The fight she had with Simon that morning. It just wasn't working out. They'd been fighting a lot lately, and this morning's was about nothing in particular. A slammed door. Some tears. Leaving the house in anger.

The shrill horn of the truck snapped Geraldine back to the present. A self preservation instinct kicked in and she turned the wheel sharply. The truck shattered her passenger wing mirror into smithereens as she mounted the roadside verge and came to a stop.

As she sat there, heart pounding in her chest, she wondered if she still had Adam's number.

Looks like its gonna be another landslide victory for Antilles...

Ok, game on. Theme - "Chance". I better now go and read up the rest of the rules, damn my newbie ways.

Edit - Ok, so the 24hours kicks off once Antilles acknowledges my challenge yeah?

The white king fell with a solid clunk.

Sinclair stared at his fallen hope, wishing the chess piece would right itself. A long clump of grey hair hung down in front of his eyes, part of his normally immaculately kept hair. The sweat on his brow had undone his hair gel. He continued to stare at the piece.

He was a tiger among kittens, the type of man that would walk into any situation, take charge and make you love him, until the realisation dawned that he had sold you on when you were of no more use.

The suit he wore was obscenely expensive and just one of many in his collection. The contents of his humblest wardrobe would easily have paid one of his employees for a year. Now the suit clung to him, drenched with sweat. There was a bright pale sun in the cloudless sky, but it shed little warmth.

“Come on you fool! Snap Out of it!” he shouted inside his head. “You’ve been winning your whole life, you’ve brought countries to their knees with no more than your pen! This is NOT going to happen!”

Sinclair reached his hand out and picked up the king. He marvelled at how such a small thing could cost him everything. Chess was something he had a passing interest in, but never the time for more. His game was made of stock brokers, inside dealing and loans so big that no bank dare call them in.

He took a chance that chess would come naturally to him like so many other skills. Now it was time to take another chance. He placed the chess piece down, wiped the sweat from his brow and pushed his fringe to one side. “It seems you’ve won.” Sinclair said to his opponent. The reply was a nod. “Double or nothing perhaps? Let it all rest on the flick of a coin?” He tried to remain calm as he waited for his answer. Again came the nod.

Sinclair put his hand into his pocket and produced a pile of coins which he placed on the table. It looked as if he picked one out at random, but he was a man who liked to stack the odds. He flicked the double-sided coin into the air and called “Tails!”

He caught it in the normal fashion and lifted his hand to present the prize. He didn’t even look, but smiled in victory. It was only after his host failed to react that Sinclair looked at the coin. “Heads?! But how?!” he turned the coin over and again it was heads.

He stared at his opponent. “You can’t cheat death” the voice said in ancient tones, though no lips moved. With that the reaper stood tall, his scythe blocking the paved path into the valley. Sinclair rose slowly. His gaze followed the pointing finger of the reaper and he began to walk into the endless pale desert.

Don't want to clog up the thread. But got.to say this was a tough choice. Two good stories but their can only be one.

It was a tough choice. Both really well written, but the first was a better story.

24 hours after the second story is posted makes sense.

24hrs once the second story is posted seems like the best way - gives people a chance to read them both...
Can't believe how close this one is - 6 votes a piece...
What happens if there's a tie? Fight to the death?

And what happens if they tie?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZkuCPYf16xI

Antilles wrote: »

7-6, not too bad!

Congratulations, Fewcifur. I hope you have as much difficulty coming up with something for your first challenger's theme as I had for yours

Thanks Antilles, it was a close thing, which is always nice. I've no doubt I'll be off the hot seat in no time.

Daleno wrote: »

AWOOOGA!

I challenge Fewcifur. The theme; Death!

Can I just use the same story again

Let's Dance good sir, let's dance.

Seems odd writing about the theme of Death in light of the news we got around here yesterday. I wrote this with senseless death in mind...



**** The Council of 13 ****

The Council of 13 assembled as they did every century since man began to remember. 13 dark wooden chairs stood empty around a simple round wooden table. Slowly, at the appointed time, the council members appeared.


It was tradition to introduce themselves. Their ranks changed each meeting, depending on new ideas, new people and dying dreams.


The first to sit was the first to speak.


“I am that which was feared but now sits iconic on man's creations. Only when I collect do they know reality” he sat pale of skin and robed in black, his scythe lay tall against the table and his proud white horse stood behind.


The next was similar to the first, but no flesh covered his body and his robes were torn. “I am that which cursed the middle age of man, when plague gave me my colour and my stock.” his voice was as deep as the first despite his skeletal appearance.


The third was completely different. His beard was long, his voice was filled with wisdom “I am Father Time. Man does not fear me as he did, nor associate me as much with death, but I am eternal.” He wore heavy dark brown robes, once rich but wearing thin and in front of him was an hour glass.


“I am Azrael” said the next, assuming all knew the angel of death, black winged and bearing a blade.


Yama of the East spoke next, “I still ride my black buffalo and lasso my souls, as I have always done.”


An old ugly woman, with a long blue nose spoke next and when she did all could see the poisonous purple tongue in her mouth “I am Giltine of the Balklands. My people have travelled far and I with them.”


A winged man, fair of face, stood and introduced three “I am Thanatos, sworn to Hades. To my left is my sister Keres, violent of nature and finally to my right is Mors, who is but me in a different land.” Mors was in truth like the speaker, though androgynous and Keres was bestial, with talons, fangs and blood soaked robes.


A shadow stayed silent, but they all knew it as the first death, a primordial thing with no name.


The eleventh was biblical, his pale sickly green horse pronounced him as one of the four. “I am he who will come at the end to cleanse the world of life” he said before laying a long sword on the table with a thin dead hand.


Anubis was twelfth. He was one of the few who ruled a land of the dead but still attended the council. He was a king among knights, but he showed due respect. His voice was heard first in an ancient tongue, but then the echoes were of the common tongue. His bare flesh was tanned and healthy, but his head was that of the black jackal.


They looked to the 13th seat where once sat Aukon, the gravekeeper of the Celts. It appeared empty.


The Reaper spoke “we are one short”


The response was a voice tiny and yet everywhere, the voice of nothing and yet billions.
“I am the host that man now fears the most. I am that which grows infinite. From cancer to AIDS to the simplest germs, I am that which modern man fears. They fear me because I am nothing yet many. I am legion. I have no name or image, yet I am on every man's mind. I take the innocent, the pure, the corrupt and more. I strike without warning and without reason. How can man fight that which he can't see and that which keeps changing. Last century and the next are mine. I am senseless. I AM DEATH.”


And the council commenced.