[Writing Contest] - THE ARENA

gime a theme and i'll accept it and then we can start putting on our thinking caps

Fewcifur wrote: »

Thinking caps of doom?

+5

grand stuff, 1530 tomorrow it is

"The hardest choice"

The three of them ran through the dark moonless night, terror spurring them on to greater speeds. They were the last survivors of their midnight raid. But it was still a successful one: Jerome had the box safely stowed in his backpack.
Adam could feel the burning in his lungs now, and his breath was coming short and shallow. He dared not stop for a moment, despite their growing lead. The forest was too full of hidden roots and drops; his footing too unsure; the danger of being caught too terrifying. He glanced back to see if there was any sign of their pursuers – a distant shadow, maybe, slightly darker than the rest. They had no need of torches. He shuddered.
Suddenly, there was a cry from in front of him. He looked around to see Petra on the ground, her face as white as a sheet. Her leg stuck out at the wrong angle. He froze in sheer panic, before dropping beside her. She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and full of pain and fear.

Jerome stood over them, looking at them both. He had the look of a man who had something to say, and did not want to say it. Adam knew: no stopping for anyone. Not any of them. Getting that box away was the most important thing. But this was Petra. This was different.
“I’m sorry, Petra,” said Jerome softly. “I’m really sorry. But we have to keep going. You have your knife. Goodbye.” His face taut with emotion, he walked a few steps away and waited for Adam, while keeping watch.
Petra slowly withdrew her knife while Adam held her, not wanting to look. But her hand was shaking too strongly, and it fell from her grasp, bouncing out of her reach. Adam went to retrieve it, and looked at it there in his hand: that dull, cold metal.
He knew he could not stay with her. They had to keep going. That cursed box had to be taken to safety, or all those deaths tonight would have been for nothing. They had all agreed this before setting out.
But how could he leave her, to die alone? How could he leave her when the only alternative was to meet her fate at the hands of those monsters? A fate worse than death.
Petra, who had been his closest friend since childhood. Petra, who had always been by his side. Petra, with her dancing eyes and rare smile. He held the knife, trapped by indecision. How could he ever make this choice? He wanted to throw back his head and scream at the unfairness of the world. His soul was being wrenched in half.
“Adam, we have to leave. They will catch up soon.”
He looked over at an impatient Jerome, and sighed. He was right, it was now or never.
Petra lay there watching him, her eyes misty with pain, yet full of determination. “Go,” she whispered. “They’ll suffer not having the box anymore. Go, and make me proud. I won’t let them take me alive.”
He sobbed aloud, a tear running down his cheek, passed her the knife, and kissed her forehead.
“Goodbye. Goodbye, Petra.” His throat caught with countless words left unspoken. She smiled weakly at him and waved him on.
He rose and ran to Jerome, who gripped his shoulder. Neither of them spoke a word; there was nothing they could possibly say. They ran on together through the forest, toward safety, with heavy hearts.

Yeah another 40 mins and it looks to me like you're winning

CaptainNegative wrote: »

Bluewolf, I challenge thee to a duel!

And the theme I propose, as choosen by a random theme generator is Overcoming Fear

What say ye?

LET'S DANCE!

okay 1430 tomorrow

"overcoming fear"

I went back to the stables every day after the accident. Familiar faces greeted me, both human and equine. I helped out with tasks that needed to be done, and I loved it as much as I ever had over the past years. But there was one stall, one horse I could not look at again. One I avoided, trying not to think about it. And when I watched the lessons, the students and their horses cantering around the arena, that little ball of dread in the pit of my stomach was always there.
Jane saw me watching and came over after one of today’s lessons. I smiled; she had always been my favourite instructor.
“I think it’s time you got back up again,” she said with no preamble.
Instantly, a wave of paralysis washed over me and that sinking feeling grew.
“I – I can’t….”
“If you leave it too long, Hanna, you never will. If you had been in any state for it, we would have insisted you get straight back up for a minute. But you’ve recovered, so if you ever want to ride again, you need to do it now.”
At that moment, I was tempted to say I didn’t care if I never rode again. But I knew that wasn’t true. I acquiesced and allowed myself to be brought into the nearly-empty arena, staring at the ground and trying to calm my frantic self. I was trembling all over.
We stopped, and I looked up. Had I thought I was paralysed before? I was made of stone now; there was a rushing in my ears and my sight disappeared down a narrow tunnel. My breath was caught.
I wanted to turn and bolt. Every fibre of me was telling me to run home and hide.
Polly’s big soft eyes looked at me, and she whickered. Her nose immediately went toward my pockets questing for treats, as of old. My hand reached out of its own accord and stroked her familiarly; I looked toward Jane and demanded to know with my glare what she thought she was doing. I had spent the last couple of weeks avoiding Polly, the sight of her bringing back what had happened. It wasn’t her fault, but I couldn’t help myself.
Jane held Polly’s bridle and just nodded toward Polly at me. She had probably been through this a dozen times with nervous and skittish students. Not that that made it any easier for me.
I stroked down Polly’s neck and steeled myself against the instinct to flee. I could do this; I must do this. I jumped up.
Now, the ground was impossibly far away. I didn’t remember Polly being this tall. I was not one to be afraid of heights, but this was dizzying. I held the reins in my hand, sitting there like some statue, rigid and trembling, with none of my former ease. We began to walk.