RPContest #6 - Congratulations Dew!

[Aleister Black]

Only two entries this time? A bit disappointing, people!

This RPC's theme was Birth, which was rather abstract, maybe a bit too abstract. Anyway, without further ado:



Participants are allowed to vote, but not for their own entry!

You do not have to post for your vote to count, but feedback is very much appreciated.

The entries are in the SPOILER markers at the bottom of this message.

I will post guidelines for the next contest tomorrow morning.

 

Nothing quite like a presidential election to get bulbs flashing. Thousands of opportune moments to strike a pose and every second immortalised from hundreds of perspectives at once. Such a shame only a very small fraction of these pictures will see the light of day.

A waste of time developing them all, you could say. All that time spent in the dark room hoping that one of your hundreds of shots will make it into a magazine, or on the evening news.

The paps are surging tonight and all clamouring over each other for a shot of the man in the suit. The man in the suit on the stage speaking into the microphone. The man in the suit on the stage speaking into the microphone who promises change and better times to come. The man who is no different to every other man on the planet but is still revered by millions for being held in high esteem behind closed doors. Held in high esteem because he promises action that he'll never have to take personally, not with his own bare hands, never witnesses with his own eyes or heard with his own ears.

When you're a photographer, you see reality. You see the world for what it really is in one flash of light, one single fraction of a second, unyielding and real, before your very eyes as it really is, as it really ought to be. Plainly and painfully simple.

I'm watching the photographer infront as his head bobs and his hands wave. His whole body being jostled by the surge of the crowd. I take a shot of him before he falls and is almost trampled. How like the world. His movements coupled with his personal predicament in this social occasion sum it all up in one instant.

Just riding the wave and going with the flow, completely helpless. Sometimes we struggle and writhe, we kid ourselves with false hopes against the overwhelming pressure, but inevitably we are forced onwards. We make more decisions, more mistakes, one thing after another until our bodies and our minds cannot possibly take any more. The pressure gets too much, we falter, we reach out for something, grasping, probing, hoping...

And we fall.

They're calling this the birth of a new era. Do they really think man can seperate himself from the rest of the planet and go against the rules? Do they really think change is all we need to distance ourselves from mortal dilemmas? We are all the same. We, as people, as humans, as a species of this planet, adhere to the same basic principles as every other. We all falter eventually.

We all fall.

 

Darkness. Warmth. Comfort.

It became aware of movement, a movement different from what it was used to. Its home appeared to vibrate, and if it was able to feel any emotion yet, it was anxiety. Something was about to change.

Sudden convulsions rocked everything it perceived as the World. It was still dark and warm, but it was no longer comfortable. Small limbs made vague motions, trying to find purchase where there was none. And still the world was moving around it.

On a deep level, it knew it was not time yet. It was still feeble, not ready to leave its comfortable world just yet. But it was forced to, and there was no way it would be able to stop it. Its home was rocking and convulsing, and it was forced out.

There was still warmth, but the darkness was gone. It tried to close it eyes against the whiteness but the light had no mercy. And then the warmth, too, was gone, and it was cold all around. Vague, looming shapes made loud sounds, and it felt things brush against its still body.

Light. Coldness. Discomfort.

It heard a cry, but it was not itself. Something about the shrieks told it that it was someone it should know. A familiar timbre that resonated with its very own soul. But no longer.

It looked down on the scene; a man trying to comfort a sobbing woman, a small, still shape under a cloth, people standing in the room with lost expressions on their faces. Ite felt sorry for them, and even a bit for itself. But it knew that its time was not ended, that its thread was not hopelessly severed. It would live again, some other time.

But not yet. Some other time.

[professor13]

Wow. I have to go with #2. I liked #1's spin on the concept of "birth," but #2, just... wow. That's powerful stuff. It really captured the scene in a mind-blowing way. Great job.

[Aleister Black]

Only three votes? Come on people, cast a few more votes!

[Aleister Black]

Moar votes!

[Aleister Black]

Only three votes? Rather disappointing turnout, people! I'll turn a blind eye this time, but don't expect me to be so lenient again!


Anyway, the winner is the writer of entry #2... which happens to be me.

So, yay me!



--

Anyone who can guess who entry #1 was by, is also a winnah! (of course, the person who wrote entry #1 is excluded from this competition )

[Doaj]

I think entry #1 was Recycled Human. It feels like his style to me. My second guess is Ryvius, but clearly I can't have two guesses. Just want to clarify if either is right that I'm right!

[Aleister Black]

Sorry, both wrong.

[professor13]

Then lemme guess... Casanova? Was it he? Am I the victor? Do I get my hugs now?

[Aleister Black]

Yes, you get huggles.

[Doaj]

Sorry, both wrong.

Well shit. Guess I just don't know my stuff. o.o Congrats Prof, and great entry John.

[Casanova]

This marks the very first and the very last time that I will lose to a Dutchman. You have my word.

But congratulations all the same, of course.

<3

[Aleister Black]

Something wrong with Dutchmen? Or are you still mad that we sailed up the Thames and stole your flagship?