RPContest #10 - Voting
We got a whole load of entries this time! I knew Insanity would spark a lot of interest here! You twisted people you...
Get voting!
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.
She despised the color of this place, it needed a little red...
Perhaps a little color would improve the patient’s moods. They’re always so gloomy and ungrateful. Always cowering in fear and begging for their lives every time she came around for a little visit. It would be nice to feel appreciated for all the work she did for these loons. But today the crazies could rest easy, she wasn’t here to do her usual rounds in the ward. No, she had neglected to take her medication because she was feeling very creative and didn’t need the pills to restrict her in any way. As she wandered down the hall she let her fingers brush against the white walls...maybe it was time to do some painting of her own.
She reached the end of the hall, her head tilted in deep thought of how she was going to brighten this dull place up, when a group of doctors and gurney with a screaming boy strapped to it came flying passed her. Her sudden interest in interior design faded quickly as she decided to follow the frantic doctors and their new patient, this was way more fascinating!
The gurney was hauled into the emergency room, the doctors were squabbling at each other while the poor boy was strapped to the table, still screaming. He was young, and seemed pretty healthy...well, except for the massive amount of blood that was pouring out of the right side of his face. The doctors were paying no attention to the new patient, in fact they stepped away from the table to continue their petty fight with each other.
“He’s a rebel! We can not operate!” One protested.
”Doesn’t matter. We should take care of this quickly and send him on his way, they will never know!” The other replied. The argument went one, but she didn’t care enough to pay attention, she was already approaching the table to take a closer look at the boy’s wounds. Though he was strapped down, he had managed to get a hand free, which was grasping at the gaping wound on his face. His legs kicked and twitched beneath his restraints, his whole body convulsing, shaking the table.
She picked up a scalpel from the metal tray and took a second to admire how perfectly in fit in her hand and how it glimmered in the white light. She stood at the his side, and gently placed her hand upon his forehead to smooth back the wild hairs from his face. It startled the boy and he jerked his head towards her; blood was seeping through his fingers,down his neck and soaking his clothes. The skin on the right side of his face was badly burned, it was black and almost flaking off...the eye had to be completely damaged and utterly useless, yet he was clinging to it for dear life. His good eye was wide in terror and pain...and there was something else she saw there...a bit of insanity...perhaps? She felt a spark as they gazed at each other, she felt a kinship between them, if only for a moment. Did he feel it too?
A twisted little smile came over her lips as she removed her hand from his forehead to his hand, she gently pulled it away from his wounded eye, strangely he didn’t fight against it.
Oh,what a gorgeous sight it was! The way his skin crumbled under her touch, and how the eye gently dangled from it’s bloody tether...just the pure gore of it all made her feel like a child at Christmas! She brought her face closer to his and he barely flinched as she stared into his good eye. That twisted smile again. “My, what pretty eyes you have. I hope you don’t mind if I take this as a souvenir.” The boy suddenly realized her sick intentions a moment too late. Before he could even react, she had the eye held tight in one hand and the scalpel in the other, swiftly severing the tie between them.
The eye now dangled from her bloody fingers instead of his skull and the room was filled once again with his screams of agony. The boy thrashed around on the table, almost knocking it over, blood streaming faster out of the cavity where his eye should have been. She was too busy admiring her new gift to noticed the other doctors rushing to the boy’s side.
“Wha-what happened here?!?!” One demanded, while he was trying to restrain the patient.
“Oh,” She dropped the eye into the jacket of her white coat, the blood already staining the fabric. “I don’t know.” She replied casually, glancing at the boy. He glared at her with his only eye, as if she had betrayed him somehow. How ungrateful, he should be thanking her for removing a useless piece of himself. Not many doctors would do that for a patient.
The other doctors finally pinned his down and were scrambling to find a syringe filled medication that would subdue the patient. As they jammed the needle into his arm and the liquid made it’s way through his system, he still kept his eye fixated on her. Anger. Hatred. Revenge,even? That’s what she saw swirling through that blue hue before it became foggy from the medicine. She tried to approach him but felt the hands of the doctors pulling her away. Before he could slip off into a medicated sleep, she called out to him as she was being hauled out of the room.
“Thank you for this gift. I’ll cherish it. Perhaps I'll keep it in a jar and think of you! And I hope you’ll think of me every time you look in the mirror !!”
Another click and the call was accepted.
‘Hello,’ came the crisp voice of a young girl barely into her early teens, ‘are you looking for Ruthie?’
He shifted his weight, and peered over the kitchen countertop into the long mirror in the adjacent family room. The indication was pleasant enough he thought. Ruthie was such a sweet girl.
‘Hold on,’ the other end expelled, perish the thought that SHE be inconvenienced. A large crack had formed in the mirror, down its center with ruddy splotches decorating the impact area like a child persistently missing their mouth in an attempt to eat a delicious treat. The white couches were covered in pink and forest green flowers with a matching china set meticulously tended to atop the coffee table centerpiece.
There was the sound of heavy footfalls and the echo of a muffled argument before the perky voice responded a second time. His chilling blue gaze met it’s equal in the fractured mirror. An unshaven face, balding blonde hair slowly fading to white and a gap in his front teeth that you could fit a crowbar between and still not expect any leverage.
‘She wants to know if this is an emergency,’ the sweet southern voice resigned, ‘you know, on account of her gettin these last minute calls all the time.’
His belly would swell and fall in a rhythmic pattern, saggy after all the years without exercise but still just as intimidating. He knew his size intimidated people and liked it. This was just another way to surprise them!
The racket was ageless. You’d page the girl you wanted and have to go through a front, usually the front just set up the clients but every now and then you got a special treat and met one that knew the business. Its much easier to haggle over price when the result is someone else’s fault. He would have said, ‘If it were me, I’d fire the hostess cause you were worth twice that.’ Yeah, chicks really liked it when you butter em up.
The front also kept your nose clean, they could smoke out a cop and keep the girls in the dough. Most had an exotic voice over the phone, something to keep the focus in the moment. You couldn’t get the same effect from the broads, somethin’ in all the drugs they took made them sound like shit. Who could blame em, its not exactly a job that would make ya rest easy at night. The nightmares these girls went through would make a grown man puke.
The hostess got back on the line. ‘She’ll meet you at Madison and Fifth, 6:30 okay hun?’
His free hand ran the length of his bloodied knife, a pool had started to form from where his last victim had been cut to ribbons. She was sprawled on the kitchen floor, spread eagle. Her husband was in the living room. Eight year old son, the stairs.
Beep Beep.
A series of numbers flashed on the burly man’s beeper. Greg, head of marketing wanted to talk. He looked in the mirror and watched as his lips moved.
‘Oh shoot,’ he said in a feminine voice, ‘That’s Greg, I’ll send Ruthie right over.’
The phone went silent, then he began punching in a new set of numbers. A cell phone rang and he answered it.
‘Yeah,’ he said in a gruff manly voice.
‘Don’t you yeah me, I just got beeped and you need to get down to Madison and Fifth by 6:30!’ The girly voice said into the land line. He clicked the ruby red high heels against the tiled floor.
‘I’m working my way down,’ he responded to himself, ‘new job for Ruthie?’
‘Oh yes,’ he replied, ‘they just love her tonight.’
Click
Was I thinking? I concluded I was not. My head, my fucking mind hurt too much for me to think about anything except relief. I was sitting now, the water level was just above my navel. It burned my skin, seared. I was still in so much pain I couldn't tell if the burning water helped or hindered. Only one way to find out. I had to submerge my head. I let out a whimper. It would burn so much. My eyes, my nostrils, my ears, they would all burn. Hopefully, it would be worth it.
The only sound in the room was the faucet in the tub, billowing out gallons of more hot water. The tub had a few inches left of room. If I were to slide around, the water would slosh over the edges of the tub. I wasn't concerned about that though. I had towels to clean up such messes. What I was concerned about was this fucking throbbing pain. My hands came up to my scalp, went through my short black hair. It was dry, but moist from the steam. My fingernails dug into my skull and dragged their way forward. I wanted to stop when I got to my hairline, but the pain I inflicted on my head was so relieving that I had to keep going. My fingernails took up flesh as they made their way down my forehead, over my open eyes, down my cheeks, I continued to my neck. I let out a small laugh. The instant I stopped scratching the pain was back full force. With a vengeance. Out for blood.
I could be out for blood, too. I brought my hands back up again, and then I slowly began to make the descent into this hot water. As I submerged, everything I looked at took on another dimension. It shimmered as if I watched it in 3-D, except I knew the real world already was in three dimensions. Nonetheless, I began to scratch again. The steaming water stung in the brand new gouges in my head. I scratched along the same place, down my face, the perfect taste of copper in my mouth. With my head under the water, I began to slowly exhale. The bubbles reached the surface quickly- faster than I ever could have imagined. The water looked odd. I looked at my hands through the shimmering hot water, and could see the red underneath my fingernails. I laughed again. I had no air though. I would have to surface like some whale, some porpoise coming up from the deep, dark sea. Gasping for oxygen, taking it in big gulps- enough for days. I could live for days down here. I know I could. My vision began to blur, but I thought it may have simply been the water melting my eyes. Everything went into gray-scale, but as I scratched down my scalp again, releasing the pain, I found it was more of a red-scale. The water was diluted with my blood and I could taste it so strong as my body's instincts overtook my mind's and began to gulp in large amounts of water, begging me to surface. A new noise joined the fray, the noise of water on tile. The tub must have begun to spill over.
I would let myself become one with the water. Better than any sea creature, any deep sea ghoul that thinks it can survive better than I, is fucking wrong. I am Poseidon. The pain is gone from my head, but only for a second. My hands, again on either side of the tub, serve two purposes. To hold me down, so no matter what my body tries to do, I never come back up. Also, to try and save me- they flail wildly like the legs of an antelope as the lion's massive jaw snaps their neck, the blood in their veins still serves its purpose as the dead animal tries to run for another six seconds of lifeless living. My vision is black. I can no longer hear the running water. My limbs are still. I am Poseidon.
Alex’s body was left strewn out across his bedroom. His torso looked like his internal organs had broken free with explosive force. His head hung back thanks to his neck being halfway severed. Blood dominated every sense. The dark-haired woman didn’t bother cleaning herself off before she got dressed. Then she bent down, and cradled the only organ Alex had that had been safe from the mutilation between her fingers. With a swift sawing movement, she cut it off and stuffed it in her pocket. A momento.
Fog was a strange thing. It made you feel isolated; sounds were muffled and it seemed as if you and you alone were in this spot. The fog had its own sounds, and he knew how to enjoy them. His ears picked up everything - the hoot of an owl, the pattering feet of mice, the-
What was that? A dissonant pierced though the fog and made the hairs on his arms and in his neck stand on end. This sound did not belong here. At first, he tried to ignore it. But somehow, the clack of his own boots on the cobbles sounded sharper, the owl seemed to screech, the mice seemed to drag their nails over the stones. The world was out of tune.
He wanted to go home, but his feet inexorably dragged him closer to the piercing melody that seemed so out of place in this private, foggy place. As he turned a corner into a dark and messy back alley, he found out the source of the sound. Sitting down on a woolen blanket was a street musician. The young man had probably not been lucky enough to gather enough coin to rent himself a bed in the local dockside tavern. In his hands was a violin, and the man's fingers deftly slid up and down the neck of the instrument, while the bow danced over the strings effortlessly. The young violinist smiled at him, nodded and continued playing.
He just stood there, absorbing the music. Its notes filled the air around him, and the fog only enhanced the feeling that the two of them were the only thing on the planet, and the music the only sound. He carefully put down the case he was carrying. The full, warm melody of the violin stroked his ears and filled his thoughts, until there was nothing left but the music. He started gritting his teeth. The sound was so sharp. He clenched and unclenched his fists. 'Don't,' he whispered. The young violinist looked up at him questioningly, but kept on playing.
He suddenly lunged forwards and snatched the violin out of the young man's hands. Logically, the music should stop now, but it kept on playing, grinding on his nerves. He smashed the violin on the streets, fully expecting it to stop, but it did not. 'Hey, what are you doing,' the man shouted angrily. 'That's my livelih-' The man couldn't finish his sentence. His walking stick was smacked into his face, then discarded into the street as he lunged himself at the violinist. All he could say was, 'You're raping it! You're raping the music!' But the young violinist would not respond, as his head was being repeatedly smashed into the wet cobbles. Tears streaked down his cheeks. The music would not stop. The terrible notes screeched in his mind like dying pigs and drowning cats and burning rats. Sobbing, he kept on smashing the head into the cobbles, willing sound to stop. At first, he had still heard cracking sounds and muffled groaning, but now all he heard was a moist slap every time the violinist's face connected with the street cobbles.
The noise would not stop.
He stood up and kicked the man. He hit him with his walking stick. He throttled his with the strings of his own violin. He rammed the bow through the violinist's eyes.
The screeching would not stop.
He opened his case, and extracted a wonderful violin. He would show the world what real music was. His melody was of such caliber even God and all His angels could not rival it. The noise persisted. If he could not kill it, he would fix it. His tones carefully migled with the cacaphony in his head, and he strung them together to turn it into a heavenly composition. And he played the sun out of the horizon, and he played the fog away. And when people came, they cried out in sorrow when they heard no one would ever be able to create music of this purity, of this beauty, ever agan.
View Poll Results: Which entry do you prefer?
- Voters
- 2. You may not vote on this poll
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Entry #1
0 0% -
Entry #2
0 0% -
Entry #3
0 0% -
Entry#4
0 0% -
Entry #5
2 100.00%
Results 1 to 10 of 10
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05-05-2010, 08:31 PM #1
RPContest #10 - Closed - WINNER: Aleister Black
RPContest #10 - Voting
We got a whole load of entries this time! I knew Insanity would spark a lot of interest here! You twisted people you...
Get voting!
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.
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05-06-2010, 01:59 AM #2
You people are sick...sick I tell you!
But I enjoyed reading each and every one of them
<3
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05-06-2010, 02:03 AM #3
I'm not done reading, and I'll edit this with my vote, but your numbers are off. In the post it's 'Vote Now' and 1-4, instead of five entries.
EDIT: I voted for number five, despite that I enjoyed each entry. #2 was well written, but it was honestly very hard to follow. I never quite understood what was going on. #5 was definitely my favorite out of all of them, although there were some typos that were a bit distracting. Especially with the last itself missing a letter. I also feel I should note that #1 was done quite well, but it just didn't stand out to me.
Also, did someone already fix it? o.O Good response time, team. xDLast edited by Doaj; 05-06-2010 at 02:13 AM.
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05-09-2010, 06:25 PM #4
We can do better than two votes, can't we people?
Get voting!
(also, thanks for your votes to those who have already voted )
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05-13-2010, 03:00 AM #5
Re: RPContest #10 - Voting
I'm going to take the liberty of bumping this. How can we have more entries than votes? There's something fucked up with that. I'll put everyone who didn't vote on a new list, and you won't like it! >=[
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05-15-2010, 06:11 AM #6
Re: RPContest #10 - Voting
Come on people! Vote, darnit!
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06-10-2011, 03:24 AM #7
Re: RPContest #10 - Closed - WINNER: Entry #5 (details inside)
This thread will remain open so that the winner, the MYSTERIOUS entrant #5, can lay claim to winning contest #10. Please don't spam this thread. However, if you want to discuss anything herein, that's still fine.
Just nothing like, "Who was #5?" 'cause ya know. That's what we're trying to figure out.
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06-10-2011, 07:06 AM #8
Re: RPContest #10 - Closed - WINNER: Entry #5 (details inside)
You want to know who #5 was? You really want to know?
Instead of giving you a straight answer, let me give you a picture:
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06-10-2011, 12:48 PM #9
Re: RPContest #10 - Closed - WINNER: Entry #5 (details inside)
lol. Does that mean it was you?
That's actually pretty funny and awesome.
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06-10-2011, 09:11 PM #10
Re: RPContest #10 - Closed - WINNER: Entry #5 (details inside)
You are 100% correct
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