Just for Fun: Join in on the theme!

JennaGlatzer

wishes you happiness
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Anyone who isn't a finalist but would like to play along anyway, please do. Post your work here! The first theme is "crossroads" (see the "Week 1" thread above).
 

Hermit

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I would, BUT how can you beat William Haskin's (finalist) writing? His style is truly courageous and definitive. You don't read this man's writing on the run. You read it while snuggled in your bed, late at night, with a warm comforter wrapped around you. You read it when you feel....really 'feel', and when your cozy and snuggled and ready to accept love.

William Haskin.....remember the name. Vote for him.
 

brokenfingers

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Hmmmmm...

I think we have our first Idol groupie...
 

JennaGlatzer

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I'm specifically voting against William because of that April Fool's prank.

DOWN WITH WILLIAM!

:wag:
 

Hermit

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I'm specifically voting against William because of that April Fool's prank

Mr. Haskin regrets his former posts and seeks forgiveness. His writing stands upon it's own merits and should not be judged by his comments on non-related subjects.

(Wow, I could be a lawyer for Michael Jackson!!!)
 

KTC

Stand in the Place Where You Live
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"Time is a robber of graves. And no train you take will lead you away from that robber."
 

108Days

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Boy do I have a "crossroads" story. HA! www.108days.com I have a million of em. An excerpt just doesn't do it justice, I guess.
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ramonathompson

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MY CROSSROADS


2 roads
2 very different paths
Before me is a choice
2 men who love me
Each promise forever
One rich
One poor
Both with a hold on my heart
This is my crossroads


Who do I care for more?
That is what I must decide
Be a bride or
Run away with a lover
Society says
Is forbidden to me
2 faces so dear
What do I do?
This is my crossroads


My heart breaking
Eyes sting
With tears unshed
Soon I must let them know
To whom
This ladies's heart belongs
Asking God above
To show me the way past
My crossroads


At last!
A kiss shared
A vision
A clear and final choice
I love this man!
More then life
More then anything I'm felt before
Now comes a challenge to you the reader


Who stands here now with me?
Who is my choosen love at?
My crossroads

2005 Ramona Thompson
 

Kevin Yarbrough

Will write for peace of mind
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Here is mine, but be warned. Story is graphic so if you don't like that then skip this post.

Jadon sat there in bed as his sisters cries carried through the thin walls of their home. He couldn’t help but feel her pain as she begged her father to stop the beating, for he had been in the same boat numerous times. Pulling the covers up to his chin he placed his arms back around his legs that were pulled to his chest, holding them tight like a child would hold his blanket for safety. Closing his eyes he tried to see life the way other people see it, a loving father that takes their kids to games, helps them with their homework, and warns them about the birds and the bees when they are old enough. To him, his world was far from that. His father didn’t take them to games, the only games they saw were the ones he did to them. They didn’t have any homework, they didn’t go to school, they weren’t even allowed to leave the house. And his father didn’t tell them about the birds and the bees, he showed them.
Hearing that the blows finally stopped he sat there and listened for what he knew was going to come. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he heard the bed in his sisters room begin to squeak, her small cries of pain buried beneath their fathers grunts. After twenty minutes he heard the bed stop squeaking and he quickly laid on his side and pretended to sleep, he jumped a little when he heard his sisters door slam as their father left the room. He closed his eyes and stared out into the dark place hidden behind his eyelids, a place he knew that was just as dangerous as the one he was living in. It didn’t take long before the things began to show up, the demons that ran rampant in this dark world that came when he closed his eyes. He watched in fear as one, sensing that there was someone around, came towards him. A demon with four eyes, razor sharp teeth, and talons longer than kitchen knives. He had seen this creature before, it was the one that he had called Golette. There were more than one kind of demon, but there never seemed to be two of the same one though. He could always tell because each one had a distinguishing mark, a scar of some kind, or a mole. Missing fingers, limbs, or teeth. This one had one of its eyes missing, a scar also circled the lower part of its eye as if someone had placed a knife there and cut him before sliding it into its eye and popping it out. Catching sight of him the Golette came closer, his hands flexing as his talons clanked together. The sound reverberated in Jadon’s ears like a chef hitting his knives together. To this thing, Freddy Krueger was a circus clown. He knew if he didn’t open his eyes soon the thing would get him and drag him into that dark world. Just as he was about to open his eyes he heard his door open and smelled the alcohol that reeked from his fathers body fill the room. He could hear the deep breathing that came from him after the beating and rape he had just giving his sister drift to his ears. Jadon began to worry, the Golette was getting closer and his father was just standing there. If he opened his eyes his father would see it and his beating would commence, if he kept them closed the Golette would get him and drag him down to do God knows what to him. He heard his fathers footsteps come into his room and stop by his bed, the stench of alcohol, sweat, sex, and blood filled his nostrils. The Golette stopped and sniffed the air as if his body was some kind of conduit between the real world and the one behind his eyes lids. Enraged, it began to run towards him, the smell of blood sending it into a feeding frenzy. Jadon pleaded in his mind for his father to leave, to get out of here before it was to late and as if he had heard him his fathers footsteps began to head for the door. Not wanting to risk opening his eyes yet he waited for the sound of the door shutting. As he waited the Golette drew closer, its breath now filling Jadon’s nostrils. Just as the door shut the Golette reached out and took a hold of his arm, its talons slicing into his flesh. Screaming in his mind Jadon tried to open his eyes but found out he couldn’t, the demon had a hold on him and it was keeping him in this world. Swinging his arm he hit the demon in his missing eye, squealing the thing let go as Jadon’s eyes opened up, its hold on him broken allowing him to come back to the real world. Bolting straight up, he knocked the covers off of him and jumped out of bed as the squeals of pain died out. He could hear the thing screaming in rage in his head as it began to drift away, the dark place once more going back to wherever it was it came from. Looking down at his arm he saw the blood running to his fingers, saw it as it dripped to the floor pooling there by his feet. Backing up to the wall he slid down and pulled his feet back to his chest, his bloody arm with the five slices from the Golette resting on the floor beside him. Weeping, he just sat there as the blood began to pool around his hand. Maybe he should just let it bleed, to let his life giving blood run out and send him onto whatever there was out there.
“No, I can’t do that.” He said as he got back to his feet. If he did that then he would leave his sister here with their father by herself. Her abuse would be daily, instead of the rotating ones they were now receiving. But that wasn’t the only thing that had helped him make up his mind. The fear that if he died there wouldn’t be a heaven, only the dark place that he goes to every night would be waiting and then this time he wouldn’t be able to wake up. He would be dragged down into whatever Hell there was in that place, his body left at the whim of demons like the Golette.
Quietly he made his way down the hall, tip toeing to his fathers room. Placing his ear to the door he could hear the faint snores that let him know that his father, drunk and satiated, had passed out on the bed. Creeping towards the bathroom he opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out the peroxide and bandages. Cleaning and bandaging up his arm he grabbed up the supplies and headed to his sisters room. Opening the door he could hear his sister whimper as she moved farther up the bed, fearing it was her father coming back for more.
“It’s me,” he whispered as he came into the room. Shutting the door he walked over to the window and pulled the curtains, the moonlight filtered into the room giving him enough light to see her. Stepping over her clothes on the floor he pulled the covers up over her chest to cover up the naked body that lay on the bed.
“I’m tired Jadon, but I don’t want to go to sleep.” She said as the tears began to fall.
“I know Raine,” he said as he pushed her hair back from her face and examined it. A few bruises and a cut along her eyebrow, all in all it wasn’t that bad. They had both seen worse, a lot worse. Cleaning it with some peroxide he opened up some steri-strips and placed them over the cut. “You hurt anywhere else?” He asked as he placed the last strip on.
“Some place I will have to take care of,” she answered as she stared at him.
She could see the bruises on his cheek were finally going away, his busted and swollen lip was finally back to normal. It wasn’t until then that she saw the bandage on his arm, the thing soaked in blood. She had thought his color looked funny but she had chalked it up to the moonlight coming through the window, it wasn’t until now that she realized it was from a loss of blood. Reaching out she touched his arm as he pulled it away and stood up, walking over to the window he gazed out at the surrounding trees. They were stuck in this house in the middle of a damn forest, no idea where the nearest town was, and no clue as to what kind of animals lived out in these woods, or if there was any kind of traps their father had set to keep people away or to keep them here. They were prisoners in a house with no bars, and no warden to watch over their every move.
“Was it dad?” She asked.
“No, the Golette.” He answered.
“The four eyed thing?”
“Yeah,” he whispered. Taking one last look at the trees he walked back over to the bed and sat down, taking her hand he told her what had happened.
“What do you think will happen if they get a hold of us?” She asked after he finished his story.
“I think they will make dad look like a schoolgirl, and that’s just the Golette.”
“Shilrithe,” she said, knowing what he meant.
“I don’t want to think about what will happen if it gets a hold of us. They will make dad’s rape seem like foreplay,” Jadon thought of the Shilrithe, its slimy, black body with both sex organs flashed in his mind as the memory of it reaching out and grabbing him, its male part hard as a rock and at least two feet long moving towards him like a snake played in his head. Shaking it away he kissed his sister on the forehead and whispered goodnight.
“Goodnight,” she said as he moved towards the door.
“Sleep, but not to deep. Wake up before they to close,”
“Hopefully it will take them some time to find me,”
“Just be careful Raine,” he said as he opened the door.
“What I wouldn’t do for a way out of this,”
“Me too Raine, me too.” Closing the door behind him he headed to his room. Neither one of them knew about the creature that hovered invisible around them, just waiting for them to say just that. Neither one of them knew about the choices it would offer them in this demonic crossroads of their lives.
 

Ralyks

Untold stories inside
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Crossroads

"Cynthia," said Hobart Myron Calvin, "I have concluded to take a very important step in my future - our future. If we intend to go on living this comfortable and rather extravagant lifestyle, we can no longer rely on your income. You are not the star you once were. I'm sorry to have to say this, but you're getting on in age and you don't quite possess the grace you once did. Now, don't be offended, Cynthia. This is the time for brutal honesty. I just don't see you as having that appeal you once did. I haven't heard any directors phoning in lately begging me to read their scripts and asking me to allow you to perform in their productions. I used to get five, six calls a day. It has been seven months, and I have heard nothing.

"As your manager, I find you unprofitable. However, what is profitable is the fame I have earned in association with you. Since you can't speak for yourself and I must take your part in interviews, the public has come to know me better than it knows you. They are hungry to hear gossip about me, to read every juicy tidbit of my life. Don't look at me as if I'm flattering myself. I'm not. I really am very much admired. Now, Cynthia, I have devoted much thought to this course which I shall soon endeavor to take. I realize that it may in some respects alarm you. We have spent many years together and I have, I am sure, appeared to you as the epitome of restraint and fortitude.

"However, there are some things in my past, some things which I buried deep behind me . . . some things of which I am, indeed often ashamed, but which nonetheless have occurred. Things which I intend to capitalize upon. I intend, Cynthia, to publish an autobiography entitled The Life and Loves of Hobart Myron Calvin. The financial situation in which I have of late found myself is entirely unacceptable. I see no alternative but to allow the greedy public to gluttonously digest the every detail of my most intimate activities in exchange for some monetary compensation.

"Cynthia, you're looking at me as though I were guilty of some atrocity. Alright, fine. Then I shall leave the decision up to you. What do you want? Shall I publish the book or not? Shall I earn money to purchase the things you desire, or should I allow you to fade into utter obscurity, a washed-up has been?"

Cynthia looked up at him. She blinked. "Meow." she said.

"That's what I thought," said Hobart Myron Calvin. "You can't expect to do cat food commercials forever, you know. That Incredible Journey movie they put you in was a break through, but you know they selected you only for your grace, and you can't say you haven't lost that. Besides, I hear there's a beautiful young Siamese who's moving up in the business, and you aren't at that age when a cat has the vigor for competition. I will tell my publisher to go ahead with the book."
 
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Samm

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a question, just out of curiosity

I just read the Crossroads theme post for the finalists. This question came to me probably because I am so blocked, but can an entry be from an existing work, or must it be a new, original piece? :Shrug:

Sorry in advance if this question has been answered elsewhere.
 

SueB

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Linda

OK. I started on this little venture and just couldn't stop. The little venture become a long journey. So, here are 2500 words smack dab out of the middle.
Not reading for children, OK?

Dela had traveled between the US and his country, that first year. Linda and the children were becoming accustomed to life without him, during a prolonged stay in the US during his second year as Ambassador. The old lady who performed the female circumsism was in the village during Dela’s last trip home. Dela, had brought her to his house. “Esiankiki has come to do the operation of closure for you,” he told his young wife, unable to meet her eyes.

Silently, Linda retreated and privately washed her privates. She then returned and lay down on an old, but clean, mat and waited. Esiankiki, she thought, I never knew her name. Esiankiki, her name means young maiden. Should it not be ’pain of young maiden’? Have not we always simply called her ’the old lady of circumcision’? Linda removed her spirit to another plane. Only once was she brought back to her body, hearing her own screams as the old lady pushed her needle through both lips of Linda’s vulva, with one stitch. Linda was lost in thought of the American Lady missionary. She tried to imagine her life in the US. She gathered the puzzle pieces from the American Lady, along with pieces from Dela. She tried to fit them all together to form a clear picture of this lady’s life. She found she could not do it. She did, however, find that she had pieced together small portions of the picture. She next tried to fit herself and her two precious little girls into the puzzle. The girls were two years old now. Thoughts of them undergoing the ceremony of circumcision thrust Linda back into the consciousness of her body. She cried silent tears. She did not know if these tears were for her pain, or, for the pain to come, for her children.

This operation had been a surprise to Linda. It was an accepted custom, among her people, for a husband to have this procedure performed, on his wife, if he was planning to go away for an extended period of time. Linda had to admit, it was looking more and more like Dela would be spending most of his time in the US. But he knows, she cried to herself late that night, he knows I would never disgrace him or our family, by laying with another….He knows! The injustice of it overwhelmed her. She wept. Dela awoke, feeling her convulsing body next to his.

“What is wrong wife?”

Linda could not answer, so she rolled onto her side and embraced Dela with her full body length. Dela thought, My poor wife. She is tormented that I will leave tomorrow. “This is not the life I wanted to give you and the girls,” he stated simply, then slept.

Linda had thrust herself into motherhood with a vehemence. She loved her children more than anything. They were bright, happy children. Dela had attended to Linda’s education personally. She had been capable of speaking not only the language of her people; she was fluent in French, also. Her skills at reading and writing, however, had been minimal. Dela, finding her a dedicated student, and able to learn at an accelerated pace, delighted in teaching her. She could now also speak English and was learning to write it. She spoke to her two-year-old daughters in all three languages. Each day had its own language. Sundays were the day of her native language. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were days of French. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays were dedicated to English. While Bella and Kimbiri were naturally more conversant in their own native tongue, they were beginning to show a real apprehension in French and even English, after the months of training their mother had practiced. And the resulting fluency that Linda was gaining herself, was most rewarding.

One night, as Linda knelt with the girls in prayer, a man arrived at their domain. “Your husband has asked for you to join him in the US. The President has arranged it. I will be back tomorrow at noon. I will escort you and your children to the airport.”

The young mother went to her parents and told them her news. She tried to hide from them, her excitement. They would never understand if she were anything but sad to leave her parents, her village, her home.

Late at night, with their bags packed, Linda lay awake staring at her daughters. Dare she hope? Dare she dream of a life in the United States for her children? No. They would have to return, all too soon. And circumcision would await them…..Linda rose in the early morning hours, awakening her children. “We must go see all our relatives and friends. We must tell them all our news and say our good-byes.” The children were sad and cried during some of the good-byes.

Sadness forgotten, adrenalin pumping, the girls were barely containable on their trip to the airport. Linda exhausted from her sleepless night, chastised the girls--in English. They understood and settled down. “Will we see Daddy tomorrow, Mommy?”

“Probably the day after tomorrow, darling.”

Linda and the children settled into their new American home, probably feeling much like Cindarella when she moved into the castle. They adjusted quickly, as Linda sculpted a new life for her family. She took the girls to story time at the library. They watched puppet shows and checked out books by the armload--daily. They had a TV in their apartment. The girls shouted with glee watching cartoons. Bella was in love with Luke on The Dukes of Hazard. Linda sought ways to divert the girls attention away from the TV. While it was a novelty for her too, she thought there were better ways to stimulate their minds and perhaps better influences, to be found, on their moral character. Back in their homeland, very few people owned TVs-- nation wide, fewer than one out of every 1000 people. No one in their village. But Linda had long ago adjusted to being the exception to the rule. She was educated and could read and write, in a world where less than one quarter of the people were literate. Her parents had a telephone, the only one in her village. Her parents received the newspaper. She had never seen anyone else receive a newspaper--that is until she married Dela. Dela kept up on the news. He subscribed to several newspapers; and, he had a radio which he tuned in every morning and every night. Dela was a voracious reader and had a veritable library of his own.

Linda was grateful when it became obvious that Dela was not going to approach her for sexual relations. She had been stitched closed, but she presumed he could have a procedure done, even in this foreign country, to open her. Still, he made no mention of it. He appeared over joyed at having the girls and Linda with him. He played and sang and walked with them. Sometimes they spent all of a Sunday afternoon in a children’s park. None of them had ever know such a happy life. They were a close knit family now. After six months had passed, Linda and her daughters appeared very much like an American family, as they shopped, checked out their books at the library, and attended Sunday morning Mass. Linda had feared, in the beginning, that her husband would not approve of the Americanizing.

One night, she rolled over to him as he laid down the book he had been reading. “Husband, we are changing. We are becoming more and more Americanized. Does this disturb you?”

“No wife………..Sometimes I am sad to think that our children will loose many of the good things from our culture, but I have to believe that what they are gaining is worth the price.”

“Dela, you sound as if this is all permanent. It is not. Eventually, we will return to Burkina Faso.”

“My wife, you must listen to me carefully. I have so much that I have to tell you. So much that I want you to know, and sadly, much I wish you would never have to learn. You are my wife and I can do no less than tell you the truth. Be strong my wife. This is to be a difficult, tumultuous time in our lives.”

“My husband, you are frightening me…..No, no. I will not be frightened. God has been good to me in my life, especially in my marriage to you. I will be strong for you, for the girls, and for myself. If I am not strong, I am not myself. You and the children deserve the real me. Please, my husband, unburden yourself to me. Let me be your true other half. I am here for you.” With that Linda was to remain silent for the better part of the next hour. Dela told his story in a monotone, stopping only once for a brief period of weeping. Linda experienced many varying emotions during his telling, but held it all in.

The most shocking part for Linda was hearing her husband admit to adultery. “I went out for a night of dining, with a friend of mine from the embassy. We drank much wine throughout the meal. After we left the restaurant, he drove us to a bar.” (Dela had stopped here in his story, to give Linda a brief description ‘bar’) “We did more drinking in this bar and were eventually approached by two American women. My friend was enjoying their sexual advances. I remained cordial but unresponsive, in the beginning. The woman, who had partnered herself with me, deceased her sexual flirtation and conversed intellectually with me. Curious about our culture, she asked a lot of questions. She had heard of circumcision in Africa. She asked me if this was part of the culture in my village. My wife, I was ashamed to tell her ‘yes’. The shame surprised me. We discussed the reasons for this procedure and she gave me valid reasons why a woman should never undergo such. Eventually, she offered to show me what our women give up, in their lives, when they have this done. She said, ‘You men think you come out the winners. Ha! Let me show you what you are missing!’ Oh Godddd….” It was at this point that Dela had wept. As his convulsing body quieted, he continued his story. He told his wife of the woman’s erect clitoris and her subsequent orgasm. Linda knew her husband well and knew that, in the telling, he had become aroused.

“I have not mentioned sexual relations with you my wife, nor the possibility of having you opened. I do not wish to come to you as an adulterer. I do not wish to even come to you otherwise, if it is unpleasant for you. Can you ever forgive our people for what they have done to you? Can you ever forgive me?”

“Yes. Our people do this in ignorance. But you my husband, I am curious. Why did you do this? I could better understand if I thought you were simply lonely and needed release.” She went silent again, giving him the time and space to answer.

“I have always had nagging feelings about this procedure. Since our daughters were born, I have given much thought to the day of their circumcision. This encounter with the American woman was really a test. I had to find out if we were doing the right thing……..or not…..We are not wife. I will not have my daughters mutilated. I beg your forgiveness for the adultery, but above all for your multilation! You never have to be opened again, if that is your desire. I give you my word, I will understand, and I will accept your will. Do not answer now. Contemplate.”

Next, Dela confided in Linda, “I am working on a plan. I am arranging things so that you and the girls can stay in America.”

“Husband! Not without you?”

“I am not sure yet. But, I give you my word, I will try to arrange it so that we can stay here as a family. Now I must tell you more news. I received a call today from Burkina Faso. They have requested that I return for a 2 day briefing, before my meeting with the American President next week.”

“I did not know you were meeting with the American President.”

“Yes, it is a meeting where I am approaching him for more monies for our country. Our President wants me to be briefed on what exactly to ask for. He wants me to have materials to show our plans. One of our largest requests is for our Electric future. Since I am an electrical engineer, he feels I am best suited to propose our plans and requests, in this massive endeavor. We have big plans, wife, and they have monumental possibilities for our country. It is imperative that I sell the importance of this plan, to the American benefactors.”

“When will we go husband?”

“I go alone, wife. Tomorrow or the next day. I am not sure yet. Lindiwe,” her ears pinned back; he so seldom called her by name, she knew this must be important. Her body began to tremble. He did not notice.

“It is very important that you listen to my words. You must remain here in the US with the children. Never return to Burkina Faso. Never. No matter what happens. No matter what they tell you. Find a way, if I am not here to arrange it. Find a way. Do you understand?”

She had promised him she would not be fearful….“I understand, but may I ask of you why you talk like this? Is there more that you tell me not?”

“No wife. Just a feeling. You promised not to be frightened. Now I must take a lesson from you. I must put aside my fears and do what is best for my country……..above all, what is best for my family………..We must sleep. I have a busy day tomorrow. I must arrange my flight back to our….our country….of origin.” He sighed, shut out the light, and slept. Linda listened until she heard his breathing slow and deep. She rose up from their bed and tiptoed into her daughters’ bedroom. She looked down upon their angelic, sleeping faces. Tears streamed as she fell to her knees and thanked God. Her prayer had been answered. She knew it. It had begun when she married Dela. His name meant ‘savior’. He had been her savior. The savior of her girl children. “Forgive me heavenly Father. I lost my faith in you. I mistrusted you when you gave me girl children. Still you loved me. You granted my petition. Forgive me Father,” she wept.

Early in the morning hours, Linda crept back to the side of her slumbering husband. As she nestled close to him, she uttered another prayer of thanksgiving.

For those interested, you may view this short story, in its entirety, at: http://www.writeinmaine.com
click on 'snippets'
Thanks!

 
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Duncan J Macdonald

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A Crossroads Post

Okay, y'all snookered me into it again. Not content with ravaging me over my audition, you want more. More, more. more. Is nothing sacred?
<presses back of hand to forehead in a theatrical manner>
Very well, try this one ...

Blood and Honor



by

Duncan J Macdonald



The sun rose slowly, as if still weary from the night before, and heavy with the knowledge of what her light would reveal during the coming hours. She had risen enough times in recent days to reveal the blood spilled for honor's sake, and honor spilled for blood's. Civil war strode the land, and where he stepped both honor and blood flowed free.


In a valley between two minor ridges, hidden from the nearest road, yet easily accessible if need called, there was a military camp. Its denizens were professional: they had chosen the land the evening before with an eye toward defenses, and had set about setting up the camp with an economy of motion that bespoke long familiarity with the task and full confidence in their fellows. The long lines of tents were arranged in orderly groups, situated by the roles their occupants would take in defense and offense.


High above the camp, nearly to the top of the northern ridge, the camp's commander leaned back against a fencepost. He shifted his weight on his heels as the light from the rising sun touched his face. The stalk of grass he was chewing had been worked on for the past hour. His gaze took in the valley below, still partially misted with early morning fog, but didn't register the bustle starting in the camp as men began the morning ritual of soldiers long used to bivouacking in the field. His mind was far away.



He'd been wrestling with his thoughts since the night before when the messenger had ridden up on a nearly-blown horse, trembling himself with fatigue. He'd carried one message in the form of a parchment, sealed with the King's own Arms, but the more important message was the state in which he'd arrived. A King's Messenger could ride from one end of the realm to the other without harm, and with the series of stables that were maintained for that express purpose he had no need to ride a horse nearly to death. He could, at least, when times were normal; they were hardly normal now.


The commander discarded the shredded stalk and chose another. He had hoped that the civil war would be over by now, that he could return to the Border and be done with strife at home. The last King's messenger to reach him had carried the orders that brought him here, traveling through the war-torn lands that had once been the fertile fields that fed a kingdom. Past ancient forests now broken and blackened by fire, past empty villages and filled gibbets, past fallen strongholds and past all the atrocities that a war-mad soul could devise. The strength of his force had attracted notice, both good and ill, and his movements had perforce been slowed to accommodate the influx of refugees that he garnered. A grim smile crossed his face as he remembered the empty villages that he'd filled, and the garrisons that he'd established to ensure that those villages stayed filled this time.


He'd been perfectly happy the past ten years holding the Border Lands for the Crown. He and his men had been forged by adversity and the constant raids of the Outlanders into a weapon of strength and power. A weapon that had produced the most peace the Borderlands had known over the last three of those years. Honors had been earned by both sides in that conflict, and honors had been given to both groups as well. He and his men had been well on the way to forging a lasting ... not peace ... but an accommodation with the Outlander chiefs. There were too many memories of cross-border raids, from both sides, for peace to be a reachable goal, yet his treatment of his own land's hotheads -- preventing them from crossing the border in anger as assiduously as he prevented incursions into the Kingdom -- had allowed older and wiser heads to prevail. The resulting uneasy truce had lasted for three years now. And because of that 'peace', the King had called upon his honor, and ordered him to bring his forces home to create the same kind of peace here.


The war had begun when the King, declaring his Queen of eight years to be barren, had set her aside for a much younger, more 'fruitful', woman. Rumor held that she'd proved that already, several times with several men, and was already great with the King's child - so rumor held. Her kin had arrived at court in a great unruly mob, snatching every post in sight, and brawling like children in the mud over imagined slights. The King was so overwhelmed by his new bride, said the rumors, that he had eyes and ears for naught else. The old Queen had been shut into a convent, sworn to religion, made dead to the outside world. Rumor also held that she would soon be dead in earnest, that the new Queen's envy outstripped even her lust, and that she demanded her head. The old Queen's father had denounced the King before the court as a lecher and a fool, and the new Queen as a slut and whore. He had gathered his retinue and stormed from the capital in disgust. He had retreated to his lands, called his liegemen to him, and mounted a raid to rescue his daughter. The Duke had succeeded, but at the cost of splitting the Kingdom squarely in two, a cost that he had gladly paid. Enough blood had been shed on both sides that, just as in the Borderlands, no peace could be reached without the fall of the other side. Or imposed from the outside, as he had done before. The war had risen over the past months, a war that pitted the King against his Lords, Baron against Burgher, husband against wife, and father against son until all the kingdom was topsy-turvey. A man couldn't tell to which side his neighbor leaned, and being unsure, assumed the worst. Assumed the worst, and acted on those assumptions. Not all the gibbets that he'd left behind him had existed before his arrival, and he was sure that there would be more to come.


The commander moved again to stretch muscles too long in one position. The latest King's messenger was not the only one that had arrived in the camp that night. Another rider, in non-descript clothing, and on a sturdier, fresher horse, had arrived shortly after the King's man. His message was not committed to parchment, and had been given in private after he proved his bona fides. The signet ring he had produced was unassailable as proof, yet the fact that he was known to the commander was better proof, for they had played together as children and grown up together as young men. That message was a plea from the Duke and his forces: help him rid the Kingdom of Queen Slut and her besodden Royal Paramour, and return The Kingdom to the rule of reason.


The crux of his quandary was that while his honor flowed from the King, his blood flowed from the old Queen's family. The King's parchment had only confirmed the worst of his fears. It contained orders for him to take his men, ride east, and retake the lands raised in rebellion, and carry out the King's High Justice on the traitorous Duke Longsward, for the Good of the Realm, and the honor of the King. Blood and Honor, Honor and Blood. If he chose honor, it would cost him blood; choosing blood would cost him honor and more blood in return.


A blur of motion in the sky finally caught his attention where naught else had -- a falcon circling there stooped, dove, and struck. Moments later, the raptor rose back into view, clutching a small struggling body in its claws, and flew off into the sunrise. The commander sighed and straightened, his mind made up. He moved purposefully down the path toward the camp, calling for his breakfast, his lieutenants, his armor and his horse. Sir Jason Longsward, third son of the rebel Duke, Baron of the Border Marches, and granted the title of War Chief by the Outlanders in his own right, would ride east, following the falcon, and strike his blow for honor.
 
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Mr Underhill

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Crossroads: Just for fun entry

This was a great idea. This themekind of clicked for me, so I got quite a lot out of it. If nothing else, it had me cranking out words, and that's all to the good. By the time I hit 2500 words, I realized the protagonist had actually made her decision, even though I'd need another installment for her to actually act on it.

So here it is - I'm showing the decision, but not telling it yet. I suppose I could get the whole arc down to 2500 words, but that would require extensive editing, and since I'm not actually a finalist, why should I spend my weekend doing that? ;)

Also, 2500 words is quite a lot to put in the post, so I'm going to try posting a teaser, and attaching the whole thing as an RTF file. Hope that works.

Oh, and the protagonist's name is Sarah - that was one of the requirements, yes? :rolleyes:
_______________
Another Monday, how would she face it? Doesn’t hurt you’re rolling in with a quarter of the day already over, she told herself, making that sinking feeling worse. From the clock on her dashboard she realized it would be about 10:30 by the time she made it to her desk – more than two hours late. While most of the firm was more likely to arrive at 8:30 than right at eight, coming in just before lunchtime felt, well, out of control. This would be the third time in two weeks.

Sarah watched as the light in front of her turned green, along with every other traffic light on Fannin as far as the eye could see. Houston’s idea of synchronized stoplights never ceased to amaze her. They were supposed to have the lights change in succession so that you could cruise along at about the speed limit without stopping. But this way the best you could hope for was to make it four or five blocks before the lights all changed red again, in unison. That was with the streets practically empty the way they were at this hour. And if you stood on the accelerator. Almost as if the city fathers planned it so commuters would burn more fuel. Yeah well who owns this city, she thought, maybe there’s more truth to that than you think.

A couple more lights, a couple more minutes passed before she turned the corner onto Capitol. At this hour there was no way she would get one of the Urich spots under the building today, she’d have to park in the garage. Which meant she couldn’t look for Don’s Audi either. Not that there was a chance of accidentally bumping into him now – That’s one of the perks of showing up exactly at 8:30, she reminded herself as she waved her pass at the machine, opening the garage gate.

Plenty of spaces on this side of the street, so she picked one close to the stairs and shut off her vehicle. She grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and paused. You can’t be serious girl, you’re two hours late, her practical self complained.
 

Mr Underhill

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Mr Underhill said:
I'm going to try posting a teaser, and attaching the whole thing as an RTF file. Hope that works.
Confound it. RTF doesn't work. What a bother. I posted it as a PDF, since I don't have time to mess around with MS Word. Hope that works for people. I could post it as a text file I suppose, since I normally use minimal formatting.

Enjoy.
 

zeprosnepsid

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I didn't think I could do anything with 'crossroads'. It's not really what I do. But today, when I wasn't thinking about it at all, it came to me. And I banged out these quick 500 words. It's first draft and unedited, but it fits the theme and this is for fun, right?

Big Girl -- 506 words

This very day Susie Ann Golden faced the hardest question of her life. She never had to make a decision as grave as this. She has been preparing for this for weeks now. But she didn’t foresee the extenuating circumstances. She doesn’t know what to do -- go potty in the bathroom, or in her pants.

Susie has been training with Mom. She’s watched the videos, she’s sang the ‘potty song’. She knows she can do it on her own. And in this case, she would have to -- Mom is upstairs and Susie does not know when she will come down. The bathroom is very close and Mom will be so very proud. And Susie already told Brad Jones that she could do it on her own. He claimed to have learned weeks ago. Susie’s been waiting for an opportunity to become a ‘big girl’. But there is just one problem...

Billy. Susie sees him across the room, his beady eyes, the drool on his chin. She looks back at the toy in front of her -- the Babybalooza. Seven different activities in one. Susie had it and Billy wanted it. But if she went to the bathroom, she knew it would not be hers again when she came back.
The Babybalooza had been bolted into the wall to keep it from falling over. She could not take it with her. She looked around the play room at the other toys -- A couple dolls, that game with the shapes, an old rattle -- slim pickins. Mom didn’t leave them with much. And who knows how long it’ll be till she returns?

But just then, Mom came down the stairs. Susie stood up, she was ready to show Mom what she could do. But Mom was still on the telephone, and she walked quickly through the room.

“Susie, Billy, everything ok?” she said passing through, giving each child a glance to make sure they were still alive, then returning to her phone, “Yes, Joe, I know he wants it on Tuesday!”

Susie tried to walk toward her, “Mama! Look!”

But Mama did not look. She carried on into the kitchen. Susie ran back to the Babybalooza with her imperfect wobble. Billy had tried to make a move but he was simply too far away. Susie could hear Mom in the kitchen, on the phone and banging pans around. Susie looked out the window, the sun was going down. It was dinner time. Mom might not come back out for another hour. Another hour.

Susie looked around again -- the dolls, the game with the shapes, the old rattle. She looked at Billy, she remembered the times he pulled her hair and threw food at her. She looked back at the Babybalooza and then again at Billy. She starred into his beady eyes, there was even more drool now, it went down his shirt -- she looked at him and then, she peed. She peed as hard as she could. She would have to become a big girl another day.
 

SeanDSchaffer

Crossroads piece: from new WIP

First, I think this 'join in on the theme' idea is great!

Second, here is my Crossroads piece, from a WIP I'm working on.

210 words.

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So we came to a fork in the road. Which way to go? What to do? One way leads toward a neighboring realm -- and freedom.

The other route would take us deeper into the slave realm I have been servant to for so long.

One route offers freedom, but at what price? My people would be without a champion and my King without a righteous judge.

Add to that, the neighboring kingdom wants to slaughter all the people I hold dear. Their arrogant pride refuses to allow for a neighbor to exist with such freedoms as my people presently possess. For as much as I despise my King, he remains far more just and righteous than the ruler of the other realm.

Following a judgment I know will someday lead to my violent death, I know I must turn away from my immediate release from my present bondage. My only real option is to my service and loyalty to my people and my King. I shall not, for the sake of a personal whim, forsake those who mean so much to me.

I am a Knight: I shall be also an example of what men are born in my land.

-----------------------------


I hope you all like it!