Submissions close on February 14th.
All submissions must be under 1,500 words.
No chatter in this thread, please.

Please submit your story in the following format:

Author Name:
Genre:
Style: (poetry, short story, etc.)

Title:

Submission

Author Name: Kitra Skene
Genre: Fantasy
Style: Short story

Title: Of Tooth and Nail

The new moon hung behind a thick cover of clouds. In the darkness, Welgrove Manor was invisible to the little town it overlooked. Warm light glowed behind the stained glass windows of the church as parishioners began to wander out, chatting and greeting each other, toward their homes. Eventually the voices, footfalls, and hoof beats died down to a still silence.
Brother Andrew laid out a small chalice and wafer before busying himself with returning the Psalters and Bibles to their proper places in the pews. After a few moments, he heard the outside door close and footsteps advance swiftly in his direction. He looked up, but saw only his own reflection in the stained glass window before him.
“Punctual as usual.” He said, turning to see a tall, well-dressed figure standing behind him.
“Midnight is an hour my ilk seldom forget.” the man replied. He was abnormally pale and thin, with sleek black hair, a sharp nose, and a firm face.
The two shook hands and Brother Andrew led his guest to the altar and gave him the sacrament that had been laid out earlier. When it had been taken most solemnly, Brother Andrew ventured a question.
“I trust your trip was successful, Welgrove?” he asked the newly returned landowner.
“The task was more difficult than I would have expected for a wretched creature such as myself.” he replied. His tone was mirthless and cynical. He laughed coldly before adding, “Though I suppose you would be right to say that it is my diabolical nature that made it so.”
“We all have a diabolical side.” Andrew returned. “I would be more inclined to think of your struggle as proof that there is more to the vampire than his blood lust.” Welgrove chuckled again.
“My dear Andrew, you would pity the darkest demons that walk the Earth. It is fortunate you did not have to slay such monsters, you would try reasoning with them.
“It served me well once before. And however it is received, I would go with only one thing before me, and that is enough to save, or ward off, all things.” Andrew fingered the small cross that never left the chain on his neck. “I am sure many lives will be safer with your old haunts cleansed, I only wish they could be saved as well as safe.”
“I suppose it would be the same for them as it was for myself and my former companions. It is always simply a matter of choice, is it not?”
Andrew grinned. “My dear Nicodemus, we'll make a theologian of you yet.”
Welgrove couldn't help but smile as well. “Perhaps it will be one of the few traits I retain.”
“How do you mean?”
“I'm not myself, Andrew. Of course, that can be guessed from my standing before you, over this very bread and cup, but there have been more changes. I am always reminded of my true self when I pass a mirror, yet it is somehow bearable where it was not so before. Those are acceptances I am grateful for, but even now, I cannot travel on the moonlight as I once did, or summon loyalty from the lower beasts.”
“You still maintain your strength and animal transformations?”
“My strength, yes, but if I do not drink the blood of an animal, I cannot take their form. I will not risk losing myself to... myself... again. Only the communion cup will sustain me now, for no matter how short a time.” Welgrove looked to the chalice he had emptied only minutes ago.
“I am dying, Andrew. I still appear young as the day I died, and my hunger has not been aroused, but my flesh is starved. Those younger vampires that ought to have been weaker had abilities I no longer possess. I think very soon I will fill a coffin again and forever.”
Andrew was silent for some time. “You do not have long then?” he finally asked.
“A month I should think. Perhaps only a fortnight,” Nicodemus pulled a bundle of papers from an inner pocket of his overcoat. “There are all of my accounts in order. I settled everything while I was abroad. It took my mind off of the horrid task at hand. I trust you will see great good done through them. More than I saw to in life or first death.”
“I only wish the people could have known you as you are now.”
“Better they forget me entirely. I have crimes enough to pay for. I would not risk more for vanity sake. There is at least the wealth I have left that can be given a higher purpose.”
“But you have forgotten one thing, Nicodemus.”
“Have I?”
“You are still a fragment of your old self. You cannot enter any place without being granted permission, correct?”
Nicodemus seemed confused. “Yes, that is true. What of it?”
“Then how do you suppose it is that you are here in this very church tonight?”
“Why, you asked me yourself, Andrew. What do you mean?”
“I could not have given access of my own. The owner of this house invited you in. You were invited into God's house, and you have accepted, Nicodemus. That much is proven by your taking of the bread and cup without receiving the burns that have come to any true vampire. You needn't mourn your second death. You will find life on that side of death yet again, but it will finally be a true life. The one you were always meant to have.”

There are those who would say that this was the last meeting between Lord Welgrove and Brother Andrew and, in a very small manner of speaking, they would be correct. Indeed, life itself is very small when compared to eternity, and when one is under the blood brought by nails, and not of teeth, we may well say that it is the beginning and not the end.

Author Name: Ophelia - Marie
Genre: (Umm. . . )
Style: Poetry

Title: Heart's Release

Listen to the sound -
It's fake you know.
The joy that's all around -
Is dead below
The surface.

Watch flashing smiles -
Won't reach the eyes.
What's pretty for awhile-
Hides the cries
Of broken.

Ignore soul-less chatter -
Doesn't matter now.
Laugh 'til it shatters -
You don't care how
It falls.

Dance to the beat -
It's a purposeless call.
Goal you can't meet -
Might as well fall
In darkness.

Whisper in the air -
Gotta let go.
Chains tighten there -
Too late to slow
Your fall.

Warrior steps out -
Breaks the chain.
Fighting the doubt -
He takes your pain
To Himself.

Listen to the sound -
Calls you free.
Releasing from the ground -
Blackness flees
Your heart.

Seeing now the hand -
Got you here.
Walking to His land -
Things will be clear
Someday.

Author Name: Aldara
Genre: Fantasy
Style: Short Story

Title: Ours is Hope

Aislinn climbed the last few steps up the bluff and sat, legs curled up against her chest. The wind played through her long hair, teasing it into knots and dragging the salty sea into waves that crashed against the cliffs. The wild water sounded fierce and cruel, but the wind just sounded lonely. The sky was inky navy, covered with clouds.
Aislinn stared out over the sea. It was like her, a chaotic mix of emotion, swelling and ebbing as the wind pushed it. The darkness, too, seemed to suit her. It snuck into every crevice and attached itself to the heart of things. She no longer bore any outward sign, but it was inside her. It filled her with a sense of loss. She just couldn't find the joy that used to be there. Sometimes, she thought she could throw it off, like the time she sat with Tamah and saw pictures in the clouds, or the evening spent with the others, laughing and dancing. When she sang, sometimes, she felt a little bit happier, a little less scared. But then the darkness crept back, folding around her heart and stealing away everything but that terrible despair.
The despair, she thought, was truer than the moments of peace. It seemed safe, now, but it wouldn't last. The Usurper was coming, with his armies, with the creeping, shadowy darkness, and the only ones who could stand against him were scattered. She was supposed to be a foreguard, like the Sentinel rock that she could see down below her, honed and polished by the waves. Instead, the waves had broken her, and now they were seeping into every crack and hollowing her out. She was slowly slowly dying.

Footsteps climbed the last few steps to the top of the bluff and sat down beside her, legs stretched out, bare feet bobbing slowly, just barely in her line of vision. Near her ear, there was a quiet breath, someone blowing on embers. A couple seconds and a phosphorescent light appeared in the corner of her eye, growing stronger a bit, then settling. A hand reached out and set the lamp between them.
"Aislinn," it was Aodhan, worrying, as always.
"Yes?" She asked even though she knew what he wanted. Is everything alright? He would say, can I help you?.
"This has to end." He said instead, and Aislinn was so surprised that she almost asked what he was talking about. Her mind skittered through possible responses before settling on the first, automatic, one.
"What has to end?" She didn't look at him.
"This." He didn't sound frustrated, to his credit. She would have been. Then again, he didn't ever seem upset. "You pity yourself. That is understandable- we all pity you some." He waited, probably to see if she would take offense. She didn't. She knew what they were talking about when they thought she wasn't listening. "But truly, Aislinn, you aren't helping yourself by being sad all the time. This," he gestured to the lonely, sad surroundings, "is just hurting you."
"I can't help it." She muttered. His head tilted toward her slightly.
"Tell me why," he demanded, somehow still gently.
"It’s inside. Like an infection." she explained.
"What is? The sadness?"
"The darkness. I'm... dark inside," she fished for a word, "tainted."
"Nonsense." Aodhan sat up straighter. He seemed annoyed now. "Am I tainted?" He bent his head forward, showing the hair brushing his neck where an honour braid should be.
"No!" she exclaimed. He chuckled, mystifyingly happy despite the subject matter.
"I like it when you jump to my defense."
"That was my fault. That's only part of the reason I'm-"
"Hush, you." He glared out over the water. Aislinn stared, confused by the rapid swings of his mood. "You are not tainted, and if I hear that again I don't even know what I'll do. It's just silliness." His voice was stern, hinting at underlying fury. "I don't care what that man told you. I don't care what he did. None of that is your fault."
"Still," she looked away, embarrassed. She wasn't worth his fury. He shouldn't bother.
"Still what?"
"Why bother?"
"with..." he prompted.
With me, she wanted to say, why bother with me when I'm tainted? But then he would argue again. So instead she asked, "with anything. Why celebrate? Why pretend we can do something? He's coming, and there's nothing we can do."
He seemed surprised by that answer. "Two things. One, we can do something. If there was no point in us being here, God would not have put us here. He would not have chosen us if we couldn't do something. His plans are perfect, Aislinn. Two, we would go on anyhow, because hope is a powerful weapon.. If we keep up hope, then we're winning. His greatest weapon is fear. Ours is hope -hope in God. That is why we bother."
"Oh," she said, very quietly.
"When you sit alone and think about everything he did to you, when you just give up, it's hurting you, and those around you. It means that he’s beat you, because you don’t have any hope. And if he’s beat you, then we’re lost too. We’re a team." He calmed again, reaching out to tuck her wild, knotted hair behind her ear. "Have you thought about everyone else? Tamah relies on you, and so does Erantera. Dakila misses his friend. Sahil hates the sadness." She said nothing, looking at him. He smiled softly. "I've missed you too. I've hated watching you fall apart."
"Oh," she said again. "Oh."
He nudged her with his shoulder. "Look," he pointed, "the clouds are breaking up." They were. The moon was peeking out, and stars spotted the sky. As they watched, an albatross wheeled down in front of them, perching on a rock. They sat in silence for a bit.
"Ready?" Aodhan stood and offered a hand to her. "They'll be waiting for us."
Aislinn accepted the hand. "Ready," she answered.

They walked the last few steps through the woods together and stepped into the ring of firelight. The sky was inky navy, dotted with stars, and the wind played through her long hair, teasing it into knots and making the flames waver. The distant sound of waves was like drums, keeping time for the dancers. The wind tugged them into the ring of revelers. It was warm and people were laughing. Dakila's strong laugh rang out over them all, and he gestured to her. Come, be a part. She sat beside him and watched and listened. Sahil's melodic tenor rose, fumbling with words but still strong. Tamah stood beside a stranger, learning the dance steps. Even Erantera sat near them, a small smile gracing her face. Aodhan winked at her before joining the celebration.
Aislinn laughed and picked up the song, feeling the darkness recede. If we keep up hope, then we’re winning. She warmed her hands in front of the fire and took in the happiness around her. Maybe there was hope after all.

Author Name: Theodora Ashcraft
Genre: Fantasy?
Style: Drabble

Title: Never Alone

Here, there is only darkness. You endlessly stumble your way through it. It seems there is no escape. But if you keep fighting your way through the darkness, you’ll reach a mighty oak. It glows, a beacon in the shadows. You stare in awe at what you have never seen—light. The shadows will begin to close in again as Dread tries to seize you once more.
But if you touch the tree with your hand, a white Dove will soar into the sky. You’ll realize that you’ve found hope. And no matter what happens, you’ll never again be alone.

Author Name: Juliet Nicole Lauser
Genre: Steampunk
Style: Very loose poetry

Title: ACHROMATIC

BLACK DAYS AND NIGHTS
CRUSH WHITE FLAMING HOPE
HEEDLESS BLACK PASSION
BURNING INTO WHITE DESPAIR
BLACK INK SCRAWLED
BLEEDING INTO WHITE PAPER
BLACK FACE
FILLING WITH COLD WHITE DESIRE
COLD BLACK GLOVES SLIDING ONTO HANDS
WHITE KNIFE BLADE SCOURED THIN
STEPS COMING ON THE BLACK TARRED STREET
SILVERY WHITE CLICKS OF MACHINERY
ROOK BLACK HAIR COMBED STRAIGHT
CREAM WHITE FACE
BLACK LEATHERED HAND PUNCHING WILDLY
SUN FLASHING WHITE ON THE SHARDS OF FACE
STILL ROOK BLACK HAIR COMBED STRAIGHT
STILL CREAM WHITE FACE STARING STRAIGHT
BLACK POOLING SHADOW ON THE STREET
SILVERY WHITE TICK OF MACHINERY
BLACK FACE SCALDING
WITH WHITE HOT TEARS
THOUGHTS CHURNING BLACK
WHITE TICKS SIMULATING KNIVES
BLACK LEATHERED FISTS HANGING
WHITE OF EYES FLASHING WITH WATER
BLACK DESPAIR
BURNING INTO WHITE HUMILIATION
BLACK STREET SHAKING
WHITE SHOCK BURSTING
BLACK FEAR
WHITE BLURRING VIBRATION
BLACK RUMBLING EXPLOSION
MACHINERY RIPPING INTO WHITE SILENCE
COOL BLACK COMFORT
WHITE HOT TERROR
BLACK FACE LIFTING
TO SHINING WHITE SKY
RIVED AWAY BLACK
WHITE LIFE

Author Name: Juliet Nicole Lauser
Genre: --
Style: Poetry

Title: Afraid Of The End

Hail is storming the front lines
Of my tired internal defense
The rattle is bound to wake me soon
But I'm stubborn for my dream til the end
I'm seeing a river
Watch it run, run, run
It leaves blood stains behind
Then twirls down the drain
Something hurts my stomach
But it's not a normal ache
It's like one finger touching
The verge of a lake
But I'm stubborn for my dream
I am frightened to let go
I keep my grip on the slippery brain stuff
My fingers slipping slow, slow, slow
I want to stay where I know
If I let myself fall
Into consciousness
I'll lose it all
I don't remember what it's like
I don't think I ever knew
It's the ignorance – just the ignorance
If I just had a clue
Why can't I stay dreaming
Forever, ever, ever
Why must I leave
Why must I sever?
I'm watching angry eyes
Crinkling in the corners
The pupils are drowning
In a pallid pool of amber
Sometimes my dreams are frightening
I think this is one of those times
I don't know which I'm more afraid of
But the dream's mine, mine, mine
I thought the rattle would shatter the window
And I jerked in my twisted sheets
A fire was on the hearth
Yellow tongues that spattered and leaped
It was warm and quiet and still
I barely remembered the moment before
But it was all so strange
To think I had lingered so long at the door
I heard the hail crackling against the glass
Nothing but the torn away tail of the fear
Was left in my hand
Less left of the dream, so dear
I let go and shifted on my bed
Felt paper under my fingers
The wretched words of the night before
Caught my eyes and made them linger
Terror wrote them and terror came back
Softly infecting my brain
My heart fought against its yieldless bars
And my ears blotted out the rain
I was just foolish
Afraid of an end
Afraid to die
My heart was my best friend
That's all, that's all
I was just terrified
When I swore I wasn't
It was my biggest lie
I just didn’t know
I didn't know what it was like in a grave
I didn't know what was waiting
Ignorance made me cave
But I flushed with a new thought
Maybe there was hope
Maybe if I wasn't crazy
Maybe I could cope
Maybe this consciousness is another
Temporary kind of dream
Maybe there's hope that when
You wake up there's the real thing
Maybe it'll be beautiful
Maybe it'll be strange
Maybe it'll be like...
Life

Author Name: Ardyth DeBruyn
Genre: fantasy
Style: short story

Title: The Master

Davell leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “But master, this boy is amazing.”

Leaning back in his chair, Karuk found his mind wandering back to memories of Davell at twelve. He’d been a brilliant student, and Karuk had put similar energy into training him, had hoped he was the warrior prophesied to unite the fiefdoms--only to have it crushed in the end, when Davell took a mediocre job running a training school. All that wasted talent. Karuk pressed his lips together and held back the reprisals. They would do nothing but hurt them both.

Davell set down his teacup, waving his hands. “Even so young, I’ve never seen such poise. Such speed and focus! You have to see him, Master.”

Karuk sighed. “I’m too old.” As a young man, he had read the stars, searched prophecies and trained boy after boy, each time convinced he had the right one. He had made it his life’s work, only to be disappointed time and time again. Now almost seventy, he was tired of trying.

“If you saw him, you’d understand,” Davell insisted. “And you’ve many good years ahead of you. Aren’t you tired of hiding out here by yourself?”

“It’s called retirement.” Karuk did understand Davell, only too well. There was nothing like the rush of excitement finding a student he believed could change the world. And nothing like the crushing disappointment when the child failed. “And between all my former students coming out to visit me, it’s hardly by myself.” He sounded far too much like a crotchety old grandfather.

Davell smiled and put a hand on Karuk’s arm. “Please, come see. Just this once--for me.”

Davell’s pleading eyes faded into memory once more, a young child begging him to give him a chance. The failure still hurt. Yet not all his former students still admired him. At least Davell hadn’t turned out a monster like a few of them, just ambitionless. Silence pressed between them.

“Fine, just this once.” He’d regret it, but he couldn’t bear to disappoint him further.

***

Karuk had never seen Davell’s school before, but it was much the same as any other. It could have even been the one Karuk himself attended as a young boy. The boys were the same was well, eager to please in front of the masters, hiding their spite until they were alone. He tried to keep his disappointment at Davell’s obvious contentment here to himself.

Davell lead him into the practice room. Benches lined one wall for spectators, while the boys sat on their own on the other side. Two boys sparred in the sawdust floored arena, the aide calling out occasional advice. Karuk chose a seat near the door, repressing a sigh.

The aide called the match, and the boys put up their swords and shook hands, a formality of friendly practice that didn’t make it to their faces. Rivalries aplenty must abound here as everywhere.

Davell selected two new boys from the bench. The larger, dark-haired and sturdy, clapped the younger on the shoulder. The younger, fair-haired and small, grinned and swaggered forward.

This must be the talented one. Davell must be proud to have a young student who could beat much older boys, but Karuk privately thought advancing a young boy did more harm than good. The boy’s stance looked cocky.

Patience, you promised to at least watch. The room quieted. Karuk felt the gaze of all the curious boys in the room watching him. While visiting masters were common enough, there’d been no introductions, leaving them to speculate. Karuk forced a smile as an eager Davell came to join him on the bench. His former student leaned back against the wall and waved a hand at the boys. “Begin.”

The older boy attacked first with a forward thrust. The younger blocked, the wooden swords clacking in the silence. As the match heated up, Karuk couldn’t help but notice the younger boy was indeed talented. Too talented. Karuk had trained many young geniuses, including Davell himself. In the end it was always something other than swordsmanship that defeated them.

The memory of Davell telling him he’d accepted Baron Deerath’s offer to run a school, leaving behind forever the mission to unite the land, burned sharp in Karuk’s mind. Perhaps twenty years ago Karuk would have taken on this child, but not now.

His gaze drifted to the older boy, the boy’s face calm despite fighting defensively. He blocked the lightning quick attacks of the smaller boy with a solid air of practice. This one was not talented, only well-trained, but the deliberate quality to his moves attracted Karuk’s interest.

His next block had enough force to unbalance the younger boy, but the older did not press his advantage quick enough. The younger dodged his attack, slipped forward, and tripped the older boy. Their swords locked together, the tip of the younger’s pointed at the neck of the older. The older students cheered and Davell called the match. The younger boy drew back, allowing his opponent to rise.

The older boy grinned and dusted off his pants before giving the winner a handshake.

Karuk finally grasped what was different about the older student--a humiliating defeat by a younger student seemed not to bother him. In fact, this boy had not been intent on winning. Larger, stronger, and better trained, he had the skill to win if only he’d been more focused.

Winning matches was usually the most important thing to a young student, especially in front of a visiting master. Even if they were friends, a match like this ought to be important to him.

Davell got up and went over to the younger boy, no doubt giving him further instruction. The aide picked out two new combatants to practice. Karuk had not intended to talk to the students, only politely tell Davell he wasn’t interested, but now he was curious. With a sigh, he made his way over to where the older boy was cooling down.

The child looked up at his approach, calm. His eyes glinted with self-assurance--this was not one who’d be intimidated easily, even if he knew who Karuk was.

The boy bowed his head. “Sir?”

“Why did you lose?” Karuk asked. It was common for visiting masters to question students.

The boy drew himself to attention. “Sir, when Raynon stumbled, I assumed he had--”

“Not how, why.” Karuk folded his arms.

The boy frowned, wrinkling his brow.

“You might have tried harder,” rephrased Karuk.

“I didn’t need to.” Confidence returned to the boy. “Davell wanted to show Raynon’s talent, not mine.”

“That doesn’t bother you?” Karuk asked.

“Why should it?” The boy shrugged. “My own skill is good, but not noteworthy. It doesn’t need to be since I am the son of Lord Mirlek, and whether or not I am apprenticed, I will inherent my father’s lands. Raynon is a merit student with only his talent to shape his future.”

Karuk raised his eyebrows. “How charitable of you.”

The boy gave him a lopsided grin. “His future is also important to me, sir. When he becomes a great warrior, I will hire him.”

His commanding tone both annoyed and pleased Karuk. “And these other boys? Do you let them win too?”

“Only the ones better than me.” The boy smirked. “Isn’t it better to foster cooperation rather than competition? Many of them are more talented than me, but there’s no point holding it against them. I’d be happy to hire many of them someday, even if Raynon is the best.”

Not the usual student, is he? Karuk shook his head. “By not challenging Raynon to your utmost ability, you deny him furthering his talent. Next time you must strive to win, if you want to show me his true potential.”

Until he said it Karuk had not realized there would be a next time. As he turned away to find Davell, he could almost taste the bittersweet irony. All those years searching among the most brilliant warriors, his hopes crushed when they turned out only warriors and not leaders. The boy’s proud words echoed in his head. He looked over to Davell, hired by the lord of one of the most prominent fiefdoms and now running a prestigious school. No longer did that feel like a failure. He had trained Davell well for where his talent lay, as a warrior.

But this boy aspired to hire them all.

Davell met his gaze, one hand on his prodigy’s shoulder. His hopeful expression spoke volumes--a longing not so much for his student’s success, but for Karuk’s appreciation. Karuk felt a flicker of pride for his former student, now friend. He’d done well with his school, his students; it was high time he heard that from his master.

He beckoned Davell over. Karuk put a hand on his arm and smiled. “You were right to make me come. A man is never too old to be taught a lesson.”

Author Name:Aldara
Genre: --
Style: Short Story

Title: A Chance To Live

He woke to darkness. Not that this was unusual; he always woke up in the dark. But it was never this dark, no it was always the twilight-grey of almost-nightfall. This dark was different, it was the pitch-blackness of early-morning, the shadow of not-yet-dawn. He knew every kind of darkness. He woke in darkness, travelled in darkness, killed in darkness. He lived in darkness; he wore it like a cloak that hid him and kept him safe. And in return the blackness of the moonless nighttime wore him, using him to commit it’s terrible deeds.
He had a commission, a target, and they lived in the village an hour's walk away. It was the typical brood, the kind that died silently, with sadness in their eyes, not because they were dying, but because he had chosen to kill them.
Ha. Chosen, as though he had a choice. As though he hadn’t been dragged away on a night much like this one (or rather, much like this one had been two hours ago). As though the darkness hadn’t taken him and infected him and moulded him to do it’s will. He was too far gone now to have any choices. There was no turning back from the life had had been offered, the life he had once grabbed at, hoped for. Now it had latched onto him and it wouldn’t let him go.
He came to the outskirts of the village. Luckily, he had scouted the place out yesterday night. He shadowed the man as he made his rounds, watched him go into the little white house on the edge of town, watched at all the windows for his shadow to disappear. He knew everything he needed to know about the man, and yet he knew nothing. He didn’t know why he had chosen to make such powerful enemies, but he knew that his masters wanted him dead. He didn’t know why he had stayed here instead of fleeing for somewhere safer, but he knew where he lived and where he slept. He didn’t know if he would be surprised find out that he was going to die tonight, but he knew that he wouldn’t wake up. There was nothing left for the man in the little white house, not even the darkness.
That thought came crashing down him, and he felt a strange kinship with the man he was going to kill. After tonight, they would both be dead, one in body and the other in spirit. He had been dead a long time, dead to the world, to the emotions of living men. But after this, neither of them would have anything, because his target would be dead, and he would be dark. There was no hope, no chance, for either of them to live.
He glanced worriedly at the horizon –there was no time to waste if he wanted to get this job done tonight –but he was safe, for now. So he crept over to the house and started to climb. The house wasn’t well-made; the stones were rough and provided numerous footholds. He made the second-story bedroom window in seconds and it was open. He reached behind him and unsheathed the knife from its spot at  the small of his back. Holding it in one fist, he dropped to the floor of the chamber.
The man sat in a chair, reading a book by the light of a solitary candle. At the nearly soundless impact of feet on wood, he looked up. “Listen to this,” he said softly. “’ The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul. Though I walk through the Valley of the shadow of Death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me. Your rod and Your staff they comfort me.’” He shook his head. “I was expecting you –I’m sorry for taking up your time. I’m used to sharing my wonder with others. Go on, then. I’m sure you would rather be away from here.”
Even though I walk through the Valley of the shadow of Death, I will fear no evil.
He raised his hand, knife poised for throwing. The man blew out the candle, then turned his face to the ceiling and closed his eyes. He pulled his arm back, then stopped. His hand trembled, then it fell. “Why don’t you try to stop me? Others like you try to stop me by telling me that I can change -am I too far gone now?” He demanded. There was something insulting about a man who didn’t try to convert him.
“I don’t know, are you?” Suddenly the man was looking him right in the eyes. “That’s for you to decide. I can’t stop you from killing me. If there is any hope for your eternal soul, you have to find it. I can’t do that for you.” He tilted his head, watching him.
Light slid in through the open window, glinting of the naked blade and illuminating the man’s features. He shivered, glaring at the sunrise. The man nodded, as though he understood how the darkness inside him feared the light. Within seconds, it seemed, the whole room was lit up, the shadows banished to the corners. He raised his knife to throw, feeling the darkness inside him rear it’s head, then he faltered again. It seemed as though, with the advent of the sun, the entire world had turned their eyes to him, waiting for him to destroy himself.
He dropped the knife.
The man started at the clatter, eyeing the sunrise. “Beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve spent many a long night in despair, only to feel it seep away as the sun rose. It’s like the darkness can’t stand up to the light of day.”
No response. He was staring at the light, trying to will it away. The pages of a book rustled.
“Here’s a good one. ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows Me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.'"
No response. He vaulted out the window and ran off, away from the town and into the forest. He left the knife behind.
Whoever follows Me will never walk in darkness.
They would find him, of course. He was forfeit, a runaway. But perhaps he would get a chance to live first.

Author name: Aubrey Hansen
Genre: nonfiction
Style: blank verse narrative

Title: Confidence

Hope is not
“the light at the end of the tunnel,”
a belief in “happily ever after,”
or even
an assurance that things will turn out “all right”;
but rather
a quiet faith
that, come what may,
God
cannot
lie.

Author name: Ophelia - Marie
Genre: --
Style: Poetry

Title: The Dark I Held Inside

Flooded by the blackness
Underneath my skin.
Blood drained and seeping,
Like the dark within.

Gouging at my wounding,
Digging this decay.
Knowing it is certain,
That the black is here to stay.

Pressing at the briars,
Scratches long and deep.
Shivering and silent
On a mountain cold and steep.

Clawing at the rubble,
Looking now in vain.
Screaming to the heavens
To try to mask the pain.

Burdened by the baggage,
Stumbling as I go.
Whimpering at the winds,
That knife me as they blow.

Shudders wrack my body,
Screaming fills my ears.
Regrets cause me to tremble
As I look at wasted years.

Clinging to the stubble,
Scratching at my scars.
Panicked tears are streaming,
That fill my empty jars.

Snatching at the fragments,
Desperate in desire.
Slow painful death
In the all consuming fire.

Retching in my sickness,
Certain I will fail.
Curled with aching bruises
From the ever pounding hail.

Calling of a Father,
Fierceness in His voice,
Comes and fights the dangers
That came by my own choice.

Striking at the darkness,
Cleansing my black stain,
He calls to the Heavens
To bring the healing rains.

Tucking me still closer,
There's kindness in His tone.
Clearly I am broken,
Still He says I am His own.

Healing my deep wounding,
I feel His cleansing tide.
He gives to me forgiveness
For all the dark I held inside.

Holding me so gently,
He hugs me to His chest.
The world will bring its dangers,
But I trust that He knows best.

Author Name: Jonathan Garner
Genre: N/A
Style: Poetry

Title: Where There Is No Darkness

God sees
in the dark as well as in light,
in suffering as well as in joy.
Darkness and pain
do not cloud His vision
as they do ours.
For He knows,
and has told us,
that one day there will be
no darkness and no pain.
Where there is no darkness,
we will not be lost.
Where there is no pain,
we will have no reason to cry.
And we will see ourselves
as He sees us:
Loved
and healed.
For we are found
and complete in Him.

Thank you all so much for your entries. I am now going to lock these threads for judging. Winners will be announced in 2-3 weeks. Meanwhile, anyone interested in helping to compile the book can please go back to the main announcement thread to come up with a plan of attack for that project.

Thank you!

Author Name: Faith Blum
Genre: Science Fiction
Style: Short Story

Title: Hope Is All That is Left

“I-I can't,” her voice whimpered. “I can't!”
“I know. But, you gotta.” I glanced around the small room in the spaceship. We were trapped and hiding. “You've gotta cling to the small ray of hope.”
Her sobs became more distinct. “What hope is there?”
“There's the hope that they will have mercy. The hope that they won't find us, long's we're quiet. The hope that Father and Mother will find out what happened.”
“I don't see...”
I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her lightly. “Liz, hope is all we got left!” I hissed. “We gotta cling to it best we can.”
She stared at me, her sobs forgotten, her eyes vacant. “Yes,” she said faintly. “Hope. Hope that Spring will come again...” her voice faded as she collapsed against my shoulder, breathing deeply and relaxing for the first time that day.
Spring, I thought. Hope and Spring. They always seemed to be connected. I wondered why momentarily before returning to my thoughts. We will cling to our hope and maybe, just maybe, we will survive.

Author Name: Faith Blum
Genre: Historical Fiction/Western
Style: Short Story

Title: Dustin's Hope

Submission:

Dustin walked fast to burn off his excess energy. That man could make him so mad sometimes. I have to watch his kids? Why? Just because I work for him, I have to keep an eye out for his kids. He looked around. Where could they be? He followed the footprints until they led him to a cave opening.
Dustin sat down outside the small cave opening. He would wait for the boys out here. Ever since his short stint working for the railroad, he had hated the sight of caves. Mountains frightened him. They always reminded him of the day they were blasting through a mountain and the tunnel had collapsed. Dustin shuddered at the memory. His best friend had been killed in the collapse.
A rumble interrupted his gruesome thoughts. Dustin's eyes darted to the cave opening. A small cloud of dust puffed out of the cave. Dustin felt his chest constricting. He watched the opening, hoping against hope that the boys would come out. He waited until the rumbling finished and the dust cleared.
Walking up to the cave opening, he called, “Martin? Abel? You in there?”
Dustin heard a faint cry and ducked inside the cave. The cry came again faintly. “Help me. I'm stuck.”
Dustin tried to push down his panicked breath. He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing deeply in and out. Once he had calmed himself, he spoke again, “Keep talking so I can find you.”
Dustin kept his thoughts and eyes on his feet and moving them forward. He listened closely to the faint, small voice of...Which one? Martin or Abel? He couldn't tell. “Is your brother with you?”
“Yes,” came the faint reply. “He's unconscious.”
Dustin could tell that the pain was starting to get to the boy. “Are you Martin or Abel?”
“Abel.”
“Abel, listen to me,” Dustin pleaded. “I need you to talk to me. Tell me anything. But whatever you do, do not think about the pain you are in. I need you to guide me to where you and Martin are. I can't do this without you.”
Dustin heard a small sob. “Okay. I'll try.”
Abel started talking. His voice was growing louder and Dustin kept moving forward. The darkness was closing in around him, but he kept his thoughts on helping the boys. On getting them out of there.
“I think I see you,” Abel said. I can see something moving in front of me.”
“Can you wave your arm in the air?” Dustin asked.
Dustin searched the floor and saw slight movement ahead of him. He walked forward a few more feet before hearing a groan at his feet.
Dustin crouched down and moved his hands toward the floor of the cave. His hands came in contact with a warm body. “Martin. Can you hear me, boy?”
Dustin probed the boy's body with his hands, checking for broken bones. Finding none, he gently lifted the unconscious boy into his arms. “Abel?”
“Hmm?”
“I'm going to bring your brother outside and then come back for you. I can't carry you both out.”
“Okay.”
“Try to stay awake if you can, Abel.”
A low moan was the only response he got. Dustin turned around and quickly made his way out of the cave with Martin. When he reached the mouth of the cave, he took a deep breath and blinked his eyes rapidly at the bright sunlight. After gently placing Martin down under a nearby tree, Dustin turned around and stared at the mouth of the cave. Gathering what strength of mind he had left, he swallowed to get his heart out of his throat and walked back into the cave.
Dustin stared into the darkness in front of him. He ought to let Abel know he was coming, but his voice refused to work. His breathing was coming in short, jerky gasps. He was nearly panicking when he heard a small voice.
“Dustin?” The voice sounded so desperate. “Dustin,” the voice whispered. “You gotta come back. I know he'll come back. Please, God, make Dustin come back and save me.”
Dustin's panic suddenly disappeared. He wouldn't let another person die in a cave in. He couldn't live with that on his conscience. Dustin took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “I'm comin' Abel. I'm comin'.”
A sigh escaped the boy's lips.
Dustin hurried to the boy. It was too dark to see what had the boy stuck, but by using his hands, Dustin realized that a large rock had rolled onto Abel's leg.
“Abel, if I get the rock rolled off your leg, do you think you can move out of the way?”
Abel was silent and for a minute Dustin was afraid that he was unconscious.
“I can try,” Abel said.
“Okay. On the count of three, I will roll the rock off your leg. As soon as you feel it roll off, you need to move as far as you can. Got it?”
Abel's voice cracked, “Yes.”
“Okay. One, two, three.” Dustin grunted as he heaved all his weight into the rock. He pushed with all his might and the rock rolled off Abel's leg. Dustin felt Abel move quickly away from the rock.
Abel moaned. “I'm away.” His voice was filled with pain.
Dustin let go of the rock and hurried over to Abel. Just as he was about scoop the boy up, he heard a rumbling. Dustin gritted his teeth and pushed the panic down. He scooped Abel into his arms and ran for the cave opening.
Dust and stones fell around and on top of them as Dustin stumbled and ran as fast as he could on the uneven ground. The circle of light grew larger. Dustin began to hope that he would make it to the opening before the cave collapsed.
The opening suddenly opened up to him and he burst through. He felt the air behind him become greatly disturbed. As he stepped out into the bright sunlight, he looked behind him and saw the opening blocked by a boulder.
Dustin gently set Abel down next to his brother and collapsed next to them. Thank You, God, for keeping us alive and safe. The prayer was his last conscious thought until a couple hours later when he was shaken awake by his concerned boss.
“What happened here?” Judd Taylor asked.
Dustin shook the cobwebs out of his head and looked in the direction Judd had gestured. He groaned as he sat up. “Your boys were in the cave and their was a cave in. I got them out just before the cave collapsed and that boulder fell in the opening.” Dustin nodded toward the cave.
Judd looked at Dustin in surprise. “Thank you for saving m' boy's.”
Dustin looked Judd in the eyes. “I wasn't goin' to have their deaths on my conscience just because I don't like goin' in caves.”
Judd knelt next to Martin, gently picking him up. “Can you carry Abel?”
Dustin stood up slowly and stretched his legs, wincing in pain. “Yeah, I can.” He squatted down and picked the slight boy up.
Two days later, the boy's were up and running around. Abel had a slight limp, but otherwise kept up with his younger brother.
Dustin watched the brothers as he leaned against he stable door. A noise behind him caused him to turn around. Judd held the reins to his horse and was twisting them in his hands.
“Dustin?”
“Mm, hm.”
“I never properly thanked you for savin' my boys.” Dustin tried to interrupt his boss, but his boss hurried on. “I know it must've been hard for you. It took a lot of courage to go into that cave. I am deeply indebted to you.”
Dustin bowed his head. “As I said that day, I wasn't about to let them die in there.”
Judd smiled. “I know, but I still believe that I am deeply indebted to you.”
Dustin shook his head. “No, you are not. It is I who am indebted to you. Your boy's made me conquer my fear.”
Judd nodded. “Let's call it even, then.” He gave a tug to the reins and led his horse out into the stable yard. “I'm takin' a ride to the north pasture. Be back in a couple hours.”
Dustin nodded as Judd swung himself into the saddle. Dustin stood there for a couple more minutes before shaking himself into doing something productive. He gathered the tools for mending the corral fence and got to work. The load had lifted off his shoulder as a new interest in life sprang into his heart.