Creative Corner

@Chrisondra

Prompt: And the rains washed claean our hearts and souls

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Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

Water cascaded around me, slipping down walls of limestone, through cracks in the white tinged surface.

I was trapped, locked in behind closed walls.

I wouldn't say it was my own fault, but who else can I blame? The butcher? Found dead, Wong a knife in his chest?

The stable hand who turned me in?

Hours, I'd screamed my innocence, pleaded with the townsfolk to believe me.

I hadn't killed him, please God, I hadn't.

He'd slipped, fallen on the knife. Unbelievable, yes I know. But the truth still.

They'd chucked me down the well, uncaring of if I survived or not, leaving me to a grisly end.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

It was slowly filling up as the rain came in sheets, washing away my tears and pains, aches and worries.

The walls were slippery. I couldn't climb them even if I'd wanted to, there was no chance I was getting out.

This would be my grave.

The rain washed over me, a chilling caress that cleaned my soul. I am innocent, and so they shall all see.

Drowning was always a fear of mine. I could never swim, was always terrified if the sea, of rivers, of streams. The raging currents could so easily pull a man under without regret.

The Rapids would pull, rip and tear you from above their depths, wrenching you downwards to hit the bottom.

I didn't feel scared, not then, not now.

I felt detached, wiped clean by the invigorating rain.

The water was up to my thighs now, ever rising.

And, I let it. There was no need to struggle anymore. All my strength was spent, my voice hoarse, raw from hours of screaming.

Now, there was only silence.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

@Chrisondra
I'm a tad past the deadline, but I hope it's alright to submit still

Prompt: And the rains washed clean our hearts and souls

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https://docs.google.com/document/d/1RA0GUMNM3BwCGtJMr5kHPaQiGIl8_Pn-XGwQGF6rREo/edit?usp=sharing

Judging time! Sorry I'm late!

@Karika

I love the poem! I find it flows quite well and I really like the ending. Short and sweet and definitely enjoyable. I can't find much to critique about it.

"rain washed their aching holes,
and freed the peoples' hearts and souls." That's so lovely.

@Kiradog234

I really like the whole idea behind the story with the rain washing her clean of her fears. The biggest problem I had with the story was the shifts in tense. You shifted from past to present and back again a lot and it was mildly distracting. Overall, I did enjoy it though!

@Aphelium

I know it's late, but I'll go ahead and leave you commentary at the very least! First off, while not as blatant as Kiradog, you too jumped a little bit in tense. I definitely recommend watching that. The story itself was interesting. Dark, but definitely interesting. Losing everything when he just found out he wanted it all? Ouch. I enjoyed it too.

Thank you for your entries!

Winner: Karika

Runner-up: Kiradog234

Without extensions officially given, I'm afraid I must stick to deadlines, but I'll always read what's posted. <3

I'm happy you liked the poem :D [img]https://i.imgur.com/HR7uQsL.jpg[/img] [b]Deadline[/b]: 21 October 20:00 FR time. [size=1]@Chrisondra @TidalMoonrise @Mypilot @PixieKnight3264 @Karika @SamIamLuvDov @Lightshadow101 @humanityxpeople @coyearth @Avanari @demonslayr62 @Auraelia @Endernil @Arithelia @Sillywinter @inthestars @Annalynn @meddlesomedragon @SocialBookWorm @SolusPrime379 @Kattata @Reiyn @Skyeset @lessthan3 @AwkwardAngel @Draxia @MintyDragon @0Musicheart0 @Aphelium @SecondUNIT @AloneTogether @CelestialNarwhal @Kapara @Slayborn[/size] self-editing pinglist [url=https://docs.google.com/document/d/1dBM6-s4AYOSpYMqzHtyyTD2IGu27hQDf6MlYMGa76uA/edit?usp=sharing]here[/url]

HEY YOU GUYS!!! How do I get put on the ping list? This looks like fun!

@Elroth
I've added you :)
It is fun. You should definitely participate~

@Karika

Thanks for adding me to the ping list; I completely missed the self-editing ping list you speared into your prompt. Oops. Anyways,... ON TO THE ENTRY!!!

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The lights of Paris passed swiftly below, the wind bristling the tufts of fur on his neck and legs. He heard faint music ringing from countless cafes as people conversed with friends and relatives in the late hours of the evening. This was his favorite time of day; when the sun went down and the lights turned on. Paris was beautiful, and best of all... He could fly.

He loved to see people out and about, living their lives. At the cathedral, he could see for miles, and hear plenty as well, but there was nothing better than the freedom of flight. With the sun beneath the horizon, and the faint moonlight glistening across la Seine, he could escape his stone confines and really feel the freedom that should be his.

At this time, he always loved to stretch his wings and push his limits, twirling, dive-bombing, and barrel-rolling. The joy that came from these midnight flights freed his soul from the shackles of his endless watch over his lady*, and gave him the strength to keep on living his droll life.

Though he knew that soon his time must end, and he must return to his slumber, he stretched out just a while longer, for over the years he had watched his brothers and sisters succumb to the sleep of stone. He would not. He would not allow himself to be doomed to the never-ending dreams that haunt those like him. He was different.

He was free.



*Notre Dame directly translates to "our lady" in English.

@Karika

“When is he supposed to arrive?” Winnie asked, adjusting the cuffs of her white dress shirt. She spoke in a whisper, careful to not be overheard. She fidgeted with the dress hat atop her head until Victor swatted it away.

“Quit moving around,” he hissed in warning before putting a hand to the small of her back and guiding her forward, leaning his head towards hers like a couple of conspiring friends. “He likes to arrive late, as you know. The formal event doesn’t begin until seven on the hour, but most arrive beforehand to mingle and socialize.”

“Which is why we’re here,” Winnie said with a sigh. “Even though we don’t know anyone in the Brotherhood and very likely don’t look like we belong here.”

Victor smiled at a gentleman who caught his gaze, speaking low to Winnie. “They won’t know. The only real concern here is, of course, that you don’t get caught as being a woman.” He turned his scrutinizing gaze on her once more, piercing eyes making sure her suit jacket was fitted right around her shoulders. “Can you manage that, at least?”

Winnie bristled. “Of course,” she snapped. “It’s not hard to act like an idiot.” She stepped ahead of Victor, gliding away from him in sure, confident steps. At least she had the conceited walk down. These rich types would warmly embrace her, Victor thought.

The inside of the grand hall was much the same as the outside. That is to say, made of stone, bland in appearance, and impossibly old. When it came to old architecture, all that mattered was the date of its birth. Despite the challenge of making the place seem festive, the attendants had done an excellent job. The room was lit warmly, and grand silks and dyed fabrics hung from every wall. The floor—the most impressive feature in the room, with its intricate design—was polished to a shine. A band had already seated itself in one corner of the grand room, and the members were preparing their instruments with practiced ease.

“A lot more impressive than I expected,” Winnie said once Victor was beside her. “Who knew they could pull it off.”

Victor hummed in agreement. He eyed the already present guests, and absentmindedly toyed with his watch. With one final look around the room, he turned to Winnie. “Ready?” he asked.

Winnie nodded. “Always.”

The two strode away from one another, moving to opposite sides of the room. The band began to play a lively tune, just as Winnie began to unbutton her suit jacket. She turned the corner, slid past a pair of chatting gentlemen, and pushed her way into the bathroom.

Quickly, she undid her jacket. She stuffed it into the trashbin and retrieved from within a waistcoat. Tugging it around her shoulders, she took off her hat and freed her hair from the bun. Now appearing as a lady, she moved out of the bathroom and down the hall to the kitchens.

Inside was a bustle of heat and activity. Voices rang out all over, and Winnie had to glide her way around the room to avoid hitting someone. One waiter did bump into her, and it was in that moment that she slipped the poison into his pants pocket. He gave no notice that he was aware of what she’d done, but she knew that he would do as she’d asked before all of this began. This poison would find its way into Zeke Trisham’s meal before the night was over.

That done, Winnie snuck out the back of the room, using the stairs that led up the servant’s wing and into the residential part of the building. Here there were many suites, where the more wealthy guests could book their stay once the festivities were over.

There were three floors in total, and Winnie climbed them all before she opened one of the unused suites and closed it shut behind her. She found her way to the balcony, opened the windows, and slipped through. From her pocket, she took out a pair of gloves with rough finger pads for grip. Then she began to climb, quickly but with care, up the side of the building and onto the roof.

There, she began to count gargoyles. There were several on the building, one on each pillar. The pillars didn’t really offer any support to the building, just as no one really though the gargoyles scared anything away.

She found hers just under the lip of the roof, a horned creature with a hunched back. Its twin was to the left of it, and to the right was a more aesthetically pleasing gargoyle in the shape of a bird. They were just where she thought they’d be.

Winnie put a foot on either side of the middle gargoyle. From her sleeve, she took out the metal rod and the percussion tool that would beat the rod into the stone. She didn’t have to work long—the stone had long since been hollowed out and cracked easily beneath the tools.

Eventually, the stone fell aside to reveal the true treasure within: jewels, all tied neatly in a leather bag. There was enough there to make a poor man rich, and all Winnie had to do was pluck it neatly from the gargoyle. She left her tools within the hollow stone, and then began to make her way back across the roof. She found herself above a balcony different than the one she’d used to climb up, and dropped the bag of jewels down.

Right into the hands of Victor.

While Winnie had been passing the poison and stealing the jewels, Victor had found his way into Zeke Trisham’s rooms. Trisham was the nights target, a black-market trader known for his taste is uncut gems and shimmering jewels. He had his fingers in a variety of tasteless tasks, most of which gave him more enemies than he could count.

Winnie and Victor had been hired by one such enemy.

Victor had dug through Trisham’s rooms until he found the files he’d wanted, a sheaf of papers detailing a trade deal that was supposed to ruin the career of Victor’s current boss. He took those papers and slid them into the inside of his jacket, and in their place, he put his own papers that would hopefully incriminate Trisham and wouldn’t make the police question too hard as to why he’d been killed.

That done, Victor stepped out into the balcony, just in time to catch the bag of gems that fell into his hand. With the jewels in hand, Victor easily made his way back down the stairs and into the grand room. He only had to wait a mere moment before Winnie was it his side, once more dressed in her suit jacket and top hat, and then they both exited the way they came: through the front doors, with no one the wiser.

@karika

My feet swung from the overhang, dangling over the city that spread out from the steps of the temple below. No one could see me, at least not the real me. But I could see them. I watched them as they passed in and out of the sacred walls upon which I sat. They often came sorrowful or miserable, weathered and worn, but they left hopeful and joyous. Their once heavy steps that carried them between the wooden doors bounced with renewed vigor as they faced the city again.

They would wear back down, I knew. I would see them in the next week or the next month. The rare few only needed to visit once a year to be revitalized. Yet they would still find the temple, their steps strong, their will stubborn, but that same weight threatening to draw down their hearts into bitter despair.

I was here to protect this place, a spirit bound to the grotesque stone statue that stared down at the populace below. Supposedly, those awful faces they made would drive away the evil forces that sought to tear this temple to the ground. Little did anyone know, that was really my job, and the job of the fellow spirits bound here with me. We were amorphous, able to take whatever shape we liked in the battles we waged against the dark ones who arrived to challenge us. Day or night, rain or sun, it did not matter to them. They would arrive all the same, sometimes within hours of the last strike, sometimes months, always trying to catch us off our guard. As though that were possible.

And those people below, they were ignorant of it all. Only the high priest knew about us, only he would occasionally visit us, give us thanks, and offer us special treats, tarts and pastries from the bakeries, little sausages from the butcher. We were grateful for any gift, though we performed out of a sense of duty, gifts were unnecessary to win our favor.

And then an enemy came in the depths of the night underneath a full moon. The light glistened through his transparent form. He was shaped as one of the humans below, his eyes bright as the stars above, and broad wings of silver leather spread from his back. I hissed at him, taking my favored form of a sphinx. My claws dug into the stone overhang as I crouched, ready to spring with feathered wings of black and gold spread wide. I took a deep breath to shout out a warning to my companions, but the man lifted his empty hands in the universal gesture of parlay.

I paused. I still don’t know why I did, but I paused long enough for him to speak. Maybe that was a mistake.

“What are you doing?” He asked, his soft voice carried on a gentle breeze.

My ears twitched briefly as I stared at him in disbelief before I snarled with a sharp answer. “I defend my protectorate.”

“This place is…”

“Sacred” I cut in.

“I was going to say a trap,” he replied evenly.

My claws dug into the stone. I could feel pieces crumble away and fall towards the street below. “A trap?”

He motioned with a hand and wing out towards the city. “What does it do for them?”

I cocked my head quizzically. “It gives them renewed hope and a sense of purpose,” I said, my gaze moving out towards the homes and streets. “It keeps them going, gives them the strength they need to carry on. I’ve seen how they come in, and I’ve seen how they live.” I sneered briefly and then looked back to him. “Why would you seek to destroy that? Why would you call such a place a trap?”

He arched an eyebrow at my rage. The gesture was infuriating.

“Because it is,” he said as he dared to move a pace closer. “Because it fills those people with a false hope, with a lie that all they need to do is make it through this hell, and then they’ll be all right. Just be good, don’t rise against the oppression that ruins your lives. Just do what your told, and you’ll be all right. And then what do those people do?”

I stared at him. The moonlight gave his ethereal visage an unearthly glow. I couldn’t find my voice.

“They go back into the city and they keep working,” he continued flatly. “They give their lives and souls to a system that feeds on every aspect of their existence. And then they die, forgotten and discarded by the very people they keep in power. This place gives them the supposed hope to carry on. To make it through their bitter lives. And then, when their spirits pass on, they’re recycled back into the system by the awful hands that power this place. They are born young and poor, only to live their hell again, their old lives forgotten.”

I felt my form shift. My sphinx body shifted back to my humanoid form as I stared at the stranger. “That’s why you fight us?”

He gave a quiet nod.

“Why should I believe you?” I snapped.

“I can prove it to you. All I ask is you tell your companions. I have no qualms with you. You were called here against your will, lied to, and given a false duty. None of that is your fault.”

“I am bound,” I stated. “I cannot go with you.”

“You being bound here is one of the lies. Nothing will happen to you if you leave. All that rests next to you is simple stone.”

I glanced briefly to the gargoyle before looking back to him in silent contemplation.

He gave me a brief smile, sad but caring.

“I will leave and then return in an hour. Just try to leave this place. Realize one lie exists, and then I will return to see if you wish to see the world as it really is.”

Before I could answer, he dissolved into the moonlight.

I stood there on the edge of my existence, staring out across the dark city. Roofs gleamed a dim shade of silvery blue against the black of the shadowed streets. Everyone was asleep. No one could see me anyway. Quietly I leapt from the stone overhang. I flew through the still air and waited. I waited for anything, an invisible wall, to feel ill, to hear an irresistible call to turn back.

Nothing happened. I kept flying.

Joy and rage filled my essence. I flared against the night sky, a brief red star of fury.

I returned to the overhang, my chin high as I awaited his return.

@Elroth
This was a cute little story. I love the way the gargoyle stretches his wings in the evenings, and enjoys flying just so. His personality is so light hearted and fun. I like that you included that hint of sadness, the inevitable succomb to stone sleep that threatens to creep up on him if he rests for too long~

@Mypilot
I love that you didn't focus your story on the gargoyle. I do rather enjoy the subject matter. Theives are always fun, and I like how you thought to hide the valuables inside the gargoyle.

@Chrisondra
Yes.

Winner: Chrisondra
Runner up: Mypilot

There were no bad choices here.