Helios Writing Competition: May.

[King Henry V]

Ladies and Gentlemen, since we now have at least five contestants, I hereby declare this contest open! *Cuts ribbon like a good monarch*
The competition shall remain open for one week, and shall be closed on Monday 22nd May at 8 pm GMT, after which a poll shall be opened.
The topic for the first Helios Writing Competition shall be: Betrayal.
Other than that there are no restrictions. You can even try to make it funny if you want. There is a 1000 word maximum, yet no minimum, except that if it's too short there won't be much chance of you winning.
Please read the rules before submitting your entry, and please, use the spell check function on your word processor.
Good hunting!

[rez]

Aargh! i wrote a thousand words last night that are only midly linked to the ideal betrayal! Lord why couldn't i wait for the topic?

Umm is it ok if i post it here and you can judge to see if its allowed?

[King Henry V]

Very well, I shall allow your entry. But it maybe better in future if you waited for a topic before writing!

[rez]

Sorry, if it doesn't fit at all i can write another one. This only took a couple of hours. It doesnt have a name yet - just "Rez's entry for now"

I may write more if people like it and want to see where it goes

Any way here it is -

“Declan was a good man.” That’s what they said at his funeral, and it was true. His friends mourned Declan with grave and passionate anguish, Declan’s wife cried in lament for true love lost.

“The world is a worse place for losing him.” The priest had also said this, again he spoke the truth. Declan had touched the hearts of almost everyone he met, his sense of self sacrifice was surpassed only by his repeated self-depreciation. Depression aside, Declan had made every attempt to be a selfless man and he was loved for it.

“He is with God now.” The oration had finished with these five simple words. They were however, entirely incorrect. Declan was an Atheist.

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

The room was circular, with no windows and no apparent light source. Yet Declan could see, uncurling from the foetal position and picking himself up he felt eerily free. In life a great weight was always on his shoulders, his mind his very existence had been akin to forcing himself forward. Here, for the first time he truly felt like he could move without restriction or fear. In this small, grey and overbearingly dull room, Declan experienced the greatest joy he had ever known. As if he were awake for the first time and suddenly realised he was in control of a wondrous existence. He felt alive! This last feeling snapped Declan back to reality like a bungee cord. Most likely due to the fact that the last thing Declan saw was a bus, the last thing Declan felt was that bus on his face and then for a few brief seconds a very hard pavement.
“I'm dead…”
The pain of realisation seared through Declan's already fragile mind, his previous elation collapsing around him and dragging him ever further downwards. Collapsing back into the foetal position he had recently rejected Declan spent several hours mourning his lost life. In the many years of self-deprecating depression Declan had learned to lament like no other, yet for all his mild attention seeking tendencies this time his emotion was geared towards his real love for those lost. His wife, his friends, even the degradation of his monotonous job seemed homely and somehow comfortable in its familiarity. No longer did he care if people pitied his sorrow, for the first time in his life Declan escaped his lust for self-gratification and merely grieved for the sake of grief.

After picking himself up for the second time Declan remembered he was in fact an atheist. So what was this place that could fill him with such indescribable joy? Albeit after the acceptance of his end. Walking slowly towards the oddly familiar door Declan noticed a barely legible placard above the doorframe: “Welcome”
“To where… Surely I couldn’t have been… but that’s insane… this place doesn’t even exist.”
Turning away Declan faced the numbing blankness of the wall. The very existence of Declan’s body and mind shook the foundations of his belief system. For the second time in what seemed like countless hours Declan was forced to confront a horrible truth. His entire belief system, his morals and his shaken sanity had all been utterly wrong. He had lived his life in utter opposition to the truth, falling to his knees Declan took his head in his hands and wept. However Declan soon sprang up to his feet in urgent calculation. If he was wrong then he must be in the afterlife, if he is in the afterlife and he is not in a lake of fire then he was not a bad person! Breathing a huge sigh of long awaited relief Declan had finally attained the validation he had tried so hard to find in his life. He was not a terrible excuse for a man! He was chosen for a pure heart even though he didn’t believe it possible! Turning around and striding to the door Declan reached out for the handle and prepared himself to meet the almighty.

The door creaked with an eerie imperfection as Declan struggled embarrassingly with what seemed like an easy task. When Declan looked up from his labour he realised he was in another dingy room not much larger than the previous one. A man in a strangely makeshift suit was staring at him intently as if he wanted to say something but was gauging Declan’s behaviour. Declan met his gaze and straightened up as he realised the man was standing in front of a locked door.
“You're not gonna freak out are ya?”
“I'm sorry what? Who are you?”
“Ya seem normal enough, some of the guys get a little shaky when they pass over, get a little messed up in the head you know what I mean buddy?”
“Umm, no actually I have no idea where the hell I am or who in god’s name you are!”
“Ha! God? I thought you were an Atheist buddy, the names Abaddon, and the boss has been expecting you”
“Abaddon? That sounds like an angels name… Am I important enough that God sends an angel to greet me in heaven?”
The man laughed and it seemed his mouth could barely contain his movements. His mouth stretching inhumanly and his face contorting as if his skin did not fit.
“Your definitely the guy buddy! The boss said you’d be naïve! Whew! Heaven… boy I haven’t laughed like that in a while”
Declan felt a stab of panic and confusion attack his wonderfully crafted fantasy of cosmic importance and eternity of bliss.
“Wh...what are you saying? This isn’t heaven? Then what is this?”

“Buddy… You're in Hell”

Staggering and stumbling to escape from what could only be a demon Declan tripped and realised for the third time today a terrifying notion. Hearing footsteps Declan faced the floor and attempted to repent for his misdeeds in life.
“Relax buddy, don’t believe everything you hear”
Offering his hand to Declan the demon didn’t appear at all demonic. In fact Declan saw surprisingly nothing threatening in Abaddon.

With a sense of utter abandon, Declan joined hands with a demon

[Britisocialist]

Although I'm not a judge I liked it. In a way, there was betrayal - he was betrayed by his mind and what he had been taught by society, when you die if you're in a lake of fire it means you're in hell. If you're not then you're in heaven. Interesting, I liked it a lot.

(hope you dont mind me giving praise/constructive criticism to contestants)

[King Henry V]

I think I shall make this thread solely for the purpose of submission and I shall open another thread for discussions and comments.

[removeduser_426582376423734]

This was a quick little ad-lib, so don't judge me.

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

Jace walked down the corridor. Up and down. Up and down. His mind boggled. What’s happening in there? He heard screams. And crying. He looked through the window, and saw his wife, sitting, panting in her hospital robe. She looked so beautiful.

A handsome, young doctor walked through the doors, the sound of latex gloves ripping from his hands echoing through the barren hallway. His gaze dropped onto Jace, a blank look covering his face as though he had seen a ghost.

“Jason…” That was all he said, as he rushed down the hall into a decrepit room to the far end. Jace stood, watching his wife’s doctor scuttle into the reception area like a beetle. With a look of disbelief, he turned back to his wife’s room. She was sweating profusely, and was oblivious to the fact that her husband was watching her. He entered the room, only to be confronted with nurses shooing him away, and doctors looking up at him in an anger that was only allowed by professionals.

“You can’t go in there, Mr. Bradshaw. Your wife is very tired.” One of the nurses had wheeled the baby away, too fast for Jace to see it, not fast enough to stop him from seeing a small, dark smudge on his baby.

“What’s wrong with my baby?” he asked, wide-eyed and afraid. He had never been good with conversation, and the only reason he could talk to his wife was that they were never in public. He could hear his baby crying in a room on the other side of the hall. The nurses didn’t answer him. They scurried along as the doctor had, and kept their eyes to themselves. Jace was beginning to feel paranoid.

He walked past the nurses, although they would never have noticed him, for they were working, and when a woman is working nothing stops her. Ironically, some of the nurses were male. Jace turned the knob to the door of his wife’s room in the maternity ward, and entered. His wife turned towards him, teary eyed and sweating. He smiled, giving his wife a beaming glare. She looked at him, surprised to see a happy look on her husband’s face.

He couldn’t understand it. The doctor wouldn’t speak with him, the nurses wouldn’t look at him, his wife was acting strange. What was going on? He wanted to ask, but he didn’t have to. He saw his wife, looking through the window of her door, past the hall, and into the room opposite. The beeping sound of the machines played through the room, like an annoying piece of music repeated over and over. The rate increased. Jace turned, to see what his wife was looking at.

The baby was black. The baby wasn’t his. The machine beeped continuously. Then stopped.

[Libertine]

This is more about the betrayal of the self.

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

Chrome & Cash

Life was a spiral that slowly wound away from the man lying prostrate on the floor, it seeped away under circumstances brought about by an unknown force. In his dying moments he thought back over the all to brief period he called his existence, his life, his physical presence...call it what you will it still fled from him like rats from a ship. How did it happen? Just moments before he had been in the company of friends, now his only companion was the chilled sidewalk on which he lay.

He had suffered for as long as he had lived, his parents had beaten him but everything changes eventually, his situation had changed for the better, he had money now - he had had to mug some rich ********r he had seen walking down a side-street. He had left him for dead on the pavement but he didn't have any problems with that, he had been brought up on the belief life was cheap and he wasn't going to change his views because someone who was born into a better family was in his death throes, blood pouring from his mouth 10ft behind him.

As his head connected with the pavement he knew that he was as good as dead. His legs were grabbed and he was pulled off to the side, his mouth opened, he looked like he was going to bite the pavement. The Mugger stamped.

"Get this man a morphine shot, he is down and out, look at the guy's mouth...thats just twisted"
"Yes Doctor"
"What kind of sick son ofa ******** could do this?"

The fist collided with his face. Knocked onto the ground, stars swirling above his head - he tried to get back up, but he couldn't - his legs were pinned by the mugger. He heard the clicking of a revolver, a bullet loaded into the chamber and the hammer pulled back. He Closed his eyes.

As he loaded another round into the chamber He laughed manically, Stupid bastards! How dare they do better than him, how dare they?. The Psychosis had him firmly in his grip, his life made no sense - the only clear thing in his mind was the total mutilation of this upper class bastard...as he Stamped on the guy's head he knew his purpose in life, knew his destiny. He started laughing, and firing the pistol. Round after Round, hysterical laughter ringing in his ears as he fired and fired. The mans head caved in and exploded as bullet after bullet traversed the one and a half feet between the gun and the back of the mans head.

He knew he was dead, he could feel it. As he heard the round chamber he tried to struggle....to see who his assailant was. He managed to get turn, and catch a glimpse, it was someone he knew so well, knew better than anyone else. As he looked at himself through the mirror of his mind the Psychosis that afflicted him all his life kicked in.

He awoke a broken man...he had killed himself in a dream..more than once, he had shot, mutilated and destroyed himself in his own dreams, and this wasn't the first time. He knew what he had to do.

His mother walked in, carrying a tray of tea, singing a carol buoyant with Christmas spirit. As she saw the legs hanging in front of the doorway she started to shake...looking up revealed her worst nightmare, she broke down at the feet of her son.

[Keresztes]

Thursday Night

Rick looked out his window, like he always has. He marked off the day on the calendar with a red pen a little early, just like always for the last four years. After going through this routine, he calmly shut off the lights, locked the door, and stepped outside to do what most people don’t do. The time was 10:30 P.M., and he was going to take a car that wasn’t his.

He’d gotten into the repossession business five years ago, after earning a general studies certificate at a local technical school. Despite having some schooling under his belt, he had still felt as lost and hopeless as he had felt in high school. He needed to move out of his parent’s home, and he needed some work. He needed something to anchor his life to, and it was by freak chance that somebody mentioned the phrase “Repo Men” to him. After doing some looking on the internet he became intrigued, and had decided to try it.

His best friend and business partner, Sean, was sitting in the driver’s seat of the red Ford Focus parked in front of the apartment. They’d stuck it out through high school and beyond. Quick witted and calm, Sean was a natural first choice when it came to a partner. Plopping down in the passenger’s seat, Rick grunted out a quick “Hey man,” and buckled up as the car began cutting forward through the cool night air.

“How’re things going on the home front,” Rick asked. “Carla’s not riding you TOO hard?” His raucous giggle was accompanied by a sharp ‘whipped’ hand gesture.

“Pssht. Yer just jealous ‘cause the women don’t like your catcher’s mitt of a face. I don’t blame ‘em either.”

Despite Sean’s best attempt to keep a straight face, his trademark lopsided smile slowly crept over his clean shaven face. The only notable difference between the two was Rick’s beard. Both were around six feet tall, had dark brown hair, and had a similar medium build. Hell, they even had the same birthday, down to the month, date, and year. Incredible coincidence, really.

“Alright,” Rick said, “The bank says that the debtor lives at 303 Albertson Street. You’ve got the key, right?”

“Yeah. Had them made this afternoon.”

“Great. If we do this one quickly we’ll probably have time enough to do another job tonight.”

Albertson street was on the other side of town, four miles away. They didn’t speak much as they rode, and Rick began to get the feeling that something was bothering his partner. It was probably nothing though. When they pulled up, Sean parked across the street from a small, run down blue house with 303 on the door. A red Chevy was parked in the driveway, since the house lacked even a garage.

“Look at that,” Rick breathed, “Just sitting there. This is going to be a snap.”

Walking right up the side of the car, he checked the VIN number on the dashboard, matching it with the one provided by the bank. It was the right car. Rick already had his key in the car door when he heard the house’s door open. A man stepped out, and Rick knew at first sight that this meant trouble. While there was nothing outwardly wrong with him, Rick could tell by his body language that he was going to be aggressive and somewhat unbalanced. He needed to calm him down quickly before things escalated.

“Sir? Hi. I’m Rick Langer, and I’ve been contracted by the Bank of the West to repossess your vehicle. Apparently you’ve been somewhat behind in your payments. If you’ll let me show you the…”

“What?” yelled the man. “You can’t do that! You ****ing car thief. I swear I’m gonna…”

Rick decided then and there that showing the bank contract and his ID wasn’t going to solve anything. Even before the man finished drawing his hand out of his pocket he knew that he had a knife. He turned and sprinted for the Focus, hearing the man’s footfalls chasing after him. To his horror, the car was already pulling away. It was only by incredible luck that he managed to get a hold on the door handle. The car stopped, but he had the feeling it was only to avoid dragging him. Throwing himself inside, he screamed “GO” and they sped up, leaving the knife-man behind in the night. He settled into his seat and turned to face Sean.

“You *******. What the hell were you thinking? I could’ve broken bones if I’d been dragged, not to mention what that nut would’ve done to me.”

“I’m the ass now, eh? Right. You can just screw my woman, and you’re faultless, isn’t that right? Of course the great benevolent Rick can do no harm. No, never.”

“Screw your woman? What the hell are you talking about, Sean? You know I’d never touch Carla.”

“Never? Right. So I didn’t see you flirting with her at the grocery store, then? I know when she’s hiding something.”

“Last week? Yeah, I talked to her. You know how her parent’s anniversary came up? You know how they’re in Paris?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So think about it, man. My father is a travel agent. She was talking to me because she wanted to set that trip up as a gift to them. And since my dad handles that kind of stuff…”

Sean stared straight ahead, staying silent for a short while.

“Oh god, Rick, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should’ve known. Sometimes I get this feeling about her… I just went crazy for a bit. I’m so…

“Look man, its alright. I can forgive you. Really, just…” Rick gave out a nervous laugh, “just talk first, okay? It’s alright.”

The car pulled up outside Sean’s apartment.

“The other car’s keys are inside,” Sean said sheepishly, “I forgot them. I’ll be right out.”

Rick watched Sean walk up to the apartment door and open it. Carla was framed in the doorway, her brown sweater pulled up to reveal her ample breasts. She was down on her knees, her beautiful lips wrapped around the neighbor’s member.

[Britisocialist]

Here is my entry.

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

They found him on the floor of his one-bed room. Alone. Knife in hand. Wounded. Note in hand. Ecstasy in mouth.



So hurt. So upset. So betrayed. The shell of a man sat there, just staring; staring into space. Awash with pain, hate, anger, sadness - so many conflicting emotions. Life was hard for this manic depression sufferer. He had failed suicide so much - until now.

Sitting on the bed with the simple floral pattern he hated, somehow it mocked him with its simplicity; why couldn’t his emotions be so simple, the way he felt was too complicated for simple mind to take. In the room he hated so much; it was painted grey, a simple monotone grey.

But he had no time to care about these things. He had to die. Soon. Tick-tock tick-tock. Stop! He smashed the clock. He hated his landlady; she had awful taste in décor. None of this mattered. He was getting sidetracked too much. Nothing mattered any more. Why should it? No-one cared about him. They all thought he was mad. The children mocked him, the adults mocked him. He was known as ‘Ol’ depressy’.

He was getting sidetracked again. One last fag wouldn’t hurt, would it? Oh well, time to find out. It felt good. One of his only pleasures was cigarettes. They were so good; he had been smoking since he was 12. Jane, his late mother was devastated when she found. He had run away often as a teenager, but now he couldn’t run away. He felt it would be useless; the only way to get away from it all was to die.

So now he would end everything, he was hated, betrayed by society as a whole. She was the most hated, she was his hate concentrated into one woman. When she, no, it was too painful too think about. One more cigarette – his final pleasure; it would be what filled his final breath. Smoke. Heaven in a gas. He wouldn’t meet heaven when he died. He couldn’t. He knew why. Not a single soul except himself knew, but, even that simple thought went against his atheist views. No-one has a soul.

He was a sucker for a fag. He resolved he would finish his third and then he would end it. Oh what the hell, he went to his ecstasy stash and got out five tablets. He felt kind of odd. His depression began to go. Like a wave, washing away. He was sleepy. And gone. Asleep on the bed. In the room. Alone.

Slowly. A figure. A human figure. It sat on the bed. Wept. Tears fell like raindrops. Sundrops. The figure remembered that song from ‘The Sound Of Music’. She began to sing “A doe. A deer. A female deer. Golden rain a drop of sun,”. No, he was stirring. The figure, a female was silent; the only sound was feint breathing from the man. She relaxed, and eased the knife from his hand and let it rest on the bed. She kissed him and left.

Once outside she wept – the disintegration of her brother’s mental state always made her cry. The anger, sadness for a loved one; lost beyond redemption. Why did it happen to him? Why not a worthless druggie? Or some other shame on society? He was a hard working man – always had been. Sure he had his imperfections, but so did everybody, right? Anyway, he more than made up for his imperfections by being kind, hardworking, and selfless. It just wasn’t fair. She left.

He entered - the man was still sleeping. He knew why the man had to die. He knew of the woman and why he hated her so much. Luke was a friend of Sarah – the man’s sister. He wanted to help his friend’s brother. Assisted suicide. He knew how to cover his tracks, disguise the evidence. He was a field pathologist. He took the knife – it looked like it was mimicking the man he slept, so it slept – and lifted it high above his head whispered “To end this man’s pain,” He plunged down, the man began to stir. Too late. With his final breath he whispered “Th-thank y-you,”




The betrayal of one man by his sister caused an underground extortion racquet to be exposed. An entire family went down. An end to tyranny. James was forgotten, even in his death. Forgotten. Eleven were at his funeral, none were family, some barely knew him. Meanwhile Luke escaped from the UK to the US. He was forgotten – and was happy for it.

[Final Frontier]

(I am going to do my stories in a way that they connect to each other while keeping the theme of each contest [while hoping that I get the chance to continue them and not leave any loose ends]. So, when you read this, you will feel that it is incomplete, which it is, but I do so only to keep the 1,000 word limit and to keep the theme. This story may be based off of a few myths/stories, but I assure you that I did not plagiarize, as that is a most shameful way to attempt to win. If anything, I gave them my own fictional "flavor." )

“The Weak Titan”

The dry weather and unforgiving sun attacked the Anatolian Plateau, stopping life dead in its tracks. It seemed that even God forbade any life from encroaching on a certain inauspicious spot that had been the site of the battle to determine the fate of a desperate man with impossible ambitions. The ground was littered with corpses that outnumbered the stars; with a stench that no skunk would dare try to top; with a feeling of despair that left any who lived a story; a story to remind the world that power was only second in destruction to love.

---

It was noon that day, and the sun was as merciless as ever. Scattered around the ground were the rebellious men who dared to defy their righteous ruler, a wise man by the name of Olympian. As he approached the battlefield he caught eye of a particular soldier who was exclaiming that he could crush any other foes. Olympian knew in an instant who the soldier was, and he was indeed correct; the man happened to be a robust fellow by the name of Titan. He was a man of courage, daring, and high spirit to those who knew him well, and his many victories under the name of his Highness proved it.

“You need not worry about problems anymore, Titan, for I have the feeling that this new peace will be long lasting. Go, now, we celebrate at my castle tonight.”

As Titan strode home staring at the ground in reflection of the works the king had spoken earlier that day, he noticed a small glistening stone on the ground. Its beautiful radiation of a bright light, combined with Titan’s innate desire to grab at things, caused him to dismount and pick it up. There was something about this stone, something wrong, yet he could not dare to put it down, for its magnificence and sheer brilliance made it the most auspicious, tangible item a man could ever have.

“King…”
Titan looked up, yet there was nobody there. He let it slide, for the sound was faint and he was tired.
“King…”
Titan looked at the stone. It was still shining, but the sound had to be emitting from it.
“Tell me more, stone.”
His horse began to neigh and the ground began to shake. There was more to this stone than its glowing, its beauty.

“You…will…be…captain…You…will…be…king…only when pigs fly and swords weep shall you lose all you have.” With that, the stone vanished. Titan was dumbfounded, the prophecy was ridiculous.

---

Titan arrived at the castle and was shown in by one of the many servants. While he was waiting for the preparations to be finished, he saw the king’s daughter and his love, Julia.

“Today, in the field, I fought with all my might and was commemorated for my bravery by the king himself.”
She indifferently replied. “That’s all you can talk about, fighting. Can’t we discuss something more interesting?”
“Interesting? What more is there to tell than a story of great deeds?”
“It’s just that you hold yourself in high regards, I hope it doesn’t go to your head…”
“My love, it never will. Look now, the servants blow their horns. This feast will surely be one fit for kings.” With that said, Titan quickly walked off to dine.
“Yet you are not a king, and you speak as though you were one. I love you, but you must accept the truth for what it’s worth…” A sad look went on her face as she left to stroll around the castle.

---

In the king’s dinner hall were many important men, all of whom made Titan feel insignificant. He never wanted to feel below others; if anything, he would prefer others to be below him.

“My friends, today we celebrate a victory, a victory that will bring us a long desired peace.” Olympian took his glass and raised it high in the air. “I propose a toast to a valiant man. His name is Titan. Please stand.” Titan was shocked, but he would not let anything get in the way of his glorious moment, and he stood up quicker than an eagle could spot its prey. “To Titan, our army’s newest captain!”

The shouts were mere whispers in his head as he contemplated that statement. Titan immediately went back to the stone and its prophecy. Was it really true that he was going to become king? This realization overtook Titan’s mind, sweeping away any sense in hopes of gaining prestige.
The king faced Titan. “May I have a word with you later, in private?”
“Yes…yes.”

Later on, Olympian and Titan walked through one of the castle’s many wide halls discussing the latter’s recent promotion.
“…and, in admiration of your efforts, I decided that it would be best that men learn from your example through fighting under your command. I am sure that you will prove to be a worthy man for the job, and, who knows, one day you may even become king.”
Olympian chuckled, but Titan was silent. King. That title was to Titan what honey was to the gods, and he wasn’t going to let it go away easily.

“Sire, do you mind if I fix the back of your robe? It seems to be a bit jumbled.”
“Of course.”
Titan went behind the king, took out his sword, and stabbed him three times, effectively killing him. Suddenly, a few guards came out of a door to his right, saw the dead king, and attacked him. They were defeated, but one of them was able to cut Titan’s right leg, giving him a limp in his walk. These dead guards would be the perfect excuse for the king’s death. With that, Titan went off to inform others of this incident.
In the shadows, however, the king’s daughter silently stood. She had seen the entire thing, but was now torn apart by Titan’s actions. Not knowing what to do, she ran off.

[King Henry V]

Due to continued interest in certain participants who have no yet got round to post their entry, the contest shall remain open for one more day.

[turtle]

NICE. I didn't know where to post my writing, but now I do.

Here it is: A New History

Memnon of Sparta experienced a hard life, even as soon as he had just come forth from his mother's womb. For Memnon’s father, Kleomenes of Sparta, loathed his fourth family and constantly tortured and tormented the son and mother. For the fourth family was Memnon's family and he suffered greatly for this. There was such cruelty and hatred between Memnon's mother Galacia and his father Kleomenes, they nearly killed each other many times in their rage. But between each fight broke her maids and his tag-alongs, so they never succeeded in their efforts. Memnon had been called weak, stupid, fourth down, and many other nasty insults throughout his entire life as a child and adolesant, by his father and his father alone. For his father had been the only person to hate Memnon and his mother Galacia with such an intense furosity. Memnon’s father was of the old ways and he valued the free city state system of Athens and Sparta and wished only for its continuance. Although Sparta had conquered Athens years before, they still remained independent of each other with their local laws and customs. He wanted nothing more and nothing less. Kleomenes of Sparta didn’t want to bring freedom to the world as Memnon and his brothers did. He wanted to keep slaves and be a lazy, ignorant fool who couldn’t see the true picture of democracy. Only without slaves could they have true freedom. Memnon and his brothers saw this and knew they would have to change the world if it were to survive the ages to come.

Memnon had grown up in a rough time when the fourth wife was nothing more than another mistress. His father hated and abused him and his mother for as long as Memnon can remember. Although his fathers cruelty ran ramped, Memnon’s brothers Dionysios of Sparta, Antigonos of Sparta, and Eumenes of Sparta as well as himself, had been raised by Soncratones the Wise. This man was the leading philosopher of the day and was a genius beyond all comprehention. Soncratones was a great man who valued freedom above all and he realized, through his studies, that to gain freedom, is to abolish slavery forever. So, Soncratones spent his days with the powerful minded Spartan princes and tought them his ways. Kleomenes had always encouraged learning and wasn’t quite the wise man such as Soncratones, so he paid little attention to the old mans teachings. Soon, the four princes had grown to be great generals, warriors, and good men. Soncratones, tought the young men all he had known and this showed as the boys grew to become the men that would soon bring peace, justice, and freedom to the whole world.

The eldest of the brother princes went by the name of Dionysios of Sparta, and he had taken to Soncratones' teachings right from the get go. He cherished Soncratones' idea of freedom so much, he vowed to tutor and train his little brothers, along with Soncratones, and bring his father's time into the shadows of the past. Dionysios was such a great man and administrator he soon became the governor of Athens at the young age of 18. No one in the known world could come close to his genius. He saw how his father treated his littlest brother and silently promised himself to stand by, until the time was right. For he saw greatness in the small, handsome man and knew, one day, he must become king. But his father was dead set on otherwise, so Dionysios had to be very sneaky and patient to avoid any kind of conspiracy accusation by his father, who had grown mad in the recent years. He had grown so paranoid, he trained constantly and always had his royal guard around him. And his Spartan royal guard was the most loyal guard ever to have walked the earth, so Dionysios couldn’t merely kill him, he had to use his cunning. The time would soon come for this change that would eco through the eons, to the end of time.

As, soon as Memnon turned the ripe age of 16 his father Kleomenes tossed him into an unwinnable battle against the Macedonians, which had become their allies through Dionysios' wise steps. As said earlier, Memnon’s father had become mad in his later years and this move wasn’t thought through at all. He had been looking for a time to get his youngest/weakest son out of his way and therefore, out of his mind. So, with nothing more than a small contingent of cavalry, outnumbered by more than 6 to 1, Memnon attacked the Macedonian lines. It is said that he attacked with such a furious and powerful charge that the sarisa was made completely useless, as the young Macedonians quivered with fear. Sure of their numbers, the Macedonians droped their long spears and charged in. Memnon, with his great knowledge passed to him, knew what to do. He withdrew and fainted a retreat into the trees. As soon as he lost sight of the Macedonian fools, he ordered a dismount. Spartans, being the best foot soldiers in the world, soon had a solid wall of spears waiting for the Macedonian army. Of course the Macedonians, foolhardy and ignorant of the young boys greatness, ran, without their sarisa, into the murky forest. Being experts of war, the Spartans, with the guide of their great commander, remained hidden until the whole of the Macedon army was right on top of them. With the moment gleaming like the sunshine in a brave man's eyes, the Spartans sprung their trap, slaughtering the sheep herders and sending them screaming into the northern hills.

With the battle won and his destiny in sight, Memnon began his journey to Athens to inform his brother the old mans prophesy had come true and that it was now time to bring the world into an ever lasting peace.

With his older brothers orders, Memnon began riding north to inform his other brother of the battle, which he would know to be the turning point in the long life the world had experienced up until that moment. As he neared the armies camp, he heard something unexpected… in ancient Greek, his fellow soldiers were chanting his name. But they weren’t just chanting his name, they were chanting who he truly was. As his ears neared the camp and the sound grew more intense, the young boy, who used to be the weak fourth, was from this point through the rest of history called, Memnon the Mighty Warrior King. For his brother’s influence and teachings reached much farther that anyone could have comprehended. Even the middle brothers Antigonos and Eumenes of Sparta were in awe at the rising sound of the Greek voice. With the prophesy fulfilled and Memnon as the new general of all Greece, the three brother princes marched their fellow Greeks north to begin their conquest of, what would be known as, the Last War.

As Memnon the Mighty Warrior Prince marched forth into the north lands of Macedon, fulfilling his lifelong goal, his brother Dionysios of Sparta marched south to deal the final blow to the old king who had abused his younger brother for so long. As he approached the great city of Sparta, he had no fear in his heart. For he knew he would be safe, because no one had informed the king of the victory Memnon had, so bravely, won. The king had been fed a lie that he starvingly ate, knowing his son was nothing more than a weak little boy. So, as the kings first son slowly rode into the ancient city, the old Spartan ordered theatrics and welcoming ceremonies, for he had always had a strong ‘love’ for his first son. But little did he know, Dionysios hated him more than anything else he had ever known and planned to betray him without making a sound. Once inside the city Dionysios dismounted his horse and paced his way to the kings chambers. Bowing before the crazy old man, he placed his concocted plan into the kings lap. The king didn’t know what to think at first. With the news of his brother's death his son would have surely been grief stricken, but vowing his loyalty to Sparta and Greece Dionysious' honesty was accepted by the mad king with open arms. Convincing his father that the taking of Crete would be the only way to ensure Sparta’s independence, Dionysios set the trap and watched the old man stick his finger in. So, confided by his son and feeling on top of the world, Kleomenes of Sparta took the challenge and raced off to the harbor that very day, bringing only his Spartan Royal Guard to fight with him. Little did he know that the Cretan bowmen had been allies with his son for many years and made a promises to trick the old Spartan into thinking he could take the island with little resistance, which was a ploy of course. The Cretan bowmen couldn’t be defeated by a mere 300 spartans with their king by their side. They would shoot them down before the brave warriors could even get close. For the Cretan people knew the brother princes were true men and would honor their vow to bring freedom to the world. As the Spartan of the old way galloped toward the evening harbor, he heard a magnificant chant. He heard his fellow Spartans cheering him on as he neared the harbor, which would be his last as he departed Greece, onto the calm waters of the middle sea. Back at the city of Sparta, Dionysios had clammered the Spartan crowd into an uncontrolable frenzy. He had informed them of his plans and reasured them that their king would die with peace and honor. The Spartans greatly admired the new king and would follow him anywhere he would lead them. He told his fellow citizens that they would need to do only but one thing... they would need to cheer their king on as he goes into the sea, facing his destiny with Spartan pride. With the ‘enemy’ on his son's side and his son’s genius against him, the Spartan of the old way died with honor on the fields of the meditiranian island and freedom for the world would soon follow. For their had never been such a great collection of men under one cause, and there never would be again; but these boy geniuses showed their greatness by ensuring their idea and freedom would never die, for as long as our people live.


The End


I hope you guys like it

[Anselm]

Heres my entry guys:

An Age of Learning

The Magicians, dressed in black, stood a dozen yards apart, face to face. The elder man, grim and
middle aged, had a sneer on his face, an air of beligerent arrogance about him. In contrast the younger
man appeared perfectly calm, a sense of tranquility eminated from his face.

The Kings Hall was packed now, Magicians lined every wall and the balconies, suspended some thirty
feet above. Lucius Florensa observed everything with a carefully studied calm. Hours infront of a mirror
practising a look of bored indifference hiding the sheer panic welling up inside him, mostly caused by the
dour faced Lord Van de Beau standing opposite him. The man gave off a sheer wave of malice every time
their eyes met.

It had started weeks ago. The Lord had objected to some of the magical experiments that he had been
conducting. Lucius had tried to explain how his findings indicated that the world was round and not
flat. Van de Beau had dissmissed it as heretical rubbish and had been petitioning the Magus Council ever
since to have the experiments banned. It had come to a head yesterday. The Lord had stormed into Lucius'
rooms in the middle of his research. Furious, after the council denied his request, he challenged Lucius to
combat, and to let action in a duel decide the argument 'In the most reasonable and fair way, of course.'

And so, Lucius stood facing Van de Beau with almost a thousand pairs of eyes watching their every
movement. A mixture of fear and anticipation coursed through him. He knew the Lord would be strong,
to be a Lord of the Realm required a man to be strong, but he was anxious to try out the results of some of
his other experiments. Ones the Lords or Council had no idea of.

The Ajudicator announced, 'Begin' and an expectant hush fell over the hall. Van de Beau drew himself up to
his full height and launched a ball of energy at him. Lucius concentrated ad hard as he could, remembering
what he had practised. He reached out just before the power hit him and...

The Lord blinked in surprise. The man seemed to have just absorbed the strike instead of there being any
discernable impact. He gathered his power and launched a much more powerful attack, hurling a huge globe
of raw, destructive power.

Lucius drained the energy from this attack just as he had from the last. The feeling of swelling power inside
him was ecstasy and he new he was far more powerful than his adversary now. In a way quite other than how
he had been taught, he loosened his concentration on the room and tried to sense his power consciously. Once
located, he let it slowly blend with his thoughts until his was entwined, mind with magic and aware in away that
could never be explained with words.

Flexing his strength, he erected a shield, a wall of pure magic surrounding him in a dome. The Hall erupted in
shouts and cries. Panic quickly spread in the face of this unheard of magic, this untaught spell. It only took
one magician in the audience to strike at the young Novice in fear and suddenly hundreds of them targeted him,
the air of the Hall crackling with magic.

Lucius was now the glowing, blinding white center of a storm of power. Bolts and currents of it played across
his shield, the other magicians strikes colliding and blending into one writhing mass of energy. Lucius gently
created an inwards pull from the shield and extended it outwards into the room. He did it gently and subtly, until
he could feel the sources of the thousands of flashes of magic. Fastening onto the other magicians power like a
leech, Lucius began to pull...

Lord Van de Beau cried out loud and staggered to his knees, hands clasping his head. A massive surge of power
lanced out of him and swept towards the Novice in the centre of the room. He felt exhausted, his power all but
gone, his eyes hurting from the brightness that was human in shape that dominated the floor of the Hall. The air
around it shivered with heat, other magicians looking on weakly, in shock.

Lucius' mind roared with a torrent of magic, bathed in the power of every magician in the room. His thoughts
flooded with understanding, his perception changed... Suddenly his consciousness shot upwards, as though he
were an arrow from a bow, and as his vision cleared his thoughts stopped entirely. The entire planet was spread
out hundreds of miles below his vision.he could see the sun creeping round the curve of the earth, golden light
spilling over the cusp of this spherical planet, just as he had predicted! He observed the stars, he raced
around the sun and eventually, swooped back to the planet and into his body once more. Lucius spoke.

CEASE

The thunderous voice echoed in the other magicians minds. Lucius reached out and pulled Lord Van de Beau's
presence close to his own, and then shot back up, taking Van de Beau with him.

At first Van de Beau was speechless. Then Lucius heard his mind stir.

What is this?

THIS IS THE FUTURE. A NEW ERA, A NEW AGE.

An age of what, though?

AN AGE OF LEARNING.

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Thats all folks...

[King Henry V]

Now that the last gentlemen (or ladies, perhaps) have posted their entries, I hereby declare this contest closed!