Winners Posted Here!

kirbir · Apr 23, 2007 at 8:29 AM

First i would like to say thank you to all of the participants of my competition, i loved every single one of the stories and art work you guys posted, so again i thank you all!

First premium membership goes to NC Tallain - he submitted a lot of awesome stories and i enjoyed every single one of them, here are his stories:

He first saw the insects one Tuesday evening while waiting for his pizza to be delivered. He had been walking from his kitchen to the front door of his one-bedroom apartment, cash in hand, hoping the approaching headlights outside belonged to the pizza man and not a neighbor--he was hungry. Something moved in the corner of his eye, a strange, quick shape, and when he turned to look, it disappeared. He dismissed it as his imagination and opened the door. To his dismay, it was a neighbor. He sighed and closed the door.

Money in hand, he walked over and plopped down on his sofa. He rested a hand on his stomach. He was hungry.

He thought he heard something just as another set of headlights lit up the window in his living room, a small pitter-patter of feet. The pitter-patter of rodent feet. Oh, well, he thought. I'll call the exterminator after my food.

The car pulled up in the empty driveway just outside his apartment and a teenager bounced out, pizza in hand. He looked startled when he noticed the door to the apartment was already open, but asked no questions, accepted the money, then left, leaving the resident to his long-awaited dinner.

He sat down to the rich-smelling pizza and devoured it completely, leaving not the slightest bit of cheese sticking to the oil-damp cardboard. Then he tossed the empty box into the kitchen and flipped on the television. A long night of sleeping and TV was ahead. He felt ready for it.

It was about an hour and a half after he first snoozed off when he woke up, itching all over his legs. Sometimes in his sleep the lights went off, which didn't surprise him. He sometimes turned lights off in his sleep, like he sometimes hit the snooze button on his alarm ten times before waking up. It was a strange, sometimes harmful, habit.

He scratched furiously at his legs. He was sure some skin came off but he had to get the itching away. For some reason it felt like he'd been itching for a long time and couldn't scratch it, not until now, and now it was maddening. He slapped, scratched, scraped, and almost bit his legs to get the itching to subside. As it finally left, he heard that little pitter-patter of feet. The mouse again. Or rat. Whatever it was, it was now officially a pest, and would have to be taken care of. He sat up and reached for the light.

When he pulled the little string to make it come on, nothing happened. He yanked down a couple more times then gave up. The bulb must have burned out. He stood up and reached for the switch on the wall. When he flicked it up, the overhead light turned on. For a moment it looked like his floor was dark brown and, interestingly, churning with activity. When he blinked, though, it was the normal beige color.

Strange.

He opened his front door to let in some of the cool summer night air. It felt good. Crickets chirped outside in the lawns, and somewhere not too distant he could imagine frogs croaking and much more night activity than could be seen. All the neighbors' lights were out. It must have been later than he thought.

Something moved behind him. He swiveled around. It was more than that little pitter patter. It was larger, fatter, slower, than a mouse or a rat could be. It sounded like an old lap dog near death dragging its butt across the floor one last time, or something along that effect. He couldn't quite give the sound a familiar image. It was out of place in his home, though, and that was wrong. He tensed.

The sofa moved. The damn sofa moved.

What moved it? He edged forward and it moved again. He kicked it, immediately regretting the decision. Pain shot up through his bare foot right as it connected with the old, hard sofa. He hissed in air through his teeth, trying to lessen the noise.

He bent down and grabbed the sofa by the bottom and flipped it. It went airborne, at least three feet, then crashed into the wall. When he saw that it made a small hole in the wall he cursed. He would have to pay for that.

And what was worse: there was nothing under the sofa. He felt like an idiot. It couldn't have moved on its own. He imagined the whole thing, he was such a fool, and he had a hole in his wall now, a hole he couldn't pay for, at least not for a while. He would have kicked the sofa if he had a shoe on and if it were in its rightful place. But it wasn't. Damn.

As he went to grab the sofa and lower it into place, he saw something scurry into the new hole. Aha! There was the blasted rodent! It was large, definitely, and he would have a tough time getting it, but there was no way it could go far inside his walls being so fat.

He rushed to the kitchen to grab his longest steak knife, his only steak knife, really, right next to the forks in the silverware drawer. He ran back in the living room and still saw the blurry outline of the fat, disgusting rodent. He leaped forward with a 'Ha!' and stabbed down into it. The knife when all the way through, into the wall, and he pulled back again for another thrust. But there was nothing on the blade. No blood, or entrails, not even a little piece of whatever was inside walls. The blade even seemed shinier and sharper when he pulled it out.

The dark thing in the wall shifted position, bringing his attention back to it. He thrust with the blade again, pulled out, and again, but it was all in vain. The knife only got shinier and sharper. He decided something different must be used.

So he got a spatula from the kitchen. He left the knife in the drawer next to the forks, where it usually, always, went, and came jogging back into the living room with the spatula.

He realized the front door was still open. If anyone out there was still awake, surely they thought he was mad by now. Throwing his sofa, stabbing the wall? Sure marks of an insane mind, he thought. He didn't bother closing the door. If they already thought he was insane, there was no point caring what else they thought of him.

Spatula in hand, he attacked the wall, first slapping it where the mass was--he was sure now it wasn't just a rodent--then stabbing inside, scooping, trying to get it out. Little tufts of fur or something came up, but disappeared as they did. He only redoubled his efforts.

The overhead light flickered out. He looked up. How could both light bulbs burn out in the same night? Strange, certainly, but he had a spare package of bulbs in his room. He dropped the spatula on the floor and gave the hole in the wall a threatening look, as if to say, "I will be back, and when I get here, you had better be gone, if you know what's good for you," and went into his bedroom. The light in there was out, too. The switch was unresponsive, no light coming on at all no matter how furiously he flipped it up and down. He would have to get his lighter from the kitchen to see.

His feet started itching. He scratched at them absently, hopping the short distance from his room to his kitchen. The lighter rested on the kitchen table next to his cigarettes and a candle. The light wasn't working for the kitchen, either. The power must have gone out. But not, the refrigerator was running. How could all his lights go out at once?

He dismissed the thought and fumbled in the darkness for his lighter. He found it, lit it, then lit the candle. He left the cigarettes alone. He needed to save them for later.

There should be more candles on the coffee table, he thought. Two, at least. The most he even looked at the table was when he was decided where to rest his feet on it. Guided by the light of the small candle from the kitchen, he walked into the living room and lit two more candles, then set the kitchen candle in between the two on the coffee table and leaving a third on the front window sill. He left the front door open.

When he turned back to the wall, the spatula was gone and so was that dark mass that was supposed to be a rodent but wasn't.

He cursed and ran at the wall. What did this thing think it was, taking his spatula? He kicked a hole near the bottom, then another halfway up, and one more as high as he could kick, just about eye level, and then punched two in the wall, before he spotted the mass moving again, burrowing deeper in the wall. A quarter of an inch of the spatula handle was sticking out of the back of the thing and it was going deeper as the mass burrowed deeper. He grabbed it with his fingertips but lost his grip. It slid away, out of existence. His feet itched a little.

He punched the mass now, downright angry at it for stealing his spatula. He only had one spatula, like he only had one steak knife and only one giant spoon for stirring soups and one potato peeler. He liked that spatula. It was his. And this pest stole it.

At first, when his hand touched the thing, it moved to avoid his touch. Then it engulfed his hand and it started itching. A fraction of a second later, searing pain burst through his arm, cracked his skull, making him scream, he felt his hand, hurting, couldn't possibly didn't want to know...

He yanked his arm back and looked at the stump where his hand had been.

His feet itched more.

He staggered back from the wall. He tripped over his itchy foot and landed on his back. He had to do something about these pests, about his hand, his sofa, the holes in the wall. What if there were more things like that in the wall in the other homes? He had to help those people!

The phone was on the wall above the light switch in the kitchen. One of the candles went out.

He stood, holding his stump of a hand, blood squirting out every half second like from a water gun. He got some in his eyes and it burned but he tried to ignore it. Get the phone. He made it to the empty doorway to the kitchen and the second candle went out. Get the phone.

How would he dial the number? He'd hold the phone in his mouth and dial the number. That would work. Just get the phone.

The third candle went out, but that was okay. He didn't need it to dial a number. His feet itched. Get the phone.

He grabbed the phone, put the receiver in his mouth, dialed the three numbers, three quick movements of the finger, the fine line between the rest of his long life and an infinitely longer death. His feet itched. He got the phone and held it to his ear. His feet hurt now, hurt with such extreme intensity that he screamed as loud as humanly possible. He could barely hear the operator answer. He fell to the ground, phone in hand, blood squirting out of his stump hand and now, he was sure, stump feet. His entire body itched. He summoned all his strength--oh, how his body itched--and brought the receiver back to his face long enough to scream five words before it all went dark.

"The bugs they're in the--"

--Copyright 2007 Brandon Gandy. (Me)
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The stars glow dimly in the night sky overhead as I sit, listening. I hold my Lee-Enfield rifle tightly in my arms and stare at my boots. Most of the other men are asleep. I shift my position in the trench and adjust my cloth cap. In the distance I can hear men moving supplies to and fro, and farther in the distance I can barely make out German shouts and occasional gunshots. The Germans never rest in the night.

A companion of mine turns over on his thin blanket and mumbles something. I ignore him and keep listening.

They always told me that I would never want to be caught in a city during wartime, but now I think I’d rather be anywhere but in this trench. Even after only three days here, the constant caution and fighting, I know, will scar me. I jump at the slightest noise even at night, and I can’t stand the thought of being out of ammo even without a gun.

Why me? The question passes through my head every minute of every day. Why should I help my country, my homeland, why should I kill men I don’t know for another man’s war? What’s stopping me from laying down my rifle and simply walking away? All these questions I can answer on my own, but in my stubbornness I refuse to.

Suddenly the ground rumbles. At first it is light, but the rumbling deepens and soon becomes a roar. I sit up straight and look around, and see a dull pinpoint of light far to the west. Another lights up near it, and the roar grows louder. Yet another light appears.

The ground shakes violently, and I can see the silhouettes of dozens of soldiers appear, their thin wool blankets abandoned and their own Lee-Enfield rifles at hand, ready to fight.

The ground shakes again, and then once more, and then the lights in the distance disappear. I stand to my full height, staring at my fellow soldiers. One of the nearer soldiers scowls at me, as if it’s my fault we were caught unaware.

In a way, it is my fault.

Instead of scowling back I turn around and peek over the trench. In the dim moonlight I see at least two dozen pairs of feet moving along the side of the trench. I duck down and keep as silent as possible as the troops move by, trying desperately to signal my other troops to stay silent as well.

Fortunately they’re too tired to speak, and the troops above move by. I peek over the trench again, and see faint outlines of more troops running. This time, though, they’re running toward me instead of beside. I duck down, but this time whisper to my fellow troops.

“Huns comin’ in. Get ready,” I whispered.

I hear the clicks of guns being loaded and prepared, and I prepare my own before leaning my back against the dirty wall of the trench.

Within moments a German soldier jumps into the trench. His greeting is half a dozen bullets in the chest. As soon as he hits the ground, more Germans jump into the trench and some of our own soldiers climb out of the trench yelling and shooting.

I only see a few shapes drop into the trench, so I climb out swiftly and see even more Germans advancing. They must have planned a huge raid! Brief flashes illuminate the frames of soldiers all around, and I suddenly realize this is more than a raid. They’re trying to take us full-on.

Artillery flashes in the distance; what I earlier mistook for little lights were distant howitzers. Closer by, our own artillery and mortars fire, the shells landing in the German forces. Though the shells seem distant, the explosions rock the earth and dozens of men cry out as they collapse from searing shrapnel and small explosions.

I shout a short battle cry and shoot down three men with a burst of fire from my rifle, and shoot randomly into the darkness. Bullets whiz by all around me, coming from both sides, and as more artillery fires, the night lights up like early morning. I can see clearly my allies and strange enemies, and more clearly the wicked rifles and bayonets they wield.

A bullet thuds into my thigh, and immediately after another skims past my arm and tears the cloth of my uniform. I empty my rifle crazily, shouting. The battle is too busy to reload, so I simply draw a pistol and a grenade. While I shoot the pistol I pull the pin from the grenade and throw it into the darkness. Soon the pistol is empty, and half of my nearest allies are being scythed down by a withering hail of bullets. The Germans are here in full force now, and I see no point in reloading even my pistol. I pull my two remaining grenades, pull the pins with my mouth, and throw them into night. The explosions rock me off my feet and I’m forced to watch as bullets fly by overhead and men shout and die.

Why me? I think as I stare into the now light sky. The moon has disappeared and the sun is rising, and the artillery no longer provides extra light but simply gives the soldiers noise to drown out their down maniacal battle cries. A smile creeps over my face as I see a mortar shell shoot past me.

As soon as it disappears I see a man stop and stare down at me. I see the malevolent intent in his eyes. The barrel of his rifle fills my vision, and just before I die it flashes brightly. A hot flash of pain courses through my body for a brief moment before all fades to black.

--Copyright 2006-2007 Brandon Gandy. That's me. All rights reserved.
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I insert a token into the little orange square and look up at the screen. Nothing changes. Damn. Hoping this is one of those machines where you have to insert two tokens for one credit, I pump in another token. Still nothing. Damn again. I pick up my little cup of tokens, slap the machine, and move on.

I’m at a birthday party with four friends at a local pizza place slash Chuck-E-Cheese, but this is by no means Chuck-E-Cheese. Last time I was here, three out of four machines were out of service and the rest sucked anyway. Now, it hardly seems any better. The good ones don’t work, the rest do. One skeeball has no ramp, and in another the balls jam. Area 51 and another shoot-em-up game suck tokens. A machine where you insert a token and it slides down the ramp has no glass covering, so you can stick the token in the ‘100-TICKET’ slot if you wanted. The machine was off.

Even the round machine, where the light goes around and you press the button to make it stop on the number, has a broken cover on the safe and you can get your tokens back after you insert them. Fortunately, few know of this.

The birthday boy, Connor, and a friend, Kev, are playing the only working shoot-em-up game. Gentry is playing a racing game where it looks like the brakes don’t work and you have to really work the steering wheel for your car to even budge. Danial and Nate are off where I can’t see them.

The game room is small, almost too cramped to have all these machines and people, too. Good thing no one comes here much. The pizza wasn’t so bad; the cheese wasn’t as rubbery and the dough was better cooked than last time.

I complain about my lost tokens and get a couple to compensate. Happy, I make my way to the round machine and insert a token. The little blue light flies around the thing, so fast, and I tap the button just as it’s about to hit the jackpot bulb. I miss by one, and get ten tickets. It was probably better; the jackpot was only 100 tickets, the default.

It seems like a few minutes go by, but before I know it my cup is empty and I have an unmanageable pile of tickets at my feet. I start to wrap them up, happy, when Kev walks over and sees my loot.

“How’d you get all that?” he asks.

“Simple,” I say. “This machine’s the easiest to get tickets at.”

I borrow a token from him and demonstrate. Ten tickets pop out when I press the button. Right now, the jackpot is 173.

He gets Connor, Daniel, Gentry, and Nate, and brings them over here.

“Give him a token, watch this,” Kev says.

I sigh and take a token, and demonstrate again. The jackpot rises to 174.

After a few more tokens, the tickets coming out look like a nice big pile. They keep giving me tokens and Daniel goes over to the other side of the machine, and we both attack it. Token, tickets, token, tickets, over and over. Soon, the jackpot is 248 and everyone is watching me again.

After a few more tries, everyone but Connor leaves to spend the last of their tokens on something better. Candy claw machine, another shooting game, whatever.

Connor hands me five tokens then walks away. I use them up, call him over, and get five more. Eventually we’re all out of tokens and get some more money.

The very next token I use is the one that will make me a fortune in tickets.

Every time that light swings around, I watch closely, and use peripheral vision to note where the jackpot is — it’s offset by two bars raising up. Every time that light swings around I tap the button at what seems to be the perfect time. Every time that light swings around, I miss. This last time, by pure chance (probably, the odds of getting the jackpot are 1 in 1000, and to fulfill the Laws of Probability [as if there were any] this was somewhere around my thousandth time pressing this button) it lands square on the jackpot. At first, I’m speechless, and so is Connor, who is standing right behind me, watching.

A jackpot of 270+. We’re giddy with excitement. I’ve never got the jackpot before, and apparently Connor’s never seen anyone hit it. After a couple of minutes, Daniel comes over, sees what I’ve done, and calls everyone else over.

We all surround the machine and watch the tickets slide out of the machine, like a magician pulling the cloths tied together by their ends out of his mouth or sleeve (or ass, in some cases).

Two hundred and seventy tickets, give or take a few. Added to my other tickets, and theirs, we have a whole crapload it seems. More than I’ve ever gotten on my own, that’s for sure.

Near the ball pit filled with half-flat balls and God knows what else, there is a tall red machine with a narrow slit and a red numerical read-out. You put your ticket in the slit, the read-out shows how many tickets you put in. It’s a fairly accurate machine, but it’s too easy to jam.

All the tickets I’ve accumulated add up to just over 500. Theirs together are about 500. We stand around the prize counter, joking around about what we’d buy. For instance, for some odd reason there is a bottle of bleach CHAINED to a ventilation duct. We wonder aloud how much that would cost, in tickets. There’s also an inflatable Spiderman doll hanging. We thought it was decoration at first, but we eventually figured out it was 500 tickets exactly. We get one of these and fill it up. It squeaks when you squeeze it and deflates very quickly. We got another one for free when we mentioned it, probably so we’d shut up about it. For ten minutes we amused ourselves by having the Spidermen attack each other, and sometimes we’d stick someone’s face in between his legs and squeeze rapidly, until they bat the air-filled superhero away.

We get all our items, spent all the tickets, and played around in the game room. Loudly. If there are other people, we are surely bothering them. But we don’t see any, so there aren’t any to bother yet.

Outside the ball pit, there is a sign that reads ‘YOU MUST BE NO TALLER THAN THIS SIGN TO ENTER THE BALL AREA.’ We figure, well, kneeling, we’re shorter (except for Daniel and Nate, who are still taller than it), so we can go in. All of us pile in the pit and just sit for a moment, wondering what the hell we’re doing.

Then a small red object in the corner of my eye gets much bigger, much faster, and smacks me in the face.

“That’s WAR!” I cry, and launch a handful of balls at whoever threw the red one at me.

Everyone roars battle cries and suddenly it’s a free-for-all, a melee, and if these balls were bullets, we wouldn’t have even dental records for identification when it’s over. When it IS over, we sit back lazily and laugh.

Suddenly it’s four o’clock, time to go. We get all our things, Connor gets his presents, we start filing out of the game room. I make a poor attempt to flirt at the counter girl as I walk by, who is probably at least five years older than I am, but that doesn’t matter at the moment.

Outside, it’s raining. Perfect. In the desert, it hardly ever rains, and for most people out here rain is considered good weather. It’s like a warm, sunny day in Chicago or Seattle. Everyone loves it. If there are tourists this day, however, they’re disappointed. Screw tourists.

Because it’s raining, Nate can’t bike home and no one can walk, so we pile into Connor’s mom’s minivan (which is lacking is space for a minivan) and eventually we get home.

‘Twas a good day.

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Copyright 2006-2007 Brandon Gandy. All rights reserved.
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Next winner is atro for this awesome drawing he did!

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I also have a third winner but i will have to somehow get him a prem membership in the near future, just let me see how many credits i have left after buying the other 2 winners their prem memberships.

This winner is chakka for this story:

The priest charged round the corner, his robe billowing out behind him. As he flew along the sandstone corridors, his leather sandals flap-flapping on the stone floor with each stride, there was only one thing going on in his mind: Why oh why does this have to happen to ME!

The order had been waiting nearly twelve hundred years, and today, of all the days in the year, it had begun.

He came to another corner, and quickly darted left, away, seemingly, from the inner sanctum, his destination. Thank the gods he knew the Temple like the back of his hand, from all those hours of hide and seek he had taken part in as a youth.
Right, left, left again, and right once more; down a long corridor the servants and mechaníques used. As he rushed past door after door, each bordered by elaborate stone work and pillars, even here in the slave quarters, his mind raced as to possible routes that would speed his journey.

Coming to another junction, he dived between two Senior Acolytes that would undoubtedly be cursing him now, and through another archway. Now he was heading directly South, the way to the inner sanctum and the Sun Dome.
Twelve hundred years, and it happens today, now, minutes before the Speech!

He cursed again.

His winding path was slowly taking him closer, ever closer, to his goal. Then, suddenly, the great scarab-blue doors of Azure that heralded one of the few openings to the inner sanctum were before him. He increased his speed, pushing his screaming muscles to their limit, as he headed towards these gigantic structures built from one of the rarest stones in the Sun Empire.

A movement by the door. His heart sank. Stepping out of the shadows either side of the blue structure were two dog-headed guards, each unfurling their four arms. They took up positions at each side of the door way, now reaching for the scimitar blades that hung on their backs.

“Move, open the door, the High Nubis must hear my words!” he screamed at the two before him, slowing his pace now before he collided head on with the towering structure that blocked his path. The guards merely shook their heads, and drew their blades.

Stopping dead now, the priest screamed inwardly at these thick automatons that blocked his path. He’d never been a fan of the accursed beings known as mechaníques, but these were early models, possibly even made by the Britins when that pitiful island was conquered by the Sun Empire, far back nearly six hundred years. It was obvious they pre-dated the speech modules all units came with today; they’re muteness and unhinged jaws spoke volumes in that detail.

“The Gates are opening, the High Nubis must hear my words or else we perish!” the priest tried again, calmer this time, knowing such basic machinery would respond to voice tone far more than words. He glanced at the dial on his wrist, and cursed these piles of metal once more. The dial showed it to be only ten minutes to the tenth hour; midday. And once the Sun reached its holy zenith, the Gates would be flooded and the world would be doomed. I don’t have time for this! he thought, and pulled back the large sleeves of his garb.

Closing his eyes, the priest intoned the three words that connected his life force with that of the holy Ra, God of Creation. Placing each palm towards a guard, his eyes blazed open and the hallway was filled with intense light. The priest blinked. The instance was offer. Smiling to himself, he stepped over the charred and twisted frames of the two mechaníques and pushed open the doors himself, heaving their surprisingly light bulk to one side. He knew the alarms would have sounded; that much electro in one place would have been registered on the Temples age old defence system. But this did not matter. He had reached the inner sanctum. And he was running once more.

Skidding and sliding round corners, he wove slowly towards the Sun Dome, the true centre of the Temple and home to the High Nubis. As he rounded another corner, he eyes saw sun glinting off the golden doors to the Elevation Chamber, built by Indies seven centuries before. He had only been in it once, but as he came to a halt he knew what to do. Pressing hard on a seemingly innocent piece of stone a foot from the doorway, he heard the mechanical click that would call the room to this position. The Elevation Chamber would travel from any other door like this in the inner sanctum and, within five seconds, be before him.

As the golden doors slid back, he strode in, and looked at the display panel to his right. There were only two buttons, each displaying one of the old Gypt Pictograms from before the Sun Empire was founded. One displayed a moon, the other a sun. One took you down to the Black, the infamous torture chambers of the Temple, the other up to the Sun Dome. Luckily he knew the designers had created it so each button was in fact four. Pressing the lower half of the Moon image, he pressed the upper left of the Sun. The doors slammed shut, startling the priest, and for a second he feared he had remembered incorrectly. Glancing at his dial, he saw the hands swinging round. Two minutes left.

With a relieving judder, the Elevation Chamber began its quick ascend, up to the Sun Dome. The High Nubis would be almost ready for the Speech. The priests fears flooded back into his mind, now he was still, waiting for the Chamber to reach its destination. What if he was not in time? What if the Gates opened? He would have doomed all!
“No” he muttered under his breath. That would not be the way. He would make it.
The Chamber stopped moving. The priest glanced up, as the doors slid away once more. Sunlight spilled in, blinding him for a moment. As his eyesight returned, he stepped out into the sacred Sun Dome. For a second he was awe-struck; so few had ever seen this place! Then his mind came back to the present, and the urgent need to find the High Nubis. He walked, briskly, slowly letting it turn into a jog and then a run, towards the balcony room where the Speech would be given. He prayed to Nubis and Ra, and all the Gods, that he was in time.

As he entered the room, its huge glass front allowing him to see far out over the lush green lands of Gyptan, the home of the Sun Empire, his eyes saw his goal; on a large seat, also staring out the window, his magnificent head crest blazing gold in the sunlight streaming through the glass, sat the High Nubis, head of the order and Pharaoh to the Empire.

“Sire, forgive my intrusion and rudeness, but the Gates are opening! I came as fast as I could, but you must say the words of Light! Please sire hurry, the time approaches that…”
The priest stopped. Eyes widening, he rushed forward as the spectacular head crest folded sideways, clanging to the floor. As he reached the High Nubis, the priest crumpled to the floor. Blood drenched the Pharaoh’s robes and finery, where a stab wound had penetrated the chest.

The priest stared at the floor. All was lost. On his hands and knees he turned to look out the balcony, so high from the ground, so far from the Gates. Despair flooded his mind as he raised his arm and looked to the dial. The minute hand slid, slowly and gracefully into place. Midday. The last there would ever be.
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^ I will try to get yours asap, it was so hard to choose just 2 members out of the 3 of you guys

I have pm'd the guys paying for the prem memberships for you guys, i will be sending them the credits as soon as they have done that.

Thank you once again to all the guys who joined in!

13d Lucidity · Apr 23, 2007 at 8:43 AM

congrats

Dacav Man · Apr 23, 2007 at 8:44 AM

Congrats guys, *sob*

SM Valence · Apr 23, 2007 at 8:44 AM

Congratz everyone!

Joe

Evann · Apr 23, 2007 at 8:45 AM

congrats to everyone

kirbir · Apr 23, 2007 at 8:45 AM

Originally posted by Dacav Man@Apr 23 2007, 12:44 PM
Congrats guys, *sob*

[snapback]3695502[/snapback]
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don't you will make me feel guilty

Dacav Man · Apr 23, 2007 at 8:47 AM

Originally posted by kirbir+Apr 23 2007, 12:45 PM-->

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@Apr 23 2007, 12:44 PM
Congrats guys, *sob*

[snapback]3695502[/snapback]
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don't you will make me feel guilty

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Thats the point :lol:

kirbir · Apr 23, 2007 at 8:48 AM

Your so mean! lol

Dacav Man · Apr 23, 2007 at 8:49 AM

Originally posted by kirbir@Apr 23 2007, 12:48 PM
Your so mean! lol

[snapback]3695509[/snapback]
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Lolz, oh well i guess im not ment or a prem memb

NC Tallain · Apr 23, 2007 at 9:01 AM

^_^ Thanks, kirbir. Good job, Chakka and atro. 'Twas a good contest.

kirbir · Apr 23, 2007 at 9:17 AM

It sure was, you should have your prem at some point today hopefully guys

Trax · Apr 23, 2007 at 9:40 AM

*sucks up tears* Congratualtion..*shudders* I'm so hap- *bawls like mad*

kirbir · Apr 23, 2007 at 10:02 AM

lol Trax :lol:

atro · Apr 23, 2007 at 10:03 AM

w00t i'm happy

kirbir · Apr 23, 2007 at 10:07 AM

heh

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