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Writing contest with prompt VOTING
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Author:  Nauriel Rochnur [ June 11th, 2007, 1:33 pm ]
Post subject:  Writing contest with prompt VOTING
Here are the entries. Since there was a small amount of them, there will only be 2 awards, if that makes sence. Please vote as follows.

1st choice (2 points)
2nd choice (1 point)

You've all done this a few times, and it isn't rocket science, so I don't think I have to explain further.

The writing contest consisted of getting inspiration from a prompt. In this contest the prompt was...
"One day, you look into a mirror and find that the face looking back is not your own."

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Entry 1
I had The Gift. This wasn’t the sort of thing that should happen to me. I was the chosen child. I was the one with destiny. I was the future of the Family Holt and I demand a justice for this crime.

I was furious with the day’s affairs. Simply fuming. I was absolutely positive that my sister had something to do with this, the jealous little fiend. Ambryn had never quite been able to handle the fact I would be forever and always her superior; she wouldn’t accept it because I was her baby sister.

The events leading up to this was quite tedious. It had all started this morning, when I awoke and trotted to the bathroom first thing, as my daily morning rituals demanded of me.

Then I looked to the mirror.

And I was appalled. Being appalled is not something I am used to, nor something I am fond of. Not at all, really. I hate it. I hate not having answers. A Gifted is supposed to have all the answers, not none.

But there I was, staring back at me through eyes that didn’t belong to me. I have silver-gray eyes, not the muddy brown ones peering at me. I have pale, blemish less skin, but now my complexion was ruddy and my face scarred with deep marks and pits. My white blonde braids I’m so fond of were gone. In there place was short spiky brown hair. I realized that my spiteful sister had struck. I realized this was not my reflection.

This was Ambryn’s.


Entry 2
The ever so irritating alarm jerked me from the eternal depths of sleep. Aggravated, I slowly got up from my bed, groaning as I did. I turned on my music player on the way to the bathroom. Soon the catchy tune of the song reached my ears as I filled my wink with icy cold water. As soon as it was filled, I dunked my head into it. The feeling I felt could be described as someone pulling me from a watery grave. Quietly humming with the song, I began my daily morning routine.
I wasn’t sure how long it took me to grasp this but I was pretty sure it wasn’t long before I realized that something was terribly wrong. With sleep still looming over me, I stretched over to retrieve my toothbrush. Forgetting to first apply the toothpaste, I began to brush my teeth when I saw something that made me drop my toothbrush.
It was my reflection. Instead of a bearded face with dark brown hair, a bald shaven pale face with a scar near his temple loomed in the mirror. My dark brown eyes were met with bright green ones that blazed with fury. I reached my hand to touch the reflection only to see another hand in the mirror, pale and thin, meet mine. I asked, mostly to myself but also to the reflection, “What are you?”
Instead of an audible response or even the reflection miming my words, I saw it smirk with a thin mouth. Fear and confusion burst into my mind as I took hasty steps away from the bathroom and onto my bed. I massaged my hair (with a sigh of relief) and felt for the scar. Nothing. I then nervously gazed at my hands. They seemed normal but yet, they looked a bit paler and thinner. Or was it just my imagination. I had no idea. I hastily went to my kitchen to prepare coffee. As I put the kettle to boil, I pulled myself together and said to myself, “Ok, David. Get up. Wake up.”
That seemed to relax my nerves enough to resume my daily routine. But as I sipped my coffee, I wondered when I would cease being me and transform into that reflection. I started to cast out any thoughts of the reflection as I prepared my sketches for the office. After double and triple checking that the sketches were securely placed in my bag, I grabbed my bag and was almost out the door when I heard a voice. Something calling me. Once again fear struck me as I nervously looked around. There was no one yet I could have sworn someone had called. Or maybe not. It was a hasty whisper, almost resembling the wind. Even though, I had to calm myself before I left my flat.
To my disdain, a dark cloud loomed over the city when I walked out of the complex, threatening rain. I sighed. Today clearly was not my day. Today must be Thursday, I mused as I began my walk to the architect office. To my shock and horror, I saw the reflection as I passed the windows and glass walls. This time though, I took in the reflection.
It was deathly pale and thin, almost resembling a skeleton. Its now very familiar face stared at me with heated malevolence. It was dressed oddly, in midnight blue robes that would be very common in the Dark Ages. Like me it was carrying something in his hand but unlike me, it wasn’t a bag with architectural sketches. It was a sword with a ruby pommel that radiated evil. Thought its cold foreboding stride was slower than my hasty pace, it managed to match his pace. Slowly I ceased walking and allowed myself to gaze at the reflection. I felt myself pulled into it, like a fly attracted to poisoned honey. The reflection was definitely not me but yet it was me. It looked familiar to me, like an old friend or a brother.
Suddenly a shove came. Followed by a harsh “Oi! Move along there.” And I was jerked back to reality. A hulking man who clearly came from the Slums had ran into me. I looked around me to gather my surroundings. Not that there was anything new. Grey glooming buildings. Smoke trailing from the few scattered cars and chimneys. Dark uniformed Enforcers, the military police, with glaring eyes and loaded rifles. The several grim people in gaunt clothing completed the scene that played itself for fifteen years. Fifteen years of nightmares. First the War, then the Depression, and finally the Rise. With all of the news censored, I didn’t know if this scene was replayed in other cities but chances are that it was.
Finally I arrived at the building that housed the architectural firm I worked for. This firm was one of the few companies that survived the Depression and the Rise. I assumed our design of the Palace saves us from utter ruin and gave us three projects a year. Nothing compared to the times before the War but what was passed is the past. I wrenched open the front door and squeezed myself through the tiny gap the door admitted. The first floor was slowly crumbling away. Glass from the shattered windows littered the floor. Graffiti covered the walls and floors. I quickly ascended the cracking stairs, though careful to not slip and fall. So when I reached the top landing, I took a moment to gather myself before I searched for my director. I found him in his office and handed him my sketches, after dropping my bag on the floor. He received them rather happily and told me that he’ll give them to the Speaker later today, if that was all right. I began to reassure that it was fine with me and indeed, the words were on the tip of my tongue when the reflection made itself heard. Well heard only be me. I must have grimaced or flinched or somehow betray my thoughts for the leader asked, “Is everything all right, David?”
“Yes, sir,” I immediately replied. “Everything’s fine. I just need to use the restroom.”
The director nodded and said, “Certainly.”
Relieved, I hastily went to the restroom. The last thing I needed was me being reported for suspicious behaviour and hearing reflections was definitely considered as suspicious behaviour. I opened the restroom door and turned on the light, disturbing the rats and other unknown terrors that made their dwellings there. I looked at the reflection in the grime ridden mirror and asked it again, “What are you?”
Once again he refused to answer that so I asked, “What do you want?”
“You.”
My confusion multiplied, I remained silent as it continued.
“Deliver the sketches to the Palace.”
“What?” I asked, exasperated.
Now it was its turn to remain silent but its smirk and gleaming eyes left little choice to me. After a quick glance at the reflection, I departed from the restroom. Ten minutes later, I was walking down the crumbling stairs and out of the building, with the sketches in my bag. The Palace was on the outskirts of the city, away from the decay that ate at the city’s core. I walked towards the city limit without any difficulty but at the city gate, the Enforcers stopped me. After roughly rummaging through my bag and nearly damaging my sketches, they finally allowed me to pass. It was a forty minute walk to the Palace but I didn’t relish the idea of being crammed into a car so I walked.
The path that I travelled on was completely consumed by nature. In a better yesterday it might have been a hiking trail where families and couples eagerly beat their feet on the road. But instead of a cheerful feeling that was commonly associated with hiking trails, a dark feeling loomed over the path. Something that I would associate the reflection with. I wondered if its malign influence had extended past the mirror. It was eerily silent as well; not a single bird sang its beautiful song. The only sound that broke the silence was my shoes crushing leaves and thorns and needles that were in my path
The first ten minutes weren’t bad at all. The next five minutes were bearable. My feet began to cry in agony after twenty minutes of ceaseless walking passed. Within twenty-five minutes of walking, I began to regret my foolish request to deliver the sketches and denial of the car. But I managed to bear the last fifteen minutes to the magnificent Palace that I had helped design. It was designed to be both a palace and a citadel. Here the Speaker and the Chamber made, enforced, and interpreted the laws. Here the Speaker resided. And here was the largest concentration of Enforcers in the country. Rumours said that there were at least two hundred Enforcers here, armed with high powered rifles and always scouring the grounds. However, these security measures failed to deter six different groups from attempting to assassinate the Speaker. The last one was quite determined; they managed to blow their way through the wall and got into the courtyard before they were killed.
I left my bag near a small lake in the woods after extracting my sketches. I wasn’t exactly in the mood of repeating my experience with the Enforcers at the city gate. Then I began the walk to the Palace gate.
The Palace gate was flanked by two tall guard towers that allowed the guards a complete view of the grounds and beyond. The size of the Palace had long been forgotten by me but I knew hat a large section of the national park had to be razed to start building. Someone in the towers had obviously seen me approaching because when I arrived at the gate, a squad of Enforcers was waiting for me. The leader of the squad asked, “What is your name?”
“David Benholt,” I replied.
“And your business, Mr. Benholt?”
“I need to deliver these sketches to him. I’m part of the architectural firm, Desigom.”
The leader frowned through his faceless mask, took the folder from my hands, and verified that they were sketches, not letter bombs. He then said, “Very well. I’ll make sure these get to the Speaker. He is currently busy in the Chamber. Now if you’ll kindly…”
“Sir,” I interjected, but couldn’t finish because I was interrupted in turn.
“No, Mr. Benholt. It is time for you to leave.”
The Enforcers then retreated back into the Palace with the gate closing in my face. I began to walk back to the office when I realized that I had left my bag near the lake. Hoping a stray walker hadn’t ran off with it, I navigated my way through the dense woods. To my relief, I found my bag sitting there. Just where I left it. As I reached to grab the bag, I saw it. Again. This time though, I didn’t feel a jolt of fear that I felt when I saw him in the morning.
It was staring at me, as usual, but not with evil, not with hatred, but a cold satisfaction that was more chilling than ever. Hastily, I looked around me for anyone that might witness my strange behaviour, causing the reflection to chuckle and inquiry coldly, “Not scared, are you?”
I remained silent as I returned his glare before asking again, “What are you?”
It didn’t respond. Again. Instead, it said, “Go inside the Palace.”
“Why?” I asked, nearly shouting. I was shocked by my own bravado. “Why should I listen to you? You’re just a reflection. You can’t even get into the world I’m in.”
I half-expected the reflection to attack me (how exactly, I didn’t know) but instead, it smirked again and said, “You’re right. You don’t have to do this. But.”
“But?”
“But if you don’t want her death to be in vain, you would do it.”
I paled at this. I didn’t know how badly, but I think almost the level of the reflection. How could it possibly know about her? I asked myself. Then I realized something. I was asking it the wrong question. After composing myself (much of my composure had collapsed) I asked it, “Who are you?”
It smiled, for the first time since our meeting this morning, revealing bright white teeth. I almost thought for an insane minute that it’ll emerge from the lake but it said, “Follow my orders. Get into the Palace unseen. And don’t forget your bag.”
I looked at it quizzically as if asking a silent request for clarification but it simply smiled maliciously. Getting into the Palace, short of blasting the gates open, was impossible. The security system of the Palace was extremely complex and strict. I vaguely remembered the plans but enough to recall the webs of infrared sensors, the hundreds of CCTV cameras, and nets of lasers that could trip the alarm. Then there were the Enforcers. It was a widely known fact that trespassers in the Palace were shot on sight. It became quite obvious to anyone, including me, that attempting to enter the Palace was suicide when the reflection spoke. It sounded like the wind yet it also sounded like “Go on.” Greatly puzzled, I followed its instructions and went to the Palace
Ever so often the reflection would hiss orders to me like “Turn left” or “Stop”. And against all impulses, I followed them. Though it had occurred to me several times that taking commands from a different reflection would reflect an insane mind, I still did it. My curiosity took over my mind when he mentioned her. When I finally came to the wall, to my surprise, I found a breach in the wall. It didn’t look like anyone broke it. In fact, it looked more like someone designed the breach with the wall. It was small enough and far enough that hardly anyone, not even the Enforcers, would notice it. I hesitated outside the wall but then the reflection goaded, “No use standing there.” I took a deep breath and walked in. After a moment of walking, I was in the Palace.
To my puzzled shock, a dense fog had settled in low in the Palace grounds, efficiently concealing me from viewers. But there were always the infrared sensors and lasers that could alert the Enforcers to my presence…if they were on. The breach in the wall also contained the power box, which I turned off at the reflection’s persuasion. The reflection continued to navigate me through the fog until I reached a window that was part of a room somewhere in the Palace. But with the blinds down, I couldn’t see what was going on inside. Then the reflection that appeared in the window did something.
It had unsheathed its sword and whispered, “Take it out and arm it.”
At that command, I was bewildered. “Arm what?” I asked quietly.
It pointed its sword at my bag as I stared at it terrified. I felt a sharp chilling jolt in me as if the sword had pierced me but that wasn’t what scared me. Its eyes began to blaze in a fiery red and the window also changed. Instead of the dense fog that was supposed to be reflected, a roaring inferno burned in it. I could almost feel the heat from the fire. I dug into my bag and felt something hard. Something that wasn’t there until I picked it up from the lake. When I pulled it out, I nearly dropped it on the ground. It was a bomb. A carefully engineered bomb that had the potential to level a building. Level a Palace. My eyes widened at the this notion and immediately I turned on the reflection. “Is this why I’m here?” I asked. “To assassinate the Speaker?”
“Yes,” it replied in a cold hiss.
“Why? What does it matter to you?”
“It matters to me because I was formed for that purpose.”
“By whom?”
“By you.”
I paused, feeling the colour drain from my skin. It continued, “After your lover was publicly executed, you began to harbour anti-governmental feelings. Some of them came from her before she was killed, some came after. You’ve asked many times what am I. I am your traitorous thoughts that you have stifled away. Your hatred, your anger, your rage, your resentment, your frustration. I’m all of that. And now it is time.”
“Time to what?”
It smiled maliciously as something came to my ears. To be quite honest, I’m not so sure what greatly disturbed me: the reflection’s sinister smile or the squad of Enforcers that appeared in the fog. For minutes, I battled within myself whether to surrender myself or activate the bomb. I’m going to die anyways, I thought. And finally it happened. I embraced my traitorous ideas. I finally accepted the task that I’ve ignored for so long. I found the button that would activate the bomb and pressed it. Then I turned to face the line of Enforcers and closed my eyes as the bomb began to emit a series of shrill beeps.
Five loud bangs from the rifles, followed by a swift fiery explosion. As each bullet pierced through me, I thought of something. I thought of the new world that would rise from the ashes of this one. A brave new world.


Entry 3
Rhalen curled in the roots of a huge tree, trying to find some shelter from the wind and rain. He shivered convulsively, his stomach growling. The unripe berries and nuts he had found earlier that evening had done little to abate his hunger. He started to drift into an uneasy sleep, half-waking at every strange noise.

He is one of us.

Rhalen opened his eyes slowly. That noise was different- a voice inside his own head. He looked around, trying to find the speaker without moving too much. No one was in sight, and the voice didn't return. Now you're losing your mind. he told himself and closed his eyes.

It may be a trap. There is something different about him.

We cannot leave him out here to freeze.

But what if-

Look into his mind. Can you not tell he is one of us?

Rhalen, drifted off to sleep, the voices echoing in his mind.
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He woke up slowly, feeling warmth. He opened his eyes, staring at rough wood beams above him. Instantly he threw himself to the side, his legs tangling in blankets. Crouching against a wall, he drew his dagger. His eyes flew across the room- wooden walls, dirt floor, a small bed and table. He was alone in the room. He relaxed somewhat and stood, still holding his dagger.

The blanket covering the doorway was drawn aside. Rhalen tensed again, ready to throw his dagger. A tall man entered, smiling and holding his hands out in front of him. "I will not hurt you." he said, and gestured towards the bed. "Sit down." he invited. Rhalen did, eyeing the man.

"Where am I?" he asked.

"You are in a shapeshifter village. We brought you-"

"What?" Rhalen interrupted. "Are you a shapeshifter?"

The man smiled. His form blurred and changed into a younger man with dark hair and eyes, and a scar running down his cheek. "What do you think?" he asked in Rhalen's own voice.

"Clever." the young man answered, staring defensively at his mirror image. "Why am I here?"

The man shifted back to his own form. "We found you in the woods last night, cold and fatigued. We recognized you as one of us, and brought you." he paused, then continued, "We will provide you with food and shelter for as long as you want. We hope that you choose to stay here. There is much we could teach you, if you are willing."

Rhalen slowly sheathed his dagger. He had learned never to turn down the offer of a meal. "I will stay, for awhile."

The man nodded, smiling. "Good. I will bring you food now." He left the room. Rhalen sighed and closed his eyes. Shapeshifters. He had thought he was alone after his mother had died. Finding a whole village of his kind left him shocked, unsure of how to respond. He sighed again, then stood and walked around the small room. His muscles were stiff and sore.

Soon the door covering was thrown back and a young man about Rhalen's age burst in, grinning. He set a wooden tray laden with food on the table. "Here you are." he said. "Go ahead and eat." He abruptly sat down on the floor, staring at Rhalen.

Apparently the man wasn't going anywhere. Rhalen sat down on the bed, put the tray on his knees, and started devouring the bread and cheese ravenously.

Before he had eaten more than a few bites, the other man said, "What is your name?"

"Rhalen." he answered through a mouthful of bread.

"I am Jaran Windwalker. Good to meet you. Naem- the man who was in here- is my father. I asked if I could bring in the food. I wanted to meet you."

Rhalen glanced up. "Why?" he asked bluntly.

Jaran shrugged. "I don't know- I just wanted to." He paused, giving Rhalen a chance to eat a few more bites. "Why were you in the woods?"

"I- I was lost." Rhalen replied guardedly.

"I see." Jaran smiled knowingly. It was very difficult for a shapeshifter to get lost. He could shift into an animal form, speak to other animals. They would know their way around well, and share their knowledge with one of their own kind. He didn't press the issue, though. "I will show you around after you finish eating. I'll be outside." he abruptly shifted, mirroring Rhalen, grinned, and ran out of the hut.

Rhalen shook his head. What had he gotten himself into?

He finished eating, then shifted into Jaran's form. He checked himself in a small mirror hanging on the wall. Sun-lightened blond hair, green eyes, high cheekbones and a narrow chin. He went outside and
found Jaran, still copying Rhalen's own form.

"Not bad." he said, apprising Rhalen. "You forgot the scratches, though." Jaran shifted back to his own form and traced a series of small scratches on his cheek.

Rhalen shifted to his normal form and shrugged. He wasn't going for perfect; he just wanted to show Jaran he knew what he was doing. "So, you said you'd show me around?"
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It didn't take more than a half hour for a quick tour. The village was fairly small, with houses, gardens, barns and pastures, a blacksmith shop and a woodsmith shop. A large, nondescript building was in the center of the town. "What is that place?" Rhalen asked, matching his pace to Jaran’s quick one.

"That's the Common House. Anything important going on that involves the whole village happens there. Meetings, feasts, ceremonies." he ducked off the dirt path and sat down on a tree stump. "If you decide to stay and want to be part of the village, your test will happen there."

"What test?" Rhalen asked curiously.

"The Proving- it's an ancient tradition. Any shapeshifter who wants to join a group of shapeshifters has to prove his skill."

"How?"

"It depends. Most often you're asked to shift into a few different forms, or mimic a certain shape." He stood, a quick, fluid motion. "But enough of that. Would you like to meet some of the people here?"

Rhalen shrugged uncomfortably. "I- I don't know." he hedged.

"How about my family? Well, besides my father since you've already met him." He must have seen Rhalen's reluctant expression and said, "Come on, you'll have to meet others sooner or later. You might as well get started now."

Rhalen gave in to the other man's persistence. "All right."

Jaran grinned and started down the dirt path, motioning for Rhalen to follow.

The family's house was built of wooden beams, the gaps daubed with a mud and straw mixture. Throwing back the blanket hanging neatly in the doorway, Jaran ducked in. Rhalen followed more slowly. He saw two women inside, one older and one younger, both sewing something or another.

"This is my mother, Marath." Rhalen nodded politely to her. "And this is my sister, Alria." Jaran’s voice sounded slightly disapproving. Glancing at him, Rhalen saw he was frowning at his sister. Shrugging it off, Rhalen nodded to Alria. He thought he had noticed a flicker of motion on her face, but he dismissed that as well.

He could see the family resemblance- both women had high cheekbones and narrow chins. Alria's hair was darker than her mother or brother's, and she had deep blue eyes.

Alria stood, smiling. "You are welcome in our village. In his introductions, my brother failed to mention your name...?"

"Rhalen." he answered, watching Alria. She had a quiet, beautiful air about her, not only in her face, but her voice and movements also. She nodded, still smiling at him.

"Well," Jaran said abruptly, "I haven't shown our guest the woods yet. Go on outside, Rhalen. I'll be there in a minute."

Pausing outside the doorway to wait, Rhalen heard Jaran talking in a rough whisper.

"Why do you do this to yourself and to all of us? It only brings..." Rhalen took a few steps away. He didn't want to eavesdrop.

Soon Jaran joined him outside, and they spent an hour or two in the woods that surrounded the village.
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The next morning Rhalen woke late in the afternoon. He found a tray of bread and fruit on his table. After eating, he walked outside. Jaran was sitting against the sun-warmed wall of the house, whittling away on a stick. Seeing Rhalen, he scrambled to his feet, sheathing his knife.

"Are you feeling better today?"

Nodding, Rhalen answered, "Yes, more rested."

"Good." Jaran said in a satisfied tone. "I thought perhaps we could fly today. It would be easier to show you the surrounding areas that way."
-----------------------------------
A few moments later the two were soaring in the sky on air currents, both in hawk forms.

Just follow me. Jaran said, using mindspeak, which came naturally between shapeshifters.

Rhalen did so, enjoying the feel of the wind under his wings. After he had been wandering in the forest for several months, his strength had been so drained that he had trouble shifting. Changing forms again felt good- a type of freedom he had missed. Still, shifting was a bit difficult for him, a result of a half-breed birth.

Jaran showed him the areas around the village and woods. The town itself was fairly isolated, the nearest city being several leagues away according to Jaran. The woods extended on to the east and north, but stopped at a large river that curved around them to the west and south.

Jaran turned around, heading back towards the village and Rhalen followed. Both shapeshifters dived towards the village outskirts, racing each other.

Once on the ground, they both shifted back to human forms. "It's still early- we don't need to go back to the village yet." Jaran said, panting slightly. "I'll show you more of the woods." Changing into a deer, he bounded off through the brush and trees. Rhalen shrugged to himself, shifted likewise, and ran off in the same direction.

They spent most of the afternoon in the woods, going as far as the river. Jaran showed Rhalen dozens of paths, springs, and shelters, as well as berries, roots, and plants that were good food. Loosing count of the times he shapeshifted, Rhalen enjoyed every minute of it, taking in the sights and sounds. Somehow, he had never seemed to notice them in the months before.

Finally, the two young men went back to the village as the sun was setting. "How was it?" Jaran asked, shaking his sweat-damp hair out of his eyes and laughing infectiously.

Rhalen grinned back, and half-shrugged. "Incredible."

That night, staring at the darkened ceiling of his room, he realized it was the first time he had smiled in months.
--------------------------------
In the following weeks, Rhalen became a part of the village. He helped Jaran and his family with farming and caring for the livestock, and he regularly ate meals with them. He found he was spending more time with Alria, making excuses to be near her, or helping her as she worked. He was always rewarded with a smile, laugh, or conversation. Jaran still acted cold, disproving towards his sister, and it puzzled Rhalen.

One evening, after they had put the cows in the barn, Rhalen and Alria were walking slowly along the path to her house. Alria had something she wanted to say- several times she had taken a breath, opened her mouth, but went on to make some insignificant remark. After she had commented on the weather for the fourth time, Rhalen said, "Is there something you want to ask me?"

Alria looked down at the path, her thick braid swinging over her shoulder. "Yes." she said, then hesitated. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at Rhalen. "It's none of my concern, and if you don't want to tell me, please don't feel obligated to, but..." she looked away again while he waited.”What... happened to you before you were brought here?" she looked back at him, curiosity and concern showing in her blue eyes.

Rhalen let out his breath. He knew the question would come sooner or later, and had been expecting it. Still, he hesitated to share his past. Years of living off his wits had taught him silence was his best weapon. He wanted to tell Alria, though, to release the fears inside him.

Taking Alria by the arm, he drew her off the path into the shelter of a few trees. "You may want to sit down- it may take some time to tell the story." She nodded and sat, leaning her back against a tree. Rhalen started pacing, avoiding Alria's eyes. "My parents lived in a small town. My mother was a shapeshifter, and she died when I was born. When I was seven, my father died also. I didn't have any relatives that I knew of, and nobody in the town wanted to care for a 'freak of nature', so I left.

"I didn't want to give up human companionship and live with animals. Instead, I traveled from town to town for years, getting food and shelter any way I could. I had some jobs during that time, but I was afraid that somebody would find out I was a shapeshifter, so I kept moving on. Alria-" he stopped pacing and looked into her eyes, "I have stolen, begged, sold myself for cheap labor...I have even killed a man, all so I could stay alive."

Alria didn't move, but kept watching Rhalen in the half-dusk light. He swallowed and continued, "I killed when I was sixteen. I hired myself as an assassin, and killed a traveler while I was in wolf form. I can still remember the taste of his blood in my mouth, the feel of..." he trailed off. "After that, I was ashamed of myself and what I had become. I kept wandering, but I avoided towns and farms. I lived in the woods, mostly.

"Since I'm only half shapeshifter, I'm not as skilled as full shifters. It's harder for me to shift, and if I stay in a form other than this one for too long, I start losing myself to that form." he went back to his story. "While I lived in the woods, I would shift from animal to animal, not daring to stay in one form for more than a day at a time. I wandered through the forests for months, until I was so weakened that I couldn't shift anymore. Soon after that, your father and another found me and brought me here."

He turned his back to Alria and stared out across the dark fields and pastures. "That's who I am." he said quietly, so quietly the woman could hardly hear him. "Half-shapeshifter, and an unskilled one at that, thief, beggar, and murderer."

"No." Alria stood, her skirts rustling as she walked over to Rhalen. "That is who you were." She put her hands on his shoulders. "In the time you have been here, I have seen a different man than you have told me of. I have seen a quiet man with secrets, but one who still cares for others. Whatever you have done in your life can be erased here, forgotten to who you are and who you can be."

Turning to face Alria, Rhalen took her hands in his. "I haven't told anyone of my life. I was afraid of what they would think of me. I was afraid of being scorned, cast out, despised. I didn't expect...kindness." His voice was husky with emotion. "Alria-" he put his hands on her shoulders and drew her close to him.

"Rhalen- no." her voice was sharp, but tears glinted in her eyes as she pulled away from his hands.

"What's wrong?" He dropped his hands to his side. Surely she must realize he felt for her- he had been spending so much time with her. Was she promised to another? She or Jaran hadn't said anything-

"I...I have been deceiving you." Her hands clenched her skirts, then released them. She started to say something else, but stopped and looked down at the ground. Rhalen just watched her, confused. Strands of hair, worked loose from her braid, covered the sides of her face like a thin curtain. Rhalen thought he caught a glimpse of motion, and then she looked up slowly. "This is who I really am."

The shape of her face was still the same, but the right side of it and her neck were crossed by ugly, deep scars. "About two years ago, I was caught in a fire. I escaped, but not before I was burned." Alria stared over Rhalen's shoulder, avoiding his eyes as she spoke. "The burns healed, but the scars remained. Everyone in the village knew what had happened, but I still shifted to cover them sometimes. I was worried all my chances for love and marriage were gone. The other men my age would have been fine with the scars, I think, but I drove them away with my vanity. I even distanced myself from my family- Jaran especially. When you came, I thought I had another chance and I-" she broke off, her chin trembling as she tried not to let her tears fall.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and looked at Rhalen. "If you wish me to, I will not...ask to spend time with you. I will stay out of your sight and-"

"No." Rhalen said gently. Laying his hands on her shoulders, he drew her closer to him. "Do not leave me alone." He touched her scars on her temple with his fingertips. Alria flinched, but didn't move away from him. Sliding his fingers through her hair, he moved his hand down till it covered her cheek. Tears still glistened in her eyes and he wiped them away. Drawing her face in, Rhalen kissed her. For a moment, Alria was still and uncertain under his touch, then she returned the kiss and they embraced.

After a moment, Alria broke the kiss and stepped back. Rhalen could see her hands trembling in the moonlight. She paused as if about to speak, then offered him a trembling smile- a smile full of hope and love- and ran off towards her house. Rhalen watched her, a smile on his own lips, then turned and strode off to his house.
-----------------------------
Rhalen's weeks at the village stretched into months. He helped with the early harvests, sweating alongside the other shapeshifters, laughing, joking, and eating with them. Every moment he could, he spent with Alria. She didn't try to hide her scars anymore, but seemed filled with a new confidence and joy. Rhalen noticed that Jaran didn't act cold towards her anymore.

One evening, Jaran's father, Naem, asked if he could speak to Rhalen. Nodding, the younger man followed him into a lamplit house. "You have been in our village for a season now." Naem said, sitting down and inviting Rhalen to do likewise. "Do you plan on staying with us longer, perhaps over the winter?"

Rhalen nodded slowly, worried he might have overstayed his welcome. "I... would like to stay. I would be grateful if I were allowed to."

Naem smiled, erasing Rhalen's fears. "You are more than welcome here. In fact, I brought you here to ask if you would consider living here, permanently."

"Uh, I- Yes, I would like that." Rhalen stuttered, feeling amazement and excitement spread through him. He smiled suddenly. "I would like that very much. I've never felt like I've belonged anywhere, but here, I feel welcome, a part of the community." He stopped, embarrassed. "I'm sorry- I didn't mean to start in on my life story."

Naem smiled. "There is one ceremony that we must go through, though. The Proving. It's really nothing to worry about, just a tradition that anyone who wants to join the village must go through."
----------------------
Two evenings later, Rhalen stood outside the Meeting Hall, trying to calm his breathing. This was it. If he proved himself tonight, he would be a part of the village. He would truly belong someplace for practically the first time in his life. His instructions were simple enough. He had been told to mimic one of the villagers in appearance, as closely as he could. It was the villager he was to mimic that made his pulse race with nervousness.

Get on with it. he told himself. He started shifting. In less than a minute he was done- sun-bleached blond hair, green eyes, a tall, thin body, narrow face. Closing his eyes, he visualized Jaran in his mind. He changed a few details, adding a thin scar to his left hand and a birthmark on his forearm. Deciding this was as close as he could get, Rhalen walked around to the front of the building where Jaran waited. "I'm ready." he said.

They walked into the huge room, Rhalen's heart pounding in his ears. Naem stood at the other end of the room. This is ridiculous- he'll recognize his own son! For a moment, Rhalen nearly stopped. He could see Alria standing among the other villagers, smiling at both of them. Apparently she couldn't tell the difference. He kept walking.

When both young men reached the end of the room, they stopped in front of Naem. He examined both of them closely, walking around them, paying attention to their faces and hands. Rhalen could feel sweat trickling down his temple as he waited, hardly breathing. Thick, tangible silence fell across the room as Naem stepped back, still watching the two young men.

"I cannot tell any difference."

Rhalen let out his breath in a rush, grinning like a fool and shaking his head as he shifted back to his own form. Jaran was grinning too, pumping Rhalen's hand in his own.
“You’re part of the village now.” Jaran shouted over the sudden babble of voices. “No getting away from it!”
The villagers flowed around him, laughing, talking, and congratulating him. Alria pushed through the crowds and hugged him fiercely, smiling, and Rhalen returned the hug. I am a part of these people now. he thought, the feeling of belonging rushing over him in warm waves.


Entry 4
So, how's the research going?" It wasn't that she was interested - she could have cared less, really - but it was one of the few things she knew about him, and they needed something to talk about as they walked back to the dorm from class. She hadn't really wanted to walk with him, either, but a good Southern upbringing had taught her to be polite.

"Oh, not bad, not bad at all." And here it came, all the ideas she understood only remotely and the jargon she could care less about. "We thought we had a breakthrough over the weekend but ..." And on, and on, and on. At least it kept him talking, passing the time until she could finally get to her floor and escape. He was a physics major; his research dealt with optics and wormholes and quite possibly the space-time continuum. As a communications major, she didn't feel an urgent need to follow his explanation, which seemed to consist mainly of polysyllabic words and theories named after obsolete dead people. Geniuses, he would insist. Geniuses. But, in her opinion, just as obsolete, and just as dead.

The flow of words finally slowed down and began to filter past her automatic mental blocks. "So if we can induce this singularity, it theoretically generates four of them, all in different universes. Two 'mirrors' -" he waggled his fingers "- so to speak, and a parallel. So this Koontz-Mayhew technique allows us to shield our stream of photons from the distortion effects and actually "see", more or less, into these other universes, through the singularity in ours." They had reached the dorm, now, and were standing in the elevator lobby. She pressed the 'up' button. When she turned to face him again, he was teasing something out of his backpack. It was wrapped in white cloth, like a dust covering for expensive optical equipment, and his eyes shone as he handed it to her. "I - I wanted to give this to you. I know you don't have time now, but take a look at it later. It's not the original, of course, but it's a functional mock-up of the actual reflector assembly."

She held it in her arms, not fully understanding, but feeling the oblong solidity through the cloth. "So this is basically a way to -"

He cut her off. "Yes, exactly. A window into a parallel universe. More or less. I think the light is slightly funny, or maybe it's just the depth perception, but it's definitely - theoretically - another universe. Maybe even realer than ours. Maybe we're just the parallel of the true universe."

"I'll take a look at it," she promised, and the elevator behind her chimed in readiness, cutting off his philosophical wanderings. "Thanks."

*********

She didn't really mean it, of course. In fact, she forgot all about infatuated Ron's little science fair project in the excitement of the next few hours. The Rho Alpha Tau frat party was that evening, and she and her roommate were throwing a pre-party. It was mainly for the girls that were going, but parties tended to expand - especially fourth-floor parties.

"How's my makeup?" She was peering anxiously at her face in a magnifying mirror, assuring herself that the layers of face powder and paint were flawless.

Her roommate ran a critical eye over her, taking in the carefully crafted face, the hair that had taken hours to prepare, the short skirt, the high heels, and the even, sunless tan. "Tori," she finally pronounced, "you look hot. With a double T."

Tori inspected herself in the mirror one last time and adjusted an eyelash that wasn't sitting quite right. "Let's do this party."

She had to stand on her desk chair to reach the vent in the ceiling. Pushing up the metal grille, she moved it to the side and took out a multitude of glass bottles in various shapes. That was one of the reasons she liked the fourth floor - she could store all her booze in the air conditioning vents. Room searches never exposed her hidey-hole, and the drinks were kept chilled. Now that took real brains.

"Tori," her roommate was fishing cranberry juice and ginger ale out of the tiny refrigerator, "how many this time?"

"Mmmmm. Lemme think." Resting the silver-spouted bottles in the single sink, she reached over to her purse, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, and slapped it onto the windowsill. Their bets for the number of dates she could pick up at a party usually went there. "Five. No more, no less." She started mixing drinks.

"All right, you're on." Another twenty went on the windowsill.


*********

By the time they got to the frat house, the party was in full swing. Nevertheless, heads turned when she walked in, and the number of both guys and girls in her immediate vicinity increased exponentially, all eager to be the first to greet her, to push a Shiner into her hand, to pull her out onto the dance floor. The queen had arrived, and her courtiers knew it.

"Hey, Tori, we're having a get-together at my apartment tomorrow night. Just a few people, I'll break out the champagne."

"Sure, I wouldn't miss it for the world." The dance floor was calling. She hit it, even though it was packed, and the temperature of the room increased dramatically.

"Tori! There you are! Are you going to the game tomorrow? Good, do you want to get dinner afterwards?" And the evening progressed, full of light and noise and a succession of rapidly-drained aluminum cans, which were added to the growing pyramid at one end of the room.

"Tori, what are you doing tomorrow night? Come to the beach with us! We'll get back around two."

"Really? I'd love to! Don't leave without me, or I'll disown you for life!"

"Tori ..."
"Tori ..."
"Tori ..."

*********

Her friends brought her back to her room at four that morning, stumbling and thoroughly drunk - she'd thrown up twice - and giggling inanely at anything anybody said. She couldn't even remember her own name, and she found that fact hilarious. It had been a good party.

Her roommate sat up with her for the next six hours, according to the instructions from the EMT, waking her every half-hour to force her to drink water. It was either that, or be taken to the emergency room for alcohol poisoning. Finally, Tori slept.

*********

She had a terrific hangover the when she woke up, fully clothed. Her head felt like it was about to explode with every beat of her heart. It hurt to even turn her head and read the clock - 3:15. Closing her eyes to block out the afternoon sunlight streaming through cracks in the blinds, she reached out to the coffeemaker and felt for the switch. Slowly, the warm, rich smell of percolating coffee filled the room.

She felt like *beep*.

And she was supposed to go to dinner tonight, wasn't she? And the beach. Hang them all.

Why did she do this to herself? It wasn't fun anymore - well, not all of it. And what was fun was only fun for an hour or two. After that, she was too wasted to remember anything. She went to class during the week, partied on the weekends. What was so wrong with that? Who said it was wrong in the first place? Why did life feel so empty? No, empty wasn't the right word. Stale. That was better. Stale, like a can of coke left open for far too long, and sickeningly sweet when it was imbibed. And why did she subject herself to a period of soul-searching every time she had a hangover - which was every Saturday? She must have a very healthy soul by now.

Dragging herself to a sitting position, she poured herself a mug of coffee and sipped cautiously at the strong, bitter brew, willing her migraine to depart. It didn't. She should put those bottles away soon.

She finished the coffee and refilled the cup. She should shower. Her face was probably a mess, the makeup smears something akin to modern art. She reached for the mirror on her desk, but her hand fell on the cloth-covered object next to it. Where had that come from? Slowly, she remembered. Oh, yes. Before the party. Ron had given it to her. Awkward, nerdy Ron. Something about his research.

Pulling it toward her, she picked at the cloth dully until it fell open in her lap, exposing a sheet of framed glass. Almost glass. Just below the surface, a opalescent layer shimmered, the scintillating hues reminding her of an oil film floating on water in sunlight. There was a single square button on the frame. She pushed it.

The thing started humming. Suddenly, an image flickered into existence on the glass. White, with a white, bumpy texture. It was the ceiling overhead. She adjusted it until it was reflecting her face - and almost dropped it.

That ... thing ... in the glass was not her face. She was tired, she knew, and hung over and probably still slightly drunk, but the twisted, misshapen gargoyle in Ron's "window to a parallel universe" was not her. Was it?

Something inside her crumpled as she picked out the hue of the obsessed, beady eyes, the arch of the warted nose, the straight, white fangs, and the smeared massacre of the black eyeliner and startling red eyeshadow she'd applied last night. True, the skull looked like it had been mashed under an eighteen-wheeler and the ears were non-existent, but extra mascara had ensured that the eyelashes were perfect.

She had never looked like this, never would. This ... this thing was not the real Tori, the true Tori.

What was this, some kind of joke? She broke it over her bare knee, ignoring the blood that started welling from the cuts as the glass scattered over her floor, mixing with the other refuse already there. She started the shower. Ron was a freak.
Author:  FRODOFAN [ June 12th, 2007, 9:36 pm ]
Post subject: 
1st - 2
2nd - 4
Author:  Tintinnabulator [ June 12th, 2007, 10:07 pm ]
Post subject: 
1st choice (2 points) Entry 4
2nd choice (1 point) Entry 2
Author:  Elenya [ June 13th, 2007, 10:38 pm ]
Post subject: 
Great entries!

1st- Entry 4
2nd- Entry 2 ("today must be a Thursday" :lol:)
Author:  Nauriel Rochnur [ June 17th, 2007, 5:21 pm ]
Post subject: 
^"I never could get the hang of Thursdays.." :) Great book. Any way

Thaks for voting, all of you! My first contest has been a bit of a dud. :( Oh well. Better luck next time.
Author:  Johnny's Fan [ June 23rd, 2007, 6:18 pm ]
Post subject: 
1st: 2
2nd: 4
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