Writing Challenge, 75 Words, March 2011 -- THE JUDGE WINS!

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mosaix

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RULES:

Write a story inspired by the chosen theme in no more than 75 words
The title is not part of the word count -- or the story
It should be a story, not simply description
It can be prose or poetry
One entry per person
All stories Copyright 2011 by their respective authors, who grant the Chronicles Network the non-exclusive right to publish them here.




Contest ends at 11:59 pm GMT, March 23 2011
Voting Ends at 11:59 pm GMT, March 28 2011




You do not have to submit a story in order to vote -- in fact, we encourage all Chrons members to take part in choosing a winner


The Magnificent Prize:

The Dignified Congratulations/Groveling Admiration of Your Peers
and the privilege of choosing next month's theme or genre




This month's theme is:

Crime & Punishment



Stories are NOT restricted to any genre

Happy writing!​
 
Witness

From before your beginning, I’ve watched you playing your games, easily amused by your favourite toys.

They worship you. But you make them suffer. Inflicting disaster, disease and conflict for your pleasure.

I have witnessed everything.

They call you God, yet they do not know that you have your own Master to answer to. Like your brethren before you, you will be held to account.

This is my purpose.

For I will testify against you.
 
The Russian​

It is 1866, he writes fast, pen and ink on paper, three words a title for his greatest work.

Life has brought him here, from humble beginnings; through abuse and love; streets where insane screams rend the night. Suffering like Tolstoy cerebral lapses; his mother claimed by disease; his father drowned in vodka; imprisoned for his beliefs; gambling debts that nearly break him.

Perhaps this is his punishment, but he writes and will be remembered.
 
Too late now

“Little bird red is dead.” Said Fred.
“Little bird blue is too.” Said Drew.
He lifted his hammer, tilting his head.
Their eyes wide and their noses bled.
“Little bird blue. Little bird red are both dead,
and you will join them Drew and Fred.”
“Nothing will bring them back,” he said.
“at your hands they are now dead.”
The hammer hit, ringing true.
Bringing justice to Fred and Drew.
 
Category: Bloodlust






The fallen soul stood before Minos, judge of Hell. The king sniffed deeply and growled.
“Violence overwhelms you. More than that of war. Reveling in the slaughter of both innocents and enemies, partaking of such actions that none should. For your evil zealotry, I place you within the special circle of hell of lust!”
The soul spluttered in disbelief.
“Do you think lust is contained within one category? You will be punished for your crimes.”
 
The tribe assembled with a years’ worth of sins. Theft, adultery, lies, blasphemies and worse had been committed.
These mistakes would be purged again from society.
Lots were cast. One was chosen.
“He is innocent!” protested his parents.
“All the better!” replied the elders.
So on the first warm day of spring, the people poured lambs’ blood on his head and beat him with sticks until
the boy ran from the village, never to return.
 
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The edge of reason

The rest of my tears I shed because no matter what anyone said, I loved them.
My fifth tear fell from because I knew my life sentence was now deserved.
My fourth tear fell for the injustice in the world.
My third tear fell for my two children.
My second tear fell for my wife.
The first tear fell when I stood there, facing the three of them; and I pulled the trigger.
“Forgive me”
 
Sentenced to Life

They had always exiled criminals offworld, and her sentence was no different. A traitor, they said. A scaremonger. True, she had broken the law by leaking that information, but the world had a right to know that their sun was dying. No-one had believed her, or even listened! How many would die because of it?

From her cell on the prison ship, she looked back on the world she had tried to save and wept.
 
The Zealot

She spent her sixteenth birthday alone, in a quiet corner of the abbey. Television on before her; her only window to a world she'd never known.

Liars. Gluttons. Fornicators. Blasphemers. She loathed them and their world.

"You're my refuge. Bring me closer to you." She whispered and stepped off the stool.

Wood groaned. Rope snapped taught. First pain, then freedom.

Her spirit soared to the Pearly Gates. Yet, from beyond them He bellowed, disgusted, "DEPART!".
 
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Romans 12:19


As my consciousness faded, taking with it the choked cries of my family, and the bleep of failed machines, She came to me.
Enveloping me.
Leading me onward.
Whispering.
Sobbing, into my mind.


“I was the second, but will be the last. Flesh of my flesh, I come to bear witness, as He decreed.”
“For all my children.”
“To endure the pain of your coming, and the bitter anguish of your loss.”
 
What Really Happened To Tom.


He knew it was wrong, specially after the beating he took last time, but he'd never seen such a large pig.

They found him asleep, in the barn,fully sated surrounded by the remains of his theft.

His father shook his head "Tom that pig was for the village feast, and now I need to give something in return"

Tom's eyes widened as the knife in his father's hand descended towards his exposed throat.​
 
Wickedness and What For

Slavery. That’s what they called it. Ungrateful little…

I needed a break from the complaints so when the farmer’s wife came to the door I gladly went out to speak with her.

She offered me an apple and I took it. Those lazy creatures hadn’t cooked my dinner yet and I was starving.

As I bit into the fruit, I noticed the bad-tempered dwarf watching me from my cottage window.

After that, everything went dark.
 
Pilate

Hands washed...
Scrubbed..
Think they may be bleeding
(no blood ,not again!)
They're clean now ,
Clean I tell you
Of that dread decision
(out damn spot - ha!)
Conscience clear
Adams sin removed
Once more
(but not the Apple)
Tossing,turning
Condemned
To sleepless days
(and waking nightmares)
What right have I
To judge
Man from God
(or God from Man)

Don't answer that
Please don't answer
 
Family


A door slammed outside, heralding the arrival of yet another poor soul. He returned to what would be his last ever meal, the potatoes and beef likely having come from his own seized fields.

Had it been worth it? Undoubtedly, yes. If it meant his family could escape, he would have killed an entire battalion of soldiers.

A tortured voice rose from the next cell.

"Daddy?"

The food in his mouth turned to ashes.
 
The Last Biscuit

Cuddling biscuit barrel tight
He heaved the lid with all his might.
Ginger, chocolate, shortbread smell,
But from its weight he could tell,
Just one biscuit there was left.
At such a risk he felt bereft.

Crumbs round mouth, lid replaced,
Guiltily turning at footstep placed.
“My last biscuit! You ugly child.
Now I eat you” said Ogre wild.

Oh no! He thought, it wasn’t my dream,
Life is worth more than a custard cream!
 
Völuspá – In the Wolf Age

Treason you say?
He was a tyrant, uneasy on his throne,
For he left bloody footprints on his way to claim it.
He defiled our innocent daughters.
No woman escaped his lechery.
By stealth in the dark we slew him.
Our daggers were swift and merciless.
You call it fratricide; we called it justice.
Yes, we were fools, trading one bloody tyrant for another.
So the cycle continues,
And the world crumbles …
 
Wilson the Spider.

Crossing his web, the silky trap shimmered terror in his wake.
A fly struggled to escape.

I’d stalked and killed before, like the spider.
My victim had no chance, like the fly.

Twenty years a prison castaway, if only I could go back, life would be different.

Oblivious to my pain, the spider moved in.
Who would die? I could choose.

I squashed Wilson, he’d be a miss.

The fly flew to freedom.

Lights out…
 
(I believe I followed the requirements)

The last straw


His eyes widen in frustration but most of all excitement. The ogre stole his staff and was mocking him, talking to him as a child. How many times has he gotten his staff back just to have the ogre take it? The next time his staff was freed from the ogres grasp he would punish the beast. The ogre threw the staff and spot bit the ogre. “Spot what are you doing” the man yelled.
 
Judge, Jury, and...


He sat in silence, moonlight streaking through the barred window, taunting him with the chilled air of freedom.

It is time...

They had passed the sentence, but he would be the executioner.

Poor fools...

He held the sheet tightly, securing it to the bars. Slipping it around his neck, he smiled and let his legs go limp.

So I escape. Oh, to see their faces when they learn the truth...

Then he thought no more.
 
Here goes...

The Feather

Such a little thing, a life. In his hands my heart is impossibly small, red and wrinkled like an old man’s sunburned head, and by its ugliness alone I know what is to come.

The Lord raises his head and meets my eyes. In their dark depths there is no pity.

The scales do not balance.
 
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