140 Words

The creak of boards surprised Nick. She was next to him.

He dared not breathe. He hadn't seen her coming through the heavy fog.

He watched her from the corner of his eye. Any sound, any movement, from him and she would go. He'd waited his whole life for this.

"The night will be cold," she said.

Her tone was so beautiful he could scarcely believe it. Her voice was supposed to be raspy.

"Nicholas," she said, still looking out over the water, "I know you want to ask me something. Ask it."

He looked at her. The elders had said she had no skin, only a tangle of seaweed, but she had a woman's face. A beautiful woman's face. Smooth skin, bright, loving eyes.

Nick swallowed hard. "Why did you kill me?"

She smiled.

"Because you wanted me to."

198 Words

The trees chose as their champion a man who was their sworn enemy. He was a man of despicable qualities, intemperate disposition, and of a shady, low past. He was also the greatest hero in the history of the world.

Ed winced. Some helper painted "Egg Paragon" across the side of his hangar in six-foot letters. He had slight speech impediment when it came to the letter 'D,' so people thought his name was Eggward. It was annoying enough as a nobody, but now that he was famous, it really got under his skin.

He never tried to be an environmentalist. He used to be a truck driver for a company that hauled toxic waste, and he loved it. He was known for an uncanny ability to empty his truck faster than all the other drivers. His other passions were obtaining money and flying homemade helicopters.

Until fate stepped in.

Swallowing his apprehension, he stepped in through the side door. There were pots and bags of soil all around the room. Ed swore to himself that he'd make the Damned Thing stop spitting out all those trees and give him his office back, come hell or high water.

200 Words

The rain thundered down, flattening the edge of rain forest he tried to hide in.

Josue's cry betrayed his position, and Simon dove behind a wide mesua tree. Lead spat into the bush just inches behind him.

"Damn you, Callow!" Simon shouted as he stuck his 9mm out around the side of the trunk and emptied his clip blindly toward his pursuers. "This wasn't in the training video!"

His eyes searched for a way out. Josue's English garden may have been wide open, but the Sinhajara was dense jungle cover. If he could make a dozen meters, he could vanish into it.

He took a single step back and heard the click, the metallic spring of the trip wire.

He spun to his right, lunging for the far side of the tree, back into the hail of bullets.

Dirt sprayed at him.

The mine vaulted up from the ground.

Simon struggled against the continual pounding on his body.

"Hey," Tom called. "Wake up, already."

Simon's eyes finally responded, snapping open. "I hate monsoon season."

"I can't imagine why." Tom was soaked despite his camouflage rain poncho. "How'd you fall asleep in this, anyway?"

Simon frowned. "I've been here before."

Entrants were not allowed to submit Nightwatch pieces. I just couldn't resist using this old bit I had on file. - Nate

I yawned, opened my eyes - and then immediately closed them again. The light was so bright! I let go with my feet and dropped, spreading my wings as I fell. I kept my eyes closed; by some instinct, I opened my mouth and sang instead. Only instead of hearing my own voice - as you might no doubt expect - I rather heard the objects around me singing. It was - I don't really know how to describe it properly. The best I can do would be to suggest that they sang back in colours rather than sounds - the bookcase, for example, was a bright white sound, while the unmade bed in the corner of the room was a muted and very dark navy blue.

Breakfast I thought. I left my room, went to the staircase, flew over the banister and -

- now, I realise I'm not exactly a morning person, but I have to admit that, odd though it seems to write about it now, at the time I didn't even notice anything strange. In fact, the utter weirdness of the whole morning only hit me when my sister first saw me, when she cried out:

"A BAT!"

I curse my teachers of Latin with their fine letters, and those masters of rhetoric who drilled me for hours. I curse them for they taught me to write. I hate them for it — for now I must write this. And I curse you who reads this most miserable missive in your hands. I hate myself for the writing.

A scratchy hay nest hides me as I compose. I have nothing to fear if I am discovered. I am in a barn on the Estates Coucy. All know me here as the youngest child of the Earl. I have two things to accomplish before stepping into my father's keep. First the words you read. Second, I must secret my treasure on the estate, throwing it into a bog on the eastern boundaries, seventeen steps from the gnarled oak tree with its wide and varied limbs.

I delay my tale…

"This sword does not stand between the king and his enemies. This sword trains the swords that do stand twixt the royal purple and its foes. Now, en garde." Damaris charged me. My practice sword flew away into the air. I fell ignominiously on my flat ass, deflecting his blade.

Stephen woke to the metallic pounding of a nearby engine, felt its oily heat practically searing his skin. He closed his eyes again briefly, hoping that wherever he now was would go away and take the blasted machine with it. It didn't. Giving in then to the heat, odor, and relentless sound, Stephen took in his new, alien surroundings.

"Hell," he said, "I'm in hell."

"Of course you're in hell," a nearby voice yelled, giving Stephen such a start that he nearly fell off the small cot on which he had been lying.

"Yiieee!" he screamed.

"Knock that off," the voice said gruffly.

Stephen looked over to see a short, filthy character snarling at him.

"Get up and get busy."

"You can see me?" Stephen asked.

"Of course I can see you," the man said, "you bone-idle, jackanapes?"

"Hurry with that coal," another man, standing by a large oven at one end of the large engine, called over, "and stop jibber jabbin' wit yourself."

"This is not happening," Stephen said, shaking his head.

He closed his eyes again, but when he reopened them, the two men and the merciless machine were still there.

"Crap," he groaned, "holy crap."

His was a soul seeking asylum.

From his vantage point Gunnar Truth surveyed the village wall. Though hidden by the morning fog now, he knew that the heat of the sun would quickly boil it off in the high places first, and he was behind a rock on a hill. Some sort of winged insect the size of a sparrow from back home whirred past his nose and made him jump back. Even after weeks he was still skittish and in this harsh land it was amazing he was still alive.

His hand reflexively caressed the butt of the pistol in his holster. What he wouldn't give for a light-beam weapon, but in this case he was indeed thankful to God for this bountiful gift. Few who dropped had weapons of any sort. Any smart enough to make one on the surface usually didn't have time. Gunnar had only nine bullets left… he felt like a cat.

It would be much safer in the village: warmth from the freezing nights, shade from the burning days, food, water. But before he walked down and introduced himself, he had to determine which sect they belonged to. He only prayed they weren't Catholics.

She sighed and plopped onto her squashy lounge chair. At last, after a long day at work, she could relax. She put her feet up and reached for the TV remote. And then suddenly – she felt it coming. She had learnt, now that she had been getting premonitions for almost ten years, to know when one was about to come.

It had started when she was still in school, with trivial things, like a premonition of what questions would be in a test. Over time, she had begun to see more and more important things, and over the past couple of years, whatever she saw was generally the top headline in the next day's newspaper.

The dizziness… the feeling of very rapid movement… and then it came. A body… her father's body! Everything went dark and she flashed back to reality, where she was whimpering and crying. 'Dad… dad!' She cried for hours, until she ran out of tears and just sat there, rocking herself in the darkness. Even then, in the silence, she couldn't admit to herself what she had seen. She couldn't admit that tomorrow her father would die, and that… that she would kill him.