Writing The Otaku Prose Contest Round 2 (Vicky VS. DeLarge)

[Mykul]

[CENTER]Hello again, and welcome to the

[SIZE="4"][B]GREAT OTAKU PROSE CONTTEST

[SIZE="2"]Round 2

[SIZE="4"][FONT="Impact"]Vicky VERSUS DeLarge[/B][/FONT][/SIZE][/SIZE][/SIZE]

[SIZE="1"]Voting is open to all Otaku members except Vicky and DeLarge. Voters, please state your vote clearly. Also, please provide information that shows why you voted the way you did. [COLOR="Red"]The deadline for voting is Saturday, March 28.[/COLOR] [/SIZE][/CENTER]

[SIZE="4"][FONT="Courier New"][B][U]The Challenge: Sick and Twisted[/U][/B][/FONT][/SIZE]
Vicky says that she and DeLarge both think in the same odd, dark, and twisted way. With that in mind, this challenge should be fitting. Each contest will write one piece containing [SIZE="3"]400[/SIZE] to [SIZE="3"]800[/SIZE] words. The goal of this challenge is to see exactly how disturbed you can make your reader feel. Voters should choose which story is more likely to instill in them an overall feeling of uneasiness (or dementia, if the authors are up to the task).

[SIZE="1"][COLOR="Red"]All submissions should be in by Saturday, March 21. [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[DeLarge]

[SIZE=1]Here goes nothing:

He coughs and splutters back into consciousness, sitting bolt upright in his cold hospital bed, the stained sheets pulled up in a crumpled heap around him. Wiping the cold perspiration from his numb skin, his fingers brush across the tube inserted into his left nostril. He panics, his hand shaking as he wraps his lifeless fingers around the tube and pulls with all his ill-conserved strength. Feeling resistance, he pulls harder. Eventually, the tube finally comes free, all eighteen inches of it sliding up his throat and out of his nasal cavity with a gush of blood and mucus.

Choking, he yanks the IV line out of his arm, wiping up the blood with a corner of his sheet, and gets to his feet, shakily. The laminate floor is freezing cold and hard under his bare feet, and his head is swimming. He summons up enough of his intelligence to grab the chart hanging on the end of his bed, and flips it open, trying desperately to focus his eyes on the print inside.

[B]"Ch...Charles Galloway..."[/B] he mumbles, his voice croaking as he manoeuvres his dry tongue and vocal cords over the unfamiliar words. Something in his memory seems to stir, but it is swiftly obscured by a strange, chemically-induced fug. He shakes his head, as if to try and dislodge something, then runs his hand over his close-cropped hair, his hand coming away sticky and warm. Struggling to focus on his hand, he sees the thick, crimson fluid dripping from his fingers, appearing slick and shiny in the harsh neon light of the ward.

He has a visceral physical reaction, feeling the hot bile run up the same course as the tube had earlier, and ejects the contents of his stomach onto the floor, the hot liquid burning the inside of his throat, mouth and nose. He retches until he is choking on the stale air of the hospital ward, and then forces himself to his feet and through the swinging doors of the ward.

The lights in the hallway flicker erratically, if anything inducing more nausea deep in the pit of his stomach. Shadows dance and play over the walls, the light in between them illuminating the dark red stains and smears across every surface. He staggers through the visions, forcing himself onwards, his willpower strong even through the strange half-life he finds himself in. Feeling something sludgy underfoot, he looks down, and sees congealed blood seep up between his toes. The metallic tang of blood fills the air, mingling with vomit and the stench of death and decay. He breathes in, the acrid smell of burnt flesh lingering in the back of his nose and throat.
[B]
?Hello??[/B] he chokes through the overwhelmingly pungent aromas, his voice echoing, lonely and isolated through the empty hallways, [B]"Hello??[/B]

Staggering onwards, his foot hits something soft, lying in one of the pools of shadow. Crouching down slowly and steadily, he reaches out. Tentatively, his hand creeps across the floor towards his foot, and feels something spongy lying on the floor. He moves closer, peering down at the bizarre object, then recoils in horror, feeling the bile rise up in his throat once more.

Lying in front of him, twisted and contorted into a grotesque shape, was a human body, the mouth curled into a grimace and the limbs forced into physically impossible positions. Bright white teeth poked out between dry, flaky lips, and the skin was decomposing, rotting under the corpse?s ragged clothes.

He clamps his quivering hand over his mouth, but can?t hold it in. Moving away from the cadaver as quickly as possible, he releases a torrent of liquid from his mouth. Hot tears stream from his eyes as his mind begins to comprehend the situation he is in, and as the bile dries up once more he notices a splash of scarlet flowing across the floor. Wiping his hand across his mouth, his fingers come away bloody.

[B]?No...?[/B] he gurgles through a mouthful of blood. He drops to the floor, the crimson liquid dribbling from the corners of his mouth and running down his cheeks. He feels the warm fluid begin to run from his nose, every trail of blood mingling, sticking his hair together in clumps. He coughs and splutters, splashing blood and saliva across the walls, slumping to the floor.

Every ounce of energy drains from him, and his stomach and chest begin to convulse roughly and violently. Wracking pain jolts through him, and he feels the darkness engulf him slowly and agonisingly.
His final thought is one of pain: he is dying alone and isolated in this hellish place, with no memory of who he was or any of his loved ones. With a final bloody, stabbing convulsion, he stops moving and breathing.

Alone.
[/SIZE]

[Vicky]

[SIZE=1]A/N: Originally the idea was about 600 words but it stretched into the limit of 800. Anyway, I said to my brother when I was little that I'm not scared of the bogey (boogie, boogey, 'tever) man because I knew he was here to protect me. My brother said "well, maybe the boogie man takes you to his house where I'm not there..." and it terrified me. As a teenager, it doesn't anymore... but with this I tried to put that fear back into that creepy childhood monster.[/size]

---

[font=lucida sans][align=justify]Hello, there, can you see me? I?m wrapped in a duvet of haze when I?m not under your bed or hiding in your closet. I?m the real boogie man, dear boy, and I?ll take you away from this world, into mine.

Come to my room. We?re away from the blue painted walls, the aeroplanes and fire engines, now we?re at the dungeon. I?ll walk you through the dark, don?t use your eyes ? you can?t see here ? let me be your eyes and walk you through the home. Use the sense of touch and make sure you?re always touching me.

Do you feel that in the corner? It?s my little girl? she tried to escape by digging through the walls with her bitten fingernails. And, well, she didn?t quite make it because the walls caved in? no, no she wasn?t crushed, she choked on the dust? the same shit that?s still on her dried lips and green carapace skin like the algae covered lakes. Her skin even scares me? because it?s the only part of this house that still bares colour. Sick, sick algae colour.

I can see you, boy. Look in my closet. What?s that smell, you ask? It?s making you ill, you say? Like vomit, used gauze, very sour and almost salty? Reminiscent, perhaps, of something you?ve eaten in the past? The closet is for secrets only? there?s a lot of people who haven?t come out of the closet. A lot of nasty little things you?re too young to understand yet. But I?ll make you understand and you can stay in my bed, I?ll watch you and you will make me unbearably sticky.

Now just walk through the door of the closet with me; I know the haze is heavy here but it?s to keep them warm. The floor rises here, so just step up. It feels like hard, gritty cushions, and wet in some places because, yes, the blood hasn?t dried; it still drips from their faces off the bones where their skin once lay on their beautiful naked little bodies. The smell gets worse, I know, I know, though you?ll get used to it. Dead flesh doesn?t burn the nasal passages, only the brain and the eyes. No, no, the lights stay off; little boys should not see such mishaps. They are the past and you are all that matters to me now.

Don?t worry as we get further about the even [I]stranger[/I] feelings beneath your feet, or the flies bumping against your legs. They?re being affectionate, nuzzling you. My hands are on your shoulders but put your arms out so you don?t fall; against the wall like a crucified God, that?s right, and feel the paint work. Feel the scratches that are my nails and teeth? or someone else?s. That foul salty smell gets stronger and tastes sweeter, that?s what I like to call [I]putrid ecstasy[/I], my boy. You?ll learn everything important before you leave this place.

Oh, no.

You?ve fell on your knees and touched something? [I]nasty[/I] down there. And the bile in your throat? too much to keep in? Yes. It rises in your throat and, look, I?m here with my hands over your mouth to catch most of it and wipe it away. You cough and choke and whimper but sshhh? shh? it?s all gone now.

Bile is vile they say. I say it smells lovely ? like honey and nectar. I wipe it off your mouth with the back of my hand and pull you up and we walk again? and while you?re in the dark I take a quick taste. Exotic. Tropical. Juice. Nectar and honey from the pit of your stomach. That?s where your soul is, you know.

And here. Here we are my sweet little boy. Now lay down in the bed and get yourself comfortable; I will play mummy, and read you a story, and kiss you goodnight. A [I]certain[/I] good night. Let me take a good look at you, first.

Let me stroke you. My hands are cold like ice and colourless like they?ve always been and your face is hot, your eyes are deep and blue. They almost look into mine but in me you?ll find nothing except a void of tremendous love; I love you. I love you. I want to share everything with you? my world? and my dreams. All I want from you is that innocence that keeps me alive, and you can have the ferocious vulgarity that keeps me nested in the darkest fears of your brothers.

?I can see you??

Ah. Now [I]that[/I] is what I wanted to hear. That sweet, uncertain, sick-filled whisper from your throat. And in a moment you will be able to see me perfectly clear? we?ll become one, my boy.

1. 2. 3.

Good night, little boy.[/font][/align]

[chibi-master]

Crap...I liked both of them so much...I don't know who to vote for...:animedepr Uhm.....I vote for [B]Vicky's[/B]. Why? Well, I liked how it made me feel like I was in the story. It sorta made the Boogie Man seem like a child molester.... I also voted for this one because I flipped a coin. I'M SORRY, BUT THEY WERE BOTH JUST SO AWESOME!!!:animecry: It was the only waaay!!!

[Drizzt Do'urden]

Wow, good job both of you. Delarge, you were the underdog(in my eyes) in this and came out swinging. Your story really made me feel gross, and sort've sorrowfull.

Vicky, I had you figured to win this one and I was not dissapointed. Your story both disturbed and sickened me.

In this contest, which is the closest I've voted on thus far, I'm going to throw my lot in for [B]Vicky[/B] on this one.

But again, nicely done both of you.

[Botar]

Vickey gets the vote. Im still wiping the filth off my body, good job both of you.

[OMNOMNOMALY]

[FONT="Garamond"]Alright, so I'm going to have to go with Vicky for this one. It made me feel very squicked out with some of the pedophile feeling references from the boogie man's point of view. A scary childhood story with a real world even scarier twist. Effed up.

Good job, both of you.[/FONT]

[Rachmaninoff]

I think DeLarge made good use of descriptions. It was creepy but not really disturbed enough in my opinion. Vicky on the other hand kept skirting the edge of being very disturbing with the pedophile feel to how the story progressed. So my vote goes to [B]Vicky[/B] for this round.

[Mykul]

[CENTER]And the winner of this match is

[SIZE="4"][FONT="Impact"][B]VICKY[/B][/FONT][/SIZE][/CENTER]