Old Made
by RKT

Comment:
I hope you don't get DQ'd for this border, or for the texture overlay.

Sunset Bridge
by luvmyaussie

Comment:
He had walked far that day, on this journey of his. He was traveling the land, seeking himself, or at the very least, seeking to release what was already within himself, and so far he'd had a wonderful journey. For the most part, it had been carefree and of no event.

Then he'd stopped in that village this morning for a small bite to eat and a coffee, and had explained that he was to be going up Deadman's Road, as he heard there was some beautiful scenery that way. The room had gone quiet then, so that not a sound could be heard. It was like the very air had breathed in and refused to release itself.

He grinned uncomfortably and asked his waitress what the matter was. In a hushed whisper, her face ghostly white, she had uttered only that if he had any sense in his body, he would avoid that road. "Do not enter the covered bridge!" she had almost squealed, or would have if she had any breath left in her lungs.

With that, she told him quickly that his breakfast was on the house and that he should leave them, and such was her urgency that he decided not to make trouble and left the place.

Still, curiosity was stronger than fear in him, and laughing off what he considered the superstitions of a bunch of backwoods villagers, he decided to go his chosen path.

For most of the day he'd followed that road, which was called Deadman's for a reason unknown to him at the time. Had he known, perhaps he wouldn't have taken that road, though perhaps he would have still.

He followed that road without incident until the sun began to rain fire among the clouds and turned the air golden hued. It was then that he came upon it, the covered bridge. It stood there like any bridge, glowing red-orange in the deep light of the early evening, but looking absolutely unremarkable, and certainly not like a thing of horror and fear.

He laughed at the memory of the waitress, who had seemed near death with fright, and shook his head. The things that people allow themselves to fear. It could be so foolish.

So he hitched up his pack and started across that bridge, sitting in the middle of an expanse of fields and grass, and strolled across without much thought at all. Laughing, he reached the opening at the far end, and standing just inside, gazing at the final moments of the sunset beyond, he turned back to the gathering darkness behind him and began to shout out that victory was his. That he had beaten the silly bridge.

He began to shout, but no sound escaped him. No sound but a keening whistle from his suddenly constricted throat. For before him was a ghastly specter, glowing a sickly green, and dripping an oozing smoky slime. It floated there in front of him and then released a screeching wail that filled his head and his soul, a pitch that was almost beyond physical sound, but threatened to shatter him entire. He dropped to his knees, his body clenched in a deathly rictus, his mouth open in a silent scream, and the dripping, venomnous thing that was like mist and moisture ceased it's wail, and attacked.

Yes, in the end, he discovered why it was called Deadman's Road, but he was never found to explain it to anyone else.

Budapest Chain Bridge
by zifengw

Comment:
While not as popular as "London Bridge is Falling Down", there were still some children in parts of the world that enjoyed the lesser known tune of "Budapest Chain Bridge is Staying Up", though there were not many.

Mountain Morning
by Len Scap

Comment:
When it began, nobody took notice, for it began far from prying eyes. It began above the peaks and forests in a wilderness that few traversed, and none had settled.

On the day of our doom, the clouds above these peaks grew thick, and dark, and fire flashed within, and the heat seared the air and ground and set all it touched aflame.

By the time it reached more settled ground, where we as humanity gathered and lived, it had grown to such chaos and violence that we never stood a chance, and the fire and death rained from the sky and the very earth was turned to glass.

The instrument of our doom had started above the instrument of our life, and it seemed a fitting end.

To some.

I am my Beloved's and He is Mine
by irish_princess87

Comment:
Though his cousin went on to become a legend in a tale told across the world, Charlie, The Other One Ring, never discovered such success.

Instead, his lot was to be lost down a sewer drain, to be found not by a small halfling creature and set upon a path of adventure and epic quest, but by a maintenance worker that set him upon his kitchen counter as a present to his niece, and the only adventure he would see would be what could be found in the Willowdale Mall.

Yet Charlie was not entirely unhappy, for if he could take one positive out of his situation, it is that HE wasn't tossed into a mountain of fire.

Home Port
by sailjo

Comment:
Gary bobbed on the water, tied to this spot near the breakwater, itching to go. It wasn't very long ago that he would be out on a day like this, floating in the great blue sea, enjoying the sun and the waves and the dolphins lazily bumping him now and then playfully.

It wasn't very long ago that the old man would take him out and fill his holding tank full of fish or lay back and snooze in the lazy afternoon sun. It wasn't very long ago.

But now, he sat here. He sat here and wondered why the old man didn't come. He sat here and thought about his empty holding tank and felt the scratch of the sand on his hull and a sad thought began to creep up on him.

What if the old man never returned? What if he was doomed to remain here, rotting in this shallow spot, never feeling the waves and the rush of wind and seeing the playful dolphins, or hearing the snores as the old man slept?

He bobbed in the water, and the day passed, and still the old man didn't come.

What if?

bud
by undieyatch

Comment:
In the vastness of the universe, floating through clouds of stardust and energy, it lived. It had existed since the beginning of all knowledge and existence. It was old beyond measure, but even the eldest of things must one day cease to be.

Yet it was not to die without cause, without purpose. It floated there, in the emptiness that was not entirely empty, a massive pod that could swallow a billion planets. Old and decayed and withered. It floated there and seemed dead to any eyes that might behold it.

Then, so slowly that even time could not measure it, it began to open. A crack appeared at one end, and it began to bloom. Over the eons that remained of its life, it cracked open to reveal its legacy. The birth of a thousand newborn entities of its likeness.

And as they scattered into the vast unknown, it finally ceased to be. Its consciousness winking out in a final unremarkable gasp.

First Steps, Under A Watchful Eye
by nidici

Comment:
And so she gazed upon her newly arrived chick with the love that only a mother can give. With a sense of awe and happiness and confusion and anxiety and joy and any and every emotion possible, all wrapped up into one.

She gazed and she loved and she hoped and she dreamed.

Such is motherhood through all species and barriers. To the end of time.

Remembering The Fallen
by 3DsArcher

Comment:
He stood there, trying hard to remain proud, and strong, but an unexpected memory had broken through his barriers. It had come creeping in from the depths of his soul, where long he had buried it, thinking it so deep that it could never surface.

Yet surface it did, and caused him to sag in his proud stance, and he grabbed for the stock of his rifle to try and steady himself, for his mind swooned and threatened to topple him, and his eyes dropped to the ground and tears welled up uncalled for.

In his mind the cries and screams of the one that he had failed. The haunting memory of the sounds of gun-fire and dying and a sense of helplessness that threatened to tear him apart. The memory of the day that he could not reach the only man that he had ever truly called friend. The memory and guilt of that day that suddenly washed over him.

Yet even as his strength faltered, something deep inside kept him standing, and even as the tears ran down his face, he somehow found it within him to steady himself, to look back up, to stand straight and true.

It was his duty. It was his call. It was why he was here, and he would honor those that were lost, even if that loss had broken his very soul.

Why are you pestering me for your photo challenge?
by herculesksp

Comment:
He sat there, alone, and tried desperately to remember his lines. For he was rehearsing for the ZooLand Players Theater's rendition of "The Lady and the Tiger", and he wanted to play his role to perfection.

So he sat, and he rehearsed, and he said his lines again and again, and gestured with his paws, and concentrated like he'd never concentrated before.

Because of his vigilance, opening night became a night that was never forgotten.