Before we get started I need to familiarize you all with the new rule:
Because of recent events that keep reoccurring I feel that I need to instill this new rule. Whenever you sign up for a one shot competition and you don't enter, you lose the right to participate in the next one shot competition. This is fair because I send out three notices and even if you aren't on my friends list, you are still notified three times via friend request or comment on your page. I WILL keep track of who doesn't turn in their one shot.
Note: I'm just starting this so if you didn't turn in your one shot last time this is your last chance.
One shot competition #3:
As always you have 3 choices.
Deadline for entries: March 31st
Voting begins: April 1st.
Voting ends: April 5th
Participants: slash means that one shot has been turned in
Luna- Option B
all star- Option B
Sparkling City lights- Option C
Shadow- Option A
Vasilia *Raise your glass*- Option A
Dawn Jean- Option C
Hannah~Masquerade~ - Option A
Nicole- Option A
A reunion by Luna
Here we go again by Hannah~Masquerade~Colored Paper and Mrs. Kahan by Nicole
Thank you for letting me know. Next time, please don't sign up unless you are positive that you can join, and also in the future make this a new comment instead of replying to an old one because then I can't find it easily and that would result in you being banned from entering the next competition.
No hard feelings,
I am portrayed as a demon in pop culture. A hooded figure carrying a scythe, whisking away the souls of your loved ones. I am supposed to be War's best friend or lover.
Here is a small fact:
I despise War and all it takes from mankind.
Which is why I was so close to tears at the Bombing of Himmel Street in 1943. I watched the bombs rain down in the dead of night. I floated into each house and plucked every life away. Or so I thought.
The next day, they found her. A young girl, alive and well, hiding in the basement of 33 Himmel Street, clutching a book. I watched as she screamed for her papa and mama, ran, searching for life, when it was only her and the police.
"Rudy?" she whispered, as she came across a boy with hair as yellow as lemon, sprawled across the ground with closed eyes. She threw herself over him. "Rudy," she sobbed, "wake up… … Rudy, please, wake up, goddamn it, I love you. Come on…"
Rudy would not awake.
I especially hated plucking his soul from his bed. He had so much more to live for. He had love.
The girl buried her face in Rudy's chest. "Wake up for me, please, Rudy. Your best friend, Liesel."
And then, it hit me.
We had met before. Twice before. On a train, four years ago, as I snatched a young boy with a cough and blank face. Right after an air raid only a year ago, when an American soldier attempting at bombing was killed. She was there, with the boy. And now here Liesel Meminger is, still alive, but with no desire to live.
"Rudy," she pleaded yet again. And then she did what she had wanted to do ever since she met this obnoxious, eager young boy when she first moved in with her foster parents, Rosa and Hans Hubermann.
She leaned down and looked at his lifeless face and Liesel kissed her best friend, Rudy Steiner, soft and true on his lips. He tasted dusty and sweet. He tasted like regret in the shadows of trees and in the glow of the anarchist's suit collection. She kissed him long and soft, and when she pulled herself away, she touched his mouth with her fingers.
She reluctantly left her best friend's side, and turned to find her mama and papa tangled together in a dance of the dead.
As she stood and stared, then screamed and sobbed, I noticed something lying in the dust. A book. A book Liesel Meminger had dropped in disbelief and agony in all this one-girl hubbub. Carefully, I pulled out the paper wrapped in leather and tucked it in my pocket. Then I walked away, as the sight of this teenage girl rocking back and forth in front of her dead parents was too much for even Death himself.
The book I stole from Liesel Meminger was her fate. It saved her life, a life she didn't want anymore.
I fingered through the old pages stained with ink, and learned more about this girl, the book thief:
Page 1: I try to ignore it,but I know this all started with the train and the snow and my coughing brother. I stole my first book that day. It was a manual for digging graves and I stole it on my way to Himmel Street…
It was 175 pages of The Book Thief's past four years of her life:
Page 175: A book floated down the Amper River. A boy jumped in, caught up to it, and held it in his right hand. He grinned. He stood waist-deep in the icy, Decemberish water. "How about a kiss, Saumensch?" he asked.
She was talking of Rudy Steiner, the dead boy she had kissed. He was in a childish amateur love with her. He would run through the streets, painted black like Jesse Owens, for her, like he did right before they met. He would do pretty much anything.
The Last Line of the Book Thief's Own Book:
I have hated words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.
And as she wrote this, the bombs showered down, accompanied by me.
Now let us flash to the present. I sit in front of Liesel Meminger's house in Sydney, Australia, the spring wind whispering a lullaby to the neighborhood. As she shuts her eyes for all eternity, I let myself in and tug her out of life's grip. That's when she's given back the book I had kept and read all those years.
The old woman is astonished. "Is this really it?" she asks.
I nod. We begin our journey to heaven, and she is greeted by someone she had yearned for all those years, a fringe of yellow covering his smug eyes.
"Rudy," she whispers, her old-woman eyes widening.
He looks up and smiles at the old woman that was his best friend. "How about kiss, Saumensch?" he asks, as he had all those years.
The book thief's now white top of hair darkens back to a brown that reaches her shoulders. Her skin tightens, wrinkle free, and she rises a couple inches, and she is again the frisky young girl she was before the bombing.
"Jesse Owens," she says with a smile so happy it's beautiful, and she runs into his arms and gives him the kiss he deserves. "You're awake," I hear her whisper.
A Final Note From Your Narrator:
Scenes like this make me tear up and proud of the human race.
This story was amazing! Unfortunately, I haven't read the Book Thief, so some parts were a little confusing to me, but other than that it was amazing!
Can I please enter??
Option A please.
This was really cool. The funny thing is that on the first day of school in science this year we played the human bingo game. AND this year I'm in Advanced History, English and math. :)