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Weekly Contest #105
Arnell, 2003: Arnell Donnelly was a writer. He firmly believed in the candor books had been able to express, with stories and truths unshakable to the core, ringing with an anthem so soft and pure only the most attentive could hear. He considered himself a learner, a reflector; a scholar so to speak. His life had been built around books, he had been reading by the age of 3. Books were friends you could count on, who told adventures, truths, ideas, perspectives you could never experience. Arnell was fascinated by stories and legends, the ones...
Weekly Contest #80
Arnell, 2003: Arnell Donnelly was a writer. He firmly believed in the candor books had been able to express, with stories and truths unshakable to the core, ringing with an anthem so soft and pure only the most attentive could hear. He considered himself a learner, a reflector; a scholar so to speak. His life had been built around books, he had been reading by the age of 3. Books were friends you could count on, who told adventures, truths, ideas, perspectives you could never experience. Arnell was fascinated by stories and legends, the o...
Weekly Contest #57
Lemming was a small town, remnants of a large port since abandoned. Well not really abandoned, just forgotten as time had progressed. Rederk stood on Fifth avenue, perpendicular from Herbert street, a name he still fumed at. He was an elderly man, bent and frail, his skin weather beaten, and worry lines written into his face. His face was ashen grey and his eyes were vague and glassy. Streetlamps shown dimly and people in muted colored coats shuffled hurriedly past. This is where it was. This is where it had all begun. The houses on th...
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