Back in 2007. i went with friends to Iron Maiden concert in Belgrade. We had couple of beers before the concert and at some point i realized i lost the ticket (i guess i made someone happy that night). Anyway, friends and i managed to buy a new ticket and we got inside.
Atmosphere was fun, there were 20.000 people, we had few more beers before the gig started. After initial 5 songs, Bruce Dickinson started to talk. And boy he talks a lot... 5 or 6 minutes of talk felt like an eternity.
I don't know what got into me but i yelled with my full voice: "SHUT UP!!!" And then there was silence for few seconds with 20.000 people looking in my direction. I could feel all eyes on me at that moment.
But it worked, you know. I made Bruce Dickinson shut up. What an achievement. My 5 seconds of fame & glory. :D

What does "reasonable length" mean ? Cause I might have something for you, but it's 4.700 words long. If that is too much, I won't post it. Although it's a nice story, and I would really love to share it with you. :D

My life has seen a lot of heartache. At times, more than I ever thought I'd ever be able to bare. I wouldn't say that I've had a bad life, as I'm truly appreciative for all the opportunities that I've been given. However, I miss my son...
I met my ex-wife while I was stationed in Pearl Harbor as a sailor in the United States Navy. We seemed to be in love, but I now know that what I felt was not reciprocated.
I tried everything I could to keep our relationship afloat... Even brought her home to Ohio with me when I left the service. I had a respectable job and worked to provide for us while we looked for an apartment to start our life together. What I did was never enough.
About two years into our relationship, she told me that she no longer loved me and had been cheating on me. My heart was broken as she packed her things to move in with her new boyfriend and I was lost.
One day I begged her to sit down with me and hash things out. She came over to the condo and we sat and discussed what had happened that led to her unfaithfulness. During our long and uncomfortable conversation I learned that she was pregnant and, at the time, she told me there was no possibility of the baby being mine.
A few more months passed with little contact and I started to move on as best I could. In February of the following year, my ex-wife reached out to me to tell me that she'd made a big mistake and would like me to take her back. She was about 5-6 months pregnant and believed that the baby boy could be mine.
We got back together and even got married a few days before the birth. In the meantime, we'd had a DNA test come back and reveal that my son was not mine. As hard as the news was to handle, I made a promise to her that I'd be there for her and him no matter what and would treat him as my own.
Leo was born in May of that year and I quickly feel in love. It never felt like I was anything less than his biological father. Everything with my ex-wife was good for about a year until I stated to notice the same distance and symptoms from the previous time she'd broken my heart. One day, as I was super depressed, I checked her phone to find out that she'd been seeing the same man from before behind my back.
I knew that we needed a divorce and immediately kicked her out. She moved back in with him and this time I was a lot more Zen about her leaving me. We came to a deal that I would get to scary in his life, but I don't know why I trusted her. She'd hurt me so many times and I should've prepared for the worst.
The divorce was a particularly rough one and in the end we hated each other. It has not been over a year since I've last seen my son and I miss him everyday, but I wouldn't change anything if I could. That little boy showed me what love is and I only hope that his mother gives him the life that the deserves.

While I'm still not totally recovered, I am now in a relationship with a girl that truly loves me. We've already began a life together and just through her love, she heals me a little every day. I am personally of the mind set that every previous relationship helps prepare you for the next and I'm definitely prepared to heal and be happy.

Anyádat lefele nem fejlesztünk:-)
[

Well, it's not new but here it is:

It might be the furthest planet in the universe where no star cast its light so its dark but it might also be a artificially created world by superior beings to experiment on. Most of the world is covered in ice and snow with fiery volcanos and melting lava scarring the landscape.

In a rift valley lies what seems a massive structure made of stone. It has a circular form and inside it seems to shelter some sort of life forms. They look humanoid, their skin is the colour of the melting lava.

Right in this moment a group of them leave the circular structure with weapons in their arms and it seems that they are going hunting. Away on the frozen landscape they had seen a creature with six legs, with shining skin, crawling through the snow. It has 3 horns , green eyes and scales that protect its body. It’s hunting too but it will become the hunted.

The creature is going towards a massive rock formation that resembles a sphinx, and there is where our humanoid group are planning to ambush the three horned creature. This place couldn’t be perfect as it is their place of worship and the violet blood of the three horned creature will run as a sacrifice for the gods.

Since we're supposed to post it in this thread, I'd assume it has to be able to fit into a single post.

I'm in.

People celebrated King-Priest of Amaterusa for centuries and they will go on to worship him as memory of him fade and he becomes God called Amaterusa, and diety he once worshipped himself become a dust in the wind.

He was quite a ambitious man who, as a King, ruled over the land between two rivers, Nefer and Viatrix, and as a High Priest, worshipped he Lady of Heavens till his last breath. His name was Lilen and was last son of dynasty called Amaterusa.

He made himself famous for something all men are famous - being an author of poetry. He was simply so good at writting poetry, all ladies fell to his knees and all young boys looked at him. These were perilous time, wars were a plentiful as dieaseses and writting was invented just few centuries ago. Of course wits won over brawl.

And so it happens Lilen fell in love in most beautiful women in the known world who was called Cecily, a married women no less and Queen of neighbour country called Sabine.

He was killed by her husband, in battle over the rule of Sabine and hand of Cecily, but memory of his words live on...

"What... what in the HELL are you?"

"I am a mathematical abstraction!"

He let out a piercing shriek, a scream of unending terror that, easily, lasted two or three seconds before it ended as abruptly as it began. "Wait, that's not nearly as terrifying as you made it sound. Now I'm just confused. How the Hell are you?"

"I was created when a mathematician realized that a certain proof, some theoretical mumbo-jumbo, needed no real-world application to be viable. Unfortunately for him, he was also an Abstractionist."

"Oooh. Ouch. Jeez. Uh, wow. Ooh. That must've sucked. I mean, for both of you. So, uh. You're a math demon, huh?"

"So it seems."

"Uh. Uhm, would you like a cup of tea, or or something?"

It took the personification of mathematics aback a moment to be asked such a question. It pondered. "I believe I would, yes," it said, then after a short pause, "thank you?"

"Don't mention it."

For a mere mortal a cup of tea would require a kettle, water, some sort of leafy herb, and time. For an Objectivist, such as Mounce, all that was required was for there to be no tea. The demon found itself before a well-crafted wooden sitting table not unlike one from fourteenth-century France, upon which sat a matched set of fine china containing lightly-steaming brown liquid. It also found, behind it, a plush chair, also not unlike what would be found in the sitting room of some French aristocrat in his final moments before succumbing to the Plague, padded red velvet, fine wooden craftsmanship.

Eying the new furniture, and the tea, warily, the demon sat, resting its theoretical-ness upon the chair. "Comfy," it said, unsure of how to process the feeling, or, for that matter, if it was experiencing comfort at all. "I've never met an Objectivist before."

Mounce, sitting as well, took a tentative sip at his tea and sighed, relieved; Chamomile. His favorite. "Then we are equals, as I've never met a," he said, the sentence ending abruptly in a frown and screwed eyebrows. "What, I mean, how do I refer to you?"

"Like I said before, I'm a mathematical abstraction, but that doesn't really roll off the tongue, does it? And even that's not exactly accurate, an abstraction would have no connection to a physical form or application and would exist as nothing but a strong concept, an ideal. I guess I'm a partially-corporeal, animated personification of a mathematical concept."

"Any name you fancy aside from an acronym? I wouldn't presume to give you one without asking, I mean."

Again the whirling mass of numbers and hot air considered the Objectivist's words. "I think I'm partial to Clyde."

Mounce smiled, slapping the table playfully. "Clyde it is!"

Clyde picked up its tea, took a careful sniff, and brightened. "Earl Grey? My favorite."

"Funny, mine was Chamomile."

"Wait, how do I have a favorite tea?" Clyde asked, taking a sip.

"I've been considering more than just that, my new friend; I believe you've taken upon yourself a number of traits of the Abstractionist who created you, your curiosity, your generally pleasant attitude, your love of Earl Grey."

"It's as if I've experienced these things before, sitting, the feel of crushed velvet, the aroma of tea, and yet have no real memories or expectations. Nor am I entirely certain I'm actually smelling the tea or feeling the chair."

"I don't mean to be rude, but somehow I imagine not. As an Abstraction you have no actual senses, you only have the concept of them and the ability to, abstractly, experience them."

"Is that how it really works? I mean, it sounds far-fetched at best."

"Trust me, Objectivism is even worse. Don't think too hard about where the tea came from."

"I assumed it was somehow teleported here."

"Nothing so simple, I'm afraid; I cannot move an object from one place to another, nor can I, really, make new objects from nothing. I can only solidify the concept of something. At least an Abstractionist can turn an existing object into a new Abstraction."

"So the tea?"

"Did not come from nothing, nor did it come from something. It was already there, or at least the idea of it was there. I just made it solid."

Clyde furrowed its non-existent brows and leaned on non-existent elbows, its tea forgotten for the moment. "Allow me to extrapolate."

"Please do."

"So, if what you create neither exists nor does not exist, and yet is a persistent concept, is that implying that all things that could exist, can exist?"

"Simplified, yes."

"So, this room COULD be full of smoked salmon?"

"Potentially."

Clyde motioned meaningfully at Mounce. "Eh? Eh?"

"Oh. OH! No. No, that would be abusive of my powers."

Clyde snorted. "The tea and accouterments."

"Those are small, simple things. Filling a room with anything is a huge undertaking, I mean, this room is roughly a hundred cubic feet, 748 gallons of water. I'd have to will into being tens of thousands of fish."

"What if I'm peckish?"

Beside the tea now, insisting it was there the whole time, sat a small china plate, resting on which was a portion of chilled, smoked salmon beside a dainty fork. Clyde reached out to grasp the fork, as if worried it would cease to be as quickly as it had become, and took it between two fingers. It jabbed meaningfully at the fish, peeling off a small portion, and popped it in its mouth.

Its face turned to one of pure bliss. “Oh,” he said, slurring the word. “Oh my.”

Mounce smiled, glad his guest appreciated his work. “You're welcome,” he said, taking another sip of his tea. He allowed his guest to finish its meal in silence, watching and observing the creature. He noted that its form, though gaseous and insubstantial, contained something hidden, shadowy, within: numbers. That's what it was, after all, a mathematical concept given life, so of course it would be made up of numbers.

When Clyde was finished it set its fork down and sighed. “That was truly, wonderfully, amazing. Thank you.”

Mounce, who had finished his tea, willed his cup refilled. “More?”

Clyde waved its hands, then looked into its cup. “Would you please warm my cup, though?”

Mounce obliged, and the tea of his guest was, is, and had been steaming again.

So they went like this for some time, enjoying each others company and consuming conceptual tea, until there was a knock at the door.

"Don't cut the roots, grind them; you want to make a powder, not a salad."

Of course, he knew that. But it was his master's way of smalltalking, commenting on the work. Being an herborist, he was often in the forest, and thus wasn't used to social interaction. It didn't really matter, as long as he kept on teaching him.

"The medical component is released when the root's structure is broken; by cutting it, you only release a very small part, and a too small one. If you want to make money with your potions, you must not waste your materials. When I was a beginner, my master was cutting them, and he sold..."

And he started again. Another endless story that he told a thousands times. Stories could be insightful, but why couldn't people keep the useless details for themselves, and directly tell what was interesting? He just ignored the old man and kept on working silently.

"You know, we must sell, because we need to live; but the greater goal of this is medecine, and general well-being. What you'll do today seems illogical from an economical point of view, but we need to forget a bit about ourselves, and prevent the world from getting destroyed by our selfishness!"

So dramatical. This extraordinarily important mission he was given was simply to go in the closest town where a plague started amongts beggars, to give them a basic cure. The goal was to prevent the plague from spreading to other people and other towns, which could, in a worst-case scenario, have bad consequences if it reached big cities. But in most cases, such an outbreak ended up with a few dead beggars, and burnt corpses - not such a big deal.
Leaving the small workshop after he finished preparing the last potion, he headed towards the town, with a satchel full of those. Living in the woods next to the town, he was used to these walks between the trees, and got used to it: he often had fun trying to get close a deer or a boar, walking as silently as possible, or climbing a tree and jumping from branch to branch. He probably looked childlish, but it didn't matter - nobody were around to see him anyway.

Arriving in front of the town's entrance, his good mood disappeared; although his face was completely neutral, he despised most of the people here. It wasn't hard to find the beggars affected by the plague: seeing the young herborist, the town's residents rushed to tell him to get rid of them, in the most annoying way as always. They had to be aggressive, noisy, stupid. They talked before even thinking. Fear was what controlled them, and it was pitiful.
He found most of the beggars in an unused alley. Considering the smell, some were probably already dead - it wasn't simply the lack of hygiene. Putting on a mask, and checking that his gloves didn't let the smallest bit of skin out, he entered the alley and began giving vials to them. Some were such in a bad shape that he had to kick them to wake them up; and a few never did, no matter how strong the kicks were. He then told the beggars to burn the bodies, with the usual rules: don't burn them close to people, take care of the wind, burn the clothes and possessions too, and the like.
One of them, however, had an disturbing look. Like his eyes were digging into the mask, as he was talking. He hurried up out of this uncomfortable place as soon as he could.

Some would die despite the cure, and some would die because of it; it was a basic one, but they couldn't afford giving a better one for free to so many people. And more would survive this way, than without any cure at all, so there was no reason to feel bad.
However, now that the global cure was given, the more specific cases had to be treated. One of the inhabitants had contracted the plague, and had to be tended to; from what he heard, though, it was a serious case.
Entering the house, the first thing that hit him was the smell of death. Not the smell of rotting flesh like in the alley a few moments ago, but the smell of someone dying. This was usually a bad start. Someone took him to the sick man. After a quick check, he saw that the man wasn't in a bad shape: he was dead. Well, not medically speaking; but a good part of his cells were dying, and even if he was cured instantly, he wouldn't be able to leave his bed. He took out another vial, different from the previous ones, and made the man drink its content.
Horrified, the people around saw him convulse, make a gargling noise, and completely stop moving - and breathing.
They started screaming. He tried to explain, but they wouldn't let him say a word; so he just left, ignoring completely these annoying, stupid people.

When his master got word of this, he became furious. He apparently couldn't understand than it was better to end the poor man's existence, rather than let him suffer for a few more, useless days. He went on an endless rant again, about the value of life, the importance of family and the like. The apprentice didn't even listen, for what he did was exactly compatible with all he said. But he was used to people having some sensitive subjects which would make them go insane and lose all logic. He already got all the useful information he could get from this boring speech: his apprenticeship just ended.
Indeed, after a while, his master finally finished his speech, and asked him to leave by the morning of next day.

He left without really feeling bad, only annoyed - he didn't know where to go. He passed by the town, avoiding to be seen in case some angered people would start annoying him, and took the road. He thought he would try to find another town, and find some way to make money. With his abilities to move unnoticed, he would be able to survive by stealing if he needed to.

"Going somewhere?"

He turned and saw the beggar with the weird look from before. He was waiting against a tree, almost invisible by the absence of movement.

"Your master didn't like what you did, huh? Guess that was to be expected.

- What do you want? I have no money for you.

- Now, now, you already gave me your nice little potion - well, it didn't taste that good, but it filled my stomach a bit - so I don't need more. But you don't look like the type who knows where he's going.

- What do you want, then?

- No need to be in such a hurry... Let a poor and weak beggar say what he has to say, it might interest you... You see, just yesterday, I...

- Useful information. If you don't have any, I'll leave.

- Very well, very well, he said while standing up. To the point then: I'll follow you, you get me enough to eat, and in exchange I tell you where to go and where are the good deals.

- Why would I need a miserable beggar like you?

- Haha, a naive one, I love those. Do you think that because we don't have a job, we do nothing the whole day? You should learn to listen to 'miserable beggars', sometimes. Want a map? I can draw one right now, and tell you every interesting fact about it; and by every one I mean even ones that aren't in books. What you call free time, we call information gathering time. So, what are you waiting for? If you stay here not moving, we won't reach Flovae.

- Who said I was going with you? And why would I go there?"

Not listening, the beggard started walking; and he had no choice but to follow him. At least, the guy knew how to go directly to the point when asked, which most people were unable to; but nothing guaranteed he knew where he was going. And he didn't look too stupid.
Shrugging, he started walking. It didn't really matter after all. Nothing ever did.

My contribution:
He sipped his glas of wine. It was just a regular day at the office, as in no new cases and no new clients. Suddenly he heard the door open. He expected someone to come in, but didn't see anyone. For a moment he was confused, until he heard the meowing. It was a cat? The cat was black and had short hair. Its eyes were yellow as it looked upon him. He noticed it had a collar and there was a tiny note attached to it. He lift up the cat, removed the noteand read it:
"Dear mr detective, I'm sending you this cat because you're my only hope. My only hope to save DRM-free gaming."
He held the cat and looked at it. He knew what was needed to be done.

Once upon a time, there was a girlfriend with a printer....

-----

Good luck to the actual entrants. I salute your creativity and writing prowess.

*There is no title as bittersweet as the Sleeping Hero.*

He who slayed, he who saved, he who brought low all those conquerors, he who raised up all those underfoot.

*Truly, there is no pain as profound as this.*

Born to the sword, sworn to the shield, encased in armor and armored by faith, to protect mankind forever.

*No greater failure than this champion, this idol*

Be it wyvern, be it wyrm, be it sacred spirit or the turned, his sword bit and cut and the oppressors fell apart.

*Who lost themselves to the abyss*

Pure of heart, of mind, of body. Blessed by the gods themselves, worshipped by the people. A Hero, with no doubt.

*I knew of this hero, who so long ago,*

Months, years, decades. Time flies, and yet the Hero still stands tall, unbowed. He will outlive us all, and we are grateful for it.

*Saved kingdoms and countries and men,*

Tyrants try, and they are toppled, taken down by the titan that is the Hero, a terror in the hearts of only the truly evil.

*Who slayed great beasts, and brought them low,*

Ancient as they were, powerful as they were, ferocious as they were, the predators of humanity, fell to their prey.

*Guarding mankind time and again.*

Ages pass. Statues are erected, tens of feet tall, of marble and gold and silver and steel. Not a single one can compare to the Hero himself.

*But such great victories only pale in defeat,*

The Hero wins. The Hero has never known what it means to lose. The Hero will never know what it means to lose.

*When compared to the loss that I stand,*

The Hero is human, but he is not a human. For all the weight of the world on his shoulders, he has never, not once, bowed.

*So once the tale of the Sleeping Hero is finally complete,*

Our children will know of the Hero. Our children’s children will know of the hero. Humanity cannot forget its greatest savior.

*Know why this title is despised through the land.*

Ankar’s facing shortages. The crops have been having a bad season. Hopefully they get better soon.

*A new villain approached, though it was no beast,*

Lots of people coming from Ankar. They’re running away in droves.

*A disease that killed as it went,*

They say that food’s running out. The crops never recovered from last season.

*And despite the blessings of the greatest of priests,*

A delegation was sent by the High Church to Ankar. Not sure who’s left to receive them anymore.

*They found a plague they couldn’t prevent.*

There are no crops in Ankar anymore. The water is poisoned. The land has turned to mud. Ankar is dead.

*The people, fearful, looked to the Hero,*

South of Sen’s Lake, one can see the corruption. It’s here, already. Gods, I hope the Hero arrives soon. Only he could fight this devilry off.

*Who was their almighty rampart,*

They say that the Hero was able to slay Argoth with a single slice of his sword. They say that that very same sword killed Tyrant Qulli, too.

*They said that there existed not a single foe,*

Who has stood against the Hero, be they dragon, deity, or dastard, and come out alive?

*Who’d be able to tear him apart.*

The Hero will win this fight. Just like he has won all the others.

*And so the people waited and prayed,*

Gods, hear my words. For my daughters, my wife, my home. Bring us our savior, to save us from this plague.

*Hoping the Hero would come,*

We’re not leaving. That’s final. Sen’s Lake might be a loss, but we’ve got supplies, enough for until the Hero arrives.

*That their shining shield and blade,*

The Hero’s blade purified the wicked, blessed the holy, and smote all scourges. This is just another to fall under his sword.

*Would slay this horrible scum.*

Sen’s Lake is dead. You can see what remains of the fish, bloated, disgusting corpses, scattered on the shores. Gods, will the Hero come soon?

*But their prayers went with no answer,*

The Hero will come soon. He must. The Hero must come soon. He will.

*And the Hero never appeared*

Sen’s Lake has now been abandoned by all. The Lake doesn’t deserve to be called water anymore. The corpses too, barely recognizable as human.

*And as the Plague spread its cancers,*

There’s news that it’s spread to the Holy City. They say that the Highest Priest died to it. What can we do, if Gods can do nothing?

*They realized their greatest fear*

The Hero has been here for so long. What if…what if this is it?

*The Hero, of magic and might,*

No one can compete with the Hero, by way of sorcery or sword craft.

*Of strength beyond compare*

Stronger than any three men, faster than any one horse. What could possibly stop the Hero?

*What could he, a knight, possibly do,*

What could possibly stop the Hero?

*To defeat a disease of the air?*

News has returned from Yurisvilla. The Hero…he shows signs of the Plague.

*Their greatest foundation, unfounded,*

I don’t believe you. No. No. I refuse.

*Their worst nightmares, had come true,*

Mama, I can’t sleep. I don’t want to sleep.

*The Hero, so great, surrounded,*

This is it. We can do no more. Not with it affecting us as well.

*In the disease that affected him too.*

Gentlemen. It’s been an honour. I’m sorry that this is how it ends.

*The Sleeping Hero is no more,*

*Six feet under the cursed ground,*

*Far away on the forbidden shores*

*Where the Plague is all to be found.*

Several hours had passed since Levi had returned to the cave. The light shining in through
the opening in the wall had gradually faded until the interior was shrouded in darkness. By then,
he was lying within the warm confines of his sleeping bag, trying his best to find a comfortable
spot to sleep on the hard rocky surface of the floor.

Levi lay there for what seemed like hours, staring up at the darkened ceiling. As he
slowly drifted off to sleep the strange sounds of the night seemed to fade into the recesses of his
subconscious. From there, these peculiar sounds took on a life of their own, unfamiliar cries that
seemed to call out to him in the night, cries that were strangely similar to the wails of a young
child, or the plaintiff calls of the lost.

A sudden thud at the entrance of the cave caused Levi to sit up abruptly in his sleeping
bag. He sat there in the still darkness staring across the cavern at the narrow opening – to the
shadows and mysterious shapes that wavered in the light of the dimly-lit fire. Reluctantly he lay
back down, his eyes wide open. Then, a faint groaning sound drifted in from the blackness
outside, sending a chill coursing through his body. Levi reached frantically for his headlamp and
crawled out from his sleeping bag. He got slowly to his feet and with the headlamp lighting the
way was able to locate his makeshift spear which lay on the floor next to his bed.

Carefully Levi edged his way towards the crevice, his light shining on the darkness of the
entrance way. He knew that he was probably overreacting to some innocent night sounds, but he
could still feel his heart pounding wildly within his chest. When Levi was almost within arm'sreach,
he heard the distinct sound of shuffling feet coming from opening directly ahead of him.
He hesitated, leaning forward to see if his light might give him a better idea of what was lurking
just outside the darkened area before him.

“Hello,” he said in a low voice. “Who's there?”

Immediately the shuffling stopped.

He paused for another moment, listening intently as the strange rustling sound started up
once again, this time with such an intensity that it caused Levi to take a few steps backwards.
“Get out of here!” he shouted, waving his spear in front of him. For an instant there was a
complete and eerie silence in the cave. Even his headlamp seemed to flicker in the stillness of the
night, casting grotesque shadows on the walls around him.

Then a sudden warm gust of wind blew through the crevice and into the cave, stirring up
the dirt and ash lying on the floor nearby. He staggered, rubbing frantically at the tiny particles in
his eyes, and as he did he noticed for the first time a small stream of water trickling slowly by his
feet and into the cave. When the dust finally settled he blinked the last of the dirt from his eyes
and looked back towards the entrance. There, standing still in the shadows, was Nate.

Levi stood frozen in the faint glow of the rapidly-dying fire, feeling his very breath leave
his body as the terror of the moment filled him. Nate stood silhouetted in the darkness, wearing
the same drenched clothing that Levi had buried him in . . . but his skin was now a sickly pale
blue, and dirt clung to his hair and his face. For an instant their eyes locked. Levi could feel
himself grip the spear tighter, and as he did, his hands began to tremble violently. He staggered
backwards, his gaze never leaving the blank, ashen face of his friend.

The lamp on his forehead suddenly began to wobble, casting Nate into a myriad of shapes
and shadows that were even more terrifying than before.

“What do you want from me?” Levi asked, his voice a mere whisper. “Leave me alone!”

Nate stood wordlessly in the shadows staring ominously into the face of his friend. Then,
ever-so-silently, a soft moan crept from Nate's motionless lips. The shock of seeing his friend in
such a disturbing state caused Levi's body to begin trembling uncontrollably.

Levi took another step backwards, his foot catching on one of the rocks in the middle of
the cave. He fell backwards, landing heavily on the cave's hard floor, then scrambled desperately
away from the terrifying apparition before him. As he did, Levi could feel his right hand brush
up against the hot coals of the fire sending a searing pain up his arm.

Instantly Levi was awake, his heart pounding savagely in his chest. He sat upright in his
sleeping bag and looked around the darkened cavern. It was just a dream. The relief flooded his
body so abruptly that for a moment he almost felt faint. He then noticed for the first time a
stinging sensation on his right hand. Even in the dim light of the fire he could see a black smudge
and realized that he had actually burned his hand in the fire. Levi could tell that it wasn't very
serious but he knew he would have to apply some of the ointment from his first aid kit.

Levi slipped out of his sleeping bag and looked towards the entrance of the cave where
the dim light of a new day filtered in through the darkness, and he could hear the unmistakable
sound of birds chirping in the distance. He slowly pushed the sleeping bag away from himself
and was now faintly aware that his body was still damp with sweat. He ran his fingers through
his hair trying desperately to push the terrifying image of the nightmare from his mind.

Something pushes against my head. My head is spinning and there is a definitely unpleasant smell around. The push against my head is harder. I manage to slide back a little and rise my head. The door narrowly misses my nose.

- Good, I've been trying to open that door for ten minutes now - booms a distant voice somewhere above.
- What the hell man, why do you have to shout that loud?
- I'm not shouting, it's the hangover from last night.
- Hangover? Last night... - and then it hit me like a freight train.
- You and Jim carried me here...
- Yupp.
- I remember raising my head halfway down the road from the old pub. Then nothing. Very little before.
- Maybe it's better that way...

But then it flooded in like a river.

We were having a beer, hanging out after the concert and jut having a great time. The pub was full and stank of stale beer. At first we were a couple of guys and as it usually happens friends of friends join in and then we were a larger group. It looked like it was going to be a quiet evening.
Then someone came up with the idea, "hey guys let's play a drinking game". Sounded like a great idea. Of course in hindsight all ideas sound great when you drink enough. One drink leads to two drink, which lead to four drinks. But then four drinks are like one so let's have some more. So the game went on the drinks went down. The movie reel rips and there's a blank...

- There was a girl... such a lovely one.
- If you say so mate, let's get going, the breakfast is open only until 10.
- I don't think I can get anything down at this moment.
- Trust me, you'll feel better. But first take a look in the mirror and get yourself a bit together. Now that you're up I'm going down and see you there.

I went inside the bathroom and the thing staring out of the mirror almost made me jump back. What the... My hands trembled while I managed to clean up my face to a somewhat human one. This is going to be a long day.

I'm not sure how long it took to get myself together but as I rushed in the cafeteria, the servers were already cleaning up. I wasn't in the mood for food anyway. I see Joe still finishing his breakfast so I slowly stumble towards him as my gyro is still acting up. Then someone cuts me off.
- Hi, how are you, last night you disappeared on me suddenly.
- Did I? - I asked while trying to take in the picture. It looked like she's a girl, but not one I would normally consider a pretty one.
- Yea, we danced then withdrew in a corner and, - she leans in closer and whispers - we made out.
I must've been still a little drunk as rudeness is seldom in my nature, but the only thing that came out my mouth was:
- Did we?
I haven't even got the words out while I saw a blur flying toward my ears. I would've ducked, probably, wouldn't my mind be in slow motion... Alas my ears rang for it for a couple of minutes.

Rules, terms, etc.?