Just over 2 days to go, and we have some really great entries. I want to thank everyone who has entered, i've had so much fun listening to your entries. Theres still plenty of time to get your entries in if you have a story to tell and want a chance to earn a chunk of 250 credits. Personally I wanted to hear Squishy's origin story, but that was never going to happen. 

Good luck to you all.

This is it ladies and gentlemen, we are into the final 24 hours of the competition. If you wish to stake your claim to a share of 250 credits then I suggest you get your entries in as soon as possible. Any entries made after 12pm tomorrow will not be counted, even if your entry is 2 seconds late.

At this point, I would like to ask our judges to begin their assessments of the entries if they haven't already done so just so we can get things wrapped up quickly and themprizes sent to the relevant participants. Thank you once again guys for generously volunteering your time.

Memoirs of a Murder: My First Murder

by Nicoletta

The moonlight shone into the open window of Nicoletta's small, dark apartment in New York.  She preferred to write by moonlight, particularly at night.  Even at this hour the streets were noisy below.  She glanced out the window at the park below, where she had committed her first murder.

She had always been driven to succeed, a trait she picked up from her late father.  Her parents were both hard working people from the mother land, her father worked his hands to the bone as a stone mason.  In Naples, he oversaw and helped build several prominent cathedrals, many of which were considered staples in the community.  Each pillar carved by her father's hand, each stone deliberate in its placement, design, and beauty.  He loved his craft and was thankful to be able to do what he loved.  He had spent his childhood assisting his father (Nicoletta's grandfather) on his olive cart.  Her grandfather rode a donkey-led cart through the hills and valleys of the countryside, making deliveries to the various shops and eateries.  Her grandfather's father (Nicoletta's great-grandfather) owned an olive farm in Italy, which gave Nicoletta's grandfather a keen understanding of the olive business and allowed him to be successful in his own endeavors as he became older.  But the farm had struck hard times.  A series of harsh winters and rainless summers killed a bulk of the crops, leaving the farm a wasteland.  His own father (Nicoletta's great-great-grandfather) had warned him of the pitfalls and hardships of running a farm and pleaded with him not to enter that line of work.  He had hoped that he would have followed in his footsteps instead and become a scientist like himself and his father before him (Nicoletta's great-great-great grandfather).  But that is a story for another time.

Nicoletta gazed out the window at the park below.  Such a serene place, where lovers would walk hand in hand, children would play, old men would sit on its many benches and watch the pigeons as they walked past.  Sometimes they would feed bread to the pigeons.  Nicoletta was fond of this pastime as well and would often spend hours feeding the birds, daydreaming of the summers spent with here Aunt Elena in the old country, frolicking in the meadows and pastures.  She would pick flowers from the fields and bring them back to her Aunt Elena, who always greeted her with a loving smile.  But Nicoletta did not care to spend much time at the park anymore.  Not since she murdered a man there.  That murder changed her life and she was never the same again.  She had become a hardened woman and developed a cold demeanor, which is what made her what she is today.

I do hope you all enjoyed my origin story.  I promise there will be more to come and I thank everyone who took the time to put this contest together.  Even if I do not win a prize, I want to thank you for giving me a place to tell my story.  My best wishes to all who have contributed.

So you want to know where I come from?  Well, we all come from the same in one sense, but different in others.  So here is my story:

"Where I come from is a complex story.  My family originate from New Jersey, but their family before them come from part of what is now known as Italy.  My grandfather, Philip, was a stonemason, and he taught that trade to his son, Thomas.  And my father taught the trade to my brothers, Philip Jr, Frank, Connor, and Johnny, and also my sister Suzie, who was unusually strong for a woman of that era, and nobody seemed to question that she was more than capable of working stone just as hard, if not actually harder, than her brothers.  I was the only one out of my siblings to be given an Italian name.  I was the youngest, and my parents eventually realised that the relentless bullying my siblings received was in part because they didn't have Italian names.  All of my siblings would go on to change their surnames too, but ttat's another story.

And then that left me.  I was seen as different to my siblings, and indeed most of the girls in Our Lady of Mercy Academy.  Most of them were destined to become seamstresses, and then housewives.  And I have nothing against either of those occupations.  But I wanted more, much more if I am honest.

Like many women, I started hanging around Satriales pork store, and it was there that I met Dick.  Dick was different than the other guys.  There was a sensitivity to him.  He never set out to break anybody's balls, but if someone tried to break him, he would sort rise above it - he's confuse them by just using words at random.  Some time after we met, Dick told me that he was actually a leading mobster, in charge of a medium sized crew.  I was amazed, as he rarely seemed very active.  But he assured me he was.  Dick was gentle.  He told me once that he had never actually killed anyone, and neither had any of his crew.  He said that's the way it was going to be, and that even if they were attacked, they'd just give up.  They'd earned some nice money and they'd simply disappear.  Dick told me where I could go to find his fortune if he was ever killed.

Life was great, and then one of Dick's enemies got out of jail.  Dick and his entire crew were killed in one swoop.

I was lost.  I didn't know what to do.  Up until that point, I had secretly been carrying out murders, drug deals, and robberies on behalf of a rival group of criminals.  But seeing the carnage inflicted upon Dick and his crew, I simply vowed there and then never to shoot anyone ever again.

And I stayed true to that in my short life.  I have met a new man, Tony, who is at college, and things are going well.  I am finished with crime and I am simply here to raise a family."

And that is my origin story, and I hope you enjoyed it.

I'm so angry right now I can hardly speak.  I didn't even have a gun yet when this happened.  Meanwhile there's Durdens about everywhere so I know this was something personal.  The same day I submit my origin story someone follows it up with an origin story of their own speaking of stone masonry just like me?  And then I am then challenged to a duel by the same person who took my idea?  I suppose I should feel thankful I didn't get killed but all I wanted to do was share my story.  I did not want any of this.  Can't we just participate in a writing contest without having to constantly fear for our lives?????

I truly mean no disrespect to the organizers because it is lovely what you do but please get control of this.  

I don't know what you expect me to do Nicoletta, I was not your CL, nor was I the CL of the microphallic asshats who shot at you. Nor is there anything in the rules against someone entering by trying to take the piss out of your story, all I can say is that the Judges are smart enough to determine what is a good and honest entry, and what is essentially mindless dog shit. As I stated elsewhere, your own CL or the CL of the person who attacked you would have dealt with your assailant, and given that they had already missed you, you had 4 hours of protection. 

I'm sorry that your entry has been voided by your death, but we all know rhat the descendants of Kuku have done everything in their limited power to derail this competition, but as rhis doesn't break any of cityhalls rules, there isn't much anyone can do until he tips his hand. I'm just happy that the success of this competition threatens him so much that his family has dedicated much blood and tears (So, so many salty tears, an unending virtual torrent of them) to trying to stop it.

Dystopia, Nicolettas death was their own undoing. They participated in duels where the outcome was uncertain. Their death had nothing to do with this contest. I'm sure if Nicoletta had gone to their CL with the wack attempt against them, they would have had justice served. Placing blame on Lincoln is wrong and in fact, in poor taste. You should be ashamed of yourself. 

And what exactly do you propose I do Dystopia? Buy every entrant 200 bodyguards to protect them? Nicoletta died because she engaged in Russian Roulette with people who wanted her dead, not because she entered this competition.

NeilHamburger died because he engaged in Russian Roulettte and lost, not because he entered this competition. 

EddieMame and Antonio died because they couldn't follow the rules of their respective CLs. Antonio's descendants have died because generally they are assholes who like to shoot people, annoy people and piss on peoples good will. Not because they entered this competition. This competition has ran for almost 2 full weeks, and in that time 62 people have died on our streets, so given that only 1 genuine entrant of this competition has died in all that time, and that it was their own fault for engaging in Russian Roulette with known asshats then I'd say yes, it has been a successful competition. 

As for how hard it is to have a competition where no one dies, in a world where people regularly die, I'd say pretty fucking impossible. In fact I don't think I've heard of a single competirion in the last 20 years that hasn't had at least one fatality. So I ask you again, what in gods name do you think I could have possibly done to protect Nicoletta from dying whilst engaging in Russian Roulette?

So to recap, Nicoletta died not as a cost of doing business with me, but from her own stupidity. Nicoletta can blame whomever she wants for her death, but it doesn't change the facts. I don't have a feud, i believe if anyone has a feud its the long established one between your family and Kukus. The fact that the kuku clan and the gibbering idiots that engage in mutual knob gobbling with him have decided to try and derail this competition is not a feud, its jealous dicks being jealous dicks. My conscience is very clear because I have absolutely nothing to do with the death of Nicoletta. If I had I wouldn't have wasted 100k tipping her for her entry. It wasn't an apology, it was a statement of fact.  Its not my job to protect you, that is the responsibility of two people, you and your CL. Your CL can't protect you if you run off and engage in russian roulette with every shit stain that issues you a challenge. The fact that you can't comprehend the difference between causality and post hoc fallacy is not my problem. Are you suggesting that if Philly goes to war with DT and Bulla dies, then thats my fault too? Perhaps your inability to think logically is why you don't understand logic. 

Rutledge Asylum

Alice Pleasance Liddell was a bright eyed amicable youth full of the innocence of life.  The child full of exuberance  skipped along the pond that meandered around the pond behind the Victorian style house. Her whom her father use to always Alice was the spitting image of step out of the house the screen door tapping lightly against the frame as it closed. 

"AAAlllliiice", her mother called from the covered porch as she stood by the porch swing. "Dagnabit, where did that wayward girl go this time?", the mother asked no one out loud.  Just as her words dissipated on the air the twelve year old came skipping around the bend in the path her smile bright as she spoke to the dandelion's yellow bobbing heads in her hand." I don't care if they call you weeds. I think you are beautiful and full of bright cheeriness." 

Just as the twelve year old came around the bend her brother bolted past their mother making her skirt flurry at her ankles. Their father was very authoritative when he dealt with the children. Storming out of the door behind her brother was their father his face red as a beet. "James you get back here this instance.", their father bellowed as he chased down the nine year old boy. Their uncle Joe who lived with them followed the irate father out the door. " Now Archie that is no reason to give the boy a pelting."  James continued to run down the trail determined to avoid the strapping his father was bound to administer. Nearly knocking his older sister down she dropped her flowers and ran after her brother to retaliate with their father and uncle Joe following behind. 

Alice and James came to a sudden stop as they neared the ledge of a cliff, both kids panting as their chests heaved catching their breath. Alice looked to her brother  and shook her head but smiled," Why are you  running from father this time?"   The young boy didn't have time to respond as his foot slipped when he turned to face his sister and he started slipping down the side of the hill as earth crumbling under his turning feet. Scared both the children started to scream as James slid down the cliff and Alice  instantly laid out on the ground and stretched out on her stomach reaching out to her brother yelling with fear in her quivering voice. " Take my hand James! " her heart beating hard against her chest as felt his hand clasp hers. Luckily he caught his feet on a small ledge and was able to reach out to his sister's anchoring hand. " Don't let go." The young girl tried to pull her brother back as he tried to crawl up the cliff side. Only to  make his sister slip closer to teetering closer to the edge.

Luckily their uncle and father came running around the corner. Joe bolted past his brother scared for the kids as his brother huffed and puffed about insolent children getting what they deserved. " You should be more concerned for the safety of your children, not their punishment. at this moment brother." 

Joe hurried to the children seeing Alice teetering over the edge he grabbed her and held her steady but James and lost had lost their grip of each other in the process. " No", Alice cried out as she felt her grip slip from her brothers." It is okay Alice I am here now. You site here and I will get James." Her Uncle set her down next a tree as she sobbed uncontrollably thinking her brother had just fallen down the cliff.  Her father stormed passed her as her uncle was assisting her brother. Laid out on his stomach as she had been he was reaching out to her brother," Just take my hand and  I will pull up. Then you can crawl up my body like you do  the trees in the yard." James was crying scared standing on his small ledge gripping the ravine wall the best he could as his uncle explained how it was going to work.  James reach up but could barely reach his uncles outstretched hand. He tried again standing on the toes of his shoes and his uncle was able to grip his small hand. He pulled the child up as his brother got to his side watching as his son climbed up Joe's body. 

Archibald grabbed his son by the ear and pulled off his brothers back. Then did something that scared both his children for the rest of their lives. He proceeded to kick his brother all making curl up to protect his tender parts." Ow what are you doing Archie?" STOP!! STOP Arch.." His pleas for his brother to stop suddenly lost on the wind as Joe fell tumbling over the edge of the cliff. 

Both the children now sitting by the tree holding each other sat their in silence as their father walked back to them. His face beet red and breath huffing he looked at the children with wild eyes and sweat dripping his face." You see?!" He yelled pointing toward the ledge he just kicked his brother over. "You see what you two just made me do?"  In reality it was the scolding he received from his brother as Joe ran past him to rescue his children.  He wasn't going to admit though , he would use this incident to teach his children what happens when they cross him.  

What he didn't expect was Alice jumping up and bolting back down the trail towards the house yelling for their mother.  Alice came around the bend in the trail running past her forgotten yellow happy flowers as she cried and sobbed for her mother. Stumbling up the steps of the porch her mother came out with worry on her face.

" What is it Alice? Why are  you so distraught my dear?", her mother asked in a soothing tone taking her into her arms. Alice wrapped her arms around her mother and buried her face in her bosom sobbing incoherently. " Father killed him. He made him fall over the canyon ledge."  Her mother pulled her away from her and shook Alice harder than she intended." Who Alice? Who fell over the canyon ledge? Was it your brother?" Fear and worry played across her mothers face as  she waited for Alice to answer. Alice looked at her mother shaking her head her eyes wide with fear and tear filled." Uncle Joe, father kicked him over the cliff edge." The young child fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands as she sobbed harder.

Just as her mother was kneeling down to console the child her father came around the bend. Alice looked and her eyes narrowed then widened when she realized her brother was not with her father.  still sobbing and her face tear streaked Alice leapt to her feet and ran towards her father. Once she reached him she demanded to know where her brother was. After what she had just witnessed she was fearful that her brother had met the same fate as her uncle. "Why did you kill uncle? Where is my brother? " She yelled between her sobs as she pummeled her father barrel form. He just stood there and looked ta the child. He could not have her hysteria over the killing of his brother, it would his reputation and business. So he did the only thing he could think of to protect his business. 

He had his daughter committed to the Asylum down the down. He told them the child was making up what she witnessed and as a result of her hallucination she was hysterical and needed their help. Alice insisted that what she had witnessed was real and that her father was lying about killing her uncle and no one knew where her brother nor were they looking for him.  The doctors at Rutledge asylum took her fathers story as truth and committed the child. Her treatment was marked as intensive electroshock therapy prescribed 4 times a day. 

The therapy she received  at Rutledge Asylum would cause the child to seek sanctuary in Wonderland....

Dystopia, you'll probably never hear these words as I've been informed that you have taken a restraining order out against me, however your maths is off.

if you don’t believe that this contest is anything less than a death trap look back for yourself at the names of those involved. The red that you see is their blood.

Nicoletta is to date thhe only innocient party involved in this competition who has died. Whilst I grant you that her death was one too many, it was not the fault of me or this competition. You were attacked by someone whose family has attacked yours on multiple occasions, both verbally and physically.  Chances are that had Nicoletta not entered then Carmela_Soprano would not have shot at her, but there was nothing I could do to prevent that, nor could I prevent Carmela from taking the piss out of Nicoletta's entry. I will reiterate once more that there is no feud. Kuku is kuku and his family have decided to try and derail this competition, just for shits and giggles, because that is how his family get their jollies. There is nothing I can do to stop that, nothing that i could have done to stop that. There is no petty grudge, and multiple storytellers have not died. One storyteller and multiple trolls have died. If this was the business district I'd have the doorman escort them out, but its not and I can't. Cityhall has removed some of their graffitti, but for the most part they have died for there behaviour elsewhere, not in this competition. 

The Last shift of civilian ship

Birth name Freyja Greta Laugen, though most called me Frey here in America, my origin? I bet you can guess, living in the land of the Norse in a small town Narvik, put on this earth on the April 18^th 1907, I was no country girl, I held much more brute than mother Greta could bare and well my father? Nothing more than an assistant in my existence along with my siblings, coward.

The decision was not taken lightly to jump aboard head half way across the world to start a new life, a new journey at the ripe age of 21, to say it was overwhelming and liberating is an understatement. Upon my feet hitting the concrete docking area, my eyes as wide as saucepans I set out in New York to find a solid income, somewhere where I didn’t need to speak was preferable somewhere to learn to native tongue.

Before leaving the dock a gentleman whistled out speaking to me in my native tongue “Little girl, do you need a job?” I felt dread rush through my core pulling my jacket tighter around me, meekly looking at him nodding “Ja” is all I managed to stammer out, pathetic looking back at it now, for all I knew he was going to make me a prostitute, though offered numerous times for a decent salary as he had numerous enquiries from patron’s about me being their “personal hostess”. For a man he respected my repeated decline compared to those who visited the brothel surprisingly.

Years passed, I learnt how to speak the native tongue of New York suppressing my accent, numerous mobsters visited and frequented, doing some business in the basement, which was my main priority to keep them happy till one night, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Feeling the sting of the patron’s hand across my cheek after another dreadful shift at the escort lounge, my tears welling as I rested my hand on my cheek, refraining my anger from being unleashed. this is not what I had envisioned when I first took the shift as a waitress, the constant abuse from these drunken assholes.

“I spend enuff moneh here you bitch, if I wanna touch I can!” the man swayed on foot slurring his words, my eyes wandered across to my boss whom was watching on unfazed, hell he looked somewhat amused my the scenario.

My eyes narrowed focusing back on the patron, my tone callous as I spat venom “Drittsekk..”

“Speak English you ain’t in your home country you disrespectful whore…”he took a stride towards me towering over me in attempts to intimidate me, before I could open my mouth I felt a firm hand grasp my shoulder gently yet reaffirming, jerking my shoulder away from the clasp a growl forming in my throat, I was sick of being man handled by jerks left right and centre, entitled assholes who saw me nothing more than a piece of meat. Looking over my shoulder fire brewing in my eyes as my body became ridged.

The mysterious gent spoke cool, with little to no emotion.

“Listen DeFranzo, she’s here to serve drinks nothing more n’ you know it…laying a hand on her ain’t to wise for your family seeing you’re on OUR turf, a long way from home…”  a smirk played o his lips as he was enjoying this upper power hold, unable to supress an eyeroll and a huff I shook my head

“No one fucking owns me…”  muttered involuntarily, fuck! Did I say that out loud? my eyes widened as I scooped my hair to the side rubbing the back of my neck.

“You’re right Frey no one own’s you… though I do have a business proposition for you, we’ll continue this conversation after I deal with this douche yes?” just like that he ended the conversation without further word as he lunged towards the drunken man DeFranzo, shuffling him effortlessly up the stairs muttering becoming inaudible till he was out of ear shot in the back alley, I stood there stun unsure what I was to do, mobsters cocking their brow of what they witnessed their guns drawn and loaded at the ready. A few pistol shots echoed through the lower level a noise I should be used to by now, however made me jump every damn time, clearing my throat flashing a megawatt smile as I approached a group playing poker in the darkened basement, the cigarette smoke growing thicker as the night went on, alcohol thick and sweet coaxing the air, swirling the bottle of whiskey in hand, my tone overly sweet…likely seen as sarcastic.

“Boys need a top up? On the house…”a cheer erupts from the Mafioso’s raising their glasses as I make my way around filling their tumbler to the brim, taking a swig of the of whiskey in the bottle to ease my nerve’s, my mind working over time with the thoughts raging at rapid fire. No sooner than later the door swings open with the mysterious gent with bloody splatter on his vest as he marched down the stairs wiping down his bloodied hand with a handkerchief is eyes locked onto me, a deviant smile played on his lips, his fingers curled around the bottle in my hand drinking the remainder of the whiskey “Ahhh…” as he read the label almost taking note for future purposes

“So Frey… the business deal, Your boss here owes us some money after gambling his profit which was due last week in attempts of doubling it, idiot..”he took a seat on the lounge seat eyeing me from head to toe “ we came to a deal, I take his most valuable employee as a temporary fix till he finds the four hundred odd thousand” a chuckle escaped his lips as my mouth gaped open.

“Relax it’ll only take him three months sweetheart” he said cockily,” I wanna know though why are you so valuable to him though? No offence sweetheart yer face is pretty n’ all but if you aint servicing the gents here, sorta draws blanks to me yanno?” his brow cocked as he rests the empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table beside him.

“Well Sir…”  I cleared my throat slightly offended, he quipped

“Rokuro jus’ call me Rokuro...” He gestured me to continue, amusement evident.

“I actually get deployed to competitors around the country sourcing information for him, as you said pretty face and all, play dumb get fed information to my advantage, manipulate where needed to get ahead.. like DeFranzo’s crew sell’s coke for four thousand per unit, high grade stuff sell it over east for ten.”  folding my arms across my body, we continued to talk in great length till he escorted me to his HQ to meet CLO for a more private conversation, the place was huge, attention to detail was high level, it wasn’t some low shady curb gang, this was an established unit, with exquisite taste, though, why did they need me?

Fast forward three weeks, I was shipped coast to coast on their dime, earning and escorting various items and produce doubling profits in a matter of a three days, holding my own, proving my worth with limited blood shed of some Durden family… I could get use to this life.

Dystopia, once again Nicoletta was killed in a duel totally unrelated to this contest. The only person to blame for the deaths of certain entrants is the kuku line. His lies and villainy are the cause of most of the deaths surrounding this contest. I don't want to have to explain this to you again.

Furthermore, the kuku line lies, cheats, steals and murders his way to his own selfish ends. When his line runs out of friends his line cries, whines, and begs his enemies to stop "oppressing" him so he can get back to business-as-usual and giving the good, upstanding members of this community a hard time.

Dystopia, once again Nicoletta was killed in a duel totally unrelated to this contest. The only person to blame for the deaths of certain entrants is the kuku line. His lies and villainy are the cause of most of the deaths surrounding this contest. I don't want to have to explain this to you again.

I didn’t want you to explain it to me at all, really. But I don’t understand why you think it is so ‘totally unrelated’, whether it was a duel or not. Furthermore why did you keep referring to Nicoletta as “they” and “their”?  
 

Please Dr_Satan, let’s just call it a night and have some tea, shall we?

I referred to nicoletta as they and their because I do not know their gender. Once again, their death was totally unrelated to this contest and the fact that you keep bringing this point up makes me question both your reasoning and who your line actually is. If it's who I'm beginning to suspect it is, your line is not long for this world. I'd suggest you keep your comments about this contest, Myself and lincoln to yourself from now on. Thank you and goodnight.