MLK Writing Contest #36 [Voting]!

Which is the best story?

1: Jasiri
2: Endless Night
No votes
3: Chabot
Total votes : 11

MLK Writing Contest #36 [Voting]!

Postby DGFone » March 23rd, 2016, 9:05 am

The time has come! I have finally gotten off my lazy behind and gotten around to moving the contest forwards! (Which is ironic because I am sitting down, and will go to bed right after this, but don't explain the joke, etc...) There are three submissions for this round of the contest, and now it is time for you lot to decide which is the best one out of them. Without further ado, here they are:

Story 1:
Jasiri: show

He grunted as he staggered down the steep cliff-side and into the valley, keeping a firm grip on his dark-brown stetson. The revolver in his belt smacked against his thigh as he took each hard step, the orange sun heavy against his back. Kion wiped his forehead, taking a moment to breathe as his amber eyes mulled over the brown rocks and wiry trees that blanketed the valley. There was no sign of Janja and his band of outlaws, but he knew they were close—which meant she was close, too.

He would be lying to himself if he thought he would ever see her again. It was just one of those things that slips away from you, like autumn leaves in the wind. There had been something between them, but being of different species they both knew it would never work. So they parted sadly, but he saw in her eyes that there was no hate between them. They would both move on, live their lives separately and spend the rest of their days alone but happy. That's what Kion thought, anyways. It was fifteen years ago, and he had always pictured Jasiri taking up farming, or maybe becoming a clothier. But joining up with Janja? That was something a lowly criminal would do; not her. He wondered if perhaps she was under some sort of duress. If that was the case, he would have to kill Janja; simple as that. He'd wanted to do it for years, and it seemed like the perfect excuse had presented itself to him.

He smirked, thinking about finally getting rid of that hooligan as he made his way to the bottom of the valley, the sun casting a long, dark shadow across the cliffs. A small brook slithered through the dirt, sickly green grass skirting its edges. Kion ambled over to it, crouching down and splashing some of the murky water on his face. Before he could stand back up, he heard a click. “Don't move,” said a voice.

He knew that voice; he'd know it anywhere. Funny how a person's visage can fade over time but their voice stays as crisp as the wind on a cold winter's day. “You gonna shoot me, then?” His paws were held up in the air, indicating surrender.

“I might,” came the terse response.

He paused, considering his words carefully. Finally he settled on: “Remember when we were younger?”

“Don't see how that's pertinent.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You said something then—what was it?”

“I can't seem to recall.” Her voice was shaky.

“You know what? I think you do. In fact, I know you do.” The fingers on his right paw twitched. “Point is, you're not going to shoot me.”

She stared at him. “I might.”

He reached for his gun and spun around. A sound like thunder split the air in two, and his hat was blown clean off his head. Standing there with gun raised and barrel smoking was Jasiri. She was trembling, trying not to meet his gaze. Kion ran a paw back over his mane, checking for damage. He was still in one piece, but his hat was sitting in the brook, gaping hole clean through it. He drew a long breath, then sighed.

“You didn't shoot,” Jasiri said, lowering her weapon.

“'Course I didn't,” he replied, rubbing his face. “'Cause I still love you.” He glanced at his hat, completely ruined. “You missed.”

“'Course I did, because I still love you too.”

She holstered the gun and took a step towards him, but he held up his paw signalling her to stop. “Just stay over there, will you?”

Jasiri pursed her lips, then nodded.

He grumbled, walking over and picking up his hat. He held it up to his eye and looked through; the hole was big as a quarter. She had given him that hat; he had always held onto it as something to remember her by. Now it was damaged beyond repair, and not even someone with her talents would be able to fix it. “Where's the rest of your merry band?” He scowled and placed the sopping wet hat back onto his head. “There's a bounty on Janja's head and I intend to claim it.”

“I stayed behind to clean up camp.” She paused. “Are you really going to kill him?”

“That's the idea. You know, I didn't think thieving was in your blood, but I've been wrong about a lot of things in my life,” he said by way of accusation.

She looked away. “Didn't think killing for a living was in yours,” she muttered.

“Money is money, and as it happens I'm fairly good with an iron.”

“Yeah well, same here.” She glared at him. “Money is money.”

Kion kept her under his scrutiny, wondering if she was going to draw on him again. “Give up the act. You know this isn't like you; heck, I know this isn't like you. Why don't you leave Janja behind? I'll clear up your name and make you into a deputy.”

She sighed. “It's not that simple...”

He smiled, eyes gleaming. “Of course it is! What's not simple about it? All you gotta do is switch sides. I bet you'll make twice what you're getting now; maybe even three times as much!”

“I said it's not that simple,” she repeated, taking a step away from him.

He wasn't certain, but he could have sworn he saw her blushing. At first he didn't think anything of it, but after a moment he knew the truth with absolute clarity. “Oh, I see...” He frowned, crossing his arms and taking a step back, himself. “I see how it is.”

“How is it, then?”

He laughed sadly. “You're in love with that brute. That's how it is, isn't it?”

She looked at him silently, wanting nothing more than to embrace him but keeping her distance. “That's how it is.”

“Well damn it.” Kion smirked at her, then shook his head and sighed. He looked over his shoulder at the valley stretching into the distance, then back at her. “You know I thought when we split fifteen years ago there was an agreement in place that neither one of us would see anybody else.”

“Fifteen years is a long time,” she said, looking at him with a solicitous gaze. “Things change.”

He scoffed. “Maybe for you they do—”

“What, you're telling me you've never seen anyone else since then?” she interrupted.

Kion narrowed his eyes at her. “Not once.” He was half tempted to go for his gun, but he stopped himself. He couldn't stop himself from shaking, however. “Get out of here,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Don't you have a bounty to claim?” she said, stepping closer.

“Don't care right now. You and your lover-boy can go off and live happily ever after. But if I see him in these parts again—” he grinded his teeth “—I'll have to kill him.”

Jasiri took a deep breath, exhaled, then nodded. “You won't see either of us again.”

He kept his eyes low as she plodded past, his mouth filled with words he wanted to say, needed to say, but for some reason couldn't say. Before she was out of ear-shot, he said one thing: “Hey.”

She turned, looking at him with an eyebrow raised.

“He'd better be good to you.”

Wordlessly she smiled, then turned around and kept walking, growing smaller and smaller into the distance as the minutes went by, until she had disappeared further down the valley.

He sighed, staring at the dirt between his boots for a few minutes longer. Then he realised he was wearing a wet, tarnished stetson. He pulled it off his head, giving it one last melancholy look before tossing it back in the steam. Kion holstered his gun, beginning the long, arduous trek back up the cliff-side—alone.

Story 2:
Endless Night: show
Endless Night

The sun had set many hours ago, but there was still work to be done it seemed. The tired lion ran a frustrated paw through his mane as he heard someone crying out his name again. What could it possibly be this time, he wondered vaguely, turning his gaze towards the sound. An exhausted looking hornbill was soaring towards him at an alarming rate, and with a sigh, the golden lion turned and jogged out to meet him.

“What is it, Zazu?” he asked, weariness practically oozing off of him like sweat.

“Kion, it’s dreadful. There’s an entire herd of zebra storming Pride Rock. They’re protesting,” the hornbill explained with exasperation.

“What?” Kion groaned with disbelief.

“Indeed, it seems they feel Janja hasn’t been handled appropriately, and his recent attacks tonight have sent them over the edge,” Zazu elaborated. Groaning once more, the young lion, who felt older than his father this night, turned to his tiring Guard.

“Fuli, Ono, I need you to get to Pride Rock and calm them down. Tell them that we’re going to find Janja and put a stop to this, for good,” he commanded, “Don’t let them take Pride Rock. Help Kiara defend it at all costs.”

“Of course, Kion,” Ono responded, taking flight.

“You got it,” Fuli agreed, leaping to her weary paws and sprinting away at full speed. With nothing more to add, Zazu bid a farewell to Kion, wishing him luck. The lion turned to the remaining members of his Guard.

“How is it possible they could have caused this much chaos in one night?” Bunga asked.

“Janja must be more organized, or have more minions, than we thought,” Kion guessed, “He could’ve been lying low, planning this for a while. Even someone as dense as him is bound to strike gold eventually.”

“What are we gonna do about it? You told Fuli and Ono to tell the zebras we’d put a stop to this for good,” Beshte pondered.

Determination setting hard on his features, Kion took up a powerful stance, making himself seem larger, his mane billowing a bit in the wind. For years he’d tried to be diplomatic with Janja and his clan. For years he’d given them warning after warning. He’d given them every chance to stop, to back off, and to follow the Circle of Life properly. He’d given them many more chances than they’d ever deserved, and their stupidity and persistence and complete evil disregard for the balance of the land was proof that they would never stop. They would always be cruel and they would always kill for sport, unless he put a stop to it.

“We’re going to find Janja, and we’re going to end this,” he declared, “Tonight, we strike.”

“Til the Pridelands end, Lion Guard defend!”

With that, the worn out trio set off in the direction of the Outlands, Kion leading the way, his friends following him unquestioningly into the darkness. Traversing such a distance, after a long night of quelling riots and rescuing Prideland animals was draining, to say the least, but the Lion Guard would not surrender, for it was their never-ending duty to protect this kingdom and all of the creatures who lived within its borders.

As the team arrived at the river they’d need to cross into the Outlands, the night was at its blackest state. Visibility was practically nil, but that didn’t matter, for soon a malicious guffawing could be heard echoing across the land, and glowing eyes appeared in the darkness, marking the locations of the chortling hyenas as they emerged from the inky void of night.

“Kion,” came Janja’s deep and sinister voice, “What are you doing out here, and so alone?”

“I’m not alone, Janja.”

“Oh, but you may as well be. You, the honey badger, and the hippo… against all of us?” he cackled, revealing himself. Kion growled. Without having to issue any commands, Beshte and Bunga launched into a brawl with the hyenas to the left of the trio, smacking, biting, and throwing them aside.

“Your forces are too spread out,” Kion retorted coolly to the hyena’s leader.

“Funny. I was just about to say the same of yours,” Janja shot back hotly.

Too tired to care at this point, Kion faced the right and let loose the Roar, tossing all of the enemies trying to flank him from that side flying and scurrying into the night like the cowards they were. It had taken no effort. He could feel the heavy bags under his eyes as he faced Janja once again. The hyena didn’t seem phased.

“Tonight this ends,” Kion told him flatly. The sounds of their teammates struggling could still be heard as the leader of the Lion Guard lunged at the leader of this insubordinate group of hyenas. Janja leapt to meet him, their teeth gnashing at one another, paws slashing and claws raking. Janja’s attacks met the thick fur of the lion’s red mane, not making it to his flesh beneath, while Kion’s attacks consistently drew blood. The lion snapped and slashed, tearing into his foe with deadly precision. Janja wasn’t a quitter, to be sure, he fought ferociously, managing to land one or two damaging blows from time to time, but he was smaller, less muscular, and was fighting for less. Kion was always going to win if it came to this. He’d put it off for so long, hoping to spare every creature that he could, but this persistent hyena had left him with no choice.

Wasting no more time, the lion dealt a decisive blow.

Fuli groaned audibly. These zebra were extremely stubborn. They were stomping about, creating a massive dust cloud around Pride Rock, and reducing visibility exponentially. This night just didn’t end, did it? The cheetah looked to the queen, and to the former rulers, exasperation engraved into her features. She’d run circles around these animals several times already, pushing them back away from the rock, but she was growing increasingly weary and had slowed greatly.

“What now, your majesties?” she pleaded.

“We’ve never had an uprising like this before,” Simba said meekly.

“Ono, can see where Kion and the others are?” Kiara shouted.

“One moment,” he replied, flying up into the air as high as he could go. In the night like this, it was difficult to see, but the sky was beginning to brighten, ever so slightly, and eventually he spotted what had to be them down in the plains, approaching from the Outlands. “I see them! They’re headed this way!”

“Finally!” Fuli exclaimed, “Maybe this will all be over soon!”

As Ono descended back to the promontory to rest, the queen made her way towards the back of the rock. She could hear the others calling out her name, but she didn’t stop to respond to them. Instead, the tired lioness began to ascend the slope to the highest peak of Pride Rock; the one that was rarely visited by any. She climbed steadily and carefully, he pawsteps very deliberate, the sound of hooves stomping on rock and the angry baying outcries of the zebra below driving her on in spite of the sleep in her eyes and the stiffness in her limbs. At top, she strode across to the edge, so as to be visible to all despite the deep purple of the night.

Then, she let out the loudest roar she could manage.

Silence descended upon Pride Rock like a drought.

“Calm yourselves. The leader of the Lion Guard, the honorable Kion, has promised to put a stop to these senseless hyena attacks! He is on his way here from the Outlands now! Your concerns have not fallen on deaf ears, so please, descend from Pride Rock and await his arrival with patience and dignity, before someone gets hurt!” she cried.

There was a shuffling of hooves, but no one moved. Eventually one zebra spoke up.

“But how do we know that he’s kept his word? Janja will always come back!”

“No he won’t,” Kion’s voice informed them as the lion began to move through the dust towards Pride Rock, Beshte and Bunga behind him. Kiara couldn’t tell what it was, but there was something in Bunga’s arms… She quickly made her way back down the slope of the massive rock, arriving at the base near the cave around the time her brother and the other two members of the Guard who had been with him reached the promontory’s peak. Once there, Kion turned to his honey badger companion.


With a nod, Bunga stepped forward and hefted the thing he’d been carrying high over his head, displaying it for all to see. Kiara gagged, as frightened gasps and a hushed silence fell over the herd gathered below. It was a ghastly sight, to be sure… Bunga’s trophy was none other than the head of Janja, severed from his body and brought back to the Pridelands as proof of his execution.

“For years Janja has terrorized the Pridelands,” Kion began in a booming voice, “For years he has slaughtered entire herds, and for years I have given him chance after chance to go home, to redeem himself, to stop. He would not. You all blamed me for his continued presence, for the endless attacks on your herds, for his consistent refusal to uphold the balance of the Circle of Life. I did not want it to come to this, but I was left with no choice. Anyone who threatens the Pridelands, or any of its inhabitants the way he did will meet the same fate! Til the Pridelands end, Lion Guard DEFEND!”

In the stunned and hushed silence, at last the darkness began to lift, ever so slowly from the land.

Story 3:
Chabot: show

“Was it something I said?”

The depressed lion barely even heard these words as he slowly walked off, a sudden feeling of immense depression filling him in a way that – a way that he hadn't even really felt like for such a long time now.

Still walking away from his two friends, he wondered how his mood was able to so suddenly go from the careless fun that they had perfected to now: him moping off in some unknown direction. Simba grunted in annoyance at the thought. He knew how his mood got ruined. He knew why. That still didn't take away from the fact that he had literally just spent the day running about having fun with Timon and Pumbaa… and now those very fresh memories felt like they came from a lifetime ago.

The lion paused in his tracks, looking back to the grassy hillside where he left the other two behind. He hadn't even walked all that far off, but as neither of them seemed to care to follow him, the two were no longer to be seen, in effect making those memories of their fun day only feel all the more distant.

Grunting in annoyance, the lion resumed his slow advance towards...somewhere. It's not like Simba particularly cared where he was going at the moment, only that he really didn't feel like turning back. It had been what? Only a few minutes? And yet, he felt that if he did exactly that, the feeling of something being off would just be… too much.

While he understood that being reminded of his father, and of his past life, was bound to make him uncomfortable and sad, Simba wasn't able to understand why now of all times the feeling came back so suddenly, but more importantly, why so strongly?

It's not like he completely forgot about the Pride Lands. Every now and then, the lion's mind would randomly send a spark of memories and feelings of what it was like before he ran off to the dynamic duo that was the meerkat and warthog. But all those times before, they would be able to distract him quickly enough that he won't be able to dwell on it.

And as he got older, Simba also found it easier not to think of his past in the first place. Early on, trying to put the past behind him was almost too much. Whether it was in the form of unbearable nightmares, or just as a general overwhelming sense of gloom that would keep him from enjoying the day, there were many times when the lion had felt like it was perhaps better to just spare his two adoptive parents the trouble of trying to cheer him up and run away again. Or worse.

But as he got older, Simba found it rarer and rarer that he felt like that, to the point where he would tell himself, if never out right, but simply as a subconscious hopefulness that would carry him through the day that now, finally, he had succeeded in putting his behind in his past, as Pumbaa would put it.

And over the course of a few short seconds, that impenetrable wall of mental defenses came crashing down all around him, taken out by a careless comment from an even more clueless meerkat.

Was it really because of something Timon had said?

Did directly insulting his father, even if without realizing, by reducing the status of the late king to nothing more than a simple “mook”, was the meerkat able to find the one weakness in Simba's mental shields against the haunting of ghosts from the past that he had fought so hard and so long to defeat?

Did that one offhand joke really was all it take for them to dismantle what he worked so hard on?

Perhaps, perhaps not. But what Simba knew was that for some reason, just compared to a few hours before, something inside of him changed significantly, and for the worse. It was almost funny, in a sickening sort of way, thinking about it. How when the sun had been high up in the sky, the three of them had decided to relax in a small waterhole, lazily munching on a couple of delicious grub that failed to realize that any place in the world was better than being close to either one of them.

But now thinking about this lone, insignificant event, left such a strong sense of nostalgia in the lion that he almost found it hard to breath.

Whatever the reason, Timon had managed to cause the lion to realize that no matter how hard he had tried, no matter how close he ever felt like he had actually won or at least banished the ghosts that haunted him, the small meerkat forced the lion to realize that he never even had any chance to succeed in such an endeavor.

In the end, it was all one large illusion to think that he was ever able to forget enough of his past to the point where it would never hurt him anymore. An illusion that Timon had shattered only a few short minutes ago.

A lifetime away.

He could never forget the about the Pride Lands. Of Mufasa, and Sarabi… Of Nala. And even Zazu, as annoying as he was. To think that remembering that old bird would make him ever miss Banana Beak! And how much it hurt to remember them all...

And so he kept on walking slowly.

The lion found himself stopped at a cliff side, nowhere else to go but back where he came from. Stopping at the end, Simba looked up at the starry sky, watching the tiny sparkle of lights as they shone and twinkled above his head, so far away from him.

I miss you, father. Help me wake up from this endless night.

Simba's legs gave out from beneath him, and the lion released a breath he didn't even realize he was holding as he fell down, his forelegs flopping down over the edge of the cliff and propelling a small shower of dirt and dust off into the wind.

These are the three stories. Voting will last for a week, so it will end on Wednesday, March 30th! Until then, read the three stories carefully, decide which you like best, and vote on it!

Usual voting rules apply: Don't vote for yourself, and don't vote for a story that you simply know was written by a friend. Don't ask others to vote for your story either. Read each one carefully and give all the stories the same consideration before you make your decision.

Good luck!
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Re: MLK Writing Contest #36 [Voting]!

Postby zerodix » March 23rd, 2016, 12:42 pm

since my story got ignored, i aint voting.
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Re: MLK Writing Contest #36 [Voting]!

Postby DGFone » March 24th, 2016, 12:53 am

It's your choice whether you want to vote or not, but the reason why the story was not included is because it was posted in the main topic rather than being PMed over to me.

The whole point is to vote on the story - not the author behind it. For this reason, I have to disqualify any stories where it is obvious who wrote it because they either announced themselves as the author, or as in your case, by posting the story where everyone can see it. I even sent members PMs about posting their stories on places like, since while it's off MLK, enough members go on there that it can nullify the anonymous author clause, so I ask members to post their stories on only after the voting ends.
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Re: MLK Writing Contest #36 [Voting]!

Postby Carl » March 24th, 2016, 1:10 am

You were informed of the rules a handful of times, zerodix. :/

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Re: MLK Writing Contest #36 [Voting]!

Postby Ninaroja » March 26th, 2016, 5:39 pm

Killjoy Dixon wrote:You were informed of the rules a handful of times, zerodix. :/

Indeed you were - but still, why not read and vote anyway?

Gahh, I actually started a story for this but never got anywhere with it. Someday... Dx

Still, can't wait to read and vote :)
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Re: MLK Writing Contest #36 [Voting]!

Postby Braveheart » March 26th, 2016, 9:23 pm

^Same scenario over here too.

I can't decide as well.. at least not yet.

Hmm, I too voted, but it seems the winner has been decided already. :x
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Re: MLK Writing Contest #36 [Voting]!

Postby Gemini » March 28th, 2016, 1:30 am

zerodix wrote:since my story got ignored, i aint voting.

I guess this is the sort of attitude we're going for now. Nice.

As for me, probably gonna read and vote on these tonight before I forget.

EDIT: Voted. Nice work, everyone.
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Re: MLK Writing Contest #36 [Voting]!

Postby Ninaroja » March 28th, 2016, 5:58 pm

Well I cast my vote too! Great stories folks - this could be a close one :D
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Re: MLK Writing Contest #36 [Voting]!

Postby Shawry111 » March 31st, 2016, 9:22 am

So when can we expect the next one? I feel like I might dedicate myself to it this time. :)
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Re: MLK Writing Contest #36 [Voting]!

Postby DGFone » March 31st, 2016, 8:48 pm

This weekend I will post the winner topic for the current contest, and I think I will start the next contest the week after that.

I like to give some time for the contest winners to decide on a topic they would like to see in the next writing contest before it goes up.

Speaking of which: We are currently in a tie. Get those votes in and break the tie!
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