Its only a very short story. And members like regular competitions, thats why we do them with short deadlines

The words look up at me from the papers in my hand, and I light another cigarette. My eyes skirt over the shaky, but precise, pointed, handwriting.

Outside, the light becomes a weary darkness as twilight descends. Outside, the lamps flicker on, one by one. Outside, people walk along the path, passed this house, absorbed in their life stories and happenings – all of which are no doubt dull and inconsequential, such is the misanthropic mood that I am in.

‘My dear Charles,’ begins the letter. ‘You will recall our discussion concerning the missing Kierkegaard manuscript during your last visit to Cambridge,’ it went. Too unbearable to read further! It shines like a light on a world that now seems remote.

Penetrating the darkness – light. Lightness contained within darkness.

Staring at the candle before me – within its light is a darkness. Alone in this darkening room, save for the candle that illuminates the darkness in which I live.

I walk over to the window, and look out at the machines walking passed – hat and coat, may umbrella, above shoes and trousers that walk briskly against the dusk.

And so it has to be – within the perfection of God is the very source of His imperfection. And within life, there is death. And yet outside – those people, if that is who they are, walking passed: they are oblivious. Can they be truly human without acknowledging their own mortality?

God, the Light of the World, had his dark side. He was a jealous, vengeful god. A small-minded, petty god, then.

I think I catch a glimpse of her as I begin to pace the room. She has gone. The letter from Cambridge remains at the desk; the memories remain within my head.

My hands shake as I pour myself a drink. It can only be a matter of time, now, of course: the automatons of the State’s all too-willing bureaucracy knocking at the door.

Imperfection within perfection: yes. But guilt? Did either Adam or Eve feel guilt? Did God, after smiting this or that tribe or follower of Baal, feel guilt? Is that a perfection, or imperfection? Did God feel guilt as casting out Adam and Eve, even after declaring it to be good?

The candle mocks me, struggling against the gathering gloom. I hold up to the window.

To preserve perfection requires imperfection. And I did try to tell her this. With jealousy like a snake in the garden – what option but banishment? And is not love perfect? To kill her: that was all that I could do.

And on cue, the hammering at the door below. I smile grimly. I open the window, and toss the candle out – an act of defenestration that the flame still struggles against. It flickers and dies. The darkness has consumed us both, now.

Well done Ool's


To everyone else, thanks for your non input.

I'd have to agree.

I'd love to enter but i am scrapped for time atm so i doubt i could make it within a week. Plus, i do think that a short story takes far longer than a photo or a graphic.