Coming out of deep lurk for a good time:
Entry
The motel room was irritating in a completely impersonal way. From my vantage point leaning against the window sill I had a clear view of a circle of old manheads. Dewlaps and wrinkles, patchy beards, beatific but empty expressions: twenty or so in all, circled up on the floor between the two queen-sized beds. Muzac softly played and then stopped, played and then stopped, at about the volume of an elevator opera. I began to notice that when any two looked at each other they looked as if they might smile and the music played. Their gazes never held and the music always stopped. I recognized the tune: “Creep”/Radiohead and I realized I always thought “creep, noun, unpleasant person” when I should have been thinking “creep, verb, move on your stomach”. I began listening as hard as I could so the tune would help me remember the words now that their meaning would be clear, but those damned old men couldn’t keep their heads still. Every time the muzac cut off my irritation increased, I had the lyrics right on the tip of my tongue…The old men unfolded their stringy bodies from the floor, got in a line and filed right past me to climb out the window. As the last one threw his leg over the sill he looked right into my eyes and said: ‘go ahead and laugh, you know it’s funny.” From the corner of my eye it looked as if they were all wearing diapers.
C&F Writing Competition. Can you freaking believe it?
from deepest lurk
"There is nothing but trouble and desire."
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Bloomfield
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Jeferson
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Entry:
I should have known from the moment I made that first uncomfortable phone call; the whole exercise was designed to elicit pain. I bet you, too, recognize the drill. I’d called to make an appointment to have an annoying tooth looked at, and was told that the first available slot would be three weeks down the road. So, I simply avoided cold food for the time being. Hot food, as well. My waistline would thank me later, I told myself.
On the day of my appointment, I arrived five minutes early to be told by the woman at the front desk that it would be about a half hour before the dentist would see me. “Have a seat, make yourself at home,” she warmly recommended through that perfect smile. Thirty minutes during which to admire that precious odour unique to a medical/dental building. To sit and later squirm awkwardly in an uncomfortable chair. To leaf through newsmagazines dated two to three years earlier. To listen to a young brother and sister fight over who would get to control the video game blaring in the corner. This sure wasn't my home, I was certain.
When the dentist somehow sensed that I was approaching my boiling point, he called for me to come in, have a seat and, yes, wait just a few moments. The sound of arguing kids had now been replaced by the unmistakable sounds of Kenny G, James Last, and Barry Manilow. And Kenny G. I could feel the pain intensifying. When the dentist finally found 45 seconds to have a look and declare that I indeed had a cavity, he requested that I make an appointment at the front desk so that I could come in and have it taken care of. And with that, he was off in a flash to visit another victim.
Standing at the front desk, waiting while the receptionist smiled warmly at a gentleman who was being asked to have a seat and make himself at home, it dawned on me that I actually felt worse than when I’d first walked in. “The next slot open will be in three weeks, on the ninth,” she grinned. A sadistic grin, no doubt.
And I’m certain that the dentist’s diploma on the wall was crooked.
I should have known from the moment I made that first uncomfortable phone call; the whole exercise was designed to elicit pain. I bet you, too, recognize the drill. I’d called to make an appointment to have an annoying tooth looked at, and was told that the first available slot would be three weeks down the road. So, I simply avoided cold food for the time being. Hot food, as well. My waistline would thank me later, I told myself.
On the day of my appointment, I arrived five minutes early to be told by the woman at the front desk that it would be about a half hour before the dentist would see me. “Have a seat, make yourself at home,” she warmly recommended through that perfect smile. Thirty minutes during which to admire that precious odour unique to a medical/dental building. To sit and later squirm awkwardly in an uncomfortable chair. To leaf through newsmagazines dated two to three years earlier. To listen to a young brother and sister fight over who would get to control the video game blaring in the corner. This sure wasn't my home, I was certain.
When the dentist somehow sensed that I was approaching my boiling point, he called for me to come in, have a seat and, yes, wait just a few moments. The sound of arguing kids had now been replaced by the unmistakable sounds of Kenny G, James Last, and Barry Manilow. And Kenny G. I could feel the pain intensifying. When the dentist finally found 45 seconds to have a look and declare that I indeed had a cavity, he requested that I make an appointment at the front desk so that I could come in and have it taken care of. And with that, he was off in a flash to visit another victim.
Standing at the front desk, waiting while the receptionist smiled warmly at a gentleman who was being asked to have a seat and make himself at home, it dawned on me that I actually felt worse than when I’d first walked in. “The next slot open will be in three weeks, on the ninth,” she grinned. A sadistic grin, no doubt.
And I’m certain that the dentist’s diploma on the wall was crooked.
Entry
I hate this. I worry when I illegally park. I scrupulously keep to the speed limit. And this guy expects me to bribe him? I’ve never done this before! It’s wrong!
Right. I’m not in my country, am I? I’m just doing what everyone here does. OK, I tell myself. I can do this. I’ve heard that the going rate for bribes is 50 credits. This is just like haggling for a good price at the market. I just need to stick to my guns.
“Well? How much do you want?” I snap.
“You weren’t wearing your seat belt, I can issue you a summons, you know,” he pauses, then continues when I don’t respond. “You’ll have to attend court…”
“Cut the crap. How much?”
“How much are you willing to pay?”
“20 credits.”
“Umm…” he hedges, but I interrupt him. “Not a penny more!” There. That was convincingly assertive, wasn't it?
“OK. Deal.”
Drat. I dig through my purse and realize I don’t have enough credits. All I have is my country’s currency.
“I’ll give you 10 bucks. That’s about 20 of your credits.”
“I would prefer…”
“I only have 5 credits with me. If you don’t want the 10 bucks you can issue the summons.” Wow. Now I’m playing poker and calling his bluff.
“Alright.” He takes the 10 bucks from me.
I roll up the window and drive off. As I pass the border, I feel strangely exhilarated. I didn’t let him push me around! I paid him less than the going rate!
When I get home, I can’t wait to recount my adventure to my husband.
“Dear, guess what happened at the customs checkpoint just now? I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt and the guy wanted a bribe or he would give me a summons.”
“You didn’t pay him, did you?”
“I bargained it down to 20 credits! That’s pretty good, isn’t it…why are you laughing?”
“He was a customs officer, my dear. He couldn’t have issued you a traffic summons.”
~ end entry ~
I hate this. I worry when I illegally park. I scrupulously keep to the speed limit. And this guy expects me to bribe him? I’ve never done this before! It’s wrong!
Right. I’m not in my country, am I? I’m just doing what everyone here does. OK, I tell myself. I can do this. I’ve heard that the going rate for bribes is 50 credits. This is just like haggling for a good price at the market. I just need to stick to my guns.
“Well? How much do you want?” I snap.
“You weren’t wearing your seat belt, I can issue you a summons, you know,” he pauses, then continues when I don’t respond. “You’ll have to attend court…”
“Cut the crap. How much?”
“How much are you willing to pay?”
“20 credits.”
“Umm…” he hedges, but I interrupt him. “Not a penny more!” There. That was convincingly assertive, wasn't it?
“OK. Deal.”
Drat. I dig through my purse and realize I don’t have enough credits. All I have is my country’s currency.
“I’ll give you 10 bucks. That’s about 20 of your credits.”
“I would prefer…”
“I only have 5 credits with me. If you don’t want the 10 bucks you can issue the summons.” Wow. Now I’m playing poker and calling his bluff.
“Alright.” He takes the 10 bucks from me.
I roll up the window and drive off. As I pass the border, I feel strangely exhilarated. I didn’t let him push me around! I paid him less than the going rate!
When I get home, I can’t wait to recount my adventure to my husband.
“Dear, guess what happened at the customs checkpoint just now? I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt and the guy wanted a bribe or he would give me a summons.”
“You didn’t pay him, did you?”
“I bargained it down to 20 credits! That’s pretty good, isn’t it…why are you laughing?”
“He was a customs officer, my dear. He couldn’t have issued you a traffic summons.”
~ end entry ~
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jkrazy52
- Posts: 772
- Joined: Tue Apr 06, 2004 1:12 am
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- Location: Southern Ohio
A Short Entry … fantasy
The forest seemed to hush as the haunting music echoed through the air. No bird dared to compete with the wondrous sounds, ancient trees swayed as if seeking the source of the melody. As the music stopped all of nature sighed in envy.
“THWACK!” “THWACK!”
The harsh thudding of metal meeting wood was followed by cackling laughter.
“Ah, Davey, Davey, Davey … Are ye not happy with the whistle?”
A person of diminutive stature stood near the man desperately pounding a long metal tube against the old oak. The man raised his head, glared, then resumed his futile pounding -- futile because in this place no damage came to the whistle or the guardian oak.
“Did we not give you exactly what you asked, when you caught me napping? The whistle is sweet, more than any other heard before, is it not? The tune brings a tear to any eye? The form sleek and pleasing …”
“THWACK!”
The man stared at the tiny prince he once thought led to his personal pot o’ gold, then tossed the golden tube at his feet.
“Why?” he demanded.
“Ye only asked for the perfect whistle to play. You didn’t ask if you could take it with you, out of the glen.”
… And now you know the REST of the story.
<end>
Sorry - apologies to all - I just couldn't resist!
~Judy
The forest seemed to hush as the haunting music echoed through the air. No bird dared to compete with the wondrous sounds, ancient trees swayed as if seeking the source of the melody. As the music stopped all of nature sighed in envy.
“THWACK!” “THWACK!”
The harsh thudding of metal meeting wood was followed by cackling laughter.
“Ah, Davey, Davey, Davey … Are ye not happy with the whistle?”
A person of diminutive stature stood near the man desperately pounding a long metal tube against the old oak. The man raised his head, glared, then resumed his futile pounding -- futile because in this place no damage came to the whistle or the guardian oak.
“Did we not give you exactly what you asked, when you caught me napping? The whistle is sweet, more than any other heard before, is it not? The tune brings a tear to any eye? The form sleek and pleasing …”
“THWACK!”
The man stared at the tiny prince he once thought led to his personal pot o’ gold, then tossed the golden tube at his feet.
“Why?” he demanded.
“Ye only asked for the perfect whistle to play. You didn’t ask if you could take it with you, out of the glen.”
… And now you know the REST of the story.
<end>
Sorry - apologies to all - I just couldn't resist!
~Judy
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Walden
- Chiffmaster General
- Posts: 11030
- Joined: Thu May 09, 2002 6:00 pm
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- Location: Coal mining country in the Eastern Oklahoma hills.
- Contact:
ENTRY: A datu of Bga Bga was without child, and in despair. He called upon the elders of the barangay to discern the seasons. After much prayer, and consultation of the astrological records, they came to him.
"Sir, your answer has come to us. You must visit Leleia, an elderly woman who lives by the side of the great Mountain. Take five male dogs, and eight baskets of lansones."
The datu and his party waited till the month was right for such things, and cautiously embarked on the path to the great Mountain. They loaded great treasures upon thirteen carabao, and as instructed, took five of the finest dogs, and eight large baskets of lansones, as presents for the woman who would bring fertility to the ruler's houshold.
As they approached the hut of the old woman, she came out to greet the procession. "Ah! Heaven be praised! You have come at the right time!"
The datu and the elders entered the house silently, while the radiant-faced woman doted, and supped on the lansones, continually offering them to the datu and his party, who consistently, but politely declined.
As time wore on, Leleia addressed the datu, "Is this your wife?"
"Yes, she is my wife," replied the datu.
"She is a very strong woman," said Leleia. "She ought to have borne you a fine progeny. The problem is the water. She must not see rain or bathe."
"Ever?" inquired the wife of the datu.
"You may bathe a month after the child is born," replied Leleia, and then, unexpectedly, punched her, hard, in the stomach.
Leleia moved her arm around, with her hand inside the woman's stomach, and then pulled her hand out, holding a large stone, which appeared to be grey limestone.
"This rock was the problem," Leleia said matter-of-factly to her stunned guests. "It is a water deposit. It was obstructing the womb, so that no child could form."
"Will she be okay?" the datu questioned nervously, as he hovered over his seemingly-lifeless beloved.
"She is fine," said Leleia, in an odd tone of voice. "She is resting."
Leleia went outside and squeezed some kalamansi into a basin, and some juice from the lansones, and brought it in, and cleaned up the wounds, saying, "Wrap her in white cloths, and have her home before nightfall. I cannot stress that enough. It must be before nightfall."
Months passed, and though she seemed to be in good health, the datu found that his wife never really came to full consciousness. She just was able to be fed soup and other liquids.
Though only semiconscious, she was clearly becoming great, with child.
As the ninth month drew nigh, Leleia was seen approaching the datu's house. "The time is here," she said.
"Time for what?" Said the datu suspiciously.
"Time to deliver the child."
"But Nine months aren't up. The baby will be premature." Said the datu. "Now go away."
"Have you no hospitality for the woman who gave you a progeny?" Said Leleia, as her face began to twist into a strange sort of not-quite smile.
She opened her mouth, and revealed a mouth full of sharp dog-like teeth! Out came her long inhuman tongue and went toward the woman. Clearly Leleia was no woman at all, but an aswang.
Motherly instinct rose up within the comatose woman and she rose up and began to scream, and lunged at the aswang. "GET WATER!!!!!!"
The household servants immediately came forth with pails of water and began dumping them on the aswang, who turned into full dog form and ran outside yelping.
As dogs are apt to do, she shook off the water and ran into the distance, and, though in her haste she was unaware, was seen by the datu's wife. Leleia stood on her hind feet, and the top of her body disconnected from the bottom half, which remained, as if a stump of wood, while the top half flew off, in the form of a hawk, into the night.
"What do we do, in such cases?" the datu inquired of his advisors.
"Turn the stump around, sir," was the response.
"What?!"
"Turn the stump around, she will be disoriented and never be able to re-connect."
I don't much believe in astrology, and am skeptical of stories of aswangs and other creatures, but, on dark nights, in the isles, it is said you can hear the cry of a large bird going "click click click!" Ever searching for the child that got away.
EDITED TO ADD THE FOLLOWING NOTES:
Bga Bga- pronounced B'nga B'nga.
Barangay- a Philippine village.
Datu- a chieftain or lord in traditional Filipino society.
Aswang- pronounced ä-swäng'- a shape-shifting fiend in Filipino folklore.
Kalamansi or calamansi- a citrus fruit similar to a lemon or lime. Unpeeled, it superficially resembles a key lime, but the fruit inside is not green. It should be noted that aswangs may be thought to be averse to these.
Lansone- pronounced län-so'-ne- a small beige fruit.
Story loosely based on Philippine lore.
"Sir, your answer has come to us. You must visit Leleia, an elderly woman who lives by the side of the great Mountain. Take five male dogs, and eight baskets of lansones."
The datu and his party waited till the month was right for such things, and cautiously embarked on the path to the great Mountain. They loaded great treasures upon thirteen carabao, and as instructed, took five of the finest dogs, and eight large baskets of lansones, as presents for the woman who would bring fertility to the ruler's houshold.
As they approached the hut of the old woman, she came out to greet the procession. "Ah! Heaven be praised! You have come at the right time!"
The datu and the elders entered the house silently, while the radiant-faced woman doted, and supped on the lansones, continually offering them to the datu and his party, who consistently, but politely declined.
As time wore on, Leleia addressed the datu, "Is this your wife?"
"Yes, she is my wife," replied the datu.
"She is a very strong woman," said Leleia. "She ought to have borne you a fine progeny. The problem is the water. She must not see rain or bathe."
"Ever?" inquired the wife of the datu.
"You may bathe a month after the child is born," replied Leleia, and then, unexpectedly, punched her, hard, in the stomach.
Leleia moved her arm around, with her hand inside the woman's stomach, and then pulled her hand out, holding a large stone, which appeared to be grey limestone.
"This rock was the problem," Leleia said matter-of-factly to her stunned guests. "It is a water deposit. It was obstructing the womb, so that no child could form."
"Will she be okay?" the datu questioned nervously, as he hovered over his seemingly-lifeless beloved.
"She is fine," said Leleia, in an odd tone of voice. "She is resting."
Leleia went outside and squeezed some kalamansi into a basin, and some juice from the lansones, and brought it in, and cleaned up the wounds, saying, "Wrap her in white cloths, and have her home before nightfall. I cannot stress that enough. It must be before nightfall."
Months passed, and though she seemed to be in good health, the datu found that his wife never really came to full consciousness. She just was able to be fed soup and other liquids.
Though only semiconscious, she was clearly becoming great, with child.
As the ninth month drew nigh, Leleia was seen approaching the datu's house. "The time is here," she said.
"Time for what?" Said the datu suspiciously.
"Time to deliver the child."
"But Nine months aren't up. The baby will be premature." Said the datu. "Now go away."
"Have you no hospitality for the woman who gave you a progeny?" Said Leleia, as her face began to twist into a strange sort of not-quite smile.
She opened her mouth, and revealed a mouth full of sharp dog-like teeth! Out came her long inhuman tongue and went toward the woman. Clearly Leleia was no woman at all, but an aswang.
Motherly instinct rose up within the comatose woman and she rose up and began to scream, and lunged at the aswang. "GET WATER!!!!!!"
The household servants immediately came forth with pails of water and began dumping them on the aswang, who turned into full dog form and ran outside yelping.
As dogs are apt to do, she shook off the water and ran into the distance, and, though in her haste she was unaware, was seen by the datu's wife. Leleia stood on her hind feet, and the top of her body disconnected from the bottom half, which remained, as if a stump of wood, while the top half flew off, in the form of a hawk, into the night.
"What do we do, in such cases?" the datu inquired of his advisors.
"Turn the stump around, sir," was the response.
"What?!"
"Turn the stump around, she will be disoriented and never be able to re-connect."
I don't much believe in astrology, and am skeptical of stories of aswangs and other creatures, but, on dark nights, in the isles, it is said you can hear the cry of a large bird going "click click click!" Ever searching for the child that got away.
EDITED TO ADD THE FOLLOWING NOTES:
Bga Bga- pronounced B'nga B'nga.
Barangay- a Philippine village.
Datu- a chieftain or lord in traditional Filipino society.
Aswang- pronounced ä-swäng'- a shape-shifting fiend in Filipino folklore.
Kalamansi or calamansi- a citrus fruit similar to a lemon or lime. Unpeeled, it superficially resembles a key lime, but the fruit inside is not green. It should be noted that aswangs may be thought to be averse to these.
Lansone- pronounced län-so'-ne- a small beige fruit.
Story loosely based on Philippine lore.
Last edited by Walden on Sat Jul 31, 2004 3:23 am, edited 1 time in total.
Reasonable person
Walden
Walden
-
RonKiley
- Posts: 1404
- Joined: Sun Mar 16, 2003 12:53 pm
- Please enter the next number in sequence: 1
- Location: Germantown, MD
Why not?
Entry
The two boys hurriedly climbed the tree. They went through the small opening in the tangled Honeysuckle vines that covered the tops of the trees in the small patch of woods next to the school. The intertwined vines looped from tree to tree forming a natural hammock. This was their secret place.
They kept their pipes there and a can of tobacco carefully sealed to protect from the rain. They could lie back and have a smoke and talk about the things special to twelve-year-old boys. The small birds flitted and sang around them. They had been friends for many years, at least many as perceived by boys their age. There was comfort and reassurance resting in the embrace of the vines.
This would change in the fall. They did not realize that now. There was only the present. In the fall they would go to a new much larger school where they would make new friends. They would meet girls. Their lives would no longer be weaved together like the comforting Honeysuckle.
Now they watched the smoke curl up from their pipes and laughed. A hawk effortlessly circled over their head.
Ron
Entry
The two boys hurriedly climbed the tree. They went through the small opening in the tangled Honeysuckle vines that covered the tops of the trees in the small patch of woods next to the school. The intertwined vines looped from tree to tree forming a natural hammock. This was their secret place.
They kept their pipes there and a can of tobacco carefully sealed to protect from the rain. They could lie back and have a smoke and talk about the things special to twelve-year-old boys. The small birds flitted and sang around them. They had been friends for many years, at least many as perceived by boys their age. There was comfort and reassurance resting in the embrace of the vines.
This would change in the fall. They did not realize that now. There was only the present. In the fall they would go to a new much larger school where they would make new friends. They would meet girls. Their lives would no longer be weaved together like the comforting Honeysuckle.
Now they watched the smoke curl up from their pipes and laughed. A hawk effortlessly circled over their head.
Ron
Entry
'Twas over a plate of potato skins at Ruby Tuesday's that he
told me: he'll forever shun the fairer sex. Shouldn't have
surprised me. My wife had long held the belief that this
was so. It was not just that he fit the stereotypes (though
he certainly did fit quite a few of them), you really could
just bloody TELL.
Hell, when he told his mother, she laughed at him.
She'd known for quite some time, she was just waiting
for him to admit it. It made me think of the guy I knew
in years before whose family and West Virginian community
had shunned him, whose Bible college had tried to reform
him; why should it be easy for some and such hell for others?
But I'm not bothered by this revalation. I don't care who
he dates, he's still my friend, we will still talk about computer
and music and why these damn potato skins are so burnt...
but tales of Heterosexual exploits?
Quoth the gay man: "Nevermore."
'Twas over a plate of potato skins at Ruby Tuesday's that he
told me: he'll forever shun the fairer sex. Shouldn't have
surprised me. My wife had long held the belief that this
was so. It was not just that he fit the stereotypes (though
he certainly did fit quite a few of them), you really could
just bloody TELL.
Hell, when he told his mother, she laughed at him.
She'd known for quite some time, she was just waiting
for him to admit it. It made me think of the guy I knew
in years before whose family and West Virginian community
had shunned him, whose Bible college had tried to reform
him; why should it be easy for some and such hell for others?
But I'm not bothered by this revalation. I don't care who
he dates, he's still my friend, we will still talk about computer
and music and why these damn potato skins are so burnt...
but tales of Heterosexual exploits?
Quoth the gay man: "Nevermore."
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FJohnSharp
- Posts: 3050
- Joined: Thu May 30, 2002 6:00 pm
- antispam: No
- Please enter the next number in sequence: 8
- Tell us something.: I used to be a regular then I took up the bassoon. Bassoons don't have a lot of chiff. Not really, I have always been a drummer, and my C&F years were when I was a little tired of the drums. Now I'm back playing drums. I mist the C&F years, though.
- Location: Kent, Ohio
I love that people are showing sides of themselvs not heretofore seen.
This is fun.
This is fun.
"Meon an phobail a thogail trid an chultur"
(The people’s spirit is raised through culture)
Suburban Symphony
(The people’s spirit is raised through culture)
Suburban Symphony
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Bloomfield
- Posts: 8225
- Joined: Mon Oct 15, 2001 6:00 pm
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- Please enter the next number in sequence: 8
- Location: Location: Location:
I don't envy you, Bloomfield. You're going to have a very tough time picking a winner! And with all these new sides we're seeing of C&Fers, you should leave the contest open until you go a whole week without a new entry. Just in case one of our writers is fighting the stage fright bug. I'd hate to miss any of these stories.Bloomfield wrote:No kidding!FJohnSharp wrote:This is fun.
Nothing is so firmly believed as that which is least known--Montaigne
We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark. The real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light
--Plato
We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark. The real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light
--Plato
No!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I will NEVER get any work done then!blackhawk wrote: And with all these new sides we're seeing of C&Fers, you should leave the contest open until you go a whole week without a new entry. Just in case one of our writers is fighting the stage fright bug. I'd hate to miss any of these stories.
Deadlines, we need deadlines!!!!!!!
(no, just kidding--it is indeed great to read all of these)
Carol
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Bloomfield
- Posts: 8225
- Joined: Mon Oct 15, 2001 6:00 pm
- antispam: No
- Please enter the next number in sequence: 8
- Location: Location: Location:
I am thinking about extending the deadline, but let's see a few more days.
And no kidding about the difficulty in choosing! I am amazed and delighted by the entries and after each new entry I am fighting the urge to post, "wow, that was great" or some such inappropriate remark from the Neutral Arbiter Of Short Prose. I am considering getting myself a little editorial staff for the selection process. Not that they'd get to decide anything, but it might be handy to have somebody to blame in case something leaks about the very nice whistles, golf clubs, and offer for an ocean-side vacation I have recently received from contest entrants. I mean, never mind, hahaha. Just a little joke, of course. Ahem.
Back to our contest entries.
And no kidding about the difficulty in choosing! I am amazed and delighted by the entries and after each new entry I am fighting the urge to post, "wow, that was great" or some such inappropriate remark from the Neutral Arbiter Of Short Prose. I am considering getting myself a little editorial staff for the selection process. Not that they'd get to decide anything, but it might be handy to have somebody to blame in case something leaks about the very nice whistles, golf clubs, and offer for an ocean-side vacation I have recently received from contest entrants. I mean, never mind, hahaha. Just a little joke, of course. Ahem.
Back to our contest entries.
/Bloomfield