Writing Championships #4

Amber Antags

Hermitcraft.

A generally peaceful server, not much conflict aside from playful fights and joke wars. Nothing critical, nothing concerning, the only aggression consisting of facades and shared, fake hatred.

So how did this happen?

-

Joe stood before her.But was this really the friend she knew?

Normally dark brown eyes flashed red, malicious intent settling inside them.

No, this wasn't Joe.

"Howdy, Cleo," Joe- or whoever the fuck this was- said in an unsettling tone. There was no way this would end well for her. The malice in his eyes confirmed this.

"You're-" Cleo hesitated for a split second, still trying to grasp what was happening. "You're not Joe. What the fuck did you do to Joe?" Her voice began to grow in volume as she became more and more concerned and upset.

A grin that didn't belong to Joe settled on his face. A grin that Cleo never thought she'd ever see on this innocent face of a friend. Yet it was there nonetheless. "Whatever are you implying? I'm present, right here, before your eyes!" He stepped forward.

Oh, it was so sickening how this version of Joe used such a familiar language choice.

"I-" Cleo's voice wavered. "Get- l- get back." Her shaky hand drifted to her side and settled on her sword.

Fake-Joe raised his hands in surrender, but didn't make any movement backwards. "This aggression is uncalled for, Cleo," he said. "Why don't we-" he was cut off by Cleo unsheathing her sword and pointing it at him.

"...I see," he muttered. "So it shall be that way." He drew his own sword, and readied himself.

For a few minutes, all that could be heard was the clashing of metal and the occasional muffled cry of pain.

This Joe- replacement- impostor- whatever- was far more skilled than she was. She was taking most of the damage dealt, and had hardly gotten a scratch on him.

She needed to get out. To find help.

Who would be nearby...?

Grian, Mumbo, they were online and possibly in the area.

"Grian! Mumbo!" Cleo yelled.

Stumbling into a small boat at the edge of the shopping district, she rowed as fast as she could. Joe was close behind, wielding a diamond sword, dripping with blood.

Her blood. The cut on her arm burned as she rowed, but Joe was gaining on her.

Flinging herself into the sea below, she swam. She was always a strong swimmer, and her years of living by the sea didn't fail her.

Cleo reached Grian's base's outer ring, with Joe twenty, fifteen, ten yards behind.

She ran.

"Grian!" His base was fairly open-plan, she should've been able to see Grian. But she couldn't. Peering around the piles of chests and shulker boxes, there was no sign of the short builder, no sound of fireworks shooting.

Turning back to face Joe as he ran through Grian's base, something red caught her eye.

It lay behind one of the pillars, a figure. A figure slumped against a chest and a shulker box... it was Grian. An arrow, imbedded in his stomach, blood collected in a puddle on the clean white floor. Dead.

Shaking, Cleo put on her elytra. With rips and tears, she didn't want to risk anything. But this was life and death...

She didn't hesitate as she pulled out a few rockets and shot away through the roof. She dodged the beacon and flew. Over to Mumbo's base, where she desperately hoped Joe hadn't gotten there before.

Maybe that was too much to hope for, because as she flew, her heart told her that Mumbo was dead. An empty feeling inside of her told enough.

Splash!

The cold water shocked her. Cleo hadn't realised her rockets had run out and she was gliding towards the sea. Clouds of red floated behind her as salt pulled at the wounds.

She got to land, but he was behind her. Her body felt weighed down, soaking wet.

"Now, now, Cleo. Face me and fight, don't run like a coward," Joe said soothingly, rowing towards her. His tone of voice didn't match what he was saying at all, and it sent shivers down her spine.

Cleo drew her sword. And she faced Joe.

But this wasn't normal Joe, and he was so much stronger than her now. Too much.

A swipe at her abdomen and pain erupted in her brain, everything exploding in pain.

And she did something that she thought she could never do.

She turned and ran, ran, ran, ran, her thoughts blurring together, morphing into one as her feet became slower and slower.

She realized reaching the other Hermits would be impossible with her condition. She wouldn't make it in time.

She would either bleed out before making it to anyone, or Joe would make it to them first and she'd find them all dead.

Either way, she knew she wouldn't make it. Joe had made sure she wouldn't. She was slowly losing all hope in herself.

The Hermits wouldn't find her in time either, they'd most likely find Joe before her anyway as he searched for them.

It weighed heavy on her bones.

The cold.

It felt so cold. Cleo tried to keep her feet moving to the last place, the last thing that she could hold on to.

The field.

The field where she and Joe weaved flower crowns and placed them atop of their heads, kings and queens and knights and imagination in their heads. Picnics and laughing and dancing.

The night sky twinkled above them, each star looking down at pity at the stumbling girl, holding her stomach in the dance of death. Sunflowers were crushed beneath her numb feet.

And oh, she couldn't breathe, but she kept charging on. Something was missing, but she wasn't sure if it was her heart or her soul.

And for some reason, she felt alive. She felt free.

The sky was so beautiful tonight, she thought, as she let something flow out of her, staring up at the sky. Her red hair was angelic in the moonlight.

"Will I go to the stars?" She had asked Joe that before, when they had sat in the dead of night, wondering. "When I die, will I go to the stars?"

And he said that if she did, he would go with her.

He said it would be so poetic to be a star, all shiny and bright.

Ethereal.

He said that stars were ethereal.

And she felt her knees collide with the soft earth, and grass tickle her bare legs. Life ebbed away like a cool river.

Cleo could feel her heartbeat slowing down. She let her arms fall to their sides as she laid back in the cold grass, accepting the present and the reality. Her chest rose and fell with each drawn-out breath and their eyes softly fell shut.

It was only right there and right then that she finally felt like she was being freed of the invisible chains that reigned her in. For better or for worse, Cleo knew deep down that things would never be the same again.

And she wondered if Joe would see the stars too.

Score: 9.5 (Spectator Favourite)