Here's my entry into the one-syllable challenge.  Tell me what you think.

That said, my opinion of these contests?

They flex certain muscles... but it seriously limits the storytelling
ability.  


Ice

by Night Elf (heh)

*************************************

It's done.  All done.

I see them in my mind's eye, just as I saw them in the yard last
week.  He holds her hand, his heart soars... while mine breaks.  She
turns to him, winks in play, smiles... just like she did with me,
once.  Once, long ago, when I was worth her time and her love.  There
is no doubt now: she is his, and he hers.  She loves me no more...
and that hurts, more than I can bear.

What had I done for her?  She was dead... and I brought her back to
life.  She was cold... and I held her close, to give her warmth.  She
was sad... and I dried her tears, to make sure that cute face of hers
smiled.  

Now, I am cold - this girl's frame chills me to the bone.  I am sad -
my love has left me for all time, for my best friend... my hell.  

And, soon, I shall be dead, and she will not bring me back.  

It is done - my man's form is gone for good, due to that bitch who
sought my hand.  All that's left is the mind to kill, for this girl's
form will not be mourned.  I run to the room at the end of the hall,
and slam the door.  I search through the bath, to find... to find my
end.  I can take no more; my life is a shell of its old self.  The
pain is too much; I can't see... don't want to see... what I leave on
earth.  My life is done, and there should be no more pain, no more
tears.

The blade feels warm to the touch - its edge glides by my skin...
then cuts deep at my wrist, to the bone.  Blood pools at my feet; I know I
must act now.  I cut my left wrist to make a pair, then fall in the warm
bath.  

Strange that I would die a girl... in a hot bath.  Red stains the
tub; it feels cool now, as blood spurts from my wounds.  I'm so
weak, so drained... I want to rest so bad... but I can see death come for
me.  He rides up to me, gives me a sign.... a small part of me fights it,
but there is no life left in me to fight.  

It feels so cold now, so cold... I want to sleep... sleep would feel
so good.... so good.... so...


*******

Nicholas Leifker
July 7, 1998