Writing Challenge ~ 2nd - 14th April 2011

[Britwitch]

WRITING CHALLENGE ~ APRIL 2011 ~ PART ONE​

Here is this month’s first prompt…

http://i173.photobucket.com/albums/w62/Britwitch/WC_April2011.jpg​

You can involve the prompt itself in your piece and make your link to the prompt as obvious or as subtle as you like or use it simply as inspiration for something else. You can use part of the prompt, just one aspect of the image, or use it in its entirety.

The word limit for this challenge is 1,500 words and your submission can take whatever form you desire – poetry or prose, complete story or a vignette. Erotic or not, serious or light hearted, it’s whatever you want it to be!!

Post only your submissions in this thread, constructive comments and reviews are to be posted in the appropriately named – Writing Challenge Review Thread

The deadline for this month’s challenge is Thursday 14th April 2011, with the second prompt ‘going live’ on the 15th!

Previous challenges and reviews can be found here.

Happy writing!

 

[wideeyedone]

It was only by happenstance that Emily saw them. She had decided to walk to the bakery that morning and treat herself. She wanted to enjoy the crisp morning air and the smell of baking and the book she had been waiting to read. She had her satchel thrown over her shoulder and she was snuggled into her sweater as she listened the clicking of her own shoes on the sidewalk.

The breeze blew a strand of her hair in her face and she tucked in behind her ear. She noticed the couple kissing on the bridge. The woman's cocktail dress glimmered in the early morning light, her hair was tousled. It was obvious that she was witnessing a goodbye after a passionate night. Emily found herself watching like a voyeur. She knew she should look away. But the way his hands caressed the woman's face. Emily's heart was beating faster. She bit her lip as they kissed again. The girl stood on her tiptoes trying to get more of his kiss.

Emily caught the fellows eye and he smiled at her, blushing just a bit. Emily looked away and rushed down the street. the clicking of her shoes felt deafening. her cheeks now flushed with embarassment. She knew she shouldn't have infringed on their moment. She took her book out of her bag and held it to her chest. Having something to hold made her feel less exposed. She hoped her hunger was not on her face. Sometimes she could forget how badly she wanted to be loved, how long it had been since she had been held. She felt as if her lonliness was chasing her. But she couldn't outrun it.

She knew she was getting close. The air smelled like pastry and cinnamon. She sat on the bench across the street from the bakery. She nestled into the corner of the bench and opened her book. She opened the cover and relished each word. Emily tried to forget. She tried to forget the embrace she witnessed.

 

[Last_Rider]

Almost

It was such an odd emotional thing, to photograph something. He'd been doing it for a while now, and had yet to truly define or understand the tug at his soul when he captured a moment. That was the impetus for the emotion, one moment in the inevitably finite vastness of time. One moment, a moment never to be duplicated ever again. The sun would never set just like it did, the wind would never blow the same way, the very molecules of the universe would never align in that same way for the rest of time. And he was immortalizing that moment.

If you ever paused to consider the implications of photography your hand might shake with the immensity of what you do every time you press that button. For him, it was a deeply personal and spiritual experience whenever he looked through the view finder and decided that this moment was worth keeping around forever. The moments he chose had to be perfect. If they weren't, it was in insult to the few perfect moments that this imperfect one had been chosen and the perfect ones lost forever.

Today he wasn't shooting, he was going over the photo's he'd already submitted. He didn't like submitting the imperfect ones, but there were financial realities to consider. The moments he had yet to capture wouldn't be served by his starving in a cold apartment because he sought artistic perfection without any realistic grounding. Going back over these moments helped keep his perspective, each one a reminder that he'd yet to truly capture a perfect moment. Many were close, but each of them lacked something, something intangible that made them perfect.

Among the stack was an older picture, one that had made him a tidy bit of money and a bit of critical acclaim. He kept this one because it was the closest to perfect, a reminder that it could be done, and an insult. To have come so close but not done it stung and drove him forward.

He sighed to himself, he usually did when looking at this one again.

"If only that couple hadn't been there."

 

[fr33ks33k]

Through The Scope

His breaths curled into the crisp morning air, dissipating slowly like the tendrils of smoke lingering after a dragon's exhale. Methodically, the rifle was assembled. He'd done it many times before; stock, barrel, scope, trigger mechanisms all laid out in order before being combined into this deadly extension of his being. Flipping down the stabilizer legs, he positioned himself along the Northwestern corner of the Parliament building. His target would be walking along the bridge below at 0845, and he would have a four minute window in which to take the shot.

He checked his watch, the subtle creeping light of the morning drawing shadows over his hidden form. His camouflage was impeccable, lovingly crafted months in advance. 0825; twenty minutes left of waiting. He checked his scope, sweeping the bridge and calibrating the focus.

On his last sweep, he came across two people walking slowly toward each other. As they moved closer, they seemed to recall who the other was; their feet carried them swiftly to an embrace only reserved for long lost friends or lovers. Their sudden kiss marked them the latter.

He watched through the lens, seeing every detail through the magnification; every flash of teeth and press of lips. Even from this distance, he could feel the heat of their passion, the burning fire at the pits of their stomachs that found its way to their eyes when they fluttered open. The heat seemed to permeate his own body, stirring in his loins and his mind. Deeper, slower breaths fumed away, wisps quickly extinguished by the rising temperature.

They stood there, frozen like a sculpture erected in monument to lust and love, for many moments. He chanced a look at his watch; 0840, and he returned to the couple, lingering for a second before sweeping the bridge again. No sight of the target. He moved back to the couple, their embrace becoming more heavy, hands roaming over areas that were typically saved for more private rooms. He felt his heartbeat climbing as he watched, a voyeur enjoying the candidness of the two people sharing their emotion with blatant disregard to the peering eyes of passers-by. The stirring of his core was increased; on the periphery of his keen-focused thoughts he felt the starting of an erection. Briefly he chastised himself for such distraction, but justified it with some illogical excuse, quickly forgotten in the moment he had found and lost himself in.

A single chime signified the time to strike, followed by the quarter-after chime of the bells. The resonation, metal-on-metal clanging unabashedly, shattered the reverie, the intimacy. He dragged his eyes away and swept the bridge once again, the target conspicuously absent from his supposedly scheduled location. He felt a frustration, not only at the ghostly nature of his mark, but also at having to tear his eyes from the thrall of the couple; a vicarious vision of things he had long since forsaken in favor of his duty. They were a window into the world that he could no longer live in.

It was then that the couple parted paths, hesitating, leaving lingering touches, stealing just that one more kiss before their fingers finally slipped from one another. Through the scope he felt the palpitations returning. The man turned and headed down the bridge, his face moving directly into the cross-hair.

A breath caught in surprised lungs, an eye widened as realization struck. The anonymous lover was his target. He felt suddenly dirty for watching with such intrigue. Subconsciously, the rifle moved with the man, following his path down the bridge. Normally, there was no hesitation; aim, squeeze, pack up and go. This time, he felt remorse. He kept seeing the young woman, wondering how she would feel about this death. Some twisted notion turned his thoughts to how the woman would feel next to him, beneath him. He wondered how her lips felt, how they tasted. He wondered many things. The million questions traveled at light-speed through his mind. He realized suddenly that he'd been holding his breath. Exhaling slowly, the rifle turned and continued to trace the quarry.

A blink of the eye, a steadying of nerves. He felt the rush of adrenaline, the tightening of muscles in his stomach, his shoulders, his chest. It was the thrill, the surge of power. It was a mental orgasm, blooming like an orchid in the moonlight. His eye opened, pupil dilating, focus drawing in on the man. For a split second, he felt that pang of remorse, but the memories of the questions that filled his mind, the thought that they would fill his dreams and fantasies, the realization that he would always be the voyeur, never the participant, overrode the sense of guilt.

The shot made hardly a noise. It was accurate to within a millimetre. He exhaled slowly, placing the rifle down in front of himself. His back rested against the cold stone of the building, and his eyes drifted closed. In his mind's eye was a snapshot of the man he'd killed, holding his lover in an embrace that would not be destroyed by any passing of time.

Some day, he would find her and answer all of his questions.

 

[HermesVoice]

Watching him kiss her was the hardest part.

I turned to go, pausing only to slip the ring from my finger and letting it fall into the river below.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

An early morning before the rest of the world stirred. A day that promised sights and sounds of living. Good or bad, it simply was. There on a bridge, caught in a moment of time, two lovers, sharing an intimate moment before the day claimed them. One last kiss to think about when the day got rough. Soft, quietly spoken words to hang onto. Whispered promises of what the night would hold when it came. Already feeling the yearning for it to be so.

They say a picture is worth a thousands words. A moment, when time seemed to stand still, captured through the lens of a camera. The imagery had the ability to elicit a smile, perhaps a feeling of envy, a feeling of renewed hope or even pessimism in some.

Slowly, the world woke, bustling with the demands of daily living. Oblivious to everything but what needed to be done, people scurried about. Was it good thing that they didn’t know what was about to happen? Just live in the moment, right?

Tick, tick, tick. Did the Cosmos keep time? Tick, tick, tick. The second hand on a clock somewhere moved. It happened so quickly the world didn’t have time to register fear. A light, brighter than anything they could understand engulfed them. Buildings exploded into dust. Rivers, simply weren’t. There was no time for screams or feelings of horror. Everything just ceased to be. What had once been a thriving city was now just a barren wasteland scattered with mounds of rubble.

Had any life form survived the devastation? Maybe the cockroach, those damn things never seem to die. But a human being? Who would know until they came and started digging through the debris, such as it was. Hope beat eternal in the breast of the rest of the world.

 

[ObscureInsanity]

The Promise


What she wouldn't give to see that glint of love in his eyes again....

She could have known, really, when he started walking her down this path.. towards the river... their first kiss was there... what better way than to end the cycle where it had begun.

Still, Anna felt with every step she took that her heart was shattering. His hand was not in hers, their fingers were not laced together. She was dressed for an outing, a date even, though she knew the conclusion would leave her back where she was a year before. She could cry right now, she could lie and pretend she forgot something in the house, fake a headache... prolong the inevitable.

He stopped dead center on the bridge. His handsome physique was hunched, he had once loved her, very deeply. He really didn't know what had changed... one night while making love he just... lost the spark. And every day after that he had thought about it... where the spark went was not for certain, but he knew that while the idea of being alone didn't bother him, the idea of leaving her alone crushed him. Yes, that's why he stayed the extra two months... and in that time he was able to transfer to another city, he was, after all, a man in high demand. He glanced over at Anna, she had only come a third of the way down the bridge, she looked like a child now. He could see the tears welling in her eyes, he clinched his fist and started walking towards her, exhaling miserably.

"Anna..." he began, his normally upbeat voice was full of mourning; he smiled weakly at her to try and cease her light sniffles.

"David...?" she questioned. In her mind it would be perfect to come here, a night time setting, the old palace lights would be lit, his handsome smile, his kind soothing voice. A bent knee, a question of forever... but even her fantasies could not take her away from the misery to come.

"We met here a year ago," He said nostalgically.

"Yes..." she whimpered. She closed her eyes and pictured it. He was in a black silk button down, dark wash denim jeans, his hair was a bit longer then; a few friends were on his heals. She was looking over the water, she was thinking things... self destructive things... he just... turned her about and kissed her, square on the lips. She melted like butter in his arms... she had a reason again... even if it was a stranger... even if it meant she'd have to look for this man for the rest of her life...

"And... now we end it here..." he says. "You didn't do anything wrong... it's..."

"It's me, not you?" she interrupted, quoting the air with her fingers; she gulped down that lump in her throat. A single tear fell from the corner of her eye. She forcibly wiped it away. Yes, she had heard that one before.

"It is," He agreed, stroking the stray strand of hair from her cheek.

"It has been for two months..." she admitted out loud. Admitting it destroyed her, she thought he had a lot on his mind, she made up every excuse in the book, even went so far as to being okay with him cheating on her... he wasn't the cheating type, though, she knew that.

"I'm leaving for London in the morning," he said. "I thought it'd only be proper to tell you, instead of just disappearing."

"Proper..." she repeated. More tears were falling. "Was it proper to lead me on?"

He didn't say anything, he looked down at her; he felt horrible. He pitied her. She forced her bravest smile onto her face. She was shaking, it was slight, but the way he was studying her, she was sure he could see it. She was weak without him. She never really learned how to live for herself, she always lived for someone else.

"I love you." she said quietly. "I will until the day I die."

His eyes averted, of course he couldn't say the same. He would remember her, yes, but love her...? He knew that's what she wanted to hear... he knew she wanted that slight bit of hope that maybe, maybe... but he couldn't do that to her... he cared about her, he couldn't just let her rot away waiting, instead of living her life.

"Can I just... ask you one thing?" she queried. He looked into her deep blue eyes again, the tears were being forced away, a brave woman stood before him. He admired that, any other woman would hit him, run away crying. She wanted closure now, and he would give it to her.

"Go on..." he purred.

"Can I... just have one last kiss...?" her lip quivered as she spoke; it felt like her heart was in a vice, being squeezed. She could die right there, God willing, but of course, that wasn't the way of the world.

He smiled, tilting her head up gently with the side of his index finger. She leaned towards him, eyes closed, hoping to rekindle the love they had through another memorable kiss. His lips struck her cheek briefly, her eyes opened in that moment and she knew...

Today, Love was lost. Today, she would lose another piece of herself in a man.

"Now, will you do something for me...?" he asked, his voice wavered, as though he was holding back crying himself.

She should say 'no'. But she nodded, touching gently the place where he had kissed her. He pulled her in close, holding her to him, inhaling that scent he knew so well and once tenderly loved.

"I want you to go home... I want you to pack away all the things that remind you of me... I want you to put them in a box, put them in your attic, don't touch them until you're completely over me... and in the interim of you finding a way to be over me... do all the things you want to do; do all the things you're too afraid to do... I want you to live... live like tomorrow will never come; live like you're dying." He whispered. "Promise me you will live for you."

She fumbled as she held him, she started sobbing. He knew her as much as she knew him... yet... this was the end...

"Promise me." he repeated.

"I promise."

 

[fddb410]

The Bridge...

It was a strange thing...and he’d thought it more than probably a hundred times before now...but in his head he’d not aged even half of what his body had. It’d been something like sixty-seven years since he’d stood in this same spot. Yet his memory of those days was crystal clear. Today was a much nicer day than any he’d had back then. It had been the closing months of the war. His rifle platoon had been assigned to an engineers detail to back them up with security recon and fire support. Jake had the B.A.R. so he often was on point.

He shook his head and grinned at the couple across the bridge from him as they giggled and necked. He chuckled to himself as he wondered in that instant if the two young lovers would call it ‘necking.’ That’s what they’d called it back in his day. His son, who had brought him here for some danged veteran’s hoopla was too old himself now to have any current info on current kid lingo. He’d have to remember to ask one of the grandkids when they got back home.

He’d purposefully not talked about the war and his experiences. The memories were still too vivid even now for him as he remembered the week he’d spent around these bridges and the classic buildings across the river. Their lieutenant had been an architect before the war which is maybe how they had ended up with their assignment. He’d always seemed kind of ‘gaa gaa’ about their mission...maybe even to the point of sometimes placing it over the safety of his men. But they’d all gotten back home from it and that’s all any of them really cared about. Most of the few that he’d been friends with and signed up with were dead now...or sadly wished they were. His long-time buddy Jimmy had envied him some for being able to make it back here but was glad that Jake’s son had organized it for his old man.

For having made the trip with his son Jake was now grateful and not as reluctant as he’d originally been. They’d had some good moments during the trip and grown even closer. But now on this bridge it seemed to be for them, his buddies and the others, as much as for himself that he was here now. A tear quietly rolled down over his wrinkled cheek as he remembered the fire fights and sniping as the engineers worked to dismantle the demolition charges that the Nazi’s had strung on the bridges and on some of the buildings. The lieutenant had called it ‘revengeful sour grapes.’

Jake remembered his ranting as clearly now as if the LT was there in front of him, “If the fucking fuehrer can’t have these priceless treasures then no one will is what these buggers must be thinking.”

The intel had been very good from the partisans and they’d gotten there early and surprised the Nazi’s before they’d finished the job. They ‘d been determined to get it done too, which why they fought every attempt to undo what had been done. He’d never been so fucking scared in his whole life...well not at least since D-Day.

He muttered quietly to himself as he took in the scene. ‘Them buggers had nothing to lose did they? But we did okay I reckon. This pretty young couple and god knows how many others wouldn’t have had a lovely time on this bridge like this...would they now!’

He smiled as the guy’s arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace and then kissed her. They seemed oblivious to the world around then as his hands slipped smoothly down her back and patted and cupped her ass. That took Jake back to other memories he’d not shared. He smiled wistfully as he thought of his late wife and how she’d loved to have come here with him. Suddenly Jake was startled for a moment by a male voice beside him and a hand on his shoulder.

“Dad? You okay?”

“Yeah son. I’m fine. Thanks for giving me this moment.”

 

[Light Ice]

“When were you happiest?”

I resent the question. He looks at me with those mud-brown eyes even as he leans from his chair and offers me a cigarette, which I take, but not because we are friends or pals or even because we are two men who are about to make a very real, and very serious agreement. I take the cigarette because I need one, because we both know the answer to that question and what it will do to me to answer it. I lean further and tuck it between my lips, taste that spongy taste of the filter for a moment before his lighter sparks a tear-drop shaped flame that elongates into a perfect, typical flame. I inhale it into the Marlboro until it is lit and he leans back, and I lean back, fighting the temptation to hit him again.

“The day I came home with my first B in school.” My words are flat and they taste worse than this smoke, like sarcasm.

“Don’t fuck around. I’ve already explained the rules.”

It’s true. He doesn’t have to go through it all again. For the better part of what feels like a lifetime I have been trapped in this place trying to break his god damned rules. For the better part of what feels like a lifetime I have been playing his god damned game and coming up short. This is finally the end and we both know it. I should be relieved but I’m not. Instead, I’m angry as hell because it just seems so fucking typical.

I have never been a good man. Few really are and that’s the truth. My therapist attempted to convince me that I was “playing tapes”. To her, everything was a god damned tape. She was certain that the only reason I felt like I was not a good man was because my father used to go out of his way to make me feel like a bad boy. To her, self-righteous cunt that she was, everything came back to my father and his expectations and tantrums.

Now, I sit here with freedom staring me in the face. I just have to jump through some hoops. He’s looking at me again with those eyes. Those. Fucking. Eyes. They remind me of the mud behind home plate at my high school field after it rained and a few cleats had torn into it. Swirling. Liquid. You wondered if you put your foot down it’d get stuck and if you could get it free whether or not your cleat would be left behind. I look into those wet-mud-brown eyes and nod once because I know that this is the end and I can’t buy myself anymore time. The cigarette tastes like heaven. It’s about as close as I’ll get. I start to tell him what he already knows.

“We had just gotten married and wanted to honeymoon. I wanted to go some place where we didn’t have to worry about money-“

“You know the rules.” He fucking interrupts me. I didn’t anticipate him to be so fucking rude.

“I wanted to go some place cheap because I hadn’t had a job in a couple months and she’d paid for most of the wedding. I felt guilty. I felt embarrassed. I felt terrible because she was too good for me and didn’t see it. She just loved me. And we went to London and on our first day together she just wanted to walk around and hold my hand. She must have told me that she loved me a hundred times…”

I start to cry. The tears are hot this time because I mean them now, more than ever, and I feel nothing but shame because he’s still staring at me with those horrible, ugly eyes and I can’t stop reliving that moment on the bridge when she kissed me and I realized that I really did love her.

“You don’t understand.” I say and flick the ash off my Marlboro and to god knows where.

“I do. I love very strongly.”

I laugh at him because he believes it. I laugh because he thinks that’s the answer, that that’s the truth. The truth in his name? I do not believe so. It should surprise me that he is being sincere but it doesn’t, it’s just so fucking ironic that I can’t help but laugh. I’m not surprised when he backhand’s me, either, and still my laugh dies off slow even as the coppery taste of blood fills my mouth and I’m spitting it onto god knows what. I’ve lost my cigarette.

“It was the first time you felt like you loved someone.”

He makes clear the obvious and I let him without interruption or commentary this time. Again, he offers the never-ending pack of Marlboro’s and I lean forward to take another. The filter tastes strongly of blood but I don’t mind because it’s almost as if I can sense that this part of the game is almost over.

“What’s next?” I ask.

He shrugs. I watch it, this casual little huff of his shoulders before his muddy eyes turn everywhere but me for a moment.

“You’ve to ask for my mercy. People in your position typically make a point of it.”

Mercy? I don’t deserve mercy. I certainly don’t have the gumption to ask for it. The laundry list of bad things that I have done is so long I’ve forgotten some. The sins that I’ve committed so atrocious in their frequency and frivolity that I can’t summon even a hint of self-worth that makes me feel like running from this. Instead, I smoke that cigarette as slowly as I can and turn my head in a shake. He doesn’t look surprised and I spite him for it immediately.

“No.” I say to him. “You asked me to make a choice and I made it. That’s all there is.”

“If you ask me to conceal from her the truth of your life, and how you have lived it, and how you have betrayed her…” He’s watching me with those fucking eyes again. I suddenly feel like ripping them out of his plain face. The anger wells up in me and he doesn’t let me down. It’s not arrogance that spills behind the next few words. It’s pure and outright smugness when he says, “I will do so in return for this cooperation.”

Cooperation. What a joke. I cooperate with him the way a marionette cooperates with its operator. If I had ever doubted the cruel sense of humor that life sometimes presents to you, I am fucking certain of its design now. Slate-gray smoke twists up from my Marlboro and I only now notice how it suddenly seems so very, very dark.

I am crying again. It comes suddenly and will not stop. I let my cigarette fall from my mouth and suck in air in big, sobbing breaths. My chest tightens up and a knot forms as the hurt comes, the quiet realization of what I have done to lead me to this place and what comes after. There is nothing that I want more than for her to think me better than what I was. In a way it was always her opinion of me that mattered and I am desperate to feel that kind of happiness that I felt on the bridge one last time when I realized that I loved her and that the person that she loved was the kind of person who could love her back. I am desperate to feel like I am moving on to something better even when I am certain that I am not. I want that feeling again.

But I want something else more.

“I told you what I wanted. The rest doesn’t matter.” I say.

And that son of a bitch nods and stands, plucking the smoke from between his lips and flicking it with his forefinger into god knows where. I can only see the crimson embers of its end for a second before there is darkness.

“Are you certain? Most folks who make this kind of deal with me don’t get that luxury.”

“Yes.” I say it and even though I am crying I know it is true.

“Alright, then.” He nods again and levels his muddy-brown eyes until they hold my own. I close my eyes and wait for it, wait for hellfire and brimstone. I wait for a thousand tortures, each worse than the next. Instead, I only hear him click his pen and start to write. I’m open one eye.

“Well, you’ve passed the test. You’re sarcastic and snarky but you’ve redeemed yourself.”

I do not believe him. “What?”

“I told you. I love deeply. This was your last change to confess your sins onto God, -me-, and lay your fate at my feet for the sake of love. You’ve done so. You were never a bad man. You did bad things. The difference lies in your willingness to be forgiven in –my- eyes when your judgment comes.”

There are no words. The darkness above me opens and I can see light, beautiful light. There are clouds of color amidst the see of light and I am glad to find it does not hurt my eyes to look into it. I am glad to see that this place, this empty space, is turning into something beautiful around me. God is smiling for the very first time. His muddy eyes are blue now.

“You had a chance to save yourself at the cost of her life. You did not. You had a chance to conceal your sins from me when you were in crossing over to this place. You did not. I gave you the chance to give her life happiness and meaning if you went willingly into damnation, you did. You have been selfless for her. I forgive you.”

He doesn’t understand. I wish I could blame him. I suppose when you’re omnipotent you don’t suffer from imperfections or illnesses. You’re immune to the rot that infects humanity and the hurts that it does to people. I stare into his plain face and realize that he hasn’t heard a god damned word that I have said, even as he listened, and that he doesn’t see that the rules don’t make any sense.

If all a man has to do to get into paradise is apologize for fucking up then nothing means anything. If there is no ultimate consequence for sin then there is no sin. And if I do not suffer damnation then what I did was not worse, but equal, to the way that she lead her life.

I shake my head. I jerk my thumb down and spit blood as I talk. The rest happens fast. He asks me why and I hold up my end of the bargain, I try and explain to him how his system cheapens the good in people by making no ultimate difference between his tenants of good and his tenants of bad. I try to explain to him that he and his dad would be better holding to a principle where a man’s actions in life defined him and how their paradise shouldn’t be a merit you get once you’ve nothing left to do but apologize. I try and tell him that I’m no different a man than I was before we ever met one another, back when I was just another coward trying to survive and steal what happiness I could from others.

Before he sends me to hell I tell him where he can stick that pardon of his.

 

[Britwitch]

This challenge is now closed for new submissions, please feel free to read and review those pieces already submitted.
Thanks to all who participated!!



The next challenge will begin tomorrow, 15th April

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