• Matt Cundy - June 25, 2012 7:32 a.m.

    Competition is now closed and the winner has been contacted. Thanks to everyone that entered - really enjoyed reading the entries.
  • gazzc - June 25, 2012 10:29 a.m.

    So who won then? :)
  • SideArm - June 25, 2012 4:24 a.m.

    The rumours were too strong to ignore, I had to delve deeper into the minefield. I knew where to start and the questions to ask, if anyone had any information on the upcoming game version of Captain Baseball Bat Boy it would be
  • ColinKapow - June 25, 2012 4:20 a.m.

    He sat at this desk looking more vacant than a health food store in Glasgow. Feigning innocence but it was useless, the streets had spoken to me. Dirty little whispers of the man responsible for such madness, his monkey screams keeping men, women and children awake with fear. No this was my guy, the tingle costume protruding from his drawer gave it away. I had roamed the streets of Bath for what felt like an eternity trying to track this monster down. He fixed me with his stare as the vacant look changed to disgust, he knew why I was here. His hand moved slightly pushing a half eaten Pastie to the side. It was time. I could feel the words about to flow through my gritted teeth. The last words either of us would hear. "Mr Cundy. I've come to mug you off.."
  • chrisdixon - June 25, 2012 3:01 a.m.

    I wasn't about to waste my time entering some half bit competition. There's streets to walk, whiskey to be drunk and fools to kill.
  • mmeaden - June 24, 2012 4:46 p.m.

    The streets were screaming but only I could hear them. Everywhere I looked I saw the mindless drones of New York. Not giving a shit... Not taking any. Clean-pressed suits and fake smiles were the "in thing" and it made me sick. Sick to the point of anger. All day, all week these suits led men and women on a rubber-banded view of the city. Work... The Bar... The bedroom... Back to work. Like a colony of ants they blindly march forwards, not looking left or right. They don't care about the predators that stalk them; about the worms that have dug deep into the 'apple'. They don't care because they don't see. Maybe they don't notice. Maybe they don't care. I noticed. I always noticed. It's like looking into the red, bloodshot eyes of a rabid beast. A deep well of psychotic anger, malice and hunger. Nothing is in there but a desire to hurt, a desire to split the skies with sickening roars. I have seen those eyes... ...And they have seen me.
  • ShAmMiX - June 24, 2012 4:03 p.m.

    the page caught my eye, the bold print of my name illuminated the fact even if i didn't like it, this page was about me, i thought it would be just another piece of bad press i could put into the wreckless scrap book of broken dreams and shattered whiskey bottles which my life had become. but it wasn't... i couldn't understand what was on the page... all sorts crap merchandise mostly, ashtrays, t-shirts all of which had my name on it!!! even stickers for god sake!!! then the realisation hit me square in the face from where it had been the whole time, my heart slowed, my chest felt like it was just hit with a sledgehammer, no if this is, then i? no it cant be, i know i felt like i've died a million times before but maybe i had really died, but then it wouldn't matter because i'm not really alive, not even real! your not real max! kept playing over and over in my head, skipping like a broken record, i'm a plaything, all my hurt and pain invented to cause narrative and to give someone another opportunity to escape their dull mundane lives and occupy mine in an endless cycle of popping pain pills and shoot outs, forced to relive my nightmares over an over, so now i knew the truth, i knew what i had to do, first i had to contain what i felt inside, it filled me like an uncontrollable fire of hate an rage, burning the last of the mercy i had inside, this will my fuel to the rampage i was gonna release upon rockstargames! and when i find the people who call themselves my so-called creators, we are all gonna have a little sit down and sort all this out, my way, the max payne way,
  • UrbicaMortis - June 24, 2012 3:59 p.m.

    I was having a quiet night in, which in this case meant cheap cigarettes and even cheaper booze. The smoke had slowly filled the room, coarse ropes that wrapped around my neck like a noose. I didn't know what I was drinking, but i wasn't sure whether I'd forgotten the name after the third bottle or never bothered to find out. If only all my memories could be lost so easily. Maybe I wouldn't wake every night, reaching out for a wife that wasn't there. Worst thing was that I could no longer see her face. It had been worn away by regret and in it's place was the faces of all the men i'd killed, a new mask every time. Fuck it, i'd been saving them for later but then again, it wasn't like I was a model of restraint. I reached out for the bottle of panikillers, my fingers scraping over the blood that had dried across the top. I was about to pop the lid when I heard it. A creak outside my door. A pause. The click of a gun being cocked. I sighed and slipped the painkillers into my pocket. Something told me I was going to need them later.
  • GrandmaSlayer - June 24, 2012 10:29 a.m.

    Sh*t... does everything seem real slow you f**k-t**ds?
  • terra - June 24, 2012 7:34 a.m.

    Time didn't matter to them, they wanted a reply now. I asked myself if I could give a coherent answer, no ..all I wanted to say was go to hell !. The pain the loneliness had gotten so bad, so intense that even the booze and drugs couldn't help any more. As I look up at them they ask again, "what do you want". Ha, I will tell them what I want and I know they're not like it. and they sure as hell will not ask this particular social commenter anything again. I moisten my lips with the last of the cheap whiskey, clear my throat and say .... the game !.
  • BenjyBD - June 24, 2012 4:20 a.m.

    You'd find that Lady Luck was really a hooker, and you were fresh out of cash.
  • smurfofwar8 - June 24, 2012 4:06 a.m.

    I was used to going against the odds but this time felt different. This time I new there was no going back, no saving grace. I new by looking at the comments section that i was outmatched and out typed. But i needed that prize like an addict needed just one more hit. I took one last look at the broken promises and forgotten dreams behind me and I began to type.....
  • Stupid_Ginger - June 24, 2012 1:24 a.m.

    How could I have been so blind... Looking back on it now it makes sense that it ended up this way. Some jackass with a brain the size of peanut winning a competition that was rigged from the start. Starting to wonder why I even bother...
  • Senorwaffles - June 24, 2012 12:18 a.m.

    Despite everything that had happened, all the s@£t that I had gone through, there were still 2 things that made my depressing life even slightly better, painkillers and winning some pretty good prizes.
  • tristan-presdee-colley - June 23, 2012 6:11 p.m.

    They were all commenting. The final post was an exclamation mark to everything that had lead to this point. I released my fingers from the keys. And then it was all over, the posts seemed to lose their frenzy, the comments gave way to the prize above. A bit closer to heaven. The text was distant and faded. My internet history released me from my haunting. The letters were like black velvet on diamonds. I lied to myself that it was over. I was still posting and the prize was still not mine. It wasn't over. The comments are a gaping hole. Your only chance is to turn around and face it. But its like kissing the mouth of a dead love. Darkness underneath the return key. We are willing to suffer. To post for the things we care about. For games, for the right choices.
  • PullinPower - June 23, 2012 5:37 p.m.

    The initial excitement of winning the prize was quickly extinguished by a wave of pessimism. Lady Luck hadn't been to kind recently and there wasn't any sign of that changing. 20 minutes had passed before I'd composed my first coherent sentence, the vain attempt to out do the other entries was proving tiresome and a headache was coming on quickly. Mentioning Pain Killers in a Max Payne competition felt cliched and tacky, but nobody seemed to mind. The light blaring from the screen was a constant reminder that I still hadn't made a convincing attempt. I considered giving up on the whole charade, perhaps I could just purchase the game myself without the perks, but being a student meant I could barely afford the roof over my head let alone a new full priced game. The drunken laughing outside and the familiar sirens where comforting as I finally started to type, I thought being a Journalism student, story telling should come naturally. Life's never that simple though. I didn't expect to win, but if I wanted to play Max Payne this would be the only opportunity I would have... even if it was a long shot.
  • Digi47 - June 23, 2012 4:08 p.m.

  • Ged42 - June 23, 2012 2:58 p.m.

    The white light of the screen time burned my eyes like the holy fire of the Heaven I would never see. I hammered the keys, each tap like a gunshot to my brain as the dark stain of my words slowly blotted out the searing white light. I looked at the other comments, the pathetic cries of men who never stared into the real dark heart of despair, who's worst nightmare was a red halo of light on their beloved machines. Between their mewlings was the hollow hyena cackle of trolls, 'laughing out loud' at their idiotic chitterings, like imps tormenting me in my own personal hell. Winning wouldn't stop the screams of the dead, but it would bring a little smile to a face that hadn't seen one in a long time.
  • JamesW - June 23, 2012 9:07 a.m.

    I had arrived at the party in usual style. Late and uninvited. Had fate brought me here? I was starting to think it was nothing more than greed. It sure wasn't luck. She had run out on me a long time ago. I knew what waited inside: crooks, parasites, low life merch-heads with a hard-on for the prize. I was no better. I didn't have anything to lose, and neither did they. It was an impressive show. The sort of place where you could get yourself a little treat if you knew how to play their game. Everyone inside was grinning smugly, babbling nightmarish similes and awaiting claim to the good stuff. All bets were off. It was too rich a prize for them to throw away. Sure I knew I'd have to work hard to get it. A guy tried telling me once that déjà vu is fate's way of telling you that you're exactly where you're supposed to be. He was a real philosophical guy with a penchant for torture. There was something disturbingly familiar about all of this. Something rotten in the air. The jumbled up metaphors and gritty tales came thick and fast, like an imminent hangover ready for dispatch from the devil himself. Some resembled a past I'd rather forget. Others I couldn't make sense of. Nothing made sense anymore. A dangerous message stared at me from the wall. "You're the prize, Max. They're trying to get into your head, Max". Ha, good luck dealing with that mess. I had been trying to get out of my own head for years now. Scotch used to help, now it wasn't doing me any favours. I tried to make a new start with life but we didn't work out. My name was everywhere. I guess I had become what they wanted me to be. Some poster-boy hero character with a gun and an expensive suit, frozen inside a never ending moment. It made me want to puke. There was no glory in this. I had no illusions about it. I was no hero...just an old man with a bad hair cut and nothing else to live for. I couldn't escape the paranoid feeling that something stranger was going on. Fancy words had washed away the lies. An urban legend come true. You complete the puzzle to discover a horrible truth about yourself. The answer stared back at me. "You are a statue, Max" I was the stooge...the bad joke everybody got but me. The truth was like a headache delivered straight from hell, taunting me into submission. I was a statue. Funny as hell, it was the most horrible thing I could think of. I tried to work it out in my head the only way I knew how...straight no chaser. I figured I'd been sat here for three hours, or 11 years depending on the way you looked at things. My life had become one big competition for everyone else, one that was rigged from the start. I didn't stand a chance.
  • MaverickJohnson - June 23, 2012 7:51 a.m.

    So, here I was again, staring down at the keyboard needing something to say. Emptying the bottle had emptied my mind. I'd become what they wanted, a slave to the mediocrity of life, a pawn to the higher echelons of some shirt and tie marketing gig up town. The prize included a statue of me, perfect in every detail - the suit, the guns, the same face of confusion id been wearing since I lost Michelle, or, maybe Mona. But it was the one detail, subtly hidden to the average Joe that made the statue me as like me as anything other than my own flesh and blood. It was lifeless.

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