Here is my piece that was a finalist in the Wordclay writing contest. I have posted this on my other blog; After Dinner Mint but I thought I should share it here as well.
"The Dead Night"
There I sit in the quiet darkness of it all wondering how it came to this; hearing the tiny chirps of the crickets outside the window seal and the soft 
midnight breeze brush against the leaves. Nothing is left but the calmness of the night; the dead calm of it all. The night sky sitting above watching, with thousands of eyes, the things we do to satisfy that moment of urge. There I sit in silent darkness with my witness above and my eyes below; there I sit to wonder how it came to this. I sit with my head hung low inside my chair whose squeaks are the only other noise to slice the dead silence of this night. I rock my chair this night like never before and for the first time, I can hear the silence of black, the calmness of night; I can feel the cold chill of darkness. Drip dripping the cold blood on my hands; trickling to the floor staining a deep red. Drip dripping the cold blood not of my own. Drip dripping this silence of night off my hands. I stare with my head hung low by the window seal at the dead calm of it all. I sit in darkness wondering how it came to this but realize the silence of my answer. Nothing is left but the calmness of this night.
midnight breeze brush against the leaves. Nothing is left but the calmness of the night; the dead calm of it all. The night sky sitting above watching, with thousands of eyes, the things we do to satisfy that moment of urge. There I sit in silent darkness with my witness above and my eyes below; there I sit to wonder how it came to this. I sit with my head hung low inside my chair whose squeaks are the only other noise to slice the dead silence of this night. I rock my chair this night like never before and for the first time, I can hear the silence of black, the calmness of night; I can feel the cold chill of darkness. Drip dripping the cold blood on my hands; trickling to the floor staining a deep red. Drip dripping the cold blood not of my own. Drip dripping this silence of night off my hands. I stare with my head hung low by the window seal at the dead calm of it all. I sit in darkness wondering how it came to this but realize the silence of my answer. Nothing is left but the calmness of this night.-Armando Torres
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