The Story Project, Voting Time!

Hey all!
So, as I am down for the count for the next two weeks, I have been trying to revitalize my creativity by writing a little something at the end of these lat few nights. Here I have stand alone excerpts of what could be three stories. I am asking for people to vote on the one they like best, and that's the one I'll try and take a crack at.
So without further adieu...

Story #1:

            ..."The cottage was quaint, infused with a feeling of kindness akin to an outwardly maternal grandparent. It smelled of layers; from the sapping pines, to freshly watered vines and vases of brooding roses sitting tall in every corner of the small space. Sunlight, gliding through the forest canopy, unraveled it’s penetrating beams and peered through the windows, resting timidly on the settee and across the wooden floor. It was the most beloved and abandoned place outside the city walls. Its’ up-keeping was a mystery, done by elusive volunteers, conjunctive in a reason that was accepted by all others without need of being understood.

 Children from a decadence of generations boasted many stories of the place, with only slim variations presenting through time. My mother chortled a similar tale to her brother one evening; I overheard it from my window above the kitchen. Asleep. I was pretending to be in such a state as to not upset my parentage, but continued wickedly to encroach upon their conversation, as a mouse whom follows the line of walls, hoping to go unnoticed with its newly acquired bit of twine."...  


Story #2:

                 ..."A furious wind ripped across the lush valley, invading the minute openings of armor, pushing achingly against spears and sending flags to snap and thrash violently above the hoards. The storm was finally awakening; whose god had brought it, each force took as their omen for victory and defeat. No more games of fancy politicians, no more mercy from the pious; a civilization was to end with the last of a gurgling breath and blood watering the tall grasses.
There were no words from the fellows of the Lecoujen; they were all spent on talks of valor and carousing the night previous. The last of the rations given out, the barrels of sour kiima drank with vigor, bawdy jokes and lewd gestures thrown about the masses of brothers and sisters, neighbors, fathers and mothers, lovers, friends and rivals- to the end, to it all. The bonfires blazed wildly, licking up toward the ominous scene above which built and darkened with each hour of chanting music. The ranks dissolved, officers and generals moving from their separated tables, casting off their pomp and sitting amongst those they used to walk through the street with on a sunny day."

Story #3:

..."The ground gave a crunch of flaky salt under the rubber sole of their boots, the lake bottom long since dried and barren of anything more than an occasional stalk of grass, dried and crumbling away. They had been traveling across the deserted country for a span of time that felt immeasurable, had Isis stopped counting the reappearance of the sun as her parents and the other followers were told to do, she too would have the same disconnection with time that she saw tug at the edge of the others lips, the grim look in their eyes. Dressed like a decorator crabs in pieces of cloth from other worn-down clothing, lassoed together or roughly sewn with twine, they trudged ever forward behind the ‘Apostle’ and his upright and decadent entourage. Riding miles ahead in whatever abandoned and working vehicles they found, the band of loyal followers chased their leaders tracks left in mud and sand, anxiously rushing towards kicked up trails of dust, clamoring for the assurance that they’d find water, that there was food, that the journey would soon end and their burdens would lift, just as the Apostle proclaimed." 



Thanks for your time! 

-Dust in the Wind