Which one should I enter in the writing competition (don't worry they're both short)?

Writing number one:


I crept, silently, holding my breath, as I tiptoed against the wall. I analyzed my prey, sound asleep, whistles escalating out of his mouth. I lifted up into the air, my flitting transparent wings making a soft, comforting buzz. I looked behind at the two on either side of me, and saw an eager glint in their eyes. I felt an anxious surge of protectiveness and growled,


“This one is mine.” Neither of them doubted my authority, and I saw the glint fade from their eyes. Their racing wings slowed and they dropped gracefully to the ground, and stood there obediently. I landed down on the resting place of my prey. His thick golden hair framed his round, chubby face. This was a baby; I could almost taste the smooth, fresh, taste. I flew in closer. Ten toes and ten fingers fidgeted. I flew in even closer. This one was not even of two years; my mouth watered. The fan in the room blew me slightly off course, and I lowered my path, close to the bottom of the cot. I weaved in and out of the rails, seeing how long I could last before my mouth’s desire would drag me towards him. This would be a game. I flew through the rail at the end and landed on the cotton blanket. The baby’s blonde hair blew ever so slightly in the cool breeze of the overhead fan. I pushed up with my legs and flew forward onto the warm, but still dry, cheek. The baby giggled at the tickle on his cheek and a blast of air blew me off his cheek as his hand raced up to smack down on me, still asleep, the quiet whistles continuing. As his hand flopped back down to rest beside his head, I tiptoed back to the center of his cheek. I heard a quiet, irritating buzz behind me. The other two were on top of the rails of the cot.


“Mine.” I repeated firmly.


“We are simply watching and learning,” one answered innocently.


“You’d better be,” I growled, but went back to concentrating on my prey. The breeze of the fan blew his smell into my lungs. I could nearly taste it… I slipped my fangs swiftly and quietly into his cheek, and tasted the smooth, rich taste, flowing onto my tongue. I didn’t want it to stop. I saw out of the corner of my eye a hand coming towards me, and ducked to the side.


“Shoo, fly!” a young voice yelled. I pushed off his cheek as he sprang up, smacking his cheek.


Fly. He had labeled me a disgusting, gritty creature who rolled around in animal feces. No, I lived a far more civilized life. My bloodline went back centuries; my family lived a highly sophisticated lifestyle. I am a mosquito.





Or writing number 2:


I gritted my teeth, unable to force my gaze over to that man. There was a wall, blocking a view of him. A foul smell came from him. Not the kind you sense through your nose. I felt his hand on my shoulder, and it felt like long claws digging themselves in to me, reaching into my soul, freezing it. Words came from his mouth, but they didn’t come as words; just his voice, it would send chills down your spine. His voice seemed full of …of rust, decay. His breath, it disgusted me – not the smell, the feeling of his breath. The way you wished it wasn’t there, wanted to wash it off, but it would stain, be there forever. It reminded me of his smirking grin, of the power that surrounded him. You could tell everything about him from that voice, that voice that would penetrate into everything good inside you. Coldness lurked in his shadow, and to look into his eyes, would require the most courage. Only a fearless soul could do this and remain sane. For by looking into his eyes, you could realize that this was no man. His white eyes, a beacon, a bright, white beacon, in each eye they told you this was a monster. He was a thief of your Eye Spirit. To look into his eyes, not to look at them, to look into them, to let him look into yours, is to lose your Eye Spirit: the life that lives in your eyes, the window to your soul. Once that is lost, you become Dull. You can not let your emotion out, it builds up inside you, become greater each minute; To have each scream of anger, each sob, choking you; To live the rest of your life, it building up, pushing, pushing, but no where for it to come out. Inside, you writhe in agony, but it is stuck.





The curtain is drawn over the window to your soul.Which one should I enter in the writing competition (don't worry they're both short)?
I understand the challenge in chossing! I personally would pick the first becase it makes more sense. I personally understood it because im a writer myself (and have reviewed a couple things like this for a friend) Wish you luck!!Which one should I enter in the writing competition (don't worry they're both short)?
liking the 1st one!
You are a good writer. I like the first one!!!
i liked the first. your writing style is cool.
I like the first one, the end is kinda unexpected. Except u repeat the stuff about the fan and all that too often. And the whistling sleep sounds kinda unreal, better keep it simple (in my opinion anyway).