Not going to make it this time, sorry.

=(

A lot of shit has hit the fan for me right now so I have literally had no urge to write for the past week, which is a first since I've been writing hardcore the past two months straight. That may pick up soon, but it's waaaaay too hot here (105 deg.) for me to even think well as my brain fries.

Oh -- whatever it is, I hope it turns out well. Priorities first! Come back soon.

Same boat for me as well. A lot of family issues have arisen, and for the past two days I've spent my nights staring at a blank page. What I did write didn't match the theme and would have ended up hitting closer to home than I'd like.

I'm sorry, guys. I've been a flake lately.

Yeah, I hate feeling like a flake as well. I've concentrated on the theme as much as I can recently but my ideas just don't synch up well and unless I have a really, really good idea going (like with The Names, The Faces, The Situations or the night is sacrosanct) I don't want to put up a story that will, ultimately, not be as good as it should be.

Hasn't been a good week for me either. Two of the days I was supposed to have off I didn't because I had to cover for co-workers.

I do have an idea, but I'm not sure if I should bother trying to rush it out and enter or just wait until the next one when, I'll presumably, have more free time.

Working on finishing mine now. But I'm drugged this week, so who knows how that'll be! :lol

eta: blargh, 1839 words. time for cutting!

Blargh. Finally have a chance to start working on mine again. Not really enough time to fully fix the issues I have with it.

But I'll give it the old college try anyway.

I'm going to try to submit something next time, I've missed this and and the last round :/

Actually, it's turning out ok. Guess I was exaggerating my problems, as usual.

Cyan said:

Actually, it's turning out ok. Guess I was exaggerating my problems, as usual.

Click to expand...

Johnny Fairplay would be proud.

Anyway, I think I've finally exhausted all the major problems I had with my story. Have to tear myself away from pottering around with it more.

I've edited mine twice and only changed up a few things each time. I really need to work on that. It's not like I think my story is perfect or even good for that matter; it's just that it's what came to me first and I like keeping it with all of its flaws.

Tried to start on this an hour ago, but ended up getting interrupted multiple times. I really like the character. =\

Photorealistic -- 1597 words


The room was a maze of taped-up cartons piled dangerously high. Sunlight from the long windows slanted across the cardboard; dust motes drifted, glowing, in the air. David threaded his way into the middle of the room and stopped, lips pursed. Sweat ran down his dusty face, lightened the dark growth of beard on his cheeks and neck. "Cassie!" he yelled. "Where are you?" He could hear the cat, Pepper, yowling somewhere nearby, but he couldn't hear his wife.

The hardwood was scuffed. Free house, he thought. Ha. Leaky roof. Loose window frames in the master bedroom. Garage door busted. And the floors, he thought. Probably the plumbing soon, if not now. "Shit," he said aloud.

"What?" David looked up in time to watch Cassie bouncing through the stacks. She grabbed his hand and swept it up to her cheek. "What's wrong, my love?"

David gestured with his free hand. "Look around. We've got too much in here."

"We'll move it, honey, don't worry about it."

"And what do I do with the dining table in the meantime?"

"You need to relax," Cassie said, kissing his palm. "We've got the truck for two more days."

"We've got to take care of these boxes. Help me move a few to the bedroom?"

They hauled boxes up the narrow stairs until half the dining room was clear and piled them in the bedroom. Pieces of the bedframe and headboard leaned against a wall and the naked mattresses were stacked on the floor. Cassie threw herself down and rolled, sighing. Her short dark hair was coming out of her sloppy bun. He liked it messy. "I love this house!" she said, hugging herself tightly.

"I know."

"I can't believe your grandfather left it to us. So much history!" Cassie rolled onto her back, clapping her hands. "Can't you feel it? I bet there are spirits here, lingering in the walls, on the grounds."

"Never seen a ghost," David said dryly, "But there are a damn lot of boxes that need sorting."

"Boring," Cassie said. "Is the cable hooked up yet? The Internet?"

David leaned down and grabbed Cassie's hands. "Cable never got shut off," he said, pulling her to her feet. "Paul's coming by tomorrow to help me get the wireless set up, but only if we can find everything we need, so let's get working."

"Ugh, c'mon," Cassie whined, half-seriously. "I need a break. Let's get the television, babe, there's an Amyityville Horror marathon on tonight."

"Cass, it's only three!" David pulled her close, kissing her sweaty forehead. "We can watch your ghost movies later. I promise we'll stop in time."

"I guess," she huffed, pulling away. Her disappointment was gone in a blink, replaced with buoyant energy. "Let's get the books and other stuff into the office. I can't wait to curl up in that amazing window. I've always wanted a window seat! God, and the view, the patio, and the garden…"

David chuckled as he followed Cassie back down the stairs.

Together, they unloaded boxes, piling them in different rooms according to the black marker scrawl labeling the contents. The heavier pieces of furniture they left in the moving van downstairs, until David's brother could help. By sunset, they had begun to unpack boxes, so David hauled the television into the bedroom while Cassie drove into town for egg rolls and Mongolian beef.

"I love the Amityville movies," Cassie said as they settled down in the bedroom. "You want a beer? I grabbed a sixer while I waited on the food."

"Yeah, thanks."

"I wish we could go see the Amityville house!"

"I thought you liked this house."

"I do!" Cassie said, studying an eggroll. She always ate them in tiny little bites. He loved watching her. "But real ghost stories are awesome."

"Cass—"

"I know, I know," she said, pulling a stern face. "Cass, ghosts aren't real," she mimicked.

"Your movie's on."

Cassie rolled her eyes. "I've seen it. Haven't you ever wondered about ghosts at all?"

"Nope." He leaned over the food and flicked a lock of hair out of Cassie's face.

"Well," Cassie said, a grin spreading across her face. "I heard about this website that will fix that."

"Oh really."

"Yes, it's supposed to be the real thing."

"Oh, you haven't even seen it?" David laughed and speared a forkful of beef and onions. "Food's getting cold, ghost hunter."

"No, check it out, this guy has apparently perfected spirit photography and he went to New Orleans—"

"New Orleans, of course."

"Shut up and listen, ugh. After all those people died in Hurricane Katrina and he has these pictures of ghosts—"

David sat up straight. "Come on, Cass, that's awful. This guy is profiting from a disaster—"

"He's not profiting, he isn't making any money of it at all, just listen. He says that in places where the spirits are strong, with this certain technique, you can draw the spirits out with the pictures—"

David jerked up to his feet. "Right," he said, brushing off his pants. "And he'll sell you this e-book that tells all about his special technique. Cass, you're gullible."

Cassie stared up at him, wounded. "God, you always shit in everything. Can't you just have a little fun?"

"We're watching your movie," he protested. "Eat your food. I'll be right back."

When David got back from the bathroom, Cassie was engrossed in the movie; she cuddled up to him as though nothing had happened. She never stayed mad long.




"Is the 'net up yet? Oh, hey, Paul. Didn't know you were still here."

David looked up from his sandwich. Cassie was standing in the dining room door. She smiled at him. "Hey, Cass. I think so."

His brother swallowed thickly and wiped his mouth. "Yeah, you should be good on the wireless."

"Awesome," Cassie breathed. "As soon as I'm done with the bookshelves in the office, I'm checking out that website."

"What's this?" Paul asked. "What website?"

"Don't bother," David groaned. "It's a long story. Cassie's ghost stuff."

"Oh." Paul grinned. "Have fun, little sis."

"Thanks, Paul," she said, sticking her tongue out at David. "I'm glad somebody around here understands fun."

After Paul left, David climbed the stairs. He poked his head into the office, where Cassie was just folding up the last of the boxes. "Damn, woman, you're a hard little worker."

"Yes, sir, I am," she said, snapping a mock-salute. "I've got a date with the laptop and that window seat. You wanna see?"

"Not especially," he grinned. "I'm gonna jump in the shower, but you have fun, peach blossom."

"Peach blossom! Perfect." She danced over, tugging his shirt. "Have a good shower, lover."

David was already dressed, but still drying his hair when he heard Cassie. The yell got his attention, but it was the other noises that jerked fear into the back of his throat. The house shook with an ear-shattering ripping sound, a sound that wavered like static, and then David heard the jangling music of breaking glass. He charged into the office, tripping over Pepper; the tabby was hissing in the doorframe, her mottled fur standing on end.

When he stepped into the office, the breeze hit him, and then the smell, dampness and rot. The black laptop cable stretched like snakeskin across the window seat, disappearing out the shattered window. Fragments of glass hung in the frame like jagged teeth. One, David noticed, dripped blood. Numb, he stared at the window. He could still see her sitting there, in that little t-shirt, eyes glowing with excitement, her baby hands tapping away on the laptop keyboard. He stumbled to the window. Had to look. Had to see.

The laptop was split in half, the screen cracked as though shot. And Cassie… Cassie lay sprawled on the patio, ringed with a glittering halo of broken glass. Blood fanned the patio tiles, thick and dark. “Cass,” he croaked, weeping.



At dusk, David curled up in the recliner he’d hauled into the office. He hadn't slept at night in months. If she was going to come back to him, it would be at night; Cassie wouldn’t drag her spirit out in the daylight.

He liked to imagine her as a ghost. It was better than imagining her gone.

David fell into the ritual of checking the camera, the batteries, taking a test shot of the boarded window he hadn’t bothered to fix. If he replaced the panes, he was afraid she wouldn’t come. It would be like replacing what was left of her. Cassie lived on in that absent space.

If he closed his eyes, David almost heard her soft, feathery breaths. Someday, he would catch her. He swung the camera back and forth between the desk and the covered window. His ragged breath matched the hollow clicking of the camera.

He had researched her website, careful not to look at the pictures that she had seen, the pictures of the earthquake. Instead he read about their methods, paranormal photography, and channeling spirits—everything Cass had chattered about. Everything he had ignored. He owed it to her. He had to get this right, if he was going to catch her.

And when he did, he would stare at the photos and wait. Send them to that website if that didn't work. He would draw her out of those pictures, make her corporeal. Everything would be okay again. He would apologize. He would love her even more than before. Or she would kill him. It didn’t matter.

He waited, snapping pictures.

No more editing; it is what it is. I've got to go finish my homework anyway!

OK, I probably I messed up again. But I'm glad that I actually wrote something! 55 minutes left! Gogogogogo

You're two hours late, Indy time.

Good thing the deadline is Pacific! There's still time.

Promise (1028)

The wind rushed hollowly between yardangs and striated ash dunes, howling along as though looking for something. It rattled dessicated branches, tugged at tattered remnants of leaves, stirred the poisonous trickle that once had been a stream. It pulled at the Murderer's clothing, stung his fingers, numbed his brain.

It had taken the Murderer a long time to find this place. More than a year of searching, and no wonder. It was almost unrecognizable.

There would have been sound here once—a cacophony of life. Birdsong, the chattering of squirrels, the chirping of insects; all the little life-sounds that made up the wooded hillside he had once called home. Now there was only the wind, and the incessant crackling patter of falling snow and ash.

The Murderer looked up, shading his eyes against the falling snow and ash. A yellow-brown mass of clouds—part volcanic ash, part radioactive smoke, part good old-fashioned water vapor—hung overhead. There had been a sun up there, before. Sometimes he could almost remember what it had looked like. The cloud cover occasionally broke to expose the sky above, the angry red crackling sky streaked with violent blues and greens and yellows, but never long enough or never in the right place to expose the sun. Perhaps the sun was no longer there.

Not that it mattered. His gaze returned downward. The few plants that still clung to life were dying as surely as he was. Pockmarked leaves, charred wood, browned and shriveled stems. If the lack of sunlight didn't finish them, the poisoned air and water would.

The Murderer made his careful way between dunes, testing each step, checking for sinkholes or deep places in the ash. The admixture of snow and ash was deceptive—cold, sticky, and cohesive, yet often not thick or sturdy enough to bear a man's weight. If he fell again, he wasn't sure he could get up.

The wind stirred the snow and ash in front of him. Despite the stickiness it moved readily enough, swirling into little eddies, cresting and falling like ocean waves. Bits of snow and ash spumed off from the dune, forcing him to shield his eyes for a moment. His goal lay slightly ahead, past another dune. He squinted. He might have to dig to reach the place again.

As he rounded the dune, the stench of rotten eggs hit him in the face, and then, as he stood there reeling from the blow, faded to nothing. This was the place all right.

He chose his spot, and began to dig. Bare handed, he flung snow and ash behind him. More snow and ash trickled down from the dune and tumbled from the sky into the small hole he was creating, but he was faster than wind and sky. The hole slowly grew. From time to time, red light reflected off the snow and ash and into his eyes, but he hardly noticed. He was nearly there.

He could feel it. Rough wood under his hands. Two feet long. Maple-leafed oak wood that formed a crossbar, and—yes, there. Protrusions above and below, exactly halfway along the crossbar. This was it. He dug with more energy now, with fervor. Snow and ash shifted back like an ebbing tide.

And there it was. A simple, unadorned piece of wood, but it was more than that, too. The wood formed two bars—one five feet long and pointing directly upward, the other two feet long and perpendicular to the first. They connected about two-thirds of the way up the vertical bar, and halfway across the horizontal bar. The thing was rough-surfaced, and all of one piece, but it was so regular it almost had to have been man-made.

The Murderer did not for a moment believe that it had been made by men. He knelt and folded his hands in prayer.

"Lord," he said, and coughed. His voice creaked like an unoiled hinge. It had been a long time since he'd had cause to use it.

He began again. "Lord," he said. "I've done as you told me. I've cleansed it—cleansed the whole world. No more sin." He coughed again. "No more evil, great or small."

The keening of the wind across the dune was his only answer. Snow mixed with ash began to seep into his eyes, blinding him.

"Lord, I've done as you wanted. Now fulfill your promise. Put it back the way it was."

There was no sound but the howling wind.

"You told me to do it. You made me!" He was on his feet now. "Give me back the Garden!"

The wind faded to a low moan, and—had that been a flash of light? He blinked, and turned to look for the source, but there was nothing there. He had imagined it.

He would wait. The Lord wanted him to wait.

Hours passed as he knelt there, listening to the wind whistle past his ears. The snow and ash began to fill the hole he had dug. They covered his knees, then his legs. Snowmelt seeped through his ragged clothing to the bare skin underneath; he began to shiver uncontrollably. Still he remained.

"Lord," he said at last. If his voice had creaked before, now it groaned. "You promised."

He blinked three times, and then there it was. He had lost all feeling in his legs, but he could see it now—it had been right in front of him all along. A beautiful garden, shining green and gold and white, filled with trees and flowers of every shape and size. Swans and egrets floated on tranquil waters from which a rivulet gently trickled. Across the rivulet lay an expanse of green field, filled to the brim with butterflies flashing all the colors of the rainbow, and above the butterflies flew a dove, an olive leaf in its mouth. Everything gently hummed with life, bathed in soft light. And above it all, high in the sapphire sky—

The sun. His old friend. He had thought he never would see it again.

Tears filled his eyes, and the Murderer fell sideways, the taste of Paradise on his tongue.

(Reserved =P)


The Fall of the Polka Dot King


The Dot Disaster is documented as being one of the most devastating events in history .It was instigated by King Ovil, who inherited the Ferevel Kingdom from his father, King. His eccentricity became obsession, and his obsession became a disaster for the people. An executioner describes the nature of the King:

"The Polka Dot King is a deranged tyrant, whose tyranny is intertwined with his twisted fetish for Polka Dots. It was a requirement for everyone in the country to wear polka dotted clothing. Commoners could only wear clothes with large polka dots, and the size decreased as the social status grew. The King himself had a long robe, full of tiny little golden polka dots. I remember my very first execution. I carried out my task not using the guillotene, not using an axe -- instead, a rapier.. I asked the thief to utter his last words, which he did -- something about his mother or another, and I raised my rapier and pierced his stomach and twisted, until a hole was formed in his flesh. Then I did the same to his thigh, to his face, gouging out his flesh until he was full of holes. Then I finished him by piercing his heart. Yes, the polka dot execution."

The incident, according to history, was triggered at the Polka Festival, which the King held at the capital for the first time. Here is an account by a noble who attended the festival:

"There were several accordion players, as expected, playing the Polka Dot King's own brand of polka -- I am not that well versed on the subject of music (No pun intended), but as I understand it, it consists of accordion. We went through the stalls, which were filled with all kinds of pleasantries. One stall sold polka cakes. There are several varieties of polka cake. The traditional and original variety are round, flat cakes covered with a layer of thick, white icing, and around the surface are little pockets containing strawberry or cherry jam. There are other varieties, such as the plain bun with flattened raisins, and another which is more like a biscuit. Other festivities included a game After buying my daughter one (Although I only permit her to have half, because those cakes were obviously cavity inducing) The King called for our attention. Pardon the treason, but he began that deranged babbling that he was famous for, about Polka Dot Gods, who resided in the sky -- in the stars, which were, according to him, Divine Polka Dots."

There are several theories as to what caused the Dot Disaster. One supports the rumour of the King meddling with witchcraft, and the disaster was the result of a pact with witches and sprites gone too far. Another is that it was the punishment of a God. Whatever happened, that speech caused thousands of polka dots to flood the country, which had devastating consequences.

The controversial artist, Ukele, described the disaster as "The Polka Dot King's opus." He wrote in his memoirs that "There was a kind of beauty in the incident. Polka dots blossomed all over the country, like flowers, until our world became a bowl of innocent chaos, as if it had been designed by a juvenile God. The King? There have been many greedy Kings in history. Yet their self-indulgences tended not to stretch beyond a shrine or a statue built and erected in their name. Which is somewhat cliche. But the King -- he brought himself, his soul into the land. It was a work of art. He gave the land his own signature.. And despite the many flaws of the King, he will no doubt be remembered till the end of time."

Polka dots spread throughout the continent, and it is through the high quantity of records that we are able to discern their purposes. An account:

"It was rather amusing, seeing the men and women of the region alternating between red and blue as they went about their daily routines. One second, they were as red as wine. The next, they were as blue as the ocean. This especially pleased the children, who invented new games around this strange phenomenon."

The strangest effect of the incident, were the purple polka dots that surrounded Mt.Ilger, which eventually came to be known as The Fluctuating Mountains. The nature polka dots that covered the foot of the mountain is an enigma. A hermit, who was hiking when the polka dot incident took place, was the first person to witness the effects of these dots:

"The dots, when gazed at, moved in a strange way. The closest comparison I could think of is stirring water in milk. When they moved, the earth moved with them, and as my gaze followed the dots to the foot of the mountain, which I was just about to climb, the mountains began to swayed back and forth like petrified madman, causing a terrible amount of destruction in the process. To see a mountain move! It was like a myth brought to life, particularly a myth with a tragic ending: I later heard that a whole city, a town and a forest had been crushed by the incident.."

Other kinds of polka dots have been recorded, such as the Living Polka Dots of Rilut, which are said to have been living men and women who melted down into brown Polka Dots, but remained living. Ukele mentioned in his memoirs that he had witnessed the Rilutians in this state, and they were "As unnerving as fungi."

And what about the source of the disaster, the Polka Dot King? Beule, the King's chief adviser who abandoned the castle and became a hermit, wrote:

"The castle interior, prior to the incident, was covered with spots. Spots in the chamber, spots in the. After the incident, these polka dots burst from their surfaces, and morphed into greenish-brown lumps which oozed a slimy substance which reeked to high heaven, emitting a sickening, putrid smell that infiltrated the castle's air. When this first happened, the castle's inhabitants did nothing but cough and vomit and crawl on their knees. Some even died. Most generals and their families ended up fleeing the capital. The King himself stayed, unaffected by this. He spent all day and night slumped on his throne, rotting. Large, perfectly circular spots covered his skin, perfectly formed polka dots, that he would have been proud of, which he scratched at furiously until they bled. His hair fell out leaving his head bald and patchy. His sight failed, and he said that he could only see spots. When he spoke for the final time, he spoke in polka dots, then curled up and died. He wanted polka dots and he got them."

This 'He spoke in Polka Dots' is a curious comment, because it is hard to fathom how once can speak in Polka Dots. -- how this was possible is unclear entirely, but his last speech, was transcribed perfectly by a scholar:




(End of story disclaimer: The Editing Sucks. Yes =( )

Scribble said:

Is this going to be the challenge with the least entries :lol

(Actually, that's probably the Trilogy challenge)

Click to expand...

Nah, that'd be the challenge right before NaNo last year. Just me, Tim, and DND. :lol

Luckily, it's unlikely we'll ever hit that low again... at least not until November.

The Letter:
Dearest Gina,

Hi, how are you? I guess my phone is completely disconnected so sorry about that if you tried to reach me. I am not exactly sure when for I was sending some friends in Wichita some texts and none of them texted me back so I am going to assume I ran out. I will have money again on my phone soon enough though. Oh yeah, I am still in Lawrence for the time being. The time being, well, like until tomorrow I think again. It was supposed to be yesterday then today but now tomorrow once again. I plan on doing the study and either moving back to Lawrence or back to Austin. I am still uncertain. I tried to kick start my car and it won’t even turn over again. Meh, I guess I will see how well I do hitchhiking, being a real drifter who was born to walk alone. Here I go again? Would you be impressed if I had leopard print pants? I wouldn’t be either truthfully.

So yeah, that night. I enjoyed being by your side even though it takes me a lot of time before I can really fall asleep next to someone. Like that was the best snuggling I have ever had, really like I loved that whenever I had to toss and turn which I do a lot but tried my best not to, you would toss and turn with me and that our legs were completely intertwined like shoe laces. I like you kiddo, you are a beautiful and quite the special lady and I really hope I get a chance to see you soon. I really meant everything I said that night and sorry if I was being too giddy because I have never been so excited to go on a date ever really and it felt like I don‘t know going on a date with like someone who you feels like could be your wife or something. Ok, I am going to flip a coin to see if that last sentence sounded way bad, heads says I should take it out and tails says I will leave it. The coin say tails but it still scares me. I usually go out with girls that are turd bots and ask me out and I have nothing better to do. You are for sure not a turd bot but one of the prettiest ladies ever and maybe next time I see you, I should give you a blue ribbon for your beauty and posture. I can’t remember your posture really but I am sure it is swell.

Alright, I hope all this stuff comes off as romantic and not weirdo but I am sure both will come out and will build rainbow buildings because that is what I am all about Gina, rainbow buildings. Also, I would like to believe I am the greatest man alive if I won your heart with a letter that is plastered with the term “turd bots.” Thank you.

xo,
Christopher Scott Knudsen

What happened:
I got her to come to my late night radio show where we made babies. The End.

Strike (~1260 words)

“Mr. Gatner. Walk.” Vice-Principal Wilmont glared at the passing teen. “Don’t run, and don’t think the rules don’t apply just because you’re on the baseball team.” Besides looking like the farmer from the movie Babe, the running joke among the students was that he began sentences with only his favorite word, don’t.

“Yes, sir,” mumbled Todd, as he slowed and passed Mr. Wilmont in the hallway of the high school. Todd straightened his posture and took a parting glance out the corners of his eyes. He rolled his shoulders, and the English and physics textbooks shuffled in his backpack.

Todd wasn’t really paying attention, but he knew that he wasn’t running. It wasn’t even a jog. His gait may have been hasty, but that seemed to be the mood for this morning. He wanted a fast-forward. Just a couple more days, the sun would sear the back of his neck. He would dig his cleats into the dirt at the batter’s box. While his mind was muddled now, in two days, it would all clear up.

Todd had woken at 4 am, and all he could think about was the state championship semifinals in two days. In the dark, he walked the apartment that he shared with his mother. He was still getting accustomed to the space and had bumped into corners as he paced with a glove and baseball in his hands. Scenarios overwhelmed his head. Double plays. Diving fly outs. A 3-2 count in the bottom of the ninth. He tried to shake the thoughts out of his body, but all that did was rev him up more. He put on his sneakers and ran around the block twice before preparing for school.

Last year, Todd had moved to Wilder High School and made the baseball team after a year off from the sport. Even though he was hesitant, his mother had urged him to try out, and to his dismay, he found a role as a utility player for the Wilder Wolves.

That year, his sophomore, the team had made the semifinals in the playoffs, too. Down one run, with two outs, a runner on third, and the go-ahead score on second, Todd somehow had been deemed the last at bat. It was an even count of two strikes and two balls. He dug in and waited. The ball flew from the pitcher’s hand. Todd’s eyes followed the rocket. Eighty miles per hour down the middle. His arms whipped. The bat arced. And all Todd could do was watch as the ball dove. It hit the catcher’s mitt with a thud, and Todd staggered back as if he had been punched in the gut. His return season ended. But in two days, he would have another chance.

Todd didn’t mind the pimple on his upper forehead or his dark hair standing in odd places. He didn’t pay attention to the Trig final exam review in first period. He blocked out the giggling cheerleaders at whom he usually snuck a peek. He ignored the guy in glasses who was being spitballed by fifth-year seniors. He tried not to make eye contact with Vice-Principal Wilmont. At lunch, Todd went to the practice field and ate his sandwich and apple between batting drills. By the last period, he had to grip his right knee to stop it from involuntarily shaking.

When the final bell rang, Todd had everything settled into his backpack and was out the door before the bell finished. Todd walked the hall before it filled, made a quick stop at his locker, and bolted out the back of the school near the cafeteria. He held his breath as he passed the dumpsters. Then he heard a familiar sound like a ball impacting against a bat. He turned. Behind the dumpsters, it was the guy with glasses whom some seniors had picked on and whom Todd thought was named Luke. Surrounding Luke were three others.

“Keep walking,” said one.

Todd knew the speaker only by reputation. His name was Cameron, and Todd had seen him smoking in the bathroom a few times and leaving the principal’s office a few more times. Todd looked past him.

The left side of Luke’s face was red, and a wedge of blood split his bottom lip. Snot and blood dripped from his nose.

“You want to hit someone. Hit me,” said Todd. He charged at them. Cameron swung. Todd’s momentum knocked Cameron to the ground, and Todd pounced. His punches popped. Todd pummeled Cameron, as if he were breaking in a new glove. Vice-Principal Wilmont pulled Todd off the other teen after the fifth punch.

It was about an hour when Wilmont let them go. Luke was at the street corner and pressed the crosswalk button. Todd followed behind.

“Don’t follow me,” said Luke. His lip broke open when he spoke.

“This is my way home,” said Todd.

“Right. Baseball after school,” said Luke. “I go straight home. Try to.”

The light changed. Luke walked fast as if he had some place to be. Or perhaps he was building up to an escaping sprint.

“What’d you get?” asked Luke.

“Three days suspension.”

“The game?”

Todd shook his head.

“That was dumb,” said Luke.

“You’re welcome.”

“I mean, did you think about the baseball team? Or scholarships or anything like that? Scouts would have seen you play, you know.”

“What’re you my agent?” Todd smirked.

“No, but you probably let a lot of people down.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“See how ungrateful I am. Shouldn’t have helped,” said Luke. “And for what?”

“Well, I don’t know,” replied Todd. He thought for a moment and went through the events in his head. “I really wanted another chance, you know. After last year. But, I dunno, maybe I didn’t stop that guy from hitting you for you. Maybe I did it for myself. So I can feel good about myself.”

“Look, there’s an ecology about high school,” said Luke. He seemed to know what he was talking about. “People get picked on. That’s the way it is and will always be.”

Todd shrugged. “Doesn’t make it right.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Just the way it is.” Luke nodded.

“Doesn’t have to be. I don’t think it has to be.”

“Whatever. Did you tell your coach?”

Todd took a breath. He realized how sweaty his palms were. “Eh, I don’t want to be the one to do that.”

“See you can’t take your lumps. You think he’ll kick you off the team.”

“I can take a beating fine,” Todd thought for a moment. He watched the traffic go by. “He won’t. Coach’ll understand. He’ll be mad, but he’ll understand.”

“You think so?” asked Luke. The question seemed to verge on sarcasm yet still held a bit of amazement.

Todd shrugged. “I guess he better. ‘Cause I’m running out of people to look up to.”

They walked the block for a few minutes in silence. Scenarios popped into Todd’s head. Double plays. Diving fly outs. A 3-2 count in the bottom of the ninth. He shook his head.

“You know, sometimes you think people have power over you. And sometimes they make you feel like shit,” said Todd. He had to say something. Otherwise, he would remember the game. “Sometimes you can’t really do anything about it because you live with them. And you don’t want to do anything at all because you’re shit, you know? Well, sometimes you get to move away.”

“And sometimes you graduate,” replied Luke, nodding.

“Yeah.”

“You hold your elbows out too much when you bat.”

:lol DumbNameD just appears out of nowhere!

The Entries:

Tim the Wiz - "Pro Bono"
Irish - "Away From Home"
dentoomw - "Legacy"
RorouniZiel - "Milk"
Ward - "A Guy, the Devil, and Chess"
hey_monkey - "Photorealistic"
Cyan - "Promise"
Scribble - "The Fall of the Polka Dot King"
AlternativeUlster - "The Letter to Gina"
DumbNameD - "Strike"

Scribble said:

:lol DumbNameD just appears out of nowhere!

Click to expand...

You're one to talk!

But yeah, love it when that happens, haha.

Scribble said:

:lol DumbNameD just appears out of nowhere!

Click to expand...

Fresh from the stovetop! Didn't even get a chance to taste it, so if it's salty, then the little holes in the shaker were too big. Need smaller holes.

And I had my votes ready to go and everything. :lol Good job, guys.

I'm going to be busy getting ready for a return to uni next week, so I got it done ASAP. Thankfully, not too many entries this week.

dentoomw - "Legacy": Some errors: "a man’s face in badly need of a shave", "The sky was pitching black", "Ok sir, we are", " His voice was deep, with a hint of gravel", "the governments dirty work", and "its better they don’t ever know". Noticeably awkward sentences: "The man pushed back the lies his brain was formulating as a defensive mechanism as he picked up the receiver and dialed." and "Bound with rope, her brown hair disheveled, her arms handcuffed to a nearby radiator, her mouth closed shut with duct tape." And I didn't much like that paragraph where you started off every sentence with "Of how", but that's more subjective. I know I'm nit-picking, but it gets in the way of your story for me, which is a compelling one by the way. I'd like to see a more polished entry from you in the future.

Irish - "Away From Home": I liked it. You should consider spacing out more and utilizing shorter paragraphs for greater effect, though.

RorouniZiel - "Milk": Cute. What's there is actually engaging. It could have been less confusing if you clearly set out the husband's speech/thought as dialogue. And I hate to say it, but in my opinion, it's overly minimalistic. The satisfaction it left could have felt greater with more character/situation-building prose.

Ward - "A Guy, the Devil, and Chess": "“I’m real sorry about this Mr. Dwyer. It’s just procedural.” I try to build rapport with Dwyer. I coddle him, establishing my baseline.

“What is the movie about?”"

I'm unsure about your use of "procedural" here. Do you mean "procedure"? And you should considering tacking the question ("What is the movie about?") onto the end of the previous paragraph. It would add clarity to the progression of dialogue.

"“I didn’t think clever was your game, right?”"

First off, if this was a comment it would make more sense. Making it a question alludes to Dwyer previously stating that chess wasn't his game, whereas he merely describes it. Secondly, it's pretty awkward as one sentence.

Those were the two things that hurt my engagement with the text. The ending was a bit messy, too, and I can't help but wonder if double-spacing between interviews would have read better. Anyway, there's a great sense of absurdist humour about this piece. (and I liked the GAF reference ) Conceptually, it is brilliant.

hey_monkey - "Photorealistic": Nice, crisp prose, except for: "Sweat ran down his dusty face, lightened the dark growth of beard on his cheeks and neck." and ""God, you always shit in everything.". The latter of which I assume was intended to go as "shit on".

The characterization was great. You captured the simpering, lovestruck nature of newly-wed lovers perfectly. (see: "peach blossom") I wanted to like the ending, but 's death didn't feel convincing to me.

Cyan - "Promise": I admit it. I had to look up "yardangs" and "striated". Otherwise, you have some great imagery and beautiful prose on display here. Good work.

Scribble - "The Fall of the Polka Dot King": Very amusing and wonderfully imaginative. Engaging use of a style which can be a bit of a trap in regard to exposition. Well done.

AlternativeUlster - "The Letter to Gina": I read the following with an upturned eyebrow: "I tried to kick start my car and it won’t even turn over ". And then I hit the next paragraph. :lol Anyway, I don't think I can really comment on this.

DumbNameD - "Strike": Four punctuation errors away from being an effortless read. An excellent narrative.


Votes:

1. DumbNameD - "Strike"
2. Cyan - "Promise"
3. Scribble - "The Fall of the Polka Dot King"

HMs: hey_monkey, Ward.

Tim the Wiz - Thanks for the feedback man! I probably should get someone to read through my stuff at least once before submitting next time :lol I was rushing it a bit since I only decided to start writing yesterday and I literally live on the other side of the planet. Totally understand where your coming from though with the grammar and spelling stuff.

I have to admit, I had to smile when I noticed your avatar is from Phoenix Wright after reading your story I liked it, though I wasn't entirely sure at the end whether the narrator had really had a change of heart, or if he was just chasing after a skirt. The way you bring out the personality in your characters is awesome; I could get a distinct personality from each one from just the way you described their actions and words. Maybe the only thing I could say is there may have been slightly better impact if Levy had called up Donald rather than this mysterious Paul person.


Irish - Great heart warming story. A bit disorienting though because you move from past-tense in the first couple paragraphs to present in the main body and then back to past-tense at the very end. I also agree with Tim that you could probably chop up your paragraphs for better effect.

Rorounizel - Genuinely funny, and I like how the conclusion is open enough that it leaves something for the reader to imagine. It's a little confusing at first however at distinguishing the husband's internal dialog.

AlternativeUlster - Despite the purposefully bad grammar it was pretty easy to read. A lot of odd images which made me chuckle, and I like how the writer's train of thought ends up being part of the letter. It actually helped me in building a mental image of the character. I'm just not really sure how this related to the theme.

Cyan - This was very interesting, it actually caused me to sit back and think on the story for a while. I liked the biblical yet post-apocalyptic feel of the entire piece, and your imagery was great. I also love the implications that your story hints at. Fundamentalists would have a field day with this

Scribble - Very creative, and the imagery was wonderful (especially the cakes, I got hungry reading their description). The Polka Kingdom wouldn't be out of place in a Tim Burton film. A couple grammatical errors and cut-offs here and there, but overall a great piece. I especially liked the dot shaped prose towards the end.

hey_monkey - I loved how you were able to transition the mood of the entire piece so fluidly from carefree bliss to one of horror and sadness. I also liked how you were able to capture the change his character so well by the end. I would however have had liked to see a bit more detail on what exactly happened, and David's reaction didn't seem that convincing to me either.

DumbNameD - This was a nice read. Nothing special, just a simple and heartwarming story. It's like reading comfort food. I noticed a couple editing errors, but overall it didn't detract from the story at all.

Ward - Pretty interesting read, and I like the premise. I think it would have been more engaging though if the crime in question was a tad more serious than puke over a balcony. The way you jumped from one interrogation to the next without really giving closure to the previous one was a little confusing as well.

Also, and this is totally just me being stupid - the fact you named your main character Abe Zanarkand, kept me thinking that your detective looked like Tidus :lol

My Votes:

1) Cyan for The Promise
2) Scribble for The Fall of the Polka Dot King
3) hey_monkey for Photorealistic

Aaargh

It's probably for the best that I missed this as I have a wedding to attend in a different state and will likely not have interweb access until monday

Tim the Wiz said:

hey_monkey - "Photorealistic": Nice, crisp prose, except for: "Sweat ran down his dusty face, lightened the dark growth of beard on his cheeks and neck." and ""God, you always shit in everything.". The latter of which I assume was intended to go as "shit on".

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lulz, best typo ever with the shit IN. Thank you for the comments! You guys are getting comments in super fast this week.

All right. We got any entry from Scribble. Does that mean you've bested the writer's block?

dentoomw said:

Thanks for the feedback man! I probably should get someone to read through my stuff at least once before submitting next time :lol I was rushing it a bit since I only decided to start writing yesterday and I literally live on the other side of the planet. Totally understand where your coming from though with the grammar and spelling stuff.

I have to admit, I had to smile when I noticed your avatar is from Phoenix Wright after reading your story

Click to expand...

No worries. Are you a fellow Aus-Gaffer? Regardless, anyone who likes Phoenix Wright is alright in my book.

dentoomw said:

Maybe the only thing I could say is there may have been slightly better impact if Levy had called up Donald rather than this mysterious Paul person.

Click to expand...

I get what you're saying, and I actually considered this beforehand. Him calling Donald would have made for better symmetry. But if he was going to quit, he probably wouldn't call Donald since he isn't his boss, just a fellow - albeit more influential - partner at the firm. Rightly or wrongly, I couldn't let go of him overtly quitting the big firm path of legal occupation as a final stab at redemption. It really was a wish fulfillment kind of story for me as a law student: someone saying no to the big firm mentality that has most of us mesmerized.

hey_monkey said:

lulz, best typo ever with the shit IN. Thank you for the comments! You guys are getting comments in super fast this week.

Click to expand...

I don't know what you were worried about before with the male POV. If anything, it felt more like a male-written piece with the cute, child-like female character.

dentoomw said:

AlternativeUlster - Despite the purposefully bad grammar it was pretty easy to read. A lot of odd images which made me chuckle, and I like how the writer's train of thought ends up being part of the letter. It actually helped me in building a mental image of the character. I'm just not really sure how this related to the theme.

Click to expand...

I aint going to lie, I just copied an email I sent a couple of days ago and posted it here.

crowphoenix said:

All right. We got any entry from Scribble. Does that mean you've bested the writer's block?

Click to expand...

Nope!

Scribble said:

Nope!

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Damn.

Also, how'd you get that tag?

That stupid tag =X

I posted a thread about me not being able to go on my morning run due to crazy itching on my legs. I made a point to say that I was a clean person who did NOT have fleas or crabs...which was a mistake :lol

What about you, crow? Is everything good? Will you be back next week? =P

Thanks for the advice guys. Hopefully, I can fix those problems in my entry for the next challenge. I should also sit on it a little bit longer than I did this time.

Tim the Wiz- "Pro Bono": I like how the character isn't really sure how to make up for himself and then hands over a few hundreds. Still, it worked well. Maybe if he had talked to her while she was attempting to walk towards the bus stop and then ended with actually asking if she wanted a ride, it wouldn't have seemed like a pity type deal. Please excuse my confusing words.

dentoomw- "Legacy": I like the imagery presented in the story. For some reason, as I was reading this, I was seeing really stormy blues and greys along with the dull browns and rustic reds of a hotel room in my head. I always like it when I can imagine a scene that is presented.

RorouniZiel- "Milk": The husband's dialogue sorta made me think it was internal thinking. I think it could have been better with some more buildup.

Ward- "A Guy, the Devil, and Chess": I liked all the references and the crazed detective feel. It actually made me think of a short novel I had read recently. The ending was a little confusing with all the switching back and forth between suspects, but I can imagine the cutshots in my head. I especially like the closet office.

hey_monkey- "Photorealistic"- You really did a great job with the male prospective. The giddy girlfriend was a little odd though. I think you might have thought on cutting back on the first half of the first part and stuck with just with the second part and the ending. I think you nailed the obsessiveness some males tend to take on when they feel they need to make up for something.

Cyan- "Promise": The imagery you presented was amazing. The madness (as I see it) of the man was truly believable as well. I was surprised that I actually made a connection with him and was glad to see him find peace in his, idk, "death".

Scribble- "The Fall of the Polka Dot King": You presented this entirely crazy world, yet made it seem extremely realistic. I liked that. You also got pretty creative with the polka dotted version of everything. The execution was gruesome, but the cakes seemed delicious. I also like the report-like feel of it.

AlternativeUlster- "The Letter to Gina": I can't believe you managed to use the term "turd bots" so many times in an actual letter. I had a good laugh though.

DumbNameD- "Strike": "I totally knew that guy. How could you know?" Excellent.

Votes:

1) DumbNameD- "Strike"
2) hey_monkey- "Photorealistic"
3)Scribble- "The Fall of the Polka Dot King"

Tim the Wiz
Strong base for this story, but I don't really sympathize with the MC right off. His first act is ignoring the guy he bumps into, then we hear about some sort of chicanery, him taking days off and short days, and a bunch of self-righteous banter. Combined, they make him look like kind of an ass.

Perhaps that's necessary to make the redemption more of a real redemption... but I'd have liked something to like about the guy. Maybe a little expansion on his initial question of how it got to this would've provided that. Or maybe if we heard something of his earlier conversation with Paul.

As a side note, I read the story when you first put it up, at 1800 words, and read it again just now. Whatever changes or cuts you made, I didn't notice any significant differences--which leads me to believe that you cut wisely.

Irish
A nice story, and the style works fine. But I think this story could've been really helped with some changes to sentence rhythm. When a bunch of sentences in a row have the same rhythm to them, the whole thing starts to feel monotonous--you should consider breaking it up by combining sentences to get a few longer ones, or occasionally inserting a few short sentences. Paragraph breaks can work too.

Example:

I run through the door and pull the car keys off my belt. It's hard to lose them when you keep them on your person at all times. Of course, I wear the same pair of jeans for a week at a time, so it's no problem for me. Outside, the rain doesn't drip against my makeshift jacket, it splatters. I unlock the car, jump in, and start the engine. I have no idea why I'm hurrying, but I feel like I need to do. I let the engine warm up for a minute and look at the "For Sale" sign in the next yard. Re-max. The engine begins to purr so I throw it into reverse. The spinning tires fling gravel into the air before finding a home and sending the car backwards. At the end of the drive, I cut the wheel to the right and exit to the left. I still haven't figured out what the rush is.

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Except for "Re-max," every sentence here is about the same length and rhythm.

The same passage, with some potential changes:

I run through the door and pull the car keys off my belt--it's hard to lose them when you keep them on your person at all times. Of course, I wear the same pair of jeans for a week at a time, so it's no problem for me. Outside, the rain doesn't drip against my makeshift jacket, it splatters. I unlock the car, jump in, and start the engine; I have no idea why I'm hurrying, but I feel like I need to do. I let the engine warm up for a minute and look at the "For Sale" sign in the next yard. Re-max.

The engine begins to purr so I throw it into reverse, and the spinning tires fling gravel into the air before finding a home and sending the car backwards. At the end of the drive, I cut the wheel to the right and exit to the left. I still haven't figured out what the rush is.

Click to expand...

Just something to think about. You're Irish, you should be good at figuring out this rhythm stuff.

dentoomw
Good weaving together of the theme and secondary objective. I think the redemption would've been much stronger if we heard more of the man's story. When he explains himself to Janet, I wanted to hear more of what he was saying, not just narrative summary. The summarizing feels slightly cheap. This stuff is at the core of the story, and by not really being there, it weakens the whole thing. Almost anything else could've been cut to make room, and I think the story still would've been much stronger.

RuorouuourniZeeli
Cute. And clever. Crying over spilt milk, eh?

I was confused by the lack of dialogue tags on the MC's responses. At first it made me think that the MC was merely thinking his/her replies, not daring to actually say them aloud.

The dialogue bits that talked about redemption felt awkward--remember to read dialogue aloud to yourself to find what sounds real and what doesn't.

Oh yeah, also the ending is great.

Yeah, I had a ton of fragments and a few shorter sentences in the original version, but Word didn't like that. It didn't like passive voice or contractions either. I shouldn't have listened to it so much. Oh well, I love the criticism because I'm already seeing how I should format my next entry and I don't even know the theme yet.

Ward
Haha, I love it! The detective procedural mixed with a juvenile prank at a movie theater--who'd've thunk it'd work? Beside you, I mean.

At first, I thought the guy's conclusion had come out of nowhere. Then I thought about it a minute longer, and realized that Kevin and Brad had doomed themselves. Nice.

The one thing I would've liked was a bit more differentiation between characters. Maybe cut down the number of suspects by one? Also, the transitions left me dazed and confused. Asterisks would have been appropriate, and would've helped this reader follow the story.

Also, the title made me think of a nineties TV show. :/

hey_monkey
Monkey, I'm not gonna lie. I actually got slightly misty-eyed at the end. As I see it, the purpose of a story like this is to raise certain emotions in the reader, and this one blew your previous stuff out of the water in that regard. I think this was because both characters were strong and well-built, they had great and believable interaction, and I emotionally connected to both of them. And the ending just rang true (maybe a titch too dramatic, but the drama is earned).

Now, a few criticisms. Paul is in it so briefly that he can't distinguish himself, and only distracts us from the main relationship. You might think about cutting him, or giving him something else to do. The broken window is almost too sudden, which kind of takes away from its believability. I'd have liked to see a little foreshadowing for it. Nothing so blatant as "gee honey, be careful of that window, it looks delicate!", but I think you could've gotten something in there that would've led us to feel like the fall was logical and inevitable.

On a micro level, the prose isn't quite as polished as some of your previous stories (mainly I'm thinking of the Japanese one), but it gets the job done.

Scribble
Wonderfully creative! I like this style for you, although I think it was a bit more effective in "Rabzmatazz."

Good job on getting a lot of description in there. And I love how the style of description varies according to who's speaking. Ukele is my favorite.

Suggestions: First of all, it needed a bit more polishing. There were a few errors or left-out bits that probably could've been fixed with another pass or two. Second, I think the narrative voice could've been more academic. The piece is just a little ways from reading like an academic paper, and a few small changes to the style of the narrator to make it more crisp and dry could've brought it the rest of the way. Another editing pass would've helped that as well.

Also, I like the polka-dot-speech transcription.

AlternativeUlster
I would criticize your approach (turd bots? who even says that?), but it sounds like she liked it! It's unusual to see you in here but not Timedog. Do you think he's ok?

Fun avante garde kinda piece.

DumbNameD
I always like this kind of story. Your fundamentals are solid as always--good prose, good characterization. There are one or two questionable pieces of dialogue, but it's mostly fine.

The passage of time is confusing in the beginning of this piece. Last year, in two days, at 4 AM this morning--I occasionally lost track of where and when we were. I wanted stronger transitions to help me figure out what was going on.

I'm glad you didn't do the expected, but when this story took a sudden turn into... ahem... left field, it felt slightly wrong. Nothing up to that point had told me that Todd was sympathetic to the nerd kid, or that he had issues with bullies. Or that he was prone to getting mad at someone and wading right in. I dunno. I liked how it ended up, it just didn't quite mesh with the beginning.

Also, great last line.


Votes:

1. hey_monkey - "Photorealistic"
2. Ward - "A Guy, the Devil, and Chess"
3. Scribble - "The Fall of the Polka Dot King"

Should have comments up sometime tonight... or at least some of them. Man, a lot of people disappeared this week, even with all the last-minute entries. I'm glad we got some new folks around, though!

Votes:
1. Cyan
2. Ward
3. DumbNameD

Tim the Wiz
I like this take on the theme.

Seems rushed and a little slim on details, but you had to cut, yeah? Found some of the dialogue unbelievable, but just Donald's. The vernacular just didn't seem to match his age and station.
Would have liked to have seen this dirtier, maybe, noirish.
Was pretty confused as to what was going on for first third of the story.
Really liked some of the lines, like:

notice where his razor didn't reach.


Irish
The end feels very abrupt after the more rambling quality of the first two thirds. Not sure about this style... normally I'm a big fan of short sentences, but the rhythm here seems awkward. Maybe read it aloud? I find that short sentences really need that conversational flow, that strong tone, i order to read well.

Glad to see the secondary objective used so well.

dentoomw
Hmm. The POV is a real issue for me; it wavers from a distant, dramatic POV at first to a closer third. If it's not going to be consistent, I want to understand why, and here, I don't.

Other than that, I like the writing; I think it flows very well.

RurouniZel
Funny. Would like to know why the--I guess it's the guy, either way--why those lines aren't in quote marks. I thought at first they were only thoughts, but there are some responses to them... So not sure. Not really following the spider invasion. But I think the rest of it's pretty funny! Maybe a little thematically heavy-handed.

Ward
I like all these variations on the theme this go-round. Your "disaster" is particularly great. Overall, I really like this; the writing could use some close editing for grammar, mostly commas, but I think the dialogue is well-written and the present tense works with the narrative tone. Found it a little hard to follow in places, with the chunks of dialogue and repetitive nature of the story.

Cyan
Did a good job with your self-challenge for description, particularly with the sky! Really like the last line in particular.

I feel like this is a surface story and could do with a few more hints at what's underneath. You give me enough to understand what is happening, and why, but not the how, and the how is what I want to know!

I want to know what else he might have had besides bare skin under his clothing!

Scribble
Clever. Love the polka dot execution. Would like to see this... how to put it? Be a bit more bold in tone, if that makes sense? It's just such a ridiculous thing (I mean GOOD ridiculous here) that I think I would like it better if it was all just over the top, down to the language. As it is, it feels a little shallow.

AlternativeUlster
I'm a big fan of stories that break out of the traditional "form" of story, but I don't feel like there's enough of a narrative thread here.

DumbNameD Did I ever tell you I love your username? I do.
He didn't start the sentence with don't, he started it with an address!
Kinda feel like the drop into backstory drags in a piece this short. I know it's important for the theme, but I would have found the story more interesting without the whole "last year" bit.
Commas! Whyfor does everyone hate the comma? /sob

On mine:
Comments this go-round have been great! I've gotten some helpful remarks. I'm glad my male POV worked, but I think it really held me back with that one scene, as I really didn't know how to handle his emotion. I need to work more on that whole part anyway.

I'm just glad that I made it in time!

MY PICKS:

1. Pro Bono


2. A Guy, the Devil, and Chess


3. Promise



THE REST:

Legacy


The Fall of the Polka Dot King


Strike


Away from Home


Photorealistic


The Letter to Gina


Milk

Yeef said:

The Letter to Gina

The last line took me entirely out of the story and didn't really add anything to the narrative. The narrator sounded pretty authentic up until that point.​

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Well, I didn't want to leave you guys hanging of what happened after I sent that email. I also only had like 5 minutes before the end of the deadline. Ah well, sex is fun.

I can't honestly believe it; first time I've won, and I couldn't even submit an entry due to "circumstances beyond my control, etc, etc."

A big thanks to everyone who contributed.

Thank you for coming up with such an interesting topic/secondary objective combo.