Theme - "Chivalry"

Word Limit: 2000

Submission Deadline: Wednesday, 12/9 by 11:59 PM Pacific.

Voting begins: Thursday, 12/10 and goes until Saturday, 12/12 at 11:59 PM Pacific.

Optional Secondary Objective: One Liner - Don't be afraid of the cheese. Quirky one liners can spice up dialogs like nothing else. Cheesy and tacky or thoughtful and poetic, they often render the piece memorable for a long time.

Submission Guidelines:

- One entry per poster.
- All submissions must be written during the time of the challenge.
- Using the topic as the title of your piece is discouraged.
- Keep to the word count!

Voting Guidelines:

- Three votes per voter. Please denote in your voting your 1st (3 pts), 2nd (2 pts), and 3rd (1 pt) place votes.
- Please read all submissions before voting.
- You must vote in order to be eligible to win the challenge.
- When voting ends, the winner gets a collective pat on the back, and starts the new challenge.

NeoGAF Creative Writing Challenge FAQ

Homage to fromage

The word limit rises again and grats on the win bakemono :lol (One month late I know)

Count Dooku strikes again.

(I fixed up the title now)

thanks, evilpigking

This should be a fun one.

Might want to PM a mod about fixing the title--only a mod can change it once it's posted.

Awesome. It'll be nice to work on something new.

I've been anticipating another short story challenge for two weeks!

Not sure if any of my ideas fit the theme, but I like the one liner objective.

You know, it's going to be really hard to avoid writing sword fights on stairs and characters swinging from chandeliers in this one.

Ward, just cheat and make Chivalry the surname of the MC. Or the bar's name. Or something. No, but, seriously. Chivalry doesn't have to be about knights and sword-fights and stuffs, can be just helping grandma across the street with her grocery. Or vanquishing those pesky optimists...

Crow, lol. Suddenly I want to re-see Princess Bride. Hmmm.

I've decided on my premise, and it actually ties to the theme, well, as much as any of my stories do.

After nanowrimo, cranking out a couple thousand words doesn't seem too bad!

Difficult theme.

So I decided to write a story that comes almost full-circle from around this time, a year ago. My first story was The Lie on the Lyre, about a mischievous and murderous bard who killed people by entrancing them with the music of a lyre. That motif returns here, but in a different form. Enjoy.

Dancing in the Dark
Word Count: 1896

She was a sight to behold. Radiating pure sexy and every blink of those luscious eyelids drew me in. The surreptitious glances in my direction easily visible, betraying her intentions. Yet a part of me thought that she was giving me those glances on purpose. She was reeling me in with every passing moment, her rod and bait the sex and lust that sunk into the back of my neck, pulling me towards her. I resisted, made her advances difficult to achieve. We were both at a party, you see, and I assume she was there because of a mutual friend that invited us. Or maybe not that at all. With her gorgeous body, she could have just walked in, looked at the host of the party, and continued on her way. There would be no words, nothing. Just the beating hearts of every man in the room moving in tandem, as blood rushed to their nether regions in synchronicity. The large dance room was atmospherically lit, brief patches of light in random spots, that only illuminated so much. Vanilla candles sent a haze around the room that muddled the senses, muddied my sight, and meddled with all perception. So I casually drank from my cup, a strong vodka cranberry, made with fine Russian vodka. The alcohol was slowly getting to me, reddening my cheeks and slowing down my movements. I could see her in the back there, and now her gaze was intent. Her eyes were wild, fiery jewels and inside those jewels wars raged and men died, beset by ferocious tigers, the symbol of her own seductive powers.
I had to stay away from her for just a few minutes longer. I couldn't make her catch me just yet. I had to evade her wiles just a bit longer... so I concentrated on my surroundings. Anything would work to get my mind off her for just a bit longer. The floor was finished oak, and as I walked around, I could feel the earth from which these planks came from. Alright, so maybe letting my mind wander is just going to lead to strange, hippie-like elucidations. I continued to survey the environs, as much as I could when all around were dancing couples, gay and straight, drunk out of their minds or on some sort of drug. Every now and then I could smell a cloud of marijuana float through the air, evanescent in its existence, and off in the corner I had a candid look at a bong being lit up, the chronic cherrying perfectly, small embers glowing somewhat crepuscularly, seemingly entwined within the dim lighting in the rest of the room. When I turned away from that scene, I noticed a mirror off in a corner. I stumbled over to it, accidentally bumping a woman grinding up against another man. I hastily apologized, and after what seemed like ages I found myself in front of it.

The mirror was the length of a person, allowing one to take in the full picture of themself. I seemed almost alien in this reflection. My white button-down shirt covering a stark blue t-shirt, faded jeans held up with an ornate belt, in the middle engraved a snake that curled around itself to bite down on its own tail. The ouroboros, I was told, and it means that life is cyclical; there is no beginning and end for the two exist in tandem, dancing their own waltz eternally. I had lost a lot of weight recently, enough to be able to fit into smaller clothing and I cut a fairly dashing figure in the mirror. My shaggy brown hair perfectly framed my now thin face. I still never felt very good about my look, and probably never would. The price for being too humble, I suppose. As I gazed at myself, as if looking over the edge of an abyss, the abyss inside that scintillating glass, I saw another figure. A man enshrouded in darkness, horns curling upward. Fire issued from where his mouth would have been, and I could see no other features to the man's face. His arms then moved of their own accord, and a small instrument appeared in front of him. It was a lyre, a small harp that had faded out of use over time, even if I had always found it an amusing instrument. The devil began to play, and I was entranced. The music was breathtaking, soothing, relaxing, and mystifying. I almost imagined a small smile played across the demon's lips, but I didn't care. The music began to drown out the noise of the party, becoming singular and overwhelming in its majesty. I could almost hear it speak words, as if singing...

"They called me fairest...
But then I fell.
They said I would find salvation
But God was no savior.
So I laughed in his face, that mighty force
And he cast me down, straight and true
Light could never find me
But I was content with the darkness."

He paused his playing for a moment, as if expecting me to make some sort of statement. I was at a loss for words, but with time I thought of something.

"Why are you here, then? Sho' you not be where the darkness f-f-finds t-tranquil... peace?" My words had become incredibly slurred, the alcohol beginning to punch holes in my linguistic capabilities.

"I am allowed a brief respite with which to walk among the living, doing whatever I please. God does not always watch this world, and it is those times when he turns his back that I can be left to my... machinations."

"And what... what are your machinations?" I asked, audibly gulping, fear beginning to grip me.

"I have a song to play, and this song will always live so long as people pay attention. You can't help but pay attention, can you? Now listen to me carefully... you are wont to play her game. Do not let her create all the rules, make some for your own. Pull back on the leash that drags you in."
The devil disappeared then, and the white noise of the party returned, crashing down like a waterfall, forcing me to plug my ears briefly, if only to keep myself sane. I turned around just then, and saw a faint smile play on that... that woman's lips. That vixen, that witch, whose spells were not spoken but simply existed. She seemed to just make them appear using only her mind, her wiles, and her tricks. But those tricks were oh so beautiful, temptation that increased with each minute that I was not in her presence, feeling her against me. So I took this moment to walk. Steady steps, measured and slow, protracted longer than they needed to be. I casually swerved and dipped around couples that danced, lips locked together as if superglue had been dabbled along them. The distance between us narrowed suddenly as I was now face to face with her. I took in her full form; long brown hair that was crimped and straightened, falling along her shoulders, brown eyes tinged with red, still just as jewel-like as before, her slim form was covered by a short-cut red dress that hugged her body, her breasts perfectly rounded and immaculate, the smallest part visible from the v-cut along her upper chest. Her fingers were curled around an expensive wine glass, the deep red liquid sloshing around occasionally as she danced the glass around in her hand.

"Hey there, stranger."

"I d-don't think I'm that s-strange to you."

"You're right. I've been watching you all night. I was wondering when you'd find your way over here. You were amusing. Most men would have beelined right towards me, wanting to... to fuck me, right here, ripping off my skirt and not caring if anyone else watched. The people here are too drunk anyways. But you... you took your time. You waited. You didn't want to make it easy for me."

"A-are you a w-whore?" I asked, realizing how stupid of a question that was, awaiting the inevitable slap across the face, the drink forcefully thrown on my shirt. The vodka was making me a bit misogynistic, unfortunately. But nothing happened. She merely smiled, the corners opening wider and wider until a brief chortle escaped from her lips. She raised a hand to her chest, a peal of laughter ripping out from her like a caged beast. I shuddered inwardly when she did this, almost paranoid as to her next action. Maybe this was just one extended act and the slap is being prepared in her mind, while she plans out just the right moment. A hand shot across my face, but stopped just inches in front of my right cheek. She instead relented, caressing my incredibly dark red cheek, filled with blood from the stallions of alcohol that galloped across the plains of my bloodstream.

"Follow me, sailor." She motioned with her finger, then hastily took my left hand, dragging me to a side room away from the dance crowd.

Clothes were torn off frantically, casually thrown on the floor as our kisses were fast and frequent. Small pecks along my jawline that ascended upwards, her tongue digging into the crevasses of my mouth as she explored with haste and dexterity. I surrendered myself, briefly, to her cravings and indulgences. Her hands found their way down my chest, curling around me downstairs as I gasped and moaned at her touch. But something felt wrong. As much as I wanted to just take her right there, I felt this brick wall that my mind was setting up for me.

"Wait... wait. Okay. I know... I know I've been thinking about you all night, but... I can't do this. I'm way too drunk and you're not drunk and this all feels wrong. You're a type of woman I'd like to get to know first. Maybe... maybe we shouldn't let this go any further." I was amazed at how well I said all that, despite being near-blacked-out.

"What are you, a fag?" She asked, blunt in her suggestion, a slight tinge of anger rising in her voice.

"No... no, well, I mean, I like both I guess, but..."

"Then take me right here, stop fucking around." She groped me strongly, then, and I began to lessen my resistance... only for it to come surging back to the surface.

"Stop. Stop touching me there."
I could hear the devil in my mind, laughing somewhat at my situation, and I remembered his last words: "Pull on the leash that drags you in."
I grabbed a hold of her and restricted her arms, so she could stop urging me on with her advances. She looked up at me, those fierce eyes staring right into me. The tigers returned once more, and they were advancing upon me, backed up against a tree. Their snarls and raucous growls transfixing me. The beasts turned to look up at the outside me, before pouncing upon the inside me. I let go, then. I let go completely.

As our bodies moved together, I could hear that familiar tune on the lyre played once more, each note in time with each thrust.

The fairest of all take everything. As the Devil plays his song, humankind sins.

Anyone else working on a piece? I should have mine finished by tomorrow or Wednesday, but it'd be kind of a bummer if it were just me and Zephyr.

It was just too soon after the novel challenge for me. Brain needed a break.

I'll have a piece up by tomorrow at the latest.

I've just done writing mine. Ugh. That was so hard though. Novel month really took a lot out of me. But I forced myself to sit down and then I wrote a crappy one before I finally managed this one. Maybe still crappy. But not as much as.

Will post it soon. Polishing now.

The castle was always locked.

Morgon passed its walls every morning and afternoon as he commuted to and from work. Faceless stretch of pale plaster, serene and mute. At its middle, a small door of steel with a keyless entry. No handles.

He stopped occasionally at the tiny screen. It waited as it had always been waiting for its key. Today he was going to try a new word. 'Persnickety'. He inputted each letter into its grimy keyboard and waited.

[Password Incorrect]

Morgon would come back later today.



In his youth, he had dreamt about the Princess in the castle behind those walls. Little by little, he had forgotten that it was a dream. Only a dream. No longer. Morgon knew in his heart that she was waiting in her tower for him.

He sat in his booth and checked the console in front of him. A score of requests for reprogramming of various subroutines came as a list on the screen. Morgon started his clock and opened the first item. At ten in the morning, he took a coffee break. He saw one of the repair drones was working on the only coffee machine and sighed.

Morgon heated a small pastry and sat down with a glass of water off the tap. He was surrounded by motivational posters.

"Be safe! Don't be a hero! Caution is wisdom!"

His thoughts wandered to her chamber, where she was sleeping peacefully in wait for her knight. Roses blossomed eternally around her face and butterflies guarded her resting limbs.

"The protruding nail will be hammered down. Be harmonious."

Her name was Adelaide. She had chocolate hair and fair skin that bloomed into a shade of pink on her cheeks. Morgon traced the shapes of her lips with his inner eyes. The only thing he had not fleshed out was her voice. He wondered how she would sound like.

"We are happy, happy, happy. The world is happy. You are a part of us. You are happy."

He went back to his desk and continued his work. He found the word he was going to try this afternoon. 'Catabolic'. Morgon checked his watch and left for work early.


The supermarket was squeaky clean and cheerful. A few cleaning droids were visible at aisle eight, polishing the shiny floor until it was mirror-like. He went down the food section and picked up boxes of meals.

"Notice: Consumption is Gumption. We appreciate your part! Discounts unlocked!"

Morgon bought a few other household articles. Dishwasher tablets, toothpaste and toilet rolls. He took his trolley to the self-service check out line. The machine placed his grocery in the environmentally-friendly bag that Morgon provided. Finished with shopping, he walked home.

The wind was silent that day and he could hear forever. A rickety sign-post a few streets away made a rhythmical creaking, to the tempo of his unhurried feet. Soon the maintenance robots came and fixed the noise. Morgon walked onwards in the quiet afternoon, palming the gift that he had carried every day in his pocket. A small golden band. He worried often that it would not fit her finger.

A soft whirr in the distance punctured the silence and he looked up to find the gigantic supply ship docking behind the supermarket. Tiny flying cargo units unloaded the belly of the supply vehicle efficiently and stocked the aisles with new products. He lost sight of it when he made a turn.

He passed a few avenues and boulevards, and then the stretch of wall began. Morgon walked down its length until he came to the door. He placed his grocery down and keyed in the new word.

[Password Incorrect]

Morgon would come back tomorrow. Only two tries per day or he would be locked out for a week.


Dinner was Macaroni and Cheese. He placed the box in the food processing machine and it cooked his meal up in under two minutes. Morgon sat down with his dinner and turned on the television set. A sound of laughter rang out and washed his living room with merriment.

"I took her breasts!"

"You took her breasts! Oh!"

"Well, really. She gave them away, really!"

The television set softly emitted a perfume of roasted chicken breasts into the room. Morgon decided that he could fit a second dinner and placed another box in the machine. He did not have Roasted Chicken but he did have Soy Sauce Chicken. That would do.

After he ate, he felt compelled to do simple stretching exercises. Then shower. And then some readings before bed. He found the word he was going to try for the morning attempt.

'Agon.'


He slept and dreamt of peaceful images. The endless waves of a green sea upon a pale beach. Golden rows of harvest under a sky so light it made him felt weightless. A pond in the jungle, with floating lotus flowers and a hidden creek behind him. The white snowy peaks of old and benevolent mountains.


Morgon woke up to the scents of fresh orchids and spring grass. He checked the time. It had been an eight-hour sleep, precisely. The moods changed subtly in his room. The perfumes of flowers and sprouts were replaced with the gossamer scents of coffee and hot shower. Morgon obeyed his instincts and went to wash.

His showers were always steaming and pleasant. He emerged famished and hankering for caffeine. Popped his breakfast into the machine and it cooked up a perfect omelette and bacon for him. He made cappucino and it was another perfect cup of coffee. He left for work.


Morgon's average was around twenty cases a day. Sometimes he would be able to do more, but not often. In fact, in recent years, he had been steadily declining in his efficiency. His current month's clocking at sixteen cases a day. This figure was made available to him on his console's screen. He had been staring at the summary of his employment records for the best part of his morning.

The clock chimed. Ten in the morning and he felt he could do with a cup of coffee. Morgon went to the staff room and saw the coffee machine had been repaired. He made himself a cup. It was hot and was made perfectly. He sat down and decided for a simple peanut butter sandwich for morning tea.

"Employment is Religion. Be glad for your utility."

Princess Adelaide filled his mind with her images. She was a little on the slender side. She had delicate fingers. Even in her sleep, she seemed as if smiling, if only a little. Her left hand placed slightly on top of her breast. Morgon gulped at the thought of her touching herself.

"We are with you. You are with us. We are you. You are us."

Morgon finished his sandwich and returned to his desk.

He found the word for his afternoon trip. 'Chivalry.'


Morgon did not forget to get Roasted Chicken that day. He took two boxes of the stuff and unlocked larger discounts on his account. He also did not forget to buy refills for his coffee machine at home. He felt accomplished.

Password was denied. He sighed as he scaled the wall with his eyes. Maybe it was another broken subroutine. His heart twisted a little when the thought of the possibility of seeing this door surfacing in his work list. 'Item #2897: Door to Wall has no Password. Please close program and delete all affected paths.'

Morgon shivered and quickly made his way home.

Dinner was excellent. Roasted Chicken with a side of green peas. And chilled beer to accompany the meal. He watched television for an hour before he exercised and showered. He was thinking for the next word to try when the unthinkable happened. Princess Adelaide slipped into his mind, and he could make out her hard nipples underneath her silken gown. Her left hand was placed on one perfect breast. He gasped and lost his balance and knocked himself out.

Morgon woke up with a headache and a swollen nose. He crawled his way out of the bathroom and into his bed. He did not know what time it was, nor did he care. He wrapped himself in his blankets and slept.


When Morgon came to next, it was late morning already. He checked his clock. Almost nine. He did not care. He did not dream of peaceful images. He did not feel like coffee or shower or omelette and bacon. He did not feel like working. He did not feel like putting any clothes on. His headache blocked out the inaudible messages that were broadcasted into his room and his swollen nose could not process the scent agents that were sent to him.

There was silence for a while, and then Morgon took to his feet, put his pants on and ran out of his apartment. He ran and he ran and he ran. He did not know where he was running, but that he must. Somewhere without the scents machines. Somewhere out of transmission.

Morgon found himself standing in front of the faceless steel door, out of breath and heaving rapidly. He did not have any word to feed it. Morgon looked upwards at the wall and then down the length of it, left and right. It made him felt tiny. It was made for giants and it was unconquerable. He felt the weight of his insignificance bearing down on him.

He screamed, placed his left foot back and smashed his fist into the tiny screen. The contraption cracked under the assault and fizzed out to blackness. And still Morgon attacked it with everything he had. Its cabling came undone and its wiring sparked out. Morgon pulled and clawed at its insides as if he was undoing the stomach of an electronic animal.

Suddenly the door gave.

Morgon stopped in his rage and stood transfixed.

Princess Adelaide was at the other side of the door. She was not wearing a silk gown. She had short brunette hair and was dressed in dark shirt and brown trousers, but it was her nevertheless. And then he realised that it was not her in the tower. It had always been him, trapped in the giant clockwork of subdued existence, governed by the quiet transmissions and subliminal messages, he was made complacent by the machines and the routines.

She had sent in her own messages. The door in the wall. He had broken through and for the first time in his life, his head was clear. He had no compulsions to consume, no commands to obey, nothing but his own free will soaring in his mind.

He stepped forward and through the door. She smiled. Spreading her arms out to him, she embraced him and kissed him deeply.

I'll give this a try and see what I come up with.

Getting new glasses is messing with my eyes something fierce and it's pretty close to the deadline for my applications, so I'm not sure if I'm going to make it, but I'm going to try.

working on an appendix for my novel's second draft. So I prolly wont make this one, despite the fact that all the ideas I had were patently awful and cliched.

Blood slid down between the channels of his knuckles as he dimly became aware of the pain in his forearm where the knife cut him. The knife and its owner were deposited on the floor of the bar, the man’s jaw crookedly lying to the side of his head from where Evan clearly broke it. Evan’s punch knocked him out cold, but the pain would be waiting for him when he woke up.

Ronnie Van Zant was belting out ‘Simple Man’ on the speakers, which could be heard clearly as the rest of the bar had gone silent. The patrons a mix of rogues, bikers, and fast women stared at Evan with a mixture of fear and disgust. Evan stood just over 6’4” and was built like a brick shithouse, muscles rippling under a clean white T-shirt. ‘The Curve’ had seen and hosted numerous fights, scuffles, and a stabbing or two, but the web of scars on his skin and the look in Evan’s eyes rattled even the more feisty drinkers.

“I’m ready to leave, Boo.”

Evan turned and grabbed his leather jacket off the wall of the booth. The only other occupant of the booth, a beautiful, well-kept blonde slid out from behind the table and sauntered casually to the door. Evan put his jacket on and, before following the woman, grabbed a bunch of napkins and stuffed them into his sleeve to stop the bleeding. He banged out of the bar after her, slamming the door into the outside wall, its hinges wailing in protest.

Twenty minutes later, the pressure he kept on his forearm staunched the blood’s flow, but not before staining a bit of the upholstery in Evan’s Mustang. Other than the roar of the engine, nothing had been said between the two for the whole time. The blonde occasionally stole a glance at the giant before finally saying something 20 miles later down the road.
“He was rubbing me off, Boo. I don’t like that. He wasn’t no gentleman.”
Evan responded in a grating voice, “He wasn’t looking for a fight. Why’d you treat him like that?”
“He wasn’t no gentleman,” she repeated.
“Why’d you treat me like that?”
She turned in her seat to face Evan, “You’re my brother, Boo. You’ll be always number one with me.” She smiled and rubbed his shoulder and upper arm. The cut on Evan’s forearm pulled a bit when he jogged the wheel for a turn and he winced.
“We’ll get you to a clinic in the morning.”
Evan just nodded and concentrated on the road. He wasn’t good at concentrating and, with the combination of pain, anger, and adrenaline; he was driving faster than normal. He wanted to make sure he didn’t have a stupid crash with her in the car.

* * *

“I want to go out,” she stated.
Evan, having just washed the blood out of the car had collapsed onto the bed with a not altogether minor thump. Roughly five minutes later, his sister came busting into his room in a nearly finished state of preparedness and dress.
He looked up tiredly, “Let’s take a break tonight?”
“Out of bed, Moron. You can sleep later.”
“In a couple of hours, but not right now,” he defiantly replied.
She turned to look at him with her face contorted in shock, “You want me to go out alone?”
Cursing under his breath he rolled out of bed and reached for a white t-shirt.

* * *

‘Low Ceiling’ was one of their very few regular hangouts. The locals would watch and lust after Evan’s sister, but kept to themselves mostly. For Evan, it made him happy as his sister could dance like she wanted, and at the same time, most everybody knew not to get friendlier than she allowed.
He sat in a booth nursing a cold bottle of PBR watching his sister gyrate and twirl on the dance floor. Several times guys came up to talk to her or join in and she either swiftly or rudely sent them on their way. Sometimes both. It didn’t reach a point where Evan was needed, as he knew the look she gave when help was needed.

Getting more comfortable from the, so far, uneventful night and from a handful of Blue Ribbon’s in his stomach, he started thinking about when he was going to sleep when a young man approached his sister. She seemed happy about this one, though to Evan’s eye he was a little young. The guy was only just over drinking limit at best, while Evan’s sister was in her late 20’s. He caught Evan’s eye not only because she was interested in him, but also for his awkwardness. It didn’t seem to Evan he entirely wanted to be there. Given the haircut and the guy’s solid build, though nothing to Evan’s own, he guessed maybe marine on leave.

He watched absently as the ‘marine’ and his sister danced to the low booms and rhythms. After about 10 minutes, Evan noticed his sister started rubbing her ass into his crotch and started touching and stroking his arms. ‘Apparently, this one’s a gentleman,’ Evan snidely thought as he downed his seventh bottle. He turned to signal the waitress when he stopped in mid-motion.

Two tables down from him, was a young woman in a shirt and jeans. She was pregnant, perhaps four or five months along. A glass of water sat untouched on the table in front of her. Evan wouldn’t have noticed except she was staring at the young man and his sister, out dancing on the floor. She had a resigned, defeated look in her eyes as she played with the glass of water on the table, rotating it slowly. Evan looked back at the young man as his sister was running her hands up over his chest and through his short clipped hair.

He sat back in the booth’s bench staring at his bottle. A twinge of pain in his forearm reminded him of the fight last night. Or was it the night before? Evan had lost count. He looked up at the dancing couple again and saw it for a quick second. The young man’s eyes fell on the young woman and he flinched slightly.

That was enough for Evan.

He stood up and got out from behind the bench and quietly, as much as a man his size could do, strolled up to the woman’s booth. She didn’t notice as he passed, but certainly did when he slid onto the bench on the other side of the booth, quickly moving around, over to her side.

“Evening, miss,” he said, smiling.
She shrank back away from him, but not out of the booth, “I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong table.”
“No way, cuteness,” Evan replied. “Your table is over there with me. Since you were so confused, I figured I’d just sit down here with you.”
The young girl tried to squirm away from him, when Evan leaned his arm out behind her, cutting her off with his reach.
“I’m here with my boyfriend,” She protested.
“Hey, snooze ya’ lose, Darlin,” Evan remarked. “I don’t see him here. And you’re looking awful lonely.”

As he started softly stroking the girl’s hair, out of the corner of Evan’s eye, he saw the young man see what was going on and shove his sister aside. She slipped and landed on the floor with her ass as the man came storming up to the table. When he reached the booth, his indignation and anger wilted at the sight of Evan’s size.
“You’ve been drinking too much, Buddy. Why don’t you go sit down at your table,” he said.
Evan shoveled up the girl with his arm and pulled her to his side. “Why don’t you go jam that chair up your ass sideways? You got the used floozy over there, and I got this peach.”
“She’s my girlfriend, pal, or maybe you missed she’s pregnant?”
“I ain’t got nothing against Baby Mamas,” Evan retorted and softly patted the girl’s stomach. She started strongly trying to squirm out of Evan’s grasp, but not making much progress. “Greg, please-“ she started to say. Evan interrupted, “Yeah, Greg. Please. As in, fuck off.”

Evan saw his sister back in the crowd behind Greg, in a sweet combination of fuming mad and disbelief. Greg struggled with the situation a bit longer when Evan reached over and started groping the girl’s left breast.
“Motherfucker,” Greg yelled as he dove across the table nearly tackling Evan. Having been in more fights, bar or otherwise, than any sane person could reasonably guess, Evan was ready and pushed the girl down along the bench to the side as he slid back in the other direction. Greg landed face first in padded bench with an audible grunt. Evan stood up and pulled the table out of his way, dumping Greg onto the floor.
“Don’t know when to quit, do you Scooter,” taunted Evan. “She must be a ferocious piece of ass. Can’t wait to get a piece.”
Greg, instead of standing up, lunged across the floor and buried a shoulder into Evan’s gut. It threw him off-balance and he stumbled into a table behind him, sending the spectators stampeding out of the way. Evan figured police were being dialed very soon so he’d have to speed things up.

As Greg stood up, Evan surged forward and buried a fist into the man’s mid-section. He took the blow with a grunt and slammed both fists together into Evan’s sternum. The big man reeled backwards gulping for air and grasping wildly for some purchase. Greg moved forward and threw a right hook, landing it right on Evan’s jaw, sending him to the floor where he rolled onto his back, half-conscious. Scattered people began to clap, with some more making comments along the lines of ‘good job’ or ‘good riddance’.

Evan felt a pair of hands under his left arm and saw a waiter helping him to his feet and start guiding him to the door. He looked back and saw Greg over in front of his girlfriend, kneeling in front of her and stroking her arm. Then his view was blocked as a blonde-haired face of fury trailed in behind him as he was helped out the front door.

* * *

Evan was sitting in his Mustang in the parking lot, with the engine running. Before taking off he bought a bottle of water and washed the blood out of his mouth. He started probing around his jaw wondering if a tooth was loose. ‘Fucker had a decent hook,’ he thought to himself.
His sister was seated next to him; arms crossed and ready to spit fire. “Any fucking time now, Moron.”
Evan threw the bottle in back and put the car in reverse, starting to back out when he saw Greg and his girlfriend walking out. Evan didn’t know how to lip read, but he could clearly see Greg’s apologies. The girl’s head was on his shoulder with her arms wrapped around his waist. Her eyes didn’t have that defeated look anymore, but one of warm love and being loved. He had protected her. They walked over to a beat-up Ford Focus while Evan roared the Mustang out and down the road.

His sister kept stealing furious glances at him. She thought she had never been this angry before, but what was making her even angrier was the stupid huge smirk on Evan’s face.

“What the fuck are you so happy about? And why the fuck were you even messing with that ugly cow to begin with,” she blurted out as they rolled up to a stop sign. Evan turned to her, staring her in the eye, and answering in a grating voice that caused her to shrink into her seat:

“Princess? Shut the fuck up.”
_______________________________________

Comments always appreciated and criticism valued. This story evolved quite differently from where it started, but I really like how it ended up.

.

Ringworm
words: 1,876

All right, mine is finished but definitely needs some polishing/cutting. Probably put it up tomorrow. I tried to do something different on this one, and am definitely hoping for helpful feedback.

Glad to see more entries!

2 hours, guys!

Edit: FYI, if there's even a chance of me winning (I doubt it, there's some amazing entries here) please dedicate the second place winner the chance of making the next topic/theme, as I'll be on a plane to Florida Saturday.

Removed. PM if you'd like to read.

The Entries:

ZephyrFate - Dancing in the Dark
bakemono - Chivalry
JoeBoy101 - Untitled
Tim the Wiz - The Lash
Ward - Ringworm
Cyan - Lion of Laiwa

Low turnout, but makes it easier to critique, haha. Next challenge should be more popular, I think.

ZephyrFate said:

Low turnout, but makes it easier to critique, haha. Next challenge should be more popular, I think.

Click to expand...

Indeed. Anyway, this is all great stuff. Usually I have a good idea of what I'll vote for after my first read-through. Not this time.

P.S. If any of the regulars who didn't contribute this week would like to critique (or vote) anyway, it would be much appreciated! Since there aren't many of us this time around.

Ya know, 'Untitled' actually makes a good title for that story.

I'm working long shifts out the middle of no where so I won't be entering again until probably january. Had some novel ideas so I might try and work on those a bit. Best of luck and happy holidays.

ZephyrFate said:

Low turnout, but makes it easier to critique, haha. Next challenge should be more popular, I think.

Click to expand...

I don't know. A smaller field somewhat demands greater depth in critiquing, no? And the entries look tough to separate, as well.

Fewer entries, all high quality though.


ZephyrFate - Dancing in the Dark
Your third paragraph should be the first. Not until the third do I actually care or have a legitimate hook. After having completed just the third paragraph, the first two seem superfluous. I think the girl could be wrapped into one sentence, maybe insert her just before he walks up to her.

Super glued lips didn’t work for me, I heard sucking and squelching sounds. Their drunk, it’s messy, tis a minor quibble though.

This piece could be dynamite. As it is, I stumbled around the beginning for too long and I’m personally offended the devil’s song didn’t reappear as the last line, the guy is hearing it, keeping time to it, I wanted to hear a verse. Past that, I enjoyed your prose and piece.

bakemono – Chivalry
The beginning confuses the heck out of me. How does this castle exist, not to mention a plaster castle would be weak.

I like the end and the characterization of the guy’s life. The beginning needs to be tweaked. I still don’t get how this castle door is just there.

JoeBoy101 – Untitled
A bit of a long hook, but it has possibilities.

A “stupid crash”, I find the wording humorous.

Another run through would help polish the piece.

I like it, it’s an easy read and a ‘fun’ story.

Tim the Wiz - The Lash
A long start. I’m waiting for action at eight paragraphs in.

I like the story you are telling- definitely, but not necessarily your delivery. It’s kind of slow. The last half moves at a good speed.

You take this caste system, about which I’m wholly ignorant, and you prove to me you realize at least some of the involved nuances.

The ending didn’t feel right. Maybe it was just the last sentence- unnecessary.

Cyan - Lion of Laiwa

Interesting format, a multi-layered piece that is a marvel- a letter in a book in a short story. I feel like I’ve overlooked something as you often write over my head, but I found the reading difficult to manage; it’s just not quite my preferred style. I had the urge to skip ahead (I must apologize, the technical approach of your entry demands more than that).The most satisfying ending of the pieces submitted. Your piece benefits the most from a second read.

Voting:

1 Tim the Wiz
2 JoeBoy101
3 ZephyrFate
HM: bakedmono, Cyan

Thanks for the critique, but I'm not sure how I'd work the first part out. I really like the first two paragraphs, but moving the third to the beginning just makes them unimportant, and I like the fact that they emphasize the 'cat and mouse' game that is beginning to develop between the two.

ZephyrFate - "Dancing in the Dark" - Bjork? Starts off well, with your usual facility with description and metaphor drawing us into this party, towards this girl. But then you back off, and completely switch gears to go into the mirror thing. It's a little arbitrary that the guy tries to evade the girl at first, and totally counter to the first paragraph--you've set up the audience to expect him to go over to her right then and there. That the expectation is foiled isn't necessarily a bad thing, it just leaves us a little confused. Still, I'm not sure I like that structure--makes me feel like I've been led on a bit, and the changes in focus feel aimless. At the end, the girl wanting to sleep with the dude right then and there feels a little too easy.

Still, a mostly solid piece that plays to your strengths.


bakemono - "Chivalry" - Generally should avoid using the theme as your title. I really like this piece. It's got this odd and dreamlike quality, like everything in it is just a step removed from reality. That makes it easier to accept the weird stuff that happens.

Some of the sci-fi elements are not, as far as I can see, strictly necessary. Not being necessary doesn't mean you must remove them, of course--but they can be a distraction. The delivery ship for the grocery store, for example. It's a cool concept, but just didn't feel right to me. On the other hand, maybe that stuff contributed to the dreamlike state.

I think that the final sentence is unnecessary. Just "she smiled" would be nice and understated, but achieve the same effect. Nice piece.


Gotta get some work done, will be back later with the others.

Most of my issue with the ending, I think, is the word count limit. :lol

I can see where the issue is with the aim, but similar to an earlier piece, Ukelele Woman, the story is told through the film of an alcohol-fueled night. So, many of the details are sketchy and awkward because the guy is getting further and further intoxicated as he 'pretends' to be elusive. If you come into the piece knowing the dude is rather drunk, and when you're drunk you have a tendency to focus on things that are not necessarily important or interesting, like the mirror, then it begins to make more sense.

Whether that helps or hinders my piece is another matter.

ZephyrFate - I enjoyed this. Reads very intoxicated, just like the MC. The set-up was good, and the ending. Felt like I was with the MC, trying to fight how it was going to end, but ended up surrendering to how you wrote it anyway. Weird. Very cool.

JoeBoy101 - I liked Evan almost straightaway. The ending line was great. Nice one liner, right there. I liked how you tackled the prompt, sort of in a backhanded manner. Your characterizations were vivid, a fun piece to read, overall.

Tim the Wiz - Enjoyed the tone very much. Are you Australian? You captured the language and the vibes very well. (I'm Aussie, btw.) How it unfolded was a little slow, but on a second re-read, I found that the pace actually suited the tone of the piece. Anyway, I liked.

Be back later with more!

-----

Re: Ward - the wall of the castle was plastered or rendered wall (maybe should have used rendered, hmm). Underneath the plaster, I guess it'd be stone or bricks or doombunnies. The wall stretches on one side of a street that the MC has to pass by every morning and afternoon as he goes to and from work. The door is set into the middle of the wall. Guess it was too confusing? Thanks for the feedback. I'll tweak it for sure.

Re: Cyan - I suck with titles. I didn't have anything else in mind at the time, but will change it. You're right. Thanks for the feedback about the ending, too.

bakemono said:

Enjoyed the tone very much. Are you Australian? You captured the language and the vibes very well. (I'm Aussie, btw.) How it unfolded was a little slow, but on a second re-read, I found that the pace actually suited the tone of the piece. Anyway, I liked.

Click to expand...

I've been here since I was around seven years old. And thanks, it's good to hear that from a fellow Australian.

One thing I was interested to learn while writing the story is how recently (1960s) Australia moved away from the pound (although distinct from the pound sterling) to the dollar decimal system that we currently have. It's one of those small things that marked the beginnings of a social transition of cultural influence which more accurately depicted our place in the post-war global dynamic. Or, rather, the end of Menzies era Australia.

Hell, I didn't realize this thread had been created yet. Oh well, I suppose I saved you guys from my terrible writing for one challenge. My ranting shall be back next time. (I'll see if I can find some time to comment on the stories for this challenge.)

1. Cyan
2. Tim the Wiz
3. Ward

I dunno Cyan, your piece kinda blew my mind. I'm not sure how I understood it, but the fiction-within-a-fiction-within-a-fiction was incredibly surreal and I bow to you, I dunno if I could ever write something so strange and mystifying.

Hats off, dude.

JoeBoy101 - Untitled - Great action start, that pulls us in and gives us some idea of Evan's character. Love the relationship between Evan and his sister. "You want me to go out alone?" Haha, great stuff.

Awkward timing between segments. In the second part, I get the impression that it's right after the first, which makes me wonder why the sister wants to go right out again. And then the third part says it's a few days later? I dunno.

The third part of the story was interesting. I like where the story ended up going, but it was also a little odd. I didn't get the impression from Evan earlier that he would be one to care about the pregnant woman, but it's implied that the whole sequence was to make her feel better or something. I like that direction, it just doesn't feel quite justified.

The story could also use a bit more editing, I think--felt unpolished, with some awkward wordings and the like. Overall good, though.

Tim the Wiz - "The Lash" - Really nice piece. Captures the feel of a time and place, and explores racism without getting preachy. That's tough to do. Also, really gets into the skin of the character--I feel like we really get to know him well for such a short time.

My only real problem with this one is that there's no throughline--it doesn't feel like a complete story. There's no closure at the end, nothing to tell us the story is over. This is partly a result of the beginning--because of the fourth paragraph, the reader is led to believe that this story is about John looking for lost schoolgirls near Kalgoorlie. That's never revisited. As a result, this feels like a portion of a larger story, rather than complete in itself.

Ward - "Ringworm" - Good use of some standard sci-fi tropes without falling into cliche. And I like your use of subtle foreshadowing (Leech, checking for bugs, etc). Didn't even notice it until my second read-through.

The central idea of the story is a good one, but the way it's presented feels too easy to me--I think I would've preferred for Ardwalla to have to figure it out himself, rather than have the info dumped into his lap. Also, I don't get the ending, to be honest. I understand that he cut a deal, but not what's going on in the final segment. Oh well.


Votes:
1. bakemono - "Chivalry"
2. Tim the Wiz - "The Lash"
3. ZephyrFate - "Dancing in the Dark"

HMs to the other two. Again, all of these were good.

Come on, let's get some more comments and votes up in here!

Thanks to ZF and Ward for the comments, btw.

Ward - The dialog was fast and tight. I like the lines. The setting of the futuristic world was also nice. Strange, but familiar. Did he die in the end? Got double-crossed? Or was it just all a dream? Maybe should polish the ending a bit. All in all, I enjoyed this piece.

Cyan - Oh, I really liked this. From the beginning to the end. I got so into it that I was not ready when it ended. Beautiful work, fiction within fiction within fiction. Awesome idea and awesome execution. My favourite, hands down.

Votes:

1. Cyan
2. Tim the Wiz
3. JoeBoy101
HM: ZephyrFate, Ward

Voting closes in four more hours, guys.

1. JoeBoy101. Somewhat rough, but an enticing story with good characterization.
2. ZephyrFate. It does tend to meander, no? I know, I know, he's supposed to be drunk, but I think this story is close to the line of sacrificing clarity unduly. Nevertheless, a good tale.
3. Cyan. Lovely structure, technically adroit, but the plot on display simply didn't excite or fascinate me to the extent I was hoping, which I find truly confounding and could be a defect on my part.

HMs: Ward (great use of concept; although the ending could use some work), bakemono (this story, I felt, has every right to be in the top three - unfortunately, the competition edged it out; well done, but it can still be polished).

Score:

Tim the Wiz - 9
Cyan - 7
JoeBoy101 - 6
ZephyrFate - 4
bakemono - 3
Ward - 1


First place goes to Tim the Wiz! Gratz Tim!

Here's looking to the next round.

Thanks, nice to have a win under the belt. Hopefully, the next challenge is a bit more rambunctious.

And here it is: NeoGAF Writing Challenge #41.