Theme: Parasite and Host

In the idea of keeping to something new. The piece must be about a parasitic relationship of some kind. The words "parasite" and "host" themselves cannot be mentioned.

Word Limit: 1,100

Submission Deadline: Wednesday, 6/4 by 11:59 PM Pacific.

Voting begins Thursday, 6/5, and goes until Saturday, 6/7 at 11:59 PM Pacific

Submission Guidelines:

- All submissions must be written during the time of the challenge. We don't want a snippet of your doctoral thesis from 1996 being used here.
- One entry per poster. You can submit and then edit if you'd like, but finalizing before submitting is encouraged.
- Spelling and Grammatical errors can be used to great effect when the story, characters, and setting demand it. However, proofreading and spell-checking your writing will probably result in a more positive attitude towards it when people are voting.
- Using the topic as the title of your piece is discouraged. These challenges get a large number of submissions and if entries share the same title, it's difficult for the readers to separate them out come voting time.
- Any writing style is welcome, but remember that most people are probably going to vote for the well written short story over an elementary acrostic poem.
- There are many ways to interpret the theme for this assignment, we are all writers or wannabe writers, so keep that in mind when writing and critiquing others' works.
- Thousands of people read GAF, so if you don't want some masterpiece of yours to be stolen and seen in Hollywood a year from now, don't post it on here.
- Finally, there is a handy word count checker at www.wordcounttool.com. Nobody wants to be a word count nazi, but please keep your submission under the limit.

Voting Guidelines:

- Anyone can vote, even those that do not submit a piece during the thread.
- 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, it is only fair to those who put in the effort.
- You must vote in order to be eligible to win the challenge. Critiques/comments are encouraged but not required.
- When the voting period ends, votes will be tallied and the winner will get a collective pat on the back and will be in charge of picking a new topic to write about and pick the word length.

Have fun!

Previous Challenges:

#1 - "The Things Unseen" (Winner: beelzebozo)
#2 - "An Unlikely Pair" (Winner: Aaron)
#3 - "weightless, breathless" (Winner: Azih)
#4 - "On the way" (Winner: DumbNameD)
#5 - "The End" (Winner: Cyan)
#6 - "Playing with Fire" (Winner: Aaron)
#7 - "Something Brutal" (Winner: Ronito)

Let's see how this goes. I don't have any idea what I'm going to write. I just wanted to try a theme that would force the writer to write about a relationship instead of an event.

Quick throwaway entry:



Tickled Pink (Word, 587)

She was riding him hard. That's what he liked about her. She was a bit of a tomboy and she idolized the cowboy lifestyle. Right now he was holding on for dear life, despite being on his back. Yet, throughout it all he couldn't help but try to push her back a bit to relieve that itch of his. Who fucking cared, though? He had plenty of chances to scratch his nuts but this was his time...his very first. He'd never so much as kissed a girl before, though he supposed he had plenty of opportunities...but he was waiting for the right one and she was it. He let go of the front seat, feeling himself instantly lose his balance. He raised his hand to her face and attempted to caress her but she was moving too damn much and didn't seem to even have noticed so he lowered his arm and cupped her right breast. She did something then, a swirl that sent a wave of pleasure coursing through him unlike anything he had ever felt before. He didn't even know her name, but he supposed that was okay.

His hand slid to her back, now, and he grabbed for her ass. Without thinking he reached for his nut sac and tried to itch it quickly, but she was too wild and he didn't get the chance. He tried it again, the itch bothering him more and more--like that fucking toothache that he didn't quite notice. He tore at his nuts a third time and she picked up on it, looking down at him, panting. She asked if she hurt him and he told her 'No, my nuts are just itching really bad.' She didn't find that funny, because she laughed a derisive laugh and then got up with a clear look of (disgust? no...) disinterest on her face. He leaned forward to scratch himself, then and his hand didn't quite know what it was feeling.

She had begun to climb over him, feeling for the door hand, when he pulled his hand back and squinted in the dim parking lot light. A thin dark viscous fluid covered his hand, smelling of shit, and small worms crawled over his fingers. He jerked back in revulsion knocking his shoulder into her arm, causing her to lose her balance and she collapsed on top of him. Without thinking, he shoved her and her lower body slid off the back seat and toward the floor. She began to moan in pain but was cut off by an explosion of thick and very warm vomit with a strong smell of alcohol. He grimaced as he felt his ear and half of his hair become soaked in the sickening sludge. He turned to look at her accusingly, but that only served to soak his face in her chunky vomit. She drunkenly attempted to get out of the back row of seats, sticking her legs in-between the two front seats. She managed to get half of herself in the front row when she clasped at her stomach, groaning, and collapsed. He reached for the door, now, but stopped as he saw the thick and steady outpouring of shit from her rear end, dousing his seat and some of the dash. A sudden jet of the stuff escaped her now, smearing all over the top of the dashboard, the little worms visibly crawling around in her mess.

She didn't say 'Hi' to him when they met at the office the next day.

I love the theme this time around! This is my kind of thing, so I'll do my best to get something together to enter

Seriously, awesome theme!

Innnnteresting. Not sure what to do yet, but I'm sure something will come eventually.

A Lesser form of Pity
word count: 1,086

This time I'm in. If I remember. -_-

I'm a new challenger
Can't remember the last time I had to write something creative but it was probably back in high school when I was 16 years old. It's been such a long time that I've forgotten how you're supposed to write character speach, so please forgive any errors :lol I'm also 50 or so words over the word count, hope it doesn't really matter, although I'll edit if need be. Anyway it's my first time writing in over 5 years so please be gentle.

Home Fragrance

The overpowering smell of cheap air freshener hangs in the air. Lavender and vanilla scented chemicals invade your nasal cavity, cling to the skin, and sting your eyes if you don‘t remember to blink every couple of seconds. She’s sprays that shit every minute or two, doesn’t want the neighbours to know what a dirty crack smoking whore she really is. It doesn’t matter how many times she’s told she’s going overboard her paranoia causes her to reach for that can and pump a plume of scented gas into the atmosphere after every couple of hits. It’s almost like a reflex action. Light, suck, inhale, exhale, light, suck, inhale, exhale, reach, grab, aim, spray. Repeat. To look at you’d never tell. No older than 25 and she still has her looks. Sitting on her tight little buttocks hidden under a smooth satin miniskirt, her firm long creamy legs are crossed. Her stomach is still flat and toned, her purple shirt barely conceals her ample pert breasts. Both slender hands grasp the pipe, though she momentarily brings one to her face to flick away a strand of golden hair that clings to her soft cheek. Her full red lips part and she brings the pipe to her mouth. As she inhales her eyes burn like blue flame. She stares at the yellow walls, the TV buzzing in the background. As a little girl she was told she looked like a princess. When she runs out she’ll curl up on the comfy leather couch and wait for his return. When he arrives she’ll have to suck for a little bit, and then he’ll ask her to eat something with him. Hopefully it’ll only take an hour and then he’ll leave her with the second batch of the day.

The lock clunks as the key turns in the door and she quickly makes her way to the bathroom to freshen up. He never gets angry, not with her anyway, but if she’s too high to even get him off again he’ll probably be somewhat offended. The blue walls of the bathroom are soothing as she splashes some cool water over her pale lightly freckled skin. Her vision clears, her legs feel stable and now she can hear him in the kitchen, his heavy boots thumping against the wooden flooring.
“Lucy darling you’ve been spraying too much freshener again.”
“Yeah whatever.”
He begins to chuckle, “it’s no problem really it’s just that stuff gets all up in my nose and I have trouble breathing with it as it is, what with my septum being so badly deviated.”
“Then get it fucking fixed, and maybe stop getting your goddamn nose broken! I mean what’s the point in carrying around those two big .45s if you’re gonna just get yourself involved in fist fights. I don’t know why you take their shit I really don’t! Next time they start fucking around just unload a couple rounds into their gut.”
He clenches his fist and gently thumps it into his left palm. It looks like such a gentle blow yet it makes an almighty thump. He’s grinning like a small child and his green eyes seem to sparkle.
“Shooting a man just isn’t as satisfying as feeling his jaw crack, his face soften to pulp, and his warm blood flowing all over my knuckles. If I‘m going to kill a man I try to do it with my own two hands. Women, haha, you truly are a different species.”
He gestures towards the bedroom and she sighs.
“We’ll eat dinner afterwards. I bought us some steak.”

It didn’t take long. Jake was always a little quick off the mark, and since Lucy had been playing this gig for the last 16 months she knows exactly which buttons to push. Every Sunday she’d suck his big hard cock and on Wednesday and Friday nights she lay there and let him fuck her. In return he bought her a gram of rock a day, cooked for her, cleaned for her, and provided a roof over her head. Hell Jake would probably lick her asshole clean after she’d taken a shit if she asked him. All day and night he worked, robbing stores, stealing cars, collecting debts, carrying out hits. God knows how many men had died because of his blind love. She asked him once what he used to do before he met her. “Fighting mostly” was the reply and apparently he’d been good, almost signed with the UFC he had boasted. His cock tenses up and spasms rapidly, she pulls away just in time and his hot load squirts all over her breasts as he moans with pleasure. “I love you” he tells her as she reaches for his pocket and pulls out the rocks. He tells her she should eat dinner first.
“I’m not hungry. I‘ll eat later.”
“Listen Lucy you gotta eat…”
“That big cock was plenty for now”. She interrupts, telling him exactly what he wants to hear.
“Come home quick. I miss you when you’re gone.”
She hurries him to the door
“Maybe I’ll cook for you when you get back.”
“I’d like that very much” he replies as the heavy oak door closes behind him. She breathes a sigh of relief and makes her way to the couch. With the love sick puppy gone she can return to her lover once more.

SWOOSH! The blood rushes up to her head for what must be the twentieth time that day and she imagines swirls of golden dust floating around inside her mind. Her lips are numb, the rest of her body gently tingles. Warmth and energy flows from head to toe before filling her entire body. She gently closes her eyes. What time is it? When she opens them again she finds him sprawled before her. The blood soaks into the carpet and he claws at her feet as he struggles to lift his head. What was once his left eye is now purple pulp oozing crimson blood and puss. She can no longer see his nose and his swollen face is etched in pain. There are two large holes in his back, big as fists. “Stay with me” he whispers with puffy blood red lips. She steps over the body with wobbly legs, shaking her head while flicking through her cell. Antonio used to have a nice place she remembers but he’ll probably make her work tricks. She rummages through his pockets, she can still feel him breathing. “Didn’t even bring back rock” she mutters with disgust. As she makes her way to the door Jake mumbles something, she doesn’t listen but hears the words help and please. The room still smells like lavender and vanilla. As she steps out into the world she passes a straggly mutt yelping and scratching its coat violently. Poor pooch is probably infested with fleas.

Word Count: 1148

Nearly a week and only three entries? Come on people, this is just sad.

I fear I might've made this one too hard. I killed it Gilbert! I killed it!

Well, these things feed back on themselves, too. When there's little to no bumping of the thread, people tend to forget about it. And less newbies will show up.

Anyway, I've got an idea what I want to write about now. I just have to find some time to actually do it!

And besides the occasional bump, we also need to motivate people to come back and keep up their writing.

Davedough, Scribble, Iceman, I'm calling you guys out! Where you at?

Cyan said:

Well, these things feed back on themselves, too. When there's little to no bumping of the thread, people tend to forget about it. And less newbies will show up.

Anyway, I've got an idea what I want to write about now. I just have to find some time to actually do it!

Click to expand...

And I had three days off, would've been a perfect time to crank something out, too.

This'll be my first. I should have a story ready either Sunday or Monday.

I've got an idea for a story!

Sorry for lack of mine voting on the last one Girlfriend surprised me with a visit, and when she visits NeoGAF is off limits. I'll make sure to vote this time, though I doubt I'll write anything.

August 15th, 2018

Re: C/S 10029.7491 1900.611.03M

Attn: Major General R.E.White

I hope you will forgive the colloquial nature of this correspondence, Major General, official clearance has not been obtained. It seems nothing gets beyond the DoD redaction board with any urgency anymore now that the quarantine has been breached. Time, as you know, is no longer an asset I find myself fortunate enough to expend.

The following information was recovered from the remains of yet another local razing. It is fragmentary and incomplete, but I believe the author may possess a certain degree of immunity. Further, the information obtained leads us to believe he may still be within the established perimeter. At the very least, the account indicates that metabolic maladaptation was postponed. Consider this a formal request for the additional deployment of assets to the area. I have initiated an unofficial search, but my resources are limited.

Richard, our window of opportunity is being shuttered. CentCom has abandoned local operations and appears to be withdrawing all local personnel. Do not let this happen. We can still do some good here. I trust you will do the right thing.

Colonel William H. Tate
77th Regional Readiness Command
New York

[Document Attached with Annotation]



5 July 2018

Are we the rats or the fleas, I wonder? Another row of housing burns tonight. The gloaming colors the clouds, painting the night sky an October shade of orange. It is fortunate that the stench of grease and ash has yet to drift this way. If only it would rain.

My mother has been sick approximately one week now, Carlene for two days with only the cough to give her away. Mother is bed-ridden. I have drawn the curtains so that she will not worry herself over the flames.

[Estimated exposure to infection marked at two weeks. Subject should be displaying onset symptoms.]

The morning light does not bring the sense of awakening it should. It seems this nightmarish state of waking is something one can never get used to. I ventured out to scour the abandoned markets for food or supplies. There was not enough to fill my rucksack.

I detoured and went past the row of houses that had burned in the night. The usual brigade of men in clean suits had descended to spray water and foam onto the charred timbers. A few stood amidst the ash sifting for God knows what.

[Official cleanup measures were abandoned due to personnel and material limitations. Reserve units were still being dispatched at this time to sweep razed sites. The incineration was carried out by the areas remaining civilians.]



6 July 2018

Carlene had a coughing fit during breakfast. If not for the bloodstain soaking through the napkin she held to her mouth, I would have assumed she’d inhaled a dab of the oatmeal I'd fixed. Neither of us acknowledges the severity of the cough or the bleeding. There is nothing to say. We both understand that she will be dead before the month closes.

[Subjects wife responds to exposure as expected.]



8 July 2018

The efficacy of this disease, this plague, appears to be total. The city has been ground to a full stop. Central, Riverside, Randall’s Island—they are filled will wanderers. Men, women, and children who live as refugees, lost in this great city. Some exist as gypsies or highwaymen, circling tents in the night; stealing, evicting, murdering. It appears any resources reserved for law enforcement and disaster relief have all but abandoned this place.

Save the small brigades of men who descend upon the extinguished infernos, of course.

My cough has yet to develop. It will. It is only a matter of time. Mother is in the final stage, her body is beginning to reject its own mechanisms. Not shutting down exactly, it’s more like her organs have been re-purposed. She is manufacturing the bacterium, or the virus—whatever it is. It doesn’t matter. What does is that she is dying. I doubt she will last through the night.

I gave her the last of the oxycodone and made my peace with her. She became incoherent.

[Unclear where subject has obtained pharmaceuticals.]



10 July 2018

Carlene asked me if she was going to die. I have always been honest with her. We prayed.



11 July 2018

My health is a curse. I should be sick, but my mind remains sound and my body shows no signs of the disease yet. There are no legions or bleeding. Carlene is dying. I will be the one to burn this place when she has gone from me.

[Possible Immunity identified. Subject should now be beyond onset.]



July 2018

I cannot describe the weeks that have passed since my last writing. I don’t think I ever will. If there is a hell, I have already been cast down and punished. There is no more that can be taken from me.

Today I incinerated everything that I own—everything that I am and was. I am nothing. The brick is all that is left. The rest is ash and smoke.

I don’t know why I continue to write. Perhaps I have been compelled. But now that I read over my notations, I doubt that there is anything that I have recorded that was purposeful beyond my own attempts to self-comfort. There is no longer anything that can soothe me. Perhaps this will be my last entry.

[Document located near E 106 and Lexington. Possible incineration site identified. Sweep team deployed 08-14-18, approx. 23:00. Results forthcoming pending analysis of remains.]



August 2018

I saw a child today. A girl. It has been so long since I have seen an unblemished face. I feared she had been abandoned and I made my way toward her. The sun peaked out through the cloud cover and lit her tousled hair up like a corona. The vision was almost spiritual. She smiled. It radiated through my bones.

Someone shouted a name from a nearby house and the girl turned her attention away from me. I halted my approach. She slipped inside one of the brick buildings.

It began to rain.

Today, I make for the camps.

[Several local camps identified. Teams deployed.]

[ End of Document]

I'm working on something right now.

Working on something for this myself.

Well, if everyone who is "working on something" actually posts it, we'll have a pretty nice turnout!

Heheheh.

All right, finished mine. As usual, about 50 words over the limit. Will edit and put up tomorrow. It's kind of a mess right now, but I think the basic idea is sound--with a little clean-up, it'll be fine.

I finally got to read the entries earlier. Nice to see some good stories from a couple of new challengers. And a particularly strong Aaron entry. You know Aaron, I've got new respect for your fantasy/sci-fi entries. I did a fantasy piece this time, and damned if it isn't tough to establish a world and tell a story in so few words.

Cyan said:

All right, finished mine. As usual, about 50 words over the limit. Will edit and put up tomorrow. It's kind of a mess right now, but I think the basic idea is sound--with a little clean-up, it'll be fine.

I finally got to read the entries earlier. Nice to see some good stories from a couple of new challengers. And a particularly strong Aaron entry. You know Aaron, I've got new respect for your fantasy/sci-fi entries. I did a fantasy piece this time, and damned if it isn't tough to establish a world and tell a story in so few words.

Click to expand...

Thanks. Yeah, don't fantasy under a word limit is tough. You almost have to go with something that's already clearly established to have any room left for plot or character. It's a great challenge though, since it forces me to choose my details with care.

I made the mistake of finishing my entry so early. I really want this contest to end so we can get started on the next.

Aaron said:

I made the mistake of finishing my entry so early. I really want this contest to end so we can get started on the next.

Click to expand...

Aha! See, that's why I wait so long to post mine now.

... well, ok. It's also due to laziness.

It was layoff day. That meant he had to stay late. Not so he could work more, or because he felt obligated. He just didn't want to deal with the workers. CEOs always said layoffs were something unpleasant. Not for him. Every worker was just a siphon on his money. Machines could do the jobs better, without sick days or raises. Every worker was an obstacle to his possible gains so when he signed the papers for the lay offs, he wasn't sad, guilty, or dismayed. He was glad and if there was any sadness it was because the number couldn't have been greater.

It was the nature of things. There were people whose role it was to use and others to be used. Not every animal is a lion. So too not everyone can be a visionary. The workers should be grateful for the opportunities he had allotted them. It was his name on the company sign, "Parker Metals". His money paid the engineers. His money paid for the building. His money bought the raw materials and his money paid their wages while they gained experience for another job. It was the workers that were lucky he was around to give them a job and not the other way around. A worker is always easy to find, but men of vision are rare.

On the way down the stairs he spied an employee standing on the curb waiting for a ride. The employee was Andrews, a manager that had been laid off that day. Parker smiled ruefully, Andrews had been a thorn in his side ever since the first lay off of the year. Andrews had been unwilling to give names of people that could be downsized stating that they were all needed. When the lay off list came to Parker's desk he personally penned in Andrews' name.

Parker watched Andrews looking pathetic holding a box of office belongings waiting for a ride. The schadenfreude was delicious. A few seconds later a dirty red sedan pulled up in front of Andrews. A slightly overweight plain woman emerged from the car and hugged Andrews. A boy in his early teens stepped out of the back and joined in the hug. Parker chuckled as he watched the three people hug. Would the wife and child still feel like hugging Andrews weeks into unemployment? It was, after all, Andrew's insubordination that got him laid off. He smirked as he watched the three disband and get in the car and drive off. Good riddance.

Parker got in his car and sped home. He sped not because he had anything to go home to, but simply because he could. He knew his house would be empty when he arrived and he was fine with that. His only son was away at college and his wife would be away on whatever escapade she and her lover were engaged in. His colleagues feigned sadness when they heard of his wife's infidelity, he didn't feign not to care. He had loved her once, perhaps. But that was when he was young. Now it was just cheaper to not divorce her. She was already out of the will and any love shared between them had died years ago. In truth the only person Parker came close to loving was his son Adam. Adam, unlike his mother, understood Parker and followed in his footsteps. Adam didn't scorn him.

Pulling up to the house Parker saw Adam's car parked out front and Adam by the door.

"I thought you were at college." Parker said as he closed the car door.

"I heard you got the new assembly line ready and were finally able lay those workers off today. I thought we could celebrate." Adam said as they walked indoors.

"Yes that's true. But your studies." Parker replied taking off his coat.

"Don't worry about that." Adam said handing his father a snifter of cognac, "It's just a two hour drive. Besides, I know how you relish this."

"Well, you're right about that. I have been waiting a very long time." He replied swirling the dark cognac in the snifter.

"Sit down Dad, relax. Have a drink." Adam said indicating the sofa.

Parker was happy to comply. He kicked off his shoes, sprawled on the couch and took a drink. Instantly his chest felt like it was about to implode. His left arm felt like it was on fire. He couldn't breathe.

Adam stepped into view. "See Dad, You were always so eager to get rid of your employees when really you should have learned to employ the right people."

Parker's muscles tensed and untensed involuntarily. It was as if he had lost control of his body. Adam reached over and removed the snifter from Parker's hands.

"Yes. It is important to employ good people. Like...say...a good toxicologist." Adam continued as he walked over to the sink and dumped out the remainder of the cognac.

"Oh and the police too." Adam said with smile as he walked over to the sofa again

Parker wanted to shout but he couldn't speak. All he could do was gasp in vain for air. The muscles tensed and untensed faster.

"Come now. Don't tell me you're surprised. After all, it was you that taught me about 'the nature of things.'" Adam said adding a mocking low voice to the last words.

Parker could only lay there feeling invisible flames eating at him. "You always said that men of ignorance served men of vision. You said it every time you laid off your employees." Adam continued. "Today I lay you off. In a few seconds the poison will finish its work and you will die. The police will rule it a heart attack and I will inherit the company."

Adam stood with a laugh, "Though I really should thank you Dad. You've created a good company for me to inherit. Once all the legal wrangling is done I'll sell it off in chunks to the highest bidders."

Parker's vision was obstructed by splotches of red. His muscles stopped tensing; it felt as if his whole body was sucking into itself becoming paper thin. His whole existence screamed for air.

"Like I said, it's all about employing good people." Adam said.

Adam kept talking but his voice seemed like it was miles away. Parker felt the crushing feeling release him and his vision began to blur. He knew he was about to die. As everything began to fade into darkness the single vivid memory of Andrews hugging his wife and son flashed through his mind.

Aaron said:

A Lesser form of Pity

Click to expand...

Great stuff. I love the slow reveal/realization of what's really going on. I think it could be slightly more subtle, but it doesn't hit us over the head with it or anything.

Somehow I missed that your MC was a woman, so the final sentence really startled me. The viewpoint seemed more like a man's, with concern about weapons and watchmen and the like. And of course, the lack of pronouns due to the first person perspective didn't help.

Once again, good use of present tense--I didn't even notice it until just now, which is as it should be. I usually find it grating, so well done. Overall, good story. I think this is one of your better ones.

NutJobJim said:

Home Fragrance

Click to expand...

Ouch. Ice cold. Nice character piece. I wanted to see some kind of reaction from the chick at the end, but I guess the lack of one was part of the point. Still, even if she doesn't care about him at all, you'd think she'd have some reaction to a dead/dying guy, even if it's just "ew."

And for future reference, please do try to keep under the word limit.

I look forward to seeing more from you.

urk said:

Ashes

Click to expand...

Another newcomer! This is a great debut. It's nice to see something that uses a different format. It was also a good choice--it lets you get in plenty of narrative and stay under the word limit. The "official" interjections also help provide background to the story without becoming infodumps.

My one quibble is the writing style of the mystery man's journal entries. Most of it is fine, documenting events with a personal coloring, but there are bits that just feel odd. Mainly the one or two parts where he goes into ornately descriptive metaphor. "Painting the night sky an October shade of orange" just doesn't quite feel like it belongs. Again, just a quibble.

Nicely done overall.

gattsu: Uh....

Aaron: I think this is your best entry since I've begun taking part. Very nice. Perhaps you could return to this universe in later stories. Lots of potential.

NutJobJim: A challenger appears! Welcome. First off too many cliched descriptions. Tight little buttocks, creamy legs. Golden hair. You take great care in describing the woman but leave us with general descriptions, it leaves her...well...generalized. Which is a missed opportunity when you've created such a great character. You also begin by putting the reader in the middle of the scene using you and yours amply. But then never do it again, it's jarring.

But the character is very strong and ice cold. You really created her well. I hope to see more entries!

Lastly, as Cyan brought up please try to keep to the limit. I know several writers here agonize over which words to cut to get it at or under the limit.

Urk: Love the format. And I love the twist of the theme. It's so obvious but so nicely done. Nice and short but it does leave you wanting. It'd be cool to see what happened next.

alright guys, we're getting to the end here. Batbeg, Dragonlife, Weepy, Dragmire, Azih, Scribble, Bjork, Cyan. I'm calling you out! Also Memles and Brodieman where are you?

Mine will be up before the end of the day.

Probably.

And hey, where's nitewulf? He's usually done earlier than this.

nitewulf, don't break your streak now! You're one of only three people (I think) to have written a story for every single challenge!

hmm maybe I should write a piece, it'd be good to keep the creative juices flowing from time to time.

Alright so I'm still a little new to all this but I figured I'd give it a shot for once. Hopefully some of you will enjoy!

Necessary Evil
word count 1,072

“It’s nearly time Eddie, are you in position?” asked a voice through the headset.

“Yes.” Eddie replied coldly into the microphone as he tightened a large silencer to the end of his rifle’s barrel.

“Good. Let’s just hope things go a little smoother than they did last night.” The voice said with a slight chuckle.

There was a time when Eddie’s blood would boil over such comments, but he had quickly learned to block certain things from his mind. He found it was the only way to maintain his sanity and continue his work.

He knew he needed to concentrate. Long range rifles were far from his specialty. It was a fact that he had come to accept over his relatively brief career, and the heavy rain on this night certainly wasn’t going to do him any favors. But that was how he preferred it on these kinds of jobs. Quick and painless, he’d never have to see their eyes go dead or hear their cries. He preferred to save the pain and suffering for his own personal enemies. That was what really motivated him.

The alarm on his watch began to beep.

“Alright Eddie, the honorable judge should be on his way any minute now.” Said the voice on the other end of the headset.

Eddie unfolded the bipod attached to the long black rifle he held in his hands, and turned to prop it on the wet stone ledge beside him. He flipped up the cover from both ends of the scope and pulled a large black tarp over his head to shield himself and the scope from the rain. He leaned forward and positioned his right eye at the front of the scope. He began to quietly recite the tips he had been taught for effective rifle shooting.

“Steady your body weight…line up the shot…take a deep breath…and gently squeeze.” He whispered to himself.

The voice on the other end of the headset began to laugh. “So you have been practicing! I sincerely hope you’ve improved your aim.”

“Listen, you may pick the targets but I’m the one who decides how it goes down. That was the deal.” Eddie replied through the headset.

“That’s right Eddie, we do have a deal. But it’s contingent on you delivering what I want. So anymore fuck ups on your end and we may have to change the rules a little.” The voice said.

Just as Eddie started to retort, a man in a gray suit carrying a black briefcase came walking out of the office building entrance below him and across the street. He immediately forgot what he had been thinking to say and focused on the man in the suit. He stalked him with his crosshairs as the man began to walk up to a flashy red sports car parked next to the office building. He watched as the man stopped next to the driver’s side door and pulled his keys from his pocket.

Eddie laid the center of the crosshairs on the man’s back in line with his heart. He blinked once, took a deep breath and slowly pulled the trigger back against the gun. The shot made a quiet piercing sound as it exited the silencer and traveled downward across the street and through the man’s back. The bullet shattered the driver’s side window and set off the car alarm as the man in the suit fell to the ground lifeless.

“Fuck Eddie! You dumb son of a bitch, why don’t you just call the fucking cops?!” The voice on the headset yelled as the car alarm continued to ring out.

Eddie froze for a second with as a stream of thoughts went screaming through his head. He immediately began to question what he had done, as he always did. Who the man was, who his family was if he had one and who would mourn for him as he lay in the street. But he knew it was important that he not focus on such questions. He began to block them from his mind.

“A means to an end…thats all it was” Eddie continued to repeat to himself.

And then he remembered what that “end” was. The silhouette of a man holding a gun against the head of a young man kneeling before him, and the sound of a gunshot ringing out as Eddie heard his own voice screaming in the background. The anger and hatred began to course through his veins and suddenly Eddie shook it off and came back to his senses.

“Get the fuck out of there now Eddie!” The voice shouted through the headset.
He got up and ran for the fire escape located on the opposite side of the building. He clambered down it quickly and headed for a large black truck parked across the street. He jumped in the truck, fired up the engine and slowly drove away, careful not to attract too much attention.

“Alright, that’s another one for you. Now I want the next one from my list!” Eddie said into the headset.

“You’re lucky you’re even talking to me right now mother fucker. You better fucking learn to start exercising some tact on these jobs, or you’re going to end up on the inside with a lot of people who aren’t going to like to find out you’re the one planting their friends in the ground.” The voice said. “Now I’ve got two more targets lined up for you, and in the meantime I’ll work on finding the next guy you’re looking for.”

“No, fuck that! That’s not the way it works, that wasn’t the deal. It’s one for one. I take down one for you, and you feed me one off the list of names I gave you.” Eddie shouted.

“Listen up Eddie, you’re the one who came to me. You don’t know who the fuck these guys are, let alone where to find them. So if you want my help, you’re gonna have to handle my dirty work. You need me, understand? Not the other way around. Got it?!” The voice said.

“Ya…I got it” Eddie said.

“There’s a package waiting for you at your hotel with a file on my next target. I’ll be in contact with you tomorrow. Goodnight. “The voice replied.

Eddie ripped of his headset and threw it against the dashboard of his truck.

He whispered under his breath, “Someday mother fucker…someday.”

My first story since Creative Writing Challenge #1. The extra 100 words made this way easier to write, although I'm still a bit over (tell me if that's not okay and I'll try to edit it) and I still feel like the story is rushed.

Here it is:

Miss Ng
---

Pvt. Ian Goldberg sat quietly in the concrete cell. A lone flickering light bulb, hanging high from the ceiling, illuminated the bareness of the room. Grey walls, a steel door with a small barred window, a dirt-layered floor. None would provide an avenue of escape; Ian had learned that lesson with the first few days of frantic touching, and clawing, and pounding.

For a while, his rage had sustained him. It wrapped him in a warm blanket that sheltered him from his own thoughts, from the despair and hopelessness that lingered at the edges of his brain. But as the days passed silently, punctuated only by occasional foreign chatter outside his cell followed by meager rations slid under his door, the anger ebbed away and let the cold emotions dominate his thoughts.

Ian first met Miss Ng when he had been in the cell for many weeks, or perhaps a few months. He didn’t know exactly how long in days, of course, but he measured time differently here. Hours had no real meaning; instead, he thought in terms of milestones. The meals (which he would have considered inedible back in America but had grown to treasure now), the length of his beard, the frequency of his conversations with himself.

It was one of these days when he woke up, pulse pounding. When he heard the rattle of keys, his heart began to soar, and the cell door started to open. Please God, get me the hell out of here. As he shook the sleep from his mind, his hope faded as he realized what his jailers had done to him during his sleep. His wrists and ankles were locked in cuffs attached to chains. Nonetheless, Miss Ng’s arrival was quite welcome at first. She walked in casually, a smile creasing her puffy face. She was plump—a rarity among her comrades—and clad in the usual frumpy socialist outfit.

“Mista Ian.” she said in cheerful English.

Ian’s throat wordlessly creaked in response, a grateful acknowledgement that he was seeing a real live person again.

“Mista Ian, you can call me Miss Ng. You will give me great happiness.”

He simply watched, not yet daring to talk.

“I always want to know. What does it mean, when one is happy? It means one is truly happy, or only that one is suffering less?”

As she looked expectantly, piggish eyes blinking, embedded in a face of vague age, Ian cleared his throat and spoke. “I…I don’t understand.”

She seemed to find this greatly amusing, and clapped while she let out a little laugh. “I know, I know. You do not understand. But you will understand. I will make you. You wait here, Mista Ian.”

Abruptly, she left the cell, leaving the door open. Ian saw no guards, only the concrete of the corridor outside. An old friend he thought long dead—his rage—flooded back into his body, invigorating him. Like a maddened animal, he strained against the chains, pulling with a desperate strength he couldn’t believe he possessed. No guards came rushing to the cell; Miss Ng herself was perhaps too far away to have heard. He redoubled his thrashing, making his wrists raw and crimson.

Of course, after a few minutes, the chains were still in place and he gave up, shoulders slumped. Think, goddammit. Now’s your chance!

It wasn’t. Miss Ng’s giggling head popped out from the side of the cell door, her mouth making abyssal dimples in her ample cheeks. “Mista Ian, you are funny! I hear you try so hard. I love you Mista Ian.”

FUCKING BITCH! He wanted to scream. Instead, he spoke carefully, with grave politeness. “Please Miss Ng, please let me out of this cell.”

She furrowed her brow in an exaggerated expression. “Hm. Maybe I will let you out. I do some paperwork. I come back tomorrow. Okay? Bye!” Before Ian could respond, she had slammed shut the cell door, the lock clicking into place.

As Ian sat and stared, a small spark of hope lingered in his mind, a remnant of the anger that had animated him earlier.

***

Miss Ng woke him up again the next day (at least he assumed it was the next day). He was still in chains.

“I bring you egg and bread! You like it?”

Ian nodded pathetically. The smell of the food didn’t give him a choice.

“Here you go!” She walked up to him with a steaming plate layered with fried eggs, and rummaged in a black bag slung at her side, taking out a piece of fresh-smelling bread, a far cry from the hard, maggot-ridden rice he had subsisted on for the majority of his imprisonment.

With loving motions, she fed him, holding a fried egg gingerly near his mouth. The first bite of egg made his eyes moist. He was in heaven. A few gulps later, she stepped back, taking the food with her. Ian moaned.

“Not too much, my baby bird. You will bring it all back up!” she chuckled.

Ian nodded. “Thank you, Miss Ng. Will you release me now?”

Miss Ng glared in mock outrage. “After I’ve taken care of you so good! You are bad!” She turned again to her bag, rustling through it as Ian stared. He saw the glisten of something metallic. A key! Thank God I’m getting out of here oh sweet Jesus.

Miss Ng slowly drew a short knife from the black bag. Her lighthearted expression was frozen on her face, but her cheerful conversation had stopped.

Ian felt a lump in his throat. “What are you doing, Miss Ng?”

She moved closer, silent, the knife pointed at one of Ian’s hands.

“Stop, Miss Ng. Stop it.” A unsuppressed note of panic crept into his voice. He tried to move his hand, but the chains were taut as a tightrope.

Ian initially felt nothing as she chopped at a finger, then he saw blood and was stabbed by a sudden flash of pain. He started to scream. “Stop it! NO! STOP!” Miss Ng kept the blade at the finger, moving back and forth with a sawing motion.

When he woke up, the stump of the finger had been bandaged. Miss Ng stood in front of him and smiled, the creases of her face deeper than ever. She held up a needle, this time. “We have so much fun ahead of us, Mista Ian!”

***

The soldiers who picked up Pvt. Ian Goldberg a few weeks later said he was surprisingly healthy, mentally-speaking, for someone put through the tortures he survived. When one rescuer carried Ian’s emaciated, bearded, naked frame from the jail into the daylight, he claimed “I ain’t never seen no one as happy. He just lay in the sun, rolling back and forth on the grass laughing like a schoolgirl. And he kept sayin something like ‘I understand your question Miss Ng’. I ain’t been what he’s been through, so I ain’t gonna judge.”

Cyan said:

Great stuff. I love the slow reveal/realization of what's really going on. I think it could be slightly more subtle, but it doesn't hit us over the head with it or anything.

Somehow I missed that your MC was a woman, so the final sentence really startled me. The viewpoint seemed more like a man's, with concern about weapons and watchmen and the like. And of course, the lack of pronouns due to the first person perspective didn't help.

Once again, good use of present tense--I didn't even notice it until just now, which is as it should be. I usually find it grating, so well done. Overall, good story. I think this is one of your better ones.

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It's hard to be subtle in such short length. A number of things that were cut or trimmed would have helped. I guess the main character was so clearly a woman in my head I didn't think twice about that. I didn't want to use present tense again, but nature of the story didn't leave me much choice.

Aaron: I think this is your best entry since I've begun taking part. Very nice. Perhaps you could return to this universe in later stories. Lots of potential.

Click to expand...

Thanks! Though I really can't see much else worth writing about in this particular world.

Smoke (1100 words)

Plumes of black smoke filled the room. The low hum of the wizards' ritual echoed hollowly, dampened only slightly by the smoke. The boy at the next point of the pentagram shivered and coughed.

Bock’s stomach was tight, his hands knotted into fists. He wanted to shiver himself. He had known, when his parents first sent him to the School, that the wizards might choose him out for apprentice candidate. He had known, but he hadn't known what it entailed. None did, of course. Not ahead of time.

The wizard who had spoken to them before the ritual said that relaxation was important. Relaxation, and strength of mind. But then, Henders had looked quite relaxed, when he fell over dead after only five puffs of that black smoke. Henders hadn’t been a close friend, but he was—had been—a decent lad. Bock had supposed they would become friends upon joining the apprentice ranks together, but now—

He forced his hands open and took a breath. It was shallow and ragged. This would have been the perfect time for Master Larken’s meditation exercise, if only he could remember how it went. He breathed again. Deeper, longer, but still shaky. Maybe breathing itself had been the exercise. He breathed again, and again, concentrating on the perfect deep breath.

The hum died out. The wizards were moving on. The lead wizard pointed in his direction.

He hurriedly reviewed all that Master Larken had told him. Which was little enough. You inhaled the smoke five times. If you had the necessary strength of mind, this would trigger—something. Master Larken had referred to it as becoming, but hadn’t seemed to know exactly what that meant.

Perhaps if he got through this alive, he could tell him.

Five wizards stood before him in the prescribed pattern. Their faces were inscrutable, their bodies completely still.

He stood straight and attempted to match them, betrayed only by a slight twinge from his left knee.

The wizard standing at the apex of the pattern was one he recognized. He had never spoken to him, of course—mere students did not speak to those so far above them—but he had seen him about the school from time to time. He had always supposed that this was the wizard who had chosen him out for apprenticeship. The man’s blank face—he was just a man, damn it, wizard or no—betrayed no sign of recognition.

Bock breathed slowly in and out, trying to maintain composure. What were they waiting for?

As if his thought had been a cue, the wizard at the apex spoke the words that began the ritual, the same words he had spoken twice before. He held the briar to Bock’s lips, and a small flame appeared at the end.

His knee twinged again, but he held steady. Breathe in five times. Breathe out five times. That was not so difficult. He could do this. He firmed his knees, and inhaled through the briar.

He nearly choked. The smoke tasted of rotting plants, of spoilt milk, of middens. He had once bitten a dead roach on a dare; this tasted something like that.

He exhaled smoke, trying not to cough. Coughing could disrupt the ritual. Only four more to go.

He filled his lungs with smoke, breathing more deeply this time. The taste and the smell alone were enough to require great strength of mind. Whatever else happened should be easy.

He breathed out, and in, and out again.

Two more. In and out.

One more. Both legs shook. His eyes stung. His nose itched. But he was nearly there. He breathed in the foul smoke for the fifth time, held it in as long as he could, then blew it out again, a great outrush of air.

The wizards looked at him expectantly. Avariciously.

Nothing happened.

Perhaps he had miscounted. He braced himself to breathe in that horrible smoke again, made to reach for the briar, and found he couldn’t move.

Frantically he tried to move his arms. His hands. His fingers.

It was no good. He was completely frozen in place. Even his legs had stopped shaking.

A haze came over his eyes. For a moment, he saw double, then his vision firmed. A bright field of colors overlay the room. The flame at the end of the briar glowed blue, the boy to his left a bright and vibrant green. And the men in front of him pulsed with a sickly, dull red.

What could it mean?

A flicker of motion caught his eye. The red overlaying the wizard at the apex was moving somehow. A tendril, hair-thin but still pulsing, flowed toward him through the air. It stopped inches away from his chest. With a wrench, a matching tendril erupted from within him, meeting the first. They vanished in a shimmer of red light.

He blinked.

CHOOSE. The voice came from everywhere, and nowhere. There was a pressure in his head. He found he was having difficulty breathing.

“What?”

DEATH OR SERVITUDE. CHOOSE.

Was this the true test? To defeat whatever malevolent spirit had invaded his mind?

He breathed as deeply as he could, and pushed at the thing with all his might.

YOU CANNOT WIN. CHOOSE.

He could feel the thing pushing back. It was stronger than he. He could not move his head, could not move his mouth. He looked desperately at the wizards in front of him. Surely they would help him. Surely they wouldn’t just let him die.

THEY HAVE CHOSEN. CHOOSE.

With a dawning sense of horror, he looked at the wizards again. Realized what he was really seeing. The sickly red flows didn’t overlay the wizards, they were inside them. Pushing them about, moving them like puppets.

Controlling them.

CHOOSE.

He did not want to die.

CHOOSE.

A vision filled his mind, unbidden. Returning home, a puppet of this monstrous spirit. Being welcomed by his parents, who saw only their beloved son. Hurting them.

Killing them.

CHOOSE.

He thought of his brother. Always following him around. Pretending to read his books. Pretending he would go back to School with him for the next term. He was noisy, always underfoot, bloody irritating. But sometimes he would curl up next to him in front of the fire and with the sweetest smile, ask for a story.

CHOOSE.

He thought of old Master Larken. “Know thyself,” he had once told Bock, from his storehouse of old sayings. “Know your emotions, your weak points, those things that have power over you. Only then are you free.”

CHOOSE!

He chose.

"News Report" (1004 words)

Just so you know, this starts with a knock on my door and ends with a loud noise.

I’m just lying around here with nothing else to do, so I mayeswell let you in on everything.

Most times, things have a habit of creeping up on us when we least expect it.

We didn’t meet under the best of circumstances, and I have to say I was a little surprised. It was New Year’s Eve and I had gone to bed at 11:30 after watching some boring news report on conflict in some other part of the world. The reporter had been talking about an ambush on some people somewhere. I hadn’t been paying attention, but perhaps I should have.

Something woke me up at about 3am.

I tried going back to sleep, but then that something came again, a knock on my door. Fast and long-repeated. I slipped on some pants and went to see who the hell it was.

A girl, looking tired and sad and beaten and completely worn out.

She kind of whimpered and asked if she could come in. I wouldn’t have put her past nineteen or twenty, and by the looks of it she seemed harmless. So I played the good Samaritan and let her in.

She sat down on my couch and told me her name. Seeing that she was shivering, I asked Jennifer if she wanted coffee. Lots of cream please, she said. Cupping the cup of coffee, she apologized for bothering me and just came out with why she was in my home. I won’t bore you with details, but it involved a party across the street, too much alcohol, and a really abusive boyfriend.

I told Jennifer she was welcome to stay for the night, and within ten minutes she was asleep on the couch. I grabbed a blanket from my closet and placed it over her. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel sorry for her, so giving her a coffee and a blanket was the least I could do.

She left the next afternoon still looking pretty ragged, but thanked me for the generosity.



But wouldn’t you know it, I’m running out of time here. So I’ll try to speed things up a bit.



For a while, nothing happened. And by a while, I mean weeks.


Before we go any further though, you should know a little bit about Brian.

Brian had problems, and that’s an understatement. Dating back to high school, he was hot-tempered and was always getting into fights. One time he even brought a knife to class when a fight broke out. It’s amazing there was a woman who decided to even date, let alone marry, the asshole.


One Friday evening, my phone wrang. I answered, and a voice on the other end of the line said I was a pervert and that I would get what was coming to me. That I should have known better. That I was sick. I asked who it was, and they hung up. Wrong number, I figured, but I would still hate to be the guy that call was intended for.


Days passed, as they usually do, rather uneventfully. I never heard from Jennifer again by the way, if you’re wondering.

A few days after the phone call, there was a knock on my door.

You can probably see where this is going.

I opened the door and was immediately forced backwards. Falling to the floor, I realized that this man was here to make my apartment his own personal shit-kicking arena. For what reason, I didn’t know. I tried to get up, but he put an end to that and kicked me square in the gut. By this time I knew he wasn’t going to let me up, so I decided to just lay there and writhe in pain. He asked more questions, like if I enjoyed preying on girls younger than me and getting them drunk. I said, no, and he knelt down and punched me in the face. Blood and pennies smell awfully similar.

He turned away from me for a moment, then turned back. That’s when I realized I wouldn’t ever have to eat another meal. Or pay another bill.

Or take in another girl in need of help.

The man produced a gun and pointed it at me, lying on the floor unable to do anything with my stomach and jaw throbbing. He told me I wouldn’t be fucking around with any girls anymore.


When people tell you that your life flashes before your eyes before you die, that isn’t exactly true. It’s more like a sheer terror and realization of things you’ll never get to do.


A loud noise, and my chest was on fire.

And as quickly as he had burst in, he was gone, slamming the door behind him. I was left to bleed and wonder why I hadn’t called my parents in a long time.

It turns out that Jennifer was Brian’s daughter. After she got beaten up by her boyfriend at the party and fled, one of her friends must have seen her run to my place. After that it was only a matter of time before Jennifer told Brian about the party and the friend somehow contacted Brian about my place. Then Brian, being the way he was, felt that I was somehow involved with his daughter showing up at home the next day hung-over and looking like she’d been hit by a truck.

These things happen, I guess.


This all started with a knock on my door and ended with a loud noise.

All I’m doing is lying around here with nothing else to do, so I thought I’d let you in on everything.


Most times, things have a habit of creeping up on us when we least expect it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


edit: fixed some grammar.

Hope I'm not late...

"Users" (Word Count: 1074)

Kenny didn’t have to work or worry about money, his parents gives him everything he needs: free room and board, laundry service, and, of course, free food. He would consider himself lucky given his age to be coddled the way he does though to him those are just luxuries he enjoy. His necessity was Susan and he has tried calling her on his cell for the fifth time now...stills no answer. Susan was his whole world, sky and moon. His girlfriend of a year and 7 months (he’s been keeping count) who shouldn’t even have reason being with a guy like him but is, he often said he would do anything to keep her and kept true to that promise. He lavishes her with gifts, spends as much time with her as humanly possible, and gives her anything she asks for like any good man would; she’s his princess and deserves to be treated as such.

But lately his princess turned ice queen and has been giving him the cold shoulder for the past month. Even their sex life, which was deficient at best, suffered. Kenny finds himself at Baskin Robbins making his way through his third chocolate sundae to ease the unsettling feeling in his stomach regarding his relationship. He recently found out that he’s an emotional eater and it was contributing to his ballooning girth but he didn’t care. What am I doing wrong?, he thinks. He’s been telling her he loved her ever since they’ve met in college and given her all the love and attention he can and she starting acts sketchy around him. She wasn’t the most appreciative person but she was at least there…and yet she’s not anymore. Maybe it’s her, he thought but didn’t believe. He sighs and tries for call #6.

***

While on her way to the salon to spruce up for her date that evening Susan felt her purse vibrate, looked at the incoming call to her cell then dropped it back in the bag. Susan was a pretty girl, she’s been told as much by many people, including her current boyfriend (who she’s avoiding at the time) but she doesn’t believe it. Sue was the classic case of duckling-turn-swan, shed baby fat and grew breasts in high school and ever since she’s been receiving attention, some bad but most enjoyed; she quickly realized the insincerity of the compliments the minute she lost her virginity.

Thing was, most of her relationships with men have soured before they’ve had a chance to develop and over the years her trust for men waned. Then came Kenny. He found her in a vulnerable state and restored her spirit and since she fed off his insecure attempts to please her, the wooing, the expensive presents and dining, but most of all the flattery. Despite all the things, Kenny began to bore her with his sophomoric attempts at romance and he’s become predictable and…clingy.

When they were in college he took classes with her, if she dropped he dropped. When she moved off campus he followed suit. When she left college he did too. Monkey see, monkey do. Pathetic as he may be, she still loves him kind of like the brother she never had but fucks, which is another matter in itself. He was like a stray puppy she liked to keep on a lengthy leash but doesn’t have the heart to cut loose. Sue checked her watch and picked up her stride towards the shop.

A month ago she met an older gentleman over the internet who shown her she could have better. The man was handsome in a distinguished sort of way with salt and pepper hair and a great complexion, he was confident and assertive, but what she liked most about him was his eyes which seemed strangely familiar to her. She’s been seeing him behind Kenny’s back which wasn’t hard for her to pull off and has been having the most passionate love sessions she’d received in years. Unfortunately her older man was married and they have to meet in discreet locations for their flings. She didn’t learn much about his personal life except he has a son about her age and a wife who wouldn’t touch him. Sue enjoys their rendezvous but he mentions the wife too much for her to stand. Maybe in time she could get him to leave his wife. Her purse buzzes and she ignores it.

***

John checked his email again. She wants to meet up tonight, thought to himself grinning. That means he’d have to leave the office a bit earlier, which he really couldn’t afford to do since most of his paycheck was spent on making his wife happy or groceries. Still, he’s been on cloud nine for the past month since his affair with the 22 year old hottie began. It was easy for him. All he did was show her the littlest bit of attention and the broad was on him like white on rice. She wanted him and vice versa but it was the thrill of the cheating that made him feel so alive, so young.

His own wife doesn’t pay attention to him or even appreciate him lately. Even then, he wouldn't leave her for this Susan chick. Back home his Kelly wouldn’t so much as give him a peck on the cheek because she’s too busy spending his money or preoccupied with their son. Their son. John couldn't help but feel that that was the center of his marital woes. Many of arguments have started between him and his wife because of their son who btw have disappointed him in more ways than one. Any hope of reconsiliation with him and his wife went out the door the moment their son dropped out of school and moved back home and from then on its only been "Kenneth" this and "Kenneth" that with her. He doesn’t understand why she keeps babying the boy and giving money to his fat lazy ass who, to his recollection, left college for some girl he’s never met before.

John often wondered if his son was lying about his girlfriend, maybe he’ll ask to meet her or something.

wow lots of new comers. That's great. I'll post feedback in a bit.

Last day folks come on! It's now or never.

Damn, too bad today is the deadline, I just seen this thread

Plus it's our (wife and I) Anniversary, so time is limited.

I just started putting one together right now. I'm not sure if I'll be able to finish it before the deadline though. I might post whatever I end up with, just to get some pointers from you guys.

ronito said:

wow lots of new comers. That's great. I'll post feedback in a bit.

Last day folks come on! It's now or never.

Click to expand...

Yeah, this is awesome!

Scribble, Dragmire, Azih, still expecting stories from you.

And nitewulf... don't break the streak!

Cyan said:

Yeah, this is awesome!

Scribble, Dragmire, Azih, still expecting stories from you.

And nitewulf... don't break the streak!

Click to expand...

By midnight it's due right? I'm putting some effort into this. *shhhh* i should be working. :lol

LordMaji said:

By midnight it's due right? I'm putting some effort into this. *shhhh* i should be working. :lol

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Yep, midnight Pacific time. Haha, I did mine at work too. It made it kind of disjointed, as I kept getting interrupted.

Accursed coworkers! *shakes fist*

Cyan said:

Yep, midnight Pacific time. Haha, I did mine at work too. It made it kind of disjointed, as I kept getting interrupted.

Accursed coworkers! *shakes fist*

Click to expand...

:lol that's exactly what's going on here.

Greedy woman, damn,
usin' me for all I have.....
bitch, you gotta go.

*golf clap*

Cyan said:

My one quibble is the writing style of the mystery man's journal entries. Most of it is fine, documenting events with a personal coloring, but there are bits that just feel odd. Mainly the one or two parts where he goes into ornately descriptive metaphor. "Painting the night sky an October shade of orange" just doesn't quite feel like it belongs. Again, just a quibble.

Click to expand...

Thanks for the crit. I tend to go a little floral on the metaphors. Thanks for pointing it out. One of these days, I'll reign myself in.

wow lots of reading to do.

Jables: Very nice. I like the slower pacing as he came to the shot really did a nice job of building tension. Sadly, in the end it feels like nothing was resolved at the end he's at the same place at beginning. Still it would be a very nice prelude to something bigger.

Chairman Yang: Good but too much runaway. You spend time telling of the hopelessness in the first few paragraphs when it could've been inferred but then the end just feels cut off like so many fingers. It does point out an interesting conundrum which I love, who is the parasite?

Cyan: Interesting, though the ending was very abrupt. I do like the concept. Very interesting.

disappeared: The this begins with x and ends with y while a neat little trick has been used too much before (I think one of the entries in a previous challenges did the same sort of thing) and here it doesn't really make sense as the narrative is strong enough to pull you in without it. I love the tone. A lot of issues when someone enters one of these narratives is that it's too flowery to actually believe, things too descriptive. Yours is natural, flowing, believable. Very nicely done. Some of the placment of facts seems strange. Like the line "I never heard from Jennifer again by the way." Sticks out like a sore thumb as does all the fast exposition at the end. For such a slick narrative having these things hanging out seemed out of place.

weepy: some grammar issues (IE: parents gives, stills no answer, etc).Tense is also an issue. Editing would go a long way to improve it. I like the multi-tiered parasite concept, but I probably would've enjoyed it more if it just stopped there as the tenuous relationship between all of them turned it from serious business to tragidramady.

Gabrius: This is so very true,
Isn't it always the same?
Women, what to do?

ronito said:

wow lots of reading to do.

Jables: Very nice. I like the slower pacing as he came to the shot really did a nice job of building tension. Sadly, in the end it feels like nothing was resolved at the end he's at the same place at beginning. Still it would be a very nice prelude to something bigger.

Click to expand...

Thanks for the feedback! This is an idea that's been tumbling around in my head and when I saw the theme I thought it fit. However, I've always seen this in my head as only a snippet of a larger plot, which is why there's no real resolution. It's more of a prologue for something larger. I thought I would be able to fit in a little more than I did, but there were a few details I wanted to make sure I hit on, and I learned that 1100 words is far less than you think when you start writing! Next time I think I'll try to stick with something a little more contained, instead of a small slice of something larger.

As for the other contestants, I've been trying to read through them but I'm a little busy right now at work. I hope to get some feedback to people a little later tonight!

It feels like the Creative Writing Challenge's been given a new lease of life! I'll be posting mine in a few hours.

ronito said:

weepy: some grammar issues (IE: parents gives, stills no answer, etc).Tense is also an issue. Editing would go a long way to improve it. I like the multi-tiered parasite concept, but I probably would've enjoyed it more if it just stopped there as the tenuous relationship between all of them turned it from serious business to tragidramady.

Click to expand...

Appreciate the feedback. I finished the story around 2:30 in the morning and just sent it in before I changed my mind. There were dozens of story ideas that I've cycled through and I was ready to just wait until the next challenge until I created this one. Next time I'll be more careful