Theme - "Countdown"

Literal? Metaphorical? This can mean whatever you want it to mean. Have fun!

Word Limit: 1432.

Submission Deadline: Wednesday, 10/29 by 11:59 PM Pacific.

Voting begins Thursday, 10/30, and goes until Saturday, 11/01 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.
- In the event of a tie, the story with the highest number of first place votes will be declared the winner. If they are still tied after this first tiebreaker, the previous challenge winner will decide any further tie-breaking measures (2nd Place votes, Joint Topic Choice, etc.)

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)
#8 - "Parasite and Host" (Winner: Aaron)
#9 - "The Seasons" (Winner: ivysaur12)
#10 - "Anniversary" (Winner: Memles)
#11 - "Comedy" (Winner: Scribble)
#12 - "The Trilogy" (Winner: Aaron)
#13 - "Impossible Thing" (Winner: Cyan)
#14 - "Lost and Found" (Winner: Iceman)
#15 - "Prescient" (Winner: Iceman)
#16 - "Trick or Treat" (Winner: DumbNameD)

Cyan said:

Optional Secondary Objective: Tight 3rd Person POV.

A tight 3rd person perspective functions similarly to 1st person. The main character's thoughts and perceptions shape everything, from other characters' names ("Mom" instead of "Susan," "Bobby-o" instead of "Robert"), to interpretation of other characters' motives, to how the things around the MC are described, or whether they're even noticed.

The primary advantage over 1st person is that it puts a little bit more distance between the reader and the character, and allows you as the writer to decide how deep to go in--do you pull back to speed up the pace of the action, or do you plunge in further to show your character's motivations or emotional reactions?

Orson Scott Card refers to this as going "hot" or "cold," and suggests going hot earlier in your story, to help establish your character. You can then go hot or cold as necessary to change the pace of the story or allow more understanding of your character.

Click to expand...

How appropriate, with the upcoming election.

No secondary objective this time?

And now I have Final Countdown stuck in my head.

crowphoenix said:

And now I have Final Countdown stuck in my head.

Click to expand...

It doesn't help that I heard that song about 10 times while playing Saints Row 2 today :lol

Cyan said:

No secondary objective this time?

Click to expand...

See, this is the sort of thing that makes me post at 11:59 pm. So I figured I'd better just get the topic out. But if you want to suggest a secondary objective, I'll edit it in.

crowphoenix said:

And now I have Final Countdown stuck in my head.

Click to expand...

Well, then my Job is done.

Cool, I can get working on this tonight...maybe...hopefully...

Speaking of countdown, when are you going to create the NaNoWriMo thread, Cyan? =P

DumbNameD said:

See, this is the sort of thing that makes me post at 11:59 pm. So I figured I'd better just get the topic out. But if you want to suggest a secondary objective, I'll edit it in.

Click to expand...

Hmm, ok, I'll see if I can come up with something.

Scribble said:

Speaking of countdown, when are you going to create the NaNoWriMo thread, Cyan? =P

Click to expand...

Heh. Within an hour or two, I think.

Secondary Objective: Tight 3rd Person POV.

A tight 3rd person perspective functions similarly to 1st person. The main character's thoughts and perceptions shape everything, from other characters' names ("Mom" instead of "Susan," "Bobby-o" instead of "Robert"), to interpretation of other characters' motives, to how the things around the MC are described, or whether they're even noticed.

The primary advantage over 1st person is that it puts a little bit more distance between the reader and the character, and allows you as the writer to decide how deep to go in--do you pull back to speed up the pace of the action, or do you plunge in further to show your character's motivations or emotional reactions?

Orson Scott Card refers to this as going "hot" or "cold," and suggests going hot earlier in your story, to help establish your character. You can then go hot or cold as necessary to change the pace of the story or allow more understanding of your character.

Nano thread up!

http://www.neogaf.com/forum/showthread.php?t=339426

Under a week left.

I had an initial idea. But it would take careful skill to keep it from devolving into horrendous drek. Probably will push it to the back and try to think of something else. Hopefully, everyone else has better luck.

I've got an idea. Been thinking about it for a few days. Probably would have already finished writing it, if I were a bit less busy.

Didn't want to quadruple post, though. Heh.

I haven't thought about this one yet because I'm trying to get an application to grad school. OF course, I have no idea what I'm doing. Any suggestions guys?

Sunday bump.

I got nothing. I think I'm just burned out from these challenges, and saving my words for the big novel writing fest next month.

Just finished mine, but needs some serious editing to make it readable. Should be up tomorrow.

Aaron said:

I got nothing. I think I'm just burned out from these challenges, and saving my words for the big novel writing fest next month.

Click to expand...

Wha-at? Dude, you're the guy who always has some crazy cool idea! I thought you'd always have an idea for everything. Don't disillusion me...

Spirit (1303)

To launch, or not to launch? That was the question. MacGregor smiled dimly at the paraphrase, but he couldn't afford to be frivolous right now. He couldn't afford to be other than damned serious.

His thumb hovered over the intercom button.

On the one hand, glory. To be the first commercial organization to successfully launch a manned rocket into orbit around the Earth. To beat the bastards at GalaxyX. To show everyone who had ever doubted him.

On the other hand, disaster. This launch would have been dangerous no matter what—rocketry was surprisingly chancy, given the number of rocket scientists in the field. But the risks of launching today, right now, were significant.

MacGregor leaned back, and thumbed again through the presentation his project lead, Alex Pike, had given him just that morning. The weather was fine, perfect for a launch. The astronauts were in excellent health and peak condition. Everything had been checked and double checked. And it was the double check that had exposed what might be their undoing.

MacGregor slammed his hand on the desk, knocking over his model Spirit of St Louis. They never should have outsourced anything. Outsourcing might get you cheaper and faster, but it damn well didn't get you quality. The components of the nozzle nose inlet that that the Chinese (or was it Taiwanese?) company had delivered were prone to developing hairline fractures at extreme temperatures. Naturally, there was no easy way to tell which were defective without extensive testing. If any of the three inlet components failed during launch, it could be dangerous, but then, that was why they had three—redundancy. But if somehow all three were to fail together? Disaster.

MacGregor righted the Spirit of St Louis and sighed. Pike's risk experts said there was a 5% chance of any one part failing, and a .0125% chance of all three failing independently. 5% was not a large number, but it was large enough to make this decision damned difficult.

He breathed in and out, trying to relax. What was it Buddhists called it? Centering yourself? He had to center himself, and think this out logically. Methodically. He breathed in and out again, then scrabbled for a blank piece of paper, and wrote at the top "launch" and "don't launch," and above those, "risks."

What were the risks? He tapped his pen against his lips. If they didn't launch, surely the greatest danger was running out of time. All signs indicated that the thieving bastards at GalaxyX were only months, if not weeks away from their own launch. If his opponents—he wouldn't dignify them with the term "rivals"—were to launch first, that would in all likelihood doom him and his company. They'd lose out on history, and they'd lose out on the chance at government funding. It was virtually certain that the first company to successfully launch would be the one to get funding for shuttling cargo and men to and from the International Space Station. And the notoriety of having been first would attract all sorts of business partners. Being second was only marginally better than never launching at all.

Underneath "don't launch," he wrote "time=money." After a moment's thought, he added "John Christopher." Christopher hadn't exactly been a protégé of MacGregor's. Not quite. But he'd been a friend and a valued member of the team for two years, before leaving to co-found GalaxyX. Come to think of it, it was probably he who'd come up with that moronic name. It was the kind of insipid, extreme sports garbage he'd think of. The bastard.

MacGregor breathed in and out, more slowly this time. The risks of launching were easy. Destruction, disaster, death. Any and all of the above. Underneath "launch," he wrote "3 Ds." He stared at the page a moment, his eyes unfocused. Destruction and disaster would end the company, it was true, but if he caused the death of his astronauts, would he be able to live with himself? West and Smith were good men, who he had recruited personally. He pictured himself calling up West's wife, a sweet, lovely, and very devoted young lady, to tell her that her husband was dead because of him. No. He crossed out "3 Ds," and wrote "West's wife" beneath it.

This wasn't helping much. If he simply laid things out like this, nothing could weigh against the risk of losing his astronauts. Fear might be a useful emotion at times, but it was hardly the best basis for decision making. He flipped the page and wrote "benefits" on the other side.

Well, this was a bit easier. The benefit for not launching was obvious. He wrote "safety," and underlined it twice. How about for launching? He nibbled the end of the pen for a moment, then caught himself and pulled it from his mouth. Terrible habit. His pen was developing toothmarks.

The benefits of launching weren't so difficult either. In quick succession, he wrote "greatness," "glory," and "government money." So. The real question was, was that enough?

He drummed his fingers on the desk. West and Smith, he was sure, would say that the risks were all worth it. They wanted to be the first non-government men in space, wanted to be household names like Aldrin and Armstrong. Whether they reached that level of fame largely depended on the success of the company post-launch, but MacGregor was confident that things would start rolling after their first success. Earth orbit, the ISS, then the Moon. Maybe they'd beat NASA to Mars. That would be something.

He forced his fingers to stillness. He couldn't base the decision on what West and Smith would do. There was a reason he was in charge and not they—well, aside from the fact that he'd started the company and built it from scratch. He had a certain responsibility to them. They'd have wanted to launch no matter what. He had to assess the risks objectively, since they wouldn't. Or couldn't.

He gazed at the Spirit of St Louis on his desk. Lindbergh—no one had ever heard of him until his famous non-stop flight from New York to Paris. No one had believed it could be done. But he'd made it through it all, beaten everyone else to the punch, and silenced the critics. And in the process, become the world's darling.

Lindbergh had succeeded where others had failed because he was unafraid of taking risks. Those nameless aviators—in MacGregor's mind, they all looked like John Christopher—who had tried to fly the Atlantic before Lindbergh had used multiple engines for redundancy, and biplane wings for a sturdier structure. But Lindbergh gambled—he gave the Spirit a mono wing to reduce drag, and a single engine to reduce weight. The greater efficiency and speed let him make the crossing faster, and the added instability helped keep him awake and alert during the 40 hour flight.

Lindbergh had gambled big, and it had paid off big. That was the true source of his greatness. He took a chance where others would have given in to fear.

Lindbergh would never have hesitated for a one in twenty chance of increased danger. Everything about his flight had been dangerous. Perhaps to be great, you had to embrace danger.

MacGregor picked up his pen and circled "greatness." He flipped the page, crossed out "West's wife" under "launch risks," and wrote "West's grandchildren" under "don't launch risks."

Not such a difficult decision after all.

He punched the intercom button. "We launch. Start the countdown."

Off in the distance, the myriad cogs and gears of the company he had built from scratch began to turn.

MacGregor picked up the Spirit of St Louis and leaned back in his chair. With one finger, he gently spun its propeller. He smiled.

So, just a word or two on this story: I thought I'd have a go at a one-man moral dilemma/decision type thing. Sort of experimentally. A fully internal conflict rather than the external stuff I usually do.

I'm not sure it quite worked, but it was fun to try it nonetheless. The story would probably have better been served if I'd made Alex Pike the main character and had him argue with MacGregor about whether or not to let the launch go forward. But I got to try something new, so whatever.

Edit:

I just remembered that I forgot to mention in the last challenge thread what the trick/treat in my story really was, for anyone who didn't catch it:

Edit 2:

Wow, I have the coveted triple-double. Am I all alone in here? Is everyone else gearing up for NaNoWriMo?

The twenty-four hour countdown is on.

I'm still on my first idea. I think I may be able to upgrade it from 'horrendous drek' to 'drek.' But I haven't gotten too much into it, so who knows? Ah, well, maybe I'll just pretend it's a NaNoWriMo day to get into a mind to push out words.

Anyone else going to submit a story? Please don't tell me I'm in a one-on-one faceoff versus DumbNameD... someone send backup!

I'll try, but it'll be even worse than my other entries!

Cyan said:

Anyone else going to submit a story? Please don't tell me I'm in a one-on-one faceoff versus DumbNameD... someone send backup!

Click to expand...

Sorry, man. Looks like my confidence has run out and I've gone coward again.

crowphoenix said:

Sorry, man. Looks like my confidence has run out and I've gone coward again.

Click to expand...

Then you simply must write something.

And I say this knowing full well that I may not have something ready by the deadline, but that's part of the excitement, isn't it?

Besides I don't want to feel like the guy who stuffed the kittens into a sack, tossed them off a bridge, and watched the sack soak and bubble and sink. Please think of the kittens.

Closure (78)

We're leaving together, but still it's farewell. And maybe we'll come back (to earth), who can tell? I guess there is no one to blame. We're leaving ground. Will things ever be the same again?

It's the final countdown.

We're heading for Venus and still we stand tall, 'cause maybe they've seen us and welcome us all. With so many light years to go and things to be found, I'm sure that well all miss her so.

Repeat.

Eek. Not sure if I can. I'd treat it as NaNoWriMo training too, except the horrible 'first-draft' will be public!

Whew, Mike Works saves the day. Still a few hours, if anyone else wants to get in on this!

DumbNameD said:

Besides I don't want to feel like the guy who stuffed the kittens into a sack, tossed them off a bridge, and watched the sack soak and bubble and sink. Please think of the kittens.

Click to expand...

Not your fault, just unfortunate timing. Participation in these things seems to ebb and flow, and an ebb coincided with the lead-in to NaNo.

Although that's an awesome metaphor.

Yeah I'm not going to make it. Things have been crazy busy.

Swap Meet (1432 words)

On the third chime, Linus Lerner answered his door and found a red-faced Connor Miller. Linus knew the boy lived on the other leg of the U-shaped street and sometimes saw Connor walking down the sidewalk with a dog in tow. But this Sunday afternoon, with bedewed cheeks and dirt on his T-shirt, Connor stood outside Linus’s door and clutched the handle of a red wagon in one hand and a pinecone in the other.

“Hello,” said Linus. In his mid-seventies, widowed with grown children, Linus lived alone. The man wasn’t sure but estimated Connor’s age at eight or nine. “Connor, right?”

Connor opened his mouth and expected words. When none came, Connor looked down at his sneakers and offered the pinecone in his hand.

“What’s this?” asked Linus.

Connor pointed toward the pine tree in Linus’s front yard.

“This for me?”

Connor shook his brown mop of hair. “I—” He heaved a deep breath. “I wanna trade.” He stepped to the side of his wagon. In the wagon, he had a garden spade, a Tupperware container, a yo-yo, a baseball, a toy car, a bag of green plastic army men, a butter-tub of dirt, a tulip atop the dirt, and various action figures. Connor handed the pinecone to Linus before considering his wagon. He picked the car.

“This.” Connor displayed the wind-up car. “For that.” He pointed to the pinecone.

Linus’s brow crinkled. He scratched the tuft of white hair atop his head. “You want to trade your car for this pinecone?”

Connor nodded.

“I’m sorry,” said Linus. “I don’t have much use for a toy car.”

“Oh,” said Connor. His arms dropped to his sides as he deflated. He turned as he replaced the car into the wagon.

“Now, hold on,” said Linus. He heard the boy’s nose slurp up snot. “You’re not going to take ‘no’ for an answer, are you?”

“What—” Connor wiped the back of his hand across the top of his nose before turning around. He blinked back tears. “What do you mean?”

“You have to sell me on your car,” said Linus. “See here.” Linus tossed the pinecone straight into the air before catching it. “This may look like a pinecone, but it’s much more.”

“It is?”

“See each of these scales? Each of them, someday, one day, has the chance to grow into a big, strong tree.” Linus flexed an arm. “So it’s pretty valuable, right?”

Connor nodded.

“Now your turn.”

Connor exhaled. “See.” He held the toy car between his hands like it was a miniature accordion. His hands absently twisted, jiggling the plastic seams of the car. “This may be a car, but it’s more than that. It’s—“ He held it up. “It’s—wait, see.” Connor wound the bowtie key atop the car and let it go on the ground. The car rattled in a curve for a foot before sputtering to a stop. “Ah! It’s because Mickey chased after it and knocked it over and tried to eat it! But it ran many times before.”

“Mickey?”

“He’s my dog. But look.” Connor held the car and pushed it along, fighting the bent axle’s veer. “It still runs if you push it.”

“Sounds like my first car,” said Linus. He bounced the hand with the pinecone as if weighing it. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want the car.”

Connor frowned. “You don’t?”

Linus placed the pinecone into the wagon. Connor offered the car, but Linus waved it off. “I used to do door-to-door sales. Encyclopedias, bibles, that sort. I wanna help you out, Connor.”

“But the trade?”

“For the pinecone? Just pay attention.” Linus stepped out and closed the door behind him. “Deal?” Linus offered his hand. Connor shook it and nodded.

They walked along the sidewalk as the wagon rattled behind Connor.

“Um, Mister—?”

“Lerner,” said Linus. “Actually, Pappy was ‘Mr. Lerner.’ Well, come to think of it. He was ‘Chuck.’ Now, my Grandpappy was ‘Mr. Lerner.’ I’m just ‘Linus.’”

“Mr. Lerner, is your dad in heaven?”

“Yes.”

“Your grandpa?”

“Grandpappy, too.”

“Is he a mummy?” asked Connor.

“Excuse me?”

“Like the Egyptians. They used to wrap their kings up,” said Connor. “Like presents to heaven. They even had a boy like me as king.”

“You don’t say.”

“They even found where he was buried,” said Connor. “My grandpa went to heaven a long time ago. But, last summer, my parents took me to see where he was buried. But my grandpa’s not a mummy.”

Linus laughed. “I expect not.”

Connor pointed to his wagon. “Mr. Lerner, did I sell it right?”

“Well, you just need some confidence. You need to sell what you’re selling.”

“How do you do that?”

“Look ‘em in the eyes. Speak clearly. Decisively.”

“Hmm,” said Connor. He told Linus how he had traded a two-headed quarter for the tulip. He didn’t have much trouble as Mrs. Thompkins offered the flower for free. However, Connor insisted on the trade. The boy also recounted how he swapped his collection of dinosaur-shaped erasers for the tub of dirt. Of course, he had already dug up the dirt, so there wasn’t much to be done otherwise.

“Here.” Connor stopped at the next house. “Blackberries.”

Linus rang the doorbell as Connor looked through his wagon before pulling out the bag of plastic army men. Linus greeted Grace at the door and explained that Connor wanted to trade the army men for blackberries from the bushes beside her home.

“See here,” said Linus as Grace examined the army men. Connor tugged on Linus’s pant leg. Linus crouched, and Connor whispered into the man’s ear. Linus stood and smiled. “Ah, Grace, these are heroes for you. These brave soldiers protected this young man’s window sill from all kinds of encroaching monsters and vampires.”

“And gremlins,” added Connor.

Ten minutes later, they were on their way with a full Tupperware box and black-stained teeth.

“That was easy, wasn’t it?” asked Linus.

Connor shrugged. He pointed at the next house. “Not that house. Stacy Trilling lives there.”

“A friend?”

“No. She’s mean.”

“I’ve known some mean girls,” said Linus.

“She said Mickey’s ugly. And I told her she’s wrong.”

“Your dog?”

“Yeah. He’s not ugly though. So I said she was ugly.”

“You never tell a girl that.”

“I know. Mom told me,” said Connor. “I didn’t mean it, but Stacy said Mickey was ugly and that’s why nobody likes me.”

“Maybe Stacy didn’t mean it.”

“I don’t care. Mickey’s my best friend.”

At their next stop, they exchanged Connor’s yo-yo for a lawn pinwheel. Linus explained that the yo-yo was a birthday present as Connor performed the ‘around-the-world’ and ‘walk-the-dog’ tricks.

Near the end of the street, Linus counted down all the houses they had passed and began to feel his age. He wiped his brow with a handkerchief.

Connor noticed the slump in Linus’s frame. “I’ll do this one myself.” Connor grabbed his toy car and marched to the front door.

Linus sat on the curb under tree shade. He watched as Connor waved at the owner and pointed to the driveway. He saw the boy wind up the car and let it go. He heard Connor say that the boy ate five whole boxes of cereal for it and checked the mailbox for two months. Linus smiled when they shook hands and the owner disappeared inside with the car.

Connor jabbed his garden spade into the dirt next to the driveway. “There’s a treasure here.” He dug a hole not five inches deep before reaching and pulling out the treasure. It squeaked as Connor handed it to Linus for the man’s approval.

Linus raised an eyebrow as he wiped dirt from the rubber duck.

Linus walked Connor home. The boy thanked the man, and Linus waved goodbye as Connor pulled the wagon up the driveway.

“Wait.” Connor unloaded the wagon. “Wait here. You can have some blackberries though. Mickey won’t mind.” Connor dragged the wagon into his backyard. Five minutes later, he returned, a touch out of breath and with a beagle in his wagon.

“Mickey,” whispered Connor. The dog looked up and then whimpered. “Mickey says ‘Thank you.’”

Linus pointed toward the items. “For your dog?”

Connor nodded. “Mickey hasn’t been feeling well. But—,” said Connor. “Well, mom and dad said my grandpa’s going to take care of him soon. So I got him some of his favorite things.” Connor wrapped his arm around Mickey and nuzzled against the dog. “He’s a good boy.”

As Linus looked at the boy and the dog, he was sold.

So, I wrote this in the last hour. I really wanted some constructive feedback on my writing style, though, so here goes nothing:

JANE (1007 words)

Life is messier, less circumspect and more random than most people say.

One moment you're enjoying a good bit of breakfast, a rasher of bacon on one side and some good scrambled egg on the other, and the next thing you know, you've received news that something terrible has happened. It's that moment in-between that's the worst. After you've heard it, but before you've understood. Like when you fall and scrape your knee, the blood is coming out, and you don't feel anything, but you know what's coming up. Pain. Ah, but that moment, that moment in-between, that's the worst part. The anticipation is always worse.

It might sound like a listless cliche, but it's universal. You could be drinking a good cup of tea, dipping your biscuit in and taking a bite. Then you go to dip the next one in, but what's that? You've gone too far, you see it happening, but you can't stop it. Half the biscuit breaks off and falls in, lost forever to your insatiable sweet tooth. You've seen it before it's happened and you've realized that you don't have any control. From that, it's easy to say that you never had any control. From that, it's easy to want to return to that state, to be at that moment just before the blood comes out, to be in that moment of shock, to live in numbness.

Of course, adrenaline in the human body works the same way. You can see what's happened, you could have taken a terrible wound, but you can't feel it. Not yet, you've got to go on, you've got to keep fighting or running.

But it's not always true. If that happens to you, if you see it at the last moment, just before the "bad thing" has happened, it doesn't mean you weren't always in control. It doesn't mean that it was fated to happen. Life is messy. Life is random. And it's your fault. By seeing it at that last moment, by knowing what's going to happen just before it happens, you've acknowledged something. You've acknowledged that it was your fault. If you'd been paying attention earlier, if you hadn't taken that big a risk, it would have turned out fine.

Bad things might happen, life can really hit you in places you'd rather wish it didn't know of, but you can always do something. There's always a chance ahead of time.

You just need to see it.

I had seen this woman too late.

She was hard, but nevertheless fragile. No man would cross her, half in fear of her scorn and half in fear of destroying her. Being hard in personality needn't always mean being solid and impregnable. (Hey, that's a thought, maybe she's pregnant? No, she'd have a chainsaw with her if that was the case.) Take the common wooden stick, hard but also brittle, that forced toughness easily creating multifold weaknesses and breaking points. Yes, snap the wood smaller for firewood! It was as I had done to her soul.

As the blind fool I had become at the age of twenty something, I had overlooked this possibility. The love had been selfish, needy, independent of any of her feelings. Why had she let me do this to her? Why had I not considered her throughout? Why was I only thinking of it from her perspective only now? It all came full circle with my age, no? How typical, the arrogance and brutality of male youth. Typical, but as I said, life is often needlessly messy - often with us as the cause and us searching for something else to blame.

Slap!

There were no theatrical gasps in the surrounding tables of the restaurant. Only a brief pause to look left or right at the silly young man who had made the mistake of trivializing a beautiful young woman, and then: oh, these prawns are delightful, I should take another bite! The world had become a cynical place.

"Jane, what a surprise!"

"Dan, what a displeasure!"

Jane was distraught. Had she slept the night before? Tears had torn through her make-up, making her look like a ragged Muppet Show doll. No, better not make that observation.

"You knew who I was, we went over it when we started, you agreed--"

Out of control? Distraught? She wasn't the only one, I was lying through my teeth now, as if those initial words had ever meant anything. We had discovered each other, a cynic of love had found a connection. A filament of light connecting us together. And she had known, made that discovery as well. I had met Shelley's Jane.

But then it had all come tumbling down. Some habits were hard to break. Some of my friends wouldn't even be apologetic about it. They were cynics, disbelievers. And who could blame them? Until I had seen it, I hadn't believed either. That it existed.

"I thought you changed," she all but whispered, but it was enough to stop me in my tracks.

I improvised, recited a few lines - I was a Literature major after all - of what she reminded me of, "The keen stars were twinkling, and the fair moon was rising among them..."

Eye contact, standing up, moving closer. Was I taming a wild cat?

"Dear Jane," she replied softly, almost dreamily, mouthing the words as if we were alone, and not as it happened, amidst a morning-crowded cafe.

The moment dissipated as quickly as it had come.

"You think a few lines of poetry, however beautiful or nostalgic, is going to win me over after what you did?!" Jane snapped and turned on her heel. "This isn't One Tree Hill, damnit!" And what an attractive heel it was.

As she was striding away, my eyes never straying for a second from the rear view she presented, a realization came over me.

Yes. It existed. Love.

I had a lot of work to do.

My votes:


1) Mike Works - Closure

I really felt that you captured the true spirit of the challenge.


2) Cyan - ??

I didn't read the story, but kudos for making the thread.


3) Mike Works - Closure

I actually didn't read any of the other stories either

Man, I wanted to post the lyrics to the Europe song, but I didn't wanna be a dick.

Guess some people can pull it off.

Nihilism said:

Man, I wanted to post the lyrics to the Europe song, but I didn't wanna be a dick.

Guess some people can pull it off.

Click to expand...

:lol

Nihilism said:

Man, I wanted to post the lyrics to the Europe song, but I didn't wanna be a dick.

Guess some people can pull it off.

Click to expand...

:lol I didn't even notice!

Vote or Die:
(and by die, I mean, if you don't vote, I reserve the right to decide your vote wholly by the roll of six-sided die)

Cyan - "Spirit"
Mike Works - "Closure"
DumbNameD - "Swap Meet"
Tim the Wiz - "JANE"

I'd like to congratulate Mike Works for his sweeping victory and Cyan for a good second place effort

DumbNameD said:

Swap Meet

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Nice characters, cute story.

There are occasional POV slips, but for the most part it stays strongly with the old man. The stuff the kid says is sometimes a bit much (the mummy bit)... it's easy to fall into this trap when writing about kids. I might've substituted some dialogue about his prior trades--the stuff that you put into narrative summary a bit later ("He told Linus how he had traded a two-headed quarter for the tulip..."). Even if he said it in a cute way, that stuff would be less likely to come off as trying to be cute, as he'd actually be communicating information.

The ending is a bit saccharine, but still works... except for the final line. For whatever reason, that last line really just doesn't work for me. It's not enough to completely ruin the story or anything, but... it doesn't work for me.

Tim the Wiz said:

JANE (1007 words)

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I love your riff on pain, anticipation, etc... but having it there at the beginning means the actual story doesn't start until almost halfway through your piece. If that sort of riffing is your style, then it's your style, but you might consider starting the story, and sticking in the digressions partway through. That way you establish some sort of momentum to keep us interested.

Actually, given the amount of narrative summary here, I'm not entirely sure where the actual story begins. But I think you get the idea--a bit of action towards the beginning might draw us in more strongly.

Also... I really like the last line (can you tell I'm big on last lines? ).

Guess I'd better vote, too.

1) DumbNameD - "Swap Meet"
2) Tim the Wiz - "Jane"
3) Mike Works - "Final Countdown"

another runaway victory for mike it seems

Mike Works said:

I'd like to congratulate Mike Works for his sweeping victory...

Click to expand...

Now was this in a contest based on broom speed or skill?

Cyan said:

Nice characters, cute story.

There are occasional POV slips, but for the most part it stays strongly with the old man. The stuff the kid says is sometimes a bit much (the mummy bit)... it's easy to fall into this trap when writing about kids. I might've substituted some dialogue about his prior trades--the stuff that you put into narrative summary a bit later ("He told Linus how he had traded a two-headed quarter for the tulip..."). Even if he said it in a cute way, that stuff would be less likely to come off as trying to be cute, as he'd actually be communicating information.

The ending is a bit saccharine, but still works... except for the final line. For whatever reason, that last line really just doesn't work for me. It's not enough to completely ruin the story or anything, but... it doesn't work for me.

Click to expand...

The mummy bit had two main purposes. It was supposed to show that the boy was thinking about Also, it was supposed to be
And the last line was... well, I was already over the word limit by a couple hundred words and got to the point where I asked "On what kind of note do I want to end this?" and answered with "Oh, I have no clue." It was just a quick and lazy compromise to finish the story without digging too deep for some kind of reaction from the old guy.

DumbNameD said:

Now was this in a contest based on broom speed or skill?

Click to expand...

Leg-sweeping contest.

The mummy bit had two main purposes. It was supposed to show that the boy was thinking about

Spoiler

death, such that the ending doesn't come totally out of the blue.

Also, it was supposed to be

Spoiler

a subtle nod to his quest's inspiration: the Egyptians burying their dead with items for the afterlife.

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Ah, clever! Very nice, I totally missed that connection. In that case, you definitely want to keep it, but it could maybe use a little reworking. It felt pretty out-of-the-blue.

And the last line was... well, I was already over the word limit by a couple hundred words and got to the point where I asked "On what kind of note do I want to end this?" and answered with "Oh, I have no clue." It was just a quick and lazy compromise to finish the story without digging too deep for some kind of reaction from the old guy.

Click to expand...

Well, it happens to the best of us.

So... if no one else votes, do I win with 0 points? :lol

1) DumbNameD - "Swap Meet"
2) Cyan - "Spirit"
3) Tim the Wiz - "Jane"

Sweet, two votes! Well, at least I'm not the only one...

Cyan said:

1) DumbNameD - "Swap Meet"
2) Tim the Wiz - "Jane"
3) Mike Works - "Final Countdown"

Click to expand...

Tim the Wiz said:

1) DumbNameD - "Swap Meet"
2) Cyan - "Spirit"
3) Tim the Wiz - "Jane"

Click to expand...

Well, lemme do the official tally. Sorry, Tim, but you can't vote for yourself, so I'm going to have to shift your third-place vote to the remaining entry. As such, the winner(s):

1st place: Three-Way TIE! Tim the Wiz - "JANE", Cyan - "Spirit", Europe - "Final Countdown"

Vote Count:
DumbNameD 6 (2) DISQUALIFIED BY FAILURE TO VOTE!
Tim the Wiz 2
Cyan 2
Europe 2

Oh, er, shit.

Damn it DND, would it have been that hard to just vote?

Cyan said:

Damn it DND, would it have been that hard to just vote?

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Hmm, what an odd outcome. Besides if you don't vote, you can't compla— uh, Shyamalan.jpg?

So... can I post a song for the next challenge?

DumbNameD said:

Hmm, what an odd outcome. Besides if you don't vote, you can't compla— uh, Shyamalan.jpg?

Click to expand...

If you didn't want to do the next challenge thread, you could've just asked someone else to do it.

Losing on a technicality on purpose cheapens the whole thing.

Since no one really seems interested right now, I say we put off the next thread until December, when NaNoWriMo is done.

Tim the Wiz said:

So... can I post a song for the next challenge?

Click to expand...

Technically, it was a two-way tie, since Mike never got around to posting his real vote.