Monday, June 20, 2011

Well, that was heavy.

In light of our sort of heavy discussion re: ebook ethics the last couple of days, I thought we'd have a writing contest to cleanse ze palette! Enter in the comment section.

The rules:
  1. Entries don't open until 6pm tonight, Monday June 20th.
  2. Entries close tomorrow, Tuesday June 21, at 6pm.
  3. 100 words or fewer.
  4. This sentence must be the final sentence in your story:
  5. I felt sorry, after that, but still I couldn't bring myself to cross the room.
  6. It must be a story.
The Prize (1):

Based on your story's tone and content, I'll select a book from my personal library (ARCs and real books included) and send it to you! If you would really rather have a query critique or the first 10 pages workshopped or something, I'll do that...but you do know that the only way to really improve your writing in general is to read, right?

GO!

27 comments:

  1. Awesome! Do we just post our entry in the comments? And can we submit more than one entry?

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  3. Urk! Wrong time zone!

    Sorry, It's 7:00 in New York! BBL...

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  4. “So one of you told that damned vegetarian...”

    “Vegan,” Kim interrupted without glancing from his Blackberry.

    “...vegan about the goat incident. Now my face is all over the front page of the fucking Huffington Post looking like that Satanic priest from Indiana Jones. The one with the hearts.”

    “It’s a Thugee priest, sir.”

    “People don’t elect thugees for President. If you people can’t show loyalty now, if you aren’t ready to pledge every moment to me and this cause, Kim will escort you out now.”

    I felt sorry, after that, but still I couldn’t bring myself to cross the room.

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  5. (I hope I don't have to remove that. It's 8 pm here on the East coast)

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  6. I’d flattened myself against the wall, hoping nobody had seen me go butt first into a row of punch cups while fleeing Robby Mumford.

    My Homecoming date was the perfect dance partner when we didn’t have to touch each other, but with the first strains of “Heaven,” my stomach lurched and I took off.

    He didn’t quit, beckoning me while swaying with an invisible woman. Annoyed at these freshman antics, a senior intentionally bumped into him, sending Robby crashing to the dance floor.

    I felt sorry, after that, but still I couldn't bring myself to cross the room.

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  7. My father's eyes had always showed rage, frustration, and a childish need to have things his way. He did love me, though. Having a son gave him power. The authority to discipline.

    This man's eyes had no love, merely resignation. He had long since stopped taking pride in his unpleasant job, in the shiny badge on his chest.

    If only I had been this man's son. Maybe...

    He sighed, weary. "Son, if you won't come over here, I'm going to have come and get you."

    I felt sorry, after that, but still I couldn't bring myself to cross the room.

    -LupLun
    Lupines and Lunatics

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  8. “Your husband is a walking turd in suit pants,” I tell the woman, and see my producer frantically slitting his throat with his finger across the room, but I continue, “Hip waders aren’t enough anymore; it’s time for a laxative; get him out of your system now, and don’t forget to flush.”

    She nods, and I’m surprised; no denial, nothing more than frank acknowledgment and an “I will” in reply.

    Going to break, I glance curiously at my producer, who mouths, “That was my wife.”

    I felt sorry, after that, but still I couldn't bring myself to cross the room.

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  9. Every time I had seen her, she was crying. Each day someone in the class systematically tortured her in some way. No one talked about it, no one said, ‘Oh, it’s my turn today!’ but it happened. Different person, different day, small girl crying in the corner until her mother came.

    Today was my day. She used –my- glue during crafts so I smeared it on her seat. When she stood, her pants ripped, her underwear exposed, she froze. Everyone but me and her laughed. I felt sorry, after that, but still I couldn't bring myself to cross the room.

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  10. At midnight, I went downstairs to get a drink. Something, no, someone, was standing in my kitchen. And they were glowing.

    I screamed. So did they.

    At first I thought it was a ghost, but ghosts didn’t fart when they got startled.

    “Damn, Kate, you scared me,” my roommate said.

    “I scared you? Why are you glowing?” I waved my hand in front of my face at the stench. “And what did you eat?”

    She grimaced. “I lost a bet. It’s the stuff inside glowsticks.”

    I felt sorry, after that, but still I couldn't bring myself to cross the room.

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  11. She was still scared of pain. She’d get over that. Until then I had the advantage.

    She went for my legs.

    Mistake.

    I locked my knee around hers and my fists went for her face and her gut. She hit the ground coughing and bleeding. The crowd roared. I turned away.

    “Finish her!” the scream came clear of the mayhem somehow. I glanced back. She looked pretty damn finished to me.

    Someone else would do worse. And they’d punish me for my mercy. I felt sorry, after that, but still I couldn't bring myself to cross the room.

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  13. Ten feet away, he was dying. Curled in a ball, corner opposite mine. Strange. Usually I’m in his corner.

    “Please, brother. Help me,” he begged, tears steaming down his face, clutching his eyeless teddy bear.

    My fear stood higher than the smoking flames towering between us, scraping the ceiling with blazing licks.

    “You’re a Fireslayer, please!” He screamed, the floor charring beneath him.

    “Was.” Since the last battle, I’m nothing. I hid my scarred face until my baby brother choked out his last painful breath.

    I felt sorry after that, but still I couldn’t bring myself to cross the room.

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  14. Sensorium.

    Light from the lava lamp rolled across the crouching amorphous girl; hungry arms hung between splayed knees, and empty eye sockets followed me to the bed.

    The body on the bed was wearing Victoria's secret, a dragon tattoo, and a syringe. Galaxies of green light explored the room, and the pregnant belly looked like the moon.

    Rain tapped against the iron roof, and a tiny foot kicked its last goal. The crouching girl screamed. I felt sorry, after that, but still I couldn't bring myself to cross the room.

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  15. The door creaked open and I stomped to the window, turning my back to him.
    “Can you hear me out?”
    I didn’t turn. The nerve on him!
    “Please, Alice…”
    “What?” I yelled. “Forget everything? It was our engagement dinner, Marcus!”
    Tears rolled down his cheek.
    “I still love you,” he said quietly, the most pitiful look on his face.
    I knew that. But I couldn’t forget. He collapsed on the floor and hid his face in his hands, sobbing – he actually sobbed! I confess I felt sorry, after that, but still I couldn't bring myself to cross the room.

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  17. I feel sick.

    Maybe it’s because I’m on this ship. Maybe it’s because, as I close the door, Klement looks up.

    I say nothing, just look at him. He can’t see me.

    “Come,” he says. “I want to talk to you.”

    I shift from foot to foot, knowing it’s my fault.

    “Please. Sit,” he continues. “I just—”

    I wait for him to finish, to hear what he ‘just’. His hands twist in his lap; his sentence lost somewhere between us.

    I have to leave.

    I felt sorry, after that, but still I couldn't bring myself to cross the room.

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  18. I stared at the mess under the doorjamb. Gary, the eighth-grade hunk, was standing there, covered in glue from the trap that I’d set for Angelique, the most wrongly named girl at Stoddard Middle School.

    “Who put that bowl of glue up there?” Mrs. Howard asked. There was fire in her eyes and I swear, steam was coming from her nostrils.
    “Whoever did this ought to be ashamed of themselves. I want an apology and I want this mess cleaned up right now! Step up.

    I felt sorry, after that, but I still couldn’t bring myself to cross the room.

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  19. Apprehension gnawed at my belly as I drove myself to the conference.

    But I had a job to do, and I was going to do it.

    Friends and fans ringed him like a halo. I could hear their fawning compliments from the second-floor balcony. He smiled.

    I fired.



    “He killed my daughter,” she said, smiling as she counted the bills onto her desk.

    “His daughter was there. She saw the whole thing.” The words escaped before I could stop them.

    She didn’t meet my eyes. I felt sorry, after that, but still I couldn’t bring myself to cross the room.

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  20. They tell you about the colour, but not the smell.

    It’s like strawberries, the kind left behind when the market has closed. August heat bringing out the sweetness.

    It’s revolting, but tantalizing. They are so close; you just need to reach out to consume them.

    And I did. You can’t save what’s already ruined. I gave them the razor and saw them bleed on my leather couch. Paedophiles and adulterers. Lost souls coming to me for salvation.

    I felt sorry, after that, but still I couldn't bring myself to cross the room.

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  22. Crunch! What a way to start a honeymoon. Didn't even make it out of the in-laws' driveway.

    Claire told me I had to apologize, so I did, but the whole time I was thinking, “Yappy little creature had it coming. I mean honestly who owns a Chihuahua anymore?”

    Claire's mother cried almost as hard as she did the day I proposed to her daughter.

    I felt sorry after that, but still I couldn't bring myself to cross the room.

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  23. His hiccupping sobs rang out like the primitive cries of an animal. “He just stopped right in front of me. I had to swerve…”

    I hovered by the mantel and glared at this leather-clad stranger I used to share my life with. “She’ll be fine. It’s just a broken wrist.”

    “Maybe I was driving too fast. I just wanted her to think her dad was cool. You were right, Karen—I’m a middle-aged loser.” He dissolved into hoarse, guttural moans.

    Ugly satisfaction flashed through me. I felt sorry, after that, but I still couldn’t bring myself to cross the room.

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  24. Well, Crapazoids! I was all excited and then people kept inviting me places and I plum forgot to write a story. Is there still time to write one quick...? *Rues the day she ever discovered tropical smoothie*

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  25. Ok, next time, then :3 Good luck, everyone!

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