[Writing Contest] - THE ARENA

alchemist33

Let battle commence!

See you within 24 hours...

slavetothegrind

Fair play to you Mr Scribbles great to see so much action in this here arena.:)

DonnieScribbles

Posting now as I won't have time in the morning...

____________________

He sidesteps the puddles on the pavement. Garish sunlight bounces off them. He shades his eyes. The shower has just passed, slight wisps of steam rising.

He inhales.

Mid-June twenty years ago. Of course, under the tree. They were sheltering. What about it? He’d enjoyed that day... Where was it? Oh, a sudden jaunt up the side of that hill behind the Noone’s. They were caught short, no jackets. Of course it had nearly all turned to mud on their way back down. He had his camera with him, that old Pentax… whatever happened to that? Did Robert pinch it? Probably. He took her photograph while they waited. Framed it up perfect, the tree overhanging on the left, the lake in the background. He'd had that deceptive feeling it'd be a great shot when he got around to developing it. Always disappointing. Two days later, hung-over in the darkroom, he saw she was barely smiling.

Under the tree, for god’s sake. Then she took up with that shifty looking guy, the vet’s son, what was his name? She was really something.

A tall fellow walking the opposite direction. He moves aside, so does he, oh no, here we go. He jokes, let’s dance! They laugh, passing each other finally. What’s that lingering after him? Some kind of cologne anyway…

Ah shít…

Robert. That morning, before he left. He doused himself in the stuff. He could steal that fucking camera a hundred times over, and everything else besides, if he could be standing there right then, grinning like always, smug as you like.

Damn it, Rob. All this just nipping to the shop to get a litre of milk and the newspaper.

alchemist33

As soon as he stepped into the hallway, Craig was almost overpowered by the stench. Even his air filter wasn’t up to the job.

Gary, covered from head to foot in his own protective suit, brushed past him. "The burden of leadership, mate. I'll take the kitchen, and you can clear the sitting room where the old geezer croaked."

"Thanks." Craig took one step into the sitting room and wondered – not for the first time – why the hell he hadn't done bar work like everyone else in his class, instead of cleaning the flats of the dead for the Council. Still, he had only four days to go before the job ended, and then a week off before he went back to College.

He carefully avoided looking at the one patch of visible carpet. Whatever colour it had been was now clouded by a week of decomposition. He knew the carpet was for the skip -- he just had to clear the rest of the room first. Newspapers, milk cartons, soiled clothes, beer cans, bluebottles and mould -- he put it all into a wheelbarrow and ran it out to the skip. The stench only grew as he lifted away layers of rubbish. Craig held his breath as much as he could and soldiered on. Four days. Just four days left. Then a week in Ibiza with his friends. He thought of beaches, clubs, Swedish babes in bikinis. Anything but what was in the room.

He picked up another pile of newspaper -- twenty years old -- and something fell out, landing with a rattle on the newly-revealed carpet. He bent down to examine it; a small metal box, a tiny key still in place. This was different; just different enough to pique his curiosity. He turned the key, afraid that it would break with the rusting, but it held and the box opened.

The smell forgotten for a moment, Craig lifted out a silver-coloured medal with a small strip of red, white and blue fabric attached. He was surprised to find that he actually recognized it. There was a similar one at home, framed and hanging from the wall -- the Military Medal his grandad had won on D-Day.

He felt a mixture of anger and sadness. The medal shouldn’t have been here. Not buried under piles of rubbish and piss in a flat where a lonely old man had lain dead for a week before anyone noticed. He looked around. There was nothing else to indicate who the inhabitant had been. No photos, no paintings, no plaques. The only thing the man had thought worthy of preserving was in this box.

He heard footsteps approaching and shoved the box under more newspaper. He knew where this would end up if Gary saw it -- on eBay under Gazthecleaner69.

"I don't hear no wheelbarrow, Craigy-boy," he said, standing in the doorway.

Craig shrugged. "I’m just taking a rest. It's hard work."

The older man scowled. "Well, don't take too long. We've only got today."

"Do you know who lived here?"

Gary looked puzzled, as if questioning why anyone would care. "No. Just that he was some Irish bloke. Now, move it."

Gary left for the kitchen again and Craig took out the box. The only other thing in it was a photograph, yellowed and frayed. It showed a man and woman standing in a field, a church in the background, while a young girl sat at their feet with a wide grin on her face. He turned it over and saw the faded writing. Bringing in the hay, Bunclody, 1946. Me, Marion, and Ellen.

The man, he supposed. So he'd been in the British Army in the war, and then gone back to family in Ireland? But why had he returned to London? What had happened to him?

He unzipped his protective suit and placed the box inside. The medal had to go somewhere else. It deserved to go somewhere else. Somewhere without the smell.

He had four days left in the job and then he had a week. A whole week to find Marion, Ellen and Muriel.

slavetothegrind

Donnie i read your piece a few times, i wanted to , but it confused me somewhat. I liked the set up but not the prose so much. Then i am after a pint or four after the match!

Alchemist, i liked yours, involving and flowing nicely. Good theme you usurping git.

pickarooney

Who's Muriel?

Toasterspark

Apart from the mysterious Muriel at the end, alchemist33 had the nicer story.

I love when I can start reading a piece and the sentences just flow really easily, which is how I felt reading this. A nice writing style.

El Guapo!

Really liked Alchemists story. I want to read more!

Can anyone play this game or is there a queue or do you need to be a regular contributor to the forum?

harrythehat

Dean09 wrote: »

Really liked Alchemists story. I want to read more!

Can anyone play this game or is there a queue or do you need to be a regular contributor to the forum?

Yeah same question, would love to get involved but I'm a total newbie to the board!

pickarooney

Read the first post for instructions.
"You can't be a writer unless you read"

El Guapo!

pickarooney wrote: »

Read the first post for instructions.
"You can't be a writer unless you read"

Cheers.
I was just wondering though was there a queue to play or is it 1st come 1st serve?

coffee_cake

everything that happens is published on thread. so if nobody has posted to say they are next then nobody is next

El Guapo!

bluewolf wrote: »

everything that happens is published on thread. so if nobody has posted to say they are next then nobody is next

Thanks for that.
Well if nobody minds I'd like to give it a go. Never really written before but I'd love to give it a shot

pickarooney

When the current round ends tonight Dean09's challenge to the winner can become official. Harrythehat is next in line but needs to come back and and confirm once the following round is over, just to keep things ticking over.

FeetMagicII

Would love a go at this too if the opportunity arises. Will check in tomorrow.

alchemist33

pickarooney wrote: »

Who's Muriel?

An unfortunate innocent; a victim of the editing process, I cast her aside like a holed sock. But I underestimated her and something remained, some lingering part of her essence.

DonnieScribbles

Looks like this one's yours too Alchemist, well done

alchemist33

Not yet, Donnie, but well-played anyway. If it's any consolation, my wife really liked yours.

pickarooney

alchemist33 wrote: »

Not yet, Donnie, but well-played anyway. If it's any consolation, my wife really liked yours.

Giggidyy:pac:

alchemist33

Dammit! Not being in after Hours, I let my guard down.

So, Dean09. Choose your weapon! (or theme)

(There's no way anyone could get a double entendre out of that)

El Guapo!

Ok never done this before so go easy on me!

Em......can't really think of a topic......
.....Ok just looked out the window and saw a taxi. So let's go with The Taxi......

alchemist33

So, 600 words of monologue then?

Game on!

El Guapo!

Jessica Lewis stood under the railway bridge shivering. She rubbed her hands together desperately trying to heat them up as the bitter November wind cut through her. It had been raining for nearly 3 days straight and tonight was no different.
She began to pace up and down the small pathway under the bridge just as she had done almost every night for the past 4 months. "Just a few more weeks" she told herself. "Just a few more weeks of this and I'll finally have enough money for Jack.
Then everything will be ok. You're doing this for him." Night after night she had to remind herself that it was necessary. If she could just get enough money to pay for the operation then there would be no need for this anymore. Jack would be better and they could be a family again. Being a struggling artist was hard enough, but being a single parent of a sick boy was harder.

The headlights of a car appeared through the heavy rain. "Here we go" she thought. "Finally, some money". Her heart raced. She still hadn't got used to it. She didn't want to. It wasn't exactly the life she had planned for herself but thingswere different now. She didn't just have herself to worry about. Her 4 year old son was counting on her.
As the car drove past without so much as a glance she had mixed emotions. Happy that she didn't have to do it again now, but on the other hand she needed that money. All she had in life was Jack. It was him she thought about every night as those horrible men made her do things she never wanted to do. As they lay on top of her, grunting and sweating, whispering in her ear...she just had to lay back and think of her beautiful boy. Memories of him before the sickness. Memories of him playing like a normal, happy boy. She was doin this for him. And when the men were finished she took the money, said "thank you", and got out of their car. It would be worth every penny if it meant saving him.

Her long legs ached from the cold. The short skirt donig nothing to protect her from the elements. The high heels cut at her toes. Blue from the cold. "Tools of the trade" she thought. The wind howled and tossed her short dark hair across her face."Please let someone come soon. Please"

A moment later she saw headlights in the distance. As they came nearer she opened the top button of her coat, revealing her cleavage. She stepped to the edge of the kerb and waited. A taxi. It wasn't unusual for taxi drivers to swing by the railwaybridge late at night and get some quick relief before they finished their shift. "Hopefully its a quick one" she prayed.
The yellow cab stopped beside her and the passenger door unlocked. "Looking for a good time?" she said, as she opened the door. "Yeah, hop in" the man said with a soft, kind voice. He was a good looking man in his mid thirties. He had strong, chiseled features and was well spoken. "Just the kind of guy I'd go for" Jessica thought. "...under different circumstances of course"

"Some night out there" the man said as he started to drive. "Yeah its a nasty one. But its nice and warm in here" replied Jessica, wondering how much small talk there would be before they got down to business.

"Dangerous part of town for a girl like you.
Why are you down this end of town?" he said with a kind smile. "Oh just seems like an ok place I suppose. Not many other girls down here to bother me" she said, holding her hands over the hot air vent.
"You seem like a nice girl. Why are you doing this for a living?" he asked as he turned a corner and headed toward the waterfront. "I have my reasons" Jessica said bluntly. She didn't want to get into a conversation. "Just get it over with and move on" she thought.
"Its not really a job for someone like you" he said. "Its not a job for anybody. Its disgusting" Jessica was confused. Was this guy someone who gets off on talking like this? Or was he another priest trying to convert her from her 'evil ways'?
She'd had a priest approach her on 2 seperate occasions and plead with her to embrace God. Whatever this guys 'thing' was, she just wanted to get paid and leave.
"Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor male prostitutes nor homosexual offenders" he said loudly "Corinthians 6:9"
It was just then Jessica noticed the crucifix hanging from the rear-view mirror, and the rosary beads wrapped around the drivers right hand. "Oh no" she thought, "he IS a preacher of some sort. Why can't he just fúck me and pay me like the rest of them"
The man stopped the car about 20 feet from the waterfront. The storm outside roared and chopped up the dark waters. "Listen mister, I think I better just go ok? Have a nice night" The man locked the doors and stared into Jessicas eyes. She started to panic now and clawed at the door handle. The mans strong hands reached accross her chest and held her in place. "You don't understand, do you?" he said, "I must clean the streets of the filth that plagues this city. For too long now the scum of the earth has ruined this city.
Robbing, murdering, defiling, giving drugs to our children, selling themselves like common whores!" he roared. "They have contaminated our city with evil and they must be stopped."

Jessica begged him to let her go, "Please, please, don't hurt me. I just wanna go home. I just want to see my son. He's sick, I'm only doing this for him. I'm a good person" Her mind raced to Jack, alone in the hospital where she left him earlier this evening. She gave him his favourite teddy-bear, kissed his cheek, and told him she'd be back first thing in the morning. She promised to bring him a new comic book like he asked. "Who will look after him?" she thought. The tears flowed down her cheeks as she begged for her life,
"Please, I won't tell anyone about this. Just let me go please! I've done nothing wrong, please let me go" she sobbed.
"I'm a messenger from God. I have to carry out what I've been sent here to do." he said softly. "I'm not the bad guy. Don't you see??" he said as a manic smile streched across his face. "I'm here to save you"
The mans right foot slammed the accelerator to the floor and the car raced toward the water.
Jessica closed her eyes and cried for her son.

alchemist33

It was so dark and wet that Martin would have had difficulty seeing him, if it hadn't been for the scythe held high in the air. Martin pulled over and allowed the cloaked and hooded figure to get into the back seat. He belted up and laid the scythe across his knees.

"Where to?" Martin asked.

"Mater hospital, please."

Martin pulled out into the street, trailing a truck that had just passed by.

"So, are you heading to a party?" It was a few days early for Halloween, but the youngsters these days didn't seem to need an excuse.

"No, work."

Martin glanced in the mirror to see if he was joking, but the hood obscured the passenger's features. He was either a wacko or taking the piss. "Okay. Are you a doctor, then?"

The passenger's voice was as smooth as chocolate, without a hint of any accent that Martin could name -- and he'd had all sorts in the back. "No, I transport people."

Martin smiled. "Leave your ambulance at home, did you?"

"Not quite. My usual mode of transportation is...lame."

"Riiight." Definitely a wacko. He hated having wackos in the back, almost as much as junkies. You never knew what they might do. He decided it was better to stay quiet then, rather than wind the wacko up.

The lights of the hospital were in view when the passenger spoke again. "You know you’re flouting the law?"

"What law?"

"The one where taxi drivers need to wear their seatbelts."

"What the fu--" The brake lights on the truck in front flared, the light diffused by the raindrops on his windscreen. Martin hit his own brakes and turned the wheel but it was too late. The car slid into the back of the truck and Martin's head was slammed against the steering wheel, his head rebounding off the glass. He felt his nose crumple and blood flow into his mouth.

Everything seemed to drift away as he slipped towards unconsciousness. He felt as much as saw his door open and then he was staring into an eyeless skull, framed by the cloak's hood.

"Out you come." His passenger lifted him out and threw him over his shoulder as if he was a doll. Martin groaned at the ache in his chest as he was carried along the street, a bony shoulder pressing up into his abdomen.

Seconds later, he was deposited outside the door of the A&E department.

Martin looked around as full comprehension dawned. "What...what am I doing here? You're...Death."

"Yeah." The skull's jaw lowered slightly, as if grinning. "But I'm off the clock. I've got..." He took an hourglass from under his cloak, "...three minutes left until my shift starts. Here..." A gloved hand proferred a number of coins which Martin accepted. "You're not getting a tip. I had to walk part of the way here and your car smells."

Martin nodded. It did need a clean.

Death suddenly slapped his head and gave a frustrated growl.

"What?" Martin asked.

"I left my f***ing scythe in the car. Right, got to go." Death set off at a run, and, gratefully, Martin stumbled through the doors of A&E.

alchemist33

Well, not a lot of votes cast there, which is a pity. Excellent story Dean (a li'l over 600 words but it was the length the story needed to be). Are you sure that's your first time writing?

El Guapo!

Yeah kinda quiet around her today. Friday night and all that!
Loved your story Alchemist! Looks like your gonna win, 2 votes to 1. Well deserved anyway the story was great.

Sorry about the length of my story, I didn't realise it was so long until I posted it. Kinda lost track of myself!
Yeah I've never written a thing in my life, I'm glad I gave it a go though, it was fun!

FeetMagicII

Anyone up for this now?

harrythehat

I'd like to take part....

alchemist33

pickarooney wrote: »

When the current round ends tonight Dean09's challenge to the winner can become official. Harrythehat is next in line but needs to come back and and confirm once the following round is over, just to keep things ticking over.

Accordingly, harry is next to make a challenge. So, you must challenge (with theme) and then i have 24 hours to accept.

(and then feetmagic2 can challenge the winner)

harrythehat

Consider me confirmed.

Theme: high heeled shoes