[Writing Contest] - THE ARENA

alchemist33

I suspect it doesn't refer to you, hous, but your opponent.

C'mon Mrs D, let's see what you've got.:)

harrythehat

Yalla habibi!

Mrs.Doubtfire

The River

"The river.

Elegant. But not quite still.

Another river. Another hill.

Descending river on the hill.

Be careful river not to spill."

Mark Mc Jacobs was the type of guy you always wished you could be. It seemed he could do no wrong. He was a hit with the ladies. Even Ellen Riley had become smitten by his charm. He got top grades. Always worked hard in school. He was friends with everyone. Everyone knew him. In his spare time he did all sorts of voluntary activities from door to door collections to looking after his grandfather. But he grew up awfully fast.

"The River.

Menacing.

Mark Mc Jacobs.

18."

He told Ellen everything. And she told him everything back. They were young, happy and in love. With dreams. The river had no dreams. Just a path and a current. And a dream. Wait no, no dream.

"The River.

Never Sleeps.

Never Eats.

Dangerous. River Fish."

Ellen had met Mark through their common obsession. Something that binded them together, also tore them apart. It's hard to tell a love story when the love isn't there. Sure they both loved or at least had strong feelings of unity, acceptance, serenity. But it wasn't entirely each other that they held these feelings for.

“The River.

A great voyage.

Hon the voyage.

Hon the river.”

Ellen was 15 when she left home. Mark only a few months older. How they got themselves in this situation is too sad a story to be told. People would see them walking around town holding each others’ hands, embracing, kissing, reminiscing. But no one could ever feel happy for them. Not jealousy, nor human nature. But sadness, or something greater. It was obvious to everyone what they were and what they were in store for.

“The River.

Easy on the eyes.

Hiding shadows are its lies.

Wash away everything.

The River sleeps tonight.”

When the news broke tears did fall. But deep down relief was felt by all. For 3 whole years, and 16 days, Romeo and Juliet had had their play. Mark and Ellen, such a sad tale, had been found dead with their holy grail. And nothing religious could be said for in this town their grail came from hell.

“The River.

Pushed and pulled.

And two dead bodies landed on its shores.

The River moves on to another day.

Mark & Ellen, oh so poor.

With them, heroin could do no more.”

hous

The sharpness of the water stabbed at my skin, the air around me was trying to tell me something but I could not grasp what it was saying. I was busy being stabbed.

The deepness of the river took me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting such murky depth. How stupid of me of course. Clarity of depth is in the eye of the beholder.

Understanding there is a depth to begin with helps sight to see and soul to feel beyond the murkiness. But I was too busy being stabbed.
On the embankment the shadow waited patiently.

‘Take your time” it called over, “I’m in no hurry’ and with a bemused detached watchfulness it observed me, struggling, fighting against the pull as I held my head up for air.

The same air that was trying to tell me something but all I wanted was one breath of it, one breath that it would not give. ‘One is not enough’ it whispered to my deaf ears.

‘You can take the air and it breathe it in but that would serve no purpose, no good can come of it, you would be breathing in something you know nothing about therefore they are wasted breaths’

“But I want to live” I cried out.
“Why?” the shadow asked as it sat on the bank skimming stones across the surface of the water, ignoring my plight.

I couldn’t answer.

I reached out and found the embankment and grabbed at the wet mud, digging my fingernails into the dirt and rock. The shadow lit up a cigarette as it watched the show.

The fight and fear coursing through my veins numbed the pain from my bleeding fingers allowing me to continue clawing, scraping away layer after layer of skin until stark white glint of bone exposed itself through my mauled and stunted fingers. And still I clawed and scraped.

Crawling to the bank, bleeding, clothes torn, hair wet hanging like dead snakes around my shoulders I looked around panting. But everything was the same. Everything was as it always was. The shadow picked up another stone and threw it out to the still river, then another and another until a steady stream of stones arched across the winter sky.

Andromeda winked down at me as she danced around the stone of Cetus. The River accepted each offering one after the other without question and each stone launched and disappeared without resistance and I watched, breathing in gulps of the air that I so desperately craved.
The air, the river, the trees nothing had changed, everything was as it always was.

It was me.

I looked down and finally saw what I had done. Now it was time to face the pain. I screamed and screamed, my bludgeoned fingers, stunted and bleeding from all that time spent clinging and clawing burned the pain of a thousand fires, the patches of raw scalp from where my hair had been ripped as I struggled against the tangles of reeds throbbed as a constant backbeat to the aches in my twisted limbs.

The shadow flicked its cigarette, it let out a dying hiss as it extinguished itself in the dark water, then slowly idled over.

“Are you ready to jump back in?”

I looked down at my broken body

“Yes”

It smiled, took my hand and led me back to the patch of embankment that was scratched and clawed from my earlier fight. I heard it laughing as I fell backwards again into the depths of the unknown.

Only when I accepted I was drowning did I stop drowning.

harrythehat

Looks like hous is going to take it, congratulations, great story!

hous

harrythehat wrote: »

Looks like hous is going to take it, congratulations, great story!

Thanks Harry thats nice to hear

hous

Has the thread started to run out of steam? Anyone out there like to write a short story?

Antilles

I spent all last month doing NaNoWriMo prep, and am spending all this month doing NaNoWriMo. I'm planning on a return to the arena in early December!

angelll

I'll give it another go Eh theme....(seeing as we just ate)...dinner!

hous

thank god you hadnt just been to the loo!

angelll

It was starting to get dark at 5 pm,time to turn in for the night. Parents hurried in their children off the streets for dinner time. In the town centre six people remained.
Pat was 56,in a former life he was a carpenter. Now he was becoming yellow and his stomach was inflating rapidly ,a sign of the cancer ravaging his body.
Lucy was 23,a secretary. Her leg had become infected by a cut and she had developed tetanus. She sat slumped against a wall,sweat pouring off her face,struggling to breathe.
Harriet,known affectionately by everyone as Harry was 84,she stood upright and proud,still able to hold her ground. She had been a nurse for 40 years and helped out in the everyday life of the village.
The three others were the chief and two guards,anonymous beneath black hoods,chosen from the rest that morning by picking straws. The eyes of everyone were on the box that sat on the ground,inside were the three names, picked from the elderly and infirm freshly that morning.
Low growls started from outside the village walls,it was time. The chief picked up the box and picked one piece of paper tightly folded and held it up for all to see. He knew that while no one could be seen with them on the road,nevertheless everyone was watching.
He unfolded the paper and read out the name,'Lucy'. Harry and Pat bowed their heads in relief,they knew their time would come soon but for now they were safe. Lucy began moaning with fright and delirium,'No' she shouted,'please no'.
The guards grabbed her under the arms and dragged her up the steps to the top of the gate,trying to ignore her pleas for help. The noise outside the gates reached a frenzy when they saw the guards for they knew what would come,it was dinner time after all.

hous

Set the table, pour the wine, Come in from the cold its time to dine.

A banquet beckons like a feast for kings.There’s rib eye steaks and chicken wings.

Sorbets and soups, turkey and ham.Fillet au fish and a leg of lamb.

Candles light up greedy eyes, as they scan the tarts and sweet mince pies.

Melted butter drips from chins, stifled burps and sheepish grins.

Too much port, heads feel light.Waist bands and belt buckles pulled in too tight.

Let the rain beat, let the wind howl. As we slurp up the juice from the guinea fowl.

Glasses clink, toasts are raised as the beef in the kitchen waits to be braised

Time for a break, a smoke at the door, Its not over yet theres so much more.

Its a six course feast, and this is only course four!

We’ve had smoked haddock with peas, biscuits with cheese, the taste of which brought us down to our knees

The tables filled, bums on seats. Tucking into juicy meats

Pouring sauces over sloppy swede. Theres more than we want, more than we need

a drop more brandy I should think. Its not like me, I don’t usually drink!

But its hard to resist , As I sit in the midst , Of such decadent diners, Growing steadily pissed.

We talk about this, We laugh about that, Between forkfuls of pork,Dripping in fat.

Then gasps of delight, As we all catch sight ,of the freshly baked cakes towards the end of night.

The hostess looks on as her guests coo and fawn, Declaring her hosting is second to none

She knows this is true, of course it is plain .She stifles a yawn and looks out at the rain

Would it be rude to tell them to go, Off to their homes in the sleet and snow
After being warmed in the fire glow . She couldn’t do that, could she? Oh no!

Let them stay, what else could she do. They’ll tell stories by the fire Like in ‘turn of the screw’

But first time for coffee with a mint chocolate treat. Our hostess is marvellous the dinner guests bleat

As the waiters wait, still and discreet, Trying to ignore the aches in their feet
Stealing looks at the clock , As the seconds crawl by, Hearts sinking deeper

As rain falls from the sky. Perhaps they could take home Some left over pie
They needed something to compensate, For the hostess making them stay back late

But as she said before, that is their fate, Hostesses host and waiters wait
It’s almost over, the waiters conspire as they clear up dishes while the guests retire, to finish their coffees by the open fire

Their shift is done, they head for home, in the dead of night, coats pulled tight, battling through the driving rain, thumbing lifts, trying in vain

While we curl up in our cosy beds holding our guts and resting sore heads
and our hostess smiles in her sleep like a winner, as she dreams peaceful dreams of a fabulous Dinner!

Haggis The Dog

i think competition is over now, if so can i get next in line to challenge please?

angelll

I think it was over as soon as hous posted his story Well done!

Haggis The Dog

ok...so the title for my challenge is: cold

Haggis The Dog

I can’t feel my legs…I’m not sure if it due to the cold or because they are trapped in the wreckage. I said to slow down, the snow and ice made the conditions dangerous, but dad knew best, he is invincible,least I thought he was, how wrong can you be?

I’m looking to my right and I can see his limp lifeless body slowly turning blue alongside me…why tonight? Why did he choose tonight to go and collect her? Things haven’t been the same since my mom left, my dad cherished her, she was his soul mate. She never said why she left me behind, I guess I cramped her style..nobody wants a 12 yr old daughter hanging onto you when you are out looking for a new beau.

Dad met Chloe about a year after my mom left, I didn’t like her, I think she was threatened by me and made it clear she was only interested in my dad, she had no desire to bring up a child.

Dad and I were both in the house this evening having a bite to eat when she called, she had been out with friends and had too much to drink and wanted picking up as she didn’t want to drive home. I looked outside and the snow was falling heavy and was beginning to freeze in the cold night air…I begged my dad not too go as it was too dangerous to drive, begged him to call her a taxi, but no my dad wanted to be the knight in shining armour, rescuing his damsel in her hour of need.

The village is set in a deep valley and we always get snow particularly bad at this time of year…as we turned into the steep left turn of the hill I could feel the car momentarily lose control, for that split second dad seemed to loose his air of confidence and as he frantically turned the wheel we edged closer towards the end of the road, he looked at me, i could see from his eyes that he was scared, his eyes burned inside me, filled me with a warmth that only the look of a father can …time seemed to stand still as we careered over the barrier and dropped down the steep mountainside into the woods below…as we fell everything seemed calm, almost motionless..i’m not sure what happened next…all I can remember is waking up to my dad motionless in the seat next to me and having no feelings in my legs…I reached down to pinch myself, I felt a cold moistness on my jeans, as I held up my hand I could faintly make out in the light from the headlights reflecting on the snow that it was blood

I didn’t feel injured I felt fine, just unbelievably cold…I sat there for what seemed like an eternity, as every hour went by I felt weaker, why isn’t anyone here? surely someone must be missing us? or saw the road where we came off, why hadn’t she rang the police? I was beginning to feel drowsy and told myself that I must stay awake, my eyes became heavy and my breathing shallow, in those final seconds I thought to myself who would I have become? how would i have lived my life?…as I closed my eyes for the final time I was overwhelmed by the thought that everyone says when you die that you see the light, a big beautiful bright white light…but my light was blue, why was it blue…

furzebush

So well done. You create the cold so well, the 'joke' is that it's even more evident than the terror or tragedy. I love reading this site, but I'm not exactly sure how it works, or if I should vote for the story, or comment on it.

pickarooney

furzebush wrote: »

So well done. You create the cold so well, the 'joke' is that it's even more evident than the terror or tragedy. I love reading this site, but I'm not exactly sure how it works, or if I should vote for the story, or comment on it.

This is not Stalinist Russia. you shall not vote until both parties have presented themselves.

The Mad Hatter

Speaking of which, did the champion even accept the challenge?

pickarooney

Not that I can see

hous

I watch Nanny as she sways gently in her rocking chair by the fire. She has that distant look in her pale failing eyes, the look that tells me that a story is forming and I lie patiently on the floor by her feet watching the flames dance their way through the kindling and pine cones.

A blast of November wind rattles at the thin window and Nanny laughs exposing glistening gums in the firelight. When she sees the fear in my eyes she stops laughing immediately

"Don’t worry" she whispers soothingly "They are friendly spirits"
she lisps the word ‘spirits’ so it comes out like ‘thpirith’ and now it is my turn to laugh.

"Come in my little sprites" she calls to the door of her creaking cabin set deep in the woods

"Come in out of the cold and warm yourselves by the fire" The fire bursts in hospitable affirmation. The curtains billow as the spirits work their way through the tiny cabin and I wrap my blanket tight around my shivering shoulders as Nanny leans over, creaking like the old floorboards as she throws the fire some more wood which it feasts on hungrily.

"Did I tell you about the day I saw a body floating on the river?"
I shake my head silently not sure if I want to hear.

"I watched as the police fished it out, I will never forget the pale lifeless limbs, even paler against the rich redness of the soaked dress clinging to the poor girl’s dead body. She had slipped on the embankment they said. I stood and watched hidden behind the sycamore at the other side of the river while her parents held each other.

My heart pounded in my ears as I listened to the little girl’s mother wailing like a banshee. I knew then that it was up to me to do something to ease this poor woman’s suffering.

I whispered quietly and allowed the river to carry my words across to the girl’s body then watched with wide eyes as her spirit rose up, free and full of impish mischief, she danced around the policeman busy in their work, zipping up the body bag and slamming the van doors. Then she reached out and touched her mother’s broken face.

For a brief moment her mother glowed a brilliant white, like the white of an angel as her daughter’s spirit passed through her. I watched intently for the knowing flicker to light up her sad eyes, that’s always been my favourite part of the job. There is nothing more beautiful than watching someone wake up from life’s dream.

As the girls spirit left her mother the sky grew dark and cold and although the mother was still wrapped in the raw heartache that only losing someone dear can bring, I sensed the contentment deep within that she would be ok.

Before I turned to head back home the girl’s Mother looked across the river to me instinctively and smiled, I nodded my head in acknowledgement then left"

Nanny stopped for a moment and looked around the room smiling as if addressing an audience.

"The problem is" she began, chuckling softly as she swayed back and forth "once you lift a spirit, it won’t leave you alone and my cabin is only small and... well, I’m running out of space for you all!" then she looked down at me as I held my hands above the flames.
"Is your dress dry yet little sprite?"
I pressed my palms onto the warm red fabric.
"Almost" I replied.

me-skywalker

Well done Haggis really good piece. It was very well mapped out and clearly well defined. I just feel that it wasn't very original, even on this thread there has been similar work. I felt disengaged after the second paragraph I just didn't connect personally.

Hous, your piece was very concise, very lean. The descriptions were not prolonged strings and it flowed nicely to a comfortable if not outstanding end.

Well done both... and yet gain I'll mention more themes of death! lol

I havnt had much time to write recently and hopefully Ill be able to get in on Monday and make a challenge again isntead of jsut through my opinion out there.

swordofislam

hous I loved it but I felt that haggis the dog dealt with the theme better. So he/she (he) got my vote.
Can I be a challenger on this please?

hous

As much fun as I've had my book won't write itself, so sadly I am going to have to vacate the title...hopefully when my book is finished I'll be able to take part fully again.

Thanks to all those that enjoyed my stories.

Hous

David Higgins

Dublin:
Tracksuits. Headshops. Gardai. Cheasy rock. Cheesy dance music. Oxegen. 98 FM. Boards.ie
Gather irish sites like 123.ie etc and publish review site. Fake FIFTY euro notes. Turkish Lira. Travellers
Gangland. Limerick mafia. Mobile phones. Huzzar. Druids. Devils bit. Dutch gold.
Hinda civics. Mitsubishi tabs. Sharks 8.5s. Morrocan soapbar. Red rizla. Tinfoil. Adjustable lighers.
4 Euro quickpick. Facebook. Bebo. Phishing scams. Nigerians. Polish shops.
EURO Shops. Bikers crisps. Meanies. Pollen. Hydroponics. Spice. Salvia. Peruvian torch
Gortexes. Blue WKD. Piranha. Markets. Fake runners fake sun glasses. John player blue. Players
Major. Bike theft. Free public wifi. College. Offers.

9 BAR. Half ounces
Smoking whip
State of you
Smell of ghoul
Bleedin rapid
Taking it ham and cheesy
Story horse
Alrite bud
Nice one
Fair play
Giz a shot of yer bike

pickarooney

Are you startin'?

El Guapo!

Is it just me or is this thread dying?

Morzadec

Newbie to the thread

Wouldn't mind giving this a shot sometime if possible. Happy to wait a while and give feedback if needs be.

Cheers.

slavetothegrind

pickarooney wrote: »

Are you startin'?

Leave out the fightin' talk :p

Antilles

All right, I think I'll give this another go. Somebody name a theme and let's rumble.

GOURANGA!