[Writing Contest] - THE ARENA

diasporabint

P.S. I'ld vote for yours Bluewolf, but I don't think I can yet - not enough posts.

slavetothegrind

14 minutes bluewolf?

coffee_cake

oh sorry i misunderstood
no it wasnt quite 14 mins
maybe half an hour or so

diasporabint

I can see this writing malarkey may take a bit of practise.
Congratulations on a landslide victory Bluewolf.

coffee_cake

thanks
in fairness nobody can resist plants vs zombies

RoundyMooney

Mind if I have a go Bluewolf? I haven't done this before

Your pick of topics, I take it?

coffee_cake

nope, challenger's choice

RoundyMooney

Thanks

I put something together this evening on "new beginnings" (emigration actually, as it turned out), but in spite of me, it ran to about 1300 words! I'm a n00b, I know.

Is that too long, and is it not de riguer to stick with the same topic? I'll happily let you call a new one, in the interest of the game, if you prefer that. Otherwise, I'll nominate, and attempt to write something a little less voluminous, up to you:)

coffee_cake

it needs to be written from scratch when you've made the challenge (and preferably after i've accepted it), and generally on a new topic

the limit is 600 words

post your "new beginnings" one in another thread though, shouldnt let it go to waste

still, you pick the topic

RoundyMooney

I think I'll do that, just to see what people think, be it good bad or indifferent.

Anyway, topic time-first thing that comes into my head: Television?

coffee_cake

ok cool

coffee_cake

Television

Mary first heard the voice from the television 3 months ago. It had started off harmlessly enough. She’d heard someone calling her name at odd times during the day, and it had taken a while to realise where it was coming from. But it had been getting more vocal and insistent lately. It told her to stop being so cowardly all the time. It told her if she didn’t do as it said, she really was as worthless as they all thought she was. It berated her constantly.

She tried asking the tv to leave her alone. She tried putting it at the back of a closet so she wouldn’t have to hear it anymore, but it started taunting her. She began to lose sleep, either from hearing it or worrying about it. She had no idea how to make it go away. It seemed she could hear it anywhere now.

When it finally suggested she actually hurt someone, she nearly cracked. Over and over again, it told her to lash out at someone. It told her how much it hated the people she spoke to and what it wanted to do to them. She became even more quiet and withdrawn and avoided people where possible, just so she wouldn’t have to hear it.

“Mary, your work yesterday was unacceptable. It was full of mistakes. I don’t know where your mind is lately, but this is just – Mary, are you listening to me?”
Hit her. Hurt her. Pick up that stapler and hit her with it.
“Yes, Sarah, I’m sorry, I am listening.”
“Mary, if you can’t even be bothered to listen to me… You’re useless. You’re staying late and fixing this up. Or I’m getting someone else to do your work for you, do you hear me?”
Pick up the stapler now. Or the computer. Anything. HIT HER.
“Eh, yes Sarah, I’ll fix it, I’m sorry.”
“Mary, what is your problem? Why are you looking at me like that?”
HIT HER UNTIL SHE STOPS. MAKE HER STOP. THEN SHE’LL NEVER TALK TO YOU LIKE THAT AGAIN.
“SHUT UP!!!”
“Mary, what the hell?!” Sarah stepped back.

Mary found the stapler in her hand, her arm raised over her head, ready to hit with it. She could see blood running down Sarah’s face, could see her crying out in pain. But she wasn’t. She hadn't really hit her, even though she could see it so clearly.

Mary looked around. The whole office had gone quiet and was staring at her.
“I think you’d better go home, right now. Don’t bother coming in tomorrow.”

Mary fled. All the way home, the tv insulted her. How she should have gone through with it. It told her to ram the car in front of her, how she should crash and the world would be better off without her.
After that, everything went blank.


When they came to arrest her for the death of a local man and woman the next day, they found her at her house, sitting beside a smashed tv and babbling about how it still wouldn’t stop.

RoundyMooney

Nice one, bluewolf. Sorry about the delay, had guests tonight so only got back to this about an hour ago.

Carson Nicks had been stepping out in front of the cameras, into the unblinking, unthinking glare of the spotlight for almost twenty years now, but that niggling lump in the back of his throat always tended to make its presence known before he did. Tonight was no exception of course. He thought wryly, as he always did on such occasions, that if they could read his mind, he'd be first in line for a fucking Oscar. His calm and witty onscreen affability was certainly worthy of one. If they only knew, eh? The Bobby DeNiros and Russell Crowes of this word could corpse on the first take, nip back to their trailers for a bit, and come back out swinging for another crack of the whip. Live TV was a merciless, and less lucrative paymaster. One shot, and you better make it count, buddy.

He had been doing The Evening Show for about fifteen years, give or take. And the blue rinse slot before that. Afternoons. Pensioners and housewives tuning to see soap stars flogging bargain basement biographies. Easy money and bubblegum TV. Then Freddie Nash decided, after thirty five years and three high profile alimony cases that it was time to bring down the curtain. He'd written the book, of course. And America nearly went into mourning when he called it a day. The last show was watched by about fifty million people, and Nicks wondered to himself if that long standing record was about to go the way of the dodo.

They told him the first night would be the hardest. The soon to become ubiquitous lump in the throat showed up, of course. Welcome to the big leagues, Nicksy boy. That night, in the green room before they went on air, he had another career first. Two of them, in fact. Scotches with ice. Just to steady the nerves, you know. Big shoes to fill. Advertisers to please. A new Cadillac with any extras you want if the viewing figures hold up-but the network don't need to know about that one. What the IRS don't know won't worry them.

Nash was in the audience of course. Left a note wedged to the dressing room mirror before heading off into the blue yonder with wife number four-”Not as easy as it looks, is it, kid?”

The figures held up that year, and Carson Nicks got his Caddy. And a lump in the throat every Saturday night at a few minutes before nine. Right on cue. The scotch didn't become a habit though. Xanax was far more discreet, and didn't carry on the breath. Raising a glass or three after the show was not only accepted, but encouraged. Nash had never hung around for the post mortems, so he made that practise his own, at least.

Being the premier chat show host in the country had opened a lot of doors over the years. Table reservations were for Other People. Corporate boxes weren't, and how do you fancy putting a bit of a stake on, Nicks? Just to make it interesting? Middle America would have a field day with that one. They certainly got off on the wholesome image. The childhood sweetheart and the two kids at home.

He had lost count of the women-you paid extra for discretion of course. Too much. The foreclosure was imminent. And then one of the stupid bitches got two blue lines on the test, and dollar signs in her eyes. You would have thought protection came as standard, wouldn't you? Not much in the way of protection when you aim four thousand pounds of Cadillac at a high end hooker, run around the block and hail a taxi to the studio, is there?

The band struck up the intro, and the applause reached a crescendo. As Carson Nicks stepped forward for the final and shortest show of his career, he wondered if an on air murder confession would get the attention of fifty million Americans.

pickarooney

It's frankly eerie how 'television' inspired both of you to have your characters run people over with cars...

This was the closest one in quite a while. I think the name 'Carson Nicks' just edged it over 'Mary' - there was that little in it.

coffee_cake

lol
i will have to start coming up with fantastical names so

RoundyMooney

I wouldn't mind, but I deliberately held off reading the other one, until mine was written!

The villainous Carson was a (sort of) portmanteau of the famous (and much nicer) Johnny, and of all people, Stevie Nicks, just because Fleetwood Mac was playing at the time, and I liked the sound of it.

I didn't have a clue where it was going until I had the first couple of lines down-need to work on that.

RoundyMooney

Think the title rests with Bluewolf? Thanks to pickarooney for the welcome input (and thanks ) and to those who took the time to read (whoever you thanked).

It has become fairly quiet though, which is a shame.

coffee_cake

RoundyMooney wrote: »

It has become fairly quiet though, which is a shame.

i don't object to a small break

i understand there's one or two who'll challenge at some stage so it won't go entirely dead

thanks again all

Das Kitty

bluewolf! I challenge thee!

Theme: Crush.

What says you?

coffee_cake

i says halp

yeah ok

coffee_cake

ok sorry to do this but im way too smothered with this cold to think straight

i can either forfeit or leave it til friday/saturday ;s

Das Kitty

Leave it 'til Saturday, I'll hold off posting mine until then.

needacchelp

This thread is class! Brilliant idea!

I'll probably join in soon, used to love writing when i was young and would like to get it going in some form again! Have had trouble finishing anything I start, but 600 words with a motivational 24 hour deadline sounds perfect!

If I do challenge anyone, I'll try and have a few stories written on previous topics first, and PM them to pickarooney or someone, to prove i won't just disappear after making the challenge. I actually already wrote one late last night on a topic here, but it's not much compared to the standard some of you guys have been setting.

Anyway, sorry if this post doesn't do much more than clog up the thread a bit. I thought saying hi would commit me a bit to coming back and joining in! So you'll hopefully see me entering a story sometime next week!

coffee_cake

it's really lovely to see this getting everyone into writing

coffee_cake

Crush

She looked at the blood-soaked body lying on the ground, with a knife through its chest, and felt nothing but relief.


It had started off so harmlessly. He’d approached her in a bar one night, recognising her instantly. Who didn’t, ever since Crush was released? He had charmed her at once, and weeks of time together went by in a flash. She found herself looking forward to hearing from him, smiling at nothing, blushing. But finally, she had preferred to go back to her carefree independent lifestyle, and ended it. He had taken it well, and they’d parted amicably.


Then the phone calls started. She filed reports, changed her number, but they continued. So did the letters. The police said they couldn’t do anything unless he made direct threats and told her not to worry. She worried anyway.
He seemed to show up in places she went to, always keeping just far enough away but still very much there. She started jumping at shadows, wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her, and feeling like she was going crazy. The doctor wasn’t much help either.


Last thing she remembered, she was eating her dinner alone in her house. Next, she was waking up groggily, on the floor of a room she did not recognise. He was sitting there watching her. She gasped and tried to shuffle away from him, but her limbs wouldn’t respond.
She looked around and realised she had no idea where she was. Some old abandoned house, it looked like. If she hadn’t been so completely worn down, she might have reacted with outrage, but as it was she looked at him between confused and wary.

“You wouldn’t talk to me anymore, Melanie. I tried to make you see sense. I’m sorry it had to come to this.” He smiled sadly. His eyes, the ones that had once enchanted her, made him seem not quite all there.

“To what? Look, I’m sorry, I – “

“Don’t patronise me, Melanie!” Suddenly he was standing over her, extremely angry, unpredictable. She stared in fear, not knowing what to say.

“I won’t let you go. If I can’t have you, nobody else will.”

“What do you- “ she began, and it was then that she saw the gun in his hand.

“Oh no. No, don’t do this, it’s not worth it. Christopher, listen to me!”

She looked around frantically.

“The door’s locked, Melanie, don’t bother. You’re not leaving now, not ever.”

She stood up and stumbled backwards until she hit a counter, feeling truly desperate. There was no way she could overpower him. He was yelling now, but she stopped listening. There had to be a way out, somehow. This looked like it might have been a kitchen once.
She fumbled behind her, not daring to look away. She managed to open a drawer. He was getting more worked up now, and was walking toward her, looming over her. She grabbed it, and blindly lashed out at him with it. “It” turned out to be a large breadknife. He looked at her, still lucid for a few last moments, and fell. It was over.

Das Kitty

Arrested for assault and fired from her job – Tuesday was not going well for Niamh. As she sat waiting, she wondered how she was going to explain what happened.

She had never really envisioned herself becoming a ‘juice-girl’, but when money was tight and the job was offered she wasn’t going to say no. She’d only started working in Crush two weeks ago. The work was easy (throw some fruit and yogurt into a blender and charge a fortune). The only thing that everyone hated was when a customer wanted freshly squeezed orange juice. That meant having to halve oranges and put them into the manual citrus squeezer. It took the kind of force to operate that left a person sore-shouldered for the day.

Well, there was another thing that everyone hated: Jason. Jason had been working there for two years – practically a lifetime in juice-bar staff terms. He was also the manager’s brother, and repellent. He had ‘a thing’ for Niamh and was not subtle about it. He would stand within breathing distance of her whenever he could, let his hand “accidentally” touch her leg as he passed, or stand behind her silently until she would turn around and collide with his crotch.

Niamh was disgusted…well to begin with. Jason was the kind of guy that she would take one look at and decide was sleazy. Add to that, his personality and you had one vile package. So it came as a surprise to her when one day he stood staring at her, eating an orange quarter in an obscene manner, that her reaction was not the usual chill of revulsion, but the tingle of arousal.

“No, no, no!” she hissed at her reflection in the staff toilet. “He’s disgusting, Niamh!” She scrubbed her hands extra hard. It was no use though; it just got worse after that.

That Tuesday morning he had been in particularly sparking form. He regaled the staff with tales of his latest conquest in nauseating detail. Oh God! she thought, What if I’m next? Then her mind started to run over the possibility, and then she caught herself. She knew that she had to fight this…sickness.

“Freshly squeezed orange juice please.” said Niamh’s next customer. She went to cut the oranges and suddenly Jason was behind her, his body was almost touching hers and she felt a shiver shoot up her body.
“Do you need a pair of manly arms to help you with that?” he asked breathing down her neck. He reached around her and rested his hand on the juicer, trapping her. Niamh’s poor, conflicted brain shorted out and she grabbed the arm of the juicer and forced it down with all her strength. After that it was a bit hazy, she had a recollection of blood and the term ‘crush-injury’.

She sat there; penniless and possibly facing charges and remembered that she wouldn’t be seeing Jason again. A smile drifted over her lips. Maybe Tuesday wasn’t going so badly after all.

slavetothegrind

read both again and das kitty edged it, if i were a betting man i'd say you wish that were true :pac:

Didn't think you reached your usual high standard there bluewolf.
Not in terms of the structure, i think you write really well , but the story was a little too predictable

jaysus i feel terrible saying that for some reason.....:(

coffee_cake

Half asleep and sick and not mad to win... I knew it was predictable, dont worry

coffee_cake

Grats DK

Das Kitty

bluewolf wrote: »

Grats DK

Thanks, I hadn't counted on winning though, I don't think I thought this through! :pac: