June Writing Contest - Voting
This thread should've been up a few hours ago, but you know how it is. I mean, the Confederations Cup final wasn't going to watch itself and that was on at 4 am. The United States almost won, leading 2 - 0 at half-time, but Brazil came back for a 3 - 2 victory.
Alright, folks, it's time for the voting portion of the June Writing Contest. Simply vote for your two favourite pieces of writing. The votes will be tallied and the entry with the most votes will receive the coveted first place and the entry with the second-most votes will have to settle for the slightly-less-impressive but still-more-impressive-than-third second place.
The winner will receive a shiny first place banner and get to choose the style and theme for next month's contest.
And here are the entries for June's Writing Contest, written as excerpts from larger works, with the theme 'and that's when he/she got mad'.
Entry One
Ice Queen
It was freezing cold as the students first entered the classroom, wet from the downpour outside. After quickly drying themselves the students stumbled to their desks chattering amongst themselves. As the students unpacked, preparing for the lesson, the classroom warmed up, for the heater was on and the door was shut. The room was cosy.
The warmth disappeared, dashing through the recently opened door. A chill swept through the students. They turned to peer at who had entered. The Ice Queen.
Her face was masked with makeup, their has was an unnatural shade of blond, her clothes were barely in the school uniform rule. The queen swept her ice cold eyes across the room before settling on the back corner. Smiling she strode forward, the door behind her wide open.
People continued to stare as the queen passed, ones full of anger, amusement, and even one of pure sadness. The Queen glared at that one, the girl quickly looking down, avoiding the cold gaze. Someone behind them muttered an offending word at the queen, but she ignored that, the person was nothing compared to her. The queen sat down and prepared for the lesson, like the other students.
A hour passed. The lunch bell rung. The students quickly exited out, leaving the classroom emply. Then, five minutes later, the queen, snuck back into the room, retrieving the folder that she had accidently left behind. She smiled upon claiming her object.
"Coward," a voice whispered behind the Ice Queen.
The queen shrieked in shock and turned to face the voice.
Another girl sat on one of the desks smirking. Her face was free of makeup, her hair a shade of chocolate brown. The queen hadn't set eyes on this girl for over a year. She would have gladly never seen her again.
"You!" yelled the Queen, her body shaking in anger. The girl simply sat there, smiling.
"Are you happy?" She said simply.
"Of course I am!" the Queen snapped, "I have great friends, great looks and a great life! I'm popular! Something that you could never achieve!"
"Is popularity really that matters? Is it worth losing great friends over?"
"What are you talking about? I have fantastic friends!" the queen raged, her face cracking in ager.
"Really? The friends who ditched you before coming to class? The friends who talk about you behind your back? Th-"
"Shut up! Shut up!" The Queen commanded, thowing the folder at the girl, who didn't even move. The missed, slamming into the wall behind, "My friends are just fine!"
"You have some serious thinking to do if you think that," the girl said snorting,"I wonder what will happen when your 'friends' get bored of you. Hmm, I thin they will most likely ditch you and you'll be all alone in the whole wide world. Then what will you have? Your looks I suppose, but how much can you rely on it? Good luck my dear Ice Queen, you'll need it," with that she left the classroom, fading into the distance.
The queen sat there staring at the door, all her rage gone, and somewhere, she was thinking hard. She knew, the girl was right, after all, the girl was her, a year ago.
Entry Two
Mindreaders
I bit my lip, glaring, utterly speechless. How could he have done it? I thought I knew Klink. I really did.
“You-I-That is-”
Klink stared at me coldly, leaning against the wooden wall. “Just because I beat you? Talk about sore,” he said smoothly. “Or is it… something else?” A sneer contorted his fine features. “Well, go on, then,” he continued, “do tell.”
I bit my lip angrily. “If you must know, Klink, joining Thilo hasn’t exactly won my trust. You…you killed him. Reran, I mean. You know how close I was to him,” I spat. Klink didn’t even flinch. Shrugging noncommittally, he smirked.
“Well, well, well. I see the little wildcat doesn’t like Thilo.”
I didn’t respond, except to hiss with fury. Klink... I hated him. I despised him more than I had despised anything before. How did such an intelligent race as the Herans spawn such a beast?
Suddenly, faster than a striking snake, Klink lashed out and drove his pale blue, leather-clad fist into my mouth. Blood instantly gushed into my mouth, and I coughed it out in a great red glob. “Wha wuzzat for?” I slurred, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. The youth frowned down at me.
“Herans can read minds, you know. It took remarkable restraint not to harm you before then. We only ask you things because, one: it’s polite, and two: we can only hear what’s on your mind at that second.”
I mentally slapped myself. Duh. That was standard stuff, there; every school in the country taught of the Fifty Great Races, as I’ve mentioned before in this manuscript. Herans were best known for their physical prowess and mental abilities.
Klink abruptly turned, stretching like a cat. “Hate to disrupt our meeting, Kata, but I absolutely must go… You see, Thilo, for one, expects his followers to be prompt. Unlike your Shade. Ta-ta, Kata. I have a feeling we’ll meet again.”
He glided down the alleyway, his leather boots leaving large prints in the thick dust. I watched him go, a feeling somewhat like sadness blossoming in my chest. Shaking my head, I cleared my thoughts. Sadness? For Reran’s murderer? Surely I was insane. Anger attacked the small bit of sympathy. I, too, turned heel and stalked away, murmuring curses under my breath.
Far behind me, people gradually came back to the alley.
I didn’t care. Anger does that to you.
Entry Three
Excerpt for Highland Wars III: Revenge of the Scots
What follows is an excerpt from Highland Wars III: Revenge of the Scots, a completely historically accurate account of the Wars of Scottish Independence (or some other conflict where the Scots and English were very angry at each other).
Chapter the five-and-twentieth
In which Lord William sallies forth from his castle and defeats the English besiegers
“I don’t think we can last much longer, my lord” Robert said. “We’ve run out of just about anything remotely edible.”
“Ye must be daft, laddie,” Williams said. “We hae enough food to last us fer ages.”
“Well we’ve been under siege for ages.”
“Only since September, laddie.”
“That’s September, fifteen years ago.”
William drank the contents of a whiskey bottle, then threw it out of the window. It had been the sixth bottle he had drank today, which displeased him greatly as before supplies became scarce he would’ve usually been at his tenth bottle by this time of day.
“I’m afraid we have no choice, my lord,” Robert said. “We must eat our bagpipes.”
“Never! These bagpipes symbolize all we stand fer! Me father’s father hae decreed tha no bagpipes shall ever be eaten in the house o’ the Clan o’ the McGlaswegians, an’ I stand by tha!”
“Maybe we should just surrender,” Robert suggested.
“Surrender? A true Scotsman never surrenders! We’re braver than tha! There’s a reason there’s a song called Scotland the Brave! Sing it with me! Ruuuuule, Scotland, Scoootland rule the waaaaves, Scooooootland always-always-always wiiiiill beee braaave!”
“That’s just Rule, Britannia! with slightly altered lyrics!”
“Well anyway, if our supplies can run out so can those o’ the enemy. Eventually they’ll just hae to go home ‘n retreat.”
“They get resupplied on a regular basis.”
“Ach, ‘t would be nice if I hae known tha earlier so I could hae taken tha into account when I was makin’ me plans to get through this siege.”
“So do we give in now?”
“Aye. We hae lost, an’ there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Ay Englishmen!” William shouted. “C’mere, ye bloody pansies!”
The British commander, Edward Duke of Crumpetshire and Third Earl of Grey, came from his tent to meet William.
“So, you’ve come to surrender, haven’t you?” Edward said.
“Aye.”
“Very well. All I ask is that you comply with out simple demands. First of all, you shall swear loyalty to the English Crown.”
“Aye, if I hae to.”
“Secondly, all people on your lands are to be evicted and replaced by sheep.”
“Aye.”
“Thirdly, the sound of bagpipes shall never again echo across these lands.”
“’Tis sad indeed tha it hae come to this, but I hae no choice but to agree.”
“And finally, we’re thinking of placing a tax of one penny on every litre of whiskey.”
William’s blow to Edward’s face was fast and powerful.
“Nobody takes away me whiskey!” he said, and he grabbed a bottle and downed its contents.
“RAAAAAAGE!”
The English were now rushing at William from all sides.
Robert and Andrew were looking at the scene from the window.
“Well, he’s a goner,” Robert said.
“I call dibs on his room!” Andrew said.
“Damn you,” Robert replied.
In the mean time, the English were getting pounded.
“Nothing can beat a drunken Scotsman!” William screamed. “WRAAAAAGH!”
Finally, the English retreated. Many were driven into nearby Loch Haggis, few managed to escape with their lives.
Scotland’s independence had been saved, for now.
Entry Four
Excerpt from 'Mercy Dash 3: The Vengeance of Revenge'
The jet-ski landed with a splash and, with the throttle at full, shot across the waves. Agent Dashington looked back over his shoulder at the warehouse that was now fully ablaze. How could he be so blind? It should have been obvious that Agent Sexanova had been playing both sides from the beginning. His attention returned to the front of his vehicle as the air filled with the deafening sound of a helicopter's rotors. It was one of Kilmaster's attack squadron, fitted out with all the heavy weaponry his illegal crocodile-smuggling empire could afford. The helicopter's machine guns opened with a barrage of bullets. Dashington weaved in and out of the fire. The occasional bullet clanged off the jet-ski, sending sparks flying as the International Secret Agent looked for a solution. His eyes lit up as he saw a speed-boat in front of him.
The helicopter flew ahead and turned around, facing Dashington's jet-ski. The speed-boat was between them. At full speed, Dashington flipped a switch to activate the customised jet-ski's missile launcher. He fired a missle directly at the speed-boat. It rocketed through the air as the couple on the speed-boat jumped clear. KABOOM! It struck the speed-boat causing it to capsize. The jet-ski powered forward, the helicopter let loose a volley of violent vengeance. The jet-ski hit the exposed underside of the speedboat. It acted as a ramp and the jet-ski flew through the air towards the helicopter. Dashington drew his pistol and fired at the windows on the front of the helicopter. They shattered just in time as he leapt off the jet-ski towards the helicopter. He flew through the open window, rolling as he landed on the floor of the aircraft's interior. The jet-ski crashed in to the front of the helicopter, causing the chopper pilot to lose control momentarily.
But it was just the moment Dashington needed. He unfastened the pilot's restraints and pulled the henchman's parachute cord. The parachute was sucked outside of the helicopter through the window due to the difference in air pressure and immediately found itself entangled in the rotors. The henchman was wrenched out of the helicopter and into the blades. A red mist filled the air.
“No need to feel chopped up about it,” he said to no one in particular as he took the pilot's seat.
A voice came over the radio in the helicopter, “You're proving to be quite bad for business. I have something that might make you think twice about what you're doing.”
“Kilmaster,” Dashington spat the word. “I already know about Agent Sexanova.”
“Oh, no, you misunderstand,” Kilmaster paused. “...seat warmers, leather interior, and, let's see...five cup holders. And a number of customizations from your organisation of course. It would be a shame for Betsy to come to any harm.”
And that's when Agent Dashington got mad.
“Kilmaster,” said Agent Dashington. “Expect the killing of you...by me...”
Entry Five
Last Night
After last night all Mark wanted to do was sleep and drink, but he could not afford to miss work, the rent was due this pay check, and he could barely afford food. After his shower, he got dressed and went toward the stairs; a yummy smell hit him like a wall as he walked down. He walked into the kitchen eggs, bacon, and sausage, popped and sizzled on the various skillets, bread toasting in the toaster oven. His wife was calm and collected running around the kitchen, where he would have been frantic and scattered. When he saw all the food, he thought to himself: we can’t afford all this cooking.
“Good morning honey,” said Mary, his wife.
“What are you doing?”
“Well last night you were complaining so much about what happened,” she began, “so I thought a nice big breakfast would make you feel better.”
“Honey, we lost all that money because of me,” he said with shame, “if I had--”
“What happened doesn’t matter,” she interrupted.
He looked at her. He couldn’t believe his ears. Was she serious? All the money he lost, and it doesn’t matter?
“I lost one hundred thousand dollars,” he yelled then picked up a plate and tossed it at the wall, “what the **** do you mean it doesn’t matter?”
“Listen,” she said calmly, “we can make the money back, now please calm down.”
“No, it’s not alright,” he said with rage, “be mad at me, I pissed away our life savings,” he calmed for a second and cried, “please be mad at me.”
She stood over him, and looked down, her fists clinched and her face angry. She hit him, and hit him again.
“What is your problem,” she said angrily she hit him one more time, “I have been cleaning peoples disgusting houses, for fifteen years, while you go to your fancy desk in your fancy office, in that fancy building, and what do you do all day, look at pictures of girls and you judge them on their beauty and boobs, you make me sick.”
She slapped him, he cried, but she did not care, she turned around and grabbed a skillet. She dumped out the bacon, “you are a terrible person,” she said then readied to hit him with the skillet.
“I’m sorry,” he cried.
This infuriated her, she scowled and swung. The hot skillet contacted his face, he screamed. She looked at what she had wasted her life on; she dropped the skillet as he continued to cry on the ground. After a minute she left him, and walked up stairs.
And those are the entries. What a fantastic turn-out, folks. Let's hope for even more writing next month! Ladies and gentleman, start your voting.
06-29-2009, 02:54 AM
