WRiTE CLUB - Semi-Finals Round 4

I want to start off by thanking everyone who has voted so far.  Each one means a lot, and the feedback to the WRiTER’s has been awesome.  But there’s no letting up because now it’s time to move onto Round #4.  Once again, the winners will be announced at noon on Sunday and the next phase will kick off next Tuesday (right after the ORIGINS blogfest).  Read the submission from each WRiTER carefully and leave your vote for the sample that resonates with you the most.  Don’t forget to offer some opinions if you have time.  Anyone reading this can vote, so blog / tweet / facebook / text / smoke signal everyone you know and get them to participate as well.  Good luck to both WRiTER’s!

And now…..

Coming to the ring now is our round nine winner.....LILY MASON


Mr. Griffin held out a lumpy gold paperweight the size of his palm. "This is all I have that'll hold a spell for an extended period of time.”

I plucked it from his palm and held it up to the light. A frog prince with a jewel-encrusted crown and two glittering emerald eyes returned my gaze. I smiled at it, my stomach fluttering as the urge to kiss it overwhelmed me. Feeling silly, I gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Mr. Griffin gave me an amused look while Angie giggled.

"In the original fairytale, the princess threw the frog against a wall before he turned into the handsome prince." Mr. Griffin said.

Angie scoffed. "She physically abused prince charming while he was a frog and he still married her? Jeez, what a loser."

The frog’s glittering eyes watched me. I narrowed my eyes and whispered to him, "Is that what I’m supposed to do?"

Angie lunged forward. "You’re already dating a frog, let me try."

I dodged her and tossed the frog. It sailed through the air and struck the wall, leaving a dent the size of my fist before thunking to the floor. It wobbled to a stop at my feet like a boomerang.

I looked sheepishly at Mr. Griffin, my cheeks burning. My apology barely bubbled out before the door opened and my ex, Jesse stepped through it.

My breath caught and I stared. He had been gone for sixteen months. No goodbye. No forwarding address. He simply vanished.

He’d been working out while he was gone. His grey t-shirt hugged his chest and arms. The hand in his front jeans pocket tugged his waistline down just enough to reveal a little skin. He could model for one of those ads where they sold clothes using nearly naked hotties.
 

Angie gave me a wide-eyed look before running over to give him a hug. She squealed when he picked her up and twirled her around.

I rolled my eyes. What a suck up.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Mr. Griffin said, holding out his hand, “How are you?”

Jesse shook hands before his gaze shifted to me, his mouth set in a thin hard line. “I’m fine, sir.”

Mr. Griffin glanced at us, cleared his throat, and said, “Angie, I need your help out front.”

Reluctantly, Angie smacked Jesse on the butt and followed her dad out of the room, shooting me a wicked smile.

Feeling awkward, I picked up the frog. I hefted it in my palm twice, admiring the weight of it. I contemplated pitching it at Jesse’s head, but set it on the table instead.

When I looked up, he was close. Too close. There was a white scar above his lip that hadn’t been there before.

I decided focusing on his lips was a bad idea. “Did you come to apologize for being a jerk?”

His bright blue eyes studied my face. “I missed you too.”

 

And her opponent, our round seven winner......TERRI LEE


Running as hard as I can, I weave in and out of the trees. I know the way by now. A sense of dread fills me as I realize this time though, it’s not a dream. My heart is beating in time with my footsteps, echoing loudly in my head. Following the sounds of the fight, I begin running in that direction. It’s just like my nightmare. The moonlight, me running through the silver lit trees. Branches scratching my face as I run by. Running into the clearing I see my worst fear come true. The fight had taken place without me. Scanning the remains, my eyes stop, my breath catches in my chest.

“Ethan!” I scream, stumbling to the ground where he is. There’s a large stick, almost spear like, protruding from his upper left chest. I carefully gather up his chest and head, cradling him in my arms.

“Stella,” he chokes out.

“Shh, Ethan, don’t try to talk,” I whisper to him, tears streaming down my face. Gently brushing his hair off his forehead, I meet his dark cobalt gaze.

“I love you,” he confesses to me, as he gently wipes one of my tears away. “It’s always been you. Only you.”

“I love you.” Leaning my face down to him, I lightly press my lips to his.

“Death cannot change that,” he begins to cough weakly, his breath becoming sporadic. I watch his hand fall softly to the ground.

“No. Ethan, please, please don’t leave me,” I plead uselessly, my tears running down my face onto his.

I feel his last breath on my cheek; the last beat his heart makes painfully stops mine.

“Noo!” I cry, sobbing as I gasp for air.

Time changes, seconds to minutes, minutes to hours, hours to days. A million thoughts bombard my mind. My chest threatens to crush me whole, the pain threatening to consume me. Visions overcome me. When Ethan and I were sitting side by side on our rock. The first time he kissed me. The night he saved me. All the little moments where I could just be with him. All the times where I could glance up in physics class and catch him smiling at me. I’ll never see that smile again. That thought crushes my chest so hard I fear I can’t breathe.

Looking down at my hands, I see grey. I know once again it’s a trick of the moonlight. It should be red. It’s the dream, my nightmare come true. The dead boy was always Ethan and Ben was the evil one. I hear someone screaming and realize that it’s me.

Rage begins to replace my sadness. I fight the coldness that threatens to overtake me; I fight it with a fire now starting to burn inside of me. The fire blazing like it’s consuming dry kindle. He will not die today. Not if I can do anything about it… and I can.

Good luck to both WRiTER's!  Don’t forget the WRiTE CLUB motto, it’s not about the last man/woman standing, it’s about who knocks the audience out!