We’re almost there. This is the last week and final four preliminary bouts before we heat things up in the play-off rounds. Jade Kestrel captured round 30 and has now been added to the list of all of the winners on the WRiTE CLUB 2012 results page This week will see bouts posted today, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. The voting for all four bouts must end by Sunday at noon, so you will not have a full week to make up your minds as before. A list of all 36 winners will be posted Sunday evening just ahead of the first set of play-off bouts on Monday. If you want a complete breakdown of how the play-offs will work and the format used, you can revisit last Monday’s post here.
Let the countdown begin!
Here are this rounds randomly selected WRiTER's.
Standing in the far corner, weighing in at 478 words, please welcome to the ring……..Jade.
About two floors down, Claire decided suicide was a mistake, but reality set in. She was a few moments from death. Conscious or not, her arms flew out like a bird. She flapped like mad, trying to fly.
Gravity pulled her down and pushed whatever last memories she expected to pass before her eyes. She never thought of Roman, how he asked her to prom on the same paper as the answers for the chemistry quiz. She never thought of her mother and the time they drove to Niagara Falls for the weekend, just because. Instead, she watched the sidewalk below come at her like a literal brick wall. Three floors before the end, she closed her eyes and waited for death.
Death came instantaneously. When she opened her eyes, instead of the ground, the sky approached. So that's it? No pain? Life's over and straight to heaven? No good-byes, no closure?
"No," she screamed towards the stars. "This is not what I want!"
And just like that, she stopped, midair. She tried to move her arms to regain balance, but couldn't move. Someone held her. When she tried to turn her head, the grip tightened. Within seconds, she was back on the roof and the grip loosened.
She turned and saw The Masked Paladino.
"I didn't ask to be saved," she told him, shaking the imaginary dust off her clothing.
Paladino said nothing. Instead, he paced, scratching at the tight mask on his head.
Fly, man, fly away. Leave me alone! With that, her violent sobs drowned all other sounds that filled her head. It felt wonderful, the release of pressure, her cries interrupted with intermittent bouts of laughter. Was she going crazy?
Paladino watched in horror. He approached and she backed away.
"Just leave me alone, go back to wherever you came from," she yelled. she hit the wall at the edge of the building. Peering over, she contemplated going over again to get away.
He grabbed her arms and pulled her away from the edge.
“Okay, okay, let go of me, I’ll be fine. I’m going home now.” She pulled her arm away and headed for the roof door. He didn’t move until she entered the building.
“Sorry I failed you, Chica,” he said and flew off.
She froze. The door slammed closed against her back. Quickly she turned and kicked the door. It landed with a crash on the roof.
“Wait!” she yelled towards the flying figure. “Dad, wait.”
She run and leapt off the roof’s edge towards him. She covered thirty feet before she no longer went forward. Down she went, arms and legs flailing.
However, within seconds, he saved her again.
“I wish you wouldn’t continue to jump off, dear.” Paladino gently lowered her to the roof.
And in the near corner, weighing in at 443 words, let me introduce to you ……..Rattle Yerdags.
As he sinks into the chair across from me, he looks just like a doctor should: greying hair, a well-trimmed beard with badger-stripes framing his lips, and wire rimmed glasses his wife must have chosen because they're too tasteful for the awful polyester shirt and pants he's wearing.
"How are you feeling today, Stacy?" His voice is too loud for the muted tones of the room -- all earthy browns and soft corners. It's his office, but he's tried to make it look like a living room, complete with a coffee table squatting between us and lamps on the varnished surfaces at our sides. Too bad the external door has a combination lock. Kind of kills the good-time vibe.
He's waiting for an answer. I start to shrug, then freeze in place until the razors of pain ease. My stitches are all out now, but the hard pink lines spider webbing across most of my upper body are a pitiful excuse for healing. Underneath I am still many layers of mangled nerve endings and fractured flesh.
Doctor hears me catch my breath and his eyes snap to mine. All that beguiling disinterest is an act. He is measuring me.
"Pain?"he says, softly this time.
"Yes. But it's not bad. I just moved wrong."
It burns and crackles under my skin until I want to scream. But I won't tell him that. For him I will be untouched. Ready to face the world. Sane.
I will get out of here today.
His lips press together under his perfectly-trimmed mustache. But after a second he smiles again.
“I see you brought your bag.”
The duffel bag my mother packed when she shoved me in this place sits on the floor under the combination lock. I don’t plan on touching it again until he’s opening that door for me.
“So you’re confident about today?”
“I’m confident that I’m not crazy.”
Doctor’s smile twists up on one side. “You know we don’t use that word in here, Stacy.”
There are a lot of words they don’t use in here. See you later, for example.
I take a deep breath. Cold. Calm. Sane. “Sorry.”
Doctor meets my gaze for two full seconds. Then he plants his hands on his knees and eases to his feet, speaking as he turns to reach behind his chair.
“I’m glad you’re sure of yourself. But as the dean of this hospital, I have a responsibility to make sure it’s in your best interests to return to the rigors of daily life.
“I’ve read your file and spoken to your nurses, your therapist. Now I want to talk to you. About this.”
New voters must sign up on the Linky List found by clicking on the badge below. Remember, the voting for all of this week’s bouts will only remain open until noon on Sunday, October 21st.
Remember, here in WRiTE CLUB, it’s not about the last man/woman standing, it’s about who knocks the audience out!