WRiTE CLUB – Round 9

Sorry for being late again.  The New Year decided to greet me with a nasty head cold and the drugs I’m taking to combat it make my head feel hollow, so I’ll be keeping this week’s installment short and sweet.

Our last winner for 2011was decided in one of the tightest matches yet, but SPECTRAL came out on top.  The official score ended up being:

SPECTRAL - 13 votes     DIRCH McGURKIN - 8 votes

SPECTRAL becomes our eighth semi-finalist!  He/She will join the other seven winners in the semi-finals which is quickly approaching.  As always, you can check my WRiTE CLUB page for a breakdown of all the winners along with links to all of the writing samples.

Since I’m behind this week and I’m a bit under the weather, this post will also serve as my January contribution to the Insecure Writers Support Group.  One of the best ways I’ve found to alleviate some of my insecurities is to let people read my work and listen to the resulting feedback.  I created WRiTE CLUB as a mechanism to generate these types of opinions in a totally anonymous environment to help protect fragile ego’s.  Do you want to chip away at your insecurity, submit a 250 word sample (see instructions below) and see how you do.  It’s that simple.

We had a few more new submissions last week, so one contestant will come from the newby pool and their opponent from the open group.  Here we go, without further ado....

Here are this week's randomly selected WRiTER's.

Standing in the far corner, weighing in at 248 words, please welcome to the ring……..

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 in disgust. Only then did it turn into the handsome prince and they lived happily ever after." 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 and I narrowed my eyes at him. "So, I should throw this at the wall."

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

I ducked and let the frog fly. He struck the wall and left a dent the size of my fist. It thunked to the floor and wobbled to a stop at my feet like a boomerang.

I looked sheepishly at Mr. Griffin, my apology barely bubbling out before the bell to the back door chimed. Angie answered it and her eyes widened in surprise.

My ex, Jesse, stepped through the door.

And in the other corner, weighing in at 250 words, let me introduce to you ……..

MANON La MUSE

She’d parked in the glare of a lamp post as close to the main doors as possible, but the expanse of blacktop between her car and the building’s florescent sanctuary was the treadmill belt of childhood nightmares. She clutched the small gold cross on a chain around her neck as she trekked through the gloom. A twig snapped in the shadows to the right, bursting a balloon of fear in her chest. Screw this. She bolted for the doors.

Once safely inside, she collapsed against the doorframe. But her proximity triggered the sensor, and the doors swished open again. She stumbled deeper into the lobby, kneading her forehead with a shaky hand.

She’d thought surviving the rape would be the hardest part. But she’d been wrong. At the time, pinned under the weight of a masked man with crazed eyes, his hand clamped across her forehead, the back of her skull grinding into the gravel, she’d known her life was in his clutch. The knife blade that bit down into the taut skin under her chin with each brutal thrust confirmed and magnified her vulnerability. She’d laid there, pried open, pleading to God with silent screams. Don’t let him kill me. Please don’t let him kill me!

Now weeks later, she questioned God’s mercy. Life went on outside her duplex windows, while she sat behind a locked door. The postman stuffed the mailbox with bills, while her pottery shop stayed closed, dust covering the clay-caked wheel. The rent was overdue.

 Leave your vote for the winner of round 9 in the comments below, along with any sort of critique you would like to offer.  Please remind your friends to make a selection as well.  The voting will remain open until noon Sunday. Remember, you can throw your pen name into the hat anytime during these last six weeks by submitting your own 250 word sample.  Check out the rules by clicking on the badge below…then come out swinging!

Remember, here in WRiTE CLUB, it’s not about the last man/woman standing, it’s about who knocks the audience out!

Where words are the true knockout!