WRiTE CLUB 2012 – Round 28

Blue Cookie came out of round 25 with a victory and an invitation to the play-off rounds.  Have you taken the time to refresh yourself with the all of the winners by checking out my WRiTE CLUB 2012 results page.

One of the comments from the last round was from a devoted WRiTE CLUB follower (and apparently a previous contestant) who was mildly burnt out. She stated that she read the entries on Monday dispassionately, apologized to both fighters and observed that…. It's tough having your number come up this late in the game. 

I deeply appreciate the honesty the follower expressed and it brings up an important point.  If I have a single regret about the way WRiTE CLUB has gone this year, it’s that I’ve been unable to maintain the same level of engagement throughout, and that is not fair to the later contestants.  It’s not because the quality of submissions has suddenly dropped…because they certainly haven’t… but I think we are seeing an unexpected consequence of expanding the contest to accommodate the number of submissions. Too much of a good thing is eroding away the luster of WRiTE CLUB and negatively impacting its overall standing.

It’s something for me to consider going forward, but for right now I need your help again.  We need to rejuvenate participation by drawing in new voters and reminding those who may have stopped visiting to give it another shot. If you can spare a blog post, a few tweets, a Facebook mention, it would be greatly appreciated.  And not only by me, but for those sixteen contestants still waiting their turn in the ring.

Speaking of the ring…..

Here are this rounds randomly selected WRiTER's.

Standing in the far corner, weighing in at 490 words, please welcome to the ring……..Eleven.

 

I had just slammed down a cocktail and was happily contemplating my eternal damnation when the angel walked into my bar. Solid muscle, like all the warriors, and with that same self-satisfied, holier-than-thou attitude. It was the set of the jaw. Gave them away every time. He paused just inside the door, scanning the patrons to the right and left of him. After a moment, satisfied his glamour concealed him, he headed in my direction.

A low whistle floated over my shoulder. “Who in the hell is that fine piece of flesh?” Riley asked.

“Who in heaven, actually.” I poured a bubbling green concoction into a martini glass and slid it down the counter. “HR security. Working a pretty tight glamour on his wings.”

“No way.” He shot me a look of disbelief.

“He’s straight anyways,” Quinn said, reaching past us for the ice scoop. “So I may have to take him off your hands.” She threw him a honeyed smile and sauntered down to the other end of the bar to deliver a couple drinks.

“Never stopped me before,” Riley grumbled under his breath as the subject of our conversation leaned up against the black marble.

The angel hooked me in an intense gaze and parted perfect coral-colored lips to speak.

“What’ll it be, Wings? Can I interest you in a synthetic blood-tini?” I smiled real big, flashing some fang.

His smug expression fell and a scowl replaced it. “You’re Zyan Star?” Half statement, half question, his voice dark velvet.

“What makes you think that?” I asked.

“Well, you’re a vamp, and you can apparently see through my glamour, which only a witch could do. A pretty rare combination of talents.” He leaned forward even more, arms crossed over his chest, bulging against his gray t-shirt. Out of the corner of my eye,

I could see Riley and Quinn staring from a few feet away.

I smiled slightly, pushing a strand of burgundy hair behind my ear. “So, what brings a pretty boy like you to Noir? Somehow I don’t think it’s just because you decided to take a walk on the naughty side and mingle with the commoners.”

He tensed, standing up very straight. “I’m here on official business for the Holy Representative.” His milky white skin seemed to glow as he said it.

“Uh-huh. And?”

“He wants to hire you for a job.” He enunciated each word as it came out, as if I wouldn’t understand him. Which, actually, I didn’t.

“Come again, Wings?”

“My name is Eli,” he said, with a very angelic glower.

 “Of course it is,” I crooned. “So, Eli, I kind of thought I just heard you say that the Holy Representative, that is, the direct ambassador between Heaven and Earth, God’s right hand man, all that’s pure and holy, etc., wants me, a damned witch vampire who is technically within the Devil’s jurisdiction, to work for him. Did I hear that right?"

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And in the other corner, weighing in at 497 words, let me introduce to you ……..Alecia Hart.

 

The floorboard was steadily pushing me towards the edge of insanity. I don’t know how something so trivial, so ridiculous could become such an important part of my life but it had. It started the second I noticed that it didn’t line up perfectly with the other floorboards, that it seemed slightly warped, I found myself unable to think about anything else. Even when I wasn’t home, when I was doing things like getting groceries, or washing my hair, that I found my thoughts consumed by the floorboards.

When I mentioned the issue to my boyfriend, the person who supposed to give all of my thoughts grave consideration and find my quirks adorable, he simply rolled his eyes, kissed my forehead, and called me OCD.

Irritated, I considered kicking him to the curb before I glanced out the window and realized that doing so would mean that responsibility of mowing the enormous lawn would fall on my shoulders. I decided to keep him around.

Either the floorboard had to go, or I did.

Running my fingers around the edge, I found a tiny spot where there was just enough room for me to slide the tip of my screwdriver under the floorboard. Grimacing, I bear down on it, using the screwdriver as a small fulcrum.

The floorboard groans and squeaks, refusing to budge, so I apply more pressure. One way or another, it’s coming up.

My boyfriend, Jeremy, steps into the room. “What are you doing?”

I peer up at him through my heavy fringe of bangs, and refuse to answer. A long time ago I made it a policy to never dignify stupid questions with an answer, and that had to be one of the stupidest questions I have ever been asked.

The floorboard shifts the tiniest bit, causing a wide grin to spread across my face as I readjust the screwdriver, sliding it further under the board. I’m winning.

It takes both of us, Jeffery and I, to finally free the floorboard, but in the end it comes up. As Jeffery sets aside the offending board and screwdriver, I balance on all fours and peer into the newly created hole. There’s something tucked away inside.

Trying hard to keep thoughts of rats and spiders, I pull the box free of the hidey-hole. Blowing away the dust, I open it, revealing an old mason jar with a lump of something inside.

“What is it?”
 

“I don’t know.”

I move closer to the window, holding the jar up to the light so I can get a better look at the lump. As a ray of sunshine pierces the object I scream and drop the jar. It shatters beside my feet, the foul smelling liquid soaking into my socks.

Jeremy places a hand on my shoulder and leans in close to me as he looks at the human heart nestled on a bed of glass shards.” “Hmm,” he grunts, “do you think it still looks like it’s beating?”

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Anyone can vote so let’s get this thing re-energized.  Please remind everyone that before they can vote they first must sign up on the Linky List found by clicking on the badge below.  The voting will remain open until noon next Tuesday.

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