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WRiTE CLUB 2012 Play-offs - Round Two / Bout 4

We continue with the edited/revised submissions (for those who chose to submit them) in round two. All of the nine bouts will be posted on Mon-Wed-Fri, on this and two other blogs.  Here are the links to the blogs where the other bouts can be found.

DL Hammons @ Cruising Altitude 2.0
Julie Dao @ Silver Lining
Read the submission from each WRiTER below carefully and leave your vote for the sample that resonates with you the most.  If you haven’t already done so in the previous rounds, offer some critique if you have time.  Anyone reading this can vote (after signing up on this Linky List) so blog/tweet/facebook/text/smoke signal everyone you know and get them to take part in the fun.  You will have until noon on Sunday (Nov. 11th) to vote on these nine bouts.  Vote on as many bouts as you can get around to.  Whether that is one bout, or all nine, how much you participate is up to you. 

In round two...every vote counts. This is because the contestant who doesn't win their bout but garners the most votes amongst the losers, will become a wildcard winner and advance to round 3. 

The nine winners will be posted on the afternoon of Nov. 11th and round 3 will kick off the following Monday with all new 500 word submissions.

Good luck to all the WRiTER’s!

And now…..

In this corner welcome back to the ring for a third time.....Alondra Larkin.

Irovel walked through the busy streets of Yonden Hithis, looking for a place where she could stand to watch the execution. Word had come up to her in the hills – Barjuk, her sister's murderer, had stood trial and been found guilty. He would die today.

The crowd made Irovel uncomfortable. If these people knew what she was, knew that she was different … well, she might just end up as dead as the prisoner standing by the execution block was about to be. There had to be a place she could watch without being jostled so much.

She looked up at the buildings lining the street, and saw one with a roof sturdy enough to climb on top of. Hurriedly, Irovel went around back and climbed the rain barrel to get onto it. She had always preferred the high ground.

The roof was empty, and she slid across it until she could see the heads of the people below. From above, the crowd varied little as her eyes swept across it to the wooden riser upon which stood the prisoner and his guards. The people were all so dark of hair and skin that she could hardly tell one from another. She knew the prisoner, though. That one could never hide from her. Trees would grow old and die before she would forget what he had done.

The executioner was a killer himself – only a fool would sacrifice his freedom to wear the wooden soldier’s mask that hid his face – but one who had subjected himself to the law instead of fleeing from justice. The magistrate, a clear-eyed woman, stepped up to pronounce sentence. “This man has killed with his face bared to the world. Now he will so die. Let it be done!” she said.

Irovel heard a sound from beside her, and turned to see a man climb onto the next rooftop. He too was masked, and he held a bow in his hand. He nocked an arrow and drew back, aiming for the magistrate. The crowd, oblivious, cried out with one voice. "Kill him! Kill the murderer!" Barjuk cringed at the sound.

“Stop!” Irovel shouted at the archer. He stopped; he had no choice. People down below who heard her froze in place, then turned to see who had spoken. Irovel crouched to hide her face from them. Her voice always carried the ring of truth, but giving a direct command was much more dangerous than simply speaking. Somebody might figure out what she was.

Across the street, the sentence was carried out. Irovel’s cry alerted the guards to the presence of the archer, and the executioner hurriedly escorted the magistrate down from the block before the assassin could recover.

Seeing his plot foiled, the masked archer turned and loosed his bow at Irovel instead. Pain blossomed in her shoulder, and she felt more than heard a loud pop. The seething anger in his gaze filled her vision as she tumbled to the street.


And in the other corner, also anxious to return to the ring, let me re-introduce....Sissy Grimm.

Twigs snapped underfoot, and the pale light of the moon dimmed as the branches overhead grew thicker.

“I can’t believe they ran out of food,” Gretchen complained.

“They were hardly out of food,” said Hans. “They just didn’t have any more of what you liked.”

“Pepper knows I swore off carbs years ago, and did you taste that pâté? It was completely inedible. I’m glad she’s so smitten with her new huntsman boyfriend and all, but venison-wurst? Gag me with a harpsichord.”

Hans reluctantly followed his fiancé deeper into the woods. “Be nice.”

She glanced over her shoulder and smirked, lifting her long skirt to expose a teasing ankle. “Oh, I plan to be.” Skipping ahead, she disappeared behind two fat tree trunks.

Hans paused and barely managed to stifle a groan. Six months ago, such flirtation would’ve elicited a completely different kind of groan. But six months ago he’d barely known her. Back then she’d simply been the pretty daughter of a wealthy financier—the ticket to saving his father’s woodcarving business. He’d truly believed it would be easy enough to fall in love with her, but as the months ticked by he realized that no amount of wavy blond hair nor evenings spent with her plump lips applying just the right amount of pressure to his various pleasure points could make up for the rotting carcass of a soul that resided beneath all that beauty.

He couldn’t go through with it, not all the way to the wedding. But he’d play along with the engagement. Before the church bells started ringing, however, the financial documents would be signed, his father’s business would be saved, and he could break off the relationship quietly, tastefully, finally. Until then…

“Gretchen, stop! We’re going to lose our way if you go any further. We really should get back.”

She peeked out from behind a tree several yards ahead. “Didn’t you drop any bread crumbs?” Her long, lean arm emerged from behind her back, and she flourished a pair of white, lacy panties before dropping them to the forest floor. “Guess we’ll just have to leave something else behind.”

She dashed off again, further into the forest, and Hans clenched his fists, tempted to turn around and leave her to be the victim of her own folly. But then he thought of his father—his kind, gentle father who’d already lost so much—and took long strides into the forest.

He found her leaning against a tree, waiting for him. A silvery beam of light broke miraculously through the leafy branches to illuminate her sensual form, casting an enticing glow upon every curve. Even Hans, jaded against her as he was, couldn’t help but admire the vision. He reflected that his lot wasn’t the worst that could befall a man and didn’t resist when she reached out and pulled him to her.


Don’t forget to visit the other two sites and vote for your favorite in those bouts as well!  Remember the WRiTE CLUB motto, it’s not about the last man/woman standing, it’s about who knocks the audience out!


  1. My vote goes to Sissy Grimm. Both scenes are very interesting, but Sissy's writing is just a little more polished.

  2. Sissy Grimm for me. Love the fairy tale adaptation!

  3. Another strong bout, but I give the edge to Sissy Grimm.

  4. Both intrigued me, but I'm going to go with Sissy.

  5. Sissy Grimm all the way. My favorite of all the entries thus far.

  6. These are both strong pieces and although I'd like to read more by both writers, Sissy Grimm gets my vote.

  7. Sissy gets my vote because I do love a twisty fairy tale :)

  8. Sissy Grimm! This is a hilarious twist on an old tale.

  9. Okay, I got click happy and accidentally responded to another comment with my vote. Sissy!

  10. Both are well written, but I'm voting for Sissy Grimm.




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