WRiTE CLUB 2012 Semifinals / Bout 2

Here’s your last chance to contribute towards choosing a2012 WRiTE CLUB Champion byvoting.  You will have until noon Sunday(Dec. 2nd) to vote on both bouts.  Theseare edited versions of the writing samples you’ve seen in the previous tworounds, so read each submission carefully and then leave your vote for thesample that resonates with you the most. If you haven't already, offer some critique for the writers benefit.  The winner of these two bouts will have theopportunity to submit a new 500 word sample to our panel of agents, editors,published authors, and last year’s WRiTE CLUB champion, for determining a newvictor.

Anyone can vote (after signing up on the LinkyList here) so blog/tweet/facebook/text/smoke signal everyone you know andget them to take part in the fun.  Again,you will have until noon on Sunday (Dec. 2nd) to choose between these awesomewriters. 

Good luck to all the WRiTER’s!

And now…..

In this corner welcome back to the ring.....Eleven.

I still couldn’t believe these assholes had actually brought us to Hell.

Sulfur stung my throat as I took a quick look around. I ignored the glittering points of terror spiking through my stomach. If I didn’t panic, maybe I could get out of this. Maybe. “So, are we just going to stand here, or are you going to show me around?” I smiled my best and most dangerous smile.

“Of course. I’ll give you the grand tour.” Alexander gave a little bow, then began to lead the way up a steep hill.

At the top of the hill rose a door, just sitting there in open air, no frame or anything, not even a door handle. It was made of shiny black stone, like obsidian. Demonic runes covered it, jagged scars in an otherwise smooth surface. Backlit by a lake of flames on the other side of the hill, it made for a rather impressive sight. A sense of absolute dread descended on me when I looked at it.

Anna had reached the door. She opened it by pressing her hand against one of the runes, which glowed white briefly. On the other side lay absolute darkness. Blacker than the space above us, blacker than the tunnels we’d passed, blacker than the door itself. Without even a half moment’s hesitation, Anna stepped through, Alexander right behind her. I paused. I couldn’t see a thing. How did I know this wasn’t another trick?

“Aren’t you coming?” came Alexander’s amused voice.

What a devil-worshipping dickbag. I gritted my teeth and stepped through the door.

The darkness vanished. I stood on a beach. Milky white sand scrunched under my shoes, ocean air soothed my skin, and a sunset painted the horizon. Endless turquoise ocean stretched out to my left; to my right, rolling hills of clover. Straight ahead sat an enormous house that bridged the two landscapes. It wasn’t quite rustic enough to be called a castle, but wasn’t quite modern enough to be called a mansion. Made of warm, beige stone, it descended from the green cliffs down to the wave-lapped sand. Towers, turrets, parapets and walkways extended out over the sea. A figure stood silhouetted against the sunset.

“Please join me,” a voice whispered in my ear.

Abruptly we stood on the balcony next to the person I’d just seen.

He didn’t have beet-red skin or goat’s eyes or horns. He had golden hair, radiant pale skin, amethyst eyes and full pink lips. Devastatingly beautiful, so much so it almost hurt to look at him. Lucifer. The Devil.

“Zyan Star,” Lucifer said. His words wrapped around me like honeysuckle vines, sweet and intimate. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time.”

I was speechless, for once.

He smiled. It almost seemed kind. Almost. “You’re in shock.” He laughed, and it sparkled on the air like pixie dust. “What did you expect? I am an angel, after all, not a monster.”

“Where are we exactly?” I asked.
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And in the other corner, also anxious to return to the ring,let me re-introduce.... Snivvy Crank.

For the white-haired school janitor, Mr. Jaspers, there were only three things in life that could truly be described as “irksome”: men who wore toupees; people who spoke of themselves in the plural; and condescending new school principals with egg-shaped heads and fake smiles, who used words like “peruse” and “inquiry” and “my dear man” while implying in the most befriending tones that you were as daft as a peach pit. There was a close fourth--street mimes--but that particular irk was forgotten as Mr. Jaspers, shuffling uncomfortably from one arthritic foot to the other, watched the new principal chat idly on the office phone and imagined throttling him.


Now Mr. Jaspers wasn‘t the type of man who normally daydreamed about throttling people. He was old--very old, kept a pet cat named Elmo in his janitorial office, and up to now his daydreams had been rather docile and well-mannered. Winning a lifetime supply of top-shelf scotch or someone inventing work boots that didn’t squeak on tile floors had been two of his favorites. But then came Mr. Heinik. Yes…even on the phone the short principal seemed to stick under Mr. Jaspers’ fingernails like sidewalk chalk, irritating the old Scotsman in a way he hadn‘t been irritated in a long, long time.

“Saturday?…Of course--I’ll bring my new clubs--and make sure they don’t make us tee off after the VFW team or we’ll be stuck waiting for them to limp from one hole to the other…great…thanks, Frank…eh-heh…bye.”

Had Mr. Heinik read Mr. Jaspers’ file, he would have known the Scotsman had been an Army sentry in both Korea and Vietnam. What the file didn’t say was that Mr. Jaspers also served as sentry in both World Wars, the Spanish-American War, the American Revolution and numerous highland conflicts and continued to march with the local VFW each Memorial Day in a kilt despite a limp from a saber wound in his left leg. Like I said, Mr. Jaspers was a very, very old man.

He was staring blank-faced at the principal, feeling the war-blood begin to circulate again through his veins and wondering whether someone could be beaten senseless from a telephone receiver, when he realized the offensive Mr. Heinik was addressing him.

“Jaspers?”

“Er…sorry, sir, I was, eh, distracted.”

“Forget about it, my dear man,” said Mr. Heinik. “As we were saying, we did get a chance to peruse your file and, while it appears you have put in a few years of good service to Wickfield Prep--”

“Forty-one years, sir.”

“Yes,“ said Mr. Heinik, ignoring Mr. Jaspers completely, “the school board and I think you may find better employment opportunities elsewhere.“

Mr. Jaspers stopped shuffling. His face, a spiderweb of lines and wrinkles from which even the smallest of emotions couldn’t stir without causing a great disruption, didn’t move. Somewhere in his head he heard a voice growl, “Aye, methinks you can dent his head in with a telephone.”
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I’ll be back Monday to introduce our two finalist, alongwith their final writing samples.  Itwill also be your opportunity to unveil the mask (if you choose to do so) andlet others know the real person behind the pen name.  I hope you’ll be back for that! 

Remember the WRiTECLUB motto, it’s not about the last man/woman standing,it’s about who knocks the audience out!