WRiTE CLUB 2013 - Bout 15

Yet another VERY close contest in round 13, but Slippery Slope pulled this one out at the last second.  Congrats!!

We enter the final week of preliminary bouts with four writers vying for two remaining positions on the road forward.  I want to take a moment to thank all of the voters who have left -- what I consider -- world class critiques.  Win or lose...every contestant comes away with input that will improve their writing, and that's worth everything in our world.

So...onto the second-to-last preliminary bout for this year.

Striding boldly into the ring is our first contestant, weighing in with 493 words of Literary Fiction, welcome Dinah Annella!





He taught English 271: Themes in Shakespeare. It was a small class, and he bantered with us, often using me as an example. “If Miss Dawson were to enter the scene and, with her beauty and wit, draw Iago’s focus to her, how would this play be different?”

After class that day, the girl next to me said she thought he had a crush on me.

“He’s kind of old,” I said. But I wondered.

I began to stay to talk with him after the other students left, while he packed up his books and notes. I had questions about papers; he wanted to know my plans after graduation. I liked talking about my future, about who I could be. Who he thought I could be.

“He’s married,” I told myself. “He has a little bald spot.”

The first time he asked me to walk with him to his office, we stood just inside the door for a few minutes. The second time we talked for twenty minutes behind his closed door.

“I don’t see you in a corporate environment,” he said. “What about publishing? I see you interacting with people, being creative. You have a spark and a spirit about you, Patty. It’s irresistible.” He held my gaze, then leaned back in his chair and with a small smile, raised one eyebrow.

“Well, thanks,” I said slowly. I smiled a little awkwardly. Irresistible?

“You don’t believe me.

I shifted in my seat and leaned back. I realized that I was mirroring his body language. I looked past him, saw the beginnings of buds on the big maple outside the window.

“We can talk about it some more,” he said. “If you’d like.” He sat up and leaned toward me. “Patty, you must realize that I’ve taken quite an interest in you.” He paused. His voice dropped. “‘... speak/Of one that lov’d not wisely, but too well ...’”

“Othello,” I murmured.

He reached both arms across his desk, palms up. His wedding band gleamed. “Some evening, maybe?”

I knew what this was. I waited only a moment. I leaned forward, touched my middle finger to his index finger, slid it gently toward the tip, and in that one-half inch, leapt the chasm. “Yes. Where?”

Two nights later, I walked up a flight of stairs and down the dim hallway to his office.

“I’ve been going mad waiting for you,” he whispered. With the lights out and the door locked, there were no witnesses. Outside our door, the cleaning crew moved silently, sweeping clear the dirt of the day, scrubbing and flushing the waste.

When I emerged from his office, I found the ladies room to be spotless and fresh and shocking in its fluorescent, buzzing glare. There were no balled-up paper towels on the floor, no hairs on the sink, no smears to distort the starkness of my face in the mirror.

I had told my boyfriend I was studying with a friend.
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And in the other corner, representing the High Fantasy genre with 500 words, welcome DragonWriter!

Wenlyn froze. The dragon’s voice was unmistakably male. Strong, confident, and wise.  Not sure how to react, Wenlyn thought the first thing that came to his mind. How may I serve?

In answer, the mound reared up with a heart-stopping crack. Wenlyn toppled backward in alarm, landing on his hip and elbow. The mound twisted, raining down sharp bits of rock and dirt clods as it swung a tale-like appendage away from him.

But the Ancient Ones didn’t move! They were encased in stone! Yet, two purple eyes, each the size of a supply wagon, blinked at him from thirty feet away.

Are you afraid, Wenlyn? The voice thought at him.

Wenlyn swallowed, blinked, got shakily back up onto his knees and bowed his head. He clasped his hands in front of him to keep them from trembling.

No, he finally managed. Just startled. He looked up at the two eyes, encrusted about with generations of rock. Why have you moved?

That we may look upon you with our physical eyes, as we looked on you before, and so you may know that we have.

Looked on me before? Wenlyn thought. When?

It has been many years since we last saw you.

The only other time Wenlyn had ever been to the Valley of the Ancients was that day with Darnek. That must be what the Ancient was referring to. I didn’t know you saw me that first day. Darnek didn’t tell me that.

When we looked on you before, it was not in this place, and Darnek was not with you.

Wenlyn searched the ground, trying to remember another time the Ancient might be referring to. He couldn’t think of one. Then when?

Silence. The purple eyes blinked, and something stirred inside Wenlyn. Something strange, something familiar, something deeply unsettling.

Please, Wenlyn struggled to form cohesive thoughts. I don’t understand.

Nor will you. Not for a long time to come. But we’ve seen you, now, as you’ve seen us. The sky will soon be red, and filled with dark wings. War and pestilence will be loosed upon the Six Realms, and our ancient siblings will awaken. The time is at hand, Son of the Mountain. Go to the village. Investigate your mystery. But know that nothing is as it seems, and everything runs deeper than you think. Deep as blood. Deep as time. Deep as fate.

The mound reared farther up. The purple eyes were forty feet above Wenlyn’s head, now. Farther down, on what might have been the dragon’s chest, something was turning the black rock red, like coal in a furnace.

The rock that was once a dragon threw its head back, opened it’s great jaws, sending boulders tumbling to the earth as it did, and spat white, liquid fire.

Wenlyn threw his arm over his face but liquid hell covered him, searing his skin, lancing through his chest and blinding him. Wenlyn tried to scream but his voice box had already melted away.

He was consumed.
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Once again it’s up to you.  Which of these two sample resonated the most?  In the comments below leave your vote for the winner of round 15 (after making sure you've registered on the WRiTE CLUB linky list found HERE), 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 next Sunday.  

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