Today we begin the WRiTE CLUB quarterfinals...where we
will narrow this list of contestants down from six to four. There will be three bouts...on Mon - Tue -
Thur...with our fighters randomly re-matched. We will have three
outright winners and one wildcard (the loser with the most votes), like we have in the two previous playoff rounds.
The fighters who move into the
semifinals will have the opportunity to "tweak" or edit their current submission
based on the input voters have left for them. Those "tweaked"
submissions will go to battle in the semifinals, where only two will
become finalist. No wildcard in that round.
The
two fighters who make it to the finals will be asked to once more
submit new 500 word writing samples, and that will be what is forwarded
to our celebrity judges. Of course I'll post them here on my blog for
you to comment on, but it will be our judges who make the final
selection.
Our writers are warmed up and biting at the bit, the crowd is at a frenzy pitch, lets get this bus moving!
Stepping into the near corner, please welcome back to the ring...Vampry14
Shrieking. Whistling. Screeching. Screaming. The cacophony fills my head, my eyes, my ears, my mouth. It’s like discovering the definition of sound as something that engages every sense. Except maybe touch. I can’t feel anything. I should feel something, right? I’m pretty sure I’m wrecking the car. It should hurt. Or maybe it’s over and I’m already dead? Crap. Those born-agains were right. I am going to hell.
But there’s light. So much light. White, and so bright it makes my eyes ache. Yet I can’t look away. So, I’m not dead? Maybe this is one of those near-death experiences people come back from and say they saw the light. I peer through it. Grandma? Poppa? Are you there? Are you going to beckon me toward you or send me back? Please send me back. I don’t want to die. Not at sixteen.
Then the light disappears. It doesn’t fade like the sunset, just snaps off, like a switch was flicked. Red and yellow blotches swim across my vision. I can’t see a thing. I have to get out of here though. The smell of gas fills my mouth and nose. I reach out, feeling through the blackness for the door handle. When I don’t find it, I fumble upward, searching for the window. I was driving, I know I was. Why can’t I find these things? They should be right here, within arm’s reach. Where are they? Where am I? A fine strand of panic threads through my chest. There’s something wrong here.
“Lainey?” My voice is thick, but it’s mine. She was with me, right? Oh, God. Did I kill her? Is that why she’s not answering? Her mom’ll have my balls. But no. I dropped her home. My head is heavy with fog. I can’t think straight. Must be the gas. Gas? Why can I smell gas? Did I nod off at the gas station or something? Or did I go and do something stupid with Caleb and his druggie friends? Huffing or something? No way. I’m in training. Training. I have practice at ten tomorrow. I gotta get home.
I haul my ass out of the seat. Or, I think I do. I don’t move though. This is getting freaky. I can’t see. I can’t move. I realize the noise is gone too; all that’s left is a low grinding sound. And some kind of whooshing that reminds me of the beach. The beach? I wish I was at the beach. It’s so hot in here. Someone, open a window. Sweat dribbles down the side of my face. I taste the salt on my tongue. Why aren’t I at the beach, where I could dive through the waves and cool off?
I want it so much I can feel it. The way the salt stings my eyes and burns any scratch on my skin. Burns. This hurts. It burns. Scalds. Sears. The sea shouldn’t be hot. Not like this. It hurts. It hurts. Oh, fuck it hurts.
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And in the far corner, their willing opponent, making a fourth appearance....Alone
Thanksgiving 1972
Allison
The road led nowhere. Or so it seemed.
Darkness blanketed the trees along the lane as the truck’s headlights dressed the bottoms of them in its glow.
“Um…how much farther, Mister?” I searched his grizzly face, as his black emotionless eyes glared into mine. He smeared on a sly grin then focused back on the road.
It was that very smile that coaxed me into his car, promising me a ride to the nearest payphone to call a tow.
But now…the smile haunted me.
The man’s hand reached to my exposed leg. I flinched against my seat, inhaling. He stopped a moment, and redirected to turn the radio dials. He spun them left and right till Loretta Lynn bellowed through the speakers.
I exhaled, closing my eyes. “Um….”
“Soon, honey…soon.” He cooed through dried lips, turning the radio's volume up.
Out the window, I saw only black. No road signs or signs of life.
My stomach churned with regret.
“My-my parents are expecting me for Thanksgiving dinner anytime now so…at least they know I’m on this road, ya know?” I tried to sound as convincing as possible, while a nervous sweat escaped my pores. “I…um, called them from a payphone right before the car broke down. Maybe twenty miles before.”
The man broke his eyes from the road again, lingering them on me. His smile drew wider, exposing yellow, crooked teeth. “That’s good, honey…that’s good.”
Inching closer to the truck’s door, I found the handle, and rested my palm on it. My heartbeat echoed in my ears. God willing, I’d make the leap and jump out.
I checked the speedometer. Fifty-five. It’d be a hard fall, but it’d save my life.
In the distance, a green rectangular sign reflected back the next gas station to be fifteen miles away. A deep breath escaped me, calming my nerves.
Just a few more miles and I’d be safe again.
“See, honey? Almost there,” he comforted with a projected Cheshire grin. “Thirsty?”
I relaxed in my seat. It’d been hours since I’d had anything to eat or drink. “Yeah…yeah, I am.”
The man pulled a flask from his jacket’s inner pocket, unscrewing the top with one hand, and offered it to me. I paused, unsure of his motives, till a coercing frown emerged.
Just one sip. Enough to satisfy him, and my dry throat.
Just one.
Returning the top to the flask, wincing from the liquor’s strength, I handed it back coughing. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, honey,” he chuckled gruffly. “You’re welcome.”
The music continued playing in the background, then stopped.
“Cops confirm the roadside snatcher is still on the loose. Repeat, roadside snatcher--”
He turned the radio off quickly.
“Mister.” My eyes grew heavy, head fogged. Glancing from the road to him was a blur of neon lines. “You’re….” Movements slowed, almost melting into each other. “You’re….” I felt myself dozing, unable to focus.
His haunting smile grew as he swerved hard down a dirt road. I saw black.
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Please leave a vote in the comments section for the one who you believe deserves to move on. Voting for all three quarterfinal bouts will remain open until noon on Sunday, October 6th. Help me spread the word about what is happening here. Anyone can still vote, as long as they register on the Linky List.
Remember the WRiTE
CLUB motto, it’s not about the last man/woman standing, it’s about who
knocks the audience out!
