It's week #2 of the WRiTE
CLUB play-off rounds – which I promised would come at a rapid fire pace --
and we have come to the end. Last week I posted five bouts (Mon-Fri) and this week the last four (Mon-Thur) concluding today. The voting
for all nine bouts will remain open until noon on Sunday, August 31st. Your task remains simple…read the submission
from each WRiTER 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, so blog,
Tweet, Facebook, text, or smoke signal everyone you know and get them to take
part in the fun. 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.
Here’s something else to keep in mind for this round...every vote counts. That’s because
the contestant who doesn't win their bout but garners the most votes amongst all
of the other losers, will become a wildcard winner and still advance to round 2.
The winners will be posted late in the afternoon on August
31 and then round 2 will kick off the following Monday, September 1st, with all new 500 word
submissions from the nine advancing contestants.
Good luck to all of the WRiTER’s!
And now…..
In this corner welcome back to the ring.....Lord Codpiece
I was ten steps
from the ballroom door, my pockets stuffed with stolen jewelry, when I stepped
on someone’s foot.
"Watch
yourself, you oaf!" a man spat.
I tried to ignore
it, but he grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. That shook something loose
from the stash hidden in my jacket; it fell into my right boot. Felt like one
of the sapphire earrings.
"I called you
an oaf," he said.
He was a highborn
noble of the worst sort, young and fat-cheeked and angry. I wore the plain dyed
woolens of a servant. It made me an easy target.
"Apologies,
m'lord," I said. I kept my body still, to minimize the clinking of coins
in half-a dozen purses tied to my belt. “I was just-“
"Wipe it off,”
he said.
Oh, wonderful. This
flabby brat was actually looking to start a fight. I took his measure while
pretending to think it over. Soft was the word for him. His hands were
uncalloused, no surprise there. He hadn’t done a hard day of work in his life.
But I noticed the tan lines at the wrists. A gloved swordsman, then. A showoff.
Probably got his practice on the household servants, ones who were afraid to
draw their master’s blood. The least-capable man in my crew would have gutted him
like a deer. There was no time for that, though. And we certainly didn’t want
the attention.
"Pardon,
m'lord?" I asked.
"You scuffed
my boot. Wipe it off." His breath carried the mingled smells of wine and
spiced meat.
I couldn’t refuse
outright, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to oblige him. Obfuscation seemed
like the best option. I made my voice cheerful.
“Can’t say I see
it, m’lord,” I said.
A girl in a
silk-and-taffeta gown (recently relieved of the gems on her bodice) tittered
with laughter. Ah, so that was why he was putting on this display. Sure enough,
his cheeks reddened even further.
“It’s right there!”
he said.
The
pearl-and-silver necklace I’d nicked just five minutes ago was threatening to
spill out of my left sleeve, so I thought it best to head him off.
“I’ll be sure to
have my eyes checked, m’lord,” I said. “But right now I’m to fetch another
bottle for my master.”
“Who’s that?” he
demanded.
I needed him to
back off. That was the only way this would end quietly. So I spoke the name of
the meanest and most dangerous noble that came to mind. “Lord Peyton,” I said.
Recognition bloomed
in his eyes. He wasn’t as drunk as he seemed, and even the most wine-addled
fool would know to be cautious, here. Peyton had challenged and killed men for
smaller offenses than quarreling with his servants.
“You’ve heard of
him, I take it,” I said.
“I’ve more than
heard of him,” he said. “He’s my father.”
Of course he was.
************************************************************************
And in the other corner, also anxious to return to the ring,
let me re-introduce.... Sapphire Eyes
“Let me go.”
The words bounced mercilessly off the white tile floor and
marble countertops. Noah froze. A scuffed multimeter was trapped within the
confines of his white-knuckled hand.
Those words meant one thing.
We have to start all over again.
Noah dropped the multimeter.
In his haste to reach his computer, he sent a cascade of microchips and
wires crashing to the floor, but the resulting clatter didn’t faze him. He had work to do.
When he first met Ariel, Noah knew she was unique. Something worth exploring. He never knew whether he believed in love
before that. No one else seemed to fit.
Unlike the components of a computer, people didn’t insert themselves
into designated slots. Unlike computer
programs, they couldn’t be tweaked to suit his needs. Companionship was messy. Unpredictable. How could he be expected to navigate the
complexities of another person’s emotions when he barely understood his own?
With Ariel, something felt right. She knew when not to push a subject that he
didn’t feel comfortable with. She
listened to him talk about his work, and she asked intelligent questions. She sat with him whilst he toiled away on a
project, handing him a screwdriver or soldering gun when needed. When he was in the midst of writing a complex
program, she brought him plates of food so he didn’t go hungry.
For a short while, he had everything he needed.
Noah collapsed into his computer chair, his fingers grazing
the keyboard purposefully. He accessed
the files he needed, searching out the lines of code to be erased.
Unbidden, his own problematic memories came to the surface.
“Stay with me.”
When Ariel spoke these words, they were laced with fear. He’d been working on artificial intelligence
software when the diagnosis came.
Terminal cancer. She didn’t have
much time.
“Hold my hand.”
He’d been at a loss. He couldn’t
face it, nor could he comfort her.
Instead, he holed himself up in his lab, intent on saving her. After Ariel’s body perished, she lived on in
lines of code, maintained by a computer that he’d built with his own hands.
She chatted with him in the beginning, her beautiful voice
projected through the best speakers he could build. It truly did sound like her, and she seemed
happy to be with him.
Then she began to feel trapped. Even with the worlds Noah programmed for her
to explore, she grew weary.
“Let me go.” The
first time she pleaded with him to end it, tears leaked from his eyes.
He couldn’t do as she asked, so he did the only thing he could
think to do. He wiped away her memories
of living inside the system, restoring her to the original elation she felt at
having cheated death.
Now he had to do it again.
“I have to keep you happy,” Noah murmured as his nimble
fingers worked. Each keystroke
eliminated another memory that reminded Ariel of her incorporeal nature. “I have to keep you here!”
************************************************************************
Remember the WRiTE
CLUB motto, it’s not about the last man/woman standing, it’s about who
knocks the audience out!
