WRiTE CLUB 2015 - Bout #2

What is WRiTE CLUB?  It started off as a modest writing competition, inspiration loosely derived from the movie FIGHT CLUB, and it has since grown into a writing community sensation that is now sponsored by the DFWWriters Conference.  There are numerous versions of this concept floating around the internet, but nothing like we do it here.  Its essence embodies simple, good-natured competition, with lots and lots of fun sprinkled on top. 

Over the course of ten weeks I’ll be holding daily bouts (M-F) between Anonymous 500 word writing samples, submitted under a pen name.   The writing can be any genre, any style (even poetry) with the word count being the only restriction. Today is Bout #2.  Read each sample carefully and then leave a vote in the comment section for the one that resonates with you the most.  Anyone can vote... but only once per bout. Don’t forget to leave with a brief critique of both submissions as well.

Voting for each bout will remain open for one week. The winner of each will be posted HERE, at the WRiTE CLUB scoreboard.  Are you ready?

Here are the first two randomly selected WRiTER's.

Standing in this corner, representing the Contemporary/Realistic Fiction (in Poetic Form) genre and weighing in at 407 words, please welcome to the ring……..CJ Rage

Said she’d come for me, kill the liars, kill the liars dead.

I’m handcuffed to the shadow’s rage that’s tattooed on my bed.

Eyes of soot, soul is gone, dying to be free,

She’s calling out, screaming out, “no one buries me!”

Heavy feet, heavy feet, heavy feet, I sink.

To the bed, to the grass, and to the cold concrete.

She wakes me from my nightmare holding shovels stained in red,

“I said that I would come for you and kill the liars dead.”

Between the sheets, the liars’ suite, “don’t say a goddamned word,”

Not the first but now the last, my pleas she overheard.

The day she came to rescue me, the sky was black and grey,

She promised if the liars won she’d never go away.

The smoke it is arising from the lower level’s flames,

She set the house on fire after digging all their graves.

A rope is laced around my neck, her words etched in my ear,

“He’ll never touch you, never touch you, never touch you, dear.”

The liars tried to shut me up, tried to break me down,

She wouldn’t let them, couldn’t let them, make another sound.

Said she’d come for me, kill the liars, kill the liars dead.

She’s calling out, screaming out, “for all the truths unsaid.”

Her fingers tap along my back; they paint my shirt in red,

She promised me the liars gone, they burned up in my bed.

“They’ll never touch you, never touch you, never touch you, there.

I severed off their hands and tongues, then said a little prayer.”

She leaves a note pinned to my chest, the truth for all to see,

It was not her who set the blaze, she tells them it was me.

“For everything the liars did, the life I did not choose,

Eyes are soot, soul is gone, there’s nothing left to lose.”

I’m on the ledge , on the ledge, the house in charcoal smoke,

She tells me this will wrong the right, and right his every stroke.

The rope it falls, we’re dying now, dying to be free,

We’re calling out, screaming out, “no one buries me!”

My body hangs, waits for them, waits for them to see,

The note, the red that’s on our hands, the blood that covers me.

I killed the liars, killed the liars, killed the liars dead,

She isn’t real, isn’t real, a figment in my head.

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And in the other corner, representing the romance genre with 500 words let me introduce to you……….Lexi Howard

Distracted, I almost missed the two figures in the dark. Then a car drove by and showered them in its silvery headlights. Eli Lockhart and Brock Underwood skulked near the back of my truck.

I came to a halt. “Son-of-a-bitch.” For a minute I weighed my options. Judd was still inside. A couple of guys from the team were there, too. Pushing a hand in my pocket, I got hold of my key ring and fisted it so that the sharp end of the truck key poked out between my fingers. If they were gonna play dirty, I didn’t see any reason to fight fair either.

“What’s up, fellas?” I asked coolly as I took my chances and eased around the front of the truck.

“Mighty nice vehicle you got there,” Brock said, and stroked his hand across the tailgate glistening in the moonlight.

Eli nodded. “Bet it cost a pretty penny.”

“Enough,” I replied.

“Bet you really love it,” Brock chimed.

“You know it,” Eli agreed. “But I guess that’s what you get when your daddy owns half the town—nice cars, other guy’s girls.”

“Whoa, wait a minute. I don’t have anyone’s girl. Holly and I are doing what we have to. It’s business. That’s all.”

Eli growled and made two quick strides that brought him an arm’s length from me, and I squeezed the metal key ring in my grip.

“Yeah,” he blustered, shoulders pressed back and chin high. “And I suppose you’re gonna say you’re not the one who made her cry the other night either.”

“What?”

“That’s right. She told me what you did.”

Was he talking about the money? Sure it had pissed her off, but cry?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You hear that, he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Maybe you should refresh his memory,” Brock said.

“So you’re saying you don’t remember treating Holly like a hooker?”

“What? You’re out of your fucking mind. I never did such a thing. I was trying to be nice to her.”

“Is that right? Do you usually pay girls to be nice to you, Davison?”

I closed the remaining space between us, and Brock flanked Eli in a flash. Stunned by his accusations, I’d slid my hand out of my pocket without the key ring and held my clenched fists at my sides.

“I’m telling you I didn’t mean anything by it. I only wanted…”

Suddenly, Eli’s arm was a battering ram that hit dead-center of my chest and I teetered backward, the damn blister on my foot biting against the unexpected movement. I steadied myself, digging my heels into the ground in case he tried something stupid like that again. The little shit had no idea how close he was to having his head ripped off.

But then Eli shoved me again. The mother-effer shoved me again. I was going to have to kick Holly’s blond beach boy’s ass.

“You better back the hell up there, Tiger Beat,” I warned.

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Enjoying two talented writers at work is only part of the price of admission, now it’s up to you to decide who moves forward to the playoffs.  In the comments below leave your vote for the winner.  Which one tickled your fancy?  After you vote please tell all of your friends to stop by and make a selection as well (but no coaching about who to vote for).  Yes, it’s subjective, but so is the entire publishing world.  It’s as much about the readers as it is about the writers. 

This is WRiTE CLUB – the contest where the audience gets clobbered!