WRiTE CLUB 2015 - Bout #19

WRiTE CLUB is a writing community sensation sponsored by the DFWWriters Conference that is loosely based on the popular movie Fight Club.  There are numerous versions of this concept floating around the internet, but nothing like we do it here.  This unique approach embodies simple, good-natured competition, with lots and lots of fun sprinkled on top. 

Today we continue with the second phase of the contest which involves ten more daily bouts (M-F) over the next two weeks 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 #19.  Read each sample carefully and then leave a vote in the comment section for the one that resonates with you the most.  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 CLUBscoreboard.  Are you ready?

Here are todays randomly selected WRiTER's.

Standing in this corner, representing the Paranormal genre and weighing in at 499 words, please welcome to the ring……..Eleanor McInnes

“Who’s next, boss?” Ross bounced in his seat.

“Damn, boy! We barely got the knife outta this one.” Raynard laughed.

“I’m just havin’ fun. It ain’t like they’re human or nothin’,” Ross looked at the rear-view mirror and watched the flickering car fire grow distant.

“No… they aren’t.”

Raynard fell silent. Ross turned on the radio and hummed as they drove.

Back at Raynard’s barn, Ross went through the rituals of dipping the blades in a mild acid bath, then scrubbing them. He was at the whet stone, sharpening for the next kill when he began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Raynard smirked at his apprentice.

“All them legends about the garlic and the wooden stakes and shit- ain’t none of that real. Hell, we just slice and dice with machetes from Jackson’s Hardware.” Ross held the newly sharpened blade up in the light. “Ain’t nothin’ special.”

“It becomes special. It becomes the sword of God,” Raynard’s voice grew deep and reverent. Ross nodded.

A nothing kind of night in the Delta became special when there was a dance at Oak Grove High School. Ross sat in Raynard’s Jeep under the canopy of ancient oaks watching teenagers wander in and out of the gym.

“A lot of bait.” Ross shifted in his seat.

“It’s perfect for their kind. Some kids get drunk and drive off a bridge or something, prefect to feed.” Raynard lit a cigarette.

“They feed off the accident, or they cause it?” Ross’ brows pulled together.

“Both,” Raynard exhaled smoke.

Along the edge of the lot, a shadow moved.

“There,” hissed Raynard, stabbing out his cigarette. “The one that got away. I knew there were more in this clutch.”

“You was right,” Ross whispered. He had never seen anything like Raynard’s perceptive hunter’s eyes.

Raynard got the crossbow ready, instructing Ross to walk toward the dance through the shadows. As he stepped under the cover of trees, a girl approached him.

“You wanna dance out here?” she winked at Ross. He grinned and pivoted, grabbing her and shielding himself just as the bolt skewered her.

Her shrieks turned inhuman as she flailed with every bolt Raynard fired. She slumped down the length of Ross’ body and he let her fall. Someone else’s blood drained from her.

Ross smirked down at her until a polished machete burst through his shirt.

“What? Why?” Ross gasped.

“You thought you could use the crazy vampire hunter to eliminate your competition? You thought I was too stupid to see through your act?” Raynard made sure no one noticed them and began dragging Ross backwards to the Jeep by his throat. A second machete joined the first.

“Please, no… just let me go. I’ll… never come back…” Ross was losing the human blood he had fought to conceal from Raynard. A third blade pierced him and the precious blood splattered at his feet.

“Pleasssssseee…” Ross collapsed. “I beg you.”

“I don’t grant forgiveness. I am merely the sword of God.”

Raynard smiled.

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And in the other corner, representing the Literary genre with 496 words let me introduce to you……….Dean Aye

It’s 4:03 in the morning. Cindy is asleep. Her breath just short of a snore. I’ve been awake all night. My bags, two suitcases, are packed and in the trunk. I wrote the note a week ago, just as a draft, thinking I’d sharpen it before this moment arrived, but I like what it says so I haven’t changed it.

I guess I’ll miss her. A lot of times I paint her as a horrible person, but probably she deserves better than to be dumped in the middle of the night by a coward who can’t even face her. I know that I’ll miss her daughter. She’s twelve and a mirror image of her mother but still, there’s something about her spunk that I really like. Hopefully she won’t end up bitter and angry at the world the way Cindy is.

I slip out of bed. My ankles creak as they hit the floor. It’s as loud as a stick of dynamite to me but Cindy doesn’t stir. Unfolding the note sounds just as noisy. I leave it on top of the closed toilet seat. She’ll probably read it while she’s pissing and just flush it down the sewer. It’ll be a fitting end to our short-lived marriage.

For a second I hesitate. I can’t let go of the letter. I think I should just rip it up and go back to bed. But then I picture Cassandra, her smile, her tanned skin, her red lips on mine, her black hair shining in sun. I set the note down.

The parking lot in front of Cassandra’s apartment is full. There’s a pickup in her guest spot. This frustrates me at first but then I recognize it. It’s her ex-boyfriend’s. Or I guess boyfriend now. Whatever.

The light is out in her apartment. She’s supposed to be up, packed and waiting for me. We plan to be in Colorado by evening. I look at her window again. It’s still dark. She’s not going. I turn around and slam the car into drive and race toward home. It’s not very far. Cindy will still be asleep.

There’s no one on the road and I’m driving fast but of course the first traffic light I come to turns red. I stop and thump my fingers on the steering wheel but still the light stays red.

It changes but I don’t move. If I go straight I’ll be home in fifteen minutes. My life will continue as it had.

The light turns yellow then red and back again to green. I turn left. There’s a McDonalds that never closes this way and I’ll get some coffee. After that it’s ten miles of sage and red dirt but then the road ascends to the top of the Point. Soon the sun will rise over the desert. It’s something I’ve always wanted to see.

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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.  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!