WRiTE CLUB 2015 Semi-Final Bout #1

WRiTE CLUB is a writing community sensation sponsored by the DFWWriters Conference - 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.

The ring this year has seen numerous clashes of nothing but the highest quality writing...each with their own unique qualities and offerings...but unfortunately the ring is meant to hold only two.  In order to solve this problem I bring to you four awesome writers in a pair of semi-final bouts and ask the readership to vote one more time.  This is the last round where the readers have a say...so I hope that everyone takes advantage of the opportunity. And when your finished please let all your friends know as well.

There is no wildcard to fallback on any longer. The two semi-final winners we pick this week will be asked to offer one more 500 word submission, which will be  put before our celebrity judges and a winner will be announced at the DFW Conference on July 25th. This years journey is almost over and a crown beckons.  Voting will remain open for both semi-final bouts until 6 PM (CST) Sunday, July 19th.

How about we get started choosing who those two writers are?

In the near corner, no stranger to the ring, representing the Contemporary YA genre with 498 words, here is Commando Grace.

“Grace, right?” A blond girl with a voice as dainty as her body hugs a stack of books. “You probably don’t remember me. We’re in Chemistry and English together.”

“New girl. Molly from Raleigh.” She must have heard I’m Pete’s sister. I should tell her he’s on the rebound, save her from wasting her time buddying up. Faking a smile, I slide The Annotated Anne of Green Gables onto the shelf. I’ll come back for it when she’s gone. Cool girls don’t last long in used bookstores.

“Wait!” Molly pulls Anne from the shelf. “It’s annotated? Oh, I have to have this!”

“Really? I mean, I was just… I wanted to buy it, but…” My hands are moving as fast as my mouth, but it’s not helping. I take a deep breath to calm my flustered brain. “It’s weird to go gaga over annotated classics, isn’t it?”

“No.” Molly’s fingers tighten around The Annotated Anne. I wish I hadn’t let the book go.

“Here.” She holds it out to me. “You had it first.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s yours. I forfeited. Fair’s fair.”

Molly frowns. “What would Anne and Diana do?”

Anne and Diana would solemnly swear to share the book so long as the sun and moon endure, but I don’t have time to say so. Taylor and her cronies are heading toward us. The way she struts, you’d think Taylor sat on the wrong end of a pom-pom.

“Tell me, Grace, how exactly did that hottie get your panties? Did you wet them while you were waiting to be let out of his locker?” Taylor glances at her friends. I don’t understand why she needs their approval, or why they give it so blindly.

I wait for Molly to join in their laughter, but she looks ready to slap the smug off Taylor’s face. “You’re just jealous because Trevor Langston wouldn’t touch you, let alone your underwear, with a ten foot pole and a hazmat suit.”

Taylor looks me up and down. “In fairness, I don’t think he’d touch her, either. Maybe he could get over her obsession with those Nike slides, but my senile grandmother takes better care of her toes.”

My brother Kevin says truth is the best defense against libel. Much as I’d like, I can’t snap back. With a grungy band-aid on one big toe, a half-peeled callus on the other, and toenails fit to star in their own horror movie, I’ve no defense against Taylor’s truth.

Molly sets her books down and tucks her arm in mine. “So she has runner’s feet. Better than diva’s empty skull. If you’ll excuse us, we have places to be.”

Her delicate jaw set, Molly drags me out of the bookstore and into the wide corridor of the shopping mall.

I glance over my shoulder. “What about your books?”

“I’ll get them later.” She nods toward the nail salon. “This one’s on me. Your toes are going to shine, Grace.”

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In the far corner, also no stranger to the ring, representing the Historical genre with 499 words, here is Blythe.

My sister and I waited in the shadows, our toes freckled in the dust blanketing the icy floor. Our new slippers glittered before us like sumptuous pink confections, yet Emma was loath to venture even a step towards them. Rather, her fingers stiffened upon the curtain, her eyes on the man known as “The Human Pincushion.” Her mouth twitched as he pierced his gaunt arm yet again, rousing another wave of screams and applause.

“Poor Alonzo,” Emma murmured. “I daresay he will one day pierce that poor heart of his.”

I shifted so that our conjoined hips tautened, forcing her to look at me. “Your worries are for naught,” I said curtly. “Alonzo most certainly knows what he is doing.”

She lowered her eyes. “Yes, but I still cannot help but worry. One’s flesh is not meant to be riddled with sewing pins!”

A sigh lifted my shoulders as the theatre’s din heightened, the audience roaring as Alonzo hefted himself from his chair, showcasing the gruesome array of pins latticing his chest and arms. Emma’s gaze skittered back to the stage, her lips a tight crimson line. I studied her face, condemning myself yet again for speaking without thought. She truly was radiant, that sister of mine, with her gentle eyes and selfless heart. It was not her fault that she encumbered herself with the whole world’s calamities rather than her own. I would most certainly have collapsed to pieces long ago if it hadn’t been for her. She was truly an angel, a sunny flicker in our show’s hazy corruption.

“Forgive me,” I whispered. “I-”

“Don’t apologize, Phoebe,” she returned, her gaze straying from the darkening stage. She smiled. “You were merely defending his expertise.”

Dear Emma, I thought. Aloud, I said hastily, “We had best put these on.”

Light flooded the stage as we hefted our skirts from the floor, revealing our filthy toes. “And Marvello thought it tedious to have these delivered to our dressing room!” I scoffed, watching Emma’s toes slip inside. “Why, that bas-”

My sister’s scream shattered the stillness, causing us to sway precariously in place.

“Glass!” she howled, wrenching her foot free. “Someone’s gone and put glass in our slippers!”

Footfalls thundered towards us. I shivered as our showman, Aurelio T. Marvello, stormed past the curtain, his handsome face seething.

“What the blazes is going on?” he growled. “Get on stage this instant!”

I glowered at him. “I think not! Someone’s-”

His gloved fist pummeled my face, sending Emma and I crumpling to the floor. I gasped as our heads rang against dusty wood, my vision darkening as blood cascaded from my nose.

Marvello crouched so that his lips brushed my ear. “Last week it was ruined wigs and stolen gloves-”

I glared up at him. “Sabotage,” I hissed, “another freak-”

My voice crumbled as he cracked a boot across my chest. The last things I distinguished before the world went black were Emma’s screams and Marvello’s cane lashing our bound hips.

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Choose which of these pieces resonates with you the most and cast your vote in the comments section below.

This is WRiTE CLUB...where the audience gets clobbered.