WRiTE CLUB 2020 - Cage Bout #6

Reminder - You can follow along with all of the bout results right HERE.

It's CAGE BOUT time!

Here's how this works. Instead of two writers competing against one another, now it's THREE AT ONCE. But there's a twist. All of the winners have been given the opportunity to absorb the feedback offered during their preliminary round and submit an edited version of their original submission. As a writer, utilizing feedback can be a tricky proposition - because frankly - not all feedback is equal. This is our chance to see how the contestants used that feedback (if at all).

The readers/voters are to choose one of the three to move on.  There will be six daily bouts (Mon-Sat), and no saves this time.

Remember, one of the real values of this contest is FEEDBACK. So, please be respectful with your remarks!

Even though there will be a different bout every day (M-S), because of time restrictions the voting period will be staggered somewhat, so please pay attention to the dates posted. The voting for today’s bout will close on Thursday, June 11th (noon central time).

The piece that garnishes the most votes will move on to the next round where they’ll face a different opponent with a BRAND NEW WRITING SAMPLE. 

As always, in case of a tie, I’m the deciding vote.

Here are the voting guidelines –

1) One vote per visitor per bout.

2) Anyone can vote (even the contestants themselves), but although our contestants are anonymous, voters cannot be. Anonymous votes will not count, so if you do not have a Google account and are voting as a guest, be sure to include your name and email address.

3) Using any method (email, social media, text, etc) to solicit votes for a specific contestant will cause that contestant's immediate disqualification. It’s perfectly okay, in fact, it is encouraged to spread the word about the contest to get more people to vote, just not for a specific writer!

4) Although more of a suggestion than a rule - cast your vote before you read other comments. Do not let yourself be swayed by the opinions of others.

Here our the contestants for this first cage bout (in random order) are -

Dovey Grimm

The Wandering Man

Bennett Dowdy whirled in with a West Texas Blue Norther one Sunday. Clouds, dark blue as new denim, hung heavy with the promise of rain. Inside the Baptist church, Rayna Cantrell pounded out hymns on the piano, her black hair whipping like a horse’s tail. Had she inherited her Romani grandmother’s sixth sense rather than her Roman nose, Rayna might have looked to the clouds for a portent. Instead, she limited her magic to tonics for laying hens and spells to calm cattle on stormy nights.

Rayna thumbed the pages of the Baptist Hymnal as she glanced over the congregation. A stranger sat in the back pew. The man reminded Rayna of the movie star James Dean. Slim-shouldered in his pearl snap shirt, his hair bore a crease that hinted the fellow had arrived at church wearing a hat. A cowboy. Her fingers touched the keys to play “Amazing Grace” while under her breath she hummed Hank Williams.

After the service Rayna lost sight of the stranger in the flow of folks rushing home to their Sunday meal. As she followed her father to their Cadillac, the cowboy appeared.  

“Excuse me, Mr. Cantrell?” The man stood next to a rust red Chevy truck–the front bumper held on with baling wire. “Brother Butler said you might need a hand at your ranch.”

The stranger twirled a grey Stetson. She’d been right about the hat. Her gaze dropped to the man’s boots–alligator. They must have cost more than the old truck.

“You know our preacher?” Rayna’s father asked.

“Yes sir, Leroy Butler’s my cousin.” The stranger stuck out his hand. “My name’s Bennett Dowdy. I can mind stock, mend fences. Hard work doesn’t scare me.”

Joe Cantrell hesitated before taking the younger man’s hand. Rayna held her breath, waiting for her father’s reply. A cold draft whistled past, pressing Rayna’s skirt against her legs and ruffling Bennett’s hair. One strawberry blond lock curled across his forehead like the dolls they gave as prizes at the State Fair. Rayna shivered. What would it be like to run her fingers through that hair?

“Come round tomorrow morning, talk to Carl, my foreman.” Joe Cantrell took Rayna’s arm. “We’d best get home, rain’s coming,” he said.

“Good to meet you, sir.” Bennett nodded and leaned to spy Rayna where she hovered behind her father. “Ma’am,” he said.

Later, in the car, Rayna asked, “You think he’ll come by?”

“Like as not,” Joe answered. “I’ve seen his kind before, a wandering man. He won’t stay.”

Rayna rested her forehead on the cool glass of the window. Her grandmother’s aged, leather-bound book waited at home. The old woman had warned, “Sometimes, magic requires sacrifice. Whatever you release into the world will be returned three times over.”  

Rain pelted the car, and the flat land rushed by outside. The world filled with the scent of sage and ozone. Rayna closed her eyes. She thought of what she’d need – cinnamon, honey, hibiscus, rose.

#################################################################

Contestant number two is Imposter

I stared out across the barren landscape on either side of the interstate. Not a tree, shrub, or bush tall enough for a desperate dog to raise a leg against. The I-80 drive through the Nebraska countryside was challenging for even the most attentive drivers, but this bordered on the brutal. Miles and miles of nothingness. I loved our home and the land it was situated on, but it was times like this where conveniences of a big city were sorely missed.

The commute tended to make people drowsy, which would be a good thing for Cami. Especially today. I snuck a glance at her. Her head was propped against the window, a vacant stare fixed on the horizon.

“How you doing?” I asked.

“Same as the last time you asked.”

I knew I couldn’t let her brush me off that easy. “Cramping any better?”

She sighed. “Jason, honey, you need to stop worrying about me. I’m fine. Really.”

I knew she was lying. How could she be fine? I wasn’t. But once again the right words alluded me. Did those words even exist?

“Okay,” I surrendered, reaching for the radio. “But I need something more upbeat or else I’ll fall asleep.”

When I looked up from the dashboard, my attention was drawn to something out of place on the road ahead. It appeared to be a wadded sheet or light blanket, but big enough to worry about running over and fouling the car's undercarriage. It was still a couple of hundred yards away, but instinctively I checked the rearview mirror, noting that the pair of semis we recently passed remained a distance back.

"What's that in the road?" Cami asked.

I didn't bother to answer, instead wondering why the coiled sheet remained stationary despite the never-ending breeze blowing across the plains outside. I flipped down the turn signal and started pulling into the left-hand lane as our Jeep quickly approached the odd road-hazard.

An icy chill ran down my spine when the surface of the sheet suddenly seemed to ripple and flex.

“Something’s moving inside it,” I uttered.

There was another item next to the blanket I couldn’t make out. Cami sat forward, her focus intent on the sheet. We were right on top of it now and Cami’s head turned to track it as we sped by.

"JASON STOP – THERE'S A BABY BOTTLE!"

I reacted instinctively, stomping on the brakes. The screeching tires were deafening, seeming to last an eternity. My lungs emptied as the force of the seatbelt prevented me from colliding with the dashboard. I fought the steering wheel, trying to maintain control and keep the car pointed straight. Our momentum pulled us left and we veered into the median.

No sooner had we jerked to a halt, dust swirling, than I heard the click of my wife’s belt and the passenger door fly open. I watched in horror in the rearview mirror as Cami sprinted unflinchingly towards the blanket – and the semi-trailers thundering towards her.

#################################################################

And finally number three is Battlestar Bear

Chapter 1

 Crack! 

 The wooden staff landed across the warrior’s back with sickening force. It knocked the wind out of her as she fell, sprawled out on the ground. Her fingers curled in the dirt while she resisted the urge to reach for her blade.

 “Goddess take me. I won’t fight you this time,” she whispered.

 Her face was streaked with blood, her skin crossed with fine, silvery scars barely visible in the evening light. A dark-brown tattoo swirled an intricate pattern on her left temple, one fine line curling just under her eye.

 Three men circled her, weapons in hand. The big, burly one twirled his staff as he laughed to himself.

 “The notorious, immortal Amarynn,” he sneered. “You don’t look so deadly to me.”

 Amarynn pressed her forehead into the ground and let loose a half-hearted chuckle. “I never do.”

 The littlest one with the broadsword leaned in close to her and whispered, “You’re nothing but a girl!”

 She couldn’t see the third man, but she could feel him behind her. He was the quiet one with a pair of daggers and she was counting on him to hit his mark. She breathed out slowly, fighting the instinct to defend herself. He stood over her for a moment, then grunted and brought his daggers down forcefully. She inhaled deeply as the blades penetrated her sides, carrying with them the thick poison paste she spread over her skin earlier. The mage had been specific about the concoction – she could not inflict it upon herself. While she hated for it to end like this, it wouldn’t matter soon. Amarynn smiled as she felt the blinding pain and the spreading fire of nightshade in her blood. She silently thanked Nyra, the Goddess of Night for hearing her plea.

 Her limbs weakened as the nightshade poison slithered through her body, creeping up to lick at her heart. But then she felt the familiar chill of immortal magic take hold and fight back the poisonous assault.

“No, no, no,” she banged her forehead against the ground. Searing pain tore through icy magic as muscle and flesh repaired itself. It had taken three long months of searching to acquire the nightshade and she had done everything exactly as the dark mage had instructed. It should have worked. She should be dying.

As her strength flooded back, anger and frustration exploded. Her eyes glazed over with the familiar rage of battle and she flipped over onto her back. In the space of a breath, she had whipped out her throwing knives and placed them squarely in the chests of two of her assailants. Only the big lout with the staff remained standing. She deftly jumped to her feet, drawing her sword.

“Do I look deadly now?” she growled as her sword met his belly in one swift movement. His eyes widened and he said nothing as he fell to the ground.

#################################################################

Please leave your votes and critiques in the comments below. Again, be respectful of your remarks and try to point out positives as well as detraction's.

We’ll be back next week for the Playoff Rounds. Please help all our writers out by telling everyone you know what is happening here and encourage them to come vote.

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