WRiTE CLUB 2021 - Cage Bout #1

 

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

It was extremely tight, but last week the voters chose to SAVE these three contestants -

MIM

ch3ru

Durden Mayhem

We've now narrowed our contestant pool down to 18 (fifteen 1st round winners + the three that were SAVED above).  That means - 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 Sun, Jan 16th (noon central time).

Anyone can vote (as long as you have a Google sign-in or verifiable email address), and when you do, we encourage you to leave a mini-critique for both writers. Oh, the voters can win a $50 Wild Lark Books gift card. Each time you vote in a bout your name will be placed into a hat and at the end of the contest, one name will be selected to receive the prize.

The contestant 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 -

Fern Calloway

Tasty Little Morsel

 

I crunch across the playground, gripping my basket tighter. I sit on the vacant bench by the slide and adjust my gloves, tug down my sleeves. Best not to frighten the children.

They run and play where our cabin once stood. The land now a tangle of jungle gyms, see-saws, and giggling young pups. It would be easy to snatch one up.

A small boy plops beside me, jarring the rickety bench. “I like your glasses.”

“Better to see you with.” I wink, and offer him a smile, careful to keep my teeth hidden.

The boy kicks his feet. “Your hat is cool.”

They always like my hat.  It’s the long red plume tucked in the band. I keep it there as a remind of what that hunter did to her.

The boy is still talking. I turn to face him. “What was that, dear?”

“Your hat,” he says. “Can I hold it?” He’s already reaching.

“Wait a minute,” I bark. “Let me unclip it, or you’ll take my hair too.”

“Your hair?” He laughs as I slip bobby pins from the wig covering my long, pointy ears.

I hand him the hat and he runs his paws over the feather. “Pretty.”

“She was,” I say. I’ve stopped listening. My gaze drifts over the playground. A hunter lurks here; I can smell him.

There.

A man sits on a bench, watching the children with a hunger far more sinister than my own. He runs a finger down the outside of his thigh, licking his lips.

I yank my hat from the child, ignoring him as I stand and set it on my head. I weave between knee-highs and soiled twerps, my focus intent on the huntsman.

The man stops fidgeting when I sit, but he doesn’t glance my way. I clear my throat and secure my hat.  His dark desires don’t sway enough to pay me any mind. He’s zeroed in on a blonde with pigtails, four, maybe five years old, flipping end over end on the tall bars, her little dress exposing cotton panties with every twirl.

“Excuse me,” I say, not bothering to hide my disgust.

“Yeah,” he says. I can tell I’ve disturbed him. Good.

I push my glasses up higher my long nose. “Which one is yours?” I wait for him to lie. He’s not here to protect, he’s here to hunt.

He points to the twirling girl. She hangs upside down, her dress flopping over her sweet face. His gaze locks onto her bare midriff.

I cross my leg at the knee, turning toward him. “No. She doesn’t.”

He faces me. “Which one of them is yours, Granny?” He spits the words through tight lips.

“All of them,” I say and pull a hard candy from my pocket and pop it into my mouth. His eyes widen as I crunch it between my sharp, pointy teeth.

 All the better to eat you with.

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Contestant number two is Anita Winn

I was supposed to be a snitch, not some lackey listening to Wham! blare throughout the store. The only way my demotion from the workshop could be worse was if that annoying Mariah Carey Christmas song came on again. The Big Guy would say it’s penance for messing around with his daughter. I bristled at the unmistakable whir of an approaching grocery cart. Any moment now…

 

“Pick me!” The shouts came from all around me and wouldn’t stop for another fourteen hours. Fortunately, the beer section was only a few aisles away, provided I could ever escape.

 

The “pick me” chorus crescendoed as a cart neared and the woman pushing it came into view. She had big, brown eyes, lips like pillows, and dark hair that spiraled several inches past her shoulders. She was probably in her thirties, freaking gorgeous. The woman passed by and browsed through the decorations. Sighing, she deposited an angel tree topper and a tractor ornament into the cart, then turned toward the toy department, stopping briefly to acknowledge my presence with a tilt of her head. She’d be back, and I’d look forward to it.

 

Customers grabbed for garland and stretched for stocking holders as they hustled into my section, and the woman returned, her cart brimming with toys, coats, and board games. Two children followed close behind. The girl appeared to be about eight, and the boy was probably four. Both had tufts of white fur, likely an animal’s, stuck in the Velcro of their jackets that were too light for a Midwestern winter. The kids pointed in my direction.

  

“Mom, they’ve got them! You promised us one last year,” the daughter said as she headed my way.

 

“This is the first time I’ve seen them all season.” The woman pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her son’s nose. “We can only buy one though.”

 

“Really?” The girl’s eyes lit as her mom nodded. I shuddered at the boy’s devilish smile. “Which one should we get?”

 

Two kids—possibly more, and an animal. This didn’t bode well at all. I needed to keep calm, be invisible, and let them choose someone clueless about the trouble ahead. Preferably, one of the mindless pick-me’s. I took a step backward and teetered before falling onto the floor.

 

“I think this one chose us. Maybe he should be our shelf elf, but you know he reports to Santa, right?” The kids nodded, and the woman reached down as I tried scrambling away. To my chagrin, elf magic never worked when children were looking. “Of course, we’ll need to come up with a name, but that will wait until we get home. Your sisters get to decide too.”

 

“Let’s call him Glitter.”

 

“No, T-Rex!”

 

My name was Sven, not Glitter, T-Rex or anything else this wretched family could dream up. Sven.

 

“Come on, kids. We need to find Aunt Beulah and buy some dog and cat food, too.”

 

If the humiliation didn’t kill me, the pets would. 

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And finally, number three is S.L. Grady

Winter in the Pacific Northwest means daylight is scarce. As darkness descends into the sky at merely 4 pm, I dread the chore that lies ahead. But, Lexi sits at my feet, staring expectantly with her brown soulful eyes.  

 

“Okay,” I tell her. “Walk time!”

 

Lingering rain clouds obfuscate the light from the moon which only deepens the sinister feel of the night. I equip myself with a flashlight and rain boots before Lexi and I drive to McCormick Forest Park.

 

The empty trail head is unsurprising, though partly unsettling. “Go ahead,” I motion Lexi out of the car and she happily obliges; her tail spinning as she darts into the forest.

 

Lexi races ahead, but the clank of her collar against her heart shaped tag reassures me that she is close. As we walk, my mind lingers to Tara Johnson and her dog Maggie, who have now been missing for three days. I quickly dispel the ominous thoughts that creep into my mind. 

 

Before long, the bright white light shining from my flashlight dims to a lackluster yellow. I swear it had a full charge. Without warning, the flashlight shuts off, blindsiding me into pure darkness. I can barely make out the shadows of the trees that stand before me. 

 

“Lexi!” I call, “let’s go back!” 

 

The sudden snap of a twig from behind jolts my body like a strike of lightning. I instinctively tense, paralyzed from taking another step forward, “Lexi?” But I don’t hear her familiar pant. Unsettling silence radiates across the forest. “Lexi!” I call again, this time louder. 

 

Panic pounds within my chest, my breath is shallow. I cautiously continue forward, trying to sidestep stray branches. “Where are you Lexi?” I cry out. 

 

Another snap of a branch breaks the stillness that infiltrates the air.  I stop, waiting to see if Lexi appears. I tell myself, she’s at the car, she’s waiting for me there.

 

The wind whistles between the trees as if to call, help. Chills inch up my spine. “Hello?” My mind is deluding me.  

 

I quicken my pace, but rain soaked dirt gloms onto my boots, weighing down my feet with each step. Finally, I see the faint glow of a street light ahead. 

 

Breathless, I finally reach the car. Lexi is nowhere in sight. “Lexi?” My voice trembles.

 

I walk back towards the trailhead, about to cross the threshold into the bleak woods when abruptly, Lexi emerges from the brush. The hackles on her back are raised and her ears are back; she’s also been spooked. I kneel down and wrap my arms around her damp, furry chest. Relief calms my hammering heart. 

 

“What’s that?” I reach my hand to a tattered rope Lexi holds in her mouth. Except, it’s not a rope, but a canvas collar. My cold fingers touch the name tag that is caked in mud. I stand up and move closer to the dull light. Fear consumes my body when the letters underneath reveal themselves. “Maggie.”

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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 detractions.

Finally, in order to keep this contest going AND GROWING, I'm asking folks to donate to the cause on my Ko-fi account (shown on the sidebar). Let me assure you, 100% of the donations will go towards the contest prizes for this year and next!

We’ll be back tomorrow with another cage bout. 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!