WRiTE CLUB 2019 - Cage Bout #2

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

Here's how this works. Instead of two writers competing against one another as was the case in previous bouts, now it's THREE AT ONCE. The contestants will be using the same writing sample that allowed them to get this far, the only difference being that now they're up against new competitors. You, the reader/voter, will have to choose one of the three to help decide who moves on.  There will be six daily bouts (Mon-Sat), and no saves this time.

If you voted in the preliminary rounds, then there is no need to leave a critique with your vote this time, however, if this is your first time seeing these writers we do ask that you leave a brief critique because that is one of the real values of this contest – FEEDBACK. 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 Sunday, June 2nd (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 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.

Like the man say's

Our contestants for this first cage bout (is random order) are -

Sicaria

Pulled by contestants' request.

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

Contestant number two is Charlie St. James

“I have always played second fiddle to women like you.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Deb.”

I looked around the room at the others who were still frozen like deer, or just too narcotized by reality TV to realize that something bad was actually going to happen right in front of them.

Perhaps a more direct approach?

“Put the cake cutter down, Deb.”

“Already think you’re the boss around here, giving orders?” She waved the knife around as she gestured to the breakroom. “No, Cassy. I will not put the knife down.”

“You are going to hurt someone, Deb.”

“Not someone.”

She lunged at me and I ducked and used the only weapon I had on me. Chocolate cake.

I smashed it into her face, hoping for a distraction to get away, or that the sight of wasted cake would somehow unfreeze the others standing around the room like statues.

Being blinded by icing, she swung her long arms around and the edge of the cake server sliced my arm, drawing blood.

Who knew that cake servers were so sharp?

I stepped away from her, but she was quick, all those years of dance class she would tell me about over coffee, and she caught my arm.

I jabbed my plastic fork into her hand and she made a sound, something between a grunt and a howl, low and not exactly human.

She pulled her hand away and I had a clear shot for the door.

I darted toward the fluorescent of the hallway, but my foot slipped on the patch of chocolate icing, sending me crashing to my knees.

That was all the time she needed to recover. She threw herself on top of me and my chin hit the tile floor hard enough that I bit my inner cheek. The taste of blood filled my mouth.

She turned me over and I only had enough time to see the glow of green in her eye and the track of cake down her cheek before she rammed the cake server into my chest. I heard the thud as the hilt hit my ribs.

I’d never had to think about what being stabbed would feel like. Never lived a life where that was a possibility. Brain aneurysm in my sleep, maybe. Bus accident, maybe. But never being stabbed.

I really didn't think that Deb, even in this wide-eyed craziness, could manage the strength to get a Pampered Chef cake cutter through my rib cage and directly into my heart, but she did. Three times actually.

As I made a vain attempt to defend myself, my lungs pooled with blood and I couldn’t breathe. The track lighting grew a little dimmer and my arms grew heavy.

Deb sat on top of me, blood flecks mixing in with her faint freckles. The smile on her face slowly faded, as did the glow of green in that right half of her right eye.

Guess she really wanted that job in HR. 

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

And finally, number three is Book-Keeper

“All clear over here.”  The disembodied voice added to the eeriness of the abandoned village.  I suppressed a shiver as more voices echoed the call. 

I’d known when we set out we wouldn’t find any life, unless you counted the brown and shriveled leaves of ivy, determinedly clinging to the village well.  The thick coating of dust on abandoned buildings told the story of a place too long without water. 

The rest of the search party was already moving on, the dust cloud from parched pathways obscuring their progress as they hurried away from empty homes, driven by hope that the next village would be different, would have life. 

I knew better. 

Alone among tumbleweeds, I knelt and rummaged in my knapsack.  I’d have to work quickly before my absence was discovered.  I set my tin cup on the edge of the well and added tea leaves.  Next came a roll of cotton batting; I pulled off a small piece before tucking the rest away.  Lastly, a battered compass.  Notches in the bronze case counted the empty villages we had encountered.  The cover flipped open into a rudimentary map. 

With a deep breath and eyes pressed shut, I pushed my consciousness into the ground.  Running water bubbled in my thoughts as I searched for the joyful streams that ran beneath the land, if you looked hard enough. 

And long enough. 

What I found wasn’t a joyful spring, but a sluggish creek, parched as the land above. 

I immersed myself in it, momentarily overwhelmed by the anguish of the stagnant water.  Gasping with effort, I flooded the tired trickle of water with memories of rain, reigniting in it a long lost love of movement.

I pulled my thoughts back to the surface, to the cotton batting before me.  The water followed, filling the cotton with moisture, until it doubled and tripled in size, forming a small cloud. 

So small, it wasn’t nearly enough to end the drought, but it would have to do.  Already it held all the water to be found; even the browned ivy crumbled to dust as the cloud drained all the moisture it could find.

I carefully lifted it off the ground.  It had one more service to perform here.  A gentle squeeze filled the cup I had set aside, swirling into light brown tea.  It was a necessary luxury; the work left me drained, and I needed stamina to catch up with the search party. 

It was the work of moments to check the bearings on the compass, before giving the cloud a gentle breath in the right direction.  I didn’t know how long the makeshift cloud would hold before releasing its load.  For the hundredth time, I wished there was a better way.  For now, I’d have to collect it again, each time bringing it closer to civilization. 

I added a notch to the compass before tucking it away.  There’d be many more stops along the way to reverse the disaster I had created.  

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

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.

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!

WRiTE CLUB 2019 - 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 -

Blue Bonnet

PBSSpecial

Sydney Slayer

The contest started with 189 submissions from 132 writers and we've narrowed that down to 18 (fifteen 1st round winners + the three that were SAVED above). The DFW Conference is in less than four weeks and its time to get serious. 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. The contestants will be using the same writing sample that allowed them to get this far, the only difference being that now they're up against new competitors. The readers/voters will have to choose one of the three to move on.  There will be six daily bouts (Mon-Sat), and no saves this time.

If you voted in the preliminary rounds, then there is no need to leave a critique with your vote this time, however, if this is your first time seeing these writers we do ask that you leave a brief critique because that is one of the real values of this contest – FEEDBACK. 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 Sunday, June 2nd (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 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.

Like the man say's

Our contestants for this first cage bout (in random order) are -

IshYouNotIshMe

I died long before the woods behind my house even existed, but I’ll never forget the relief that washed over me when my assignment came in. To this day, I don’t know how I landed a poltergeist gig, but you don’t question good fortune.

For generations, geisting was my sole purpose. Throwing stuff, stomping about in middle of night, and shrieking through the halls delighted me like a field of butterflies delights a toddler. Nothing compared to scaring teenagers, though. After teens lose their ability to see the unreal, their creativity evaporates. Actually, frightening them is a service. Two even became novelists when they grew up. Without me, their imaginations would have atrophied like an unused limb. But I’m no monster. I never bother little kids. Sure, I’ll float blocks or books around, maybe make a teddy bear dance, but nothing bad. Besides, littles love me. I don’t know why, but they always have. Do you know how hard it is to terrify someone who adores you? Same with pets. Cats never hiss when I come into the room and dogs follow me around like--well, like puppies.

The Kings were nothing like my previous families. The mother was a scrap of old fabric in the breeze. I could tell she used to be a force of nature, but now, it took everything she had not to crumble to dust and blow away. The twins were unnaturally quiet and helpful. Instead of running through the old farmhouse, shouting and claiming bedrooms like every kid before them, they carried boxes and stacked them evenly in the appropriate rooms. Their silent diligence creeped me out; this was not typical seven-year-old behavior. Their grey eyes held the shadows of countless storms, and I wondered what made them this way. Then, the father came in.

“Hurry up! The truck needs to be back in an hour and it’s still half full,” the barrel-chested man shouted. A cigarette dangled from the left corner of his mouth, and the only thing he carried was a sweating beer can. “If either of you breaks anything, you’ll both pay for it with your asses.”

“Yes, sir,” the twins chimed in unison. Dark fear shimmered around them, like a mirage on a street. I know that shimmer, I pull it from the living all the time. But the living aren’t supposed to pull it from each other.

The mother, small and deflated, threw open the drapes and pretended she was alone. Her fear-shimmer was even darker than her children’s.

Long-forgotten energy bubbled around me and a lightbulb exploded in the hallway. There isn’t much to be angry about when you’re not living, but this brute, threatening his kids and terrifying his wife, reminded me that anger and I go way back.

I tore the cigarette from his mouth and pressed it into his arm. Geisting isn’t my only purpose anymore. I will protect these kids--even if I have to kill their father to do it.

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

Contestant number two is Word Slinger

I dreamt of a life that didn’t include my self-centered, narcissistic older sister.

“Asmah, you have exactly five minutes then I’m leaving without you.” Khadijah yelled from downstairs.  “I assumed nerds like you didn’t care about their appearance.”

I clenched my fist but ignored her taunt, for now. One last glance at my reflection then I’d be ready; my dark washed Levis matched with a light grey tissue tee that hung almost to my mid-thigh. I wore my favorite hijab: a large, rectangular cotton one, big enough to wrap around my head twice.

I grabbed my back pack and bolted from my bedroom, my lavender sanctuary.

“Are you finally ready?” Khadijah stood, six years older than me, with her hands planted on her hips.

My eyes bulged but I held back the curse words lodged in my throat. “If you hadn’t taken forever in the bathroom, I wouldn’t be late to my last day of classes.” After finals next week, I’d finally be a high school senior.

“Now it’s my fault?” she screeched.

 “Look, I didn’t ask you to take me to school, Ma did.” I grabbed my navy blue Vans from the mat by the door and slipped them on.

“Both you and Ma need to understand, if Khalif proposes, then my days of chauffeuring you around are numbered. Ma and I are invited to lunch today with him and his mom. So today could be the day. I don’t have time for this.”

Her life would be defined by marriage; one pushed by our mother. I rolled my eyes as I slammed her car door shut. She glared out the window as she drove with Vivaldi playing in the background; the classical music, her potential mother-in-law’s favorite.

Khalif, her wealthy suitor, had become her only topic of conversation. He hadn’t even popped the question yet she acted like the wedding was tomorrow. The price you paid for being beautiful. We had been close when I was younger but the moment she got to high school and understood the power her looks gave her, our relationship suffered a direct hit.

Mom rejoiced in her oldest daughter’s beauty. I’d kill for her blemish-free skin and slender figure. Mom bragged to all the women at the mosque that Khadijah had graduated culinary school and now could prepare lavish feasts for her future husband and his family. She was on cloud nine that her eldest daughter had caught the eye of a rich attorney from a prominent Muslim family.

But I yearned for a different life; a career in the law like my dad.

To Mom, it didn’t matter I was in the running for next year’s valedictorian. I resisted my mom’s suggestions to think about what qualities were important for me in a husband. And once my sister married, I became the next target.

I could never compete with Khadijah, the Perfect, so I gave up and focused on school to fulfill my dreams not my mother’s delusions.

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

And finally number three is Griff N. Dorr

In the confusion of last night's escape, Mida hadn't really gotten a good look at the house, but eventually she found the stairs and headed down them. Faint sounds drew her around the corner to a narrow, cluttered kitchen.

Inside was an old man with wispy hair dyed in half a dozen colors. He lifted a ladle with a hand made of metal and wires, and stirred what smelled like some kind of bean soup. Mida's stomach growled.

The noise must have given her away, because the old man addressed her without looking up. "If you're going to sleep through breakfast, don't complain that you're hungry before lunch."

Mida tried not to look at the myriad fruits and vegetables piled on the counter. She was a stranger here; she had no right to ask for anything.

"I'm fine," she lied. "Is that woman ... er, Cipher here somewhere?"

"She'll be back." The old man finally turned, appraising her. He must have seen someone worth taking pity on, because he grabbed a green and red fruit and tossed it to her. "So you're the new kid. Mida, right? They call me Bitz. Don't bother asking why."

Mida bit the unfamiliar fruit, only to spit it out in disgust a moment latter. It tasted like pepper.

Bitz chuckled and handed her a paring knife. "Never had a mango before?"

"How does everybody know who I am?" Mida wondered, slicing open the mango. The fruit inside was orange, sticky, and much tastier than the peel.

Bitz shook his head. "A name, a face; that's not knowing someone. You want to know who a person is, you've got to see them at their worst. They gonna run, or fight? They gonna stand for something, or they all about what's in it for them?"

She wanted to ask Bitz which kind of person he was, but she had several far more urgent questions. For example, "Why did you let us in?"

There was no reason for Bitz to know the answer; he hadn't been there when Mida pounded on the strangely marked door last night. But Cipher must have filled him in.

"You mean what does Aegis want with you? Beats the heck outta me. I keep telling Cipher, one day her imaginary friend is gonna get someone killed."

Mida suppressed a sigh. "So you haven't met him either."

"No one's met Aegis. He, she, it, they—all speculation. Save me the pit," he added. "I'm growing them on the roof."

It occurred to Mida that Bitz was a lot like the mango in her hand. Bitter on the outside, but much more pleasant when you got past the surface.

She leaned forward. "So, why do they call you Bitz?"

The old man loomed suddenly, clacking the fingers of his prosthetic hand beneath her nose. With that crazy hair, he reminded her of a mad scientist. "Because," he said ominously, a twinkle in his eye, "that's all they ever found of my arm."

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

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.

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!

WRiTE CLUB 2019 - Preliminary Winners

Below I have listed each of the preliminary round winners. Why don't we give them all a rousing CONGRATULATIONS!

IshYouNotIshMe
Word Slinger
Griff N. Dorr
Sicaria
Charlie St James
Book-Keeper
OpheliasPansies
Hijinks Aplenty
The Bulging Ballpoint
Sunshine&Rainbows
Cardigan Fig
Ms. Sunnydale
MatchMaker
Organized Confusion
Terrance East

On Sunday the votes will be tallied for SAVE WEEK and three more contestants will join our winners in the CAGE BOUTS next week. Exciting times ahead.

And while we're at it I thought I'd give some recognition to everyone who voted in these preliminary rounds.  Twelve-hundred thirty-three votes in total, for an average of eighty-two per bout. That's pure awesomeness!  I just hope we can maintain this level of participation going forward.

And here's one more call out.  There were forty reader/voters in the early rounds that voted IN EVERY BOUT.  Below is a list of the names I show voting in all fifteen bouts and therefore are still in the running for the special prize drawing. If you do not see your name (or handle) on the list, contact me at WRiTECLUB2019@gmail.com and I'll double check my results.

1221bookworm

Amber Draeger

Amelia

Bokerah

Catherine Link

Christine

cjdblanco

daniel link

Dannie

dduroy

Deniz Bevan

Devon Silas

Grant

J Lenni Dorner

J.Q. Rose

Jacy

Jamie

JanieWrites

J-Dub

Jemima Pett

KatHorowitz

Kathrine Latham

KimberlyLynne

L.G. Keltner

Lauren Darnell

Lironah

Lisa Dunn

Loretta Chef

Melanie

Michelle Kadin

Michelle McCraw

Perrin Birk

Required Field Must not be Blank

Roland Clarke

Solange Hommel

StratPlayerCJF

The Godly Granny

Wendy

Yee

Zoe Brook

Thank you one and all for helping make WRiTE CLUB so special! We'll be back Monday with the CAGE BOUTS!

WRiTE CLUB...the contest where the audience that gets clobbered!

WRiTE CLUB 2019 - SAVE WEEK

One of the most common phrases used by the voters in our preliminary bouts was "This is so hard! I like them both."  Unfortunately, only one contestant could advance in every bout, which meant somebody had to lose. But here is your opportunity to reverse someone's fortune.

You now can give three contestants a lifeline to a second chance. Below is a list of the writers who lost their bouts. It is a partial list right now because some bouts are still being decided. I'll be filling in the list as more bouts are finalized, but that is why we give you all week to make up your mind.

Sometime before Sunday, May 26th (noon central time) post a comment below with the names of no more than THREE writers you feel deserve a second chance to advance. The names can be any of those listed below (once all fifteen names are filled in), regardless of when the bout took place. No critique is necessary for this round. To help refresh your memory I suggest clicking on the relevant name to be taken to their bout, or use the links embedded on the WRiTE CLUB Scoreboard located HERE.

Blue Bonnet
Apollo Catspolis
Galadhon
NoPlanStan
Frazzled Father
Timberjack
Daisy
Donald LeClaire
Thirty
Cora Williams
ElviraBrown
YNaLIas
Cleo
PBSSpecial
Sydney Slayer

This is the last chance for some of these writers, so make it count.

Recap
WRiTE CLUB is a tournament-style competition that runs during the eight weeks prior to the DFW Conference (who is also a sponsor) and it provides writers the opportunity to compete against one another for a chance to win a host of prizes, topped off by free admission to the following year’s conference. Our writers submitted 500-word writing samples under pen names and have appeared in head-to-head in “bouts”, with the winner of each match determined by our readers—by voting for their favorites. Bout winners keep advancing until there are only two remaining and that’s when a panel of celebrity judges, who include well know authors, agents, editors, and other publishing folks, choose the ultimate champion.

Even though the contest is sponsored by DFW, 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, I forgot to mention that the voters have a chance to win a $60 Barnes and Noble gift card. Each time you vote in a bout your name will be placed in a hat and at the end of the contest, one name will be selected to receive the prize. And as an added incentive to keep readers coming back for more, we're upping the ante. Readers who place a vote in EVERY bout will have their names placed in a second hat and the name selected from that pool will win a $40 Barnes and Noble gift card. Double the chances of winning!

A few more rules –

1) One vote (with 3 names) per visitor per bout.

2) 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.

For those of you who are chasing after the Voting In Every Bout prize, casting a vote here is required.

NEXT WEEK - The Cage Bouts begin!

WRiTE CLUB 2019 - Preliminaries - Round #15

Today we reveal the final two contestants who'll be stepping into the WRiTE CLUB ring and I want to take this opportunity to congratulate all 30 contestants. Win or lose, it was an achievement simply making it this far! But what about the other 102 writers who took the risk and submitted their work? I know you're disappointed, but there is some good news.

For the first time in this contest's history, we are able to offer writers who didn't make it to the ring some feedback. A dozen of our slushpile readers have generously volunteered to critique your submission (one per writer), provided you meet two criteria. The first, you must send an email to WRITECLUB2019@GMAIL.COM to formally request the critique. The second condition, you must have voted (before the deadline) in at least five of the bouts. This 2nd condition may seem harsh, but I have a hard time offering feedback to anyone who is unwilling to support their fellow writers by registering a simple vote. Once we receive your email and verify participation by voting, your submission will be looked at by all 12 slushpile readers and those critiques will be emailed back to you. Because I'm not sure how many of you will take part in this, it's impossible for me to say how long it will take to get this input back to you. Stay tuned for more information.

Recap
WRiTE CLUB is a tournament-style competition that runs during the eight weeks prior to the DFW Conference (who is also a sponsor) and it provides writers the opportunity to compete against one another for a chance to win a host of prizes, topped off by a free admission to the following year’s conference. Our writers have submitted 500-word writing samples under pen names and they'll be appearing in head-to-head in “bouts”, with the winner of each match determined by you the reader—by voting for your favorites. Bout winners keep advancing until there are only two remaining and that’s when a panel of celebrity judges, who include well know authors, agents, editors, and other publishing folks, choose the ultimate champion.

Even though the contest is sponsored by DFW, 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, I forgot to mention that the voters have a chance to win a $60 Barnes and Noble gift card. Each time you vote in a bout your name will be placed in a hat and at the end of the contest, one name will be selected to receive the prize. And as an added incentive to keep readers coming back for more, we're upping the ante. Readers who place a vote in EVERY bout will have their names placed in a second hat and the name selected from that pool will win a $40 Barnes and Noble gift card. Double the chances of winning!

Even though there will be a different bout every day (M-F), the voting for each bout will remain open for seven days from the date I post it to give as many people as possible to have a say. Voting for today’s bout will close on Thursday, May 23rd (noon central time). To help keep up with which bouts are open, you can follow along on the WRiTE CLUB Scoreboard updated right HERE.

It’s that simple. The writing piece that garnishes the most votes will move on to the next round where they’ll face a different opponent. In case of a tie, I’m the deciding vote. I can do that because, like all of you, I do not know the real names of our contestants either (my wife processes all the submissions).

A few more rules –

1) One vote per visitor per bout.

2) 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.

That’s enough of the fine print…like the man says –

Our first contestant in the ring is Terrance East representing the Sci-Fi genre.

"I can't feel my fingers."  I blinked against the bright light as my arms disappeared.

"Perfectly normal. Didn't you watch the induction hologram?"

"Of course, but I didn't think that things would just disappear." The room smelled of electricity and ozone. What had begun as a gentle hum now pulsed and throbbed.

"Your feet and lower legs should be going about now."

They did. I blinked again. A holocam hovered a little too close, and I blew a quick breath to shoo it away. I didn't appreciate that it was my last.

"Systems transference in three, two, one..."

The world went blindingly white. The transference room shimmered back into focus. The smell and sound were gone. Replaced by an overwhelming sense of the expanse of everything.

 "Wow."

"Impressive isn't it."

"It's... amazing. So much... nothing."

"You're no longer constrained by your physical body."

"This is incredible." I began to move and the room vanished as I went. I floated past the robotic operating table and the botnurse, then paused at the door.

"We don't encourage that."

"What?"

"98.724 percent of all Transferals stop to look back at their Organic. 76.387 percent have an adverse reaction."

"I'll risk it." I turned and looked back. The body on the table was pale, lifeless, and wrinkled. I knew it from a lifetime of mirrors. The head, my head, was encased inside the glowing circular opening of the transferal unit. The final vestige of humans as life forms.

Now, with transferal to The Cloud, I too would be immortal. Unlimited. At least my mind or my consciousness. Or my soul. I had wondered about that.

A yellow tint colored my world. The botnurse moved quickly to the glowing unit. It flickered..

"Level one. Adverse reaction."

"What's going on!? What's happening!?" I'm not proud to say I panicked. Totally freaked out and then -

The yellow tinted world twisted into charcoal gray.

"Mr. Templeton? Concentrate on the pinpoint of light in the center of your field of vision."

"There's nothing there!" The edges of the world were black and folding in.

"Find the light. Move towards it."

"There's no light!"

...

"...empleton? Mr. Templeton? Can you hear me? Mr. Templeton?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have functionality?"

"What the hell was that?"

"0.047 percent of Transferals suffer an initial boot issue. Yours was a full boot rejection. We restored from your system backup and you should be just fine."

"Should be?"

"There's a 99.994 percent acceptance rate."

"So that's 6 out of every --"

"It's not relevant, Mr. Templeton. You are free to go."

"That's it? Just go?" My consciousness spun around slowly. It was a different room. No table, no body, just the big picture window from our kitchen back in Texas.

"We've programmed a familiar environment with reference cues and the sensation of physicality. It will help you adjust. You may go."

With that, the walls dissolved and infinity stretched out beyond the vision of my backyard.#############################################################################

On the other side of the ring, our final preliminary round contestant is Sydney Slayer who is representing the Fantasy genre.

I was born on a mountaintop in ancient Koyu, a place where dragons wind around the stony spires and winter red trees and breathe out the misty smoke that drifts through our sky like clouds.

This is what my grandmother taught me, her hands weaving spells in the air and pulling on the dragon mist to paint pictures in my mind.

She taught me other things too, how to eat the petals of the blossoms that drop from the twisting shoyu tree; the flowers that show us the future. The petals are soft and fat, the size of a baby’s palm, pearlescent white with a blush of pink and, at its heart, the reddest of reds.

They look juicy and full of water and the first time I eat it I am afraid, afraid all that water will rush like a dark river down my throat and I will drown, drown while dreaming of the future.

But as succulent as the petal looks, it is not. It’s as light as air; it tastes like the memory of candy, sweetened with icy melon and fiery hawkfruit, or like nothing at all. It tastes like everything and emptiness all at once, for Grandmother says that is the future - not my future, of course, I am nothing in the vastness of the universe. What we taste is the future of all things.

What did I see, that first time I ate a shoyu petal, you ask? Why, I saw you. Sitting in a tea shop, eating a cookie shaped like a shoyu petal, laughing and pulling the pictogram off your tongue, the pictogram that comes when the cookie is gone, and your lovely eyes try to see me as you puzzle out the dragon-wrapped mountain on the candy disc and then with one bite it is gone. You eat it and nothing is left.

I ask my grandmother about this vision; she paints the air and tells me, in the future there are not so many shoyu trees, so people do what they can.

And then she teaches me to weave the long soft gortse hairs, and the coarse ones too, into braided yarn, and then the yarn becomes a blanket and the blanket stays with me at night when I try to find her in my sleep, the dragon-mist softening my dreams.

I search for her, the girl of the shoyu vision; the future girl who drinks tea and laughs so freely. I cannot find her in the dragon mist again.

She is not there.

The other girls rustle and wake, disturbed by my tossing and turning.

Settle down, Ryu, they say. Their jewel-like eyes light the darkness in our small stone room.

Go to sleep, Ryu, they whisper as one.

We are as one in all things, but not in this.

They want to sleep; they want to follow, but I do not.

I want to break things; I want to dance in the sky.

I want to lead.
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