FORTNIGHTLY WRITING COMPETITION - WINNER'S ANNOUNCED!

[TwinMoon]

It's the first, the one, the only: FORTNIGHTLY WRITING COMPETITION (drumroll)

RULES:

- Write a story of around 200-350 words on the subject of The Beach
- Entries must be in before 24 May
- Post your entries (or link to your entry) in this thread
- Voting will take place on 24-25 May
- The winner sets the subject for the next competition and starts the next competition
- Top three entries will get a title (the writers equivalent of a trophy)

Happy writing!


VOTING'S ON:

Everyone gets two votes. Explain why you liked those entries.
Giving comments on other entries is encouraged
Voting end monday morning


The top three entrants will be awarded the
“Order of the Big Blue Pencil” 

The first runner up will in addition receive the title
“Hero of the Big Blue Pencil”


and the winner will be awarded the title
“Champion of the Big Blue Pencil”


Oh, and btw: there are small, insignificant trophies which come with these grand, prestigious titles:
      

[Stupot]

Oooh... I'm up for this...
it's probably better this way... every time we try a joint effort it goes tits up.

Look out for mine in a later post...

[ThreeOhFour]

Another first entry to a comp!

I'm not much of a writer (more of a reader, really), but here we go from me anyway. I've not given this story a title, so The Beach will do. Also, I cannot believe I took this thing so close to the words limit :

The Beach

Long walks on the beach, she had said. It sounded trite, cliché but didn’t all girls say that? Tim sighed and looked at his watch. It was seventeen past two. Seventeen past two in the morning, that is.

Whatever he had expected, it wasn't this.

Twenty paces ahead of him, paces marked in the sand still wet from the high tide, she turned around to look at him with a mischievous look. He didn’t like that look at all. “Come on!” she whispered, half giggling her way through the words. “I’m coming!” he replied, wondering why he was actually agreeing to this at all.

“These beach houses are always empty” she’d said. “Haven’t you always wanted to spend a night by the sea, waking up in the morning to the sound of waves? Nobody will ever even know it happened. Just trust me!”

Tim wondered what the hell happened to normal first dates. A boring movie, crappy restaurant â€" not the most exciting things in the world, but this was completely insane. He felt sick; sick that he had agreed to do it, sick that he was even able to agree to something so completely crazy â€" hell, he was sick that he’d even agreed to go out with this girl in the first place. What the hell was he thinking?

They closed in on the house, her giggling and him wishing he was somewhere else right now. She moved up to the window and whispered “I know how to open these, it’s easy. Watch this.”

He couldn’t quite make out what she was trying to do, but she was using both hands and a damn lot of force.

SMASH

The sound of the window pane breaking jarred through the silent night. Tim stared at her in horror. “Damn it!” she murmured “That wasn’t supposed to happen!”

They paused silently for a moment, looking hopefully at the window. Seconds later they heard the sound of the door swinging open and saw a light come on in the room.

Tim turned and sprinted. “Shit!” he hissed under his breath “Shit, shit, shit!”

[Jack Sheehan]

*Space Reserved*

I'm working on a full length short story at the moment so don't expect anything for a little while.

EDIT: Here we go, I decided to make this a companion piece to a full length story I wrote this week, which can be viewed at http://rickjohnsonsfiction.blogspot.com/ if you so wish.

On The Beach

  'Don't put him down there you stupid fuck!' Isaac screamed at Derrick.

  'Shut the hell up Isaac' replied Barker. The rocks were razor like, but from the look of him it wouldn't matter a damn. His stomach was swollen with sea water and blue half circles surrounded his eyes. The long gashes that sliced his shirt were barely bleeding. Derrick was rhythmically pounding on his chest and blowing air into his throat. Isaac had stopped his hysteria and was now staring, panorama eyed at the body.

  'Derrick...' Barker started.

  'Shut it.' It was the first thing Derrick had said since he had fished him out of the water. The beach was completely silent aside from the gentle swash of the tide moving in and the soft thuds as Derrick became more and more desperate. There was no movie like shudder, no spurt of water from his miraculously living body. The corpse lay with the stillness only the dead can achieve.

Isaac lay back against the wet sand with a deer-in-headlights expression as Derrick finally stopped his efforts and collapsed himself, shaking with helplessness.

  'It was just a-.' He failed to finish whatever he thought. Barker stood with an air of finality and breathed out.

  ‘Pick him up and get him into the car.’ he ordered.

  ‘Are we going to take him to the hospital?’ asked Derrick with a childlike gaze.  Barker strode up to him and picked him up by the chin and shoulder.

  ‘No, we are not taking him to the fucking hospital you fucking moron!’ he screamed, ‘He’s dead and it’s our goddamn fault. We are going to get rid of him, do you understand?’ Derrick whimpered something inaudible.

  Mabye he had been too hard on him, Barker considered as he dragged the stiffening body across the marram grass. This was the only way though. Christ he thought, even in my own head that sounds callous.

  Later, as Barker and Isaac drove home in silence, Derrick remained on the beach, watching the overcast sky, the blood on the sand, and the slow night drawing in.


---end---

Exactly 350 words and that wasn't even my intention. Again if you would like to read the companion story kindly go to http://rickjohnsonsfiction.blogspot.com/.

[Emerald]

Meh, I suck at flash-fiction, but I'll give it a go...


{Note: the Italian used in this short wont be found in most dictionaries, but is accurate to the best of my knowledge (spelling might be a little off). Learned most of it from my Italian friend. Also note: If you're Italian, this'll probably be a lot more offensive than I intended. Sorry...}

{Another note: I keep getting odd discrepancies between word-counters. This one counts 365, this one counts 408 and my word-processor, Jarte counts 387. And both the first and second count Ben's entry slightly higher than 350, too. Ben, which counter did you use? In any case, Moony, if you think this is too long I'll shave it down. Probably should anyway...}

{A third and final note: Shaved it down a bit, and it's now the exact same word count as Ben's, whatever that might be (342 on the javascriptkit, which is what I usually go by)}





Backswash

Andrea hated the beach. It was always littered with loud, opulent tourists eating ice-creams and sandy sandwiches filled with more sand than meat. It was a blue-and-gold hell. Andrea stopped walking and turned to his friend, Benito.

"Eh, Benelli, what cazzo is this, amico? Why'd you call me here?"

"Beh," he shrugged. "You work too hard, Andrea. You should take time out to... smell the roses, as they say. How's Angelica?"

Andrea scowled and threw his hands into the air. "Figa d'Oro! Always trying to change me, Benito. Like she's too good for me."

"She is too good for you, Andrea," he laughed.

"Cagacazzo..."

"You swear too much, Andrea. It makes me feel like you're not happy."

Andrea shook his head, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets. "I'm content, Benelli--"

"Benito. We're friends, Andrea -- call me Benito."

They continued walking. They headed towards the pier. The setting sun sent flares of brilliant oranges and pinks blossoming over the horizon, reflecting off the rippling ocean. Benito walked to the edge, leaning over the railing to look down the cliff-face. Meanwhile, the sharp winds slashed Andrea's face and chilled him to the bones.

"It's so beautiful here, isn't it?" Benito said, his voice oddly melancholy.

"What's wrong, Benelli?"

Benito sighed. "I hear you've been doing jobs for my uncle."

Andrea nodded enthusiastically. "Si, qui e là. I helped with the Sicily shipment."

"I hear it didn't go so well," he said, his tone suddenly grave.

Andrea shrugged. "Boh, it went fine. We lost a few men, but we got the whole load."

"Andrea, don't you realise what you're getting in to? My uncle is a dangerous man. This cannot end well for you."

"Che palle, I can take care of myself, Benelli."

Benito turned away from the burning horizon and looked Andrea in the eye. "I wish it were that easy, amico," he said, and pulled out a revolver.

"What are you doing!"

"Because of your brashness, Andrea, the Cosa Nostra found out about our operation."

"But Be-Benito, we're friends!"

"I'm sorry," Benito said, and pulled the trigger, twice. After a pause, he turned back to the horizon with tears in his eyes.

[Tuomas]

So we're writing it here for everyone to see without downloading? I might just take advantage of everyone's ideas and submit my own the last day. Umm, a bit too short for me, sry, won't prolly be attending this time. Especially when I'm writing stuff as work on a daily basis now

[Emerald]

So we're writing it here for everyone to see without downloading?

Same as any other competition on here. The last guy has the advantage of knowing what he has to beat, but the disadvantage of having a lot of good ideas already done...

[TwinMoon]

I might just take advantage of everyone's ideas and submit my own the last day.

Or you could just ask a dozen friends to vote for you.
The idea of this competition is to practise your writing skills. I'm naively assuming it will work this way, since there is no real profit to gain from winning.

If it doesn't work, we can always have a system where it's not public before the deadline, but I'm not distrusting this forum's users beforehand. And even if you steal someones brilliant idea, you still have to write it. Just like you would still have to draw a picture in one of the drawing comps.

[Emerald]

Or you could just ask a dozen friends to vote for you.

Aww man, there's no way I could win at a popularity contest 

Besides, why not judge yourself, like the other competitions? I mean, you're the one who set the criteria

[DarkMaster]

Long ago on a very strange beach the ghost ship was spotted

1897

Alone in a dark room Samuel watch ships come in and out of the dock of beach grimwood samuel sit there thinking about what might happen to the cargo and where the ship might go.One night samuel and robert jones were talking about ghosts if they were real or night "Samuel you know that ghosts are not real there is no proof of them"said robert samuel said "Robert i strongly disagree" "Ghosts are quite common around the town of Grimwood"said Samuel "Remember all those brutal murders in this town from 1701 to 1895, some of the town folk said to have seen ships and people walking around the beach on on the docks"samuel said "and-"Robert interrupted "Lots of people walk on the docks and beach" "As I was saying the town folk said the ships and people were glowing an errie green glow"said samuel.
     There was a calmness in the room for a moment then all of a sudden the wind started getting harder and harder rain started pouring down,thunder shook the town of grimwood  samuel watched as the rain slowly slid down the window robert left and went home while samuel stayed the power went out in the room samuel sat back down in the chair samuel heard noises from outside then he heard the most terrible thing he ever heard an ear spliting scream from inside the old light house samuel sit there in the chair shaking then all of a sudden samuel looked out the window and there it was the Ghost ship.The ghost ship's errie glow frightend samuel then samuel seen the ships saliors most of them were bones except for 13 of them.
      Samuel left the house walking toward grimwood beach every step he took he got closer and closer to the dock he took the last step and before him stood the ghost ship he than got on the ship he hid behind a box he waited watching saliors work moving packages,boxs,and crates around on the ship one salior stood right in front of the box he was behind the salior looked no more than 21 years old he had a sword sticking through his back.The salior was wearing a necklace that said James Flynn samuel said in his mind "that must be his name"then samuel heard someone yell "JAMES!!!!" the salior turned around fast and said "Yes captain" The Captain walked up to james and said " Get back to work" James did what the captain said.
      The Captains name was Alexander Bell he was the Most feared pirate that ever sailed the seven seas.Captain bell walked away samuel got up and walked away from the box as he was walking from the box Captain bell seen him "Ah we have a passager aborad"said Bell right then samuel stoped "Since your on my ship you will die on me ship" said captain bell.Captain bell handed samuel a sword and bell drew his sword and said "Any last words matey?"samuel said "No"and they fought samuel put up a great fight.This is the story of Samuel the Headless

[Tuomas]

If it doesn't work, we can always have a system where it's not public before the deadline, but I'm not distrusting this forum's users beforehand. And even if you steal someones brilliant idea, you still have to write it. Just like you would still have to draw a picture in one of the drawing comps.

Nah I was just making sure, you see, we used to post them as text files in the writing contest, as they're easier to download and read, rather than filling a whole page with long posts. Of course with 350~ words that's not an issue. That, and the text looks nicer in a text editor than on a forum page.

[TwinMoon]

Nah I was just making sure, you see, we used to post them as text files in the writing contest, as they're easier to download and read, rather than filling a whole page with long posts. Of course with 350~ words that's not an issue. That, and the text looks nicer in a text editor than on a forum page.

Of course it looks better with some make-up. That's why it says:
"- Post your entries (or link to your entry) in this thread."
But people seem to prefer just posting it here.


@DarkMaster:  Your story is original and engaging, but it's about 200 words too long, which is just too much. You'll have to shorten it if you want to be included in the voting.

[PixelPerfect]

It was a beautiful afternoon. Then an airplane came.

“I can’t feel my hand anymore” An cried with a breathed breath softly sniffing and mumbling as constant tiny rivers of tears ran down her face. Trai shouted something uncontrollable and then took An into his arms and quickly pressed his hand against An’s cheek, closed his eyes and whispered: “I know it hurts… we’ll make it... I love you.”

As Trai shed tears he looked in to An’s brown eyes, which were like two pieces of finest translucent marble showing light brown gems inside of them. He saw life fading away with every pulse of the salty stream.

In the distance you could hear how the village was overrun, how people were crying, how metal made impact coming from the distance, how the air was filled with unreasonable and misdirected hate.

An’s hand was melting into the ground and it was already like a pool of greyish goo. “I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you yesterday” said An. Life was already leaving her as the blood ran wildly to the ground. She continued:”I was so dirty from the day’s work”, as she closed her eyes. Trai just held her in his arms and rocked back and forth trying to make everything right somehow: “Just stay with me.”

Another airplane came. It dropped something. That something said: ”Freedom from China Beach”

[None]

Dark Waters

There was something about looking out at the open water. It continued on forever, an endless eternity sculpted from liquid glass.
     Andrew held with bittersweet recollection a memory of himself years ago. He had been much as he was now, standing on the shore, looking out at a vast ocean.  But then he was a younger man, and the sea had seemed to him an endless domain, that with a ship he could roam at will. Through the eyes of a young, eager sailor it was not water at all, but freedom and adventure.
     Now as he stood staring out at the sea, he realized that it was not freedom at all, but a great void that prevented him from leaving this godforsaken island. How long he had been marooned here, months, years, he could not remember.
     He spent his evenings now, watching the horizon. Holding onto some forlorn hope that he might spot a ship. That perhaps that great love of his life, the ocean would not entirely betray him to this distant and abandoned shore. How he dreamed of being rescued.
     The sun fell sleepily behind tremulous clouds. Dark clouds that brought with them the promise of powerful and fearful storms, the kind that had wrecked him upon these shores long ago.
     Andrew began to hear something, a voice, carried on the stormy winds. "Andrew..." it called." Andrew come back into me..."
     Andrew screamed, cursed himself. How weak he was, he was letting this isolation drive him mad! He could bear no more. He knew what he must do. There was a bluff, overlooking the water not far from here. He would go there, he would end this!
     The storm roared above as he made his way up to the bluff, soon he was there, overlooking the dark waters below. "Come back to me..." the sea called from below." Come back to me..." He prepared himself, and leapt from edge into the water.  He hit the water with such force, that it knocked him unconscious. Dark waters drew him in, and at last he would have his peace...

[Play_Pretend]

*lol*  I was reading through these, and thought "Jesus...why is everyone writing about beaches???"  *smacks own forehead*

[Emerald]

Would it be considered 'poisoning the wells' to discuss these stories before the closing date?

[Colxfile]

Seychelles
Lying on the beach on Silhouette Island was a sure fire way to lose all track of time. The sun beat down on my front, face, feet and legs, while keeping the sand hot enough to turn me into a medium-rare steak if I fell off my lounger. The only sound was that of the waves gently brushing up against the shore, and then retreating. The unmistakable aroma of sea salt was slowly seasoning my nostrils. No clouds in the sky. Nothing was around to ruin my relaxing holiday. I was loving every minute of it. Damn right too: I’d earnt this.

I surrendered my brief battle to keep my eyelids open, and let myself doze off. I was only briefly woken up by the sound of the hotel waiter filling my glass, followed by a pleasant clink clink of ice cubes after which I drifted off again. I felt surrounded in a comfortable, warm bubble… floating. Just floating. Nothing on my mind, no troubles, no worries to rouse me. And I had another 4 days of this to look forward to. My eyes half opened to take in that clear blue sky again. Perfect. Absolutely…

“JOHNSON!!!”

I sat bolt upright in my office chair, pulling my head off the desk and feeling a chord of drool running down my chin. My eyes struggled to focus on my real-life surroundings, while the fluorescent tube lights burned into my eyes. I shook my head left and right to try and make sense of what was happening.

“You’re asleep at work AGAIN!” said a loud voice behind me.

I spun around and looked at owner of that voice, slack-jawed.

“Clear your desk. You’re fired!”

As I stepped out of the office that afternoon, the cold rain thundered from thick black clouds. It would be a long walk home tonight.

[TwinMoon]

Would it be considered 'poisoning the wells' to discuss these stories before the closing date?

I'd rather you waited until the voting has started.


Wonderful entries so far people, I'm amazed by the diversity. Keep 'em coming!

[Candall]

I have come to know hatred as a dark adrenaline that courses coldly through my veins, rattling my spine with its unrelenting chill.  I shuddered as I dragged my feet along the black-and-white marbled sands of a beach which I’ve come to know as The Widowmaker, as it has left my considerable misanthropy in mourning of those parts of me that once welcomed light.

The tourists were a particulary horrifying ensemble today… a woman in what appeared to be a seaworthy nightgown was wiping her son’s bared bottom onto the shore within mere yards of the rest of the ecstatically oblivous automatons engaging in their ritualistic play within the shallow tide.

My eyes next encountered an absurdly corpulent woman in a black onesie.  She brought to mind the concept of a funery beachball; the flab on her arms engaged in a morbid dance as she extraced a coconut scented ooze from an industrial-sized jug of sunscreen.  From here, she proceeded to slather said ooze onto the hairy back of her equally corpulent companion whose densely hirsute flesh stood as a metaphorical grassy knoll from whence my appetite had been unceremoniously assassinated.

Just as I was beginning to think that my day could not possibly have gotten worse, I heard a scream.  A quick scan of the horizon revealed the source… a young girl was far too distant from the safety of the coast.  I could not control my legs… they hastened toward her location utterly unabated by my mental protestation.  Soon my arms betrayed me as well… they were stroking the rising waves with a violent fervor even as my neck and jaw stubbornly refused my request to simply drown in the act.

By the time I finally reached the snaggle-toothed terror, the sea had called her consciousness away.  I thought that perhaps I would now be able to return to shore, my shockingly self-sacrificial body satisfied in its failure.

I emerged from the sea with her miniature frame draped over my shoulder.  As my efforts in CPR called forth a cascade of seawater, her mother’s gratitude saved my life.

[Emerald]

Heh, very dark, Candall, but in an... uplifting kind of way. What's it called?