C&F Writing Competition. Can you freaking believe it?

[FJohnSharp]

This being a family-safe site and all, what about profanity in the stories?

(I'm making this more difficult than it needs to be, I know)

[Daryl]

Two Entries


Entry #1

I sat in the dark, waiting, hearing only the sound of my own breath and trying not to move as a bead of sweat trickled down my nose.



Entry #2

The sound haunted my nights and, when I did sleep, filled my dreams until I grew unable to think of anything else. I finally gave up trying to ignore the growing compulsion. I thought if I yielded to it, just a little, it would be satisfied: a lunch break here, a weekend there.

But of course that wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. The lunch breaks stretched into hours. When I was at my desk, I spent my time prowling the Internet. So many times I thought I’d found her! So many times I reached out to grasp the object of my desire, only to see it vanish in disappointment’s smoke.

It is one of life’s great ironies, isn’t it, that when we finally have the time to pursue our dreams we find ourselves without the money to make them happen? Of course I lost my job. Even in my fevered state I knew that would happen, just as you surely knew when you read my tale. But you asked, so I am telling: this is how I came to be homeless and wandering, always in search of a perfect whistle that I’ll never find.
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[Bloomfield]

This being a family-safe site and all, what about profanity in the stories?

(I'm making this more difficult than it needs to be, I know)

I am all in favor of profanity, as long as it is tasteful profanity.

[Wombat]

This being a family-safe site and all, what about profanity in the stories?

(I'm making this more difficult than it needs to be, I know)

I am all in favor of profanity, as long as it is tasteful profanity.

That's a relief. As my dear old granny used to say, God rest her soul, if you can't say anything nice about someone, then learn to make up some sh*t instead or you'll end up as big an eejit as yer da.

Wait a minute. That's not exactly profanity is it? But it's close.

Oh, that's not my entry, by the way. Right now, I have nothing that could possibly compete with Carol's insect aside.

[Bloomfield]

Oh, that's not my entry, by the way. Right now, I have nothing that could possibly compete with Carol's insect aside.

I am pleased to announce a SECOND PRIZE! Consisting in whatever the WINNER doesn't want. AND MAYBE EVEN A THRID PRIZE. I don't want anyone discouraged from posting entries because of Carol's or Emmline's or anyone else's brilliant entries. The point after all is to amuse and edificate all of us.

Just go easy on the goddamn profanity.

[Lorenzo]

Guestly fixed upon this couch, I've placed myself too much for arranging when I shouldn't and doubting when I should...and this has given my writer's bump a nasty cut.

There were seven long minutes, when all I could see--through my ocean colored eyes--was my face on a television screen...accepting the blue ribbon (the CD) on stage, hands raised towards the sky, thousands of viewers looking on with endless applause.

When I awoke, I felt myself standing here, all alone, the rush of reality vanishing like this morning's fog, and my eyes coming to focus on an item laid before me--a small square plastic case about 5 x 5½"--and you can guess the rest.

Yes, I'm no genuine contestant for this prize. I already have one, and I just wanted to let you know, but wasn't sure how best to go about it. Thanks, but I must withdraw my entry...unless...unless, somehow I could amend the existing offer: I can send a copy to everyone who loses, doesn't submit an entry, or has no interest in reading this offer. But, I won't. Competition is for ball players. I shouldn't play ball. Yes, there you have it. You can't lose with this kind of generosity. How can I? RSVN'P

[Walden]

Celtic: a way to connect diverse folk musics with New Age pop, preferably with reference to mists.

[Nanohedron]

Entry:

A Vignette.

She sits herself there smiling with her back curved to me, a singularity of grace, her tail demure upon the floor and curled just so -she is all curves, curls, and roundnesses- as if it were saying something ineffable to the world: what? It is a speaking tail, a powerful tail, and her proudest part; woe to the hand that presumes too far upon it. She defines sublime beauty, and knows it; never mind that she'll lick her butt. Even chewing her toes, the serenity of a god infuses her every moment. I am her subaltern, her thrall. How do I describe my servitude? In strokes? In kibble? In my dutiful ministering to her cat-box? How perfect it is when she'll madly gallop after a straying moth, or dance attendance upon a discovered pinch of fresh catnip hidden in my hand. I need a life, desperately. I also need her approval. So I sigh, and will go to clean her cat-box yet again.

The End.

[Lorenzo]

So I sigh, and will go to clean her cat-box yet again.

At first, I thought maybe you had snuck out to my garage and was rubbing your hands all over my 1960 MGA.

[Daryl]

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NOT AN ENTRY


Nanohedron,

Your story reminded me of this little gem:


Stray Cat
by
Francis Witham


Oh, what unhappy twist of fate
Has brought you homeless to my gate?
The gate where once another stood
To beg for shelter, warmth, and food
For from that day I ceased to be
The master of my destiny

While he, with purr and velvet paw,
Became within my house the law.
He scratched the furniture and shed
And claimed the middle of my bed

He ruled with arrogance and pride
And broke my heart the day he died.
So if you really think, oh Cat,
I'd willingly relive all that
Because you come forlorn and thin
Well . . . don't just stand there . . . Come on in!

[Nanohedron]

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NOT AN ENTRY


Nanohedron,

Your story reminded me of this little gem:


Stray Cat
by
Francis Witham


Oh, what unhappy twist of fate
Has brought you homeless to my gate?
The gate where once another stood
To beg for shelter, warmth, and food
For from that day I ceased to be
The master of my destiny

While he, with purr and velvet paw,
Became within my house the law.
He scratched the furniture and shed
And claimed the middle of my bed

He ruled with arrogance and pride
And broke my heart the day he died.
So if you really think, oh Cat,
I'd willingly relive all that
Because you come forlorn and thin
Well . . . don't just stand there . . . Come on in!

Story of my life. Sometimes I swear there's gotta be a network out there: "Hey, Nano's got a vacancy!"

[littlejohngael]

ENTRY:

It was a cool, wind-swept night. The door to the pub was open, and outside the sound of a gentle rain could be heard falling to the earth. All else was silent save the low, haunting music I was playing on stage. It was "Sarah's Dream," a personal composition I'd written on just such an evening three years ago.

The notes flowed like her hair as she danced, and touched my heart like her warm, gentle caress. I tried not to let the audience see my tears as the music brought back her memory. But truthfully, there was little chance that it would happen.

It was just me, my Alba Low D and my enraptured audience. As I finish the set, grown men were weeping into their pints of Guinness and women were swooning. I lowered my Alba as a lone figure approached me.

I looked in his eyes and could see that my song had found it’s way into deep wells of sorrow. A single tear stained his face, and in a broken voice -- barely above a whisper -- he said, "Little John. That was beautiful. Please ... please teach me to play like that."

I blushed and replied, "It would be my pleasure, Mr. Spillane."

[Daryl]

Story of my life. Sometimes I swear there's gotta be a network out there: "Hey, Nano's got a vacancy!"

I know what you mean. I keep looking for secret markings on the door, or maybe little signs in feline pinned to my socks. How DO they know?

[Henke]

Entry:

"Ahw!!!" I said out aloud "I'm all bananas! It used to be so simple, now it's hardly simple, just simply hard. Everything is sooo complicated."
I lifted up the butterfly that lived his laidback life day by day in my hand.
"What are u smiling about?" I asked him just a bit sourly. "Isn't your head filled with the same overwhelming feeling that you should do something but don't know what? Don't you have that same feeling of a thousand ideas that flows trough your head without you beeing able to catch a single one of em?"
He burst out laughing at that. "Stupid ass human!" He said. "You are so concentrated on the details that you totally miss the big picture."
"What is the big picture?" I asked almost desperately. I had spent so much time in the dark state of not knowing myself and much less the world around me.
"It's about feelings! Didn't you know that?" He said. "Feelings is all that matters, always has been and always will be so."
"I don't..."I started.
"Just shut up and listen for god's sake. Nothing matters but feelings. Ofcourse, the way I see it, nothing is anything but feelings. You need to get in touch with your own feelings kid. Get in touch with them and then start channeling them onto others. You know this is what you was made for. You will drench the world in your feelings and people will cry and laugh with you. You need to figure out how to do this, but let me just give you a hint."
He started flapping his wings, and then out of mid air there popped out a shiny whistle.
"I can help you conquer the world. Who is to stop you? If your feelings are stronger than the ones thrown against you, you will always win. But you need to also sing, dance, play the guitar and so on. All that matters is that you are true to your feelings, cuz feelings rule everything. See ya!"
He flew off then on sturdy wings.
I sat down and everything suddenly seemed so clear.
"Hell!" I thought, "Nothing is impossible, right. Lets do this!"
"Feelin' you, feelin' me...This is how we do things"

I could hear the little butterfly cheering in my head as I set out for the stars...

[FJohnSharp]

ENTRY



At the wedding you sit in the back. Uninvited. Lots of people. No one will notice.

The music starts and everyone turns and you keep behind the guy in the tight fitting suit, peeking over his shoulder a second at a time until she passes. You feel dizzy. The music, the organ, the white, white dress. The veil.

And the father, whoa, the father.

She was smiling. Almost real. Like when she used to see you. Bright, bright smile. Warmed you like microwaves from the inside out.

White and pink rose petals dot the red, red carpet on which she glides. To him. Rebound guy. You met him once. In an alley. Okay, you stalked him. Easy to push. Didn’t scare for long. Wedding six months later.

You see everyone smiling, at her beauty or at their remembrances. Flash popping. Bridesmaids chafing in their flouncy pink taffeta. Mother-of-the-Bride weeping. You feel no smile on your face.

Father—angry, foul-mouthed, over-protective father—takes her to the alter. “Who gives this bride?” “Her mother and I.” Sure, after he stole her from you. Called you a “(bleep) druggie asshole.” You think he kicked your leg but you were wasted.

“For richer and poorer, in sickness and in health.” You went to rehab. Got healthy, which is what you tell people. Could get rich if things work out, you know, just right. Too late to win the father. He made threats. Believable ones.

“Till death do you part.” You can arrange that. Different methods occur to you. Grieving widows need comfort. Throw in the dad for grins.

“Does anyone present see any reason why this man and this woman should not be joined in holy matrimony?” Well, yeah. How do you do this? Just raise your hand? Like in school? Or shout out? The silence is interminable. Like they’re waiting for you.

You’re sweating. Shaking. You feel a pulling. Everyone is waiting for you and the pressure is crushing. You think you can do this one thing for her but your internal calendar resets to your needing days. You try to raise you hand, your voice, but they are chained to you and you’re sinking.

You stand. Everyone looks. You lower your head, turn, slip out the side exit.

You feel for the little bag in your pocket, and slink to a place where you know you will not be disturbed.

<end>

(edited to delete the title, which I'll add again later)