Total Write Off - 1.3 (The Harvest) - finished

pickarooney

The third match of the first round is the clash of BRONZE and RED on the subject of The Harvest. For more details on the competition, see here.

Voting is by poll, with invisible results and open for 5 days. As far as possible, please try and give some feedback for the story you vote for and the one you don't vote for.

Best of luck to BRONZE and RED.

pickarooney

‘You know when it all started going títs up, dontcha?’

‘Uh-huh.’ Just another few minutes and he’d have got through his watch without this gobshíte approaching him. He had enough trouble with this time of year without having to listen to McGurk’s insecurities. Best to let him dribble on.

‘Oh yeah! When they elected that Darky for a third term Over There, it was change your shorts time. You knew they were panicking when even the Southern States were begging him to stay on.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘And you know when things started getting better? It was when we got rid of the old religion.’

‘Uh-huh.’ He knew it was nerves. Harvest Time was the most challenging of times. Even the most fervent must question the Harvest Ceremony. Cattle. They are only cattle. Sacrificing a beast at harvest time in thanks for a bumper harvest was the high point of the religious cycle.

‘How many millennia do you need to close the deal, eh, Murphy, eh?’ McGurk said digging his elbow into his fellow sentry.

‘Shouldn’t you be standing guard on the other side of the courtyard? You know what will happen if…’

McGurk started to move away before stopping. ‘You used to be a Grubber before being brought into town. Is it true some of ye… I mean… some Grubbers still practice the Desert religion?’

He knew he shouldn’t let McGurk wind him up, but all his family remained outside the protection of the town and he never fully considered himself a Townie. ‘You know, McGurk, if it weren’t for Grubbers everyone in this town would starve within months.’

‘Chill! Murphy, You know where your loyalty lies don’t you? You know how this works. The Grubbers work the land. And for supplying the town with food the town offers the Grubbers as much protection as possible from marauders.’

This fool, the bástard son of the king’s cousin, was his superior. And he did appreciate he lived in peaceful times – It had been a full five years since the town soldiers had attacked the surrounding dwellings. Food was scarce and people did terrible things to get it or protect it. The Years of “The Sickness” wiped out almost all the land animals, including humans. But while the human population was stabilising only a handful of cattle remained, and even fewer could reproduce. But the sacrifice still had to take place. Both the old and new religion had that in common. Sacrifice was necessary.

‘Of course I do. I worked hard enough to get in here remember.’

The only time a Grubber, man or woman, was allowed in through the town gates was if they were willing to enter, ‘Last Grubber Standing’.

Six Grubbers were chosen to enter the arena from the many volunteers each year during the harvest ceremony. Whoever walked out to the cheers of the assembled town populace was allowed to stay and become a townie. The winner, it was believed, was divinely chosen and worthy of citizenship. Almost every victor was recruited to the army, unless a female won. She most likely became a servant at the King’s court. The rewards were the protection of the town walls and enough food to even spare some for your family on the outside.

Murphy's mother had begged him to enter the contest last year. But, it wasn’t meant to be him. He was one of those even rarer beasts that had been picked for some learning. The town nobles liked their poets and storytellers, and they liked to hire some from among the Grubbers. His brother, Tom, was the one reared and trained to enter the arena. Tom was a fearsome fighter and always beat his brother when he challenged him in practice fights. Then almost eighteen months ago troops from town found his brother with a group of five others in the woods standing around a large flat stone. The wooden crosses found around their necks were a death sentence.

‘I haven’t forgotten. The way you stayed out of the middle, letting the others hack pieces off each other in the first thirty seconds. That was smart. But of course, you couldn’t leave the arena without getting wet yourself. But, it was almost a mercy you putting that girl out of her misery.’

Murphy hadn’t forgotten either. For the last year it was more often than not the last image he saw each night before falling asleep. Before he could form a response a warning from another sentry broke the silence.

‘Here they come! The Grubbers are here for the Harvest sacrifice.’

Murphy was high up in the wooden battlements and had a perfect view of the dozen or so elders walking either side of the flower adorned sacrifice. It was a slow and respectful procession.

McGurk had sidled back to Murphy and was now shoulder to shoulder.

‘What a waste,’ McGurk had an excited and disturbing look on his face, ‘it’s a pity… you know… before the sacrifice, if we could… you know… would it make any difference, do you think?’

Murphy pushed him roughly away. It was a dangerous thing to do. McGurk was well connected, but suddenly, he could not bear to be near him. But McGurk was only laughing.

Murphy tried, but couldn’t avert his gaze as the visitors approached the gates. The rope tied around the sacrifice’s neck was passed from the Grubber elders to the town priestess. As the Grubber elders remained at the gate, the sacrifice was led the short distance to the sacrificial altar.

Cattle were the most precious possessions in the land and no one knew if they had a future. Would the birth defects stop and healthy cattle once more be born?

Finally Murphy forced himself to look away. Cattle were too precious and needed a symbolic substitute. It possibly wouldn’t hurt so much except for the sacrifice being the younger sister of the boy that had once thought him his times tables. But, the sacrifice needed to be made. It was the time of the Harvest.

pickarooney

As soon as it left his hand I knew it was the end. I had noticed a hairline crack from the previous assault and positioned it sideways to protect the weakness. The white shoelace tightened as the shiny hard fruit accelerated towards me, my eye catching every inch of its movement as if frame by frame, like a slow motion action sequence. The impact was hard and fast and was greeted with an approving cheer from the gathered. I was beaten and it hurt. For more than a year I had nurtured, sheltered and protected my prized find and it paid me back tenfold. 11 days unbeaten - a new record – but now she lay at my feet shattered and broken. My eyes welled and my mind wandered. One year. Seems like yesterday, I thought.

The house I grew up in was situated in a small cul-de-sac half way up a long inclined hill, known colloquially as “Tree’s”. Tree’s was unusual in that its residents were divided, historically, based on their religion. At the bottom of Tree’s was a large catholic church and an even bigger catholic school. At the top of the hill was a small protestant school adjacent to a protestant church and a vicar’s residence. The vicar’s house was surrounded by large granite walls and shielded by huge cast iron gates. Towards the back of the house was a beautifully manicured garden sheltered by the oldest horse chestnut trees within 10 miles. During late August and mid September every child between the age of 7 and 12 would make an attempt to get access to the garden and pilfer the autumnal fruit that scattered the tightly cut lawns of that old house. This year, early one Saturday morning, I crept up the lane way at the side of the house and made my way to where the wall ends and the hedgerow begins. From there I got low down and pushed myself under the inside fence and into the sacred stronghold. The morning dew clung to the grass and glistened in the early morning sun. When I stood up I could hardly believe my eyes. The lawn was peppered with lush ripe conkers. Such abundance made me giddy and I quickly took my plastic bag from my pocket and began to fill it. Within minutes the bag was brimming. I crouched down low to make my exit when there it was. Peeking from its prickly green casing was the largest conker I had ever seen. The sheer size of it stopped me in my stride. This one would go in my pocket and not the bag. It wasn’t unusual for the older children to hang around outside the vicar’s house waiting for the younger kids to make their way out with their spoils. It was safer to rob the robbers than it was to risk the wrath of the vicar. They could have my full bag but I wasn’t going to surrender this monster, no way.

I couldn’t wait for Daddy to get home. As soon as I heard his car pulling up outside I leapt up and ran to the door.

“Dad, look what I found. Look at the size of this one!” I yelled.

Dad took the enormous conker from my hand and held it up to the light in the hallway.

“Wow. In all the years I have never seen such a big conker” he said.

“And I know just what to do with it”.

Everyone had different ways of making their conkers harder and better than anyone else’s. Most people baked theirs in the oven for a short time before competing. Some boiled them in vinegar while others soaked them in white spirits. Daddy’s way was to let time take care of it.

“Wrap this beast in old newspaper, place her in the airing cupboard and forget about her until next year” he suggested.

“Check on her every couple of months to make sure she’s coming along. Then, this time next year we’ll unwrap her, boil her a little, and add the gloss to liven her up. She will be unbeatable”

And so I did. I wrapped my oversized horse chestnut in some old newspaper and placed her at the bottom of the airing cupboard surrounded by some old towels and I waited. It was difficult. The first 3 weeks were torture. My overflowing bag of normal conkers didn’t last very long and as each one split and fell to the ground my thoughts reverted to the dark corner of my hot press were my unbeatable beauty was resting and growing stronger every day. Finally, almost one year later, the day arrived.

“OK son” Dad said

“Let’s crack her open and see how she looks”

I raced up the stairs, the excitement building, and pulled the newspaper from its resting place. I lay it on the counter top in the kitchen and opened it up.

“Looks good” Dad said and gave me a smile.

He picked it up and gave it a little rub.

“Vinegar bath for you m’lady” he exclaimed in a mock English accent.

After a ten minute soak in some brown vinegar I rinsed it off and handed over to Dad. I was still too young to use the drill so Dad took it, clamped it tightly and using his miniature model making drill bit he carefully bore a perfectly straight hole.

“That’s the trick son. You need to keep the hole as cylindrical as possible. That means a nice straight, round hole the whole way through. That’ll keep her strong”

My classmates couldn’t believe it when I finally brought it into school. I had smeared on some clear nail varnish before I laced her up and she shimmered in the Autumn sun, dangling from my Dad’s old boot lace. All that was left to do now was go through the school term unbeaten.

As my favoured conker burst free of the lace and splintered to the ground my classmates cheered and patted my head roughly. A conker couldn’t go a whole school term unbeaten, everyone knew that.

I still live close to the vicar’s house and every so often I drive by it with my two young sons. I love to tell them the story of how I covertly broke into the garden at the back and uncovered the biggest conker ever seen.

“OK Dad” they sneer without lifting their heads from their games consoles.

I wonder what that old garden looks like now. I wonder if a conker as big as the one I found is lying there, waiting. Waiting for the next 7 year old to scale the fence and find her. It's autumn now. Winter isn't far behind.

Turtyturd

RED

This one is actually the closest one so far for me. I prefer the type of story Bronze tells and it does a really good job of painting a picture of that world. But as with some of the others the ending was fairly predictable...still extrememly enjoyable.

For the first couple of paragraphs of Red's I thought we were going to have two similar stories, so it was good to see how it diverted on to something completely different. It also struck a chord with me because I remember bringing my nephew to collect conkers and him having no interest, much likes the end of Red's story.

Tough choice.

pickarooney

I didn't really know what to make of Bronze. I'm assuming it's not just me but there is a deliberate misdirect in the third paragraph to make us think this is set in about 20 years' time and the dialogue seems designed to place this in more or less contemporary Ireland, yet the story itself seems to be set in a completely different time or a parallel universe.

That aside, it was a well-written, engaging read set in an interesting world. I just think it tried to fit too much information into a few words and we're left with half-cooked pieces about the tournament, the sacrifice, the disease etc. without really knowing what's going on. This piece would definitely benefit from a rewrite and expanding the story to fill in the blanks - at least for my preferences; I tend to be a little slow on the uptake and need a couple of reads to understand complex stories.

Red was very nearly a great story, but I found the pacing way off. I would have much preferred if the very accomplished middle was not bookended by essentially the same description of the conker breaking. The last few lines added nothing, I felt and if the writer had avoided telling us from the outset that the conker was smashed it would have made a much more engrossing read.

Basically, for me Red needs only a small adjustment whereas Bronze is not the finished article so I'll go for Red on that basis.

Oryx

Two really evenly matched stories. Both are very well put together, so this one comes down to personal preference.

I liked the start of the first one, but for some reason, having the main characters referred to by surname only always irritates me. I think the story would work better with a longer word count to flesh out the details a bit. The plot is a little cliched but well told for all that.

The second one lost me in some parts, I think that was deliberate, but it did affect the flow for me a bit. Some sections could do with being whittled down a little, too much description and not enough story.

I am being hypercritical here, both stories are very strong, but Im going for the one with the better emotional connection for me.

Killer_banana

RED

Both very well written.

Like Pickaroooney I originally thought Bronze was set in the future so was slightly confused at first. I found the story interesting and would like to know more but it felt more like the start of something longer than the full story. Still very good.

Red was very well written and paced well but knowing the conker would break from the beginning removed any tension or surprise. Also I thought it was a sightly dull topic to write about but maybe that's jut a generational thing. =P

smcgiff

RED

I read Bronze's story as being post apocolyptic Ireland in the near future.

I would prefer Bronze's story, but think Red's writing in this story to be stronger.

diddlybit

RED

Enjoyed them both.

I found the placing of Bronze's story in the future interesting and really enjoyed the idea of a return to primitivism in times of distress. It made me want to know more about how this society came to be and the details of these new religions. To an extent working out the year was jarring, and I think the story could be great if expanded on.

Red's was very well written and I enjoyed the nostalgic aspects to it. I think many individuals could relate to the harvesting of conkers in the autumn. Would probably have left out the return to the modern age, as to an extent, I think it slightly spoils the atmosphere of magic and wonder that the writer created.

Can't decide.

Insect Overlord

RED

I'm torn between them! Loved both for different reasons.

Bronze drew me into its own world very quickly.
Red had the nostalgia factor working in its favour.

I'll have to think about this for a few hours before I vote on it.

Memnoch

Both stories had their good points. Bronze was more plot driven while Red was more character driven. It's harder to do plot driven stories in a shorter word count I feel and it's slightly easier to just focus on mood and atmosphere. I enjoyed both though I felt the ending of Bronze was a bit more predictable. I liked the nostalgia of Red and the playing out of changing times and values.

Blush_01

RED

It's been very difficult to choose between the two, they were both great for different reasons.

I liked most of BRONZE, except the end - the last line/paragraph feels a bit clunky by comparison to the rest of the story, like it was thrown on at the last minute, or time ran out and it was a bit rushed. I'd love to read more of it though.

On the other hand, I really liked RED too. The ending might have been predictable, but that didn't actually bother me. It was well written and something anyone who's been a child can relate to!

It was a hard decision to make, well done to both competitors.

Also Starring LeVar Burton

RED

As everyone else has said, both stories were very well written and enjoyable and I can't flaw either of them - it ultimately came down to personal preference and BRONZE's story just intrigued me that little bit more and I really want to read more of that one, so I went with Bronze.

Slow Show

RED

OK, I finally have time to give my two cents...I've read these and voted before, but I haven't commented. I liked both of these, both had a nice take on the theme. The first one confused me quite a bit though and I agree that it felt just a little bit rushed, and going over it and editing it would have made a big difference in the final product.

As for Red, I think it was well-written and I found myself relating to it. Argh, I really did like both almost equally and I'm not entirely sure who I ended up voting for at the weekend, very close match.

Aoibheann

I would agree with what smcgiff said in that I would typically prefer the story that BRONZE wrote, but again I do feel that RED's story is the better-written of the two.

As other have pointed out, RED has the nostalgia factor working for it, but I think that the ending was rather rushed and takes away from an otherwise well-crafted story.

I'd really like to see an extended version of BRONZE's story as I think it could be expanded on very well, and a few of the issues mentioned by others here could be addressed then.

Overall, this was another tough one to call!

Antilles

After reading Bronze, I was certain it would be the winner, but then I read Red and was torn. Both stories are great in their own way.

My only problem was with Bronze, which I felt tried to cram too much into too little space. So even though its not the sort of story I usually like, I think Red has to get my vote.

Mr E

Tough one to call. I liked the bronze story, but I think red was better written.

Am I the only one who pictures the dialogue in 'red' being featured in an ad for Barry's Tea during the autumn?

pickarooney

RED wins by a nose in our closest contest yet. Tough one for BRONZE to lose but there aren't many easy draws.

smcgiff

RED

Best of luck to Red, a worthy winner.

As those of us that didn't qualify will be well forgotten by the time this finishes, I don't think there's any harm in those getting knocked coming out of the literary closet.

Thanks for all those that read my entry and thanks for all the comments, both positive and critical.

As they say in all the good knock out competitions I wish Red all the best and hope they go on to win it!!!

Hrududu

RED

That is a close one. Congratulations to red. Both were very good stories though.

pickarooney

smcgiff wrote: »

Best of luck to Red, a worthy winner.

As those of us that didn't qualify will be well forgotten by the time this finishes, I don't think there's any harm in those getting knocked coming out of the literary closet.

Thanks for all those that read my entry and thanks for all the comments, both positive and critical.

As they say in all the good knock out competitions I wish Red all the best and hope they go on to win it!!!

I disagree, and specifically asked people not to comment on whether or not they'd qualified in the main thread. If everyone does this the identities of the finalists will be obvious.