[Writing Contest] - THE ARENA

I wonder could we have a mini battle for thursday? My internets down, and I won't be able to do any other times.

I want to get involved in this shindig

Should me, you and the winner (Pooka?) have a threeway for saturday?

I think it'd be interesting to do three

I'm always up for a threeway :pac:

Sorry, just caught up now - I'm pretty tied up this weekend, but happy for you two to go ahead and I can take on the winner of that next week!

Ah well. I was hoping for a threesome with Pooka. It would've been magical.

You and me deranged?

let's go for it

How about Tuesday instead?

Potential topic: Cooking :P

I'll be gone Monday-Wednesday so Thursday is the earliest I'd be able to make it :P

But, yeah, cooking is fine haha

Ficheall

Bump.

C'mon folks, can we get cracking on this thread again - I've run out of material for reading on the bog.

Agent Weebley

Ficheall wrote: »

Bump.

C'mon folks, can we get cracking on this thread again - I've run out of material for reading on the bog.

I'd love to squeeze out a story, but I'm feeling a little wiped from the weekend, and really need to post elsewhere right now - I'm long overdue, since my writing tapered off in August. In these type of contests I usually end up being number 2, as people seem to think my writing is a little scatty, but if you plop down a theme, I will try and try . . . and try to be a Good Boy and write something presentable.

There. I wrote my "elsewhere" post first. Now I feel better.

Would be up for a round, if anyone's biting

The Pooka wrote: »

Would be up for a round, if anyone's biting

Only saw this now, I'll bite if you're still up for it? Suggest a topic, any topic and I'll roll with it.

Cool - let's say 24 hours from when you accept

Topic: Schadenfreude

EDIT: Er 'accept' as in accept the topic, not this acceptance of the challenge, obviously :P

Challenge and topic accepted!G'luck

One other thing,can we try our best to stick to the original 600 word limit?we've all become fairly lenient on it over the last while and i just think that if one of us breaks it,it gives that person a distinct advantage because there is a certain challenge in trying to submit a polished off story within the limit.

SCHADENFREUDE

In the beginning, there was nothing – or, to be more precise, billions of microscopic somethings that'd yet to form a cohesive whole. And then, a collision; an ignition; an explosion; and from these, life; matter; being. This we know – or can, at least, logically presume – and though the debate rages on vis-á-vis the specifics, I feel it stands to reason that, in this day and age, the question of how we exist has given way to the more pressing matter of why.

Now, don't get me wrong; by all means, we should continue to question whether our origins are natural or divine in... well, origin. But it's important not to lose sight of what truly matters in the process – and, hackneyed as it may sound, I do sincerely believe that, in finding you, I've finally found the purpose I've so lacked of late. I don't even know your name, yet for some reason I can't shake this feeling that the rest of my life depends entirely on what I do next.

Why, then, not simply approach you, take my chances, be a man, et cetera? After all, the only thing worse than momentary public humiliation is, I should think, perennial mental torture – and no matter the outcome, 'twill be a pretty paltry audience: elderly gent in the far corner flicking though a newspaper, mother with young child near the door, our increasingly bored looking teenage waitress and a few miscellaneous singletons and couples.

But of course, the 'supporting cast' is ultimately meaningless: it's all about you. That blonde, sun-kissed hair that first caught my attention; the eyes, the windows to the soul: a sparkling blue, just as they should be; bosom: sizeable, definitely sizeable – and don't go thinking less of me, now; this is naturally part of what's taken into consideration, by all of us; call it survival instinct...

But I digress.

The simple truth, phrased at its most basic level, is this: if I don't act now, I'll never know. At present, we've a Schrödinger's Cat sitch on our hands, and it's high time to open the box, eliminate all doubt, proclaim it either living or dead – in short, piss, or get off the pot.

And so, it's happening... I'm crossing the café... Mere inches separate us... We've made eye contact.

"Hi there. I know this may sound...odd – and my apologies if you dislike public displays of affection, or whatever this qualifies as – but I just felt that, if I didn't speak to you, I'd regret it forever more. I've been... 'admiring' you from over there, near the window, for the last half-hour or so and... Well, I wanted to ask you out. On a date. With me. Now, please, feel under no obligation to say yes – and of course, my apologies too if you're already spoken for; if so, just say the word. But I simply couldn't let the chance pass me by to lay this out and see if you were maybe feeling similar... So. What d'you say?"

You're looking right at me. You are beautiful; in fact, perfect. You speak.

"Es tut mir echt Leid," you say, "aber ich kann Sie nicht völlig verstehen. Ich spreche nur ein bisschen Englisch."

The café suddenly seems a lot more crowded than I'd originally perceived. Everyone has heard; they must have done. The sniggering is bound to come next.

In five seconds, I'm at the door.

In ten, I'm rounding the corner.

In half a minute, I'm three streets away.

God – if, indeed, the bastard exists – has one twisted sense of humour.

BOOM! It is nigh on time. BOOM! The drum beat washes over him, sending shivers rippling down his back. Directly above him, the stadium is alive- a heaving, writhing throng of humanity and all of them thirsty. For blood. His blood maybe. BOOM! He makes his way out through the guarded gate and onto the sands, wrapped in a shroud of tranquillity. He’s been here before more than once, a claim not many can match. Today he will live or he will die. He takes the arena centre to observe as his opponent enters.

Nervous? Perhaps. He doesn’t know this man, they have never met before, but this man is in his way. He will kill this obstacle. The crowd is become distant noise, that of rushing water, and so it begins. They circle one another, and as they do so, he probes. A feint swing of his rusted gladius to test balance and speed of thought. A wild slash to invite a counter thrust, all the while pondering his strategy. He thinks he senses a slight nervousness in the man opposite him, the crowd are getting agitated. They want blood. And so he provides. He rushes his man suddenly, driving him backwards. Measured swings are parried with slick speed. A wild left hook misses- in his panic he swings his sword aimlessly, gashing his victim along the side. The crowd roar approval. He has provided. The tempo soars. So too does his soul at the sight of blood. He is no better than the crowd, he too is an animal. But not a rabid dog. More like a wolf, wearing down his quarry. And now every movement is to wound, every stroke is aimed to kill.

He is on the attack, he feels invulnerable. Prowling like a demigod. He feels righteous. Is his adversary drunk on this battle lust? He thinks so. Why else fight? Why else attempt so nobly to hold onto this ignoble existence? Why fight for the dirty reward of becoming a slave if there was something after this world? There is here and there is now. There is life and there is death. Slash, hack, parry, scratch, claw, kick and spit. Bleed. This is life in this moment. This is life in its basest form- death the fickle mistress only a seductive whisper away.

An arcing downward swing almost severs his foes right hand, his sword hand. Screaming, thrashing in agony, his nemesis collapses to the sand. He watches icily as he circles, blood spurting from the remaining three quarters of the arm into his face, drenching his body. And he smiles. Shudders violent exultation. The remaining hand rises for mercy and so, before he kills, he looks towards the magistrate…

I put down my pen, as the crowd urges for the kill, I step back from the arena. I ask you, Emperor, to indulge my pleasure and allow me to strike down this demon foe. I ask you, Pollice Verso?

Congrats on a great story Pooka, you really had me drawn in and it was very well rounded with the subtle introduction of the topic at the last. Best of luck!

Shame there weren't a few more voters around this time - FWIW I thought yours was a really excellent piece of writing, Achilles!

[Deleted User]

Ohhh I didnt know the stories were up already. do i have til tonight to vote

Das Kitty

bluewolf wrote: »

Ohhh I didnt know the stories were up already. do i have til tonight to vote

Too late!

:pac:

[Deleted User]