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Post by James on Jun 16, 2011 23:08:12 GMT -5
OH NO WE DIDN'T!?
... yeah, we did actually. Welcome to the second AWR Word-Cup, the first being created and ran by the all awesome Reffy and won by an amazingly handsome young Brit with ginger hair.
*sage nod*
Well, now we're doing it again. If you weren't around since the last time this appeared, or you've simply forgotten what it is about, here is Reffy's explanation:
This will be a series of knock-out rounds until there is only one person left. You ONLY GET 10 MINUTES to write something creative. It is up to you how you use those 10 minutes. You can think of the idea before you start writing, but as soon as you start writing the clock starts (please time yourself) * You are not allowed to edit your post once it has been submitted, for any reason! * Cheating and using more than 10 minutes to write is not cool and will be pretty obvious. You are only cheating yourself, and you will severely piss me off. * It can be a poem. * There are no word limits. (Although if your over 600 I will seriously start questioning your 10 minutes)
Seems pretty easy, right? Everyone has ten minutes to spare. So why not give it a go.
Taed and I myself shall be the judges for this year with a slightly updated criteria:
Creativity of Topic: /10
Quality: /15
Spelling and Grammar: /5
The first and last topic is easy enough to understand. Quality just means the overall quality of the entry. Was it interesting? Well-written? Too short or too long? And so on and so forth.
Well, I do believe this is all you need to know to get started. Remember, no more than ten minutes writing. Please don't cheat. And no editing your piece once posted... or after the ten minutes actually. There will be an accompanying discussion thread, please only post your entries here.
Anyway, I hope a lot of people jump into this chance. The first round's deadline is 11:59pm Sunday, 19th June. So you have loads of time to find ten minutes.
Now you're topic for the first round?
Topic One
TIME |
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Post by JMDavis ((Silver)) on Jun 17, 2011 3:57:02 GMT -5
It was a chill he had felt before, though it had been some odd hundred years since it had crept over him. “I knew it was about time, you showed yourself. For a moment I had hoped you’d finally given up,” the man who spoke took a slow sip from a glass of brandy, eyes of the purest green looking down at the crashing darkness of the sea below. “But that’s not you, is it? No, you’re like a pit bull. Once you’ve sunken your fangs into someone you won’t let go, no matter how many times you know you cannot win.”
A soft sigh left the man as he finished his brandy in a single swallow, before turning around to face the ghastly image that greeted him. The being was a force that had been born when time was formed; an apparition that took upon itself the form humanity had granted it many, many years ago. A tattered cloak of deepest ebon billowed around featureless shadow, the customary scythe departed from this incarnation. The harvester of souls knew the man who looked upon him without fear, and in the very core of his being, knew he wouldn’t claim the man of his own will.
“As silent as ever, I’d figure after nine-hundred years you would have finally decided to talk to me. I know you don’t consider me a friend, just as I look at you as an annoying gnat, but you could at least show me some amount of respect. After all, I don’t think you have ever dealt with someone like me.” The man chuckled softly, pouring himself another glass, “I suppose this will be the twelfth time I cheat you. Now, shall we get this-?” He glanced up sharply, hearing the no voice that left the darkness swirling beneath the tattered hood. “What do you mean?”
There was another extended length of silence before the man smirked, “Oh, so this is your game?” He chuckled dryly, “You’re going to let me end myself, let me be the one to sever the hair and allow the sword of Damocles to plunge into my heart.” He tutted, raising the brandy to his lips to take a slow sip. “What would ever make me decide to give up all of this?”
He stared into the darkness pursing his lips and letting out a slow breath, “Very well, you may keep your mysteries.” He took another slow sip before setting the glass down, his eyes never leaving the shadows of his nemesis, “I’ll enjoy confounding you as I always have.” He blinked for but a moment and the cloaked form was gone, the frigidness dissipating just as suddenly as it had appeared.
“And so the game begins.” He turned his back to once more gaze out across the crashing darkness of the waves against the sea.
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Post by Jenny (Reffy) on Jun 19, 2011 5:27:58 GMT -5
Sunday 19/06/2011 11:16 - 11.25Never thought I'd live to see the end of the world. Ten minutes, they say. What do you do with ten minutes?
I stroll through my house and approach the old bench in the garden. It is like seeing everything for the first time, like I want to drink in the picture and the sights and the sounds and the smells, all at once. It's silly, almost. I want to capture this image, these last minutes, in my memory forever … but forever is only going to be another few minutes, probably only eight by now. How long does it take to walk from the porch to the bench, I wonder?
Of all of the things I could have done, as well. I never got to visit … well, everywhere! I wanted to visit China and Japan. There were mountains I wanted to climb and seas I wanted to traverse. I wanted to learn a different language and joke about the small things with the locals. I never had babies – not that I wanted any! But now it occurs to me that I never got the chance. I never did any of these things.
A big meteorite. That's what the news said and apparently the government can't stop it. My guts twist and my hands fidget in my lap. The almighty governments that could wipe out entire countries … and they cannot stop the world from being destroyed. For all that the human race has learned, it never quite managed to preserve life!
My last few minutes alive should have been unconscious or surrounded by loved ones … not with millions of other people who are useless to do anything. I would have visited some friends, maybe, or found my partner, but the roads are packed out. Everybody panicked when they found out that this was it. Didn't even get my cliché last meal! I had porridge for breakfast, hardly the meal I would like to call my last. I would have liked a full cooked English breakfast, perhaps, or maybe a full roast with mashed swede and oodles of gravy and a huge serving of roasted potatoes, the way Dad used to make them!
It occurs to me that even if I could have eaten a better meal my stomach probably wouldn't be able to hold it. I feel trapped within the moment, unable to move either way, barely able to breathe. I chide myself and attempt to force the natural breathing again. Perhaps it is better not to think about the bigger picture. Maybe the smaller one is okay in this position. I haul the air in through my nose. My eyes catch something in the sky … a small dashing dot … that's it.
I sit … and I wait. Silently tears pour across my cheeks.
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Allya
Senior Scribe
My Little Monster!
Posts: 2,271
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Post by Allya on Jun 20, 2011 9:25:35 GMT -5
They put you in the ground today. I didn’t go. I heard all of the family was there and that my absence was noted. Your absence will be noted by me but not in the way you would hope or demand. Demand, that was more your way. I hear that as a mother you were strict, as a wife you were cold, and I know as a grandmother to me you were distant.
You lived your life by the rules of appearance. You must appear godly, you must appear dutiful, you must appear friendly and caring. But that’s what it was, appearance. You worshiped that image to the detriment of the relationships you displayed to the public.
I remember when it clicked for me. You had just bought me tires for Christmas and felt entitled to then comment on the state of my life. It was then I realized I didn’t want your tires or your comments. I had only ever wanted your love and was instead placed on your scale of public conformity. I was found nonconforming and thus in need of changing. How strange to realize I had been a black sheep from birth.
So no, I didn’t go to your last public performance. I didn’t go to witness the careful play you have constructed and the parts that others play. You had eighty-nine years to learn how to be a loving person and you chose not to. They’d tell me “she’s old and stuck in her ways” but I do not view that as a valid excuse. I’m young and stuck in mine. So you’ll not have my standing ovation. You’re out of time.
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