January 2011 Competition Entries

January theme: A New Start

Happy New Year!

The January theme is 'A New Start'. What with New Year's resolutions still echoing in our heads, and Mantaspook's retirement as Group Leader, it seemed an appropriate subject.

Any story with a 'New Start' connection would fit the bill, whether it's about new resolutions, a new relationship, new job, new house, new post apocalyptic beginnings, or anything else you can think of.

Your story can be any length you like, but if it's 500 words or less, you may want to post it in our January Competition Thread (see note below). Otherwise, please post it in a new thread with both the title and 'January 2011' in the heading.

January Competition

Any piece following the January theme, and of 500 words or less, is eligible for entry into our January competition. If your original story is longer, you can produce a second version, edited down to fall within the word limit. This will give you useful practice in paring your story to its essential ingredients.

TO ENTER: Post your story (or a link to it) in the 'January 2011 Competition' thread.

JUDGING: Ron Blanco and myself will judge the entries, and will announce the winner in early February.

THE PRIZE: Worth more than gold or other earthly treasures, the prize will instead be the opportunity to choose the writing theme for March 2011. Plus, of course, the warm glow of a job well done.

Any problems posting/uploading your piece, please consult the guidance 'stickies' at the top of the Forum page. If you still have problems, please contact either Tallyman or Ron Blanco.

Go on, have a go!

Tallyman

January 2011 Competition entries

This thread is for anyone wishing to post, or post a link to, their January Competition entry. For more details about the competition, please see the sticky at the top of the forum page - click here

A New Start

She woke early on New Years day, she stretched cautiously

her body protesting painfully at every move. She was born when the New Year started many years ago. In fact more years than she wanted to remember and had already faced the fact that she was old, older than her siblings who had died off one after the other in recent years. How could they leave her she raged, but to no avail She prayed and bargained with God whom she had abandoned years ago and it was now Sod’s Law when at last she could have done with him around, he wasn’t there.

She’d pledge to give up something she would miss, she would give up sin and chocolate flakes and lead a virtuous life if that’s what it took to stop this heartache. Well it would be no trouble being virtuous not having many chances to be otherwise at the moment, and she would be hypocritical to pretend it would be a big sacrifice.

But the no chocolate flakes and walnut whips would be a wrench

Perhaps He never had been there, she may have been right all these years and it was all a con --perhaps He didn’t exist after all she thought and there had never been any one listening.

She thought of the vast machine of religion grinding on-- the Crusades, the Wars, the killing, the money, the pain of too many children and no money to feed them.

No=-- He was probably having a bad hair day at the time of floods and earthquakes so called natural disasters ---with all that hair it can’t always be presentable

Her thoughts rambled on --her sister had firmly believed that an after life existed and claimed she would be waiting for her at the pearly gates.

What if you are not there I suggested, shall I mention your name to St Peter?

She began the small movements that told her body it had a job to do

i.e. get her out of bed to start a new day in fact start a New Year.

First one leg appeared and touched the floor then the other, so far so good. Getting painfully to her feet she surveyed the debris of the night before with a jaundiced eye.

She gave herself the luxury of a stretch and a scratch then poked the man in the other side of the bed. She glanced across and thought no it would be no trouble at all but she would miss the walnut whips.

hazel

.

A New Begining

The wind against his neck, the wool hat hugging his head, his socks around his calves, the mirages of words in his lungs... He pulls the pocket recorder to his face. Its soft green light spreads across half his face. He pushes the ‘record’ button. It pushes back against his thumb. His words are slippery against his tongue. Truth is, by the time they make it past his wind pipe they have lost everything in them that makes words. Nothing makes it to his recorder. The button wins out against his thumb. The green light fades.

He strikes a match and brings it to the roll-up between his lips. His lungs unfold as smoke passes his teeth. He exhales. Can’t be sure if it’s smoke escaping him or just frozen air into a cutting cold December night. His hands tremble. It could be his brain cells being fried by the hundred or so chemicals those who say they know say are in cannabis.

All everyone knows about the bridge and what’s left of the road now is that it’s a place teenagers go to spend their time on bad weed and cheap cider. You don’t have to look too hard among the empty smoke packs and bottles everywhere to find condoms and underwear. Always girl’s underwear. Never boys’. You can find shoes too without trying too hard. Always one of a pair, and, again, always girls’ shoes.

You have to say a river once existed there because your mind insists that the gash in the in the earth beneath the bridge has to have had some use other than what it now has. The bridge's legs now stand with strange tan lines where the water once rose to. You can, in the right light and with suitably intoxicating substances flowing in your veins, imagine the bridge in knee high socks. You could imagine the legs as half painted poles, or a half filled tall glasses of ale, but an old woman’s legs with tan lines just below the knees is the image that always comes. It’s the image that always comes to him. He presses the on-button of his recorder again. Again nothing comes.

His lips wrap around the roll-up again. He inhales, and then holds his breath till pins and needles form in waves in his lungs. He holds his breath still further till his chest threatens to explode. Almost no smoke at all escapes him when he finally decides to breath. He flicks the match over the side of the bridge. Maybe it goes out at some point on its way down, or it hits the bottom and goes out. Can’t be sure. The match does go out at some point.

Footsteps behind him yank him from his head. He doesn’t look. He knows that sound well. Besides, they had planned to meet at the bridge.

“There’s comfort in darkness.” he blows out smoke as he speaks, and passes the roll-up. “You can never be sure where your sight stops and your imagination begins. You can see the ends of heaven and beyond because the space between you and the world is nothing but your mind. You can send all questions and memories, there into the dark, and, for a time, you can be free.” He took the roll-up back, sucked deep on it and continued. “You know, you can be a blank canvas for a moment, with all the possibilities. Most of the memories will find you again. But one or two always stray too far. A mistake always regretted, a deed left undone or a something. True, a warm summer’s day in the hands of loved one can also stray too far, but, on the whole, mistakes, regrets and unwanted secrets tend to be the first to lose their way. And question sometimes come back as answers.” he sighs. “Besides, a close embrace from years back was a small price to pay to dodg-.”

“Did you bring my money; I’ve got places to be.” The newly arrived man speaks with an urgency that points more to fear than impatience or anger.

“No.” The boy doesn’t look at the man.

“Is thi-.”

“It was another place. A different time. We all did things we shouldn’t have.”

“I want my-.”

“It ends now. You will get nothing. I will tell her myself. If she leaves me then she leaves me. But I will not live my life working for you.” He looked at the man, and then turned away. “Happy new year.” He said as he walked away.

A New Start

I’ve had enough, this time I’m really leaving.

Laura scanned the immaculate lounge and nodded to herself. They’ll just have to learn to clean their own mess. The whirring of the washing machine that floated in from the kitchen, punctuated her decision. She snatched her car keys from the hall table and a swarm of butterflies took flight in her stomach.

Get on with it- let’s do this.

She didn’t have much time: Mike had only nipped out to collect the boys.

Five minutes later and she swung her Audi A3 onto the motorway. She eased the car into fifth gear and kept her foot on the gas. Adrenaline coursed around her body making her head buzz.

She’d finally broken free.

A small chuckle escaped her throat as she slipped the Kings of Leon CD into the slot on the dash and cranked up the volume.

Oh nice touch, Laura!

‘I know! It’s the CD I bought him for our anniversary!’ she laughed into the empty car.

Seven years they’d been married. The first three were great. Right up until they’d had the twins, she’d never felt happier. She had it all: the perfect job, her ideal guy and a beautiful house.

The only thing their flawless life lacked was a baby.

Yeah a baby would be the cherry on the cake.

Or so she thought.

She’d fallen pregnant straight away. Laura cast her mind back to the day she’d peed on three sticks in quick succession- all telling what she already knew; she wasn’t fat- she was pregnant. Her mind drifted back to the first scan.

'Congratulations,’ said the sonographer. ‘It’s twins.’

Life was never the same after the birth of William and Samuel, or rather ‘The Krays’ as Laura secretly referred to them.

'They’re just lively, babe,’ Mike had said to Laura’s pleas for help.

'They’re hooligans!’

'Nonsense, it’s your job as a mother to care for them.’

After that, Mike had shirked all responsibility: for the boys, the house- everything.

She sighed. She’d felt perpetually exhausted ever since.

Had it really been four years since I last enjoyed a full night’s sleep?

Laura pulled the overhead visor down and glanced in the mirror. The lines radiating from her eyes confirmed it had been at least four.

‘They’re just laughter lines, babe.’

‘Mike- nothing is that funny!’

When the road sign flashed passed, Laura pulled into the left hand lane.

How long ‘til they realise I’ve gone?

Her throat swelled painfully. Laura struggled to swallow the lump that thoughts of the children brought. She stabbed at the tear sliding down her cheek as she swung the car down the narrow lane.

Eventually, she reached the familiar driveway, just as the CD drew to a close.

A new start. This time will be different.

She slipped through the front door, savouring the silence, when from nowhere, strong arms encircled her waist.

‘Where’ve you been babe? I was getting worried.’

‘Just for a drive, Mike. Shall I start dinner?’

Tomorrow is another day

It was Christmas Eve and bitterly cold as Linda walk slowly up the road towards the supermarket pulling her thin coat around her.. She felt for her money in her pocket, it was all she had left from her last weeks pay and counted in her head how much she needed to buy, It would barely cover it . There was Jamie the youngest wishing for a bike and Lucy wanting the curly haired doll that had been catching her eye every time she walked past the toy shop window Linda had been putting so much a week on the bike and the doll for ages and now she approached the shop for the final payments, first the toyshop and then the supermarket.. She thought how different it would have been if John was with them, he was away looking for work, not very successfully, she had not heard from him for a while and the money he had been sending had dried up. She was having to take a cleaning job early mornings to make ends meet.

She knew she was risking it leaving the children on their own in the house but told herself that they rarely woke up before she got back and if they did there was always Kate next door who had been a Godsend. If ever a woman was a saint it was Kate. She had a houseful of bairns and while not the cleanest of households and the children were often dirty they were content and lived happily together in a two up two down.

She dragged her feet as she went along knowing the toyshop would not be opened yet and she wanted to get the money for the toys paid first. She said a little prayer to herself that her children would be OK putting to the back of her mind the times they had not been ok when she had found little piles of spent matches in the children’s room or they had tried to make breakfast and told herself it was all for their sakes she was doing this. Oh if only John was home, why hadn’t he sent some sort of message or phoned the local shop where she cleaned, Mr Hamilton the owner being good about that sort of thing. He was good about other things to and Linda blushed when she thought of the times he came in earlier in the mornings, hoping for some sort of sign from her that he could put into action the thoughts that were written all over his face.

She knew that if she took up his offer she would have all she ever wanted, one of those new houses that were going up so quickly on the outskirts of town. and new furniture.. Could she face the scorn of her neighbours who seemed to be on the look out for any callers she had. Especially old Mrs White across the road.. It seemed to her that Maggie White had never been young and wanted. She sat in her soulless front room. and watched from behind her lace curtains ready to dart out like a spider lurking in it’s web. She looked rather like one to as she scuttled from her house to tell everyone she could of the goings on across he road.

Kate told her to take no notice if she wasn’t talking about her it would be Kate herself. she was on about.

Linda was later than usual having dropped off the curly haired doll at home the bike was put safely into Kates outside toilet to be collected later by the older boys and brought to her house. She knocked and went into the brightness of Kate’s kitchen .She knew that today of all days Kate would have taken care of her two and they greeted her happily chewing on a thick slice of bread and jam.

She sat and as Kate poured out a cup of tea from the teapot that was permanently in use she told Kate of Mr Hamilton’s proposition.

Kate, in her usual place at her kitchen table, pouring the milk from a jug that the milkman had filled from his churn fresh that morning., into a cup of tea for her, never blinked as she told her of Mr Hamilton’s proposition

Linda knew that in a few hours the milk would have collected the usual quota of flies that would be floating on the top.

The latest household baby was asleep in the battered pram that had held all Kate’s babies from her eldest years ago until now. The pram was pushed under the table with the hood down and just the handle showing.

The baby slept on and 2 slightly older girls played with wooden clothes pegs, dressing them in scraps of cloth and making them into a Nativity scene, shepherds, Kings and Joseph etc were easily recognised as the children absorbed in their work bent their heads in the brightly burning firelight the kettle was hissing on the coals as Kate silently absorbed her words

She raised her large frame from the table and quietly crossed to where Linda was sitting putting her arms round the younger woman, think carefully Linda she said, if something has happened to John, we haven’t heard from him, perhaps you should keep Norman Hardcastles proposition in mind.

Linda took her tea gratefully suddenly not seeing the none to clean tablecloth and the sticky brown paper spiralling down from the ceiling with it’s flies trapped for ever in the treacle like substance, just seeing the kindness on the face of the shabby woman in front of her.

Who knew what the future would bring.

Could Mr Hamilton advances be accepted or would she wait forever for her husband until she was a dried up version of Mrs White.

The start of the New Year would bring it’s own problems as there had been no mention of marriage from Mr Hamilton.

Linda sipped her tea and gained strength as she glanced at her friend now seated across from her.

She collected her children and with a smile she thanked her for her support

Tomorrow was another day.

hazel

the last stand

The old gods would have been proud. But, maybe, as many had said even since before the troubles, they were no longer there to be proud, or afraid, or ashamed or even listen. Some had already began to say out loud that the gods had never been there to begin with.

The blasphemers asked why, if they were there, the earth gods had let so many perish on the desert passage? What of the air gods when so many fell to the bite of the mountain winds? What of the sea gods?

Still, enough of us had made the journey from there to here. And here was home. Here was where we would make our last stand. The armies of this one new god would perish at the end of our arrows and spears, or they would break us, but this would be the last war. There would be no war after the screams we knew would come had fallen silent. There would be no more dying when the fire sticks and magic thunder of those we faced settled. There could be no more war, for there would be no army left standing. Perhaps there would be no more gods too, for who would be left to nourish and provide for them?

It was the fourth day into the month of Sehkah when the two suns of our world take perfectly disciplined turns to keep darkness at bay for what would otherwise be as many nights and days as it would take for a Katah at full wing to fly from here to where the sea falls into the Bottomless Valley. We would fight in the day. We would die in the day.

There would be no sleep, no talk of what to eat or drink. There was no talk at all. More men, young and old, than had ever been seen since our people walked from The Great Sea and no one would speak. In the dry heat of the valley each man spoke, in his heart, to his own god and waited for the Horn to herald the beginning and end in one scream. The people from the long lands, who had always stood against our gods, stood with us because they would sooner have died than have to stand in the shadows of a new god, who, some said, not content with living in the Over World, would walk in ours too.

I felt a clammy hand on my shoulder. The boy couldn’t have been more than six winters and a harvest. His hands trembled so badly the message he carried fell to the ground. I knew what it said. He knew what it said. But i needed to be sure. I was sure. I needed just that one more breath and heartbeat before i blew The Horn and send boy, thousands of men, me, and a whole people to their end.

I gripped the horn as i picked up the message. It said what we all knew it would say. No words would comfort the boy. Not mine, anyway. His god, when the boy met him, would have to find something suitable. I inhaled. I put the horn between my lips. I exhaled.

And so the end began.

NEW START

“My darling, please don’t leave. I’m so sorry! I --- I was human. Human. But I promise I’ll put all my resources into making our relationship work again. All my resources.”

I searched the swollen muddy waters of her eyes but saw nothing; only the positive absence of an expression. My plea hadn’t worked --- hadn’t done the job.

I redoubled my efforts.

“I’ll work so hard --- so hard at making this relationship work. I know it’s my duty to work at it --- I’ve been without you too long.”

I wondered if I’d imagined a faint light coming over her countenance. It gave me cause to go on.

“My darling, I love you. I want you. I need you. I’ll never let you down again --- never.”

I was sweating and shaking; frantic as to whether everything would turn out all right.

Outside, I could hear just relentless rain.

I persevered.

“Give me a chance. Let me show you what I can do.”

She turned away. Resumed packing her clothes into a black and gold suitcase. Actually, it appeared scarcely larger than a brief-case, yet all her many clothes fitted perfectly as she folded them neatly.

She pressed shut the case. Started to walk to the door. It was too late after all.

“Please...”

She approached the door.

“Please!”

She turned the handle; opened it.

“Please, my darling!”

It was going to be too late.

“Please --- we can start again.”

And suddenly, at the door, she turned.

She turned and walked slowly towards me, head slightly bowed.

She approached me, then raised her head, pushing a shock of brown hair from her eyes.

Encouraged, I stuttered: “Will you have me? Will you take me on? Will you let me show you what I can do? What a success I can make of things?”

She placed the case on the table and pressed it open. It contained no clothes; only a pen, a newspaper and a foil wrap containing some sort of sandwich. She smiled as her lips parted:

“Now, don’t forget your shirt, collar and tie. You want to make a good impression...”

And, with these words, the shrill shriek of a digital alarm awoke me to the reality of a new day, a cold and rainy winter Monday; to the reality of an unrevived romance with my ex; to the reality of a lonely breakfast table; to the reality of the need to hasten my preparations, to arrive in time for my nervous first day in a new job, in the Human Resources department of a large organization.

I staggered, still sweating and hyperventilating; stumbled against my new black and gold brief-case; and hobbled towards the kitchen, and the means to make breakfast and a packed lunch, and beyond, to the doormat where lay my morning newspaper. I took up the ‘paper, took out the cereal, spread butter on bread, and wished my life was on the other side of the digital alarm.

Well done to everybody who took part in January's competition.

Now follows the nail-biting interval whilst the judges come to their decision. Who will be this month's winner? All will be revealed soon...

January competition winner!

Congratulations and thanks to those who took part in our January competition; it was a pleasure to read them. Ron Blanco and myself have had a chance to deliberate and have reached a unanimous decision. But before announcing the winner, we'd like to say a few words about each of the entries:

A NEW START by Hazel

We liked the pace of this story, and the fine phrases it gave us: "her body protesting painfully" and "she gave herself the luxury of a stretch and a scratch then poked the man in the other side of the bed", for instance, and the image of the machinery of religion 'grinding on' was a powerful one. Hazel gave us a slightly wicked ending, and it was all the more enjoyable for it. In the way of critique, perhaps a little more punctuation would have helped it flow a bit better.

A NEW BEGINNING by Kaimani

Kaimani has a way with description, and a very interesting style. We liked the image of a bridge in "knee high socks", and thought the use of the present tense gave the story a more immediate feel. Kaimani seems to enjoy the flow of his sentences, and imbued them with colour and life. Sometimes, though, the lengthy passages can get in the way of moving the story on at a pace. Kaimani's work needs to be savoured like a long cheroot, and perhaps wasn't best suited to the 500 word limit. There are cryptic aspects to this story, suggesting a weight and significance beneath the surface, but has he given us enough to work out what's going on?

A NEW START by Geza

A good opening to the story here. We enjoyed the dynamic phrases, "snatching" the car keys, "swinging" the Audi onto the motorway. A sharply observed cameo of a parent's frustration with two young children and a partner who's backed away from the shared responsibility, succinctly illustrating the love/hate relationship parents have with young angels who don't seem to want to sleep for days on end! The ending was certainly a surprise too, but on reflection it was all the more true a tale for that.

TOMORROW IS ANOTHER DAY by Hazel

The second of Hazel's entries, and another tale of the dark shadows that can sometimes settle over a parent's lot. We liked the introduction of Mr Hamilton into her thoughts, and the quandary that it brought. We liked the humour, especially the reference to Linda becoming a "dried up version of Mrs White". However, the story ran to twice the length of the word limit, and we felt it could have benefited from more punctuation. It's my (Tallyman's) particular bugbear, but punctuation is what helps us make sense of the words. if the words are beautiful tiles, punctuation is the grout that binds, separates, and puts them on display to their best effect. That's what I think anyway!

THE LAST STAND by Kaimani

A very dramatic piece, successfully creating an atmosphere of impending doom, we thought. Kaimani uses his poetic talent to create a mesmerising rhythm, using repetition for emphasis. An epic piece, and very engaging, though we are asked to assimilate the whole history and purpose in a short space of time. Perhaps we need to be introduced to new phrases and concepts a little more gently, but this is the start of a wonderful adventure, we felt.

A NEW START by John Webster

This was a very appealing story, with a great deal to commend it, we thought. It was a different take on the subject and, although it was all a dream, it had a fresh, immediate and concise quality to it. Some work needed to be done to hone some of the phrases to make them slightly less heavy, we felt, but it made an excellent first draft of a story that was well worth working on.

And now for the winner!

Again, many thanks to all who took part in this competition; we very much hope you'll enter again, but this month, our winner is...

Geza, for 'A New Start'!

Well done to her! Geza now has the honour of choosing the theme for March!