SF's "Write Your Butt Off!" Writing Competition XIV

[Sunwoo]

Maybe we should take another break or so. I mean, I know I've been neglecting this for quite a bit, but I ran into a shitty spot in my teaching school (which got me depressed for the rest of the semester) and now I'm just trying to enjoy my summer for a bit.

[eclipse]

I wouldn't mind, but that's because summer's when I get slammed with work.

[Bellesme]

Soooo....its over then? No more competition?

[Jotari]

I guess we're on break at the moment. Prompt is sitll open if you want to write something though.

[Rapier]

So, anyone up to give this a try again?

[Jotari]

Def-in-ite-ly.

[NJ7009]

I've never done this before but i would like to give it a go!

[Magical Glace]

If I can figure something out.

[Rapier]

If I can figure something out.

It doesn't need to be about the current prompt.

I suggest we change to a more specific one. It may seem counterintuitive because there will be more limitations to our creativity, but it should help us narrow down our ideas until we find an appropriate one. Like a story about a side-character, or a character's rise to villain status, or how a main character (and the story) would've been if he had been raised on the villain's shoes and vice-versa.

[Jotari]

It doesn't need to be about the current prompt.

I suggest we change to a more specific one. It may seem counterintuitive because there will be more limitations to our creativity, but it should help us narrow down our ideas until we find an appropriate one. Like a story about a side-character, or a character's rise to villain status, or how a main character (and the story) would've been if he had been raised on the villain's shoes and vice-versa.

Any one have any interest in this suggestion? Personally I'm up for writing anything.

[Magical Glace]

I'm game so long as I manage to think of literally anything.

[Jotari]

Okay so no posts in five days. In the interest of seeing this revived, I'll officially declare Rapier suggestion as the prompt for this round. Write a story about a character becoming a villain. And I'll set the due date to be 24/10/2016.

[NJ7009]

Ooh sounds like a fun prompt.

[eclipse]

Eh, that's fine~! PLEASE SEND ME A PM SO I CAN DO SOMETHING ABOUT THE VOTING THREAD (I don't care who does this)! Otherwise, I'll get busy and forget again.

[Jotari]

So is anyone working on this? I'm not personally since I took it upon myself to declare the prompt. I'd like to know if anyone else is though.

[eclipse]

I might have time later this week. This isn't the easiest prompt to write for!

EDIT: So I went the subtle route. See what went wrong.

Title: Your Own Good

Word Count: A bit under 1100

World: Original

Other notes: STFU spell check, "donut" is a legit word.

Night was supposed to be a time of quiet. Though the shirts he leaned against tinged the musty air with a hint of lavender, and the shoes he sat on poked through his shorts, the wall of clothes couldn't fully block the man's slurred voice from downstairs, punctured by a woman's screams. The teacher told the class that they'd have an end-of-the-week party tomorrow. He HAD to sleep, so he'd be able to celebrate with everyone else. Yet this was the third night in a row where he took sanctuary in the closet, amongst the clean clothes and dirty shoes. He lost track of the time, until the only sounds from below him were a woman's sobbing. Only then did the comforting heat surrounding him kick in, lulling him to sleep.

"Good morning, my little shoe." He rubbed his eyes, then smiled as he saw a familiar face in front of his. Though her dark brown hair was more tangles than curls, her smile reached her hazel eyes, crinkling the crow's feet next to them.

"I'm not a shoe!" the boy protested, shaking his own head of brown hair. He reached towards her, and she wrapped him in a big hug.

"The closet is for shoes. Little boys should sleep in their bed!" she shot back, a hint of laughter in her voice. He nuzzled her shoulder, then stopped as she let out a muffled yelp.

"You've got a big day today," she commented, letting him go. "So let's get you cleaned up and ready for school!"

Mother and son tiptoed out of the house, doing their best not to wake the snoring man on the couch. His pot belly, covered only by an undershirt, rose in time with his snores. The boy smiled once they were clear of the front door, with no interruptions in the snoring. Mother had chosen a sky-blue shirt with darker blue shorts for him, which was in stark contrast to the dark green high-necked, long-sleeved dress she wore. The engine of their car coughed to life, and they drove off amidst a cloud of black smoke. He frowned as they pulled into a grocery store, instead of school. He'd be late for the second time this week, and that would make his teacher mad! She ran out of the store, a box of donuts in her hand, then screeched out of the parking lot, ignoring the horns that blared in protest to her actions. The time on the dashboard said 7:54 (something he'd learned last week), and he ran out of the car, donuts in hand. The teacher sighed, but otherwise kept silent.

"That's my donut!" the little girl cried, crumbs all over her white polka-dot dress and in her blond pigtails.

"Not anymore!" the bigger boy taunted, taking a bite out of it. "A little piggy like you doesn't deserve it!" he continued, his laughter shaking his chubby cheeks.

"That was her donut!" The two stopped their argument, their attention on the one that had brought the donuts.

"Oh if it isn't Meddling Michael," the other boy sneered.

"That wasn't your donut," Michael growled. "Give it back."

"Fine. It was an awful donut." The boy dropped the donut, then stepped on it. The girl screamed, first at the fate of the donut, then again as Michael's fist found the other boy's face.

---

Michael's new school was a lot further away from home. Perhaps the other kids had heard of why he'd left his previous school, or perhaps they didn't want to integrate the quiet kid who was always late, but no one bothered him, or anyone else. People stopped whatever conversations they had when he passed by, and that suited him just fine. It meant that he wouldn't have to explain why he always wore long-sleeved shirts, and added fingerless gloves to the mix eight years after joining the school. The few that mustered the courage to ask were quickly shut down with an explanation that the computer room was too cold.

As usual, he plopped himself in front of one the computers, the bouncing screen saver a familiar sight to him. Once he woke the computer up, he froze. Someone else had forgotten to log out of their e-mail account, their name and silly handle visible to him. He carefully scanned the room, before clicking on the most recent e-mail.

Party's at 5. The old man at the convenience store doesn't check for IDs. Bring three bottles.

He thought back to the nights when his father would drink himself beyond comprehension, then take it out on his mother. The beatings became less frequent after Michael had stepped in, and punched his father's face in, over his mother's pleas to stop. Here, some idiot classmate of his was about to commit the same mistake. He couldn't let that happen. He quietly closed the e-mail, then set off towards the convenience store.

"Hey, did you hear what happened yesterday?"

"Yeah. Someone sucker-punched Clarence. Heard he had to spend the night in the hospital. Third one this week, too."

As usual, the conversation dried up when Michael walked by, but he'd heard enough. He allowed himself a small smile and continued walking.

---

The new computer restrictions didn't stop Michael from getting into the other student's accounts, which he was able to do with ease, since he was now an assistant in the computer lab. He'd already called the cops on two separate parties, and stopped four others from meeting up with less-than-savory people. Between the unlimited access to far more information than he was supposed to, and the loose lips of the students, he had no problems finding people who were headed down the path that his father took - one that ended with his funeral after he choked on his own vomit. Though his mother slowly changed her wardrobe to short-sleeved shirts with lower necklines, and indulged in better cosmetics, nothing could hide the weariness in her eyes. Instead of screaming, he fell asleep to her muffled sobs.

After the football team's homecoming game, they were going to gather at a hotel, and use someone else's ID to get as much booze as possible. He'd put a stop to that - no matter what. Because it's for their own good.

Edited October 19, 2016 by eggclipse

[Crazy Foxie]

This is a prompt I can work with. I'm also trying out a new style, so this gave me a good opportunity :)

Title: Losing my Marbles

Word Count: 1,000

World: Final Fantasy 6.

Magic is a niggling devil, nipping at the back of my brain and crawling out the base of my skull. It skirts under and over my skin in my blood, pulsing ever faster than my body can register. It's gone the moment I feel it, and my fingers and joints twitch in delayed spasms. I can't help it; my physical body is rejecting the sheer power, but I want it more than anything.

I ramble more than I used to. The magic picks at my temples as I talk, rephrasing and twisting everything beyond comprehension. I can't make sense of what I'm thinking anymore, but talking out loud, even when no one is listening, helps create the illusion I do. The magic escapes in multiple ways, taking away a little more of myself and I'm constantly fumbling around and looking back. I'm in a never-ending cycle, meticulously retracing my steps to gather the pieces only to clumsily drop a few more along the way.

How did I become this way, you ask? Ha, what did it matter? Memories are a burden. Perhaps there was a time I could say I cared, but the past is the least of my concerns. The only thing I care about is what do I do now?

People are starting to fear me. They back away as I pass them, whispering about me when they think I'm not listening. The tiles crack under my feet and the walls sing my name. Ah what sweet music!

The Emperor tells me I shouldn't use my powers. The project is halted as they discuss what to do next, leaving me to bang my head against the wall in rage and utter boredom. Why be imbued with all this raw energy if I couldn't use it? Why be an instrument of terror if I couldn't be let loose?

I scream in my sleep and I wake up every day in agony. Deep gashes and burns appear all round my body as I concentrate and centralise my desires to destroy everything onto myself. I grow accustomed to the damp feeling of my blood on the bedsheets and the sight of exposed bone, yet none of the pain compares to the conflicts in my own head. I can't make sense of this mad world of bureaucracy and petty emotions; I opt to steer clear before I absorb stupidity from it all.

The magic continues to tickle behind my ear. It tentatively scratches the top of my spine, desperate for attention and craving to be accepted. I know it's there, but I continue to pace and prowl to keep my brain and fingers busy. I need to natter, laugh, fidget, do something to organise my ailing thoughts. I can't hear anything or feel anything other than sheer anguish. It gets increasingly more difficult to ignore, and the rhythmic gnawing turn into slow, deliberate, painful bites. I need to contain it and keep the devil at bay and no one can possibly begin to understand how hard I'm trying...but why? What was it all for?

I can deny it no longer. It takes a single blink to kill a monster, a flick of my hand to set fire to the sky and an idle thought to melt a man alive in his armour. Harmless accidents at first, then I start to test out where my limit is. My head is positively buzzing with magic and erupts in sporadic, dangerous waves, and I soon realise there is no limit. I can decimate entire villages in a matter of seconds. I find natural talent to maim, torture, flay anything that breathes (and sometimes things that no longer breathe). The bloodcurdling screams are acknowledgement and praise of my unique attributes. There is no one else capable of singlehandedly inflict such horrendous pain. In amongst all the noise, I can finally hear myself. Finally I'm not in pain anymore.

More, more! It continues to tempt me, and I continue to take the candy and reap the rewards. It feels good to expel this power. It feels good, yet that moment of satisfaction grows increasingly shorter and my entire body needs it all over again. My magic restores faster than I can use it up, and it continues to tumble all around me. Backtracking is a pointless exercise.

They cower in my ever-growing shadow, even that poor excuse of an Emperor. They never know what mood I'm in, and they're begging me for mercy before I've even started. I can do any number of things to them, and the very possibility instils a twisted, muted respect for me. My powers are nothing short of glorious and holy, and they submit to me voluntarily, lining up like tin soldiers waiting for me to play with them. When I'm done with one, there's always another ready to take its place. They'll all get their turn, I assure them. Some are just more exciting than others.

I don't know how many times I play the same game. Before long I end up too good and I know exactly how it pans out every single time. I want to play some more, yet all it offers is the same faces of death and the same dreary cries. I'm in dire need of fresh stimulation, and I find very few ways to fulfil my urges. I need to change my perspective, expand my horizons to create interesting, innovative games to keep me going.

There's no fun in this boring, perfect, pathetic world. I'll make the world my hostage and play to my heart's content. I need to destroy, burn, rip it apart form the inside. I want to feel its blood on my fingers. I want to feel it tremble at the sound of my name. I'll crack its knees and force it into submission. Perhaps then it will finally give me the piece that will permanently let me keep everything together.

I'll become a god. Why the hell not?

Edited October 30, 2016 by Crazy Foxie

[Magical Glace]

I'm replaying DQVI so I might be able to do something about Terry. Maybe.

[eclipse]

Word limit's 1000 minimum. I don't really care either way, though. Would like Boron to come and comment, since she's the one that started it.

[Sunwoo]

Word count is indeed 1000 minimum. That said, having any entries at all is a good thing at this point. Do you guys think that I should change the word minimum or even get rid of it?

[NJ7009]

I think a 500 word limit would work best. It is a bit hard to judge someone's writing ability if they write less than that.

[Jotari]

I'd be cool with no minimum limit at all. I'm not the type who's likely going to go under 1,000 words but for anyone that does prefer to write poetry or flash fiction than it should be just as welcome. Plus as Sunwoo said, we don't really have the numbers to be fussy at this point.

[blah the Prussian]

Oh shit, I didn't see this! Could we get a two week extension, or something, because I'm going to DC where I won't have a computer? I really want to use this prompt!

[Jotari]

Oh shit, I didn't see this! Could we get a two week extension, or something, because I'm going to DC where I won't have a computer? I really want to use this prompt!

Can you get something done in a week? Waiting two weeks on one person when we already have enough to vote seems like it's pushing it a bit. Unless there's anyone else out there who needs some more time.

[eclipse]

I have no objections to dropping the word limit to 500. I think there should be some form of limit, though, because the last thing I want is someone attempting to enter one crappy sentence.