Year 2, Week 25: Results!

I don't have a lot of stuff to say this week,
so have a cat! I hope all of you lovelies are safe and sound c:

Honorable Mention

Ronel Janse van Vuuren's Idiocy

This piece makes me a little nostalgic, as its tone rather hearkens back to the early days of CFF, when it was just three writers writing little wacky, nonsensical things in ten or so minutes. I can actually envision these kind of wacky hijinks in comic format, and it's amusing me a lot. Piece-wise, the entire thing feels like a climax until the last few lines, though it kind of adds to the charm--it might be useful to experiment with some build-up to battling/escaping the chimera, however. Overall, thanks for making me smile. 

First Runner Up

Alva Holland's My Name is Damien

This piece got a chuckle out of me with the last two lines. I enjoyed the characterization through dialogue--particularly the unwritten dialogue of maybe-Damien's-Mom. Alice's exasperation, Damien's anxiety, and maybe-Damien's-Mom's "what in the world is going on" all come through clearly. I would suggest attempting to cut some words before the phone conversation--that is, tighten up the piece so the reader reaches the point of the story sooner; my attention started to waver around "Are you sure you haven't lost it already?" Either way, though, amusing piece. Nice job!

Y2W25 Winner:

Sara Codair!

with Survival 101

"I used to be vegan," is the line that kept repeating in my head after I read this piece. I think that line really captures the tone of this clearly dystopian story. I can also empathize with the main character here--I don't like most fish, and I'm terrible at fishing. (Nature would probably kill me off.) This piece doesn't have an obvious climax and all, but that feels like a point of the tale. Nature happens as nature does, with or without humans' presences. I am very curious as to what caused the decline in the human population, though that's nonessential to the story. Poignant and thought-provoking. Good job!

Survival 101 

"Try a different one.” Joe frowned as the wriggling worm fell into the bucket of dirt.

I arched my eyebrows. “A worm is a worm.”

“The fat ones are juicier and slower. Easier to hook, more likely to attract fish.”

I sighed. “I don’t even like fish.”

“Would you rather eat the worm?”

“I’d rather eat nuts berries.” I gazed at the sun glistening on deep blue, vibrant leaves with orange-tinted tips and wispy seeds forming atop grass.

“Those’ll be hard to come by next month.” Joe dug weathered fingers into the bucket, pulling out a short worm barely able to wriggle, and handed it to me. “You want to survive, don’t you?"

“I used to be vegan.” My stomach wriggled like the obese worm, half-heartedly threatening to eject raspberries.

Joe’s laughter shook the remains of his shrunken belly. “Just hook the damned worm.” 

Despite its protest, my stomach knew food was hard to come by, and held the berries while I jabbed the rusty, barbed metal into the worm, scrunching it like I was forcing a new curtain onto an old rod.

“That’s the spirit. Plant your feet and cast like I showed you.”

I obeyed. My tortured worm plopped into the shimmery blue. I watched the ripples grow as they approached shore. “What now?”

“Now we wait.” Joe lowered his raisen-like body onto a silvery rock. “We wait and we pray.” 

I nodded, but remained standing. Winged-insects flittered across the water close to shore. A water-strider fell victim to a frog blending his body with a rotten log. A dragon fly landed on my nose, its wings tickling a smile out of my face. The last scientist I met said the human population might never recover. Nature, though, was doing just fine. 

Stay safe, everybody :) <3

Year 2, Week 23: Results!

We had wonderful entries this week. Choosing the winners took a lot of re-reading of all the stories. Finally, these three were the ones that stuck with me.

Honourable Mention

Alva Holland with The Day of Reckoning

I really enjoyed this tongue-in-the-cheek piece. I liked how you used the prompt, making the protagonist dread her own creation. Well done.

Note:

orang-utans not orangutans.

Also, you could’ve kept it at “Oh, the horror!” instead of the longer sentence.

And check that your story is in the same tense (present, past, future) and point of view (omniscient, limited third person, first person) throughout.

First Runner-Up

Benjamin Langley with The Door, The Wall, The Stairs

Effective use of the prompt. Your protagonist had a good idea of what awaited her – even her past experiences were making it worse in her mind. So often people keep quiet instead of speaking up – great character growth in this piece. Well done.

Note:

Use complete sentences: “The first time…” “It was her third visit…” “Her face was going to be a calamity…” etc. – sentence fragments have their place, but using too many weakens the prose.

Decide what you’re going to call your protagonist: in such a short piece, it’s best to stick to one name, e.g. Dr Winters.

For effect, I would’ve placed the patient’s name in a new paragraph and her injuries in the next.

Start dialogue in a new paragraph.

Because you use the title as the name for the patient’s abuser, it has to be written in capital letters in the story, too. E.g. “…her view of Mary was the Door, the Wall and the Stairs.”

In the last paragraph, when she reflects on it later, you have to use past perfect tense: “that Mary had given Henrietta” – it’s the past and you’re already writing in the past tense.

Winner Y2W23

Firdaus 

with Alternate Reality

I really enjoyed this great piece of speculative fiction. Loved the twist ending. Well done.

Note:

I would’ve divided the long third paragraph in two to fit the look and feel of the rest of the story. (New paragraph: she shut the trapdoor…)

And remember spaces between paragraphs for easy reading (as shown below).

Alternate Reality

She pulled back the curtain, her eyes tightly shut. She felt the warmth of the sun on her face. Bracing herself for the horror that would come, she slowly opened her eyes. 

Nothing could have prepared her for the devastation before her. For as far as her eyes could travel, she only saw scattered bodies, some tangled in twisted metal of cars and lampposts and other debris. Buildings and houses had been flattened. They stood like jagged concrete stumps in the distance. 

Her breath came out in gasps. The stench of the rot nauseating her. She rushed back to the trapdoor in the corner of the room from where she had just crawled out; her safe haven for the past few weeks or months, she couldn't remember. She had been too scared to come out. Her meagre rations had almost depleted. The air underground had begun to get unbearable to breathe. She shut the trapdoor behind her and sat on the steps leading down. For a long time she sat there, she had run out of tears and ideas. Finally she gathered some courage and climbed back out. She had to find other survivors. 

As she stepped out of the house she heard a constant beeping sound. Then voices, a little muffled, but she could make out what they were saying. 

"She's coming back, she's coming back!"

"Check her vitals."

"Everything seems okay."

She heard someone calling her name. A familiar voice very far away. She felt her vision blur. She rubbed her eyes. When she opened them again she saw her husband leaning over her. 

"Welcome back," he smiled with tears in his eyes. 

"What the—" she tried to speak, her throat parched. 

"Shhh..." he cut her off, "it's okay, you've been asleep for a long time."

Thank you all for your participation! Until Saturday…

Year 2, Week 19: Results!

Sorry again for the delay--been running very tight on time with finals coming up next week. 

ANNOUNCEMENT: This Saturday's competition will be judged by Ronel, and it'll be the last competition of 2016! The two Saturdays following that are major holidays, so we'll be taking a two-week hiatus and return for Week 20 on the 7th of January 2017! 

Y2W19 WINNERS:

Alva Holland and Bill Engleson

with Drawing a Future and The Neighbors

Drawing a Future 

‘What do we do with them?’ 

Asu’s round black eyes widened when he saw the array of objects on the table. He thought ‘weapons’ but dreamt ‘art.’ Sharp spear-shapes usually meant pain. 

‘These are pencils, Asu. We draw. We make pictures.’ 

Asu picked up one of the pencils, held it in his fist, lead pointing down and he stabbed the page. The lead broke. Asu’s eyes filled with tears.  

'They don’t work. Nothing works for me.’ 

‘Asu, let me show you.’ 

Diane placed a green pencil in Asu’s tiny hand and coaxed his skinny fingers around it, loosening his tight grip as she spoke. 

‘Gently hold the pencil. Now press softly on the paper. Move your hand to the right, like this, and back. See! You’ve drawn green grass.’ 

Asu peered at the small circle of green in the centre of the pencil bottom. 

‘How does it get in there?’ he asked.  

‘I’ll explain that later,’ Diane said, smiling at the little inquisitive boy. ‘Let’s draw a house on the grass.’ 

‘What’s a house?’ asked Asu. 

‘A place to live, shelter for family.’ 

Diane held Asu’s hand again and started to draw a straight line for a wall. Asu dragged the pencil sideways. Diane let his hand go. He drew another sideways line joining the first.  

‘House!’ Asu exclaimed. 

‘Well, close enough, Asu, that’s a tent, but that’s also shelter for family. Good boy.’ 

Asu spotted a red pencil in the pile on the table. He grabbed it and scribbled all over the crudely-drawn tent. ‘No family now,’ he said, and his face crumpled. 

Diane held the little boy’s hand as he cried. Asu had a long way to go but Diane was determined the little mite would grow up knowing a better world than he had seen so far.

He thought ‘weapons’ but dreamt ‘art.’ 

What a poetic line! That drew me into this piece right away. I've been writing a novel that has a few scenes like this, which I think probably kept me in (I must be feeling maternal of late for some reason)--particularly with lines like "'They don't work. Nothing works for me,'" and "'What's a house?'" The emotional depth behind the story is poignant and evokes a sense of grief and pity. Asu's characterization carries the piece, which works even though the plot arc is very subtle. Good job with this piece!

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

The Neighbours 

“What do we do with them? My God, they’re multiplying like rabbits.” 

Georgina stares out the side window at Colin and Mary Hennessey’s house. I confess that Georgie does tend to exaggerate. Rabbits reproduce like…rabbits. Yes, they seem to want to have their fair share of baby bunnies, but to compare rabbits with the family oriented Hennessey’s next door is over the top even for her. And not a little unkind. 

“Sweetie, Marge Hennessey is pregnant with her third child.”  

I state this with assuredness. Colin told me so.  

“She’s almost thirty.” I say this as if procreation hits a wall at the big 3 0. “She’s not a giant, hormonally charged rabbit. She’s just having her third child.” 

“You idiot,” she fires back. “You think she’s going to stop?”  

Before I can formulate even an incredibly weak answer, Georgie blasts off with, “You better believe she’s not. That woman wants to repopulate the earth…WITH…” and this comes with a cheese-curdling shriek, “more of her own kind.”  

Don’t get me wrong. I love Georgie with all my energy. It takes quite a lot to love a woman of strong and awkward opinions. She has never been one to hold back her impulsive volleys of venom. I love her raw honesty. Some days, however, ever love and tolerance have their limits. Our neighbourhood can’t afford another War of Words.
“Georgie, I love you but you’d better curb your tongue.” 

She gives me a skin-melting stare. It tells me…and the world…nobody messes with Georgina Tulip. And I have. I have drawn a line that she will cross at will. 

“I DON’T LIKE THEM. My life is quiet and you’d better be rid of them." 

Once again, I start the gossip.  

Gossip and neighbourly hate knives will drive them out. 

It’s worked before.

I actually wasn't enjoying this story until I hit the fourth-to-last line, and then I had an "OHHHH SNAP" reaction, since it puts the rest of the story into context and demonstrates the insidiousness of this relationship. The last line gives us a whole host of backstory--telling us the main character has buckled before to Georgina's demands and gives us an idea for what the War of Words was (it makes this neighborhood a whole lot more interesting). I believe what put me off of the story partially is the length. The piece could be tightened around the edges to give it a more powerful punch. Format and word amount can make the piece feel more pedantic than it really is. The rant, which probably should come off venomous and raging, instead feels like it's heavy and dragging. 

The last lines of the piece rather pull it together well, however (and might even be able to stand alone on their own as a whole piece).

“I DON’T LIKE THEM. My life is quiet and you’d better be rid of them."
Once again, I start the gossip.
Gossip and neighbourly hate knives will drive them out.
It’s worked before.

Good job with this!

See you all next week for the season finale!

Year 2, Week 18: Results!

Gonna get it on time next week, guys. Let's try for Tuesday to make up for Friday 😂 Thank you all for participating! 

First Runner Up

Alva Holland's I Did it My Way

The conflict between these two characters comes out really strong, and makes, like Nicola pointed out, a very contentious atmosphere to work with. What makes this situation great is that it's not a "band aid" scenario--there's no easy fix for this problem between these two characters, and it makes the story compelling and strong. In light of this relationship, I felt like the deathbed monologue was a little long--it felt to me like the daughter would be interrupting a little bit (even if he is dying). The piece still hit home with those last few lines, though--nice job!

Y2W18 Winner

Kim Davis!

with The Understanding

I want to take a moment to appreciate the finesse that little details about the characters are dropped to build an image of them in the mind. Without ever saying outright that Mrs. Baker is a construction worker, we see that she's wearing a flannel shirt and a hardhat (and, presuming this is mostly from her POV, 'an outboard motor' sounds like something a construction worker would be able to recognize (I certainly wouldn't be able to)). There might have been a little more build-up to the climax, or the climax a little bigger--it felt like the story started at a mezzo-piano and only grew to a mezzo-forte or forte (sorry to bust out the music terminology out). I really like how much this piece of flash relies on extrapolating data--I had to reread it a couple of times to get all of the nuances. Good job with this!

The Understanding 

“I don’t require you to flatter me.” 

“But Mrs. Baker, the grace with which you handled the little incident this morning was nothing short of miraculous.” 

The flannel-shirted woman removed her hard-hat as she walked around her desk and sat down facing the suit. She waited until the door to her office snicked closed. “Mr. Morrison,” she began in a soft, measured tone. “I’d hardly call what happened here today a ‘little incident.’” 

The man made burbling noises, like an outboard motor trying to start. 

Clarissa Baker raised her hand and continued gathering force. “It was a peaceful protest that you turned into a full-blown riot. Lives could easily have been lost. How dare you call that a ‘little incident’!” 

“I merely meant . . .” 

“Trust me, Sir,” she said, her anger apparent, “I know what you meant. Some lives are more important than others.” She took a breath and lowered her voice again. “I have a gift for public speaking, but it is what I said rather than the way that I said it that did the trick. You see, the people here mean more to me than the people who want to shave half an hour off their daily commutes. Did you pay any attention to what I told that angry mob, Mr. Morrison?” 

“That’s neither here nor there.”  

“Is that right? Then there will be more violence. Your company will lose equipment for certain, and possibly lives. Those protesters live here, and you plan to destroy their homes.”  

“It’s not up to me.” 

“I think it is.” She pulled an amended contract and a loaded Glock from the desk and cocked the gun, leveling it at the businessman’s forehead. 

He tried to stare her down, but in the end, they understood one another.