Fortnightly Writing Competition - Winners Announced

Started by kconan, Thu 21/11/2013 16:52:44

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kconan

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  The next competition is a continuation-game story.  So one poster begins the story, the next picks up, and so on.  You can encapsulate your own subplot, advance a main plot established by a previous poster, or go through kind of plot twist you want - but its going to all be one story so please try to segue accordingly from the previous poster.  You can drastically the change the setting, plots, subplots, characters, etc...all within reason.  You can end in a cliffhanger for the next guy or gal writer...BUT keep in mind that the only real rule is that you can't paint the next poster into a corner.  For example, finishing with, "...and then the super-mega hydrogen bomb exploded into the nearby black hole, and they all died." makes it hard for the next person to take over.  Any kind of main story in any setting is fine.  We'll be voting using most of the usual criteria, but with a few extra that apply to this kind of game. ;) There will be a tailor made trophy with some kind of teamwork theme, and it will include avatars, and it will rock your socks off junior. 8-)

  So the first poster has the luxury (or responsibility) of kicking this thing off!  The deadline is December 1st. GO!


Sinitrena

Interesting topic, just a quick question about the rules:
Is everybody limited to one post or could I post the, let's say, first part, then wait for two or three other writers and then post the third or fourth part?

Eric

Gerald pointed the Buick Regal down the dark alley and sat breathing heavily for a moment while the warm engine sizzled under the cold rain. He threw the gearshift a bit early and the transmission ground the car to a stop. He ran a hand through the few strands of hair still tenuously clinging to his scalp and ground the heel of his palm into his forehead, doing nothing at all to dampen the growing headache that lie beneath.

He breathed and breathed and gripped the steering wheel, which didn't turn, and the rain fell and fell. All was still in the alley. All was dark. Gerald was glad no one was there to see him, mostly because it would've made things messy, but partially because he was embarrassed at what a cock-up he'd made of this job.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck," he whispered. His chest heaved and strained the buttons on the too-tight dress shirt Emory had left for him at the hotel earlier today. This disguise had been completely useless and ill-fitting, and the constraint of the suit jacket across his shoulders did nothing to improve his feeling that he was being pinned in on this one. Someone had set him up. Probably not Emory, but someone, dammit. This was the kind of thing he'd spent his whole life looking over one shoulder to avoid, and he'd screwed it all up now...because of her.

A door opened at the end of the alley, and a man stepped out from the sudden pool of light holding a trash can. He looked briefly toward the Buick, then hustled over to a dumpster and emptied the garbage into it. He looked back at the Buick again before going inside.

Gerald's breathing had slowed now. He was quickly blowing past the point of no longer caring. No longer caring whether the man taking out the trash would recognize the Buick from the police reports. No longer caring that the man might have seen the details of his face. Not caring that the license plate was clearly visible and could be easily tied back to him.

And most of all, not caring whether or not the man had seen the two other occupants of the car: the dead body of the woman in the front seat, or the child slumbering fitfully in the back.

WHAM

Hell of a start, man!
If nobody minds, I'm reserving the second writer's seat here. Will post within the weekend.
EDIT: nothing reserved, will try to type faster instead! :D
Wrongthinker and anticitizen one. Utterly untrustworthy. Pending removal to memory hole.

Baron

Oh, I don't know about reserving for 3-4 days in a 10 day comp.  (wrong)  I say you can reserve post, to make sure no one else posts in your window, for no more than two hours.  Otherwise we'll never all get our fingers in this pie.

kconan

Quote from: Sinitrena on Thu 21/11/2013 20:40:22
Is everybody limited to one post or could I post the, let's say, first part, then wait for two or three other writers and then post the third or fourth part?
Just one post per person, however short or lengthy their contribution may be.  It would be too disjointed otherwise.

Quote from: WHAM on Thu 21/11/2013 21:33:56
Hell of a start, man!  If nobody minds, I'm reserving the second writer's seat here. Will post within the weekend.

Sorry WHAM, the second writer is up when the next one posts their segment.  I don't want to hold up the game.


I'll be checking this thread twice daily (at least) to see what the regulars, and hopefully some new blood as well, are cooking up. 8-)

Baron

    "Uncle Gerry?"
    Shit!
     The rain pounded hypnotically on the roof of the car.  Maybe the kid would just fall back asleep.
    "Uncle Gerry, are we home yet?"
    Gerald rubbed his hand over his balding scalp again, and slowly exhaled.  This wasn't going to end well:  "No kiddo.  It's still a long way."
    "Mommy-?"
    "Mommy's sleeping."
    There was a long pause.  Gerald looked over at the slouched body in the passenger seat, still clutching the crocodile-skinned briefcase.  It was dark in the alley, and from behind it would be hard to see the blood streaked over her face anyway.  Gerald wondered if there might be enough blood to soak through the seat and pool on the floor, but then put the thought out of his mind.  A light flicked on in a window above the alley, but it was the wrong window.
     "Can you sing me a song?" the kid asked, plaintively.
     Gerald bit his lip.
     "Mommy always sings me the ducky song."
     "I don't know the ducky song."
     "It goes like this-"
     "Let's just listen to some jazz," Gerald said, turning on the radio.  "That shit always puts me to sleep."
     He winced, not meaning to swear in front of the kid, but he didn't seem to notice.  Shit, the kid probably heard worse every time his mom opened her big fat mouth.  Poor kid.  Gerald sat, staring out into the rain as they were serenaded by the canting lilt of a soporific saxophone to the beat of the drumming rain.  He checked his messages, but there was nothing from Emory.  Was that rhythmic breathing coming again from the back seat?  'Cause it sure as hell wasn't coming from the radio.  Shit, he hated jazz. 
     The rain continued, unrelenting.  They'd have to move soon.  Los Amigos were out there, looking for him.  Looking for them.  He glanced over at the body again.  There was the glint of the necklace he'd given her on the island.  Stupid whore.  But he couldn't keep moving for long without a wad of cash to help things along, and there was only one place he knew where a guy like him could make a withdrawal of that magnitude at this hour.  He stared across the alley at the back door to the titty bar, hand instinctively reaching for the piece concealed inside his coat.  Only one shot left, he knew.  This was going to take some dramatics to pull off.
     Another window lit up: third storey, second from the end.  Gerald checked in the mirror that the kid was out, leaned over to kiss the corpse on the cheek, then slipped quietly out into the rain.

Ghost

He knew he'd get the money. Perkins always made a point of showing off his power, but he had that odd sense of honour and Gerald could usually talk the man into yet another favour. And yet he felt nervous as he was ushered into the bar's back room. He'd hardly glanced at the dancers but had quietly checked the guests. No hitmen, no hired guns. Tables stood wide apart tonight, to allow the girls to be better seen. If shit hit the windmill he'd be able to make a dash for the door. Or a window, whatever was closer and, preferably, not closed.
The bouncer gave him a knowing smile. They'd seen each other a couple of times now, and the man apparently tried to work up his way into the small circle of Perkins' most trusted guards. Gerald knew he had a good punch, that had to be said.
The Green Door slid open. Gerald gave the bouncer a nod and walked into a small, dimly lit room. He also walked into a wall of smoke and fumes. Cigars and good, old whiskey. Ah. Gerald knew he'd get his money.
A round table, Perkins right at the top, bald head gleaming, gold teeth glisteing in the sickly yellow light. His chums around him. Half a dozen men, cheap suits and boring hats. All of them smoking.
  "Gerald! What a pleasure to see you here! And joost the rite time!", Perkins droned, voice thick with alcohol.
Gerald saw gow things would go, and forced himself to smile. He could relax. This would be easy. He would not need the gun. All he'd need was a little kiss from Lady Luck. He ran his hands over his sleeves, apparently to straighten them, but mostly to make sure the two aces would not accidentally appear... to early.
He was good with cards, if he had those aces. He hated his skill. His reputation had started the whole mess. But wouldn't it be... fitting, to get the money to run away from a man... from the man himself?
Gerald smiled. Perkins smiled back.

Ponch

As the plot thickens, I'm so incredibly tempted to make my entry a single sentence: "Meanwhile, across town..." But I wouldn't do that to you guys. :=

And where's WHAM?

kconan

  The entries are a bit brief, but that makes sense when you consider all will be combined into one whole story.  Great stuff!  The mental images being conjured up play like a Michael Mann movie. 

Quote from: Ponch
As the plot thickens...

  Looking forward to seeing you jump into the fray...


Ghost


Sane Co.

#11
Perkins' smile turned into a smirk. "You come back, even after what I did to you last time?"
"That's nothing compared to what I'll do this time."
"You think so? Here come play a few rounds. You will even get a few drinks on me." Perkins got up and walked around the table and pulled a chair out. He gestured for Gerald to sit down.
Gerald walked over and began to sit down. But just as his hands touched the chair to scoot in, Perkins punched him right in the jaw. Gerald fell out of the chair onto his back.
"What the heck is wrong with you?"
Perkins had shoved the chair violently to the side, and now had his foot positioned directly above Gerald's face. He slammed it down. "You piece of shit. You think I don't know about you and my wife. Just because you didn't get the pretty sister doesn't mean that you can take her." He lifted his foot yet again and slammed it on the side of Gerald's face. He could feel both side of his face burning like heck as the boot and the rough carpet tore his skin. Perkins then picked him up by the shirt. "Take his suit off, looks real nice, don't want to get blood on it."
One of the bodyguards rushed over and removed Gerald's suit, whispering, "Sorry Gerry, but we all gotta make a living." Gerry watched the guard, but as the guard removed the jacket, he noticed the hidden aces.
"Dammit", Jerry thought, "not that."
The guard, however, discreetly concealed the aces in his pocket.
"Where is my wife?" yelled Perkins.
"She's at my house," Gerald gasped, "I haven't done anything to her, she's fine."
"That better be the truth, or I'll fucking blow your brains out."
EDIT: grammar

WHAM

Quote from: Ponch on Sun 24/11/2013 15:48:23
And where's WHAM?

I'm here, but I just got a brand new puppy-dog yesterday, so my ability to write grimdark murder mysteries is impaired.
Will attempt to get my head back into action soon. Or perhaps I will wait until the last moment and write the story finale with an awesome cliffhanger! :D
Wrongthinker and anticitizen one. Utterly untrustworthy. Pending removal to memory hole.

miguel

"She's there, man..." said Gerald with a taste of his own blood on his mouth. He had Jerry behind him, Perkins spitting hate in front of him and at least three other men close by.
Some of the dancing girls couldn't help screaming and one even went down on the ground like a trained marine. It came with the job.
The music halted for a moment but Perkins made a signal to the DJ, a hispanic guy with a coco-hat and a thin moustache. This gave Gerald some brief seconds to think again. He still had the gun, half-hidden in his belt where the spine allows it.
One bullet.
Just one bullet, but nobody knew that.
Perkins smiled at some customers reassuring that all was...well...normal.
"Fuck, you make me mad, little brother!", "To me, doing this to ME?"
The last kick went hard on the ribs throwing Gerald back to where he tried to raise himself.
"Fuck Bobby! What the fuck?", coughed Gerald. "It's just a fucking whore!"
The thing is, Grace was a whore. She'd fucked half the guys Gerald and Bobby knew. She'd fuck the entire Yankee Stadium if there was coke in the end. A coked addicted whore with a face like an angel and tits like a porn star. The kind of girl a man would fuck up his life really bad. Even so, she was more than a whore to Gerald. And now he knew that that was the case with his brother Bobby.
"My Whore!", yelled Robert Perkins, commonly known has Perkins around the coke scene. Gerald called him Bobby.
Grace called him Bobby.

Gerald managed to sit but doing it aggravated the pain in the ribs.
One bullet.
The gun, why didn't Jerry take it from him? What's the guy real intentions?

Working on a RON game!!!!!

Ghost


miguel

Thanks Ghost, this'll be good indeed! Fell in love with it from the first paragraph.
Working on a RON game!!!!!

Sane Co.

Who thinks this would make a good standalone competition? With modified rules of course. It doesn't even have to be a competition either.

Baron

Why didn't Jerry take the gun.... it's his gun.  Unless it's another Jerry/Gerry.  I'm so confused.  And drunk.  But that's another story.  So confused......  Where's the happy/nauseous swaying cup emoticon when you need it: Ponch!  I summon thee!

Stupot

#18
At that moment an older gentleman arrived at Perkins' side.  He'd been running. Unable to talk and breath at the same time, he managed to wheeze out the words "Sir... Grace...".

Shit.. Someone had found her body.

Perkins straightened his back and looked a the man, who looked as though he was having an asthma attack.  Gerald knew he had to make a move, but the scene was playing out before him in slow motion and he was frozen in he chair, watching his brothers face turn steadily whiter. "What?", said Perkins. "Where is she?"

Gerald braced himself. He knew what was coming, but was paralysed, glued to his chair, his face probably even whiter than his brother's. The old man's breath was coming back to him and he started to raise his arm. Gerald was beginning to feel sick.  The old man's hand began to close, but for a sole arthritic index finger which was by now pointed squarely at Gerald's chest.  "His car."

Gerald darted out of his chair and ran.  Narrowly avoiding the clutches of the bodyguard (Where had he come from anyway?), Gerald just legged it, without thinking where he was going to go.  From behind him came a heart-wrenching howl of agony.  Gerald felt the presence of the guard behind him, ducked through a small gap between two topless waitresses.  There followed, a crash of drinks, and a girls voice "watch it asshole!"  He stole a glance behind him and saw the guard scrambling to get past the two waitresses who were now deliberately obstructing his passage.  Gerald was free, for now.  He ran to the side exit of the bar, pushed the door open easily and found himself in a back street.

He ran towards the main street, but quickly decelerated when he saw his Buick surrounded by blue flashing lights.  At least his nephew was in safe hands now, he thought.  Hiding his face and trying to look as inconspicuous as he could, he turned in the opposite direction, towards the cemetery, and tried to make sense of the past couple of hours.

He remembered the piercing, haunting howl that had come out of his brother's mouth just moments before.  His big brother, whom he had loved and trusted like a father since their parents were killed.  What have I done? Gerald needed somewhere to lie low for the night.  He still needed that money, but there was no way he could go back there now, not tonight.  Without that money, I'm a dead man. He remembered he still had one bullet left, and the notion of using it on himself was something he'd been trying not to think about until now.

"Hey, you!"

...

miguel

Note:Jerry is the name of the body guard, the first guy Gerard sees at the entrance;; The kid in the car isn't really Gerard's nephew;

"Hey, You!"
A flash-light hit Gerard's eyes making it hard to see, but he managed to glimpse a cop uniform. Straightening his back on the Cemetery wall he barely faked the pain in the ribs.
"Good-evening, officer. I-I guess I had one too many! Probably time to head home..."
Now the light was unbearable while the cop examined his beaten face, and Gerard knew he wasn't going anywhere the easy way.
"I want you to raise your hands to the back of your head, now!"
Shit.The cop had by then pointed the gun to Gerard's chest.
"Do it now!"
Fuck if I'm going to get caught after all this!. A brief moment passed but the cop got distracted by a sudden blip from his walkie-talkie and Gerard pushed him backwards and ran along the Cemetery wall.
He could hear voices behind him. There's no escape, he kept thinking while running, his ribs piercing some body organs he didn't know they existed, his bad knee crying loudly that it was there. He now had the gun in his hand although he didn't remember ever pulling it out.
In front of him, after a corner, was the Cemetery gates and right opposite a set of brown and orange buildings, one of them ringing some familiar bell in Gerard's head but he couldn't make out why.
Decisions.
The Cemetery was a dead end. They would block all exits and he would have to surrender to keep his life.
The buildings were the only option left. No way he could run much longer and from now on it was a straight avenue leading to cross roads and more open area avenues.
A shot was fired. And then another.
He could hear the cops ordering him to stop. They where on foot as well. The sidewalk was damp and slippery.
Gerard wanted to look back and access how many cops where in his pursuit, but he was afraid to loose balance and fall. 
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a black car slid and stopped on the far end of the street.
Now I'm done, he thought.
He kept going a while longer and the black car drove towards him.
"I'm trapped!"
Gerard hesitated and tried to figure out if he'd walk right in the Cemetery or make a run for the building and pray that a door would be open.
That was enough for the cops to get closer and he could hear their footsteps really close.
Then a shot was fired again. But this time from the black car. And then another two shots.
The cops had to take cover and shot back at the car.
Gerard saw a man yelling at him from inside the car and he made a run towards it. A bullet came flying close to his hair. And another one hit the car front window.
"Get in!"
The car turned back and drove at full speed while the bullets kept missing it until they stopped.
"Jerry?", "Thanks man, I..."
Jerry, the guard from his brother's bar didn't allowed him to finish his thanks, he plunged his right open hand on Gerard's chest and said:
- Shut the fuck up! I do the talking here!
Then he looked at the gun Gerard was holding and took it. "Give me that!"
"Hey...Okay, okay, man!", "Shit...I'm all fucked up...shit..."
The car drove fast between the city avenues. No sign of the cops.
"Where are you taking me, man? I think I need an hospital...".
The last thing Gerard remembered before passing out was looking at his hand covered with blood.

Silence.   
Working on a RON game!!!!!

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