The march continues and at it's inevitable conclusion, only one will remain. This week we will tap two more to move on and set up the epic battle we've all been waiting for since November. You've probably seen all four of these WRiTER's in action before, but just in case your new to WRiTE CLUB you can find a list of their previous bouts here.
The first match-up, determined by a random drawing, is below. Read each submission carefully and vote for the one that in your mind deserves to keep marching. No, it is not an easy task...but it really shouldn't be. Hairs will be split, deeper meanings will be contemplated, and even coins will be tossed, but a choice has to be made.
Welcome back to the ring in the far corner.....CASEY BROOKS
When a princess misbehaves, most kings and queens send them to their chambers. Not mine. No, my parents send me to the dungeons. And I don’t get to just sit there and “think about what I’ve done.” I have to clean. It probably says something about my temperament that we have the cleanest dungeons in all of Farfel. Even now, as I sat on my royal *ahem* and polished the bars outside the second-largest cell for VIPs only (Very Important Prisoners), I was hard pressed to find even one speck of dust. Of course, that might be because I’ve been on dungeon duty every day this week. (Let me just say – cleaning out chamber pots? Not. Fun.)
On Sunday, I was punished for putting a snake in Prince Alec’s salad. I know, I know. Not that original, but he yelled louder than a banshee from the Mountains of Mystery.
On Monday, I ever-so-innocently suggested that the prince resembled a blue pincushion – what with his puffy sleeves and all – and my parents sent me down here again. (Though, I noticed they didn’t disagree with my assessment of his outfit).
Tuesday morning, I pushed the prince into the fountain during our supposed-to-be-romantic walk. Of course my parents didn’t believe me when I said I was protecting the prince from a very deadly looking wasp.
Really, I was surprised they still wanted to go forward with the whole marriage thing. I mean, I had hoped that if I made my thoughts on the matter clear, then they would let me out of it. But, no.
Maybe the fountain thing was too subtle.
“Maybe the prince should just go back to where he belongs,” I muttered as I scrubbed at the prison bars. After all, my parents couldn’t force me to marry Prince Alec in one week.
“That’s easy to arrange, you know,” a lilting female voice answered me. I nearly jumped out of my corset.
Peering through the bars, I saw two baby blue eyes staring back at me. They reminded me of the prince’s unfortunately puffy coat. I hate to admit it, but I judged her a little bit because of that.
“I thought this cell was empty,” I said stupidly. I was too surprised to come up with something more witty.
“New arrival. Just got here today.” She seemed unconcerned by the fact that she was a prisoner in the king’s dungeons. Calmly and primly, she sat by the cell bars, looking at me with an expression that could only be described as boredom.
She was also the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
I judged her for that too. It wasn’t fair that she could have lustrous golden hair that cascaded down her back in waves (even while as a prisoner in a dungeon!) while my lady maids forced me to sit for an hour each day simply to have a semblance of curl.
But if she could help me … who was I to judge?
And their opponent in the near corner...JAMIE STUART
Charlene Gentry didn't know what to expect when she died. She wasn't necessarily an evil person, so would heaven welcome her? She wasn't an angel, either, so would hell be her destination? Not that she had a choice, but she assumed those were her only two options.
Certainly not 5542 Sycamore Lane.
She must be dead. How else could she explain the view of her bedroom from above? She didn't own a mirror on the ceiling, as badly as she had dreamed of putting one up there. And the eyes of the body – her body – lying on the bed below were closed.
The front door slammed. "Charlie? You here?"
Robbie. Her big brother finally made it. Was he in time? How long had her body been lying there? Minutes? Hours?
"I'm in the bedroom!" She yelled, but did he hear her? Dammit! How could she move to him? Was she stuck up on the ceiling for all eternity?
The sliding door to the backyard opened. "Hey, fella. Whatcha doing out here?"
Barnaby's claws ticked, ticked, ticked, as they skittered across the kitchen floor. Soon the chocolate lab burst through the bedroom door, Robbie close behind.
"Charlie?" He rushed to her body and placed his fingers against the neck.
Did he get a pulse? Was she still alive? He pulled out his cell.
"It's my sister. I think she OD'd."
"No, I didn't," she said. "It's not what you think."
"Fifty-five forty-two Sycamore Lane… No… Yes… Okay. Please hurry." He dropped the phone on the bed and proceeded to perform CPR. Barnaby whined.
"That's it. Resuscitate me. Bring me back, Robbie!"
After several pumps on her chest, he blew air into her mouth. He repeated the process and checked her neck. "Dammit, Charlie. Come back! Don't leave me."
She willed herself to be by his side, and it happened. So that's how it worked! "I haven't left you," she said. "Don't give up!"
He didn't react to her words, but he continued with the CPR.
Where was the ambulance? They should have been here by now. She only lived a couple of blocks away.
Robbie checked her neck again and started to cry.
"No! I don't want to die!" She reached out for him and her hand went through his body.
He didn't feel her. She was nothing.
"How could you be so stupid? I trusted you!" He fell to his knees and placed his head on the bed.
His sobs wrenched her heart, if she even had one anymore. She couldn't blame him. She was stupid. Not for overdosing – she'd been clean for a year – but for trusting Carl. That bastard had killed her.
She had never believed in ghosts before. Looked like she was one now. Was she stuck inside the house forever?
Oh crap. Maybe she was in hell.