Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → Writers Contest, hosted by Thoad!
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Hello, I'm the well renowned Thoadthetoad, who made the insanely popular story, "The Moderation Wars". Now then, I've seen a whole lot of writing contests but they are just terrible, no organazation or rules. Let me just tell you that this is NOT A PLACE to put crappy 5 minute 3 sentence stories that literally anyone could have written. Now then, here's the basic rules:
1. Must not be SMUT. A simple sexual reference or a wink wink nudge nudge is fine, hell, even something a woman in her 40's would read to feel secure is fine, but don't make the characters have ANY contact. This includes: Groping, fondling, HXC (hardcore), anal, buttocks grabbing or sucking. A kiss I can handle, maybe tounge, but don't make it descriptive to where younger users would be creeped out, OKAY?!
2. Story must be within 500 - 1000 words. Please keep it within that so I won't get tired reading, and so that it actually has some structure.
3. You HAVE to have a beginning, middle, and end in your story! No "to be continued" things. You may use the same characters and whatnot, but please do not leave things opened.
4. I would very much appreciate if you put how many words were in your entry. It braces me for it and I won't have to count it all that much. Again, I'd very much appreciate it if you were HONEST with it.
5. This is prose ONLY, no poetry, guys.
6. Must be relevant to the theme, which I will assign every... oh I say 2 weeks would be enough.
7. There can only be 7 entries at the most, because I think I'll die if I have to read any more than that. So if it reaches the cap before the deadline, I'll judge there.
8. No fanfictions of your favorite series unless noted that
So those are the rules, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask. I like questions after all.
This rounds theme will be....
Anime
Fanfics are ok, but is strongly unadvised. As I tend to detest fanfics... I hope you all have a good time writing, and I hope some more people come to here instead of the other places. Btw, every story has to have DIRECT link to the theme, even if it's roundabout, I don't care, so long as it's still a direct link from the story to it, no chains.
- 168 Replies
Yep, like my style to never say the main characters first, last, or middle name.
The person who wrote the first "War of the Worlds" had actually used the same literary device.
I usually don't when I don't want ambiguity. . .but if I want to have a fully fleshed-out character than the name sort of completes it. Of course, sometimes it's best to have the narrator be an ambiguous character, more so a vehicle towards telling the story than an actual character, though this isn't always the case. Fuck, I wish I could get out of my writer's block! *headkeyboard*jdslkakjdsaakk
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Ypou mean H.G. Wells? He wrote lotsa stuff.
yeah, I think H.G. was the author. Not sure though. I'd have to check.
I'm sure you guys have read this piece, just that I spruced it up. Enjoy.
~Berry Pomeroy Castle~
The freezing wind swept up the dry fallen oak leaves, rustling them along the path as the young doctor stepped off the carriage. Tipping his top hat to the driver, he pulled his overcoat around him and walked towards the ancient looking castle. The moon hung brightly in the night sky, illuminating the lake next to his destination.
Watching the man disappear down the stone path, the wizened old driver sighed.
'May the heavens protect you in that accursed place.' he muttered, urging the horse forward.
Doctor Feraz gripped the rusty iron ring on the door. Pulling it, he heard the sound of a cracked bell ringing a solemn note deep inside castle. The great wooden door creaked as the castle steward opened it. Bowing slightly, the doctor entered into the darkness, taking off his coat and hat. His eyes adjusted to the gloomy candle lit corridor quickly.
'Thanks for coming at this time of night Doctor Feraz.' the castle steward uttered anxiously. He led the way down the damp corridor, a dim lantern in hand, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Doctor Feraz was amazed at the place, even more so at the numerous massive portraits hanging on the wall that seemed to glance coldly at him.
'You must have an army of people just to keep Berry Pomeroy Castle clean for His Lordship Mr Harris!' Feraz exclaimed, surprised. 'I suppose the damp keeps them away at this time of year!'
'Aye. But none will stay the night and it's not the damp that keeps them away.' The castle steward answered through a mouth of rotten teeth, hastily shuffling along.
Just then, the doctor stopped abruptly. At one point, the line of portraits broke off, leaving just a damp imprint of one. As he opened his mouth to inquire about the missing picture, the castle steward tugged him along quickly.
In the castle steward's room, his wife lay on her sickbed, pale and shivering. Doctor Feraz opened his black leather bag and started to examine her...
'She'll be fine, it's just a severe case of influenza, and she's recovering already. I gave her a sleeping draught to pass the night.' Feraz said, stepping out into the chilly night. The castle door shut behind him...
The next day, Feraz again arrived at the castle. This time a country girl answered the door.
'Mr Harris is out; you'll have to wait Sir.' She squeaked timidly.
'Not a problem, I'll just stay in Lord Ruthven's library. If anything's wrong call me.'
The library was dusty; no one had entered for quite awhile. Rows and rows of shelves with books untouched for ages stood there. Weak rays of light shone in through the windows. Feraz picked up an old medical journal and lowered himself onto a dusty plum colored armchair.
As the afternoon went by, dark clouds swarmed the skies; a storm brewed, showering the castle's towers and battlements with torrents of icy rain. Thunder rocked the sky like cannon on a battlefield; lightning seemed to cross bright swords with each other. Feraz remained engrossed...
The ancient grandfather clock struck a somber note as the fire in the hearth died out. Startled Feraz arose from his reading and sat up. As he did so, he saw a woman gliding across the shelves. A pure white gown trailed behind her, ancient design on her dress. From her dress, he guessed it was in fashion 400 years ago.
'Excuse me madam.' He stood up. 'Nice to...' The lady ignored him, silently continuing to move towards a flight of steps at a corner. As she past one of the windows, a flash of lightning lighted up her face. Feraz gasped. Her beautiful pale face was wracked in anguish, anger, sadness. Her long dark hair draped to her waist, covering most of her face. But her eyes, alas, they frightened him the most. They were steel grey, no soul behind them. A dead person's eyes. A tortured being. There was a dark stain forming on the dress. Blood dripped from her mouth's corners. The splashing of the droplets echoed, magnified a hundred times on the cracked stone walls...
She continued noiselessly, at one point passing within a few feet of the shocked doctor. Still she gave no sign of seeing him. The only sound in the room was the swishing of her long dress. He felt a cold breath play across his face, like the sudden draught of a sheathing sword. A bead of sweat dripped to the floor, Feraz's mouth twitched. As the woman reached the top of the stairs, she turned around a corner and disappeared.
Feraz straightened his tie, exited the library hurriedly and went to the castle steward. He found him in one of the billiard rooms, dusting the pool sticks.
'A party. Yes, has His Lordship been hosting a fancy dress party?' Feraz mumbled weakly, licking his dry lips.
'No sir, it's been some years since His Lordship held a party at Berry Pomeroy Castle... Are you alright doctor?'
'Then who was that lady in the old dress in the library? She looked so miserable...'
The steward turned ashen-faced, teeth chattering. He collapsed into an armchair, hands turning bone white. 'Oh my poor Isabel!' he wailed.
'Your wife? No that wasn't your wife I saw!'
The old man's eyes were washed with tears. 'I mean my wife will die. The thing you saw is the phantom of the castle. She led a sinful life in this castle 400 years ago. During the English Civil War, His Lordship's ancestor had supported the King. As the Parliament's men attacked this castle, the woman led the enemy in. Years later, when the King returned, she was executed by His Lordship's ancestor. Her tongue was cut out for the crime of betrayal and she was burned at stake. She was doomed to wander the castle forever. Her's was the portrait that was removed and destroyed.'
'But what has this got to do with your wife?'
Old Harris brushed his tears away, looking at the young man. 'She only appears when there is a death in the castle.'
Feraz jumped to his feet, opening the door. 'But your wife is fine! She's in no danger!' he called as he rushed up the stairs, three at a time.
When he reached the bedroom door, he cleared it clumsily, stumbling to the woman's bed. A mysterious wind rushed out as he slammed the door open. The curtains flapped wildly at the open swinging window. He touched her icy hand. The woman lay peacefully beneath the sheets. Nothing moved in the room. But forever, Doctor Feraz swore he heard the soft rustling of a silk dress...
1115 words, slightly longer than usual.
The actual word being censored is d.r.a.p.e.d. AG's sensor is just too good.
Uhm, aren't you supposed to write something new for the contest, instead of looking up old texts, and submit them? Oh well, not sure if it is a rule for this contest.
Uhm, aren't you supposed to write something new for the contest, instead of looking up old texts, and submit them? Oh well, not sure if it is a rule for this contest.
My first story was one that I posted before.
Just asking weither it is acceptable to submit something not written for the contest itself, as this is the case when it comes to the art competition.
But I am not the judge of this.
nah, it's perfectly fine if you want to put old works here, so long as they still co-respond to the theme. That was a rule I never really liked about the art comp.
Either way, I hope that you enter anyways.
nah, it's perfectly fine if you want to put old works here, so long as they still co-respond to the theme. That was a rule I never really liked about the art comp.
Either way, I hope that you enter anyways.
You know if you want to count the words in the story there is a nifty word counter in MS Word. Just a little tip.
You know if you want to count the words in the story there is a nifty word counter in MS Word. Just a little tip.
That's what everyone knows dude. Vista is even better, word count at the bottom.
Warning: I have not had geography classes yet, and hope to next year. If the info in this story are completely incorrect, don't point them out, it won't help.
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Rain
The wind blew in the harbor of Nagasaki. Shivering fishermen pull in small nets with little fish, and hunger pains them all. It is the year 2098, and the world is not what it was. Oil covered oceans, barren landscapes and mountains covered with soot. A place where only the rich and powerful can live in pleasure. On the shore line a little boy sat, crouching to protect himself from the harsh wind.
A shadow suddenly passed over the sky. Everyone look up, wondering what was happening. The grey clouds that covered the earth slowly turned black. Then a lightning bolt streaked through the sky. For nigh fifty years no one had seen one before. Only the seniors knew what it was, the rest could only have dreamed of it. A drop fell out of the sky.
It was raining.
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Excuse Ulimitedpower for not knowing a thing about Anime, even though he found the dictionary definition. At least my story was in Japan, that was the most I could do.
[quote]Er unlimitedpower? The theme is ghosts now.
What the heck? Didn't know... So embarrassing. Thanks for the tip. Will write another post. What page is it?
UP: Look for page 10.
Anyways. I'm literally writing this as we speak, so bear with me.
Here goes nothin'!
There once was a little boy, who lived down by the riverside in a creaky old house, with his creaky old grandparents. This boy was not so ordinary, however. No, in fact, he'd found that he was extraordinary.
That's right.
Extra.
'Extraordinary?' you ask. Another question: 'How was he extraordinary?' you're wondering. He found that he could talk to spirits. Spirits that the ethereal realm have spat ut in disgust, both for good and bad reason.
And so, this boy down by the riverside, under a gray sky, on the side of a gray river talks to spirits, denizens of the netherworld, made visible by some force, but, unbeknownst to him, for a purpose.
...
'Well? What purpose?' you're ask, with bated breath.
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Here's where I'm having problems, guys. I'm thinking about just going: "Well, I'm deeply sorrry to report, that reason is unbeknownst to me as well. No matter though! The story of the boy by the riverside, under a gray sky, at the side of a gray river, talking to gray-ish spirits is a grim one. A grim one indeed...
And this seems like a perfect excuse to interrupt my retelling of such events, events which pain me deeeply to repeat, tus, allowing me to escape the inescapable task of doing such a task."
Or continuing it. I'm leaning towards the latter. Or maybe, I could use both endings?
Comments plz.
~spoon
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