Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → Literature Fight!
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Yay for literature!
Teams: In this competition we will start with 2 teams of 8. Everyone will write about a subject. I will then judge each entry. When your team loses you vote off 2 people from your team.
Scoring: I judge on a scale from 1 to 10. After all scores are added up, the team with the lower score will lose. I will show all individual scores.
The Literature Games: Once 8 people are left in the competition, you fight 1v1v1v1, in a huge arena. I will give you a basic description of the arena, and then you write about killing all the competitors in the arena. You get to choose 1 weapon to start with. This is called the Literature Games (Yes like the hunger games.) One person will survive, then you fight the winner of the other Games.
The Finale: You fight 1v1 with special powers and again one weapon of choice. Both entries are mutated so that it takes very much to kill. You will have to write about that. You also have to write about training, which is 3 days long. Again you will fight in an arena, which will be given to you.
Note:[b] You will be given this information again when the round comes
[b]Note: The whole thing is writing. No pictures, and by fighting to the death I mean writing about fighting to the death. By training I mean writing about training, etc.
I know pretty obvious, so don't ask about it.
Note: Each round can only be so long. I will wait for you to finish, but if you take too long you will automatically be eliminated. If you know you will take long, please notify me.
[i]Note: You will be given updates all throughout the competition by me, so please do not close your messenger.
Remember just 16 participants, 8 on each team.
- 402 Replies
I'll finish mine up tomorrow, after I'm done judging the poetry contest . . . .
Well mine is underway. Expect it the day of. I hope you enjoy it, it's a first person narrative.
it seems like we may have quite a few people submitting the day of as wolf is (:
it seems like we may have quite a few people submitting the day of as wolf is (:
I'm cool like that and I don't rush.
I'm cool like that and I don't rush.
i usually procrastinate... i don't know what got into me.
ok is nearly everybody except like 5 ppl submitting the night of judging
2213 words! First attempt. I pwned the word count.
The stinging of saltwater awoke Jay. He was half-buried in sand, his face sheltered from the hot sun by a scrap of metal.
High tide had come along, washing the dried blood and sand off his face. Metal groaned and shifted as he sat up. He was inside
The cabin of a boat, which had been torn open, and what were left of his personal belongings were waterlogged and quickly moving
from keepsake to detritus. The left wall was gone, facing the beach, and the floor was dug into the shore.
Jay tried to cradle his aching head, but his wrist was dislocated. He had seen this on TV before - he pulled his hand,
wiggled it around a little bit, and after a large crack, it felt a bit better. He used his other hand to check his head for
injuries and he was better. It still throbbed and he couldn't use the hand much, but the pain was mostly gone. Sitting up, he
crawled out of the cabin and found him amidst a jungle of wreckage.
Glass crunched under Jay's sandals as he explored the ruins. It was his personal yacht - the namesake of the boat was intact.
"SS Nightingale," it read. Strewn about the wrecked steering wheel were opaque pieces of black glass and bottles of Smirnoff Ice.
The scenario came together in Jay's mind - he was 'iced' by his 'bros' and this led to him hopping on his personal yacht - which
was supposed to only be used on autopilot - and manually drive it around. Jay knew that he had been out for a long time, because
his hangover was mild. His first concern was finding food; nutrients to sustain him and his escape from the island.
He clambered onto the main deck of the yacht, which was partially intact. There was a refrigerator there. He fumbled with
the door, forcing it open, to reveal that it was full of carryout Greek food and Funyuns. Not a single bottle of water in sight.
Taking a gyro and a Mountain Dew, Jay sat down and had a meal while looking out at the beach. There were crabs scuttling around,
so he had nourishment even when the gyros ran out. Drinkable water was nowhere to be found, however, so Jay knew he would have to
escape within the next few days - because of the hot sun, the 12 cans of soda wouldn't last more than 4 days, if he rationed them.
When his food was finished (which took a long time, because he couldn't use his left hand to eat) he walked down the beach to try to
find a means of getting off the island.
Any way of contacting the shore using the boat's equipment was out-of-the-question. The best there was was an empty flare gun
- buried under some wreckage - that was filled completely with sand. Because Jay was drunk, he forgot to stock the boat with any
ammo for it. Damning himself for such failure, he grabbed the flare gun in case he found some saltpeter somewhere.
Jay tripped over a piece of metal. Apparently, said piece of metal was important to the structural integrity of the boat's
wreckage, as the disturbance caused the entire place to shift a little bit. Jay was glad he had shoes to wear, or he would've
seriously hurt himself - a laceration was the last thing he needed. The shift revealed that the boat was deeply buried in the
beach - it must've needed some time to settle in and sink down. Jay figured that heâd spent a sizable amount of time unconscious,
and that if his 'bros' were going to call for a rescue effort, it would've started by now. He would either have a few days to wait
for rescue, or a few days left to live. And he thought that decision was out of his hands.
It was getting late. The sun was slipping under the horizon, lighting up the whole sky for a moment before slipping under the
waves. The ocean ahead of Jay's vision was jet black, the only light coming from behind him. Stopping to think for a moment, Jay
realized that there shouldn't be any other light nearby - he was fairly sure the island was uninhabited, and it was in the
Caribbean. Turning around, Jay saw a fiery glow coming from the other side of the island. It was an out-of-the-way piece of land
in the middle of a salty wasteland, and the sole inhabitant of it was doomed to be roasted in an inferno. But Jay wouldn't let
this be his purgatory - Lost did that already, and Jay wouldn't want to live such a thing down. So he took a few puffs of his
asthma inhaler to keep him awake, and he started trying to find a way back to shore.
----------------
The buzzing in his muscles made it difficult to concentrate, but Jay made do with the little focus he was able to muster.
Every second wasted was a second that could cost him his life. The boat was inoperable. Running aground had torn the engine to
pieces, and it couldn't be repaired. Jay had to find another way.
The island was adorned with palm trees. Enough to provide coconuts for nourishment when the lazy gyro was gone - only two or
three remained - and milk for hydration. Their fanlike leaves provided ample protection from the beating sunlight, which itself
was being dimmed by the black smoke slowly rising from the other side of the island. It was as if a demon had taken up residence
below the island and was slowly emerging up from the smoldering ground, and Jay had to escape it.
Jay began work on a composite Frankenraft - a few of the more shapely pieces of scrap metal from the boat could be used to
form an outer ridge to keep water off and provide a more hydrodynamic shape, whereas the main floor would be made out of the
buoyant palm wood that grew on the island. Jay had to find a way to cut down the wood, and so he set to work.
The yacht was devoid of a hatchet or knife of any kind, but the area was full of sharp scrap metal. It would be a labor to
cut and section the trees - two were needed, maybe three - but he had to do it if he was to survive.
Near the front of the boat, there was a jagged piece of sharp metal broken into crude serrations by the rivets that once
held it to the rest of the yacht. He was able to fell the upper three quarters of a small palm tree with it. He had the wood of
perhaps half of a regular-size tree to work with to start building the yacht. But it was better than nothing.
Jay used a large piece of metal to poke holes in the crude boards he had fashioned from his wood. The boards got the same
treatment. He would be able to find some rivets from the yacht large enough to hold them together, perhaps using some sort of
twine to tie them together on the underside, to keep it all together.
Jay wasn't aware of the time, other than that it was getting late. He had been on the effects of his asthma inhaler on-
and-off for two or so days, so he was breathing to clearly and sitting just a little too awkwardly to be able to think through his
plan well. He went through two scraps of metal cutting the last two trees and formatting them to be fit to the raft, but after a
total of around five days on the island, Jay had a shot of getting out. He just needed an oar and something buoyant, in case he
fell overboard. Even if the raft could only get him halfway to somewhere else, it was better than nothing, and if he made it
relatively far, he would be able to use the makeshift buoy to swim to the shore.
It wasn't until he woke up in the middle of the day with a palm leaf covering his eyes that he remembered that the effects
of the albuterol had wore off. He had set himself up like that a bit past midday on the fifth day - it was clearly noon. He had
lost almost an entire day, and the fire was almost to his doorstep. He had to work fast.
He finished separating the wood into a floor, and the scrap metal panels were already interconnected. He finished drilling
holes into the wood, and found some rivets from the boat to keep them together. He forced them through and beat them over with a
rock to hold the boards and the scrap metal together both ways. Jay was satisfied with the result - it floated, even with him on
it. All he had left to do was fashion a buoy in case the raft went down.
The life jackets on his yacht were all too small for him. He used another sharp piece of scrap metal - there were a lot of
them laying about - to harvest the foam from the jackets. He bound them together with a piece of his shirt, and set them on the
raft. He cut a thin section of wood off most of the length of an extra tree and a full section off the bottom to use as an oar.
It was ugly and ineffective, but like his entire escape plan, it was better than being roasted on the sand by the fire.
As a final precaution, Jay took the last gyro - it was disgusting by his taste standards, cold and covered with (ugh)
iceberg lettuce. He had to take his last soda along with him too, and if he needed any more water on the trip, he would be doomed.
He pushed off just before the fire took its hold of the boat wreck. Jay rowed frantically, trying to get a good distance
away before the fire hit the fuel tank and ignited. He was 300 yards out when the explosion sent shrapnel out over the ocean. He
was too far out to be affected, but it was a sad moment to see his beloved yacht blown to bits. The nightingale was being consumed
by flame.
He continued to row - the waters were volatile, but due to the raised edges of the raft, water didn't come over the raft.
The sun was beating down on him, and Jay cursed himself for not taking any palm leaves to shade himself. He couldn't fall asleep
because he had to keep rowing, though he took an occasional rake. He had to drag the oar onto the raft. He was panting and
yearned for the lukewarm, artificial taste of the soda. It was flavored with concentrated orange juice? Pffft. It tasted like a
distillation of every processed joy the USA had to offer. So he opened it and drank the entire thing. The caffeine gave him a
welcome boost, and the sugar gave him renewed energy to continue rowing. He consumed the last gyro - the lettuce was icky, but he
needed all the energy he could get - and with more energy and a better mood, he continued to row.
Jay had no idea where he was going. He had to go straight away from the island, which is what he thought his path was when
He was hung over. He saw out of the corner of his eye a real boat, and tried to get its attention.
He yelled out to the boat. He waved his arms, screamed, did everything he could do. The boat captain looked over, and laughed. He wasn't going to help Jay unless he thought he had to. And this gave Jay an idea.
Jay still had the dead flare gun. He knew it was empty, but the captain was clueless - and a law had been passed recently mandating that all people who were able to rescue one in distress must do so. There were two other people on the boat, and they were old. They were yelling at the boat pilot, who then turned and came for the raft. Jay rose to a stand and dove out o the raft, swimming towards the stopped boat. The men hauled him up.
"Who are ya, son?" the old man asked.
"M-my name is Jay. My yacht wrecked on an island," he was able to say.
"Heh, not used to actual troubles, are ya, lunchbox?" the pilot said, unhappy about rescuing him.
"This model's nicer than mine was!" Jay was unhappy that the man was so dismissive of what he thought to be a Crusoeian tale of how he overcame the odds.
"I'll drive you to the shore."
Jay sat, simmering, for the rest of the time there. He thanked the old man and woman for forcing the boat pilot - their rebellious son - to pick him up. Regardless of his half-assed plan and lucky rescue, Jay had escaped the island. All he had to do was find his way home.
Humm de dumm. 900-something words. Also no spelling errors hidden by wordpad, which is a first. Maybe broke the no tools rule, but hey, none of them were actually used.
Having just woken, Jack stepped out of his hut and gazed across the sky. It was early in the morning. Perhaps a bit too early for fishing. That left time to prepare more thouroghly. Jack returned to his hut and nibbled upon what was left of last night's meal, and pulled a wooden case out from under his cot. Inside was a net woven from the fiberous plant that dominated his small island. Jack removed the net and took out a knife fashioned from the remains of some great beast he had discovered on his first few weeks of exploration. Gathering these things, he reached over his cot to a spear made of the same material as the knife. Lifting it off of its hooks, Jack tested its weight in his hand. As always, it fit him perfectly, though he could see that it was becoming worn. Jack placed all of these things on his cot, and set off into the jungle to freshen himself, and perhaps climb one of the fruiting trees to find nourishment.
As he made his way through the thick undergrowth, Jack began to feel disoriented. He had no idea how long he'd been walking; the sun was hidden by the canopy. He became nauseated, and decided to rest for a while against the trunk of a tree. After a few minutes, Jack felt he was well again, but upon standing up, another wave of nausea sent him back to the ground. He got up onto his hands and knees, and his mouth uttered something in a language he did not recognize. Afterwords, he passed out on the jungle floor.
Jack woke up in a clearing. How much time had passed, he did not know. This thought was soon pushed to the back of his mind however, when he whitnessed the strange scene before him. A grand oak, in stark contrast to the jungle flora, rose high above the natives. Around the tree ran a sparkling blue stream, and around this a ring of fire. A breeze seemed to be ever-present around the clearing as well. In all his exploration, Jack had never come across this place. He was pulled by an unseen force, closer and closer to this magnificent scene.
As Jack was drawn closer, a wall of thick air blasted him off of his feet. Upon standing, he noticed that around the ring of fire was a broken circle. Cautiously, Jack walked over the circle and stood. After moments of nothing, he continued on to the ring of fire. The fire seemed to sense Jack's presence, and rose to his height as the man came up to it. Jack backed off, and the fire receded. Stepping back up, he thrust his hand into the fire, and it came back unscathed. Jack closed his eyes, balled his fists, and ran through the wall, coming out on the other end to meet the river. Looking behind him, Jack saw the curve of another broken circle.
Jack began to step into the stream, but as his foot passed over, the small amount of water grew into a raging torrent. It completely engulfed him, and he could barely hold onto his breath. The water spat Jack out onto the ground, and he lay there drenched and gasping. After a few moments, he gathered himself and walkeb back up to the stream. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the stream and was swallowed up. This time, Jack swam as hard and fast as he could, and eventually, his hand met open air. He continued on, straining himself past his limit, and managed to pull himself out of the water.
Dragging himself towards the great oak, he lay against its trunk and rested. Before he was fully recovered, he heard a rustling in the branches high above, and a small red thing fell onto Jack's head, knocking him out cold.
Jack woke up for the third time this day, and again he was greeted with more strange happenings. He stood at the edge of a cliff, overlooking a wild sea. Gusts of wind shoved against his body, and the sun seemed to be closer than before. He looked down at his feet, and noticed that all around him was bare earth. Turning back, he saw that this bareness continued on towards the thick of the jungle.
A bolt of lightning nearby drew his attention away from the sea to the current danger of the situation. Running back into the jungle, his nostrils caught the scent of smoke. He pushed himself harder, tearing through the plant life, ignoring the cuts and scratches lining his bare forelimbs. After around ten minutes, he was too short of breath to continue at his drastic pace. Again Jack smelled smoke, and turned back to see that what he thought to be a small ember had grown into a roaring flame, and consumed nearly half of the ground he had covered.
Continuing on, Jack eventually reached his small hut on the opposite shore. Looking back, he only caught glimpses of the sky; everything else was shrouded in smoke. Rushing into his hut, Jack grabbed the fishing equipment from his cot, ran down to the shoreline, and threw everything into his fishing boat. Dragging it into the water, he hopped in with his things, took up the oars, and began rowing away from the island that had been his home.
A few tears rolled down Jack's face, knowing that the island that he had made his own was being eaten by flames, and that he may never return to it.
lied about what? 900 words? It's 934.
Is anyone willing to collect entries?
im not willing to read all 26 pages to find out what happened to the original idea (which i thought was REALLY epic and shulda signed up for!) so, yeah, sorry. but can you JDog leave a post on my profile telling me whats going on now with this thread? i am interested ^^
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