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Writer Wars: The Sixth Sense

Writer Wars: The Sixth Sense

By Chelsea Dagger

Thanks to doofy Haley Joel Osment and the scariest movie of all time, there's a common misconception that the "sixth sense" is the ability to see dead people. WRONG. Extensive research (conducted by me and my homemade robot, Clark) has proven definitively that the sixth sense is SWEAT, pure and simple. In a regular-sweaty world, the extra-sweaty man is king, and if sweat is power, then a god am I. (I just mixed a lot of classical quotations into one very questionable sentence, and I rather like the results.) ANYWAY, you butts did an extraordinary job handling last week's "non-sense" prompt (props to agentoboe for that pun-larious joke!). Today's winners will receive an amateur-professional beatboxing compilation CD made by yours truly (my hip-hop name is currently "Funk Master C", but I am definitely open to suggestions).

Sparklers' Choice (with 22 votes): igordead! Read her absolutely stunning take on the prompt right here:

Close your eyes. Now open them. What do you see?
They say I’m blind. I’m not, though. I can see one color, and one color only. Black.
You’ve never seen darkness, not like mine. You close your eyes, but you still see through those thin, veined membranes the light beyond. You’ve never seen what I’ve seen. Of course, neither have I seen yours.
Close your eyes. What do you see? They say you see nothing. But you do see, it’s a lie they tell you. But what you see scares you so much you can’t bear to admit that it’s real. You see emptiness. The very word ‘nothing’ is oxymoronish and contradictory. Nothing is something. Don’t let them convince you otherwise.
I can see with my hands. I don’t know the color of my sheets, but I can feel that they are cotton. I don’t know your face, but I can recognize your footsteps. I know when you approach, know that it’s you and not one of the nurses. I can sense your footsteps long before anyone else could. I can’t see what you see, doctor, but I am not blind.
Today’s the big day. Three weeks after surgery, when you shaved my hair (my lovely hair, why did you do that?) and cut into my skull and fiddled with my brain. Three weeks of thick bandages that itch, wrapped so tight around my face that I can’t open my eyes at all, like it would make a difference. But today, the bandages come off.
You sound so self-congratulatory, like you’ve worked a miracle. Today, you tell me, for the first time, I will see.
The bandages come off, one by one. They stick together, but the nurse’s hands are gentle as she unwinds them. Her hand inadvertently brushes the stubble of newly grown hair, and she flinches.
Finally I sit, hands folded in my lap, eyes shut. The bandages are gone.
“Open your eyes,” you say.
They are open, I want to say. They were always open. But when I lift my eyelids, everything will change. Everything I have ever seen will be gone, replaced instantly by the sudden rush and riot of color that fills your sight, that will soon fill mine. I’m afraid to lose what I had for so long. Why is your sight better than mine?
Open your eyes. Now close them. What do you see?

Dagger's Choice: igordead! Once again, I completely agree with you, butts; this story is fantastic!

Dagger's Runners-Up:

VirginiaBFW17

madrigalmagic

CrazyGiggleGeek

WoodytheWoodChuck

agentoboe

jedialonza

Aerith555

JMKhungergamesfan

echoeycaves

horsechick180

Sir_Doctor_of_TARDIS

missmolly02481

pianolover14

writersoul

HollytheKitty

HighOrderoftheNargles

Ninjaunicorn1997

Caracupcakes

IBlameWhatsisname

Invisible_Things

divergirl123

Lizadizdiz

alittletoomuchBAZINGA (CAR PANCAKES! I LOVE IT!)

Chabelinni

aVivaciousSlytherin

Wonderful job, my little starfishes (I'm trying out some new terms of endearment. How do we feel about that one?). Let's see what kind of magic you can whip up for this week's prompt:

Write a short story or poem (500 words max) that includes at least 3 of the following:

-a telephone booth

-a funeral

-a broken umbrella

-a crossbow

-a guy named Teddy

-a guy named Seymour

-a plane ticket

-the Sahara desert

-an abandoned warehouse

-a stolen car

-a birthday party

-an unexpected kiss

Check out the Writer Wars archives right here!

Topics: Books, Life
Tags: sparkler stories, writing, fiction, writers, sparkler fiction, writer wars

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About the Author
Chelsea Dagger

Since 2010, Chelsea Dagger (known in real life as Chelsea Aaron) has been SparkLife's sweatiest editor. She's currently working on a how-to-kiss guide for teens, and when she's not conducting smooch-related research on her life-size Joseph Gordon-Levitt cardboard cutout, she's eating pancakes, stocking up on industrial-strength deodorant, and destroying everyone at Harry Potter trivia. (EXPECTO PATRONUM!)

Wanna contact a writer or editor? Email contribute@sparknotes.com.