HOWDY, BUTTS. I'd like to start off by thanking all of you scholarly, lovable dweebs for participating in Writer Wars; whether you're an old pro who's been around since the beginning or a newbie who's just joined us recently, I want you to know that your excitement about writing and your fantastic story submissions fill me with happiness and pride. You're all incredibly talented and inspiringly passionate, and dudes, I JUST THINK YOU'RE GREAT. HIGH FIVES AND COOKIE DOUGH FOR EVERYBODY.
Now that we've got that sappy stuff out of the way, here are last week's best submissions about the terrifying prospect of a world without electricity and technology (and the internets, nooooo!). As a reward for winning, each of you will each receive a baby wombat and a bucket of icing. You lucky, lucky sons of guns.
Sparklers' Choice (with 16 votes): Briar_Rose_Unwritten! Her story was one of the most chilling I've read in a long time:
Hush. Do not speak. We don’t want them to hear.
They’ll hurt us, you know.
Do not touch the bars. That say that the bars keep us in. But they also keep them out. And it is better that way.
Yes, it is dark here. There is only light from candles. They did not build a fireplace in here. They say it is not worth it. They call this place an asylum. All we know is that it is cold in the winter.
There are other cages here, but the people in them rarely speak. Except to themselves. Crazy fools. They say that I talk to myself too. They yell, “You are alone!” but I know that you are here. You talk back to me.
Quiet, now! There are horses outside. That means the men are coming. And they don’t treat us kindly, oh no. We need to sit, now. We need to sit and be still and not cry, even if they bring their sticks. Because if we cry then we are punished.
Look! They are bringing someone. A girl, who is young. They are dragging her by the arm. She has the cage by us, now. It is small. She cannot sit up. They swear at her, so she cries. And we must close our eyes, now.
When they are finished, they leave. They kick our cage on their way out. They call us a crazy witch.
But when they are gone, we must speak to the girl. We must say hello. “We welcome you.”
Through her blood and tears, she looks confused. The girl says, in thick, stumbling words, “But there are only one of you.”
Dagger's Choice: vballsoccerhorsechic! Check out her fantastically vivid piece below:
“Rose. They’re here.”
I spring up from the upholstered couch, mind reeling, adrenaline shooting through my veins. They’re here.
In one fluid movement, I hurl the textbook I was reading into the hatch at my feet, swing the door shut, and push the sofa over it. They haven’t found our secrets yet, and I hope to God they won’t today.
The thud of an impatient fist echoes through the house. “I’ll get it.” Mary’s voice is a hollow whisper, the kind she only talks in when Patrol shows up. I watch her slender frame scurry to the front door, pull it open, step back to let the soldiers in. She squeaks a high, forced greeting.
The tall, burly figures grunt in reply. “Everyone present?” With a long list of houses to terrorize, they have no time for trivialities.
“Let me call my son.”
We’re not Mary’s children. Luke and I aren’t even related. But every child is assigned a guardian, and this is all we’ve ever known.
“Luke! Honey, the Patrol is here.” She’s fighting hard to stay composed, but I hear the notes of anxiety slipping through cracks in her façade. There is no answer.
She faces me with green eyes wide. “Why don’t you go get him, Rose?”
Biting hard on a bloodless lip, she turns back to the men in uniform. “Let’s all sit down. I just fixed a kettle of soup.”
I have a fleeting glance of the stone-faced troupe shambling into our living room. And then I’m sprinting up the stairs.
“Luke,” I call in a course whisper. At the end of the hall, light floods from his room.
“Luke! You need to get down there!”
I reach the door and kick it open, getting angrier by the second. He’s gambling everything, doing this. Whatever he’s preoccupied with, it’s putting all our lives at risk.
And then I see the diagram.
Luke is sprawled in a nest of papers, candle held aloft over a detailed blueprint. I feel my throat go dry.
Light bulb. The name whispers in the corner of my mind. That’s what this is, the drawing in Luke’s steady hand. I’ve seen it only once before, in the illegal textbook I hid beneath the drawing room floor. That textbook, Luke’s diagram – they’re remnants of an age before. Forgotten, and forbidden.
Behind me, heavy footsteps echo on the creaking floor.
Congrats to all of you wonderful, brilliant geniuses. Now let's see what you come up with for this week's prompt:
Write a short story (400 words MAX) that prominently features one of the following "unexplained" phenomenons:
-The Loch Ness Monster
Alternatively, you can create an inexplicable phenomenon/event of your own; click here for inspiration!
Heyo butts! I just wanted to let new readers know that ANYONE can participate in Writer Wars; just follow the guidelines given in the prompt and submit your story in the comment section! EASY AS PIE.