Wow. I'm amazed at the success of the new Writer Wars. I even almost fainted when I saw that the fabulous Chelsea Dagger responded to it positively. I'm in awe. (If you missed it, here it is.)
Anyway, our theme was revival. Our very first winner of the newly revived Writer Wars is CrepuscularSnidget with 8 of your upvotes! Here's the entry.
"It's going to be okay," I told him. "I promise you." His marble fingers were wrapped around mine, gnarled like tree branches.
I promised him, you see. I swore an oath as the rain dripped down from the ruthless heavens, as heartless shovels piled dirt on him. I never break my promises.
He's here, now, you know. That's him, in the room down the hall. Do you hear him clicking away on that typewriter? He's a beautiful poet. His words have the power to rip your heart from your chest. Click click click. Tick tick tick.
Mmmm. The weak dawn rays soak into my hair. I like the sunrise, but I like the sunset better when the sun bleeds its life into the horizon line. But it's a new day. And there have been exactly thirty-nine sunrises with him back, you know.
Click click click.
The floorboards creak under my bare feet as I pad down the hall. My breath comes in small puffs of smoky white. The hairs on my arms stand up as winter's chill seeps into my bones. Thirty-nine sunrises, it's been. Thirty-nine since I wove my fingers through his now warm ones. Thirty-nine since I brushed the dirt away from his face. Thirty-nine since I got a necklace of bruises around my throat.
I wrap my arms around my waist. Look at me. I could blow away, a dandelion seed in the wind. Brittle bones, so easy to break. Wispy yellow hair floating around my skull. Fragile heart tapping out my life.
Click click click.
I pause at his door, rest my fingers on the knots in the wood. I think about opening the door, seeing him hunched over his roll-top desk, an army of crumpled paper at his feet. He'll be rough-shaven, brown hair flopping in his big brown eyes. He'll see me and he'll smile.
I feel the tethers on my heart loosen. I believe it. I told him everything will be okay, and it will be. I brought him back, you know. Pulled him from the grave into my arms. He's back. Nothing's changed because he's back and we're right where we're supposed to be and we'll get married and be together forever and everything will be okay because nothing's changed it's okay it's okay it's okay.
My fingers twine around the doorknob. I take a deep breath, my whole body shuddering. He hasn't changed, you know. You have to believe me. He was just disoriented, that's it. They told me that he'd be disoriented. That's why he was violent. But it's been thirty-nine days since he rose again, thirty-nine days since I've seen him, so everything's going to be okay.
Click click click.
I open the door.
Everything's going to be okay.
And now, our very honorable mentions (in alphebetical order because I feel like it):
Now to your prompt. *cues drumroll* This one's going to be a little different (and by "a little different" I do mean "pretty weird and random and no one's going to know how I thought of it"). It's potentially a challenge, but Writer Wars is supposed to be somewhat of a challenge, right? ANYWAY.
You can write about anything you want--in the form of a haiku. (See? I don't even remember how I got this weird idea.) Obviously, your restrictions are three lines in a 5-7-5 syllable pattern. I'll let you guys post a maximum of three haikus, but only one per comment, please.
Remember to submit your entries and vote in the comments! And since haikus are pretty short, I'll post the top seven next week. Buena suerte, mis amigos! (Yeah... I didn't know "good luck" in Japanese...)
Originally published on February 22, 2013.