MARCH 2023 SCD WRITING CONTEST: Madness, insanity, paranoia.
Maximum words: 700
Minimum Words: None
Judges: Rubber Soul, Mrs. Waffles, Trollheart.
Submission guidelines: Submissions will be limited to no more than 700 words not including the title. Submissions also must follow the monthly theme in some way. This month the theme is madness-insanity-paranoia.
The contest will begin on March 1 and end on March 22 at 5AM Greenwich Mean Time. You can use this converter https://dateful.com/time-zone-converter (https://dateful.com/time-zone-converter) to check the time in your time zone. Judging will then occur from 5AM GMT, March 22 to 5AM GMT, March 29. The results will be posted on March 31.
All entries will be PMed to Rubber Soul and posted anonymously.
Judges: In a perfect would, three members will be used as judges to determine the quality of the entries. The entries shall be judged on three criteria: grammar and punctuation (one should note that the English and Americans sometimes have different spellings), how the story flows- does it seem plausible, and basically whether you like the story or not. You can weigh the parameters any way you wish. Scores will be on a scale of 1 to 10.
Judges may also enter the contest with the caveat that he/she will not score or critique his/her own entry. Judges will PM their results to Rubber Soul, and he will post the results on March 31.
And I think that's it. Happy writing, everybody. 😊
• Please don't make any comments until after the judging is over. Thanks.
Ah nuts. Do I have to copy and paste my story here now?
Oh, and sorry, but I am not judging for five days straight, especially not starting at 5 in the morning! What do you think I am??
I sent you PMs. I royally screwed this up.
Okay I've managed to trim it down to 700.
A Safe Place
Her voice is low. A flush creeps up her cheek, evidence of her embarrassment at being here. A weak smile crosses her face, hovers there as if uncertain as to whether or not it is appropriate, like a man crossing a street when the light turns red, unsure whether he should proceed to the other side or run back to where he began to cross from. I give her my most winning and sympathetic smile.
"It's... it's hard for me," she explains in a halting voice, half-looking away as if afraid to meet my eyes. "I'm usually so... in control."
I nod, knowing exactly how she feels. I pick up the notepad. Her name is written on it, and it's either Harrington or Haddington. Most inconvenient: there is a bloodstain reaching from the top of the paper down to the important letters. I shrug, taking a chance.
"You can relax, Mrs. Harrington," I tell her. "This is a safe place, I assure you. You can tell me anything and it will go no further."
She smiles again, again awkwardly. She knows I'm using an old and trusted therapists' trick, trying to set her at her ease, allow her to confide in me. It is, after all, what she has come here for, what she paid for.
Though she may find she gets more than she bargained for.
A small, bubbling giggle fights to exit my throat; I push it back down.
Taking courage from my easy manner – I've always been told I have a face people trust – she nods.
"Well, it's just, I've been having trouble sleeping and..."
She pauses.
"It's started to affect my waking life," she finishes, a small shudder passing through her. This interests me.
"In what way?"
I feel my heartbeat slow, crawl to a halt, stop. Then realise it is not my heart.
I smile inwardly.
"I'm beginning to... see things." She looks at me for a reaction. I offer her none. She goes on, perhaps encouraged by my lack of response. "And hear things. Like just now, before I came into your office, I could have sworn I heard..."
She stops, but I am intrigued. That giggle makes a fresh assault on my throat. I force it back.
Not yet. Not yet.
"Hmm?" It's all the incentive she needs to continue.
This is, after all, as I told her, a safe place.
"Well now, you'll think I'm silly..."
No doubt. But I say nothing. She takes a handkerchief from her handbag, dabbing her eyes. It is a Louis Vuitton. This woman has money. Well, she would have to, wouldn't she, or she would not be able to afford these sessions.
"I thought I heard a man scream, and the sound of something heavy falling to the floor."
I lean back, steeple my fingers, shake my head.
It won't do.
"A man screaming," I muse, scratching slightly at the bloodstain on the therapist's pad. "I see. Well, I can tell you for certain, Mrs. Harrington, that you are not going mad."
She relaxes visibly, her shoulders unknotting, the worry lines that crease her face smoothing out.
"Well, that's a relief," she grins.
Beneath the desk, I idly prod the body of the therapist with my foot. He's beyond caring now how I feel, why I have these... urges.
I smile at his patient.
My patient now.
All mine.
"You would think so, wouldn't you?"
She looks a little confused, but I smile again.
"I think I can guarantee, Mrs. Harrington, " I assure her, "that you will have no trouble sleeping from now on."
As I bring my hand out from the desk, she sees the wicked glint of the knife, fresh blood dripping off its blade and again staining the therapist's pad, this time forever obliterating the name of Julia Harrington.
The laughter, held back so long, finally bursts forth.
In horror, she remembers how I locked the door when she entered, and pocketed the key.
I told her this was a safe place.
I wasn't lying.
I just never said who it was safe for.
I just can't cut the story I wanted down to 700 words, I'll have to write a new one.
Do You Want to Go Again?
I wake up and I'm the same place I always wake up... On the floor, under a thin blanket. I usually can't sleep, I'm awake for at least three days before my body will let me sleep. All alone in my crappy apartment, my once beautiful apartment now just empty rooms. But I have my methamphetamine and my friends in my head.
There's a skeleton in the corner of my living room. He doesn't say or do anything besides try to suck out my soul. I can feel it being ripped out of my chest. I feel like I'm emptying out, like my very essence is being sucked out of me. He appeared there after about a week of no sleep and never left. He's just kidding, though, he always gives me my soul back eventually.
I hear my neighbour hammering all the time. It never ends. I think he's building my coffin. He's watching me and waiting. He's not real anyway however, he's just another voice in my head, everyone is make believe, everyone but me and God. It's just me and God. Some would call it solipsism I simply call it myself.
It's been a long time since I've seen one of the 'real' people. My dealer drops the bag outside my door and I slip the cash under my door. It's going to have to end soon, I'm all out of cash. Haven't worked in a year. Back then I thought I was one of many. I did a lot of molly and it really made me appreciate the greatness of every last person. Of course I loved them, they were all me. I didn't realize that until I stopped sleeping and had my awakening. When you stop sleeping you live in the hypnagogic state all the time, and that's the state where the genius comes through.
The world is myself and the world is a mess. It's my fault there's war and famine, it's just a reflection of my messed up head. God is just a mirror. Every troubled artist is God trying to reach me. Trying to tell me. It's all for me, I am the only one, this universe is for me.
I'm trying to sleep again. I can hide from the skeleton if I'm under my blanket. I turn to my right and my friend is holding the blanket up. He tells me "We all live for you." I turn to my other friend on my left, her mascara is running, and she says "We all die for you."
I give up on the idea of sleep and inject some meth. Too much meth. I know I'm going to die so I start a fire. I hope it burns down the universe so the universe can go with me. It's all going to end anyway it may as well end with a bang.
As the fire spreads and I start to slip God says "It's all over. This is you." And the universe comes to an end.
I see a white light. I go to the light. It's empty. There's nothing. It's just whiteness. It's just me and the skeleton. The skeleton is God. God says "Do you want to go again?"
By Anonymous
Lockdown
Pip, you have to come get Kathy. Screw the lockdown. Please, she isn't safe here. I haven't been able to renew my medication for two months now. I lost my insurance when the restaurant went under and my application for medassist got turned down. I don't have the money. I am pleading to you now from a place of clarity, but I can feel myself slipping. You have to hurry, please.
So you understand how dangerous the situation is, I will explain briefly. Do you remember how I told you about how, after our parents died, me and Marion were raised by grandma? I told you it was rough, but I didn't tell you just how bad it was. Grandma.. she had some pretty screwed up ideas about girls and sexuality. Marion became the focus for most of her religious nuttery. She used to make me punish her, Pip. I don't wanna get into the details, but it was a fucking nightmare. Just daily.. It screwed us up bad, Pip.
After grandma died, I thought things would get better. Instead, it just got worse. At first, things seemed to be going well. I remember we went to the cinema and saw American Graffiti together. I went back to school. Marion reconnected with some of her friends. We were getting our lives back on track, but then she came back. Marion had just been on her first date. I was just doing the dishes when I suddenly heard her voice. She was screaming at me, demanding that I punish her. I tried everything, even banging my head against the wall, but she just went on and on, tormenting me.. Until I stopped her the only way I knew how. I can't remember much of what happened that night, but I know she broke her. She broke both of us. We were separated and this is the real reason why Marion now lives someplace else under a new name. That's why I was institutionalized.
The first year or so at the mental institution, I can't remember a thing. After months, they finally put me on this new drug, clozapine, and it was like walking out of a fog. I came to my senses. They eventually moved me to a sanatorium outside of town and started to deprogram those lessons that granny had embedded in me. I was there for about five years. It felt long, but when they released me, I was still a young man. While inside, I had discovered a passion for cooking and had taken courses on that, so that's what eventually landed me a job in the kitchen at Luigi's and how I met Ramona. My sweet Ramona..
Since the lockdown.. Grandma's here. She's living with us now. She says Ramona has been fucking behind my back with one of the waiters. She told me to look and I found his messages on her phone. Oh God.. I'm so sorry. Gran said the punishment for adultery is death, that we had to set an example to Kathy. We have to teach her what happens to sluts.
Sluts get tied up. Sluts get the iron. Now Kathy knows..
Kathy who's just like her mom, the little slut.
Alright, full disclosure: I didn't get enough time to actually edit this, so this is my first draft. My apologies, I tend to be extremely flowery and verbose in my writing (this piece is actually very toned down from my usual work), so 700 words was very difficult for me to work with. I started writing more or less in my usual style before I quickly realized I was running out of words and had no way to end it on a satisfactory note without redoing much of the entire thing. So with that in mind...
"Crazy Pills"
As the glow of the sunrise washed over her home, Alex yawned and stretched her arms as she sat up in bed to greet the day, being careful not to yawn so loudly as to disturb Mr. Waffles. Today was to be a lazy, cozy Saturday, and Alex appreciated the opportunity to wake up to a warm sunrise rather than the still of the 5:00 darkness.
As she gracefully rose from the bed, she gave another hearty stretch before walking over to the bathroom. After a quick shower, she was ready to get started on her makeup. She opened a cabinet, reaching to the top shelf to find the more unconventional lipstick colors. Alex had been thinking of getting more adventurous with her style for a while now; the last thing she wanted was to settle into a predictable routine. She wanted to get a little crazy. As she grabbed a bright royal blue lipstick, she felt her hand knock over another object. It fell down, off of the shelf and onto the floor where Alex gave it a confused glance.
The design of the orange medication bottle was all too familiar to Alex, but she had never seen the small green pills inside before. The label on the bottle was too torn and water-damaged to make out anything, but eventually Alex was able to read some of it. A sense of worry began to come over her as she read her husband's name hand-scribbled on the label. She wondered what it was doing up there, and what its purpose was, and too many other questions for a person who just woke up to want to think about. Surely Mr. Waffles had his reasons for keeping it there, she thought, and so she returned it to the top shelf.
After finishing her hair and makeup, Alex sauntered over to the closet, trying her best to forget about the mysterious pill bottle and focus on the day ahead. Just as she had successfully managed to purge it from her mind, she was greeted by a voice from behind.
"Morning, love." said Mr. Waffles, already up and in the middle of a brisk stroll into the bathroom.
"Oh, good morning, darling." Alex replied, happy to see Mr. Waffles but a bit taken aback that she had not heard him get up. She needed the thought of that pill bottle to stop bubbling up in her brain and distracting her.
"Love the blue lips." said Mr. Waffles, admiring his wife with a hint of surprise in his voice. "Any special occasion?"
"No," Alex started, her thoughts still incessantly returning to the pills. "I just thought a change of pace would do me good."
"Just don't go too crazy." Mr. Waffles laughed as he opened the bathroom cabinet and glanced toward the top shelf. Alex felt a tingle of uncertainty in the pit of her stomach as she watched her husband reach toward the bottle of green pills, his height allowing him to easily grab it.
"And speaking of crazy, I wanted to show you something." said Mr. Waffles with a wry smile. Alex paused nervously while pulling on a sleeveless white dress to see Mr. Waffles holding up the pill bottle.
"C-Crazy?" Alex gasped, her voice shaking with a mixture of curiosity and dread.
"Don't worry, I'm taking proper medical advice." Mr. Waffles said as he ran his hand through his jet black hair. "This drug is supposed to make you go totally nuts. You lose all your inhibitions and your primal instinct kicks in. I thought it sounded fun."
"Why would you-" Alex started, her voice now trembling in shock.
Seeing the terrified mess of a woman before him, Mr. Waffles smiled calmly and exited the bedroom without a word. He waltzed over to the kitchen as Alex followed cautiously. He opened the pill bottle as Alex averted her eyes. She opened them slowly to see Mr. Waffles pouring the pills right down the sink.
"Darling, you..." Alex put her hand to her mouth in awe.
"I'm not gonna take those pills if you're not comfortable, my love." said Mr. Waffles with a smile. "After all, I'm not crazy."
Alex blushed and smiled wide as she and Mr. Waffles shared a warm embrace.
Fun stories :) I like!
Last day was yesterday, right?
Quote from: Guybrush on Mar 23, 2023, 02:22 PMFun stories :) I like!
Last day was yesterday, right?
Damn too bad, I probably would've written something had I realized this thread was a thing beforehand. Maybe next time - I really liked the theme on this one, I might be less than interested in the next. We'll see.
Quote from: Guybrush on Mar 23, 2023, 02:22 PMFun stories :) I like!
Last day was yesterday, right?
Yep. IT's over. Time for the judges to weigh in.
Aw crap! There's a weigh-in? Why didn't someone tell me?!!
Given that our curator is currently taxing the national health system - and we all wish him well and hope he'll be all right - does anyone have any objection if we let SGR slip a story in through the back door? Yes, the finish date has come and gone, but as the entries now can't be judged until RS gets out of hospital, and as SGR liked the theme, can we accept his story? I personally think the more the better, so I'd say yeah. Anyone else?
I wouldn't mind :)
The more the merrier.
Okay, I should probably be able to get it completed and submitted by end of this coming week. One question though - am I posting the story myself or PM'ing it to RS?
By the way, I don't know what's going on with RS in the hospital, but I hope everything is okay! Wishing nothing but the best for him!
Post it here; we as judges then judge it and send our findings on to RS, though at the moment I'm holding off till we see how long he'll be in the hospial for.
Gotcha. If it was just you judging, I might write a story of a mother who goes insane after her teenage son discovers the Beastie Boys... :laughing:
I'd vote for that! :laughing:
Jeez, just realizing now, 700 words is really tight...yeesh. I guess that's part of the challenge.
Quote from: SGR on Mar 25, 2023, 06:53 PMJeez, just realizing now, 700 words is really tight...yeesh. I guess that's part of the challenge.
Right?! In my usual writing style I like to set the atmosphere and give things a chance to breathe. Wrapping up a satisfying arc in 700 words is a nigh-Herculean task.
Quote from: Mrs. Waffles on Mar 25, 2023, 07:00 PMQuote from: SGR on Mar 25, 2023, 06:53 PMJeez, just realizing now, 700 words is really tight...yeesh. I guess that's part of the challenge.
Right?! In my usual writing style I like to set the atmosphere and give things a chance to breathe. Wrapping up a satisfying arc in 700 words is a nigh-Herculean task.
Same! For whatever reason though, I thought part of the guidelines was that it needs to tell a "story". Re-reading it, that's not the case. So I suppose if it doesn't need to tell a complete story, that makes things a little easier.
It's hard, but it can be done. The main thing such a limit teaches you is to cut out the extraneous stuff and get to the meat. Hell, I've had to write stories of no more than 100 words (did one a few days ago)! It really hones your writing skill, I can tell you! It's a case of looking at what you've written (word counters Yay!) and then starting to take out anything you don't need. Sometimes even a few words in a sentence will make a difference. Do you need to say "He looked up and the sky was blue" or "The sky was blue"? All that kind of stuff.
SGR, I'd get moving though. Remember you are already well past the deadline, and if the bouncing one returns from the hospital and finds we've let you jump the fence, well, he may not be best pleased. Best to present him with a fait accompli. Or at least a pepperoni pizza.
Hi, guys. Just an update.
I'm in the hospital to essentially get my excess fluid drained to to set up a regime where I can keep the fluid off and still have kidney function (Is this fun or what?).I'll be sidelined most of this week at least so maybe the judges can post their scores and we can compute the winner that way.
I think for now it may be best to at least postpone April's contest until I know I can take the time to get things organized.
Meanwhile, just know that I'm alive still and am recovering, albeit a little slower than I'd like.
I should be on tomorrow for a little while at least. Let me know how you guys want to post the scores and I'll send mine either by post or whatever.
As for SGR, I'll let you guys decide on that. We obviously have plenty of time now :laughing:
Hey dude! Good to see you're okay, as such. Sucks to still be in hospital though.
I'd say we hold off on the whole thing till you're back: it's not like we have a hundred entries all clamouring to be read.
In the meantime, I'm sure you can find something to amuse yourself with and pass the time...
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Svelte
Another social studies class - and I see starving and emaciated people in Burundi, a population of nearly 10 million and about 73% of which are malnourished. I can't help but be reminded of my past.
Deeming myself too heavy for the appreciation of others, I discovered the beautiful assertion of self-control. "No thanks Mom, no food for me tonight, I had a big lunch", or so I would say. It cost me livelihood and months of goodwill. Such discipline, a hardened war general might flatter me in hopes of learning my methods. No compromise, unity and collection of self, rejection of social customs – the virtue of willpower is on display with a golden aura!
Is something wrong with him? He must be using drugs, what a shame, he was such a fine student! Presumptions of drugs, such a calumny! To think that I need the aid of vile medicine in my endeavors is appalling. Passing the old folks home – is it Halloween already? You're as pale and bony as a vampire! Laughable, for I am svelte and that right there is just my ribs waving you hello, don't mind them, they do that with everyone.
The only thing that matters now are the numbers on the scale. No water, take off clothes, balance the body – the numbers aren't low enough, they must decrease. Use coffee to expel waste, use Tabasco to speed up the metabolism, two miles in the morning, two miles at night. Lunchtime at school, the bell will ring. Do not eat with them, show them that you are better. They are nothing but gluttonous pigs, look at the way they devour the disgusting remnants of some laboratory experiment gone wrong, they don't even know what they are eating and they don't care. I care, that is the only difference between us.
I have researched and I have practiced. I can tell you the calorie count of almost anything straight from memory, I can tell you their nutritional merit, I can tell you the ingredients and I know what causes those swine to drool incessantly. They roll around in the muck of nutritional redundancy and I sit alone, idle, watching, probably appearing aloof but in my head, far superior.
Those who think they know what's best for me have referred my name to the nurse, the incompetent and unqualified math teacher thinks I'm abused and my peers are making bets on when I'll die. Little do they know, their demise certainly looms closer than mine, for I have resilience and a desire, a desire to live within the bounds of my own control!
Voices are telling me to slow down, to reconsider my position. Ha! What a load of callous codswallop! They can keep their perineal thoughts to their person, stop being so mawkish! Do away with the stupefaction. Sequestered in my lonely resplendence, the rancor of others is needless – they are only jealous. I am to achieve the chimerical. Structure, discipline, control, order, and more coffee – my heart is that of a hummingbird's, but where to next?
A good boy, meant for good things, of course college is next. College is so much different than high school, I look upon those times with rose-tinted glasses now. I can't seem to keep up. Life certainly moves faster than I. Smoke and drink have become close acquaintances, nothing less than 80 proof please, and the minimum is only that low because bourbon always seems to beckon. Anything to cloud the mind – I see too clearly and I must handicap myself. I deign to give in to desire. The colander of my caracoling mind drains the cavorting ideals of my youth. Hobnobbing with Hades tires one beyond reasonable expectation. Life is a giant, interconnected organism and I am but a corpuscle. The many hoops we jump through just to escape from ourselves, if only for a couple hours.
I never thought this would happen again - no matter what I could do or say - but it appears that once again, I've lost control...
Okay, when I come back (Hopefully next week but we'll see-progress is slow). I'll review SGR and post my scores ASAP in April.
So, yeah, we'll cancel April and start up again in May. Once I am back home, we'll catch up on everything and go from there. Synth and Trolls, just go ahead and post your scores. I'll get mine up when I get back home.
Meanwhile, I'll hang out when I can. Miss everyone.
Take your time and rest up buddy! Hope you feel better soon!