It's here. The SCD writing contest: March 2023

[Rubber Soul]

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 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.

[Trollheart]

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??

[Rubber Soul]

I sent you PMs. I royally screwed this up.

[Trollheart]

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.

[robhr]

I just can't cut the story I wanted down to 700 words, I'll have to write a new one.

[robhr]

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?"

[Rubber Soul]

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.

[Lexi Darling]

[redacted]

[Guybrush]

Fun stories I like!

Last day was yesterday, right?

[SGR]

Fun 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.

[Rubber Soul]

Fun stories I like!

Last day was yesterday, right?

Yep. IT's over. Time for the judges to weigh in.

[Trollheart]

Aw crap! There's a weigh-in? Why didn't someone tell me?!!

[Trollheart]

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?

[Guybrush]

I wouldn't mind

The more the merrier.

[SGR]

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!