There is a site called Writer Unboxed. Writers come in a box, you see, and they open up the box, you see, and . . .
Nah; yet another advice for writers site. Sometimes they have useful stuff, sometimes not. One thing they do have is a monthly contest. I entered the March contest. I’m writing about it now because they ask it not be published anywhere until after the judging.
Yes, yes, I know . . . there is not a pasta bowl’s chance in my house of me winning anything. What can I say? I was weak. For them who don’t click on links, they give a prompt in the form of a photo and people submit a story up to 250 words in length.
What? What do you mean “what people?”
It’s people; people like me. People who aspire of writing good.
Anyway, the prompt was this photo:
My entry was the following:
© E. J. D’Alise 2015
“Mom, he’ll eventually kill us if you don’t.”
The pain in Lisa’s half-swollen left eye caused both her eyes to tear up. Lisa wiped the tears to better see her daughter. Her sweet innocent daughter. What kind of world had she brought her into?
Melody tugged at Lisa’s sleeve and then let go, pointing to the mural. Melody’s other arm was in a cast. ‘Skateboarding accident’ is what they told the hospital.
Lisa looked at her daughter’s hopeful face and then back at the mural.
“Where did you hear such a thing?” Lisa asked.
Melody looked away as she asked, “Promise you won’t get mad?”
“There’s . . . there’s a private internet group where kids chat about the . . . sort of problems we face.”
“You told someone about us?” Lisa asked, fear tensing her tone. The cost of telling others was high. A lesson already painfully learned.
“It’s anonymous, mom. Please, just draw the circle; we’ll both do it.” Melody’s voice carried the edge of desperation.
Lisa looked back at the mural. A happy lady blowing bubbles. The hopeful look on Melody’s face had her relent, and she nodded.
Lisa and Melody both reached into the tin basket under the mural, grabbed a couple of pieces of chalk, and each drew a circle. Lisa’s red and Melody’s blue.
As they drew, they spoke the same name; Lisa’s husband and Melody’s father.
A week later he disappeared, and they lived happily ever after.
~ ~ o o ~ ~
No, I did not win. Did not even place. You can read the winning entry HERE.
Here’s a photo of mine.
Oh, what the heck . . . here’s another.
That’s it. This post has ended . . . except for the stuff below.
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. . . my FP ward . . . chieken shit.