Character Flaw (964 hits)
Category: UberMadness!Rating: 0.66 on 92 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by UberMadness! (View user info) at 2005-07-18 19:30:02 EDT
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Entry 1
All morning I've been imagining how badly my afternoon writing seminar is going to go, but the worst of my Starbucks-fueled forebodings have failed to prepare me for the no-holds-barred awfulness into which it has so quickly degenerated. My students are examining their fingernails with almost comic intensity and shooting furtive glances at each other out of the corners of their eyes. No one knows quite what to say about the piece that my most enthusiastic, least talented pupil has submitted for open discussion this week.In fact that's not precisely true: one of the jocks here to fill a humanities requirement thinks Nicky's story is the bees knees, but he's not about to say so, not with his girlfriend practically radiating contempt for the piece as she snaps her gum aggressively.
Nicky Hansen himself is squirming in the atmosphere of ominous foreboding that builds further with each moment of embarrassed silence. Or maybe he just has to go the bathroom. Sullen at first when my request for opinions failed to produce a shower of praise, then embarrassed, he has already lapsed into a seething rage that has no outlet. He glares at me from beneath his drawn-together brows and if looks could kill, my ex-husband would be happy to find alimony payments struck off his list of financial obligations.
It's not normally my policy to fill the uncomfortable silences in my seminar with the sound of my own voice. For one thing, it's too much like letting the students off the hook, something I try to avoid on principle. For another thing, there's my increasingly absurd belief that in each class may be an undiscovered burning talent, a diamond in the rough waiting to be discovered; if the next Bellow or Pynchon can't think of anything to say about a piece, what light could possibly be shed by an untenured junior adjunct professor at a tiny state college who hasn't published a story in seven years?
The hell with it. No one in this seminar, myself included, is ever going to do anything that will be noticed beyond the county line. Not now that the school restricted access to the clock tower, anyway.
"Nicky, I'm sensing some uncomfortable feelings from the class regarding your story. I think it's possible that the subject matter may be preventing some of us from making a clear analysis of the piece." There are nervous giggles from around the table, but no one says anything, or even meets looks in Nicky's direction. I decide to forge ahead like the intrepid scholar I am.
"As a class, as readers, if we want to get to the heart of Nicky's story we have to look beyond the incestuous rape and necrophilia, and identify the basic elements of characterization, voice, and plot. Now, Nicky, it seems to me that your story is largely character-driven, would you agree with that assessment?"
Nicky mumbles something that might be "Yeah," and although he doesn't look up from the table any longer than necessary to shoot me another killing glance, I can see his cheeks are flushed with embarrassment. Or perhaps, it occurs to me belatedly, arousal.
Since this opening hasn't led to the hoped-for exchange of constructive criticism, I continue. "Okay, now, in a character-driven story it's not always necessary for the reader to empathize and identify with the main character. But as an aspiring writer just starting out, it's probably best to start out with characters that somehow connect to people. Especially when your piece is so lacking in distinctive voice and original plot."
Nicky is gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles are turning white, and I think I can hear his teeth grinding. The students on either side of him, a bland screenwriter-wannabe with a bad goatee and a plump, taciturn young woman with a safety pin through her lower lip, are throwing alarmed glances at each other and inching their chairs away from Nicky's place. It's not clear whether he's choosing to rise above my critique by ignoring it, or whether he simply can't find the words to express his reply. Based on the attitude and lack of talent he shows in his writing, my bet is on the latter.
It's too late to back down, and too early to simply wait for the end of the class period, so I decide to favor young Nicky with a few more choice pearls of wisdom. "Your story seems to exist solely as a vehicle for the protagonist-- if I can call him that-- to extract terrible vengeance on all the women who have been wronging him all his life. Now, let's leave aside for the moment the plot holes and the unnecessarily graphic necrophilia scene, and focus on character. He's one-dimensional, and he moves one-dimensionally: he doesn't develop, he doesn't learn anything, he feels nothing but rage and the satisfaction of revenge."
"He's the hero. He triumphs." Nicky bites off the words and spits them at me.
"But there's no drama. We don't have a reason to care about him, and we don't have a reason to care about his victims. Clearly with so much at stake and so much death, you're aiming for tragedy and not comedy. What's missing is that in every tragedy the characters overcome obstacles of one kind or another but are ultimately brought down by a fatal flaw. Hamlet's indecisiveness, Achilles' pride. You know the list. But your guy, your hero-- there's no character flaw, he's just the good guy. His enemies, his victims, you don't show any of their character flaws either. They just get introduced, beg for mercy, and get disembowelled. Or raped. Or both. You haven't written a short story, Nicky, what you've written is a pornographic comic-book revenge fantasy without pictures."
"Yeah, next time draw some pictures," snickers the jock, at last unable to contain himself, and with that Nicky snatches up his backpack, crams his pristine copy of the story into it, and flees the room with a choked sob.
The rest of the class look at each other, then at me, then at the clock. I put my pen down and close my notebook, and there is a collective sigh of relief from the fourteen reprieved students. They file out the way you're supposed to in a fire drill-- quiet, orderly, and fast. The last girl to leave stops in the doorway and turns as if she's forgotten something; it's Isobel, the editor of the campus literary magazine.
"Ms. Parry? I just wanted to say thanks for saying what you did about Nicky's story. He submitted it to The Campus Review, and we didn't know whether it was new and cutting-edge or just plain bad. I mean, I thought it was bad, but now I can tell the staff we're definitely not publishing it. So, thanks. See you next week!" With a flash of teeth and a flick of her hair, Isobel is gone, and I'm left in peace at last.
When I head in to campus the next morning, I've already pushed away the memory of the least successful seminar of my teaching career. So thoroughly, in fact, that I stare over the rim of my coffee mug and out the window at the flashing lights of five police cars by the frozen campus pond for a good twenty minutes before the first uncomfortable twinges of guilt and fear start to prickle between my shoulder blades. That's way much commotion to be connected to so something simple like a drunken fratboy freezing to death. I know what it's all about. I shouldn't, but I do.
I tell myself it's to prove how foolish I'm being, but when I walk across the hall to Mike Lowry's office and ask him what the hell is going on over by the Lehman East dorm, I know it's just to confirm what I already know.
He stares at me like I'm a creature out of one of the obscure Norse epics he's made a career out of studying. "What, did your paperboy steal your car radio and then get electrocuted cutting your cable?" Mike likes to think he's witty. He slapped a hand on his desk to indicate the rather dubious student paper. "Hell, even the Drake has got the story. Homicide. Student. Isobel Alves-- isn't she in your seminar? She aced my course last year. It's a real shame." When Mike leans forward, all traces of his smile gone, he speaks with an uncharacteristically lowered voice. "From what I hear, it was a rape too, and they think it was probably another student. I don't know if they figure the townies just don't have the initiative to come on campus for that or what, but that's what they're saying."
My heart is pounding and my peripheral vision seems to be going all blurry and grey, until all I can see is one tiny section of the front page of the paper ("ODY FOUND NEAR P"), and I sit down heavily in the chair Mike keeps around in the vain hope that one of his students will stop by to discuss Beowulf with him some afternoon.
"You alright, Liz? Jeez, I can't believe you hadn't heard about it. It's everywhere. Stay right here, I'll get you some water, you don't look so good." With that, he's shuffling off down the hall, returning a few minutes later with a mugful of tepid, chalky-tasting water. I drink it down in a few deep gulps, and roll the empty mug between my palms. I hadn't expected the debate over Nicky's story, such as it was, to come to a close just because class had adjourned for the day, but never in my darkest moments had I suspected it would lead to violence. It's an English class for God's sake. Not even I take it seriously. My hands are trembling and I put Mike's mug firmly back on his desk to cover it.
He's gallant enough to glance over at his computer, pretending not to notice my sudden case of the shakes, when something catches his attention. He nods twice, decisively, and as he's turning back to me he's already sweeping his left arm across his desk to pile stacks of papers into his briefcase. "Email from the Dean. Classes cancelled rest of the week. Grieving period. Vigil tomorrow night outside Commons. I'm gonna head home, I can't stand to be here with all that detecting going on just across the way, it's morbid."
I still can't seem to bring my heartrate back under control, so I excuse myself to the ladies room, where I splash some water on my face and the back of my neck, and relieve myself of the coffee that's managed to work its way through my system with preternatural quickness. I take a moment to stare at myself in the mirror. I can't help but wonder what fatal flaw in my character has doomed my career to the point where not only do I end up untenured at this dead-end institution but my writing students rape and murder each other as a direct result of my tutorials.
The toilets on our floor are at the end of the hall, near the main entrance, so my path crosses Mike's again when I'm on my way back to what I've started thinking of as the safety of my office and he's on his way home to the feminist theory critic he's been fucking behind his wife's back. He grins and flips me a thumbs-up. "Enjoy the four-day weekend is what I say," he advised. "Oh, and you've got a student waiting in your office. Better you than me." With a parting wink, he pushes out through the heavy double doors, and I realize after they swing shut just how quiet the department is.
We don't exactly work ourselves to death out here at the state college; everyone's either already gone or not even bothered to come in. I consider the strong possibility that I'm the last staff member in the building, along with the equally strong possibility that the student waiting in my once-safe office is none other than Nicky Hansen. Mike never said there was a suspect in custody, and a murder-suicide was too much to hope for. Each moment I stand there in the hall I grow more certain that Nicky was waiting to attack me as he had Isobel; I'd put it down to woman's intuition if I didn't have a long and painful history of unbelievably bad judgment calls that put not only my intuition but that of every woman I'd ever crossed paths with into question.
I think about simply leaving, but then I think about the weather, and I also factor in my car keys nestled comfortably in my purse, sitting under my parka on the spare chair in the office. Faced with a choice between the probability of confronting a violently irritated student with a taste for necrophilia and a grudge against his writing instructor, and the absolute certainty of freezing to death, I opt for the office. Maybe I could snatch my coat and purse before he could react. Maybe it wasn't even Nicky. Right.
I stride into my office trying to project a confidence that I don't even remotely feel, and am absolutely unsurprised to see Nicky Hansen's backpack slung atop my coat, and Nicky himself pacing the small office like a hyena. He startles when he sees me in the doorway, and I jump too in response.
Instead of lunging for me, he hurriedly sits down and clutches his backpack to him like a security blanket, the way I've seen him do in class. This is an encouraging development, since thus far I've shown all the reflexes of a deer in headlights and am caught halfway between my car keys on the one hand and the door on the other. He's playing it cool so it seems a little undignified to bolt for the door. Instead, I collect my purse, get the nice solid desk between me and him, and sit down behind it.
My shoulder blades are getting that uncomfortable sensation on them again and I wish I'd had time to close the blinds so I'd be able to ignore the lights of the police cars flashing like Christmas decorations over across the pond. "What can I do for you Nicky?" I say, because it seems like something I've heard someone say once. There's a letter opener on my desk.
"Uh, hi Ms. Parry. I want to talk to you about what happened in class yesterday."
Somehow this taps into a hidden vein of professorial instinct buried deep within my psyche, because it occurs to me to say "With all respect to your writing, don't you think what happened over by the campus pond last night takes a little priority over the assignments I hand out in my seminar?"
His face flushes with color and his knuckles tighten on the straps of his backpack. He fumbles with the zipper and tugs it partway open before he answers.
"No, that's not right. That wasn't supposed to..." he trails off, flicks his eyes to the window, then back to my face, then back to his bag, and starts again. "You were talking about character flaws."
The backpack is bulging oddly and from the way he's holding it looks to be quite heavy. I wonder if Isobel Alves was shot or stabbed or strangled. Judging by Nicky's stories, it was probably all three. His right hand is creeping into the pack, and I can picture him curling his stubby, sweaty fingers around the handgrip of a pistol or the handle of a knife. I wonder what else he's got in there. Did he keep a memento from Isobel's body? The adrenalin is building up inside me and I know I'm going to have to either fight or flee real soon now. What with my imagination filling in all the details of the contents of his backpack of death, his comment about character flaws leaves me a little confused. Not so confused that I don't subtly put my hand on the desk and stretch my fingers out to caress the handle of my nice brass Colonial Williamsburg letter opener.
"Nicky, I'm afraid I just don't have the time to talk about this today. Something very tragic and horrible has just happened to one of your fellow students, right outside my office, in case you hadn't noticed, and I really need some time to gather my thoughts, and anyway, the college is officially closed today, so maybe you could just email me..." I'm babbling, not making any sense at all, because I'm hoping I can stall him or something, anything but to reinforce the connection between me and his utter failure as an author.
As it happens Nicky doesn't need any reinforcement at all, and stalling's not in his gameplan either, because he thrusts that creeping right hand deep into the pack and stands up as he starts to draw his weapon. He's not making too much sense himself, but I can hear him yelling "You want a character flaw? Well, here's a character flaw for you bitch!" and I can see my wasted life flash before my eyes.
When he stands, he's right up close to my desk, and it's a simple, effortless thing to stand up myself and bring my right hand around in a short arc that ends with the letter opener sheathed deep in the side of his neck and a thick river of blood gushing out around the blade. I fall back against my chair, trying to duck out of the way of his attack, but it never comes. I scramble away as he slumps first to my desk and then to his knees, and I can't tear my eyes off his suddenly pale face when he tears at the blunt brass blade that's shuddering with the beat of his pulse. His mouth is working soundlessly, and blood his flecking his lips as he tries with all his ebbing strength to speak.
He finally topples to the floor, out of my field of view, and I'm frozen in place behind my desk, waiting for him to spring back to life, attack renewed. Mike Lowry should be here to bring me a glass of water because as bad as I felt before, that was like having an orgasm compared to how I feel now. I stay huddled and silent, eyes focused on nothing, until a rivulet of blood creeps under my desk and spreads toward me. Somehow the movement shakes me out of my trance, and I have to see what he had planned for me.
I'm breathing in heaving, ragged sobs now, and I have a strange detachment that allows me to hear myself panting and notice that I sound ridiculous. I must be doing great though, holding up like a hardened combat vet, because I'm inching my way around the desk, gripping its edge for support with my left hand, holding a pen like an icepick in my right in case Nicky's only faking.
I need to know what he's got stashed in that backpack, what was the intended instrument of my doom. I can't think of any way to reach out and snatch it away from his still-clenched fingers without exposing myself to attack, so I stop to think until the look of surprise and frank stupidity on Nicky's face starts to make me nervous. His right hand is still thrust deep into the backpack in a tableau that reminds me of a weirdly inverted version of a scene from one of his stories.
There's nothing left but to quickly reach into the bag, plucking the contents of his hand from its lifeless grip. I feel a chill that has nothing to do with the weather outside because I can tell immediately that it's not a gun or even a knife. It could be an envelope filled with anthrax spores, but incredibly, unbelievably, horribly, it's not the weapon I was so certain of just seconds ago.
I smooth out the two crumpled sheets of paper, spotted with blood, on the floor. The top of the first page says: SCRIPT, in bold type. Beneath, I see a few lines of dialogue, 12 point Times New Roman font with one inch margins.
---
Me: Hi, Ms. Parry, I want to talk to you about what happened in class yesterday.
Bitch: Nicky! What more could you possibly have to say about your pathetic attempts at writing? Unless you want to drop my class of course.
Me: You were talking about character flaws...
Bitch: Yes, in tragic heroes. Or any well-developed character really.
Me: Well, here's a character flaw for you. You're an arrogant, lazy, selfobsessed bitch. Well I got news for you, you paranoid cunt: Writers ain't killers, stories ain't nothing but stories, and they ain't always about you.
---
I can't read any more because my eyes are filling with tears, and for some reason I can't think anything at all except the poor stupid dead bastard forgot to hyphenate "self-obsessed".
- VS -
Entry 2
He sits alone, and sips brandy. The clock chimes every hour, and the fire crackles as it eats its way through the last log it will ever see.He sits alone, and his hands twitch and slither over each other, and his eyes dart from place to place, seeking some undefined truth in the dark.
He sits alone, and his body is wracked by vicious bouts of coughing that leave his handkerchief stained with spots of blood.
He is ready to die; there is nothing left for him now. Everything that he built up has been destroyed in the same manner that it was built it up.
It was his thirst that was his flaw, that left him poisoned by enemies and stripped by rivals: thirst for drink, thirst for women- and that was insatiable until a few years ago- but primarily thirst for power. His cravings would only be satiated by total and utter dominance, and he spent his life striving to achieve such a position, to no avail, of course, because there are always honest men, just as there are always those that are dishonest.
He only lives for one purpose: to hear of the success of his last plan. He has no loyal men left, save for one, who gladly agreed to perform the final mighty deed. His empire has crumbled beneath him, leaving him childless, wifeless, without his former fortune or fortress; the manor house of power has been cleared of its trappings, left an empty husk, a shell of the old glories.
As he sits in the near dark, his mind wanders to the bygone times, the height of his influence: he controlled businesses, entire wings of the police force, headed a formidable fraternity and a loyal family. His love for his wife was shattered when they killed her, a revenge for his deeds.
He blames his decline on that event; he recognised his flaw at that moment, the terrible costs for his mighty profits, the costs that made it hollow. But he has a tribute to pay to her, beyond the grave and in happier places, a vengeance that shall grant him the power he so dearly craves, even when he can recognise his thirst as his deepest flaw.
The lamps give out no more light; they died several hours ago. The only light comes from the dying fire.
It dies, as all things do, and leaves him in the dark.
"You won't last much longer," his rival tells him. His hands flail at the shadows, and he croaks weak defiance.
"You are beaten, defeated, a withered shell of your former glory," his rival sneers. His cheeks run hotly with tears.
"I was only trying to protect my family."
"You chose the wrong game for that, old man."
He sobs, and buries his face in his trembling hands.
"I was only doing what any good father would do!"
"Bribery? Extortion? Beatings? Murder?"
He finds what little strength he has, and howls. His vision dissipates, and he falls back into his chair. The left hand cradles the brandy, and the right hand grasps the arm of the chair with a mad desperation.
"I am corrupted," he whispers. Behind him, the high windows begin to bleed in fire-light from buildings several miles away. He takes his final sip to quench his thirst.
The brandy glass slips from his fingers and hits the soft carpet without a sound, the golden liquid soaking into the thick pile.
"It's a flaw," she had said, "but it's a good one; it makes you stronger."
His empty husk begs to differ.
Entry 1:
Adamdidit2u
Berty
Bizdorph
blank_mind
BLITZKREIG_BOB
bob
BobLobla
c1ndy
CaptainThorns
Circe
comicbookguy
Coyote
darko
Davros
doctorj24
dodahdave
DonkeyOnTheEdge
DonovanMD
Exodus
Flaahgra
FunnyAsCancer
gamma
Genko
GodLovesALittleLovin
Hirilnara
HZRD
Impassive-Digressive
indigogecko
indoninja
intellismartness
Jack_McCallum
jgreening
JMG114
JonnyX
JulsInsane
justagirl27
Katastrofadark
kimmy02721
Kre8rix
LadyPlural
loki
lucid
Magicaddict
MandaPanda
Merlina
Method
Natsukau
notyou
Pentameter
potatomanjack
project_nessa
rad1101
Razor
sg11588
Slovin
Snark
Soley_Trinity
sparkle_pink
SPECIALk
spedmonkey
Stin
supadupapupa
supersloth
Teephphah
thecaes
thorpe
TigerLilly
Viciousriffs
William_Q_Percy
yermom
youarsoghey
zakalwe
67 eligible votes (72 total) *
Entry 2:
a_little_more_time
absolutes
badassmofo
BillsSBChamps
corn_nugget
crazybutsolazy
Draqus
Frank_Grimes
iddqd
joedaddy
MichaelJackson
munkeypants
nitty34
RandomJose
stevie_says
swamp_donkey
Wiggles
13 eligible votes (17 total) *
* Eligible votes are those made by users who had either (A) posted 3+ messages OR (B) written 100+ [lowered from 750+] reviews as of the beginning of the UberMadness! competition.
User Reviews
Submitted by fried-green-potatoes (user info) at 2005-07-21 21:34:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
thought "tragic hero" implies a plot that's not only predictable but inescapable...#1 was impressive and lived up to its advertising
(i cant vote but i really enjoyed this one)
Submitted by crazybutsolazy (user info) at 2005-07-21 09:50:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
both were excellent!!! Number one really caught me up in the story but I didn't really like the ending. Number 2 was short but interesting
Submitted by thorpe (user info) at 2005-07-21 04:57:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked number 2, but the story of number 1 really drew me in.
Submitted by LadyPlural (user info) at 2005-07-20 17:02:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I thought to myself "Selfobsessed is missing a hyphen" as soon as I read it. So Entry one gets my vote because I'm an anal-retentive twat.
Submitted by Frank_Grimes (user info) at 2005-07-20 16:03:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by HZRD (user info) at 2005-07-20 15:56:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
the first 'twas predictable.
Submitted by Soley_Trinity (user info) at 2005-07-20 15:29:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by kimmy02721 (user info) at 2005-07-20 12:07:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
both were lovely
Submitted by notyou (user info) at 2005-07-20 02:15:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Entry 1 kicked my butt. Saw it coming of course, but even still, really well done.
Submitted by sg11588 (user info) at 2005-07-19 22:15:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by BillsSBChamps (user info) at 2005-07-19 19:06:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Katastrofadark (user info) at 2005-07-19 17:20:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Slovin (user info) at 2005-07-19 16:54:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Adamdidit2u (user info) at 2005-07-19 15:47:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I am scared to face numero uno
Submitted by comicbookguy (user info) at 2005-07-19 15:43:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i've written almost all the round 1 stories, and entry #1 was by far my favourite. Great job.
Submitted by indigogecko (user info) at 2005-07-19 15:36:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
the standard seems to be going up among the later entries. Another hard choice.
Submitted by Teephphah (user info) at 2005-07-19 15:27:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Both were pretty good, but Entry #2 was just a little too cryptic.
It seems that I need to be spoon-fed right now.
Submitted by Hirilnara (user info) at 2005-07-19 15:05:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by justagirl27 (user info) at 2005-07-19 14:56:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by potatomanjack (user info) at 2005-07-19 14:46:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Easy One.
(Puns Rock!)
Submitted by Viciousriffs (user info) at 2005-07-19 13:23:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
#1, absolutely exquisite writing. You did a great job as well, 2, but 1 had their game face on.
Submitted by Razor (user info) at 2005-07-19 13:13:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Not bad, author 1. Not bad at all.
Submitted by project_nessa (user info) at 2005-07-19 12:41:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2005-07-19 12:21:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Entry 1 rocked.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-07-19 12:19:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Author #1 you get my vote, but Jesus, if you are going to write pages and pages, try to have something happen at least once in a while.
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2005-07-19 12:09:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Both kind of put me to sleep. #1 for the obvious greater effort.
Submitted by doctorj24 (user info) at 2005-07-19 11:49:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Not too shabby. Big contrast in length. #2 needs to be fleshed out more, and #1 was predictable, but they were above average. #1 gets my non-existent vote.
Submitted by RandomJose (user info) at 2005-07-19 10:40:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
WTF IM NOT READING ALL THAT
Submitted by supersloth (user info) at 2005-07-19 10:12:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2005-07-19 10:10:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Pentameter (user info) at 2005-07-19 09:49:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by gamma (user info) at 2005-07-19 09:35:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by gamma (user info) at 2005-07-19 09:35:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2005-07-19 09:25:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
apparently I was wrong.
Strange that has never happened before, no honestly.
-Dave
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2005-07-19 09:23:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I sense this will be a close run thing.
Well done to both of you.
-Dave
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2005-07-19 09:19:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Long, but worth reading.
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2005-07-19 07:46:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Fucking awesome.
Submitted by Circe (user info) at 2005-07-19 07:42:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Finally, something actually decent.
Submitted by MichaelJackson (user info) at 2005-07-19 06:33:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
My vote no longer counts: http://www.ubersite.com/m/71008
Submitted by supadupapupa (user info) at 2005-07-19 05:25:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Tasty
Submitted by Flaahgra (user info) at 2005-07-19 04:57:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by Merlina (user info) at 2005-07-19 03:37:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by c1ndy (user info) at 2005-07-19 03:34:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Coyote (user info) at 2005-07-19 03:17:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2005-07-19 02:19:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
OMG CHARLES WHITMAN
Submitted by a_little_more_time (user info) at 2005-07-19 02:13:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by intellismartness (user info) at 2005-07-19 01:34:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Number 1 had an obvious ending (why is the water/coffee/tea/whatever always bad in these stories?) But it gripped me more than number 2, number 1 was very well written. And it incorporated the title well.
Submitted by FunnyAsCancer (user info) at 2005-07-19 01:12:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Not so meh.
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2005-07-19 00:49:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I change my mind, this one is stevie_says.
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2005-07-19 00:26:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-07-19 00:16:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Entry 1 was awesome. Awesome awesome awesome (even if the ending was a bit predictable, the getting-there was f'n great).
Submitted by jgreening (user info) at 2005-07-19 00:07:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Well, one good, one not.
I guess I'll vote for good.
Submitted by Wiggles (user info) at 2005-07-18 23:48:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
To be completely honest, the first one bored me to death.
Submitted by swamp_donkey (user info) at 2005-07-18 23:36:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by iddqd (user info) at 2005-07-18 23:15:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2005-07-18 22:56:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
*cries emo tears when reading entry 1*
Entry 1 was good... I found it a bit confusing to read though. Perhaps it was the narrative? Or the constantly switching tenses? Watch for that in the future.
Submitted by Bizdorph (user info) at 2005-07-18 22:44:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Meh. Not that good. Entry two was just too vague.
Submitted by loki (user info) at 2005-07-18 22:09:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by blank_mind (user info) at 2005-07-18 22:04:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Entry two, was terrible.
Entry one, uh good effort? It wasn't much of an idea for a story but you wrote it well.
Submitted by MandaPanda (user info) at 2005-07-18 21:46:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by zakalwe (user info) at 2005-07-18 21:42:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
entry 1 was a good story. #2 confused me. well done author 1.
Submitted by corn_nugget (user info) at 2005-07-18 21:41:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I tried to read Entry 1 a few times... I just couldn't. The second entry had a good pace.
Or something.
Submitted by Natsukau (user info) at 2005-07-18 21:39:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
#2 - Who fucking cares?
Submitted by absolutes (user info) at 2005-07-18 21:33:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by Stin (user info) at 2005-07-18 21:27:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by William_Q_Percy (user info) at 2005-07-18 21:25:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
umm... welll.
Wow, that was good.
Submitted by JMG114 (user info) at 2005-07-18 21:16:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No comment.
Submitted by dodahdave (user info) at 2005-07-18 21:02:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Author #1, thank you. That was a pleasure to read. It may not have been the most original plot in the world, but good vocabulary and grammar make things more enjoyable.
Author #2, I liked where it seemed you were going with your story, but I think it needed more development. The last few lines seemed a bit confused.
Submitted by Kre8rix (user info) at 2005-07-18 20:55:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-07-18 20:49:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
voting was difficult on this one. i liked them both.
Submitted by Genko (user info) at 2005-07-18 20:46:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by TigerLilly (user info) at 2005-07-18 20:43:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by JulsInsane (user info) at 2005-07-18 20:39:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Exodus (user info) at 2005-07-18 20:36:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
After reading one i couldnt read two all the way through. That was plus fucking 2.
Submitted by youarsoghey (user info) at 2005-07-18 20:35:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2005-07-18 20:32:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by DonkeyOnTheEdge (user info) at 2005-07-18 20:29:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Number one read like an after school special. Number two read like toilet paper after I wiped my ass. The last line in number one clenched it for me.
Submitted by SPECIALk (user info) at 2005-07-18 20:21:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by nitty34 (user info) at 2005-07-18 20:19:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by badassmofo (user info) at 2005-07-18 20:15:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by bob (user info) at 2005-07-18 20:04:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
meh.
i hate round one
Submitted by yermom (user info) at 2005-07-18 20:00:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Impassive-Digressive (user info) at 2005-07-18 19:56:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by DonovanMD (user info) at 2005-07-18 19:50:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I liked one.
Submitted by Magicaddict (user info) at 2005-07-18 19:43:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2005-07-18 19:42:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by spedmonkey (user info) at 2005-07-18 19:40:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I saw the end coming from a mile away, but my vote still goes to 1.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2005-07-18 19:39:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Author #1, you were comfortably cruising along, and then - that last sentence.
Dude, that was like a 15-foot money shot! You got it all the way in her mouth from across the room!
Excellent freaking job, dude!
Submitted by GodLovesALittleLovin (user info) at 2005-07-18 19:38:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Godamn. These were both excellent. Tough choice.
Submitted by Draqus (user info) at 2005-07-18 19:38:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by lucid (user info) at 2005-07-18 19:37:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Both interesting.
Submitted by stevie_says (user info) at 2005-07-18 19:34:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment