High Stakes (1048 hits)
Category: UberMadness!Rating: 0.51 on 47 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by UberMadness! (View user info) at 2006-11-21 10:20:22 EST
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Entry 1
Did you ever notice how some of the nicest women have the worst hair? Too many times, I've met an absolutely lovely woman with 80s bangs and a spiral perm. Sometimes their hair is bleached so blonde it looks white, other times it is dyed so dark that the girl looks more like a ghoul. Dorky short bangs, blonde highlights on dark hair. All of these things really bother me, especially on a sweet girl.My friend Chance was one of these girls. She had a lot of problems. One of them was her hair. Another one was a guy named Arthur Stakes.
And the whole thing was my fault.
Chance was tall, leggy and had more curves than Lombard Street. With her high cheekbones, bright blue eyes and full lips, she was often the center of attention wherever she went. She thought it was because she was beautiful, the epitome of what it meant to be a woman. In reality, it was mostly because her head looked as though it had been attacked by a lawn mower.
"It's chic," she would say.
I was embarrassed for her. She watched way too many infomercials and wanted to be a super thin bitch, even though I swear she didn't have an ounce of fat on her body. Chance would come to my apartment with calorie counters, meal plans and weird substances that could have been food but really tasted like shit. To please her, I ate steel cut oats, Boca burgers and organic potato chips.
She was my friend and I didn't want to see anything bad happen to her. Every time she called me and told me about the new makeup, the new rotisserie or the new ginsu knives that had just arrived in the mail, I wondered how she ever made a decision on her own.
I was just happy reading the obituaries. It meant that at the very least, I was still alive.
One day after a Pilates workout, I said, "Hey Chance? I'm considering getting a different haircut. What do you think?"
"I think it's a good idea," she said.
I continued with, "I was thinking that since I always do things with you, you should do something with me, you know?"
Chance stood in front of the mirror, pulling on her blonde locks and running her fingers through her hair. She shook her head, then bit her lip. Finally, she turned around and said, "All right. I'll do it!"
"Awesome!" I said.
Three days later, the two of us went to one of the ritzier beauty salons in town, where we were cut, dyed, dried and curled. Chance was happy, and I was happy that she looked somewhat normal. We paid and tipped our stylist, then walked out into the street.
And life would never be the same.
A group of people stood across the street in front of a little corner store. There were two girls and three guys, all dressed similarly in rather stylish looking clothes. As Chance and I walked down the street, I noticed that she kept looking back at them. I asked, "What's wrong?"
"I don't know. That one blonde guy keeps looking at me," she said.
I glanced over at the blonde, who had a soft smile and inviting green eyes. He looked warm, strong, thick, sensitive and caring, and was as attractive as any many I had seen. I said to Chance, "He's stunning. You should go and talk to him."
"Are you serious?" she asked.
"Hell yeah I am. What do you have to lose?" I asked.
"Suddenly, I feel thirsty," she said as she began to pull me across the street.
Before Chance was even able to step onto the curb, the blonde reached out his hand out to help her up and said, "I'm Arthur."
She immediately blushed and said, "I'm Chance, and this is my friend Estella."
The two of them began talking as though they had been old friends, while I tried to make small talk with some of the people who were with Arthur. They seemed preoccupied, but were polite.
Hours had passed, literally. The sun was setting and the two of them were still gabbing with each other. Finally, I said to Chance, "Are you ready to go, or would you like to call a cab?"
"Um, I think I'm calling a cab," she said as she slid her hand into Arthur's.
I was happy for her. After my last boyfriend left me because he had discovered he was gay, and her husband of two years left her because she wasn't willing to try being gay with another girl in front of him while he videotaped it, the two of us had decided to forget about men...unless the right one came along.
Arthur was a worldly man. He had traveled to countries I had never even heard of, and had taught Chance interesting customs that she'd share with me over lattes and scones. Every time I saw her, she was wearing a new piece of jewelry or new shoes, or was carrying a new purse. She was being treated very well, and that made me smile.
When I asked her what he did for a living, she would simply say that he was the heir to a great fortune and was living off of his trust fund until his father passed away. When I asked her what his father did, she said she didn't know.
"Hmmm...I want to know what his father does," I said.
"Why? You aren't dating him, so why do you care?" she asked.
It was hard to tell Chance things she didn't want to hear. Any criticism, any scrutiny of her life or any statement that opposed the way she felt meant at least a week without communication, if not more. I took a sip of my chai tea and asked, "Don't you think it's weird, that like, he has all of this money but can't really explain where it's coming from?"
Immediately, she sensed what I meant and jabbed back with, "You're just fucking jealous."
"I'm not jealous. I'm worried about you, Chance. I don't want to see you hooked up with another asshole," I said.
"Look, Estella, it was your fucking idea for me to talk to him in the first place!" she shouted.
A table full of executives turned around to look at us. I kept my head down, but Chance yelled, "Take a fucking picture," then threw them the finger.
We stood outside after being asked to leave the coffee shop. Chance said, "Just leave me alone."
"I just don't want you to get hurt," I said.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she said.
The longest we had gone without speaking throughout our entire ten year friendship was three weeks. When the sixth week had passed, I decided that I was going to break down and call her to see if she would talk to me. After trying all of her phone numbers and discovering that they had all been disconnected, I found myself climbing the stairs to her third story apartment and knocking on the door.
"Chance?" I yelled.
No one answered.
I pushed open the door to reveal an almost completely empty apartment. Papers were scattered across the floor, and most of the furniture was gone. Her closet was empty and the curtains had been ripped down from the windows.
I gathered everything I could find, sat on the floor and began sifting through the pile. There were bank receipts showing no balance in Chance's checking and savings accounts. Some times and dates had been scrawled on pieces of paper with other numbers that I didn't recognize. One of the papers had the following day's date, along with ten thirty p.m. and more strange numbers.
The last piece of paper was a note, written in Chance's handwriting that outlined her plans to for she and Arthur to kill themselves together. My throat became very tight, and my hands were shaking so much that I could barely finish reading the letter. I stuffed what little information I had into my purse and burst out of her apartment.
As I ran down the street, I called my friend Dave.
"Hello?"
"Dave? It's Estella. Listen, I need your help and I need it now," I said.
"I'm kinda at work," he said.
"I don't fucking care!" I shouted.
"All right. Jesus! Where are you?" he asked.
"I'm on my way to the library on Fifth Street," I said.
"I'll try to get out of here," he said.
"Dave, I'm scared," I said.
"It's ok, I'll be there. Don't worry," he said, then hung up the phone.
I knew a little bit about research, and I knew that I could access a lot of the databases I would need at the library. I started by searching "Arthur Stakes" through news archives, and came up with stories about little local store openings and high school sports highlights. Every way I tried, I came up with nothing that would help me figure out who the hell he was.
The blank screen burned my eyes, and I suddenly wished I hadn't quit smoking. My fingers fidgeted across the keys, and I was barely able to concentrate on what I was doing. Suddenly, I felt a pair of hands resting on my shoulders.
"Relax," the voice said, "and don't turn around."
I felt as though I was trying to swallow a bowling ball. Was it Arthur? Did he know that I was trying to find him? Everything was running through my mind, and I swore that my heart was about to explode.
"Gotcha!" Dave shouted.
"Asshole," I muttered as I tried to catch my breath.
He kissed me on the forehead and asked me why I needed his help. After explaining the situation to him, he understood why there was such urgency in my voice. I showed him all the searches I had run since we hung up. Dave scanned the list and suggested that I try searching newspapers overseas, since Arthur had claimed to have been in almost every country.
His name popped up in so many papers that I didn't even know where to begin.
Most of the stories were about his father, Arthur Killington Stakes, Sr., a highly successful business man who was a hero to many in poor cities and towns across Europe, Russia and Asia. He was very philanthropic, and he often chose the poorest places to open new factories, giving people the opportunity to be self sufficient.
"Seems like a great guy," Dave said.
"Yeah, I don't know about his son, though," I said.
There were a few returns on Arthur K. Stakes, Jr., but most of them concerned how he had been a part of his father's business and was basically a spokesperson, the poster child. One story implied that he had been involved in an illegal gambling ring. Another story described a prostitution ring, and yet another linked him to funding human trafficking from Zaire and Hong Kong.
Dave placed his hand on my shoulder and said, "I think you should call the police."
"Why? So they can fucking brush it off? Something is not right here, and I need to find out what it is," I said.
I pulled the scraps of paper out of my purse and said, "Look at this piece of paper. I think something's going to happen tomorrow night, but none of this stuff makes sense."
Dave glanced over the letters, the bank receipts and the scrawled notes and said, "This is fucked up. How did she get hooked up with this guy?"
Tears filled my eyes, and I put my head down. I said between bubbling sobs, "It's all my fault. I took her for a haircut and he was standing there, he was so gorgeous and I told her to talk to him, what did she have to lose, right? Now she's missing, I made her angry and she took off and I don't know where she is!"
He put his arms around me and softly said, "We'll find her, there has to be a way. We'll look over all of these things until they make sense."
I wiped my nose and said, "Thanks."
We stayed up most of the night combing over the few clues that we had, but we weren't able to come up with much. We were both sure that something was going to happen the following night, but we didn't know what. Finally, Dave said, "Listen, I have to get home, all right? We both need to get some sleep."
I nodded in agreement, said goodbye and then climbed into bed.
A few hours later, I woke up to the sound of a train whistle. I thought about the scraps of paper, the numbers that had been scribbled on them.
Things started to make sense.
On the internet, I confirmed what I suspected. Over and over again, I called Dave, but for some reason, he didn't answer his phone. It seemed as though I was on my own.
Before I set out, I stopped by the police station, where I explained everything. I showed them the articles, the proof I had found that something dastardly was about to happen. They promised they would contact their counterparts in Canada, and that I didn't need to worry about anything from that point on.
I knew better than to trust them, and decided that I was going to make sure they followed through. After packing a few things, I hopped into my car and began the five hour drive. I would be there in plenty of time.
At the border, I crossed without incident. After a few more hours of driving, I arrived at the designated point and stepped out of my car.
Ever since I could remember, I had always loved train platforms that were in the middle of nowhere, and when I saw it in the distance, I smiled. It was spectacular, the ability to be in the middle of the wilderness and go anywhere you wanted, anywhere the tracks would take you.
I looked at my watch. It was 8:30 p.m., two hours before the train was set to arrive. I suspected that it would be filled with young, foreign girls who thought they were coming to Canada to work in restaurants, in retail stores, in warehouses. What they didn't know was that they were human cargo, that they would end up being whores for any man who was willing to pay.
Shame was a powerful thing. Arthur had them right where he wanted them. He knew their families were counting on them for money, and that because they were illegal aliens, there was no way they'd ever go to the authorities. They'd get enough money to send home so that no one would suspect anything and he'd get the rest.
I sat in the passenger seat of my car smoking a cigarette. I contemplated calling Dave, but when I looked at my cell phone, there was no signal. Really, I should have known better. I was in the middle of nothingness.
At the very least, Chance would be saved, even if I meant I wouldn't be. She was always so gullible, so willing to follow without even thinking for a second. As I took deep drags, I thought about how everything was completely my fault. In the end, I only hoped that I would be able to protect her.
As the time drew near, I watched from my car, which I had parked behind some brush. I looked through my binoculars, praying that I would see a police car, a Mountie, a ranger, someone who would stop this.
Three black Jaguars with black tinted windows pulled up close to the platform, with a fleet of white vans behind them. I watched Arthur get out of the driver's side of one of the cars, and I saw Chance emerge from the passenger's side. The others who I had seen with Arthur on that day were also there. It was time. The train was going to be there at any second and I knew the police weren't coming.
I gripped my handgun tightly and made sure it was loaded. There were more of them than I had bullets for, but I wasn't even scared. All I had to do was kill Arthur and save Chance. Nothing else mattered.
With all of my strength, I ran across the snow. My lungs were being pulled apart by the frigid air and my heart was beating so loudly that it nearly deafened me. As I got closer to the platform, I decided to stop running. I got on my stomach and began crawling. I was surprised how close I was able to get without anyone hearing me.
I drew the gun up and aimed at Arthur, my hands shaking. But, right before I was able to pull the trigger, someone grabbed me.
"Did you really think you were going to be able to pull this off?" the man asked as he flipped me over onto my back.
"Fuck you!" I shouted.
"I think you're the one who's going to get fucked, sister," he said as he tied my hands behind my back and bound my legs together.
He stood me up, revealing me to the other members of the group. Chance shouted, "Estella!"
I said nothing.
Arthur approached me and asked, "Who the fuck do you think you are?"
Between heavy pants, I said, "Let Chance go."
"Chance wants to be here. Chance has everything she wants. Do you think she wants to go back to that shithole fucking town you live in?" he asked.
"Let her go."
"You know, it's a shame. It's a shame that you came all the way out here to die. We could have killed you in your bed," he said as he grabbed me by the hair and walked me over to the train tracks.
"I called the police," I said, "They're going to be here any second."
"Who gives a fuck? I own the police," he said.
Everyone began to laugh.
Arthur threw me on the tracks, and Estella began to cry. I picked up my chin and said, "Go ahead and fucking kill me, I don't care."
What I was thinking was that the train would be slowing down anyway, and that I probably wouldn't get hurt at all. I then realized that I was on the opposite set of tracks, with no platform.
That meant the train had no reason to stop.
"It's almost time," Arthur said as he pointed to his watch.
I could hear the whistle of the train, the soft, low moaning growing closer and louder with every second. Before long, I saw the light, the train barreling down the tracks that I was lying across.
Arthur walked over to me and said, "I'll give you a choice. You can come with me and live, or you can stay here and die."
I struggled to get to my feet. There was just enough slack on the rope for me to stand, but not enough for me to run. I looked him square in the eye and said, "Don't mistake me for a coward."
"Well then, you are the master of your fate," he said with a smug look on his face.
The tracks were vibrating as the train began to bear down on me. The horn was blasting, the light was blinding. I struggled to make peace in those last moments, and as I prayed, I felt something strong push me off of the tracks.
When I looked up, Chance was standing in my place with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face. Before I could even shout her name, the train had already overtaken her body. I lay on the ground, half of my face buried in the snow. Through the cars, I could see Arthur on knees, crying. I never hated anyone so much in my life.
Not even thirty seconds later, the police arrived. Thirty seconds after that, the other train arrived, filled with foreign girls looking for a new life, just as I had suspected.
Everything was my fault. I think I cried more tears in that day than I had over the course of my entire life. I could barely tell the detective what had happened and how I ended up there. They took me back to the station where they gave me hot chocolate and a blanket, but nothing would ever soothe me. I wasn't able to save her.
It just so happened that Arthur Killington Stakes Jr. had pissed off one of the government officials who had been shielding him from any kind of police interference in his affairs. When this gentleman learned of what was supposed to happen in Canada, he made sure that Arthur wasn't going to be able to get out of it.
They put me up in a hotel, and the next morning, room service arrived with a big breakfast and the daily newspaper.
For the first time in a long time, I didn't need to read the obituaries to know that I was alive.
- VS -
Entry 2
She shouldn't have gotten her hair cut. I loved her until that moment. I loved everything about her. I loved the way she only shrugged with one arm. I loved the way she gnawed at the skin on the back of her thumb when nobody was watching. I loved that she didn't mind sitting Indian style in the middle of a department store on a crowded Saturday morning.Then she got that damned haircut and I came undone. At first it didn't bother me. I even thought it was sort of cute. Her short red hair curled around her face and I could see the nape of her neck and the lines on her forehead. She's probably the only twenty-five year old that ever had lines on her forehead.
After the haircut I started noticing little things, things that never bothered me before.
"Steph?" I asked.
"What," she murmured dismissively without glancing in my direction.
"Are you going to do those dishes sometime tonight?"
She bit her lip and nodded, but continued reading her book. It was one of those trashy romance novels with a bare-chested guy on the front.
The dishes had piled up in the sink over the last week. The only thing in there that was mine was a coffee cup and a saucer. I was pretty sure that the miniature flies buzzing around her unscraped peanut butter spoon were a sign of maggots. I could imagine them beneath all the pots and pans, squirming and multiplying.
I worried about the filth, but I let it go. I just let it go. Maybe she would do them later.
I woke up the next morning and they still weren't done, so I sucked it up and did them myself. I wore those yellow gloves that she normally wore to clean the bathroom and I threw away a few pots that I couldn't get clean. Rice and grease were seared and stained into the sides and they weren't salvageable.
We had lunch that day at our favorite sandwich place. They make roasted turkey subs with cranberry sauce and avocado slices. If the right person makes it, they add just a hint of lemon zest and it really makes all the difference.
I noticed at lunch that day that she picked the avocado off her sandwich and didn't eat the crust. I thought only children did that. I half expected her to cut the damned sandwich into small bites and eat them with a fork. Then she sent her drink back twice because she said the carbonation wasn't right.
"It burns my throat," she said.
Well, mine tasted fine.
I laid a five down on the table when we got up to leave and she covered my hand with hers. "Are you sure you want to leave that much?" she asked.
What the fuck was wrong with that bitch? She picked her sandwich to bits, hassled the waitress and now she doesn't want me to leave a tip? She's out of her goddamned mind.
I smiled at her and simply answered, "Yeah, it's fine."
I drove her home to pick up her car. After she got out she leaned back in the window and said, "I'll probably be home late. After the meeting we're supposed to go to dinner. It's Dale's treat. You know, the guy over in accounting? The one with the floppy hair?"
I nodded at her. Fine. She can come home when she feels like it.
At five-twenty I was sitting on the couch by myself. You'd think I'd enjoy it, but I didn't. I couldn't help but think that the bitch was probably stepping out on me. Probably with Dale, the floppy haired accountant.
I got down on my hands and knees and start digging under the couch. There was nothing there but a chewed up dog toy. In fact, it was still wet.
The dresser drawers were empty.
Her closet, empty.
The bathroom, cleared out.
The pantry, half full.
The bitch was stepping out on me, just on a more permanent basis than I'd assumed. At first I wanted to find her and kill her. I couldn't decide if I wanted to shoot her or gut her with my hunting knife. Then I couldn't decide if I wanted to kill her or just kill her lover or kill them both, so I just sat there on the couch. I sat there until the clock said 7:00, then 8:09, then 10:47, and then 2:38.
I woke up the next morning surrounded by beer cans and with what I assumed was drool caked into my beard. It's not really a beard, but I hadn't shaved in weeks, so we'll call it that.
I rolled over and glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. It was almost 9:30. I was an hour and a half late for work.
I got up and stumbled to the bedroom. She hadn't come home, but that didn't surprise me. I pulled on a clean pair of pants and a green button up shirt, but I wore the same undershirt. I couldn't find my dress shoes, so I slid on sandals instead. What fucking difference did it make?
My wife works at a firm that finds temporary lodging for different members of the medical field, all over the United States. She puts in long hours and works pretty hard.
When I walked up behind her desk I could hear her saying, "You can't send or receive a legal sized fax? Uh-huh? And your application is on legal sized paper? Ma'am I don't understand how you expect to get anything done."
There's a click, followed by a sigh, as she leans back in her chair.
Her desk is covered with knick-knacks. She was always a freak about collecting things. She has a collection of clown statues, antique spoons, and framed pictures of butterflies. I never understood why anyone would need more than one picture of a butterfly. Plus, I always thought pictures of butterflies belonged on calendars or should hang in a dentist's office.
"Got a minute?" I asked her.
For a second she didn't move. She didn't turn around or flinch or even move her hands.
"I guess so," she finally said.
She stood up, grabbed her jacket and nodded toward the side door. The bitch didn't even want to talk to me inside the office, as though I'd make a scene or something.
I followed her outside and we sat down on a bench across the street from her office. For a moment I didn't say anything. I was too busy staring at her hair. I missed the way it used to hang down in her face. I missed running my fingers through it even though they got caught on all the tangles. I missed having something to hold onto.
"Why'd you get your haircut?" I asked her.
She didn't say anything for a moment, like she was thinking. It probably sounded like a weird question, but she answered it because it's a better question than "Who are you fucking?"
"I needed a change," she said. "I needed to look in the mirror and see something different. I got tired of it always being me."
Sounds simple enough. It's just too bad that when she wasn't herself anymore she wanted to fuck other guys.
"I saved it," she said.
"What?"
"I saved my hair when they cut it off. They just put it in a ponytail and lopped it off. I couldn't stand the thought of them throwing it away or making a wig out of it. It was my hair, you know?"
I thought about it for a while. I still wanted to kill her, so it was strange that I could sit next to her a bench in the middle of the morning and think about her hair, but I did.
"What'd you do with it?" I asked her.
"It's in the glove box of my car."
An old man walked by and tapped the side of our bench with his cane, like he was saying hey. Old people can do things like that. If I did that, people would think I was strange.
"Can I have it?" I asked her.
"My hair?"
"Yeah."
She shook her head, slowly, like she was still deciding while she was saying no. "I don't think so," she said. "I mean, why would you want it?"
"Call it sentimental value."
She pulls her handbag into her lap. She has dozens of handbags. She tried to explain them to me once. Apparently both the handbag and the handbag's strap have to match her outfit. Sometimes the brown is too light or dark and it doesn't work with her shoes or something.
"I just don't think so."
"Look," I said, grabbing the meaty part of her arm, "I think I'm being pretty fucking calm about all this. All I fucking asked for was your damned hair, the hair you cut off, for Christ sake."
She tried to wrench away from me. She dug her heel into the ground and twisted her arm forward. "Let me go," she hissed.
I slammed her back onto the park bench and put one knee between her legs, leaning over her. People were stopping on the sidewalk to watch us, but nobody said anything. It's that kind of town.
"Just give me your fucking car keys and I'll go get it myself."
I cupped one hand around her throat so she couldn't yell and then I glanced to one side and then the other. I'd have to speed this up or somebody would probably intervene. I was sure that someone had already called the police so I guessed I only had a few minutes left.
She didn't answer so I shook her by the neck and said. "Keys?'
She coughed and reached inside her purse, offering her keys up to me. Her eyes were watering and she never looked directly at me, but I didn't give a damn. I took her keys and sprinted off in the direction of her parking garage. It was about a quarter mile down the road, but I was pretty sure I could make it before the cops got there.
By the time I got there, I was half jogging, but it was okay because the sirens I heard were faint and I'd probably still get a good head start. I got on the elevator and hit the button for the third level where my wife always parked car.
As the door opened my cell phone rang. It was her.
"Hello," I panted into the phone. I was still out of breath. I might be young, but I'm a smoker and that's hell on your lungs.
I heard snickering.
"Hello?" I said again.
"My car," she said.
"Yeah?" I answered and I walked up the aisle.
"It's parked at Dale's house. He gave me a ride to work this morning after I fucked him."
Entry 1:
BLITZKREIG_BOB
Bubba2341
charminglybeef
Confuzitron
Crystle
Davros
DonkeyOnTheEdge
DrogoRoch
FunnyAsCancer
helbling
Hirilnara
Jack_McCallum
JoeyG
Magicaddict
nrduncan
orph
ParlorTrick
Pentameter
Siren
sparkle_pink
Sphagnum
21 eligible votes (21 total) *
Entry 2:
coley
darko
EchoBoxing
ghola
homer42
indoninja
JMG114
joedaddy
JonnyX
rad1101
redskieslookfake
Sacrilicious
SPECIALk
Spooner
Stagger_Lee
stevie_says
The_taste_of_Monkeys
16 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 TheCrystalShip (user info) at 2006-11-27 22:07:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Lol, so serious. Suck my cock.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-11-27 17:59:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by TheCrystalShip (user info) at 2006-11-27 15:40:11 (#)
Ranking: -2
Arthur threw me on the tracks, and Estella began to cry. I picked up my chin and said, "Go ahead and fucking kill me, I don't care."
You mean Chance, unless Estella started referring to herself in the third person. Dumb fuck.
*******
You've never fucked up anything like that? Oh,wait. You write shit when you do write,
so never mind.... Dipshit....
Submitted by TheCrystalShip (user info) at 2006-11-27 15:40:11 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Arthur threw me on the tracks, and Estella began to cry. I picked up my chin and said, "Go ahead and fucking kill me, I don't care."
You mean Chance, unless Estella started referring to herself in the third person. Dumb fuck.
Submitted by Coleslaw_Murphy (user info) at 2006-11-27 15:10:49 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Had I voted in time, it would've been for #2.
Ghola, in some parts your male character shifts between a convincing male narration and an unconvincing woman-writing-a-male-role narration.
E.g:
This sentence is unconvincing, "If the right person makes it, they add just a hint of lemon zest and it really makes all the difference." (It strikes me as feminine phrasing for a feminine observation.)
But this paragraph was good, "I followed her outside and we sat down on a bench across the street from her office. For a moment I didn't say anything. I was too busy staring at her hair. I missed the way it used to hang down in her face. I missed running my fingers through it even though they got caught on all the tangles. I missed having something to hold onto."
Coleslaw Murphy in 2008
PS: I probably can't write female characters very well (or at least it would be difficult from a first person narration), I don't know, but I'm glad you challenged yourself.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2006-11-25 18:17:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I really disliked both of these. The first one didn't make sense at the end and the second one had no point.
Submitted by Spooner (user info) at 2006-11-24 10:31:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Voted for the shorter entry.
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2006-11-24 00:12:04 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by ParlorTrick (user info) at 2006-11-23 17:34:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-11-23 12:39:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Magicaddict (user info) at 2006-11-23 08:30:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Aside from the one glaring error in #1, I liked it. It has a plenty going on, and resolved well. #2 ended very abruptly, as though the author ran out of time.
Submitted by DrogoRoch (user info) at 2006-11-23 05:36:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
#2 just lost me slightly, it's probably because I'm tired this morning. it's well written I just didn't get it I guess. #1 for me.
Submitted by Siren (user info) at 2006-11-22 21:17:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Both were very good.
Submitted by coley (user info) at 2006-11-22 20:24:23 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by DonkeyOnTheEdge (user info) at 2006-11-22 17:23:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Number one was good but felt rushed.
Number two... at least it wasn't about gambling.
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2006-11-22 14:01:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Enrty 1 was very "matter of fact", no emotion.
Entry 2 felt like it had huge chunks missing.
-Dave
Submitted by Hirilnara (user info) at 2006-11-22 11:21:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
It may just be me, but I can't see what it was in the title that inspired hair cuts...
Submitted by helbling (user info) at 2006-11-22 09:18:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
#2 started well, but kinda trailed off - there didn't seem to be a conclusion, and the main character went from being an identifiable voice to a mad-man over what appeared to be a very short space of time.
#1 was very well written, but watch tenses - you switched from first to third person and back towards the end, and it threw me off. Nevertheless, it gets my vote.
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2006-11-22 03:25:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-11-21 13:07:25 (#)
Ranking: 0
...tale which could have been cut down a bit.
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2006-11-22 03:21:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
found the jack v. steve story then.
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2006-11-22 03:21:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Lombard street?
fuck off, eh.
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2006-11-22 03:20:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
a Crocodile Dundee handshake and a quick sniff will usually tell you what you need to know
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2006-11-22 01:18:21 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I'm confused. Entry 1 was hilarious. I thought it was a whole satirical bit on the typical mystery plot. And everyone's all 'THIS WAS GOOD'. Not that it wasn't good. But you know. I expected people to be all WTF THIS IS UBERMADNESS/??
I'm so confused. I don't even really get this comment. I think I need to sleep. I was so confused all day today. Perhaps I shouldn't even be commenting.
Wuteva, you guys can deal!
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2006-11-22 01:14:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by SPECIALk (user info) at 2006-11-21 21:56:05 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by charminglybeef (user info) at 2006-11-21 21:40:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by JMG114 (user info) at 2006-11-21 20:30:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Well written, entry two. Quick and to the point.
Entry one's dialogue wasn't very convincing, and the characters were hard to believe. Intriguing storyline, though.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-11-21 19:59:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Confuzitron (user info) at 2006-11-21 18:47:24 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-11-21 18:23:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by nrduncan (user info) at 2006-11-21 17:52:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by stevie_says (user info) at 2006-11-21 17:12:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-11-21 16:41:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-11-21 16:32:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
yas...numba two definately had the 'zing' factor at the end, there
Submitted by EchoBoxing (user info) at 2006-11-21 15:14:41 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
my page down key doesn't work fast enough.
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2006-11-21 14:41:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2006-11-21 13:23:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I never realized before that "high stakes" automatically meant "hair cut"
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-11-21 13:21:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I guess I'm not the only one.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-11-21 13:07:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
'High Stakes.' Women's hairstyles.
Yeah, I see THAT connection plain as day.
#1 gets it. A more solid tale which could have been cut down a bit.
Submitted by homer42 (user info) at 2006-11-21 12:01:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Tough choice... both very good. I'm going with number two.
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2006-11-21 11:43:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
These were very...Lifetime Network-ish.
#2, your characters all seemed like miserable bastards. Which is to say that as a reader I couldn't really identify with the (either?) intended protagonist.
#1, So the heroine treks off to Canada, to save her pal and her boyfriend from killing themselves, only to have her pal die anyway? She could have stayed at home and got the same outcome, but the evil boyfriend would be out of the picture too. Was the boyfriend a whore smuggler, or a heaven's gate type figure, or both? There are a bunch of plot holes there.
I'm voting for #1 because it made me think of "...and I would have gotten away with it, if it wasn't for that meddling kid!" as a punchline.
Submitted by Pentameter (user info) at 2006-11-21 11:20:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I find it pretty funny that both authors talk about haircuts. Weird.
Entry 1 has lots of symbolism, a pretty decent plot and some interesting characters.
Entry 2 is pretty predictable. There was really no twist.
Both were well written, but I'll go with entry 1 for creativity.
Submitted by JoeyG (user info) at 2006-11-21 11:13:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Tough call, but #1 gets it by a whisker.
And how in the hell with a title like "High Stakes" did you both make references to hair in the first sentence?
Submitted by The_taste_of_Monkeys (user info) at 2006-11-21 11:01:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Haircuts?
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2006-11-21 10:56:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
These were both terrible, number two was just less terrible.
Submitted by Sphagnum (user info) at 2006-11-21 10:46:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Entry 1 = Very good story.
Entry 2 didn't do it for me at all.
Submitted by orph (user info) at 2006-11-21 10:40:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I didn't like either of them - entry one - changed first person perspective on the tracks, and 2 just wasn't good.
Submitted by FunnyAsCancer (user info) at 2006-11-21 10:38:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Haircut collaboration...
#1, you win...barely.
You seemed to have a good grasp of human nature, but cliche lines like this fucked that up:
Tears filled my eyes, and I put my head down. I said between bubbling sobs, "It's all my fault. I took her for a haircut and he was standing there, he was so gorgeous and I told her to talk to him, what did she have to lose, right? Now she's missing, I made her angry and she took off and I don't know where she is!"