roina_arwen

I posted my entry over on LJ, and it’s friends locked. LJ just does a better job with poetry line breaks, or at least my theme there seems to. Here’s the link, you’re welcome to reply on either platform.

I don’t know if it will get me to round 3, but I’m very pleased with it, so it is what it is.

Entry here: https://roina-arwen.livejournal.com/1712234.html

Just got the round two assignment in my email. We have a bit under three days to submit a rhyming story, using a maximum of 500 words. There are 22 groups with 32 writers in each.

I’m in group 9, and my assignment is:
Genre: Drama
Theme: Independence
Emotion: Regretful

Per instructions: “If the assigned theme is not easily apparent and/or does not play an important role in the plot, the writer will run the risk of being disqualified.”

The emotion has to be expressed at least once in the piece; I don’t have to use that specific word as long as the emotion of regret is apparent. To quote the email: “the emotion must be expressed in the story somehow through narration, a character's actions, dialogue, or another way. If the emotion is not clearly expressed in the story, it will run the risk of being disqualified.”

Now to come up with a basic plot to base my rhyme upon. I’m considering also trying to make it an acrostic, in addition to the rhyming couplets, but I’ll have to see how that goes. Fingers crossed!!

I stand on the smoky field, surveying his unexplained
Treachery, to behold bodies rent and ruined, the
Sweet smell of decay and rot assaulting my senses.

Nowhere to be seen are the decorated generals
Of this battle - heads violently separated from
Torsos, so all are equal unto Death.

My black steed snorts and stomps his hooves,
Yearning to move forward to unblemished territory.

Famine, War, Conquest, and Death await our eventual arrival
As I raise my sword skyward and murmur a prayer for
Unappreciated soldiers, who blindly follow commands from
Leaders, and give their all with steel in their hands and hearts,
Tasked with defense and dedication to king and country.

“Yeah, I’ve had a few regrets… I just don’t want to talk about it right now,” Vic said, as he slouched down and pushed his wavy shoulder length hair away from his face.

Spotting a loose thread on the hem of his Dr. Strange T-shirt, Vic slowly and deliberately pulled at it, brow furrowed in concentration.

Glenda nodded, and scribbled a few sentences on her notepad. “We’ll come back to you,” she said, then glanced to her left. “Frank? Would you like to share something?”

Frankie ignored her and stared at his hands, trying to remove particles of imaginary dirt from beneath his pristine fingernails.

“Frank?”

He startled, and finally glanced up. “What?”

“Would you like to share any regrets you’ve been holding on to?” Glenda asked.

“Oh… uh… sure,” Frankie said, and slowly wiped the palms of his hands up and down the thighs of his freshly washed blue jeans, deep in thought. “Well, I suppose one regret is how long I hold onto grudges against people who have wronged me. I’m not one to just forgive and forget, you know?”

Glenda jotted down a few notes, including Victor’s not-so-surreptitious eye roll. “That’s a very good insight,” she replied. “Anything else?”

Frankie shook his head. “Not yet.”

Glenda swiveled her chair slightly to the right. “Victor? It’s your turn now.”

Vic sighed dramatically, and straightened up. “Fine. I regret my impulse to meddle in affairs that are beyond the ken of mortal men.”

He glanced almost sheepishly at Frank, then down at the carpeted floor. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

Frank’s watery blue eyes widened. “Pardon? I didn’t quite catch that.”

Victor looked Frank directly in the face. His angular chin and squared-off forehead gave him a perpetually stern look. “I’m sorry,” Vic repeated. “I’m sorry I tried to create life, I’m sorry I couldn’t make you the man that I envisioned. I’m sorry you’ve been treated like a monster,” he cried. He rose abruptly and strode to the window, where he stood, head down, shoulders slumped and shaking.

Frankie could see Vic’s reflection in the window. There were tears streaming down Victor’s smooth, youthful cheeks. Frank felt a few sympathetic droplets flowing down his own weather-worn face.

“It’s all my fault and I’M SORRY!” Victor stated, turning back around. He glanced at Glenda. She had happy tears in her eyes, and smiled at him, pleased with his breakthrough.

Frank stood, unfolding his burly form from the chair, and rose to his full eight feet of height. He enveloped the smaller man in a hug. “I forgive you,” he said softly, and thumped him on the back. “Truly, Victor Frankenstein, I do.”

My Flash Fiction round two story “The Hunger” (which you can read here: https://roina-arwen.dreamwidth.org/7483.html) actually got 12th place in my group, and earned me four points (1st place gets 15 points, and the points go down from there).

On the one hand, that’s an improvement from round one - yay!!
On the other hand, since round one netted me 0 points, my total points for both rounds (which is four) is not enough to get me into the top 5 for my group, so I’m not advancing to the next round.

But hey!! Twelfth is a huge improvement, so I’ll take it!

*Boogie*

Author’s Note: Please read entry 18a, “Swim Until You Can’t See Land” first. You can find it here: https://roina-arwen.dreamwidth.org/8266.html
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Darya knelt at the edge of the forest, nervously folding and unfolding her tear-dampened handkerchief while she waited for the first light of dawn. Before her, the Sacred Sea glinted silver in the bright moonlight. The weather predictions had been correct - the sky was cloudless, and perfect for her needs.

On the ground next to Darya lay a sharp pair of shears. She toyed with the end of her long, blonde braid as she thought through her actions and expectations. She loved Pyotr more than life itself, but his heart had been broken too many times.

Her greatest desire was to help piece his fragile heart back together, to make him capable of loving her fully.

That thought was all Darya needed to spur her to pick up the shears and cut a long ribbon from the colorfully dyed handkerchief. She blotted her tears one last time, stood, and tied the ribbon to the branch of a larch tree near the shore of the lake.
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She wore Mom Jeans with pride,
sometimes layered under her dress.
She had several which laced up the side,
much to her daughter’s distress.

As she strode briskly down the hall,
she activated her blue Heelys.
The extra speed was such a ball,
and she enjoyed popping wheelies!

She missed the days of Gangsta Rap
and the angsty lyrics of Grunge.
The silicone bracelet her wrist did slap,
when she practiced her Zumba lunge.

As a doctor, she loved SoBe Pure Rush,
an energy drink in Appleberry Burst.
It was hella good and the caffeine did gush -
while it also alleviated her thirst.

Checking the vitals of her Tomagotchi,
she tried hard not to expose her -
her digital pet thrived, attention was key,
but her detractors would call her a poseur.

She approached the ER, and was saved by the bell,
when her name resounded over the announcer.
She responded at the desk, and was heard to tell,
“Yes indeed - I’m Cheugy Howser!”

Just checked on my Flash Fiction Round two assignment, which I have 48 hours to write and submit.

Maximum length is 1000 words.

My Genre is HORROR
My Location is “A club meeting”
My Object is “a welcome mat.”

I mean, it could be a Horror writer’s club with a welcome mat by the door, and perhaps someone is going “10 Little Indians” on them, but sheesh…

Ideas are welcome!

Cracking my toe on the iron table leg, I
Utter blasphemous words, loudly,
Releasing my agony and frustration.
Shit, why wasn’t I more careful?
Everything is flooded in red, as pain
Suffuses all colors and thought patterns.

Frak, fuck, phooey, and fiddlesticks -
One word works as well as another,
If said with the proper tone and emphasis.
Lo, I hadn’t planned on using any of these
Euphemisms today, but when injury strikes,
Damn those uncultured phrases all to hell!

As I stretch out on the sofa, my toe throbs angrily.
Groaning, my orange cat decides I’m ripe for pouncing.
Argh. It’s not her fault I’m in such a tender state.
I wince, take a deep breath, and pet her gently.
Not knowing about my toe, she blankets me with purrs.

Sovann wanted desperately to be a Matriarch. Her great grandmother had received the honor, but neither her grandmother nor mother had qualified for the esteemed title.

As a descendant of Matriarch Audrea, the females in her line had received many privileges, such as better educational opportunities, larger living quarters near the Capital, and extra subsistence credits.

Sovann was nervous because she was the third generation removed, which meant those extra blessings would end tomorrow, on her fortieth birthday, if she was unable to meet the qualifications. She wanted so much to have a say in her government, and the Council of Matriarchs was an important part of the process.

She gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her dark ebony skin was unblemished, and her waist-long mahogany hair was as fine as watered silk. Her bright amber eyes were her favorite feature, and Sovann subtly applied pale gold eyeshadow to play them up. Once she was satisfied, she straightened her long white and silver dress, stepped in to her soft-soled silvery shoes, and reported to work at the embassy.

Sovann strode down the expansive hallway, her thoughts occupied by her two daughters. Her eldest, Audriana, had recently finished her education, married, and started her own career, so her life would not be affected very much if Sovann did not succeed in becoming a Matriarch. However, her younger child, Zarina, would likely have to change schools, to one with fewer educators per child, and they would need to move to a smaller domicile by the end of the year. With a worried sigh, she sat down at her desk to read through and process the pile of paperwork that was waiting for her.

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