[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ admin_label=”Header” _builder_version=”4.27.7″ background_color=”gcid-8bfe4d49-8cdd-45d9-85c0-5709cc4a2522″ overflow-x=”hidden” overflow-y=”hidden” custom_padding=”3vw||3vw||true|false” global_colors_info=”{%22gcid-8bfe4d49-8cdd-45d9-85c0-5709cc4a2522%22:%91%22background_color%22%93}”][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.16″ global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.16″ global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/masterscribbler.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/02\/freelance-writer-05.png” title_text=”freelance-writer-05″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ width=”100%” custom_margin=”-52px|||-18vw|false|false” custom_margin_phone=”|||-380px|false|false” custom_margin_last_edited=”off|desktop” custom_padding=”0px||||false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_image][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ text_font=”Cutive Mono||||||||” text_text_color=”rgba(0,0,0,0.04)” text_font_size=”9vw” text_letter_spacing=”-0.12em” text_line_height=”0.6em” header_2_text_color=”#000000″ transform_scale=”160%|160%” positioning=”absolute” position_origin_a=”top_right” min_height=”1000px” height=”1000px” max_height=”1000px” custom_margin=”273px|0vw|-6px||false|false” custom_padding=”|||0px|false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ text_font_size_tablet=”150px” text_font_size_phone=”100px” text_font_size_last_edited=”off|phone” global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n
Belle-Lettres<\/p>\n
[\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ text_font_size=”8px” header_font=”Cutive Mono||||||||” header_text_color=”#000000″ header_font_size=”66px” header_letter_spacing=”-0.1em” header_2_text_color=”#000000″ z_index=”1″ max_width=”800px” custom_margin=”4px||-71px|-246px|false|false” custom_padding=”22px||0px||false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ header_font_size_tablet=”64px” header_font_size_phone=”32px” header_font_size_last_edited=”on|phone” header_letter_spacing_tablet=”-8px” header_letter_spacing_phone=”-4px” header_letter_spacing_last_edited=”off|tablet” global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n
[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section][et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ admin_label=”Header” _builder_version=”4.16″ overflow-x=”hidden” overflow-y=”hidden” custom_padding=”||0px|||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.16″ custom_padding=”0px||6px|||” locked=”off” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.16″ global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ header_2_font=”Ubuntu|300|||||||” header_2_text_align=”center” header_2_font_size=”23px” header_3_font=”Cutive||||||||” header_3_font_size=”27px” header_3_letter_spacing=”1px” header_3_line_height=”1.6em” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n
[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section][et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ admin_label=”Services” _builder_version=”4.16″ custom_padding=”0px|||||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_row make_equal=”on” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ custom_padding=”||0px|||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.16″ background_image=”https:\/\/masterscribbler.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/02\/freelance-writer-04.png” background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_right” background_last_edited=”on|phone” background_position_phone=”top_left” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ header_3_font=”Baskervville|500|||||||” header_3_line_height=”1.5em” background_enable_image=”off” background_size=”initial” background_position=”center_right” text_orientation=”right” hover_enabled=”0″ header_3_font_size_last_edited=”off|phone” text_orientation_tablet=”left” text_orientation_phone=”” text_orientation_last_edited=”on|tablet” global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
[\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ text_font=”Cutive||||||||” text_text_color=”#000000″ text_line_height=”2em” header_2_text_color=”#000000″ custom_margin=”-105px||20px||false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ text_font_size_tablet=”” text_font_size_phone=”13px” text_font_size_last_edited=”on|phone” global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n
Who says creative writing belongs only in books?<\/span><\/p>\n A love letter that makes someone swoon. A breakup letter that says everything you couldn’t quite find the words for. A wedding speech that brings down the house. A birthday tribute that has everyone laughing one minute and reaching for tissues the next.<\/span><\/p>\n Sometimes the most memorable stories are written for one person, one occasion, or one unforgettable moment.<\/span><\/p>\n Whether you’re looking for something funny, romantic, sentimental, witty, or wonderfully outrageous, I can help you find just the right words.<\/span><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_button button_url=”https:\/\/masterscribbler.com\/contact\/” button_text=”Have Something to Say? Let’s make it Memorable!” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_button][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section][et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ admin_label=”Blog” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ min_height=”100px” height=”892px” custom_margin=”0px||-1px||false|false” custom_padding=”0px||213px|||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.16″ custom_padding=”||0px|||” locked=”off” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.16″ global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ header_2_font=”Cutive Mono|700|||||||” header_2_text_align=”left” header_2_text_color=”#000000″ header_2_font_size=”45px” header_2_letter_spacing=”-0.08em” background_image=”https:\/\/masterscribbler.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/image-14.png” background_size=”custom” background_image_width=”50%” background_image_height=”41%” background_position=”bottom_left” z_index=”1″ text_orientation=”center” custom_margin=”|||-103px|false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ header_2_font_size_tablet=”60px” header_2_font_size_phone=”30px” header_2_font_size_last_edited=”on|desktop” header_2_letter_spacing_tablet=”-6px” header_2_letter_spacing_last_edited=”off|phone” locked=”off” global_colors_info=”{}” header_2_2_font_size_tablet=”60px” header_3_2_font_size_tablet=”60px” header_4_2_font_size_tablet=”60px” header_5_2_font_size_tablet=”60px” header_6_2_font_size_tablet=”60px” header_2_2_font_size_phone=”30px” header_3_2_font_size_phone=”30px” header_4_2_font_size_phone=”30px” header_5_2_font_size_phone=”30px” header_6_2_font_size_phone=”30px” header_2_2_font_size_last_edited=”on|phone” header_3_2_font_size_last_edited=”on|phone” header_4_2_font_size_last_edited=”on|phone” header_5_2_font_size_last_edited=”on|phone” header_6_2_font_size_last_edited=”on|phone” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Ubuntu||||||||” text_text_color=”#000000″ text_font_size=”16px” header_2_font=”Cutive Mono|700|||||||” custom_margin=”||3px|-103px|false|false” custom_padding=”||2px|||” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n A fun way to challenge your creativity. You’re given a genre, an action and a word that must be incorporated into your story.<\/p>\n Thousands of writers participate, all over the world, with forums to share, advise, encourage, and chat about our love of words.<\/p>\n I enjoy trying to write in new genres, ones I may not have otherwise tried. Add in the word count limit and the little time given, it really gets the juices flowing and challenges the mind to envision a story, and make it Belle!<\/p>\n <\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”|||-103px|false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” header_2_font=”Cutive||||||||” header_2_text_color=”#000000″ header_2_font_size=”24px” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=”1_4,3_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”1_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/masterscribbler.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/10\/Peony.png” title_text=”Peony” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” transform_scale=”122%|122%” width=”98%” height=”273px” custom_margin=”7px|||22px|false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”3_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”|||0px|false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Cutive||||||||” text_text_color=”#000000″ text_line_height=”1.8em” header_3_font=”Cutive Mono|700|||||||” header_3_text_color=”#000000″ header_3_font_size=”20px” background_color=”#FFFFFF” background_enable_image=”off” custom_margin=”-22px|||||” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n **Placed in Top 20, onwards to round 2<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n Happy Anniversary<\/strong><\/p>\n For five years now she kept this appointment. She set the table for two. Two plates from her mother\u2019s favourite china, two forks by their sides, and one blush peony. The oven beeped. She pulled out the cake, frosted it, then piped three words.<\/span><\/p>\n With the cake on the table, the five candles lit, she whispered \u201cI love you. Happy anniversary you two.\u201d She turned off the light and went to bed.<\/span><\/p>\n The kitchen chilled. The two chairs pulled out, and the candles flickered. \u201cShe\u2019s a wonderful daughter,\u201d they whispered, then kissed over the three words, \u2018Love Never Dies\u2019.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”0px|||||” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_toggle title=”Judges’ Comments” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”-26px|||||” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{%22gcid-8bfe4d49-8cdd-45d9-85c0-5709cc4a2522%22:%91%22closed_toggle_background_color%22%93}” sticky_enabled=”0″ toggle_icon=”P||divi||400″ open_toggle_background_color=”#FFFFFF” closed_toggle_background_color=”gcid-8bfe4d49-8cdd-45d9-85c0-5709cc4a2522″ open_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ title_text_color=”#000000″ title_font=”Cutive||||||||” icon_color=”#000000″ closed_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ closed_title_font=”Cutive||||||||” body_font=”Cutive||||||||” use_icon_font_size=”on” icon_font_size=”18px” open_icon_color=”#000000″ open_toggle_icon=”O||divi||400″ open_use_icon_font_size=”on” open_icon_font_size=”18px”]<\/p>\n Judge #1<\/p>\n The story is touching and sweet. The first paragraph deftly builds the scene, adding details that gradually draw the reader further in with each sentence. It’s a good touch that when she pipes three words, what those words are is not revealed; this serves to stir the reader’s curiosity, and makes it satisfying when the words are revealed in the end.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Judge #2<\/span><\/p>\n This story plants the information of the main character piping “three words” on the cake, then effectively utilizes that end of this story as an opportunity for a dramatic ghostly reveal. This storytelling tool is engaging, and the reader is invested in the mystery of these three words. I encourage the reader to continue taking their time in building this suspense and leaning into how they can keep the reader engaged and curious.<\/span><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_toggle][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”5px|||||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_divider _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_divider][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=”3_4,1_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”|auto|-13px|auto||” global_colors_info=”{}” custom_padding=”0px|||||”][et_pb_column type=”3_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”|||0px|false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Cutive||||||||” text_text_color=”#000000″ text_line_height=”1.8em” header_3_font=”Cutive Mono|700|||||||” header_3_text_color=”#000000″ header_3_font_size=”20px” background_color=”#FFFFFF” background_enable_image=”off” min_height=”516.6px” custom_margin=”-18px|||||” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n **Round 2 – Placed Honourable Mention (6th – Top 5 moved on to 3rd final round.)<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n Black and Blue<\/strong><\/p>\n Disguised by night, he stared up at Jason\u2019s apartment and tipped back his beer.<\/p>\n Today had been his first patrol with two cops who beat a man.<\/p>\n \u201cTeaching mouthy fag a lesson.\u201d<\/p>\n His partner joined in. The man rolled over.<\/p>\n Jason\u2019s swollen eyes pleaded with him. He put in his kick, holding back force.<\/p>\n They laughed. He laughed too, but his soul cried.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t worry. Blue code of silence.\u201d \u00a0They left Jason bloody, face in the dirt.<\/p>\n He watched Jason\u2019s bedroom window go dark and smashed the bottle.<\/p>\n Jason was his first real love. He could never face him again.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/masterscribbler.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/10\/Police-Cap-and-Baton-on-Bloodstained-Concrete.png” title_text=”Police Cap and Baton on Bloodstained Concrete” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” transform_scale=”164%|164%” width=”100%” height=”273px” custom_margin=”72px|4px||-74px|false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_toggle title=”Judges’ Comments” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”-72px||10px|||” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” icon_color=”#000000″ toggle_icon=”P||divi||400″ open_icon_color=”#000000″ open_toggle_icon=”O||divi||400″ use_icon_font_size=”on” icon_font_size=”18px” open_use_icon_font_size=”on” open_icon_font_size=”18px” open_toggle_background_color=”#FFFFFF” closed_toggle_background_color=”#7DC4EE” open_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ title_text_color=”#000000″ title_font=”Cutive||||||||” body_font=”Cutive||||||||” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n Judge #1<\/p>\n The story’s midsection had wonderful subtlety, describing the officers’ actions but keeping the focus on Jason. It was a very contemporary plot but seeing it through the protagonist’s eyes made it a unique tragedy.<\/span><\/p>\n The forced laugh was used to great effect. Imagining Jason hearing the protagonist’s chuckle was quite heart-wrenching.<\/span><\/p>\n Judge #2\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Wow. This was a compelling, disturbing story. The description of the attack on Jason was very brutal and raw. I loved the sentence “He laughed too, but his soul cried”. The ending was very powerful, with the revelation that Jason had been his first love, and he had joined the other policemen in brutally beating him up.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_toggle][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_divider _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”-54px|||||” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_divider][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=”1_2,1_2″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” min_height=”902.7px” custom_margin=”8px|auto|-120px|auto|false|false” custom_padding=”||0px|||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”1_2″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/masterscribbler.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/10\/Rhino-Farewell-at-Golden-Hour.png” title_text=”Rhino Farewell at Golden Hour” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” transform_scale=”110%|110%” width=”100%” height=”273px” custom_margin=”-61px|57px||35px|false|false” custom_padding=”|79px||||” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_2″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”|||0px|false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Cutive||||||||” text_text_color=”#000000″ header_3_font=”Cutive Mono|700|||||||” header_3_text_color=”#000000″ background_color=”#FFFFFF” background_enable_image=”off” custom_margin=”-84px|||||” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″ text_line_height=”1.8em” header_3_font_size=”20px”]<\/p>\n <\/strong><\/p>\n Sudan, The last Rhino<\/strong><\/p>\n A majestic giant. His roughly scarred horn. His companion scratched his skin. The extinction witnessed. His horn into wet cement. Sudan, last and beloved. [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_toggle title=”Judges’ Comments” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”-41px|||||” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″ icon_color=”#000000″ toggle_icon=”P||divi||400″ use_icon_font_size=”on” icon_font_size=”18px” open_icon_color=”#000000″ open_toggle_icon=”O||divi||400″ open_use_icon_font_size=”on” open_icon_font_size=”18px” open_toggle_background_color=”#FFFFFF” closed_toggle_background_color=”#7DC4EE” open_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ title_text_color=”#000000″ title_font=”Cutive||||||||”]<\/p>\n Judge #1<\/p>\n There is something deeply, genuinely moving about the dynamic in this story, while the nature of the beast that it features sets it apart in a unique way. The inscription in cement is an especially poignant climax with a lasting impact that resonates.<\/span><\/p>\n Judge #2<\/span><\/p>\n This is a beautiful and touching story\/poem that has emotional weight, social relevance and almost an epic\/mythological feel to it. Really nice work.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_toggle][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”3px|||||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_divider _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”||-49px|||” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” show_divider=”off” sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_divider][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”0px|||||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” header_2_font=”Cutive||||on|||#000000|” header_3_font=”Cutive Mono|700|||||||” custom_margin=”|||-103px|false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″ header_2_font_size=”24px”]<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=”3_4,1_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”|auto|-13px|auto||” custom_padding=”||6px|||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”3_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”|93px||0px|false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Cutive||||||||” text_text_color=”#000000″ header_3_font=”Cutive Mono|700|||||||” header_3_text_color=”#000000″ background_color=”#FFFFFF” background_enable_image=”off” custom_margin=”-34px|||||” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” text_line_height=”1.8em” sticky_enabled=”0″ header_3_font_size=”20px”]<\/p>\n <\/em><\/p>\n Tempted by the Fruit of Another<\/strong><\/p>\n f**k f**k f**k!!<\/p>\n Each time he awoke, those were his first words. Shoulders on fire, legs like lead, wrists and ankles tied to the bed. How many days had it been? Blindfolded, day and night were one. He cursed at his stupidity. He was such a schmuck. How could he have fallen for it? Blondes. Always drop-dead gorgeous blondes. And now he was about to drop dead. Laying in his own piss, soaked through the mattress. Nobody came. Damn the thousand rooms behemoth hotel pleasure land that was Las Vegas. What\u2019s another Do Not Disturb sign on a door? He wouldn\u2019t be missed.<\/p>\n He had promised. It wouldn\u2019t happen again. He wouldn\u2019t come back here. He swore on the children, begging on his knees. She had been furious. She screeched. She cried. She threw things. He was an idiot, a buffoon, a sad sack of a man. He wasn\u2019t sure what scared him more. Dying here in his own filth, or having his brunette wife leave him. She had promised, one more time and I\u2019m gone.\u00a0 Unlike him, she was good on promises.<\/p>\n Try, remember. Blonde, bar, martinis, laughing, kissing, throwing down money, elevator, fumbling with clothes against the door, opening, then tumbling. The ringing of his head hitting the floor, blackness. Blurry, the blonde gathering his clothes, his Rolex loosened, his limbs stretched\u2026 simultaneously? \u2026she wasn\u2019t alone! A different scent, familiar. Laughter. A scarf. And darkness ever since.<\/p>\n Wait! Before the darkness. In the corner. A figure. A brunette?<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”|||0px|false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/masterscribbler.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/10\/Screenshot-2026-10-09-at-17.02.57.png” title_text=”Screenshot 2026-10-09 at 17.02.57″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” transform_scale=”162%|162%” width=”100%” height=”198px” custom_margin=”33px|1px||-72px|false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” min_height=”157px” custom_margin=”||-60px||false|false” custom_padding=”||18px|||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_toggle title=”Judges’ Comments” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” icon_color=”#000000″ toggle_icon=”P||divi||400″ use_icon_font_size=”on” icon_font_size=”18px” open_icon_color=”#000000″ open_toggle_icon=”O||divi||400″ open_use_icon_font_size=”on” open_icon_font_size=”19px” open_toggle_background_color=”#FFFFFF” closed_toggle_background_color=”#7DC4EE” open_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ title_text_color=”#000000″ title_font=”Cutive||||||||” closed_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ closed_title_font=”Cutive||||||||” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n Judge #1<\/p>\n You have a great eye for detail. This is a very cool, original concept. You incorporated all of the three contest elements very well.<\/span><\/p>\n Judge #2<\/span><\/p>\n I really enjoyed this story. It was not the first one I read about an author\u2019s character\u2019s coming to life and taking revenge on their creator but I must say it was the most well executed, plainly because I wasn\u2019t sure that that was going to happen until we meet the first one. Also, the suspense you developed in such a short time was really great.<\/span><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_toggle][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_divider _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” show_divider=”off” sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_divider][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”0px|||||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” header_2_font=”Cutive||||on||||” header_3_font=”Cutive Mono|700|||||||” custom_margin=”|||-103px|false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” header_2_text_color=”#000000″ header_2_font_size=”24px” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=”1_4,3_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”|auto|-13px|auto||” custom_padding=”||79px|||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”1_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/masterscribbler.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/10\/Feline-Speed-Dating-in-the-Park.png” title_text=”Feline Speed Dating in the Park” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” transform_scale=”152%|152%” width=”100%” height=”198px” custom_margin=”23px|1px||58px|false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”3_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”|||63px|false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Cutive||||||||” text_text_color=”#000000″ header_3_font=”Cutive Mono|700|||||||” header_3_text_color=”#000000″ background_color=”#FFFFFF” background_enable_image=”off” custom_margin=”-34px|||31px|false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” text_line_height=”1.8em” header_3_font_size=”20px” sticky_enabled=”0″ header_font_size=”29px”]<\/p>\n Amour<\/strong><\/p>\n A pussy with no confidence gets no love.<\/p>\n Chanel is hopeful and excited to meet someone special at the event. It\u2019s been too long since she had a lover and she is feeling super frisky. She finishes a meaty meal from her silverware, bathes herself meticulously and adorns herself with her jeweled collar. She is going to shine. She languidly stretches her long and lean muscles. Her eyes are clear sky blue. How could anyone resist her?\u00a0 Pausing to look in the mirror on the way out, she admires her shiny soft white fur coat. She looks glorious.<\/p>\n At the park colorful characters size each other up. Some are nose to nose, others are slyly sniffing out the potential scent of chemistry. She sways her backside to catch the sparkle in her pure white, garnering more than one curious admirer. Who is this mysterious beauty?\u00a0 Let the games begin.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_toggle title=”Read More ” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”|||30px|false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” icon_color=”#000000″ toggle_icon=”"||divi||400″ use_icon_font_size=”on” icon_font_size=”18px” open_icon_color=”#000000″ open_toggle_icon=”!||divi||400″ open_use_icon_font_size=”on” open_icon_font_size=”18px” closed_toggle_background_color=”rgba(125,196,238,0.53)” open_toggle_background_color=”#FFFFFF” open_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ title_text_color=”#000000″ title_font=”Cutive||||||||” closed_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ closed_title_font=”Cutive||||||||” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n Females are told to pick a red ribbon marked spot in the park; a bench, a picnic table, a tree. The males will come visit the females.<\/p>\n Chanel chooses the park bench. Her luxurious white fur coat will not sit under a tree on the ground. How gauche!!\u00a0 Head up high, looking down her perk pinkish nose she thinks, let them come. She is a gem! They will instantly get lost in her big baby blues and hopefully even scrap over her.<\/p>\n Round one and Chanel is alone. She sits back nonchalantly and tosses her head, watching the dancing circle of romance.<\/p>\n Round two and again, nothing.\u00a0 What??\u00a0 The other females are quite ordinary. No alluring collars, no fine luxurious coat like hers. Was she too intimidating or too gorgeous? If nothing on the next round she will leave. Dismiss the whole speed-meet event as beneath her.<\/p>\n A big red comes bounding. He is robust, rounder than she likes and a little rough, like a hunter, not a lounger. On closer inspection he is more dirty orange and has short stumpy whiskers.<\/p>\n \u201cHey there sweet thing\u201d he jumps up and plops himself down beside her. \u201cWhat is a fine one like you doing in a park like this?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m looking for a lover.\u201d Chanel purrs.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m Romeo of the river. Traveling on my boat I meet many a lass. They are enthralled by my abilities\u201d<\/p>\n Chanel feels a strong scent of rotted fish wafting towards her. Ewww, stinky!! This is NOT going to happen.<\/p>\n \u201cOne swift motion and I can smack out a fresh fish. A steady supply of fresh sushi, skin and bones included of course!\u201d<\/p>\n He licks his hand brushing it over his face and slicks back his brows giving her a wink, while he flicks his red tongue over his lips.<\/p>\n Chanel, suffocating from the smell of fish, turns her head. She points her nose upwards trying to grasp any whiff of park air to save her senses. Red shakes his head and slinks away.<\/p>\n Next a sleek black panther comes over, swinging himself up gracefully, he leans in and takes a long slow inhale of her. Narrowing his bright yellow eyes he whispers \u201cHow would you like a long black exotic. I\u2019m a Bombay you know. I have talents you\u2019ve probably never even heard of. Go black and never go back my love!\u201d He sticks his nose into her neck, rubbing himself against her.<\/p>\n Chanel pulls back, affronted by such forwardness. Is he a player of all the pretties? Going around the neighborhood visiting and leaving his scent in each spot, marking his personal territory? No, she decides, she will pass on Mr. Bombay.\u00a0 She is not going to be one of several. She was warned that the deep dark ones like the Bombays are known to be bad luck. She will not have one cross her.<\/p>\n A sturdy grey and white tuxedoed Russian saunters over. Blue eyes and so well groomed, she can feel his magnetism and charm before he arrives. He sits close to her, but does not touch her.\u00a0 Her hair stands up at the back of her neck. He slicks back his whiskers, first the right side then the left. He doesn\u2019t say anything but holds her gaze, staring deeply into her soul. He leans in to her ear and says in sing-song \u201cWe are obviously a different breed than this scraggly litter. Come visit my manse. Let me show you some luxury and adore you the way you are meant to be adored\u201d<\/p>\n Chanel\u2019s heart races. He takes her breath away. She promises to meet there in an hour.<\/p>\n On the way Chanel decides to get a gift for her new amour. Something she thinks will show him how she takes care of things at home. She arrives at the door flap at the allotted time and gives out a sweet and soft mew announcing her arrival.<\/p>\n She slinks her way in. He is waiting for her. Smiling ear to ear he raises his paw to pat her. \u201cSo pleased you could make it my pet. Let me show you my castle of amour\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat would be lovely. I brought you a little gift.\u201d<\/p>\n The Russian tilts his head and topples over the bag digging his head in to take a look. His head pops out with a look of disgust on his face.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat is this?? A MOUSETRAP?? Do you think I live in a dirty manse filled with mice?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh no! I thought you\u2019d appreciate having a mousetrap do the work. We who are so luxurious should not do work ourselves.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDo you wish me to be tossed as irrelevant? You think I\u2019m incapable? A hulking Russian like me? I am a great hunter! Descendant of a strong Russian line of hunters!! You have thoroughly insulted me! You must leave!\u201d He turns his body and shows her his backside.<\/p>\n Chanel starts but instead turns to leave. As she reaches the door flap, Russian turns around, flicks his tail in the air and says \u201cI cannot stand a pussy with no confidence in her lover!\u201d<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_toggle][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”-69px|auto||auto||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_toggle title=”Judges’ Comments” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” icon_color=”#000000″ toggle_icon=”P||divi||400″ use_icon_font_size=”on” icon_font_size=”18px” open_icon_color=”#000000″ open_toggle_icon=”O||divi||400″ open_use_icon_font_size=”on” open_icon_font_size=”18px” open_toggle_background_color=”#FFFFFF” closed_toggle_background_color=”#7dc4ee” open_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ title_text_color=”#000000″ title_font=”Cutive||||||||” closed_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ closed_title_font=”Cutive||||||||” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n Judge #1<\/p>\n This story is witty and imaginative. Spelling is perfect, characterisation good. I liked the opening paragraph which pulled me straight into the story.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Judge #2<\/span><\/p>\n Great control of the metaphor for most of this\u2014especially in the opening and middle, where the protagonist could be a woman, or a cat–and all those she meets could be man or cat. The parallels are spot on. And the voice engaging.<\/span><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_toggle][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_divider _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”-23px||-17px|||” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_divider][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=”3_4,1_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”|auto|-13px|auto||” custom_padding=”||79px|||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”3_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”|95px||0px|false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Cutive||||||||” text_text_color=”#000000″ header_3_font=”Cutive Mono|700|||||||” header_3_text_color=”#000000″ background_color=”#FFFFFF” background_enable_image=”off” custom_margin=”-54px|||||” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” text_line_height=”1.8em” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n Placed Top Ten, On to next round<\/em><\/p>\n A Quest for Treasure<\/strong><\/p>\n Defeating a beast can win you a treasure.<\/p>\n One by one they descended the steps into the darkness. Sam led his middle brother Charlie, who was followed by the youngest, Lenny. They were on a quest.<\/p>\n For show and tell, Kevin, Sam\u2019s arch rival in the trailer park, had produced a gold ring and told a story of fighting back the beasts of the tunnel, an underground sewer, reputed to hide creatures big and small, and by some stories, an actual bear. Sam wasn\u2019t going to be shown up and recruited his brothers for their treasure hunt.<\/p>\n Lenny climbed down the last four steps. Charlie put his arm around his shoulders.<\/p>\n \u201cOk, remember the rules. We gotta stay to the right, by the wall and not fall into the water to avoid water creatures. Plus, mom will kill us if we get wet.\u201d Sam turned on the flashlight, illuminating his face.\u00a0 \u201cLet\u2019s put on our gear and start hunting.\u201d<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_toggle title=”Read More ” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”-3px||-62px||false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” icon_color=”#000000″ toggle_icon=”"||divi||400″ use_icon_font_size=”on” icon_font_size=”18px” open_icon_color=”#000000″ open_toggle_icon=”!||divi||400″ open_use_icon_font_size=”on” open_icon_font_size=”18px” open_toggle_background_color=”#FFFFFF” closed_toggle_background_color=”RGBA(125,196,238,0.53)” open_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ title_text_color=”#000000″ title_font=”Cutive||||||||” closed_title_font=”Cutive||||||||” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n They reached into their pockets and pulled out their swimming nose guards. They donned their goggles and pulled out yellow rubber gloves. They were ready for the beasts.<\/p>\n \u201cBoys, keep your weapons at the ready, your eyes ahead and stay close\u201d Sam ordered.<\/p>\n Sam wielded his BB gun in front of him. Charlie, his rolling pin and Lenny, stuck to the back of Charlie, held his fly swatter.<\/p>\n They moved slowly while Sam waved the flashlight sweeping the width of the tunnel. At twenty feet when Sam stopped.<\/p>\n \u201cShhhhh. Listen.\u201d Sam heard scurrying, then he felt it cross his foot. Followed by another. Rats, with bright red flashing eyes were looking up at him, their tails whipping against his ankle. He took a step back. He could feel Charlie\u2019s breath on his neck. Sam raising the light ahead and coming at them was a moving wave of brown, speckled with red. Sam jumped back, crushing Charlie against the wall and screamed \u201cRats!!\u201d. Lenny, who was cowering behind his two older brothers, tried to step back and tumbled falling to the ground screeching and swatting the air with his weapon.<\/p>\n Sam saw the red fly swatter in the air above the rushing wave of fur and shot off his gun, while Charlie reached under grabbing Lenny\u2019s hand and pulling him up. They brushed him off and huddled together until the last of the rats had passed.<\/p>\n \u201cYou guys ok?\u201d Sam asked.<\/p>\n \u201cUh, yeah,\u201d Charlie answered, looking to Lenny\u2019s face. Lenny look terrified and didn\u2019t say a word.<\/p>\n \u201cLenny, its ok. We\u2019ve passed our first challenge. I think you got some with your swatter. You are a brave explorer.\u201d Sam said, patting Lenny on his shoulders. Lenny tried to smile. \u201cLet\u2019s get our treasure and get out of here, ok?\u201d. Lenny nodded.<\/p>\n They forged ahead until the wall opened up. Sam put his finger to his lips and motioned to his brothers. He flashed light around the corner and saw a black mound on the ground. He whispered to his brothers \u201cThe bear!\u201d<\/p>\n Sam, crouched and peering around the corner, kept the light low on the ground and saw a round object and what looked like a strap. He leaned in further and then he saw it. Just poking out from under the black mound was a hand. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The bear had eaten someone! He had left something behind. A treasure!<\/p>\n He whispered to Charlie to crouch down ahead of him. And told Lenny to stay on watch for the rats if they returned.<\/p>\n \u201cSee that round object? And the strap? I want you to reach and try to catch it. It must have belonged to the man.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat man?\u201d asked Charlie, who was beginning to doubt the whole quest. \u201cIf it\u2019s the bear\u201d he hissed, \u201cShouldn\u2019t we get out of here?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll explain later. The bear is sleeping now. I\u2019ll be above you watching him and if he moves, I\u2019ll shoot him. The sooner we get it the sooner we get out, ok?\u201d<\/p>\n Charlie lay down on the ground and reached as far as he dared with his arm, hoping the rolling pin would reach the strap. It did. Dragging it slowly Charlie could hear his heartbeat in his ears.<\/p>\n Sam, with the light poised on the object, and his gun pointed at the bear, held his breath. He could feel his sweat roll down his back.<\/p>\n As the strap was pulled, it slid out from under the hand. The bear moved and growled.<\/p>\n \u201cPull it Charlie, pull!!\u201d Sam screamed as he shot at the bear. Charlie reached, grabbing the strap with his hands, got up and ran. Lenny, seeing Charlie head for the entrance, wasted no time in following. They could hear more growling and Sam shooting. \u201cGo! Go! Go!\u201d The bear had awoken!<\/p>\n The boys ran back to the ladder and climbed up, almost on top of each other. They slammed shut the sewer grate and took off home. They stopped at the back of their trailer, heaving and unable to speak. But their eyes spoke to each other. They saw the bear! It exists! And it didn\u2019t eat them! They are alive! They took off their gloves and goggles, (the rolling pin and swatter left behind on their life saving dash), and tossed them under the trailer. Sam held up the strap. It was attached to a canteen. They screwed open the top and took a whiff. Booze. Sam was beaming.<\/p>\n \u201cWe got our treasure. The bear must\u2019ve eaten the man who owned this canteen. Maybe he was also a great explorer. It\u2019s our legacy now. Wait \u2018til everyone hears about this!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBoys, lunch is ready!\u201d Their mom called from inside. Sam hid the canteen under the trailer.<\/p>\n In the sewer, Jack a homeless man, wrapped in a dirty old velvety blanket sat up examining his body. Did someone just try to shoot me? He reached for his canteen but it wasn\u2019t there. His head fell back and he let out a guttural groan.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_toggle][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”|12px||0px|false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/masterscribbler.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/10\/Tunnel-Quest_-Shadows-in-the-Sewer.png” title_text=”Tunnel Quest_ Shadows in the Sewer” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” transform_scale=”174%|174%” width=”100%” height=”198px” custom_margin=”42px|1px||-65px|false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_toggle title=”Judges’ Comments” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” icon_color=”#000000″ toggle_icon=”P||divi||400″ use_icon_font_size=”on” icon_font_size=”18px” open_icon_color=”#000000″ open_toggle_icon=”O||divi||400″ open_use_icon_font_size=”on” open_icon_font_size=”18px” open_toggle_background_color=”#FFFFFF” closed_toggle_background_color=”#7DC4EE” open_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ title_text_color=”#000000″ title_font=”Cutive||||||||” closed_title_font=”Cutive||||||||” closed_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n Judge #1<\/p>\n I laughed at the boys’ weapons. The prose is solid. The unexpected and amusing ending has a strong sense of resolution.<\/span><\/p>\n Judge #2<\/span><\/p>\n This is an interesting story, plenty of action for three young boys. A real adventure tale.\u00a0 The narrative is descriptive making it easy to visualize the scenes.\u00a0 The denouement rounds it off nicely.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_toggle][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_divider _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”-19px|||||” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_divider][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=”1_4,3_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” min_height=”467.9px” custom_margin=”80px|auto|-13px|auto||” custom_padding=”||79px|||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”1_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/masterscribbler.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/10\/Dancing-Through-Golden-Memories.png” title_text=”Dancing Through Golden Memories” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” transform_scale=”152%|152%” width=”100%” height=”198px” custom_margin=”-71px|1px||60px|false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”3_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”|||0px|false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Cutive||||||||” text_text_color=”#000000″ header_3_font=”Cutive Mono|700|||||||” header_3_text_color=”#000000″ background_color=”#FFFFFF” background_enable_image=”off” custom_margin=”-127px|||87px|false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” text_line_height=”1.8em” header_3_font_size=”20px” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n Round 2 – Honourable mention<\/em><\/p>\n HappilyEverAfterDeath<\/strong><\/p>\n Sometimes wishes do come true in the afterlife.<\/p>\n \u201cDad\u2026.. dad, wake up. \u201c<\/p>\n George opens his eyes, his chin still resting on his crossed arms on the edge of his wife\u2019s hospital bed, her hand sitting an inch from his face. He was comforted by her smell, feeling her so near to him.<\/p>\n \u201cDad, it\u2019s ok. I\u2019m here now. I got out early from work. Why don\u2019t you go back to the home. Get a proper sleep. \u201c<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m ok right here, Sarah. I don\u2019t want to leave her\u201d, he reaches out to hold his wife\u2019s hand.<\/p>\n \u201cDad. Please.\u201d Sarah puts her hand on her father\u2019s hand that is gripping his wife\u2019s. \u201cYou need your rest too, dad. It\u2019s hard enough losing her. I need you, ok?\u201d<\/p>\n George looks up at his daughter\u2019s face. She is holding back tears. She has her mother\u2019s green eyes, her mother\u2019s pale pink lips. But all her other features were from him. It\u2019s something he always teased Ethel about. How he wishes it were different now. That Sarah would have looked like Ethel. Then he could see her face until he took his last breath. He wasn\u2019t ready to be without her. They had met 65 years ago today. And he wasn\u2019t ready. He would never be ready.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_toggle title=”Read More ” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”29px||-63px|84px|false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″ icon_color=”#000000″ toggle_icon=”"||divi||400″ use_icon_font_size=”on” icon_font_size=”18px” open_icon_color=”#000000″ open_toggle_icon=”!||divi||400″ open_use_icon_font_size=”on” open_icon_font_size=”18px” open_toggle_background_color=”#FFFFFF” closed_toggle_background_color=”RGBA(125,196,238,0.53)” open_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ title_text_color=”#000000″ title_font=”Cutive||||||||” closed_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ closed_title_font=”Cutive||||||||”]<\/p>\n \u201cI can drive you, dad. Back to the home. I can come get you in the morning.\u201d Sarah was rubbing his arm.<\/p>\n \u201cNo. I\u2019ll catch the last shuttle, Sarah. I don\u2019t want your mother to awake and see no one here.\u201d He stood and pushed out the chair for his daughter. \u201cI\u2019ll take her blanket and sweaters back with me. Give them a wash, you know how you mother hates the rough scratchy detergent they use here.\u201d<\/p>\n Sarah sat in the chair, dragged it close to the bed and reached out to hold the hand her father had just let go.<\/p>\n \u201cDad, just leave that stuff, I can do laundry. Maybe you should pick out one of her favorite dresses. Something she really liked? Just in case.\u201d<\/p>\n He thought immediately of her powder blue dress. The flowy one, she liked to dance and twirl with. She had pushed him to learn to dance. She said dancing was freeing your soul, and with a partner it was two souls joining as one. If he wasn\u2019t going to be her partner, she\u2019d have to find one. So George learned to dance.<\/p>\n His daughter sees him drifting again. She wishes he would accept the situation. They will have to say goodbye to her. He understands what she wants. But he won\u2019t do it.<\/p>\n \u201cNo. I\u2019m just going to wash her stuff and take a nap, then come back. She will want her clean blanket when she wakes up.\u201d<\/p>\n George grabs the cloth sack that holds his wife\u2019s favorite cotton pyjamas, her two large cable- knit button up sweaters, and her favorite pink with embroidered flowers blanket she had kept from her own mother. Without looking back he leaves the room. He doesn\u2019t want to see his daughter\u2019s look of pity. He doesn\u2019t need that. He needs his wife.<\/p>\n The old school bus shuttle was waiting in front of the hospital doors. Three times a day it makes the rounds to local retirement homes to drop off and pick up. George is the only rider this evening. He sits in the middle, the sac on his lap. His hand finding the opening so he can feel his wife\u2019s sweater. A tactile connection to her when he was being told to let her go.<\/p>\n George sees the flash of headlights and hears a loud horn before he feels the force. He pulls out one of Ethel’s sweaters and buries his face in it. The world starts to spin.<\/p>\n A ten-year-old George sits on a park bench crying. He had run from his mother\u2019s funeral, too heartbroken to stay. And then someone sits beside him, throwing their arm on his shoulder saying “It’s ok to cry you know.”<\/p>\n The 13-year-old Ethel.<\/p>\n Ethel, the brave one, takes out a pack of cigarettes, lights one and offers it to him.<\/p>\n “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t, so go ahead if you feel like it.”<\/p>\n George took the cigarette.<\/p>\n “Your mother was a wonderful woman. She loved you Georgie, like crazy.\u00a0 But you’re still lucky. Think of the time you had with her and use it to become the man she’d want you to be.”<\/p>\n Ethel turned and walked away.<\/p>\n Ethel had lost her mother when she was 5. She wasn’t as lucky.<\/p>\n The spinning stopped.<\/p>\n George looks up from the sweater, and sees Ethel twirling in the bus aisle, in her powder blue dress, her brown hair bouncing around her face, as luminous as she was at 25. He stands up, and is surprised of his sudden strength and his sleek suit attire.<\/p>\n George takes her hand, puts his arm around her waist, and begins to dance. He looks into her face and sees his wife, beautiful, young, healthy. They smile.\u00a0 He leans in to kiss her and feels the floating of the bus, of them, and of his soul.<\/p>\n They dance at birthdays, weddings and parties, reliving their life in flashes, with every turn another memory. The school bus illuminates with their story. He thinks, can they stay here forever? They were never meant to be separated. He refused every home until they found one that would take the both of them together. He will never lose her now. This is how it should be. Dancing for eternity. Two souls as one.<\/p>\n Sarah returns from the nurses station and sees her mother, eyes open, looking at the ceiling, with a smile on her face. She rushes over and whispers, \u201cMama, are you ok?\u201d She touches her hand and feels a chill. Mama\u2019s gone.<\/p>\n He holds her close, smelling the nape of her neck. There is no more today, no more tomorrow, there is only this. He whispers “If this is death my love, I’ll gladly take it.”<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_toggle][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_toggle title=”Judges’ Comments” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”||-14px||false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″ icon_color=”#000000″ toggle_icon=”P||divi||400″ use_icon_font_size=”on” icon_font_size=”18px” open_icon_color=”#000000″ open_toggle_icon=”O||divi||400″ open_use_icon_font_size=”on” open_icon_font_size=”18px” open_toggle_background_color=”#FFFFFF” closed_toggle_background_color=”#7DC4EE” open_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ title_text_color=”#000000″ title_font=”Cutive||||||||” closed_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ closed_title_font=”Cutive||||||||”]<\/p>\n Judge #1<\/p>\n George’s being comforted by his wife’s sweater tugs on the heartstrings. Specific details add to the story’s realism. The ending is resonant.<\/span><\/p>\n Judge #2<\/span><\/p>\n This is a sweet, cohesive story. It’s lovely that dancing was central to George and his wife’s life and that in death they dance off together again.<\/span><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_toggle][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_divider _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” show_divider=”off” sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_divider][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”0px|||||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” header_2_font=”Cutive||||on||||” header_3_font=”Cutive Mono|700|||||||” custom_margin=”|||-103px|false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” header_2_font_size=”24px” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=”3_4,1_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”|auto|-13px|auto||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”3_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”|72px||0px|false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Cutive||||||||” text_text_color=”#000000″ header_3_font=”Cutive Mono|700|||||||” header_3_text_color=”#000000″ background_color=”#FFFFFF” background_enable_image=”off” custom_margin=”-34px|56px||0px|false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” header_3_font_size=”20px” sticky_enabled=”0″ text_line_height=”1.8em”]<\/p>\n Placed in top ten – onwards to next round<\/strong><\/p>\n A novelist, who pushes the human psyche to the edge, gets his due.<\/p>\n Charles Baker was having the worst night of his life.<\/p>\n The day began like any other. He went for his run with his German shepherd Sparky, showered, made his coffee and settled into his writing den. In his mid 50s, he was blonde, blue eyed, and had never married. He had devoted his life to his novels, all suspense thrillers involving everyday people in everyday situations until a character transforms into an evil villain. The macabre became his signature style. It was the contradiction and the inability to accept that your neighbour, a co-worker, a friend, could have a dark side that made his novels page tuners. An enemy that cannot be easily identified is too terrifying to accept.<\/p>\n This latest book, he was going to push it further. The main character would be a 12 year old boy. An orphan, who through luck and circumstance would be rescued by a wealthy family with three children, they would provide love, understanding and acceptance in hopes of drastically changing his life. They would be blind to the reality that the boy was already damaged beyond repair. All the pain and miseries he had experienced in his young life would be released. After murdering them all, he would burn their mansion to the ground. Charles knew he had to tread lightly with this one.<\/p>\n Late that afternoon, his phone rang. Normally he would ignore it but it was his publisher. No message was left, and they were ringing him again.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_toggle title=”Read More” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″ body_font=”Cutive||||||||” body_line_height=”1.8em” toggle_icon=”"||divi||400″ icon_color=”#000000″ use_icon_font_size=”on” icon_font_size=”18px” open_icon_color=”#000000″ open_toggle_icon=”!||divi||400″ open_use_icon_font_size=”on” open_icon_font_size=”18px” open_toggle_background_color=”#FFFFFF” closed_toggle_background_color=”RGBA(125,196,238,0.53)” open_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ title_text_color=”#000000″ title_font=”Cutive||||||||” closed_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ closed_title_font=”Cutive||||||||”]<\/p>\n \u201cHello.\u201d he answered.<\/p>\n \u201cCharles!\u201d David Adams, president of FlyAway Books replied.<\/p>\n \u201cDavid, what\u2019s up?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s not something I can speak about on the phone. It\u2019s\u2026 It\u2019s\u2026. well, can you come meet me for a coffee? I\u2019m sorry to interfere in your writing time, I know how strict you are about that, but this really requires a face to face talk. It\u2019s important\u201d David stumbled over his words in quick succession. He was not his calm steady self.<\/p>\n \u201cOk. I can meet you at the Starbucks on Front Street. Would that be alright?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, sure, that would be fine. When can you get there?\u201d his voice was straining.<\/p>\n \u201cUm…in an hour?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGreat. Great Charles, thank you. I\u2019ll see you there\u201d and without a goodbye, David hung up.<\/p>\n His book sales were firm and steady. He was on schedule with writing this one, so, what could possibly be so important?<\/p>\n Charles arrived almost ten minutes late. The expressway seemed to have a never ending construction zone. He parked his Audi RS5 and rushed into the coffee shop, forgetting to lock it.<\/p>\n David was sitting in the back, away from the hustle and bustle at the counter. Charles raised a finger to indicate he\u2019d be a minute, he felt he would need another coffee. David\u2019s hair was out of place, worry etched on his face. His fingers tapped the side of his mug in a nervous flutter.<\/p>\n Sitting down, Charles said \u201cSo David. What\u2019s going on? This is not like you.\u201d<\/p>\n David\u2019s suit looked crumpled, as though it was picked off the floor in a hurry. His shirt was off buttoned, leaving his collar around his neck askew. And he had no tie. For a man who was impeccably styled, he looked as though he had just come drunken from a bar fight.<\/p>\n \u201cCharles. I\u2019m sorry. I don\u2019t have much time, but I have to give you some bad news.\u201d David\u2019s eyes kept shifting, scanning the room.<\/p>\n \u201cOk. I\u2019m here. Let me have it\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe are going to drop you. We won\u2019t be publishing your latest and will no longer be republishing any of your past books. Your editor only knows you\u2019ve been dropped and doesn\u2019t know anything, so don\u2019t bother asking her.\u201d David took both hands and ran them through his slightly greasy hair. He was sweating. \u201cI can\u2019t explain. I\u2019m sorry. We\u2019ve had a good relationship. I\u2019m sure you\u2019re shocked.\u201d David paused, looking into his mug.<\/p>\n \u201cBut, David. This is crazy! I mean out of the blue? I\u2019ve always made money. Bookstores actually send in requests for a sign and greet with me even before my latest is published. This doesn\u2019t make any sense. Can you at least tell me something?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, I\u2019m sorry. I won\u2019t be giving you any recommendations either, to any other publisher. I have to do it. I really have to run. You were late.\u201d David got up, his coffee mug still half full and rushed through a crowd of students at the counter. He took one last look over his shoulder, avoiding looking at Charles and was gone.<\/p>\n What the hell, Charles thought. This is insane. This was not the David he knew. He would never pass up a regular revenue stream that Charles\u2019 books provided. His were constant bestsellers. People devoured his books and wrote in online forums how they couldn\u2019t wait for the next. They enjoyed the ride, the shock, the gruesome details and the perplexing change from a good and normal person to an angry and disturbed monster. This did not make sense. Charles collected his thoughts and finished his coffee. He was going to have to do something.<\/p>\n As he got closer to his car, something didn\u2019t look right. His Audi was a deep cherry red with black interior leather, but the inside didn\u2019t look black anymore, it looked red. Maybe it was the light reflecting the paint off the windows? He opened his door realizing it wasn\u2019t locked. The inside was covered in a red liquid. It dripped off the dash, the seats, the gear shift and the ceiling. Then he was hit with the smell, a metallic, acrid smell. Is this somebody\u2019s idea of a prank? He reached with his index finger dipping it into the small pool that had formed on his front seat. He rubbed the substance against his thumb. It was gooey. It was sticky. It was a deep red. It was blood. Charles stepped back. Incredulously he stared at his interior, grasping the fact that someone had drenched it entirely in blood! What crazy sicko would do this?<\/p>\n His cell phone rang. The display said Gladys, his neighbour.<\/p>\n \u201cYes, Gladys, what\u2019s up? I\u2019m a little busy right now\u201d<\/p>\n “You\u2019re ok? I was worried. There\u2019s a fire. I\u2019m sorry, it\u2019s your house. I can\u2019t see too far, the police are keeping everyone back. There is a lot of black smoke.\u201d<\/p>\n Charles hung up. A gate guarded the driveway to keep people a safe distance from the house. Fans sometimes would just show up. You just never knew these days. There were a lot of crazies out there.<\/p>\n He couldn\u2019t sit in blood, so he ran into the street and hailed a cab. It was now rush hour and it took five cabs before one was available. This was not the time to have to fight traffic Charles thought.<\/p>\n Despite the driver\u2019s best efforts, Charles arrived at his front gate, a torn down, run over, front gate, almost an hour later. He threw some bills at the driver and jumped out.<\/p>\n There were two police cars blocking his driveway, keeping the curious neighbours who were gathered in the street at bay. \u201cHey! Hey Officer! That\u2019s my house! What happened?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re Charles Baker?\u201d The officer asks.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, I\u2019m Charles, that\u2019s my house\u2026..\u201d his voice trailed off as he looked down the lane to where his house used to be. He couldn\u2019t see anything but smoke and a large mound.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, you have one hell of a fire. Fire Chief says they had to keep back a few times because of small explosions. They couldn\u2019t do much. Safety first you know.\u201d<\/p>\n Charles just stared ahead in disbelief. Shock began to take over his body. His home\u2026..his books! His notes, his files, his work! Of course he had back-ups. But they were all in the house. Oh my god, Charles whispered.<\/p>\n \u201cUm…Mr. Baker? I have to ask you. Do you have a dog?\u201d<\/p>\n Sparky! \u201cYes, yes a German shepherd. Do you have him? Where is he?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2026 uh\u2026 I don\u2019t know how to tell you, but he is dead\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe died in the fire?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUm…no. Actually, we found him hanging from the oak tree in your backyard. Looks like someone cut him up too.\u201d The officer stopped. Charles swayed like he was going to faint. \u201cMaybe you should go sit down Mr. Baker. This must be quite a shock. Anyone you know who would want to do this to you. I\u2019d say someone out there is pretty mad at you.\u201d<\/p>\n Charles couldn\u2019t answer. His head was spinning. Sparky, cut up? This can\u2019t be real. He must be dreaming, having a nightmare.<\/p>\n He walked through the crowd and sat down on the curb. He held his head in his hands. What the hell is going on? Being cut by FlyAway Books, his exploding house, his bloody car, and now his dog.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s a bad fire.\u201d A man sat himself next to Charles. Charles looked up and saw the dried blood on his fingers. The man had black curly hair, was of Middle Eastern descent with piercing blue eyes. \u201cDon\u2019t recognize me, do you?\u201d<\/p>\n Charles just stared.<\/p>\n \u201cYou ruined my life. I was a good man, a family man, a very smart man with a very bright and successful future in technology. My wife was beautiful and devoted. My sons\u2026. My sons loved me, admired me, and wanted to be like me. You had to take all that away. Make me into a criminal.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat? What are you talking about? I don\u2019t even know you!\u201d Charles looked for the police officer.<\/p>\n \u201cAhmed Khan. Down Mulberry Lane?\u201d<\/p>\n Charles jaw dropped. Down Mulberry Lane. It was his third novel. A Middle Eastern family moves into a waspy neighbourhood. Ahmed was an engineer. He tried hard to make friends. He would help them with their home tech problems for free. He showed he was being a good neighbour. After gaining everyone\u2019s trust, he held the kids hostage at the school with outrageous demands, and then blew them all up, including himself.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re dead….. Wait! Wait! You\u2019re a character. I made you. This isn\u2019t possible!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI heard it was quite the light show. There was no chance of saving anything, I made sure of that. With the multiple little bombs I set up, those firemen weren\u2019t going to get too close. Not until it was all gone, burnt to the ground. Safety first you know.\u201d The man grinned, his eyes focusing in like a laser at Charles.<\/p>\n \u201cYou take an honest hard working man and turn me into a monster! You make me a terrorist? My wife had to flee back to her parents who wouldn\u2019t take her because of the shame. And my sons, my sons ended up on the streets of Egypt, begging with their mother, starving for food and cursing my name. YOU! Who do you think YOU are?\u201d<\/p>\n Charles didn\u2019t know what to say.<\/p>\n Ahmed got up. \u201cThis is what I owed you. Now you know how it feels to lose everything. I am not a monster. And I didn\u2019t touch your dog. He was already dead. I would never touch an innocent animal.\u201d<\/p>\n Charles rubbed his face. Ahmed walked away. Charles tried to follow him in the crowd, but he was gone. And the crowd, they had stopped, stopped moving and talking. They were frozen in time. Charles spun around, looking at everyone\u2019s faces.<\/p>\n A blond woman in a floral pink dress walked towards him.<\/p>\n \u201cI suppose you don\u2019t remember me either?\u201d<\/p>\n He looked at her closely. Blond hair, dainty features, porcelain skin like a china doll. He thought he would have remembered her. But he didn\u2019t. She wasn\u2019t one of his neighbours.<\/p>\n \u201cSherry White, the soccer mom? I was a wife to a hard working CEO, mother to a daughter who was a genius with the violin. A perfect life, until you made me into a secret prostitute and a murderer.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSeduction of the Daylight.\u201d Charles whispered. \u201cBut you\u2019re in jail. Wait a minute. You\u2019re not real! This is not real!\u201d He looked at the crowd, a sea of statues. Where was that cop?<\/p>\n \u201cIt was pretty easy getting Mr David Adams up to a hotel room, the octopus. He\u2019s a dirty little bugger. You\u2019d probably never guess it. After doing every despicable thing he wanted, I showed him I had it all recorded. YOU made me very good at what I do. Mr. Adams had until 6pm today to drop you, or the tape would go to TMZ and every network and newspaper. He burned all copies of your books left in stock and sent out the press release stating they were no longer affiliated with you for reasons they couldn\u2019t disclose. The man is a respected family man you know. He couldn\u2019t get dressed and out of there quick enough.\u201d She smiled at the memory.<\/p>\n Sherry stood up. “One good turn deserves another, doesn\u2019t it Charlie? Maybe you\u2019ll stop making such good people into horrible creatures.\u201d With a twirl of her dress, she was gone.<\/p>\n His mind spun with the plotlines to all his novels. So many murderers. Charles started to sweat. Were they going to come for him next? Was he living in his books now?<\/p>\n A young man tapped him on the shoulder. He was a well dressed stock broker type, with slicked back hair and Gucci sunglasses.<\/p>\n \u201cHarry Snyder\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA River of Blood Money\u201d, stumbled Charles.<\/p>\n \u201cI was your youngest killer. I was rising up on Wall Street, making a lot of money. My parents were one of the most respected couple in high society. I was going to have a good life, until you decided to make me into a psycho. YOU made me kill mercilessly; savaging young ladies who trusted me, slashing them open in my apartment, draining their bodies. There was so much blood\u2026.\u201d Harry trailed off. He turned and grabbed Charles by the shoulders glaring at him, inches from his face.<\/p>\n \u201cI wasn\u2019t going to let you do it again. Not to an innocent little boy. He is only 12 for Christ\u2019s sake!! What were you going to do to him? No! I could not allow it, was not going to happen. Charles.\u201d He drew out the name with hiss. \u201cSparky was such a loyal companion. He was an innocent good old boy. So sad to have to open him up like that. He didn\u2019t take long to drain. I had to have enough to spread all over your only other favourite possession, that ridiculous car.\u201d<\/p>\n Charles felt like he was going to throw up.<\/p>\n \u201cInnocence, Charles. Is there nothing sacred to you? Nothing? I think it\u2019s time to consider a new profession, wouldn\u2019t you agree? Remember we are all watching you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou cannot take over people\u2019s lives and make them into your demented slaves.\u201d<\/p>\n Charles closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was alone, the street was empty, and the remains of his house were smouldering.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_toggle][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/masterscribbler.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/10\/The-Writer-and-His-Shadowed-Creations.png” title_text=”The Writer and His Shadowed Creations” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” transform_scale=”170%|170%” width=”100%” height=”198px” custom_margin=”62px|1px||-74px|false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”3px|||||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_toggle title=”Judges’ Comments” _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” icon_color=”#000000″ toggle_icon=”P||divi||400″ use_icon_font_size=”on” icon_font_size=”18px” open_icon_color=”#000000″ open_toggle_icon=”O||divi||400″ open_use_icon_font_size=”on” open_icon_font_size=”18px” closed_toggle_background_color=”#7DC4EE” open_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ title_text_color=”#000000″ title_font=”Cutive||||||||” closed_toggle_text_color=”#000000″ closed_title_font=”Cutive||||||||” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n Judge #1<\/p>\n You have a great eye for detail. This is a very cool, original concept. You incorporated all of the three contest elements very well.<\/span><\/p>\n Judge #2<\/span><\/p>\n I really enjoyed this story. It was not the first one I read about an author\u2019s character\u2019s coming to life and taking revenge on their creator but I must say it was the most well executed, plainly because I wasn\u2019t sure that that was going to happen until we meet the first one. Also, the suspense you developed in such a short time was really great<\/span><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_toggle][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”0px|||||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section][et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”25px|||||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.9″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Belle-Lettres The Joy of WritingA French term meaning “fine letters,” used to describe literary works valued for their aesthetic, artistic, or stylistic quality.Letters: For Love, saying Goodbye or Apologies\u00a0\u00a0Speeches: For Work, Weddings, Funerals A Little Creativity Goes a Long Way Who says creative writing belongs only in books? A love letter that makes someone swoon. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-24","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\nCreative Writing Contests<\/h2>\n
Microfiction – 100 words, 24 hours to submit<\/span><\/h2>\n
Genre – Ghoststory
Action – Baking a cake<\/em>
Word – Appointment<\/em><\/h3>\nGenre – Drama<\/em>
Action – Faking a laugh<\/em>
Word – Worry
<\/em><\/h3>\nGenre – Romance<\/em>
Action – Writing in Wet Cement<\/em>
Item – Horn<\/em><\/h3>\n
Roamed for millions of years.
Two tons of skin creased grey.
Gentle, warm to caresses.
Friendly creature.<\/p>\n
More valuable than gold.
Protected every moment.
Man and beast.
Bonding together with love.<\/p>\n
Listened to his laboured breathing.
Whispered goodbye and cried.
Apologized for mankind.
Their sins upon nature.<\/p>\n
His sperm saved for hope.
Skin, bones for science.
Lessons never learned.<\/p>\n
In the pen of the beast.
Their home.
He wrote through tears.<\/p>\n
We failed you, My Love.<\/p>\nMicroFiction – 250 words, 24 hours to submit<\/h2>\n
Genre – Suspense\/Thriller
Action – Someone blindfolded
Word – Gather<\/em><\/h3>\nFlashFiction – 1,000 words, 48 hours to submit<\/h2>\n
Genre – Comedy<\/em>
Action – A speed dating event
Word – A mousetrap<\/em><\/h3>\nGenre – Action\/Adventure<\/em>
Place – A sewer
<\/em>Item – Fly swatter<\/em><\/em><\/h3>\nGenre – Ghoststory<\/em>
Action – School bus<\/em>
Word – Dirty bag of laundry<\/em><\/h3>\nShortStory – 2500 words, 48 hours to submit<\/h2>\n
Genre – Fantasy<\/em>
Action – Revenge
Word – Novelist<\/em><\/strong><\/h3>\n
WHEN YOU PLAY WITH FIRE<\/strong><\/p>\n