Plot-based writing contest #1

[Loksfjoer]

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PBWC #1 – The writer

Welcome to a new writing contest! For this contest, I will give you a scene and you will write a story or a poem based on this scene.

The scene
A small light on the desk is the only light source for the writer, who fills sheet after sheet with hastily written words. The room is a mess, the garbage tin lies on its side and the contents are spread over the floor. A cat sits on the cabinet, licking its paw.
A crow settles on the windowsill and caws. "Not now," muttered the writer. The cat turns its attention to the crow.

Writers, you can choose to either start or end with this scene. Either you write what led to this, or what will happen after.
Poets, you can choose to describe filling a sheet of paper with words, or a bird sitting on a windowsill

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Core rules:

• At all times follow the Fundamental Rules of the Guild and the Moderation Policy for Forum Contests.
• After reading the above this should be obvious: No plagiarism and respect copyright laws.
• The story you submit must be written by you and specifically for this contest.
• This is a place for original fiction, no fanfiction allowed.
• Don't exceed PEGI 16 with your writing; no 18+ themes and fade to black if applicable.
• Don’t forget to subscribe to this thread. You will receive updates on the contest, the number of entries, and reminders about the deadline here. I will not PM them.
• The winner of this contest will be honoured in our Trophy Case.

Contest rules:

• There is no word count yet, but future versions of this contest may have them
• This being the first version of this contest, it will be a trial version without a voting round. Please submit your entries in this thread and let me know how you feel about this contest.
• The deadline is March 11th, 9:00 CET, which is 8:00 server time (both times are in a.m.)

Entries:
See below, you can post in this thread for this round.

[Loksfjoer]

Some points of clarification:

• You can submit a story and a poem, but you may not submit two stories or two poems. You have to choose one of the prompts in each category.
• Stories have to start or end with the provided scene, but you can reword the scene in your own style.
• If you want to submit anonymously you can do that by sending me the story through PM.

[Visyn]

Visyn's Entry!

A small light on the desk is the only light source for the writer, who fills sheet after sheet with hastily written words. The room is a mess, the garbage tin lies on its side and the contents are spread over the floor. A cat sits on the cabinet, licking its paw.
A crow settles on the windowsill and caws. "Not now," muttered the writer. The cat turns its attention to the crow.

The crow fluttered its wings before cracking its beak open. Human words spilled from it's beak, arguing with the writer. "If not now, then when? I have been most generous in giving you time." The writer gave a soft groan, a hand going into their hair to push the disheveled long hair out of their face.

"I'm trying! I.." They groaned again, sitting up from the desk and leaning back in the chair. "I don't know where the words went. They're gone." The crow cawed again, before letting more words spill from its beak. "The point was to find them."

The cat moves from it's perch, jumping onto the desk and then reaching over to rest her paws on her master's chest. She nudged their face, rubbing along their jaw and face, trying to calm them down. A soft laugh escapes the writer, an inked hand coming up and petting along the feline. They gave a soft sigh and let their gaze move to the crow on the sill.

The crow seemed to only look back, beady eye boring into the writer as they stared at each other. A trick of the mind is what seemed to happen next. Shadows spilled from the crow, seeping into the room and along the walls. The shadows encased the room, darkening the light from the desk. The room was now only darkness, with the smallest flicker from the desk light.

The writer pulled the cat against their chest, standing quick when a feathered shadow descended upon them, making them fall to the floor and stare into the bead of very large eye. A new voice, unlike from the crow seeped into the darkness; deep, and reverberating in the writers chest. "Time is done and your words are mine."

Before the writer could say anything, literal words seemed to stream out of their opened mouth. Sentence after sentence, punctuation, and all words. They filtered out of the writers mouth like the shadows were urging them to come, to escape their prison of the writers mind. They moved into shadows, seeping into a dark red color from their original white. The words lined the shadowed walls, forming paragraphs and eventually what looked like pages. Once a page was complete, the words ran like liquid and then disappeared to make room for new ones.

Time passed perpetually, the writer no longer conscious as the words continued to spill from them. The feline sat next to the writer, tail flicking back and forth as she watched the words leave and line the walls. She then moved and hoped onto the desk, then the cabinet and settled back in her spot. The shadows slowly receded once all the words were taken. The crow sat on the sill again, fluttering its body to settle the shadows.

The writer roused from their passed out state, moving to get up and rub at their eye. They sat back in the seat, looking to the papers in front of them and gave a soft sigh, reaching over to grab the pen from the desk and go back to continuing to write furiously.

A small light on the desk is the only light source for the writer, who fills sheet after sheet with hastily written words. The room is a mess, the garbage tin lies on its side and the contents are spread over the floor. A cat sits on the cabinet, licking its paw.
A crow settles on the windowsill and caws. "Not now," muttered the writer. The cat turns its attention to the crow.

[Estylwen]

Estylwen's Entry:

A small light on the desk was the only light source for the writer, who filled sheet after sheet with hastily written words. The room was a mess, the garbage tin lay on its side and the contents were spread over the floor. A cat sat on the cabinet, licking its paw.

A crow settled on the windowsill and cawed.

"Not now," muttered the writer.

The cat turned its attention to the crow.

“He won't learn like this,” said the cat to the crow.

More furious scribbles from the desk attracted their attention. The man hadn't seemed to notice the cat had spoken.

More moments passed.

“Eureka!” The man exclaimed, holding up a messy sheet to the candlelight. It was covered in ink spots and barely discernible writing. With gusto, he pushed his chair out from under him, moving to the door.

The cat exchanged a knowing look with the crow, and slinked off after the man.

The man entered a large drawing room, decorated with everything he could ever need. Ancient tomes, spell books, hovering orbs of power. Large windows ornately displayed with spiderglass, allowing the sun's hues to enter.

At the end of the room, a well that swirled with the light of a vortex. Standing beside it, expression narrowed, was an older man, gray beard trailing on the floor. He watched the man bring the sheet to a table with hovering orbs, and begin to tinker with one of them.

The crow came to rest on the bookshelf near the gray-bearded man, with the cat curled up at his feet.

“He's convinced he's got it this time.” said the cat.

The man stroked his long beard, staring sadly. “My apprentice doesn't understand. This isn't worth the time.”

The cat turned its face up. “My lord, what if what he says is true?”

“What do you mean?”

There was a sudden spark and smoke, and the three observers snapped their attention to the man and the orb. It was alight in his hands, searing with the same energy as the characters on the sheet. The man mumbled words under his breath, hands closing around the orb. The very walls of the castle began to tremble as the energy surged and convulsed. And then-

Ting!

Like the soft chime of a bell, the orb glossed over like dry lava. The dark layer flaked away, revealing a shiny silver embossed with the same characters that were now absent from the page.

The man seemed relieved, holding the warm orb in his hands. The gray-bearded man could only watch as the apprentice turned towards him.

Could only watch with a forlorn loneliness as the apprentice stepped towards him-

-and through him-

-As he made his way to the well.

A hand pressed against the brim of the well as the apprentice swallowed anxiously, holding up his new orb with desperate hope.

“Surely, this one will do the trick.” He exclaimed to nobody.

“It won't.” The gray-bearded man said softly.

The cat turned to the gray-bearded man. “Is there really no way?”

The apprentice donned his cloak, holding the orb high. Lightning from the orb struck the well, causing the vortex to buckle and froth. He lifted himself onto the edge of the well, staring into the yawning Abyss below, and whispered a single sentence.

“I won't fail you, Master.”

Before he jumped into the bottomless pits.

The gray-bearded man watched with a pained gaze as his apprentice was lost to the depths, before he turned his attention to the cat.

“I had spent the better portion of my life discovering secrets to the universe, even unlocking the way to immortality. Alas, I could never undo a curse like death. The sickness of the dragon took me while the elixir of life could only slow its effects.”

The crow fluttered its wings. “So the boy struggles in futility for you?”

He stared at the vortex solemnly. “The boy… seeks a secret I've hidden that truly does not exist.”

The old man turned his back to the well.

“The boy may try all he likes.”

A pause.

“There is no way to bring me back.”

Another pause.

“There's no way to bring anyone back.”

[Loksfjoer]

Anonymous entry:

Proem

Crow upon a windowsill,
Plucks a feather for a quill,
Black as ink as it sits still,
And he thinks to write until,
The cat slinks in for the kill.

Word by word writ unto page,
Sets the actors on the stage,
Fowl flees as wings engage,
Feline leaps with claws of rage,
Fly and pounce their battles wage.

Torn apart a broken tome,
Scattered now the papers roam,
Flits about the dimming gloam,
Finding chaos has come home,
How shall we end this Poem?

A contest held through the land,
Finish this tale we demand,
Make it simple; make it grand,
be it praised; be it panned,
The story ends by your hand.

[Loksfjoer]

I want to thank all participants for this trial run. You gave me some insights into this kind of contest.

A regular contest will be announced next week. I hope to see you all there again ^_^