Writing Competition!

Shoot son…I may not finish mine

If i do, it'll be trashy

It's still due Tuesday! You've got some time :)

Heyo, I know this is a lot more to ask of the judges, but can yall give us a critique on each entry so that we can understand why who won won and help us grow as writers? I'm writing something totally out of my normal genre to stretch myself, and i'd love some feedback :))

For this contest? I'd be glad to give my own personal criticism.

Yay! I'd love it! Honestly, I finished my story, and I'm ready to post it. I probably won't get a chance to later so I'll do it now.

wait. scratch that lol

Soo I have a short story and it goes over 500 words. I have a point that I can cut it off at but it's still in the 700s. Is that ok? If I don't use the cut off it's in the thousands.

Any stories are fine as long as they're in the limit!

Thanks!

To heck with it!!! I'm posting now so i don't forget.
This is called: Hopeless Romantic. It's a romance…i don't write romance…send help…(its about 1.8k)

“A good story is first and foremost a beginning and an ending. Your beginning must set the tone. Give the reader something to hope for, something to care about.”

I scribbled the professor’s words down, not wanting to miss a sentence. The fifty other college students in the room were doing the same—well, almost all of the fifty.
He sat in the row in front of me, kissing some girl. They were going at it rather passionately for a brand new couple. He’d been with a different girl only days before.
I tried to concentrate on the lesson but, I could hear them making out. I could hear every sound.
“—there is an art and a science to a good story—”
Lips smacked together, again and again.
“—and the only way to bring the two together—”
The smacking and sucking continued.
“—the art is the feelings—”
A giggle.
“—the science is the words—”
A low moan.
I’d had enough. I kicked the back of the seat in front of me and the couple pulled away from each other, gasping like two free divers resurfacing. Both of them turned around to glare at me. I glared right back.
“Do you mind? I’m trying to listen to the lecture,” I hissed. “Or had it escaped your attention that we are, in fact, in a lecture hall?”
I tried to get back on track with the lesson, but the couple still managed to distract me. They didn’t return to kissing, but instead began to argue in low tones.
I couldn’t understand the whispers until the girl stood, said harshly, “Fine. We’re through,” and walked out.
He stayed.

When class was over, he caught up with me.
“Great going. She broke up with me.”
Those were his first words to me.
“Nice to meet you too,” I said sarcastically. “Kate Shelley.”
“Seth Jackson. But seriously, you ruined my relationship.”
“Relationship?” I scoffed. “How much of a romantic relationship could you have had in only two days?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you stalking me?”
“No,” I said firmly. “I’m just observant. You were with a different girl on Monday.”
“Either way, two days is plenty of time for romance,” he said.
I rolled my eyes, and said with a voice as cold as ice, “You know nothing about real romance.” Then I walked away. I was done talking to Seth Jackson.

The disappointment of his last relationship evidently didn’t last long. That Friday, in Creative Writing 102, he didn’t sit in his normal seat.
I looked up from my notebook as he sat right next to me.
“What are you doing?”
“Sitting.” He settled back as if to confirm his answer.
“You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
“You,” I said slowly, as if talking to a four-year-old child, “are sitting here—” I pointed to his seat. “—and not there.” I pointed to the row in front of us.
He grinned. “Yeah, I am.”
“Why?”
“Can I not sit where I want?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said, annoyed. My knuckles turned white on the pencil still gripped in my hand. I tried to ignore him and went back to writing in the notebook. I was in the middle of a climatic scene, and it was tedious to work out all the plot points.
Seth Jackson leaned over to read it. I shifted away. He leaned closer. I snapped the notebook shut.
He sighed and sat back. “I just wanted to read some of your stuff.”
“Why?” I asked sharply.
“What a person writes is a widow into what they think and believe.”
I blinked. “That was oddly profound.”
His self-satisfied smirk was back. “I have more intelligence than you expected? Figures.” Then, without a second warning, he snatched the notebook out of my hand.
“Hey!” I made a grab for the book, but he pulled it out of reach.
“I’ll give it back. I just need a window into what you think and believe.” He winked.
I stared at him.
He continued, “I’m going to prove to you that I know what a real relationship looks like. You’ll see that I’m quite the romantic.”
“Sure.”
Little did I know that he was completely serious.

The next day Seth Jackson returned my notebook. I was writing on my laptop in the Commons when he plopped down on the couch I was occupying.
“What are you doing?”
A slow grin spread across his face. “Sitting.”
We were like a broken record, repeating conversations. He coughed lightly. “I believe your line is: You know what I mean.”
I heaved a long-suffering, drawn-out, sigh of defeat. I closed my laptop, stood up, and began to walk away.
But he pulled my notebook out of his bag and said, “Don’t you want this?”
I did want it. I walked back. I sat down.
He tossed it into my lap. “Your stuff is really good,” he said. “And your fantasy is especially so, but…”
“But?”
He shook his head in mock disappointment. “Your romance is lacking. It’s too stiff to be natural.”
I laughed out-loud in disbelief. “That’s rich coming from you. You had two different girls within a week and call yourself a romantic.”
“Have you ever been in love?” He’d become suddenly serious. The change of tone caught me off-guard.
“What?”
He repeated the question, slower. “Have you ever been in love?”
I thought about it. I searched memories of my previous school-girl crushes, of my awkward dates, of my first kiss. “I don’t know.”
“I promise, you’ll know when it’s love.”
I was beginning to feel embarrassed and uncomfortable by the intensity of his gaze when his mood shifted again.
“Anyways,” he said lightly, standing up, “I thought I could help you out.”
“With what?”
“Your writing. I’ll simultaneously teach you how romance should go and prove that I am a romantic.”
“Logically, that doesn’t-”
“How does lunch tomorrow sound-”
“Wait-”
“At the little cafe on 4th street-”
“But-”
“At one o’clock?”
I sighed and gave into the inevitable. “How does one-thirty work for you?”

The first date. The most important date. The most awkward date.
Seth Jackson was already at the cafe when I got there. I’ll admit it: a twinge of nervousness raced through me when I saw him sitting at a small table, waiting for me. I shoved the feeling away.
As soon as he noticed me, he smiled and stood up.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi.”
Yep. Awkward. Mentally, I slapped myself into being casual.
You’re not into him. You don’t care. You’re here to prove that he is an insensitive jerk.
He waited till I sat to sit himself.
“So,” he said.
“So…”
“This is the first date-”
“What an insightful observation.”
He laughed. “This is the first date, so there will be awkwardness and lots of small talk. That’s just how it goes. Though, as a general rule, I find that the less awkward the date, the better the next will go.”
“How many first dates have you gone on?”
He frowned, thinking, then answered, “Lost count.”
I rolled my eyes.
“And you?" he said. "First dates?”
“This would be my third.”
“See. I knew you were a rookie.”
“By my writing? My window into my thoughts and beliefs?”
“Of course,” he shrugged.
“Okay,” I said, crossing my arms and sitting back. “Tell me about myself.”
He accepted the challenge, grinning. “You have a large family.” He paused to check if he was right.
I kept my face impassive. “Go on.”
“They’re loud and noisy and while you love them, you were happy to move out. You love coffee and the color purple, and when you were a kid, you had a cat named Daisy.”
“Wild guessing, huh?”
“Am I wrong?”
“Almost totally, though-” I paused. “-I did have a cat named Daisy.”
He grinned. “See. I’m a genius.”

The date continued and so did the lecture about date etiquette.
“Now,” he said, sipping the coffee he’d ordered. “If he tries to kiss you after the first date, be suspicious. Most of the time he's just trying to get laid. ”
“And you know this from personal experience?”
He shrugged. I didn't understand what that meant, but I didn't press him about it.
“Is a kiss romantic after the second date?”
“No…”
“Third?”
He shook his head.
“Fourth? Fifth?”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“A lot of things.” He waved his hand airily. “The people, the place, the time, the circumstance.”
“Are you-” I stopped myself. It was too embarrassing to ask.
“Am I what?”
Are you going to kiss me?
“Nothing.” I took a sip of coffee from an empty mug to hide my reddening face. “I need to leave soon.”
He checked his phone. “Yeah, me too.” He stood up and I followed suit.
“As far as your first dates have gone, how does this one rank?” He asked.
I deadpanned. “Awful. You?”
“Just terrible.” Seth Jackson couldn’t keep the smile off his face and out of his voice.

We’d exchanged phone numbers at some point during the date. He called me the next day.
“How about a second date then?”
“Not in a million years, Seth Jackson.”

The second date was at the movie theatre. On the way there, he explained that only overbearing couple kiss in the theatre. I said that was ridiculous coming from someone who made out with a girl in Creative Writing 102.

The third date he took me to a fancy restaurant and brought me red roses.
“How romantic is that? So romantic. Just admit that I am.”
“Those words will never come out of my mouth.”
“Oh, come on!”

The fourth was a moonlit picnic and stargazing.
“Romantic?”
“Not even a little bit.”
I was lying.

I don’t remember the moment I realized I was in love with Seth Jackson. I just…was.
I found myself waiting anxiously for our next date. I found myself smiling when he walked into a room. I found myself desperate to look at him and talk to him.
Stupid Seth Jackson and his stupid smile.

He drove me home, as he so often did, after one of our dates. I’d lost count.
I sat for a second longer in the car than I normally did.
“What is it?” He’d sensed the hesitation.
“Why’d you do it?”
That was clearly not what he expected. “What?”
“Why’d you sit next to me and steal my notebook and promise to prove you were romantic?”
He smiled softly.
“You know, the first day of that class, I noticed you. I vowed that if I ever got the perfect chance, I’d talk to you.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.” He leaned toward me and I had to laugh.
“Fine, you win. You’re a hopeless romantic.” I closed the gap between us until our noses were almost touching.
“That’s all I wanted to hear.”
Then Seth Jackson kissed me.

“And remember, class. An ending is really a beginning—the end of what you tell and the beginning of what the reader imagines. Leave space for speculation and the possibility of a whole new story.”

@TryToDoItWrite oh my god I wasn't going to read your story because usually I don't read other competitor's stories until after results are released, but I'm SO glad I did because it was freaking amazing!!! I'm a sucker for romance and that was just

aaaAAAHHHHHH!!!!!

AWW! Thank you! that made my day :))) I was anxious about posting lol………

No problem dude! I really liked it!

I loved that!

This story is called The Living Garden it comes from a prompt by Luna
There's more to it but it was over 1000 pages :(

 Once you set foot in the living garden, you were never coming back out. The Living Garden was an experiment they couldn’t control. When it rebelled, they evacuated the city and never looked back. Or at least that’s what the stories say. I wouldn’t know.  In my world we stay safe, we stay in our bubble of pure air and controlled population. We were all happy in our little town of fake flora, synthetic food, and the auto generated sunrises and sunsets. It was all a lie, but is was a good one and it worked for years. Life was pretty good. People rarely got sick.  We had plenty of supplies, and space. That all came crashing down around us 5 years ago. The scientists messed up.  We have too many people and not enough resources. So what did we do?  We stooped low and followed human nature … every man for himself and sacrifice. Oh, but, “it’s all for the greater good.  You should be honored to be chosen. You are saving us all.” That's what they tell them before the raffle that sends them to their deaths. 
 It was my eighteenth birthday and I was in the raffle with the rest of my age group. We were old enough to survive out on our own, but too young to truly contribute to society. So they sent us off with hope that we would find a so called promise land that would be able to accommodate all of us, and we could continue life as it was. But after a few years of no one returning all hope disappeared.   It became clear that this was a death sentence and everyone knew it; but did anyone stop the murder of 10 eighteen year olds a year. No!  As long as it wasn’t them, or their kids, it didn’t matter. We sat down as they started calling the numbers. “23, 41, 67”. I could feel sweat on my upper lip.  The cold type that happens when your nervous.  The kind that sends chills down your spine. “89, 45, 62”. We were in the final stretch.   Just 4 more numbers to go.  I was starting to have hope. “13, 26, 58, and … 34”. That was it!  That was me!  Number 34. What shocked me the most was that there was no crying, no screaming, no parents crying for their children … just silence. The silence that threatened to choke you, to drag you down into the depths. The inescapable kind. “The chosen 10. You will have 24 hours to pack what you think you will need and to get a crash course on the outside environment.” The announcer's voice that crackled over the loudspeaker was so monotone and lifeless. We were just a job to him, just numbers on a ticket.
  “No one survives the living gardens, Marcus. No one.” That's what my best friend Elli told me, with tears in her eyes. I thought on that for a moment. Death.  Thoughts of death are so commonplace you forget how truly uncommon such a state is. “No. I will, Elli. I will survive, and I will make it back to you. I refuse to be weak and to let them think that they can control the lives of others because they screwed up! I will make it back one day! I promise.” “You always make promises. But I don’t think you can keep this one. I know that your going to say that you will because you want to make me feel better.   You always do, but, there are some things that you can’t do and I don’t think you can win this time. I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do this anymore.” As she started to walk away I grabbed her arm and looked at her in the eyes. “Don’t say that. I know it looks bad, but I have never broken a promise, and I intend to keep it that way.”That was the last thing I ever said to her. I felt my throat constrict and my eyes start to water as her face and everything else I knew got farther and farther out of reach. 
 They dropped us off at the edge of the City. As we watched the Rover drive away, realization sunk in.   This was it. A girl crumpled to the ground and started crying.  Another cursed. We started walking. There was no logical way to do this, so we just picked a direction and went. By nightfall the Living Garden came into view. It was everywhere, with no rhyme or reason, it abandoned all the rules of nature that we thought we knew. The lawlessness of it was almost beautiful. We stopped at the entrance for a moment, just a moment, and time paused as we stood in the moonlight. Staring at what, to us, were the Gates of Hell.  

Noooo it posted weird!

Fix it by pressing enter/return at the very beginning of the text

Thank you sooooo much! @Jensen-rs

Once you set foot in the living garden, you were never coming back out. The Living Garden was an experiment they couldn’t control. When it rebelled, they evacuated the city and never looked back. Or at least that’s what the stories say. I wouldn’t know. In my world we stay safe, we stay in our bubble of pure air and controlled population. We were all happy in our little town of fake flora, synthetic food, and the auto generated sunrises and sunsets. It was all a lie, but is was a good one and it worked for years. Life was pretty good. People rarely got sick. We had plenty of supplies, and space. That all came crashing down around us 5 years ago. The scientists messed up. We have too many people and not enough resources. So what did we do? We stooped low and followed human nature … every man for himself and sacrifice. Oh, but, “it’s all for the greater good. You should be honored to be chosen. You are saving us all.” That's what they tell them before the raffle that sends them to their deaths.
It was my eighteenth birthday and I was in the raffle with the rest of my age group. We were old enough to survive out on our own, but too young to truly contribute to society. So they sent us off with hope that we would find a so called promise land that would be able to accommodate all of us, and we could continue life as it was. But after a few years of no one returning all hope disappeared. It became clear that this was a death sentence and everyone knew it; but did anyone stop the murder of 10 eighteen year olds a year. No! As long as it wasn’t them, or their kids, it didn’t matter. We sat down as they started calling the numbers. “23, 41, 67”. I could feel sweat on my upper lip. The cold type that happens when your nervous. The kind that sends chills down your spine. “89, 45, 62”. We were in the final stretch. Just 4 more numbers to go. I was starting to have hope. “13, 26, 58, and … 34”. That was it! That was me! Number 34. What shocked me the most was that there was no crying, no screaming, no parents crying for their children … just silence. The silence that threatened to choke you, to drag you down into the depths. The inescapable kind. “The chosen 10. You will have 24 hours to pack what you think you will need and to get a crash course on the outside environment.” The announcer's voice that crackled over the loudspeaker was so monotone and lifeless. We were just a job to him, just numbers on a ticket.
“No one survives the living gardens, Marcus. No one.” That's what my best friend Elli told me, with tears in her eyes. I thought on that for a moment. Death. Thoughts of death are so commonplace you forget how truly uncommon such a state is. “No. I will,Elli. I will survive, and I will make it back to you. I refuse to be weak and to let them think that they can control the lives of others because they screwed up! I will make it back one day! I promise.” “You always make promises. But I don’t think you can keep this one. I know that your going to say that you will because you want to make me feel better. You always do, but, there are some things that you can’t do and I don’t think you can win this time. I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do this anymore.” As she started to walk away I grabbed her arm and looked at her in the eyes. “Don’t say that. I know it looks bad, but I have never broken a promise, and I intend to keep it that way.”That was the last thing I ever said to her. I felt my throat constrict and my eyes start to water as her face and everything else I knew got farther and farther out of reach.
They dropped us off at the edge of the City. As we watched the Rover drive away, realization sunk in. This was it. A girl crumpled to the ground and started crying. Another cursed. We started walking. There was no logical way to do this, so we just picked a direction and went. By nightfall the Living Garden came into view. It was everywhere, with no rhyme or reason, it abandoned all the rules of nature that we thought we knew. The lawlessness of it was almost beautiful. We stopped at the entrance for a moment, just a moment, and time paused as we stood in the moonlight. Staring at what, to us, were the Gates of Hell.

Almost done with mine, lol. I just wrote it today so it's not going to be that great.

I'm not gonna be able to do it after all :(

That's okay! If you can't make it or don't have time to judge, that's fine. I understand. I'm glad some people could put in their entries, though. Don't forget that they're due in about two hours!

I'll judge then, what's the deadline?

Alright, this is probably the worst short story I've ever written lol. But I'm going to submit it anyway because I don't have anything else to enter lmao.

“Come on, Turtle, it’ll be fun,” Annie said, shoving the box of pink hair dye toward him. The nine-year-old boy looked up at her with wide, frightened eyes. His sister smiled warmly down at him, strands of soft golden hair framing her pale face. Freckles lightly dusted her nose and cheekbones, making her look younger than she was.

“Ma and pa will be mad,” he mumbled, fiddling with strands of his dark brown hair.

“No they won’t. They let me dye my hair all of the time,” she argued, pushing him toward the bathroom. “C’mon, please? Make your sister happy.” The boy huffed, making a face and letting his sister guide him to the sink.

“Fine.”

“Yay!” She said, jumping a bit. Her blue eyes were lit up with excitement, and the child tried to hide a smile. He loved seeing his sister like that. These days, she rarely let a smile touch her lips.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror. His mop of wavy hair fell in front of his tired blue eyes. Turtle blinked, confused. He looked far too exhausted for his age. He looked stretched thin and broken, years of pain staring back at him through the piece of glass.

With a sigh, he turned away from the mirror and reached for the bottle of pink hair dye, but it was gone. The boy’s eyes widened, and he whirled around.

Annie was gone, too.

“No,” he said quietly, eyes filling with tears. The lights flickered. “No, you can’t leave me like this. Not again.” His voice echoed in the empty room. The temperature dropped, and he shivered, falling to his knees. “Not again.”

Even though the room was filled with the sound of his ragged breathing and mumbled words, it was too silent to him without Annie’s soft voice. Too dark without her warm smile, too cold without her comforting presence, too empty without her there. He curled up on the floor, hugging himself and sniffling.

“Ty,” a voice suddenly said. His head snapped up, searching for its source, but it was too dark to see. “Ty, get up.”

Tyler woke up with a gasp. It was just a dream, but the empty, longing feeling lingered, just like it always had. It was there from the time he was a 9-year-old boy, when his sister ran away from home and ended up dead.
Tyler glanced up, noticing a slender young woman was leaning over him, brow scrunched. Her long, pale, blonde hair brushed the skin on his shoulders. She looked like she was 16, the same age as him. Tyler’s eyes traveled down her body, and he realized what she was wearing. He averted his eyes, face turning red in shame as he remembered what he had done last night. He really needed to stop drinking.

“Are you alright?” She asked, running a hand through his hair. Tyler nodded and sat up. His head spun, and his vision went white with pain.

“Shit!” He yelled, eyes closing shut tight. He felt the girl’s hands on his shoulders, and he shrugged her off, turning away. His head throbbed, and he felt like his body was made of cement. He was definitely hungover.

“Are you alright?” She asked him. He opened his eyes and glared at her.

“No, I’m not. How much did I drink last night?”

“Not much,” she said, sitting back. “At least, not enough to give you that bad of a hangover.”

Tyler opened his mouth to respond, but ended up hissing in pain instead. His body felt like it had been set on fire and tazed, searing heat and cold rushing through his skin. His body began to convulse, and the noise around him fading into static. The world seemed to fold and combust, then fold again. White light flashed over and over again. If Tyler could scream, he would, but the noise got caught in his throat. He sat there in silence, pain overtaking him until darkness finally washed over him and pulled him into unconsciousness.

He woke up with a groan, feeling groggy. Unfocused blurs of gold color swam in his vision. He sat, up, rubbing his eyes and blinking at the figure in front of him. A voice soft as velvet filled his ears.

“I’m sorry,” it said.

Tyler recognized the voice instantly. His eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet, squinting at the figure. It was a young girl with golden hair that brushed the tops of her shoulders. She was wearing an old band t-shirt with faded jeans that were ripped at the knees, and combat boots with frayed laces. The girl smiled sadly at Tyler.

“A-Annie,” he stuttered. His voice was much higher pitched than normal. Her smile widened. “Wait-but you’re-you can’t be-you’re not-”

“I know. I’m supposed to be dead,” she whispered, providing the words for him. “And I am, but… I couldn’t leave you the way you were.” Annie stepped forward, and Tyler stepped back, not sure what to think. “I know that I told you that I ran away. Looking back, that might not have been the best idea, but I didn’t know what else to say. You were only nine years old at the time, I didn’t think that you could’ve handled it if you knew that I had…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked down at her boots. Tyler scowled.

“What, you thought it was a better idea for me to think you were still out there?” He snapped. His fists clenched at his sides. Her smile fell, and she stepped back. “I spent six years hoping you were alive, looking forward to seeing you someday. Two years I looked for you, only to find out that you were dead the whole time.” Tears fell down his face.

“I’m sorry,” Annie said, frowning. “I never should’ve done that to you. I never wanted to be one of the people that hurt you.” Her words made Tyler feel bitter, anger stirring in his core as he scowled at Annie.
“Maybe you should’ve thought things through before killing yourself and letting me think that you were still alive.”

They fell silent. The seconds that stretched between them felt like hours as they stared at each other, not knowing what to say next. Finally, Tyler spoke.

“Why did you come to see me?” He asked, looking down.

“Because, Turtle, I didn’t want those two years you spent looking for me to go to waste.” Tyler looked up suddenly, wide-eyed and startled that she had used his old nickname. “You wanted to find me. Here I am.” She smiled at him warmly, stepping away from him. He just stared at her, not sure what to think.

The room filled with bright light. The feeling of painful heat filled his body again and he yelled in surprise, rushing toward his sister. “Wait, no, not yet!” He cried. His arms reached out toward her, but then stopped as his body began to shiver again, the universe folding and unfolding, pressing and stretching his body in painful ways for what felt like an eternity.

Moments later, Annie was gone, and Tyler was in a hospital bed. He blinked, confused and astonished at what had just happened. A steady beeping sound filled the room as he was lulled to sleep.

A warm feeling blossomed in his chest, filling up the empty space that was once there. The silence in his life was finally broken, and his life was filled with a comforting warmth. Before he slipped away into a peaceful dream, he thought, ‘I got to see my sister again.’

That story made me both happy and sad at the same time. It was great!

Thank you! Also, when will the results be out?

Hello! This is a notice for other judges, too, so please pay attention!
We will be doing the actual judging Friday afternoon and Saturday morning. The results will be posted sometime on Saturday. I apologize for the wait, but I'm kind of tired 😅 Sorry!

Alright, I'll look forward to it!

Okay :)

Take your time. :)