Please post all of your entries to the competition in this thread, and this thread alone.
Avoid any chatter, but feel free to leave feedback to peoples entries
Here is the stem thread for the competition.

Latest Task
This week's task is to describe what you see from ONE of the three pictures below.  If it helps in your description you can put a small plot around it as well.  Remember to post the picture with the entry.
[one] [two] [three]

Your entry needs to be original and convincing. 
Remember, no more than 300 words and it needs to be in by 11pm on Saturday.
It doesn't have to be to do with McFly.
If you want any feedback I can PM it to you.
Spelling and grammar is important.
Good luck
x


Previous Tasks

• For this first week the task is taking inspiration from ‘Garbology’ (the study of society by analysing their rubbish).  Create a character and list the items which would be in their bin.  Then write a short passage about them (try and include what they do and some of their hobbies). 
• This week's task is to continue a story from the following sentence from an existing story.  It doesn't have to be anything like the original story, just what you would write as a continuation.  This is midway through a story though, so don't spend the 300 words setting up characters or what's happening, just get right into it.  These words also aren't included in the word count.
  The second twin whipped open the throttle of his hog and charged for her.  Beautifully stupid.
  (taken from 'The Killing Fields' by Kim Lakin-Smith)

 

it's not too good |: 254 words (:

 

Fag Boxes
Condoms
Beer Bottles
Broken Glass
Milk Cartons
Yogurt Pots   Alex was a sex addict, the act was more of a passion than a hobby, the thrill hooked him, and it had him from the word go. The feeling that burst through his body was the main factor of the painful addiction. Although part of the adrenaline rush, part of the want and need was the differing lovers, the forever switching of the muscles tightening around him. Alex had other addictions. Nicotine, alcohol. The burning in the back of his throat that was triggered by the eternal suckling at the teat of the beer bottle was another feeling this man yearned for, the painful sting of a sensitive tongue after becoming in contact with a strong substance. Nicotine; nicotine was the last of Alex’s obsessions, his cravings, his needs if you will. Going through two boxes a day, cigarettes were Alex Tomlin’s most dangerous, life threatening addictions. Every cell in his body would go berserk, mad, angry if they were denied nicotine for a mere time period of sixty minutes. His heart would bang on the inside of his chest, so hard it felt to him, as though it was about to burst out of his ribcage if his urge to smoke was suppressed and ignored. His body wouldn’t let him win. It craved the buzz of sex. The burn of drinking. The rush of smoking. Alex lived an unhealthy life, full of unhealthy obsessions. Truly displayed in his last bag of garbage.

 

Paper covered in words, crossed out, and re-written in sentences trying to explain how she feels. More paper scrunched into tiny balls, torn into tiny little pieces. A pen that’s used all its ink and gave up running on empty, a pencil that’s broken its lead. A photograph of their laughing faces torn in two, a tissue soaked with her salty tears, and at the bottom, her torn heart.

 

She sits silently at her desk, staring out the window into the pouring rain and she writes. Every day she sits and she writes. She writes about you and the life you spent together, the memories you made. Come rain or shine if you look through the clouded window into this room, there she’ll be. Surrounded by paper, mugs, pates and tissues it’s a familiar sight to those who pass her by on their way to the real world each morning and each evening as they return to their homes.

 

But each time she writes a memory, she can’t get the words right. There are no words that can describe how wonderful you were, how wonderful you made her feel. No words that can describe what she felt in her stomach when your hand took hers, or how her heart skipped a beat when you smiled at her. No matter how long she sits at this desk and writes, no matter how many words she creates, no matter how much paper she throws away, how many drafts she makes, it will never be enough to tell the world how wonderful you were. No words can do you justice, and she’s finally starting to realize.

 

This bin is my bin. And I’ll bet its a million other girls’ bins around the world. Isn’t it funny how you can tell so much about someone by what they no longer want?

 

 

its 7 words overr three hundred, sorry!

Black bin bags full of tattered clothes, broken cases with their CDs and DVDs still within them, shards of broken glass from photo frames smashed, the photos held within them ripped to pieces.

She has removed all physical objects that remind her of him. It had taken half a dozen black bags to do so, leaving the flat that they had shared almost bare.

She now spends Sunday afternoons alone in front of the TV rather than taking a lazy stroll through the park or visiting the local café as she had done in the past. Saturday evenings are spent with a tub of ice cream in her lap for tea rather than some sort of take away or meal in a restaurant.

The first hour or so in the office at work are spent wishing to be back home alone, away from prying eyes and words of sympathy. The last hour in the office is spent wanting to stay there for as long as possible, not wanting to return back to nothing but memories of him.

The phone now lies silent for abnormal amounts of time, phone calls arranging meet-ups and nights-out rare and far between. She is no longer the life and soul of a party, preferring to be a wall flower, letting everything past by her as she readjusts to this new life of hers.

She is newly single, something she thought she would never experience. She has the opportunity to experience that first kiss again, the nervousness of a first date, the flutter of butterflies at meeting someone new and having that feeling of new love all over again.

The last thing in the bin, the thing that had been the hardest to part with, the thing that made everything final: a gold diamond ring.

-

feedback appreciated.

i don't like what i've written to be honest. and i'd like it if you gave feedback :)
it's 303 words i think, hope you don't mind.

She is sat with the acceptance letter in her hands, not knowing what to do. Two choices. One, go to Art school in Canada. Or two, stay home in England and take care of her sick mother. An ultimatum.

She has been dreaming about going away to study art almost her whole life. It's everything she lives for. But the only thing that really matters to her, other than the paint and the canvases, is her mother. So if she leave and goes to Canada, her mother could die. And that is something she don't want to happen. Sure she could get help, nurse visits and hospital support, but that wouldn't be the same. She would rather nurse her mother herself.

Whichever she chose, something will be missing in her heart. The opportunity to make a living out of her artistic side, or the loss of her mother.

She puts the letter in her bag, stands up and walks to the kitchen. Decided to deal with this problem later. She opens the fridge and grabs the bottle of vodka. She knows she's not allowed to drink, but right now, she don't care. She takes a sip, then walks into the small living room again. Stops by the coffee table, to pick up the pack of cigarettes lying there, then continue walking out to the porch.

Fresh air has never felt better than now and the cold wooden floor is relaxing. She just want to escape from reality, from what's going to happen if she chose her mother or if she decide to go to Canada. Alcohol isn't the way to go, but she has no other way.

The one thought that's stuck in her head, is repeating itself. Why did they pick her and make her decide between her love and her mother?

Feedback would be wonderful, if you don't mind.

Items in bin:

Crumpled sticky notes

Coffee cups

Overdue notice from the library

A dry highlighter

 

For Sarah, life was less a progression of scenes and more a constant stream of activity.  “Free time” was a foreign concept; the piano that she had once played every day was now merely somewhere to stack piles of graded papers and binders of notes from last semester’s classes.  The keys were gritty to the touch - the rare times that anyone bothered to touch them, that is – and covered by a fine layer of dust. 

 

While Sarah could recite the basic principles of string theory at a moment’s notice, it took considerably longer for her to remember the last time she had done anything not related to her courses or her job as an office aide.  Even the phone calls from her mother asking if she was “still alive over there” had lost their joking tone some time ago.  At night, Sarah would find herself staring up at the ceiling, too wired to sleep, her fingers typing out her next chemistry paper on an imaginary keyboard.  To put it simply, Sarah Phillips was one failed lab experiment away from a complete nervous breakdown, and she knew it.

 

Vodka Bottle
A fish
Chocolatepaper
Glass pieces
Camille's life has always been wonderful. She had the best job in whole Berlin and the best boyfriend ever. She lived healthy. Never drink, never smoke or consuming drugs. Nothing of that was in her life. That was when her life turned upside down. First her fish Dougie died and that made her really sad but she couldn't know that it was just the beginning of it all. Two weeks after the dead of Dougie she came back from work and when she opened the door to her flat she didn't expected something like that. Her boyfriend Danny naked with another girl on her sofa. HER white sofa from Ligne Rose. Camille hunted Danny out of the flat and crashed the vase against the girls head who sank seconds later down on the floor. All around her blood. The next thing she did was pulling a Vodka Bottle out of the cupboard. She drank without using a glass and gulped it like water. After she got the feeling of loosing any feeling and pain she made her way to find some chocolate. At the evning there was no single chocolate in the whole flat. The girl on the floor still didn't moved. She was dead. A man made a innocent girl to a killer.

Any feeback would be loved, thank you.

Old fast food boxes
Crumbled paper
Bill from the gym
Empty candy bags

Sugar. Fat. Carbohydrates. Calories.
The words repeated themselves.

Control.
She had none.

Tables, chairs and the floor were covered in junk and trash. There were no mirrors left anymore.
It was only the mirror in her head that she looked good anyway. Clothes got smaller and smaller. Maybe it was the type of soap she used.
Pondering she could only figure that it was the only options.
She had a good life. Nice apartment.
Sure she had no boyfriend.
Or any real friends for that matter but she had a good life.

She was only getting thinner day by day.
The mirror didn’t lie.

She could eat and eat all day long but she never gained a pound.

Some days she even went outside.
She needed to buy food for example. And the air was much richer outside. Not so… Thick and stuffy.

She also noticed when she was outside that people noticed her look. She would smile and wink at the boys.
To the girls she would glare, thinking that they could only pray for a body like the one she had.

But on rare days, right after throwing away the boxes that contained her food she would catch the mirror in a sinful act.

The mirror would lie.

CLOSED!
Winner will be up by Sunday night

You win because not only was your writing strong, you had your own distinct style of a train of thought, and the character and what happened to her in it was done orignally.  the clincher was the spark of hopelessness at the end of your entry.  it was realistic and it was exactly as a person would act in a situation like that.

Runner Up: proxy
I loved the idea of yours, it was, again, something which felt so very real and personal and that made it so good.

The second twin whipped open the throttle of his hog and charged for her.  Beautifully stupid. It oinked and grunted a bit, but that was to be expected. After all, they didn’t call them hogs for nothing.     

Jessica leapt out of his way easily and squealed with delight, her overly large breasts bouncing against her small frame. Sean cut the engine and turned his lanky frame around on the seat. He patted the soft leather in front of him. Jessica giggled and strutted over.

“Hey, Big Boy. Long time no see.” He wrapped his arms around her. She was so small he could easily grab his own elbows.

“Jess, baby. I know. I missed you.” Jessica melted into his body, becoming more liquid than solid. Sean rested his head atop hers and could smell the cheap perfume on her hair. But he still loved it. He loved her.

In fact, he had loved her for years. At first, she had been just another fuck. Just another underage prostitute on Main Street. But over time, she had become so much more to him…and she didn’t even know it.

He couldn’t help it. The tears began to break the dam, and they trickled into her hair. He liked to watch the salty liquid drops meander down the length of her hair before finally either being soaked up or sliding off.

Jessica must have felt something was wrong because she stiffened in their embrace. “Uh, Sean, baby. What’s wrong?

He cleared his throat and hugged her tighter. “Nothing, Jessie girl. Nothing at all.”

 

 

*note: i wrote this in a bit of the mind to make fun of fanfic writers as a whole. so sue me.

I WOULD ALSO LIKE TO SAY IM NOT SHTTING ON ANYONE AS I WANT TO WRITE FOR A LIVING.
yeah. okay. said my piece.

 I posted this in the other thread before this one started working.  Feedback would be nice.  I'd also like to mention that it's a strange coincidence that the person who posted above me and I both used the same name for the character.  Maybe Jessicas and motorcycles go together?  And while I'm blathering, I'm sorry if this is a little crappy - the task was hard for me and I wasn't going to do it, but then I figured that the whole point was to be challenged...so sorry if it's painful to read.

 

    The second twin whipped open the throttle of his hog and charged for her. Beautifully stupid. A fully-detailed, ’76 Harley, limited edition, and he expected her to believe he’d let her anywhere close to his baby?

    Not bloody likely.

    Shifting the rock in her hand, she waited for her moment. When Mr. Musclebound’s expression turned from anger to confusion and he jerked his handlebars to the side, it was time. As he threw out a leg to keep the bike from falling over, Jess hurled the rock directly at the hog’s pristine wheel casing before turning to run.

    Cue the dramatic chase music.

    Her options, however, were limited regarding where to run to. Biker bar? Somehow, she didn’t think so. Maybe the grocery at the end of the street? She doubted it would take that long for her motorcycle-riding friend to catch up to her.

    The gas station it was, then.

    Sprinting towards her goal, Jess registered the sound of an engine revving as Twin #2 finished checking his bike over for scratches. Then came the sound of a second engine.

    Apparently his brother had decided to rejoin the fun.

    With only a ten-second headstart, it was a good thing that the gas station was the closest building, she reflected as she skidded to a halt in front of the door. Grabbing the handle, she breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled.

    Chunk.

    She frantically pulled at the locked door a few more times for good measure before looking at the sign in the window: “Gone to church. Back at 1:00.”

    Yeah, now sounded like a good time to pray to her, too.

    “Going somewhere, missy?” The menacing statement followed the spray of gravel that hit her legs as her pursuer skidded to a halt behind her. Jess closed her eyes for a moment before turning around with a sigh.

    “Hey, Freddie; long time no see.”

The second twin whipped open the throttle of his hog and charged for her. Beautifully stupid. 
They never saw him again. 
Life grew harder for Riley and his now lethargic lifestyle grew more tiresome for those around him.
“He’s gone Rye, and he isn’t coming back. He chose her, not you.” Sophia scolded with narrow eyeliner-eyes that dripped of more frustration than her voice managed to do. The inanimate youngling arose from the settee in an attempt of making a quick escape through the piles of pizza cartons and empty containers of the liquid he was drowning his sorrows in.
“Riley, don’t go.” Sophia said and grabbed his arm firmly to keep him from the easy way out he wished to take.
“You don’t understand Sophia. He was my twin, my mirror image. We were one ripped in two. I’m half Sophia, I’m half a person now.” His attempt to alienate her worked, and he was released from her convulsive grasp and free to sulk off to wherever.

Sophia took her time to recollect her thoughts before heading toward the doors that led out to the deck overlooking the river. She opened the filthy glass doors and stepped out on the wooden patio, immediately being cooled by brisk breezes blowing off the untamed river below her. A cloudless sky opened up before her, endlessly dark apart from the moon that hung low and round in the distance. Stars were strewn generously across it like a canopy of tiny lights.
Sophia walked over to the withering, wooden railing and leaned against it, breathing in the fresh and salty air. She tried to focus only on the positive in moments like these.
On the fact that Riley was still with her and that the sky was beautiful to sinners too.
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comments?
nina x

haxxor:

The second twin whipped open the throttle of his hog and charged for her. Beautifully stupid. 
They never saw him again. 
Life grew harder for Riley and his now lethargic lifestyle grew more tiresome for those around him.
“He’s gone Rye, and he isn’t coming back. He chose her, not you.” Sophia scolded with narrow eyeliner-eyes that dripped of more frustration than her voice managed to do. The inanimate youngling arose from the settee in an attempt of making a quick escape through the piles of pizza cartons and empty containers of the liquid he was drowning his sorrows in.
“Riley, don’t go.” Sophia said and grabbed his arm firmly to keep him from the easy way out he wished to take.
“You don’t understand Sophia. He was my twin, my mirror image. We were one ripped in two. I’m half Sophia, I’m half a person now.” His attempt to alienate her worked, and he was released from her convulsive grasp and free to sulk off to wherever.

Sophia took her time to recollect her thoughts before heading toward the doors that led out to the deck overlooking the river. She opened the filthy glass doors and stepped out on the wooden patio, immediately being cooled by brisk breezes blowing off the untamed river below her. A cloudless sky opened up before her, endlessly dark apart from the moon that hung low and round in the distance. Stars were strewn generously across it like a canopy of tiny lights.
Sophia walked over to the withering, wooden railing and leaned against it, breathing in the fresh and salty air. She tried to focus only on the positive in moments like these.
On the fact that Riley was still with her and that the sky was beautiful to sinners too.
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comments?
nina x

 

grr nina. just grr. that was absolutely stunning.

walking through galaxies:

grr nina. just grr. that was absolutely stunning.

thanks maggie, really appreciate it, coming from you you amazing son of a beach :D
<3