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CONTEST: Mr/Miss/Mrs (Blank) Lives for a Day
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Violet Parr
Violet Parr
Thespian

Jan-30-2010 07:30


(Creative Writing Contest)

In the wonderful spirit of giving and universal oneness Sleuth is showing, I have decided to host a contest I have wanted to do for a while. The premise of this contest is inspired by a charming little movie I watched a while ago called “Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day”, whereby in the course of twenty four hours the character of Miss Pettigrew is introduced, developed and, by the end of the movie, gets her romantic destiny achieved.

The contest is this: Write a creative piece in which you introduce a fictional character to the reader, develop it as much as you can with interesting detail and have it fulfill some sort of destiny within the course of one day in the character’s life. The rules are as follows:

1. The character has to be fictional -it can be your detective’s or another one that you’ve created.
2. The piece you submit is limited to 6,000 characters (i.e. 3 posts as a maximum.)
3. Your piece must be entitled: “Mr/Miss/Mrs (insert your character’s name) Lives for a Day”.
4. The entries will be judged on writing, creativity and entertainment value.

The judging will be done by yours truly. I promise to endeavour to be as fair as humanly possible.

The winner will receive a 6-month gift subscription to Sleuth Noir. There is also another optional prize if the winner is a role player and would like to start a new thread on the stage: I will offer to join his or her story as the Violet Parr character or as a character of the winner’s choosing and design.

All entries must be submitted by the deadline of Saturday, February 6th, 2010 at 23:59 hrs, Sleuth Server Time.

I encourage everyone to give this contest a shot, enjoy writing and have fun!


Replies

Heimlich VonVictor
Heimlich VonVictor
Vigilante

Feb-4-2010 23:23

Mr. Myers Lives For a Day- The sunlight felt warm on my face. I gazed over at the clock, looks like I had overslept again. Downstairs I could hear Deborah shuffling around. I leaned over, grabbed my robe, and pulled it tight around myself. I crept down the stairs and felt the cold on the bottom of my soles as my feet touched the tiled hallway.

Deborah was rushing about the house in her freshly pressed suit, attempting to gather everything necessary for her day. “Good morning dear,” I said cautiously to Deborah, “why didn’t you wake me?”

“Would it have mattered?” she responded tersely without even looking up at me, “What do you have to do today?”

“Well I thought I would go for a walk,” I said timidly, “I thought it would be good to get out of the house.”

She stopped what she was doing and looked up at me for the first time that morning. “Outside will always be there Travis!” she snapped, “It’s bad enough that you were let go from your agency, and now you want to spend the day looking at flowers? You need to find a job and now!”

I nodded as she turned to leave. “Have a nice day dear!” I called after her, “I love you!” she gave me a dismissive wave and slammed the door behind her.
The house hung in silence as I traipsed back up the stairs. I reached into my closet and pulled out the first two matching items I could find. As I began to dress I thought about Deborah. She had been stressed ever since I lost my job. She had always made more money than me, but she wasn’t used to seeing me at home so much. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

I raced down the stairs and pulled open the door to find a young woman with red hair standing on my front step. “Excuse me,” she asked, “but is this the Franklin residence?”

“No,” I replied, “this is the Myers residence. I’m afraid you have the wrong home.” I quickly shut the door before pondering how rude that had been. Would it really have taken me that long to find out where she needed to be?

Heimlich VonVictor
Heimlich VonVictor
Vigilante

Feb-4-2010 23:24

I quickly pressed those thoughts from my mind, opened the closet, and in one quick movement removed my coat and threw it on. As I stepped out the door I caught no sight of my accidental red haired acquaintance.

As I walked down the street, I saw several things that made me smile. Two girls were taking a Labrador for a walk, a little boy held a lollipop over his sister’s head as she jumped up to grab it, and a boy and his brother purchased hot dogs from a street vendor. I had always wanted children, but Deborah had been against it. She had always asked what on earth we would do with a child.

“Come to apologize?” a voice said to me. I jumped and saw the red haired woman sitting at a table next to where I was standing. I had not noticed that I was standing next to a café. “I would think with the way you closed that door in my face you had a busy day today,” she said with a smile, “want to buy me coffee to make up for it?”

I sat down across from her and extended my hand. “Travis Myers, and I’m afraid I’m not myself lately.” I said.

She laughed and grabbed my hand. “Sarah Lewis and I can tell. You aren’t Travis today, no I think maybe you’re James today, and that’s what I’m going to call you.” she said coyly.

The waitress came by at that minute to take our order. Sarah ordered a foreign sounding coffee, but when the waitress came to me, I responded, “Just regular coffee please.” Sarah cast an amused look my way. “Deborah doesn’t like me to drink anything exotic.” I replied, and then quickly added, “I’m married. Deborah is my wife. She’s an attorney.”

Sarah smiled. “Oh? How many happy years James?” she asked.

Had I ever had happy years with Deborah? It wasn’t something that I had ever asked myself. Maybe I was afraid to. “Five years,” I finally responded, “We’ve been married five years.”

“Took you a while didn’t it James?” she said teasingly, raising her cup to her lips.

Heimlich VonVictor
Heimlich VonVictor
Vigilante

Feb-4-2010 23:26

It was only then that I noticed that the coffee had arrived. I took a sip of mine… plain, familiar, and simple.

As I sat there and listened to her for the next half hour, I realized I wasn’t listening, but enjoying the company of a woman. It was nice.

“There’s a gallery,” she said, “and one of my pieces is hanging there.” Had she mentioned being an artist? I didn’t even hear her! “Would you like to come see it?” she asked.

I nodded, reached into my wallet for some bills, threw them on the table, and stood to follow my new friend. As we walked down the sidewalk she grabbed my hand, and I didn’t reject it. I embraced hers. It was warm, soft, and friendly. Not like Deborah’s, coarse, cold, and bony. Did she even love me anymore?

“What do you think?” she asked. I looked up to realize we had entered the gallery and were standing before a painting. How long had we been walking? I gasped at the painting. It was a man in a cage, his face was expressionless, and his face was mine.

“There never was a Franklin Residence. I saw you last month in the park James,” she said, “you looked so sad and I knew you were trapped. How did I do?”

“There are no words.” I said as I stared at my soul on canvas. There it was for the world. She nodded and we began to walk away. A glimpse was all she had, and she had captured me. We stepped outside just as the sun began to sink over the horizon; we had walked for quite a while. Deborah would be looking for me.

I felt myself in control as I led us over to the subway tunnel. We entered the train and took our seats. Sarah smiled and placed her head on my shoulder.

“14th street coming up!” the conductor yelled. I could have gotten off there, or at the next one, or the next, which was my stop, but I didn’t. As the train rolled past my stop I began to run my fingers through Sarah’s hair; it was soft and kind like her. I contemplated waking her, but pushed it from my mind. Where am I going? I don’t know.

Heimlich VonVictor
Heimlich VonVictor
Vigilante

Feb-4-2010 23:28

I know I’m not going back, and I never will. I can’t. The keys to my cage are in my hand, and I will set my soul free.

((FYI: My Microsoft Word clocks this at 5,930 characters. Maybe the line breaks mess with the character count, but this last bit above is the true ending. If that's cool and you want to verify, copy paste and do a character count. If not, I guess you can just end the story with, "I don't know."))

Secret_Squirrel
Secret_Squirrel
Safety Officer

Feb-5-2010 00:08

oh gosh that deadline is scary soon.

Violet Parr
Violet Parr
Thespian

Feb-5-2010 01:54


What an engrossing and delicious treat, Heim.

I think we're all actually glad that Mr. Myers lived for a day!

*thinks these stories could actually be as inspiring as they are entertaining*


Cordelia Falco
Cordelia Falco
Battered Shoe

Feb-5-2010 03:27

^ what SS said!

Riza Hawkeye
Riza Hawkeye
First Nomad

Feb-5-2010 19:50

Miss James Lives for a Day

It was very cold squatting behind those trash cans. Cold and smelly and dank. I wrinkled my nose. What was I even doing here? Was I insane? I knew right away the answer to that question. No, I course not, I wasn’t insane. I was just a stalker . . . and that had sounded so much better in my mind. I frowned as I stared across the street into the window of a small run-down apartment on the Upper West side of Manhattan. A man was inside, moving around and making coffee in his bathrobe. A smile lit up my face.

Every morning for the past month, since I had first seen him at Central Park, I had walked by his home, watching him. I couldn’t understand why, but I felt strangely attracted to him. I had never felt this way about anyone before. Mother always said to stay away from men because they were dirty rotten pigs who were only after one thing. And I had listened to her. But I was a big girl now. I could make decisions for myself.

I was obsessing over this man and I didn’t even know his name. As I saw him move to the bedroom and begin to undress, I turned my head away, lowering my eyes to the ground and blushing furiously.

Five minutes later he exited the building; I followed up close behind him, hiding alternately behind lampposts and mailboxes, and brushing off remnants of garbage from my stockings.

I looked down at myself. A wrinkled yellow blouse with a faded purple skirt and green hole-ridden stockings. It would have to do. I couldn’t afford anything better presently, not with mother to care for. I nodded curtly to myself. This was something I had to do for myself.

Two blocks forward, one left turn, and three blocks more led me to the bookstore at the corner. “Hey, watch it, you klutz!” a man yelled as I bumped into him, causing him to reel backwards and spill hot coffee all over his front.

Riza Hawkeye
Riza Hawkeye
First Nomad

Feb-5-2010 19:50

“Sorry, sorry sir,” I apologized profusely, giving a small curtsy. Goodness, I was so awkward. I hurried on, not wanting to lose sight of my target.

I followed my man inside and hid behind a shelf of Sherlock Holmes books as I watched him thumb through a book on psychology. I smiled to myself. Oh, how educated he must be! How sophisticated his tastes! As he turned to face me, I quickly picked up the book on the table closest to me. I literally hid my face behind the book. Was he looking? It felt like he was. Well at least I looked cultured reading a book about . . . Chronic Halitosis! Eeep!

I could feel my face burning. When I thought it was safe to look, I peered out from over the top of the book, my eyes shifting slowly from side to side. He was gone. I breathed a sigh of relief and shook my head.

Ten minutes later I took a seat at the table of the local diner, throwing my head into my hands, running my fingers through my messy blond hair. My mind was in complete turmoil. What was I doing? This was so unlike me: chasing a man through the streets of Manhattan, staring at him, adoring every fiber of his being!

What had happened to the respectful polite girl that my mother had raised? She was gone. Gone as fast as the flick of a wrist as soon as I had seen him. I had seen him and known nothing about him, and yet…I had known everything about him. And what insane train of thought had led me to believe he would even take a second look at me? A poor city girl? I shrieked in frustration and pounded my fists on the table, causing the whole diner to turn and look at me.

My heart skipped a beat as I felt a hand brush my cheek from behind. I slowly turned around. I stared into bright blue eyes. It was him! I panicked as thoughts raced through my mind. Did he know I had been stalking him? What was going to happen now?

Riza Hawkeye
Riza Hawkeye
First Nomad

Feb-5-2010 19:51

But he didn’t look angry. He was smiling. “Hi, I’m Matthew. Matthew Johnson. I think you dropped this?” He held out a pack of breath mints. I blushed deeply red, horrified.

He laughed kindly. “I’m just joking. I saw you this morning at the bookstore. Actually, I see you there every morning, always with your head buried in a book.”

“O-oh,” I stammered, “I do like to r-read. And my n-name is Amy. Amy James.” I smiled unsurely. I had always had the worst luck with people. I wasn’t really a social person to begin with, and being around a handsome man wasn’t helping my confidence at all.

He walked and stood right in front of me, and lifted my chin with his finger. “You know, you have a very pretty face,” he whispered. I almost stopped breathing.

“How would you like to go out sometime?” he asked, flashing me a smile.

“I-I’d love to,” I answered sincerely. My goodness, I could not believe that this was happening to me. Me of all people. Was I dreaming? No. I wasn’t. A big smile spread across my face. For the first time in my life, something was going my way. And I was more than willing to let fate take me wherever it would.

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