{ inklings writing contests } NEW CONTEST

[TheSongOfTheStars]

Hey. The main post says the Cliffhanger ended on june 19. When will the next competition begin?

[watermelon.]

Hey. The main post says the Cliffhanger ended on june 19. When will the next competition begin?

I am really sorry, I was gone like that whole week of that and then I did stuff all the rest of the time. Hopefully Sunday, because I'll be gone tomorrow for 4th of July.

[Stonefly]

Marking, very interested in this.

[Petlover552]

*marks*

[LaurelLeaf]

Hi, is there another contest soon?

[TheSongOfTheStars]

Watermelon hasn't been very active on Inklings for quite a long time, so I doubt that there will be anything new soon. But if you're looking for a contest, Ranger of The North is running a continuing picture prompt contest if you want to check that out viewtopic.php?f=43&t=2956042

[LaurelLeaf]

alright, i'll go look. thanks!

[watermelon.]

hi everyone! i apologize for my huge absence on this thread, and i hope to get it up and running!
as you can see, we've gone through a remodel - and there's one new contest up! the prizes will get better as time goes on, and i do want to get an estimate on how many entries we get to determine how many pets i should be giving out, etc.

[Musicality]

I sat there outside the school, as I did everyday while waiting for my friends to catch up. It was our first year here in college and we all wanted to make the most of it. I had finally decided on a career path, lawyer, despite my longing to write.

Out of nowhere I heard a crash from inside the building, followed by screams of pure terror. I stood there, frozen. What if my friends are still in there? I was scared, and not afraid to admit it.

I slowly creeped up the stairs to see if I could tell what was happening. From the outside I could hardly see anything but I could see enough to tell it was not something I wanted to be a part of. I stepped back, fright taking over my concern, and fled. From the distance I could hear the screams getting louder and louder as more and more people died.

While, I was over here alive, only caring for me. Locking myself outside, and the others inside to their doom.

[The Worst Username]

Okay, here's a thing. I hope this counts and I hope that it doesn't get taken down. I tried writing a bunch of action scenes, but they just didn't work; my action scenes are terrible without the thoughts of people involved, so I just wrote this.

When my brother was still alive, he used to sit in the bathroom for hours at a time. He was always completely silent when he was in there, at least when I checked. If you asked to use the bathroom, he would slip a note under the door saying “GO AWAY” or something far more explicit in big red capitals. I never smelled alcohol on his breath or cigarette smoke in the bathroom after he came out; I never found anything that I’d rather not find.

When I went into the bathroom after he sat in there, I just found an old, mildew-soaked shower; chipping coffee-colored paint; a toilet that hardly worked; a sink that had seen better days; a foggy mirror; a window that let in drafts during the winter. I found all of that, and, of course, my brother’s presence. It always loomed over me in that bathroom. I always felt like he was in there, even when he wasn’t.

He never talked about it. My brother just sat, cloaked in the cold air of the bathroom and stewing in his own isolation. I don’t remember what it was that caused it. Our parents wouldn’t get divorced for another year, and his girlfriend had already broken up with him a while ago. Maybe there was no reason. Maybe he was just sad.

I still don’t know what he did when he sat, silent, in that bathroom. Still, now that he’s no longer…here, with us, I can’t stop one little, persistent image from coming into my mind every time I go near that bathroom.

The image—more of a video, really—is of my brother, huddled in the bathroom. The bathroom of my mind is a gargantuan room with high ceilings, no windows, and for whatever reason, it’s blue. In that bathroom, he sits on frigid white tiles. His knees are clutched to his chest. His chocolate-brown face slowly, almost imperceptibly, goes from a melancholy frown to a look of pure tragedy. Tears start coming out of his eyes; he doesn’t try to stop them. My brother just lets the tears pour down his face so that they hang off of his nose, form rivers on his cheeks, and pool around his lips.

In my mind, he sits there helpless, drowning in tears. Everything is silent.

Well, that was depressing! To write, at least.

Anyways, I should probably give credit to Ellen Hopkins. I was inspired by this book I read a couple days back called Rumble, and she wrote it, so thank you, ma'am, for inspiring this slightly depressing mess!

Okay, I've got nothing else to say. Good luck to everyone else. Also, congratulations to the winner, and have a nice day!