# 25/2/13 - LM - Contradictions



## Potty (Feb 1, 2013)

*LITERARY MANEUVERS*​Contradictions​
*Reminder of the prizes awarded to the winner.*

The winner will receive a forum award which will  be pinned to their lapel by Baron himself. Also, the winner will be  awarded with a one month free subscription to the forums (FoWF) which  will give you access to additional forums and use of the chat room where  a there is a steadily growing community!

So, do your best!


*Our prompt for this month's competition is:*

*Contradictions*

In 650 words or less, write a story where the  prompt above is in some way included in the story, such as the theme;  object; setting, etc. So there should be many ways to connect to the  prompt.


*The judges for this round are:*

Jamie; Flesheater; Lasm; Tiamat

(To the judges, send your scores to Potty via PM - and if we could aim to have them sent within a week after the closing date, that would be ideal)


*Now a recap of the rules:*


The word limit is 650 words not including the title. If you go over - Your story will not be counted. 
You can no longer edit your entry after posting. There will  be a 10-minute grace period, if you want to go in there and edit a typo  or something, but you should approach this as if you were submitting  your work to be published and paid for. When you submit, that should be  your final work, the work you are happy with. 
Of course, there can only be one entry per member. 
No comments in this thread, please - Only competition entries (and links to) to be posted in this thread.
Also, please hold off on "liking" stories until the judging's done.


*There are two ways to post your entry:*


If you aren't too concerned about your first rights, then you can simply post your entry here in this thread. 
You can opt to have your entry posted in the [URL="http://www.writingforums.com/lm-challenge-secure-entries/136367-02-02-2013-lm-contradictions-workshop-thread.html#post1599236"]*LM Workshop Thread*[/URL]  which is a special thread just for LM entries. You would put your story  there if you wish to protect your first rights (in case you want to  someday submit the work to a magazine or something). *Take note: If you have elected to put your entry there in the Workshop thread, you must copy the link into the main competition thread or else it will not be counted.* 

Everyone is welcome to participate. A judge's  entry will receive a review by their fellow judges, but it will not  receive a score.

*This competition will close on:*

Saturday, the 16th of February. To avoid confusion,  the thread will close at 11:59pm (Monday Night) LOS ANGELES, USA time.  GMT/UTC-8

*Good luck, everyone!*​


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## Arcopitcairn (Feb 2, 2013)

ZEUGMA INCORRECT BOREDOM

  Son died.

   His screaming face reflected back at him a thousand times, an image off a mighty insect eye never blinking, backsliding through infinity like a stone skipping across the placid waters of a dream that came while he was awake and unsuspecting.

  Hellwater Flats was a scorched little town on the outskirts of the middle of nowhere. The sun leered through the rainless clouds, and if the heat made a sound it would have been howling like a madman. Roof tar dripped like black tears down the rotting wood siding of the few buildings that comprised the town. Dried dirt was splayed and cracked deep, and the insane sun was trying to burn through the earth to caress its molten brother at the core. 
  Son stumbled from the blowing dust that ripped and coated. His eyes watered against the probing particles, leaving muddy streaks on his face. He carried a heavy saddle that combined with the pounding heat to nearly drive him to his knees. His horse was dead, its bloated carcass left in the desert to bake and rot. 

  It was rotting like the bodies strewn on the German wire. The swampy battlefield was scarred with muddy trenches and ponds that used to be foxholes. Thick sheets of rain fell on the human meat scattered like ort on a slaughterhouse-killing floor. A dioramic abattoir, God's arcane masterpiece was painted in blood and gristle like a divine fresco.
  The rain sizzled and boiled off the barrel of his carbine. Son was strung on the barbs like a macabre marionette. He was hopelessly entwined in the sharp tentacles, the rusty wire digging into his flesh with every struggle. He strained his neck upwards one last time, looking through the mist at the German lines. 
  He saw the machine gun placement just as they fired. Son jerked on the wire as his body was riddled with bullets.

  Son walked through the shifting forests. His senses blurred into imagination and the fanciful. He began to pretend he was walking on the bottom of an ocean. The fresh air in which the branches swayed became currents of less-dense water ripping the watery leaves from slow motion trees. The birds were schools of strange fish riding the cool currents. The underwater world was silent.
  She was there, then.
  Her dress flowed in the water wind, a blue shimmering in the blue world. Her black hair spilled down around her exposed shoulders like an ebony shower that swallowed light. She held her tiny, pale hands out to him and he stepped close. She smelled of saltwater and flowers. He stared into her violet eyes, and something deep inside him cried. Her red lips parted and tiny, multi-colored fish swam forth in a swarm, encircling them as they embraced. Her skin was so cold.

  "There is a certain futility," Father said, "in people like me taking action in the affairs of the world." He put his hand on Son’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "I will live a small life. I'll never be an explorer or a hero or a famous man. But you are something else again. There are no contradictions in your path, no suspense in your future, no questions. You have destiny. You have a gift that must not be squandered in obscurity.” 
  "But I want to stay here with you." Son said.
  Father smiled. "I'd love nothing more than to watch you grow into the good man that I know you will be. But it is your lot to lead a more important life."

       Walking across the sun but the sun has a ceiling that drips the purest blue drops of color evaporating on the flaming surface that does not burn as the thick nothingness of the void envelopes him while he glides between the stars that shine on the reverse side of tomorrow.

   Son was born.


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## rubisco (Feb 5, 2013)

It Happens Every Day
http://www.writingforums.com/lm-cha...ntradictions-workshop-thread.html#post1600316


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## Tettsuo (Feb 5, 2013)

*Steel Alive* 

My eyes won't close. The sudden shock of light is searing, but only in my mind, I don't feel my eyes at all. “Where am I?” The sound of my voice is eerily digital, distance. Everything feels numb, like I'm not here.

“Honey, are you there?”

Denise! “Sweetheart… something wrong,” I say, struggling to turn my head, move my body, but nothing is responding. I’m paralyzed. Oh God, I’m paralyzed!

“Oh lord, thank you! Greg, I’m here, you’re fine,” she says. I see her lean into view, her face exuberant and excited, and her smile shaking as tear roll quickly down her cheeks.

“I can’t move.”

Suddenly, her smile is wiped clean, replaced by a look of shock. She turns, looking off to the side. The instinct to follow her gaze is thwarted by my frozen eyes… or eye. Am I sitting up? “What’s wrong with me?”

“Doctor, it’s me Paul. How are you feeling?”

“Paul? What happened to me? What’s wrong with my body?!” Paul is one of the best neurosurgeons on the planet. If anyone can help me it him.

“Dr. Phillips, I need you to calm down,” he says, his voice ringing a soothing message that doesn’t penetrate my slowly shattering mind.

“How can I calm down?!”

“Honey, you have to stay calm.”

“What’s wrong with me?!”

As Paul enters my field of vision, he stretches a strained smile and reaches out. “Greg, we need you to stay calm. You’ll fry your link,” he says as his hand drifts above my unblinking eye, his sight following it upwards.

“Link?”

“Doctor, you’re process is a success.”

Not like this. Not me. “The brain transference?”

A genuine smile appears now and he nods. “It works. We got it to work. We finally did it and you're proof!”

They used my brain to experiment with! They used me!! “No… this isn’t right,” I attempt to mutter, but the sound I hear doesn’t change. The words come out exactly as I think it, but not as I’d like to express it. It’s cold, distance, not me.

“Greg honey, this is your idea! This is your project.”

It was her. She couldn’t let me just die. She authorized them to use me in this experiment. “You did this to me.”

“I thought you wanted… this is your process-“

“You did this to me!” Only the volume increases, not the stress in my voice, not the meaning of my expressions. None of me is in the words.

“Dr. Phillips, you need to stay calm,” he repeats, his blue eyes, eyes of my betrayer, stare into me. Into what I can only assume is a camera.

“How… why-“

“We needed someone that understood the process Dr. Phillips. Someone that could make the transition.”

“I thought you wanted this,” Denise says, her voice quivering.

“Someone call Rogers in here, Dr. Phillip is going to overload the link, we need to calm him down,” Paul says, dashed out of my vision only to reappear further away behind Denise. Again he disappears out of my sight.

“I’m so sorry Greg, I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t feel… I can’t move… Why…?”

“Please Greg, let them help you."

“I’m dead Denise."

Her face stretches as surprise expands her expression outward. She brushes her short shiny black hair away from her face. “But, this is your process. The life extending process that kept you away from your family for weeks, months at a time.”

“It wasn’t for me! I wasn’t supposed to be the subject!”

Without warning, my vision shimmers like an old television struggling to capture a signal. “It wasn’t supposed to be me!”

I hear the clack of shoes entire the area. It's the crew I hand-picked for the transference. “Don’t worry Doc, we’ll keep you going.” The room goes black and I suddenly feel… afraid of the light.


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## Bruno Spatola (Feb 6, 2013)

[Warning: mature/mildly sexual themes] http://www.writingforums.com/lm-cha...ntradictions-workshop-thread.html#post1600894


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## alanmt (Feb 6, 2013)

*Inconsistency *649 words  [warning: sexual themes, language]

http://www.writingforums.com/lm-cha...ntradictions-workshop-thread.html#post1600910


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## Leyline (Feb 6, 2013)

Pretty Girls In Nice Cars

(Some profanity and violence)


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## Kyle R (Feb 10, 2013)

*Savior*
(650 words)


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## Jeko (Feb 11, 2013)

*Frag ments
*​(mild language, graphic content)
​Poster on the door of Buy It Now! bargain store: 'Have you seen this bear?'

White teddy bear underneath, staring at Carol as she stops in front of the door. Her reflection in the glass. Sad face.

She shakes her head and walks inside.

..

Seven teenagers walking home from seeing a film. The girls all cried at the end. The boys all cried at the beginning when they realised it wasn’t Sharktopus 3D. Mis-sold tickets. 

..

Seven pre-teens walking home, shaking. Images of blood in the water. Never going to swim again.

..

Danny is home. Still shaking. Tells mum all about the _horrible _mix up at the cinema and how –

Crying.

..

Still crying.

..

‘Why didn’t you just leave when you-‘

..

Same question for Jodie. Same answer. Didn’t know it was the wrong film. 

But knows who organised it all.

..

Michael explains to his father, ‘But Danny said he watched lots of horror films. Said they were boring.’

‘So you knew?’ Father grumbles. Starts pouring himself a glass of something light brown, strong-smelling. ‘Don’t go trusting that boy again.’

Michael agrees.

..

Danny’s room. An untidy desk and a bed full of duvet lumps and soft toys. Danny cradling a small white bear in the corner. The lights are off.

‘It’ll be okay,’ he whispers to the bear. ‘It’ll all be okay.’

The bear nods.

..

Joyce sitting in the living room with Carol. A big new rug and twenty years between them.

Carol breaks the silence. ‘Apologise to Danny.’ 

‘Why Danny?’

‘Danny first.’

Joyce sighs. ‘Okay, mum.’

..

Joyce finds Jodie at Danny’s door. 

‘You!’ Jodie screams. ‘You sick evil piece of-‘

Joyce thrown back. ‘What?’ Joyce snaps back. ‘You think I did it?’

‘You or Danny.’

Locked eyes for a moment.

‘Danny,’ Jodie says.

‘Yeah. I’m gonna make him ‘fess.’

‘I’m gonna make him pay.’ She shivers.

Door opens. 

..

Danny sees Joyce come into the dark.

‘Oh.’ He stands. ‘Why’re you-‘

Jodie breaks in. Hard slap. Danny falls to the desk. Danny in shock. Another slap. Jodie in tears. Punches. ‘You sick-‘

‘Jodie!’ Joyce holds her. Sees the bear in the corner. Danny frozen. 

Jodie breaks free. Punches again. Danny bloody.

Bear leaps at Jodie. Joyce recoils. Screams. 

..

Danny’s hospital bed. Alone. One beep every few seconds.

..

Poster on the side of Clydale Community Centre: ‘Have you seen this girl?’ Picture of Jodie underneath.

Group of teenagers walk by, laughing.

..

Carol knocking on Danny’s door.

Father opens it. ‘He’s only been out of the hospital for three.... oh. Sorry, we’re busy at the moment.’

‘The bear.’

Father’s scared eyes widen.

‘I can... take it away.’

Father moves, silent. Carol crosses the threshold.

..

Up to Danny’s room.

Danny saying, ‘It’ll be okay. Okay. Okay.’

Okay.

Carol finds Danny. Dark corner. Blood running down his face.

‘He wants me to cry my bones,’ says Danny. ‘But I can’t do that.’

Bear stained red.

Carol closer. ‘Give him here.’

Danny freezes.

Bear wriggles out of his hands. Walks to Carol.

‘You’ve had your fun,’ Carol says. Picks up bear. Walks out of house.

‘They were going to go and see a little kids film!’ the bear laughs. ‘And I... I...’ Hysterical.

‘You killed her.’

‘She was hurting people.’

_‘You _hurt people.’ Shaking the bear.

‘And they thought he did it then she did it and they’re all so _stupid!_’

‘Yes,’ Carol agrees. ‘Stupid.’

..

Poster on the door of Buy It Now! bargain store: ‘Bear for sale: Contradictions’.

Teenagers walk by. ‘Who names a bear _Contradictions?_’ Laughter.

Poster handwritten. No picture.


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## moderan (Feb 11, 2013)

Bast Itch
(580 words-adult situations)


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## Lewdog (Feb 11, 2013)

*"Death is Unbecoming" *[650 words]  (Some adult humor)

http://www.writingforums.com/lm-cha...2-2013-lm-contradictions-workshop-thread.html


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## Kevin (Feb 11, 2013)

http://www.writingforums.com/lm-cha...ntradictions-workshop-thread.html#post1602594


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## Circadian (Feb 13, 2013)

*The Wraiths in the Catacombs
*http://www.writingforums.com/lm-cha...ntradictions-workshop-thread.html#post1603097


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## bazz cargo (Feb 13, 2013)

Pimp My Zimmer Frame. 440 words.​ 

 Old-folks homes should be peaceful and full of  contemplation. Only, as nurse Brabent will attest, The Sunshine Sanctuary in Snuff Street Devizes fails to live up to the reputation that the owners, West Country Brokerage,  endeavor to display to the rest of the world.  

 Derek, is a sixty-eight year old punk. His purple Mohawk rises a little at the front, disappears into a bald spot and reappears at the back where it finally blends at the collar line with a magnificent white back-thatch of hair. His ripped tee-shirt reads, 'Jonny Rubber And The Packet Of 3.'

 Mike, is a sixty-nine year old ex-tax accountant and model railway enthusiast. His light blue shirt is ironed and has all the buttons done up.  

Dinner is a bit like school dinners. Those who can queue and collect their food have a choice, to return to their room, eat at the big table in the dining room, or sit in-front of the TV with a lap tray.  

Derek and Mike chose to sit beside each other at the big table.  

Mike eyed his fish cake and chips. “Food of the Gods.”

“Yeah. We should try Trowbridge's latest contribution to fine dining.”

“KFC?”

“Great disco last night,” said Derek. Cutting his slice of meagerly margarined bread from corner to corner.

 “Yes. Definitely,” said Mike.

“Oh? So, what made it good for you?”

 Mike put his fork down, breathed on his knuckles and rubbed them up and down his shirtfront. “I only pulled.”

 “Oh yeah?”

“Yep...”

Derek was collecting chips on his fork with the intention of making a chip-butty.  “Do tell me more.”

“In the line for the buffet. I was standing behind this lovely young lass and I tried the old, 'how's your supermodel career going.'”

“Dear God! That line is older than Noah.”

“Still works. I got her name and number. She works with children and has learned to be infinitely patient.”

 “Um,” said Derek. “Was her name Shelly, by any chance?”

 “Might have been. Uh, yes it was. How did you know?”

“Well,”  said Derek. “I overheard her talking to another woman. Apparently she had been standing in the buffet queue when this weirdo had started talking to her. He was wearing mules with pompoms on, a cardigan two sizes too big and his teeth fluoresced in the UV lighting. Oh, and he said he was employed as a bed tester.”

“Are you telling me someone else tried to muscle in on my conquest?”

 “Possibly.” Derek put down his cutlery. “What shall we do after pudding?”

 “How about a spot of wheelchair racing in the corridor?”

 “Splendid idea.”


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## Staff Deployment (Feb 14, 2013)

Time-Frame


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## spartan928 (Feb 14, 2013)

Conscious Contradiction (646 words)


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## namesake (Feb 14, 2013)

http://www.writingforums.com/lm-cha...2-2013-lm-contradictions-workshop-thread.html

The Ego Check of A King


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## FleshEater (Feb 15, 2013)

LIAR: Judge's Entry

http://www.writingforums.com/lm-challenge-secure-entries/136367-02-02-2013-lm-contradictions-workshop-thread.html#post1603914


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