# 13-02-06 | Worst Valentine's Day Ever?



## gohn67

*Literary Maneuvers:* Worst Valentine's Day Ever

Opens: _Monday 13 February_
Closes: _Sunday 26 February_

Judging Period: _Monday 27 February to Sunday 5 March_

Scores will be released: _Monday 6 March_

After a long hiatus, Literary Maneuvers has been resurrected once more and probably for the last time if the new setup fails. For Literary Manuevers to continue a few guidelines had to be changed but everything else is the same.  Click here to read more:Changes to Literary Manuevers

Since this Tuesday is Valentine's Day, it seemed appropriate to have theme that reflected this day of roses are red, Cupid's heart shaped arrows, romance, cheesy Valentine's day cards, and miniature bags of M&Ms.  After carefully reviewing all the theme suggestions for LM #6 (which wasn't hard considering I only got one suggestion), I decided to go with Ilan Bouchard's suggestion, which is: *Worst Valentine's Day Ever!* 

Write a response to this prompt: *Worst Valentine's Day Ever!*

This is going to be an unrestrictive challenge, meaning that you can respond to the prompt using any form of writing that you choose (poetry, prose, flash, memoir, essay), just as long the word count is kept under 400. It cannot go over or your entry won't be judged.


A fewer minor guidelines that you should follow also:

1.Only one entry per person.
2.Your piece needs to have a title and it should be in bold.
3.Do not go over the word limit.
4.Spelling and grammar count.

For off topic posts, please use the OT code which is: 



		Code:
	

[noparse][ot]Insert witty off topic banter here[/ot][/noparse]


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## Ilan Bouchard

[an]As the suggester of the prompt I guess I'm except from being included in the LM, but I threw this little bit together nonetheless.

EDIT:  Meh.[/an]

*Pre-pubescent romance*

Susanna Millman’s box was laced
and colored rose and lemonade,
adorned with tissue held by paste
The fruitions of first grade.

She sauntered by each mailbox
To gift a card and chocolate Kiss,
The former read “Our friendship rocks!”
The latter promised bliss.

As Suzy hurried to her seat
She barely could contain her gleam,
Yet then her box displayed no sweet,
Within lay but a dream.


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## Crazy_dude6662

*FIRES OF LOVE*



The doors opened and people crowded in
You could barely be heard over the din.

They danced an laughed without care
No one realised what was there.

The fire had started in some fluff
All because someone had a puff.

They dropped the butt carelessly
Soon they would all flee.

The fire was seen and people screamed
To the fire exits deemed

The lights went out in darkness left
To escape deaths theft

Of forty eight lives wasted that night
All because of one light.

They crowded around all wanting to get out
The doors were chained they started to shout

People pushed against the doors, 
Trying to break free people pushed on the floor

Windows smashed but bars did not
The whole building was getting hot

No escape for those unlucky to run to fire exits
All blocked off, no one expected it

The ceiling dripped molten flames
People piled, skin wielded together
The justice isn’t done they claim
The building collapsed as the touch of a feather

Those forty eight never came home, there families still yearn
No justice brought
Still we do not learn
The danger in clubs is fraught

This night should serve as a reminder,
On the 14th of February 1981,
It would be far kinder,
If all their battles could be won.







[ot] this is based on the stardust disaster in dublin, it happened in the wee hours of valentines mourning [/ot]


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## murdershewrote2005

*Two kids and a condom ( rated R)*

"Happy Valentine’s day, baby."

I pulled him into the room and shut the door, pressing my body against him. I could feel his breath against my skin as he kissed me, his big hands pulling my shirt over my head, tossing it behind us on the bed. A wave of heat and desire tore through me as he undressed me, his eyes fixed on mine, blue ocean waves crashing against the brown shoreline, pulling it away grain by grain until all that remained was the mud in between. I felt the blood rise in my cheeks as he reached out to touch me, running his hands along my every curve, like a blind man exporing a room where he had never been before. I gave myself over to him, letting him steal me away to a pleasure I had never known. His kisses burned my skin, leaving me flushed and moist everywhere his lips had been. Four minutes passed in unanticipated bliss as he brushed his lips down my stomach, across my thighs, tantalizing me with every touch, every kiss...

I layed on the bed, enjoying the way his lips roamed my body, reading it like a traveler's map for a place he'd been before. Slowly, he made his way back up, pressing his lips against mine like a hungry animal, my body devouring him in one swift gulp. I screamed as we climaxed, drowning out the sound of the door as it creaked open.

"Kassie?" 

"Jacob?" I screamed, jerking the blankets up over my naked body.

"What the fuck?" Jacob's face was dangerously close to the crimson red of the dozen roses he was holding in his right hand.

"What the fuck is right! I'm out of here." My naked date gathered his clothes and streaked out, leaving me alone with my boyfriend.

"What was _that_?" 

"What was what?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Kassidy." His eyes narrowed, 

"Oh, _that_? Don't worry about it. I don't even know his name."

"Happy Valentine's Day..." He threw the bouquet of roses on the floor, a small, gold ring tumbling out of the center of the bundle, sparkle from the diamond catching my eye as it landed on the carpet.


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## Kat

*V-day song*

[ot]adult language and situations, may be offensive to some readers[/ot]

* V-Day Song *
sung to the tune of “O Christmas Tree”


Clamydia, Clamydia
It's burning when I take a pee
I should have known that fuck was queer
when it only cost a beer
Clamydia, Clamydia
It's burning when I take a pee


Oh genital warts, Oh genital warts,
there are bumps all over my twat
that's what I get for buying sex
next time I'll just go to a bar
Oh genital warts, Oh genital warts,
there are bumps all over my twat

Oh syphilis, Oh syphilis
how painful are the ulcers
now everytime I get it on
I'll have him put a rubber on
Oh syphilis, Oh syphilis
how painful are the ulcers

Venereal disease, venereal disease
I'm all drugged up now
This is the worst present
for v-day ever
Venereal disease, venereal disease
I'm all drugged up now


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## mjk

*A Blood Flower*

[an]400 words exactly. you're killing me with the word limit, gohn. i borrowed my title from the cure since i couldn't come up with anything else. enjoy![/an] 


*A Blood Flower*

I was praying for a blossom of red, not a flower, but a blood stain. I hadn’t returned his calls, so when he showed up at my house on Valentine’s Day with a bouquet asking me to dinner, I had no viable excuse handy.

Once seated, Ross ordered us a bottle of merlot and reached for my hand.

“We’ve been dating for almost a year.” He said.

“You’re kidding? It’s been that long?” I asked, wondering where the wine was.

He chuckled, “You know what they say about time.”

_It crawls when you’re waiting to find out if you’re carrying some lawyer’s spawn?_ I thought.

The wine arrived and I gulped down my first glass.

“Getting drunk?” He asked.

“I was thirsty.” I said lamely, averting my eyes from the glass of water next to me.

I poured another glass and opened up my menu to use as a shield.

“I want to say something to you.” He said, pulling down at the top of the menu.

I let it drop.

“I love you. Will you marry me?” He asked with a confident smile. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet jewelry box. He opened it, revealing a diamond ring. It seemed to wink, as if taunting me.

At that moment, I felt the slightest of sensations. “I have to go to the bathroom.” I exclaimed.

Locked in the stall, I wept tears of joyful relief at the splash of bright red that greeted me like an old friend.

I walked back to the table with a grin on my face.

“So, you’ll say yes?”

I looked at him, perplexed before I remembered the ring. “Oh, Ross, I don’t want to marry you. I don’t really know why you thought I would.”

“But we’ve been dating for so long; I figured you loved me too.” He stammered.

“Hmm, well, sorry.” I said, trying for an expression of concern but still riding the high of getting my period.

“Sorry?!” He snapped, snatching the box closed. “You’ve been leading me on this whole time?”

“Leading you on? Oh, Ross... I do like you, and well, the sex is fantastic. But seriously... Me? Marry a lawyer?”

His mouth dropped open in shock.

“Are you upset?”

“Of course I am.” He grumbled, throwing back the rest of his wine and pouring another glass.

“Does this mean we can’t have sex anymore?”


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## gohn67

[ot]Yes, but you'll thank me when you have to judge them.  You're still judging right?

On a side note if anyone else wants to judge.  You're all welcome to.[/ot]


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## mjk

[ot]yes, yes, i'm still judging.[/ot]


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## mjk

[ot]i think ilan's poem should be considered in the judging even if he suggested the prompt.  in fact, just being the suggestor of the prompt seems like a pretty silly reason to be excluded from all the fun! anybody else have an opinion to throw on this one?[/ot]


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## Crazy_dude6662

mjk said:
			
		

> [ot]i think ilan's poem should be considered in the judging even if he suggested the prompt.  in fact, just being the suggestor of the prompt seems like a pretty silly reason to be excluded from all the fun! anybody else have an opinion to throw on this one?[/ot]



[ot] the reason is he had a head start, he could have been working on the entry before anyone else, thus giving himself an unfair advantage [/ot]


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## mjk

Crazy_dude6662 said:
			
		

> [ot] the reason is he had a head start, he could have been working on the entry before anyone else, thus giving himself an unfair advantage [/ot]


 [ot]okay, i see your point... but still! [/ot]


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## eggo

*My Love is Electric*

[ot] Ilan's more then welcome. Everyone has over two weeks to come up with something, more then enough time to overcome his "head Start". Me? I'll give him a extra year and still whoop 'em j/k [/ot]

My room is a bland one. The bed, a small bookshelf and a toilet are my only amenities. I do have a small window that lets in the filtered light from outside. I can tell when it’s light or dark from the glow of the opaque milk glass.

I like to read to pass the time, but the light bulb in my room flashes on and off. Sometimes the memories come streaming back. I’m not sure if they are all real. The light bulb in my room flashes on and off.

I remember the night of the accident, the car going over the guardrail. I see the car hit the pavement and squash like some construct of play-doh. I walk close and see her face stretched out on the windshield like at a fun house. The bits of broken glass mixed in with matted hair, blood and ravaged flesh press against the windshield and leak out from the cracks. She was a caricature of my wife drawn hastily by drunken bum.

The drops of blood drip through the spidery cracks and then down to the asphalt , creating a red clarity to the rocks that live within it.

I walk to the calendar and check off the day, February 14.

“ They're ready Melton,” the guard says as he opens the cell door.

He enters with two other guards and they shackle my hands and feet and when they are tight they escort me down the hall.

I remember the trial, where they said it was me that did it. Where they said I cut the brake line and watched her die. I don’t remember any of that. I don't think I did it.

At the end of the hall is the chair. They strap my in and put a wet sponge on my head before lowering the tin bucket meant to fry my brain. All the time this is going on, a priest is muttering some special recitation to gain my soul heavenly passage.

“Any last words,” says the warden.

I look up at the ceiling hoping to see her,

“ I love you honey, Happy Valentines day.”

And they pull the black mask over my head.


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## gohn67

[ot]
Just a reminder of some of the submission guidelines.

1.Only one entry per person.
*2.Your piece needs to have a title and it should be in bold.*
3.Do not go over the word limit.
4.Spelling and grammar count.[/ot]


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## mjk

[ot]does underlined count?  [/ot]


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## eggo

[ot] Is your wicked way subtle post directed at me Gohn? I'm too dense to see where I screwed up[/ot]


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## gohn67

[ot]
EDIT: Sorry if this confused anyone.  I'm not a title nazi, I wasn't being entirely serious.  Although I would like everyone's titles to be bold, just because that's how it's been done for previous LMs and it seemed to work out fine.  Don't worry you won't lose any points over it.  I don't want this to become a like a pain the butt, like publishing.  I blame the miscommunication on my poorly constructed introduction to LM #6. 

---

minor guideline #2 for LM revised and embellished upon (just because I have the power to do that)-

*2. Your piece needs to have a title and it has to be in bold*

-Title cannot be underlined (ahem, mj)
-Title cannot be italicized
-Title cannot be in quotes (points to murdershewrote)
-Title cannot be underlined and bold (looking at Crazydude)
-Title cannot be italicized and bold
-Title cannot be underlined and italicized
-Title cannot be in quotes and underlined
-Title cannot be in quotes and bold
-Title cannot be in quotes and italicized
-Title cannot be in quotes and italicized and underlined
-Title cannot be in quotes and italicized and bold
-Title cannot be in quotes and bold and underlined 
-Title cannot be underlined and italicized and bold
-Title cannot be underlined and italicized and bold and in quotes
-Title should be in the body of the post and not just in subject header (eggo and Kat)

And once again in java (if I remember right, it's been a while since programming class) format (key: Bold = B, Underlined = U, Quotes = Q, and Italicized = I)

!(U || I || B || Q || (U && B) || (U && I) || (I && B) || (Q && B) || (Q && I) || (Q && I && U) || (Q && I && B) || (Q && B && U) || (U && I && B) || U && I && B && Q) || (Title should not be in the body of the post and not just in subject header))

The reason to for everyone to have the same title format is because it will make it easier to figure out what the title of your piece is when everything is uniform.  But you may say, "doesn't that limit my creativity and abilty to create a unique title of my own?"  Yes, it does, sadly.  

And you may also say, "what is the point having all the titles bold, isn't it obvious what the title is? It's not like the judges have an IQ of 36."  True again, and to be honest there isn't really a very good reason to not have all the titles become bold.  It's just the part of the submission guidelines, just like any contest or publisher (even though this one is just for fun) there's a like a million hoops to jump through. 

[/ot]


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## Ilan Bouchard

Crazy_dude6662 said:
			
		

> [ot] the reason is he had a head start, he could have been working on the entry before anyone else, thus giving himself an unfair advantage [/ot]


[ot]I didn't start it until the competition started; I didn't even think it would be used.  Eggo's comment seems to make sense though, as I _did_ submit on the first or second day.  Y'all have plenty of time as well. :wink: 

And titles always kill me.  Bah.[/ot]


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## mjk

[ot]gohn! you title nazi! you have WAY too much time on your hands! fine, i'll go back and conform to your silly rules! i don't think you're that sad about limiting our creativity, i think you're just saying that. and, uh, where's your submission, hmm?

eggo- that's quite an *ahem* ego you've got going there... 

ilan- i'm the one who started all this discussion about your poem being considered for judging, but since eggo s*** all over the idea, i'm glad to hear you'll be coming up with something else. [/ot]


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## Ilan Bouchard

> i'm glad to hear you'll be coming up with something else.


Eh?  I didn't say that.


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## mjk

Ilan Bouchard said:
			
		

> Eh? I didn't say that.


[ot]oh?  are you sure?  and why wouldn't you, anyway?[/ot]


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## gohn67

[ot]Sorry if the title rules confused anyone.  I'm not a title nazi, I wasn't being entirely serious.  Although I would like everyone's titles to be bold, just because that's how it's been done for previous LMs and it seemed to work out fine.  Don't worry you won't lose any points over it.  I don't want this to become a like a pain the butt, like publishing.  I blame the miscommunication on my poorly constructed introduction to LM #6. [/ot]


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## Ilan Bouchard

[ot]Off-topic replies: 15
Submittions to LM: 6[/ot]


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## mjk

gohn67 said:
			
		

> [ot]Sorry if the title rules confused anyone.  I'm not a title nazi, I wasn't being entirely serious.  [/ot]


 [ot]and neither was i.  sorry, ilan, last off topic post from me.  get back to work everyone![/ot]


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## Penelope

[ot]gohn?  You weren't being serious?  Drats! Seeing as Ilan is keeping count of the ot remarks, I just had to - in the interests of solidarity - add one of my own.  What's the score now?[/ot]


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## Penelope

[an]just for fun[/an]

"_*A Day of Doom*_"



I can’t write poems of love
to my turtle dove
because he gave me a shove
out on my ear
and he said, _with a sneer_,
“It’s quite simple my dear,
I made it ever so clear
that I fear the unhealthy maze
of your wandering ways.”

I can’t bloom, with purple passion,
for I fell out of fashion
and landed in the gutter
because of a flutter
brought on by a mutter
from a cute scalawag
playing tug-a-war tag.
It’s truly a drag
to land on my ass
because of his pass.
When he ran out of gas
he didn’t fancy my sass
and he found greener grass
to frolic in and graze
for the rest of his days.

I can’t even buy a Valentine card
for I’ve been feathered & tarred
and hoisted in the no prisoner’s yard
on my well pickled petard.

[ot]size of title was changed due to poor judgement[/ot]


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## valeca

Penelope said:
			
		

> [ot]size of title was changed due to poor judgement[/ot]


 
[ot]:lol: Rule Breaker!


That was priceless.


We needed more off topic posts[/ot]


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## gohn67

[ot]Gohn looks at Pen's title with disgust, broke every single rule and then some that he neglected to think of, which means it is perfectly acceptable, since there's nothing that says you can't have a bold, underlined, red, quoted, and large size font title.  But this makes Gohn wonder why Pen didn't italicize her poem also.

Gohn would also say that he enjoyed Pen's poem.[/ot]


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## valeca

[ot]Ummm, Gohn? It _is_ italicized. [/ot]


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## Penelope

[ot]I think Gohn meant the whole freakin poem, valeca.[/ot]


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## silverwriter

[ot]...wanders in....wtf?...now this is how you revive LM[/ot]


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## mjk

[ot] (ilan- i lied.  what's the count?) pen- you're my hero!!!! thanks for the big grin[/ot]


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## Penelope

silverwriter said:
			
		

> [ot]...wanders in....wtf?...now this is how you revive LM[/ot]



[ot]really? .. here's me thinking I was running amok[/ot]

[ot]Can we carry on an ot dialogue Gohn or are you going to impose another rule for me to ignore?[/ot]


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## Penelope

mjk said:
			
		

> [ot] (ilan- i lied.  what's the count?) pen- you're my hero!!!! thanks for the big grin[/ot]



[ot]I'm a hero?  grrrreat![/ot]


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## silverwriter

Penelope said:
			
		

> [ot]really? .. here's me thinking I was running amok[/ot]


 
[ot]*runs amok* (very unjudge-like)[/ot]


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## gohn67

[ot]





			
				Penelope said:
			
		

> [ot]really? .. here's me thinking I was running amok[/ot]
> 
> [ot]Can we carry on an ot dialogue Gohn or are you going to impose another rule for me to ignore?[/ot]



[ot]Yes, might as well Pen.  After your little title rebellion, I've given up on being a dictator.  I'm all for socialism? now or is it communism? or is it anarchy?  Yes, I think I'm all for anarchy now. [/ot]



			
				Penelope said:
			
		

> [ot]I think Gohn meant the whole freakin poem, valeca.[/ot]



[ot]Yes...that's what I meant...the whole poem...[/ot]
[/ot]


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## gohn67

[an]Just to balance out the submissions a bit more, I decided to post one, but just for fun though.  Besides I went over word count by 59 words.[/an]

*Mr Handsome and Sugar-Free Godiva*

	Joanna stares at the bouquet of thornless roses and then at the box of Godiva sugar-free chocolates that her date has given her.  He stands at the door with his too white teeth and a perfect smile.  She feels the sudden need to brush her teeth and apply more lipstick.  Maybe even a collagen injection, a perm at some fashionable beauty salon, and nail polish to cover the dirt on her fingers.

'I hope you it like.  About the roses, I made sure to get thornless ones.  Don't want you to get  pricked by one of them.  I know women love chocolate, but also want to keep a nice figure, so I thought, why not have the best of both worlds.  Sugar-free chocolate.—Well, I guess sugarless chocolate is not on par with sugared types, but they aren't half bad I tell you,' says Mr. Handsome. 'Shall we go, Joanna?' He holds out his hand – his nails look manicured and grime free.

	Joanna wants to tell him that she doesn't eat sugar-free anything.  She doesn't want to get cancer from saccharine and aspartame.  One of her friends ate saccharine sweetened maple syrup with pancakes every morning and a few years later was diagnosed with bladder cancer.  Coincidence? She thinks not. 'Okay, let's go,' says Joanna reluctantly.

	They drive down to Chez TJ for what Mr. Handsome says will be a romantic dinner.  Joanna doesn't listen to him but examines the nutrition facts.  Maybe they didn't use saccharine or aspartame.   Maybe it's truly unsweetened.  In the dark, she squints her eyes, trying to read the tiny print.

	Mr. Handsome looks over, driving with one hand and one eye on the road, and nods in approval. 'You can't wait to eat those chocolates huh?  I knew you'd like them.'

	Joanna reads the label – Aspartame!  She jumps back into the cushioned seat of Mr. Handsome's Porsche 911 Carrera Coupe.  The box of chocolates lying on her lap.

	Dinner goes well.  Mr. Handsome swallows the last of his slow poached beef tenderloin.  Some oxtail consommé congealing on his plate.  Joanna watches as he delicately wipes the sauce off his lips.    He looks back at her and she goes back to her chilled carrot soup.  Only a few pieces of dungeness crab and sea urchin are left in the bowl.  With her spoon she scoops up some crab meat and stuffs it in her mouth.  She tries not to taste it—seafood always made her want to vomit.  How could she know that carrot soup had seafood in it?  She was expecting more carrots.

	And now Mr. Handsome, rubbing his palms together, says, 'Now time for desert.  Why don't you open your box of Godiva.'


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## Penelope

last sentence needs an edit gohn - I think it's open *your* box of Godiva.   I only write this to let you know I read your just for fun entry because you read mine.  It seems to lack an ending too.  Why not have her vomit into his lap?  Something romantic like that would put the sugar free icing on the story.

Have you ever had sea urchin?  It has an absolutely repulsive texture or was that sea cucumber?


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## valeca

Penelope said:
			
		

> Have you ever had sea urchin? It has an absolutely repulsive texture or was that sea cucumber?


 
[ot]Sea Urchin

Sea cucumber

Either way...ick.[/ot]


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## Dephere

*Drunk With Love*

[an]This is exactly 400 words (not counting title), a tough feat to do, but I hope the judges like it.[/an]

*Drunk With Love*​
Her beaming smile decorated the mirror, as she put on her makeup, the blush turning her full cheeks into a rosy red. She had been looking forward to this day, Saint Valentine’s Day, a day for lovers. The holiday had meant nothing to her previous years, but this year was different. She had never had a Valentine before, never had someone to share her happiness with. 

As she finished applying her makeup she grabbed her satchel, stuffing her numerous books into the small brown pouch. She took one last glance in the mirror, hoping he thought she was beautiful. _She_ never had, her rotund form proving too much for her to overcome, but she thought Jesse could overlook that. She was so happy when he had given her his card, the flowery lettering precluding her jubilation. As she read the words her heart jumped, he had asked her to be his Valentine, his special someone. 

The day went by like a blur, her classes spent fantasizing about Jesse, his brown hair and blue eyes. She didn’t see him during lunch, or at nutrition break, but she knew she would have him all to herself tonight. 

She sped home in a flurry of excitement, rushing to her room in her elation. There on the bed rested her pink dress. Frills decorated the lower half, giving the dress a fluffy appearance. She dawned the dress, quickly adjusting it so it fit just right. The dance was in an hour and she needed the time to make everything perfect. Reapplying her makeup seemed a breeze compared to doing her hair. She kept telling her self the arduous task was worth it, Jesse would appreciate it and her labors would pay off.

“Elizabeth,” Her’s father’s smooth voice echoed through the hall. It was time. She walked down the stairs while caught up in her anxiety, not daring to look up until she was standing next to Jesse. When she did look up, however, she was bewildered, her gaze met only by her mother and father. Her father’s brown eyes were swimming with sorrow, while her mother simply looked out the window in silence.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice was faint, clouded with confusion. 

“There’s been an accident.” Elizabeth froze, pangs of sorrow claiming control of her body. “Jesse didn’t make it, he was hit by a drunk driver. I’m sorry honey.” Somehow sorry wasn’t enough.


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## gohn67

[ot]Thanks for reading my entry Pen, and I'll see what I can do about the ending, but there are more important matters to deal with - sea cucumber.

I never ate sea urchin, but I have eaten sea cucumber.  It's really good.  Has a kind of jell-o texture to it.  

As for sea urchin, they look disgusting so I can't eat them.  Sea Urchin Roe on sushi doesn't look very appetizing either.  I don't understand why I can chicken eggs but not Urchin eggs. [/ot]

[ot]Woohoo! A new entry! 

PS- Dephere - Title.  Bold. In the body of the post.   [/ot]


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## Dephere

[ot]I just realized that as I was reading the old posts! Sorry...I've been meaning to do this for a while, but haven't had the time to write. Today was the day though.  [/ot]


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## Brightside

*Reassured loneliness*​

I don’t mind being on my own, he thought.

Just then the most amazing looking women casually walked passed holding an outrageously large, bright bouquet of flowers. He caught a glimpse of her sparkling smile – filled with affection for an unknown sender. Something ached within his stomach; hunger maybe. Nothing else.

‘Huh, look at the legs on that,’ said his boss, appearing like a wraith from behind the long lines of sports clothing. ‘Bet her mans rich, eh?’

Michael turned to his Store Manager, ‘yeah, ugly and rich.’ 

The small, balding Manager sniggered and mumbled something lurid. It was always the same. And somehow this man had courted a woman, married her, and sired two young children. How could the Universe let such a being have such beautiful things? He had the worst sense of humour, literally counted the minutes, if not seconds, of his staffs’ lunch breaks, and treated women with such distain and disrespect; Michael was surprised his wife hadn’t killed him in his sleep yet.

He would never do that. He would never treat – did not treat – any of the opposite sex in such a way (he only laughed and joked with the rest of the guys so they didn’t think he was too weird). He knew he could be a better boyfriend/husband than most of the males he worked or drank with, but, somehow, he was left alone once more during St Valentines.

Yeah, but I don’t mind being on my own, he reassured himself. He could do what he wanted, when he wanted. Play football or poker whenever; go for a drink with the lads every night (if he wanted); he could even sit eating chips in his pants watching the _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy (extended version) all day long without anyone moaning at him – if he wanted.

Yes, he was master of his Universe, and no one could take that away from him. Well, there was no one there to take anything away…

Ever since his girlfriend slept with his brother; ever since he lost the balls to ask out a girl; ever since Valentines two years ago. The last time he spoke to his brother.

His small, cold, two roomed flat always seemed colder, even empty, this time of year.

But these things did not matter, not to Michael.

He didn’t mind being alone on the most romantic day of the year.


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## Penelope

*Teapot Tragedy*
[an]400 words without title[/an]

He’d bought her a scarlet satin chemise the year before and watched, with delight as she’d modeled it, just for him, with a sensuous sashay.  As she sauntered into their bedroom, each salsa beat of her hips reminded him of how her ass looked like an upside down heart.  On the morning of the fifteenth, he’d said a silent prayer of thanks to Cupid and Pan for blessing him with a lover like Esther.  

In September, Esther began drinking chamomile tea instead of spicy zinfandel wine.  While she hadn’t shared any joyful news, Porter was certain she was pregnant and took up the laundry and shopping chores to lighten her routine.  The late morning lie ins, canceled lunch dates and lacklustre evening meals were perfectly understandable in her delicate condition.   Porter, naturally, made no overtures in their boudoir and Esther seemed ever so grateful when he began sleeping in the spare bedroom in October.  

November arrived with Esther being captured by ginseng and ginger cravings which Porter interpreted as a precious expectant woman’s chemical imbalances.  He’d brew pots for her quietly refilling the new fragile china cup she fancied.

She was so lithe, her svelte figure hadn’t thickened by December when she switched to Earl Grey laced with lemon and honey.  She’d moodily lounge around for hours, in her tatty terry robe, staring into the abyss of tea leaves she’d upended in the Petit Point saucer.  Porter told himself that moody rhymed with broody and whistled, tunelessly, while mentally discarding unsuitable names for his progeny.   

One evening, in mid-January, Porter came home to discover she’d vanished.  Their apartment was strewn with discarded remnants of their cohabitation.  The scarlet chemise was balled up in a corner but she’d taken the china cup.  Porter tore through the trash for castaway clues.  In desperation, he took to steeping tea, inhaling the aroma and scouring the remains in hopes of a cosmic connection with Esther who still haunted his existence.

By Valentine’s Day, Porter’s life had taken on a bitter solo dance of come and go by happenstance.  That evening, he brewed up the last of the mulberry tea she’d left behind.  He poured it into a thick glass tumbler and watched the leaves spiral wildly from his incessant stirring.  When he’d drunk down to the dregs he contemplated the soggy mess left behind and thought, _Fortune telling is a mug’s game._

[ot]This was rewritten from a flash fiction I'd done in 2005 and altered into a Valentine's Day tragedy because I love the punch line.  Besides, I haven't posted fiction here at the forums in ages.  This is not to be taken as an entry but I couldn't resist participating in some capacity other than rebellious.[/ot]


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## LoneWolf

*As She Waits*

*As She Waits*

Valentine's Day was nothing like she had expected. Chelsea waited at every available line of communication. She stood at the window, watching the cars fly by, probably filled with the fragrant odors of perfume and roses as couples raced to their favorite restaurants. She sat beside the home phone as she stared at her cell phone, waiting for a ring, a vibration, a glimmer of hope. Chelsea turned the computer on, turned it off. Turned it on...and turned it back off. She waited.

Nick couldn't have forgotten, could he? True, he did have classes all day but surely he wouldn't have forgotten entirely, surely. The sun rose high in the sky, illuminating the joyful faces and sparkling eyes of women everywhere. As the sun sunk low beneath the horizon, kissing the sky and making it blush a dusty pink hue, bedrooms were filled with moans of ecstasy blinded couples. Still, Chelsea waited; the sound of reality shows filled her room.

Finally her phone rang. She grabbed it, put it to her ear, expecting the voice of her beloved. Chelsea was met with a voice quite similar to that of Nick's...his brother's.

So close, but not quite...

The joyful, expectant shine dimmed from her eyes as she listened to Nick's brother. Yes, he was on his way now with a gorgeous rose and a box of chocolates for his baby sister...hey, they _were_ practically family. Yes, he had seen Nick at school. No, he didn't know where he was but boy, oh boy, did those girls get him a lot of stuff...

Chelsea listened to his brother as he continued, but unbeknownst to her a decision was being made inside of her. Her heart rose up, from which tiny slivers of broken shards fell.  It cried out, begging, pleading for her next move, for her next decision. It was Valentine's Day and her shattered heart waited. She waited. They waited.


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## Wyndstar

*Experience Observations*

*Experience Observations*

      Abigail didn’t usually go to the mall.  She was in her seventies, and liked to spent Valentine’s Day with her grand children, but they were grown now, with sweethearts of their own to woo.  So rather than stew regretfully, she thought perhaps a stroll.  Maybe pick up something nice to gift herself with.

   She passed by a happy couple, talking and laughing.  They were young, and looked very good together.  There was a sort of natural ease between them, a connection the older woman had had with her husband of 45 years, before he passed five years ago.  

   Abigail was so grateful to those youngsters for reminding her how wonderful love and romance could be.

   After a little while of drifting in the same direction as the young lovers who had shared a soda and a box of rich chocolates with each other along the way, Abigail and the pair made their way to the end of the mall.

   “It’s taken me a while to understand what passes for romance these days, but take it from an old woman's experienced observations, nothing changes when it comes to couples who are really happy together.”  Abigail mentioned to a woman sitting next to her, as the couple gleefully advanced to the video arcade across the way “I never thought of games like these as a proper date, but anything can be romantic now, I suppose.”

   “I don’t know,” the woman answered with a strange sort of disinterest “I don’t like video games.”

   “Waiting for a date then, dear?” Abigail wondered curiously “It is Valentine’s Day after all.”

   “Well, I came here with my husband and we got separated an hour ago.” The woman explained with a sigh “I’ve been looking for him without success so I’m here waiting for him and—oh, there he is.”

   The young woman gestured to the video arcade, and Abigail felt an embarrassed flush come over her.

   “Well, of course, my best friend would find him.” She went on to say, as the young ‘lovers’ Abigail had observed acknowledged, and then went on to ignore the ‘wife’ “Christ, how they love their video games.  I’ll be waiting here another hour…”

   Indeed, she would be waiting for the game’s end, for a very long time.  And judging from her forlorn expression, she knew it.

   Not knowing what to say, Abigail sadly went on her way.


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## VinrAlfakyn

*Happy Valentine's Day....*

*Happy Valentine's Day....*

My boyfriend and I broke up right before Christmas. I'm still very much in love with him, but he told me that he still wanted to be good friends with me. We just haven't talked as much as we used to since then.

To add some background information: I'm a cheerleader, and there is a girl on my squad named Tara. She has always been nice to everyone, but she is the biggest ditz. Throughout the month of January I noticed that her and my ex started becoming close friends: laughing together in the halls and talking to each other more. It wasn't all the time, though, so I never thought much of it. Then came Valentine's Day. 

The morning was actually pretty good. Of course I missed my ex and I wished I could be spending Valentine's Day with him, but I was coping. I made it to lunch, and then everything fell apart. 

After eating, I took off down the hall to go to my locker. In the hall I met with one of my friends, Lacy. She asked me, "Have you heard about Eddy?" I told her no, I hadn't. She then informed me that he had asked Tara to the prom this April. She thought I already knew. 

A bit more background information: He didn't take me to the prom when we were together, and this year he's taking her AND getting a limo. I just _had_ to find out that day. 

During my next class, I felt it coming. I put my jacket over my head so no one would see me cry.


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## Jiieden

*A Song of Diamond*

* Diamond Dreams *

The card slammed to the table, and I looked into her eyes.  They were tipped with silver, and I knew she’d given herself away. The dice was spinning in time to the music. 

	The night was young, and still bursting with promise.  I could feel the rhythm of the beating lights above, a waltz marching to climax.  Diamond-like, the lights flooded her face with prisms, decking her in rainbows and spirals of glamour.  It was the sort of beauty a woman could only have for one or two nights in her life.  And never during the day – sunlight is too honest.  

	I knew this was my time.  She’d given herself away, and this was my moment – now, I would steal her heart.  

	“Sixty-eight thousand,” I said, smiling to her.  

	She matched, and we played.  In the background, I could hear the musicians pick up the pace.  There was something flowing through me, like lady luck herself.  Clouds danced through me, and I couldn’t lose.

	But I did, of course.  Those eyes were tipped with silver and I’d given her gold.  It was, I knew, something I’d regret in the morning.

	Yet the music was strong, and her face was sketched like the dream of an artist.  An aurora on ice, swimming in shattered light and water.  I was taken in, baited and hooked.  It was pure, liquid poison. It was like a dream, I was drifting in a dream.  

	It was, of course.  So I woke up, and it all melted away into the night.  It was Valentine’s night, but I was alone and she was gone.  Drifting, floating, pearling away into dream.


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## Chris Miller

*Joanne’s Artistic Floral Arrangements and Gifts*

My instructions to Joanne of Joanne’s Artistic Floral Arrangements and Gifts were very specific. As assistant manager of a busy Subway restaurant franchise, I can assure you that I am well trained and versed in providing direction that is clear and concise and understandable by anyone whose mental capacity has not been congenitally compromised.

“_To my loving wife: a wonderful mother and devoted partner._”  That is what I wrote on the card that was to be affixed at no extra charge to a dozen long-stem red roses with baby’s breath and delivered to 120 Devonshire, Appt. 302.  It’s not brain surgery. 

(It was hard wording the “mother” part without making it sound as if she were my mother too, probably because her constant bitching about all the cooking and cleaning and picking up after me and whatnot has made me overly sensitive in this regard. But we do have four kids: two boys and two girls—the youngest still at home. [None on the way though, thank god, ever.  Mary got her tubes tied back when we still had sex.] So I thought I should at least mention the mother part of her job. And Joanne of Joanne’s Artistic Floral Arrangements and Gifts acknowledged that it was a wonderful sentiment, thought it very well penned too.)

When one of my part-timers has demonstrated the kind of dedication that transcends mere job description, has striven to go that extra inch, stayed to the last gulp so to speak, I like to provide some recognition, some token of appreciation. So the complimentarily gift-wrapped Belgian chocolates were to be delivered to 66 Hill West, Appt. 6 along with a note that just said “_You’re sweet too, thanks for you know what._” It’s not quantum physics. 

So if you are like me you are probably wondering why I am lying here on the kitchen floor next to an orange enameled cast iron skillet with blood on it, trussed like a rodeo calf, duct taped hand and foot, a raspberry chocolate truffle stuffed and melting in either nostril and a curling iron that I hope is not set on high protruding from my ass, wondering if Lisa will like the roses, kind of hoping she can’t read.


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## gohn67

Just a reminder for anyone who still wants to particpate: LM will close at midnight Sunday PST - Pacific Standard Time.  Which means there's still almost a day and a half left.

And thanks to all who participated so far, through judging and submissions.


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## character1_Caitlin

gohn67 said:
			
		

> Just a reminder for anyone who still wants to particpate: LM will close at midnight Sunday PST - Pacific Standard Time. Which means there's still almost a day and a half left.
> 
> And thanks to all who participated so far, through judging and submissions.


 
[ot]I just saw this now, I will try to come up with something.
I need to re-read the rules , seems like a lot of them.

Pacific time? goodie.[/ot]


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## silverwriter

[ot]might as well throw in a little tidbit. language warning[/ot]
[an]no teddy bears were harmed in the creation of this poem[/an]


*Why I don't own a Shotgun*

“Roses are red.
Violets are blue.”
Read that poem again
and I will hurt you.

Take all your roses,
your pink, fluffy shit,
and take that love poem
because it really bit.

Toss them in the trash
for all that I care.
Watch flames engulf them.
Especially the bear.

I don’t care that he got you
a candlelit meal.
I don’t care that your heart
was so easy to steal.

Don’t go and tell me
of the wondrous proposal
Or I’m likely to put you
in the garbage disposal.

I don’t care how his face was
when he was down on one knee.
Trust me, that’s not a picture
I’ll ever want to see.

Anything you tell me
will worsen my mood.
No, I don’t really care
if you think I’m ‘so rude!’

If you’re wondering why your tales
don’t make me swoon, sigh, or tingle.
Hi, I am ‘the ex‘.
You’re the reason I’m single.


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## character1_Caitlin

*The Delivery*

*The Delivery*​ 
[an] ms word count is 400 exact including title, no green squiggly lines so I hope the grammar is correct [/an] ​ 

Today is February fifteenth, the day after Valentine’s Day, Karen has eaten all her chocolate, displayed the hand made card from her son. Karen always gets her standard card and chocolate from her husband. He never forgets to remember the day.

“I am going for tea next door, ” Karen announces.

Madeline lives next door. Her health is not as good as it once was.

Madeline was divorced when she was young and later she met a wonderful man named Roy and they spent fifteen years together that were ended by Roy’s passing after a lengthy illness. Madeline nursed him and looked after him as any wife would even though they were never married.

“How are you today?” Karen asks. 

“Oh well you know, legs are a little stiff but I am glad my bones do not ache as I am on that new cholesterol pill the doctor gave me last month, would you like a tea and some cookies?” 

“Sure, I have time” Karen replies.

“Madeline, where did the flowers come from?” Karen asks.

“They came from the florist” Madeline chuckles while stating the obvious.

“Really, who are they from, is there something you’re not telling me?” 

“Well, it seems Roy made arrangements with the florist before he died to send me flowers for Valentine’s Day and each year one dozen arrive on the morning of the fourteenth. Have you not seen them the other years?”

“I assumed they were from your daughter but I see she sent a card and chocolates”.

“They are beautiful and you are very lucky to have this reminder of Roy’s love for you”

“I have to go Madeline but will be back later for a short visit”.

Karen walks in the door and asks her husband, “If you knew you were going to die would you arrange to have flowers sent to me every year on Valentine’s Day?”

“Umm, never thought about it to be honest”, Mike says. 

Well it is the following Valentine’s Day and sadly Madeline passed away during the summer. Mike has gone to work and there is a knock at the door.

“There is no answer next door and I have a delivery for the women at 10 Elm Street, will you accept them on her behalf?” 

“Yes, thank you” Karen said. 

Karen later receives her standard card with chocolates and has a cup of tea alone.


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## strangedaze

[ot]HA - nice clincher, Silver. [/ot]


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## silverwriter

[ot]*bows* many thanks strangedaze[/ot]


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## Ruben

[ot]Don't close it yet please, I know it's sunday, but I still want to enter and I still have to start. I'll go as fast as possible[/ot]


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## Dephere

[ot]You have until 12 tonight, Ruben.[/ot]


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## Ruben

Dephere said:
			
		

> [ot]You have until 12 tonight, Ruben.[/ot]



But I live in Belgium (different time zone)

How many hours to go?


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## Dephere

[ot]7...I think. It's also different than my time zone as well.[/ot]


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## Ruben

[ot]Oh I see, thanks, and does it HAVE to be about a bad valentines day? Or just about stinkin' love?[/ot]


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## Dephere

[ot]Considering that Worst Valentine's Day is the prompt, I would say, yes, it has to be about Valentine's Day.[/ot]


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## Ruben

[ot]But silverwriter's work also isn't about valentines day... (not that I didn't like it, I loved it!)[/ot]


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## silverwriter

[ot] actually, it is...[/ot]


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## Ruben

[ot]Ok, here is my entry. I realise it doesn't have to do anything about Valentines Day, but I was in times need and just finished it. I would like to relook it tomorrow, but of course, the deadline is today, so excuse me if there is some obvious mistake I missed, it's probably due to the time I had to make this and that it's passed midnight here.

I still of course loved to write it, as since LM is one of the only things that actually motivates me.[/ot]

*How love is an atom*


Ah, the atom, omnipotent and supreme.
A comparison for love, so it does seem.
Its sterling name, indissoluble in Greek,
just like amour, everlasting, never weak.

In its middlemost, a strong nucleus core,
solid as loves persistence, surely not more.
That encircled by auroral electrons,
which are the energetic sparks, for the nonce.

But I now know, science and love were amiss.
Neither correct, now to learn what really is:
The name deceitful, atoms can seize to be,
like devotion will not stay eternally.

The resolute midpoint existing of parts,
as attraction, always involves plural hearts.
And those leptons ‘of stream’ hovering over,
are just a ‘negative energy’-thrower.


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## Ruben

silverwriter said:
			
		

> [ot] actually, it is...[/ot]



[ot]'t Was my final hope  Oh well, I at least wrote something, that's an accomplishment, I'm sure Jen, my e-mommy, will be proud.[/ot]


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## silverwriter

[ot]your sig is so amusing[/ot]


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## gohn67

Submissions are now closed.  Thanks to everyone who submitted something.  I should have the scores by next Monday.

If anyone wants to judge, you are still welcome to.  Just PM me and I'll give you the detailed instructions, which aren't really that detailed.


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