Top 15 Page One (Week 3) Results
We’re heading into the final week of the Page One Contest and it’s been very interesting to see the favourites change from week to week as additional lines/paragraphs are entered. The final entries will be voted on next week and those will move on to our special Editor judges.
Here are the 15 entries that are moving on to Week 4 in our Page One Contest:
| 2 | Youll never find a knot you cant unravel. The soothsayers words mocked Azurha more loudly than usual tonight. She strained against the hemp ropes that bound her wrists and ankles to the thick wooden posts, reviving new trickles of blood down her copper brown arms. She whispered a string of curses, taking care to speak softly so she wouldnt wake her master and his friends. First, she cursed the Deizians, whose ships appeared in the sky centuries ago and used their magical technology to form the Empire. Then, she cursed the Elymanians like her master, who shook off their yoke of slavery and saddled it on her people, the Alpirions, two generations before. And finally, she cursed her master for subjecting her to this treatment. If she ever got free, shed show him the meaning of torture. The first birdsongs of dawn filtered in from the courtyard, and she cringed. How much longer would the wine dull their senses and leave them adrift in their drunken slumber? For three days, shed been forced to stand in the center of the room like this, a naked plaything for her master and his friends. For three days, shed endured whatever sick fetishes they wanted to satisfy using her body. Now, covered in blood, sweat, and other fluids she didnt want to think about, only her plans for revenge kept her spirit from breaking. |
| 4 | Bloody hell. Analise Warrington cringed. Would God strike her down for blaspheming in churcheven if it was in thought only? Ignoring the collective gasp of the congregants over the initial announcement, the vicar, Mr. Anderson, continued speaking in a voice that was at once calming and strong. "It is the intention of His Grace's family that due to the Cold Bath Field Riots and the persisting tension and unrest within London, to transport His Grace to Staverton Park where the funeral will be held one week from tomorrow." Analise quickly discerned what the result of the vicars innocuous announcement would be, and she nearly bent double as she absorbed its impact. She must have made a sound of distress, for Paul Brigand, the foreman at the textile mill, turned and gave her an odd, speculative look, sliding his glance over Analise and her four nieces. With an insolent wink and a smug smile, he turned back to face the altar. An imposter of piety. |
| 7 | Vivid dreams of sinking ships still played in his mind, but hed slept all he would this night. The rumbling of falling stones had woken him from fitful slumber. He rolled in time to see the wall of his home fall onto the pile of moss that served as his bed. Yngvi exited the remains of his shelter and walked to the crumbled side. Ruined. If he did not repair the damage, tonight he would sleep exposed. Though months remained before the icy winter winds began, the thought of laying prone against the rocks, with nothing between him and the sky, sent shivers of unease through his belly. He had carefully stacked the stones, secured them with a mortar of moss and sand, created a cave, a place inside the earth. No reason existed for them to give way in such a manner. Yngvi dragged his hand over his face and settled his tangled beard. In the east, low on the horizon, sat the sun. But the sky's bruised purple told him midsummer night still draped the earth. For the third time this moon his sleep had been interrupted by falling stones. |
| 9 | William Battencliffe wagers five thousand pounds that Miss Julia St. Claire will become the next Countess of Clivesden. Unable to believe his eyes, Benedict read the lines in White's infamous betting book again. His fingers constricted about the quill just shy of crushing it. At the moment, he could no longer recall what he'd been about to set down in the book itself. Some idiocy, no doubt. Hardly worth the bother now. The book's most recent inscription, scrawled out in such a casual hand for all the world to see, had quite driven the notion from his mind. In gold ink, no less. How fitting. Gold ink for Battencliffe, the ton's golden boy. His friend nudged him. "What's the matter? Your feet coming over icy all the sudden?" Lead blocks would be more accurate, but Benedict wasn't about to admit to that. He laid the quill aside and jabbed a finger at the heavy vellum page. "Upperton, have you seen this?" He peered over Benedict's shoulder. "Clivesden? Thought he was married. And what's Miss Julia got to do with any of this?" |
| 11 | Seth didn't know which was worse. Spending eternity in hell or working his way out of damnation by becoming a murderer. Okay, in his defense, he wasn't technically a murderer, at least in the terms mortals used. He had, however, been responsible for the termination of more lives than he could count-and all in the name of finding redemption. And no, the irony wasn't lost on him, but he didn't have time to contemplate his penance at the moment. He was on the clock. Franklin Michaels jogged around the bend. Each step brought him closer to Sethto death. The park was practically deserted, and Seth was grateful. Not because he feared his target might see himterminations were easier if Seth didnt think of his victims by namebut because this assignment necessitated solitude. Why? Because his bosses, The Angels of Death, deemed it so. And Seths job wasnt to question but to do. To fulfill his obligations without emotion and with as little deviation as possible. Simple as that. Simple? Ha! There was nothing fucking simple about taking a persons life, even a scumbag like this one. |
| 12 | Id been on my share of boring stakeouts during my career but watching toenail polish dry would have been a titillating distraction right about now. For the past five hours, I'd done nothing but sit on my nearly frozen ass while my target worked Sudoku puzzles-and here I thought my life was pathetic. The only thing keeping me from slipping into a coma of boredom were the violent shivers wracking my body. God, everything from my brain down was numb. Served me right for volunteering to take point on the surveillance while the FBI gear-greasing began. I, Samantha Martin, am a complete idiot. I closed my eyes and rubbed my hands up and down my arms. God, Id kill for another cup of coffee. Or maybe a shot of antifreeze. Well, my partner said, sitting his binoculars on his lap, relief should be here at midnight, which means we have about two more minutes to listen to each others teeth chatter. We always get the shittiest assignments. I turned to face him. Remember the freak with the toenail fetish? I still have nightmares about being buried alive in one of those vats we found in his basement. Marks low-rumbling laughter filled the car, and he swiveled his head in my direction. His green eyes drew me into their alluring web. Again. And, suddenly, I didnt feel so cold. |
| 15 | Earthshine 0620 hours, Day 252, 2079, Lunar City, Moon K.C. watched the beautiful blue planet called Earth drop below the horizon. Although the same sequence had been shown on the hotel wall screen at 0600 daily for the whole four months, two weeks, and two days she had been in Lunar City, she couldnt ignore it. Just like she couldnt ignore the sound of her new heart. The strong steady rhythm was a miracle. An extraordinary, extravagant, wondrous miracle. Incredibly, at the age of thirty-five she had a second chance. Instead of sitting, dancing. Instead of stillness, liveliness. Instead of loneliness, a companion? Laughter gurgled. Blinking quickly she banished the moisture before tears formed. She had choices now. But could she change? The time shown on the wall screen brought her back from that vital question. Taking the last sip of her morning tea, she mentally reviewed her new assignments. She shouldnt have complained about being bored. Her manager told her if she wanted something to do he had a couple of audits she could start. She felt trickles of unease although she hadnt identified anything specific. Yet. |
| 16 | Life should not be allowed to bitch-slap you in the middle of summer -- it is too hot, too muggy, too stultifying to prepare for any kind of blow. Unfortunately, I've yet to figure how to bend it to my will, so there I was, living it, hoping for an easy day at work. It was August in Los Angeles; the air hung heavy with heat and smog, and I was grateful for the state-of-the-art air conditioner in my new office. Mid-snort from the latest Daily Show episode, the door jangled open, exposing a female profile and letting in the thick outdoor air. A quick jab to the spacebar paused the ep and I stood to greet who I hoped was a seriously lost woman. Work and I werent getting along today, even as much as I normally love my job. It was just too bloody hot, and the last case was too bloody bloody. Ironic sentiments coming from a Fury who'd resided in hell for centuries, I know. But Id been on earth too long, and my heat tolerance had gone the way of Madonna's American accent. |
| 17 | Birds. She could hear birds, dammit! Allis head hurt. Actually, everything hurt. She reached to pull the blanket over her head to hide away from the intrusive light and sounds of morning. Her hand searched the bed beside her. No blanket. Only leaves. Leaves? What the hell? She sat up with a start, squinting. Pain shafted through her eyes and into the back of her skull, a heavy throbbing drilling into her brain. She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to physically push the pain away. Pushing her long, scarlet hair back from her eyes, Alli stood and turned around. Trees. They were everywhere. She seemed to be in the middle of a glade. Do we even have glades in Central Park? Well, this is different. And dangerous, she muttered. The last thing she remembered was running to catch a cab to take her home from training. She had been nowhere near Central Park. Alli glanced at her watch. Five-thirty. She would have plenty of time to go home and get ready for work. She looked around for her sports bag, then shook her head in disgust. "Great. Not only have I spent the night in the park, I've been mugged, too. I hope they like sweaty socks and track suit pants! Her hand grasped at her chest and the air left her lungs in a rush. |
| 18 | No longer needed. Gabriel gazed down at the sleepless city below from his seat on the crown ledge of the US Bank Tower, unseeing. Thousands of years of loyal service, dealing justice and fighting for freedom, never losing sight of why he was doing what he did. And just like that, gone. The war was over, transferred from his world to this planet, transferred to the humans. His military services were no longer wanted. But the humans were unprepared for what was coming. Most believed evil was a state of mind, a thing someone did. They did not understand that evil was alive. It inundated the soul, was the individual. It could be a choice, but most of the time they were simply born that way. Or created that way. Gabriel sighed and stared down at the late night traffic far below. The situation on Earth was worsening, it had not reached critical point yet, but it was close. So many years hunting demons. Chasing shades and anything else they thought to throw at them. He narrowed his gaze and stared at the humans scurrying about like ants. So involved in their own lives, thinking themselves so superior, invincible even. His massive wings ruffled and flexed the feathers, reacting to his annoyance, settling back into place with a calm thought. If only they knew. Turning his head, he scanned the sprawling metropolis that was Los Angeles. How ironic, the City of Angels. |
| 20 | The dim purple light above the emergency exit cast a faint glow over the alley and the pair coupling against the brick wall. Barely twenty feet away, hunkered down in the shadows, a darker shape watched, thinking about the merits of killing them both, or waiting for the girl to be alone. The bar catered to the darker element- mostly men- who came to drink, drug, and fornicate. Dangerous men. Men who committed violent crime as easily as breathing. Few women frequented this establishment; most of the females present worked there as waitresses with extras- for a price- for the men with sex on their minds. Management took a cut on everything- the liquor, the drugs, and the sex. The figure in the shadows also knew the management dictated who did what to whom and when, so it had been just a matter of time before a pair left the bar for the privacy of the alley. The guy from inside the bar was clean, well-dressed in something other than biker gear and blue jeans, and wasn't drunk or high. Which was better than usual. |
| 21 | No doubt about it, she was going to have to kill Marissa Keeley. The spawn from hell teenage daughter of the Senator from the great state of Wisconsin had come to the boutique where Mary Katherine OConnell worked--Papillons of Georgetown--tried on every size four outfit in the store and then bought nothing. Nada, zilch, bupkus. Not a blessed thing. Once the spoiled brat had left, it had been Mary Katherines responsibility to return the outfits to the racks which meant she was going to be late for her Conflict Resolution class. Again! Once done, she snatched her backpack and ran out the door. Noting the slow-moving traffic, she dashed unto 35th Street. Headlights sped toward her from the wrong side of the road. She froze. A hard, masculine body slammed into her. They hit the ground with a sickening crunch. The acrid smell of asphalt invaded her nose. Dimly, she registered screeching tires and darkened taillights disappearing in the distance. Something shifted beneath her. Something big and warm and . . . Holey Moley! She was spread eagled on top of her rescuer, her breasts crushed against his chest, her girly part nestled against his groin as if it had every right to be there. |
| 25 | It's not the end of the world. The words confused Seffy for a moment, but were lost in a sudden whirl of explosive noise and flashes, not unlike bad disco lights and smoke machines from an 80s nightclub. She felt a tremendous force pulling on her, hurtling her backward, then a terrifying weightlessness which could only end badly. Her head swam as she sailed through the atmosphere. Suddenly the velocity of her descent increased. She threw out her hands to break her fall as the ground whooshed up to meet her. Crunching her eyes closed, she let out a keening cuss word and braced for a long future of chiropractic visits. WHUMP! Seffy landed hard and felt the breath rush from her lungs. The pain made her eyes water. Too winded to groan, she coiled herself up in a ball and gulped for air. Did the salon explode? There had been that fraying tanning bed cord and spilled diet Rockstar at Verity's feet. < em > Verity. What in the world had she been talking about? And how could she try to steal Gareth out from under our noses? I could kill her. Maybe I did. Her and me both. Oh crap. < /em > |
| 26 | Sean Raleigh threw his shoe at the idiot womans retreating head. When she popped back into his bedroom to protest, he chucked the other shoe at her. Like the first, the second shoe crashed against the wall where her head had been and thunked onto the floor. If Jake didnt stop letting these women in the house, he might consider some light homicide. Just to get started. Jake! Sean rumbled. When silence greeted him, he yelled again. Still nothing. He stretched out on his bed and groped around the top of his desk. If his roommate wouldnt answer his yells, he would try the phone. Before Sean could dial, Jake's tall frame filled the door, blocking the dim light from the hallway. Still dressed in a suit and tie, Jakes imperial reserve came across as fatherly, but a bemused smirk softened his severe appearance. "At least tell me you didn't throw anything at her." |
| 27 | The barely-clothed giant grunted in protestation as the slave master wheeled him into the Avantine square, shackled to the back of the cart like a prize stallion. Cydda stood alone in the midst of the rancid crowd of posturing slave owners, but at the sight of the foreigner, silence rippled around her. A short, fat man stood on the edge of the cart with precarious balance and shouted across the square. "Next is the famed barbarian, captured by the hand of Marc Antony himself. Brought to you, from the distant shores of the North, he can outwork ten Egyptian slaves. He can pull the weight of a donkey, and lift the imperial litter single-handedly." Cydda had heard the whispered fears of these northern savages from her mother since she came of age. They cut out men's entrails at the slightest whim to tell the future. The men have a special fondness for young virgins, and would as soon cut off your head as look at you, my little girl. This man looked as though he could cut off her head with the swath of a dull sword. His body corded with muscle, thick and strong as the trees he was said to worship. His loose red hair hung down a rippling back as broad and beautiful as an Arabian horse. Even his movements were quick, and foreign. Frightening, but thrilling, as though he possessed a power from the sacrificial blood that rivaled Jove himself. |
If you see your entry above, then please send us an EMAIL to pageone@espan-rwa.com and include your entry number (the number beside your entry above), your name, your email, your first paragraphs exactly as above and your FOURTH and FINAL paragraph. You have until Sunday, May 16, 2010 at 5pm Pacific to get the updated entries submitted. Please note that no late entries will be allowed in this final, very important, week. The rules have been the same the entire contest, with entries due into us by 5pm on the Sunday. These are just like submission guidelines, if you can’t follow them, your entry will be rejected.
NB: For any entries that use italics please use the code < em > and < /em > after it (without spaces) as some of the italics are getting lost in the transition.
Please remember that the entire page at the end of the fourth week is to be no more than 250 words long (in other words the total word count of all four paragraphs cannot be longer than 250). This is a Page One contest. Any entries longer than 250 words will not be considered.
For those that did not move on, we wish you the best of luck. This is only one contest and, as in all such things, is very subjective. Keep on writing!
Here is our contest schedule:
Week 1 – bottom 4 entries eliminated (leaving 24 entries), announced April 30, 2010
Week 2 – bottom 5 entries eliminated (leaving 20 entries), announced May 7, 2010
Week 3 – bottom 5 entries eliminated (leaving 15 entries), announced May 14, 2010
Week 4 – bottom 5 entries eliminated (leaving 10 entries to be forwarded to the final Editor judges), announced May 21, 2010
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