The Third Scribble Fest & a Question

A huge round of applause is due everyone who Scribbled with us on Friday. We had excellent participation!

We had 13 Scribbles, about 69 comments, 6 new participants, and almost 300 total pageviews. "Every Last One" by Lisa D. received the most (47) pageviews of any one Scribble. (Congratulations, Lisa!) Our youngest participant was Pearl W. (8) with "Kitten," and I believe our eldest was Brooke C. with "Communism."

For your convenience, I have included links to all the entries in the third Scribble Fest:

"Communism" (Brooke C.)

"Promise Me" (Amy P.)

"Alex Briggs" (David B.)

"Every Last One" (Lisa D.)

"The Attic" (Sadie F.)

"For Her" (Aimee W.)

"The Hidden Man" (Kate W.)

"Revenge" (Paul W.)

"Confusion in the Woods" (Anna W.)

"Kitten" (Pearl W.)

"The Alarming Noise" (Sydney W.)

"Vietnam Baby Crib" (Jordanna P.)

"Autobahn Chase" (David R.)

Now for the question:
When do you think the next Scribble Fest should take place? Leave a comment and let me know!

"Communism"

Curiosity spun through the mind of the young and anxious nurse in Kiev, Ukraine. Before she had greatly anticipated this fortunate opportunity to apply at the largest orphanage in the country, where work was never lacking, and pay guaranteed—which meant food, new shoes, and maybe even a new scarf and gloves, but now as she stood a little ways from the office door, an eerie feeling crept over her. The cold concrete walls around her seemed to shout, “Our Prisoner! Our Prisoner! We’ve secrets! Come find us!” 

Sari felt cold beads of sweat drop from her forehead. This leerier building seemed like no refuge at all for poor abandoned children. Drip, Drip, Drip, went the pipe above her head. Murky brown water splattered onto her coat sleeve…a fowl smell lingered in the air as well. What was this place any ways? It seemed more like a dark prison than a warm and welcoming environment for the countless little children bereaved of mother and father, friend, and relative. No laughter was heard, no hallooing, no voices at all.

In an uncontrollable fervor to uncover these mysterious wonderings, Sari wandered away from the office door. Slowly, but boldly, she lunged forward into a dimly lighted hallway. Skirmishing was heard, and rats were seen flying about at the sight of life! They were disturbed, and unaccustomed it seemed to being so. 

Then all at once Sari found herself in front of a dark entrance, so dark, so quiet you could feel it! After standing aloof for a few minutes, frozen, and fearful, Sari sauntered forward once more into the unknown…into the forbidden secret of secrets! Shoving her hand forward, she grappled for something, anything that might reveal and unravel the untold! It wasn’t long before her fingers scraped themselves across countless cold metal bars, which sliced through her heart in an instant. Adventuring further she adjusted her eyes to the darkness and lo and behold several hundred pair of eyes met hers. 

The metal bars she had felt were not doors to cells, but cribs…many hundreds of cribs. All of them held babies and not one made a whimper! No one was there to coddle or sing to them. All were fed, none physically abused, but who cares of that when the souls and hearts are trampled upon and cast aside? They were indeed so neglected that they cried not at all, and shed not a tear. Each face was as solemn as ever! They knew not what smiles or joy were! The epitome of communism! O miserable! O wretched! O demolish and obliterate the agenda of the leftist, humanist and socialist alike!

Copyright 2012 by Brooke C.

"Promise Me"

Kneeling beside the gravestone, he dropped his head into his hands and sighed heavily. 

If only she had not been so entirely firm and unbending in her last words.  If only he had not promised.  If only she knew the circumstances he was facing now.   Was a promise forever, or could the dire circumstances unbind him from his words? 

The whole scene played through his mind yet again.  He could see her now, laying wearily on the bed, and then rising slightly when he entered the room.  He had pressed her to lay back down, but she refused.  She would not listen to anything until he took the promise, she begged him with every ounce of strength never to turn from the words he was saying.  He had said ‘yes.’

Something inside him stirred and with a strong urge he wanted to stay true to the last thing he ever promised to his beloved.  

But something else inside him argued this could not possibly be done.  Principles, he reasoned, could not always stand as the truth.  There must be a circumstance at sometime—a circumstance like the one he found himself experiencing—that nullified the principle.  

Shutting his eyes, soft words repeated themselves in his mind, over again.

“Promise me, promise me, you’ll never turn from the principles we’ve stood upon.  Promise me, promise me…promise me…”

Copyright 2012 by Amy P.

"Alex Briggs"

“Why does it always happen to me? Why can’t I just be normal? I didn’t ask for it!” These were the thoughts going through the 16-year-old soccer player as he watched the ball being passed down the field.

Up until he had turned 15, life had been pretty normal. Then it all changed.

His thoughts were suddenly brought back to the game as he saw the ball being passed to him. He got it just before an opposing player, and started dribbling it towards the goal. There were two defenders in between him and the goal, but they left it open for him to pass it to another teammate who had a clear shot at the goal.

Just as the ball went into the goal, time was called. Although that was the end of the game, it wasn’t the end of what happened to Alex Briggs.

Copyright 2012 by David B.

"Every Last One"

(CAUTION: this one is very dark for children. ~P.E.)

Gun grasped tightly in hand, Dustin moved cautiously down the dark hallway. His heart was racing a million miles an hour as he inched forward, trying to breathe more quietly. As he turned corner after corner, the darkness seemed to get deeper and he tried to remember the words from the mysterious phone call, “After you enter, you have 3 turns to your left, 4 to the right, 3 more to the left, and 5 to the right. They will be in the second doorway on your left.”

Trying to stay calm, he mentally counted, “3 turns to the left, 4 to the right, one, two, three to the left, and one two, three, four--” Suddenly he heard a quiet humming noise ahead and stopped abruptly. It was voices – men’s voices. Peering intently ahead, he tried to pierce the gloom, and realized that around the next corner was a shaft of light. He crept on, and as he turned the corner, saw the light was coming from underneath a closed door. Dustin knelt down and put his ear to the crack between the bottom of the door and the floor.

As he listened, he realized that the men inside the room were talking about exactly what he wanted to hear. He strained to catch their words.

The first voice to speak was a deep, rough voice – a voice hardened by hate and pain. “What do you plan to do with all of them, Pete?”

“Exactly what I’d planned from the first,” replied a second voice. This voice was much smoother than the first, but its very smoothness and calmness while it spoke the cruel words made Dustin’s blood run cold. “After I’ve finished my scientific research and experiments, I’ll merely dispose of them all.”

“Every last one? Even the little girls?” asked the rough voice.

“Every last one.”

Suddenly, to his extreme horror, Dustin realized by the noises inside that the men were scooting chairs back from a table and standing up. He glanced around furtively, trying to find the best way of escape. Their footsteps were coming closer. He heard the door handle turn, and resolutely stepped back and raised his .357. The door opened and the last man he expected to see walked out of the room.”

Copyright 2012 by Lisa D.

"The Attic"

Twenty-five-year-old Adam begrudgingly went up the attic stairs. When he reached the door he paused, unsure if he would really go through with what he had to do.
“Why must I go up here to my grandmother’s old attic anyhow?  What is the point? I just don’t understand,” he wondered.

Then he reached for the door knob and tried it. It stuck for just a moment and then it slowly creaked open for him. Inside the old attic it was very dark and musty smelling. He cautiously reached for the light switch. Where was it? He brushed away a few cobwebs. Ah, yes, there it was, just to the left. It flashed on and the suddenness of the yellow light stung his eyes for a moment. When they had adjusted to the new light, he gazed about himself.

“Now,” he said to himself, “Where is this old trunk I must find?” He saw before him several boxes, a few labeled ‘Christmas decor’, and ‘books’. A few ratty old wreathes piled up on a beat up couch, and a manikin in one corner. Then something unusual caught his eye. What was this? A box labeled ‘Adam’. He slowly went over to it, and carefully opened it. And what met his eyes was a curious sight.

Copyright 2012 by Sadie F.

"For Her"

As he lay there he realized, all of a sudden, that he wasn't cold anymore. "I have to keep going, I have to keep going," he thought, pushing himself upon all fours and scrambling to his feet. As he raced through the snow he could hear the hounds baying close enough now to give him a surge of adrenaline that propelled him even faster.

If those dogs ever caught up with him, he was dead meat and what's more, so was she. That of all things mustn't happen! He would live all the rest of his life guilt-ridden--in the most intense sense of the word--if they ever found her. These thoughts gave him a momentary burst of speed and he ran all out, his neck stretched out, his feet kicking up the snow in great flying sprays of white.

As he neared the river, his pace slowed. A feeling in his side that had been just a dull pain was now turning into a sickening, searing pain. He knew he had to stop but what then? As the soldiers came into view around the bend he leapt, using up his last bit of strength, into a nearby tree.

Copyright 2012 by Aimee W.

"The Hidden Man"

He scrunched his knees tightly up to his chest and held his breath in an effort to fit behind the large wooden barrel. The trapdoor in the ceiling creaked open, letting a crack of sunlight into the dark room. A robust sailor made his way down the swaying rope ladder, his free hand carrying a lantern.

The man behind the barrel sucked his breath in tighter, watching the man closely. He must not be seen until they reached England. Even then he didn't know what would happen to him. The sailor began to sort the many boxes and barrels that made up the ship's cargo.

The stowaway shut his eyes silently praying that somehow he would excape the sailor's piercing eyes. Many things depended on it, his life even. He clasped his arms tighter around his legs, resting his chin on woolen covered knees. The sailor bagan to whistle a tune and he recognized it as an English one. Would they be friendly to a Huguenot?

Copyright 2012 Kate W.

"Revenge"

The old man heaved another stone and placed it, or rather dropped it into place. He stopped to wipe his forehead. If only it hadn't happened. He and his son had almost been finished with the house and had called the rest of the family to come by train.

Then "They" had come, destroying their work and killing his son. Now his wife and children were almost there and would have no place to stay. Now he alone was trying to finish the work.

Whey did "They" do it? Probably revenge, he reasoned. Well, they had had it now. The one thing he worried about was that "They" might return again when his family was there. The old man heaved another stone into place. This time he had trouble lifting it into place. Pains started creeping across his chest, and he stumbled...

Copyright 2012 by Paul W.

"Confusion in the Woods"

A young man stood in the middle of a forest looking frantically around. "Where are they?" he wondered aloud. Farther down the path but out of sight two gruff looking men and a young lady were hurrying along.

"Why are you holding onto my wrist so tight?" the lady inquired. "Sir Falcon said you were helping me get back to my lands!"

One man that was bearded answered, "Aye, so he thought."

The lady was worried. "Why is he taking so long covering our tracks?"

"Girls talk too much, and anyway, we don't need him along."

She looked back. "Wouldn't one of you two go back and make sure he is fine, for we could be being followed and he might get hurt!"

"Have you no trust in him?"one said mockingly. "Come let's go on this side path." They veered off.

"But...oh, how will he find us! What?!..."

Copyright 2012 by Anna W. (10)

"Kitten"

I was let down in a small box when some children came and were really excited, licking myself in the soft box. The children came to pet me. I purred loud. "Isn't she cute!" said one kneeling down beside me. "She is," said another.
***
I grew to like the big house. But there was one thing I did not like. Being picked up by the toddler. I think her name was something like Betsy Bea but some people called her Elizabeth.

Copyright 2012 Pearl W. (8)

"The Alarming Noise"

"I'll be right back!"  Mary Lou called as she ran out the door.  It was cool outside as the clock was just changing to eight o' clock.

As she ran along the familiar road she heard a cry. It almost sounded like a cry of pain.  Mary walked quietly up to the house where she heard the noise.   Breathing in courage, she knocked on the door.  Hearing nothing, she went inside.

"Hello?"  she called out. No one answered.  Going into the kitchen, she saw a man leaning up against the counter.  His eyes were closed, almost as if he was unconscious. 

Mary got water from the sink and gently poured some over his face.  His eyes slowly opened.  He gasped something to Mary, which she couldn't understand.

Copyright 2012 by Sydney W.

"Vietnam Baby Crib"

I never thought I'd have to spend that $200.  As I held the check and letter in my hand, tears came to my eyes.  The worst of it was that the money was symbolic of so much than a perished friend.  Bob was gone forever.  Gone, not only from us, but from the bloody strife where many of his friends still lingered.  Before he and my husband left, Bob had told me about the small fund.

"I want you to buy a crib for Christine, if I don't come back - if I do, she'll just have to keep sleeping in a laundry basket!"

His mood had been light.  But war is not.

Now I had to buy that crib for my daughter.  And pray that her father would come back.  He, like Bob, was a helicopter pilot and Vietnam was not kind to pilots.

Of course, neither was their country.

Copyright 2012 by Jordanna P.

"Autobahn Chase"

Jeremy squealed the tires taking off from the light. He shot off like a rocket away from the small little smart cars and other compact vehicles lining the small German streets.

“Whoa!” exclaimed Harris in the passenger seat, "this thing has some kick!"

“Don't it?” laughed Jeremy, shifting down as he approached the next light. “I can't believe your uncle let us borrow it. I mean, Bugatti isn't exactly a cheap car.”

“At a mil'-and-a-half a pop, it sure ain’t, and neither is the insurance,” said Harris.

Jeremy glanced at the rear view as he changed lanes and made way to get over onto the Autobahn. All he saw was black cars, to his left and his right, on both sides of the car, as well as directly behind him.

“Ha, look, we're being followed by a funeral procession,” he said with a laugh.

“Yeah, they've been following us for a while,” said Harris, glancing in the rear-view.

“They have?" asked Jeremy nervously, glancing back as he turned on the on-ramp to the freeway. He put the pedal to the floor and soared up the ramp towards the freeway. The seven black sedan Cadillacs followed, keeping up.

“Whoa, these dudes are following us, and they are even keeping up,” said Jeremy.

“Yeah, they are,” said Harris, then a worried and scared look flashed in his eyes. “You don't think they are from MindX do you?"

"I don't know, but let's see how anxious they are to keep up,” said Jeremy, glancing around in his mirrors. All was clear, but a mini-van blocked his open route to the fast lane of no speed limit. Jeremy glanced around once more, and the van moved over, slowly, to the right.

“Ready, hold on!” said Jeremy. He stepped on it. The car screamed forward like a greyhound at a race. The needle climbed somewhere around 180, and the black cars were being left in the dust.

“Whoa, “ said Harris, “these guys do want to keep up! They are coming up fast!"

Jeremy glanced back and saw the black cars approaching with alarming speed.

“Come get me,” he muttered, and stepped even harder. The car seemed to fairly fly down the free-way, the needle soaring over 200 without a hitch, the car purring like a giant cat and eating up the ground at an alarming rate.

Note: the car, The Bugatti Veyron, is an actual real car, whose top speed is 245 miles per hour, and sells at a mere $1,500,000 a pop. Anyone for a ride?

Copyright 2012 by David R.

Scribble Fest... Today!

Well folks (*momentous sigh*), it's nearly here. Yes, we're going to have a Scribble Fest today! Won't you join us? Bring a friend too!
Scribbling Instructions:

• Get out pen and paper, or start up your computer
• Set a 10-minute timer
• Write as quickly as you can (see challenge below)
• When the time is up, send your opening--just the way it is--to me
• I will post your opening on my blog
• Send friends and family to enjoy the fruits of your first Scribble Fest

The challenge this time is to write a story opening that has a sense of back-story. (Almost as if there should could be prequel that the reader is going to be dying to read.) Don't spell everything out, keep the mystery in it, but drop just enough hints.

We will be writing from 12:00 to 12:10 pm, PST, but you can choose any time that works well for you. I look forward to reading your Scribble!