[center][h1][b]WRPGC#1: Discussion![/b][/h1][/center] Okay, so – real talk here. I’m floored by the response to this contest. I was thinking realistically we’d have four entries this time around, maybe five? But… seven. We had /seven/ entries for a contest that only ran two days. I just… I can’t… I… wow. You guys. Anyway, sorry, I’m rambling. Because I did a derp and forgot to ask everyone for anon/nonymity preferences, unless it was specified in the PM I am going to assume anonymity and allow people to claim their entries. [hr][hr] [i]As a reminder, the prompt was [b]awakening[/b] and the form was [b]Shakespearean sonnet[/b].[/i] [hider=Self Abused] Am I being a nuisance once again? Please do forgive my constant morbid thoughts, I've made this room my own permanent den, This mind will be around until it rots. How long will it take until I am dead, Starve and bruise and beat and cut my body, These voices constantly rattle my head, I dont want my death to be too gaudy. I'm so sorry that I'm such a burden, In all this time with you I haven't seen, That the pain I have caused you is a ten, To hurt you anymore I am not keen. I'll leave now, so I cant cause injury, Far away from this life that I have known, I'm not coming back, please dont search for me, I know now that just skulls adorn my throne. It has finally awakened, you see, I'll cut myself out of reality.[/hider] [hider=Julie] [h3]Julie, 1965–2015[/h3] Paris treated her like his wee princess, Trapped at the top of a Red Road tower To slave and serve and pour pints of Guinness. Treacle-coloured bruises: not so sweet, sour; She flees Balornock to find something new. ‘Love is not love,’ she says, aghast, appalled, 'Til with sapphic smiles in The Waterloo, And black tiles and boxer briefs, life un-[i]stalled[/i]. Blunts and black bin bags, broken bottle-blondes, Crap birthday cards, cardboard roses, kisses, Honeymoons on bonnie banks, Loch Lomond; Six shots to shotgun weddings to ‘Mrs.– Requiescat in pace.’ They dinnae live slow, [i]Romeo & Juliet[/i], in Glasgow. [hider=Extra Context / Author's Note] I originally wrote this in Scots and then translated it back into English when I realised I was being purposefully problematic, but some phrases didn't fit right if I changed them out (sorry not sorry). Hopefully it fits the parameters without being [i]too[/i] vague: all I know is that I wanted to write a lesbian sexual awakening slightly connected to the topic? There is some cultural context that I feel like I need to add so as to prevent a hasty trip to Google: [indent]1. The 'Red Road Flats' were a collection of impoverished high-rise buildings in Glasgow, known for their pretty terrible conditions and connection to both crime and poverty back in the 70s. These flats were all torn down recently, with the last being demolished in 2015. 2. The Waterloo (Bar) is a gay bar in Glasgow. I was trying to be subtle but then I remembered I literally added 'sapphic' in the same line soooo yeah. The more you know, I suppose.[/indent] [/hider] [/hider] [hider=Dream to Wake] Once trapped in hell, then safe in heaven's shrine Adventure far, or chased by nightly fear Asleep or wake, between is but a line A change in mind from dazed to ever clear We can feel fear of what the night may bring Yet we don't come without our own defense When terror comes, from nightly beds we spring We wake from dreams that cause our minds offense Yet much more commonly, it's undesired to wake to life when you could stay asleep In dreams, amazing worlds can so transpire When woke from such, we cannot help but weep But fight, do not let these emotions stay Feel good, feel brave, and face the brand new day[/hider] [hider=The Battle of Guadalcanal] [center][h2]The Battle of Guadalcanal[/h2][/center] [center][i]Look in the eyes of that drunk sailor, search long for that all but burned-out ember. See that man's slowly drowning soul or see him fight so as not to remember. Look in the eyes of that poor young man, scour through the depths of his old memory. See the half-success of last day's plan, as he snuffs it out with his remedy. Look in the eyes of that drunk sailor, search long for that all but burned-out ember. See that man's slowly drowning soul or see him fight so as not to remember. Look in the eyes of that poor young man, see him set his can down and surrender. Look at his tears as they hit the beer can. Watch as he gives in, chooses to remember. See now his sorrows that could not be drowned, unlike his friend beneath the burial ground.[/i][/center][/hider] [hider=The Western Sun] By [@Dark Wind] [center][u][b]The Western Sun[/b][/u] The sun rises yonder on eastern coasts, To blaze a golden trail o’er richer lands, Beckoning dream-songs to the bravest most, Sand, their brand, written in steel; clutched at hand. Oh, flaxen-haired child ye the great dreamer, Stargazer of fate in amethyst skies, Yet vision rains red death; you, the dealer, Behold the blood meridian, and cry. A wealth of woe for the silver singers, His finger plays the chord of hoping haste, But, a tainted tune haunts the gunslinger, For those bullets engrave merigold waste. The son has fallen and man has risen, Where gold was promised, his shame was hidden.[/center][/hider] [hider=Werewolf’s Wife] Beneath the canopy of Rheinfelden trees, A gifted child is born to doubt and dread; Eye red as blood beyond the flesh it sees Into the hearts of beasts where thoughts do tread. A crone did take her to her own abode, Looking for light where others saw the dark. The crone gave prayer as the girl was owed, From there faith found its kindling and its spark. The girl found friends, the village learning love, As she was caring of beast and man alike. A man to'er came whom she fit like a glove; The court'd, they wed to the song of the shrike. After a year the man became the beast Into its heart the girl's eyes found their feast.[/hider] [hider=Untitled] By [@Shylarah] When her twin brother drew his final breath His loving sister was nowhere in sight. The only thought to fill her mind is death: The world is wrong and she must set it right. For although law and order have their place She will abandon ethics if she must And to her own destruction she will race For failing him in her protective trust. For every action there shall come a price But that to her in truth does matter not: For satisfaction, vengeance shall suffice And after, death or in prison to rot. A reckoning postponed can’t fore’er be But ev'ry consequence accept does she.[/hider] [hr][hr] This post marks the conclusion of the writing exercise. Feel free to discuss and review one another's entries. Announcements of judges' awards will come tomorrow morning, as will the start of RPGC #12, but feel free to continue the discussion even after the "proper" RPGC begins.