Young Writers Society

Deadline: Wednesday 16th at 11:59 PM | GMT

YWS is turning the magical number 7. And it's time to celebrate! Take a break from your NaNo, clear your heads, and break that wall of witer's block!

Prompt: Write us a story themed on the seventh birthday of anything you want - little boy, nonuplets, a dog or even a car!



Rules:

-Plagiarism is banned.
-Only one entry per person
-Post your work as replies on this thread only. Others will not be considered.
-No genre restriction. As long as it centres on a seventh birthday, you'll be fine.
-Rating: 12 . Let everyone have fun, ja?
-You may edit until the deadline.
-Word count: Since we're having a '7' theme, your word count has to be a multiple of 7. Now, don't worry; we've done the math for you. Just make sure your word count is one of these:

140, 147, 154, 161, 168, 175, 182, 189, 196, 203, 210, 217, 224, 231, 238, 245, 252, 259, 266, 273, 280, 287, 294, 301, 308, 315, 322, 329, 336, 343, 350

-Judged on: Creativity, originality and birthday theme incorporation
-Judged by: Lava, JabberHut, and Kitty15
-Have fun and stay awesome!



Prizes:

First: 2000 points + 3 reviews (=a thorough long review)
Second: 1500 points + 2 reviews
Third: 1000 points + 1 review.

And watch out for special prizes!

I'd love to participate! But I mightn't be able to as my brother is ill. Something about an appendix.

Anyway... Shouldn't the deadline be the 21st of November? Because 16 ISN'T a multiple of 7

Ahmad has a good point!

"What did you think it was? What on earth did you think it was, Jerry?"

The arcade game beeps and screams in front of your eyes--yellow, blue, red, hot pink, light green, each color replacing another within seconds. Your eyes and ears both hurt, they really hurt, because the screen flashes really bright in your face, and the couple arguing over at the next game aren't really helping. Tap. Tap tap.

Man, is this boring.

"Muuuuumm, I wanna go do something else!" You use the nasal tone you usually reserve for such occasions, knowing that it would at least motivate her to do something other than stick around and snore all day long. She takes so many naps you sometimes wonder if she's actually awake when she's walking. "Mum?"

Not a mum in sight. You look around, wondering where on earth she got herself to now. The couple's voices keep getting higher. The girl, especially, seems to be making it a point to sound like a banshee on a bad hair day. "You really think you can shove me off the sidewalk and pretend it was an accident, Jerry?! I know you! I know you!"

"Mummm? Mummmmm!" This was turning out to be the worst seventh birthday in the history of seventh birthdays. Where in the name of Hot Wheels racing cars had she wandered off to? You shove your way through the crowd of people hanging around a cotton candy machine and look around. There's a cop standing at the corner, and you look at his stomach. He wouldn't really gobble you up, would he? "Ummm, mister policeman, I'm looking for my--"

"Leave me alone, kid." He pokes a baton into your chest. "I've enough to deal with, let alone some brat looking for a toy." He wanders off, leaving you to shift alone for your mum.

Where on earth is she?

Flowers for Marigold

The cold Winter sun had found a way through Marigold’s curtains, and was now shining on her face in a very irksome manner. Reluctantly, she stretched, and rolled out of bed. Reluctant, that is, until she remembered what day it was.
She dashed over to the calendar, and counted it out, just to make sure. No mistake, it was her birthday! Marigold gave an excited squeak, and raced off down the stairs.

“Emma! Emma! Emma! Guess what? Guess what, Emma?”

Emma froze in the act of kneading some particularly troublesome dough, and turned around. Honestly, you’d think Marigold was standing on hot coals, the way she was jumping around.

“How old am I?!”

“You’re six. So?”

“Well, that’s just it! I’m not six!”

A few seconds of confusion, then a deep resounding horror blossomed inside Emma’s chest.

“It’s my birthday!”

...And Emma had completely forgotten.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten again, Emma!”

Emma gulped. “No, not at all!” She burst out, a little too reassuringly. Luckily, Marigold was far too excited to notice.
It was hours before Emma could escape from the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, and set about finding a present for Marigold, which was in itself a problem.

Emma had no money. She’d spent her week’s wage. It would have to be something she could get for free, which narrowed it down to two things. Flowers, or food. Marigold preferred flowers, but the only flowers in the valley grew high up on the castle walls. Food, on the other hand, was easy to smuggle out, but Marigold hated being given food.

Flowers it was, then.

Windswept hair, and hands slick with sweat. A small, shivering body, carefully making it’s was up the North-East wall. Emma gulped, and reached up for another handhold, bracing herself desperately against the frosty stones. The wallflowers were only a little bit away now, and then she could go down. Her empty hip bag swung, nearly coming free. Emma had to tighten the straps, and as she did so, she caught a glimpse of the dizzying drop beneath her.

A thick wave of Nausea swept over Emma, and she barely managed to recover herself enough to keep climbing. Her breath escaped in fast, panicked mists. There, now she had them. Emma, kept plucking flowers until her hip bag was halfway full, then began to move up again. There was a ledge just above her, if she could reach it, she could have a rest before climbing down again... Her hand came up and over the ledge, and connected with something warm, furry, and very much alive.

It was hours before Marigold could escape from her solitary duties of cleaning the ladies’ rooms. When she finally straightened that last sheet, she took the stairs three at a time, trying to get down to the kitchens, where Emma would be waiting. With her present.

She found her sitting with her back to the ovens, holding something to her chest. Carefully, marigold crept closer, and peeked over the edge of the blanket Emma held. Inside was something about the size of a cat, only it’s front half was more like an eagle, with tiny chicken-wings, and glossy fur on its rear. It took Marigold a few minutes to realise what it was, and when she did, her mouth dropped wide open.

“Where did you get a griffin?!”

Emma only grinned and shrugged.

“He’s yours, if you want him.”

“Really?” Marigold took him from Emma’s arms with awe, cradling his tiny form in her arms.

“How old is he? Do you know?”

“I read up in griffins. He looks about seven, to me.”

“My age.” Marigold smiled, gently rocking the griffin back and forth.

“Does he have a name?”

“How does Seven sound to you?”

“Perfect.”

630 words exactly, title not included.

Elizabeth

I sat on the window seat and watched the old lady. She had been busy all morning setting out the table, the chairs, and games. Her hair was curled and her dress looked starched to perfection. I wondered who the party was for; no one ever visited her, and she didn’t have any family left. I also wondered what it was like to have a birthday party. Was it like the movies with the huge cake and the laughter and the family who made bad jokes? I tried to picture my mom making a chocolate cake – my favorite. I couldn’t. Maybe, just maybe, I could join in the fun when the guests arrived. I had a little fantasy that I could waltz over and blend in right in time for cake and the old lady would hand me a piece without even noticing I wasn’t one of the guests. I could even be home in time to clean the house before dad and mom got home.

I waited for the children to arrive and the magic show members, but nearly an hour passed. My book lay forgotten, and the old lady finally, with a look of slight disappointment, sat down. It looked so sunny outside. I slipped out the kitchen door and stood there. I saw the cake now. It was ice-cream and looked beautiful, but it was starting to melt around the edges. My stomach grumbled. I’d never seen such a beautiful cake in person.

“Elizabeth?” The old lady stood up hopefully. I glanced around; no one was there except for me. She must be crazy or something. “Elizabeth?”

“Yes” I whispered.

“Come help me blow out the candles.” Her eyes instantaneously lit up, “You can’t miss your seventh birthday now can you?” I walked over and patiently waited while she sang Happy Birthday. I ate the delicious cake; I opened a beautiful little box of truffles. I didn’t tell her my name was Alice. I didn’t tell her I was allergic to chocolate; instead I gave her a hug. I still have that little box in my room.

Is this suppose to be flash fiction? I never got what that was. xD

Ren

Isa forced her limp legs to carry her exhausted body through the market square, navigating through the mass of merchants, customers, and street-beggers. She shivered slightly and clutched her thin coat tighter around her frail body. She was starving and deprived of sleep, forever scalvaging for food to feed her six year old daughter, Ren. Her perpetuated love for Ren motivated Isa to fight her way to the Black Market, where she worked as a apprentice to the jeweler. She sold all kinds of faux items, gold and silver, most of which were over-priced. Normally, Isa would be working right now, but today was Ren's seventh birthday. Her plan was to skip out on work and get something nice for Ren. She contemplated on what to get, for she didn't have a lot of change. She knew Ren loved that Indian feather on display at her work, but it was ridiculously expensive. Isa couldn't afford that; but she could always steal it.

Isa lifted her hood and eased it over her long braid, securing her idenity. She stood by the display stand and pretended to be immersed in a book, while her boss helped some customers. When his back was turned, Isa gently raised the top of the stand and slipped the biggest feather into her shirt. A crazed giggle escaped her lips, resulting from the crime she just committed.

"You there! Thief!" Her boss cried, pointing an accusing finger at her.

Isa turned on her heel and ran, zigzagging through the crowd. People called out to her and attempted to pursue her, but the adrenaline kicked into action reverberated through her, giving her a burst of energy. She was insane, laughing wildly and extending her arms. She couldn't wait to give her little princess her birthday present. Isa raced through the part of town labeled 'the slums' and stopped in front of a shabby looking house with a slanted roof and one measly, broken window. She lifted the thin door carefully and slipped inside, where a young girl with exuberantly bright eyes would receive the best birthday present ever.

Exactly 350 words. ;3

Is this going to be judged Jabber, or were there not enough entries?

Haha, yes they are! I'm afraid things came up out of nowhere, and I got distracted. Results come via PM though, so just hang tight.

Results

First Place: CelticaNoir
Second Place: Calligraphy
Third Place: Ignorance

Congratulations to the winners! And thank you to all who entered! Everyone entered a brilliant piece. I hope you guys had as much fun writing it as we had fun reading it!

Thank you, everyone! I look forward to seeing the results of our future contests.

Keep writing!

~ JabberHut

The review prizes may be claimed from Lava (Now AzaleaLexis), JabberHut and Kitty15, such that first place gets one from all three of us, second place may choose two and third place one.

Congratulations to the winners and thanks to all those who took part!

Yay! Thanks, guys.

Congrats you folks!

Feel free to claim your prizes!

Congrats, guys!

Everyone entered a brilliant piece.

PFFFFFNot me!