Welcome to final event of The Writer Games!
Like the real Winter Olympics, this contest spans two weeks and rewards winners with interviews, prizes and medals! But unlike the real Olympics you do not have to deal with cold temperatures, severe heights, or huffy prima donna competitors.
It's just you and the rest of us word nerds.
Here's the flag parade, representing writers from across the literary globe:
Today's event is The Closing Ceremony, or Last Lines.
Your challenge:
Write last words, or last lines, whatever suits your fancy, that include:
or
Here's my try:
"If it hadn't been for those snow angels," Meg reflected gratefully, "I would never have met Alsey or been kidnapped and seen my first iceberg. So as it turns out sometimes flailing on the ground like a lunatic is a good thing."
You have until midnight tonight to complete any of THE WRITER GAMES challenges from the last two weeks. If you're a great limericker, haiku genius, merry metaphor maker, or just happen to love a good toasty word game, check out the events to join in!
4 comments:
Apparently her disinterest in "curling" was just the tip of the iceberg, where lurking under the chilly water's surface were also confusion in the need to ice fish, wear plaid, keep saying "ya ya" while thinking and hold on to the "o" sound in NO a little bit to long!
This she has pondered at Scandanavin style "hot dish" suppers put on by her relatives
Her silhouette faded into the white distance overcome at last by the sweet shrieking of the the frigid gales. Her eminent safety warmed the core of his being, though it would not prevent the inevitable end.
He knew he would not have to endure the tingling pain in his limbs for long. Death was coming. And yet it seemed so fraught with irony to him now. He had feared this moment his whole life, but here at its doorstep, death was somehow a comfort. Somehow a release of all the years of sleepless nights and broken dreams. A release of shames and longings. A release of darkness into light.
Drifts grew up around his lifeless body and there in the whirling dance of snow, angels lifted their new companion into morning.
And so we leave our intrepid heroine, Betty, lying on her back, her arms and legs swishing back and forth in the snow, her eyes holding the whole of the black heavens with their diamond points of stars and planets. This snow angel will not relent even as her last chance at love trudges away from her, his contemptuous words still ringing in the frigid air. "Tickets to the curling finals - what a loser - I'm going to the hockey game with Veronica!"
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