SYTYWC – Week 7 Results

7 Oct

So, as you can see below, there are the results – how is your favorite doing? Will you help it stick around for the final round?

Without further ado, here are the top three entries this week:


The thick cloud of confusion occupying my thoughts lifted and was instantly replaced by paralyzing fear. My body stiffened as my mind raced uncontrollably with realization; this harsh, sterile environment was unfamiliar. I tried desperately to speak, to scream out, to connect to something concrete. The barren, cold walls began closing in around me, suffocating my senses. I couldn’t say a word, couldn’t move, could barely even breathe. Behind a thick, wooden door I heard voices muffled by the barrage of questions ravaging my mind. In a single moment of clarity I heard a baby cry, just as I felt myself fading. 


Miss Marcia Elizabeth Drummond snatched the ivory invitation from the salver and perused the elegant handwriting. Dashing away a tear that clung stubbornly to her lashes, she wished six years of accumulated shame could be brushed away as easily. Her hand trembled as she crossed the room and flung the horrid thing into the fireplace.

Then, with her arms wrapped tight about her, she encouraged the grasping flames while reflecting on how the Avery’s annual masquerade never failed to transform her into a watering pot. Burn before Mother sees you, please.

As she stared into the unobliging fire, the memories she cherished renewed their endless struggle with those she was unable to forget. First, the visions of fairytale splendor and extravagant costumes became a phantom flight of swirling, snapping black capes.


The night after the biggest promotion of my life, I woke up with a monster hangover and my bra on backwards. I tried to recall how I’d reached the back seat of my Honda Accord, but everything from the previous night blurred into memories my mind refused to hold.

I leaned forward and found my dirt-covered cellphone on the floor. Oh God, I’d likely done fifty freaky things my friends would joke about for the next six months. With trembling hands and pain rocketing through my skull, I tried to search for my purse. After a few seconds of searching, I flopped back and rested against the window. The sun, ever cruel and early rising during the summer, beat against my face—increasing the raging pain.

 And so, since you can see the results below, the one entry not rejoining us next week is a rough one since I’m dying to know what happens in this one. But, sadly, good Number 3


My first memory of James is what keeps me here, smoothing hair out of a boy’s blood-spattered face. The sirens screaming in the distance are too late.

They’re always too late.

Forehead pressed to his, I choke on the burnt stench of gun powder and try to hum the lullaby James used to sing to me.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…

James is why I never left.

I should have left.

 And here are the rest:


4     —      62    —    35%
6     —      27    —    15%
7     —      22    —    13%
9     —      18    —    10%
8     —      14    —      8%
5     —      13    —      7%
2     —      10    —      6%
1     —        6    —       3%
3    —        4     —       2%

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