SYTYCW – Final Four

23 Oct

It’s been a long time coming, but we’re down to the Final Four of the SYTYCW contest.

Don’t forget, this week only 1 person gets voted off. Good luck everyone!

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4 Responses to “SYTYCW – Final Four”

  1. Lia Morgan October 23, 2010 at 6:00 pm #

    I never saw the truck coming. It’s the story of my life, I get blindsided by something that’s obvious to everyone else. My memory is a bit hazy, not that I want a vivid recollection of being flattened by a garbage truck. Seriously, a garbage truck, I didn’t even get dignity in death.

    I do remember standing in a long line, the kind of line that makes the DVM look like a model of efficiency. I tried to engage some of the people around me in conversation and failed miserably if the monosyllabic responses are any indication, so I spent quite a while contemplating my shoes. They were very comfortable, practical, good quality; oh forget it, they were ugly. That sounded like an insult or maybe a curse, ‘May you die in practical shoes.’ Which would be funny, except I did die in practical shoes.

    The end of the line, or the beginning of the line, I guess that was more accurate, loomed just a few feet away.

  2. Rene October 24, 2010 at 10:38 pm #

    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.

    An uneasy feeling hovered over me all day.

    Something was wrong. Distress engaged my every thought and I wondered where Hell had frozen over. I rambled apprehensively through my day; my normal routine had been a chore and my mundane secretarial job required more focus than usual.

  3. Kaige October 25, 2010 at 10:45 am #

    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 gentle masculine hand, firm at the small of her back, turned into rough paws groping, pinching and lobbing her back and forth. And perhaps worst of all, the feelings of anticipation and freedom were replaced by the stickiness that had lingered in the wake of their slobbery kisses.

    Pulling Marcia out of her reverie, her mother’s footsteps echoed in the hallway only to be followed by the inevitable cheerful greeting, “Darling, did you see Lady Avery’s invitation finally arrived with this morning’s post?”

  4. Allison Kelsey October 25, 2010 at 7:14 pm #

    “On behalf of Historic Philadelphia Alive, I’d like to welcome you to the City of Brotherly Love.”

    I smile at the small group waiting for me inside the Independence Visitor Center as I take their tickets, relieved that my last tour of the long Fourth of July day consists of only four elderly couples, three generic tourists, two Jersey Shore cast wannabes, and a mom pushing a little boy in a stroller.

    This will be the easiest 75 minutes of my life.

    “I’m Lauren Franklin, no relation to Ben,” I lie.

    I usually always deny that Benjamin Franklin is my great-to-the-eighth-power uncle, but there’s been two exceptions. The first time I name dropped, I was a stupid freshman at the University of Massachusetts, desperate to get the cute grad student teaching the World of Thomas Jefferson to notice me. His name was Grant McConnell.

    “Today we’ll be following in our founding fathers’ footsteps, learning about the places where the events of the American Revolution occurred,” I say to the group.

    The second time I name dropped, I was desperate to get this job as a tour guide. Not only was Grant incredibly cute, but he was also incredibly smart and passionate about Colonial America, so when he became Dr. Grant McConnell, assistant professor of history at the College of William and Mary, I went there for grad school, believing we could write a beautiful thesis together, but I screwed up his life instead.

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