Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company! discussion

note: This topic has been closed to new comments.
40 views
Weekly Short Story Contests > Week 34 (February 22- March 1) Stories---Topic: Rubbish DONE!!

Comments Showing 1-25 of 25 (25 new)    post a comment »
dateDown arrow    newest »

message 1: by Hanzleberry (new)

Hanzleberry (doughboyissweet) | 1065 comments You have until March 1st afternoon to post a story/poem and on the second and third of March we'll vote for which one we thought was best.

Please post directly into the topic and not a link. Please don't use a story previously used in this group.

Your story should be 300-2,500 words long. Poems can be as short or as long as you want them to be.

The topic this week is Rubbish (garbage)!

The rules are pretty loose. You could write a story/poem about anything that has to do with rubbish or has the words rubbish in it. I do not care, but it must relate to the story somehow.


Have Fun! :D


message 2: by Paul (new)

Paul | 61 comments hi, just missed the deadline of last weeks story. Will write something for the first time. Maybe it will be rubbish, but at least it will be words on screen


message 3: by Hanzleberry (new)

Hanzleberry (doughboyissweet) | 1065 comments And it's extra cool because rubbish is the topic! Wooooo!


message 4: by Amanda (new)

Amanda (dreamweaver38) | 509 comments ahaha... I'm sure it will be wonderful, Paul. :)


message 5: by Summer (last edited Feb 27, 2010 12:39AM) (new)

Summer Yeah, I don't know how brilliant this will be. I wrote it in a small amount of time so... here it is!

The Rubbish Man
By Summer Crane
Number of words:333

In my opinion, the whole world is full of rubbish.

I see things ever single day support my fine statement. Every little emotion, every little feeling, is rubbish. The wants and desires of people are trash. I pick up torn photos of couples so I know that love is a waist of time. I dig through their trash of homes with children and all their toys are thrown away and replaced with nasty, bitter notes of rebellion so I know that of coarse, innocence can just be passed. And maybe so is youth. Why not just go onto be an old decrepit man such as myself, with a white beard full of grit and hair growing out of my ears? I laugh in the face of you young charmers! My kind of rubbish, is not your kind of rubbish though they call me the rubbish man, simply because I regularly search through your trash bins, I do not care for trash much. What shabby people you all are by the way. Really? Your cat coughs up far too many hair balls and you refuse to through your 80’s plaid pants unless their stained with said cat’s vomit, though it was an improvement. I simply consider your form of rubbish material to be recycled. I consider rubbish to be preposterous, blown up ideas that are merely worthy of being glanced at and discarded. You ROLL in them, savor them, consider them a part of common humanity. Love and happiness can not last forever my friends, believe it or not it will all end at one time or another. Your relationships will lead to depression, your small moments of joy lead to you realizing how pathetic the rest of your life is. I say that you are wasting your lives on something that will never work out, that you will throw away, and eventually, die without.

I am the rubbish man of Brimrock Street, and I say the whole world is full of rubbish.


message 6: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) ... wait... can you use like garbage or trash instead of rubbish or do you have to say rubbish?


message 7: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) ... and another thing... im sorta overdoing the word rubbish k? and trash...


message 8: by Maggie (new)

Maggie (magfly) | 87 comments Okay. And i do not know


message 9: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) ... ok just finished... wow... that only took my 14 minutes... wow this probably sucks...

A World of Rubbish
By Esther
Word Count: 405

Hello, I know that sounds like rubbish but it's a report paper. What do you expect? Yea, i know Mrs. Farthway. 'You aren't supposed to put that in a paper.' Well guess what Mrs. Farthway? I don't give a rubbish about that either. And i certainly, CERTAINLY, don't give a rubbish about this world full of rubbish. 3019. I heard that in the past everyone expected the future to have flying car's and awesome junk right? Rubbish. That world was better. If they had time machines then i would go to back then. But they were closer to those back then. What happened? Exactly what I've been talking about. Rubbish. All over, everywhere. Humans became cocky, not expecting that when they littered. It would pile up. And up. And up. Until they had to figure out a way to make building out of the stuff. And they did. But not the right way. Not without taking out the fumes that killed so many people. Not without killing my family. Yea, I know. 'It's just trash! How can it kill people?' Well I'll tell you how. Because it just did. While I'm writing this paper, I'm wearing a medical mask. Well, at least i think that's what they called them, way back when. Now, it's just something that you need to wear. It's the law. Why am i writing this? I mean, ya it's a report. We're supposed to put this in a time capsule. I just hope, really hope. That's it's better were ever you people are. Really, this is the worst. No fresh air. Closest thing to that is a fan. If you could afford one. They're about as much as a house now a days. And don't even get me started on an actual house. Everything rotted. How close are we to start eating this rubbish my stupid ancestors left me? Give me about a month and I'll tell you. The most stupid thing is, there probably won't be anyone left to read this. Everyone will be dead. From fumes or eating the stuff. There's nothing left to say really. I'm going to get an F, again, and no one will be left to read this. Well, good bye, future person that might survive, alien that found this dump called earth, maybe if I'm lucky the worms will survive and read this.


From, the girl living the a world of rubbish,
Danica


message 10: by Maggie (new)

Maggie (magfly) | 87 comments Love it!Exspecially the point of view.Great job Esther!


message 11: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) *bows* thank you


message 12: by Summer (new)

Summer Awesome! The perspective was really interesting, I agree.


message 13: by Paul (new)

Paul | 61 comments Nearly finished my masterpiece. Hope it compares well with the awesome pieces so far.


message 14: by Paul (new)

Paul | 61 comments words 1076.

THE RAGPICKER OF DHARAVI

Hussein is woken by the stench of the canal wafting through the correcrated tin wall he calls home. Even at the ungodly hour of dawn the odour of death and disease is overwhelming, and as he stumbles to his feet the smell causes him to choke and gag.
Hussein’s home measures barely three metres by four and there is no privacy. A brown patch of earth beside the rough wooden bed marks the point where his mother gave up her struggle for life. As he slips a tattered t-shirt over his tiny frame a bundle stirs in the corner of the room. A collection of empty beer bottles clang a tuneless jangle as his father turns over in his drunken stupor knocking them.
Hussein remembers a conversation, ‘I don’t like my Dad when he drinks,’ he tells his Grandfather.
‘Your father is a good man. He is very pleasant and sociable when sober,’ his Grandfather replies.
Pity that he drank from morning till night. A sober father wouldn’t beat him so much maybe. At least he didn’t force Hussein to go to school like some children. But then someone needed to bring in the money to keep food on the table.
Already the heat is uncomfortable as the shanty absorbs the sun like a metal tomb.
Glancing into a mirror he sees a innocent eleven year old boy with shiny teeth and a grubby face streaked with the dirt of the streets. Scratching his thick black hair he can feel the fleas sucking the juicy blood from his scalp. All around he can hear the sound of the slums as the untold thousands of families rise and start a brand new day of existence.
Taking one more look at the figure in the corner he grabs a plastic bag and sets off for work. For Hussein is one of hundreds of workers commonly known locally as rag pickers. The slums of Dharavi sits proudly in what is known as the recycling super-hub of Mumbai, formally known as Bombay.
Hussein whistles as his bare-feet silently patters down the tin makeshift road. In every direction that you look a landscape of twisted metal and flapping plastic sheets vie for your attention. And looming on the horizon a giant city rises from the slums like a fairytale castle in the sky.
He is happy now; the sun is shining and there will be plenty of work. In a city that itself generates over eight thousand tonnes of waste daily there is every chance if he works hard he can produce at least two dollars to keep his family alive for another day.
As Hussein plunges into the canal the breath is knocked from his body. His head emerges from the brown stagnant water sputtering as he tries not to swallow any of the canal. He tries not to think of all the diseases like cholera and dysentery that floats happily alongside him.
Up ahead floats a collection of plastic bottles just ready to be caught. As he swims he smiles for the first time. The bottles will bring in a bumper payday. As the little brown boy floats lazily through the murky water the sun sparkles and dances on the gentle backward wash.
With his newly acquired treasure pressed firmly against his glistening torso he makes his way to the what he calls the dump. The ‘dump’ is huge landfill site stretching into the distant horizon.
The dump is already packed by the time he arrives. Large tipper trucks trundle leisurely through the mountains of rubbish that dominates the skyline. As far as you can see a ocean of rubbish is constantly flowing as teams of pickers shift through the debris with careful eyes.
Under a cloudless azure sky large black birds swirl, screeching as they swoop down at any tasty morsels of food. Already the heat is stifling as the sun beats down with out mercy. He wishes that he can afford shoes so that his feet are protected from the broken glass and sharp metal objects. He doesn’t even flinch when a pair of rats dart from underneath a piece of metal sheeting. Rats live alongside old friends such as Cholera and dysentery. There are hundreds of children like him shifting through the rubbish, as well as thousands of women. Recycling in Mumbai is a way of life; an unending wheel of industry of its own.
As he starts to sort through the rubbish his eye catches that of a young girl. Is it Deepak? What is his young love doing out here?
‘Deepak, is it you?’ he whispers, his voice raspy and dry in the heat. But the girl merely smiles and looks away, her cheeks glowing red.
Then he remembers his young love. He remembers a few nights previous and the precious time they had together.
The shopping centre can be found in the heart of the city. The main drag passes through the centre. And with the cars that honk and speed down its uneven road it brings rich business to the those that work the streets. That was where he found the most beautiful girl in the world. She was selling the reddest roses to anybody with the misfortune to get caught at a set of traffic lights. She had a dirty, metal bucket, full to the brim with long-stemmed roses and the loveliest smile in the whole wide world.
‘One day I’m going to take you away from all this,’ he tells her, indicating all the hustle and bustle of the street.
‘Where would we go? Will I still have to work twenty hours every day? ‘ she asks in wonder.
‘We’re going to be rich, we’re going to live like kings in a big city apartment,’ he says.
‘Sounds wonderful.’ Her brown eyes are full of awe as she listens.
‘And every morning the first thing that I will see will be your smiling face,’ he tells her, gently putting his hand into her hers.
They are broken out of the imaginings of the bright future by the harsh toot of a car as it screeches to a halt beside the red light. A hand thrusts a crumbled up note into Deepak’s hand before snatching one of the roses, before hurtling away. Deepak’s eyes dance and spin as does a little jig of joy.
‘To the future,’ she says, brandishing the note high in the night-time air.


message 15: by Lydia (last edited Feb 28, 2010 10:40AM) (new)

Lydia | 109 comments Wow, mine is looong...

Picking up the Pieces
By Lydia
Word count: 1,415

I stood facing a planet filled with rubbish. Crushed cans, broken dolls, and old satellite dishes covered the area. I looked up at the dark grey sky. It was never going to get better.
It was 3016. I was the last human being living on Earth; everyone else had died from a disease called ‘Yellow Fever’. Or, at least everyone I knew was gone. Outside of my small world, I had no idea what was going on.
All I knew was the Earth was covered in trash, and I was left to deal with it.
I stepped out of my home, a old, run-down building, and walked through the rows of stuff.
“Ugh!” I looked down at my feet and pulled out a triangle-shaped shard of glass from my sole. I threw it into the pile of glass I had started. It was a rainbow of green and blue, yellow and red.
Blood dripped out of my calloused foot. I ignored it, and started my daily routine. First I grabbed some boxes and lined them up. I searched through the rubble, looking for anything that could be salvaged and reused.
Sifting through the rubble, I thought about my family. I’d had 2 younger siblings, twins, one girl and one boy. Then there were my parents, and my 17 year old cousin, Jake. Thinking about them made me sad. For the millionth time, I wished the Yellow Fever had taken me, too. The only reason it hadn’t was because I was in the house, with covered windows. I was watching my mother work in the garden, when all of a sudden, a swarm of mosquitos came over and bit her. The men of the town finally killed all the insects, but not before everyone had been bitten. Everyone but me.
I wiped a tear away and continued searching through the rubble. I picked up a dismantled bike, and sorted through the pieces. Some went into the ‘Keep’ box, others went into the ‘Not Keep’.
I continued this routine until it grew dark. Then I walked slowly back to my humble abode, laid down on a couple of blankets, and waited for sleep to overcome me.


There was a storm that night. I could hear the howling, could feel the cold wind blowing outside. The rain pattered against the walls, it fell through the cracks. I didn’t fall asleep ‘til the first light of dawn.
When I went outside later, I was devastated. The wind had blown my months’ work around. My neatly organized boxes were overturned, the contents strewn around. I turned around to look at my ‘house’.
I wish I hadn’t.
It was destroyed. Windows were cracked, the supports totaled. I knew I couldn’t stay there tonight. It wasn’t safe. I started to walk back in, to retrieve my few possessions, but a loud groan interrupted me. As I watched, the building collapsed upon itself.
I dove out of the way, but not fast enough to avoid being showered with bits of glass, concrete, and wood. Dust filled my eyes and mouth.
Behind me, the building continued to creak, until it was silenced forever.
Coughing, I pushed myself up. I searched until I found a black, leather backpack. I filled it with things I thought could come in handy; a pocketknife, 5 yards of frail rope, matches, flashlight, extra batteries, blankets, food, etc.
I pulled the backpack on over my denim jacket and looked around one last time. Something caught my attention under the rubbish. I bent to pick it up, and nearly dropped it. I was holding a black frame. The picture inside it was too familiar. There was my family, alive and well. My voice caught in my throat. Holding back the tears, I added the frame to my backpack.
I took a deep breath, spun around and pointed in a random direction, and then started walking.
I walked for several miles, then turned in another direction and continued walking.
The sun slowly peaked, and then fell beneath the horizon. I sat down on the barren land and opened my pack. I ate a small box of raisins and then took out a couple of blankets. I laid back and watched as the stars covered the night sky.

I hadn’t realized I fell asleep.
I opened my eyes and expected to be blinded by the morning light. I wasn’t. A boy about my age was leaning over me, shadowing my face.
“Gah!” I said. He jumped backward and the light streamed onto my face. I blinked, trying to regain my sight.
“Who are you?” I asked, as soon as I could see. I looked him over. He was a little over six feet, with brown hair that covered his eyes, and he wasn’t dressed much better then I was.
“I’m Jake.” He said. My stomach lurched. He looked exactly like my dead cousin, Jake. “Are you okay?” Jake asked, concern showed in his voice.
“I’m fine.” I sat up, acting cautious despite my words.
“You sure?”
“Yes. You just looked like someone I knew.”
“Oh. You mean the boy in the picture.” Jake said. I stared at him.
“You were looking through my stuff?”
“No, a wild animal was pawing through your backpack. I chased it off and put your stuff back inside.” He smiled.
I stared at him in amazement. This guy was just like my cousin. Even the smile was a replica.
“You could say ‘thank you’.” Jake frowned.
“Thanks.” I said. I got up slowly. “No offense, but why aren’t you.. You know..”
“Dead?” I nodded. “I was about to ask the same about you.” He sighed. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Me either.” I said. I repacked my blankets.
“Who are you?” Jake asked. I turned to him.
“Lorraine Mallory.”
We fell silent. I took out two boxes of raisins and offered him one. He took it.
“What do we do now?” He asked. Any other day I would have been mad at him for saying ‘we’, but I was so happy to find another human being I let it slip.
“Clean out the trash.”
He grimaced. “I’ve done that for too long.”
“Talk about it.” I picked up a broken compass out of boredom. The needle spun around continuously. “Do you think there’s more people out there?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not.”
I stared at the compass. Jake looked at the sky.
“We should probably find shelter.” He said. I followed his gaze. Black clouds covered the sky. I jumped up, dropping the compass, and grabbed my backpack.
“Let’s go.” We walked until we found an old clothing store. All the clothes were rotted, but we agreed this was the best we were going to get. I searched around, looking for a comfortable place to sleep.
“What’s this?” Jake’s voice was muffled.
“Where?” I looked over his shoulder. He held up a journal. I was about to scold him for wasting my time, when I realized why it had caught his eye. It wasn’t rotten, or dirty, like everything else. I took it out of his hand and skimmed through it. I read a passage from it.

March 2, 3016
I’m scared. Alex tells me to stop worrying, but I can’t help it. Mom and dad are gone. There’s nothing here but moth-eaten clothes and broken racks. I want to go home. Alex keeps reminding me there is no home. He isn’t helping. We’re leaving now; heading towards the east. Hopefully we’ll find something there, though Alex won’t tell me what were looking for.
Until then, your’s truly,
Em”


“March 2nd?” Jake asked. He mouthed numbers to himself. “That was... Three days ago!”
“Right! They can’t be far off.” I said getting excited. “Let’s get some sleep. At early dawn we can start out again.” Jake nodded. We ate more raisins, and then tried to sleep. When that didn’t work, we were too excited about the journal we found, Jake and I talked about what we thought Alex and Em looked like.
Though we were elated, we soon fell asleep. At exactly the first light of dawn, Jake shook me awake.
“You ready?” He asked. I yawned. “Don’t complain to me, it was your idea.” Jake smiled. I got up and packed the blankets away.
We stepped out of the store, and blinked. I shaded my eyes and turned east. Jake and I started walking, searching for the last survivors on earth.


message 16: by Chris (new)

Chris (CJCC) wow paul some great work,i gotta say uve gota b one of the top contenders for this weeks competition.


message 17: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) ... i luv urs lydia!! it seems like something you just want to keep reading!!


message 18: by Lydia (new)

Lydia | 109 comments Thanks a lot, Esther! it took me a while to write. ;D


message 19: by Lydia (new)

Lydia | 109 comments Yeah, I do that. ;D


message 20: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) Lydia wrote: "Thanks a lot, Esther! it took me a while to write. ;D"

ur welcome


message 21: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) ... so who won???


message 22: by Lydia (new)

Lydia | 109 comments No one, we haven't put up the poll yet.


message 23: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) oh


message 24: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) yey!!


message 25: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) haha


back to top
This topic has been frozen by the moderator. No new comments can be posted.