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"Death By Annoyance" (the seventieth ACWclub monthly writing contest) |
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Assignment: Write a story or poem using the following title: "Death By Annoyance" 2500 words or less. Deadline: Midnight (EDT), June 15, 2007 All entries are the property of the authors and cannot be copied or reprinted without their consent. |
| Death By Annoyance By glenlee10@sky.com (Entry #3) |
| ~Winning Entry~ |
| The house was in darkness, hunched
into its backdrop of tall, breeze-bustled trees; otherwise, the night was
still. The only sign of life was a hedgehog, snuffling its hungry way along the
black ribbon of path that curved from the front porch to the wooden gate at the
pavement’s edge. The gate was not latched. It had been left that way
deliberately, and the hinges had been oiled for a quiet exit. It was midnight.
The sickle moon had long since disappeared and most decent people were in bed,
asleep. But not all people were decent, or asleep. Someone was hiding at the back of the porch. Someone dressed in dark clothing and wearing soft-soled shoes; someone who would wait all night, if necessary. But it was not necessary. The prey walked down the street at the time expected; he walked down the street at the same time every night. It was half-past midnight. He was in no hurry. He was never in a hurry. He and his dog, under cover of darkness, always took their time; the dog sniffling at each gatepost and every lamppost on the accustomed route. The watcher heard them coming; heard the man address his dog in low tones; heard the scuffling of his shoes on the pavement; heard them both stop at the gate that stood ajar. The watcher stirred and rubbed sweat from hands that had been clasped expectantly for too long. She was angry but still wondered briefly if she could do this thing. She had watched the man and his dog for months from her bedroom window. He always wore the same red anorak with yellow stripes so there was no mistaking him. It had taken her months more to dare to creep downstairs and spy on him from behind the curtains of the downstairs’ front room. Months later and she’s plucked up the courage to wait outside the house, in the porch. She knew it was now or never. Conditions were right. It was a dry, moonless night. The couple that lived in the house opposite were elderly and went to bed at nine o’clock every night. Even if they woke, they were too blinded by cataracts to see anything, and the neighbours on either side of her house were on holiday. If she failed to act tonight, that was it; she’d have to suffer the consequences forever. Through the bars of the gate, the dog, a medium-sized brown and white mongrel with floppy ears and a stubby tail, had discovered the hedgehog, a prickly ball of warmth that smelled delightful but refused to play. The dog yipped in frustration. “Damn fool,” the man grumbled. “Let it be,” and he tugged on the lead. The dog forgot the small, strange creature as he discovered something even more fascinating under the hedge near the gate. He pawed at the new scent for a while then pounced on a discarded cigarette end and started to chew. The man didn’t notice. He was whistling a pop tune, off-key, and jingling the keys in his pocket in accompaniment. The woman watched and listened. Her breathing became laboured. She struggled to keep still, and silent. Her palms were sweating heavily and she wiped them on her jeans. “Come on, boy,” the man twitched at the lead. “We’ll be here all night else.” His dog squatted obediently. It inched forward to find a slightly better spot. A minute later, the man said. “Good boy. That feels better, doesn’t it?” and the two of them strolled off down the street, the dog vacuuming the pavement for edible items and tantalising smells. The woman felt her face flush with annoyance. How dare he? She whispered, “That does it! That’s the last straw!” She left the shelter of the porch noiselessly, on her soft-soled shoes. She followed the path the hedgehog had taken. It was just beginning to unroll as she reached the gate. Hurriedly, it rolled back into a ball. She pulled the gate open. It made no sound. She stepped over the steaming pile of dog shit. If she needed any spur to action, that was it. She was only a slight woman, barely above five foot tall but she felt like an Amazon. She had right on her side. The man had tormented her for over twelve months. Tonight would be the last time. She would take vengeance on him and his nasty, dirty dog. The house was near the end of a cul-de-sac. At the far side of the vehicle-turning circle, there was an entrance to an alley leading to a park. The alley was in darkness. The lamp at its mouth had gone out weeks ago and the council had yet to fix it. The woman had checked last night to make sure of it. She followed the man and his dog. Neither noticed her. She’d suspected that the dog might do so, but it was too absorbed in following the scent of an old tramp who’d passed by earlier that evening. The woman wiped her hands on her jeans again before reaching into her jacket pockets to grasp the tools she’d brought to do the job. A small amount of light spilled from a distant street lamp and allowed her to see the man as a dark shade against total blackness. The man entered the alley. She hurried after him, running now, with small, tidy steps. As she flew into the alley, the man and the dog heard her footsteps and turned to face her. She saw the man’s teeth flash in a stray light that filtered into the alley. The dog whined. She stopped running, a couple of feet away from the man. She snatched a torch from her left hand pocket and switched it on. She spotlighted him. “Who are you? What you doin’?” he muttered, surprised rather than frightened by the suddenness of the woman’s approach. She leapt at him and struck him on the head with the torch. He collapsed in a cussing heap. Her aim had been good but she’d known she wasn’t strong enough to beat him to death. Her right hand therefore was already armed with a sharp-pointed kitchen knife she’d bought for the purpose. She slashed at the man. Sharp flashes of light from the torch danced and cut the gloom. The man tried to protect himself but the lead had become entangled round his wrist as the dog bounced about, yapping and enjoying the tussle. The man caught at her ankle with his free hand. She sidestepped nimbly and stabbed him again and again. The man ceased to swear. He was breathing heavily, but then he gurgled once and stopped moving; stopped breathing. The dog struggled to free itself from the dead weight to which it was attached, and then discovered the scent of blood. It sniffed the cooling pool that surrounded its owner. The woman picked up the torch that she’d dropped in the last frenzy of stabbing. It was still lit. The dog caught the movement and lifted its head. It looked at her and licked the salty taste from its muzzle. “Good boy,” she crooned, in the same tones she’d heard the man use over the months. “Good boy. Come here.” The lead unwound. The dog took a step towards her, unsure if she wanted to play or not. It sniffed at her ankles. It sniffed at her crotch. She stood still and waited for it to take just one more step. It looked up at her face, exposing its throat. She struck one final slashing blow with her knife. She looked at the silent heap that used to be a man. There, she thought, her annoyance finally assuaged, that’ll teach you not to let your dog crap outside my garden gate every night. The woman turned and walked down the alley towards the park. She’d take the long way home. There shouldn’t be any traces of blood on her shoes by the time she’d walked all round the block. It was a shame the dog had to die, she reasoned, but she couldn’t take it home. Her cats would have hated it. The park was in darkness. The night was still and only a slight breeze rustled the leaves of the trees. There was no sign of life other than the grey on grey, dancing shadow of a small woman walking home alone, along the black ribbon of path that curved from one entrance of the park to the other. |
| Death By Annoyance By Heather Lazarus lazdom@ono.com (Entry #4) |
| ~Runner Up~ |
| A sock isn‘t enough to make me loath his breathing at night, I know. Grey and lazy near, but not in, the hamper it lies alongside his intermittent gases and his shouts of ‘Ha! I knew it!’ at Columbo reruns. Perhaps the monotony of his underarm scratch-and-sniff or the inevitable toilet seat flight gives rise to this, what could almost be passion- this urge to pick up the sock and stuff it in his sleeping mouth with just a pinch on his bulbous nose to relish the sweet silence. |
| The
WCA's The Writers' Choice Awards |
| Here's how the members of the
ACWclub voted for their favorite entries: First place: #3 Second place: #4 Third place: #5 |
Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.
| Death By Annoyance RUBY ASTARI author81@gmail.com |
#1 of 5 |
| 1505 words | |
| "Kapan kawin?" (When will you get married?) To be honest, that cigarette brand commercial played by actor / radio announcer / comedian Ringgo Agus Rahman on local TV stations always make me laugh. He was playing this comical-looking guest at a wedding reception --- mercilessly bombarded with that question by other guests. Then he carelessly blurted out, "May." While everyone was genuinely surprised (and happily satisfied as well) with the sudden announcement, Ringgo playfully added, "Maybe yes...maybe no." Ha ha. The humor really hits home. I love it. That's why I always laugh...sarcastically. Why? Honestly, sometimes I feel that the society can be truly aggravating. (Okay, maybe I'm a little bit overreacting myself sometimes, but please...don't blame me if I feel seriously disturbed by what they do.) Some accuse me for being overly sensitive with this matter. Whatever. Thanks to them who seem to love badgering me --- or people who feel the same way as I do --- with (too) personal questions. Whether they realize that or not, that's just what keeps happening. Either they're just being nice, nosy, overly curious, or even merely showing their concern. It's as if the object has become this poor, pitiful character. Sometimes, I can still stay calm and patient. When my mood is lousy, that kind of question --- whatever the intention underneath may be --- sounds just the same to me. It sounds seriously disturbing. He he. Perhaps I'm sounding mean. But anyway, this is just how I really feel inside. --- // --- My 27-year-old sister Andhara has been freaking out like crazy. Just last Sunday night, all of us in the family attended Damai's wedding reception. Damai's been one of Andhara's closest friends since middle school. It's quite understandable, seeing that --- one by one --- all of her friends (especially those in the same circles of communities or who used to hang out together a lot) leave the joy of single hood. Some even already have their own babies. Since she has Gandhi --- the latest Mr.Right-to-be --- Andhara doesn't really worry about having a boyfriend. So, while I was still enjoying tempura, warm chocolate cake, and roaming around the crowded ballroom hotel alone --- Andhara had to answer those irritating questions, mostly grinning...half-heartedly. "When's your turn?" Good question. Why do they only pressure women (even more) like that? Okay, I know damn well about biological clock. What about Gandhi? Yeah, yeah, I very much get it. Heh. Men are so damn lucky. What else can I say? If it turns out that Gandhi is (still) mentally not ready enough to be seriously committed to my older sister, that question can make him run off scared. Heeheehee. Who says this world is fair? Very funny. If you're (still) naive enough to believe in that, then I'm sure that you haven't woken up from your beautiful dream. Sorry, don't waste your time losing yourself in a fairy-tale with a (definitely) happy-ending. This is just the real world. In other words, I'm already sick and tired of it all. Why should a simple will from a natural instinct become a social demand? Okay, perhaps I'm much too cynical. At least that's what most of them think of me, including Aldo. My 23-year-old brother who's still in college often worries about me silently. (Oh, how sweet!) Why not? Since teenage years, I've always been a rebellious tomboy, often being compared to Andhara. I've had enough of them labeling me as a 'freaky-child'. It's no use telling them all to just shut the hell up. Andhara's always been popular, with (lots of) friends. I've mostly been (seen) alone. It's not that I don't have or need any friends, I just don't hang out with them a lot. I don't want to sound selfish and arrogant, but (perhaps) I'm quite independent. The proof? They often confide in me. He he. Andhara always has boyfriends, but I've never even dated yet. I'm sick of the questions, "Where's your boyfriend? Your sister can have one." How nosy is that? It's not that I've never been in love. It's already happened twice since college until now --- when I'm 25. Unfortunately, both had to end in heartache. Both were my best friends. The first happened during the first semester in college. He'd only thought of me as a good friend and fallen for another girl. The worse part was, after he'd been with his girlfriend and never in the same class again with me, we weren't as close anymore. That was very sad. For the rest of the college years, I was struggling all alone, healing my broken heart. I'd also been a fool not to stop our once-beautiful-friendship from slowly digressing to die. I could only stare at him from a distance. Sigh... They say it's not good to dwell on your heartache way too long. You'll rot. Besides, there are still lots of other guys out there. Ha, it's easy for them to say! Can feelings heal that fast? Maybe yes, for some people. But for some others, things can be different. Please, don't call them stupid. It's a biased opinion. It won't be fair! Besides, I don't want just a boyfriend for a mere status, or just because I don't want to be alone, or even...just to shut those quibblers up. It's not that I've never tried... --- // --- Meanwhile, Andhara is still anxious. Gandhi is still calm like undisturbed water. (Typically men, even though they almost turn thirty.) Mom's also giddy. Gandhi's parents have already expressed their approval since like, months ago. I know, Mom's been dizzy with questions from her own friends as well. "When will your kids get married? When will you have grandchildren?" It's like an unbearable circle. It's the social demands again. They don't (seem to) care if the questions can stress people out. Then, what about me? I don't know. I don't want to burden my head with the 'Andhara and Gandhi' issue. It's not that I don't care. I'm still single. To make the long story short, my second love is still badly hurt by his last ex-girlfriend's betrayal. He's told me he still needs some time alone. He's not ready to fall in love again. But the last time he confided in me, he's confessed this bitter regret: not choosing me --- the one who's always been around whenever he needs a pair of ears and a shoulder to lean on. I could only cry with disappointment. Damn it! If only I'd known him sooner, long before she'd have existed and entered the picture... Oh, save it! Regrets are no good. It's too late! Although I'm very upset, I'm still trying to understand. I don't want to to be the rebound girl. No way! But they tell me not to wait on him way too long. I might wind up an old maid. (Grrrh!) He also doesn't want me to wait. He's urged me to search for my own happiness. He's also afraid of ruining our friendship after over three years already. Until now, I still haven't decided on it yet. It hurts me so damn much. I still love him very much and wish for him. I hope God will provide the best for each of us, whatever may happen later... --- // --- Just this morning, one of my old college pals suddenly called me on the phone, crying. Three years ago, I attended her wedding reception. She'd been in a bliss that very day. But I heard that she'd had a miscarriage on the second year of her marriage. She just told me her encounter with a distant relative who'd simply asked, "When will you have kids?" Poor her. Perhaps the distant relative just didn't know what had happened to my pal and the mental anguish she'd been through. Perhaps my pal was also being sensitive. Too bad, I couldn't pretend to understand her problems and feelings. I didn't want to lie to her. But still, I sympathized. I tried cheering her up, even with such cliché as: "Patience, dear. Perhaps God just hasn't given you yet. Keep praying and trying." A circle of questions. Social demands. Again, that's all what my mind's eye sees. Even so, I still try to remember (and absorb) Mom's words of wisdom: "We're Asians. Families and communities are important. The questions will always be there, but not always intended to be intrusive. I mean, it's not wrong to want to share happiness and good news, is it?" Yeah, right. Do you have a boyfriend / girlfriend? After twenty, there'll come the next question. When will you get married? If you're married already, do you have kids? When will you have kids? If your kid's a teenager, the question will be: does your kid already have a boyfriend / girlfriend yet? Next, when will your kid get married? When will you have your grandchildren? Oh, well. I think it all depends on ourselves. Take it easy. But as I go through each phase, I'll make sure I'm doing it because I really want to --- not the social demands, that endless circle of questions. |
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| Death By Annoyance undermichealswing@yahoo.co.uk |
#2 of 5 |
| 1220 words | |
| There I was standing at the counter at the coffee shop
waiting for my Chai Latte when this prissy blonde woman arrived at the counter.
“Good morning, how are you today?” She said to the big black assistant behind the counter. “I’m good Mam, thank you. How can I help you?” He replied then exposed all thirty-two of his teeth in a ridiculous smile. “What cakes do you have today?” She asked. He recited the range of available confectionaries to the blonde-haired woman without paying me any heed. “...and Death by Chocolate.” He concluded with a smile. “Ooh Death by Chocolate, my favourite, ooh goodie.” She clapped her hands like butterfly wings and giggled. “I’ll have a slice of that thank you.” The assistant proceeded to assemble a box for the woman’s cake as she continued to chant gleefully, “Death by Chocolate, Death by Chocolate.” “Oh please God, make her shut up.” I whispered through gritted teeth, assuming no one would hear. “Sorry, did you say something. “ She suddenly asked. “What? Me? No.” I lied and offered a smile for reinforcement. “No, I think you said I must shut up.” She glared at me for a while in disgust then turned her head back to the confectionary bar to observe the assistant slice the cake. “Rude little man she whispered audibly.” “Sorry, did you say something. “ I asked. “What? Me? No.” She said followed by a snarl. The assistant wrung up her purchase and gave her, her change. “Enjoy” “I will,” she said, “I love Death by Chocolate. “Yes we know.” I interjected, “I’m just grateful you got your cake and can leave and spare us a Death by annoyance.” She looked at me, a fury blazing in her eyes then turned back to the bar. “Maybe I’ll have another slice of Death… by…Choc-o-late.” She said dragging her words to annoy me. “And I will have a cup of cappuccino as well, thank you and I will be having them here.” “Sorry, but how much longer do I have to wait for my latte?” I asked, not attempting to hide my irritation. I received my order and proceeded to leave the coffee shop. “Good riddance, run along little man.” The petit woman commented as she took her seat. I told myself to carry on, ignore the woman and just leave but rebelliously my body moved towards her and pulled out the chair opposite her. I found myself sitting with a beautiful yet strange woman who did not look too impressed at my joining her. “What do you want now, please go. Your sourness is making my cappuccino curdle.” She said as I made myself comfortable. “You Mam, are rude and annoying.” I replied. “The name is Julie and you Mister are obviously not getting enough.” “I beg your Pardon!” “Beg away but you will get nothing from me.” “The name is Frank by the way and how dare you assume to know about my personal life, Julie?” “Well you obviously have issues Frank. Why else would you be so glum and painful. A lack of sex was just my first assumption. Or maybe you are a closeted homosexual. Is that why you are not getting any?” My jaw unhinged and remained dangling. Here was a woman I just met: an annoying, girly, giggly woman who went as far as analysing my sex life all because of one stupid comment which I whispered a too loudly. “Who the hell…” “Death by annoyance indeed. I am surprised you haven’t died from stress the way you are going. You do realise that they lied when the said it will make you blind.” She smirked as she jerked her fist in the air. I had nothing to say. Her lack of decorum left me dumbfounded. She took a piece of cake in her mouth, and as she chewed I thought it was safe for me to retaliate. I was about to talk when she raised one hand to stop me as she waved her fork around in the other. “What now, I don’t understand waving utensil. I was told it is a rare language that no sane individual would ever have to use.” I said. “Seriously, why are you so grumpy anyway?” she asked. “What, sexually frustrated doesn’t fill your psychological analysis of me anymore?” “So you are sexually, frustrated?” “No, that’s not what I am saying.” “You woman are so frustrating!” “So then, you’re gay.” At this statement, everyone in the coffee shop turned to stare at me. I buried my head in my hands and kneaded my forehead with the tips of my fingers. “What is wrong with you?” I growled. “I am not the one with the problem, you are the one in denial and frustrated because of it.” She stared at me her eyebrows raised as she took in another piece of cake. “Look, Julie. I apologise for being rude earlier okay, I’m sorry. It’s just that I woke up with a headache this morning and I just wanted a cup of Chai Latte before I had to go to work. Your incessant clapping and chirping coupled with the time it took to get my order did not help they way I felt. I am not gay and as far as my sex life goes, that is none of your business. Thank you for your concern anyway.” I picked up a fork that was sitting on her box of cake and dug into the slice from which she ate. She obviously had no problem with it, because she said nothing. “Apology accepted. Oh and I’m sorry too, for all the assumptions made. I just hate rude people, especially when they dampen my good day.” |
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| Death By Annoyance glenlee10@sky.com |
#3 of 5 Winner |
| 1423 words | |
| The house was in darkness, hunched into its backdrop of
tall, breeze-bustled trees; otherwise, the night was still. The only sign of
life was a hedgehog, snuffling its hungry way along the black ribbon of path
that curved from the front porch to the wooden gate at the pavement’s
edge. The gate was not latched. It had been left that way deliberately, and the
hinges had been oiled for a quiet exit. It was midnight. The sickle moon had
long since disappeared and most decent people were in bed, asleep. But not all people were decent, or asleep. Someone was hiding at the back of the porch. Someone dressed in dark clothing and wearing soft-soled shoes; someone who would wait all night, if necessary. But it was not necessary. The prey walked down the street at the time expected; he walked down the street at the same time every night. It was half-past midnight. He was in no hurry. He was never in a hurry. He and his dog, under cover of darkness, always took their time; the dog sniffling at each gatepost and every lamppost on the accustomed route. The watcher heard them coming; heard the man address his dog in low tones; heard the scuffling of his shoes on the pavement; heard them both stop at the gate that stood ajar. The watcher stirred and rubbed sweat from hands that had been clasped expectantly for too long. She was angry but still wondered briefly if she could do this thing. She had watched the man and his dog for months from her bedroom window. He always wore the same red anorak with yellow stripes so there was no mistaking him. It had taken her months more to dare to creep downstairs and spy on him from behind the curtains of the downstairs’ front room. Months later and she’s plucked up the courage to wait outside the house, in the porch. She knew it was now or never. Conditions were right. It was a dry, moonless night. The couple that lived in the house opposite were elderly and went to bed at nine o’clock every night. Even if they woke, they were too blinded by cataracts to see anything, and the neighbours on either side of her house were on holiday. If she failed to act tonight, that was it; she’d have to suffer the consequences forever. Through the bars of the gate, the dog, a medium-sized brown and white mongrel with floppy ears and a stubby tail, had discovered the hedgehog, a prickly ball of warmth that smelled delightful but refused to play. The dog yipped in frustration. “Damn fool,” the man grumbled. “Let it be,” and he tugged on the lead. The dog forgot the small, strange creature as he discovered something even more fascinating under the hedge near the gate. He pawed at the new scent for a while then pounced on a discarded cigarette end and started to chew. The man didn’t notice. He was whistling a pop tune, off-key, and jingling the keys in his pocket in accompaniment. The woman watched and listened. Her breathing became laboured. She struggled to keep still, and silent. Her palms were sweating heavily and she wiped them on her jeans. “Come on, boy,” the man twitched at the lead. “We’ll be here all night else.” His dog squatted obediently. It inched forward to find a slightly better spot. A minute later, the man said. “Good boy. That feels better, doesn’t it?” and the two of them strolled off down the street, the dog vacuuming the pavement for edible items and tantalising smells. The woman felt her face flush with annoyance. How dare he? She whispered, “That does it! That’s the last straw!” She left the shelter of the porch noiselessly, on her soft-soled shoes. She followed the path the hedgehog had taken. It was just beginning to unroll as she reached the gate. Hurriedly, it rolled back into a ball. She pulled the gate open. It made no sound. She stepped over the steaming pile of dog shit. If she needed any spur to action, that was it. She was only a slight woman, barely above five foot tall but she felt like an Amazon. She had right on her side. The man had tormented her for over twelve months. Tonight would be the last time. She would take vengeance on him and his nasty, dirty dog. The house was near the end of a cul-de-sac. At the far side of the vehicle-turning circle, there was an entrance to an alley leading to a park. The alley was in darkness. The lamp at its mouth had gone out weeks ago and the council had yet to fix it. The woman had checked last night to make sure of it. She followed the man and his dog. Neither noticed her. She’d suspected that the dog might do so, but it was too absorbed in following the scent of an old tramp who’d passed by earlier that evening. The woman wiped her hands on her jeans again before reaching into her jacket pockets to grasp the tools she’d brought to do the job. A small amount of light spilled from a distant street lamp and allowed her to see the man as a dark shade against total blackness. The man entered the alley. She hurried after him, running now, with small, tidy steps. As she flew into the alley, the man and the dog heard her footsteps and turned to face her. She saw the man’s teeth flash in a stray light that filtered into the alley. The dog whined. She stopped running, a couple of feet away from the man. She snatched a torch from her left hand pocket and switched it on. She spotlighted him. “Who are you? What you doin’?” he muttered, surprised rather than frightened by the suddenness of the woman’s approach. She leapt at him and struck him on the head with the torch. He collapsed in a cussing heap. Her aim had been good but she’d known she wasn’t strong enough to beat him to death. Her right hand therefore was already armed with a sharp-pointed kitchen knife she’d bought for the purpose. She slashed at the man. Sharp flashes of light from the torch danced and cut the gloom. The man tried to protect himself but the lead had become entangled round his wrist as the dog bounced about, yapping and enjoying the tussle. The man caught at her ankle with his free hand. She sidestepped nimbly and stabbed him again and again. The man ceased to swear. He was breathing heavily, but then he gurgled once and stopped moving; stopped breathing. The dog struggled to free itself from the dead weight to which it was attached, and then discovered the scent of blood. It sniffed the cooling pool that surrounded its owner. The woman picked up the torch that she’d dropped in the last frenzy of stabbing. It was still lit. The dog caught the movement and lifted its head. It looked at her and licked the salty taste from its muzzle. “Good boy,” she crooned, in the same tones she’d heard the man use over the months. “Good boy. Come here.” The lead unwound. The dog took a step towards her, unsure if she wanted to play or not. It sniffed at her ankles. It sniffed at her crotch. She stood still and waited for it to take just one more step. It looked up at her face, exposing its throat. She struck one final slashing blow with her knife. She looked at the silent heap that used to be a man. There, she thought, her annoyance finally assuaged, that’ll teach you not to let your dog crap outside my garden gate every night. The woman turned and walked down the alley towards the park. She’d take the long way home. There shouldn’t be any traces of blood on her shoes by the time she’d walked all round the block. It was a shame the dog had to die, she reasoned, but she couldn’t take it home. Her cats would have hated it. The park was in darkness. The night was still and only a slight breeze rustled the leaves of the trees. There was no sign of life other than the grey on grey, dancing shadow of a small woman walking home alone, along the black ribbon of path that curved from one entrance of the park to the other. |
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| Death By Annoyance Heather Lazarus lazdom@ono.com |
#4 of 5 Runner-up |
| 61 words | |
| A sock isn‘t enough to make me loath his breathing at night, I know. Grey and lazy near, but not in, the hamper it lies alongside his intermittent gases and his shouts of ‘Ha! I knew it!’ at Columbo reruns. Perhaps the monotony of his underarm scratch-and-sniff or the inevitable toilet seat flight gives rise to this, what could almost be passion- this urge to pick up the sock and stuff it in his sleeping mouth with just a pinch on his bulbous nose to relish the sweet silence. |
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| Death By Annoyance Tom Campbell topcat@spiritone.com |
#5 of 5 |
| 124 words | |
| I sure you all know about rabbits So cute and furry and cloying They do have rather bad habits Which tend to be quite annoying I have a nice back yard garden I tend in a merry mood Though my heart began to harden When the bunnies were eating my food. Oh I kept my saintly composure And vowed to be humane I built a wire enclosure But they hopped over just the same I elongated the chicken wire And buried it deep in a furrow They couldn't jump any higher So then they began to burrow Those wascally wabbits multiply It is a well known fact The world wouldn't miss a few if I Took a different tack My garden was baited with poisoned bits It doesn't take clairvoyance They staggered away in retching fits A well deserved death by annoyance |
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"You're Too Loose"
The Aspiring Editors Club