The Iron Writer Challenge #72

With a great amount of luck, I somehow pulled through and managed to win the preliminary round on the Iron Writer tournament. (this was my story…)

All you guys who voted for me, thank you ever so much. The popular vote helped save me back there, and I owe it all to you.

You would think I’d be happy on this victory. At first, oh yeah. Ego stoked and everything. But then, along came the news that I had qualified to the next and final round… and that would be against the other three winners of the same preliminary.

So, the prize for winning… was another challenge. Oh, great. The good news was that this second round would be held two weeks after the round I just completed; which gave me a week off while another unrelated challenge took place.

see?

Then came the call… and I remembered that I had signed up for that middle challenge, too.

The only reason I signed up for the one labelled ‘week 2’ was because I didn’t think I would survive the prelim; and the same goes for the one marked ‘week 4’. And now here I am, lazy man’s nightmare, saddled with back to back challenges. And not just any challenges. This is the Iron Writer we’re talking about.

I’m in on four in a row. Heck of a quality control risk there… but I’m willing to chance it. So here goes. 

This week is Challenge 72, and I’m up against big hitters, D L Zwissler, Mamie Pound, and Violet Patterson, all of whom have amazing stories submitted here. It’s just as well that it isn’t the Final, since I’m probably winding up at the bottom on this one. But, well, you can’t win ’em all, can you?

This challenge is a bit unique since it’s the first of something new Brian thought up… instead of him giving us the elements, he decided to let fellow Irons contribute four elements, and named the challenge after them. This one is after Michael D. Pitman, another tenacious writer who tormented my weekend this time by contributing these wonderful elements here:

A sign fail, (like the one in the picture)

Repeated unsuccessful attempts at starting a campfire/fireplace fire

A favorite childhood memory that actually is a lie

A funeral of a stranger

(I also happen to have furnished my own elements and have a challenge named after me, too... but more on that later.)

I ran the deadline on this one, and it ended up not being as polished as I would have liked it to be. Nevertheless, this is what I had to submit, and this is what is going to get crushed by the opposition. Enjoy:

On Hindsight…

If I’d known when I woke up this morning that the day would end with me standing in the rain at 2am, I wouldn’t have bothered to get up.

And it wasn’t even the rain that was the worst of it. No, the day started out awful even before it had arrived.

A week ago, Aunt Lucy insisted I go to my Great Uncle Ian’s funeral. I had only met the man twice, and I knew none of my kin around him. But she blackmailed me with the poker incident, and so I had to take the two day drive. I brought Veronica along, too, just in case Aunt Lucy didn’t hold up her end of the bargain.

The drive started out well enough; Veronica and I joking and laughing along the way, taking turns driving, and then there was that fun moment when passing the sign that read “Warning! Boners ahead!”

Seriously. Neither of us knew what that was supposed to mean.

This morning, we left the motel and got to the funeral. An hour into the service, they finally dropped in the dead guy’s name.

And it wasn’t Great Uncle Ian.

It isn’t easy to leave in the middle of a funeral reception when you’re right in the middle of it. Veronica’s dagger looks and the fairly outraged glares of everyone else would probably keep coming back to haunt me for the next few months.

 I had no idea it was the wrong funeral; I hardly knew anyone at the real one, anyway. But we had no idea where we were, and in all likelihood, Great Uncle Ian’s service was over.

With the sun setting and rain clouds threatening, we pulled back into motel. The fact that electricity hadn’t arrived yet there yet had been romantic a night ago; now it was just more fuel to Veronica’s rage. It was near pitch black in the room, so I got on my knees and started to get the fire going.

The matches refused to light.

“Damn it!” I cursed, “Could this day get any worse?”

I struck one for the fifth time, and finally, the logs caught. I stood up and turned as she came in, candles in her hands. Her eyes widened.

“What?” I demanded… and then sudden heat on my fingers made me yell out and drop the matchbox.

The box was burning; and now, so was the thick carpet.

I screamed. She screamed. And the fire spread.

And so here I am, soaked to the bone, and with no place to sleep.

The motel was still burning down, and the paramedics and firemen were milling about, all half asleep and in a daze. Veronica had locked herself in the car, shortly after screaming bloody murder at me and refusing to let me in.

The motel owner was pressing charges. His voice still rang in my ears, right next to Veronica’s.

You remember that childhood dream you have, the one where you know without doubt that when you’re an adult, nothing would ever go wrong?

My phone rang. I took it out, and squinted at the caller ID.

It was Aunt Lucy.

  

I know what you’re thinking; it could have been a whole lot better, and I totally agree. Still, it’s what I put out there, and I have to bear the consequences.

 You can check out the other stories here, and vote for which you would like to win, if you feel so inclined. If you do vote, please go for the one you think is best; because I know it isn’t mine. 

I already received the elements for the Final challenge, and that’s due on Monday, with the storied due to be posted on Thursday… sigh. Vacation is well and truly over.

Wish me luck!