Thread: 13-02-06 | Worst Valentine's Day Ever?

Literary Maneuvers: Worst Valentine's Day Ever

Opens: Monday 13 February
Closes: Sunday 26 February

Judging Period: Monday 27 February to Sunday 5 March

Scores will be released: Monday 6 March

After a long hiatus, Literary Maneuvers has been resurrected once more and probably for the last time if the new setup fails. For Literary Manuevers to continue a few guidelines had to be changed but everything else is the same. Click here to read more:Changes to Literary Manuevers

Since this Tuesday is Valentine's Day, it seemed appropriate to have theme that reflected this day of roses are red, Cupid's heart shaped arrows, romance, cheesy Valentine's day cards, and miniature bags of M&Ms. After carefully reviewing all the theme suggestions for LM #6 (which wasn't hard considering I only got one suggestion), I decided to go with Ilan Bouchard's suggestion, which is: Worst Valentine's Day Ever!

Write a response to this prompt: Worst Valentine's Day Ever!

This is going to be an unrestrictive challenge, meaning that you can respond to the prompt using any form of writing that you choose (poetry, prose, flash, memoir, essay), just as long the word count is kept under 400. It cannot go over or your entry won't be judged.


A fewer minor guidelines that you should follow also:

1.Only one entry per person.
2.Your piece needs to have a title and it should be in bold.
3.Do not go over the word limit.
4.Spelling and grammar count.

For off topic posts, please use the OT code which is:

Code:

[ot]Insert witty off topic banter here[/ot]

Author's Note:

As the suggester of the prompt I guess I'm except from being included in the LM, but I threw this little bit together nonetheless.

EDIT: Meh.

Pre-pubescent romance

Susanna Millman’s box was laced
and colored rose and lemonade,
adorned with tissue held by paste
The fruitions of first grade.

She sauntered by each mailbox
To gift a card and chocolate Kiss,
The former read “Our friendship rocks!”
The latter promised bliss.

As Suzy hurried to her seat
She barely could contain her gleam,
Yet then her box displayed no sweet,
Within lay but a dream.

FIRES OF LOVE



The doors opened and people crowded in
You could barely be heard over the din.

They danced an laughed without care
No one realised what was there.

The fire had started in some fluff
All because someone had a puff.

They dropped the butt carelessly
Soon they would all flee.

The fire was seen and people screamed
To the fire exits deemed

The lights went out in darkness left
To escape deaths theft

Of forty eight lives wasted that night
All because of one light.

They crowded around all wanting to get out
The doors were chained they started to shout

People pushed against the doors,
Trying to break free people pushed on the floor

Windows smashed but bars did not
The whole building was getting hot

No escape for those unlucky to run to fire exits
All blocked off, no one expected it

The ceiling dripped molten flames
People piled, skin wielded together
The justice isn’t done they claim
The building collapsed as the touch of a feather

Those forty eight never came home, there families still yearn
No justice brought
Still we do not learn
The danger in clubs is fraught

This night should serve as a reminder,
On the 14th of February 1981,
It would be far kinder,
If all their battles could be won.

Off Topic:

this is based on the stardust disaster in dublin, it happened in the wee hours of valentines mourning

"Happy Valentine’s day, baby."

I pulled him into the room and shut the door, pressing my body against him. I could feel his breath against my skin as he kissed me, his big hands pulling my shirt over my head, tossing it behind us on the bed. A wave of heat and desire tore through me as he undressed me, his eyes fixed on mine, blue ocean waves crashing against the brown shoreline, pulling it away grain by grain until all that remained was the mud in between. I felt the blood rise in my cheeks as he reached out to touch me, running his hands along my every curve, like a blind man exporing a room where he had never been before. I gave myself over to him, letting him steal me away to a pleasure I had never known. His kisses burned my skin, leaving me flushed and moist everywhere his lips had been. Four minutes passed in unanticipated bliss as he brushed his lips down my stomach, across my thighs, tantalizing me with every touch, every kiss...

I layed on the bed, enjoying the way his lips roamed my body, reading it like a traveler's map for a place he'd been before. Slowly, he made his way back up, pressing his lips against mine like a hungry animal, my body devouring him in one swift gulp. I screamed as we climaxed, drowning out the sound of the door as it creaked open.

"Kassie?"

"Jacob?" I screamed, jerking the blankets up over my naked body.

"What the fuck?" Jacob's face was dangerously close to the crimson red of the dozen roses he was holding in his right hand.

"What the fuck is right! I'm out of here." My naked date gathered his clothes and streaked out, leaving me alone with my boyfriend.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Kassidy." His eyes narrowed,

"Oh, that? Don't worry about it. I don't even know his name."

"Happy Valentine's Day..." He threw the bouquet of roses on the floor, a small, gold ring tumbling out of the center of the bundle, sparkle from the diamond catching my eye as it landed on the carpet.

Off Topic:

adult language and situations, may be offensive to some readers

V-Day Song
sung to the tune of “O Christmas Tree”


Clamydia, Clamydia
It's burning when I take a pee
I should have known that fuck was queer
when it only cost a beer
Clamydia, Clamydia
It's burning when I take a pee


Oh genital warts, Oh genital warts,
there are bumps all over my twat
that's what I get for buying sex
next time I'll just go to a bar
Oh genital warts, Oh genital warts,
there are bumps all over my twat

Oh syphilis, Oh syphilis
how painful are the ulcers
now everytime I get it on
I'll have him put a rubber on
Oh syphilis, Oh syphilis
how painful are the ulcers

Venereal disease, venereal disease
I'm all drugged up now
This is the worst present
for v-day ever
Venereal disease, venereal disease
I'm all drugged up now

Author's Note:

400 words exactly. you're killing me with the word limit, gohn. i borrowed my title from the cure since i couldn't come up with anything else. enjoy!

A Blood Flower

I was praying for a blossom of red, not a flower, but a blood stain. I hadn’t returned his calls, so when he showed up at my house on Valentine’s Day with a bouquet asking me to dinner, I had no viable excuse handy.

Once seated, Ross ordered us a bottle of merlot and reached for my hand.

“We’ve been dating for almost a year.” He said.

“You’re kidding? It’s been that long?” I asked, wondering where the wine was.

He chuckled, “You know what they say about time.”

It crawls when you’re waiting to find out if you’re carrying some lawyer’s spawn? I thought.

The wine arrived and I gulped down my first glass.

“Getting drunk?” He asked.

“I was thirsty.” I said lamely, averting my eyes from the glass of water next to me.

I poured another glass and opened up my menu to use as a shield.

“I want to say something to you.” He said, pulling down at the top of the menu.

I let it drop.

“I love you. Will you marry me?” He asked with a confident smile. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet jewelry box. He opened it, revealing a diamond ring. It seemed to wink, as if taunting me.

At that moment, I felt the slightest of sensations. “I have to go to the bathroom.” I exclaimed.

Locked in the stall, I wept tears of joyful relief at the splash of bright red that greeted me like an old friend.

I walked back to the table with a grin on my face.

“So, you’ll say yes?”

I looked at him, perplexed before I remembered the ring. “Oh, Ross, I don’t want to marry you. I don’t really know why you thought I would.”

“But we’ve been dating for so long; I figured you loved me too.” He stammered.

“Hmm, well, sorry.” I said, trying for an expression of concern but still riding the high of getting my period.

“Sorry?!” He snapped, snatching the box closed. “You’ve been leading me on this whole time?”

“Leading you on? Oh, Ross... I do like you, and well, the sex is fantastic. But seriously... Me? Marry a lawyer?”

His mouth dropped open in shock.

“Are you upset?”

“Of course I am.” He grumbled, throwing back the rest of his wine and pouring another glass.

“Does this mean we can’t have sex anymore?”

Off Topic:

Yes, but you'll thank me when you have to judge them. You're still judging right?

On a side note if anyone else wants to judge. You're all welcome to.

Off Topic:

yes, yes, i'm still judging.

Off Topic:

i think ilan's poem should be considered in the judging even if he suggested the prompt. in fact, just being the suggestor of the prompt seems like a pretty silly reason to be excluded from all the fun! anybody else have an opinion to throw on this one?

Originally Posted by mjk

Off Topic:

i think ilan's poem should be considered in the judging even if he suggested the prompt. in fact, just being the suggestor of the prompt seems like a pretty silly reason to be excluded from all the fun! anybody else have an opinion to throw on this one?

Off Topic:

the reason is he had a head start, he could have been working on the entry before anyone else, thus giving himself an unfair advantage

Originally Posted by Crazy_dude6662

Off Topic:

the reason is he had a head start, he could have been working on the entry before anyone else, thus giving himself an unfair advantage

Off Topic:

okay, i see your point... but still!

Off Topic:

Ilan's more then welcome. Everyone has over two weeks to come up with something, more then enough time to overcome his "head Start". Me? I'll give him a extra year and still whoop 'em j/k

My room is a bland one. The bed, a small bookshelf and a toilet are my only amenities. I do have a small window that lets in the filtered light from outside. I can tell when it’s light or dark from the glow of the opaque milk glass.

I like to read to pass the time, but the light bulb in my room flashes on and off. Sometimes the memories come streaming back. I’m not sure if they are all real. The light bulb in my room flashes on and off.

I remember the night of the accident, the car going over the guardrail. I see the car hit the pavement and squash like some construct of play-doh. I walk close and see her face stretched out on the windshield like at a fun house. The bits of broken glass mixed in with matted hair, blood and ravaged flesh press against the windshield and leak out from the cracks. She was a caricature of my wife drawn hastily by drunken bum.

The drops of blood drip through the spidery cracks and then down to the asphalt , creating a red clarity to the rocks that live within it.

I walk to the calendar and check off the day, February 14.

“ They're ready Melton,” the guard says as he opens the cell door.

He enters with two other guards and they shackle my hands and feet and when they are tight they escort me down the hall.

I remember the trial, where they said it was me that did it. Where they said I cut the brake line and watched her die. I don’t remember any of that. I don't think I did it.

At the end of the hall is the chair. They strap my in and put a wet sponge on my head before lowering the tin bucket meant to fry my brain. All the time this is going on, a priest is muttering some special recitation to gain my soul heavenly passage.

“Any last words,” says the warden.

I look up at the ceiling hoping to see her,

“ I love you honey, Happy Valentines day.”

And they pull the black mask over my head.

Off Topic:

Just a reminder of some of the submission guidelines.

1.Only one entry per person.
2.Your piece needs to have a title and it should be in bold.
3.Do not go over the word limit.
4.Spelling and grammar count.

Off Topic:

does underlined count?

Off Topic:

Is your wicked way subtle post directed at me Gohn? I'm too dense to see where I screwed up