The Writing Competition - A Monologue

Story contains: Explicit language and hints of violence and gore.

“Yes, yes, come in, come in. Everybody, choose a desk. No, it doesn’t matter which. There is no assigned seating. Yes, I am in fact the man who wrote My Dog Ate My Deaf Neighbor. What’s that? Please, just take your seat. There will be time for questions here in a bit.

“Okay, everyone’s in a desk? Good. Okay, my name is Mr. Goodwater. Please, keep your bottled water jokes to yourselves as I have heard them all before.

“I suppose I will start out by dismissing any suppositions about myself. My dog did not actually eat my neighbor after the narrator chopped him up. I used tactics similar to those of The Blair Witch Project to better market my book. Yes? What’s that? Haha, no. My dog is a chihuahua, not an American Bulldog. I’m not sure if you’ve heard of my other books — all written under a pen name, mind you — Peppers and Orchids, Empty Wallets: A Love Story, and — I’m sorry, I’m boring you all. Let’s move on to why you are really here.

“Nineteen of you have been picked at random, all high school graduates, down on your luck with a lust for composing splendid literature like the greats before you: F. Scott Fitzgerald, John Steinbeck, Shirley Jackson, Agatha Christie, Dickens, Bradbury, and so on. Consider yourselves— I was just getting to that, try not to interrupt me, Kathleen. You lucky nineteen will have the chance to win not only half a million dollars, but also a publishing contract with any of the major publishing houses of your choosing, and you may cancel at any time. That’s right, no obligations to stick with them if you want to be one and done. Judging by your faces however, I can’t imagine any of you want to do that. You’re here because you want to be famous authors like myself!

“Thomas? Daniel? Would you two be so kind as to walk around with the hats? Writers, you will choose a slip from each hat. In the first hat, you will be assigned your setting, in the second: the conflict. Simple enough?

“Everyone has two slips? Wonderful.

“Yes? You in the back? No bathroom breaks after you’ve started. Do you have to go? Okay, be quick.

“Well folks, while we wait, take this time as an opportunity to think of the story you’re going to write. For instance, say you were to have the setting of the Dust Bowl in the Midwest, but your conflict is too much food, would your story then be about a wealthy man much like Ebenezer Scrooge from A Christmas Carol, stingy and bitter? Or maybe, perhaps, somehow your protagonist is buried in his food somehow, like in… Let’s say… A rice grain silo? And because there is no one around — remember, most people have moved to California during this time — there’s no one to hear his or her pleading screams?

"Oh! You’re back. Thanks for making it snappy. I hope you have made the best of your bathroom break and thought about what you were going to write. No? Oh well.

“Without further ado… No, no, don’t be alarmed. Like you read in your welcome packets — if you did indeed read them — there are certain rules to be followed.

“Please, you all must stop freaking out. Those clamps that just fastened to your ankles will not be released until we are finished. Why are they there? Because you are not allowed to leave your seat. You’ve been made aware of this. Any other questions, more important ones, perhaps? What is up with the metal square beneath your seat? That is a wonderful question, and quite the surprise should anyone break the rules. Now I suppose you’re all feeling some mild amount of dread, and whether it be just for the situation, or maybe something a bit more… shall we say… existential? Though, that might not be a fair assumption, since we have now taken out the boredom factor that commonly leads to existential terror and dread as Viktor Frankl pointed out in his book, Man’s Search For Meaning. Sorry, I am talking out of my ass. Let’s get back on topic.

“Back to the rules! There will be no talking; no erasing; no looking at other people’s papers, though why you should want to do that is beyond me; you must have at least five-thousand words for your short story; and you must — please do this for yourselves — keep to the prompts on your two slips of paper. No, put your hand down, you cannot trade. You will have four hours to complete your story, and every thirty minutes, I will inform you of how much time is left.

“Ready? Any last questions? Get to it then.

“Three hours and thirty minutes.

“Three hours.

“What was that? I’m so sorry, Bill. I did say no speaking. Yes, I know. You were very polite, but those are the rules. Aspiring writers, if you want to take a look to satiate that curiosity of yours… The metal plate is now sliding away to reveal a grate, and underneath the grate is a small chamber, only about three feet in depth, and in this chamber is a reanimated corpse from our labs in Kansas, whom we will awaken with a series of shocks. Of course, it is like the ones in books and movies and — Oh please, Bill. Will you stop screaming? I know it’s terrifying, but your fellow writers are trying to write their best work. For the rest of you — God damn it, Bill. Shut. Up. I don’t like shouting. Anyways! For the rest of you, observe what happens when you break the—

“Jenna? That’s your name, right? No, I don’t care that your freaked out because of the zombie eating your friend. I’m sorry, but apologies will do you no good. I didn’t write the rules, and had you read the papers you signed, you’d know that any of your life insurance policies and possible legal pursuits thereafter are forfeit. What did you think was inferred? This is a writing competition for Christ’s sake.

“Can I see a show of hands for how many people want me to pause the timer while we wait for these two to cease their incessant screams? I can imagine its horribly distracting and torturous. Even Thomas and Daniel, who are in no danger whatsoever, both seem perturbed by this. I guess I’ll pause the timer while we wait.

“Ah, what a gift blood loss is in this case. Rather ironic, isn’t it? I never thought I would say that. Okay, now that we all know the rules have dire and fatal consequences, and those two have finally stopped their shrieking… Have you ever listened to Sound of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel? No, don’t answer that. Ready your pencils… And… Write!

“Two and a half hours.

“Wait… is that a rat? How’d you get in here, little — or should I say, big — guy? You guys just stay in your seats. Not that you have much of a choice in the matter. Please, no talking and no screaming. It’s just a rodent.

“Well, I suppose I did say nothing about clapping and pointing. What? What is it… Erm… Howard? What are you pointing— Oh. I see. That is most disturbing.

“There, I scared him away from Jenna’s… Sorry, I just threw up in my mouth a little… From her fleshy stumps. Back to writing, all of you. I can tell only a portion of you have even come close to the five-thousand word minimum. You wouldn’t want to suffer the same fate as these two. And just think of fifty-thousand dollars plus a publishing deal.

“Whoa! Who’s screaming bloody murder? Is it really too much to ask that I just sit at my desk and read while you all write?

“Jesus H. Christ!

“Damn rat. Sylvia, please, it’s just— Oof. Okay. Um… Well, I suppose… I’m so sorry, but I can’t undue the clamps. They’re set to a timer. All I have the ability to do is to control the sliding metal plates under your desks. Sylvia, please. I’m sorry. I know you didn’t break the rules, but the unfortunate part of it is, you will probably—

“Aah! Shit! Shit! Shit! Get away, you stupid vermin!

“Okay guys, well… um… I don’t know… I’m so very sorry. This place is very clean, so I don’t know how a rat got in. This is the first time I’ve seen one, if we’re being honest. Here, you know what? I’ll do you all a favor and refrain from letting zombies get at you. I’ll be right back. I’m going to see if I can find something to dispose of the rat with.

“I’m back. Two hours le— Holy shit. Um… I don’t… Okay. That was faster than anticipated. It seems half of you won’t be finishing your work on account of… Oh, this is awful. So here’s the thing, we’re going to leave this door open, and when the clasps unlatch, grab your stories and make a mad dash for the door. Okay? Okay. I’m going to leave now, and I’ll meet whoever makes it out on the second floor. Just go down the hallway that way, up the stairs, hook a right, and second door on the left. You guys got it? Good. I’ll… Yeah… Good luck.

“Yes? Hi. No, I’m upstairs. They can’t hear me. Well, you see, we have a slight problem. Bigger than that. No, over half of them. I don’t know, a rat got— I don’t know how a rat got in! They’re your staff! What do you mean, lock it down? They’re pretty much kids, Mr. Locher. Well, yes. I know. Don’t we have like maybe an antidote or something? What do you mean, use them for cannon fodder for my next book? You know how royally fu— Hello? Mr. Locher? Asshole.

“Okay, what to do… I guess I’ll…

“Ninety minutes, guys. I’ll keep popping in to let you know how much time is left.

“One, two, three, four, five… six… Six left… Oh boy…

“One hour. Home stretch. Don’t worry, the rest of you will be compensated for— I know you probably don’t care about compensation. Just— Hey, on the— Okay. Well, on the— I can’t! On the plus side, the rat is gone. I don’t know how you’ll get away from them. I’m sorry. So very sorry. Wait! I have an idea, let me go see if there’s a way to override the system!

“Okay, let’s see… No, not that one. No. No. That’s the wrong key. One of these has to get me in here. Why is no one else working? Where’d everyone go? Not that one, either. Shit! None of these keys. Should I tell them? Better not…

“Hey, you six— erm, five… eesh, it reeks in here… You guys have forty-five minutes left. I know, they’re distracting. No, I couldn’t find a way to override the system. I’ll go look for a way to give you a better— What? Don’t leave? What on earth do you think I’ll be able to do if I stay? Look, I’ll be back soon. I just want to find a way to give you a fighting chance. I’ll be back.

“Thirty minutes. No, everyone seems to have left the building, and I couldn’t find anything. Athena, you want me to find a bible and read to you? Okay, it’s the least I can do.

“I found one in the desk upstairs. Mrs. Thoss is an avid Catholic. Last Rites, just in case? Sure, I can do that for you. What exactly are the Last Rites in the bible? Oh! Okay, let me find it. Matthew 6:9 through thirteen, then? Got it!

“Our Father, who is in heaven: May your name be kept holy. May your kingdom come. May your will be done, as in Heaven, so also on earth. Give us this day our life-sustaining bread. And forgive us our debts, as we also forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation. But free us from—

“Fuck! That hurt, you little shit. You stupid… Rat… Oh, dear god…

“Shut up! It’s a common phrase even for atheists! I’m going to go home now. I’ll leave the double doors where you came in from open. Just… I don’t know… Close them behind you, I guess. Again, I’m sorry. I probably won’t see any of you again. So… yeah… Goodbye and good luck. I hope you guys make it out of this unscathed. No, I'm going home. I'll make it before I change, and I'll lock my doors so as not to put anyone else at risk.

"Oh, stop it. It'll be fine. You guys have... twenty minutes. Just try and get those doors closed behind you, then call the police. So, for real this time, goodbye and good luck."