Writing competition #1, how it went.

So, I lost

Few weeks ago I entered a writing competition called Furious Fiction, I wrote, submitted my work then waited anxiously for the results. Truth be told that as the weeks went by and I spent more time reading stories that had won before I could feel my hope waning, by the time results came out I would have been happy with being short-listed.

In reality, I wasn’t even long-listed. Harsh you know, but truthful. My work was amateurish, shoddy, not thought through well enough and written by a kid who thought he was a big fish just because he has AS English. What a sub-par performance.

But fair game, I took one to the chin now we go again. I’ll be serious this time, I’ll think harder and write better content.

(It’s not that deep though, lol)

Oh, and here’s the story I submitted. Your cold-hearted criticism would be greatly appreciated!

As the moon gathered its blanket of blue skies and twinkling stars, the morning sun yawned and rose to take its post. While the sunrise lumbered up and stretched, purple, orange and red lights flickered, danced around then etched themselves onto the horizon. Down below Timothy yawned too as he walked onto the sandy beach, he wiped off the dewy grass that always clung to his shins when he rode on his little red bicycle. He sat and looked up at the sunrise, to Timothy it looked like the moon was leaving just as the sun had come to see him, he thought the sun was trying so hard to reach the moon but he always left so quickly the sun could never reach, so she could only wave goodbye and try again tomorrow. Timothy looked down and felt for the purple, orange and red flickers of light on the sand, having found none Timothy yawned, scratched his head, removed the red backpack on his shoulders and put it on the sand in front of him.

Timothy remembered mum saying he had fifteen minutes so he had to rush. Like precious contents of a treasure chest Timothy took out his crayons and a sheet of drawing paper. He straightened his legs, put the bag on them so it became his table then put the paper on it and a pencil between his ear like he saw dad do when he was about to draw. Timothy looked around, furrowed his eyebrows and thought, “what would dad like to see this time?” He looked up and saw the moon was almost gone, the sun was on its way up alone, it’s light bathing his paper in a soft orange light. Instead of alone, he chose to draw the sun and the moon close together and himself sitting on the ground watching them. The ocean breeze tickled his nose, so Timothy took out his blue crayon and drew wiggly lines around his head, he looked at it, giggled and hoped dad wouldn’t think it meant Timothy had gotten the flu.

Timothy finally finished and looked at his drawing with glee. He added his signature and hoped dad would like it, when he had woken up and asked mum whether dad would like his drawing she smiled and played with his hair, yesterday when he asked why dad lived so far away she looked out the window and said, “he doesn’t live far away, we just can’t reach him.” Then, knowing his mum would be upset if he was late, Timothy quickly packed his bag, got up and ran to his bicycle. As he left, the lonely sun had fully woken and the moon was gone. Later that day he would go with his mum on a trip to his dad’s stone bed, with a big stone pillow that had words and medals on it, he would leave some flowers and his drawing, and patiently hope his dad would reach them.

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