A contest with a pot of 4 @steembasicincome shares? You're in the right place!
63 @steembasicincome shares + 21.618 SBD awarded till now through the contest!
Prize categories:
1st place : n. 2 steembasicincome shares
2nd place : n. 1 steembasicincome share
Popular jury : n. 1 steembasicincome share (remember to vote your favorite!!)
But let's cut to the chase!! It's time to talk about @calluna, our super special guest writer of today's edition!
Who's @calluna? (from the author's mouth)
Hello, I am Calluna, I am super thrilled to see how you may finish this story for me, having been in awe of this great contest for a while. I love horror, realistic gritty endings, fantasy, scifi, pretty much anything nice and made up. I run a considerably more sporadic writing contest of my own. I love writing, and pretty much just do it because I enjoy it, so let's have some fun here!
I recommend you all to check Cal's (horror) stories and poems if you want to find quality and a source of inspiration from such an eclectic and prolific mind.
She also publishes a very interesting initiative: the Tell a Story to Me Contest, you definitely have to give a look to next round!
Things that please the Bananafish mighty god!
- vote, vote, vote your favorite story!
- Try to post your story the earliest possible and not at the last moment.
- Sustain, comment and upvote each other as a true group of friends and fiction lovers.
- Respect the 500 words limit.
- Post in your blog instead than in the comment section.
- help our contest & workshop to grow by giving it some visibility.
And now.. let's dive into today's story!
Quitting Life
She picked up a resignation form today. She had been thinking about it for a while, handing in her notice, taking her last year. Every day is just the same, different faces, different flavours, but underneath, it was all the same. Was there any point in the endless forward march, the slow decline into ill health, unemployment and poverty? She didn’t have children, no friends who came to visit, and it was at least three years since her last match.
She sat on the corner of her single bed, in her single room, the thin long window illuminating the bare floor. She pushed a loose strand of mousy blonde hair behind her ear, and picking at her thumb, she wandered in thought.
She could travel, she could see the ocean, she could stand beneath trees, she could sit in silence. For one year. It was as good as it got, some people only got 6 months. But was she ready?
She couldn’t keep going, not like this. She had seen the lifers, the people who worked for 65 years and collapsed, decrepit, into the hands of hapless, half-hearted “help”. She had even been that half-hearted, hapless help, she had worked for minimum wage, clearing up bodily fluids, spoon feeding, doing what she could, but it destroyed you, seeing all your future had to offer.
A lot of people who worked there handed in their notice; you had to do it between 40 and 55 to get the year. Some people applied for special circumstances after 55, but generally they got less time.
She was 47. A lot could change in her life still. She could meet someone, she could have children, grandchildren, she could grow old. Couldn’t she…? Did she want to? She turned it over in her mind. She had accepted a lot in her life, but she just couldn’t face the rest of her life, playing out, day by slow dragging, hardworking, lonely, day. Night after empty, starless night. If she took her year, she could get away from the cities and their thick rank pollution. She could escape the crush of the masses, the regimented flow of preoccupied people. Her parents took her to a forest once, before the regulations changed, and closing her eyes, she could almost hear the hushed whisper of branches, almost feel the dappled sunlight on her upturned face. Almost. She opened her eyes, was there ever really any question? She had dreamed of it for as long as she could remember, and in that moment, she realised, she was always going to quit, it was never a question of did she want to, just when. Was she ready?
She flopped back onto her bed, bouncing back against the overly springy mattress. Relief coursed through her. She was going to quit, maybe not today, but she would do it. The digital display in the wall flashed, green numbers ticking over, 23:00. Instinctively, she felt around her bedside tablet, and pressing the button, retrieved her small blue pill. Blue before bed, white before work. It dissolved on her tongue, and she felt the thoughtless relaxation wash over her.
The next morning, she woke before her alarm had chance to rouse her. She stood at the window, watching the constant ebb and flow of people and traffic, the living city beneath her never slept. Her resolve had only hardened overnight, it felt right. She retrieved the form. She would quit. She would take the year. One good year, then call it quits.
Join the fun! Here is how this contest works:
An unfinished fiction story or a script is posted.
You finish it with your own post or a comment in the comment section. A limit of 500 words is recommended.
YOU WIN! 4 @steembasicincome shares to the writers with the best ending.
The result will be out on Monday 2nd July, 14:00 PM - two o' clock in the afternoon GMT+7 (U.S. West Coast time zone). Submission deadline: Monday 2nd July, 12:00 PM - noon
The @bananafish has come between us!
