Greetings! Greetings! Greetings! Fellow Word Worms and Pulse Punchers!
Every writer is part appetite. Not metaphorical hunger. Real hunger. The kind that gets inherited before it gets named, passed down a bloodline. The kind that goes feral the second the leash slips, no matter how many doors you lock, how many years you spend pretending you outgrew it.
You can dress it in city clothes. You can keep it inside at night. It still goes to the window when it smells what it’s been missing.
This battle pits two writers who already know this about you, even if you don’t.
In one corner:
Writes the animal under the furniture. Her stories don’t ask permission before they wet the appetite of your instinct. The scent that splits the air, the body that remembers what the mind agreed to forget. You think you’re reading about a house. You’re reading about the thing pacing inside it.
And facing her:
Writes the hunger that runs in families. Her stories arrive in full voice, loud enough you don’t notice the ache underneath until it’s already got you by the throat. Three generations deep, and the curse never once asks if you wanted it.
Two writers. One prompt. Three hours. Five hundred words.
Only one instinct walks away clean.
The Battle Begins:
June 26th at 12:00 PM EST
The moderator will lead the chat to craft the prompt that feeds them. Three hours later, the stories will be revealed. Only those inside the chat will vote.
3:00 PM EST - The writers submit
Trust your gut. Trust your teeth. Choose your instinct.
See ya there, or be square!
