The Instigator
TUF
Pro (for)
Tied
0 Points
The Contender
YYW
Con (against)
Tied
0 Points

Writers debate: Fiction

Do you like this debate?NoYes+6
Add this debate to Google Add this debate to Delicious Add this debate to FaceBook Add this debate to Digg  
Post Voting Period
The voting period for this debate has ended.
after 0 votes the winner is...
It's a Tie!
Voting Style: Open Point System: 7 Point
Started: 5/26/2013 Category: Arts
Updated: 3 years ago Status: Post Voting Period
Viewed: 3,128 times Debate No: 34217
Debate Rounds (5)
Comments (40)
Votes (0)

 

TUF

Pro

The purpose of this debate will be to intellectually get around the challenges posed by your opponent with each plot twist. At the same time, both writers will focus their skills into making their prose interesting, legible, and well written. "Is this a debate?" some of you may ask. I personally believe a writers debate requires a great amount of skill as it shows a debaters confidence in their speech, and they have to overcome obstacles through the use of creativity, imagination, and wit.

RULES:

1. Each debater will set a plot twist, or a problem for the protagonist to overcome at the end of each round. The opponent will continue off of the story that was instigated, and do their best to make it interesting, and smake sense with the rest of the story. At the end of their round, they too will pose a challenge for the instigator to overcome.

2. This is a tournament debate, so a forfeit will conduct in the loss of the debate.

3. There will be a maximum of 8,000 characters per round, with a minimum of 4,000, such that the story does not become detached, and detail-less.

4. Judging will be determined by the voters, however voting categories will be: S/G, writing style, Plot interest, and coagulation with the opponents writing.



I ask that if my opponent has any discrepancies with the rules, to please PM me in our private message, or to leave a message in the comments of this debate prior to accepting to discuss the issue with me.

First round will be acceptance, and I will begin the story in round 2.

I look forward to a very exciting clash of words with my determined opponent!
YYW

Con

I accept.
Debate Round No. 1
TUF

Pro

Story Title: Outcast

Chapter 1: On the run


His bare feet hit the pavement hard causing a slapping sound as runs. He doesn’t know where he going, just that he needs to go somewhere, anywhere. He needs to get out of sight. They would find him at any second if he didn’t get out of here. He hangs a left, and runs across a dark park. The dew that hung fresh off the grass tips, felt good on his feet, as opposed to the rough, sharp gravel he was previously running on. He was going to have some blisters and cuts, he could tell. But right now his feet were too numb for him to tell. He had probably been running for a good 15 minutes. He was breathing hard, and tired, but he didn’t want to stop. He couldn’t stop. He was scared of what he might feel once the adrenaline wore off.

He sees the dark Gazebo in the distance. He knows he must stop and regain his energy while he still has the chance. He quickly looks around, sees that no one is around, and hides in the dark Gazebo. This isn’t exactly the best cover. And while he knows he can’t stay here long, this is the best place for him right now. He throws his sore tired body into a heap, in one of the Apex’s of the small open room.

His body instantly feels relief as constant physical energy is now longer being drained from his reserves. He hears sirens off in the distance and shudders. He knew they were looking for him. His apprehension remained high, until he heard the sirens fade away into the distance. He put his sweaty face into his palms. Then he feigned pulling hair in stress, though his shaved head denied him that privilege.

He started to see it. His mother, on the floor, bleeding, crying, screaming “Stop! Please. Stop!”

He shutters and shakes the image away, but it’s too late. The wave of emotion is coming back. His tears start flowing again, and he can’t stop them. “That fvcking bastard!”. He felt so angry as he remembered the image of his father standing over her laughing, calling her pitiful, weak. The same thing he had called me for 18 years of my life before I left that place. I had left my mom to be tortured by him. And now she was dead. I could have stopped it. I was petrified with horror, and couldn’t move as I watched him kill her. I felt like a little boy again, scared and alone as I watched her writhe in pain. But he had taken it too far this time. Maybe he didn’t mean to kill her, when he pushed her. But still she fell, and broken her neck on the table, and I had watched the whole thing. He needed to pay. He didn’t deserve life. So I took it away from him. And now here I am a returned veteran, recently determined murderer. And they think I killed them both.

He had no place to go. He was shaking. He had killed before, he had seen death. But not like this. Not his own mother and father. It was too much to take. He wanted to scream, but knew that was foolish while he was at large. He had to shut his brain down. He stopped thinking, pretended everything that happened to him didn’t happen. He led himself into a pseudo idea of an ideal reality, until he was able to force himself sleep.

*SIX HOURS LATER*

Laughter and shouting woke him up. It was sunny outside, and kids were playing in the park just outside the Gazebo. There was a woman standing near him staring at him strangely. She started when he woke up. “Are you okay?” She asked. He was a wreck. His eyes had deep lines, his clothes torn from jumping fences, his shoes missing from abandoning them to run faster. There was blood on the ground near him. He realized the gravel had torn into the bottom of his feet. Luckily the blood had dried, and it has stopped. He looked at the woman and nodded. He needed to get out of here.

“My daughter saw the blood… I was worried so I called the cops.” She said.

Suddenly he grew alert.

“When!?” he shouted at her.

She looked scared, as if she thought he was going to attack her.

“Um… About five minutes ago?” She said.

He didn’t waste any time. He had to go. He ran off nearly tripping over her stroller on the way out.His bare feet hit the pavement hard causing a slapping sound as runs. He doesn’t know where he going, just that he needs to go somewhere, anywhere. He needs to get out of sight. They would find him at any second if he didn’t get out of here. He hangs a left, and runs across a dark park. The dew that hung fresh off the grass tips, felt good on his feet, as opposed to the rough, sharp gravel he was previously running on. He was going to have some blisters and cuts, he could tell. But right now his feet were too numb for him to tell. He had probably been running for a good 15 minutes. He was breathing hard, and tired, but he didn’t want to stop. He couldn’t stop. He was scared of what he might feel once the adrenaline wore off.

He sees the dark Gazebo in the distance. He knows he must stop and regain his energy while he still has the chance. He quickly looks around, sees that no one is around, and hides in the dark Gazebo. This isn’t exactly the best cover. And while he knows he can’t stay here long, this is the best place for him right now. He throws his sore tired body into a heap, in one of the Apex’s of the small open room.

His body instantly feels relief as constant physical energy is now longer being drained from his reserves. He hears sirens off in the distance and shudders. He knew they were looking for him. His apprehension remained high, until he heard the sirens fade away into the distance. He put his sweaty face into his palms. Then he feigned pulling hair in stress, though his shaved head denied him that privilege.

He started to see it. His mother, on the floor, bleeding, crying, screaming “Stop! Please. Stop!”

He shutters and shakes the image away, but it’s too late. The wave of emotion is coming back. His tears start flowing again, and he can’t stop them. “That fvcking bastard!”. He felt so angry as he remembered the image of his father standing over her laughing, calling her pitiful, weak. The same thing he had called me for 18 years of my life before I left that place. I had left my mom to be tortured by him. And now she was dead. I could have stopped it. I was petrified with horror, and couldn’t move as I watched him kill her. I felt like a little boy again, scared and alone as I watched her writhe in pain. But he had taken it too far this time. Maybe he didn’t mean to kill her, when he pushed her. But still she fell, and broken her neck on the table, and I had watched the whole thing. He needed to pay. He didn’t deserve life. So I took it away from him. And now here I am a returned veteran, recently determined murderer. And they think I killed them both.

He had no place to go. He was shaking. He had killed before, he had seen death. But not like this. Not his own mother and father. It was too much to take. He wanted to scream, but knew that was foolish while he was at large. He had to shut his brain down. He stopped thinking, pretended everything that happened to him didn’t happen. He led himself into a pseudo idea of an ideal reality, until he was able to force himself sleep.

*SIX HOURS LATER*

Laughter and shouting woke him up. It was sunny outside, and kids were playing in the park just outside the Gazebo. There was a woman standing near him staring at him strangely. She started when he woke up. “Are you okay?” She asked. He was a wreck. His eyes had deep lines, his clothes torn from jumping fences, his shoes missing from abandoning them to run faster. There was blood on the ground near him. He realized the gravel had torn into the bottom of his feet. Luckily the blood had dried, and it has stopped. He looked at the woman and nodded. He needed to get out of here.

“My daughter saw the blood… I was worried so I called the cops.” She said.

Suddenly he grew alert.

“When!?” he shouted at her.

She looked scared, as if she thought he was going to attack her.

“Um… About five minutes ago?” She said.

He didn’t waste any time. He had to go. He ran off nearly tripping over her stroller on the way out.

YYW

Con

As he ran faster and faster he realized that he wasn"t being chased, but he knew that if he didn"t get away he would have been brought in by the police for questioning. At twenty three he has seen two tours of duty, once in Iraq and again in Afghanistan.

He was tired, but he thought quickly on his feet. He couldn"t go home, but he could go to his girlfriend"s apartment. He"d left shoes there and a change of clothes. Above all, he could clean up. But, his girlfriend was inside off from work that day.

"Jason, what are you doing? The police are looking for you and your house is on the news!" She exclaimed.

"I"m running, Katie. I have to run. They think I did it and they"ll put me in jail." He stammered as he spoke, struggling to catch his breath. "I only killed my dad though, after he killed my mom. I had too. I just fvcking had too."

"Was it self defense?" Katie threw her arms around him.

"No, or-" Jason paused. "-I don"t know what it was. I saw him kill her and I just... I just reacted. I don"t know what it was. Don"t call the cops though."

Katie told Jason to go clean up, and he showered and changed into clean clothes and walked back into the the living room of Katie"s apparent.

"Do you have a plan?" She asked.

"I have no idea." He sat down on the sofa, leaned over and put his hands behind his neck. "I just have no idea."

Katie could see that Jason was holding back tears, and that the magnitude of seeing his parents dead before him, and knowing that he was responsible for one of their deaths, was beginning to set in.

"You know you can"t stay here. The cops will be here looking for you any time. I"m surprised they aren"t here already. Everyone knows we"re together, Jason." Katie put her arms around him as he tried harder and harder not to break down in tears.

"I know." He replied. "I"ll be gone. I just need to sit here a few more minutes."

Katie pulled her iPhone out of her purse and searched for a lawyer. She dialed the number, and the call was ringing. Jason didn"t realize what was happening before she handed him the device.

"Talk to them. They"ll know what to do." Katie hugged him, and went into the kitchen to get them both something to drink.
Jason explained what had happened and where he was. The attorney instructed Jason to wait where he was, and that he would send a car to pick him up where they could discuss what came next.

As he waited for the car, Jason paced Katie"s apartment in desperate helplessness and when the car arrived he looked outside the windows to see if any police were outside. After seeing that everything was clear, he kissed Katie goodbye and left.

Upon arriving at his attorney"s office, a tall man with silver hair in a dark grey chalk-striped suit, striped shirt and bold red tie walked up to greet him.

"You must be Jason. I"m Trent Hamilton, of Hamilton-Winston."

"Hi." Jason didn"t know what else to say, but he followed as the man tuned and walked down a dimly lit but ornately decorated hallway. As Mr. Hamilton turned and opened what appeared to be the door to his office, he motioned for Jason to sit in a leather wing-backed chair.

"Do you have a dollar?" Trent asked.

"Yeah." Jason confusedly replied.

"Give it to me." Trent held out his hand. "That"s your retainer. It means that everything you tell me is protected by attorney-client privilege."

Jason reached into his back pocket, retrieved a dollar from his wallet and handed it to Trent. After explaining everything that had happened again, Trent crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair.

"What happens next is the hard part, Jason. You will need to turn yourself in. The police will book you, process you and take you to a holding facility. It won"t be pleasant, but it"s what has to happen. They will take you into an interrogation room, and you will sit across from a police investigator. That"s when you ask them for me. I"ll come in, and the meeting will be over. You"ll make bail the next day."

"That"s it?" Jason replied.

"That"s it." Trent stood up, walked out from behind his desk and placed his hand on Jason"s shoulder. "It will be fine, son. Just do exactly as I"ve told you."

"Why are you helping me?" Jason asked, still confused.

Trent turned and faced out a window. His voice took a wistfully nostalgic tone.

"Your mother was the only woman I ever loved." Trent turned back and faced Jason. "And now, she"s gone."
Debate Round No. 2
TUF

Pro

Chapter 2: Outcast

8 Months and the trial was still grueling. 8 long months. Trent’s promise of a short trial and a bail hadn’t rung true. But I couldn't’t complain. Trent was helping me in court for all but the cost of a dollar, and the love he had for my now dead mother. Maybe he felt like he owes it to me, for not doing anything about it. He knew she was getting abused for years. He was my mother’s hiding place, her resort for many of those years. Yet still he did nothing to stop the man from abusing her, for fear of losing credibility in his career. A man found cheating with a married woman is never good for personal image. In the end, that personal image was more important than my mother’s life. Part of me wanted to blame Trent, but the other part of me knew I couldn't’t. I was just as responsible as he was. I could have done something years ago. And it took me this long to do it. And I handled it in the wrong way. An emotional reaction not thought through properly. But as I remember the scene, my crying mother, watch her neck snap so easily, watching him laugh at her and call her weak, I know that I would kill him again if I had the chance. No, I would do worse. I would torture him. Do the same thing he did to me and my mother for years. I would break every bone in his-

*boom boom* the judge’s gavel pounded against the podium snapping me out of my thoughts. My anticipation was building up. The Jury had made their decision. “Here goes nothing.” I whispered to Trent sitting next to me at the defense table. “Don’t worry, Jason, this will be over soon, I promise.” He whispered back. I don’t think he understood the double meaning in his words.

The representative took the stand.

“After 8 months of trial, the jury has made their decision. Jury one votes Guilty. Is this your honest decision Jury one?”

Jury one replies “Yes.”

The representative continues down the list.

Jury two votes Guilty. Jury three votes Innocent. Jury four votes Guilty. I gulp as she goes down the list. Innocent. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. As she reads the seventh guilty, my heart drops. I no longer care about the rest of the verdict, they don’t matter. Majority favors me guilty. I am shaking. I am fighting off tears. I can’t appear weak in front of the court, in front of Katie.

The representative finishes. The judge hammers the gavel down twice more. “ Jason stiles, you have been convicted of murder in the first degree, for both Julia Stiles, and Robert Stiles. I hereby sentence you to the death penalty. This concludes this court session.” He bangs his gavel twice more, though this time it appears to be in slow motion. Everything is slowed and dis-orienting. My ears are ringing. I can’t hear Katie screaming and sobbing from the audience, trying to run towards me as the Bailiff carries her out of the court room. I can’t hear Trent trying to re-assure me as he usually does, telling me that he is going to get me out of this. All I hear is silence. I feel nothing.

Two police officers come to escort me to the vehicle, that I know will take me to my holding cell. I will be killed in a weak, for a crime of defense. The evidence against me was too much. Fingerprints, blood. Me running didn’t help either. I was scared, and I re-acted, but overall, it was seen as implicating evidence to my guilt. People rarely saw the holes in the justice system, but they were there. And I was deep in the middle of one. It was over for me, just as Trent has promised. The two police officers approached me. Suddenly the slow motion stopped. As one of the officers reached for his handcuffs, something happened. Something in me changed. I no longer was Jason Stiles. I was a dead man.

I quickly snatched the baton from the police officers belt, and bashed him in the side of the head with it hard, knocking him out, or killing him. The second police officer reaches for his gun, but not before I am able to crack him in the skull, downing him too. The audience was screaming, and running for the door. I grabbed the bald officer’s gun, holding the baton in my other hand. The bailiff was at the door holding me at gun point. Thank God Katie was pulled out of the room, and didn’t have to see all of this.

I rushed at the door, easily making the terrified crowd part like the red sea. I knew the bailiff wouldn't’t shoot, not when all these people were around to potentially get hit. I pushed past him, and slam the door shut, and wedge the baton between the handles, barring any from entering. I rushed down the stairs, knowing I didn’t have long. The surprised security guard’s at the door didn’t expect what they saw. “Get on the ground now!” I screamed aiming the weapon at them. They both listened. I grabbed the pistols from their belts, and kicked them aside, so they could not reach them. I rushed out the door, knowing I had to get out of there fast. I stowed the gun in my belt, and covered it with my coat. Walking quickly, but trying to blend in with the civilians, I made turns, trying to get lost in the crowd. Here I was, again, on the run. An outcast to society. This time, there was no going back.

YYW

Con

Jason walked to the edge of the city, where he found an old boxcar to sleep in for the night. Although it wasn't a permanent solution, he'd seen worse in the Middle East. It started to rain after the sun set he closed the door enough that he was confident that water wouldn't splash in. With only a light coat, he grew very cold in the night but the smell of the rain in the air, and the sound of the raindrops hitting the boxcar's metal roof was refreshing.

Though he didn't realize it, the boxcar started to move as he slept. When he woke up and opened the car door he could see that he was slowly climbing tracks on the side of a mountain. Overwhelmed with thirst and wet from water that had come in from the boxcar's leaky roof, he sat down inside and looked at the horizon as the sun rose over a thick, damp fog that had set in over the trees below.

While the experience was nothing less than sublime, Jason realized his freedom meant that his most basic needs would be contingent upon his ability to survive. And yet in this moment he was once more trapped within the boxcar, though there by choice, to roll out would mean certain death.

After a few hours, the tracks leveled as the train moved closer to the valley below, where there was a town up ahead and a river within sight. He would have to get out here, because he knew that if he didn't hydrate he might go to sleep and not wake back up. Jason prepared to jump out of the train car which was now picking up considerable speed as the tracks leveled off. It was clear that the train wasn't going to stop, and the tracks turned away from the town by the river he saw in the distance. He looked up to the sky and then down to the ground and slid from the platform floor onto the ground where he landed on a rock and cut his leg open. The wound wasn't bad, but it made his walk to the town more painful.

Though only five miles or so, Jason was exhausted. He fell unconscious onto the sidewalk in front of a church. Though he didn't know how long he was incapacitated, he felt water being splashed onto his face.

"What's wrong, sir?" A elderly woman in a blue dress asked.

"I haven't eaten or had anything to drink in almost two day now." Jason replied, still laying on the sidewalk. He noticed that the sun was beginning to set.

"Let me go get my husband." She replied. "He'll be able to help you up."

Within a few minutes, the elderly couple returned. The man was holding a glass of water in his hand and his wife followed by his side. As they drew nearer, the man passed off the glass of water and extended his arm as he knelt down on one knee beside Jason.

"Son, it'l be alright. Put your arm around my shoulder and come inside." The man replied.

"Where am I?" Jason asked.

"You're outside of Elkins, West Virginia." The man replied.

"Who are you?" Jason inquired further.

"Reverend Talbot. This is my wife, Elizabeth Talbot." The man said as he gestured to his wife. "Who are you?"

"I'm..." Jason paused, knowing that by now his name was probably nationally infamous. "I need help."

"Well, that much is clear." The man said as he led Jason inside to a small table. "We're just about to have dinner. Join us."

Mrs. Talbot tried to take his coat as he sat down, but knowing that it would reveal his prisoner's number he insisted that he keep it on -although he was unable to even provide an excuse as to why he wanted it to remain. They ate largely in silence, but for a brief prayer before the three began.

Though a humble meal of baked chicken and mashed potatoes Jason expressed his gratitude for the couple's hospitality. Rev. Talbot, who instinctively knew that Jason was destitute, offered him a room for the night. Knowing that he had no other options, Jason reluctantly accepted. Mrs. Talbot went upstairs to make the bed, as Jason and Mr. Talbot retired to the living room.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" Rev. Talbot asked.

"No. But thank you." Jason declined, as he nearly fell asleep in the chair.

When Mrs. Talbot returned, she led him upstairs where fresh linens had been placed on the bed and a change of clothes was laid out.

"These used to belong to our son, many years ago." Mrs. Talbot smiled. "I'm glad I never got rid of them now."

Jason laid down on top of the bed completely exhausted, and fell asleep.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, Mrs. Talbot brought biscuits and jelly with a mug of hot black coffee up to his room and set them down outside of the door.

"Some breakfast, dear." She said after rapping three times lightly on the door.

Jason heard the creaky boards on the stairs as Mrs. Talbot returned to the kitchen. He got out of bed, and ate both of the biscuits quickly before even thinking to put jam on them. He drank the coffee as he walked downstairs.

"Would you like to stay with us for a while?" Rev. Talbot asked. "My wife and I have discussed it and you would be welcome to the room for a few nights if you would like it."

Mrs. Talbot nodded her head in acknowledgement.

"I..." Jason didn't know what to say. "I think I should tell you..."

"Tell us what?" Mrs. Talbot asked after Jason paused, seemingly lost for words.

"Tell you why I'm here." Jason responded.

"Oh, that's not necessary." Mrs. Talbot replied. "You're here because you're supposed to be here. You're safe here."

Jason noticed that there was no television or radio in their house. The only telephone still had a cord and hung by the cabinet on the wall. They couldn't know who he was, or why he was here.

"My name is Jason." He replied, hesitantly.

"It's nice to meet you, Jason." Rev. Talbot replied. "I must only ask that you help around the house if you're going to stay. There are potatoes to bring in from the garden, among a few other things."

"I'd be happy too." Jason smiled as he sat down at the same table he'd eaten dinner at the night before, and reached for another biscuit from the plate in the center. "These are delicious." He said with his mouth full.
Debate Round No. 3
TUF

Pro

Chapter 3: Cornered

I came home from school feeling proud of his art project. I had created a Rustic paper cliché statue of Ghandi. My project was to “Create a unique and dimensional art piece using skills learned in Art 1200, of a famous figure.” I chose Ghandi, as I had always had a deep respect for his figure. In the face of adversity, violence, and hate, Ghandi showed nothing but love to all he met. He had accomplished one of the biggest revolutions in history through non-violence motions. As I had researched him, I had always had a love for the historical figure. My statue wasn’t lifelike obviously, but I took pride in the work I did, and the accuracy of the features. After all I was only in 7the grade. I came in my home, and went straight to my parents bedroom. “ Hey mom, check out my statue! I got an A+ on-“ I stopped short as I entered the room to see my mom crying on the bed, face buried in her palms.

“Mom, are you okay?” I asked, approaching her cautiously.

Without looking at me she replied “I’m fine Jason. Please go to your room. Your dad is in a bad mood.”

“But mom- ” I started.

“Go to your room God Damn it!” She said turning to me. I almost dropped my statue in shock as I looked at her black eye. Tears were streaming down her face, as she turned back away from me and continued to cry. Emotion flooded over me; Anger, sadness, confusion. I knew who was the cause of this.

I left my mother in her room, and walked back downstairs. I gulped as I prepared myself to go into the back yard, where I knew my dad would be.

I opened the back door, and looked over to the saw table, where my dad was cutting a board in half, probably to fix the garage. He had busted the garage wall down last week, coming home drunk from the bar.

“Dad!” I yelled trying to shout over the saw blade. He couldn't’t hear me.

I screamed louder. “Dad!”

He jerked nearly getting his hand caught by the blade. At the sense of heat, the blade quickly sunk back into the table, shutting the system down.

My dad was angry. “What the Fvck Jason? Are you trying to get me killed you little dumb@ss?”
I ignored him. “Dad why was mom’s eye black? Why is she crying?” I said accusingly.

He just stared past me into the distance. Finally he looked at me and spoke, ignoring my question. “What’s that you got there, Jason?”

I swallowed hard like I understood. “It’s my art project I made. I got an A+ on it today.”

“Let me see it please.” He said calmly. I considered it for a moment.

I approached him cautiously and handed him the statue.

He looked at it for a moment, considering it. “What is this supposed to be, a dolphin?” He said, judging it.

“It’s Ghandi.” I replied.

He just laughed. “Huh.”

Then to my horror, he turned on the saw blade. The noise was loud and horrendous.

“Dad no, please don’t!” I screamed tugging at his arm.

“Next time don’t interrupt me while I am working you little brat.” He spat angrily at me, as he shoved me to the ground with ease.

I continued screaming as I got up. But it was too late. He had sawed through Ghandi with ease. He turned the blade off, and tossed my destroyed art project on the ground like a piece of trash. I was crying, while he just laughed.

“I HATE YOU!” I screamed and lunged at him, hitting him wildly. He was big, and strong though. My punches were weak, and only irritated him more.

He grabbed me by the hair and pulled me up on my tippy toes, causing me to squeal in pain, and stop my pitiful attack.

“Listen to me you little fvck up. You disgust me. You are weak, and always have been. You don’t do anything for me and your mother. You worthless piece of crap. I wish you were dead.” With that he let go of his grip on my hair, and smacked me hard across the face.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

I woke up with a Jolt. I was sweating, and shaking. The memory/dream had me disturbed. I knew I wouldn't’t be able to go back to sleep that night. I got up out of bed, and went downstairs. I turned on the T.V. But had the volume low, as not to wake up the Talbot's. I knew I couldn't’t stay here long. I planned on leaving after one more day of re-cooperating. It was only a matter of time before I was tracked down here, it wasn’t safe.

I heard a noise behind me and instantly jumped. I turned raising my fist ready to fight, before realizing it was just Reverend Talbot standing looking at me confused in his night gown.

“Can’t sleep tonight son?” He said tiredly.

I just shook my head, and sat back down.

He joined me on the couch. “I know how that feels.” He said. “I haven’t had a good sleep in 15 years.”

“What’s with that?” I asked curiously.

“I’ve led a rough life, Jason. I have memories that will always be deep rooted, and will always scar me. I have changed my life around since then, but the nightmares will always be there.” He said.

I was curious.

“How do you deal with separating the memories from reality? From controlling you, and turning you into something you are not?” I asked.

He looked as if he was watching the crappy soap opera that was on but I knew he wasn’t paying attention to it. Finally he answered.

“Jason, you will have to accept that the memories will always be there. They will always hurt, and they will always be a part of who you are. But they don’t have to control you Jason. I used my experiences as a lesson. I have used them to control who I won’t become. I have turned them into as much of a positive as I can, and through it found my wife. I have also found God. My life has purpose, now, and I will fulfill it. So Jason, what is your purpose?”

I had no idea how to answer. I thought about it though, for what seemed like ages.

Finally I responded honestly. “ I don’t know Reverend. But I hope to find out.”

“ And you will Jason. But be open to listening to it when you do.” He said wisely.

I picked up the remote and started flipping through the channels.

“Stop!” Reverend Talbot ordered. I did, confused.

He took the remote from my hand, and went back a couple channels. It was the news. To my horror, there was a big picture of me, next to a newscaster. He turned the volume up a couple notches.

The TV broadcasted:

“-Stiles is still at large. Investigators have been hot on the tail of Jason Stiles, after his escape from custody at the end of his trial. What is possibly the biggest murder trial of the century, has ended with Jason Stiles being found guilty, and sentenced to death for murdering both of his parents. Shortly after the conclusion the trial, Stiles escaped, seriously injuring two police officers, and terrifying those in attendance to his trial. His lawyer, Trent Hamilton, is trying to argue for post dramatic stress dis-order, but the endeavor isn’t looking good in light of current circumstances-“

I snatched the remote from him and turned the TV off.

I waited for his reaction, as I gauged my situation. I needed to get out of here, fast.

YYW

Con

Reader's note: I purposefully left technology out of the Talbot's house. All of a sudden, a television appeared from nowhere. Alas, the story must go on.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jason jumped up to leave and began to head for the door, but Rev. Talbot called out to him.

"You don't have to leave. There is a place in the attic, if you'd need to hide." The reverend calmly spoke.

"No, I have to leave." Jason said. "I escaped from prison when I was sentenced to death for a crime that was self defense. My father killed my mother, and I was afraid I was next."

"Who would come to the cottage on the grounds of an old church, here of all places?" The reverend replied.

"Why are you offering to hide me?" Jason asked.

"Because I see you, son. I see the pain in your eyes and I understand it." The reverend's voice lowered. "Sit down."

As he motioned to the chair in the living room, beckoning for Jason to return to his seat, Rev. Talbot raised his bible from the coffee table.

"Why wouldn't you turn me in?" Jason demanded

"Justice exists in this world, Jason." The reverend said. "But on my day of judgement when God the father asks me why I sent one of his children to his death, I don't believe I could tell him that I thought it was the right thing to do."

Mrs. Talbot walked into the room and sat beside her husband.

"Dear," Mrs. Talbot looked at Jason "I can see you had a rough childhood. Even though you've never told either of us, it's clear that you don't easily trust. We're not going to turn you in. That, I promise you."

Dumbfounded, Jason stood up and walked over to the window where he looked outside. No one was there. The streets were empty, silent and cold.

"You're safe here, son." Rev. Talbot stood up. "How you found your way here, I will never know. But, it is not for me to know. You were meant to come here, and it is not my place to interfere with the Father's will."

"What day is it?" Jason asked.

"It's a Saturday." Rev. Talbot replied. "I'd like you to go to church tomorrow. You can sit out of sight, if you like, so that no one will see you."

"I've never been to church before." Jason confessed.

"That's all the more reason to go." Rev. Talbot replied.

Jason walked out the back door to survey the garden, and saw that it was dry and baron. When he walked back inside he asked Rev. Talbot what he should do.

"There is a plough in the shed. I'll hook it to the tractor when it's time. They aren't ready to come in yet, though." Rev. Talbot smiled.

"I'll be happy to do anything I can." Jason said.

Jason walked upstairs to find some old sneakers and a pair of cotton gym shorts in the closet along with a few dusty sweatshirts. Without asking, he put them on. Even though the shoes were a few sizes too small, he decided to go for a run on the road that led out of town.

'I'm running for fun, now' He thought, relieved.

As he walked back downstairs and out the same back door he smelled the West Virginia air; sweet with the faintest hint of wood smoke and dry leaves.

"I'll be back!" Jason called to Rev. and Mrs. Talbot as he walked down the sidewalk before he started jogging.

He could see Mrs. Talbot in the window, waving as he departed.

Jason recalled his dream before he woke up, about his mother -bloodied and bruised from his father's abuse. He thought about his father, and all the times that he punched, slapped and beat him and his mother.

'If there was any eternal justice,' Jason thought, 'surely my father is burning in hell.'

Almost lost in his own memory, Jason didn't notice that a car had pulled up beside him. When he saw that it was a police officer, his heart began to race.

"Howdy, stranger!" The police officer's tone suggested an old familiarity. "I haven't seen you around before. You in town visiting?"

"I..." Jason paused, searching for an answer. "I'm a friend of Reverend and Mrs. Talbot."

"Well, hey there, son!" The officer smiled widely. "I've known Rev. Talbot all my life! He's the pastor at our church down yonder, but hell I guess you already know that. What's your name?"

"I'm Jason." He replied, knowing fully the potential consequences of telling the truth as he extended his hand into the squad car to shake the officer's hand.

"It's sure good to meet you, Jason. Say, you sure look a lot like a guy the state's put out a warrant for, but if you're with the Talbots, there's not a chance on God's green earth that you're Jason Styles." The officer shook his head. "Tragedy what happened to that poor kid."

"What happened?" Jason was curious.

"Well, there's been all these reports on the news that the prosecutor introduced evidence in the trial that he shouldn't have and that Jason boy's attorney's been filing appeals left and right trying to get his conviction overturned. Jason's been on the run for a while now, but it's lookin' like he'll be exonerated if he comes in, but right now they're just tryin' to find out where he's hiding." The officer said, still shaking his head in disappointment. "Also, there's been new testimony from one of the neighbors that apparently might suggest that the Jason fellow's actions might have been in self defense. Everyone just assumed when he ran that he was guilty. Stupid thing to do, if you ask me. But hell... I've been keeping you from your run all this time. I apologize, son!"

"No trouble, officer." Jason didn't know what else to say. "Has all of this been on the news?"

"Oh yeah," The officer paused. "It's been all those damn reporters can talk about, day and night."

"Well, I hope everything works out for him." Jason replied.

"Hell, me too." The officer looked right at Jason. "I remember when my old man used to set in on me when I was a kid, but nothing like what that Jason kid's father did to him and his mama."

"I beg your pardon?" Jason was confused, because none of his abuse came out at trial.

"Oh yeah." The officer replied. "That lawyer of his went on 60 Minutes. Had an hour long special on the kid and his life. Really rough childhood, he had. His father beat up on him and his mom, drank a lot, and the usual. Terrible situation. The forensic reports are sayin' that now it's lookin' like the father killed his mother, and this Jason fellow killed his father as he was coming at him."

"But was that always what the forensic reports said?" Jason pretended to act dumb.

"Oh hell no. They first thought that he killed both of his parents, but the so called "expert" turned out to be just crock." The officer replied. "I'll tell you, I think that boy's innocent."

"Well, I've got to get back to my run." Jason replied.

"Oh yeah. I'm sorry to bother you!" The officer started to pull away.

"No problem at all!" Jason waved and started to pick up his pace again. "No problem at all."
Debate Round No. 4
TUF

Pro

Chapter 4: Reality Check

Freedom… What a concept… No more running. No more hiding. I couldn’t believe it. Just last night the T.V. said the police were still hot on my tail. And now, after injuring two police officers, branding a firearm in a court house and, running from law enforcement, I was somehow going to be able to escape from all of this Scott free? This almost seemed too good to be true to have happened in the course of a day. But I had no reason to suspect that a police officer would lie to me. I decided it was kind of weird that he had randomly started to talk to me about the Jason Stiles case.

I continued to run, while I considered my options. My girlfriend probably thinks I am a monster after my actions. Will she ever take me back? How will I be able to just continue on living the way I used to as if my parents weren’t dead and I weren’t responsible for one of them? How was I supposed to go anywhere, do anything without catching the attention of the public eye, people hating me, thinking I am a monster.

I could not go back, free or not free. I decided that I was going to start a new life. Maybe go to church with the Talbot's, and find god. Maybe I will go my own way, and explore the world. I needed to find myself, and I needed to find peace, and going back to how things were before wasn’t the way.

I stopped for a minute, realizing that I had been running for over 6 miles. The road ended, with barricades saying “End of Road”. Behind that, there was a tree line, leading into a Forrest.

As I let my cardio adjust, I sat down to rest my legs. I felt emotions, as I considered my situation. Starting over. I could find love, I can find happiness. Happiness… Was that even possible now? I had to believe it was. I had to believe I could over come this.

I put my face in my palm, sighing.

As I pulled my palm away, I noticed a little red dot on the back of my hand.

What the… Shoot. It was a trap.

“JASON STILES, This is the FBI. Put your hands behind your head and lie flat down on the ground.” Three Police officers emerged from the woodline, all aiming M4’s at me.

I knew the police officer that talked to me was baiting me, waiting for back-up. This was it. It was either death, or escape. I chose escape.
I took my chance and bursted left behind one of the barriers. Whiz, Ping, Ping!

Three shots were fired at me, one whizzing right by my head. Two more FBI agents flanked me from my right side. I did a barrel role as a couple more shots were fired. I realized they weren’t shooting live ammo at me, but concussion shots based on the slow movement of the projectiles.

I was exposed in the middle of all the FBI agents, as 4 more flanked me from my left side. No more escape routes were present options any more. I let out a cry, and dashed at the nearest officer, but didn’t make it more than three steps before I was barraged with concussion shots, 2 to the head, three to the body. Everything went black.

I woke up feeling pain all over my body, and a massive head ache. I opened my eyes, and felt blinded by a bright light in my face.

I could see nothing, but bright, annoying, harsh light, so I closed my eyes. I tried moving my arms. They were numb, but heavy. I was hand cuffed, and my legs were cuffed together too. Sh1t.

I was going to die for a crime that I didn’t commit. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe this was how it was supposed to end. At least I wouldn't’t have to think anymore. Maybe death would be easier than having to live a life in hiding, regret, and bad memories. Reverend Talbot lived a life of pain. That must have been torturous to endure for years on end. I didn’t know if I was strong enough for that. Maybe the death penalty was the way to go. Maybe getting caught was a good thing.

“Jason, glad see your awake.” A low male voice said from what sounded like a few feet away from me. I tried to open my eyes, but was instantly blinded yet again by the light, making my head hurt even worse.

There was a chuckle. “Here, let me help you with that. Then there was a buzzing sound, and I felt my body moving upward. Noticing the brightness dim from behind my closed eyelids, I finally opened them. I saw that I was on a raising chair, in a small rectangular room, that I instantly noticed was moving. I had to be in the back of a vehicle. Across from me sitting on a stool was a handsome FBI officer.

“I have questions for you Jason.” He said seriously, as he withdrew a notepad and pen from his shirt pocket.”

I looked around groggily, head pounding. “Where am I?”

“You don’t seem to be in a position to be asking questions, but I think it should be obvious that you are in route to a holding facility, where you will be given lethal injection in one weeks time. But let’s not get ahead of our selves. Where have you been hiding, Jason?” He asked calmly, prepping his pen by removing the lid.

I just said nothing.

“Don’t test my patience Jason. Tell me what I need to know or-“

“Or what?” I said. “You cannot do anything to me. I will not talk. If I am dying in a week for a crime I didn’t commit, then I have no obligation to tell you anything.” I spat at the floor near him to emphasize my firmness.

He just laughed, and stood up. “You’re wrong.”

“ I did not kill my mother!” I shouted angrily.

“I am not talking about that part. I am talking about the ‘you cannot do anything’ part. Take a look around you Jason. Do you see any cameras?” he said with a smirk.

I looked, and indeed, there was no cameras.

He approached me, and put both thumbs on my eyeballs, forcing me to close my eyes. I struggled, and squirmed, but to no avail. The chair I was cuffed to impaired any chance for escape.

Then he added pressure to his thumbs. I screamed in agony, as pain flooded into my eye sockets. I saw flashes, and colors, and blood….

“AGGGGGHHHHHHHH!”

Then the pressure stopped. And he pulled away. I was panting, and blood was coming from my mouth as I had bitten my tongue.
I wearily opened my eyes, everything a blur with tears and blood.

“Are you going to comply with me now Jason?” He asked, remaining calm.

“Fvck you!” I said, almost regretting saying it instantly, knowing pain would follow. I swallowed hard as I watched him remove a tiny remote.

“Then you leave me no choice.” He said, and pressed the button. Electricity ran through my bones ravaging me. I couldn’t even scream with pain, and my body writhes, jolted and bounced in the chair. The pain seemed to go on four hours. Finally it stopped.

I was drooling, and crying. “Please… Please… Just kill me, please!”

“All in good time. But first, you need to tell me what I need-“

Everything seemed to go into slow motion as the world seemed to turn upside down. The FBI agent, was thrashed horribly against the wall breaking his neck, as the trucked rolled over, getting holes torn into the sides. The truck stopped it’s roll, lying on its side. Someone had ran into the truck, either on accident, or… to rescue me.

Then light flooded the truck, as the back door was open, revealing a figure. “Let’s get out of here Jason, quick!” Whoever it was then moved to help release me from my chair which I was now sitting sideways in, as it was bolted to the ground.

YYW

Con

Jason was overcome by a feeling of immobility from the chair as he heard shouting in the background but he couldn't see anymore. He felt an electric jolt, and then was out of breath. Were they interrogating him? Another jolt, and he began to pant. He couldn't move his arms of legs, but he realized that his eyes were closed.

"Jason?" His mother was standing over him. Jason nearly broke out into tears. "Jason, are you alright?"

"I..." Jason didn't believe what he was seeing, as he choked on the intimating tube in his throat. A nurse promptly removed it. "Mom... you're alive!" He exclaimed.

"Of course I'm alive, Jason!" Jason's mother tightly embraced him, even though he was attached to a respirator and there was an IV in his arm. "Of course I'm here, son!"

Jason looked around and realized that he was in a hospital room, but he couldn't remember how he got there or why he was there. He could only remember killing his father, running frantically and being sentenced to death.

"Where am I?" Jason asked.

"You're at a hospital outside of Washington." A nurse informed him. "You've been unconscious for almost ten months."

Jason looked down at the blanket below and saw the outline of only one leg below. He looked at his hands, and he saw that he was missing three fingers. He felt his head, and the blood stained gauze that wrapped around his ear as a doctor walked into the room.

"You were in a convoy hit by an IED, Jason. You've lost your leg, a few fingers and an ear. But you're alive, and you're home." The doctor smiled. "Most importantly, you're awake. For a few months I thought we'd loose you."

In that moment, Jason realized that he had been in a coma, unconsciously dreaming -but his experience was as vivid and lucid as if he had lived his own dreams, and though it haunted him, he was relieved as he began to reflect on the details. He escaped from prison, which would have been nearly impossible. He slept on a train. He committed murder. He knew both what he was capable of, but what he would never do. He felt powerful, even though he was missing a limb and three digits.

"Where's dad?" Jason asked.

"You're father had a heart attack eight months ago and died, Jason. It was the drinking and the smoking that finally did him in." Jason's mother sympathetically replied. Seeing that she missed him, he held the harsh words he so desperately wanted to say.

"Oh." Jason replied, softly.

"I'm sorry that you two never had time to make amends." His mother replied. "If your father could see you now, he'd want you to know that he loved you."

"He had a funny way of expressing it." Jason's voice took an angry resonance.

"I know it was hard, son," Jason's mother replied, "but it's over now. We'll be able to go home before much longer."

"Yes you will." The doctor opined. "You'll of course need physical therapy, possibly some counseling might do you some good, but you'll make a healthy recovery."

"I guess." Jason looked at his missing leg.

Jason remembered the Middle East, but even more than the war he remembered his dream. He remembered killing his father, and what it felt like. He remembered escaping, and the fear of being caught. He remembered the help he received, from those who loved him and from complete strangers. While he knew that the war was a part of him, it was the demons from his childhood that made him who he was -that haunted him in his sleep. But now, it was over. His father was dead. His mother was safe. Jason had returned stateside, and he could begin his life again back home.
Debate Round No. 5
40 comments have been posted on this debate. Showing 1 through 10 records.
Posted by TUF 3 years ago
TUF
I didn't turn the ending into a dream.lol
Posted by YYW 3 years ago
YYW
Thanks, F16
Posted by F-16_Fighting_Falcon 3 years ago
F-16_Fighting_Falcon
I agree with most of Logic's critique. However, I think this story was very well done from both sides and was easy to read (not a lot of formal language and plot), but rather a fairly simple and short story. I enjoyed reading it. I did think TUF could have done something different with the end other than making it a dream and the issue with the TV did contradict what YYW had written. Overall, I felt YYW did slightly better.
Posted by TUF 3 years ago
TUF
That's how I felt after your round 2...
Posted by YYW 3 years ago
YYW
"Fvck him, I do what I want!"

That's kind of how I thought you felt when I saw your post in round 3...
Posted by TUF 3 years ago
TUF
I didn't make it too action filled and violent actually. In fact if you read my other stuff, you will know that I usually don't put much of that in my debates at all. However the fact is, we had two round left, and my opponent introduced a cop talking to the man with the biggest murder trial escapee, and told him he was off the hook. Talk about realism... Whether it was realistic or not that he was on trial to begin with is irrelevant, because this just took the entire plot away from the story. After reading that scene I was basically thinking my opponent decided "Fvck him, I do what I want!". So I fought fire with fire. Jason going free was never in the cards, until maybe in the last round. But my opponent I felt did nothing for the plot, and I had to add all the major twists in order to give the story of shred of interest. I don't feel your statement about all my scenes being the same is accurate. I added back story, and dialogue between Jason and Talbot, and gave Jasons memory credence. I felt that by adding in something from his past would make readers sympethize the character more.

Also there are plenty of movies, books, and TV shows that have gotten plenty popular with a lot less realism than this one has. For example: Dexter. He's come close to being caught so many times, it's ridiculous that people are naive enough to believe he's not a dirty cop. I could give a hundred more examples. But anyways, I don't think the reality in this was completely torn to shreds. This type of thing actually isn't impossible. People get convicted for things they didn't do all the time.
Posted by Logic_on_rails 3 years ago
Logic_on_rails
To me the other problem with your 'forceful' approach TUF was that nearly all your scenes were the same - violence, running etc. In my story with Ishall I started out with a battle scene, I then did a scene of travellers together, then a scene of my protagonist being rebuffed by his former friends. My culmination was then a duel with a former associate of sorts, and how this showed the protagonist's final conviction. You can read the story here: http://www.debate.org... ; not my best writing nor would I say I'm a great writer, but decent writing if I may say so myself. The point is that, to my mind, the best stories have a mixture of types of scenes and styles.

Anyhow, I shall probably say no more. It is not my place as a humble reader to heap scorn upon those who wrote for my benefit.
Posted by Logic_on_rails 3 years ago
Logic_on_rails
TUF, I fear you misunderstand me, so let me try and gently explain some things.

You say to focus on an effective storyline more than reason. I would contend that reason is a part of an effective story; my english teacher thinks that fantasy is a mostly unnecessary genre for various reasons. I disagree with him - I think that we can break rules, but we ought to be internally consistent, and we should strive to replicate the world as it is. FYI, I'm an avid reader of fantasy, yet even fantasy strongly incorporates certain elements of our world. And yes, we do cast realism -- in the strictest sense of the word -- to the wind, but authors can either make us believe their tale or suspend our disbelief. When you can do nought, realism bites.

TUF, I get that the plot didn't go where you wanted. I've had that happen in my own debates. In my debate with Ishall he had my protagonist act as a drunkard, far different from the melancholy tales of reflection I wished to weave. But I moved on, and wove it in nicely. In this story even YYW was never going to have Stiles live out his days at the house of the Talbots. Stiles was going to leave. Perhaps he'd realise something, perhaps he'd kill himself. Perhaps he'd die at the hands of the FBI, and die stoically. From redemption to madness to melancholy reflection, possibilities abound. Not 'snow white' endings if I say so myself.
Posted by TUF 3 years ago
TUF
It was a fiction debate. The purpose of these is to focus more on effective storyline than realism
Posted by TUF 3 years ago
TUF
It was a fiction debate. The purpose of these is to focus more on effective storyline than realism
No votes have been placed for this debate.