With seven players remaining, there is no such thing as an easy opponent.  Everyone left could get published and I’d buy whatever they wrote.  This week we had to write a fictional story about a real, historical tragedy in history, and the character who goes through it.  It was our choice whether or not the protagonist lives or dies.

Sitting up in the hospital bed, he first noticed the IV protruding from this left arm.  He then noticed a baseball resting on the tray beside his bed.  An instinctual impulse to grab it led to an unfortunate series of shockwaves, knocking what little wind he had out his lungs.  Unsure why he was here, but sure he needed to see that baseball, he took more a measured approach on his next attempt.  Slow and steady won the race this time, as the tip of his middle finger was able to roll the ball off the tray and onto his lap.  There was writing on the ball, the first letter barely smudged.

YOU LUCKY GUY, JACK!

Jack?  Was that his name?  It didn’t ring a bell, but neither did anything else.  In fact, he had no idea why he was here, or why he was in so much pain.

Below the compliment was a signature.  It took him a bit, but the name came to form.  He heard a stranger’s voice—his own—sound it out.

“Candy Maldonado.”

He remembered.

***************

“Fucking ay!  I managed to score you a ticket and you don’t show up until the 4^th inning?”

“Sorry, man,” he said, annoyed.  “I was with an important client.  And you know how traffic is this time of night.”

“Pfffttthh.  You’re missing a good one, too.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Reuschel’s retired nine straight, and Uribe scored last inning to tie the game.”

“Awesome.”

He disengaged from his friend and surveyed the field.  There was a runner on first.  He couldn’t tell who.  He heard the crowd react.  It was a wild pitch.

“Go go Mitchell you shithead go!”

So it was Mitchell on first.  Now on second.  He turned to his friend.

“You know, I don’t think he heard you.”

“Lighten up, dude.  It’s just a…oh shit, look out!”

He turned around in time to see a foul ball hurtling towards him.  He raised his hands up in defense.

****************

He looked at his hands.  They appeared fine, quite unlike his right leg, which was in traction.

He looked at the ball again.

“Nice catch!”  He looked up to see a doctor approaching.  “So, how are we doing?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“Who’s the current President?”

He racked his brain.  “Reagan?”

“No, but you’re closer now.  Last time I asked you said Ford.  Okay, well, your vitals look good.  Nurse tells me your pain has subsided.  Lookin’ good.”

“Doc, do I have amnesia?”

The doctor sighed.  “Too soon to tell.  It could be the anesthesia from the surgeries, but it’s unusual for a patient to not remember their name.  Still don’t?

He shook his head.

“I’m not too worried yet.  And hey, if you don’t get your memory back, maybe you can play center field next week.”

He hated funny doctors.

“So how’d you get that autograph, anyway?”

He remembered.

*******************

Flying down the road, his mind wandered.  He wished he could go straight home.  But he had to fly out to Seattle in an hour for another client and wouldn’t be back until Tuesday.  Even worse, he was out of gas.  The next exit had a Shell station.

As he squeezed the pump, his mind raced.  He’d need to double-time it to the airport if he didn’t want to hurry inside the terminal.  And then there was presentation he didn’t know how to finish.  The gas pump was unbearably slow.   He looked at the man at the next pump over, who also seemed a bit impatient.  The man caught him staring.  Oh, shit!  He recognized him.

“Um, hi.  I don’t mean to intrude, but is your name…Candy?”

The man flashed his white teeth in a broad smile.  “It might be.”

“Wow.  Well, uh, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”  He extended his hand.  Candy shook it.  “Hey, I caught a foul ball you hit tonight.”

“Really, man?”

“Yeah!  Would you autograph it for me?”

“Heh.  Sure thing, man.”

He practically threw open his passenger door and found the ball.  He couldn’t believe his luck.

*********************

“Hey you, wake up!”

His eyes fluttered several times before he opened them.  The voice appeared to come from a pretty woman standing over him.

“Nurse?”

“No, silly.  It’s me.  The doctor said we could finally see you.”

“Oh…”  He looked her up and down.  Nice body, too.

“So! Just look at the mess you got yourself into.  You’ll do anything to get attention, won’t you?”

He said nothing.  Turning his head, he saw someone else on the other side of the bed.  A young man, maybe ten or eleven.  He squinted his eyes.  Nope.

“Oh,” the woman said.  “The doctor said you might…”

“I don’t remember.  Who are you?”

“I’m your wife, Denise.”  She choked back tears.  “And this is your son, Jack.  Oh Michael…”

He looked at his son, hoping beyond hope he’d remember.  He picked up the ball.  “I guess this is for you.”

***********************

The trip was a success.  Michael had secured another client, and he had an autographed ball for his son.  As he cruised down the Nimitz Freeway, he turned on the radio.  The legendary voice of Jack Buck greeted him.  He grinned.  Sure, the Giants were down two to nothing, but they were at home now.  And Garrelts was pitching.

A loud thunk jolted Michael.  He wondered if he hit something. Turning his focus back to the road, he looked ahead.  The southbound lane of I-880 was above him.  And now it was falling.

Spooky: I have no idea why it took me so damned long to figure out what was going on here – I know a boy of about 14 died when he was hit with a foul ball a few decades back, but given that I knew the players mentioned here, I should have come up with it (this is the earthquake during the 1989 World Series, for the uninitiated). I loved the story’s construction, told effectively out of order, which fit the theme of the victim’s confusion. This was another astonishingly strong week, Survivors, and I’m left clueless about where Immunity should go.

DK: Yeah, of course I have a soft spot for baseball. I was too young to experience following this event when it happened, but as a piece of baseball history it’s pretty satisfying in a story form here, and these flashback intercuts are also pretty effective for unpeeling the way Michael’s situation took place.

Once again I wrote something that turned out better than I thought it would.  From the beginning I knew I wanted our hero to have an autographed baseball for his kid, and shortly thereafter I threw in the flashbacks.  My biggest decision was whether or not the player would be from the A’s or Giants, and which one at that.  I decided on the Giants, as I hated those A’s teams as a kid, and even in retrospect many of their batters don’t have solid reputations.  Matt Williams or Kevin Mitchell were more recognizable, but I felt their names were too boring.  And if I’m a kid?  I want the autograph of the dude with the awesome name.  I loved Candy Maldonado when I was a kid and I barely saw him play.

I didn’t win immunity, but I’m not dissatisfied.  The competition is really amazing.  And this week’s winner made Spooky hug his daughter.  Here’s hoping there’s no earthquake in Phoenix this week.

Our first week post-merge, our challenge was to create a conflict between two characters.  The catch is that part one had to be from one character’s perspective, and part two had to be from the second character’s perspective.  The second catch is that we can’t actually show the conflict.  And here’s what I did.

A smile spread across McKenzie’s face.  Finally!  She practically had to beg him to ask her out.  They had been e-mailing for three months now.  He said he liked to take things slow and get to know her.  She was all for that, but now she was worried he was painfully shy or something.  At least he was sweet.  And he made her laugh in every letter he sent.

“Hey Kenz!” called her Mom as she entered the bedroom without knocking.  McKenzie minimized the window and hoped the butterflies wouldn’t betray her.  “We’re leaving in a few minutes!”

“Okay,” McKenzie said, heading to the closet to get a pullover.  It was royal blue, her favorite color, and one she usually saved for special occasions.  “Are we going out to eat afterwards?”

“Wasn’t planning on it.  Did you want to?”

“Whatever, just wondering.”

As her mom left the room, McKenzie smiled to herself.  Jake had wanted to go to Biaggi’s and she didn’t want to tell her she had a date.  Mom wasn’t against her dating, but she was afraid Mom would say no if she found out where she met him.

As she was putting on foundation (not too much), she felt herself shaking a bit.  She wasn’t that nervous about meeting a stranger (and after all, three months of e-mails and she felt she knew him more than anyone), but she was going to meet his parents!  Apparently, they needed to approve of her!  He told her not to worry, that they’d probably just say hi and shake her hand.  Still…

Securing the last earring, McKenzie noticed her Chloe Moretz poster was beginning to fall.  Checking the scotch tape, she flattened out the corner again.  Stepping back to check out her handy work, she nearly tripped over her stuffed walrus.  She picked up Nigel and went to set him back on the bed.  She paused, gave Nigel a once-over, and put him in her closet.

“Gussied up for a trip to CostCo?” her mom said as she put on her pea coat.

“I might run into someone from school!”  McKenzie shuddered.  She didn’t want to protest too much.  “Besides, what’s wrong with looking nice?”

“Just giving you a hard time, kiddo.”

“Hey Mom, can I spend the night at Hannah’s?”  Mom never said no, but McKenzie was nervous as hell.

“Just tell me one thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Help me clean the basement tomorrow?”

McKenzie smiled.  “Sure, Mom.”

“And we start at ten sharp!” She winked.  “I can drop you off after we’re done.”

“Thanks!” said McKenzie, exhaling as she turned around.  “Just let me get my toothbrush.”

*******************************

Jake had a date.  He looked sharp, no doubt.  Jake shifted his tie until it was straight.  Then he patted down his cowlick one more time.  It popped back up.  He told himself he was too much a perfectionist.  But he was still nervous.  She’d be here in twenty minutes.  Waiting was the worst part.  Once she got here, he was confident his nerves would settle.

Ripping himself from the mirror, Jake entered the living room and stood by the bay window.  The sun was setting, casting glorious shades of ochre and crimson across the sky.  The serenity did nothing to relieve the tension.  His lifted his right hand, trying to hold it still.  It rattled like a mechanical mouse.

Even though Jake had hated his parents, he was still lonely. Dad was always in some other country on business, but he’d call every so often and call him “Sport.”  Mom cared more about impressing her high-society friends, but she’d hug him.  If she wasn’t always trashed, and if her hugs didn’t occasionally get a bit weird, he might miss her more. If nothing else, they left him the house.

Jake headed towards the basement.  It seemed disrespectful to do so before a date, but the last thing he wanted was to appear flustered and clumsy.  Even descending the steps lessened his anxiety.  Reaching the bottom step, he took off his shoes and socks, placing them neatly together.  Taking the final step, he felt cool dirt embrace his toes.

He saw what he was looking for on the workbench.  As he crossed the room, he gazed at the east wall where he had erected a trophy case.  All of his prizes were there, except the most recent.  He was proud of the accomplishments he had worked so hard for since his parents were killed.  He wondered if they’d be proud of him.

Reaching the workbench, Jake took the shovel and propped it up against the wall.  The Ziploc bag was right where he left it.  As he opened it an erection formed in his slacks.  Carefully, Jake removed the cotton material and rested it against his cheek.  Glancing at the trophy case, he noticed there wasn’t a trace of royal blue to be found.  This was perfect.

Jake inhaled the scent of the material.  Expecting another rush, what he felt instead hit him like a truck.  She was perfect.  Not a bitch like the others.  While he hated her innocence, she had a spirit about her he had never seen.  She seemed to approach life as if she could just brush away its inherent cruelty.  She had even told him she cared about him.  His sorrow spiraled into a crushing bout of self-loathing.  He had let go his only chance to be happy.

After placing the material inside the bag, Jake opened the only drawer of the work bench and found the revolver. He kept it there in case the police ever paid him a visit.  He never thought he’d want to use it before then.  Almost unconsciously, he felt himself grabbing the gun and bringing it to his mouth.  Cocking the hammer, Jake felt a tear running down his cheek.

The doorbell rang.

That beautiful sound jolted Jake out his self-pity.  Placing the gun back in the drawer, a renewed sense of confidence practically burst out of him.  He sealed the Ziploc bag, then scurried to the foot of the stairs, putting on his socks and shoes.  As he looked up at the foyer, Jake straightened his tie once more.   Tonight was a good night.  Jake had a date.

Spooky: Fucking Christ, I hope I can forget this one. It’s a dirty trick to do this to a guy with two young daughters. Anyway, removing that from the equation (that’s not possible, but work with me here), this is a beautifully dark story to finish a week that started with a beautifully dark story, and everything in between was great too.

DK:  Whew. I kind of had a feeling I could guess where this was going (cause I kind of had a feeling I could guess the author) but it was not a disappointment at all. In fact, I think this one leaps off the page; it moves fast, it draws its characters perfectly precisely, and the emotional impact, for me, was pretty palpable.

I actually came up with the entire story about six hours after the challenge was announced.  It was probably the easiest one I’ve done to date, at least as far as flow.  I knew it wouldn’t be fair to Spooky, but I hoped that by the time his daughters are this age, he will have forgotten this story.

I won’t comment much, since the judge’s pretty much said it.  I will say the most time I spent on any one sentence in this story was to figure out which idol McKenzie would have on her wall in poster form.  I quickly eschewed Taylor Swift and Taylor Lautner, feeling McKenzie would think herself above that.  So I went with Chloe, who at least publicly presents the kind of personality I was thinking McKenzie would admire.

Oh, and one more thing.

DK: I’m going to give my immunity to (Beau).

Tonight was a good night.