Salutations, traveler of The Internets! Welcome to William's Bloody Hell, so named after our founder, Sir Bloody William. He is seen in the likeness above in a rare, 19th century woodcut. This image was rumoured to have been commissioned after a bout of unpleasantness in the White Chapel district of London. Do enjoy your stay and peruse our many, varied offerings, much of which cannot be found elsewhere!

  

  

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Misc. >> Contests & Prizes >> The 100 Word Challenge >> 100 Word Challenge Entries

:: 100 Word Challenge Entries ::

Katherine:

Writing paragraphs of one hundred words should be child’s play for authors but perhaps some individuals would have trouble with such tasks.  Finding a topic to link the lexicon and avoiding common terms must challenge even imaginative minds.  Roget’s International Thesaurus may come in useful unto all undertaking an awesome endeavor.  My handy dandy College Dictionary will get flipped through continually.  I plan passing along this dare.  Fanciful friends can try or give up admitting defeat.  Then Katherine shall dance victory boogies across wooden tiles.  Doing something that others cannot brings great joy…filling lasses’ hearts.  What possible award could persons receive after completion? 

William the Bloody:

Eating hamburgers is great. They are very juicy and squishy. You must remain ever diligent, though, because if not, there could be a huge greasy stain left on your dry clean only super fancy trouser front. Let us face it; that just won’t seem attractive at all, now, right? Who wants to see some guy walking about with fast food remnants covering his privates?  Hey, choosing between somebody like him or personages of an opposite nature would make for pretty simple choices in life. Fat folks cramming themselves full can turn into queasy business quickly enough already, without this added bonus.

George:

Zoe:

Long, lonely ebon nights grimly color a dreary world, even during the most dazzling days; all is dark and grey…lifeless.  In longing, achy moodiness, she stumbles through life wondering if he thinks of her ever.  Waiting, watching, yearning, hoping for magic missives filled with transcendent messages containing overflowing dreams yet coming.  Time passes, routines advance, seasons change, though they are viewed meaningless.  How can it be withstood?  Not needing wordy, purple prose, blooming, verdant flowers, sweet chocolate candy, but only three short, simple, although so meaningful words.  Today?  Tomorrow?  When?  Then dearest writes “I love you” brightening everything.  Joy, happiness, ecstasy.

Lyns:

Okay, here I am taking the 100-word challenge, which emerged at William’s Bloody Hell. It’s going to be pretty difficult is my current thought process, as one particular term has already attempted typing itself numerous times, through no fault of mine, honestly! Right now Lyns (who feels like talking about herself in third person for some unknown reason) finds that awards (Giant, great big, mushy, sloppy, yet utterly delightful kisses, including tongue usage etc) should befall whatever genius invented Roget's thesaurus (may have answered own question there). Phew, obviously this demand appeared far simpler when read than upon actual embarkation.

Karen:

As I sit here at my computer and think about interesting topics for submission to William's Bloody Hell, nothing can be found. One-hundred words seems like such an easy task; however, there is absence of thought regarding appropriate subject matter. Should above described blank canvas determine the starting point, where themes will flourish? Fifty-four terms being used thus far, possibly wasted with out finishing, considering how this author has contracted frustration through using different vocabulary replacing simple expressions. Eliminating common phases from appearing more than once within one paragraph becomes a difficult assignment when directed towards any writer. Challenges, resembling these, expand your mind, something that needs expanding occasionally.

Lyns (second entry):

Once upon a time I, miss Lyndsey Haddow, attempted partaking of that ever so mighty hundred word challenge at William's Bloody Hell. Lucky for me, said effort was deemed entirely successful by good old will, therefore he felt kindly enough towards myself to send my way, across this huge water mass known affectionately as the Atlantic ocean (which separates New York City and nicely polluted London town), an extremely pretty snail mail package containing two delightful compact discs on which are many brilliantly original songs from Paul Simon, Blue Oyster Cult, Jefferson Airplane - even Queen!! - amongst other musically inclined artists.

Valorie:

Once there was a young boy named Endymion. Every night, he loved to sit alone and stare up at the stars, counting each one. When others asked what about them fascinated him so much, his answer shocked in its simplicity, "Because they are where I can never be." Youthful unrest for unfulfilled, aching dreams? that's not an even exchange. Our innocent, naive lad could only wish, but fate degreed hope wouldn't see fruition; mortals can't live inside luminance. Zeus doesn't favor those weak human souls, however, Diana does. Now, as evenings pass, stealthy unseen goddess- eternal hunter- steals kisses, promising nothing.

Emily:

Suzy felt as if she’d been broken. Ralph had dropped their shared heart, shattering it into thousands of tiny, pessimistic shards. Even more saddening, angering, and idiotic was that she still loved him with every lacerated fragment left in her very soul; he simply couldn’t be hated, at least not by our easily heart-broken friend. “I love you,” were among words needed most from his beautiful mouth; those three precious syllables, a simple embracing hug, or even the smallest caring act could change Mrs. Negativity’s bleak emotion, yet, Mister “Does No Wrong” denied any such thing to said melancholic girl.

Tiffany:

Tiffany stood beside a wooden frame, but it was no ordinary stage.  An ecstatic figure, illuminated by bright, flashing lights.  She awaited the beginning excitedly, something having taken forever to be in her town, finally here.  Thundering applause filled every crevice around said girl.  Glittering flashes, smells never before savored, and Gerard Way.  Lovely front man, leading masses of angst controlled, bitter teenagers, microphone held high. Experiences from ages ago seemed like mere footnotes when contrasted with ones that were now being experienced. Lead singer, crashing about unrestrained.  Long, dark, unruly hair demanded everyone's attention.  My Chemical Romance, dreams do come true.

Paperclippe:

Once, but times ago, there was this gorgeous damsel who lived atop Mount Bland.  When our princess came into being, they called her Girl. Loving feminine mystique, voluptuously supple yet lanky, tall, wispy though she may have been viewed as, Prince Indrid knew Duchess and he should live together forever in his well lit, non-mysterious castle whose whereabouts were lavishly, fabulously, magnificently oceanic: beaches, you know... However, one clear, cloudless, day, Madam, waiting upon quickly traveling beyond sandier shores, became summoned away from hither weary chamber wherein sleep could happen ever soundly throughout yonder dark, starry night...never seen again.

Emily (second entry):

Dear Nostalgia- I hate you so much. Honestly, it's true. You're always making me remember all those good times, ones where happiness, joy, and self-worth were still great friends of mine. When SUZY was what mattered to him, phone conversations lasted into wee morning hours, that beautiful voice singing love songs alongside a trusted guitar. I'm drowning myself in painfully wonderful memories; pity they can't be washed away like dirt. Concluding, leave the sad kid alone; she's got enough problems as it is, without being flooded with depressing images from subconscious thoughts. Get away, unwanted fiend. Very Un-Sincerely Yours, Saddened.

Tiffany (second entry):

Sullen lone silhouette, standing silent, morose.  Veraciously surveying unforgiving landscape. Nostalgia reigns supreme, venom gaping hole displaying  memories.  Every one tearing fresh, torturous, dolorous, bitter lacerations upon said figure's  heart.  Reminiscing on deeds better left littering a shattered, decayed past.  Broken, Lost, Fragile, Withered, Wasted.
Myriad emotions pull every square inch of my languid, feeble flesh.  Unrequited love, complete, unmitigated rejection. Insanity's borders becoming completely crystalline. Inching ever closer to the ledge that represents an escape, false redemption, make believe salvation, half believed truths, numerous other self made lies, deceits, illusions. Anxiety builds, along with panic.  Deep, Shaky Breath...Final Choice...Jump!

Emily (third entry):

The usually calm, sophisticated, etiquette Vincent wildly dashed through that crowded manor like some madman on one last mission, weaving amongst throngs of people.  They were unknowingly mingling, going about their friendly upper class charade, as if nothing catastrophic was about to happen; no, those things never happened in places like these.  Into an even busier kitchen he delved, gathering courage for this cataclysmic moment, and dived amidst confused chefs towards fiery twin compartments, each heated red-hot.  One loud, harmonious ‘ping’ brought forth two perfectly tanned slices.  A sigh escaped him.  Thank goodness, his most beloved toast had not burned.

Tiffany (third entry):

Alexander walked casually without intention about Jersey environs.  Every aimless step weighed upon his thoughts.  He pounded lazily, sluggishly over cracked, fractured, monotonous concrete.  Alex wasn't accustomed to such brooding; vexation filled him with each musing as it entered the convoluted, labyrinthine, maniacal, delirious, intricate organ most people mistakenly, ignorantly claimed they had. 
Pondering society's numerous faults, Xander resumed walking.  Sure, Webster defined insanity by repeating one task, expecting different results whilst doing so.  Didn't that basically title public masses themselves completely insane?  How many times has history repeated itself?
Sighing, said male figure slumped upon an unoccupied park bench, staring vacantly beholding repetitive scenes, shattered utopia.  Realization suddenly dawned....lunacy was inevitable.

Emily (fourth entry):

“o solo gana de amor,” Vincent sighed, collapsing quite violently upon an inviting couch.  “Que es el problema con este?” He continued thinking aloud as if there were someone listening.  Fidgeting and settling himself amidst several waves of pillows, a thoroughly saddened, yet still dignified, Spaniard (who we’ll fondly call “Vince”) refused to cry.  “Siempre esta respectable,” Father constantly said, never really caring, “llorando significa estando flojo en emocion.”  Nothing could cheer up our gloomy Spanish friend now, except toast; but sadly, there would be none for Vinny this day, since one adored toaster had broken, just like his heart.

Tiffany (fourth entry):

Astrid sat with her back against an oddly damp, umbrageous, cool wall where homeless people much like herself often resided.  A structure which meant nothing aside from its status as epitome of mystery, barrier to unknown, completely unattainable.  Cursing existence and every flaw housed inside the proverbial "Grand Plan," she stood suddenly dusting off fragments stuck upon said girl's black tattered jeans.  Walking lazily through oblivious suburbia, heavy, scraping steps resound.  Silence becomes respite that while greatly desired, fled so long ago.  Eons it seems...
Buzzing masses, heedless populations born into gleaming, bright perfection.  Unfortunates file about communities, unknown plagues loitering, never acknowledged because elite, beautiful individuals blind our gullible public.

Tiffany (fifth entry):

"It's a casket!" Emily proclaimed, immense indignance issued forth from beneath an unsuccessful fortress.  Emi's desperate, brunette friend was trying ever-so-hard to construct.  Sadly, she failed miserably at every aspect.
Pillows, mounds of brightly colored covers, and even broom handles were littering Tiffany's bedroom floor as said room's owner tried once again for proficiency in fort making.  Overwhelmingly masterful hiding place: current mission.
"Tiff!" tiny bump concealed by comforters, cushions, etc yelped, horrified.  One wall collapsed, terrified shrieks followed soon after.
Sniffling loudly, Tiffany collapsed convulsing sobs wracked her form.
"You're crying!" Midget exploded.
No answer.
Sympathy, tears, defeat, impending doom filled the space...

Emily (fifth entry):

The full moon's soft glow illuminates old, battered tombstones as vividly purple nightshade blooms, overtaking an ancient iron gate. Stars shimmer, then fade above a twisted, mangled oak, and nothing can be seen for miles, save two star-crossed lovers, lying amongst grass already wet with morning dew, gazing upwards. All was peacefully quiet, except their voices, when they spoke, softly whispering, commenting about said twinkling objects, aesthetic scenery, or music, idly chit-chatting among professions of love. Our romantics were more content than they'd ever been, just rivaling in each other's presence, hair slightly mussed. He adored her. She loved him.

Tiffany (sixth entry):

Life on the Murder Scene.  Seven months anxiously waiting, finally ....it is here.  Entering local music Mecca, yes, Hastings, we find aisle upon section, seemingly endless rows that DO NOT contain MCR joy.  Storming towards cashier hurriedly-valiant effort to solidify thine conquest.
"Excuse me," inquiries burst from Tiffany's lips.  Sadly, clerk Victoria crushes Tiff's dreams with uncaring ignorance and flippantly retorts, "Someone can help around 5-"
Thwarted brunette nods, jaw clenched, cell phone reading "4:30".  Promptly purchasing Emily's two albums: New Order, Thrill Kill Kult.  Exiting, whilst pummeling brick exterior wall of store said GIRL then limps about sporting newly aching, numb appendage.
Returning after sustaining sustenance, posse accosts Matt-male reputed for solving musical conundrums.
"Gerard....DVD" Emily volunteers, while Ms. Reed bounces beside her.  Nervousness radiates.
"Touché! Wrong release date.  They reside amidst merchandise in our store room.  I shall get them-" Matthew relinquishes massively pertinent information.
Nodding slowly, excitement mounts.  His return seems excruciatingly long, but finally....VICTORY!

Emily (sixth entry):

'Twas quiet and rainy one Sunday afternoon – perfect weather for watching TV, movies… Buffy, in this case. Two friends sat, absorbing Giles' wit, when, quite suddenly, Emily audibly gasped, causing Tiffany to burst into hysterical laughter. "They can't hurt Ripper!" Emi squealed, dismayed, as her favorite character was injured. "Someone has an unhealthy obsession with a certain librarian," came Tiff's knowing taunt. "You shut your dirty mouth, or I'll destroy that little Gerard doll of yours!" Midget threatened, only to hear Resident Way Addict yell "ACTION FIGURE!" It remained silent mere seconds, before both defiantly yelled, simultaneously, "I'm telling Will!"

Emily (seventh entry):

Sunlight shone brightly on the concrete dock as two people sat at its edge, watching wind ripple a certain lake. Vincent's dark hair tousled about, while Suzy's remained somewhat calm, being put up. They talked of their lives, happy to be away from everyone and everything, even for just this small, simple moment. Vincent wrapped strong arms around Suzy, hugging her comfortingly close when she started crying. Tears explained what pretty-boy Jayden had done, turning into sobs caused by Ralph's past affections. He held his small friend, vowing vengeance against said heartless, egotistical jerks -- whether Suze liked it or not. 

Emily (eighth entry):

Suzy sat quietly, alone with faithful headphones again, typing up some story other another. Keys clicked, hushed, noise overpowered by music.  She sighed, thinking of him again, mocking herself for being so bloody smitten. Friends had been taunting our sad, confused little character, persuading her into divulging those feelings about said man.  She'd thought about it quite often, during sleepless nights, but simply didn't have enough audacity; in fearing his reaction, -or more, rejection- Suze stayed heartbroken.  So the shy girl merely pined, listening to Cure CDs (their favorite), wishing that he'd call and say, "I love you! Let's go."

Emily (ninth entry):

Suzy stared hesitantly downward, blushing, before finally admitting softly, "I think I'm falling in love with you."  Small, scared, blue eyes looked up to deep browns, searching their emotions.  The admired man smiled nervously, but didn't reply.  He accepted a saddened hug, watching as his younger friend's heart broke, wrapping strong arms around and pulling her close.  Realization dawned:  it was shattering all over again, this time over him, not some adolescent jerk.  "Little miss Strange Girl," he mumbled affectionately into caramel hair, which meshed amongst darker brown.  Time paused, while Mister Just-Friends pondered, considering emotions toward Suze.  "So kiss me quick," she replied, smiling, "that's all there is, nothing more than -" Words were interrupted by movement: hands across faces, lips together.

Tiffany (seventh entry):

Dank silence surrounded, except occasional drip-drop-taps from overzealous, uncontained, rusty faucet. Raven black hair falling around pale countenance, shaking, knees drawn up against heaving chest.  Figure wishing desperately that noise would invade, any hint welcomed emphatically. None came besides infernal dripping long ago forgotten, discarded -- much like shuddering, broken Adaline herself.  No, not abandoned; mentally exiled-completely by thine own hand.  Poor, sweet, lonesome Adi.  Afflictions exaggerated until practically corporeal. Mindless self indulgence, extravagance causing similar results to water in one's lungs, metaphorically, at least. Debauchery overcoming formerly chaste individual. Swallowing her whole, paragon slaughtered, miscreant awakened. All for sake of self-loathing.

Emily (tenth entry):

Suzy sat alone, once again, with company only from anger, boredom, and hurt. The small, preoccupied girl doodled in a notebook, thoughts running rampant.  She started writing another hundred words, all different from each other, though similar because of their cryptic meaning.  Carefully arranged, they portrayed an abridged story, shortened truths disguised by characterization.  Her mind was never at ease - always processing, trying to determine possible actions, outcomes, scenarios, translate what things meant, before losing that one person who made everything worth it.  Stories helped distract, consume time.  They'd make problems seem less bad, sadness appear more bearable, love... well,  just not be lessened or made easier.

Emily (eleventh entry):

Ralph laughed bitterly - a cold, hard sound not full of its usual joy.  He knew his qualities, downfalls: arrogance, dishonesty, apathy, lust, stupidity.  Bad choices... he'd made many, and didn't know why.  As if anything mattered now - nothing did anymore, at all.  Thoughts spilled forth, with an insufficient amount of tears shortly following.  "I wish I'd done things differently, better.  I'm foolish - look what pain Suzy felt by my words, actions.  She's broken, truly, badly, possibly irreparable, all due to me."  The boy sighed (which didn't become him one bit), thinking regretful thoughts about past mistakes.  It was, however, far too late.

Emily (twelfth entry):

Suzy sat pensively quiet, trapped by hopelessly romantic thoughts. She was alone in a populated room, separated by maturity, freakishness, social anxiety. Bondage pants, Cure t-shirt, and black, strapped jacket provided certain secure feelings as an invisible girl wrote short, small stories about her own life, protected through faux character name. Stars, hearts, etc were compulsively drawn when writer's block attacked, with mind drifting, once again, to him. He didn't yet know her feelings; how many subtle hints would it take before realization dawned upon the poor, beautiful man? Maybe someday he'd know just what his shy, younger friend felt.

Emily (thirteenth entry):

Art class, ceramics. Coils of grey clay, scored, wetted, and stacked in a circular fashion, forming various pots. Suddenly, water torrents spill swiftly across the flat, brown table surface, before being cleaned up. Around me, classmates chatter about random but somehow related subjects, including executive transvestites, shoes, child names, concerts, ninjas, flowers. Dust impairs everyone's breathing, layers coats, shelves, personal belongings. I myself am currently doing nothing - therefore, yet another hundred word challenge for dearest William is born from my pencil. I'm sitting quietly, occasionally adding dialogue or laughter, while writing away. There aren't very many words left until it's completed... done!

Emily (fourteenth entry):

High in the dark, stone tower, Elvish Ranger Tolleson Darkhorse mercilessly double-wielded two powerful swords with fierce veracity, cutting into an advanced foe (though previous ally)’s undead flesh.  Ariana’s girdle of strength, which she’d lent Toll, only slightly lessened their disadvantage. Vorpal ripped most vicious wounds, while Broad followed, splitting them open further. Suddenly spelled blind, dueling became slightly more difficult, but blind-fighting proved a useful proficiency. Bard Ariana lacked hit points, ninja Ealasaid remained paralyzed several rounds, monk Casey’s soul imprisoned within crystal, and Ms. Darkhorse’s advantage had been taken away by her formidable foe; things didn’t look good at all for our camaraderie. Finally, through fate, amazing weaponry, or skilled dice-rolling, said Liche, along with its immeasurably powerful master, was defeated, relinquishing his hold upon gnome forest land.  Four victors were treated, after much healing from cleric-bearing elf (plus tattooed traveling vicar), to much gnomish celebration, including feast.

Tiffany (eighth entry):

Bruises have been made detectable. Black, blue, some purple; yet, no one relinquishes their stations. Brutal audience…uncaring, determined…freaking idiots. Ribs aching, perspiration pouring down as beer soaks into my already sweat soaked t-shirt fabric. I growl, frustrated at those around me. Unforgiving mob visible sporadically beneath numerous brightly flashing lights. Loud bangs, confetti, even occasional flames. Cursing, groaning, standing upon tiptoe hoping to glimpse certain band members, wearing something like military regalia. Feather boa, cocky strut, screaming somehow endearing obscenities--all traditional modus operandi of the dark-haired vocalist. Sheer insanity demonstrated by onyx clad patrons; definitely worth six hours in queue.

Caitlin:

 “Alexei!” Genera called him again.

 He finally replied, “Stop yelling!”

 “We’re supposed to meet them at half past seven! Why are you not ready?”

 “Un momento, dear! Shoes being tied just now!” the man shouted back, his sarcasm evident, obviously displeased by spousal nagging tendencies.

 They were leaving for Renaldo and Lara Whittleby’s house, but time was flying by. You could hear pitter-pattering of tiny feet underneath. Did governess Anna necessitate assistance? No, she could handle their children well enough alone, accruing a more than generous salary in return. Perhaps, later, some stolen moments would occur between two consenting, desirous adults.

Emily (fifteenth entry):

Blood slid down James' chin in heavy red streams as he stood victoriously over his battered, defeated prey. A muscular, fit man around twenty four years of age lay there mortally wounded, moaning helplessly - unable to speak, defend himself, or even move, poor unlucky bloke. Several severe bite marks adorned its neck, flesh savagely torn away, painfully ripped, grotesquely maimed. Silky crimson pools flowed from those deep abrasions, catching moonlight and shining iridescently; bloody pools glowed eerily around the victim. James smirked above him, mind filled with vampiric instinct. It was feeding time for Mr. D'voure; devour being just what he'd do.

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