<CS> Beauty and Storytelling Contest <ENDED>

[Meyersdale]

no chrombook

[Stormchase Stables]

no chrombook

Hmm then idk. Check your browser and WiFi.

[Tisha]

The judging continues...

[Tisha]

Wow, I don't know if I can top those other stories with this one they're so good!
Champagne

"What's wrong with him?" I try to keep the panic out of my voice but I'm really worried.
Champagne, my beloved horse, did not wake up this morning. His heart is still beating, but he has been unconscious for more than eight hours now.
"Wake up!" My little sister, Lily, is crying- Champagne is the only horse she isn't scared of, and she loves him so much, nearly as much as I do. She's only nine, and this is very upsetting for her. Her turtle died two days ago, so she is still distraught.. And now this.
The vet enters the stall, a smile on his face, which quickly vanishes once he sees Champagne. "What happened?" He interrogates us, and takes his stethoscope out of his black leather bag.
"I don't know," My father's voice is a little shaky. "He fell asleep last night and-"
"And never woke up," I interrupt. "What do you think is the problem?"
"Is there usually another horse in here with him?" The vet asks, checking my horse's pulse.
"Yes, Valor. He's in the opposite stall right now, just over there." Lily squeaks, pointing towards Valor, who's standing proud and tall in Legend's stall.
"Do they get along well?" He looks over, only to see Valor's spotted backside.
"Usually. They did fight a week ago. But I didn't see Valor and Champagne fighting last night." My mother replies and pats Champagne's neck, even though he probably can't feel it.
The vet lifts Champagne's head up and checks out the other side. One area is bruised and starting to swell, something I had not seen this morning.
"Oh, no.. Valor kicked him, didn't he?" I mumble, and stare daggers at the dun stallion, who looks at me as if to say 'I didn't do anything!'
The vet nods and calls his team to help carry Champagne to an animal ambulance.
"He's in a coma?" My father whispers quietly, so that Lily can't hear him.
The vet gives him a grave look, his face ashen, and marches off.
But Lily, being the smart little girl she is, has already figured it out.
"A hard blow to the head can mean a concussion or... a coma." she sniffs. "I read your veterinary book, Dad. Don't pretend like he's going to be alright."
"I'm so sorry, honey," Dad says, and gives Lily a bear hug.
Of course, I'm jealous, after all Champagne is not Lily's horse, but mine. I stomp away and call Lily all the names under the sun.
"She just wants the attention." I mutter angrily, and lean against the ambulance.
I see four men lifting Champagne onto a stretcher-like thing, then roll him over to the ambulance I'm leaning on.
He stirs. I see one ear twitch, then his gorgeous blue eyes open.
"Stop!" I cry out, and startle the men. "He's waking up!"
The vet inspects him very carefully, then jots something down in a notebook.
"He's good to go. He just needs some TLC."

THE END

Beauty component: 31/50
I liked the colour, but I don't like the spots and the varnish, along with the short and thick head. He's not really a handsome guy, but kudos to you for trying.

Storytelling component: 34/50"
Nice story, but doesn't it lack a kind of plot? I mean, Okay, so what's the point of this story? You love your horse? You're jealous of your attention seeking sister? Anyway, thanks for the effort taken to write the story.

Total: 65/100

Rating: Not Bad.

[Tisha]

I don't know if I can compete with all of these other writers, they all have such amazing stories.
* Horses point of viewing*
The din of the crowd is like no other. I'm harnessed to a weighted stack of logs with another horse I have only seen from the other pastures.The human, a strange creature indeed, uses her whip on me. That's my bloody cue to stat strained steps across this vast field.
I take my first heavy step, the logs move inches behind me. My muscles are bulging, my veins pop out, I could stop pulling but I took a bloody crack of the whip. I make it a quarter of the way, as soon as I lose my pace I feel a sharp crack closer than before, certainly a warning not to do that again. I look across the field there are more horses like me pulling their weight in logs with a partner. It was that moment when I realized this was a race against other, better horses. These horses, they didn't look right eyes wild, and fear stricken they were not pulling at will, they were pulling out of fear of the harsh training and cracks of the whip. I looked at a mighty black stallion; his eyes rolled back and stared almost into my soul. That's when it hit me; I was one of the only horses here that was at least a little calm had. I heard from other horses that a horse with rolling eyes was never to be trusted or be near, they could easily inflict a wound that could take your life with it.
I felt my body tense, my muscles tighten, my body was giving out the load was to much for my body. My eyes rolled, my hooves stumbled, if I was not awoken by something this would be the end of my game. I was harshly whipped many times, I fell against the harnesses this pulled harder. If I was not harnessed in I would have just had a major accident, a life threatening one. We crossed the finish line, in first place
This was my first taste of victory, and for the first time I knew things would get better, at least I hoped. At that moment I fell but more lightly, it didn't hurt me although it helped me regain my wits, and my strength. I had one this beastly competition.


That's just what I think, would be going on in a horses mind. It also kind of goes with my breed of horse, and what I trained him for. I wish all of the other competitors the best of luck in this contest.

Beauty component: 41/50
I like his coat and training sheen. His fit condition gives him extra points too.

Story component: 39/50
I liked your story, it was quite realistic and detailed, with good English and grammar. I used to breed log pull horses too. So I do like the reference.

Total: 80/100

Rating: Great!

[Tisha]

Good luck everybody!!! I hope, if I don't win, you guys will!
Let me first explain a few things first:
My writing genre is Drama, so this will (I hope) be heartbreaking. I'm not an expert in this but I do enjoy writing so I am going to participate in this.
As I am writing this, California's One ( the main character ) is still alive, but he might not be by the time you judge this story.
This is the horse's point of view but the perspective does change in the second part.
California's One

I am old, and weak.
I can feel my body groaning and can hear my bones creaking.
There's not much time left for me. But I have to live at least one more year for my young son. He is only eight months old, just a little colt. If I die now, he will have to grow up without a father, and I don't want to do that to him.
But as countless days turn into countless nights, I know that my ill heart will not allow me to live until my son's first birthday.
My human, my best friend and owner, doesn't look like she has aged a single bit. She is still young, and I can see that it pains her to see me like this. She probably still remembers when I was a foal, running across those green fields, without a single trouble in the world.
I open my eyes, and try to lift my head.
I manage to raise my head a few inches, just enough to see Californian Royal sleeping with his dam peacefully. At least, when I die, he will still have a parent.
My owner walks up to me and feeds me a nice, crunchy carrot. She gently strokes my forehead, and lets me out of my stall. I enjoy the sunlight, the birds chirping and the fresh air as long as I can. After all, I don't know if I'll live to see tomorrow.
Royal wakes up. He sees me outside, in the pasture, and neighs to catch the human's attention.
She laughs and opens it up. He comes galloping out.
"Good morning!" He whinnies, and bounces around, crushing the grass under his little hooves.
"Good morning. Royal.. come here," I say quietly, sensing my heart and lungs growing weaker every second. I am dying, and there's no avoiding it.
"What? Am I in trouble? Is it because I bit the hairy human yesterday while we were doing slaloms in the arena?" he neighs, confused.
"Stay.. strong," I choke out. "I love you." The world goes black, I close my eyes and embrace the last few moments of my life and take one last gasping breath and..
I hear Royal whinnying and feel his soft muzzle move my head to the side.

TWO WEEKS LATER...
"We're here to honor California's One, or Robbie, as he was known at the stables. Two weeks ago he died doing what he loved most; being outside with his son. The last thing he felt was his son's touch. We hope that someday, he and Royal will find each other again. Rest in peace."
I can barely manage to say the words. I'm absolutely heartbroken, my favorite horse is dead. And Californian Royal hasn't been the same after his sire's death.
I don't know if there's a place where horses' minds go after their bodies die, but I hope there is, because if there's one horse that deserves paradise, it's California's One.
After everyone leaves, I linger around his memorial. It feels like he's still there, nudging my hand so that I can give him more carrots..
It stops raining, as if he's giving me a sign.

Beauty component: 32/50
I liked his dun coat and darker legs, he looked extremely handsome. However, he died, thus, I have to subtract some points.

Storytelling component: 45/50
I loved your story, it was great and well written. I thank you for your time taken to write this.

Total: 77/100

Rating Great!

[Tisha]

This is my entry. I'm not entering from my side account, as you asked, but my horse is kept on my side account so he doesn't age. Is that ok?
Anyway, here is my story. It is written from the perspective of my entry, Prince Edward. He is looking back on his life. I think it's kinda boring compared to other people's stories, but oh well. Great job to everyone on their stories so far! They are all great!

My story:

I was born, not in a stall, but outside, in the middle of the night. My mother was there by my side, encouraging me to get up as soon as I was born. She did not want me to lay in one spot for very long. Then, I couldn't figure out why she wanted me to move so badly. Now, that I am an adult horse, I realize that she was trying to protect me from predators since I was born outside in the pasture at night. As soon as I was able to stand on my wobbly legs, my mother allowed me to get some milk before she led me away from the large cluster of trees where I was born. It seemed like forever to me before my mother and I finally reached the gate of our pasture. I looked between the rails and saw the barn where I live now for the first time.
Morning came, and strange creatures came running toward the gate where my mother and I were waiting. They had two legs instead of four, and they were uttering very loud noises. I was frightened, and wanted to run away, but my mother remained so calm that I decided these creatures weren't going to harm us after all. They came up to me and touched all over me. At first, I didn't like it, but after a while, I got accustomed to it and it felt good. Besides, my mother was right there, so she wouldn't let anything bad happen to me.
I grew up in that same pasture, running to and fro through the grass, and sometimes, thick, white, cold fluffy stuff that I soon found out was very fun to play in. When I was a year old, the strange creatures my mother called humans started taking her away from me. They would lead her away for a while and then bring her back. Each day she was gone for longer. At first, I was extremely anxious and ran back and forth calling for my mother. I wanted her to be there with me, protecting me and showing me what things were and which grasses were okay to eat. But little by little, I realized that I could do things on my own. I learned to remember what my mother had taught me. I learned to find food and water by myself. I made new friends. And I learned that I didn't always need my mother by my side.
When I was two years old the humans began showing more attention to me. Instead of just petting me, they began putting strange ropes on my head and picking up my feet and giving me baths. I didn't know it then, but all of those strange things were a part of my training to become the horse I am now. This training continued until I was three years old. Then the humans introduced my saddle and bridle. I hated the bridle. The cold metal thing in my mouth drove me crazy. I kept trying to spit it out or rub it off, so the humans changed the bit to a different one that was a lot more comfortable for me. I began to realize that the humans were my friends and that they would try to make my life better for me. Then they began trying to climb on my back. That was a little much for me. I bucked them off every time they tried. But they stuck with it, so I eventually got used to it.
Today, I enjoy my job as a dressage horse. I love pleasing my humans. I love learning new things, and I am so thankful for the way that I was raised. My humans and I are partners. They asks something of me, and I do it, because I like to please them. I have learned so much over the span of my life, and I am excited for the future.

Beauty component: 45/50
He's handsome! As a breeder of "white" and rare coat colours, nothing really impressed me, except your horse. Out of all my time playing, I've only bred a horse with the same coat colour as him.

Storytelling component: 39/50
A relief from some of the more depressing stories I've read. This story is quite detailed and descriptive, and I like it a lot!

Total 84/100

Rating: Great!

[Tisha]

I love to write, even if I'm not 100% confident in my skill! Lol. My story is below, but first I wanted to wish good luck to everybody!

Story Time:
The mumble of the crowd is like a din of insects, a constant hum occasionally pierced by the sharp chirp of a bird; it can even be considered soothing. It will be a good day, he decides as the cool breeze teases at his silvery tail. However, his calm moment is interrupted as, rather suddenly, the bit strains against his mouth. His head darts up with a disgruntled snort as her hands tense on the reins and her legs transform to iron bars clamped around his barrel. Her nervousness travels like a current to his mouth, and he knows instinctively that she needs him. He averts his eyes from the sparkling dust wafting through the morning sunlight to crane his head around and nibble gently at the toes of her boots. “Stop that!” She scolds quietly, nudging him back carefully with her foot. However, his tactic works: she relaxes into the saddle and her grip becomes firm but not taut – a soft sigh leaves his lips. “Sorry, sorry…” She whispers to him, stroking his neck, “I know we’ve practiced for this, we are ready. The jumps just look so much higher when there is a crowd.”

A dark ear flicks back to her in acknowledgement; he could hardly blame her for the nerves. The audience used to put him on edge too, when he first started competing. He contents himself to the rhythmic sweep of her hand until a deep voice comes over the speakers, and her stroking ends with a couple of concise pats. “That’s us!” She proclaims, “Let’s do this, I trust you, buddy.” He trusts her, too. He moves off at her signal, his rhythmic gait smooth and effortless from years of training and dedication. Their hearts accelerate together as they transition from a fluid trot to a rocking canter. She follows his movement flawlessly, and his hooves barely brush the ground with their mounting anticipation. Nothing can compare to competing in a show – the nerves and adrenaline coalesce into butterflies and electric excitement all at once; the hundreds of eyes watching them fade away and there is just the two of them dancing this elaborate dance. He wants to win, she wants to win: it is their addiction. The first obstacle quickly comes upon them, a looming skeleton of red and white, but it will not defeat them. He collects himself, each step precise and careful, before they launch into the air as one. Today is indeed a good day.

Beauty component: 40/50
I really liked his coat and mane, it was neat. His training sheen and fit body earned more points too.

Storytelling component: 42/50
A nice story, different from others even from a horse's perspective. I liked it!

Total: 82/100

Rating:Great!

[Tisha]

Zero's العاهل

She patted his neck gently. She was excited but very nervous. He could sense her body tensing, as if preparing to jump off a cliff; she let out a little sigh and adjusted the reins.
He swung his head around and whinnied, in pain. She was taken aback, and nearly toppled off his back. She checked his saddle, then the saddle pads, and finally his bit. Sure enough, it was in an odd position, causing his mouth to ache.
"Sorry," She whispered, and moved back into its original place.
He snorted, as if to reply, but she didn't hear him. People around him-spectators-were standing up and clapping, emmitting a thunderous sound.
He neighed, frightened, and tried to turn back but she used the whip to make him walk forwards. The roar of the crowd was louder than anything he'd ever heard, and he was losing control, slipping, into the blackouts he used to experience as an orphaned foal.
"No, not here! Not now!" She shouted, and tried to bring him back to the real world but it was too late.
He was gone.
Fading- back to that old barn, and his mother, on that terrible day.
"Get up, you stupid animal!"
He woke up with a start. Of course, he wasn't really waking up, he was just re-living his early days.
"You heard me, filthy creature! Get up!" The man picked up a a sharp stone and hurled it at him.
It hit him in the neck. He jumped to his feet and reared up angrily. The man sneered and walked over to him.
"You'll learn to behave, in time," He spat out, and lit a cigar.
He choked, and tried to back away from the pungeant fumes, but they followed him like hungry dogs, waiting for their prey to drop down, dead.
The man threw the ropes around his neck. Tugging on the 'reins', he puffed on his cigar.
He led the horse to a small pasture and started whipping him with a rope.
He bucked, tried to refuse, and got whipped even harder.
"If you don't do what I say I'll kill your mother, stupid beast."
At the time, he didn't know what that meant, so he struggled against the itchy ropes.
The man got frustrated, tied the horse to a pole, and walked to the barn with a shiny metal thing in his right hand.
Moments later he heard gunshots, broke loose and galloped to the barn. His mother, the only good thing in his life, was lying still on the ground in a pool of blood.
She stared at him with lifeless eyes.
He had lost her.
She was dead.
He returned to consciousness. She stroked his neck and let out a sigh of relief.
They proceeded to win the competition.
The only reason why he won was because he did it for his mother.
And every day without her was torture.

Beauty component: 26/50
Tsk. You can't just throw an adoption centre standard bay Arabian at me to judge. Though I don't judge by stats but still? A black Arab could have scored higher. Or even a chestnut, but bay...?

Storytelling component: 40/50
I liked your story, it was good to read. Perfect for my darker soul.

Total: 66/100

Rating: Not bad.

[Tisha]

This is a Narrative Poem, so it is still technically a story. The sentences rhyme This might not be very good, but I tried...
*GVC* Easy Lady

We've all heard the legend of the snow horse here in my tiny town.
She lived in a small barn before it was burned down,
All the people thought she was dead
Because there was no way she could have fled
From the inferno in her cozy home.
But secretly in the forests she'd roam.
When the skies and clouds turned dark
And when the dogs would start to bark
She would gallop to a cave to sleep
And curl up into a giant heap
Of thick snow-white fur.
But when she'd wake up she'd run so fast that she was a blur
So that the people in my town could barely see.
One day a young girl saw her and shouted with glee
For she was the only person that had ever seen
The white horse; so her siblings went with her as they were very keen
To see the snow-white horse their sister had spotted
And they did find her, coat muddy and mane knotted
Sickly, dirty, weak and terrified
They brought her to the town and the people stared, wide-eyed
As she trotted proudly past the little brick houses
Past the children, men, women and spouses
And she lived in that town 'till the end of her days
But never gave up her mysterious ways..

Hope you enjoyed my poem! I really enjoyed all the stories everyone wrote- don't know if I can compete with them!

Beauty component: 39/50
A pretty filly indeed. Too bad her weight isn't managed well. I have a weakness for Mohawks.

Storytelling component: 39/50
Points for originality. None of the other participants submitted poems as entries. One question though, why do you say she'll curl up in a snow white heap when she's not white?

Total: 78/100

Rating: Great!