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Offlinejoekenorer
The Joekenorer
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Registered: 05/22/07
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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: Hyper_Panda_GO]
    #7296413 - 08/15/07 01:54 AM (16 years, 7 months ago)

The wait.


The deputy fought for air, his chest pinned between the steering wheel and his seat. He could only muster enough space to inhale decreasingly small amounts and his blood pressure was dropping barely enough to keep in time with the lack of oxygen.
His head was lodged between the dashboard and the windshield, which amazingly enough had not broken. He was forced to stare out of his window at the upside down world strewn around him in mud and grass.
The engine was still running, idling his tires in the air. One was flat and was causing a very uncomfortable vibration every time it made a complete orbit.
‘How long will it take them to get here?’ He thought calmly to himself.
‘Did anyone even witness it?’ It was very late and I-10 in the Irvington area was desolate. There’s a smooth section on the highway about a quarter mile long, and in the down pour had been known to cause severe hydro-planing in the past. He wished he had left obvious skid marks, but knew it wasn’t likely. The muddy, gaping maw of the abysmal ditch had swallowed him whole with barely any evidence. Especially in the torrential rain that had moved over the area in the past few minutes.
Fear had not stricken him. He was trained to stay calm in situations like this. He knew reserving his energy was paramount, and worrying would only drain him. Then the water line slipped over the edge of his roof. It drained into the concave structure, saturating the cloth and foam adorned ceiling that once protected him from the elements. He shivered a bit, remembering a moment from long ago.
He had pulled two children’s blue and bloated corpses from a car in a situation much like this one. The memory had haunted him for a long time. He used to try to imagine what it was like for them, thinking that maybe being able to feel what they felt would justify the tragedy in some way, but he was not capable. At this very moment, though, he began to imagine something quite different. The water had begun to deepen rapidly. The sound of fat rain drops beating against the undercarriage helped him understand the important details that he couldn’t grasp before. The wait. His hair was wet now and the fast moving current was creating a noisy eddy around his forehead. He panicked! He began jerking and gyrating his legs quickly. The blood began to fill his head, creating a painful pressure that contrasted against the cold of the ditch water. He pushed and pulled, harder and harder. The water had covered his eyes and was flowing into his earlobes. He strained with all his might against the painful entrapment until . . . his fragile neck popped.
He limbs went limp.
But he was still alive.
The chill fluid moved over his nostrils, dripping in and filling them.
It moved on to his mustache and mouth.
He could do nothing, and mentally fought against his fast coming demise. He held his breath as long as he could, but when the water level reached his shoulders, he exhaled a bubbling scream. Then the worst part. The unstoppable instinctive reaction to inhale. His sinuses seared painfully as he breathed in the water. When it reached his lungs he coughed hard, sucking up more and more. He sank into his ill fate with distress, his small tears warm against the corners of his eyes before they were quickly flushed away.


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My favorites are weeping willows, which aren't really weeping at all. They're very wispy, witty and will dance in the breeze with you. Nothing like a tree that wants to dance with you. Although it doesn't like its thin limbs being pulled at all, it absolutely LOVES it when you walk through them, letting them gently slide over your face and shoulders. If you're naked, the willow considers it to be sex. It will orgasm on your mind and you will blow dream chunks into outer space. All very fun until your neighbor sees you.                                    -The Joekenorer

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Offlinejoekenorer
The Joekenorer
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Registered: 05/22/07
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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7304896 - 08/17/07 12:57 PM (16 years, 7 months ago)

I figured there'd be more aspiring writers on the shroomery than just us.


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My favorites are weeping willows, which aren't really weeping at all. They're very wispy, witty and will dance in the breeze with you. Nothing like a tree that wants to dance with you. Although it doesn't like its thin limbs being pulled at all, it absolutely LOVES it when you walk through them, letting them gently slide over your face and shoulders. If you're naked, the willow considers it to be sex. It will orgasm on your mind and you will blow dream chunks into outer space. All very fun until your neighbor sees you.                                    -The Joekenorer

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InvisibleautomanM
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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7304953 - 08/17/07 01:14 PM (16 years, 7 months ago)

i am, but i'm working on a book right now... not writing anything else. i have a fun game. think up a rough scene and post it here. just 30 or 40 words. he next person can write out a short story for that scene. at the end, the responder can propose another scene.

or, we can do a weekly topic. create a master scene that people write a story around. then we can compare stories and see how people built stories out of a small scene.


what do you think?


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No, no, you're not thinking, you're just being logical. ~ Niels Bohr

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OfflineToddo
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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: automan]
    #7304975 - 08/17/07 01:22 PM (16 years, 7 months ago)

Thats exactly what we need to get more people involved in something like this. A little direction can really inspire people.


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Shroomery Composition Contest

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Offlinejoekenorer
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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: Toddo]
    #7354555 - 08/31/07 01:05 AM (16 years, 6 months ago)

Work, work, work, and a broken keyboard. Windows has this nifty little on-screen keyboard, though.

I apologize for letting this thread go lame, It's the first one I've ever done. I'm going to continue to intermittently add my work, and I encourage others to do the same.

PEACE!

...motherfuckers...


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My favorites are weeping willows, which aren't really weeping at all. They're very wispy, witty and will dance in the breeze with you. Nothing like a tree that wants to dance with you. Although it doesn't like its thin limbs being pulled at all, it absolutely LOVES it when you walk through them, letting them gently slide over your face and shoulders. If you're naked, the willow considers it to be sex. It will orgasm on your mind and you will blow dream chunks into outer space. All very fun until your neighbor sees you.                                    -The Joekenorer

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OfflineHyper_Panda_GO
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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7365280 - 09/03/07 06:50 PM (16 years, 6 months ago)

The Burning of Sharon Fanoff

Sweating violently and having dangerously insane images of sliding down glaciers and hugging polar bears and putting on sunscreen made of snow cycling through her mind, Sharon Fanoff lept into her bathroom, mad dash and in the nude, into the shower, and turned the knob onto cold so violently it damn near broke. The immediate barrage of cold droplets touched her skin like some fantastic ice spirit's embrace. Such was the contrast of burning skin and cold water, what else could she be expected to do but shudder with mad ecsasy, all the while laughing a laugh mostly found in children.

She indulged in the shower for a few minutes before the most dreadful thing happened, that is, the water simply stopped running. For a good minute, she hardly even noticed the change, and then her eyes opened wide, body shivering and arms rubbing whatever they could in order to confirm that the unthinkable had happened. She let out a comical howl, but the only response she got was the fatal drip-drip-dripping of the faucet. Now the only source of water she had was within herself, tears feriously rolling down her eyes as she jumped from possibility to possibility of ways to relieve herself from this miserable fucking heat.

The fan was a relic from her grandmother's, ironically enough a victim of heat stroke, unworkable and she wondered now why she hadn't given it away already.

The Rileys were the proud and envious owners of a pool, but Sharon still had no idea if the Mrs. Riley had any idea of her affair with her delectable teenage son.

There was the technicaly aspect of removing everything from the fridge, but that would take too long.

Eventually, Sharon decided on suicide. Dousing herself with oil, she lit a match and soon she was the hottest thing in town


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There is no valid reason you should be reading this

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Invisiblemarvoman

Registered: 04/26/05
Posts: 207
Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: Hyper_Panda_GO]
    #7393255 - 09/10/07 07:00 PM (16 years, 6 months ago)

Monday morning: Hangover clearing

The usual office bullshit was in full force today. Adi would constantly tell himself it wasn’t so bad through the week, especially over the weekend, but it was days like today that reminded him why he thought it was bad in the first place. Rows and rows of wasted lives typing away, the men showing off their latest suits, sexually frustrated women wearing see through shirts, all of them convinced of their self importance no matter what their rank.

But it was Monday morning. Everything seemed bad on a Monday morning, especially in a noisy office. There were some real cool people working there as well, he thought, funny and engaging people ranging from those who knew it was all bollocks and did what they had to do, then went away and lived their lives, and those who were just nice people. Really nice, good natured people who were happy to work a full days work and just nobly accept the life that was laid out before them. It was these people that he enjoyed working with, unlike the others, the ‘team‘ as they called themselves. He, along with the aforementioned workers, were somewhat looked down upon by the ‘team‘, coffee drenched office elites brainfucked by the system into believing that what they were doing was actually important. Adi and his ilk, in their eyes, were the scourge of the workplace, compromising the quality of their collective hard work.
Adi sat at his untidy desk and logged on to his computer. There were a couple of post it notes stuck to his screen asking him to do menial jobs that the authors felt too important and busy to do themselves. He ripped them off and screwed them in a ball without reading them, not even bothering to put them in the bin.
“Hello luvvy! Have a nice weekend?” came the friendly voice next to him.
Adi enjoyed sitting next to Rose. She was a pleasant thirty something, a wise nurturing type, if not slightly sheltered, overweight with long reddish dry hair framing her round face. She was kind, giving and never hesitated to help out, a characteristic inevitably taken advantage of by some. She was also incredibly sharp, finishing crosswords and other pretty damn hard puzzles with the flick of a biro, but this was somewhat overshadowed by her willingness to please. She was always talking about the planning process for her wedding in September, her enthusiasm mocked by some of the ‘team’, her old fashioned nature not welcomed in this cut throat society. But Adi loved hearing about the ups and downs of getting the right wedding dress and sorting out the honeymoon to Ibiza, and about her soon to be husband Mac, a bricklayer from Millbrook. He enjoyed listening because she had a slightly eccentric manner and would always unload invaluable wisdom upon him.
“Well… A bit dodgy to be honest”, Adi answered with a small yawn.
“Aw, luvvy! What’s up?”
“Ah just… Well, nothing really. I mean it’s not like huge, just been messed about from people who were supposed to be my friends, you know?”
“Only too well, only too well. Close friends?” Rose asked with the manner of a concerned mum.
“Yeah, apparently. The thing is I don’t think they even realise, you know?”
“You know what I’m going to say don’t you, my dear?” a bright smile spread across her chubby face. Adi faked a polite smile and typed in his login details to the booted up computer.
“Yeah yeah, talk to them, blah blah!”
Rose let out a small high pitched laugh. “Well, there you go my luvvy. Problem solved!” She turned back to her computer screen and started to type in some despatch details.
Adi audibly yawned and stretched his arms out in a grandiose and highly satisfying manner.
“Oi! You’re not being paid to sit on your arse yawning” Olly snapped at him, walking passed his desk flipping through a pile of recent printouts. (He was wrong; Adi wasn’t paid to sit on his arse, he was paid to sit on his arse and pretend to look busy). Adi quickly fumbled his way back into position.
“Sorry, just brushing away the cobwebs.” Adi clicked through a few files on his screen for no reason other than to look busy.
Olly was the office boss, a grotesque slug of a man. Shamelessly overweight and permanently possessing an impossibly smug expression on his small fat bespectacled head, skanky looking grey stubble randomly placed around his sagging chin. He was tall and impeccably dressed with a pin stripe shirt and green and red tie, the smart image ruined by the immense fold of flab desperately fighting to free itself from the belt of his trousers. Utterly imcompetent and resented by the poor bastards who he ordered around with misplaced self importance, he had only reached rank of boss by exploring the deepest recesses of the upper managements collective colons; the bigwigs at the top had quickly learned that this man would do anything they wanted him to do, just make him feel important and raise his wage slightly and he’d even fuck their wives if they asked him too. He was a common phenomenon in offices all over the world, a symbol of the fact that the fat cats really didn’t give a shit about their employee’s well being, just as long as they got the job done.
“Yeah well, just get on with it. You’re performance last week was pretty shoddy. Need to see some improvement sonny, or we’re going to have to review your position.” With this he pushed his spectacles into position with a fat podgy finger, and walked on to the next desk.
“Anyway, how was your weekend? Hows Mac?” Adi asked Rose as soon as Olly was out of earshot.
“Yeah yeah, good thanks. Mac’s OK, oh he’s so sweet. He really wants to help out, but, well, you know how it is I’m sure, luvvy! I just tell him ‘get down to the pub, have yourself a break’. I think this confuses him somewhat, usually I moan that he’s down there too often!” She started to titter.
Adi Smiled. He then turned to his computer and checked his work emails, and started the sluggish process of another soul destroying day of ass-ache and mundane typing.

How had he ended up here? A business management degree seemed like such a good bet, an optimistic future in a well paid office job, lots of potential for promotion and three week holidays in Cyprus. But Adi had quickly learned the immense cock up of allowing universities to offer a huge range of interesting degrees to young people who twenty years ago would never have even dreamed of going to university. It was sold by offering a niche-degree to people to qualify in, a niche that thirty other students would also be qualifying for. And what would follow was three years of boozing, shagging and superiority complexes, students able to indulge in debauched excess safe in the knowledge that they would go straight into fantastically paid and wildly interesting jobs without an ounce of experience or savvy to the cruel workings of the real world. This in no way applied to everyone however; many worked hard and entered solid careers, sometimes even with Mickey-mouse degrees, the real winners who were actually suited to university.
But there was an excess of under-qualified graduates reeling in horror at the dark reality that faced them, impossibly massive debts holding them back even further, fantastic interest rates crippling their minor alcoholism and hedonistic urges. Even when studying many students talked about university being the best years of their life, everything going downhill after graduation. This bothered Adi the most in retrospect, the reluctant acceptance that the party was over when graduation finally happened. Many of the above mentioned students, the ones who stitched themselves up while simultaneously being stitched up, ended up in jobs like Adi’s, Philosophy graduates and experts in fashion journalism throughout the country becoming increasingly depressed at being bossed around by fat slugs and working long grating hours, ruining their eyes and carpal tunnels by typing away at incessantly bright computer screens.
The difference with Adi though, was that his position was what he had actually studied for, and was as a result a relatively better paid job. He had swanned through university drinking cheap wine by the bottle every single night, knowing that he would not only get a well paid office job but would also enjoy it. And he would be respected also, what with his 2:1 degree. But he had very quickly realised his folly; the twenty year old three rows along from him had not only a greatly superior position than him and much better prospects for the future, and with this at least six grand extra a year than Adi, but had started as an entirely unqualified office junior as soon as she had left school at sixteen. No degrees, no bullshit. The kind of uneducated working class loser Adi’s student friends would relentlessly mock in between missed lectures and 50p flavoured shots. The poor soul left behind who knew nothing of life, who drove a brand new car and busied herself planning her first step up the property ladder, looking forward to three week holidays in Cyprus.
A violent vibration suddenly disturbed the tired ambience. Faces from all around looked disapprovingly toward the source. Adi quickly snapped out of his doom laden daydream and grabbed his phone which had been left entirely exposed and whisked it under the desk, keeping a look out to make sure his superiors didn’t see who was responsible for this terribly obvious disturbance. He was already looking forward to a shout down from Olly, the fact he broke the office no mobile phones policy would just give the fat bastard fuel to his fire. For as much as Adi hated the job, it was all he had, the optimism of youth slowly disappearing with every passing twenty something year. But thankfully Adi was in the clear. His next thoughts turned to who would text him this time in the morning? He stealthily read the text message while keeping the offending phone hidden under the desk. His mouth dropped open, the message was very bizarre. What was going on here? The weekend so far had been quite strange, and this mornings faux-erotic encounter a bit different, but all of this was conventionally weird, interesting even. The bizarre message he continued to read over again and again, as if in doing so would somehow change it’s content, had just made the last three days officially weird.



The above is a part of a story I'm writing. It's actually my first attempt at writing, I have been suffering from RSI so not been able to play my guitar as much and needed some kind of cretive output (which is why it's so angry!)

Let me know what you think, and if you have any observations or advice please tell me as I'm really getting into writing at the mo and would appreciate any feedback!

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Invisiblemarvoman

Registered: 04/26/05
Posts: 207
Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: marvoman]
    #7393285 - 09/10/07 07:07 PM (16 years, 6 months ago)

joekenorer, the wait is awesome!

It totally drew me in, I really like it when stories kind of put you in the characters place.

Nice one

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Offlinejoekenorer
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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: marvoman]
    #7394577 - 09/11/07 12:01 AM (16 years, 6 months ago)

Jesus fucking christ thank you, lol. I've been waiting ages for someone to review it, but didn't want to sound like an ass.

I'm reading yours right now, but the distractions are overwhelming. I might have to delay it a bit because I refuse to read someones work without giving it my full attention.


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My favorites are weeping willows, which aren't really weeping at all. They're very wispy, witty and will dance in the breeze with you. Nothing like a tree that wants to dance with you. Although it doesn't like its thin limbs being pulled at all, it absolutely LOVES it when you walk through them, letting them gently slide over your face and shoulders. If you're naked, the willow considers it to be sex. It will orgasm on your mind and you will blow dream chunks into outer space. All very fun until your neighbor sees you.                                    -The Joekenorer

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Invisiblemarvoman

Registered: 04/26/05
Posts: 207
Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7395184 - 09/11/07 05:42 AM (16 years, 6 months ago)

No worrys mate!

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Offlinejoekenorer
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Registered: 05/22/07
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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: marvoman]
    #7399401 - 09/12/07 03:25 AM (16 years, 6 months ago)

Wow. That was simply fucking amazing. I must say that there was a very vast difference between the quality of narration and dialogue. The people just didn't sound real at all IMO, but the narration was extraordinarily fascinating and eloquent. Very good distribution of a very good vocabulary.

I have to tell you, friend. I've never heard your music, but you certainly have a talent to write. Develop it. Practice as much as possible. Don't you love that feeling when emotion inspires the mind and awakens the subconscious? I LIVE for that shit!

Its going to be a struggle for me to write something else while not thinking about yours. Maybe tomorrow when I can't remember much of it. Good work.


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My favorites are weeping willows, which aren't really weeping at all. They're very wispy, witty and will dance in the breeze with you. Nothing like a tree that wants to dance with you. Although it doesn't like its thin limbs being pulled at all, it absolutely LOVES it when you walk through them, letting them gently slide over your face and shoulders. If you're naked, the willow considers it to be sex. It will orgasm on your mind and you will blow dream chunks into outer space. All very fun until your neighbor sees you.                                    -The Joekenorer

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Invisiblemarvoman

Registered: 04/26/05
Posts: 207
Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7399795 - 09/12/07 08:07 AM (16 years, 6 months ago)

Wow, cheers dude. I haven't actually written for a couple of weeks but your comments have inspired me to get back on it.

As for the people not seeming real, yeah I know what you mean. There are lots of things I'm going to need to work on, and it's criticism like that which I need to hear to push it further. Also because it was only part of a longer story there were a few inconsitencies (the 'psuedo-erotic' moment mentioned at the end actually refers to an earlier part of the whole story).

I have lots of ideas for short self contained pieces which I'll work on and then post when they're finished. Like you say, that feeling you get when your mind opens up when writing is simply awesome. Unexpected too, I never thought I'd get that same kind of feeling that I do from playing my guitar.

For ther meantime I'm going through some of the other stories. I'm really liking Mickdawg666's story when he hitched in the dark!

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Invisiblemarvoman

Registered: 04/26/05
Posts: 207
Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: marvoman]
    #7404351 - 09/13/07 12:34 PM (16 years, 6 months ago)

Here's a short I came up with today, inspired by something I saw on the bus home. Let me know what y'all think.

The Square

He strode unhurriedly across the square like Al Pacino, full of masculine purpose, menace and a deep dark vibe. A still, vacant smile sat upon his red cratered face, vaguely handsome but heavily damaged. He was young, about 22, but old all the same; he was wise like a veteran of some terrible conflict, his thin cranked torso maintained by systematic abuse.

He stopped in front of the drunk laying in the sun. The drunk was dressed in a dirty old suit which was probably top range around 1963, several years before he was born, leaning against the graffiti-ed shutter of what was once a fruit and veg’ shop, unopened and abandoned for eternity. A torn up 2 litre plastic bottle of warm sickly cider, about half full, sat still about a foot in front of him, open for all to see in the middle of the square bathed in glorious sunshine. He appeared to not have noticed the malevolent presence standing confidently above him. He continued to stare into space, a perpetual gaze which had lasted ten years now, an attempt to figure out what the fuck had gone wrong. Over and over, the solid shit-stinking boot to the face, left out in the rain to freeze to death, a life of torture.

The youth continued to stare at the drunk, but the drunk just continued to comprehend. He leaned down and grabbed the cider bottle with a violent crunch, unscrewed the lid and rudely downed a whole third of what was left, all the time his eyes fixed on the non-moving piss head. He wiped his mouth with a dirty sleeve and screwed the lid back on the bottle, placing it back in exactly the same position as it stood only moments before. Still the drunk didn’t move, lost in his thoughts. The youth about-turned and strode back across the square towards the bench where his companion relaxed in a tired haze, arms stretched out across almost the whole bench. He was idly watching the cars and buses pass the square on the dirty main road, a portal to another kind of life, a civilised hopeful world teeming with success and ambition. Not like this world. This wasn’t even a world but a hopeless shit-pit full of common thieves and drunken violence, hyperactive monster-children squeezed out by stupid young mothers straight into echoing prison halls, only to end up drunk in the sunlight.

Of course this could all be very different, but to solve a problem you need to find the source. And the source of this problem was lost generations ago by criminal negligence on the part of our faithful leaders. This place was beyond help, swept under the carpet by the unaffected. Long running feuds and personal tragedies prevented the current residents from having the power or awareness to change things. It was literally a cliché ghost town, closed shops and bruised flats, ruled by marauding teens and confused matriarchs, dictatorial drug peddlers exerting violent power upon the weak.

The youth finally reached the bench and sat down next to his pal, who un-stretched his arms and sat up. Shielding his eyes from the intense sun he spoke. “I’m fuckin’ screwed man, cranked as a cunt.”
“Don’t be stupid, you’re alright mate. It’s too fuckin’ hot, that‘s was it is” answered the youth dumbly.

And he was right, it was very hot. And his friend was going to be alright. In roughly three months time he was going to make a distinct and unforgettable mark on British music, the repercussions of which would be felt for many years.

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InvisibleSenor_Doobie
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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: marvoman]
    #7419501 - 09/17/07 11:56 AM (16 years, 6 months ago)

Hey man, read your first story. It is very good in my opinion. I do not have a problem with the dialog. Seemed fine to me and helped a lot with the atmosphere you were building. Kind of disappointed I didn't get to see what the text message said....great build-up though.

Criticisms: Shorter paragraphs, please! Some of those things are so long you can get lost in 'em. No good...and then just a grammatical mention: fear not the hyphen. Use it whenever a pair of descriptive words are used in connection with each other and if one of the words was missing, the meaning would change. Examples half-hearted, self-serving, death-defying


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"America: Fuck yeah!" -- Alexthegreat

“Nothing can now be believed which is seen in a newspaper. Truth itself becomes suspicious by being put into that polluted vehicle. The real extent of this state of misinformation is known only to those who are in situations to confront facts within their knowledge with the lies of the day.”  -- Thomas Jefferson

The greatest sin of mankind is ignorance.

The press takes [Trump] literally, but not seriously; his supporters take him seriously, but not literally. --Salena Zeto (9/23/16)

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Invisiblemarvoman

Registered: 04/26/05
Posts: 207
Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: Senor_Doobie]
    #7431300 - 09/20/07 07:11 AM (16 years, 5 months ago)

Wicked, cheers for the advice dude. Glad you enjoyed the text.

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OfflineToddo
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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critique others HERE [Re: marvoman]
    #7433793 - 09/20/07 07:03 PM (16 years, 5 months ago)

responding to Monday morning Hangover.

Your writing style is really engaging and true to life.  As for the over all story, I think it could have been done better.  I was waiting for something to happen... yet when it was over, I was strangely satisfied.  Very nice job.  :smile:

Some things I think you could improve on. As already mentioned, cut down your paragraphs a bit.  Make things easy for the reader to grasp.  I felt myself needing to reread a couple parts just because I felt like it was overload.  The dialogue was ok.  It was a little fake at points.  Just watch that story in your head.  Have the conversation as you write. 

-Todd :smile:

P.S. I've been lazy about posting in this thread.  I'll be reviewing as many stories as I can can.


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Shroomery Composition Contest

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InvisibleBridgeburner
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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critique others HERE [Re: Toddo]
    #7435597 - 09/21/07 08:00 AM (16 years, 5 months ago)

a short story thingie i did years back:

*A log house in the middle of a raging snowstorm. Cold light pours out of the window. Someone is inside*

Little boy: Daddy, when is mommy coming home?

*Father is digging, the frozen ground is hard, but the hole is already done. Father crawls out of the hole and sets the spade on the table*

Father: Mommy isn't coming home anymore, Tommy.

*Little boy wipes his nose, as if trying to push off the feeling that he is smelling daddy's fear*

Little boy: Then where is she? Is she in heaven with us?

*Father sits down at the edge of the hole, and covers his face with his palms. Starts to talk very quietly*

Father: Mommy is all around us, just like the Holy Spirit. And beneath us.

*A big plastic bag is under the table, which father starts to pull out with one hand*

Little boy: I'm so cold, daddy.

*The house has no glasses, the ice-cold wind is piercing through. The hands and feet of the boy are chalk-white. And the eyes are light blue, and dead*

Father: I know, Tommy. I'm cold too.

*The plastic bag tores open by accident, bones and a skull pour out and fall on the floor. Father takes the skull, but wipes the other remains into the fresh grave*

Little boy: Why are you crying, daddy? Don't you know that it is painful to cry when ice is inside the eyes?

*Father kisses the skull, and throws it into the grave*

Father: Nothing can be as painful anymore. Help me shovel dirt on mommy's grave, Tommy.

*Little boy sits up from the chair and starts to come towards father, but all the sudden the door blows open and a woman, walking stiffly with the frozen limbs, tries to talk*

Little boy: Daddy, it's mommy! Mother!

*Father suddenly jumps up and grabs his hair*

Father: NO! Get away from her! Go away already!

*With a quick jump to the table father grabs the spade and hits mother on the side of the head with it, just before she gets a chance to grab the little boy*

*Thump*

*Mother falls on the ground, with the skull split, and light blue eyes still open and moving*

Little boy: Mommy mommy!

*Little boy runs to the fallen corpse in an attempt to hug mother. With her free arm she grabs little boy by the throat*

Little boy: *Ugh... - *

Father: No no no! Leave us alone!

*The shovel lobs off mother's head, and the grip is let loose. Little boy is panicking and backing into the corner in trembling fear, and sits on a chair*

*Father stands on top of the corpse of mother. And picks up the plastic bag*

Father: When you trust someone...

Little boy: ... the illusion has begun.

*Father starts to cry again*

Father: Come and help me to put her into the bag.

*Little boy is frightened, and isn't moving*

Little boy: What about all the other bags?

*From the light of the candle suddenly the heap of stuffed plastic bags comes visible, that was in the back of the cabin. Some of the bags are moving*

Father: They are not done yet. Help stuff mommy into the bag, Tommy.

*The little boy and father put the head and the body into the bag, and tie it up. As father puts the bag ontop of other ones, he pulls out an older bag. Little boy can hear the bones rattling and moving inside it*

*The windows still have no glasses, and father shoves the bag under the table for a moment, so he would have more room to dig with his chalk-white eyes*

Little boy: Daddy, when is mommy coming home?

*Father is digging, the frozen ground is hard, but the hole is already done. Father crawls out of the hole and sets the spade on the table*

Father: Mommy isn't coming home anymore, Tommy.

*The hole that never grows bigger is filled with thousands and thousands of skulls, all of them have been hit with the spade*

Little boy: Why is mommy coming home, daddy?

*Father puts the shovel on the table*

Father: I don't know, Tommy.

*Through the storm a moaning figure is limping and staggering towards the cabin, where there are no windows. It has light blue eyes, and chalk-white limbs*


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InvisibleBridgeburner
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Registered: 09/16/06
Posts: 20,010
Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critique others HERE [Re: Bridgeburner]
    #7435599 - 09/21/07 08:02 AM (16 years, 5 months ago)

i guess technically the last one wasn't a short story per se, so here's a real live one:

I know the places they worship their witches.

I know the cattle they boil their children.

I know the men that wear the horns.

I know the women behind the men behind the women.

I know where I go each eighteenth of the month, yet it is timeless.

But I don't know who I am.

...

It is most haunting, when Autumn arrives there. The soil should be moist and the trees withering away their leaves of gold and red, and the Nature changing her divine greenish clothes to the ones of depressional serenity and decay. It is only natural. It does not happen there. On the hill next to the giant willow. From the trampled ground the cacophonically carnal chant invite up the infernal weed, the thunderous drums summon forward hellish crawlers, and they come from the ground.
Never remembering how I get there, it is not easy to leave. After all, where youre going equals the sense of where you once came, if you don't know where you are in the first place. But still I go. For when dancing a beatless waltz with a fury on the bodies of the buried future, I saw her.
Through the mayhem and whirlwind of demonic beings and women that have born out of the goats their Father has taken as wives, I saw a light darker than the sun, brighter than any aether from a mouth of a rose. She was bright-dark. I saw her eyes, and into it, something fragile yet stronger ... it was something I clearly and instantly saw... that she was lost here... here, but also nowhere...
Then the shouting and the singing and the joined chorus of the soon to be skinned bodies hanging from the trees, that made wonderous sound from their tongueless, mute mouths deafend me, and I lost sight of her in midst the dance of the living death. For a second I had seen her, and then again lost her. But what had I found?
Even those blind torturers from the dungeons of Ab'hamaal could not prepare me for a stroke in the heart by the deviant sort of pain that only gets to you when you let someone in... Into your heart. But had I not seen her just for a moment, here, on the hill where the cries of old men with yet older books yell that 'burning through the witches' reaches not? How does the pain of loss of something never owned hit you so hard that you forget to exhale?
No pins or needles I let that night being pushed through my skin; that former pain of pleasure the eyeless, ever-smiling angels of underworld thrusted upon me. Forsaken became E'hveii, my former favorite, so good at finding my veins... all over my body... and her bite did not feed me or her anymore. What was lost? My memory, but something else, that I had found... and the lost again.
I danced with the horde, and lived and acted as an animal, for I felt pain in my back from a hunters arrow. Wild was the shouting and howling of men and beasts alike on the hill next to the giant willow: wide were the rivers of red and the rivers of tears that we licked right off the faces of the innocent, dangling from the branches, hanging from the bodiless, scaled hands that held them high and were their gallows.
The animal within always played along: I never turned down the strange women that came from the blistering doorway from under the hill, naked and burning with a flame within - eyes as blue as the innocence once lost with a touch as cold as the blood in their veins... The succubus and incubus - me and her - we danced without moving, as she made me shiver, taking me with force and me doing horrid things to her, and she laughed and shrieked alike when cutting her skin and then making things with the wounds that I'd like to forget... only if I could first remember...
How the hell did I get there anyway? When I opened my eyes, I was always walking up the hill, the chant of drums and the murmur of the hound in my ears, calling and warning me... Fear surrounded me, I cannot deny, when walking though that valley that was always full of shadows, and the beasts behind them. A dream of a nightmare or worse, I never tried to guess, so I could not turn back, because I was lost anyway... And I went up the hill, companied only by a scent of a memory what the witches and I did on top of the highest low, in the grave and on the shoulders of Atlas.
Until that aforementioned night of her first appearance, I could not count the times of the visits that chilled the marrow in my bones, but exited me to the point I almost fainted, for seeing the twisting figures and deformities of abnormalities was as walking to some painting of an idiotic genius. All I knew and felt was a path that had been worn into the Autumn grass by my countless, endless visits. Now, against my will, I remembered that I had joined the insane gathering six times, and this was going to be the seventh, counting from her appearance.
The old lady, naked and covered with boils on a skin too pale for ever being alive, took my jacket as always, smirking with a cackling voice, and I stepped into the ring on the hill next to the giant willow, surrounded by weird signs and a trail of salt.
And I danced and I pranced, holding hands with those that were not human, and eating the living with the dead. I had no memory and therefore I could have no future, for I was lost, and the center of nowhere was the hill, where I felt most at home. An illusion, which I was keen on keeping alive. Until she appeared again.
What can I say? I was afraid of her, and the reality she brought. Fear gives men wings, but I was a jet engine. Heart pounding hard enough to get hungry looks from the staggering ghouls that were having intercourse with the bones of the blackest witches, hard enough to make the succubus drool foam from hearing a rhythm of blood, hard enough to fear I would explode... This time I wasn't going to let her go: maybe she knew where I was and why... was I here. It wasn't just as she might have known the answers... I was drawn to her by her... humanity - the dim light in her eyes shimmering back from the surface of a dirty, muddy soul.
Through the bleeding, blossoming rosebushes I waded, over the trembling vines I hopped, crossing the ground stomped soft by hooves, I went towards her... She stood still, her eyes wide open and petrified with fear, as it was clear she was not here intentionally, yet her presence was most noticeable by the incubuses and other women, witches and virgins alike, all wicked to the bone, and lips smeared with something red.
She just stood there, while E'hveii had her way with her, and the screams multiplied her pleasure. Now she turned her deep green eyes to me, and offered 'new flesh' to me and to share. I had been with her before, and others like her, blacking in and out of ecstasy, feeling the blood dripping down the neck, their steaming-hot tongues going up and down my neck... to shiver and to quiver... by fear that she might lose her temper and rip the neck in two... and by the strange, empty pleasure it made me experience...
The look in her eyes... and the look in the eyes of her under the incubus... I... Me, a mere mortal, grabbed the wicked one by her angelic, white hair and tore her off of her, while sending punches and kicks into her face, fighting the beast with the feral man inside, for I suddenly felt disgust... of her and her kindred, of the horned ones and the witches, clad in nakedness, of the dead and the damned, of the Black Man sitting on the branches of the giant willow and playing along his maddening flute...
On the ground that should be dead in Autumn, but for some unnatural spell had become to grow twisted plants and hellish weed - the kind that grows on all the battlefields of the earth, the kind that grows where murder has been committed and blood has been spilled, she sat like a lost child, unable to cry and pale of face for someone had made a good work on her neck. I simply picked her up, and carried her off.
I remember feeling warmth in her, human and good... Remember her scent and the closeness it gave me to the real world... The one I had lost, and now I had found her again.
She wore black - the gound and the shirt, a veil... a bride. But her mind wasn't, for I saw... as the rooster sees the sun rising through the mountains before everyone else is blind and as a newborn knows her mothers heartbeat and feels kindred and close to it. She was still in a state of shock, for could have been too much for her; all the infernal creatures, the sensation of burning flesh, the screaming babies, the goat that walks on it's feet not hooves, the nightmare of reality... Timeless formless mindless endless - in the middle of nowhere, on the hill next to the giant willow.
And she looked into my eyes for a second... and turned away, coughing up blood...
Under the three blood-red moons the trees away from the gathering casting shadows sharp enough to sting, but we sat there in the silence, in strange peace of madness... She wept... And then, after aeons of timeless existence, I cried too... First, warmer than any drop of blood, the burning tear rolled down my cheek as I gazed upon another lost one, for she too didn't know why she was here and how... And I felt the tear so strong, with such force enough to crush a diamond... Angst of being caged to a barbless house, the fear of not knowing where you are, a schizophrenic paranoia inside a megalomaniac about gathering sanity - and I became to remember... And knew I could not wake up marching up the hill never again... for I was going to Hell, back to Hell...
But how could she know it, pure but defiled, virgin but tasted, damned with blessings? Why did she cry while holding me close? Serenity, in the dose that was injected to the mind, novocain for the soul, was only possible to get from another... human... And as she pressed her bleeding neck against mine, I felt 'real' life, and her sacrifice was my offering.
I woke up. But not while marching up the hill.
***
NOTE: The patient currently residing in room 343 has somehow regained consciousness. At 03:48 PM, local time, he was found weeping in his bed. The nurse discovering the once elapsed patient notified the surgeon currently working on the 2nd floor on reason to believe an arterial injury that had been inflicted on the patient.

As the tests have by now showed there was no visible wound of any kind; in fact the blood was showed not to belong to the patient in the room 343 at all. By coincidence, it was later a far-fetched conclusion, that the patient, years in a similar state of mental illness now known as autism, had had any contact with another, female patient across the hall - she too with an autistic behavior disorder. Both now fully cured, show no signs of the former disorders, were let out from their wards, and have now left Bethelem Asylum.

It is has been proven by relatives from both sides that they had never been in contact before in their lives, but in despite of that, patient 343 and patient 441 left the institute together in the same taxi, acting wit each other as being old friends, or even lovers.

Both were under treatment in terms of extensive shock therapy on the eighteenth of every month - once experimental treatment against autism but now banned from use - for their relatives submitted both of them in reason of insanity and developing signs of maniacal depression. Both left in an unknown direction, smiling to each other.

This report is for 'Your Eyes Only' to the assistant director of Bethelem Asylum concerning the strange healing of the two patients and the weird amount of blood found on both of them.

...

...

END NOTE.




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OfflineToddo
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Registered: 07/09/04
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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critique others HERE [Re: Bridgeburner]
    #7778397 - 12/19/07 04:48 PM (16 years, 3 months ago)

A very needed bump. You guys need to start writing again (or at least posting what your writing.) I'll post this and review a couple stories written.


Tasty-Me’s

The snap, crackle, pop of the fry machine was the river; the order alarms, the birds; and this fat bitch at the front counter, a large animal rejected from the herd. Anything as huge as that thing needs to be tagged and kept a safe distance away from any establishment that served such food. It’s disgusting to think that god’s beasts could reach such sizes and still live. Take your greasy prize and go crawl into whichever den you came out of. The splashing of hot oil landed on David’s left hand. Son of a bitch! He had kept from being burned for almost 4 weeks strait and Jabba’s ass had to come slugging in here and ruin his streak. Hope you like lots of salt because your ass is getting the ‘you made me burn myself’ portion. (David had certain punishments for the customers, some for being rude, others for complicated orders…but the ‘you mad me burn myself’ punishment was right on top of them all.)


She watched David cooking in the cramped quarters. It’s alright kid, jobs like this will only make you more thankful when you get the good ones! Martha turned to take a look at the beautiful day. The red bike coming down the sidewalk caught her eye. The rider was young, maybe 14. Her blue eyes reflected Martha’s curious face (with a slight shimmer…tears?). Martha waited to meet eyes, but the girl zoomed by without notice of her new fan. Martha turned back around and looked into a picture that was hanging up over the drink machine. She grunted…It looked like her old vacation house in Lake Olmen. Kids stuffed in the back with car sickness stalking them around every turn, B52’s being blasted from the radio, arguing about which movie she would watch with her husband when they finally arrived. That was a life she once had. All that was left of those memories was the empty house and of course her. It would have been her 30th anniversary… Tasty-Me’s had been their first date. No finer last meal. The sound of a bike coming from the sidewalk made her turn from the picture and leave her thoughts. It was the same girl, going just as fast (and the opposite way) but she looked different, she looked determined and strong. She flew past Martha once again without any notice.


Don’t stop riding! Ride as fast as you can and don’t look back! Ride until you have no idea where you are then ride some more. Those were her father’s last words before he let her out the back door. Who those men were at their front door, she couldn’t say. All that was needed was the look her father gave her. It was desperate and scared. She felt the tears coming down her face. It burned hotter every pedal forward. It was anger, anger for leaving him. Don’t stop riding! He would need help; those men were going to hurt him. He told you to keep riding. She pushed the pedals as hard as she could and felt flames roar inside her.

Passing Tasty-Me’s , her mind reminded her it was a favorite spot she came to with her Dad. She flew passed it. Don’t breath in the smell. Don’t! Tiffany gave a quick sniff and smelled the cooking burgers. The face of her Dad flashed in front of her, them laughing and eating together during those late nights when they were both too lazy to cook anything. She slammed on the breaks and looked forward. It was not ending yet…not by a long shot. She felt her mind quite down and nod in approval. The burning fire inside her was focused into a single dot in her mind. It waited to be unleashed upon anyone who got in her way. Turning her bike around, she began for the house. Her dads Katana was in the shed. She would go in through her window (Tiffany had sound proofed her window escape for those late night parties.) The gun would be in his room, but she would never need it. Prepare to die motherfuckers.


--------------------
Shroomery Composition Contest

Edited by Toddo (12/19/07 04:49 PM)

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OfflineHyper_Panda_GO
Team Action!


Registered: 05/28/06
Posts: 9,720
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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critique others HERE [Re: Toddo]
    #7779832 - 12/19/07 10:32 PM (16 years, 3 months ago)

This was a short story project I was gonna try to complete but didn;t

The Balloonist

Piece1
Funday, June 16th

hah, i know its monday but im goin to the fair with mama today so i speld it fun! im rely xited even tho papa cant come cus hes at work all day

i want coton candy janny said she got sum when she went and it was the best thing she ever had

theres also a mery-go-around that kyle took me too once but he didnt want to cum also

i hope the sun dosnt go away until a lot later i want to see everythin!

Piece 2
True, children are screaming, everyone is in their spring best and I suppose the colors could lend distraction, as well as the sweet aromas of corn dog of lemon icees, and yes, a balloon animal is I would assume assumed at a balloon stand but really.

We are the ones who are first here when the fair opens and the last ones to leave when they tear everything down.

Does no one notice I stay afloat the whole day?

Helium wears down after I while, I've spied it on other animals he's made for the children, an awful fate it is for me, to befriend them knowing full well they'll be gone by the sun's goodbye rays, and air simply...floats, but me?

Everyone's attention is commanded by the rides and whatever the hell else is going on, but they have to pass us by again at some point. Someone has to.

I'm sure they do later, when they're talking to the police, shocked or amused or both, if they're not family, shaken and teary eyed if they are, that, yes, the red dog balloon animal was floating the whole day, or, gosh, I hope they do, just a minute detail, but one worth entertaining.

I don't think I should, but I look forward to the day this happens.

Piece 3
Ruby crabs crawl the emerald shore
Searching diamond shells and wanting more
Of flagrant gems and precious stone
And if they have them, they can be alone

"Lovely use of imagery, I'm a bit undecided on the forced rhyme, though. Will you be expanding?"

"Yes, I don't believe in independent stanzas."

"See you tomorrow then."

It had been something he whipped up not one minute before his name was called. He knew she would eat it up, Ms. Gildenstern was a rather lame teacher. He wasn't too wild about the school either. To exemplify this, Michael gave the trash can outside the entrance a good kick, scaring the hell out of two traunts smoking some cheap Chesterfields. He didn't know if it was simply him or if the Emerson School of Gifted Writers was simply rubbing him the wrong way.

While he was contemplating this, nothing strange happened, and most signs indicated it would be a safe, humdrum week. Michael grimaced when he realized he had another assignment due tomorrow about foreshadowing.

PIece 4
It was a fair day for a fair. Only a few clouds dotted the aquamarine sky, and the breeze in the air told everyone a sweater could be worn, but if they chose not too, that was alright, because it was a pleasant day and whatever anyone wore would be considered appropriate. Karen, for her part, was wearing a sunflower yellow sundress with a milky white top and a light jacket made of some sort of green material. On her feet were a pair of hardy sneakers, and in her hand was the smaller hand of a girl who looked to be a kindergarten age. She was wearing a a light blue dress with a pink comfy jacket.

"Mama, mama, let's go eat something mama!"

"Mary, hush for a minute."

She was still wary for Warren, the insufferable son of her boss, who, as far as she knew, thought she was at home with one of those nasty twenty-four hour bugs that strike without warning. She recalled hearing her boss gloat his son was stepping up in the showbiz, but office rumors, more often than not more accurate than any official document higher-ups could provide, revealed he was simply in the county fair. She had met him at one of those awful bring-your-children to work affairs, on a date where the most work had to get done of course, and he'd been an absolute hell to handle. She knew she stood out in his mind because she was the only one to yell at him to stop throwing papers everywhere or she would take her pen and shove it in his eye.

But anyway...

"Aw, please I missed breakfast!"

"Oh, well, fine, what are you in the mood for?"

"Cotton candy?"

"Candy, for breakfast?"

"And a corndog!"

"And I suppose you'll be wanting a soda, hmm?"

"Lemon soda," Mary whispered conspiratorily.

Karen rolled her eyes in mock disapproval, and in five minutes the two of them were seated at a plastic green table, corndogs and soda cups in hand, and she noticed Mary was eyeing the cotton candy stand like a hawk. Many other things took place that day, though Karen could not remember specific details, just vague memories of going on the marry-go-round, the carasol, hitting milk bottles and winning a small pink elephant for Mary, dancing with a clown, and...well there were other things.

The only thing she could remember with clarity, with such distinctiveness as a full moon in the clear night sky, was the balloon man.

PIece 5
"And in return for the detrimental duty of relaying the demands of the public, flipping falsified meat, preparing poorly synthesized vegetables, as well as an assort of mildly satisfying condiments, you shall be payed eight greenfolds and two quarter pieces per the hour. What say you, valiant potential cashier Kyle Evans?"

It was a lovely day of oddly verdant persuasion. The one called Kyle Frank, ever beloved, was seated at a table at Meat Stick, a fast food venue of no small amount of infamy, original noted for meat anything on a stick but since the new company head graced the desk with his power, they had switched to an all burger type of venue..

"By the brown vehicle that my soul will forever ride on, I accept your offer, shift manager Evan Miller, forever reaching for the stars."

"Very well! I dub thee cashier from the hours of eleven in the morning till four or five in the late afternoon. And on Sundays, thou shalt put for eight hours of effort, to be arranged from ten in the morning to six at dusk."

Kyle's heart sang a beautiful song of much golden happiness, and he was off, but he did not have a clue as to what to do, having forseen a far larger amount of time being devoted to this very important meeting. He decided he would contact his adored friend Michael and the two of them would laze and lounge on a green field smoking devil grass.

Piece 6
The balloons, they float up on high
Veering and steering all toward the sky
In colorful pairs, in red and blues
Like a rainbow collapse, those two-by-two's
Until they reach the depth of space
And even then, they still go to a place
Where ambitions are raised and dreams are born
And self-harassment is quickly adjorned
It's a lovely place, make no mistake
The only things you're allowed to take
Is you heart, your a soul, and a smile so kind
And what you must do is leave reality behind


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