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Offlinejoekenorer
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Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE
    #7130925 - 07/05/07 02:51 AM (16 years, 8 months ago)

This thread is for anyone who wants to write and/or read very short stories. I've always wanted to write the next great novel, but have found that my inspiration comes in short bursts. So I've decided to start a compendium of short stories. Please, critique mine and add your own as well.


--------------------
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
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Registered: 05/22/07
Posts: 626
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Last seen: 1 year, 8 months
Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7130931 - 07/05/07 02:52 AM (16 years, 8 months ago)

At the Post


My hands were bound by rough, hand-crafted rope. The stiff frayings of fiber dug into my wrists like a boars bristles. The large timber between my hands and back was barkless cedar and its sweet aroma was imbued with irony. I couldn't see with the blindfold on, but I could hear the kindling being piled beneath my feet. It too smelled of cedar, for witch-burners believed it was a sacred tree, the kind of sacred tree used to burn poor bastards like me to the dirt. On trumped up charges at that. See, my neighbor was behind his home chopping wood for the coming winter season, and I came over - Now this fuckers hefting a nine pound double headed axe at the age of eighty-three - to invite him to have dinner with me and my family after the morning service. Well, I wasn't immediately aware that the crucifix on my necklace was caught in a fold of my vest making it hang upside down, but it became quite clear when the old man began to point and scream at it. He demanded I fix it accordingly lest I disgrace the lord. "Well shit!" I say, kinda' loosing my head because he was telling ME how to handle ME. "I'm gonna' wear it like this all day, fucker. fuck you! HAIL SATAN mother FUCKER!" Well, heh, the old man didn't like that. So he told the elders and right in the middle of my morning constitutional they pull me off the shitter. Couldn't even get my pants up. They strung me up to this damned pole and are preparing to test my faith. If I am a follower of any deity other than God, I will not burn, and will therefore have to be killed. Fortunately I'm really a christian so I should die in the initial burning. Thank God.


--------------------
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
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Registered: 05/22/07
Posts: 626
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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7130934 - 07/05/07 02:53 AM (16 years, 8 months ago)

Bad experience in the good field.


My brother and I were traveling across a large cow field near where we live here in Alabama. We were finding a few sparse patches of cubes, but nothing to write home about. We were about halfway between the old, wooden farmers house and the pond when we heard the distinct sound of the spring on a screen door. Many of you in the south know this sound well. Instinctively we dove to the ground and lay flat in the 7" grass. The old man waived his shotgun in the air and fired a round. He then screamed "Thats the only warning shot you'll get! I'm looking right at you!". We were about 75 yards away from him and under a new moon. We were freaking out, I could hear J Breathing heavily and my heart was lifting me from the ground as it beat. We panicked and decided to hope for mercy and call his bluff. He fired another shot and it hit the ground right between us, throwing up grass and dirt in our eyes. It was a wide pattern and the thought of outrunning him began to manifest. Suddenly another shot, again right between us. But this time when the dirt flew up J jerked hard and rolled over to his knees, grasping at his face. The old man started yelling again. "Are ya' hurt? You better come here or I'll blow your fuckin' knees out and bury you in my wifes garden!" J didn't move, besides breathing heavily, almost sobbing. I was freaked out by now and was fully ready to surrender. I stood straight up from my prone position and threw my arms in the air. The farmer grabbed a spotlight from a nearby truck and shined us, being sure to burn our retinas. J started breathing heavier now, and just as I was taking the first step toward the old man, he jumped and dashed for the pond at top speed. The old man brought up his gun under one arm expertly while holding the light in his other hand. The wide, bright beam traced J's movement as he took aim. When J got close to the pond, the old man fired. But J had cut sharply to the right along the edge of the water. After about 3 seconds The beam was far away from me, so I sprinted in the opposite direction. I heard two, maybe three shots behind me (funny how in the heat of the moment you can't seem to remember something as clear as gunshots). I got to the fence, baseball slid under the bottom electric strap, and got away into the swamp with only a slight electric shock. I wondered hard about J. I was very worried how all of this would play out. I kinda' knew the old farmer had written me off as escaped, but if J got killed, then thats partly my fault because I called him over to me moments before the old man came out.

I awoke the following afternoon to the sound of someone screaming my name coming from my computer. I looked up from the couch and Counter-Strike was still running, because I didn't exit it when I laid down. I was still in a server that was empty. Except for one person. It was J, screaming "M. Get the fuck up, dude. I know your asleep while still connected to the clan server. Miiike!". I grabbed up my headset and slipped it on. I saw him standing there in l337 terror model. I instantly shot him in the head and killed him. the round restarted and he was like "Thats fucked up, dude." I asked
"what happened? He coughed for a second and said "Dude. That fucker shot my tooth out! I bled like a bitch all morning, it finally stopped. When I ran he chased me a bit, but I was losing him fast. I looked back and just as I did, he stepped right in a goddamn hole in the ground that I barely missed myself. He flew forward while his leg stood still. I think the old fucker broke it in half. And guess what?"
"Um, what?"
"I got the shrooms"

That night we tripped so hard that we eventually accepted the idea that the old man needed to be killed, along with all of his livestock. Human included.
We crept back into the field later that night, and happened upon a grazing calf. I slipped out first and moved over to the docile beast and laid my hands ceremoniously upon its shoulders, chanting something I still don't understand to this day. J came over the fence, dragging an 8lb sledge hammer he found somewhere behind him. He had developed a hunch and began grunting. I had the distinct feeling that he had de-evolved into a caveman of some sort. He ran at a hunched over gallop at the calf and swung the hammer with one arm over his head and bashed the back of its skull in. The animal immediately stumbled, then fell. The hammer was lodged, and we danced around the corpse quietly singing the The Doors "Unknown Soldier". We cried for almost an hour after that, feeling intense introspective nightmares fueled by the imagery that was lifeless on the ground. We calmed down, smoked a bowl, and left quietly. We stopped short at the woodline and watched the other cattle slowly move in around the corpse, which we both understood as mourning. We had later that day developed intricate plans to finish the task, but started coming down off the shrooms and got bored with it. We were both covered in cow blood, cow shit, and mud so we slept outside in the yard.

What the fuck was wrong with us? This never happened to me on shrooms before. It felt like I was someone completely different, like a silent witness deep inside the mind of some ancient, tribeless Shaman. I felt powerful and just in everything I did. J said he was just doing what I told him unquestioningly and didn't know why. I don't remember telling him to do anything or even speaking to him for that matter. Very, very intense and enlightening in a way I can't describe.


--------------------
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
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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7130946 - 07/05/07 02:56 AM (16 years, 8 months ago)

Too much


"What were you thinking? No one should eat that much acid right before a funeral. Jesus man, do you honestly think you're just gonna' ride this shit through the whole service? Well let me tell you now, this shits gonna' ride you, and hard, and you'll probably have another permanent personality shift. Heh, good luck. I'm not going to that fucker with you tripping like Moses on the mountain in front of that corpse. Later."
He mentioned the personality shift. This is a phenomena I've experienced twice. Once on LSD, the other on the psilocybin mushrooms of Grandbay. It goes like this. In many cases, being alone during a trip - or anytime during a trip for me - will leave you pondering many things you normally wouldn't think about. Very mundane things like watching the news and considering the distance between the anchorman/lady, the light reflecting off of them, or the order of the stories and why these things are put together in such a way. (I later discovered that there is a dictated method for these things on all news stations. And television in general.) You basically begin to change your mind about many deep rooted thoughts and ideas because, well, thats where your mind wanders to when you start thinking at such an alarming pace. Once you finally come down and get some sleep, you wake up, feeling as if you're a different person, just with the same memories. Your convictions change, your attitude changes, and suddenly you realize that guy you were before you ate that acid/mushroom was you, and now hes gone. This doesn't at all mean you will be a bad person or mental, or anything negative - albeit possible - its like... well its like aging real fast. If you pay attention right now you can see how much different you were just a few years back. You think differently now than back then. Act differently. Even walk differently. So right now I have three problems to think about during this super-trip.
1. I don't know how a corpse is going to come into play in my soon to come trip. 2. The entire atmosphere is going to be ineffective to the acid, leaving me to stick out as the only fidgety, wide eyed, emotionally passive pallbearer in the whole procession. And 3. If I do have a severe shift, who will I be when I wake up? I have a job and a wife. They will be the first to notice. It may be severe, and everyone I know will have to reassess their relationship with the new me. And I'll have to do the same with them. God I hope it doesn't happen, or at least if it does, I hope its not too destructive to the life I've built.

At 4pm I get dropped off in front of the funeral home. I can sense those first eery acid vibrations going through my skin. My stomach feels light, but my mind is still in control. I open one of the expensive looking double doors and am blasted with cold air and the heavy smell of perfume and cologne. It makes me a bit queasy, but not enough to bother me. Just inside the door stands a podium with a guest list atop it, open and covered with many signatures. I pick up a pen and sign my name.
When I put the pen down I sense a slight feeling of electricity on my back. It moves quickly across my shoulders, the back of my head and stops at my feet. As I turn there is a man standing behind me waiting to sign the list...he's staring at my feet. Oh my god, I can actually feel these peoples eyes. Every time a part of my body crosses into the center of someones field of vision I can feel it. It now hurts to look someone in the eyes, like a headache. Strange things can happen to a persons cognitive senses when on a hallucinogen. People have been known to communicate telepathically on LSD. I've done it. Perhaps this is why our military studied it so rigorously.
In the funeral chamber there are many people trading hugs and condolences and speaking in almost whispered tones as if not to disturb the corpses rest. "The lords passing" is being played on a small stereo, its non lyrical composition softly perpetuating the already morbid event. My mind begins to lose a little traction and I begin to worry if theres something I'm supposed to be doing right now that I can't make myself remember. I drop my head and begin to search my mind frantically, slowly building an oppressed feeling of panic. Then the most horrid sound pierces the calm air like a chain saw through flesh. Loud and uncontrollable bawling from the woman next to the open casket. At the same time that I look in the direction of the sound, I get a glimpse of grey folded hands and a forehead. The womans cries of sadness worked in unison with what I couldn't take my eyes off of. Goddamn what am I doing here? I should leave right fucking now. But no. My instinct tells me to console the lady because I know her as the bodies mother. I walk toward her and the coffin, but just as I get there, several people crowd her, offering their handkerchiefs and support.
There I am, left right next to this empty shell of a human being lying very still in the corner of my eye. I look before I can think. Oh my fucking god. There he is. Russell Ring. There was still a small, visible gap along his hairline where his skull-cap was removed in the autopsy. I heard someone mention how peaceful he looked. Shit, he looked mighty dead to me. There was no color except for the obvious make-up on his face. My skin began to feel clammy and my mind began to get some static. This acid was beginning to kick in and I would likely peak within the next hour. Hurry this god damned service up!

Two hours later and I have the attention of a few people sitting near me. My head was jerking left and right, looking wide eyed and worried as if there were snipers amongst the people out to kill me. Really I just couldn't steady my mind on anything and I was beginning to get the fear.
Just as I stood up to leave everyone else stood up at the same time. I froze. It felt as if I had lifted everyone out of their chairs with one simple motion. I stood paralyzed, thinking something was wrong. Then I heard "let us bow our heads in prayer."
I was blocked on either side by people standing with their heads bowed, and I wasn't about to try to stumble and climb around them and escape. So I waited, and the next words out of the pastors mouth were "Will the pallbearers please come to the front." NOOOO!! NOT NOW! This can't be happening right now. Random men step from the audience and go toward the casket, and I stumble and climb around everyone on my aisle, inadvertently going in the direction that had about fifteen people to squeeze past. The other direction had only three. I get in line just like the other guys on either side of the box and wrap my clammy hand around the polished brass carrying bar along its left side.
There were only four of us, one on each corner. As we got the pastors ok, the doors next to the casket opened and outside sat a black hearst, still running. We all picked up on a corner and walked forward in perfect synchronization...until my hand slipped. The back left corner dropped to the ground and out flew Russell, right into the floor face down. The skull-cap popped off and sort of rolled across the floor settling under a chair, making people scream and jump out of the way. The cold, jelly like brain bounced around a bit and stopped next to my foot, cerebrum side up. My own brain is now flaring with shapes and sounds and unexplainable terror. I instinctively tap the organ with the side of my shoe, sending it bouncing up against his mothers purse which was sitting at her feet. Then a moment of clarity hits me. Nows your chance. Everyone will think the accident being as it was, was just too much for you emotionally so you ran out the door and disappeared. And thats exactly what I did. Then I ended up wandering onto the interstate. I got clipped by a Saturn and landed on my back to be finished off by nine big tractor trailer tires. Now I'm dead too.


--------------------
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
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Registered: 05/22/07
Posts: 626
Loc: Pensacola, FL.
Last seen: 1 year, 8 months
Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7130956 - 07/05/07 03:00 AM (16 years, 8 months ago)

The Beast


The T-bird roared clean as I swept down I-65 at 120+. Exits flew by like blurs of brick and the Alabama state-troopers grey and blue Crown vics turned to into much less intimidating specks in my rear view mirror. Traffic was light for a respective 7 a.m. rush. I had no time for chat or coffee, much less any for handcuffs and rear seats. I shifted down at the sight of a school bus and made a safe 120 mph pass in the right lane. Maybe the children ducked in panic as my 428 screamed in their tiny square windows, I'll never know. No time to find out. Time was life and I had little to spare. I hit sixth gear again and once more the car pushed me into my seat as the front end lightened under the power of the eight lug rear end. The motor mounts shook the entire front seat like an angry gorilla, but I expertly held the wheel and passed everyone before me. Were they going in reverse? Could this car truly be doing 166 mph and steadily climbing? I could hear the wind tearing at the sharp edges of the Thunderbird's body. Not very aerodynamic, but the noise makes your everyday passerby pull over in awe and respect. Pounding asphalt and raging war on the senses, this beast cannot be stopped.


--------------------
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
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Registered: 05/22/07
Posts: 626
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Last seen: 1 year, 8 months
Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7130969 - 07/05/07 03:04 AM (16 years, 8 months ago)

I Digress


I can remember back when the world seemed like a promising place. Wasn't that long ago actually, somewhere between the ages of 6 and 16 in many peoples lives. We were so young and disillusioned about where our place in society would be. Scientist, astronaut, evil villain bent on dominating the universe. Whatever you planned was over before it started. They didn't tell us that lower class americans were here to carry the upper class on our shoulders. Classless society? HAH! I laugh at anyone who would consider that the modern norm for this great nation. We are nothing if not a society of strictly segregated classes. Now the world doesn't seem so promising.

* * *

When I pulled into the small gas station I saw no movement, except for the standard ambiance of things like windblown dust or birds in the distance. I hopped off the back of my near dead Harley. A machine for the man with the money to keep it running. Not me. I walked slowly to the wooden screen door, removing my gloves on the way. I pulled on the small metal loop, held loosely by two screws, that protruded from the door. It didn't open. I heard steps growing closer from within the building. SLAM! - the door flung open revealing a gap toothed, lazy eyed redneck. He looked strangely hungry as his good eye burned me in a scrutinizing sweep of my body. Obviously this creature had not seen such a shapely woman in many a year, but there I stood. Sexy, slim and big bosomed. My nipples protruded from the front of my leathers like pencil erasers atop half dollars. My crotch itched so I dug at it distastefully in the hopes he would be revolted. When I saw movement in his coveralls I knew I had made a wrong move. His grin grew from hairline to hairline. He grunted a sound and motioned for me to come in. I looked around nervously and then conceded. Fuck it, I've put nastier things in my cunt than this.

* * *

I can member seein' dat purty thang walk inta' my gas station. Dat bitch had da sweetest pussy on the soufeast. I was plowin' my little farm prick deep inta' her luv ditch so hard, she dittin' even hav ta move. She was cummin', I think.

* * *

April 17, 2005 - Man found dead at his trailer park home in Irvington, Alabama. According to many witnesses, the man walked into the middle of the park with an automatic MAC-10 Machine pistol taped to his head. When enough people had come to see what was going on, the man screamed something incomprehensible to them and pointed to a string tied to a pin that held a mechanism which kept the gun from firing. Then to everyones surprise, the man pulled the string and the gun began to fire. Thirty .45 calibre bullets ripped the mans head and face to shreds. No one else was injured. Neighbor Michael Simms, 25, of Grandbay describes the event.
"Well, that guy right there, the one with no head lying on the ground...That was Jared Lee. He was jerkin' and bouncin' all over the place. Mother fucker shot a hole straight through my T.V. Son-of-a-bitch deserved what he got. Am I on live television? FUCK YOU GEORGE W. FUCKING BUSH!! YOU SUCK DONKEY DI -" Thats all we have time for right now, join us when we come back with the weather.

* * *

When I die, I want to be buried naked in the bare earth, just like humans were meant to be. Isn't it sad that as much as we take from our earth, we refuse to return our empty, useless carcasses? I want to be the soil and feed for the plants and animals that gave so many of their lives for me.


--------------------
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
Posts: 626
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Last seen: 1 year, 8 months
Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7130984 - 07/05/07 03:08 AM (16 years, 8 months ago)

American Jew


I freeze in awed silence when the reality of our situation unfolds. As I sit here on my knees, arms bound behind me, I stare blankly at the three guys next to me. We're in a neat row. Nazi officers stand behind us speaking the language we never learned. Why should we, we were American citizens. We were never meant to even see a German if we didn't want to. But here we are, at their mercy. One officer cocks the unique action on his 7.62 Luger pistol and puts the barrel an inch from the base of professor Malcolm's head. I want to look away but - BAM! Oh my fucking god, he's dead! He's bleeding like a fucking faucet from that hole in his face! Jesus christ! Panic...fear...BAM! Scott Miller got his in the neck. He gyrated weirdly as blood spurted and gurgled from the nasty smoking wound. He's still alive - BAM! Now he isn't. The guy next to me. I don't know him, but his hair is blond and his eyes are blue. Now, anyone thinking the third Reich saw the mighty race as someone with these features is right, but these officers were not the third Reich, they were indeed Hitlers men, but at this moment, like many in their lives I'm sure, was for the pure lust of murder. The man began to weep and grovel at their - BAM! His head lay on the ground staring at me, his forehead open wide. His last breath was a sob that turned into a horrible sounding groan/whine. He jerked. I didn't know what to think or do. I was numb. I wasn't scared or mad or even slightly bothered. It felt as if my brain was destroyed before the bullet could even get inside - BAM! But that didn't stop it.


--------------------
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
Posts: 626
Loc: Pensacola, FL.
Last seen: 1 year, 8 months
Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7130992 - 07/05/07 03:09 AM (16 years, 8 months ago)

A specific kind of writers block

My imagination wobbled unsteadily as I sat in front of the keyboard. I couldn't find a foothold on anything interesting. The irritation grew as my girlfriend constantly called my name. I've smoked three cigarettes and half a bowl of resin. What in the hell does it take? Inspiration must come at a cost, one I would gladly pay if only I knew what the fuck it was. She's talking to me again. Goddamnit. I can't concentrate with her changing the volume of the television repeatedly like that. SHE WON"T SHUT UP!! ARRGGGHHHHH!!! If only I could get her to care a little bit about what I do. But she won't...she won't... ... ...ARRRGGGHHHHH!!!


--------------------
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
Posts: 626
Loc: Pensacola, FL.
Last seen: 1 year, 8 months
Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7131023 - 07/05/07 03:18 AM (16 years, 8 months ago)

My evolution


The early memories come sparingly. Usually stamped with some kind of strange emotion. I remember hiding on the far side of a bed, while my mother and sister sifted through a large cloth bag full of paper sewing patterns. I tried to whistle and snap my fingers, but not for attention, I just wanted to learn. I practiced. Even earlier, I remember peeking around the corner of that old, red house that my father built. I listened closely to hear for footsteps and where they were inside. I glanced around the other corner facing the back yard. No one was there. I walked gingerly through the grass, cooled by the shade of the west poised wall. There, I stood still and pushed until I felt the weight tug on the sides of my cloth diaper. A quiet grunt. I looked over and saw the doorway that had no door. There stood my great grandfather Wallace, walker in hand. I don’t know if he could tell what I was doing, but I could. The guilt made me flee across the yard to the sticker plant infested area right under the young oaks. My feet pained at the tiny red barbs. Those are my two earliest memories. Perhaps a good place to start would be somewhere I can remember best.
I sat in the hallway of St. Elmo elementary in a nice formal line with the rest of the children who rode on my bus. It was time to go home, but we had to wait until we were called out. Over to my right was a younger boy. Not much younger, a grade below me. Kindergarten. I got bored and began to act up a bit, walking on all fours and bucking like a horse, making mock horse noises. The boy laughed at me. That was intriguing, until then no one had laughed at me and my childish antics. I played the fool a little longer to get more reaction from him. He could hardly contain himself. I crawled over and sat next to him. He spoke.
“Do you like getting in trouble?”
“Sure do. I love it!” I looked around, making sure no safety patrol caught me out of my group. “What’s your name?” I asked. I was not used to talking to strange people. Not even in my class. They all seemed to ignore me there. I was happy with it like that though.
“I’m James”
“Do you ride my bus?”
“I don’t know. I think so”
“I’m in first grade. My name’s Mike” That friendship has lasted to this day. Its funny, that’s all I can accurately remember about those times. I recall spending all the following morning and afternoon bus rides next to James. I found myself just as entertained by him as he was with me. We laughed at each others behavior and ill informed dirty jokes. We fed off of each others spectatorship, acting out and misbehaving until just at the edge of the bus drivers nerves on a daily basis. We matured a bit as each year passed. We once started our own line of comic strips, working diligently each morning on them and exchanging them with eachother on the bus ride home. We both had our own characters, but that alone is a story.

My first year at Grandbay middle/high school was kind of scary. James wasn’t there. We had lockers and combinations and had to carry lots of books with us. For the entire first year I didn’t use the locker because I didn’t know how to operate a combination lock. I was in gym class one day, the middle of 7th grade. I sat on the bottom of the bleachers watching the more athletic kids play basketball. I hated gym because I was required to change clothes. I never played with the other kids, I couldn’t see why I was required to wear shorts. A few steps up on the bleachers there was a kind of round kid, curly hair with thick framed glasses. A misthrown basketball landed right between us, nearly plowing me in the face. The fat kid pulled his legs up fast as I ducked down low. He picked up the ball and tossed it back to the gym floor.
“Gotta’ watch out for the basketballs” He said, laughing a bit.
“Yeah. Almost hit me in the head.” He came down and sat next to me on the thickly painted yellow bleacher bench. I remember nothing more of that meeting, except that somewhere along the line I caught his name. Jeremy. A very nerdish boy, who shared a lot of my adolescent interests. Computers, military, British comedy and some sci-fi. Through him I met some other kids who didn’t meet the social norm required by the vast majority of students. Josh, Chris, Charles and a few others I can’t immediately recall the names of. It was some time before I discovered they were all part of a special class for slightly mentally challenged youth. Somehow I connected with them. I could tell they each had some small portion of mental disorder, but it wasn’t bad enough that they were kept from general school population. Besides their special class, they spent breakfast, lunch and gym amongst everyone else. Very quickly the stresses of fitting in with the rest of the school dwindled as I created a niche with these boys, and just as quickly I noticed the other kids were looking at me like I was strange for hanging out with the rejects. This stirred something in me. A sort of obligation to defend my new friends. I began to act rebellious against the ‘norms’, as I began to call them. I wasn’t normal, and didn’t want to be. Pride swelled up in my new designation and I became eccentric. I wore strange, homemade jewelry around my neck and procured an old military, olive drab trench coat. I tore the sleeves off leaving two uneven, ragged holes.
I spoke to no one outside my group, except in gibberish and growls. I began to scream random, often disturbing, things in the hallways between class changes. The more norms pulled away, often in fear, the more it fed my desire to be different and eccentric. Some teachers even avoided me completely. I was very involved with my weirdness. It was an art. I learned certain German phrases to shout at certain people. I studied philosophy deeply and my vocabulary grew vast and distinct. The rednecks would no longer even try to speak to me, because I would baffle them with some ancient riddle or ridicule them in a string of words they could never even hope to spell. I would perch like a gargoyle on the benches in the breeze way between the cafeteria and the office, mumbling to myself with my head held low, just to see the reactions of the norms who dared stray too close. That’s what it had developed into over time. A study of people and how they reacted to certain situations. A scream, or someone running wide eyed in the opposite direction, would make my day. ‘You’re a fucking freak’ they would say, regularly. A freak. Yes. After some time I designated myself with that title. A freak...the freak.
The disturbed kids I hung out with were always willing to join in my antics, emulating me and even creating their own freakish stunts. They grew into many, and not only special kids. Even healthy minded kids who just couldn’t fit the norm gravitated towards me. Nerds, geeks, losers. They all came. We had the lengths of two entire lunch tables occupied by ‘freaks’, with one empty table separating us from the norms. At my side was Jeremy, who was always glad to have a hand in anything we did, and Charles J. who was extraordinarily talented at creating clothing and items at home that would terrorize the norms and entertain the rest of us everyday. This was the beginning of a terribly strange life-style that would eventually shape me into who I am today. The Joekenorer.


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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
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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7131086 - 07/05/07 03:34 AM (16 years, 8 months ago)

I have more, but this is all I had on my computer. The rest are on paper. I'll transfer them here soon. Until then, release that pent up energy, use the written word. The human language is such a wonderfully complex tool. Lets fucking WRITE, goddamnit!


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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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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critique others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7153078 - 07/09/07 07:30 PM (16 years, 8 months ago)

Writing can be a wonderful vehicle for the soul/mind...you have a lot to say...I enjoy writing too...I've written short stories and one novel but it needs a lot of working over yet.

As you mature...so will your style....keep up the effort...it bears fruit like mushroom casings! lol

I like when you add in dialogue. It makes the characters more "real"
:smile:
MIC


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My inner child runs with scissors but plays nicely with others!

Sometimes the light's all shine'in on me,
Other times I can barely see.
Lately it occurs to me,
What a looong strange trip it's been! ~ Truck'in

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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7162545 - 07/11/07 07:11 PM (16 years, 8 months ago)

93
Providing homage to Ernest Hemingway, I give you my contribution under the guise of a mystery:

Baby found dead. Asphyxiated. Dildo nearby.

93 93/93


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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: lavod]
    #7273178 - 08/08/07 04:03 AM (16 years, 7 months ago)

Fire Trial


I was hypnotized by the flames as they licked the roof of the living room, charring and cracking the white coat of paint I had just applied two months before. The curtains seemed to move like living creatures, embers falling from their thin material onto the carpet. What was I going to do when it was my turn to be decimated by this building inferno? Would my screams be the crescendo to the roaring fire, or would I lose my nerve and dive out of a window at the last moment? I began to imagine the Tibetan monks again as they sat in the street burning alive those years ago. They were so calm. In such deep meditation that they did not move until they were burnt, lifeless husks. Could I really hope to attain that state of nirvana? I pushed the images out of my mind and began to silently chant my sacred mantra. I would not fail.


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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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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7273179 - 08/08/07 04:09 AM (16 years, 7 months ago)

My hangups


I have sat in the tall pines of humid, negative temperature North Alabama winters. I have worked the wide open coal-yards of one hundred plus degree South Alabama summers. I have stood before masses in paralyzing humiliation and failed an attempt at self-annihilation in the deepest hole of depression. I have cried into my own sweaty palms night after soul-wrenchingly stressful night. A person who has survived such misery and personal torture (and there are many who have) should have something enlightening to tell the world...but I don%u2019t. What could I possibly have brought from these experiences to share, except to say %u2018avoid them at all costs%u2019. I now have a wife and two children. Concern for their well being is all I can muster. Where is all the greatness people say erupts in you when you have such precious things to care for? Why am I not a great and wonderful person now? Why am I not inspired to do amazing things with my life? I am left to beg people for labor jobs that they won%u2019t even hire me to do. Today I felt tears well up in my eyes while my wife cursed me for not caring about the family and not wanting to work. How could she possibly think such? I fought those tears throughout the entire day. I wish I could open my mind like a book for everyone to read, to understand what I see and think. Maybe someone could tell me what%u2019s wrong with me. Maybe someone would edit my brain and correct all its errors and make it read smooth and effective. But alas, that%u2019s just a dream never to be realized. I am stuck with what I have. I am left alone in this shell to write the novel that is me, hurriedly scribbling away endless pages of thoughts and hopes and experiences that will inevitably mean nothing to anyone that they are intended for. Yet, despite my own setbacks and hang-ups I try. I keep trying and hope it all gets better, as I always have. When I see my two sons eat, laugh and smile I know there is nothing more or less that I can do. I often dream of wealth and comfort, but I know the real happiness is health and family. If I can enable that much, then I know I%u2019m doing to right thing. Greatness and money be damned, I just want my boys to grow up healthy and happy. I can at least be assured that no matter how sad or stressed they may get in their life, I%u2019ll be able to understand and support them. Goddamn it being me is such a horrid task, but for my family it is worth the struggle. I just have to keep trying. Damnit Mike, keep trying. 2/5/2007


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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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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7273190 - 08/08/07 04:25 AM (16 years, 7 months ago)

Thats just a couple i came across recently. I've been without internet for a few weeks, so I haven't had the chance to transfer much. Please, PLEASE submit some work. I want to read yours too. Reading is the key to writing, and I have much improvement to do.


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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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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7273198 - 08/08/07 04:27 AM (16 years, 7 months ago)

Oh, and lavod. I have no idea what the answer to your riddle is, and I gather that I'm doomed to never know. Sorry, friend.


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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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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7273235 - 08/08/07 05:05 AM (16 years, 7 months ago)

Quote:

joekenorer said:
American Jew


I freeze in awed silence when the reality of our situation unfolds. As I sit here on my knees, arms bound behind me, I stare blankly at the three guys next to me. We're in a neat row. Nazi officers stand behind us speaking the language we never learned. Why should we, we were American citizens. We were never meant to even see a German if we didn't want to. But here we are, at their mercy. One officer cocks the unique action on his 7.62 Luger pistol and puts the barrel an inch from the base of professor Malcolm's head. I want to look away but - BAM! Oh my fucking god, he's dead! He's bleeding like a fucking faucet from that hole in his face! Jesus christ! Panic...fear...BAM! Scott Miller got his in the neck. He gyrated weirdly as blood spurted and gurgled from the nasty smoking wound. He's still alive - BAM! Now he isn't. The guy next to me. I don't know him, but his hair is blond and his eyes are blue. Now, anyone thinking the third Reich saw the mighty race as someone with these features is right, but these officers were not the third Reich, they were indeed Hitlers men, but at this moment, like many in their lives I'm sure, was for the pure lust of murder. The man began to weep and grovel at their - BAM! His head lay on the ground staring at me, his forehead open wide. His last breath was a sob that turned into a horrible sounding groan/whine. He jerked. I didn't know what to think or do. I was numb. I wasn't scared or mad or even slightly bothered. It felt as if my brain was destroyed before the bullet could even get inside - BAM! But that didn't stop it.




i'll critique this one since it is representative of the others, yet short. i like your writing, but the style is a bit underdeveloped. most of the sentences in every story start the exact same way. either:
noun - verb, or
article - noun - verb.

for examples i will take the first few words from a couple of sentences:
I freeze
We're in
Nazi officers stand
We were
I want

it is the same way with all of your stories, though i chalk it up to starting. even though they all start that way, most of it is corrected by the end of each story.

there are also sentences i bet you dont care for, such as: "We were never meant to even see a German if we didn't want to"

let me offer an alternative:

"Nazi officers stand behind us speaking the language we never learned. Why should we, we were American citizens. We were never meant to even see a German if we didn't want to."

could be something like:

"Behind us, those Nazi bastards speak in a tongue my Philidelphia ears were never meant to understand."

just my 2 cents. i like your writing, though, and would like to see longer stories... maybe 10 - 20 pages.

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Offlinejoekenorer
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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: automan]
    #7273267 - 08/08/07 05:36 AM (16 years, 7 months ago)

Thanks a ton. I usually start my stories like that because I like the feeling of starting in the middle of something, even though it isn't really there. Maybe that stems from my dislike of opening paragraphs or attempts at familiarizing the reader with what happened up to that point. I'm certainly not knowledgeable with sentence structure or proper literary English in general, so my sentences tend to come out the same way I'm thinking them, with the hopes that the reader will pick up on that and take it in in that manner. I spell well and kinda' feel my way through a sentence. I believe I have developed an OK sense of proper word arrangement, but by no means will I ever pass a high school English exam. I also feel that my ill-educated methods are my personal writing characteristic. But then I'm not sure if its a good thing to stand on because a well educated reader will at times end up confused at my sentences, and thats not what I want. I'm torn between adding a disclaimer stating that my writing is meant to be the way it is, or just learning the right way to do it. I feel so much freer doing it the wrong way. I hate boundaries, and proper writing feels like just that.

Anyway, sorry about the rant. I've had all this writing stored up and noone to judge it but myself. Of course all my friends and family say its great, but they're biased. This is the first time I've actually shown my work to strangers and I'm fucking starving for opinions. Again, thanks.

P.S. You're absolutely right. I hate that sentence passionately, but I kept it in there to sort of represent my struggle as an aspiring writer. I have a keen sense of the intricacies and innuendo meanings in art, but fear my style will be misunderstood and doomed to failure.


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

Edited by joekenorer (08/08/07 05:47 AM)

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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7280239 - 08/10/07 01:59 AM (16 years, 7 months ago)

The Bringer




It was an ever so slight tingling in his lower back that brought William to his senses. What had happened? He tried to search his mind but it seemed to refuse. An upside-down world met his lazy, opening eyes. Cool air from outside blew into his face and brought with it clarity. He was on the phone when it happened.

"I love you too." William said into his phone. Never had he meant a word so much. They both were silent on the phone for a few moments.

"Goodbye" she said softly. He returned her farewell and hung up the phone. Siloutes of the pine trees zoomed past his rolled down window. Glancing to his left, he saw the full moon smiling down upon him. The words kept ringing in his ears. I love you. He pressed the pedal harder. His celebrating heart and the Rusty harvest moon was enough to distract him from what was waiting for him on the other side of the bend.


It was only a half a second but that was more than enough time to see what stood there on that lonely mountain road. It was the size of a small child standing upright. But that’s where the similarities end. Its eyes and head were far too large for a normal human being. The sight of it was not what shocked him most. It was rather a very short moment that took place before he swerved and crashed on the side of the road. For a very brief moment, they looked into each others eyes and a feeling of deja vu swept over him. As if somewhere in the depths of his mind, he was expecting this.


Going almost eighty, he turned his pickup hard to the left. Before it started rolling he saw one last glimpse at the harvest moon. Then darkness.


Yes, that is how it happened, he thought. The silent world was broken by something walking on the broken glass outside of his car. His slowing mind begged his head to turn and see what he was about to encounter but his beaten body simply remained numb. The footsteps came to a stop right outside his door. Fear gave an attempt at reconnecting his bodily control but failed. It was then the very small hand entered the car and his vision.


When the creatures hand finally met his forehead, he felt a burst of energy and life enter his mind.

“My good fellow, you may rest your eyes. I’m not here to cause any harm.” The voice rang in Williams head. No words were spoken. It seemed to form strait in his mind but the voice… Who’s voice was that? The voice was old, warm and very familiar. As if the creature sensed his quarry, it took a moment of silence.


William let his eyes rest and thought back to that voice. It hit him like a ton of bricks. Professor Wilshire! He had been Williams mentor in college and early life. Professor Wilshire was a rather large man who’s looks could be compared to that of Theodore Roosevelt's. (which was, in fact, the foundation of many jokes) The kind of person who made anyone around them feel like family. He was not just a teacher of school but a helping guide to living a loving life. It was then the next thought came flowing in. Professor Wilshire had died 4 years ago. (5 years ago in another month)


As if on cue with Williams thoughts, the professors voice began again. “Yes and No my dear boy.” he said with a chuckle. “Always were the problem solver, weren’t you?” The professor’s laugh brought a smile across Williams face but whether it could be seen, he was unsure. He then forced his eyes open to see the small creature crouched inside the car with him. It face was gray and it had large black eyes.


Watching William, the creature continued. “But I’m afraid I am not the true Professor. No, indeed I’m not. I’m but the voice of him to help me ease our communications. ” William closed his eyes and felt his heart beating against his chest. “You are the last sign we needed. On this very day, on this highway and at this time. With this comes a new age for your and my people.” William wanted to say this was a dream, but deep inside he knew it to be a false hope.

“Yes William, you are going to die. But do not fear for death is not what it seems. “ Coughing up blood, William felt a slightly different coldness falling on his body. Every frame of thought took longer to take in. Much longer. Where was the voice that came from the darkness?


“-But before you leave this body, you will see. See what this night means.” The creature took his hand away and pulled a rock from his packet. After holding it in its hand’s, the rock began to glow. The creature then took Williams hand and put the rock in it. “Go now, from this world and we will all see each other again. Go and see William.” The voice seemed to grow increasingly distant, as if he was leaving in a boat and people were yelling their last goodbyes from port. “Go and see!”



The stone began melting into his hand and he felt the warmth spread all over his body. It was like slipping into a hot bath and letting it sap all your energy. With it came a quick flash.



He saw the creatures evolving millions of years ago. The first intelligent life on earth. The brains intelligence level reached many times that of modern humans. After surviving existence with each other (The largest hurdle for any intelligent life) they developed extremely advanced technologies. With the coming of Neanderthals and Homo sapiens, all the creatures began a cloaking program to let the primates take their own course in evolution and see if they could survive themselves. They created vast cities in the atmosphere that were where undetectable. Then something went wrong.



They began having trouble reversing the cloaking effects. All the cloaking technologies were destroyed yet they still were stuck in a state of invisibility. It was beyond the understanding of those creatures alive. It was only in the last 100 years that these cloaking effects were fading. It was then found in the code of the ancient technology tablet that on December 12, 2012 on highway 68 in the black forest, the one to die from seeing a creature would undo all the cloaking devices. It would allow them to finally meet humans and begin a new age.

With the vision ending, he finally understood. He took a deep breath and saw her face in front of his. It was the last thing he would ever see again. It was her face looking back at him with an ever so slight grin that did better at helping him let go then a million words would have. He felt himself smiling and this time he was sure it could be seen on his face. With that he felt his chest relax and his mind slowly quite.

And with that William died, soon after the once invisible race revealed itself to the world. It would begin a time of peace. William would be known as Yhe Bringer of the New Age for many thousands of years. Life would blossom for eons in that part of the Milky Way. That is until the Yeeps arrived. But I’m afraid that is another tale.

The End


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Shroomery Composition Contest

Edited by Toddo (08/10/07 02:43 AM)

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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7280245 - 08/10/07 02:05 AM (16 years, 7 months ago)

please be kind. I spent this this evening thinking/writing this up. My grammar is also pretty bad. But anyhow, I was happy I finished it. Had to take a couple breaks to figure things out but it came together, somewhat, in the end.


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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]
    #7280378 - 08/10/07 04:47 AM (16 years, 7 months ago)

Aliens living hidden among us, striving to come face to face with their sentient creation.
A moment when one mans mind, in a mixed emotional state of love, fear, and death, becomes the catalyst of universal consciousness.
And finally a semi-tragic ending.

Bravo, friend. Your story portrayed itself well. There were spelling errors, but that is something that neither offends or distracts me. There were three or four awkward sentences, but I can tell you that the whole work read fluidly and concise nonetheless.

This fits well into my tastes. Please sir, write another.


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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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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7281019 - 08/10/07 11:01 AM (16 years, 7 months ago)

Greetings joe. Thanks for the words! I'm actually really happy to hear it made sense. I must confess I don't write a whole lot. I'm much more of a reader. Its only the last couple months that I've got back into writing. Its a rewarding and very personal art form.

I'll see if I can get another story written.


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Shroomery Composition Contest

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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: Toddo]
    #7281290 - 08/10/07 12:12 PM (16 years, 7 months ago)

It was in the autumn dawn, I recall, when I saw wholly the most terrifying event of my of my existence.

Near the backwoods of my 37 acre property in northern Minnesota I was hiking casually. I prefer fog to any other type of weather, and night to daylight; 4 a.m. offers a quiet dark environment, save the leaves having been crushed under my steel tipped Wolverines. It is a form of mediation, walking aimlessly. With a heavy white haze visible only by an ebbing crescent moon that periodically passes its light through the dense, tall pines, the land becomes unearthly, and I fall into a deep state of primal awareness. The imagination begins to wander in such mysterious ways: faces appear in dark niches of terrain, especially in the distant, nearly ghostlike trees. Alien sounds occur faintly and seldom, yet near enough to arouse adrenaline inspired reactions. I was lost.

The cabin was far south of me, I think. I had hiked randomly away from it nearly two hours before.
'Splash!...'
Looking down, I noticed a substance resembling something like oil. It smelled awful, rotten. Lifting my boot out of the murk, I noticed it was a small puddle which continued out to what I only saw as a lakelet, perhaps 10, 15 feet deep at its center. Considering the foulness of the stagnant pond, I decided not to pursue my interest in the new discovery, and looked for a way around.
'Splash!...' occurred a distance from me. Well away from me even. 'SPLASH..." much louder. The water at my boots rippled gently. My body froze suddenly, as if it were ready to flee or fight. I didn't want to say anything until I knew it was necessary to make loud noises. I just stood there, in this murk, in this void of black fog, silent and waiting. SPLASH!!.... the sound became a sloshing, like some kind of creature was struggling to get out of the water we were both in. The water rippled at my feet. I quickly thought, "Alligator", and out of sheer terror took several leaping steps back, out of the water and back on dry land.
"Fuck this, I'm going home, " I said under my breath, yet, I didn't move. I stood there, listening to the restless sloshing of that odorous pond. I was enthralled by the excitement. I had made it out of the water ok. Slowly I made way around the brim of the murky shore water. My hands rested from tree to tree, guiding my through what seemed to be an impossible hazy blackness. The tress completely blocked out what little light the moon had to offer me.

The sound came much sooner than I expected again, as I was behind a large tree. SPPPLASHHH. "ummmph..."

It was human! 'Holy shit', what the fuck is someone doing this deep in the woods at 4 in the morning, splashing around in a filthy, grotesque lake? I knew now not to say a word, there was no way I had mistaken the sound. It was a human moan. I was here, in the middle of nowhere with someone who is obviously insane, or severely injured. "Oh my God, the man is injured," I thought to myself. With a silent haste I forced myself around the perimeter of the tree and glanced at where the sound had emanated. Puzzled at first I noticed a silhouette of a man on his knees in the murk. He was hunched over something floating, oozing out into the water.
'Splash!....' the man dug his face into the mass before him. My eyes focused and I saw what looked to be a human head. Its flesh was torn from its one visible cheek, the lips torn off. The eyes reflected a trace of moonlight, before the head was lifted by a force pulling at its neck, and they disappeared under the water. The thing ripped a piece of flesh brutally from the neck of the corpse. Small streams of blood parted the water, distinctly, and unnaturally, like any foreign chemical. I caught a glimpse of the mans face as he consumed this other person. He lifted his head and faced it my direction. The moon appeared shining in his two eyes. He faced me and stared for a moment. I was motionless. 'He cannot see me here, no way in this dark.'
Suddenly his teeth grit, he made a quick motion in the murk, splashing water around. He suddenly began to crawl in my direction quickly.
"Fuck!" I said loud enough...
I ran with all the haste my body naturally allowed, hitting branches, trees. I ran head on through bushes, their sharp leaves tearing my skin shallowly. I felt faint, but I did not stop running.


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notapillow said: "you are going about this endeavor all wrong. clear your mind of useless fear and concern. buy the ticket, take the ride, and all that.... "

ChrisWho said: "It's all about the journey, not the destination."

Edited by mickdawg666 (08/10/07 12:27 PM)

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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7281456 - 08/10/07 01:04 PM (16 years, 7 months ago)

Gracias

One time, there was a hairy eight-legged creature. It was not a spider. Don't even think for a second that it was. Arachnothing. His name was Gracias.

On cold days, Gracias would not come out and sing with all the other creatures of the Earth. The rest of us sing because we know that death is cold, and we pray it to take us into its' arms. However, Gracias had big plans, and so the winter wonder only scared him. What if he never met the girl of his dreams? What if he died a failure? A lone, lost loser, he thought.

Well, one afternoon, a real spider came to Gracias and spooked him. Because of the shock, Gracias died. And he died a loser. Alone and dead, worried right into the grave. Had he spent less time thinking of himself, he may have heard what the spider was trying to tell him before he died:

'You can only lose if you're playing a game.'


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funky ass music: Planet of Dinosaurs // Rich Whiskey

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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: lukeboots]
    #7281461 - 08/10/07 01:05 PM (16 years, 7 months ago)

River Kids and the Old Beggar

--

Many years ago, when colors were brighter and I was still excited to see the tops of buildings, I was walking along the side of a stream with a friend of mine. The two of us had known each other for a few years, since we first went to school.

We had been travelling for a few miles (quite a stretch of land in our youth), when an old, old man called out to us from the other side of the water. Since it wasn't very deep, and the old man seemed to be in trouble, we wandered over to him and asked him what was wrong. We kept our distance, of course.

He began to explain that he was entirely too old to keep living, but that life wouldn't seem to let him go. He asked us for the time. It was six-thirty, we told him.

"Ohh, you two probably wouldn't understand.. but.. I could really use a watch.. if I can't see the time going by, how will I know when mine has expired?"

I thought that was a pretty good question. But I had no watch. My friend, on the other hand, had a junky old blue one that he didn't like very much anyway. So we gave it to the old man.

"Ohh, you two are so kind.. I remember my friends.. I remember when I could see all the leaves on that tree.. it's been a long, long time since I've held one of those sketches of nature in my hand." He said.

Being the kind children that we were, we offered to climb up the tree and nab him a few of the prettiest leaves we could see. And we did.

"Ohhh my goodness! Thank you, thank you, thank you, I've never seen such a beautiful leaf, have you?" He motioned to the rock next to him. "I know," he continued, "I know, it's great. Do you remember the first time you ever saw one of these?"

Now we weren't sure if he was talking to us or the rock.. but only two of the three characters this man was talking to could respond, so we did.

"No sir."

"You know what else I haven't seen in a long time? A nice, crisp five-dollar bill."

"Oh, we don't have anything like that," I said, "unless maybe we're sent to the grocery store for something."

Again, though, my friend did have just what the old man needed. He took out a five dollar bill, folded it, and handed it to the man. I was shocked; who could throw away that much potential gum and candy?

The old man was really happy.

But still, we had no idea what he planned to do in the wild with a watch, a leaf and a few dollars.

It turns out it didn't matter. The old man looked down at his new watch, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. My friend poked him with a branch. The old man had died right in his spot, with all his new belongings.

We took the watch, the money, the leaves, and went on our way. I don't know if you realize this, but our kindness killed that old man. I've been psychologically crippled since the day this happened. No one has ever again borrowed a watch from my friend.


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funky ass music: Planet of Dinosaurs // Rich Whiskey

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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: ManianFH]
    #7281773 - 08/10/07 03:15 PM (16 years, 7 months ago)

Very nice.  Horror is such an awesome genre.  It takes a special type of people to really truly hit through to the human brain, but when they do it can be far more frightening then any movie. 

As far as the story goes, it was cool.  Perhaps a little work on the actual revealing of the zombie.  I felt that you might have made it a little scarier if it was slowly revealed instead of just thrown at the poor guy in one short glimpse.  Highlight was the thing crawling towards the man.  Definitely creepy and sparks a nice visual.

Alright..  I think my next story I post is going to be a horror story.  And Mickdawg, post some more!  :smile:


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Shroomery Composition Contest

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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: Toddo]
    #7282465 - 08/10/07 06:39 PM (16 years, 7 months ago)

heh thanks... I just spit them out, that one happened to be a horror story :P. Ill be waiting for yours :grin:


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notapillow said: "you are going about this endeavor all wrong. clear your mind of useless fear and concern. buy the ticket, take the ride, and all that.... "

ChrisWho said: "It's all about the journey, not the destination."

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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: ManianFH]
    #7283599 - 08/11/07 02:02 AM (16 years, 7 months ago)

Jonnywax, you are well spoken. I felt a tinge of emotion at the old mans death. You actually had me fooled when he asked for money. He really was just checking off his list of things to do before dying. Very well done.

It settled then. Horror is the first topic. I'll say 3 days we'll change to a different one. I think it will do us all good to stick to a motif, because despite the talent here I sense the amateur in all our writing. Let us strive for perfection here in the short story thread.

Would it be possible to get a moderator to sticky this?


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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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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7283749 - 08/11/07 04:48 AM (16 years, 7 months ago)

Sticky sticky please ..  :bowdown:


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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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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7284929 - 08/11/07 04:02 PM (16 years, 7 months ago)

The Junior Druggist's Jaunce

Waiting was the hardest part. Or maybe it was the walking. Both were uncomfortable experiences, strolling down a cement paved path, feigning indifference, perhaps pretending to be interested in some trees or flowers, praying that one of the sideways peddlers advertised their wares to you.

"Granddaddy Purp, hit you so hard, get your granddaddy high"

"Bayside Blue, it's got the zoom to take you to the moon"

"Yaw, nigga, you need some 'erb? Grass of whatever type of green, purple even? Come on, nigga, I gotcha shit right here, you want some Saffron Safari?"

Weed was good for any other day, a rainy day drug, if you wanted his opinion. But today he was in a psychedelic mood, and thus far, no one had offered. In some nook of his mind, so small he was hardly aware of it, he was praying no one would offer him. He was fascinated and frightened by psychedelics, the most common ones here being, he figured, mushrooms or good old acid.

It was a good five minutes until the kid was offered some, and he was damn near the end of the park.

"You don't want weed?"

He turned to see the most awesomely stereotypical hippy he had ever laid eyes on, a great big messy beard of tangled black gray and white, sunglasses that weren't worth a damn on this particularly overcast day. and his head being topped off by a gaily decorated headband of all colors rainbow. He wasn't wearing any shirt to speak of, but he was outfitted with a mangy vest, probably a pleasant tan color one would witness when visiting one of the sandstone churches down south, but now so dulled and lifeless that not even the myriad of pins, praising fandom of The Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane, Jimi Hendrix, the grand dream of legalized marijuana, and other such drug and music related paraphernalia, could save it. The boy noted with distaste at a particularly large piece of fluff attempting to escape from the left shoulder. His jeans were much like his vest, a scarred ghost of navy blue, its spirit stolen and having been devolved into a ripped and torn shade of Down Blue.

"You've probably gotten offered some of the best green this park has to offer. What's your actually pleasure?"

The boy didn't speak.

"You can tell me, I've got it all, I'm like a walking convenient store. Not saying much, though, I merely exercise my talent for carrying the Main Three, weed, shrooms, and LSD."

Then he grinned.

"Which on of the latter two?"

A sigh of relief or resignation escaped his lips. He sat down near the hippy and made his selection. He preferred the naturality of shrooms to the synthesized wonders of acid.

"The name's Breeze. Let's shoot it"

They talked for a good ten minutes, about life, literature, drugs, food, and what home is while Breeze carefully measured out an eighth.

"Have fun, get to some hillside and don't trip."

He laughed.

Later that night, after waiting three hours after consumption, he felt nothing. So he pretended he did.

He concentrated very hard, awakening some sort of hidden dream and allowing all senses of touch, smell, taste, sight, and hearing to mingle, marry, divorce, and die.


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There is no valid reason you should be reading this

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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: Hyper_Panda_GO]
    #7287912 - 08/12/07 03:04 PM (16 years, 7 months ago)

Panda. That last sentence seemed like a concentrate of something that should have been a short paragraph. Was that your intention? Good work anyway, though.


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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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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7288005 - 08/12/07 03:35 PM (16 years, 7 months ago)

BUMP


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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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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7288714 - 08/12/07 07:54 PM (16 years, 7 months ago)

I entered the woods, full of browning trees and the smell of fall. It hadn’t rained since late October, and the little stream in the valley was choked by fallen leaves. I walked down to the small pond fed by a tiny spring in the side of the hill; it reminded me of the times I had played there, catching tadpoles and frogs with friends, playing hide and go seek in the woods, and our little woodland projects we worked on year by year to improve our own little place in the forest. I hadn’t seen this spot in years, a tree still held our mark, “Tadpole Pond.” Our work on expanding the pond had remained noticeable, and it was much deeper than it was the time I first saw it.

I am still not old enough to forget those times, but I have been through a lot, and so had this world. At the time I didn’t know what a computer was, television was barely a pastime, and I still found the outside to be as interesting and fun as anything. This trip, however, was not just a romp for leisure, it held a new meaning for me, I came to this place to replenish that happiness I once had, to forget about how structured and rigid my life had became. Although I still find joy in nature, hunting and fishing being among my favorite diversions, I truly miss those days of blissful ignorance, when responsibility was a myth and stress an apparition. I fear I cannot return to those days, but instead I must look on them with longing nostalgia, and never forget how simple and pleasant life can be here, in the woods.

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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: xFrockx]
    #7289124 - 08/12/07 09:35 PM (16 years, 7 months ago)

Don't forget to comment on everyone else's work when you submit you own. Take the time.


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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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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7289237 - 08/12/07 10:02 PM (16 years, 7 months ago)

Quote:

joekenorer said:
Don't forget to comment on everyone else's work when you submit you own. Take the time.




Or at least one other. I agree.


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Shroomery Composition Contest

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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: Toddo]
    #7289643 - 08/13/07 12:18 AM (16 years, 7 months ago)

Yeah, at least one.


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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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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7296108 - 08/15/07 12:00 AM (16 years, 7 months ago)


The Collector

(horror story)


Watching kids did have its benefits, Alan though as he typed into his instant messenger program. The glow of the computer screen was projected perfectly in his bright blue eyes. It was about 10pm.

Yeah, these kids were absolute menaces but he was being paid well for it. There were only two of them, thank god. (In which one had a certain fondness for licking) Both of them were 7 years old. Timothy was the ring leader of the two. He seemed to seed the idea of attacking Alan with an arsenal of plastic swords, sticks and anything else that would be easy to wield and cause a good amount of pain. Roby, who seemed to prove ADHD was in fact a real disorder, was missing a front tooth and always seemed to have red punch stains over his lips. He was also the licker.

Alan stopped typing to look at the welt on his arm. It had been from the 3rd and most violent attack that took place that night. He had just turned on the computer when he heard the charge. After attempting to play along with the first two attacks he was fed up. He got to his feet and demanded they stop. Timothy came to a halt but Roby kept a steady pace with his broken bamboo sword high in the air and a sugar induced manic smile. Alan gave one more shout and tried to take the stick away from him but the blow struck him right below the wrist. That was when he sent them to bed. Seven o clock, was it? Alan couldn’t help but smiling. You bastards having fun now?


He heard laughter down the hall and another voice shush. Alan turned around and looked over at the hallway. Are those fuckers still awake? Right as he was going to get up and investigate he heard the sound of a buddy logging on. It was Susan Logan.


Alan felt something stir deep in his stomach. Susan Logan was absolutely gorgeous. The last time Alan saw her, she was in the high school bathroom. Her smooth legs and perfect butt were accentuated by the skirt. Her breasts were small but beautifully shaped under that soft, blue cotton shirt. He remembered her pleas before he had the most explosive sex of his life. Without a second thought, he had sent the IM towards her screen name.


She wasn’t responding. Damn. He sighed and accepted. A girl like that must be assaulted by desperate IM’s every moment she’s logged on. Perhaps wait a moment and let her settle in. Yes, she must be checking her email and getting ready to respond back to those who had IM’ed her as she logged on. The sound of footsteps sounded right behind Alan.


Before Alan could turn around he felt some sort of cold metal bar push into his neck. He jerked around as fast as he could but nothing was behind him. He looked around the empty house and turned back to the screen. What in the fuck just happened?


An odd feeling came over him as he tried to recall the event that had just taken place. Every time he played it back in his mind, it became foggier. Did I really feel anything? Didn’t I hear something right when I turned around? Something loud and distant?


He stared at the keyboard. What was troubling him so much? He looked at the desk and thought he saw some red paint droplets on top of it. Before any further investigation, the sound of a received instant message jolted his eyes back to the screen. It wasn’t from anyone on his buddy list. After another glance over his shoulder, Alan opened the message.


"Hello Alan, I’m happy to have finally met you.” The message read.
Its screen name was Beolz. Alan read it twice over.

“uh, Hi. Who is this?” Alan asked. Beolz was quick to answer.

“I am the collector, Alan.”

“The What? What do you mean, The Collector?” Alan felt himself leaning closer to the bright screen as he typed his response.

“Alan, even you must know what a collector does. It gathers things up and brings them to their rightful places.“

“ok umm, I don’t know who you are but I need to go.” Alan typed already feeling a little weirded out about Beolz using his first name. He moved his mouse over to close the messenger program.


“I really wouldn’t do that Alan. See, if you try and close this box, I might have to frighten you more.” Alan felt his insides give a quick drop and his vision narrow to the screen. He didn’t respond but simply waited.


“Good. Now Alan, something quite funny has happened this evening. Those kid you where watching…” Alan shut the box and sighed off the messaging program. A deep spark of fear was ablaze in his body. Alan searched his mind about who could possibly be doing this to him. I bet you it was those fucking kids. Yeah, they found a laptop and somehow where fucking with him from another room. Alan felt the seed of anger and desperately clung onto it. Those fuckers are going to die!


But before Alan could do anything, the screen flashed. As it went black, Alan noticed for the first time that all the lights were off around him. It was pitch dark for a moment. Then it came on his screen.


The image was the single worst thing Alan had ever seen in his entire existence. It was some sort of ram like head eating into the face of another human. The image began moving. He could hear the desperate voice squealing and the greedy goat’s jaws gnawing into it. Alan face contorted as his whole being filled with terror. Blinding terror. The image turned off but his face stayed the same. The messenger program came back on.


“Alan, I’m sorry you had to see that but I was very hungry.” Alan’s face was still frozen in horror.


“I’m always hungry, Alan. I really did like you but that hurt my feelings when you so rudely shut the messenger box.”

“wa.. what in the fuck are you?” Alan’s trembling voice managed to get out, forgetting to type.


“Alan, I am the collector. I collect those who need collecting and help them on their way. But before they can be on their way, I eat them. I eat them all up. Every last bit. They are the dead Alan. ” A vile stench filled the room. Alan’s felt a new wave of terror fill him. The computer no longer displayed that message. It was coming from a raspy voice now behind him.

“Why are you here?” Alan asked in a voice he no longer recognized as his own. He dared not to look behind him.

“Alan, you died tonight and were on the list to be collected. It’s really quite that simple.” Said the raspy voice. It had a strange echo to it.

“Died..” Alan began to cry. “I didn’t-“

“Alan, I think we both know what happened. But perhaps you need to be reminded. You remember those kids you were watching? They thought it would be funny if they got daddy’s play gun and held you up. It really is too bad you turned around so fast. They blew your entire head off.”


Alan sickeningly looked at the red droplets all over the desk. Peering down, he saw pools of blood and flesh.


“Yes, It’s a pity you’re being collected. But that’s the price of rape Alan. In fact, I was sure to set up something special for Susan. She’s going to have front row seats for the feeding. She will see it in her dreams.” Beolz said with a voice of amusement.


Alan couldn’t believe any of this was happening. He didn’t believe it until the feeding began. Before he blacked out, he saw Beolz's goat snout burrow deep into his stomach. It's eyes were unfocused, like a shark’s. Beolz was completly silent as he consumed Alan fully.

After Alan was collected, he entered a new realm, one which cannot be contained in human words.

The End


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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]
    #7296269 - 08/15/07 12:43 AM (16 years, 7 months ago)

Toddo. I wasn't too keen on the whole demon in the monitor eats you ideal, maybe its me but a little lame-ish. The description of the kids was spot on, I've dealt with those exact types of annoying little fuckers too. There were a couple spelling errors, but it read solidly and progressed at an almost perfect rhythm.

I hope I don't offend, I'm trying to be more candid with my reviews. I believe criticism is fundamental to understanding ones own setbacks.

Well, I have failed to write anything for the horror set, and have just realized I'm quite late. I hate being the hypocrite so I'm going to force regurgitate something out right now. Keep 'em coming!


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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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OfflineToddo
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Re: Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE [Re: joekenorer]
    #7296330 - 08/15/07 01:05 AM (16 years, 7 months ago)

no no.. please don't ever worry about offending me.  Thanks for the honest feedback.  :smile:


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Shroomery Composition Contest

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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]
    #7296374 - 08/15/07 01:20 AM (16 years, 7 months ago)

Hah, I completely forgot I posted in this topic

While the last sentence could go as a paragraph, I felt a pity description of the drug use, after so much buildup of the boy's interest (or lack) in it, was appropriate

I'm glad you liked it, I thought the imagery was overdone


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Offlinejoekenorer
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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
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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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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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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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Invisiblemarvoman

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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

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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

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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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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

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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

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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

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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.


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

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InvisibleBridgeburner
Not spiritual at all.
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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: 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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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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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
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Registered: 05/28/06
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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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