Fun Stuff > CHATTER
Writtin' Thread
öde:
It was a strange town, the kind where you got stuck if you stayed too long with no money or ambition. During the day cars, bikes, and lorries would crawl along the baking tarmac, slowly covering everything in a fine dust that almost choked the life out of everyone, but not quite. Everything seems slow when the horizon stretches further than imagination in every direction, when the sun stops at its zenith to rain down crushing heat, when the only cloud in the sky is left fettered by the absence of wind. Every day gets longer.
Night, when it arrives, is a curfew for the quaint and the meek, an odd arrangement where the town is surrendered to barbarism. A new vigour fills the streets, now charged with humanity rather than petrol. The swell of people replaces the heat of day, a sweatier, smellier arrangement and the buzz and shouts of conversations and arguments are as disorienting as the rip and whine of engines. Eventually, as the lights spin and the sea of faces fade into one, the streets are empty and waiting for the dawn light to fill them up again. Every night gets longer.
jodizzle:
Oh Danosaur, that is rad.
Ok writing everyday etc etc. Even if it sucks I will still post them because then I am held accountable for writing everyday! Jimmy so so so badly wanted someone to write a story, so here I am caving to his demands. It is not very good! But STRUMPET.
She was staring at me again, looking at me like I didn’t belong. I certainly felt out of place, surrounded by kneeling figurines and crucified christs. I could feel the giant suffering Jesus that hung behind me staring accusingly at the back of my head. I think I was beginning to develop a headache from its gaze. I caught your eye and you reached out and took my hand, a gesture I appreciated. The sharp intake of breath I heard from your mother’s side of the room indicated she had also noticed. Fuck.
I contemplated pulling away, breaking the connection that seemed to disagree with her so, but I decided against it. We were grown adults, we hardly needed your mother’s permission to touch for god’s sake. Except we clearly did, or I wouldn’t be suffering this humiliating tea ceremony of awkward murmurs and bitter stares. I realized she was glaring at my chest in disapproval and I saw my top button had come undone. Heaven forbid.
I heard her mutter something under her breath and I just couldn’t take it anymore. “Pardon” I asked as politely as I could, “did you say something”. I heard you sigh with exasperation beside me as your mother sat up a little straighter, pursed her lips, and spat out one word. “Strumpet”.
Dead silence.
My lips twitched as I struggled to hold back my smile. I could feel your shoulders shaking as you tried to swallow your giggles. Well, at least being in your unappeasable mother’s presence hadn’t completely destroyed your sense of humour. Standing up I turned to the stern, seething woman who was gripping her crucifix necklace oh so tightly in her clenched fist. “Oh sweetie” I said, “Jesus won’t protect you from catching gay. You need some hardcore domestic cleaners to get that out”.
We left her to disinfect her house with prayer and supplication, and never mentioned we’d fucked in the bathroom.
ThePQ4:
Note: I'm not sure how I feel about this peice...part of me says it is crap, part of me says it just needs editing, and another part of me says it's pretty OK...
__
The room is stark and simple. A low hum emits over the entire building like a power-up. Voices and laughter drift around her, broken and distorted through swinging doors and thin walls. She has better things to do –aspires to more than this unprovocative slave labor. These mere fifteen minutes she gets away from the petty consumers are never enough, but she never over extends her freedom. The rewards are too precious. The wages are what keeps her coming back. The wages are what allows her that small bit of fun –the small bit of a semblance of that thing called a ‘life’, that she can find outside the walls of the gigantic supercenter.
Outside of the stark little room, shelves tower around her. Bright packaging and dollar signs call out loudly to her –appeal to her but she walks past them with a sigh, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to afford it. Not right now anyway. Not with all of her debt.
The sounds are different outside too. The voices are clear and concise now. The overheard TVs blather ads for products no one ever buys. It seems quiet near the ceiling. No radio, not over-head intercom. Near the floor it is a series of disembodied voices, precocious laughter, beeping, shrill alarms –noise, everywhere like a pollution.
She steps back to her boxed cage, leaning heavily against the hard metal. The light flip clicks over and the keys tap. Open for business again.
The consumer’s push through like cattle, but need no prodding. Whores for the colorful packaging and commercialism America is known to be suckered in for. After awhile, they all start to sound like the bovine they resemble, mooing and hawing over prices and mislabeled merchandise.
But she deals. It’ll be worth it in a couple of days, she thinks. Her bills will get paid, she’ll buy some new books. She’ll do something to set herself apart from the herd…well, maybe not this week, or even next week, but some day. Some day, she will be great and all of these faces will mean nothing to her. She’ll be able to quit this hum-drum cattle drive. She won’t need the corporation’s paycheck anymore. She’ll live better on someone else’s money. Someday.
Eventually, the shift ends. The door is quieter now, most of the people are finally gone home and are nestled in bed. That’s where she’s headed at least. To get a few quiet hours out of the barn before coming back to another day of Retail Hell.
Eris:
Challenge: Hair, Vigour, Barbarism
She stood atop the building, hair flowing wildly behind her as the wind teased it. She surveyed the city, looking for the next person to inflict literary barbarism on another; longing for that situation so that she could fulfil her civic duty with vigour, disposing of the offender before rushing off to keep the street safe once more.
She was Lit. Lady, protector of word geeks everywhere.
*grumble* stupid challenge
axerton:
Gabbly challenge: Memories, Dark, Blossom
Cherry Blossom
The memories come swirling back to me, I try to block them out, but they rise to the surface like bubbles of poisonous gas rising to the surface of a pool. The bright sunlit day juxtaposes my dark mood, why is it that some die, while I live on. Why of all people should it have been them? They had so much left to give, so much that the world needed to be given. But what do I have? Nothing but these sour memories and tears. So many tears. I wonder to myself, is this how it will always be? Will I ever be able to so much as look at cherry blossom again without being forced to think these things?
Edit: and another quick one while I'm in the mood to write.
Challenge: Juggle, Skip, Tea.
That was it, she had had enough. She was serious this time. She was going to run away to join the circus. At the circus would people like her, at the circus they wouldn’t make her clean her room, at the circus no one ate their vegetables. And she would learn all sorts of wonderful things like how to do card tricks and juggle and breathe fire. She could already skip by herself, and she barely ever fell and grazed her knees, with talent like that they would surely love to teach her. Yes the circus was the only place for her, and she could not wait to get there and meet all her new friends. But … but she was very hungry. Maybe she’d runaway and join the circus after tea.
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