Page 3 of 36
#81
Quote by gabcd86
Jesus.

I'm lucky if I write that in a month. I probably used to, but I would be surprised if I had written that much all year. ****in' writer's block.

Do you write full-time, at least?


I get paid for about five thousand of them. In order to keep things interesting, I have to completely dedicate myself to both the art and discipline.

I get writer's block. I write something else until it passes.
#82
There is a constant ringing in my ears.

I walk into the first day of my last year of high school ready for it to end. My classes are a joke. My classmates are half retarded, burn outs and losers. My friends graduated last year, making sports unenjoyable. And lets not mention the girls that are left. Now this doesn’t mean I’m a terrible person, it just means your ready to move on. Yes I have friends and I’lll make a feeble attempt of enjoying this year and “going out with a bang” but this is merely my meager out look. I walk through the doors of the school prepared to keep to myself, my own agenda, to roll with the traffic.
The road that is your hallway is stuck full of rush-hour traffic, preparing to go to class. Keeping pace with the traffic I continue on, saying a casual high to a fellow driver who I haven’t brushed shoulders with in a while. A polite honk of the horn.
Now the funny thing about automobile accidents is that you have a better chance of taking part in one than winning the lottery , or being struck by a bolt of electricity traveling at 60,000 meters per second and as hot as 30,000 degrees C. But the feeling is the same, increased heart rate, adrenaline pumping through your veins, time slowing down. That’s assuming you survive.
Now imagine those same feelings in a near miss. Maybe you hydroplane and narrowly miss the wall of the interstate, perhaps an oncoming car doesn’t notice you as he or she passes another vehicle. Regardless of what type of automobile accident does or doesn’t occur, you are totally unaware of it impending existence and its plan with you involved.
The scene of me walking down that hallway in school ready for it to be done, counting the minutes, avoiding the people I have spent the past 12 years with, me in my own bubble, comes crashing to a sudden halt.
I feel the rush come into me, pulse through my body. My breathing escalates along with the rhythmic beating of my ventricles. I pull over, rubber necking to see the once oncoming vehicle speeding by with a smile that gives you a shuddering feeling. As I stand there on the shoulder of lockers, “who in the hell is she?”

It gets louder when I close my eyes.

This is my project book im working on and mentioned earlier. This is the first page of about 5 I have so far. Im adding stuff whenever i can think of it.
Its kinda like a coping mechanism for me so its got a very personal side to it.
Gibson RawPower SG 2009 (Zales)
Gibson Hummingbird 70's? (Amy)
Jet City JCA 20 Watt Combo
Dunlop Crybaby wah
MXR 10 Band EQ
Ibanez TS-9
#83
Quote by PeZ546
Ok, let's get some discussion going or something....

Has anyone ever attempted Automatic Writing? (Also known as Free Writing or Surrealist Automatism) For those of you who don't know, It's when you write whatever comes into your head without looking at what you're doing.

I tried to write a play using it once, but it turned out fucking weird so I binned it.
I just tried it. Turned out decent. I had fun with it, at least.
*-)
Quote by Bob_Sacamano
i kinda wish we all had a penis and vagina instead of buttholes

i mean no offense to buttholes and poop or anything

Rest in Peace, Troy Davis and Trayvon Martin and Jordan Davis and Eric Garner and Mike Brown
#84
sounds kinda fun ^
Gibson RawPower SG 2009 (Zales)
Gibson Hummingbird 70's? (Amy)
Jet City JCA 20 Watt Combo
Dunlop Crybaby wah
MXR 10 Band EQ
Ibanez TS-9
#85
Quote by IXIchiodoIXI
sounds kinda fun ^
It is. After two sentences I started abusing alliteration, and I kept it up for the entire piece (about 250 words). So I'm not sure if it's good (probably the opposite). Plus it's completely different than my normal writing style, and experimenting with something completely different was fun.
*-)
Quote by Bob_Sacamano
i kinda wish we all had a penis and vagina instead of buttholes

i mean no offense to buttholes and poop or anything

Rest in Peace, Troy Davis and Trayvon Martin and Jordan Davis and Eric Garner and Mike Brown
#86
Quote by element4433
It is. After two sentences I started abusing alliteration, and I kept it up for the entire piece (about 250 words). So I'm not sure if it's good (probably the opposite). Plus it's completely different than my normal writing style, and experimenting with something completely different was fun.

post it!
it only has to be good to you if your writing just to write, if your writing for publication then you may want to worry about what others may like.
im going to have to try it out when i run out of ammo for my book
Gibson RawPower SG 2009 (Zales)
Gibson Hummingbird 70's? (Amy)
Jet City JCA 20 Watt Combo
Dunlop Crybaby wah
MXR 10 Band EQ
Ibanez TS-9
#87
Not sure if it's allowed, but please check out my blog! Link in sig
Quote by TheChaz
I ran over two squirrels at once one time. They were chasing after each other in the street, and I swerved to avoid them, but ended up with one under each tire. Still my greatest driving accomplishment to date.

Quote by WantsLesPaul
Hitler could have been aborted
#88
Quote by IXIchiodoIXI
post it!
it only has to be good to you if your writing just to write, if your writing for publication then you may want to worry about what others may like.
im going to have to try it out when i run out of ammo for my book
Fine, you convinced me.

Paint peeled walls. Exposed drywall. Ceramic shower tiles. Pacing around, all around. The thud of my feet drives all my neighbors crazy. But I keep stomping. I keep making laps around the living room. Brutalized, battered bakery. Blood bruised backs of beasts. Broken barn door. Baby be back. Betrayed, I walk through the door. Betrayed, I walk down the hallway, get in the elevator, press lobby. Betrayed. Before she brings the bad news, she breaks down the barriers. Bring me down she said. You bring me down. You bring everybody down. So, betrayed, I walk into the lobby, get in the elevator, press eleven. Betrayed, I walk back to my room. Bugs buzz busily. Big bacon burger. Big black bag. Blankly, I take a bite. I take another. Big bite. I’m done. I sleep. Beautiful, bountiful sleep. Bounce around, brown noun. Boogey down, bitter sound. Morning. Sun pours in. Pours like puddles into my poorly lit room. Pop out of bed. Footsteps pound on my floor. Drives my neighbors crazy. Rich man; poor man. Pooped, I plop down in the porcelain tub. Pull the knob. Warm water winds its way round the wrinkles of my weathered skin. Bubbles bubble from the bottom up. Pitiful. Just pitiful. Plenty of time to think. Too much time to think about us two. Doze off. Drift to sleep.

Drop below water.
Drink.
Die.
*-)
Quote by Bob_Sacamano
i kinda wish we all had a penis and vagina instead of buttholes

i mean no offense to buttholes and poop or anything

Rest in Peace, Troy Davis and Trayvon Martin and Jordan Davis and Eric Garner and Mike Brown
#89
i really like that! that is seriously really cool! you really get the sense and atmosphere with the continued use of "betrayed"

To Axeaman, i'll check it out later tonight when i get back from work
Gibson RawPower SG 2009 (Zales)
Gibson Hummingbird 70's? (Amy)
Jet City JCA 20 Watt Combo
Dunlop Crybaby wah
MXR 10 Band EQ
Ibanez TS-9
#90
Quote by IXIchiodoIXI
i really like that! that is seriously really cool! you really get the sense and atmosphere with the continued use of "betrayed"

To Axeaman, i'll check it out later tonight when i get back from work
Thanks d00d
*-)
Quote by Bob_Sacamano
i kinda wish we all had a penis and vagina instead of buttholes

i mean no offense to buttholes and poop or anything

Rest in Peace, Troy Davis and Trayvon Martin and Jordan Davis and Eric Garner and Mike Brown
#91
Oh hai.

Tip: please watch and limit your adverbs
Quote by Ian_the_fox
You're not girly enough of a boy for me, and you're not man enough to take the top. So like, sorry bitch but you ain't mine! Sorry.
#92
Here is something i wrote a couple of weeks ago, its just a silly note i wrote on facebook, but i think it might fit in here. Everything i wrote in this is true.

I was no older than 14 when i was doing work experience; i remember this because it was a few months before the 7/7 bombings, which is the day of my 15th birthday, and i was glad that my work experience was not around that time and that i didn't need to use trains to get anywhere around that time.

At the time i read alot of music, guitar and video game magazines, and was quite interested in journalism, so i would have liked to have worked in a magazine office, and, in a bit of luck, my placement was in the office of a magazine company in London, which i was pleased with, but of course, the law of the universe states that nothing is ever allowed to make me actually happy otherwise gravity will reverse and everyone will fly away like those silly balloons, so when i read the letter further, it said that i was working in sugar magazine, which is basically like hello magazine for teenage girls. I really hope i get paid for the amount of times i said magazine in this paragraph.

Naturally i felt a bit out of place working there, one of the reasons was that i was one of the only men in the office, now, while i don't have a problem with women at all, there were a few issues with this-

1: Every one of them was about 10 years older than me at least, and while i am not claiming that if i was older i would have been like the Charlton Heston of this office, bedding each employee for every day of the two weeks i was placed there, at the age i was at, it would have been a bit weird if i attempted to carry out such an act, and would be law suit material if i succeeded in doing so.

2: There was one other man in the office, but he was so camp that i couldn't tell if he had always been like that or if he had just been assimilated into the way of the office, so i couldn't really discuss fast cars and hand grenades or other things men enjoyed talking about, but i did manage to hear the odd cliched camp man phrase intermittently bellowed out.

3: Every single day, the woman sitting at the desk next to me spoke on the phone all day to what must have been the most interesting person in the world, and used a strange dialect that was incredibly middle class, but included at least 3 swear words per sentence, which started to grate after about 3 hours.

My work wasn't particularly exciting, it involved mostly sorting through letters that were sent from readers into the magazine, which wasn't all bad, seeing as for every 10 letters that i sorted through, i probably read 4 of them, as i was very bored and found them rather funny, and even though some of them were probably confidential, what the senders don't know, wouldn't hurt them, right?

One day, i was finally asked to do something that interested me, which was writing part of a scoop for the music column, so i was basically given a list of bands and artists, and was asked to look up stuff about them. When the woman explained this to me, she said they had new albums out, and to find stuff out about it, so i assumed she meant find out what the general opinion of it was, so that is what i did, but it turns out that what i actually had to do was literally copy and paste information from other music websites, and so unsurprisingly, what i wrote was not used, and i was sent down to the post room.

This wasn't really a punishment as it was quite a relief to be with people who spoke about things other than how fit Mcfly are every second of the day, and instead i was still sorting through mail, but i was basically like an internal postman, delivering mail all across the offices.

In doing my tour of the offices, i noticed that each one had its own distinct feel, the IT department was dark, and one man looked exactly like Morpheus from The Matrix, which baffled me as it was coming up to summer and he was wearing a leather trench coat, so he must have been incredibly warm. The upper floors of the building were what i assumed to be a financial section, as the foyer had a rather unnecessary amount of blue neon lighting, and the people that worked there looked like they should have been in adverts involving them driving through a country road in a convertible, while bad 80s music blared out from nowhere.

On my last few days of a job, it took a turn for the completely unexpected when a few of us went to the building next door which was a shut down house of Frasier, and we were basically looting the place of just about anything we were allowed to, which was quite fun, although when i wandered off to explore, i got myself locked in a loading bay, and after trying the door, and running out of ideas (i had no phone at the time and there was no one around), i considered picking up a broken metal bar and smashing the window of the door open with it so that i could reach through and open it, but luckily i took one last attempt at the handle on my side and it opened.

One day they also said i can sort through the CDs as well, and any one that i wanted i could take home with me, but they were all a bit crap, so i left them. One of the few things i did get out of it, was hearing the greatest phrase for taking a dump i have ever heard, and that was "giving birth to a coil". Brilliant.
WHOMP

Think of that next time you are not allowed to laugh.
#93
Quote by C. Limon
"Yes, they were imaginary, as everyone become so eager to point out, but they seemed real enough to me."

Found in the first paragraph. I may be mistaken but shouldn't it be "had become" or "became," seeing how he uses "became" throughout the rest of the story and since the story is written as if the narrator were reflecting.


Damn, how'd I miss that one?


Quote by element4433


*Automatic Writing*



That was awesome!
#94
Quote by fail
Oh hai.

Tip: please watch and limit your adverbs

who??
Gibson RawPower SG 2009 (Zales)
Gibson Hummingbird 70's? (Amy)
Jet City JCA 20 Watt Combo
Dunlop Crybaby wah
MXR 10 Band EQ
Ibanez TS-9
#95
Quote by IXIchiodoIXI
who??


Just general advice for everyone
Be wise with your wording so you don't have to be all like "She was deeply in love with his charmingly friendly eyes which were shockingly incredibly blue." Okay yeah, that was pretty bad anyway, but I think you all get the gist. Too many adverbs is a huge pet peeve of mine. So are cliches and writing that doesn't fit the feel of the story. For example, dramatic/poetic wording for something simple or lighthearted.
Quote by Ian_the_fox
You're not girly enough of a boy for me, and you're not man enough to take the top. So like, sorry bitch but you ain't mine! Sorry.
#96
Your legs are feeling heavy, almost like they're sinking through the bed. That lamp is still broken, the desk is filled with old paper. Old, black jeans are laying on the floor. Outside, the sun is going down, the birds are slowly disappearing. Out there, it's calm. In here, it's chaos.
Quote by TheChaz
I ran over two squirrels at once one time. They were chasing after each other in the street, and I swerved to avoid them, but ended up with one under each tire. Still my greatest driving accomplishment to date.

Quote by WantsLesPaul
Hitler could have been aborted
#97
Haven't finished anything in a while. Mainly because I've been devoting most of my creative energy to music. I figure it's only fair, since up until a little while ago I'd been devoting pretty much all of my creative energy to writing for the past year or so.
#98
Quote by fail
Just general advice for everyone
Be wise with your wording so you don't have to be all like "She was deeply in love with his charmingly friendly eyes which were shockingly incredibly blue." Okay yeah, that was pretty bad anyway, but I think you all get the gist. Too many adverbs is a huge pet peeve of mine. So are cliches and writing that doesn't fit the feel of the story. For example, dramatic/poetic wording for something simple or lighthearted.


ahh ok. i gotcha, now that you mention it i see what you mean.
Gibson RawPower SG 2009 (Zales)
Gibson Hummingbird 70's? (Amy)
Jet City JCA 20 Watt Combo
Dunlop Crybaby wah
MXR 10 Band EQ
Ibanez TS-9
#99
Let's get some motherfucking theatre up in this beehatch:


ROB: See? This is what I mean. This is the kind if games the girls have got us playing. Why couldn’t we just settle this like men?

(He starts to laugh. Turns away.)

TOM: (Approaches him.)

Ok, look, that /was

ROB: (Swings round and punches TOM in the face.)

TOM: (Collapses. Checks his lip for blood. Long pause as they stare at each other.)

ROB: Oh. Turns out we can.

TOM: (Shakes his head slowly. Smiles.)

I think I’d rather settle this like a boss.

ROB: Yeah?

TOM: Yeah. You’re fired. Clear out your desk.

ROB: Fuck you.

TOM: Do it! This is the eight hours a day where you do as you’re told. You want me to refer to HR? You want to appeal?

ROB: Can’t I just smack you again? Harder this time.

TOM: (Gets up.)

That must have felt good.

ROB: I’m still pretty buzzing about it.

TOM: Great. I’m pleased for you. Hell, you can use your jobseekers allowance to buy fucking boxing gloves.


That's an extract from my longest play to date, I'm looking at putting it on sometime in the next year.
Quote by ozzyismetal
Neopowell, that's because you are a pumped-up sex offender.
Quote by Kensai
You're exactly the kind of person who'd have sex in a bar drunk
Quote by Zero-Hartman
You're a terrible, terrible man. This is a new middle for you.

I write things. You can read them.Essay on UK student riots
#100
thats pretty cool. I enjoyed the dialougue and could put a image in my mind.

Im going to give that automatic writing a shot. im typing it straight into this text box.

go!

today is tuesday, my eyes are twitching. i have been up since sunday. Doing what i have no idea. maybe staring at a tv, while its off. or possibly watching the same reruns over and over until they run together and blur into their own deviations. the reality of the show flowing into news plot lines and stories. Creating stories from stories. what came first the chicken or the egg. what about at the same time, from a bang that was quite big. who knows, we'll find out when we die. its wednesday and my hallucinations are becoming quite exciting. Entertained at the notion of not knowing if what i see is real or not. I think i'll get rid of my bed. I dont want to sleep again

whoa. that gets kinda crazy!! im going to do more of these
Gibson RawPower SG 2009 (Zales)
Gibson Hummingbird 70's? (Amy)
Jet City JCA 20 Watt Combo
Dunlop Crybaby wah
MXR 10 Band EQ
Ibanez TS-9
#101
Okay, so I just bashed out some automatic writing. No punctuation, 'cause that's how I roll.


There are sights and there are sounds we are all just waking dreamers there is no end to any of our starts there is no tomorrow as there is no yesterday as there will be as the will not be what will what wont be will any of it matter to anyone in the end or is it all just an illusion before we bring ourselves yawning into another truth another reality another of these things we call life another chance to do things right or wrong or maybe just plain mediocre or maybe there is no such thing as right or wrong or any such thing as a black or white or even such thing as a grey area we are all just waking dreamers emerging from slumber we have nothing to show for ourselves and perhaps we don't even need to have anything perhaps there is no need for anything at all perhaps there never was any need or ever will be perhaps we are just content to exist and exist and simply be without being or see without seeing or hear without hearing or say without saying or perhaps we are never content with anything perhaps we are all just waking dreamers emerging from the dark and running headfirst to the light.
#102
I just had an idea for a short writing contest. Everyone gets the same basic premise, characters, and setting and then has to write a short story. It would be interesting to see how everyone used those same elements to write their stories which would still likely end up very different. Anyone interested in something like that?
#103
Quote by jfreyvogel
I just had an idea for a short writing contest. Everyone gets the same basic premise, characters, and setting and then has to write a short story. It would be interesting to see how everyone used those same elements to write their stories which would still likely end up very different. Anyone interested in something like that?


im down to fuu... I mean write.

and to the automatic writing^^
at first i was a bit confused with that opener but it explained itself once you kept reading. Interesting stuff comes out of these automatic writings
Gibson RawPower SG 2009 (Zales)
Gibson Hummingbird 70's? (Amy)
Jet City JCA 20 Watt Combo
Dunlop Crybaby wah
MXR 10 Band EQ
Ibanez TS-9
#104
lets keep this thread alive ya know. i'll post a piece from my book.

There is always a series of events. Always one thing to the next, no matter what you think there is something that follows the previous something. A cause and effect type of series. You spot the deer, causing your kind hearted PETA supporting, tree hugging self to swerve off of the road. This leads to your eyes widening. This leads to your 55 miles per hour vehicle meeting a heart wood oak tree very personally. One thing leads to another. Love leads to pain.
Gibson RawPower SG 2009 (Zales)
Gibson Hummingbird 70's? (Amy)
Jet City JCA 20 Watt Combo
Dunlop Crybaby wah
MXR 10 Band EQ
Ibanez TS-9
#105
I like it. It's short, but leaves a lot of questions and is pretty much gramatically faultless.

I'll post from my newest project, which is a kind of Douglas Adams inspired, humorous, illogical and dark take on the world ending. I won't post the full thing here or on Deviant Art till it's finished, but once it is the link will be in my signature.

This part is right after the epilogue, and is just the introduction to the character happens before any apocalyptic events.

Quote by As of yet unnamed project.
Pandora was not happy.

She was cold, miserable and generally unappreciative of life. She knew, deep down that she should be somewhere warm, somewhere dry, somewhere that she would be able to take a step without her foot sticking to discarded chewing gum. She wished she was at home, or down the club or in bed. Ah yes, bed, that'd be nice, with a mug of hot chocolate, watching that copy of Kick-Ass that she had borrowed from Chloe weeks ago and never watched. Instead, however, she was in a football stadium, in the rather unimpressive city of Reading, and she was not happy. She pulled her foot off the gum and inspected the thin strands that laced her to the stadium with a disgust. Dully she surveyed the group of pathetic millionaires in front of her as they bullied a small mottled ball around some fake grass before returning her eyes to the gum on her foot, which seemed far more interesting. She looked up again in time to see one of the player kick the ball the length of the pitch, and briefly wondered what the ball had done to deserve such treatment. Her brain however was more concerned with desperately trying to convince itself that her boyfriend was worth sitting through the next 67 minutes for. Sadly, the part of her cortex which disliked her boyfriend's over-enthusiastic love of the sport, and the manner in which he was currently eating the overpriced hot dog he had purchased from that seedy fast food vendor who had referred to her as cupcake, was winning. Neurons fired signals rapidly to each other, the impulses meeting together for a brief spot of afternoon tea with which to discuss the matters for which they were created, and ultimately reporting back to their seniors with little to offer other than how she may have been better off picking that charming, intelligent boy she had met at that little acoustic session in the little café she worked in. She briefly considered simply leaving the stadium and her all-but-apathetic boyfriend behind, just going home and forgetting the whole affair, and soon found herself laying in bed staring up at the cracks in the ceiling.


Sorry for it being really long, no part of it made sense without the rest. I'll try to find a different part to quote later which makes sense on it's own. Sadly this is all I have on the computer, the rest is hand-written and I left it round my cousins so I'll have to run over and get it later.
...Stapling helium to penguins since 1949.
#106
Inspired by the 'true love' thread, here's a challenge for the writers out there.

The most artistic definition of love submitted before midnight (GMT) on July 16th wins.
#107
Quote by Todd Hart
I like it. It's short, but leaves a lot of questions and is pretty much gramatically faultless.

I'll post from my newest project, which is a kind of Douglas Adams inspired, humorous, illogical and dark take on the world ending. I won't post the full thing here or on Deviant Art till it's finished, but once it is the link will be in my signature.

This part is right after the epilogue, and is just the introduction to the character happens before any apocalyptic events.


Sorry for it being really long, no part of it made sense without the rest. I'll try to find a different part to quote later which makes sense on it's own. Sadly this is all I have on the computer, the rest is hand-written and I left it round my cousins so I'll have to run over and get it later.


Thanks, it was just a piece i pulled from my story im writing. Very vonnegut like imo.

As for your piece i love it. Your very descriptive and i felt like i was reading it straight from a book! Awesome man.

To Colohue- I'll have to look into that. Just had my own spell of love start to sort of finishing. may have to give it a try
EDIT: where/who do we submit to?
Gibson RawPower SG 2009 (Zales)
Gibson Hummingbird 70's? (Amy)
Jet City JCA 20 Watt Combo
Dunlop Crybaby wah
MXR 10 Band EQ
Ibanez TS-9
Last edited by IXIchiodoIXI at Jul 13, 2010,
#108
Quote by Colohue
Inspired by the 'true love' thread, here's a challenge for the writers out there.

The most artistic definition of love submitted before midnight (GMT) on July 16th wins.

Do we post that here?

Here's the first "chapter" (more like part) of a new story that I'm working on. Please critique.

Providence
I: Wake

This shouldn’t be happening.

But it was.

Why now? Why so late, and why him?

It was four o’clock in the morning and the phone was ringing. The agonizingly loud sound that the phone emitted anytime a caller triggered it pierced and ringed through his ears like a voice that consumes the thoughts of a schizophrenic.

Maybe he was a schizophrenic. Maybe there was no phone. Hadn’t he just recently sold his only phone for money that would go to a savings fund necessary to salvage some form of closure with his current financial rut?

It was four o’clock in the morning and the phone was ringing.

Peter arose out of his bare mattress on the floor to answer the call. Had some fowl apparition cursed him? On the one night that he was finally able to power down his systems, this infernal machine and whoever was waiting on the other end of it had robbed him of his tiny sliver of luck. Peter had not slept in days, and his day to day behavior had made it blatantly obvious. The night before Peter had taken sleeping pills prescribed to him by his doctor. Pity, Peter thought, that narcotics would come to be the only relief from his insomnia.

Something wasn’t right about this. Over the course of the last few years of Peter’s life he had estranged himself from both friends and family members, distancing himself from his loved ones until the Peter whom was once known as the forward-thinker, hard worker, innovator of the family had become but a shell of his former self. Being the true definition of a solitary man, Peter couldn’t fathom why anybody would dare call him at such a time, especially on this day, when Peter felt as though he had truly mounted the first step to recovery. Having been an insomniac for some time, attaining sleep felt ground-breaking for Peter, like learning to ride a bike, or graduating college, or falling in love for the first time.

It couldn’t be someone looking for money. They’d have plenty of time to do that during the day. No, this had to be someone else. But who could it possibly be?

Peter picked up the phone as it began to ring for the fifth time, out of an allotted seven. For a moment, Peter had convinced himself that he should let the phone ring unanswered, place it back on the hook, and forget that this obstacle had ever been thrown in the way of his sleeping habits. But he would not face the horror of curiosity, as it would not relent.

Peter pressed the answer button and held the device to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Yes, may I ask who’s calling at such a time?”

“Hello Mr. Richardson, its Mallory Curtis from the New York City Police Department. We have your wife, Teresa Richardson.”

Peter was taken aback. This couldn’t be so. For as long as Peter can remember, which wasn’t much in Peter’s current condition, Teresa had been thought missing and, though no one would dare utter it, most likely dead.

Perhaps someone was playing a trick on him. After all, it was very late and now was the time that scoundrels attacked at their most vicious. In his head, Peter found this to be the only logical explanation for the apparent return of his loved one.

But how could somebody such as a foolish teenager living in a duplex down the street possibly know his phone number? It was such a closely-guarded secret that even Peter himself didn’t have it down to memory and was forced to leave it written it down on a piece of paper locked in a safe, and the combination to his safe concealed in his wallet at all times.

But Peter’s allegations of Mallory attempting to fabricate the return of his wife circulating throughout his head were not the only reasons Peter had to doubt. It had been fifteen years since the mysterious disappearance of his beloved wife Teresa. Surely the authorities would have given up searching for her whereabouts long ago. After all, it is not often that somebody who has been missing for such a long time just turns up on a whim on a Tuesday in June.

But if what Mallory had just muttered to him were true, and the strange phenomenon of the disappearance of his beloved Teresa had finally been solved, Peter knew that for once in what was dominantly an utterly bleak portion of his life, he would finally have closure. For once Peter felt optimistic about something other than his favorite television show coming on at eight o’clock after work.

Maybe for once, Peter wouldn’t need a pill.

“You…you…found her?”

Peter was afraid to inquire what he knew he needed to. Sometimes answers were even more terrifying than the questions themselves.

“Is she…alive?”

There was a short pause between Peter’s question and Mallory’s answer, though the suspense and anticipation for what Mallory had to say felt longer than the time that had passed since Teresa had disappeared.

“The person we believe to be Teresa Richardson is alive, yes. She is currently sleeping in the back room.”

Peter was ecstatic. His love long-lost had finally been found after what seemed to Peter an eternity of sorrow, a life consumed by substance abuse, so devoid of humanity that it had caused Peter to regress to a robotic state, simply performing his every-day duties and leaving his job working at the factory to his uneventful life home. For the first time in an age of forever, Peter felt alive.

But Peter still had difficulty digesting what he was hearing over the phone that had roused him from his slumber. Why had Mallory called him at such an hour, and, the question that was constantly revolving around his head, how was it possible that Teresa could possibly return after such a long hiatus from relevance? At this point in his life, Teresa had been, as depressing as it was to think this, just another memory. In addition, there was still the idea that the call was being fabricated by soulless tricksters.

“She showed up at our doorstep twenty minutes ago looking absolutely exhausted. The guard immediately alerted me of her presence. It’s as if she hadn’t stopped walking until she reached us. Her disappearance is probably one of the most bizarre cases we’ve ever had, and as a human being, I’ve seen enough pictures of her to know that this is her. But protocol dictates that being the husband of this person, who we propose to be Teresa Richardson, you will have to confirm with us that she is Teresa, and she will have to recognize that she is Teresa Richardson and that you are her husband before we can progress with any possible criminal charges and can remove her from the missing persons list.”

Peter was already dressed and prepared to leave when Mallory had just begun explaining. Uttering a final “Thank you,” Peter left the house. He left the phone on the table nearby, separating it and the hook, much like Peter and Teresa had been apart these long fifteen years. But unlike human beings, a phone cannot find its way back to its other; it needs a person to put it back in its place, and unfortunately for the wireless phone, Peter would not be back to return it to its rightful place.

It's a bit lengthy, but I'm proud of what I have so far.
#109
Quote by The Contagen

'This shouldn’t be happening.

But it was.'


Just pointing out that this is an error: the sentences are in different tenses.
#110
Quote by Pagan-Pie
Just pointing out that this is an error: the sentences are in different tenses.


haha good pick up

i like your story The Contagen. very mysterious.

to whoever would like to check out the whole of what i have written so far PM me and i'll send it to you, in the non fragmented versions i keep posting.
Gibson RawPower SG 2009 (Zales)
Gibson Hummingbird 70's? (Amy)
Jet City JCA 20 Watt Combo
Dunlop Crybaby wah
MXR 10 Band EQ
Ibanez TS-9
#111
If you're worried about being copied, send it to me in a PM.

You're not going to win anything, but if you're a writer then you'll see the discipline lesson in the challenge.
#112
Quote by Colohue
If you're worried about being copied, send it to me in a PM.

You're not going to win anything, but if you're a writer then you'll see the discipline lesson in the challenge.


im not worried about being copied, its the fact that i filled almost 7 pages in word and dont want to mega post the thread.

i'll start my piece for the 'Love' topic tonight, any other sort of guidelines or requirements?
Gibson RawPower SG 2009 (Zales)
Gibson Hummingbird 70's? (Amy)
Jet City JCA 20 Watt Combo
Dunlop Crybaby wah
MXR 10 Band EQ
Ibanez TS-9
#113
Quote by IXIchiodoIXI
im not worried about being copied, its the fact that i filled almost 7 pages in word and dont want to mega post the thread.

i'll start my piece for the 'Love' topic tonight, any other sort of guidelines or requirements?


None at all, only the deadline.

If it won't fit a PM, use my UG e-mail.
#114
MIKE

I wake up in a hospital. Don't know what day it is. I look at the clock. The numbers are spinning. Changing shapes. A storm is raging outside. The flashes reveal a silhouette. Someone is sleeping on the bed next to mine. I get up. As my feet touch the floor, it shifts. I fall. Shadows cover the room. My head hits the tiles. The floor is wet. I try to get up but I slip. After a short struggle I manage to get up. The lights suddenly turn on. I'm standing in front of a large mirror. Blood dripping of my hands. The door closes with a click. Standing on the roof of a building. Heavy raindrops shattering on my body. Ripping my clothes, bruising me. Loud thunder shakes the air. Mike... I'm sorry. His dead body falls to the ground. All sound disappears. I drop the revolver. Standing on the edge. I take a step forward. Free falling...

I wake up in a hospital. Don't know what day it is. I look at the clock. It's past 3 am. A storm is raging outside. My dad and my girlfriend are talking to a doctor. “His spine sustained serious damage. He's quadriplegic... I'm sorry.” Doctor leaves. My girlfriend starts to cry. She hugs my dad. Memories of what brought me here start to disturb my brain.

Driving. Had a few drinks too many. My best friend riding shotgun. Rain. The road is wet. Driving too fast. I loose control over the car. Hit something. Car flips... Mike... Oh, God... A metal spike... Pierced his skull... His lifeless eyes... Staring at me. Drop of blood running down his cheek... Chin... The drop leaves his face... Thousands of others following it... Mike... My God... I'm sorry... Darkness consumes me... Don't care... Thinking it's for the best... Thinking it's over... Thinking I'll soon be just one of God's unwanted children... Don't care...


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

Here's my story. Supposed to be for the Short Story Competition but I think it's trash.
If you try and take a cat apart to see how it works, the first thing you have on your hands is a non-working cat. - Douglas Adams
Last edited by Psihodeliko at Jul 15, 2010,
#115
Wow...I see you've been at work since I critiqued in the SS thread.

This version is much better. Although maybe cut out a few ellipsis in the last paragraph. Otherwise I love it.

And you also have Douglas Adams in your signature.
...Stapling helium to penguins since 1949.
#116
Quote by Todd Hart
Wow...I see you've been at work since I critiqued in the SS thread.

This version is much better. Although maybe cut out a few ellipsis in the last paragraph. Otherwise I love it.

And you also have Douglas Adams in your signature.


Thank you Your critique really helped. Made me think. But I'll never be pleased with anything I write. I've started writing a lot of stories but haven't finished any because I just didn't like what I've done.

Think I'll start actively writing again.
If you try and take a cat apart to see how it works, the first thing you have on your hands is a non-working cat. - Douglas Adams
#117
Quote by Psihodeliko
Thank you Your critique really helped. Made me think. But I'll never be pleased with anything I write. I've started writing a lot of stories but haven't finished any because I just didn't like what I've done.

Think I'll start actively writing again.


No worries. If I can even help one person to feel better about their work then I'll be happy.
...Stapling helium to penguins since 1949.
#118
I'm actually proud of myself. I've only recently got into writing because I just can't write songs, but I feel I have to write something. I have a millions ideas running around my head for about a billion stories, but I've finally grabbed one by the neck and I'm putting it on paper. The problem is it's a full blown novel, and that's just hard to commit to. I've only written a few, but I like doing short stories because once I get the idea it only takes me about an hour to write at most (except that thing I submitted to the latest flash fiction contest, that took 3 days and I hated it anyway.) I could sit down in a matter of days and write it all, every single word it's just start in to. I'm not even sure I should be doing it since I've only recently started writing and I should probably get better at short stories first, but why not ya know. Why the **** not?
Might post something I wrote a few weeks back here if anyone wants to read it and critique it.
#119
Sure, post it.
Regarding the short stories - look at Lovecraft. The majority of his opus are (relatively) short stories and he's pretty well known. Just write what feels more comfortable. I too prefer short stories over novels. I don't want to bother coming up with a story, developing it over 300 pages and then looking at what I've written and saying "That's shit."
If you try and take a cat apart to see how it works, the first thing you have on your hands is a non-working cat. - Douglas Adams
#120
Quote by Psihodeliko
Sure, post it.
Regarding the short stories - look at Lovecraft. The majority of his opus are (relatively) short stories and he's pretty well known. Just write what feels more comfortable. I too prefer short stories over novels. I don't want to bother coming up with a story, developing it over 300 pages and then looking at what I've written and saying "That's shit."


If you want Lovecraft look no further.
...Stapling helium to penguins since 1949.