Free Write Thread

[Rhoda]

They should hand out medals for this genre of activity. If they did, I’d have to have a shirt as wide as a top-end buffalo, rhinestone jewellery peppering the sleeves of my favourite cowboy shirt. I tell those who look me in the eyes, I don’t get any respect any other way. Those are the ones I bother to tell, tin teardrops eager to get away from eyes as deep as oceans. The only ones I see cry this way are those on the end of me, where I push in and push out until their pots of gold yell pain and anguish. No-one else ever cries. Everyone has forgotten what true reasons are.

 

Truth is, I lie broken, awake every night and hurt myself.

[Tony Branston]

The conspiracy of the stupid is out there. Let me prove it to you.

Take out an ordinary twenty dollar bill.

OK?

Now set it on fire.

 

If you have done this, you have proven that you, the people of America, have been conditioned to accept commands without thinking about them, even if they hurt you. Now you will elect morons to public office, enabling this dreadful secret society to have their way with our fair country.

[Rhoda]

That night as we stood drinking tea, not even removing the spoon, he described the feeling similar to that of being nailed into a barrel, and launched off a ravine of falsehood. The life he had carved for himself had twisted like the knots and roots of a tree growing awkwardly on a moss-laden hill. As he cast the filthy spoon into an already massive amount of dirty plates, stained with the short lived pleasures of takeaway meals and boil in the bag fish, I thought I saw a flash in his face as he stared meekly into the bottom of his shallow cup. Turns out being nailed into a stale smelling, sour wood barrel had its advantages. Silver rivets to hold the lid.

[Chunk]

I've been in this bar for the last four hours. I'm as drunk as a mule's ass, ironic as that's what the guy at the pool table is yelling at me. I grab my bourbon, take a swig and slam it back down on the bar. The bartender looks back at me, scowling. I ignore him and the mule's ass insults and just think when I'm gonna leave this hell-hole. I liked the name of this place, One Eyed Pete's, it seemed inviting yet blood-curdly. It probably seemed welcoming because I was drunk, I thought I was seeing clowns dancing all around me as well, didn't mean it was true. I run my finger around the rim of my glass, it makes a peculiar sound, almost like a hummingbird. I look at my watch and I see that it's 7.23pm, I needed to get home, my wife's twenty year old gardener must have left the house by now, a rough sex session leaving my wife sweating and the hedges had been cut, job done. I paid him 200 bucks an hour for screwing my wife, he was like a gigilo, except I was paying him to mow the lawn, not plough my spouse. Time to go home. But something keeping me here, I don't know what it is, maybe the lust for one last bourbon. I might as well, it'll give time for my wife so she can cook me another burnt dinner. So, I squeeze my ass into the stool and call out...

 

"Another bourbon please."

[saltinespike]

I am God. I am Jesus. I am Washington, I am King George, I am Lincoln, I am Roosevelt, I am Amelia Earhart, I am Hitler, I am Kennedy, I am Castro, I am Martin Luther King Jr., I am Saddam Hussein, I am George Bush, and I am bin Laden. I am Satan. I am alone. I am dead. I am God.

[rmmstnr]

Traipsing upon the edge of abyss, my mind begins to wander. The steely sky now above and below, both inviting as warm milk, desperate to claim me in their empty embrace. Promises, promises. Make you better, we'll make you WELL. Bitterness creeping in, flowing through my grey matter like cold seawater in a doomed ship, I refuse. But still, the beckon is there, when I sleep, when I wake, and I wish the promise to be true. In my heart however, I know it is a lie.

[Vercetti21]

Words that invoke emotion? Off the top of my head?

 

F*ck. Drugs. Cum. Tits.

 

I could go on and on. These words flash by in a lurid fashion, like images being passed through a film strip with little time to analyze each frame. You don't think about it. You just feel. What do you feel? Insecure, used, awkward...

 

The human psyche is such a peculiar phenomenon. The only way to catch anyone's attention is to upset them.

[Jordy.]

He slid the shell into the chamber, cocked it, then emptied the contents. The process was then repeated many times. It's good to know your gun first before taking into battle, like getting to know a girl before asking for her number. This however, is simply a case of boredom. He's not even tensed, let alone nervous.

That's because he is eager. Sure he has family back home, but god would soon lift him off those tired feet and decided wether it be heaven or hell. Not much time is left in the old man. Scraping a mark into the stone of history he thought, is redemption for the significant amount of achievements he had on his LIVE account.

This isn't a video game anymore. He is about to fight cells and particles, rather than pixels.

[El Zilcho]

So close to the end of the presipice, the freezing blizzard rises up and sweeps me back. I fight against it, wnating to see, feel and touch the cold itself, in the darkest reaches of my imagination. It see it, but cannot touch it. For it would break my soul in two. I stumble back again, rolling down into the snow. Suddenly, the blizzard engulfes me, making me ice. I no longer feel, just exist. I no longer see, just observe. I no longer understand, just comprehend. I am snow.

[Rhoda]

There's always the feeling far beyond sexual gratification you get when you hold a girl’s hair back at a party to stop her being sick in it, then getting rewarded for what you consider a fruitless effort because all you want to do is go back into the kitchen and drink yourself under the dining table like a Christmas drunk.

[Vercetti21]

You are one out of 6,760,000,000; you assume you are unique?

 

You emerge from the womb with an absence of individuality. You are observed, weighed, and measured, only to reach the conclusion that you are just like everyone else. You are thrust into society and disciplined with the rules of humanity. "Stay in line," they tell you. "Or you will be cast out." Ha! Outcast from society with the other 9,000,000 prisoners. So your life travels along a set-in-stone path; barreling along the tracks behind billions of other train cars. When you reach the end of the line, you are tossed into a ditch; a monument is erected for you that is uniform to the 92,000,000,000 others before it.

 

Individuality? Value? We tend to toss these two words around a lot, but using them together in a sentence is senseless; not to mention you'll only be saying what 5,000,000,000 others have said before you.

[Jordy.]

You are one out of 6,760,000,000; you assume you are unique?

 

You emerge from the womb with an absence of individuality. You are observed, weighed, and measured, only to reach the conclusion that you are just like everyone else. You are thrust into society and disciplined with the rules of humanity. "Stay in line," they tell you. "Or you will be cast out." Ha! Outcast from society with the other 9,000,000 prisoners. So your life travels along a set-in-stone path; barreling along the tracks behind billions of other train cars. When you reach the end of the line, you are tossed into a ditch; a monument is erected for you that is uniform to the 92,000,000,000 others before it.

 

Individuality? Value? We tend to toss these two words around a lot, but using them together in a sentence is senseless; not to mention you'll only be saying what 5,000,000,000 others have said before you.

...I feel so small now.

[Wanted Assailant]

 

Lorcan Cass was a burly, ripped man in black clad uniform and was he ever ugly to the bone. He wrinkled his bulbous nose to get the blood that sat there off. As he pressed the man’s head between his two, huge hands, fragments of brain, blood, and teeth imbrued his clothes and person. He quickly whipped out a pistol and fired off rounds into the frontal distance, hitting thugs with dangerous weapons that held by their sides. Their bodies made a thud when they hit the muddy ground. Lorcan’s stern eyes looked over the place surrounding him thoughtfully, before sloshing his hefty legs along a wet, dirty path and continuing down in order to finish the job he was ordered to take care of.

 

Eh.

[Rhoda]

Notes that fall from the sky as they circle my headphones don’t dare get in my way, for I am the one that gives the sound birth, life and eventual death. There is a certain sonic slaughter in the air; every ambient creation falls short of existence as they drop from the heavens like a bird, it’s life taken in a drum beat. It would have been far more expressive to describe the gentle bow casting a grin across the strings of a violia, or a guitar letting each of it’s strings loose to ensare the ears of the youthful, but alas, the bird did not deserve such attention.

 

And so, I do listen of this sonic slaughter until my ears blister and bleed with the sheer aggression of the sounds I choose to bear. I at one point assumed I had used all five senses to appreciate the tones kissing my eardrums, yet I was utilizing just the one. Taste. Nothing to hear, but a bountiful amount to roll over my tongue as each chord hung low. The night is old, and can barely support itself over the fading streetlights which had shown the way for Father Time, ready for him to hide once more.

 

Tonight, let this sonic slaughter wash the poor, the weak and the cheerful. Tonight, let their ears smile, as mine have.

Edited April 29, 2009 by Masterkraft

[Rhoda]

Eggs and bacon, two slices of stale toast swimming in butter and a 2 dollar glass of orange juice. Coffee came in refills, but Ralph Humphrey wasn't interested; the jug that nestled in the arms of a generic waitress came as black as the hands of coals. He took a cigarette out of a dented tin tucked lovingly in his front shirt pocket, and exhaled as if frustrated as he pat the container back down again.

 

"Waitress," Ralph held his cup high, though there was no effort in his actions or voice, "coffee please."

His tone was rough and harsh through years of gin and cigarette abuse, though his demeanor was humble and polite. Ralph's logic was easy; women can be treated bad enough in a man's world. All the same, he watched as the plain but attractive waitress came into view carrying the coffee.

She was certainly heard before she was seen as the clicking of her heels was carried like speaker feedback across the hardwood diner floor and in between the ankles of weary travelers sat in booths surrounding Ralph's. After what seemed like a very pleasing show, Ralph held his cup higher and playfully pulled it away as the waitress began to pour. Not one drop was spilled, and despite the initial frustration, Ralph's smile must have indeed won her over as she flashed her own pearly pegs. Several seconds passed as he returned his cup and received a generous helping of diluted coffee. Tension developed, before Ralph broke the silence as always.

 

"You're far too pretty to be a waitress, miss," he said, pointing a playfully finger towards her, "you're undercover, ain't you?"

"No sir."

Her tone was flat, but her smile was playful.

"What then? You can't have been here in this hole long..."

There was no answer, so Ralph took a different approach.

"Can I buy you a cup? You've got 10 minutes to chew the fat, right?"

 

[Face McDougal]

I’m moving; my shirt becomes water-stained—I’ve spilt my drink. I love the word blossom.

[Eminence]

It brings to mind a sense of purity and expression. Not only that, but the idea of hope; hope for something new, perhaps something better. The thought that something majestic will inevitably come your way, despite knowing it's all more than likely going to crash down around you. But, when all's said and done, there's always hope, and from the bottom you can only work your way higher.

[Rhoda]

Tell me, does this machine gun belong in the palms of the poor? Do you feel mad, do you feel blame? Do you feel your warped records can save you if the needle carries far enough? Do you feel your string will keep you grounded should a ripple take you too far from shore? Cork bobbing in the breeze like a hot red bulb.

[Abel.]

Welcome to the new world, tyranny, pain and uncaring oppression seep form every blood stained orifice. When will it stop?

No one can tell. why is it here? No one can tell. What is it's reason? No one can tell.

 

Hell, I don't even know where that came from.

[El Zilcho]

Tropical paradise surrounded by a beautiful, round, orange sun set that slowly and orgasmically slips into a fascinating sight. Birds fly and sweep low over the lagoon, flickering warmth and cool breeze mix. I sit, naked by the low tide, sipping my chilled Coke with a distinct feeling of love of life; of the enjoyment of the moment for ever and ever. Amen.

 

Done in 60 seconds, I quite liked it. Very similar to Sunset by Eminence, I guess that's what was in my minds eye when I typed away.

[vinnygorgeous]

Do I exist or am I just being, I think therefore I am, so I must but do you, I know I do because I am aware of my consciousness, but you? Are you there, are you just a string of random electrical impulses feeding into my mind, in short are you just sense data processed and manipulated within the schism of known and unknown in my brain. The brain, how can a brain analyze a brain, a tool cannot analysis a tool, does a screw driver ponder its purpose and place, in the universe that only exists within the sensory data that it is all in my mind. So why on earth do I always do the washing up!?

 

[Typhus]

I had a dream of a ball suspended in the darkness. It was a brown clump of grime decorated with a patchwork of coal black splotches.

And all across the ball were clumps. White, fatty clumps. Like cancerous tumours. All sliding and lurching, leaving a transparent trail of slime behind them.

These had once been people, these still are people.

But there’s no soul here, no life or purpose or reason or rhyme.

No, not even a green tree or a sparkling lake to ease the mind.

Just fatty blobs going nowhere.

[General Goose]

Humans are like an onion. When you take off the layers, you discover more layers within.

 

Unlike with onions, you get a lot of blood on your person and you're wanted by the police.

[Ziggy455]

Masterkraft had hidden behind the crates, the evergrowing array of different calibres piercing past and through it. Eminence had already been hit but he was proceeding behind the attackers, his gun loaded fully. Jacky Fiend was on the floor bleeding, only after a few seconds had his corpse began to wander aimlessly as the chaos ensued around him. Masterkraft moved from out of his covering as the bullets hit him like pins. Eminence fired off at the enemie, Ziggy poped out holding Jacky Fiendy's body for cover. Bullets hit the now silent enemy.

 

"ROFL, LMAO, LOL, ROFLCOPTER, WE OWN GTAFORUMS LOL N00bs" the enemie yelled.

 

Suddenly all the mods of Gtaforums woke up in a cold sweat.

[vinnygorgeous]

Morphine blitz Jacob awoke in a world of slanted perversions. Ahead an alter draped in Swastikas, below her broken body. No memory of love no recollection of violence but it does not stop the dreams. If I die will my soul be cleansed, does forgiveness await on the other side or has god forsaken me to wake another day. Everyday just like the last, the last day I breath and cry for the life once lost, not hers but mine. I killed two people that day.

[Vercetti21]

What is the purpose in avoiding the good things that life has to offer for you? To watch opportunities pass you buy as you sit in a semi-conscience state, waiting – always wanting more. Our purpose on this earth, I believe, is to strive for happiness. How will you ever be happy if you refuse to move? You can sit back and wait all you want, but you have to soak up every drop of life you can get before you just miss one more opportunity, one more chance to be happy.

[Lethal Nizzle]

The constant drumming of the Hun's artillery against the Belgian soil before us had been punctuating the skies for hours. And for these long periods of time we had been listening and waiting for a junction in the bombardment for us to move. I looked down the long line of soldiers on either side of me; prior battles and the price they had to pay in these skirmishes were quite literally etched in their faces. To my immediate left a familiar face was vomiting onto his battle dress, which had changed from its once olive-drab colour to a murky brown, which was laced with sweat, blood and gore and the vomit which has just escaped from his bowels. I looked forward, toward the ladder. We had been told to go over as soon as the artillery barrage stopped. We had fixed bayonets at what seemed like an age ago. Finally our sergeant took a glance over the top of the sandbags. Instantaneously he fell back in a spray of crimson, and the crack of a rifle sounded out over the eerie silence that had befallen us. The Hun's had ceased firing.

 

It was time go over.

[Digital Warlord.]

I leaped out of the car like a pouncing tiger with guns as my teeth and things that go bang as my claws. In an instant everything froze and I saw the men on the side walk freeze with uncertainty written across their faces as if in bright red ink. I chuckled and then time seemed to begin and in a blur of hands and metal two Uzi's flashed up and I heard and felt the solid click. Then the two guns in my hand like snarling dogs barked forth dozens of rounds of lead and all that my brother saw was a flash of blood streaking crimson across the walls and ground. I put the guns down smoking and checked my watch. 3 seconds had gone by, it had seemed like an hour. I jumped back in the car and floored it while I grabbed another cigarette with my free hand and asked Mathew to light it. I drove away with the wind a blazing and living beast in my face and a burning satisfaction with the cigarette clasped in between my teeth.

[Ziggy455]

Look at yourself.

 

Go on, Look! What do you see? cause, to be frank with you buddy. All I see is a joke, a pathetic mimic of a serious objective. You think you'll ever amount to anything in this world? Look at you, you...you have no principles. You're nothing. I made you, I own you. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't of had a bucket to piss in.

 

I made you, I own you. I put those clothes on your back, I put that cash in that safe upstairs.

 

I sent you there, you were nothing, you are nothing. Now i'd love to stick around and keep telling you how you were worthless all these years but I want my money...

 

Tommy...

[Digital Warlord.]

The Road was a blur as the car raced along the streets of the City, the sky high buildings seeming to torch by in a flash of light and terror. I was angry, furious as any god may be if he took a bathroom break and came back and well found that instead of the stone age we now had some sort of industrial revolution that was burning away our atmosphere and turning the world he had made to filth and bloody rubble. So yes it seemed that I was angry.

 

It was passed midnight when I noticed I had slipped my way onto the highway with my thoughts gone as they were. I was shocked I wasn't gone off a bridge already. I seemed to be able to calm my rage to a containable amount now. The car started beeping and I noticed that we were almost out of fuel. I saw a gas station near by, I slowly began to let out car slow to the proper speed limit.