Scribbles

[Rhoda]

Cute name, simple idea.

 

Here, I've got three pieces of paper.

 

 

Each piece of paper has a word, a picture and a name. The first three people to post and pick one have to write a short (short as you want, no pressure at all... for now) piece with at least one use of all items and words on the paper. This is all as genuine as possible. I was trying to think of drinking games to manipulate into writing ones, but since it's hard to get hold of ping-pong balls and a funnel at this late hour I decided to go with this. This is as direct a connection you can get from area moderator to member. I want this work and I want it to do well. I'll be posting three every time the current three expire. It's not a test of any kind - you don't have to be any good by anyone's standards. What matters is you're able to pick up any idea at random and just run with it, run anywhere you want.

 

It's all about the three. Don't worry if there's no pieces of paper left for you to pick, I'll always be at hand to add more, providing this doesn't die a death.

 

So, play on. First three posters, pick a piece and I will reveal them.

 

Questions and sh*t welcome, of course.

[Chunk]

Number 3 please, my good man.

[Oxidizer]

I choose number one.

[Rhoda]

Number 3, coming up...

 

 

 

So, for number three you have "newspaper", a kite and the name Shaun.

[Rhoda]

And here's number 1. I can double post because this is my show.

 

 

[Oxidizer]

Susan Boyle strikes again. I can work with those clues/themes to write with.

[Xeon]

I would like number two, please.

[Rhoda]

Righto.

 

 

 

ALSO

I don't care how good of an idea you have for one of the videos posted. Unless you're the member that asked for that number, you can't write for it. I'll be posting three more in a few hours or so, or maybe morning. I have a good feeling, brothers and sisters.

[Oxidizer]

Got a question: do we post our piece in here or start a new topic for it?

[Rhoda]

Got a question: do we post our piece in here or start a new topic for it?

Post it here.

[Oxidizer]

Sweet.

 

I got the plot for mine sorted, only the same thing stopping me with most of my ideas is not knowing how to start it.

[Rhoda]

After a suggestion by Matty, I'm proposing that you post all stories outside of the topic, but post in this topic when you publish it. Be sure to include a link, I may make an archive of them all if we get enough.

[The Unvirginiser]

Get scribbling for an extra for me, cunt.

[Rhoda]

Okay, added five of the beauties this time.

 

 

Same format - a word, a drawing of an object and a name.

[Tyler]

I want number 4!!!!!!!!!! it's just laying there so sexy like!

[The Unvirginiser]

Bit of five, oh aye.

[Rhoda]

Will upload the videos tomorrow, hang tight chaps. In the mean time, not seen hide nor hair of anyone else that received a number, I'm just hoping we'll get something from them.

[Tyler]

Me too. I could make an eventful zombie story.

 

This was a good idea because some cannot freely express themselves, so they use other's starts t finish. Put simply.

[Rhoda]

Get your balls out on these. Number 4 is first, followed by number 5.

 

 

 

 

 

Sorry for the dire quality on number 5. If you're unsure of what anything is, let me know.

[Tyler]

Made it when i came home today, from buying my new project. Anyways enjoy,

 

 

On 31st Street

 

 

Thinking about it now, I never really realized how much it affected me. Eddie’s Diner up on 31st street had some of the best burgers ever, and I mean it. Every time you walk inside you instantly get that fresh smell of greasy fries, and that machine that made the milkshakes. Red and white tiles scattered the floor, with red bar stools at the counter, for the drinkers. Metallics were just becoming popular in stores, so it had walls lined with Linoleum and some sort of alloy, or something like that.

 

I used to go every Saturday morning to get a breakfast of fries, chocolate malt, and a delicious double double burger. It was like my escape from the world; I would just sit there and chat with old Eddie himself, since he was always there in the morning. His tanned wide body up against the counter, with his bleach- blonde hair and sunglasses, leaning on his big cheeks. “So, how you doin’ Kelly? Looking a little skinny Kelly, need to eat more girl,” I would always agree with his every word. Nodding my little 9- year old head as he talked about the rest of the world. Wars going on in Germany and some place called the Pacifist, like a protester I think.

 

Anyway, One day, as I walked up to the diner I saw a van parked in the lot, and it had so many cool looking colours on the side of it. It was a Volkswagen Van, I later found out. But, like I was saying this van was sitting on the lot, and I noticed it was shaking a little bit, so I walked up to it and knocked on the door. The whole day seemed to quiet up all around me including the rocking van. A light breeze lifted my hair, as the door of the van opened. A mean- looking man was looking at me. He had on a red collared- shirt, with a black pompadour, and some slacks. He got out of the van, but as he did, I saw someone in the back, that was trying to get my attention. I took a look, and there was Mr. Eddie himself, with a cloth in his mouth trying to get me to do run away and tell someone.

 

The Mean man didn’t notice me look in and calmly asked me “ Could you come back another time little girl?” I looked at him, then turned around and ran for the life of me, trying to get to Marx’s Drug store. Out of breath, and in the middle of the highway, I stopped and leaned on my knees. I tried to keep the momentum of my body, and get to the store so that I could help Mr. Eddie, but my little body was too tired to do anything.

 

Finally about twenty minutes later, I got to the RX and ran inside, gasping for air as I tried to talk. “Kelly, calm down what happened girl?”

“They…. Van, Mr. …………… Hurry!” I motioned to the door as I collected some breath, and then told him the story. He dropped his little glass bottle and grabbed his coat and car keys.

 

If I could, take a pause for a moment, and ask you what the worst thing you experienced as a child was. I thought long and hard about this and decided to share this with you, but remember I was and still am affected by this event almost every single day of my life.

 

We pulled into the Diner Lot and got out of his Plymouth. Mr. M walked over to the van and slowly looked inside through the windshield, holding his hands out like he was balancing on the black concrete. I saw sweat dripping down his forehead as he looked inside, then quickly turned away. His face was held in his palms for a moment. I walked to him and looked inside. There was Eddie, without a doubt, dead inside. I fell to my knees and started weeping. Marx quickly leaned down and held me while whispering “ Don’t worry, everything is going to work out,”

 

That kept me alive through the years of remorse, and repentance for my actions. I always kept his words close, but always wondered what it would be like if I had tried to save Eddie myself.

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

 

Unoriginal44

[Rhoda]

Very nice, I like what you did with what you had. Worked surprisingly well. Good introduction with the diner too, it felt natural to read.

 

Anyone working on any more of these?

[Jean Capel]

Three.

[Abel.]

 

Unoriginal44: an excellent short piece, I'm afraid I'm a bit tired to offer proper feedback at the moment, sorry.

 

Anyway, I'm working on Lot 2 Clue 5. I began the piece earlier on and it's currently incomplete and is yet to comprise all elements of the posted criteria.

[Tyler]

Thank you for commenting anyway .

 

 

 

Anyway, I'm working on Lot 2 Clue 5. I began the piece earlier on and it's currently incomplete and is yet to comprise all elements of the posted criteria.

 

 

 

Well, it's called scribbles because when the inspiration hits you, you can just write down what comes to mind. I did this, though I admit I hated my ending. I just posted it because I felt anything otherwise would have made me re-do it soo much, that I would never get around to posting it.

 

Another problem is that folks that take the numbers then never even post their story.

 

I would rather this be an active short story thread, then stories that never come out.

 

 

That's just my opinion though, and as always USE MICROSOFT WORD.

Edited April 12, 2010 by Unoriginal44

[Rhoda]

 

Anyway, I'm working on Lot 2 Clue 5. I began the piece earlier on and it's currently incomplete and is yet to comprise all elements of the posted criteria.

You do know you have to request a number of your own, right? Each and every person has their own idea, I did state so in the first post.

 

NINJA EDIT: I'll get the video requested up tomorrow, sit tight JC.

Edited April 11, 2010 by Masterkraft

[Tyler]

Hey could I get 2? I actually got rid of some writing fouls by using this, so I might as well write another one. This time I won't let the endiing die though ok?

[Andyzoot]

Number 1 please, Carol....

[Abel.]

 

Thank you for commenting anyway .

 

 

 

Anyway, I'm working on Lot 2 Clue 5. I began the piece earlier on and it's currently incomplete and is yet to comprise all elements of the posted criteria.

 

 

 

Well, it's called scribbles because when the inspiration hits you, you can just write down what comes to mind. I did this, though I admit I hated my ending. I just posted it because I felt anything otherwise would have made me re-do it soo much, that I would never get around to posting it.

 

Another problem is that folks that take the numbers then never even post their story.

 

I would rather this be an active short story thread, then stories that never come out.

 

 

That's just my opinion though, and as always USE MICROSOFT WORD.

OK, it's been months but I think it's time to finish the story and post the piece, sorry for all the delays. Watch this space.

 

Right, here it is:

 

 

Overpowering Fear

 

 

 

“Dammit, she's hot”. The words barely escaped Max's mouth, resonating within his head as a predominantly unvoiced musing. Here he was, laying back in her bed, eyes flicking erratically around her almost impeccably furnished room, immaculately cleaned without a corner cut. However, with joyous realisation came fear, overpowering fear. “Don't screw this up”, Max told himself, a solemn word to calm his nerves. The walls were not laden slavishly with posters; a single wall adorned a meticulously placed poster of the band “JLS”, a modern band popular with certain women, to Max's knowledge (although, his knowledge was limited to geological processes, chemical names and mathematics, not social trends). This was Max's opinion until he sighted a lone pink sock on the floor beside Amanda's oak cabinet, upon which an innocently placed glass stood on a coaster. He smirked at the site, “well, at least this proves that she's human”, he jokingly remarked under his breath. Moments later, the realisation surfaced once more: he was about to have sex with the most attractive girl he had ever seen.

Amanda approached her bedroom from the corridor, Max's heart raced, he readied himself for the sight of Amanda, conjuring images of her devoid of any concealing garments, erection rising uncontrollably...f*ck...She entered the room wearing nothing but a pair of blue socks, her body fully exposed.

“Well, I can see you're happy”, Amanda remarked, smiling at the bulge that had formed at Max's crotch.

“My joy is immeasurable, Amanda”, Max replied, beaming whilst gazing at Amanda's body, an exemplar of the female form.

“Oh, I almost forgot...”

“What?”

“You'll see”, Amanda concluded with a wink, as she exited the room and walked towards the upstairs bathroom. Max decided it would be best to try and focus on something peripheral to Amanda and the act he was about to engage in, to avert any prior over-excitement. To remedy his urges, he stood up and wandered casually around Amanda's bedroom. Although her beauty imbued Max with perpetual desire and had done for a significant length of time now, he could find little evidence of a pastime or activity in Amanda's life, making her life seem mundane and purposeless to Max. No, he thought, his probing and automatic evaluation of everyone he encountered would need to stop, perhaps Amanda simply focused on things undetectable by Max's analysis based on light conversation and a partial tour of her aunt's cottage, he reassured himself. Max could not help but think that Amanda's attempts at getting Max to “loosen up” with an “E” had been utterly futile as he experienced none of the desired or, thankfully, he thought, adverse affects coupled with the drug. Then, something caught his attention as he wandered towards Amanda's oak cabinet. It appeared as if a small photograph lay beneath the coaster on the cabinet. Max became overcome with curiosity, as was his nature, and silently displaced the photograph and looked at it. His eyes widened with fear at the sight presented to him.. Max breathing became uneasy, he could recall little out of the ordinary in the ornate house of Amanda's aunt, the picture told so much yet it only produced further questions. Max heard Amanda in the bathroom, it sounded as if she was rearranging something or, perhaps, looking for something.

 

Never before had Max been so sexually enticed, confused and afraid at the same time, instinctively, he slowly edged himself towards the staircase, opposite the door to the upstairs bathroom, and proceeded downstairs. He clutched the banister for dear life, for if he withdrew, he'd most certainly fall due to his nerves. Max reached the bottom of the stairs and lunged for the door, yet, he found that the house was inescapable when he turned the knob to no avail. Sweat was oozing from every area of Max's body as he swiftly looked for the nearest exit but found nothing, the kitchen was also locked and all that could potentially allow him escape was the door to the cupboard. “Well, Amanda told me it was just “a cupboard, nothing special”, when she granted me the tour of the place”, mused Max as he made haste to the door and entered “the cupboard”.

 

Max became engulfed be darkness upon entry to the room which, evidently, was anything but a cupboard. He felt for a light switch on the wall and flicked it when he found it. The room instantly filled with light emanating from the bulb and Max, waiting for his eyes to adjust, saw that the room was not sparingly adorned, as Amanda's bedroom was, but instead was host to innumerable boxes, trash, general non necessities and an outdated television. On the walls, noticed Max, was a lone shelf and upon it was a single teddy bear, button eyes locked with his own. Max's fear culminated when he heard Amanda slowly walking down the stairs, her footsteps clearly audible, Amanda made no attempt to conceal her progress. Max sprinted towards another door, next to the old television, and forced it open. Upon entry to this room, he shut the door and, as before, flicked on the nearest light switch. A moment before he turned the light on, a bulb on hanging on the ceiling, he realised the most likely place of origin for the picture he found. His thought was confirmed as the truth when he stared at the figure in the corner of the room. Max shook with nerves and knew that the sight in-front of him would remain irrepressible for the rest of his life; however longer it would last.

 

“Barney”, as denoted by his name tag, hanging loosely from his unbuttoned shirt, chest exposed, was breathing slightly, drowsy due to his disposition, had a gaping, open wound down his chest, exposing his innards. It was clear this was a relatively fresh wound, as fresh blood continued to seep from it. Barney's hair was musty black, his skin had become discoloured and his eyes bloodshot as he attempted to contain the extent of the bleeding with his right hand, the other lay lifelessly on the floor. Max rushed towards Barney as Barney coughed out a sequence of almost intangible syllables. “Ki...”, first left his mouth, his ability to speak impaired no doubt by his pain, “her”. Barney's words were not profound and the direction they imparted to Max not enlightening nor enriching, however, he appreciated them no end. Barney was unable to say much more, such was the extent of his pain. A sharp noise alerted Max, one that was heard as door being wrenched open and hitting a wall. “f*ck”, mused Max, yet for an entirely different reason compared with his previous use of the phrase. Amanda walked towards him, not crazed or demented, as he had predetermined her, instead, she walked towards him nonchalantly, with a vacant expression upon her face. Max told himself to run, “the f*cking door's open!”, he cried inwardly, but alas, he found himself unable to move, collapsed in a heap next to Barney, whose eyes were now firmly closed. Max realised he was sedated, rendered incapable of movement by the sedative administered to him so deceptively prior to entry to Amanda's aunt's house. These thoughts entered Max's mind for a few seconds, before Max fell soundly to sleep, against his own accord, only to wake to a sense of overpowering fear.

Edited June 4, 2010 by elanman

[armadillo]

I'd like two if no one has taken that.

[Tyler]

Elanman, that was wonderful.

 

I found it very exciting, keep up the work man.