A challenge, for Writers.

Discussion in 'Literature' started by Jess, Aug 18, 2012.

  1. Zombie Girl Super Undead | Debate Champ | Editor

    I shall do this and I shall use them in order :dylan:
  2. Twitchy Super Moderator | Hub Team Co-Leader | Storyteller

    Well excuse us, your freaking godliness.
  3. Valamphias Ultima Weapon Wielder

    I look forward to your masterpiece.
  4. Jess Admin

    I am excited that people are actually doing this.

    ( also I might try just a little bit )
  5. Zombie Girl Super Undead | Debate Champ | Editor

    I DID IT, lol it is poop though. It was better in my head.

    In death her corpse took on the luminescence of a marble deity. Although it was being dragged through the dirt in a burlap sack, he held that image in his head. Laughter lines were erased. Her stench of desperation purged. The further he went, the more beautiful, the more brilliant she became. He was with her still, in a stained motel room, accompanied by the strangled music of fading, aging jukebox. He glanced at the over his shoulder. She was spilling over from his consciousness, staining the road through the sack. Red.

    Under her makeup she was pale. She liked romance novels, she said, and took two dog-eared, garishly jacketed books from her purse as she looked for her lipstick. She painted her romance on her ordinary face, and carried it with her in pots, a pencil, and a tube.
    The bar they had met in served whiskey that was more like battery acid than alcohol. It came from a bottle with a yellowed label and lopsided silver lettering. It made his throat burn and his hands tremble. The place would have been an ideal set for a ‘real life’ movie, three parts back to back in a true America omnibus on a cable channel.

    As soon as she walked in he could feel her lightness. Her mirth. Indulgent and nostalgic, like the scent of his mother’s perfume or a spoonful of honey. She radiated through the smoke and the dust, and he wanted her.

    Her hair with thick and sticky with product, and there were traces of wax around her pencilled brow. He wondered what she was like a generation ago. One of many young girls who dreamed of something more. She finished high school. She could hold a conversation in French. Maybe she could waltz. It would have fed his ego some to dance with a pretty young lady. He was quite limber in his youth. She would have modestly accepted his offer. She was not so frivolous then. Cold, even. The thought of her passion trapped behind ice excited him. Unattainable things always did. The depths of the atlantic ocean. The earth’s core. Jupiter’s moons. And her a lifetime away in her first formal dress. That enticed him more than a legion of exquisite, available, willing women ever would.

    He didn’t speak to her at first. He sat at the bar, with a friendly greeting poised at the tip of his tongue. He began to tamper with the fraying material around his stool. He allowed the anticipation to build until he was ready to burst. After he had spoken to her, she eagerly responded to his advances. She confided in him, with his hand curved along the ellipses of her left breast. Like everyone else, she felt she was different. She wanted to travel, of course. He fed her dreams and she swallowed them whole. Together, they would break into an aircraft hanger, steal a plane, and fly anywhere they wanted. He began to tear her down. Glass in her eyes? A lethal volume of gasoline in her necrotic stomach? If he was feeling merciful, a compound that would cause her to drift into a coma. She didn’t notice that his thoughts were elsewhere. She was, as he expected, above and beyond him. She was sailing through a fjord, naked beneath a fur coat. She was glamourous like her monochromatic heroines. She was riding an elephant in India, wearing vintage Chanel sunglasses.

    At his side she grew so far away. She didn’t want him, she never wanted any of them, like him, she wanted the unattainable. He suddenly wanted to have only traces of her. By now he had figured out that what he could do to these women, was so much better than what they hoped for. Sex? Well, perhaps, but why settle for that when she could become a Goddess? Tonight’s ritual was particularly bloody, and he was particularly rampant in his worship.

    Now that she had been destroyed, he could rebuild her, mould her. She joined his private pantheon, recruited from across the length and width of America. Each hour after her rebirth her majesty grew.

    Sweating, yet serene as a holy man, he allowed the sack to fall to the parched soil. He straightened to admire the colour of the horizon just before sunrise. A perfect time. With considered, deliberate motions he drew a small metal can from his trouser pocket, and baptized her in kerosene. He lit a match, dropped it, and walked towards the horizon. You can’t ever be content on a pilgrimage. You must always strive for greater enlightenment. The route he had chosen to follow had no definite end. The nice man with his immaculate, distant harem left, leaving a pile of scorched bones and ash behind him.
    Valamphias, Misty and Jess like this.
  6. Valamphias Ultima Weapon Wielder

    I can't believe you actually managed it. Even more so that it turned out fairly decently, even if you choose to call it 'poop.' Compared to my rubbish, yours is golden.

    But yeah, I failed. I ended up using most of the words and writing a pretty ridiculous little story. I don't think it's that great, though. Now awaiting Twitchy and Jess to eventually share theirs. 8D
  7. Xatyrn SK Shepherd | KH3 Remnant


    I may attempt thisss.
  8. Misty Fortune Teller

    @Zombie Girl: lovely lovely lovely.

    I am also hoping to attempt, I have taken too long a break from writing.

    ... however.
    Because of, well, me being me. It may end up being in fanfiction form. I make no promises as to how far my willpower to not step into that territory will extend, but.
  9. Spade Bolt tower

    Hello, dear reader. My humble friend, my random confidant. I doubt this will be published beyond what I type, as I will hide it and hide it until the time is right. But you, my humble friend, to you that have found this document, you only will know the secrets of which I have seen, the foes in which I trailed, and you will see why I quit this legion of a force. Rampant with corruption, which only exists to feed these kingpins spoonful’s of their own egos, as they waltz over the corpse of what Justice has become.

    My name is William Pragius. If I were born in Ancient Rome, I might have been a general, but you will not have heard of me, good friend. Surely, the books will have been tampered with so I would be undone, so that I would never have existed in this city. It is doubtful that I live, and it is imperative that you do not make an attempt to find me, for simply knowing of me may bring unwanted attention to your brilliant person- but know that this is only the tip of the iceberg. Of which if you continue to go down the path of which I did, the path of justice, to make these heathens tremble, you cannot go back. If you feel you cannot handle the truth, place this document back where you found it, so that another may find it in the future, so that another generation may burst the bubble of these crime lords that feed upon the weak. However, if you wish to slide down upon the ice, if you wish to shatter the glass ceiling of which these bastards stand upon in mockery of our society I invite you to read on.

    It all started in 1964. Jackson Oregon. I was a detective. I was very proud of this accomplishment, as I had just been promoted. It was my one dream. To spread justice, to travel the streets of my city and route evil’s advance upon our great society. It was long, and hard. But then I got my first assignment. The commissioner walked in and placed upon my desk a folder. “Pragius,” he said, with a bright smile, a smile that was a product of his riches. “Welcome to the team, this is your assignment.”

    I opened it, there was very little in the case file. “Sir, it’s empty.” I said, quite formally.

    He laughed. “Of course it is, kid! That’s your job. To fill it.” He sat in the chair across the desk. “You’re a detective now, and you need to start acting like one. There was a fire over at the Fjord Airlines hangar. The compound that started the fire was kerosene, not gasoline which tells us that it’s arson. But we need to figure out who. It’s your job to make a case.

    I nod and head out, grabbing my trench coat and hat on the way out. Why would someone start a fire at an airline? Who would try to set a plane on fire? None of it made sense in my head, but Kerosene isn’t typically in an airline. I drive with questions in my head, trying to formulate an incentive in my mind. The only thing I could think of was it had to do with a business contract gone wrong.

    Now, I’m sure, dear reader, you know what I should have expected. A burned down hangar, right? Yes, it was, but as the hangar walls were made with steel, it didn’t burn down- the entire place was simply monochromatic with the black residue that fire leaves, as it breaks everything it burns down into carbon and hydrogen. I was expecting it all to be gone, but it was all standing. Including the now useless planes that stood like sad, long metal tubes. Dejected and weak, unable to perform their jobs anymore. Like depressed elephants in a zoo longing for their true home in the Serengeti of the sky.

    The investigation unsurprisingly didn’t turn up very much. Fires usually eat up whatever evidence you can find- this wouldn’t be an easy case. But there was one thing that was interesting- a silver chain that the manager had not seen, and was not on the books for any sort of shipment. I kept it for evidence. It should have been melted in the fire- but it wasn’t. So it appeared after the crime had taken place. And, as usually criminals return to the scene of the crime, it felt suspicious.

    I got back into the car to drive back on the road to forensics. It seemed further away than normal, as so many questions and criticisms floated around in the space that was my mind. Was I ready for this? I was so used to having cases that were put together for me. I had the majority of the evidence. Was my mind limber enough for this challenge? But as I approached forensics, I pushed my insecurities to the back of my thoughts and entered. Apparently, Doc was waiting for me. He had heard about the case earlier and wanted to see what the greenhorn could dig up on his first case. He remarked that he didn’t expect me to find anything- fires are very difficult to work with. Even experienced detectives come back with nothing on their first go-through of the scene.

    The width of my smile increased that moment, I believe. Even if the ‘evidence’ I grabbed was based upon nothing more than a hunch at the time, I brought back something. That pushed the traces of my insecurities away entirely for the time being. “Alright Doc,” I said, “Let’s see what you can get off this chain.”

    He examined it for some time, pulled some sort of residue off the chain. Wax. Interesting. And two moons was engraved upon one of the chains. It got the gears in my head cranking, but Doc’s face went pale. I asked him what was wrong, he quickly dismissed it, and said that he saw no reason this should be connected to the case at all.

    “What? We didn’t even dust it for prints!” I exclaimed. “And what about the suspicious residue on the chain? You were so excited for evidence and now-”

    “William, stop.” He said, with a shaking voice. “Trust me, just hand this to the commissioner and drop the case. It will go better for all of us.”

    I was flabbergasted. What did he mean? He handed me the chain and went into the back room without another word. Now, dear reader, my humble friend, my random confidant, you can see how this was more than suspicious. We were the police, we were here to protect and serve. Why did this small chain dismiss an entire case? I drove back to the station and handed the commissioner the chain as was instructed of me. He raised an eyebrow and observed it.

    When he saw the two moons, he nodded. “You’ve done good work son. We’ll be transferring this case to someone else with a little more experience now.” More experience? What did he mean? At least the case wasn’t being dropped right?

    “But commissioner, what’s going to happen with this case?”

    “We have a couple of people on these kinds of cases. Trust me kid, it’s better this way.”

    I kept working there for months before I knew anything was happening. And when I found out, there wasn’t anything happening. Nothing about the case was resolved. It just sat there while I had solved multiple cases. I went home after finding out this information and popped in a tape of one of my favorite shows- Omnibus. It had stopped playing on the Television three years earlier, but I found many of the performances quite relaxing. It gave me time to think.

    I decided to find what happened to this case on my own. The next day I came in early and snuck into the case files and found my old, discarded case file in a small file case tucked into a corner. The lightness of the case surprised me until I opened it. There were only five other cases that were similarly empty. The oldest one was the most complete, and actually had testimonies about the case. But… so much of it was missing. The case had holes bigger than the Beranger Crater. Ellipsis were scattered across the pages. Something was wrong- something big, but then I heard the door open. I put the file case back where it was, but quickly shoved the case files into my suitcase. This was going to require a lot more than quick reading to figure out- this was going to require detective work. I stood up and turned around- there was the Commissioner standing right there. “Pragius? What are you doing in here?”

    “Just looking up some of my old case files, sir. Making sure the Frederick case didn’t have any holes in it. Wanted to make sure the bastard went to jail for killing that kid.” He laughed and nodded.

    “Trust me kid, we’ve got everything we need to put that crook in the slammer for the rest of his life. Now, go get to work. Your next assignment is on your desk.” I nodded and headed off right away. I think I performed poorly on the investigation that time, as there was a lot on my mind regarding my first case that had gone completely unresolved. The commissioner saw that I was distraught, and told me to take the weekend off.

    I think he knew something was up, because the next day when I went to go to the store, my car wouldn’t start. When I opened the hood the cables to my battery had been cut. I wasn’t supposed to go anywhere, so I didn’t. I holed up that weekend after calling the mechanic to fix it. He towed it off, and I got to work on those case files…

    And I figured it out. There was a bar named the Two Moons on the other side of town. The owner also owned a Wax Museum across the street from it. I had to take the bus, as my car hadn’t been fixed, but I got there. I went into the bar and the jukebox was playing “Deadman’s curve.” I asked him how I could get into the wax house. He told me I could just buy a ticket, but I told him that I didn’t particularly want to get in legitimately. He looked around and said he didn’t know of any way to get in other than to buy a ticket.

    I slid a hundred across the bar. He looked at me sternly for a while, then changed his mind. He slid a key across the table. “The place closes at ten, but don’t go in until eleven. The boss stays until then. I need that key back tomorrow mornin’.” I nodded and went outside, and waited, but didn’t listen to his advice. I simply bought a ski mask and opened the door quietly at around Ten thirty to find what I had suspected- there was the commissioner, talking to the owner. I barely caught what they were saying before the spotted me and I had to leg it. He was telling the man that a new detective took the case files, but he was sure that there was no incriminating evidence in them- he was caught in the lie.

    So now, friend, I am on the run. If I am alive, I may find you, but once again, make no attempts to search for me. Only know the truth, and find a way to uncover it. Justice must ring true in this town once again, and if I am gone, friend, you must be its song.

  10. Dylan? Nobody Destroyer

    Your sweet silver hand
    Dangles like dried hanging moss from the cemetery outer wall
    Though I really hope you live a little longer
    Than that

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