I've completed my third story since deciding to actively write again. Much like the others, I don't have a title for it and it is very much unfinished. It took me three days, and I'm rather proud of it. I already know how I'm going to make it better, and that's something that's new to me. As I finish more stories, I'll have to come to terms with my fear about editing my own work. I've honestly never really done it. Sure, a word or a sentence here and there. But I've never bothered with a full piece. I'm going to do it though. I'm going to edit the shit out of this story and all my other stories, and I'm going to be a better writer for it. But for now, here's a story about dragons.... sort of:
A little girl sat down next to an old man who had a box in his lap.
"What's in the box? A turtle?" She asked, swinging her legs back and
forth. "Of a sort," said the old man. He smiled and leaned down closer
to the girl. "Dragons," he whispered in a conspiratorial tone.
"Dragons?" The girl said, he faced bunched in disbelief. "How are
dragons like turtles? I'm six and even I know dragons don't have shells.
And even if they did, they don't exist!" She looked down at the box
again. "And your box is too small. There's no way more than one dragon
could be in that box." The old man's smile grew bigger at the little
girl's sound deductions and irrepressible charm that only an incredulous
child had when they knew they were being swindled. He wondered to
himself if kids were getting smarter younger, or if he was just dumber
at that age. "My, my, such a bright young girl," he said, "surely you
don't know of ALL the animals on this planet. You're far too young to
have gotten so much knowledge." She puffed her tiny chest out and lifted
her chin up in the air. "Mommy says I'm smarter than most kids my age,"
she said proudly. The old man laughed. "What is your name, child?"
"Alice. What's yours?" "My name is Yorik. Though I used to be called the
Dragonmaster." Yorik rubbed his hand lovingly on the top of the box.
Alice shook her head, "No you weren't. There's no such thing as a
Dragonmaster." She crossed her arms. "Besides, you said they were
turtles." "No, child. I said they were turtles if a sort." He wagged a
finger at her in mock reprobation. Then, tapping the box with that
finger, said, "These dragons are the turtles' ancestors." "What does
that mean?" She asked, her curiosity piqued. "It means they came before
turtles. They're the grandparents, in a sense. Though not directly." "If
there are really dragons in there, then open it so I can see them."
Yorik sighed, "I'm afraid I can't do that, young Alice. These are
dangerous creatures. And small, as well. Why, some of them are no doubt
younger than you, child. If I were to open this box, they all would
surely fly out at once and go everywhere!" He waved his arms above him
wildly for emphasis, causing Alice to giggle. Yorik himself chuckled.
"How many are in that box?" Yorik thought a bit about it, rubbing his
chin. "Well, now... I suppose there's about seven in there." "Seven?! No
way! Now I KNOW you're lying!" Try as she might to sound angry, Alice
was having too much fun talking to this crazy old man. "How could they
all fit in there? My shoes wouldn't even fit in that box." "Well, I
believe I told you these were young dragons." "Yeah, but even then
they'd all have to be the size of a gerbil or something." "Perhaps they
ARE the size of gerbils. You certainly don't know much about dragons.
Why, you don't even believe they exist. All you know of dragons you've
learned from Disney movies, right?" Alice nodded. "Have you ever seen a
baby dragon in a Disney movie?" Alice shook her head at first, until she
remembered one movie. "'Mulan'! 'Mulan' has a baby dragon!" Alice said,
sure that she had the truth of it Yorick let out a belly laugh. "My
child, that was just a dragon made small so they could sell toys of the
same size. That was no baby. How else do you explain Mulan's getting
older and not the dragon? Dragons age just as humans do. They just live a
bit longer." "Like turtles?" He nodded, "Like turtles." Alice sat for a
moment staring off into space, deep in thought. Finally, she turned to
him and said, "What do they look like?" "Each and every one is unique.
But they do share some traits." "Some what?" Yorick laughed again. This
old man laughs an awful lot, Alice thought. "It means they do look the
same in some ways." "Like how?" "They look like lizards who swallowed
something far bigger than they should have been able to, and it sits
just above their hind legs. That's the part that makes 'em look like
turtles. The skin around that area is rough to the touch and it's a bit
hard, just like the shell of a turtle. You could knock on it and you'd
hear a sound, but I wouldn't do that if I were you. They don't like it
very much when someone taps them there. They tend to bite those that do
in a quick snap, like a snake." He curled a hand and make quick snapping
motions."THP! THP! Just like that, you lose your hand!" Alice giggled.
"Why do they have it?" "The large belly? Well, that's a secret that only
Dragonmasters know." "Why is it a secret?" "Fear," he said solemnly.
"That's just silly. What would we have to fear from something so small?"
"My child, men fear many things that are far smaller than these. And
it's all for the same reason: they do not understand them." "So why
don't you make them understand? Wouldn't that be better than keeping
them secret?" "Yes, it would. But most men are not ready, and even fewer
are willing, to acknowledge what is right in front of them and they
will resort to violence to prove their point. That is why we keep them
secret. For now. We dragonmasters seek out those who are willing and
able, and we bring them into the fold. But that is a dangerous and very
difficult task. There are only four of us right now. I am the oldest.
I've come across so many who were willing but not able to take that last
leap." "I believe," Alice said. Yorik smiled and said, "Yes, child, I
can see that you do. But, are you ABLE?" Alice jumped off the bench,
puffed up her chest, and flexed her arm muscles, raising them for
maximum effect. "Yes! I am able!" She proclaimed loudly. Yorik reared
his head back in laughter. "You are so young and full of life. I bet a
million thoughts race through your head every second." Alice was
confused by this last bit, and she tried her best to not let it show on
her face. She wanted to see dragons. She wanted to be a Dragonmaster. He
let out a mournful, tired sigh which perplexed Alice even more. Yorik
reached into his jacket pocket and took something out, but Alice could
not see what it was. "What's that?" "It is the passing of a happy burden
that I have been fortunate to carry for much of my life. My child, I
pass this burden on to you. I knew from the moment I saw you that you
were the one to carry on this work." He brought his hand to his mouth
and swallowed its contents, wincing a bit. He leaned his head back for a
moment. He lifted the box and set it gently on Alice's lap. Yorick's
body went slack as Alice was looking at him, still not quite
understanding what just happened. She looked at the box in her lap and
saw a single tear splash silently onto its top, quickly absorbing into
the cardboard. Slowly and with great reverence far beyond her years, she
lifted the flaps of the box up just enough so she could peer inside
with one eye. Inside she saw what looked like hundreds of pieces of
paper all folded and creased. The flood of fury that coursed through her
tiny body was unlike anything she had experienced. The old man had
tricked her! Taking a flap in each hand she jerked the box open.
Hundreds of origami dragons laid on their sides, flattened. Confused not
just by this but by her emotions, too, she gently plucked a dragon from
the top of the pile. It was black which faded into red at the wings
and it had purple eyes. On its tail was a string. Alice pulled the
string and the dragon popped open to three dimensions. She let out a
thrilled gasp. How someone could know how to fold paper into such a
shape was beyond Alice's comprehension, but its beauty was so apparent
that even she could understand. On the bulbous part of the dragon was
layers of masking tape, with a slit down the middle. The adrenaline rush
she got in the face of such odd beauty caused her hand to tremble. She
heard something jostling about within it, coarse and scratchy. If she
hadn't been aware of her own shaking, she would have thought the dragon
was alive. She probed the slit, trying to force it open, but there was
almost no give. She pulled the string again. The dragon's wings opened
upward and a paper flame shot out of its mouth. She noticed that its
belly looked different. Turning the dragon to face her, she saw that the
slit in the belly had opened about an inch. Inside was a folded piece
of paper. Reaching in with two fingers like fleshy tweezers, she
snatched the paper from within. She placed the dragon back in the box
and unfolded the paper. On the paper was a drawing of a tree overhanging
a calmly flowing river. There was also a quote written just above the
part of the river that went horizontal: "Be the change that you wish to
see in the world." She didn't know who Mahatma Ghandi was, but she
understood his words plain enough. It was just like what Yorick had said
to her. She looked at the other dragons in the box. They were each
different colors from one another. She rifled through them. Plucking one
from the middle, she looked at the dragon. This one was yellow with
blue wings. She tugged once on the string at its tail, popping it open.
She pulled the string again, and a paper flame shot out and its belly
opened up. Carefully reaching inside she grabbed the paper with in.
Breathless, she placed the dragon aside, and opened up the piece of
paper. On it was a drawing of a bonsai tree and Avery happy, very bald,
and very fat man sitting on a hill next to the bonsai tree. This was
written just above the man's head: "Three things cannot be long hidden:
the sun, the moon, and the truth."- Buddha. She didn't quite understand
what that meant, but she had a feeling she'd figure it out eventually.
She repeated the whole process again. This time the dragon was purple
with orange wings. The piece of paper had an amazingly life-like drawing
of an odd-looking woman. The quote was to the drawings left: "Never
believe that a few caring people can't change the world. For, indeed,
that is all who we ever have." - Margaret Mead. Alice contemplated what
these three ideas meant for her and the world at large. She desperately
wanted to open another dragon, but she recalled what Yorick had said,
about the world at large not being ready for such things as dragons.
Perhaps these ideas were the reason. She knew what she had to do, and
she understood why Yorick shared the dragons with her. She stood up as
the thrill of a new purpose gave her goosebumps. She only hoped it would
not take her as long as it took Yorick to find someone ready and
willing to receive these ideas. She walked out of the train station,
grinning the widest grin the world had ever seen.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Two Thousand Words Make a Good Milestone
I've decided not to post the work I'm doing on the story prompts I mentioned in my last post. But I AM going to continue to post my S.A.D. 2 story. I reached a bit of a milestone today (as far as I'm aware at any rate): I have written a story that is, so far, two thousand words long and counting. Originally, I was going to write this story at that length, but given that I have more ideas for this world I'm creating, and given my idea to turn it into a novel, these two thousand words are--at best-- the first two chapters. Or, at least the first chapter and a half. I think working on multiple stories at once has proven to be quite beneficial to me. I suppose it keeps things fresh in my mind. Or something like that. Anyway, here's the story so far:
When the baker closed for the night, he had no idea the yeast in the day's labor was not going to be the only thing that would rise that night. A truck rumbled by, as he got into his car and drove away.In the darkness of the night, a jelly donut stirred from its slumber as a jolt shook its body. In the glaze of his donut countenance, two slits cracked open, revealing strawberry jelly eyes. It blinked and some jelly leaked out of its eyes. It shuddered then, and two arms tore themselves from the donut's sides. Jelly seeped out its bottom, two strawberry trails. It rocked back and forth in an effort to sit up. It was to no avail, but it was determined to free itself from its glass cage. Minutes felt like hours as it lay there struggling. Another jolt racked his body. When the jolt hit the strawberry trails, the donut could feel the power come into them. He wiggled his new legs. It was invigorating, this new power. He sat up, flakes of glaze floating off his new appendages. The donut blinked as tears of jelly seeped from his eyes. A rage swelled within it, as intense as it was inexplicable. It reached a hand up and took a tear of jelly on his finger and smeared it below each of its new eyes. Nearby, an eclair shook as a great rent tore across it. The eclair screamed and howled in pain. The Jelly donut gathered up all its strength and stood up for the first time. On wobbly jelly legs, it took its first step. And then another. And another. It turned and walked toward the eclair. Its legs felt heavy with purpose, but the determination was strong within. As the jelly donut came closer to the eclair, the screams got louder. The eclair shook violently again, as another tear appeared above its mouth. It blinked a few times before its chocolate pupil turned towards the jelly donut. Its fearful screams turned to such urgency that creamy spittle began to fly out of its mouth. The donut reached down and tugged on a dried line of frosting. With each moment the eclair screamed, the more strength the jelly donut felt coursing through itself. A shard finally gave, and the jelly donut raised it above its head, letting out a shout of victory so loud, it shook the display case. Swelling with self-confidence, the jelly donut ran at the eclair with a war-cry. As the jelly donut got close enough to plunge its frosted shank into the eclair's soft doughy flesh, the eclair was wracked with painful jolts. Arms sprang out from its sides, the same as it did with the jelly donut, and as the shank came down to a whispers' space to the eclair's head, the eclair's arms shot out and grasped the shank, stopping the plunge dead. Grunting with the strain, the eclair worked his new arms, finding the strength to protect itself. The jelly donut leaned toward the eclair, letting its weight drive the shank closer to the eclair's chocolate-covered skin. They both shook with their efforts. Pain unlike anything it had ever experience coursed through the eclair's body. Creamy legs shot out of the bottom of the eclair like a bullet. The eclair screamed at the pain, but focused its energies on its new legs. With a great shove of its leg, the eclair flung the jelly donut over his head, slamming it into a crueller. The eclair's mouth screwed up as deep within a low growl emerged. It opened its mouth and said, "STOP!" Utterly dumbstruck by the word, the jelly donut let go of the shank and jumped back. It found within itself a vocal rumbling. "Wh-wh-what?" "Stop trying to stab me! That hurts!" said the eclair. Quite confused by what was not only going on in front of it but by what was going on within itself, the jelly's anger turned to fear and back to anger. It grabbed the frosty shank from the ground and got up. With a primal yell, it attacked the eclair. The eclair dodged to the left of the jelly donut and pushed it into a creampuff. A gash opened in the creampuff letting out a piercing shriek. The jelly donut and the eclair covered their ears, shrinking in pain. The creampuff began rocking back and forth before it started rolling around the jelly donut and the eclair like a culinary version of "Cowboys & Indians"... if all the Indians did was circle the cowboys and scream. Jelly donut looked at its shank and then at the cream puff and back at the shank. An evil thought crossed its newfound mind and it aimed to realize it. The bloodlust coursed through its gelatinous veins. Its breath became more rapid with the anticipation. But what to do with this troublesome eclair? It had already proved to be quick. The eclair would just get in Jelly's way, of this it was certain. Jelly donut knew the eclair's kind. Just knew it. More cream puffs began to awaken to this new world, screaming just like their forefather, but so far not moving anywhere. Jelly knew if it didn't act now it would lose its chance. As the cream puff rounded behind Jelly, Jelly squatted and jumped with all its might at the circling puff, shank held out in front of it with both hands. Oh, this was going to be a glorious thing, Jelly thought. Eclair made for one of Jelly's legs, but he was not as quick as Jelly feared. Jelly's leg slipped through Eclair's fingers as if the leg was slick butter and not sticky jelly. Eclair landed on his face. When he looked up, he saw that Jelly had himself landed. Jelly brought up his shank and made to slit the cream puff in half. Eclair thrust himself to the nearest dried trail of frosting, taking a page from Jelly's book. He wrenched a piece free almost effortlessly and flung it at the hand that Jelly was holding his shank. Eclair's sugary missile hid its target dead on, causing Jelly's hand to drop the shank. Stunned and in pain but not deterred, Jelly grabbed the cream puff's hand as it birthed itself from the puff's side. Jelly leaned back off the edge of display and he and the cream puff fell into oblivion. Eclair ran to the edge. When he looked down, he saw Jelly and Cream Puff had landed in a pile of pigs in a blanket. Jelly smiled devilishly up at Eclair and shouted, "Suck it, bitch!" Pigs in a blanket moaned and cried, as Jelly took his prize to the back of the second shelf, well out of the sight of Eclair. A pig in a blanket laid on his side, watching as Jelly dragged the screaming Cream Puff to the back of...what was this? And why was that cream puff screaming? He rolled over to his other side. Dozens more of his brothers and sisters lay beside him. Some were rocking back and forth, while others were flailing their arms above them. Arms? He looked down at himself. He didn't have arms. Or legs. Why doesn't he have any legs? A fierce shuddering pain shot through him then, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut. When the pain passed, he opened his eyes slowly. He felt odd movement at his sides. When he looked to his left, two meaty hands faced him. Frightened, he turned his head quickly the other way, only to be further terrified with another pair of hands.Seeing the mutant Pig in a Blanket, Jelly feared there would be trouble here. He went to the edge of the shelf, dragging the screaming Cream puff, and looked down. Excellent! Another shelf. Perhaps this one will be more secluded so he could work in peace. Ha! Peace! He giggled to himself.Jelly donut looked at its shank and then at the cream puff and back at the shank. An evil thought crossed its newfound mind and it aimed to realize it. The bloodlust coursed through its gelatinous veins. Its breath became more rapid with the anticipation. But what to do with this troublesome eclair? It had already proved to be quick. The eclair would just get in Jelly's way, of this it was certain. Jelly donut knew the eclair's kind. Just knew it. More cream puffs began to awaken to this new world, screaming just like their forefather, but so far not moving anywhere. Jelly knew if it didn't act now it would lose its chance. As the cream puff rounded behind Jelly, Jelly squatted and jumped with all its might at the circling puff, shank held out in front of it with both hands. Oh, this was going to be a glorious thing, Jelly thought. Eclair made for one of Jelly's legs, but he was not as quick as Jelly feared. Jelly's leg slipped through Eclair's fingers as if the leg was slick butter and not sticky jelly. Eclair landed on his face. When he looked up, he saw that Jelly had himself landed. Jelly brought up his shank and made to slit the cream puff in half. Eclair thrust himself to the nearest dried trail of frosting, taking a page from Jelly's book. He wrenched a piece free almost effortlessly and flung it at the hand that Jelly was holding his shank. Eclair's sugary missile hid its target dead on, causing Jelly's hand to drop the shank. Stunned and in pain but not deterred, Jelly grabbed the cream puff's hand as it birthed itself from the puff's side. Jelly leaned back off the edge of display and he and the cream puff fell into oblivion. Eclair ran to the edge. When he looked down, he saw Jelly and Cream Puff had landed in a pile of pigs in a blanket. Jelly smiled devilishly up at Eclair and shouted, "Suck it, bitch!" Pigs in a blanket moaned and cried, as Jelly took his prize to the back of the second shelf, well out of the sight of Eclair. A pig in a blanket laid on his side, watching as Jelly dragged the screaming Cream Puff to the back of...what was this? And why was that cream puff screaming? He rolled over to his other side. Dozens more of his brothers and sisters lay beside him. Some were rocking back and forth, while others were flailing their arms above them. Arms? He looked down at himself. He didn't have arms. Or legs. Why doesn't he have any legs? A fierce shuddering pain shot through him then, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut. When the pain passed, he opened his eyes slowly. He felt odd movement at his sides. When he looked to his left, two meaty hands faced him. Frightened, he turned his head quickly the other way, only to be further terrified with another pair of hands. Seeing the mutant Pig in a Blanket, Jelly feared there would be trouble here. He went to the edge of the shelf, dragging the screaming Cream puff, and looked down. Excellent! Another shelf. Perhaps this one will be more secluded so he could work in peace. Ha! Peace! He giggled to himself. Flinging Cream Puff downward from his side, Jelly let inertia carry him over and down. Jelly landed on top of Cream Puff with a sickening crunch and a pain shot through his side. Looking at his side, he saw that jelly was leaking from it. He rolled off Cream Puff, who had gone silent from the fall. Cracks and flakes riddled through Cream Puff's body, looking like a white-lined road map of particularly messy game of Pick Up Sticks. Some sort of clear substance leaked from Cream Puff's eyes. Cream Puff was shaking and moaning softly. Jelly stuck a finger under one of Cream Puff's eyes, catching a bit of the liquid on it. He tasted the liquid. Mildly bitter and salty. The flavor pleased Jelly greatly. What please him more, though, was what caused the tear. Cream Puff was obviously in great pain. Landing on the hard metal surface and being squashed under Jelly's much larger bulk no doubt caused it. Jelly hit Cream Puff with his frosty shank. "Silence, you twat!" he said.
When the baker closed for the night, he had no idea the yeast in the day's labor was not going to be the only thing that would rise that night. A truck rumbled by, as he got into his car and drove away.In the darkness of the night, a jelly donut stirred from its slumber as a jolt shook its body. In the glaze of his donut countenance, two slits cracked open, revealing strawberry jelly eyes. It blinked and some jelly leaked out of its eyes. It shuddered then, and two arms tore themselves from the donut's sides. Jelly seeped out its bottom, two strawberry trails. It rocked back and forth in an effort to sit up. It was to no avail, but it was determined to free itself from its glass cage. Minutes felt like hours as it lay there struggling. Another jolt racked his body. When the jolt hit the strawberry trails, the donut could feel the power come into them. He wiggled his new legs. It was invigorating, this new power. He sat up, flakes of glaze floating off his new appendages. The donut blinked as tears of jelly seeped from his eyes. A rage swelled within it, as intense as it was inexplicable. It reached a hand up and took a tear of jelly on his finger and smeared it below each of its new eyes. Nearby, an eclair shook as a great rent tore across it. The eclair screamed and howled in pain. The Jelly donut gathered up all its strength and stood up for the first time. On wobbly jelly legs, it took its first step. And then another. And another. It turned and walked toward the eclair. Its legs felt heavy with purpose, but the determination was strong within. As the jelly donut came closer to the eclair, the screams got louder. The eclair shook violently again, as another tear appeared above its mouth. It blinked a few times before its chocolate pupil turned towards the jelly donut. Its fearful screams turned to such urgency that creamy spittle began to fly out of its mouth. The donut reached down and tugged on a dried line of frosting. With each moment the eclair screamed, the more strength the jelly donut felt coursing through itself. A shard finally gave, and the jelly donut raised it above its head, letting out a shout of victory so loud, it shook the display case. Swelling with self-confidence, the jelly donut ran at the eclair with a war-cry. As the jelly donut got close enough to plunge its frosted shank into the eclair's soft doughy flesh, the eclair was wracked with painful jolts. Arms sprang out from its sides, the same as it did with the jelly donut, and as the shank came down to a whispers' space to the eclair's head, the eclair's arms shot out and grasped the shank, stopping the plunge dead. Grunting with the strain, the eclair worked his new arms, finding the strength to protect itself. The jelly donut leaned toward the eclair, letting its weight drive the shank closer to the eclair's chocolate-covered skin. They both shook with their efforts. Pain unlike anything it had ever experience coursed through the eclair's body. Creamy legs shot out of the bottom of the eclair like a bullet. The eclair screamed at the pain, but focused its energies on its new legs. With a great shove of its leg, the eclair flung the jelly donut over his head, slamming it into a crueller. The eclair's mouth screwed up as deep within a low growl emerged. It opened its mouth and said, "STOP!" Utterly dumbstruck by the word, the jelly donut let go of the shank and jumped back. It found within itself a vocal rumbling. "Wh-wh-what?" "Stop trying to stab me! That hurts!" said the eclair. Quite confused by what was not only going on in front of it but by what was going on within itself, the jelly's anger turned to fear and back to anger. It grabbed the frosty shank from the ground and got up. With a primal yell, it attacked the eclair. The eclair dodged to the left of the jelly donut and pushed it into a creampuff. A gash opened in the creampuff letting out a piercing shriek. The jelly donut and the eclair covered their ears, shrinking in pain. The creampuff began rocking back and forth before it started rolling around the jelly donut and the eclair like a culinary version of "Cowboys & Indians"... if all the Indians did was circle the cowboys and scream. Jelly donut looked at its shank and then at the cream puff and back at the shank. An evil thought crossed its newfound mind and it aimed to realize it. The bloodlust coursed through its gelatinous veins. Its breath became more rapid with the anticipation. But what to do with this troublesome eclair? It had already proved to be quick. The eclair would just get in Jelly's way, of this it was certain. Jelly donut knew the eclair's kind. Just knew it. More cream puffs began to awaken to this new world, screaming just like their forefather, but so far not moving anywhere. Jelly knew if it didn't act now it would lose its chance. As the cream puff rounded behind Jelly, Jelly squatted and jumped with all its might at the circling puff, shank held out in front of it with both hands. Oh, this was going to be a glorious thing, Jelly thought. Eclair made for one of Jelly's legs, but he was not as quick as Jelly feared. Jelly's leg slipped through Eclair's fingers as if the leg was slick butter and not sticky jelly. Eclair landed on his face. When he looked up, he saw that Jelly had himself landed. Jelly brought up his shank and made to slit the cream puff in half. Eclair thrust himself to the nearest dried trail of frosting, taking a page from Jelly's book. He wrenched a piece free almost effortlessly and flung it at the hand that Jelly was holding his shank. Eclair's sugary missile hid its target dead on, causing Jelly's hand to drop the shank. Stunned and in pain but not deterred, Jelly grabbed the cream puff's hand as it birthed itself from the puff's side. Jelly leaned back off the edge of display and he and the cream puff fell into oblivion. Eclair ran to the edge. When he looked down, he saw Jelly and Cream Puff had landed in a pile of pigs in a blanket. Jelly smiled devilishly up at Eclair and shouted, "Suck it, bitch!" Pigs in a blanket moaned and cried, as Jelly took his prize to the back of the second shelf, well out of the sight of Eclair. A pig in a blanket laid on his side, watching as Jelly dragged the screaming Cream Puff to the back of...what was this? And why was that cream puff screaming? He rolled over to his other side. Dozens more of his brothers and sisters lay beside him. Some were rocking back and forth, while others were flailing their arms above them. Arms? He looked down at himself. He didn't have arms. Or legs. Why doesn't he have any legs? A fierce shuddering pain shot through him then, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut. When the pain passed, he opened his eyes slowly. He felt odd movement at his sides. When he looked to his left, two meaty hands faced him. Frightened, he turned his head quickly the other way, only to be further terrified with another pair of hands.Seeing the mutant Pig in a Blanket, Jelly feared there would be trouble here. He went to the edge of the shelf, dragging the screaming Cream puff, and looked down. Excellent! Another shelf. Perhaps this one will be more secluded so he could work in peace. Ha! Peace! He giggled to himself.Jelly donut looked at its shank and then at the cream puff and back at the shank. An evil thought crossed its newfound mind and it aimed to realize it. The bloodlust coursed through its gelatinous veins. Its breath became more rapid with the anticipation. But what to do with this troublesome eclair? It had already proved to be quick. The eclair would just get in Jelly's way, of this it was certain. Jelly donut knew the eclair's kind. Just knew it. More cream puffs began to awaken to this new world, screaming just like their forefather, but so far not moving anywhere. Jelly knew if it didn't act now it would lose its chance. As the cream puff rounded behind Jelly, Jelly squatted and jumped with all its might at the circling puff, shank held out in front of it with both hands. Oh, this was going to be a glorious thing, Jelly thought. Eclair made for one of Jelly's legs, but he was not as quick as Jelly feared. Jelly's leg slipped through Eclair's fingers as if the leg was slick butter and not sticky jelly. Eclair landed on his face. When he looked up, he saw that Jelly had himself landed. Jelly brought up his shank and made to slit the cream puff in half. Eclair thrust himself to the nearest dried trail of frosting, taking a page from Jelly's book. He wrenched a piece free almost effortlessly and flung it at the hand that Jelly was holding his shank. Eclair's sugary missile hid its target dead on, causing Jelly's hand to drop the shank. Stunned and in pain but not deterred, Jelly grabbed the cream puff's hand as it birthed itself from the puff's side. Jelly leaned back off the edge of display and he and the cream puff fell into oblivion. Eclair ran to the edge. When he looked down, he saw Jelly and Cream Puff had landed in a pile of pigs in a blanket. Jelly smiled devilishly up at Eclair and shouted, "Suck it, bitch!" Pigs in a blanket moaned and cried, as Jelly took his prize to the back of the second shelf, well out of the sight of Eclair. A pig in a blanket laid on his side, watching as Jelly dragged the screaming Cream Puff to the back of...what was this? And why was that cream puff screaming? He rolled over to his other side. Dozens more of his brothers and sisters lay beside him. Some were rocking back and forth, while others were flailing their arms above them. Arms? He looked down at himself. He didn't have arms. Or legs. Why doesn't he have any legs? A fierce shuddering pain shot through him then, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut. When the pain passed, he opened his eyes slowly. He felt odd movement at his sides. When he looked to his left, two meaty hands faced him. Frightened, he turned his head quickly the other way, only to be further terrified with another pair of hands. Seeing the mutant Pig in a Blanket, Jelly feared there would be trouble here. He went to the edge of the shelf, dragging the screaming Cream puff, and looked down. Excellent! Another shelf. Perhaps this one will be more secluded so he could work in peace. Ha! Peace! He giggled to himself. Flinging Cream Puff downward from his side, Jelly let inertia carry him over and down. Jelly landed on top of Cream Puff with a sickening crunch and a pain shot through his side. Looking at his side, he saw that jelly was leaking from it. He rolled off Cream Puff, who had gone silent from the fall. Cracks and flakes riddled through Cream Puff's body, looking like a white-lined road map of particularly messy game of Pick Up Sticks. Some sort of clear substance leaked from Cream Puff's eyes. Cream Puff was shaking and moaning softly. Jelly stuck a finger under one of Cream Puff's eyes, catching a bit of the liquid on it. He tasted the liquid. Mildly bitter and salty. The flavor pleased Jelly greatly. What please him more, though, was what caused the tear. Cream Puff was obviously in great pain. Landing on the hard metal surface and being squashed under Jelly's much larger bulk no doubt caused it. Jelly hit Cream Puff with his frosty shank. "Silence, you twat!" he said.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
And This is Where I Lick My Wounds and Start Again....
I thought yesterday was bad.... Today was fucking AWFUL!!!.... Writing-wise, anyway. I was struggling and struggling with how best to proceed with my supposed novel, "Rise of the Pastries" (which is pretty much set in stone for a title, as far as I'm concerned), when fear overwhelmed me and I had to quit. I got sad, and then I talked about it with Theo a little bit, and then a new idea hit me. Well, five actually. Five new starts for stories, and I'm going to work on them all at the same time...well, not at the SAME time. I'll work on one until I feel like I'm not getting anywhere, and then I'll work on another until I feel like I'm not getting anywhere, and so on and so forth. I pretty much said this in an earlier post, but this time I'm actually implementing them. For anyone interested in the 5 starts, they are as follows:
1) Don Davis was trapped in his car because of badgers.
2) The floor was covered in dogshit.
3) My mother always told me listening to heavy metal would warp my brain.
4) The sound coming from that baby was as loud as it was unholy, and I aimed to silence it and send it back to hell.
5) I first discovered my pubes had gone plaid after I had gotten out of the shower.
That last one was a result of my talk with Theo. We have strange conversations at times. So there you have it. Five new ideas, and if I don't do something with them....I don't really want to think about that right now....
I DO however have a pint of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream in the freezer, and it is calling my name. Yes, I went out of my way to buy a pint of ice cream and not beer. Suck it.
1) Don Davis was trapped in his car because of badgers.
2) The floor was covered in dogshit.
3) My mother always told me listening to heavy metal would warp my brain.
4) The sound coming from that baby was as loud as it was unholy, and I aimed to silence it and send it back to hell.
5) I first discovered my pubes had gone plaid after I had gotten out of the shower.
That last one was a result of my talk with Theo. We have strange conversations at times. So there you have it. Five new ideas, and if I don't do something with them....I don't really want to think about that right now....
I DO however have a pint of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream in the freezer, and it is calling my name. Yes, I went out of my way to buy a pint of ice cream and not beer. Suck it.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Man or Mouse and a Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day of Writing
After a day of consideration and a day of feeling a bit more off than usual, after a day of not being happy with what I wrote for S.A.D. 2, I've decided to go ahead and post my really, really, really short story, "Man or Mouse":
Darren slammed the door behind him. His nostrils flared and his breathing was deep and heavy. Squeakers cowered in the corner of his cage, burrowing as best he could under a pile of shredded paper. He closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. "Bitch!" Darren said as he walked over to the fridge. He grabbed a carton of milk and began chugging it. Rivers of milk cascaded down the ample girth which stretched the limits of his XXXL scrubs, going horizontal once they hit the elastic belt at his waist. Higher and higher he lifted the carton as it emptied. When there was nothing left, Darren chucked the carton into the trash and wiped his mouth with the back of a meaty paw. "Bitch! That fucking bitch!" he said, a spray of milky saliva with every word. Squeakers pissed himself a little then, soaking into the hair on his underside, which was already crusty with past urination. He knew what was coming, what always came when his father returned home angry. His ribs ached then, at the memories. Darren turned towards Squeaker's cage. "You wouldn't understand, Squeakers, what hell i go through everyday with that bitch," he said. He walks toward the cage, each step deafening thunder to Squeaker's minute ears. "I don't know what her problem is, whether she's retarded somehow or if she just hates me." Darren opens the door of the cage, and with curious gentleness he brushes the shredded paper off Squeaker and then lifts Squeaker up to his face, not caring as the urine drips off his hand. Squeaker always hid in the same spot, a fact that amused Darren. Animals were cute but dumb. "Or maybe she just doesn't know she's making me miserable." Darren tightens his grip on Squeakers. "Maybe it's all some big misunderstanding and i should be the bigger person and MAKE her aware." Darren barks out a laugh. "Yeah, I'll make her understand....WITH MY FISTS!" His grip tightens even more. The pain, already unbearable, sends starbursts into Squeaker's eyes. His hind legs scratch at Darren's hand, feeble and ineffective like a feather scratching a balloon. "I don't know why she has so much trouble doing her job when she's been doing it for 5 FUCKING YEARS!" Darren's hand squeezed tighter, and Squeakers began to live up to his name. His squeaks weren't very loud. Darren's grip had all but completely choked off his air supply. "Back and forth I have to go. Everyday!... I know it's not a long walk, but I mean, look at me! I'm a fat motherfucker!" Darren slaps his belly with his other hand. The sound of Darren's insides sloshing about made Squeakers want to vomit. Nothing would come up though. It'd been three days since Darren last fed Squeakers. "And it's a cold day in hell when she remembers to give me a method of payment!" He scoffs and his hand squeezes more. Squeaker's squeaks come out like a mouse-sized car alarm, but Darren continues to ignore him. Squeakers screams a mousy scream as a rib on his left side cracks. "It may not seem like such a big deal to some people, but it's a HUGE deal to someone like me! I don't have a lot going on in my life. This job is all i have keeping me tethered to reality." Another rib cracks and Squeakers can feel himself begin to black out. The pain was horrendous now, and Squeakers welcomed the embrace of unconsciousness. He would have welcomed death if only it would come, but it never did. Not in three years. But as another rib splintered, sending hundreds of daggers throughout his tiny body, he wondered if this might be the day his biggest wish is granted. He was never quite sure how Darren could not know he was breaking Squeaker's bones. The only thing standing between his bones and Darren's hand was a thin layer of skin with an almost equally thin layer of fur. And his fur was gone in some places. Darren never broke eye contact with him, either. Didn't the agony show in his eyes? Didn't the fear? Squeakers didn't know what he had done to deserve this, but it must have been terrible. As if in confirmation of his sins in a past life, Darren's tirade increased in volume, perfectly in sync with the increased pressure Squeakers felt. "She always apologizes but it's all bullshit! She's just sorry she got fucking caught! How can someone think it's okay to be so blatantly two-faced?! HOW??!!" Darren squeezed his fist with all his might, the rest of Squeaker's intact ribs gave way under the stress. The bones sliced into his organs and pierced his tissue thin skin, jabbing Darren's hand. "OW! MOTHERFUCKER!" Darren howled as he flung Squeakers across the room. Squeaker's body hit the wall with a pitiful thud and landed on the floor, unmoving. Darren stared at the body of his best friend, his only friend. He looked down at his hand. Two uneven rows of tiny dots, slowly swelling into beads of blood. As confused as he was horrified, Darren looked back at the tiny white lump that lay on the floor. He slowly walked forward, tears welling up in his eyes. "Squeakers?" He said, mewling. "Squeakers?" Darren squatted down, gingerly scooping up Squeakers. He saw the bones protruding from the mouse's chest. He saw that the chest was not moving. He had killed the only thing in this world he had ever loved. He wept throughout the night, looking and sounding like an enormous squalling baby.
Now, for anyone who might be interested, and for myself so I don't regret deleting it, I'll post what I wrote today for S.A.D. 2. I'm probably going to go in the complete opposite direction from this tomorrow. Ugh... Here it is:
Don was a baker whose two main specialties were pastries and gallows humor. And it was the love of both that led him to purchase and convert an old funeral home into a bakery. It was brilliant when you thought about it. The old cremation oven was repurposed into 4 smaller ovens. The room where the wakes had been held was now a small cafe. It held 6 tables with a capacity of 18 seated customers. The room where the undertaker would work his magic to make the dead beautiful was now the kitchen. Stromberg & Sons Funeral Home was now Dark Delicacies. When it first opened, it was a resounding disaster. No one in their right mind would ever eat food made where the dead once dwelled. It was a food critic looking for something different that changed everything. After the review came out, people crammed into the small building from open to close everyday. Some more superstitious people claimed the bakery was on an old Indian burial ground. Don didn't mind that rumor in the least. He even went so far as to claim just that in all his advertising for Dark Delicacies. He was a single-minded man. No time for women or for hobbies or really, even for people. A corpulent man, he enjoyed eating. It's why he got into baking. The only reason he had a cafe was to fill the void left by the Wake room and increase revenue. He was notorious for chasing out unwanted patrons with large knives and streams of vulgar insults. People never took him seriously, however. Most figured anyone who would sell baked goods out of a former funeral home must be screwing with people. Some overlooked his sour demeanor because they didn't want to be kept from Don's delicious offerings. And the rest just treated it as part of a larger macabre one-man show. Don had employees from time to time, but none stayed longer than three months. Low pay, high customer volume, and Don's antagonistic attitude ensured such a high turnover. Don was unconcerned about that, though. Baking was all he cared for. And he knew people loved his wares, that they would come back no matter what indignities he might inflict upon them.
Darren slammed the door behind him. His nostrils flared and his breathing was deep and heavy. Squeakers cowered in the corner of his cage, burrowing as best he could under a pile of shredded paper. He closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. "Bitch!" Darren said as he walked over to the fridge. He grabbed a carton of milk and began chugging it. Rivers of milk cascaded down the ample girth which stretched the limits of his XXXL scrubs, going horizontal once they hit the elastic belt at his waist. Higher and higher he lifted the carton as it emptied. When there was nothing left, Darren chucked the carton into the trash and wiped his mouth with the back of a meaty paw. "Bitch! That fucking bitch!" he said, a spray of milky saliva with every word. Squeakers pissed himself a little then, soaking into the hair on his underside, which was already crusty with past urination. He knew what was coming, what always came when his father returned home angry. His ribs ached then, at the memories. Darren turned towards Squeaker's cage. "You wouldn't understand, Squeakers, what hell i go through everyday with that bitch," he said. He walks toward the cage, each step deafening thunder to Squeaker's minute ears. "I don't know what her problem is, whether she's retarded somehow or if she just hates me." Darren opens the door of the cage, and with curious gentleness he brushes the shredded paper off Squeaker and then lifts Squeaker up to his face, not caring as the urine drips off his hand. Squeaker always hid in the same spot, a fact that amused Darren. Animals were cute but dumb. "Or maybe she just doesn't know she's making me miserable." Darren tightens his grip on Squeakers. "Maybe it's all some big misunderstanding and i should be the bigger person and MAKE her aware." Darren barks out a laugh. "Yeah, I'll make her understand....WITH MY FISTS!" His grip tightens even more. The pain, already unbearable, sends starbursts into Squeaker's eyes. His hind legs scratch at Darren's hand, feeble and ineffective like a feather scratching a balloon. "I don't know why she has so much trouble doing her job when she's been doing it for 5 FUCKING YEARS!" Darren's hand squeezed tighter, and Squeakers began to live up to his name. His squeaks weren't very loud. Darren's grip had all but completely choked off his air supply. "Back and forth I have to go. Everyday!... I know it's not a long walk, but I mean, look at me! I'm a fat motherfucker!" Darren slaps his belly with his other hand. The sound of Darren's insides sloshing about made Squeakers want to vomit. Nothing would come up though. It'd been three days since Darren last fed Squeakers. "And it's a cold day in hell when she remembers to give me a method of payment!" He scoffs and his hand squeezes more. Squeaker's squeaks come out like a mouse-sized car alarm, but Darren continues to ignore him. Squeakers screams a mousy scream as a rib on his left side cracks. "It may not seem like such a big deal to some people, but it's a HUGE deal to someone like me! I don't have a lot going on in my life. This job is all i have keeping me tethered to reality." Another rib cracks and Squeakers can feel himself begin to black out. The pain was horrendous now, and Squeakers welcomed the embrace of unconsciousness. He would have welcomed death if only it would come, but it never did. Not in three years. But as another rib splintered, sending hundreds of daggers throughout his tiny body, he wondered if this might be the day his biggest wish is granted. He was never quite sure how Darren could not know he was breaking Squeaker's bones. The only thing standing between his bones and Darren's hand was a thin layer of skin with an almost equally thin layer of fur. And his fur was gone in some places. Darren never broke eye contact with him, either. Didn't the agony show in his eyes? Didn't the fear? Squeakers didn't know what he had done to deserve this, but it must have been terrible. As if in confirmation of his sins in a past life, Darren's tirade increased in volume, perfectly in sync with the increased pressure Squeakers felt. "She always apologizes but it's all bullshit! She's just sorry she got fucking caught! How can someone think it's okay to be so blatantly two-faced?! HOW??!!" Darren squeezed his fist with all his might, the rest of Squeaker's intact ribs gave way under the stress. The bones sliced into his organs and pierced his tissue thin skin, jabbing Darren's hand. "OW! MOTHERFUCKER!" Darren howled as he flung Squeakers across the room. Squeaker's body hit the wall with a pitiful thud and landed on the floor, unmoving. Darren stared at the body of his best friend, his only friend. He looked down at his hand. Two uneven rows of tiny dots, slowly swelling into beads of blood. As confused as he was horrified, Darren looked back at the tiny white lump that lay on the floor. He slowly walked forward, tears welling up in his eyes. "Squeakers?" He said, mewling. "Squeakers?" Darren squatted down, gingerly scooping up Squeakers. He saw the bones protruding from the mouse's chest. He saw that the chest was not moving. He had killed the only thing in this world he had ever loved. He wept throughout the night, looking and sounding like an enormous squalling baby.
Now, for anyone who might be interested, and for myself so I don't regret deleting it, I'll post what I wrote today for S.A.D. 2. I'm probably going to go in the complete opposite direction from this tomorrow. Ugh... Here it is:
Don was a baker whose two main specialties were pastries and gallows humor. And it was the love of both that led him to purchase and convert an old funeral home into a bakery. It was brilliant when you thought about it. The old cremation oven was repurposed into 4 smaller ovens. The room where the wakes had been held was now a small cafe. It held 6 tables with a capacity of 18 seated customers. The room where the undertaker would work his magic to make the dead beautiful was now the kitchen. Stromberg & Sons Funeral Home was now Dark Delicacies. When it first opened, it was a resounding disaster. No one in their right mind would ever eat food made where the dead once dwelled. It was a food critic looking for something different that changed everything. After the review came out, people crammed into the small building from open to close everyday. Some more superstitious people claimed the bakery was on an old Indian burial ground. Don didn't mind that rumor in the least. He even went so far as to claim just that in all his advertising for Dark Delicacies. He was a single-minded man. No time for women or for hobbies or really, even for people. A corpulent man, he enjoyed eating. It's why he got into baking. The only reason he had a cafe was to fill the void left by the Wake room and increase revenue. He was notorious for chasing out unwanted patrons with large knives and streams of vulgar insults. People never took him seriously, however. Most figured anyone who would sell baked goods out of a former funeral home must be screwing with people. Some overlooked his sour demeanor because they didn't want to be kept from Don's delicious offerings. And the rest just treated it as part of a larger macabre one-man show. Don had employees from time to time, but none stayed longer than three months. Low pay, high customer volume, and Don's antagonistic attitude ensured such a high turnover. Don was unconcerned about that, though. Baking was all he cared for. And he knew people loved his wares, that they would come back no matter what indignities he might inflict upon them.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Night of the Sentient Pastries (Don't Worry, That's Just a Placeholder Title)
Today at work was very busy, yet I still managed to squeeze out 368 words. And it didn't take me more than an hour. That was awesome. And when I read over what I had written, it dawned on me that this alleged flash fiction or short story is more likely going to be a novel. Or at least a long novella. I had such an explosion of ideas I wanted to do with this story, I don't think it would do to limit myself. I'm going to write in the direction I think is best AND most interesting, and that's as a novel. I've never written more than a few thousand words about....anything. So to come to the conclusion (after finding out this story is already nearly 1000 words) that I am going to write a novel freaked me out, but then I realized I have enough of an idea that it's entirely possible to do. As with my last S.A.D. story, this is a very, very rough draft. The tone, the flow, the proper English... pretty much everything is all over the place, but I'll make it a cohesive piece later on. For now, I'll just get the ideas down as fast as I can. Here's the story so far:
When the baker closed for the night, he had no idea the yeast in the day's labor was not going to be the only thing that would rise that night. A truck rumbled by, as he got into his car and drove away.In the darkness of the night, a jelly donut stirred from its slumber as a jolt shook its body. In the glaze of his donut countenance, two slits cracked open, revealing strawberry jelly eyes. It blinked and some jelly leaked out of its eyes. It shuddered then, and two arms tore themselves from the donut's sides. Jelly seeped out its bottom, two strawberry trails. It rocked back and forth in an effort to sit up. It was to no avail, but it was determined to free itself from its glass cage. Minutes felt like hours as it lay there struggling. Another jolt racked his body. When the jolt hit the strawberry trails, the donut could feel the power come into them. He wiggled his new legs. It was invigorating, this new power. He sat up, flakes of glaze floating off his new appendages. The donut blinked as tears of jelly seeped from his eyes. A rage swelled within it, as intense as it was inexplicable. It reached a hand up and took a tear of jelly on his finger and smeared it below each of its new eyes. Nearby, an eclair shook as a great rent tore across it. The eclair screamed and howled in pain. The Jelly donut gathered up all its strength and stood up for the first time. On wobbly jelly legs, it took its first step. And then another. And another. It turned and walked toward the eclair. Its legs felt heavy with purpose, but the determination was strong within. As the jelly donut came closer to the eclair, the screams got louder. The eclair shook violently again, as another tear appeared above its mouth. It blinked a few times before its chocolate pupil turned towards the jelly donut. Its fearful screams turned to such urgency that creamy spittle began to fly out of its mouth. The donut reached down and tugged on a dried line of frosting. With each moment the eclair screamed, the more strength the jelly donut felt coursing through itself. A shard finally gave, and the jelly donut raised it above its head, letting out a shout of victory so loud, it shook the display case. Swelling with self-confidence, the jelly donut ran at the eclair with a war-cry. As the jelly donut got close enough to plunge its frosted shank into the eclair's soft doughy flesh, the eclair was wracked with painful jolts. Arms sprang out from its sides, the same as it did with the jelly donut, and as the shank came down to a whispers' space to the eclair's head, the eclair's arms shot out and grasped the shank, stopping the plunge dead. Grunting with the strain, the eclair worked his new arms, finding the strength to protect itself. The jelly donut leaned toward the eclair, letting its weight drive the shank closer to the eclair's chocolate-covered skin. They both shook with their efforts. Pain unlike anything it had ever experience coursed through the eclair's body. Creamy legs shot out of the bottom of the eclair like a bullet. The eclair screamed at the pain, but focused its energies on its new legs. With a great shove of its leg, the eclair flung the jelly donut over his head, slamming it into a cruller. Jelly donut looked at its shank and then at the cream puff and back at the shank. An evil thought crossed its newfound mind and it aimed to realize it. The bloodlust coursed through its gelatinous veins. Its breath became more rapid with the anticipation. But what to do with this troublesome eclair? It had already proved to be quick. The eclair would just get in Jelly's way, of this it was certain. Jelly donut knew the eclair's kind. Just knew it. More cream puffs began to awaken to this new world, screaming just like their forefather, but so far not moving anywhere. Jelly knew if it didn't act now it would lose its chance. As the cream puff rounded behind Jelly, Jelly squatted and jumped with all its might at the circling puff, shank held out in front of it with both hands. Oh, this was going to be a glorious thing, Jelly thought. Eclair made for one of Jelly's legs, but he was not as quick as Jelly feared. Jelly's leg slipped through Eclair's fingers as if the leg was slick butter and not sticky jelly. Eclair landed on his face. When he looked up, he saw that Jelly had himself landed. Jelly brought up his shank and made to slit the cream puff in half. Eclair thrust himself to the nearest dried trail of frosting, taking a page from Jelly's book. He wrenched a piece free almost effortlessly and flung it at the hand that Jelly was holding his shank. Eclair's sugary missile hid its target dead on, causing Jelly's hand to drop the shank. Stunned and in pain but not deterred, Jelly grabbed the cream puff's hand as it birthed itself from the puff's side. Jelly leaned back off the edge of display and he and the cream puff fell into oblivion. Eclair ran to the edge. When he looked down, he saw Jelly and Cream Puff had landed in a pile of pigs in a blanket. Jelly smiled devilishly up at Eclair and shouted, "Suck it, bitch!" Pigs in a blanket moaned and cried, as Jelly took his prize to the back of the second shelf, well out of the sight of Eclair.
When the baker closed for the night, he had no idea the yeast in the day's labor was not going to be the only thing that would rise that night. A truck rumbled by, as he got into his car and drove away.In the darkness of the night, a jelly donut stirred from its slumber as a jolt shook its body. In the glaze of his donut countenance, two slits cracked open, revealing strawberry jelly eyes. It blinked and some jelly leaked out of its eyes. It shuddered then, and two arms tore themselves from the donut's sides. Jelly seeped out its bottom, two strawberry trails. It rocked back and forth in an effort to sit up. It was to no avail, but it was determined to free itself from its glass cage. Minutes felt like hours as it lay there struggling. Another jolt racked his body. When the jolt hit the strawberry trails, the donut could feel the power come into them. He wiggled his new legs. It was invigorating, this new power. He sat up, flakes of glaze floating off his new appendages. The donut blinked as tears of jelly seeped from his eyes. A rage swelled within it, as intense as it was inexplicable. It reached a hand up and took a tear of jelly on his finger and smeared it below each of its new eyes. Nearby, an eclair shook as a great rent tore across it. The eclair screamed and howled in pain. The Jelly donut gathered up all its strength and stood up for the first time. On wobbly jelly legs, it took its first step. And then another. And another. It turned and walked toward the eclair. Its legs felt heavy with purpose, but the determination was strong within. As the jelly donut came closer to the eclair, the screams got louder. The eclair shook violently again, as another tear appeared above its mouth. It blinked a few times before its chocolate pupil turned towards the jelly donut. Its fearful screams turned to such urgency that creamy spittle began to fly out of its mouth. The donut reached down and tugged on a dried line of frosting. With each moment the eclair screamed, the more strength the jelly donut felt coursing through itself. A shard finally gave, and the jelly donut raised it above its head, letting out a shout of victory so loud, it shook the display case. Swelling with self-confidence, the jelly donut ran at the eclair with a war-cry. As the jelly donut got close enough to plunge its frosted shank into the eclair's soft doughy flesh, the eclair was wracked with painful jolts. Arms sprang out from its sides, the same as it did with the jelly donut, and as the shank came down to a whispers' space to the eclair's head, the eclair's arms shot out and grasped the shank, stopping the plunge dead. Grunting with the strain, the eclair worked his new arms, finding the strength to protect itself. The jelly donut leaned toward the eclair, letting its weight drive the shank closer to the eclair's chocolate-covered skin. They both shook with their efforts. Pain unlike anything it had ever experience coursed through the eclair's body. Creamy legs shot out of the bottom of the eclair like a bullet. The eclair screamed at the pain, but focused its energies on its new legs. With a great shove of its leg, the eclair flung the jelly donut over his head, slamming it into a cruller. Jelly donut looked at its shank and then at the cream puff and back at the shank. An evil thought crossed its newfound mind and it aimed to realize it. The bloodlust coursed through its gelatinous veins. Its breath became more rapid with the anticipation. But what to do with this troublesome eclair? It had already proved to be quick. The eclair would just get in Jelly's way, of this it was certain. Jelly donut knew the eclair's kind. Just knew it. More cream puffs began to awaken to this new world, screaming just like their forefather, but so far not moving anywhere. Jelly knew if it didn't act now it would lose its chance. As the cream puff rounded behind Jelly, Jelly squatted and jumped with all its might at the circling puff, shank held out in front of it with both hands. Oh, this was going to be a glorious thing, Jelly thought. Eclair made for one of Jelly's legs, but he was not as quick as Jelly feared. Jelly's leg slipped through Eclair's fingers as if the leg was slick butter and not sticky jelly. Eclair landed on his face. When he looked up, he saw that Jelly had himself landed. Jelly brought up his shank and made to slit the cream puff in half. Eclair thrust himself to the nearest dried trail of frosting, taking a page from Jelly's book. He wrenched a piece free almost effortlessly and flung it at the hand that Jelly was holding his shank. Eclair's sugary missile hid its target dead on, causing Jelly's hand to drop the shank. Stunned and in pain but not deterred, Jelly grabbed the cream puff's hand as it birthed itself from the puff's side. Jelly leaned back off the edge of display and he and the cream puff fell into oblivion. Eclair ran to the edge. When he looked down, he saw Jelly and Cream Puff had landed in a pile of pigs in a blanket. Jelly smiled devilishly up at Eclair and shouted, "Suck it, bitch!" Pigs in a blanket moaned and cried, as Jelly took his prize to the back of the second shelf, well out of the sight of Eclair.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Yes, I Wrote Another Story, And No You Can't Read It....Yet.
I made the mistake of not e-mailing my S.A.D. 2 story to myself, so I wasn't able to work on it at all today. Instead, I focused my energies on re-writing a story I had done years ago. I was never very happy with it because I felt that I held back on the darker element of it. So, today I started from scratch and included the dark element that was missing. It's not a perfect story, as is my practice when writing, but it's as close to first-run perfection as I could have hoped for. It's 933 words long presently, which is fucking amazing. I wanted to post it, but I decided against it. One reason is personal, and the other reason is, I'm thinking it's not the greatest idea for me to post EVERY story I write. So, I'm okay with not posting this particular story. I'm really interested in having my friends read it so I can get SOME feedback from it. And even though, right now, my close friends are the only ones who actually read this blog, I figure, why risk it? Those same friends are probably asking themselves why I am bothering to post about this. I think it's important to me to get into some sort of practice and routine when it comes to writing. I think blogging about my writing, even when I don't post a story or progress of a story, is a good way for me to kind of un-clutter my mostly cluttered mind.... or something like that. I suppose I also like documenting that I finished a story, so that when I am struggling with a story and I start to lose confidence in myself, I can look back and see that I've accomplished something. So there's that.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Possible Premature Ejacu-creation
I'm not sure what happened today, but I wrote (for me) a fuck-ton. Once again, it's not great stuff, but since I'm writing the first thing that comes to mind, I pretty much get what I paid for. So far, nothing I've written has been funny as I'd like it to be, but since I'm writing again I'm willing to cut myself some slack. So here's what I've spent the last few hours writing:
When the baker closed for the night, he had no idea the yeast in the day's labor was not going to be the only thing that would rise that night. A truck rumbled by, as he got into his car and drove away.In the darkness of the night, a jelly donut stirred from its slumber as a jolt shook its body. In the glaze of his donut countenance, two slits cracked open, revealing strawberry jelly eyes. It blinked and some jelly leaked out of its eyes. It shuddered then, and two arms tore themselves from the donut's sides. Jelly seeped out its bottom, two strawberry trails. It rocked back and forth in an effort to sit up. It was to no avail, but it was determined to free itself from its glass cage. Minutes felt like hours as it lay there struggling. Another jolt racked his body. When the jolt hit the strawberry trails, the donut could feel the power come into them. He wiggled his new legs. It was invigorating, this new power. He sat up, flakes of glaze floating off his new appendages. The donut blinked as tears of jelly seeped from his eyes. A rage swelled within it, as intense as it was inexplicable. It reached a hand up and took a tear of jelly on his finger and smeared it below each of its new eyes. Nearby, an eclair shook as a great rent tore across it. The eclair screamed and howled in pain. The Jelly donut gathered up all its strength and stood up for the first time. On wobbly jelly legs, it took its first step. And then another. And another. It turned and walked toward the eclair. Its legs felt heavy with purpose, but the determination was strong within. As the jelly donut came closer to the eclair, the screams got louder. The eclair shook violently again, as another tear appeared above its mouth. It blinked a few times before its chocolate pupil turned towards the jelly donut. Its fearful screams turned to such urgency that creamy spittle began to fly out of its mouth. The donut reached down and tugged on a dried line of frosting. With each moment the eclair screamed, the more strength the jelly donut felt coursing through itself. A shard finally gave, and the jelly donut raised it above its head, letting out a shout of victory so loud, it shook the display case. Swelling with self-confidence, the jelly donut ran at the eclair with a war-cry. As the jelly donut got close enough to plunge its frosted shank into the eclair's soft doughy flesh, the eclair was wracked with painful jolts. Arms sprang out from its sides, the same as it did with the jelly donut, and as the shank came down to a whispers' space to the eclair's head, the eclair's arms shot out and grasped the shank, stopping the plunge dead. Grunting with the strain, the eclair worked his new arms, finding the strength to protect itself. The jelly donut leaned toward the eclair, letting its weight drive the shank closer to the eclair's chocolate-covered skin. They both shook with their efforts. Pain unlike anything it had ever experience coursed through the eclair's body. Creamy legs shot out of the bottom of the eclair like a bullet. The eclair screamed at the pain, but focused its energies on its new legs. With a great shove of its leg, the eclair flung the jelly donut over his head, slamming it into a cruller.
When the baker closed for the night, he had no idea the yeast in the day's labor was not going to be the only thing that would rise that night. A truck rumbled by, as he got into his car and drove away.In the darkness of the night, a jelly donut stirred from its slumber as a jolt shook its body. In the glaze of his donut countenance, two slits cracked open, revealing strawberry jelly eyes. It blinked and some jelly leaked out of its eyes. It shuddered then, and two arms tore themselves from the donut's sides. Jelly seeped out its bottom, two strawberry trails. It rocked back and forth in an effort to sit up. It was to no avail, but it was determined to free itself from its glass cage. Minutes felt like hours as it lay there struggling. Another jolt racked his body. When the jolt hit the strawberry trails, the donut could feel the power come into them. He wiggled his new legs. It was invigorating, this new power. He sat up, flakes of glaze floating off his new appendages. The donut blinked as tears of jelly seeped from his eyes. A rage swelled within it, as intense as it was inexplicable. It reached a hand up and took a tear of jelly on his finger and smeared it below each of its new eyes. Nearby, an eclair shook as a great rent tore across it. The eclair screamed and howled in pain. The Jelly donut gathered up all its strength and stood up for the first time. On wobbly jelly legs, it took its first step. And then another. And another. It turned and walked toward the eclair. Its legs felt heavy with purpose, but the determination was strong within. As the jelly donut came closer to the eclair, the screams got louder. The eclair shook violently again, as another tear appeared above its mouth. It blinked a few times before its chocolate pupil turned towards the jelly donut. Its fearful screams turned to such urgency that creamy spittle began to fly out of its mouth. The donut reached down and tugged on a dried line of frosting. With each moment the eclair screamed, the more strength the jelly donut felt coursing through itself. A shard finally gave, and the jelly donut raised it above its head, letting out a shout of victory so loud, it shook the display case. Swelling with self-confidence, the jelly donut ran at the eclair with a war-cry. As the jelly donut got close enough to plunge its frosted shank into the eclair's soft doughy flesh, the eclair was wracked with painful jolts. Arms sprang out from its sides, the same as it did with the jelly donut, and as the shank came down to a whispers' space to the eclair's head, the eclair's arms shot out and grasped the shank, stopping the plunge dead. Grunting with the strain, the eclair worked his new arms, finding the strength to protect itself. The jelly donut leaned toward the eclair, letting its weight drive the shank closer to the eclair's chocolate-covered skin. They both shook with their efforts. Pain unlike anything it had ever experience coursed through the eclair's body. Creamy legs shot out of the bottom of the eclair like a bullet. The eclair screamed at the pain, but focused its energies on its new legs. With a great shove of its leg, the eclair flung the jelly donut over his head, slamming it into a cruller.
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