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Sorry, I didn't show up to read through your stories. Ended up down at the hospital this evening - another super tachy cardia attack. That's the third time I've been slammed with one.
And that's just what it feels like - like somebody slammed right into you.
A few pricks, patches and an infusion of meds brought me around once again.
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angellaura wrote:
Hey there, this is my short story. Hope it satisfies.
Laura
Small Time Killer?
Gwen rearranged the pots so as to create the impression that she lived here, not her Grandmother. So she had told a few lies? Who doesn’t? This was her home now and she had start preparing for her double life. Rachael would have the pots symmetrically placed on the fireplace; Gwen would have them arranged in size order. She stepped back and reviewed her masterpiece, hands on her hips, head on one side. No one would know. It was already three o’clock and she still had the linen to change, curtains to put up and some of her signature plants to dot around the house in subtle positions. The phone rang. She could hear it, but couldn’t see it. She lifted piles of old Goodlife magazines that her Grandmother would read over and over. It was sitting under the table, face up, staring her in the face. She threw herself onto the floor in a panic and breathlessly answered the phone.
“Now tell me, Rach, did Daniel give you his home number because he sure as hell didn’t give it to me. “ Gwen collapsed on the floor breathing deeply. “I just can’t understand it; he spent the whole time chatting me up and buying me margaritas and then just left without a word. Maybe I was too much, I mean, you know how I can be sometimes? You are there?” She lay on her back and closed her eyes.
“I didn’t get his number.”
“You didn’t? Just to double check, you were at Juan Giovanni’s VIP party last night were you not? You do remember that he was absolutely fabulous in that pink satin?”
“Yes Ricky, I was there. Look you can’t call me here anymore, I’ve told you. If someone were to hear-“
“Rachael, of course I remember. You’re the only one I can talk to. Apart from Daniel, I hope!”
“You can’t call me Rachael anymore!” He was perplexed, to say the least. She never raised her voice, but her new situation meant a lot to her and she had to succeed.
“Have I done something wrong? I mean you’ve been a bit stressed lately, and I know better than anyone that that is not like you at all. Maybe you need some yoga, I started yoga, it does absolute wonders darling.”
“I have to go, I’m entertaining.” They said their goodbyes and ended the conversation. Gwen sat for a while in a silent stupor. She had no idea why she was so concerned about the impending meeting with her new online friend. She would get changed into something more suitable for meeting a new friend. Her new ego, Gwen, was twenty three, not twenty four; had been divorced for two years, not been a spinster for five; and had moved from her London studio flat to a country cottage in Devon, not from a house with her parents.
The doorbell rang. She opened it and smiled what she assumed would be a classic Gwen smile and greeted the stranger in her doorway.
“Gwen, it’s fabulous to meet you at last.” The young man at the door, she hoped, was Andrew. “You look amazing. And before I forget, here is that new dress I’ve been working on.” She took it and admired it; Andrew showed her the intricate detail on the back. “Naomi Campbell has worn this dress. Count yourself lucky. For your sake I hope it fits.” She slipped it on, it was a little snug. They went into the sitting room where Andrew suggested a glass of wine. Gwen had to jump to her feet just as he was about to take a sip from a dusty glass.
“Please don’t put your lips on it!” Andrew stopped immediately and looked from Gwen to the glass. He put it down and looked Gwen over inquisitively.
“You aren’t Gwen. This isn’t you. This isn’t the person I got to know over the last year.”
“It was on the internet, how could you have known anything about me?”
“...I know what you have done. I know about the others.” Gwen fell short of breath. Her eyes glistened and she bit her lip. “How many have to die before this insanity stops?” She fell into a fit of crying and shaking in a heap on the kitchen floor. Andrew slowly knelt on the floor next to her and placed a forgiving hand onto her shoulder. That night they discussed everything that had happened to Gwen. They trudged deeper and deeper into the psyche of Rachael and why she had done all that she had. From now on, she refused to go by anything other than Rachael.
You made good use of the words (phrases) given, Laura.
That's kinda' complicated, eh? Taking on the psyche of Rachel.
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Re: Twisted
Suzanne wrote:
The Chamber
“Considering the vile odor of Ruffledips, I don’t see why anyone would want one”. To InSinge: “LOL, too true, Ruff’s opinions stink, he’s always shooting his mouth off about meaningful knowledge. Maybe he’ll just go and shoot his head off.” To Maw: “LOL, maybe someone will do it for him”. Maw and InSinge exit.
To Ruffledips: “Maw has begun to rely on InSinge too much, she no longer listens to reason. InSinge is just a smarmy SOB, you have to know that. He is like a troll, just like the one in Neal Gaiman’s story. He is attracting people who dummy down the discussions. I’ve seen his crazy behavior and a lot of it is worthy of ridicule. Ruff, you’re the main guy here”. To Deep: “It’s too close quarters in here to do anything extreme at this point. I’ll have to talk to him, just like I would a friend or family member. He may have suffered a head trauma of some sort. Deep, you like crazy ideas, isn’t that your signature? You enjoy when they trudge deeper and deeper into the topic at hand”. To Ruffledips: “Yup, that’s why they call me Deep, empirical facts man, that’s what it’s all about. Hey, how did you come up with your user name Ruffledips”? To Deep: “I ruffle dips”. *dancing banana* Deep and Ruffledips exit.
To Maw: “He was perplexed to say the least. The poem of the moment was simple, no thinking necessary. Ataloss just won’t get it. He’s not even trying. To LunaC: “I see it too, and I want to cry out please, please don’t put your lips on it, but his mouth forms the words anyway! He talks about meaning, and wants evidence and proof. I asked him what some of his favorite quotes were and he said something stupid like, hello, I’m looking for quality books, good people and great conversations. I often wonder what is going on at home”. To Maw: “Yeah, I know what you mean, he feels entitled, must be some selfish genes in that house, you would think they all came from monkeys or something”. Maw and LunaC exit.
The break was over, the teachers left the tables and went back to their classrooms. Luna Crazian and Mawd Lipsinski went back to room BT1 to finish the days English lessons, not relishing the empty stares of a hundred eyes from kids just like Ataloss. The curriculum developed by Principal Ruff encouraged critical thinking by the students which exhausted many faculty members. The head of the English department, Insinjay Diptac complained often. He found himself asking, “What fiction book should we read next?" Insinjay Diptac knew most faculty members felt the same, and frequently felt frustrated at not knowing the goals of the Bookton Teller school system. It was his opinion that the insanity had to stop.
To Maw: “I’ve had enough. This is what happens when good thinking goes bad. Ruff is twisted, and he wants us to play. Jane Austen books, shit, I don’t get it”. To InSinge: “LOL yeah, that Pride and Produce book he assigned, laughable, I used the one with the zombies. It had pictures in it.” To Maw: “Yeah, I miss books with pictures. . . but how many have to die before this insanity stops? How many teaching careers need to end before Ruff realizes we just cant’ teach this stuff. He’s encouraging kids to think, they want “Catcher in the Rye”, and “Heart of Darkness”! He’s gone too far! I have enough ammunition to fill his whole office chamber. It will blow heads off, Ruffs and the kid Ataloss. I have bags of ammo, two bags of James Patterson alone, and can you imagine the destruction a stack of Nicholas Sparks books will have on his mind? To InSinge: “Oh, I have Grafton’s whole alphabet, and more if you need it. Good luck getting it all in his chamber, for your sake, I hope it fits.”
Ha! Now that was clever . . . you used a couple of books from here.
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President Camacho wrote:
Okay, this is attempt number dos. I hope you all don't get too bummed out by it. I want everyone to know that I'm a very stable person and I don't have these thoughts. The story just kind of developed into this. It's a lot darker than my first attempt.
Title: For your sake I hope it fits, didn’t fit
Considering the vile odor of Ruffledips, I don’t see why anyone would want one. I can see two, but not one. The first Ruffledip is like jumping from a moving train… but the second… the second is like drowning in a pool of supermodels in their birthday suits – warm water that doesn’t affect the size of your johnson.
I think this as I eat my third and fourth chips, alone at my table, with a look on my face that lets others know that there’s nothing going on upstairs. I love this look and I wear it extremely well. Distance. Now, thanks to Ruffledips, I’ll have plenty of that. I grin unnoticeably. My bottom lip drops slightly, a brief pause is made while I stare away into nothing, and I eat chip 5. I hate.
My mind turns to someone that committed suicide. He lived several doors down from my own. I didn’t know the guy, although he had my same job and was around my same age. He hung himself in his bathroom. Before he did, he had tied a band around his arm that said “no player”. It wasn’t something he had made – it was a band used for another purpose but one which he attached to himself before leaving this world. At the time I thought it meant he was a no player in his own life… a bench warmer in his own game… but like I said, I didn’t know the guy. I open extra wide for chip 6. It would be tragic to break such a perfect Ruffledip before it was inside my mouth.
I overhear the table in front of mine talking and unconsciously listen in. It’s about my performance on the job again. “He was perplexed to say the least.” “Look at him, he’s a space cadet.” “I’m scared for the future.” I’m not more than 5 feet away and no effort is being made to conceal what they’re saying about me. I smile a little at the audacity and reach down into the bag.
I put the empty bag of Ruffledips down and remove some of the crums and residue from my hands with a smacking scissor action of both hands up and down. My face contorts into a great big smile as though I’ve just figured out the punch line to end all punch lines. “Well,” I think as I get up off the bench, “it’s time.” I take this pistol from my waistband. I don’t know the caliber. I’ve never owned a gun before this one. I fire off several rounds into the closest table – a table, as I’ve mentioned before, not more than 5 feet from my own.
The room is clear. There’s some red and noise and still bodies and bright lights the contrast of the day to day I’m woozy I need to stand I’m rocking slowly back and forth. I close my eyes and enjoy the sensation. They trudged deeper and deeper into a result they had no idea was coming. How many have to die before this insanity stops? It stops now. I hear “No, don’t put your lips on it!” I can smell my own breath as it deflects from the barrel to my nose. Ruffledips.
A bench warmer in his own game . . . now, I liked that. It was original, that phrase.
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johnson1010 wrote:
“Considering the vile odor of Ruffledips I don’t see why anyone would want one.”
Charley waved away the server and his rancid cargo of finger snacks. They weren’t called finger snacks at fancy parties like this, but that is what they were.
“It’s part of the native cuisine, Charles. You can’t go around tipping your nose up at your host’s offer. If Thadias heard you say that he would be highly offended!” Greg was putting on airs to try to match the luxury of Minister Thadias’ home.
Seeking to lead by example, perhaps, or out of a fool-hardy attempt to prove his mettle Greg held a Ruffledip up so that he could see it. “Please don’t put your lips on it…”
“Too late, Charles my boy!” Greg tossed it back like a piece of pop-corn. Charley, not Charles. Greg knew perfectly well that he hated being called Charles. If he wouldn’t call him Charley, he wouldn’t call him dad. It made him think of a butler or something. It rang to mind penguin suited snobs, replete with manacles and spotless white gloves.
The same kind of stiff that Greg was just dying to be!
One of these pompous asses would walk right up to him, cigarette holder hanging elegantly from their lips. “Care for a Ruffledip master Charles?”, their voices dripping with feigned graciousness. He could hear it now.
“Wipe that scowl off your face Charles. We are the guest of the minister of commerce. I don’t want you walking up to him wearing a face like you just sucked down a gallon of lemonade. You put on your happy face, and for your sake I hope that it fits, because if it doesn’t I’ll punch it into place for you!” Greg whispered fiercely, still grinning with his mouth, but his eyes flared with dread and possible embarrassment.
Greg made it a few strides into the room before he noticed Charley had lagged behind, fidgeting with his rented suit. Some small frantic gestures later, they trudged deeper and deeper into the tide of important dignitaries together.
How Greg thought he would pull off this ruse was beyond Charley. He was perplexed, to say the least.
Charley was dragging his heels again. He didn’t want to meet Thadias and his gaggle of fancy-men. It was Greg who sought to climb the social ladder at every turn, no matter who had to be used as a stair.
After ducking around the belly of a fat woman, the same fat woman, he could only assume, that would be singing at the end of the night to alert everyone that it was time to go home, he managed to evade Greg for a solid five minutes.
He imagined he might be a master criminal evading the flat footed cops in a crowded shopping mall. He made it to a second story window, where he actually contemplated jumping to freedom on the back of one of those prickly trees below when Greg caught up to him.
Greg seized him by shoulder and whirled him around to face him. “I ought to rattle those brain cells of yours Charley! How many have to die before this insanity stops!”
“The more brain cells I lose, the less behaved I’m likely to be, father.” “If you insist on being an ass all night then we are going to have to go home!”
“Alright, alright! Calm down! I may be a slacker, but I can recognize when to behave and when not.” Charley thought this might give him enough time to make his move.
After a long moment, Greg seemed satisfied with what he saw in his insolent son’s eyes.
“Alright. Straighten your jacket before you come back down stairs.”
Greg turned to descend and Charley did the same, but this time he didn’t think about it too hard. He just jumped out the window and rode the prickly branches of that tree to the ground. It hurt, no doubt, but anything was better than drowning in that room of civility.
Well done, Johnson . . . jumping out the window actually sounded like a good option there.
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BTW, Pres . . . I too like motorcycles.
I've never owned one though - when I was young, my parents wouldn't let me, then there was the first husband - he wouldn't have minded my riding a motorcycle, but with him there was never enough money for what I needed - he spent his money on himself, while I spent mine on frivolous things like rent and food - ha ha!
Now I can afford to buy what I want, but second husband? The love of my life? He won't hear of it!
Besides, with my physical problems of late, I'm having a hard enough time with my bicycle.
I'm looking around for an electric bicycle, but nothing seems to be what I need.
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Thank you all for participating in this creative writing contest. It was a lot of fun to read the truly twisted and creative ways a few phrases can be used.
The winner of this contest, by a unanimous vote is WildCityWoman. Congratulations!
WildCityWoman, please PM Chris with your choice of book, and Chris will send it out to you promptly. You can find your choices in the “books available as awards” thread.
_________________ I feel like a wet seed wild in the hot blind earth. --William Faulkner
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