Please take a look at the three conclusions for the progressive story and vote for your favorite!
Suzanne: It is nine o’clock in the morning, but it’s still dark.
Medievialmom: I can hear the wind howling and rain beating hard against the window.
President Camacho: I knew if the rain didn't stop my conjoined twin would keep me in bed all day.
Patrick Kilgallon: "Brother, let's play outside so you will be happier and we can clean ourselves in the rain."
tbarron: "You think I'll be happier out there in the cold and wet?" he snapped in response.
CWT36: Unfortunately I misunderstood what he said because he never talks into my good ear.
etudiant: Again the dark thought bubbled up into my consciousness: there is a sharp butcher’s knife in the kitchen drawer, and books on anatomy and first aid in the bookshelf.
Interbane: But to relay the idea, we should discuss it else we both lose too much blood, so we simultaneously pulled our our I-phones and put them to our good ears as I speed dialed him.
CWT36: Fur Elise, Fur Elise, how many times have I told him to change that dreaded ringtone!
etudiant: I tried to relax and think about the good times: the family picnics, the three-legged race that had everybody in stitches, the awkward swimming lessons at the YMCA, the bizarre night spent drinking with the two-headed lady from the circus; I forgot about the knife.
Iluvbookz13: It felt like the knife was watching me, its sharpened metal gleaming in the dim light of the house, creating a sparkling reflection on the old, wood walls.
President Camacho: I was rocked, quite literally, back to reality by that familiar gyration that has occurred nearly three times every day since puberty.
Suzanne: And those gyrations remind me of my love Elise, my ring tone is a testament of my love for Elise, "Elise!” I know she's in here somewhere.
Patrick Kilgallon: My hand wandered beneath the blanket and my brother's tinny voice jabbed into my earphone, "Hey, no means no!"
johnson1010: To pre-empt further carnal temptation I tried to roll us out of bed, but my brother was trying to roll the other way, so we just sort of sun-fished around on the bed for a good five minutes before ending up on the floor in a writhing knot of blankets.
Suzanne: But Elise whispered sweet nothings into my brother’s ear, and the advance was accepted, the manipulation of the knife quickly turned sweet pleasure into horror as the sheets became sticky wet.
johnson1010: Horror at the thought of breathing in that sickening moisture, my brother had always possessed little control of his half of the bladder and now the wet sheets pressed tight against our faces as we struggled to be free of them.
Patrick Kilgallon: The piss soaked blanket smothering my senses was enough for me to decide water boarding is a form of torture.
President Camacho: I don't remember him eating asparagus!
johnson1010: Still the salty sheets cling to my face, like spandex over the ass of a sumo wrestler, while my brother drags us awkwardly toward the bedroom door.
President Camacho: "Cut me free!" I furiously burbled to Elise through the rancid blanket, my lips soaked with wet salty hell.
tbarron: Silver flashed in the dim room and, blood spurting, my brother and I rolled apart as Elise the robot sheathed her surgical blade and began staunching the flow.
Iluvbookz13: I rolled out of the sheets, gasping for air as I painfully regurgitated from the stench and taste of the sour pee.
Suzanne: I rolled away from my brother and Elise the robot recessed back into a dark corner of my mind pressing another personality forward.
President Camacho: Marybeth, the alternative lifestyle dyslexic linguist, slowly emerged.
CWT36: My conjoined brothers face lit up as he saw Marybeth and recalled that night they spent together in Paris when she screamed "Oh dog, Oh dog" until the sun began to rise over the Seine.
Patrick Kilgallon: Her lips curled scornfully at my brother, Bruce, as she said, "Eep oot, Ecurb?"
etudiant: I staggered to the window, and in the cold light of dawn, thought to myself: this is absolutely, absolutely, the last acid trip I ever take.
johnson1010: I needed my hands where they were, to keep me from falling down, so i licked the window, writing with my tongue the equation that would tell me how many hours of "tripping balls" remained in my future.
WildCityWoman: Well, that's when the roof fell in.
President Camacho: I chewed on the little piece of skin that holds me and my brother together while I thought of my next plan of action, or action plan, or planned action.
Suzanne: I chew through the gristle that remains between us, the taste of dead flesh fills my mouth, I realize I’ve used my dead brother’s body for sustenance on my long strange trip, I decide on my action of plan next and leave the dead carcass of my brother Bruce in the rubble along with the legs we shared.
CWT36: The doorbell rings; I grab my Ouija board, bounce to the door and reach up to turn the handle to greet the Priest and the Rabbi who have come to take me to the bar.
WildCityWoman: The poor man who'd come through the ceiling, still amazingly intact on his kitchen chair, looked around the room smiling. He said the same thing to everybody who caught his eye . . . hi! I'm Albert McCarthy - no relation to Cormac. Just thought I'd drop in, y'know?
WildCityWoman: Comancho walked up to the old guy, shook his hand and said 'Some people will do anything to get on the free book list at Book Talk.'
lottebeertje: And then, suddenly, if I had looked to my left I would have missed it, there was a short and fat Belgian detective, who shouted: 'MURDER! MURDER!'
johnson1010: I noticed a pillar was going to fall on his head, and he was too busy pointing at me and shrieking like a pod person, so i dove and scooped him into my arms, carrying us both from the place of impact.
tbarron wrote:
 | | |
| Quote: Monsieur Poirot was very grateful when he realized that my quick action had saved his life, despite his unshakeable conviction that I had maliciously killed my brother.
The priest, Father Brown, was put out that he was not able to get to my brother's body to give him extreme unction because of the collapsed roof and rubble. David Small, the conservative but tolerant rabbi, said that we're all in the hands of g-d and could each only do our best. They left arm in arm, comforting each other as they went.
Albert McCarthy, the man who fell into the kitchen, didn't have an opinion about what had happened between my brother and me, either figuratively or literally, but said that the improvisation of the story reminded him of Rufus Harley's work, especially his 1967 jazz bagpipe album, Scotch and Soul.
At the trial, Monsieur Poirot did acknowledge my saving his life, but testified that I had killed my brother, "in the dining room, with the candlestick," exemplifying in an ironic way the fallibility of experts. It was only the testimony of the robot Elise that kept me from being convicted of murdering my brother. She explained that she had been the one who cut us apart and then valiantly strove to keep us both from bleeding to death, in my case successfully. She dug her way out from under the rubble of the collapsed roof, bringing Bruce's body with her, arriving just after the priest and rabbi had departed. So Bruce never did receive last rites, but was buried from a simple secular memorial gathering.
Elise and I wound up rebuilding the house and settling down together. Ah, Elise, my love, the life you redeemed grows sweeter in your company with the passing of each year. | |
| | |
CWT36 wrote:
| | |
| Quote:
“The sweat stung my eyes as I laid the fat Belgian detective on the couch. It’s not easy for a mutilated legless half conjoined twin to carry a fat Belgian detective, much less to have to move so quickly to avoid a falling pillar. It was then that I realized what he had meant when, just before Elise had placed the blade against our abdomen, Bruce said ….”
“Objection your honor!! This is hearsay!!” shouted the prosecutor.
I waited in silence for the judge. I had replayed the events of that evening so many times and it had never made sense. Until now that is, as I sat in the witness chair looking out at the crowd gathered in the courtroom. Suddenly I realized who the real murderer was, but how would I ever get them to believe me?
“Overruled” barked the judge, “The witness may continue”.
My heart was racing. I knew I had been missing something; it just didn’t make any sense. I know Elise loves me and that she can get a little carried away sometimes. But she would never sacrifice Bruce, even if it was the only way she would ever have me for herself.
All this time I thought he had said “Can we?” I couldn’t believe it. He knew he would never survive the separation, why would he have said “Can we?” just as he realized what Elise was about to do?
“Mr. Swift? Do you want me to repeat the question? Mr. Swift?”
My attention snapped back into the courtroom.
“Mr. Swift? I said do you want me to repeat the question?”
“Please”, I said tentatively.
“Very well. Mr. Swift, would you please tell the court what your brother Bruce said?”
“Kanye. He said Kanye.”
“Are you sure Mr. Swift?”
“Yes. He said Kanye” I repeated. “Bruce and I had seen Kanye West in the elevator that morning and he had told us he was shooting a video upstairs. There were even some dancers with him dressed up as robots. Some of their costumes almost looked like Elise. Bruce recognized what I hadn’t, that Kanye West was in a robot costume and he was about to plunge a knife into us.”
The courtroom went silent. Just like it had for me, it took them a few moments to put it all together. You see, while Bruce was dropping acid and dragging us around to all these crazy parties, I was earning an honest living as a tailor’s apprentice.
Suddenly the doors to the courtroom burst open and Kanye West himself came charging up to the witness stand. He slammed his shoulder into me like a hockey player checks his opponent and my legless body crashed to the floor. He grabbed the witness microphone. “I’m sorry tailor Swift he said, but I had to do it. Beyonce had the best twin of all times! I had to kill Bruce; I had to do it for Beyonce.”
“Bailiff! Take Kanye West to the lockup”, the judge ordered. “I declare Elise innocent of the murder of Bruce the conjoined twin.”
Elise screamed in delight and ran out of the courtroom with the crowd following her. The Bailiff handcuffed Kanye West and led him away. The judge stood and somberly strolled out the back door towards his chambers.
The courtroom was silent. I was stuck on the floor in the witness box.
“Help” I yelled, “Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!!” | |
| | |
etudiant wrote:
| | |
| Quote: Beads of sweat still glistened on my forehead as I sank into the big black leather couch in my psychiatrist’s office. The bizarre events of the last few days weighed heavily on me. But were they really events? How could these things be, I wondered; it was too much for my overburdened mind.
Dr Tromperie’s presence was comforting, as usual. He leaned forward and injected an occasional “yes, I see”, as I told my story. I covered everything, omitting none of the gruesome details. At the end he removed his glasses, closed his eyes, and pinched the narrow end of his nose; it was a habit I had seen before. It indicted that he was about to explain something again that should be self-evident, but that he will repeat to make sure there is no mistake.
These are dreams you are having my dear, he said, this is not reality. As we have discussed many times before, the real issued here is your dysfunctional and co-dependent relationship with your husband. Let’s look at your last dream. The character Bruce is really Brian, your husband. This much is readily available to the practiced eye, he said, with one eyebrow raising, hands in front of his face, with fingertips touching. The imagery of a conjoined twin represents your entanglement and extreme dependence on your husband. You are joined at the hip metaphorically in life, hence the inspiration for the dream. You have altered the persona to “Bruce”, and changed the relationship in the dream, because even your subconscious is not quite ready to face your relationship problems.
The robot in your dream represents the denial of your humanity and the shutting down of your emotions and independence that are necessary for you to continue in your relationship, the doc continued now, squinting towards some distant point beyond the wall. You are not functioning at full capacity, hence the imagery of a robot, a simplistic and incomplete version of a real person. It is the projection of the aspect of you that has sublimated your feelings. The cutting away of “Bruce” with the knife represents your desire for freedom and independence in real life, and a return to full life status.
The detective figure you mentioned is a symbol for your shame. Individuals are shamed by the police when they make known unsavory activities, bring them to light, and invite public sanction. Yes, yes, this is rich mental imagery, the doctor went on, warming to the subject, pen waving in the air, his voice rising a few decibels. The detective in your dream represents the fear you have that your problematic relationship will be discovered, routed out, brought to an end, and indeed there is a fear there that you may face sanction from friends or family who may, rightly or wrongly, disapprove of you.
I see the McCarthy persona as positive, Dr Tromperie went on. You have constructed a dysfunctional framework to live in, but there are holes beginning to appear. It is crumbling as you gain insight into your situation. New and previously unconsidered possibilities are now coming into view, dropping in on you through the roof, so to speak. Coming from directions you hadn’t imagined before.
I am going to, ah, increase your medication by 20mg a day, the doctor said, looking at the floor. And consider a divorce, soon. You must do this.
Are you sure doc, I said? Sometimes I don’t know if those pills are helping or making things worse.
Trust me, he said, looking out the window this time.
My head was really spinning as I drove home. The doc was usually right about things, but this was complicated. Separation from Brian would be difficult. There was a lot of money involved, for one thing. In a settlement, he may be able to claim half of the family fortune, no small matter indeed. But he was probably right about Brian. He had our relationship pegged pretty well. And Brian had certainly been very distant lately. I guess it was all over.
But wait a minute, I had forgotten something! The prescription, it’s still sitting on the doc’s desk. No choice but to return, its Friday and I won’t be able to go back now until after the weekend.
I was lucky. It was late in the day, but the doctor’s office was still open. I went past the receptionist’s desk, and through the inner door to my doctor’s office. My mouth opened to speak, and then froze in horror.
There was doctor Tromperie and Brian, no clothes on, writing on the couch!
Doctor Tromperie was gay! Brian was gay! I had been lied to all along! Reality was crashing down upon me like a ton of bricks!
Aaahhh……….aahhhhhh…………aaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!! | |
| | |
Tweet This Topic
only three votes?
