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Author Topic: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!  (Read 81502 times)

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Offline legomaestro

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #330 on: September 10, 2020, 06:30:00 AM »
Day 2

The Run

He started off the morning as per usual. 4:30, smoothie, out on the road by 4:45.

He had 20 minutes for his run, and he felt like taking it easy. The music was classical. Something by Edvard Grieg. It swelled and took him away. He'd done the route long enough, (down the street, past the park, circle back) That he didn't even need to pay attention to the physicality of his run anymore.

In truth he was somewhere else, the rhythmic pumping of his feet somehow in tune with the slow swelling music. 

He thought about work, and about the depositions and calling Jimmy, his son, starting university. His wife would be asleep by now. Long day at work.


The morning sky started turning orange, sun was coming up already, but he didn't find himself at his house, he was in front of a bus stop, stepping into it, walking to the back seat and sitting down.

He had no idea why. He sat in that bus and listened to the music and saw the streets pass by. The driver ignored him.

Passengers piled in in their various dress. Old, young, everything in between. Rich, angry, busy, poor. Listening to music, tapping on phones.

He sat in the bus for a long time, and by the time he snapped out of it it was 7:00 and he was in the middle of the city, dressed up in his jogging garb and completely disoriented.

He stepped out of the bus, feeling agitated, knowing work was in an hour and if he really pushed it he'd only be five minutes late, but to him there was nothing less appealing than that drudgery, than that 'have-to' 'must-do' So he ran instead.

And he didn't stop until he was collapsed at a pier 80 Kilometres away from where he'd started.

Badly dehydrated and in a hell of a lot of trouble at work, but freeer than he'd ever been.He watched the afternoon sun and the seagulls, and pawned off his iPod for a hotdog.Then he walked back home.

Offline legomaestro

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #331 on: September 11, 2020, 05:44:08 AM »
Day 3

Father's Library

As a child, I would burn books from my fathers' library.


I started with one of his volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica (Str.-Zwo) Where I read words like Traipse, Transliterate and Truism, and I worked my way from there, picking off dictionaries, almanacs, maps and phonebooks.


He owned a library of sorts always perfectly dusted and cleaned, an imposing massive wall of beige brown leather bound squares that framed the grand oak desk, all inherited from his grandfather of course, all the perfect statement of the tradition and fortune of the Wells' Family, of which I was to be heir.


When I noticed he didn't notice losing his precious books, I started pilfering and destroying other things too. Pens, Pins, Coins, hats. Into the fire they went, in the woods at the back of the large garden , or sometimes under the abandoned bridge and railway tracks, where I'd built a cove for myself. It was waterproof and always dry and warm, and I always found peace there, no matter how bad the weather way.


There was an art to making valuable things dissapear: They had to be things he didn't look twice at but expected to be in their place. Sometimes I switched them out with dummies. The maid didn't notice, let alone Mom.


The older I got and the more money I earned the easier it was to replace things in his office. I'd already suffered the consequences once, of touching his things without his permission: A lashing that broke my left shoulder and left me in renumeration for two weeks, but I'd gotten wiser since then.


I sit across him now in the office, talking about banal family business things. He's seated of course, ever the imposing figure. A little white in his crown but still a powerhouse at 60, and I keep a poker face as I smile inside. He doesn't know I've replaced half of his library over time out of my own pocket.


"You understand, Michael? You can't muck this deal up, or it'll reflect poorly on this family."


I swirled my brandy glass and took a sip,


"Of course, Father."

Offline legomaestro

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #332 on: September 12, 2020, 01:06:07 PM »
Day 4


There was once a pond.

The pond became a lake, eventually.

Over time it eroded the stone and grass in its perimeter and became a lake.

After the Teslov Incooroprated blasted the nearby forest the lake became a channel, and became a river.

After 2,000 years, eventually it became The Great Jellyfish Gorge.

Offline legomaestro

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #333 on: September 13, 2020, 04:57:36 AM »
rare , rectangle , big , boy , chill , little , running , normal

Day 5

Tom found the laptop while taking a run along the farm. It was hidden behind a stone and logged in to some program. A program that was now counting down from 10 seconds.

He looked around, scared out of his mind for some reason. He pressed at the laptop, and a prompt came up,

"Abort? Y/N"

He only had 3 seconds to decide. He decided to let it be.

He took a deep breath when it hit 0 and then...

Nothing happened.

Tom sighed, stood up and turned to see four demons standing infront of him.

"They usually press Y" Said one of them.

"It's a mean little trick, Zom'us."

One of them chuckled.

"You just saved the planet, kid."

The demons vanished in a puff of sulphuric smoke. Tom took a moment to come to himself.

Offline legomaestro

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #334 on: September 14, 2020, 05:54:26 PM »
Day 6

There was a spirit of the bells that crafted emotions in the sounds of the local church in Greentown, a little cute hamlet smack dab in the middle of nowhere, near a lake.

 The church had been run by a more open minded priest than most, one more flexible when it came to spirits and ghosts. "So long as you don't cause any trouble."

 The old priest said every time he noticed a spirit in the church, "You're every bit as welcome as anyone else here."

In the odd case he even let ghosts hang around, but they moved on faster than most.

There was something about the peace in the air that didn't make spirits linger. The spirit did her duties with the infinite gusto of spirits, a one dimensionality and diligence that outlived the kind pastor for hundreds of years.

Throughout the time she crafted happiness, sadness, nostalgia and silence. Solace and forgiveness, hope and courage. Sermon after sermon, wedding after wedding, funeral after funeral.

When the war came and the bombs fell the church tower still remained with its bell, and the spirit still crafted little feelings, light in the trying times.

When the summer came she inspired children playing in the city to become artists and musicians, mathematicians and physicists, bouyed on by the blessing of her song.

And even at the end of it all, when humanity was in decline and the hosts of heaven and hell fought, the tower still stood as a solace for many a knight and many a wanderer, weary from their journeys and spurred on by the unmoved beauty of the millenia old bell-tower, in the middle of a town nobody knew anymore.

Offline Coryn

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #335 on: September 14, 2020, 06:03:30 PM »
Uplifting, then sad, then sorta uplifting again. Good job! It's the kind of ghost I inspire to be for my descendents.

Will review stories upon request. My latest arc: http://goo.gl/KYgsfF

Offline legomaestro

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #336 on: September 15, 2020, 04:57:09 PM »
Day 7

Broken

They pitied him when he got in the car crash that severed his legs from under his knees. Disability check at the age of 40, ruined life just when he was about to be free.

But they had no idea. He got to see more of his wife than he knew to do with, and his son who hated his guts actually came the next christmas and opened himself up to a heart to heart.

He read the books he'd left in the shelf for ages, and he found himself more focused on the little work he could do behind his computer screen. No more water-cooler talk, no more office drama. Just results.

He still wore the watch they'd salvaged from the wreck. It was broken and didn't work, and that was the way he liked it. The chains of time were no longer on him, and he was in many ways, a freem an.

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #337 on: September 15, 2020, 06:00:00 PM »
Honestly, if I knew it would all work out, getting my legs sawed off in exchange for the life of an eccentric scholar I've always craved doesn't sound too bad. Also a primo opportunity to turn myself into the cyborg of my dreams  :biggrin:

Will review stories upon request. My latest arc: http://goo.gl/KYgsfF

Offline legomaestro

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #338 on: September 16, 2020, 07:31:17 AM »
Hahaha now that's what I call following your dreams. And to be honest? If it worked out that well I'd go for it too haha.


Day 8

Broadway Corridor

When the lead paint finally drove the janitor Marcus Pelt insane, he started seeing lights.

The tiles he was polishing lit up and crackled with electric vibrant colours as he moved the mop over them. Every step he took gave a low sympathetic melodic tone. He got rid of his walkman after that, whistling and dancing to the tune of his mop, and his feet dancing.

He always took the night shift, so no one really noticed him staying longer than he should’ve, and in the last 3 years of his solitary life he spent many an evening dancing to musical numbers he composed and wrote back home.

They found those pages when the stench of his death made his landlord come investigating, and those dances, those musicals compiled in thousands of notebooks gave many a musican and art historian work to do.

They’re making a film of him soon.