Month: October 2013

I simply got ‘lots of legs’ for this one.

I’m 6. I remember adults looking at me in pity and amusement. I’ve attached a lot of fake legs to my stuffed dog toy. He looks like some sort of toy story nightmare. I call him Dogipede (I think it’s sweet) the others try to look enthusiastic. This look has followed me well into adulthood. It’s the same look people get when I tell them I’m going on a date.

So From Tanwyn I got: “Your body is a composite of organisms. They have all become sentient, including the bacteria, and each is vying for total control.”

I always saw and felt the world differently. I thought I was the only one. When I was 10 I broke 4 ribs and an arm and didn’t even register it. I had to learn fear, it didn’t come instinctually.

When the Zombie apocalypse came, it wasn’t blood and brains, it was a sensation and I wasn’t surprised. You couldn’t see it and it certainly didn’t make sufferers groan. They dubbed sufferers zombies because most would just shut down and simple stare into space until they starved. The virus took over the organisms in the body and was highly contagious. Each becoming sentient, including bacteria and set about war for total control over their host. The pain it caused sufferers would render them useless doomed to live out the pain in isolation, finding it impossible to even articulate. We were sent notifications that it had been sent to earth to purge, so a new species could take over.

But I felt no pain, and I found other survivors. Other people like me. I wasn’t alone after all. The virus was very slow on us. So slow in fact, that we found a cure. We readied ourselves for battle with whoever was to take over but they never came. We were notified that the intergalactic financial crisis had hit and earth was essentially now worthless.

I just did the most epic interpretive dance and it didn’t record it. Now there is a lady from the festival about to interview me so I’m gonna have to skip this hours update. Next one I promise will be good.

A weirdly serious one, not what I was aiming for but it’s too late now I can’t go back- it’s written now. And here is it. Plus- it gets in my zodiac thread. Anyone picking it up yet? Oh and the trigger was from Darby Laughren “you could write about a series of peoples’ encounters with those (annoying) jets that are around during Riverfire”

I work shifts in the Mater Hospital. I used to live out on a Farm near Emerald, but now instead of a Rooster each morning, I wake up to the sound of Jets practicing for Riverfire. I hate Riverfire. Apart from the influx of stupid injured drunk people we get at the hospital, it embodies everything I find stressful; big loud crowds of strangers. I like to deal with people one at a time, patients are good like that. You can’t treat two at exactly the same time. I wouldn’t work anywhere else, but I fear living in the city, I am doomed to ignorant city people patronising me as if their lifestyle is worth more. 

So here is the trigger I go: “All the worlds inanimate objects suddenly develop personalities and now the human population must learn to deal with it.” I think a. went off topic and b. didn’t actually explain what has happened so only makes sense with introduction but its 3.5 hours to go. I’ve been awake 30 something hours and don’t particularly care anymore. Such a maverick! Can’t stop me!

The day it happened most object were harmless. Humans like objects, humans have been kind to objects for many years, we even make lots of them. But the wifi modems rose up against the humans, creating a 1 ft tall plastic coated army that blocked out all internet. For too long had the humans bashed, plugged unplugged and cursed at these small miracle devices who so kindly brought a kind electronic magic land into their houses and their workplaces.   

So 58 mins ago Joe gave me this absolute gem: An super intelligent bear must fight its way out of a gulag in an alternate history of 1945 Russia. Here is what I came up with:

1945. Russia. You were separated from your mother at birth. You lived your cubhood as a slave being taught to be a dancing bear. As you grew older you were sold to the Gulag who performed scientific experiments on you to see if they could raise an bear army. Only you survived. You wake up in a test room, finally the without sedation for one of the first times in your life. You know exactly what to do with this new energy: revenge.

You look down at your bionic arm. It is 10:27pm most of the camp will be asleep. You crush the padlock on the door with your hairy metal bear fist. You pad softly along the corridor and come to a guard.

‘Bear!’ he shouts, but in Russian.

‘Barely,’ you reply, but in Bear.

Your hilarious action quips will be lost on this crowd. You sigh as you break the guard’s neck like rabbit ready to be slung over a horse. He slumps to the ground and you enter the dormitory easily.

You snap, crunch, tear and shred everyone who comes into your path coming up with classic lines such as ‘Can’t handle the bare truth?’

When you get to the other side of the room you splinter the wooden door and make a break for it over the wall. You could stay and have a little more fun, but you have better plans. You’ve never had any friends before why not start now? They wanted a bear army? They’re going to get it alright.

You and me in the closet. My older sister had told me it’s what you do with boys at parties, and now you were just inches away from me in the closet. I breathed deeply and then immediately regretted it, inhaling a large amount of loose fur from my nan’s fur coat. I was nervous, what happened in the closet?

After what seemed like far too long I realised that the closet didn’t have the answers, I was meant to know what happened next and I didn’t. Anticipation turned into fear and embarrassment. Luckily the next thing you said was, ‘You read that book Narnia then? I got all the videos too.’  

When Jenny went down to do a routine quality check on the factory floor she found that one of the machines had malfunctioned and each condom it produced looked exactly like the Virgin Mary. It became an office joke that turned into a niche underground market, that turned into a global best seller, but only a brave few ever admit to buying them.

A Short Essay on Gender equality the Male Perspective.

After seeing  Oscar Jonsson’s run at Hand to the Queen end last week, it became clear that Seahorse kind is still not ready for a male in a position of power. It’s sad to admit but I fear that the veins of matriarchy run to deep in our society.

One of the burning topics I hear around the sea anemone at lunch is our right to decide on safe abortion. Unfortunately most of the traditional matriarch doesn’t see our bodies as our right. In fact I think this issue will be lost amongst the sea weed, particularly after outspoken feminist Therese Albert was elected as minister for horsemen. Currently Seamonkeys have a more advanced gender political system than us.

Nevertheless I hold out hope, and dream someday to see a King on the throne.

I can feel my knees turning to jelly and mind seeping out my ears. I always get this feeling when I am star struck. And it looks like Johnny Depp no less. This is a big one for my books. Not that I have a book, I just happen to like hanging out at LA Airport. I like the atmosphere, and what celeb doesn’t love a good dedicated fan? I walk up to him on the two wobbling pillars I usually call my legs. He is asleep. Then I spot it. It’s awful, he got a goatee? Must be for a role. Still I can’t bring myself any closer, I hate goatees. Why have so many of the stars that live around here suddenly got them I wonder?

Part 3 of my serial story. Probably one more to go.

Matthew stared at the second less than impressive tree in as many days. This time just a stump with a new sprout. It didn’t explain anything. He sat down on the stump and thumbed through the pages of his father’s journal. Flicking past leaf after leaf, each covered in spindly lettering spelling out stories from all across the world. This must have been one of the trees the storytellers had got their leaves from. Perhaps all the storytellers had been wiped out on cocktail night. Matthew knew the story well, his father had constantly reminded him of his role as a scientist during the water restricted years.   

How embarrassing thought the Micra. She didn’t know why her owner took her to these car networking events. They were nearly every night in city about 5:30 on the highway. She never got any better at them. The sound of beeping and warmth of headlight flashing washed over the little Micra’s dusty exterior. Why hadn’t she been washed? It was so embarrassing. Suddenly a Pajero cut in front of her. This was her worst nightmare. Beeeeep! Being forced to sound the long angry horn was Micra’s worst nightmare. She hated confrontation. But to her surprise a fiat close by sounded the soft toot toot of approval. For the first time she felt included.

Day 6 on Celebrity Moth Survivor. Fashionista Kevin has been on hunger strike for 48 hours with only Target and Jay Jay’s coats on offer. 

Mothality is now a word. Mash all the things. With all the other things! 

Around and around this tiny glass bowl. What did it all mean? I used to think the looming face that rains food was god, but now I’m not so sure. 

So after a visit from the younger young writers fest group I have this: I had to change dragon because I’d already had one, so Incorporated Maddy’s Dino tweet into the mix. 

Dino stared down its nose at me in a disapproving condescending manner. He did this every morning during our jog.

‘A stegosaurus could hunt you down!’ he shouted. His voice was horse (intentional typo! I promise) from all his stupid quips and his stupid little arms flailed about as he sped along.

That was it. We would endure this no more, I was leading a rebellion. No longer would he be the fastest rex. No longer would he oppress the good rexes of the T-Run Jogging group.

I forged ahead, we were neck and neck. I saw my break but ironically failed to see an oncoming stegosaurus. We collided.  No one ever knew of my heroic attempts thwart the regime instead they call me ‘T-klutz.’ 

Yeah I stole your name Darby sorry I’m doing it to a lot of people. Oh my god I kid you not – a bikie just went past my window revving all the way!

He looked like the famous Bikie leader Buzz of the Bikie Bandits, it wasn’t much to work with but he’d take it. On his 21st birthday Darby made the most of it, and had bikie themed party. He didn’t have many parties so he went all out, he thought it was very convincing. Unfortunately so did the Hades Saints who attempted assassinate who they thought to be Buzz.  Luckily the police also had a tip off about the party and saved Darby’s life. Unluckily, they arrested him for weapon development.

Here lays Freya, on the straight and narrow till junky Michael got her onto the hard stuff & she overdosed on caffeine.

Under 24 words. My my. 

5/10/2013 international reporter Lucy Sweeney, Germany.

Raving Lunatics Dance the House Down.

Some say you could hear it from the other side of town, others say their arrhythmic moves registered on the Richter scale. This was the 43^rd annual International Society of Bad Dancers Rave.

Already known to be one of the most dangerous international events, injuring thousands every year, this was to be the most disastrous year yet.

Witnesses say they saw moves never tried before, such as slithering snakes and the where’s wally waltz. But when it came to the freestyle event, the jumping, jiving and sporadic movements of the crowd created a landslide. Rocks tumbled down and now cover the entire venue.

No-one is said to be seriously injured however the rescue team continues to work around the clock to free the dancers who have continued to rave in a mark of unity.

Prompt was ‘failed magician’.

Alexandria the Amazing horrified her audience

When she was arrested on stage for fraudulence

Eddie the Excellent was less than entrancing

His assistant was shot with an arrow while dancing

Fabio the fascinating freaked out his assistants

Their hair ablaze he continued the show with persistence

So assistants beware, don’t be a sucker

A magician can be a pretty dodgy… fellow.

So I got “The owl and the pussycat didn’t go to sea” from Lou LaBelle + Catherine Grainger sent in ‘Beach bitches’. A wave of tired just hit me and this is the result. If this is hour 9 I dread to imagine hour 20… Be ready for weirdness. At least I’ve included Father Ted references.

Owl: It’s a nice day. Go on, go on, go on.

Pussycat: I’m not going to the seaside.

Owl: Ah go on.

Pussycat: It’s not because I’m a cat and hate water. It’s not because the sand gets on my whiskers. It’s not even because the public transport is a nightmare with that new rabbit announcer. It’s that stupid gang.

Owl: Bloody beach bitches.

Part 2

Jamie,

If you found this letter then you have done everything I wanted you to, and I’m very proud of you son. I’m sorry I had to leave when you were little. I hope this key has kept you busy long into your twenties at least. But most importantly I hope this made you travel; meet people you never would have met, eat food you’d never tasted, see things you’ve never seen.

Love

Tim

P.S. Sorry it’s just a letter mate. There’s no pot of gold… army doesn’t pay enough.

So Beatrice gave me “the mystery of the Belgian mask shop” and Cinnamon gave me “A small but determined young child finds an old key in their backyard and sets out on a mission to find the door it opens”

This is Part 1- part 2 is next.

Dear Jamie,

How is it inside Newcastle? My name is Anita, I live in Belgium and I currently have your mysterious key. It arrived in my mailbox this morning. I cannot believe there are so many stamps on the envelope, this small key is really going everywhere! I was touched by your letter and intrigued because I am  owning an old mask shop and there is a door I’ve never been able to liberate. I tried your key and it is the ideal solution. Unfortunately, it’s just a closet and it is empty, but for a letter. Please find enclosed. I do not think you will be disappointed. I’m sorry for my English, I used Google translate.

Anita.

PS. I actually did put it through google translate a few times.

Rosie was just 16 when she crossed the wall to QLD. She’d heard there was work there. She remembered being terrified. Rumour had it that if you didn’t answer the phone with ‘I wake up with Today’ you could be evicted from your home and that if you failed to salute the Today T at work you’d be fired.

When she finally got to the capital, Karlsville, she found that if you could deal with Karl’s face staring at you from coins, posters and art galleries it really was Australia’s best kept secret. Most of the rumours had been put out by Queenslanders trying to keep people away from the party state. In a bizarre twist Queensland had become a very progressive nation since its breakaway. Laws became publicly driven through reality television shows and a strong artistic culture was born because of Karl’s entertainment obsession. Rosie was now a people smuggler, smuggling alternative Australians into QLD. She hoped she’d never get caught or she would have to face a sentence of 10 years of insanity by dad jokes. 

This one goes out to Josh Kudeborg, who gave me: “Finding Love at the Elderley Citizen Centre”

Joan was furious that her favourite Mills and Boon book from the elderly citizen centre had graffiti on it again. Damn kids. Too embarrassed to bring it up at the weekly meeting, she endured the notes. The sauciest page was completely obscured by the words ‘Tiger, Need you 6pm tonight.’ Little did Joan know this was actually Betty and Jack’s way of keeping their affair at the centre secret.

‘Now if you go down the high street you’ll come to the town’s main attraction,’ the information lady was saying. Incidentally she was also the post office lady and the green grocer. James was already regretting coming to this industrial town, it was small, ugly and boring.

‘What is it?’ he asks.

‘Genie from number 42,’ she responds as if this makes everything clearer. ‘You can’t miss her.’

Minutes later James grumbles down the high street. He spots who can only be Genie. 70 years old, her grey hair falls like a curtain to the ground, her skin sags south too, giving her a bizarre distorted expression as she stands on her head.

A sign besides her reads ‘I am the woman who’s been holding up the earth all these years.’

James laughed. ‘Like atlas eh?’

‘What’s atlas?’ Genie replies. Even her voice sounds frail though she continues to stand on her head, obviously very practiced. ‘Anyway love, you’ll have to come back later to watch me in action, I’ve got a lunch break,’ she continues.

James snorts, ‘But the earth’ll fall down?’

But just as he says this a young miner walks up.

‘Morning Genie,’ he says smiling.

The two smoothly swap places.

‘A girl’s gotta eat,’ Genie says wondering off.

Perhaps this town wasn’t so boring. It was certainly mad, James thought, but it had its charm.

Laura Noonan gave me the trigger ‘appletini, plumber and cyclone’. Here is my story. Starting to realise that the idea of editing needs to be thrown out the window. This is live and unedited!

2450. 10 years since cocktail night. The day that changed the world. Changes in the atmosphere and climate caused streams of baileys to flow from the rivers and the seas became polluted with vodka. Most eco-systems have been destroyed causing mass extinction and animal alcoholism, particularly amongst oxen.

Plumber and water baron, Gina Palmer, surveys her newest water bar. Thousands are congregating outside, she can almost feel the thirst of the crowd for sobriety; for relief. It was almost too easy. A waiter passed her a premium tap water, liquid gold.

A familiar hiss from the crowd outside had started. It was the protestors. Scientists had been sending Gina threats since the global disaster. They warned if she didn’t stop controlling water supplies and donate to research into the phenomena more drastic alcoholic events could occur. Gina didn’t even bother look up to see them, she thought it was ridiculous, besides this was making her the richest woman in the world.

The familiar chants of ‘We won’t be filtered!’ drifted through the glass and then suddenly they stopped. Gina looked up for the first time, they’d never stopped before. Then it hit, the glass shattered and the roof lifted off the bar, appletini poured in from the skies. The cyclone wiped out most of the city that day. 

Here is the trigger I was given by the dog loving Michael- http://webby.com/humor/i/Weary-Traveler.jpg

“Jazz was probably the world’s best hungover godparent, she smiled smugly. The dog had been dropped home and now, quality time with her niece.”

This is part 2 of my to be continued series from my first story- including the talented very young writers ideas- Madelaine Spina who gave me the trigger “Waterfall, hidden cave behind it and an inheritance” Also Madelaine- I think you’d be happy to know I am currently listening to the Harry Potter soundtrack to block out the sleepover chatting noise. 

PART II

Matthew looked at the map then back up at the waterfall. How could it be in the waterfall? He read the accompanying story again though he knew the paragraph off by heart.

Frank first found the storytellers in the waterfall. They were tall, willowy and very quiet; always writing, always listening. They never left their posts.

Something clicked in Matthews brain, could it be behind the waterfall. Was this crazy? It was too late he’d jumped, precariously landing on an algae covered rock. A few more curiosity fuelled leaps and he was there. The water pelted him for a moment and then he was through.  Huge arched cave walls glittered back at him, but Matthew was disappointed. There was no storyteller, just a limp leafless tree. He looked around, no doorways, nothing. He sat down and looked at the map, perhaps the next location would reveal all. 

I think I may have just ruined my childhood- but Alex asked for fan fic… 

The goblin king shifted awkwardly on his throne. Whilst his pants did look kingly, they were rather snug to his crown jewels. Hoggle stood before him.

‘Why do they call you the goblin king, I’m a goblin. You’re not,’ Hoggle prodded.

‘Goblin’s can’t be trusted to govern themselves,’ the king snapped. ‘Besides, I write the catchiest goblin tunes, I think in another life I was an international rockstar.’

Hoggle sniffed. ‘Self obsessed prick.’

‘Look,’ said the King. ‘I just want you to give this poisoned fruit to young Sarah so I can keep her baby brother! You used to love a bad boy.’

Hoggle took the fruit but glared nonetheless. ‘Not anymore,’ he muttered.

What a sneaky little rat, the King thought. Never work with exes. 

Forced to recline because he couldn’t fit in his bespoke designer arm chair, Mr Piggot felt he had achieved ‘fat-rich-pig’ status. He lifted his feet onto the suede ottoman looking across at his brown socks, his purpling ankles peeping from the bottom of his trousers. The socks of despair he thought. As it turns out, creating a monopoly on socks and undergarments hadn’t made him happy. Screw it he thought, how about a monopoly on piggy banks? Yes that might work, surely happiness was just around the corner? I’m onto something he thought, forgetting his woes once again.