Dragon

Wow, you guys are not going to make choosing the next torch bearer easy. I'm going to have a lot of rereading and agonizing on this one when the cut off comes around.

Oh and Morshy, excellent first story. You've mostly got the rules of Think Write down. Basically you have to use all the words in the list in exactly the number of words specified. Whoever is the current Torch Bearer (me this time) picks the words and the word count. Some torch bearers will be very strict, others will give you a range (like 200-250 words). Most of us cheat horribly but we usually try to mostly stick to the rules. On the date the current Torch Bearer has chosen they will pick the next Torch Bearer based on which story they liked best. We don't really play to win because you just can't say one story was the best and is the winner, it's more about whatever most spoke to the person choosing. If you want to see back into the past Think Write threads midnightpoet started an excellent forum called Think Write Archives, you can see how it started as an idea from a mad genious name Anotherronism who we very much miss and hope will return.
Thanks for joining our little writing family!

Doug

Before I get to posting my story I just wanted to wish midnightpoet a Happy Birthday! Best wishes corner-girl. May you come out with that brand new leather whip I know you go as a present and tatoo us with your sharp searing word musings!

Over the word limit again....256 is too strict I tell you! lol.

Before the Minivan

Once upon a time in a land so close you could smell the diesel there lived a country that had a fascination with automobiles. As a matter of fact that fascination still exists in the brown-eyed girl from Arkansas to the dapper Dan of Danville, Kentucky. But boy have times changed.

There once was a time boys and girls when you had two options if you wanted to buy a truck. You had the pickup truck and the pickup truck. There was no extended cabs, short beds, long beds or 1-ton models there was the pickup truck with all its steely thunder harboring a V-8 engine and bumpers you could push trees over with.

I learned to drive in a Super Beetle, which was a car like no other. We were a family of four who made trips to Florida from Pennsylvania in the non-air-conditioned comfort of the bug. In the wintertime you had two choices…. no heat…or no heat. I never owned one where it actually worked and I used to collect them.

Back to the minivan…does anyone remember when there wasn’t a “mini” van? It seems impossible to imagine that our modern day SUV the third cousin thrice removed is the modern day minivan. Back in a day the minivan didn’t exist. You had the “van” which was a small trailer on wheels with curtains for “privacy”. The “van” was what everyone piled into to go to the beach and you didn’t worry about the sand all over the floor. If you got a caravan of vans together you had “Woodstock” where maybe you heard Van Morrison crooning about the “war” or some song about the mystic rituals of
Peace and love and God.

One constant as far as I can remember though is the convertible. You could hang out in the wind barking at the moon or do a tap dance show for all to see.

giraffe

Marius is kind of 'lucid dreaming'. Nice.

Ladyhwin sets up a sad tragedy and surprisingly uplifts you. Thanks.

Doug uses "Once upon a time" hillariously. I'm so old I remember when Elvis was alive the FIRST time. Really good.

morshy

Bonfire of the Humanities

He stared up at the moon. He could feel its power coursing through his veins. He felt alive, like he could do anything. He…he heard a noise. Coming from far away. Muffled, but getting louder. He closed his eyes, concentrating…

His eyes snapped open and his head shot up. He blinked rapidly to focus and ducked just in time to avoid the chalk duster that had been launched at him.

“Mr Morrison, so glad you could join us!” He stared at the red faced, brown eyed, flare-nostrilled form of Mr Albrecht, his Humanities teacher, and inwardly cringed.

“Perhaps you would like to come up to the board, and let us into the mystic, the magical world you inhabit when you should be learning,” Mr Albrecht sneered. Mr Albrecht sneered at everyone.

He felt himself go red. His thoughts turned to the weekend, the caravan trip that now felt like a lifetime away. Miraculously, the bell rang, saving him from further embarrassment. He grabbed his bag and bolted for the door before Albrecht could say anything else.

He stopped dead in the parking lot. In front of his battered van stood the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. She made his heart sing and dance for joy. He walked towards her, not sure what to say. She looked up, and reached out to him, just as Mr Albrecht’s car ploughed into him. His last recollection, before merciful, blissful darkness engulfed him, was the look on Mr Albrecht’s face as he sat behind the wheel, screaming with laughter.

morshy

I really should be doing work...

Not including the title, the story is precisely 256 words long. Enjoy.

The Abyss Gazes Also...

She dipped her toe into the water. Clouds of muddy brown silt blossomed and danced. Her mother was in the caravan, within shouting distance, but out of sight. Joe (she refused to call him father, though he’d asked her often enough to do so) was busy under the hood of the minivan. It was always breaking down. Her little brother, her step-brother, was busy on his game console. “The Mystic Moon” was a silly game for silly kids. She was only a year older than him, but felt older, more mature. She slipped on her walkman and closed her eyes. Riders on the Storm washed over her and Jim Morrison’s haunting vocals stirred something deep inside her.

From the bushes, he eyed the girl warily. He could see her parents; the girl was out of their sight but still dangerously close. The need, the desire was making him reckless. She was within touching distance, and had no idea he was there. He could snatch her, have her, and be on the road before anyone knew she was missing. He stepped out from the bushes and crept towards her, making as little noise as possible. He pulled a cloth from his pocket, already soaked with chemicals, and reached out for her…as she opened her eyes. There was something wrong with her eyes. They were black and devoid of anything human. They stared deep into his soul. She smiled, a mouth with too many teeth. He took a breath to scream, as she launched herself at his throat.

Nylecoj

WOW!!! Awesome stories guys! and welcome Morshy!

Dragon

First I'll say happy birthday to midnightpoet too, hope it's a fun one for you.

Doug, loved the nostalgia, I don't think I've ever met anyone who owned a vintage beetle with a working heater. And I do recall a time when you owned a pick up so you could carry stuff around (nowadays a lot of pick up owners would just about die if you suggested throwing a load of gravel in the back of their truck- it might scratch the paint you know ).

morshy, wow! Two stories back to back and you pulled out the surprise ending in both. I totally did not see it coming when the teacher takes out the student, and good reversal in The Abyss Gazes Also, the predator becoming the prey- nice one.

marius

[This does not use the word list, is way over count ... ]

The Tiniest Thread

“You’re right. I have cancelled our get-togethers a lot lately,” she said. “I’m sorry. I know you have other things to do.” She was starting to spit. Really! Little tiny pieces of spit were popping out of her mouth.

Marilyn thought if the anger had a color and shape, it would be a murky cloud over her friend’s head, reaching out with sticky fingers, spreading across the table. The waiter came by and asked if they needed anything more. Marilyn thought, ‘if only you knew.’

Charity pushed back her luscious hair, a natural white-blond, halo of heavenly glow. She said, “I’m glad you shared that you’re bothered with me. Now, I’ve got to say it, the truth; most of the times before we meet I feel sick. You are so negative. You always talk about the same things. It’s all about you. You never let me talk. After we get together, I go home and feel sick then too.”

Marilyn felt the emotional knifes sticking out of her solar plexus. She rubbed her tummy softly and imagined pulling the knives out, cleaning them and laying them gently on the table. She exhaled slowly. Then she replied, “I had no idea you feel that way. I’m so sorry. The last thing I want people to feel when they are around me is sick. I’m so glad you let me know how you feel.”

Charity was blazing. Little red and black flames were shooting out of her golden hair. She said, “Yeah, well I do feel that way. I love you but you have things to work on!” She didn’t put her coat on, just grabbed it and left with a bristling trail of volatile emotions falling off behind her.

Marilyn made a silent wish. She thought of how the evening had begun. Charity came in with smiles. The waiter got them a table. The two women exchanged pleasantries and out of nowhere Charity said, “I don’t want to talk about this but want you to know: the past year I’ve awakened every single day and tried to think of a reason to get out of bed, a reason to live. I am hanging on by the tiniest thread. But that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

Marilyn sighed and thought that Charity had said a lot more about it than she knew.

marius

Doug - so enjoyed 'Before the Minivan!!!' marius misses stationwagons where three people fit easily in the front seat! But, now we need room for water bottles and to-go cups. Sigh. My super-beetle did have excellent heat though. : )

morshy - Bonfire and The Abyss, yes surprise endings! Glad you've joined us.

midnightpoet: ***** HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!******

giraffe

Morshy San (I'll use that for Morrison if you don't). In Humanities, the poor guy keeps getting his imagination shut down by the same teacher. So now he'll never have another dream of being the only naked one in the classroom. Sad.

Then in Abyss, the guy gets his evil desires cut short by a girl who outwitted him. Happy. Yer gud.

giraffe

marius puts a color on anger. And it ain't pretty. Who was angrier? There's a history, but Charity stormed out so Marilyn must be the bitchier. Very cool scenario. Maybe a one-act play with soliloquys. Waiter is an interesting character.

giraffe

Marius is a bad influence. This obeys no rules.

SOLILOQUY

What's wrong with me? All I ever wanted was to be a snotty, rude waiter. I practiced in the mirror, tried out sly insults on my friends, I had my sneer down. My favorite part is shifting from one leg to the other impatiently. I use this voice like "Don't you dare make me wait and if you ask for more time, I'll spit in your food."

I was getting really good. They loved me at the country club, but had to lay me off 'cause of hard times in the rich community. You know what I did? I used it to my advantage. I found a new snootiness in it that may work perfectly with my snottiness.

My next job was a step lower so I used the sadness to look down my nose at them even more. It was an Olive Garden and I don't think they appreciated my style. Them being all "Italian" and all.

It kept going down from there. I never had a girlfriend or even a close friend at all. Nobody understands me. So here I am working at this little run-down diner and my only customers are these two lesbos. They're having this argument about who's bitchier. I couldn't even get their attention. Nothing subtle worked so I said "May I help you bitches?" With the nasal tone, I thought I had them.

But No. The blonde storms off and you could almost see the red sparks flying off of her. The other one starts crying so I say "You're pretty when you cry." The rest is history. I got a new goal.

mouse

Morshy
Welcome to Think Write- Good stories with unpredictable endings. Keep 'em coming.

marius

hahaha, giraffe! If memory serves, twas *giraffe* who influenced by saying inspiration should not be squelched ... or something similar.

Anyway, Soliloquy had me laughing. A delight! Very fun read! Hope the waiter can find an answer to his question, "What is wrong with me?" Doesn't look promising though! LOL!

giraffe

M. Your Thin Thread got me going about the 3rd character to lighten it up. He's a mess too and I had a little buzz. Glad you like it.

Dragon

haha giraffe, I love the idea of snootiness augmenting snottiness!

marius, beautifully written. I was so ready to really dislike Charity and then you threw a little clinical depression in there to make me feel bad for her.

morshy

No real point to this post. It's only 141 words over the count, and doesn't contain even HALF of the required words. I just got bored at work and decided to let my mind wander. Um, sorry 'bou that. Tends to leave a trail, like a slug. Anyway...

***********************************************************

In His Defence

There was a noise. Definitely a noise. Not, like, the crack of doom. But a noise. I think. I made my way to the top of the stairs. And it was dark! Man was it dark! I was about to reach for the light switch, but figured if there WAS someone rooting around downstairs, he’d see the light, and whoosh, he’d be gone! Not like in a religious way or anything. Though that’s possible, I guess. Anyway, I slowly crept downstairs. I missed out the second to bottom step, cos it’s all creaky. I got to the coat stand, and picked up my baseball bat. If the guy was packing heat, I didn’t want to go in there empty handed, you know? So anyway, I get to the lounge door, which is open, but dark as all get out, and I hear more noise, like inside? So I creep in, and can see a silhouette crouched low in front of me. So I swung the bat. I flicked the light on, and that’s when I realised it was Doug.

“So what you’re saying, Mr Morrison, is that the reason you hit your friend and flatmate, Doug…Mr Brown, was that it was dark and you thought you were being burgled?”

“Yes, your honour, sir.”

“Thirty seven times?”

“Beg pardon?”

“You hit him thirty seven times. A little excessive, don’t you think?”

“I wanted to make sure he was down. I didn’t want him pulling a piece on me”

“Post mortem examination shows that Mr Brown was dead when at least half of the blows occurred.”

“Well, he p***ed me off, skulking round like that, in the dark and everything. And I knew I was in trouble anyway, so I took my frustration out on his body”

“You knew he was dead?”

“I was pretty certain. I tapped him upside the head a couple times to make sure”

“And you entered a plea….what was it…’Not Guilty’…due to mitigating circumstances? What, precisely, were those circumstances?”

“It was dark and I had no idea it was Doug! Well, til I’d stoved his head in, anyway”

“And you deny, shouting across a crowded bar, in full view of seventeen witnesses: “You’ll get yours, Doug Caravan, you see if you don’t. You’ll die by my hand, if it’s the last thing I do, you bar steward”?”

“I never called him a bar steward”

giraffe

Morshy, It's a little like 'Crime and Punishment' in a nutshell. But left me wondering about the motive. There's gotta be a good prequel.

Nylecoj

I haven't finished my gypsy story, but I did write this, I think it may end up becoming a complete story. 256 words without title.


Elven Politics Continued....

Lyon restlessly paces the forest floor, striding between the trees, shifting through them silently, eyes hard, hands clenched. The moon shines brightly through the leaves, though the night air is heavy with an oncoming storm. Wisps of cloud float across the sky casting mystical shadows that move constantly, changing with the breeze.
“Blood! More is on our hands than on those of the goblins!” He is awaiting judgment. He had broken the codes of alliance, and disobeyed a direct order, but how could he not when that little girl had looked at him with her big eyes so round with fear?
Lyon had been sent with Vron to get supplies from a caravan heading into the mountains of VanHardin. But instead of trading with the men, Vron had ordered an attack, and Lyon had attacked; he had attacked Vron’s goblins. Lyon sighed, sinking down onto the brown earth at the foot of a tree; in his mind he again raced ahead of the goblins as they charged the innocent, again he turned full of burning rage, and again felt a cascade of hot blood dance over his skin.
He shudders. Now his thoughts reach back even further, to the first time he beheld a goblin, standing over his dead mother, licking a bloody sword. Many elves had died that day, and he had been too young to help them, not even able to lift a sword. No! He would not let it happen again. Tears streak his face. Vron would pay should a single elf fall!

giraffe

In my defense, this brain fart came out of Morshy's story. No rules applied. Sorry for any offense.

IN HIS DEFENSE

His name was Doug Brown. I called him Doug Caravan because we were flat mates and I knew him so well. His bedroom door was the revolving sort. The caravan of tricks in and out gave a new meaning to his name.

He tended bar at our local pub. He was Mr. Hot and it kind of made me respect him in a jealous way. Some lusted for his beauty and some just wanted an extra pour in their drink. They all laid him. Men and women alike. I only demanded that he stay away from my main squeeze.

He agreed, then he moved in and I put up with all the noises and smells. That night I heard the voice of my own lover downstairs. It hit me like a clap of thunder. I heard the giggles and sighs and knew that Mr. Caravan was doing my sweet Snookums. Like a migraine headache, my vision went black and myopic.

So did my mind. I bludgeoned him with a baseball bat.

Thank you, Mr. Morrison for your honest confession. We will take your mental state into account in your sentencing.