marius

midnightpoet ... first, love "fingishness!" Great feel to it. Second, wow ... Susie is going to have a chance? Isn't life curious. Very much like part II and III. Am rooting for Susie too. Seems like your story is developing as "they" say stories do ... when the stories and characters take on lives of their own so that the author has no choice but to follow. Yes? : )

giraffe, I remember that book. Even tried to see my hands in dreams but not sure if I ever did. Do still have wild and vivid dreams. Very fun ... waking and sleeping dreams. (smiles cause dreamland is calling right now!)

Qsilv, what a great story! Kinda brings tears to the eyes, or is that smiling tears in the heart? Don't know but thanks.

On that note ... sweet dreams and sound sleep to all. Goodnight!

giraffe

Doug. This has been a very active and creative TW, Maybe Ron's rudeness brought some of that out. I hate to think it takes meanness to inspire creativity, but that's been known to happen in the past. People rebel against tyrants and that's a fact! I hope we can do better than that in the future. Love your input.

giraffe

Or maybe I meant love your foot or love your insole or you're a hoot. It's all moot. You get it.

Robindcr8l

OK, it's been a long time since I contributed anything at all, but I felt inspired today. This poem is totally sappy, and certainly not my best work, but who cares? I felt like adding to the ennui. (Isn't that a fun word?? Someone put it in the next list!) So grab a glass of wine or warm milk, cover up with a blankie, and by the time this poem is over you should be fast asleep! 318 words exactly, and no title cuz I suck at them and they bore me. hehehe

There was a creative website,
It started in 2008.
At first it was simple and quiet,
And everyone got along great.

They soon thought that they were contestants
In a game to see who was the best.
The drawings got better and better,
And everyone was impressed.

The next thing to start was a forum,
For anyone’s thoughts to be shared.
The competition got fiercer,
To the point where hard feelings were bared.

The voting became rather tainted,
And cheaters were even revealed.
The words in the forum cut deeply.
The wounds may not ever be healed.

But in the midst of this nonsense
A new little forum was hatched.
A thread that called itself Thinkwrite…
And a bunch of us got quite attached.

The writing on there was amazing,
And banter between everyone
Became such a part of that forum
It made it just that much more fun.

This quixmickle we had created
Had morphed into something quite dear.
The creativity flowing
Right into the stratosphere.

Eventually some would quit drawing,
And focus instead on their craft
Of writing this thing called flash fiction,
And editing draft after draft.

The drawers and writers abounded,
And people would visit for hours;
Their batteries running on low
And computers draining of power.

But every now and again
In the forum we’d all grown to love,
Someone would try to stir conflict
And bring out their boxing gloves.

I guess there will always be people
Who thrive on drama and hate.
But I think that most of us want peace,
Not people who make us irate.

This doesn’t mean we don’t want critics
To guide us and help us improve.
But kind words are better to offer
Than just being mean and rude.

The one thing on here that stays constant
Is the talent that always exists.
It makes me purple with joy,
So put down your ugly clenched fists!

giraffe

nailed it.

giraffe

anotherronism. I missed 'Burke'. Communication or not from the other side. I think it's great and could use a sequel. So much is open-ended due to restrictions, but a follow up would be wunderbar,

Doug

marius: See what you did? Your ruined a perfectly good ax-murderer story from the whip girl with your pinings for a more "hopeful" ending for dead Susie. Kibble n bits would have been more appropriate. lol...and just kidding gang. I did enjoy midnight's continuation and the "sparkle" or the vague hope it showed. But being the monster man I do love a good "scare.

Doug

Robin: I was really enjoying your poem until it got around to calling me mean. lol.

I think you did pretty much wrap up ThinkWrite in a nut shell.

Doug

Good Morning ThinkWriters!

I think that this go round’ has been almost as much about the community and the stories. My initial intention was to shorten the word count, adhere to a more draconian standard of editing and after that I just don’t know. I live my work life as a despot businessman who has taken the company I am working for and turned my “graveyard” shift into its own little company that has its own set of standards and sometimes rules and has become a huge part of our bottom line. Maybe take two teaspoons of that and a few pounds of stress from a family move to the country from the “big” city and you got the result. Once again I do apologize for any toe stomping I did and I give a big Thank YOU to all of you who give wisdom where I gave acerbic words.

With that said I would like to pass on the torch now…..The story that brought vivid imagery and made me forget my troubles for just a few was Morshy’s “The Quixmickle Effect”. The dream within a dream within a dream was enthralling. The descriptive narrative of him listening and seeing the music from his headphones caught me. A good job indeed Morshy!

So there it is….Morshy you are the torchbearer for the next ThinkWrite. I wish you well.

Due to snafu’s with “confirmed” internet service now not being set up at our new house for a bit, I’ll be gone after today until the utility gods decide we are “worthy” of having the www. It should only be a few days, although some of you probably wish it were longer.

Good luck Morshy!

morshy

Consider this chapter 1. It's 711 word, sans title. I will try and follow the rules, I will!!!

***

They looked down at the body. It lay in a crumpled heap, partially covered by a grubby blanket. A blackened spoon, box of matches and small square of tinfoil indicated that this particular chef had been cooking H. Stuck almost rigid in his arm, a dirty needle protruded; a purple bruise blossomed out from the point.

The battery in Harris’ torch faltered. He slapped the casing, and the beam flicked back, full strength. The constant, incessant buzzing of flies round the corpse was grating on his nerves. He longed for the peace and quiet of the morgue. He approached the two detectives, both with heads bowed, either in reverent prayer or quiet discussion.

“Hey doc,” the first said in greeting. The other remained grim and silent. He glimpsed the body. Another junky. His morgue was cluttered with the dead bodies of vagrants and vagabonds. No-one claimed them, and the state was always slow to dispose of them. He slipped on a pair of latex gloves and asked one of the patrolmen to angle the light a little less directly on the body.

The blanket moved. Or rather, more accurately, it rippled. Harris jumped back. He’d only been the coroner on call for a few weeks, and was still getting used to the nuances of a crime scene.

“Relax doc,” the detective who’d spoken when Harris arrived said. “It’ll be a rat or something. No big deal.” He asked a Scene of Crime Tech if they could move the blanket, and she nodded. He motioned to another patrolman to remove the blanket. As he did so, something shot out into the light and attached itself to the patrolman’s arm. It was a snake. Harris was taken aback, as were the detectives. The patrolman’s thick jacket had saved him, but the little snake was clinging on. He ran back and forth and flapped his arm, trying ineffectively to dislodge the reptile. Harris stepped over to him, put a hand on his chest to stop him moving, and gently grasped the snake behind the head. He disengaged it from the thick jacket and held it at arm’s length. He couldn’t immediately identify the species; the light was bad. He went to his bag and removed a tupperware dish. From his pocket, he produced a penknife, and he used it to puncture some air holes in the dish. He deposited the snake in the dish, secured the lid, and placed the dish back in his bag.

“You’re too weird, doc” said the detective. “You work in a morgue, and you know about snakes.” Harris ignored the comments, and knelt down to look at the body. If the guy had been a contestant in the game show of life, he’d lost. And lost badly. Not only was there a needle in his vein, but there were cuts and bruises all over his emaciated frame. His nails were cracked, his fingers red and raw looking. A couple of them were bent at an unnatural angle. If he’d been pressed for a cause of death, the simple answer would have been overdose. But the closer he looked at the body, the more he was convinced that all was not as it seemed.

“So doc, what gives? You able to estimate ToD, or cause…anything?” Harris rounded on the detective.

“My name is Doctor Harris, not doc. I may be new, but I’m not green-looking. Without a complete autopsy, I wouldn’t give you the colour of the sky, let alone a time or cause of death.”

“Woah doc…sorry, Doctor Harris, no need to be so touchy. Between you, me and the body in the corner, looks like the guy was aiming for the stratosphere, and overshot. But you’re the professional. Just trying to move things along.”

It was at this point the other detective said something. He spoke in calm, measured tones, but his voice belied the anger in his eyes.

“This thing, this body, this PERSON,” he yelled. “This person, lying in front of you, deserves to be treated with respect. He deserves that courtesy.”

“Bobby, he’s just some dumb junkie, some idiot shooting up Quixmickle's junk. Easy there partner, easy.” Bobby turned to his partner, and in an even quieter voice, said: “He’s no junkie. He’s my brother.”

Doug

morshy: You'll have to write ch. 2 in your own ThinkWrite or keep it going on this one. Congrats, I think you missed the announcement.

Loved that story. Definately didn't see the snake jumping out coming. Awesome!

marius

mosrhy - love your new story ... the part with how the doc handled the snake, the descriptive feel of the setting ... and Bobby's brother.

Congratulations on being the new torch-bearer, morshy!

Can't wait to see your new list! And, as new torch-bearer I guess you can carry what we in the USA call a torch (a long stick with flames of fire atop) or what you in the UK call a torch ... a flashlight. I'll follow either one. : )

Again ... congratulations! Great choice, Doug. And a hearty thanks to you for yet another great ThinkWrite!

marius

And, Robin ... good to see you on here. Great poem. Despite a few glitchy things, does seem that folks still had a very good time on TW. They always do. Although there is one thing I've been wondering, where ladyhwin and nylecoj have gone? Keep thinking they've been pixie-napped. Not sure why ... : )

midnightpoet

Great choice, Doug! Congrats, Morshy!

And great to see you again, Robin. Loved your poem.

Marius, yes, it's one of those stories that's writing itself. Susie and James have just come to life in my head, and they've got a story to tell, they won't leave it be. When we get another list, we may be hearing more from them. Sorry to disappoint you, Doug, about the lack of an ax murder...that's really the way it was supposed to end...

This edition of TW was wonderful, I must say, the stories and creativity just flowed. It was quite a joy.

marius

Oh ... and, erm, Doug ... would like to give myself credit for Susie's apparent save from brutal death, but can't. Think it's more likely that Susie, and the story, spoke to midnightpoet from the ether. These things DO have a life of their own and author's must listen. Think they must.

: )

marius

Well, posted without seeing midnightpoet's reply. She confirms it. Not my fault, Doug. LOL!

Midnight ... will look forward to hearing from Susie and James if they have more to say. : )

midnightpoet

Ch. 4

The girl was curled up in the back of the truck, her body trembling, tears streaming down her face. The buildings were burnt, the fire out, and the typical tragedy voyeurs were out, talking amongst themselves...but this girl was still quiet.

James was off-duty now that the fires were out...but he just couldn't pull his eyes away from this girl. Who is she?

They couldn't get her to talk, and any evidence of her identity had been burnt in the fire...turned to ashes as the smoke rose into the stratosphere.

His cell phone rang in his pocket. He ignored the call – whatever it was, it could wait. Another beep from the phone; low battery. He shut it off. There was no one he wanted to hear from besides the girl in the ambulance.

They began preparing to drive off.

“Wait...I want to talk to her.”

“Do you know her?”

“No, but I want to...” That didn't make sense, even to him.

“Sorry, man, this girl needs to get to a hospital.”

James let the paramedic close the ambulance doors, and went to his car. Sitting behind the wheel, he wondered about this girl and what her story was. She had death and despair written on her body in purple bruises, but there was life in those emerald eyes.

Had she really been a contestant on Jeopardy? Was it really that simple? Could peace be turned into a life of constant misery by losing on TV?

It wasn't good enough. He needed to know the whole story.

He pulled himself out of his head, and he was already at the hospital, pulling his station wagon in between a van and a sports car.

His feet carried him into the ER, his authority carried him to her bedside. He was at a loss for words now...and all he could think of was “what's quixmickle?”

Dragon

Fantastic character development midnight, they keep getting more interesting.

And congrats to Morshy as the next Torchbearer. Can't wait to see your list.

Doug

Yes midnight you have quite a serial going there. I can't wait to hear what happens next and it would be fun to see how or if it changes with a different word list. When ever I get back to the "internet" world (today's the last day here) I will be hungry to write one for morshy's edition if it is still going on. The single bulb is still calling me pushing me to write a sequel and once my mind settles a tad I might just do that. Thanks for all your beautiful writing. It wouldn't be Thinkwrite without you. Now, you better get that whip out and give morshy a crack so the next ThinkWrite gets off the ground.

giraffe

Doug. We love your nose and your toes and everything that goes with those - even your woes. Thanks for cows and wows and humbly taking your bows. Zowie.

Morshy Porchy, puddin' and borshy. Kissed the whore - she made him coarsey on his horsey. Have fun