IamAnonymous

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anotherronism

Okay. I’m a liar – or, at least, an ommisioner (made-up word).

Grumpy Dumpfinger is not entirely a title without an idea.

My car was dead once so I had borrowed my sister’s Honda. It’s her third car and she’s single so I didn’t feel bad about it. But I digress…

So I’m in the Honda and I have a two-hour drive to my father’s house.

I know the way but I love my GPS unit. I have it set on “English – British Female”. I thrill at being told to “Turn Left”!

So I plugged my GPS into the Honda’s lighter.

There was an actual spark.

And the lighter socket was, sadly, terminated.

As, it turns out, was the radio and CD player.

Alas…

So I spent the silent trip thinking about Grumpy Dumpfinger – truly – at this point, a title without an idea.

And I came up with this…

Grumpy Dumpfinger was not born with that name. Duh.

But Grumpy Dumpfinger was a twin and he had a brother.

They were called, in their childhood, Dumpy and Grumpy. This has nothing to do with “Snow White” but is a reflection of their character(s).

In life – one of them succeeds and one of them does not.

The successful one (it doesn’t matter which of their names you apply) becomes ill. He needs a new organ. The closest match is, of course, his own twin brother.

This down-on-his luck brother happily, joyfully even, gives this gift to his brother. Maybe, just maybe – he will win some praise.

That doesn’t happen. There is a sense of entitlement by the successful brother – that he somehow ‘deserved’ the better organ.

But life is never ‘easy’ and hardly ever ‘fair’.

And it goes this way: The illness progresses with the ‘successful’ brother. It moves on to other organs and he becomes beyond hope. His life is doomed.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch – the poor brother also becomes ill.

He is nowhere near as ill as his brother but he needs a very specific organ to survive.

So, once again, with hat in hand, he approaches his successful brother begging for something or another.

This time though – he’s asking for something back.

At all other times he was asking for a handout – but this time, THIS time – he’s got a credit on his account.

And – his brother is dying anyway – and really doesn’t need it any longer.

So he goes. And he asks.

And his brother refuses.

Stubborn bastard!

But things are what they are and time passes and the ‘successful’ brother does die and the poor brother is on the donor list and get’s back what was rightfully his to begin with.

And (oh, so Dickensian) he inherits his brother’s fortune.

Reminiscing and finally, as only death can allow, loving his hateful brother he recalls their boyhood monikers; Dumpy and Grumpy.

He changes his name.

Thus was an idea conceived in a Honda without GPS, radio or CD player…

Maybe it matched the extraordinary title – maybe not.

But “The Altogether Strange Origin of the Name Grumpy Dumpfinger” is simply beyond my ability to write.

ThinkDrawUS

Yawn.......zzzzzz

anotherronism

ThinkDrawUS (Matthew or his kin)...

You use "Think" in your handle.

This is ThinkDraw.

This forum is ThinkWrite.

Yet you are ThinkLess.

I've been there myself. Many times.

But I am at least trying to lift myself out of that puddle of nothingness.

What are YOU thinking about?

matthew

Not I Ron... I speak for myself...

Whoever it was ... they are just being rude & trying to start stupid crap back up...

lynnspotter

That was a fascinating story Ron!

midnightpoet

I like that story for Grumpy Dumpfinger, Ron...but that doesn't go with what you wrote here...

I want to know the end of THAT story!

anotherronism

What do I want to say?

I don't know myself.

I am not drawing. I am not participating in any forums.

I'm just writing here.

If I knew another site where I could do the same and get actual feedback and enjoy like works I would be there - not here.

So I've limited myself to this solitary place even here.

And, even here - I've been found out.

But I won't be drawn in - even so far as to state the obvious (which is oh, so obvious). So I stated it - it's stated. Blunt! Move on...

Please let this one place on TD remain pure. I continue to strive towards this myself.

'Nuf said.

five

Good writing feedback site: forward motion.... http://www.fmwriters.com/

Also, for anyone interested in writing a novel (though the site runs in November), make note of nanowrimo .... www.nanowrimo.org.

SabraAngel

Midnight, it is the time where dreams rule the land. One dreamer in particular stood out like a beacon to him. The dreamer was in mourning. His Manx cat had been killed earlier that day. The dreamers mind was clouded with revenge and anger. That is what drew Raphael to him in the first place. The irony of it all was that Raphael himself seeked revenge. He had been searching for the perfect man to carry out the prophecy set forth by the older generations. The prophecy said that there would come a time where the dreams of one man would set the ruler of the dream world free to roam among the living. Raphael kissed his glass beads and made the decision to enter in this man’s dreams where his love would be avenged. Once inside, he climbed the braided rope ladder to the top of the tower. When the man awoke Raphael would remain inside his head, influencing his actions. His plan was simple; he would convince the poor soul that a certain person killed his cat and urge him to kill the man. In doing so Raphael would be free to avenge the life of his beloved Christina. As the man woke, Raphael was ready. The dreamer Samuel rose from his bed with murder on his mind. Staring out the window watching the lake gleam in the distance calculating with what the best way to kill would be. Picking up a butcher knife Samuel walked over to door of his neighbor. Savagely he pounded on the door till at last it opened. Raphael, impatient to be underway, had the man slit the throat of his victim, and at last, he was free.

Dragon

First I'd like to say to who ever is using the ThinkDrawUs and IamAnnonymous to try to stir things up - Grow up. This thread was not started to stir the pot, it was started to continue the creative writing process and if you don't have anything supportive or constructive to say then just keep your opinion to yourself.
Now that that's out of the way, I have to say Ron I did find it strangely addictive to just say Grumpy Dumpfinger, even in my head. Your story of Grumpy and Dumpy sounds like something that should be made into a mini-series. It also made me wonder if the brother would be known as Dumpy Grumpfinger.
And last, awesome entries by solosater and SabraAngel!

SabraAngel

That took me 30 mins to do. I am surprised it did so well.

lynnspotter

Well said Dragon!

midnightpoet

285, not including title.

"In my Dreams"

I’m in mourning for you, where ever you are. While I appreciate the way you avenged my supposed murder, the decisions you made weren’t good ones, and they ultimately just separated us further. You should have known that one murder doesn’t make another right. Do you even know I’m alive, locked up as you are?

But I am a dreamer, and in my dreams I’m with you. Only you, not that foolish Manx cat of yours. I find it ironic, a cat that has no tail, and I’ve never been a fan of irony. No, it’s just the two of us, trapped in this dream world, but not held prisoner. During the day we are both prisoners, I of my sorrow, and you of the law.

In my dreams I’m with you and everything is in sharper focus. I can see the gleam off the glass beads you kept on the nightstand. You never used them, but your mother gave them to you, and you clung to them, as though they were a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled.

During the day, I feel like a stolen princess, trapped at the top of a tower, waiting for my prince to come and climb my braided yellow hair to rescue me. But in my dreams I’m with you, intertwined the way we always were. No, nothing dirty, your virtue is too pure for that; just holding each other.

In my dreams I’m with you and I can feel your warm breath on my face, and feel your soft lips as you kiss my eyelids. The way it was – the way it’s supposed to be.

I wake up crying every day, but in my dreams I’m with you.

SabraAngel

*smiles Brightly* I liked that alot MidnightPoet. Very nice! and very interesting how a few details are written like a response to my "story"

Again, very good. as it must be, it made me smile.

SabraAngel

Hey people... I was bored and looking for a challenge, so I wrote a second installment to my 'story" Dreamland, following the same rule as before. Hope you guys like this one as well.


Not being used to the gleam of the sunlight, Raphael, closed his eyes. It was as tho Christina was there speaking to him. Her voice sweet and as intoxicating as ever, and he found himself mourning her once more. The glass beads he always kept with him once belonged to her. His mind flashed back to that last night. Her loosely braided hair falling down her back, loose strands falling around her beautiful face. In her last moments she handed them to him, promising him that she will be with him always. The soft moan of the Dreamer he had left only moments ago, came to his ears. Now that his manx cat had been avenged, the full horror of what he had done came crashing down upon him. He to was still in mourning.

His rage came back then. Now that the prophecy had been fulfilled he must be on his way. He had slacked off in his reminiscing and it wasn't going to do him any good. On his journey to find him, Raphael swore that she was talking to him. "Stop" the voice would say. "No!" replied firmly. "I have made my decision, I will not yield!" And with that he sealed himself in the tower of his mind. The irony of it all, is that this is where he started.

It was because of him she was even there in the first place. For the fist year, all he could do was blame himself, then after that he blamed the man who stabbed her. After the pain came the hatred, and in his mind, after he avenged her, then peace would come. He would stop at nothing to get it.

ZeroMerc

dang... just dang

IamAnonymous

He wouldn't do it again, she'd make sure of that. She, who had given up so much for him, to be lied to and cast aside. Anger swept over her.

Steadying her hand, she picked up the cool glass beads of her rosary, from the dressing table and touched them to her dry lips. She stared ahead, contemplating the dark gleam
in the eyes that stared back at her from the mirror. Her faith had turned her into a tower of strength, making the enormity of her decision a simple choice between dreamer
or doer - if she was to be justly avenged.

Like some long lost prophecy, what her mother-in-law had said to her on her engagement, came back to haunt her now,
"He could have had his pick of the bunch you know, so look after him. You're a lucky girl!"

Oh the irony! He was the lucky one! She plucked mindlessly at her braided hair, whilst her fingers closed over her large,new,sewing scissors. Such pretty hair he'd said.
It fell wildly around her shoulders, before she caught it up and savagely chopped it off. She wouldn't be mourning it's loss and neither would he.

He still slept. No conscience.
She laughed as the image of a manx cat filtered into her thoughts. A cat without a tail....

anotherronism

Folks...

I'm very worried ThinkWrite might be in trouble. Submissions have dropped way, way off (is it that it's NICE oustside?)

This is a sincere note from the creator of TW. Please keep posting.

And let me know - does it seem I try to dominate this thread if I post multiple stories? I've limited myself to a single one this time but there are nights and some word lists where I can write just as fast as I can type 'em.

Thoughts?