giraffe

Morshy. That was sweet. Thanks for not ending it with a squish.

Bella. I got it. Like a prayer. Science isn't as evil as some want to portray it.

marius

Holey moley - you all have been busy.

giraffe, unless one was raised Catholic (as marius was), or is otherwise familiar with the mystery surrounding the phenomena of stigmata, my story probably will feel incomplete. But, had fun writing it.

Your "Empty Bar Stool 2" - LOL at the new way to kill vampires. And, "Anger" is clever. Liked it. Reminds me of music professor who said parents "need to be very careful when naming children." This man absolutely believed children "become their names."

morshy - enjoyed your story of how you got to TD and then TW. See, glamour was not needed. : ) Also, LOVE the cat! Fun twist!

Doug - Bunny Attack 2 - LOL "...and in a faint whisper make little bunny noises ..." That image just cracked me up! "Drama" ... like this one very much. Reminded me of times when it's hard to sleep. Also, thought you gave a perfect description of "monkey mind," the mind that won't shut up!

midnightpoet - Silence - Many lovely images! Particularly like "I sit here on the edge of the dock, my bare feet brushing the surface of the water, soundlessly disturbing it's smooth stillness." That image made me want to run out and sit on a dock! (Well, um, just not the dock on your story. LOL)

belladonnis, Aoe Aionios - like it and especially the parallel of a child [innocence] being the promise and the answer. Enjoyed the spiritual overtones of that idea too.

morshy

Too many words. Not enough direction. Story of my life. And as requested, this one has a title :p

Life Choices?

Everything about him was false. From the black plastic “stone” in his Onyx signet ring to the fake gold chains he wore three deep around his neck, nothing rang true. The leather coat that covered his broad shoulders was a knock off, as were the exclusive jeans and Italian patent leather pumps on his feet. Everything about him was fake. Apart from the gun he was holding. Nothing ambiguous about that.

Staring down the barrel of a gun helps you to evaluate you life. Where is my joy? What has brought me to this brink, this precipice? You realise that time is fleeting, that you need to make the most of every single stolen moment, every caress, and every whisper. Regret nothing.

The thug in front of me shifted his weight. Though he was big, he looked agile with it, and he definitely knew how to handle that damn firearm. He rubbed a huge, shovel-sized hand across the bristles at the nape of his neck, never once taking his eyes off me. And those eyes? They burned with the indignant, righteous fire of the zealot. He was carrying out these orders because he believed them to be right: morally, spiritually and in the eyes of the law. I was so screwed.

The plan to escape, to overpower and vanquish my foe, was born of the desperation of the truly f***ed. I would throw something into the corner, distract him. I would then kick him hard, in the shin, then rise up and slam my elbow into the bridge of his nose. As he recoiled, I would knee him in the sack before retrieving the pistol and hitting him on the back of the neck. No executioner I! These thoughts of escape inundated my poor, frazzled brain. The logic seemed sound; it was just a matter of timing. I grasped a handful of gravel, and made my move.

My joy was short-lived. The guy was a pro. He didn’t flinch when I tossed the gravel to the corner of the room, he neatly side-stepped my clumsy swipe at his ankle, and when I tried to surge to my feet for the coup de grace, he simply pulled the trigger. The sound was deafening. I stared down at the fist-sized hole in my chest. Perhaps drug-runner hadn’t been the smartest career choice, after all.

Doug

This one is for giraffe. This is massively over the word count and there is plenty of room to expand on a part of the story or just write Chapter 2 and take in whatever direction you want. This is our collaboration if you so desire. Wow, we have a week and we may just take this ThinkWrite over. lol.

Mr. Montague
Chapter 1

Beyond the onyx hued fence and the forest of young saplings, the house of Montague stood stoically. Made of pure granite and solid oak trusses the Montague house had survived for an indeterminate number of years. The lone occupant Mr. Montague had passed over a hundred years ago….but the house itself was never at peace…

Vanquished during the Civil War the Montague’s were once the carpetbaggers of the West. Montgomery Montague made a fortune in gold mines, which led to a great deal of wealth and prestige. His lovely young wife Margaret was the unfortunate victim of cholera at an early age. They had no children. The house that Montague built was their only child. It was his one joy in life after his wife passed away except for his riches. He could still hear the whispers of his darling with the rustle of the autumn leaves skittering across the landscape. Fleeting images of Margaret played in his head like a silent movie on a dark screen. He was blinded by the brilliance of her beauty and devastated by her absence.

Montague was zealous and ambiguous at the same time in his pursuit of additional wealth and the hermit’s life he led. His many ventures were processed through intermediaries so as not to leave a paper trail. Ultimately, money flowed into his coffers and into the house that Montague called home.

It’s rather unfortunate that such a wealthy prestigious man never once attained the same social status, as his wealth would have afforded him. He died a lonely broken man with no heirs and little if any fanfare. I only know this after many years of research and it has finally paid off. I will be the first to set foot inside his castle perhaps to caress the tusk of one of his prized taxidermy animals or partake in a vintage wine that has set on a shelf for untold years. I relish the thought of being the soul beneficiary of Montague’s hidden kingdom nestled deep in the midst of overgrown ivy that has inundated its precious mortar.

I banged against the catch of the heavy wooden door with what looked like dried out leather straps holding it on and it gave way with a silent groan. I had finally made my way into his abode and what a treasure it held! I feel like time has stopped and I am in the middle of the last century. I thought the house was empty, but the house told me otherwise. Paintings began to spin in every direction and swords lashed out at me with their deathly sharp blades barely missing my flesh. The noise was unimaginable. It was a groan louder and more alive than I could grasp. It shook me as if I was living on the brink of a hurricane surge.

The Montague house was surely alive and I believe to this day that so is Mr. Montague.

Doug

morshy: Hey, love the title..lol. and I loved that story even more. Brutally honest and it is very scary how true it is. You must speak from experience or have a great grasp of non-fictional story telling. I work in the "big" city and I've seen more than I want to see. I applaud you!!!

Nylecoj

Very well done Morshy! Scary, and very well written to make it so.

Doug I like the house! Can't wait for part two, Giraffe!

marius

Ever since mouse's gypsy story, this song keeps playing in my head. So, here's The Mama's and The Papa's, 'The Dancing Bear,' for you mouse, although others may enjoy too.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xKyQyY220U

marius

morshy - very much enjoyed the 'career choice.' The feeling was certainly there. And, tee hee, was nice to have a title. : )

Doug - you keep surprising. Very much liked the Montague house and felt the life of the house too, liked it as a character. : )

And ... speaking of titles. Wondering how people feel about them. At first, found it VERY difficult to come up with titles. Easier now but sometimes they feel 'spot on' and other times not. Maybe marius missed that day in school when they talked about titling one's work? Don't know. Would like to know how people come up with their titles? Anyone?

giraffe

Good question, marius. Sometimes a title comes before writing the story and sometimes after it's done and sometimes no title seems appropriate. In my last story, I just took the first sentence and made it the title

Anger is a fleeting sensation. was the first line of the story. Sometimes no title works, too. It leaves it open for interpretation. It's weird also to "title" a painting. One of my favorites is Dali's "Premonition of Civil War Composition with Baked Soy Beans". A magnificent painting with a serious and frivolous title.

Dragon

I've always rather enjoyed coming up with titles for my stories. I almost always wait until I've finished writing and I just sort of try to think of something that fits well. Sometimes I have a tile in mind but I discard it because I've put a bit of a twist in at the end of the story and I think the title will give it away, but in most cases I just sort of think about the story for a few minutes and something comes to me.

giraffe

Doug. My name is Ron. (I'm not anotherronism) I can't turn down a challenge so I'll add to your story. But you already followed most of the rules, so I don't have to.

Mr. Montague Ch. 2

Soon I learned to flow with it. The mansion was alive. Cool. When I was happy, the whole place seemed to breathe with generosity. But fake happiness didn't work. I found that out the hard way. A party I threw for my new neighbors and associates sent the house into a tizzy fit. I didn't like them, so the house started spinning again.

I don't know why, but this fortune was uncomfortable for me. When I'm alone, the paintings of wonderful places, women and fruit baskets stay still. They don't spin and the daggers don't come out of the walls. When my neighbors come around, it's bad.

Mr. Blankenship lives right nextdoor. My Daddy had the gold mines and the Blankenships had the coal. I had the hots for Mary Blankenship. Maybe that's why I can't leave this place. It's alive.

Mines are a terrible place, but everyone in my neighborhood is wealthy because of that. Sometimes those "ant people" die, but that's already figured out by our accountants. It's included on all of our Pie Charts.

Doug

Ron: Nice follow up! I guess you could also call it "collatoral damage" the way they do in war. It doesn't make any better. The "house" does seem to only "fit" one person. Others disturb the solitude.

ps. So glad you aren't anotherronism. He'd be having fits over some of the "changes" we've made to his "baby". lol.

giraffe

I love you too, Doug. Not in the yukky way. Your "collatoral damage" statement reminded me of what they call "Friendly Fire". When soldiers are killed by their own troop members in military exercises. There's a story in that. Like Cheney accidentally shooting his lawyer in the face.

Are you up for Chapter 3? Go, Johnny.

Nylecoj

Very nice Giraffe! Keep um coming!

Marius, I usually come up with my title after I am done writing. But every now and then I think of it first and the story flows from it.

giraffe

Morshy. Life's choices is very cool. Leather pumps on his feet? Is that another Scottishism? Sounds like a drag queen from here.

spam

I have found these stories by chance not only great artist's on TD but great writer's couldn't resist making a comment bout the leather pumps actually sounds quite 'Sloaney' so please do enlighten as to the 'place' in your story Morshy.

Meanwhile I will continue to read and enjoy and be entertained - Thank you all so much.

Doug

Ron: Not sure if I'll get around to Chapter 3. Tis the busy season at work and we're still getting ready for this new house. Lots to do. I was just peeking in today to say hi and see what everyone was up to. Bye for now everybody.

Nylecoj

I am going to be out of town for the weekend, no idea if I will have internet access. But please, keep writing! Midnight you may get your whip out if it is needed. Have fun everyone!

giraffe

Doug. Coincidentally I just watched 'The Shining' and "Hush Sweet Carlotte" back to back. In both stories the house comes alive with past memories. Jack Nicholson and Bette Davis would have been a great pair. Hmmmmm......

giraffe

No rules again. Totally winging it. Way off base, Doug, but humorous.

Ch. 2 continued.

Mary Blankenship was my first huge crush. I'm sure you don't want to think about some of the nasty things I did alone when I thought about her.

"Oil, Coal and Gold don't mix!" she always said. "They are all holes in the ground and there are people desparate enough to go into them. Get it?"

She was the first girl I ever asked up to my room. Before that it was just guys doing nasty things. Whatever. She looked through my CD collection, my DVDs and my porn. DAMN. I should have hid that. You're trying to get a chick into your bed and then she sees your porn laying all around?

Oil and water don't mix. I found that out the hard way. The house is turning on some axis I don't understand. Not only do the paintings spin, but so does the toilet. I feel like I'm on a ride at Disneyland every time I need to take a crap.

I'll leave Mary alone for now. She always says we're "Star Crossed". Oil, Water, Gold and Coal just don't mix. Neither does shiit mix in the water you poop in. She'll get it.

I know that mines are just holes in the ground and wells and stuff. It's all really deep down there. I don't get that and I don't know why my house is spinning around either!!