ICER

Ok. while everybody see a cold harsh reality. I see a warm hearted story. So here is my entry.

I sat in my comfy chair, looking out the window at the new fallen snow. Once more the temperature has dropped, and once again the town is caught in old man winters grasp.
Why? I asked myself, While sitting in my comfy chair. Why does old man winter blast us so? Why does he return with a vengeance every year? Did we upset him some how? I really want to know.

Theses thoughts ran through my head. As I sat in my comfy chair. And I watched the wind whip by and the snowflakes looking for a place to rest. Once more the temperature dropped and the wind blew harder still. Why O why I asked. Sitting in my comfy chair. The only answer was the wind and snow to blow by my window at a restless pace. Then the wind seems to talk to me. And oddly I understood what it said.

With great effort and sorrow. I arose from my comfy chair. Grabbed my former seat of rest and started to drag it across the room, then down the hall, out the front door. To come to rest in the yard. I looked at the sky above and gave a knowing wink. Then left my comfy chair. I just left it right there. Why? I was asked upon my return. Because. I answered. Old man winter wasn’t vengeful, mad or upset. He was cranky. Because he no place to rest. So I put my comfy chair so he can rest his frozen Dari air. For warmer tomorrow.

__________________
What's the difference between congress and a penitentiary?
One is filled with tax evaders, blackmailers and threats to society.
The other is for housing prisoners.
~~David Letterman

amonkie

ICER - that's awesome! I totally didn't expect a perspective like that!

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Calling from deep in the heart, from where the eyes can't see and the ears can't hear, from where the mountain trails end and only love can go... ~~~ Three Rivers Hare Krishna

Seer666

The Chair

I had a family once. Two little girls and a loving wife. It wasn't a perfect home, but it was a happy one. Every Sunday morning, I would sit down in my favorite chair, and my youngest one, only 4, would run over with my slippers and the morning paper. She loved doing this for some reason. Some of my friends used to joke with me about how I really wanted a dog and trained her instead. It was nothing like that. One morning she noticed I always like to start my Sundays off with with the morning funnies, and just took it upon herself to make daddy happy. Little things like that are what really make a happy house. Small little things you never think about, but just take for granted. My wife, the most perfect thing on God's earth, would bring me my coffee, the same way every day, two sugars and a kiss. Seemed such a shame to drink the coffee afterwards, and cover the taste of her warm mouth. Later in the day after church, I would go back to my chair, and the whole family would watch TV together, laughing and joking, and just enjoying begin with each other. My eldest daughter, 7, she was, always had to watch Sponge Bob. I hated that show, to be honest, but I loved watching the way her face would just light up when she laughed at that stupid little critter. She was like an angel. Well, they all were. My family of angels. Ah, such a life that any man could wish for. A couple times, after the kids went to bed, me and the wife even made love in that chair. Seems so many memories of mine, so many memories of them, revolved around that chair. So many wonderful, happy, joyous memories, my family, my chair, and me. Life was good. Then came last Monday. Eight in the morning, she had already left to take the kids to school. I was getting ready for another day in the office. I can't say I like my job, but it pays well, and I get plenty of time to be with my family, so I never complain. I just sat in my chair to finish tying my shoes and kill the last of my coffee, when the phone rang. At five past seven in the morning, a drunken diver was driving past the school. He lost control of his car, hopped the curb, and rammed into our family van. My wife was giving the kids one last hug goodbye for the day, and they were standing right next to the van, on the side it was hit from. In that chair, which I had lived so much, I died that morning. Every day now, I come down and sit in it, remembering all the good times I've had in that chair. All the memories wrapped around it, like a blanket on a cold night. Today is Sunday. I went down, and there were no slippers, and no morning paper. I took me a while to really grasp what that meant. I threw the chair out an hour ago. As I said, I died in that chair, my soul withered to nothing in the time frame of one phone call. I think I will finish dieing in bed today. There are to many memories in that chair already.

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Bad spellers of the world untie!!!

I am the one you warned me of

I seem to have misplaced the bullet with your name on it, but I have a whole box addressed to occupant.

amonkie

Seer666 - powerful powerful, as usual. Thanks for joining in!

For anyone else, still thinking of taking a stab at this???? You've got about two more days to spur those ideas while waiting for the next challenge to go up.

__________________
Calling from deep in the heart, from where the eyes can't see and the ears can't hear, from where the mountain trails end and only love can go... ~~~ Three Rivers Hare Krishna

amonkie

Just a reminder! We've got about 24 hours or so left on this one before I'll put up the challenge for the upcoming week. If you want to join in, you've still got time!

__________________
Calling from deep in the heart, from where the eyes can't see and the ears can't hear, from where the mountain trails end and only love can go... ~~~ Three Rivers Hare Krishna

tecoyah

I would just like to commend everyone who took part in this.....excellent work all around.
This is what is needed to really make this part of TFP fly......Thank You all.

Get ready for week #2

__________________
Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. - Buddha

Bryndian_Dhai

Ok, it's Wednesday. *grins* I'm ready. hehehe

__________________
“When facism comes to America it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross.”
~Sinclair Lewis

mojodragon

Wow........I'm Impressed

Bryndian_Dhai, I can only hope that one day I can write half as well.

amonkie

Week #2 is up and running! Go join the fun.

__________________
Calling from deep in the heart, from where the eyes can't see and the ears can't hear, from where the mountain trails end and only love can go... ~~~ Three Rivers Hare Krishna

Bryndian_Dhai

Thank you Mojo.... I appreciate it. Sometimes the words come, and sometimes they don't. *smiles*

__________________
“When facism comes to America it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross.”
~Sinclair Lewis

Shpoop

If these walls could speak, they could shower you with stories forever.
Stories of how a struggling man looked forward to crashing into his favorite chair after a hard days work, aching muscles being unwound by its tender touch. The one constant in the world...never rejecting him, never questioning him, only giving what it had to give.
Stories of how he cradled his newborn there. Even long after the baby had been quieted and was sleeping soundly, he would cradle. Perhaps it wasn't the baby that was being soothed at all.
Stories of how he would sit there with his child on his lap and read to him. Read to him about stars, about legends, about Green Eggs and Ham. The sturdy springs were always delighted to bear the extra burden.
Stories of how he would hold his son up in the air and spin him around, flinging him onto its reliabe softening embrace. "Again! Again!" the son would shout. "Again! Again!" the chair would hope.
Stories of how a frustrated adolescent would come there when nothing else was going right in the world. Teachers scolded him, girls ignored him, friends ridiculed him. But here was the one constant in the world...never rejecting him, never questioning him, only giving what it had to give.
Stories of how one day, without any warning, the chair was taken away, only to be replaced by a newer, brighter, less worn substitute. The chair that had been part of home, that was home, was gone forever.

If this chair could speak, it would have no stories to tell. A strange lump rising in its throat would prevent any talking at all.

______

this thread is awesome...i'm not a writer at all but had to join in! Bryndian, yours is absolutey incredible!

RoboBlaster

Randol Carter was used to his hands losing all feeling due to the cold weather. In fact, he almost enjoyed the winter because then his hands wouldn't hurt so much after hours of chucking overfilled bags into the back of the truck. That, and the death grip needed to hold on to the steel bars on the side of the truck. Randol had heard stories about some of the workers falling from the truck on the busy street, and he didn't want to be a part of the story. He used to fight the cold with bourbon - the cheap stuff. He could only afford the good stuff on special occasions. Now that he is twelve weeks sober, he has to deal with the cold by enjoying the numbness. One day at a time, they always said in AA. The daydream of musty rooms and stale coffee was cut by the psshhhtttt sound of the garbage truck applying the brakes. Time to move. This time, the bag wasn't too bad; it was big, but it seemed to be filled with mostly shredded paper and styrofoam cups. The hardest part was slinging the bag over his head so that it would fall in the back of the truck just right without bothering his sholder too much. The alcohol covered that up very nicely, too. Randol wished he could quit his job and find one that didn't require flinging trash in the cold as balls mornings, but there was no way to find a job that payed so well for a GED graduate with child support each and every goddamn month. The truck rounded the corner and Randol uttered a curse. Sitting on the edge was a recliner. Furniture duty the guys at the dump called it, and they all knew it was the worst. Not only do you have to load the furniture on the truck, you have to make sure it gets perfectly compacted by the crusher, meaning you had to crawl all the way in and monkey around in the foulest grime imagineable. The chair must have been sitting there since Wednesday, as it had enough snow to fill in the seat and coat the arms. To Randol, this was about the worst sight that could be seen. And he wanted a drink. Bad. The truck came to a stop and Randol felt his head begin to shake as he plopped down off the side. He ambled to the chair and stared at its ugly pattern and the ugly snow. He instinctively reached for the pocket in which he used to keep his flask. Finding that it wasn't there, Randol felt a click in the back of his neck, and sat.

tecoyah

"bout freakin time you got in here Blaster.....we have been waiting


Damn good , by the way


Excellent contribution as well ...Poop

__________________
Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. - Buddha

RoboBlaster

You've been waiting for me? Hehe, thanks for the nice comment. I have noticed that a lot of the good stuff in here comes from those who comment in the tea thread. A coincidence?

Bryndian_Dhai

*grins* Maybe..... and maybe <i>not</i>.

<<
>>

__________________
“When facism comes to America it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross.”
~Sinclair Lewis

Lasereth

*EDIT* Deleted the story because I read it a few times and decided it was crap.

-Lasereth

__________________
"A Darwinian attacks his theory, seeking to find flaws. An ID believer defends his theory, seeking to conceal flaws." -Roger Ebert

RogerRidiculous

Jonathon starred out his window at the last remaining relic of his past single life. The way the snow weighed heavily on the chair symbolized exactly how he felt at that moment. He loved that chair. It had been with him for many years, and even though it had seen better days it was full of memories. Memories that Cathy didn't really want him to keep. But more then that it was still the most comfortable chair he had. He looked back over his shoulder into a room he did not recognize. Sure it was the same room, but that was it. Now his room had furniture with names like ottoman and love seat. They were covered with all kinds of pillows, in all shades of the rainbow. Except they weren't comfortable, and he was warned they were for decoration only. What hell good are pillows if you can only look at them, he thought to himself. And it wasn’t just the furniture, now his walls were covered with pictures of babies and family members. If he wanted to see the family, he’d go visit them. “I loved that chair,” he said out loud not really looking for a response. “That chair needed to go, just look at the shape it’s in, besides change is good.” He didn’t answer but thought to himself, change is only good for those who wanted it. “I loved that chair,” he said once again just under his breath.

Amnesia620

Here on this curb I am seated
accepting the fact that I'm defeated
left out here to be taken
forsaken
I no longer take up the void
certain to be destroyed
left under a cold pile
for a while
of this wintry stuff
I've had enough
but here I'll stay
I've seen my final day.

__________________
For example, I find that a lot of college girls are barbie doll carbon copies with few differences...Sadly, they're dumb, ditzy, immature, snotty, fake, or they are the gravitational center to orbiting drama. - Amnesia620

msh58

single bed
in a small studio apartment
and my chair

seeing scores of women
daily pass by
but each one
feels wrong

could analyze the reasons
break it down into a spreadsheet
analyze the feeling
to death
but doubt i'd have the words
to explain
why it wouldn't work with her
or her
or her

Just leaving it to the heart to know when its right

gut, heart or brain
seem to have all different opinions anyway

its strange you are coming over
it just feels right
though no one has been here
in a decade

i'm not sure of the specific reasons
if you would ask for them

delivery guys are bringing the couch
chair just had to go
to make room
for it

cybersharp

I once was a proper seat,
a bench as was,
oh that was neat,
I once held heat,
I once held love,
but my love,
was a dove,
It flew away,
and all I can say,
is snow is heavy,
Im only made out of cloth!

-

The day the men,
moved me right here,
all I did, was sit, not stir,
the children laughed,
the adults stared,
one old man,
even glared.

Age's came and went in a blink,
wait, I dont have eye's,
or a brain,
how do I think,
nevermind,
I provide ages link.

Soon I will crumble,
soon I will decay,
and lose what is left,
of my poor sad cloth.

Then surprize!,
one glorious day,
I was repaired,
and moved again,
to a sunny land,
with cusions of hay,
oh what a happy day.

__________________
0PtIcAl

ClostGoth

Last Move


She caresses her hand lovingly over frayed seams. One more comfortable old friend sacrificed to her nomadic lifestyle. Well, there simply isn’t enough room in the moving van, and something has to be left behind. She hates leaving it out on the cold, gray street like this and a few embarrassing tears fall to join the slush on the sidewalk.

“Who cries over furniture, anyway?” she angrily berates herself.

She barely hears the resounding clank as the van’s storage bay locks behind her. She runs her hand over that rough spot on the arm where the ketchup stain never really did come up. Her husband comes to stand behind her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. He is impatient to leave but understands her need to say one last goodbye, and stands silently with her. One more touch to the aged-softened upholstery; across the back this time where her furry companion has left an indentation from years of lying in the sun. He is already in his carrier in the van cab. She places her hand over her husband’s heavy one, and realizes that nothing truly important is being left behind. It’s just an old chair that should have been replaced years ago. She pats her husband’s hand and they turn as one to climb into the truck, miles of empty interstate in front of them. She can’t resist a final glance in the rear-view, though; one final goodbye as they pull away. Her thoughts turn to their new home as the first snowflakes start to fall.

ClostGoth

Starting Over


Sunlight breaks through the cloud cover long enough to illuminate a particularly nice living room set through the window. It fills me with bitterness, as if the sun is taunting me with things I could never afford. I can’t resist reaching out a hand to touch the frozen glass, and I reflect on the pitiful amount of change in the bottom of my pocket. I know that eventually we’ll be able to save enough to start replacing furniture lost in the fire. I have to take a deep breath to remind myself that I am lucky. I did not lose my wife or either of our small daughters to the blaze that took our apartment.

Snow crunches underfoot as I turn back to the street. I pull my tennis shoes through the slush near the gutter and drop my battered copy of today’s paper in the trash bin on the corner. No one is hiring poor, young, uneducated fathers. It seems in a city this size you would be able to find work as a contractor. There have to be buildings going up _somewhere_, but all of the work crews are well established and no one has been hiring since I lost my job a week ago. The empty rooms in our new place will have to stay that way in favor of scrounging groceries for our girls. I would like to have at least a chair, I think to myself. Something my beautiful wife could rest in after a hard day’s work at the restaurant. Something I can sit in at night to tell my girls their bedtime stories.

As I turn the corner I almost run into it. There, in the gray dawn light and covered with snow, sits the answer to my prayer. “Thank you, Lord”, I murmur, faith renewed. I turn to look at the duplex the recliner sits near, noting the rental signs in the windows. Dusting the snow from the back I can see that it’s really not in bad shape at all, with only a few well-worn dents and a small stain on the arm. I tip it to dump the snow and try to estimate how far I’ll have to move it – only a few blocks! I give it an experimental tug, and turn it onto its side for an easier grip. I begin the slow waddle home, half tugging half carrying my prize. I can already envision it dusted and scrubbed, sitting proudly in the corner of my living room covered with happy, smiling children…

tecoyah

I must say....I am very pleased you decided to join the TFP Goth. These are wonderful, thank you.

__________________
Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. - Buddha

mojodragon

Clostgoth, I have to say that these stories brought tears to my eyes. Of course, I'm much too manly to actually cry

stevie667

Its cold outside,
There's no kind of atmosphere,
I'm all alone,
More or less.
Let me fly,
Far away from here,
Fun, fun, fun,
In the sun, sun, sun.

I want to lie,
Shipwrecked and comotoase,
Drinking fresh,
Mango juice,
Goldfish shoals,
Nibbling at my toes,
Fun, fun, fun,
In the sun, sun, sun,
Fun, fun, fun,
In the sun, sun, sun.


Couldn't resist

__________________
Office hours have changed. Please call during office hours for more information.

madp

I saw a chair in the snow, on the street, in the city, from half a block away.
I continued walking towards the chair, step by step, drinking a quart of beer from a paper sack, and I thought of a few of the comfortable chairs that had been part of my life.

There was the brown leather chair and ottoman when I was five. My pop would snore like a bull in that beauty, all 250 pounds of him, his mouth hung open like he was expecting a sneeze, while my brother and I watched football on the TV.

There was the frighteningly-green plaid recliner in college that I could stay glued to all day after pulling a couple of bong hits, as a parade of users and boozers I called my friends drifted in and out of my apartment. Mike S finally passed out and threw up all over the damn thing one night, and it ended up on the street as well.

I was just about to think about the overstuffed reading chair from my office at the university that smelled like Right Guard deodorant (I had done some research on the toiletries aisle at Osco one day trying to figure out what the smell was), when I found myself stopping right next to the chair in the snow, on the street, in the city. It didn't smell like Right Guard. It smelled like cat piss. The quart of beer was weighing on my bladder, and the street was empty. I pulled off my right glove with my teeth, unzipped my pants and pissed on the chair, with my hands defiantly on my hips, reclaiming it from the neighborhood cats.

. . . . . . .

Deron woke up in his girlfriend's second floor flat, groggy, on the filthy area rug that had turned beige from whatever it's original color might have been, with no idea why he was on the floor. The sun coming through the window felt like mid-afternoon. He was naked, his head hurt, he needed to throw up.

He made it to the bathroom and heaved three times before a small amount of mucousy matter sprinkled into the toilet. Not very satisfying, but okay for now.

"Goddamn, I'm too old for this shit."

He got off of his knees, drank five or six big gulps of water straight from the faucet, and staggered feably towards the living room to collapse in his chair. The chair wasn't there.

"Shannon, where's my fuckin' chair" he hollered.

"Shannon? Shannon!? Where you at? Shit!"

No response.

"The thing about dating white girls, they get so damn mad about a little drinking, a little flirting, a man just being a man," he thought, growing more and more angry that Shannon, nor his chair, were nowhere to be found.

Deron walked over to the living room window and looked out onto the street to see if Shannon's car was still there. He thought he remembered parking it across the street last night, or this morning as it may have been, but he wasn't quite sure.

Out the window and across the street, the car was gone. But, Deron saw his chair, and saw some college-looking dude all bundled up for the cold with a glove in his mouth, looking at his chair with his hands on his hips. About a second later, he realized that the guy was pissing on his chair.

"Mother FUCKER!"

He opened the window to curse the guy, but the guy was already zipped up and walking away.

"Fuck you, bitch! I'll kill your ass if I ever see you on the street!" he yelled. The guy never turned around.

Feeling sick again, he dropped his head and rested his chest on his arms on the sill, looking down at what should have been the ground one story beneath the window. Instead of ground, he saw every stitch of clothing he owned laying in a heap in the snow. He also saw a big black tomcat with his tail raised to the pile, spraying the whole thing down like he was putting out a fire.

"Mother FUCKER!"

__________________
why are you wearing that stupid man suit?

thespian86

not sure if I can post it because of it's length but I just began writing a short comedy about the life of a recliner. I'll consider posting.

__________________
EX: Whats new?
ME: I officially love coffee more then you now.
EX: uh...
ME: So, not much.

analog

"I can't believe it- just tossed out like that. Like 20 years with him just didn't matter."

Stacey poured herself another cup of tea, offering a refill to her friend Jean. Jean accepted, and another steaming cup was poured into an already-twice-emptied mug. Jean just shook her head in disapproval as Stacey spoke.

"You know what I'm saying? It's like he just doesn't care. One day, everything is fine, and the next- it's been nice having you. Thanks for the last 20 years."

"Don't you think that's a little dramatic, Stacey?"

"Not at all. I mean, i'm just glad their kids are grown up and moved out to college by now. Change just isn't easy for little kids to accept."

"Oh I totally agree. Looks like an east European model. Can't be all that supportive- and that's what he needs at his age. And did you see how quickly the change went? Makes me think he'd been looking for a while and had the 'replacement' lined up first before going through with this whole thing."

"You think so?"

"It makes sense. You don't quit your job before you've got another, better one lined up first, do you?"

"Oh- but have you talked to him recently? He's like a totally different guy."

"Yeah... I mean, I like seeing him happy, but this whole thing just came so unexpectedly."

"But how could you not see this coming, Jean? It's been pretty obvious for a while now- even if he's refused to pay attention to the signs."

"Yeah... I just... I don't know. I just don't even like looking over there..."

Jean's voice trailed off as she peered out through the curtains once more. Her powder blue two-door coupe sat just in front of her window, her eyes wandering across the street in passive-aggressive judgment.

Adri

Okay this isn't exactly ABOUT the picture in question, but it is INSPIRED by the picture, and since the assignment is to write about what the picture brings to mind...

This is an excerpt from my life story, which isn't interesting enough to sell, but is interesting enough (to me) to write. Enjoy...

Yukimura

What a strange place. What a strange feeling. Sitting in my chair, watching my favorite shows, waiting on my brother to pick me up to go to his house. I thought I heard a noise, but I ignored it. Then, a loud noise, and a terrible pain. I look down to see a hole in my chest where there didn't used to be one. Then, dizzy, and then here I was again, just sitting, watching. Watching as they drag my body away. Hearing the police say they'll probably never find the killer. Watching my family cry. Don't cry. I'm doing fine. Really, I'm okay. It's just, it's gotten so cold. Brother, please come get me soon okay? It's so cold out here, so come get me soon.

(Feedback?)

__________________
Maybe the answer is in the very light reflected off our blades. Maybe that's what it means to be this creature known as samurai.