Writing Challenge #1
 

Here's how it'll work:

Every Sunday night/early Monday morning (AZ time) I'll post a challenge for the week. For that week, feel free to stew over the idea or topic, and post your creation as it comes. If the particular challenge for the week is out of your normal comfortable writing zone, I challenge you to try something new and take a stab at it - it's all about growing and exploring new parts of your imagination. I'll try to vary it up a little bit so that there's a little bit of something different every week. ** IF YOU HAVE IDEAS, PM ME!!* *



To kick us off, In honor of the wonderous thing called winter that many people live in, I'm using this picture as inspiration for your creative writing juices:

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2...bx2s-39671.jpg

Use any form of written expression ( short story, poem, free verse, anything ) to describe what this picture brings to mind.

This is the first time I've attempted to write something like this that wasn't an assignment in school.... And its the first time I've shared what I've written with anyone else.... But, the words seemed to come, so here it is....

Please, be gentle. *grins*


The cold, wan, gray light of another winter morning filtered weakly through the gauze curtains hanging limply across the bedroom window. The mound of covers piled haphazardly on the bed stirred slightly, then heaved mightily to reveal the bed’s occupant. A pale hand emerged from the covers to brush tousled black locks back, revealing pixie-like features and eyes the color of spring grass framed with sooty lashes still heavy with sleep. She turned her head to glance at the clock and sighed, sitting up and pushing back the covers.

She sat for a moment before she swung her legs from the bed, bare feet groping for the ratty plush slippers peeking from under the bedskirt. Slipping her feet into them, she stood, hesitating in obvious indecision before turning to step to the window. A frown creased her forehead as she lifted the gauze sheer with one slim finger, pulling it away from the frost-edged panes to reveal the icy, snowy landscape outside.

Her finger trembled as she spied the chair, still sitting in the front yard, now covered with snow and ice and she dropped the curtain and stepped back. Her trembling spread to the rest of her body and she wrapped her flannel clad arms around her body, hugging herself in silent, desperate need. Memories flooded her mind and a tear welled up in one eye and she stepped backward, stumbling a bit until the backs of her legs met the bed. Succumbing to the grief flooding over her, she retreated back into the warm depths of the bed, pulling the covers over her head. Tomorrow, she promised herself before she slipped back into oblivion. Tomorrow it would be gone. Tomorrow she could face the world without him. Tomorrow.

The cold reality of being furnature...

Today the seams are seamingly tight,
and I am covered in cloth so bright.
My arms are soft, and my legs are strong,
now my family won't be long.

My price tag on, the people stare,
"Oh look at that! Over there!"
The money is paid, the box is closed,
in the living room I am soon posed.

"Put it here! Put it there!", they say to the men.
I find my home, sitting in the den.
They sit and they squirm, to find their spot,
then up comes Rover, HE'S ABOUT TO SQUAT!

The man runs over to save the day.
God, that stupid dog is gay.
Now we watch NCIS,
my family and I now get to rest.

Over the years, I break right in,
now fitting perfectly with my kin,
until one day, when they bring home
a brand new chair, leaving me to roam.

So now I sit on a snowy street,
when life before seemed so neat.
Is this the end for this good seat?
Is this the end for this good seat?

Bryndian_Dhai, reminds me of early Steinbeck. Very descriptive, in a good way. I felt I was there with the girl. Excelent!

*blushes* Thank you so much. I love to write, but I've only recently really been able to find the words I need to express what I need to say.

I love the poem. The Rover line made me laugh out loud. *grins*

Bryndian_Dhai and Willravel - you guys have gotten us off to a GREAT start! Wow! I'm glad we're doing this again!

*me goes off to work on her own*

Thanks, Bryndian. I was kinda going funny/simple to compliment your serious/thoughtful post. This is a great idea. Shoot, I might just post again. Good idea, amonkie.

Version 2


Loved once the chair now
Is fought over no more. It's
burden now melting


Mr Mephisto

Mr. Mephisto - great start! I love all the new people, keep it up guys!

Excelent, Mr_Mephisto. You should keep writing haiku (haiku is the plural for haiku, right?).

great idea amonkie. It's a good pic to draw from to. give me a cuople of days

<ICER> goes and sharpens his keyboard

ok well i have finished mine and i was too excited to sleep so i decided to post it now instead of in the morning.

The Chair

A lone chair sits on the curb of a busy street,
'Oh, why didnt they take me?'
It thinks in its chair think as the last of the trader fold disappear.

The first of the snow flakes start to fall,
'Why am i not loved? i was a good honest, comfortable chair, always loyal.'
The chair starts to shiver a chair shiver as more snow starts to fall.

As the last of the sun disappears into a moonless night, the chair sees a shadow,
"I'M SAVED, I'M SAVED!!!'
The chair thinks as it tries to get itself into its most comfortable frame of mind.

The snow continues to fall as the owner of the shadow, which the chair now knows to be small than expected, stops infront of the chair,
'I hope this is a 2 legged thing instead of a 4 legged thing.'
The chair thinks as this thing starts to walk around it.

The owner of the shadow starts tearing at the chairs fragile fabric, tearing more with every tug,
"oh how it hurts, the pain, the humanity.'
The chair thinks as it wakes up from its chair dream.

The chair looks around and sees its house and its thing and realises that it was just a bad chair dream,
all the while resolving itself to be the best, most comfortable chair ever.


MARVIN DRAKE 2005

i agree (although i dont know steinbeck) i felt like i could see what was happening. even more so in the second half of the last paragraph. very nice.

yes same with me. i like that it was simple and easy to read.



as for haiku, i have never written one but i do like it Mr Mephisto. cheers

Once accepted with such enthusiasm
Loved and giving comfort to all who rested here
Fought over by children
Taken over by the most tired
For years, a fixture in an abode filled with love and activity
But like the fabric covering the bones, the comfort fades
The bones creak
Now the only thing seeking comfort is cold, wet, devoid of senses
Sometimes, life ends for the unliving too

Wow. Touching post, ngdawg.

This post is making me want to get a seat
from driving all up and down my street.
Parhaps one can be given a home,
and clean it up. "Go get the foam!"

Fantastic writing, high_way. If you haven't read Steinbeck, you probably should. His works and writings are really good. He liked to describe things like turtles and wood. I can't stop rhyming. Please help me. :eek:

Wow, thanks y'all... I felt really good about that piece when I finished it, I'm glad to see that it turned out as readable in your eyes as it did in mine. Oddly enough, I'm not a huge fan of Steinbeck, in spite of the fact that I usually do like authors like him, who are descriptive and detailed.

The poetry posted has been wonderful.... That's something I have <i>never</i> been able to write. You all have amazing talent, and I'm really glad I posted here. *grins* Now I'm jonesing for the next one. (And hoping my muse will strike again on this one. heheh)

-------------------------------

Cool thread amonkie and good work contributers. I'm going to think about this one overnight and see what I can do tomorrow.

Till then...

Ngdawg, thinktank, and High_way: Wow! I love how everyone is coming up with so many different ideas. Dawg, I especially love your "Sometimes, live ends for the unliving too" :)

For those of you a little scared by the quickness of some people's muses, don't forget you do have a whole week to work on this. If you've already shared something and feel like writing a second, go for it!

cold and alone
it weeps
begging for someones warm ass to plop down

it needs a warm home
a pet to curl up on its lap and sleep

trashed
it weeps for a home

This is amazing....there is alot of excellent stuff in here. I Gotta give credit to the imagination, and literary skills of every one of you.

This is my vacation photo. This is where I sat. I took this photo when the weather was much nicer. It was springtime, I think. The trees were in full blossom and the sky was the deep indigo that you typically only see when you’re flying five miles in the sky. When I took this photo, the chair was blue. There was a woman sitting in it and she was telling me of the days during the war when she would wait at the train station for her beloved to return. She told us of the arrival of the Army chaplain and the telegram and how he comforted her and told her that her beloved hadn’t suffered. She was pointing across the street to where the soda shop used to be. It was where he promised to return to her a man. Even after the telegram, she would still wait at the train station. She said she waited there every day for 17 years, until they tore it down after the train quit passing through. I remember the wrinkles under her eyes tightening and moving independently of her words when she spoke. Her eyes glistened and I thought they were tears, but it turns out they were burning from the wind that day. I remember now. It was springtime, it was blue, and her eyes were stinging from the wind. It was my vacation.

I don’t think I have any other photos of my vacation. I sat in this chair after speaking to the woman. She got up and walked away. It was the walk of a woman in pain. She walked across the street and looked into the window of the building that used to be the soda shop. It was a vintage clothing boutique now. I followed behind her and looked into the window. There was a small collection of World War II-era clothing. I went back to the chair to take this photo. Then I sat down.

It was nicer that day. It was springtime, I think.

I don’t know how the snow got there.

My apartments on the third floor she said, as I listened to her soft sweet voice beckon me to come. I just met you, I said, and as quickly as I had said it, I wished I hadn’t, thinking she might change her mind. Yes, she said, but we have been on the phone all night and now it's daylight. It seems to me I have know you for a long time, and I listened, and told myself I believed the same.
I thought about what she said, and decided it was time. How will I know where your house is? Well, I live on a one way street,, and my apartment is next to a church, she finally said. I drive a 1989 light blue Hyundai exel, she said. It’s been parked since last week when the freeze came. I wish she would just give me the address, but I knew this area well, and downtown was pretty small. There were only two churches, and I knew both of them. Suddenly it hit me....The sculpture.....
I have a red box sitting on my patio, she said, breaking me away from my thoughts, bringing me back. Are you coming? I thought for a moment, then Said, I’ll be right there. I’ll call when I park out front. Ok, she softly said, I’ll be ready for you.......

Ok, here I go:

He'll never find another like me. Whatever happened to loyalty anyways, the days when a man and his trusty chair grew old together? Who else has been there for him the way I have? I've been plopped down on after long days at work, treated savagely during drunken football celebrations and used for silly activities that I won't even describe with strange women because I'm a modest chair. What did that get me? A Monday morning date with the guys who wear orange vests and gloves while throwing unwanted old girls like me into the back of their stinky truck. I'm not sure where they will take me, but if I were a betting chair, which I'm not, my money says its not furniture heaven.

So here I am, out on the street like yesterdays garbage, which, sadly, is what I've become. Through the living room window I can see Jim and his new chair together by the fire, it makes me want to puke my stuffing out. I can't help but to think back on the days when being with me put a smile on Jim's lazy face. Now I'm being eyeballed by winos and and strange men driving by in vans like a two dollar ho. I hope they realize I'm not that kind of chair! I don't spread my footrest for just any man. What has that asshole Jim done to me? The injustice of it all!

Good times people, keep 'em coming. I look forward to next week!

-Dost

Beaten fabric of a discarded past
Used, half broken by love long forgotten
Hidden crumbs dropped in these folds
Cradling backsides of the downtrodden
No one seems to remember the warmth in these stitches
Cold winter droppings soak this old friend

Always in your field of vision
A safe haven on a rainy day
But life sneaks up past
turning your eyes away
Seasons later you stumble
And find your seat already taken

I used to think life couldn't get any worse than having people sitting on you all day. At least it was warm when my sole occupation was none other than that. So this is what it's like to feel unwanted? I used to be his favorite chair. Sure take a picture. Just what I needed. For this moment live on forever enslaved behind the glossy finish of Fuji film.

It's been a few days now. The snow has almost completely melted. Maybe they'll reconsider. They have a study why couldn't they have just put me in there? Hey who are those guys? They look like college students.

"Hey check that shit out man!"
"Oh bad ass!"
"You think they'll mind if we take it?"
"Put it in back of the truck."

(they drive off)

Asta!!

JP, J.R.V.A., Dostoevsky, tecoyah, amonkie, kwise...

all very great pieces, thanks.

but i have to give an extra slap on the back to J.R.V.A. for not using the chair persay, but the back ground.

cheers all of you.

Looks like I'll have to sit this one out. AS-level exam resits and coursework for English, geography and French apparently are supposed to be my priority.

Plus I don't think I could match the kind of quality I've seen already

Here is my friend
My burden bearer
My constant
My always

Is it neglect
or abuse that adorns you?

Drowning now
In your long, white
angelic robes

You are free
to find a new friend
a new home
a new beginning.

Aw, you know you want to! :D And stop comparing yourself to everybody else - your work is just as unique and appreciated!

Wow, what a great, active thread. I've really enjoyed reading all of your work as well as contributing my own. If you can think of any other TFP'ers who may like to get involved with this thread, pm them. I never would have known this was happening if I hadn't wandered into the forum.

-Dost

Bleak and somewhat opaque to my own oblivious nature
I ponder the point of a studdering progression
Making false starts into this foray we call living
Holding onto existence like some prized possession
What destination awaits this husk
Does the dread I feel at eyes opening to day mean weakness
Or a sense of understanding my own regression
Stealing such joy as a false reality can hold
Pretending I love your laugh to create a desired impression
Watching a bright future become dusk
Making small talk, smaller with lies
Taking the time, but avoiding your eyes
Accept in my mind what emotion denies
Playing along as my love for you dies

Knowing its over…..yet part of me tries
The other part cries

-------------------------------------------------------------------

I honestly have no Idea why that freakin' chair made me so sad

I don't know either, but I'm about ready to grab a tissue now, Tecoyah.

tecoyah,

I don't know if it's refreshing or disheartening to realize that there are others who feel the same way.

Good words. The last 6 lines the most powerful.

the centerline of the image is indicated
by the left edge of the white column

an aqua car snow covered its reflection
smeared along the street what time of day is this

to the right of the center line
a white square its reflection melted over a chair

the green of the chair the color of the street

in my mind, i push the arms of the chair together expecting the back to twist toward me

the frozen throne is
a warcraft expansion pack
or this ill-kept chair

Thanx man. Be honest I didn't really try..no thought just started typing :| I wrote about the chair because thats what the picture is. A picture of a chair covered in snow. It's the main focus of the pic :thumbsup: Hmm never tried anything like that before. And then I went and half-assed it to boot...Oh well.

Asta!!

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.

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

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.

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.

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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.

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


Damn good , by the way


Excellent contribution as well ...Poop

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?

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

<<
>>

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

-Lasereth

Changing like the seasons.
 

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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…

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

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

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 :lol:

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!"

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.

"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.

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...

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.

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