Writing Challenge #40 - Tilted Forum Project Discussion Community

amonkie · 10-16-2005, 06:58 AM

I hope everyone is surviving the week ... and hope the juices are around for this week

YOUR CHALLENGE

Write a story or poem in which the main character or focus is a small, common, inanimate object, such as a pencil.

Good luck ... and as always, if you have any suggestions, PM me so I can include them in upcoming weeks

shesus · 10-16-2005, 04:41 PM

Preface: This has to be one of the stupidest stories I've ever written.

I guess scrubbing the floors with bleach for about 2 hours today has really messed up my brain...

What a long time it’s been since I was soft and flexible. I’ve been sitting in this dark closet waiting to be used by the woman who calls herself a housekeeper. No respect, I’ve been stiff and very thirsty for weeks now. Wait, the door is opening, I see some light, she’s reaching in…Damn, she grabbed the cloth instead. Wait, she’s bending back down. Yea, I’m going to get used!

15 minutes later…..

Ugh, bleach of all the good smelling cleaners out there she had to pick bleach. Why do I have to be a sponge?

tecoyah · 10-16-2005, 05:00 PM

Spread thin like the last of the jelly on toast, but without that sweet taste fermenting grapes leave. I know my little vial of color will reach into the miniscule cracks of her lips and be wasted on some chunk of meat with $50. Still, at least there is a chance my red bitterness will be left on the lips of someone who actually cares.
She paid half price for me in a closeout bin...all she could afford this week. Funny how everything about someone is sucked into the chemicals in a lipstick once we touch the lips. Oh the stories we could tell, given the chance.

The horrors we see....the love we pass along.

ngdawg · 10-16-2005, 05:34 PM

OK, so I've been sitting in this clear box with a bunch of my friends for months. Some of us moved in all at once, then a few more came later. I think there's about eight of us now, which wouldn't be a hassle at all, but we have to share this space with two large pieces of rubber, this flat dude with a bunch of holes cut into his body and this metal pointy thing that keeps saying he can run circles around any of us, but always asks one of us for help (guess he can't run circles without us).
There's this one guy, I think he's rubber too, but he keeps himself isolated in a plastic bag. He's shapeless and dirty-we don't like him much. Sometimes he comes out of the bag and turns into some hardass...
Anyway....the owner of our humble abode decides she needs to get back to her 'roots', whatever that means, and to do so, needs our help. I'm a softy, I know I'm the best guy for the job and apparently she agreed, because next thing I know, she's sticking my head into a 3-wheeled grinder!!! Hurts like hell, let me tell ya!! But I look sharp as nails when I get out.
Usually, I work on a smooth surface, which can wear me down, but painlessly (until I'm put in that grinder again, at least). But this time, she drags me over this cloth stuff and that hurt!!! Wore me down faster too, and, well, by now you get the idea....
Well, she seemed pretty pleased with the work I did for her. She used my cousin, but he's got a hard head and is a bit light, so he went back in the box.
Oh! And today, her kid takes the pointy guy out, tries to get some of us into his harness, but most of us didn't fit. One guy did, so he got the job of having to be dragged around in circles, but it was for some homework thing. I, on the other hand am now a piece of artwork, even if I am covered in layers of some crap called 'acrylics'.

cellophanedeity · 10-20-2005, 11:56 AM

I don't know if this counts, but I wrote it in grade 12...

The dry green leaves crackle against my dry grey hands as I carry the corpse to my back garden. Remorse enters the corner of my mind. I know the dead thing in my hands was only a houseplant, but the guilt is still there.

When I had brought the fern home, the leaves were soft and tender, almost emerald. It shone with life. Every day I would enter my kitchen and greet the plant with a cheerful “Good morning!” and sometimes I could almost feel it respond. In those quiet moments, when I doused the terra cotta pot with lukewarm water, I felt at peace. By the second week of having the fern, I softly sang old Frank Sinatra songs to it. I once heard that plants grow better if you sing to them. I’m unsure of if it helped or not, but I figure it couldn’t have hurt.

For weeks I continued in the same fashion. When a friend insisted I go away with her for a week, I agreed, enlisting my daughter to trek across town each morning to water the plant. I called her twice on the trip, once to make sure that she hadn’t forgotten about the plant, and a second to make sure that the water she gave it was not too hot or cold. I know plants don’t really notice, but for some reason, it seemed to matter to me, I didn’t want anything to happen to it when I was gone. I thought of the fern each morning when I woke up to the sun streaming through the hotel window. The friend I was vacationing with wouldn’t let me check up on the plant and insisted that I was getting senile. I slept on the train ride home, and dreamt of Ol’ Blue Eyes dancing in a jungle. When I woke, I knew she must be right.

I arrived at home, and hurried to check on the fern. The leaves were still soft and emerald, but shone less. The next morning as I watered, I couldn’t remember the lyrics to anything, so only hummed a song. As days passed, I would pour the water quickly so that I could hang the laundry before the rain, or go to the grocers. As time passed, I began to forget waterings, leaving the soil to dry out for days.

Then this morning when I woke up, I remembered the fern in my windowsill. Realizing I hadn’t watered it in weeks, I feared the worst. When I got to the kitchen, I realized that it was too late. Plants generally don’t do well when you forget about them. I suppose very little does.

So now, with the dead fern in my hands, I open the back door and walk slowly to the little plot of soil in a sunny corner of the yard. I can’t bear to simply toss the plant into the mud. I pluck the dried soil from the pot, and the fern comes with it. It’s strange to see the roots of something that you’ve sung to. I dig a little hole with the toe of my show, and place the little houseplant in it’s makeshift grave. After a moment of gazing at the ground, I begin to hum. As I turn to go back inside I pause and think, “This would be a lovely place for a garden.”

ngdawg · 10-20-2005, 12:46 PM

Women love me
All they want after the first time
Is more! more!
Is it my smoothness?
My beautiful color?
It's how I am in their mouths
How I seem to sooth their tired souls
Or ease their rough roads
I get offered as a sign of peace
Or given as a gift of love
I elicit moans of satisfaction
And my lingering is licked repeatedly
I am of different sizes
Different shapes
Different countries
Different colors
I am sweet to some
I am bitter to others
How nice to be so loved
How wonderful to be so enjoyed
Eat me

Poppinjay · 10-20-2005, 12:58 PM

I am a ferocious blizzard in a globe. I send the imagination of small children sailing as they see the white flakes fall on the lilliputlian Liverpool in the water. I know these bones that hold paper down.

Shake it up.

It could be soft or cold, it could be anything inside this plastic shield. All the street sweepers are permanent in their quest to clear my roads. The cars will never come. The only thing ephemeral in my existence is the boy who holds this city. See his eyes and how they start with light.

darkangel · 10-21-2005, 01:21 AM

Oh my God, you cannot be serious. He's back. I was resting, what in the turkey is wrong with this guy?

He has the remote in his hand and he's pointing at me as if it's a gun. I know he wants to watch that show with what's her name with the big boobs again. That's what he always flips to. Wouldn't it be funny if I suddently "broke" and forced him to watch something educational for once? Everyone loves learning about the Amazon rainforest, how a waste management plant works or even some new technology that is set to emerge in the next 14 centuries.

Oh gross, he just scratched himself.. down there. I wish he'd take a shower. Or at least change his sweatpants.

He was on the phone the other day with a bar buddy or someone equally stupid and he mentioned something about a job interview and how working was for suckers.. Then they ranted on about "chicks" for awhile. Looks like I'm never going to get any rest, am I.

He's getting up.. where's he going. Oh look at that empty couch, there's actually a butt groove right in dead center. There's probably stains all over that thing. He's back, what's he holding. Oh, should've guessed, a big ol hunking bag of Ruffles.

GO GET A JOB YOU BUM!

He's so goddamn fat too. Must be pushing three hundred pounds by now. I've been forced to look at his grotesque figure for a good six months now. Day in, day out. Bag of ruffles a day makes his fat ass stay.

Holding the remote again in his right hand, left bag stuffed into the Ruffles bag. Oh good, this is just what I needed, he's ordering porn. How he orders it while being a broke ass, I'll never know. His cable bill must be huge. He better just keep his hands away from little Jimmy and I'll be fine. I might vomit otherwise, like I've been wanting to do for weeks.

It's only nine o'clock, my internal clock says. Oh Lord, at least six more hours of torture.

He's just.. staring at me, and doesn't even realize that I'm staring at him back. Not just staring, but making stupid faces at him. Imitating his three chins, sticking out my belly. He doesn't even crack a smile. It's so.. creepy.

Porn, he's watching porn. I'm getting all of his looks. That's it, party time.

I choose to switch the channel, see what he does. Either A) He will hardly notice because he's an idiot, B) He'll rage and slam his fat fingers down on the remote in a panic, C) He'll actually GET UP and do something about it, or D) Sigh, get up and go get a job. Ha, okay that last one was a joke.

And here we go.. what shall we switch to? Discovery Channel? History Channel? PBS? Wait.. on PBS there's some little girls doing ballerina, he might even like that in his current state..

Waste Management Plant show it is.

Wait for it.. wait for it..

Ha! He's confused now, hand still stuck in the chip bag. His right hand gropes for the remote and with a grunt he starts pressing all sorts of buttons.

Sorry buddy. It's nice to know where your shit goes, isn't it? Maybe you could apply for a job there.

He's getting up, wow, his first exercise of the day. He's walking toward me, fists clenched. Great, now I started a fight.

C'mon you tub o' lard, I can take you! Let's see what you got!

Ow, he just hit me on the head. That never works you know, hitting me never fixes anything. Ow, did it again. Don't like the show buddy, do you? Ha!

How about I just die, huh? Bet you'd like that, no TV, YOU'D die too, wouldn't you? No money to buy another one, huh? Ha!

See you in another life, pal.

*blank*

analog · 10-21-2005, 03:00 AM

I leer at paper
it is my foe, defeated
I, staple, bind all.

Two sheets of paper
locked in common destiny
bind without remorse

A line of colleagues
all stand in fear behind me
feel their cowardice

Once perfect, now used
a bent version of myself
like with love, once lost

braindamage351 · 11-12-2005, 06:23 PM

So warm, so tight, so inviting,
I slowly slide inside of you.
You feign resistance, just a bit,
But we all know that I'll get through.
So close, almost a second skin
Without you I am incomplete
You're always with me night and day,
For better, worse, and all between.
When you're with me I'm warm and safe,
Such milky skin, it's almost sin,
I'm cold, and naked, come hear now
Oh sock please will you take me in.

redneckdude · 11-15-2005, 07:47 PM

Well here I'm sitting with all my buddies
some are exotic some aren't
Only time I'm used is when I'm grading papers and noting the bad stuff.
Why is it that I have this negative conotation, that every time I'm used something is wrong
Why can't I be like my buddies in all different colors, blue, black, green, or even purple
Anything would be better than red

Amnesia620 · 11-18-2005, 10:31 PM

Here, on the table, I sit alone,
half empty or half full for all to see,
everyone takes my insides out,
lighting each on fire constantly.

Soon, at the end of the night,
I will be among others in stacks,
a few will still have their insides,
but I will be one of the empty packs.

10-16-2005, 06:58 AM	#1 (permalink)
amonkie Drifting Administrator Location: Windy City	Writing Challenge #40 I hope everyone is surviving the week ... and hope the juices are around for this week YOUR CHALLENGE Write a story or poem in which the main character or focus is a small, common, inanimate object, such as a pencil. Good luck ... and as always, if you have any suggestions, PM me so I can include them in upcoming weeks __________________ 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

10-16-2005, 04:41 PM	#2 (permalink)
shesus Fancy Location: Chicago	Preface: This has to be one of the stupidest stories I've ever written. I guess scrubbing the floors with bleach for about 2 hours today has really messed up my brain... What a long time it’s been since I was soft and flexible. I’ve been sitting in this dark closet waiting to be used by the woman who calls herself a housekeeper. No respect, I’ve been stiff and very thirsty for weeks now. Wait, the door is opening, I see some light, she’s reaching in…Damn, she grabbed the cloth instead. Wait, she’s bending back down. Yea, I’m going to get used! 15 minutes later….. Ugh, bleach of all the good smelling cleaners out there she had to pick bleach. Why do I have to be a sponge? __________________ Whatever did happen to your soul? I heard you sold it Choose Heaven for the weather and Hell for the company

10-16-2005, 05:00 PM	#3 (permalink)
tecoyah Illusionary	Spread thin like the last of the jelly on toast, but without that sweet taste fermenting grapes leave. I know my little vial of color will reach into the miniscule cracks of her lips and be wasted on some chunk of meat with $50. Still, at least there is a chance my red bitterness will be left on the lips of someone who actually cares. She paid half price for me in a closeout bin...all she could afford this week. Funny how everything about someone is sucked into the chemicals in a lipstick once we touch the lips. Oh the stories we could tell, given the chance. The horrors we see....the love we pass along. __________________ 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

10-16-2005, 05:34 PM	#4 (permalink)
ngdawg peekaboo Location: on the back, bitch	OK, so I've been sitting in this clear box with a bunch of my friends for months. Some of us moved in all at once, then a few more came later. I think there's about eight of us now, which wouldn't be a hassle at all, but we have to share this space with two large pieces of rubber, this flat dude with a bunch of holes cut into his body and this metal pointy thing that keeps saying he can run circles around any of us, but always asks one of us for help (guess he can't run circles without us). There's this one guy, I think he's rubber too, but he keeps himself isolated in a plastic bag. He's shapeless and dirty-we don't like him much. Sometimes he comes out of the bag and turns into some hardass... Anyway....the owner of our humble abode decides she needs to get back to her 'roots', whatever that means, and to do so, needs our help. I'm a softy, I know I'm the best guy for the job and apparently she agreed, because next thing I know, she's sticking my head into a 3-wheeled grinder!!! Hurts like hell, let me tell ya!! But I look sharp as nails when I get out. Usually, I work on a smooth surface, which can wear me down, but painlessly (until I'm put in that grinder again, at least). But this time, she drags me over this cloth stuff and that hurt!!! Wore me down faster too, and, well, by now you get the idea.... Well, she seemed pretty pleased with the work I did for her. She used my cousin, but he's got a hard head and is a bit light, so he went back in the box. Oh! And today, her kid takes the pointy guy out, tries to get some of us into his harness, but most of us didn't fit. One guy did, so he got the job of having to be dragged around in circles, but it was for some homework thing. I, on the other hand am now a piece of artwork, even if I am covered in layers of some crap called 'acrylics'. __________________ Don't blame me. I didn't vote for either of'em.

10-20-2005, 12:46 PM	#6 (permalink)
ngdawg peekaboo Location: on the back, bitch	Women love me All they want after the first time Is more! more! Is it my smoothness? My beautiful color? It's how I am in their mouths How I seem to sooth their tired souls Or ease their rough roads I get offered as a sign of peace Or given as a gift of love I elicit moans of satisfaction And my lingering is licked repeatedly I am of different sizes Different shapes Different countries Different colors I am sweet to some I am bitter to others How nice to be so loved How wonderful to be so enjoyed Eat me __________________ Don't blame me. I didn't vote for either of'em.

10-20-2005, 11:56 AM	#5 (permalink)
cellophanedeity Heliotrope Location: A warm room	I don't know if this counts, but I wrote it in grade 12... The dry green leaves crackle against my dry grey hands as I carry the corpse to my back garden. Remorse enters the corner of my mind. I know the dead thing in my hands was only a houseplant, but the guilt is still there. When I had brought the fern home, the leaves were soft and tender, almost emerald. It shone with life. Every day I would enter my kitchen and greet the plant with a cheerful “Good morning!” and sometimes I could almost feel it respond. In those quiet moments, when I doused the terra cotta pot with lukewarm water, I felt at peace. By the second week of having the fern, I softly sang old Frank Sinatra songs to it. I once heard that plants grow better if you sing to them. I’m unsure of if it helped or not, but I figure it couldn’t have hurt. For weeks I continued in the same fashion. When a friend insisted I go away with her for a week, I agreed, enlisting my daughter to trek across town each morning to water the plant. I called her twice on the trip, once to make sure that she hadn’t forgotten about the plant, and a second to make sure that the water she gave it was not too hot or cold. I know plants don’t really notice, but for some reason, it seemed to matter to me, I didn’t want anything to happen to it when I was gone. I thought of the fern each morning when I woke up to the sun streaming through the hotel window. The friend I was vacationing with wouldn’t let me check up on the plant and insisted that I was getting senile. I slept on the train ride home, and dreamt of Ol’ Blue Eyes dancing in a jungle. When I woke, I knew she must be right. I arrived at home, and hurried to check on the fern. The leaves were still soft and emerald, but shone less. The next morning as I watered, I couldn’t remember the lyrics to anything, so only hummed a song. As days passed, I would pour the water quickly so that I could hang the laundry before the rain, or go to the grocers. As time passed, I began to forget waterings, leaving the soil to dry out for days. Then this morning when I woke up, I remembered the fern in my windowsill. Realizing I hadn’t watered it in weeks, I feared the worst. When I got to the kitchen, I realized that it was too late. Plants generally don’t do well when you forget about them. I suppose very little does. So now, with the dead fern in my hands, I open the back door and walk slowly to the little plot of soil in a sunny corner of the yard. I can’t bear to simply toss the plant into the mud. I pluck the dried soil from the pot, and the fern comes with it. It’s strange to see the roots of something that you’ve sung to. I dig a little hole with the toe of my show, and place the little houseplant in it’s makeshift grave. After a moment of gazing at the ground, I begin to hum. As I turn to go back inside I pause and think, “This would be a lovely place for a garden.”

10-20-2005, 12:58 PM	#7 (permalink)
Poppinjay You had me at hello Location: DC/Coastal VA	I am a ferocious blizzard in a globe. I send the imagination of small children sailing as they see the white flakes fall on the lilliputlian Liverpool in the water. I know these bones that hold paper down. Shake it up. It could be soft or cold, it could be anything inside this plastic shield. All the street sweepers are permanent in their quest to clear my roads. The cars will never come. The only thing ephemeral in my existence is the boy who holds this city. See his eyes and how they start with light. __________________ I think the Apocalypse is happening all around us. We go on eating desserts and watching TV. I know I do. I wish we were more capable of sustained passion and sustained resistance. We should be screaming and what we do is gossip. -Lydia Millet Last edited by Poppinjay; 10-20-2005 at 02:26 PM..

10-21-2005, 01:21 AM	#8 (permalink)
darkangel Crazy Location: AB, Canada	Oh my God, you cannot be serious. He's back. I was resting, what in the turkey is wrong with this guy? He has the remote in his hand and he's pointing at me as if it's a gun. I know he wants to watch that show with what's her name with the big boobs again. That's what he always flips to. Wouldn't it be funny if I suddently "broke" and forced him to watch something educational for once? Everyone loves learning about the Amazon rainforest, how a waste management plant works or even some new technology that is set to emerge in the next 14 centuries. Oh gross, he just scratched himself.. down there. I wish he'd take a shower. Or at least change his sweatpants. He was on the phone the other day with a bar buddy or someone equally stupid and he mentioned something about a job interview and how working was for suckers.. Then they ranted on about "chicks" for awhile. Looks like I'm never going to get any rest, am I. He's getting up.. where's he going. Oh look at that empty couch, there's actually a butt groove right in dead center. There's probably stains all over that thing. He's back, what's he holding. Oh, should've guessed, a big ol hunking bag of Ruffles. GO GET A JOB YOU BUM! He's so goddamn fat too. Must be pushing three hundred pounds by now. I've been forced to look at his grotesque figure for a good six months now. Day in, day out. Bag of ruffles a day makes his fat ass stay. Holding the remote again in his right hand, left bag stuffed into the Ruffles bag. Oh good, this is just what I needed, he's ordering porn. How he orders it while being a broke ass, I'll never know. His cable bill must be huge. He better just keep his hands away from little Jimmy and I'll be fine. I might vomit otherwise, like I've been wanting to do for weeks. It's only nine o'clock, my internal clock says. Oh Lord, at least six more hours of torture. He's just.. staring at me, and doesn't even realize that I'm staring at him back. Not just staring, but making stupid faces at him. Imitating his three chins, sticking out my belly. He doesn't even crack a smile. It's so.. creepy. Porn, he's watching porn. I'm getting all of his looks. That's it, party time. I choose to switch the channel, see what he does. Either A) He will hardly notice because he's an idiot, B) He'll rage and slam his fat fingers down on the remote in a panic, C) He'll actually GET UP and do something about it, or D) Sigh, get up and go get a job. Ha, okay that last one was a joke. And here we go.. what shall we switch to? Discovery Channel? History Channel? PBS? Wait.. on PBS there's some little girls doing ballerina, he might even like that in his current state.. Waste Management Plant show it is. Wait for it.. wait for it.. Ha! He's confused now, hand still stuck in the chip bag. His right hand gropes for the remote and with a grunt he starts pressing all sorts of buttons. Sorry buddy. It's nice to know where your shit goes, isn't it? Maybe you could apply for a job there. He's getting up, wow, his first exercise of the day. He's walking toward me, fists clenched. Great, now I started a fight. C'mon you tub o' lard, I can take you! Let's see what you got! Ow, he just hit me on the head. That never works you know, hitting me never fixes anything. Ow, did it again. Don't like the show buddy, do you? Ha! How about I just die, huh? Bet you'd like that, no TV, YOU'D die too, wouldn't you? No money to buy another one, huh? Ha! See you in another life, pal. blank __________________ "I'm gonna die when it's time for me to die.. so let me live my life the way I want to." - Jimi Hendrix

10-21-2005, 03:00 AM	#9 (permalink)
analog Banned	I leer at paper it is my foe, defeated I, staple, bind all. Two sheets of paper locked in common destiny bind without remorse A line of colleagues all stand in fear behind me feel their cowardice Once perfect, now used a bent version of myself like with love, once lost

11-12-2005, 06:23 PM	#10 (permalink)
braindamage351 Insane	So warm, so tight, so inviting, I slowly slide inside of you. You feign resistance, just a bit, But we all know that I'll get through. So close, almost a second skin Without you I am incomplete You're always with me night and day, For better, worse, and all between. When you're with me I'm warm and safe, Such milky skin, it's almost sin, I'm cold, and naked, come hear now Oh sock please will you take me in.

11-15-2005, 07:47 PM	#11 (permalink)
redneckdude Upright Location: Arkansas	Well here I'm sitting with all my buddies some are exotic some aren't Only time I'm used is when I'm grading papers and noting the bad stuff. Why is it that I have this negative conotation, that every time I'm used something is wrong Why can't I be like my buddies in all different colors, blue, black, green, or even purple Anything would be better than red __________________ Just think 6 feet above the ground is better than 6 feet below ground!

11-18-2005, 10:31 PM	#12 (permalink)
Amnesia620 Forget me not... Location: See that dot on the map? I don't live there.	Here, on the table, I sit alone, half empty or half full for all to see, everyone takes my insides out, lighting each on fire constantly. Soon, at the end of the night, I will be among others in stacks, a few will still have their insides, but I will be one of the empty packs. __________________ 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