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The White Blacksmith
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 Posted: Mon Aug 20, 2007 12:13 pm Post subject: Ifian Idol: Archive (don't post) |
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Ok, I'm not entirely sure how well this will work, but I'm plugging on nonetheless.
This is a bit like SoAP in form, although I'm not ripping it off. Honest! *ahem* Anyway, I give you a song, and you have to write a story using the lyrics or the video from it or, in some, both. Sometimes, when there is a particularly good storygame that has just finished, I will ask you to write a song based on one or two chapters of it.
I will give 100 fables to the winner.
No more than one entry per person.
The public will decide upon the winner.
Those who have entered cannot vote.
The entry stage will last for a month. The voting will last for a week.
You can email your entries to me so they're anonymous if you want, but you don't have to.
No rude stuff. That means no swearing- there are plenty of alternatives- and nothing sexual.
No more than 2000 words. That should be plenty.
If I decide you've broken any of the rules you get kicked out of the competition.
The winner can chose the next song.
EDIT: The current song is Heartbeats by The Knife. Lyrics are here.
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Tea Cures All.
Last edited by The White Blacksmith on Tue Nov 18, 2008 1:07 pm; edited 14 times in total
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Cyberworm
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| Posted: Mon Aug 20, 2007 12:19 pm Post subject: |
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So the story can be anything? I mean no restrictions on theme or length?
And how long will this contest last? How long are the applications?
_________________
Slit and Slide
One man's journey through the possibilities of solving what he says is a murder. What was it? Try not to forget.
Beyond Good and Evil
Could it be that being good is not good at all?
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NeverNeverGirl
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| Posted: Mon Aug 20, 2007 2:07 pm Post subject: |
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sounds intersting but more details would be good....
as in, um, length, and deadlines... also do we PM to oyu our entry so its anonymous?
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Tue Aug 21, 2007 2:30 am Post subject: |
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Edited it.
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NeverNeverGirl
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| Posted: Tue Aug 21, 2007 5:16 pm Post subject: |
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Okay heres my entry - it may not be exactly how other ppl read the song - its just what i felt when i began to write....
The day that Liz left Steve the world stood still. She stood at the doorway with his bags as he walked up the front path and the look on his face told him all he needed to know.
‘I need a real man, Steve,’ she had said, ‘One who can stand on his own two feet. I can’t be the glue that holds us together, you need to want this. To want me.’
Staring up the stairs, he had felt the ground slip away from his feet and rise quickly to meet his knees. Gently she lifted his face to meet her own and the smile she gave him did nothing but tear his heart apart. With each word she said, the tiny pieces of their destroyed love fluttered to the ground around them and he was left feeling hollow.
‘I love you, Steve. I always have, but this life is dragging me down and I can’t walk with this weight on my shoulders.’ She reached up and brushed the hair out of her blue eyes, the gesture creating a flurry of activity in the pit of Steve’s’ stomach.
‘Its not healthy, all this loving and fighting, all the drinking and lying. I can’t be that woman any more Steve. Waiting until the police come around to tell me you’ve gone.’ She paused, Steve could see her pulling herself together.
‘You want to destroy yourself, you say you don’t feel anything but numb - that you want to feel life. Shedding blood to remind yourself you are alive, that’s not living. I’ve tried so hard, Steve, but you are taking me down too. I am dying inside Steve and every time you walk out that doorway, a little bit of my heart goes with you. I have to stop this before there’s nothing of me left, Steve.’
She picked his cap up off the ground and put it gently on his head, hundreds of unshed tears lying in her eyes. Leaning forward she took him by the face and kissed him, a soft sweet gentle kiss from times before.
Steve remembered all the promises he had found in that kiss, the love he had taken for granted and the pain he had put into it. Pulling back from her he stared deep into her eyes, drinking in her face, silently vowing that this wasn’t over. Not yet, not today, not ever.
‘Goodbye Steve. I hope you find what you are looking for.’
He had yet to utter a word when she rose and returned inside, closing the door behind her. Steve jumped to his feet and pushed himself up against the door. Straining his ears he could barely hear the racking sobs that she let out, but it was enough for him to decide. To make the decision she had been waiting so long for him to make.
He picked up his bags and walked out the gate. Life was his, life was his choice, and he would embrace it with his soul – rather than running to meet death.
He checked into a hotel not long after. It wasn’t the best accommodation but he didn’t plan on being here all that long. He surveyed the room with its single cot, thin mattress, nightstand and TV, the peeling and faded wall paper was tainted yellow with smoke and age. Feeling positive, Steve opened his cases on his bed and proceeded to unpack.
He was thinking about all the ways he could get Liz back when he opened the third drawer. There staring up at him was a full bottle of Jack. He reached in and pulled it out, treating it like the demon it made him become. Placing it on the TV, he continued unpacking, thinking about all the times he had let Liz down.
The benders he had been on, the drugs that had made him mean, or paranoid, sometimes even left her bruised, the victim of his deep dark rages. He was never sure where it came from and he could never stop it or control it when it came.
Some shrink had told him it extended from mother issues. Another had told him he was searching for meaning. The latest one said that it was his overriding desire to prove himself. Shaking his head Steve looked in the small chipped and blurred mirror, it was clear enough to show him the truth. The suit he was wearing still stunk of the cigarettes from last night’s ‘good time’, the sleeve torn, his hat battered and there was even a smear of lipstick on his collar.
Ha, hussey red, he thought to himself, nothing at all like Liz’s pale shimmery pink. He looked himself in the eye, then, and the realisation hit him. She was gone and it was his own fault. God, he had treated her like dirt. The woman was a saint for staying with him this long.
The immense guilt and shame, when he thought of all those nights he had come home reeking of alcohol and other women, flooded through him and he couldn’t stand to look in his own eyes.
How could she see love here? Even he could only see the lies.
Fury at himself tore through him and he smashed the mirror with his fist, shards flying around the room and falling to the floor with a tinkling sound. The red blood that dripped down his hand, that which used to make him feel so alive, served only to numb him further.
Full of loathing at himself he grabbed up the bottle of Jack. Ripping open the lid, he swallowed quickly until the whisky burnt his throat. His head began to swim and all he could think about was the next drink, the next hit, anything to hide behind.
Scooping up his jacket, he rode the crest of the wave of destruction. Popping whatever, drinking anything, he flew from bar to bar, club to club, in a quest to drown out the small voice that only ever sounded like her.
Stupid witch, what would she know? She hasn’t ever suffered what I have, she’s never been me! Steve rode the loathing with a vigour he had never known before and it was only in the wee hours of the morning as he left the apartment of someone he couldn’t even remember that the voice could finally make itself heard.
I don’t really love you, Steve. I can’t do this, you aren’t good enough. Why should I waste my time?
Stumbling drunkenly, Steve began to run down the street, he had to get to her. To shut her up, he had to make her stop with her lies – how could she say he had never been good enough for her!
When he reached the house, their house, he stood outside watching, the lights in the bathroom and bedroom were on. One by one the lights turned out and he could see her silhouette in the window as she prepared for bed.
The anger boiled in him and he kicked the door open, he was sure there was someone in there with her! It would explain everything! What was she doing up at this time of night?
He ran up the stairs, his anger rising further as he listened to her calling out plaintively.
‘Who's there? Hello? Steve is that you?’
He burst into the bedroom to find her sitting up in bed, her cheeks flushed and she was trembling as he came closer.
‘Who is he?’ Steve roared, as he prowled the room. ‘Woman, where is he?’
Liz began to cry her face pale and terrified. Steve knew this for the confession it was and began to tear things out of the closet in his search. He heard a scuffling noise and he quickly opened the bottom drawer. His gun lay there, nestled in the shoebox he always kept it in.
Hearing movement behind him Steve turned, knowing well that he would face his wife’s lover. Pulling the trigger he shot twice, only stopping as he saw the pink material and blond curls fall to the floor.
He crawled over to wear the bundle lay, her face pale and the rosebud of blood blooming largely across her chest. He keened loudly as he stopped to scoop her up into his arms. Tears flowed from his eyes as he rocked her back and forth, her blue eyes trying vainly to focus on his.
‘Steve, love, there neve was anyone but you.’ She reached out to touch his face, her eyes closing softly and her breath stopping altogether.
Picking her up he lay her on the bed, covering her with her favourite blanket, its rainbow colours hiding the stain on her chest. Still holding the gun in his hand he headed toward the bathroom and grabbed up a towel that was lying on the bench.
It was the green colour that drew his eye to the pen like object. It was the word ‘positive’ that destroyed him.
Steve could hear the wail of sirens over the sounds of his own sobs and the hollow place inside of him, the lack of the voice that guided him, these all added together until finally found what he had been looking for.
He felt alive, merely because he found that without Liz, he felt dead. Days without her laughter echoed ahead of him, the future he had always seen for himself faded sharply like the first blush of snow on a warm winter morning.
He returned to the bedroom and kissed her still, lifeless form goodbye. He jammed his hat on his head and cocking the trigger on the gun, made his way downstairs. His feet tapping out a staccato rhythm on the stairs, he left the doorway and smiled to himself. Pulling the brim of his hat down over his eyes he entered the blare of lights and sirens.
Today Liz, I am standing on my own feet, today I make my own choices, and today I will be Your Man.
_________________
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Last edited by NeverNeverGirl on Tue Aug 21, 2007 5:26 pm; edited 2 times in total
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D-Lotus
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| Posted: Tue Aug 21, 2007 5:18 pm Post subject: |
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Did you know that Another One Bites the Dust backwards sounds like this: It's fun to smoke marihuana?
Click here if you don't believe me:
http://jeffmilner.com/backmasking.htm
Can we write a story on the backwards version too?
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 Chapter 5: The Rendezvous 
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NeverNeverGirl
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| Posted: Tue Aug 21, 2007 5:27 pm Post subject: |
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i'm guessing no D....
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Kalanna Rai
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| Posted: Tue Aug 21, 2007 10:52 pm Post subject: |
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Humm...I've got a more traditional view of this song, it also helps I've got it on iTunes to listen to as I write. Enjoy!
-----------------------
The Compliment
He pulled the brim of his wide hat lower, shoulders on his suit sticking out even further. With a smile he grabbed both of his Thompson Machine guns, checking to make sure they were ready to go. The 'Tommy' guns were Jack's best friends, the only friends to stick beside him through thick and thin.
The kid next to him was nervous, jittering with his tie, sweating. "Dammit, you sure this is what the boss ordered? I mean a hit like this...shit, it's history."
Jack sighed. These new kids Capone was hiring these days weren't worth spit. He looked at the man on his left, an old hand round the gang. "What do you think Tony?" He leaned forward to talk to the men in the front. "What about yous guys? The three of you dress up like cops for fun? We 'borrow' this cruiser for fun?"
The kid turned red as the other four broke out in laughter. "Alright, fine. But I bet you they'll be talking about this years from now."
Jack snorted and grinned at the kid. "I suppose that's why the boss planned it that way Steve. Wants to send a lasting message...you don't mess with Big Al." Before Steve could say anything else Jack motioned for them to drive. Slowly the police cruiser slipped out of the secluded driveway and out into the air of the early Chicago morning.
-----------------------
They continued to drive until they reached the S-M-C Cartage Company located at 2122 North Clark Street. There the car stopped and Jack motioned for Steve to get out. "Come on kid. You wanna kill for Capone right? What better way to begin your carrer than whacking a few of those ex-friends of yours."
Slowly Steve nodded and started forward, his footsteps echoing on the drive to the entrance. Jack and the others were right behind him, starting forward moments after him. For a few moments Steve reflected on what they were about to do, gun down men that had been his friends in cold blood.
Then he remembered the beating. He'd fucked up one delivery, cost everyone a couple hundred. Men had done worse and walked but for some reason Bugs had taken personal offense to Steve's mistake. He'd ordered Steve beaten, nearly to death, and left him to die. That had broken Steve. Other men had moved in on his woman, moved into his home, taken his money. He'd been thrown out when he'd tried to go back...out of his own home.
Maybe that was why he'd gone to Capone. He remembered what Bugs had told him during the beatings. "Stevie boy, you gotta stand on your own two feet sometime. And that means taking your licks when they come..." Gangland could be such a cruel place. Decadence and lush deprativy one minute, cold blooded brutality and sudden death the next.
Well he was on his own two feet now, Steve thought, grinning as he and the others rounded the corner into the doorway of the warehouse. The men inside looked up at him, recognition dawning in their eyes. Steve smiled grimly at all these men who hadn't lifted a finger for him when he was down. All these men who'd taken their shots at him while he was on the ground.
"Hey guys, I'm back. And I brought some friends..." Jack and the others stepped forward, Jack raising those twin Tommy guns of his. Steve raised his own gun, his heart filling with pride as the five of them opened fire on the six surprised men. The bullets ripped out of the doorway, the stuccato beat stifling six slow heartbeats.
When it was over and Steve lowered his smoking barrel he took one last look. Bugs wasn't there, shame. He was supposed to be. Sighing Steve followed the others out and got back into the car.
As they drove away Jack put a hand on his shoulder. "Good work in there today kid. Keep it up and you might make a decent hit man some day."
"Thanks Jack." Steve brightened up. He'd always remember this day, Febuary 14, 1929...'Machine Gun' McGurn had given him a compliment....
-----------------------
Hope you liked.
_________________
"It's not just about living forever...the trick is living with yourself forever..."
"Music makes you braver."
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NeverNeverGirl
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| Posted: Wed Aug 22, 2007 3:13 pm Post subject: |
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ohhhh very nice rai - i always wanted to do a gangster... i mean be, be a gangster
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Mephistopheles
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| Posted: Wed Aug 22, 2007 8:06 pm Post subject: |
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just to make sure that i understand, i have until september 20 to come up with something for this, right?
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Cause I am, whatever you say I am
If I wasn't, then why would I say I am?
I don't know, it's just the way I am.
eminem
without the threat of death,
there is no reason to live at all
marilyn manson
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Thu Aug 23, 2007 1:26 am Post subject: |
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Yep. And then the voting starts.
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Tea Cures All.
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Fri Oct 12, 2007 11:31 am Post subject: |
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Ah, I forgot about this, although Meph reminded me. I'm expanding the date limit (  ) for this till next friday, as I have a feeling others have also forgotten about this. If you have an entry that hasn't been completed yet, just ask me and I will wait till that gets in. But get writing people!
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Bookwizard
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| Posted: Sat Oct 20, 2007 6:01 pm Post subject: |
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so you are just suppost to right a story that you think of when you hear the song. 
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Fri Nov 02, 2007 11:36 am Post subject: |
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Just... NO. Don't spam, seriously. Especially not in my thread.
Ok, I'm putting the poll up. This has gone on long enough, and I already have an idea for the next song.
Whistle the tune of voting!
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Bookwizard
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| Posted: Fri Nov 09, 2007 6:47 pm Post subject: |
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hartspawn sighting, i dident thik he was going on again "sorry blacksmith" 
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Sat Nov 10, 2007 4:28 am Post subject: |
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There are no votes. Hmph. Wizzy, if you're going to spam at least accompany it with a vote!
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Sun Nov 25, 2007 9:25 am Post subject: |
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Please vote people! There are no votes yet!
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Cyberworm
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| Posted: Sun Nov 25, 2007 9:58 am Post subject: |
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Ok, first I have to say that both of the stories are brilliant! Really, both of them got so close to real I've seen them before my own eyes.
Ne, your story was touching to the G. The emotions and the gun in the middle of the torrent... wow. The pregnancy test finally got to me and the audacity of Steve's last action - going to face the cops like a man... Simply great.
Rai, on the other hand had a clean thirties setting with a story of a gangster initiation. And not just any organization, but Capone's! I find the story to be set very good, a good fight description and flashbacks, some slowing up parts in the beginning, characters are defined, all set... simply everything in place. I thought that he would back down for a second but Steve got it all right. It kept me on the edge, and I must say it prevailed slightly.
As I said, both of those works are masterpieces of their kind, and it was very hard for me to decide. Keep up the good work, both of ya.
_________________
Slit and Slide
One man's journey through the possibilities of solving what he says is a murder. What was it? Try not to forget.
Beyond Good and Evil
Could it be that being good is not good at all?
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Tue Dec 18, 2007 4:15 am Post subject: |
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So, nene's won this time. The fables are shrieking inside your postbox now.
For our next tune, I'm going for something a bit more lighthearted and new. So, start writing for the Hoosier's Goodbye Mr A now!
EDIT: This is not now the song
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Last edited by The White Blacksmith on Thu Apr 10, 2008 6:11 am; edited 2 times in total
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mystery_girl
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| Posted: Mon Dec 31, 2007 11:13 am Post subject: |
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A little swearing in this by the way ... My Story -
The children sat at the table quietly. Their parents were arguing again. It was the same every year, without fail, as soon as Christmas was drawing near Lynn Abbott and her husband Arnold were at each others throats.
"I'm a scientist Lynn, I have a job and a purpose! You knew that the day you married me!" Arnold screamed.
"And what? The kids aren't important! For god sakes Arnold It's Christmas! You do the same thing every year!" Lynn screeched back.
There voices faded as they climbed the stairs. Bryan and Amy looked at each other, they were used to it.
Upstairs the arguing continued, but something was different this time. As Lynn argued with her husband she felt a sense of loss, and for the first time ever her mouth went dry and she could no longer continue this quarrel they were having.
Lynn sat down on the bed looking tired and worn out. She knew her husband meant well and she knew he had a job, but going away over Christmas again? It just wasn't acceptable. Sometimes it felt as if Arnold just didn't love them anymore, her or the kids.
The next day after breakfast Arnold thought he'd spend some time with the kids, he was meant to be leaving the next day for Portugal and knew he wouldn't see them for a couple of days.
"Dad, Dad show us a magic trick!" Amy called out.
"How many times do I need to tell you kids. I am a scientist! Not a magician! Science and magic are two very completely different things."
The kids faces shown of disappointment and confusion, but he had told them enough times. They didn't understand, no one did, not even Lynn, dear sweet Lynn, he hated what he was about to do, but he had to do it.
That night Arnold packed his bags for Portugal. After he was done he watched his beautiful wife sleep, her soft golden hair gently draped over her shoulders, her beautiful blue eyes closed off to the world, closed off to the pain she was about endure. He kissed her tanned forehead running his hand threw the golden silk and whispered ;
"I'm sorry Lynn, I love you."
But Lynn never heard, she was in too deep a sleep to feel her husbands hands or his kiss, too deep in her sleep that she didn't even notice there was a note on her bedside table till later that day.
She wasn't surprised to find Arnold gone, he had a flight and she was sure he would catch it even with all the arguing they had been doing, but she hadn't expected the note. It read ..
Dear Lynn,
I'm sorry to have to do this, especially at Christmas, and I'm sorry I'm too much of a coward to do it to your face. I am a scientist, it's my true passion, I want to travel the world studying different walks of life and different things and I'm afraid I can't live my life how I want to, I'm not a family man, we both know that, the kids are miserable when I'm there because of how much we argue. What I'm trying to say is goodbye Lynn, I love you.
Mr A
Lynn crumpled up the note and threw it at the wall, How could he do this to her? Did he not love her?
"He obviously loved his job more," she thought bitterly.
As she retreated down the stairs she watched the kids faces turn from joy to sheer disappointment as she explained that daddy wouldn't be home for Christmas. She hated telling the kids, She hated the look of disappointment, anger she could cope with but disappointment, No.
She sat for a while pondering how to tell them, how to make everything seem right, she couldn't think. How can you tell your kids that their father has left them? Is there an easy way to do it?
After a while she squeezed the words out feeling less confident each word she said;
"Listen, you may not understand but daddy had to go away for a while, he has to work and as much as he doesn't want to, he has to, so were going to have to get through Christmas without him."
She looked at the kids faces watching the words register in their tiny mind, How could she expect kids at 9 and 5 to understand the concept of marriage? How could she expect them to understand what she was saying? She couldn't. She couldn't expect anything.
She shut her eyes as Amy started to cry, this was all his fault. She could tell the kids blamed him, she could tell that they knew it wasn't her fault, but she could also tell that they felt unloved and unwanted and she didn't have the power to take that feeling away.
"Goodbye Mr A, You bastard."
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Mon Dec 31, 2007 3:29 pm Post subject: |
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That's fine, and a really good start to this song. I don't consider 'bastard' a swearword, by the way.
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mystery_girl
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| Posted: Mon Dec 31, 2007 7:45 pm Post subject: |
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| lol some forums kick you out for swearing though .. so i thought it was best to write that than leave it to chance
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Tue Jan 01, 2008 10:21 am Post subject: |
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If we chucked people out for swearing, we'd lose about half of our members. Isn't that right, Chinaren?
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Kalanna Rai
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| Posted: Wed Jan 02, 2008 12:47 am Post subject: |
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Shit...I know I'd be gone.
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Wed Jan 02, 2008 10:23 am Post subject: |
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...But personally I'm not too keen on swearing, as outlined in the rules .
Not that it applies to normal posts of course, Rai.
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Jack_D.Mented
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| Posted: Wed Jan 02, 2008 1:11 pm Post subject: |
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Well, here's my entry...
Steve shrugged and pulled the boonie hat lower over his eyes.
"Damn bright jungle sun," He grumbled inwardly as he shrugged the heavy pack on his back and reached for his canteen.
Sweat trickled in a dirty river down from his brow, into his eyes, down his face, streaking mud and God knew what else across his chiseled countenance.
He snorted, spat, and took a swig of the sweet water.
It tasted so fresh and so just flat out amazing that it was hard to believe it'd been fished outta some dirty little back stream that some V.C. had probably just dropped a line in thirty minutes prior.
Steve hadn't shaved in three days and the all too familiar black stubble had sprouted long ago, tearing away at whatever illusion of military bearing may've once remained.
This Steven Crowe was a far different man from the raw recruit that joined the Airborne back in the summer of '67.
He didn't shine his boots, he didn't shave...
Hell, he hardly bathed anymore. Nobody here in the delta to impress, like the backwards buffalo herders huddled in their bunkers with their grenades strapped to their chests cared.
Shoe shine? Ha. Like he'd ever get one again after he saw what that boy with the shoe box did to Mike when he got a little too close...
BAM!
As if on cue with his memories, a claymore ripped through the point man, leaving nothing but bloody chunks of Pete's legs splayed all over the field.
Steve screamed and raised his M60.
He wasn't alone as the rest of the G.I.'s brought their weapons to bear on the black clad figures that sprung from the bush, AK 47's barking their staccato beat.
Crowe answered with a new rhythm as his big run roared, tearing through the green foliage and several of the Charlie, but for every one of them he cut down, another six of the cockroaches emerged, screaming the standard, "Yankee go home!"
The big man dropped to the dirt, mud sloshing inside his boots as he felt at least one leach pop almost audibly upon his ankle.
He almost laughed. Mail had come in today. Linda was taking the kids and leaving him. For some hippy she'd met out in San Fran at her parent's place. They didn't like him or the war and he couldn't be surprised.
Well, he had something for them... The same thing he had for these little bastards.
Springing up to his feet, for but a split second, he lobbed a grenade and ducked back down as bullets whizzed overhead.
The explosion was loud and fierce and to his satisfaction, he heard several Vietmanese scream in pure agony as legs, arms, and various appendages were severed.
"Better than cold beer," Steve whispered to himself, a smile on his face for the first time that day.
He looked to his right just in time to see his childhood friend, Sam, inspired by his heroism, attempt a similar stunt, but to disastrous results.
The bullets caught the young man in the face and one in the neck before he raised halfway up and the grenade, pin pulled, rolled from his hand and toward Steve.
An inarticulate scream ripping from his lips, Steve punted the pineapple high like a football and it detonated in midair, stray flecks of shrapnel burying themselves in Crowe's bare forearms as he dove face first into the mud.
When he rose from the filth, Steve Crowe was more beast than man. His world was tinged a bright red, his face a crimson mask, dyed in the blood of his best friend, his heart shattered by his death and the desertion of his wife when he needed her most.
It was all too much.
He went berserk.
Rounds ripped into the enemy, spraying blood everywhere, leaving stubs for arms, legs, and heads.
One of the Vietcong lay against a nearby tree, moaning and trying his best to hold his guts in.
Seeing Steve, he simply muttered, "Geneva. Geneva."
Sneering, Steve growled, "Geneva this!" as he pumped four rounds into his head.
The enemy, fleeing like the cowards they were, ran into the jungle, but Steve, beyond caring, gave chase.
Trees and ferns whipped at his skin and bullets flew past, but he pressed on, until, he came to the end of the trail.
A clearing stretched out before him.
On the other side, leaves rustled as several of the V.C. continued their mad sprint.
In the center of this clearing was a small hooch.
Steve almost ignored it, but from within, screaming, a Vietmanese man stumbled out with an AK but before he could so much as level the firearm, the American filled his guts with lead.
The man tumbled and fell, thudding to the ground weighing at least five pounds heavier.
Blood oozed from his mouth as he blew bubbles, attempting to mutter something in his native tongue.
Steve kicked him in the face, dropped the heavy gun, and drew his knife.
Grimacing in pure hatred, he slit the man's throat with his K Bar and let him bleed out.
The corpse twitched a bit but then lay still as a new sound caught his attention.
A baby was crying.
He kicked open the door with a grunt and beheld a female and child, the infant wrapped close to her bosom as she attempted to quiet the mewling brat.
Steve cast his gaze down to the blade, still dripping blood even as he was framed within the doorway, his giant frame blocking any chance of escape...
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Thu Jan 03, 2008 12:52 pm Post subject: |
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Excellent entry! Well done Jack. Wrong song (unless your interpretation of it is very, very different from mine), but hey!
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Last edited by The White Blacksmith on Sun Feb 17, 2008 8:13 am; edited 1 time in total
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Aponi
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| Posted: Mon Feb 11, 2008 7:51 pm Post subject: |
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Hi y'all - I hope I'm not too late. Here's my entry:
Number 36 shrieked inside her cage. The man was returning, his white coat splattered with Number 34’s blood, the white plastic nametag jouncing on his chest as he hurried to coax the rest of the chimps into the carriers.
This was the man 36 had worked so hard for. She had endured needles, retching sickness, electrodes, implants, and searing pain for him. He had held her, spoken softly and comforted her, when she was tired and hurt. He had been gentle then, and patient.
He taught her every day, and gradually she had begun to understand what he wanted of her. Her intelligence had increased to the point where she could comprehend the first letter on his nametag: A. A for apple, A for ape, A for art. And A for the white-coated man. She had lately grasped a key difference between the chimps and the humans: her kind were labeled with numbers, and his kind were labeled with letters. She had even formed an ambition, something so new and startling that her mind was still dizzy from contemplating it. One day, she wished to be labeled with letters like the man, and leave her world of sterile white walls and cold mesh cages behind.
But no more. As she watched the man trick the other chimps into the carriers that would take them to the death room, her mind registered another new concept, the concept of betrayal. He had tricked them, had tricked them all. Lured them into his game of knowledge, and then, just as they were beginning to touch what he held out for them, struck them down.
36 backed from the door of her cage as number 35 was taken away to the death room. She was next. She sat silently and waited.
The man labeled with A came for her. She was ready.
She was curled up, making soft anxious noises, holding out her arms to beg for comfort when the man slid back the locking bar. He sighed in relief that she would be so easy to retrieve from the cage. The rest of the chimps had seemed to know something was up. They couldn’t know that he had been ordered to destroy the work of the past six years, but they didn’t want to get in the carriers. Some had even tried to bite him.
But not 36. Good old 36. He pulled her out of the cage and held her close one last time. She had made the most progress of any of the chimps, seeming at times to have almost human intelligence – at least, more than the average three-year-old human’s intelligence that most chimps were credited with.
36 put her arms around his neck and nuzzled him, her mouth open wide. He didn’t even have time to scream before she clamped her teeth around his throat and ripped.
The man labeled with A lay on the floor. Soon other men would arrive, and she would be bound for the death room. She leaped up to Number 37’s cage and slid back the bolt. 37 was, in her opinion, a little dim, but that suited her purpose this time. She convinced him to get down on the floor with the man and play in the blood, while she grabbed a handful of paper towels and cleaned the blood from herself.
Number 4’s cage was a floor-level cage, out of the immediate sight of the tall humans, and empty. A fine place to hide for a little while. When the men found Number 37 with the man, there would be an opportunity to escape the cage room. She didn’t know which way she would take down the long white corridors, or how she would get away from them to the green and gold world outside, but it was worth trying.
She looked again at the man labeled with A, and Number 37 poking at the stilling blood from his ripped throat. Something like pity filled her. A, she thought. You taught me. A for you, A for ape.
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Sun Feb 17, 2008 8:17 am Post subject: |
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Any more entries?
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Bookwizard
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| Posted: Fri Feb 22, 2008 8:13 pm Post subject: |
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Sorry about my former comments in this thread, if I had time I would add something here, but alas, not at the moment, but I may participate later.
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Check out some of the following:
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dinranwen
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| Posted: Mon Feb 25, 2008 6:54 am Post subject: |
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This sounds like a very interesting competion, and think it would be all to fun to compete in it. However, my knowledge of popular songs or any songs with lyrics to it is pretty much nill and void.
The only ones I knew were back from my teenage country music kicks but stage (This Kiss, and Man, I feel like the woman are the only ones I knew), one from Shrek (Hey, Man you're an all Star, and Then I saw Her Face or I'm a Believer), and a collection of songs from the eighties and few love songs everyone knows.
Now, give me a competion to write something based on played by Mozart or Betthevon or Bach and I'm your gal...but I'm afraid this is just a tad bit out of my legue.
Good job everyone, and keep up the good work.
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Mon Feb 25, 2008 10:03 am Post subject: |
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There are links to the lyrics and video in one of the posts. It would be interesting to see your interpretation of the song, if you've never heard it before.
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Kalanna Rai
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| Posted: Mon Feb 25, 2008 10:34 pm Post subject: |
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You'll have to find a different vid or link to a different vid Whitey...the YouTube link dead ends for the Hoosier song.
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dinranwen
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| Posted: Tue Feb 26, 2008 8:31 am Post subject: |
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Even if the links worked, I still couldn't use them for one very simple reason....No speakers. I had speakers, but lets just say that Full Tea Cups, An Impatient Cat, A full Lap, Spinning Chairs, and Piraclously Ballanced Speakers on thin wires should Not be allowed to mix when one is very loopy on antibotics.
So I'll guess just have to admire everyones work. Now I know I left it somewhere.....oh yes, there...*retreats into a beanbag in dark corner left by her former self with a gigantic barrel of pop-corn*
Now all we need is Simon or a super crytic like Zephyr, that other dude with an obession with large necklaces (Compassating for something eh?) , and a brunette whose soberity is somewhat doubtable...and this would be perfect.
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Tue Feb 26, 2008 10:22 am Post subject: |
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Ah, fixed that. Thanks Rai.
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Kalanna Rai
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| Posted: Tue Feb 26, 2008 10:19 pm Post subject: |
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One last niggle Whitey, you may just want to start editing the original post for the new songs. Until last night I still thought you were doing the Queen song. But then I found the new one and, after listening to it for a while, here's my entry.
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The Math Teacher
He reclined infront of the TV, the drugs causing the nonsensical cartoon on the TV to blend into a kalidescope of whirling lights and sounds. Like a funhouse gone mad stampeding through his benumbed brain. He still couldn't believe it was over, that he'd done it. His stumbling mind suddenly catapulted him into a whirling dive of memories, moments of time flashing past so quickly it was like his own private cinema.
It was suddenly the first day again and he was nervous, fidgiting with his pencil as his new math teacher stood infront of the board and adressed the class in a falsely warm tone of voice. "Welcome to class students, I'm Mr. Azwhol but please spare me the practical jokes and call me Mr. A..."
Then another scene flashed before his eyes, the same math teacher with a nasty smile on his face as he held a stack of corrected exams in his hands. He was holding up one in particular and snidely remarking about the poor preformance of the class as a whole and that particular test's owner specifically. "...and while you all got low marks I'm especially disappointed in you Mr. Bland. I suppose that it's all beyond you, that we're all doing this by magic..."
That humiliation blurred into so many others the young man had experienced at the hands of one sadistic math teacher, a man who simpered that he loved every student when called to task by parents or higher faculty members. But when the eyes of authority were turned away, when the cameras stopped rolling, his facade of emotions would crumble and reveal him for the true monster he was.
Well he'd finally had enough of Mr. A. Enough of the sly comments that undercut his intelligence, the tutoring sessions that were really just a way for Mr. A to keep busy showing him where he'd made a mistake, where he was wrong. And all the while the man seemed as emotionless, as cold and calloused, as a robot. Add and subtracting, multiplying and dividing with calculated ease. It was as if every second of Mr. A's life existed only to torment him further.
And now, now look at what had happened. He chuckled a little bit, wiping the line of drool that ran from his mouth with the sleeve of his left arm, the gun still in his left hand. "Here's an equation for you Mr. A, you+bullet=dead. Here's another, dead you+me=happiness."
He glanced out the window to where the thin muddy track ran into the woods, thinking of that small spot far from where anyone might be walking. He thought of the shovel in the garage, painstakingly washed clean, stowed neatly where his father had always kept it. He glanced back at the gun and thought of the river that ran under the bridge he always crossed on his bike when he rode to school in the morning.
A smile on his face as his brain conjured up the image of the gun arcing into space, landing in the swift flowing current with a satisfying splash. They'd never find it, never find that damned Math teacher. He'd be free.
"Goodbye Mr. A," he giggled to himself. "Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye..."
Hope you liked.
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"Music makes you braver."
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Wed Feb 27, 2008 10:13 am Post subject: |
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Great, thanks. The first post has been edited, though if you want me to put in the links I'll be happy to.
Any more entries? I'll close the competition on Sunday, if no-one objects.
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sir wax
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| Posted: Tue Mar 11, 2008 6:48 am Post subject: |
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I object! If i still can... 
Here's my entry, hope you like. I'm not that good at writing in prose, i'm so used to script format but i hope this does the trick. I hope it's also not too long, thanks:
The Know-it-all
The buzzing of an alarm is heard in the room as it flashes the time with each penetrating tone. A picture of a boy shaking hands with a school official for winning a student quiz competition. The boy in the picture: tubby, plain expression, glasses, eyes barely visible, short shorts, shin high socks. The real boy, Toby, is looking at the picture from across his room, sitting on his bed already dressed for school, glasses, same blank expression as in the photo. Surrounding the quiz comp. picture is a wall full of medals and achievement awards from science to home economics, even a few mid-terms and semester tests. All read 'A+' , 'A', 'a+', 'A+'.
Toby looks at one of his test papers in particular, in the middle of the wall. The class: Math, The period: 1st, The grade: A. Toby hits the alarm clock, as his eyes zero in on the grade as it starts to spin. Faster and faster the 'A' spins until it turns into a school bus tire rolling down the street.
The tire stops at a curb... Toby steps down off the bus, pauses to look up at the school, then continues. Toby walks solemnly up the staircase to the school; many other students around the school are talking, playing, having fun.
POP QUIZ! the math teacher holds up smiling. Everyone in the class moans and sighs... except for Toby, who's face is blank as ever as he blinks twice. The paper is put in front of him and he instantly starts to devour it, writing every answer without equating, one correct answer after another. He pauses and looks around at everybody else using calculators and having a difficult time. Toby erases his answers, then starts jotting down different ones. Teacher clicks his stop watch and calls time. Students all switch papers with each other and start grading. Toby hands his to Lizzy, the girl next to him, she hand him hers. As the teacher writes the answers on the chalkboard, Lizzy is becoming more and more confused.
She slaps the paper down on the desk in front of Toby. Looking down at the big scarlet letter 'F' he slowly raises his head... he is smiling. He holds it up and starts spinning, stops, then twirls Lizzy. Astair and Rogers style.
He slides into the hallway with his pop quiz in one hand and a roll of tape in the other, he masterfully tapes the large red letter on his chest, throws the tapes away as dances the Charleston through the halls during passing period. He jumps up-
and lands in another desk. Science class. Toby looks at other students, and tries to show of his 'F'. The teacher is showing an experiment that looks highly dangerous with tubes and fire and a multitude of chemicals. The teacher is about to add a chemical to the base liquid, then pauses. He points to Toby innocently, and welcomes him to finish the composition. Toby rises from his desk.
Moments later... Toby slides across the floor with soot covering his face and hair standing on end, with a very, very big smile. He makes sure to rub the soot off of his 'F'. With smoke coming out of the Science class, Toby flips over onto his feet into-
Drama class. The teacher tries to hand him a big red 'A' to put on his chest for her adaptation of 'The Scarlet Letter'. Toby face and hair are now clean, but, he glares at the teacher... she is wearily backs away from him as she tries to hand it to another student.
Toby flies into the air in slow motion as school is out, streamers bursts from behind him. As he lands everything is in real time as he continues to dance, he sees Lizzy and points at her. She's startled, he puts out his hands for high fives, she slaps... then low fives and she slaps as he moonwalks away.
He flings himself off of a service pole on the bus out the door. Toby talks to his parents about his day at the dinner table, jumping around, acting out parts... smiling all the while. Toby's parents look at him as if he's possessed.
Toby goes to his room and puts down his bag. He takes off the quiz with the large 'F' from off of his chest and looks at it with pride. He replaces it with big 'A' paper on his wall that he stared at earlier that morning. He goes to sleep with a smile on his face staring at the big, fat 'F' that he deserved for the day. As the 'A' test paper is now in the trash can.
Fade out. The end.
Did you like? EDIT: I made a couple of changes as i saw there were words missing that would make it more clear. Hope that's allowed. Thanks for reading.
Last edited by sir wax on Tue Mar 11, 2008 8:17 pm; edited 1 time in total
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Tue Mar 11, 2008 9:29 am Post subject: |
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Thank you. I'll add a poll now, as I forgot to. No more entries, please.
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Aponi
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| Posted: Tue Mar 18, 2008 10:35 am Post subject: |
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| Will somebody vote already? !
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Thu Apr 10, 2008 6:01 am Post subject: |
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I'm closing the poll, as it has been 3 weeks and we have a massive 1 vote. Congratulations, Waxy, you've won! Your prize is being entrusted to ChinarenInc's Postal Service as we speak.
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Thu Apr 10, 2008 6:13 am Post subject: |
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So, Wax, it's up to you to choose the next song. Any ideas?
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sir wax
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| Posted: Fri Apr 11, 2008 11:25 am Post subject: |
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| The White Blacksmith wrote: | | So, Wax, it's up to you to choose the next song. Any ideas? |
Do i!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9Ly-LUttL0
i've got plenty more where that came from.
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Sun Apr 13, 2008 8:29 am Post subject: With my official hat on. |
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Ok, that is now the song! There is a link for the lyrics on the first post, and the link to the video is above. Get writing!
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Kalanna Rai
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| Posted: Tue Apr 22, 2008 10:45 pm Post subject: |
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Meh, mushy. Still I hope you enjoy.
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One Night
They stood toe to toe, chest to chest, eye to eye. Hearts raced at different paces, breaths came in jerky stutters as they both tried to calm down and failed. Hands moved, clothing fell, bodies tangled. Cries tore the air as movement tore them apart, bringing them closer and closer until both of them found the release they'd been so desperately seeking.
For a long time he pinned her there, exhausted and unable to move, while she waited patiently and teased him with fingertips. His hair brushed her face, tickled her lips, made her sneeze. It brought a smile to his face, eliciting a smile from hers in return. They swapped positions and she lay contentedly, head pillowed on his chest, heart pounding in her ear.
A frown wrinkled her face, his heart thumped so steadily in her ear, yet hers was still racing away. She looked up at him, questions bright in her eyes, and his gaze flicked away. She recoiled, hurt, afraid, scrabbling for clothing that could not help her now. He lay there, eyes closed, a sigh escaping him as his thoughts chided him. Slowly he left the bed, taking his time as he reached for his own discarded garments.
His hand and her hand collided over a shirt, laying in a heap. From that electric contact came the startled locking of furtive eyes. Hearts skipped beats, broken rhythms matching up as bodies crushed together once more. Recently replace clothing took it's place on the floor once more and the bed bowed under renewed pressure. Tears flowed and scratches appeared as passion held court in the ruined room.
Then, again, came silence. He could not give her what she demanded a second time so soon after the first yet contented her with what he could. Soon enough the quiet came again and with it came the first words either of them managed to force past crushed lips.
"I've got to go tomorrow."
She turned her face from him. "I know. But it's too soon!"
He cupped her chin, smiling sadly. "I've got to go back. I'm not needed here any more."
New tears flowed now, tears of fury and frustration following their passionate brothers down her heart shaped face. He held her shaking body close as she sobbed against him, tears wetting already slick skin. "But it was only ten days...you said..."
"I said I'd only be here as long as I was needed. I'm not needed any more." His lips moved with his words, breath tickling the top of her head as he kissed it softly.
She knew she should be satisfied with one night, had to be satisfied with one night. He knew it was hard for her to let go. But, as dawn shone through the filthy window, they finally broke apart. She gathered up her battered clothing, full of tears and holes, stained and frayed. He put on his expensive loafers, his silk tie and sharp suit.
And they stood toe to toe, chest to chest, eye to eye. Hearts raced at different paces, breaths came in jerky stutters as they both tried, and failed, to calm down. With a last lingering kiss, they broke apart, each going their own separate way down the street that lay beyond the door.
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Once again, ew mush. Hope you enjoyed.
_________________
"It's not just about living forever...the trick is living with yourself forever..."
"Music makes you braver."
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NeverNeverGirl
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Location: dreaming away of tomorrows to come
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| Posted: Mon Apr 28, 2008 1:12 am Post subject: |
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Falling into You.
An angel’s countenance on a demons face.
A hand on her waist, his shoulder, entwining themselves in each other. Fingers laced together, foreheads touching, eyes closed in sleep.
Her dark face calls to him through the dreams, pulling him closer and closer into her. Her dark swirling oblivion mists summon him into their depths. They scream wordlessly of pain and suffering, wracking sobs that fill him with a pain previously unknown.
Slowly he circles above the writhing dream mass, a dove on the wing – far above the storm. Contemplating her rescue, her love, his faith in their togetherness. A union not foretold yet fated perhaps.
Again the raw emotion that spills forth from the mists of Dream wrack him with pain. Her broken heart is obvious and he can barely stop himself from flying recklessly into oblivion.
Can something so broken ever be remade?
He sheds a tear, the sorrows of Her rolling down his face in one droplet.
He plummets downwards, ever down, into swirling mists of grey, black and vermilion. The storm is fierce here and he can barely control this form he has taken. It is too light - this white dove of peace. He snaps his wings once and changes again, this time into a wedge tailed eagle.
His new shape allows him to ride the currents ever downward, against all odds, until he nears the vortex… The winds scream and howl, her soul torn bear, the feelings pummel and assault him, he cries out in wordless rage and falls.
…Awakening to find himself wrapped in pieces of her dreams.
Her angel face contorted by a demon countenance.
She emerges from the dream as one drowning, gasping for air and clawing at him. He takes both her wrists and kisses her nose softly, then moves to her lips, gently prying them apart with his tongue.
He drinks her down; he takes her deep within himself. Absorbing all her pain, he drinks deeper still, until his insides are silently in mourning in tune with hers.
Her eyes flick open and lock on his, a strange calm descending on her. A hypnotic lull as her eyes fade from sable to cerulean. She smiles and closes her eyes, resting at last in peaceful slumber.
He slips to the edge of the bed, head in his hands, knowing full well that he has sealed his own fate. In one moment he has changed his Everything.
_________________
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Fri Oct 10, 2008 1:38 pm Post subject: |
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Ah, forgot about this one. Right, it's going to the polls and one of you will win. Good luck!
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Tea Cures All.
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Tue Nov 04, 2008 12:47 pm Post subject: |
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...And we have a total of 0 votes! Come on, people! Vote!
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Tea Cures All.
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| Posted: Fri Nov 07, 2008 8:56 pm Post subject: |
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| There is still a poll up that which no one can vote on. Edit: nevermind...
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Tue Nov 18, 2008 1:00 pm Post subject: |
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It's been more than a month, so I've closed the poll. As we had a tie (a total of 2 votes! I know, it's a record!), I'm giving 50 fables each to Ne and Rai and starting a new round. I'm going to put in a rule change though.
The PRIZE is now 500 fables! Yup, you heard me! You won't win if you don't take part!
We're going to have a speed(ish) round of suggestions for the song (a week), then a speed(ish) round of voting. If we get no suggestions (or no votes), I decide on a tune.
I am posting the new round in a new thread, so please post there rather than here.
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Tea Cures All.
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