Let's write a short story line by line!
I'll begin our story with part of a sentence and the next person to post adds on to my post, and then the next post adds on to theirs and so on. HERE WE GO...
I had to go for a walk, to get away from all of these people because...
I could feel my heart pounding. These people didn't know me, they would never understand why I....................
I'll begin writing poem. Ayhan Demiral
could not watch as the bull was to be sacrificed for.....
nothing! I just couldn't watch. It makes me...............
gazed enviously upon a gathering of British military officials who were drinking brandy and examining surveys for a new fortification...
they were quietly but resolutely building out of blue cheese and doughnuts
which were carefully prepared by their dutiful Angolan servants.
and, as he brought the machete down to slice the olive for the martini he would never drink, he
The pungent taste of grief overcame him and he dropped to his knees onto the soft blood-soaked ground staining his trousers.
In a short while he heard voices and a man's voice utter those famous words, "Just the facts ma'am." It was Joe Friday himself investigating.....
but like every man accepts his death,he too accepted it ,but deep inside he knew tat ...
if he digs really deep, and believe with all his might, deliverance will come like...
the dawn after the night, the rainbow after the storm. Trying to still his fear, he….
. . .sweet dreams of . . .
that day by the river, with the old crowd, the girls in their summer dresses, the men anxious to please. . .but not TOO anixous to please. He watched the girls disembark on the quay. They were shielded from the oppressive Angolan sun by parasols, and the Angolan men with grudging hospitality unloaded from an exhausted steamer dozens of trunks and bags
but I had to go for another walk to get away from these people because they just wouldn't understand...
where I was coming from, how I knew which parts were dream, which parts were reality. Was it bleu cheese or blood? Sacrifice or summer memory? Only I knew, and I did not know how to tell them that really, it was...
I believe this is the story so far ...
I had to go for a walk, to get away from all of these people because I could feel my heart pounding. These people didn't know me, they would never understand why I could not watch as the bull was to be sacrificed for nothing! I just couldn't watch.
It makes me remember that night in Angola, outside the village, the moonlight glinting on his gray hair and the machete raised in his hand, as he gazed enviously upon a gathering of British military officials who were drinking brandy and examining surveys for a new fortification they were quietly but resolutely building out of blue cheese and doughnuts which were carefully prepared by their dutiful Angolan servants.
'Good grief, dear man you've done it again,' he barked as he nervously watched his friend get spattered. His contemplation completely broken, the pungent taste of grief overcame him and he dropped to his knees onto the soft blood-soaked ground, staining his trousers.
In a short while he heard voices and a man's voice utter those famous words, "Just the facts ma'am." It was Joe Friday himself investigating and he thought to himself "this couldn't be for real" but like every man accepts his death, he too accepted it, but deep inside he knew that if he digs really deep, and believe with all his might, deliverance will come like the dawn after the night, the rainbow after the storm.
Trying to still his fear, he imagined that his friend was only sleeping. No, he wasn't spattered, he's having sweet dreams of that day by the river, with the old crowd, the girls in their summer dresses, the men anxious to please but not TOO anixous to please. He watched the girls disembark on the quay. They were shielded from the oppressive Angolan sun by parasols, and the Angolan men with grudging hospitality unloaded from an exhausted steamer dozens of trunks and bags but I had to go for another walk to get away from these people because they just wouldn't understand where I was coming from, how I knew which parts were dream, which parts were reality. Was it bleu cheese or blood? Sacrifice or summer memory? Only I knew, and I did not know how to tell them that really, it was ...But I was interupted by an incessant ringing coming from my steamer trunk. "What on earth...?"
It couldn't be! Could it? Maybe it was. . . or then, again -- but no, it was too improbable; they couldn't have found me here, could they?
Yes! It was me in there. I had been drugged, bound and gagged and just....
dying to remember where I left my........
… knapsack with my pet anaconda. The last I’d known, she was curled up in the knapsack, snug against the warmth of my back. Was she scared? I wondered….
but then again she must not be for I also put a toad for her to play with. And it's such a pretty toad too. The kind that shimmers in the sunshine....now if only I can remember what my kanpsack looks like...it's...
camo-colored, which I knew would be a big mistake. But, how was I to know that......
you have to carry it on your back because that's why they are made like that. I can only shake my head in disgust. "You fool!" said I to myself. But to my surprise....from a not so great distance, somebody said... Yes?" And...
...there was Tolden, the protaganist of an unwritten bestseller, flashing a smile, beckoning me to follow him. Was this the way to freedom? Or was it the road to a fame that would enslave me forever? I couldn't quite tell.....
But suddenly smoke from an open grill overwhelms me! Oh what dilemma! Fame or mouthwatering food! With steely resolve I decided to...
just make sure they hadn't put Tweety my anaconda on the open flame for breakfast.
Now a puddy tat I tawt I taw was fine …but my Tweety – oh no! she wouldn’t harm a fly – an elephant maybe – but no sirree – she just watches the flies fly by! I walked faster….
...faster than a speeding sloth until at last, parting the delicious smoke with my hands, there it was my knapsack! So I...
sighed a breath of relief! What would I tell.................
my momma when she called my cell phone to complain...
Why can't I keep up with things? What is wrong with me? I hope I.....
The story so far......
I had to go for a walk, to get away from all of these people because I could feel my heart pounding. These people didn't know me, they would never understand why I could not watch as the bull was to be sacrificed for nothing! I just couldn't watch.
It makes me remember that night in Angola, outside the village, the moonlight glinting on his gray hair and the machete raised in his hand, as he gazed enviously upon a gathering of British military officials who were drinking brandy and examining surveys for a new fortification they were quietly but resolutely building out of blue cheese and doughnuts which were carefully prepared by their dutiful Angolan servants.
'Good grief, dear man you've done it again,' he barked as he nervously watched his friend get spattered. His contemplation completely broken, the pungent taste of grief overcame him and he dropped to his knees onto the soft blood-soaked ground, staining his trousers.
In a short while he heard voices and a man's voice utter those famous words, "Just the facts ma'am." It was Joe Friday himself investigating and he thought to himself "this couldn't be for real" but like every man accepts his death, he too accepted it, but deep inside he knew that if he digs really deep, and believe with all his might, deliverance will come like the dawn after the night, the rainbow after the storm.
Trying to still his fear, he imagined that his friend was only sleeping. No, he wasn't spattered, he's having sweet dreams of that day by the river, with the old crowd, the girls in their summer dresses, the men anxious to please but not TOO anxious to please. He watched the girls disembark on the quay. They were shielded from the oppressive Angolan sun by parasols, and the Angolan men with grudging hospitality unloaded from an exhausted steamer dozens of trunks and bags but I had to go for another walk to get away from these people because they just wouldn't understand where I was coming from, how I knew which parts were dream, which parts were reality. Was it bleu cheese or blood? Sacrifice or summer memory? Only I knew, and I did not know how to tell them that really, it was ... but I was interrupted by an incessant ringing coming from my steamer trunk. "What on earth...?" It couldn't be! Could it? Maybe it was. . . or then, again -- but no, it was too improbable; they couldn't have found me here, could they?
Yes! It was me in there. I had been drugged, bound and gagged and just dying to remember where I left my knapsack with my pet anaconda. The last I’d known, she was curled up in the knapsack, snug against the warmth of my back. Was she scared? I wondered. But then again she must not be for I also put a toad for her to play with. And it's such a pretty toad too. The kind that shimmers in the sunshine....now if only I can remember what my knapsack looks like...it's camo-colored, which I knew would be a big mistake. But, how was I to know that you have to carry it on your back because that's why they are made like that. I can only shake my head in disgust. "You fool!" said I to myself. But to my surprise....from a not so great distance, somebody said... Yes?" And there was Tolden, the protaganist of an unwritten bestseller, flashing a smile, beckoning me to follow him. Was this the way to freedom? Or was it the road to a fame that would enslave me forever? I couldn't quite tell. Again with the confusion. 'Come on already', I told myself. This simply would not do if I was going to get out of here alive and at the very least have a chance to wear that spiffy camo backpack again. But suddenly smoke from an open grill overwhelms me! Oh what dilemma! Fame or mouthwatering food! With steely resolve I decided to just make sure they hadn't put Tweety my anaconda on the open flame for breakfast. Now a puddy tat I tawt I taw was fine …but my Tweety – oh no! she wouldn’t harm a fly – an elephant maybe – but no sirree – she just watches the flies fly by! I walked faster… ...faster than a speeding sloth until at last, parting the delicious smoke with my hands, there it was my knapsack! So I sighed a breath of relief! What would I tell my momma when she called my cell phone to complain?
And hang on where IS that phone? Why can't I keep up with things? What is wrong with me? I hope I didn’t put that cell phone in with Tweety and the toad! That toad now, one never can tell….what Tweety would do if left alone with a ringing cellphone. I remember the last time.....
she slapped me hard saying tat i had been ignoring her..it was like..
C. C. Riter for stealing his Tolden Goad. How would he cope with losing his newly found mush mouth pittle stinker? Well, what could I.....
"Well what could I..."
do but grab a burger from the grill and slather it with ketchup, mustard, chili and no onions while gazing around at all the fools gathered here on this day who think they know me, but what they don't know is...that underneath this fat suit disguise, I was sweating bullets, and the chilli wasn't helping either. Anyhow I finally spotted him
standing at the edge of the shrubs, wearing that awful.............
slicker with no clothes on, ready to flash.....
anyone and everyone crazy enough to walk past him. Now what? Who should I tell? They would probably never believe..........
what this flasher was wearing around his groin...
Yup, that's right.......around this perverts groin was a....................
smoking cigar and as the smoke wafted up his slicker I recognized him as the famous detective Clouseau of Pink Panther fame. I thought he was dead but....
evidently not. What could he possibly be doing here? He doesn't seem the type to hang out at backyard bbq's. I wonder if he's watching..........
for Detective Columbo who was lurking about in...
what appears to be some sort of disguise. I really can't make out what he's wearing on his head. It looks like some sort of............
I scratch my head in wonder. What does all this mean? Why today? Why this bbq? What are they after? Surely, it doesn't have anything to do with......
that chihuahua that Tweety ate last week. I covered her tracks with...
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