5 minute fiction...

[Bifrost]

OK, so I have decided that we all need a spark to get us writing (what, didn't you know it was my decision? ;)).

Anyway, to post a story in this thread, check the PC clock (or your watch or whatever) and start writing. 5-minutes later, post the result. If you get time to edit you've written that's fine (and well done!), but whatever happens - you have to post your story after only 5 minutes.

Technically people could post stories which they have spent 20 hours writing or whatever and we would never know, but the purpose of this thread is not to soak up the adoration of a gasping crowd, it's just to get your mind pumping out some cool ideas.

If you want to post comments or kudos, that's cool, but remember these are 5-minute stories and aren't meant to be literary genius, so try to keep your criticism to things like continuity and structure and stuff. As always, flames will not stay up for long.

OK then, have a go.

Edit: At the request of one of the more respected writers on ZGeek, I have made the thread sticky. Remember to wash your hands.

[Bifrost]

* Removed *

[Fitty]

Harder than I thought... I scrapped two attemtps already.

[StygiaN]

That was very cool bifrost. I want to hear the rest of the story ;)

[Bifrost]

Harder than I thought... I scrapped two attemtps already.It was harder than I thought too.

Don't trash your attempts - post them! :) That's what this is about, just getting the ideas going...

That was very cool bifrost. I want to hear the rest of the story ;)Thanks dude. I'll have to give it another crack some time soon.

[m0loch]

well..here is 5 minutes:

His eyes were heavy. It’s 3:00 AM but slumber doesn’t come. It hasn’t come in weeks. What are these thoughts that torment him? An unintelligible swirling of emotions tortures his psyche. Gut wrenching mental agony accompanied only by the nothingness that is silence and darkness. “Where was God now?” he wondered.

His mother would have told him to have faith in God

[Zan]

James clutched the grimy steel with weary hands. He'd been running for far too long. Bent over, trying to catch his breath, he wondered for the thousandth time if it was really worth it.

"Just one more job," she had said. "One more, and then you're out of here forever. I promise".

She had promised. James had realised some time ago that her promises were given as freely as week-old free entry passes to nightclubs, and honoured...

--

Shit, that's hard. I cheated a little by thinking about the story before my fingers hit the keys on the dot of 2:17.

[ratbag]

This IS hard...

---

“It’s just another day in the office – long and boring. Nothing new ever seems to happen here.” Those were John’s thoughts, when suddenly he heard screams followed by what sounded like thunder. “WTF?” crossed his mind… More screams. He looked at the person sitting opposite him, and both of them now had looks of horror on them. They jumped to their feet to get out, when another blast of a shotgun echoed down the corridor. More screams. John could see a large figure firing blast after blast into the open office further down. There is no way out… Both jumped back into their office and hid under the desks. After a few minutes, there were no more screams, and no more firearm sounds. Just loud footsteps searching for the next kill…

Terminator 54

---

[Bifrost]

* Removed *

[Zan]

It was smoky in the Black Ferret, as usual. Jeremy wondered if the smoke was ever really blown away. Perhaps there was some small amount that had been here for years, endlessly circulated by the cracked ceiling fans. The same could be said of a number of the people. Slouched in their chairs, as if waiting for their deaths. There seemed to be less each time he went there. The last gig was only a couple of weeks ago. Everyone that was going to be there was already there - have always been there.

He picked up his saxophone.

--

Jose ran his finger around the edge of the wine goblet. It seemed odd, that amongst all the dirt and grime of the world he knew, that this one piece of glass could possibly be clean.

No, not clean. It had been dirtied, at one time. Just like everything else in this world. The difference was that the glass had someone to care for it, someone to clean it, to rinse it out and make it like new again. What did Jose have?

Ripped clothes.
A rusted knife.
A clue.

[diggy]

My effort (1)

The slowly filling lecture hall. She would be late, he knew. She was always late. She'd walk in through the side entrance, rather flushed, cradling her books in her arms and looking utterly beautiful. Every time John saw her, his heart sank another notch. So many memories of love, caring and pain. She had been his once. And he had pushed her away. For the next one and half years, they had avoided each other. Unable to say the words that were on their minds, they had gone down seperate paths. She had moved on, a new boyfriend, a new life. John had never met anyone else that would measure up to her.

(4 minutes and 43 secs)

[HAL]

"Forward exit my dear sir!" exclaimed captain Starrette. We were within the grim depths of this horrible cavern with only one way out. The tyranny of the past flooding behind us gave way to only one thing, Trekkadoraton, who unfortunately, was no where to be seen within this passage of time.

I drove the continuum lever into power and adjusted me goggles, this was our defining moment, the continuum booster's kicked in and blasted us through the cave at light speed into the unknown in order to escape from our captives, who knew what laid ahead, maybe only more tyranny? We were soon to find out.

[fastfood]

... pressed the button and sat back in her chair. 'This will be interesting', she thought.

Around the country confused zgeekers looked at their screens. Many did cartoon style double takes. Where's my post count? What happened to my rep? Where the hell are all my posts?
Rapidly Pirates email box started becoming flooded by emails, all with subjects in caps and multiple exlamation marks.
It seemed that someone had erased the entire zgeek archive. Everything was set back to zero.
People reacted in wildly different ways, some cried, some laughed finally free of the burdon of rep whoring. Other wrote self referential short fiction about zgeek in the 5 minute fiction thread. More still commited suicide, realising that their carefully constructed online persona, their 'geeky street cred', had vanished in a blink.

They were all n00bs now. This was judgement day.

[Glompbot]

bwhaha

that made me giggle.

Although so far bifrosts *removed ones* are the ones I like best :D

I'm tempted to get out my long oppressed creativity... but i dunno.

[Bifrost]

* Removed *

[Shootz]

This is a great idea, Bifrost. I'm becoming a big fan of your writing style. I'm not sure if it's a function of the time constraints or just the way you normally go, but it's good.

I'll make an attempt now, but I have no idea what it's going to be about.

--

6:18:30

Russell blew the steam off the lid of the fry pan and watched it form patterns of condensation against the window. He thought of nothing in particular as he turned the meat he was cooking, and he failed to react to the hot oil bouncing off the pan, stinging his hand with a thousand tiny pin pricks every second.

Thinking would simply have been too much for him at this point, and even if he could think, he knew that he wouldn't come up with any viable answers. It was one mistake that could cost him more dearly than he would care to admit. He replaced the lid on the pan and gingerly stepped back out to the balcony.

'How's the food going?' Lauren asked him.

Russell couldn't answer properly, merely effect a mere nod and tiny smile, which he supposed indicated that he hadn't set fire to anything in the kitchen yet. He quickly threw a glance at Amelia as she sat in her deck chair, half facing him, yet half not. He caught only the image of her head quickly flicking away, as if she had sensed his look coming and refused to meet it.

Russell picked up his cigarette from the ashtray, dragged thickly on it, and blew a long plume of blue smoke into the air. Surely if Amelia loved him, like she always said she did, there would be room for forgiveness. He briefly caught another look from Lauren, and saw something there. The night with her had been a mistake. But would he do it again?

6:23:47

--

I've decided that I don't like the last paragraph, but I only had a minute to go and had to have some semblence of narrative. I don't know. What do you all think?

[Bifrost]

I've decided that I don't like the last paragraph, but I only had a minute to go and had to have some semblence of narrative. I don't know. What do you all think?I like it. Even the last paragraph. I like the sensation of the oil on his hands - that's really cool. And "thickly" is a great word for dragging on a cigarette.

It's all a bit intriguing as to why they're all in the same house together...Of course Russell sounds like a right bastard. A good story needs a good bastard. ;)

PS: I was going to call my girl character Lauren!!!...Now I have to go and think all over again! :p

[Zan]

Shootz:

Personally, I would have left out the last couple of sentences. The rest of it was written quite well - the reader can tell that there's something wrong, and this interests them. They can sense the tension in the room, the spattering oil and the exhaust fan doing nothing to ease it.

For me, when it was plainly stated that Russell and Lauren had 'slept together', I was disappointed. I would have preferred that the reader figures it out, or at least puzzles over the reasons behind the situation.

[Shootz]

I know exactly what you mean, but I'd already gone over time when I realised I should have removed it. Obviously, I wouldn't have needed it if the story was going to reach more than five minutes, it could have been slowly revealed in the following pages.

Will have another crack at one soon.

[Glompbot]

10:35

She walked down the street, it was always very peaceful at this time of night. The moon was hidden behind clouds in such a way that it made the whole cloud light up, like seeking tendrils.

You couldn't see the stars from here, but you could always see the moon. She liked that, sometimes it made her sad, and she missed being away from the city but generally being unable to see the stars reminded her of how far she had come.

Walking at night, it was like tempting fate to do its worst. After all you did always hear stories about this or that female of this or that age, missing, found mutilated, raped, if a survivor then scared for life. Sometimes she just felt invulnerable.

10:40



this is the first piece of creative writing I've done in... about 4 years.

[BtrFly]

10:42
There was the train, you could see it pulling away in the distance. It really wasnt that forboding a looking machine, however it really had caused some damage today. What it was pulling away from was the train wreck. The mangled wreck of a young girl's body, no more than 12 or 13, lying beside the platform, across the tracks.

It was a fairly deserted platform, however the video cameras showed what had happened. She was wandering along side the edge of the platform, and the train that was express to the city, had clipped her arm, dragged her the 50 metres to the end of the platform, and deposited her, bloodied and dying at the end of the platform. She breathed her last breath whilst looking up at the starry sky, not crying, not shouting for help, just accepting the inevitable.

What must it be like, her final thoughts were, what must it be like, as her eyes flickered shut, closing out the lights brightening, and the sounds of shouts around her, one last time smelling the sweet air, passing through her nose.

10:47

[Bifrost]

Only if you correct your spelling of waht to what.

:DI know. And wehn to when...But rules are rules I s'pose...

[BtrFly]

i wanted to fix mine - but those damned rules :p

[Eds]

2:35

She clicks his door closed for the last time, sobbing. The sound echoes around in his apartment. It's like an art museum in there, all polished glass and brushed aluminium and it's all spotless. "Cleanliness," he had said once, "Parks its yacht right next to godliness."

Only his body, folded over on itself and half-sitting on the kitchen floor, disturbs the order. At a glance, he could be asleep; only the knifehandle jutting from beneath his chin reveals the grimmer truth. His blood is already browning in the cool, dry air and it runs with the grooves in between the expensive white tiles. "Italian marble," he'd say. "Napoli."

Would have said.

2:40

[kleph]

suggestion. stop trying so hard to create a narrative. chinese painters make beautiful artwork out of just a few brushstrokes. it works because they know they cannot paint the ceiling of the sistine chapel with the materials and conditions they have at hand.

[Bifrost]

suggestion. stop trying so hard to create a narrative. chinese painters make beautiful artwork out of just a few brushstrokes. it works because they know they cannot paint the ceiling of the sistine chapel with the materials and conditions they have at hand.Indeed. And I was never expecting people to create a 5-minute short story. Rather just to get people writing for 5 minutes and excite their creativity.

The very-short pieces of fiction in this thread don't need to be the beginning of anything either...Ideally to spark your creative hemishpere they should be a blank slate when you start, but if you have an idea going through your head and you want to spend 5 minutes working with it, that's all good too...

So kleph - where's yours? :p

[Canalien]

10:06

It kind of looked like a squishy balloon. Or a really big peeled grape. Whatever it was it didn't look friendly. Or as unfriendly as a two foot long peeled grape can look.
Ken just kept staring at it.
"Great, there is no possible way that thing is real. I'm dreaming. Now I have to wake up, get up, freeze my nuts off in the shower, cut myself shaving, burn my toast, eat it anyway and be late for this effing train again".
The blob just stared back at him. Kind of.
Ken's focus shifted and he surveyed the train carriage.
Was anyone else actually on this thing this morning?

10:11

[Glompbot]

Well, this thread certainly stirred my creativity... Considering the whole 'not creatively written for several years'

[Zan]

Well, this thread certainly stirred my creativity... Considering the whole 'not creatively written for several years'

Get those fingers typing, then! :>

--

There were no rooms in the hotel. Another polite smile from another hotel clerk, pretended sympathy through overused words. 'I'm so sorry'.

There had to be somewhere to stay. He couldn't stomach the thought of another night out in The Storm.

--

Her mother would have approved of the colour. A sickly shade of near-yellow covered three of the four walls in Kate's room, a legacy left behind by 3 german men with enthusiam and paint, but lacking any kind of colour sense.

It was not so much the colour of the walls, but more the fact that one lonely chipboard facade remained. Unfinished business.

She supposed that there wasn't much demand for matching colours. Those who used the room generally had something else to occupy their attention.

--

Being mute is a funny thing. People would think it is less of a handicap that blindness or deafness, but it poses its own particular challenges. Do you know how long it takes me to buy a packet of cigarettes? The damn things all look the same from a distance - particularly when obscured by the various pricetages or Government Health warnings.

Anyway, this wasn't about me. This was about you. What did you want again?

Don't worry, there's no need to sign back. I can hear just fine.

[starfuxor]

7:13 straight off the bat

He'd always had a curious relationship with the almighty; alternating between feeling alive and thankful and believing there must be some truth to those inane rambling sermons and, at other times, feeling condemned like some weird experiment that was never mean to be. Never meant to survive.

Indeed, taking his life in his hands had become almost fun; an addiction. But there was always something stopping him. Something intangible. Something preordained.

Suddenly, he heard the toilet flush and she appeared, grinning. Two blue lines.

7:18

[Shootz]

I had this idea last week when I was studying and, being good and studious, I refrained from the urge to come and post it here. So perhaps it's a breach of the rules to have had it percolating in my brain for that amount of time, but this is the first time I've tried to actually commit it to writing. Read the story before you read any comments at the end.

8:35:00

He moved his hand over her smooth thigh, allowing it to float so gently across the surface that it occasionally broke contact, but would soon enough find its way back to her skin. He had been waiting for this for so long, wanted her so badly. He looked up at her, and her eyes looked slightly cold. No matter, he would soon have her enjoying this as much as he was.

He brought himself around to sit alongside her on the table, giving him greater freedom to roam her body with his hands. He kissed her lips delicately and imagined the shockwaves of pleasure that rode through her, matching his. He took her head in his hands, her long blonde hair cascading gently through his fingers and kissed her again, more passionately this time. He peppered kisses down her neck and shoulders as he placed her gently back down, he tried to ignore any places where she had tiny bruises. He knew that those bruises would soon blossom into larger, purple blotches, but for now she was perfect. He reached down and began to unbuckle his belt, he looked at her again. She seemed to smile at him, wanting him to do it.

My God, she was so beautiful.

He again brought his hand up to her thighs, but the sound of a door opening in the next room stopped him short. They were about to be caught. He quickly slid back down off the table and placed her in roughly the same position she was to begin with. He picked up his small tape recorder once more and pressed record.

'Victim has mild bruising to the arms and hands, indicating a slight struggle before she was killed..'

8:40:08

Wow. I wanted it to make sense in and of itself so I had to write the ending, which I already had in my head, at the beginning then flesh out as much detail as I could before time ran out. I was writing flat chat, but it really slows you down when you have to keep checking the clock.

[Zan]

Something a little different.

Without the things they feverishly desired, and terribly needed, they began to wither and fade. Their outermost hands shrunk in size, until the whole body was little more than a dense mass of dehydrated palms, shriveled up in a vain attempt to preserve what little water still circulated through their veins. The hair on their long, thin arms stood ever to attention, striving to collect miniscule droplets of moisture. Such efforts would not sustain life, but merely prolong the dying.

Finally, after some days in this weakened state, they gave up at last, their palms floating down first onto the bodies of their dead brethren. The white of their skin reveals them for who they are: deceased, forgotten - and yet so important.

We may say there are those who give their lives that we may live, but can we claim an intention to benefit others in our inevitable death?



--

I had hoped to make it a little less obvious, but alas.

[starfuxor]

Awww, no-one's posted for a while. I was really enjoying this thread :p

[Glompbot]

6:14pm

The ache in her legs was getting worse and worse, but she couldn't stop, she had to keep running. She knew once she broke through the pain it would feel so indescribably good, and that made it all worth it. It wasn't about winning to her, and some people thought that maybe that was why she won.

6:17

That was a dead one, I couldn't finish it.

[starfuxor]

5.50

Forsaking the real world, with its three dimensional characters and scenes, brilliant AI and breathtaking cinematic out-takes, he pummeled code into his editor like a rabid dog. Compile and fix. Wait for test result. Wait for licence. Wait for fucking fileserver to wake up and smell the SAMBA.

"We're all just waiting," he mused, suddenly aware he hadn't seen another human being for nearly 40 hours. "Waiting for something to fall in our laps and pleasantly consume us."

Control. Alt. Delete. Enough.

5.55

Meh.

[Bifrost]

17:56

Powder...It was crisp.

"Don't fucking do it again,' he heard Shelly say in his mind.

But the quality was premium. Diggo said it was premium - this wasn't no fucking baking soda he was looking at.

'Taste it, mate,' said the delivery girl.

She was dressed to impress - tight lycra singlet and leather pants. And that arse. Nice. Diggo had already blown his cash for the night and was chatting up the housekeeper. House-sitting was good. Particularly in this place.

'So?' prompted the delivery girl.

'Fuck,' he said, shaking his head. 'I s'pose one won't hurt eh.'

'Never hurt me,' said the delivery girl.

'Fuckit.'

18:02 (yep -cheated)

[Icky_Thoomp]

Bloody bloody!!!! I hit "New Thread" Instead of "Post Reply"!! I promise that the times given are true.
******************************************
8.55pm

He was breathing hard and could hardly see. There was screaming and people crying in the room around him. He saw his chance and knew that if he didn't take it that everyone there would die.

He crawled over to the door where the young kid with the AK-47 and the grenades around his body was standing. A glass on the floor. He picked it up and threw it near the kid's feet. When the kid looked down to see what it was, the guy sprang up and punched him in the jaw. He dragged the kid's body out of the doorway and started dismantling the grenades around the kid's chest.

he turned to the crowd of people and picked out an older guy. He threw the AK-47 to him and yelled,"Cover the door!"

8.59pm

[Bifrost]

The story that was here is gone. I didn't like it at all. I wrote it when drunk and now that I am sober, I really, really don't like it.

I've saved it on my C:\ drive so if people want to read it I can re-post it, but I cannot imagine that anyone would want to read it. It was just shit. If it had a character perhaps it would have been OK, but as it was, it was just a rambling series of swear words.

Sorry.

PS: This little explanation actually took me around 5 minutes to write.

[DrDivad]

I got a bit philosphical

2:17:

"Some may argue that science should be able to determine an objects use and therefore, it's sense of being. The proces of testing an object until we find it's use is a scientific one. A series of hypotheses and subsequent experiments.

Ordinarily iu might be inclined to think this way myself but what about intelligence. How do we outline the crucial factor in what we call ontological discovery, or phenomonelogical science is better than natural or theoretical science

Consider a robot, how does a robot interact with its woirld? what world does a robot live in and does a robot have a sense of being? A robot interacts ontically, they live as categories and they do not have a sense of being. A robot might see using a visual sensor, for example an infra-red beam measuring reflected light intensity to deduce distance or other image recognition system to identify corners and barriers. The robot sees a priori,, the scientific investigation of properties, but it does not see"

Unit 17 watched the lecturer give his presentation, an escaped experiment from the labs, wide sensored in it's engagement with the material. "do i not have a sense of being', it computed to itself. 'Truly i shouldn't exist'.

"it would be folly to attempt to describe the robots identification of things, however accurate as true seeing and understanding. No such non human or at least non-animal 'being' can do this. Artificial intelligence is a dream..." The lecture went on.


Blurred reality, quantum existence of an impossible reality, "I shouldn't be!"...


2:23 (probably ran abotu 45seconds over, meh!)

[Bifrost]

Alright - back to it people. It's been over 2 months since the last piece! Partly my fault. I've been shitfully busy at work and been working on my book. I'll try harder.

23:25

His eyes stung. It had been an early night, drinking from 15:30. The usual suspects at the usual haunt. They had downed quite a few before Dink suggested they go out for some fun.

'Ca'arn - it'll be the shit!' he said.

So they piled out of the pub at arpund 21:30 to walk the darkened streets and be fuckwits. Not that he would have called himself and his mates fuckwits before that night, but now...

It had started pretty harmlessly, riding shopping trolleys and the like. Mick spewed. As usual. Good old Mick, you can always rely on him. They'd turned a few garbage bins up and dared each other a jump a few back fences, but most of them were too spastic to get over, so they game that game away preety soon.

Then Kev - the genius - breaks out a pack of fireworks and says "Fucken let's do some damage". Fucking Kev.

They blew a few letter boxes and shit. Nearly got caught by that old wnaker on Melvile.

23:30

[iaidoka]

12:01

David looked at the half empty (half full ?) bottle of diet coke with a certain amount of weary apathy. What was it about coca cola ? What magical property did it apparently pertain that ment you could find it in places that probably had very little else in the way of civilization.

Does it taste that good ? Well its ok, but nothing worth taking the world over.

Lost in thoughts David barely noticed as the asian guy placed his Nando's food on the table. Mutual plesantries were exchanged and then he was gone.

Now here was something more worthy to focus his attention on. Nandos.. there was no mystery here about the love affair that had evolved from such paultry (hah ?) beginnings.

Glancing upwards Mel is already assaulting the first of the chips. How often had they come here in the last few weeks ? In many ways this was the closest they could get to "quality" time together, if you could call it that.

"So how was work today ?" he asked, throwing an opening shot to try and get a conversation happening, even when he knew the answer was going to be, as always, negative.

12:07, so deleted the last line I was typing :)

[Bea_Ghetto]

..

[Bifrost]

13:14

It wasn't silent. Someone had once said that they loved the silence, but then there really was no such thing. There was the ever present crunching of hands and feet on rocks, biners clinking away, your breath echoing off the walls. There was the water. Dripping, running, flowing sometimes. There never really was silence. You might be able to find silence if you were alone, but then you woul dnever cave alone.

'What the hell is that?' Shelly said.

I looked and saw her pointing up to the cavern ceiling. There was some sort of sprayed stain across the grey surface of the cavern and several stalagtites. I looked at it for a while, the beam from my headlamp not quite powerful enough to illuminate it clearly.

'I dunno,' I said.

Shelly kept her beam on it longer.

'Looks like blood'

'Shut up,' I told her. 'It's not blood. That'd be too much for any bat to contain.'

Shelly looked at me, hamming up a spooky face.

'What about that guy who disappeared?'

'Yeah - like four years ago, you think if his blood was sprayed on the ceiling that it'd still be there?'

Shelly laughed and shrugged.

'You're no fun.'

13:19

[snoopen]

02:48:20

Gerome sat looking blankly into a screen mounted to the wall infront of him. He felt dazed and confused, not sure of where he was or what he was doing. He went to get up, but failed to find reason. Untill, that is, that a loud thud and muffled screaming brought him to his feet.

The unnerving sound came from the wall behind him which he turned to face. Still, Gerome stared blankly, unsure of what to make of anything. What was that sound he thought. More imporantly he wondered where he was.

Feeling tired, Gerome sat again and looked at the information on the screen. Along the top it read "Gerome Wells - 15:52 31st December 9942".

Gerome felt a cold sweat break out. A faint memory in his mind reminded him of the same screen, only reading the year 2042.

02:53:49

A little overtime I know but ARGH I need to continue!

[frgn8r]

12:27

There was no way that Michael would have done the things she said.

But the evidence was there... torn clothing, distinct red whelts on white flesh and even his own fluidic residue.

His head fell down, shame overcame him and he realised that he had indeed betrayed her trust and taken advantage of the situation. He knew his life would never be the same again, and it was his own primal insticts that were to blame.

The blouse lay in pieces and the woman he loved so dearly, was clutching her bleeding hand... he shouldn't have attacked her, but she had surprised him.

Michael was told to leave the house... and he went...

to lick his dick in his kennel.

12.32

[snoopen]

11:10:43

His heart thumping and breathing short, Gerome tried to remeber something, anything. The feeling was unbearable, anything he remembered was faint at best. He pictured being in a crowd looking onto a stage where a figure was speaking. But thats it, his mind went blank.

Again, Gerome jumped to his feet as another thud came, this time, from the fall infront of him. He began to tremble slightly, unsure of what to expect next and again he jumped. The wall infront of him trembled again. All this thudding began to concern him, as each sounded louder than the last. Would the walls collapse in on him he thought.

11:16:04

Too many distractions at work today... What do they expect me to do? Work?

[snoopen]

11:30:12

More than an hour had passed since the last thud which was reassuring. Still the problem persisted of where and why Gerome was here.

Having paced back and forth since the last disruption he finally decided to sit and investigate what little there was around him. The chair, he noticed, was incredibly comfortable. It almost felt like he was weightless in it.

The screen infront of him was, apart from his name and the time, completely blank. He reached out and touched the screen, it felt cool on his finger tips and the colour distorted slightly.

Returning his hand to his lap and he began to wonder what the screen may be for. Gerome closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again he froze, there was now new text on the screen.

"Where am I?" It read.

11:35:15

Now I shall actually go and work. Or... Eat.

[Bea_Ghetto]

..

[Serpent_Girl]

6:42

What the fuck did you do to my car? I stare blankly at the gaping dent in the side and hope for dear life that the insurance was still valid. Who the hell kicks cars when drunk?! It's not as though the car did anything to him, it was innocent, and just wanted love and care. Okay, maybe too much love and care all it ever seemed to go was eat up fuel and break down on everyone. But not recently, so he had no excuse. I slapped him hard, leaving a handprint on him and stalked off, to go do some gaming and leave the entire mess to the jackass that brought it upon himself. Well if he bloody well stuffs my car he can fix it himself, regardless of whoever owns it. I just seriously can't be bothered thinking about it anymore!! Stupid wank of a car, and even bigger wank of a person!

6:47

[gaLdaB]

509

His underpants exploded again. For the fourth time in as many weeks, his loins were on fire. All the doctors were completely stumped.

It started one rainy afternoon as the quiet sound of precipitation could be heard gently patterin against the window. He was sitting, quietly reading a book when BAM, just like that his uderps were blown asunder, leaving his crotch a smouldering heap.

He jumped from his chair and ran to the shower just in time to douse the flames before they ravaged his pubic hair.

"What the hell just happened" he muttered to himself

He didn't visit a doctor straight away. What the hell would he tell them? They would laugh him out of the office. It was only after the third time and the loss of his snail trail did he seek help.

514

[frgn8r]

3:14

The fresh cotton sheet was hugging the undulating curves of the body beneath it.

My eyes watered at the sight before it, and I could't resist the temptation to discover if my tactile senses would enjoy the same pleasure as my ocular.

I gave in... I peeled back the fine fabric to reveal a smooth, finely honed body, athletic in appearance, yet soft and inviting.

My trembling hand delicately touched the sleep-warmed flesh and I tentatively explored the marble-like body that lay before me.

With no sign of resistance, I guided my lips closer to the inviting skin and delicately kissed the golden toned body that still lay motionless.

As I dared to think of what exotic delights I coudl enjoy next, I decided that I should just get out of bed and get a girlriend.

3.19 (ish)

[kleph]

12:36

Maybe my tie looks like shit with this shirt. She doesn't seem to notice.

This is a pretty nice place. I hate not knowing which fork is the one I need to use.

Christ! The menu. All these things that have foreign names that I have no idea what they mean. I am pretty sure it is going to be some kind of pasta but thats about it.

Oh! Lasagna. I know that one. Makes me fart, better skip it.

Ok. Drink order. No problem. That buys me another five minutes to figure out what the hell to order.

Small talk. Ugh. How can I concentrate on figuring out what the hell to order when I am trying not to sound like an idiot? Stop looking at her breasts so much.

Oh shit! I forgot her sister's name. Why the hell does she want to talk about the one person I can't remember the name of?

GAH! What the hell do I order!?!! This waiter is gonna be back any second now and I have been so busy trying to concentrate on what she was saying to really look at the menu.

Spaghetti? Nah, too pedestrian. Cacciatori? Nah. Might be a plate of bugs or something. Oh well, only one option left...

"I'll have what she's having."

12:41 p.m.

[kleph]

thread necromacy! but in a good way.

i have been meaning to post in this thread but never got around to it. that's the horrible secret of writing, it's easier to talk about than actually do. which is why most "writers" hang out in bars and talk about what they are writing instead of beating their heads against the horror of that empty page.

anyhow. i need to get off my ass and start producing and this seemed to be a great way to force myself back into the game.

the one thing i noticed about most of the entries in this thread was that they have a lot of description but little form. so i tried constructing this post the other direction. i had a shape of what i wanted, the trick was to use the five minutes to flesh it out.

so i sat down, wrote the last line and then started from the top and raced to get to it before time ran out.

i then, after the five minute deadline, went back and added the question marks, fixed the obvious grammar errors and ran a word check. i'm not sure if this was cheating or not.

anyhow... next contestant....

[Grumblefish]

"I simply can't wait for the 2008 Olympics," she said as she finished putting her hair up in a bun, "I just read in the China Daily that everything is dead on schedule, and that Beijing is going to blow the world away with its charm and beauty." Just like most women, she had the impressive ability of deluding herself when it came to her own personal dreams. "That's a nice thought,"' came the reply, "but the place is a festering slum of filth and disease. Even if they ever did manage to turn that wasteland of burning coal and raw sewerage into a shining, Western metropolis, they'd still have the same people living there. Nobody is going to think of Beijing as beautiful after they find people spitting inside restaurants, shitting on the pavement, and holding their day to day conversations at a hundred decibels."

"How can you say that? So they're a bit different over in the impoverished world, that's life!"

There it came, the "that's life" comment. It was quite possibly the most irritating response possible, especially given that it was all she ever said whenever a train of logic came rolling through to obliterate her little fairy-tale wonderland.

Out of time.

5 minutes is too short to write anything. :(

[Blue Midget]

The rain was falling like a big wet thing. John never thought he'd just be standing there. He'd aalways had a fear of something other than water falling on his head. Fucking birds.

When would she get here? It felt like ages since she called him and said, "I'm going to be a few minutes late. There's been an accident on the road." It'd have to be a pretty big accident to stop her. She had promised that today, of all days, would be one that she'd make sure she'd be with him.

Their anniversary. Not a romantic one, of course. Perish the thought. It wasn't like they would ever talk of things other than friendship. In fact, the thing they'd talk about would most likely be umbrellas.

An ambulance rushed past, drenching John even further as it raced through a puddle. He barely noticed.

Still, when he saw it stop nearby, an overwhelming urge screamed to him to follow it. When he did, he got an answer to his little dilemma.

There she was. Holding her mobile phone. Dying.

The accident had held her up a bit more than she had originally stated. So much was their relationship.

***

Dido's 'Sand in my Shoes' is a wonderful timer. Sorta told me when things were wrapping up. :)

[StAUG]

6:17

The Boy ran through the abandonned paths of the stomping grounds as if his life depended on it. It did, but that wasn't -why- he ran. He knew he was going to die one day, and it no longer mattered when. No, he ran for the sake of someone else. The straps holding his supplies across his back burned into his bruised shoulders, and he knew that stopping or removing them would make the aches intensify massively. So he ran, past stumps and fallen branches, nimbly picking his way regardless of the inky black night he was enveloped in.
The Boy had never been much for bullshit, but he conceeded this was one time he should have played dice. Yes, he was history, but if he could get back in time and erase the records of who and when, maybe he could control the damage to just him. And so he ran, the howls of tracking dogs far behind him.
6:22

[DrDivad]

this is more like 30minute fiction, but i wrote it in 5min chunks at work :P

Squeegers (technical term) have come under a lot of bad publicity lately. Ever since the big squeegee riot of '76 there's been Squeegers out there trying to earn and honest minutes pay for a half assed job. Pre '76 there were Squeegers but they were government run squeeger services that would frequent particular intersections to provide people with a window cleaning service. This was required as in those days if a teradactyl flew by, well let's say then chances of your entire car, let alone windscreen remaining 'dirt' free was minimal. The city tried to live with this problem until countless people started running into each other and blaming it on 'the heavens'. This caused the introduction of an 'Act of God' clause in most insurance policies and sooned coined the phrase 'That growler's just pranged him!'.

The motivations for the riot of '76 are quite unclear but I beleive they were to do with fair and equal treatment for south of the border squeegers. In mexic...melbourne, they didn't have a squeeger service and growlers like you sir, drove them out of town by insisting they did not want their windows cleaned. Not to mention the fact that melbourne didn't have any teradactyls causing trouble, merely a few seagulls and wandering Mariachi. This meant that any squeegers had to brave the Great Murray and seek greener pastures in a more northerly climate.

Furthermore, it's a little known fact that Victoria was a very technically advanced nation until the advent of Victoria Bitter, no thanks to CUB with turned the country into a cesspool of ignorance and bogan like behaviour. The greater part of NSW (renamed Australia in 1900) had to continually divide up it's land to make room for this bumbling nations that were once great but quickly fell to mediocrity. By adopting these bodgy nations and calling them states we ended up with the 6 states and 2 territories that we have called Australia for the last 100 years. At any rate the Victorians invented wiper blades on motor vehicles and hence had no need for squeegers. Wiper blades on NSW registered vehicles is a fairly modern advent and one most citizens are still unused to, hence why there is still a markety in Squeegetry.

The squeeger unions in NSW were a fairly strong influence at the time and when these lower grade squeegers (lower grade because with less windscreens to clean they were less experienced) began being hired by the government because they would work cheaper. It's not the aussie way to be competitive and actually earn our money so we did what we did best and we complained. Mexicans were the butt of many derogatory jokes, and racism of all kinds. However in '76 when the government disbanded the organised Squeeger Service and made it all freelance, the theory being that if everyone was their own business then no one could be discriminated against for being paid less, all hell broke loose. Of course without the government squeegetry rebate few people would pay for the service because prices skyrocketed in a veritable orgy of inflation. This was compounded by the recession at the time.

Squeeger workers were having trouble making a living, dirty mexican or honest hardworking new south welshman alike. So they banded together and the decision was made that they would go on strike (which soon turned into an all out riot) and everyone would wear a weird mexican hat as we embraced our south of the border squeegee brethren.

So today when you see a squeeger just trying to make a buck, spare a thought for history you ignorant pratt and absorb some of the local culture that is squeegetry today.

[Bifrost]

this is more like 30minute fiction, but i wrote it in 5min chunks at work :PI'll forgive you this time.

And I WILL post another fiction in here, but it's my anniversary and the love of my life has only just realised that it's the innevitable "flashback" episode of Desperate Bullemics, so it's time to drink another galss of wine and party with the one I love the most. ;)

[kleph]

I bathroom/girl
girl, in the bathroom, showering...
"it has been two weeks, will he call me tonight?"

II QVB 1F/ shop assistant/ girl
s a "you look gorgeous in red"
girl smiles...

III bedroom/mobile
mobile rings, next to the new lingerie...

IV bathroom/girl
water stops running..

this is too good to let you delete. although i think it might be more properly considered poetry.

[kleph]

15:14

The house on Vine Street was at least three times my age and had run a hell of a lot rougher years. At one time, the neighborhood was affluence itself but the good families migrated north with the golf courses and entropy had its way with the place.

There were a few gang houses up the block but mostly it was the limited income crowd on our end. Students with shitty jobs like us, minimum wage workers who had a nice habit or two that sucked up their extra cash and the hangers on. There were few old ladies who built their homes as newlyweds and watched the neighborhood slowly fall apart through pea green drapes.

While it wasn't the roughest part of the city, you didn't do stupid things after dark. A drug dealer was found dead behind a 7-11 one morning with his drivers license stuffed in his throat. A message of some sort that we didn't understand but didnt really have to.

Lou thought that keeping the yard tidy was the way to keep the specter of random crime from out doorstep. He worked every afternoon keeping things neat and nice looking. During the summer he mowed twice a week like clockwork.

It seemed to work fine, until someone stole the lawnmower and, within a fortnight, the place went back to looking like it did the day we moved in.

15:19

[The Avatar]

0:36

Time seems to be slipping away from me. Days that are full of promise of work to be done and projects to be completed seem to be wasted playing games that just annoy me. I know what I can do, I know what I should do. Yet, the fear of being exposed as a fraud or a failure keeps me from moving.

I feel happy in my self-loathing sometimes and wonder why my girlfriends doesn't see it. Why doesn't she help me when I leave so many clues lying around about my state of mind. Maybe she is also a fraud and only using me until she no longer needs me. This fear leaves me cold.

What if I have to start dating again? What do I do? I am anti-social at the best of times so getting another girlfriend makes me sigh in resignation. There are too many things that I have to do to get a girlfriend so I don't think I would bother.

What if I was alone. I wonder if I would do more. I remember what it was like before I got my girlfriend. I used to have more energy. I used to do stuff, and see people and go out. Now, I see no-one except her.

I know this is bad, I know I should change it, but I can't. I don't have the energy to maintain frendships outside of work and once work ends, the friendships dissipates.

Welsome to the world of my isolation. It's self imposed, but it's also comforting as hell. TV is my friend.

0:41

Taken from the Life and times of the people living in my skull. It's eviction time, I can hear gretel saying: "It's time to go............Thomas!"

[du_mm_yy]

15:20
I was finding it hard to breathe, mainly 'cause she'd rammed her whole fist into my mouth. Her wedding ring was tearing chunks out of the back of my throat. God, I wish she was my wife: I'd have bought a much smaller ring.
I'd just told her: "If a dog attacks you the best defence is to shove your hand down its throat."
I like to tell people this 'cause it's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Apparently she thought I needed a dose of my own medicine. By now I was starting to choke on my own blood: nature's power-drink.
The real best way to kill a dog is to grab its front legs and yank them apart, splitting its ribcage with a sickening crack. Stay...
15:25

[Faidel]

"Why can't people show a little fucking respect?" he steamed as he stormed through the university hallway.

Students, fellow staff, alumni alike, he hated them all, and if it weren't for the fat research grant that ensured his research, and the accompanying requisite number of teaching hours that plunged his life into hell, and occasionally sunlight, he would have quit long ago, and kept up with his research at home.

"Research! Ha!" He spat to himself... "20 years ago I'd be lucky if they'd called me a mad scientist"

If the research was his only love and his entire life, then it was also the cause of his self loathing and hatred. The things that he had done in the name of science, the pain he'd caused and the agony inflicted. All in the name of progress. But mad men are driven by the swirling darkness, and none could gainsay his passion, not even himself. And so Philippe continued the only way he could, with no choice at all, and with a steadily increasing mountain of hate piling on his shoulders, the weight of which would almost certainly break him soon...

--------

I fixed a couple of obvious spelling mistakes in what may have been fractionally over the 5 min mark.

I love the concept.

[AzureDreams]

3:35
This was home, the smell was home, the lighting was home, even the same old sounds out side the window was home.
Everything in the air told her this is where she should be. Then why was it she felt so out of place? She had only been gone for alittle over a month..
Now she sat down on her bed, in her bedroom, with her things and looked around. Who the hell was the person who made it look like this? Everything that had happend had wiped that person away from exsistance. Where did she belong, now that everything althought the same was so diffrent?
Maybe she should just pretend to not have changed, still be simple and normal.
3:40

hmm I have no idea
Thats all i got anyways.

[Bifrost]

Isolated, that's how it felt. Just kind of sitting there, like I was some sort of caveman, observing my primitive tribal lands. Lonely lands.

It had started raining half an hour before and I'd found the cave pretty quickly. At least I was semi-dry. I'd eaten both museli bars out of boredom. Probably shouldn't have I suppose, but what do you do when you're in a cave, on a mountain and it's pissing down outside?

So I just stood up and started walking again, not thinking about the slippery mud and that was it. I'd probably taken 10 steps before my feet just went out from under me. I scrambled to grab hold of something because I knew I was pretty close to the edge, but everything was too slippery. Before I knew it, I felt my legs drop and as I kicked to get purchase on something, I managed to fling myself off the edge.

I tell you I've never felt fear like that.

People say they're not scared of falling, that they're worried about the impact at the bottom. But those people have never felt that helpless sensation. They've never fallen.

... 20:00 - 20:06

[d3kst3r]

11:46 PM

He looked at his face in the mirror, his torso bare, his eyes sullen. The depression and drugs had taken their toll on his mind and body. He was young but still his eyes betrayed an age far beyond any man could have lived. For he had seen things that no ordinary person could have seen. Who would believe the stories that he had inside him; the dark memories that would shock many; the painful experiences that had created him.

He was a failed product of society, the system had failed him complete and utterly. Now all that was left was a shell of a man, a shell that kept secrets. Secrets so powerful that lesser men would of committed suicide to be rid of them. But he was no ordinary man, he was a trained killer. Trained to be perfect.

Since the age of four he had spent the next 20 years under the most harsh training imaginable under the Communist regime. The training involved torture, electrical shock, and ultimately led to his uncanny ability to kill another human being. After all, that was all it came down to. He spent 6 years learning how to be completely invisible so that even the finest forensics could not tell a murder from a suicide. He had spent 5 years training in fire arms to the point where he could tell the number of bullets in any weapon simply by weighing it in his hands. He had practiced marksmanship on real political prisoners. He had been forced to commit murder on civilians as part of his training.

The 20 years had not been kind to him. He had finally given up to the stress and the past few years he had hit the bottle and the pills but recently those in charge had begun to hunt him once again. They had tracked him down and now it was time for him to come out of hiding. He was no longer a ghost buried under the ocean as original believed. Now he was a desperate man, and like any desperate man he had no choice but to resort to desperate measures.

[BlueBoy]

7:25
Sorry it's so emo. It needs work.
----------------

I wake up next to the girl from last night.
What was her name?

Coffee is offered and accepted. We talk and laugh about last night. Numbers are exchanged.
I offer a taxi. She says "I'll walk. It's not far."
I see her to my apartment door. We smile and then she's gone.
What was her name?

I start cleaning the house until the sound of screeching tyres drags me from my thoughts.
I run to the window and see the source: a car wrapped around a telephone pole. Then I see it and my vision goes dark. I see an all too familiar arm sticking out from the wreckage.
What was her name?

[StAUG]

6:53

"Hey, you look angry"
"Eh? Angry? I look angry?"
"Yep, angry. Why?"
"I don't know. I don't feel angry, hell I just won $200. Partake in a shandy at my expense."

The stench of punched darbs that permeates my hair and clothing will piss me off in the morning, but it's invisible to my nose at this point. 3am. Gorgosity, as it were, stemming from naught but 500 sweaty drunks of various genders and demographics all constantly moving and jostling for space, because standing still isn't cool. This music blows, I've always thought 2-note R&B and the typical pop in regional town nightclubs sucked, but again: it's 3am, right?

"I'm never angry. Ever. About anything."
"You're drunk?"
"Shandy it up."

I might have made the mistake of quoting 'Fight Club' again. Revert to plan B:

Scam a lift home off some ugly pair of chicks still in high school. Arrive at a house whose occupants I loosely know. Hey! A bare patch of carpet.

Saturday. 3am. My moment in the sun.

6:59

[BlueBoy]

About twenty minutes.
---------------------

It was like any other day at Laura's property.
The sun was beating down, drying up any moisture that dared show itself, which made conditions ideal for the fifteen year old's current chore: hanging out the washing.
Although it was a bitch of a job, she was glad that for once there wasn't a breeze kicking up the red sand that was laid out on the ground like a welcoming mat for royalty that would never arrive.

Once her task was done she wandered back into the house to see her step-father passed out on the couch again. He'd attempted to build a small fort around the couch out of beer cans, but had given up after just three. His new idea was to lay a mine field of cans for Laura to trip over. Which she had, many times. As she walked past this time she caught the tail end of a report on the radio about the search something called a Dali Lama. It distracted her enough that she kicked her step-father's can tower, sending the hollow cylinders flying everywhere. He woke up with a start and berated her for several minutes until the doorbell broke his concentration.
"Go get the door would you, love?" sneered her old man as he slapped her ass.

Her face was bright red with rage and her eyes clouded with tears, but she complied with her father's request anyway. She stumbled to the door and almost tore it off the hinges ripping it open.
"WHAT?" she screamed as the door handle punched a neat hole in the wall.
The colour drained from her face as she spied hundreds of Tibetan monks kneeling in the red sand.
"Oh shit." she exclaimed.
"OH. SHIIIIT," they chanted as one.

[biomechanic]

2:06pm
----------------------------------------------




It's 9:46pm in Brunswick.

See that guy sitting on the lounge wearing dark sunglasses, smoking a cigar, and wearing a purple jacket made out of alpaca hair? That's Rez.

On the weekends, Rez enjoys dancing in front of closed circuit cameras. Bookshops. Petrol stations. Video stores. Banks. He's done them all. He hopes one day - once all the guards watching the security monitors get together - he'll be the 60 second feel good story at the end of the 6 o'clock news. His philosophy on life is that it's better to be a mediocre success than a spectacular failure.

In exactly 9 days, 14 hours and 29 minutes I will be 2 minutes and 41 seconds away from the church.

In exactly 6 days, 20 hours and 14 minutes he will be the lead story on the 6 o'clock news.




----------------------------------------------
2:11pm

[gimpieman]

19 03

If I was to tell you tonight...that I had feelings for you. Would you stab me in the eye with a fork?

You know the seafood ain't so bad. Just a little more salmon and a little less of everything else. Maybe...just maybe, I wont throw up. Again. Can you pass me the salt? Quit staring at me. I'll kill you. In a fury.

Pathetic old bat. You were always the gross underbelly of this family.

I need a prozac.

19.08

i feel sick

[biomechanic]

1:20pm

In her lounge room sitting underneath a pleated silk lampshade sits a diary. Her diary. Bound in black leather. The binding cracked along the pages already filled. Corners still folded in. A pen and a pencil on standby.

She says it's a family tradition.

Each female keeps a journal and passes it down to the eldest daughter. In it she details her friendships found, and loves lost. A document of loss and regret. A requiem for the path less travelled. The pencil is for mistakes, the pen is for wisdom.

She wonders why she's made so many mistakes. She wonders if it's because she hasn't learned from her mother's, or because she's afraid of running out of things to say.

She says it's a family tradition.

1:24pm

[biomechanic]

Finn quit his job last week.
Well, not exactly "quit" - quitting implies you told someone - consider this an extended lunch break.

His father wasn't impressed. He said Finn should grow up. Finn said he would when he showed him how. Finn had never confronted his father like that before - he felt proud, yet shaken to his core. They haven't spoken since.

The thing you have to understand about Finn's father is, he was never forthcoming with any sort of practical advice.

"Get a job where they pay you for what you know, not what you do" - that was his pearl of wisdom.
"Put my tools back where they belong" - that was another one of his.

Finn sits down behind the kitchen counter and watches his mother doing the washing up. They have a dishwasher, but she doesn't trust it.

His mother always had a smile on her face. A smile that belied the resentment that laid beneath - or so Finn thought.

"Why is he like that?"
"Like what?"
"So cold and disconnected. He's not interested in what I want or need - only that I do what he says."

Finn's mother stops washing up, and removes her rubber gloves.

"Sweetheart, you have to understand that he, and most of the men his age, had fathers who went to war and came back changed forever. No one could understand what they went through. He had to grow up in the shadow of his father, and his deeds - and that's all he knows."

Scornfully, Finn replies "So, what, I'm just gunna have to learn to live in his shadow too?"

Finn's mother smiles.

"No. I think he's going to have to learn how to live in yours."

[Nalixor]

5:22:30pm.

He was perched on his rooftop, watching his chosen Prey for the night as it nervously walked down a dark alleyway. The prey knew it was being watched, but it didnt know who was doing the watching. Silently he leaped to the next rooftop, easilly clearing the narrow gap between them, still stalking his prey. He was the Hunter, and this was his Hunting ground.

Suddenly the Prey started to run, the tension too much for it. The Hunter grinned, his white teeth reflecting the eerie moonlight as he leaped from rooftop to rooftop. The Prey let out a low gasp as it ran into a dead end, and a haunting low laughter echoed on the rooftops.

The last thing the Prey saw was a pair of dead eyes, and the horrible white teeth.

5:27:38. I didnt cheat, I just had to finish that last sentence!

[Wolfette13]

A new day has dawned and all is well
The sun is waking yet the snow doesn't melt
What if today was the last I could find
What would I do, what would be on my mind
Zgeek is present in the here and now
I wonder who cares what I post and how
The past week has been a bitch
No power, no phone, no internet a week full of a glitch
Ice on the lines, ice on the poles, ice everywhere as far as it goes
Does the weather in the tundra affect others across the land
I think perhaps not because they would not understand
This is a rant disguised as prose
If anyone reads it I may never know
The posts and reps here are important to some
Others just visit and read but prefer to post none
Another load of laundry, another sink full of dishes
Another day to perhaps set aside fantasy and wishes
Who will visit, who will call, will either phone ever ring at all
My Mother is ill which worries me the most
I'm not ready to give her to the Father, Son and Holy Ghost
I'll call her later and hope for the best
Until then I'll finish here and post again with the rest.

Catherine Suzanne Daniels December 8, 2006

[biomechanic]

12:48pm

It's been almost three weeks since the water ran out.

Trams sit idle at the intersection of Bourke and Elizabeth. Convenience stores lay stripped bare. 37 of the 55 floors of the South Tower are burning unimpeded.

Only a few dozen people remain.

The ones we once called paranoid.
The ones we once called loners.
The ones we once told to relax.
The ones who spent their time and money preparing, instead of living.
The ones who are now shouting from the rooftops "I told you so"

I always found it hard to make the choice.

12:53pm

[Jodiechrist]

The figure that stared back at me was everything I’d come to hate, in a face I’d learned to love. I splashed my face again with the freezing water, intensely staring at the eyes in the mirror, looking for a moment of clarity, a vision of truth – trying to back myself into a corner and make that figure crumble. I could finally be the victor, if only someone could tell me what to do. I forcefully broke the stare, and I got on with my day; pushing the moment to the back of my mind. Chalk up another victory for the reflection.

Mornings were never my forte. Mornings, and drunken nights when the lights go out. It’s when reality slams my face into an ice wall and picks up my shattered body, carefully rearranging it; Covering the bruises, silencing the sobbing and cleaning up the blood. All nice and respectable, like. I wish it would let me drown in my pain. I wish that it wouldn’t torture me like this; cleaning me up just to beat on me again, like a battered wife. But that’s reality for you, usually less than pleasant, and altogether far too businesslike. Who am I to argue?

The depression is a whole lot better now, though you probably wouldn’t know it. Now I suffer its hangover. The sweetness of the isolation and pain is gone, and I’m left with an empty shell of myself, with nothing left to hide behind. No youth, no poverty; no talent. Pure, naked honesty. I’m left yearning for the days of selfish seclusion from the world & self sufficiency. It was reliable, like a clock. Now I don’t know what to expect, more reality I guess. More uncertainty. More pain without a cloak; everyday pain that everyone suffers. Suffering that means nothing. Reality, I guess.

[Bifrost]

Brilliant work, Jodiechrist.

After that, I'm not even worried if it took you longer than 5 min - it's a bloody masterpiece!

[Jodiechrist]

The world is distant from me now. I think it has been for some time now, but it's hard to tell. Long ago I gave up being able to keep track of months and days; now I have trouble with hours and minutes. Either way, no matter. It doesn't matter where I am. With the darkness seeping in, I can't see the effects in this room, but if I could I think I'd probably be disgusted by the cluttered confusion of it all. This room looks like a brothel, she used to say. Well, I think she was wrong. Brothels, presumably would require some sort of efficient mentality to operate successfully; they are a business afterall. There's nothing business-like about this room. It's cold and dank. Moving my fingers to peek through the blinds, I notice the tips are numb. Fuck, I love winter. But the gap in the blinds only reveals more misery; a grey bank of clouds obscures the sky and casts a grey filtered light over the brightness that was once the garden. Everything looks grey. A grey tree, bush, brick. Grey stew.

[Bea_Ghetto]

..

[4X4]

There once was a man in Thailand. He went by the name of Dickdock Van Shui. the Man had an addiction to pornographic videos. He lost his wife because of his ridicuolously erotic cravings. He had enough...

He went to the local Psychologist. He suggested Mr. Van Shui tries to get back on the dating scene, to find a TRUE soulmate, to satisfy his inner bieng, to stop his addiction to the XXX rated cassetes.

Van Shui found a woman in the local bar named Ginga Mcfish, a Canadian woman with long brown hair, sparkling grey eyes, and a gorgeuos smile. But most importantly, Big Tits.

They chatted for a while, got to know eachother, talking about matters of politics, hobbies, Movies, History, personal stuff, How great it was when Dunsbaro's mum was viciously raped and beaten to death, and just about anything worth talking about

They eventually married and live happily ever after for the next 47 years. Following a divorce. Van Shui developed an addiction for beastiality.

[Dundasbro]

They chatted for a while, got to know eachother, talking about matters of politics, hobbies, Movies, History, personal stuff, How great it was when Dunsbaro's mum was viciously raped and beaten to death, and just about anything worth talking about

Dude you are obsessed with me, and you don't even have the decency to spell my nick right. Tool.

Onto other news, very rough but here is my contribution.

John was bored, terminally bored. Terminally was John's new word of the day, taken from his "Jimmy Gillespy's word of the day" calender. John had no clue who the hell Jimmy Gillespy was, but he made John sound smart, and so John liked him. John's morning ritual would consist of 3 things, waking up, eating breakfast and leaving. Of course the guys at the construction site complained about his lack of showering and his black, disfigured (yesterday's word) teeth that resembled tar,but John didn't care because he had the support of the most wonderful woman in the world. Bessy, his barmaid, was the woman he would go home to each night to ramble incoherantly about random crap while she overcharged him for watered down, tasteless beer. But John didn't care, because Bessy was company and didn't complain about the smell, she was good enough for him.

One day this all changed, however, when John realised that it was nearly the new year, and he would need a new word a day calander. So he hopped into his ute and sped down the road, past the decidious (that day's word) trees and sped off to the local supermarket

[Dundasbro]

Love and sex are two things that everyone seems to get hung up on, and why that is, i'll never know. Love is something invisaged as pure, as perfect, like tesseracting hexagons. But it isn't like that, not at all. Love is a torturous trek, a delapidated machine you have to kick start to get working and pray that you won't get your hand chewed up by the moving parts. Love will tear you apart, it will make you envious and suspicious all amid a power play for who comes up on top. And sex, well sex is just a complicating factor to that love. Sex is the extra side to the hexagon, the stone you trip up on that climb or the proverbial spanner in the machine of love, that is if you want to look at things negatively. If you want to look at things positively, love is a skip through the meadows. But the only people who think that are romantics and idiots (not that the two are mutually exclusive) and have no concept of fun. What is fun is to write depressing stories, short ones that express the worst opinion about a subject, just the fuck with the reader. Try it, you will not be disappointed.

[4X4]

Dude you are obsessed with me, and you don't even have the decency to spell my nick right. Tool

Look back at how it all started and recognise the starter of the beef, in other words, You.

You must be obssesed with me, bitch...

[Dundasbro]

Look back at how it all started and recognise the starter of the beef, in other words, You.

You must be obssesed with me, bitch...

You are far too stupid to take yourself this seriously.

[4X4]

You are far too stupid to take yourself this seriously.

Wow











I am offended










I am going to commit suicide now...











:weed:

[Dundasbro]

Wow











I am offended










I am going to commit suicide now...











:weed:

Stupid and incredibly slow as well, is there anything attribute you can't manage to taint with your skills of fail?

[Kommando]

"oh what the fuck?" Drew groaned as he read the toing and froing of the age old enemies

"cmon, this isnt the place for this, this is for five minute fiction for fucks sake people, take it to bitching and moaning", he reached over to the restore button at the top of the window and clicked it, the outline of firefox quivered a bit, damn, manual resize. Drew minimised a few of the background applications and then realised his sidebar wasnt running. he'd closed it to play Assassins creed.

he clicked start and typed "side", Desktop sidebar came up in the selection list. he clicked it. annoyingly a window appeared saying the sidebar had shutdown unexpectedly, Drew clicked 'restart applications' with disdain.
the sidebar reopened and his weather app refreshed telling him it was 16deg at the nearest airport.
Drew moused over the sidebar clock and clicked to change its function to timers. then it crashed.
"fucking piece of shit" he cussed and clicked the large digital clock three applications further down, changed its function to countdown and dicked about with it until it was counting down from five minutes. he paused...
"what should i write?"

"a recount, thats always good. but what of...?"

[lilmz-obsessive]

Damnation was what he faced if he stayed here any longer, but how could he leave. How could he leave her here now, leave her like this. In a cinematic state of depression, one of swirling chaos and time warped delusions. An eye for an eye did that equal a life for a life. He hadn’t meant to kill anyone. He hadn’t meant to get her pregnant either so he guessed what he meant didn’t really matter these days. A look at the clock told him that he only had thirty-three minutes to make his final decision, stay and be killed, or run leaving the love of his life to fight for herself and their unborn child.