Author Topic: 3 Word Story  (Read 2245 times)

Mesozoic Mister Nigel

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Re: 3 Word Story
« Reply #15 on: November 27, 2012, 05:09:42 pm »
I say we kill it and extract the sweet story meats directly from its brain!

 :lulz: :lulz: :lulz:
“I’m guessing it was January 2007, a meeting in Bethesda, we got a bag of bees and just started smashing them on the desk,” Charles Wick said. “It was very complicated.”


Aucoq

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Re: 3 Word Story
« Reply #16 on: November 28, 2012, 02:35:52 am »
I say we kill it and extract the sweet story meats directly from its brain!

 :lol: :lol: :lol:
"All of the world's leading theologists agree only on the notion that God hates no-fault insurance."

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Pćs

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Re: 3 Word Story
« Reply #17 on: December 21, 2012, 12:00:25 am »
I couldn’t help but think of Samantha.

AND THEN WHAT HAPPENED?

Mesozoic Mister Nigel

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Re: 3 Word Story
« Reply #18 on: December 21, 2012, 10:02:49 pm »
BUMP
“I’m guessing it was January 2007, a meeting in Bethesda, we got a bag of bees and just started smashing them on the desk,” Charles Wick said. “It was very complicated.”


Aucoq

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Re: 3 Word Story
« Reply #19 on: December 23, 2012, 04:45:00 am »
I apologize for not posting sooner guys.  While I was writing some more, I got a bit stuck.  I couldn't decide exactly where I wanted to take the story and how I wanted to write it.  So I decided to write some unrelated short stories until I could figure out what to do.  Of course, having never even come close to having something resembling disclipline/self-control, I was sidetracked by the stories and completely forgot about the fact that I had been writing some more to it.  So again I apologize for making you guys wait.  I'm going to return to the story and get some more of that out to you guys as soon as possible.

In the meantime I'll post a couple of the short stories I wrote.


The Mysterious Illness of MrWeatherby

Stormy nervously sat in the hospital’s waiting room next to a police officer wearing a grey uniform.  Her face was buried in her hands.  It took everything she had to keep from crying.  Her life had been turned upside down since she arrived home from work just a few hours ago.  It all began with two simple words:  “Knock.  Knock.”

The rest was a blur. 

She remembered calling the police.  The looks of horror on the officers’ faces.  The grey ambulance pulling up to the house.  The paramedics strapping him down and taking him away.  The questions.  God, the questions.  It was like the officers were mapping every second of his life.  Does he have any paraphernalia?  I don’t know.  Where was he when?  I don’t know.  Where could he have picked it up?  I don’t know.  Does he know any other infected?  I don’t know.  You know it’s contagious, right?  Yes.    Do you think it has spread to you or your children?  No.  The next thing I knew I was in the hospital waiting to hear if I would ever have him back.

The waiting room door opened and a doctor wearing a grey lab coat stepped in.  His eyes quickly scanned the grey room before locking on to the woman sitting next to the police officer.

“Mrs. Weatherby?”  He asked.

“Yes?  How’s my husband?  Is it curable?  Please, doctor.  Please tell me you can help him,” she said as she stood and took a step towards the doctor.  Her stomach was in knots, but she refused to show it.  She had to be strong.

“I’m afraid it’s worse than we thought.  He’s . . . The illness is pretty severe.”

“Oh God.”  She couldn’t help it.  The tears started streaming down her cheeks.

The police officer stood up and comforted her.  Looking at the doctor, he said,” I was afraid of that.  When I arrived at the residence he was . . . I’m not sure how to describe it.  He was making some kind of strange sound.  It was like he couldn’t breathe or something.”

The doctor nodded.  “Yes, that’s a common sign of the illness.”

Stormy used the grey sleeve of her blouse to wipe her nose.  She asked the doctor,” Can he be cured?”

“I’m not going to lie.  It’s unlikely he will be cured, but we’re going to try everything we can to get your husband back to normal, ma’am,” the doctor answered.

She felt the tears swelling up again.  “What is it, doctor?”

“We don’t actually know the specifics yet.  We believe it’s some form of infantilism.  We can’t be sure at this moment.  We’re going to keep him here as long as it takes to find out though.”

“Is there any way I can see him?”

“Ma’am, it’s contagious so-“

“Please, doctor.  I need to see my husband one last time.”

“Very well.  I’ll see what I can do.”

A few minutes later the doctor led her into the depths of the hospital.  At the end of a grey hall they waited as a security guard unlocked the door to her husband’s room.

Sunny stepped into the room.  There he was in his hospital bed wearing a grey gown.  They had raised the front of the bed so he sat upright as if he were sitting in a chair.  She caught a glimpse of his face.  It was terrifying.  The corners of his lips were raised into some kind of U shape.  There was something strange and scary about his eyes.  It was too much for her to bear.  She turned and ran out the door.

She took the long way home.  She needed the time to think and calm down before she faced her . . . their . . . children.

She parked her car in front of her two-story, grey brick house.  She got out of the car.  She walked to the house.  Opening the front door, the sight of her two young boys wearing their grey school uniforms greeted her.

“Is daddy going to be alright?” one asked.

“I’m afraid daddy is going to be gone for a while,” she answered.  Just having to say that almost made her heart break.

The two kids were crushed by the news.  They felt horrible.  They felt normal.

“Now go outside and play until it’s dinner time,” Stormy ordered before going up the stairs to her bedroom.

She opened the grey door to her husband’s closet.  On the way home she thought she had remembered him having two boxes that he told her never to open.  Surely they held some answers.

She soon found them.  Two medium-sized, bright green boxes.  She instantly knew she wouldn’t like what they contained.

She opened the first one and the sight of the box’s contents made her heart sink.  It was all of his paraphernalia.  It was the reason why he had the sickness.  She didn’t want to touch them, but she had to see what he had.  A rubber chicken.  A bright red nose that honked when pinched.  Glasses with slinkies on them that make it look like your eyes are popping out.  A flower that squirted water.  And a DVD about someone named Dave Chappelle.  She didn’t know who he was, but she could guess that he was one of those sick freaks who loved to go to clubs all over the world to spread the illness.

She put the first box to the side and grabbed the second.  She opened it.  She nearly jumped out of her skin as spring-loaded plastic snakes shot out of the box.  It was too much for her.  She curled up into a ball and started wailing.

A couple of hours later after making dinner for the kids, showering, and putting on her grey nightgown, Stormy laid down in bed.  After such a horrible day she really needed to relax so she turned on the television and turned it to the evening news.  Story after story passed as she started to fall asleep.  BREAKING NEWS:  Man murders and eats family.  Schoolgirl commits suicide after being the target of a bully.  Deadly drugs are crossing the border at increasing rates.  Car crash leaves little boy motherless.  Drone strike kills 30 insurgents, including 27 children.  Later we’ll tell you how breathing too much air will shave years off your life.  And now a word from our sponsors.

Stormy heard the news as she drifted off to sleep.  It made her feel horrible.  It made her feel good.  And for the first since she got home from work she knew everything would be alright.   
"All of the world's leading theologists agree only on the notion that God hates no-fault insurance."

Horrid and Sticky Llama Wrangler of Last Week's Forbidden Desire.

Aucoq

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Re: 3 Word Story
« Reply #20 on: December 23, 2012, 04:46:19 am »
An Arizona Ghost Story

You’ve heard them before.  The story of the disembodied head.  The ghost in the attic.  The haunted hotel.  The hook on the car door.  The dead hitchhiker.  We’ve all heard countless ghost stories.  And like you I thought they were all a load of crap.  Stories told to scare anyone stupid enough to believe them.  But that was before I had a truly horrifying experience.  An encounter with the entity known as Branded.

I was in Phoenix, Arizona, a common stop on the pilgrimage to the Holy City.  I stood on a sidewalk, trying to decide where I should go from here.  I took my wallet out of my back pocket and checked to see how much money I had.  Just a single dollar bill.  I guess I had used up all my money.  So a bus or taxi was out of the question.  I could hitchhike.  But the idea of ending up naked and face down in a ditch wasn’t too appealing.

Squeak . . . Squeak . . . Squeak . . .

I coul- Wait, what the hell is that sound?

I turned around.  I wasn’t expecting to see anyone so the figure that greeted me made me jump a little.

It was the strangest sight I had ever seen.  His face was marked by a toothy, open smile.  His eyes stared straight at me.  They were dead-looking but at the same time they looked like they could be full of amusement.  He sat on a rusted bicycle.  Every inch of the bike was rusted as if it had been at the bottom of an ocean for years.  Even the wheels were warped.  How he was able to ride such a bike, I didn’t know.  But the strangest part about him was the fact that he wasn’t moving.    I don’t mean he wasn’t riding the bike.  I mean he was literally not moving.  He wasn’t breathing.  He wasn’t fidgeting.  He wasn’t even using his leg to keep him from falling over.  Both his feet were firmly planted on the rusty pedals.  It was like he was frozen in time.

The sight made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.  I turned back around and started walking away.  Maybe if I acted like I wasn’t scared he would leave me alone.

Squeak . . . Squeak . . . Squeak . . .

Oh God.  I quickly whipped around.  There he was.  In the exact same position.  Only this time he was a little closer to me.

“What do you want?”  I shouted at him.

Nothing.  He just stared at me.

“Leave me the hell alone!”

I turned back around and continued walking.

Squeak . . . Squeak . . . Squeak . . .

Shit.  I walked a little faster.

Squeak . . . Squeak . . . Squeak . . .

My skin started to crawl.  My heart beat faster.

Squeak . . . Squeak . . . Squeak . . .

Screw this.  I started running.

Squeak.  Squeak.  Squeak.

Oh God, he’s keeping up with me.  I tried to run as fast as I could.

Squeak.  Squeak.  Squeak.

My legs were burning.  My heart sounded like it was in my ears.

Squeak.  Squeak.  Squeak.

I cursed myself for not losing weight.

Squeak.  Squeak.  Squeak.

My legs felt like wet noodles.  My heart felt like it was going to explode.  I became light-headed.

Squeak.  Squeak.  Squeak.

My vision started to blur.

Squeak.  Squeak.  Squeak.

I collapsed.  I didn’t even feel it when I hit the sidewalk.  I was beginning to black out.  As my consciousness faded, it was all I could hear.

Squeak . . . Squeak . . . Squeak . . .

Darkness.

When I woke up it was night.  It would’ve been completely dark had it not been for the streetlight above.  Branded was gone. 

My head was swimming.  My chest burned.  It felt like someone had gone Kathy Bates on my legs.

I heard a jingling sound as I stood up.  What’s that?  I reached into my pocket and pulled out four quarters.  What the hell?  I pulled out my wallet and opened it.  My dollar was gone.  I didn’t know what else to do.  I put the wallet back in my pocket and slowly staggered down the street.

So if you’re in the Phoenix area, be careful or he might find you.  I don’t know who he is.  Or what he is.  Or where he came from.  Or why he’s there.  All I do know is if you’re unlucky enough to run into Branded, he will change you.
« Last Edit: December 23, 2012, 04:49:01 am by Running From Ghosts »
"All of the world's leading theologists agree only on the notion that God hates no-fault insurance."

Horrid and Sticky Llama Wrangler of Last Week's Forbidden Desire.