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Old 09-18-2009, 04:51 PM #1
CANADARM
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Join Date: Jan 2007
Location: Ontario
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Some Short Stories

This semester I'm taking a Writer's Craft class, and I'm really enjoying it. Lots of creative writing, etc. Anyway, I thought I'd share some of the stuff I've done (because that's my favorite part about writing -- sharing).
So I'll let fly.
This first one is the initial assignment we did last week. It was to write about our childhood bedrooms, how we remember them and what not.

Quote:
“Fighting erupted close to the northern borders of the blue carpet state this afternoon, shortly after a convoy of dinky cars were ambushed by the blue team. Red team quickly reacted to the distress with force and finesse, returning the north to its usual static situation. Early reports show that the blue team sustained heavy personnel and infrastructure loss. According to Red’s s PR correspondent – “Blue team has two to three members missing in action, suspected to be trapped under the hot water rad.” It is unknown at this time whether attempts of a recovery will be made. More on this after dinner time”

Although I’ve resided in four bedrooms by this point in my life, I can only remember specifics of about two-and-a-half. I add the point-five on there due to: the only detail I remember is that it was very large, and is now the master en-suite.
The other two, however I can recall quite clearly. Let’s start with the bedroom affixed to my mum’s house. When we (my mum and I) initially moved in it was bleak at best. But these were the nineties, so everyone was a little weird. Overview- Walls: Deep, dark blue (apparently to match the night sky). Actually, check that – deep dark blue on top, and dark stained wainscoting on the bottom. This leads us to the carpet. Now, the rest of the house is outfitted in Berber. This room is outfitted in 70’s style thick shag carpet (which matches the walls in colour). My blinds are generic beige aluminum. I think Barrie city planners decorated this house.
Shortly after moving in, my mum – being the designer she is – decided the room was sub-par and whitewashed the wainscoting, making the pit of darkness a bit more open, and welcoming. Years after moving in the walls are painted a brand of teal blue I can’t describe. Like I said before, the nineties were odd.
Now, like most little kids my room was a disaster most of the time. Finding that 70’s shag under the mess of G.I. Joes, dinky cars, Lego, clothes, and other little kid items was a rare event, occurring perhaps 5 times a year. Making the fifteen-foot journey from the door to the bed could brutalize your feet if you weren’t careful, or familiar with the current landscape. Being chastised by mum was a common event, never because I was a particularly bad, or evil little boy, but because my toys were. If you’ve ever planted your heal on a Lego block you would know why.
Now the bedroom at my dad’s is different. A lot different in fact. I don’t remember playing much in my bedroom there; instead I played all over the house. Much to the displeasure of my dad. The room was actually very mature relative to my age. Tile and antique hardwood covered the floorboards. My Ford-Red bunk bed against the outside wall, A light finished maple work desk is against the near wall, and a dark oak dresser – also against the outside wall. This is how my room is furnished. As per my requests, the walls are coated in a wicked combo of glow-in-the-dark “stars”, mystical planet border, and textured off-white wallpaper. These are really the only childish things about my room here, at dad’s.
“A specially armed team of 1/6th scale G.I. Joe’s assaulted the high jacked toy box late last night, seizing a weapons cache, and arresting the two bad guys responsible for the threat.
In weather news, we’re hoping for a snow day tomorrow morning, even though there is a sixty percent chance that dad will drive us to school, regardless…”
This next one is very short; we were given an opening line and had to go from that.
Quote:
If ever there was a time to leave, it was definitely now, the microwave was set for 45 minutes, with the already horribly mutilated package of bologna beginning to melt and smoke.
But hey, that’s what happens when you invite random people to a house party, right? Oh, boy is her mum ever gonna be raged when she finds out the microwave is ruined. Well, that’d be the least of her problems, thinking about it. There would probably be smoke damage, possibly a fire. Not to mention the smell. Ugh, the smell was horrid. Somewhere between rotten meat and burning plastic there was the putrid stench of the can of boiling lager sitting on the natural gas stove burner.
This wasn’t going to end well for the hostess. Speaking of which, where is she? Perhaps passed out on the toilet, or projectile vomiting on her front lawn.
A scream. I brutal, blood curdling scream. What had happened? Was someone hurt? Oh no, this was not a scream of terror. This was a scream of pure. Unyielding. Rage. A scream so powerful it was probably heard blocks, perhaps kilometers away.
Everyone froze. “Wh… What the hell was that?” someone in the crowd surrounding the beer pong table foolishly enquired. Just then the hostess detonated through the screened French door. “Jesus, Paige! What the hell are you yelling about, now?” Her brother, Dan was a big guy. Think NFL linebacker big.
Dan knew his sister better than anyone, of course he did. They were twins after all. Dan also knew that [not unlike himself] his sister was pretty level headed, so something really big must have been up judging by how she was acting.
Now, I never finished that one, as we only had about twenty minutes to write, but what ever.

The following is the most recent story, I really like this one.
Quote:
"Into The Night"
Here I sit, awaiting the inevitable for I know that I cannot escape. Just like the old Western action movies, except there wouldn’t be a happy ending to this adventure – not for them, anyway. I figured this would happen eventually, with only a single, half-spent magazine left for my Glock 22, there’s not chance of escape. Even if I did rush the doors, shoot the three armed soldiers outside; heavy machinegun fire would cut me down the moment my corpse hit the brisk night air.
This was to be expected of course, for I am a martyr. I’m dying for my country, my beliefs. This day will not be forgotten, no; it’s a historical moment for us. For all of us. For the world. My carrier to the other side will be a glorious and most beautiful blossom of flame, shrapnel and new hope. I’ve prepared for this time, and time again. Replaying the situation in my mind every night since I became a soldier for God, King and country. I am ready.
For fifteen years we have been repressed, and for fifteen years we have been preparing. Preparing for this day, and the many others which will come in due time. And although I wouldn’t be there to witness the future events in person I will see them from my heaven, and greet our great, honorable, and noble soldiers at the gates, welcoming them with open arms and wide smiles.
It was something we had always half expected to happen, but never really took seriously. I remember the day; it was overcast, but hot. Very hot -- and muggy. I was sitting with my mother in the basement of our three-storey home in Rosedale. We were in the basement, not to help shelter ourselves from the impending ruin, but simply because it was too hot on the upper floors. The heat exchange unit was being replaced, leaving the home unconditioned, and sweltering. I don’t recall exactly where my dad and brother happened to be that day; I think they drove off in to the traffic to rent a circulation fan, or something of the like. What a pair they were, Rob & Robbie is what our friends called them. Not that that’s important now, anyway. They were gone, just like the light disappears into the night.
I had heard the report before my mother. Three, then four more came after that – Those she had heard. Although you couldn’t hear the screams from our basement den, I knew exactly what was happening. “Oh, God…” my mother whispered to no one in particular. “Call… Call your brother, t-tell them… tell them… that…” She fell silent. Struck by sudden panic, and fear.
A muffled shout. Silence, and our solid oak front door exploded inward in a fury of smoke and deadly splinters. We watched from the crystal clear LCD displays in our little fortress – The Carver Family Panic Room.
Before the smoke was given a chance to clear itself, they rushed in, splitting in to different directions. Some dressed in fire gear, others in the black combat dress that every one fears, hates and bends to. I, of course was long gone by then. Escaping into the night. My escape vehicle was a stolen S-Class. Fifty kilograms of SEMTEX HE, combined with ninety litres of diesel fuel in my stolen Mercedes and that ever-so-popular ammonium nitrate.
It was a flawless escape.
Both the above story, and the following had to have the same (self assigned) opening line -- I decided to make both the opening, and the ending to be the same in both. ****ty title on this one, I know.
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"Oh,bother" said Pooh, as he chambered another round.

Last edited by CANADARM : 09-18-2009 at 05:03 PM.
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Old 09-18-2009, 04:52 PM #2
CANADARM
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Location: Ontario
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Quote:
"Till Fear Do Us Part"
Here I sit, awaiting the inevitable for I know that I cannot escape. For many it’s a joyous occasion, but I was scared ****less. Sweat beaded my forehead the way a cold dew forms on the hood of your car in the early morning. Eyes red, thankful for the Visine my Man gave me. “It might come in handy,” he told me with a sly wink, and a pat on the shoulder. I don’t think this is what he meant. He had been referring to an old bartender’s trick, learned back in college. Few drops of the stuff in an unruly patron’s drink and they’ll no longer bother you! It had always been a bit of an inside joke between us. Long story short he had attempted the trick on me during an exam, but I had caught him in the act.
A few drops in each eye did the trick, they cleared and now looked pearl white; the heavy-stock paper my vows were carefully typed and printed on. Now if only there was something for my trembling extremities. My eyes dart to the small plastic pill bottle resting peacefully next to the hotel TV. Lorazapam. “It will ease your nervous shaking, and generally calm you down.”
This is what my pharmacist explained to me. Wikipedia tells me that it’s a potent muscle relaxant. It’s a tough choice, but my body finally decides to calm, the tablet is no longer needed. Thank Christ. Being doped up for something this important, and public isn’t really acceptable.
With my jacket donned, face washed and dried to a healthy sheen, I take a breath. I intended it to be a deep one, but it was shallow and choking. Calm down. A long drink from my crystal tumbler, I make another attempt at the deep breath. Success.
I’m ready.


“Do you take this woman, to be your lawfully wedded wife, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
His heart pounds -- an apparent attempt to escape from his chest.
A fury of curse words on the tip of his tongue, ready to slip out and destroy the whole damn thing.
He can’t decide how much time has passed since Christopher had asked the question and acts. “I do.”
Ohmygodit’stoolatenownothingIcandomistakemistakemi stake – She answers, and a wide smile forms across her face, and he mimics the action.
Done, over, finished. But it was the beginning. The perfect beginning, and above all else; a flawless escape.
Please let me know what you think, I appreciate any and all feedback, and feel free to share your own works!
Alright, so I edited in some italics and such, I may have missed some stuff, but oh well.
Please don't plagiarize my writing, I don't mind if you share it with others, however calling it your own is not something I would appreciate, same goes for any other submitted writing.

All works above by Parker Drury (Me).
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"Oh,bother" said Pooh, as he chambered another round.

Last edited by CANADARM : 09-18-2009 at 05:00 PM.
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Old 09-18-2009, 06:27 PM #3
SCPIMPULSE16
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A+ work, will plagiarize again.
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Old 09-26-2009, 06:59 PM #4
CANADARM
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Join Date: Jan 2007
Location: Ontario
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Thanks, Scrimpy.
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"Oh,bother" said Pooh, as he chambered another round.
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