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Locut0s

(6,154 posts)
Sun May 12, 2013, 06:04 AM May 2013

The literary thread. A literary game in many parts.

OK I'm sure this has been done before but I thought I'd try anyway. I like creative writing. I don't have any training and little real talent. But I thought it might be fun to start a writing thread. The idea is simple. We all tell a story each person taking up where the last left off. No rules, boundaries or regulations except, use your imagination! Oh and try not to sabotage the effort by purposefully writing something that's impossible to pick up from. And of course let's support each other. I'll start.

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Caw Caw Caw.

Walter opened his eyes.

It took several seconds for his brain to come back online. A room slowly came into focus. That sound, it was familiar. Caw Caw. There were other objects in the room with him, but no people. Fighting through the pain and sickness Walter forced his mind to turn over.... CROW!, yes!, the noise gained an identity, and with that the world painfully came into sharp focus. Far TOO sharp. It was too bright, almost blindingly so. The sun poured into the room, coupled with his hangover it had the effect of one of those old sepia toned filters used to depict the past. But this wasn't the past. Fuck no, this was the present. Walter lay back down and tried to get his barrings.

The room he was in was horrid. It could have been mistaken for an abandoned building were it not for the fact that all the windows were intact and he could hear muffled sounds from the hallway outside. The walls were covered in insipid cheap wallpaper, pastel flowers on a cream background. At least Walter assumed they were flowers, it was hard to tell through all those layers of stains and grime. Above him the ceiling was similarly grimy. A single bare bulb hung from an electrical cord, the room's only source of light at night. Looking around a bit he could see that the room was indeed furnished. If you could call it furniture. More like IKEA rejects after 20 years in a seedy bar. Slowly, painfully Walter sat up. He had been lying in a bed. Again, sort of. Picture a pullout sofa with the sofa portion largely torn away. On the springs lay a pathetic excuse for a futon and sheets that looked like they had last been washed, well god knows if they ever had been. It seems in an effort to fit the piece of furniture into the room someone had taken a hacksaw to both arms. Not that it mattered much, it had obviously served as a bed for so long that Walter doubted you could even fold it back. Besides which the back was so filthy he doubted anyone would want to sit for long.

Now that he had his barrings somewhat other parts of his brain began to turn over. The room smelled, as one would imagine. Stale cigarette smoke, mildew, dried sweat, body odder (not just his), mold, cockroach frass, urine. This last one quickly grew to overpower the other smells. Walter suddenly realized it was his own. Which is when he also realized his pants were cold and soaked, his shirt soiled with countless stains from a night, or was it nights, of partying. On the floor lay a 3/4s empty bottle of vodka, doubtless there had been others the night before. There were always others, a string of bottles running back 20 years or more now. Dendrologists measure a tree's age by counting its growth rings. If Walter had saved all of his bottles doubtless a hard working researcher could have estimated Walters age by counting the bottles. Assuming he started some time in his early 20s, which in this case isn't far off, assuming he had started slow at a bottle of vodka a week and accelerating inextricably to his current consumption of 2 bottles a day, give or take. Add the x, carry the y. Walter must be in his mid 40s. 43 to be exact.

His memory hadn't returned yet. It was always the last part to turn on. At least no useful memories, flashes of laughing faces, stumbling, a taxi, several bars (though by this point memories of bars were almost reflexive), a pretty ladies' face. Walter took a large swig of vodka, hair from the dog and all, and stumbled toward the entrance. He took a deep breath, made a pathetic and futile attempt to straiten himself out and opened the door into the hallway.

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Who want's to pick up from here!?

6 replies = new reply since forum marked as read
Highlight: NoneDon't highlight anything 5 newestHighlight 5 most recent replies
The literary thread. A literary game in many parts. (Original Post) Locut0s May 2013 OP
Bump. Too Dark? Locut0s May 2013 #1
He slowly realized where he was. rug May 2013 #2
Not dark enough pinboy3niner May 2013 #3
In the corner was a masked anonymous mob beating an old woman rug May 2013 #4
She turned her mournful eyes toward Walter and whispered, sarge43 May 2013 #5
Walter turned his dark hollowed eyes on her and said "You're dead to me." rug May 2013 #6
 

rug

(82,333 posts)
2. He slowly realized where he was.
Mon May 13, 2013, 05:34 PM
May 2013

He saw the cat diffidently urinating in the corner. He saw a strange man with a white beard performing pirouettes on a table. He saw a woman with manic eyes stapling paper to the shabby wall. To his dismay, against all prior resolve, he found himself once again in the Lounge.

 

rug

(82,333 posts)
4. In the corner was a masked anonymous mob beating an old woman
Mon May 13, 2013, 05:55 PM
May 2013

with the remnants of her takeout from Olive Garden. Despite her wails and screams no one came to her aid and she was left alone in her pain and in her humiliation.

How's that?

 

rug

(82,333 posts)
6. Walter turned his dark hollowed eyes on her and said "You're dead to me."
Mon May 13, 2013, 07:58 PM
May 2013

Outside a congress of ravens flew by, indifferent.

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