I have made a story

Discussion in 'Writers Forum' started by Müller Rice, Apr 17, 2007.

  1. Müller Rice

    Müller Rice Member

    I am new here but thats o.k. My English is soso und I made great story about the doctor who daleks. would you like me to tell you the story I made about the doctor who daleks?
  2. White Scorpion

    White Scorpion 4umotographer

    Do we have to?
  3. Only if you make one of them speak with an italian accent.
    and make Doctor Who a really camp homosexual like Larry Grayson was
  4. DOOOOH how borin, they havent written back and I was looking forward to a good piss take
  5. themnax

    themnax Senior Member

    "there is nothing more useless then a door with a voicelock" (which was actualy the phrase that unlocked it, from the panopticon eppisode. i think it was one of the tom baker ones)

  6. Müller Rice

    Müller Rice Member

    I am sorry about delay. I have study. At weekend I vill post story und you will all read, ja? Und hello uncle themnax. In Berlin University we think you are ultracool. We follow your posts to help us mit our English.
  7. White Scorpion

    White Scorpion 4umotographer

    We can't wait.
  8. fantastic thread I just fell asleep reading it and accidentally gave the table a glasgow kiss
  9. Müller Rice

    Müller Rice Member


    Sometimes we hear whispers in our dreams, before they are lost in the ocean of thought. Memory is seduced by the rolling surf, making its way up the gritty sand in a vein bid to reach us. That’s when we take a deep breath, and nothing else matters, as the salty mother reminds us all of where we came from. The hungry seagull refuses to be left out of the picture, and even though our eyes are closed, we can hear him as he makes hungry swoops above our heads.

    It is, without doubt, the most beautiful place on earth. There are one, or two, places that are similar, but nothing that is quite like it. It stands in the sea as a testament. It’s when we see places like these that we can appreciate our power to create, rather than the constant media reminders of what bad creatures we all are. If you ever get a chance to go to France, forget Paris, visit St. Michel.

    Although it is now connected to the mainland by a bridge, St. Michel has always been a mysterious island which people could access by land during low tide. It is a medieval citadel with a dominating cathedral and bordered by ramifications from an era of sword and lance.

    When Chloe met Etienne there, she was seduced by his melting brown eyes. He was from the south of France, a village near Marseilles, but he was just as much a tourist as Chloe. She was a tall blonde from Düsseldorf, a very quiet person, who studied literature. I was shocked when she announced that she was quitting her studies to get married. We all thought it was wonderful, but also very rush, almost bohemian, because neither of them had much money.

    I kissed my friend goodbye, and we all went to see her off at the railway station. It was a pity, because it wasn’t like in the old films, where people wave out of the train window. This was something more impersonal and I was upset. This was my friend Chloe. I didn’t know when I would see her again.

    Unlike the new trains, technology also has its kind side. It helps us to communicate with each other, breaking down distances, bringing us closer. Chloe was very happy, and I was happy too for her, though I missed her. She could not have married a better person than Etienne. He was her soul partner, the person that would stand by her for as long as she lived. In one of her emails, she confessed to me that at first she was attracted to him sexually, but as time goes on, she has realized that he is the only man who never took her for granted.

    Last winter they came to visit us in Germany, and it was the best Christmas ever. I invited the happy couple to stay with us in our big family house. Everyone was very happy, and it was only when Chloe helped me with the dishes that I realized that not everything was perfect in Never Never Land. This would have been difficult if I had time to think about it, but when someone relates a tragedy to you, your friendship instinct is to help them. I think we all have this inherent quality, which passes on to us from our parents, or guardians.

    In a few words I understood that my friend had a miscarriage. We made excuse to go outside, and I took Chloe in my old rickety Volkswagen, to a bar where I knew we could get some peace. It all came out. Etienne was a perfect friend, and lover, she could not have wished for a better person, but they were finding it hard to cope. It was as if the perfect love was cursed by a jealous ancient god. Nothing could go right for them, jobs were scarce, and the French welfare system was, at best, still in the Dark Ages. Chloe had tried to bring Etienne to move to Germany, but he was too proud, besides, they both loved France. To them, France was the heaven that god had intended for them.

    Chloe told me that they were constantly in debt, and that even this trip was on borrowed money. Etienne’s family had more or less disowned him, but it wasn’t as if he didn’t try. He was an artist, and he had the temperament to go with it. Fortunately, he never took it out on his Muse, but it meant that he wasn’t very good at keeping jobs. Chloe, however, could find work easily, but then that would make her husband feel miserable, and incapable. He would wither. He would close up and leave his emotions in a cage. Etienne blamed her work for the loss of baby, and he insisted that she should stop. He now has job in the meat factory, something which he hates so much. They are both vegetarians, and he has to work in the meat factory, because of his priorities. It was very sad. And Chloe was crying because she didn’t know how long he could keep his job this time.

    Time can heal. Even a few hours with a friend who loves you can regenerate a bit of hope in a weeping heart. We tend to be a bit cold over here, I know, but that doesn’t mean we don’t feel. We feel just as much as anyone else. Maybe our feelings have been battered over time.

    I tried to give Chloe money, but she refused to take it. Typical stubborn German woman. When she went to the toilet, I opened my purse and put 100 Euro in her handbag. At least there was one good thing about this single currency.

    The hardest moment was when it came to departure. I looked at poor Etienne’s eyes. He was like an innocent victim of something that is tragically eating the youth of France, but they cannot name it for fear of being ridiculed in comparison with the rest of the world’s problems. I didn’t want to look like I feel sorry for him, and for once I was glad I was born German and know how to hide my emotion. I embraced Chloe and it was very difficult to let go of her. I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to stop my tears.

    When everyone had gone, I had all the privacy I needed to weep for my friends.

    Things did not get better. Chloe tried to disguise the misfortune in her emails, but I could tell. They say that life comes in circles, and she said that they were going back to St. Michel, where it all started. Perhaps the answers to all our problems lie in the place where we received the most love. Maybe the pot of gold, the secret of life, is hidden there. I could not understand how going to an expensive tourist place would make things any easier.

    Years later, I had my own career, my husband, and family. I still found some time, however, to visit on my own this place that my friend Chloe had told me so much about. As I stood on the shore, I could see what she meant. I could not move. It was so beautiful.

    I pictured them, hand in hand, looking into each other’s eyes, knowing that when everything is lost, nothing else matters, maybe nothing ever mattered, apart from that person who really loves you. They slowly walked into the sea, holding each other’s hand, and I came here, after all this unforgotten time, trying to find in vein their footprints in the sand.
  10. Müller Rice

    Müller Rice Member

    I made this in English class and my tutor checkd it. It took days to make it look proper. You read und tell me if gut.
  11. White Scorpion

    White Scorpion 4umotographer

    I thought you were going to write about Daleks, not depress the shit out of me. That was a terrible story. I'm still crying![​IMG]
  12. Müller Rice

    Müller Rice Member

    O.K. Herr Skorpion. I have made new songwrite medley to cheer you up mit the Daleks und die Doktor. I have no time to check my English so forgive. Now read und comment.

    Dalekspiel dalekspiel ja ja ja
    Everyone everyone do it now.
    (Hands on kneez everybody and do the twist)

    Eggzterminate repeat (one more time) eggzterminate

    Daleks is gut
    Daleks is fine
    Daleks is best when it’s ein on ein.

    I vill be your Davros figure
    Put your tiny hand in mein
    I vill be your Dalekführer
    Anythink you have in mind
    I vill be your Davros figure
    I have had enough of crime
    If I had a Tardis I’d love you
    Till the end of time.

    Before das river become die ocean
    Before I pick my two hearts off the floor
    I’d go to Skaro, requesting marriage
    But all you seem to say is the vord e-xter-minate
    You want to e-xter-minate ooh oh e-xter-minate
    Oh you want to e-xter-minate, yea yea, e-xter-minate.

    It’s very silly, but this sort of thing you like.
  13. where are the daleks man, its crap without daleks, you promised daleks, cant you make the girls mom into a dalek and rewrite it?
  14. White Scorpion

    White Scorpion 4umotographer

    Ronald is right. You promised a story about Daleks, and all we got was a crappy song. This isn't right, Muller. It is misleading. You are a dalekteaser.
  15. If the wheel on a dalek goes wrong, and the tyre bursts do the dalek RAC come and change the tyre? I wonder what happens when daleks need a piss, you never see their shit or piss do you?
  16. White Scorpion

    White Scorpion 4umotographer

    It's probably in the form of an oil-leak. A bit like drinking too much Guiness and then going to the toilet after a vindaloo.
  17. Müller Rice

    Müller Rice Member

    The thing I love the most about winter is the snow. You don’t have to be good looking, and you don’t have to prove you’re anything. You just cover up from head to toe. The only way they know you’re living is when your feet crunch in the snow.
    Frozen lakes. We get to see a lot of them here in Germany. I was eleven, and I remember I tripped down. For a moment I caught my still reflection on the scratched glazed surface. An eleven-year old wearing red fluffy ear muffs.

    A shadow grew over me. I thought it might be a bear. Ice distorts what you see.
    “Fraulein, need a hand?”
    I froze, but not because of the ice. A lean man, in his thirties, was looking at me, and smiling as if he was familiar with me! The stranger scared me and, out of instinct, I crawled backwards, avoiding his outstretched hand.

    “It’s o.k., Müller,” called out my mother from the side of the lake, “it is your uncle Wolfgang.”
    Even though my mother assured me, I was still unsure about trusting this stranger, but now I felt obliged to accept his help. Parents! He was typically strong for someone his size and I was up on my skates in an instant. He coughed.

    He said something, but I preferred to ignore him, the steel blades cutting in the thick ice as I moved off. If he thought I was rude, he could always take me to court. Anyway, since my mother was so concerned about this intruder, she could play diplomat.

    When I was so hungry that I went home, I could smell the aroma coming from the kitchen. Mother was cooking a warm stew with cabbage and potato. A face that was unfortunately now familiar also sat at the table with us. I could not help, but be grumpy. My sisters acted as if everything was normal. I was angry. I did not like the intruder or his coughing.

    He tried to break the iron curtain between us, but I was convinced that he was some kind of impostor. If he was an uncle then how come that I never saw him before? He must be a thief, or even a rapist! I held on to my knife very tightly.
    He tried to be nice by making my sisters laugh, but I was not taken in by these theatrics. I knew a mass murderer when I met one.

    He tried making a joke with me, but I didn’t laugh. I cut his fake humour by getting up and going upstairs to my room. I did not want to eat with a criminal. This was unfair. As I sulked into my pillow, I could hear laughter from downstairs and his stupid coughing. They were enjoying themselves while I starved to death!

    By ten o’clock I thought I was going to die from starvation, so I decided to sneak downstairs for a snack. Then I remembered that it was my haus also, so I didn’t have to sneak. In fact, I made a point of making as much noise as possible and I fully intended to have a double portion of mother’s stew, too.

    “Müller, are you better now?” asked my mother when she saw me coming down the stairs. I did not answer. My eyes must have been very wide.
    “Come, Müller,” said my sisters. “Unca Wolfgang has got us all presents. Come open yours, too.”
    I did not accept presents from communist spies. It was probably an atomic bomb. I decided to take my tray with my food upstairs to my room where I would dine. But I felt lonely on my own, so I opened the door and called for Rufus. He didn’t appear which was strange since I was holding food. Then I saw a red tail wagging on the sofa. My heart was pierced. Rufus was sitting on the war criminal’s lap, while getting stroked and enjoying every minute of it. Traitor! Half way up the stairs my mind told me I was being silly. Even my mind was a traitor. I was not listening.

    I saw TV. I watched a Beverley Hills 90210 repeat, and when my mother came round I pretended I was asleep and she switched everything off and took the tray away. Ha! I waited an hour and then, like a panther, I silently went down the stairs. I could see the old East German peasant snoring on the settee. I was surprised that the fumes from his cheap looking socks did not suffocate me.

    On the coffee table was a present wrapped in Christmas paper, even though it wasn’t Christmas, and it had my name scrawled on it. The writing was poor, like someone who had not been to a school. I put my hand on the present, and the ogre stopped snoring. Any minute now he might wake up, and I would have to scream. He then continued snoring, thank god. He must have been dreaming of being back in the GDR, so it was a nightmare.

    When I got upstairs, I ripped up the rubbish cheap paper to look at the inside of the box. I was puzzled. It had some kind of plastic toy. It was painted gold, but it looked very cheap and made in China. It was some kind of robot. It was nasty plastic rubbish. I almost threw it away, but then, I noticed this button, so I pressed it.


    Mein Gott! It nearly woke the whole haus up! I threw the pillow on top of it to stop all this noise. I was very uncomfortable. My humiliation was complete. I switched the robot off and stepped outside my room. All was as it should be. Parents and sisters asleep. I looked downstairs at couch. So-called uncle was asleep. Only Rufus looked up at me. He had been sleeping in the stranger’s lap. I forgave him for this betrayal as long as he didn’t wake up the monster. Thankfully, he rested his head back down and fell asleep. As I turned I thought I had seen a smile in bogus uncle’s face. He must have been dreaming that he was stealing our furniture.

    Next day I was pleased to see that he had left. I would have thrown his stupid present away if it had not been for my mother tidying up my room. What kind of a stupid present to give to a girl, anyway? I made a thorough inspection to see if he had taken any things. He must have been disturbed all through the night, because nothing was missing.

    Few years later, when I was in the attic putting things away, I found this golden present. I switched it on and that silly metallic voice came on. It all came back to me like a big flood. What a stupid girl I had been. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to meet this man again and say I was sorry, or hope to never see him again from my embarrassment.

    In the end, I blew the dust off the toy, and took it downstairs in the kitchen where my mother was making fried pig chops. I showed it to her and she laughed.
    “Your uncle Wolfgang thought you were a boy.”
    I felt a bit easier now that the ice had been broken. She went on to tell me how he was her brother who had remained on the east side of Berlin. He had been raised by my grandparents there, who I never met. The smile was soon vanished from my mother. She told me how her brother, my uncle had lived there. My mother became very sad and I hugged her.

    My uncle Wolfgang when we all became one country again, came to find work, and with the first bit of money he brought us presents. It was as if we were his own kids, and I could understand my sisters now the way they acted. I was so silly. I should have enjoyed his company too.

    But why had he not visited us? Why didn’t he come back? All these years had passed and we never saw him again. I looked at my mother and I understood. Women have a connection between them. She gave me his address, and I went there and I put flowers on it.

    That’s when I decided that I would always love the daleks and I would never smoke.
  18. White Scorpion

    White Scorpion 4umotographer

    I love the daleks too but do you think you can stop ruining my weekends with your stories!
  19. Hey how about if you use the characters called "the fat slags" from viz magazine (they are fat slags from newcastle that would do anything for a a frig or sex) and put them in the same story as the daleks and the starship enterprise crew (kirk etc)

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