Discussion in 'The Whiners' started by MoonjavaSeed, Jan 16, 2005.
its due tomorrow hahaha. i really need some good ideas. hahahha
you haven't started it yet?!?!?!!?!? hahahahaaaa
i never do.. i always procrastinate.
but i'm pretty good at writing stuff like that. haha i work better under pressure.
Hmm...that reminds me of....myself. Is there anything specific it has to be about?
a story about cactus..... what the hell...
I try to work under pressure, but i usually procrastinate until 12 am, worring about it, then just end up not doing it. :/
Hmm...make it about a forest gnome and his adventures around the woods...i dont know, your creative enough to figure out something better then that
i am at a loss for words
Helen. Daughter of a truck drivin' man, Hank. When his only daughter was just four years old, Hank took her on a trip with him to Arizona. The first stop was in Phoenix, where Hank delivered his commodities, and jumped back quickly into the cab and drove on. Hank and Helen drove down the highway, like a pathway through the sandy desert.
Helen had slept for an eternity on the trip. Then she lifted her head. Her eyes grew wide, looking as though she was a deer caught in the headlights. "Daddeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" she screamed. The small hairs on Hank's neck sharply stood up like razors, and slowly he turned to her. Expecting to see a crimson face, covered in blood, or something like that, he was shocked to see she was perfectly fine. He face was glowing, as the desert sun that was rapidly fading, shone down on her angelic face. "Let me out," she said sweetly, and grinned at him helplessly. Hank leaned over, confused, and lifted the handle on the door, and watched as her tiny body slid out of the massive truck.
ok then from there she is going to run into the desert and become fixed on cactus, and then she grows up to be a suburban mom and then she like, flees to arizona randomly one day and never is seen again, unless you're really lucky and find her dancing with the cactus.. oooooooooh
oh meg, that was magical.
You had me at helen...good work
cactus are magical.
HAHAH what if she ran out of the truck and was so excited she ran into a cactus!?!?!!?
CACTI!!!!! :$ ... ahahaaaa
that would be comedy at its finest
oh yes, 'twould.
muahah this story is coming along divinely.
I haven;t even started mine!!!!
Alan had been staring at his own reflection, a haze. It became a swirly mish-mash of colors if he gazed intently for any period of time, and strangely enough, he took pleasure from that. A distorted lens was his new take on viewing life and was a sickly passion that he had recently developed. The larger the concavity of his twisted lens, the larger the spin of questions that flowed in and out of his mind like streams off a mountain and, if he were lucky, they would collect at the basin of his spine and make him chuckle wildly. It was a maddening chuckle that would surface, often enough at the most inappropriate moments.
The bathroom wallpaper had been stained a brownish-yellow by the smoking sessions he had hosted inside, some illicit some not, along with an intense spoiled smell that seemed to glow from behind his cluttered counter. The mirror was badly smudged by the dozens of antique designs traced by his oily fingers. Alan leaned forward and exhaled a warm breath that blemished the mirror. His rising left-hand stopped midstream noticing an ink smear coming from his palm, it marked “13-5-04”. Cursed with the attention span of a goldfish, Alan had no trouble overrunning the numbers by a sudden hypnotic tune. When he did find the cause, a loose faucet, it was too late. The rhythmatic dripping had already burrowed its captivating beat from his brain all the way down to his limbs; a subconscious addiction for tempo had taken hold, drip, drip, drip. While examining the rust and tarnish that ran like a greasy disease down the drain and into the gutter’s deep gullet, the sound continued to resonate; a pulse, a gentle heart throb, a steady dripping. Alan began to feel a distant surf reverberate from behind his eyes, the psychedelic had begun to take shape. A glaze enveloped his vision as if a hazy drool glossed all things around him.
Stricken with a fierce urge to pace, an intense quiver in the knees that seemed to knock him off his light stance into a rigid armed position that ironed his spine, Alan sped out the door leaving behind the soothing beat of an underpaid musician. The hallway was a dim narrow passage littered with tattered replicas including the striking works of Giorgio de Chirico. The only source of light came from two aged lamps that quietly sat on a thin glass table collecting dust, a hobby Alan was not too fond of. Each lamp giving off a faint yellow hue that only extended to illuminate the surface itself, creating a spotlight. The table’s octopus legs slurred into the carpet, a balding red path with a thinning streak dashing down its center, that remained in the shadowy below.
I still need to explain the high, which is most important, all this is pish posh
well that's all i have and it's far far far form finished..... I'm ruined for tomorrow . I feel you sister
hah i just can't ever get it right.
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