View Full Version : OK... Try this one...

07-29-2004, 07:58 PM
OK... Try this one...

Go around your house or cave and pick five unrelated objects. Then sit down and write a story about them.

(If you find yourself strategizing over the objects get someone else to pick them for you.)

Let me know how you make out. I'll do this too. This is something that I always wanted to try and never got around to.


07-31-2004, 08:14 AM
I'm going to try this one...after the family goes to bed. Then, I'm going to poke around under the sofa and the guest bed and write about the first five items I encounter.

(might be a longgg story about dust bunnies, but I'm afraid that wont be the case)

07-31-2004, 08:28 AM
Just don't go poking around in my house... unless you wanna write horror or erotica, or a erotic horror, or a horrific erotica...

08-04-2004, 09:15 PM
Maestrowork, I declare that humorous. Or dedly serious. Hopefully, not the latter.

08-04-2004, 09:49 PM
Whee, someone thinks I am funny. But that sure killed this thread quickly.

08-05-2004, 07:23 PM

08-22-2004, 09:24 PM
As I stood on the veranda watching the storm, my body shook and jumped as the crack of the thunderclap came closer. I screamed. My heart raced as I watched the sparks fly off the wall catching the rug near the spa on fire. I ran for the fire extinguisher and struggled to get the damn thing working. Pulling its ring and aiming, I closed my eyes and sprayed. The force of the damn thing knocked me back. The wall, the plants, the tiki lights and the cat were doused with white foam. I reached up and pulled the ring as the buzzer sounded. I'd been slimed.

08-23-2004, 10:39 AM
Entertaining Mary!

Looks like it worked for you to generate flash fiction!

Oh, Liam, I was going to suggest to the men that they don't grab a dirty sock... it might hinder creativity.

Dust bunnies could come alive and make for an interesting horror story though... but in the hands of a humor writer like yourself it would probably end up as a die laughing story.


P.S. I haven't tried this yet. I've started a new job that at the moment seems to have thrown my BIC off. I sit down to write veg. I'm coming up with new ideas everyday though. Weird, weird, weird.

Chaoc Kazdul
09-14-2004, 10:36 AM
I just noticed this one.

*Glances at surroundings*

One half empty glass of iced tea, a stapler, a cordless phone, a four slot toaster, and of course, a copy of "Elton John Greatest Hits 1970-2002" (I swear it's not mine).

If I were MacGyver, I would be the world's deadliest man.


My feet were cold.

Damn things always were; my upper half had acquired the bad habit of hogging the blankets. A few twists and rolls proved futile, and my groggy mind prepared for the inevitability of returning to full consciousness to resolve the conflict.

Before the peace talks between head and toes could begin, I heard someone dragging an enraged animal under the keel of a boat. Possibly a badger. Maybe even a lemur.

I would never have made a good detective. For one, I didn't own a boat.

Second, I didn't own a badger (or even a lemur).

Then by gods, what was that awful noise?!

I fell out of bed in a tangled mess, bringing down a half finished glass of iced tea, from what I estimated to be a fortnight ago, with me. I wasn't quite sure what a fortnight was. But if it was anything like 4 days, then, by golly, a fortnight it was.

It was surprising at how much area so little iced tea could cover. Specifically, my entire front area. As well, my toes were now wet AND cold. Wonderful.

With my ear to the floor, I was able to hear the noises more clearly. It appeared, no, sounded like they were emanating from the kitchen.

As I fought my way to my feet, the fog of sleep quickly evaporated, and I realized I needed a weapon. Any sensible person needed a weapon in a time like this; for all I knew, there could be a badger keel-hauling a lemur in my kitchen sink.

I briefly scanned my desktop (no, the old fashioned kind - yeah, the wooden ones) and grabbed a stapler. Unhinged, it would make an excellent swinging device.

As I crept slowly down the hallway, clutching my stapler, I realized that this is how viking warriors must have felt as they prepared to raid a town... where the villagers were unorganized, loose, floating sheets of paper.

The light was on. A shadow falling from the kitchen entrance moved rhythmically to the sound of whatever animal was being tortured. Someone had invaded my kitchen.

I charged in, swinging the stapler with all my might. It struck true, colliding with the invaders flank, and fell uselessly to the poorly carpeted floor with a clatter.

The man stopped, and looked at me for a second. "You live here?" he asked casually.

"Uh. Yeah. Actually I do. What are you doing in my kitchen?", I glanced at the microwave clock, "it's 4 AM... how'd you get in here, and what's that terrible noise?"

The man pointed to the kitchen counter. Next to the cd player sat an opened copy of 'Elton John Greatest Hits 1970-2002', which he was most obviously rocking out to.

"No badgers then?" I asked.


"Never mind. How did you get in here?"

"I broke the window with a brick and climbed in," he pointed to the broken window above the sink (I knew there was a draft coming from somewhere!).

"So... You broke into my house to blare Elton John at 4 in the morning?"

"No, I was taking your stuff, but I got distracted," he motioned absent-mindedly toward a backpack stuffed with various third rate electronic equipment.

Now I was worried. How had an Elton John CD made its way into my household? Somehow the sanctity of this home had been defiled.

One thing was clear, I had to make a dash for the cordless phone on the counter. I guess that's why he tackled me before I made it halfway.

"Not so fast pal," he planted his knee in between my shoulder blades, "you're going to show me where your real valuables are."

My mind raced. It made zooming race-car noises as it circled around the predicament. What did I own of value?

"I can't think with that damned NOISE blasting," I responded angrily.

"Alright. Turn it off."

He let me to my feet.

I promptly removed the cd from the player, grabbed the sleeve with the other three cds in it and lurched toward the luxurious four slot toaster. That thing was a REAL toaster. You wanted four slices, BAM, all out at once with no extra waiting.

"What do you think you're up to?" the burglar questioned menacingly.

I had a plan.

For this plan to come to fruition, Elton John had to roast in the glowing depths of toaster hell.

I feigned a deeply upset, 'I give a crap about stuff' look and said, "Did you know that in 20 years, 80% of all people will have lost a family pet in a boating related accident?"

My home invader's face screwed up in a look of 'what the hell are you talking about' and began to ask, "where did you hear..."

I dove onto the kitchen table and frantically stuffed the cds into the slots. Realizing that desperate times called for desperate measures, I cranked the toasters setting to "Dark", rather than the more commonly used "Pastry" setting. My hands were a blur as they simultaneously slammed down the levers to initiate the toasting sequence.

Green flames erupted from the toaster, and in seconds a thick, acrid smoke filled the room.

In the confusing moments that followed, I dove out the window and the smoke detector sounded.

When the fire department finally arrived, the fire was mostly out and the burglar had collapsed on my front lawn.

I told them there had been a terrible accident.

They noticed my iced-tea drenched boxer's and agreed jovially.

It made some kind of weird sense to me, but then again I'm tired.