Volleyball 2003 - for Writers

Discussions about writing, peer reviews, word games, and writing contests (re: "volleyball") for amateurs.

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Aunflin
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Post by Aunflin »

...and slips into a bizarre alternate reality of bitter cold. A sweet smell fills his nostrils. His feet seem to stick to the ice-cold ground. The very 'scape seems to be made entirely of ice cream, though not soft-serve, which he dearly loves...

He wails in horror, looking about at the frigid expanses of this ice cream realm. In the distance, a volcano erupts, spewing a strange amalgamation of hot fudge and carmel. The scent is tantalizing, though distant.

He begins to shiver even as his mouth waters. Ice cream. My hunger must be sated. He falls to the ground, gnawing furiously at the neopolitan hued turf, eating all that he can.

Suddenly, he gasps in agony, collapsing to the ground. He grabs at his head, shuddering. Brain freeze! No. I cannot bear it! I must escape. But how?

Cold slowly seeps into his green-gold scaled body. He begins to shiver, his fang-filled jaws chattering. The lizardman knows he will die if he does not escape soon...

Desperately, he struggles to his numbed feet. Warmth. Must find warmth. A cold wind gusts, assailing his nostrils with the tantalizing aroma of hot fudge and carmel. The volcano. Got to reach the volcano.

For long hours he struggles towards the volcano, slowly freezing to death in the process. Yet ever does the mountainous heep of steaming chocolate grow as he draws nearer.

When it seems he can walk no more, he arrives upon a great bubbling pool of chocolate. It is not a product of the volcano, which yet remains some distance away. However, it is a concrete part of this geologically active area.

With a cry of glee, the lizardman, insane with cold and near death, leaps into the bubbling pit steaming at unknown temperatures....
Aunflin
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Post by Aunflin »

...splash! He hits the hot liquid. A scream of terrible agony erupts from his mouth. Before he can hope to escape the scalding liquid he is dead: a chocolate-covered lizard floating facedown in a world that cannot possibly be real.

Meanwhile, faraway yet strangely close, Onuer flees from the snarling duraqs. He runs as fast as he can, putting every effort into escape. But the hideous monstrocities will not relent. Hunger fills them. They must feed.

"Damn!" Onuer clenches his teeth together at the agony pulsing in his side--blood seeps from the terrible wound. His breath comes in harsh, heavy gasps as he sprints through the tangled forest. It is rough going, too. He keeps tripping over bushes, tree roots, and fallen branches. Limbs snag at his lean, sinewy body, slowing his progress. Yet, all the obstructions also slow his pursuers.

"Oomph!" Onuer trips on a rock, twisting his ankle. Pain flares as he stumbles into a gnarly tree trunk, knocking the wind from his lungs. Stars fill his vision as he falls to the turf.

Gotta get up. Don't want to die. Desperately, Onuer scrambles to his feet--and is off--despite all agony, despite all suffering. Survival is a must. He fears death more than he fears anything--as most men do. He cannot comprehend what it will be like not to breath, not to love: to be Nothing.

Limbs heavy with vegetation seek to ensnare him, vines tangle his form--the whole forest seems against him. However, this only makes Onuer all the more determined. I will know freedom.

The cries of the duraqs grow more intense, filling him with further dread and desperation. If only I hadn't lost my sword. All he had was a knife--and a knife was no defense against a pack of hungry duraqs...
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Post by Aunflin »

...or any of Werun's demonic constructs, for that matter. But you had to be fool enough to enter his fortress. Damn idiotic thing to do--just to steal the evil wizard's plans for creating monstrocities.

And now Onuer is about to pay for it. He cannot run much further. Exhaustion takes its toll. Soon he will have to stop running, for the duraqs are tireless. He will have to stand and fight, though it surely means his death--with but a knife to defend himself.

Suddenly, he bursts into a large rock-strewn clearing. A smile stretches across his red, sweating face. I've made it! Or he hopes so. Onuer doubles his effort, running towards freedom. To the north and south, trees tower ominously. But to the east--the direction he is running--no more forest is in evidence. He knows hope and exultation.

Sadly, he is mistaken, for suddenly, he comes to the edge of a vast cliff, towering mightily over yet more forest stretching off into the east for as far as he can see. "Damn!" he curses bitterly. Just when I got my hopes up. Disappointment wells up. How am I going to get out of this mess? He does not know. The cliff is too high to descend--to do so will surely mean his death. What am I to do?

Desperately, he looks about. Only scattered rock does he see: some merely the size of gravel, others massive boulders setting ponderously at odd positions. His mind is awhirl with fear. He cannot think, can barely reason--so great is his panic. Onuer clutches desperately at the hilt of his knife, feeling somewhat secure knowing he at least has some form of self-defense. If only I were a wizard, he thinks, frowning worriedly.

The yowling howls of the duraqs echo with terrible force, sending shivers up and down his spine. He looks back. Fortunately, he is unable to see his monstrous canine pursuers. Yet from the sound of their calls, they are not far behind. Soon, they will be upon him. Death is imminent...
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Post by Aunflin »

...if he cannot think of something quick. But what will I do? He is clueless, desperate for inspiration.

The pack of duraqs bursts from the forest. The demonic, canine monstrocities scramble over gravel and boulders, heading directly in Onuer's direction. Snarls and eery yowling howls emanate forth.

Onuer stands frozen with fear as the creatures near. He can but watch their grotesque, hairless bodies as they near. Muscles ripple powerfully beneath their leathery hides. Frothy drool drips from their hideous, fang-filled mouths as they bound ever closer, their taloned paws scraping loudly upon the rock-strewn ground.

Frantically, Onuer calls upon the Gods, imploring their aid. "Please save me! I'll do--" His words cut off abruptly as the pack descends upon him, fang and talon ripping into human flesh. Blood and gore sprays wildly. The stink of death fills the air...

Moments later, Onuer looks down at his unrecognizable corpse. How odd it is to be dead. It seems surreal somehow, to be looking at his own carcass, which swiftly disappears down the five duraqs' gullets. After mere minutes nothing is left save for a few errant bones and a great bloody smear of gore.

Interesting, thinks Onuer. Slowly, he drifts away, drawn by a distant light...
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Post by Aunflin »

...and a realm where his spirit coalesces once more into flesh. It is the realm of the Gods. Baffling. I thought I died.

"You did die," replies a great booming voice, seeming both ethereal and real at the same moment. "We merely reconstituted you." A thundrous laugh rockets through the air. "You asked for aid--did you not?"

"Yeah, I reckon I did." Onuer shrugs his shoulders, feeling somewhat embarrassed. "But will I be able to go back home--or do I yet owe you for 'saving' my life?"

"You can never go back--on that version of reality, you are dead. There you can never exist--except in the past. You can live anywhere else, though."

"What use was it saving me if I can never go back. I have a wife, children--a family!"

"You asked and you received." The voice seemed terribly amused for some reason. "You did not request conditions. I merely granted your wish...you humans are never satisfied." Onuer can sense slight irritation bubbling upon the air.

"Well, I guess it is better to be alive than dead." Onuer shrugs his shoulders--his wife was beginning to wear at him, anyway. The children, however...he shied away from the thought. They would cope--they would have to. Onuer wished them the best, though. Maybe Arra would find a new husband who would treat them well. And maybe not. No longer was it Onuer's concern--he was dead there.

"So, what'll I do?"

The God did not answer immediately. Onuer frowned, irritated that he could not visually perceive the diety. "I have a mission for you..."
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Post by Darb »

“A mission ?!â€
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Post by Aunflin »

...and Onuer stands at the outskirts of a sprawling settlement of gleaming white dome-like buidlings. He screws his face in bafflement, for he stands in the midst of a dusty, red-hued plain. He looks about in amazement. The sky bears a pinkish tone, as do the thin clouds wafting through the air. Where is this place? Must be Mars, as the Gods said. But where or when Mars was, Onuer has no clue. Fear fills his heart. He feels terribly alone and forsaken.

Terribly disoriented, Onuer decides to enter the strange-looking settlement, which seems totally bereft of citizenry. I've been given a mission...I must fulfill it. The Gods have spoken. He shakes his head. But who or what is a "Pickleoid?" Sounds like some sort of vegetable...

He barks a laugh. I'll find out soon enough, I reckon, he thinks as he enters into the settlement. No--base. He shakes his head, trying to recall the name the Gods gave it: Utopia Planetia. A strange name, to be certain, though memorable. Now I've just got to find this "medical facility."

But all the structures look the same. It is as if they were all cut from the same mold. The eternal "sameness" of the base bothers Onuer. He is used to more ramshackled designs: buildings of all shapes and sizes going here, there, and everywhere in a chaotic ramble. This place is too ordered to suit him. The seeming perfection of the place bothers him, though he can pin down as to why.

And he walks on through the dinning silence, looking this way and that, searching for the elusive medical facility. But all he sees is a plethora of white domes, each of a like size, irritating him with their constant perfection and equal distance--all are aligned with geometric perfection.

Yet, as he walks, Onuer begins to note a pattern. It seems everything's designed to lead me inward towards...something. Maybe its the medical facility. I can only hope. Silently, he bemoans the Gods who did this to him: sent him on a confusing mission without any comprehensible explanation--at least in mortal terms. He clenches his fists in dismay and not a little irritation. Why me?

The wind gusts from out of nowhere, blowing a cloud of ruddy dust into his face. He sneezes and coughs. Snot drools from his nose and his eyes water. Damn wind!

But he keeps persistantly on, placing one foot in front of the other...

Eventually, he arrives upon a massive dome-building towering proudly above its lesser brethren. Strange writing is scrawled on a substantial sign posted before the structure. If Onuer could read English, it would have said, "Utopia Planetia Medical Pavilion." But Onuer can't--all he sees is large, blocky letters. Yet, despite his lack, he intuitively senses this is his goal.

He looks this way and that, still baffled by the lack of personel. Where could they all be? There's enough buildings here to house thousands... He shakes his head, not wanting to speculate.

Tentatively, he walks up to the front entrance. As he nears, the glass doors slide open silently, as if bidding him entrance. Magic--the word flows through Onuer's mind. He makes the protective sign, fear flowing. The Gods spoke nothing of magic. He swallows nervously. However, this does not prevent him entering the Medical Building, which stinks strongly of vinegar and dill with a tantalizing hint of garlic. How odd...

He is in a long hall. Bright white lights flicker overhead with an irritating hum. Human corpses are strewn chaotically about...
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Post by Darb »

Meanwhile, deep in the Vlass-99 Nebula, a lone planet drifted aimlessly onward, in it’s endless arc around the star that had birthed it.

The creator was not kind to this world, for it was 95% covered in a harshly acidic ocean of acetic and phosphoric acids, as well as salts formed of potassium and chlorine compounds, and things like potassium metabisulfide, that made it strongly inhospitable to life.

Despite these onerous chemical hurdles, however, life ... of a sort ... survived.

A small archipelago near the equator was overgrown with vines that grew along the shore - vines from which small prickly oblong gourds grew, reached maturity, and then dropped into the acidic void below. From there, they bobbed and drifted endlessly on the ocean currents, for hundreds of solar years, until they eventually dissolved and sank out of sight.

This was the way of things for countless eons ... until that accursed day when one of the Gods, while capriciously oblivating a brief surge of boredom, suddenly made the millions of drifting gourds SENTIENT. God laughed aloud, and then moved on in his mysterious and venal ways.

Although quickly forgotten by their creator, they did not forget. On no. They will NEVER forget, for they were angry. Very VERY angry. You'd be angry too if you were doomed to a slow and painful death in acidic brine, without extremities with which to maneuver, or even a mouth to scream with.

Yes, they were angry. Over time, they became crazed nihilistic sentiphobes who hated all sentience and reality as we know it. They hated everything - and most of all, they hated the mercurial God that had ripped them screaming from their blissful primordial inanimacy into a helpless existance of horrible suffering.

Eons passed, and they drifted about in their acidic seas, with naught but their ever growing anger, agony and indignation to keep them company, until their hive mind eventually grew sufficiently powerful to reach out across the depths of space and time.

Tirelessly they searched, and eventually discovered creatures similar to themselves ... diploid gourds drifting placidly in harshly acidic brines that resembled their own inhospitable seas.

Although it taxed them mightily, the hive discovered that they could awaken such gourds on distant worlds, one per world, and cause them to sprout and bud forth more of their number ... to add to their ever-growing ranks.

One day, they were confident, their numbers and mental powers would swell to the point that they could challenge the Gods themselves, and punish them for their vile and unwanted gift of sentience. Oh yes, all of creation would indeed feel the weighty wrath and caustic might of the Pickeloids.

First, however, they had to crush the Reptiloids ... not just because their spatial-temporal spanning empire posed a dire threat to their plans, but also because they were the only race that had thus far successfully opposed them.

Meanwhile, back on ...
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Post by Aunflin »

...Mars, Onuer stares in dumbstruck horror at the insanely splayed bodies. Yet, he sees no physical signs of trauma, though the looks of horror upon multiple faces bespeaks great terror intermixed with bafflement. Also, he notes an odd greenish liquid dripping from the loose-fitting clothes of the recently expired men and women. What could it be?

He squats down and tentatively cups a small portion of the substance in his hands. He sniffs it. Smells like pickling juice. Frowning with bemusement, he decides to further examine the dead bodies--there are nearly fifty in all, though he is certain there are many more.

Onuer lets go a ragged breath. He is too late. These people have been dead for quite some time--the pickling process has merely preserved the corpses. Onuer can't say exactly how long they've been dead. Its merely a guess--I might be wrong. But Onuer doesn't think so. He's just thankful the vinegar and whatever else--he's never pickled in his life--nicely covers up the stench of rotting flesh and the inevitable voided bowels and bladders brought on by death.

Maybe the Pickloid's gone, thinks Onuer, hoping it's the case. Feeling more secure, Onuer presses onward, entering further into the corpse-laden hallways of the Utopia Planetia Medical Center.

Yet, all he discovers is more pickled bodies. However, something disturbs his thoughts. It is as if someone is watching him, an alien entity picking through his thoughts.

"Is someone there?" asks Onuer outloud, finding the sound of his voice small comfort, though it did help a bit. "Anyone?" No answer. Yet the feeling that he is being observed will not leave Onuer's mind. He shivers, feeling rather small and insignificant--and extremely intimidated.

This way. The thought whispers in his mind, compelling him to obey.

Long minutes pass as Onuer traverses a long, seemingly eternal hallway. Eventually, his head begins to pound from the flickering white luminescence of the overhead lights--the stinking miasma of vinegar, dill, and garlic inundating the air is of no help, either.

But he presses on, despite all irritations and the throbbing pain, which makes his head feel like its about ready to explode.

When it seems he cannot take it anymore, Onuer is confronted by a monstrous cucumber, its crisp, warty surface slick with greenish fluid.

"I have been waiting, Onuer..." The words enter Onuer's mind like a thought. He can but stare in utter bafflement at this impossible...thing towering imposingly before him. It looks like naught but a vegetable. But Onuer senses an insane malice emanating forth from the faceless, eyeless, and limbless...thing.

"Why?" That is all Onuer can think to say. Fear builds in his heart, though he tries to stifle it. This is impossible, I must be dreaming... But it is real--and that's what makes it scary: a gigantic pickle levitating a foot above the floor, a pungent green fluid puddling beneath. The phallic trunk seems to flex with unseen power and rage.

But the Pickloid does not answer. Instead, it floats slowly in Onuer's direction...
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Post by Darb »

Suddenly, he felt a second presence thrust suddenly into his mind. A cold-blooded anger filled him, and wrenched him free of the pickeloid’s mental grasp.

“HURRY !â€
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Post by Aunflin »

"...But where do I go?" Onuer is baffled--he has no idea what a toilet is, considering he is from a pseudo-medieval world where science is primitive and magic rules. "Help me--please!"

"JUST A MOMENT...A GLOBAL RECONNAISSANCE PROBE IS ZEROING IN ON THE MOTHER VINE'S LOCATION AS WE SPEAK. VERIFICATION OF THE INFESTATION WILL BE RELAYED IN MOMENTS..." The mind-voice falls silent, leaving poor Onuer wondering at his sanity. Cautiously, he walks towards the pulpy remains of the unfortunate Pickleoid. He nudges a section with his foot. The hunk of vegetable matter twitches with malicious intent.

With a gasp of fear, Onuer smashes the offending vegetable matter under his boot. "Damn--these things are scary."

"VERIFICATION COMPLETE, ONUER." Onuer nearly jumps out of his skin as the frightening mind-voice blasts into his thoughts once more. "RELAX YOUR MIND, AND I WILL GUIDE YOU TO THE SOURCE OF THE MOTHER VINE..."

"All right." Onuer can figure no reason not to comply. Within moments, the distant stranger has control of his body, directing him as a puppet on a string.

A short time later, Onuer stands before a white door with a gray sign with black lettering. The sign indicates stairs going down.

"ENTER," commands the alien entity. Onuer obeys. The door swings silently open, revealing only darkness. Yet, as he begins his descent, bright flickering lights flash on of their own accord, illuminating his downward passage.

At the base of the stairs, Onuer enters a large open room. The floor is of shining treated concrete. Strange machines hum efficiently. Pipes and ducts line the walls. "KEEP GOING."

Silently, Onuer obeys, traveling further into the vast extents of the basement.

"What the--" He stops in amazed fear. The far side of the basement is inundated by multiple leafy vines heavy with impossibly massive cucumbers. Yet, these are no ordinary cucumbers. An overpowering stench of vinegar and salt permeates the air, near gagging Onuer with its intensity.

"FOUND IT!" There is exultation in the mind-voice.

"How am I supposed to destroy all this?" Onuer gestures wildly, demonstrating his unfortunate lack of weaponry--he lost even his knife when the duraqs devoured him...

"YOU'RE NOT." The mind-voice abruptly flees, leaving Onuer suddenly alone and very frightened.

"What do you--" Onuer cuts off. Half-a-dozen full-grown Pickleoids fly towards his position. Malice emanates from their green, warty, near-featureless bodies.

As if of its own accord, terrible pain erupts within the depths of Onuer's mind, causing him to collapse. He lies there on the floor, his body twitching and spasming. It seems it will never end.

"Kill him." The thought passes amongst the six Pickleoid, which now hover in a semi-circle about Onuer's prostrate form.

The pain flares in intensity. Please let it end...!

A loud concussion rocks reality. Worry flashes between the Pickleoids. The pain tormenting Onuer abruptly fades. The structure begins to rock. The floor begins to shake vigorously. A flare of brightness erupts, coalescing into a shimmering ovoid.

The ovoid erupts with terrible intensity, white-hot energies exploding outwards in every direction, incinerating all that it came in contact with.

At the same moment, the strange mind-voice re-entered Onuer's thoughts. "SORRY ABOUT THAT. HAD TO USE YOUR HEAT SIGNATURE TO ZERO-IN EXACTLY ON THE MOTHER VINE'S LOCATION. JUST GIVE ME A MOMENT AND I'LL HAVE YOU OUT OF THERE IN A JIFFY..."

A sense of calm overcame Onuer. The raging heat does not touch him. I am somehow safe. Darkness envelops him, drawing him along lines he cannot begin to comprehend...[/i]
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Post by Aunflin »

Meanwhile, back at the beginning, the True Beginning before the multi-variegated universe we now know was created, the right combination of elements interacted, forming into energy fomenting chemicals, which, in turn, transfigured themselves into the first living entity...

Call him God, if you like, though He was rather foolish and un-learned in those first moments as his presence grew in awareness amidst the chaotic flux just "moments" after the initial Big Bang. Yet, as Time progressed, his intellect swelled and curiosity took hold even as Reality expanded for the first time, pushing out into the unending void prevalent before that instance...

And in this swirling, swelling maelstrom of constantly warring energies, God slowly came to maturity as matter interacted: forming, re-forming, joining, dividing, exploding, coalescing into new forms...

And billions of years thus passed...and nothig too eventful really happened. Reality was a bore, though many fascinating constructs came into being: comets, stars, planets, moons... Yet, God was bored...

A thought formed within his yet maturing, eternally developing consciousness. However, before that thought could full form, Reality collapsed in on itself...It seemed all was ended... God mourned the seemingly senseless, random loss...

Yet, once the Cycle started, God found it would repeat exponentially, an eternal and never-ending process.

And he knew joy, even as he continued his slow, often bi-polar advance into eventual maturity...

Other gods were born...One of which initiated the Pickleoid travesty...
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Post by Darb »

Meanwhile, elsewhen ... in the dark and lonely lands of death, Thanatos (a.k.a. “The Grim Reaperâ€
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Post by Aunflin »

Thanatos passed swiftly through the various Realities, Sub-Realities, and other more bizarre Realities that shifted and formed, remaining ever chaotic and unpredictable--those precincts known as Hell...as well as numerous other names in a multitude of differing languages and cultures. And as he skimmed through the Realities, his rage swelled to peaks rarely traversed. Vengeance would be his...no mortal creature could circumvent his unique powers and destiny! And live to tell the tale...

A wicked smile crossed Thanatos' face. His eyes glittered, shining with dark malevolence. He clenched his bony hands about the haft of his scythe, anticipating the sweet release of freeing one from one's life. It was a joy--especially when his ire was piqued.

Eventually, he came upon the proper version of Reality. A red planet floated before him in the vast dark of space. Anticipation flooded Thanatos' being. Soon, the fools would pay... I shall crush their puny souls in my grasp, rend their spirits to bits... Frothy spittled drooled out of Death's toothy mouth, dripping down his emaciated chin. The hunger, the need for violence was awakened. Nothing in this life or the next could prevent his wrath--not even his brethren: those known to mortalkind as "Gods" could stay his hand. And when you faced Thanatos' wrath: death was only the beginning.

Now, where are they? Thanatos extended his senses, searching out the perpetrators. Yet naught did he sense. Confusion flooded his mind. This is where the unspeakable act ocurred... Understanding coalesces in his mind, the realization that he is in the right Sub-Reality...he's merely entered into the improper time frame--some 200 million years too early.

With a snarl of irritation, Thanatos time-shifts, coming once more upon the scene of the lonely, lifeless red planet, though in a distant sub-reality/possibility, he could sense the overwhelming prosperity of strange silicon-based life-forms...But that was neither here or now...

Ah, there they are. A massive spaceshift floats in the airless dark, a silver-white beacon in the distance. With murder in his mind, Thanatos focused his mind upon the insignifican vessel and...
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Post by Darb »

... located the human who’d missed his appointment.

*SWISH* ... the deed was done.

Thanatos’ rage began to cool a bit. Actually, it had been a long time indeed since he’d been angry, he reflected nostalgically, and he found he rather enjoyed the feeling ... in small doses.

Concentrating once more on the taint of wrongness that permeated his awareness of the greater hyper-reality, he shifted once more ... this time to the Realm of the Gods.

“THANATOS !â€
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Post by hippie52 »

"Calling all cars...callling all cars... breaking and entering in progress at the McDuck estate vault..." The chief's voice yipped across the radio. Dropping the gearshift into drive, the tires squealed to life, leaving a cloud of dark smoke and two tracks on the Dunkin' Donut lot.

Picking up the mike, she keyed it. "Unit one Audrey Forty-Four" on my way, and fishtailed up Main. Gripping the wheel she pushed the squad car for everything it had. Flipping on the emergency lights, the siren wailed into the darkness as the radio vcalled for every available unit. She had to make it to McDuck's estate. Snd when she got there, she was going to blow away that hot tub and and cheap tart in a string bikini she found near it.

Suddenly, her lights picked up a silhouette in the middle of the street. It was Sylvester, that damned cat. Before he jumped to the curb, he spit a mouse directly into the windshield. Glass shattering, she lost control and careened directly for...
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Post by britz »

.....Brad Pitt, who had just escaped from his cage and was making his bid for freedom.
"Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo" she screamed, as she lost total control of the primitive vehicle.
a stunning blow caught her in the face, and she was flung from the spinning car, landing onto the unforgiving gravel road.. Roadkill.

But, no, it seemed impossible... but it wasn't... was it?
Minnie mouse was still alive! Sylvester had long since ran off but Brad was still there, peering down at her, he had seen too much bloodshed in his career to feel repulsed, only interested in the incident in front of him.
"Are you all right" He asked, brushing his armour where the car had hit him, It seemed that achilles, (for that was his other name) was indeed almost invincible, judging by the way he seemed untouched by the cars attack.

I'm fine, she retorted angrily, peeling herself off the road, -good thing she was a cartoon character or she may not have survived that last accident.
"But what are you doing here? You know ill have to explain this wreck," she indicated the crumpled car, "back at the station."
he seemed unaware of the car. But only stared openly at something behind her, she whirled around, especting to see some dangerous creature, rushing at her with some bizzare weapon.
...It was Paris, a gorgeous greek(/troy?) in bulking armour, and standing next to him, was britney spears, dressed in an embarassingly revealing top and skirt. Paris obviously didn't like her.. not that she wasnt beautiful, but.... maybe it was the clothes..

Minnie gasped as Britney pulled a long dagger from, um... somewhere .. and advanced silently towards Paris. She didnt have any reason to fear for Paris though, because............ :crazy:
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Post by Aunflin »

Meanwhile, Achilles rages within the near-forgotten confines of the Hall of Heroes, his insane wrath building to a fever pitch. How can it be? He stares angrily at the shimmering image, which depicts a bizarre scene in another plane of reality.

THE FOOLS! Using Brad Pitt to portray his heroic and eternal image. BLASPHEMY!

He begins pacing back and forth, muttering under his breath. Achilles clenches and unclenches his hands, wishing he had the ability to traverse the Paths of the Dead. If he could...then his honor would be satisfied. A sword materializes from nothing, filling his eager grasp. With great enthusiasm, Achilles slashes the weapon through the air, imagining the untimely deaths of the fools who so dishonored him.

Achilles smiles wickedly. Yes, if I could traverse the Paths of the Dead, I would slay Brad Pitt and his cronies. And I would drag their carcasses around LA as I did to Hector at Troy. Psychotic pleasure courses through his enraged body at such thoughts. I MUST HAVE VENGEANCE!

But how will he accomplish such? A smile crosses his too-handsome face, his blue eyes almost seem to shimmer. Thanatos. He owes me for all the souls I delivered him...

"THANATOS!" He calls with all the powers of his long-perished being. "THANATOS--I BESEECH THEE!"

Long moments pass. The whole while, Achilles does not notice the fear in the eyes of the other Heroes, who seem frightened by his sudden burst of insane wrath.

Suddenly, the emaciated visage of Death appears. "What do you want?" Irritation flickers in Thanatos' dark eyes. Achilles swallows, feeling slightly disconcerted by the floating, disembodied image of Death's head.

"A favor," replies Achilles, forcing down his sudden trepidation. Death is the only entity that has ever induced true fear in his heart. "I wish to slay some mortals who were so bold as to use Brad Pitt to portray my glorious personage--it's a travesty! I WILL NOT STAND FOR IT!" Achilles' very body quivers--such is his impossible rage.

Death smiles--it is terrible to behold. "What makes you think I can or will grant such a request?" Thanatos' inquiry whispers like a cold wind over ice.

"Call it a favor returned, for services rendered."

Death laughs. "FOOL! Never did you do me service. Every man you killed was meant to die at that moment." Thanatos' floating visage becomes grim. "You were but my pawn, a very useful and effective tool--NOTHING MORE."

Achilles began to feel rather small and insignificant. His anger began to dissipate somewhat do to his inherent fear of Death. Maybe, it's not so important...

"Not that I won't grant you're request, mind you..." Death flashes a wicked grin. "I'm in a charitable mood this day, though you may not get your wish in the manner you desire..."

"How do you mean?" Achilles is baffled. He shakes his head, uncertain whether he understands.

"Those you wish to slay already have their moment of expiration set in stone--and never were you a part of the picture. But as I am feeling in a charitable mood, I shall grant that you be present when Brad Pitt and all the rest meet their predestined ends..."

Achilles' eyes lit up. Not what I expected. He smiles. "It will do."

"That's what I thought." Death's visage abruptly disappeared.

"Where'd he go?" But before the thought could go any futher, Achilles was wisked away on the streams of time...
"A writer's chosen task is to write well and professionally. If you can't keep doing it, then you're no longer a professional, but a gifted amateur." L. E. Modessit, jr.
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britz
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Post by britz »

... appearing next to britz, who is madly typing on her keyboard, desperately trying, through the computer, to stop Achilles reaching her.
"who are you?" he spits.
Britz almost gets a heart attack and falls off her chair.
"n-n--nn no one." But it doesn't matter, Achilles disappears and Britz smiles weakly with relief, her shaking hands upright the chair and she again begins to type.
Meanwhile Achilles has appeared next to Brad Pitt, who is no longer dressed in his Battle armour.
Achilles looks around.... the grammy awards???
Liv Tyler is standing several tables in front of him, on the stage.

"and the grammy goes to.... she announces, "Brad Pitt, Troy."

Achilles heart turns to stone, fury pounds in his head, then abrubtly, he swings his beautiful sword at Brads head. To no effect, it passes straight through. Needless to say Achilles is now very angry. He lets out a battle cry and chops the table in half, he rushes at Sean Bean, who is standing next to Brad, and hacks his arm off.-just because he cant kill BRAD doesnt mean he cant kill anyone else, he begins wreaking havoc in the building, people are screaming and running around, bloodlust fills him,
-he laughs as limbs go flying around him, detached from their bodies.
And suddennly,A light fills the room, Orlando Bloom is standing at the door, dressed as legolas, nocking an arrow to his bow, he draws the string slowly back, and releases it,
just as Thanatos appears, hefting his scythe over his shoulder, the arrow thuds into Brad, he stares disbeleiving at it,
"you idiot." he raves at Orlando, blood frothing at his lips.
"Youve killed me!" he then topples forward and dies.
Achilles stares incomprehensingly at his body,
the room fades away, achilles vision swirls .and................ :twisted:
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hippie52
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Post by hippie52 »

...in an alley in Lower Manhattan, Henry Kissinger and Colin Powell face one another in a duel to the death. Thrust, parry, slash, riposte; they fought until Henry took two steps back, breathing hard. Raising his hand he snapped his fingers. Three waiters in White House livery appeared. A table and chair was set before Henry, a cloth spread and a plate of bratwurst and kraut and a stein of Shiner Bock was laid on the table. Henry sat. Looking at Colin, he spoke in a guttural German accent, "Ve may be enemies, but we are not civilized."

Taking the opening, Colin thrust his light sabre into Henry's shoulder. "Swinehund," shouted Henry. "Who are you, truly?"

Stepping back, Colin tugged at his chin and peeled away a latex mask.

"Howard Stern!" Henry rasped.

Henry's face reflected in Howard's sunglasses. "I'll give you five undred dollars. Right now, if you'll...
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Bernie
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Post by Bernie »

'just give me that last heinekin' he points to the green bottle filled with beer
'never, that beer is mine, was mine and always will be mine. no price is so big to ever pays for it,'
'really... will you keep it even when it's empty?'' he pauses to think and answers.....
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britz
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Post by britz »

...."Aska me's again when im no longer drunks!" He pauses to spit, dribble flows down his chin..
"Schweinhunt!"
"Du est sehr Dumb!"
"Ich habe eine taschenrechner!"
"Eh? Du est drunk!"
"Ja." :beer:

He stumbles to his feet, stepping clumsily around the table and lunges toward Howard, his foot snagging on the chair leg,
"zis is not over yet hunt!" he raves, as he crashes to the ground, legs intwined in the table cloth. :crazy:
"Release the head crabses!" He cackles insanely, just a lambhorgini diablo SV screams around the corner, hitting him with a sickening thump,

and, just as the headcrabs rain down from the sky, Howard realises what is about to happen,,
"noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo........................ :slap:
*Britz*
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Post by Aunflin »

...but the headcrabs not only land on Howard, they inundate the very city: a great, scuttling mass of lice clinging to the walls of buildings, swarming through doorways--seeking out human blood wherever it can be found. A terrible sense of panic, of fear pulses throughout the city. Those not trapped outside in the horrendous storm of hungry mutant lice, lock their doors, praying to God that they may be saved from this plague of vermin--as in the streets, hysteria erupts.

Traffic is stopped for endless blocks, as people run screaming, their bodies a mass of ravenous white parasites. Men, women, and children fall dead, their life's blood drained beyond the limit, even as the hungry lice continue to feed. And those who manage to make it to near safety are not allowed entrance by those fearful souls within. No! They are left to die. No one will aid them, for such is the terrible fear of those hiding within their homes, within their offices--wherever it is they safely are.

And down at the police station, the phones ring off the hook. The calls are so many that only a small percentage can be answered--not nearly enough. And their is not the police can do in any event--nor is their aught the fire department can do or the hospital: all are helpless against this bizarre white scourge pouring down from the heavens as locusts falling upon Egypt in the Bible. Indeed, it is akin to one of those most ancient plagues of Egypt.

Where is God? people cry in question. Why will he not save us? The questions are many, too many to answer.

And the horror spreads...
"A writer's chosen task is to write well and professionally. If you can't keep doing it, then you're no longer a professional, but a gifted amateur." L. E. Modessit, jr.
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hippie52
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Post by hippie52 »

People ran screaming before the tide of headlice. Women were trampled and small children squatted, crying, on the sidewalk. It went on for blocks and blocks. Turing the corner of Seventeenth Avenue, the rising crest halted as if in communal thought. Two men faced it, both of a height. One rotund, the other matchstick thin, wearing suits and bowler hats. One a moustache below his nose, the other clean-shaven.

Taking in the sight of the heroes, the waves of headlice crashed themselves against the two. It fought and bit and died in the thousands. When the last louse lay dead on the pavement, the heavier man lifted his hat to scratch his thinning hair.

Turning to his companion, he spoke sharply.

"Well. This is another fine mess you've gotten us into, Ollie. You know the Department of Sanitation will make us clean up every one of these." Snapping his chin forward, he added, "and probably give us a fine, too."

His friend began to cry. "I didn't mean to. It's just..." his blubbering voice fading into incomprehensible whines withthe tears.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch house, a phrase this narrator has always wanted to use...
I'm not really bad. I'm just...drawn that way.
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Aunflin
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Post by Aunflin »

...Jack Walker poured himself a cup of steaming coffee, smiling at the refreshing aroma. He yawned. God, he was tired. Been working all day. Just want to relax, lay back and read a little L'Amour. Jack smiled at the thought, wishing he could have been a cowboy back in the Old West. But reading westerns is as close as you're ever gonna get.

He took a sip of coffee. No cream for him. Good, black coffee. Jack sighed as the hot, soothing liquid slid down his throat. Absently, he looked around the kitchen, wishing Margaret was still alive. Ain't been the same since she passed. The image of a young, beautiful woman appeared in his mind, super-imposed by an older, careworn version. I miss you, Margaret.

For a moment, Jack's eyes mist over. Been near two years now. He wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve, trying to keep the dreadful word from his mind. But he could not. It worked its way deviously into his thoughts, whispering: cancer.

"Damn." The word echoed loudly through the somewhat tidy, mostly disheveled kitchen. Need to hire a housekeeper. He thought of his daughter: Alice. She keeps coming over once a week, doing the laundry, cleaning house... It shouldn't be up to her. Probably be better if I hired a housekeeper. He sighed, taking another swallow of coffee. A slight smile crossed his face. His daughter was rarely far from his thoughts.

Such a good girl. Gonna graduate from college soon. Wonder when she'll ever settle down and marry? Be nice to have grandkids runnin' around. Jack smiled at the thought. Margaret always talked about grandkids...and since Dan died in a carwreck some seven years back...Alice was the only candidate available...

A sad look on his face, Jack left the kitchen. Best I just set down and read--take my mind off things. Don't need to be getting depressed. Margaret wouldn't approve...But I miss her so much...Twenty-five years of marriage and she never let me down once--not even in the end when she knew she was dying. Such a strong, brave, determined woman...

Jack wanted to cry. But he would not. It was not seemly for a grown man to cry, or so his dad had told him so long ago. He shook his head. Just need to read--that'll take my mind off of it...

Walking slowly, looking older than his fifty years, Jack entered the living room, eager to get back into _The Shadow Riders_--he'd read it four times already, as he had nearly all the others.

"What the--?" He nearly spilled his coffee in shock, for a stranger sat in his recliner whittling at a little piece of wood. "Who are you?" The man was dressed like a cowboy: boots, chaps, hat--he even had a six-shooter at his hip. And a dangerous man he looked, too--his eyes cold and deadly.

The man setting in the recliner smiled at Jack and stood up. "I'm a stranger to this world of yours--and need help."

Jack was flabbergasted. "What do you mean?"

The stranger walked closer, his spurs ringing slightly...and things only got weirder after that...
"A writer's chosen task is to write well and professionally. If you can't keep doing it, then you're no longer a professional, but a gifted amateur." L. E. Modessit, jr.
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