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  1. #1
    Senior Member Ene's Avatar
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    Default Hey, Baby, let's um...WRITE!

    I'll start it, begin with a character and a setting and a problem, then someone else add the next turn of events introduce the next character, etc. Let your own type guide you as you weave in and out, creating a plot as we go along. It could become an on-going series, a role playing exercise or just a fun experiment. Si I'm throwing the hook into the water, hope somebody bites.

    .................................................. ................................................

    Okay....the setting is rural America, sometime before the birth of cell phones to the Internet.

    .........

    I heard my aunt, Ethel Jane, squalling before she came out the front door. "Oh, Lordy, oh, Lordy!" She bounded down the front steps like her feet were on fire, her big braless headlights flopping this way and that. The storm door never even made it shut before Louizy, her poke skinny twin sister, bolted out right behind her, screaming like her head was going to explode. I didn't have time to retract the bubble I was blowing before I saw the source of their commotion. My uncle, Wlliam Lawrence Grisham III, (everybody just called him Bill)came barreling out that front door like an ape on LSD with an ax in his hand, but it took a second for the ax to register on account of how he was stark naked. My mouth dropped open, of course, and my gum fell into the dirt at my feet.

    So my aunts, the holy roller and the whore, were heading across the road to where I stood in front of Pete's Country Store. They were shouting for somebody to call the cops. Then Aunt Louizy reached me, because she outran Ethel Jane. "Irly, child get outta sight. Billy's drunk so much vanilla extract that he don't even know his own sisters. He tried to kill us." I looked up and saw Uncle Bill's bare butt disappear back in the house........

    ..................Okay, someone else add your own spin, introduce new characters, further the story, etc.
    A student said to his master: "You teach me fighting, but you talk about peace. How do you reconcile the two?" The master replied: "It is better to be a warrior in a garden than to be a gardener in a war." - unknown/Chinese

    http://www.typologycentral.com/forum...=61024&page=14

  2. #2
    Problem? Grand Admiral Crunch's Avatar
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    And that's when I decided I wanted to emulate both my aunts, to be a holy roller and a whore. So, I started my whoring then. I slept with the guy at Pete's Country Store. Afterwards, I told him some bible verses. Then, I took the money and left rural America. I wanted to go somewhere else to be a holy rolling whore, somewhere that I could be accepted as both things.
    Last edited by Grand Admiral Crunch; 06-27-2014 at 12:29 PM.

  3. #3
    Problem? Grand Admiral Crunch's Avatar
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    On the bus, I looked out the window and saw two trees growing next to each other, as if to symbolize duality, making it clear who I was and what this story was about. Two heifers I'd grown up with were walking by. I opened the window and shouted "fuck you and rural America." As an after thought, I added, "and God bless you."

    The woman sitting next to me said, "you're a hypocrite."

  4. #4
    @.~*virinaĉo*~.@ Totenkindly's Avatar
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    I stirred awake, rubbing at my eyes. Sunlight poured through the window. I sat up. My bones hurt. I might have slept long enough to dream, but not to rest. We all got older, moving forward in time, but it's not like we could leave behind the events of the past. They cling to you like hot road tar in the summer sun, day after day, month after month, year after year. Even when the boy becomes a man and the girl becomes a woman, those things mark you.

    Uncle Bill had done a night in the drunk tank for that escapade five years in the past. There was no formal limit on the imbibing on vanialla extract, but he had chased the neighbor's dog around with that axe before the police arrived and it was only Aunt Ethel's pleading (and Louizy's more secretive charms) that kept them from pressing charges. Remember that tar? Ethel tried to move past it, but nothing took the starch out of someone's sails like having the man you love threaten you with an axe after drinking kitchen condiments, and it didn't take long before she was in bed with the town banker and then skipping off to St. Louis.

    Uncle Bill still lived in that house, without the love of a good woman (although, occasionally, he could find himself the ministrations of a bad one). But that's all just hearsay, because I left that town a year later, on the bus, just like my dream.

    And that's when I met Harold Fillmore McGrutz... and his twin brother Hank.
    "Hey Capa -- We're only stardust." ~ "Sunshine"

    “Pleasure to me is wonder—the unexplored, the unexpected, the thing that is hidden and the changeless thing that lurks behind superficial mutability. To trace the remote in the immediate; the eternal in the ephemeral; the past in the present; the infinite in the finite; these are to me the springs of delight and beauty.” ~ H.P. Lovecraft

  5. #5
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    'Want some?' Hank sat on the window sill extending a joint in my direction. My lack of response prompted him to shrug his shoulders and light up instead. 'Never can tell when you're in the mood these days' he choked back the incense and let it fill his lungs. I can't quite remember when Hank got those lines on his forehead, he was older than I remembered him being. The daylight revealed every tiny etch on what was once a handsome face.

  6. #6
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    He got up and stood beside the bed, looming over me in faded jeans. From a rear pocket he produced a plastic bag filled with notes and dropped it on the coverlet.
    '5G, pay the milkman today.'
    'Pay him yourself.' The packet hit the floor on the back of a petulant swipe. Hank sighed, took another drag then willed himself to collect it. Stiff knees and a laboured breath belied the strong figure he possessed. Casually sitting down he took my hand and stared intently into my eyes. Those murky iris' made him ghostly in the daylight. The sweet incense stung my nostrils.
    'They'll be expecting me. They wont expect you, vanilla bourbon' he reached forward and tucked a stray hair behind my ear before kissing me on the cheek. 'Pay the milkman, just like I told you to.'

    Hank had a way of insisting that you didn't want to refuse, sweet and dangerous. I watched him leave the room. Listened intently to the uneven gait creaking down the stairs. In my hand was the packet. I knew it would be.

  7. #7
    Senior Member Ene's Avatar
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    Hank was gone. I sat there staring at the package. Cocaine. And the milkman would be coming to collect. I hadn't left Mississippi for this. Not really. Oh, I suppose in a fit of rebellion I had tried to run from small town ethics, but who in her right mind sets out to sell her body for drugs? There had to be a way out, but for now, I had to pay the milkman. I got up and dressed myself, heels, shorts, low-cut top and enough make-up to paint the whole town of Beloxi.
    A student said to his master: "You teach me fighting, but you talk about peace. How do you reconcile the two?" The master replied: "It is better to be a warrior in a garden than to be a gardener in a war." - unknown/Chinese

    http://www.typologycentral.com/forum...=61024&page=14

  8. #8
    Problem? Grand Admiral Crunch's Avatar
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    Remember how I said I prostituted myself at Pete's Country Store? A lie. I was a virgin when I left. I hadn't planned to become a whore. Funny how saying a thing makes it true. It was something cool to say; made me seem tough. I wonder if I fooled anyone. People in the city treated me like I was naïve and some took a parental attitude with me. They were prudes. Hank respected me for who I said I was. I got sucked in, manipulated, and was isolated from the world. I was in too deep with him to get out. I had no one in my life, only Hank. There was still family, but they didn't know who I'd become. I couldn't hear them talk over the noise in my mind, thinking about the problems that come from being a whore. I felt alone, helpless, and that I was stupid. So stupid.

    The walls of the motel were thin. TV's blared, people yelling, car engines, semi-trucks roaring through, and I was with someone sweaty, disgusting, and making the bed squeak. And I thought about bubbles floating, empty, catching the sunlight, and popping. I was so bored back then. I would love to be bored again. These days, I was scared, rushing from place to place, wondering when it would stop.
    Last edited by Grand Admiral Crunch; 06-30-2014 at 05:51 PM.

  9. #9
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    Today, I reminded myself. It was going to stop today. It had to keep up this charade for one more day and then I could go back to "normal life". Or however normal I could make my life under the circumstances. Hank had bought the story hook, line and sinker. As far as he knew I was that poor girl from Mississippi who had no one else but him.

    As I walked down the two flights of stairs from the motel room to Madison Street the rush of cool air on my bare legs made me yearn for Biloxi. I didn't think of Mississippi very often, nor very fondly when I did, but the Gulf was a hell of a lot warmer than Lake Michigan that's for damned sure. Whoring must have been a much tougher business in Chicago if only because of the weather. And it was June, for Christ's sake.

    At least the walk to the 'L' wasn't long. Harold and Hank had done me the courtesy of putting me up in a place that was mere blocks from the 'L'. It was pure coincidence—Hank picked it because Madison is his middle name—and at that moment I was a little bit thankful for that coincidence. I just wished it was further from the Eisenhower Expressway so that I didn't have to hear all that traffic.

    Madison, Eisenhower: planners all over this country were terribly unimaginative when it came to names. It seemed like everything was named after presidents. The people, too. Harold Fillmore McGrutz had told me months before that he and his twin brother Henry Madison McGrutz grew up in the area and their mother gave them the middle names after the streets that were but 13 blocks from each other. When I asked Hank about it three weeks later he laughed and told me that they had the middle names Fillmore and Madison because their momma couldn't remember whether they were conceived at a truckstop in Fillmore County, Minnesota or a motel on the outskirts of Madison, Wisconsin. You could never really tell if Hank was pulling your leg or not but I was inclined to believe him that time, or at least to believe that Harold would make up a story that concealed the true nature of their upbringing. Harold always maintained a façade of class but Hank couldn't have cared less. Even their names spoke to it: Hank laughed at anyone who called him 'Henry' but Lord help you if you called Harold 'Harry'.

    I boarded the eastbound train and got off four stops later, my mind racing the entire time. I wondered if anyone on the train knew that I was carrying five thousand dollars in my purse. A few men leered, as was customary when I showed that much thigh and cleavage, but no one made a move. I felt a sudden twinge of panic: what if Hank had rummaged through the purse at some point and found my .38 snubnosed service revolver?

    No, no, he couldn't have. He wouldn't be sending me on this errand if he knew. I would have been dead already.

    I pressed on despite the chill on my legs and the soreness slowly building on the balls of both feet. I had been undercover for months but I still didn't know how working girls could manage to wear heels all day. I could put up with the short-shorts and shirts with plunging necklines. I could even put up with the tacky, uncomfortable leopard-print underwear that I was wearing. Hank bought it for me two weeks ago. He told me it was "Perfect for a classy girl like you." Ugh. But I could not put up with four-inch heels much longer. Fortunately after today I wouldn't have to. The first thing I would do after this is change into a pair of sneakers.

    I rounded the corner and traipsed up the steps to Ziggy's place. The brick house was probably beautiful at one time but not anymore. I clasped the knocker on the Edwardian door, hoping to not cause any more flakes of paint to fall off the thing when I rapped on it. When I did one of Ziggy's goons opened the door. He eyed me up as I gave him the most cynical look I could muster. The expression on his fat face remained placid. He motioned with his head for me to come in and after I cleared the threshold and the swing of the door he pushed it closed behind me. He pointed to the stairs on the right and sat back down in the wicker chair to the left without saying a word. He had obviously been occupying that chair for quite a while: the green cushion looked like it had been molded especially for his generous posterior.

    I continued up the stairs to the second floor and turned left. Another goon in a black leather jacket stood outside the door at the end of the hall. As I approached he reached for the knob and opened the door for me.

    Inside, sitting behind a cheap-looking desk, was Zigmund Wierzba. "You must be Hank and Harold's girl," he said. "Come in."

  10. #10
    resonance entropie's Avatar
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    And so I got in. It was a shabby old bar, close to the edge of being closed forever; the beer smelt like shit and the air tasted like sweat. I sat down and Wierzba started talking, but my mind wasnt there. When I got in there was this guy, who gave me that look. He kinda looked like a middle-class idiot and I had no clue what he was doing in this shabby bar but he looked again. I had to keep an eye on him cause, he would be and then he did come over.
    [URL]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tEBvftJUwDw&t=0s[/URL]

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