MasterWordSmith
08-14-2006, 03:04 PM
This is a story I wrote over a year back that I really enjoy reading even to this day. It's a condensed version of the 1st two chapters of my book. The book it's self was since deleted in a tragic computer virus incident. I really love this character I am writing about, and I have grown to become a part of him over the years, and I really hope you guys enjoy this. It is, my favorite story.
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Bobby and the Dream
The walls were white and so was the sauce. I adjusted the heat on my pasta and hummed Spring of The Four Seasons harmoniously with my surroundings.
It is Bobby I call the vegetable man I hate who lives next door. He constantly calls my name and says “Listen Akira,” as he smiles unto my unshaven face with his leathery eyes, “I need you to spay and neuter your pets.” This time he smiles poking his tongue out of his lipless lust. “In fact, I need you to help me tell the world to spay and neuter their pets.” I told him my opinion and dismissed him quickly.
He later came to my house to ramble about his theory about a neutered wolverine on speed and the consequences relating to the president. He is the man who sells snake oil while convincing the world to spay and neuter your pets; all the while making note of his exploits as a priest.
Even after his obsessive rambling I have still decided against spaying or neutering my pets any time soon. Nor have I decided to buy any snake oil.
So I walked to my small library to finish reading my study books. I enjoy the exploits of the mind, so I do memory management exercises. To practice my abilities I sort out the number of shades of red on my wall using different portions of my brain. I connect the dots from shade to shade counting each section with a fourth of my mind. All the while humming to The Thieving Magpie as it plays loudly on the radio. Threehundred and forty-seven I counted.
While counting and recounting the number of red shades on my wall, I heard a high pitched siren coming from my kitchen, piercing Rossini's masterpiece. The Pasta had burned along with the sauce. I dumped them into the trash and placed the pots and pans into the white dish washer. I grabbed a beer from my small kitchen refrigerator and sat out on my deck over looking my yard. The vanilla sky stared back at me as I sat with my back flesh against my white plastic lawn chair. The green grass stretched for an eternity.
After finishing my beer I walked inside, and threw the empty can into the black garbage bag. Then I walked into my bedroom, fell backwards onto my bed and landed with a soft cushioned sound that filled my body with fatigue.
I closed my eyes and felt the small piercing rays of light come in through my windows and find their way under my eyelids, poisoning the darkness with a fleshy pink, as I drifted off to sleep.
Within my dream I cried. Yet the tears came like streams of gravity sinking me deeper into the oblivion of my nightmare. The more I tried to stop, the more tears that came. I was lost swimming in an ocean of terror that dragged me by my ankles to the bottom of the sea.
After I had given up hope near completely, a small hand reached across the sinking hole In which I sat. I looked up into the gaze of a faceless woman. The woman had round, attractive breasts, her nipples small, pretty and pink in the light she brought with her. In fact, Her upper body was slim and stunning in a way most men are normally attracted to. Her flat blond angel hair covered most of the white plains that masked her face from man. I grabbed her hand lightly and she pulled me upwards.
She reached up to touch my face with her hand. I lay there motionlessly; silent. Her hand played across my lips softly. She traced one finger up and down the outlines of my face. Paying special attention to contour my glasses.
The air around her became Dark. “I can't get the blood out. I can't...why!?” Her voice deepened and became menacing.
“Why...would you want that?” I heard the words come out of my mouth but they were not mine. Her fingers grew longer and her hair darker. She moaned in agony as her naked body writhed and twisted backwards upon the muddy waste land where time had ceased to exist. The white skin on her body stretching and breaking.
The black blood that spilled forth smelled of hate. Though my mind told me, I could not look away, the violence, the anger, blood, red, and the pain afterwards hung silently in the air. Her body was there, split into the two pieces of my mind. Her subconscious travels lost in the reality I had created.
Her visage dissipated, leaving me empty and without purpose. I sat in the dark silence. The rain that followed made her blood melt into the cold, wet earth.
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Bobby and the Dream
The walls were white and so was the sauce. I adjusted the heat on my pasta and hummed Spring of The Four Seasons harmoniously with my surroundings.
It is Bobby I call the vegetable man I hate who lives next door. He constantly calls my name and says “Listen Akira,” as he smiles unto my unshaven face with his leathery eyes, “I need you to spay and neuter your pets.” This time he smiles poking his tongue out of his lipless lust. “In fact, I need you to help me tell the world to spay and neuter their pets.” I told him my opinion and dismissed him quickly.
He later came to my house to ramble about his theory about a neutered wolverine on speed and the consequences relating to the president. He is the man who sells snake oil while convincing the world to spay and neuter your pets; all the while making note of his exploits as a priest.
Even after his obsessive rambling I have still decided against spaying or neutering my pets any time soon. Nor have I decided to buy any snake oil.
So I walked to my small library to finish reading my study books. I enjoy the exploits of the mind, so I do memory management exercises. To practice my abilities I sort out the number of shades of red on my wall using different portions of my brain. I connect the dots from shade to shade counting each section with a fourth of my mind. All the while humming to The Thieving Magpie as it plays loudly on the radio. Threehundred and forty-seven I counted.
While counting and recounting the number of red shades on my wall, I heard a high pitched siren coming from my kitchen, piercing Rossini's masterpiece. The Pasta had burned along with the sauce. I dumped them into the trash and placed the pots and pans into the white dish washer. I grabbed a beer from my small kitchen refrigerator and sat out on my deck over looking my yard. The vanilla sky stared back at me as I sat with my back flesh against my white plastic lawn chair. The green grass stretched for an eternity.
After finishing my beer I walked inside, and threw the empty can into the black garbage bag. Then I walked into my bedroom, fell backwards onto my bed and landed with a soft cushioned sound that filled my body with fatigue.
I closed my eyes and felt the small piercing rays of light come in through my windows and find their way under my eyelids, poisoning the darkness with a fleshy pink, as I drifted off to sleep.
Within my dream I cried. Yet the tears came like streams of gravity sinking me deeper into the oblivion of my nightmare. The more I tried to stop, the more tears that came. I was lost swimming in an ocean of terror that dragged me by my ankles to the bottom of the sea.
After I had given up hope near completely, a small hand reached across the sinking hole In which I sat. I looked up into the gaze of a faceless woman. The woman had round, attractive breasts, her nipples small, pretty and pink in the light she brought with her. In fact, Her upper body was slim and stunning in a way most men are normally attracted to. Her flat blond angel hair covered most of the white plains that masked her face from man. I grabbed her hand lightly and she pulled me upwards.
She reached up to touch my face with her hand. I lay there motionlessly; silent. Her hand played across my lips softly. She traced one finger up and down the outlines of my face. Paying special attention to contour my glasses.
The air around her became Dark. “I can't get the blood out. I can't...why!?” Her voice deepened and became menacing.
“Why...would you want that?” I heard the words come out of my mouth but they were not mine. Her fingers grew longer and her hair darker. She moaned in agony as her naked body writhed and twisted backwards upon the muddy waste land where time had ceased to exist. The white skin on her body stretching and breaking.
The black blood that spilled forth smelled of hate. Though my mind told me, I could not look away, the violence, the anger, blood, red, and the pain afterwards hung silently in the air. Her body was there, split into the two pieces of my mind. Her subconscious travels lost in the reality I had created.
Her visage dissipated, leaving me empty and without purpose. I sat in the dark silence. The rain that followed made her blood melt into the cold, wet earth.