Saturday, December 8, 2007

Splotchy's Viral Theatre

The words of the man himself, laid out in presumably everyone's mother tongue. Follow them, or suffer the consequences. Like a pic of Randal in his underwear.

"This has probably been done before, but that is not stopping me, oh no.

Here's what I would like to do. I want to create a story that branches out in a variety of different, unexpected ways. I don't know how realistic it is, but that's what I'm aiming for. Hopefully, at least one thread of the story can make a decent number of hops before it dies out.

If you are one of the carriers of this story virus (i.e. you have been tagged and choose to contribute to it), you will have one responsibility, in addition to contributing your own piece of the story: you will have to tag at least one person that continues your story thread. So, say you tag five people. If four people decide to not participate, it's okay, as long as the fifth one does. And if all five participate, well that's five interesting threads the story spins off into.

Not a requirement, but something your readers would appreciate: to help people trace your own particular thread of the narrative, it will be helpful if you include links to the chapters preceding yours."

I woke up hungry. I pulled my bedroom curtain to the side and looked out on a hazy morning. I dragged myself into the kitchen, in search of something to eat. I reached for a jar of applesauce sitting next to the sink, and found it very cold to the touch. I opened the jar and realized it was frozen. (Splotchy)

I was used to the house being quite cold in the mornings, as the night log usually burns out around one AM when I am dreaming cozily under my covers, not normally waking to put a new one on until morning. I was surprised because on the rare occasions that it actually had reached sub-freezing temperatures in the house, I had awakened in the night to restart the fire. I would have been worried about the pipes before P-Day, but there hadn’t been running water in two years and that was one of the few advantages to being dependent on rainwater, no pipes. (Freida Bee)

Shivering, I moved through the cloud of my nearly-crystallizing breath over to the frost-encrusted window. Unable to see outside, I feebly attempted to brush the flakes away with my sleeve. I sighed, the warm exhalation upon the upper panes only further decreasing visibility. I thoughtlessly tried my fingernails, having forgotten that I continuously bite them when nervous. I've recently been nervous a lot. I didn't know why, and failed to give it a second thought. Shuffling across the well-worn wooden planks, strangely as cold as the jar, I opened a drawer to grab a spoon and begin the task at hand, chipping away at the frost. After some moments, I stopped to peek outside, managing to see only white. The window was again frozen.

There's no way it can be that cold, I thought to myself. I began to chip once more, with the same result. Frustrated, I sprinted the ten feet back to the drawer, taking a larger soup spoon and returned to my assault on the ice. Harder and harder I pushed the spoon into the wintry glaze, intermittently stopping to wipe the chill sweat from my brow, pushing harder, my arms flailing upwards, now coming down as if wielding an axe, ignoring the stinging salt of perspiration in my eyes, the ice growing along with my anger, overcome by a violence, a berserker rage, up and down I swung that makeshift blade into the white, into the red, grunting, screaming, my hands sliced open as the spoon blasted through the broken glass.

I didn't see anything but the dew-haunted lawn before I slumped down, fainting on the cold wooden floor. (Randal Graves)

Sorry folks, the following are tagged: Becca, Candace, dguzman, La Belette Rouge, Snave, anyone reading this. If you've already been tagged or don't want to participate, that's fine, but at least one of you has to. I don't want my linguistic genetic material to die a horrible, lonely death!

16 comments:

Freida Bee said...

Oh my, it's dark. I love it. Don't forget to come back and claim your Froodle, if you want it. If not, no offense.

La Belette Rouge said...

I can't really play tag today! Long,busy day with too much to do. I hate those days. Anyways, here is my attempt (even though I am opting out of tag):

Warm red blanketed me. I was held suspended by an inexplicable fog of timelessness. My eyes firmly closed; I opened to an arroyo of darkness previously unknown—yet soothingly familiar. There was an impulse to move in this darkness---yet, to where. I breathlessly exhaled out of habit, as breath was not required. Each breath was met by a dark cloaked extinguisher who snuffed my dim candle of consciousness with a firm grip. Wisps of gray smoke trailed in and out of the silent cavern. I surrendered a little more deeply into the ineffability of my nameless geography.

FranIAm said...

Randal, you never cease to amaze me whether with obscenity laced rant du jour, political insights, musical acumen, ok those football posts are lost on be but... now this.

I bow to your greatness with the words sir.

But don't let that get you feeling to comfy. You mustn't rest on your skilled laurels my friend!

Candace said...

Oh - I'm tagged! Okay, but it'll be tomorrow, prolly, before I can do this. Thanks!

Randal Graves said...

Freida Bee, I'm glad you enjoyed it. And I just submitted my Froodle request!

LBR, well hot damn, that's obscure and dark and I love it. I suppose you're absolved from skipping out on the tag.

Fran, don't worry, there will always be other authors from whom I can pilfer prose to pass off as my own!

Candace, certainly no rush, I still have to work on ME's tag! Yikes!

DCup said...

Wow. Riveting.

Snave said...

I'll post a continuation on my blog this evening!

Freida Bee said...

Your Froodle is ready, kind sir.

b said...

Dark and delicious.

It's fascinating to see the individual components and how they build upon each other. Freida Bee's detail is great in her paragraph...it really expands the already intriguing scene set by Splotchy. And then it gets dark and an intensity is mounting with your section. LBR's continuation here in the comments takes it further...she builds upon that mounting intensity by diving into the subconscious with resplendent symbolism.

Randal Graves said...

dcup, merci, I just hope no one pulls a Newhart!

snave, excellent!

Freida Bee, the hell it is, the internets swallowed it!

b, je suis d'accord avec vous, I really like the progression of it. I think LBR didn't want to sully up her classy blog, hence the posting here. ;-)

Freida Bee said...

I have resurrected thine Froodle...for now. Hurry.

La Belette Rouge said...

Sully? Hey there was red and black in the post, the colors of French chic. Lit-a-r-a-ture ( read each bit of the word very slowly to sound like my pretentious English lit teacher) can only class up a blog.
By the way, I forgot to rave about your piece of darkness---wowza! I must of read it 5 times trying to connect with your dark thread—and each time I was transported. Good stuff!

Randal Graves said...

Freida Bee, that sounds quite transient. A Froodle isn't a ghost, is it?

LBR, oh don't worry, mon amie, I was only partially joking about the 'sully.' There's less vulgarity on your blog, and people are better dressed. Thank you for the kind words! :)

Splotchy said...

I really like your addition, and have enjoying reading the threads you have propagated. Nicely done.

Splotchy said...

"have enjoying"? What the hell does that mean?

Ah well.

Randal Graves said...

Thank you sir, and you know how the internets gremlins steal proper grammar now and then. Bastards!