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    1. #1
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      100 Words a Day

      So I joined a site called 100 Words, where you have to write 100 words a day for a month, then at the end of the month, the batch is posted. you can write about anything you want, whether it be poetry, mini-short stories, diary entries, or surrealistic prose. Entries have to be exactly 100 words, though.

      The only thing I don't like is the lack of feedback. So I figured I'd post mine here. I caught up for the first half of the month last night, here they are:


      July 09

      07/01

      It was a dark and stormy night. Or at least, it should have been. Traditionally, heroes are supposed to be born on nights that would make a seasoned sailor sweat steel balls. Traditionally, heroes should be born caterwauling like a mountain cat with his tail caught in a bear trap. Traditionally, heroes should be boys, too.

      In short, the universe had got it all wrong. This hero was born in mid-afternoon, on the prettiest day of spring. The child did not pull itself from the mother's womb screaming, but slid forth rather quietly.

      And this hero was a girl.


      07/02

      Somewhere in the world, a man sits atop a hill, smoking a pipe and idly humming the theme to Breakfast At Tiffany's. As hills go, it is not much of a hill. As men go, he is not much of a man. But the pipe . . . it's a hell of a pipe.

      Most pipes come in the shape that it is generally accepted for a pipe to be. They are often made of various materials, from exotic woods to ceramics.

      Not many pipes are made from clogs sized to fit a giant, though. This was.


      07/03

      "Cheese is a very interesting subject, don't you think?"

      "Cheese? Why cheese?"

      "Think of all that goes into making cheese! All the churning, all the . . . what does go into making cheese, on second thought?"

      "Have you slept at all this week, Hugh?"

      "No, why?"

      "I think you might want to give it a shot, that's all."

      "Well, I'm trying to get massive REM rebound."

      "That's what she said."

      "C'mon, man, I'm serious. I'm going to try to have a wake-induced lucid dream. Or, hopefully, a whole chain of them!"

      "What the heck is a 'lucid dream,' Hugh?"


      07/04

      "Pa, what happens when you step on a frog?"

      Jim Daniels looked down at his six-year-old son's innocent, curl-framed face. "Well, son, why would you want to step on a frog?"

      "To see what happens."

      "I don't think the frog would be very happy about it."

      "But Pa, it's in the spirit of scientific research!"

      The man smiled, suppressed a chuckle, then replied jovially, "Now where did you hear such big words as those, youngster?"

      "The Science Channel, Pa. I watch it every night, remember?"

      "Hmm . . . well, to put it bluntly, son, the frog would go splat."


      07/05

      Here we see sand. Quite a lot of sand, of the sort that gets into interesting places and refuses to come out again, no matter how much you wash. This sand is red, and if sand had personality, this sand would be disturbingly angered.

      Most sand you see is on beaches, or in deserts. Or perhaps in some little boy's large wooden sandbox. This sand, though, is not most sand. This sand is inside a private jet which belongs to a very rich young man, and it is accompanied by several bottles of cheap liquor and four very confused people.


      07/06

      I often think to myself about the past. Sometimes this is accompanied by feelings of intense nostalgia, sometimes by regret, and sometimes by that undefinable feeling I can only call dreaminess.

      One of the most nostalgic periods of my life involves a black Labrador named Jake, who disappeared when I was five. One of the most regrettable moments is a time two years ago in which I did not pick up a telephone. And the most dreamy moments are spotted all throughout my life, but the figurehead is the day a cottonmouth lay on our kitchen bar; I was three.


      07/07

      I was running. Not because I was in a hurry to get somewhere; I wasn't really thinking about the 'to' of it. I was running because I had discovered a pressing need to not be where I was anymore. I was quite good at the 'from' of running.

      My bare feet slapped against the cobblestones of the old street, the sound not as loud as that of my heartbeat pounding in my chest. I'd left my cheap shoes far behind, in a cloud of proverbial dust.

      This was not really new to me, I'd had to esca—

      "That's him!"

      Damn.


      07/08

      It was a small, quiet place on the edge of town. A good place to stop by after work, grab a pint and let the vagaries of the day slip away to be replaced by an alcohol-induced stupor of giddy inebriation.

      In theory, at least. Most evenings, this theory worked out just as well in practice. Tonight, though, things were different. It started when the blonde with the pink boots walked in, of course. This is how many of these things start.

      It finished with a man in a leather jacket, a switchblade, and quite a lot of blood.


      07/09

      Guessing games are fun, when you are young. Ideally, the other person guesses, while you shake your head smugly. It doesn't matter if they guess correctly or not, in the end you're the only one who knows.

      "Is it blue?"

      Well, it was, but now the boy chooses another object as the subject of the guessing game. "Nope!"

      "Is it round?"

      After inclining his head to the side for a moment, his forehead scrunched up tightly, he answers thoughtfully, "Yes."

      "Is it orange?"

      That ruled out the oranges on the counter...

      "Nope! Guess again!"

      Oh, to be his age again.


      07/10

      "At last, the Amulet is ours! The world is our—"

      The tall man in dark robes struck a remarkably grim pose atop the craggy peak. Before he could finish his monologue, however, he was promptly struck by lightning. This goes to show that bad things do not happen only to good people.

      Some distance away, a humble cobbler was laughing. He was a very honest man and charged fair prices for exceptional work. On this day, he had discovered an envelope containing a large sum of money in his mailbin. This goes to show the opposite is true as well.


      07/11

      In a world where peaches are lemons, and lemons are kiwi fruit, one man will prevail against the Lost Sons of Aragath. This man's name is, quite simply, John (John's parents lacked a certain gene that assigns creativity).

      It is a time of civil unrest, as the Freathing Fraths are waging war against the Meeping Mags, and nobody knows how to stop a charging Frath except to sneakily obtain his MasterCard, which is easier said than done..

      This summer, Arnold Schwarzenegger is . . . The Man Who Single-Handedly and With Very Little Effort Saved The World As Someone Else Knows It.


      07/12

      I realize I haven't given much of an introduction yet, so now is as good a time as any, I suppose.

      First, I have to come clean. I'm not really a Knight Templar, and I'm not actually made of steel. Now that's out of the way, on to who I am.

      I am commonly accepted to be human, and could probably produce papers to prove it should this be in doubt. I have been alive for exactly four lustrum, I am an aspiring writer of words (if not stories) and I really quite like girls who like guys like me.


      07/13

      I was on The Price Is Right once, you know. I always thought he was talking about the models that show off the products, so I'd always guess, "Priceless."

      As it turns out, I was not right even once. This led to a very depressing phase of my life, where I shouted at elevators a lot and sung many lullabies to dead squirrels in the park. It is surprising how many of them remained dead.

      My psychiatrist says I am too metaphorically minded. I say it is better to be metaphorically minded than to have a metaphorical mind.


      07/14

      Did I ever tell you about the time I died?

      It wasn't much of a day, apart from being the day that I died. It was a Tuesday, and it had rained in the morning.

      I did die in a fairly gruesome and cosmically inventive manner, at least. However, I'd rather hoped I'd go out with a metaphorical bang. Instead, I went out with a very literal schpooish.

      This is the sound my brains made hitting the wall of my kitchen when my toaster exploded, sending the little knob that you turn to make the bread darker through my skull.


      07/15

      I often think about what the world would be like without watermelons. Would it really change things that much? They say that the beat of a butterfly's wings can cause a hurricane, or your great-great-grandfather not be born, but what could the lack of a watermelon do?

      I guess you'd have to find something else to eat on the Fourth of July; maybe honeydew, or just cupcakes. I always did like cupcakes, preferably with strawberry icing, and sprinkles. Sprinkles make the cake, in my opinion.

      I really do think the world would be a better place without watermelons.

      *~*~*~*~*

      Feel free to post yours, but be sure to format them with the date!
      Last edited by Man of Steel; 07-15-2009 at 06:11 AM.

    2. #2
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      02, 05, 07, and 08, and 14 are all fucking awesome! I really would want to read more about 02, 05, and 07, and I can't stop laughing at the one you wrote on the 14th!!!

      Ok, here's my first one, which MoS has already read:

      07/14/2009
      Miniature icebergs twisting and tumbling, fizzing explosions like the sound of firecrackers in the night. Bitter taste but sweet relief. Evade the blissful nothing of slumber and postpone the coming of the next crisis, or delve into another world, reality coming as a shock at the rooster's crow? Dirty towels spin in the whirlpool of the washer while filthy clothing and grime cling to the skin. The freedom of rinsing clean of filth and regret remains inaccessible while suds still pop. Snores breach the night like whales do the sea. Red eyes lose focus while keys click the night away.

    3. #3
      Same great taste! Achievements:
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      dammit MoS, mostly brilliant.

    4. #4
      Veteran of the DV Wars Man of Steel's Avatar
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      Thanks, Shift. Pretty damn awesome yourself!

      Only mostly, Flav?

      Today's:

      07/16

      Cold and shaking with sobs, I sat huddled in the corner of the men's room, hiding my face from the door, hoping he wouldn't come in. Hoping he would somehow miss me cowering here in fear, distancing myself from the screams.

      It didn't work. It never worked.

      "Whatcha 'fraid of, kid? They won't be lookin' atcha like you're some kinda freak no more, now."

      I choked back a sob as I looked up at the towering vision from my nightmares. Of course they wouldn't. They'd just been slaughtered by an imaginary black six-foot-tall rabbit only I could see.

    5. #5
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      7/17

      I walked among the strewn bodies. Occasionally I paused momentarily to reflect upon a silent, staring face. I couldn't have done this, yet around me was grim evidence that I had. You see, I have mannerisms that kill. It's in the way I hold my head, the arch of my eyebrows, the curve of my cheekbones, my focused gaze. A twitch of my nose can crush bone, my laugh might level a city block. So, mostly I just look down, lest I meet a strangers' gaze and he fall lifeless to the ground. Today was tragedy; today I had sneezed.
      Last edited by Flavour of Night; 07-17-2009 at 07:59 AM.

    6. #6
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      Oh man... Hahaha! Wow, that is ----ing awesome, Flav! I love that idea...

    7. #7
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      Also 7/17 (since I'm not really turning these in)

      My car would not start. I went around the front to check the engine, it wasn't there. "Shit! Who would have done this?" Closer inspection revealed the front tires were missing as well. A quick tally of things that should have been present, but weren't, revealed a shocking truth. Someone had gotten the best of me. In fact, the more closely I inspected the vehicle, the more alarmed I became. Windshield, gone. CD changer, gone. Hood, Gone. Doors, gone as well. I called my girlfriend to see about a ride. She sounded surprised, "Honey, you don't even own a car!"
      Last edited by Flavour of Night; 07-18-2009 at 12:48 AM.

    8. #8
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      You continue to impress me, Flav.

      07/17

      "How do you feel about ducks?"

      This was a strange question, I thought. I looked around to see who could have asked it. I saw no one nearby.

      "Up here."

      I looked up, and there was a neck with a flat bill on the end of it protruding into my field of vision.

      "Oh."

      "I'm going to take that as, "I quite like ducks, thank you."

      Upon moment's consideration, I surmised that there was a talking duck on my head. It was the only logical conclusion to come to, really. However, being an intelligent man, I refused to acknowledge this.


      07/18

      Have you ever tried to write about magical talking badgers? It is very difficult to get them right. especially when they are reading over your shoulder, critiquing every word with beady eyes and threateningly sharp spade-like claws.

      Tall men with billowing cloaks and katanas are another source of chagrin. you would think the classic mysterious, imposing figure would be simple to write. From the drop of blood dripping from his sword to the white snow, to his wide-brimmed hat, the description is quite simple. But what of personality? Just who is he?

      Deep down he's probably a librarian.

    9. #9
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      7/18

      I counted the words, "1.. 2.. 3.. 4.. 5.. 6.. 7.. 8.. 9.. 10.. 11.. 12.. 13.. 14.. 15.. 16.. 17.. 18.. 19.. 20.. 21.. 22.. 23.. 24.. 25.. 26.. 27.. 28.. 29.. 30.. 31.. 32.. 33.. 34.. 35.. 36.. 37.. 38.. 39.. 40.. 41.. 42.. 43.. 44.. 45.. 46.. 47.. 48.. 49.. 50.. 51.. 52.. 53.. 54.. 55.. 56.. 57.. 58.. 59.. 60.. 61.. 62.. 63.. 64.. 65.. 66.. 67.. 68.. 69.. 70.. 71.. 72.. 73.. 74.. 75.. 76.. 77.. 78.. 79.. 80.. 81.. 82.. 83.. 84.. 85.. 86.. 87.. 88.. 89.. 90.. 91.. 92..." Damn, only 92 words.

    10. #10
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      7/18

      I regarded her across the table. In the space between us a battle was being waged. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Perhaps something in my gaze unsettled her. She did not speak; no words were necessary. She knew the rules as well as I. There was really nothing to be said. She had amazing breasts. I was unsure of many things, but her breasts were not two of these things. She coughed politely, "Your move.", she said. I reached out and spoke but a word, "Check." She smiled, "Checkmate." Note to self: Do not play chess with big-tittied women.

    11. #11
      Haha. Hehe. Mes Tarrant's Avatar
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      Quote Originally Posted by Flavour of Night View Post
      7/17

      I walked among the strewn bodies. Occasionally I paused momentarily to reflect upon a silent, staring face. I couldn't have done this, yet around me was grim evidence that I had. You see, I have mannerisms that kill. It's in the way I hold my head, the arch of my eyebrows, the curve of my cheekbones, my focused gaze. A twitch of my nose can crush bone, my laugh might level a city block. So, mostly I just look down, lest I meet a strangers' gaze and he fall lifeless to the ground. Today was tragedy; today I had sneezed.

      This is like... AMAZING. Hahaha. Would make an awesome prologue to a book, I think.

    12. #12
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      7/19

      "Got change?", the old man looked as if he'd been through it. From his wild hair to his worn-out shoes, his appearance told a story I didn't want to hear. Damn, too late, I'd met his gaze. "I think I've got something...", I started. He interrupted, "Most folks keep walking; never met so many deaf people." I dug in my pocket and came up with a few quarters, some dimes, and a few pennies, and offered them. "No, that won't do.", he said. He sighed, and held out a fresh 100 dollar bill, "Guess I'll have to go the bank."
      Last edited by Flavour of Night; 07-20-2009 at 05:06 AM.

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