More poking around in the past

I’m old. That’s what happens when you get old. You poke around in the past, seeing what’s in the crannies. Like a smoker digging in a couch, looking for a buck to buy a pack of smokes. Smokes are still a buck, aren’t they? Well they were in my day, by gum! Kids today, with their new fangled $12 packs of smokes, and their whoozeewhatsit ‘peapods’… Get off my lawn!

The latest poking about took me to my old forum. I had big plans for the forum way back in 2004. My site had some regular followers who were also bloggers and creative types, so I started the forum so we could play a game together. A storytelling game called… wait for it… “The Storytelling Game!”

That’s me being creative.

The point of the game is that someone would post a list of words, as many as they wanted, but usually 8-10, and then everyone who wanted to play would have three days or so to write a story that incorporated all of the words on the list. Then after the time elapsed, everyone could vote on their two favorites whether they wrote a story or not. Points would be totaled and the winner of that round would pick the words for the next round.

It was a lot of fun. It lasted through 22 rounds, but toward the end participation was sparse. Near the beginning I became sidetracked by my new romance, in addition to the other daily things that ate my time like a cannibal loose in a nursery. If my time in that scenario were represented by plump, tasty babies and there weren’t any cops on hand to save some of my baby time.

What drove me down that long abandoned road of creativity is a rekindled desire to write the zombie story that is buried somewhere within me. I also remembered a short series of stories that I began in the game, and considered digging them up and seeing if there was anything worthwhile to them. Anything I could use. I looked all over my computer to see if I had them stashed somewhere, but I couldn’t find them, so I decided to go back to the source, if it still existed.

It does, but it hasn’t been touched by anyone since 2005. I could almost see dust and hear an echo when clicking around. Made me kind of sad.

I found the story. When I say “a short series” it turns out it’s shorter than I remembered. The first part came up in round 3 and the second in round 4, and then like many things it was abandoned.

If you are interested in reading both parts, it’s after the jump, unmodified in all its glory. Well, maybe not “glory” exactly. I still like it though…

Word List:

1. Under
2. Marry
3. Kitten
4. Milk
5. Meat

We met under the the trees on a moonless night, Marry and I. She spelled her name “Marry” rather than “Mary” because she was a bit daft. But I loved that about her! I figured her daftness would make the night interesting. And boy did it!

But not quite how I expected.

When I found Marry she was kneeling at the foot of a dark tree holding a saucer of milk and making mewling noises.

“Marry!” I said, because that’s her name. I swear it is. “What are you doing? Do you realize what time it is? We’re going to be late for the…party…thingie.” I’m soooo smooth! That’s why she loved me.

“Theodore!” she said, because that’s my name. Would I lie to you? You’ve gotta trust me or I’ll never finish this story.

Now where was I. Oh yeah, “Theodore! You startled me, sweetie-love-button!

“There’s a poor little kitten stuck in this tree and I’m trying to coax him down with this milk, but he won’t budge. I can hear him purring though.”

“But honey-sugar-thighs,” I whined in a masculine tone, “we’re going to be laaaate!”

“I’m sorry Theodore, but I will not go to a party and leave a poor little kitten in a tree. I just won’t.”

I bowed my head in surrender. I knew when she used THAT tone that we would be here all night if we couldn’t get the fucking cat out of the tree. Goodbye party… thingie! Hello long night in the damp meowing into a tree!

I just couldn’t let that happen. No way. I took the saucer from her hands and held it up higher in the tree.

“Let me do this. I have a way with kitties,” I said with a smile.

Then everything went black.

The next thing I knew I was standing on a cloud in front of a shiny gate with an old bearded dude staring at me like he knew me or something.

“What the fuck?” I yelled out to nobody in particular.

“Indeed Theodore,” the old guy said. I guess he DID know me, but I would swear I never met him before.

“I have four things to tell you, my son. First, you’ll be missing your party. Second, she spells her name “Mary”. Third, that wasn’t a kitten looking for milk, it was a cougar looking for meat. And fourth, you’re just visiting.”

——

The continuing Grand Saga of “Theodore, the Deceased Dork.”

Word List (this one was very long):

1. after
2. always
3. befriend
4. behind
5. black
6. bleed
7. cry
8. delicate
9. delirious
10. dream
11. elaborate
12. embitter
13. essential
14. symphony
15. garden
16. heave
17. languid
18. luscious
19. manipulate
20. moan
21. Monday
22. moon
23. pretty
24. repulsive
25. sausage
26. scream
27. shadow
28. shoot
29. smooth
30. trudge
31. weaken
32. whisper
33. woman

Part 2.

That old dude was a dick! He just smiled, pushed a button on his bookstand thingie and a hole opened under my feet. I dropped like a rock. I never even caught his name, but I did catch what he said about my dearest sweetie-noogins Marry. And the party. I was looking forward to that party. I realized as I fell this pretty much screwed that up.

I landed heavily in a dark garden. I looked up and there was no sign of the stars, moon or the dick with the book. But somehow there was enough light to see. I’ll bet it was coming from that freaking huge sign ahead of me. The one with the flaming letters.

50 foot high flaming letters. That can’t be good.

I figured that it would be best to go anywhere but there, so I turned around and started to trudge in the opposite direction leaving the letters behind me.

The bushes and plants grew thicker and more dense around me, and the shadows darkened as I made my way through the garden. When I finally broke through, there were those freaking letters again! Straight ahead. I’m sure I didn’t circle around. I was being manipulated. I hate being manipulated. Except manually. And then only by Marry. Or…you know…someone at that party.

So I resigned myself to my fate. I’ve always been good about that. How does that saying go? Grant me the something to accept the stuff I can’t fix with a hammer? I don’t know. But that’s my life’s philosophy. I plodded my way to the fire sign.

Oh, that’s original. “HELL”. Pffft. That’s it. I got hit on the head or something while waiting for Marry and this is all just some sort of delirious fever dream. The heat that I could feel pouring off of the letters must have been the “fever” part of the dream. It’s was hella hot.

The sign was above a gate made from human bones. At least I think they were human. Mostly human. And I could hear a symphony of screaming and moaning punctuated by the occasional cry for mercy coming from the other side. That didn’t sound ideal.

Beneath the flaming letters was a smaller sign which read, “Welcome to an endless month of Mondays!” That didn’t sound any better.

Standing next to the gate was this seriously hot woman dressed all in black leather. She had these luscious ta-tas that were heaving with every breath. It was hot.

I was hot.

Damn. It’s hot!

When she spoke it was in a delicate whisper with a huge amount of bass. I instinctively looked for a tell-tale bulge in her leather, but nope. Niiiice…

“New meat, huh? Okay pal, you’ve been sentenced to eternity in Hell for your many crimes against humanity, blah blah blah. I’m sure you remember it all from your Sunday school lessons,” in tones that made my ears bleed.

I sidled up to her in my most suave fashion and said, “Hi hottie! Been here long?” Smooooooth!

Although, for some bizarre reason instead of being smitten and falling straight into my waiting arms she gave me a languid look that told me I meant the same to her as poo on her sexy boots. Hot.

She spoke once again in embittered tones that would weaken a strong man’s bladder. I wet myself.

“I have been on this godforsaken spot since before your furthest ancestors began the comedy of errors that brought about your repulsive little existence, worm.

“Not even a stinking potty break! I mean, really. Not even one, lousy, cursed potty break.

“And these boots may look great and bring out my calves, but you try wearing them for an eternity.

“But every time I complain I’m told that it is ‘essential‘ to the grand plan. How can this be essential? Seriously. They just like to fuck with me. I just know it.

“So. You’re Theodore, aren’t you?” I nodded, open mouthed. She sure could bitch.

“After I kick your dumb ass through these gates I would advise that you befriend the biggest, meanest demon you can, or your ass will be sausage. I doubt I need to elaborate.”

Then she flung open the gate and propelled me through with a swift kick from her leather boots. She was right. They did hurt.

I lifted my face from the muck I had landed in and saw just what was awaiting me. It wasn’t a party, that’s for sure.

Shoot.