Sorry about the long silence but I'll probably (not the "probably") be uploading a story or poem written by me soon.
Other things to look for :
New blog layout.
More apps.
Other stuff :D
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
"Death By Scrabble" by Charlie Fish
I found this funny yet chilling story one day while I was bored surfing the net...
This story and more can be found at numerous places around the net, but I got it from this source... http://www.short-stories.co.uk/
Death By Scrabble
or
Tile M For Murder
It's a hot day and I hate my wife.
We're playing Scrabble. That's how bad it is. I'm 42 years old, it's a blistering hot Sunday afternoon and all I can think of to do with my life is to play Scrabble.
I should be out, doing exercise, spending money, meeting people. I don't think I've spoken to anyone except my wife since Thursday morning. On Thursday morning I spoke to the milkman.
My letters are crap.
I play, appropriately, BEGIN. With the N on the little pink star. Twenty-two points.
I watch my wife's smug expression as she rearranges her letters. Clack, clack, clack. I hate her. If she wasn't around, I'd be doing something interesting right now. I'd be climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. I'd be starring in the latest Hollywood blockbuster. I'd be sailing the Vendee Globe on a 60-foot clipper called the New Horizons - I don't know, but I'd be doing something.
She plays JINXED, with the J on a double-letter score. 30 points. She's beating me already. Maybe I should kill her.
If only I had a D, then I could play MURDER. That would be a sign. That would be permission.
I start chewing on my U. It's a bad habit, I know. All the letters are frayed. I play WARMER for 22 points, mainly so I can keep chewing on my U.
As I'm picking new letters from the bag, I find myself thinking - the letters will tell me what to do. If they spell out KILL, or STAB, or her name, or anything, I'll do it right now. I'll finish her off.
My rack spells MIHZPA. Plus the U in my mouth. Damn.
The heat of the sun is pushing at me through the window. I can hear buzzing insects outside. I hope they're not bees. My cousin Harold swallowed a bee when he was nine, his throat swelled up and he died. I hope that if they are bees, they fly into my wife's throat.
She plays SWEATIER, using all her letters. 24 points plus a 50 point bonus. If it wasn't too hot to move I would strangle her right now.
I am getting sweatier. It needs to rain, to clear the air. As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I find a good word. HUMID on a double-word score, using the D of JINXED. The U makes a little splash of saliva when I put it down. Another 22 points. I hope she has lousy letters.
She plays FAN, with the F on a double-letter, and gets up to fill the kettle and turn on the air conditioning.
It's the hottest day for ten years and my wife is turning on the kettle. This is why I hate my wife. I play ZAPS, with the Z doubled, and she gets a static shock off the air conditioning unit. I find this remarkably satisfying.
She sits back down with a heavy sigh and starts fiddling with her letters again. Clack clack. Clack clack. I feel a terrible rage build up inside me. Some inner poison slowly spreading through my limbs, and when it gets to my fingertips I am going to jump out of my chair, spilling the Scrabble tiles over the floor, and I am going to start hitting her again and again and again.
The rage gets to my fingertips and passes. My heart is beating. I'm sweating. I think my face actually twitches. Then I sigh, deeply, and sit back into my chair. The kettle starts whistling. As the whistle builds it makes me feel hotter.
She plays READY on a double-word for 18 points, then goes to pour herself a cup of tea. No I do not want one.
I steal a blank tile from the letter bag when she's not looking, and throw back a V from my rack. She gives me a suspicious look. She sits back down with her cup of tea, making a cup-ring on the table, as I play an 8-letter word: CHEATING, using the A of READY. 64 points, including the 50-point bonus, which means I'm beating her now.
She asks me if I cheated.
I really, really hate her.
She plays IGNORE on the triple-word for 21 points. The score is 153 to her, 155 to me.
The steam rising from her cup of tea makes me feel hotter. I try to make murderous words with the letters on my rack, but the best I can do is SLEEP.
My wife sleeps all the time. She slept through an argument our next-door neighbours had that resulted in a broken door, a smashed TV and a Teletubby Lala doll with all the stuffing coming out. And then she bitched at me for being moody the next day from lack of sleep.
I spot a chance to use all my letters. EXPLODES, using the X of JINXED. 72 points. That'll show her.
As I put the last letter down, there is a deafening bang and the air conditioning unit fails.
My heart is racing, but not from the shock of the bang. I don't believe it - but it can't be a coincidence. The letters made it happen. I played the word EXPLODES, and it happened - the air conditioning unit exploded. And before, I played the word CHEATING when I cheated. And ZAP when my wife got the electric shock. The words are coming true. The letters are choosing their future. The whole game is - JINXED.
My wife plays SIGN, with the N on a triple-letter, for 10 points.
I have to test this.
I have to play something and see if it happens. Something unlikely, to prove that the letters are making it happen. My rack is ABQYFWE. That doesn't leave me with a lot of options. I start frantically chewing on the B.
I play FLY, using the L of EXPLODES. I sit back in my chair and close my eyes, waiting for the sensation of rising up from my chair. Waiting to fly.
Stupid. I open my eyes, and there's a fly. An insect, buzzing around above the Scrabble board, surfing the thermals from the tepid cup of tea. That proves nothing. The fly could have been there anyway.
I need to play something unambiguous. Something that cannot be misinterpreted. Something absolute and final. Something terminal. Something murderous.
My wife plays CAUTION, using a blank tile for the N. 18 points.
My rack is AQWEUK, plus the B in my mouth. I am awed by the power of the letters, and frustrated that I cannot wield it. Maybe I should cheat again, and pick out the letters I need to spell SLASH or SLAY.
Then it hits me. The perfect word. A powerful, dangerous, terrible word.
I play QUAKE for 19 points.
I wonder if the strength of the quake will be proportionate to how many points it scored. I can feel the trembling energy of potential in my veins. I am commanding fate. I am manipulating destiny.
My wife plays DEATH for 34 points, just as the room starts to shake.
I gasp with surprise and vindication - and the B that I was chewing on gets lodged in my throat. I try to cough. My face goes red, then blue. My throat swells. I draw blood clawing at my neck. The earthquake builds to a climax.
I fall to the floor. My wife just sits there, watching.
This story and more can be found at numerous places around the net, but I got it from this source... http://www.short-stories.co.uk/
Death By Scrabble
or
Tile M For Murder
It's a hot day and I hate my wife.
We're playing Scrabble. That's how bad it is. I'm 42 years old, it's a blistering hot Sunday afternoon and all I can think of to do with my life is to play Scrabble.
I should be out, doing exercise, spending money, meeting people. I don't think I've spoken to anyone except my wife since Thursday morning. On Thursday morning I spoke to the milkman.
My letters are crap.
I play, appropriately, BEGIN. With the N on the little pink star. Twenty-two points.
I watch my wife's smug expression as she rearranges her letters. Clack, clack, clack. I hate her. If she wasn't around, I'd be doing something interesting right now. I'd be climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. I'd be starring in the latest Hollywood blockbuster. I'd be sailing the Vendee Globe on a 60-foot clipper called the New Horizons - I don't know, but I'd be doing something.
She plays JINXED, with the J on a double-letter score. 30 points. She's beating me already. Maybe I should kill her.
If only I had a D, then I could play MURDER. That would be a sign. That would be permission.
I start chewing on my U. It's a bad habit, I know. All the letters are frayed. I play WARMER for 22 points, mainly so I can keep chewing on my U.
As I'm picking new letters from the bag, I find myself thinking - the letters will tell me what to do. If they spell out KILL, or STAB, or her name, or anything, I'll do it right now. I'll finish her off.
My rack spells MIHZPA. Plus the U in my mouth. Damn.
The heat of the sun is pushing at me through the window. I can hear buzzing insects outside. I hope they're not bees. My cousin Harold swallowed a bee when he was nine, his throat swelled up and he died. I hope that if they are bees, they fly into my wife's throat.
She plays SWEATIER, using all her letters. 24 points plus a 50 point bonus. If it wasn't too hot to move I would strangle her right now.
I am getting sweatier. It needs to rain, to clear the air. As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I find a good word. HUMID on a double-word score, using the D of JINXED. The U makes a little splash of saliva when I put it down. Another 22 points. I hope she has lousy letters.
She tells me she has lousy letters. For some reason, I hate her more.
She plays FAN, with the F on a double-letter, and gets up to fill the kettle and turn on the air conditioning.
It's the hottest day for ten years and my wife is turning on the kettle. This is why I hate my wife. I play ZAPS, with the Z doubled, and she gets a static shock off the air conditioning unit. I find this remarkably satisfying.
She sits back down with a heavy sigh and starts fiddling with her letters again. Clack clack. Clack clack. I feel a terrible rage build up inside me. Some inner poison slowly spreading through my limbs, and when it gets to my fingertips I am going to jump out of my chair, spilling the Scrabble tiles over the floor, and I am going to start hitting her again and again and again.
The rage gets to my fingertips and passes. My heart is beating. I'm sweating. I think my face actually twitches. Then I sigh, deeply, and sit back into my chair. The kettle starts whistling. As the whistle builds it makes me feel hotter.
She plays READY on a double-word for 18 points, then goes to pour herself a cup of tea. No I do not want one.
I steal a blank tile from the letter bag when she's not looking, and throw back a V from my rack. She gives me a suspicious look. She sits back down with her cup of tea, making a cup-ring on the table, as I play an 8-letter word: CHEATING, using the A of READY. 64 points, including the 50-point bonus, which means I'm beating her now.
She asks me if I cheated.
I really, really hate her.
She plays IGNORE on the triple-word for 21 points. The score is 153 to her, 155 to me.
The steam rising from her cup of tea makes me feel hotter. I try to make murderous words with the letters on my rack, but the best I can do is SLEEP.
My wife sleeps all the time. She slept through an argument our next-door neighbours had that resulted in a broken door, a smashed TV and a Teletubby Lala doll with all the stuffing coming out. And then she bitched at me for being moody the next day from lack of sleep.
If only there was some way for me to get rid of her.
I spot a chance to use all my letters. EXPLODES, using the X of JINXED. 72 points. That'll show her.
As I put the last letter down, there is a deafening bang and the air conditioning unit fails.
My heart is racing, but not from the shock of the bang. I don't believe it - but it can't be a coincidence. The letters made it happen. I played the word EXPLODES, and it happened - the air conditioning unit exploded. And before, I played the word CHEATING when I cheated. And ZAP when my wife got the electric shock. The words are coming true. The letters are choosing their future. The whole game is - JINXED.
My wife plays SIGN, with the N on a triple-letter, for 10 points.
I have to test this.
I have to play something and see if it happens. Something unlikely, to prove that the letters are making it happen. My rack is ABQYFWE. That doesn't leave me with a lot of options. I start frantically chewing on the B.
I play FLY, using the L of EXPLODES. I sit back in my chair and close my eyes, waiting for the sensation of rising up from my chair. Waiting to fly.
Stupid. I open my eyes, and there's a fly. An insect, buzzing around above the Scrabble board, surfing the thermals from the tepid cup of tea. That proves nothing. The fly could have been there anyway.
I need to play something unambiguous. Something that cannot be misinterpreted. Something absolute and final. Something terminal. Something murderous.
My wife plays CAUTION, using a blank tile for the N. 18 points.
My rack is AQWEUK, plus the B in my mouth. I am awed by the power of the letters, and frustrated that I cannot wield it. Maybe I should cheat again, and pick out the letters I need to spell SLASH or SLAY.
Then it hits me. The perfect word. A powerful, dangerous, terrible word.
I play QUAKE for 19 points.
I wonder if the strength of the quake will be proportionate to how many points it scored. I can feel the trembling energy of potential in my veins. I am commanding fate. I am manipulating destiny.
My wife plays DEATH for 34 points, just as the room starts to shake.
I gasp with surprise and vindication - and the B that I was chewing on gets lodged in my throat. I try to cough. My face goes red, then blue. My throat swells. I draw blood clawing at my neck. The earthquake builds to a climax.
I fall to the floor. My wife just sits there, watching.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Finally....
So long after my last post, I got back my story...
I guess I'll post it, but keep in mind that this is still not my best work since I shrunk it for the word limit that only really existed in my head..
If I feel like it, or if I'm asked, I'll post the full version of this story...but for now, enjoy...
Question : Write A Story Based On The Words, "She held her son close by her side as she walked quickly along the narrow road. This was the moment. "
(You can see from the question that it's supposed to be written in the 3rd-person [or so my English Teach said]....which is my least favourite style of writing, either way, I did it...but anyway, enough of my ranting)
An old cottage in the middle of the forest, burnt to cinders, the culprit; one husband, Jeff, the victims; his wife, Jeanette, and son, Thomas.He stumbled away from the wreckage he created, probably off to find a bar, that was the kind of person he was, his wife was nowhere to be seen.
Just then, a figure arose, her white skin paler than usual, her hair, now jet black, hung in front of her face like a creature from a horror movie, but the figure was no creature, but only Jeanette.
Her son got up out of the ashes that was now his bed and went to his mother's side.
A hooded silhouette entered the clearing where the old cottage once proudly stood, it will no longer display to the world its red shingles and will never again show its beautiful structure, all that was left was destruction.
Each time Jeanette or Thomas blinked, the hooded figure approached at a shocking pace until they were a few feet away from them.
" I am the deity of life and death." they said, still drawing nearer. When the figure stepped into the light, it was clear why they were the deity of life and death, around their right foot instantly fresh grass and small wildflowers, Thomas rubbed his eyes to ensure he wasn't dreaming, and around his left foot was the opposite, all the grass near it withered and died.
Jeanette pulled her hair back and stood in awe of the hooded deity. Thomas, being only seven, wanted to reach forward to touch the figure but was afraid of what might happen.
" I was summoned here because I sensed your death." She nodded, " It was Jeff, wasn't it ?" her voice chimed like sweet bells but was covered in bitterness. The deity nodded and said in a solemn tone, " I know you want to take revenge, but that isn't possible. You must find Heaven's Light or your souls will be trapped here for eternity." At this Jeanette's ears perked up, taking revenge suddenly lost its savour, " Where is this light ?" "It is in a clearing near to this location, you will have two hours to search for it before you are condemned." the deity answered.
When Jeanette heard this she became awe-struck," Two hours ? I should have at least a day, please." The deity shook their head and said more solemnly than before," I'm sorry, that's just the way it is." and for a moment, the deity almost sounded human.
The deity turned around and before Jeanette could stop it, they vanished. Jeanette and Thomas moved off and checked the nearest clearing, nothing was there. They continued searching, finding more dead-ends until the reached one particularly good looking trail to a clearing, she held her son close to her as she walked quickly along the narrow path. This was the moment, all but three minutes remained, Jeanette and Thomas entered the clearing and saw a light shining down in the middle of it. The deity appeared in the middle of the light," Congratulations, you have found Heaven's Light, I will now allow you to cross over to the other side." The deity took two steps back and Jeanette and Thomas moved into the light where they ascended higher and higher until they vanished.
There was no report of Jeanette or Thomas' deaths, it was as if they had never existed, but Jeff was later found guilty of arson and murder, he was sentenced to life in prison, where he was last seen.
Ok, that's it...my first story (wouldn't be my favourite) on this blog... as I said, this wasn't what I originally planned for this story...I originally planned 2 deities (one of Life and one of Death.) and I didn't plan for Heaven's Light to be so easy to find.. ( I actually planned for them to have to take a bus, where a small child would notice them and explain to their mother what they were seeing).... but alot of things had to be cut out...
Two things that I kept in this version was the fact that I never revealed whether the deity was male or female.
The other thing I kept was the fact that Thomas never spoke....some people may argue that he was a minor character and he didn't need any lines, but I could've given him lines...
The intention was for the reader to wonder whether he had the ability to speak at all or if he only became mute after death, or some other possibility.
Note : I know there may/will be mistakes, so if you see any, please leave a comment saying what it is and I'll fix it as soon as possible..
I guess I'll post it, but keep in mind that this is still not my best work since I shrunk it for the word limit that only really existed in my head..
If I feel like it, or if I'm asked, I'll post the full version of this story...but for now, enjoy...
Question : Write A Story Based On The Words, "She held her son close by her side as she walked quickly along the narrow road. This was the moment. "
(You can see from the question that it's supposed to be written in the 3rd-person [or so my English Teach said]....which is my least favourite style of writing, either way, I did it...but anyway, enough of my ranting)
An old cottage in the middle of the forest, burnt to cinders, the culprit; one husband, Jeff, the victims; his wife, Jeanette, and son, Thomas.He stumbled away from the wreckage he created, probably off to find a bar, that was the kind of person he was, his wife was nowhere to be seen.
Just then, a figure arose, her white skin paler than usual, her hair, now jet black, hung in front of her face like a creature from a horror movie, but the figure was no creature, but only Jeanette.
Her son got up out of the ashes that was now his bed and went to his mother's side.
A hooded silhouette entered the clearing where the old cottage once proudly stood, it will no longer display to the world its red shingles and will never again show its beautiful structure, all that was left was destruction.
Each time Jeanette or Thomas blinked, the hooded figure approached at a shocking pace until they were a few feet away from them.
" I am the deity of life and death." they said, still drawing nearer. When the figure stepped into the light, it was clear why they were the deity of life and death, around their right foot instantly fresh grass and small wildflowers, Thomas rubbed his eyes to ensure he wasn't dreaming, and around his left foot was the opposite, all the grass near it withered and died.
Jeanette pulled her hair back and stood in awe of the hooded deity. Thomas, being only seven, wanted to reach forward to touch the figure but was afraid of what might happen.
" I was summoned here because I sensed your death." She nodded, " It was Jeff, wasn't it ?" her voice chimed like sweet bells but was covered in bitterness. The deity nodded and said in a solemn tone, " I know you want to take revenge, but that isn't possible. You must find Heaven's Light or your souls will be trapped here for eternity." At this Jeanette's ears perked up, taking revenge suddenly lost its savour, " Where is this light ?" "It is in a clearing near to this location, you will have two hours to search for it before you are condemned." the deity answered.
When Jeanette heard this she became awe-struck," Two hours ? I should have at least a day, please." The deity shook their head and said more solemnly than before," I'm sorry, that's just the way it is." and for a moment, the deity almost sounded human.
The deity turned around and before Jeanette could stop it, they vanished. Jeanette and Thomas moved off and checked the nearest clearing, nothing was there. They continued searching, finding more dead-ends until the reached one particularly good looking trail to a clearing, she held her son close to her as she walked quickly along the narrow path. This was the moment, all but three minutes remained, Jeanette and Thomas entered the clearing and saw a light shining down in the middle of it. The deity appeared in the middle of the light," Congratulations, you have found Heaven's Light, I will now allow you to cross over to the other side." The deity took two steps back and Jeanette and Thomas moved into the light where they ascended higher and higher until they vanished.
There was no report of Jeanette or Thomas' deaths, it was as if they had never existed, but Jeff was later found guilty of arson and murder, he was sentenced to life in prison, where he was last seen.
Ok, that's it...my first story (wouldn't be my favourite) on this blog... as I said, this wasn't what I originally planned for this story...I originally planned 2 deities (one of Life and one of Death.) and I didn't plan for Heaven's Light to be so easy to find.. ( I actually planned for them to have to take a bus, where a small child would notice them and explain to their mother what they were seeing).... but alot of things had to be cut out...
Two things that I kept in this version was the fact that I never revealed whether the deity was male or female.
The other thing I kept was the fact that Thomas never spoke....some people may argue that he was a minor character and he didn't need any lines, but I could've given him lines...
The intention was for the reader to wonder whether he had the ability to speak at all or if he only became mute after death, or some other possibility.
Note : I know there may/will be mistakes, so if you see any, please leave a comment saying what it is and I'll fix it as soon as possible..
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Preview at 11:42
Up late (it's late when you have to get up at 5:30AM, Monday-Friday) copying over my story from my notebook to what I'm actually going to hand up....it's changing a lot from the original version (at least in my opinion)...so I'll put up one of them probably tomorrow...
Although I suppose I could put a little part...
An old cottage in the middle of the forest, burnt to cinders, the culprit; one husband, Jeff, the victims ; his wife, Jeanette and son Thomas.
He stumbled away from the wreakage he created, probably off to find a bar, his wife was nowhere to be seen.
Just then, a figure arose, her white skin paler than usual, her hair, now jet black, hung in front of her face like a creature from a horror movie, but the figure was no creature, but only Jeanette. Her son got up out of the ashes that was now his bed and went to his mother's side......
Well, hopefully it isn't too confusing so people would actually read the whole thing when I put it up.
Although I suppose I could put a little part...
An old cottage in the middle of the forest, burnt to cinders, the culprit; one husband, Jeff, the victims ; his wife, Jeanette and son Thomas.
He stumbled away from the wreakage he created, probably off to find a bar, his wife was nowhere to be seen.
Just then, a figure arose, her white skin paler than usual, her hair, now jet black, hung in front of her face like a creature from a horror movie, but the figure was no creature, but only Jeanette. Her son got up out of the ashes that was now his bed and went to his mother's side......
Well, hopefully it isn't too confusing so people would actually read the whole thing when I put it up.
No Good Ideas
I was going through my old stuff (last year or the year before that)...and I found this...
A good idea is far away from me,
as far as far away can be.
Poem after poem I try to write,
even going far into the night.
Games, movies and other things are crowding my thinking,
It's obviously making me concentrate less on writing,
After so long I'm becoming dismayed,
Oh-no ! It's due Friday !
No good ideas are coming to my head,
it's as if all my good ideas are dead.
What should I do about this pain ?
I just hope that my poem isn't lame.
Yes ! I know what to choose !
It seems that I just won't lose.
My idea has just woken from sleep.
I'll write a poem so good that people would weep.
Notice how all the lines rhyme...this doesn't happen anymore.
Note : Let's assume for all intents and purposes that I wrote this on a Thursday...
We have an assignment from school,
to create a poem that should be original and cool.
But alas, when I search my mind,
there's nothing there but a dull design
We have an assignment from school,
to create a poem that should be original and cool.
But alas, when I search my mind,
there's nothing there but a dull design
of a bad poem without metre or ryhme.
A good idea is far away from me,
as far as far away can be.
Poem after poem I try to write,
even going far into the night.
Games, movies and other things are crowding my thinking,
It's obviously making me concentrate less on writing,
After so long I'm becoming dismayed,
Oh-no ! It's due Friday !
No good ideas are coming to my head,
it's as if all my good ideas are dead.
What should I do about this pain ?
I just hope that my poem isn't lame.
Yes ! I know what to choose !
It seems that I just won't lose.
My idea has just woken from sleep.
I'll write a poem so good that people would weep.
Notice how all the lines rhyme...this doesn't happen anymore.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
One more thing...
(In my Business notebook)
Life is blue, just like this pen.
Death is black, like the hearts of men.
Life is blue, just like this pen.
Death is black, like the hearts of men.
Lazy
Meh, I'm too lazy now to put up anything, plus I've got hw.... so just keep waiting and you'll get something...eventually.
Intro
Now that I'm a little more accustomed to blogging and the blogospehere, I'm setting up another blog which will be my blog to post my stories and that sorta stuff...so bascially
http://www.notafraidofmyshadow.blogspot.com/ - Personal blog.
http://www.notafraidofmyreflection.blogspot.com/ - Story/Poem blog.
http://www.notafraidofmyshadow.blogspot.com/ - Personal blog.
http://www.notafraidofmyreflection.blogspot.com/ - Story/Poem blog.
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