Forums » Creative Corner » Read Thread

Hi everyone!

I'd like to play a simple game for anyone interested: Let's write a story one sentence at at time. It can be as serious, or as silly, as we want. Let's also do our best to follow the rules of grammar and typography. I hope this will be a fun exercise for everyone involved.

Rules:

1. When posting, reply directly to the most recently posted message.

2. Avoid typos and grammatical errors. Do not post run-on sentences.

3. Do not edit your message after posting, unless you want to correct any typos or grammatical errors.

4. Wait at least one hour after posting a reply to let others have a chance.

5. Do not reply directly to yourself.

6. Adhere to the site rules and regulations (obviously).

 

I'll start:

John woke up early to start his Saturday morning routine.

Eggs, toast, coffee, and the news on the screen.

Then he brushed his teeth, all nice, white and clean.

John prided himself on his meticulous nature knowing that any misstep or mis-ordered action could lead his whole day into chaos.

Unfortunately, other ideas had his wife, Eos.

'Other Ideas' was the pseudonym of the government agent assigned to survey him through his laptop's camera.

Unbeknownst to John, he had met the government agent before despite not knowing the truth of Eos's whereabouts.

The agent, codenamed "Other Ideas", was in fact John's estranged six-year-old son, named Jason.

"How did a six-year-old end up a government agent?" You may be wondering

It turns out that the person who hired him has syphilitic insanity and thought Jason would be a great government agent at his age.

And despite the source of that insanity, Jason inherited it, this isn't that kind of sicko story.

"You gotta start them early," the father of the government agent's leader would say.

But those were his last words before the government assassinated him, as they didn't want the new agent to have any familial connections that could be used against him.

Well, the last of his own words, as he was in Australia, and was quickly reanimated by sentient spiders that have him continuing his regular government duties.

Contemplating the bizarre nature of his predicament, John started to plan how to get his wife, Eos, back home.

He finally finished brushing his teeth, spit, rinsed, and prepared to face the day.

Feeling a sudden spark of whimsy, he took a razor blade out of his back pocket and ran it lengthwise down his pretty wrists.

He then finishes up shaving his arms, now all shiny smooth.

He shaves his legs and the rest of his body, becoming completely hairless.

As he lay on the floor bleeding out from his wounds, he contemplated how nicely the blood worked as a shaving lubricant.

Then Eos walked in, started patch up his various wounds while saying, "You're batty, you know that? The spiders reanimated you so this is all just a waste of time. Now get your lazy ass to work at the government office."

"I hate spiders, they creep me out, " he exclaimed as he dragged himself off the floor, noticing as he stood up that it felt like millions of the tiny things were crawling throughout his body under his skin.

"It's just the anemia," he said aloud, to no one in particular.

Eos contemplated divorce after he said that dumb line.

Then she said to herself, "Well, he's Dutch, I don't know why I expect anything from him."

But she had married him for his preternatural artistry with earwax sculpting, not his brains or nationality; though some of the spiders animating him were wittier conversationalists than others.

The poor Dutch idiot savant picked himself up and stumbled towards his car, fearing the wrath of his wife should he choose not to go to work.

His vehicle of choice was a 2010 Kia Soul with a bright red chrome wrap and a bumper sticker that said, 'HOT GIRLS HIT CURBS'.

The spiders made him dyslexic, so he thought the speed limit in the school zone was 52.

Then he remembered that his car was so old that it didn't actually run, so he got out and started the long walk to work at the government building.

He got weird looks as he crawled upside down, but he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, that’s how he had walked his entire life.

There was a loud honking and the squeal of brakes ahead, and he looked up just in time to see an ogre being run over by a 2009 Toyota, driven by an admin of an obscure interactive fiction site.

He turned away and as he skittered into the building for work he thought, "What a horrible waste of a 2009 Toyota, there's no way that thing survives running into an Ogre of that size."

He wakes up with several burning needles in his brain, as he realizes that none of it was real, just an insane trip.

Preferring the strange fantasy over reality, because he worked at the DMV, he wondered what his life would have been like if everything in that acid was real.

Reluctantly, he made his way outside and into his actual car--a 2024 Lamborghini Sterrato.

Well it's hit car now, he sticks the pick in between the car door and the frame and brings it down on the lock mechanism sharply.

Suddenly a bright flash illuminated his surroundings as a meteor fell through the sky.

As it streamed through the sky, gloriously incandescent, John realized that the meteor was headed straight for him!

The object got closer, and John recognized it was not a meteor after all, but a spacecraft; Anticipation charged every cell of his being as he realized his dream of being abducted by aliens was coming to pass, and as the transporter dissolved his molecules he wished that the Ogre would also get the opportunity to share this experience.

When John woke up, he realized that he was cold -- well, mostly just his rear end felt cold -- and he was uncomfortable lying on his back on a cold, metal table with his pants around his ankles.

With his hands in restraints, he understood there was only one way to get free and began gnawing through the cords of flesh making up his shoulder, savoring his own metallic tang.

After that light snack he begins doing the only rational thing he can think of, he begins screaming penis at the top of his lungs.

Unfortunately for John, that metal table he was strapped to had an AI, and it interpreted his shouts as a command.

"You want a dick?" generated the AI in a metallic buzz of nonetheless, perfectly understandable English.

"You've been asleep for 400 years and the first thing you want is a dick?" The Ai continued with a strangely human tone, "I've been programmed to fulfill every request of the subject so I will comply to the fullest of my computerized abilities".

With a humming of electronics, a shimmering light coalesced into a hard-bitten man with a trenchcost and a five o' clock shadow, lit cigarette dangling from one hand and a magnifying glass in the other.

"What's the magnifying glass for?" John asked, innocently.

“Just a little snack, smoking makes me hungry,” the man replies.

He ate the magnifying glass.

Then, putting out his cigarette by grinding it into John's moist eyeball, he said, "Let's cut the crap and get down to brass tacks."

While holding back a cry of pain from the cigarette thing, John reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of brass tacks, saying, "Here you go!"

He crunches down on them while saying, “Not what I meant, but thanks anyways.”

A voice in a tongue unfamiliar speaks loudly over an intercom interrupting the operation.

Immediately following the voice, John could hear the sound of a very long, wet, machine-gun style fart.