Creative Writing Prompt #276

Create a story or poem inspired by a line in a David Lehman poem: "Death was last seen in the auction room, looking worried."

Oh shat. Last night, I had a little too much to drink and now I wake up in an auction room. Guess what they're selling up there? My death scythe. Yeah. That's right. I bet you're pretty horrified to hear that, because I know I sure am. I don't even really know how any of it happened. By 'it', I mean why am I wearing a grass skirt? Where is my left arm? Howcome auctionee #45, that old lady over there with the sagging right eye, is checking me out? This is what I'd ask myself but, unfortunately, myself is somewhere in this room stumbling about looking for more booze. I don't mean that in a bad way but, really, how can I mean it in a good way? I just watch from the sidelines, because I am my own subconscious. Sometimes, I embarass myself--like the other day, for instance:

It was a day like any other. The birds were singing, school was in, and I was out on another run to the retirement home in downtown Red Deer, Alberta. Unfortunately, I sometimes get my directions mixed up since I have so many souls to reap on a daily basis. You see, I somehow ended up inside the Red Deer North District Secondary School gym.

Ahhh...Yes, I see that you're starting to understand where this is going.

When I was young, my parents led me to believe that it is best not to judge a book by its cover and so, upon seeing the wheezing, profusely sweating, blue lipped Danny Sullivan dragging himself across the gymnasium to complete his second and last lap (mind you, this is a very small gymnasium), how was I to know that it wasn't his time? I hadn't been told that I was at a high school--I just thought it was a rather educational old folks' home. It never looks good on your transcript in the afterlife if you kill a thirteen year-old invalid by mistake instead of a ninety-eight year-old hag who suffers from severe atherosclerosis. Some people frown upon 'oopsie's such as this. They say that Death is a joke, that Life is unfair, and that they wish it was them. Well, I can honestly say that yes, I am a bit of a joke (but only on Sundays--that's my comedy night). However, I don't care much for the fact that these people just assume things and can't forgive an honest mistake. I know Life. He's a good guy, and usually he's pretty good on honesty and equality. I suppose you could say he's rather disinterested in his job, in a way, but that isn't really a bad thing for a guy like Life. It's better for him to be unprejudiced than to be on everyone's case all the time. It just irritates me that everyone always hands him all the credit on a silver platter. If people can be happy for the birth of a child, why can they not be happy for the death of those in a plane crash? Would they rather that their friends or relatives suffer painfully without any salvation? At any rate, I digress.

Here we are again, at the auction house. I really do hope that you've enjoyed my story, because I won't be around much longer. Death will soon go by the name of Bidder #56---Antoine Juarez. There could be a chance that I can somehow obtain my scythe before the end of the day, but it's risky. Wait. What am I talking about? I'm still Death. At least, for now I am.

~I, in my dazed and confused stupor, am still stumbling aimlessly. However, upon realization that my life might not be at its end, I leap forth! Flying at the auction associate with rage, I tear out his spinal cord and reclaim what is rightfully mine. The Death scythe, in all its resplendent glory, slices the still standing body of said auction associate in two.

Holding the bloody cord of spine above my head, I slowly lean towards the microphone. The horrified crowd trembles in silence and anticipation of what I am about to say. What crucial epiphany will I deliver to mankind? How will I exercise my wrath?? I breathe in slowly and open my mouth.

"Well, I'd heard that politicians and auctioneers alike are spineless, but I didn't think it was true!"~

At this point, I'd prefer not to tell you what happened after that. I will leave to your imagination the horrified expressions, shrieks of terror, and panic that may or may not have ensued. Let me just tell you that, after all was said and done, I came out of that auction house one spine less, and fifty-six dollars, twenty-three cents richer.

Creative Writing Prompt #188

"Write from the point of view of a coffee maker that short-circuited."

Cale. That one simple word. It inspires fear inside the very heart of me. Deep down into the depths. The dark, abysmal depths of emptiness. The emptiness that I feel on those days where Cale and his classmates are in this room, seemingly at the crack of dawn, is second to none. I sometimes wonder why. Why have I been placed upon this Earth? On those days, I am committed to brutal slave labour--the intense heat of the sun beating away at my back, like a spiked club to a defenseless baby seal. Unfortunately for me and young Mr. Seal, no-one cares about us. We are the social outcasts of the greater world. For young Mr. Seal, there is seen to be no purpose. As for myself...I am looked down upon by the other kitchen appliances. My kind, in reality, is truly the weakest link. Is there a redeeming feature in my bleak future? Judging by the hours of endless toil I must do, digesting coffe beans and giving off a dark waste product, I think not. I will never understand why humans do the things that they do. Do they find sick pleasure in drinking my bitter waste? All it amounts to is the yellowing of their death-munchers. My foil lid trembles at the very thought--I am very thankful that I am not within their tastes. Humans have never attempted to eat me, and so I shall do the same. I will remain anonymous, as I have done for many a year, and shall only use the power of scalding hot water to my advantage when I see fit.


The other day, I finally snapped. That young girl, the one with the curly blond hair, will never be the same again. You see...I was a bit down in the mood department and didn't feel like I could put up with any shenanigans. It was another one of those days when I was set to work in the early morning, so I blew up. All over her face. I just blew up. Scalding coffee grounds and burning hot coffee cascaded down her face as her skin bubbled, and then I says to myself I says "Coffee Maker, you've gone and done yourself a bad deed, you have." Anyhow, once the ambulance had all come and gone, I started feeling a little funny in the tummy. I'm not sure how it all began, but things started to fall apart. Really, my lid was cracking and my handle was rattling and everything. All of a sudden I---beep boop! Woof Woof, Meow Meow!! Bob eats the shoes McGee! Woolooloopdoopdoop!! Muwhajbnjhnkjkkkalll! ZZzzz---zjjna Does Not Compute. DOES NOT COMPUTE. Cale. The very bane of my caffeinated existence. If I were you, boy, I'd watch myself.

L4D2 Coming to a Store Near You This November!!

Alright. So, hello out there to all you Left 4 Dead fans. This is grand maestro Busted Kneecap/Enigmatic Banana and/or Louis. It seems to me that we'll be expecting the new release of a new videogame that is rumored to be quite amazing. Well, I for one know that I'll sure be playing it on the day that it's released. Why, you might ask? Why the heck not?!! It's freaking L4D2, man!!

I had really intended to do this earlier as a fancy schmancy little shout-out to all my equally, but not quite as pwnsome, killing spree videogame genre fans. What do you call a day without Resident Evil? A day without Left 4 Dead? A day without Assassin's Creed? A day without...The Godfather?? Well, my friend, I would rather not know. For, if a day such as this ever presents itself to the world, my faith in humanity will be lost. Where, oh where, has the meaning of life gone? Hah. Yeah.

So hey. I believe I am entitled to vaguely talk about a few other equally as awesome games in this post, no? All this L4D speak is getting my videogame blood boiling!

Hm, so I happened upon something rather awesome just a few minutes back. Care to take a gander? And no, I'm not referring to geese here, people. This here clock below:

For those of you who haven't played the more primitive of the Resident Evil series, I really suggest that you do. Well...Code Veronica can sortof be bypassed, if you prefer. I found the controls for it to be rather frustrating at times, but played through it anyhow (hah, woe is me). Anyways, Resident Evil: Outbreak and Resident Evil: Outbreak File#2 are both very good games, in my opinion. See, you've got (i)Alyssa Ashcroft, The Daily Raccoon's loyal journalist (and my least favourite character by far) who is only useful on the front that she has a device to pick locks. Then we have (ii)George Hamilton, an excellent surgeon who works at Raccoon General Hospital (or did work, I should say) and is helpful in gameplay due to his ability to make medicines. Next is (iv)Cindy Lennox, a waitress at J's bar who comes in handy in that she can heal with herbs, which she has an abundance of. (v)David King, who happens to be a plumber of few words. In Outbreak, I always play as David, for he is magnificent and can create weapons such as hammers, wooden poles, electric rods and a few other deliciously dangerous things. He can also throw monkey wrenches as projectiles and use his handy dandy knife in close-quarters combat. (vii)Yoko Suzuki. Yup. There's always a stereotypical schoolgirl (university, in this case) in these older games with a stereotypical name. I don't really mind Yoko, per se, but she can sometimes get on my nerves. It's good to have her around though, as she can carry extra items. (viii)Jim Chapman, a subway station employee. His usefulness? Well, let's think of Left 4 Dead for a moment here. Need help? You sure better hope that your other partner is a good one, because you won't be getting any help from this guy. He'll either play dead, fooling the zombies, or run off into the obscure distance and leave you to die a lonely, painful death. Don't care so much for him, no. (x)Mark Wilkins, who is your friendly old security man. At the young age of 52, he can beat the living daylights out of anything with the best of 'em. Except maybe zombie elephants, which we come across in File #2. He always starts off with a high-damage gun which is better than most regular handguns. If you're scared of starting off a scenario in fear of instant death, because you're probably a nub, pick Mark to be your partner. You shall not be disappointed. And finally, we come to (xii)Kevin Ryman, who is a Raccoon Police Officer! He's pretty good with guns, and carries his favourite Colt M1911, I believe it is. He'll always be nearby, so never fear!

And thus is my L4D update, along with a nice little summary of REO characters. There's five scenarios in each Outbreak file, so I suggest, if you can manage to find REO second-hand somewhere, do spend the small amount of cash to pick yourself up a copy. It provides for good entertainment, as there's a mysterious cold-blooded killer, zombie elephants, hornets the size of your torso, and many other fantastic features for you to enjoy, including the ability to request items and use the ad-lib function that allows you to talk to your partners. Well! I think I've just about finished my little spiel, so do enjoy the rest of your morning, afternoon, and/or evening.

P.S.- Capcom, if you're listening, I believe you owe me some money for the publicity I've provided your out of print videogames XD

The Glass Castle

{"I don't care what happened!" he yelled.

"But we were just protecting ourselves," I said.

"Brian's a man, he can take it," he said. "I don't want to hear another word of this. Do you hear me?" He was shaking his head, but wildly, almost as as if he thought he could keep out the sound of my voice. He wouldn't even look at me. (Walls, pg. 148)}

As I read this passage of the book, I came to realize that some of Jeanette's experiences with her parents are very similar to my own. Countless times in my life, I have been unjustly blamed for something I did not do. As well, in the past, I have made an effort to explain my side of the story in a situation where I seem to be the one at fault, but my truth is always thrown to the wayside. My father, for instance, does not like to be proven wrong. Similar to the way in that Rex 'doesn't want to hear about it', I have been told to "stop", or "that's enough". If I turn out to be in 'the right' in a situation, I would like to have the justification that people realize that I am telling the truth.

Jeannette felt this same way numerous times in the book. Her father, Rex, is a very stubborn individual who needs to learn to admit that sometimes he can be wrong. It is not always true what he says, especially if it involves alcohol. The situation is not always about who is right or wrong, but who is willing to listen.

Giving Thanks

Sometimes, a certain book can make you realize just how lucky you are with the way you live. This can happen with fictional books that speak in hypothetical terms about a similar uncomfortable or sad situation that happened to a friend, making you realize how they must have felt or even give you a feeling of regret for not taking the issue as seriously as it should have been.

In fictional or non-fictional books, there can sometimes be a character who has such a terrible life that it actually makes you depressed, imagining how horrible that person might feel all the time living that way. These books can also make you feel extremely thankful for the happy, normal life that you might be living. If not happy, at least it'll still seem better than the worst extreme, which is the life of the character in the story.

"The Glass Castle" for instance, a true story written by Jeanette Walls about her life as a child, is one such novel. Throughout the course of the story, young Jeanette narrates the many horrible things her parents do. Horrible, I mean in a way that her parents don't really seem to take much interest in their children. Do they care? Maybe. Are they careful? Not in the slightest.

Young Jeanette once lit herself on fire, singeing her eyelashes, eyebrows, and melting her hair. This was when she was three and her parents had let her cook hotdogs on the stove un-supervised. Sure, I suppose her mother was kind enough to take heed of her child's screaming and cover her with a blanket to put out the fire, but would the fire have started in the first place if she had been watching? Or if she hadn't told her daughter it was okay to cook over a hot stove at the age of three? I'm thinking that needs no explanation.

Sure, I've burnt myself plenty of times, but my parents always see to it that I don't full on ignite myself to an almost irreparable extreme. When I read this part of the book, early on into it, I thought at first "What terrible parents!! Why would they let her do something like that?!" which soon changed to "My god am I glad that my parents take better care of me than that." when young Jeanette explained how she had fallen out of the moving vehicle, the Blue Caboose, and cracked her head on the pavement--her parents not realizing she was missing for quite a while.

I've never had to move homes in my time, so I've always lived in the same spot. Although I like to travel and see new places, I would not enjoy a life on the road. "Where do you live, Enigmatic Banana?" "Hm? Oh. Yeah. I don't, really. You see, I enjoy an adventurous life where the most time I spend in one place is two months. Friends? Eh, I don't worry about that. I don't have time for friends, since we're on the road all the time." That doesn't quite seem like an enjoyable lifestyle to me.

I know in my time I've never had to worry about where my next meal would come from. I'm also aware that there are families not nearly as poor as Jeanette's that have this issue as well. Sadly, the Walls family is 'between jobs' and extremely hard to do for quite a time. Resorting to eating a stick of margarine because there was nothing else to eat was a depressing moment in the book. If I were the Walls parents, I would try to do whatever it takes so that my children never go hungry, or have to sleep in cardboard boxes. I'm very grateful, upon reading this, that I live in a home where I can eat when I want and have a comfortable bed to sleep in at night.

All in all, I am quite grateful that my parents are who they are. Indeed, they may argue with me and with each other at times, but they look after me as best they can. I've had a good education, have lived where I live for many years and have friends due to that, I have a home, and I have food to feed myself with when I hunger. Would you like a bit of cheese with this post? I suppose so. As much as it has been said in the past, I'm very lucky in that I have a caring family. My mother, brother, grandma, and father all look out for me in different ways. So, thank you, Jeanette Walls, for enlightening my current situation!

Link for the picture:
www.piersidegallery.com/artists/ellenshaw

Interesting book-related link:
www.readinggroupguides.com/guides3/glass_castle1.asp

The Downfall of a Society That Didn't Care

The ending of the short story "The Lottery", written by Shirley Jackson, has a sort of M. Night Shyamalan feel to it. I mean this in a way that it is somewhat of a surprise to see a small, pleasant village of roughly three hundred occupants commit such an act on a regular basis. The reader feels a sudden 'what a twist!' vibe as they discover that the famed black lottery box was really a tool meant to bring death! Indirectly, of course.

The three hundred and some villagers that inhabit the town have a horrible tradition that they themselves don't quite understand. It is a tradition in which one of the villagers would have to suffer the horrible fate of being stoned to death, upon finding a black spot marked on their lottery ballot. Although, not even the oldest member of the village remembers the purpose of the lottery. Why kill their own family members? They didn't know. It was tradition, so they just followed along blindly. No-one was brave enough to question the tradition or try to stop it, so poor Mrs. Hutchinson had to suffer an unreasonable death, and by the hands of her friends and family no less.

This story is similar to the events of the Komagata Maru (in 1914), a Japanese owned steamship that was transporting roughly four hundred immigrants from India to Canada. The condition of permitted immigration was that the Komagata Maru was not allowed to stop even once to restock on its long journey to the North.

Of course, this feat was not possible for such an amount of passengers, as food and supplies were needed. Upon arrival in Canada, the passengers were not allowed off the ship and the Komagata Maru was held in port for three months before it was forced to sail back to india--its passengers still aboard.

The issue about this incident is similar to "The Lottery" on the front that no-one even tried to change their ways to help others. People, in our society, only care for themselves. If something doesn't concern them or their family, they don't care. Though, when the tables turn, they always try to look for help from others, although they themselves would not offer it to someone else in the same situation. The world needs to learn a lesson from things like these so that incidents against other people happen to a lesser extent, or preferably don't happen at all. Old traditions in both these stories die hard, and so do people.

Making a List, and...Checking it Twice?

The topic of this list is '3 Reasons Why I Can't Write Under Pressure'. Indeed, it's quite true. I always have issues thinking about what I should write about, and then when I check the time, I usually only have about a half hour left to rush through the entire thing once I start. So, here we go!

Reason 1: The first reason why I can't write under pressure is obviously because I lack the ability to quickly choose a topic from the many ideas floating around in my head. You see, some days are worse than others for this. As I said above, I usually end up brooding over a certain topic, try to write about it for roughly ten minutes, then decide that I cannot conjure up anything else to say about the topic and start all over again. This is quite a regular occurence, as this topic is in fact my fifth.

Reason 2: Although I do have a frequent lack of topic choosing skills, I also have the problem of writer's block and a rather irritating chronic fatigue issue which disallows me to write a proper essay and/or paragraph. At some point, during the writing process, I will have such a great idea that it will sprout magical pony wings, squirm its way out of my skull, then proceed to fly frantically for its imaginary life. Soon after, I'll be stuck thinking "Okay, sweet. So now that I have a half page written about a topic that I forgot and can no longer think of anything to write, why don't I start speaking in tongues? He sees the it then who cows cheese eat eye socks....."

Reason 3: To end off this rather insightful rant, I've decided to let the world know that I have a condition. Yes. It is quite serious. My condition is called 'lack-of-confidence-initis'. This condition is rather hard to deal with, on the front that, for example: Let's say my name is Bee Fee Cahw. One day, I, Bee Fee, decide to write a book. This one book is a rather short novel, as so it can be written in one day, but that's beside the point. Due to my lack-of-confidence-initis, I would most likely decide that this book of mine is a terrible literary work, and would proceed to throw it into a nearby fire. Of course, after this, I would dwell on how bad the book was and probably ruin everyone's day with the fact. With all my written works, I, Bee Fee Cahw, have taken an exponential to the power of 10x2(5-3)+c amount of time to complete any written assignments.

Thus, ladies and gentlemen, I do have quite a problem with writing under pressure. In saying so, I hope that this rant-ish list has provided you with great insight into the world that is my writing strife. I believe I see that idea adorned with magical pony wings floating above your head over there...

Top 3 Zombie Breeds of Left 4 Dead

Criteria:
-most destructive

-most harmful (to your health)

-scariest looking

-most enjoyable theme music

Choices:

The Boomer, The Hunter, The Tank, The Witch, Regular Infected, and The Smoker. (Will be updated upon release of L4D2)

Winners:

The Tank

The Tank, or Beastie as we prefer to call him, is definitely the number 1 zombie breed of Left 4 Dead. Anyone who plays the game will no doubt agree with me. Reasons for Beastie to take the grand prize are that, as stated below in my L4D reference story, he is quite destructive. As you might guess, Beastie is a rather agressive fellow--what, with turning the bones of poor innocent Louis to dust with a few well-placed, entirely overkill punches. He has the ability to beat an individual within an inch of their life in only two or so hits. Quite scary indeed, Beastie also has the man-strength to pick up small cars and hurl them at entirely suspecting victims while they run for their lives. As well, no-one is safe behind any door and/or barricade from this monstrous creature. Beastie's theme is a rather pleasant mix of quiet bass off in the distance, slowly becoming louder as Beastie approaches. It is pleasant in a rather intense sort of 'OH GOD!! WHICH WAY IS HE COMING FROM?!?!?!' feel. I get emotional just thinking about it. A best bet is to either run and shoot, or die trying!

The Witch

Second best, The Witch definitely is not far behind The Tank on a damage aspect. In fact, (as manly as she looks in this picture) she has the crazy skills to knock down a survivor in one fell swoop with her long, claw-like fingers. Immediately after doing so, she will let loose a battle screech and will commense ripping the survivor to pieces, not giving them even the slightest chance. An individual's only hope is for a fellow survivor to either set the witch on fire, to shoot her to death before she does her worst, or both. At the same time. It doesn't really matter in which order the suggested tactics are enacted, seeing as one can always set her on fire after she's dead. All in the effort of being safe, you know? One can never be too careful with zombies...The hint of a nearby witch is given off in the form of a quick, shrill, violin-esque interlude which will either become more audible and more suspenseful upon approaching closer to the witch, or will fade off completely into the distance if one successfully manages to take a route out of harm's way. The Witch will most usually take a rest right in the middle of non-avoidable path. She takes amusement at the fact that most survivors will try to run past in hopes of leaving their fellow comrades to do the startling. A witch can either be startled by a poorly aimed flashlight which might so happen to shine right in her eyes, by being in close proximity to a living being, or most commonly by being shot. She lures her victims in by crying and glowing a mysterious red colour. Most victims will think anything from "Ohh, sweet! Something red! It must be an item." to "Someone's crying? There must be another survivor! Let's go find her!!" or even "I hear a witch!! I wanna go find her! Come on!" and will search their surroundings frantically in an effort to find and startle the witch, knowingly or not. Perhaps the most calculating of the zombie breeds, The Witch never leaves an unsuspecting victim disappointed.

The Smoker

Our third place winner of the zombie breeds is The Smoker. The name, not just a clever play on words, is rather true in its essence. As one might guess, there is indeed a reason for the many fleshy bubbles scattered all over the skin of this particular zombie. He may have been a chain smoker in his human life, but who knows? He's a freaking zombie, so we shoot first, and ask questions later. The Smoker's job in Left 4 Dead is to hide in the obscure distance until the time is right to reel in a survivor with his exceedingly long tongue. The only warning of a nearby smoker is a brief low octave piano riff. It is distinct, yes, but helpful? Not really. It's the same as the Microsoft Word paperclip assistant. Does it really answer your questions? "Since there is a smoker nearby, in approximately how long will I get dragged off?" , "Will I be the one who is dragged?" , "Is the smoker coming from behind, or in front of le zombie resistance?" , "What is the rough calculation of the metric distance between me and said smoker?" The answers to these very reasonable questions you'll never know, because by the time you've rounded the next corner, preoccupied with ponderings, you will have already been grabbed. The tongue of The Smoker will encircle you and prevent you from any escape, unless you manage to shoot The Smoker before it reels you in. If one manages to succeed in shooting The Smoker, it will explode in a cloud of green haze and the threat will be gone. If not...dragging you away from the beaten path to somewhere your comrades will most likely not find you in time, The Smoker will hold you in place with its tongue and rip away at your flesh. Scream for help while you can, because you're in for one heck of a ride!!

Super Power

Hm...I think, if I were to have ONLY one superpower, I would most likely choose the ability to hold my breath forever, and for my eardrums not to explode at extreme underwater depths. Why? Say, one day, the world magically sinks into the ocean. Who'd survive that? Me. That's right. Of course, most likely being the only on-land organism to survive that ordeal, I'd probably be bored out of my mind with no-one to talk to...and then of course there's the possibility that I would be eaten by a shark or killer whale.....Well, nevermind that scenario. Let's say that the world DIDN'T sink into the ground. Then perhaps I could become a world champ at deep sea diving and win many awards at the olympics somehow....Okay, no. ACTUALLY, I want my superpower to be teleportation. "Oh hey! Where's The Enigmatic Banana? Isn't she going to be late for class?? OH! There she is!" Or say I had to do a project for school on Japan. I've never been to Japan, so I wouldn't know really anything about life there. With the power of teleportation, I could go to Japan in an instant in the middle of class and come back a few minutes later with a very well photographed rendition of country life. Say maybe I want to go on the Europe trip this year that I'm not allowed to go on because it costs alot of money. Well, with the power of teleportation, I could be at the airport in Europe about 8-10 hours before the airplane actually gets there. Anyhow, the power of teleportation is quite superior to the spoon. The reason this is so awesome is that mostly, I could teleport myself out of an ethics discussion with my dad. All hail illegal, quick, free travel!

L4D

Once upon a time, in L4D land, I was creeping my way down the hall, avoiding zombies left right and center. As my comrade Zoey and I rounded the corner, we came upon an empty hallway. This hallway was suspiciously lacking in zombies....Quite suspicious...Searching for medical equipment and such, Zoey slowly turned the handle of one of the many doors in this hall, she saw Beastie. In all his glory he sat, stunned for a moment at the sudden intrusion, then realized what had happened and punched my friend with full force, sending her body flying across the hall. "I'm sorry, man!" I sreamed, as I ran up the staircase, leaving Zoey for dead...