Ladies and gentlemen... the WrongPlanet writing showcase

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Shoving Blue Tack in My Ears.

I'm not happy with the people who make blue tack. I have a dispute with them. They're crooks.

I spent a sizeable portion of my precious time researching and developing a new use for their product; I use them as earplugs. They mold to fit your ear, and as they're non-porous they're more effective than the standard porous foam plugs.

For six weeks I nurtured my invention.

Then, I wrote to the Blue Tack company outlining my project, enclosing the relevant patent applications and marketing research. I expected to be richly rewarded, with a generous cash injection and/or cushy executive position.

I never got the cheque or the office; they wrote to me advising me to refrain from inserting their product into my body, and if I had, to consult a medical professional immediately.

The bastards. I bet they stole my idea.

While attempting to get over a little block, I rewrote some opening paragraphs in this bizarrre style. I imagine it would be as exhuating to read an extended piece in this style as it is to write in it.

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It was late morning when she first knocked on my door; I stood frozen, staring at creation made solid before me. But no, it could only be an imagination seeking to find the broad sameness and wash over the minute and miniscule difference. A picture in the mind, so acutely obsessed over, inclines the fancy of seeing that visage everywhere; every barely seen face on the street, every likeness just missed made her by a conditioning of the mind. To see her in everyone, because hers is the only face demanding to be seen.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Pardon my staring; I was startled. I mistook you for someone else.”
“I am someone else,” says she. “Else, the someone you mistook me for.”
“I must apologise again – I do not follow.”
She confirms my name, and continues.
“This book you wrote,” says she, bringing forth a book. “This book you wrote is about me. I am she here named.”
A coincidence, I say. A co-incidence of names.
“And of souls? Explain to me, if you can, your moment’s stopping; your long stare and looks of remembrance. You know this face because this face has been in your mind some time. Since long before writing this character of my same name.”
“Who are you?” I ask.
“This I have answered,” her response.
“Not to satisfaction.”
“Then let this door bar my way no more, and grant me entrance. I shall explain no further on this step.” Her eyes, made of all the brownness in the world, catch me in their steady gaze.

And so I sit across from a creature of my own supposed creation. Not by some act or action against a woman living made she who sits there now; she is of no woman existing before. Her claim, as fantastic and unreal as it is, is mine to now hear. How she, not before upon this Earth walking, today came to my doorstep.
“Your claim is to be the principle character of my work?” I ask.
“A maddening thought? A thought whose owner must be mad? I know this is forefront in your thoughts, as it would be in any presented with my story. But story it is not; truth and truth alone is what I say.”
“You have yet to say much beyond your assertion.”
“It is with my assertion you have most quarrel.”
That I could not deny.
“As to proof,” says she, “I have none but the thoughts of my own head, and the words on your page. They are the same, and nothing different. My mind is one, there are no thoughts of another, and there is but one inhabitant of my head.”
“But this is naught to me,” I rightly rebuttal.
“Of trust this matter must be. And fact. Though no physician, you see no sign of vibrant insanity? No manic torpor? No dullness in the brightness of my eye? By all accounts a reasonable and sane appearance.”
“By one account.”
“By two,” her response.
I admit:
“By two.”
“Then your doubt wavers?”
“Enough to hear more.”
“Then pour a glass, and I shall continue.”

That was fun.

If I can make a suggestion: Perhaps there could be a sticky for links to the stuff that we have created. I myself am trying to make as many posts as possible so I can gain enough ranks to post links. I don't know if Tufted Titmouse is high enough of a rank to do that, so I'm going to keep posting until I go up one more just to be sure.

I am now a Yellow-Bellied Woodpecker. Which apparently allows me to post links to things I have made on other sites. So with that in mind, let me introduce to you all a fan season I have written of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. All twenty-six episodes and lyrics for the songs that would be in it. Check it out right here: https://wariodude128.deviantart.com/gallery/58786728/MLP-B-B Hope you like it and tell others so that Hasbro can get wind of it and contact me somehow. Doubt it will ever happen, but you never know.

Bleak

The Peasant feels bleak.

He stands by the ravaged rice barn, ransacked by the heartless soldiers not long ago. Order is collapsing all across the province under the weight of the raging famine. There have been news of pillages committed by army deserters, and it has come to them.

Cold wind sweeps across the barren agricultural commune. He gazes hard at the pale grey sky, as if trying to pierce through the clouds to reach that divine ruler above, who he knows from a lifetime of superstition and indoctrination to unquestionably exist. He wants to ask the omniscient Supreme Leader.

Why?

***

The Soldier feels bleak.

His rifle bounces on the passenger seat as the rusty army truck grinds through the rough rural road. There was barely any crop left in that commune. It does not even meet the officer’s quota, let alone getting any scraps to send home.

He recalls making the old peasant kneeled at gun point, who reminds him of his aging parents. The burden is upon his shoulders now. He has already lost the scared trust of the Supreme Leader by committing banditry, and if anything happens to his family...

Why?

***

The Officer feels bleak.

The price in the black market has surged again. His unit has been raiding the countryside for quite some time now, but the spoils worth only a handful of hard currency at most, a far cry to buying border passages for everyone.

He will never abandon his men, men who go through hell with him for so many years like his second family. Such was the oath he took before the bust of the Supreme Leader.

He heads to the unit’s armory, because he has nothing left to sell anymore. He will have to act quickly before the general start asking questions.

Why?

***

The General feels bleak.

Another pillage, another item adds to the list of turmoil in his province. There is only so much dirt he can sweep under the rag, and he knows how it looks to his political enemies. Rumors have it that they will move in on him soon, and there is but one way to save his honor.

He stares at the pistol on his desk. It was a gift from his predecessor who was shot for objecting the plan to test the missiles. Not even a proven loyalist was spared from the wrath of the Supreme Leader, who is him to survive the purge?

To that, he sighs for the last time.

Why?

***

The Supreme Leader feels bleak.

Everyone looks upon him as a savior, the heir to his father’s “boundless wisdom”. Few knows that what his family truly left him was a country in shambles, and fewer still know that, while there is a remedy, it is a bitter medicine, one that may kill the country - and himself - faster than the current plight.

His forefathers believed that only the strong survives in a world of predators, so they let the army grew big, ignorant to the now proven fact that a big army only creates big losses in a modern war and countless unproductive mouths to feed in peacetime.

It is why he needs the missiles. With it, the foreign predators will back off, too fearful to bring him down like they did to fellow dictators in distant lands. The army will lose its power, giving him a free hand to purge away the generals, officers, and soldiers. They will fight back, but it is a risk he must take to save his country.

…if only that mentally deranged dotard on the other side of the sea played along.

Why?

***

The President feels bleak.

He saps coffee as he frowns at the report on his breakfast table. Another missile test, that little rouge state never learn.

If the sanctions are not working, perhaps he will have to think about something worse, like laying his hand on their food.

After all, the voters like bold moves. It will rescue his approval rating and, with luck, boost his chance for the next term.

But seriously, what are those people thinking? Why do they never toe the line?

Why?

Hello all. Instead of putting my story in here, I am letting people read my short story through email.

I am titling my story "The Wrath of Emerald Lightning". My story is in .RTF file format (I don't have Microsoft Word).

Everyone I have given this story to has said nothing but positive responses. I admit that writing & reading are my only best skills. I am also incredibly creative when true inspiration hits me when it comes to ideas with writing.

My story is about an Autistic kid who falls in love with 2 black women (he is white), and the story is a Tragedy/Love story (so be prepared for a lot of death) and he has a "niece" who also has Autism that has an obsessive platonic love for the main character (he will be named after me, Bernard). The main character can control lightning (limited) to light up the night sky with Emerald green Lightning (can't strike people with it, for instance.)

I came up with this story all inside my head without writing a single piece of it within a month. At 21, I have done this with another book I want to write and I have most of the plot still in my head without writing it down somehow, but it will take a lot of research when I start to write it, and it will take me quite a while to write it anyway.

Anyone interested, just send me a PM and I will send you the story.

I got hit by a storm on Christmas Day. I wrote my experiences with it here. I kind of wrote it more as a blog post than a story, but I thought that the content was more appropriate to be displayed this way.

I have been working on a film script for a long while and it is called "Pieces of Truth" which is intended to be a psychological thriller about a traumatic past experience returning to haunt a boy and a girl who bore witness to it as children.

Logline:

Brian and Alice are childhood lovers who drift apart after witnessing the grisly murder of two friends. Ten years later, they reunite in college only to have their renewed romance interrupted when they begin receiving messages from two people claiming to be their murdered childhood friends.

If you are interested, send me a PM and I will send you a copy of what I have written so far.

So, I re-did most of my book I'm writing. Here's the plot, let me know what you think:

Shiloh is a sophomore in college. He lived a very normal life with an upper middle class household, family vacations, graduated high school and even has had the same girlfriend, Noelle since his junior year in high school. Shiloh is attending college to become a music teacher. During spring semester, his life takes a turn for the worst. Shiloh begins have dreams about the end of the world. He begins frequently sweating and goes for easygoing Shiloh to something way, way different.

Shiloh's father and mother worked with a scientist to create the perfect son. What they don't know his while Shiloh was in the laboratory, a scientist named Roman put demonic genes in Shiloh's mind. That's right, Shiloh isn't an ordinary human. Shiloh is the bringer of the apocalypse.

Let's talk about another character. Roman (the scientist) has a son named Jared. Jared is a demon naturally. Roman and his wife, Claire are both demon royalty. Jared grew up with both demon and human friends. He was popular with girls once again both demon and human. His smooth black hair and pale green eyes were characteristics of his family's clan. He had a childhood friend, a human named Thomas who was forced to be clean cut (polo shirts and khaki pants). He envied how Jared constantly got attention from everyone. Jared has always been manipulative. With the right words, body language and facial expressions, he could make his family let him play video games instead of doing his homework. As with Thomas, his family didn't allow video games.

Thomas began to despise his paranormal playmate. As the two grew into teenagers Thomas was still wearing childish clothes while Jared wore black, dark blue, dark purple and dark red (which are the traditional colors for male demons both casual and formal). Now as college students Jared is still very popular and attractive and Thomas has decided to copy Jared and become a "wannabe" demon. When really, demons see right through him.

That's all I got so far.

Title:

Convulsions

Genre:

Science Fiction

Sub-Genres:

Alternate History/Time Travel

Logline:

After a brutal seizure, an epileptic girl has an unusual problem; the problem being that whenever she falls asleep, she always wakes up five years in the past.