Anyone ever fancied writing a book? Many would like to but are too modest to say so and have difficulty in finding the inspiration to start. ItÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s something to do with our essentially human desire to Ã¢â‚¬Ëœleave our markÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ other than through our children, although they surely must be testament enough (donÃ¢â‚¬Ëœt say you havenÃ¢â‚¬Ëœt got any if you are male, only girls can be that sure). The continued progress of other threads on here, allowing members to contribute in part, has impressed and inspired enough to prompt a suggestion for an extension of the original concept whilst in no way seeking to draw contributions from those excellent threads. So, weÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ll know soon enough if this meets with a stony silence! The intention is as dark and twisted, with as many side issues, false premises and misdirections as those excellent Danish Ã¢â‚¬ËœKillerÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ series that have been on TV recently.
The idea is: no more than a generous100 words per contribution but obviously as many contributions as you like; in as many paragraphs as is grammatical (but correct grammar is not necessary); as far as possible in 1st person but an alternative personality emerging would be good; if you must use vernacular or less-than-tasteful terminology, try hinting at it first; subject to the approval of forum management - usual forum requirements to be met. Here goes with the opening paragraph:
You know how when youÃ¢â‚¬â„¢re in a less than salubrious part of a strange town and thereÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s a dog, stiff legged, back ridge on end, facing you on the pavement? Mouth like an unsprung bear trap, but the tail is wagging? Deep-throat snarl gives the clue that it ainÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t whistling Dixie? ThatÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s how I felt when I first opened the box. Danger.
I was right to think so, as I peeled open the lid my nostrils were greeted by the putrid stench of decomposition. My Stomach twisted and clenched, my Throat burned as I struggled to hold the Vomit down as the realisation unfolded that this stench was that of a now rotting Human Heart. I dropped the box, allowing its contents to spill upon the floor, dropping to my Knee's unable to keep down the torrent of vomit. My Heart began to pound profusely whilst my Mind raced with the question... Who sent me this and why?
Time stood still. I knelt, staring at my macabre gift, unable to rouse myself into action. The congealed blood contaminating my zebra wood floor, next to the pile of partially digested croissants and coffee would have to be dealt with. By me. I looked at my expensive Tag Hauer watch, a gift from Sabine back in happier days, back in happier days with no vomit, no rotting hearts on my extravagant floor (paid for whilst doing some 'laundry') and no housekeeper about to arrive any minute! Just then I heard her key in the lock.
I remember that sound. And that smell. Afterwards they said I have multiple personalities but none of us are bipolar. Sometimes we have group therapy parties but no. 3, thatÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s Myra, keeps shouting and upsets no. 7, thatÃ¢â‚¬Ëœs Freddie. Then no.11 (Lizzie) does that thing with her double jointed neck and everyone throws up. Except no. 5. He hasnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t got a name. Or at least he wonÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t tell us. He turns up when there is a messy wanted and then disappears into the shadow at the end. With his hissing.
Wish they would stay quiet. I can even hear them when IÃ¢â‚¬â„¢m asleep.