Friday, June 27, 2014

Scrapbook #1

I've been going to a writing group nearly every week for the last eight or nine months, and just realized I've accumulated a fair amount of random bits of writing material as a result. Our group activities typically consist of several rounds of impromptu writing based on a HUGE variety of writing prompts, typically only having 1-3 minutes to write, and then reading our works aloud. Rather than just let them collect dust in a combination of my notebooks and a Google Docs file, I figured I'd put some of it up on here.

Most of it is fairly random, but there's a few recurring characters/narratives here and there. You'll laugh (maybe), you'll cry (maybe)! The prompt will be before each story too, for context.

"You're roommates with any historical figure. Describe it." (This was the very first thing I wrote for the group)

"ROOSEVELLLLLLLLLLLT!!!" I bellowed as I entered the apartment. From the couch arose a titanic figure of legend, his mere presence making the air crackle with power.
"My boy!" He bellowed, the sheer force of his voice like a physical push against me. As he stepped towards me, I reflexively grabbed the helmet on the coat rack and hastily strapped it on. His hands gripped my shoulders, and we crashed our heads together. Even with the helmet on, the force was enough to knock me out for a moment, and I crashed to the floor. I awoke to find Roosevelt grabbing an unopened bottle of Jack from the cupboard.
Without ceremony, he ripped the top of the bottle off with his teeth and proceeded to chug the entire bottle as I staggered to my feet. I pulled the helmet off and put it away.
"So, Teddy, what are we going to do tonight?"
The bottle empty, Teddy tossed it aside and grinned at me. "The same thing we do every night, my boy. Motherfrakking PRESIDENTING!"

"Write about you being transported to any point in history."

Junk surrounds me. It's a scrapyard on Totter's Lane, somewhere in London. Night. I believe the 23rd of November, 1963. The night it all begins. Quietly, I sneak inside a building in the yard. In the darkness, I search for my goal. I hear voices. An old man and his granddaughter. Two teachers will arrive shortly, too. I find my goal. The old man has left it unlocked! The door creaks open, and I step inside the box. It's bigger on the inside.

"Write about a museum you've been to."

The air took on a static charge. Small, almost invisible, arcs of lightning danced between cracks and across metallic surfaces. A gentle breeze seemed to come from nowhere. It picked up in intensity, though there was no one around to observe it. Dust and a stray piece of paper whipped around the darkened hallway. The air became thick, as if space was folding in on itself. Which was pretty much what it was doing. Folding and tearing at the same time as an entity began to arrive from somewhere so far away as to not even originate from this universe.
With a tremendous crack, the fabric of reality split open, and a whirling vortex of energy seethed across the hallway. Light bulbs that weren’t even drawing power flared to life and exploded at the conflux of energy. The ground vibrated on a subsonic and even a quantum level, hairline fissures erupting from the center of the vortex.
From within the vortex, a shape emerged. A man, walking with unhurried grace, as if he was simply taking a casual stroll. As he emerged from the vortex, his appearance became more distinct. He wore ornate plate armor that hissed and glowed with in-built power systems, and a broad-bladed sword hung off his right hip, its blade a deep red and glowing gently. Heavy boots made footsteps that echoed down the hall even over the howling of the vortex. His head was bare, short, tightly cropped gray hair atop his head, and a matching goatee. Eyes of golden brown looked at the darkened scene before them with a mix of curiosity and vague amusement, as if he was chuckling at a joke only he heard.
The vortex faded as the man exited it, until silence descended. He came to a stop, and looked around. The scene was dark, but he still saw clearly. He was inside what appeared to be an abandoned museum. Dust covered everything.
“Hmm…” He mumbled quietly. “Earth, looks like. 21st century?” He studied the architecture for a moment. “Museum of Natural History… D.C. But… Something’s not right…” He realized there was a faint taste in the air, behind the dust. Ash.
He took a few steps forward, finding a branch to the hallway that led towards the outside. A moment more and he was emerging into the front lobby. The outer wall was gone, smashed to rubble. Outside, the skies burned with fire, and things crawled over the rubble in the streets. Some of them caught sight of the movement inside the museum and came darting over. Demonic forms, both beastly and humanoid, eyes glowing with fire and hate, tongues drooling with saliva, eager for a meal.
“Fresh meat…” One of them hissed.
The man calmly drew his sword, gripping it with both hands. He held it vertical before him, and rested his forehead against the blade, quietly murmuring to himself.
“I thank You for another chance to do Your will. Guide me and let me bring light back to this world. May the balance be restored.” As the first demon leapt at him, the man known as Allerka spun it around, effortless cutting the creature in half and leapt into battle once again.

"I tasted blue."

Roosevelt slapped me so hard that I tasted blue. It was a curious sensation, and one that adequately distracted me from the sensation of flying through a wall.
I landed amidst the drywall rubble, rebounding a couple times. I arose, grinning idiotically.
"Let's try purple!"

"The stark, bleak wasteland of Wyoming."

“Well, this is just great.” My friend says as we start to walk down the road. Behind us, my car sits silent, devoid of life and gas.
“Meh, could be worse,” I say. The wind blows past us, picking at my coat and hat, and my feet crunch against the gravel.
“How? Look at where we are. This is such a stark, bleak wasteland.”
“Dude, it’s just Wyoming. Be glad it’s not Arrakis or something.” Out of reflex, I start to walk without rhythm.

“The ice skater that dated the snowboarder learned of an unexpected secret.”

It had been love at first sight, atop the pillowy slopes of Mount Peaks. She was sitting near the fire, enjoying her customary cup of hot chocolate after two hours of skating, when he entered. Snow plastered his coat and hair, and he tracked the stuff all over the lodge, his neon-colored snowboard in tow.
Taking one look at her, he stomped over and crashed in the chair next to her, introducing himself. His hands were, unsurprisingly, like ice. They were both on vacation, trying to get away from oppressive families and jobs for the week, from opposite ends of the country. Seeing each other again after this seemed unlikely at best.
It didn’t take long for them to sneak into a broom closet. They were in such a rush they didn’t even bother taking most of their clothes off. The passion continued, finding new places for illicit encounters.
After four days, though, they finally decided to get romantic. A fine dinner was had, copious amounts of wine flowed, and eventually they went back to his room. They saw each other naked for the first time then, and, as he pulled his shirt off, she couldn’t help but scream.
There, in gaudily large letters upon his chest, was a Nickleback tattoo.

"Write about insanity."

The boat rocked violently as the waves battered against it. I struggled to keep myself standing, grabbing the railing and holding on for dear life. I struggled to look up, into the storm, rain lashing my coat and face. In the darkness, I could see little. A flash of lightning, and I saw a blur of movement that defied logical sense. A titanic roar ripped across the ocean, nearly shattering my eardrums, and it probably would have shattered my sanity too, had I not already spent so much time on 4Chan before.
Even over the roaring and thunder, I heard a voice bellow with sheer manliness, “Say it! SAY I’M YOUR DADDY!!!”
Something fell from the sky, or at least fell from above. A massive creature crashed into the waves, and ceased its thrashing. Its form defied euclidian geometry, and my nose started bleeding just to look at it.
The boat nearly shattered as someone landed on it, leaping from somewhere far away. It crouched, then rose slowly and dramatically before turning to me. I took a few steps towards the giant of a man before me.
I tried to shout over the storm. “Hey Roosevelt! If you’re done making Cthulu your playtoy, can we head home now?!”
“Oh, fine!” Roosevelt replied. “But tell me, boy, Cthulu normally shreds the minds of lesser mortals who look upon his form! I’m impressed you’re still coherent! How did you manage it?!”
“Easy! I’ve been to Japan before!”
“Fair enough!”


  1. Wonderfully entertaining? How did I manage to miss all of your Roosevelt references at group? :)

    1. Well, I've only had I think five or six vignettes with him across the whole time, so it's not necessarily THAT recurring of a theme. I think the most recent use was a couple weeks ago.