Descriptions

[Patrick]

In this game/writing activity you have to write about an emotion or feeling, without actually using that word. For example you would get cozy, and you could write about cuddling up with a blanket.

 

There is no constraint on how long a written piece can be, it just has to convey the feeling or emotion.

 

Just to give an even better idea of what this all would look like, me and Sweet shall give examples of possible solutions.

 

 

 

Stressed

 

02:41: could you send over the documentation for the project? I’ll print it in my room.

02:42: sure

02:42: sending

02:42 crap, only 5 hours left till we hand this in

02:42 Jack sends documentation.doc

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02:45 sending complete

02:45 stupid slow connection…

02:46 wait!

02:46 forgot to change something

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04:52 I hope everything is right in that version

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05:17 come on!

05:17 my printer can’t be doing this to me

05:17 not now!

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05:32 phew…managed to get it working again

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05:49 I wish it printed faster than 1 page every min…

05:50 jeez…that’s slow

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06:12 crap!

06:12 I’m out of paper…damn, damn, damn…

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06:15 how many pages are you missing?

06:16 17

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06:20 I’ll print it in uni before class

06:21 Jack has signed off

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07:30 Jack has signed in (web-based client)

07:31 there are like a dozen people waiting to print…this’ll never work!

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Next word is Indecisive

[Sweetcherrie]

Indecisive

 

She knew that she would have to choose some time soon, but it was impossible. There was always something that someone said that made her change her mind. Sitting back in the couch her mind was in turmoil. She wanted to split herself up, and become two…it was so schizophrenic at times. Why was life made up of choices anyway? It would be so much easier if she would just be guided along, choices sucked.

 

Tonight she would have to know what to tell them, and this morning alone she had already changed her mind about a hundred times. She even had friends in both camps. Oh, why on earth had she ever taken the job as president? She’d always had a hard time making up her mind about things. Then again, it was fun to do the voluntary work. See? Even with that she had double feelings.

 

With a yawn she put her head down on the pillow, maybe if she slept for a bit the decision would fall into her dreams or something. Slowly she drifted off.

 

beep….Beep…BEEP!

 

She slammed her alarm clock out, and then looked to see if it was not in a thousand pieces. As she looked she also saw the time. She would be way late for the meeting! Running to her clothes cupboard she tried to decide whether she would wear formal or informal and finally ended up with a weird mixture.

 

When she walked out the house she though about walking there, it was nice weather after all, but cycling would be faster. Luckily that choice became easy once she saw that her bike had a flat tire. She ran to the centre, and went for the front door, but changed her mind and went in through the backdoor instead.

 

She would simply ask for more time to get this decision taken, and hoped that people would accept that. After all she had asked for more time three times already. At the meeting table she saw that they had already started, and hesitated between sitting at the head of the table or take a different chair. Her problem was solved by someone standing up and playing gentleman by holding her chair for her.

 

“So, what subject will be next?”

 

Silence met her words. All started staring at their feet, and she looked around the circle. Then one looked up.

 

“Actually, decision has been reached; you’re no longer our president.”

 

Next word: Fear

[Wyvern]

Fear

 

Myrna clutched at the thin slip of paper and stared. She dug her other hand into her half-formal dress and took out a make-up box, not paying attention to the color of the street light as she opened it with a flick. She glanced at the tiny mirror and saw another person there, one wearing a mismatching T-shirt and dress, her eyes the color of the slip in her hand. She wondered if all ex-presidents felt this way: lost, helpless, stranded in the absence of their fathers. When he had handed her the job, she had never thought twice of being priveleged. But the slip, a collective decision... you're no longer our-

 

The blare of a car horn caused Myrna to jump, and she began walking faster, pretending to ignore the thick cursing of the New York cab driver. Was she a retarded whore? The light was red, her sight was blurred, the crowds made her dizzy. She would have to make a phone call, she would have to pray for a soft voice at the other end of the line. The thought of starting over at a place she'd never seen before made her choke.

 

Actually, decision has been reached

 

She shoved her way through the Times Square crowds with aimless strides like a lost seven year-old girl. Everyone seemed to have a direction but her.

 

you're no longer our president

 

Myrna fumbled through her keys, unable to recognize the one for her apartment. She filed through the chain faster with every failed match, cramming the shapes of the keys to force them into the holes. Then, a deep voice made her freeze.

 

"Myrna Crebomble?"

 

Myrna clutched at her key chain with all her might, feeling the different metal edges as they dug into her skin. She breathed deeply, staring at the ground, knowing the tone without recognizing the voice.

 

"John Calwright." The man lifted a badge. Myrna felt his eyes piercing her without looking into them. "NYPD."

 

Next word: Indifference

[Patrick]

Indifference

 

Myrna didn’t even bother looking back. She had met John at high school, and he had ever since had a crush on her.

 

“Just go away, John. We’ve talked about this several times and you know that it’s just not going to happen.”

 

She finally found the right key, and opened the door.

 

“I have a warrant to search your home, Myrna. I’m here on official business.” John’s voice was flat and expressionless.

 

For a moment she thought about refusing to let him into the apartment, but she could see that the paper he had in his hands was a genuine search warrant. And besides, her day had been bad enough so far. Why should she even care?

 

“Have a look then if you wish. I’ll be in the bathroom. I’ve had a tiring day, and just want to have a relaxing bath.”

 

She went to the bathroom and after undressing waited for the water running from the tap to get steaming hot before sitting into the bath.

 

For several minutes she heard John moving around in the apartment, opening drawers, moving around furniture. Her thoughts were still on the meeting of that morning.

 

…you are no longer our president

 

It had at first surprised, even angered her that they had done it, but thinking back she didn’t really care. The post had been eating away too much of her precious time anyway.

 

She dipped her head under the water, wetting her hair. When she came up, John was standing in the doorway of the bathroom.

 

“How do you dare...!”

 

“I thought you might be able to explain this to me. It is one of the forty packets I found stuffed inside of your mattress.” – said John holding up a small bag filled with white powder in his gloved hand.

 

 

Next word: Rage

Edited February 10, 2006 by Patrick Durham

[Zadown]

Rage

 

The ground convulsed, shook as a dying beast. Muffled roar of explosions rode the shockwave, the only sound that could penetrate the length of packed earth and worked stone. Screams of dying and shouts of command, the metallic shrieks of swords against shields and the cruel whistle of crossbow bolts were all filtered away, left on the surface.

 

Both planewalkers facing each other off grinned, breathed in the taint of chaos that flowed along the laylines, permeated the local ambient magic. There was no joy in the grin of either of them, just black delight of the destruction going on above, anticipation of the fight ahead down here. They were standing in absolute darkness, the tunnel manmade and reinforced but not illuminated, not that it hindered either.

 

The first was a grey-eyed little girl, barely into her teens. Her ordinary, vacant face bore half a dozen cruel scars, a streak of white in her spikey black hair marking the location of one scar on her scalp. The girl's clothes were red and green with flower pattern, loose to not hinder her movements, a wide green cloth belt around her waist. She had leather sandals and strips of leather wound around her hands to keep her grip on the massive sword she carried. It was dark with red runes running up and down its length, so omnious and foreboding in design it would have seem ludicrous if it had not radiated malevolent sentience. The sword was taller than its wielder, and the tip of its blade was lying on the floor behind the girl.

 

The second was a tall man, wearing blood-red armor that shifted constantly, the pieces of platemail drifting across a sea of chain, silk and leather. Dark purple boots, a crown of black iron and torn, burnt grey cloak finished his attire. On his hideously scarred face two red eyes burned with such intensity even a mortal could have seem them in the otherwise total darkness. His blade was as long as his opponent's, but its blade was spectral, its design oriental.

 

The tunnel shuddered again, small bits of earth and little stones falling down from the ceiling and falling down on the floor and bouncing off the wards of the two planewalkers.

 

"So, ye found us before we ye, ya?"

 

Her voice would have clawed at the guts of any human hearing it with cold talons of complete fear: it was metallic, distorted and old, and despite her sneering lips moving the voice seemed to come from behind and below her. He nodded and spoke, speaking with the same accent but with otherwise almost normal, deep voice, even if every word, every syllable was snarled.

 

"Let's get this done, mercenary lowlife. I'll aim for ye an' not th' doll that carries ye, sword."

 

The black sword laughed when the girl carrying it charged.

 

Author's notes: Not very good one for this thread (and I feel bad about breaking the chain of real world stories), but at least it was completely inspired by it, having otherwise being left unwritten. Consider this an interlude if you will.

 

Next word: Love

[Patrick]

OOC: I felt like going back to the story Sweet started and continuing it, and was in a writing mood tonight, so here goes.

 

Love

 

Myrna was shocked at learning of John's discovery. For several seconds she did not even realise that she wasn't covering her own nakedness. She slowly came to terms with her shock and became aware of the situation she was in. She moved her hands to cover her sensitive body parts, and tried to offer John some explanation.

 

"I...I only bought that mattress three weeks ago. I didn't put any of that stuff in it." - she said pointing at the bag John was holding. "Come on, John. You have known me for more than twenty years. I wouldn't do anything like that."

 

Her thoughts drifted back to her last meeting with John, more than four months ago. He had finally asked her out for a date then, but despite the wonderful night they had passed together, there had been no follow up to it. Myrna guessed that John had gotten scared of what he was possibly going to get himself into. Myrna had tried calling him several times since, but had never managed to reach him, and had given up, refusing John's calls afterwards. Seeing him here and now, brought back her pleasant memories though, and she felt that she still felt the same way about him.

 

"Myrna, I...don't know what...uhhmm..what to think." - John stammered. He had always been a shy person, and seeing Myrna naked for the first time probably didn't help him a bit. "I was sent here following a tip by an informant. I didn't know you had moved here."

 

"Uhm...would you mind handing me a towel, John?" - Myrna asked, wanting to help him, by removing a distracting factor from the conversation. She stood up, and extended one of her hands for the towel.

 

John took a towel from a rack next to him, and walked across the bathroom and handed the towel to Myrna. As he did so, their hands touched, and it was as if an electrical current had passed between the two of them and before either of them knew what was happening, they were in each others arms, kissing passionately, their desire of each other of the last four months suddenly unleashed. The towel, unused, fell to the ground.

 

OOC: next word: Curiosity

Edited February 10, 2006 by Patrick Durham