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Crunchyfrog
Honorable IFian
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 Posted: Tue Sep 01, 2009 11:07 pm Post subject: Best Style/Most Original |
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*PLEASE READ ALL EXCERPTS IN THIS THREAD BEFORE VOTING.*
Last edited by Crunchyfrog on Wed Sep 23, 2009 1:25 pm; edited 10 times in total
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Crunchyfrog
Honorable IFian
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| Posted: Wed Sep 09, 2009 7:24 am Post subject: |
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Rhapsody in Blue
| Quote: | Chapter IV
I paused. The silence wrapped around Ms. Parker, Deborah, and me. Deborah was being respectfully silent. Miss Parker was tapping her foot, impatiently waiting for me to make the biggest decision of my life.
I weighed the options. Option A—go live with some relatives in Minnesota, forget everything that happened to me in the past year and a half, and live a normal, if somewhat boring life. Tempting… Option B—go to an Organization I didn’t know of with an extremely hot woman I had met two weeks ago to learn how to control my “powers.” Exciting but dangerous… Somewhere, a door slammed.
Miss Parker looked at her watch, then at me. She smiled her sweet smile (I had taken to naming them all). “Look, Brandon, I know this is a big choice, but I need to know soon. I don’t have much time.”
I thought for a few more seconds, and then tried to vocalize my choice. All that came out was a short squeaking noise. I blushed and looked away, clearing my throat. Time to try again. This time, however, the words came out like a waterfall, hammering on the silence. “YesIwill”
Miss Parker smiled her pleased smile, face beaming. “Wonderful. I know that you’re going to enjoy the Organization, Brandon. And to think, I get to see you every day now!” My heart jumped into my throat. She’s too old, I told myself. Too old, too old, too old…
Deborah nodded, her nurse’s uniform crinkling slightly as she did so. She positively radiated pink and I could tell she was happy. “Very well. Brandon, you need to get back in bed. You may be out of the hospital, but you still need rest. Now Miss Parker, if you will follow me, you’ll need to sign a few documents in front of our hospital notary…” Her heels clicked down the hall in the key of C major as I got back into bed.
A few signatures later, a couple handshakes, and a talk with Bobby and Jacob, and the deed was done. I was now in a shiny black luxury car driven by Ms. Parker. I stayed rode comfortably in the passenger seat, thinking of my talk with my friends.
They had not been happy. In fact, they seemed distraught. I was going to miss the lime of Jacob’s aura—a combination of constant joy and hope. Most of all I would miss Bobby, even though his holier-than-thou act could be a little irritating at times. I watched all the colors whiz by as we drove past a busy sidewalk. Red, Blue, Yellow, Green, Purple, Orange. All the colors blurred together in one big blob as we accelerated. Finally, I turned to face Ms. Parker.
“Would it be alright if I set some… conditions to me being in the Organization?”
For a split second she looked surprised, but then the pure, white smile was back. “Like what?”
“I don’t know… I’d like to be able to visit my friends once in a while…”
She thought a second. “We can arrange that.”
“… and I’d like to be able to go to my dad’s trial…”
Nodding, she changed lanes. “Of course, but that isn’t for a few months”
Finally, one large, looming condition presented itself, a condition that I didn’t want to make, but knew I had to. “Also, if I say that I want to leave the Organization, you have to let me leave, no questions asked.”
She looked at me with a strange expression. “Now what makes you think we wouldn’t?”
I shrugged. “Nothing, I just wanted to make sure.”
We both lapsed into silence as we sped through the afternoon.
I fell asleep in the car. I don’t know how long I was out, but it was nighttime when Ms. Parker woke me up, so I must have slept a while. She shook me gently. I woke, but kept my eyes close. I wanted her to keep gently touching me so I could imagine her touching me for a different reason… Then she leaned over and whispered to me.
“I know you’re awake. Your breathing isn’t as regular anymore.”
Crap.
I opened my eyes. “Fine, you win. Are we here?”
Ms. Parker smiled her excited smile. “Yes.”
It was dark out and I was tired, so I didn’t get a good look at the outside of the Organization’s headquarters. I remember that I saw a gate and some gardens, and I remember a big large door.
I also remember the jarring not the door made as it closed behind us, as it closed on my past life. Everything was going to change. |
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Wed Sep 09, 2009 7:39 am Post subject: |
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Uriel
| Quote: | James looked at the scene before him, confused. He had just opened the door to the small house. There were Uriel’s telltale writings and symbols everywhere. In the center there were two bodies slumped over. A man and a woman. The woman was slightly raised, as if she had something underneath her. The bodies had simple gunshot wounds to the head, nothing excruciating or even disturbing, not after what James had come to expect from Uriel.
Then the recording started to play.
The scratchy voice- Uriel’s voice, was back. There was a woman and a man sobbing in the background. A baby was crying. “Come on, Ms. Lamdon.” The grating of the voice was terrible.
A woman’s voice responded, shakily. “I am Mrs. Jackson. Why are you using my maiden name?”
“Because you two aren’t really married yet, are you? You’ve had a baby and moved in together, but you didn’t have a ceremony, you didn’t even sign the papers. God told me you were to be punished.” A few seconds of escape from the rasping. “You baby is the first to go.”
The woman screamed now, all fear gone from her voice. “You will not touch my baby!”
James could almost see Uriel’s smile in his head. “I won’t, but you will. If you don’t want to die a slow and painful death, you will kill that baby.”
“No!”
Another voice entered. It was a male voice. “Honey, think about this. We tried fighting him, but he beat us. Whether you kill him or not, John is going to die…”
More sobbing. It lasted forever it seemed. “Okay, okay.” The woman’s voice was choked. “How?”
“Pick a way, I don’t care.”
The sound of the baby’s crying swells and almost shatters, but then it stops. The woman is sobbing again, as is the man.
A gun clicks.
The man. “You said you wouldn’t kill us!”
A grating chuckle. “I said it wouldn’t be slow and painful.”
Two gun shots, and the tape was silent for a time.
The voice was back. “Hello my friends. I’ve been waiting for you. I’m glad you could make it. I think the commissioner will be mad at you for abandoning the Meyerson scene so quickly, though. I’ll put in a good word.” Some maniacal chuckling. “By the way, you gotta feel bad for poor Jack Ramen. You couldn’t even figure out the clue… Talk to you all later.” |
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Wed Sep 09, 2009 7:48 am Post subject: |
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The Priest
Instructions: Click on the link and then minimise it. Listen to the sountrack as you read the excerpt.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=csJJIp7jCYA
| Quote: | New Year’s Eve, 1919
The dancers arrived.
They looked about the clearing, found friends to laugh with, sought enemies to cordially despise. They talked about their hopes for the next year, their regrets over the past year, and their joy in the present. They gazed at the magnificent, imposing oak in the center of the glade and complemented the hostess on the decorations, namely the lanterns.
 The lanterns floated in the breeze, suspended by thin wires from the mighty oak. They sought to beat against the night, to dispel, to destroy. The night did not care. The night never cared. Tonight it seemed gay and quick, light and refreshing. The night itself was preparing for a new year, for a new decade. Moths flocked about the lanterns in droves, clinging to the light. Birds settled in their nests, waiting for the sun to spring forth upon the New Year, to begin the year’s first battle for life. The wind picked up a little and rustled the lanterns, as if to establish nature’s authority over such petty contrivances.
The dancers came in groups, in couples, alone. One could easily pick out who the richest among the revelers, who preened and fidgeted with their beautiful masks, from the poorest, whom also preened, trying desperately to be noticed. Finally, at eight o’clock exactly, the band warmed up and the dancing began.
The colors! The sounds! The sights! The women’s dresses swirled about their legs, sometimes showing an ankle or even a calf, looking to God like so many moths floating about the clearing. The men blended into the night in their black suits, their stark white shirts and faces the only parts of their bodies visible. They flew, they glided, they mimicked the subtle dance performed by the real moths clustered about the tear-drop shaped lanterns.
Into the clearing strolled a tall man, resplendent in his own tuxedo, with his wife, who wore a midnight blue gown with black trim, grateful for the long sleeves and high neck of her dress, and even more hopeful that some dancing would warm her up further. With them was their son, a young man, uncomfortable in his tuxedo. His face flushed with excitement. Father had never let him go to a dance before! Dancing was not something for a future priest to be engaging in lightly. Before his arrival, the boy had been lectured on exactly how close he could hold a girl and for how long. He looked up into his mother’s eyes, which were hidden by her butterfly-shaped mask.
“Mama, what should I do now?”
The woman laughed lightly and pointed flippantly to a gaggle of giggling girls. “Ask one of them for a dance, dear. Who knows, you may sweep one of the little things off of her feet.”
The boy looked at the girls with a frightened expression.
His father looked at his son’s apprehension approvingly; then turned to his wife. “Would you like to dance, dearest?”
The wife looked longingly at a group of woman a few feet away, talking animatedly. “Would you mind me saying hello to my friends first?” The boy sighed. Grown-up stuff. He walked over to the group of girls his mother had pointed out, albeit slowly.
Hardly noticeable, a hard look came into the father’s eyes. “I asked you for a dance, my dear. You can talk afterwards.” He sounded stiffly formal.
The woman bowed her butterfly-face. “Of course, dearest. I would love to dance with you.”
They were suddenly off, joining in the confusion, the colors, the fun! They drifted under the limbs of the imposing tree for a moment of two, then swiftly glided away. They seemed set apart in the celebration. Not many people came to dance by them and chat over their partner’s shoulders. The man and his wife were singular. By virtue of her mask, they became a swirling butterfly in a host of dancing moths.
“I do not like you giving our son undue thoughts about sweeping girls off of their feet. What if he should actually try to? He will be a priest. He can’t afford to become involved with women like that.”
“There’s no rule against priests marrying, dear. They just can’t know each other.”
The man looked at her, ghosts of the past flickering over his face. “We tried that, remember? We found it impossible.” His face was heavy and dark.
His wife nodded, but then let out a gay, lilting laugh. “This is a dance. You should try to be less grave.”
The husband scowled. “You should try to be less flippant.”
They danced through the entire conversation, a swirl of black, white, and midnight blue that only God could see from above. Above their heads, a flock of moths floated about. A singular moth broke off from the group and flitted over to the couple’s son and swooped over his head, causing the girls near him to shriek and giggle with delight.
The girls would stare at the boy and suddenly gather up and start to whisper and giggle. This had occurred several times in the last few minutes and left the boy feeling very nervous. Finally, one of the girls broke out of the group (or was the pushed forward? The boy couldn’t be sure) and approached the boy. He swallowed. His throat felt dry, and no small wonder. All the moisture in his body was going to his palms, which were now quite slick and clammy. The boy stepped backwards.
The girl advanced.
The boy retreated.
The girl advanced again.
Cowed, the boy retreated once again.
The slowly made their way like this to the center of the clearing, dancing in a way, to the oak tree itself, which the boy suddenly found his back against. He looked to either side for an avenue of escape. He could find none.
Suddenly, he was saved by the voice of an angel.
“Well, aren’t you going to dance?” |
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Thu Sep 17, 2009 12:36 am Post subject: |
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Only 2 votes cast in this category so far...
Anybody can vote in this year's IFYs. Check out the excerpts, and if you're not familiar with these storygames, just take in a chapter.
4 days left for voting!
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