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Figments in fiction. A JennyK forum for imaginary DMers

JennyK	Date: May 17, 2011 @ 1:53 PM The prologue. Some time after. Not much time after in fact, only a few hours to be totally honest, peace was restored to some degree. Out of the almost silent forum came a strange sound. An electric kind of humming accompanied by a kind of swish - splash - swirley sound. It moved along for a number of seconds to slow down, make a grinding squeeky noise and a sharp clunnk. then it resumed it\'s path from left to right instead of right to left. The sound slowly grew as it came closer with each turn. Hum hum hum /Swish - swoosh -shluuurp - grind -squeeek -clunk hum hum hum. Hunched over a mini steering wheel on top of the floor cleaning water spraying and sucking up machine was Lurker. A silent and solid fellow. Wrinkled and plain.... well, old. He never did speak and he never will. It is believed that he was named Lurker out of simple spite by his mother, although the motherhood had been much in question at the time. Nobody knows the truth anymore and Mother Lurker held her silence until the day the lawn tractor ran her over. A terrible accident mind you and no blame could ever be cast on one single person. Behind Lurkers machine the linoleum was clean, shiny and free from blood, guts and feathers. It slurped up the last of the roach bodies and pinkish water and Lurker drove away, into the sunset, to huddle in a hole until next he is needed. Another figure appears carrying a small can of paint and a paintbrush. A leather tool belt and a stained cover-all identifies the man, a man? woman? none of the above? impossible to say at this angle, as a fixer. TheHe/she/it stops at the far wall and scratches his/her/its scalp for a moment and sets to work. Humming a monotone melody under his/its/her breath in a distinctively male, female, oh damn it to hell. Humming tunelessly the figure carefully paints a row of letters on the wall. Neat, perfect lettering finally reads: \"Figments in fiction. A JennyK forum for imaginary DMers.\"
ShadowMom	Date: May 17, 2011 @ 3:26 PM All admins are imaginary. So.... this is a forum about us, right?
Rosier	Date: May 17, 2011 @ 4:13 PM No, it's about us roaches.
JennyK	Date: May 17, 2011 @ 4:13 PM Well, as we have learned from Israfels forum, we may all be imaginary beings in someones head so I think we are all equals in here. Sick, twisted and imaginative, all are welcome. I don't have time at the moment to spin some yarn but I see potential in the concept of imaginary admins.
JennyK	Date: May 17, 2011 @ 4:16 PM And roaches enter at their own risk.
Rosier	Date: May 17, 2011 @ 4:18 PM There's a whole section of roaches, it's called "Newest users". The mallet is on the bottom of the list
Israfel	Date: May 17, 2011 @ 6:54 PM I'm imaginary! You all think I'm real but I'm not. I never existed at all.
sunshine	Date: May 18, 2011 @ 6:50 AM i too, am a figment of your imagination. thanks for the rubber mallots, they will be put to good use... if i had a hammer, i'd hammer in the morning, i'd hammer in the evening, all over this land!
sunshine	Date: May 18, 2011 @ 6:52 AM sorry about your nose and all, i need a lot of personal space due to the body torettes, thanks for understanding.
sunshine	Date: May 18, 2011 @ 6:53 AM please continue your story very soon, i likee a whole lot and it's a real cliffhanger!
JennyK	Date: May 18, 2011 @ 7:19 AM Just hanging on this cliff for another little moment as my brain works........ brb
JennyK	Date: May 18, 2011 @ 7:53 AM Sunny meadow funny farm, room 666 - May 18 2011 A gentle breze, a vague smell of bodies in distress, feet in efficiently squeeking rubber soles scurrying along the corridor outside my room. A bowl of mutilated jello. an itch that I can't scratch. Oh, no... it's the damn straps. I stare wistfully out through the metal enforced window to a serene outside world. The jello makes me think of sunshine. the tiny rustling under the bed and behind the plastic chair make me think of Rosie, and stiffening... egg white and how beautiful it was. The color red, artfully staining linoleum. Lovingly clucking chickens. Three days at the Sunny meadows funny farm has all but exhausted my morbid fascination in therapeutical treatment methods and true emotional screw ups. However interesting the tiny pills make me feel and no matter the sweet sensations and entertaining twitches I experience from the funny looking machine with the many wires, I have had enough for now. I twist around in my nice white coat in a futile attempt to get at the itchy spot on my back and sigh deeply. I think of politics and boggleheads and I know what I need to do. I sink down to the floor, in front of the metal framed bed that was assigned to me the first day, and close my eyes. I breathe deeply, feeling the numbness of chemical happy slowly dissipate. I focus my mind. "Aoooooommnotwannabeherenooooomoooooooreaoooom" I chant softly. I strain my brain near the point of implosion and I call out to the one that must come when I call. I hope. Handy with knives and locks and imaginary keepers, he/she/it must come.... "Fixer..... Aoooomdontwannabeherenomoreaooooomyoumustcome"
JennyK	Date: May 18, 2011 @ 8:54 AM At the same time, in far away place. the forum. The imaginary admin is pacing. She is seriously disturbed by forces she doesn't quite understand. Something is not right. She scans the latest polls posted on the political pages while assaulting a small battered pocket calculator with her thumb. The nail is bitten ragged and one more good gnawing will bring it down to the knuckle. she looks up, stops, and lets her arms drop, frowning. "Sunshine?" she says to noone in particular. The imaginary gardener looks up and stares at her. "No, not really." He looks up at the sound absorbing boards in the ceiling just to make sure he is right. "Nope." he decides and bends over his hedge artwork again. . A huge cockroach is taking form under his talented attention, complete with too many legs, a tulip in its jaw and most of its insides on the outside. The insect he had finally found in a corner to use as a model for his sculpture was not the healthiest looking cockroach he had ever seen but he was doing his very best to create it's likeness. That it would be about 30,000 times larger and so very much uglier in that size did not bother him. Not much. Perhaps a tiny little bit. Maybe even more than a little bit. A lot of bit? In all actuallity, he despised it, feared it and wanted nothing more than chop it into twigs but he has not figured that out yet. As he looks over his latest changes, mostly made to the difficult shape of the tulip, he can hear the imaginary admin mumbling. Someone suddenly stands next to him and he turns his head towards Sunshine. She is watching the leafy giant roach with ill concealed revulsion and the hand holding a grimy looking mallet twitches. The imaginary gardener moves his body a fraction to protect his creation, He glances nervously at the tool in sunshines hand and recalls the tourettes. He swallows audibly. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a peace of something wrapped in shiny wrinkled foil. "Chocolate?" He holds it out to her. For a moment she just keeps glaring at the roach. then with lightning speed she rips the candy out of his hand, turns and walks away. "Do you hear something?" the imaginary admin, whom we will call Mom for simplicitys sake, has broken out of her mumbling and is now addressing Sunshine that has come up to her, licking melted chocolate off her lips, smiling a little. She shrugs, looking unconcerned. Mom suddenly turns to the east, attention caught by something. Something beyond... whatever is beyond the something that it is beyond. That beyond where something is stirring. This something that is beyond something ripples the air, rips the something that is the essence of time and space to finally disrupt the happenings of something that is beyond to change and open something. Or something like that. Something coming. Coming fast. Mom screams. .
ShadowMom	Date: May 18, 2011 @ 9:29 AM
JennyK	Date: May 19, 2011 @ 6:33 AM Almost at the same time as Mom screams in terror at the forum. - At the chicken farm. He has clothes on now which is a releif to Israfel. It is something of a level three weirdo factor though that on this day of days Moam, as he scatters kernels of corn on the dusty ground, wears the shoes. those shoes. The ones that Sunshine once said she would wear to work if she had a job. The red shoes sparkle and shine bright and the heels are approximately two inches higher than on the average farmers footwear. Happily clucking chickens surround the happy farmer as he smiles at them. "Betsy?" He wiggles his fingers at the small chick that seems to stray away from the others. "Honey don't go too far now you hear? We all need to stay together in these hard times. Come now and join the others." Betsy cockes her cute little head and thinks for a moment before clucking sweetly and joins her friends. Israfel stands back to watch with her notepad in hand and a felt tip pen ready. Moams pale red and black checkered workshirt looks soft and well worn, spattered with white goo. A pair of pale green velvet tights hug his legs and a DMusic cap crowns the apparition. Israfel sighs and puts the pen to the paper, deeply disturbed. . that is when something flashes in her peripheral vision. Something there, then gone. A wave of unease courses through her amotionally analytical sympathetic brain mass as she turns her head but finds nothing. There was something. She glances at Moam but he is busy examining one of Maurices eggs that was laid as an offering of love at his feet. He puts one grimy hand over his mouth, sticking out a grimy pinky. "Aw." he breathes. A single tear rolls down his face and through the week old stubble. Totally absorbed in the awesomeness of everything, he forgets about the world, as he very often does. the imaginary humanitarian psycho... ologist? looks away and turns towards the east. There was something. She is sure. Something coming. Something bad. The world ripples and wavers. A rip, a tear, a rapture. The ground shudders. Israfel screams..
Israfel	Date: May 19, 2011 @ 3:15 PM :rofl; Oh I don't scare that easily!
ShadowMom	Date: May 19, 2011 @ 3:18 PM Hey hey! This is Jenny's figment! She can make you BE that scared. I suggest you try writing an alternate story line. Besides, a good scream can be quite therapeutic!
JennyK	Date: May 19, 2011 @ 4:50 PM You've aint seen nuttin yet. : Do add suggestions of what could be interesting to explore further in this story. Just don't get me too confused or I'll lose my chain of thought and I might give everyone birdflu and then poof! I don't feel like killing everybody off so early in the plot. I'm trying to keep things logical... Well , as logical as I can get them under the circumstances that is.
ShadowMom	Date: May 19, 2011 @ 9:16 PM Okay, "killing everybody off so early" and "birdflu" are making this figment a bit nervous.
JennyK	Date: May 20, 2011 @ 8:12 AM In the forum. Most Doomsday machines have a kill switch. They always have a way to abort, cancel, delay, or in some other way stop the end of the world from happening. Humans, when armaggeddon lurks, has something of the same function built in. In humans of course, the kill switch never works. Unfortunate as it is the switch simply switches the focus from planning for an uncertain future to not planning at all for a certain absence of one. People start thinking about their bucket list. The bucket list in the back of the mind of the imaginary unknowing participant in this story, let's call him Distilled,was brimming with interesting scenarios which he was quickly reviewing now. All the little pills and toxic substances to try. Bungie jumping naked , Having sex with a good friends mother, Trying weird foods like tofu and vegetarian pizza. That the time was short he knew so a few things had to be scratched. Ruling the world, infiltrating the playboy mansion and Pulling an ancient music site out of it's mudslide were a few of the things he simply did not have the time for. That mental checking and unchecking items on his bucket list is what he is absorbed in as he fiddles with the wires on the DMsday machine in his lap. So many wires. Red and green and purple and little shiny pieces with other wires in between them. Other not so shiny little pieces with other not so shiny wires connecting them. the cover is off and he is glowering into the nest of deadly circuitry inside. He looks up at the pacing Mom now and opens his mouth to say something clever. then he thinks better of it and picks up the screwdriver from the floor where he sits with his legs crossed. Bo had chopped the head off the spider that had nested in Moms hair and the screaming had finally and blessedly stopped. Very very carefully he starts poking around among the wires. He is not sure what he is going to do but he pauses to read the tiny sticker attached to the inside of the case. There is a clue in there somewhere, he just knows it. "Removal of cover is a bad bad bad idea. Countdown to end of world starts at time of removal. Poking inside this machine is also a very very bad idea. This machine cannot be turned off! Ever! If you can read this message, it is already too late. Dummy!" The constant electronic beep coming from the machine ticks off the minutes til end time. He reads the display. The letters turn suddenly from saying "A bit of time left" to another word that he takes a few moments to memorize. Slowly he puts the cover back on the machine and reattaches the strip of duct tape that holds it in place. He stands up and is instantly in the focus of everyones attention. He answers the unspoken question with a question. "Does anybody here know how soon "soon" is?"
ShadowMom	Date: May 20, 2011 @ 2:57 PM Spiders... did you have to give me SPIDERS???? Btw, you know men NEVER read directions. Soon is a state of mind. Bendable! Totally bendable!
JennyK	Date: May 20, 2011 @ 5:04 PM Yup, had to be done. and I like bendable states of mind or I wouldn't be writing this thing. They say you should have some inkling of how the story should proceed and end but.... got none. On the fly creation always works better for me although the end result may prove to be very much out there. Like a famous bear said; If you don't know where you're going there is a chance that you might not get there.
JennyK	Date: May 20, 2011 @ 5:32 PM At the chicken farm. Stop that! Israfel turns like a fiend to face the seriously innocent looking imaginary person behind her. With both hands out of sight behind his back, he is whistling a complex melody that he just thought of converting into cow bellows modulated through a junkyard car compression sound, with a touch of back beat finger snapping when he can get back to his 18 synths and 42 effect boxes at home. He almost but not quite forgets where he is. "Oh, this is gonna be mint!" he thinks outloud. Israfel glares at him, reaches for the stick he has tucked inside the waist of his pants and pokes him with it. "ooooph!" He groanes and grins, still wondering if a velocity triggered frog bass would work. Israfel snaps her fingers in front of his face. He considers the sound for a moment but then he sadly shakes his head. "No, that won't work." He frowns and turns to moam who is sitting on the ground now, cracking his fingerjoints. Electronz hesitates, listening. "If it was a bit crunchier. Yeah, more like Dorritos under foot." A somewhat more violent sounding crack would do it. He grins and starts forward. "Moam? can I borrow your finger for a sec dude?"
Israfel	Date: May 20, 2011 @ 10:16 PM Hey, I'm not reaching in anyone's pants for their "stick"!!!
JennyK	Date: May 21, 2011 @ 8:40 AM Sunny meadows funny farm "Aoooomyoufuckerwhatstakingyousolongaaaoooom." My legs are gone. I fear the moment when I have to get up from my lotus posture. I suspect that it will hurt. I decide to stay where I am for a little while longer. I keep trying, desperately wiggling my mental tentacles. "Aoooomyoubastardifyoudontgetheresoonimgonnapissmyselfandimgonnamakeyoucleanit" I stop to breathe. "withyourtongueaooooom." I add for good measure. I glance up at the clock in the corridor outside my room. I can see it through the security glass windoww set in the steel door that is keeping me from the outside and from mutilating other guests of funny farm. I didn't do anything, I'm sure I didn't. She fell. It was just unfortunate that some little part of her got tangled between my teeth as she fell. I couldnt' help that gravity pulled her down the stairs because i was really trying to hold her up. Really. Honestly, if ears were better attached to the head, stuff like that would not happen. Watching the clock, for the umphteenth time, does me no good I know. Clocks have that ability though on most humans. If there is something counting time nearby, humans will follow it's progress and abide by its rule. the clock in this case claims the time is 5:59. It did that the last hour too. I had watched it, listened to the ticking, yes it is ticking which normally means it is functioning, for hours on end. the clock ticks and moves its goofy hands around and around but the time never passes 5:59. It is 4:59, moves along to five, quarter after, quarter to six just like it should but when the minute hand reaches one minute before six pm, it suddenly clicks over to a minute before five. I think for a moment, then I stop thinking. It seems to hurt my head when i do. What was I thinking? Oh, right. i close my eyes. "Aoooom......" "Aoooooom?" There is a dull pain in my nose but i cannot sseem to remember how it got there. It is starting to fade completely. i lean back and hear a crunching sound as my numb fat ass, the result of constant supper time, crushes the little plastic cup someone had brought my happy pills in just a little while ago. Tasty little things. purple. the cup is green. Green, like grass, and all broken. all busted up because of my fat behind. Behind? That is a direction, not a part. Stupid. Arse is better. Arse is a good word. I like words. my pants are green too. but not broken. I think they work. If I stand up my legs will be broken because they will be crushed under a ton of fat ass. like the cup. i like the cup. the cup makes me happy. no, the things in the cup makes me happy. Despite my constant suppertime fat ass. i start to giggle.
JennyK	Date: May 21, 2011 @ 11:59 AM At the chicken farm Hum di dum di hum di dum. The tuneless melody irritates lurker. the.... thing on the seat next to him will not stop humming. The pickup rolls down the dirt road, rattling and moaning loudly but not loud enough. he can still hear it and soon, very soon, he would have to take care of it. lurker is good at taking care of business. even better than Fixer is. The thing. Hunched over the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the horizon, he thinks of ways to take care of business. It is not time yet though. all the scenarios so far imagined are all time consuming and requires some thought. Bide his time. yes, that is what he is doing. Fixer hums and the chicken farm is finally in sight. not that Lurker ever wanted to visit a chicken farm. Especially a chicken farm named "Moams chickens are happy chickens." he snorts and spits a brown blob of frothy tobacco juice with perfect accuracy out the truck window. Fixer stops humming, both of them stare at the spatter on the inside of the window for a moment before lurker drags his sleeve across it. not so much wiping it off but rather smearing it around on the glass. He forgets things. sometimes. Fixer starts humming again as the truck turns off the road and starts following the narrow driveway up towards the farm. On the farm they can hear the truck and all stop to watch. Even moam stops to see the visitors arrive. it is not someone he knows, he is sure. The pickup truck that stops next to the two chicken coops, making the chickens cluck and scatter. makes a perfect seven point turn ending up with a dented hood and dangling grill facing the main road, ready to take off again. nobody gets out of the truck. A scratched and flaking sticker attached to the rear fender reads "the end is near. did you gitter done?" Exhaust billows out of a rusty tailpipe,, the truck rumbles. under that sound, almost inaudible but penetrating and irritating, is a humming. Hum di dum di hum di dum. Over and over. Just as moam starts forward, the driver side window creaks open a fraction. A piece of paper is pushed through and the window closes. the paper sails to the ground. they all stare at it in silence. Still there is no movement in the truck. the hum di dum di hum plays over and over. israfel opens her notepad to a new page but can think of nothing to take note of. she looks around. what is wrong with these people? it is a piece of paper for gods sake. nothing scary about that. anyone could just go and take it, read it. She would do it herself if she wasn't already holding the pad and.... she reaches into her pocket. and a pen. her hands are full. anyone can go and get it but they all stare as if hypnotized and noone moves, noone seems to even breathe. It's no use. if anything is going to get done, she will have to do it. she reaches down and takes the folded paper. She opens it to reveal the three lines of text within. With eyes widening, fingers trembling, snarling softly she starts reading. "Dear Israfel...."
JennyK	Date: May 21, 2011 @ 12:57 PM Sorry bout the sloppy writing today. Got another story that i'm thinking about. i also need to catch a deadline of a certain point in this one as we all know the world ends in... two hours.
ShadowMom	Date: May 21, 2011 @ 1:19 PM From.....???? Yeah, hurry up, Jen, the other side of the world may already be gone dark!
JennyK	Date: May 21, 2011 @ 3:01 PM "Get out of my way you idiot!" rosie shoulders bo aside and shoves a styro-foam cup below the dripping spout in the coffeeDMaker before it can form a puddle that she, as always, would have to clean up. She pushes a button and waits as the thick black substance fills the cup almost half way. Bo stands back a step, staring at the lady as she attacks the button again. this time it fills to the top and flows over, making a puddle. She glances at Bo and growls. He takes another step back, not knowing how he will handle this one. compliant forgiving fights aggressive intimidation for the upper hand. Blatent petty sulkiness wins over them both and he sticks his tongue out at her and turns away to face the others. the forum is nothing but confused activity and the noise level rise and fall with the throwing and rejecting of ideas, suggestions and opinions about the thing they are supposed to do. He is not yet sure what that thing is. he is not at all certain that anyone else knows either. in that, he is almost correct .the last hour of unanswerable questions and incomprahensible answers had done little to clear up the confusion. Only one thing is clear. it is very clear that noone knows what will happen, only that everyone have to pich in and make it so. Clear and concise, direct to the point instructions and detailed time line. Yup. Here we go. the DMsday machine stands open on a battered wooden table in the center of the forum. Carved, burned or written with pens, pencils and miscellaneous make up products, the entire history of DMers love lives is on display. Since nothing can be deleted or edited after its posting, including secrets written either in love, hate or misguided idealism in the toilet forums, all dirty little secrets are there for the world to see, for all eternity. or, as in this specific case, another ten minutes or so. The DMsday machine has been poked and prodded, both by Lurker and fixer but they have no ansers. The beeping continues the countdown and the little display has finally changed from "soon" to "very damn soon." There is little time left and that seem to be the only thing they will know until the display changes to "No time" and that would be probably a bit late for anything. not that anyone knows what will happen exactly anyways. next to the machine, flattened out and placed for all to see, is the note. A few gray-ish spatters conceals a few of the characters in the text. Bo reads the note again. "Dear israfel. If you and your fellow DMers have followed the news lately you will know what i am about to say. And you will know it is the truth. In February my life mission was complete. the machine that will end all was finally ready. The DMsday box has been resting in the DM dungeons since then, awaiting a change of owners and my ticket out of here. As you already know, i sent the machine to the administrators. If it has been opened, then you know. if it has not been opened, then i will tell you now and you will know that this is the end. Muahahahahahahahahahah! Muahahah ahahaha! Muaha haha Goodbye d balls! sincerely raptured. .. a...." The message had been left in Fixers tool belt. the clock on the wall ticks away the remaining time. Bo catches the change when the rest of them are still discussing what wire to cut. what shiny little thing mayb be the little thing that will make the big bang. the letters start blinking and the strangled gasp coming from the imaginary gardener does catch the attention of the group surrounding the table. suddenly all is quiet. not a single snort, fart or shifting of feet disturbs the continuing beeping of the machine. they all stare at the display. Shocked into uncharacteristic fellowship and need for comfort between equals. They all gather close and start mouthing the numbers as they count down between flashes of words. Time to count yer chickens. 7 6 5 and a half Count yer chickens before it's to late. 4 3 2 almost there friends. Count yer chickens yet? .
JennyK	Date: May 21, 2011 @ 7:54 PM After the fact, the beginning. 0.924.. 0.921. 0.921 and a half. Budweiser - the end of the world beer you can trust til the end. 0.9123. 0.8924. Chickens are goooood. roasted or fried, boiled or baked. always chicken. 0.8923 and a quarter. A bird in the farm is better than packaged puke. Moams chickens are happy chickens. 0.79. Moams snarl shatters the numb quiet in the forum. "Oh, give it a fucking break why "don't you?" Moam stands up and flicks the countdown display with a finger. "Are you gonna go big bada boom or not? Cause if you won't blow us up...." He directs his frustration to the ceiling, throwing his hands out and up towards whom, if any, deiti or power crazy psychopath that might be listening. "I have better things to do you know?" Sitting on the floor around a nearly depleted case of Canadian dry ginger ale, the DMers wait. Bored stupid and disappointed in the delay of promised rapture, quakes, bright lights, angels and such shit they are not happy. not happy at all. Apathy, desillusion, depression. Anticlimax has exhausted everyone. The overall mood is dropping fast and hard. Mom is cleaning dirt from beneath a nail and doesn't bother to give moam more than a tired glance at his outburst. Bo has fallen fast asleep in a corner and stirs only a little at the sound. Sunshine and israfel, heads close together, quietly exchange stories which should never be made public under any circumstance. not here, not there, not anywhere. Distilled picks up his trusty screwdriver and starts poking around in the box of wires and broken threats. He is thinking deep thoughts as he lifts one wire, then another. What if? He pinches a green wire between two fingers, shakes his head and grabs a red one. He starts pulling. Elektronz seems not to be at all bothered by recent events. he Is sitting in front of his portable mini studio, trying to tune a rubber band matchbox without much success. Rosie finally tired and has gone home. "Call me when it's time oki?" the coffeeDMaker is cold and empty, Fixer and Lurker has hopped in the truck and has been gone for some time. Deciding the emergency was no longer an emergency seemed the logical way to go. Distilled pulls the red wire, frowns and selects a yellow one instead. Dis likes yellow. he pulls it loose just as the display flashed "DMers do it in the... blink! The display changes one last time. it scrolls like a ticker tape, one single word, so fast it is gone almost before Dis can register what it says. "Gotcha! He He he."the beeping stops, the display goes dark, the DMsday box is nothing but a nest of useless wires and little shiny things and not so shiny things. Dis shrugs, puts the cover back on the box and stares blankly into space. he starts re populating his bucket list with interesting scenarios. One of Elektronz rubber bands suddenly snaps and hits moam in the eye of all places. perhaps not as unlikely as it seems at first glance, pardon the pun, considering moams curiosity had brought him closer to the impromptu instrument than could ever be safe. Reeling back, swearing and sputtering profane like a pro, o wait, he is a pro, never mind. he gives Elektronz a ghastly one-eyed grin. "First you break my fingers, now you want me blinded as well as crippled?" elektronz grin fades and he gives Moam a blank stare. "Blind?" suddenly his grin is back full force. He looks around at the people there. he had known there was something missing. Now it clicks and he remembers. "No Dude, not you. but we are missing a missus here." moam frowns, not understanding. Still rubbing his sore eye he raises his eyebrows. elektronz plucks the remaining strings on his matchbox harp, puts it in his pocket and stands up., facing the DMers. "Are we gonna go get jennyK out of that nut house or what????"
ShadowMom	Date: May 21, 2011 @ 9:38 PM You tease!!! Okay, I'm making popcorn, please be careful with the sharp pointy objects!
Israfel	Date: May 21, 2011 @ 10:52 PM Well, now that we haven't been raptured, this story could go on forever!
evansorchid	Date: May 22, 2011 @ 5:09 AM You should write for the Prairie Home Companion. I'm hearing a bit of a Garrison Keillor delivery in this. ....Oh, an go back to the part where Mom is licking the chocolate from Sunshine's lips. That's my favorite part.
JennyK	Date: May 22, 2011 @ 7:15 AM had to google that... funny guy! Oh and btw, you know those stories shared by Issy and mom mentioned, hinted on a little bit, in a very subtle way. the event you recall so vividly in your wishful thinking imaginary memory, may.... yes, may just be one of those stories that should never be made public. Now, understand that i would not know of such things. No, denial is my primary objective. Yes, this story can, and unfortunately will, go on forever. Spike, you have by adding your post given full and non-exclusive rights to me to use, abuse and in any other way take advantage and make public each characteristic that I may find interesting and worthy of yarnspinning in the forum in question. Do understand that I will use any imaginary character at will in any case, without a disclaimer or asking anyones permission but it is, as i have come to understand, good form to pretend to, intend to, plan to or in any other way make it seem as if the characters under review will have a choice in the matter, which they do not. I choose my imaginary DMers with care but in some circumstances they do select themselves, eager to be victimised, unknowingly laying down their imaginary soul for exposure of the most perverted kind. and there is jello here. Somewhere. I had better start packing as the tale shall proceed in a manner that will require something to chew on.
JennyK	Date: May 22, 2011 @ 8:12 AM paragraph 17 section 4.3 a figment authors imaginary rulebook. "...and any logical errors in either the story or in my notes regarding said story, are never my responsability as i am an imaginary author which makes everything I write someone elses problem. "Someone" in this particular case has yet to appear in this story as another figment. this someone will however be spat on and blamed for any error i deem in need of blaming someone for." .
ShadowMom	Date: May 22, 2011 @ 8:40 PM Logic is for weenies anyway. And as for Spike, he really needs to keep in mind that dreams are not real Another figment? Can I get a scorecard here?
JennyK	Date: May 22, 2011 @ 8:51 PM the possibilities are unlimited. Someone comes, another one goes. like life, this story will have a method to its madness. Oooh, I need to borrow someones vehicle! Imaginary of course but it has to work.
ShadowMom	Date: May 24, 2011 @ 12:38 PM Jenny had to go to the used car lot, I bet! Beware used car salesmen They can talk more than ME!
sunshine	Date: May 24, 2011 @ 2:21 PM eo - glad i missed that part...strictly dickly, and besides that i don't leave much chocolate behind! steal a car jenny, steal it I dare ya!
JennyK	Date: May 24, 2011 @ 5:45 PM sun, that is why I make a point of keeping all those stories that we never talk about strictly confidential, no gossip about chocolate licking and such. Oh no, it will never be published or even mentioned even in passing. I won't even admit that there are such stories. Oh no. never. . Oh I was a bit weary about the stealing a car thing, that's why i figured someone else could do it for me. Mom? Talk more than you? Now that is frightening. Oh, and I'm only taking a short break here as coming events will take some serious tactical thinking and as mentioned, I also need a car. preferably something like a van, or something with a huge flatbed. time my friends. I am also juggling this story with another one. I don't want to get too confused Trust me, that would not be a good thing but a quick JennyK sneak peek might be an idea...... .
JennyK	Date: May 24, 2011 @ 6:14 PM Sunny meadows funny farm. something like thursday. or maybe monday. A few days, or maybe even a week, after green jello day. i stare at the wall. nothing very spectacular about the wall. It just sits there, holding the ceiling and the floor together, making no sound, casting no shadow. it's a nice wall though. Depending on the time of day, or nightt, it looks different. I admit, despite many hours of intense observation of the wall, I still haven't been able to figure out what that difference is. Except that when the lights go away at night, I can't see it any more. When the lights come on after an unknown span of time, I can see it again. Funny thing is that it looks the same. then. My legs have stuck permanently in my constant lotus position and now they have to carry me, two very strong and touchy feely fellows I'm happy to add, to the facilities. I always try to strike up a conversation with one or the other as i sit and do my thing. They don't seem to understand me however and that is quite disconcerting \. I have a feeling that all of those funny pills I get to try here has somehow robbed me of my second language and I have reverted to my native tongue and dom, med största sannolikhet, inte är särskilt väl bevandrade i skandinaviska språk. Det är förbannat illa. Jag är lite orolig att jag helt plötsligt kommer att tappa förmågan att förstå deras språk. Kommer inte ihåg jus nu vilket språk det var. jag vet bara att jag förstod det förut men inte nu längre. Det är förjäkla tråkigt faktiskt. Suck. Ah, there it is. yes, it really sucks to forget a language all of a sudden. but i like jello now. I have given up hope of contacting Fixer and I am afraid that my new friends here are the only ones I will ever have. I vaguely remember a different place. Another world and time. I remember something about chickens and I believe, although I cannot be certain, that there were friends in that place too. and admins, whatever that is. I stare at the wall now and wait for a little green plastic cup with little multicolored candy inside. I stare at the wall and wonder. Is this it?
Israfel	Date: May 24, 2011 @ 7:18 PM Jag pratar lite svensk! Jag forstar inte se bra! Jenny, didn't anyone warn you...don't take the blue pill!! Write some more about those strong touchy feely guys. I liked that part!
ShadowMom	Date: May 24, 2011 @ 9:12 PM Green jello scares me. It just doesn't seem natural. I bet the strong touchy feely guys like it, though.
JennyK	Date: May 25, 2011 @ 4:23 AM Haha, big strong touchy feely guys deserve a forum of their own and this site is probably not the place for it. "Vackra svenska flicka, kom på mig på kvällen och vi gifta. Älska blonda svenska flicka, mig köpa drink till vackra svenska flicka" A very sleezy tuchy feely fella from an unnamed southern european country, vacation haven for many sweeds during the winter. now translate that and say it aint pure poetry.
ShadowMom	Date: May 26, 2011 @ 9:24 AM I can't even SAY it, much less translate it. Jenny is having trouble finding a vehicle to buy/steal. Just remember, stay away from the blue pills and the used car salesman.
hantu	Date: May 26, 2011 @ 2:34 PM Beautiful Swedish girl came to me in the evening and we were married. Love blonde Swedish girl, I buy drinks for beautiful Swedish girl. ?? uuuh
JennyK	Date: May 27, 2011 @ 8:03 AM In the forum - Command central. "Captain, requesting permission to speak, Sir." A hard stare and a short nod from Captain Spike, commonly called Redshoe by the troops. He pretends not to notice but takes any opportunity to make them suffer. Keep them down, he thinks. Down, trembling and muddy up to their eyebrows. "Captain Sir.... I was wondering about this box here." The stare becomes toxic and the menace in those eyes cannot be mistaken for anything other than.. Um, menace. "Yes?" Redshoe leans forward a fraction, growing in the privates vision into a.. a toxic, glaring, menacing person staring at him. Private Someone swallows, eyes wide and shiny. The imaginary officer sighes heavily and softens his tone a bit. "Ok private, what is the problem with the box? You can speak now." Someone relaxes slightly and glancesat the cardboard box being lifted into the explorer. He takes a deep calming breath. "Sir, the manifest says 12 pairs Sir. I counted them Sir and we are missing one." It was out. He had spoken. The captain frowns. "Missing? Exactly what, if I am allowed to inquire," sarcasm? Oh, no never. "is missing Private Someone, One pair? or one shoe? Be specific, Idiot!" "One shoe Sir." Someone says in a rush to finish the job of being messenger of such bad news. "A left size 7 Sir, The candy apple red with open toe and sparkle strap, Sir." He falls silent, exhausted, drained, sweating profusely, trembling and releaved beyond measure. Spike glares at the box in the back of the vehicle, waves the brave soldier away with an order to shower immediately. "You stink. In this army we don't stink!" Spike looks around the frantic camp, finds his target and jogs, chanting under his breath; One shoe, two shoe, three shoe, four...." He stops suddenly and roars into his targeted soldiers ear. " WHERE IS My SHOE YOU THIEVING DOGPUKE COCK (Erm, the type with the red comb on his head that cockadoodles early in the morning, what did you thingk I was referring to?)SUCKING GOOD FOR NOTHING USELESS PILE OF CASTRATED HIPPO SPERM!" A second later, As Moam lies sprawled on the ground after falling over, a true Redshoe growl can and will do that to any mammals with hearing capability, he speaks slowly in a quiet voice. Actually it is more a whisper but there is no mistaking the murderous intent. "Gimme! Now!" Moam scrambles back up on his feet, rubbing his ear with a cheepish grin and indicates a small wicker basket not far away. "Look." Spike moves closer and peers into the box. No, not empty. Nestled in a tangle of pink ribbons, a handful of grass and a candy apple red open toe sparkling strap shoe, lies Anita. Head tucked in so far that her beek shows where there should, in a real world, be a nicely painted female toe. Spike looks at the sleeping chicken, pats Moam on the shoulder. "Carry on, Soldier." And jogs away. There is so much work to do and so little time.
Israfel	Date: May 27, 2011 @ 10:02 AM oh lordy, Jenny! Something has snapped deep within you and the monster has arised!
JennyK	Date: May 27, 2011 @ 11:10 AM Israfel, you are correct. I'll pop over to your office for some head mending or perhaps a partial lobotomy when I get a chance.
MsGlockenheimer	Date: May 27, 2011 @ 12:11 PM I L♥VE Chickens.
GTOriginal	Date: May 27, 2011 @ 2:39 PM Snälla hjälp min farbror Jack av hästen
JennyK	Date: May 27, 2011 @ 2:57 PM Oh Gary. I love Swenglish sometimes. That is a good one.
ChillinBuzz	Date: May 29, 2011 @ 4:41 PM Castrated hippo sperm... backs out of thread slowly with both guns raised
JennyK	Date: May 29, 2011 @ 8:36 PM Chris you Chicken! Too late though. Posting here brings you into the story... You are now a figment.
ShadowMom	Date: May 29, 2011 @ 8:59 PM An armed figment... need more popcorn...
JennyK	Date: May 30, 2011 @ 7:07 AM In the forum, command central, in a dark corner. From within the deepening darkness of the darkest corner in the forum where there is a frensie of adrenaline saturated bodies in constant motion, comes a wandering narrow stare. An impassive incurious observation of figmented humanity, working towards its best at its yet to determined worst. Each figment in his field of vision, under scrutiny, under direct observation, goes through a subtle change as physics say, the observer changes the observed. The changes, unknownst to the figments, are clear to the observer and, in this case, the narrator. Sunshine twitches and looks around, searching for something she feels but cannot see. , Moam straightens his belt, picks his nose and scratches... Well, that's just nasty man. The narrator slaps him over the head and mentally transmits a sharp "Stop that!", which he simply ignores. Captain Spike, in his jogging from task to task making sure everything gets done his way, jogs faster. But he stumbles and when resuming his balance and a fraction of his dignity the observer has moved on. Rosie, busy with the picnic basket suddenly trembles and drops a piece of buttered bread on the floor. She quickly scoops it up, looks around, adds a thick slice of processed cheese, in the haste forgetting to remove the plastic, and a sliced pickle on the sandwich and drops it in a container labeled "Officers." The penetrating stare moves from figment to figment, assessing, analyzing, deciding. They all have a moment of uneasy itching, confusion or silly clumsiness as they are observed. Shadowmom pushes a wrong button on her, stolen I might add here, poket calculator and grunts a bad word, a really really bad word. No really, it's so bad the narrator cringes, that's how bad it is, as she just forgot all the tidy numbers she had in the back of her head while calculating new tidy numbers. Elektronz, while checking the supply of tones, semi-tones and disharmonicas, suddenly loses his grin. He drops to the floor, looking for it. Anita clucks in her basket, awakened by the tense atmosphere. That or perhaps what woke the little chick was the constant teasing poking and prodding by Israfel. The imaginary Psycho.... ologist fumbles and drops the stick as the glare reaches her and jabs her between the shoulderblades. Private someone is nowhere to be found. Nor has anyone seen Lurker or Fixer anywhere. Armed to his teeth, bristling with a small armys worth of assorted weaponry. Keeping his fav the silver stake cross-bo levelled, aiming at noone and everyone, Major C Buzz steps out of the shadows. Weighed down by oiled steel, wrapped packets of explosives, sharp things, blunt things, toxic things, he staggers towards the small army preparing for seize and rescue. Bloodshed if necessary, turning and running if the going gets too tough. Major C sways, pale but composed and so determined it's not funny. Nope, not funny at all. It's downright scary. Suddenly he grins weakly, catches the eye of someone, no not that someone, someone else, anyone. Exhausted and soon to be flattened by half a ton of firepower he gasps. "I'm here to assume...." He pauses and attempts to hitch the machine gun strap higher up on his shoulder but with a grunt he realizes that he is sinking. Dismayed he glares at his boots, now seeming to wade in gray plastic. Down, down through the floor. through the floor? A split second of his attention, as well as all the others attention, goes to wondering what is below. A lack of subforums would make whatever was under into a... Nothing. Void, eternal dark, limbo, hell, or just some imaginary crawlspace full of imaginary crawley things like roaches, giant spiders, rabid rats. Buried dogs most certainly. They all snap out of that thought and return to the problem at hand. What was the problem? Oh, yeah. the weight. Feet crushing the linoleum under them, compressing it into a hole that is getting bigger by the second. The major squeaks. "Help?"
ShadowMom	Date: May 30, 2011 @ 9:31 AM I am so enjoying this. Major C is a fantastic addition to your stable of off-the-wall figments.
JennyK	Date: May 30, 2011 @ 1:43 PM You have no idea how much I enjoy making fun of everyone. Like Issy said, the monster is out. The danger of writing anything is how characters, albeit based on existing persons or ideas of persons, take on a life of their own. That is what is happening with this story. Major C Buzz was not at all planned as he turned out and that is so cool. It is getting a bit complicated at this point and I need to take notes. Even if logic is less than the priority here, a story that doesn't deliver answers to questions asked by the reader in some way, stupid or not, is not good. Trust me, this is a challenge as I write on the fly with no chance of editing after. I take it as a learning thing and I do hope I'm actually learning something. to all my figments.
ShadowMom	Date: May 31, 2011 @ 11:01 AM "a story that doesn't deliver answers to questions asked by the reader in some way, stupid or not, is not good." ---Someone should tell Hollywood that!
JennyK	Date: May 31, 2011 @ 11:07 AM
Israfel	Date: May 31, 2011 @ 7:51 PM I love this story. But you should know...I am a very real psycho!
JennyK	Date: June 1, 2011 @ 7:50 PM If you don't tell on me, I won't tell on you.
ShadowMom	Date: June 3, 2011 @ 8:30 AM Okay, waiting for the next installment, and I'm running low on popcorn here! Will Major C be saved? Where are Fixer and Lurker?
JennyK	Date: June 3, 2011 @ 7:24 PM Command central. The beast. "help: Major C's feet are on fire. A hole in the forum floor is now a bowl of sloping stretched plastic serving a lot of metal and one sinking officer. Major C looks up towards the edge that is now both above his head and more than eight feet away. Around the rim, DMers stand staring, some with hands in their pockets, other with thumbs up rear ends and a small minority with bulging eyes, horrified by the taking of one of their own. The sweat runs off the major in steaming streams and beet red really doesn't do a thing for his complexion. Thin spirals of smoke rise from his boots. He coughs, gasping for air between convulsions shaking his body. His feet are truly on fire, a DMer thingks and tries to see what else is down there below soldier and metal. Oh Darn. Nobody moves. Everything is dead silent but for a crackling and sissling from the melting shoes and a deeper, more ominous groan and creaking from somewhere below. "Help?" A weary, slightly worried voice speaks from the hole. "Throw him a rope or something" The gardener suggests. Moam stares at him for a second. "Do you have a rope? Bo shakes his head. "Probably wouldn't do any good anyways." He says, scratching his head. "Help please? Inquires the voice from the hole again. Elektronz attention span has finally exhausted itself and he wanders off, humming. Israfels pen is posed and ready but this is something beyond anything they taught in psycho school and she is at a loss. "What if he drops all the guns?" Captain Spike glares at Moam. "We need those guns." He exclaims with a tight lipped growl. "Pretty pretty please? Someone?" The voice is getting hoarse and more than a little strained. "But he could throw the guns up here maybe? Before..." Distilled thinks outloud. " Spike throws him one of his trademark toxic looks. "Do you know how to catch?" Dis shakes his head. "I'll be nice I promise. Help?" ShadowMom is punching numbers. "With the speed exponential of sinking which is so far..." Pthumb frantic on the little, again pointing out that it's stolen, pocket calculater."...so far, divided by the number of suggestions and rejections per minute squared with the majors stubborness to let go of his load plus ..." She makes an error, corrects it and continues. "plus the level of an estimated pighead quota and the numbers of subforums, approximately nil at present time, multiplied with ... Hmm. He will be pulled under in...." Her expression changes from concern to horror to irritation. From irritation to determination and urgency. "Help?" Comes the pitiful voice again. Weakening and desperate. Mom watches the plastic starting to bubble around the cooking officer for a second before taking off her shoes. She grabs the hem of her skirt and glares pointedly at the other DMers. As one, they all, well most of them, turn away and Mom removes a pair of thigh high stockings. She ties them together, measures the length and looks at sunshine. Rolling her eyes, Sun reaches back under her shirt and after a moment hands Mom a bra. Mom critical eye notices the clash of colours, Hot pink and fushia but decides to ignore the fashin crime in progress and ties the stockings to the bra. "Ooo... Proper cool" says Electronz appearing out of the blue" Love the colours!" Rosie gives him a disapproving frown and grabs the offered impromptu rope. Distilled is wondering, looking anywhere other than on Mom and Sunshine. "I could tie those wires from the DMsday machine I suppose." Someone pipes up. "Did someone actually check the truck for a rope?" A few shakes of heads and a blank stare from Moam is all the answer someone gets. He ponders... life. Then he realizes that he doesn't have one and fades away. Mom looks at the "rope, then at the Major, back at the rope again. She creates a noose at one end and throws it with eerie accuracy around the soldiers sweaty neck. "Yiiiiha!" The ladies start pulling. and pulling. And pulling, ignoring the choking and thrashing. "Heave you mother fuckers!" She yells at the ladies pulling, now joined by israfel. They dig in their heels, they grit their teeth, they strain until their eyes bulge. The major is pulled to one side, stretched between the smoldering goo around his feet and the women pulling the rope around his neck. It's no good. he is firmly held by the failing forum floor and Major C 's struggles weaken, his air supply totally blocked. Violet is another colour that does strange things with his complexion. "Whoa. Love the colors." Elektronz grins. Bo observes the sweating ladies with appreciation. they pull harder, heaving. Straining to get the soldier out of his smoking pit. The hole itself emmits a groan and the creaking grows louder, the underworld resisting the rescue, fights back. It wouldn't miss out on this meal. No way would it let go now. So close. This juicy creature would serve well with some couliflower and red wine gravy. Oh yes indeed it would. It drooled. Drooled some more in anticipation of imported flesh. The beast starts to purr happily. Then all of a sudden everything is still. Total silence grows deafening as the wind dies and everybody stops breathing. Well, they try to stop breathing anyways. The heaving liberation femmes stop pulling and even the strangled Major takes a break in his near death struggle to stare. Then Everybody is transfixed by the sight of Anita daintily stepping across the floor towards Mom. She stops, looks up and clucks. Once, insistant. There is definit urgency in the way she steps from foot to foot. Mom stares. Impatiently, anita clucks again and this time it is nothing but a direct order. Mom gets it. She drops the end of the lingerie rope to the chicken that takes it in her beek. Dark shiny beads look out from narrowing eyesockets as she digs her claws into the linoleum. She starts stepping back, each powerful step leaving an imprint of chicken feet that would fade no more than the flaming hole to the underground would. Anita pulls the rope taught and slowly, but surely she pulls Major C out of the hole. A tortured scream of protest from down there shakes the floor, the being roaring its outrage as supper slowly moves out of its grasp. A final desperate grab at the disappearing army boots pays off. It gnaws and crunches the rubber and Anita stops. Major C wants to scream, something is eating his feet, but he has no air, no strength left. His narrowing vision narrows even more and he knows without a doubt that the bangers he bought just this afternoon would never be eaten. Well, not by him anyways. Some fucker would get them. He blacks out. Anita grinds her beek and strains even harder. One unhuman, Huh?, powerful heave pulls the rubber away from hundreds of teeth and one pissed off beast. The ground lets go with a sickening Plopp and the force of Anitas final effort pulls the Major up and over the edge of the hole. the nylon, silk and cotton rope bursts into flames along with the rest of the DM issued boots, burning away selected parts of his clothing in the furious flames. Rosie is there in a split second, throwing a bottle of water on the flames. It bounces and rolls away. Israfel gives Rosie a questioning look and Rosie shrugs. Luckily for Buzz, he gets the air he needs to not keep dying and he comes to, rolling around on the floor, killing the flames. He lies still for a long minute, gasping, coughing, whimpering. Everybody stares at him, then they all stare at Anita that strutts away towards her basket with a swagger of a queen. She ruffles her feathers, hops gracefully into her wicker shack and vanishes from sight. A hellish metallic noice interupts the awed moment and all eyes flash to the liberated soldier. He is on his feet now, staring down into the calm and cooling entry to the underworld. Molten plastic settles into firmness. There is no more smoke rising from the hole. The beast is safely, mad as a wet hornet though, locked out of the forum. A pile of weapons lie strooned around his bare blistering feet. He looks to the others, one by one. He steps out of the metal pile and faces Captain Spike. "I was just coming over to borrow some coffee for the forum over... " He waves vaguely in an undeterminable direction. "over that way. You got any?"
ShadowMom	Date: June 3, 2011 @ 8:17 PM I see you got your notes together! I think you need to make this one a movie
JennyK	Date: June 4, 2011 @ 3:46 AM Haha, well a video game at least. This really didn't further the story any though. I'm still locked up in the nuthouse waiting for... Well, it seems like the only real hero is turning out to be a chicken.I suppose that is as expected and just as it should be in this world Hahahha.
hantu	Date: June 5, 2011 @ 9:02 AM Did someone say hero?
BOWILLIE	Date: June 5, 2011 @ 9:09 AM lololol..sweating ladies
elektronz	Date: June 5, 2011 @ 9:29 AM all i do is love colours ,,want some action
ShadowMom	Date: June 6, 2011 @ 9:55 AM Ladies don't sweat Even figment ladies. And that's my story and I'm.... Looks like some of your figments are getting restless, Jenny!
JennyK	Date: June 6, 2011 @ 12:43 PM Hmm. restless figments. That's not a good thing. I see I have another figment victim though. I wonder....
sunshine	Date: June 7, 2011 @ 2:31 AM sunshine blasts throught the brick walls with her invincable concrete hummer. gives jenny k a mikes hard lemonaide and takes her to the dm island where she is safe except from the dictatorship of eo, but she can deal with that, we forgot to get the jello, but it's over rated anyway, so we settle for bong hits with GTO, but since i don't bong hit, i let jenny get a few extra to chill her out from the ordeal. you are safe now jen, i won't hit anymore, i have medicine now.
sunshine	Date: June 7, 2011 @ 2:33 AM i can make a tent teepee from sticks and leaves, it will be palatial, i will have oompa loompas bring in sod for carpet and you can stay with me until you get your own place.
JennyK	Date: June 7, 2011 @ 7:37 AM Oooh, Yeah, we should all go to the DM island after this. but we are getting way ahead here.
JennyK	Date: June 7, 2011 @ 7:38 AM Sunny meadow Funny farm - Psychology wing. Do you not suppose that spewing these Diatribe Invectives around injudiciously, juxtaposed a diffident ire contradicting the deep-seated Jabberwocky that is fundamental for this institution, while in some way a laity Lilliputian mind could possibly comprehend it , a less limpid or loquacious show of bombastic Gregorian attitude could, in this case be preferable? My shrink looks at me expectantly with that uncertain smile and sparkle in her eyes that means she wants a lollipop or at least a little bit of praise for her ability to memorize big words. In fact, I would give her a lollipop but they are locked up in a desk drawer, one of many that I haven’t been able to break into. The last time I got one, unfortunately cherry flavoured, was when I managed to say my name and room number. I haven’t gotten one since. I give her a nod and thumb up to get her to continue. When she looks at me apparently expecting something more I assume a thoughtful look. “Yes, of course you are right. All of it. Absolutely correct. For sure.” She looks pleased and resumes her harangue of nonsense. I faze her out of my immediate awareness while still keeping a mental eye out for signs of her wanting me to say something. Bombastic? Jabberwocky? Sounds like big talk nonsense to me but who am I to talk? “Psst!” I’m not sure I heard that or not. Probably not. After my daily dose of green and purple pills was replaced with a dose of assorted collared ones my head has been less fuzzy but knowing me I wouldn’t trust me to be sane. It is a bit odd that they seem to have a distinct chocolate flavour once getting through the crunchy surface though. Worth pondering I suppose so ponder it I do. It fails to enlighten me any but the brain exercise is interesting. “Psst! Hey!” Sounds like there are people in the ventilation. Definitely insanity induced hallucinations. I ignore it. What worries me in my new medication is the lack of red pills. I do get the odd one but it is rare. I wish there were more red pills. I decide to daydream a little about some not too tall not too attentive, not too dark and handsome stranger riding in on a pony to rescue me. He would pull me up on the animal with considerable effort and we would ride, bouncing in a very uncomfortable way across the lawn to the parking lot where a Silver Fiat would be waiting. Then we would more or less fall off the beast, get into the sedan from the passenger side door as the driver side door is all busted up from an accident with a senior citizen with a revoked licence and drive east on Highway 7. “Psst!” Now that voice is irritating me. I can’t seem to ignore it. I look around the room. My shrink is busy analyzing something and is not paying any attention to me so I turn towards the voice. Close to the floor next o my chair is a plastic grill. I assume it covers an air vent of some sort as cool air comes out of it. It should not be talking though but talk it does as soon as I look at it. It is looking back at me. It talks again, and it is familiar in both tone and temper. The ventilation is pissed off at me. “Damn you are slow!” it says. “I have been lying here forever. It’s fucking small and there are spiders in here.” I raise my eyebrows. “So?” I keep my voice down but all of a sudden the orating shrink has become very attentive. “Who are you talking to?” I shrug. “I think I’m talking to someone living in the wall. Is that insanity?” There is a bang, a gasp and a number of sputtered invectives coming from the duct work. The shrink claps her hands together and smiles brilliantly, astonished by the progress. “Yes! It is.” She exclaims happily. “Go ahead.” She reviews her notes and picks up a pen. I face the vent again. “And you are living in the wall because…?” There is a considering silence, or perhaps my insanity is cured after all and the voice is gone I’m not sure. It is not gone “Well, I kind of like the scenery.” I pull my bare legs up from the floor and wrap them with my nuthouse flannel robe. “And the fresh air.” It goes silent but only for a moment. The shrink is looking at me, eyes shining and pen trembling in anticipation. I keep hearing voices. Sounding slightly weary but with passionate delivery however without mentioning neither pony nor fiat, the wall finally gets to the point. “Tonight. Midnight. Be ready!”
ShadowMom	Date: June 8, 2011 @ 8:09 PM And I thought I was the only one who talked to the people in the walls. I feel soooooo much better now!
BOWILLIE	Date: June 9, 2011 @ 7:34 AM On 7th Jun 2012, sunshine said: i can make a tent teepee from sticks and leaves, it will be palatial, i will have oompa loompas bring in sod for carpet and you can stay with me until you get your own place. i can make one without sticks..
JennyK	Date: June 12, 2011 @ 5:02 PM “Psst!” There’s that voice again. And it’s not even midnight yet damn it. I peer at the clock outside my door. Yup. Still 5 59 PM. Tap tap tap. What? Getting truly annoyed now, bothered in my meditation… okay then, I admit, daydreaming of a fearless naked woman hanging by her wrists in a stone room, trying to touch her toes with her fingers… Oh, no that’s another story altogether. Oh this is so confusing. Tap tap crack. “Hey!“ I shoot up from my complicated yoga posture on the floor and rush to the window. A piece of glass drops out of a corner of the now broken pane of glass. I stare at it, transfixed by the edge. Such a sharp edge…. All of a sudden I recall with terrifying clarity that I’m not suicidal. Oh, what a waste of such a pretty piece of glass. I am interrupted once more by a voice, hushed and frantic. Almost a bit panicky it seems to me. “Hey Missus? Could you… “ agroan, a whimper… “ I take a look through the bars that decorate my window. It’s quite difficult to really hear anything through the window even if it has a hole in it now. It’s quite windy up here on the sixth floor. I pause for a moment to think that one through. “Could you please? I just dropped my harp! I can’t hold on much longer out here.” Well, if my room number is 666 then what does that mean really? “I need a rope. Open the window.” The voice falters for a second as whoever is out there struggles with the ledge. Does that mean 6th floor, room 66? “It’s…” A groan. “fucking… long..” a whine, scraping, huffing. “..way down and I’m losing my griiiiiii….” Nah, I decide. It has to be the 66th floor, room 6. I’m sure of it.
JennyK	Date: June 12, 2011 @ 7:24 PM Yeah, about that other story... The naked woman can be found here in a story in progress on protagonize.com.
JennyK	Date: June 13, 2011 @ 4:56 AM “Did you hear something?” The burly lady on night duty at the Sunny meadows reception desk says. Berta, a long time veteran of mental instabilities pauses in her creative adjustment of medicines to be given out the next day and turns her head up towards the ceiling. She frowns. Her assistant receptionist stares blankly at her. “You are hearing things.” She turns her attention back to her basket and weaves in another piece of wicker into the pattern as the Chief receptionist listens to something her colleague have already decided to ignore. “It’s probably just a patient having a fit again and you know it.” Selma says, unconcerned and Berta nods but is still hesitant. “It just seemed like some patient must have had a terrible fit all the way from the 66th floor or something. It seems to grow louder too…. Like a….” She moves her head slowly in following the sound down. “Like an iiiiiiiiiiiiii kind of sound…. A god awful crash suddenly shatters the peace from just out front. The iiiiiiiii cut abruptly by a thud, metal compressing, safety glass shattering. A car horn starting to blare, then stop. There we go. It’s gone now. I must have imagined it like you said.” She smiles. Silence restored, calm and soothing drug induced happiness permeate the asylum once more. The odd sounds of whimpers, hysterical laughter, howls or monotone sing song voices drift out of the occasional open window but it is as it should. Everything is normal. Berta is satisfied in her realm of power. She is doing something important and feels content when listening to guests and staff alike presents her with their constant grievances. She is the bartender of asylums, the shrink of shrinks, the psycho of psychos. She sighs and relaxes. Nothing out of place. Nothing would go wrong this night. She would make sure of it.
JennyK	Date: June 13, 2011 @ 7:43 AM Just outside the sunny meadow funny farm, somewhere along the electrified barbwired fence. “Why meeeeee?” Private Someone whines. He looks up at the high metal fence towering over him. It is a monster of a fence. Crowned with barbwire and spotted with remnants of… something black and burnt looking. Someone glances at Captain Spike but looks away just as fast. Spike is not moved and will not budge. The survey of the perimeters has brought them to this spot and here is where the rest of the team would enter the grounds. A sign is posted every ten yards along the entire fence line. All but one proclaims the same warning in bold red letters. “Crazy people inside, keep out.” The only sign out of place is the one Someone presently watches with some trepidation. It is only slightly different. It says: “Crazy staff inside, feel free to enter.” He frowns. The fence is unbroken besides the main gate that is on the opposite side of the compound. Too many lights, too many watchful eyes. They have to go through here, or not at all. Spike pins the private with his toxic stare and speaks slowly. “We need to know if this fence is electric. You are not indispensable. You are volunteer collateral damage.” “I am?” Someone didn’t remember reading that in the figment agreement. But he had never been good with small print. He waits for another moment as he glances at the others. Moam is standing with Anita in his arms, mouthing the words on the sign as he struggles with the letters. Anita clucks silently in his ear and he brightens visibly in sudden comprehension. “Ah.” He breathes and moves along to the next sign. Mom, Sunshine and Israfel sit in a circle around Rosie who is laying a tarot star on the ground. Bo is watching a sad looking evergreen, wishing he had brought his hedge clippers. Distilled and Hanto stand at a metal box bolted to the fence, talking quietly about wires and other things non essential for this mission. Someone turns back, not yet resigned to follow orders. Something is nagging his brain, something important. He can’t quite grasp it. He tries again though. Spike is still staring hard at him and he stares at the long pole lying on the ground. “Can’t I just use the pole like Elektronz….” He trails off when Spike intensifies his stare and starts growling. “But I don’t think it will ….” Exasperated he resumes the whining. Whining always makes him feel better. “Why do we have to rescue JennyK anyways?” “Blasphemers!” A voice raged from out of nowhere. They all turned to see. A ridiculously tall stick figure of a man stands in the shadow of a dead oak, swinging his arms wide as thunder rolls across the night sky. Black clouds form and gather above the group of soldiers, obscuring the stars. A cold wind grabs his long black robe and whips it around him. He points a skeletal finger at Someone. “Blasphemy!” Many voices seem to call out at the same time, moaning, whispering. A Cacophony of ghostly accusations and sorrowful angst fill the air, coming from all around, everywhere. Thirteen ghosts at least. The voices grow louder as they repeat themselves. “BLASPHEEEEEEMER!” “Yeah, you said that already. I heard you the first time. ” Someone mutters. The robed figure calms suddenly, the blackening clouds over head stops roiling and thins out to let stars shine through once more. Ghosts dissipate in the night. The One vocabulary priest grabs his robe and shakes a few dry leaves off the hem and smiles apologetically at Someone. “Just doing my job Mate. You know how it is.” He shrugs. “Easy as ya go Soldiers. Cheerio.” He waves and walks off with long relaxed strides. He disappears as thick fog close around him. In a moment he is gone. The thick fog starts to vanish instantly. Another figure is suddenly visible. They all stare at him/her/it as he/she/it walks away from them, disappearing into the forest carrying the fog machine. Someone shrugs, finally resigned. He steps towards the fence, hesitates. He looks back at Spike. Oh what the hell. He touches the metal. Nothing. He presses a hand against the metal. Nothing. His suspicion is growing stronger. He should be fried figment right now but he is not. He can hear excited voices as he quickly scales the fence. With a few artful acrobatics he avoids the barb wire almost completely and jumps down on the other side. He grins. There is still something though. That nagging. Something important that he should say. The rest of the group is gathered now, preparing to climb the fence. Spike straightens with a self satisfied sneer and points at Bo. Time for action. Bo steps to the fence, reaches out…. Someone finally figures out what the problem is. “NO! I’m not like…” He has time to squeal before Bo grabs a hold of the fence with both hands. He is promptly fried into black smoking crispness with a Zap! Private Someone strolls over to the box in the fence where, on his side of the fence, there’s a lever. He pulls it to the setting marked “Off” A low humming that no one had noticed before stops. He shrugs sheepishly. “What I was trying to say is that since I’m not a real figment, just a pretend imaginary figment, the laws of this story doesn’t apply to me… Sorry Bo.” With some regret he looks at the imaginary gardener, the now very well done, smoking imaginary gardener sticking to the metal before walking off towards the buildings looming before him. He doesn’t wait for the others to join him, they’ll catch up once they scrape Bo off the fence. .
BOWILLIE	Date: June 13, 2011 @ 10:30 AM if this was a star treck script..i would be the one in the red shirt ..red shirters allways die on star treck
JennyK	Date: June 13, 2011 @ 1:57 PM Well, take comfort in the fact that you weren't the absolutely first I killed off in this story Bo. Makes me wonder how many are wearing red shirts. Two figments down, how many to go? This is fun.
ShadowMom	Date: June 14, 2011 @ 10:57 AM They are falling like flies-- how many more will be sacrificed?
elektronz	Date: June 15, 2011 @ 2:02 AM oi !!! ..stay away from my pole
ShadowMom	Date: June 18, 2011 @ 2:00 PM I just had to bump this away from that thread titled, "The Bathing of Husband and Wife together"-- I can only stand so much imagination at one time.

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