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Ongoing boards short story

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  • 25-06-2004 2:27pm
    #1
    carpocrates
    Closed Accounts Posts: 118 ✭✭


    This may float dead in the water here a while, or even for ever, but why don't we pool our resources on this board and attenpt writing a short piece of fiction?
    I could begin and someone else follows on, and the someone else follows. etc.
    Is this a suky idea or worth a bash?


    To begin:
    It was a delightful afternoon in the luxuriant garden and Wendy-Jo and Stanislaus were discussing Strindberg over a plateful of lettuce sandwiches and tea. The plate was unusually small and sported a wealth of tiny floral designs of the Hellenic type across which were crawling a platoon of ants, busily trying to figure out how to transport all this treasure into their little hole.
    Sebastian, the honourary platoon leader of the day, since Petrarch had been injured in yesterdays cricket match, stroked his head with some perturbance.
    His architectural plans, for an advanced pulley system composed of bamboo had been disturbed last night by the overwhelming worries that his wife was once again having an affair.
    All the telltale signs were there., he was sure, if ony he had the time to look for them. The other ants, Darius and Luke among them, were by now visibly on edge. Sebastian knew that today, whatever happened, he would overcome his incontenance...


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    #2
    RopeDrink
    Category Moderators, Arts Moderators, Computer Games Moderators, Entertainment Moderators, Technology & Internet Moderators Posts: 4,599 CMod ✭✭✭✭RopeDrink


    (Exclude this from story)
    As you can see I already tried this with the 'Contribu Story' Thread, with little interest. If things go well with this one, or any similar threads, then they should be stickied.


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    #3
    simu
    Closed Accounts Posts: 10,730 ✭✭✭✭simu


    "Yes, I must try reading it in the Swedish..."

    The words pop out of Stanislaus's prim mouth and float away in the midsummer air. And so their conversation stops momentarily. Stanislaus tries to force the last, stubborn sliver of watercress from between her teeth, Wendy looks around, first at the hem of Stan's flowery dress, then as her attention is caught by their jerky movement on grass blades, at the ants.

    My Helen, my well, my queen, for you I work, I carry fierce bundles through fields of endless peril. Oh for one look at your silken claws, for one day of winged desire... that the fruits of our passion might reach to the ends of the earth, from colony to glorious colossos of colony... and yet, and yet, and yet...

    "...Sebbie's off in trance again...", murmurs Stanislaus. The words take on the subdued pink shade of her lipstick as they settle in Wendy's mind. On a day like this, all time melts into a pool of pleasure, the tense urgencies of the world relegated to an pleasant acidic note in the sweet liquid of the present. Or so it feels to Wendy as she turns towards her lover, her face erupting into waves of smiles...


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