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The Random Short-Story Exercise
Apr. 14th, 2004 09:03 pmLast week, I asked you to pick a magazine or a book and find me a sentence, randomly. I promised to take all the sentences and write a short-story.
It's done and ready for inspection. I suggest you read the story first before going back to see what everyone selected. Some of the sentences will be too obvious in the story - it was hard to get around them. Others blended more nicely. You can judge.
Most of all, I really enjoyed doing this. You inspired me. Don't be disturbed though with the result. That was entirely my fault. I hope you enjoy the story.
Fate made me sit at home today and wait for Pink Lady to leave the apartment. When the front door slammed shut, my parent’s portrait over the fireplace rattled. I went to it and fixed its position on the wall. The Pink Lady, my lover for the last two years, has the habit of banging doors, leaving her thongs on the living room’s floor, and keeping our bathroom in a perennial mess. She has a name, but I prefer to call her Pink Lady. It keeps things informal between us. When I first moved in with her, the apartment was a disaster zone: sofa cushions marked by cigarette burns, chipped plates, indescribable stains all over the walls, limescale overrunning the taps, cobwebs and broken furniture. In her bedroom, a worse picture. Phone number and graffiti were scrawled on the walls, and on a wardrobe, a slogan was found: drink, drink, wherever we may be. I could only agree with the statement. We finished off two bottles of wine that night.
( Read more... )
It's done and ready for inspection. I suggest you read the story first before going back to see what everyone selected. Some of the sentences will be too obvious in the story - it was hard to get around them. Others blended more nicely. You can judge.
Most of all, I really enjoyed doing this. You inspired me. Don't be disturbed though with the result. That was entirely my fault. I hope you enjoy the story.
The Winner Takes It All
Fate made me sit at home today and wait for Pink Lady to leave the apartment. When the front door slammed shut, my parent’s portrait over the fireplace rattled. I went to it and fixed its position on the wall. The Pink Lady, my lover for the last two years, has the habit of banging doors, leaving her thongs on the living room’s floor, and keeping our bathroom in a perennial mess. She has a name, but I prefer to call her Pink Lady. It keeps things informal between us. When I first moved in with her, the apartment was a disaster zone: sofa cushions marked by cigarette burns, chipped plates, indescribable stains all over the walls, limescale overrunning the taps, cobwebs and broken furniture. In her bedroom, a worse picture. Phone number and graffiti were scrawled on the walls, and on a wardrobe, a slogan was found: drink, drink, wherever we may be. I could only agree with the statement. We finished off two bottles of wine that night.
( Read more... )
