Fortnightly Writing Competition: Surreal *EPIC TIE*

[LRH]

Your task this time around is to come up with a poem, story, or whatever else you'd like to write that is surreal. It can be scary, sad, funny, romantic, whatever you'd like! Just be sure there is some sort of surreal element in your story!

I'll probably make trophies as well. Good luck to you!

[ddq]

So there we were, standin in the rain knowing this would be the lady time add zed each other for years maybe prefer. j took her hands jn nine sbd whispered "no no matter what I'll always live you even jf u an dead that will NLT stop me dim living you because fuxk that's Joe much j mice you."
she turned seay fr abscond and then killed back, leaned jn Clyde to my eat and whispered...
"dicks"

-Sent from my iPhone.

[LRH]

Good! There's what, 8-ish days left? More entries please.

[Tenacious Stu]

Eternal Surrealism - By Stuart Lilford


A man presents himself to me and claims he is my Son, but I do not know him. He carries the same air and mannerisms as my child, but this child is a man and is far too old. He takes me from my plain apartment to a strange house full of nameless faces that act as if we are acquainted, I do not make them feel foolish by correcting their mistake, as I have never seen these people in my life. Instead, I am polite to them and accept their hospitality.

Children I have never seen before refer to me as Grandpa, they are mistaken, but I humour them. They remind me of my own children, whom I presume to be with their Mother.

I walk past a reflection and become confused. How have I aged so dearly? I was certain that I was a younger man than this mirror portrays. This must be some glass of trickery taken from a hall of mirrors. I wish only to see my wife, but upon querying her whereabouts, these strangers tell me that she is dead and this has been the case for five years. This is news to me.

This day is truly surreal, as is everyday it seems. Each day is like the morning after awakening from a dream. I try to remember this dream, but it seems forever on the edge of my memory, always out of my grip. The more I struggle with attempting to comprehend with it, the more distant it becomes and in its distance, it casts strange shadows which take the form of the people around me. I am destined to wander among these shadows, whom are kind to me and act as if we are acquainted, but there is no use trying to recognise them, it is impossible. I am doomed to live in an unfamiliar world, praying for some item, some human with whom I can establish recognition, for if I can find that, then, perhaps there is hope for me yet? But, I pray in vain as that connection never comes and each day I become more and more afraid until these beings that surround me, cause me to feel threatened. I do not wish to be in this place.

I tell these apparitions that I must leave, that my wife will be worrying about me. They reply that all is well and not to worry myself as my wife knows I am with them. They appear to become aggravated by my questioning, as if I am pestering them in some way, but I have not raised this issue previously? They must be angered by something other. They are kind to me and ask me if I will sit with them. I am polite and accept their hospitality.

A man presents himself to me and claims he is my son, but I do not know him...

[mukk]

Thats just great...thats exactly how my grandpa acted in his last months. I was quite sorry when it ended because it really felt like I was in his head. Thanks, man.

[Ponch]

Good! There's what, 8-ish days left? More entries please.

But how can I write when I don't have a gleaming trophy to inspire me? 

[LRH]

Good! There's what, 8-ish days left? More entries please.

But how can I write when I don't have a gleaming trophy to inspire me? 

I'm sure I can whip up some trophies before it's over.

[Ponch]

Good! There's what, 8-ish days left? More entries please.

But how can I write when I don't have a gleaming trophy to inspire me? 

I'm sure I can whip up some trophies before it's over.

And I'm sure I could whip up a story. Help me help you (help me) is what I'm saying.

[Babar]

I was sure I had posted this already...weird that I cannot find it. Some particular phrases may have been misheardingly stolen :
_______________________________________________________________

"Affair most probably pleasant!", yelled monotonously, the man persecuting prosecutingly.

"Aye, a hatchet to the chrome", said swinely the solicited advocate, "We are brothers forever. More, let us pie".

"Aha! Having caught you out, your sister is not your mother! YOU are the sister", persisted the persecuting prosecutor morely, "Your Highness, I move the bishop!"

The king looked on injection, hammered hurtfully the bailiff: "Now listen you carefully, his words are about to explode!"

"DON'T TURN AROUND!" sonored purpley, the bleeder, promptly bleeding the three who turned to see who not was turned; "Now then, criminal, hear me your say!"

"Most majestically elevated, they plotted to suppress and depress and undress me!", began blubbered the base bastard, "Now nothingness is dead and...."

"WHY", rudely regent raged "DO YOU EAT?!"

The accused, uncertained, attempted answer "Why, I eat so others may starve, mine most Mercying Monarch".

Aghast, agape, aplomb, attorneys, the two centred swiftly the sovereign in sight, and deadingly demanded doom.
Emperor executed, and glutton guillotined got free.

"Affair most providently pleasant", monotoned yellingly the perturbed prosecutor. "Let us pie".

"Aye, a hatchet to the chrome. Drink us the wine, there are convicts outside".

[Atelier]

Rocky and the Sky Man

(England WWII)

A few expeditionary rays of sunlight filtered through the mist on the farm. It was quiet, serene, and the air was heavy with the scent of rain. A breeze politely stirred the trees from their slumber, and in turn awoke the songbirds which filled the world with their music.

Ploughing through the browning meadow by the woods was Rocky, the farmer’s boy.

Rocky was simple. His features were large and he ambled along like a gorilla. Two teeth like spades stuck from his lips, and his eyebrow made a bushy black M across his forehead.

Although Rocky was almost seventeen and a scrubby beard sprouted from his chin, he had the mental age of eight; and everybody treated him accordingly. The children in the village were unsparing, and even Rocky’s own parents struggled to hide the frustrations of having a slow son.

Sometimes, after their tolerance was stretched, his parents would explode with anger, for not keeping up with the others in the field, or not finishing his chores, and the only thing Rocky knew to do was run away.

When he was far away, he’d try and try to comprehend his inadequacy in solitude. That morning was one of those days.

And Rocky had no friends. He carried along a grubby potato sack stuffed with ancient straw. Rocky had even named it, and his sister had sewed eyes and a mouth into it, a long time ago when she still lived at the farm. Like Rocky, it was always smiling.

Rocky came to a halt in the meadow when something caught his eye. There was a white thing tangled in one of the trees, like a giant flower. Rocky’s eyes lit up. He could just picture a giant passing by in the night and dropping a handkerchief the size of a ship’s sail. Then Rocky laughed. Somewhere there’d be a giant with a runny nose. He made into the forest to investigate.

It was cool under the trees, and in the rashes of sunlight danced English bluebells. Rocky caught the striking tail of a roe deer as it dwindled nimbly into the distance. He was jealous of how fast they could run, and jealous of their silky coats. They had a stag’s head mounted on the wall at the Royal Oak. Rocky once got up on a barstool and stroked it so hard one of the glass eyes popped out.

The offending tree was in the centre of a miniature clearing, so there was a doughnut of tall grass around it. In the branches hung the white burden like snow; now revealed to be a parachute, with its straps dangling to the ground like empty puppet strings.

Rocky crashed through the grass and gave the parachute a tug. It stood fast, and the branches shook irritably, sending leaves raining from the sky. He didn’t know what to make of it.

Of course, he’d seen parachutes before on test flights over the aerodrome, floating through the sky like giant dandelion seeds or baby air balloons. Rocky giggled as he threaded his arms through the straps and fastened the buckles. He closed his eyes and imagined soaring through the sky, excitably alone at 1000, 2000, 3000 feet… and at that moment he felt weightless!

Rocky opened his eyes only to stare back into the face of a man.

He suspended Rocky by his collar and shook him. There was a pistol at his hip. There was a look of desperation in his eyes. He looked exactly like the pictures of enemy pilots Mr Preacher gave presentations on at school. Mr Preacher always wore a tin bowl on his head stamped with the letters ARP.

All of a sudden, the man stopped shaking Rocky and he slumped backwards into the grass. He rested his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands, and began sobbing like a lost child.

Rocky regarded the man curiously. He slowly unclipped himself from the parachute harness and joined him on the grass, hugging his sack fondly, not taking his eyes off him for a moment.

The man’s clothes were ripped and damp and dirty. For a while neither of them spoke; the silence did all the talking. And Rocky tried to render the situation. The man had now stopped sobbing, and instead gazed at the parachute, which gleamed brilliant white in the sun, and had the look of a man in conflict with himself.

Suddenly, a sound like thunder shook the woods and made the crows scatter in pandemonium... the man’s stomach had rumbled! Rocky and the man looked each other in the eyes, and then they both laughed. Rocky’s mum always said that an empty stomach was an unhappy stomach… she said that whenever she cooked up potato pie, at least.

With purpose Rocky leapt up like a deer, and without giving the man a backwards glace, raced to the village like he was running in the Olympics!

-

In the village were the mothers with their prams, and the children holding their hands. Rocky could see clearly the giant parachute in the tree like a splodge of white paint. He felt lucky it didn’t draw the attention of anybody else. For now, the strange man was his secret. He entered the green grocers past a queue of people clutching ration books.

From the crate he selected the biggest and juiciest apple. He spat on it clumsily and polished it on his grubby sweater. Then, without a care, he slipped the apple into his sack where it nestled in the hay. Rocky always stole things, but he didn’t understand the concept of property and besides, before his older brother got called up, he’d get Rocky to steal things for him all the time. It would have made no difference. Nobody noticed Rocky was there.

He just dashed out the shop when a girl stopped him. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the shadow of a tree where two boys waited.

“Hallo Rocky,” she said. Rocky nodded his head once and looked to his shoes. He knew what happened next, because it always did. The boys moved into formation so Rocky’s back was pressed against the wall, and he slid down uncomfortably on the cobbles.

The girl bent down closely, with her hands on her knees and whispered poisonously into his ear: “Shame your brother isn’t coming home.”

Rocky looked up with his terrified eyes and shook his head defiantly.

“Don’t you believe it? Probably in a ditch with a bullet in his head, or torn to pieces by a grenade. That’s how they all go…” she looked casually at her nails.

Rocky remained mute. His head chugged like a tired steam engine.

“Your mother told me when you get called up, we’re going to have a street party and everybody’s invited. Cos Rocky, nobody wants you here and let’s face it, nobody likes you… the sooner you’re dead, the better it is for everyone.” The two boys cackled like hyenas.

Rocky suddenly shook with anger like a cornered wolf. It was now he looked like a man. He grew taller, like a grizzly bear rearing to its full height. He raised his log-like arms threateningly and the three children shied away. Then with a nervous but satisfied laugh they melted into the village.

Rocky gulped and concentrated on keeping his hands steady. He threw the sack over his shoulder and returned to the woods, brooding over the encounter, as he always did.

-

At the clearing, there was nobody there. The parachute had gone. There was no sight or sound of the man; Rocky remembered him sitting on the grass so vividly. He must have moved on, he must have taken down the parachute, and moved on.

Rocky took out the apple from his sack and flung it tearfully into the bushes. And he waited for the man to come back.

He waited for hours, until the sky grew ruby and the cloud bellies turned gold. He waited until the sky was studded with stars, and an owl hooted forlornly in the trees.

But the Sky Man was never coming back.

Spoiler

The Sky Man never existed.

[close]

[LRH]

Great

Time is just about up, let's say ...Thursday was it?

[Ponch]

Great

Time is just about up, let's say ...Thursday was it?

And yet... Still no trophies.  :'(

[LRH]

You really had to see my horrible trophy art, didn't you?





(Also, by my CRRRRAAAAAZZZY American time, you all have a while to finish up your entries!)

[Atelier]

(Also, by my CRRRRAAAAAZZZY American time, you all have a while to finish up your entries!)

But here the sun's almost set zomg this is so surreal! My brain is exploding!

[Tenacious Stu]

Thats just great...thats exactly how my grandpa acted in his last months. I was quite sorry when it ended because it really felt like I was in his head. Thanks, man.

Sorry to hear about your grandpa, I do hope I didn't stir any sad memories, but I'm glad you appreciated the piece. I have been around a few people with dementia/Alzheimer's and although undeniably sad, it's always been something that has interested me.

You really had to see my horrible trophy art, didn't you?





(Also, by my CRRRRAAAAAZZZY American time, you all have a while to finish up your entries!)

Thank you for the Trophies Domithan, I look forward to tomorrows vote 

[Ponch]

You really had to see my horrible trophy art, didn't you?





(Also, by my CRRRRAAAAAZZZY American time, you all have a while to finish up your entries!)

Awesome! I must now get to work!  

==================================

That Tuesday had started out as just another boring Wednesday at the office. I was lying in bed, trying to ignore the sound of the secretary squeezing the duck out in the hallway when a client crawled in through the ceiling window.

"What's a matter? Were the stairs out or something?" My hand slipped in under the sheets for the vacuum cleaner in case this dame meant trouble.

"I had no choice, she said," she said. "Adding, Of course you'll understand," she added in a way that was easy to understand.

"Yeah. Sure." A fella doesn't stay this long in the pool without knowing his multiplication tables.

She had legs that went most of the way up, and a way about her that said 'I've got a way about me' -- what's more, she was sure she had the drop on me. But I was already one up on her. Or so I thought.

Just to make sure, I made double sure to think it.

"I have a job for you, she cooed," she cooed. Sultry. Trying to work the seduction angle. This dame was a live wire.

"I know. I already took care of it." And a good thing to. If I hadn't thought to think about it, this could have gone a whole different way. Maybe even two or three ways. And there's no way out of something like that.

"She was shocked." Or so she said. I believed her.

"I figured you would be."

"She asked, May I see it?" she asked.

"Sure. Right over there." I gestured with my trunk, one hand still on the vacuum, under the sheets, under the yogurt.

"She crossed the room, licked the curtain open, and looked out onto the streets below. She was speechless." Dead silence.

"You can't see it from the streets," I explained. "That's why it was safe to keep it there."

I tried not to sound too smug about it.

"Well played. How much do I owe you? she asked, reaching for a bottle of mustard," she asked, mustard in hand.

"Just get that damn duck to be quiet and we'll call it even."

[Stee]

It was a normal day for Life Partner Ray. The hot sea air rustling through the grass of his high rise penthouse dumpster. I hadn't seen him for chocolates and beginning to sorrow.

But there was a light at the end of the biscuits...

As I asleep from my dizzy haze I began to ponder the meaning of bigbluecup, and the underlying philosophies behind kentucky fried chicken. I ended to fall awake at the thought of orange cheeseburgers and sausage bread. Beard man prod me began with sharp stick his. Name said Babar. Knew this I because Beard man said "I Babar". "You not eat cheeseburger oranges today Dennis. Today you help I to takeaway over world". And with that Beard man left with I.

On adventure came across we "Fifth and Shit" Shop. Not know I, but hungry feeling, ordered poor shun of Shit I and Beard man. Cry began to beard man, to surprise my. "What wrong, Beard man?" said I. "My shits courier no have". And so courier we order for Beard man poor to over shit.

But was for disaster Beard man. Youths angry gang attack Beard man and stole shit they try. Hesistance without, unsheathed Emoblade and Soul Mower cast on Youths angry gang. Drop shit and beard man happy was.

Life partner ray off finished gang and arrive came. Beard man happy, and all we went to dumpster back and pirate ninja engaged six.

End


Is that surreal enough?

- sent from my iPhone using iOceanspiritDennis

[FSi++]

My eyes have things they should've never seen. In fact, I'd rather have them plucked out of my eyesockets with rusty icepicks.
For example, do you know that the alien invasion, the one sci-fi movies such as "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" warn you about, that kind of an alien invasion - do you know it's already over? It is, and we, humans, are the losers.

We simply call it the Disease. THE disease. You catch it, you end up in one of our Bunkers, with other unlucky fellows. Oh, and did I mention that if you do catch it, chances are you're a little girl. Because thing is, they're the most susceptible. The most endangered.

Yeah, well, and what about myself? I'm just a janitor. I work in one of these bunkers, filled with little sick girls, each and every one of them about to turn into a horrible outworldly monstrosity with thirst... For human blood, you may say? No, this ain't some kiddie vampire tale. They want your GUTS. Once their metamorphosis is over, that is. They'll want to lay their EGGS inside you.

There are a lot of teddy bears and ponies and such in our bunker. Because however sick they are, they're still human beings. Probably. We often talk to them. Here's Laura. She's six. She's a cute little girl. We don't kill them while they're humans, you know. Imagine the public outrages had we to kill them on sight!
Laura's parents are on the other side of this bulletproof glass here. We don't want them to catch the Disease as well. Laura laughs and says that everything's fine. She puts on her little hat and runs away to play with her friends.

And here's the vats. It's filled with some chemistry, I don't know the specifics. But when the girls turn into monsters, we kill them and we dump them in the vats. And this purple liquid dissolves them pretty neat. They scream and bubble, and wriggle, and turn into more purple liquid. Which we pour into barrels and sell.

Because it's highly delicious.

-- written from my iHaventSleptForAWhile

[LRH]

Great, great! I'm glad there are so many entries.

Unless someone else wants to enter *quickly*, I say we start voting. Is everyone ready?

[Ponch]

Great, great! I'm glad there are so many entries.

Unless someone else wants to enter *quickly*, I say we start voting. Is everyone ready?

I'm ready to vote. So I guess that's a vote for voting!