Story Based on Your Favorite Song - 1/25

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Brian
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Story Based on Your Favorite Song - 1/25

Postby Brian » Tue Jan 25, 2011 3:40 am


Brian
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Story Based on Your Favorite Song - 1/25

Postby Brian » Tue Jan 25, 2011 3:40 am

Take the first line of your favorite song and write a story using it as the first line.

You can post your response (750 words or fewer) here.

michele
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Re: Story Based on Your Favorite Song - 1/25

Postby michele » Tue Jan 25, 2011 10:54 am

(#376816) Story Based on Your Favorite Song

It was the 1950's and believe me we were the most lucky teenagers ever. You had to be there but most movies, books, plays and dances all seem to go back to those good old days. There was a song way back when and so forth and so on.... He said to me while parking at the local spot- In the still of the night I held you held you tight because I love - love you so and I'll never let you go in the still of the night. Well, I just about could not breath from excitement and happiness. We made the most cool couple. Everyone knew us as we flew by in the lilac convertible with a continental on the back. His car was one of a kind and we just loved the attention. I said I love you too Joe. My hair was blond and in style to the hilt. I was tall with a great shape and always had on a tight skirt with a kick pleat in back and black loafers with a dime in the top. My sweaters were buttoned down the back and of course I always wore a scarf tied around my neck but it never interfered with his large ring on my chain. On the other hand he had dark brown hair in a d/a hair cut with a white tee shirt decorated with lucky strikes wrapped up in the sleeve. He always wore blue jeans or black chinos and motor cycle boots. Oh yes we were not in the unpopular crowd. Needless to say alot of making out went on at that great place where all the kids parked to listen to the radio and watch the submarine races. No one went all the way in those days because we were taught to wait until we got to the Isle. It was a fabulous time to be in love or so we thought. Somehow the beauty we had going steady together drifted away down an endless road of memories. I never forgot my first boyfriend and he felt the same about me (his first girl).
It was getting late and we had to get home to our lives of some 50 years later. My how you have changed I said and he just laughed that old time sharpie laugh. He then said as we were leaving the coffee shop - you look great and I will always love you. Nah, I said you just want a hello and goodbye kiss right here in the parking lot with all the traffic rushing by. Yup I do he said. So, we kissed like there was no tomorrow but of course there is always tomorrow. You know something I said its still the same kiss. He said sure it is - did you think I would lose my skill. As we walked away from yesterdays dreams, I put my oldies CD in as I drove home, wondering what was life all about - anyhow?

Micheline

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RE: Story Based on Your Favorite Song - 1/25

Postby loganatr » Tue Jan 25, 2011 9:17 pm

Favorite song???????? Oh well, here goes nothing...

“I'm gonna fight 'em all- a seven nation army couldn't hold me back. They're gonna rip it off- taking their time right behind my back,” Michael roared, putting on his jacket and preparing to leave his corner office. His prosaic side hadn't reared its head in a while, and Michael abstractedly wondered if this uncommon reaction to being passed over for a promotion by the board was indicative of a deeper problem. Perhaps his wife was cheating on him and he knew it but he just hadn't realized it yet. On the other hand, perhaps she was contemplating it, in which case he'd prefer that she not get wind of an ejaculation like that.
Six foot two, he looked good in whatever the hell type of clothes junior vice presidents are supposed to prefer. His hair was like a tame surfer's, and he looked like he was in shape even though he ate like hell. He was just one of those lucky people with good genetics and a spouse whose past, though wild, didn't threaten the present. But his future, all the same, was breathing down his neck as he strode to door on fire, keeping ahead of the pain, pulling energy from the universe to help him along.
His intern, Matilda, was impressed by the outburst; but she was also still in college and thinking of switching to an art major, so what the hell did she care? “You're a poet and you don't even know it,” she returned, giggly, evil.
That screwed the pooch. Michael slumped, defeated, quit his job, and went home to try to put a face on it to his wife.

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Re: Story Based on Your Favorite Song - 1/25

Postby iceni » Wed Jan 26, 2011 7:29 am

I'll Be Loving You Always!
Oh Bill, just a quick note to say I miss you, and I know the danger you face in Iran, as you say, much the same here in a different way. I have some very exciting news! After our last two disappointments, my cousin Eva, has actually signed a paper, and had it witnessed by a lawyer saying we can adopt her coming baby, I just cried with happiness as I'm sure you will too.
So my darling when you get back from you third tour, we can be married and we will be together with our own little family. I choke up just thinking of it.
You know if I hadn't stood on that mine, I would have been fighting by your side right now. I think about you constantly. just keep safe Honey and come back to me soon.
God Bless
Yours Always
Allen.

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RE: Story Based on Your Favorite Song - 1/25

Postby Vining » Wed Jan 26, 2011 10:52 am

Hold on, hold on to yourself, for this is gonna hurt like hell. Preparation for what's coming With warning, I know it'll hurt. Will I recover from the pain? It's the beginning of an endurance test. I have to hold on, if I let go I'll spiral down Dante's hellhole. Not a choice. The first time the needle goes in, I prepare for future pain . Lidocain helps with the immediacy but won't help with what's ahead. Chemotherapy. An ongoing, seemingly never ending pain. If it hurts it's helping. The dichotomy, or the hypocricy. Allowing, encouraging poison to flow through me. Wishing it invades every cell. So against logic. I'm way past logic. None of this is logical. I don't fit any stereotypical profile. The profile of the terrorist invading my body? Nope, I'd be lallowed, escorted, right through security. What's the deal, why am I dealt this? Here I go, gripping tightly, amazing myself with the courage to hurt and the power to hold on. Hold on to myself.

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Re: Story Based on Your Favorite Song - 1/25

Postby Dontee » Wed Jan 26, 2011 1:05 pm

“Dashing Through the snow in my rusty Chevrolet , down the road I go, sliding all the way.”
Although the song, sung to the tune of “Jingle Bells”, didn’t hit the airwaves until the 1980s, long after my vehicle went to that great junkyard in the skies, it perfectly described by first chariot, purchased off the back row of a used car lot for a hundred dollars and no guarantee.
Friends would chide me about pulling into a full-service gasoline station (this was in the era before convenience stores) and simply saying “Gas, water and oil, gallon of each.” But those six guys never turned down a ride to our college classes on those cold winter days and gladly paid for the gasoline and oil ... water was free ... never complaining about sitting “double decked” in the back seat instead of walking a couple miles on frosty mornings.
Each knew his was risking personal safety because the vehicle’s tires were as slick as the snow-covered pavement on the streets around the campus.
And while the jokes abounded about my “bucket of bolts,” the vehicle started every morning, regardless of the temperature, and every evening at school, regardless of the amount of snow on its roof or under the hood. It was as reliable a bit of transportation as I’ve ever had.
And it was possibly a credit to my driving skills that the vehicle never became acquainted with the ditch, a fence post or even the back wall of the garage.
Few girls accepted dates knowing this vehicle which had a very temperamental heater; windows that would crank down but usually not up; and windshield wipers that only worked when it wasn’t raining, would be their transportation to the college dances. While I was never short of dancing partners, arriving alone was common fare because all usually said “Met you there.” And I did!
Unlike the song, the radio never did play, but I also never had to drag my “swampers” to get the vehicle to stop. However, the increased use of wire to hold the hood and trunk shut, permanently sealing two of the four car windows shut, and the back bumper simply falling off one day somewhere between home and college, never to be found, resulted in returning to the salvage yard where I had purchased the vehicle. Because it still ran, I got $50 ... not bad ... $50 for two years of great memories and even better stories.
But to this day, every time I hear jingle bells I think of only two things ... the words to “Rusty Chevrolet” and my trusty 1949 Chevy.

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RE: Story Based on Your Favorite Song - 1/25

Postby Fabuliscious » Thu Jan 27, 2011 3:54 am

Today was a fairytale :)

“Today was a fairy-tale” she thought lovingly as she sat down on the cushioned sofa and looked at him, if only she had known a long time ago, that dreaming and doing went hand in hand, if only she had known that loving was this good.
“Oh”, she thought, “I could have done something”. She thought about all the dreams she had had, all the things she had let slip through her fingers because she was afraid of loving, loving the one person that made her feel like a school child experiencing her first crush, this one person that made a gloomy day seem like a day sunny day full of colourful butterflies.

‘I thought that he was to blame for all the misery, for all the pain, for all the sadness in my life’, she thought, if only she knew then, what she knew now.

She remembered how the day had started, clouds in the sky, not even a sign of the sun above the clouds, she remembered how he trotted to her with his tinny noiseless feet, how he looked up into her eyes and asked “what will we do today ma?”

As much as she hated being called ‘Ma’, she hated the person calling her ‘Ma’, he had brought so much misery in her life, he had taken away the ‘good love’ she thought she had with the man she loved dearly.

She looked him in the eyes and looked away, dressed him and went to the school function they held every year, that she had failed to attend for 4 years.

When she looked at the art the child had created, she felt a tear drop from her eye. He was such an observant child, on the picture before her, he had drawn the saddest eyes, with an unsmiling face, he had drawn a mother he knew, one who cared not about him or what he did, on the picture before her, he had expressed so much love to the one person who failed to love him.
She saw him scoot to a corner, sit there and look out the window the way he always did at home, she strolled over to where he was; wanting to understand, wanting to hold her child like a child should be held.
He looked up to her and for the 1st time in 4 years since he had been born, she saw what she failed to see, she saw the sadness in his eyes that where a replica of his mother’s, the longing for a hug, a tear, a sweet word, she saw a child so bruised yet always ready to love, she saw for the 1st time her child, the child she created with a man she loved, a man that left and took the only heart she had, she saw a child she created, holding the heart out to her, yet all along she refused to take.

She saw what a mother would see in her child’s eyes and for the 1st time in a long time, she felt her heart leap to her throat, she felt a tug, her child had reached out to her and had given her what she refused to take for years, his heart. He was her child, her bond, her flesh, her blood in his blood.

She picked him up and hugged him, gave him a loud smack of a kiss on his cheek, took him out for a fun day in the park and for the 1st time since he was old enough, she heard her child laugh, oh, it was the most beautiful laugh, she saw him smile, the most wonderful smile… and she fell in love with him and knew that this day was a fairy-tale that she would never forget.

She looked at him now, still thinking , picked him up from the sofa, and took him to sleep on her bed, right next to him, looking lovingly at his face, and she thought “Today was a fairy-tale….”
:) :) :)

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RE: Story Based on Your Favorite Song - 1/25

Postby chrispowell347 » Thu Jan 27, 2011 7:33 am

“First time ever I saw your face,” crooned the silky-voiced lady from the past.

That last song was as welcomed to my heart as a stroke of warm, reassuring fingers on my waiting face. For some reason I had not, in all the years of knowing John and being his wife, associated those lyrics to him or to us. But now it was my heart singing to his. It was a wonderful and mystical link between us, now, in our new relationship.

Roberta Flack knew the right words and sang them over the air waves with my emotions just as though it had been she back then - just a child enchanted by the extraordinarily handsome face of a dashing young man starting his career as a public school teacher. Could she have known the strange but pleasant feelings of that girl, barely a teen?

Later – many years later - on the day John died, friends told me the image of his struggling unsuccessfully to breathe through the collected fluid in his fatally diseased lungs would fade. It hasn’t, but I don’t see it anywhere nearly as clearly as I still see his face from the first time many years ago.

My high school days had been filled with day dreams of my biology teacher, but he would have none of the childish flirtations, pretending he didn’t notice.

But he did notice. He must have even liked me a little - enough to anxiously say to me, some forty years later in a grocery store, “Hey, guess what! I’m a bachelor again.”

John married when I was in high school, causing my heart to break and my day dreams to wilt. But I still liked him. As time went on, I lost the crush but was always glad to bump into him here and there every so-many years in my travels in the same town. We always had warm and happy reunions for two wherever we met. But John never admitted he knew I had a serious crush on him as a student, or that he ever thought of me in that way.

However, it seemed important to him that day in the grocery store to let me know he was single again. By that time, I had married, raised two children and divorced.

Now I sensed a big, bouncing ball in my court.

“Oh, by the way,” I said, after a short pause in the conversation. “Would you like to buy a ticket to a banquet to benefit a scholarship fund?”

He looked at the date on the ticket I'd pulled from my purse and said, “I might be traveling then but am not sure. Take my number and call me in a few days. I’ll know by then.”

The rest might be history, except Roberta Flack reminded me today of the first time ever I saw his face.

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RE: Story Based on Your Favorite Song - 1/25

Postby SaraMcClory » Thu Jan 27, 2011 8:52 am

song: Seven by Fever Ray


He is I, I is He
By Sara McClory

I’ve got a friend who’ve I’ve known since I was seven. Friend, that word I use loosely because ever since we met, my luck has spiraled into the bitter ground of my dead dreams and lost aspirations. Where I am, he is, waiting for me to choke. I can’t deny the failure that follows me around, like a shadow but I know it’s his presence that is causing me to fumble. When I was seven, he approached me in the park. He clung to me, never leaving my side. When I entered high school, he was there mocking me, making every academic achievement into a scene of satire, a comedy to him but inside myself a tragedy. In college it seemed he had disappeared, like finally I had gotten rid of this enemy but on graduation day his face was in the crowd, so vivid with his evil grin among the masses. In his eyes was destruction. I got married and he moved next door to me, having all the best things imaginable. If I bought a car, he would buy a better one. If I bought a new suit, he’d buy a nicer one. But there's one thing that always burned me within, the one thing he has taken away and I can’t get it back. My name. I am John Doe and so is he.

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