Story Based on Your Favorite Song - 1/25

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maguilar666
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RE: Story Based on Your Favorite Song - 1/25

Postby maguilar666 » Mon Jan 31, 2011 6:53 pm

Cocaine and soda. Playing Tetris in our underwear. We take turns reading letters. I read a haiku and you move your nails across my leg. She stares straight at my mouth as I read, sighs, and looks down to the floor.

"Issa", I say.

She looks up, leans in close and opens her lips to my ear. Her breath tickles my ear and down to my neck. She says nothing. I retreat back into my notebook and she rises from the mattress.

The light peaking through our tattered curtain illuminates the gray space we've come to occupy. Her legs, even when unshaven and bruised from dancing, still drove me wild. Watching her as she walks away, I close my eyes to shield them from the harsh light, and I just listen. The sound of her bare feet on the concrete floor always comforted me. Naked and rifling through dirty tank tops, and grunting over the paint cans I should've gotten rid of long ago. All of it was the oh so soothing music that drowned out the cacophony of horns and cackles that was my anxiety.

"If I told you I was in love with you, Issa, I'd be lying. But I think I am completely and madly in love with whatever this feeling I have towards you is. Does that make sense?"

Issa looks up at me with a blank stare and rolls her eyes as she walks into the kitchen. I take a deep breath as my hands start to tremble.

"I don't know what it means to be 'in' love. I don't see a difference. I know that I don't want to **** anybody else. I know that if you left it'd kill me. But what I know and what I don't understand is beyond ****ing lop-sided and it scares me. It's like I've had this existential breakdown that brought back my childhood sense of wonderment, but it also brought back that feeling of irrational fear. You know what I'm saying? This is all so new, exciting, and ****ing terrifying!"

My hands shake more and more violently as I dizzily push open the door into the kitchen. All I find is broken bottles and glasses littering the floor. Head aching I retreat into the restroom, I open the medicine cabinet to find nothing but some niacin, toothpaste, and an empty bottle of rubbing alcohol. Splash some water on my face and I stare into my own reflection. Scars on top of my pale skin make me wonder how I managed to keep her for so long. No longer hearing her in the other room, my chest begins to hurt and the urge to vomit crawls up inside of me.

"Issa", I yell out to her.

No answer.

Falling to my knees and painting the floor with blood and bile. I call out again, but she does not respond to either calls or sounds of my vomiting. The blood-clot, coffee grounds are this drunks pastels and water colors to my bathroom floor. Barely making it to my feet, I look down and say "Issa come look at this! I'm a real John Pollock!"

Stumbling back into our space, I fall onto the mattress. Not being able to catch enough breath to yell anymore, I simply wonder where she'd gone and wait patiently to hear her footsteps. Laying next to me, a photo of us sitting on our mattress. Those lips pressed against my ear and my eyes down to the notebook sitting in my lap.

A note tucked into the side of the frame reads,

"And when I become nothing more
than sustenance for insects,
and fertilizer for the ground surrounding,
I hope you’re right there with me,
enriching the soil for all eternity."

The years have gone by quickly, but the nights seem to last forever. Issa had been gone for nearly a year already, but I still wait. This body still lay here on the mattress that occupies the space they once shared. Struggling for breath and clutching on to this notebook. Retracing the bite marks, trying to find where it all went wrong.

It didn't take his neighbors long to find his body, due to the lack of yelling and glass smashing. Notebook still in his lap. Leg dangling off the side of the mattress. He died as he lived. Hungry, exhausted, and alone.

Some say he died of a broken heart, but we know it was the cirrhosis that did him in.

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

Postby stvhlm » Tue Feb 01, 2011 9:52 am

Another Hotel California

On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair, I stood and stared at the car that refused to get back on the road. The right, rear wheel leaned at an unhealthy angle, the tire had a bulge in its sidewall.

I didn’t want to blame the jack rabbit, but there was no one else around. I should have stopped when I had the chance, but that chance was some hundred miles behind me now. The glowing numbers on my watch told me it was half past midnight. The darkness cloaking the road ahead to the east, and the silence rising behind me from the west, gave the distinct impression it was going to be an interesting night. I kicked the sickly tire.

None of the choices available to me on this two-lane held much promise. Putting on the spare tire wasn’t going to straighten out the wheel. Sleeping in the car would be uncomfortable at best and the temperature was dropping rapidly. The last remnant of civilization I could remember seeing, a clustered gas station, diner, and motel must have been at least a hundred miles back. I cursed every one of those hundred miles.

The jack rabbits had come out when darkness fell, standing at attention along either side of the road, waiting for their opportunity to sprint across the field of vision in my rear view mirror. But the last one couldn’t wait. For whatever reason he or she decided the challenge of crossing in front of me was too much to resist.

At another time I might have made a different choice. Don’t swerve. The world wouldn’t mourn the loss of another jack rabbit. I’d seen dozens of dark smudges on the pavement over the last few hours. Many of them were likely testimony to bad decisions made by former jack rabbits. But drowsiness had dulled me. The song on the radio had lulled me into complacency. And when my rabbit launched itself into the headlights, instincts turned the wheel to where the bunny had been, tossing the car off the road and into a narrow ditch, the ditch it now chose not to leave.

I looked up the road to the east again then turned and looked back to the west. A vision formed behind my eyes. A building, maybe a house, off the right side of the road at the end of a long driveway. Was it five, ten, maybe fifteen minutes before the thump? Was it real? Yes, I remembered asking myself why anyone would choose to live that far out. And I remembered thinking that maybe no one did. I imagined seeing a light as I began walking west.

The wind drove up my back, an early spring Santa Ana blowing out of the high desert, cold and dry. I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt up over my head and plunged into the night.

One mile, two, maybe five, I had no idea how far I’d gone when I had the vision again. It was there, on my left now, but it was real and a light wisp of smoke rose from the chimney.

A chill snuck in around my neck as I turned into the driveway. I unhooked the latch of an ancient gate to let myself in. The only sound I could hear was a steady, rising wind and the calypso beat of a bamboo wind chime from somewhere near the house.

The cold blew right through the fabric of my jeans. I rubbed my hands together and shoved them into the sweatshirt pockets as I started up the driveway. The gravel surface crunched under each step. Anticipation quickened my heartbeat and shortened my breath. Thoughts of a little rest and some warmer air swirled in my head.

When I arrived at the aged front door I raised my hand to knock. I stood, frozen in time, poised to rap my knuckles on the wood panel when a light went on somewhere inside. I waited, stuck in mid-motion. A gust rattled the wind chime. Something grabbed my left ankle and I jumped backward. The tumbleweed went on its merry way.

As I caught my breath the door slowly opened.

A woman stood before me showered by light from behind, her face not much more than a shadow. She wore a full length, dark robe, cinched at the waist.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I said, “but my car . . .”

She put her finger to her lips and beckoned me.

“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

KendraEstle
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Story Based on Your Favorite Song - 1/25 "Brown Eyed Girl"

Postby KendraEstle » Wed Feb 02, 2011 6:11 pm

“Hey, where did we go?” Jack looked over at his wife who had just spouted off another random question and gave her a prompting look. She took the hint. “Remember two summers ago when we drove across the country and stopped in that small town at the edge of Colorado? What was the name of that dinky, hole-in-the-wall restaurant with the most incredible apple pie?”

“Where did that question come from? Aren’t you working on lesson plans?” Jack retorted.

“One of our vocab words this week is ‘creek’ and that made me think of Dove Creek, which made me think of that restaurant, which made me think of pie, and now I really want a piece.” Susan answered. “These cravings are getting out of control!”

Jack rolled off the couch and crawled across the room to kneel next to his wife’s bulging tummy. Resting his head on the peak of her belly, his baritone voice began to softly serenade the lullaby he had first heard 29 years ago. Susan closed her eyes and tried to imagine what father and son would look like together in two months when Baby Wesley made his arrival. No clear images would ever come to her mind when she did this, but the feeling of warmth that embraced her when she tried made it worth it every time. In harmony, she began humming “Baby Mine” along with Jack as she smoothed his thick brown hair.

“We’re going to have so much fun when you show up.” Jack whispered through Susan’s womb. “Right now though, let’s have some apple pie; a la mode, of course.”

As Jack moved into the kitchen, Susan was overwhelmed with emotion, and tears filled her eyes. Her mind was flooded with the images she’d been trying to conjure up for the past seven months. Jack and Wesley going to baseball games, having story time on the couch, playing catch in the backyard. She could see Wesley’s face so clearly it was as though he were in the room with her. He had her big brown eyes, Jack’s smile, and long piano-fingers. Even the way Jack tilted his head when he thought he was being clever was evident in Wesley’s make-up. Susan was trying to compose herself as she heard Jack in the kitchen putting spoons in the bowls.

Her husband made his way over to the love seat and noticed the tears still on her cheeks. “Are you okay?”

Susan was slow in her response and Jack began to worry, but found relief when she answered. “We created a person together.” She paused to swallow back a tear. “Can you believe it? Not just a baby, but a REAL person who will grow up and have his own thoughts and feelings and dreams and life. And he’s going to be so handsome! It’s almost too much to take in.” Looking deep into her husband’s eyes she found the loving place she first fell in love with. “Thank you so much for this gift, Jack.”

“Well, I’m only half of this, you know. So, thank you, too,” he said as he bent over and gently brushed her forehead with his lips. “Now, eat your pie before the ice cream melts.”

He plopped down on the couch across from his wife and watched as she enjoyed the fulfillment of her craving. After a moment of admiring her he said, “Wesley’s Café at the Creek.”

“What?” Susan answered.

“The name of the hole-in the-wall place in Dove Creek. Wesley’s Café at the Creek.” And with a tilt of his head, he filled his spoon with apple pie.

__Kendra__

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

Postby flyinghigh0905 » Wed Feb 09, 2011 9:04 am

Picture perfect memories are scattered all around the floor. The love I once felt is hanging out the window, attached to the end table by a noose of broken dreams. Now all I am left with are tear soaked tissues crumpled into little balls in the garbage can. When it finally came down to it, those tissues were all our four year relationship was worth. To me, at least. To him, I think I was nothing.

When we began, it was beautiful. He was the perfect boyfriend. We made plans, oh, how we made plans. Trips, children, homes, and he promised me everything. Once, he said I could have the moon, as soon as he made enough to afford it. He even bought me flowers on days when I didn’t expect them. And for Valentine’s day that first year, he sent me three dozen red roses. The other girls at the office were jealous, and I felt like I was on top of the world.

A year and a half in, the spark was snuffed out. But I couldn’t let go. Even after the first time he hit me. He’d come home late on the night we had plans, and I asked him what he was doing and why he didn’t call. He didn’t say anything, but he looked at me with those deep brown eyes, so full of a hatred I hadn’t known existed. Where had that hate come from? When I opened my mouth to speak again, the blow came. Right across my cheek. Hard. My head snapped to the side and I felt the blood rush into the place where his hand left a mark. I was too stunned to move, too stunned to say anything. He pushed me to the side and went into the bathroom and locked the door. I slept on the couch that night.

Throughout the next two years, there were little patches of sun that came through the cloudy day of our relationship. Those little patches continued to give me hope that we’d be okay. When things were good, they were really just okay. He never looked at me again the way he did when we first began dating. But we were able to sleep in the same bed and have normal conversations.

The bottom broke when I caught him in our bed with another woman. They just laughed at me, and I was humiliated. Neither of them felt any remorse about hurting me and destroying my relationship. When I voiced this, the girl laughed and in this awful, gratingly female voice, said, “Honey, you destroyed your own relationship. I just picked up the pieces.”

I ran away from the apartment in tears and found a hotel room. For a couple of days, I cried my out until there were none left in my whole body. Finally, the tears stopped and I laid on that bed feeling empty and numb. Then came the knock on the door. When I opened the door to see him standing on the other side, my stomach did a little lurch, anticipating what was going to happen. He stepped around me in the room and shook his head at the evidence of my grief. When I closed the door he turned to me and pulled the slender piece of death out of his coat.

“You don’t need to be here anymore,” he said, and fired. When he left the room, he stepped over my body and left the door open. My body lays broken on the ground, bleeding. His final moment with me was to take away the life he’d already shredded. And now I’m left with nothing but these memories.

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

Postby literatus » Sat Feb 12, 2011 5:50 pm

The Evils of Procrastination

 

‘Do you know what’s worth fighting for?’... My head's humming this song while I type in my keyboard.

Lately, everything’s seems strange. Or I'm the one who’s been estranged to everything? Oh hell, not sure anymore.
Someone taps on my shoulder. “Hey, remember our deal? Next month’s the deadline, okay?”
I just nodded but cursing myself quietly. Why did I say yes to his so-called challenge? What a sinister method to improve my 'lack of confidence.' Damn.
The cursor on the screen keeps blinking at me. Or gapes at me? Creepy.
What is the next statement in a “do while” condition?

I'm lost.

How many times did I feel like this? Since my college days perhaps – or, uh – since I chose that course in the first day of registration. The word “information” is a real mistake. Speaking of mistake here’s another error message.
“Carlo, please help me in this type of condition. Should I use an array or a simple string variable, buddy?” my office-mate, Jess, asks me.
Why me? I said to myself. Though unsure I relayed my ideas to him.
“I didn’t think of that way! You’re the best. Thanks!” he said afterward. I wary smile crossed my lips. One of my lucky guesses again, ha-ha.
I turned to my computer and the blinking cursor taunts at me again. Along with the bunch of syntax codes aligned in the screen. Who did this? Me? Well, I’ve been typing in this keyboard for hours. Maybe it is me.
But who is the real me? Is it the one who sits in this chair or the one at home dealing with grammar and vocabulary stuff?

I do feel like a coin having two faces. But, damn, I hate the feeling of being tossed. These two sides of myself are clashing inside me. Both are wooing for my approval. Yet I know who won and I’m just ignoring it.
I have to wait, though. Six months to go and I'll be free. Yeah. I'm impatient by nature but I have no choice. I still need to finish my billing statement for the notebook I recently purchased.
Though I certainly know I have an interest to pursue it. Ungh... Not now, Carlo. Your moment has its own time. And let no one stop you. Ever.
And then that tap on my shoulder. “I already assigned to you the major project I’ve been telling you last year. Please assess and estimate it right away. Remember that this project of yours will take half a year or so to finish.”
I replied a weak “Yes, sir.” He returned to his cubicle.
Slowly, I look at my monitor. The letters, numbers, and special characters blurred right before my unblinking eyes. I feel my air passage tightens. The mouse on my right hand turns into a stone. Cold and hard on my grip.
I’m doomed.


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

Postby Kym » Wed Feb 16, 2011 7:59 am

Sometimes I wonder why I spend the lonely nights dreaming of a song. I'm sitting in an all-night diner. The name doesn't matter, and even if it did, I didn't bother to check. Isn't one greasy spoon the same as another anyway? My coffee has grown cold, and the eggs....well, they weren't appetizing even before they had started congealing in front of me. I push the plate aside, looking out of the diner window and wishing for a cigarette. Ever since it seems that everything in this town had gone to "Non-Smoking", even the small comfort that a cigarette and a warm cup of mud provide has been taken away from me. I shrug, stand up buttoning my coat, and step outside into the cold air. The coffee wasn't that good anyway.
Some time later, I'm not exactly sure how much later, I find myself in the dark corner of an old piano bar. The man tickling the ivories is doing a passable rendition of "Stardust". He's no Mr. Carmichael, but it's passable. The whiskey goes down better than the coffee, but it makes me want a cigarette even more. The yellowing stains on the ceiling and the old burn marks on the wooden bar, harken to the days when everything would have viewed through a haze of blue smoke. The bartender makes his way over, and without even asking, refills my drink. He's been doing this job long enough to read his patrons. A woman, at the far end of the room, laughs shrilly making my head throb. She must have bathed in the perfume that she's wearing, but I can still smell the desperation through it all. Hell, I smell it often enough on myself.
The piano man has finished his set, and the bar is closing down for the night. I offer up a twenty to the bartender, and he waves his arm dismissing it. He knows that I'll be back. He knows that I'll be back, remember his kindness, and bring a fifty. Shrewd. I can appreciate shrewd. The woman at the far end has left, but her perfume lingers. I nod to the piano man, who is counting his tips. He says something that I can't hear and chuckles softly to himself. Still nodding, I step out into the night and begin the walk home.

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

Postby szrwillis » Sat Feb 19, 2011 10:42 pm

Well, the Devil's bleeding crude oil from a hole in his chest. The poor bastard never saw it coming. Three bullets from a Smith & Wesson pistol, and he dropped heavily to floor, ripping the curtains as he fell.

Now he lies virtually motionless, save for the heaving of his chest, and his gasping for air. I lowered my smoking pistol to my side without moving my eyes away from Old Scratch. He was beginning to writhe around on the floor boards, mumbling curses I'd never heard and wouldn't dare utter for fear of instant damnation. Blood pooled around his pale body, turning his white suit into dark rags. The exit wounds on his back smoked and exhaled a strong scent of sulfur. The bizarre reality slowly started to creep up on me at this point. I had just gunned down Lucifer.

Just fifteen minutes ago I walked into an empty, abandoned church in the lonely hills of eastern Kentucky, looking for a dry place to sleep. I felt the evening air drop a few degrees as I pulled the door of the ancient House of the Holy closed. I turned to face the altar and saw him standing at the pulpit. His face was contorted into what I guess was his attempt at a grin, displaying sharp and rotting teeth. His yellow eyes were like fire set against his pale skin. His black hair was flat against his scalp, parted on the left. I recognized him instantly.

"You're just in time, Tucker Free." The way he hissed my name sent an icy chill up my back.

"That so?" I asked, perhaps a little more arrogantly that I'd hoped. Beelzebub's tongue may be forked, but I've always been told my tongue was sharp.

"Oh, just in time, indeed," he said, oozing an unsettling aura of pleasantry. "What should it be then? Poker?"

The word through the towns had been that the Devil had lately, and quite suddenly, been appearing on moonless nights to compete for souls. Mostly poker games. I'd heard he had a deck of playing cards made of human flesh. And these games, they never end well for the human; the Devil's a cheat.

"Of course," I accepted his challenge. "You win, you get my soul. I win, I get your boots and take your ass back to Hell."

Lucifer considered this and laughed. "My boots? You've got yourself a deal. Now, where did I put that deck of cards?" He began to pat himself down, searching his jacket pockets for the cards. His fatal mistake was turning his back to Tucker Free. Now, you may call me a coward, but I saw this as my only chance. With the back of the Prince of Darkness facing toward me, I quickly drew my gun, and prayed it wouldn't misfire and that my aim would be fatal and true.

And so, before the Devil knew he was dead, I unloaded three shots with divine speed. The bullets hit his back with the sound of thunder. He staggered a few steps to turn to face me, a look of bewilderment and horror on his terrible face, and collapsed into the window, tearing the dark red curtains down with him.

I just gunned down the Devil.

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

Postby apershing » Tue Mar 01, 2011 11:11 am

Song: Don't Fear The Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult

I ended up basing the whole story on the song.

====

"All our times have come. Here but now they're gone." she read.

She clutched the note to her breast. Tears spilled from her eyes as a chill midnight breeze blew in from the open window next to her. The light of a passing car illuminated her for a moment. Unfolding the paper, she read the note one last time.

"My love, by the time you read this I'll will have thrown myself from our bedroom window. The stress of just trying to live a life has gotten to me. I can't take this world anymore. The list of things I can no longer bear are too many to list. Just know this: At the end, you were the only thing I loved. But it breaks my heart to tell you that it wasn't enough to keep me chained down to this rotten world. I am not afraid to leave it no matter what lies on the other side.

I love you, but this must be done. All our times have come. Here but now they're gone."

That was a week ago. The funeral was yesterday.

She crumpled the note, sat in the corner and cried. There was something odd about the night breeze that suddenly blew through the room. It was much to forceful to be inside a room with the door closed.

A loud creak emanated from the other side of the room. She looked up and watched the door leading to the hallway open all by itself. She knew she closed it. She closed it tight. Didn't want that damn cat in here. She stood up as if someone unseen had just entered.

A single candle that had burned on the dresser blew out.

The wind blew again, throwing the curtains into her face. When she pushed them away, there was something in the room with her. He had returned. He returned from the dead and was standing in front of her. He was wearing the suit they buried him in. The undertaker made him look so handsome.

"Don't be afraid," he said "Come on baby."

She took his hand and looked at him.

"Who fears death? The seasons don't. Neither does the wind, or the sun, or the rain."

She kissed him and walked to the far side of the room. Nothing stood in her way. It didn't take her long. By the time she was halfway past the bed, she had enough momentum. She jumped into a dive which carried her through the window and down onto the driveway.

She stood up and looked down at her body. The finality of what she had just done rested within her. She was at peace. She looked around and found him standing next to her. They held hands and walked off into the night.

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

Postby sueme » Thu Mar 03, 2011 12:12 am

"I want to rock and roll all night and party every day" is my theme song in life. :) Life is good when you can just sit down, have a beer, and just take your cares away. I saw Kiss live and perform that song. The crowd went wild. I even almost caught my hair on fire, which almost ruined the night. My buzz, though, consoled me. Yes, I do want to rock all night and party every day, no question asked. I can even try to play that song on violin, which doesn't sound at all the same. Life can be temperantal, but extrordinary if you let it be. This can be a good driving song or just a feel-good song, but either way, it has truth and meaning to it.

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

Postby saffronbleu » Thu Mar 03, 2011 6:14 pm

"I never meant to cause you any sorrow, I never meant to cause you any pain."

"Just go," I said

He closed the door. I waited, hurried to the door, put my ear to it and listened as his footsteps faded down the hall. The door felt cold against my warm cheek.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to come back and hold me. He was supposed to come back and say everything would be alright. I was supposed to be kissing him holding one foot up like in the movies.

My chest felt heavy, I was dizzy, no longer able to hold my own weight my knees gave in. A crumpled mess of myself lay on the floor.

it was better this way, I told myself. You cannot love someone who doesn't want to be loved. I inhaled deep, thought of all the good and the bad and then... I breathed him out.

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