|
|
Joined: 11/17/2011
Posts: 1016
|
Christ! You two are just The Little Engine That Could, aren't you? Where do you get your energy? I'm dragging at the moment. --edited by Mimi Speike on 10/24/2014, 2:17 AM--
|
|
Joined: 4/27/2011
Posts: 608
|
@Mimi: Heh! Mucho caffeine and chocolate—but I repeat myself . . .
--edited by Carl E. Reed on 10/24/2014, 10:36 AM--
|
|
Joined: 4/27/2011
Posts: 608
|
"Mr. President, we've launched the entirety of our land-, sea- and air-based nuclear missiles at Russia; they've done the same to us. We're only minutes away from mutually-assured destruction and centuries-long nuclear winter; have you any last words for the American people?"
"Tony Soprano survived that series-ending ambush."
--edited by Carl E. Reed on 10/25/2014, 5:50 AM--
|
|
|
|
Andrea shuddered as she pulled one book off the shelf, and then another and another. The bile rose in her throat as the truth dawned on her. Every book in the world had been magically turned into Twilight. --edited by Ian Nathaniel Cohen on 10/24/2014, 11:10 PM--
|
|
Joined: 4/27/2011
Posts: 608
|
@Ian Nathaniel Cohen: Now that is a three-sentence horror story! (No offense to those who like their vampires chaste and sparkling.)
|
|
Joined: 4/27/2011
Posts: 608
|
The terror had spread into every city, town and village across America; millions awoke in the morning to find their nasal cavities raw and bleeding, scraped out by taloned fingers in the night. None dared fall asleep; people popped stimulants by the package-full; drank gallons of tea, coffee and Red Bull; shuffled in circles like the walking dead—anything to keep from surrendering to slumber. Anything to keep from becoming a victim of the alien attack the papers were calling, "The Invasion of the Booger Snatchers".
--edited by Carl E. Reed on 9/27/2015, 6:16 PM--
|
|
Joined: 3/3/2014
Posts: 12
|
to keep in the Halloween theme, if anyone has a Halloween story and wants to trade reviews, hop to the other forum and post your stuff
http://www.bookcountry.com/Community/Discussion/Default.aspx?g=posts&t=8589936579&page=-1
|
|
Joined: 4/27/2011
Posts: 608
|
Alarms were blaring aboard the doomed ship Nostromo, red lights flashing, as its astronauts struggled to man-handle one of their own into a space suit and out the airlock.
A button was hammered, the airlock opened and the astronaut sucked out a safe distance from the ship where an infinitude of untwinkling stars blazed in the cold, black vacuum; it was against this awe-inspiring cosmic backdrop that Warrant Officer E. L. Ripley sighed and passed gas.
In space, no one can hear you fart . . .
--edited by Carl E. Reed on 10/26/2014, 9:31 PM--
|
|
Joined: 9/12/2014
Posts: 2
|
First time posting to the forums here on Book Country--I hope I'm not too late to join in this amazing bit of Halloween fun!  (Love ALL the three-sentence stories so far! Many chills and chuckles in equal measure, a great celebration of the spooky season.)
I thought I'd draft up three quick, spooky tales that share a common thread and three very different spirits--pun intended.
- - -
It must be coming from somewhere, she decided as her wire-rimmed trifocals scanned the wall of peeling yellowed wallpaper, eager to isolate the source of the clack-clack-clacking that'd enveloped the ancient kitchen--avocado refrigerator, faded red brick laminate and all--just three clicks of the cat clock's tail before. The woman drew her sallow Clairol-drenched curls to the flaky vertical surface between the stove and the grumbling furnace, slowly pressing the topaz stud that pierced the sagging lobe of her right ear against the thin, curling paper and the cold drywall behind it. "Oh!" she boomed suddenly; then, as if possessed by the spirit of her long-dead brother who'd withered away in the old state ward some fifty years before, she flung her head backwards, clutched at the tiny bulge that'd formed on her temple that clicked with a rhythmic intensity and yelped in pained bewilderment, "Oh, no, no, no, n--"
- - -
Back (tick), forth (tock), back (tick), forth (tock), back (tick), forth (tock), ba-- (ti--). The old crone's up to something, I just know it; she never drops her cigarette in the ashtray, not to catch a glimpse of her fox Alex Trebek and his newly hewn 'stache when that awful music plays on the set in the other room, and not even when they carted off poor Charlie to the bin with the pillowed floors over in Pinecrest. What's she thinking she gonna find in that wall: a squirrel, a stash of gold, some demon or another, Jimmy Hoffa?
- - -
"You kinda look like Mama, and you're sitting in her wooden chair with the strawberry cushion, in her kitchen, and it looks the way it did when I was there, but I kinda don't think you're Mama, and the cat on the wall knows you ain't, and it's gotta be right 'cause it doesn't ever miss a second. But tell me, Mama, when you left me, alone, with the men in the crinkly starched white shirts with no buttons and the big syringes of acid that stung when they jabbed them into my arms and never came to see me, not when I was tied up with those brown leather belts, I wondered what you were thinking or doing or eating or watching back home in the beautiful house without me. I wanna know, Mama, I wanna know what's in your head, what you were thinking, why you left me, where you've been, why I'm so cold now..."
|
|
Joined: 10/14/2012
Posts: 229
|
Looks like fun: I'll play.
Old, worthless box of soil stolen.
No questions asked, $10,000 reward for information leading to prompt return currently offered:
Expiring dawn tomorrow.
|
|
Joined: 10/14/2012
Posts: 229
|
"Good Afternoon, madam, another beautifully sunny day out, how may I help you?" droned the tired looking, but doggedly courteous, attendant. "I'd like to return this sack of Kibbles for refund or credit note, please." answered the lady, sniffling, her eyes appearing at war with the pollen-count of an obscenely hot, early summer. "I got back to my car and realized I don't need it."
Sorry 'bout that one.
Mike
|
|
Joined: 4/27/2011
Posts: 608
|
Welcome to the party, Alex and Michael!
|
|
Joined: 4/27/2011
Posts: 608
|
Danny Tompkins suffered from Pica disorder: the urge to swallow non-nutritive substances.
He found a case of liquid nitroglycerin and drank it.
Later that day, while driving the children home, he hit a pothole in the road and exploded like a meatloaf balloon.
|
|
Joined: 4/27/2011
Posts: 608
|
Okay, I stole this but I'm repeating it here:
..................................................
Quoth the passive-aggressive raven: "Never mind."
|
|
Joined: 4/27/2011
Posts: 608
|
"Trick-or-treat!" the assembled masked-and-costumed adolescents—far too old to be out ringing doorbells in search of free sweets and loose coin—chorused together.
"Trick," the wild-eyed man wearing the dynamite vest in the doorway said. And moved his thumb off the dead-man switch of the detonator he clutched in one trembling, liver-spotted hand. --edited by Carl E. Reed on 9/27/2015, 6:18 PM--
|
|
Joined: 3/16/2011
Posts: 279
|
Michael rolled over as Samantha's perfume washed over him and soft lips brushed his neck.
Memories flooded, flushing away the remnants of sleep and he scrambled from his wife.
Samantha was supposed to be in the graveyard.
|
|
Joined: 4/7/2014
Posts: 141
|
Nice one, Danielle!
|
|
Joined: 8/21/2011
Posts: 394
|
Seriously! How do some of you people sleep at night?! (I'm looking at you, Mr. Carl Reed.)
Glad to see so many people posting here.
|
|
Joined: 4/27/2011
Posts: 608
|
@Danielle: Ooh, that's creepy! Nicely done.
:::applause-applause:::
@Angela: Who said I sleep?
|
|
Joined: 7/23/2014
Posts: 159
|
@ Angela
It's the blood that rushes into Carl's head as he hangs upside down to sleep. It keeps him awake.
|
|
Joined: 8/21/2011
Posts: 394
|
GD, add one more sentence and you'll have another story to post here. 
|
|
Joined: 4/27/2011
Posts: 608
|
GD & Angela: And then I'll ask permission to expand it into a full-featured tale . . .
|
|
|
|
It always seems the fewer the words, the more difficult to write? Probably better that way. And what excellent examples in the thread. Between Lucy running out of coffee, coeds going out to investigate...thud, and books morphing into Twilight, the only thing left is to make your main character Justin Bieber. But as a cook who writes culinary-themed stories, let me share from personal experience.
Even with blackish smoke clearing, the bird's still frozen. Another holiday disaster, probably the worst yet. Damn, in-laws would be early.
|
|
Joined: 4/27/2011
Posts: 608
|
@D J Lutz: Heh! Nicely done.
|
|
Joined: 6/18/2012
Posts: 228
|
Fun challenge!
The moonlight was still bright enough to see her reflection in the warehouse window.
An accurate portrait: disheveled young woman with makeup smeared, pumps in hand, slinking downtown on an early-morning walk-of-shame.
She met her own eyes in the reflection, shrugged, and caught the skitter of movement lurking in the shadows ahead.
|
|
Joined: 4/27/2011
Posts: 608
|
@Brandi: Pure Hitchcockian suspense! Good grief, how does it end?! Maybe I don't want to know . . .
|
|
Joined: 4/27/2011
Posts: 608
|
Evelyn shushed her youngest, turned to her husband and grabbed his arm. "We've got to get out of here; staying isn't right—we must move on to the next plane of existence."
Seated in and around them at the table: the family that had moved into their rehabbed home after the fire.
--edited by Carl E. Reed on 10/31/2014, 11:24 AM--
|
|
Joined: 4/27/2011
Posts: 608
|
In terms of topicality this one combines a political jab with the zombie apocalypse. I'll lose 50% of my reading audience with this one, heh! But then, what is writing but risk? Feel free to return the poke, folks!
....................................................................
"I'm a registered Republican!" the man shouted.
The zombie horde parted around him as if he were Moses and they the waters of the Red Sea.
"Braaains!" they groaned, moving on . . .
--edited by Carl E. Reed on 9/27/2015, 6:19 PM--
|
|
Joined: 7/23/2014
Posts: 159
|
Ha!
OK Carl, you definitely have a career possibility as an idea guy for political cartoonists.
|
|
Joined: 3/3/2014
Posts: 12
|
Samantha fell on the meat like a wild dog, ignoring the bits of dirt and debris from the cellar floor that clung to its greasy skin as the hunk of steaming hot food rolled from the top of the staircase. Two weeks of being naked in the near darkness, freezing cold, and accompanied by nothing more than the drip of a leaky pipe as she remained trapped in this god-forsaken cellar with nothing but dried crackers to eat had made her nearly mad with hunger, She paused as a TV screen she hadn't noticed before came on and played a quick video, she glanced to the food in her hand, then let the tears fall freely from her cheeks as she ate the last bits of her best friend Tiffany's thigh.
|
|
Joined: 10/14/2012
Posts: 229
|
Nice.
|
|
|
|
Okay, saw this forum up for a while now and couldn't resist the temptation to join in any longer. Hope I don't make a fool out of myself by writing this:
Out of the mists she came, soaked to the bone with blood, one hand clenching the sword she'd used to butcher the unsuspecting village she'd just left. Behind her followed the ghosts of her slaughtered victims, ever unseen by her eyes. They awaited the day they could return the favor.
Wew, that was fun!(:
--edited by Amber Wolfe on 11/2/2014, 5:13 PM--
|
|
Joined: 4/27/2011
Posts: 608
|
@James & Amber: Good uns! Thanks for contributing to the thread.
After this I'll stop posting daily here till October 1, 2015.
|
|
|
|
I'll admit this has been a blast. It was fun to write something in 3 sentences and read other's stories.
|
|
Joined: 4/27/2011
Posts: 608
|
Glad you had a good time, Zach! It was fun, wasn't it?
Well, the thread's still here. Other people may chime in from time-to-time and keep it going till next Halloween.
Till then, let me close with my best stifled-giggle/decadently pompous Vincent Price voice: Be well. Be wary. Beware!
--edited by Carl E. Reed on 9/26/2015, 10:56 PM--
|
|
Joined: 10/14/2012
Posts: 229
|
Hey, this 3 sentence game must be a thing!
There's a competition going on at...
http://www.bookkus.com/topic/sensing-the-season-3-sentence-challenge/
I've had a go... come play, or we can start one here, as an evolution to the horror one. Any chance of a prize, nice bookcountry people?
Either way, here's my effort to start us off:
Skewered through the centre and hanging from the slip knot made taut moments before, the king of many spun slowly, suspended vulnerably, feet above the ground. A second violent swipe, this time from the side, aimed for destruction but with accuracy lost to power, narrowly missed its mark.
Now, one eye tightly closed, in readiness for retribution it’s my turn…in this autumnal game my conquer king’s a tough chestnut to crack and won’t be beaten.
|
|
|
|