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FulcrumPilot · Jul 21, 2005, 07:07 PM

The typewriter noise was bugging Mike as he typed. He found it intriguing that he would suddenly find himself disliking the very device that had helped him make money for the last 6 years. Mike was a man who acted on impulse. So he got up and went to the pawn shop on Baldwin street which was a good 10 minute walk and sold it for 22 dollars. The pawn shop owner was about to close shutters for the day and seemed happy to have bought the machine. He said something in chinese to Mike who just smiled back and walked away. Mike then went to the book store in Rupert street that was another 10 minute walk away and got himself a nice fountain pen. He came back home just as his maid was opening the main door of the house. Mike didnt say anything to her and she seemed a bit surprised and looked at him a few times as they walked together into the house. Mike got his deck chair out and went up to his terrace. He noticed a dull pain in his left knee as he climbed up the stairs. For a few minutes he stood on the open terrace and admired the setting sun, where is that pain now he wondered. He then placed the deck chair and his writing pad down on the uneven floor and stretched his arms over his head and yawned. Ithad been an uneventful day for him. He had been trying to come up with an outline for his next documentary on his own boring life. He wondered if the maid will be useful to discus some ideas on the project. He wondered what her story was...

BlueSky · Jul 21, 2005, 08:40 PM

The maid walked up behind him, gave him those bedroom eyes he was so accustomed to. He swung her around in front of him and laid a big wet one on her. Then he kissed her.

Suddenly a shot rang out.

Randman · Jul 21, 2005, 08:45 PM

It was a dark and stormy night ...

OK, it wasn't stormy, but it was quite humid. And it was indeed dark ...

Then a shot rang out ... but it was only the TV.

A quick flick to the remote silenced that, leaving me alone with my thoughts, the humidity and that corpse in my trunk.

ManOfSteal · Jul 21, 2005, 09:00 PM

The corpse, named Bruce, was stiff. It's like he was dead, with nobody in the world to care for him.

FulcrumPilot · Jul 21, 2005, 09:13 PM

He mused about it for some more time. He then stopped walking aimlessly and sat down in the sinking deck chair and picked up the pen and the pad. "The maid" he whispered audibly as he tried to scribble using the new pen he had just bought. "Ah! no goddamned ink!" he said aloud with apparent frustration in his voice, breaking the flow of thought that was leadiing him towards something. He promptly put away the pen into his shirt pocket. He was now in no mood now to do any more writing or thinking. Closed his eyes and began to think about her, tried to make an imaginary story of her life using the way she looked, talked and dressed. He wondered if he was ever attracted to her, he dissmissed that possibility quite easily. He reflected how he never felt the same about relationship after the last break up with Samantha. He felt a remote sense of joy even as he thought about her. Many seemingly distant images from the past flashed through his mind as he visited the not too distant past. He didnt seem to hold one image longer than any other. It was as though he was driving by a neihborhood he knew well, all things familiar yet nothing of real significance. Especially now. "Where are you now?" he spoke with his eyes closed. "What are you up to these days?" he said again as he drifted away into a dream filled sleep.

EdGein · Jul 21, 2005, 09:15 PM

Then the maid snuck up behind him and killed him for not using indentations and paragraphs.

budster101 · 11:25 PM

Only to be awakened by another BANG!, startled he noticed he had rolled over on the TV remote turning the curs-ed thing back on, eerily at the exact same place in the movie he had turned it off at... a replay he had thought, just my luck...

His eyes became heavy again as he flipped the TV to off, only to be awakened by a warm wet feeling...

Damn this incontinence, he peed himself again.

mitchell_pgh · Jul 21, 2005, 11:19 PM

Originally Posted by FulcrumPilot

He mused about... [bla bla bla... waste of bandwidth...]

FulcrumPilot · Jul 21, 2005, 11:33 PM

Originally Posted by mitchell_pgh

Randman · Jul 21, 2005, 11:44 PM

Originally Posted by mitchell_pgh

JoshuaZ · Jul 21, 2005, 11:57 PM

Originally Posted by mitchell_pgh

Awesome.

SirCastor · Jul 24, 2005, 07:53 AM

The Dream was fantastic. It met all the perfect stereotypes. Beach trip, sunny day, Samantha. Running in the surf. Holding her hand...
Mike snapped awake
"Dang!" he said... maybe loud enough for the maid to hear. No. There was no maid....

Samantha and Mike. It had all seemed so perfect and yet so distant. How many times had he gone through this in his mind? How many times had he daydreamed of the romanctic nights, the perfect proposal, the not-too-long-not-too-short engagement, the wedding... Maybe that had been the initial problem. He was always thinking too far ahead. Always trying to make everything go perfectly right. Samantha had always said he should just "Go with the Flow." He carefully tumbled that thought around in his mind. Despite the fact that she was exactly what he wanted in a girl, and he was just about everything she wanted in a guy, they had not managed to stay together. Three times they'd tried it out. Three.
"That's pretty crazy" Mike thought to himself.
Three. Each time they had broken up. Something having to do with that difference. He was careful. He was a planner. She was Reckless -
"No" he thought.
Not Reckless. She hated that. She preferred to call herself "Spontaneous"

Cubeoid · Jul 24, 2005, 09:03 AM

Oh My Gawdz . Teh thread implossion!!!1 Yo..

Bandwidth, oh ye usefulnessss we must protect
Bandwidth, for without thee, posts are no effect
Bandwidth, sounding pretensious on the innernet is why we
agree to make our verses go into toy like visions of post effect.

FulcrumPilot · Jul 24, 2005, 01:04 PM

It was simply unexplainable how he felt about her even after all these years. He did not care about her as one would expect under such circumstances, or even had the motivation to reconnect knowing that if he wished he could do just that, a kind of being without knowing that what is the past will remain the past without any modifications that can be done to it, a kind of reclusive sanctity may be.. he thought. Indeed, he was sure that he wanted to preserve the innocence that is now attached to the memories of those days with her. He felt glad to have loved her and be loved like she did. He began writing his thoughts down with urgency at this point. The project and the documentary about himself that he was going to cast in the near future appeared to crystalize in his mind. The maid...now she will have to be researched later at some point when he perhaps he would get tired again about the present project....