Sunday, December 09, 2007

Splotchy's Viral Theater

I was tagged to participate by the awesome Randal Graves
in a fun viral story meme that started with are the rules from the man himself:

"This has probably been done before, but that is not stopping me, oh no.

Here's what I would like to do. I want to create a story that branches out in a variety of different, unexpected ways. I don't know how realistic it is, but that's what I'm aiming for. Hopefully, at least one thread of the story can make a decent number of hops before it dies out.

If you are one of the carriers of this story virus (i.e. you have been tagged and choose to contribute to it), you will have one responsibility, in addition to contributing your own piece of the story: you will have to tag at least one person that continues your story thread. So, say you tag five people. If four people decide to not participate, it's okay, as long as the fifth one does. And if all five participate, well that's five interesting threads the story spins off into.

Not a requirement, but something your readers would appreciate: to help people trace your own particular thread of the narrative, it will be helpful if you include links to the chapters preceding yours."

I woke up hungry. I pulled my bedroom curtain to the side and looked out on a hazy morning. I dragged myself into the kitchen, in search of something to eat. I reached for a jar of applesauce sitting next to the sink, and found it very cold to the touch. I opened the jar and realized it was frozen. Splotchy

I was used to the house being quite cold in the mornings, as the night log usually burns out around one AM when I am dreaming cozily under my covers, not normally waking to put a new one on until morning. I was surprised because on the rare occasions that it actually had reached sub-freezing temperatures in the house, I had awakened in the night to restart the fire. I would have been worried about the pipes before P-Day, but there hadn’t been running water in two years and that was one of the few advantages to being dependent on rainwater, no pipes. Freida Bee

Shivering, I moved through the cloud of my nearly-crystallizing breath over to the frost-encrusted window. Unable to see outside, I feebly attempted to brush the flakes away with my sleeve. I sighed, the warm exhalation upon the upper panes only further decreasing visibility. I thoughtlessly tried my fingernails, having forgotten that I continuously bite them when nervous. I've recently been nervous a lot. I didn't know why, and failed to give it a second thought. Shuffling across the well-worn wooden planks, strangely as cold as the jar, I opened a drawer to grab a spoon and begin the task at hand, chipping away at the frost. After some moments, I stopped to peek outside, managing to see only white. The window was again frozen.

There's no way it can be that cold, I thought to myself. I began to chip once more, with the same result. Frustrated, I sprinted the ten feet back to the drawer, taking a larger soup spoon and returned to my assault on the ice. Harder and harder I pushed the spoon into the wintry glaze, intermittently stopping to wipe the chill sweat from my brow, pushing harder, my arms flailing upwards, now coming down as if wielding an axe, ignoring the stinging salt of perspiration in my eyes, the ice growing along with my anger, overcome by a violence, a berserker rage, up and down I swung that makeshift blade into the white, into the red, grunting, screaming, my hands sliced open as the spoon blasted through the broken glass.

I didn't see anything but the dew-haunted lawn before I slumped down, fainting on the cold wooden floor. Randal Graves

When I woke it hit me like a ton of bricks and in a wave I remembered just what happened last night. I couldn't believe I hadn't remembered sooner, sure I was exhausted when I finally fell asleep but it's not everyday you are attacked in your home so it should have come to me sooner. I jumped to my feet...perhaps a bit too fast, my head was spinning...was my hand still bleeding? I rushed to the basement door. Still locked. Thank god...or at least whatever deity might be listening. I slumped to the floor again hoping the sudden pounding in my head might go away. It probably wouldn't as long as I let my hand bleed like this, how long had I been passed out anyway? I tore a piece of my robe and wrapped my hand hoping it would be enough to stop the bleeding, the cut looked deep, I needed stitches I was sure but I wasn't about to leave my house with that thing in the basement.

Okay that should be enough for the next few people to add to the story. I shall tag Ben Varkentine, Johnny B, Lee to join in the fun and see just where they take story. Thanks to Splotchy for all the fun!


Randal Graves said...

Aw hell, I never even thought about an unseen Lovecraftian beast messing with the psyche. Excellent!

Splotchy said...


I don't know what's in the basement, but I'm liking it.

Becca said...

Exactly what I was going for! Thanks for the tag!

Glad you enjoyed my little addition :)

Johnny Bacardi said...

You know I don't write fiction, right?

Anyway, I gave it a shot.

Hope you dig it.

Ben Varkentine said...

I'm glad Johnny B. took it up, because I do write fiction, but I hate committee-written stories, so I was never going to touch this.

Becca said...

It's okay I don't write fiction fact I'm not much of a writer at all but it was a fun creativity exercise all the same.

By the way that was a terriffic way to leave things fire and a Tom Waits lyric...perfect! Thanks for taking part in the fun!

Johnny Bacardi said...

Thank YOU!

And just between you and me and the whole world wide web, it was kinda fun, in hindsight...