The Sentence Game

"It was a dark and stormy night."

Thunder crashes and lightening flashes throwing eerie shadows on a room occupied by one man.

"Wait, what? You're kidding me. The whole thing starts with a disembodied voice telling the audience it's storming. Really, Jean? I mean seriously?"

Mike was staring at his friend, one of New York's finest playwrights, he could hardly believe that she of all people had written such drivel. She was here for his opinion of the play and he would be honest, but he wasn’t sure he even wanted to read anymore. It couldn't possibly get any better, could it?

She looked at him in earnest, urging him to read on, her dark eyes knowing that it wasn't worth this time he was giving it. But he loved her and he'd do it for her anyway. Sighing he looked back down at the page and read on, and on and on. Two long acts of absolute crap about two serial killers who tag and stalk each other. Plan each other's murders almost identically and then meet in the final climactic scene and fall to the gun of a detective that had been following the both of them.

Crap, absolute crap. She should have stopped at "It was a dark and stormy night." At least that had made some sense. Now it was up to him to tell her. Maybe she would finally fall into his arms this time. Yeah...right.

“‘It was a dark and stormy night’? What were they thinking?”

The drive home had been completed in oppressive silence aside for that one exclaimation. The car’s door was shut firmly but not slammed as Marilyn wanted to do. Stomping to the door to struggle briefly with the lock she finally managed to get into the house. Having to wrest her keys from the deadbolt’s clutches only fueled her already animosity-fueled mood which caused her to fling the prize angrily into the basket by the door as David entered behind her. His calm and easy movements were a counterpoint to her irate and jerky motions.

“It wasn’t that bad.” David’s voice was devoid of laughter so that he would not anger her further.

“Bad doesn’t begin to describe that poetry. It was awful.” She proclaimed as she snatched a bottle of wine from the rack. In moments the rich scent permeated the kitchen. “I should never have allowed them to read those in front of their parents.”

With delicate movements he offered her a glass full of rich red Merlot and a warm smile. “They are 15 and wanted to have the poetry slam. Just be happy none of them plagiarized more.”

A groan threatened to ruin the sip of wine she had taken so Marilyn glared pitchforks at David. Puncture wounds in triplicate seemed almost too nice for him. Damn him for suggesting she let her class have the event they just returned from. "You have yet to see dark and stormy around here Dave."

((Comments & advice & criticism welcome!))

When the air cleared...

I shook my head in abject frustration. Windex and paper towels. 409 Oven cleaner. Vinegar water and a toothbrush. Even foaming stain remover. Still unable to breathe cleanly, I exited the office and leaned agaisnt the wall, nearly beaten.

No matter what, I couldn't get the remainder of the stickiness and stain off the desk. Who'd have thought four months aggregation of soda spills would not only cause a monitor to need to be pried off a desk, but such a horrid, nasty stain?

I hadn't, and neither had the desk's prior occupant. Unfortunately... I was tasked to clean it up. When the remainder of the overpowering cloud of chemical cleanser stench dissipated, I began the regimen of scrubbing and soaking again.

When the air cleared I realized the dust cloud had been better scenery than the time-worn motel in front of me next to the ancient gas station and obligatory diner. Trudging apathetically towards the dimly lit V CAN Y sign I sighed, resigned to my fate. The ‘office’ of the hotel, if it could even be called an office, was stereotypical with its dingy paneling and peeling linoleum. There was even a small bell to ring should no one be at the desk.

Unfortunately for me, that was the case. With trepidation I depressed the ringer on the top of the tarnished bell twice. Looking at the two year old brochures and the dollar store artwork, I had vowed to simply rent a room rather than express my disgust for this place.

Shock was like a roundhouse kick to the stomach when a ravishing beauty emerged from the back apologizing for the delay with a husky bedroom voice. Turning those vibrant green eyes on me I gaped like a tourist before stuttering out a question.

“Please tell me your hiring!”

When the air cleared between us it was plain that we would never see eye to eye on the situation. What 'situation'? You might ask. The answer would be Rob, our sister's new husband.

They met a mere three months before. Peggy seemed deliriously happy and Rob was very... well attentive if the marks on her neck were an indicator. When they decided to get married after a few weeks of knowing each other the family was apprehensive but supportive. Peggy said she was SO happy; she had never been more happy in her life. Rob was a dream come true.

A dream that turned into a nightmare. There are many men out there that find themselves lured into a relationship by a beautiful vivacious single woman who then becomes the stereotypical house wife in a mumu and curlers. He can only sit back and wonder how it happened and where that fun loving woman he had dated was hiding under that tent sized fabric with the loud floral print.

Rob was a more dangerous chameleon. He was full of charm and sweetness to Peggy while they were dating. He bought her gifts, he took her to nice places, he even got the door for her. Once they were married though there was a different set of expectations; she was his wife now and she should cook, clean and serve. He ordered instead of asked, he ignored instead of listened. The final straw was when he hit her. Peggy came to our home with several cuts and a black eye. She was not immediately ready to explain the full truth of what had happened but we eventually coaxed it out of her between the two of us.

Once Peggy went to get some much needed sleep, we began to discuss the situation in earnest. Something had to be done about Rob and on that portion of the discussion my twin brother, Gary, and I agreed. The trouble was coming up with a plan of action. Gary was always the more cautious of the two of us, the thinker. Me, I jumped into situations head first; it was all or nothing.

So imagine my surprise when Gary's answer to the problem of Rob was a body bag.

((OOC: You might want to change the word count limit. 150 words is very short. Mine is 376 and its not that long a post. In fact, the only post under 150 words so far is Mileron's. ))

Thanks for playing Mai! I changed it to 500 words. I can alter it more if needed.

~Sarah

That sounds good =)

It finally happened. I won! I mean I actually won. I've been playing for over nine years, and I've never won even the three dollar prize. Never had anything ever matched. I never believed I would win, but fate put her lovely hand in and bam! I won! I wonder if I will be the same person when the check comes or if that much money will change me. I hope I stay the same. I plan to stop working, since it's not necessary now. I can go back to school, get the degree I want and put my kids in the shcools I want. I'm so excited I could just burst. Of course this means I get to actually buy a house and two new cars.

I know I only get half of that amount, but half of fourty million dollars is nothing to sneeze at. With the proper investments that will see us through for the rest of our lives. My husband is about beside himself. He get's to quit his job too and go back to school and actually do what he wants to in life. I'm really happy for him. I can't believe that I acctually won. Who knew playing the same six numbers for nine years in a row would finally pay off?

It was supposed to be an adventure. Neither of us had done anything like it before, never met strangers off the Internet. It had taken me almost two months to save up for my plane ticket to you, and a week for to find out you got free of your roommate out for a couple days. I joked about her getting a hotel room to seduce her boyfriend; you seemed blase' about it.

It was supposed to be a weekend. Friday through Monday. My plane took off from Miami airport, headed to your Seattle airport. Four stops, thankfully no layovers. It was the cheapest flight I could find, but I knew it would be an exercise in stamina.

Not the one I was looking forward to, though. The flight took most of the day - over 14 hours.

It was supposed to be a perfect, Capra-esque moment. I saw your face, almost grotesquely pressed against the window as my plane pulled up to the jetway. I shook my head, giggling; your nose looked so cute pressed there.

It was supposed to be fair. Life, I mean, allowing love to join two perfect souls together... But when the rumblings of the bomb were the last thing I heard, seeing you standing there, your leash suddenly dropped onto your head as your handler's hands went to her face in shock as my plane blew up... I knew you weren't supposed to be my dog.

It was supposed to be an adventure.

It was supposed to be an adventure. A bunch of people out on a Hallowe'en ride in the back of a rickety wagon filled with loose hay and a few small, square bales. The tractor towing the thing had a top speed just short of a three legged turtle, and the reason for that was obvious.

The older teens were all paired off, kissing and fumbling under heavy coats and sweaters in the chill fall air. The younger people were sitting and staring at one another, wishing for courage, a lack of zits, and the opportunity to no longer carry the stigma of total virgin.

The driver of the tractor was Samuel Grimstone, an ancient farmer whose family had been around these parts for as long as anyone could remember. He smoked a fat bowled and tobacco stained pipe, and the soft scent of apple flavored smoke followed the hay ride, along it's slow paced route.

This year however, it was destined to be different. This year was the 200th year of Blankenship Bluff's founding, and the pact made long ago that ensured a simple and uninterrrupted life, needed to be honored.

After all, even immortal beings needed to feed.

The Climb