I have an idea for a writing contest. I post a description of someone. It may be very descriptive, it may not be. What you do is, write a story based on them with all your creative skills based on what you know about them. It's alright to be imaginative and add things because the description reminds you of those aspects. The best story wins. Here are the rules: 1) Must be more than 200 words long. 2) Must be original. 3) Nothing rude or crude. Anyone who breaks these rules is automatically disqualified.
Here's a start: A man, wears black shoes, wears a pair of sunglasses, wears a white shirt, wears green pants of some kind, is smoking.
A man, wears black shoes, wears a pair of sunglasses, wears a white shirt, wears green pants of some kind, is smoking.
I see a regular, mid-aged man who is in need of a job. He's waiting for the bus after being denied a job as a Surfboard Shack owner. Kids to parents come to this place and it's really known around the beach area. To relieve most of his stress, he takes a pack of smokes out from his pocket and begins to smoke one. The rest of the people behind him begin to cough and move to a different area entirely, but still close enough to catch the bus.
The man with the smoke cloud over him begins to wonder why he didn't get the job; at the same time, the bus begins to pull up to the curb. As he begins to come back to the real world and head into the bus, the people breathing in the smoke, rudely push him off to the side, mumbling the rudest of things pertaining to the smoke; from parents to kids.
"Disgusting young man." "He should quit." "Mommy, I couldn't breathe." ____________________________________________________________________
You have a thing with smokers, Vince. Do you smoke? If not, you just have a very insightful mind. The kind that can live a life in his head that he's never lived. That, I call talent. Way to go!
Alright, Quirinus1, I will do that. Here are the NEW rules: 1) Must be more than 200 words long. 2) All entries can be no longer than 500 words. 3) Must be original. 4) Nothing rude or crude. Anyone who breaks these rules is automatically disqualified.
You have a thing with smokers, Vince. Do you smoke?
In some of my stories, I like to put the main character in an issue; something that will affect him during the end of the story. Smoking is a perfect example.
I stepped out of my car and walked up his lane. The door was already open, yet it didn't seem as if someone forced the lock, apparently he had the key. When I entered the living-room, I saw Mr. Debouche standing in the middle with his sunglasses still on. "Have you come for her too?", he asked. "I will deal with her after I have dealt with you.", I replied. "Why?", he said, 'Why couldn't you let us be?". Since he couldn't run away I took the effort of replying to his question. Debouche dropped himself in a leather-covered chair. "Justice. Why I shall kill you, and my lawful spouse, is because she betrayed me, and you are an accomplice in it. Unknowingly you also betrayed me, through her. Since society does not punish you, I shall have to punish you.", I said. He immediately responded: "I understand why you punish her, but why are you punishing me for a deed I wasn't aware of doing?". "The nature of the universe is harsh.", I said, "If I do not kill you, I have a witness or you could perhaps be enraged by the death of 'my' wife and sue me or take revenge, etcetera." -"Where will you be going then after you kill me and Rose?". "Canada. Vast woods, where I can quietly live out the rest of my days without anyone knowing of my past here. It is the present that matters. Are you ready for your passing?". -"May I smoke one last cigarette?". "Do that.". Debouche took a cigarette from his back-pocket, and lit it. Debouche grinned: "Never thought it would end like this. This pack of cigarettes says smoking kills you, I would rather have the back of every bouquet of flowers saying 'Women are deadly'. It would have saved me a lot of trouble.". He took off his sunglasses and he took a last puff of his cigarette. "I am ready", he said, leaning his head against a cushion of the chair. "Any last words?", I asked. "None exactly, just a thought: how will death be?", he whispered with tears in his eyes. I slowly put the pistol against his forehead. This was harder than I imagined it would be. I pulled the trigger. With a loud bang the electric currents which formed the person of Mr. Debouche were terminated. The mess! The entire chair and parts of the wall were covered in blood and gore.
Morally I had not done anything wrong, I think. Nobody was going to miss him anyway, no family and no children, surely a testament to the infertility of his weak body, no spouse mourning, except 'my' wife, but then: she was soon dead too.
