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Picture Write off
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Personally, I'm not sure what good it is, I just had a flash of inspiration:)
Bloody Square of St. Mark’s
We play hopscotch on the cobblestone, while it rains whites and blacks and blood.
The sky is chartreuse and riddled with bullet holes where the sun tries to shine through and the clouds are smokestacks stretched across the spires of St. Mark’s Church.
It’s just me and the sky, and the spires of the Church and the cobblestones falling out from under me, and I’m clutching the string of my elephant, which I don’t really like anymore. I play here everyday even though it isn’t safe. Mum doesn’t mind, in fact she can never mind anymore. She’s dead you see and no one else cares either. I’m alone, especially when it rains. It rains like oil from the sky and my clothes are full of it and my shoes are full of it that I take them off and watch my feet turn black and stick to the cobblestones. You can’t swim in oil, no matter how hard you try.
But back to my elephant, we’ve never agreed on where to play. He wants to climb the spires and jump to the ground, but my clothes aren't made of parachutes and I can’t fly. He knows it too, that’s why it’s such a good idea, to fall and fall and tumble to the ground. I wonder if I’d float if I held my breathe or if I held my coat over my head, or if I flapped my arms which are painfully short cause I’m only eight. Sometimes we hear the train asleep under the ground where the Subway used to be, and there was the day we walked behind the church and saw the valley of crosses and it smelled of death but there were flowers left from people who were still living somewhere beyond the square. And each time he wants me to climb the spires and jump, like the angels and all the saints that must have once died there. Only angels don’t die. At least I don’t think so.
“No,” I shake my head, he pulls on his leash, which is really brown wrapping twine and his wheels are blood stained too and have white eyes that look like laughing teeth. No, no, no!
He used to live in the backs of a club that smelled of smoke and I think he is evil. His eyes are tiny diamonds but they are black as jade and polished into quarters so I can see how he watches the world go by. His body is wood and polished white with hard edges and sharp hips like those dancers at the Burlesque.
The man who gave him to me smelled heavy much as I would imagine embalming spices smelled and wore a cap similar to an organ’s grinder’s monkey. He had a mustache that twitched on his upper lip and his skin was sallow and melting like a pool of wax. I couldn’t breathe; enough to shy back to throw the elephant as far as I could, away from me, the elephant is evil. I knew it from the start.
Mum would paint her skin yellow and braid her black hair into a braid so thin and small that it twitched with a life of it’s own like the rats in the corner that watched us sleep. She wore a red sleeping gown and taped her eyes back and spoke in a smile that was sneaky and mean. She went to work serving long white pipes that smelled like spices thrown on the street.
“Isn’t that nice,” she said of my elephant. “Someone to play with.”
The man told me that white elephants brought luck, but since I’ve had it I’ve had nothing but bad. First my Mum died, because of a monster that lived in her chest, but I think my elephant killed her while she slept. I can see him doing it so clearly, perhaps with the old butter knife we kept locked away in the cabinet so no one could steal it.
Now I’m all that’s left, I wonder when he’ll get rid of me too.
I’m in control when I pull him uphill, he yanks on his lead, not wanting to go up but up he must cause that’s the way I’m going.
Today in the square, I bring him here to die. Causes I’ve seen the way he watches me and chases me in my dreams, sitting on the floor like a soul hungry demon.
So I drag him up the hill to the bleeding square and leave him in the centre. No salute, no goodbye, I pick the rocks in my hands, weigh them back and forth, they probably weigh more than I do. I would jump on him myself but he might rear back and bite my ankles with his ugly teeth, maybe he’d choke me with his wooden trunk.
I wish I had a gun like in the matinee’s, and the western’s with a hat like John Wayne’s, then I’d level and aim and blow him away into pieces finer than sawdust to blow away or be drowned when it rained oil again.
Like soldiers huddled in a bomb shelters, I arm myself with the rocks and the sticks and count to ten the look to make sure he hasn’t run away from where I’ve tied him to the heavy rock in the centre of the square.
It’s starting to thunder and the ground quivers like jell O and I see how he is pulsing back and forth on his carnival wheels, trying to escape, to chase me, angry, hungry, mean eyes beating like a strobe light’s gaze.
Don’t look into those mean eyes; he’ll steal my soul before I have time to blink. I backtrack behind him, his sharp elephant hips and the glaze of the sun trying to peak through the ashy clouds, reflecting from the odd contorted angles of his body. He can’t see me now.
I take my rocks and I sneak up behind him, and I crawl on my hands and knees on the dirty bloody cobblestones that aren’t really bloody but will be soon.
Do elephants bleed?
I take the rock and I heave it hard on his elephant’ head and he cries out like a half dead man getting his eyes poked out by crows, stunning him. Then under my arm, he goes, the closest I’ve ever held him without being afraid, but my heart’s beating like a tom-tom and I can’t breathe as I run to the church.
I ran across the floors with the ceilings that an angel must have painted up to the narrow stairs leading to the belfry. Up I go, around and around and my elephant is screaming under my shoulder, trying to get free.
When I get to the top I stop and look out, across the square and the dirty hills of industrial smog and I can barely stand, my legs are so tired from running up and around Repunzel’s tower.
There is a window right behind the big old bell and I walk over, suddenly terrified of heights. The window doesn’t have a latch so it swings open nice and the cold wind takes away that vomiting feeling I had before.
I could go back, I don’t have to do this, it’s that feeling that murderers must have, but I know I have to, cause its either me or him and if he doesn’t jump, than I must.
So I lift him over my head and I hold him out into the breeze like a bird I always wanted to be. I want to close my eyes, but I want to see him fall as I drop him, away and away, growing smaller and I can imagine the terror he must be feeling.
He falls till he is a small dot of plummeting white then I listen, straining my eyes, leaning as far as I can go out the window for the crash.
I don’t hear it, but I feel it deep within my core, resounding like the blast of the bell through my ears. And at the bottom of my trek down to the earth, I find his body splinters of ivory white. Staring up at me like they see in their own broken piece of way. That reminds me of those eyes, I take them between my thumb and my forefinger and wiggle with all my might till they’re rolling dice onto the ground and onto my feet. I pick them up and balance them in my hand, hard, maybe real diamonds.
I’ll throw them in the lake when I walk home.
“Oh, you poor boy,” A woman says coming up behind me so suddenly; I feel her shadow like a mighty bird descending.
“Did you drop your elephant from the bell tower?”
“I threw him." I clutch the eyes in my hand till they cut the skin of my palm.
“What a nasty thing to do! Why would you do something like that?” She says, clucking her tongue and moving along.
I doubt she’s ever had an evil elephant.
“Don’t you know young boys like you should be in school?” she calls over her shoulder, with a matronly glare in the vicinity of my broken elephant.
I reckon she’s right one way or another.
I look at my elephant, or what’s left and hesitantly pocket the eyes in my tweed jacket. Good riddance, is what I say, but I figure I might keep the eyes so no one can fix him, so he won’t be able to see the face of his murderer one day if he returns. So he can’t haunt me, if elephants do haunt, and I’m sure mine would if he was able to.
I leave the square of St. Mark’s but I’ll be back tomorrow if only to see if the chartreuse sky will break again and wash away the pieces of my elephant into the gutters to be ground under the heels of people I don’t know.
And when I’m older and have my own house, maybe right here on the square I’ll stop and make sure that I have a sign that says, Strictly No Elephants.
Just to be safe.
Wow, I am completely blown away!!! I wish I had thought of something like this, it's like a completely different way of seeing that picture. I am seriously impressed. :) :) :)
Amazing! I felt so bad for the poor little guy:( You did an awesome job and I'm really impressed with how you were able to come up with this great story by looking at that picture. I hope that I'm able to come up with something that's at least half as good as this! I'm having a little trouble with figuring out what to write, but I'll probably come up with something sooner or later. You did an amazing job, Hey_jude:)
Mod
Your comments mean a lot to me:)
Hey_jude, I am at a loss for words...this writing is incredible. It's like a song, dancing along from one lyric to the next, and the point of view is amazing. The evil elephant plot is fresh and gripping, yet at the same time almost satirical. Simply stunning.
Three words Hey_Jude: You are amazing!!!!!!!
Have you ever thought about writing a novel and publishing?
Have you ever thought about writing a novel and publishing?
Mod
:'( Touching story...Well written. Now i am wary of writing a story for it will never compare to what you guys have written. Although i think i may write my story with comedy. :#
Here is my story :) It's a bit short...
Fear of Elephants
“I often wondered whether any of the others grasped that I had done it solely to avoid looking a fool.” – George Orwell
It is something worse than death to be blamed for a thing that is not within your control. Unfortunately it is often a person’s lot in life to be set by the elements of his birth. Personality is shadowed over by a misconception so deep that it is rare to find someone that is willing to dig through the layers of grime shrouding the feeble soul housed inside. I know, for I have always been categorized by my birth and heritage, but never by my actions or self.
I can hand a coin to a homeless man on the street one moment and find myself being beaten by a mob the next for my “filth.” In this world, it is considered a crime to be one such as myself, nothing but an elephant, much like the one of Orwell’s imagery. That is where they pull my classification from. The forever stained impression of an elephant born to madness from madness. For to the world madness is filth. Yet they are the ones mad with their misconceptions.
And they believe that I should be shot. Shot so as to be in pain before my eventual death. Shot in order to be put through misery for my father’s crimes.
Of course there are those who pity me, but they eventually turn to the ways of others. In order to prevent their looking foolish, they spit in my eyes, stomp on me when I am down, and see only the heritage strapped to my arm, dragging behind me. For to them heritage is everything.
And criminal genes run through my blood. They are evident in my supposed black spritz of hair, fiery dark eyes, and greyed skin inherited from my father, the features of a maddened elephant that denote an inherent ability of destruction. “Elephant,” to them, is nothing but synonymous with “criminal.”
I can walk by a store with doors wide open and come away with tomato juice dripping from my face, my hair soaked red from their dyes and the meat of the fruit dangling from my ears in the aftermath of rejection. I can walk into a coffee shop and come face to face with a dozen scowls that cut me to the bone in their animosity. But by far the worst is when I walk up to a vacant building.
For on a vacant building, through the ill will of those who only see the elephant dragging on a string attached to my soul, are the signs. There are thousands of them, all proclaiming the same thing: “strictly no elephants.” It is a cruel moment when you realize the world sees nothing but the ghost of reality. And it is in that moment that you realize that attempting to stand up against the force of the shot of misconception piercing your skull will never get you anywhere. For it is through fear that the world ostracizes you, not for reason. And the fear of the world can keep you from experiencing even the smallest things in life.
Fear of Elephants
“I often wondered whether any of the others grasped that I had done it solely to avoid looking a fool.” – George Orwell
It is something worse than death to be blamed for a thing that is not within your control. Unfortunately it is often a person’s lot in life to be set by the elements of his birth. Personality is shadowed over by a misconception so deep that it is rare to find someone that is willing to dig through the layers of grime shrouding the feeble soul housed inside. I know, for I have always been categorized by my birth and heritage, but never by my actions or self.
I can hand a coin to a homeless man on the street one moment and find myself being beaten by a mob the next for my “filth.” In this world, it is considered a crime to be one such as myself, nothing but an elephant, much like the one of Orwell’s imagery. That is where they pull my classification from. The forever stained impression of an elephant born to madness from madness. For to the world madness is filth. Yet they are the ones mad with their misconceptions.
And they believe that I should be shot. Shot so as to be in pain before my eventual death. Shot in order to be put through misery for my father’s crimes.
Of course there are those who pity me, but they eventually turn to the ways of others. In order to prevent their looking foolish, they spit in my eyes, stomp on me when I am down, and see only the heritage strapped to my arm, dragging behind me. For to them heritage is everything.
And criminal genes run through my blood. They are evident in my supposed black spritz of hair, fiery dark eyes, and greyed skin inherited from my father, the features of a maddened elephant that denote an inherent ability of destruction. “Elephant,” to them, is nothing but synonymous with “criminal.”
I can walk by a store with doors wide open and come away with tomato juice dripping from my face, my hair soaked red from their dyes and the meat of the fruit dangling from my ears in the aftermath of rejection. I can walk into a coffee shop and come face to face with a dozen scowls that cut me to the bone in their animosity. But by far the worst is when I walk up to a vacant building.
For on a vacant building, through the ill will of those who only see the elephant dragging on a string attached to my soul, are the signs. There are thousands of them, all proclaiming the same thing: “strictly no elephants.” It is a cruel moment when you realize the world sees nothing but the ghost of reality. And it is in that moment that you realize that attempting to stand up against the force of the shot of misconception piercing your skull will never get you anywhere. For it is through fear that the world ostracizes you, not for reason. And the fear of the world can keep you from experiencing even the smallest things in life.
I am blown away...That is so deep. You've got skillz! :D:D:D Keep up the good work!Don't worry i bet my story will be shorter ;)
Wow, your story is very impressive, Shelly. It's thought-provoking and really interesting. I really like your last two lines. Great job:)
Okay here is my mixture of randomness, stupidness and idioticness. I fail at story's! D:“Well isn’t dat a nice Allahpheent.” Commented the man who smelt strongly of parmesan cheese. I crinkled my nose in disgust “It’s an Elephant and it’s all mine.” I turned slightly clutching the elephant closely. The smelly man stepped forward and put out his hand as if expecting I would let him touch my elephant. “NO!” I shouted stomping my foot. I stuck out my lower lip and gave him sad puppy eyes. He held up his hands in mock surrender “Well excuse me O’ Great one.” I shook my head and let out a grown up sigh. What was with these people? Always commenting on my elephant. I turned and started to walk away. I held my head up and walked like royalty. No one had such a great prize like I did. I glanced down at my side to see my elephant bouncing on the cobble stone, his little wheels turning like those of a horse carriage. I shuffled up to my home and before I could wipe my feet at the door Mommy bellowed out her usual greeting “Where have you been you lil’ bratt.” Wow! Such love…” “Oh wonderful Momma, I have been to the many kingdoms bringing happiness to all children.” I bowed magnificently. Mommy walked up and slapped my butt. “Ouch!” I broke out of my trance. “Wash up for dinner, I am surprised that the local butcher didn’t slaughter you for you dirtiness.” I giggled as if it were the best joke I heard all day. Reluctantly I swaggered over to the wash bin and splashed some water on my face. I glanced over at mommy and she gave me a hard stare. I lowered my head and washed up properly. Gawsh! What is with this world..always expecting you to be clean… who cares if you look dirty? Never stopped me from getting a girl. Like just last week I impressed the neighborhood girls with my worm collecting. I am sure they went home screaming with joy and pleasure because I accidently bit one of my worms in half. But still..like really… I got skillz… I decided to head off to bed after supper and chores because I had important duty. My mom came in my room and sat on my bed. She smoothed out my covers and kissed me on the forehead. Mothers. That night I dreamed of elephant kidnappers and kissing mothers. I hopped out of bed the next morning and I rushed to the hangout. A bunch of us were going to watch a fist fight down at the local Bar. I grabbed my elephant and made a b-line for the door. I rushed through the streets nodding to my dirty accomplices. I made it to the bar only to find disappointment. There was a sign on that door. What did it say? You Decide….
How can you say you fail at stories???? You shouldn't be so harsh on yourself :) You wrote a wonderful story. It's very clever throughout... I love the part about the worms:) It made me laugh real hard remembering back to playground days.
Hey_Jude, your story is fantastic! I love the way you maintain the fact that it is a boy and not a man. I hope you do wind up being published, and hopefully many times over:)
Great story, Encore. It was funny and it honestly wasn't as bad as you thought it was. I enjoyed it and even had a couple of laugh out loud moments.
Hi :D I'm new, and I wanted to join this write off as my intro. Usually I'm not horribly fond of my work, but I am proud of this, and I hope you guys like it too ^^_____
Every day, at exactly 7 in the morning, on his way to school, he would check to see if the sign had left. He simply had to.
Behind him tugged a little elephant on a string, its grey felt skin worn and soft to the touch, the purple fabric saddle conforming perfectly to it. White, stuffed tusks jutted out from the corners of the mouth, accenting the small smile that never faded, and kept hope alive for the boy.
But as he pulled the wheeled creature up with him, the sign hadn’t disappeared, much to his usual dismay. By now though, the disappointment had grown monotonous. Still, he tried every day, never wavering from the task of walking a few extra blocks to get to school.
Pulling his jacket closer against the late autumn chill, he clutched his small stack of books, tied crudely in a larger bandana, and set out again. His adolescent feet gently slapped against the concrete, head hanging low. A hat hung over his face as his eyes followed his feet, not daring to look ahead and reveal his face, which had a blue-ish purple patch of skin over his left eyes. Tears still threatened to spill over, but he bit them back the best he could, remembering that only caused more trouble.
School went without many issues. The teacher reprimanded him for the hat, but had long since learned it was a pointless fight. Even at this age, the child learned how to bargain a deal, or even thwart a teacher out of their reason for speaking out against him. Recess passed slowly, as he sat on the curb, still trying to hide his physical shame. His stomach gurgled expectantly for a lunch that never came, due to the fact his pockets were empty other than a few gummy bears that he snuck from the kitchen. But those had to be saved for the walk home.
When it did come to dismissal, his feet treaded slower than the other, excited kids, who went off in clusters to awaiting parents, their high pitched squeals of laughter forcing up old memories, which he preferred buried.
Once arriving at his front door, he stared up at it for endless moments before gathering up his beloved elephant in his arms. Kissing its forehead, he then entered the place that he often refused to call home. But it was all he had, so he tried to cope.
“Alfred? Why are you always late you piece of-“ started the usual roar of his father, who thundered in, beer bottle in hand. A large open palm flew at the young boy, who instinctively backed away, crying out in terror.
“Come back here! Take it like a man!” he shouted, his putrid alcohol stained breath filling the air. Alfred still backed away, whimpers escaping his mouth out of desperation. But the hand still came down, smacking across his cheek, earning a pitiful yelp and angry red skin as it forced him to the ground.
“It’s your fault she’s dead! You killed your own mother!” Tears suddenly poured down Alfred’s cheeks, unable to hold them back any longer. His fingers clutched desperately at his elephant, not daring to let go or use it as a shield. “You got her sick you brat!”
The young boy screamed in fear and anguish, trying to crawl away. But it was useless, as he knew from the almost daily ritual. He took the drunken beating, and slinked off to his room once his father grew tired of the dreadful game. Not even bothering with the assigned homework, he crawled into bed with the elephant, hugging the plush toy close. More tears leaked out of his eyes as his frail body shook with sobs and he buried his face into his pillow.
He lay like that for awhile, unable to stop himself for the longest time. When Alfred finally did, he curled up into a tight ball around his precious friend, and hummed himself a lullaby, letting himself relax into a dark, dreamless sleep, ignoring his stomach’s request for dinner. If someone were to peek in on his slumber, one would see that his grip never relaxed over the item he held.
In the morning, he went through the usual ritual of preparation, eating a meager bowl of cereal to sustain his frail body. Again he set out, before his soon to be hung over father could be forced awake. Behind him, a small grey elephant wheeled, tugged by a slender string. His destination remained the same, and when he finally reached it, the sign in the door still remained, taunting him.
“STRICTLY NO ELEPHANTS”
And again, he sighed in disappointment, walking to school with a bruised cheek added to his equally wounded eye, hat dragged down to shield them. He would never be able to enter the building, because he could never part with the elephant. It was his, once his late mother’s.
Due to this, he must keep reliving the torment of her death without help, and endure the beatings. All because a child put up a random sign for fun, and no one ever bothered to take it down.
Oh, that is soooo sad!!!! Very beautiful Clover, (cue tears). Encore: Your story is sooo funny!!! I burst out laughing not halfway into it!! :)
Shelly: I'm very impressed, you've seen such an interesting angle to that photo and written it very well. :)
What can I say? My story will probably suck after this!!
Clover! Awesome job!:) I didn't see the "catch" coming at all! I feel so bad for that little boy... it makes me want to cry.
Poor kid :'(
Nice writing Clover!
Nice writing Clover!
Mod
Thank you Shelly...I really loved your story, I thought it put me to shame. It was very very good. I'm vastly impressed:)
Mod
Clover, your story was so sad. I was tearing up halfway through it, great work
I can't wait to see what else will go up here. It's funny how we all have such different views on the same picture. IT's true that no idea if ever really original, it's all about the angle the writer takes on it...very cool. Great Job everyone, we have some very gifted writer's here:):):)
NOOOOO!!! :'( My heart skipped i a few beats. i thought i was dying. Such a emotional story. Its put in a good format, Good writing style...i like to say "you got skillz!"
Great stories everyone! Sorry it's taken me this long to get back in the group, but I've been super busy with a new job. I'm hoping to post my own story soon!
Anastasia wrote: "Great stories everyone! Sorry it's taken me this long to get back in the group, but I've been super busy with a new job. I'm hoping to post my own story soon!"Now now Stasia...lets not make excuses for our lazyness...XD jk..
Mod
:D
Laziness? please...I've been getting up at 6 every morning and working everyday for like two weeks now. The silly comments that the 'little' people make! lol : D
D: Little? :'( bwaah haw haw haw....you meanie...
Hey_jude wrote: "Haha... you should talk Encore...how many write offs did you miss? And what's this 'excuse' about your serve being down. tsk, tsk. :D"
Don't tsk tsk. i don't have any excuse )':
Mod
No pressure, you three, just wondering:)
Mine is coming along, I'm having a problem with false starts though. And all the other stories are just awesome so I am also feeling slightly overwhelmed. :)
All right, here we go, I'm not sure if it's any good or not but whatever. Here it is for everyone to read, and I apologize for it being so short!!! :) “And I loved, I loved alone.” – Edgar Allen Poe
I died today. My very soul was torn from my chest and trampled on the ground. I am dead. I once was loved, now I am scorned. I am hated. My life once had purpose, meaning. It is no more. Now I sit and watch.
Maybe if I am lucky I will catch a glimpse of a small child skipping along the cobblestones, completely unaware of the adults swarming about him with their heavy cares and burdens. He is on his way to the dour schoolhouse on the square near the abbey of St. Catherine’s. He will not notice the absence of the leash he once held, the faithful toy on wooden wheels plodding on behind him. His watcher, his playmate, his keeper of secrets.
Again, I die.
His mother told him that in order to grow up, he must let go of childish things and his father told him nothing at all. I am alone. His loyal toy that would follow him to school every day, like Mary’s little lamb. Only one day, he was told that children in school had no need of such silly things.
“Why on earth do you need a toy to give you courage? Have faith in your own ability and knowledge, child,” the teacher said, stroking the boy’s hair as he cried into his small gloved hands.
If I had been waiting for a sign; this indeed was it.
Strictly No Elephants
Time has not been kind to me. I am now faded and grey. My eyes are black marbles that see nothing but the one I once loved.
So I wait, sitting on the other side of the charity shop window, longing for my friend to see my elephant tears and know, with a certainty, that he has broken my heart.
Poor little elephant:( Your story IS good Sleeper, I really liked it. Don't feel bad about it being so short, I haven't even started mine yet. I just can't come up with anything, my fountain of inspiration has run dry.
Mod
WAKEtheSLEEPERinside wrote: "All right, here we go, I'm not sure if it's any good or not but whatever. Here it is for everyone to read, and I apologize for it being so short!!! :) “And I loved, I loved alone.” – Edgar Alle..."
Teehee...
Is that supposed to mean something in English, Encore? You goof, you. :)
Were you born in a barn??? D: it means "teehee" :D
Geek. :) :) The things you say. :)
nerd...the things you make a big deal about:D
Mod
As always, if you have any questions please let me know at once so I can help. Also, feel free to post your work here in this discussion whenever you're ready, the deadline is next Saturday. Enjoy.