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15 Minute Stories

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction' started by Pig's Laundry, Aug 20, 2018.

  1. Pig's Laundry

    Pig's Laundry Well-Known Member

    This is just an idea I got a few minutes ago, I don't know if it'll work but we'll see. There are a fair amount of writers here/people who want to start writing, but often times we don't write because we're afraid of failing. We're afraid of not knowing what to say, and just staring at a blank screen for hours, scared that our story idea has been done before. But the key to writing is, doing it consistently, and writing is all trial and error. A story is almost never going to be to the author's liking from the beginning. But, the best advice I ever got is to "Just write" don't worry about anything else, just do it.
    And so, that's why I came up with 15 Minute Stories. The idea is, you have 15 minutes to write a random story, it can be about whatever you want -Fozzie adopting a kitten, the circus, a gingerbread man's nose job, anything! And just let it flow, without worrying about how stupid or ridiculous the story is, without editing, just make it up as you go! No one's gonna judge you. And who knows, maybe you'll actually come up with some good ideas you can flesh out later :smirk:.

    In case the mods are thinking about deleting this because it sounds like a game, I see it more as a fun tool for creativity and something to help people with their writing.
    :dreamy:
     
    Froggy Fool likes this.
  2. Bliffenstimmers

    Bliffenstimmers Well-Known Member

    Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear.
    Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair.
    Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't really fuzzy, was he?

    A bear in the zoo raised its voice -- "NO! I'm not fuzzy!" The small gathering of mothers and men watching the bear that day were even more bewildered than those who were just passing by and noticing the rare event within earshot. That bear, indeed, was Fuzzy Wuzzy, and he had just about grown tired of hearing his famed fable. "I know you all don't mean anything by calling me fuzzy," explained Wuzzy, "but haven't you ever considered what I really am?"

    He got up and gestured in a most grandiose fashion to show off his pride. "I'm a bear. Bears are furry! I have fur! Who's ever heard of a bear with hair?" One girl raised her hand, and Fuzzy Wuzzy, immediately taking notice, gave her a stern glare. Well... she was very good at being polite, but she was not too keen about being honest. "You're only proving my point."

    Fuzzy Wuzzy climbed up to the highest point within his fenced abode, a flat area on top of a large, rocky formation. It was smooth because his rather greedy brother had just finished taking a fish with him there, and after having finished eating it off the stoney surface, licked it to get the remaining seafood juices. Fuzzy Wuzzy stood up straight for all to see, and roared out in disgust, "For shame! I shall put an end to this dangerously annoying stereotype. I shall rewrite history! I'm going to escape from these darned fences one day, and I'll maul every self important children's book publisher, every one of them who dares to defy the laws of ursine nature. Who's with me?!"
     
    Last edited: Aug 21, 2018
  3. Pig's Laundry

    Pig's Laundry Well-Known Member

    Once upon a week ago, there was a bowling ball who woke up to a rather unpleasant surprise - after a nice 20 hours of sleep (the bowling place was closed for renovations) she was kicked in the head! So, she turned on the light, looked around, and was startled to see a floating, sentient foot and ankle floating behind her. "What the devil?" mumbled the bowling ball, squinting her eyes at the thing. Thinking she was dreaming, she rested her head back on the bed, only to be kicked once again, only harder this time. "STOP THAT!", cried the bowling ball to the floating foot with a cartoon-ish smilie face. But it just stared at her, with crazed eyes and a gigantic grin. "IT'S SOCCER TIME!", shouted the foot, excitedly. The bowling ball said, "It is night time! It's not time for awakening, nor is it time for sport. Get your mind out of the gutter!"
    But the foot didn't seem to hear a word the bowling ball was saying. "SOCCER TIME!", it shouted once more. Annoyed, the bowling ball rolled off her bed, onto the floor, and rolled herself to the next room- the bowling alley. "That's it! I'm slleping in the gutter." But, as she slowly rolled down the bowling lane, in the dark, dark alley, just as she was getting to the end to ask if her friends The Pins would mind if she bunked with them, she saw it- the foot. The foot floated there, in place of The Pins. With that big grin, it shouted "SOCCER TIME! GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

    Quoth the bowling ball, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


    the end.

    Ooh, Fuzzy Wuzzy going on a rampage and mauling children's book publishers. Sounds like a great Pixar movie! :coy:
     
    ConsummateVs and Bliffenstimmers like this.
  4. Pig's Laundry

    Pig's Laundry Well-Known Member

  5. Old Thunder

    Old Thunder Well-Known Member

    What should I write about?
     
  6. Pig's Laundry

    Pig's Laundry Well-Known Member

    Anything that poops into you noggin!
     
  7. Old Thunder

    Old Thunder Well-Known Member

    As I was walking to St. Ives
    I met a man with seven wives
    Each wife had seven cats
    Each cat had seven mice
    Each mouse had seven cheeses
    Each cheese had seven tastes
    Each taste was seven-times more potent than fish oil
    Oil, taste, cheese, mice, cats, wives, men
    What the devil is going on in this harem?

    Stop.

    Now you're asking all the wrong questions.

    Take a look at yourself in the mirror. Tell me what you see.

    Nothing? You're correct.

    I was once like you. I used to think all this was real, that I was alive, that I had friends, that I had family, that I could breathe, that I could exist in harmony with birds, bees, butterflies, and bees.

    I used to think all this.

    But now I don't.

    It started one summer day in the middle of July. I was just a small child then. I took in the air, playing with my family's newborn lambs. Beautiful, sprightly creatures that were adorable in their simpleness. I was a naive kid. I never realized that this very simpleness was what would be their undoing.

    A wolf cares nothing for cuteness. It has but one simple, honest, direct, unflinching mission: to inflict destruction on another creature so that they can survive. Predator and prey. Kill or be killed.

    I had had my back turned when the wolf entered the pasture. I was still laughing from the pure joy within me. I was still gleeful as I turned my head.

    Then it all went to perdition.

    The wolf was standing there... in my mind I see it still... gaping jaws, gnashed teeth, a low growl hitting the air.

    The sheep had no defense against the killing machine.

    And neither did I.

    The entire herd was slaughtered right there in one afternoon by a wolf so powerful that it could have annihilated several grown men in a matter of minutes.

    I was not a grown man. I was a child.

    I was a victim.

    As my body was torn mercilessly in two, I cried out for my mother.

    But there was no one to save me.

    My flesh became one with wolf as it ripped my arms, feet, legs, and swallowed pieces of me down whole.

    The last thing I saw before I died was the pure evil in its eyes.

    That was me, many years ago. Since then I have wandered the netherworlds aimlessly, trying to find peace of mind but failing utterly. My friends, the lambs, were also slaughtered viciously, but lambs have no soul, and thus I am forced to walk alone.

    But lately I have felt something anew. Felt a sort of... life in me. Something within that could be harnessed and reinstated.

    And that brings me to you. Yes, you. You, a living, breathing human being who can walk upright on two legs, breathe in clean oxygen everyday, replenish your bodily fluids with a simple hand motion.

    You.

    I've come to save you.

    The path to righteousness is a tough road to follow, but I have paved the way. I have met with the Silicon Messiah; I have stared long into the sun and found no remorse in its rays; I have faced the horizon; I have seen the ghost in the machine; I have witnessed the evolution of the brave; I have been a part of the launch; and I was born as a stranger in this world of darkness we call earth.

    I am the man who would not die. I have seen the promise and terror. I know the path and the way. I've felt blood and belief. I've seen my world torn in two. I have felt pain. I have been a part of the slaughter of man. I will never again walk the earth as a mortal.

    But you will.

    And you are the one in need of salvation.

    The world is an evil place, and you are a naive sheep roaming the fields gleefully with no idea of the consequences. You are but a lamb in God's kingdom, when all around the devil has staked our land as his own.

    Yes, I have come to save you. Judas will be your guide.

    I am all you need.

    The reincarnation of Benjamin Breeg begins now.

    Time: 14:59.28
     
  8. Pig's Laundry

    Pig's Laundry Well-Known Member

    *Thunderous applause
     
    Old Thunder likes this.
  9. Froggy Fool

    Froggy Fool Well-Known Member

    this is AMAZING.
     
    Old Thunder likes this.
  10. Old Thunder

    Old Thunder Well-Known Member

    All of the following events are true.

    1962. October. Hallowe'en was just around the corner. Children were ready to stock up on candy and drive their mothers wild. Meanwhile, the Soviet Union was stockpiling weapons and controlling nuclear power and, while their people drove empty husks to work, their submarines were the awe of the world. In the US, land of plenty, civil rights were coming to the forefront.

    And then came the crisis.

    People want to say that it wasn't the US at fault. True, the Soviets did place all those missiles on Cuba first, but it wasn't like America didn't have a choice when they lined all their warheads up along the coasts aimed directly for the heart of the Iron Curtain.

    Be that as it may, threats were thrown about and both nations were rocking. And that's when the stand-off happened.

    For 13 days the world waited anxiously for news. The Cuban Missile Crisis was unparalleled in history. Never before had people been so on edge. As they went about their daily lives, the threat of nuclear holocaust was always hanging over their heads, and hearts beat rapidly.

    For a while, though, it seemed that nothing was happening. Khrushchev and Kennedy had fingers on the trigger, ready to instigate war at the mere drop of some news. With missiles aimed at major American and Soviet cities, if news came through, the Cold War would turn Hot and WWIII would be on the horizon.

    Jonathan Atkinson was ticked off with the Soviets. A Russian had killed his grandfather in the war, and he wanted revenge. Being a top government official, it wasn't hard to do what he did - forge papers and release a false news bulletin. The Hammer and Sickle were striking first.

    Kennedy was alarmed, and realized that there would be just a split-second decision he need to make. He ordered all units to open fire on Russia. Ironically, he had just made the order when Atkinson was found a fraud, a traitor, and a danger to society.

    But by then it was too late.

    As missiles honed in on Russian might, the Soviets ordered Cubans to strike America with the USSR's missiles. Cities on both sides were damaged, but no one expected an outcome like what happened.

    Both the US and the Soviets had turned their countries into literal bombs, in which if attacked, they would detonate and the entire nation would self-destruct. No, not everything would blow, but it would ensure that no one could get the land.

    No one.

    As America and the Soviet Union literally ignited in flames, the rest of the world watched. With two mighty nations now gone forever, it was time to pick the pieces of history back up and start fresh without the might of those two powers.

    But there were survivors.

    The President of the USA survived. He had secured himself in time for the blast. People lined the streets, half-dead, begging for salvation.

    He just watched them burn.

    I was one of those people. And as my body smoldered and the fat on my frame was burning, I swore revenge against those who had done such a thing to me.

    They would surely pay.

    Time: 14:44.90
     
    Pig's Laundry and Froggy Fool like this.
  11. Old Thunder

    Old Thunder Well-Known Member

    For real though, what happens next???
     
    Pig's Laundry likes this.
  12. Pig's Laundry

    Pig's Laundry Well-Known Member

    ^^^^^^^^^
     
  13. Old Thunder

    Old Thunder Well-Known Member

    I'm killing myself.

    This decision did not come from any outside source. No one talked me into it. Somehow the idea just popped right into my head. POOF! Suddenly - there it was! And I liked it so much that I decided that I was gonna execute said idea. Brilliant choice of action, don't you think? Eh, what would you even care? You never did while I was alive. Well, maybe you did. My wife did. My kids did. Or so they said. They may have been lying. They may have been telling the truth. I don't care, really. Screw 'em. I'm doing this for my own peace of mind. Peace of mind. Well, there'll be pieces of mind splattered all over my room by the time I'm finished. But these things take time, y'know? I can't just rush through this. Gotta plan these events... calculate. Makes no sense in wasting your final act on earth in a shoddy bit that you can't reverse. No. I'm killing myself, and it's gotta be done right. First things first, I wish to leave my entire estate to Leslie O'Neil, a prostitute living in Santa Monica. I met her once at a party - lovely lady - and since I'm firmly in mind to screw up all my relatives, I feel the best thing to do is give the money to a most hated enemy. A prostitute. The last thing my wife would want to find (next to my dead body lying on her bed) would be that I was screwing another woman and that, subsequently, I've left all my money to that woman. And not just any woman. Not my secretary. Not my daughter's friend. Not my brother's wife. No. A prostitute. Ha! Joke's on her. I didn't engage in any acts with her. No. Just met her at a party. Fun. Yes. Well. Next order of business. I'm shooting myself through the temple. The temple is fun. It's where the root of your life's blood is located. You break that, blood will spurt out like a geyser. Lovely stuff. Reminds me of a trip to Yellowstone I took with my father, old George Brady Bryan Bratwurst Jacowitch. That **** was a worthless miser who I wish I had murdered, but no, my mother did him in instead. Pored toilet bowl cleaner in his martini. Cheap ****. Both my parents were fools. I enjoyed raping my mother after the funeral. Wonderful times. I miss them both. Nah, **** 'em. I'm glad they're dead. I wish my family was dead, too, but I guess I'll just **** them over from the afterlife. Yeah. I'll frame them. Make it seem like my suicide was a homicide. Bring in Lt. Columbo or some ****** detective to piece it together. The ol' wife and kids behind the crime. Ha! I hope they hang, like in the olden days. Nah. These days you gotta really **** up a lot of people to get murdered by the law. Weird. I think they should bring back impalement. People stuck on poles, sliding down onto it from the *** up, until it's gone through their internal organs and up through the mouth. Takes some fuckin' days, I here. That would be lovely. I hope my wife enjoys it. Aw, ****, I forgot, this is the 21st fuckin' century now. None of that medieval shite anymore. Well **** my old boots. Fuckin' fantastic. I'm just so grateful that my faux killers will merely spend a worthless existence in jail. Well I ******* hope they ******* rot. **** them. And **** me. I ******* hope I ******* burn in motherfucking ****. **** the devil. **** God. **** Jesus. **** my life. I'll sort them all out. ****, I'll beat the ******* stuffing out of motherfucking Jim Bradford, and that *****-*** mongrel is the size of King Kong's stepbrother. Yeah. Come on, you *******. EAT ME! I HOPE WHEN YOU FIND MY BODY IM STILL ALIVE TO TELL YOU HOW MUCH I HATE YOU I HOPE YOU ROT AND ******* DIE AOIFAGNASOUGHASRSGUAH;RGAUWY480TAHW4TG;PIA8WH T84 T240U5Q[30T8HGAY80T YA[TAHGW['0TY4THGPEAHR 'GA'AEG8RHG'AE8RHGAE8RG[HER80GH[ER0GHE'[RG08HAERG80AHRE[GHER[G0EHR[0EHG8ERGHE0GHER8GHRE0GH80YT4[8QH4T 7UTQU3TUQA39UAG9'ERPGH9UG Z'DEG Hagsae"t)hugaAW
    GHARTGHAW8RGTHA;WORGHAORGHARGH

    I'm killing myself. Try and stop me. *Click* Game over. :)

    [​IMG]
     
    Froggy Fool likes this.
  14. ConsummateVs

    ConsummateVs Well-Known Member

  15. Old Thunder

    Old Thunder Well-Known Member

  16. Froggy Fool

    Froggy Fool Well-Known Member

    [​IMG]
     
  17. Old Thunder

    Old Thunder Well-Known Member

     


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