wake up! Story challenge 12/22/05

[Marksman45]

Write a short story containing the following elements:

a coffee mug of ridiculous size
a cardboard box
the loss of a left shoe
a saxophone solo
white chocolate
imitation flowers
an hobo
a mysterious voice

[Traveller13]

This is the end.
I wish they'd listened to me.
I knew things started getting out of control when my left shoe suddenly disapeared at the store. It went in a flash, with no other warning than a muffled "poof" noise.
Then Gwen came to me with a box of white chocolate (her favourite) and asked what I did with my left shoe.
"It's coming", I said.
"What do you...", she said.
And then she realised that "It" wasn't my left shoe and her face tensed. I couldn't believe it. She thought I was pulling a prank on her.
I went and told the store manager what was up.
"Yeah right!", he said. He thought I wanted him to get scared and run out of the store so that I could nick the cash register.
So I got out, telling Gwen to follow me.
But Gwen was obnubilated by the paper flowers at the entrance of the store.
"For fuck's sake, Gwen!", I told her.
Out of nowhere this robotic voice started singing "fake plastic trees". The situation was bad. I had to leave her behind, her feet were already rooting in the floor. By the time I was out of the store, her legs had merged together under the blossom of her arms, and she kept staring at the fake chinese rubber plants, weeping in awe at their imaginary beauty.
Another "poof" sound. To my left, a condominium had been replaced by a gigantic mug which still had a price tag on. "£3.99", I read. I couldn't figure out what was written on the mug but I think it was a joke about someone turning 50.
People needed to realise what was going on.
I leapt on the first person who crossed my path. He was a saxophone player who, judging by his looks and smell, lived on the streets.
"We need to get out of here", I said.
"I know", he said.
And now here I am, watching him taking all his time assembling his saxophone, next to a pile of cardboard boxes, as if everything was all right. This is the end. If I try to drive away my car might turn into a giant cabbage, or suddenly find itself 3 places at the same time, or disapear to who knows where. The same thing could even happen to me now. Even if I stopped moving and breathing...
"Don't fret", says the sax player.
"Gerb", confirms one of the boxes.
I stare at it. I know damn well that it's a bad idea, that staring in this kind of situation amplifies the phenomena until it eats you up, but I can't help it. Now the box is moving towards me in a very peculiar way, hovering in the air and turning itself inside out with a cracking sound at each step. Then it starts dancing around me, the steps getting faster every second. I start to feel a compelling urge to dive inside it.
And then out of the blue the guy's soprano lets out a piercing note. I can feel it shooting out, twisting across the scenery like a dragon. A chromatic set of other notes follow and all of a sudden things start to disapear around me, turning into vibration and then into nothing. The melody sweeps me away from the crazy city, away from the boxes.
This is
the end.
I think I'm smiling.

[joel]

It was some piece of sacred
music—
or maybe just plain muse
or amusement,
but it had its own brilliant voice.
A marvelous voice where thoughts could not
be voiced in mundane ways;
A mysterious voice where words should not
be pronounced in profane heaves—
it was the kind of voice where the letter h was
silent,
requiring an indefinite pronoun an:
an hero,
an human,
an hobo
played in deep poetic cyan notes like the most beautiful kind of a saxophone
solo.
It was some piece of sacred
story,
built on an indefinite integral of stories—
built as an house, as an husk of grandeur in store
and all so real their was no room for less
than genuine
(no room for pretty insincerities or proxy morons;
no room for faux patina or antiqued veneer;
no room for imitation flowers or sunshine;
no room for white chocolate).
It was some piece of sacred
so divine
it couldn’t be given away in gift-wrapped boxes
because no wrapping paper was fine enough,
or by manicured hands
because no jack-off hands wash clean enough—
it was some piece of sacred
that only made sense given away like the loss of a left shoe
to an hobo who needed one,
leaving the only kind of right right;
it was some piece of sacred
that only made sense given away like a cardboard box with a right shoe inside
to an hobo who needed one,
leaving the only kind of left that should ever be left.
It was some piece of sacred
only comparable in enjoyment to an hobo and saxophone duet
on a cold day with a dollar drip in a coffee mug.
Of ridiculous size was
it some piece of sacred.

[stilltrucking]

Warning PG-65 Content for mature audiences only. Here is the deal, this is spontaneous but I am ediiting too. I mean no lies all lies

the real deal is that I have drank a mug full of butter and honey and herbal seasoning well you know the old folks youse to talk about the herbage and verbiage. Berry stained coffee beans too. On a good day I could drink 25 to 30 cups in a 36 hour day
Basicaly this just a collasal power trip I have stilltrucking posted to about 18 or 19 boards. I I can post to this one it will give my twenty .

no wait, not exactly my ture motives for writing this either. Listening to the radio and a fishing village of 1800 people died in a landslide. SO anyway I thank I have worked the coffee cup into the story.

But maybe closer to the truth is I have just had the mother of all wake up calls



wake up! Story challenge 12/22/05

Write a short story containing the following elements:

a coffee mug of ridiculous size
a cardboard box
the loss of a left shoe
a saxophone solo
white chocolate
imitation flowers
an hobo
a mysterious voice

This is version 1.0 coffee mug
Random text box #1
down and dirty spontaneous uncrafted gibberish
Mars I tell ya love my sh*t

Mars here comes random text box 3
mysterious voice. well it wasn't nothing like that. This was the voice of pure reason.

I got reply to myself because my short term memory has gone into geezer mode

version 2. next. I been trying not to read the other challangers, I think I have included two story elements

THis one is going to be a bitch. I may have to brew myself another cup of mud before I can deal with it. About as far as a I can go with edits. going to check myselt out and be back with ver 2 later

[stilltrucking]

a saxophone solo

silence waiting for the sax, seems like I heard one today. what else have i forgot?

[stilltrucking]

a cardboard box
of toothpicks.

[stilltrucking]

the loss of a left shoe

if it ain't lost it is as good as lost. It is full of vomit. I suppose I could run it through a washing machine. My high dollar geezer walking shoe. It has a roll bar built into it cause we tend to roll over a lot.

I forgot to mention that the coffee cup full of mud was
of ridiculous size. I keep a cardbox full of tooth picks handy cause I always need one in my mouth. Fifty years of smoking I got the mother of all wake up calls.. It could have been worst, dry heaves and swallow a toothpick.

Yeah I tell ya Mars it was the very voice of reason herself. nothing mysterious about that voice at all.
We all got a purpose, mine is not a very reasonable one, but its my purpose and I am comfortable with it, what is a emoticon for sarcasm, winkies I guess.

I think I worked in about five elements, so far.

So I got stumped on the hobo and the decided to cheat and read the first two challengers for any ideas

Life is not so much a case of white chocolates as it is a case of
There are never enough rocks. No matter what civilization if built on repression. We are on a forbidden planet and must train our minds to sublimate dark energy, monsters from the ID. (IT)

.

only comparable in enjoyment to an hobo and saxophone duet
on a cold day with a dollar drip in a coffee mug.
Of ridiculous size was
it some piece of sacred

This is
the end.
I think I'm smiling


and of course this is all true as an imitation flower
a pale reflection of a rose that lives in spanish harlem

[Marksman45]

I keep forgetting this board is here. Which is pretty bad since I provided the catalyst for its creation.

truckin'- that was bizarre and a joy to read

Trav- also bizarre and a joy to read

joel- I like how you drew attention to "<i>an</i> hobo"