Tag Archives: exquisite corpse

Build A Story With Bryan #3 – Closing Friday, For Real This Time

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Photo by David Shankbone

I know, I know, I’ve said it before, but I really mean it this time. Round 3 of Build A Story will close at the end of business this Friday. So act now to put your imaginative stamp on this tale. Lend a sentence or two and let us know what happens with our main character, currently trapped inside an aquarium. Read forth and create!

I knew what Jenkins did for a living, or I knew enough anyway to make me wish I knew nothing, yet when he called sounding so desperate for help it felt good to be needed again, a feeling gone cold since Mother had died, and so, ironically perhaps, against the better judgment she’d instilled in me, I agreed to cover for him for the day.

I was a fool, and soon to be a bitter one. I had no idea what putting on that costume really meant, nor could I have expected the world it would drag me into. I had worn another’s costume before; at Mother’s insistence, the theatrical garb she kept in the steamer trunk under her bed was to be aired out every other week, and seeing it hang lifelessly from the clothesline made me sad. I took a turn in it all, and trod the boards of the attic stage, one day a lady buccaneer hunting for treasure in breeches and blouse, a rubber dagger clenched between my teeth, the next a gypsy spinning spells in a long bright skirt and silk scarves, both arms loaded down with rhinstone bangle bracelets.

But never had I been inside a costume as all-consuming as Jenkins’ was, a costume that required its own breathing apparatus. 

I wasn’t surprised that I could hear my own breath, but I was startled by the unexpected sound of my own heartbeat, pulsing through the thick costume’s layers as if the material acted like an amplifier. It was because of that amplificatication that I didn’t hear them coming. I think there were three of them, but I can’t be entirely sure because my view of the world around me was partially obstructed by the costume’s feathers which surrounded the eye-holes.

“Tell us where the orb is, Jenkins!” I heard one of the women say. I was too distracted by her tiny size to notice a blade cutting through the thick rubber tubing that supplied oxygen to my mask, but the urge to giggle was soon replaced by terror, as I recalled a warning my brother had given me ten years ago. As I started to lose consciousness his voice echoed through my head:

“If you’re gonna fall, fall sideways. And watch out for tiny women with knives.”

When I regained consciousness I was in a room, which was dimly lit by the aquarium that covered one entire wall. I didn’t know what was in it, but I sensed danger immediately as I struggled to remember how I’d come to be in the room in the first place.

“No, no!” I screamed inside, but not aloud, for who could have heard me anyway, since my awareness of the dim light from the aquarium was, in fact, an awareness of being IN the aquarium…I was nothing more than miniature, man-in-an-antique-diving-apparatus toy decoration in the aquarium of a full-sized human I did not know, and coming to realization that my only way out was to find an ally in this strange, self-contained undersea world.

I’d recently seen a video of a beluga whale listening raptly to mariachis, and could only hope that a similarly sentient creature would prove to be a finny friend.

I slowly surveyed my surroundings, and noticed a possible ally to my left at the far end of the tank. My next task was to figure out how to maneuver myself that far without attracting the attention of the full-sized people outside. This was no easy feat as my statue-feet were both fixed firmly to a round disc with a suction cup which was attached to a smooth pink stone.

I tilted slightly to my left, hoping to lift the edge of the suction cup and release its grip – would it work?

Success. I toppled forward, angled into the gravel and with great effort retained my balance. I exhaled. Only then did I realize my breathing apparatus had been mended with thick waterproof tape. A great gout of bubbles spoke for me. I threw one leg forward, then the other, and soon I was Neil Armstronging across the great basin of brightly colored pebbles, kicking up aquatic dust and making for the glass.

But passing the wrecked boat and a towering flower of kelp, light flooded my world. Light from the room door opening. Light from the hall. I froze.

JENKINS!!

I recognized his hourglass cranium, his stooped walk. If I got my hands around his throat things would be different. I focused on that. And then…

I saw.

Into the light, his massive hands approached, holding a giant plastic shark.

“Of course,” I mused bitterly, feeling betrayed, “I’m just a pawn in Jenkins’s sordid little game of ‘Bite Me.’”

Jenkins drank a glass of water and then approached the aquarium and climbed a ladder to access the hatch at the top. I was surprised to notice that he was rapidly shrinking as he climbed. By the time he reached the top he was small enough to fit inside the mouth of the shark.

And foolishly, that was the last of Jenkins. I laughed through my face port as his arm sank slowly to the bottom of the tank, middle finger extended in true Jenkins style. I watched the shark drift onto the wrecked boat and just lay there, no doubt satiated by the corpulent mortician. I maneuvered quite clumsily to the sand castle. It was a long shamble and forced me to pause, heaving up at the castle tower that rose to within an inch of the box filter. My bubbles fled me every other breath like an evaporating flock of birds.

How will this story close out? Only you know the answer…

Build A Story With Bryan #3 – Extended!

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Photo by Kogo

I was set to close the door on this story but the last two entries have blasted that door off its hinges. Hyperbole? Yes, it’s a Friday after all, and Round 3 of Build A Story has been given new life. So read on and add your sentence or two, let’s keep the story alive. 

I knew what Jenkins did for a living, or I knew enough anyway to make me wish I knew nothing, yet when he called sounding so desperate for help it felt good to be needed again, a feeling gone cold since Mother had died, and so, ironically perhaps, against the better judgment she’d instilled in me, I agreed to cover for him for the day.

I was a fool, and soon to be a bitter one. I had no idea what putting on that costume really meant, nor could I have expected the world it would drag me into. I had worn another’s costume before; at Mother’s insistence, the theatrical garb she kept in the steamer trunk under her bed was to be aired out every other week, and seeing it hang lifelessly from the clothesline made me sad. I took a turn in it all, and trod the boards of the attic stage, one day a lady buccaneer hunting for treasure in breeches and blouse, a rubber dagger clenched between my teeth, the next a gypsy spinning spells in a long bright skirt and silk scarves, both arms loaded down with rhinstone bangle bracelets.

But never had I been inside a costume as all-consuming as Jenkins’ was, a costume that required its own breathing apparatus. 

I wasn’t surprised that I could hear my own breath, but I was startled by the unexpected sound of my own heartbeat, pulsing through the thick costume’s layers as if the material acted like an amplifier. It was because of that amplificatication that I didn’t hear them coming. I think there were three of them, but I can’t be entirely sure because my view of the world around me was partially obstructed by the costume’s feathers which surrounded the eye-holes.

“Tell us where the orb is, Jenkins!” I heard one of the women say. I was too distracted by her tiny size to notice a blade cutting through the thick rubber tubing that supplied oxygen to my mask, but the urge to giggle was soon replaced by terror, as I recalled a warning my brother had given me ten years ago. As I started to lose consciousness his voice echoed through my head:

“If you’re gonna fall, fall sideways. And watch out for tiny women with knives.”

When I regained consciousness I was in a room, which was dimly lit by the aquarium that covered one entire wall. I didn’t know what was in it, but I sensed danger immediately as I struggled to remember how I’d come to be in the room in the first place.

“No, no!” I screamed inside, but not aloud, for who could have heard me anyway, since my awareness of the dim light from the aquarium was, in fact, an awareness of being IN the aquarium…I was nothing more than miniature, man-in-an-antique-diving-apparatus toy decoration in the aquarium of a full-sized human I did not know, and coming to realization that my only way out was to find an ally in this strange, self-contained undersea world.

I’d recently seen a video of a beluga whale listening raptly to mariachis, and could only hope that a similarly sentient creature would prove to be a finny friend.

I slowly surveyed my surroundings, and noticed a possible ally to my left at the far end of the tank. My next task was to figure out how to maneuver myself that far without attracting the attention of the full-sized people outside. This was no easy feat as my statue-feet were both fixed firmly to a round disc with a suction cup which was attached to a smooth pink stone.

I tilted slightly to my left, hoping to lift the edge of the suction cup and release its grip – would it work?

Success. I toppled forward, angled into the gravel and with great effort retained my balance. I exhaled. Only then did I realize my breathing apparatus had been mended with thick waterproof tape. A great gout of bubbles spoke for me. I threw one leg forward, then the other, and soon I was Neil Armstronging across the great basin of brightly colored pebbles, kicking up aquatic dust and making for the glass.

But passing the wrecked boat and a towering flower of kelp, light flooded my world. Light from the room door opening. Light from the hall. I froze.

JENKINS!!

I recognized his hourglass cranium, his stooped walk. If I got my hands around his throat things would be different. I focused on that. And then…

I saw.

Into the light, his massive hands approached, holding a giant plastic shark.

Only you know what will happen next…

Build A Story With Bryan #3 – One Week Left!

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Photo by Prince Hughes III

We’re back story-builders! But there’s only one week left to leave your inimitable mark on this story.

Read forth and take us where you will, here’s the story so far: 

I knew what Jenkins did for a living, or I knew enough anyway to make me wish I knew nothing, yet when he called sounding so desperate for help it felt good to be needed again, a feeling gone cold since Mother had died, and so, ironically perhaps, against the better judgment she’d instilled in me, I agreed to cover for him for the day.

I was a fool, and soon to be a bitter one. I had no idea what putting on that costume really meant, nor could I have expected the world it would drag me into. I had worn another’s costume before; at Mother’s insistence, the theatrical garb she kept in the steamer trunk under her bed was to be aired out every other week, and seeing it hang lifelessly from the clothesline made me sad. I took a turn in it all, and trod the boards of the attic stage, one day a lady buccaneer hunting for treasure in breeches and blouse, a rubber dagger clenched between my teeth, the next a gypsy spinning spells in a long bright skirt and silk scarves, both arms loaded down with rhinstone bangle bracelets.

But never had I been inside a costume as all-consuming as Jenkins’ was, a costume that required its own breathing apparatus. 

I wasn’t surprised that I could hear my own breath, but I was startled by the unexpected sound of my own heartbeat, pulsing through the thick costume’s layers as if the material acted like an amplifier. It was because of that amplificatication that I didn’t hear them coming. I think there were three of them, but I can’t be entirely sure because my view of the world around me was partially obstructed by the costume’s feathers which surrounded the eye-holes.

“Tell us where the orb is, Jenkins!” I heard one of the women say. I was too distracted by her tiny size to notice a blade cutting through the thick rubber tubing that supplied oxygen to my mask, but the urge to giggle was soon replaced by terror, as I recalled a warning my brother had given me ten years ago. As I started to lose consciousness his voice echoed through my head:

“If you’re gonna fall, fall sideways. And watch out for tiny women with knives.”

When I regained consciousness I was in a room, which was dimly lit by the aquarium that covered one entire wall. I didn’t know what was in it, but I sensed danger immediately as I struggled to remember how I’d come to be in the room in the first place.

“No, no!” I screamed inside, but not aloud, for who could have heard me anyway, since my awareness of the dim light from the aquarium was, in fact, an awareness of being IN the aquarium…I was nothing more than miniature, man-in-an-antique-diving-apparatus toy decoration in the aquarium of a full-sized human I did not know, and coming to realization that my only way out was to find an ally in this strange, self-contained undersea world.

I’d recently seen a video of a beluga whale listening raptly to mariachis, and could only hope that a similarly sentient creature would prove to be a finny friend.

 I slowly surveyed my surroundings, and noticed a possible ally to my left at the far end of the tank. My next task was to figure out how to maneuver myself that far without attracting the attention of the full-sized people outside. This was no easy feat as my statue-feet were both fixed firmly to a round disc with a suction cup which was attached to a smooth pink stone.

Take the story where you think it should go next…

Build A Story With Bryan #3 – Building, Building, Building…

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Photo by R. Wampers

Our third round of story-building has picked up considerably in the last week. The mystery deepens, but perhaps you and the words you keep in your trusty tool box can deliver some answers. Here’s the story so far. Give it a read and have at it!

I knew what Jenkins did for a living, or I knew enough anyway to make me wish I knew nothing, yet when he called sounding so desperate for help it felt good to be needed again, a feeling gone cold since Mother had died, and so, ironically perhaps, against the better judgment she’d instilled in me, I agreed to cover for him for the day.

I was a fool, and soon to be a bitter one. I had no idea what putting on that costume really meant, nor could I have expected the world it would drag me into. I had worn another’s costume before; at Mother’s insistence, the theatrical garb she kept in the steamer trunk under her bed was to be aired out every other week, and seeing it hang lifelessly from the clothesline made me sad. I took a turn in it all, and trod the boards of the attic stage, one day a lady buccaneer hunting for treasure in breeches and blouse, a rubber dagger clenched between my teeth, the next a gypsy spinning spells in a long bright skirt and silk scarves, both arms loaded down with rhinstone bangle bracelets.

But never had I been inside a costume as all-consuming as Jenkins’ was, a costume that required its own breathing apparatus. 

I wasn’t surprised that I could hear my own breath, but I was startled by the unexpected sound of my own heartbeat, pulsing through the thick costume’s layers as if the material acted like an amplifier. It was because of that amplificatication that I didn’t hear them coming. I think there were three of them, but I can’t be entirely sure because my view of the world around me was partially obstructed by the costume’s feathers which surrounded the eye-holes.

“Tell us where the orb is, Jenkins!” I heard one of the women say. I was too distracted by her tiny size to notice a blade cutting through the thick rubber tubing that supplied oxygen to my mask, but the urge to giggle was soon replaced by terror, as I recalled a warning my brother had given me ten years ago. As I started to lose consciousness his voice echoed through my head:

“If you’re gonna fall, fall sideways. And watch out for tiny women with knives.”

When I regained consciousness I was in a room, which was dimly lit by the aquarium that covered one entire wall. I didn’t know what was in it, but I sensed danger immediately as I struggled to remember how I’d come to be in the room in the first place.

What will happen next? Only you know the answer.

Build A Story With Bryan #3 – The Story Continues

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Photo by Phil Konstantin

We’re building it slowly, but our contributors have put on us on the verge of something exciting. Give us a hand, lend a sentence or two, and push this story further into the unexpected.

I knew what Jenkins did for a living, or I knew enough anyway to make me wish I knew nothing, yet when he called sounding so desperate for help it felt good to be needed again, a feeling gone cold since Mother had died, and so, ironically perhaps, against the better judgment she’d instilled in me, I agreed to cover for him for the day.

I was a fool, and soon to be a bitter one. I had no idea what putting on that costume really meant, nor could I have expected the world it would drag me into. I had worn another’s costume before; at Mother’s insistence, the theatrical garb she kept in the steamer trunk under her bed was to be aired out every other week, and seeing it hang lifelessly from the clothesline made me sad. I took a turn in it all, and trod the boards of the attic stage, one day a lady buccaneer hunting for treasure in breeches and blouse, a rubber dagger clenched between my teeth, the next a gypsy spinning spells in a long bright skirt and silk scarves, both arms loaded down with rhinstone bangle bracelets.

But never had I been inside a costume as all-consuming as Jenkins’ was, a costume that required its own breathing apparatus. 

I wasn’t surprised that I could hear my own breath, but I was startled by the unexpected sound of my own heartbeat, pulsing through the thick costume’s layers as if the material acted like an amplifier. It was because of that amplificatication that I didn’t hear them coming. I think there were three of them, but I can’t be entirely sure because my view of the world around me was partially obstructed by the costume’s feathers which surrounded the eye-holes.

Where will you take the story next?

Build A Story With Bryan #3

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Build A Story is back in its third incarnation! As before, I’ll start us off with an opening and then it’s up to you to add a sentence or two to keep the story going. I’ll periodically post the story in progress, and then put up the entire thing at the end of July or beginning of August.

Here goes:

I knew what Jenkins did for a living, or I knew enough anyway to make me wish I knew nothing, yet when he called sounding so desperate for help it felt good to be needed again, a feeling gone cold since Mother had died, and so, ironically perhaps, against the better judgment she’d instilled in me, I agreed to cover for him for the day.

Build A Story With Bryan #2 – Complete, Needs A Title

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Photo by MuZemike

Round 2 of Build A Story With Bryan is complete, thank you to everyone who participated and to everyone who read along as the story was being constructed. It’s a mysterious tale, with missed opportunities, missed connections, a foreboding light switch, and has a nifty shock of an ending. If after reading, you’re inspired to comment and/or come up with a title, I’d love to hear everything.

While the record changed, he noticed his right hand moving independent of where his brain had told it to go, instead of adding ice to her drink it was reaching for the light switch that had appeared where one hadn’t been before. All he could see was the light switch case. There was not a switch to turn on or off. Yet as his hand came closer to the switchless case, the lights flickered like a strobe light in some old fashioned long forgotten disco hall.

It was at that moment he could feel the hair on the back of his neck raise and the realization set in that he was not alone. He hoped that the outdated wiring in the abandoned warehouse he called home was on the fritz again, but it was hard to convince himself that it wasn’t something more sinister. Strange things like this had been happening to him ever since he’d met Seren Grossmann for a drink at Nando’s last Tuesday. He put the ice in her bowl, filled it with water and set it down. Angela was there immediately. She was thirsty. He watched her, but his thoughts returned…to last Tuesday.

The heady combination of the scent of Nando’s piri-piri wafting from the kitchen, the rioja in his glass and Seren’s smoldering eyes nearly caused him to succumb to her charms, AGAIN! Why was it that he agreed to see her whenever she asked, despite what she’d done? He was only saved from her by the ringing of his mobile. Hmm, a blocked number, he thought, and considered not answering, preferring to lose himself in those eyes.

“Did you bring it?” she asked with a purr, caressing her glass stem with the innuendo of an ambulance siren. “And if you did… how much do you want for it?” Her mouth was all business even if her eyes wore dance shoes.

“Yeah I brought it. But if I’m going to hand it over,” he continued, “There’s a price you may not be prepared to pay.” Her eyes continued to dance as her mouth remained in the ever so slight grin while remaining silent—she knew him well.

He rooted it from his pocket, placed it next to his glass, and froze. He had wrapped it in velvet to be sure, but this was no longer the same object he’d brought. This object was rectangular. He unwrapped it, revealing a switch plate discolored by time, the switch rising from the beige plastic like a child’s bony finger. Without intention, trancelike, they both began reaching for it.

They were interrupted again by the ringing of his mobile. As he pressed the button to answer the call, he caught a glimpse of Seren’s golden hair disappearing out the door. She knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation. He would ring her and ask her to come back, and when he did she’d have the power to make him do anything she wanted.

“Damn,” he thought. After a brief static, an electronic telemarketer.“Double Damn!” he shouted and hung up. She’d taken the switch plate and the velvet he’d wrapped it in.

On the street, she hurried her pace. “Let him call,” she thought and caressed the child’s finger through the cloth. “It’s mine now. I’ll do what I want.” She took a corner and joined the darkness.

She wasn’t prepared for what she saw around that corner, and she wondered how the fat man had tracked her to this dark, lonely byway.

Angela continued to lap at her bowl, bringing him slowly back to the present without blinking. He hadn’t seen nor heard from Seren since that night. Angela crunched the ice cubes between her teeth, a familiar sign the water was gone. So when she began to lap again, it drew his attention… to the bottom of her bowl where a switch plate lay.

Her tongue caressed the switch without moving it. He knelt and lifted the bowl from her reach.
He carried it out of the light to the massive industrial windows and their grace of Manhattan across the river. His sadness was reflected in its shadows. Its creases were his; the decay, the thinning, the theft. He was old enough to go now. The switch would do the work. His fingers had already found it.

He closed his eyes… and flipped it.

But everything remained. He breathed deeply and looked. The city still there, Angela still rustling behind him. But slowly his focus shifted to his reflection and the young man staring back in disbelief.

Build A Story With Bryan #2 – Extended Through Friday!

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Photo by Howcheng

Today was supposed to be the last day for round two of Build A Story, but I’ve decided to extend its run through Friday. This installment is on the verge of going into an exciting direction, and I wanted to give everyone more time to explore the possibilities. Here’s the story so far:

While the record changed, he noticed his right hand moving independent of where his brain had told it to go, instead of adding ice to her drink it was reaching for the light switch that had appeared where one hadn’t been before. All he could see was the light switch case. There was not a switch to turn on or off. Yet as his hand came closer to the switchless case, the lights flickered like a strobe light in some old fashioned long forgotten disco hall.

It was at that moment he could feel the hair on the back of his neck raise and the realization set in that he was not alone. He hoped that the outdated wiring in the abandoned warehouse he called home was on the fritz again, but it was hard to convince himself that it wasn’t something more sinister. Strange things like this had been happening to him ever since he’d met Seren Grossmann for a drink at Nando’s last Tuesday. He put the ice in her bowl, filled it with water and set it down. Angela was there immediately. She was thirsty. He watched her, but his thoughts returned…to last Tuesday.

The heady combination of the scent of Nando’s piri-piri wafting from the kitchen, the rioja in his glass and Seren’s smoldering eyes nearly caused him to succumb to her charms, AGAIN! Why was it that he agreed to see her whenever she asked, despite what she’d done? He was only saved from her by the ringing of his mobile. Hmm, a blocked number, he thought, and considered not answering, preferring to lose himself in those eyes.

“Did you bring it?” she asked with a purr, caressing her glass stem with the innuendo of an ambulance siren. “And if you did… how much do you want for it?” Her mouth was all business even if her eyes wore dance shoes.

“Yeah I brought it. But if I’m going to hand it over,” he continued, “There’s a price you may not be prepared to pay.” Her eyes continued to dance as her mouth remained in the ever so slight grin while remaining silent—she knew him well.

He rooted it from his pocket, placed it next to his glass, and froze. He had wrapped it in velvet to be sure, but this was no longer the same object he’d brought. This object was rectangular. He unwrapped it, revealing a switch plate discolored by time, the switch rising from the beige plastic like a child’s bony finger. Without intention, trancelike, they both began reaching for it.

They were interrupted again by the ringing of his mobile. As he pressed the button to answer the call, he caught a glimpse of Seren’s golden hair disappearing out the door. She knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation. He would ring her and ask her to come back, and when he did she’d have the power to make him do anything she wanted.

The story is yours, what happens next is up to you.

Build A Story With Bryan #2 – The Story So Far

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Photo by Ohiopetwatch

We’re off to a great start in this second round of Build A Story With Bryan! Can’t wait to see where it goes this week.

The tale so far:

While the record changed, he noticed his right hand moving independent of where his brain had told it to go, instead of adding ice to her drink it was reaching for the light switch that had appeared where one hadn’t been before.

All he could see was the light switch case. There was not a switch to turn on or off. Yet as his hand came closer to the switchless case, the lights flickered like a strobe light in some old fashioned long forgotten disco hall. It was at that moment he could feel the hair on the back of his neck raise and the realization set in that he was not alone.

He hoped that the outdated wiring in the abandoned warehouse he called home was on the fritz again, but it was hard to convince himself that it wasn’t something more sinister. Strange things like this had been happening to him ever since he’d met Seren Grossmann for a drink at Nando’s last Tuesday.

He put the ice in her bowl, filled it with water and set it down. Angela was there immediately. She was thirsty. He watched her, but his thoughts returned…to last Tuesday.

What happens next is up to you…

Build A Story With Bryan #2

3 Replies

Photo by Funpika

It’s Round 2 of Build A Story With Bryan, same idea as before. I’ll start us off with the opening sentence and then you add a sentence or two and take the story in any direction you see fit. Remember, it’s first come first written, so please continue off the last sentence added in the comments section. Thanks again for participating, here we go:

While the record changed, he noticed his right hand moving independent of where his brain had told it to go, instead of adding ice to her drink it was reaching for the light switch that had appeared where one hadn’t been before.

What’s going to happen next?