Random Creative Writings

[DarthTofu]

Here's a screenplay that I wrote for my newest stupid video which, if deemed good enough for it, will become its own stupid series on YouTube. Just for your referance: A, C.F, and C.P. are the intials of myself and my friends who will participate. As most of you probably know (I've been far too loose with personal info on this forum), I am C.P.

 

Road Trip from Hell

Pilot/Opener, whichever makes more sense

Episode by: C.P. (AKA Cool Chris)

 

Open with a view of the car speeding by on a stretch of road, or a series of these shots to make it clear which car is important.

Background noise: a radio being tuned.

Switch to a view of the inside of the car.

C.P. (To A.): Just turn it off. Nothing good’s on.

A: Fine.

C.P. (Voiceover): This (Show image of car) is my car. Small: Yes. Old: Yes. But my car all the same.

(Switch back to interior with view of A. The camera is located so that it can rotate to show all three occupants of the car)

C.P. (Voiceover): This is Adam. He’s usually pretty stable, though sometimes he goes a little bit crazy.

Switch to interior of A’s home. A lets out a war cry and attacks a large LaLa dol, calling it TinkyWinky and claiming that it killed his father. (If deemed funny enough not to be cliché: A’s father enters during this and the two exchange greetings, with A specifically saying “Hi, Dad,â€

[Darth_Rob]

I like it man! I look forward to seeing the final results on film. It is random and entertaining, which are both good things.

[Mad78]

Very nice Tofu. I would really like to see how this ends up.

[DarthTofu]

The next episode... It still has yet to be filmed, and won't be filmed for a while since one of the actors has to spend some time in another part of Florida with his biological mother, but feel free to drop off your comments, and when it's finished feel free to point other people on the internet toward it.

 

Road Trip From Hell

Money

C.P. (Voiceover): Okay, so before we begin, quick recap: This is car, Adam, Other Chris, and me. Adam beat the crap out of LaLa, thinking that he was TinkyWinky, the Teletuby who killed his father. Other Chris joined in and killed the poor guy. So now we have the body in the trunk, only one guy with any cash, and a roadtrip to California going so that we can dump the body on the other side of the continent. Got all that? Good. Time to move on. (Throughout the speech clips were shown from the first shooting corresponding to all of this)

 

Show car pulling into a parking space outside of a 7/11. Show the sign to indicate that this is definitely a 7/11.

Switch to interior shot of C.P.

C.P: Okay, we have a good-news, bad-news situation, here.

C.F. (Offscreen): Well, what’s the good news?

C.P: Good news is that we’re in the perfect place for this emergency to occur. Bad news is that we’re out of both gas and money.

A: Don’t you have emergency money? In fact, I know you have emergency money. You specifically told me that I wasn’t allowed to spend it.

C.P: Yeah, well, I sort of wanted to make sure I was in an emergency situation before I spent it.

Switch to view of A.

A: No gas, no other money, and a dire need to get across something like twelve more states to dump a body in the ocean- I’d say that’s an emergency.

Switch back to view of C.P.

C.P: Sigh Yeah, I know, but time isn’t that important right now, is it? Can’t we just, like, get jobs for a day or something?

Switch to view of C.F.

C.F: snaps fingers I’ve got it- a much quicker solution! We beat up a hobo, steal his money, and use it to pay for gas!

Switch to view from the back seat looking between the front seats

C.P. and A. both twist to look back through the gap in unison.

C.P. & A. (Together): Are you retarded?

Switch back to view of C.F.

C.F: Oh, yeah- they don’t carry their wallets with them. They’re wily ones, those hobos. We’ll have to track one back to its lair and kill It there. Then we’ll trek through the tombs of ancient kings to find untold treasures and-

The sound of two car doors slamming can be heard. C.F. talks even as they are slamming.

C.F. (Continued): The lurking dragon to confront. After slaying it we can choose to drink its blood and become hobos ourselves or sell it to Harry Potter for large amounts of gold. Then-

The scene changes to C.P. and A. leaning against car. C.F. can still be heard faintly talking nonsense through the voiceover system.

C.P: Okay, so now that we’re clear of the stupidity, any ideas on getting to money to pay for gas?

A: Stupid as Chris’s ideas were, they did give me an idea-

C.P: God help us all.

A: Ha-ha. –for what to do.

C.P: And that idea is?

A: We bum the cash off of folks. Grab a piece of cardboard, make a sign, and beg for money.

C.P: Okay, there is no way I’m going to-

The scene switches to C.P. and A. slouched against the wall of 7/11, with C.P. holding a sign asking for gas money.

C.P. (As though continuing the earlier statement): I hate you.

A: Yeah. I know. It’s mutual.

Different scenes show a passage of time, with C.P. &A. in various degrees of boredom. At one point only the piece of cardboard is shown, with the words “Got bored with this. Doing something fun right now.â€

[Mad78]

I like it!

[Darth_Rob]

It was good. The 7-11 part was nice.

[DarthTofu]

And now, a satire:

 

Proposal to end the problems of: 1) Global warming 2) the energy crisis 3) overpopulation 4) illegal immigrants 5) obesity

 

How often do you find yourself driving along, minding your own business in your Buick when, out of the black smoggy air, a band of morbidly obese illegal immigrants jump out in front of your car and force you to stop, during rush hour traffic in one hundred and twenty degree weather? The time has come for this to end, and now it can, with the all-new hybrid.

“What?â€

[Darth_Rob]

All I have to ask is if this new model will support a fuel made of evil, twisted, annoying old female politicians like Hillary Clinton...

[Aenivae_Ikeda]

Here's the beginning of a large work I've been writing for a couple months. It's written in a somewhat schizophrenic fashion so that the story is jumbled around and as you read more connections are made, and one plot is tied off after another. This starts in the middle. It's surreal and supposed to have a sort of dark mystery feel to it. I think I put up an earlier version of it that was pretty loose and poorly written. But here you go.

 

The Highway

 

Scenes of death on the evening news. Reports of as many as twenty murdered, the killer still on the loose. Families sat at home, inventing shadows outside in the street, pathetically clinging to excitement in the humdrum sprawl of a secure and boring life. "Wowsers, things sure are getting scary in the world." A husband might say. His wife would nod obediently, and he would sink into warm and fuzzy feelings, supposing he said something right, and all would be well for him because his ego was throwing him a bone.

 

They didn't have a fucking clue, they still don't, even now after all the blades on all the helicopters have gone to bed, and all the sirens stopped wooing and wowing. Reportedly all of this is the result of a Mafia shoot-out that exploded into a fuck-you bullet-exchange of theatrical chaos complete with lead as the lead. And like every play there's always minor characters who catch a birdseye view of what's going on around them. The world was waiting for Godot.

 

On the ground, bullets unequal than production made tango through a faded lot for parking cars. Stuck behind a dumpster, I acknowledged the two remaining bullets in my gun. The only gun on me. The only gun ever created as far as I gave shit. And right now, I gave a whole lot of shit. Over the serenade of gunfire was Eddie, cackling the cackle of futility. Killing me wouldn't help him, not anymore. His position was that of revelation. There weren't any more roads for him in life, only the circle of inevitable death, his and mine, and theirs, and everyone's. Any dignity there could be in death was gone now, he was fighting to fight.

 

"Ya fuckin' maggot! Poke yer 'ead 'round that gutter-box soes I can give yas a wee kiss goodnight!" Cackling again into incoherent hysteria, and disphoria. The sub-machine gun, his slave, rattled on dreary, and spent. Click click. "'ey, fuck you ya piece uh junk!" He cursed the avatar of romantic death and sexy, refined murder but no magic. The clip stayed empty.

 

Eddie beat on the action as if to arouse the weapon to climax and glory. A solemn note ripped the air, and rain, and stink of death open. That same solemn note had a brother that too played a cello resounding across the lot, and together they ripped into Eddie's chest and throat. I lowered my gun. Eddie's knees lowered his body. The concrete, envious as it were, caressed him into it's embrace, and swallowed him. The Highway moaned in supernatural ecstasy, a shrill creak of twisted steel getting off on death. The lot wavered in reality, the air became dense and elusive, my eyes shut off, or were made to shut off and I stood up into absolute night.

 

I felt queezy, always did. In this place, it's hard to settle down. Some people have tried to describe it what it feels like being under the Highway. For me it's always been a paranoia trip that seems to take on it's own consciousness. The changes in the world down here are always very sudden, drastic, and temporary. So when everything gets all mixed up again it's like another sick reminder from paranoia that something is watching you, and that it can at will- fuck with you. This place is where Nihilism comes to die.

 

I put down the urge to vomit. You could just as easily throw up food as you could your thoughts here, and I'm in the aesthetic of not being a walking mass of cognitive defense mechanisms. That is to say; I'm a snowflake.

[ElvisMiggell]

Now that, i like. Lovely style.

 

A little Stephen King-ish perhaps?

[DarthTofu]

More stuff that my local High School liked enough to stuff in their literary magazine and earn me some extra credit. Consider yourselves blessed that I deign to share this with you! Or, you know, consider yourselves cursed- either way works just fine, truth-be-told.

 

And We Would be Nameless

 

After the third guy got sick, we finally started to talk. Something about watching one more guy wretch into the chilly water as our little bucket of bolts rose for the umpthousandth time, fell for the umpthousandth time, made us want to finally talk before we died. Not that we all thought in terms of being dead; not yet. We still had another ten minutes before we were supposed to have to worry about seeing landfall, and we planned to dedicate every last second before we hit Normandy to ignoring the idea of hitting it.

“We’re going to die, you know. Every last one of us.â€

[DarthTofu]

Okay, so apparently "And We Would be Nameless" didn't come through. If anyone wants to read it I'll post it up in full. For now, here's something else- my new story Powerless

 

The old man was relentless, and so he refused to stay out of my life. I remember when I thought I’d removed him from it; I did it myself, personally, shrinking my small handful of political rivals to a fraction of what they had been.

I remember when he returned.

He was waiting for me when I walked into my home, lounging in my favorite easy chair and looking disorientingly content.

“This is an excellent chair,” he said, indicating the plush leather cushion he sat on. “I must say, I approve of how you’re spending my old salary.” He smiled far too easily for my comfort.

“You can’t be here. It’s impossible.” I dismissed the old man and walked forward, leaving him behind me. I could feel his blue eyes on my back as I walked the length of my tiny living room.

“Impossible? Nothing’s impossible. I told myself that you would never become what you are today, and look at how wrong I was, there. You shattered all of my predictions!”

“You aren’t real.” I hung my coat up on the stand and slipped off my dress shoes. “You’re a side effect to one of my pills.”

The old man snorted. “A side effect of pills? You sound like Ebenezer Scrooge. ‘There’s more gravy than grave about you!’ I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m more pain-in-the-ass than aspirin.”

Despite myself I laughed at the stupid joke. I bent down to my liquor cabinet, pulling out a crystal decanter of Sherry with one hand and a matching pair of glasses with the other. I waggled the bottle in the direction of the old man. “So long as I’m hallucinating that you’re around I may as well give you some friends. Can I tempt you?”

The old man’s good humor vanished all at once. “You never could in the past, why do you think that you can now?”

I sighed in slight vexation and replaced once of the glasses. “I’ll take that as a ‘no,’ then.”

“Correct. You shouldn’t be drinking, either. A Congressman who is drunk in D.C. is not a Congressman who can expect to see reelection, John.”

I smiled, adopting the good humor the old man had dispensed with as I finished pouring the Sherry. “It’s eleven thirty at night. I think I’m entitled to a nightcap after a hard day’s work, don’t you?”

The old man shook his head, as though in disbelief. “It doesn’t really matter what I think to you, does it? It never did. If you’d cared more about my opinion I’d be wearing a far nicer shirt than this one,” he said, indicating the large dark stain that covered his gut. I winced, remembering all to well how that blot had gotten there. I replaced the stopper in the Sherry bottle and changed the subject.

“I got rid of you. How and why are you back?”

The old man didn’t answer right away. He just leaned back in my chair, his face twitching with what I mistook for pain. He burst into laughter a moment later. “‘Got rid of me?’” he repeated incredulously. “At least use an appropriate euphemism for it, son! You didn’t get rid of me- let’s go ahead and say that you ‘terminated my political career with extreme prejudice.’”

“I did what I had to do.” I closed my eyes and took a long drink from my Sherry glass, willing the old man away. When I dared to look again he was still in my chair, regarding me curiously.

Silence hung between us for a few long moments. “I must say,” the old man began slowly. “you’re taking my return a lot better than I’d have expected. Lesser men would be running for the door as soon as they saw me.”

“I’m not afraid of you because I know that you’re not real,” I replied, closing my eyes once more and settling down into the small couch that occupied the wall opposite my chair. “You can’t be back- that’s that, end of story.”

My chair creaked as the old man rose from it. “The story just ends with you removing me? Now that can’t be right. I thought that the whole reason you got rid of me was so that the story could go on. I was in the way of the next chapter. You couldn’t have me in the way, could you? Tell me, how are those policies that I opposed being received? The ones that couldn’t get out of committee while I was still around to fight them?”

“Quite well, actually,” I said without opening my eyes. “The Senate as a whole has voted to approve the vast majority of them. I’m well on my way to becoming the next President of the United States. Eight more years of experience and I’ll be on the ticket.”

“Popular…” he mused. “You’re very popular. Then again, so were some of our nation’s worst leaders- Jackson, Grant, Harding- I can’t help but think that you’ll repeat their poor historical examples.”

I laughed derisively. “What, you’re accusing me of being too popular? You don’t know what you’re talking about- I did the world a favor getting you out of the Senate!”

“Did you do me a favor when you took me out of there?”

The lines in his craggy old face seemed to deepen with self-pity.

“I’m supposed to feel guilty about what I did?”

He indicated once more his gut. “You are. You could have at least saved your mother the pain of seeing me go.”

Hot anger boiled up inside me. “How dare you? How dare you bring her into this? The woman has suffered enough!”

The old man nodded sagely. “First her husband, then her son. She lost both of the men in her life.” I glared at what remained of the man in my chair and willed him away. He didn’t budge.

I glared at the stain on his gut, the brownish dried blood from a pistol shot three years ago. I concentrated on the all of the hatred I’d harbored for my father so long ago and tried to use it to remove him from the world a second time.

He set a gentle hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eye. “John, I watched you grow up into a man I never wanted you to be. I watched you become colder and crueler with each passing day. And do you know what? I was willing to let it go, because I knew that your mother and I had raised you better than this. We hadn’t raised a man who would do anything but what he thought was best for the world.

“Then I watched you turn to patricide in the interests of your ambition. I watched you do more after that- terrible, awful things. And I realized that I was the only one who’d ever seen it. So far as the investigation was concerned, you were the ideal Congressman. There was no way you could have killed me- it was impossible. To suggest that you had been involved at all was a grievous insult.”

I looked my father in the eye and smiled with malicious humor. “You can’t stop me. All you are is a hallucination, or a ghost- whatever you are, only I can see and hear you.”

“True. I’m powerless to stop you. But you’re powerless to make me go away.”

My smile slackened. “So what happens now? I continue on to become the next President of the United States of America and you show up to chastise me for doing what’s best for the world?”

“If you continue on your destructive path, then I stay. If you’re willing to turn away from it, then I leave. I’m not here to prevent you from doing what’s right, John. I’m here to stop you from doing what doesn’t ultimately aid anyone. Everything that you’ve done looks grand on the surface, but in the end you’re dooming most of the world for the good of just a few- a few that happens to include you.”

“You can’t stop me, Dad.”

“And you can’t make me go away, Son. Tell me, how many times will your dead father have to remind you that you killed him before you know what guilt is? How many more people do you have to kill under the pretense of helping them?”

“There will always be a price too high when it comes to assassination, and I won’t go past it.”

“But where is the price, John?” The old man was crying, now. “Your father certainly didn’t exceed it- who would?” A long, steady silence stuck between the dead man and myself.

“I won’t relent,” I announced. “I’m going to keep pushing. I’m going to be President. And you’re powerless to stop it.”

My father nodded. “Then I’m not going to leave. I can’t stop you, but you can’t stop me. Who’s really powerless?”

[Darth_Rob]

I didnt even remember seeing that other one posted Tofu. I assume it was dedicated to D-Day?

 

I will read the other one some time in the very near future.

[Darth_Rob]

Its been awhile since this thread has seen any use...

 

Here is a "teaser" from my short story in progress, which is tentatively titled "Contact". Its not perfect at all, just the initial introduction of main characters. Im sure names and places would be changed.

 

Tim slowed the car and turned into the abandoned field. He drove slowly so as to not damage his car in the tractor grooves that littered the hay field. He drove out to the middle of the field and stopped the car. He turned the headlights off and got out. He stretched as Mike also got out.

Mike turned on a flashlight and shined it in Tim's face. "You sure this is the place?"

Tim blocked the blinding beam that clashed with the blackness that was 1:00am in Pine Bush, NY. "Yeah, that's what Joe said. He swears that he saw them here."

The two seniors ventured out a few feet into the field, and then sat down on the damp grass. It was a cool May night, and they were spending their weekend looking for the "strange lights" that many people have been claiming to see in the area for many years. Recently, their friend Joe had claimed to have seen the lights just last week while he and his girlfriend had pulled over for a makeout session away from their parents.

Mike suddenly jumped up. "Hey, did you hear that?!"

Tim looked over at him. "What are you talking about?".

"I heard something," said Mike, "in the car."

Tim heard the click of the flashlight as Mike turned it on and started peering through the backseat window. "Oh yeah," he said, "there's definitely something back there, man."

Tim stood up. "What the hell are you talking about? What's back there?"

Mike opened up the back seat and poked his head in. "Hmmm...it's cold, wet, refreshing...whatever it is, it's not human Tim. My God, I…I think it’s…brewskis!!!"

Tim laughed as Mike came out with a cold six-pack. Two beers later, they were both lying on their backs in the field again, looking up at the clear night sky. "Hey Mike," said Tim, "do you really think we'll see anything tonight?".

"I dunno man," answered Mike, "but I'm sure as hell ready to start seeing some other junk". Tim looked over to see Mike pull out a small zip lock bag from a pocket of his jean jacket.

Tim laughed. "No you didn't man."

Mike gave him his biggest smile. "Oh yes I did. Let the party begin!"

Just then, a star streamed across the sky, catching both boys’ eyes. They gaped as the "star" they saw turned from white to red, and then began zigzagging across the sky above them.

"We didn't start smoking yet, did we?" asked Mike, still transfixed on the light in the sky.

"No, we certainty did not", answered Tim.

Suddenly, the light stopped moving and stayed in one spot. The color then changed to white again, and it suddenly began to grow bigger. Tim realized that the light wasn't growing, it was getting closer. He looked over at Mike.

"What the hell is that?!" he screamed.

"I dunno man!" yelled Mike. The two boys began crawling as the light got closer and closer. As they reached the car, the field was suddenly alight, brighter than broad daylight. Both of them fell on their backs, shielding their eyes from the intensely radiating light.

They flipped onto their backs to hide their eyes in the wet, cool grass as the light gave a loud screech. Then, as suddenly as it happened, both the light and sound were gone. Mike and Tim both sat up and looked over at the field.

They were shocked to see a huge metal craft in the middle of the field. The craft was about two car lengths long, and about one story high. It was relatively flat, with a small triangle on top, and was covered in dull blinking green lights, nowhere near as bright as before. Tim and Mike stood up, leaning on the car for support.

"Dude...", breathed Mike.

"Yeah...", answered Tim.

Then, they were forced to hide their eyes again as the middle of the craft opened up, once again flooding the field with a bright white light. The light then died down, and the boys were able to see again. They were able to see a figure standing at the entrance to the craft. To the boy’s horror, the figure stepped out of the object and began walking towards them.

Mike fell to the grass, cowering in fear, while Tim took a close look at the figure as leaning against the car for support. He could make out the details as it approached. It stood a little under six feet tall, and walked on two legs. Two arms swung at the figures side, and its head was cocked to one side, curiously taking in the fetal position that Mike had taken. It was then that Tim realized the figure greatly resembled that of a human.

The figure got to within ten feet of Tim and stopped. It raised its right hand in greeting, and said in perfect English, "Hello. My name is Tash. I hail from Zonodote. What is your name?" He then extended a normal, human hand to Tim, waiting for him to shake it.

Actually, thought Tim as he slowly and cautiously extended his shaking arm to meet the offered one, he doesn't resemble a human. He IS a human.

[Eagle]

Nice story, Rob. It reminds me of that story of those fishermen who encountered an UFO. Is that story for that free publishing site you´ve mentioned some while ago?

[Darth_Rob]

Heh, none of my works are ever gonna be published. Just sit on my computer, unfinished...