One Page thread

[Reforged]

Figured we could all try imitating the style of Chip Zdarskys One Page series. If you don't know it google it, its a riveting read.

ESCAPE FROM TRENCHCOAT CITY

As the last grain of sand fell down the hour glass Alf knew his time was up.
Several dark looming figures appeared at the open front door, their presence barely distinguishable from the night behind them.
"Mr Riley, we are here." their leader said plainly, the rain spattering on his long black coat.
"Yes... yes I know." Alf solemnly responded. He did know. He had known for as long as his memory would care to recollect.
"This shouldn't have been necessary Mr Riley, you should of just given us what we want. Now what do you think we are going to have to do?"

Alf lighted a ciggerette and said nothing, smoking it silently. He didn't have anything to say. He couldn't remember how this had all started or how it had all led here. How his life had changed from that of a simple family man to that of a loner desperately struggling for survival. He certainly didn't know what was to happen next. It felt like his whole life had been spent in utter ignorance. Wandering aimlessly yet still guided down this inevitable path that had taken him right here, in the middle of this fucking mess.

"I don't suppose we can postpone this?"
"I think you'll find that you've postponed enough Mr Riley." the figure sharply retorted.

Again, he had no answer. The man spoke the truth. Alf inhaled his ciggerette, savoring the sweet warm sensation it fills him with that all too soon dissapates into a cold hunger for the next puff. There was no avoiding it this time.

"So if you'll just show us where the freezer and the plasma screen television is we'll be on our way."
"Yeah, sure."
Alf watched as they bundled both into the lorry.
"Mr Riley, please make your payments for the other stuff on time or we'll have to come back"
"Yep. Sorry."
As he watched them drive off into the distance and disappear into the night he gave a sharp exhale of relief.
"Daddy, am I going to have to go on the game with Mommy?"
Alf started and turned around. He calmed down and some weight appeared to lift off his shoulders. He hugged the child laughing warmly.
"Oh Mandy Mandy Mandy... probably."
With that they retreat back to their abode hoping to find some scraps of food left behind where the freezer once was and watch the blank space where the TV used to be.

[Reforged]

Seriously? Not one person wants to have a go?
This is a sad day for the literary world.

[jonb]

Seriously? Not one person wants to have a go?
This is a sad day for the literary world.

Give us a chance old boy, a page will take me a week.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p-wmbM6EpZU

[Cato]

Seriously? Not one person wants to have a go?
This is a sad day for the literary world.

Alf Riley is nothing more than a modern day serf, as most of us are. Alf does his best, but foists his broken dreams and the lottery of success upon his spawn while keeping up the charade that 'if you work hard enough you can be anything you want'.

I feel bad for Alf. He's just a bloke with good intentions that was conditioned to accept his lot in life...go in debt to enrich others while thinking you are improving your condition. No different than a serf. Rich people's kids aren't the ones catching bullets in Iraq and Afghanistan. The usual reply is that it's an all volunteer force. This may be true, but begs the question: 'Who's volunteering?'. Not the trust fund babies.

Was this the type of conversation you wanted to extract?

[Reforged]

Seriously? Not one person wants to have a go?
This is a sad day for the literary world.

Alf Riley is nothing more than a modern day serf, as most of us are. Alf does his best, but foists his broken dreams and the lottery of success upon his spawn while keeping up the charade that 'if you work hard enough you can be anything you want'.

I feel bad for Alf. He's just a bloke with good intentions that was conditioned to accept his lot in life...go in debt to enrich others while thinking you are improving your condition. No different than a serf. Rich people's kids aren't the ones catching bullets in Iraq and Afghanistan. The usual reply is that it's an all volunteer force. This may be true, but begs the question: 'Who's volunteering?'. Not the trust fund babies.

Was this the type of conversation you wanted to extract?

er... no. No I made this thread so people could post short stories which start off generic and then end with a moment that makes the reader go "Wait, what the fuck?"

[Erinome]

This looks fun. I'll work on something.

[Reforged]

BLOOD ON THE PARCHMENT

Ellens face is filled with a look of terror and disbelief.
"But why Tony? Why did they have to die?"
Tonys face was filled with a barely contained rage, far from the cool, calm and gentle newspaper critic Ellen had come to know so intimately. His voice now dripped with a venom that had remained hidden below the surface for many years.
"They were all monsters, every last one of them. Not a drop of humanity left in them."
Tears stream down Ellens face, she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Is this the man she had married?
"They were human beings Tony! They had lives!"

Tony flinched visably for a moment. He knew his wife wasn't entirely wrong. What right had he to have taken a human life? He regained composure.
"Someone had to, someone had to stop them. They would of been the end of us all. Do you remember what they did Ellen? To us? To our friends? Our family? How could you deny that it was anything other than justice?"
Ellen shaked her head, the tears glisten as they fall.
"No Tony. No. Justice isn't what you did. The way you did it, the sheer looks of terror on their faces... you slaughtered them like animals. Thats not justice, not in any world."

She threw the photos that had haunted her dreams every night since she had first found them in the glove compartment.
"Look at them Tony..."
He does so. His eyes scan every sordid feature of the photos and with every twisted and tortured face he shivers and feels himself die alittle inside. Michael Bay splattered in an explosion of breasts, Brian Robins made to dress up as a Norbert and then forced to choke on his own shit, George Lucas spitroasted with a giant novelty lightsaber.
There are so many more but Tony turns away at the one of Michael Bay, unable to meet her gaze.
"... They deserved it... they ruined so many films for so many people..."

Ellen is enraged by this response.
"Don't you turn away you son of a bitch! Look at them!"
Tony breaks down, overcome with guilt and disgust at what he had done. He fell to his knees sobbing "Oh God." uncontrollably. Ellens anger subsides, she can't hate him. Not even after what he has done and especially when she herself had dreamt about doing the same thing a thousand times. She gets down to his level and holds him, her shoulder wet with his tears.
"I'm so sorry Ellen. I couldn't do it. I couldn't let them get away with it."
Ellen brushed his cheek to wipe the tears.
"Its ok, shhh. Its alright. We can fix this, nothing has to change."
Tony looked at her with relief.
"Really?"
"Really. No-one gives a fuck about George Lucas for a start."
Comforted by this knowledge he smiled and held his love close to him. His thoughts calmed; Nothing has to change, everythings going to be alright...
Ellen snapped Tonys neck brutally.
"Oh Tony, how naive you were to think that fucking George Lucas in the arse with a novelty lightsaber till he succumbed to internal injuries wouldn't come back to haunt you... and besides..."
Her face melted and Ellen was no more. In her place was a strange, almost alien figure with the cold, emotionless eyes of a souless killer.
"I don't like critics."
With that Steven Spielberg steped over Tonys limp and lifeless body and left without another word.

[Tempus]

er... no. No I made this thread so people could post short stories which start off generic and then end with a moment that makes the reader go "Wait, what the fuck?"

Oh, this is for short stories? In that case, here's one I wrote called 'The Reasonable Man':

• Don Portochiney was a devout man. Suddenly his Bible (King James version) began chasing him. He ran through the kitchen and jumped over the bar he’d installed last Christmas and gripped a frying pan with an emotion that could only be described as KABLAAAMMMM - ! - he whacked that good book good and it flailed as its pages whipped through the air like some frenzied tornado of judicial holy paper cuts ready to rend the skin from Don’s epsilon-male body.
  
  Don, of course, was only dreaming oh wait shit, no he wasn’t! The chase continued, however it appeared that Don had really shot himself in the foot this time (metaphorically, of course, however Don did own many firearms locked up in a location other than the one he currently resided in). The heathen blow Don had dealt to the KJV Bible in his kitchen had compounded the problem, you see; now all 1001 pages independently (and viciously) pursued him with a cleansing fury that could only be described as Bibliciousness. Remember folks: only one heavenly slice into Don’s pallid, effeminate complexion would be enough; for the edges of the pages were poisoned with holy water that burned like hellfire to the touch.
  
  Don jumped another bar and ran through the throngs of sweaty bodies attending the Ricky Martin concert. This was an unintentionally wise move on the part of Don because the holy text began to lose its divine powers as it weaved between the gay men seeking Don like a heat-seeking missile. This is because gay men to the Bible are basically what Kryptonite is to Superman. So, Don made a quiet escape into the passionate night as Ricky vigorously shook his Kryptonite to the beat of another man’s bongo drums.
  
  Don was feelin’ mighty pooped after such an adrenaline pumping experience. The thing with the Bible was heart beat inducing too. But for now he curled up into a masculine fetal position and wept himself to sleep, chastising himself over what was, what is and what could be. The mother bird gracefully landed on the edge of her carefully constructed nest, 5 meters above the ground. The squawking of the newly hatched chicks rose to a crescendo, but this mumma favored her eldest tonight. The mother bird regurgitated her semi-digested finds into Don’s open mouth. A smile appeared upon his face as his mind drifted off into the night amid the distant jungle beats of heretics. Yes, you were never too old to return to the nest.
  
  
  ~FIN~