Hello all, as Ed had before, we had 9 people the other night. I thought I'd put up Katies and Chris' writtings along with mine. We did the exercise where everybody would write a prompt and somebody else write a response to it. Warning, if you read this you will also read some comments that I made on Chris' that are shown in brackets. Ignore if they annoy you.

The prompts were shuffled and Katie got "You find your childhood friend's body in the woods. What do you do?" Her response:



The leaves, moist in morning mist, a twig beneath my boot crunched and snapped, and I flinched. April 17th, 5:24 am. The air, thick with more than dew disturbed me, skin on my arms, prickling. Something had happened here, for never had I before felt such a presence in these woods.

*Slosh*. My foot sank quickly into a murky puddle as I let out a surprised yelp. Slowly, I withdrew my sole from the muck, only to find the brown leather had turned a scarlet, saturated color, rank with an indescribable odor. Horrified, I recognized the smell, the sickening, gore-ish color.

Then I recognized the pale face of my dear friend Nick staring up at me. His steely blue eyes without pupils and gaping mouth chilled me deeply. Quivering, I felt every muscle within in me quake as I looked upon his blood-soaked corpse, once so lanky and alive with youth. His white-blonde hair was stained the huue of strawberry jam- the mere thought of food made me gag.

Without thought, I fell to my knees, still shaking in disbelief. Thin, bony fingers brushed the tiny specks from his cheek, but no reaction to my touch. Red, burning streams soaked my collarbone as the raced from swollen irises, unblinking beads of blue. A voice unfamiliar to me crawled out of my throat, speaking a few solemn words.

"Better you than me."



Chris' prompt : "The passing of a generation"



It was ever dirty old man's nightmare. <> Romeo Rickenbough ran those two words through his head until he couldn't think of anything else. But the curvy blonde waitress still looked at him like a judge sizing up a serial killer [I kind of like that simile]. Romero always knew that psychic brain implants would cause problems like this: when you read the thoughts of everyone around you, you find that people think about sex. A lot.

"I'll have a nice stack of old nuns...I mean pancakes" Romero wheezed out, his voice starting to go raspy from one to many cigarettes. He knew talking to the waitress was unnecessary. Since she already knew what he wanted for lunch. The waitress just stared. Her eyes pulsed with psychic energy [ that makes an interesting image], and her head throbbed and pulsed like something out of a 50s invasion movie. Romero didn't understand how kids these days found that attractive. He assumed that was common, and youngsters just got used to it. But still, he could never imagine going to prom with a girl who looked like a character from "Attack of the Saucer Men"

For the millionth time that day, Romero thought how quiet it was in a diner full of psychic people. He wondered if this is what his parents felt like when he and his friends had started texting on their blackberries all the time. Because he was one of the last non-psychics on Earth, Romero had no idea what other people were thinking, but he was guessing it had something like to do with how small his head was. Damn kids.





Library's closing in a few minutes so I'll post mine when i get home.