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2 very short pieces I wrote

Diary of a Secret Prisoner
by nolte

To whoever may find this after i am gone and my cell has been cleaned in this anonymous prison. From the solitary confinement, I hear the guards joke about Document Processing Unit 4. I can only assume that is where I am. The question of who I got here is one I have wrestle with, it fills the time and I have a lot of time to fill with nothing to do but stare at the four walls. My other passtime is to argue with my shadow, it's the only company I have and that contrary shadow is quite annoying as it will not agree with one thing I say. Maybe I am going crazy from the solitary confinement but this ignores how I got here

It started one Tuesday when I was on my computer, a reminder had came on to say that my shockwave flashplayer was out of date and should be updated. Instead of doing so, I continued to watch She & Him music videos followed by some Tegan & Sara and then as I felt in the mood for some more good music, Tilly & The Wall had to follow. Finally to finish this blitz of quality, I put on some Belle & Sebastian on youtube. Maybe I was crazy before becoming a secret prisoner with an obsession for music artists with an ampersand in their names.

However while I was in the bliss of the blitz of quality of music videos, little did I know that Russian gangsters had decided to infiltrate the shockwave player of mine and use it as a backdoor to my computer system. From their, they were able to steal all my bank account details and funnel the money to terrorists from Chechnya. Interpol then did an investigation into this funding of the Chechnyian terrorists and when their black ops people arrived at my door one morning, I did not know why they here. The only law breaking I could remember was when I crossed the road on a red light although in my defence, it was 1:30am and there was no cars in view.

This is the lesson for you all, please update your adds on or your fate will be the same of mine.

But what do I write this on? I have nothing to write this on. This is a message no one will see and no one will know.


a bit darker than my usual writings.

Some warnings to people
1: This is for me highly sexual conversation. If sex talk makes you uncomfortable, don't read it. (that probably should apply to me as well Very Happy)
2: I also have some swears in it. If you are offended by swears, don't read it

This isn't natural territory for me to having stuff of a sexual nature but I got the idea for it so I decided to write it.

I also rarely swear in public. 2 weeks ago I use a swear at work in conversation and the persons reply "that's the first time i've heard you swear." we've worked together for 7 and a half year.

Any other disclaimers: I'm writing something longer also so to avoid sexual things, i've made the second character in the longer thing asexual. it's easy that way.

enjoy, if my prologue has not put you off.

Safety First

A arrives home. B and friend are talking. A does not know friend is there.

A: B, love, I got the condoms and Vaseline. I went for flavoured condoms to spice things up.
B: A, we have company. Friend is here.
A [to friend]: Sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.
Friend: It seems I won’t be the only one of us uncomfortable tonight.
B: He did get the promotion I thought he’d never get so it’s my fault for not believing in him.
Friend: You do know that those flavoured condoms don’t offer any actual protection.
A: What do you mean?
Friend: They’re fucking useless for fucking as they don’t offer protection..
A; Then why do they make them.
Friend: I’m not a sexual education teacher.
B: Schools don’t need asexual sexual education teacher.
A: But we do.
Friend: They are kind of for oral stuff. That’s why they are flavoured. The thought gives me shivers but yeah.
A: Friend, what about lip therapy Vaseline, does it offer lubrication?
Friend: Yeah, I wouldn‘t know. I just use lip therapy Vaseline on my lips.

*B looks through the bag*

B: You got cherry condoms and cherry Vaseline.
A: Yeah, they go together.
B: No, they are the same. They don’t go together, they are the same. Tea doesn’t go with tea, tea goes with stuff complimentary to tea.
Friend: I think I should leave.

*friend leaves*

B: How about this idea. I use the flavoured Vaseline on my lips and you use the flavoured condoms on your part.
A: That’d be a taste sensation for you.
B: But we need to get complimentary flavours. Does the same place do both.
A: No, the Vaseline was in the chemist while the flavoured condoms were in a shop down a dark alley way.
B: We’ll go to that shop and try to find something complimentary to the cherry Vaseline.
A: Maybe something sour to go with the sweet cheery.
B: Good idea. We’ll see when we get there.

honestly, it didn't turn out as good as i had in my head but the idea came to me in a sleep deprived state.

these are just diversion (as i had the ideas, i decided to do them as they are both very short and not time consuming. the hardest part of this one was the title. at one point it had the title "titles are hard") from the longer thing posted in mr. mcquaids office but i am still working away on it.

Well it made me laugh, Nolte.  Keep it up!  I might also post something I wrote to see what you, or anyone else remotely interested, think.

One of my English classes wrote short stories earlier this year.  They are all very capable so I simply offered them 15 quite striking still pictures from which they had to produce a story.  Obviously we did a bit of work on plot, character, setting and language, too, once they had decided.  However, they then said that I should also write a story as I was making them do one!  One girl went away and came back with a picture she found for me to base a story on.  The picture is below, followed by my story.

If I don’t move now, I’ll never make it.

Nijubashi Bridge is a blur as I race to join the stream of traffic flowing towards the metropolitan maelstrom that is Toshima district.  The dark glow of neon light ripples into view, saturating my retinas.  It takes a moment for my augmented vision to kick in and dull the brightness to an acceptable level.  I pull my hand away from my eyes, glancing at the Shi Ku tattoo on my wrist.  It reminds me that, if I can pull this thing off, I will finally be able to afford some essential upgrades, and more.  Much, much more.

Toshima is awash with the flotsam and jetsam of all human life, as usual.  Tourists float around the market stalls, ready to be stung by the sea-urchins behind the counters.  I could get these fools the same goods for half the Yen on the black market and still make a handsome profit.  There was a time when our electronics were sought after – but not now.  Steam rises from the various noodle bars, all advertising authentic Japanese cuisine: the crates marked “Made in China” are carefully hidden from view.  Twenty years ago, there were some great Soba bars here: in 2035, China rules the waves and they have flooded our economy with cheap imports.  Further down the street, pimps stare out of the shadows at me as I walk past.  A number of girls approach, their crude nano-augmentation sparkling in the dull light.  They spew insults in a number of dialects as I reject their advances.  They won’t be out of work for long – this is one of the few businesses that are thriving.  Every need can be catered for here, no matter how depraved.

All this scum needs wiped from the surface. Tokyo needs purified.

I have finally reached my first port of call.  Sugamo Jizo Street is particularly unpleasant, even by Toshima standards.  I splash through dank pools of human effluence until I reach number 49.  My contact is called Fugu, almost certainly not his real name.  Judging by the picture of him sent to my phone, I want to spend as little time here as possible.  I press the buzzer and, after a few seconds, an LCD screen flickers into life.  A face appears osmotically in the display – it’s him.

“Name?” he queries.

“Black Swan,” I proffer.

The door clicks open and I tread over tatami mats into the gloomy recess.  He seems to swim out of the darkness to meet me; the wooden slats make no sound beneath his weight.  His poisonous eyes look me over suspiciously.

“You’re late.”  His tone is unpleasant.

“Sorry, the traffic is crazy – rush hour has just begun.”

“I know – which means you have less than an hour to make your rendezvous.”

“Then give me the Cygnet and I’ll be gone.”

He thrusts the package into my hand: I notice my name written on it in spidery, red letters. He then warns me, in no uncertain terms, about its contents before delivering his fond farewell:

“Now, get the hell out of here.”

I turn and run.  It will take fifteen minutes to reach Shinjuku district and another ten to permeate the walls of the factory.  I text the pre-planned message to the Aum Shinrikyo quickly: “Black Swan and Cygnet heading for the water.”

The reply is almost instantaneous: “God speed.  Shi Ku.”

I need to run if I’m going to make it.  The traffic has worsened – the salmon are leaving the murky depths and swimming upstream to their homes. I wade through the neon glow towards the industrial centre.  Shinjuku smoulders menacingly: a thick layer of pollution hangs over the district.  The rasping of my breath intensifies as I get nearer and nearer my destination.

I’m here.

Yodobashi Purification Plant is a sea of steel pipes.  However, my brothers in the Aum Shinrikyo cult procured me the blueprints weeks ago and they have long since been committed to memory.  My route should avoid most of the guards.

It takes me fifteen minutes to negotiate the stairwells and reach the filtration room.  Security is even more lax than I expected.  But then, they weren’t expecting this.

I kneel down and open the package gently, so as not to upset the contents.  The colourless liquid in the sachets looks harmless.  However, as I stare at the plastic bags, Fugu’s warning swims into my mind: “A single drop of sarin, the size of a pinhead, can kill an adult.  Be careful with that stuff.”

It’s ok, Fugu.  I’m not planning on killing an adult – I’m planning on killing millions.

The sharp grind of metal on metal drowns out the hum of the plant momentarily as I open the valve to the city’s main water supply.  I place all four sachets inside: their semi-permeable membranes will release the poison gradually into the water over the next hour.  I close the valve and think of all the Baka who will sit down to dinner tonight for the last time.

Let the purification begin.  Shi Ku: death and suffering.

Great stuff lads!  Nolte, you have a style that screams comic book to me.  The first story I can visualize as a nice heavily inked piece but I think you need UF or MJM to help you with your cussin' Wink

UF, yours would make a nice little movie in the style of Renaissance and you are obviously no stranger to comics anyway with your Baka and all...

Keep it up, it's good reading Very Happy

thanks gerry and uf

nice, uf.

Cheers Gerry and Nolte.  I'm not saying its particularly good, I was just trying to show my pupils what could be achieved in 800 words.  The (slightly) clever bit was the use of extended metaphor/foreshadowing - something I was trying to teach.  The narrator poisons the water supply at the end of the story - I asked my pupils to highlight any reference to water they found in the story.  There are, deliberately, quite a few throughout.

And you are spot on, Gerry - I was imagining it as a 2000AD/Alan Moore short comic strip, of which I read many in my youth. Forum Index -> The Coffee Lounge
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