Arthur’s Comments (group member since Oct 25, 2008)

Arthur’s comments from the Short Story Contests group.

Ha, huh, nice experience? here's mine, it's a little bit confusing.
Without books on the margins, without the sun? There is no pleasure? Who needs it? Without the earth? The thinkers? Existing in a vast universe? Owner of a lonely heart? Ownership of broken hearts? Ownership of the lonely hearts over the edge you are on, without the theft? Only the translation in terms of some are misperceiving? Deeper than the ventricle of the heart is wide as the awakening?

The potage porridge Humpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpy had a great fall. All the kings horses and all the kings men with crazy glue had to turn him back together again. It got dark. The sun was laughing, and the tears rolling caused it to rain suddenly a time as a night. Humpty eyes rolled into a river. And a cat screeched at the moon watching these roll. The king strolled by just the right moment to lose his breath. The queen began hollering in laughter causing the carriage to tilt in a huge crash. The sun stood in attention once again to the king’s presence. It was so warm Humpty Dumpty stopped in a hard boiled egg.

Early snow came and went. Melted back to earth hunger. The fall was unusually dry, not like other years. The strong wind was blowing from the southwest oddly, the morning sun was poking through a foggy sky drying up in the early morning frost. A black crow perched all alone on his tree in search of water. He stood on a single branch and did not rotate or bend in the wind or by his weight.

You think so? Thanks. I think Livi's and you too were quite good.

Name: Noah’s Arc
Words: 1120
Genre: Fiction
By: Arthur

Notes: I think I spoofed writing this while watching a Molly Ringwald movie last night. That explains the name for St. Pathmolly Road. I don’t think it a real place, but the name appealed to me.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *


My hazel eyes was so burned, drained by a bright yellow sun.
The boy I was watching just kept moving and mixing with other children. Then throw his arms, his sleeves would just droop. I felt some sympathy for him and only in one way can I put it as and his kind. Young and energetic as he is, you can not help but watch his less than normal appearances.
His abnormality.

I was all on my own one day for profitable health and my exercises. The public parks have a tendency to be more crowed this time of the day. But these outback tracks what they were once known are a sensible alternative direction for non-commuters in need of relaxation - recreation – rest - entertainment proactive and physical activity.
Now, even the old outback tracks are in despair. Outback paths will be replaced for something more elaborate. In part, what is meant by despair, as a small example for what is taking place in this part of town. Not without popular interests, but by a means of clap-trap of communist directions, we shape the world around us, we organize around these changes, I mean changes to better our world around us. We are changing our appearances of our world.
Old used direction along these roads from the tops of St. Pathmolly Road down to around here Benedict Street where I am now, for example, here is a place soon become a much larger perspective direction in the new plannings of the new city network. Already the construction had begun. Soon this city will be become singular, of its own unique and just like what happened in New York only just last year. The Big Apple was blossoming. And the new holiday brochures from New York City to see look just like our city. Or any of the other major cities soon in the whole world.
But I love it here. I hesitate in my story to explain the miraculous difference made for our city, its canals, roads, bays and inlets, sidewalks and paths around. But to explain, would describe a city, every town like this one in the world, gone mad in monstrously designs. How so? Where did it begin? What are the stages we are in?
Isolated to the most attractive thing of what our wonderful city is playing. Sure children come to see the outdoor plays. The elderly also like to come for our outdoor plays. See Romeo and Juliet this time of year in a park outdoors is vibrant.
Let's just go back to a little while, until all of the city new planning had become a reality.
Pot-'o-Gold Industries a.k.a. Zimmer Fortune had invested every penny he had during a computer-generation, which not many years ago. When IBM found asset fortunes selling parts of their computers to other companies, to cheapen production costs. Zimmer Fortune had been looking at his own design of the electronic pen. Yes, the one to write with, the one that is linked with satellites such as cell phones or TV's. Once you wiggle it on paper, Willie Wonka it recognizes spelling errors. Once in a fortnight of this creative gadget, I suggest just calling it the pen, it was the biggest success since TV, or MP3 downloads.

Yes Zimmer found his zillions, nay billions of stocks in equities and wealth. He had bought the rights to many famous books and films. He now has exclusive rights for Harry Potter and that well remembered non ending Twilight series that was gone into a longer production by Stephenie Meyer, who after she stuck to a her successful formula called for by demanding supporters and fans for their favorite series, written a total of one hundred books.
With a stroke of his pen, Zimmer Fortune had control over entertainment for centuries to come. The world's fortunes are set rather high, and mighty expensive. Zimmer knows this, but once he started, there was no way to stop.
He really began to make his riches with the alternative toy that replaces that many used outdated toys. Rather than an eraser and the ends just ugly, there were toys that clip on this end. This led to a revolution in the world.
Then all the gadgets have been resized, allow putting cheaper SD cards in some of these toys, so you can snap a toy on your stylus, you hear your favorite music with your wireless ear buds.
Yes, the world in revolved in chrome, pink and yellow and blues in the tradition of sanguinity for boys and girls.
That is just when the dark side of Zimmer Fortune and his plans for our future were brought into the light. His sudden changes were the big picture of the philosophy that of the needs of the world. His play. His even bush of fire and flame. His vision. His emptiness, and the routes to fill that void of imperfection. His goals reduced objectives to cleaning the streets, and rectifying what needs be done.

The world came yet to another stop. If he is not responsible for the posters for the promises, and in each direction, you'd think we were under a regime of the World War 3, or communists had already stopped all our operations in a takeover. If it is not for the simple fact that those promises were for a world of peace. Within ten years, major cities would be cleaned. According to Zimmer Fortune and his word, the many forms of entertainment outdoors are shown to enlighten the public awareness of stress related problems. Lord knows we have technology in our man made afterworld here. But changes were needed. But how does this sound to you?
We have a newly built forty-eight inches of side walls along all sides of walk ways. Some rails, a few concrete. The robust gadget plays live, literally live, electronic devices with the imagination of genius. A street like the one I have just past is crowded with people watching plays on these puppet walls. Electronic puppet step out imaginary scenes in their real lives. And all the stages of any professional play you may desire by picking the right time of day. They could be in a grocery store mart, vying from a window and see a group of pedestrians laughter gather for something completely surprising or unscheduled. A mimic of a new character in our society made fun, or a new lesson to be conned.
Virtuosity is a marvel of technology. Something people refusing to forget. A society I dreamed of. I'm not offended living in. Our secret place devoid of several signs of confusion. A robust avenue of the people and entertainment.

The end.

Life time friends were standing on the rocky coast. The decision to end it, everything, their lives with each individual jumping. Of the thirteen began one by one. Three broke backs hitting the water. Seven their necks. Three drowned just reaching the bottom just watching others drop to the bottom. A light appears as the fourteenth friend who was at his funeral today to say to them: "They did so in vain."

"For you tonight Princess Ana and the Presiding, we have Boo-Boo in costumes ..." * PSS ...* "Excuse me a moment." * There must be 'Boo-Boo the clown! "* Announcer begins anew," Thank-you ... HE Ladies and gentlemen, Princess Ana, and the Presiding ... I give you Boo-Boo the Clown "groans from the crowd and applause.

Olivia sighed. "Then all means follow me." She said. Maverick went with her to her car.
"Does she know what is going on, Uncle?" Gallant asked.
"Yes, of course. I could not believe to keep something like this away from her. Not for long. She just thinks it will all end one day. Perhaps the war would also."
They gave each other reassuring. The war had resolved from the outset. The Japanese invasion. The cruel Germans. Possible Communist break-up leading to domination of the world. The struggle for the very freedom that lay to the root of the people will be impossible if the fighting lasted too long.

Chapter 4
The German Lady

Gallant had dressed. Had a cup of coffee, a bite and a little chocolate. He sat down in, near Maverick. Maverick was brooding over the morning paper.
"Anything as worth reading?"
"Yes, a story about the last night torched art gallery."
"Oh no, what one?"
"It is impossible to know them, it is not open for another five months."
"Hopefully nobody injured."
"That's just it, seventeen people in the fire."
"Ouch, an art meeting of a kind?"
"Maybe. It was a small gallery. He says " Art Gallery on flame to kill them all ... "
"This is strange. Arson?"
"Yes."
They spent the day hunting for a prime suspect. A woman survived her husband, owner of the gallery. She had a familiar scent. Gallant noted that at once. It was so unusual. He would only smelled it perhaps once before. He broke into questions he needed answers for.
Was it arson? Does your husband have enough insurance? Will it all cover benefactors for the claims of insurance? Will the gallery open again?
For all questions, she shook her head. He could see she looked at him with alarm. She would pause to tip her head up and down for a brief moment. Gallant stopped writing notes, look at her puzzled. What does it mean? Her house was bugged? He wrote a note on a piece of sheaf turning it to her. Can you see a wire or if you are in danger, is there someone listening?
She nodded again.

Chapter 5
Origin of The Note

They took a walk through a park They walked closely together. They began to trust in each other's confiding, and his learning everything they knew about the note she wrote. As she went to him three days before, slipping the warning note under his door. She had heard about him from her husband who reads the paper. And more about what the men were talking about. A conspiracy, one that to the President of the U.S. of America. They learned of his involvement of intentionally losing the war, the communist, as the Germans.
She took it upon himself to write the note, asking Gallant with a warning to investigate the U.S. president. Little would she know her husbands direct involvement would lead to his own death. She was really filled with shame. Her family came to America two hundred years ago as settlers. They worked the land, and America has become their bread and honey.
The President had directly acted as a communist. Gallant and Isabelle had seen Alto in Brightwood.
"This confirms many hints about these precursors to be slandered to the papers. It’s all rather obvious is not it? His making up stories, flushing out other organizations, his public protection, he’s a communist. And this leads to his own crime syndicate. He is a Mob President, not just an ordinary state President."
"Is it possible, uncle, under our noses like this?"
"I am more afraid it must be, and what Isabelle says what must be true, we need people to citizen arrest the U.S. President, exposing him for the fraud he is."

Chapter 6
A Run For Freedom

Alto is organizing a posse. They rose to the White House. They made their accusation, while they tried to gain entry into his office. When the door finally broke down, a nearby hatch near the fireplace was discovered. In it had been an opening, an easy escape tunnel. Where he ran down the tunnel. They gathered torches, running into the tunnel themselves. After a short pause they saw a short man, on his attempts of a curt escape. He shot a gun with bullets, two men fell. Gallant knocked the gun away, knocking the U.S. President on the chin, leaving him unconscious.

The End

The Charity Side

Fall orb of peace on the act of war
The world and its people
The universe sleeps into a microcosm
-A.JC

Chapter 1
The Charming Man

Espionage was it? The tools of World War have many faces, brought many faces to be out of sequence and out of focus. Gallant stood rubbing his eyes and breathing in full exhilarated gusts of air. Rushing to his side was his Maverick and his maddening methods. Details of the crime: the chance of a case of murder outside the natural act of killing men in the Killing Fields and struggles had an advantage for rich harvest if on the right side of the government. And just for the government. Gallant had but one night left in pursuit his legal case and pin down to finish a further investigation.
Two nights before he came home early after a charity benefit, the Height Covenant Society, of a pact in society, a kind of soiree evening that he would participate in, and the finding of a hand squalled note under his door. Scent of a woman, and possibly her hand in writing. With public conciseness as it were exposed to war, and its war criminals, and some form of its justice. And a special focus of the members of the Covenant Society. But it was for Gallant his father's love, his charity, his being head of the board of finance, and his uncle the president of Height Covenant. And a demented feeling that if there was anything to pursue in the Height Covenant Society, it would not mean busting members of his family. If anything, it is perhaps the press had just heated debates without principles, pressure of damaging facts, to the inevitable untruths to the public so that the legation of the Covenant Society, leaving the members with just enough space to stay above their own hot water.
Furious members answered the papers, and threatened them. Investigations had already been going on for months, but the truth was known, there were no truths, and had Gallant brought into question members of the Covenant Society, breaching their trusts, when or if they were actually covering up something so big the press could not sink in it.

Chapter 2
Captive

Maverick had a maddening toothache. He hobbled around Gallant, was posing as a punching bag, and posing questions in the firing line. Those stories published to the press would not be true. Gallant was almost certain. But it was the raging fire he would be the feeling of guilt for. First his uncle had him in his office the next morning, seeing him at the charity. Uncle Alto had seen the soldier Gallant had become since the war. And hearing stories about the mystery cases, and Gallant success, he was ready to make the appointment of an examiner for Gallant to the Society, to root truths of those illegal acts in question purported of the members of his private society. Uncle Alto was certain anything its members were to do, did not include a need of a cover up. Or even outside of the law in most cases, especially during a time of war.
He brought out the scrawled note, once again reading, before attending his meeting with his uncle. On the note was squalled, "leave no stone unturned, a threat to the president, kill them all ...” which only brought a white face on Maverick. But Gallant, trained not to leave unnoticed any clue, they turned and waved it around in the air for a second, as if it were a leaf in autumn loose dancing. Maverick looked uncomfortable, "What have you there?" He asked about Gallant and his strange dance. "I'm not perceiving the question of the truth until the truth is known" he pursed his lips. They left together.

Chapter 3
In A Microcosm

Standing in Alto’s office in Brightwood, Maverick sat in a comfortable high back chair. Gallant was smoking a real trademark cigar, listening to the conversation turning into questionings. Maverick just listening, not losing their attention, but once in a while just with a creative nod. And twice a laugh.
"I do not see a way out of this Uncle Alto, this is bad, very bad indeed, bad ..."
"And yet I do not see it clearly, can I?" Alto pressing down on his desk.
The moments have passed, it would in an unresolved question whether it was making sense, just then began a knock at the door. Maverick looked up surprised. Alto found the moments of silence to be unbecoming. "In", his call answered the door.
Another clue at a time like this will not help all the other stories. All new leads to untrodden areas was not out of the question, but was most unwelcome. The door opened, and Alto’s wife entered with her shopping bags. She looked between Gallant, which ran up and kissed her on the mouth, and Alto, the smoke in the room and their looks of surprise.
"Aunt Olivia, it is so nice to see you." It was always. She was a flame from endured strength of their modest family. Always had been.
"It's a beautiful day, Gallant. Has Alto, now have even you involved? Anyway, do not answer that, if I know Alto, it is a secret. I have only come for the car. Can you help me please, these bags.” she hung in a rectangle of reside, “It will not take a moment."
"Of course. But first, I regret, let me introduce my collogue Maverick,”
Maverick stood, taking a bag, and she, with her hand in a firm shake.
"Actually let me," he said, taking the bags.

The black slave man hides on border from Canada. Two words as a mystic crystal in his mind. Obama and party. White Master Obama and his tracking dogs were barking getting closer. Soon upon him. Impossible to have known the name Obama, the future first black president elected to the new world order since Lincoln to Kennedy. Predicts as a prophesies. The slave-turned raise his hands, shouting "OMG! Come to me, 'cause we have a party!"


ok

"Start singing ..." As if my voice was a button, on, off, which amounts to be the perfect voice? The ungrateful awful toad. I wasn’t meant for music. Impossible his rigid stare. He cares I skip practice. He feels I was soprano. I'm torn between him and an awful warp. And then I stand out there, give my all, to the center of his attention. I would rather fly off than sing another tune. I would rather have a severe lump growing from my throat, which would even alarm him. "Now sing! ..."


(Sorry my story is getting long.)

That's definitely alright!

I don't know what is considered good, try http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/1...

The picnic-Sunday was hot and dry. The children were loose every direction. As waves in an ocean. They headed into their desired paths. Took food, took trips, and participated in groups for themselves. A Jesus look-a-like was in the middle, laughing. Somewhere in a corner a fight erupted. "For Pete's sake of clay," said the youth, "You can’t take my hot dog. Try and keep your hands to yourself!" He blustered.

With freckles I walked the line. Almost all the time. Through the streets, the dirt roads. Under the sun, under their wet and dry haze ruins. Besides walls some rock, just a few rocks. I step into it, in my own fog, bogs, rocks, stones, darkness, a universe of darkness. With my freckles, my pimples may go unnoticed.

While I’m already busy writing this weeks topic. I’m looking at the debris of yesterday’s Halloween. Cobwebs over everything in my front yard. I’d like to say congratulations to the winners who won in a tie. I also think Bells is a very good story. I was tempted to change my vote. See yaw’s next week.

Ouch. On the head?

Two ancients sleep in a bed of cast iron. The oldest rolled over onto the other. "There you go about rolling in your sleep again, Panty." It was a coincidence Panty awakens at all. "I had a dream, a wolf, which is running in a forest, and a bowman pulling arrows to kill him." Panty's brother was slow in thinking, 'Was he saved?" Panty stood and cried, "I do not know it was only in my dream."

The weird cleric rose from a knoll. Droopy sleeves and arms exposed, based on the sky. Revealing a holding bag with a small object to the flash drive sky. He, took out the object, eyeing it, a computers flash drive. Then with the chant, muttering, "It's all Halloween's Eve's Night, and for my entire catatonic worship, victims of this world from new technology I sacrifice it in the sky. NeNeNe HuHuHu ZuZuZu." And it vanished from his hands.

Good, Operandi, that makes a good poem.

Good one Carmela, ha- is that original? just wondered, idk care.