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Old 08-14-2005, 10:29 PM   #1 (permalink)
amonkie's Avatar
Location: Windy City
Writing Challenge # 31

I hope you're ready for a new week!

Your Challenge:

Write a short story or prose that must include the following things:

A Bottle of Wine

An Earring

A statue

Good luck... and have a great week! I look forward to seeing what everyone comes up with.
Calling from deep in the heart, from where the eyes can't see and the ears can't hear, from where the mountain trails end and only love can go... ~~~ Three Rivers Hare Krishna
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Old 08-15-2005, 06:50 PM   #2 (permalink)
Darth Mojo
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Location: Right behind you...
One lonely night, I sat alone at my computer, casting about for inspiration. The glowing phosphors of the computer monitor formed words, which my mind promptly produced pictures to match. The question I struggled with was not how to write the message I wanted to send, but how to give my readers insight into my thinking. I wanted to form the pictures, not in my own mind, but in theirs instead. A green bottle, beads of condensation on the outside revealing the amount of liquid within. Tilted slightly, resting amongst half melted ice cubes. The cork sits forgotten on the table, its purpose already served. The glint of the candlelight reflecting off the gossamer strands of gold, hanging from the delicate earlobe of a slightly tipsy socialite. Each tiny chain holding a faux diamond, her real jewelry safely kept away in a safe, waiting for just the right occasion to be brought out and ostensibly flashed about as a status symbol. The earring jostles in time as she nods her head, feigning interest in her dinner partner's shallow attempts to impress her. The marble lions which guard the entryway to the restaurant, frozen in a majestic crouch. They forever hold vigil, announcing to all who pass this establishment "my patrons are just better people than you." But, how am I to manipulate the phosphers of your monitor, to plant these images in your mind? I suppose it is hopeless.
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Old 08-15-2005, 08:26 PM   #3 (permalink)
emmdubbs's Avatar
Location: the western part of new york
my earring glistens
much like my bottle of wine
cold as a statue
"You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world." - Tyler Durden
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Old 08-16-2005, 02:54 AM   #4 (permalink)
tecoyah's Avatar
I take no Solace in this
Bottle of wine at my feet, empty
Knowing I have caused you pain
Ears ring with your screams
I hold this love in my heart
Pouring from your ripped emotions, like warm Merlot
Statue of venus that you are
Missing your arms for they hold me
Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. - Buddha
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Old 08-17-2005, 12:06 PM   #5 (permalink)
Omnipotent Ruler Of The Tiny Universe In My Mind
mystmarimatt's Avatar
Location: Oreegawn
Tecoyah, I like your willingness to play with the usage of the earring, that was inventive. Good job.

Here we go:

The first echoes of sunlight, a subtle glow, rose from the tops of the trees in distance. He was surprised by this. He had figured the city lights would drown out any natural light that might have occurred at this hour. He enjoyed it, though. It was nice. Something natural. Something apart from the fluorescent, hollow lights of the cityscape. Looking down, on his almost poetic appearance, he sighed. Only a tuxedo, un-tucked, tie loosened and neck unbuttoned could somehow achieve an appearance that could be described as ‘poetic.’ But he was. That’s what she had said earlier. He looked down to his left. She wore a satin evening dress, a deep burgundy, with a corseted torso. Asleep, she looked regal. Beautiful. Even if her hair was mussed from laying her head in his lap as she slept. And despite her light snoring. He didn’t mind, though. Flicking one of her earrings, he mused to himself that the image of both of them here probably looked even more poetic than just himself. Their bodies sweetly entwined. The empty bottle of wine that lay in her lap, clasped by her soft. ineffectual hands, its neck barely escaping the brown bag in which it was hidden, probably completed the picture. Although, it probably gave the image of these two souls a much more gothic feeling. More than anything romantic. Suddenly, a clinking noise further down the path alerted him to the morning caretakers, come to pick up trash, and dust the statues that lived on their marble pedestals, waiting for time to unlock them. A war hero and a fairy, a writer and an animal. He wondered, then, if he were to sit ever so still, and if she were not to move her body in any way, would the caretakers simply move past them, thinking that they, too, were just statues waiting for time to unlock them? He wouldn’t mind if time were to lock up this very moment, just so he could stay in it forever. It was just that poetic.
Words of Wisdom:

If you could really get to know someone and know that they weren't lying to you, then you would know the world was real. Because you could agree on things, you could compare notes. That must be why people get married or make Art. So they'll be able to really know something and not go insane.

Last edited by mystmarimatt; 08-17-2005 at 12:34 PM..
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Old 08-21-2005, 03:30 PM   #6 (permalink)
shesus's Avatar
Location: Chicago
OK, this is the first time I have done this. I have not written anything but research papers for the past 2 years, so please be kind.

The candlelight illuminates the room in a soft glow. The flames reflect off the earrings the only item left on her body. The bottle of wine from the dinner is gone and the second one is opened and laying by the bed half empty. As she lays in the room looking like a goddess as shown in ancient statues, she awaits the climax that is on its way.
Whatever did happen to your soul?
I heard you sold it

Choose Heaven for the weather and Hell for the company
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Old 08-21-2005, 09:24 PM   #7 (permalink)
Location: Chicago
After I threw a bottle of wine at the ugly statue, the hobo began cursing at me. As I prepared for a fight, he reached up and tore the earring out of my left ear. I shook my head vigorously as the blood sprayed his face.

Take that, fucker, I said, grabbing a piece of marble that had chipped off the statue and throwing it at the hobo.

At about this time, a group of vigilantes on Vespas puttered up and began shouting at me. I could see boxes of cold bologna sandwiches strapped to the seats of their scooters and realized these were the vegan hippies who feed the homeless. They came to defend this deranged hobo who was holding a portion of my left ear in his hand, the earring still attached.

Did I say he tore the earring out? My memory has faded. In actuality, he bit it off, taking a chunk of lobe with it. He spit it into his hand and sat there pawing at it as if it were a couple of doubloons he had gotten from a peg-legged pirate.

Anyways, here come the Vespa Vigilantes tearing up the sidewalk screaming at me as if I'm some kind of depraved beast. I reach out and grab my lobe out of the hobo's hand, shouting, "That's my fucking ear, you dirty dick," and take off at a slow sprint around the corner, past the new Argo Tea Cafe and the tourists clamoring to get into the Hershey store, knocking a shopping bag out of someone's hand. "Hey!" Mr. Tourist says as I run past.

When I get home, I pour some hydrogen peroxide into the bathroom sink and plop my detached lobe in it. I'm not sure if I'm thinking that it's going to be re-attached or what. All I know is that I want it to be clean. I look at myself in the mirror and see the stream of blood already drying on my neck and shoulder. "Motherfucker," I mutter as I realize that my favorite shirt is now ruined with bloodstains. I walk into the kitchen to grab some iced tea as I debate whether or not I should go the hospital to get my lobe sewn back on.

I walk into the living room, pop open my bottle of tea, light up a cigarette and realize that I don't have the wine because I threw it at the statue.

I suddenly replay the event in my mind, trying to recall what sparked it all.

It was that fucking hobo's fault. He saw the brown paper bag and asked for some cash. I told him in my usual dismissive manner that I had none and he then asked if he could have my wine instead.

"See that statue over there?" I ask him. "I'd sooner throw this bottle at that statue than give it to your drunk ass."

He replied, "I'd rather tear your fuckin' earring out than have you throw that fuckin' bottle."

We had both stood there for a good 20 seconds silently deciding our next course of action before I pulled the bottle out and threw it.

"Motherfucker, I told you I'd tear your fuckin earring out if you did that you stupid shit!"

God damn it hurts.
"I can normally tell how intelligent a man is by how stupid he thinks I am" - Cormac McCarthy, All The Pretty Horses
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Old 08-22-2005, 02:12 AM   #8 (permalink)
TFPer formaly known as Chauncey
Esen's Avatar
Location: North East
Wading in shallow pools of broken glass we all choke and bleed'
sweet vermouth and sour realities we stop frozen with in the waves.
Our limbs are painetd and like a statue of zeus we stay there lifeless and ignored.
Thunder bolts of rivoting pain haunt us with caresses of our lonliness;
Where is the relief? why can't the life settle back in our veins and remove the bitter taste of empty bottles of wine?
Treason; we leave desperate and somber; holy reverance as seperate lashings of wire cut into my skin chipping away the paint leaving us raptured and turned over no longer solid and diminishing, our hunger builds and overlaps society's inner sanity.
Seduction; It grows with-in society one last toast as we dangle like silver earrings punctioring holes into delicate flesh
Let us drink once more.
What is everyone doing in my room?
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Old 08-25-2005, 09:44 PM   #9 (permalink)
Location: Denver

I stood... poised over the city that had been my home for years uncounted. As i gazed out over the beautiful cityscape and stand in awe of the myriad of colors that bring such calm to me, I contemplated things that brought me closer to myself.

The smell of a hot dog drifting lazily through the park to appease my demanding ofactory chamber. The slight crackling sound of kernels skittering along the ground before the throng of single-minded drones that hunted these grounds in search for old women and sloppy children. The brush of wind that shifts my shirt just enough to breath wind into the collar that swirls through my shirt and leaves it int eh same condition as before, but i am refreshed.

A voice calls me to a more private place. The tinkling of dinnerwear passes my ear as the bus boy carries his daily faire to the corner. I stand watching the cuple at the table enjoy thier aparitifs. He laughs jovially and places his hand on hers with a slow, determined, comforting grasp that holds him to this place. The waiter comes to the table with the proffered bottle of wine, a lofty soviegnon that compliments thier dish as no other would. the glasses are filled, and the mood is set... and the man inches closer, slowly to kneel before her. The touch of a knee and the tilt of his head tells her that this is no ordinary meal, and the smile on his face tells her that this is a wonderful beginning.

A bright light in my peripheral vision catches my attention and i turn. The sun shines bright and warms her body as I stand on the warm beaches of the carribean. She runs through the surf in her suit that barely covers, yet hardly reveals. Her smile brightens me more than the brilliant orb overhead as she runs toward the man paddling haphazerdly in the waves. She turns her head and the sunlight catches her diamond stud just right and showers me with a rainbow of colors for an isntant bliding me into confusion. She has passed into the ocean and meets him at the crest of a wave as they drift out of view.

A sound pulls me out of my reverie and I turn to see what it could be. I stand mortified, as blood seeps past me and soils the drains of the gutter as she holds him close. Her hair in disarray... her voice hoarse from pleading for help... I watch her and weep as I send her all my love. I try to explain all of my thoughts, but I am wordless... still as a statue... unable to reach her. My heart stops beating, and she screams into the dark....

she loved me .. but all I can do now is watch her... guide her... and love her back... until we meet again...

Last edited by silvertiger; 08-25-2005 at 09:49 PM..
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Old 08-29-2005, 09:46 PM   #10 (permalink)
ngdawg's Avatar
Location: on the back, bitch
It's 3am. Another bottle of wine emptied. It's become a close friend of late, but a replaceable one. Words stare out at me, some empty, some lifting, some hurtful. It's a small world, this corner. Gadgets and paper askew. Burnt remnants of too many cigarettes sit in a filthy glass ashtray and their stench fills the air. I stare back at the words, taking them in as if they needed to be recited later. Except for the clicking of nails to molded plastic, I am a statue in this museum of stagnant creativity and useless commodities . I tried to straighten my world. Stray pieces of jewelry, my opal earrings and rings, a broken watch, all sat in disarray before me, so I put them away. I keep trying, but I keep messing the surface of my world. A metaphor......
Don't blame me. I didn't vote for either of'em.

Last edited by ngdawg; 08-29-2005 at 09:55 PM..
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Old 08-30-2005, 06:28 AM   #11 (permalink)
Non-smokers die everyday
Location: Montreal
Some say he had it coming. Parading his "dates" all over town, giving away diamond earrings like candy on Halloween... they all loved him, his pretty little things, and they were never more than that to him.

Why didn't he even try to be discreet about it? His wife put up with it for so long, probably because she used to be one of his "things" as well. She was just crafty enough to get a ring on her finger. She loved the way he moved, looked everyone in the eye, yet never cared.

The way he moved. She tells me she misses that now. He was clear water and she made a statue of him. Cold. Pitiful. Lifeless. She was clutching the bottle of wine she used on him. It didn't break like in the movies, so she drank the sweet red after the deed. She didn't even get drunk, but she said she couldn't taste anymore.
A plan is just a list of things that don't happen.

Last edited by Bob Biter; 08-30-2005 at 08:56 AM..
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Old 08-30-2005, 06:32 AM   #12 (permalink)
vox_rox's Avatar
Location: Comfy Little Bungalow
Red, the colour of my rage,
Red, the colour of the wine that this bottle once held.
Now I hold it, above my head, like a club.
I stand still, like a statue.

Red, the colour of my rage,
Red, the colour of the blood inside his skull.
Once I see the earring reflect in the darkness, the bottle comes down.
He lies still, like a statue.
There is no such thing as strong coffee - only weak people.
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Old 07-11-2008, 09:02 AM   #13 (permalink)
You had me at hello
Poppinjay's Avatar
Location: DC/Coastal VA
After far to many late night bottles of wine, Red decided he would get an earring. Not just any earring, a big, silver loopy ring. The only problem he had, was that he did not know which ear was the "gay ear".

He figured out how to find this information. In downtown Greenville, there was a statue of a pirate, the mascot of the local university. So, he splashed some cold water on his face, and headed on foot to the pirate.

Unfortunately, the sculptor of this particular pirate did not see fit to give him an earring, or even a parrot. Just a scabard, a floofy shirt, and a pirate hat.

Red, not being one to back down from idiotic derring-do, had brought along a beer to keep him in his cups while he researched this "gay" ear dilemma. Upon seeing there was no earring, he swallowed the pint in one mighty chug, and then busted the bottle on the base of the statue.

"I'll cut you!" he yelled at the pirate, whom we will from now on call Petey. "I'll cut you Petey!" exclaimed Red.

It was about this time that the local constabulary took an interest in the situation. Two officers approach Red with tazors drawn. "Back away from Petey" said one of the officers, "and nobody has to go to jail tonight". Red's cognitive functions and gross motor skills were reduced to poop flinging dingo status at that point, so he dropped the bottle, sat down, pissed himself, and passed out.

This posed a problem for the officers. How would they put a pee covered man in their car? More importantly, why would the WANT to put a pee covered man in their car? "Let's just leave him" suggested the first officer. So they did.

Red woke up about at about 9 the next morning with various vulgarities drawn on him in permanent ink. The statue was on a route between Fraternity Row and the school. Red himself had never attended college and couldn't figure out why somebody would draw a penis going into his mouth. He also was quite certain that all of the pee was not all his own pee.

As he headed home, he whistled the tune, "pick yourself up, dust yourself off, start all over again". Which he would. But first, to the grocer for more wine....
I think the Apocalypse is happening all around us. We go on eating desserts and watching TV. I know I do. I wish we were more capable of sustained passion and sustained resistance. We should be screaming and what we do is gossip. -Lydia Millet
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