The fiction thread

[Eli]

After some discussion in the Comments&Suggestions forum we came to the conclusion that there should be a fiction thread for non-H&A-fics, fanfics or original.

So I'll just start with an essay I wrote a few years ago:

Money worth

On text message television game shows the strangest questions can appear. Who cares about the name of the seventh biggest mountain in the world?

The most important question however is if these kinds of shows are worth watching.

Can they really expect you to spend time and money, answering a question they say is wrong because you didn’t use a capital letter in the name of the city that was the answer on task 43?

“We’re sorry to inform that your answer on question 51 was incorrect,” it says in the text message you receive, “but you are welcome to start over again by sending…”

And if you really is that competitive, and just HAVE to try again, you can almost guarantee that the time all of a sudden runs out when you’re sending the message giving the city name that is the answer on question 52 (unfortunately without a capital letter).

So then you decide to try again next week. And the very next Friday night at 8.55 PM you’re back, glaring at the screen, with a pile of encyclopaedias on the table, and a fully charged cell in your hand. Ready to try it again!

You’re glad when you see that the first question is so easy that the average eight-year old could answer it. What you don’t think of on the other hand is the fact that the other 50.000 people watching are thinking the exact same thing as they’re desperately typing their answers on 50.000 cell phones.

But you don’t have the luck on your side this week either. When you’ve answered sop many questions you’re sure you’ll make it to the end (on question 49 to be specific) you get a text message telling you you’ve got the answer wrong.

“What the heck…” you think, and try again. And what happens? You’re welcomed to start over again.

But Moscow is the capitol of Russia, isn’t it? You even spelled it right! Even so you’re just welcomed to try again.

You come to the conclusion that the TV station is just trying to get your money, and you decide NEVER to watch it again!

So, two weeks later you’re back, annoyed of the fact that you skipped last week’s show for an old re-run of AFV, with Tom Bergeron (who you hate, by the way) just because you were mad.

Everything is back to normal. Ridiculously easy questions and money out of the window.

After spending almost 500 dollars on the show this month you’d think you’d get some results soon.

But as usually you get nothing but a text message, - and this time already after question 37- telling you the answer UNFORTUNATELY was incorrect, but that you’re still WELCOME to try again.

That’s it. You decide that enough is enough, and you’re not gonna watch it again.You KNOW your answer was right! It’s just that stupid TV station trying to get their dirty hands on your money (well, let’s be honest: they succeeded that mission weeks ago).

But at the same time it’s kind of bitter, knowing you’ve wasted hundreds of dollars without even getting a lousy t-shirt.

So, next Friday you’re back, as the loyal TV-addict you are, while you’re wondering if the show contains nicotine since you seem to be so addicted.

But this beautiful Friday night, suddenly it’s YOUR name appearing on the screen (incorrectly spelled, but anyway) and the host is announcing with a toothpaste-white smile that YOU are the fortunate winner of a coffee-cup, with the show logo and everything (it’ll probably break during shipping).

The words hit you like a load of love in the heart, and gives you a wonderful, warming feeling; the feeling that it was money worth!

This essay is from my 8th grade term exam (Norwegian) two years ago. I have translated it, and changed it a little, but it's pretty much like the original one.

[xGlowingAngelx]

awww that was great Eli! It was so well written. Were you graded for it?

[~Rosey~]

This is a really good idea (mainly because I started the C&S topic in teh first place )

[Eli]

Thanks

Yeah, I'm not sure how the UK grading system works but I got a 6 which is the best grade in the Norwegian system. If I'm not wrong that equalt A in UK and A+ in the US.

[xGlowingAngelx]

If it's the highest grade, it will be an A* over here.

[Eli]

Okay, then that's what I got

But I wouldn't have gotten it in the UK, because of my lack of translation skills...

[I love music]

Wow, you know, Eli, you are really, really good! And that ending really made me laugh

The words hit you like a load of love in the heart, and gives you a wonderful, warming feeling; the feeling that it was money worth!

Apart from kids' stories, most of my original fics are too long to post here. This isn't one of my best, but it's probably one of my shortest:-

DRIVING FORCE

“Look out!” Sarah yelled, covering her eyes with her hands.

Paul grinned. Expertly he swerved and the squirrel ran unscathed across the road. When the bump she’d anticipated didn’t happen, Sarah dared peep through her fingers.

“That was close,” she said, shifting uneasily in her seat.

In their years-old, well worn, well loved Astra, Paul had always been a careful driver. But something about this beautiful sleek red jaguar with its perfect body changed him. Much as she’d wanted to take the wheel, reluctantly she’d agreed to let him drive this time. And, worse, he’d insisted on taking the difficult route again. There was a much easier way home but a much easier way didn’t suit Paul.

He grinned. “Told you I was good.”

“I could take over now, if you like..?” she suggested hopefully.

“No way! You’re not the only one who can drive a car, you know.” It had always been a sore point with him that she’d sailed through her driving test first time while he'd needed three attempts.

They’d bought this baby between them last month, and he had no intention of letting Sarah take over. He knew this route well enough, knew what to expect. Sure enough, the sharp bend curved exactly where he last recalled. He turned expertly left and right along the zig-zag route. He smirked at Sarah as he manoeuvred with perfect ease.

“Impressive or what?”

“Keep your eyes on the road, you fool!” She screamed.

The truck from the opposite direction missed them by a hair’s breadth and beeped furiously. Paul cursed under his breath. Sarah’s heart hammered against her chest. This strange winding road with its sudden terrors and overhanging branches was almost hypnotic.

“It gets a bit busier here,” she said. “There’s the farms, a riding school, the vill…”

“I know!” Paul said impatiently, lowering the gear.

“Okay, okay” she said, her heart in her mouth as she watched out for the next danger.

If only she could shake off this feeling of dread. The clip-clop of hooves alerted them to the riding school’s outing. Four little girls in jodhpurs and caps sat on four proud ponies that were trotting after their teacher.

“For God’s sake don’t hit any of the kids!” Sarah pleaded.

The horses were blinkered. Paul was too – to all his faults. Would he panic as they got closer? She wanted more than anything to snatch control but if she did at that moment he could lose it altogether. She could only hold her breath, staring at each horse and rider and willing them on, until by some miracle they were safely past, the hooves fading in the background. Only then did she let out her breath.

“You don’t trust me,” Paul teased, leaving it till the last minute before he took action on a bend, showing off now. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. The sky was darkening to an ominous shade of greyish blue. She shivered.

“We’re nearly at the village stores. Why don’t you take a break?”

“I don’t need to stop already, don’t be ridiculous!”

Large droplets of rain threw themselves at the windscreen where the wipers were swerving back and forth. For a brief moment it was even deceptively soothing to watch. And then there was a blinding flash of lightning and she was back to the fear. Something terrifying was waiting out there in the darkness. Biding its time.

“Slow down,” Sarah said edgily. “You’re approaching the hill.”

“I saw the road sign. I know what I’m doing.” He spoke like she was an idiot.

She heaved a sigh of relief as he turned down a gear. “Remember, Paul, at the other side…”

He wasn’t listening. They climbed the hill unsteadily and perched on top, looking down at the distant lights of the town. And then suddenly, just when she thought they were safe, he pressed his foot down hard on the pedal, laughing recklessly. “White knuckle ride time!”

“Paul, don’t!”

There was a sickening ear-splitting squeal as they roared downwards. Her nails dug into the palms of her hands. She was sure she could smell burning rubber, but all she could do was sit in helpless terror listening to his manic laughter as the car nose-dived downwards and then forward like a bat out of hell into the night.

“Slow down! Slow down!” she screamed, vaguely aware of images jumping out at them like a life flashing by. In what seemed like hours and yet were only seconds, the small, old-fashioned shops gave way to a more densely populated town where peak-hour traffic hurtled in every direction.

Her eyes tried to take it all in, her brain trying to assimilate what action they could take to avert the next danger. For some time police sirens had been shrieking after them, but only now did it register. Paul was ignoring their banshee wails. She felt sick with apprehension.

“You’re going to kill somebody!”

There was a man crossing the road, struggling to hold on to an umbrella, and they were heading straight towards him. He stood rooted to the spot, his face lit up by lightning, staring at them helplessly.

Veering right, Paul heaved the car halfway on to the kerb where it rocked unsteadily before, with a mighty roar, it bumped on to the pavement, speeding crazily towards the city centre.

“We’re unstoppable!” He cried.

And that was when it finally happened.

When he lost his grip and they were spinning out of control. In the midst of all the madness, Sarah heard herself screaming. The car, the beautiful car that had begun its journey shining and perfect, was a mangled wreck. Yet, incredibly, Paul was walking away from the scene without a scratch.

“That was brilliant!” he called back, exhilarated.

“It was insane!” Sarah said, fire and thick black smoke blurring her vision.

And she picked up the remote control, turned down a couple of levels and clicked the computer game back to the very beginning.

END

I don't usually write poetry, but this was based on a dream I had - tho I changed it to being about Titanic to post on fanfiction.net!

YOUNG GIRL DANCING

Now her dreams lie broken and shattered

confused with age, memories scattered

somewhere yesterday a long ago night

the belle of the ball, so pretty so light

safe in Jack's arms she thrills to his touch

he's teasing, pleasing, she loves him so much

dancers glide, ebbing tide, rippling waves flow

hands clap, feet tap, music quick, music slow

but time can dance faster, onward it flies

bird on a wing skimming oceans and skies

now a nursing home where lonely as trees

just one more old lady, blanket round knees

sickness, disinfectant, drug-fuzzled haze

voices jarred, joints bent, slow motion days

she says she sees him, they pat the gnarled hand

so on she dwells in her twilight dreamland

till with falling snow one bleak winter day

softly, quickly, the spirit slips away

they lay out the worn body, grey and cold

what terrible crime it was to grow old

yet by the stream where day is fading fast

hushed shadows are cast, whispers echo past

he offers his hand, she thrills to his touch

smiling, beguiling, she loves him so much

rippling stream, waking dream, life and death meet

heart wakes, swirling snowflakes, wings on her feet

night sky, years gone by, enchanting, romancing

soul-mates, moon breaks, and a young girl dancing

[Eli]

As usual your writing is great, ILM! I especially loved the poem!

[SfanS]

it had my name...ahhh, ILM is my new friend.

[Pierced Musie]

I have a short original fic. No title as of yet.

I lay still, the coolness of the ground beneath me a welcomed sensation. I say not a word, my lips unable to move. Unable to form the words I have longed to say all my life. The words that I will take to my grave.

My eyes remain open but every object around me becomes a blur. A shadow of what they once were to me. As the coppery smell of my own flow of life begins to assault my senses, I begin to wonder why. Why do we all insist on keeping such beautiful liquid out of sight from others? Why do we gasp at the sight of the one form of liquid that none of us could live without?

The blood on my knife drips down in a puddle by my lifeless body, the rich colours already beginning to seep through the grass and into the earth.

Take it.

Take the one thing I will ever be able to offer this world. Take it and create something so beautiful that I, from my place with the angels, can watch and be proud of.

I feel that it won't be long now. I can already feel the cool hands caressing my body, beginning to lift me. Lift me into a new world.

Not long now.