| Squid Blog Day-to-Day with Squiddy |  |
| Squid Blog Day-to-Day with Squiddy | |
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "elastic". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]]
Elastic- Squiddy Geiger - March 28, 2012
Mr. Wist looked around thoughtfully. There was too much to be done, and he didn't know where to start. He sat quietly and drank his coffee, knowing he needed to start, but without a plan of attack, the prospect was daunting.
He got up as someone knocked at the door. He looked through the security peephole at a tall young man in his twenties, a heavy build, slightly dishevelled, standing passively on the other side of the door. He put the chain on, unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door slightly.
"Yes? Can I help you?" he asked.
"Yeah, uh, can I you know, use your phone?" The stranger seemed agitated, possibly because of nervousness or agitation, but there was something, he couldn't put his finger on it, that screamed 'DANGER!" Mr. Wist left the chain on.
"I'm sorry, it's out of order," he lied. "Try down the block, there's a payphone there on the corner." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a quarter. "Here, use this if you need it." He reached out towards the opening, and the stranger's hand darted forward, grabbing at his arm. He pulled back in surprise, and tried to push teh door closed, but the man's foot was in it.
"Oh gramps, you shouldn't have done that," the man pushed on the door, but it had a surprisingly good chain. "Now you have to pay."
As Mr. Wist watched in horror, the man pressed into the opening, his face and body squeezing, thinning. The face and body deformed bonelessly. Mr. Wist gasped, and backed away from the door, as the man made it through. He moved quickly and Mr. Wist ran but wasn't fast enough as the man tripped him. He bumped his head against the wall.
"Oh yes, you'll do, gramps," the stranger said happily, as his mouth opened wide. He slid it down over the top of Mr. Wist's head, as Mr. Wist watched helplessly. The lips moved down over the body, the throat opening wide in turn. The tough part was when the shoulders entered, the elastic mouth and throat working slowly to engulf.
Some three hours later, Mr. Wist's feet disappeared, and the stranger lay quietly on the floor as the juices got to work inside him.
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "gas". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]]
Gas- Squiddy Geiger - March 25, 2012
Odourless, colourless, all around us
Gas sustains us, or smothers us
Or immolates us, or aids us
Or on windy days pushes us
Or energizes us
It entertains us, it delights us
Or for certain pranksters, offends us
The wrong gas poisons us
But always gas is around us
The absence of gas kills us
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "leap". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]]
Leap- Squiddy Geiger - March 24, 2012
James pressed himself against the cold brick fearfully. How the hell had he gotten himself into this mess? Everything had seemed to progress perfectly, exactly as he'd hoped, and yet here he was. Alone, abandoned by the woman he'd given up everything for. Alone, five stories above the cold hard pavement, on a cold hard ledge.
He'd left his wife of fifteen years for her. It was true, the love had gone out of their marriage but there had still been affection. The excitement had gone, but there was still, occasionally, fun. The wonder had gone, but there was comfortable familiarity. And he'd thrown it all away, for her.
She'd dazzled him. She'd flattered him. She'd cajoled him into thinking she really was the one for him. That she was so much better than his wife. That they would live happily ever after. He'd resisted temptation before. He'd resisted similar flattery and whispered promises. Why hadn't he resisted this time? What was it about her that had made him take the leap this time?
It didn't matter now, he thought bitterly. He had given in to her. He'd left his wife. And that had lost him many of his friends, who sided with his wife. Indirectly, it had lost him his job. It had lost him the respect of family and friends. And finally, it had cost him his self respect, when she'd finally tossed him aside like an old toy.
It was cold, up here on the ledge, just as it was cold wherever he went lately. His apartment was cold and empty. His accounts were empty. His heart was empty. He could not see hope. He could not see a future. He sighed, whispered a final "I'm sorry", unheard by his wife, and took the final leap.
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "purge". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]
Purge- Squiddy Geiger - March 18, 2012
Xander spent the afternoon removing things from the house, boxing them up to be put in storage. Anything with a connection to her was removed. Joint purchases, gifts, things she'd liked. All too painful to keep around. Perhaps one day he'd be able to have them around again, but right now, he couldn't function with them in the house.
As he boxed things up, he'd find his eyes watering, on the verge of crying. He never actually broke down in tears, but it was close a few times. Not that he though crying was unmanly - he'd cried the night she died. He'd cried at the funeral. Not sob, no, but he had done nothing to hide the tears. He didn't want to cry anymore, but he knew some reminder of a shared experience could do it. So for now, he purged the house of reminders.
The trip to the hospital after he'd gotten the call had been agony, the fear and worry causing physical pains in his chest. When he'd arrived and the doctor had taken him aside, he'd known, before Dr. Lewis had said a word. When she'd said the words, daggers had sliced his insides. By the time her parents had arrived, shock had set in; he'd gone through the motions. When his sister had arrived, she took charge of him, got him home safely.
She'd helped him with the arrangements, too. The shock had lasted a long time. He was not used to grief; he'd never lost anyone close before, and hadn't been ready for it. He'd always questioned the need for funerals, but understood now. It had helped him say goodbye, but he wasn't done grieving, and until this phase was done, he didn't want reminders.
He was trying to purge the grief by purging the reminders. Others might not understand, but it was what he needed to do for now. He sighed, and continued sorting and boxing; there was much to do yet.
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "response". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]
Response - Squiddy Geiger - March 16, 2012
"The answer", said the man, is "42"
"The question", said the man, is "The meaning
Of Life, the Universe, and Everything."
"That's stupid", was the response
"42 has nothing to do with Life, the Universe,
and everything," and you know it
"I'm aware", said the man, laughing quietly,
"It's a flawed equation, in a flawed simulation."
The man turned his back on his inquisitor,
And continued to play World of Warcraft.
His interrogator tapped on his shoulder
But got no response; play went on.
In response to Dear Reader's lack of enthusiasm
For my response to tonight's prompt, I give you:
Nothing. My mind is a blank page, a void from which
Nothing will come forth. I cannot respond intelligently.
Nothing is there for me to give you, so Nonsense
Is the result. For this I apologize, Dear Reader.
Goodnight.
(with apologies to the late Douglas Adams)
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "bury". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]
Bury- Squiddy Geiger - March 10, 2012
The blood dripped slowly from the body's fingertips, into a pool on the ground, as if waiting for the next indignity to be bestowed upon it. The only sounds were the deep breathing of the other man present, and the sound of shovel hitting ground, and dirt being thrown clear.
Allan looked down at the scene, a disconnect between what he saw and what he 'knew' was real. That couldn't be him lying in the trunk, arm dangling over the edge, the blood starting to congeal, not dripping as quickly now. He looked at the man digging the hole. Digging his grave, he corrected himself, as he realized what the scene really showed him.
Dave was sweating profusely now. He wasn't in the best of shape and digging a grave was taking its toll on him now. Allan laughed. Dave paid no heed. Clearly, the living could not hear the dead. Strange. The events that had led here weren't clear in his mind. All he could remember was an argument over Alicia, but nothing definite, and he had no idea how he'd gotten in the trunk, let alone dead.
As he watched, David finished the hole, and climbed out. It was about four feet deep. Not the kind of grave Allan had hoped for, when he went, but enough to keep wildlife away. He watched as Dave dusted himself off a bit, then looked at the body a bit greenly. He didn't seem to be doing well, and clearly wasn't happy about moving the body from the car to the hole.
Finally Dave leaned over the body and grabbed it to lift it out. Good, the bastard was having trouble. Allan had been a large man. Too much enjoyment of food, and not enough exercise. He was happy about that now, make Dave suffer. Allan's body didn't seem to want to budge, and Dave pulled hard. As he did so, his face contorted and he grabbed at his left shoulder, and fell backwards, into the hole. His head hit a rock, as he landed head first in the hole.
Allan laughed again, as he watched a shimmery, translucent Dave climb out of the hole, the normal Dave still lying in a crumpled heap at the bottom. Ah, justice was served. "Over here, you bastard."
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "delusion". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]
Delusion - Squiddy Geiger - March 08, 2012
Delusions, illusions, mirrors and smoke
The writer can fool you, see if he won't
He leads you to see what you've never known
He leads you to learn while entertaining
Their delusions grab you, give you hope
Their confusion and fears a constant
Reminder of the world of joy around you
Or the world of fear that you hope to avoid
Mere words on paper - or a screen now
Can build you a world that has never been
Save in the mind of the deluded soul
That begged for release, their child of sorts
The writers take their children and shape them
Cajoling them along, or struggling to guide them
As they rush off in all directions, heedless
Of their creators' intent, outlines forgotten
Characters take on a life of their own
Surprising everyone as they rush off
Leading the writers to places unknown
But in the end it works, the story is whole
The writers think they have control of the story
But it is rarely so, the characters do
The writers do their bidding, in the end
Poor deluded souls, they claim it as their own
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "treasured". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]
Treasured- Squiddy Geiger - March 08, 2012
Jules treasured the time with his family, but sometimes, he just wished they'd leave him the hell alone. Times like this, when they found some new thing to quarrel about, and would tear at it tenaciously, nobody willing to be the first to back away. Tonight, however, was particularly exasperating. He had no idea what they were fighting about. Something to do with a video game, but it was beyond his comprehension. He'd tried to get into the gaming thing, but they left him feeling nothing; he'd much rather read a good book, and create the world in his own imagination, rather than play in someone else's depiction of it.
"You asshole! If I had a Portal Gun here right now, you'd be fallling to your death right now," Simon shouted.
"Yeah? Well if I had a BFG9000, you'd have been disintegrated years ago, so shut the hell up," Rebecca retorted.
Jules sighed and stepped between them - when bodily harm was threatened, even virtual bodily harm, it was time to call an end to the family drama. "Both of you, enough! Simon, go take out the garbage. Becky, you have homework, I believe. Get upstairs now. I don't want to see you until supper is ready."
"But Dad!" they said in unison, then glared at each other. They saw the look on Jules' face and thought better of it, each heading in the direction he'd indicated. He signed. Yes, he treasured his time with them, but it wasn't always easy. But even with the drama, it was worth it in the end. The conflict always ended. For a time.
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "pulse". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]
Pulse - Squiddy Geiger - March 07, 2012
There once was a punster named Squiddy
Whose wordplay would make you quite giddy
He smiled as he said
Without turning his head
"My rhymes make me bigger than Fiddy!"
The mollusc you know and love from Canada
Will pun almost anything he can, uhuh
He says without thinking
Puns strongly stinking
It raises his pulse as he puns - tada!
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "bind". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]
Bind- Squiddy Geiger - March 06, 2012
Stewart sighed, having given up the struggle as futile. The ropes were tight, and it seems they'd been tied in such a way as to become tighter if he struggled. The pain was still tolerable, but he knew if they got any tighter, he'd be in serious trouble. He sat quietly, waiting for the next phase to begin. Whatever it was, he hoped it would bring relief to his aching wrists and ankles, but he doubted it.
He couldn't see his watch, behind his back, so his estimate of five or six hours here would have to do. The room had no windows, just the bare light in the middle of the ceiling, no shade or cover to diffuse the harsh glare. The rough cement walls, cold in the stark illumination, offered no clue to where he was or if anyone else was around; there was no sound beyond his breathing and the steady drip from the ceiling in the corner behind him, the black plastic bucket nearly full.
After another half hour or so, he started to laugh bitterly. It was his own fault he was here. If he'd just done as Wallace had instructed, if he had not crossed him, he would not be in this bind now. It would have been easy, just take the package from A to B, and get paid. But no, he couldn't do that. He had to be snoopy, see what was in it. When he'd delivered the package, the recipient had seen that it was not properly sealed, and had pulled a gun. Stewart had no choice, he defended himself. His bad luck that Wallace's wife was in the next room, right where that second bullet ripped through the wall.
He sighed again. He had run, but somehow they'd tracked him down. Wallace's wife had survived, he was told, but Wallace might kill him for it. The man he'd killed, Wallace would probably understand that - it was self defence, but put his wife in hospital? He heard a noise, someone was coming. Whatever was in store for him, he was about to find out. Life, as he'd long known, was a bitch. The door would open, and fate would come find him.
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "curse". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]
Curse - Squiddy Geiger - March 05, 2012
First it was the Lindens
And their lackadaisical attitude
Plotting against me and
Killing my work with neglect
And their typical lack of care
That wasn't a big deal really
I got mad and swore at them
But life went on, and there
Was no permanent damage done
Lost words of import to me alone
Now I am in mortal danger
Stalked by Nature herself
My computer threatened
My vision diminished at times
The threats directed at my very soul!
Whoever the idiot was that
Crashed into the power pole
And caused my computer crash
When the lights flickered?
Merely a conduit for the curse
Nature has placed upon me
I forgive you, lousy driver
I forgive you
I still want you to rot in
The fiery pits of Hell but
I forgive you.
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "mad". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]
Mad - Squiddy Geiger - March 04, 2012
Did it drive you mad
When the movie was bad
When the ending was sad
And your dad wore plaid?
Did it make you mad
When your teacher had
You stay behind, your blad
Der bursting, what a cad!
Mad as the world is
With strange and frightening
Things, making you yearn
for the simple days of yore
Until you realize they were neither
Simpler nor better, only different
Very complex and frightening things
Happened then; not to mention all the death.
Mad at the world, you strike out
At everyone, realizing only too late
That the one you really hurt
Is yourself, friendless and alone.
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "shriek". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]
Shriek - Squiddy Geiger - March 03, 2012
The moon was bright overhead as Joe walked, allowing him to see his way through the late night along the pathway. This did not lessen his anxiety; the forest was dark, and full of strange sounds. He hurried as quickly as his exhausted legs would carry him. He'd run for a time, but it wasn't possible to maintain that speed, and he knew it.
His heart still raced. The shriek had been close by, he was sure of that, but he'd been unsure, because of the strange way sound carried at night, just which way it had come from. He was fairly sure it wasn't the way he was headed, and he wanted to get as far away from it as possible.
He was was nearly out of the forest - about a mile from home - when a figure stepped out in front of him. A large, muscular man a good deal taller than him blocked his way.
"What's your hurry, my friend?" the man asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost." He was smiling as he said it.
"Uhhh, no, uh, no sir. I haven't seen anything. But I am late and need to get home." Joe didn't mention the shriek. It seemed best not to.
"Do you, now? Is that a fact?" the man asked. "And you're sure nothing frightened you? I've heard there are dangerous things about in the forest, monsters waiting to eat you, or worse." He tried to look concerned, but his smile belied his true feelings.
"You didn't, perhaps, hear something? I've heard strange things in the forest." He laughed. "They always sound scarier than they are, you know."
"No! Someone shrieked!" Joe retorted, then caught himself. He became aware of others coming out of the forest around him.
"Shriek?" a female voice behind him asked. "I never shrieked, I screamed with joy! Little brat!"
Joe turned to face the voice and saw a beautiful woman, not much bigger than himself, and two men, nearly as tall as the first man, but not as large. "You made that noise? Why? You scared me!"
The first man laughed again. "Just as she was supposed to, my friend. Nobody shrieked tonight." He paused, then added slowly, "at least, not yet."
Joe bolted, trying to dodge around the man, who caught him easily.
"Oh no, little rabbit, not so fast. There's going to be some shrieking tonight. Yolanda demands it, don't you, dear?" The man looked at Yolanda, who nodded, smiling, a small knife appearing magically in her hand.
The four of them moved back into the forest with their prey. There were indeed shrieks that night. Too many to count.
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "fable". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]
Fable - Squiddy Geiger - March 02, 2012
The dark skinned Elves
Watched the proceedings
With delight as the non-Fae
Scrambled to find escape
They'd heard stories of
The Dark Elves all their lives
But to meet them was laughable
They existed only in Fable
But now they learnt otherwise
The Drow were here, and those
Who were nearest pushed back
Against those who were behind
There was much gnashing of teeth
And screaming and panic
Until finally, Slethawyn raised her hands
And gestured for silence
The humans slowly calmed
When they saw there was no attack
And listened as she spoke
With finesse and tact
"We are the Drow - Dark Elves
You have heard stories of how
Vicious and bloody minded we are
But this is not the truth, far from it
"We come to you as old friends
Who have been too long parted
Once Drow and Human lived
Side by side, in peace and harmony
"Then the Troubles came, and
We were forced into hiding
And in time, became the stuff
Of legends, tall tales, and fables
"Now we are back, to claim what is ours
No, not land or treasure
But the right to move freely
Amid our friendships of old"
The old Drow beside her nodded
And smiled as she sat down
"An excellent speech but humans
Have changed; will they understand?
"They didn't during the Troubles
What makes you think they will now?
If this effort at elightenment
Should fail - and it will
"There will be nowhere for the Drow
To run; like the rest of the Fae, doomed
We seal our fate tonight, you know
But like you, I hope for the best."
The assembled humans watched
Waiting to see what else would occur
They finally sent a delegation
To where the Drow sat calmly.
The leader, a man, said quietly
"You say you are Elves, and you mean
Us no harm, but how can we be
Sure that you mean what you say?
"The people of Earth will not sit quietly
While you usurp their place in the world
But should you go back on your word
WE will hunt you, you know this to be true."
The Drow nodded. "Tis very true
What you say, and we know you can kill
We've been watching you closely
Since we went into hiding, and still
"We know what you can do, but we
Also know you are capable of great
Acts of compassion, and we trust
You will understand and enjoy"
The meeting concluded, a first step
Toward the coming together of friends
The groundwork was set for this
But much was yet to be done
[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "collide". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]
Collide - Squiddy Geiger - March 01, 2012
"It's no use, I can't budge it. And if we can't get in there, we can't stop this bastard." Andrew was shaking but kept most of the fear out of his voice. "Nothing we can do from out here."
Suddenly, his face lit up and he walked over to the emergency axe on the wall, and broke the glass. Carefully, he removed it, preventing glass from cutting him. He walked over to the conduit along the wall, along the top, and swung the axe. It collided with a glancing blow and bounced off, careening wildly before he got control of it.
The others backed away, and he swung again, more carefully this time. It connected, and cut into the conduit. He swung again, and again, each one biting deeper into the large metal pipe, until finally it was breached. He swung three more times, and was rewarded with a shower of sparks, and was very happy the handle was wooden.
He surveyed the effect, and decided more was needed, so he kept swinging. More sparks and arcing as the metal head of the axe conducted the electrical power through it, leaving deposits of metal on one side, and big pits of depleted metal in the other side.
He finally stopped swinging when it was obvious there were no remaining intact cables or wires in the conduit - all had been sheared. "Mackay can't do anything without power. Stopped before he's begun." He sat on the ground, axe across his lap, and waited for the madman to come out of the control room. Nothing he could do in there, and the secondary controls in the bunker 50 miles away would take over. All was well.
"Sorry folks, no more suspense or drama here. Move along please."