A post!

[active_apathy]

Yes, yes, a post! And I shall herald my return to daily posts with...

um...

something. I think.

Um...

Ooh! There's an idea.

Just for the fun of it, I'd like to see what happens when my writer-heavy readership takes a stab at telling a story a comment at a time. So, comment to the post, with a story (which is to say, bits thereof). Or multiple stories. And feel free to add extra threads if you want the story or stories to go somewhere else, because that could be fun.

The only rule is this: you're not allowed to reply to your own comments.

Keep in mind that EllJay comments can be fairly big, so this isn't one of those single-sentence things.

[[ETA: Some comments may be screened to make visible as many storycomments as possible. If you take it personally, I'll steal your nose.]]

Comments

[deepfishy.livejournal.com]

(like this?)

They were waiting for her when she got home, three men with thin watches and somber grey suits.

Blanche dropped her groceries and dived behind the picket fence just as they opened fire.

[ohmysyzygy.livejournal.com]

Fire was the name of her pony.

[salzara-tirwen.livejournal.com]

He was a chestnut palomino with a three-gallon-a-day whiskey habit, and they'd come for his liver.

[theshadowlurker.livejournal.com]

His liver, however, was nowhere to be found; Blanche had removed all Fire's internal organs herself two weeks ago, and Fire had just come back from the taxidermist.

[caprinus.livejournal.com]

Blanche cowered behind the fence, biting her nails. This would bankrupt her! Her HMO did not provide pony insurance! Why couldn't Fire just have boozed himself to death? Who let these carcass-chasers know he had cirrhosis?

Ever since the passage of the Universal Animal Rights and Welfare Act, pets have been accorded the right to medical care equal to, if not better, than their human partners, who were legally obligated to ensure their companions did not suffer under the penalty of law... And it was their owners, of course, who were left holding the mounting bills.

Roving gangs of emergency-chasing veterinarians scoured the country for manic-depressive cats, infirm budgies, and ill iguanas, handing out prescriptions and performing on-the-spot surgeries; there was more profit in the care of animals, and fewer malpractice suits.

As Fire's guts emptied onto the makeshift operating table with a wet slurp, Blanche moaned and thought to herself: "If only I had asked Santa for a bicycle..."

She needed a drink herself. She could smell the tang of whiskey coming from Fire's "fire-water" bucket. She remembered the first time she gave the pony a drink, the day both of them began their descent into alcoholism...

[caprinus.livejournal.com]

In place of the liver was a small brown pouch containing seven richly-coloured yellow diamonds.

The men grinned.

Blanche reached inside her silver-lamé tights and pulled out a small blowgun.

[palmer-kun.livejournal.com]

Unfortunately, she had left her poisoned darts in the house.

With nothing else to use, she pulled out some reciepts from the day's shopping, and chewed them up into spitballs.

Taking careful aim, she fired, hitting each of the men in the eye, blinding them.

[caprinus.livejournal.com]

"Ha ha! Take that, Cyclopean freaks!" she laughed as they clawed at their single eyeballs in pain and confusion.

Each of three men swivelled his head toward her. Each opened his mouth and emitted a barely-perceptible shriek.

"Damn", she thought, "I forgot this year's model comes with sonar".

[palmer-kun.livejournal.com]

Pausng for a moment, deep in thought, she considers her options.

She fishes a small device out of her purse and presses the button, causing all cell phones in the nearby area to ring.

All three of the men pause, and reach for their phones.

In their moment of distraction, she makes her move.

[(Anonymous)]

...She had been heartbroken over the sudden and inexplicable loss of all of her hair except one eyebrow, and Fire had been suffering from acute existential angst. They drowned their sorrows together while Fire composed a sonnet on the futility of existence in a sign language composed mainly of ear-twitches, and maudlin Blanche plucked mournfully at her eyebrow.

The flashback ended when she heard one of the men light a cigarette and carelessly toss the match away, in the general direction of Fire's bucket.

[salzara-tirwen.livejournal.com]

^me

[(Anonymous)]

Then she tripped over the Grammar Fairy, who lectured her on the proper use of the past tense in narration while beating her about the head and shoulders with a small fish.

The moment of distraction still lingered on, waiting patiently for Blanche, so she made her move.

[salzara-tirwen.livejournal.com]

^me again. sorry, thought i logged in

[caprinus.livejournal.com]

"This nag is done for", said the smoking man. He poked the assorted entrails with a stick. "We can't save this, multiple organs are failing."

"Shall we call the glue factory?", said another.

"Nothing to do but shoot it, now", said the third and pulled out a Magnum 45. "I mean, we can't just stand around, waiting for it to--"

Fire whinnied spasmodically, and reached out with his hind legs.

"--kick the bucket!", finished the man.

The hooves connected with the rim of the container full of whiskey, which teetered, then fell over, spilling over the still-glowing match.

"WHOOOSH", said the three men's clothes as they ignited.

[laurenmitchell.livejournal.com]

Winter's house wasn't in a bleak place, as many people might've imagined (snow, and forlorn pine trees, and cold). The outside of the house was painted beige, but she hadn't chosen it. There were a few rose bushes clinging tenaciously to life, not because the ground was poor, but simply because Winter wasn't very good at gardening.

She had a cat. It was orange, and spent most of its time moving around the house in search of the best sunbeam to lie in.

On this particular day -- a Wednesday, the first of the month, a new page on the calendar -- the kettle was boiling and Winter was in the kitchen trying to choose a flavour of tea to drink when she heard a knock at the front door.

[yobadself.livejournal.com]

Opening the door, Winter was taken aback by a most pleasant surprise. There, sitting on her doorstep, was a gift, wrapped in shining silver paper and topped with a lovely red bow.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed. "I wonder what this package contains?" she wondered. "More importantly, I wonder who sent it to me?"

Shrugging, Winter stopped to pick up the box, prepared to shake it.

"That's odd," she said aloud. "This box is too heavy to pick up. For such a small box, it shouldn't be this heavy."

She shrugged again, sat on the stoop, and began unwrapping the package then and there. She removed the bow and the silvery paper, then grasped the lid of the box and removed it.

What resided within the box was something so extraordinary, so unexpected, and so strange that Winter felt as though she might pass out.

It wasn't anything disgusting, mind you. It wasn't even something wonderfully amazing, such as a box full of money. You see, the extremelly heavy item/s in the box was...