In Twenty

[TrevorW]

Forgive me, this is only the third or fourth prose piece that I have ever really tried on -- It may very well suck.

The scene opens with exactly seven men sitting at a table that is exactly four feet away from the next table; which is - by standard measurements - not far, but not near, the current location of John. John is, and always will be, seven feet away from the further of the two tables and twenty minutes from the table with the seven men.
The seven men sit around the table sparingly, dinking hard liquor down as if it were well water - a little too red for that, both the drink and their faces. Though in exactly 12 minutes the men would run out of their beverage, and within exactly another 2 minutes complaint would replace the shock; and previously to that, marry cheer.
From there - and in that, from when - the seven men heatedly stand and begin a horrible commotion that only stops when more red-beverage is dumped in heaves down their rancid throats. It's been 34 minutes since the drinking started and 17 since the scene opened.
Though that drink too runs dry - all wells do, all wells have to - and at this the men once again burst into a blunder-full uproar. Save this time the bar tender manages to kick the heinous guests out: violence was a factor. Having scampered out like hyenas - it's been 19 minutes and thirty second - one of the men knocked over a candle placed next to the door. Fire quickly follows - the smoke gets their first though, it's quicker.
It is a race of course as the flame races the smoke to demolish the bar.
Though what the flame didn't account for was that in passing the mob of "stupids" caught the interest of a passing blind man - they were making a horrible noise. The blind man happened to be the fire chief of the quiet little town, in which the bar resides; though to his recollection there had never been an actual fire - the town had burned down twice in the last five years of his term. Regardless, upon entering he announces his name as john and takes a seat at a table exactly four feet away from the table the group of men (or stupids as he sees them) had just left.
It has been almost twenty minutes.
And as John began to order he noticed something. A distinct smell - one he was sure he had smelled before - Fire! And at that the bar's gas line exploded sending John flying through the air onto what would have been a table exactly seven feet away from his previous sitting. The fire - or namely the heat of the fire - won the race; but smoke did get some solace in knowing that the smoke, not the fire, killed John that evening.
And as John lies on that table his watch begins to chime: it's been twenty minutes.

[TrevorW]

Ack, and here it is spaced out...sorry

The scene opens with exactly seven men sitting at a table that is exactly four feet away from the next table; which is - by standard measurements - not far, but not near, the current location of John. John is, and always will be, seven feet away from the further of the two tables and twenty minutes from the table with the seven men.

The seven men sit around the table sparingly, dinking hard liquor down as if it were well water - a little too red for that, both the drink and their faces. Though in exactly 12 minutes the men would run out of their beverage, and within exactly another 2 minutes complaint would replace the shock; and previously to that, marry cheer.

From there - and in that, from when - the seven men heatedly stand and begin a horrible commotion that only stops when more red-beverage is dumped in heaves down their rancid throats. It's been 34 minutes since the drinking started and 17 since the scene opened.

Though that drink too runs dry - all wells do, all wells have to - and at this the men once again burst into a blunder-full uproar. Save this time the bar tender manages to kick the heinous guests out: violence was a factor. Having scampered out like hyenas - it's been 19 minutes and thirty second - one of the men knocked over a candle placed next to the door. Fire quickly follows - the smoke gets their first though, it's quicker.

It is a race of course as the flame races the smoke to demolish the bar.

Though what the flame didn't account for was that in passing the mob of "stupids" caught the interest of a passing blind man - they were making a horrible noise. The blind man happened to be the fire chief of the quiet little town, in which the bar resides; though to his recollection there had never been an actual fire - the town had burned down twice in the last five years of his term. Regardless, upon entering he announces his name as john and takes a seat at a table exactly four feet away from the table the group of men (or stupids as he sees them) had just left.

It has been almost twenty minutes.

And as John began to order he noticed something. A distinct smell - one he was sure he had smelled before - Fire! And at that the bar's gas line exploded sending John flying through the air onto what would have been a table exactly seven feet away from his previous sitting. The fire - or namely the heat of the fire - won the race; but smoke did get some solace in knowing that the smoke, not the fire, killed John that evening.

And as John lies on that table his watch begins to chime: it's been twenty minutes.

[Version2]

That was pretty sweet :) I love things that start out baffling like that and slowly start to make sense of itself.

I know the forums aren't the best place to format text, but this piece should be broken up for readability. It is a bit hard to read as it is right now.

[TrevorW]

At 1/31/10 07:58 PM, Version2 wrote: That was pretty sweet :) I love things that start out baffling like that and slowly start to make sense of itself.

I know the forums aren't the best place to format text, but this piece should be broken up for readability. It is a bit hard to read as it is right now.

Thanks and I fixed that right away! Cheers

[Version2]

saw that as soon as the thread refreshed :P

[Kajenx]

Lol, that was really weird. I'm not sure what to think of it. It was a bit difficult to read, though I have a feeling that was the point. A rather strange way to tell a story, though.

[TrevorW]

At 1/31/10 09:37 PM, Kajenx wrote: Lol, that was really weird. I'm not sure what to think of it. It was a bit difficult to read, though I have a feeling that was the point. A rather strange way to tell a story, though.

Difficult? Explain please

[TrevorW]

Anyone else? I really need some advice here! -- I think it is good...but...I don't really...write...prose.
Thanks!

[FallenRevival]

At 2/1/10 07:25 PM, TrevorW wrote: Anyone else? I really need some advice here! -- I think it is good...but...I don't really...write...prose.
Thanks!

Cool Story bro.
Also, it takes much more post-writing, tweaking, plot changes, and grammatical changes before any story is *really* good. I'll spend at least a few hours looking for things that I can change before I can decide on a finished product.

[TrevorW]

At 2/1/10 11:18 PM, FallenRevival wrote:

At 2/1/10 07:25 PM, TrevorW wrote: Anyone else? I really need some advice here! -- I think it is good...but...I don't really...write...prose.
Thanks!

Cool Story bro.
Also, it takes much more post-writing, tweaking, plot changes, and grammatical changes before any story is *really* good. I'll spend at least a few hours looking for things that I can change before I can decide on a finished product.

You know me, never spend more than a short amount of time on anything. Though I did spend some time on this and I am rather happy -- I more than likely will not change a thing.

Thanks mate!

[FallenRevival]

Way to be a P-word ass! :D

[FallenRevival]

I also feel sad that even with the ridiculous online time, Ass-Crumb has yet to bite on my trolling.

[TrevorW]

At 2/1/10 11:21 PM, FallenRevival wrote: Way to be a P-word ass! :D

That's me.

At any rate...
I present a silly work I did a long time ago. Hans did a picture for it, but we lost it. Opps.
(Recalls word from word from memory -- and hopes he doesn't mess it up)

Paint is flying
Reds, greens, and blues!
Your eyes are lying --
lost within the hues.

Look at my muse
while I load the revolver.
I simply had to choose
-- I don't mean to confuse!

Eh, just a small look at where I came from.