Indeterminacy's Muse

Rusty's Story
Gay abandon !! Pitter patter of raindrops on the tin roof.....soft music in the background......musty smell of earth......forgotten yesterdays.....postponed tomorrows......this moment...right now....I live.


Mushroom's Story
It wasn't your average day in Vestial Virgin Land. Yes, it was sunny, everything glowed in clean whites, and the air was still pure. But rather than saunter around passively and in quiet expectation of some unknown event, one of the girls broke free. She used ground roots and berries to change her hair color from golden blonde to a brown so dark it seemed black. She modified her outfit so while it was still chaste it was free and functional -- those long dresses that touched the ground were hard to keep clean and hard not to step upon while moving forward. And rather than sticking to the prayer-like contemplative facial stance, she smiled and used her neck and looked like she was having good clean fun for once. She danced through the room rather than flowed abruptly like a bridesmaid. She introduced two things to Vestial Virgin Land which had never existed before: actual happiness in herself, and quiet envy in other residents.


Mrs. Weirsdo's Story
Princess Lucinda was excited. It was the first of May, the day her fairy godmother had promised she could free herself and her people from the clutches of her evil Auntie Kodachrome. But only if she danced long and beautifully enough.
She had already been dancing for hours to any music her people could provide--bawdy drinking songs, heavy metal, one dedicated group of volunteers even performed a symphony. Lucinda was tired, but she was resolved: she and her people would not be imprisoned in the black-and-white world forever. She clung to the pillar in the great hall of her castle, swinging round it with wild abandon, tossing her hair over her face in a frenzy.
The last voice she heard was her godmother's. "You have done well, my child. The sun is setting. Your people will be free. . . ."
But Lucinda heard no more, for just as the sun dropped over the horizon, she fell dead, and the bush behind her broke into a riotous bloom of color.


Dddragon's Story
She felt incredibly carefree this morning. The very air invited her to look for a new adventure.

But where?


Jamie Dawn's Story
This happened every time Mike brought by a couple of chilled six packs of Mike's Hard Lemonade.
Ella would drink them and start giggling, then dancing, then she'd open up to Mike's advances.
Worked every time.
What Mike didn't know was that whenever he looked away, Ella would pour her drink out into the base of the Palm tree. She wasn't drunk at all.
She was giggling and letting him kiss her simply because she wanted him too.


GPV's Story
It was on the second day of school and since I missed the 7:30 bus,I was kind of late,not too much no,not late enough to run but late so that I had to walk fast,I heard the bell of Fortier High School ringing from a hundred yards off,I had to speed up.
She walked out of her alley and at the first sight of her my fourteen years old heart skipt a beat or two.She was going the opposite way from Fortier so she passed me by,I turned around to watch her go and I almost ran into a post, she looked back too so she had time to see what was happening and I heard her giggling, as I hurried to school I felt myself blushing.
I kept taking the 7:45 bus everyday for a month or two so I could just time my walk to school to see her get out from her house and our paths would cross until I had enough guts to say hello to her,she answered and her voice was a low chant "Hi" and I blushed again,she saw it as her eyes looked up and she smiled and looked aside the way girls do when they mean yes,even though they might say no.
I learned little things about her,bit by bit;she didn't go out on fridays to wherever she was going the other days,she had a floral perfume which left a light
and fresh scent around her,she didn't have much books to carry and after a while I learned that most saturdays she spent on her house's porch reading a book or doing nothing(I learned this because my dad drove me by a saturday afternoon) on another saturday I checked to see if she was there,she was.
It took me sometimes to gather enough courage to go to her place
on a saturday afternoon and to be obvious about coming to see her,
so I decided to play it franckly
and I walked to her home and she saw me coming,she got up from her chair as I stopped in front of her lawn,she reached for one of the posts of the porch and swinging around it in half an arc she said:
You don't go to school on saturdays do you?-No,I...was just..well I came to see you(blush).
_Oh,nice,well then come on in
and_You like some tea?

As if we knew each other since birth.

Lynn,my sweet fair brunette, first love I had in New Orleans who would walk like dancing,with dark eyes so deep my heart drowned
in them,Lynn died in a car wreck a few weeks after we met,after we made love eyes in eyes a few times.. OOOOoo much too few.
When I think of her some nights
water falls from my eyes,it rains a bit on my pillow.


Still Life's Story
come dance with me she whispered

i'd rather watch from here

put down those things and dance with me

but I am, just to look at you


My Story
I struggled my way through a suffocating swamp wide as an ocean and ridden with hostile creatures of amphibian physiology whose forte seemed the strangulation of all thought. This was the path to the house where she lived. I had been there many times before, but each time the way was different and I had to divine it anew. Invariably the journey was perilous and taxing. A previous time I stumbled my way through the crass outline of a city, erring through an eternal crescendo of traffic and noise and anonymity to find my way to her. But despite the physical ambiance of the journey, she was always there in her abode, waiting with exactly the words, some spoken, some held in her eyes, woven like a net, to catch and draw out the idea slumbering unseen inside me, visible only to her. It was so light there, so airy, in contrast to what I knew, and I always found her dancing to a music only she could hear. But as I undertook the journey of return, the idea clutched in my hands, I could almost hear the melody following me with the breeze, and I felt like skipping along whatever path it was that held me.

Girls in White at Bar

Mushroom's Story
Aisha, Misha, and Geisha spent many a night at the Grecian Formula bar, tempting men to come find out what the Fates had destined for them. Men never turned them down, because the prospect of having three hot girls in nearly-transparent white blouses and mini-miniskirts come onto them was a siren's song. The men, alas, were never seen again because the girls were not Fates, they were Gorgons without the serpentine hairstyles. Their long hair hid the fact that they didn't have eyes, other than the crystal-bottomed glass they passed amongst themselves (which they joked was their "beer goggle"), and would turn a man's flesh to something resembling stone before devouring him.


My Story
Hell was a bar and grill presided over by three women. They chuckled at the misconception that a figure like Mephistopheles could be thought in charge. Mephisto worked for them, to be sure: washing dishes. But he had no supernatural powers whatsoever. His reputation was based on frequent sightings in cafes and restaurants, always an extravagant and generous tipper. But he hadn't the imagination to make hell hot. The three sisters of sadism, however, were mistresses of the subtle art of torture, applicable on male and female alike, with slight variations as to gender. Males were teased by titillation, suggestive flashes of skin unsuccessfully covered by meager scraps of skirt, and their skill of looking right through a man as if he were of no interest whatsoever. The men would beg to be served a drink or meal, or an attentive smile, but they were ignored. Women, on the other hand, were treated with piercing, dirty looks that throttled self-esteem, achieving belittlement that no amount of male thoughtlessness could ever cause.

That was the nature of hell. Apart from the myth of Mephisto's powers, the conditions of entry had also been clouded by inaccuracy, as introduced by centuries of oral tradition. Good intentions wouldn't get you there, neither would evil actions. If, however, you forgot to tip a waitress, a special table would be reserved for you.