Girl at Volcano

Mushroom's Story
It was a long way to Mt Fuji, but Catherine knew she could hike there if she set aside her entire summer break and could figure a way to get across the Pacific Ocean from her parents' home in Seattle. Only having her allowance to work with, she limited herself to only buying fruit and the occasional hamburger (it was a good thing McDonald's has come to the Land of the Rising Sun) and when she got there she'd get one souvenir for being in Japan (the remarkably Engrish "This Flash Is Infallable!" shirt) and one from Mt Fuji itself. She had only another fifty kilometers to go before she reached that giftshop, and 3,776 meters to the top of the mountain before she could turn around and come home.


Viruswitch's Story
Little Tomoko always carried a Wakizashi on her. She did not look like it but she had been trained into the dark arts of Ninjas since she were born. Her parents had been samurai outcasts sent on exile in the "green meadow under the white mountain". But the arrival of Tomoko was something the black-samurai society did not intend. So the prophecy had been fulfilled and the fruit of the deadliest samurais ever had become a nijna ready to spread justice among Japan.


Mutha's Story
Daisy had considered the mountain her own for so long that her new friend's familiarity with it felt unsettling.
"Oh yeah, the mountain...what about it?" he said.
"Hmmm," Daisy thought to herself, "Maybe I was wrong about you."
The mountain rumbled its agreement.


Doug's Story
"OK, guys, keep the camera on me." More businesslike now, Mizuko went on, "I am here at the meadow below Mount Fuji. They say at the top there lives a hermit. A wise man who can tell your future and change your present just by looking at the picture on your driver's license. They say he has the power to make the simple chaotic and the earnest ironic. Follow us as we go In Search of Indeterminacy.

Then, to the crew she asked "Did anyone remember to bring a folding chair?"


My Story
[A sequel to this story by Doug.]

The metropolis: a smothering jumble of towering facades, sullied air and noise. There I was, trudging through it when I wondered how pleasant it would be if it were a peaceful Japanese meadow instead. In the honk of a city horn, my entire field of vision blurred and I was strolling through just such a land, but it was considerably more elaborate than I had expected. In the distance loomed a massive volcano, and across the grassy plains loitered a modern Japanese maiden, giggling mysteriously at something. At me? At the mountain? Or some secret? She stopped and fixed her gaze in my direction.

"Why are you dressed in pink?" I asked her.

"My clothes were blue a moment ago." she stated enigmatically, and giggled again.

The sky was blue, but her clothes certainly weren't. I decided not to press the matter, choosing instead to engage a new subject, "Could you tell me about that volcano in the distance?"

But she continued giggling and finally answered not the question I had asked, but the one I was actually thinking of, "I'm not really a Japanese girl, I'm that cloud over there.

I took this as slightly presumptuous. After all, this was my day dream, and not hers. I looked at the cumulus formation drifting high by the mountain's peak, and wondered if the volcano itself might have puffed it into existence. It looked to me like a sage poring over an ancient volume, a dictionary perhaps. But not a young Japanese girl! More giggles.

"April fool!" she exclaimed, causing my thoughts to trip backwards and fall flat, if thoughts are capable of such a thing. "I'm not really that cloud over there, I'm Doug, Doug! Don't you know me? You do recognize me, don't you?"

Then I did recognize him, and that we were standing on a Los Angeles street corner, waiting for the light to change. "What an odd happenstance, meeting you here," I told him," I heard you were down in Guatemala."

"Oh, no. Not anymore. I came back."

Then the light flashed green and he was off before I could ask the most important question. I called futilely into the moving masses, "Did you find Ambrose Bierce!?" but not a single person looked up.

And that's how I met Doug. But when I was home something happened to make me wonder whether I had simply imagined my imaginings. I recalled quite lucidly that I had never in my life been to Los Angeles, nor had I ever seen Doug or spoken with him in person.

Girl at Blackboard

GPV's Story
'twas the last day,school year was over, the hushush noises of the last students leaving the school building decreased and finaly silence took over and surrounded Camilla. She stood front of the blackboard she just finished to clean, her mind drifting away from actual reality plunged into past sequences of the year that went by .....Richie’s answer on the day
of her first class: What do I know about math? Well ,one and one is two Mam- and the heavy laugh of the entire room....When she was called in the dean’s office: First of all, Miss Lawson, let me tell you how much I apreciate your contribution as a mathematic teacher, you’re doing a great job. However......and followed advices on wearings and clothes with that knowing look on the lowest part of her body......and many other similar memories, some worse and some just boring....Deceiving start in High School teaching.
A siren drilled a hole in her rumbling thoughts and she came back to reality still standing, facing the blank surface of the blackboard, then walking slowly, she went back to her desk and picked up her purse.....the sound of her high heels receided as she made her way to the exit and the door wooshed back as it closed behind her.
She drove through the city and was back home in less than half an hour; small apartment of two rooms, bright and clean , revealing a woman’s touch in furniture and decoration.
Shower---àtowel-à-hair dryeràbrush-àeyelashàlipstickàback to bedroom and it was late afternoon, Camilla made up her mind—"I’m not going to live that way".
To hell with gray living, beside gray people saying gray words in a gray city, to hell with Clark saying "Oh shit, you’re much better looking naked than when you’re dressed up"-
Or-"marriage is a drag, I’m for free love"-and-" I’m afraid I can’t make it this week-end,babe..." TO HELL WITH THAT SHIT !!
She put on a skirt, sweater and coat, purse straped on her shoulder she went out and drove to 17 Bank Street, a green door, she rang the bell. The man who opened the door got bluntly straight to the point "This film studio makes only pornographic movies,lady"
"Yes, I know" Said she.


Anonymous Story
She is wearing a pleated skirt. It looked all right on her in the morning, the chocolate color soft and dusty in the grey light. But now that she is staring at the chalkboard, her classmates seeing her pale legs and lumpy claves, she isn't so sure about the skirt anymore.

She wishes she could re-write herself. But making vast changes seems too escapist and much too scary, so she decideds to wish for minor changes in her life. Maybe there are no distinctions between minor and major changes, but at least she would feel better about it, less guilty.

Minor changes: she could erase her skirt and draw in a pair of charcoal trousers instead. She would erase her classmates' eyes, too, and replace them with black and white targets. Somehow, this depiction of the scene feels more true to her than reality. And thinking of reality, she wonders if she has to draw in her legs and underwear again and then draw in the trousers or if drawing in trousers implicates underwear & legs.

Thinking that she is thinking too hard about logistics that do not exist, she picks up a piece of chalk and begins to write.


Dddragon's Story
The nun had told Claire that she had to write "I will not shoot spitballs at Dennis" 500 times before she could go home. The clean board gave her all sorts of ideas ...


My Story
Manuela stood staring at the blackboard. Should she write out her love for him? It was the chance, the perfect chance to proclaim for all and him the feelings in her heart, ready to ignite in wild, cyclonic emotion. She grasped the chalk in her fingers, twirling the dry cylinder to feel the transference of surface. If he were this piece of chalk, I would reduce him to dust with my kiss, to fine, white dust, and immerse myself in him. With one puff I would totter him into a cloud of manly chaos, ready to erupt in a geyser of passion to my cyclone. Her fingernails scratched the chalk, causing snow-like flakes to scatter to the floor. I have so much to tell you, she told him in thoughts, imagining his reaction. About us. All about us. Yes, I will tell you. And how I will tell you!

"Go on," the teacher admonished. "It shouldn't take that long."

"I was just thinking," she said. "I'm not sure of all the words." The tip of the chalk met the blackboard, and she wrote out the first lesson: "- Wie ist das Wetter? - Das Wetter ist schön."

Shining Light over Crowd at Shore

Doug's Story
And from the crowd, a man stood and said "Blessed are the dial-up users for they shall see the sunset. Blessed are the bloggers for they shall be heard in heaven. Blessed are those with narrow bandwidth for through them will pass the spirit of the internet. Blessed are those who are poor in comments and meek in trackbacks for the son of man will speak through them. You say we cannot speak but I tell you if you have hits no greater than a mustard seed, Technorati will surely rank you."


Jamie Dawn's Story
The crowd gathered to hear the Master speak. They had been there all day without food. The children were crying and the womenfolk were nagging. The men longed for Big Macs.
The Master's helpers searched the crowd for food and found a young lad with some red licorice and a bag of sunflower seeds. The lad eagerly gave what he had for the Master's use.
The Master multiplied it and soon everyone had licorice and sunflower seeds and there was enough leftover to stock a 7-Eleven.
After the crowd's hunger was satisfied, they were overcome with thirst due to the salty seeds.
When no drink could be found, they resorted to drinking lake water which the Master turned to wine, for the adults only. The kids' water became orange juice.


Mushroom's Story
The crowd assembled seemingly out of nowhere at the sunset. Each was coincidentally carrying a shell at waist-level, without any sort of communication between them saying to pick one up. A lone guitar played in the distance, and as if by instinct the crowd sang along:

All our times have come
Here but now they're gone
Seasons don't fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain
(we can be like they are)
Come on baby --
Don't fear the reaper...

It had happened, just as the false prophesy had predicted: there was a blue öyster cult.


Story from Zeteticus
Lo, I say unto thee, except you arise and remain true to your country bumpkins, I will smite thee on thy right cheek and challenge thee to bring the barrel of monkeys in from the rain. Amen.


Story from GPV's Story
J-Day

I always lived by the Holy Book and every Sundays I went to church. I was born in a religious family, one of three children thus I have a brother and a sister,Robert and Mary. Roby is two years younger than me and Mary was born one year after, sorry to say that both turned out to take the wrong path in their early teens.
I married a nice girl in my thirties; Elisabeth disapointed me at times but in my credo we marry only once and I didn't allow myself to divorce, oh I haven't been perfect but no one is, right ? I indulged some sinful dids with one of my secretaries once, I did repent since and to make sure not to be tempted again I fired her.
I had some bad times; my only son Ricky got involved with drugs and made friends among outlaws and it was very costly(time and money) to get him out of trouble,meanwhile I found Lisy in bed with our neighboor one afternoon, I never been so ashamed in my entire life.
Anyway, I stuck to my faith, kept out of mischief and stayed true to my country.
So when judgment day came,even though it was a surprise to eveyone, I was ready. It happened,stuningly and exactly as described in the Bible, early in the morning that day there were strange lights and trumpets seemed to blow from the skies then later an overwhelming powerful voice called humanity to gather out and face the Lord, lights in the sky became as bright as a thousand suns.
The Lord appeared in all his glory and he directed sinners on his left and on his right side invited the faithful men and women and among the believers I recognized some influent,famous characters that kept in line with their faith and did abide by the scripts.
When my name was called and angels placed me on the Lord's right I shed a tear of joy to be set right next to Him and my heart missed a beat, think of it, next to God.
All this took some time but times were over and in the end the Lord asked the people to his right if they were ready for departure, then my silly wife Lisy and my sister Mary refused to go anywhere without Roby and Ricky, I begged them to come back but they stubbornly said no, many other humans moved to the left and God spoke harshly,told them they were the worst of their kind; last minute quiters, renegades faking good and finally choosing bad.
Then there was the signal to depart and God and all his followers took-off, I was among them.
It's been a long time now, a long time since we started and everything around is gray,I'm tired and I ask the Lord when we'll reach paradise and he answers me.It's a question:

"Tell me my friend, what kind of soul would leave half of humanity and all his family in Hell?"


Mrs. Weirsdo's Story
Looking every which way but behind them, members of the Smithville UFO club completely missed the splashdown. More than fifty had been beamed up before panic ensued.
"Serves them right," ran local opinion regarding their disappearance. "Bunch a crazies, if you ask me."


Viruswitch's Story
They had been waiting for it. At first everyone was shocked, others did not believe in it, while few blamed the government. The greatest minds worked on a solution day and night, but it quickly became obvious that there was no escape. What an odd destiny. God was laughing at them.

On the last day, everything was set. Most were afraid, the elder ones prayed or cursed. The passions that each human hid within, broke free, desperately trying to survive. But as the end was near everything became clear. All of a sudden everyone "knew" themself.

When the bright comet flew over the country its powerful dazzling light led their minds. The conversations stopped. The shouting and the yelling, the thinking and the pain; everything ceased. Real peace dwell in the hearts of men. As the comet grew brighter and bigger it embraced all that there was, to finally become all that there is.


Its_baxter's Story
It was Saturday morning. 7am. From all over, they had gathered for this event. It had been in the paper for weeks; "the talk of the town." There had never been quite a turn-out like this in over ten years. People of all nationalities, ages and gender appeared. This was the day they'd all waited for. It was the day that would change the future...

The Wal-Mart blow-out sale!

hehe


Johanna's Story
When the sun rose over the lake, the people near the beach started to wake up. Soon there was a crowd of people standing there on the sand, watching the sunrise in silence.
Their clothes where dirty and their bodies had a smell of sweat and unwashed skin. There were old men and women, children and young boys and girls. They all had an expression on their faces as they where waiting for something to happen. Something they had been told in a prophecy.

The first Friday in July, the prophecy said, a miracle was supposed to happen near the beach at the south side of Loch Lomond, in a small village called Balloch.
A Priest named Douglas McFadden had had a vision and suddenly the little village church had got more visitors than ever before, and they were not only tourists.
McFadden had seen Jesus Christ himself walking across the water on Loch Lomond in his view. The Sunday after his first speech about what he saw, the church was packed with people from all over the village and the parishes near Balloch.

Father McFadden was that kind of person that really could make people believe in what he told them. So even if miracles weren't a part of the village people's ordinary lives, they didn't criticise him. In fact, nobody even asked him if that view hadn't been just a dream. People were talking, like the always do, but there were no doubt that the priest actually had seen something.

Two fishermen's had found him on the beach, unconscious, with his hand on the cross around his neck. Hi wasn't drunk and his health was in good condition, even if he was over 60 years old.
After visiting the local doctor, nobody heard him speak for several days. But when he spoke the next time, it was Sunday.
After the sermon, when the parish still sat quiet in the benches, he rolled up the left sleeve on his clothing and showed a red mark for the crowd. A big, red, Latin cross were carved in to the skin, and the intensity of its red colour where almost shining. A big gasp of apprehension filled the church hall and people started to mumble and whisper to each other with worried voices. But McFadden told them to calm down. "This is a sign" he told them. "Within one month, at the first Friday in July, Christ will walk on the water of Loch Lomond!"

Now, they were all waiting. They had spent the night in tents on the beach, and before they got to sleep McFadden had held a midnight mass. When the first sunbeam reached their eyes, he rang in a bell, and they all got up, still tiered, but exited in the early morning.

The sun made reflections on the waters shallow and together with the birds singing a piece of god's creation were showed to them like an important picture on an exhibition.
Suddenly, somebody came walking across the beach. The figure was to far away, so they couldn't she who it was, but they all started to stand still, following the creature with their eyes.

When the person came closer they saw something that they hadn't been expecting. It wasn't Jesus. It was a woman.
Nobody said a single word as the young, dark haired woman came forward them.
She was tall, with dark brown, gold spotted eyes, black hair, and olive skin. She was wearing a long, green dress of linen and a Grey coat with a hood that hang over her shoulders. Around her neck, a cross was hanging. It was exactly similar to that father McFadden was wearing.

In a low and gentle voice, she started to talk. "I now that you were expecting Jesus. The one you suppose is god's son and the one who was said to die on the cross for you sins." People in the crowd started to whisper "suppose? Who is that woman?" The woman was still standing peaceful and started to speak again. "I'm Mary of Magdala, or more known as Mary Magdalene. I also wrote an evangel, but as it hasn't been written down in the bible it's unfortunately not known by common people. I'm here to tell you a part of the Christian history that got lost."

The sound of voices was now loud and aggressive. A group of men started to go forward her, but father McFadden stopped them and called for reason.
"My Child" he said. "I don't know who you are, but I don't think that you are Mary Magdalene. We are expecting Jesus Christ. I saw it, in a vision." The woman that called herself Mary smiled. "Father, I'm a bit disappointed in you. I gave you a view of me, walking across the water. Your dear Jesus was standing on the beach, watching me. Please, remain silent now so I can tell you my story.

Some young teenage girls was the first ones to sit down in the grass by the beach and the other started to follow their examples.
Douglas McFadden was the last one to sit, holding his cross in the hand, shaking.
"I grow up with my parents and seven siblings in a small village just outside Bethlehem. My mother had a close friend who couldn't bee pregnant, but she friend was afraid to tell her husband, because she was worried that he might leave her if she wasn't fertile. My mother was expecting a child when she heard that, but was only four weeks pregnant so she made up a plan. Her friend should pretend to be pregnant and then, have my mothers baby as her own when it was born. My mother should tell my father that the child had been born dead. It was easy, as the men didn't cared much about the child until it was older.
Eight months later Jesus was born. He was a healthy and strong little boy, and he glowed up happily in the family he came to. Jesus was born two years after me, and when we were young we always used to play together, look after the goats and lambs and carry water to our mothers.
I didn't realize that he was my brother until my mother told me that on my twelfth birthday. She saw that we were close, and to stop us from falling in love, she told me about her secret. I was forbidden to tell Jesus about it, and I kept that promise.
I got my first vision from god when I was thirteen, just after my first menstruation. I had gone to bed early, cause my stomach was hurting, and together with a cup of strong tea, I tried to sleep.
Suddenly, there was a strong light in front of me. A angel, twice as big as me, was standing beside my bed. It was a she and she smiled and even though I must have been scared I felt calm. She told me that I was born for a special mission, and that I should walk in the footsteps of god.
When I waked up the next morning, I felt a strong feeling inside me that I had to keep what I've saw inside me until the day I could leave my parents house.
The rest of the story is well known by you, although the dear disciples felt ashamed of my gender and instead of me they chose Jesus to be the main character in their evangels. I don't blame my brother; he helped me a lot and was one of my most enthusiastic pupils."

When Mary Magdalene had finished her story, the sun had raised over the horizon as a big, burning globe. Some people in the parish had fallen down on their knees, crying and praying, but of joy. Others were just standing silent, watching her with hesitation in their faces.
Then, she turned her back at them and started to walk down in the water. At first, nothing happened. Then a young girl, not more than ten years, started to follow her. Soon, they were al walking down in the water. Old men and women, children and young boys and girls. They all had an expression on their faces as they where a part of a miracle.
Something they had been told in a prophecy.


My Story
In a tersely worded announcement, "Coming to a shore near you!" the aliens declared their arrival. It worked better than any advertising slogan known to man. And why not? These were superior beings who knew how to sell a product, e.g. their flyover. Everyone turned out for a look. Despite the rush, no one was trampled in the massive conglomerate of humanity that collected on sea, lake and river shores all over the world - though a few were mistakenly baptized in the glowing water. The alien vessels traced a leisurely levitation along the shores - so slow you could see the beings standing at the portals, shadows waving with stilt-like arms to those down below. Of course the people on ground waved excitedly back. How happy they all were! Until they returned home and saw that their computers and televisions were gone, whisked away into outer space. It was amazing how fast civilization collapsed after that.

Girl in Supermarket with Pumpkin

Viruswitch's Story
Masha and her friends were determined to hold the biggest party that their neibourhood had ever seen. The 31st of October was an excellent day for a not only big but unusual party as well. Masha's boyfriend Tom, had figured out everything. He thought that with the right decoration, the costumes and a bit of mystery in the air, success was certain! As they were in a shop buying all the neccessary materials, Tom stopped for a moment and asked Masha to stand still with the pumkin in her arms. He visualized her in a witch's costume with a broomstick in the hands and a pointed black hat. "Splendid" he said. "Now all we need is to get rid off your blond hair, where is the "Schwarzkopf" Department?"


Roachz's Story
This is a job for Wallace and Gromit!!!! Protect your vegetables!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Mushroom's Story
Mariska decided one November morning that she was going to build herself a boyfriend. All the blind dates, friend recommendations, online chatting, and hanging out at Starbucks waiting for something to happen was turning out to be all for naught and quite disappointing. She had been half-awake dreaming that morning of the plan, and when she got up she committed it to serious thought then composed a shopping list of what she would need. She wasn't solid on all the details, but she knew she would need specific things to get the result she sought:

• A pumpkin for the body, but it couldn't be wider than it was tall. She wanted brawny, not fat.
• A pomelo for a head, because canteloup didn't have the right skin texture for her.
• A large beet for a heart, because he needed a big heart. She grinned, thinking "heart beet".
• A cabbage for a brain. The shape and intelligence level of it mattered; she didn't want a stupid guy but she did want one who she would be smarter than and he would sit in awe of her.
• Two fresh hulled lychees for eyes. She could use food coloring to make them pretty, and being imported they would lend a bit of mystery and worldliness.
• Gummi-candy lips, because they should be soft and pliable and feel good when she kisses them, plus they should taste sweet.
• Two medium-sized florettes of broccoli for ears, because he needed to be a good listener.
• Angel-hair pasta for hair, which she could leave in its natural gold or dye red with tomato sauce; she'd figure out which she preferred later.
• Two firm fresh baguettes for lower arms plus two heavy French loaves (without the garlic butter the bakery usually put in) for muscular upper arms, which she could wrap around her.
• An English cucumber for... you know. She didn't put that at the top of her list but she knew it was one of the things she'd want from a man so she might as well get that part right. She thought about getting a couple pearl onions to make the image more correct but didn't want to take any chances so she decided to leave him neuter.
• Two casaba melons for hips... she wanted a smooth, firm backside to hold.
• Two long butternut squash for thighs, with a couple more baguettes for legs. She wanted muscular-looking but not strong enough to walk away from her.

She bought a bag of Kraft wrapped caramels (with the package of sticks inside for caramel apples) to join the parts together, powdered sugar to dust him with to make him tasty, a bundle of fresh peppermint to make him exhilarating, a chunk of ginger root to make him sharp, and a scoop of dried chamomile flowers from the bulk bin to make him calm. As she thought of things she wanted in a man as she strolled down each aisle looking carefully, she added them to her cart. And she spent the rest of the evening constructing her dream man. It was hard work but she got him together, and the first couple nights she propped him up in her room but didn't put him in her bed because she didn't want to rush things. He needed to want her first, and when they agreed after they'd gotten to know each other better, then she'd invite him to lay with her.

They had a happy time together through the month and into December. She'd never been more happy in her life; she not only had a man of her choosing, she had a man of her design. He didn't argue, he didn't go anywhere without her and she was free to leave him at home when she wanted to, and unlike other guys he didn't say a word about anything she ate. She found him quite tasteful, and she enjoyed nibbling on him passionately in the darkness. This was the man she wanted, and she was looking forward to Christmas when she could introduce him to her family... she didn't know what they'd think of him, but she figured that her folks would think despite everything he was a far cry better than some of the guys she'd dated. He was good to her and he was good for her, rich in warmth and vitamins, and there was nothing artificial about him.

On the morning of December 24, she woke up ready to put him in the car and take him to meet her family. But something was different about him. He wasn't his usual crisp self -- he was soft, damp, and had poor color. His eyes were hard and his middle was folding inward. His arms and legs had a green fuzz and his ears and brain were going flaccid. The sugar-based components of his body, especially the joints, were becoming syruppy. He was going bad just when she needed him most, just like so many of her relationships, and she realized that like those relationships they were only meant to be temporary when she had hoped for them to last. This one was different; she knew the expiration date all along, and he'd never told her anything different. She laid down next to him in the bed and cried for a few minutes, until she got the hopes and tears out of her, then decided that she must be strong and carry her wilted lover to his grave, the compost heap at the edge of the yard. It was near enough to her bedroom window that she knew where he was lain, but out of sight so she didn't have to see their love decompose. She took him there, said a goodbye prayer, got herself composed for visiting her family, and when they asked where her boyfriend was she told him: he had his day in the sun, and their love had been wonderful but the ripeness passed and things got stale.

In May of the next year, she was taking some kitchen scraps out to the compost pile and saw something that amazed her: her boyfriend was no longer there, as far as she could tell, but there were vines all over the pile, and by the leaves she could tell that they might be squash and cucumber and pumpkin. Her heart leapt and a tear streamed out of each of her eyes when she realized one of the pumpkin vines had a single bloom, small but orange-yellow, in the shape of a heart.


Its_baxter's Story
maybe she's always been the "goody goody" of her group of friends. she finally decides to take a dare from her friends to steal something from the store. never doing anything like this before, she's nervous as anything; checking all around her and waiting until she thought no one would see her. in a quick manner, she reaches for the first thing she comes in contact with, the pumpkin. (not your regular "item" to steal, and not an easy task to do, either: hide a pumpkin under your shirt to steal, but in her mind, it was clever. and now that she'd grabbed it, she had to follow through with it.) all her friends are waiting outside with the "get-a-way" car. they're wondering what's taking so long. they figure she chickened out. they knew she wouldn't be able to do it.

her best friend goes in to check on her. she walks in to find the "theif" crying at the front with the manager. she was caught. her first attempt, and she was caught.

the photo: "angel tries to steal pumpkin"

why in the world would you steal a pumpkin?


Doug's Story
Courtney suffered watching the prize pumpkin she'd grown for 4H carved into a jack-o-lantern. She sobbed as the stem was cut, wept as the seeds were drawn and shook with anger as the face was carved into the flesh. She made her pumpkin a promise. This promise: That she would dedicate her life to liberating pumpkins from their oppressors.


Jamie Dawn's Story
Emily felt an insatiable urge to drop a pumpkin from her third story apartment window. She waited patiently for her ex-boyfriend to stand directly below her window and get his newspaper from the machine. She had no idea the impact would kill him.


Nizoral's Story
her profile is perfect: the nicely combed hair, the angelic face, and that nice, almost teasing attempt at smiling. how can anyone suspect that the camouflage pattern meant something? she can even quickly and convincingly deny - with a wide smile and a few kind words - her membership to that new terrorist group, if ever the police smells something.

so although the pumpkin reminds her of cinderella and that fairy tale dream of seeing her prince charming, she's firm that today, she's the evil stepmother who has a killer treat in her hands.


My Story
There are some who believe our world is nothing more than a huge pumpkin carted around the universe by an even larger girl-like deity. They believe further that the universe itself is an infinite maze of supermarket aisles and shelves, each item on the shelves a world of its own. How could anyone prove that one way or the other? You might enjoy endless night-time hours of pumpkin pie and coffee, philosophizing with your friends about it, and never reach a satisfactory conclusion. And when the pie and coffee ran out, you'd have to go to the supermarket and buy some more. That's what happened to Eugene following an especially intense debate on these matters of deeper magnitude. He wandered off, slightly unbalanced, to arrange for a continuation of caffeinated drinks and bites of pie. When the girl with the pumpkin idled into his path, he knelt humbly before her and offered her his grocery cart.

Tourists at the Empire State Building

Mrs. Weirsdo's Story
"Look! Oh my God! It's--it's a UFO! I can't believe it!"
"Out of towner," said the woman on the other side of him, nudging her husband. "Come on, David. Let's go."
But their way was blocked by Bill and Larry, who, under the influence of Agent X29's eyes and Agent VR7's whistle, were mechanically compelled to approach the mother ship.
The agents high-fived one another as Bill and Larry were beamed aboard. Two more accountants collected for study.


Doug's Story
"Why would I look over there when the camera's over here?"


The Taorist's Story
Alojando, Kintrisha, and Chuvanice are triplets connected at the hip.

A. was the most active one. Pointing out girls with the most beautiful set of hair laces. K. likes to wear red bra. C. just likes her mole so much that she faces sideward just to look at you.

--Taorist's Never Believe It or Probabably Not Archives--


Mushroom's Story
Caption: What makes for interesting scenery is in the eye of the beholder.


Viruswitch's Story
That girl on the picture reminds me of an old friend... Ksenia was her name. She was my roomate in a boarding school for one year. I remember how I got really angry at her when she returned to the room in the middle of the night, drunk. She and her friends had broken all the rules and got out. As soon as she arrived she fell on the bed and threw up. I was 17 back then and had never drunk alcohol or had any sort of weird experiences. So the whole thing scared me. I quickly jumbed up and got my shoes off the way. She then immediately fell asleep. I left and went to the other girls to think of a plan, my other 2 roomates refused to follow but they inevitably got out when the whole room started to smell. :)) I though Ksenia might be as well dead in there. I know that none of us really slept that night. The lady on duty found her in the morning when she went in for the wake up calls. She was alive :)). And that was the end of our "friendship". Strangely I couldnt forgive her for braking these rules. After all these years I realize that it wasnt such a big deal.


My Story
"That ought to be an easy picture to write to," I thought to myself as I pulled the photo out of my directory of stand-bys. It depicted three persons on top of the Empire State Building, a man pointing out at something, and two girls, one staring off to the side - but not at the view, and one staring straight and somewhat impertinently into the camera.

Sunday night came, then Monday, and still no story. Sure, I'd written stuff down, but it was, all of it, lame: some nonsense about spirits of concrete having to leave their building after it had been demolished, then deciding which high-rise to move into next. Who would believe such a thing? I thought of writing a story about how hard it is to write a story, but I remembered from a writing class that this was the one topic authors should avoid. Nobody wants to read stories about how hard it is to write. Besides, I'd done one of those already. So you see the torment of my dilemma.

Monday drew to an end, and still no story. The worries pursued me into my sleep. My ideas formed into lame, limping gremlins parading before me, sticking their tongues out as they passed. Then I was falling, tumbling endlessly through dusty urban air. I looked above and saw faces everywhere peering from the rooftops, pointing and leering as I toppled. When I awoke I knew what had to be done: slip into that photo and find out what those people were really up to.

I merged into the scene from behind the camera, and stood off to one side, so as not to disturb the harmony of the actual photograph. But it went badly. The transition unsteadied me, causing me to slip and bump my head against the tourist telescope. The loud bong attracted her attention. She looked straight at me, smiling at some secret idea. My head turned to her like a magnet and I was so stunned even my thoughts were stuttering.

"Say, you two," she called to her friends, her captivating gaze never leaving me once, "Who says we have to possess a building? Let's possess him."

A Form and a Shadow

Viruswitch's Story
Trinity had been dreaming of that bright green light every day for the past month. It started as a weak green point of light and expanded into a great green liquid curtain. In the dream she held her hand out, touched it and it endevoured it into the green dimension. It was a beautiful sight. Green and blue shadows glew all over, with hues of purple that met with a sight-penetrating white, stubborn enough never to abandon a world poor of color. There was a green fountain that threw out drops of a crystal-like shiny water. The sound of the flowing water was very quiet but as her gaze was fixed on the fountain, she started to perceive it incredibly loudly. Unable to resist she aproached the water, closed her eyes and felt, how it felt. Trinity was now a glowing green mass of refreshing liquid, her body had vanished and only the outline of her form reminded of a past human existence. As if a green current of electricity hit her, she reached the peak of this peculiar green nirvana. Thats when she always woke up.


Mushroom's Story
It was old science, or pseudoscience, but it's the one that her grandfather swore by: he had this "ozone machine" that looked like a shoeshine box with eight neon-like tubes on top that would glow blue-white with electric plasma. He claimed that the static discharge it produced improved the circulation in his feet, and he'd sit in the La-Z-Boy with his feet gently placed upon the tubes. She had the ways and the means to replicate her grandfather's wonder-machine, but it wasn't her feet that she was having trouble with. She wanted to improve the circulation of her entire body and built an entire wall of tubing that she could stand near, or go about her work next to. It looked really great, like something you'd see at a home improvement show, and people commented they'd love to have a shower stall or external entryway to their homes that looked like this. But after a week or two, she concluded that the science had failed her. Partially this was because she didn't feel a change because she used argon (ergo the green color) rather than oxygen in her tubing, but mostly the problem was that the tubing and the power step-up used to make it glow were causing trouble on the laptop computer she would sit in front of with the tubing wall behind her and it was interfering with her ability to blog about how great this health improvement system was.

[This is partially autobiographical; my grandfather did swear by his ozone-tube footbox.]


Jamie Dawn's Story
She was dead; she knew that much, but where was she? Karen was never one to believe in an afterlife. She felt weightless. She wondered what was behind that weird, green, glowing wall. When she peeked behind it, she saw God, and all the mysteries of the universe were answered just by one look in God's eyes.
You may be wondering what God looks like. Karen knows.


Full of Love's Story
She is trying to find ‘herself’ in her shadow. Her shadow on the green light is the only absolute truth that appears relative in the physical world. She is trying to seize a truth, which cannot be captured in the frames of physical reality. It is something that needs to be flowing like current.


Will Brady's Story
     Gwen had come up the stairs to find the sea chamber blocked off with a curtain. She was concenred about the folds of the curtain [if it confused the fish] and wondered if the fish behind the curtain would be harmed by residues emanating from the synthetic material from which the curtain was composed. She also wondered how the fish would be fed, and even if the fish had been killed off, the curtain being placed in the tank to keep the viewers from seeing their stiff, lifeless bodies floating near the top of the tank.
     This whole affair troubled her greatly, and it was causing her to reconsider whether or not she should pledge her annual support to the Center the next time a fund-raising drive was announced. After all, it was cotsing her well over $100 a year to support the place, and this is not what she was expecting when she came to visit.
     She would rather have seen a new collection on sea anemones in the tank, as had been suggested during the last fund drive. All in all, it saddened her to see the curtain across the tank.


My Story
Matthew entered the shadow studio, as it was called. He stood in the silent chamber, taking in the apparatus and the convex projection screen. The lights dimmed and he counted the seconds of silence while the hum of transistors and electrified circuits cut in as a steady, subliminal vibration. All the preparations had paid off. Soon he would be able to carry out his plan. His mind drifted through bits and pieces of the interview with the psychologist who'd certified his suitability for the procedure. Not everyone was allowed into the room...

"Tell me again about these voices you've been hearing," the psychologist’s voice stated unemotionally, eyes staring through the wire-rimmed glasses at Matthew.

"---It's when no one else is around. They call to me --- beaconing me --- as if they were around the corner, or in the next room. But when I go in, they've moved on --- and when I hear them again their condescension only builds." Matthew spoke like a man hounded, and the sensors on his fingers and pasted to his head confirmed the emotion.

"And these voices, do they ever tell you to do anything?"

"Yes. Yes, at night. It begins as insinuations, 'That girl next door would like someone to...' Then the demands become more direct, first as questions, 'Why don't you visit her and---' Then commands, 'Go to her now and---' And loud, very loud, sexual things, you understand --- I press my hands to my ears and fall to the floor, but they scream at me, many voices at once, an entire crowd, and won't let up." At this point he buried his face in his hands and began to cry, his frame shaking with emotion. It was a passionate performance and sustained throughout a film may even have sufficed for an Oscar nomination. The psychologist, though no connoisseur of acting, liked what he saw.

"I think I can certify your insanity," he told Matthew. "We shall begin the procedure in half an hour."

Matthew smiled inwardly. Those weeks of intense meditation and practice with his homemade lie-detector had put him in a position to claim anything he wanted, and have it officially approved as truth. Suddenly, light appeared behind the now rippling membrane. It was a weak, colorless glow at first, strengthening finally into a thick hue of green like one might expect in the illuminated brine of a fathomless ocean. It was his soul, his soul that formed out of the green ether as a dense, dark shadow. He reached out to it, to touch it, to embrace it, the ultimate embrace of oneself, which had been his intention all along. Had he been insane, the procedure would have extracted the pathological segments of his being and left them to dissolve into dust, to be vacuumed away and sealed in a specimen tube for scientific reference. But now the complete soul presented itself intact, stood before him in his reach. His hand felt drawn towards the real reflection but as his fingertips grasped, the soul turned away. His soul, too, had had intentions. It wanted out, out of dull, normal Matthew. A moment later it vanished entirely, and Matthew stood alone, a mere shell of his former self.