Creative Writing please don't laugh at me

As the sun rose over the horizon, John noticed that it was at a different angle than the month before, thus casting different shadows of the grisly scene before him than it would have a month ago, except that this scene wasn't there a month ago. The reason it wasn't there a month before was that the thing causing all the grisliness had happened 29 days ago, and since it wasn't a leap year February, indeed, any February, 29 days made less than a month.

The scene became grisly when several of the large bears ambled into the innocent, unsuspecting campers' camp. Mistaking them for Brown Bears (the campers, of course; that is, the campers did the mistaking), the campers fought back as one should when investigated by a Brown Bear, instead of playing dead as you should when snuffled at by a Grizzly Bear. Since they had been mauled 29 days ago, the scene had become steadily more grisly as the local scavengers, fungi, and bacteria discovered the bears' gift to them, and steadily decomposed it.

With a start, John realized that the campers were dead. Within the campers tent, a phone rang, causing him to jump. His jump temporarily brought a steak hanging from a tree into his view, until he fell back to the earth. He shakily unzipped the tents blood covered zipper, and wiping his hand off on his other hand, picked up the telephone. It was a portable. "Hello, park rangers?" he asked.

"Uh, is this you George?" came the reply.
"Oh I'm sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number." said John, "Have I reached 911?"
"No, I'm sorry you haven't" said the confused caller, "What's wrong George?"
"Sorry, this is not George, it's John, you must've reached the wrong number." John said as he hung up and put the phone is his pack.

As John left the tent, he saw that the sun was at a different angle than it was a few minutes earlier, thus casting different shadows from the camp, except now there was a difference! One of the campers was gone. Hearing a squishing sound, John looked over to the steak tree. He saw a bear standing on the camper, grabbing and then eating the steak. "So the steak is what attracted the bears," thought John. "That's what was amiss, Steak! That was the campers mistake!" Laughing at his pun, John sprinted away from the bear and out of the camp.

Feeling much better at having solved the riddle, John continued on his hike. About a half mile later, he couldn't stand it any longer, and finally inhaled. He was relieved to find out that he couldn't smell the camp anymore. He had been holding his breath, as long as the area smelled, he didn't. When he reached a stream, it occurred to him to wash the blood off the phone. He took it out of his pack and swirled it around in the water, creating rapidly dissipating spirals of the crimson essence of life. He was shocked to find his arms tingling, his hair standing on end, sparks jumping between his fingers, and little crackles filling the air. In his surprise, he had tossed the box of Rice Krispies he always carried into the air, and little puffed rices came floating down.

By the time noon rolled around, the sun was directly overhead, and it was burning down like a sun lamp turned on full. The trees offered little protection, as it was winter and all their leaves had fallen. John found himself sprinting from beneath one pine tree to another, trying desperately to avoid the merciless sun, and cool down. After one such sprint, out of breath and sweating from his exertion, he decided to eat lunch. He pulled out the microwave he had been lugging around and nuked a bowl of steaming hot Nissin Noodles.

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This was inspired by the Bulwer-Lytton contest, where people send in the cheesiest opening paragraphs they can come up with to nonexistant books. I did that with the first one, and tried to continue it. More or less succesful

 

Hey! That's really good, sure wish I have a talent like yours!!! I say keep it up....^_^

 

Nice! like SV-chan said you have talent! write more, i really would like to read more of your work!

 

This is really good! Waaah, why would John throw those poor rice krispies in the water?! More please!

 

man, what's it take to get a negative review around here?? hehe

Someday I may continue it. It's really hard to write stuff this bad though

 

ROTLMAO

Oh, MO, MO, dear dear dear MO!!! If this be the result of the warp and weave of thy mind after late night AIM sessions, then let me ne'er enter such a contest. For thou art like the illiterate teletubby with the typewriter: a curiosity.

Okay, seriously, I just think you're too good a writer. Try letting go more, and havoc play ye with thy punctuation.

 

I guess those are negative reviews.. This means I can stop my hunger strike

The idea wasn't to write badly as a 6 year old or illiterate 13 year old would.. Though the result when that happens is too too funny (yoshi eats a bad soup ROFL) That's a different kind of bad, so bad that it's not obvious he did it on purpose, but man it's funny.

Yes, to achieve truly bad, I need to let go; it's a zen type of idea.
_____________
travelling the wrong way down the artistic road

 

YOSHI!!!!!

ROTFLMAO!!!

It's Isaac Bashevis Singer meets South Park... on heroine!

Did you check out the rest of the links on that page, too? *snicker* The Adrian stories are graphic heavy and the graphics arent there anymore. So I didnt read most of them.

 

Slipping through the shadows in the headquarters of some nameless corporation, John reflected on his existance, in particular the vagaries of which had led him here. Why the need to uncover conspiracies? The need that drove him from building to building, avoiding guards, reading email: all in search of.. something. His whole day consisted of creeping around areas that were inexpicably always dark.

He had long ago lost the need to eat. Food was something consumed only to heal the random bullet wound. He could smash houseplants and their containers all day, chase the cleaner bots and throw around couches with reckless abandon.

What drove him? Some primal need to discover his identity, his origins. Somewhere within the seemingly cluttured bureaucracy of this or some other faceless organization, he might discover the secret of his birth; he the faceless hero somehow not under his own control, being steered this way and that as though by some higher power.
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This was written 90% stream of conciousness mode, after I had spent a good twenty minutes looking at screenshots of Deus Ex 2, sequel to a game about sinister conspiracies. It is played in the first person, you never see yourself (except in mirrors) what the hell does that have to do with anything? I don't know. Also, was written at 6 in the morning, if that isn't a glimpse into the soul, dunno what is. I'm too tired to have real thoughts, what's making its way out is inate stupidity

Now that was bad and pointless. and passive. and unfunny. I need a subject, a purpose. If I sneak around long enough I'll find one