Wednesday, December 12, 2007

An Insider's View of BlogWorld

That bastard, IHoB, just gave me a homework assignment. Or a freelance writing assignment that I am not being paid for. But, really, it's an honor just to be nominated. Below, is a story/story virus which is being passed around the blogiverse, and added to here and there by various blog authors. See if you can guess which part I did.


I woke up hungry. I pulled my bedroom curtain to the side and looked out on a hazy morning. I dragged myself into the kitchen, in search of something to eat. I reached for a jar of applesauce sitting next to the sink, and found it very cold to the touch. I opened the jar and realized it was frozen. (Splotchy)

I was used to the house being quite cold in the mornings, as the night log usually burns out around one AM when I am dreaming cozily under my covers, not normally waking to put a new one on until morning. I was surprised because on the rare occasions that it actually had reached sub-freezing temperatures in the house, I had awakened in the night to restart the fire. I would have been worried about the pipes before P-Day, but there hadn’t been running water in two years and that was one of the few advantages to being dependent on rainwater, no pipes. (Freida Bee)

I rummaged around in the kitchen and found one of the few things that hadn't frozen overnight to eat- an expired granola bar. "Better than nothing", I muttered to myself as I tore off the wrapper and took a bite, trying to not chip a tooth in the process.I thought I should go out to the shed and bring in more wood. The mind-numbing cold snap that had set in over the last few days seemed to be in no hurry to leave. Pulling on my heavy coat and wool hat, I considered for a moment what lay ahead for the day. Normally I would spend much of the day making any needed repairs to the house, cleaning, reading various newsletters, cooking, and just trying to keep busy in general. With no job to fill my time anymore I have found my new found "freedom" to be both a blessing and a curse. Ever since P-day, the only job most of us have is to sit in our homes and find something, anything, to pass the time.Well, that- and to stay alive. (Whiskeymarie)

I reached the woodshed I’d built from the remains of our fence, and heard a rustling. Fearing one of the wild dogs that now roamed the neighborhood, I crept back to the house for the gun my husband left with me before he volunteered to join the fighting. My hand was shaking so badly, I didn’t think I could pull a trigger, so I also grabbed an old broomstick to use as a club. My son tried to follow me, and I ordered him back inside; he obeyed, frightened by the harshness of my tone. He seemed not to sense how terrified I was and I was glad. Inching toward the shed, glancing backward every few steps to be sure the children were staying inside, I heard the rustle again, accompanied by a very human cough.“Who is it?” I shouted, in as angry and menacing a voice as I could muster. No response.“Damn it, I know you’re in there! I have a gun! Come out with your hands up, or I’ll just start shooting!”“Don’t shoot!” said the voice, and...(CDP)

I woke up hungry. The room was white, small and seemed to not have any doors. That is when I realized I was naked. I had a thin sheet of plastic over me and some machine making beeping noises to my left.I started to rise up that is when I noticed the cuffs holding me to the bed. I started to scream.A large booming voice came over a loud speaker, "Calm down, calm down Mrs. Peabody."I bellowed out, "Who are you?! Why am I chained down?! Where are my children?! "The voice replied, " There has been an accident, everything will be fine. There will be someone to assist and answer your questions shortly."Then there was silence. I yelled some more but nothing. No response. Then suddenly, a creaking sound. To the right there was a door opening, it was......(Wyldth1ng)

A cat. A small black cat padded gently in and hopped on the bed. It paused to look at me and let out a sorrowful moan. As it crept toward my face I looked into its strangely unsettling eyes."Down, Scheiser," a man's voice spoke.A sullen, shambling figure entered the room. His right hand was bandaged, part of it soaked through with blood."Hello, Mrs. Peabody." He pulled up a chair. "Sit, Scheiser."The cat curled up on the man's feet. The man stared past me, resigned, distracted."Where is my family?!!" I moved my leg to kick at the man, only inches from me, but restraints dug into my ankles.Without turning to address me, the man spoke, in words that seemed memorized and repeated a hundred times before -- "Your family is safe. As safe as any of us can be. I would let you go see them right now if I could, Mrs. Peabody. But you and I are linked.""I don't know what you're talking about!""Applesauce. Cold. What do you really know about what your people call, P-Day, Mrs. Peabody? It is starting again."(Splotchy)

Why a cigarette-smoking orangutan named Applesauce, you ask? Why not a cigarette-smoking orangutan named Applesauce. That's why.Also I should note:A. My version of our heroine may not look like how one would expect a "Mrs. Peabody" to look, but hey... neither did Mrs. Peel.B. I got the bandage wrong, so an ambiguous explanation in the dialogue is a lame "out." Sorry. I pencilled and inked this late last night. And realized I'm an idiot after the fact. (You think I'd know that by now).C. Smoking signifies sinister simian. (IHoB)

Mrs. Peabody threw back her head, her CASCADING LOCKS (for you, Pistols) shaking with mirth, and let out a hearty belly-laugh. That's right. A bowl-full-of-jelly belly laugh.

"P-Day!" she cried, with glee,"of course, refers to Christmas!" (more bowl-full-of-jelly belly laughing) "Presents Day anyone? It's so simple!"

And then she stopped, mid-belly laugh, as the man's eyes started to twinkle. His white moustache began to grow into a full beard, and his cheeks popped into cherry-like buds, and his belly expanded and began to shake.

Mrs. Peabody's eyes grew to saucer-size, and her jaw dropped to the floor, as Santa Claus stood before her, laughing and ho-ho-ho-ing.

He then asked if, next year, could she please bake the regular Christmas cookies, and not try to make them "low-fat" by substituting applesauce for the butter. APPLESAUCE for God's sake! They were so hard to eat with his bandaged hand - that spiteful Dasher had gotten a bit snippy at the last house, and boy is he going to be on shovel-duty for the next 100 houses.

Santa, then removed the cigarette from the orangutan's mouth. That orangutan was a gift for Mrs. Peabody's youngest daughter, and the cigarette was a dangerous fire hazard.

And then he reached into his sack, which had been carefully hidden by the black kitty cat, and pulled out a brand new pair of Christian Louboutin shooties for Mrs. Peabody.

She had been a very good girl that year.

The End.