new catagory? Whaddya think?

[Frodo]

"My Life as an Apple."


My name is Damascus(INTERESTING NAME - DEFININENTLY CATCHES YOUR ATTENTION) ; I am a r(R)ed j(J)ohnathan a(A)pple. (CAPITALS, PLEASE. IT'S A PROPER NAME.) I heard that you wanted to learn how apples grow. Well, then, what better way than to ask an apple?
Now, apples start as buds on the branch of an apple tree. The buds are formed in the fall, they sit there all winter incubating and waiting for the world to warm up. When spring comes(COMMA HERE) the buds are ready, (PERIOD, NEW SENTENCE) t(T)hey stretch out and open into pretty little flowers. (SMALL, WHITE, WITH PINK THROATS AND YELLOW CENTERS, JUST TO LET YOU KNOW, IN CASE YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE MAYBE LACKING DETAIL)
The flowers act much like young children. They coo with awe at the world and play with the bugs that visit. (SUCH A CUTE LITTLE PICTURE IN YOUR HEAD. . .) When the bugs are tired of playing, the flowers are quite happy to share the food their parent tree had given them. You humans call it nectar.
The flowers talk and laugh and play word games. The air is full of their chatter. When an animal would rest (NOT 'WOULD REST', JUST 'RESTS') in the trees branches or under it, the flowers pester them with questions. Like, “What’s it like to move around?” or, “What’s it like to move around?” (LOL!) The flowers perk up the world around them and life is pleasant. (PLEASENT? HOW DO YOU SPELL THAT JO?)
A week or so passes in this fashion and the flowers live in peace. But one day the flowers begin to get a little moody and their bases begin to swell. (THOSE DARN HORMONES!!) They begin to argue and bicker, and flowers that were once the best of friends turn their faces away from each other. This is around the time that we apples begin to become aware.

I was a very curious little start (WHY? WHY WHY WHY? EXPLAIN! NOT ENOUGHT DETAIL! WHY WERE YOU IN PARTICULAR CUROIOUS?) and would pester my flower with questions. (WHAT KIND OF THINGS DID YOU ASK?) She told me many things about the world and what it was like when she grew up. (AND HOW WAS THAT? HAPPY? RAINY? BORING?) We had many enjoyable talks together.
Then one day all that changed. One by one the flowers wilted and died. Us apples couldn’t bury them (THIS MAKES NO SENSE. AS IF BURIAL IS REALLY SOMETHING APPLES CONSIDER - ?!) since we couldn’t move and they were attached to us. (KINDA CREEPY . . . 'agggh! I got a dead thing stuck ta me!')
Our parent tree, or rather our grandparent tree since the flowers were our parents, comforted us and told us that this was the way of the world.
Many apples grew moody, (YOU ALREADY SAID SOMETHING ELSE GREW MOODY - THE FLOWERS, THAT'S RIGHT. FIND A THESAURUS. USE A DIFFERENT WORD. LIVEN THE VOCABULARY) argued, and whined. I didn’t see why our grandparent tree didn’t drop them like she threatened to so many times.
Nature moves quickly and we apples were soon over the loss of our mother flowers. (ITS ALMOST LIKE THIS NEEDS A LITTLE MORE THOUGHT, BUT I DONT KNOW WHAT.)

I became friends with a few apples in the nearby tree. Their names were Cynthia, Charles, and Fred. We joked, laughed, and talked about many things, like our feelings and thoughts.
We planned out our futures. I was going to be the wisest apple in the world. Cynthia was going to be a composer, (PERIOD, NEW SENTENCE) s(S)he practiced all the time and we enjoyed singing her little ditties. Charles was going to be the first apple to move, and Fred was going to be a dinosaur. (*GRIN* I LOVE FRED)
We told our plans to the grandparent trees. They would just say “Hmmm.” ("They would just sigh at us." HMMMM CAN BE TAKEN IN MANY DIFFERENT WAYS.)They sang us to sleep each night using one of Cynthia’s songs.
As we grew the trees taught us the history of the apple. Like how we are related to the rose, and how the great apple Massimo fell on Newton’s head, giving him the idea of gravity. (WONDERFUL! CREATIVITY AND HISTORY AND COMEDY RUNNING HAND IN HAND. EXCELLENT!)

Half the summer watched us grow, the rest of it watched us mature and ripen. (UM - AWKWARD SENTANCE STRUCTURE) Our feelings and interests changed. Some of the moody (MOODY AGAIN! THERE ARE MANY OTHER WORDS OUT THERE!) apples cheered up, but a lot of them stayed moody. (ARGH!)
My friends and I discussed new topics. We now made plans for our future children. My children would be the most intelligent trees on Earth, and Cynthia’s would twist themselves into beautiful shapes that would make the wind whistle. Charles’ children would be the tallest trees, and Fred’s would be the first trees to discover dinosaurs. (*GRIN*)
But this time when we told our grandparent trees they didn’t hum. This time they told us the truth. They told us that we would probably never live to a ripe old age, and that we would probably never have children. We lived in an orchard and our only purpose was to be food for the humans.
Many apples cried out in anger and began to argue again. This time the grandparent trees followed through with their threat. At the first strong wind many of the moody (NOOOO! NOT MOODY!) arguing apples were thrown to the ground even though they were still pretty green. (I LIKE THIS)
The windfall apples threw fits and moaned on the ground. Soon bugs and animals attacked them, (PERIOD, NEW SENTENCE) I will never forget their screams of pain as they were eaten alive.

We were all very silent from then on, the silence (SILENT, SILENCE - QUIET? BETTER WORD CHOICE AND LESS REDUNDANCY MAKES FOR A BETTER STORY) only broken by mournful songs that Cynthia composed, the activity of the world, and Charles grunting as he tried to move. All he managed was to wiggle on his stem, and that was only with the assistance of the wind.
Fred tried so hard to become a dinosaur that sometimes he almost popped and fell out of the tree. He also got the hiccoughs several times. Have you ever seen an apple hiccough? It’s very disturbing. (LOL FRED IS SOOOO CUTE!)
I listened to the world and learned. The world told me many things. She told me about the wonders of the universe and life. She also told me about the terrible things that humans did. How they take more than they need and then waste it all so that they have to take more. They kill and hack away at living things, including themselves.

Then the day arrived when the humans came and picked us apples. We weren’t even ripe yet. They separated us and packed us into dark boxes. Then they loaded us into a truck and took us away from the orchard and our grandparent trees. (HOW WOULD THEY KNOW IF THEY WERE BEING LOADED INTO THE TRUCK IN THEY WERE IN THE DARK BOXES?)

I never heard from my friends again. (*SNIFFLE*)

We reached a building from which the death (DYING?) cries of millions of apples filled the air. They took us out of the boxes (BOXES?) and sorted through us. Some apples went onto a conveyer belt and some, like me, were packed back into boxes. (BOXES? WHAT ABOUT THE WORD "CRATE"? NEW VOCABULARY! aGH!) In that building the other apples were chopped up and made into juices, pie fillings, and many other things. (MUAHAHAHAH)

I ended up on a store shelf a week later. Then you bought me. Sadly this is the end of my tale, as you are going to eat me. Good bye.
(TEE-HEE! I LOVE THE ENDING. IT MAKES ME HUNGRY . . . )




So those are my suggestions. Take them as you will, throw them out, or use them. If you need anymore help,please let me know.

[Locked Out]

"Pleasant " is spelled correctly to begin with, but I got confused about that alot too at one point. I like your story Faf. We had to do something similiar in CW last week. But it was with a pencil rather than and apple, and not nearly so detailed, since we were only given 7 minutes. It's fun to mess with things like that. I like how you describe the apple's as they grow up, and the description you gave humans...hmm.

[Frodo]

*claps hand excitedly* Another story! Story story story!

[Locked Out]

Sorry. It was done as this thing we do each A day called 'Journals' where we get the beginning of a sentence and have to write half a page about it in seven minutes. They stay in a folder in the classroom and aren't to leave it under most circumstances.

[Frodo]

Aww . . . . *bottom lip quivers* . . . Not Fwair . . .

[Locked Out]

Hm. If you're that desperate I'm sure I can dig up some half-finished abandoned thing. Somehow I don't think that's what you had in mind.

[Frodo]

Actually, don't bother yourself with the trouble Jo (although those may be fun to start a Role-play with or summat - keep it in mind!). I have a "Writer-Friend" who at this moment wishes to remain un-named. I cannot give you their identity until you have edited their story.

[Frodo]

The Taking

by Helen Cassandre


We were swimming in the coolness of the day and the watery brine felt like a part of us. Or were we a part of it? The moment of consciousness of who belonged and didn’t belong was lost in the glow of sunlight. The water even appeared to be the same color as us. We all floated or hovered in mid-water, not minding if someone else’s head bumped a torso or bottom. The serenity and coolness of the water made us feel at peace.

Times had been hard. Pain had come and gone. But now we had each other and this moment. There were smaller things in the water with us, other creatures who had come to this same place. They didn’t match the water as well as us or even try to rise to the surface as we did. But it didn’t seem to matter to them. They looked happy resting on the bottom, huddled together and content.

Pete swam alongside and nudged me gently with his head. I slowly rolled over to face him.
“Do you think Mom’s okay?”, his faced wasn’t strained by the question but calm and loving.
“Sure, she is.”, I murmured back. I knew he wanted to hear that. So did I. Truth was, I didn’t know.

She looked happy the last time we saw her, resting in the sun with a flower in her long hair. That’s the way I want to always remember her. I know life has an odd way of constantly changing without us even sensing it until something big happens. Something substantial enough for our sluggish brains to say “Wait a minute, that’s different.” or “How could we have been so blind?” or scream in horror like Felicity when she was pulled from Mother.

I admit I cried and screamed too. I didn’t want to leave her. I was happy laying in the sun beside her. But I didn’t struggle like Fred. He jumped from the cart that was taking us away and gashed his head and back. Now he has the wounds to show for his bravery. They are hard to look at. Not because they make him ugly. He had bumps and ripples under his skin before the taking, so we were used to him looking strange.

His marks remind me that I didn’t try. Not even a struggle. It all happened unbelievably fast and I was groggy from my afternoon nap. Fred must have been awake, that’s the only way he could have had his wits about him. The thought of trying to roll to freedom didn’t even occur to me. I could still be there.

Oh, the delicious thought of “I could still be there”... but with no way to get back to Mom. Fred would still be there too, but he didn’t roll far enough away. He was quickly spotted and thrown into the darkness with the rest of us. But if I had rolled and rolled really hard, I’d be there now.

But I’d be alone. Maybe it’s better for him that he didn’t escape. And that I didn’t try. Alone is no place anybody should be. We’re all here now, and even Fred looks happy. His wounds have closed a little and look more like scars. They add an air of ruggedness that goes well with his bumps and ripples.

My skins is smooth and similar to my sister, Harriet. She’s the smallest one of us and keeps to the surface of the water. She can’t swim so well, so we help her. The larger and better swimmers of our group take turns keeping her afloat. John, especially. He likes nudging her with his head as he stands almost upright in the water.

I’ve always looked up to him. He is the first born and also has bumps and ripples under his skin. But he looks more wise and seasoned with them. He doesn’t need scars to give him a brave look. We all know he his. And since he came before any of us, we’ve never thought of him any other way. He’s one of those guys who can make conversations go quiet just by stepping in the scene. I want to be like him one day. Confident, caring, and the last one standing in any scuffle. Maybe one day.

Suddenly a gush of wind disturbs my thoughts of grandeur. The heavenly smell of the still water is whisked away. A strange new odor surrounds our heads. It smells vaguely familiar, yet different. Almost a sweaty smell masked with a hint of soap.
As we look at each other in confusion, a quick flash of silver splashes right beside me, almost hitting little Harriet in the belly. We all part then are violently pushed aside as John rises to the surface.

“Where are ya’ goin’ Johnny?”, Felicity cries out. John is silent. He’s speared through the heart and hangs limp as his body is pulled from view. Felicity screams in terror. Harriet splashes to hide behind me, but I’m not much cover for her. Felicity is hysterical. I try to hold her up as she flails and moans in the brine.

As quick as before, the sweaty smell returns and the silver rod stabs another one of us. I couldn’t see his face, but I think it was my cousin. Quickly, I search the terrified faces near me. Yes, it was my cousin. The crazy one who enjoyed scaring family by playing dead. I guess he isn’t playing now.

The smell, the bolt of steel and another one of us is speared and drug away. This happens again and again. Felicity is inconsolable. She slips from my grasp and sinks with her mouth gaping. Harriet is clambering to the top of my head in fear. My face goes under and I hear Felicity give her last scream under water. Her eyes bug out as she gasps for air. I can’t save her and she sinks to the bottom. The little white creatures scatter under her body like sparks.

I pull myself up just in time to miss another bolt. I don’t want to see who will be yanked to the surface this time. The pain is worse than anything I have ever known. I feel like fainting. I feel like screaming. I feel like throwing up. Something brushes my back and I catch a glimpse of Fred. His head rolls to one side and he pulls himself off the monstrous spike. His gashes look like a scraped knee compared to the gaping holes in his sides and back. I move to help him keep his face out of the water. How can he survive wounds like this? Fred’s strong. I know he can hang in there and live long enough to tell his children and grandchildren, yet to be, of how he survived such a vicious attack. I doubt I’ll see the end of this day, but Fred will. His toughened skin has made him a tough fellow.
T
he smell is overwhelming as two silver bolts strike down and carry Fred away. I see the look of defeat on his face and pull Harriet close to me for protection. Fred nods and then is gone. Another silver flash pulls up the bodies of a cousin and Felicity in one strike. I give up hope. Somehow I thought we could band together and fight this, but when two are taken away just as fast as one, I know we don’t stand a chance. It is only a matter of time before we are all killed.

I floated aimlessly as the rest of my brothers, sisters and cousins are snatched all around me. I am numb. A spear brushes my shoulder, slicing it deep and I don’t even flinch. Then another gouges a trench across my chest as it stabs wildly for little Harriet. I am out of my head when she finally stops wailing and disappears from sight. I want to die.

The little creatures below me swirl in circles of confusion and anguish. I wish I were one of them. They aren’t the target of these horrific attacks, they have nothing to fear. I sink slowly to lay among them as the last of my family is taken. I couldn’t do anything to bring them back. And I tried to help them as best I could, didn’t I?

I don’t know. I don’t know why. I don’t where they were stolen away to. I don’t know anything, except that I am alone. Mother would not be happy, sitting there in the sun, if she knew what had happened to us. I can imagine her crying, her pretty yellow blossom falling from her hair. And that is more sadness than I can bear. I will think of her as I saw her. Her contentment will ease my pain.

A voice boomed above the water. I rose slowly to listen. I saw a huge eye peer down at me and blink. “Mom? Do we got anymore pickles? I don’t want this one... it looks weird.”

[Locked Out]

Maddie....it has a name under the title, so why did you say they were un-identified?

LOL I like it...hee...pickles...all serious and solemn, and then pickles. LOL Really, it's good. I was fooled until I read the last line, which is what I think the writer was going for.

[Frodo]

Jordan . . . . . did it ever occur to you that maybe this person likes pen-names? Psuedonyms? False Indentities?


But I am glad the story played well - I shall have to pass that on. They'll be quite pleased.

[Locked Out]

*exasperated sigh* Nope. It never occured to me.

[Frodo]

Is there anyone else who would kindly comment?

( I'm going to burst if I can't tell you who it is!)

[merry]

i liked. it was very well done.

[Frodo]

Thanks for the comment, Merry.

And I can't bear it. I'll tell you who it is!

[Frodo]

THE