UjSizzle:
Faita hah thanks for the observations (?) they're duly noted.
I'll leave writing fiction to actual writers abeg, this one na play I dey and to be honest I'm way too lazy to even shift those sentences. But I will give it a look... eventually. And I like that you touched on some aspects I've been moving about in my head all day

Thanks again.

Actual writers? Do you mean people with degrees in English and Creative Writing? Or just people with a commitment to writing? Because you can't mean people who have talent or skill. You happen to have both, in my opinion.

You're welcome.

Faita:


Lol. You're welcome. You're very good really. Sweating goat who rains droppings because a girl spent five whole minutes kissing it without realizing that it wasn't human! Lol. That's very good storytelling, sir. Very good indeed.

A million thanks sir.

KingTom:
She smiled and turned left, aware that no other had the thick billy goat scent like Ademola. It must be him she thought, she closed her eyes and proceeded to plant a hot juicy kiss on the succulent lips of her lover, she did but something was wrong, he tasted different, could it be? She opened her eyes and shrieked in horror as she discovered that for the past 5 minutes she had been smooching Apam, one of her father's goats. The poor animal apparently traumatized by the situation had proceeded to rain droppings all over the floor and was sweating profusely. Both looked at each other as if to say; lets never speak of this again. Each went their separate ways, a molested ewure and a shocked maiden.






Cc: Master Dave p, have I delivered?

lmai


wait Goat dey bear Apam, i think say na only Gidado be the alias of goats, billy or nanny-wise!!


Aspa the tori, you delivered!!

I wish it was a 'come and contunu from where the last poster stopped with lil diversion' kinda thread. Dem for hearam tonite!!

daveP:
lmai


wait Goat dey bear Apam, i think say na only Gidado be the alias of goats, billy or nanny-wise!!


Aspa the tori, you delivered!!

I wish it was a 'come and contunu from where the last poster stopped with lil diversion' kinda thread. Dem for hearam tonite!!

You for turn the goat to astronaut I.e spacegoat

KingTom:

You for turn the goat to astronaut I.e spacegoat

ah, iyen lagbara die. Obuko ton fo ninu spaceship ke?

daveP:
ah, iyen lagbara die. Obuko ton fo ninu spaceship ke?

Faita:


Actual writers? Do you mean people with degrees in English and Creative Writing? Or just people with a commitment to writing? Because you can't mean people who have talent or skill. You happen to have both, in my opinion.

You're welcome.

People committed to writing. But thanks

So eventually turned out to be today. Second draft (?) is up now and I took your suggestions into consideration with a few exceptions.
One, I think saying "Feast" is explanation enough without having to spell it out. Lol @hair eating btw
So I adjusted the penultimate paragraph. I'd initially assumed that using the ellipses in the "why" would account for the difficulty in speech associated with the object in his throat. But on second thought, you are kinda right. A man choking on his own blood shouldn't be able to talk at all.


Anything else need straightening out?


Thanks again.

KingTom:
She smiled and turned left....

Kingtom, LMAO. You should start writing.

UjSizzle:

People committed to writing. But thanks

So eventually turned out to be today. Second draft (?) is up now and I took your suggestions into consideration with a few exceptions.
One, I think saying "Feast" is explanation enough without having to spell it out. Lol @hair eating btw
So I adjusted the penultimate paragraph. I'd initially assumed that using the ellipses in the "why" would account for the difficulty in speech associated with the object in his throat. But on second thought, you are kinda right. A man choking on his own blood shouldn't be able to talk at all.


Anything else need straightening out?


Thanks again.

Yay! Well done.

"Feast" is a really curious word to use. The more I think about it the more interesting I find it. I'm thinking you're probably the only English writer I know that thinks of sex like an all you can eat buffet. Keep the term. I think it can grow on your readers.

You retained "she lapped his..." I'm not sure that works very well grammatically.

It's not that he could not have been able to talk at all. There is a chance he could try. He wouldn't be very intelligible though on account of the blood getting into his trachea. He would gurgle or sputter. Since you already used "sputter", "gurgle" was the other option available to you if you wanted him to talk. But there is also the chance that his vocal cords were so badly damaged or the blood had got in way too much so that he could not speak at all. In that case, the way you rendered it now was perfect.

You have a good imagination. I'm glad I could help.

Faita:


Yay! Well done.

"Feast" is a really curious word to use. The more I think about it the more interesting I find it. I'm thinking you're probably the only English writer I know that thinks of sex like an all you can eat buffet. Keep the term. I think it can grow on your readers.

You retained "she lapped his..." I'm not sure that works very well grammatically.

It's not that he could not have been able to talk at all. There is a chance he could try. He wouldn't be very intelligible though on account of the blood getting into his trachea. He would gurgle or sputter. Since you already used "sputter", "gurgle" was the other option available to you if you wanted him to talk. But there is also the chance that his vocal cords were so badly damaged or the blood had got in way too much so that he could not speak at all. In that case, the way you rendered it now was perfect.

You have a good imagination. I'm glad I could help.

Hm...this is the first time my name has been mentioned without it referring directly to me..im not really sure how to feel..hopefully the word doesn't become more fashionable around here or it will spell the beginning of the end for this moniker...

llaykorn:


Kingtom, LMAO. You should start writing.

You have returned

I'm lost.

I thought the aim of this exercise is / was for subsequent writers to continue from where the previous writer(s) left off?

Why's everyone starting a new storyline from scratch?

EfemenaXY:
I'm lost.

I thought the aim of this exercise is / was for subsequent writers to continue from where the previous writer(s) left off?

Why's everyone starting a new storyline from scratch?

Nope. It says "Use this first line to continue a story."

She smiled, turned and left, her heart racing, her palms sweating as she waited for the call.

It never came. No one would ever question her actions.

When, 6 months after the relationship began, she noticed his odd new habit of taking his phone to the toilet, her gut told her something was off, but she chose to ignore it.
After a while, he stopped doing that and completely out of the blue, apologized to her and said he would try harder.
In her heart, she stored the first stone.

A month later she had been drowsy from a hard day at work, dozing off on the couch when suddenly he sprang to his feet and said he had to go out because his friend called and there was an emergency.
"But your phone didn't ring, sweets" she said, apropos of nothing. His eyes darted away and back to her face, like smooth pebbles over mud. In that instant, she knew he was lying as her gut rolled over.
"Erm, it did but eh...you know you were so sleepy", he blustered as he grabbed his keys and practically ran out.

She didn't see him until the next night after work. She said nothing about his friend's impromptu "emergency".
In her heart, she placed a second stone next to the first.

By the time they had been together a year, she knew of 3 other women he was seeing regularly as well. In a blazing rage, she confronted him about them, and asked if her wanted to break up so she wouldn't stand in his way. He knelt before her, supplication in every gesture as he promised to do better by her, to change his ways and focus on their relationship. She never confronted him, or asked him about the other women again.

But she was storing her stones.

She could see them sometimes in the succeeding months, those stones in her heart. They were slowly becoming a wall to seal off her love for him from herself. With each new indiscretion he committed, she built it. Each stone had a name, even though he'd given her none. She christened them herself, in her pain and sorrow. The Girl From Work, The Woman Who Sent the Nude Selfie, The School Friend he Claimed was Stalking Him...

At the end of their second year, he had gotten them a dinner reservation, and she thought he would propose. When dessert came, he told her he had met someone else, and that he didn't want to be with her anymore. She stared into her lime and mango sorbet and said nothing. Her wall was so high now that she felt nothing, simply watched the words come out of his mouth. And then, in that numbness, she heard a click in her head and decided to end his life. So she made all the right noises, cried a little and asked him to take her home. Perhaps he felt sorry for her, for as they got into bed, he held her close, kissing her lips and stroking her throat. She was drifting off to sleep when she felt him slide into her.

How peculiar to lie here and not feel anything, she thought. And to think that his touch used to inflame me!
The next morning, a Saturday, she got him breakfast as always. She had a routine for this, a pattern that comforted her. Today she went through the motions calmly, almost zombie-like. She was calm when she locked the door, shut the windows and put on his Afro-beat music. The neighbours knew he listened to loud music on Saturday mornings as he did his chores. She was calm when the tomatoes splattered oil on her arm, when the tray was set, when she made his coffee and poured the contents of a bottle of insecticide in his egg stew and stirred, humming softly to herself.

She was calm as she watched him eat every bite of his delicious last meal, watching the yam go in his mouth and understanding that even his irritating chewing was another stone. She was calm when he threw up and screamed in pain, clutching his stomach.

He died noisily, spasming on the floor like a beached whale. She smelled his bowels as they evacuated, but still she was calm. How like him to be so full of shit! she thought. When he finally stopped twitching, she washed the dishes, took a shower and put all her things in the boot of her car. It took 4 trips, but she managed, working like an automaton. Only then did she allow herself to feel something other than that deathly calm. She could feel the strength and impenetrability of that wall, and wondered if she mightn't go and get some frozen yogurt today, as a special treat to herself.

The idea cheered her up as she smiled, turned and left.

Trublvr
27/08/2015

Divepen1, could you please model the next prompt thread after EfemenaXY's idea of story-line continuation?

trublvr:
She smiled, turned and left, her heart racing, her palms sweating as she waited for the call.

It never came. No one would ever question her actions.

When, 6 months after the relationship began, she noticed his odd new habit of taking his phone to the toilet, her gut told her something was off, but she chose to ignore it.
After a while, he stopped doing that and completely out of the blue, apologized to her and said he would try harder.
In her heart, she stored the first stone.

A month later she had been drowsy from a hard day at work, dozing off on the couch when suddenly he sprang to his feet and said he had to go out because his friend called and there was an emergency.
"But your phone didn't ring, sweets" she said, apropos of nothing. His eyes darted away and back to her face, like smooth pebbles over mud. In that instant, she knew he was lying as her gut rolled over.
"Erm, it did but eh...you know you were so sleepy", he blustered as he grabbed his keys and practically ran out.

She didn't see him until the next night after work. She said nothing about his friend's impromptu "emergency".
In her heart, she placed a second stone next to the first.

By the time they had been together a year, she knew of 3 other women he was seeing regularly as well. In a blazing rage, she confronted him about them, and asked if her wanted to break up so she wouldn't stand in his way. He knelt before her, supplication in every gesture as he promised to do better by her, to change his ways and focus on their relationship. She never confronted him, or asked him about the other women again.

But she was storing her stones.

She could see them sometimes in the succeeding months, those stones in her heart. They were slowly becoming a wall to seal off her love for him from herself. With each new indiscretion he committed, she built it. Each stone had a name, even though he'd given her none. She christened them herself, in her pain and sorrow. The Girl From Work, The Woman Who Sent the Nude Selfie, The School Friend he Claimed was Stalking Him...

At the end of their second year, he had gotten them a dinner reservation, and she thought he would propose. When dessert came, he told her he had met someone else, and that he didn't want to be with her anymore. She stared into her lime and mango sorbet and said nothing. Her wall was so high now that she felt nothing, simply watched the words come out of his mouth. And then, in that numbness, she heard a click in her head and decided to end his life. So she made all the right noises, cried a little and asked him to take her home. Perhaps he felt sorry for her, for as they got into bed, he held her close, kissing her lips and stroking her throat. She was drifting off to sleep when she felt him slide into her.

How peculiar to lie here and not feel anything, she thought. And to think that his touch used to inflame me!
The next morning, a Saturday, she got him breakfast as always. She had a routine for this, a pattern that comforted her. Today she went through the motions calmly, almost zombie-like. She was calm when she locked the door, shut the windows and put on his Afro-beat music. The neighbours knew he listened to loud music on Saturday mornings as he did his chores. She was calm when the tomatoes splattered oil on her arm, when the tray was set, when she made his coffee and poured the contents of a bottle of insecticide in his egg stew and stirred, humming softly to herself.

She was calm as she watched him eat every bite of his delicious last meal, watching the yam go in his mouth and understanding that even his irritating chewing was another stone. She was calm when he threw up and screamed in pain, clutching his stomach.

He died noisily, spasming on the floor like a beached whale. She smelled his bowels as they evacuated, but still she was calm. How like him to be so full of shit! she thought. When he finally stopped twitching, she washed the dishes, took a shower and put all her things in the boot of her car. It took 4 trips, but she managed, working like an automaton. Only then did she allow herself to feel something other than that deathly calm. She could feel the strength and impenetrability of that wall, and wondered if she mightn't go and get some frozen yogurt today, as a special treat to herself.

The idea cheered her up as she smiled, turned and left.
Trublvr
27/08/2015

Wooooow!!! I was looking at ur posts and came across ur write up! Meeeen!! This year na ur year. All ur talents go dey speak. Catch u on whatsapp