I stumble around the dark, barren room, breathing hard, trying to remember how I got there, while random bits of black-and-white pictures swirl around my head. “Calm down,” I tell myself as my breath makes clouds in front of me, “this must be a dream,” but suddenly, the bright floating fragments coalesce into an old man with a bald head and a chain around his neck, and I gasp as I recognize my father. “I’m sorry I left you,” he says, pulling a locket from the chain; “this is your way out of here.” As he disintegrates into a thousand pixels of light, I see a door on the far side of the room, and the key in the locket fits the lock. I open the door and wake up on a table in a lab, and I struggle against the restraints while the scientists try to figure out how I got back.
Written by the group at Concord Library in a ninety-minute creative writing workshop this afternoon.
As water drips from the reddish-gray stalactites in the cave under the extinct volcano, we are inserting the sharpened hollow nail into our captive’s skull to extract his teleporting abilities. After three generations before us failed, we finally found the elusive teleporter, crawled under his house to cut the power, and then broke into the den where he had been watching TV with his family. Through our night-vision goggles we found him in the darkness, opened the lid of our containment tube, and sucked him inside so he couldn’t teleport away before we got him back to the lair, while the rest of his family crashed around in the dark, yelling, “Did they get him? Where is he?” Now, our power extractor seems to be malfunctioning because nothing is happening, when suddenly the entire cave begins to shake, and a million little pieces of light coalesce and flicker like a television screen to form the man’s family. We reach for our stun guns, but the family waves their hands and explains through their laughter, “You got the wrong guy, but you can have him because he wasn’t ever going to be one of us anyway.”
Written by the group at Harrisburg Library in a ninety-minute creative writing workshop this afternoon.
Love & Rockets - Mirror People
Kissing The Pink - Watching Their Eyes
As the sun begins to set, I wander into my office, where the imprints of the furniture still show in the plush, ivory carpet, and slide down in the corner of the empty room. I start to twist my wedding ring on my finger, but realize it’s gone; it must have fallen off. Less than an hour ago, my wife and daughters had each climbed into their luxury cars and driven away in different directions, and already, it feels as though my memories of them are fading like photographs. On the flickering screen of my smartphone, I stare at the list of bank accounts whose funds have all dwindled to nothing. With a shaking hand, I lift the gun to my temple, but pieces of my head begin to fall away, and I never have the chance to pull the trigger.
Written by the group at Kannapolis Public Library in a ninety-minute workshop yesterday.
Joy Disaster - Artemis
Billy Idol - Catch My Fall
Robert Hazard - Escalator Of Life
Martin Gore - Compulsion