Forum

A short little poem I wrote some time ago. ive traded your lifefor a watchso that i could see ittick and all. ill tunethe hands that sweep ur dreamsand force a small etch upon a side a symbol almost of imperfection

My LONG overdue third chapter of Shape-Shifter. I'd had it done for a while but I just couldn't remember to post it here. I know it's short and with school and other stuff...haven't had as much time to get into a good writing mood. I'm hoping now that summer is here, I can continue this story and others. So...enjoy all! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Shape-Shifter: Chapter 3 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Golden ribbons of light sliced through the slots between the blinds on the windows. One of the beams found its way to Juline’s face, and she stirred for a moment before waking. She tried to stand up, but seized up in mid-rise. She fell back on the couch, wracked with pain in almost every part of her body. Her legs were where it hurt most. It felt like somebody was driving huge screws threw them. Her throbbing arms ran a close second though. She tried to stand again, but found that she could hardly move. Her joints had stiffened; she was one big bag of lactic acid. She sat there for hours, trying to ignore the pain. Sometimes it would recede, but then it would return. Then it would get worse than normal, and then go back. It was a miserable way to spend the morning. At least, she thought it was morning. She was quickly proven wrong when she glanced at the window. No more sunlight was coming through. By the Nine, had she really slept for twenty-four hours? After a while, the pain seemed to die down and she tried once again to stand. Her legs still protested, but she was able to rise up and support herself. She hobbled over toward the washroom where she disrobed and uncovered several buckets of water. One by one, she filled the iron tub with their contents and then took a log from a pile in the corner. She then placed it under the tub. She procured a match from a small box on a little table next to the tub, struck a flame on it, and lit the log. She had a couple minutes while the water was heating up. She moseyed into the bedroom, half expecting to hear more of Shape-Shifter’s mockery. She was not disappointed. Not five seconds after she passed through the doorway did the little pest of a thing pipe up. “Aww...did you have a nice beddy-bye time?” It said. “Stuff it, you...thing.” She replied. “Oh come now. Is that any way to speak to the person who saved your life?” “You saved me? Near as I could tell back there, you tried to get me killed.” “I was only funning with you. Geez, you’re as uptight as the rest of the mortals, aintcha?” “I don’t know what kind of trick you’re trying to pull now, but I’m not falling for it.” She said, pacing the floor. “It’s no trick, darling. You think it was sheer dumb luck that your blade managed to turn perfectly upright when you fell? Ha! Nobody has that kind of luck my dear. Nobody. Well, maybe ol’ Gaenor.” “Gaenor?” Juline asked? “Oh never mind him...just some fool of a Bosmer with big lucky streak and an even bigger mouth. Finally got the crap kicked out of him in Mournhold, heard he mouthed off to the Nerevarine himself. Anyway...what I was getting to was that I turned your blade upright.” “What??” Juline said incredulously. “How could you have done that when I had you in my hand?” Shape-Shifter did not answer, but instead morphed into a puddle on the bed. Then, it hurled itself at Juline and wrapped around her, taking on the form of armor with an alien fashion. Then it peeled off and snaked around her back onto the bed where it curled up into a ball. It then proceeded to bounce up and down, changing into a different type of weapon with each ascent. First it became a dagger, then a sword, then an axe, then a mace, then a hammer, and lastly a bow and arrow. “Let’s just say that I’m very flexible, miss.” It finally said. Juline nearly fainted. “What the hell are you?” She muttered inwardly. Shape-Shifter didn’t answer. It just lay there on the bed in the shape of a simple bar, taunting her with its silence.

Consummatum Est.Writch © 04/11/2002 Just how does one close a suicide note? “Love?” No – totally inappropriate. Mostly. How about “Sincerely?” Well… duh! You’re ending your life, for cripes sake. Is there even an iota of insincerity in the act? Maybe there is. You know – like the experts always claim: Really just a plea for help. Well, I’m pleading alright: Pleading for an inspirational ending. (Sigh.) Or an alternative ending. Reach your hands up to rub blurring, tired eyes and then down over your face. Slip them into your folding arms and slump back in your chair. How about “Sorry?” Even though not really. Blech. No good. Let your gaze float around the room. It settles on the almost empty bottle of vodka in front of you. The beads of condensation are fascinating. Feel similar beads on your forehead. I know why I’m sweating, little bottle… why are you sweating? What have you to worry about? Because the usefulness of it’s so-called life is over soon. Or maybe it’s just crying like you. You smell the acrid scent of a lit cigarette burning plastic wrap in the ash tray. Reach over grab the cigarette. Take a pull. Close your eyes and feel the menthol fog your throat, then feel it fill your lungs. Exquisite. Ought to give those things up, they’ll kill ya you ya know. Chuckle. Cough. And again, but harder to clear out the phlegm of a hard night of crying. Ah, shit. What does it matter? Does one even bother signing something like this? Dead body here, note next to it. One plus one equals two. Simple math. Well and good if there’s a body. But not in this case…. “Could you please do this for me?” Her pleading stare fixed into my eyes… only kinda of past them, like into my skull. “I need it to be convincing, here’s the paper with my signature in my own handwriting so you aren’t – what’s that word? ‘Implicated.’” “I dunno about this. Isn’t there another way?” “These people are really scary.” The corner of her brows drooped in a way I’ve never seen before. It pulled a look of desperation onto her that I’ve never seen on her or anyone in person, for that matter. “They’re going to hurt me real bad if they ever catch up to me. I gotta try to lose them.” “So I won’t see you again, will I?” “Maybe.” Her eyes dropped to the table. She couldn’t look at me and lie. Never could. “After a long time, I’ll send you a postcard or something with my old nickname on it so you’ll know I’m okay.” She looked up this time, but not at me, but over my shoulder. Still a little less desperate but her face was twisted – she was trying to look hopeful. “If things have blown over after a few of years or so, I’ll let you know how you can contact me,” she feigned. I played along. “Sure, sounds like a plan…” Then I shared my doubts. “But there won’t be a body. So they might keep looking.” She reached for a grocery bag under the table I saw when I got to the Zippy’s. “That’s why I need your help. Here’s my swim suit.” She handed me a small Foodland bag. I could see the floral print of her one-piece thinly veiled behind white plastic. “Pin the note to the swimsuit in a bloated bag or something…so it looks like I drowned myself.” “Tomorrow?” “Yeah… tomorrow.” “So, your leavin tonight then?” She looked around to see if anyone was listening. Then back at me. Her eyes welled up. It made my throat tighten and my chest heaved in a silent wail, which I slowly released through my nose. “Yeah, tonight,” she choked. I reached over to grab her hand. Hers reached to intercept, then she rose to her feet towards me. I stood up and her hand reached around my neck and her other arm clasped me in a deep hug. “Thank you, I don’t know how to repay you,” she whispered. Her hands went up and down my back, occasionally patting. After a long silence, I felt her shiver as she sobbed, “It’s quite likely we really won’t see each other ever again….” I squeezed my eyes shut, but it just couldn’t hold back the flood. I pulled her in tighter and wept. Sniffing heavily, I tried to keep from soaking her sweater…. Sniff heavily again. Snatch a used tee-shirt off the nearby pile of dirty clothes on the floor. Wipe away the tears and blow your nose into it. Toss it back onto the heap. Finding it’s getting harder to concentrate. Just finish it off! You promised. It’ll be the final act of your friendship. And I’ll never ever see her again for her to appreciate it. A whimsical thought crosses your mind. Poke the keys on the keyboard with conviction. “Consummatum Est.” Smirk as you grab the cigarette again. To your absent friend, See? I told you that Latin course we took would come in handy. Your smugness fades. She’ll never read it. Don’t think about it. Are we done? I’m happy. Believe it in a kind of morose, satisfied way. Click the diskette icon. Then the printer icon. Then the corner ‘X’. Then flick the mouse away. Take a last pull of the cigarette. Stamp out the butt into the overflowing ashtray as a demonstrative punctuation mark. Tug at the paper slowly coming out of the printer. There. She has her suicide note. And now I have mine. Shove them and both your driver’s licenses into their respective Ziplocs. As you head for the door, see the collection of empty amber plastic pill bottles in the trash can, amongst the crushed remains of a case of Bud. Curse: Join your co-conspirator friends, and toss the empty vodka bottle on top. Wait for the elevator, safety-pin hers to hers inside the bag, then yours to the inside of your shorts. A love/suicide pact. At least there’ll be one body. The elevator opens. Step in and head for the beach.

There I was with all my ice cubes sprawled over the ground, my drink spilled and soaking into dirt. I was getting thirsty just watching it, my life spilled out over an empty lot. Soiled, melting, disappearing...Then her clouds appeared on my horizon. The beginning of her rain over me. A light mist at first, then perceptible drops - a sprinkle. Then a light Spring shower - cool and invigorating; then a Summer soaking rain - hot, humid and torrential.She fills me in, soaks me to the bone. She's liquid, sweet and refreshing, when she enters me she oozes into the hollows and voids, she seals the cracks and crevices. She completes and together we are whole.And when we part, I feel her pour out of me, slowly. I feel a viscous strand – stretching, thinning - between us as I pull away. And then again I yearn. Just as my hand will reach out to find hers when we are close, so does my emptied soul reach out to be refilled.There is an emotional thirst, a spiritual suspension until we are mingled and blended with each other again.

Written during when of my elated, stable, and clear minded periods of my battle with bipolar disorder I hope you enjoy http://memoirsofamanicmind.weebly.com/as-life-unfolds.html

Hello. I have tried this (and will continue to try this) through the normal query letter method. I have gotten big nibbles, but no bits yet. However, I am wondering if anyone here is, or knows a, literary agent who is interested in looking at a finished, edited and reedited, 90,000-word young adult fantasy-adventure novel. I finished it well over a year ago and have had several reads by other agents. And for littler reasons it seems they turn it down. It is a fine story, easy to read, comical yet dark and ready for the big leagues. I can send synopsis, samples, etc, at request.

Hi. I thought that instead of merely sharing works of writing, we should actually make edits/constructive criticisms on each others' pieces. I mean, presumably none(or at least very few) of us are published writers, and just as we all want to become better chess players, we also want to become better writers and poets! Best, draconlord

Csharp said: A while back several of us wrote a page or two as an assignment put out I think by Writch and we all critiqued each other's pieces. It was fun because it got me writing and thinking about writing and reading and critiquing which makes one a better writer as well. We could try that... So here's my challenge: Write something dealing with tea leaves. It could be a story, a poem, an essay, an prophecy, an eulogy, a creative tax proposal, or anything in between. Needless to say, any genre is applicable. Tea leaves could be literal(say, a company), figurative(eg, fate) or historical(eg, the British East Indian Company) Here's a link I pulled from the internet: http://www.blackbird.vcu.edu/v5n2/poetry/plath_s/ennui.htm Good luck!

Anyone in this group attending?

I stand on a bridge As the eddies dance in the river. I watch a group of ducks swim in this river. Every movement of theirs sends a ripple that affects the others. As they come below the bridge, I toss popcorn Just as I have always done on this morning of Fall. This island of green which I visit has now turned to gold. A cool breeze burns my face, signaling the changing season. Clouds on the horizon threaten the land Like the hand of an angel, wiping out all the World’s sins. I gather wood for the coming apocalypse Yet I do not fear. This is not the end, but the end of a journey. I have made many journeys. I will have to return to the Tower again, to receive my judgment. There are two verdicts I could face. I could begin a new journey of knowledge Yet if I failed I shall return to the beginning Until the lesson is learned. Who knows when the Great Road is traveled to its end? I can only hope for the Spring.

Well, I'm at present focusing on Chapter 3 of Shape-Shifter. I've got a bit so far and I'd like some feedback on how it's written. Shape-Shifter: Chapter 3 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Golden ribbons of light sliced through the slots between the blinds on the windows. One of the beams found its way to Juline’s face, and she stirred for a moment before waking. She tried to stand up, but seized up in mid-rise. She fell back on the couch, wracked with pain in almost every part of her body. Her legs were where it hurt most. It felt like somebody was driving huge screws threw them. Her throbbing arms ran a close second though. She tried to stand again, but found that she could hardly move. Her joints had stiffened; she was one big bag of lactic acid. She sat there for hours, trying to ignore the pain. Sometimes it would recede, but then it would return. Then it would get worse than normal, and then go back. It was a miserable way to spend the morning. At least, she thought it was morning. She was quickly proven wrong when she glanced at the window. No more sunlight was coming through. By the Nine, had she really slept for twenty-four hours? After a while, the pain seemed to die down and she tried once again to stand. Her legs still protested, but she was able to rise up and support herself. She hobbled over toward the washroom where she disrobed and uncovered several buckets of water. One by one, she filled the iron tub with their contents and then took a log from a pile in the corner. She then placed it under the tub. She procured a match from a small box on a little table next to the tub, struck a flame on it, and lit the log. She had a couple minutes while the water was heating up. She moseyed into the bedroom, half expecting to hear more of Shape-Shifter’s mockery. She was not disappointed. Not five seconds after she passed through the doorway did the little pest of a thing pipe up. “Aww...did you have a nice beddy-bye time?” It said. “Stuff it, you...thing.” She replied. “Oh come now. Is that any way to speak to the person who saved your life?” “You saved me? Near as I could tell back there, you tried to get me killed.” “I was only funning with you. Geez, you’re as uptight as the rest of the mortals, aintcha?” “I don’t know what kind of trick you’re trying to pull now, but I’m not falling for it.” She said, pacing the floor.” “It’s no trick, darling. You think it was sheer dumb luck that your blade managed to turn perfectly upright when you fell? Ha! Nobody has that kind of luck my dear, nobody. Well, maybe ol’ Gaenor.” “Gaenor?” Juline asked? “Oh never mind him...just some fool of a Bosmer with big lucky streak and an even bigger mouth. Finally got the crap kicked out of him in Mournhold, heard he mouthed off to the Nerevarine himself. Anyway...what I was getting to was that I turned your blade upright.” “What??” Juline said incredulously. “How could you have done that when I had you in my hand?” Shape-Shifter did not answer, but instead morphed into a puddle on the bed. Then, it hurled itself at Juline and wrapped around her, taking on the form of armor with an alien fashion. Then it peeled off and snaked around her back onto the bed where it curled up into a ball. It then proceeded to bounce up and down, changing into a different type of weapon with each ascent. First it became a dagger, then a sword, then an axe, then a mace, then a hammer, and lastly a bow and arrow. “Let’s just say that I’m very flexible, miss.” It finally said. Juline nearly fainted. “What the hell are you?” She muttered inwardly.

I decided to return to my characters Badael Denaren and Borgak for a second story. Who knows, I may make more with them. And in regards to Sveta's idea of making a separate story showing how they met, I've been thinking of an idea on how to write that (Yes that suggestion may be over nine months old, but I still remember it!). Anyway, here's what I have so far. I'm planning on making this a good bit longer than the first, so there will be more. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Badael Denaren rounded the last bend in the path from Pelagiad. As he continued down the trail, the tall trees fell away to reveal a massive Velothi style structure. As he came nearer, he saw a large sign to the left of a bridge that read “Welcome to Vivec City!” in big, white letters. He started across the bridge and then, seemingly out of nowhere, a peppy, young Breton woman ran up to him. “Hello!” She exclaimed in a cheery voice. “Would you like to buy a map to help you find your way around Vivec?” Badael stared for a moment; she was a rather pretty lass. Her hair was a rich golden brown and as curly as the vines of the Bitter Coast, her eyes were a deep brown, and there was the cutest little Cupid’s bow in her upper lip. Badael did, in fact, need a map. This was his first time visiting Vivec. He was actually here to participate in a large open chess tournament. Players of all races, backgrounds, and levels would be there slugging it out over hundreds of checkerboards. He was very excited to be one of the contestants. The Breton girl’s sweet smile, coupled with the fact that he was without a map, made it impossible to refuse. “How much is it?” Badael asked as he reached into a pouch strapped to his waist. “Only two drakes.” replied the girl. “Sounds reasonable.” Badael said as he handed her the money. “Thank you! Here’s your map!” She said. Then, she strolled away to hunt for more buyers. Badael unrolled the map and looked at it. He knew he had entered Vivec from the north, so it did not take him long to determine that he was in the Foreign Quarter. The competition was being held in the arena, which was two cantons to the left and then one up. After double-checking to make sure he was right, he rolled up the scroll and set off. As he made his way to the arena, he sometimes stopped to chat with folks. He was able to learn some things about the city and even got the chance to meet some of his fellow future competitors. At last, he came to the Arena Canton. Badael reasoned that the event would take place in or around the actual pit, which he figured must be reached from the second floor. He found one of the ramps leading up to the second floor and went up it. He reached the top only to find a throng of people blocking his way. “Guess all these guys are here for the contest.” Badael muttered to himself. Then, he heard a familiar voice behind him. “Badael! You made it!” The voice exclaimed. Badael wheeled around and saw a big, burly Orcish man walking towards him “Borgak?” Badael asked incredulously. “What are you doing here?” “I’m here to compete in this tournament like you.” he replied. “But I thought you were coming here to visit relatives!” Badael said. “I am here to visit relatives. I’m here to visit my brother and my uncle, who both happen to be pretty good chess players.” Borgak explained. “And you thought you might as well enter this tournament while you’re here, eh?” Badael finished. “Mhmm. They are competing in it too.” said the Orc. “Ah...maybe I’ll get to play them.” Badael mused. “Probably. They’ve told me they’ve spent the last couple months practicing.” Borgak said. “And I can tell from our games in that little tavern in Khuul that you’ve improved quite a bit yourself.” “Yeah, but I still lose the majority of the games.” Badael said. “True, but at least now you are winning some. And you have learned the usefulness of sacrifices!” Borgak exclaimed. Badael smiled shyly, as if not sure what else to say. “Come on.” Borgak continued. “You can’t say you’re not proud of that bishop sac you did on me a couple weeks ago.” “Well, yes. But still, I am nervous about this tournament.” Badael confessed. “Don’t be. If you think you will play horribly, then you will.” The old orc said. “Oh, the crowd’s moving. Let’s head in; it’s probably about to start.

Here is my second chaptered work project that I'm working on along with the now hugely delayed Shape-Shifter. No I haven't forgotten about it, but the schoolwork and the baby sister have kind of been keeping me occupied. Still, chapter 3 is in the works as I type. But anyway, here you go. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 1 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dennam leaned against the trunk to give his legs a rest. He’d been squatting on that branch for a couple hours now and his mark still hadn’t come by. Of course, it wasn’t like Galdros had been very clear during the briefing. Specificity was never his strong suit. Still, not giving a time-frame at all was something that even he didn’t do often. All he said was that the guy would be coming along this road in a carriage under guard. Dennam was understandably frustrated, seeing as how he could easily fall asleep from sheer tiredness and let the mark roll right on by. He let out a heavy sigh. It was getting dark. He managed to keep himself awake by listening to the chirping of insects and repeatedly telling himself that he’d be dinner for wild animals if he fell asleep and fell out of the tree. Eventually, he heard the clatter of hooves on dirt from the west. Not long after that, he was able to actually see the horses. As they drew nearer, he could see that they were arrayed in the typical formation. The carriage was in the middle with all of the others ringed around it. Each horse had a mass of steel riding on top. He saw that the carriage itself was of a very sturdy design. There were no immediately apparent weaknesses. Pretty much the only flaw he could see was the large window in the side. He straightened up and knocked an arrow. This was it. Dennam drew the cliff racer plume back to his ear and fixed his eyes on the window as the carriage passed in front of him. His eyes honed in on that bright circle, just waiting for his head to appear. At last, it did, along with part of his upper body. He could see that he was playing with a box of gold coins, completely oblivious to the ebony-tipped arrow aimed right at his skull. Dennam ceased all movement, drew a deep breath and held it, and released the arrow. The slender shaft whistled through the air, racing past webs of twigs and leaves before sailing right in between two of the escorts, through the carriage window, and embedding itself in the mark’s right temple. There was a spray of blood followed by a hybrid shriek of surprise and terror. Those few seconds seemed like years; had it missed, they might as well have been. It did hit however, and now Dennam knew he had to disappear before he was discovered. He picked a tree a ways back from the road, but the horses could still plod through there given the time. He immediately leapt from the branch and landed noiselessly. He bolted through the woods to the south, gliding across the underbrush with almost supernatural silence. As he fled, he could hear the guards shouting curses and orders as they scrambled into the forest looking for him. The horses were difficult to maneuver though. He had a good chance of outrunning them in this brush. Still, he couldn’t take his sweet time. Assassins didn’t take unnecessary chances. He sped past trees and saplings until he came to a road. It was, in fact, a different point along the same road. He couldn’t hear the pounding of hooves, so he had either beaten the one or two riders that had gone along the road, or they had beaten him and had already continued on. Of course, it didn’t matter which case it was. He still wouldn’t be truly safe until he was back in the sanctuary. He had no intention of following the road the rest of the way. He’d simply come here to get his bearings. It was the intersection where the Silver and Red Ring roads met, so that meant that he would have to head east and then south again until he reached the sanctuary in Cheydinhal. He processed this in just a few seconds and was off like an arrow once more. He was across the road and into the adjacent forest in two bounds. As he ran through the trees, he thought he heard the sound of galloping horses behind him. It got louder and he realized it was coming from his left. He glanced over that way and saw a figure on a horse riding in his direction. Dennam stopped almost instantly and crouched down among some shrubs. “How the hell did he manage to get this close without making too much noise?” Dennam thought inwardly. He held his breath, not daring to even breathe with a professional guardsman on a warhorse not twenty yards away. He was motionless He kept his eyes trained on the rider through the thin leaves of the bushes. The horse just seemed to wander around stupidly with the man on top just glancing around while muttering a semi-audible string of curses. After a bit, the guard rode off to the north. Dennam quickly looked around in all directions just in case any of his cronies were around. Not seeing anybody, he dashed off again. As the assassin continued his eastward sprint, a fierce wind picked up and was soon followed by a deluge of rain, as if nature itself was mourning the dead man and angry at him for killing him. It made little difference to Dennam though. All he cared about was getting back to the safety of the sanctuary as soon as possible, and if that meant enduring some wind and rain, then so be it. He kept pace, skirting over freshly-dampened leaves and moss. Suddenly though, he felt a sharp pain in his back. It then splashed into his shoulders, stomach, and buttocks. He lost focus and slipped on a patch of wet moss. He went head-over-heels and slid across the ground into a tree. Dennam just lay there, barely able to keep his eyes open because of the pain. As it grew more intense, he heard what sounded like footsteps approaching. He looked up and saw a shadowy figure standing over him with what looked like a bow and a quiver full of arrows on his back. He was soon joined by a second shadow holding a slender, katana-like sword, and then a third, holding a mace or club of sorts. The three silhouettes then seemed to start talking to one another, but Dennam couldn’t tell if they were or not and if they were, he couldn’t hear them. He could feel his life force leaking out of his back along with his blood. He was totally helpless. He was at the mercy of these things. After a couple more painstaking minutes, the pain just suddenly vanished and he became light-headed and extremely fatigued. His eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. Despite his protests, they began to sink shut. At last, over halfway drained of blood and with his head swimming, he gave up. All went pitch dark.

Hi gang. Good to be here. I've read some of your posts and have been pleasantly surprised. The folowing is one of my first short stories, written some 20 years ago. I wrote it for a contest sponsored by a rum distiller. It took third prize - $100. Submissions were limited to 800 words and had to mention the distller's brand, which I have since removed. Reviewing the story today after so long without seeing it, I'm not sure how well it works. Anyway, I thought it would be appropriate for this group. I hope you enjoy it. Greg Armageddon, Chess, and the Chimp The chimp liked chess. Even more than Twister. This was a good thing, as far as the old zookeeper was concerned. He dreaded another close encounter with the chimp's sour gaminess. The last time they played Twister, his nose locked in the chimp’s armpit, he had to concede or would have vomited his lunch of beetles and grubs. The zookeeper didn't mind losing at Twister (with his short limbs and sciatica he expected to be beaten by the limber ape) but chess was another matter. After all, he’d taught the chimp how to play. He’d done so hoping to find some relief from the endless empty hours and confinement. He also wanted to find some activity at which he could prove himself the chimp’s superior. It was a cruel irony, then, to discover that the chimp had more aptitude for the game than him. The chimp always employed the same infuriating strategy, dismissing obvious checkmates while driving the zookeeper’s king to entrapment on the rear file. It was an agonizing, inevitable death, but one which the zookeeper would always fight long after his position was hopeless. Afterwards, if he demanded a rematch, the chimp would usually dismiss him with a summary shake of its head and play a game by itself, leaping across the table from chair to chair to consider both Black and White’s position. One day, when he could take no more, the zookeeper devised a plan that could not fail. He decided to cheat. The game was all but lost when the chimp checked the zookeeper’s king into deep retreat before going to relieve itself. The zookeeper, with an anxious eye on the bathroom door, began to whistle a carefree tune and eased his one remaining pawn one square away from his opponent’s back row, where it could be exchanged for a queen the next move. Snickering, he walked around the board. All angles revealed imminent victory. When he heard the toilet flush he hurried to the cupboard, put his head inside and made like a man frustrated while trying to find something misplaced, tossing things about and cursing. He listened as the chimp returned to the table, its knuckles thumping the linoleum. He stopped rustling the bags of dried peas and pasta, and peeked around the cabinet door. He watched the chimp climb onto its chair and was revolted by the beast's ugliness. The hair on its arms and back had begun to fall away in thick, greasy clumps – he reckoned the ape would be as bald as its rump within a few months. Its shoulder and chest muscles had receded under its scabrous hide. Even allowing for its advanced state of decline, however, the zookeeper didn't feel he was ready to challenge the chimp for rights to the bed. But as he sized up the despicable, wasting creature picking a nit from the crook of its elbow and stuffing it behind its blubbery lower lip, he could see that day coming soon. The zookeeper grabbed a handful of chamomile leaves from the top shelf and dropped it into a pot, not bothering to look inside for inevitable chimp hair. Having long since resigned himself to antiseptic living, he would strain the brew through his teeth, plucking the coarse strands of hair from his gums and cursing a world without a proper cup of Earl Grey, or even the orange pekoe that Helen had been so fond of. The tea cooking over a candle, he returned to the table and sat down. The chimp looked up from the game accusingly and pointed a crooked black finger at the cheating pawn. The zookeeper’s face was the picture of innocence. The beast bared its crumbling yellow teeth menacingly and nudged the piece back to its proper square. "What are you implying, you villain?" cried the zookeeper, shaking his fist. "How dare you!" The chimp howled and delivered an arcing backhand that knocked the zookeeper off his chair and one of his bicuspids across the room. Lying in the corner, he probed his mouth with his tongue, delicately assessing the damage. "That's just great!" he said, seething. "Down to six teeth and no two of them opposed." He spat on the wall, dotting it with blood like shotgun spray, then got up and staggered to the steamer trunk. Turning his back to the chimp, he dialed the combination lock. The chimp sidled up to him. "It's not suppertime yet," said the zookeeper, a pout exaggerated by his swollen lip. He raised the lid and rested it against the wall. The chimp stroked the zookeeper’s head apologetically and peeked over his shoulder. "I suppose we could have a small snack," the keeper sighed. He took a plastic container from the trunk, opened it, plucked out three fat, writhing grubs and proffered them to the chimp. It snatched them from the zookeeper’s hand, retreated to the bed and, nibbling, lay its his head on the pillow. The aged zookeeper stared at the contents of the trunk and thought about what he'd become: an expert in insect husbandry and a nursemaid to an ungrateful monkey. He picked up the photograph of Helen, pink cheeked and golden haired. He couldn’t bear to think that she might now resemble him -- skin flaky from radiation, bones knotted by malnutrition. He hoped she were dead and not among the demented and dying. Wiping away a tear, he gently replaced the picture face-down in the box. Why did he go on? All civilization had been sundered from society, humanity drained from human beings. It was a comfort to know it would all be over soon, when the radiation poisoning finally put an end to his misery. Or when the scavenging hordes of half-dead finally came for the last of the stores of dried camel and alligator meat, hunger finding a way through steel bars that once held rhinoceros. He took a dusty bottle of rum from the trunk, went to the bed and sat down beside the chimp. The chimp, surprisingly, did not protest. "Our journey is coming to an end, old man," the zookeeper said. He opened the bottle and swallowed a mouthful of rum. The chimp plucked a tick from its groin and offered it to the zookeeper. Touched, the keeper smiled softly and popped it into his mouth. The chimp, satisfied their friendship was restored, grinned and put out its hand for the bottle.

Hey guys. I recently wrote a chess-themed short-ghost story that has a bit o' interaction in it. I tried to copy and paste it here, but seeing as that it was text, pictures, diagrams and a puzzle, it isn't possible. So I will provide the link. Go take a peek. http://www.chess.com/forum/view/general/chess-ghost-story

For the beauty of the earthFor the beauty of the skyesFor the lovewich from our birthOver and around us liesOver and around us liesLord of all to thee we raiseThis our joyful hymn of praiseFor the beauty of the hourOf the day and of the nightHill and vale And tree and flowerSun and moon and stars of lightLord of all to thee we raiseThis our joyful hymn of praiseFor the joy of human loveBrother, sister, parent, childFriends on earthAnd friends aboveFor a gentleThoughts and mildFor a gentleThoughts and mildLord of all to thee we raiseThis our joyful hymn of praiseFor each perfect gift of thineTo our race so freely givenGraces human and divineFlow'rs of earth and buds of heav'nFlow'rs of earth and buds of heav'nLord of all to thee we raiseThis our joyful hymn, our joyful hymn of praiseThis our joyful hymn of praise

Here is a poem I wrote just for Chess.com. It's called "The Better Man," about a chess battle with two lives on the line. Enjoy! Two men sat down across a table, both were ready, willing and able, to have it out. The chips were down. For the greatest game of chess in town. It was Ted vs Tim. Two savvy men. Who bet their very lives, that each would win quite easily, to the lament of their wives. "I'm the greatest!" Ted exclaimed, setting up the white. I've studied hard since I was three and never sleep at night. "Study, shmuddy!" Tim then scoffed, adjusting his black King, "I'm a natural prodigy and never learned a thing." The crowd it gathered, growing growing, until all the town was there. So far away were some onlookers they had to stand on chairs. The traffic slowed, as drivers passed, trying to steal a peek, at Ted and Tim who stared with ire (lest one come off as weak)! The game began. The first pawn jumped, Their blurry fingers flew. The center closed, a gambit then, the tension grew and grew. A sacrifice! A zwichenzug! Imbalances all around. The crowd now, 50,000 folks. Yet not a single sound! Their pieces lined beside the board, as causalities accumulated. "But who was winning?" asked one Grandmaster. As several more debated. Soon the kings were in the game. Two knights vs. rook and pawn. 80 moves. No end in sight. The game went on and on. The sun hung low, the day was fading. The town filled with comotion. As Ted and Tim each had a pawn one step from queen promotion. Ted looked at Tim and flashed his teeth. Tim sneered and did the same. With one more move, the result was in! Stalemate! The men shook hands and said, "Good game." The Better Man © 2010 by Daniel Cailler

The Game At dawn two heralds meetand daggers wieldInfantry blazon black and whiteagainst a checkered fieldA lone knight's steedbears bit and teethwhen lances rise upand sabers unsheatheBut hold rein, soldiersPut chariots at bayFor those donning holy mitrewill men bring hither and slayBattle trumpets soundand rouse a weary queenArchers in the turrets guardas king is rushed between With king in his keepthe horsemen advanceand foot soldiers recoilwith wary askance Etched in archers' furyand rout of battle throesThe regiments collidein fierce metal blows The cathedra is empty'twas exchanged in the frayFrom gambit to gravefor a surcoat to lay But when guards fall asunderthe battle flanks rightAnd on wings of a forkdoes white king take flight The queen meets his gazeas black armor turns reinto swing heavy halberdand the lady falls slain Morning fog is litby sun and scattered flameweary eyes on unseen godswith battalions now the same.King gathers weaponand soldiers amassingAnd two steps of blackis captured in passingThen maidservant beginsa race for the ridge!And warriors lay down weaponsto build her a bridgeWith his new bride the king returnsto corner foe and fateOn seventh rank a final blowand white secures a mate. (It makes more sense on my blog where it is split into three partitions. But oh well.)

.