Always in motion is the future.

Tagged with a Splotchy virus by Randal. My contribution is after the rules...

Here's what I would like to do. I want to create a story that branches out in a variety of different, unexpected ways. I don't know how realistic it is, but that's what I'm aiming for. Hopefully, at least one thread of the story can make a decent number of hops before it dies out.

If you are one of the carriers of this story virus (i.e. you have been tagged and choose to contribute to it), you will have one responsibility, in addition to contributing your own piece of the story: you will have to tag at least one person that continues your story thread. So, say you tag five people. If four people decide to not participate, it's okay, as long as the fifth one does. And if all five participate, well that's five interesting threads the story spins off into.

Not a requirement, but something your readers would appreciate: to help people trace your own particular thread of the narrative, it will be helpful if you include links to the chapters preceding yours.

The ground crunched beneath my feet. Besides my noisy footsteps, I heard only the sound of the gentle crackling fire behind me. Its faint orange light lazily revealed my immediate surroundings. Beyond the glow, there was total blackness. I whistled. I took the small rock I had been carrying and whipped it away from me, expecting a thud, crack or plop -- but a soft yelp of a cry answered. [Splotchy]

Failing to leap tall buildings of uneaten Nestlé Crunch and Krackel bars in a single bound, I had waded through them instead, the crunchiness of the candy adding to the crunchiness of the drought-stricken, pebble-strewn soil, elevating the aural to a heretofore unknown level of crunchiness, as if Dick Cheney himself were trampling the defleshed bones of third world refugee children scattered about his clawed feet, the dried marrow spewing forth from between shards glistening in the wan moonlight.

I shivered.

Silently thanking the Old Ones that I had decided to stuff my backpack with packets of instant coffee instead of those mini boxes of Rice Krispies or stalks of celery because those things are far too crunchy in comparison to things that are not like packets of instant coffee and all that Xtreme! crunchiness would've only disoriented my delicate sense of hearing, therefore preventing me from ever hearing the creature amidst the cacophony. Sore feet and a diet of nothing but caffeine and sugar for days and days. No wonder I ended up lost in this haunted quail preserve.

That feeble sound, I soon found out, was made not by a hideous hellbeast bent on tricking me by deceptive vocal prestidigitation into becoming its next meal, but by a meek, mousy, nearly hairless creature no more than three feet tall, almost like a midget hobbit dwarf with skin more pale than a made-up Twilight extra who dwells in a sunless condo. As it entered the camp, illumined by the rustle and pop of burning wood, I saw through the curling smoke that it was visibly frightened. I calmly gestured towards it, quickly pulling back, trying to reassure it that I meant no harm.

"Do you understand me? Can you speak? Who are you?"

"My name -- my name is Dick Cheney." [Randal Graves]

-----

I'd been living with Cheney in his small hut for only a matter of weeks but it seemed to have been years at this point. I had come to this haunted quail preserve looking for Cheney, hoping he could train me as he had my father.

So far all I'd faced was exhaustive physical training peppered with gems of Cheney's grammatically challenged "wisdom" as he taught me how to try and change reality through sheer exertion of willpower. I was having trouble taking Cheney's ancient bullshit belief seriously.

Today I was running through a jungle obstacle course with Cheney, as usual, perched lazily on my back sipping from an airplane bottle of scotch. We (I) had been running, swinging and jumping through the impenetrable brush for several sweat-soaked hours already when he tapped me on the shoulder.

"Piss, I must."

Having to go myself and grateful for the respite I skidded to a stop and placed the horrible little gnome onto the ground next to me. We both unzipped and started to drain our rancors. Curious; I snuck a glance at his miniature lightsaber. He must of caught sight of me looking.

"Judge me by my size? Size matters not."

Cheney groaned and shook his head. He put his repulsive, gnarled claw on my hand led me to a nearby clearing. At it's immediate center sat a small, grizzled man with an unbelievably long, white beard.

"Control the mind of the Blitzer you must," said Cheney.

"I can't Master Cheney," I whined. "He's too logical."

"That," he sighed, "is why you fail." [Dean Wormer]

Whomever wants to take up the story (don? Lockwood? ladybug?) please feel free. :-)

I must get that hat back! Think nasty, think nasty, think nasty!

Liberality and Freida each story-virused me last week. Apologies it took so long but here are my contributions.

Here's Liberality's strain which I'm going to end...

The bus was more crowded than usual. It was bitterly cold outside, and I hadn't prepared for it. I noticed that a fair number of the riders were dressed curiously. As I glanced around, I stretched my feet and kicked up against a large, heavy cardboard box laying under the seat in front of me. (Splotchy)

The man who apparently owned the box glared at me and I moved my feet closer toward my seat and sat up straighter. Outside the wind was blowing hard and I watched out the window as the tree limbs swayed along the street and people clutched their scarves more closely about their heads as they made their way into the wind. We passed a building that had a flag pole and the flag it flew stood straight out and flapped angrily it seemed to me. I bemoaned my fate of having forgotten my hat, gloves and scarf on such a miserable day but I had been running late and had to get to the bus stop if I wanted to get to work on time.

After a few moments of surveying the frigid scene outside my window I returned my attention to my fellow passengers on the bus and noted with some alarm that one woman was so bundled up in her hat, coat, and heavy wool scarf that it was hard to even see her face. Another man sitting next to the gentleman with the cardboard box wore a jumpsuit which I found very peculiar indeed. He was sitting quietly with his eyes closed and seemed to be sleeping. My gaze upon him though brought his eyes open with a snap and he stared straight into my eyes with a most hypnotic gaze. His eyes were a bright light green. I had never seen such beautiful green eyes and could not look away. It reminded me of that famous photo taken of the Afghan girl, the eyes were so striking and fierce even. I tried to look away but it was impossible. (liberality.)

Those eyes! They burrowed into my soul and left it impossible to think, to move!

With every effort I could muster I closed my eyes but I could still see Jumpsuit Man's eyes piercing into my soul like twin lasers. Then I heard the voice.

"Don't be alarmed," said his voice. "I won't hurt you."

Were the words actually spoken? Was I the only one that could hear them? Was this telepathy or my imagination?

"Stand," commanded his voice.

I tried to resist but found myself rising to my feet against my will.

"Now reach into your purse and pull out your wallet."

So he was robbing me? I sighed to myself in relief. Such total command could've been so much worse.

"In your wallet is a playing card," said his voice. "Pull it out and tell me what it is."

Suddenly I was once again in control of my motor functions. In my hand was a playing card. It seemed like every eye in the bus was fixed on me.

"Um, the ace of spades," I said.

Jumpsuit Man took the card from me and held it up for the rest of the passengers on the bus to see. A loud round of applause greeted him.

Fuming, I sat down hard in my chair. I hate it when David Blaine rides mass transit.

Fin.

(Deanwormer)

-------------------

Here's the chain Freida's been infected with and my contribution-

The bus was more crowded than usual. It was bitterly cold outside, and I hadn't prepared for it. I noticed that a fair number of the riders were dressed curiously. As I glanced around, I stretched my feet and kicked up against a large, heavy cardboard box laying under the seat in front of me. (Splotchy)

I couldn't believe my eyes. Surrepticiously, I tried to establish, without giving it away, if anyone else had seen what I had. For ten years I had been looking for that box. What looked like an ordinary cardboard box to most contained something most precious. Only by the small golden "P" was I able to identify what I was looking at. (Freida Bee)

How the box got here, or how I happened to be on this bus with it now--these questions were immaterial. I just had to get that box. The bus slowed to a stop, so I steadied myself. Just as I was about to make a grab for the box, however, it moved. Someone else was picking it up to take it away! I had to stop her! (Dguzman)

What? This couldn't be happening--to get this close and watch some quick-footed little dwarf just up and snatch it away from me...no! I got up and just as I did the sweaty hillbilly in front of me stood up and stepped into the aisle. Moving like a bad mime imitating a man in a box he extended his arms and stretched, looking up at the ceiling as he did so. The dwarf with the box--I couldn't be sure if it was a man or a woman, but something about her seemed feminine--slipped out the front door and off the bus. I took a deep breath and slumped back down into my seat. (Bubs)

I sized up the chances of getting bodily fluids on me for a few seconds before I decided to risk it. I needed to get that box back.

"Sir, do you think I could get past you?" I ventured, standing stiffly, hoping to move near the front door to catch a quick exit at the next stop.

"Ah's gettin' off a' tha nex' stop," he said as he wiped his brow and placed his hand squarely on my shoulder.

"Well, fuck," I thought, getting more and more irritated each second his residual touch seemed to burn itself permanently into the fabric of my sweater. "I need to ask the bus driver about the next stop, really quickly. Do you mind?"

I could see he was challenged. His size alone made the bus an unfortunate place for him to endure, but I was concerned I would not be able to catch up with the thief who stole my box this time.

"Ah know these parts real good-like an' kin tells you anythin' you wants ta know."

"Sir, I really just need to be ready to step off the bus as soon as it stops," I said irritatedly now, as the bus jerked to a stop in its typically abrupt manner. I fell forward smack dab into his chest, catching a whiff of a strange smell that simultaneously made me gag and feel groggy only moments before I felt my head spinning as he caught my fall, grinning knowingly. (Freida)

"Axe," he whispered in my ear as I began to pass out. "Always gets the ladies."

I dreamed of a valley filled with dancing penguins. A dwarf with my box slowly pushed his way through the dancing birds. As I tried to follow the penguins slowed my progress with their fancy footwork and proclivity to dip their partners.

As I faded into consciouness I realized I was in small, cheap hotel room. Sitting next to me with my box on his lap was the dwarf from the bus.

He smiled a toothless grin and in a voice that sounded like Gary Busey after he'd just sucked down a balloon full of helium he squeaked "It starts."
(Deanwormer)

Anybody that wants to take that up feel free...