I'm bored, so I'm posting this play I wrote for theater class. It is currently being produced in aforementioned class, with me directing.

Setting: Wal*Mart

Characters

Ambrose: A sort of creepy guy, tends to stare, but does not make actual eye contact. 23
Janette: A pretty, yet odd girl. Wears boots with a knife in one. 22
Mr. Lacroix: Aristocratic and bureaucratic at the same time. Manager of Wal*Mart. 33

Scene One: (Janette is sitting on an overturned crate, center stage, in the small storage unit used as a break room. A Rage Against The Machine song is playing from a nearby stereo. Possibly Guerilla Radio, Bombtrack, or Sleep Now In The Fire. She is chewing gum and cleaning her nails with a knife. Ambrose walks in, wearing his Wal*Mart vest, and takes a seat on another crate, stage right, and opens a soda. He drinks the whole thing in a couple of gulps, crushes the can in his hands, and tosses it into the garbage. He is now sitting slumped, his head hanging limply from his shoulders. Janette sheathes the knife in her boot, turns off the stereo, and walks towards Ambrose. On the way, she passes the garbage and spits her gum in it. She sits down next to Ambrose.)

Janette: What’s the matter?

Ambrose: (swings his head around to look at Janette) I just heard that Lacroix is coming to “talk” to us today.

Janette: Again? What did you do now?

Ambrose: Nothing. Nor, as far as I can tell, have you.

Janette: So he has no justifiable reason to bother us, but he’s doing so anyway?

Ambrose: That’s never stopped him before. Face it Janette, he hates us. He hates anything that doesn’t fit into this perfect little world of his.

Janette: I know he’s a douche, but doesn’t he have any other reasons?

Ambrose: Probably his usual bureaucratic crap about “standards and practices.”

Janette: Oh yeah, that. I suppose I should have guessed. Besides, how is he supposed to monopolize the market with uncooperative employees?

Ambrose: And if he does not monopolize the town, Wal*Mart will not monopolize America.

Janette: And if Wal*Mart does not monopolize America, they cannot jack up their prices, generating a gross profit off the working man?

Ambrose: And if that doesn’t happen, how can they sustain their decadent and hedonistic lifestyle?

Janette: And, above all, how can that sniveling worm Lacroix work his way up to the right hand of the dark lord himself.

Both: Rupert Murdoch.

Ambrose: I still can’t believe him and the other fox suits cancelled Futurama.

Janette: (laughs) You know, we should write our own Communist Manifesto. It’ll be a hit.

Ambrose: No, I’m sure our fascist overlord Bush will have it pulled from the shelves.

Janette: (haughtily) I didn’t vote for him.

Ambrose: You didn’t vote at all.

Janette: Come off it, I had a hangover.

Ambrose: Yeah, I remember, who do you think called the cab for you to get home, and carried your unconscious body up the stairs to your apartment?

Janette: Oh, yeah. Did you have to sleep on my floor, though?

Ambrose: I didn’t have enough money for cab fare back to my place.

Janette: You could have slept on the couch, though. The carpet couldn’t have been too comfortable.

Ambrose: I’ve slept on worse surfaces.

Janette: Like what?

Ambrose: You know, concrete, linoleum, rusty pieces of sheet steel...

(There is a polite, but firm knock on the door)

Janette (muttering): He’s here.

(Ambrose walks over to the door, opens it and admits Lacroix with a mock flourish. Lacroix enters, walking primly over to center stage. Ambrose skulks back over to his crate a sits down.)

Lacroix: Ah, I see we are all here. Now, down to business. I have come to talk to you today for some very important reasons.

(Ambrose rolls his eyes, and Janette sighs and leans back, resting her weight on her arms.)

Lacroix: Now, as you know, I hold Wal*Mart very dear to my heart. I consider all who work here as family. But, like any good family, it has rules.

Janette (whispering to Ambrose): Man, this guy’s so uptight you could sharpen a pencil in his asshole.

Lacroix (noticing them talking, but not hearing what they’re saying, he looks over at them and clears his throat) If we could continue...

Ambrose: Yes, go on

Lacroix (not comprehending his sarcasm): Thank you, Ambrose.

Ambrose: No problem

Lacroix (Gives Ambrose a “shut up you insolent fool” look): As I was saying, a well structured family must have order, like an ant colony. When you are here, you are no longer Ambrose and Janette, you are Wal*Mart employees. We are like a machine, (Janette cracks her knuckles) and for a machine to work well, all the pieces must be of the proper type. If one irregular component can lead to the failure of the device as a whole, imagine what two could do.

Janette: Is this going somewhere?

Lacroix: Have you not figured it out?

Ambrose: Of course we have. We’re not idiots, you know. However, some form of explanation is in order.

Lacroix: Of course. You see, in our society there are certain rules that we all must... must... adhere to. Without these, our way of life would surely crumble.

Janette: Don’t you think you’re over reacting a little? I mean, for Christ’s sake, this is a Wal*Mart, nos tome sort of secret vampire society who must hide their existence from human kind! Why the hell do we need all these rules? (She rests her foot on the adjacent crate)

Lacroix; Ah, that is one of your problems. You have a lack of respect of the Wal*Mart. That, and, of course, your blatant disregard for the rules. Those boots, for example (Gestures to Janette’s boot, the on  the crate) are not only against our dress code, but also give people the wrong impression of the Wal*Mart experience. (Janette takes her foot down from the crate and shoots lacroix a look of pure hatred, holding the look for about four seconds) And Ambrose, I’ve had some complaints about you.

Ambrose: (slowly brings his head around to look at Lacroix) ...yes?

Lacroix: you’re creeping people out.

Ambrose: So?

Lacroix (Ignoring Ambrose, and speaking to Janette): I’m afraid you’re both fired.

Janette: No we’re not.

Lacroix: Excuse me?

Janette: (gets up and grabs Ambrose’s arm, pulling him up with her) We quit.

Lacroix: (haughtily): you can’t quit, you’re already fired.

Janette (in one swift motion, Janette pulls the knife out of her boot and presses it against Lacroix’s throat) I said, we quit.

Lacroix (fearfully): Okay

Janette (forcefully): Now get the hell out of here.

(Lacroix exits with his tail between his legs)

Ambrose: (rips off his Wal*Mart vest, and throws it into a corner.) What do we do now? Do you think he’ll call the police?

Janette: No, he’s probably too busy changing his pants.

Ambrose: (sniffs) Oh, I thought I detected a faint scent of ammonia. But what about jobs?

Janette: (puts knife away) Don’t worry about it. Everything is taken care of.

Ambrose: What do you mean?

Janette: You know that nightclub we’ve always talked about starting?

Ambrose: Yeah, the Asylum. What about it?

Janette: I’ve just rented the space.

Ambrose: Where?

Janette: You know that old, abandoned gothic church downtown?

Ambrose: Oh, yeah, we used to sneak in when we were in highschool.

Janette: It’s ours now.

Ambrose: What!?! How could you afford it?

Janette: (shrugs) I got a loan.

Ambrose: From who?

Janette: My uncle Vlad. Don’t worry, he’s cool. Now let’s get out of here.

Ambrose: Are you serious?

Janette: Yes. Now come on, we’ve got a lot of work to do. Opening night’s in  two weeks.

Ambrose: So soon?

Janette: Don’t worry, I’ve already got some guys down there cleaning it up, and I’ve ordered most of the booze. However, we still need to decide how to decorate it.

Ambrose: (thinks for a moment.) We’re going to need chains, and wrought-iron cages to hang from the ceiling.

Janette: Don’t forget about torches! Also, some of the walls should be padded.

Ambrose: We’d better pick out some good music, too.

Janette: Good point. Oh! That reminds me, grab my Rage cd.

Ambrose: (he does so) Let’s go, we’ll talk in the car.

(Both exit)

Working story. I'd like to know if any of you would read this.

Prologue
The First War

   There was always a war, a war between the Deaths and the Living. The Deaths were the evil spirits that were prophesized to create havoc and destruction. The Livings were the good that tried to balance it all out. Anyone born of the Death was to be immediately sacrificed unknowing of what they were to become. It was a horrible way of living. The Prophecy claimed that the Living were only to raise younglings born of Life. Deaths were to be disowned.

It was simple to tell the difference between a Death and a Living. A Death had black eyes that were to be told as dull and filmy. Their colors were only black, white, and red. It was to be said that these colors were the colors of Tjoven, The God of Death.

Tjoven was the first, in the beginning of the earth, to be immortalized with the powers of Death. He was the first mistake in the world, the biggest and most regretful one. He had an eye of nothingness that was to foresee his biddings of evil. The other eye had been burned before he was banished into the pits of Hell. Tjoven’s left front leg was burned away in his fiery depths. He was a meek, hateful, wolf. For centuries he remained in his hell, longing to rise above the Living Gods and demise them. Tjoven in this time had learned all his skills; he had earned his strength in his mind and body. He used three abilities above all, his sixth sense of seeing the dead, his third eye to see who was to be dead, and his anger to make anyone suffer by bleeding in his choice of area.

It wasn’t until the 11th century, that he met the second Death-born wolf. A female called Irva. Irva had the same anger as Tjoven did, thus whenever she was angered, someone would continuously bleed. She had killed so many animals with her power that her legs turned from white to a deep red. Irva was intrigued with the Death and yet at the same time frightened. She was also banished to Hell, and the two wolves met. Tjoven raised Irva like his own, teaching her the ways of the dead.

Soon, the Death rebellion rose. More and more Deaths were being born, each right after the other joining Irva and Tjoven. There was soon a whole clan of Deaths. This began the first war of the world. Deaths and Livings were fighting and killing. Many were sacrificed to protect their birth right. Alas, in the end, the Deaths ruled over all. The world turned bleak and miserable. There were fewer Livings now and many Deaths being born. It was a black and white world, with no grey areas.

Or at least it was, until I was born. No one knew that long ago, during the First War, that Mora, the Goddess of the Living rewrote the Prophecy. She in scripted that if the Deaths were to be the rulers of the earth, that there would be a new rebellion to change it. This rebellion was to band together and change the error of the God’s ways. They were to bring an end to the Deaths and the Livings and join together. This rebellion was called The Hexed. The Hexed were animals born of the Livings but with the abilities of Death. I was one of the Hexed. I saved the world; I saved the Living, and the Dead. But I was terrified the entire time.

------

Part one

Lost in nightmare

------

Chapter One

   I was gazed upon. All eyes fixed on me, locked in my sight. I had gotten a full thick coat, thick and warm. This was not what the eyes were fixed upon, not the fact that I would be warm for the harsh winds that the fourth season brought, not the fact that I was only a meek little cub who could hardly be considered a youngling even. It was the fact that I, like a crow, was black. My legs were laced with patches of black, my face irrupted in the black, and it was everywhere. It was as black as the dreary night skies.

No one knew what to say, what to think, or what to do. Though I had the fur of the unspoken ones, my eyes were as pure with life as the sun did glow. They were an amber-gold. They glazed beautifully through the darkness that I was.

An elder wolf, with silver and brown flourished through him, with blue eyes, spoke, “I-I don’t know what she is.” His deep, distraught voice echoed in my ears, they shot back in nervousness. Another, golden wolf, who shared my eyes looked upon me in fear, she did not have any hopefulness showing. She looked over to the silvered wolf,

“Should we keep her?” Her voice was confused, but soft. The silvered one shook his head, “How would we know if she possessed the powers?” The golden one looked at him,
“But-but Manes, why should we kill her? She can’t be evil. She can’t.” The silver one, addressed as Manes inhaled a whiff of air and exhaled it,
“Serena, you don’t know that she is good or evil. We have to kill her; we can’t endanger ourselves or the other cubs.” Serena shook her head in anger, “No. She’s my daughter; I can’t let you just savagely murder her.” Manes’ face shifted into a rage, “Do you want this one devil kill your other ones too? She has to be killed!”

Manes looked over to his right, in the corner were two little males, both had mixed coats of grey, brown, and orange-red. These two were my brothers, Carnage and Hawks. Like me, they didn’t know why the elder wolves were yelling and why they wanted to kill me. I was shivering in fear and my heart was launched up my throat. Serena’s stance had turned into a crouch; she glared evilly at Manes, who was baring his set of jaws at her.

Serena shook her head, “No, I’d rather have you kill me instead of her. I will find a way to protect her. All of them!” Manes snorted, “I’d like to see you try.” Serena snarled at him,

“I will! I swear to Mora that I will!” Manes leapt on to her throttling her neck, she winced. Carnage, Hawks, and I all stood up eagerly. Manes leered into Serena’s eyes, “If you don’t kill her, than we’ll all disown you. You’ll never be able to come back here again, or your heart will be torn out of your body so fast you won’t be able to say, ‘Ow.’” Serena glared at him just the same; she spat,

“I don’t care. Mora will protect me and all of them. And you’ll be the one who pays in the end.” Manes growled furiously at her, “How dare you speak of Mora in the name of Death! Swearing on Mora to protect you possessed cub, you disgust me Serena” His hatred voice boomed in my ears, I was frightened. Manes released my mother; she flipped over and ran over to my brothers. She nudged them to get up they did not hesitate to follow orders. Serena then sprinted over to me and picked me up by the extra skin on my neck. She turned back to Manes who watched her in amusement,

“You’ll get what’s coming to you Manes. Sooner or later, you will suffer like the heartless beast you are!” Manes only flared his eyes angrily and snarled back at her, “Get out of my sight before I kill you all right now!”

Serena did not wait, she ran out of the darkened cave with to my two brothers behind me, stalking her like shadows. Serena had tears swell in her eyes, making it hard for her to see. She only ran in the moonlight. The stars were blocked by the grey clouds, being to raise a rain storm. There were two flashes of lightning and to rounds of thunder after. Carnage and Hawks screamed. Serena guided them to some rocks and crawled under them with the boys. They gathered around her trembling in fear.

Serena licked their faces, “There, there, the rain won’t hurt you. You’ll be fine.” Her voice was soft and tender again. I laid next to her staring at the water drops tapping against the dirt. I then turned to Serena’s face, looking uncertain about everything, “Mom, what did I do?” Serena looked sadly at me. She knew that I wasn’t going to hurt her. Serena sighed depressingly, “Nothing Raven. You’ve done absolutely nothing.” She licked my face too, which comforted me somewhat.     


Also, I'm not ripping Ravenstar off. This is a wolf, and I've been working on this story since I was 8.

Double Post Bump!

Does nobody here write non fanfiction anymore?

Here's something I wrote, but then I ran out of material...

The sun was low and heavy against the sky. Its dull red light was in stark contrast with the sickly green tint of the air. The wind was laced with stinging sand. A lone figure traveled these god-forsaken plains, and not the heroic Mad Max type you might expect. The “man” shambling over the wastes was anything but an inspiring sight.  His heavy combat boots stumbled clumsily over loose rocks, no particular destination in mind.
   The boots fit awkwardly over the feet of the figure (whom we shall call Marcus), because of the deformities of his feet. One of said feet harbored eight toes, one in the early stages of gangrene from where he broke it little over a week ago. The other foot had only four, one of which had mutated into an opposable thumb. Above those boots were a pair of ancient cargo pants. Only about half of the original material was left, the rest was patched with various animal furs.
   Contained within the pants were scrawny, scab-covered legs, as well as two distinct pairs of genitalia. One was male, the other was something else entirely. Looking further up one would see its scar-laced torso. No nipples were evident on its prominent ribcage. Jutting out at unusual angles were its bony shoulders, with spindly arms hanging loosely down below. The tendons in the forearms were stretched tightly out from the flesh, looking ready to snap. Its hands were gargantuan, with long spidery fingers jutting violently outward. Each finger had an extra joint, and the tips had suckers that secreted an adhesive mucus. In one hand, he carried a large bowie knife. His face was the worst. The mouth was twisted, with bulbous lips surrounding crooked orange teeth that framed a cleft palette. The whites of his eyes were mustard yellow, and his irises were black. He completely lacked a nose, having just the bony opening exposed to the air. His scalp harbored little hair. What was there, grew in sparse wiry tufts emanating form the scale encrusted scalp.

   You may be asking yourself what happened. What’s with the mutant?  Why did you say the sky was green? For these answers, we need to go back 150 years, to the year 2136 AD. It is what’s popularly known as a “Nuclear Holocaust”. It was on that day in April,  (The exact date is lost, but some people claim it was a Tuesday) that the bombs were dropped, leading to the chain reaction that scoured the earth. Nobody knows who launched the first ICBM, but in the end, does it really matter? Not even space was safe from the onslaught. Without the stabilization coordinates from Houston, the space station Entropy fell from its orbit. The taxpayer’s money was well spent, because Entropy was built to withstand anything. It landed in what was once Montana relatively intact. Its micro fusion reactor was undamaged and could theoretically keep producing energy for over one thousand years. Over two thirds of the original seven thousand man crew survived. The entire time, Entropy stood as one of Earth’s last human sanctuaries. They remained without contact until one day, (coincidentally a Tuesday) a lone mutant ran across it.

   Marcus was awed by the sight on the horizon. Entropy was the grandest sight he had ever seen. With a destination finally in mind, he set out a double speed. By mid afternoon, he was within a half mile of the space station.

   “We have a bogie at six o clock!” Johnson stared at the screen in disbelief. The hunting party wasn’t due back for three days, but a bipedal entity was approaching the base. O’Brien looked at his chronometer “It’s only three twenty eight.” Johnson sighed. O’Brien was always a bit… odd. There was nothing he could do about, though. You try to get angry at him, but one look at those hopeful, spectacle covered eyes and you just felt sorry for him. O’Brien was sickly as a child, and grew up weak, and a bit mentally unbalanced. He spent most of his time in Entropy’s theater, watching old twentieth century movies over and over again. Entropy’s ruling council decided that he was not pulling his weight, and sent him to daytime watch, which is how Johnson ended up babysitting him.
   “Well, let’s see who this is.” Johnson said as he prepared the telescope. “Ewww… it’s… some sort of mutant!” O’Brien looked up, interested. “Does he have six fingers on his right hand?” Johnson looked closer. “No… only four, actually. Why do you ask?” “My father was killed by a six fingered man.” Johnson looked confused for a moment, then responded “No he wasn’t! I play poker with your father on Fridays! Just… shut up, okay?” O’Brien solemnly responded “As you wish.” What Johnson didn’t know, is that when O’Brien said “As you wish” what he really meant was “I love you.”

Somebody else post something, so I'm not monopolising the thread!

No it would not. Not in the slightest bit. I think I'm going to finish the story later...

"Beautiful Asshole"

In your eyes, I could always find empathy and compassion. You never intended any harm, you were totally devoid of hate. You were the three-headed serpent that I always tried to avoid. Putting your tedious life on my shoulders and killing me all the same.

Leeching and stealing everything that was mine; I'm left to recreate the obvious...

Never needing to bend to realize that you were a snake with a smile. Shifting your intentions on to a new unfortunate soul, leaving all that was holy disconnected.

All of your actions and addictions always leave you wanting more and never quenching your thirst of your ever needing affliction. You love pain and the pity from others drive you.

Embracing you left me paralyzed and stumbling for a meaning...

I'm now forced to leave you two simple words... "Fuck You"

No don't, I'll take it as constructive criticism.

You were directing your post at me, Zeej?

EDIT: I don't mind people's opinion about my writings or what not, the only person I look to please is myself. Besides, I got a good chuckle from your post. The timing was impeccable. 

There's a new LJ mem going around where people request a sketch or a word sketch.  Friend of mine asked for a "History of Dragons! Must be fluffy, funny, and exhibit much purple prose!"

This is the result, banged out in about 10 minutes before going to bed one night.

<font color=purple>In the beginning, there was The Egg. There is no foolish wondering about what came first, the dragon or the egg. Dragons have substantially better memories than their poultry counterparts. They can tell you the color of the inside of the egg. It was green.

From The Egg came The First Dragon. Her name was Fluffy. Turns out The Creator wasn't particuarly good at giving names. Either that, or we're even less original at giving names than we thought.

In her 15th year, Fluffy found The Second Egg. It was blue. From it was born the first male dragon. Due to Fluffy being the only dragon, or indeed, the only creature 20 feet long, she was forcced for the first time to develop a spoken language to communicate with the new dragon, for whom she eventually coined the moniker "Hey you."

As a result, two fundamental foundations were laid for dragon society: a strict matriarchal hierarchy and male dragons mating with older females.

Fluffy and Hey You would eventually lay The Third Egg, from which would hatch Strebolodict Hitlerbinladen, Destroy of Hope and Devourer of all that is Precious. Hey You was much better at naming things than The Creator and Fluffy combined, or so it would seem. Strebolodict Hitlerbinladen, Destroy of Hope and Devourer of all that is Precious grew up to be the first vegetarian and was a dedicated pacifist and in his later years argued for human rights, namely, the right not to be eaten.

From The Fourth Egg hatched Chuck Norris.

From The Fifth Egg hatched Smaug. He is credited with, in his 806th year, being the first dragon to eat a human. "Tastes like chicken."

Another one:

"Well? TELL ME A STORY ABOUT MAKING BISCUITS ALREADY."

There was once a boy and his dog. There is nothing special about this, many stories include a boy and his dog. This boy's name is Tom. His dog also had a name, as it is the wont of boys to name their dogs. His name was Biscuit. Oh how Tom love his Biscuit, and what adventures they had in the woods behind Tom's house.

But this story is not about those adventures. This is a story about how Tom's dog got hit by a car and his father made biscuits.

One day when Tom was too busy playing video games to pay attention to his dog, Biscuit got out of the house and chased a squirrell into the street. All Tom heard from his room was the squeal of brakes and short, broken-off "yip!" All that was left of little Biscuit was a puppy-shaped smear in the road. Tom was inconsolable for weeks.

Or he would have been had his father not been Dr. Nefarious, mad scientist. While not holding nations to ransom or unleashing atomic supermen to scourge the earth, he really did love and care for his son. "One day this will all be yours," he would say, whenever they saw a globe or a map of the world.

Dr. Nefarious couldn't stand seeing his beloved son upset, so he consoled Tom with the news that Biscuit could be cloned. "He'll be good as new," he promised. "Will he remember to beg for spy eyes?" Tom asked tearfully. "Of course," assured Dr. Nefarious.

And so Dr. Nefarious set to clone Biscuit, good as new. unfortunately, he got a little carried away, his mad scientist instincts overpowering his love for his son. Instead of a simple clone of Biscuit, he made a clone army of Biscuits, 10 feet tall with telephone poles for arms, lasers for eyes, and hearts as black as coal.

And now Tom is the Supreme Overlord of Earth, simply because his dog got hit by a car and his father made Biscuits.

wooter, that is the greatest thing I have ever read. good great job.

Amazing so far, Donner. May I call you Donner?

I grew up going to the Smokey Mountains/Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge every summer for vacation. Your observations are very correct. I'd kill to go back there someday and play on the bumper boats. Are you going to buy corndogs at Annie Farkle's(or whatever the F that "famous" hotdog place is called?) in a future chapter?

And out of curiosity, is there any truth at all behind the origins of this story? Also can you get me a job writing at whatever magazine thing you write for?

See, I can never tell when you're kidding. But if true, that's awesome. Interviewing Jack Thompson? I'd love to do that. Part of me wonders if he's just misunderstood, and the internet gamers just twist his words out of context and then send him death threats. Try and reason with him. If he ends up sounding normal, then maybe it's an interesting new take on things. And if he still sounds crazy, that's great too.

Also, tell him you're with "Parents' Gaming Weekly" magazine, a family run gaming magazine that helps parents make educated choices about videogames, that strongly encourages non-violent fare and also lobbies for stricter regulations on inappropriate content. Maybe he'll talk to you if he thinks you're on his side. (or does that violate some sort of jounalistic integrity?)

Another great thing about Tennessee is that the tourist shops all sell knives for $5-$10. I'd always find a bunch that were really cool, for ten dollars. But in the interest of cheapness, I'd pass them by and keep looking for the "perfect" five dollar knife. I'd find a cool-looking one, buy it, and then act like a knife-wielding badass for about an hour. Then I'd misplace it and go home with nothing.

OC_James: Great writing... I really enjoyed that!! And I really want to read more. Make sure you post more.

*is intersted*

There, now you have to.

 

Originally posted by JBERGES:
*is intersted*

There, now you have to.

Seriously, man--come on. Stop being such a [whatever organ is to writing what penis is to sex]-tease.

Don't be afraid of sucking. 99% of all writing sucks, so at the very least you'll be in good company.

I've written another short story over the weekend, about a man and a monkey. Anybody want to read it?

Email me. totalnerduk at gmail dot com.

Yayness! I discovered a lost notepad of half-baked ideas from late 2004 to early 2005! I have so much typing to do now, and might even get two or three short stories out of the crap I scribbled down and forgot about. It's like losing money and/or food down the back of the sofa. When you find it again, it's not a waste, it's an investment!

TNUK, that's awesome, good to hear.  I have a note book of similar concept.  I write the ideas I have at night, which I think are brilliant but would normally forget about after falling asleep, then later on I read through it and find that perhaps 5% of what I write might actually have some merit.

Gopher I'm not much for reading but I read your story and I enjoyed it.  It was funny, there were parts that I laughed out loud (alone, at my computer at work).  It had some really clever ideas.

Edit: I had written that it lacked any real conflict/resolve but then I read how that was chapter 1 (I skim at work, what can I say).

New short story! Kinda long. Sorry.

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

The HOA

Episode One

"Are you ready for the meeting?" Stephen Reynolds asked, as he straightened his bow-tie.

"Are you kidding me? I've been ready for this my whole life." replied Cash.

Cash Armstrong was a newly elected board member to the Douchington Hills Home Owners Association. He replaced Cynthia Colton, who recently relocated due to her husband changing jobs. Although Cash would never admit it publicly, he felt that he was way more deserving of a spot on the HOA board of directors, and was quite happy to see Cynthia leave. Owning a home is a man's job, not a woman's.

As the meeting began, Cash was struck by how few people had come to the meeting. Outside of the board of directors, and all of the other HOA "staff", there were only about thirty-five members in attendance. Douchington Hills was a large neighborhood, and still growing. There were about eighty homes in the neighborhood. Tonight's turnout was not even 50%!

Cash couldn't understand. His first motion as board-member was to make the meeting more accessible to all home-owners. He had the meeting changed from 5:30pm to 7:00pm, to accommodate home-owners who work later schedules. He put together a team of HOA member volunteers to post six signs instead of the usual two. The signs, telling people of the time, date, and location of the meeting, were printed on neon yellow poster board instead of the standard green.

Perhaps the neon yellow was too aggressive? Did it turn people off? The green, while maybe not as noticeable, had a somewhat calming effect on those who stopped to look at it. Green has historically been a more inviting color.

Or perhaps they had put the signs out too early? Usually, signs are posted for the HOA meetings about one week before the meeting is held. This time, they were put out two weeks before the meeting. The idea was to give homeowners more time to prepare, and more time to make arrangements so that they are able to attend the meeting. However, this may have backfired. Maybe it gave the people too much time; maybe they forgot about it? Maybe they saw the signs go up and, without reading them, decided to go to the meetinghouse exactly one week later, instead of two weeks? Or maybe they just plain changed their minds, after two whole weeks of thinking about it. In advertising, you have to strike while the iron is hot. Giving one week's notice really makes meeting attendance an "impulse buy", if you will.

Cash wasn't ready to beat himself up over the lack of attendance. Cash views mistakes as opportunities to learn. For the next meeting, there would be no doubt that he would take the proper steps to ensure maximum turnout.

So entranced in thought, was Cash, that he barely even realized that the HOA meeting had begun.

Stephen Reynolds was presiding over the meeting. He introduced Cash as the new board member. He asked everyone who supported him in his role to raise their right hand.

This struck Cash as very odd, as he had already been told by the rest of the Board of Directors that he was "in" as new board member. Why were they now suddenly holding a vote?

This moment of fear quickly passed, as the vast majority of those attending the meeting raise their right hand in support of Cash. In fact, there were only two people who did not raise their hands. Cash took careful note of this.

"All opposed?" asked Stephen. Nobody raised their hand--not even the two people who neglected to raise their hands in support, which seemed to indicate that they were just not paying attention, and didn't know they were having a vote. Nonetheless, the damage was already done. Cash would never forget their names or faces. He knew that revenge would eventually be his.

"Welcome to the board, Cash!" Stephen remarked, which was met with a nod. "Now, do we have any unfinished business from last month's meeting?"

Rod Gaines, the HOA treasurer, straightened his sitting position, and raised his hand.

"As you all remember, last month we had a problem with a street light on the corner of Cherry Blossom Lane and Almond Nut Flower Cove. Apparently there's a short in the wiring of the automatic-timer, which is causing the light to come on at 6:00pm instead of 7:00pm. We called the electric company to take care of it, and it was never done. From what we understand, the problem is that we didn't have a proper address to reference it. As you all know, this neighborhood is a fairly new development, and the post office did not recognize Almond Nut Flower Cove as an officially registered street name. We spoke with a supervisor, and everything seems to be resolved. The power company is telling us they'll have it fixed within the week."

Upon hearing this news, the meeting erupted in jovial murmuring. HOA members were ecstatic, including one woman who was so happy that she stomped her feet on the floor, alternating one foot after the other, so as to make a constant pounding sound which was heard above all other sounds of excitement coming from the meeting.

As everybody calmed down(the commotion lasted approximately fifteen seconds), Stephen took control of the meeting again. "Well that sounds like great news, Rod."

"Now let's move onto the new business. I need to stress to EVERYBODY how important it is that we move our trash bins out of the street, and out of plain view, after trash pickup on Tuesdays. I know we're all busy, and we don't always have time to move them right after we get up in the morning, but there have been times when I drive down Cinnamon Buttermilk Road as late as FIVE in the evening, and I'm STILL seeing as many as four or five trash bins sitting on the side of the road! This is a filthy, barbaric practice, ladies and gentlemen. It is OUR duty as home owners to clean up after ourselves and make our neighborhood look appealing to all who may wander through! It upsets me that we have to--"

"-- ---- - --- ------" interrupted Cash. The sentence was all but inaudible. Although nobody understood the words that were said, it was apparent that Cash had something to say. Stephen looked back at Cash, more confused than upset.

"I'm sorry?" asked Stephen.

"New member." said Cash. "Fourth row, sitting on the left."

A slight red tint briefly washed over Stephen's face. "Oh. Oh!"

Stephen suddenly turned to the crowd. "We have a brand new member with us today! Sir, why don't you introduce yourself?"

The man in the fourth row stood up.

"Hi everyone, my name is Fred Holmes. You can just call me Freddy. I live on 439 Fluttering Butterfly Drive, and I just moved in a week ago, and saw a sign for the meeting tonight and thought I'd just stop by and meet everyone."

"Well, it's great to have you here tonight." Stephen continued the meeting as normal.

Many issues were brought to attention. Trash cans sitting out in the street. Direct TV dishes being put on members' roofs without prior HOA approval. Kids bending the street signs, so as to confuse people over which road is which. The meeting go'ers emphatically voted to impose strict fines on anybody caught doing these things.

And yet, all through the meeting, Cash couldn't concentrate. He just couldn't shake an uneasy feeling that he had about Fred Holmes.

He seemed like nice enough of a guy, yet something really bothered Cash. Perhaps it's because he didn't take the HOA meeting seriously enough? He walked in with dirty jeans and a polo shirt. While not an official rule, it was generally agreed upon that males would dress "business casual" when coming to these meetings. Jeans are not business casual. Polo shirts are debatable, but Cash had always been of the opinion that they weren't.

And then, of course, there was the fact that he came to the HOA meeting to "just stop by and meet everyone". "Just stop by and meet everyone"??? I'm sorry, thought Cash, but this isn't a social club. This is a Home Owners Association meeting. We're here to discuss serious issues about our community! Sure, SOME socialization is bound to occur. But that needs to be saved for intermissions, before and after meetings, and HOA sponsored cookouts.

"Just stop by and meet everyone", indeed! Why, with that sort of attitude, Mr. Holmes didn't even seem like a home owner at all!

..and then it hit him. Hit him like Sasha Mitchell hits his wife. Of course! How could he be so stupid? Cash was then sure why he disliked Fred Holmes. Single, poorly dressed, only cares about his social life--it was quite obvious that Mr. Holmes was not a home owner. However, Cash would wait for official confirmation before accusing him of something so vile.

As the first half of the meeting came to a close, and the HOA had a 15 minute intermission with cookies and lemonade and other snacks, Cash Armstrong approached the newest HOA "member", Fred Holmes.

"Hiya Fred!" he said, faux-warmly. "Enjoying the meeting?"

"Oh indefinitely!" said Fred, grossly misusing the term. "Everybody's been so nice!"

Cash quickly skipped over any further small talk. "So you moved into one of the town homes on Fluttering Butterfly Drive, yeah? Those are nice!"

"Thanks, thanks! Yeah, I'm really liking it so far!"

"Say," said Cash. "How much did you pay for that house? I have a buddy of mine who is interested in moving into the neighborhood, and I'd love to give him a price range for the town homes."

"Oh, my house? I paid...let's see..." Fred thought for a good while, even though he had just recently moved in. "It was expensive! I think I had to pay, what... $2,000? Just for the deposit. And then it's $1,200 a month on top of that! It's crazy!"

Cash quickly excused himself from the conversation, and got back up to the podium.

"Excuse me! Excuse me fellow home owners!"

Everybody quieted down, although the crunching sound of people eating potato chips continued.

"We need to call this meeting back into order. There appears to be a grave problem."

Stephen walked up and wedged himself between Cash and the podium. "Cash, what's going on?"

Cash half-shoved Stephen out of the way and continued speaking. "What's going on, you all ask? I'll tell you what's going on. Our new HOA 'member' Fred Taylor is RENTING!"

The crowd gasped.

Fred looked around the room, confused, as if he had no idea what the problem was.

Stephen, suddenly very solemn, looked Fred right in the eye and asked "Freddy, is that true?"

"Well...yeah!" spoke Fred. "I mean, sure I'm renting! But I pay the HOA fees as part of my rental agreement!"

This explanation calmed many of the people down, including Stephen. "Well that's ok, then. If you pay your dues, then you can participate."

The crowd slowly began socializing again, thinking that discussion to be behind them.

"Um, no. No no no, WAIT!" yelled Cash, reclaiming the podium. "Now listen here!"

The audience sat silent once more.

"Now correct me if I'm wrong, Stephen, but according to the HOA by-laws, HOA participation is ONLY allowed if HOA membership is in your name. Mr. Holmes may be paying the monthly HOA fee, but membership is still officially in his landlord's name! As such, he is not able to participate."

The audience started to murmur in agreement.

"Now Mr. Holmes, if you want to stop by my office tomorrow, I can give you a form. You just need your landlord to fill it out, indicating that he will not be able to attend our meetings and that he instead sends you to cast votes on his behalf. You both need to sign it in front of a notary public, and then you'll be free to come in and vote on issues, although obviously you would not be able to take the floor in the event of a group debate."

"This is ridiculous." protested Fred. "I just came here to meet all of my neighbors. I don't see why I would have to leave. I don't even WANT to vote on anything, I just wanted to say hi!"

"Well if you're looking for a social club, this might not be for you. We have rules, here, Mr. Holmes. If you don't like them, then start your own club. You can start a 'renters' association. Remember, Mr. Holmes, we are a Home OWNERS Association. For people who OWN HOMES. You don't own a home, Mr. Holmes. There's a homeless shelter down town, why don't you go there? It sounds like it would be more your style."

Many of the rest of the HOA members laughed derisively, which brought a huge smile to Cash's face.

Cash knew that he could win over the crowd. He always excelled when it came to debate. Just a few meetings earlier, a very emotional debate broke out between him and another HOA member regarding whether or not home owners who own multiple houses(as investments, rentals, etc) should be able to cast multiple votes during meetings.

In the end, Cash convinced everybody that a "home" is where you live, and that this is a HOME Owners Association, not just a House Owners Association, or even a Property Owners Association. As such, each member of the HOA is entitled to one vote, and one vote only. At this time, there are no HOA members who own more than one house, but it was good to have that whole discussion out of the way, just in case a similar situation occurs in the future.

Cash, feeling he had won the debate already, walked away from the podium. Stephen Reynolds took the floor.

"Well, it appears we've all done our fair share of speaking on the matter!" he stated, in a warm, friendly manner, trying to regain control of this meeting. "So let's have a vote!"

Cash was somewhat miffed that they were even having a vote, instead of just banishing Fred Holmes from the meeting outright, but he was confident that the vote would go his way.

"All in favor of having Fred Holmes stay, please raise your right hand."

About half of the crown raised their hand. Cash couldn't believe it. Why was Stephen doing this to him? Was this some kind of strange initiation "hazing" ritual? Everybody knows that in a HOA meeting, the members are more likely to raise their hand for the first option they are given. It was clear by the wording of the motion to vote that Stephen had an agenda.

"All opposed, please give the same sign."

Stephen counted the raised hands, gesturing with his forefinger and silently moving his lips as he tallied each vote.

"Wow. It's a tie! Fourteen to fourteen."

Cash jumped back into it. "Well then great! As we've already established in previous meetings, any vote that results in a tie, regarding matters already covered in our by-laws MUST default back to the by-laws. Our by-laws clearly state that we cannot accept non-home owners to vote in our meetings."

"Not so fast, Cash." said Stephen. "The by-laws also give the members a chance to amend any by-law articles that they feel are unfair with a petition signed by no less than twenty-five members."

"But he's NOT a member." said Cash, through gritted teeth.

Stephen dismissed Cash's concern with a shrug. "Nonetheless, we'll give him a shot."

Stephen then turned his attention directly to Fred and the rest of the audience.

"We are going to hold an emergency HOA meeting next Thursday at 7:00pm. If Mr. Holmes can provide us with a petition signed by no less than twenty-five HOA members, indicating approval to amend Section Twelve, Article Thirty-Two of the Douchington Hills Home Owners Association By-Laws to include renters who pay HOA fees, we will allow him to attend meetings, vote, and participate in other HOA functions."

Cash was stewing. Absolutely stewing! He tried to hold back his anger, however. When the meeting adjourned, he went up to Fred and put on a happy face. He smiled, slapped him on the back and said "Hey buddy, I just want you to know that I personally WANT you to be able to join these meetings. I just have a responsibility, as board member, to uphold all rules and regulations. Hopefully we can get this petition filled out, and put this whole ugly episode behind us. Heck, come to my house tomorrow, and I'll be the first to sign it!"

The next day, Fred went to Cash's house to have him sign the petition. Cash's car was in the driveway, but strangely, nobody answered the door when he knocked. He also left a message on Cash's answering machine, but Cash must have never gotten it, because there was no call-back.

As the week went by, Fred obtained twenty-five signatures from others in the neighborhood, without ever getting one from Cash. Fred didn't even want to go through all of this trouble just to become an honorary Home Owners Association member. He just thought it would be a fun way to meet more of his neighbors. Fred is a pretty likeable guy, so he was able to fulfil the minimum requirements of the petition without too much trouble.

That Thursday, at 7:00pm, Fred Holmes presented his petition of amendment to the HOA board of directors. Stephen Reynolds put on his reading glasses, gave the petition a good look-up and look-down, and said "Well, everything seems to be in order here. Twenty-five signatures, all from valid residents of this neighborhood. You certainly have my blessing!"

The petition was passed from one board member to another(there are six board members in all). They each gave Fred their approval, until the petition was finally passed to Cash.

Cash leapt to his feet, and casually strolled down to where the majority of the HOA members in attendance were sitting.

"It certainly looks good, doesn't it?" Cash asked, as he waved the petition in front of the audience. "After all, it has many VALID signatures, from many GOOD residents here. Why, just look at signature number sixteen, here. Why, Roger, isn't that YOUR signature?"

Cash shook the petition at Roger Wilcox, an HOA member who happened to be there that night. Roger nodded his head, indicating that he did indeed sign the petition.

"Bob signed it." Cash pointed out. "Greg, Mark, Peter. You all signed it. Heck, even poor old Mrs. Anderson signed it!"

Cash pointed at Mrs. Anderson, a lonely old woman in the crowd. "Poor old Mrs. Anderson! She'll sign anything! Salesmen love her! You've noticed those guys with vacuum cleaners hanging by her door all day!"

The crowd chuckled, as the old woman stared off into space, confused.

"She'd sign her grandchildren over to Saddam Hussein if it meant somebody got to visit her for a few minutes!" he continued, eliciting more chuckles from the crowd. Cash put his hands up, to quell the laughter. "But hey! I'm not criticizing! It's a perfectly valid signature. A signature is a signature, and we have 25 fine ones! Especially good old number 25 himself, Derek Washington! Derek lives just down the street from me. Great guy! A pity that he couldn't make it to the meeting today... Actually, now that I think about it, Derek NEVER comes to our HOA meetings! I wonder why? But hey, that's a question for another time, I suppose. I guess I'm ready to give my approval..."

The crowd quieted down, and a look of relief appeared on Fred's face. One HOA member actually got up and gave him a congratulatory hand shake.

"Just one more thing, though." Cash added. "I just remembered why Derek doesn't come to our meetings!"

The relief on Fred's face quickly turned to confusion, which quickly turned to fear.

"He doesn't come to our HOA meetings because..." Cash paused for dramatic effect.

.......

"...HE RENTS!!!"

The crowd gasped.

"And as such, his signature is NOT valid, which makes this whole petition NULL AND VOID!" Cash ripped the petition in half and looked Fred straight in the eye. "Now get out of this meeting house before we call the authorities."

Fred put his head down, defeated. His walk out of the meeting house was the longest of his life.

"Well, I suppose that settles that!" Stephen said. "Meeting adjourned!"

The HOA members all began happily murmuring, as if nothing had happened, and they started to exit the building.

"Oh! Oh I almost forgot, oh wait!" Stephen yelled. A few people turned back to hear what he had to say, but most continued to filter out of the building. "If anybody wants to sign up for the neighborhood yard sale, PLEASE e-mail Rod by the 22nd at the ABSOLUTE LATEST. Thanks and have a great weekend!"

As the people filed out, Cash felt a feeling of unbelievable pride. This was his first victory as an HOA board member. With any luck, the first of many.

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

Epilogue

The next day, Cash and Stephen were working on the quarterly budget report, to see if they had enough money to have a new "Douchington Hills" sign built at the rear entrance to the neighborhood. At that point in time, the rear entrance sign was a bland, wooden sign, with painted letters--a far cry from the beautiful brick sign that had been built for the "main" entrance.

"Just imagine if we had enough money to build something with granite. Wouldn't that just be fabulous?" asked Stephen.

"It would..." said Cash, with a slight hesitation in his voice. "But I'd hate for the NEW sign for the rear entrance to end up being better than the sign we have NOW for the MAIN entrance. The main entrance has a better sign for a reason--it's the main entrance. More people are going to see that sign, than the rear entrance sign. I want the rear entrance sign to be nicer than it is now, but if it ends up actually being BETTER than the main entrance sign, then we're gonna have trouble."

"Oh, for sure." said Stephen.

There was silence, as they pondered their options. Stephen decided to change topics.

"Hey Cash..."

"Yeah?"

"About that Fred Holmes situation. The meeting last night? I just wanted to tell you...you did a great job. You really know how to handle codes and regulations."

"Thanks". Cash seemed genuinely moved by the compliment.

"Just one question, though. How did you know that Derek Washington was a renter?"

Cash thought about it.

"Well, I didn't."

Stephen was shocked. "You didn't??"

"Sure didn't." Cash said. "In fact, I STILL don't know if he rents or owns. It was just a bluff on my part. I'm just glad everybody bought it!"

"You're a nut." Stephen said with a hearty laugh. "You know what, Cash? You're gonna fit in juuuuust fine, here."

The End

Yeah, you're right. I've never actually been to an HOA meeting before, but I guess that is high. Since I'm too lazy to edit it, I'll justify it by saying the character is an over achiever, and gets mad even though there's a ton of people at the meeting.

Speaking of things it reminds people of: I also semi-ripped off How Hermes Requisitioned His Groove Back, with all of the "tedious beaurocracy" humor. I still went with it, because I felt like "HOA beaurocratic nonsense" was just slightly different from "office work beaurocratic nonsense". HOA nonsense appeals to me because people actually volunteer to be anal. They aren't anal because it's their job, or because they've been told to. They seem to just want to hassle people and waste their time.

Don't say you ripped it off. Say you paid an homage to it. Sounds classier.

Nice to see you post. Always nice to see you post. Although, I now have an obligation to read all of that...

Just kidding. I've already had a read through, and I like it.