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“WOW! I, I just can’t believe it! I mean, WOW! There were so many deserving people who have worked so hard up for this and just to be nominated with them was a real honour. But to actually win, well I never thought it possible. I of course could not have done this without the help of so many and you all know who you are, but there are a few I’d like to take the time to name.
My Mum and Dad of course. Without your love and support for the last 25 years of my life I wouldn’t have become the person that I am now. Thanks to Tony, the wonderfully talented director who took me when my acting ability was but a sapling and nurtured it into a giant oak. But my main thank you must of course go to you out there, to my fans. You’re the reason that I do this job and your acceptance means the world to me.”
7 minutes this went on for. 7 bloody minutes of verbal vomit spewed with as much conviction as the role, which gained him the nomination.
70 million people worldwide tuned in to watch this latest starlet prostitute himself to the whole of the general public. On a run-down street corner a common hooker will cost you no more then £20. These people are looked down upon and given nothing more then a scathing glance from those who don’t cross the road to avoid them, and yet if you take the time to work it out you will find that the £7m fee this set of teeth and perfectly plucked eyebrows was paid to ice his nipples and look shocked on screen works out at much less per person. Who’s the real w***e?
In the morning the papers will be filled with pictures and stories of these lights of our lives. Attention would be paid to who had worn the best dress and how well the host had verbally rimmed the winners. At least I was going to give them something newsworthy to fill their columns.
That’s just about all you need to know to bring us to the present situation.
A dilapidated hotel room of floral wallpaper and patchy carpet, which was originally, well, cream at a guess. The bed-sheets didn’t look like they’d been washed in years. They were a reminder of past occupants of the room, each of whom had seemingly left their own mark. There were no curtains, so the moonlight seeped through the cracked panes of glass casting lifeless shadows throughout.
It was perfect. Perfect poetic movie-style cheese. This would be Spielberg’s vision of where the lonely, crazy kidnapping murderer would wile away his hours and plan his dastardly deeds. God forbid a critically acclaimed killer could own his own house. Well, this is what draws in the gawking crowds of chunky-butted simpletons into their specially made chairs. This is what would shift those papers in the morning and who am I to not give the people what they want?
There had been a scene like this one in the movie. The badly dressed warlord standing over the hero who was tied to a chair just long enough to listen to the ins and outs of the evil mans scheme only to then, with a quip and a smile, escape and save the day. Reality differs somewhat. The only thing coming from this hero’s mouth was a steady stream of scarlet pain. Well, that and the occasional whimper. Those teeth once so plastically perfect. Have you heard the sound a gun butt makes when connecting forcefully with a humans mouth? The cracking and crunching of bone, teeth and sinew as the metal connects is quite different to the standard “thud” we’re all lead to believe is accurate by a certain Mr Bond.
There was to be no miraculous escape here. No witty retort. No words whatsoever in fact. He couldn’t speak. I don’t know if it was the pain or just real human fear. Anyway, he didn’t need to speak, his eyes were screaming at the top of their voices. Pleading with me to show some mercy and let him go. God knows why. This was his moment. In the morning everyone would be talking about him. His name would be known round the world just as he had always dreamed. This was his and my time to shine.
My Mum and Dad of course. Without your love and support for the last 25 years of my life I wouldn’t have become the person that I am now. Thanks to Tony, the wonderfully talented director who took me when my acting ability was but a sapling and nurtured it into a giant oak. But my main thank you must of course go to you out there, to my fans. You’re the reason that I do this job and your acceptance means the world to me.”
7 minutes this went on for. 7 bloody minutes of verbal vomit spewed with as much conviction as the role, which gained him the nomination.
70 million people worldwide tuned in to watch this latest starlet prostitute himself to the whole of the general public. On a run-down street corner a common hooker will cost you no more then £20. These people are looked down upon and given nothing more then a scathing glance from those who don’t cross the road to avoid them, and yet if you take the time to work it out you will find that the £7m fee this set of teeth and perfectly plucked eyebrows was paid to ice his nipples and look shocked on screen works out at much less per person. Who’s the real w***e?
In the morning the papers will be filled with pictures and stories of these lights of our lives. Attention would be paid to who had worn the best dress and how well the host had verbally rimmed the winners. At least I was going to give them something newsworthy to fill their columns.
That’s just about all you need to know to bring us to the present situation.
A dilapidated hotel room of floral wallpaper and patchy carpet, which was originally, well, cream at a guess. The bed-sheets didn’t look like they’d been washed in years. They were a reminder of past occupants of the room, each of whom had seemingly left their own mark. There were no curtains, so the moonlight seeped through the cracked panes of glass casting lifeless shadows throughout.
It was perfect. Perfect poetic movie-style cheese. This would be Spielberg’s vision of where the lonely, crazy kidnapping murderer would wile away his hours and plan his dastardly deeds. God forbid a critically acclaimed killer could own his own house. Well, this is what draws in the gawking crowds of chunky-butted simpletons into their specially made chairs. This is what would shift those papers in the morning and who am I to not give the people what they want?
There had been a scene like this one in the movie. The badly dressed warlord standing over the hero who was tied to a chair just long enough to listen to the ins and outs of the evil mans scheme only to then, with a quip and a smile, escape and save the day. Reality differs somewhat. The only thing coming from this hero’s mouth was a steady stream of scarlet pain. Well, that and the occasional whimper. Those teeth once so plastically perfect. Have you heard the sound a gun butt makes when connecting forcefully with a humans mouth? The cracking and crunching of bone, teeth and sinew as the metal connects is quite different to the standard “thud” we’re all lead to believe is accurate by a certain Mr Bond.
There was to be no miraculous escape here. No witty retort. No words whatsoever in fact. He couldn’t speak. I don’t know if it was the pain or just real human fear. Anyway, he didn’t need to speak, his eyes were screaming at the top of their voices. Pleading with me to show some mercy and let him go. God knows why. This was his moment. In the morning everyone would be talking about him. His name would be known round the world just as he had always dreamed. This was his and my time to shine.
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Nice start :-).
Very nice, EB.
More, please.
More, please.
I may do if I have the time. Having a job sucks.
I may do a comedic thing next no matter how dark the title.
I may do a comedic thing next no matter how dark the title.
Abrupt endings are usually the best.
In stories.
A big well done on this, sir. I hope you'll join us SSC regulars.
In stories.
A big well done on this, sir. I hope you'll join us SSC regulars.
Cheers
I find writing frustrating. I have all these ideas and yet they don't quite come out how I imagined they would. I ended this "story" quite abruptly because I saw myself rambling.
I find writing frustrating. I have all these ideas and yet they don't quite come out how I imagined they would. I ended this "story" quite abruptly because I saw myself rambling.
Wooo ... that's was really, very good.
Why the hell haven't you written anything before? More.
Light one minute, dark the next.
I liked. Lots.
Why the hell haven't you written anything before? More.
Light one minute, dark the next.
I liked. Lots.
Cheers Rickoss
I may be going to Scotland tommorow
I may be going to Scotland tommorow
I love cheese! Anyway I thought you were in Scotland this weekend.
I really liked that. Nice one, EB.
Nothing wrong with liking that word. It just flows off the tongue.
I was worried that it didn't flow and jumped about a bit, so ta. The last line I thought was A-grade cheese :D
I was worried that it didn't flow and jumped about a bit, so ta. The last line I thought was A-grade cheese :D
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