The "Creative Writing" forum, which includes Retro Game Reviews, has been archived and is now read-only. You cannot post here or create a new thread or review on this forum.
How A Short Story Competition Can Lead To One Man's Broken Heart
"Breasts!?" exclaimed Gregory, much to the bemusement of his girlfriend Charlotte, who was sitting just a few feet away watching the television. After a moment's awkward pause, Gregory realised the weirdness of the situation and tried to make amends. He looked over from his place perched in front of the computer and began to say "Look, I know that sounded a bit weird, and I know what you're thinking, but..". Charlotte flashed him a venomous glare, stood up and stormed out of the room. "Ah, man.." said Gregory.
As aware as he was of how this was being perceived, it couldn't have been further from the truth. For what he had found, whilst idly searching the internet in a bored hour, was a creative writing competition. And, keen to enter, he had clicked on the topic starter only to find the word breasts. This was very startling to him, as the situation had shown, but it didn't put him off. He was determined that he would enter this competition. Enter it and win.
He searched his mind frantically for ideas, but found nothing. He paced up and down the room, laid on the sofa, looked out of the window, listened to "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas, but his mind found nothing. Meanwhile, in another room, Charlotte was regretting being so hasty. Maybe he wasn't looking at porn, maybe he had a reasonable explanation for sitting at the computer and suddenly making a remark about breasts... Okay, maybe he was looking at porn, but all men do at some point, dont they? She decided to go and see if she could talk to him about it.
She approached the living room, gently pushed the door open, and was about to gently call his name, but instead stopped dead in her tracks. She looked in and saw Gregory sitting on the floor, rocking backwards and forwards, repeating "Breasts.. breasts.. breasts...?". Now Gregory knew that he was simply searching hard for inspiration, but Charlotte obviously didn't see it that way. A tear appeared in her eye, which she quickly wiped away, and slowly walked away from the living room.
After a while without inspiration, Gregory picked up the phone and decided to call one of his friends, to see if they had any ideas that would spark his imagination. He picked up his phone and dialled in a number. A shot of assertiveness in Charlotte's mind inspired her to just go and confront Gregory, find out what was really happening. She walked again towards the living room, but turned back to the kitchen, went in and poured herself a glass of wine.
Enigmatically, she flicked her hair back, took a long sip, and then turned right back around and marched to the door of the living room. She was about to burst in, when she overheard Gregory talking on the phone. "I mean, i've been playing with breasts in my head for a while now, and I can't seem to get anything to click? I've thought about things you can do with breasts, what context you might see breasts in, the different uses breasts have, their shape and if it links to anything else, but I don't know, nothing seems to work for me?"
Charlotte's stomach turned, but she slowly started to realise that she may have been mistaken about his perversion. Could he just be having "self-love" problems? Her mind raced. She decided to go upstairs to clear her head.
Gregory's chat on the phone seemed to have lit a spark in his mind. He sat in front of his computer and began writing with a new sense of purpose, a fire in his eyes and an adrenaline rush injected into his fingers, typing away incessantly. In another room Charlotte was worried sick.. maybe he needed help? They could get through this together? She gathered her composure, and once more made her way towards the living room. As she approached the door.. "BREASTS!!! OH YEAH! BREASTS, SWEET BREASTS!!". She was completely gobsmacked by this outburst, and with a sinking feeling all through her body, pushed the door open and peered into the living room. What she saw horrified her. Littered on the floor were lots of pages torn from a notebook, some with pictures of breasts, some with lists of breast-related things, some just with the word breasts written on in large letters, underlined. Shocked, hurt and confused, Charlotte finally looked at her Gregory. He was sat in front of the computer, looking immensely pleased with himself, a wide smile spread across his face and body posture looking exhausted but relaxed. She didn't even want to look at what was on the screen.
Slowly and unsurely, she went upstairs, packed a bag, scribbled a short note to Gregory, and left, forever, without even making a fuss.
Gregory was sat in front of the computer, staring at the story he had just written. It was finally done! Finally completed! He was immensely happy. He rushed out to find Charlotte to share his good news, but instead found a simple note:
Gregory
I've become increasingly worried about you and don't think I want us to be together any more. Please understand. Charlotte.
He was torn. Really heartbroken. He hung his head and searched his mind for a reason, or a hope. And then it dawned on him. His story! His story would be his saving grace. He rushed back into the living room, found the creative writing site on the internet, and posted his story up. He may have lost his love in the process, but his story provided him with comfort. He sat and waited, watching it on the screen, waiting and hoping that it would win..
...
Just waiting.
"Breasts!?" exclaimed Gregory, much to the bemusement of his girlfriend Charlotte, who was sitting just a few feet away watching the television. After a moment's awkward pause, Gregory realised the weirdness of the situation and tried to make amends. He looked over from his place perched in front of the computer and began to say "Look, I know that sounded a bit weird, and I know what you're thinking, but..". Charlotte flashed him a venomous glare, stood up and stormed out of the room. "Ah, man.." said Gregory.
As aware as he was of how this was being perceived, it couldn't have been further from the truth. For what he had found, whilst idly searching the internet in a bored hour, was a creative writing competition. And, keen to enter, he had clicked on the topic starter only to find the word breasts. This was very startling to him, as the situation had shown, but it didn't put him off. He was determined that he would enter this competition. Enter it and win.
He searched his mind frantically for ideas, but found nothing. He paced up and down the room, laid on the sofa, looked out of the window, listened to "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas, but his mind found nothing. Meanwhile, in another room, Charlotte was regretting being so hasty. Maybe he wasn't looking at porn, maybe he had a reasonable explanation for sitting at the computer and suddenly making a remark about breasts... Okay, maybe he was looking at porn, but all men do at some point, dont they? She decided to go and see if she could talk to him about it.
She approached the living room, gently pushed the door open, and was about to gently call his name, but instead stopped dead in her tracks. She looked in and saw Gregory sitting on the floor, rocking backwards and forwards, repeating "Breasts.. breasts.. breasts...?". Now Gregory knew that he was simply searching hard for inspiration, but Charlotte obviously didn't see it that way. A tear appeared in her eye, which she quickly wiped away, and slowly walked away from the living room.
After a while without inspiration, Gregory picked up the phone and decided to call one of his friends, to see if they had any ideas that would spark his imagination. He picked up his phone and dialled in a number. A shot of assertiveness in Charlotte's mind inspired her to just go and confront Gregory, find out what was really happening. She walked again towards the living room, but turned back to the kitchen, went in and poured herself a glass of wine.
Enigmatically, she flicked her hair back, took a long sip, and then turned right back around and marched to the door of the living room. She was about to burst in, when she overheard Gregory talking on the phone. "I mean, i've been playing with breasts in my head for a while now, and I can't seem to get anything to click? I've thought about things you can do with breasts, what context you might see breasts in, the different uses breasts have, their shape and if it links to anything else, but I don't know, nothing seems to work for me?"
Charlotte's stomach turned, but she slowly started to realise that she may have been mistaken about his perversion. Could he just be having "self-love" problems? Her mind raced. She decided to go upstairs to clear her head.
Gregory's chat on the phone seemed to have lit a spark in his mind. He sat in front of his computer and began writing with a new sense of purpose, a fire in his eyes and an adrenaline rush injected into his fingers, typing away incessantly. In another room Charlotte was worried sick.. maybe he needed help? They could get through this together? She gathered her composure, and once more made her way towards the living room. As she approached the door.. "BREASTS!!! OH YEAH! BREASTS, SWEET BREASTS!!". She was completely gobsmacked by this outburst, and with a sinking feeling all through her body, pushed the door open and peered into the living room. What she saw horrified her. Littered on the floor were lots of pages torn from a notebook, some with pictures of breasts, some with lists of breast-related things, some just with the word breasts written on in large letters, underlined. Shocked, hurt and confused, Charlotte finally looked at her Gregory. He was sat in front of the computer, looking immensely pleased with himself, a wide smile spread across his face and body posture looking exhausted but relaxed. She didn't even want to look at what was on the screen.
Slowly and unsurely, she went upstairs, packed a bag, scribbled a short note to Gregory, and left, forever, without even making a fuss.
Gregory was sat in front of the computer, staring at the story he had just written. It was finally done! Finally completed! He was immensely happy. He rushed out to find Charlotte to share his good news, but instead found a simple note:
Gregory
I've become increasingly worried about you and don't think I want us to be together any more. Please understand. Charlotte.
He was torn. Really heartbroken. He hung his head and searched his mind for a reason, or a hope. And then it dawned on him. His story! His story would be his saving grace. He rushed back into the living room, found the creative writing site on the internet, and posted his story up. He may have lost his love in the process, but his story provided him with comfort. He sat and waited, watching it on the screen, waiting and hoping that it would win..
...
Just waiting.
:D Very good.
Heh! I remember this from the first time around. Still made me chuckle reading it again...
How A Short Story Competition Can Lead To One Man's Broken Heart
"Breasts!?" exclaimed Gregory, much to the bemusement of his girlfriend Charlotte, who was sitting just a few feet away watching the television. After a moment's awkward pause, Gregory realised the weirdness of the situation and tried to make amends. He looked over from his place perched in front of the computer and began to say "Look, I know that sounded a bit weird, and I know what you're thinking, but..". Charlotte flashed him a venomous glare, stood up and stormed out of the room. "Ah, man.." said Gregory.
As aware as he was of how this was being perceived, it couldn't have been further from the truth. For what he had found, whilst idly searching the internet in a bored hour, was a creative writing competition. And, keen to enter, he had clicked on the topic starter only to find the word breasts. This was very startling to him, as the situation had shown, but it didn't put him off. He was determined that he would enter this competition. Enter it and win.
He searched his mind frantically for ideas, but found nothing. He paced up and down the room, laid on the sofa, looked out of the window, listened to "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas, but his mind found nothing. Meanwhile, in another room, Charlotte was regretting being so hasty. Maybe he wasn't looking at porn, maybe he had a reasonable explanation for sitting at the computer and suddenly making a remark about breasts... Okay, maybe he was looking at porn, but all men do at some point, dont they? She decided to go and see if she could talk to him about it.
She approached the living room, gently pushed the door open, and was about to gently call his name, but instead stopped dead in her tracks. She looked in and saw Gregory sitting on the floor, rocking backwards and forwards, repeating "Breasts.. breasts.. breasts...?". Now Gregory knew that he was simply searching hard for inspiration, but Charlotte obviously didn't see it that way. A tear appeared in her eye, which she quickly wiped away, and slowly walked away from the living room.
After a while without inspiration, Gregory picked up the phone and decided to call one of his friends, to see if they had any ideas that would spark his imagination. He picked up his phone and dialled in a number. A shot of assertiveness in Charlotte's mind inspired her to just go and confront Gregory, find out what was really happening. She walked again towards the living room, but turned back to the kitchen, went in and poured herself a glass of wine.
Enigmatically, she flicked her hair back, took a long sip, and then turned right back around and marched to the door of the living room. She was about to burst in, when she overheard Gregory talking on the phone. "I mean, i've been playing with breasts in my head for a while now, and I can't seem to get anything to click? I've thought about things you can do with breasts, what context you might see breasts in, the different uses breasts have, their shape and if it links to anything else, but I don't know, nothing seems to work for me?"
Charlotte's stomach turned, but she slowly started to realise that she may have been mistaken about his perversion. Could he just be having "self-love" problems? Her mind raced. She decided to go upstairs to clear her head.
Gregory's chat on the phone seemed to have lit a spark in his mind. He sat in front of his computer and began writing with a new sense of purpose, a fire in his eyes and an adrenaline rush injected into his fingers, typing away incessantly. In another room Charlotte was worried sick.. maybe he needed help? They could get through this together? She gathered her composure, and once more made her way towards the living room. As she approached the door.. "BREASTS!!! OH YEAH! BREASTS, SWEET BREASTS!!". She was completely gobsmacked by this outburst, and with a sinking feeling all through her body, pushed the door open and peered into the living room. What she saw horrified her. Littered on the floor were lots of pages torn from a notebook, some with pictures of breasts, some with lists of breast-related things, some just with the word breasts written on in large letters, underlined. Shocked, hurt and confused, Charlotte finally looked at her Gregory. He was sat in front of the computer, looking immensely pleased with himself, a wide smile spread across his face and body posture looking exhausted but relaxed. She didn't even want to look at what was on the screen.
Slowly and unsurely, she went upstairs, packed a bag, scribbled a short note to Gregory, and left, forever, without even making a fuss.
Gregory was sat in front of the computer, staring at the story he had just written. It was finally done! Finally completed! He was immensely happy. He rushed out to find Charlotte to share his good news, but instead found a simple note:
Gregory
I've become increasingly worried about you and don't think I want us to be together any more. Please understand. Charlotte.
He was torn. Really heartbroken. He hung his head and searched his mind for a reason, or a hope. And then it dawned on him. His story! His story would be his saving grace. He rushed back into the living room, found the creative writing site on the internet, and posted his story up. He may have lost his love in the process, but his story provided him with comfort. He sat and waited, watching it on the screen, waiting and hoping that it would win..
...
Just waiting.
"Breasts!?" exclaimed Gregory, much to the bemusement of his girlfriend Charlotte, who was sitting just a few feet away watching the television. After a moment's awkward pause, Gregory realised the weirdness of the situation and tried to make amends. He looked over from his place perched in front of the computer and began to say "Look, I know that sounded a bit weird, and I know what you're thinking, but..". Charlotte flashed him a venomous glare, stood up and stormed out of the room. "Ah, man.." said Gregory.
As aware as he was of how this was being perceived, it couldn't have been further from the truth. For what he had found, whilst idly searching the internet in a bored hour, was a creative writing competition. And, keen to enter, he had clicked on the topic starter only to find the word breasts. This was very startling to him, as the situation had shown, but it didn't put him off. He was determined that he would enter this competition. Enter it and win.
He searched his mind frantically for ideas, but found nothing. He paced up and down the room, laid on the sofa, looked out of the window, listened to "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas, but his mind found nothing. Meanwhile, in another room, Charlotte was regretting being so hasty. Maybe he wasn't looking at porn, maybe he had a reasonable explanation for sitting at the computer and suddenly making a remark about breasts... Okay, maybe he was looking at porn, but all men do at some point, dont they? She decided to go and see if she could talk to him about it.
She approached the living room, gently pushed the door open, and was about to gently call his name, but instead stopped dead in her tracks. She looked in and saw Gregory sitting on the floor, rocking backwards and forwards, repeating "Breasts.. breasts.. breasts...?". Now Gregory knew that he was simply searching hard for inspiration, but Charlotte obviously didn't see it that way. A tear appeared in her eye, which she quickly wiped away, and slowly walked away from the living room.
After a while without inspiration, Gregory picked up the phone and decided to call one of his friends, to see if they had any ideas that would spark his imagination. He picked up his phone and dialled in a number. A shot of assertiveness in Charlotte's mind inspired her to just go and confront Gregory, find out what was really happening. She walked again towards the living room, but turned back to the kitchen, went in and poured herself a glass of wine.
Enigmatically, she flicked her hair back, took a long sip, and then turned right back around and marched to the door of the living room. She was about to burst in, when she overheard Gregory talking on the phone. "I mean, i've been playing with breasts in my head for a while now, and I can't seem to get anything to click? I've thought about things you can do with breasts, what context you might see breasts in, the different uses breasts have, their shape and if it links to anything else, but I don't know, nothing seems to work for me?"
Charlotte's stomach turned, but she slowly started to realise that she may have been mistaken about his perversion. Could he just be having "self-love" problems? Her mind raced. She decided to go upstairs to clear her head.
Gregory's chat on the phone seemed to have lit a spark in his mind. He sat in front of his computer and began writing with a new sense of purpose, a fire in his eyes and an adrenaline rush injected into his fingers, typing away incessantly. In another room Charlotte was worried sick.. maybe he needed help? They could get through this together? She gathered her composure, and once more made her way towards the living room. As she approached the door.. "BREASTS!!! OH YEAH! BREASTS, SWEET BREASTS!!". She was completely gobsmacked by this outburst, and with a sinking feeling all through her body, pushed the door open and peered into the living room. What she saw horrified her. Littered on the floor were lots of pages torn from a notebook, some with pictures of breasts, some with lists of breast-related things, some just with the word breasts written on in large letters, underlined. Shocked, hurt and confused, Charlotte finally looked at her Gregory. He was sat in front of the computer, looking immensely pleased with himself, a wide smile spread across his face and body posture looking exhausted but relaxed. She didn't even want to look at what was on the screen.
Slowly and unsurely, she went upstairs, packed a bag, scribbled a short note to Gregory, and left, forever, without even making a fuss.
Gregory was sat in front of the computer, staring at the story he had just written. It was finally done! Finally completed! He was immensely happy. He rushed out to find Charlotte to share his good news, but instead found a simple note:
Gregory
I've become increasingly worried about you and don't think I want us to be together any more. Please understand. Charlotte.
He was torn. Really heartbroken. He hung his head and searched his mind for a reason, or a hope. And then it dawned on him. His story! His story would be his saving grace. He rushed back into the living room, found the creative writing site on the internet, and posted his story up. He may have lost his love in the process, but his story provided him with comfort. He sat and waited, watching it on the screen, waiting and hoping that it would win..
...
Just waiting.