Author Topic: Xixax Collective Story  (Read 2686 times)

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cron

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Xixax Collective Story
« on: April 26, 2004, 12:11:00 PM »
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Our story begins with a man in his 30's going to clean his clothes at a laundry. He was wearing a dark grey suit; he went from the office to his home, picked up the dirty clothes so he didn't got time to change.
Besides, the suit was clean.

There weren't magazines to read while he waited for his clothes to wash and dry respectively  and he was alone at the site. Not even a supervisor, just  a security camera in the ceiling.
After almost two hours, it was done: now he just needed to put his clothes in order. He noticed that  one of his olive green socks was missing. Eventualy , he went to look for it in the washing machine first. He could've swore he picked it at his home.

The washing machine was almost the size of a fridge minus the stuff that's inside of it. In other words , it was a big and empty circular space.
"Hmm", he tought.
In that moment, the camera was pointing at his opposite direction so he decided to climb in and dive into the machine. He did all that very , very quickly and while doing it he  accidentaly crashed his head with one of the machine corners! The machine started filling with water and soap and he remained inside , unconscious.

...

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A World Apart

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« Reply #1 on: April 26, 2004, 01:00:27 PM »
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The machine started filling with water and soap and he remained inside, unconscious.

Just as the man would have surely drowned, the door to the laundry mat opens. In walks a young woman in her early 20s. She’s a wiped out, disheveled college student with a plain, yet hypnotically pretty face. As she walked past the washing machines toting her basket of dirty clothes, something peculiar caught her eye.
“What the hell!” she exclaimed with confusion.
She quickly turned off the large machine and opened the door. Water spilled to the ground as she pulled out the man from the machine. He landed hard on the floor. He was not conscious, but still breathing. In a state of uncertainty, she slapped him powerfully across the face. He jerked awake and looked up with sudden fear.
“What the hell happened?” he yelled gruffly as he tried to back away from her.
She started laughing a cool, collective laugh.
“I just saved your life, that’s what happened, now if you would excuse me, I have laundry to do.”
No, I've never seen that, I've never seen anyone drive their garbage out to the curb and bang the hell out of it with a stick.

Jeremy Blackman

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« Reply #2 on: April 26, 2004, 04:14:19 PM »
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She turned her back to him.

The water inside the machine was warm. She touched the surface with two fingers and trickled soap like frosting on a cake. As she let a towel slide into the water, she noticed blood on a sharp corner of the washing machine. It dripped a little, and mildly discolored the water.

He sat in the corner, shivering like a naked child. His eyes felt more wet than his clothes, which were beginning to smell like flowers. Or was that her?

She looked like a sweat shop worker, arms moving from the pink plastic basket of clothes to the hissing machine, from the basket to the machine, basket to the machine, her shoulders following her hands. His eyes moved down her legs, to her feet. She was wearing brown sandals, which rose and fell as she shifted from side to side. One white sock on her right foot, but on the left, olive green...
"Hunger is the purest sin"

©brad

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« Reply #3 on: April 26, 2004, 05:11:15 PM »
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"I'm... sorry," he spits out while a milky, sudsy saliva glides down his chin.

She gives him an "it's OK-wave" as if this happens regularly to her. He tries to stand up but can't, for the soapy floor is proving to be exceedingly slippery. She continues to empty what is a never-ending plastic bag of clothes. Baby clothes. Mostly blues and purples. Pastels. A couple pairs of tiny socks. Must be a girl.

   "Can I buy you some... um, detergent?" He asks, pathetically.
   "I'm sure you have other things to worry about right now," she says, taking a bottle of cheap shampoo and pouring some into the machine. He watches as she slides four quarters ever so carefully into the coin slot.  
   "How bought some coffee?" He asks.
   "Don't drink coffee."
   "You don't?"
   "Nope."
   "How bought a coke?"
   "No coke either."
   "Water? You do drink water, yes?"
She turns to him, cracking what may or may not be a smile. Grabing the empty plastic bags, she makes for the door. He starts to bang his head on the wall, semi-hard.
   "Whoa, whoa, dude, man, what are you doing?"
   "What... nothing," he says, closing his eyes.
   "Look, I don't know what exactly happened or why you did what you did and to be honest, I don't want to know. But, man, you've had a rough, wet day. Enough is enough. Cool it with the head-banging Rain-Man shit, kapeech?"
He pauses, looking at her eyes which are changing colors as she speaks.
   "U-huh," he says.
She leaves quickly, hailing a cab, unaware that she's left her wallet on the dryer.

The Perineum Falcon

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« Reply #4 on: April 26, 2004, 05:14:06 PM »
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And what suddenly occurs to him is a moment of moral ambiguity. Should he chase her down and return her wallet, or take her wallet and find out where she lives?
As he ponders, the cab drives off. 'Did she leave her clothes too?' The strange happenings tonight just keep getting stranger.  He does his best to run on the linolium without slip-sliding and makes his way out the door. He stops a taxi and asks them to quickly follow the one in front as he sits in the back and studies her wallet.
"Margret Hatcher, 23.... A Pisces, it would seem. I wonder how well we would get along."

Minutes pass and the cab in front stops and unloads. He waits a moment and steps out of the cab and hands the fare to the driver. He stands in front of a huge, gated, white mansion. A handsome building, with four columns and a large chandelier.
But something doesn't add up. He checks her address on the license and then again on the house. Who's house is this?
We often went to the cinema, the screen would light up and we would tremble, but also, increasingly often, Madeleine and I were disappointed. The images had dated, they jittered, and Marilyn Monroe had gotten terribly old. We were sad, this wasn't the film we had dreamed of, this wasn't the total film that we all carried around inside us, this film that we would have wanted to make, or, more secretly, no doubt, that we would have wanted to live.

A World Apart

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« Reply #5 on: April 26, 2004, 05:56:36 PM »
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The woman steps out of the cab completely aware of being followed by this man. Who was he? A pervert, a cop, a stalker, a killer, or a nice guy perhaps.
She walked into the gate and made her way up the white stairs, gleaming in the mid-day sun.
The door opened before she reached it and a little darling girl ran out to meet her.
The man watched as this beautiful brash woman embraced a fiery red headed girl, and the image burned into his memory. He only wished he had a camera.
The woman and child walked hand in hand into the mansion and were greeted by a butler.
“Madam, may I ask where you have been?”
“No, Geoffrey, you may not.” She said with coyness that the butler had grown to admire.
The girl tugged on the woman’s shirt.
“Where were you?”
“Looking for normality, yet finding absurdity.” She said knowing the girl would not understand.
The man stayed outside the gates, fondling the wallet, and put his finger to the buzzer and pressed firmly without hesitation.
“Good afternoon.” Said a voice within
“uh, tell the lady, the laundry is awaiting to be washed.” Said the man, thinking it would be a neat code of some sort for her to return.
The woman heard this message and slowly opened the door. She saw the man. He saw her, and the two remained staring at each other for what seemed like eternity, until…
No, I've never seen that, I've never seen anyone drive their garbage out to the curb and bang the hell out of it with a stick.

El Duderino

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« Reply #6 on: April 26, 2004, 06:08:01 PM »
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until....the man looks to his right and sees four Pit Bulls running toward him. He doesnt know what to do and weirdly enough, he just stands still turning his head from side to side...looking for somewhere to go. He decides his best chance is to run past the woman and into the house. He starts to bolt...when one of the pit bulls catches up to him and bites his calf, hard. The man screams, but keeps running with the dog attached to him. all the other dogs have given up by now, but the man reaches the steps and looks up at the woman.

"Please...get....this....dog....off...of me!"
"Bart....off" she says as she snaps her fingers. The dog releases the man.
"What do you want" she says.
"You left your wallet" he hands it to her. "Also, you have my sock."
"What?" she asks. "That's impossible, I dont know you."
"The olive green one, it's mine"
From a distance, Geoffrey chuckles.
Did I just get cock-blocked by Bob Saget?

Jeremy Blackman

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« Reply #7 on: April 26, 2004, 08:16:25 PM »
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She blushes.

His face twists into a confused contortion.

"I," she struggles, "I have to... I can't really explain it."

"Well, I want you to explain it. My sock. You're wearing it. People don't do this."

"Well, I did it," she admits. "I can't say I'm proud of myself, but I did it."

His confusion becomes indignation, and his hand arrives at his hip in an accidentally effeminate pose. "Yeah, so, I'd like an explanation."

"Well," she continues, "I noticed you at the laundromat a few months ago. I couldn't help but notice you stuffing your green pajamas into the washing machine, with your... white t-shirts and your... red boxers with the hearts on them and your... olive... green... socks. I became infatuated with you. First it was accidental. I would notice you at the laundromat, or see you inside as I drive by, but before long I got to know your schedule. I saw you wash your socks week after week, one olive green confection after another. You're all I can think about before I fall asleep at night. You, your durable laundry bag, and your... socks. I bought some olive green socks for myself, but it just wasn't the same. I had to have... the original."

His jaw hangs limply from his face, allowing a slow stream of laundry suds to dribble onto the floor.

She jumps toward him with a desperate passion. "I think I'm in love with you! What do you want first? Money or sex?"

Before he has a chance to answer, she abruptly diverts her attention to the pack of pitbulls. "Which one was it?"

"Umm... what?" In the dazed stupor, his concentration is delicate.

"Which dog attacked you?"

He points to the sad one in the corner.

Wrestling the animal to the ground, she pulls a hunting knife from her back pocket and presses it against the dog's throat. Hesitating, she looks up to assure him. "Don't worry. Geoffrey can work miracles with garlic."

He looked at his hands. They were blurry. He could hear himself breathing.

Laundry foam dripped off his bottom lip onto a picture. It was a little white dog with a cute face. He can't tell what breed it is. All the little white cute ones look the same. It's not a pitbull. He realizes he's gripping the steering wheel a little too hard. Oh, that's not good. His drool is messing up the picture. She's not going to like this. He closes the wallet and looks up. The cab is driving away.

He sees the shadow of a figure, limping with the weight of a laundry bag, enter a pretty apartment building, one with yellow paint and a few balconies. His clothes smell like flowers again.
"Hunger is the purest sin"

The Perineum Falcon

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« Reply #8 on: April 26, 2004, 10:55:13 PM »
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He sees the shadow of a figure, limping with the weight of a laundry bag, enter a pretty apartment building, one with yellow paint and a few balconies. His clothes smell like flowers again.

No, not his clothes, they're someone else's. They're, more than likely, her's. He's been in a hazy daze since she's been gone. 'What a strange dream,' so it seems, he thinks. He lies in a corner, doused in pretty female clothing. Her scent tickles his nose, as it always does.
'I should really get out of here,' he thinks, 'before I'm found out.' This isn't the first close call he's had with this one. He hopes she doesn't catch him, he really doesn't want to have to.... No. It's best not to compare her with the others.
She comes over to her bed, the pale sunlight striking her body into an angelic glow. He watches as she tosses the bag onto the bed and walks in front of the mirror. She turns from side to side, examining herself. She goes to the bathroom and runs water. After gathering the towels, all white ('How pure she is!'), she begins to undress, exposing her perfect form.
And he touches himself.
We often went to the cinema, the screen would light up and we would tremble, but also, increasingly often, Madeleine and I were disappointed. The images had dated, they jittered, and Marilyn Monroe had gotten terribly old. We were sad, this wasn't the film we had dreamed of, this wasn't the total film that we all carried around inside us, this film that we would have wanted to make, or, more secretly, no doubt, that we would have wanted to live.

SHAFTR

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« Reply #9 on: April 27, 2004, 12:54:28 AM »
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Brian arrives home tired and ready to forget the day.  His roommate, Therin, is sitting in the middle of the floor with his guitar struggling through yet another Creed song.

"Hey", Therin states between badly played guitar chords. "How was your day?"

"Same as always, write any songs today?"

"Ohh man, this writers block just won't go away"  Brian is reminded that this 'writers block' has been with Therin for a long time.  In a span of four years, he has wrote one song, titled "Crucible".

Brian takes a seat on the couch, wanting this day to end and wanting even more for Therin not to ask him any more questions.

"So what did you do today?" enquires Therin.

"Nothing"

"Well you were gone all day, did you do you finally get your laundry done?"

Brian wants to end this conversation soon.  He is about to tell THerin off when he sees a flash of red under roommate's pants.

"Therin, are you wearing Zubaz?"

"No Brian, these are long boxers", he says defiantly.

Brian moves his head closer to get a better look.

"No Therin, those are definitely zubaz."

Therin looks down at the apparel in question.  He gets a disappointed look on his face.

"Well, I don't know.  I got them as a gift."

Brian shakes his head, gets up and walks into the bathroom.  He slams the door behind him in an attempt to shield himself from Therin's Creed covers.
"Talking shit about a pretty sunset
Blanketing opinions that i'll probably regret soon"

Pubrick

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« Reply #10 on: April 27, 2004, 11:14:45 AM »
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CRACKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKLE
ffffffffuowwwwh.
'i'm never chroming again', He thought to himself as he came to. 'why do i get the feeling i am occasionally possessed by evil persons intent on destroying my sense of reality?' he made note to upgrade his xanax dosage.

His eyes now completely refocussed, he realised many hours had passed and still he sat parked like an idiot outside a stranger's house with no reason to be there other than his deceptively convoluted fear of normalcy, and the incessant nagging voice at the back of his head that told him 'follow her or sumthing terrible will happen!'. He recalls his earliest memory of this debilitating fear: the year was 19somethinsomething, he was 14 years old. the morning started well enough, that is until he turned on the tv. To his shock Sonic the Hedgehog had been cancelled, the next hour his brother left his room announcing “I’m out” much to his parent’s dismay, by midday Michael Jordan announced his retirement, and that afternoon his beloved and faithful companion, the family dog Teac, died in mysterious circumstances. No day was ever the same again, maybe they had never been. Although he did eventually find out that Sonic had only been rescheduled. It didn't matter now.

He found great clarity in remembering that day, clarity and paralysis. For at this moment, like most times he flashes back, he was at a crossroads. He opened the wallet of the mystery girl, 'why hasn't she called the cops if she knows i'm out here, maybe she likes it. Valerie. Valerie likes it. possibly loves it? i mean, just absolutely LOVES it.'
under the paving stones.

©brad

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« Reply #11 on: April 27, 2004, 01:28:16 PM »
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so he sits in a bar across the street, listening to one of the worst, worst covers of "Stairway to Heaven" like, ever, and he continues to take long drags from a stale, wet cigarette while sipping on a jack and ginger-ale, motioning for the semi-good looking bartender to make him another. she acknowledges the motion with a wink and precedes to pour him the drink. valerie. valerie. has he ever known a girl named valerie? wasn't that girl he may or may not have fingered freshman year during a pep rally named valerie? maybe. or the woman who used to come over and play bridge with his mother on sundays over bloody mary's and chocolate truffles and virgina slim 100s and raspberry ice tea-- that woman. he thinks she may have been a valerie. maybe val.

the bartender returns, already looking hotter than she did 5 seconds ago. she hands him the drink. he polishes off the other one, silently thanking her as he helps himself to a lime on a fruit tray that sits adjacent to a rack of wine glasses.

valerie. valerie. he's going to finish this drink (well, maybe one more after this) and then he's going to see valerie.

cron

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« Reply #12 on: April 27, 2004, 01:30:33 PM »
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Sipping his feminine drink and prolonging his meditation, he noticed that an old man who was seated right in front of him had six fingers on his left hand. Old man - six fingers. Our character was trying to decide whether he was more impressed by this anomaly or the fact that he actually noticed something of this meticulous awareness.

-Mind if I join you? - he asked.
-My wife's on the bathroom , so...
-Oh,  awkward. I'm sorry.
-No prob, compadre.
-You come here often? Because I come here religiously and I'd never seen you before.
-Well, me and my wife are temporarily living here right now . Work stuff.
- For real? Like, you work together?
-Yes.
-What at?

To which he answered "We're both sociologists." He explained that he and his wife were doing a research on the town and that they were staying for seven months. They exchanged cards, wife arrived from the bathroom and he introduced himself to both, making good use of her arrival.

-Pete MacGuffin.  Now I'll leave you three (sic) and hope to see you soon here.
-Good night , son!

He walked out of the bar and remembered he left his drink basically intact. Oh Snap.
Arrived home. It was okay,  nothing to big , decent for one person: his room, the guest room, the living room and one and a half bathrooms.


He thought of taking a bath, but didn't . Instead , he grabbed the phone.
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Jeremy Blackman

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« Reply #13 on: April 27, 2004, 07:22:36 PM »
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"Hi Mom."

He hated calling his mother.

"I have a question."

He held the receiver with his right hand and his shoulder, wincing with discomfort, imagining somebody seeing him, sitting there, uncomfortable and talking to his mother. It feels like Saturday night. He can't remember if it is.

A finger on his left hand found its way inside his left ear. It was itching and burning in an unnatural reflexive gagging sensation.

"I need money."

His finger was too big to venture deep enough, but he could feel something.

"Love you too."

He dropped the phone. With a flat palm, he delivered a concussive blow to the side of his head.

He was in a small garden, eating flowers. The bunnies ate flowers. When he ate the flowers, he could only smell them.

His head was on the floor in a pool of liquid—water, blood, and bubbles—soaking into the carpet.

He looked at his feet. Shoes still on. But boxer shorts, the red ones. He was wearing them.

A sudden breeze of fresh air flowed through his head.
"Hunger is the purest sin"

NEON MERCURY

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« Reply #14 on: April 30, 2004, 08:09:04 PM »
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...breathing in through his head and exhaling out through his eyes he cringed and gagged as soaps suds came dripping out of his mouth.  where the phuck am i ?  he laid down on the soft gravel and put his ear to the road.  listening for anything to clue him to his whereabouts.  but nothing.  he got up  walked about 4 miles and took a rest under a large cherry tree.  feeling like he swallowed a wad of plastic wrap he started to pluck the cheeries off the tree and began to eat to satisfy his hunger. the cheeries reminded him of his old girlfriend. 15 cheeries later he gathered himself and walked on.  each step further he noticed that he was making a "squishy" sound as he walked.  what the phuck is the matter?  its as almost like his body was liquifiying.  panic red, he ran like a coked-out prefontaine.   but  he could feel it.  his ribs felt like they were floating and swaying inside his body.  just...one..more...step...[smack!!]  right on  the gravel  road.  his body dissolves and rinses down the drain...

 

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