Iscreama Menstrual - Chapter 8: The Prologue- Page 4
Iscreama Menstrual - Chapter 8: The Prologue
#75re: 'Iscreama Menstrual, the Nameless Imp Does Broadway the Wrong Way While
Posted: 7/13/05 at 12:57pmBump for the masses
So I was sitting in my cubicle today, and I realized, ever since I started working, every single day of my life has been worse than the day before it. So that means that every single day that you see me, that's on the worst day of my life.~Office Space
#76re: 'Iscreama Menstrual, the Nameless Imp Does Broadway the Wrong Way While
Posted: 7/13/05 at 4:37pmah, the masses....
#77re: 'Iscreama Menstrual, the Nameless Imp Does Broadway the Wrong Way While
Posted: 7/13/05 at 11:50pmit's been over 24 hours. new chapter dammit!
#78re: 'Iscreama Menstrual, the Nameless Imp Does Broadway the Wrong Way While
Posted: 7/13/05 at 11:55pmI want mooooooooooooore!
#79re: 'Iscreama Menstrual, the Nameless Imp Does Broadway the Wrong Way While
Posted: 7/14/05 at 12:45am
Chapter Five
The subway ride was a slow one. Horribly drawn out like Spamalot. But with less comedy. If that’s possible. She sat on the dirty orange seat wondering what was happening in her life. It was all happening so quickly. In four chapters she had sold her soul to the devil, whose name is Lola. She was visited by Ethel Merman and saved her hero, Scal. Something, she was sure, no Scalion had ever done before. She was wondering, with all her mind power, why she sat in a piece of gum, when there was a clean seat next to her.
A homeless man sat across from her. He had a long beard that wound its way around his shoes. His beard covered most of his face. He wore a baseball cap and raggedy clothes: a long jacket and oversized pants. He sat crouched like a tiger staring suspiciously at Scri. She was worried, as they were the only two there.
Finally, the man stood up. As he rose, his shoe caught his beard. And the artificial crest of hair was pulled down, around his neck. Behind the plethora of fake hair, he was pointing a gun at Scri. She yelled, a high pitched, b*tch of a scream that would have sent any dog running with its tail between its legs, protecting its canine genitalia.
The man was short, and Scri recognized him.
“You’re…Chow Yun-Fat,” she stuttered.
“No, I’m B.D. Wong, star of Law and Order….SVU.” The man raised the palm of his other hand to silence her. “I have an order from the Unnamed Producer to dispose of you.”
“Is that why you were wearing the homeless outfit?”
“No. That’s what happens when you do a short-lived show on Broadway.”
“Oh. But before you kill me, tell me who the Unnamed Producer is.” She pleaded. Begged, like Maury the Mouth did before the deadly Mob bosses, who knew Maury had given away Tony’s grandmother’s secret pasta sauce recipe. A delicious sauce full of colorful, vibrant flavor. It could make any taste bud come with saliva.
“I can’t do that,” B.D. said seriously.
“Why not?”
“Because I am not going to kill you. How can I? I know what happens to murderers. I understand some of the Law and Order scripts! So, if anyone asks, you never got on this train.”
“But, tell me who the Unnamed Producer is!” She was getting angry. Two minutes ago, her life was being threatened. Now she was back to a confused state. “Tell me!” B.D. just shook his head.
“I don’t know who he is. I never met him.”
The train came to a halt and Scri hopped off, giving B.D. one more quick glance.
On the way to her apartment, she thought to herself. She saw two men, a tall skinny one and a shorter fat one. What do they have in common with B.D. Wong? Why would they want to be involved in killing Scal? What is their involvement with Wicked? Is B.D. going to be the next Boq?
Her head was spinning when she realized she had been walking around the same light pole all this time. She continued into her apartment building.
She went over to the elevator and pushed the down button.
“Sh*t! Every time!” She pushed the up button.
The elevator dang and she jumped back. The bell always scared her. Ever since she was a child. She was in her school’s local Spelling Bee. The bell, to the little spellers, was like skim milk to a lactose intolerant person. It was scary. It wouldn’t kill you, but made your stomach feel terrible. Her last word for the championship was staphylococcus. She asked for a definition and was given, “the pathogenic bacteria, parasitic to humans, that typically occurs in bunches.” She asked, as most spellers do, for the word used in a sentence: “The doctors were worried that they couldn’t cure her of the staphylococci.” She stood in front of the microphone before attempting to spell. Finally, she started. “S…T…A…P…H…I…L….O….C…..U….C….O….U….S, staphylococcus.”
And that is when the disheartening sound rang out, echoing over and over in her ears. It was followed by the dismal words of the judge, “I am sorry, that is incorrect.” The next student, a Mr. Barfee, no accent aigu, spelled the word correctly with his magic glove (that he wore for some odd reason during the match).
She lost the Bee. Outside the gym, she could hear a female judge humming to herself, “that’s my favorite moment of the bee.” “Sadistic b*tch,” little Scri thought.
Whenever she hears a bell today, she fears it like the plague. And not just any plague. The Bubonic Plague that infested rats on ships and wiped out almost all of Europe. The same plague that inspired, “Bring Out Your Dead.” And that made her loathe it even more.
Finally, the elevator came, the doors opened, and she stepped on, just as her cell phone rang. “Hello?” she answered, not recognizing the name on the LCD screen, wallpapered with a pictured of Scal. “Hello? Who is this?” No one answered.
“Excuse me, Miss Oblivious,” started another man, standing in the corner of the elevator, “if you are going to talk on the phone, get off the elevator.”
“Hold on,” Scri said into the receiver. “Listen, if you have a problem with me, you get off the elevator.”
“I was here first!” The elevator door slammed behind her.
“So what?” Anger began to bubble and brew, set to simmer, inside her. Her face turned red, and flames erupted in her eyes. The man stepped back, wedging himself even more into the corner. All of a sudden, she bent backwards at the hip. All the way back to the point where her head was almost touching the ground. Her hands began moving in circles, furiously. She couldn’t control herself. Her legs began shaking. Suddenly, her whole upper body whipped forward, like a whip used to tame a lion, and her head crashed into the man’s skull. Meanwhile, her hands furiously whipped at the man’s shoulders and neck. Her nails scratched though his shirt, deep down into his skin. Finally, she stopped. The man slouched into the corner, bloody and dead.
Suddenly, her phone rang again. “Yes!”
“Can you hear me now?” asked a voice.
“Yes, who is this!”
“The Merm. I was calling to tell you, you are about to use the power of the Flail.” The phone went dead.
“The Flail,” Scri said out loud.
Finally, the elevator stopped on her floor. She stepped off and walked to her apartment (or flat, as she heard it called on the BBC). She fumbled with her keys, opened the door, and screamed.
There was someone sitting on her easy chair. “Who are you?” she asked, bewildered and nervous. She clutched her breast as if to say, “I’m defenseless.” Or maybe to say, “Look at these.”
The man stood up and turned on her lamp. He was a tall man of a very short stature. He had dark black, blonde hair. He was slimly fat and heavily thin. He was an oxymoron, a jumbo shrimp, a…well, she wasn’t quite sure.
“Who are you?” she asked again, this time clutching both breasts, as if to say, “Yeah, they’re real.”
“Sit down, please.” She sat. She had always been very submissive. In her whole life, she was dominated by others. But for now, that’s all she could think about. The Flail took a lot out of energy out of her. Like a character in a Mortal Kombat game, she would have to recover her strength. Her eyes closed and she passed out.
Updated On: 7/14/05 at 12:45 AM
#80re: 'Iscreama Menstrual, the Nameless Imp Does Broadway the Wrong Way While
Posted: 7/14/05 at 12:49amAmazing. *clap*
#81re: 'Iscreama Menstrual, the Nameless Imp Does Broadway the Wrong Way While
Posted: 7/14/05 at 10:28ami. want. more!
#83re: 'Iscreama Menstrual, the Nameless Imp Does Broadway the Wrong Way While
Posted: 7/14/05 at 10:45am
*runs away*
Too bad my life isn't this exciting! :-P
#84re: 'Iscreama Menstrual, the Nameless Imp Does Broadway the Wrong Way While
Posted: 7/14/05 at 11:54am
*shamelessly throws self on floor and begins to worship authoress*
I adore you, Thenardier. I simply adore you. Marry me or something.
I feel a sudden urge to write "Krestena Chenowithout, the Florida Import Breaks into Theatre while Drooling Over Rashippelds Cantrony." (I can't help it...such pretty men)
Oh my lord, I have no life and a giant plotbunny...*sighs and goes off to write in her secret plotting-to-rule-the-world journal*
1. Ted Allen: Everyone has an interesting life if you ask the right questions.
2. Great buckets of Spoffnor, they're going to sing!
3. "I love shrubs that are historical." -Johnny and The Sprites
4. "We're not singing it to you, we're singing it for us." -Rosario Dawson, about La Vie Boheme
5. "The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - which you had thought special and particular to you. And now, here it is, set down by someone else, a person you have never met, someone even who is long dead. And it is as if a hand has come out, and taken yours." -The History Boys
6. "Pass the parcel. That's sometimes all you can do. Take it, feel it and pass it on. Not for me, not for you, but for someone, somewhere, one day. Pass it on, boys. That's the game I want you to learn. Pass it on." -The History Boys
Updated On: 7/14/05 at 11:54 AM
2. Great buckets of Spoffnor, they're going to sing!
3. "I love shrubs that are historical." -Johnny and The Sprites
4. "We're not singing it to you, we're singing it for us." -Rosario Dawson, about La Vie Boheme
5. "The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - which you had thought special and particular to you. And now, here it is, set down by someone else, a person you have never met, someone even who is long dead. And it is as if a hand has come out, and taken yours." -The History Boys
6. "Pass the parcel. That's sometimes all you can do. Take it, feel it and pass it on. Not for me, not for you, but for someone, somewhere, one day. Pass it on, boys. That's the game I want you to learn. Pass it on." -The History Boys
ashley0139
Broadway Legend Joined: 1/3/05
#85re: 'Iscreama Menstrual, the Nameless Imp Does Broadway the Wrong Way While
Posted: 7/14/05 at 12:46pmElevator scene was amazing! Brilliant! Emcee, that's what you should have done!
"This table, he is over one hundred years old. If I could, I would take an old gramophone needle and run it along the surface of the wood. To hear the music of the voices. All that was said." - Doug Wright, I Am My Own Wife
#86"Iscreama Menstrual" CONTEST
Posted: 7/14/05 at 4:57pm
Can we have a contest for someone to design the best book cover?
PM your submissions.
They must contain the full title (first post).
Good luck!
#87'Iscreama Menstrual' CONTEST
Posted: 7/14/05 at 7:19pm
Incredible. Just fantastic. I grovel at your feet Thenardier.
Now we need the next installment....
J'ai compris tous les mots, j'ai bien compris, merci.............
#88'Iscreama Menstrual' CONTEST
Posted: 7/14/05 at 10:01pm
Chapter 6
“What happened?”
“I don’t know, one minute you’re sitting there. The next, you’re asleep! I didn’t even have to use these!” The man took some red pills out of his pocket and threw them out the window.
“Ouch!” screamed an outside voice.
“My friends call me Kwana. I, like yourself, was given the opportunity to protect my favorite star.”
“Who was it? I mean, did you succeed?” Scri whimpered, still scared. She knew she would have to overcome this emotion quickly, as the oxymoron could see her apprehension in her eyes.
“I did succeed,” he stated matter-of-factly. “But the Merm has sent me to help you. Think of me as your Morpheus, here to relieve you of all your pains.”
“Oh, no thanks, I have plenty in my medicine chest.”
Kwana closed his eyes slightly and shook his head slowly, realizing he was taking on an impossible quest. He was about to help the un-helpable. “Listen, I am going to guide you as you try to save Scal. But first, you must sleep. You have a long adventure ahead of you. One that has not even yet to begun. Tomorrow, you will continue your quest. And tomorrow night, I will train you on using your special power.”
“If I have a special power, do you? Can you go along with me on my journey?”
“I do. The power of the Sceanca Propulsion. And I cannot help you. This is a fight you must fight on your own. Plus, it’s in your contract you can receive no tangible help, only training.”
“What is the Sca…thing? Why doesn’t my power have a cool name?” she asked like a child pondering the difference between Pokémon and Digimon.
“Never mind that. We must train you to use your Flail, your deadly weapon.”
“But I already used the Flail!”
“Did you know what you were doing?”
“No.”
“Then we must train you so that you can control it and be able to use it when you need it.”
Scri stood up and motioned to the bedroom.
“Sorry, I’m married,” the man said quickly.
“No,” Scri started, embarrassed, “I’m going to bed.”
She didn’t seem to care about this strange oxymoron of a man in her apartment. She just wanted to sleep. And sleep she did. And did well.
Her dream began on the 3-D IMAX of her mind. A tall, 5 foot screen that showed her deepest thoughts. What she looks best in and with whom she looks best. But this dream started differently. Her dreams usually began with her meeting Scal and falling in love. It ended with a Scalion wedding.
This time, however, there was no meeting. She found herself in a room painted white. Perfectly white, like Lawrence Jameson’s teeth. She was blinded in the room. She appeared to be very isolated. She was sitting there, naked as a newborn kangaroo. She began to crawl around on the floor as if in search of something. Suddenly, a loud noise resonated through the room. It scared her half to death. But, as the optimist she was, she was still half alive.
The banging grew louder and closer. She covered her ears, screaming for it to stop. Suddenly the room went black. Black as night. She stood up carefully. Looked around and started shouting out the words ‘hello, where am I?’
Over and over she asked this question. There was no response. Suddenly, she saw two shadows moving in the distance. She began running towards the shadows. “Hello? Is anyone there?” No one answered. Again she saw the two shadows, even farther from her. “Hello?” she called out again. And again, there was no answer. She began running faster and faster towards the shadows. Her heart was racing like Seabiscuit’s after filming his movie of the same name. She felt as if she had a little man on her back, whipping her. Normally, she enjoyed this feeling. But this time, it was painful. Annoying. Her back began to give way as she kept running. But she didn’t stop. What was out there she wondered?
Suddenly the lights flashed and turned on at full force. There, in the center of a little room, was a bomb. Ticking away, each beat even with the uneven beat of Scri’s heart. The bomb sat in a large tin crate. It showed signs of once being painted in red. But over time, the red paint had chipped off, revealing the rusted metal beneath. The metal no longer reflected light. Instead, it trapped light inside its surface, never to be released into the world again.
Inside the time, there was a large bundle of wires. Red, green, blue, black, silver, orange, white, yellow. And some other colors Scri couldn’t quite name. The ball of colors wound itself around a wooden box placed in the center of the tin box. The wooden box looked brand new, as if it had just been constructed of newly found lumber. The box was dyed to a caramel color. Printed in red factory letters on the box’s lid were the words, “Open.”
Scri bent over the box and lifted up the lid. Inside there was a small white note card. In blue sharpie was the word, “Heart.” Under the paper, there was the small clock producing the infernal racket of the tick-tock. She stared at it for a while. She was not sure what she had to do.
She stepped back and rubbed her eyes, trying to understand what she had to do. She lifted the clock up and saw three gray bars each labeled as “EXPLODING MATERIAL.” She knew at last she had to disarm this bomb. But how? How could she - a nobody disarm a bomb? People went to special schools and through special training to be able to disarm a bomb. Like Pamela Anderson in a car, she knew she’d have to work quickly.
She looked at the clock over and over. Blinking madly like a blind person just given his sight back. The clock ticked faster and faster. She began to drip with sweat. She didn’t know what to do. Sweat poured and the clock ticked faster and faster. And faster. And faster. Until finally it stopped. There was a click that sent a chill through her spine. A loud bang sounded from somewhere inside the clock and suddenly smoke began to fill the room.
In the smoke, Scri could see the face of someone. Someone who looked awfully familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. The smoke vanished as quickly as a mouse running into a hole in a wall, trying to escape a vicious cat.
Who was that face? Whose face was that? She couldn’t put her finger on it. But that face was too disturbingly familiar. It was round, with light skin and a long mouth.
She couldn’t think. Out of the silence came a loud knocking.
Scri sat up, drenched in sweat.
“Everything alright?” Kwana questioned suspiciously.
Updated On: 7/14/05 at 10:01 PM
#89'Iscreama Menstrual' CONTEST
Posted: 7/14/05 at 10:04pmBSo rocks my socks.
#90'Iscreama Menstrual' CONTEST
Posted: 7/14/05 at 10:24pmI. WANT. MORE. NOW! way to leave us hanging. :P
#91'Iscreama Menstrual' CONTEST
Posted: 7/14/05 at 10:41pmBlah. Stupid...suspense.
This is my signature.
bwayballerina
Broadway Star Joined: 11/14/04
#92'Iscreama Menstrual' CONTEST
Posted: 7/14/05 at 10:48pm
I'm hooked. This is great. Fantastic writing, Thenardier. I can't wait for the next chapter.
Hey, maybe there should be some suspenseful music? Duh duh duh......
#94'Iscreama Menstrual' CONTEST
Posted: 7/15/05 at 12:03am
Wow it took me like 5 hours to read this, a testament of BSO's poor writing skills...noope,just a car wreck of an AIM chat I couldn't tear my eyes away from!
P.S enjoyed the oxymorons...
So I was sitting in my cubicle today, and I realized, ever since I started working, every single day of my life has been worse than the day before it. So that means that every single day that you see me, that's on the worst day of my life.~Office Space
#95'Iscreama Menstrual' CONTEST
Posted: 7/15/05 at 12:04am
So I was sitting in my cubicle today, and I realized, ever since I started working, every single day of my life has been worse than the day before it. So that means that every single day that you see me, that's on the worst day of my life.~Office Space
Updated On: 7/15/05 at 12:04 AM
#96'Iscreama Menstrual' CONTEST
Posted: 7/15/05 at 12:05am
HAHA...that AIM Chat was the best ever.
Crazy...
#97'Iscreama Menstrual' CONTEST
Posted: 7/15/05 at 12:08amMy first double post!!
So I was sitting in my cubicle today, and I realized, ever since I started working, every single day of my life has been worse than the day before it. So that means that every single day that you see me, that's on the worst day of my life.~Office Space
#99'Iscreama Menstrual' Chapter 7 AND Cover
Posted: 7/15/05 at 3:41pm
Won't be writing this weekend
Sorry!
Updated On: 7/25/05 at 03:41 PM
#100'Iscreama Menstrual' CONTEST
Posted: 7/15/05 at 3:41pmTHis provides an excellent tim for y'all to discuss what's been going on, wink wink.
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