Group Fiction: "Once upon a time in Iran"

Group Fiction: "Once upon a time in Iran"
by eroonman
21-Jul-2010
 


Help me write a story. Add up to 100 words and pass it on...

Mohsen turned the corner and ran down the small alley just off the main boulevard. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel the reeb reeb reeb in his temples. Sweat ran down his left eye, trickled down his tall nose, dripping off the end of it. He wiped the sweat off his nose with the back of his dirt covered hurting hand. His knuckles had been scraped when he had fallen trying to get away. That was when he saw the dark red color, it wasn't sweat, it was blood! He looked up just in time to see

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Rosie.

I was...

by Rosie. on

disappointed that it didn't take off. I was having the time of my life. I did contact two of the best and most popular writers on the site and practically begged them to do it. One said they were too busy and the other said they had had a bad experience onsite with a collective fiction thread. I can't imagine why that should be but obviously I didn't want to push it. But if you yourself had contributed to the thread I would've kept going and maybe Niki and Ari too. Then people would've seen the submissions on the Recent Comments page and maybe jumped into the fray. I dunno. In any case it would've been worth a shot..

Btw I loved everybody's writing. Honestly I thought this was a wonderful writing exercise. Since the limit was a hundred words (which Ari gluttonously disregarded lol), and you had to use the previous post as a sort of trampoline, it made me pay very close attention to every single word I used. It also made me READ other people's writing, however short, far more carefully.

I am disappointed that with many other good fiction and satire writers people were just not into this kind of thing. Although actually if 'nobody but us chickens' had kept on going, I also would've kept on going ...and going...and going...


eroonman

eh, not bad....

by eroonman on

You Can't Always Get what You want


Niki Tehranchi

Suddenly there was a violent rapping on the front door.

by Niki Tehranchi on

The woman was so startled, she dropped the whole pot of Ghormeh Sabzi on the ground.  Mohsen, suddenly jolted into action, jumped out of the bed and attempted to flee but the slippery ground made him lose his balance and soon, he found himself sitting in a steaming puddle of smelly green mush.

"Farahnaz Khanoom, open the door, it's me, Mandana!" a raspy voice uttered from behind the door.


Rosie.

Before he passed out, he said to her, "Please.I'm not a thief"..

by Rosie. on

Minutes, hours, days later, who knew, he came to. She sat beside him on the bed, holding in her lap a pot of ghormeh sabzi. Its scent, mingling with that of perfumed soap, tantalized the nostrils of his now rudimentarily bandaged long nose. With her right pointer finger she intently traced Hafez verses onto his navel with the ghormeh sabzi sauce. It burnt but in a pleasant way. 'Eat', she said absently when she saw him stir, her deep sea blue eyes staring out into far off, dimly perceived emptinesses.

Suddenly there was a violent rapping on the front door.


Ari Siletz

He looked up just in time to see...

by Ari Siletz on

...a woman unlocking the door to her house, a bag of groceries under one arm. He ran to her, still dripping blood. "Here take this, take all of it, just let me inside."  The woman kept her frightened stare at the bundle of cash that Mohsen had pulled out of his shirt. However terrified she may have been at a bleeding stranger charging at her, the promise of so much cash overwhelmed her fear, freezing her into indecision. Hearing the running footsteps of his pursuers, Mohsen made up her mind for her. He grabbed the woman by the arm and shoved her inside the house closing the door behind them.  Before he passed out, he said to her "Please, I'm not a thief."

Rosie.

He looked up just in time to see...

by Rosie. on

that nobody was participating on the thread because they have no team spirit and it wasn't a Persian poem where the last word is the first one of the next so they could enflame the website temple walls with the fervid ancestral poetic soul that burns in every Iranian breast. Fearing he would die there alone in the alley if his story ended, he quickly rubbed the tip of his right pointer finger on his dripping tall nose, and bravely ignoring that irritating reeb reeb sound, with his own blood wrote the next hundred words, which were: