love is like a tricycle: they both have three wheels and can be bought at toyshops
Oneword is, as it's help page explains more poetically than I ever could, some kind of experiment in improvised writing. Upon clicking "go", you are given one word, and sixty seconds in which to write as much as you can, using the word as inspiration.
The site is meant to be updated daily, however it has been stuck on one word for about a week now. Perhaps brian is dead; perhaps he just went off for a week to celebrate thanksgiving with his family without telling anyone. I don't know.
Some people tend to write about experiences they've had, other people about what the word directly reminds them of. I tend to start out by writing the first thing that pops into my head and then continuing on to create some kind of uber-short story. [warning: the following examples are of extremely variable quality.]
hello there. I will not be speaking today, however I shall leave today's chores deeply in the hands of my comrade, Jeffery Johnson, who is currently fifty feet up a pole as some kind of protest against fish prices. I wasn't really paying attention. I'm just that bad a military leader. Goodnight for now.
"Men!" he said, pacing across the floor as if cheese was chasing after him, which it was, if only metaphorically. For you see, the metaphorical cheese in this piece is little more than a similie for the giant asteroid that will hit him before he finishes talking. "I wa-
inside, twenty thousand small bacteria lived their lived, and were suddenly wiped out within two seconds by a massive epedemic of antibiotic column making which started a revolution in southern France that dsivides by six EVERY TEN MINUTES. WAKE UP PEOPLE IT'S ALL THERE DON'T YOU SEE THE MULTIP[LE REASONS WHY THIS GUY STOP LOOKING OVER MY SHOULDER
quiet, or they'll hear you, she said, while stealing my cucumbers. what are you on about, I said. shut up, she motioned. How she did that I'll never know, because at that point a small hole appeared in the other corner and pulled her in, before she dissapeared she had enough time to say: dammit I really wanted those cucumbers
It was blue today. Strange. Blue was usually on thursdays.
Well, I say usually. Five out of fifteen Tuesdays, it's been blue. But today, like all this week, it's been green.
I should really go upstream one day. But for now, I just like the sense of mystery.
I knew that was the wrong thing to do, but still. Something inside be felt it was right; and so the snake suffered. All the snakes suffered. Just because I wanted a small slice of lemon. The snakes, you see, had been leaders of the International Congress for several years now, and they BANNED ALL LEMONS. DAMN THEM. So they had to be stopped. This is how:
I belong to you. Yes, I am a house brick. An ordinary bloody house brick. So what? does the simple fact that I am unable to feel emotions, unable to feel pain, unable to feel love, mean that I cannot love you? Some poeple, idiots I call them, would say yes. But I say, no. Fuck them.
It was incredibly easy to get in there. Relatively so, anyway. Nowadays to get in anywhere you need six bags of identity cards, and seventeen next of kin in a small suitvcase. But in this place, all you needed was a hand. To push the door. Not that hands were commonly owned either
He pulled his cart across the snow, hoping for the sun to come out of the clouds again. When the sun came out, happiness would abound. He could go outside and dance to 80's classics. yet he was unaware of the five sniper rifles aimed at him, for now, he just dreamed of dancing in the sun.
Where next, she asked, her hair burning, literally. Nobody paid any attention to the inferno of her hair, and focused on the question.
Brian looked at his shoes. "I don't know", he mumbled, trying not to let the angry faces of his shoes intimidate him. "Where do you want to go?"