# Exercise: Why?



## e.Blackstar

Okay, I had an idea to post on here a writing excercise that my friend and I do sometimes. I (or someone else on the thread) wil describe an object, usually a commonplace one, and the object's location, and the other person/people will write down why its there. It can get interesting, and I've gotten several ideas from it in the past.

(A variation on this is to make a surname/house name i.e. Jadewing etc, and then figure out what it means.)

Any takers?
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First object:

A book, open, with no writing but a large black inkblot across the opened pages.


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## Hammersmith

Why the book is there, who left it there, and all the reasonings in between.



Abandoned face down in a puddle down by the old mill, by the undertaker's slave in the middle of the day, confident in his crime that none could see his terrible action, save the author of the pages unwritten. He does not fear the author, because he will not live long enough to have vengeance taken upon him. He does not fear his conscience, for he has none. He does not fear the book, for what cause of terror can the empty tome offer this desperate drunkard, inebriated on his own folly? But why else would he watch, blank faced and trembling, the blotted ink swelling out to stain the earth with the blood of uncommitted words? He fears the one who marked the book, who smeared the shapeless ink across the pure pages, and he fears the punishment that the wordless author will consign him to, on the other side of his life.


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## HLGStrider

After Hammersmith gives his answer, should I make up my own answer for the book? Or should I wait for a new object? Or should I make up a new object?


I'll trying giving my own answer.

_She had thought it would help, a beatiful new journal to write in, leather bound, with a real spine instead of a wire spiral. It was lovely, just the sort of thing a great novel should be penned into. She picked up her pen and hesitated. _

_For her the first page was like a marriage contract, pure and virginal, waiting for the consumation when the pen touched the paper and all was begun. Nothing could erase that first stroke, and if it was ill-laid the book was lost. Oh, one could tear out the page or rub out the spot, but the book was never pure again._

_Once she would've dove in without hesitation, into the rapture of writing, but now she feared the torture of writer's block, of being unable to finish what she started, of leaving the lovely book unfilled. She dropped her pen in frustration, the ink spilling over the white sheet. She stared in horror, and began to cry._


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## e.Blackstar

Ooo Elgee, I know exactly how she feels. Brrr...

If you want to post another object, please do so.


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## HLGStrider

A goldfish swimming in a garden pond, a golden ring between its fishlips.

Do fish have lips?


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## Zale

A reply for the sake of replying. I have a full day's worth of mechanics to do, so this won't be brilliant. Can anyone resist the wedding ring idea?

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Johnny sat alone in the airing cupboard. It was his refuge. The comforting darkness hugged him close, and the boiler gave off a delicious slow heat that warmed him gently without ever making him uncomfortable. He sat with his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped tightly around his legs. His eyes were screwed shut.

The airing cupboard was the only safe place left in the house. He'd tried shutting himself in his room, but he could still hear the argueing, the shouting and the screaming. He'd even tried burying himself deep in his bed, with his hands pressed firmly against his ears. He could still hear everything, down to the dull thuds almost every evening. They were the worst. They made him feel horribly ill, a sickness to his stomach that just wouldn't go away. Sometimes, in the morning at school, it made him so miserable that the teacher would ask him what was wrong. Johnny could only shake his head in silence: no-one could help.

Tears ran swiftly down Johnny's cheeks. He trembled violently, trying to stifle the sobs that racked him. Tonight had been especially bad. The argueing had started before he got home from school, and the screaming even before dinner. He'd run straight up to his cupboard, just managing to get there before the hitting started. It had carried on for a long time. Then there had been a dreadful ominous silence. It was then that Johnny had started to cry. There had never been silence before. Somehow it was worse than the screaming.

Then it had started again. Johnny could hear Mother, a voice full of pain, rage and fear, shaking uncontrollably. She had screamed herself hoarse, then a door had slammed, shaking the whole house. A car engine had started up, right outside, and faded away into the distance. Johnny's hopes dwindled and vanished with the sound. Despair welled up inside him. He didn't think she was coming back.

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Not too direct, but you get the idea. If someone wants a new object:

The flag was improbably clean, lying as it was on the field. The earth was churned as if just ploughed, but in a haphazard sort of way. There were deep grooves, and places where the earth had been thrown into the air to leave huge pits. Despite this the flag was proudly spotless, its dignity marred only by a small tear where it had been ripped from its pole.


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## Hammersmith

Zale said:


> The flag was improbably clean, lying as it was on the field. The earth was churned as if just ploughed, but in a haphazard sort of way. There were deep grooves, and places where the earth had been thrown into the air to leave huge pits. Despite this the flag was proudly spotless, its dignity marred only by a small tear where it had been ripped from its pole.


_The desperate criminal sat shamefaced in the ditch, his waistcoat drenched in stagnant water and his painstakingly sculpted hair ruffled and wild. His hands were bleeding from the effort and the colour had drained from his face, his heart still pounded beneath the red rose that clung forlornly to the lapel of his coat, its last unwilted petal spattered with the mud of his labour. He had cleansed the land of his crimes, yet he still felt dirty. He had scraped away the despair and grime to leave his world fresh and clear, a just foundation for building up beauty._

_Yet he still felt dirty._

_Beneath the carefully arranged turf, a thousand voices called, deafening him, accusing. The kingdom was built on blood, the flag that graced it in immaculate purity torn through war from the parent. He was stained as the ground that he had arranged with such care, but the future was ready. Would the generations to come be able to hear - could they hear even now? - the cries of the old, as they came to build up the new?_

I suppose that could refer to any civilisation built up out of war. The next item is a diamond glinting from the bottom of a murky pond in the middle of a dark and forsaken woodland.


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## e.Blackstar

> The next item is a diamond glinting from the bottom of a murky pond in the middle of a dark and forsaken woodland.



*The theif ran until he could run no more; gasping for breath, he leaned against a tree with one hand, cradling his precious burden with the other. Peeling aside one flap of cloth, he glimpsed the shining facets of the diamond. Setting it on the ground, he sat down with his back against the tree and pulled the jewel close to him. Suddenly he heard a sound whence he'd come. A hound bayed loudly, seemingly next to his ear. He jumped up with a start, and as he listened, the wind carried to him the sound of voices. Another dog barked, and another, closer and closer. He could hear one voice raised above all the others, and he recognized it. In a panic he grasped the jewel to his chest, and as a hound and its dreaded keeper came around a grove of trees and saw him there, the theif ran headlong through the forest, through brambles and around trees, and finally, in his despair, came upon a pool, glistening with muck. With one last frantic glance around, he threw himself into the water, sinking with his prize to the murky depths.*

Sorry, that was cheesy and not too original. Oh well.

Next item...um...

A cloth-of-gold gown lying crumpled and stained in the middle of a cart-road.


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## e.Blackstar

*bump*


Anyone, anyone?


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## Hammersmith

e.Blackstar said:


> Next item...um...
> 
> A cloth-of-gold gown lying crumpled and stained in the middle of a cart-road.


Well, I feel bad monopolising this thread, but as it's been a few months I'll try one that's more relevant than my last 

_For what would be the last moment in which the town and the girl would meet in time, she looked back. The wind swept through her hair and flickered its fingers around her face, forcing her to blink away the dust. Tears flowed, but not because of the breeze. The town below was silent, the hillock where she stood barefoot and clothed plainly was bare and seemed grey even though Spring had warmed the air. Over the dilligently scraped fields the wild beckoned, and she gripped the dress she held tighter.

It was a beautiful dress, and one that had been loved by many people in the small hamlet. Loved more, maybe, than the owners, who had come and gone. But she was the last. Down below people would surely be stirring soon. She thought briefly of her reasons, but they were as intangible and flighting as the wind. She would regret it within a month, but for now she would be free, released from her bonds and gone, following the only road that ran out from the town, unprepared without even shoes or provision for her journey.

Unable to resist, she pressed the soft fabric to her lips, kissing it desperately, with the fierce intensity of loss and the anger of desperation. Then it was gone, snatched willingly and by force from her clinging fingers, blowing across the hill and over the road. But she did not see where it came to rest, the fine silks smeared and ruined. She was already running._

The next item is an iron trough upended in an empty barn.


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## AraCelebEarwen

*I had one earlier but I messed it up somehow, so, TAKE TWO!*



Hammersmith said:


> Well, I feel bad monopolising this thread, but as it's been a few months I'll try one that's more relevant than my last


No! If you like to write then please, write! I like to read and when I found this it was like ‘hey! This is a cool idea!’ Just have fun and let’s try to keep this going! 



> The next item is an iron trough upended in an empty barn.


Maybe I can try my hand at this now? Let me see... ah yes, I think I may have something that _should_ work now. 


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“Stop! It’s gunna tip! Stop the wagon!” The man’s voice rang across the yard as he ran to help. The young men had put the last few things on the wagon and were almost ready to leave. 

The farm had been in the family for many years, but as time passed so did the ownership of the house and lands. They had been told to take everything; if it could be moved, then move it. One of the men know that the old trough could have stayed but they wouldn’t here of it. 

Sighing deeply and hefting the large piece to the back of the wagon, he tried to get it on well enough that it wouldn’t come out as the horses pulled the load away and down the road. 

The wagon was old, wood cracked and nails coming loose, but ti had been used well and they knew how to treat it. A strong tug from the horses was enough to set it moving but also jared the load enough that the trough slid towards the edge. One of the older men saw it move and yelled as he ran to help. 

He was only a moment too late though. A sickening thud and yelp came from the barn. The heavy though had slipped loose and landed on the boys foot, pinning him to the ground. All the others had quickly gathered and helped to lift the edge of the trough and some pulled the boy back and out of the way. 

Everything was left as it was, the young men hauling their friend into the house to care for him and the others finding that things could wait a little longer. The wagon was unhitched in the yard and the horses tied to a near by fence; the empty barn having only the tracks and the overturned trough to show anything of what had happened.
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Next..? How about... a silver dagger jammed into the trunk of a young tree and an apple with a bite out of it on the ground. (just trying to keep it going, this could be almost anything when used right! Have at it!)


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## YayGollum

Greetings. Hm. A cool little exercise. Shall attempt. For ---> a silver dagger jammed into the trunk of a young tree and an apple with a bite out of it on the ground. 

"Well, here I am, admitting that I was wrong. You will not hear that often, so pay attention! Hmph. Okay, I was a big skeptic! So what? It it is smart to be a skeptic. Who really believes any of those crazies who claim to have seen Bigfoot or extraterrestrials or the Loch Ness monster? Huh? Well, now, I am not so sure. Who knows what could be real out there? Do you know? *sigh* oh well." 

Reminiscedly as well as resignedly ---> "Heh. I remember coming out here. I had gotten so frustrated with my family for being so gullible! They are all so stubbornly superstitious! I came out here, checked out the area. Found this nice location for a picnic with a lake and all of these trees. Thought I'd bring them out in a few days just to laugh at them. I thought that it was just silly to believe that some old Native American tribe that nobody has ever heard of put an actual curse on our family! Wouldn't you? Now I know what happened to all of those family members who vanished in these woods. We had a good logging operation set up here before you people had to use your crazy American spirit nonsense on us!

Anyways, I was here, about to head back to my car, when a bit of curiosity struck me. Why not? Try it out, I told myself! I stuck that tree with my knife, and now look where I am! Okay. I'm sorry what my ancestors did to your little forest. It's not my fault, though. Help me out of this, maybe?"

A young as well as perhaps in some small way at least partly Native American looking dude sat on the ground in front of a young tree with a silver dagger sticking out of it. He managed an exasperated smile as he grabbed the apple on his way to standing up. "Nope. sorry about that, guy. You shouldn't have hurt our trees. Now you'll get to see what it's like. Thanks for bringing the apple, though. You know, you might not believe this, seeing as how my ancestors were the ones that cursed your ancestors, but I happen to be a pretty big skeptic, myself. Bigfoot? That's an obvious hoax. Aliens? Now those are some crazies! Always some hillbilly type looking for attention, right? What else did you say? Oh, yeah. The Loch Ness Monster? There is absolutely no way that - "

The dude is broken off by the tree's sudden as well as helpless laughter. With much annoyedness at being interrupted ---> "Hey! I'm leaving soon. Who else is going to talk to you?" He was probably going to say more, but the tree's laughter was getting louder and more manic. The guy dropped the apple due to a sudden burst of realization that maybe it was being just a little bit too loud. This bit of clarity allowed him to hear the steady sliding noise coming from behind him. 

After turning around, he dropped the apple with shock at finding himself face to flipper with one of those Loch Ness monster type things. His last thought was ---> "Huh. So the old family legends of a monster living in that lake were true!"

_____________________________________________________________

The next item and location ---> a peanut shell precisionally cut into four equal parts and lying in the middle of a ballroom.


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## AraCelebEarwen

It happened every year; the wealthiest mice of the city planed out and held one of the finest parties that one could wish to attend. There would be grand tables filled with a myriad of dishes; soft music to set one to swaying lightly across the floor; sparkling drinks in shining crystal glasses... This year, it was their turn. 

Tibby had everything planed out. It was going to be the best ball yet. Every mouse in the city would remember it for years to come. From the silken banners to the new marble tiles; everything was polished, dusted and set to shining glory.

"Are you ready, Tibby? We need to get there." Mark called after the darting form of the other mouse as she scurried about trying to finnish off the last few things.

"One more moment! Almost... There! Yes. Let's go. We don't want to miss our own ball, now do we." Her little gray nose twitched as she pulled on a cap and tied the ribbons under her chin. 

Together they made their way to the great hall where in a very short time every mouse worth their whiskers would be sure to be found. And so it was. The evening air was soon filled with the happy voices of the many guests. 

Everything had been done right. Hot dishes were kept hot and of cold treats and drinks there was plenty to go around. The music was ideal and not one of the dances was ether too long nor too short. 

Tibby and Mark were just sitting down after a dance when it was brought out. A new addition to the hall was to be the surprise of the night. The soft brown of the shell was brushed just as clean as any of the many brown and gray heads pointed curiously to the center of the room to watch the goings on. 

A large set of peanut shells was brought out by eight slick and well dressed lizards. Just as they set it on the white marble, it split into four pieces and opened to revile a rainbow as light shimmered off the crystals set beautifully into the gold and silver lining.

It was ideal. Everyone had a better time then ever before and greatly thanked little Tibby and Mark for all their time and effort. As time grew late and then early the music faded and food was cleared away as the last of the yawning guests wandered off. 
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Something glittering from the branches of a tree.


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## AraCelebEarwen

Is there enough interest to try continuing this thread? Let's see if it at least has a chance. 

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Away from the edge of town, the old apple tree had long been knows as a place young couples would escape to. Quiet and peaceful, it had by whispers and quiet glances become to be no more a secrete then the fact that those who went there were in love. 

The gold charm from her necklace rested against his chest; his silver ring on a cord around her own neck. Though they had not yet been able to speak their vows before witnesses, no one questioned that it was only a matter of time as they treasured eachother's gifts and company more then anything. 

But time changes all things. Love is strong, but the hour the knight rode into their village, she could tell he was being pulled to the man's call. Promises of adventure, opportunities to uphold truth and guard those that could not stand on their own. Everything the knight spoke of wove a spell over both the young and old. Rising longing in the men and fear in the women. 

Everything happened so fast. She knew that he had bid her fair-well, but she could no longer recall his exact words and clung desperately to the memory of his parting embrace. Weeks became months and turned to years before they heard anything of them. Husbands, brothers, sons and lovers, only a precious few ever came back to bring word of the war and their comrades.

Some can still picture the time before as they watch sunlight play across the trinkets swaying in the breeze. Though only a few still remember their names, their love only a moment in a now lost world, none of the villagers will forget the story. Not after seeing the leather cord twined together with a gold chain; a little charm surrounded by a silver ring; whispering voicelessly of what was from where they have hung among the branches of the old apple tree.


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Ripples spreading out across a liquid surface.


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