Free Write Collection
by Ben Baker
Various strange stories that I wrote throughout Fall 2013 in the GSU Writer’s Guild.
Get a Clue
(Basically playing the game Clue and having to write based on the stuff we got)
I’m Ms. White. Definitely not the killer. Sure, I have this wrench here and I’m in the lounge and everything, but in no way did I kill nobody. I ain’t no murderer. I is a good ole southr’n belle gentlewoman. Or… something like that. Okay not really. Mr. Body was a nice young man; why would I want to take the life of someone whose body I wanted so badly? no pun intended. Also, I meant sexually, not murderally. That’s why I was in the lounge; I had to fill up on a couple gallons of vodka so I could be a little more courageous in my “courtship methods”. And… uh no, I don’t want to tell you about the wrench in my hand. It’s… personal. Just remember kids, be safe, sane, and consensual. If all three of these criteria are not fulfulled, well… let’s just say sometimes hunky men end up dead on the floor, and nobody wants that. Not even me. Ehhh. That’s not really that true. Sometimes they’re hotter when they’re not hot, if you know what I mean… Okay yeah I totally killed him and had sex with his dead body. Don’t judge me.
The next 3 were just writing whatever, based on what kind of music was playing.
It was a downtrodden day. A man walked down the narrow street, heavy rain pouring down on his beige fedora. He stepped into a puddle, splashing even more water all over his body. Everything sucked.
This man walked back onto the sidewalk and opened the door to his office. The air conditioner was broken again, wasn’t it? Ugh. As he stepped into the sauna of a room, he wondered why he became a Private Eye for Hipsters. They only ever hired him ironically, usually to have him track them themselves. Sometimes they did it just to reenact all those scenes from “We ❤ Huckabees.”
Music (no lyrics)
Boris stepped out into the crowd of screaming fans. “Who’s ready to JAAAAAAAAM?” she screamed at the top of her lungs. They…. What? They were silent. What, was her fly down or something?
“Guys? I said… Who’s ready….. TO JAAAAAAAM?” This time she strummed a little on her guitar to get them excited. Still… Nothin’. She heard a few murmurs this time at least, but other than that, it was as if they were at a funeral.
Finally, someone near the stage raised his hand. Boris pointed at him. “Um, Boris?” he said. “Why did you say… Jam?” Boris looked at him confusedly. “Did you mean to say… Rock?” Boris’s eyes popped open at the realization that she had said something terribly, terribly wrong.
Music + lyrics
This was it. Phinease was finally going to ask Melissa to the dance. She sat alone at the lunch table, unlike usual, and that gave him a confidence boost enough to finally go into action. Without her judgemental friends surrounding her, he was certain he could accomplish this task.
Pretending to act casually, he glossed over the lunch room for a few seconds before “just happening” to spot her table. He took his time getting over there, and Melissa only noticed him as he sat down.
“Oh hey, didn’t know you were in here,” Phineas lied.
“Hey, Phineas.” She looked crestfallen for some reason.
“Nothing much.” She didn’t even attempt to hide her sadness. He assumed it was just PMS or something.
“So… Wanna go to the dance with me?”
She began to cry and ran away. Phineas only could wonder what it was he said.
This one was made as a picture of a piano with burnt-up sheet music was displayed.
“Shit!” Jeremy shouted. “My fucking music caught on fire again! See, THIS is why I don’t fucking play on the damn piano anymore. Ever sicne I found that genie, chicks just fig me and I’m great at pretty much anything, but really, fuck. I wished to be hot, not to be HOT.” he kicked the piano down. It caught on fire. “Fuck everything.”