Saw this post on Boing Boing a couple weeks ago and thought it would be a good idea for me to try. So here goes. I was going to transcribe one of the stories I wrote when I was a teenager, but realized they would probably be better off read aloud in a Salon of Shame, lol. Instead, I’ll transcribe the first few paragraphs of the least horrible story I wrote back then, and then I’ll tell you about some of the others.
The Day of Death
It was a foggy, humid, mid-eastern morning. The heat seemed to rise from the pavement in swirls of tortured souls, begging for deliverance from the brutal sun. Swarms of the perspiring public strolled along sidewalks, dropping into air-conditioned stores for relief. Others sat on park benches in the shade, trying to end their hunger for a single, chilling breeze.
It was a day for short tempers. Passionate arguments broke out suddenly, and for trivial reasons. Old women visiting on porches in the suburbs quarrelled all day, their cackling voices carried down the street by the sunny, gray wind.
This was the day of death, and Death nodded, beginning his wait. Yes, the impending doom talked about for centuries was soon now. no longer would the radical street prophets be doubted.
Death drifted slowly over the earth, pausing every so often to whisper a solitary word into the air, to be heard by those who needed to hear it.
There you have it! The rest of that short story details what happens when animals go nutso en masse and begin to attack humanity for our environmental wrongdoings. Even the environmentalists are not spared, although they “were shown compassion and spared the merciless deaths used on the others. They passed away peacefully that night, and the animals watched them perish with what seemed almost like tears.”
I actually don’t know why I’ve hung on to these stories. Over the years I’ve managed to rid myself of most of the sentimental items from my childhood and adolescence, but I still have a few things. I’ve limited myself to one medium-sized box, and once in awhile I’ll take a trip down memory lane.
Most of the stories centre around the classic teenaged theme of tragic love, or celebrity love (or both). A humorous story that was co-written with my best friend details her pregnancy by Simon LeBon of Duran Duran and my engagement to Nikki Sixx of Motley Crue (oh, and my brief love affair with Jon Bon Jovi, who needed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation). Another story, handwritten on 7 loose-leaf pages with no paragraph breaks, tells of my subsequent marriage to Nikki Sixx and all the fun we had throwing wild parties. It was written when I was 13 and I am amused at my idea of ‘wild’ back then. There was some drinking, sure, but mostly we had indoor snowball fights with balled up paper.
The two longest stories involve both time travel and death. In one, I am magically transported back in time to 1979 where I meet, fall in love, and eventually die tragically with Randy Rhoads, who played guitar with Quiet Riot and Ozzy Osbourne. In the other, I am transported back in time to England in 1808 where I meet, become best friends for 11 years, fall in love, and eventually die tragically with Lord Byron, the womanizing romantic poet.
Another of my stories was written and illustrated in 1986 (when I was 12), but set in 2009. Apparently there is a horrible war taking place between the U.S. and the U.S.S.R., and a young boy who stepped into a time machine at Expo 86 convinces everyone to stop fighting, and then gets sent home after getting a tour of a typical home in 2009. Every room has a fax machine, the typical family’s computer has a CD-R drive and a laser printer, the phones are small enough to fit in your pocket (!), and there are “mini-computers that fit behind your 6 inch wide ties.” Oh, and don’t forget the bomb shelter attached to every home.
I think that’s enough Rabbit Hole Blogging for today! If there’s anyone out there reading this, leave me a link to your blog in the comments if you decide to do a Rabbit Hole Blog of your own.