quote:Louche Yesterday the prospect of house change was stressing me out so much I contemplating moving into my hammock. I like it there. It's like my safe place.
quote:Me Do you ever consider swinging in your hammock eating spaghetti and knitting in nothing but a string vest, Louche?
quote:Louche I can't knit.
quote:Me I'm not sure a hammock is safe for someone who can't knit.
quote:Louche Well, I managed to spend most of last summer in it safely, without damaging myself (further, given I was already slightly damaged).
Let's do the TMO thing and trample on Louche's safe place by writing terrifying fiction set in a hammock. I'm going out in a bit so I'm like the crappest post fist ever. Plus I'm shit at writing scary stuff, so everyone can do a better job in my absence. I'll dig this up from the bottom of the forum and try when I get back.
posted
Malcolm folded his cane closed with the familiar CLACK-clack. He placed it on the kitchen table where he would remember to retrieve it. He'd had a horrible day, that last piano just wouldn't stay in tune. He decided against changing in the bedroom and just stripped to his underpants where he stood, it was a hot day, he was sweaty, so he put his clothes straight into the washing machine. He felt across the face of the display for the control knob, counted off four clicks for the programme he wanted and pressed the ON button. He walked out into the garden and felt the warmth of the sun and the breeze on his body. He pointed his face at the sun. Malcolm walked forward until he sensed the shade, he reached out and felt the reassuring heft of the tree trunk, he followed it's contours up and found the rope that secured one end of the hammock. Malcolm loved the hammock, it made him feel free, he felt a peculiar confidence suspended in the air, born up invisibly, the air circulating around him. He'd had some trouble with it at first, negotiating the climb in and out very gingerly, but he used it so often now that he could literally hop straight into it's enveloping embrace. Malcolm positioned himself at the side of the hammock, he felt it touching his right knee. He vaulted to the horizontal and flopped onto the hammock's surface...
[ 09.05.2007, 06:35: Message edited by: Black Mask ]
posted
Where once a lattice of cotton cord had been there was now a nexus of razor-wire. Malcolm felt the steely grid slice into the length of his body. A scream tore from his lungs, he squirmed on the hammock and cubes fell from his back and thighs. He felt the wire scraping against his pelvis and shoulder blades, peeling the scalp from the back of his head...
posted
* COMPLETELY OUT OF SYNC INTERMISSION * (but I've written it, so whatever...)
Louche's room was set up just exactly how she liked it. After years of living in Manchester, her ability to do absolutely nothing at all for weeks on end was unsurpassed. By anyone that didn't live in Manchester that is. And to do nothing at all in any sort of comfort required a perfect room.
Candles sat in every recess and on every shelf, softly lighting the parlour of the derelict 2-up-2-down (Louche lived in one of the posher parts of the city); a school of tropical fish legumed in their little lagoon; a cosy fire blazed in the grate, a fluffy kitten curled up on the rug in front of it; a teasmade bubbled gently within arm's reach, shelves of books conveniently lined up along the walls.
And best of all, the peace de la resistants, her luxury, sheepskin-lined hammock, swinging slowly in the room, carefully positioned to give Louche a clear view straight down the ginnell opposite her house.
Bliss.
Louche lit up another of her endless Camel Full Strength fags, balanced a thick hardback book under her chin and reached for a fresh cuppa from the teasmade. Just at this moment, the little fluffy pussy cat decided to jump up for a cuddle. The hammock tilted a little as Louche leaned over and the kitten panicked, digging its needle sharp little claws right into Louche's arse.
"Foooockkkkkkiiiiinnnnnn' aaaaaaarrrrrssseeeeeehooooolllleeeeessss!!!!" yelled Louche (she lived in one of the politer parts of the city). The kitten held on for dear life, the cup of tea went straight down the front of Louche's string vest and she reflexively stubbed out the fag on her nose. The book slipped to one side, finally tipping the centre of gravity on the hammock, and Louche spun round. The cat's claws dug deeper. Flailing wildly, Louche grabbed at the teasmade, wrenching the cable out of the wall with a pop and a shower of sparks. The cable caught on the bottom-most bookshelf, toppling the whole stack which caught Louche's knee.
"Fooookkkkiiiiinnn' fookering foook!" Louche screamed as the hammock span round ever faster and more books tumbled onto her head. Something had to give, and it was the end of the hammock opposite the fireplace. Entangled in her string vest, knitting, spaghetti and the hammock, Louche swung face first into the fire. With a swear word which would have made a 4-year-old in Burnage go slightly pale, Louche forced herself backwards out of the fire, turned and plunged into the tank of tropical fish. Just then, a candle fell out of a nook and set her vest on fire. The kitten dug in even harder as Louche dived through the window, cutting herself cleanly in half on the broken glass. A tropical fish flopped weakly in the pool of blood which trickled across the road and down the gimmell.
The Health & Safety Executive had all kittens put to death shortly afterwards in what has since become known as "Louche's Law".
posted
Susan lay back in the hammock with her book, rocking in the afternoon sun. With her free hand she brought her white wine spritzer to her lips and sipped. She felt safe, suspended above the world in the firm grasp of the net hammock. She set the glass down and placed the book on her chest and nodded off to sleep.
After a dreamless sleep, Susan woke, blinking her way back into the world, now dark. Seconds passed are she placed herself. The rocking. The slight pressure of the book on her chest. It was OK. She reached out for her glass of wine, but coulnd't get her hand past the edge of the hammock. Clutching the netting wiht her free hand for support she edged over and tried again. Still she couldn't reach over the edge. She pushed heself sideways, feeling the fibres scrape across her back, but found no end to the strings. She sat up. Everything looked as it should be.
She swung her legs over the side, but found them caught by the netting. She tried the throw herself up and over the side of the hammock, but it caught her, bounced her down to the middle again. She scrambled around, trying to reach the side but the result was always the same - where there should be air more fibre penned her in, swinging her back to the centre. It was no longer a hammock - it was a net in which she was caught.
Susan screamed, as the sides of the hammock lifted up, dropping her to the bottom like a shoal of fish being hoisted up the side of a boat. She leapt, clawed, and scrabbled to escape, but the hammock held her. The end pitched up into the darkness, expanding, and pulling together. Her legs were bunched up over her head now, her arms bundled weakly up over her torso. The net started to contract, folding her in on her self. She felt ari pushed out of her lungs. Felt her tortured verterbrae start to creak and pop. Her knees in her face, no air left to scream with, and still the net became tighter.
-------------------- Now that you've called me by name? Posts: 2007
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posted
The hammock swayed gently from side to side in the warm Summer breeze, tiny sparrows hopped nervously on the freshly cut lawn, their anxiousness clearly evolving from years of protecting themselves from the predators that lay in wait, and the incessant intervention of humans - namely children - that took great pleasure in chasing them around endlessly. The plucky sparrows usually evaded capture from the grubby-fingered youths, however years of such a tiring scenario had led to the sparrows strengthening their awareness capabilities.
It was moments such as these that Suzanna relished: the opportunity to retreat from the stress-filled streets of Manchester, where she had worked all her life and to simply switch off, savour her favourite wines and take in the beauty of all that surrounded her from the comfort of her hammock. This, was Suzanna's utopia. Perched on her lap was the new laptop that she'd recently purchased. A snip at £400, she reminded herself, a mild smile confirming her contentment at the deal she struck at her local 'PC World'. At first, Suzanna suspected that the salesman had simply felt a shade of pity for her after seeing that she was wheelchair-bound. She quickly realised, however, that it was her impeccable haggling skills that had led to her buying the machine for £100 less than its advertised price. An absolute steal.
Suzanna was typing an email message to her fiancé, Nathan, who was 'away on business'. Again. Nathan's business trips were becoming rather tedious. A little too tedious for her liking, but what could she possibly say? She could hardly question the trust between them. That was out of the question, and a sure-fire way of ensuring that their relationship would grind to an abrupt halt - not a situation that Suzanna would relish at all. The thought of being alone frightened her greatly. After losing the loss of her legs following the near-fatal car crash that she survived at the age of 11, Suzanna felt more alone than ever, and the day that she met Nathan was regarded by her as the greatest day of her life: his beautiful smile, his intelligence and, of course, his staggeringly wonderful physique. The sex was ground-breaking from the start. The fact that Suzanna had to be lifted from the wheelchair to the bed did nothing to deter Nathan's insatiable desire to satisfy her sexually. She experienced a shuddering orgasm the first time he entered her, and did so every time their bodies became engaged in sexual encounters since then. Suzanna had an ocean of orgasms in her midst while Nathan was around.
Hi Nathan!
T'is only me, my dear! I hope that you arrived in San Fransisco safely and that you have settled into your hotel well. Just thought I'd send you a quick email from my new laptop. I am currently sitting in the hammock in the garden. The weather is absolutely beautiful! I am missing you loads darling. Words cannot describe how much I love you.
I have been thinking about the wedding and reckon that we should just send out invitations to all of our family and friends - even people that we haven't seen for years. A lot of people might not be able to make it anyway, so we shouldn't really be too worried about the church being too full. Anyway, I'll let you go. Have a good time hun and I'll see you soon.
Love you, Suzanna xxx
Suzanna re-read her message then clicked on the 'send' button. After waiting for the 'message sent' confirmation, she switched off the laptop, leaned carefully to her left and placed it on her wheelchair, where her glass of wine was sitting. She reached for the glass and allowed her body to become at one with her hammock. She fumbled in her jeans pocket and retrieved her packet of Lambert & Butler cigarettes, pulling one out and placing it expertly in her mouth. She lit a match using the bark of the tree that held her and the hammock aloft and brought the cigarette to life, breathing in the rich smoke deeply, before allowing the wisps of smoke to trail from her nostrils. Bliss, she thought. Suzanna allowed herself to be overwhelmed by relaxation and drifted into a deep sleep.
Suzanna awoke from her afternoon doze with a shriek, the wine glass in her hand falling to the ground and shattering on a boulder. She swatted at the needle-like pain on her cheek and watched in horror as several large wasps gathered around her face, the one that she squished lying immobile on her right knee. This act of insect homicide appeared to anger further wasps in the vicinity of the garden and another swarm came from behind, the peaceful afternoon rustlings now replaced by a deafening drone as the wasps merged into one black, buzzing cloud. Suzanna saw her jeans darken as the urine was released from her now-quivering body. She turned and grabbed the wheelchair, attempting to pull herself onto it, but her hands slipped and the hammock spun around, sending Suzanna plummeting to the ground. The black cloud followed.
Suzanna screamed, however her open mouth simply acted as a guide for several of the wasps. The first one stung her upper lip, the second, her tongue. The pain was excruciating as her mouth became the equivalent of a mini atom bomb, the wasps stinging every available fleshy area inside her mouth... and, before long, her throat. More wasps were now lodged on her gums, making Suzanna temporarily resemble some macabre manifestation of a brace-wearing schoolchild.
Within minutes the wasps had covered her entire body, the miniature weapons of mass destruction filing one-by-one down the top of her t-shirt. Attempting to roll over, Suzanna realised that the wasps were now inside her knickers, seeking the tenderest part of her anatomy. The pain was now blinding. She tried to claw her way towards the back door, but, as she opened her eyes, wasps began stinging her eye lids and eventually led to warm streams of blood running from what were once eye sockets.
Praying for death, Suzanna gave up her futile resistance and allowed the wasps to continue their business. Her mind flashed back to when she was a child, playing with her Mother in the woods, collecting leaves and placing them in her scrap book before going home and proudly showing them to her Father. Suzanna started sobbing.
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posted
Could someone write one from the point of view of the hammock? The horror it must endure? I've been trying for the last hour or so, but I couldn't write my way out of a wet paper bag. The idea is funny in my head. I know one of you can do it the justice it deserves.
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quote: the day that she met Nathan was regarded by her as the greatest day of her life: his beautiful smile, his intelligence and, of course, his staggeringly wonderful physique.
Eerily, I've never even met Zygote... and yet...
-------------------- Now that you've called me by name? Posts: 2007
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quote:Originally posted by ben: I bet you're a big Shaun Huston fan.
I read a few of his books as a teenager, but haven't really bothered with horrors at all since then, barring some Guy N. Smith books I was given recently, which are more comedy than horror.
I've always had a deep-rooted fear of wasps, so find it very easy to think of situations where they might 'revel'.
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Louche
Carved TMO on her clit just to make you feel bad
posted
Oh, fabulous hammock wreckery, gentlemen. I am now partially afeared of my innocent hammock. And slightly worried about having a wasp sting my bits. I suspect it would take a triffid-hammock combo to make me feel the Real Fear, though.
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