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Thread: August 2017 - LM - Because I'm Insane

  1. #1
    Global Moderator kilroy214's Avatar
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    August 2017 - LM - Because I'm Insane

    LITERARY MANEUVERS

    Because I'm Insane

    The winner will receive a badge pinned to their profile and given a month’s access to FoWF where you’ll have access to hidden forums and use of the chat room.

    This is a Fiction writing competition, and the prompt for this month in 'Because I'm Insane' Pick your own title, write about whatever you want, as long as it's related in some way to the prompt.


    The Judges for this LM are: pluralized, ppsage, Smith, and bdcharles.
    If you want to judge and I left you out, send me your scores by the deadline. If you're listed here and don't wish to judge, let me know at once (please).

    All entries that wish to retain their first rights should post in theLM Workshop Thread.

    All Judges scores will be PMed to
    kilroy214.

    All anonymous entries will be PMed to kilroy214.


    Rules








    • All forum rules apply. The LM competition is considered a creative area of the forum. If your story contains inappropriate language or content, do not forget add a disclaimer or it could result in disciplinary actions taken. Click here for the full list of rules and guidelines of the forum.
    • No Poetry! Nothing against you poets out there, but this isn’t a place for your poems. Head on over to the poetry challenges for good competition over there. Some of us fiction people wouldn’t be able to understand your work! Click here for the poetry challenges. Play the prose-poem game at your own risk.
    • No posts that are not entries into the competition are allowed. If you have any questions, concerns, or wish to take part in discussion please head over to the LM Coffee Shop. We’ll be glad to take care of your needs over there.
    • Editing your entry after posting isn’t allowed. You’ll be given a ten minute grace period, but after that your story may not be scored.
    • Only one entry per member.
    • The word limit is 650 words not including the title. If you go over - Your story will not be counted. Microsoft Word is the standard for checking this. If you are unsure of the word count and don't have Word, please send your story to me and I'll check it for you.









    There are a few ways to post your entry:









    1. If you aren't too concerned about your first rights, then you can simply post your entry here in this thread.
    2. You can opt to have your entry posted in the Workshop which is a special thread just for LM entries. You would put your story there if you wish to protect your first rights, in case you wish to have the story published one day. Note: If you do post it in the workshop thread, you must post a link to it here in this thread otherwise your story may not be counted.
    3. You may post your story anonymously. To do so, send your story to the host of the competition. If you wish to have us post it in the workshop thread then say so. Your name will be revealed upon the release of the score.










    Everyone is welcome to participate. A judge's entry will receive a review by their fellow judges, but it will not receive a score. Please refrain from 'like'-ing or 'lol'-ing an entry until the scores are posted.

    Judges: In the tradition of LM competitions of yore, if you could send the scores one week after deadline it will ensure a timely release of scores and minimize the overall implementation of porkforking. Please see the Judging Guidelines if you have questions. Following the suggested formatting will be much appreciated, too.

    This competition will close on:
    Tuesday, the 15th of August at 11:59 PM, GMT time.

    Scores would be appreciated by Wednesday, the 30th of August, at the latest.

    Click here for the current time.
    “On the chest of a barmaid in Sale, were tattooed all the prices of ale. And on her behind, for the sake of the blind, was the same only written in braille"


    "Ambiguity is one of the greatest faults in a craft. It comes from vague ambitions. One may inspired by good ambitions, but the immediate concern of the craftsman is to know what he is capable of doing at present; and to do it."
    - Edward Johnston

  2. #2

  3. #3
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    Proof of Sanity
    By William C. Kiraly


    What a bunch of rubes.

    I expected New Mexico law enforcement to be clueless but I had no idea they could so easily fooled.

    Okay, so they caught me, I didn’t expect that. But ever since, they’ve followed my lead and everything’s worked out just like I want.

    So here I am on my way to a New Mexico mental hospital and it’s my lucky day. I’m to be held there until I’m sane and how hard can it be to prove you are sane when you’re surrounded by lunatics?

    After that, I get to go home to LA--and the bitch is dead and I get all her money. And all I had to do was convince a bunch of back-country cowboys that I thought she was the devil when I killed her. I came up with that whole routine right on the spot after they stopped me.

    My lawyer was an idiot and that prick of a prosecutor, Tim Corwin, turned to putty when he found out I had “mental problems.” Hell, even the stupid Judge asked him about it. He said “Mr. Corwin, you used to be the toughest prosecutor I ever had in my courtroom. How come you turned soft on murderers all of a sudden?” Corwin replied that he had a close relative in a case with an insanity plea. He said he learned compassion from that case. I couldn’t believe my luck.

    So my lawyer proposed that I plead guilty by reason of insanity and this Corwin just ate it up so now I’m on my way to serve a year or two in a nice, clean hospital instead of life in prison.

    Finally, after hours and hours of driving, we finally get to the New Mexico nuthouse and it’s a dreary looking place from the outside and even worse on the inside.

    They put me in a room with a perky blonde doctor named Emma Benavides who is all smiles and reassurances. This is gonna be a piece of cake.

    “Okay, Mr. Heinzman,” she says, “I just know were going to get along.”

    “Well thanks, Dr. Benavides, I’m already starting to feel better. The voices have stopped talking to me.”

    “Oh, that’s very good," she says. Then I look at her name tag, it says “Dr. Emma Corwin-Benavides”

    “Corwin, that’s funny, that was my prosecutor’s name.” I say.

    “Not so funny,” she says brightly, “he’s my brother.”

    “He told the judge, your family had someone who committed a crime because he was insane, um, like me.”

    “Not exactly” she says. “My nine-year-old son was murdered by a man who got off by pretending to be insane. Tim and I decided that wasn’t a very good thing and should never happen again.”

    Suddenly, I felt all my bravado drop away.

    “Well, um, it’s a good thing I’m not somebody like that. I’ve always had demons around me I had to fight, so um, I have to be strong and only kill demons.”

    “Yes, that’s nice dear, now I have to give you a little injection to calm you down.”

    “No, no,” I scream and I start flailing in my chair, “I don’t need an injection.”

    She pushes a buzzer and two hulking orderlies come in and hold me down as she injects something in my arm.

    The drug starts to work immediately. My brain keeps working normally but my arms and legs feel like lead and I can’t get words out, It’s like my tongue is a just slab of meat. I say “Ugbubbah”

    Dr. Benavides leans down and whispers in my ear. “Now Mr. Heinzman, when you can prove to me that you're sane, I’ll sign the release papers. But until then, I have to give you a shot every day. Okay?”

    “Bruggadadda” I say.
    Only the curious have something to find. --Nickel Creek

  4. #4
    Indecision

    “I think it Tears for Fears said it once. It's a mad world we live in, Jessica,” I reprimanded the sultry blonde woman. Her plump lips painted a pale, reddish tint. My eyes met her's in their fearful gaze before being parted by a strip of black cloth. I expanded on my initial comment, “It's easy to tell everyone what things 'need' to be. Even easier to make everyone aware of what you want it to be like.”


    Looming over her slender body, I could only admire the carefully chosen clothing. The tight skirt that clung to her ample hips. It was long enough to be modest around her pert buttocks but still cut off above the knees high enough to flash those perfectly toned calves. She spent daily time at the gym, after all.


    Her camisole's strap hung off one shoulder and I carefully returned it to its proper position. Her supple chest would be the only 'flaw' she would be sensitive about. Even so, the appropriately shaped A-cups rested in her strapless bra perfectly. Her whole body shivered beneath my gaze.


    “However,” I began, “Making something requires will. Something you utterly lack.”


    My voice rose in volume and bass, “Those clothes! That gym membership! That job! Those friends! That money! Your dreams! They're all mine! You're living my life and it isn't fair! I was born a woman and you took it all from me!”


    “I'm sorry,” She mutters pathetically. What started as tremors now rock her like body borne earthquakes.


    Her frailty only urges me on, “These tits! Those doe-like eyes! They were all mine! Why did you betray me? What made this happen? Tell me! Don't just whimper and cry! Speak up!”


    “Cause I love you!” The woman screeches. She repeats the line that tears at me like Hell's own furies. My hands grasp at my ears trying to earn even the smallest reprieve. The words cause my knees to buckle and sobs tear through my body.
    Now, with blindfold removed, this perfect Goddess towers above me. Her delicate, blessed fingers now slip the cloth over my eyes. The fabric is thick enough that no light filters in. Jessica's flowery fragrance causes both nostrils to flare. I want to soak in her scent and never smell anything else. All too soon I can feel her warmth fade from me.


    “You were exhausted and your passion had gone. I saw that,” The Goddess of truth declared. The soft click of her heels circle the heap I've become on the floor. Even without seeing her, I know each sensuous step is a divine gift I'm not meant for.


    She proclaims, “And despite your selfish nature, I saved you. Gave you the spark to reignite your fire. Taught you new things and ways of life. I took you in hand and made what was already a gleaming gem into a cut diamond. Yet, it is never enough, is it?”


    She stomps and I feel the rush of air against my thigh from it. My whole body recoils in the expectation of pain, yet none comes my way. Instead, I am rewarded with the faintest fairy kiss of her fingers along my cheek.


    In a stuttered whisper I plead, “Please, give it back.”


    The Goddess says sadly, “But I took nothing in the first place.”


    With that, the blindfold slipped from my eyes. Only the single light of my walk in closet poured down over my body. At the back was my three piece mirror. The center one, newly shattered. Blocking the left mirror was a tasteful business suit, broad in the shoulders. Atop the right hung the Goddess' own choice of dress.


    I wept softly, unable to rise from that position.
    The truthful lie and unbelievable are my wings so I walk among the skies.

    Come see a little through my eyes
    My site

  5. #5
    Because I’m Insane . . .

    I live on the fifth floor of a senior-only apartment building. I have two windows in my apartment, both of which look down onto a small patio, several tiny gardens and a couple of benches with matching lawn chairs. These are for residents of the building to enjoy. In early spring the two trees shading the patio area are in bloom with pink petals. Aside from the fact that this small oasis is surrounded by a parking lot that is consistently full, it is quite a pleasant view from my windows.

    In the very early morning, there are typically the same two or three older ladies wearing voluminous caftans, sitting on a bench under the trees together, sipping their coffees. The sun is barely up and I wonder why anyone would want to sit on a dew-damp bench that early in the morning. Or, I think, are they just trying to recapture what they used to do when they owned a home of their own? When the moments on a private patio at the back of a large, four bedroom colonial, was their only refuge. Early, of course, before anyone else was up, stealing time away from making breakfast for a demanding family; the solitude and quiet was a peaceful panacea for a life too full.

    What were they now, these coffee moments on the apartment patio? Another peaceful retreat? What from?

    My arms are resting on the sill as I try to listen, but five floors up is too high for anything to be heard, so I just imagine. From experience in the elevators and the hallways, I know it is not a discussion of a good book, or analyzing the evening news, or even a funny new show on PBS. It is more likely about their dogs, visits to the vet and how long a loving pooch has left on seizure medication. Or how often they “go” or if they had an accident anytime in the last century, or if they limp, or have long toenails. Well, whatever is discussed, eventually the caftan ladies finish their coffees and wend their billowing ways toward the back entrance of the building.

    Most of the people in my building are refugees from somewhere. In their tiny apartments, on their cramped walls and stacked on any flat surface, are photographs and drawings from long-ago moments and lives left behind. They are never discussed, never pointed out with longing. They are simply part of the background and evidence that the ancient person we see before us once had a real life.

    One day I make the effort to dress early and join the caftan ladies. The damp easily creeps into my jeans as they talk about life in the apartment building. They talk about their doctor appointments, taking the bus to the grocery store, how to get and keep food stamps and, as expected, their pets.

    They look at me expectantly and I take a deep breath. I say, “I wish I still had a home; still had a family; still had a back yard with a patio I could sit on and have coffee in the morning and a beer in the evenings. I wish I could go to the beach and wear a bikini. I wish I had not gotten old so fast. I wish I could turn back the clock; re-do some things; get an education; love again. Dang it! I wish I could have a long night of hot sex!”

    I throw my head back and laugh aloud at my outrageous comments. When I look at the caftan ladies again, they have already struggled to their feet and moved away from me at rapid speed. As they go, I hear snippets of their comments.
    “Must be insane . . . “
    Last edited by SueC; August 10th, 2017 at 08:28 PM. Reason: spacing

  6. #6
    Member plawrence's Avatar
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    Old retired guy working to fulfill a lifelong dream to be a published fiction author.
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  7. #7

    Jumping Jack's howling Hounds. (Language warning)

    Jumping Jack’s howling Hounds

    Deep down in the bayou, miles and miles away from those prissy civilized folk’s, lives the devil lover, Jimmy Jam Jones, and his not too friendly hounds, Rufus and Maxine. Jimmy Jam is known as the devil lover because he’s had, and still has, amorous dealings with that she devil of a devil. That devil is one hell of a good looking demoness and Jimmy Jam Jones is one damn good looking mortal man. But this story is not about Jumping Jack Jimmy Jam Jones and the Devil, well not directly so. It’s mainly about his mean mother fucking howling hounds Rufus and Maxine.

    Rufus and Maxine were half-breeds. Their daddy, Maximus, was a Hell-hound, the devils pet. In one of the devils so called visits with Jimmy, Lucy’s hound (that’s what the devil liked to call herself), got into a romantic entanglement with Jimmy’s bitch Bertha. A few weeks later Rufus and Maxine were born. In a weird sense the devil and Jimmy were the pseudo-grandparents to Rufus and Maxine. It was a bond of sorts that made Jimmy and the devil more than just friends with benefits. After the birth, Bertha went to live in Hell with Maximus. She had no choice in the matter being that the devil and her hound wanted what they wanted. With only Jimmy Jam left to raise the pups it’s no wonder why they became the meanest, badass hounds in the bayou.

    Those hounds have a vendetta against me. I haven’t slept in weeks due to their blood curdling howling. My chickens don’t lay eggs no more and my cows utters are all dried up due to their constant baying. To make matters worse those mother fuckers ate most of my sheep. I tried to kill them or give them some grievous wound but being half hell hounds makes that near impossible to do. They didn’t take too kindly at my attempts and the only reason I’m still alive is because of my past relationship with their human daddy Jumping Jack Jimmy Jam Jones.

    I think I failed to mention that me and Jimmy were once hitched. We knew each other since grade school and were inseparable until that devil bitch came along. I was, and still am, the most beautiful witch woman in the bayou but that demon bitches beauty even surpassed my own. But it wasn’t her beauty that did me in. It was her goddamn magical fiddle playing that beguiled him; leaving me to slit my wrists and wallow in a puddle made from my blood-stained tears. That was the day that I lost the little sanity that I had left but just because I’m insane doesn’t mean that I’m totally delusional. What I’m telling you now is pure swamp truth, besides sanity is way overrated. It’s only good for city slickers, bible thumpers, lawyers and circus performers.

    I trotted over to Jimmy’s shack, making sure his damn hounds were nowhere in sight. Jimmy and I still occasionally played around in the hay when the demon bitch wasn’t around. I know it’s wrong but I can’t help myself. I think that is why the hounds have been hounding the hell out of me. You see they totally loved the devil. They thought of her as some type of momma.

    When Jimmy opened the door I punched him in the eye and said,

    “Why the hell are you letting your hounds run roughshod over me? Haven’t you done enough to me already you fucking whore of a man. I have a good mind telling your devil bitch that you’re cheating on her with me. I doubt that red eyed demon would react like I did.”

    Jimmy wiped the blood from his eye and with a devilish grin said,

    “The hounds were just having a little fun, the devil made them do it.”

    I kicked him square in the balls.
    Last edited by rcallaci; August 29th, 2017 at 01:20 AM.
    Nature weeps, the devil sings
    at mans greed and pride
    and what it brings

    Just lots of useless
    little things

  8. #8
    Cuckoo Birds ​(642 words)

    As the cab came to a stop, she hesitantly looked out the
    window. The rain was coming down in sheets, and she had left her
    umbrella at the office. She dreaded what others might think of
    her if they were to see her so disheveled.

    The man sitting next to her ran to her side of the cab and
    opened the door, holding out his coat as an umbrella.

    “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”

    He stared at her blankly, “Think what you will, but right
    now I’m the best thing you got against this rain.”

    She let out a tired sigh, and got underneath the jacket.
    Reaching the other side of the street they took shelter beneath
    a storefront awning.

    “You are certifiably insane! You’re soaked from head to
    toe!”

    “I know aint it great,” flashing her a toothy grin.

    She shot him a bewildered look through pale blue eyes that
    nearly matched the gray sky above.

    “Let’s grab a bite to eat. I know this great little place
    just around the corner,” pointing as he spoke.

    “I don’t even know who you are, or even your name!”

    “Names Soren. Happy? Now let’s eat”

    “Wait don’t you want to know my name?”

    “Not really.”

    The noise of the other patrons boomed and faded around
    them. Their laughter was contagious and she found, despite
    herself, to be enjoying the atmosphere of the tiny oyster bar.

    “I don’t like oysters.”

    “Hmm. I love them.” He promptly poured an oyster into a
    shot glass filled it with vodka, added cocktail sauce, lemon,
    and tossed it back.

    “That is so disgusting!”

    “Suit yourself, but I’m going to keep doing these until you
    try one. I have to warn you though, after about three I get
    pretty damn gassy.”

    She cracked a smile and a faint chuckle crossed her lips.

    “You’re nuts you know that? How can you even stomach that?”

    “Because I’m insane,” he winked, smiled and threatened to
    toss down another.

    “No, no, I’ll do it, but first tell me why you don’t want
    to know my name.”

    “We impose limits on people with the labels we apply to
    them. I’d rather get to know you, not your name.”

    She grabbed her glass and shot it down. She nearly gagged
    for a whole minute before she was confident enough she was going
    to keep it down. When it was over they laughed, smiled, and
    laughed some more. Talking far later into the evening than she
    ever thought possible.

    They slipped into the night and he turned to her and said,
    “Let me show you my city.”

    “Your city?”

    “On nights like this anything is possible.”

    Flashing him a shy smile, “Ok but first I must use the
    lady’s room.”

    She ducked into the restroom but within seconds she
    reappeared.

    “Go inside with me.”

    “Have you flipped? Somebody could walk in on us.”

    “My whole life has been a giant plan to keep me safe. From
    the schools I’d attend to the clothes I’d wear.”

    Her eyes focused on his like lasers.

    “I had everything figured out except me. What impassions
    me, what fills me with purpose, what makes me grateful for the
    sun to rise, and content to feel the twinkling of the stars at
    night?”

    “Spoken like a true crazy person.”

    “Maybe so, but I know this. Life isn’t experienced through
    an excel spreadsheet, but it’s out here with open eyes. It’s in
    every breath and being afraid to exhale for fear of losing the
    moment. That’s life, and that’s all we really have.”

    “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

    A smile formed on her lips and it radiated outward
    illuminating her blue eyes that shined like gems in a mirror.

    “Runa.”

    “Well Runa, let me be the first to welcome you to the
    asylum.”

    He grabbed her hand and followed her in.

  9. #9
    WF Veteran midnightpoet's Avatar
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    "The paths of glory lead but to the grave"

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    "Oh, ye generation of vipers."

    Jesus

    "You that never done nothing
    but build to destroy
    you play with my world
    like it's your little toy..."

    "Masters of War
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