Comments on: Creative Copy Challenge #9

By: Shane Arthur

Shane Arthur — Thu, 21 Oct 2010 18:31:29 +0000

@Steven: Another file tale. This had a Blade Runner / Dune feel to it. Love those two movies and this submission.

By: Steven A. Lowe

Steven A. Lowe — Thu, 21 Oct 2010 00:58:08 +0000

"You got lucky," she said. "Usually a catcall like that will just get you a closed fist, but I sense we're on the same wavelength of desire." "I'm a daydreamer," I replied. "Painkillers weave a cocoon like silkworms, taming my phobias and mining courage like iron ore." "The price is still ten hoops," she said. "Unless you got silk to share." "Indeed I do, for you, my dear," I said. "Free the first time, as always."

By: Cathy Miller

Cathy Miller — Mon, 10 May 2010 04:11:38 +0000

@Shane–well now I’m zoned out There’s just one more for tonight and now, I’m off to bed to dream of killers and hunky, if slightly disturbed detectives. I probably won’t be able to hit them until the weekend so you’ll get a rest, too!

Thanks for all the encouragement!

By: Shane Arthur

Shane Arthur — Mon, 10 May 2010 01:12:47 +0000

@Cathy: I can’t believe how fast you are writing these. You appear to be in the zone.

By: Cathy Miller

Cathy Miller — Mon, 10 May 2010 01:07:53 +0000

Homicide detective, Brett Connors, had never been much of a daydreamer. Long before he collected his shield, Brett knew the harsh reality of life. He’d seen a mother trapped by the ugly silkworms of drugs, spinning their lying silken threads of promise. People were always looking for painkillers. If you got lucky, you found someone special to help you through the pain. For Brett, that had been his grandmother. If not for her, he probably would have ended up on the other side of the shield. Crouching over the body of one of the beach’s homeless, Brett hoped she was finally home, in a better place. The catcall of a senseless soul, tugged at Brett’s need for justice. The arrogance of murder offended him. When no one else would take up the cause, Brett made it his mission to bring dignity to life. The sun slept beneath the ocean floor. Murder didn’t wear a wristwatch. “Do you have a phobia about sleeping?” yawned Mark Johnson, the precinct’s top criminal technician. “It’s overrated. What do you have?” “Besides the iron-ore rock with dried blood and hair?” Mark smirked. “Yeah, I think you could say we are on the same wavelength on that,” Brett countered. “Besides the obvious, what else do we have?” “She was hit several times with a closed fist and was probably the desire of a perverted killer.” “Mark, I wouldn’t quit your day job.”

By: Sara

Sara — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 13:28:44 +0000

LOL, maybe!

By: Shane Arthur

Shane Arthur — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 12:57:03 +0000

Sounds like one hell of a weekend shaping up! Continue this.

By: Sara

Sara — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 05:29:07 +0000

A closed fist in his mouth, the crime tech cursed his phobia. He'd been a wavelength from beating it this time--just this once!--but iron-ore will proved to simply not be enough. He thought about taking the rest of the painkillers in his bag, but knew he had to at least process the body and finish out the night. I can handle death, blood, and any mangled body--so why do bugs freak me out so much? Ignoring catcall after catcall from his replacement tech called in, he tried to get the images out of his head. Spiders. Centipedes. Scorpions... "Hey daydreamer," drawled Jeannie, the new tech he'd desired since day one. He groaned. Could anything else add to his mortification on this night? "You got lucky," she grinned, sitting down next to him. Her hair, russet silkworms, dusted his cheek as she passed him her thermos. "Not only are you covered tonight, but we've both got the weekend off." He gaped at her wink. Lucky, indeed.

By: Troy Worman

Troy Worman — Thu, 15 Apr 2010 01:39:12 +0000

Yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking when I wrote that.

By: Shane Arthur

Shane Arthur — Tue, 13 Apr 2010 11:17:45 +0000

Excellent Troy. Love what you did with “phobia”.