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Thread: TotW 149: The Windmills Of Your Mind... - SUBMISSIONS

  1. #1
    Shankbot de Bodemloze's Avatar From the Writers Study!
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    Default TotW 149: The Windmills Of Your Mind... - SUBMISSIONS

    The Windmills Of Your Mind...




    5 Keywords:
    - clocks
    - incredible
    - silicosis
    - car
    - dog

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    - Word limitation of minimum 200 but maximum 500 words INCLUDING all titles, footnotes or any other part deemed part of the submission, in a spoiler
    - Deadline is the following Sunday
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  2. #2
    Ybbon's Avatar The Way of the Buffalo
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    Default Re: TotW 149: The Windmills Of Your Mind... - SUBMISSIONS

    Submission:

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    I coughed blood spat it out to down my chin to drop on the dusty ground below. I'd laugh but it hurt too much so I grunted and that would have to do for now, not that I had much longer left for this World to worry about anything more eloquent. The flea-bitten mangy dog, the same colour as a million strays the World over sat and whined at me. I couldn't tell if he was waiting for me to die so he could have a meal, or if, as he was to me, I was his only companion for now.

    “So,” I started, “here I am, Crucified for my sins, and damn but they were good, a crime spree the like of which has not been seen for many years.” He cocked a leg on the crude upright pole I was nailed to. “Well done, you faithless hound, piss all over me like everyone else did, I hope you get a splinter in the worst possible way” I garbled at him. Maybe my last gasp of pain had bought a degree of respect to the cur, but it sat on its haunches and looked at me once more.

    “I guess you'll listen then? A final confession of a crucified man huh?” He stayed sat so I took that as a nod to go on. “It was the incredible thrill, don't you see? The chase, the evading of capture, the scent of fear in the town as men distrusted their own fathers and sons and locked away their women.” Now I had started, I would tell my story before my heart gave out, whatever the dog thought.

    “It started so stupidly, the first woman nearly ran me down in her car, she was very sorry, and I mean very sorry,” I winked at the dog, as if he knew what I meant, “but I was not satisfied with that kind of apology, before I knew it she was dead. I hid her body and stayed out of view, waiting for the inevitable chase. It never came, the clocks carried on ticking and life went on” I coughed once more, you'd think silicosis if not for the nails in my feet and hands and the ropes binding me to the cross.

    “And I got annoyed, annoyed that no-one cared for this poor woman I'd murdered. So I killed another – and they took notice then, but she was the Mayor's wife,” I spluttered as a feeble laugh escaped, “but I kept them chasing me, hunting me as I took another, then two more, then three in a week, oh it was so joyful! All told, twenty-five poor women dead, but the final chase was as alive as I ever felt.”

    I coughed and groaned, my last few breaths now, “Well mutt, it was me, I did it but I feel no remorse. Tell them that when they come to cut me down.” All went black.


    word count, 494
    Last edited by Ybbon; July 19, 2012 at 04:24 PM.

  3. #3

    Default Re: TotW 149: The Windmills Of Your Mind... - SUBMISSIONS

    Finished. Good luck everyone.

    WC: 496

    EDIT: Stupid wonky spoiler system.

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Everything had to run like clockwork. No deviations, no mistakes. That was all the manager had said before he had shut the door. Ian now found himself standing in a massive, dimly lit room filled with gears and pipes. Try as he might he could not see what all the metal contraptions connected to, but they all led upwards through small sections in the ceiling. Maybe this room controlled the giant clocks that he had seen on the upper floors? The sound of steam gushing out of a nearby pipe awoke Ian from his thoughts. Quickly he pulled out a small jar of paste and plastered the muck onto the leak, trying not to burn his hand in the process. The steam stopped coming out, but he failed to protect his body, and was now left with a small burn on his thumb. The paste, some sort of unholy matrimony between silicon, carbon, and sulfur, only served to amplify the pain. Maybe that was the point, Ian thought; to teach workers not to make mistakes. Still, a temporary burn was better than getting silicosis or black lung in the mines. Still, it was incredible to him that even the job of making sure the steamworks ran smoothly had its own occupational hazards.

    Minutes turned into hours as Ian ran back and forth between the metal frames and iron columns, switching intermittently between his wrench to fix the gears and the jar of paste to patch the steam leaks. His task left his mind with no time to wander off in thought, as he was prone to do at his previous job in the automobile factory. Placing the exact same gears into the exact same positions to allow the steam boiler to start the engine of the car was only interesting the first five or so times. When the clock sounded six at the end of the workday, over three thousand cars had been produced, which meant tens of thousands had gone from his hands to the core of an automobile. The monotony! The tedium! At least here in the steamworks there was room for variety; once patched, a pipe was not prone to leaking again.

    But the size of the room bothered Ian in the back of his mind. Despite his mad running for hours on end he had not seen the opposite wall, nor the side walls. Was he condemned to continuously do his job until the died, merely to be replaced by another poor soul who would share his fate? Would the manager attempt to rescue him, with the help of man, dog, and machine? The sound of the six o'clock chime frightened Ian enough to make him jump, but what he had not expected was a string of small lights to appear just above his head. "Alright, good work today Mr. Copper. Everything ran like clockwork, just as I asked. If you'll please follow the lights I'll meet you back at the entrance."

    Last edited by Confederate Jeb; July 18, 2012 at 01:04 PM.

  4. #4
    Rex Anglorvm's Avatar Wrinkly Wordsmith
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    Default Re: TotW 149: The Windmills Of Your Mind... - SUBMISSIONS

    Submitted

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    I must have climbed these stairs thousands of time in my lifetime, I wound my way slowly to the top of the town hall tower, my knees not that same as they had been, always giving me trouble these day, the arthritis you see?

    I reached the top of the staircase, and stood on the wooden platform, slightly out of breath, my breathing made me think of my old friend Clive, he had worked in the docks for years, worked on asbestos lagging, the stuff had killed him in the end, he contracted silicosis, and he had withered away to nothing, a man whose incredible strength enabled him to swing sledgehammers like a child’s toy, reduced to being unable to care for himself, when he had passed, it had been a blessed release for him.

    Anyway, enough of these morbid thoughts, I reach into my pocket and take out the gold chain, with the ornamental key on the end, I open the wooden panel in front of me, insert the key into the lock, open the gilded door to the back of the clock’s mechanism and wind its gears, the satisfying click and whirr of the clockwork masterpiece sounding clearly in my old ears. A lovely piece this, better than a hundred other clocks I have seen of its time. It was built by a Dutch clockmaker in the 18th century in the shape of a windmill.

    I close the gilded door, turn the key and replace it in my pocket, not forgetting to close the wooden panel that shields it from the elements. I turn and make my way carefully down the staircase.

    As I open the door which exits the tower, my faithful old terrier, wags his tail in greeting to me, I don’t tie him to anything anymore, there’s no need, his as old as me! He is happy to sit by my car waiting for me to come and pat him on the head before we go for our morning walk.

    I open the back door of the car, ‘Come on boy, time for your walk, there’s a good dog now, Max clambers slowly into the back seat, letting me clip his collar to the ‘doggie’ seatbelt I bought him.

    I short drive later and we take a walk around the park, the early morning dog walkers are here, the same faces each day, I smile and greet them and they return the pleasantries.

    I like these walks, although they are melancholy acts for me now, my wife and I used to stroll along together, Max, darting between our legs, but now it’s just me and my old terrier.

    In the distance I hear the chimes sound eight o’clock, I love that clock, but I do not love time, it robs us of what we hold most dear…
    Last edited by Rex Anglorvm; July 17, 2012 at 04:20 PM.

  5. #5

    Default Re: TotW 149: The Windmills Of Your Mind... - SUBMISSIONS



  6. #6
    Arbitrary Crusader's Avatar Praefectus
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    Default Re: TotW 149: The Windmills Of Your Mind... - SUBMISSIONS

    Withdraw from the contest.

    story too big and I refuse to edit it to make story shorter.
    Last edited by Arbitrary Crusader; July 22, 2012 at 11:09 AM.

    ♪ Now it's over, I'm dead and I haven't done anything that I want, or I'm still alive and there's nothing I want to do

  7. #7
    Princess Cadance's Avatar Domesticus
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    Default Re: TotW 149: The Windmills Of Your Mind... - SUBMISSIONS

    Exactly 500 words. I still had to trim about half a paragraph.


    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    Thought



    Thought. Thought is one of the most simple and the most complex things in life. My father,before he passed away from lung cancer, and complications from silicosis always told me that the most important thing to learn,was how to think. How to think. I considered that now. It had been a rather boring day at the office and as I drove my car home along the usual route,I let my mind wander into thought. I had always enjoyed thinking and imagination. My father told me stories from his imagination as a child and when I became an adult we would go back and forth about politics, religion,and current events expressing our thoughts.

    My dad had a saying. “A man is his mind and his mind is is made up of his beliefs,emotions,and thoughts.” Thoughts were what gave us our insight on life which allowed us to comprehend the world around us. My father's intense interest in the philosophy was tied to this and it was incredible how many philosophical sayings and ideas he could rattle off to me.
    I sighed and stared at the clock in my car. Clocks were another favorite thing he thought about. Or rather time was. Time was some sort of powerful force which nothing stood against. Except thoughts. The thoughts of people from the past continued to live and exist throughout time preserved in there writings. Thoughts were timeless. The ideas of a man a thousand years ago across the world,was relevant to this day in the books it was recorded in. As long as it was important. Certain thoughts were more appreciated and better accepted and thus survived.
    I thought about that now as I took a quick glance at my receipt from the local bookstore. Dad loved thoughts and thoughts were books. I still had his love and reading was one of my favorite pastimes.
    I reached for the radio and turned up the music letting the music, to an extent blow my thoughts away. An idea of dad's was that it was harmful to think to much however,because you would become blind to everything else around them. Ha. I guess it's not a good ide-!



    ///


    I woke blearily my eyes blinking away some red liquid. Is that...oh god,blood! I looked up around me barely able to see over the dashboard as my back hurt so bad. I just had an accident. There was some brown...some brown thing that darted past the street someones damn dog or something. I had veered off the road to not hit it and then. I looked up. I hit a pole of the phone lines that lined the street.



    I had to get out. Now. But as I began to unbuckle my belt I heard a crack. My eyes glanced up for a second to see the wooden pole some smashing down on my car. On me. I had one last thought: That ing dog.

    Last edited by Princess Cadance; July 18, 2012 at 10:54 PM.
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  8. #8
    Maurits's Avatar ЯTR
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    Default Re: TotW 149: The Windmills Of Your Mind... - SUBMISSIONS

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    'Time is Ticking or The Drama which was called London, 2012'

    Tick.

    Tick.

    Tick.

    The car stopped. People didn’t notice, they just walked on. All were busy, all were pretending to focus on their daily tasks and duties. It was brown, of the dirty kind which made you wonder how someone could ever have ordered such a pain to the eye of the beholder.

    Would nobody know? It seemed to be thus. The clocks of time where going on, ever and ever, at a steady pace. Nobody could stop them, nobody wanted to. Even if that dream was to be mankind’s greatest desire, it could not have undone the time’s regime.

    Tick.

    Tick.

    There was a man; coughing, choking, almost drowning. Stumbling out of the car, clearly one of those dirty victims of the vile silicosis. He had once been the proud owner of a large, black beard, which was now wet and dirty because of his own mouth’s excretions. Would anyone notice?

    No, they had no time for this creature. It was 2012, this was London. They were there to indulge in the pleasures of the games being put up for them. Time continued, mankind remained the same. Just like those Romans who called themselves ‘civilized’, who had known the silicosis and were being entertained in their arena’s, the modern man hurried to his temples of sport.

    Tick.

    Tick.

    It seemed like no living being would notice the poor, wretched creature which was struggling to get away from the car. It was like he lived in his own dimension, with his very own clock ticking away a different time.

    Woof! Woof!

    Ah, there was one who noticed. Where most of the mass continued running, unaware of either fate or time or their incredible misfortune, one crept closer to this malevolent being. Hairy, of the same dirty brown and equally unnoticed by the masses, it strolled towards the man. Poking its wet nose into the other’s business. It smelled, collapsed, knew it. Finally, one had noticed.

    Tick. Tick. Tick.

    BOOM!

    In less than a second the dirty brown car, the gargling man, the dog and all those hurrying on were undone. The explosion of light and heath and terror had stopped their clocks, time would not run for them any longer.

    Would this be the end? Would time itself finally be undone?

    Tick.

    Tick.

    No. Time would not listen to the windmills of men’s mind, would not allow itself to be stopped – if only for a second – by such a small event in the history of the universe.

    Had anyone noticed? Most didn’t. Time didn’t.

    And thus, the clocks ticked on as time passed by at a steady pace.

    Tick.

    Tick.

    Tick.
    Last edited by Maurits; July 18, 2012 at 07:49 AM.

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  9. #9

    Default Re: TotW 149: The Windmills Of Your Mind... - SUBMISSIONS

    My submission (499 words):

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The car was packed by rough looking men. It was early, so early that one could argue if it’s in fact early morning or late night. But I was used to these hours. For the last twenty years the horn of the same old van was heard at exactly 4:30 AM and from the gloomy working-class housing projects, miners would come out ready for another day of work. Our town was almost 30 kilometers from the mines; the roads were old and poor, riddled with craters and the van, more suited for a scrap yard, couldn’t exceed of 40 km/h, only if we were lucky, because sometimes the engine would die on us and we had to get out and push the car to restart it. Someone coughed ugly, and it instantly made me think of silicosis, a disease at which we were all exposed to.

    We finally reached the mine. We signed in the attendance register and went to change in the locker room.

    “What a match last night.” Some lad tried to break the dull atmosphere.

    Incredible match yes, I couldn’t believe we’re in the final.” Another miner joined in the conversation.

    The whole locker room continued talking about the match last night. Our team, financed by our miners’ trade union, had just qualified for the final of the national cup. Although no one ever asked us if we want to give money for a football team, we all contributed from our already small salaries. Most of the guys were very happy and proud, but I didn’t share their enthusiasm. I would have preferred safe working conditions, instead of a football team, but it seemed like I was the only one.

    Due to the discussions about the match, it took us longer than usual to get in our working equipment. We eventually finished changing and left the thoughts and troubles from our usual life at the surface back in the locker room with all our other stuff. When you enter the mine, you have to do it with a clear head, or you might not get out again. We were lowered down in the mine shaft by an old and rickety elevator.

    We reached the gallery and started working. Our pickaxes hitting the stone wall of the mine sounded like one thousand clocks, ticking on my brain. I was used to the sound, but today it seemed more annoying than ever.

    “Watch out! It collapses!” One of the miners shouted and I saw how the gallery’s wall was crumbling down on some unfortunate lads, before I too was caught under the weight and fell unconscious.



    Did I just hear barking? I asked myself as I started to regain my senses. Suddenly something wet touched my face and I heard something sniffing. I still couldn’t move but I opened my eyes. Next to me a rescue dog, with a camera attached to him, was looking at me. I felt relieved thinking that someone up there knew I’m alive.
    Last edited by Paraipan; July 18, 2012 at 06:00 PM.

  10. #10

    Default Re: TotW 149: The Windmills Of Your Mind... - SUBMISSIONS

    Ah, TOTW...it has been too long. Near half a year since I decided to plunge into this most noble of competitions...I have neglected ye. But now I hope to make it up. Reserved.
    499 words. I hope my unorthodox approach to the required words doesn't get me disqualified .
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Clocks, Incredible, Silicosis, Car, Dog.

    Homecoming

    A soldier’s homecoming is a strange thing. He sets off to war a boy-if not in body, then certainly in mind. All the convictions, all the strong beliefs, everything that he thinks he knows is shattered in the opening moments of battle-when he realizes the kind of total fear that blackens the mind, when he hears the screams of terror from once invincible men, feels the life ebbing from a beloved comrade in his arms, sees his reflection in the eyes of a man he just killed. If he survives this, he comes home, back to what he once knew. Yet, while nothing there has changed, he has. Nothing and everything is the same, and it can tear him apart. So why does he return?


    All this passes through my mind as I look upon the town where I once lived. It has been four years since I’ve been here, and nothing has changed. Four years since I signed up to join the war, responding to heralds speaking of great deeds to be done, great riches to be won. Lies, all of them. The only thing I won was a near shattered soul.



    My comrades had not gone home. Their homes destroyed in the war, friends and relatives scattered to the four winds, they decided that life in the conquered lands was better suited for them, a chance to start over. I would have joined them, if not for one thing.


    The only reason for my survival.


    Living even for life’s sake became impossible in those days when I was being destroyed. In those times, I would look into myself, into my soul-and the only thing visible was the only reason I hadn’t been destroyed completely.



    Today, I return to it.



    Heart pounding, I round a corner-and there it is. Life seems great once again.


    An angel, that is all the description needed. The angel, the light of my life. She laughs, a sound sweeter than the symphonies of heaven. A tear in my eye, I run towards her.


    Then I stop dead in my tracks. Another man has taken her into his arms. She laughs delightedly, and speaks words of love and tenderness, the look in her eyes the one that kept me alive those years- the look that kills me now.


    I cannot move or speak. Finally I manage to call out her name, my voice sounding like a dying man crying for water.
    Still smiling, she turns her gaze on me. The shock on her face must be a mirror of the pain on mine. Unable to speak, I simply nod, and force myself to walk away. She tries to say something, but I cannot hear. I cannot see. I can only feel the black hole of blind terror in my chest. It swallows what is left of my soul.



    I left home with life, with hope, with love. I return a shell.


    What does a soldier come home for?
    Last edited by Asterix; July 21, 2012 at 11:06 PM.
    Quote Originally Posted by SirRobin View Post
    My point is that, while pastries are delicious, they are not a factor in deciding whether or not to start a rebellion against the lord of the realm.
    do leave your name if you give me rep. i may just return the favor. maybe.
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  11. #11
    Scottish King's Avatar Campidoctor
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    Default Re: TotW 149: The Windmills Of Your Mind... - SUBMISSIONS

    This is suppose to close tomorrow!!!
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Dear Ellen,

    I’m dying. I know that to read something like this at the beginning of a letter from a loved one is very undiplomatic but I don’t know how else to say to it. I never had your gift of elegant writing, but you never put me down for it so I feel comfortable being so blunt and inelegant in relating this terrible news to you.

    Of what I am dying, you’re probably asking yourself. Well, its silicosis, a respiratory disease that ravages the lungs after breathing in silica dust. It was the silver mine which exposed me to the tiny particles of death, the very mine that you said would be the death of me. I should have listened to you but my greed had such an incredible hold me that failed to even listen to you, my dear wife, who looked only to welfare and happiness. And now I am to suffer the consequences of my folly.

    But don’t fret my dear; I’m not alone, even if it is your confounded dog I have here for company. I never knew what you saw in him. He still chews up my shoes, digs up the yard, and takes a swim in the lake only to shake himself dry in our house. Only last week, instead of doing this dreadful task in the kitchen, he walks right into my study where I was reading, and with that mischievous grin he makes when he knows he is doing something I would rather him not do, he proceeds to shake water over my antique clocks. I must confess I lost my temper and had it not been that you loved that dog so much, I would have immediately gave him away to someone who would better appreciate his “lovable” traits. So as I sit here writing this letter on the porch, your dog delightfully barks at the seldom passing car with the start of a mischievous grin on his face and shiny, dry coat of hair.

    Oh, I find myself laughing now. Just to think that I am writing a letter to you, Ellen, who has passed on almost three years ago! I ordinarily wouldn’t think of doing something this fanciful, but a dying man must be allowed some indulgences I guess. I know you wouldn’t mind. You probably would have encouraged me in this endeavor finally exalting in the fact that despite what I have been saying all these years, I do in fact have an imagination. Ah, how I’ve missed you and your encouragements these last few years, but I am comforted that even in death, we shall not always be separated. So until we meet again before God in the land beyond the sky, I’ll keep the faith, live life to its fullest and feed your “endearing” dog.

    Your Loving Husband,
    Earl
    Last edited by Scottish King; July 22, 2012 at 04:26 PM.
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  12. #12
    Lуra's Avatar Praeses
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    Default Re: TotW 149: The Windmills Of Your Mind... - SUBMISSIONS

    I shouldn't write when I'm crazy... anyways...


    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    DARKNESS

    Staring into the dark; there, where the subtle shades of umbra flow and shifted into tantalizing shapes, things immense, incredible, in detail miniscule. Great structures of deceit, not really existing but reverently present. The dark monsters of our mind, prowling our surrounding like feral dogs. Beasts of horror so tremendous we look but not see. The evil is just out of sight, its ghastly presence a heavy pressure, a sickening air, a chill on spine.

    “It’ll be fine. You think –what folly!

    “It’s not real, it can hurt me… what naivety.

    Do you know whence fear comes? Do you know why it is felt? The clocks in our head tick and tock and tick again, all to the dark tones of unknown horror, bringing on the dreaded thoughts. The mind is the amplifier to those little seeds; little voices in our head, of doubt, of gilt of morbid curiosity. Little drops tainting our imagination to their will. And slowly our hammered minds start to shift and shape, and cracks appear we see our thoughts agape. A paranoia unfolds, inescapable; what grip! What hold! Our perverted mind then shapes our world to its morbid reflection, and we, as puppets, follow without really knowing why, but all the while suffering.

    Then starts the little game: you’re in a car or in a train, it doesn’t matter, you’ll die the same. Did you breathe in that asbestos? You’re going to die! For sure! Silicosis.
    And plummeting into a blatant craze, the hold of fear grows unfazed; enclosing your puny life in your own mind’s box. A prisoner of your own brain.


    ~Lyra

    Last edited by Boustrophedon; July 18, 2012 at 10:17 AM. Reason: added spoiler

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