|| Replies ||

User	mae | 2005-03-07 |
Subject	Theme - Biscuit
Message	The smell wafted through the house, that mouth-watering, tummy-rumbling smell of biscuits baking in the oven. Problem was, there didn’t seem to be anyone around who was baking the biscuits. The delightful smell had drawn Joey, the little boy next door, into the house to try and mooch one off Old Mrs.Quinlan. Joey practically lived at Mrs. Quinlan’s house, so to find him just walking in was not unusual. What was unusual was that she wasn’t in the kitchen tending to her baking. Joey wandered around the house, following that lovely smell, looking for his friend. He walked down the hall and saw a light coming from the bathroom. He pushed the door open a bit and squeaked out “Mrs. Quinlan?”. The door bumped on something and wouldn’t open any more, so he squeezed in through the small opening that was there and then he saw her…lying on the bathroom floor…in a puddle of black blood…dead. mae

User	Maverique | 2005-03-05 |
Subject	Family Reunion
Message	It was nerve-wracking enough,having to sit through the little get-together,all the while pasting a fake sugar-sweet smile on one’s lips,sipping tea from a flowery pink cup and exchanging mundane meaningless chitchat with people she didn’t care about. The whole thing was a farce,a gathering of hypocrites,a vipers’ nest of venomous honey. Everyone was waiting for everyone else to trip so they could laugh politely and smirk inwardly. She could feel her blood boiling. She reached for the biscuits set on the teacup-matching ugly flowery pink plate,took one,and crunched it down,wishing she could snap all of them as easily as she did the biscuit.

User	Lightbringer | 2005-02-20 |
Subject	untitled
Message	Fal Corsilliere sat at a charred table in the farm house. Moments before, he had lost control of the magic that defined his existence; now all that was left of this anonymous family was a charred plate of biscuits from a dinner that was never eaten. They weren’t his target when he lost control, they just happened to be within a mile of him when it happened. He wondered how many other families he had turned to ash. He shook his head reaching for a charred biscuit, best not to think about how many people he had hurt. His true enemies, the ones who had slaughtered his family had suffered great losses today, although there were too many of them to be wiped out in one little reckless display of power. “Little.” he thought to himself. It was true that this had been a ‘little’ display of his power, but ‘little’ on cosmic terms is often extremely overwhelming when compared to the ant farm of the gods called Earth. His hands hurt as the flesh that had been scored by the sudden outflow of power tried to heal itself. Crushing the little black lump in his hand he rose from the table and walked out of the house. “Little.” he said to himself, and turned away from the setting disc of the sun and began walking. There were other thing that needed his attention.

User	Magnolia | 2005-02-20 |
Subject	Baby Biscuits
Message	Oh, the sweet, cherubic face of my golden little Chloe. Toddling around the house, a sippy cup in one hand and a sticky baby biscuit in the other. Eyes laughing, squealing with delight at the grouchy dog driven from her resting place. I love the smell of her as she collapses giggling into my waiting arms, soggy morsels grazing my cheek. She shoves the entire biscuit into her mouth, looking like a little chipmunk saving up for the winter. With her now free hand she grabs my nose in that little game we play, wisps of stolen dog hair tickling my nostrils. My sweet biscuit of a niece.

User	marysunshine | 2005-01-17 |
Subject	untitled
Message	"Shimmy, shimmy cocoa pop! Shimmy, shimmy rock! Shimmy, shimmy cocoa pop! Shimmy, shimmy rock! I met a girlfriend a triscuit! She said, a triscuit A BISCUIT! Ice cream, soda pop, vanilla on the top! Ooh, Shelly’s out, walking down the street, ten times a week! I read it! I said it! I stole my momma’s credit! I’m cool! I’m hot! Sock me in the stomach three more times!" I remember this rhyme from my childhood...screaming it with my girlfriends while walking around Cedar Point (an amusement park in Ohio). I had to have been about eleven or twelve...and just mad about every boy who looked at me. Those days were so fun. So full of innocence and abandon. All worries were of homework and boys...and fun. "She said a triscuit, a biscuit"...nobody really knew what we meant by that...and we didn’t care. Nobody even questioned it. In my life today, with every word in constant analysis, I can’t quite remember the feeling of just saying words that were fun to say while walking through an amusement park. I’m so glad I was once a kid.

User	magnicat | 2005-01-16 |
Subject	Biscuit
Message	I had a dog named Biscuit once. He was golden brown and loved to lie in the sunshine. Biscuit had only three legs. He was born that way, and no one ever knew why. All the other dogs in the litter had four legs. Bisuit was unique. I took him everywhere I went, to the store, to the drive-in, even on my dates. Everyone loved Biscuit. He loved to sing, and when I played my guitar, he would start his howling and run around the house from room to room, as if he were looking for someone to sing harmony with him. I miss Biscuit. He’s gone on to the great bone yard in the sky. I am sure he is serenading God and singing harmony with the angels. Some day I will see him again.

User	Syndl | 2004-05-18 |
Subject	Biscuit, Life of
Message	The air was warm, inviting and enveloping. I was surrounded by my brethren in the midst of an all consuming darkness; life is breathed into me. I rise, finding the strength to become. Pulling myself into something whole and complete. The heat intensifies, burning my flesh. I realize that it is almost finished. The pain is sweet. I glisten with the exertion; my body reveals my soul. I can feel the weight of the others as they press against me with earnest. Reaching, stretching, seeking to devour all that can be soaking in the warmth and heat that gives me life. The sudden blinding glare gives me pause. A fissure opens wide letting loose the precious breath that invigorates me. Then it becomes cold again. Alone, forgotten. The others are torn from me and I am all that is left. Abandoned and cold. The world crumbles around me until there is nothing left but the smallest fragments of my existence. Will anyone remember me now that I am gone? Is this all that I will ever be? What is left of this life of mine? Oh, to feel the warmth once more! To feel the life consume me again! All that remains are a few crackling, crumbling pieces of a stale and hardened life.