This particular story came from a creative writing exercise in 11th grade. My teacher, Mrs. Head, and her husband had just bought a house, an old house they were renovating, and as they cleaned out all the junk that had been abandoned in it, they found a chest full of civil war era stuff. So she brought the stuff in in a big box - medals and uniforms and pendants and notebooks and letters and knives and guns (I imagine she'd be in a secret Homeland Security prison if she did this nowadays). And she assigned each object a number and had us all randomly select a number. And then we were to write a story inspired by the object.
I ended up with a Union soldier's cap, somewhat stained and crushed, with a big hole in it. There's an obvious story there. I didn't go there.
I had (ahem) a better idea.
As Niel Innes said, "I've suffered for my art. Now it's your turn."
The Horrendously Hateful Hat Which Had a Horrible Hunger
by Bernie Mojzes
The soldier stumbled through the steadily thickening shrubbery. The sunlight shone in shining streaks through the trees. The smell of death steamed in the air, stealing the silent tranquility. Stopping, the soldier stared at the scene sitting serenely at his stompers. Such silliness he hadn't seen since Sicily. The soldier on the ground was twisted grotesquely, generating a general feeling of grimness. What gunshot gave him his death? None, but his life and gayity gone through a small hole in his cranium, which was empty of grey matter.
The soldier stooped and picked up the hat, which had a horrible sated look upon its features. Fighting his way further into the forest, the fellow felt a gnawing on his scalp.
Suddenly, his skull seemed somehow to snap, sending screaming agony scorching through his brain! Snatching the cap from his scalp, he stared at the slice of his brain being devoured by the hat's vicious, pointy teeth! Pulling his saber, he stabbed at the hat which had so maliciously mishandled the man. He then stabbed it once more, in the mouth, and then mauled the hat, jumping up and down on it as if a monkey, until the moment he expired. The blood had filled his brain and this was bad, since overabundance of blood in the brain begets death.
So, there you have it. Exclamation marks and all.
The challenge? Find something you wrote in your deepest and darkest past, and post it on your blog. Then comment here with a link to your story.
Now it's your turn.