We write first in blood and tears, then go over in ink.

BookStreet@SMU

bookstreet@SMUParticipated in BookStreet@SMU on Sep 8-10 and ran a writing game where passers-by kept adding onto a spontaneous and organic story. So here it is. Change in font colour indicates change of writer. I couldn’t resist adding my editorial notes:

A hot sun blazed over a vast dehydrated desert [Ed: can somebody give the desert a soda?]. There was a camel. On the camel’s back sat a young rider, whose face was prematurely wrinkled by the glare of the sun. He was ten years old. The camel’s name—Martin.

Martin, as usual, was taking a stroll in the Deserts of Phuket. An extremely tall mint-green cactus stared out at the blistering hot sand. It looked like it wanted to attack Martin. Cold sweat trickled down Martin as he stared back at the gangster-looking cactus.

The cactus also had a name! It had lived for so long in the desert that it had come ALIVE! It learnt to THINK! It gave itself a name. “I am Clement the Cactus. Courageous Clement the Cactus!”

“What do you want?” the young rider asked the cactus.

“I… I want chocolate!” cried the cactus.

Martin laughed. The cactus cried out again. This time, it was feeling hungrier than ever. The rider wore a red hat and was hungry too. Since the rider only had a red hat, he passed Clement the Cactus his special red hat.

But did the cactus feel better? No. Life goes on regardless. Life was bleak, just like the landscape he was stuck in. [Ed: Okay, this writer has issues…]

What was wrong with the world? Clement the Cactus needs to do something about the world!

Then came the rain! Clement raised his hands [Ed: besides a name, the cactus got himself some hands too] to the skies and felt he was drowning. In that moment, one realises the importance of a colourful life. [Ed: See! Such illuminations we gain when we chicken scratch!]

Keep smiling and keep moving. Stay positive. We need to take care of ourselves and plan for our future. Clement thrust out his prickly chest, pushed his sharp spines forward and trotted off into the horizon. [Ed: Got himself some feet as well]

As he walked a distance, he met a chicken. And they started to fight. Then they went to the president. The president told them, “Show your power. Start World War 3.” [Ed: WW3 was contributed by the youngest writer–a boy about 8 years old] 

The porcupine jumped in and said, “I want to do it too!”

The chicken growled, “My name is Fish.”

The cactus said, “And I am Clement the Cactus.”

The porcupine had no name. So it made up a name on the spot. “I amPOCKY!”

“Pocky? Such a cute name!” said the cactus.

“Oh ya, haha!” Pocky was sheepish.

            Okay, it’s your turn to continue the maundering ramble. Or the rambling maunder  🙂

 

 

 

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