challenging your keyboard

[tipou]

tought i would try something here.

i, or anyone else, will start a thread with one sentence. complete or not.

others are invited to posting it again and add ot it, long or short, comic or dramatic, poetic or prose. whatever. about anything.

andi dont want to read things like "oh but i dont have a way with words blah blah blah" - just go ahead and try. just let your mind go and write whatever comes to your mind - without thinking too much.

once you are done, it may stay there, someone might add to it.

but always keep the whole text in one post by cut-& pasting. mark your collaboration with your name between parenthesis.

i will start with a blurb i wrote for no apparent reason on my facebook page. so the first player would copy it and add to it .

come on, be daring. it can be fun.


the large windows, dirty with city slime, never showed a blue sky. but the light was perfect for daydreaming, one of his many addictions.

[dirtygirldiva]

This reminds me of NanoWrimo...ever take part in that?

the large windows, dirty with city slime, never showed a blue sky. but the light was perfect for daydreaming, one of his many addictions. (For he was very addictive by nature, his tendencies towards kitsch spactacles never failed to amaze.) DGD

[peach]

This reminds me of NanoWrimo...ever take part in that? no, i cant say i do.


the large windows, dirty with city slime, never showed a blue sky. but the light was perfect for daydreaming, one of his many addictions. (TIP)For he was very addictive by nature, his tendencies towards kitsch spactacles never failed to amaze. (DGD)

so for awhile he just gazed into nothingness, his long fingers playing some mute song on the table beside him.(tip)
The tune in his head was that of a day so long ago, he remembered it so well, how beautiful his wife looked but now nothing (peach).

[peach]

the large windows, dirty with city slime, never showed a blue sky. but the light was perfect for daydreaming, one of his many addictions. (TIP)For he was very addictive by nature, his tendencies towards kitsch spactacles never failed to amaze. (DGD)

so for awhile he just gazed into nothingness, his long fingers playing some mute song on the table beside him.(tip)
The tune in his head was that of a day so long ago, he remembered it so well, how beautiful his wife looked but now nothing (peach).

that was a first. not enjoying daydreaming. for a while, he fidgeted around the room, hesitating before going out for a drink, going downstairs and take a nap, or... perhaps. second shelf on the right. the yellow wooden box.(tip)

He hesitated, picked it up, held it in his calloused hands odd, it was rougher than he had remembered, and the paint was badly faded, perhaps it wasn't a good idea after all keeping so near to that damned window.(peach)

[peach]

the large windows, dirty with city slime, never showed a blue sky. but the light was perfect for daydreaming, one of his many addictions. (TIP)For he was very addictive by nature, his tendencies towards kitsch spactacles never failed to amaze. (DGD)

so for awhile he just gazed into nothingness, his long fingers playing some mute song on the table beside him.(tip)
The tune in his head was that of a day so long ago, he remembered it so well, how beautiful his wife looked but now nothing (peach).

that was a first. not enjoying daydreaming. for a while, he fidgeted around the room, hesitating before going out for a drink, going downstairs and take a nap, or... perhaps. second shelf on the right. the yellow wooden box.(tip)

He hesitated, picked it up, held it in his calloused hands odd, it was rougher than he had remembered, and the paint was badly faded, perhaps it wasn't a good idea after all keeping so near to that damned window.(peach)

he turned down the ambiant classical music he had mindlessly put on rught after getting out of bed. for this, he required silence. this one addiction required every shred of attention from all senses. which is why he usually took out the wooden box at night, when light would be less distracting.

although he had previously been bored, now he was excited as a boy, the way he usually felt in the presence of a woman who he knew would stay over, which they would, most of the time. he was, indeed, a man of many addictions.

already, he was picturing in his mind the many vials, the many cases, all of different colours, each of those colours being a vibrant and joyful memory of each scent captured in the wooden box.

scents. smells. aromas. his best kept secret. the secret that must not be revealed.(TIP)
He took one of those tiny little vials in his hand, held it up to the light and and held it there for a long time, perhaps too long. The urge was too strong and he feared that if he sat staring at it much longer he might regret it. Might get ugly again like the last time. He decided to do the proper thing and put it back ever so gently into the small wooden box. Perhaps he thought another time, certainly not now, not for a long time.
Was he dreaming, or hallucinating? He didn't know nor did he want to. He just sat at the edge of the bed and stared gravely at that damned box.(peach)

[peach]

the large windows, dirty with city slime, never showed a blue sky. but the light was perfect for daydreaming, one of his many addictions. (TIP)For he was very addictive by nature, his tendencies towards kitsch spactacles never failed to amaze. (DGD)

so for awhile he just gazed into nothingness, his long fingers playing some mute song on the table beside him.(tip)

The tune in his head was that of a day so long ago, he remembered it so well, how beautiful his wife looked but now nothing (peach).

that was a first. not enjoying daydreaming. for a while, he fidgeted around the room, hesitating before going out for a drink, going downstairs and take a nap, or... perhaps. second shelf on the right. the yellow wooden box.(tip)

He hesitated, picked it up, held it in his calloused hands odd, it was rougher than he had remembered, and the paint was badly faded, perhaps it wasn't a good idea after all keeping so near to that damned window.(peach)

he turned down the ambiant classical music he had mindlessly put on rught after getting out of bed. for this, he required silence. this one addiction required every shred of attention from all senses. which is why he usually took out the wooden box at night, when light would be less distracting.

although he had previously been bored, now he was excited as a boy, the way he usually felt in the presence of a woman who he knew would stay over, which they would, most of the time. he was, indeed, a man of many addictions.

already, he was picturing in his mind the many vials, the many cases, all of different colours, each of those colours being a vibrant and joyful memory of each scent captured in the wooden box.

scents. smells. aromas. his best kept secret. the secret that must not be revealed.(TIP)

He took one of those tiny little vials in his hand, held it up to the light and and held it there for a long time, perhaps too long. The urge was too strong and he feared that if he sat staring at it much longer he might regret it. Might get ugly again like the last time. He decided to do the proper thing and put it back ever so gently into the small wooden box. Perhaps he thought another time, certainly not now, not for a long time.

Was he dreaming, or hallucinating? He didn't know nor did he want to. He just sat at the edge of the bed and stared gravely at that damned box.(peach)

she had got to far had she not... not with the chanel no.5, no, this could never be wrong... but the roses had driven him crazy... that smell of death and decay coming soon, the smell of venice at twilight... smells should never be mixed with such studied elegance, they should just meet and collapse into each other like people on the subway... the sweat and the food and the gazoline and the lack of hygiene and the too good a party and the freshly bathed.... such was the true smell of life...so... it had been her fault. had it not? (tip)
He wrestled with these thoughts, thoughts that kept him awake at night. No these were more like nightmares, of the cold sweat variety..... that face.....oh God, how he ached for her, even now. How could it have happened? What went wrong? Too wound up to sleep he walked to the bar and poured himself a scotch, three fingers, downed it in one gulp then went back to bed, hoping that sleep would soon overtake him. In short order he was fast asleep, his mind drifted to that summer day so long ago in Venice. (peach)

[peach]

the large windows, dirty with city slime, never showed a blue sky. but the light was perfect for daydreaming, one of his many addictions. (TIP)For he was very addictive by nature, his tendencies towards kitsch spactacles never failed to amaze. (DGD)

so for awhile he just gazed into nothingness, his long fingers playing some mute song on the table beside him.(tip)

The tune in his head was that of a day so long ago, he remembered it so well, how beautiful his wife looked but now nothing (peach).
that was a first. not enjoying daydreaming. for a while, he fidgeted around the room, hesitating before going out for a drink, going downstairs and take a nap, or... perhaps. second shelf on the right. the yellow wooden box.(tip)

He hesitated, picked it up, held it in his calloused hands odd, it was rougher than he had remembered, and the paint was badly faded, perhaps it wasn't a good idea after all keeping so near to that damned window.(peach)

he turned down the ambiant classical music he had mindlessly put on rught after getting out of bed. for this, he required silence. this one addiction required every shred of attention from all senses. which is why he usually took out the wooden box at night, when light would be less distracting.

although he had previously been bored, now he was excited as a boy, the way he usually felt in the presence of a woman who he knew would stay over, which they would, most of the time. he was, indeed, a man of many addictions.

already, he was picturing in his mind the many vials, the many cases, all of different colours, each of those colours being a vibrant and joyful memory of each scent captured in the wooden box. scents. smells. aromas. his best kept secret. the secret that must not be revealed.(TIP)

He took one of those tiny little vials in his hand, held it up to the light and and held it there for a long time, perhaps too long. The urge was too strong and he feared that if he sat staring at it much longer he might regret it. Might get ugly again like the last time. He decided to do the proper thing and put it back ever so gently into the small wooden box. Perhaps he thought another time, certainly not now, not for a long time. Was he dreaming, or hallucinating? He didn't know nor did he want to. He just sat at the edge of the bed and stared gravely at that damned box.(peach)
she had got to far had she not... not with the chanel no.5, no, this could never be wrong... but the roses had driven him crazy... that smell of death and decay coming soon, the smell of venice at twilight... smells should never be mixed with such studied elegance, they should just meet and collapse into each other like people on the subway... the sweat and the food and the gazoline and the lack of hygiene and the too good a party and the freshly bathed.... such was the true smell of life...so... it had been her fault. had it not? (tip)

He wrestled with these thoughts, thoughts that kept him awake at night. No these were more like nightmares, of the cold sweat variety..... that face.....oh God, how he ached for her, even now. How could it have happened? What went wrong? Too wound up to sleep he walked to the bar and poured himself a scotch, three fingers, downed it in one gulp then went back to bed, hoping that sleep would soon overtake him. In short order he was fast asleep, his mind drifted to that summer day so long ago in Venice. (peach) to no avail. worse... the vapours of alcool traced maddening spirals through his brain, preventing sleep. soon he was up, all dressed up again, downstairs in the street. into the pool of scents, the essence of the city, full and heady and darkly charged with fumes, drenched in lively madness.

he felt like a dog, aware of every aroma and stench. how happy that always made him, for a while forgetful of anything else. until... until one smell would reach him across the crowd, through the nightly shadows. until he would fall in love again. (tip)

The very same fragrance she had worn, channel No. 5, the memories flooded in him, stirred something that had long been forgotten. He walked towards the scent, closer .... so close he could taste it. Too many scents now .......... confusion and fear set in. Then as quickly as that lovely scent appeared it was gone. (peach)

[tipou]

the large windows, dirty with city slime, never showed a blue sky. but the light was perfect for daydreaming, one of his many addictions. (TIP)For he was very addictive by nature, his tendencies towards kitsch spactacles never failed to amaze. (DGD)

so for awhile he just gazed into nothingness, his long fingers playing some mute song on the table beside him.(tip)

The tune in his head was that of a day so long ago, he remembered it so well, how beautiful his wife looked but now nothing (peach).
that was a first. not enjoying daydreaming. for a while, he fidgeted around the room, hesitating before going out for a drink, going downstairs and take a nap, or... perhaps. second shelf on the right. the yellow wooden box.(tip)

He hesitated, picked it up, held it in his calloused hands odd, it was rougher than he had remembered, and the paint was badly faded, perhaps it wasn't a good idea after all keeping so near to that damned window.(peach)

he turned down the ambiant classical music he had mindlessly put on rught after getting out of bed. for this, he required silence. this one addiction required every shred of attention from all senses. which is why he usually took out the wooden box at night, when light would be less distracting.

although he had previously been bored, now he was excited as a boy, the way he usually felt in the presence of a woman who he knew would stay over, which they would, most of the time. he was, indeed, a man of many addictions.

already, he was picturing in his mind the many vials, the many cases, all of different colours, each of those colours being a vibrant and joyful memory of each scent captured in the wooden box. scents. smells. aromas. his best kept secret. the secret that must not be revealed.(TIP)

He took one of those tiny little vials in his hand, held it up to the light and and held it there for a long time, perhaps too long. The urge was too strong and he feared that if he sat staring at it much longer he might regret it. Might get ugly again like the last time. He decided to do the proper thing and put it back ever so gently into the small wooden box. Perhaps he thought another time, certainly not now, not for a long time. Was he dreaming, or hallucinating? He didn't know nor did he want to. He just sat at the edge of the bed and stared gravely at that damned box.(peach)

she had got to far had she not... not with the chanel no.5, no, this could never be wrong... but the roses had driven him crazy... that smell of death and decay coming soon, the smell of venice at twilight... smells should never be mixed with such studied elegance, they should just meet and collapse into each other like people on the subway... the sweat and the food and the gazoline and the lack of hygiene and the too good a party and the freshly bathed.... such was the true smell of life...so... it had been her fault. had it not? (tip)

He wrestled with these thoughts, thoughts that kept him awake at night. No these were more like nightmares, of the cold sweat variety..... that face.....oh God, how he ached for her, even now. How could it have happened? What went wrong? Too wound up to sleep he walked to the bar and poured himself a scotch, three fingers, downed it in one gulp then went back to bed, hoping that sleep would soon overtake him. In short order he was fast asleep, his mind drifted to that summer day so long ago in Venice. (peach) to no avail. worse... the vapours of alcool traced maddening spirals through his brain, preventing sleep. soon he was up, all dressed up again, downstairs in the street. into the pool of scents, the essence of the city, full and heady and darkly charged with fumes, drenched in lively madness.

he felt like a dog, aware of every aroma and stench. how happy that always made him, for a while forgetful of anything else. until... until one smell would reach him across the crowd, through the nightly shadows. until he would fall in love again. (tip)

The very same fragrance she had worn, channel No. 5, the memories flooded in him, stirred something that had long been forgotten. He walked towards the scent, closer .... so close he could taste it. Too many scents now .......... confusion and fear set in. Then as quickly as that lovely scent appeared it was gone. (peach)

maddened by scent withdrawal, he looked around him, his eyes wide with panic, as if he could see an odour... and sometimes he would, whenever his mind, his body, were so totally craving for it.

there it was... light green and gold... entertwined among the fibers of a silk scarf... burgundy silk. soft. like. skin. he gasped. a wisp of blond hair. was it a fume form the perfume? he raised a trembling hand, his thirst speaking for him.... "miss?... miss... wait!''

had he even been able to produce any sound? his throat ached with tension. once again, the whiff appeared... but the unthinkable happened. he lost it again, this time to the glaring sound of hip-hop, vomitted from a passing car.

noise always killed the smells. he fell, suddenly devoid of all strength. to his knees. crying, aching all over. despair, fear, loss. once again.(tip)

[peach]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the large windows, dirty with city slime, never showed a blue sky. but the light was perfect for daydreaming, one of his many addictions. (TIP)For he was very addictive by nature, his tendencies towards kitsch spactacles never failed to amaze. (DGD)

so for awhile he just gazed into nothingness, his long fingers playing some mute song on the table beside him.(tip)

The tune in his head was that of a day so long ago, he remembered it so well, how beautiful his wife looked but now nothing (peach).
that was a first. not enjoying daydreaming. for a while, he fidgeted around the room, hesitating before going out for a drink, going downstairs and take a nap, or... perhaps. second shelf on the right. the yellow wooden box.(tip)

He hesitated, picked it up, held it in his calloused hands odd, it was rougher than he had remembered, and the paint was badly faded, perhaps it wasn't a good idea after all keeping so near to that damned window.(peach)

he turned down the ambiant classical music he had mindlessly put on rught after getting out of bed. for this, he required silence. this one addiction required every shred of attention from all senses. which is why he usually took out the wooden box at night, when light would be less distracting.

although he had previously been bored, now he was excited as a boy, the way he usually felt in the presence of a woman who he knew would stay over, which they would, most of the time. he was, indeed, a man of many addictions.

already, he was picturing in his mind the many vials, the many cases, all of different colours, each of those colours being a vibrant and joyful memory of each scent captured in the wooden box. scents. smells. aromas. his best kept secret. the secret that must not be revealed.(TIP)

He took one of those tiny little vials in his hand, held it up to the light and and held it there for a long time, perhaps too long. The urge was too strong and he feared that if he sat staring at it much longer he might regret it. Might get ugly again like the last time. He decided to do the proper thing and put it back ever so gently into the small wooden box. Perhaps he thought another time, certainly not now, not for a long time. Was he dreaming, or hallucinating? He didn't know nor did he want to. He just sat at the edge of the bed and stared gravely at that damned box.(peach)

she had got to far had she not... not with the chanel no.5, no, this could never be wrong... but the roses had driven him crazy... that smell of death and decay coming soon, the smell of venice at twilight... smells should never be mixed with such studied elegance, they should just meet and collapse into each other like people on the subway... the sweat and the food and the gazoline and the lack of hygiene and the too good a party and the freshly bathed.... such was the true smell of life...so... it had been her fault. had it not? (tip)

He wrestled with these thoughts, thoughts that kept him awake at night. No these were more like nightmares, of the cold sweat variety..... that face.....oh God, how he ached for her, even now. How could it have happened? What went wrong? Too wound up to sleep he walked to the bar and poured himself a scotch, three fingers, downed it in one gulp then went back to bed, hoping that sleep would soon overtake him. In short order he was fast asleep, his mind drifted to that summer day so long ago in Venice. (peach) to no avail. worse... the vapours of alcool traced maddening spirals through his brain, preventing sleep. soon he was up, all dressed up again, downstairs in the street. into the pool of scents, the essence of the city, full and heady and darkly charged with fumes, drenched in lively madness.

he felt like a dog, aware of every aroma and stench. how happy that always made him, for a while forgetful of anything else. until... until one smell would reach him across the crowd, through the nightly shadows. until he would fall in love again. (tip)

The very same fragrance she had worn, channel No. 5, the memories flooded in him, stirred something that had long been forgotten. He walked towards the scent, closer .... so close he could taste it. Too many scents now .......... confusion and fear set in. Then as quickly as that lovely scent appeared it was gone. (peach)

maddened by scent withdrawal, he looked around him, his eyes wide with panic, as if he could see an odour... and sometimes he would, whenever his mind, his body, were so totally craving for it.

there it was... light green and gold... entertwined among the fibers of a silk scarf... burgundy silk. soft. like. skin. he gasped. a wisp of blond hair. was it a fume form the perfume? he raised a trembling hand, his thirst speaking for him.... "miss?... miss... wait!''

had he even been able to produce any sound? his throat ached with tension. once again, the whiff appeared... but the unthinkable happened. he lost it again, this time to the glaring sound of hip-hop, vomitted from a passing car.

noise always killed the smells. he fell, suddenly devoid of all strength. to his knees. crying, aching all over. despair, fear, loss. once again.(tip)
Slowly, agonizingly, he rose to his feet. He was exhauseted, as was always the case when these episodes finally ceased to be. He needed sleep, but the thought of going back to that dark house forced him to keep going, resigned to his plight he kept going. He knew he'd find no peace their nor would he find the sleep he so badly craved.
The streets were deserted at this hour of the night, nothing piqued his interest, soon the smells would come and he would soon be on his way. He walked unti l he could go no further, sleep beckoned him and he welcomed it gladly.

Morning came quickly, he woke with a start, those smells again, out of the corner of his eye he thought he spied the mysterious blond woman, before the trail grew cold he followed her....
(peach)

[peach]

the large windows, dirty with city slime, never showed a blue sky. but the light was perfect for daydreaming, one of his many addictions. (TIP)For he was very addictive by nature, his tendencies towards kitsch spactacles never failed to amaze. (DGD)

so for awhile he just gazed into nothingness, his long fingers playing some mute song on the table beside him.(tip)

The tune in his head was that of a day so long ago, he remembered it so well, how beautiful his wife looked but now nothing (peach).
that was a first. not enjoying daydreaming. for a while, he fidgeted around the room, hesitating before going out for a drink, going downstairs and take a nap, or... perhaps. second shelf on the right. the yellow wooden box.(tip)

He hesitated, picked it up, held it in his calloused hands odd, it was rougher than he had remembered, and the paint was badly faded, perhaps it wasn't a good idea after all keeping so near to that damned window.(peach)

he turned down the ambiant classical music he had mindlessly put on rught after getting out of bed. for this, he required silence. this one addiction required every shred of attention from all senses. which is why he usually took out the wooden box at night, when light would be less distracting.

although he had previously been bored, now he was excited as a boy, the way he usually felt in the presence of a woman who he knew would stay over, which they would, most of the time. he was, indeed, a man of many addictions.

already, he was picturing in his mind the many vials, the many cases, all of different colours, each of those colours being a vibrant and joyful memory of each scent captured in the wooden box. scents. smells. aromas. his best kept secret. the secret that must not be revealed.(TIP)

He took one of those tiny little vials in his hand, held it up to the light and and held it there for a long time, perhaps too long. The urge was too strong and he feared that if he sat staring at it much longer he might regret it. Might get ugly again like the last time. He decided to do the proper thing and put it back ever so gently into the small wooden box. Perhaps he thought another time, certainly not now, not for a long time. Was he dreaming, or hallucinating? He didn't know nor did he want to. He just sat at the edge of the bed and stared gravely at that damned box.(peach)

she had got to far had she not... not with the chanel no.5, no, this could never be wrong... but the roses had driven him crazy... that smell of death and decay coming soon, the smell of venice at twilight... smells should never be mixed with such studied elegance, they should just meet and collapse into each other like people on the subway... the sweat and the food and the gazoline and the lack of hygiene and the too good a party and the freshly bathed.... such was the true smell of life...so... it had been her fault. had it not? (tip)

He wrestled with these thoughts, thoughts that kept him awake at night. No these were more like nightmares, of the cold sweat variety..... that face.....oh God, how he ached for her, even now. How could it have happened? What went wrong? Too wound up to sleep he walked to the bar and poured himself a scotch, three fingers, downed it in one gulp then went back to bed, hoping that sleep would soon overtake him. In short order he was fast asleep, his mind drifted to that summer day so long ago in Venice. (peach) to no avail. worse... the vapours of alcool traced maddening spirals through his brain, preventing sleep. soon he was up, all dressed up again, downstairs in the street. into the pool of scents, the essence of the city, full and heady and darkly charged with fumes, drenched in lively madness.

he felt like a dog, aware of every aroma and stench. how happy that always made him, for a while forgetful of anything else. until... until one smell would reach him across the crowd, through the nightly shadows. until he would fall in love again. (tip)

The very same fragrance she had worn, channel No. 5, the memories flooded in him, stirred something that had long been forgotten. He walked towards the scent, closer .... so close he could taste it. Too many scents now .......... confusion and fear set in. Then as quickly as that lovely scent appeared it was gone. (peach)

maddened by scent withdrawal, he looked around him, his eyes wide with panic, as if he could see an odour... and sometimes he would, whenever his mind, his body, were so totally craving for it.

there it was... light green and gold... entertwined among the fibers of a silk scarf... burgundy silk. soft. like. skin. he gasped. a wisp of blond hair. was it a fume form the perfume? he raised a trembling hand, his thirst speaking for him.... "miss?... miss... wait!''

had he even been able to produce any sound? his throat ached with tension. once again, the whiff appeared... but the unthinkable happened. he lost it again, this time to the glaring sound of hip-hop, vomitted from a passing car.

noise always killed the smells. he fell, suddenly devoid of all strength. to his knees. crying, aching all over. despair, fear, loss. once again.(tip)

Slowly, agonizingly, he rose to his feet. He was exhauseted, as was always the case when these episodes finally ceased to be. He needed sleep, but the thought of going back to that dark house forced him to keep going, resigned to his plight he kept going. He knew he'd find no peace their nor would he find the sleep he so badly craved.
The streets were deserted at this hour of the night, nothing piqued his interest, soon the smells would come and he would soon be on his way. He walked unti l he could go no further, sleep beckoned him and he welcomed it gladly.

Morning came quickly, he woke with a start, those smells again, out of the corner of his eye he thought he spied the mysterious blond woman, before the trail grew cold he followed her....
(peach)

she must live nearby then... how could he have missed this delicious aroma before... a tint of vanilla mixed in this morning... he felt his blood rush through his body like a tidal wave. elated, light, hungry, he followed the clear path of the scent, evolving from light vapour to thick smoke... ancient gold was its colour, rich and vibrant with life...

- oh, excuse me sir... i am so sorry...

she was brushing away spilt coffee from the frontof her coat, and all the while smiling apologetically at him. he noticed right away that the precious red silk scarf was safely coffee free. that her lipstick had a subtle amber aroma. that her skin was glowing with the lingering languor of a recent lavender scented bath.

- i should never stop this abruptly... she said. are you ok?

she must have been inquiring on account of his wide stare, she had mistaken it, doubtless, for the beginning of outrage.

- it's ok... it's actually a pleasure bumping into you... but i should definitely pay more attention. you need another coffee. please let me offer it to you.

oh yes. he could be so charming. no wonder women liked him so, and followed at his whim. there was no pride in his awareness of his own charm, it was a weapon, and he used it well, period. he had put so much work and dedication to this aspect of his addiction.

already she was melting. so beautiful... and trusting. big blue eyes, no protection whatsoever. poor child. he felt a sudden burst of affection for the bearer of the scent. he wanted to hold her close. this maddening smell of hers would inhabit every bit of her flesh, every fold, every tendril of delicate hair...

calm down, he silently instructed himself, and swallowed painfully.

-it's not really necessary... she said, batting eyelids, in fact she was already saying yes.

-please. let me, he said, cracking the smile that had become the very signature of his success.

without anymore resistance, she walked back to the café with him, she was widely smiling as he held the door for her. too easy. much too easy. (tip)

They took a table near the back of the cafe, ordering for them both, his mind drifted savoring the smell of her, all of these wonderful aromas were now flooding his brain, he was in exctasy. In time the coffees came which brought him rudely back to reality.

The conversation fell into a comfortable rythm, surprising even himself, in no time at all she began telling him him about her most intimate details of her life things she only shared with her sister, she felt her face blush but disregarded any concerns she may have had. He felt a rush of emotion and biting back a laugh gave her his best impression of someone who actually was interested in anything she happen to be saying. In no time at all
he lost interest in whatever else she had to say, he was quite literally bored with her, the charade continued as he knew he needed to keep her trust.... that's right and look interested act as if you actually gave a damn about anything this one had to say.

Good God he didn't think he could stand anymore of this inane drivel, why were women all alike? The smells stronger now, it was warm in here which only intensified her scent, all at once they hit him , that delicious vanilla tinged with just a hint of
the lavender his head was swimming, how long must I endure this torture he thought to himself. I have earned this one and I shall make her pay in my own way and in my own time. And that time was drawing ever so near. He was a patient man almost to a fault and he let this little melodrama play out as he knew it would. Good things come to those who wait as they say.

The cafe soon grew quite crowded and he knew that time was of the essence and opportunites like this didn't come around very often, you only get one opportunity to grab the brass ring and this was his.

They soon departed the crowded and now very noisy cafe and headed north towards the seedier part of town, he convincingly told her of a lovely restaurant not too far from where they were it didn't take long before they were well out of sight. There were other aromas now brewing but he paid them little mind, he had more important things on his mind, and something had to be done sooner than later and little did she know that her time on this mortal earth was quickly coming to an end. (peach)

[tipou]

the large windows, dirty with city slime, never showed a blue sky. but the light was perfect for daydreaming, one of his many addictions. (TIP)For he was very addictive by nature, his tendencies towards kitsch spactacles never failed to amaze. (DGD)
so for awhile he just gazed into nothingness, his long fingers playing some mute song on the table beside him.(tip)
The tune in his head was that of a day so long ago, he remembered it so well, how beautiful his wife looked but now nothing (peach).
that was a first. not enjoying daydreaming. for a while, he fidgeted around the room, hesitating before going out for a drink, going downstairs and take a nap, or... perhaps. second shelf on the right. the yellow wooden box.(tip)
He hesitated, picked it up, held it in his calloused hands odd, it was rougher than he had remembered, and the paint was badly faded, perhaps it wasn't a good idea after all keeping so near to that damned window.(peach)
he turned down the ambiant classical music he had mindlessly put on rught after getting out of bed. for this, he required silence. this one addiction required every shred of attention from all senses. which is why he usually took out the wooden box at night, when light would be less distracting.
although he had previously been bored, now he was excited as a boy, the way he usually felt in the presence of a woman who he knew would stay over, which they would, most of the time. he was, indeed, a man of many addictions.
already, he was picturing in his mind the many vials, the many cases, all of different colours, each of those colours being a vibrant and joyful memory of each scent captured in the wooden box. scents. smells. aromas. his best kept secret. the secret that must not be revealed.(TIP)
He took one of those tiny little vials in his hand, held it up to the light and and held it there for a long time, perhaps too long. The urge was too strong and he feared that if he sat staring at it much longer he might regret it. Might get ugly again like the last time. He decided to do the proper thing and put it back ever so gently into the small wooden box. Perhaps he thought another time, certainly not now, not for a long time. Was he dreaming, or hallucinating? He didn't know nor did he want to. He just sat at the edge of the bed and stared gravely at that damned box.(peach)
she had got to far had she not... not with the chanel no.5, no, this could never be wrong... but the roses had driven him crazy... that smell of death and decay coming soon, the smell of venice at twilight... smells should never be mixed with such studied elegance, they should just meet and collapse into each other like people on the subway... the sweat and the food and the gazoline and the lack of hygiene and the too good a party and the freshly bathed.... such was the true smell of life...so... it had been her fault. had it not? (tip)
He wrestled with these thoughts, thoughts that kept him awake at night. No these were more like nightmares, of the cold sweat variety..... that face.....oh God, how he ached for her, even now. How could it have happened? What went wrong? Too wound up to sleep he walked to the bar and poured himself a scotch, three fingers, downed it in one gulp then went back to bed, hoping that sleep would soon overtake him. In short order he was fast asleep, his mind drifted to that summer day so long ago in Venice. (peach) to no avail. worse... the vapours of alcool traced maddening spirals through his brain, preventing sleep. soon he was up, all dressed up again, downstairs in the street. into the pool of scents, the essence of the city, full and heady and darkly charged with fumes, drenched in lively madness.
he felt like a dog, aware of every aroma and stench. how happy that always made him, for a while forgetful of anything else. until... until one smell would reach him across the crowd, through the nightly shadows. until he would fall in love again. (tip)
The very same fragrance she had worn, channel No. 5, the memories flooded in him, stirred something that had long been forgotten. He walked towards the scent, closer .... so close he could taste it. Too many scents now .......... confusion and fear set in. Then as quickly as that lovely scent appeared it was gone. (peach)
maddened by scent withdrawal, he looked around him, his eyes wide with panic, as if he could see an odour... and sometimes he would, whenever his mind, his body, were so totally craving for it.
there it was... light green and gold... entertwined among the fibers of a silk scarf... burgundy silk. soft. like. skin. he gasped. a wisp of blond hair. was it a fume form the perfume? he raised a trembling hand, his thirst speaking for him.... "miss?... miss... wait!''
had he even been able to produce any sound? his throat ached with tension. once again, the whiff appeared... but the unthinkable happened. he lost it again, this time to the glaring sound of hip-hop, vomitted from a passing car.
noise always killed the smells. he fell, suddenly devoid of all strength. to his knees. crying, aching all over. despair, fear, loss. once again.(tip)
Slowly, agonizingly, he rose to his feet. He was exhauseted, as was always the case when these episodes finally ceased to be. He needed sleep, but the thought of going back to that dark house forced him to keep going, resigned to his plight he kept going. He knew he'd find no peace their nor would he find the sleep he so badly craved.
The streets were deserted at this hour of the night, nothing piqued his interest, soon the smells would come and he would soon be on his way. He walked unti l he could go no further, sleep beckoned him and he welcomed it gladly.
Morning came quickly, he woke with a start, those smells again, out of the corner of his eye he thought he spied the mysterious blond woman, before the trail grew cold he followed her....
(peach)
she must live nearby then... how could he have missed this delicious aroma before... a tint of vanilla mixed in this morning... he felt his blood rush through his body like a tidal wave. elated, light, hungry, he followed the clear path of the scent, evolving from light vapour to thick smoke... ancient gold was its colour, rich and vibrant with life...
- oh, excuse me sir... i am so sorry...
she was brushing away spilt coffee from the frontof her coat, and all the while smiling apologetically at him. he noticed right away that the precious red silk scarf was safely coffee free. that her lipstick had a subtle amber aroma. that her skin was glowing with the lingering languor of a recent lavender scented bath.
- i should never stop this abruptly... she said. are you ok?
she must have been inquiring on account of his wide stare, she had mistaken it, doubtless, for the beginning of outrage.
- it's ok... it's actually a pleasure bumping into you... but i should definitely pay more attention. you need another coffee. please let me offer it to you.
oh yes. he could be so charming. no wonder women liked him so, and followed at his whim. there was no pride in his awareness of his own charm, it was a weapon, and he used it well, period. he had put so much work and dedication to this aspect of his addiction.
already she was melting. so beautiful... and trusting. big blue eyes, no protection whatsoever. poor child. he felt a sudden burst of affection for the bearer of the scent. he wanted to hold her close. this maddening smell of hers would inhabit every bit of her flesh, every fold, every tendril of delicate hair...
calm down, he silently instructed himself, and swallowed painfully.
-it's not really necessary... she said, batting eyelids, in fact she was already saying yes.
-please. let me, he said, cracking the smile that had become the very signature of his success.
without anymore resistance, she walked back to the café with him, she was widely smiling as he held the door for her. too easy. much too easy. (tip)
They took a table near the back of the cafe, ordering for them both, his mind drifted savoring the smell of her, all of these wonderful aromas were now flooding his brain, he was in exctasy. In time the coffees came which brought him rudely back to reality.
The conversation fell into a comfortable rythm, surprising even himself, in no time at all she began telling him him about her most intimate details of her life things she only shared with her sister, she felt her face blush but disregarded any concerns she may have had. He felt a rush of emotion and biting back a laugh gave her his best impression of someone who actually was interested in anything she happen to be saying. In no time at all
he lost interest in whatever else she had to say, he was quite literally bored with her, the charade continued as he knew he needed to keep her trust.... that's right and look interested act as if you actually gave a damn about anything this one had to say.
Good God he didn't think he could stand anymore of this inane drivel, why were women all alike? The smells stronger now, it was warm in here which only intensified her scent, all at once they hit him , that delicious vanilla tinged with just a hint of
the lavender his head was swimming, how long must I endure this torture he thought to himself. I have earned this one and I shall make her pay in my own way and in my own time. And that time was drawing ever so near. He was a patient man almost to a fault and he let this little melodrama play out as he knew it would. Good things come to those who wait as they say.
The cafe soon grew quite crowded and he knew that time was of the essence and opportunites like this didn't come around very often, you only get one opportunity to grab the brass ring and this was his.
They soon departed the crowded and now very noisy cafe and headed north towards the seedier part of town, he convincingly told her of a lovely restaurant not too far from where they were it didn't take long before they were well out of sight. There were other aromas now brewing but he paid them little mind, he had more important things on his mind, and something had to be done sooner than later and little did she know that her time on this mortal earth was quickly coming to an end. (peach)
****************************************************
it is a well known fact that "taste" does not exist at all. in fact, a person suddenly deprived of any olfactory sense whatsoever, by accident or illness, finds every food tasteless.
indeed it could be argued that stronger "tastes", like "very spicy", "bitter", and such, might be only physical reactions, more related to touch than to an actual sense of taste.
smell is the sense that remembers the most. its memory can instantly take us ten, twenty years back, to childhood, even.
in the animal realm, it is the main source of survival intelligence. with smell, any beast can recognize when its time to mate, to eat, to flee.
it is now time to give our protagonists names of their own, for they are not animals, but somewhat, apparently, of a higher order, no matter how inadequate or dangerous they might be.
****************************************************
betty, the young woman with the blood red scarf who wore chanel no.5 even if she tragically had lost any useful knowledge from her sense of smell, ignored the warning it rang in her subconscious mind. she was too much lost into the dark, velvety gaze of the stranger who was now sipping from his glass of wine. true, she could smell the very danger he exhaled, but that only made him more exciting in her eyes. yes. she depended much, too much, on her sight.
for he was a strikingly handsome sight, that man who told her his name was peter. he had made no effort to conceal that he had slept outside in the street, not that it was so apparent either. he just appeared ruffled and unkempt, in a sensual kind of way, as if he had just emerged from a sleepless night with another stranger... his raw beauty did not need any artificial enhancement anyway. in a matter of seconds, betty had memorized every shade of skin, every strand of hair, every smile and sparkle.
she could not know that he was in fact ravenously drinking every scent emanating from her. she could not know that soon, he felt drunk from the smells, that his heart was thudding wildly in his chest, that he was slowly being led to a place ignored even by him.
as betty was taking her last sip, peter knew that perhaps she would not disappear so quickly. he, who had felt no hope for so long, rejoiced in the elation overflowing him.
he wanted her to last. (tip)
- i live nearby, he whispered, looking down at the table, fidgeting wth a knife.
betty sat up in her chair. enough that she was drinking wine so early in the day... would she bring her carefully scheduled life so close to chaos? by following peter, this stranger, this maddeningly captivating stranger, into his lair, and then what?
she abruptly emerged from her daydream - or was it him that has mesmerized her?
- no. not like this.
- like what? what do you mean, not like this?
she stood up and smiled shyly. fear could be smelled, but she could see something dangerous in his eyes. she shuddered.
- thanks, it was a lovely moment. i must...
he seized her hand, brought it to his lips, but she took it away.
- i dont know how to reach you, he whispered.
- it's as well. good day.
and betty left. the restaurant was full now with the lunch hour clientele, following her too swiftly would have been suspect. and he had to pay the waiter, already at his side. clever doll, she just had a free lunch.
of course, in the street, he found no trace of her. on his lips, a daring, playful smile. it was the very first time one of them had escaped, the first time he had not obtained everything at once. peter enjoyed the challenge, deeply.
the game was afoot.
a quarter of a mile further, betty turned up an alley, out of breath, flushed, and leaned against a wall. thank god, she had run away before she could be tempted to follow him.
this... peter... yes, she had let him have a name, this time. perhaps she would even remember this one. this peter... he had been nice, really. she was almost certain she had invented any of the dark intentions she had read in his warm gaze. how sweet, how he had tried to kiss her hand. how lovely his smile...
she was glad to have run away.
at last, she took out her hand from her purse, and the large kitchen knife disappeared in there, unused this time around.
yes... peter... it would have been too bad.
(tip)
************** the end *************************

[tipou]

peachy, i consider this one to be over, unless you want to go on, of course...
you want to start another?

[peach]

Fabulous ending these Tip, I've been busy hence my missing piece.Yes please, do start another.

[Vittoria]

Ok... I've been invited by Tip to start a new story... so here it goes.....

Droplets gathered and slowly drizzled down the glass as the rain poured down. It had been a long day and time could not pass easily it seemed. Grey haze drifted like so much fog through her cluttered mind. Nothing seemed right. Even the rain was so natural yet beyond her grasp as she drearily gazed out the window at nothing. Nothing.

Nothing mattered anymore... or did it? Could Sara collect within herself her very self or would she just slip into a daze forever? Would tomorrow bring new hope? Suddenly she became aware of a strange creaking sound coming from the stairway... and then a flutter... and then...

Hair pulled to the side... gasping... almost fainitng... piercing flesh.. swooning... dreaming.. floating? Sara could hear nothing and more of nothing. A tiny stream of blood trickled down her wounded neck and then it was gone. Nothing left but all familair marks in her tender flesh. Then it was morning.... (Vittoria)

[tipou]

Droplets gathered and slowly drizzled down the glass as the rain poured down. It had been a long day and time could not pass easily it seemed. Grey haze drifted like so much fog through her cluttered mind. Nothing seemed right. Even the rain was so natural yet beyond her grasp as she drearily gazed out the window at nothing. Nothing.

Nothing mattered anymore... or did it? Could Sara collect within herself her very self or would she just slip into a daze forever? Would tomorrow bring new hope? Suddenly she became aware of a strange creaking sound coming from the stairway... and then a flutter... and then...

Hair pulled to the side... gasping... almost fainitng... piercing flesh.. swooning... dreaming.. floating? Sara could hear nothing and more of nothing. A tiny stream of blood trickled down her wounded neck and then it was gone. Nothing left but all familair marks in her tender flesh. Then it was morning.... (Vittoria)

how cruel that once again she had been abandoned like a discarded vessel. she so needed the... fleeting presence... to show itself. pretty sara had prepared for its coming, she had been wearing her finest lace, her richest silk, delicate rubies around her neck. and yet she had been left into her world, which had lost all taste and colour. (tip)