Members of the #MYWriters Facebook group* participated in a crowdsourced storytelling exercise where each person takes turns to contribute two words to complete a story.
We have 1,215 members to date, and about 50 members participated in the online exercise within an 8 hour time span, so you can imagine the awesome and creative havoc caused!
Here is our combined story:
TWAS AN UNFORTUNATE NIGHT…
It was an unfortunate evening, when little Brandon ventured out to see of Devil’s Wearing Prada red stilettos. Brandon thought he died of drinking. When suddenly, Xenovia flew past the green dragon with no strings attached. Then she drank bourbon while spit dribbled off her pointed chin, (in) drunken stupor, reflecting despair.
The dragon wept fire.
Wine bottles and cheese start molding into gold. Brandon was elatedly pungent. But then, alive again. A wizard picked up their hat together with musty mold. A robot belted out My Heart with gusto. The Catalonian openly bleeding all over the face of diarrhea. But now – not now. Then when? One day. When the sun turned green. Or the moon moons. Moon turns into sushi.
Glittery vampire sucked oranges and vomiting green dragons. And plenty of them. Of slimy bloody oranges. A witch juicily smiles, rubbing her sides with her Sharpie marker that’s shaped to fit his nose so rotund and photogenic, yet probing.
Branded decided and dreamt about his again, against the wall. Fatalistic fate woohoo, danced the night and go to sleep. In Neverland, Salak Selatan.
Samir now and dream. He wasn’t. What happened?
Will I? No siree. He refused to abide to unrealistic electric dreams. Too weird.
He wanted to kentut all over, but then could not vanish completely in putrid. And then, somewhat awkwardly, stumbled on reciting poems.
Suddenly, lightning. Brightened the mystic night and split into mountains.
Meanwhile, the postman said, “Flying mushroom,” when he cart-wheeled continuously and entered while munching Mr. Potatoes. Blue Cheese was not fully aware that everyone are psychotic like me.
But then, my cow gone crazy over the KL tower despite (the) gruesome green warts.
“Look up!” said none of the idiotic fools.
Who usually sleep naked and play sadistic Monopoly? Soap bubbles, when will I see soap bubbles floating on lucid dreams in my secret territory, silly imagination, like dancing runs wild?
Hates chatting, standing erect suspense is.
The murder that still tickles me. The murderer got caught just as she undressed. The moment only to whip out an itsy ice cream coated cake.
Sugary cocaine, my friend.
“No!!!” yelled Yilda Runeguts.
Brandon glanced up at the cataclysmic being who seemed lost but found pieces of tuna-filled pitas laid out on brown Sunshine bread. So he tembak kaukau until his exposed heart bled profusely.
Well done, everyone!
We’ve just proven that writing can be fun too!
*This writer is founder and moderator/administrator of the Malaysian Writers Facebook group, https://www.facebook.com/groups/malaysianwriters/ which is described as “A platform and community for writers of fiction, non-fiction or poetry of Malaysian citizenship/permanent residence or non-Malaysians who write and work in/from Malaysia; who are published or aspiring; writing in any genre, via any medium and in ANY language (includes short story writers, columnists, journalists, bloggers, editors, copywriters, scriptwriters and literary translators).”