Benches can be great places to generate plots for books, plays or movies. Taking time out to reflect, daydream or people watch can allow the seed of a story, poem or even a song to take root. However, thanks to technology, you no longer have to leave the house to do this.
Chris, The Story Reading Ape, shared a link on his blog to an online Plot Generator and I couldn’t resist trying out a short story. I made up my own pen-name, instead of using the pen-name generator. Having supplied some keywords, I then waited to see how the story would read – it was nothing like I expected but I did have a good laugh at the result. Even a title and book cover was ‘generated’ for me. There are links on the site if you want to make up the lyrics to a song or even create a movie script. Go on, give it a go – you have nothing to lose but your dignity, as you will see if you read on. (That’s why it’s best to use a pen name, lol)
Two Loving Uncles Crying to the Beat
A Short Story
by J. M. Hart
Fran O’Neill looked at the brittle bag in his hands and felt confusing.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his surroundings. He had always hated grassy noisy Dublin with its comfortable, cheerful canal. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel confusing.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Rosie Byrne. Rosie was a romantic hypocrite with slender hair and dark hands.
Fran gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a stoic, stubborn, beer drinker with stocky hair and angular hands. His friends saw him as a smelly, smiling soldier. Once, he had even saved a kindhearted eggshell that was stuck in a drain.
But not even a stoic person who had once saved a kindhearted eggshell that was stuck in a drain, was prepared for what Rosie had in store today.
The rain hammered like struggling dogs, making Fran hopeful.
As Fran stepped outside and Rosie came closer, he could see the excited glint in her eye.
Rosie gazed with the affection of 4513 brave ripe rats. She said, in hushed tones, “I love you and I want decision.”
Fran looked back, even more hopeful and still fingering the brittle bag. “Rosie, choose between us,” he replied.
They looked at each other with sad feelings, like two horrible, handsome horses breaking at a very forgiving funeral, which had violin music playing in the background and two loving uncles crying to the beat.
Fran studied Rosie’s slender hair and dark hands. Eventually, he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” began Fran in apologetic tones, “but I don’t feel the same way, and I never will. I just don’t love you Rosie.”
Rosie looked hurtful, her emotions raw like a numerous, narrow newspaper.
Fran could actually hear Rosie’s emotions shatter into 4679 pieces. Then the romantic hypocrite hurried away into the distance.
Not even a drink of beer would calm Fran’s nerves tonight.