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AmIMoreThanYouBargainedForYet's avatar

Can everyone tell a story?

Asked by AmIMoreThanYouBargainedForYet (279points) September 14th, 2017

Anyone who reads this, reply with a story. It can be fact, fiction, anything really. Just try to have some fun.

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10 Answers

Mimishu1995's avatar

How about this: we start with a prompt, then the next jelly will write a story based on the prompt then think of another prompt. It’s easier to write that way.

Pinguidchance's avatar

Once upon a time,

The mod team pushed this to editing because:
Your question doesn’t meet Fluther standards. This is a Q&A site, not a quiz or trivia site.

And they all lived happily ever after.

Mimishu1995's avatar

They lived happily ever after because other fun questions rose to protect this question, especially TJBM.

Response moderated (Personal Attack)
Espiritus_Corvus's avatar

From the time I could read, I was in love with the pirate life of the Caribbean. Treasure Island, later pouring over old charts of the islands and pirate listings in the encyclopedia, hours spent reading old National Geographics during detention in the library. Then we moved to Florida and things got serious. I got my first open day-sailer when I was thirteen. I found small, uninhabited islands in the bays and mouths of rivers after school. I camped and fished on those islands on the weekends, like a sailor marooned back in the day.

As I got older, the boats got bigger. By December, 2012 I had a 42 footer under me and had spent the last few years using all my vacation time doing short hops along the Gulf coast. Thirty mile overnighters became week-long voyages, then trips to Cedar Key, Key West, Bimini, New Orleans, Galveston and back. I’d long ago left my childhood pirate fantasies behind. This was about learning the stars, reading the wind, the water and the weather, navigation, rules of the road, easing her up to the dock under sail like a pro.

On 17 December, or so, I offered to give a lovely British lady a ride from Key West to her yoga clinic across the water on the Yucatan. I was in a bit of an existential crisis at the time: I was looking retirement in the eye. I’d just broken up with an amazing woman. Over the past three years, I’d sold off my townhouse and moved onto the boat. I got rid of a lifetime of flotsam jetsam, stripped my life to the bone. Plans had not yet been finalized.

When we arrived at her place in Celestún, Mexico, the newspaper headlines, an inch high in Spanish, in the vending boxes on the dock, announced that some kid had gone nuts and shot his mother and 20 first and second graders at a school in Connecticut. Fuck. Not again. It gnawed at me for two days while I stayed with this gorgeous and wise Brit.

While heading back to Key West, about 200 miles out in the Gulf, the afternoon sun baking my back and the water and wind taking me home, I had a moment. I didn’t want to go back. I was 59 and this urge that it was now or never hit me hard. It felt like my personal constellation of guiding stars had suddenly lined up. I had already had one heart attack; how much time do I really have left? I began thinking about those pirates. Those magical islands were only a week or two away to the south. I was experiencing an actual physical reaction, a bit of trembling, a rush of blood, slight dizziness. I was actually struggling with my thoughts.

Fuck it, I’m doing this. I pointed her bow into the Yucatan Strait, that channel packed with strong currents between Cuba and the Yucatan—the gateway to the Caribbean. The boat lurched forward under me as the sails suddenly caught the wind with a pop as she came about. I was on my way. It felt like it was the first time of something big, like sex, or like when you turn the engine over on your first car. I didn’t give a shit if I died doing this; it was better than being found in my recliner with a remote in my hand and ESPN on the TV.

I bounced from one island to another like a pinball for two years. I finally found the one I liked best. I still do a lot of distance sailing. But I’ve never sailed her back into US waters. Been there, done that.

Somebody else can tell a story about travel—fiction, or non-fiction.

Espiritus_Corvus's avatar

Stories can be fictional, non-fictional, biographical or expository.


Every action taken throughout one’s life, no matter how far reaching or trivial, has a story behind it. There is the rationale for taking that action, the action itself, and the results and ramifications of that action.

Pachy's avatar

The End of a Fantasy Truth

Once upon a time, many of us believed—even if many others of us knew from first-hand experience it had never been true—that America was the greatest country on earth.

The assassinations of JFK and MLK put that belief in a casket.

9–11 nailed the casket almost shut.

And the 2016 Presidential election entombed it, probably for good.

The End
(of America)

janbb's avatar

Here’s a fantasy. And they all lived happily ever after.

flutherother's avatar

Once upon a time in a not so distant country the people grew tired of their king. He was boring they said and others said the king never listened and that nothing ever changed and so they asked the Court Jester to lead them.

Now the Court Jester knew only how to entertain, not how to rule a kingdom, so instead of governing he brought out his pipes and began to play. When the people heard the music of his pipes they forgot to listen to anything else. They began to dance together in time to the music and when the Court Jester danced his funny dance down the hill, still playing his music, they all followed.

There were some who still wanted a proper king to lead them but what could they do? The Court Jester kept playing his pipes until the people were led over the hills and far away.

LuckyGuy's avatar

Ohhh…. @Espiritus_Corvus….
I would so like to hang with you for a month….
If my math is right, you and I are “Doing the garden, diggin’ the weeds. Who could ask for more?” You found more!
When i grow up i want to be like you.

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