A wild swimming pool appears!
- Thread starter [FnG]magnolia
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"Daddy," she says, "something skipped. Did you hear it? The Brown Room is changing."
TO BE CONTINUED.
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I think I may have to come and attack this Olympic sized pool you have Magnolia. OCUK spy to see if the cake is a lie!
Loving the story Bro!
Loving the story Bro!
"Darling, to my side. Now. Please."
"Mu ... mummy?" she asks unsure.
"Yes, darling. I'm here. Come to me, come here. Please come here," says Diz.
TO BE CONTINUED.
Previously on 'A wild swimming pool appears' :
"Should I skip?" my daughter asks. Her hand pats my leg as she says this and I have to stop myself from saying anything, my teeth clashing together and my tongue caught in the middle. A dull throb pulses faintly in my mouth and it tastes awful. Where's my wife, why is she silent?
"Should I dance?" she asks. "Mummy, should I skip and dance? Like in the DVD we watch? The ballerinas? Should I skip?" The glaring light has dimmed and my daughter's hand is no longer on my leg and this just cannot be real, it just can't be.
"Darling, to my side. Now. Please," someone says again. I have to concentrate and I can't tell the difference. I don't know who is saying this.
(Daddy? I don't know, I don't know. Do you know? What do I do?)
Ah, there you are. I thought I'd lost you. Ha, that would have been awkward! Diz says
It feels like a dream remembered, a voice straight to my brain but - "No, this is awkward!" my wife suddenly roars and there is - Jesus, what the hell is this - blue and white light everywhere, scratched on my retinas, painful to see. That dull yellow glow disappears and I feel like I'm moving, travelling somehow.
"Like going on holiday!" my daughter shouts. "Faster mummy! Faster!"
No! This will not happen! screams Diz
Oh God oh God oh God, we're slowing down, I think, and -
No, she says again. Considered, powerful. This will not happen. Stop, says Diz. You will stop. Now.
We've nearly come to a halt. I can look back (down, I wonder?) and see the Brown Room but it's not disappearing as quickly as before. It's changed, certainly, but it's still where it was. "It looks so blue daddy," she says. "So, so blue," she murmurs.
"So blue," my wife and I echo. Something happens.
"I don't know where we are," my wife says, unsure. "This isn't where we should -"
"Mummy," she says.
"This doesn't feel right. I don't understand," my wife continues.
"Mummy." Insistent this time, worried. "Mummy," she says again.
"What is it darling?" I ask, trying to take in my surroundings. It's not dark, just ... muddled. Like a child's drawing of a house or garden. We're on a pathway and there are trees which look more like squiggles than trees and the smoke coming from the chimney is badly drawn and -
"Darling, did you ... did you draw this?" I ask, tentatively. "Where are we? What is this?"
She says something which I don't hear or can't parse. "What? What did you say?" I ask.
She's looking at her feet, her shoulders hunched and there's a puddle on the ground beneath her dress (it's grey crayon! my brain screams, grey crayon drawing a path!) and she's wet herself. She murmurs an answer again.
"I can't hear what you're saying, you have to talk up!" I say. I'm losing my temper.
"Darling," she says.
"Mummy?" Despondent.
"What do you call this place?" my wife asks.
"Nothing. It doesn't have a name. Stop mummy. Stop,"
"What is this place. Tell me!"
"No name. No name room. No room. No brown room. No ... room. No brown. Not the brown. Not," she's spluttering the words out as fast as she can say them. "It's not the! It is not the room!"
"Ok darling, calm down," I say but then - "IT IS NOT THE BROWN ROOM!" she yells.
She's right, says Diz. This is where Brown Rooms are born. Now where were we, she asks and the lights go out.
TO BE CONTINUED.
[FnG said:
Diz said:
"Should I skip?" my daughter asks. Her hand pats my leg as she says this and I have to stop myself from saying anything, my teeth clashing together and my tongue caught in the middle. A dull throb pulses faintly in my mouth and it tastes awful. Where's my wife, why is she silent?
"Should I dance?" she asks. "Mummy, should I skip and dance? Like in the DVD we watch? The ballerinas? Should I skip?" The glaring light has dimmed and my daughter's hand is no longer on my leg and this just cannot be real, it just can't be.
"Darling, to my side. Now. Please," someone says again. I have to concentrate and I can't tell the difference. I don't know who is saying this.
(Daddy? I don't know, I don't know. Do you know? What do I do?)
Ah, there you are. I thought I'd lost you. Ha, that would have been awkward! Diz says
It feels like a dream remembered, a voice straight to my brain but - "No, this is awkward!" my wife suddenly roars and there is - Jesus, what the hell is this - blue and white light everywhere, scratched on my retinas, painful to see. That dull yellow glow disappears and I feel like I'm moving, travelling somehow.
"Like going on holiday!" my daughter shouts. "Faster mummy! Faster!"
No! This will not happen! screams Diz
Oh God oh God oh God, we're slowing down, I think, and -
No, she says again. Considered, powerful. This will not happen. Stop, says Diz. You will stop. Now.
We've nearly come to a halt. I can look back (down, I wonder?) and see the Brown Room but it's not disappearing as quickly as before. It's changed, certainly, but it's still where it was. "It looks so blue daddy," she says. "So, so blue," she murmurs.
"So blue," my wife and I echo. Something happens.
"I don't know where we are," my wife says, unsure. "This isn't where we should -"
"Mummy," she says.
"This doesn't feel right. I don't understand," my wife continues.
"Mummy." Insistent this time, worried. "Mummy," she says again.
"What is it darling?" I ask, trying to take in my surroundings. It's not dark, just ... muddled. Like a child's drawing of a house or garden. We're on a pathway and there are trees which look more like squiggles than trees and the smoke coming from the chimney is badly drawn and -
"Darling, did you ... did you draw this?" I ask, tentatively. "Where are we? What is this?"
She says something which I don't hear or can't parse. "What? What did you say?" I ask.
She's looking at her feet, her shoulders hunched and there's a puddle on the ground beneath her dress (it's grey crayon! my brain screams, grey crayon drawing a path!) and she's wet herself. She murmurs an answer again.
"I can't hear what you're saying, you have to talk up!" I say. I'm losing my temper.
"Darling," she says.
"Mummy?" Despondent.
"What do you call this place?" my wife asks.
"Nothing. It doesn't have a name. Stop mummy. Stop,"
"What is this place. Tell me!"
"No name. No name room. No room. No brown room. No ... room. No brown. Not the brown. Not," she's spluttering the words out as fast as she can say them. "It's not the! It is not the room!"
"Ok darling, calm down," I say but then - "IT IS NOT THE BROWN ROOM!" she yells.
She's right, says Diz. This is where Brown Rooms are born. Now where were we, she asks and the lights go out.
TO BE CONTINUED.
Soldato
*squints*
*shuffles back to Cleavage thread, bemused*
*shuffles back to Cleavage thread, bemused*
Soldato
I'm reminded of Zork, waiting for Magnolia to be eaten by a Grue.
Help me 
Associate
erm are we not supposed to be in drought? everyone shop him 
Associate
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erm are we not supposed to be in drought? everyone shop him
'm guessing by the term "we" you mean the people of the UK, the OP is in Australia where there probably isn't as much of a problem of water shortages(Due to not having as much ancient infrastructure as we have in the UK)
Soldato