Two word story each

                                    
                                          
The gang had decided to play "the two word challenge". "Ok the rules are simple, everyone is telling a story each using only two words" explained Luigi. "I'll start" said Daisy.... Soon the story began..
                          
Daisy: ounce upon..
                          
Yoshi: a time..
                          
Toadette: there lived..
                          
Peach: a princess..
                          
Mario: (chuckles) named Bowser..
                          
Luigi: who liked...



  


                       
  




                          
Birdo: pink dresses..
                          
Toad: and was...
                          
Toadette: very dumb..
                          
Mario: (chuckles) and ugly...
                          
Daisy: and rude...
                          
Yoshi: but one..
                          
Birdo: day she..
                          
Luigi: would explode..



  


                       
  




                          
Luma: in a...
                          
Peach: (giggles) billion pieces..
                          
Rosalina: The End!!
                          
Everyone laughed and giggled...
                          
So Ounce upon a time there lived a princess, named Bowser, who liked pink dresses and was very dumb, ugly, and rude. But one day she would explode in a billion pieces the end!! did you enjoy the story, I sure did!! :D
                                  

---

Permissions in this forum:

You cannot reply to topics in this forum

Словосочетания

two-story — двухступенчатый; двухъярусный; двухэтажный
two-story bent — двухэтажная рама
two-story barn — двухэтажный коровник
two-story frame — двухэтажная рама
two-story house — двухэтажный дом
two-story valley — двуцикличная долина; двухъярусная долина
two-story trellis — двухпроволочная шпалера
two-story missile — двухступенчатая ракета
two-story dairy barn — двухэтажный коровник
bat out an outline of a story in two hours — состряпать рассказ за два часа
to bat out an outline of a story in two hours — состряпать рассказ за два часа
there is a discrepancy between the two stories — эти два рассказа противоречат друг другу

Перевод по словам

two-story  — с двумя этажами, двухэтажный
two  — два, двое, двое, пара, двойка
story  — история, рассказ, сюжет, повесть, сказка, этаж, предание, фабула, ярус, выдумка, ложь

Примеры

Примеры, ожидающие перевода

By Isabel Allende

She was called Belisa Crepusculario, not by her baptism or on recommendation of her mother, but because she sought the name until she found it. Ever since, the name had adorned her. Her profession was to sell words. She toured the country, from the tallest and coldest mountains to the hottest coasts. She would settle in fairs and in markets, where she would mount the four poles of her tent with a linen awning which would protect her from sunlight and rain so she could attend to her customers. There was no need of advertising her business because her nomadic lifestyle spread the word like wildfire. There were those who had been waiting for years. And when she finally appeared in the village, they would form a queue outside her stall under a branch. Her prices were reasonable. For five cents, she gave prefabricated words; for seven, she would improve the quality of the dreams; for nine she would draft love-letters; for twelve, she would frame insults for the worst of enemies. Belisa also sold stories. But they weren`t fantastic tales. They were long, real stories that she would recite flawlessly. Soon, the news spread from one village to another. The people would pay her extra to add a line or two. A child was born, so-and-so died, someone’s children got married, the harvest caught fire, they all went to her. Everywhere, a small crowd gathered around her to hear her speak. They would learn about the lives of others, distant relatives, fascinating tales of the Civil War. To anyone who gave her fifty cents, she gave them a secret verse to drive away melancholy. It was different for everyone, of course, otherwise it would be a collective delusion. Each one received their own, with the guarantee that no one else used it for that purpose in the Universe or beyond.

Belisa Crepusculario had been born in a poor family, so poor that they could not even afford names for their children. She entered the world and was raised in the most inhospitable region. Some years, the rains would become avalanches of water, inundating and sweeping everything away with it. And in others, not even a drop fell from the sky and the sun would inflate so as to take over the entire horizon, turning the land into a desert. Until she was twelve years old, she had no skill or virtue to survive the hunger and fatigue that existed for centuries. A long period of drought saw Belisa Crepusculario burying her four younger brothers. And when it was her turn, she decided to walk over to the plains towards the sea. Belisa wanted to see, if on this journey she could dodge and deride death. The land was eroded, with deep crevices strewn with stones, fossils of trees, thorny bushes and skeletons of animals roasted by the heat. At times, she would stumble across families which, like her, were heading towards the south in search of a mirage of water. Some had started the journey with their belongings perched on their shoulders or on wheelbarrows, but could barely move their bones dragging the weight. After walking a little, they had to let go of their things and continue bearing just their own weight. They crawled laboriously, their skin turned into that of a leather lizard, scaled and peeling off. Their eyes were scorched by the bright sunlight from the sky. Belisa did greet them with a wave as they passed by but did not bother to stop, because she could not afford to waste her efforts in being compassionate. Many fell on the way but Belisa was so stubborn that she succeeded at crossing Hell and finally arrived at the first springs-fine threads of water, almost invisible, feeding a rickety vegetation. These springs later became streams and estuaries.

This way, Belisa Crepusculario not only saved her life but also accidentally discovered the art of writing. On reaching a village along the coast, the wind landed a newspaper cutting at her feet. She took the yellow, brittle sheet and kept observing it for a long time without thinking much about its possible use until curiosity got the better of her shyness. She went over to a man who was bathing his horse in the same muddy puddle where she went to quench her thirst.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Sports section of the newspaper.” replied the man showing no astonishment at her ignorance.

The answer left the young girl stunned. Not wanting to seem cheeky, she withdrew herself from inquiring further about the significance of the flies painted on the paper.

“They`re words, my child. Here it says that Fulgencio Barba defeated Nero Tiznao in the third round.”

That day, Belisa Crepusculario learnt that words do not belong to anyone and they`re free to be used by all. She discovered that anyone with a little skill can train themselves to do wonders with words. She considered her situation and concluded that besides prostitution or working as a servant in the kitchens of the rich, there were very few respectable things that she could do for a living. Selling words seemed like a decent enough alternative. From that day, she adopted that profession and never entertained another. At first she provided her services unaware that the words could also be written outside of newspapers. When she found out, she evaluated the infinite scope of her profession and all the countless things she could do with the knowledge of words. She paid twenty pesos of her savings to a priest to learn to read and write and with the remaining three pesos, she bought a dictionary. She memorized the words from A to Z and later threw it in the sea as she did not intend to cheat customers with prefabricated words.

Many years later, Belisa Crepusculario was seen at the centre of the market square, sitting under the shade of her tent, selling arguments of rights to an old man who had been hoping to receive his pension due from twenty six years. It was a busy day in the market and there was a lot of humdrum around her. Suddenly, gallops and screeches were heard. Belisa Crepusculario looked up from her writing and saw a cloud of dust followed by a group of horsemen, who had barged into the marketplace. They were Coronel`s men who had come there on the orders of the Mulato, a giant known all over the region for the swiftness of his knife and his loyalty towards his boss. Both-the Coronel and the Mulato, spent their lives engaged in the Civil War and their names were synonymous to bloodshed and calamity. The warriors entered the village like a stampeding herd- noisy, bathed in sweat and leaving behind a frightening hurricane as they passed by. Chickens flew everywhere, dogs went helter skelter, women fled the scene with their children and there wasn`t another living soul in the marketplace except Belisa Crepusculario. She on the other hand, was extremely shocked to see the Mulato walk in her direction, because she had never seen the gigantic man before.

“You are the one I have been looking for!” he screamed, pointing his coiled whip at Belisa. Before he even finished talking, two men threw themselves at her, smashing into the awning and breaking the inkstand. They fastened her legs and hands behind her in a cross and put her on the back of Mulato`s horse like a sailor`s suitcase. Then they started galloping towards the hills.

Hours later, when Belisa Crepusculario was at the verge of dying, her heart turned into a desert from the sand inhaled by the constant jolts of the horse, she felt the horse come to a halt and four powerful hands place her on the ground. She tried standing up on her feet and holding her head up with dignity, but her strength failed her and she collapsed with a sigh, sinking into an obfuscated dream. She woke up hours later by the murmuring of the night but did not have time to decipher the sounds. The Mulato was staring at her impatiently, kneeled down at her side.

“Finally, woman. You`re awake!” he said, reaching out for his water-bottle and handing it to Belisa so she could drink the strong concoction of brandy with gunpowder from it, and revive herself.

She asked the Mulato why she was being manhandled like that and he told her that the Colonel required her services. He let her splash water on her face and took her to the extreme end of the camp where, the most feared man of the country, rested on his hammock which was tied between two trees. She could not see his face because it was eclipsed by the shadow of the foliage overhead and the indelible darkness of years of living as a bandit. But she thought that the man`s expressions were forgivable for he addressed her with such humility. She was surprised at his voice, soft and fine-tuned, like that of a soothsayer.

“Are you the one that sells words?” he asked Belisa Crepusculario.

“At your service,” she babbled, scanning the darkness to catch a glimpse of his face. The Colonel got up on his feet and the light from the torch that he carried, gave him a face. The woman saw his dark skin and fiery eyes of a puma. She knew, at that very moment, that in front of her was the loneliest man in this world.

“I want to be the President.” he said.

He was tired of travelling that damned land of useless wars and defeats that could not turn into victories by any amount of subterfuge. He had spent years sleeping in the open, getting bitten by mosquitoes, feeding on iguanas and snake soup. But all these minute struggles weren`t reason enough for him to change his destiny. What instigated him the most was the terror and fear in other people`s eyes. He wanted to enter villages under arches of triumph, walk through colorful flags and flowers. He wished to be applauded and gifted with fresh eggs and warm baked bread. He was fed up of watching men elude, women run away out of fear and all creatures tremble, every time he passed by. Therefore, he had decided to be the President. The Mulato suggested they go to the capital, gallop into the Palace and take over the Government, just like they had taken so many other things without asking or seeking permission. But the Colonel was not interested in becoming yet another tyrant, they already had a lot of those. Moreover that way, he would not be able to win the affection of the people. His idea was to be elected by public voting in the upcoming December elections.

“For this, it is important that I speak as a candidate. Can you sell me words for a public speech?” the Colonel asked Belisa Crepusculario.

She had accepted many assignments but nothing like this. However, she could not refuse because she was afraid that the Mulato would shoot her between the eyes, or even worse, the Colonel would go into mourning. Moreover, she got a sudden urge to help the Colonel because she felt a throbbing heat in her skin, a powerful desire to touch that man, to run her fingers along his skin, to embrace him in her arms.

The whole night and for a major part of the following day, Belisa Crepusculario searched for the appropriate words in her repertoire for a Presidencial speech. She was closely guarded by the Mulato, who never took his eyes off her firm legs and her virginal breasts. He dismissed the harsh and dry words, the ones too flowery, the ones discolored by abuse, the ones offering false promises, those devoid of the truth and those that were confusing, only to accept those that were able to stir the thinking of men and appeal to the intuitions of women. Making use of all the knowledge purchased from the priest for twenty pesos, she wrote a speech on a piece of paper. Thereafter, she motioned the Mulato to untie the rope which fastened her legs by the ankles to a tree. They led her once again to the Colonel. On seeing him again, she felt the same palpitating anxiety of their first meeting. She handed him the paper and waited as he observed it, holding it by his fingertips.

“What on earth does it say here?!” asked the Colonel, finally.

“Don’t you know how to read?” answered Belisa Crepusculario with another question.

“What I do know is war.” he replied.

She read the speech out loud. She read it three times so her customer could engrave it in his memory. When she was done, she saw the excitement on the faces of the Colonel`s men who had gathered to listen to the speech and then saw the Colonel himself, whose yellow eyes now shone with enthusiasm. He was now confident of winning the elections with those words. The presidential throne shall certainly be his.

“If the boys are left awestruck after hearing the speech thrice, we`ve surely secured ourselves a good place in the elections.” The Mulato said, approving the speech.

“How much do I owe you for your work, woman?” the Colonel asked Belisa.

“A peso, Colonel.”

“Well, it`s not a lot.” he said opening his bag suspending from his belt, containing remains from his last loot.

“Also, you are entitled to a small gift, Colonel. I will give you two secret words.”said Belisa Crepusculario.

“How is that?”

She went on to explain that for every fifty cents a customer paid, she gave them a word, exclusively for them. The boss shrugged nonchalantly. The offer did not seem very tempting but then he didn`t want to be rude to the woman who had served him so well. She calmly approached the stool where he sat and bent over to give him the gift. His senses were tickled by the mammalian scent flowing from this woman, the heat from her derriere, the gentle brush of her haIR against his skin, her minty breath whispering in his ears the two secret words he was entitled to.

“They`re yours, Colonel,” she said retreating. “You can use them all you want.” she added.

The Mulato accompanied Belisa to the roadside, his lustful eyes on her like that of a stray dog. When he reached out to touch her, she stopped him with a string of devised words that were powerful enough to drive away his desire, for he thought they were some kind of an irrevocable curse.

In the months of September, October and November, the Colonel delivered his speech innumerable times. It was as if the glowing and impactful words would turn to ashes if he wouldn`t use them so intensively. He toured all over the country, entering cities with a triumphant air, stopping by even at the most forgettable places, where only the trash-can indicated human presence. All this to convince voters into making him the President.

As he spoke from the podium at the centre of a market square, Mulato and his men handed out sweets and painted his name in golden on the walls. But no one paid attention to these publicity tactics. They were too enchanted by the clarity of his proposals and the poetic lucidity of his arguments. His immense passion to correct the mistakes of the past was contagious, and for the first time in their lives, they were happy.

After the oration of the candidate, his men fired shots in the air marking celebration and lit firecrackers. And when they went, they left behind a trail of hope that lingered in the air for days, like a magnificent memory of catching glimpse of a rare comet. Soon, the Colonel became the most popular politician. He was a rare phenomenon, the man who emerged from the Civil War, dressed in scars and orating like a king, whose prestige was scattered everywhere, stirring the heart of the nation.

The press took over his case. Journalists travelled from far-away lands to interview him and quote his phrases. His extent of followers and enemies grew.

“We`re doing great, Colonel!” said Mulato upon the completion of twelve weeks of success.

But the candidate wasn`t paying attention. He was repeating his two secret words which sounded more powerful in his head with each repetition. He recited them whenever he felt softened by nostalgia, he recited them in his sleep, he carried them on his horse, he would recite them before delivering his renowned speech. And every time those two words crept up in his head, he would think of Belisa Crepusculario and her presence around him. His senses would then be rattled by the memory of her wild corporeal scents, the warmth emanating from her derriere, the touch of her hair, her minty breath, rattled until he started sleepwalking. His own men started to fear that he might die before he becomes the President.

“What happened to you, Colonel?” the Mulato asked him multiple times, until finally one day his boss broke down and confessed that the culprit of his anguish were those two secret words that were nailed in his head.

“Tell me those words and we`ll see if they lose their power.” said the Mulato, faithful as ever.

“I won`t. They`re only for me.” replied the Colonel.

Tired of watching his boss’s condition deteriorate with each passing day like a death-row inmate, the Mulato threw his rifle over his shoulders and set out to find Belisa Crepusculario. He traced her footsteps throughout the vast geography of the country to ultimately find her in a small village in the South, set up under the awning of her make-shift office, telling the beads of her rosary. He perched himself in front of her with his legs wide open and his weapon held tight, oozing authority from every cell.

“You are coming with me.” he ordered.

It was as if Belisa Crepusculario knew the whole time that he would come to get her. She gathered her inkstand, folded the canvas of her tent, threw a shawl over herself and quietly climbed on the rump of the horse. They did not exchange even a single greeting. The Mulato`s desire for her had converted into rage, and it was only the fear that her language invoked in him, that stopped him from destroying her. Neither was he willing to bring up the Colonel, who now walked about aberrant. He didn`t want her to have the satisfaction of knowing that, what years of battles couldn`t achieve, she had managed to achieve by merely whispering in his ears. Three days later, they arrived at the camp of the Colonel and the Mulato immediately presented his prisoner in front of the candidate and all the troops.

“I have brought this witch to you so you can return those secret words and have your manliness back from her, Colonel.” He said, pointing the barrel of his gun at Belisa Crepusculario`s neck. The Colonel and Belisa`s eyes met, scanning each other from a distance.

The men saw in the Colonel’s dangerous puma eyes that he would never be able to undo the spell of those two bedeviled words as Belisa Crepusculario walked towards him and took his hand. The beast had finally been tamed.

                                                                           THE END

Original Story- Dos Palabras

Written by- Isabel Allende

Illustration by Anirban Ghosh

TOWARDS FREEDOM (1st Prize)

«Jana gana mana …» The schoolboy squirmed. Another two minutes? He knew he should stand at attention. The drillmaster’s cane loomed large.»Vindhya Himachal …»He grunted in discomfort. This was unbearable. He considered making a dash; after all he was in the last row. What if the master noticed? The cane loomed again. He gritted his teeth.»Tava shubha …»This is it. He cast his eyes around.»Jaya he …»He started running.»Jaya he …»He was almost there.»Jaya he …»The chorus floated from afar. He was already in the toilet, heaving a relieved sigh.

—Subramaniam Mohan, Chennai

THE WINDOW (2nd Prize)

On a windy winter morning, a woman looked out of the window.The only thing she saw, a garden. A smile spread across her face as she spotted Maria, her daughter, in the middle of the garden enjoying the weather. It started drizzling. Maria started dancing joyfully.She tried to wave to her daughter, but her elbow was stuck, her arm hurt, her smile turned upside down. Reality came crashing down as the drizzle turned into a storm. Maria’s murdered corpse consumed her mind.On a windy winter morning, a woman looked out of the window of her jail cell.

—Saanchi Wadhwa, New Delhi

IDENTITY CRISIS (3rd Prize)

The country was on fire. Communal riots had paralyzed most of the state. Reyaz, with the help of a friend, got a fake identity card—his new name was Rakesh—and booked a ticket to Aligarh. The ticket checker on the train asked for his identification—Reyaz nervously showed the one he had recently procured. He seemed satisfied and Reyaz heaved a sigh of relief.At Aligarh there was none to fear. «Assalamu alaikum,» said Reyaz to ward off a group of enraged people. The angriest of them, with bloodshot eyes, approached Reyaz and asked for his identity card.

—Junaid H. Nahvi, New Delhi

LEERING LOTHARIO (4th Prize)

She peered over the open magazine, and there he was, still staring at her, disconcertingly. For the past 30 minutes, she’d endured his irritating attention. Time to call airport security. The burly cop strode in purposefully, with a sleek Alsatian on leash. «Sir, there’s been a complaint. I need you to come with me. Quietly, please,» he growled. The leather-jacketed man didn’t move a muscle. His hands were rock-steady on the trolley handle in front of him. The cop waited for a minute, and then reached out to handcuff the Ray-Ban-wearing guy. The hands were locked in rigor mortis.

—Ed Sudhir, Bengaluru

LOVE ACTUALLY

«Do you believe in shooting stars?» she asked.»Do you?»»There is no harm, is there?» She paused. «I’d love to sit in the balcony amidst all the flowerpots and watch the busy world go by.»He said nothing. She needed no assurance, no promise. She squawked a reply when they asked if she was ready to go back to her room. It would be another 10 minutes before the duty nurse wheeled him away.She had laughed at the last tooth he had lost. He had teased her about the silver hair at the back of her sweater.

—Maya Davi Chalissery, Thrissur, Kerala

A BROKEN PROMISE

Hearing a knock on the door,  she hustled towards it with her  little feet, her lips uncloaking the cutest smile and her voice singing, «Daddy’s home!» Her mum, glued to the news channels for the past week, approached the door hesitantly and opened it with trepidation.Two men in military uniform were standing at the doorstep. One of them handed her an envelope with a mournful expression, adding plaintively, «We’re sorry, Mrs Bhatt.»»Where’s my dad, Uncle? He promised we’ll celebrate Diwali together this time,» exclaimed the girl. They stared helplessly, with a lump in their throats and moistened eyes.

—Aditi Sharma, New Delhi

MEETING THE ONE

They met at a cafe, stealing glances at each other while the parents  spoke animatedly.They remained silent throughout, only exchanging shy smiles while ordering snacks at the counter.Returning with the food, he moved to the head of the table to get a good look at her.Noticing his manoeuvre, she smiled down at her coffee, making him beam like a proud schoolboy.When the two families parted at the end of the meeting, he rushed back to the cafe, praying that the girl, who had been at the table behind theirs all afternoon, would still be there.

—Preyanka Paswan, New Delhi

HUMANKIND

It was pouring, as I entered a  nearby porch.Out of the blue, a kid startled me from behind—I panicked and scampered away. His father asked him not to scare anyone.After some initial hiccups we became good friends. I often visited their house, ate with them.One day, while I was slurping down the milk, a man entered their portico, begging for food.The father yelled at him and pushed him out of the entrance.I was terrified, and in a jiffy, I ran away screaming, «Meow! Meow …»

—Aswin R. S., Chennai

RED SAND

Border guard Melissa Walter fumed, «Madam President’s lost it.» A new batch was arriving. The count had crossed 10,000. «As if the country doesn’t have enough mouths to feed.»Officer Gerald was off-duty, so here she was, about to ‘welcome’ refugees. The boat arrived. She pasted on her best professional smile.So many people, all skinny and gaunt. Teary, scared eyes, with a weak gait. Clinging to the elders, the children walked on.»Look!» a boy exclaimed, dropping down. «The sand is so soft here. It’s not red. Can I touch, Mama?» he pleaded.Melissa stood still, stunned into silence.

—Geetha M., Kanchipuram

WHAT, SERIOUSLY?

Varun called his friend over to his house. When he arrived, he told him he had to speak to him about a problem. They both went up to Varun’s room.»What is it?» asked the friend. «I think I am having an identity crisis,» said Varun.»What do you mean?» asked his friend.»MOOOOOO!» he bellowed like a cow.His friend stood frozen, in stunned silence. Varun burst out laughing, «I was just kidding!»»Are you sure? Because we just ran out of milk,» came the reply.

—Aditi Ashok, Chennai

THE GOODBYE

Out jogging, I saw two elderly women hugging each other and weeping inconsolably. The women had been good friends, living in adjacent apartments on the ground floor, for years.One of them was now having to shift to the fifth floor, as the house owner wished to undertake major maintenance work.Since there were no lifts in the building, she would be carried upstairs, unable to come down—ever again. Her friend, just as frail, would not be able to visit her upstairs either. Accepting the inevitability of their permanent separation, the poor dears said their final goodbyes.

—Deepak Nair, Thiruvananthapuram

ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE

As a married couple, they led a charmed life. Jantu had his own circle of friends and Tulu had hers. And every morning they exchanged and savoured their previous day’s experiences over breakfast. Jantu was not immune to the seven-year-itch, though. The days he strayed were few and far between. Faithful Tulu was quietly accommodating. On the nights he slipped, Jantu would indicate it by skipping his daily apple at breakfast.That morning, Jantu was devastated to see Tulu’s favourite pear was left untouched.

—K. L. Narayanan, Bengaluru

THE UGLY TRUTH

«Hello,» said the figure cloaked in darkness.»Who are you?» I asked.»I am that which you fear the most,» it said to me and stepped into the light.What I saw next sent me into a paroxysm of fear. There stood a creature most hideous: twisted body, gnarled fingers, with a semblance of what might have once been a face. Chillingly revealing a gaping hole where its heart should have been, spilling oily blackness.Overcome with revulsion and trembling in horror, I fell to my knees.»I am you,» said the creature.

—Vaishnavi R. Krishna, Thiruvananthapuram

MUMMIFIED

During our visit to Egypt’s Alexandria National Museum, I took my five-year-old son to the basement to see a mummy and started explaining what it was. Confused, he bolted from the room and rushed to his mother, who was busy chatting with other tourists.He told my wife breathlessly, «Mum! Dad just showed me another mummy. He is looking at her.»Surprised, my wife followed him to the basement. She sized up the situation instantly and retorted, «Oh! Mummy is a daddy.»Confused, sonny asked innocently, «If mummy is the daddy, then who is the mummy’s mummy?»

—Dhananjay Sinha, Kolkata

STREET SMART

It was 9 a.m., 26 January. The politician’s car, on the way to the flag-hoisting ceremony, stopped at a red light. A 10-year-old street vendor came running to the car and waved the tricolour, hoping that selling one more flag will help him buy some vada pav. With no intention of buying, the politician rolled down the window and smirked, «Today you are selling the national flag. On other days, I have seen you sell toys, umbrellas and kites. Is there anything you have not sold so far?»»Our country,» the boy retorted at once.

—Kalpesh Sheth, Mumbai

All entries have been edited for clarity. They were graded on grammar, language, originality, plot device and storytelling technique by RD editors, basis which the winning entries were selected. Winners will receive book prizes, courtesy HarperCollins Publishers India.