Put this in Chomsky's pipe and smoke it: A pirate story without a single verb.
Put this in Chomsky's pipe and smoke it: A pirate story without a single verb.
A dark and stormy night. The pirate ship, up and down the foamy waves. At the wheel, the rough captain, with compass in his hand. The crew, every eye on the captain. "Starboard," a single word from the captain's mouth. A giant wave. Sailors flat on the deck or over the railing. Ropes for their hands, back on board. A dark island now close, a still lagoon. "Careful, careful," the captain's words. "Five yards, three yards, two yards, one, … there!" A shriek of wounded wood and a ship-quake. Pirates flat on the deck again. Laughter from the captain.
"The boats, quick!" his command. Sailors with years of practice, ropes in hand, busy at the railings. Boats now open, with supplies and oars. "Quietly," the captain's warning, "and with the sacrifices". Four chained youngsters, fear in their eyes, the fatal word in their ears. The mighty ship, lower and lower, askew in the water. One prisoner in each boat, along with the swarthy pirates. Nary a ripple on the water, the small boats full of pirates. "Quiet!" the only word from the captain. Around the boat, bubbles from below.
Boats five meters from the ship, from the deep thick tentacles, slimy and dark, around the ship. Wood to splinters, sails to shreds, masts to the bottom of the sea. "This way, quietly," the captain's command. Towards a dark opening. Oars in the water without a sound, closer the boats to darkness.
A splash! One fair-haired prisoner with a booming laugh. The captain, furious: "Full speed! Full strength!" Oars now deep into the water, boats closer to land. A tentacle from the deep, around the last boat. The pirates and prisoner in the water, then below. Nothing.
The last three boats, on a rocky shore. The captain and the fair-haired youngster, a battle of eyes. "Not enough sacrifices now" in the captain's deep bass. "Indeed," the rebel's clear voice. "Your plan, in tatters." The captain, lightning-fast, knife in hand, then in throat. The rebel on the ground, blood over the rocks. "Next!" Two more prisoners, the knife hungry, the stones red and slippery. "You, his guard!" The captain's fist around a pale-faced pirate's arm. The knife through the throat, a fast death and a rumbling from below. An opening in the rock wall, wider and wider, from within a golden gleam. "Finally," the ecstatic captain, "the greatest treasure ever, mine! I --"
The crack of a rifle, the captain's chest a red blossom, then down. More rifle shots from a dark scooner on the water. Pirates in panic, then dead among the bloody rocks. The scooner close now, black sails, black hull, but with the English flag on its mast. "Invisible in the dark", words from the admiral at the stern, "My reward certain, for the blood of Captain Morgan."
Not the highest literature in the world, but you probably understood it.
Next: A love story without nouns. (See what I did there?)
A dark and stormy night. The pirate ship, up and down the foamy waves. At the wheel, the rough captain, with compass in his hand. The crew, every eye on the captain. "Starboard," a single word from the captain's mouth. A giant wave. Sailors flat on the deck or over the railing. Ropes for their hands, back on board. A dark island now close, a still lagoon. "Careful, careful," the captain's words. "Five yards, three yards, two yards, one, … there!" A shriek of wounded wood and a ship-quake. Pirates flat on the deck again. Laughter from the captain.
"The boats, quick!" his command. Sailors with years of practice, ropes in hand, busy at the railings. Boats now open, with supplies and oars. "Quietly," the captain's warning, "and with the sacrifices". Four chained youngsters, fear in their eyes, the fatal word in their ears. The mighty ship, lower and lower, askew in the water. One prisoner in each boat, along with the swarthy pirates. Nary a ripple on the water, the small boats full of pirates. "Quiet!" the only word from the captain. Around the boat, bubbles from below.
Boats five meters from the ship, from the deep thick tentacles, slimy and dark, around the ship. Wood to splinters, sails to shreds, masts to the bottom of the sea. "This way, quietly," the captain's command. Towards a dark opening. Oars in the water without a sound, closer the boats to darkness.
A splash! One fair-haired prisoner with a booming laugh. The captain, furious: "Full speed! Full strength!" Oars now deep into the water, boats closer to land. A tentacle from the deep, around the last boat. The pirates and prisoner in the water, then below. Nothing.
The last three boats, on a rocky shore. The captain and the fair-haired youngster, a battle of eyes. "Not enough sacrifices now" in the captain's deep bass. "Indeed," the rebel's clear voice. "Your plan, in tatters." The captain, lightning-fast, knife in hand, then in throat. The rebel on the ground, blood over the rocks. "Next!" Two more prisoners, the knife hungry, the stones red and slippery. "You, his guard!" The captain's fist around a pale-faced pirate's arm. The knife through the throat, a fast death and a rumbling from below. An opening in the rock wall, wider and wider, from within a golden gleam. "Finally," the ecstatic captain, "the greatest treasure ever, mine! I --"
The crack of a rifle, the captain's chest a red blossom, then down. More rifle shots from a dark scooner on the water. Pirates in panic, then dead among the bloody rocks. The scooner close now, black sails, black hull, but with the English flag on its mast. "Invisible in the dark", words from the admiral at the stern, "My reward certain, for the blood of Captain Morgan."
Not the highest literature in the world, but you probably understood it.
Next: A love story without nouns. (See what I did there?)
Alas, after posting this I found out a French author with a distaste for verbs made an entire novel this way: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_Train_de_Nulle_Part
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