Scratch

Wickimen wrote:

Agg725 wrote:

Wickimen wrote:

Thing I made the topic for and yeah

Chapter One: 13

It seemed to Will that that number, 13, had followed him around like a curse for bad luck as long as he could remember. It was said, of course, that there was no need for any sort of fear anymore, but old superstitions never did seem to fade. Everyone had a number, that was the way of things; they were so much simpler and more structured than cumbersome names. He himself was not actually called Will, but 13--if anybody besides Eyre talked to him. Names were not forbidden, but discouraged, so he kept his own borrowed name, William, hidden. Interesting. I like the way this story is going He had to keep many things hidden, including his pale blue eyes, an unlucky and unwanted defect, beneath the brim of an old gray cap.

The morning was rainy and dark. A pale orange glow from the streetlights spilled down the wet cobblestone pavement. Great description. I can picture it in my head   Arcade, read the dull red flickering letters on the sign of the building. Even in the downpour, none of the group waiting outside left; they jabbered incessantly and waited impatiently to be let inside. Will only watched them, lingering near the long-forgotten library.

To the casual observer, it would seem that this group was a mishmash of cultures, their clothing a jumble of coats and shoes of all sorts. People wore Victorian top hats, neon t-shirts, battered sneakers and vintage trench coats all at once. But if one looked closer, they would see only young faces, vapid brown eyes of the same shade and expression, the same pale complexions, brown hair of about the same length, and the same accents. For everybody was completely alike.

In the distance the Bell tolled six times, signifying that it was six o'clock, and the doors to the Arcade opened, allowing the group to shove inside, still laughing and exchanging conversation with increasing rapidity.

When they had all filed into the Arcade, Will was joined by a girl whose hair and eyes were concealed by an aviator's cap and goggles.

"Hello, Eyre," said Will.

"Hi, Will." She wiped away the fog and rainwater smearing her goggles. "Let's go inside ."

They pushed through the doors and walked inside, their wet shoes clicking on the old hardwood floor. Dripping water from Eyre's soaked duffle coat collected a puddle on the ground. Inside, the library smelled strongly of dust and old paper. It was hard to believe that a little over half a century ago, many people had gone to libraries almost as frequently as they did.

Those books were the only window they had into how life used to be, before the disaster. Recalling his own old life was to Will like recalling the vaguest memories of somebody else's life. He couldn't remember anything past the age of eleven, or even if he had once been older than eleven, and his memories even then were very limited. Books were important; their names and knowledge came from books; but a book did not live forever, and Will and Eyre were careful to preserve them.

All of the books were important. Will liked Shakespeare's writing, and Eyre liked Charlotte Bronte's, but they read them all. Sometimes they helped Will remember things from his old life. Strange, alien-sounding words, phrases, descriptions of both familiar and unfamiliar somehow connected in his mind. He had never in his current memory, for example, smelled cigarette smoke, but the word stirred something in his brain and allowed the ghost of a burning sensation to enter his nostrils. While reading a thick little brown volume by Jack London, another, more pleasant smell resurfaced: pine trees. It was associated with what he supposed was a happy day, mentioned in several books--a day called Christmas.

Even the dictionaries and encyclopedia had to be read; though they were considerably duller than most of the books, they contained by far the most knowledge. At the moment, Eyre was poring over a copy of the dictionary, and commented aloud occasionally about strange words starting with the letter q. She had unfastened her aviator's cap and goggles, and her close-cropped red hair stuck up haphazardly in all directions. Anybody could plainly see that her eyes were green.

Will didn't bother to warn her about being more careful. Besides them, nobody had entered the library for half a century. And why should they? Next to the Arcade, with all of its gleaming brilliance inside, a library was nothing. The Arcade was a paradise. You would play incredible games all day and there was no work or school to care about.

Being Unusuals, as was the popular, uncomplicated term, Will and Eyre were not allowed in the Arcade. In the beginning, when it wasn't such a big deal, they used to sneak in anyway with caps and sunglasses, but a third Unusual with whom they did not associate--his number was 16--was caught and turned in to the Sovereign's Administration. He was never seen again. After that they were more cautious.

They did not know where the other Unusuals went, or even if there were any other Unusuals. There had been at least ten others to begin with, but they had all gradually vanished throughout the years. Unusuals had simply been turned in for the crime of a strange eye color, without violating any other rule. Will and Eyre had gone unnoticed by the carefree Usual people, who did not know or care why the two of them no longer visited the Arcade. 13 and 29 were not missed.

Will found it funny, even after all this time, that everyone remembered everybody else's number. He knew that before, people must have remembered others' names, which, said the Administration, was very confusing. Some people had the same names. Names were dull and used; a number was unique. A number only applied to you.

That was true, thought Will, but somehow names seemed better and different in a way he couldn't explain. The characters and authors in books never had numbers instead of names.

He settled himself into a musty, sloped chair with a copy of Hamlet and began to read. The words were magic in that old library. He was limited to the physical, emotional and mental capacity of an eleven-year-old, even one who lived in the library, and stumbled over a few gnarled, complicated sentences, but gradually was swept up in the story. He hardly cared about the confusing parts; the story caught him within its pages like only the best authors could do. It allowed him to forget, for the time being, that the Sovereign had ever existed.

"Quid pro quo," Eyre called out, interrupting Will's reading.

"Interesting," said Will, though he felt a slight jab of frustration with her for cutting Hamlet short. "What's it mean?"

" 'One thing in return for another.' Cool."

"Yeah...," he said absentmindedly. Try as he might, he couldn't quite return to Shakespeare's play afterwards.

Pale light was seeping in through the shuttered windows, but the rain still fell thick and fast. Eyre extinguished the candle she had been reading by and shoved the remaining stub of wax deep into the pocket off her duffle coat. "It'll be eight o'clock soon. We should go."

"All right." Will closed his book and returned it to its proper place, a lonely shelf where paperback copies of Shakespeare's works rested. By accident he bumped the book against the back panel, which caved in too far and revealed a dark space behind. He froze. "Eyre?"

"What?" she said, glancing up.

"Look at this." He pushed on the panel with his finger. It fell down. Lying down inside were big flat glossy pages stapled together, like magazines but too big, like picture books but too thin. He pulled one out. "Who's Franz Liszt?"

Eyre stepped closer to look at the booklets. "I don't know."

Will gingerly lifted a stack of them and flipped through one of them. He was greeted by a rustle of crackly yellow pages and rising dust. The pages were covered with interesting titles, lines and odd symbols. He didn't completely recognize them, but...

"Beethoven," said Eyre, reading aloud from the books. "Mozart."

The words struck him as familiar. Will thumbed through more pages. Once, Eyre had found another panel with old maps inside, but they hadn't discovered anything new after that for several years. He scrutinized the pages further and had a sudden mental image of long fingers--his own?--flying across black-and-white keys. Disjointed soft sounds floated through his mind. They were part of the same song, but he only remembered bits and pieces. It's the piano, he realized.

"It's sheet music."

^^That's not the end of the chapter btw
But if someone has the time to go through it that'd be great 

Thank you 
However, I meant for it to be just 'Piano' and 'What's Franz List' instead of 'Who's Franz List'; both were purely intentional
In any case, I have given up on this xD

Okay. Sometimes its hard to know if it was intended or not.

I would be able to make it sound natural
Except I actually talk like that lololol
I have a really strange way of talking

'How's school?'
'Fine.'
'Are you liking middle school?'
'Not particularly.'
-awkward silence-

Wait this was badly worded
I meant it as in, I'd be able to help (Agg725) with making the dialogue sound natural
But I couldn't because I talk in a somewhat ridiculous way

Last edited by Wickimen (2012-06-03 15:46:49)

Agg725 wrote:

Andres-Vander wrote:

Agg725 wrote:

How many toasts are there!?!

It's just one guy I think

ok....? then why is (s)he talking to him/herself?

Some people are just like that

They did have their own form of slang in medieval times, just like any other time

I started writing a story. Here's the first two chapters so far.

WARNINGS:
•This is depressing
•The second paragraph is pretty gruesome
•If you're a reader who reads every third word this takes place in the distant future (700 years or so)

Chapter 1
Thanatos’s birthday was today. Everyone in the wooden hut of a house was gloomy. Especially Vidar. Thanatos’s death day was also today. Vidar blamed it all on himself. His parents don’t blame him for blaming himself.
What happened was that ten years ago today, Thanatos and Vidar were playing outside in their field. It was a bright day, nice and hot with a slight breeze coming in, the trees were enveloping the space in which Vidar and Thanatos were playing in. Thanatos had tripped and fallen into some mud running away from Vidar. At first it just seemed to be a mud pile, and Thanatos was about to get up, but then something changed. The mud had started to move, separate, and spread out to show that it was not mud but a swarm of tiny bugs. Vidar instantly knew what they were. The Quidar. Vidar remembered what he learned about those horrid creatures from his father. It was meant to be a scary story to be told at a campfire, but now it was reality. The Quidar disguise themselves as mud and when a victim steps in them the Quidar engulf whoever unfortunate enough to step on them and eat every last piece in an excruciatingly painful process that takes place over twenty seconds. Vidar could only stare and watch in horror as the Quidar ate his brother alive. Vidar was completely petrified. Within three seconds of the horror he had realized it was his fault. Within seven seconds he had finally managed to get the painful screams of his terrified brother out of his ears. Within ten seconds he was completely dreadful, thinking over and over again, “How could I have done such a horrible thing to my brother?” Within thirteen seconds the screaming had stopped. He knew his brother was dead. Within seventeen seconds the Quidar had finally finished their feast and returned to their hole.
Vidar’s mother and father took now the freshly clean skeleton and buried it in the middle of the patch of sunlight and grass in which Thanatos was playing in. His mother cried, his father tried hard not to. They put a big mound of stones over the grave, and carved into the tombstone: Here lies Thanatos: 2758 – 2765. Then the family took all of Thanatos’s stuff and put in into one of the rooms they had in the small house. For 364 days a year he was never spoken of.
After what the family called “The Event”, the whole family changed. Vidar’s father had been a happy loving man. He always looked young and happy and fresh, but when the Event happened, he had just sat in his old rickety chair for a week, barely remembering basic necessities like drinking. Within that one week, his hair turned from pure black to light grey, his face started to droop down a centimeter, and his eyes had seemed like they were going to pop out at any second. Now, ten years after The Event, he looked like a weak old man with a sad look in his eyes that always made you want to cry. Vidar’s mother was tall and skinny and had beautiful flowing blonde hair. Some say she was as bright as an angel from how bright her face always was with laughter and joy. After The Event, she stayed only in the kitchen, washing the same dish over and over again. Then after that week, she started treating Vidar better, much unlike her husband who always tried to push the boy.
Vidar had changed too. Before The Event, he had been an ordinary teenager, helping his parents, running errands, but after The Event, he spent much more time in the forest. Although his parents didn’t know it, he was in the forest to make sure no little boy would face the same horror Thanatos had faced. He always tried to hide where he was as to not disturb the people going through it. At first he was clumsy and was easily noticed, but over time he was able to be stealthier. After ten years he now seemed like a part of the forest. Some of the people in the village know him by “Forest Ghost”.    
The one day the family spoke of Thanatos was on his birthday/death-day. On that day they would have a picnic next to Thanatos’s grave, and would have a picnic as a family whole again. Once a year they could pretend to be whole again. It was always done in utmost silence. Not that any one of them would say a word when thinking of Thanatos. Every year they did this Vidar’s mom would cry. This year would be different.
As usual they made all the food, enough to feed four people. Then they walked out through the forest gloomily and silently. They would lay down a cloth, where one side of the cloth was facing to the grave. After the cloth was set out, the father would put one of the servings of food on top of all of the stones and wait for a bit. The father would then sit down and start eating. That would be the cue for Vidar and his mother to start to eat. His mom started to cry. After a minute she suddenly through down her food and screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Am I the only one who cares?” she screamed as loud as she could towards Vidar’s father. “Am I the only one who cares that our youngest son is dead?” she repeated.
“No,” Vidar’s father said calmly after a while.
“I don’t believe you!” she screamed louder than before. “You haven’t shed one tear and you don’t even talk about him! It’s like you don’t even care!”
“How dare you!” Vidar’s father’s voice boomed through the space. “How dare you say I don’t care about Thanatos? I loved him with all my heart, and I still do! Maybe even more than you. How dare you deny that?”
“You haven’t shown that at all! How can you say you loved him with all your heart when you never cried for him! Not once!  How dare you for saying you loved Thanatos more than I did when you never shed a tear!”
“You want me to?” His father had tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’ve silently pleaded for him to come back for the past ten years! The only thing I want in the world world is for him to be back! I miss him, don’t you ever think I don’t!” Vidar’s father now was weeping.
“STOP!!!” Vidar yelled at the top of his lungs. His father and his mother stopped crying immediately.
“I can’t bear to see you two like this, knowing that I caused it! You think you’re sadness is unbearable, look at mine! I have to live knowing I caused my own brother to die a horrible death and knowing I caused my parents such grief in doing so.
“I’ve lived through each day for the past ten years thinking about that day. Thinking about the days that followed. Thinking about how sad you must be. Seeing you this sad after this long just saddens me more knowing that I caused you such grief. I can’t live in this sorrowful house anymore. I’m moving to the village!”
A long silence followed, then his mother spoke up, but very quietly said, “But you can’t just leave us to go live in the village. We need you here.”
“Here to cause more grief and sorrow?” Vidar was screaming.
“No,” His father said, “So that you can help us through the grief.”
“Help you through it by walking around you while being the cause of it all? No! My mind is made up, nothing can change it. I want to be out of all this gloom and sorrow as fast as I can. I can’t stand it anymore.” With that, Vidar ran from the picnic crying.
When he reached the bridge he saw a little boy walking around. At first Vidar thought he was just walking around the forest when something caught his eye. Vidar ran as fast as he could, onto the bridge and tackled the boy.
“What was that for?” The kid yelled out.
“I’ll show you,” Vidar replied gently. He got a piece of bread from his pocket and put it over the Quidar nest the kid was about to step in. He dropped the bread and the Quidar swarmed over it, eating every bit as it fell. The boy looked intently at first, then his face turned white and he ran away.
Now that Vidar was a little over two miles away from his parents, he now slowed down and took in his surroundings. He was on the bridge about three miles away from the village. Underneath him, water rushed by like the wind on a windy day. One time when he took a swim in it, he found it was warmer than he had expected. Vidar scooped up some of the water and found it was as warm as it was on that day. The stream he was over went on for miles. It curves nearer to the village where it’s easy for the village-folk to get water. On land, there were many sticks. No matter where Vidar stepped there was always a cracking sound. There were hundreds of trees all around, blocking any sunlight that came to the forest. The leaves were a lush green, and moved with the breeze. Vidar walked onwards.

Chapter 2
After about thirty minutes of walking Vidar made it to the village. It was a small village named after the person who founded it Leeonge. Vidar exited the forest onto the shopping part of the village. There were about ten people with many different stores. No one noticed Vidar walking through.
As he passed through the small village, he noticed that the farther along you go, the older and dirtier the houses get. At the very edge of the living part of the village, there were the dirtiest and smelliest houses. The place reeked of rotten eggs that spoiled a year ago. Everywhere you stepped led to a new disgusting smell coming up from the green and brown puddles. The houses were covered in green and brown goop, and most were leaning on one side. A lot of houses had broken windows, popped out pieces of wood, half a roof; one didn’t even have one of its walls. Vidar saw a man crying in the open room.
In the distance Vidar saw a group of young men kicking and yelling at something on the ground. As he got closer he saw that the group of men were kicking and punching a screaming young boy.
“Yeah, that’s right, kick him!”
“That’ll show you!”
“Oh, you’re crying for your mommy? Well-“, the man who was saying that kicked the boy, “you’re not going to get her.”
“Stop or I’ll make you.” Vidar said calmly yet angrily.
“Oh, little man’s trying to play hero?” one of the men said.
“We’ll teach you not to mess with us, right boys?” The rest of the group laughed. As they were laughing the little boy got up silently but then tripped.
“You’re not going anywhere boy.” The man gave the boy a kick and the boy screamed.
“You’re going to st-“ Vidar had run with incredible speed towards the man and had punched him straight in the jaw. Then, before the man had fell unconscious, Vidar had gone around and kicked him in the ribs. The man then grunted and fell to the floor unconscious.
The rest of the gang responded quickly. They went to try and tackle Vidar where they could kick him like they did to the boy. One of them jumped, Vidar sidestepped and punched the guy in mid-air straight in the throat. Another down. Two went and kicked Vidar, only to find out that their legs had been grabbed and they were being pulled to an oncoming fury of punches. Another two down. While Vidar was pummeling those two, the last three had gone around to jump on Vidar and get him to the ground. The moment after Vidar had dropped the last person, he elbowed one of the guys jumping to get on him. The other two got him, but not for long. Vidar pulled his arm down while tripping the two men. While catching themselves, they had let go of Vidar and immediately felt a fury of kicks to the head. Those two down. Vidar then kicked the guy who he had elbowed in the head as he was trying to get up.
After making sure the men were unconscious, Vidar had gone and burrowed rope from one of the houses. When the person in the house heard why, Vidar received a grateful pat on the back. Vidar took the rope and tied the men up, then tied them to one of the trees on the edge of town.
When he came back he found the boy sprawled on the floor and crying. He had a long gash going down his cheek, and his head was purple from all the kicks to the head he received. His ear was half torn off, and his nose was flattened. On his hand, there were cuts and bruises, and one was bent out of shape. Vidar helped the boy up.
“It’s going to be alright.” Vidar said.
“No it’s not!” the boy said weeping.
“I’m going to get those cuts and bruises all patched up, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worrying about me, I’m worrying about you.”
“Why are you worrying about me? You’re the one all bruised and cut. Here come with me” Vidar led the boy to the house that he had gotten rope from.
“I’m worried because they’re going to take you away.”
“Who’s going to take me away?” Vidar asked, puzzled.
“They! Them! They’re going to take you away for helping me!”
“Why? Who?”
“Th-“ The boy was cut short when the door to the house opened. The man looked at the boy appalled.
“Did those guys do this to you?”
The boy nodded.
“And you helped him?”
Vidar nodded.
The man led the boy inside while muttering to himself “poor, ignorant young man.”
What was the boy talking about? Why did the man call him a poor, ignorant young man? Vidar pondered these questions as he walked back to the shopping part of the village.
When he had gotten to the shopping part, he looked around for jobs. For the next hour, Vidar went through many rows of shops asking if they had an open space for him to take. Every one he went to had no open space. Vidar was despaired. He knew that if he didn’t find a job he wouldn’t have a place to live. He would have to go back to the gloom and sadness of his home. Or he could make his own home in the forest. That thought was cut short as he found an open spot in one of the shops in the second-to-last row of shops. He found a man that appeared to be fifty running the place.
“How can I apply for that open spot?”
“Do you want it?”
“Yes.”
“You can have it, three rules though.”
“What are they?”
“Rule one: no playing with the weapons. That’s dangerous. Rule two: Do what I say. Rule three: See rule two.”
“I’ll take it. Quick question though, what is the need of rule three?”
“Emphasis. That’s what gets everything done. Emphasis.”
“What do I do?”
“Easy. If someone asks to buy a weapon, you look at the number on the price tag, and make the buyer pay you that amount, and give them what they wanted. Simple enough?”
“Yeah, I guess… Two more questions though.”
“Kids with their questions these days.”
“How much do I get paid?”
“I’ll pay you.”
“But I wa-“
“No buts. You’ll get paid, don’t worry.”
“Okay… Also, I just saved a kid from getting beaten up by a group of guys on the other side of town, and he said some people were going to take me for helping me. What was he talking about?”
A long silence followed.
“The army.”
“The what?”
“The army. They’re guys who take people with potential from all over the world and teach them how to fight.”
“What for? Why do they need to learn how to fight?”
“No one knows. All I know is that they never come back.”
For the week that followed, Vidar got to work in the store. It was roomier than expected, and had a door to the back. The door to the back led to a small house. No wonder there was a large gap in-between rows. Since the man had a house somewhere else, he allowed Vidar to sleep there. The man gave Vidar three days supplies of food every three days. The house was better than his old one in the forest, especially without all the sorrow.
One night, he woke up from a quiet buzzing noise. Vidar is a very light sleeper. He slowly opened the door to outside and crept down the narrow middle part that had all of the shops facing away from. As he got closer to the buzzing, he could make out a few men talking. He started going stealthily.
“What’s wrong with you Ryee? Still don’t have your land legs?”
“I’m-I’m fine.” The man named Ryee said.
“Do you think he’ll be the one?”
“From what I heard from the man and the boy, it seems like it.”
“I hope so…”
“Which one does he live in?” Ryee asked.
“The thirty fourth down.”
As they walked on towards the shop Vidar worked in, Vidar was able to get a better look at the two men. They were dressed in all white in a button down shirt and pants with a weird metal thing at the top. The man whose name was Ryee had brown hair and a very sick look on his face. The other man had black hair and seemed a little more on the healthy side. Knowing that the two men were close to his house and were looking for him, Vidar sprang from the shadows and put the healthy man into a choke hold.
“Woah there Vidar, I don’t think you want to do that.”
“Why not? You’re looking for me, you know my name, you interrogated a man and a hurt young boy, and you’re talking about coming from the sea that’s eight
hundred miles west.”
“Oh no, we didn’t interrogate them, if you would just let me go I’ll tell you why we’re here.”
Vidar hesitated, and then let go.
“Okay,” the man said, rubbing his neck, “as that store owner told you, we, the army, pick up people who can fight to help us. You don’t have much choice as these pieces of metal,” a small L-shaped thing came out of his sleeve and into his hand, “will kill you instantly.”
“I’m listening.” Vidar said hesitantly.
“Just come with us to this big beast of metal called a bus and we’ll take you where you need to go.”
“Where am I going?”
“Base Alpha seventy-eight.”
“Which is?”
“One thing I forgot to tell you was that there’s complete silence on the trip there. No choke-holding either.  Got that? In fact,” the man faced Ryee, “Ryee, get the bag and tape just to ensure complete silence.”
Before Vidar could react something sticky was placed over his mouth and a bag was placed and tied over his head. There were small holes on it so he could breath and hear. He felt himself being picked up and placed onto a soft bed-like thing. He felt his arms and legs being tied too.
“Gonna be a long trip, better sit tight.”

I'd love to get some feedback.

trinary wrote:

TorbyFork234 wrote:

I started writing a story. Here's the first two chapters so far.

WARNINGS:
•This is depressing
•The second paragraph is pretty gruesome
•If you're a reader who reads every third word this takes place in the distant future (700 years or so)

words

I'd love to get some feedback.

Add more description.
Vary your sentences structures and lengths.

Where do I need more description?

Wickimen wrote:

necrobumptime

BEHOLD THE INNERMOST THOUGHTS OF  MY 6 AND 7 YEAR OLD SELF

Feb. 8, 2006
My older sister Emily told me that a woman asked her at Ralphs for a box beacause Emily worked there and the woman found some baby bunnies that were abanded.

March 1, 2006
Weeks ago, Me and Mom and alex drove to San. Diego. When my DaD came, Well, the Day after he came, Me Mom, and DaD went to sea world! We watched a Dolphin show, and saw sharks. We got to see Manateas too,! We got to touch manta-ray with cut off stingers. We got too see some seals too,!

April 30, 2006
Its spring now. On March 25, I got a book called Its A Frogs Life. I like that book. Its my favorite

thank you for necrobumping this
now i don't have to coldwrite in the editing shop :>

A Frogs Life is my favorite too

Wickimen wrote:

bananaman114 wrote:

Wickimen wrote:

necrobumptime

BEHOLD THE INNERMOST THOUGHTS OF  MY 6 AND 7 YEAR OLD SELF

Feb. 8, 2006
My older sister Emily told me that a woman asked her at Ralphs for a box beacause Emily worked there and the woman found some baby bunnies that were abanded.

March 1, 2006
Weeks ago, Me and Mom and alex drove to San. Diego. When my DaD came, Well, the Day after he came, Me Mom, and DaD went to sea world! We watched a Dolphin show, and saw sharks. We got to see Manateas too,! We got to touch manta-ray with cut off stingers. We got too see some seals too,!

April 30, 2006
Its spring now. On March 25, I got a book called Its A Frogs Life. I like that book. Its my favorite

thank you for necrobumping this
now i don't have to coldwrite in the editing shop :>

A Frogs Life is my favorite too

Yes
It's a good book 

wicki, do you remember that one time we were going to write something together?
Our draft
it sucked!
but it ended up as a very nice thread

I was thinking we should do that again! :>
Maybe not that girl
becaue that would be
no I dont think that girl
but I don't have any ideas

Wickimen wrote:

bananaman114 wrote:

Wickimen wrote:

Yes
It's a good book 

wicki, do you remember that one time we were going to write something together?
Our draft
it sucked!
but it ended up as a very nice thread

I was thinking we should do that again! :>
Maybe not that girl
becaue that would be
no I dont think that girl
but I don't have any ideas

Yes we should!
I probably don't have time tonight though

Yeah   
in the meantime I should start working on that thing I sent you that was a coldwrite and utter garbage but you and veggie said the concept was good and encouraged me to continue with it
the one about the girl and the corn and the rainbow tree

urgh i dont want to write the beginning! :<
I mean i dont want to edit it
to make it good!
and i dont want to write stuff about her going to SCHOOL
because I haven't started school yet so I don't want to think about it

I think i'll start a bit later into the story as a teaser or the start of a later chapter and work backwards!

***********

It was a cool, crisp Sunday morning in the middle of October. People bustled around the station, hurrying to catch their train for the morning commute. All except the would be passengers of the Kingstown Express. They had found their route barred by a police blockade, and were going to be late.
   A Kingstown journalist who had missed his train had passed the police barrier to see what there was to be seen was not disappointed. He had been instructed by the police commissioner who's badge read 'Johnson' not to take pictures, but they wouldn't have been published anyway. Something like this couldn't make the front page without cries and hysteria from parents and the weak stomached all across the county.
   Blood flooded straight down to the platform from the remains of a disfigured man. A pistol lay at his side, and a bullet in his brain. The police commissioner told him that it appeared to be a suicide, but investigations were still ongoing. In a hushed tone he asked the man not to write anything down and to go back behind the barrier. People were starting to get jealous and inquisitive of the journalist.
Mr. Lepal of the Kingstown County News slipped to the back of the crowd and quietly scrawled a few words into his notebook as he prepared to deliver to the county the most sensational story they had seen since a gorilla had escaped the zoo.
"TRAIN STATION SHOOTING - SUICIDE SUSPECTED'
I'm done writing for now but
i will continue!

Last edited by bananaman114 (2012-08-24 00:33:29)

Didn't see it before 
Like it a lot 

I am writing a book called: Becoming Accepted in Your New Bread Colony.
Based on my experiences of course, they are the most BEAUTIFUL writings, so far.