Newgrounds.com — Everything, By Everyone.

At 8/15/05 02:07 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: What's the whole point of Clock Day anyway? It seems just like an excuse to fillthe portal with crap and then spam it up with everything getting protected.

Pretty much... It's the 'celebration' of the anniversary of the submission of 'B', the worst flash ever protected in the portal. Turd of the week, as well.

At 8/15/05 02:11 PM, Coop83 wrote: Pretty much... It's the 'celebration' of the anniversary of the submission of 'B', the worst flash ever protected in the portal. Turd of the week, as well.

and the reaosn behind the total spamming of the portal with all the crap? Or is that just par tof party?

At 8/15/05 02:19 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: and the reaosn behind the total spamming of the portal with all the crap? Or is that just par tof party?

It used to be nice celebrations, with lots of quality clock animations submitted, but the fanboys return and the portal descends into madness, where nothing is blammed at all.

At 8/15/05 02:18 PM, Mick_the_champion wrote: (Earfetish, I read the first chapter of your book and it got me really interested)

I've decided that'll be the prologue, and I've got to work on the next bit. If you guys can give me some feedback, it'd be appreciated. This is just setting some character background, although the character is pretty much me.
...

When I was a little baby, my mum used to sing me this song:

“Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run,
Here comes the hunter with his gun, gun, gun,
Bang! Bang! Bang! Goes the hunter’s gun,
So run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run!”

The difference between a pessimist and an optimist, I realised, is an optimist would bet on the rabbit.

When I started high school, I was an optimist, but pretty quickly, I became a pessimist. I didn’t get bullied, or get into any trouble – high school was pretty easy, but one day really changed me.

I don’t remember my first day of high school. I remember one particular day, however, about two weeks in, very vividly.

I guess I’d eaten out-of-date yoghurt or something, but I woke up with diarrhoea. I felt it the moment I woke up – a big, bloated mass in my intestines. I should have gone to the toilet before I went to school, but I woke up late, and back then I cared about punctuality. I had barely time to brush my teeth and get dressed before I was out of the door and in my dad’s Toyota. I didn’t even press for a day off – there are far too many faults with being a good kid. You’d think everything would turn out on your favour – you’d think God would bless you with good fortune for caring so much about getting to school, but, in all frankness, being occasionally lazy works out better for you.

The vibrations on the ride to school loosened up my bowels even more. When I arrived, the morning bell had already gone off, and, so I didn’t get registered as late, I sprinted off to my form room.

I find it hard to believe I did all this, nowadays. It seems bizarre to me that I would go through any kind of discomfort to avoid an insignificant amount of trouble. If I’d have just missed form period and gone to the toilet, I would have forgotten about this entire day, despite any punishments I might have received.

And I sat through my first lesson, too, completely aware that I had the shits. Even if I’d stood up and walked out, without even asking for permission, it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal. Karma was not paying attention to me.

Morning break came, and I’d told a teacher I would see them to hand in an essay draft. I told myself, I’ll find the teacher, and then I’ll go to the toilet – unfortunately, I spent all break looking for them, finally handing it in at the staff room. Looking forwards to unloading on the toilet, I walked towards them, only for the bell signalling the end of break to halt me.

At this point, I really needed the toilet, and I should have gone, but instead I walked to my next lesson. Part of it might have been instinct, part of it my young age and the teachers their older ages, but part of it was pure foolishness. I hadn’t messed my pants for years – probably not since I was about six – and I was completely unaware that it might happen again, if I don’t get to the toilet quickly enough. I was a time bomb, waiting to explode.

So I sat through another lesson. These lessons were 1 hour and 10 minutes long, which is quite a long time when you’ve got four pounds of shit fermenting in your bowels, set to go off like a cannon.

The bell rang for lunchtime. I walked down the corridor to the toilet. I was fresh out of primary school, where the toilets were quite pleasant, and I felt physically sick looking at the high school ones. This may well have been the first time I witnessed a truly disgusting toilet bowl. Various shades of shit streaked down towards the water, which was a murky brown colour. The smell of stale urine was as strong as it would be sniffing a tramp’s underpants. Shitty toilet paper was scattered around the cubicle floor. It was like the toilet in a commune full of crack-addicts. It was so repulsive it was almost beyond belief.

I can never sit on that, I thought, being a finicky little kid. I went into the next cubicle, glanced at it, saw that it was pretty bad, too, and decided that I could hold on. I’ve not shat myself for years, I thought, despite really needing to go. It seems insane to me that I didn’t bite the bullet and use them – what’s the worst that could happen? There’s no risk of infection from a toilet seat – you just sit down on something disgusting, take a shit, and get on with your life. There are loads of people who are just like I was at 11, and I pity all of them.

Eventually, I was sat in my last lesson - woodwork. I could feel my gut churning; I could feel the intensity rising like a pressure cooker, and I needed the toilet so much it was almost painful. It was 3:10. Sure, there were only 5 minutes until the end of school, but this was serious and I had to go.

I looked around the class. My classmates were looking at the teacher, boredom written across their faces. The teacher was droning on about something of little or no significance. I put my hand up.

“Yes, Kevin?” the teacher asked.

The pain must have been clear on my face, but, as normally as possible, with a hint of begging, I said, “Sir, could I please be excused to go to the toilet?”

This was about two weeks into high school, and the teachers were acting like this was a far more dangerous place than primary school, with far stricter rules. “Of course not,” he replied angrily. “It might have been different in your old schools, but here, you can only go to the toilet during the specified break periods.” He was bald, so I was superior to him and he should have respected this, but I guess he thought his age and his job gave him some kind of authority over my bowel movements.

The rules were the exact bloody same in primary school, I thought. But I couldn’t possibly sit here and shit my pants. I’m going to have to be rebellious, for the first time ever.

“Sir,” I said, not even putting my hand up. “I really have to go to the toilet. You can’t not let me go to the toilet.”

“You’re causing a disruption, Kevin,” he snarled, pointing at me.

“I’m causing the disruption? You could just say, yes, you can go, and let me go to the bloody toilet. Surely not letting me go is against some Human Rights charter? You’re the one causing the disruption, you bald cunt, by not letting me go. You disagreeable bastard. And what am I disrupting, anyway? You’re talking absolute bollocks about coping saws, no-one’s paying attention, and there are only five minutes until the end of school! I’m not trying to skip the last few minutes of your fucking lesson – I really have to fucking go, and if you don’t give me permission I’m going to stand up and leave anyway.” Well, that’s what I wanted to say, and I’d see no problem with saying that. If only I was more aggressive and assertive back then. But I said nothing of the sort. Fuck me, I should have.

Instead, I pleaded one last time. “I’m sorry for causing a disruption, sir,” I groaned apologetically, “but I don’t think I can hold on until the end of school. I have to go.”

“Well, I’m about to dismiss the class anyway,” he replied. I didn’t let him finish talking – I stood up and walked casually out of the door, feeling half a stone too heavy. I pushed open the double doors, and started sprinting down the hallway, trying desperately to hold my arse-cheeks together.

Finally reaching the toilet, I heard a large gurgling coming from my gut, like when you pull the plug out of a bath, except for louder and horrifically unexpected. And, as everyone knows, when you reach the toilet, you immediately need it a thousand times more. I kicked open the door for the first cubicle, glanced at the toilet, and felt sick. There was no possible way I was sitting my naked arse on that toilet.

I went into the next cubicle, and it was even worse than the first one, but I was totally aware that I had barely any time before I shat myself. I started trying to unbuckle my belt, but my hands were clammy and shaking frantically, and it was as difficult as someone with no thumbs trying to thread a needle. I tore it off and unbuttoned my pants as quickly as I could, as precious seconds flew away. I threw them down, and the smell of Bounce and washing machine detergent hit me in the nose. I noticed how clean and pure-white the lining of my school trousers was. I threw down my boxer shorts and turned around to put down the toilet seat.

Fucking hell. It was, honestly, at that precise moment, that all Hell broke loose. A torrent of chunky brown fluid shit came out of my arse, immediately coating my pants and my underpants with brown fucking faeces. There was no relief in finally taking a dump – just pure, unbridled misery in the state of everything – the mess, the fact that I did it in school, everything. My legs and thighs were dripping, with a monstrous puddle in my pants, which leaked through my trouser legs and slid past my ankles.

My mind was awash with a mixture of horror and disbelief. I immediately lost any optimism from that moment onwards – it was hard to stay optimistic when you realised how quickly life could spit on you. Retrospectively, I learnt a lot from that day.

Here are my votes... sorry it took a while, but I'm packing for college and working... so this is my first opportunity to get back one.

1. -The Doctor- (I loved the tone... its the only story that I actually got into)
2. Tri-Nitro
3. Scribbler
4. Coop 83
5. Mick

I would also like to say that if Grish had participated, I probably would have put his starter somewhere in the middle of that list. Also, four of these stories aren't going to be used, but they all have potential. All of them are decent and would make a great story. Its obvious mine isn't going to be chosen as a starter, but I will still work on it I think... between that and the novel I am working on. It might be a good idea if all of us try to work on our own stuff it doesn't make it. Starting a story is usually the hardest part.

At 8/15/05 06:52 PM, Earfetish wrote:

I've decided that'll be the prologue, and I've got to work on the next bit. If you guys can give me some feedback, it'd be appreciated. This is just setting some character background, although the character is pretty much me.

If the character is pretty much you...does that mean this whole story about diarohea(sp?) actually happened?

...

When I was a little baby, my mum used to sing me this song:

“Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run,
Here comes the hunter with his gun, gun, gun,
Bang! Bang! Bang! Goes the hunter’s gun,
So run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run!”

The difference between a pessimist and an optimist, I realised, is an optimist would bet on the rabbit.

That sentence just made my day. Best way of of describing optimism and pessimism I've ever seen.

And in all honesty there is very little wrong with what you've posted so far there was one place where I think you ued a comma when you didn't need to but it doesn't actually hinder the reading of the story so it's nothing major.

I'm really getting interested in this so can you please hurry up and post the next bit?

At 8/15/05 11:10 PM, gumOnShoe wrote: Here are my votes... sorry it took a while, but I'm packing for college and working... so this is my first opportunity to get back one.

Thanks, I've added them to the list. We're still waiting on Myst and Scribbler to vote, plus TheDr, should he be needed, since he's away at the moment.

I'd say that we still have 4 of the 6 in with a shout. gumOnShoe and Mick are outsiders, but they still have a chance

At 8/16/05 03:33 AM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: If the character is pretty much you...does that mean this whole story about diarohea(sp?) actually happened?

That's all pretty much true. It wasn't funny when it happened.

CHAPTER TWO

I left the block of flats, the old man stumbling behind me. The cold grey of the pavement stared up at me from my feet. Huge, ugly tower blocks speared the sky, shooting up towards the clouds in a bid for freedom from the dull landscape. I paced down the road.

Work, I thought. Great.

I don’t have a proper job – I get money doing whatever comes in to my mind. I’m a mildly talented shoplifter. Mugging is a piece of piss, you just have to act angry and bring something that looks intimidating, but I prefer to stay at least a little moral. Money is only money, and you don’t have to scare people in the pursuit of it.

I walked into a crowded Thresher’s off-license and casually looked at the beers at the back of the shop. Armed robbers rob these places all the time – fuck armed robbery, you’ll give someone a heart attack. And anyway, loads of them have got security doors and stuff anyway, including this one. Casually, I unzipped my bag. This is too easy, really.

Whilst the cashier was distracted, I took 4 4-packs of Special Brew and silently dropped them in my bag, with one eye on the surveillance camera screen and another on the task in hand. I then approached the cash register. I picked up a packet of chewing gum.

“32p please,” the woman said. She was about 50 years old, and you could tell by the way she was wrinkled and yellow beyond her years that she was a heavy smoker. I’d have put her at about 40 a day since she was 14.

I dug the 24p out of my pocket. “I’ve only got this,” I muttered apologetically.

“I can’t serve you then,” she snapped. “Next please!”

I walked towards the security doors, feeling the weight of the cans in my bag. She buzzed me out. I opened the door and left.

3 minutes’ work, and I’m already 16 Special Brews richer, and fuck feeling guilty about ripping off Thresher’s. I walked further down the street, away from the flats. “How’s it, Jim?” I asked.

Jim, an alcoholic and about 60 years old, turned to face me. His eyes were glazed over, his cheeks covered with broken veins, and snot leaked out of his nose like a faucet. He looked and smelt disgusting.

“Kevin,” he slurred. “How you?” He looked at me, confused.

“Jim, how much money do you have?”

He held up two pound coins, three fifty-pees, and a lot of coppers, like a trophy.

“How would you like to swap me that for… four Special Brews?”

He looked overjoyed, like they were giving out vodka in the soup kitchens. He nodded, his smile stretching from ear to ear and his eyes watering. I took the money out of his hand and gave him four cans.

Feeling like I’d done a good deed, I strolled further up the road, looking for more business. A pang of guilt suddenly struck me. I turned back towards Jim.

“Jim,” I said. He ignored me. “Jim!” I shouted, clicking my fingers in front of his face. He’d fallen asleep already, cradling the beers like a child. How the fuck do hobos drink Special Brew stuff anyway? It tastes like piss, but they relish it. Do they not want to enjoy a pint?

I clicked again, and he jolted upright. “Jim, seriously, you’ve got a problem – you need to stop drinking.”

“Don’t you preach at me,” he gurgled, swinging drunkenly, catching the air near me, and falling on his side. I looked at his pathetic body lying on the pavement and drooling on my boots. I felt sorry for the poor bastard. He’s never going to get better, I thought. He’s already near-enough braindead. Alcohol is a terrible drug. Crackheads and junkies are as articulate as normal people, but alcoholics….

I nudged his face with my foot. He was a shell of a man. He’d pissed himself. Vomit stains were down his shirt.

“How long have you been on the streets, Jim?” I asked.

“Aaah, a good forty years now,” he said, slobbering over himself and on my boots again. I wiped them on his shirt. There was no hope for him, I thought. He’s going to die as an alchie on the streets.

“Fuck it Jim, have a beer for free,” I said, pulling another one out of my bag and dropping it by his feet. He staggered to his feet.

“Thank you so much,” he said passionately, a tear rolling down his face. He offered out his hand. I glanced at it, and refused.

I was going to sell the rest of the beers to various other tramps, but decided against it. After witnessing Jim crying over how much he loved beer, I made a life-changing decision. No more shall I deal in beer. Any other drug was fine, but alcoholics were just too pitiful. I sold the rest of them to a guy outside a pub for £15 – the last time I would sell alcohol - and went home.

...

y'see, setting up storyling here.

At 8/16/05 10:35 AM, Mick_the_champion wrote: My favourite line in chapter 2, have you thought up a title?

Perhaps:

Pessimist/Sadist

Although I don't really fall in love with that title.

Sorry for the delay.

1 -The Doctor-
2 TNT
3 GumonShoe
4 Coop 38
5 Mick

And Earfetish, I love your story. I also like your other ones, although the title isn't to my liking either. I am definately going to keep reading this!

Keep em coming earfetish, im hooked.

At 8/16/05 08:52 PM, -Antithesis- wrote: Keep em coming earfetish, im hooked.

I don't plan to post the whole book here, or anywhere on the internet. I wouldn't buy a book if I could read it on the computer.

At 8/16/05 09:07 PM, Earfetish wrote:

At 8/16/05 08:52 PM, -Antithesis- wrote: Keep em coming earfetish, im hooked.

I don't plan to post the whole book here, or anywhere on the internet. I wouldn't buy a book if I could read it on the computer.

Damn you, you aren't totally ignorant after all!

At 8/17/05 12:08 AM, Scribbler wrote:

At 8/16/05 09:07 PM, Earfetish wrote:

At 8/16/05 08:52 PM, -Antithesis- wrote: Keep em coming earfetish, im hooked.

I don't plan to post the whole book here, or anywhere on the internet. I wouldn't buy a book if I could read it on the computer.

Damn you, you aren't totally ignorant after all!

lol... anyway. You should name your chapter something that has to do with the loss of innocence or your naive view of the world. Growing Up or growing away... but that title really doesn't fit. It describes whats in it, but its to analytical for a story, to exact. Perhaps something like ignorance is bliss... or wake up call or just waking up...

All we have

Brought into the light
Taught what is wrong
What is right
A never ending song

Filled with the past
Set for the future
Stuck in the present

Slide after slide
Day after day
One continous ride
Nothing that you can say

Filled with the past
Set for the future
Stuck in the present

An endless journey
Never completed
Farther than you can see
All to be deleted

Filled with the past
Set for the future
Stuck in the present

A search for meaning
A search for reason
All is leaning
Action is treason

Filled with the past
Set for the future
Stuck in the present

To go
A chime
Layed low
All we have, time

Welcome Earfetish! Glad to have you.

My votes:
Coop
TNT
TheDcotor
Scribbler
gumOnShoe

Sorry I am so slow, but I promise not to miss my turn. I have just been busy packing and buying stuff that I'll need - spending time with freinds I may not see for some time. A boy has got to leave the coop sooner or later. : )

Hello again.

I don't know why I didn't do this before, but I think I should post the first three chapters of this story I wrote. I made a thread about it, a long time ago, but that was before it was finished. And now that I'm thinking of getting it published online, I think I should find out what you guys think of it.

(Slightly off-topic -- I'm planning to publish it through Lulu.com, a website that someone mentioned in one of the threads about Earfetish's book... I went and checked out the website, and it looks really good. If it's already been mentioned in this thread, I apologize, but I just felt like pointing it out to all the other writers here.)

Anyway, I would appreciate it if a few of you could read at least some of this story, and tell me what you think. (Even the first three chapters are longer than most of the short stories posted here, so you don't have to read the whole thing if you don't want to. The first chapter will probably give you a good idea of my writing style.)

Right now, the first three chapters are posted on my website:
http://www.dhost.inf..re/resurrection.html

Rather than go off and explain everything about it, I think I'll just say that it's a fantasy / sci-fi book, involving vampires and magic and some other crazy shit. If all that LotR-style stuff pisses you off, then I guess you should avoid this one. Otherwise, take a look.

At 8/17/05 04:52 PM, Mick_the_champion wrote: Subpar, I skimmed some parts of it and it seems interesting enough - reading is sometimes a grind off the computer screen, especially when it's kind of late. I think I'll print it off and read it this weekend

Heh... I didn't really take printing into consideration when I put a black background on that page. It isn't very printer-friendly, is it?
People have told me that white text is hard to read on a black background, anyway, so maybe I should switch the colors around on that webpage.

At 8/17/05 04:19 PM, MystWilliams wrote: My votes:
Coop
TNT
TheDcotor
Scribbler
gumOnShoe
Mick

I have the resutls, which I will read in some sort of table form:

Mick & gumOnShoe : 23 points : tied 5th
Scribbler : 14 points : fourth
Coop83 & TheDoctor : 13 points : tied second
TNT : 10 points : 10 points : Teh Winner. OMG!

T-N-T, If you'd kindly post your winning starter, complete with the title in bold, we can begin the following of the story (it's up to you if you give us a few more paragraphs to work with). Scribbler, this is your duty to follow on from there, then me, gum, TheDr, Mick, TNT and finally, Myst.

Let's see how good we can be.

It's been a long time since I stopped by, sorry if I', interupting anything, but I have a story that I would like to post up. It's somewhat long.

The Kiss Shared Between The Sky And The Water

I’m what a lot of people call a loser. I spent my fair share of time alone with no friends. I’m not ugly or anything. I’m just different in a manner of my beliefs and style. I am what many calls out to be a Goth. I can’t help but feel that I am not only an outcast in my school but as well in my own family. My older brother before me set the false course of which I would follow. Sadly they were wrong. One thing for sure is I’m not academically gifted. I’m not a big fan of sports, and I don’t have the same character he has. I’m 18, have no friends, no reliable family members, and no father figure. I thought many times about ending my own life but I couldn’t.

I was ready mentally but I wasn’t physically. My body wouldn’t cooperate with my mind so I’m stuck here in a shell of my own body. My counselor had talked to me about my thought on committing suicide. I kept telling her these two things. ”What do I have to I have to live for, huh? The only thing humans do is eat, go to work, then sleep. It’s a boring cycle that’s boring and tedious until a person finds the cycle out to be meaningless and a waste of breath, and yet only life.” As I said that, a tear ran down my face. Once more I outcried . “ Who loves me? What do I have to live for?” My counselor looked at me and said “ There is someone out there that would simply die the second you take your own life. Either you’re not looking for the person, or the person has not simply found just yet.”

Her words went right through me as I felt some truth out of what she said. I left the office and on the way out I bumped into Emily Hawkins. We were childhood friends until the seventh grade when she learned about popularity and image. She was the only one next to my older brother that I actually cared for at the time. “ I’m sorry” I said as I apologized out reflex. She begins to study my face as though she had forgotten me. She asks “Do I know you?” My heart fell from my chest all the way down to my shoe. If anyone were to step on my foot then the irony would’ve been too much to bear. “ You don’t remember me?” I said. She looked at me more closely as I began to notice much has changed since the last time I was this close to her. She’s grown so beautiful. I thought to myself.

I gave in and told her my name since she would of never got my name. “ My name is Ralph Nardini. We used to be friends a long time ago until... well that’s all you need to know.” As I began to walk away...” Wait!” Emily yelled. She ran up to me and said “ I remember you. You were my best friend and I abandoned you. I’m so sorry!!” she said. “ No, no. we were kids then remember? I hold no qualms in what you did. I have no hatred in your name or anything. Or have any voodoo dolls wishing for a painful death upon you. I'm not that kind've Goth, in fact, I don't really think Goth's even do that. Besides, you remembering me was quite enough to make me happy.” I said as she looked disappointed as if she was ready to be scorned. Then she had suggested “ I know. After school why don’t we get to know each other better?” “Sure” I said. Not knowing there was a change coming on.

I stood there in the hallway completely shocked by the suggestion made by my old best friend. I was puzzled by the fact that she didn’t reject me by just looking at me. Stunned by her beauty I was speechless and could do nothing but nod as she continued to speak. “ Let’s meet up at a McDonald’s later” she suggested. I nodded once more in the yes motion to verify the answer. “ Goodbye.” she said. As she started to walk away I suddenly gained my will to speak again. Why did I feel this way? What was I experiencing? I fell asleep in my math class as usual thinking who needs math? Really? I left my math class to go to the bathroom, instead, I ended up dealing with Eric Whymson. He was the captain of the wrestling team and was proclaimed to be Emily’s boyfriend.

He looked at me in disgust as he unshielded his right arm and began to strangle me up against the wall in the hallway next to the auditorium. “ What were you doing with my Emily?!?” Eric yelled out. “ Nuh... not...hing!” I said, barely getting as much as a syllable out as I was gasping for air. I was fading very fast as I had noticed that he put more grip strength into his hand to only make me suffer more. I believe I had passed out shortly after that. I woke up in the nurses office dazed and confused also a little abused, beaten up, and most definitely bruised. “ He’s awake.” The nurse said as she had pulled back the sheet I noticed Emily. Emily’s face showed deep worry and concern. Emily approached my bed and kneeled down.

“ I’m very very sorry. I’m so sorry. She said. “ Why?” I asked as she looked very guilty as if she had done something. ” I told him to stop. On my way downstairs I had heard something about a fight with a Goth kid. Hearing that news it piqued my curiosity and low and behold I see my ex strangling you for no reason. So I rushed over there and tell him to let go. He objected at first but he stopped shortly. In the end I’m very sorry.” Emily said. I was surprised. I felt like I was on candid camera, like this messed up chain of events were set up for someone’s sick amusement.

“ Don’t be sorry. I’m highly grateful that you stopped him. Oh, what happened to Eric?” I said. “ Suspended from six wrestling meets, and a week from school.” Emily said. “ Hmm, I know you may not be interested now but are you still up for a talk at McDonald’s?” I said. “ Sure.” Emily said. She helped me get up. “ Do you have a car?” Emily asked. “ No, I walk.” I answered. She flashed her car keys. “ I’ll drive us but you have to pay. Deal?” I nodded yes, and off we were to go to McDonald’s. I’m experiencing many things. The days not even close to being done yet and I’ve been experiencing a lot of things as this day is progressing. I can’t say that this day has been all sunshines and lollipops with the exception of me being choked out, but to know that someone cares for your own well-being makes up for what happened I guess.

There's more to come. Out of all of my stories, for some strange reason, I decided not to put this in chapters, this was a story that I wrote a the idea came to mind. I'll post up the other parts soon.

At 8/17/05 05:15 PM, Mast3rMind wrote: The Kiss Shared Between The Sky And The Water

Keep posting, by all means. This stuff is great.

Congratulations to the members of the Writer's Guild on helping us reach 3500 posts.

And so the story continues...

Emily has her very own Corvette. It’s pearlescent blue with a great sound system as well. “ How did you get this great car?” I asked. “ I blackmailed my father into getting me this car. In return I promised never to ask him for another thing. You see I have the kind of parents that’ll never give you anything no matter what you do. Except for boring lectures, and the favorable punishments. The last time I checked you had the same problem with your family, right?” Emily said. “ How did you remember all this?” I said. “ Remember, we used to be really close best friends. Whenever one of us had problems we would talk them over.

I remember distinctly the first time we had a talk like that. We were both eight years of age and you moaned and groaned “ Only girls complain about their problems.” but I found a way to get you to be open with me.” She said. “ Oh yeah. I remember. You blackmailed me because I called my teacher mama when it was lunchtime on accident. To save whatever reputation I had back then I had no choice but to position myself to be more open with you. Is blackmailing people your specialty or something?” I said. Looking over at Emily as she couldn’t contain her laughter anymore. “ Yes, blackmailing people is a specialty of mine and I’ve seem to have gotten better at it. Think of it this way.

If I had never blackmailed you in the first place I wouldn’t be aware of the great potential I have for it. Therefore, for one thing I wouldn’t have this car, and probably would’ve had to walk don’t you think?” She said still smiling in the process. “ Yeah yeah.” I replied back. After catching up with each other at McDonald’s she decided to drive me home. So many things happed to me today. Prior to today I was thinking suicide, and yet an old friend of mine re-enters my love giving me a reason to live. Was this an act of god to keep me living, or was it fate? When we go back to school tomorrow will you look past me in the hallway?” I said. Emily then looked at me seriously. “ I plan on rekindling are friendship from a long time ago. You were and now is still my best friend. What I did to you was wrong. I thought you moved away before I could apologize you. Instead I get to spend more time with you.” She said.

I looked at her in awe and in disbelief in what she had said. She wants to spend time with me? I stared awhile longer into her eyes before I decided to get out of the car. Her eyes showed honesty and something else. I decided not to look further into the eye matter. I’m afraid that I might misinterpret the message. “ see you tomorrow.” I said. “ Get ready for tomorrow. I’m going to start bothering you like old times.” She said smiling as she drove off. I went into my house wondering on what she meant bothering me. Feeling exhausted I surrendered to let the sandman win as my couch became my resting place that night due to the heavy entertainment that happened today. I dreamt that night about the way Emily and I was back then.

Little did I know let alone realize that we were very close. I remember when her father’s house caught fire my parents willingly let them stay in this house. Emily and I being only eleven at the time shared a bed and thought nothing of it. We were such kids back then. I’ve forgotten so much, and know little about my future since my present looks a little bleak. Because of this little interaction can I actually say that I’m happy? Can I say that everything is right in the world because an old friend of mine just noticed me after about five years of neglect? I don’t know what to think. The next morning was like any other. I woke up and ate breakfast with my family with the usual huh and uh at each other to verify that we were not only awake but alive as well.

I was approaching my bus stop as I noticed the sparkling sheen of Emily’s car coming around the corner. “ Hop in.” Emily said. “ You sure?” I asked. “ Why not?” she answered. I hopped in and enjoyed the ride up th the school without the ear shrieking noise of the school bus. Emily and I didn’t have the same classes but we did have the same lunch hour. “ Let’s sit together at lunchtime.” She suggested. “OK.” I said. Knowing what prep kids think of Goth kids and it in vice-versa I believe this arranged lunch will be a bit ugly. It was finally lunch after sitting in classes for about three hours. I found where she was and sat next to her. I felt uncomfortable as I saw her other friends try and hide their disgust towards me. Emily broke the awkward silence. “

What college to you plan on plan on going to?” She said looking at me and waiting on me to answer. ” I don’t quite know. Whichever one comes my way as a good reason to be there. How about you, Emily?” I asked. “ Until you give an answer I can’t tell you my friend?” She answered. I’m very clueless. What did that remark mean? Oh, well. I’ll save this mystery for another day I suppose.

Lunch came and went. Just the same for the school day. After lunch Emily told me to wait for her. She says she’ll drive me home from now on. So here I am waiting for her. Yet I have no idea where she wants me to wait. “ Great thinking!” I said sarcastically angry to myself. I traveled in the downstairs basement first then the first, second, third, and fourth floor hallways. She was no where to be found. Yet there was one hallway that I didn’t check. One hallway that was forbidden by anyone who didn’t fit “in” with everyone else. This “special” hallway was located on the third floor next to all the pop and water machines that no one else but them could get to. I ventured downstairs and into the hallway to overhear an interesting conversation going on between Emily and friend was having.

I would post some more, but this next part is vital, so I'll need more room for the next part. There's more coming.

At 8/17/05 05:00 PM, Coop83 wrote: TNT : 10 points : 10 points : Teh Winner. OMG!

How the hell did that happen?

T-N-T, If you'd kindly post your winning starter, complete with the title in bold, we can begin the following of the story (it's up to you if you give us a few more paragraphs to work with).

ummm Ok. I'll post it later today after I've done the stuff I need to do around the house.

At 8/17/05 05:17 PM, Coop83 wrote: Congratulations to the members of the Writer's Guild on helping us reach 3500 posts.

Awesome... I didnt even notice. Congrats to all.

And good on ya TNT. Will check back later.

Continuing from where I left off...

“ I don’t have to put up with this, Ralph’s waiting for me.” Emily said. “ Why do you put with that obnoxious Goth kid, huh? He’s just a Goth, he’s nothing to people like us. What joy do you have being around him? He’ll probably end up turning you into a creepy weepy Goth kid.” Her friend said. “ OK, tell me this one thing. Just one thing.” Emily said. “ What?” Her friend asked. “ If I became a “Goth kid” would you start to not talk to me? Would you start not to talk to me? Would you pretend not to know me? Would you simply ignore me all at once? Would you treat me any differently then I am right now with this so called “in” crowd that everyone seems to give a damn about? What the hell is wrong with you? Can’t you see that he is just like us, the only difference is for some reason he doesn’t fit “in” up here? He’s my best friend from a long time ago. Spending time with him brings back so many warm memories of my childhood and other happiness I’ve seem to have forgotten since I joined this narcissistic “in” crowd. Listen to me very carefully. I’ll be damned if I become as heartless as the rest of you are! I refuse to be as ignorant as you and rest! Understood?!!?” Emily screamed out. “Y...ye...yes.” Her friend muttered.

“Good” Emily said as she got that emotion off her chest. I pretended to walk down the hallway ti make it seem I was going for the water fountain. She spotted me unknowingly as she had no clue that I overheard everything that had perspired in the hallway. “ Ready to go?” She said. “ Sure, let’s.” I answered. I really wanted to ask her if she had feelings for me, but to no avail I couldn’t articulate what I wanted to say. Instead I walked happily outside ready to talk about things with Emily some more. I started to wonder if what Emily said was really what she meant. Women in general are hard to understand at times. Of course I can say this because I’m a guy. I think it’s vice versa on the other hand when it comes to a females opinion on us. There are so many things I want to put into words.

Emily drove me home as usual. Heading to my room I came up with a plan to tell Emily how I felt about her. Secretly back then I always thought of Emily as more than a friend. Three hours later I finished the hardest thing I had ever written in my life. Harder than a math test, harder a raging feud between brother and brother, sister and brother, or sister and sister. What I had finished was my very first poem. I titled it “I love you”. I let all my emotions drown into this poem. I put my heart and soul into it. I’m going to give it to her tomorrow. I know that there is a high chance that I can ruin our friendship and be alone again. Although being alone isn’t all that bad.

After all I’ve gotten used to it. The next day after having a nightmare with the premonition of a failure my poem was and how it didn’t help me at all. She picked me up promptly at 6:45 same as usual. I silently suffocated of the fear and possible rejection that may be coming my way soon. We arrived at school and I was ready to give it to her. And so I did. “ Read this after school.” I said as I left the car. Many of you are probably wondering what that note looked like. It looked like this.

I Love You

Meeting you was arranged by fate.
Not too early, not to late.
Not being able to say what I feel hurts me inside.
The pain is to high pitched like a wolf’s cry.
I’ve put my love for you in elegant stride.
Secretly I vision you as my own bride.
Feeling frustrated, not knowing what to do.
Not feeling happy, only black and blue.
Forced into submission I now tell you the truth.
Forever and a year, I’ve always loved you.
I love you more than you’ll ever know.
Please accept my feelings as your friend not a foe.
I’m sorry I never told you. I’m rather slow.
Please tell me if you hate me so.
Love Ralph

It personally took me hours to find words that rhymed. It took even more time to edit this out to be the most appropriate as possible. I hope that she’ll accept my feelings for her. I’m not all that confident that my poem actually did anything but disgust her, and if so I am sorry. Tomorrow I’ll find out how she feels about me. Please don’t hate me for telling you how I feel Emily.

The final part is coming up next. And it's glad to know that this place has reached over 3,500 replies.

Salvation story

My first memory is of pitch blackness. A blackened world, where no light pierced through, where hope is but a thing of the past. When you think about it, my memories of the dark aren’t that different to what the world is like now. At least in memories I didn’t have to worry about choking to death by going outside without a mask on.
The darkness was the only thing I knew in the beginning. To this day it is all I know. Whilst a few people have power in their homes and have fluorescent lights that mask the darkness and provide them with a false hope, most have given up.
I gave up not long ago. But then something dawned on me. Everyone was convinced that someone would save them, but no one was prepared to save themselves.
If I could save myself, I could teach others to save themselves as well. All I needed was something to save myself.
Then like a knife ripping through the fabric of my reality, a single beam of light pierced through the darkness that had been the basis of my life. I found the answer. I found my salvation.
Something, that had been long forgotten by the peoples of the world. Something, that would give the masses hope and teach them to break the bonds of enslavement we had placed our wrists when contact was first made.
I decided I would lead humanity out of the slavery we had entered after we had made ourselves second rate citizens by giving into the demands of the Athorians.
All I needed to save Humanity was to find a way to spread my message…that was where the problem was. I had now way to spread my message to the rest of the world.
I needed help, I was sure of that. But who could I turn to? There lay only one answer. I had to put my trust in the being who had delivered me my salvation. I had to put my trust in him and act as he saw fit.
All I needed to do…was wait for him to talk to me.
It was three days later when the message came through to me. It was sent by a mode of messaging that I had forgotten existed.
I awoke the morning of the message and looked at the clock tower that was outside of my house. It was dawn. At least it would have been if the smog and pollution hadn’t blocked out the sun centuries ago.
I dressed myself and looked once more out of the window. The glow from the clock face was the only illumination that could be seen. And it was poor at best.
The dim light revealed the shadowy outlines of the buildings and homes that littered the landscape. I knew what I would find if I went outside. The streets would be full of litter, excrement and God only know s what else.
I left the window and left my bedroom and walked into the rest of my apartment. It was small but it was all I needed. It was also my home. It consisted of three rooms. A living room kitchen combined into one, my bedroom and the toilet.
I made myself some breakfast and then went to sit down on the one chair that sat in the centre of the living room area. The day before I had turned the chair around, so I could face the door out of my apartment.
I sat and watched the door waiting for contact so I could know what to do. One hour…two hours…three hours…then the message appeared.
A small envelope was pushed under the door. It was brown.
I pushed myself out pf my seat and walked over to envelope. I bent down and picked it up and read what was written on it.

To Roberto Salvatori

My hands started to shake as I opened the envelope and read the contents within.

------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------

There ya go people. One starter with a little bit extra added a sordered by Coop. Now the title is uninspired and rather crap but hey tis the best I could come up with.

At 8/17/05 02:03 PM, Mick_the_champion wrote: I have a question about some symbolism I'm going to use in the novel I write;

As a symbol of sense of belonging, I was going to use a celtic scarf the main character gets from his Uncle on his seventh birthday - is that cliche' ?

its only cliche if it sbeen done to death a thousand tiems before. Whils tthe idea of a gift giving a sens of beonging has been done before I don't think I've ever heard of the item being a celtic scarf.

I will start in about 4 hours or more. I have football practice in 30 minutes and have been busy the whole of last week and this week.

Sorry...

At 8/18/05 04:01 PM, Mick_the_champion wrote: Yeah but the item being some sort of Football scarf, is bellonging to supporters of a team too obvious?

No, I wouldn't say it's a cliche. If you make out that his Dad wore it to every game, rain or shine, reverently protected it from the pie and bovril stains, which are all too common in football games. It obviously meant something to the guy, so he'd like his son to carry it in his stead.

Sounds good.