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Let's tell a story

Let's tell a story
« on: April 07, 2010, 11:49:39 pm »

I assume you know a game usually played on forums, we have to build a story. Every post has to continue the story from the previous and be open to the next user of the forum. You can make sense or, as the description of the forum says, you can't. You have full liberty to say whatever you want as long as it continues the story, but for avoiding anyone of us writing too much let's follow the following rules:

1.- Ten lines maximum per post.
2.- If you have already participated, you have to wait to three other people to participate, to do so yourself again.

I start:

The corpse was still fresh and the two youngsters were still trying to guess what happened the earlier moment. Michael was about to start crying, and Jason was too shocked to show any emotion. Michael still had the bloody baseball bat in his hands. His father used to hit him, and he was used to it, he had that assimilated as a normal part of his life, but when he tried to harm Michael, he couldn't help it but keep mashing his father's head with the thing that used to be, until that moment, a toy to play with fis best friend. Michael put and end to the silence:

-Jason, did you really had to do it?

Re: Let's tell a story
« Reply #1 on: April 08, 2010, 10:27:47 am »

Michael broke into tears. Jason put his arm around his younger brother's shoulder and tried to walk away from the scene. Michael resisted.

-Is... Is he dead?, he stuttered, shivering.

Jason's silence confirming his fear. He just stared at the lifeless body of his father. Plummeted like a house of cards.

-I didn't mean to. Just wanted to make him feel what I felt. I... I couldn't stop.

Jason cleared his throat.
Re: Let's tell a story
« Reply #2 on: April 14, 2010, 02:23:34 am »

"He was always dead," Jason said in a matter-of-fact tone.

His voice echoed down the hall of the space station, as if the ship itself was agreeing with him.

"Especially lately.  You could just see it in his eyes.  And he could barely get around without his cane."

Reminded of what happened yesterday, Jason furrowed his brow and reached down to rub a bruise on his shin.

"Come on, let's go grab a tarp to cover this up."

Michael reluctantly gave in, and the boys turned to walk down the dark hallway of the station, still sensing its echoes from a moment ago.  To Michael, the station felt alive and breathing; or maybe it was just his adrenaline.

Suddenly, a rustling sound came from behind them at the end of the hall.  Michael snapped around, startled by the sudden interruption.
« Last Edit: April 14, 2010, 02:26:03 am by God at play »

Re: Let's tell a story
« Reply #3 on: April 15, 2010, 10:33:02 am »

A man with a cowboy hat and a fine mustache had just squashed a butt at the end of the corridor.
He looked cold and severe.
-Congratulation Michaël, you just became level 2.
Michael stared at the bloody bat while Jason had a shiver.
The man added :
-Your strengh and abilities had increase. You'll be able to use more powerful items.
They didn't understood.
-What do you mean? This is not a it?
The man lowered his hat and lit another cigarette.
-No, you're right. This is a notgame.

(Sorry again for my bad english, but I love these "exquisite corpes" and I really wanted to participate.)
Re: Let's tell a story
« Reply #4 on: April 15, 2010, 05:42:42 pm »

The drone of the various machines that kept this voyage alive never ceased. It seemed a mockery to Michaël, who seemed incapable of deciding where to look - at the corpse of his father, twisted in a harrowing pose further down the hall, or at the man who with beady eyes stared at him. He forced himself to look at both, flicking his eyes back and forth - the alternative, to withdraw from this scene, into himself, to forget; that was worst of all. That was where the memory was, the look in his father's eyes that never seemed to acknowledge that what Michaël tried to say. When he flicked his eyes and they rested momentarily at the corpse, the glassy, half-closed eyes of his father acknowledged: he had never know what he made his son feel and now, definitively, never would. This goal that Michaël had been working towards had become an illusion, a memory of desire - the man with the cowboy hat seemed almost like... an escape.

The man with the hat took his cigarette, which had not half burned, and flicked it away to some place Michaël's eyes did not follow. "Oh yes, kid," the man laughed, "life's a not game - I can offer you the way out of all your worries - want to play an actual game - do you want to be the hero?"
Jason shook his head. "Don't, Michaël... we- we can fix this. Don't leave us again, don't go... there again... I'd follow and we'd never come back."
« Last Edit: April 15, 2010, 05:45:31 pm by Jeroen D. Stout »
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