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There Might Be Awesome

Posted: Tue Mar 31, 2009 11:49 pm
by Varenna
This is an idea. The idea is:

I will write the beginning of a story. The rest of you are invited to continue it in any fashion you like. These are the rules:

- The story can go anywhere. It can be any genre, any style, in any setting, with any characters. It can even visit Warcraft, although it isn't going to start there. The plot can be whatever it mutates into. These elements can all change at will.

- Anyone can add to it.

- Anyone can add as little or as much as they feel like. Add a paragraph, or several, or a sentence, or stop halfway through one and let the next person pick up where you left off.

- Don't Be A Dick.

- This is my idea, and I hold the retcon bat.

And now we are starting.

Re: There Might Be Awesome

Posted: Tue Mar 31, 2009 11:57 pm
by Varenna
As with many things, it started with a storm and a chase and a darkly lit street.

The neon signs over the doors on the sides of the narrow alley flashed and fizzled as the rain got into their wiring.

Mr. Lobbry pushed his thick glasses up his nose, glanced back at the shadows, and hurried on. He could feel them back there, the way you feel the hand reaching for you out of the glass of the bathroom mirror as you bend, taking your eyes off it just for an instant, to wash your face. They were coming for him.

They were coming for it.

It was in the right pocket of his leather jacket. It was heavy, but not as heavy as the thing in the left pocket.

The thing in his left pocket was a gun. He'd never used it. He wasn't sure he could even lift it.

In the distance he heard a scream. He hurried faster.

Re: There Might Be Awesome

Posted: Thu Apr 02, 2009 7:15 am
by Varenna
~I'm a great idea, post in me~

Re: There Might Be Awesome

Posted: Sat Apr 04, 2009 10:24 pm
by Denne
He rounded a corner and glanced ahead into the next alley, not intending to pause as he spied for relative safety, but he clutched at his chest and slowed against his will. At his age, he wasn't certain which was doing more damage to his heart, the exertion itself or the fact that it was to preserve his own life. Were this a dream, he would have started awake several times by now. There would not be so easy an escape from this.

Trying to make out shapes through his rain-speckled lenses, he spotted what he'd hoped to find. Not a hiding place. That would be offering himself to them, an easy target. What he identified was a door that had been carelessly left propped open, one that was certain to latch behind him and leave no external trace of his passage. Not even guessing at into what kind of establishment he was about to trespass, Mr. Lobbry darted straight within, kicking aside the broken broom handle that had held the door ajar. His glasses began to fog as the last of the dim outside light vanished with the click of the portal's shutting.