I'll write you a story

Mike-O

Mike-O

Active member
I'm bored and want to write.

Give me a prompt and I'll write something quickly.

If people want continuation, say so, otherwise I'll take the next prompt and begin anew.

 
You just found a llama in your oven when you got home from work. There are marks of high heels all around your kitchen, and the remnants of sandwiches made and sandwiches eaten. Solve the mystery.
 
So the year is 1452. Your friend gave you some ganja to smoke, and it seemed weird, but you woke up here after passing out subsequent to eating a feast of Doritos and Cake.

You are definitely not high any more, and you are certain it is 1452. You are in Great Britain.

Aaaaaaannnnnd ACTION.
 
I want a story that leads to me being on top of a mountain in a loin cloth, holding large golden staff with a crystal ball affixed at the top. While an eagle wearing a crown made of the finest jewels in the world is perched on my shoulder. With a sexy blonde babe is holding on to me with her arms wrapped around my body fully enthralled with my presence. Just yelling at the top of my lungs while the clouds open up to beam down the most beautiful, radiant, fingers of sunlight that bounce off of my bronze flawless skin back into the sky, and my hair gets gently tussled by a gentle mountain breeze. Because that is how I feel right now.
 
It was three o' clock in the afternoon and the silent sun subsided behind me, casting a tall shadow from the school's bell tower over the lonesome yard. I noticed I was shivering intensely, but I knew I had to carry on. All those years of shoving, pushing, calling names and being spit on - things were about to change.

I was going to kill that goddamn bully.

I paced around the knee-high fence circling the yard, trying to warm up for my upcoming battle. It wasn't like I hadn't been in fights before, growing up in a bad neighbourhood does that to you. But this was different. It was the first time I wanted to see some blood. I wanted to make someone suffer. The clock rang for the last time and the students scurried on home, towards homework, dinner, hobbies. I squeezed my knuckles harder. The fucker was staring me from behind the corner, beckoning me to follow. I could feel the fury building up inside. All those years, all the pain, the anguish - nothing could make it right. But today, it would all come to an end. I reached down into my back pocket and felt the cold grip of the knife, testing its sharp blade with my fingers. All or nothing.

I sprang to a heart stride, almost leaping across the yard with each coming step. The knife, shining, aching for blood, gripped in my fist. I turned the corner and released my battle shout --- FUCKCKCKCUVKVK

He surprised me and kicked me in the nuts. The pain came as a wave of sadistic rings, throbbing inside me, growing more intense by each passing moment, rolling my eyes and flipping my brain on and off, causing me to vomit fiercely while kneeling on the ground, holding onto what I still believed to have left of my balls. The bully spit on the back of my head, kicked me in the face and took the knife from my hands as I gasped for air.

"Let that be the last time in your life when you try to stand up for shit."

He walked away, brandishing my butterfly edge, and I sobbed alone. I sobbed until the moon passed over me.

 
Milibockers....and he comes from K-Zoo, Michigan...definetly not the ghetto lol.

But i guess your story is more edgy. Also, too add character to the story, add in how he overcame his battle with hard drugs like PCP and heroin.
 
Many interweb tokens will be awarded to the man who can write a story about a skinny white kid guarding kool-aid outside of a grocery store.
 
"You sure this is the way?"

-Just keep on going up the gulch, you can't miss it! But be careful of that ski patrol now, they'll blow you up!

The colorfully mohawked man chuckled loudly as he weered off down the Alta parking lot. We looked at each other, shrugging coarsely, and began trodding up the backcountry hill with an all-too-common death wish.

The minutes turned into hours, turned into days. The wind kept blowing at unnatural speeds, turning our scrubby beards into icicle forests, glazing our eyes shut, bruning our skin, no matter the amount of preparation we had done for this trip. To challenge The One Gap, the one that could not be hit by mere amateurs. We had began our trek with 35 sherpas - now only two were left. The first, Juan Alonso, couldn't speak a single English word, but communicated via signals. The other, shrouded for weeks under a hoodie, remained unknown to us, but we all pressed on towards our ultimate goal, dreaming as we skinned.

Nearly thirty days in, it dawned on us - the legendary site was before us. Luckily, we were treated by a miracle; another crew had been hitting the legendary gap and left their glorious inrun untouched! We pushed on, drawing unto our inner strength of both body and mind to rise to the top of the inrun, just to set sights to a most splendid kicker.

"It's... spectacular...", he said right before collapsing.

"No! NOOO! It's not your time yet! You HAVE TO hit it at least once!"

"...brah... to see it... cough cough.... is... to .. beliiiieve iiit......"

I buried him next to the inrun with the only remaining anonymous sherpa, crossing his skis on top of the mound. I said no prayers - we were on no-God's land now. The sherpa nodded. I replied with a heavy sigh, clicked in and boosted into the inrun.

The immense speed was just a crown on the whole situation; I felt like an eagle dropping into a gale that pushed me forwards with unlimited eagerness. The miles per hour gaining, growing, the speed beneath my skis, my wings, slowly but surely I felt like gaining flight before the kick. The moment. The Truth. I was whisked into the air.

I had no time to react and I was flowing through the air, unable to take in all the sensory data around me, the vastness of the gulch, the enormity of my air and most importantly, the path of my flight. I was going to knuckle. I braced myself for impact, knowing too well what I had been through to get this far, to complete my life's mission as a skier. The landing creeped closer, closer, and

I saw only whiteness around, surrounding me and suffocating all my senses until I realized I was alive, stuck in the pillowy landing of Chad's Gap. I had come this far, lost my best friend in the world, but I had tried god damn it, I had tried. I could feel cold gloves paddling the snow above me - the sherpa had come to my rescue, and he pulled me into the majestic sunlight with ease.

I grazed the valley before me with a bittersweet feel, knowing I had done what I set to do, but how it had taken its toll one me I would not yet know. I turned to the sherpa.

"Well... at least I tried to hit Chad's, right?"

The sherpa seemed baffled, raising his hoodie and revealing himself to be JP Auclair of the Forgotten Force.

"Chad's? Wait... you wanted to hit Chad's? Aww shit... dude, this is the Pyramid Gap. Aww shit... I guess I should've listened more carefully at the briefing... Ha ha ha, well, uhh, no harm done eh?"

I drew my last breath as I died of pure shock in the pristine landing of the Pyramid Gap.

 
"Hello, my dears. What you are about to experience might baffle a few souls here and there, but pay no heed to any fair warnings - you, my loves, are the Dilemma Duo. There is nothing that can stop you from enlightening anyone's day, or night, for that matter. But I ask of you now, would you kindly step into to Room X to solve a dastardly conundrum that has kept the whole of Baltimore Police Department on edge, an unsolved mystery of epic proportions, shaking tits and all?"

-...shut the fuck up, sergeant", McNulty replied.

-Jesus Christ, what was that all about, chief?, Bunk pondered openly.

"Just... just do your fucking jobs alright, and turn the RED NAMES *pooooof* into BLACK ONES... cocksuckers..."

The morbidly obese sergeant turned away from the scene, leaving Jimmy and Bunk on their own. The Miracle Team. The Cigar Pussy Patrol. The Dilemma Duo. Detectives at their finest entered the scene from under the yellow tape.

McNulty stared at the victim for a second. Then he stared at the llama in the oven for almost a whole ten seconds.

"Fuck."

Bunk strolled around the broken plates and sandwiches strewn across the kitchen floor.

"Fuck me."

"Fucking hell", McNulty responded, lighting the scene with his Mag Light. The floor was a creaky one, and an oily one at that. Bunk lit his cigar with matches still soggy from coming into contact with his less-than-hygienic flask.

"The fuck...?"

The llama was a llama, that was for sure. McNulty pointed his right index finger on the floor for Bunk's notion. Bunk noticed the high heel marks all over the kitchen floor.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck."

"Motherfucker...", McNulty said as he hoisted up the heel imprints to the CSI behind him, the camera flashing in his retinas. Turkey, tomato, grilled cheese... The lone shoe with a broken heel could be seen under the oven.

"Well fuck."

They drew a measuring tape from the living room to the borders of the kitchen. A tight heel mark could be seen indenting the floor just there.

"No fucking way."

"MotherFUCK!"

It all became clear to them in an instant. The CSI was trying to keep up with them in logic, but he was a liberal, there was no way.

McNulty signaled and mimicked the woman's, the victim's movements. From preparing a special sandwich to her hubby, a known sandwich-loving man, the woman had gone to lenghts to prepare an ultimate dinner: A Llama Sub, with neck and all. What more could have wet a man's appetite more than a foul beast slain and killed to be his meal, except such a thing with an intact head and the ability of the hunter to mock its former prey while eating its innards. But it had all gone amiss.

They both swooned their heads in unison.

"Fuck."

The woman had tried to left the kitchen, and it had become her demise. The floorboard where her heel had struck was moldy, and her heel had fallen through, causing her to reel back in panic and despair, crying for her lost appendix. In that moment, her already half-prepared sandwiches fell from her grip, causing the olive oil to drip on the floor, sending her into a soaring flight across the kitchen. She saw her end come - the hard corner of the oven grip. Boom, Bam, thank you, Ma'm. The oven had been left open, with the llama head mocking its chef, the preparer of its own barbequed end.

"Motherfucker", Bunk exclaimed.

mcNulty rose up, smiling as another death had been solved by the Deadly Duo.

"...fuck fuck."

 
The numbness subsided from my body as I began to realize my whereabouts. This was definitely not Florida. I had been on some bad trips before, but this one takes the cake by far. I shimmied up from the thorny bush that had ripped my right sleeve into pieces, and I felt like I was in the heat of the desert sun - fucking cottonmouth of the end of days. I hazily remembered Cliff saying something about checkign out the History Channel, about druids and shit, but I think at that moment the entire apartment had been more baked than both os us combined. I started on down the slightly slanted hillside to search for any kind of liquids.

The sight before me was odd to say the least. I had to blink a few times, rubbing my sore, bloodied eyes until the Indica sand was completely strewn from the path of my tunnely vision. At first, the thought seemed absurd. To think that I had only just now seen that shit on History Channel, I pinched myself again, twisted my skin until I almost squeeled in pain. It was not a dream. I was sober now. And I was staring down the moors at the motherfucking Stonehenge.

"...well, Cliff, I'm sure you're still high somewhere, so I'll channel your highdeas. Keep the antenna steady now, son."

I perched towards the setting sun, concentrating on any kind of fucked up notion to get me out of this situation - out of this time, out of this place and out of this ominous feeling that descended over me with every passing second. Then it hit me. I could feel my number one bro-heezy calling me from the other side of time and place.

-Yooo.. dudeeee. What the faaaaaccckkk. I'm weatching you on cable man hahaha and I din't even pay for this shit woooo-ooo...

Annoyed and sober, I knew I had to listen... something deviosuly brilliant was bound to come out of that stoner's mind sooner or later.

I sat there for two hours, listening to mindless babble and with no way out as the dark fields creeped around me. That's when I saw the druids. The torches lighting their darkly-veiled robes as the ascended from the nearby hill post down to their sacred grounds of the stone circle of lore.

-Ha ha ah duude you should totally ask them to make you a portal back here or something, like when you have a doggie door and you leave the food outside but then the raccoon comes and the ghostbusters arent around and you just keep going and looking at the...

Cliff had said it inbetween his mindless babble - the druids, wizards, warlocks of old were my key to get out of this wreteched time. I swallowed what pride I had left, then regurgitated it back up to become my will of fire if things went awry. I walked down towards the stony field.

The chanting got louder the closer I got, but the truth and brewity of it all dawned on me all too soon: they were all high as fuck. Some of the druids were doing helicopters in front of each other, while some had retreated to the circle's outskirts to talk to the gods with the help of the puff puff herb. Most of them were running around, citing premature and childish poems that would later evolve to new heights when cited by modern poets such as Kanye and Lil' Wayne. Now it was horses, carriages, and bosoms - we all now where it evolved. I saw no reason not to fling myself into the midst of these stoney stoners and I brought myself forth with my "magical" Colt lighter in hand.

They gasped, they turned, they shouted, they rejoiced. Their feelings were mixed to say the least, but at least their lingual progress was far enough for me to understand what they were telling me - that they were high as shit.

Seeing no more reason to dwiddle around and nothing that I could learn from these ancestors of mine, lazy fools as they were, I simply told them to "magick" me back into my time. They all gathered around me, chanting "DA CHROOON" over and over again, and in a flash, I had returned back into Cliff's apartment. In front of me was the History Channel, now showing only the grainy snow of no reception, but I knew that I could do this again, for other times, for other centuries. What I held in my hands was the power to change history itself, to make the world as I saw fit, prevent atorcities from ever taking places, making discoveries sooner than later and helping the world evolve over the sullen Dark Ages.

Cliff turned to me sheepishly.

"You want another hit, man?"

I turned the History Channel back on, saw a suitable program, sighed deeply, and took a large, large hit.

 
Write me a story about a day when rises from the ground into the sky for a while, and than decides to go back to normal.
 
You should put together some sort of online collection of all your short stories. I think a lot of us really enjoy them, and your skill to write can never be lost. I think as long as they're interesting, people will like them.
 
It was the high moment of the Third Reich. Many people had pondered the possibilities of time travel, alternate universes and timelines and how and what we as adventurers through time could or could not accomplish. As I inhaled, I could feel his power. He was truly a motivational speaker, one who had seen tragedy in his past and conveyed it so brightly for all the denizens watching below and all over the country. Fuck. Influential or not, I was going to try. I took my finger off the valve and breathed the silvery smoke in in an instant, simultaneously checking that my .45 was in my back holster where it should be. I was going to kill that moustachio'd motherfucker, for better or worse.

I could feel Cliff's ephereal joob mix come into play inside my head. The colours of the apartment started pulsating softly as I exhaled a lungful of da deep purp. I fixated my eyes on the dictator, I could feel my limbs numben and shift into the time at hand, the grand stage of a century. I was ready to do the deed.

- Ey man whattafack its like nine thirty man shit Ancient Aliens is on haha you know with that "is it possible? Yes, aliens!" guy with that fuckinh crazy hair and all that stuff about the pharahosh and planes and pyrami

While Cliff spurred on with his psychoweed babble, I was already phasing through, the process could not be stopped. I tried to scream for him to remain as he was, but I could not utter the words before it was too late. He shut down the TiVo, clicked back into real time and I was launched into another world full of conspiracies, doubts and insane motherfuckers.

Once again, I felt like a dried cob dancing around the desert. This time, I actually was in a desert, staring up at the Great Pyramids. But something was off. on my left, I could see twelve-feet high creatures spotuing fire, talking in tongues filled with sounds and colours embedded in my frontal lobes, making me grasp for my sanity. On my right side, though, I could see a place that was obviously some kind of sound stage for a film production, with lights pointed to it's centre, building a creeping shadow that crawled over me - a shadow more shadowed only over its baffling head of hair. It was that Ancient Aliens host, Giorgio. The alien creatures, resembling nothing short of chimeras of myth, took flight towards me at the same time as G turned his head creepily like an owl to my general direction and began running to me, his head still locked in place while his body moved sluggishly. It made me want to puke and I closed my eyes fearing my inevitable doom.

"Hey there, man! Have you ever thought if it would ACTUALLY be POSSIBLE that there were extraterrestrial visitors on Earth during the ancient times? Sounds like a load of phooey to me, too! But how do you explain these guys!?"

I opened my eyes as I realized both parties had come to a standstill a few feet away from me, leering at me. I glanced at the clinically insane seeming host, and then turned my head vision upwards and left, where the majestic aliens stood before me, blocking the burning sunlight.

"Hey, have you seen Alien? Or Aliens, you know those flicks with that Ripley, chick... what was her name.. umm..."

"Sigourney Weaver?", the shorter, duckfaced alien proclaimed.

"Ah, yeah, yeah, her. Those. Have you seen 'em? Because you can rest assured we're not gonna rape your mouth and lay eggs inside your chest", the taller one claimed.

I galnced at Giorgio, who seemed nothing short of ecstatic of meeting his dream visitors in the flesh instead of being thought as a lunatic rambling about ancient scripture on a channel that was now built more on entertainment value rather than historical importance.

"Uhhh", I thought. "Yeah, I do know those movies. And thank you for the reassurance."

The taller one... smiled, I guess. At least it's six rows of teeth moved from side to side flauntingly.

"Good! Gooood good good. And X-Files too, we're not gonna stick in your ass, nose or brain. Rest assured. We kinda got wind of your assasination plans and had to interfere via Cliff's Ghost Weed."

It all made sense now. They had been using Cliff as a receiver of their information. But why had they stopped me from changing the world for better?

"We are also telepathic, you know", the shorter one sprackled, dividing it's four chins and necksoles repeatedly. Maybe it was a gesture of grace. "You cannot rid the world of any less or more evil by changing the paths of time, my friend. If one falls, another will rise. Cloaked beyond all imagination, a new one will always step up and cause the people of your world destruction, anguish and chaos. But it is the only way for you to learn, to learn how to fight, to take what is yours and defend those rights and beliefs. More will come, but the less you face, the less you would see."

I understood what the creatures before me were saying, while I noticed our dear host had ejaculated multiple times from the sheer presence of the Ones he was trying to prove to have existed. But I knew how this would turn out. Only I would have the knowledge. Only I could be believed, yet I could never stand out and back the claims of the Alien-oriented fellows. I shed a single tear of pity, as I felt the wooziness building up. Both creatures had raised their appendages above my head, chanting, once again of of DA CHRON, whisking me back through time and space itself, stretching the limits of my mind as I felt my body back on Cliff's sofa.

I understood the challenge they had posed me. I could not change the past. I could not harm the future. But I could survey. I could seek the answers that lay hidden beneath the seas, searching for the answers of the Ancients, beckoning me to thrust myself into the deepest riddles of humanity's darkest secrets.

The birth of man.

As Cliff passed out, I grabbed his vaporizer, turned on Animal Planet and closed my eyes.

 
It's 4am so I'm gonna hit the hay. I'll continue something tomorrow, after that maybe Sunday.

But next story you can decide between

a) A story about a skinny white kid guarding kool-aid outside of a grocery store.

b) A sunny park day with friends just taking laps. The best days.

c) The story of a mysterious man at a bus stop

G'night!
 
I love you +k for the lulz while I'm waiting in the hospital. Write me a story about the solid 7 or something
 
This was amazing. well done Mike-O!

I wanna hear a story of your life, something true, but excellently written, :)
 
Characters:

Billiam (Bill)

Timofy (Tim)

Jillicia (Jill)

Plot:

Bill was really horny in school, and it was chicken nugget day. He bet Jill 5 whole fucking dollars that she wouldn't be able to fit a chicken nugget up her pussy. Tim was dating Jill, so he got upset, but understood that Jill needed that 5 dollars as she was addicted to meth and broke, as was he. When Jill stuck the nugget up her pussy, Bill then pulled it out and started fucking her. When Tim tried to interject, Bill would just throw pennies across the room which would occupy Tim for a solid few minutes.

Continue from there

 
(Damn... hahaha, well let's try)

Jonathan Rick Waterson had never been the smartest bull in the pen. Since his earliest memories, he had been the one to take the blame for things not caused by him, the one to stand between authority and actual perpetrators and to act as a scapegoat of sorts to his so-called friends. He had proved to be excellent at this... position. Not because of his sturdy will, as he was weak of mind, not because of his large build, as he was as skinny as they come and definitely not because of his smarts, as he was as dim as dim comes.

Today, his task was to be a lookout for a daring daylight robbery of a KwikMart grocery store located on the outskirts of a ski town in Mammoth, California. He stood behind the makeshift table, apparently selling homemade Kool-Aid for three-fifty a pop to unsuspecting customers coming and going from the store. Little did they know that beneath the tablecloth was enough firepower to take over Sweden in a day, and his duty was to guard it until his "friends", the brains behind the operation would come down from the mountain after a day of shredding and continue their adrenaline fix needs by taking something which was not theirs by ruthless force.

Poor Jonathan did not know that he had been monitored for a good three hours from the bus stop across the street. A mysterious stranger hid in the shadows of his sleuth-like trenchcoat, leering at Waterson from the slit between his coat and deep-brimmed hat, waiting to witness what was about to go down.

"How bout a K-Fed? Or a britney?"

"Naww brah, those are overplayed. How bout a Ray-fed? Or a Jazz Club? Margarita Molly"

"Fuck no, those are even more played that triple swap or Cocoon Tail."

A recreational skier swung by the bickering group of youthful skiers, nearly having a seizure from the combination of large, colourful clothing, the reflection from the mystifying Iridium lenses and the burning glow of the sun on this bluebird day, multiplying the shining rays off of the white-lit snow.

"Excuse me boys, but what on Earth are you prattling about?"

The group of three stopped and turned to face the man in question.

"Oh, uh, were just talking about trick names, for our skis. Like k-fed is when you front swap but pull out blind two sev at the end, and ray-fed is..."

The man was taken aback, his head hurting from the explanations and he decided to take the rest of the day off in lounge while brandishing a much needed, brain-numbing whisky.

"...well that was fucking weird. C'mon, let's go do some laps, just cruise."

The group nodded in unison, turned on the music for their headphones and careened down the narrow side path leading to the terrain park run.

Happy beats added to their sense of rhytm, playing off each others tricks one by one, blasting through the park with wide smiles on their faces. They skipped the larger kickers and proceeded much around, finding transitions to hop to and fro and pump more speed under their sticks. Lipslide here, nosetap there, they were expressing in quick succession how they viewed skiing as a weightless, floating entity, guiding them down the runs with a sense of improvisation, improptu antics and relaxed form. This was their day, their way, how they saw fit to ski. Running trains through the bigger features down onto the mini-park and ripping through the groomered bumps before finally heading to the Slow Area at the bottom of the hill, after almost a full day of lapping the sunny mountain before them.

Still all smiles, the group headed down to the parking lot, taking off their gear. From under the extra-large coatings emerged three slender figures, Mr. Cyan, Mr. Beige and Mr. Aquamarine - three of the most notorious robbers of the 21st century. Not even the CIA, FBI or Homeland Security had a lead on this group of dirty criminals. Who would have suspected a crime wave to rise from an upper middle-class suburbia, caused by three skinny, white freeskiers in their teens? No one, that's for sure.

Their looks turned stern and they motioned each other that it was time to move on. They hopped into their giant truck, capable of holding any large stash of ski equipment, weaponry and loot from their crime sprees. Now, it was nearly empty, but for not too long. They revved the engine and sped off in the direction of the ski town seen in the valley next to the mountainside.

Jonathan stood his ground, trying not to stare under the table, when he was startled by the presence of a man suddenly standing before him. The trenchcoat muffled his voice, causing it to strum eerily in Jonathan's ears.

"You know you can't keep doing this forever, right, boy? Sooner or later, everyone gets caught, caught in bracelets, or caught in a hail of bullets, whichever comes first. Just because your some random white kids doesn't mean they'll never catch on. I caught on, why wouldn't they?"

Jonathan was scared stiff. This was something that had never actually crossed his mind as he was doing what he had to do to be with his friends, even if it meant doing things he didn't enjoy. But he didn't want to die, and the reality of the situation sparked some near-dead brain activity and for thew first time in his life, he would not take it. He would stand up to his peers, and he would live.

The mystery man coughed.

"Scram, kid!"

Jonathan took off with not a moment's hesitance, bustling through the busy sidesreet, bumping into tourists here and there until his lanky form had vanished around the corner, leaving the Kool-Aid stand for the wolves. And the wolves were hungry. The trenchcoated man sidestepped to behind the booth, raised the tablecloth a bit and saw what the poor kid had been guarding - a vast array of black ops grade weaponry, waiting for their rightful owners. But he knew that guns weren't too picky, they were friendly to each and every person who wanted to be their keeper. He could see the robbers' truck approaching and grabbed hold of a M60 heavy machine gun, cocking it in place on the shoddy table and pointing the barrel at the truck.

Mr. Cyan saw him first. "Oh, fuck! It's him!"

Mr. Beige grabbed his 9mm and pointed it out of the window at their to-be assailant. "Who the fuck is it?!"

Mr. Aquamarine tried to steer the truck from the gun's sights in a quick movement, but it was too late. "Don't you fucking know?! It's the one guy in the skiing world you don't fuck with!"

The mysterious man dropped his hat and opened his coat to reveal a full suit of body armor and a very distinct profile.

Mr. Beige shouted in terror. "I don't know him! Who is it?!"

Mr. Cyan exhaled.

"The most notorious robber in the skiing world. The One that Got Away. The Mammoth Marauder! Dirty... Matt... Brogan - the MAN WITHOUT A CHIN!"

"Now now, boys. Pet names are for whippees and best friends. There's only room for one dirty motherfucker in this town! DIE!"

Dirty opened fire with the heavy-duty weapon, tearing the truck into pieces little by little. The group of three, just now enjoying a peaceful day on the ski hill, now met their demise in the hands of a real pro in the art of theft and cunniving and they never stood a chance.

As the smoke and gunpowder remains settled in the air, the mystery man put on his trenchcoat and hat, walking away from the scene like he had never been there. As people corralled into the street looking at what had taken place, he could see poor Jonathan Rick Waterson staring at him from behind the corner, physically and mentally shocked by the event, curling into a near-fetal position as Dirty approached him, afraid for his own life.

He breathed out.

"Listen, kid. One chance. That's all you get in life. You and your friends were dealt a fucking straight flush in life, being born here, a free and beatiful land. You're not fucking gangsters, boy. Don't fuck things up and disgrace those who worked their entire lives to build a future for you by pissing on what they believed in. Take that to heart while you still have a running start, son."

Dirty rose up and walked away into the sunrise, brandishing his deep-brimmed hat, hiding his chinless silhouette from suspecting authorities. Jonathan, while still not all too bright, understood exactly what he had meant.

 


I've always been a winter person, even before I discovered skiing, the white gift from the heavens just offered much more serenity, stillness and a muffled view of the world at large. Jumping into large piles of snow, snowball fights, sliding down sheer ice hills and abandoning all hope, the wintery world was, to me, full of much more opportunities as a child than a slightly dull and warm summer environment in the city. But luckily I didn't have to spend much time there.

Every summer since I can remember, I've headed up to my family's summer cabin situated roughly 300 kilometres Northeast from Helsinki. My father used to work for Solifer, a trailer and caravan manufacturer, and he acquired a very large and luxurious prototype trailer for dirt-cheap when I was younger and we spent our holidays camping in that trailer in small meadow on our family's property. As my aunt passed away in 1994 and left her cabin to my mother, the trailer was passed on to me and my cousin to live in during the summer times. It was a blast.

Having your own "house" from the tender age of eight onwards, separated by a 100 meters from our parents or other family resideing on the property, hidden away in the corner of the meadow underneath a thick concentration of birch trees - it was almost like a treehouse of sorts, with the amazing exception of having our own TVs (two of them), a fridge, microwave, toilet, both "living room" and bedroom areas and the pure feeling of having control and responsibility of taking care of your own place. We had to do all the upkeep on the trailer, cleaning it often, keeping sure the water supply didn't run out, cooking some of our own food, emptying the toilet, which was a visceral experience to say the least the first few times. Imagine two skinny 8-year-old white kids gagging while emptying a week's worth of shit and piss from a slide sludge container into the woods. Filled to the brim, that thing weighed more than the two of us combined.

The trailer, or caravan if you will, became sort of a safe haven for all us kids in the family. I might be romanticizing the place in my head, but that's how I perceived it.

There were eleven of us within a few years of each other, cousins and second cousins, roaming the summer cabin area, swimming in the Saimaa lake to our hearts' content, playing all kinds of sports in the close-by football stadium and raising hell in the nearby swimming stadium of the small, country town. Even so, the caravan served us all as a place of refuge, be it from the summer heat or the summer storms, it was a place filled with laughter, movies, video games, books and comics for good measure. There was something for everyone there, and some of my happiest and funniest memories come from being in that pretty caravan on a mildly hot summer afternoon. But all things, unfortunately, must come to and end.

Cue summer of 2003, end of July. The caravan had served us for many years now. I couldn't sleep in the back anymore with my cousin due to space issues, so we had to split with me sleeping in the front dining area, being less sensitive to light due to the broken sunscreens. Ten years earlier you could have fit all eleven of us in the back, huddled around the TV and waiting for whose turn it was to play the NES. Now, you could barely fit four people in the back, and even then it was getting a bit intimate. The caravan had lost some of its shine as a hangout due to the cramped living conditions.

I was alone in there that day, spending most of my summer sulking and limping around as I had fucked up my ankle in June during a skiing trip to Stryn, Norway. I was lying in the back of the caravan, concentrating on playing Ninja Gaiden on my cousin's Xbox, when I felt something itching around my neck, thinking it was a fly or a mosquito. But then I felt it again, swatting away at something and seeing a large... ant with big-ass wings crawling on the mattress. I had never seen an ant that big, and I thought it was a queen, wondering how it got inside. As I looked at it, I felt something on my head, instinctively swatting away - another one! A huge fucking ant with great wings. What's going on here? Then I felt it again, on my neck, on my lower, on the top of my head, side of my face. I paused the game, swatting away when I looked into the caravan's ceiling.

"What... the... fuck?!" (In Finnish)

The whole ceiling was crawling with these things. Little holes were getting bigger and bigger all over the roof as these fuckers burst their way through after a long, good time they had been hybernating inside the caravan's walls. They were coming from the side walls, from the seams under the floor, like black, swirling masses of crittery doom. I was pretty freaked out for a moment, to say the least. I stood up into the hallway, and saw that it wasn't happening only in the back of the trailer - from every wall, little hole or nook and cranny, they were swarming out, even from the goddamn sink and from behind the fridge. Where the fuck had these things come from?

I shut the svivel door between the hallway and the bedroom, and for some reason grabbed insulation tape out of the closet and sealed it shut, as it was the place where most of the ants were surfacing in. I don't know why I decided to do it, but I grabbed the vacuum cleaner, put it on full suction, ripped the screen door open and started vacuuming those motherfuckers with all my might, gleefully laughing in the process. They kept coming out for a good 20 minutes and I noticed the vacuum bag was getting full, so I quit the power, only to realise that they were climbing back up the vacuum hose. GAH! If you've seen the movie "Arachnophobia", there's a scene where thousands of little spiders emerge from a toilet sink. This was quite similar except these things were FLYING out of the hose, buzzing in my face and mouth. I opened the cleaner, grabbed the back clumisly, ran out and fucking boosted that bag into the forest. Be gone, ye devils.

It turned out that probably for years on end, these ants had built a colony into the walls of the trailer, somehow going completely unnoticed to all of us. They had eaten all of the insulation of the walls, most of it only this spring and summer and fucked up a lot of the circuitry and tubing that connected the gas and electronic heater to the caravan. Needless to say, without insulation, and no viable means to keep it from completely freezing from the inside out during the winter, the caravan, or "Vaunu", wagon, as we cherishingly called it, had met the end of its way. The trash heap gained another fellow object, only to see new life as scrap parts and rust growing on its being.

It had served us on the road, on road trips all over Finland, Sweden, Norway and Denmark. From Legoland to Gröna Lund, it had been a loyal mean of travel for us, before cementing its place for a decade in our hearts - in the beatiful meadow corner underneath the birch trees.

 
Mike-O, have you ever been published? Dear god good sir, start a blog and copy and paste everything from this thread and everything you've written into it. Available to all newschoolers. You've written some gems on here.
 
Hey, thanks a lot. No, I've never been published, but I have a book in the works so maybe someday...

I don't know about a separate blog though, as I feel it could stagnate for a long time if I don't have anything I want to write about.

As for ECB's prompt, I don't know man, I think that story is very "you", you should write it yourself.
 
:(

It is me....I guess I'll work on it

How about I dumb down my mind and give you a more basic prompt?

Road trip to the beach but on the way the car breaks down and something (you choose) crazy happens

Only rule is you must include a creepy gas station attendant named Chad
 
I know exactly where you got this from. I love that scene. The writing in The Wire was so on point.

Haven't read all of the texts yet, but the first few were amazing! I'll read the rest tomorrow after skiing.

Idea: First trip to McDonalds
 
Hell yeah, I only watched the show a few weeks ago for the first time so it's still frsh in my mind, and I saw a great opportunity for a tribute.
 
(Thank you ECB. This turned out to be the best thing I've ever written, at least in my mind. Hope you like it!)

Only two short months ago, Davis Tress had been alone. It was not like he ever went out of his way to avoid people, or was socially challenged, he had just never met anyone who really connected with him on any level deeper than daily small talk or random water cooler discussion. All he saw around him was masses of grey, the norm, hues in a world that should have been filled with full colors. Drones following a written path, leading to bleak futures that himself had been stuck to follow. He didn't want to be like he was, but the more he thought about deviating from the streamlined fates ahead, the more he thought it was already too late for him to be anything else. That was before he met Silvia.

The sun was blazing above them on a high noon, but the wind soaring through them in the convertible made the devastating heat bearable. They were out near the sea, but far from civilization, speeding on. Jacob looked perplexed in the passenger's seat, trying to decide which sunglasses to wear on the beach. Anita tried to keep the joint burning and from flying away onto the country road. Clay was still seemingly suffering from last night's rave, massaging his temples while burying his head inside his shirt. I had been up for two days straight and starting to feel a bit weary, but I couldn't help but smile, staring out to the ocean ahead. Silvia had the wheel, punishing the pedal as we rode at an alarming speed on the slightly curved tarmac road. Her hair was blowing wildly in the wind, unable to be contained by both her lavish attitude and the gales swirling around the car. I couldn't help but notice her green eyes glancing at me from the rear-view mirror, winking as her eyes met mine. These were the moments I had lived for, but never before was able to attain. I was truly happy for the first time in my life. Anita screamed in terror.

"Look out!!!"

Silvia didn't have any time to react. A large white mass rumbled towards us with haunting speed from the hill next to the road and there was no way to avoid collision at this point as we hit it and veered off to the side of the road with way too much speed. It bounced off the hood of the car and for a single moment before losing my consciousness from the crash, I saw what it was all too clearly.

A polar bear. Out of fucking nowhere.

David was walking home from the office, carrying his dull-looking folder, getting ready to spend another evening at home, pondering what went wrong with his life. He dipped into the corner bodega to buy his dinner - microwave pizza and bottle of wine. He was shifting through the wine selection when he noticed a quite colourfully dressed girl in the corner, stuffing a large bottle of vodka under her large, pompously fluffy dress. She saw he saw her misdeed, giving a dramatic gasping noice and placing her hand over her mouth while she walked towards him.

”Oh no! Officer, please, I meant no harm! This… this refreshment is for my poor grandfather, living the last of his days. Soon he’ll be gone, and I want him to have the time of his life before he croaks off! Please forgive me!”

she said coyly while staring at David with puppy, green eyes.

“I… I, uhh, umm, I’m not a..”

She frowned, looking very amused. “I know that, you dummy. But since you’re now an accomplice, how bout we go and drink this anyway, for my grandmother’s sake?”

“I… I thought you said it was your grandpa..”

Her eyes lit up and she smiled deviously. “Ha! You catch on quick! What’s your name? Either way, let’s go already.”

“I… David, wait, where are we..?”

She grabbed David by his sleeve, causing him to drop the folder and his pizza on the floor dinner as she was pulling him out of the store and out into the warm, summer night.

Clay shook David awake. “Are you okay?! Shit, good, you’re fine. Jesus fucking Christ, that was scary. But looks like we’re all fine.

David looked around and saw the others on the side of the road, looking unhurt but seemingly worried about his condition. He looked down, feeling a bit dizzy from the crash, and understood why. His previously white shirt was now drenched in blood, as were his shorts and he could feel the slightly dried blood all over his face and neck. He stood up and looked back to the road and there it was. A gigantic polar bear, or possibly an albino bear, partly decapitated and lying in a pool of its own blood, most of which had spilled on him. On his lap was a broken collar, with small, golden name tag in the shape of an iceberg, with “Nelly” carved into it in cursive. Were there any zoos around here, he thought for a second, before getting up and joining his friends.

“So… that just happened?”

Silvia smirked. “That just happened. The front wheels are busted up as well, probably because that thing weighs a ton.”

David grimaced. “Triple A?”

“No signal, man. Or batteries, it’s not like we’ve carried a charger around for the last few days. But there should be gas station just a short walk from here, we should go check it out, maybe they have a tow truck or a cell to borrow”, Jacob replied.

David was still shook, but saw no other way to handle this right now.

“OK. One of us should probably stay behind and set up a warning triangle back a little ways so no one else hits that thing in the middle of the road. Volunteers? Clay?”

Clay seemed agitated. “…now how the fuck are you going to say ‘Volunteers?’ and then name me anyway in the same breath? Sure, leave the black guy behind, that always works for us in the movies. Fuck you, D. Fuck all of you.”

They all chuckled while Clay took the keys from Silvia and went to open the trunk for the warning sign.

“You best be fucking quick. I’m melting here.”

They waved him a friendly goodbye while he signaled back with a thrust of a certain finger, walking back to the animal carcass. They walked in a brisk pace on the side of the road, with no other cars coming any which way, and no longer what seemed like forty minutes later, they reached the derelict looking gas station.

Jacob looked at the worn-out sign, barely making anything out.

“Chad’s… Automobile Repair… Station and… Bakery Extraordinaire? Well I’m certain it wasn’t the name that killed this joint.”

They all laughed at the notion, but at the same time felt a bit worried as the place seemed a bit too rundown to be operational. It was very large structure, almost as big as the modern gas stations with combined stores and restaurants, with a single, large furnace pipe at the back of the building. It was giving out some smoke, so maybe there was someone still here. They walked in through the big double doors, slightly rusted on their hinges and creating a large creaking noise that bounded throughout the foyer of station. In front of them was the front clerk’s desk with all the shelves empty of any related paraphernalia. On the wide desk was a large cow bell, with a small note attached to it.

David picked up the bell and looked at the note.

“Moo me if you’d… do me? Where are we… Arkansas?”

He started ringing the bell loudly, hiding his friends’ laughter in the echoing entrance hall. As he clanked on the bell for the fifth time, he could feel someone breathing down his neck.

“You rang, Sir?”

They all jumped back in terror, almost bursting out of their skins due to the sudden shock of the man standing behind them. David stumbled back and fell on his ass, nearly suffering a heart attack. He saw a lanky man in front of him, the literal description of a grease monkey, with tattered and oily overalls, some random tools poking out of his pockets and an age-old hat embedded with the logo they had seen just before entering. He looked down to the man’s chest level, seeing a worn out name tag, saying –

“The name’s Chad, ladies and gents. Now, what are you in need of?”

Anita caught her breath first, her mind being the numbest, and told him about what had happened, the others staring on at her explanation while eyeing the creepy gas station attendant. Chad nodded with a slight suspicion.

“Is that so? A polary bear, down all the way here in the warmth? Sounds a bit farfetched, now doesn’t it. Are you’s sure you ain’t playing a fool?”

David stood up, looking at Silvia, thinking about the woman she had learned to love in these past two months. Her flamboyant and quirky attitude, her awareness of the world, her willingness to stray away from the norm – not because she felt it was cool or trendy, but because she didn’t fit any mold. She was a truly a person, someone with a personality that could not be contained and could not suffer through a life in the rat race, better to have been set free and show the way to others like him. That it was still possible to change your life, even in a single day, no matter how far you’d gone off the deep end. She had seen his torment and released him back into the world, back to enjoy the things he needed, craved, and loved. He regained his composure and voiced his opinion.

“Sir, Chad, if you will… it might sound a bit silly, but I think my shirt soaked in that bear’s blood is ample enough evidence to our story, not to mention that something like that… you just can’t make up.”

Chad nestled his dirty moustache between his fingers, rolling the other end to a sharper shape.

“You see, boys and girls, it’s not that I weren’t inclined to believe you, but more of the fact that no longer than ten minutes ago before I parked my van truck before the very entrance you see behind me , I drove past that road… and I saw no car, no man… no white bear.”

They all seemed shocked.

“What do you mean there was no pola… no car, didn’t you see our friend on the side of the road?”, Jacob asked. “Or a warning triangle?”

Chad seemed serious. “I assure you that I saw nothing of the sort, and neither did any of my associates.” He pointed to behind him with his thumb, clenched in a fist, and they saw three similarly clothed men peeking through the few spots in the windows that were not boarded up from the inside. David couldn’t see much, but it seemed as if they were smiling while peering in.

“Now, if you don’t believe me, then I shall offer you a ride back to where you claimed this e-vent happened. Duly noted, that you might not be from around here, see? It could be that you just got a little lost in your purty heads and… misjudged the distance that you walked and the animal that you hit. there have been cases of, how would you say, multiple simultaneous concussions, leading to umm, halluci-nations, as they seem to say.”

Jacob took Anita by the hand.

“Okay, okay. Take us there. I want to see our friend.”

Anita looked scared, but determined. “Yeah, you guys stay here and wait for us, okay? It shouldn’t take long, we’ll find Clay, we just probably walked longer than we thought, we had no way to tell the time.”

Chad opened the door for the couple, prattling on.

“My associates will take you where you need to go. But if you would not mind, little lady, then I would suggest investing in a reliable timepiece, with all your… techno-logical apparatuses down and out for the count, if you understand my patronage”, he said while tapping his eerily long index finger on his worn, leather-strapped wrist watch.

He closed the door behind them and they heard the engine start and the van taking off in the direction they came from. Chad smiled kindly and tapped David on the shoulder and walking to the back of the cafeteria.

“Now! Would you like something to eat while you wait for your friendos to come back?”

Before David could answer Silvia was already on Chad’s heels, turning back to David. “I’m starving, honey. Let’s go grab something Mr. Chaaad is offering us.” She winked and shook her behind playfully, beckoning David to follow, and follow he did.

Chad had prepared them a delicious meal, with freshly baked smoked bread, Wellington-like beef patties and a side of croissants straight out of the oven. He smiled as they dived in.

“Lookie here! You must’ve been starving to chow down with that speed!”

Silvia nodded and tried to say something, but her mouth was too full and she feared she would choke on something if she tried to speak, so she continued stuffing her face with the heart offerings. David chimed in between bites.

“This is truly spectacular, sir. I have to say, I wasn’t expecting this kind of hospitality and feast from a place that looks like sh…”

Chad raised an eyybrow.

“…sh…shuch.. such a remote place on a side road in the middle of nowhere. So, thank you again for this, it’s delicious! This bread, and the beef, they have such a weird, smoky flavor, you must have a very high-end oven to produce something like this.”

“Welp… it’s seen better days, I’ll tell you what. Times are tough all around, you see? And with us being all the way yonder, not too many folk come a-visitin’.”

David gulped while finishing his croissant, almost too eager to bite before swallowing his meal.

“We’re truly thankful of this dinner. When our friends come back, we’ll be sure to purchase a lot more of your *burrrrp* ..oh, excuse me, this is too delicious it seems.”

Chad chuckled nonchalantly.

“Hehehe, well take it easy now, boy! I ain’t seen anyone else chow down grub that fast other than my dear Nelly.”

Chad froze instantaneously. Silvia saw his reaction, unable to put two and two together. Chad frowned and buried his eyebrows.

“Ah, it seems ah’ve said too much. A misstep here and there. That’s what always happens to poor, old Chad. But don’t let me get started on what happens to those who hurt… my… Nelly.”

He sprang at David like a gazelle, throwing the dinner table over. Silvia screamed at their attacker and swung a chair at the gleefully smiling man who was punching her boyfriend. Chad stopped the chair mid-swing, rebounding the chair back into Silvia’s face and knocking her out cold. David tried to struggle, but somehow the nimble man was able to overpower him, squeezing his neck as he gasped for air, starting to see stars whirling in his vision.

Chad kept squeezing hard, not loosening his grip for even a second.

“You know… you really were stupid, weren’t ya… who leaves a black guy alone on a lone, country road… haven’t you seen them movies?”

David blacked out while the man called Chad depriced him of air.

He dreamt of her silky hair blowing in the wind, only to become soaked in the bear’s blood in as she screamed into the void, losing her grip on reality. He woke up sweaty, lying down on his stomach with his hands tied behind his back and his neck and feet somehow fastened to the metallic table under him. He was pricked in the ear and he screamed in agony. Feeling the pain subside, he tried to look around the room. He could see that it was a kitchen, with pots, pans and all kinds of utensils and appliances strewn across the walls on magnetic shelves. And lots of knives, each one bigger than the next, with large, bloodied cleavers attached to the wall, blood still dripping down them. He tried to look behind him and saw Chad, staring down on him.

“Sorry about that, sir. I had to tag you as… unknown… origin. We can’t be feeding just anything we find on the roads to our esteemed guests. Well, if you must no, the food you ate was worth more than a few million bucks, so consider it a going away present, ya hear?”

Chad released David’s neck from the brace and he was able to look around more properly. One of the associates, now dressed in a waiter’s uniform, ran through the kitchen carrying a hooded plate. He opened the door on his right, and as he did, David could see the adjacent, dimly-lit room, with glimpses of prestigious looking men in fine suits, clapping their hands together as dinner was served.

Chad looked very serious, dressed in a chef’s uniform, hat and all, with a thick butcher’s apron on his person, painted all over with both dried and fresh blood.

“That was your little girlfriend, stewed in a pot of cheetah broth and cauliflower, served with a side of rhino toe. She was a fighter, alright, compared to your other friends, a real gladiator. I don’t like to play with my ingredients, but her furor was so strong that I wanted to see how long she lasts before… taking the road to the good home, so to speak. If it’s any consolation to you, her last words were “David, I love you”. I’m partly assuming that this David, is you. So, David, what you stumbled upon today, was quite unfortunate. Unfortunate to you in more ways than one.

He tightened the apron around him and walked to the wall, grabbing a large meat cleaver.

“You see, had it been any other animal, endangered or not, that you happened to bump into, we might have forgiven you and let you go. Hell, maybe your automobile wouldn’t have even broken down and you would have been on your way to wherever and driven just on by our little establishment. But it was Nelly. My prized beast. I grew her up since she was a pup, and actually got her to withgo any feral ways; she saw me as her parent and wouldn’t have ever hurt a hair on my head. You were speeding, you see. My Nelly… was split in half! My beautiful polary bear… for taking her away from me, you have paid the price. The admission and the greatest honor you will ever see in your life, is to be served as skin soup and as a side of appendix marmalade to the leader’s of the Western world.

Chad coughed while sharpening the blade against a leather sheet hanging from the corner stand.

“We as a people, we crave things. Some are attainable, some are not. At least in the view of what they call “the normality”. The way we should live. The way we are taught and brought up to keep on making this ol’ world turning. But you see, it ain’t always been like that. Before any kings, any royalty, democratically elected pre-sii-dent, men in power had just that – unlimited power. Once you’ve had a lick, you can’t go back on it anymore. It’s like a game to them”, Chad said while peeking through the round kitchen window. “If you can have it all, why not have it all? Not just what we see are the limits of reality and consequence of modern society. They want it all. And me, my friend, am here to give them just that. I bid you good day, sir, and I hope there’s a place for you to go.

He lifted the cleaver high in the air, tensing his muscles.

I could see Silvia in front of me, a hallucination, a fickle dream, dancing before my eyes. If I had never met her, I would have never loved. I would have kept droning on, pushing forwards until I was too sickly to live alone, drenched in self-pity and experiencing my last moments in a sickbed in some God-forsaken home for the elderly, without a single soul wishing me back, and without me wishing a single soul to wish me back, either. But I had met her and she had released me from behind the moat that I had created for myself. She had taken me in like a sorry, stray cat from a back alley. She had shown me enough for me to be happy about my life.

Chad swung the knife down.

 
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