Stories

[Spheroid]

Not too many people seem to post original stories on this thread. Last I saw was MalReynold's "A Short Play." Why I'm bringing this up is because I really enjoyed reading what he had written. It's just too bad that hardly anyone posts their stories. This thread is my plan to try and change this.

]Basically post a story of yours on this thread. I'll go first:

Because I'm that sort of person, I need to say that this is a rough draft; it has not been edited once. Also, it was written in one night, and I was lazy on the title. Please enjoy!

The Story

“The world is made up of pixels,” a professor said to his class. “Most pixels are clear. These clear pixels are areas devoid of matter. All objects are made up of lighted pixels. Your eyes pick up the nearest pixel for each spot in a two dimensional range from them.” . . .
On and on the professor went, the students all listening and taking notes. The programmers monitoring the area were laughing hysterically. They were watching their own world with real people, and watching actual people accept the crazy laws of their universe was unbelievable.
These people were all trapped inside a virtual reality machine, which could perfectly emulate real life and more. Many impossible sciences were available to these citizens. Teleportation, shrink rays, and completely immersive video games just to name a few. Other impossibilities were realities too. The only way for any of them to die is from old age. No matter what happens, these people are always insured complete safety and complete freedom. For these people, this was reality, for they had been locked up in the machine since birth, and didn’t know of any other type of life.
Permanent virtual reality has raised many questions in the world. Even though it has engulfed a quarter of Earth’s population, much controversy still exists. Sci-fi analysts still argue that it is suicide to let machines completely rule our lives, but this argument was dismissed by most world leaders because it is impossible to think that man-made devices will turn on humans, especially when they’re programmed not to anything like it.
Although the scientist’s debate has already been adjourned, religion still will not give in. Preacher John Marrows has given this famous speech many times:
“If we allow ourselves to be pulled into this virtual reality, we will destroy all meaning of our lives. There will be no such thing as good or bad deeds. Anything we do to help someone else is something he or she could do on his or her own. Any sins we do are not really sins because they do no harm.”
These words have caused ongoing protests against the technology. It’s shocking to believe that humanity has devised a way to destroy the purpose of life, and is at risk of doing so.
A new argument proposed by the renowned philosopher Harrison Levven has caught the attention of many. Hi s famous words are as follows:
“One main key thing virtual reality provides us with is complete safety and freedom. Before this, safety and freedom were always conflicting; you could never have the full extent of both. This still holds true today. By being in virtual reality, you are surrendering all of your freedom to the machine and its operators. You are giving away more freedom than any other person gave away throughout all of history. The machine controls everything you see, smell, touch, learn, taste, and hear. I beg of you, the people, to please stop the full development of this technology at all costs.”

Of course, as any great thinker could tell you, virtual reality is fated to continue development until it engulfs the globe. Why? – Because they’ve done the same thing countless times beforehand. All the people are doing is surrendering their freedom for something that looks good, yet surrendering freedom is what has put many countries in the past into jeopardy. What might it do to the world?


A professor droned on to his class, “The world is made up of atoms. Most atoms are too spread out to see. They make up the air around you. Objects are made up of more densely packed atoms. Your eyes are able to see this matter because the atoms are close enough together. The color . . .



It might have been a little odd, but it's just a rough draft anyway.

If you post on this thread, please do it for one of the following three reasons:

1. You are posting a story

2. You are giving constructive, non-flaming critisizm to one of the stories.

3. You are giving a good argument to why this kind of thread is a good or bad idea (there is always the copywright issue).

I really would like to hear what people think of this thread. It may be a terrible idea, I don't know.

[Moogy]

one time i went to the

the end

[Mindfields]

[quote="Spheroid"]"...and completely immersive video games just to name a few. Other impossibilities were realities too."[quote]

I really hope that you get the ability to save your games. It'd be just too wierd to be in the restroom, doing your business, while shooting at aliens or piloting fighter jets. Plus think of the mess it would make. Anyways, I'll go ahead and read the rest...
Ok, I'm confused. That should be more of an essay than a story.
I'll post an essay I did last week for English later. It's not the best I've ever done, but it's one that I don't lie in, like the one I did today. The prompt was "Write about a time when you were proud." I wrote about how I got a "700 max combo" on Alpha Helix. I'm not going to post that because it has too many lies in it and I'd look like an idiot. I do it for the grade, not the criticism.

[alainbryden]

Critisizm on moogy's story:

This was a compelling story about a quest of uncertainty. Filled with humour, wit, and ambiguity, yet a very blunt and straightforward tale. It is concise yet gets the point across. An Ideal post in a world of tl-dr's - I rate it "four and a half stars", or, "gtfo/10".

[Mindfields]

Ok, heres my essay titled "How Surroundings Can Effect The Outcome Of Your Life" Once again, I make it for the grade, not the criticsm.

Out of everything that effects our lives, your surroundings make the biggest impact of all. Things such as your neighborhood, cash flow, and up-bringing can set the path of your future.
For instance, a bad neighborhood, or slum, can give you "street smarts", but most of the local schools could give you a bad education, which could give you a bad job, in which you would land right back on the streets. If you grew up with drive-by shootings happening all around you, you would know what to do in that situation, but in that kind of 'hood, you could be the one with the gun.
Unlike the safety skills from a bad neighborhood, if you were raised in a rich, gated community, you wouldn't even know the word "gun". Sure you would have money, a nice house, a nice car, a nice job, and a good education, but what if somebody got pissed off at what you said on "Cribz" or whatever, then you would be looking out your window wondering what that black stick that made loud noises was doing outside your window.

Ok, thats all I got cause I ran out of time and didn't want to work on it anymore...yes, it's because I'm too lazy...

[deltro300111]

Moogy-

1/0- Suckfulness
1220/0- Funk!
.06/0- Something

Final Score..

UNDEFINED! (You win, now go away forever.)

[alainbryden]

I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, deltro, and say that there is a virus on your computer that changes "critical thinking" to "garbage bin" wherever it appears, just to make you look like an ass.

[Tps222]

Hmmm, that story reminded me a bit of I,Robot and The Matrix. It is all completey possible in the future, and could happen to become a situation of freedom. It just looks too much like all the new sci-fi movies today. 7/10

[Spheroid]

Ok, just so everyone is clear, please read the stated rules at the bottom of my first post. That means nothing like deltro's last comment. I would like to ask a mod to delete stuff that doesn't belong here.

Anyway, I'm not going to be giving many opinions on stories because I don't trust my opinion.

btw, the story I wrote actually wasn't an essay, it was a free-write. (and there is a save feature).

Also, no more stories like moogy's. One will be enough.

[Tantric]

This isn't my work, but this is my g/f work...she doesn't know I'm posting this. but i like it so much you guys should read it too...it's a little bloody but that's ok...enjoy...

°Surprise°

Just a short story I wrote... enjoy!

The off-white tile floor was slick and slippery, stained red from the splattered blood. The air in the small bathroom was thick, death hung heavy in the air. The smell of ammonia was strong from being cleaned the previous night, but beneath that the bitter smell of fresh blood lingered, spreading through out the house by way of air vents. Running water from the silver faucet was the only sound save the echo of the girls scream that still rang off the marbled walls.

The white towel was still wrapped around her stiff, pale form though it was now splattered crimson. Her blonde hair was tangled and wet with her own blood. Her right arm was twisted behind her, broken from being held back in the struggle. Her left hand still held the smooth, useless, silver cross, the chain broken from being yanked off the wall. The water from the tub ran over the edge washing the remaining blood away. Her pale blue eyes stared lifeless at the ceiling her last image sketched into her mind.

His footsteps were heard solely by the dead, as he shut the door and walked calmly down the dimly lit hallway, licking his lips in satisfaction.

[jazzmosis]

Since this is an actual good idea for a thread, here's a Fanfic I wrote (based off of Diablo 2) 6-9 months ago. Hopefully there's not a character limit here.

Jalil and His Master


Each one of us knew that eventually our turn would come, that we would be called into action beyond the unexplainable safety of Lut Gholein’s walls. No foe that resided in the desert outside had ever attempted an attack since I had been posted there. Some had come within feet of the entrance, but when we pointed our spears at them they would simply mutter in an inhuman tongue and wander back into the desert.

My comrades before me had worked tirelessly to keep this city safe, and since those battles, it seemed as if my newer comrades and I were unnecessary. There seemed to be an unspoken pact between us and the monsters outside - not to attack unless the heroes hired us to go into their turf. It was never the other way around.


One by one, I had watched some of my comrades get hired by these heroes. Warriors, knights, sorceresses - they came in all forms. Occasionally, these champions of combat would come back to Lut Gholein through their mysterious portals, or through the ancient waypoint nested in the city square. But more often than not, they informed our commander that the fighter they hired had died. Some of them died in ways simply unimaginable to me. We came to loathe being hired, but we knew it was why our commander stationed us here. Naturally, my comrades and I knew that eventually we would all be called on to fight.


And when my day arrived, I didn’t know how to react. A small team of heroes marched into the city, coming from the Rogue’s Encampment. One visited the commander, inquiring about mercenaries. She was beautiful, to say the least. She had long, flowing hair that was hidden only by a metal cap. She was shorter than I, and her crisp brown skin had remained soft despite the harsh sun and brutal battles she had faced previously. Her armour was rustic - a silver, interwoven protector that covered her torso. In her hands she grasped an enchanted staff that was nearly as tall as she was. And her eyes - her glorious sky blue eyes gave me hope for the salvation of good. She stood firm and commanding - almost intimidating. What gave her innocence away was the gentle smile on her smooth lips. She was perfect. Her name was Flazie. And when she selected me, out of the ten or so of us standing around - my heart skipped a beat.

“What’s your name?” she asked, her voice soft and soothing to the ears.

“Jalil,” I responded, feeling myself relax in her presence.

“What is your specialty?”

“I know a freezing aura. Slows the enemies down as they approach us.”

“Fantastic. You’ll come in handy.”


And so we had met. She was an incredible woman - fearless and beautiful. I followed her as she went through town, from merchant to merchant.

“What armour do you have, Jalil?” She asked, looking at my ragged clothes.
“Just these.” I responded, looking to the sand beneath my feet.

“Nonsense. You won’t last two seconds in that.” She commented, and pointed at some armour the merchant was displaying. She handed it to me, complete with a metal cap for my head. “This is for you. Put it on.”

I looked at what my new master had bought me. The armour was incredible, the sunlight gleaming off it’s polished surface. As quickly as I could, I dressed myself in it. “Thank you.” I said, surprised at her instant generosity.

“Speak nothing of it, Jalil. The monsters drop hefty amounts of gold upon death.” She remarked, and then faced me. “How about your weapon?”

“I use this.” I handed her my spear. “It’s all I’ve ever been trained with.”

“This is trash.” She piped, and threw it away. She approached another merchant, and promptly bought me a new spear. It was made of harder wood, and the tip was a sharp metal. As I put my hands around the spear, a quick rush of energy entered my body, my blood warmed, and small pieces of static skipped off of the spear, dissipating into the desert air.

“Is it enchanted?” I asked, perplexed.

“Yes. It will help you kill stronger enemies by sending an electrical shock when you strike them.”

I admired the weapon as she met up with the other heroes.

As they spoke amongst each other and walked through to the city square, I admired my master. She walked so soft on the sand, barely leaving a footprint. Her long, brown hair wisped in the air, caressing the exposed part of her neck and massaging her shoulders gently. And in an instant, she took me into the desert, complete with the other warriors.

At first the light of the sun overwhelmed me - I had never ventured far from Lut Gholein’s outer walls, where there was shade to hide near and keep us cool. Out in the barren desert, the sun beat down on myself and those who accompanied me. There was no shade, no city walls to keep me safe. It was just the team and I, alone.

The first set of enemies approached - small little creatures that walked on four legs, and jumped around the heroes, snapping their teeth and waving their front claws at us. I was reluctant to attack at first, watching in awe as my master released a cryptic orb of ice that killed one immediately. With that show of confidence, I attacked another, driving my spear through its back - my first kill.

From there the team of heroes travelled, with me always near Flazie’s side. When we rested in the desert at nights, she would tell me tales of the battles near the Rogue’s Monastery in the west. Each story she told me was fascinating - she had lived a life of heroism I could only dream of.

She and the team wandered farther and farther into the desert, new enemies attacking and failing as they travelled. Tirelessly they pressed on, stopping to rest only when absolutely necessary. I killed when I had to, but to the rest of the team I was but an extension of my master’s body. And I was no match for her. I watched her fight each day, marvelling at her exquisite form. I tried to emulate her, to learn what made her that much more superior to the creatures we faced. The nights when the heroes rested and Flazie kept watch for enemies, I stayed awake to accompany her. Perhaps it was my pride, or my growing dependence on her presence, but I could never sleep when she was keeping watch. Each night we talked endlessly, as our relationship grew from a simple mercenary and his master to a friendship. She told me tales of the Rogues heroism in the west, the sad fate of their monastery, and her exploits against the demon known as Andariel. I listened intently to every story, every word. I delighted in her stories - she had seen a world I would never know. I would watch the words roll off her tongue, her innocent smile when she looked at me, the way her hair flowed down her shoulders when she removed her cap - it was heavenly.

Over the months we fought, making periodic trips back to Lut Gholein through the portals and the waypoints the heroes found in the desert, I grew to love Flazie. I knew that I would never have her for a wife. How could I? What did I have to offer? I was unskilled and unimportant to her survival. I was nothing but another faceless ally - one she had undoubtedly seen many of through her travels with the other heroes. So I never told her how I felt, content with just the friendship her and I had. I had been blessed to know her, let alone fight for her.

It was the day that a strange darkness overcame a ruined city the heroes and I were exploring that I first felt fear for my own survival. I had heard of my comrades dying out here, but I had yet to see any of their corpses in the sand. It was that day that I saw the first one. The group casually dismissed his death, one of them even searching his rotting carcass to find anything of value. I pushed him away, angered.

“Leave him be! His soul has suffered enough!” I yelled at the large hero, who sported the largest axe I’d ever seen in my life.

“Shut up, you. Go help your master.” He retorted, pushing me away and resuming his desecration of my comrade’s belongings.

I turned away and held back tears, trying to irradicate the image of my own comrade’s torn stomach spilling and drying in the sun. I went to Flazie, hoping to find comfort in her voice, her looks.

“What’s wrong, Jalil?” She asked, sensing the pain on my face.

“It’s nothing. . .” I responded, looking to the ground.

“Is it Cargel searching your dead friend?”

“Yes.” I wanted to mourn my lost comrade, to bury him. But I couldn’t.

“I’m sorry, Jalil.” Flazie said, putting her hand on my shoulder. “We lose friends and comrades sometimes. It is the price we pay in fighting for the Light.”

Her words, and her touch, soothed me so. Letting a single tear fall down my cheek, and feeling her hand wipe it away, would have given me the strength to overcome any foe in the desert. But she clutched me, wrapping her arms around my body, holding me against her in a sympathetic hug.

“It’ll be okay - I promise.” She whispered calmly. “You have been more help then you’ll ever know.”

How I loved her. How much joy she gave me in such a dark time will remain the biggest secret of my life.


We searched the abandoned city, until we found a temple hidden outside the ruins. Two stone snake statues stood over the entrance, but the heroes ventured in fearlessly. I followed my lover in, scared to face the evil inside, but afraid to face the desert without her.

Ungodly creatures attacked in every hallway, snakes, skeletons, apparitions, and gigantic, raven-faced summoners that brought the skeletons back from their ruins.

The heroes overcame them all, some sustaining minor injuries. Together we went through the temple, cleansing it from the foes, until we found the staircase leading to the deeper level.

The heroes raged through, screaming and battling an onslaught of snakes and skeletons. There must have been more than fifty in that small chamber. They attacked relentlessly, striking at the heroes flesh, and nearly killing the warrior with the axe. We managed to break through the wall of enemies, fighting towards the centre of the chamber. I followed Flazie, attacking anything that came near her.

It was when the heroes attacked the enchanted snakes known as “Claw Vipers” that all hell broke loose. Each strike the heroes landed, the champion of the Claw Vipers known by ancient scriptures as Fangskin released a spray of lightning bolts, bolts so powerful that it burned bones on contact. I, with the heroes, fought the snake, each bolt that struck my body weakening me. And when the final blow struck Fangskin, he exploded.

The heroes survived, although the axed warrior sustained critical injuries and was rushed to open a portal and find the healer in Lut Gholein.

I staggered, the other heroes jumping into the portal after gathering the amulet they sought. Flazie, my lover, was about to enter when she saw me, stumbling around the chamber.

“Are you okay, Jalil?” She asked, her soft voice echoing gently off the walls.

“I’m sorry. . .” I gasped, turning to face her. She put her hand to her mouth at the sight of me.

Piercing my chest was one of the destroyed creature’s long fangs. The sharp fang had broken my armour, and had broken many of my ribs. I felt no pain - I was in too much shock to feel pain.

“By the Light!” My master exclaimed as she hurried to my side. I fell to my knees beside her. “Jalil! Hold on Jalil!”

I watched her hands scramble to her belt and pull out a potion filled with red liquid.

“I’m sorry. . .” I repeated.

She poured the potion down my mouth. “Don’t die, Jalil! Hold on! Hold on to the power of the Light!”

I reached my hand out for hers. She grasped my hand tightly, and I dropped onto my back. “Flazie. . . it pierced my heart.”

“Don’t die, Jalil! No, please, don’t die!” She shrieked, pulling out another potion.

“It’s okay.” I responded, my voice faint. “I could have never asked for a better life.”

I saw her blue eyes well up with water, as she shook her head. “I won’t let you die. These potions will heal you. Please!”

I knew it was too late for me, but I no longer feared dying. “Knowing you has been blessing in my simple life, Flazie. I now know why the Light put me on this world. . . thank. . .you.”

She wrapped her hands tightly around my body. My vision became blurry and I could feel blood filling in my lungs. “I need you, Jalil.” She wept.

I used my last strength to hold her to me, until I passed from that world.

My love wept over my passing away. She carried my body through the portal, and took it to a small corner of Lut Gholein, where I was buried. Flazie mourned my passing, before leaving to fight for the good of the Light once again.

I never feared my death when I was with her. I know that the Light gave me her tears to ease my passing. I was never her equal, but now, even after the desert was cleansed by her group of heroes and they travelled to Kurast to fight once again, every now and then she takes a boat back and stops by my grave.

How I love her, even in my passing.

[Omeganitros]

I could learn to love this thread.

[Tantric]

I have a question, I wrote a rape story a couple months ago, but the only problem is that is has some language and sexuall things in it...would it be ok if I posted it anyways?

[Mindfields]

Most likely, yes, but only if it's REALLY good. The one you already posted was a little too short and didn't really lead anywhere, y'know? It looked like more of a scene from a Keanu Reeves film.
Jazz, a story based on a video game? That's intelligent? If I had known this I would stop doing...cruches or whatever I'm doing and get to work...

[djshox]

I don't know if this a story or not but I thought I should post it anyways from my journal:

Unleashed

Is it peace you seek at night when your body's weak?
Is it something that compels you to live?
Is it the essence of existence that drives you?

The wars of hearts are over, mine is overcome. My soulful existence retreats into a darkness of security and protection against all that dare try and break my walls. It is the night that I long for tears and isolation as of now. My attachment to a force exterioral of my body has evolved into my opponent and enemy in this battle of philosophical and human proportions. The ghost of comfortability and compassion is haunting my mind, and I'm isolated and alone against the ghost of an experience I once adored. For the first time in my life, I am stronger than ever and weaker as a result. Crying my eyes to sleep, and growing mentally each day faster and faster, it's a continual growing cycle now. I'm being educated of my errors and I'm perfecting any weakness, no one shall have my soul..

They can't have me, I'm not made for them. I'm not what they want, they want something contemporary, I can only give compassion and beauty in my life. I can give all that is wonderful and precious, something that the human race adores beyond all others. I can give love, I can give strength, I can give life, and I can give the gift of a thousand generations. I was like a man about to commit suicide, trying to get his lost love's attention once again. I was desperate for something warm, for something comforting, but now I'm independent and I'm a stronghold of defense and purpose. I am a man, of unbelievable human strength, and I am a man, of purpose.

Do you cry your eyes asleep?
Is it peace you seek at night when your body's weak?
Did it leave you with the scars, of a war-torn ravaged heart?
Do you cry...

[JARSInc]

the first story sounds a lot like this book i read once: Pendragon.
it was like the fourth in a series and these people sit in vr their whole lives and disregard their real planet and it falls apart
its also like matrix

[jazzmosis]

Here's another one I wrote: It's called: Because You Said. . .

Who are you to say I can’t?
You’ll see, one day, you’ll see me. And when that day comes, you won’t know what to say. I’ll have proved you all wrong.
The kid that nobody wanted, you remember him, don’t you? Always chewing gum, he was. Never took anything seriously, they all said.
I remember when I was but 15 years, all alone in the world, parents given up long ago, teachers watching me fail, telling me not to cut class. To stop wasting my life on an activity that will get me nowhere.
But here I am, 10 years after those non-believers said I couldn’t. Detached from reality? I wouldn’t say so. I am a performer, giving people what they desire, filling their minds with vibrations no other can fulfill. I stand alone in the world, in front of the masses, and play.
Not an instrument, but a life. I have no stage, no hall, no studio, not even a street corner. I don’t even have a room to call my own. But I play. And I play and I please.
There are those who stand in my way - and I knock them down. There are those push me back - and I trip them up. I get hurt, but I play. And who’s to say I can’t?
It is not a sport, but a life. And I’m the best.
I have no name, but I do not desire such definitions. If you are locked by terms, you may simply call me ‘Best’. For that is what I am.
My travels take me far, the money I earn not enough to live. When the day comes and I die, they will all know they were wrong.
I came from nothing, from a dead-end, to a world of practice. And now I fight.
Yet I am only 130 pounds, and 5'2. But I am the best.
Who were you to say I couldn’t?

[Mindfields]

Very good little article, Jazz!
You're talking about basketball, aren't you?
It sounds to me like that new commercial for Air Jordans or Nike...or Gatorade, I don't remember...but it has this kid sitting on a step infront of an apartment, and he's talking about Michael Jordan.
Anyways, it was good.

[jazzmosis]

Thanks - but I'm not talking about basketball.

"It is not a sport, but a life."

Not sports. It is something though - I don't write purposeless dribble.

[Mindfields]

Who said basketball was just a sport?
You're limiting your mind, jazz
:(

[jazzmosis]

Er. No. That piece is written in a very explicit tone, so while Best doesn't say what he's the best at, he/she definely says what it is they are not doing. And specifically stated that they are the best at something that is not a sport or an instrument. But this consumes their life.

It's you who's limiting your mind. Readily accepting a solution when it's wrong.

(I know a sound like a jerk here, but I'm just stating the riddle of the story).

[Mindfields]

Ok, fine you win. But basketball can still be more than a sport...I like basketball...

[jazzmosis]

There's nothing wrong with basketball - and hell, I know that sports can grow beyond what they are (baseball is my life, so I can relate), but in the context of that story, it's not any sport.

[Tantric]

This is a poem...I'm more of a poem writer but this is a story...kinda...

The Last Night

About football...my last football night...
written10/22/04

The Last Night

We arrived back at school
And everyones acting like a fool
Not caring or complaining
But I knew something was wrong
I look at myself one last time in the mirror
Suddenly the tears fall down
And no one knows why.
When they tell us were out,
Thats when they figured me out
And now all us guys
Break down not knowing it was our last
I cant breathe
I barely stand
Stop hitting me so hard
The words hit me so hard
That it took a part of me
Now it's a hole of memories
Never forgotten
I sit there not wanting to ever undress
Unless I can go back
But it's not!
It's so hard to give a part of you away forever
We say our goodbyes and thanks
Only making me breathless and numb
I cant breathe
I barely stand
Stop hitting me so hard
The words hit me so hard
That it took a part of me
Now it's a hole of memories
Never forgotten
Everything I've lived for and
Everything I've worked for
Was all gone that thursday night
I've sacraficed a lot in my years
Not knowing it would end on this note
I cant breathe
I barely stand
Stop hitting me so hard
The words hit me so hard
That it took a part of me
Now it's a hole of memories
Never forgotten

[The_Q]

I know it's plagerism, I know it's illegal, and I know I shouldn't have done it, but I needed a good intro to this story. I wrote it for the love of it. I've got another one for class that I might post later. Other than that, this story is rather clever. At least, I think so.

____


Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun.
Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-eight thousand miles is an utterly insignificant little blue-green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea.
This planet has-or rather had-a problem, which was this: most of the people living on it were unhappy for pretty much of the time. Many solutions were suggested for this problem, but most of these were largely concerned with the movements of small green pieces of paper, which is odd because, on the whole, it wasn’t the small green pieces of paper that were unhappy.
And so the problem remained; lots of the people were mean, and most of them were miserable, even the ones with the digital watches.
And then, one Thursday, slightly over two thousand years after one man had been nailed to a tree for saying how great it would be to be nice to people for a change, a girl sitting on her own in a small café in Chicago suddenly realized what it was that had been going wrong all this time, and she finally knew how the world could be made a good and happy place. This time it was right, it would work, and no one would have to get nailed to anything.
Sadly, however, before she could get to a phone to tell anyone about it, the planet was obliterated in an improbably stupid catastrophe.
This is not her story. It is her cousin’s and it took place several decades before this rather unfortunate incident.

Ms. McMahon’s Second Grade Class filed into line for lunch. Every single one of the little buggers was squirming so much you could have expected a small army of ants crawling up their underwear wouldn’t cause as much of a ruckus as simply standing in “line.”
Four in particular were jumping about and laughing loudly at each other’s antics. Each one of them was slightly tall for their age allowing more room for their egos in their added height.

Mick had a very strange craving for the oddest thing today: a sandwich, a very healthy sandwich. The first half of the day he did nothing but dismiss the idea and joke with his friends to help keep his mind off of the topic. Eventually, the sandwich-lust grew to a point where it just had to be fulfilled and caused his quirky genius (or what he considered to be genius) to burst through the barrier of the restricting regime known as “elementary school.”
“Guys, we need to get some real food,” he whispered across the table. Sully leaned in closely to see if he could translate this information in to military terms. Jason did a good job of keeping his little red head out of the whole situation. “I know for a fact that Mr. Butler keeps his food in a tiny ‘fridge down in the teacher’s lounge.”
“Oh, there’s no way we’re going for that, man,” cried out Joe. “You know that we couldn’t get in and out of there without at least three detention slips a piece. I’m not talking a homework pass, here; I’m talking the real deal!”
Jason slid down the lunch bench and poked at his rubber meatloaf. “He’s right, the Green Slips are never good,” he replies.
Talk of the matter died down for a few minutes before the idea was brought up again. Sully made a satisfied grin and nodded to Mick. “Ok, so we’d need to spring a spec ops mission against this so called “Lounge” by launching an immediate offensive. Best time of attack: now.”
Mick grinned back and stood up to leave the crowded cafeteria and managed to get caught in the arm by an “administrator” just as he got his butt off of the seat.
Jason poked his meatloaf again. “Told you it wasn’t a good idea.”

Mick returned five eternities later (60 seconds times 5 eternities equals 5 minutes) with two small green slips in his hand. Slowly, he took his seat and glared at Jason for a long while. “Ok, so we really need to go now, just to spite them. Here’s the plan.” All ears listened intently to what they thought was probably one of the greatest heist schemes ever devised in the history of the known world. They thought rightly.
After a good 5 eternities of combined planning and silence-not to mention meatloaf prodding- the group all stood up at once. The ensuing confusion of the matter caused every child at every table in the cafeteria to stand and begin the routine of leaving the cafeteria. Mick could do little else but chuckle as he and his team managed to slide through the crowd and into the hallway where he could make his way to the teacher’s lounge.
The open hallway was a blank void, nothing on any of the walls. Nothing that would vaguely resemble importance, that is. It being a school, posters of deformed animals and poorly written cards littered the walls with their bright glitter and poorly matched color scheme. It was truly a sight to be feared. The hall extended several thousand feet in one direction and only spanned 5 feet.
“Ok,” whispered Mick in his hushed voice. The walls had ears. Or rather, the walls wore unicorns with claws which had glittered ears on them. “Ok, we just need to get down to this hallway. The teacher’s lounge is on the other side down there. If we don’t want to…” he was interrupted by an abrupt opening of a door. An hour passed as the foot sluggishly crashed onto the floor and the body attached to it followed. The four boys darted into different alcoves in the hall and hid while the faculty member passed.
The theme to Mission Impossible was softly hummed in Jason’s corner. Sully brought up the bass line in his own. One by one each of the boys took up a part for the song while the waited for the coast to clear.
Mick, the last to pick up his part (the melody, of course) scrambled up a wall that was coated in Elmer’s and pushed his way into the fake ceiling. When everything was clear, Sully sidled through the hall to the door of the lounge, waving his teammates along as he went. Several more eternities passed as both teams slowly made their way to the teacher’s lounge, pausing to hum the flute line when necessary.

Ms. McMahon heard a rustling outside of the door and went to investigate. Three of her favorite-rather, least troublesome- children were sneaking outside the door. Quick to react on her sense of sadism, she pounced on the opportunity to cause the boys as much trouble as possible.
“Joseph! Jason! Ezekiel Sullivan! What are you doing out of lunch on the wrong side of the school?” she projected at the trio. Sully flushed bright red and the other boys proceeded to begin fits of giggling. Jason tried to sidestep his way out of the situation but only got more attention from the stern educator which caused him to giggle even more.
Sully calmly began to explain himself. “Sorry, Ms. McMan but…”
“It’s McMahon.”
“McMahon. We just had to go use the restroom and…well, you know the sinks and how they’re so tall. We just wanted to help each other reaching them,” he lied, hoping that she wouldn’t see through the obvious attempt at drawing her attention from the truth.
“Ezekiel, you can very well reach the sink yourself. I’m sure the other boys can reach it too.” Joe burst into hysterical laughter, causing Sully to glare back at him. Jason sidestepped further until his ear got caught on a rather sharp fingernail that came from above him.
The excuses and bickering, giggling and glaring continued for quite a while longer and got all three boys two tiny green slips each. All of them were delighted to accept the offer of such papers.

Mick heard Witch McMahon starting to scold his companions and lowered himself down through the missing panel in the ceiling. The duct tape he was using as a rope was nothing less than perfectly secure. Slowly, he slid down the tape rope to the mini-fridge which contained his treasure.
Once he was on the floor he snuck over to the fridge and opened it slowly, just as Sully was explaining the truth about their excursion to the restroom. The light from the tiny bulb illuminated the brown sacks and one red cylinder in the box. Instantly, his eyes glazed over in delight.
Quickly, he stuffed the cylinder into his pants and grabbed two of the sacks and scaled the rope of tape once more, clenching the bags of food in his teeth. After the longest climb of his life, he pulled the tape back up the hole, replaced the panel and the tape (which was holding the panel in place due to a certain janitor’s lack of responsibility) and scurried back to his classroom where he met up with his buddies. His breath was heavy and stained with the scent of roast beef and Italian dressing. The goods were sufficiently hidden in his backpack and the beverage was stored in the crotch of his pants.

Later that day, all four boys reported after school for double-detention, exchanging their tiny green pieces of paper for a half hour of entertainment. The very moment the “supervising” administrator nodded into her sleep Mick pulled his quarry out from his book bag. All eight eyes sparkled at the sight of their activity for the next thirty minutes.
“You managed to get us two?” Joe half-yelled in amazement when the bags were taken out of hiding. “That’s impossible! Simply impossible!”
“You’re looking at improbable, my friend, but not impossible,” Mick replied cockily while distributing the food.
All four boys managed to eat their fill of health food and crackers before being shooed off by the awakened administrator. Mick didn’t leave.
Silently, Mick walked up to the administrator and dug the soda out of his pants and grinned. “Thanks for the double-detention. Wouldn’ta worked without ya’.”

_______

Good read, no?

Q

[Loverofstories]

go to chit-chat i wrote a story and a poll for it

[MalReynolds]

I tried a different writing style for this. It's a short narrative, using sentences that are breif, but convey the story.

"Six Ounces"

The weight of a gun is measurable. I’d guess around five pounds, but then again, I’d never really taken the time to weigh one. I figure a bullet is slightly more immeasurable. Weighs an ounce. No, no… Less than an ounce. It takes less than an ounce to tear your skin apart, sever muscle, char nerve, penetrate organ and leave a gaping exit wound. Now, that’s why I call a bullet a true, everyday miracle.

All it takes is one.

All Sheller needed was one.

Hell, all I needed was one. One to the back, one to the chest, one to the thigh and I was finished. We were all more than human that day. Huddled behind our boxes, we were weak. Masses of fear and filth, all fighting for the same prize. Our lives.

And the briefcase.

The five pounds in my hand, the five pounds in his, and Jack… Jack was sitting in the office nursing his stomach. He bought his ticket first. I’d have to thank him later for getting shot first. Thank him, and leave. There was no room for second place in this game.

Currently, my gun weighed five pounds six ounces. I looked up over the box, scanning the catwalk. I looked over to the office, and Jack saw me.

“GODDAMN MOTHER****ER!”

His gun went off, shattering the window and digging a bullet into the box in front of me.

“Ah, ****.” No thanks for him, I decided, ducking back down.

Jack was crying in the office now, saying something about his wife. He wasn’t ****in’ married. Sheller knew better. But then again, Sheller had ****ed us all, hadn’t he?

From across the warehouse, I heard Sheller’s distinct drawl.

“Jack, will you just hurry the hell up and stop your cryin’?”

I smiled. If anything, Sheller didn’t think before he spoke. He lost the element of surprise. I knew where he was now, more or less. He was by the sliding door, and the briefcase sat on the box in the middle: directly across from the office window, directly across from Sheller’s position, and directly across from mine.

I raised my gun over my box and fired blindly across the warehouse, hoping to just draw a reaction out of Sheller. Get him to tell me where he was.

“Hoo, cowboy! Your gonna have to shoot a hell of a lot better than that if you wanna’ hit my rosey ass!”

Five ounces.

“Someone call an ambulance… Sheller! Call an ambulance, for the love of god please call one I’m dying here…” It was sad. He was calling for the devil to send him to heaven. It’s just something that wasn’t gonna happen.

His crying stopped. I was relieved. He was gone.

It was his turn to shoot. I’ll be damned if he didn’t hit the box next to me. I crawled over and fired a shot from behind that box.

Four ounces.

He was playing into my hands like a mother****er.

He fired again. Hell if he didn’t think I was behind the wrong box. I slowly crawled to the office, which jutted out from the wall. He shot at the box again.

I slinked across the floor, trying not to hit discarded cans and screws. He shot again, but this time it sounded different. Sheller hit the box again, though.

I put my back against the row of boxes that Sheller was held up behind.

I turned quickly, and fired a shot straight down the line. He wasn’t there.

****. Three ounces.

Now I know why the shot sounded so ****ING off. It was coming from a different place. He was making his way across the warehouse at the same damn time.

I smiled. He didn’t have the office on his side. And if he was being as careful as I was, he would be right out in the open.

I rolled out in front of the office, and Sheller was waiting for me. All the way on the other side, only the box with the briefcase on it between us.

He fired once, and it shattered the other window behind me. I had always before thought it had been some kind of joke when authors would put into their stories that there was a hot wind that rushed past their cheek as a bullet passed, but I’ll be damned if it ain’t true.

I fired once, and the slug tore into his shoulder.

Two ounces.

"Well played, Cowboy..."

"Sheller... Shut the **** up."

I fired again, and his eye disappeared.

I can honestly say there has been nothing quite as satisfying as shooting that ****er in the head.

He slumped against the wall. I turned, smiling as his body hit the floor, the wound in his head leaving a red trail down the gray concrete wall.

You couldn’t have made me happier if you tried. And I still had an ounce to spare.

I stood up, walked over to the briefcase and picked it up.

I winced as another shot went off. I froze. I waited for the pain to take me. It didn’t... The bullet hit the case.

Jack was up.

Jack went down again as I used the last ounce to silence him.

I opened the case. There were two in there. Filliberti plates, steel engraved plates that the mint uses to roll hundred dollar bills off the presses. You could be a rich man with a set of these.

And here mine were, with a fine bullet denting both of them.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

Hell, it was so damn funny, I was still laughing when they slapped the cuffs on.

----

Mal

[Spheroid]

Unfortunately, I haven't had time to read through all of the stories on this thread yet, but I'm glad it's become a sucess. Thanks to everyone who posted a story.

Here's a short story I wrote one night for a school free writing assignment. It's is still a rough draft, and I don't even particularly think it's good, but I still hope you enjoy it.

I shared this at school once for a read and critique day because I thought it would be fun to read this as fast as I could. I got mostly positive feedback, but that might have been because no one was actually able to hear what was going on. It does sound better when read quickly.

A Piece of Life: A vs. B vs. C

A walks up to B and asks why he’s a B and not an A, to which B replies by stating he likes the B’s, and not the A’s. A then lists why the A’s are better than the B’s, but B remains a B.

The next day, A and a group of A’s walk up to B and ask him why he’s a B and not an A, to which B replies by stating he likes the B’s and not the A’s. The A’s get mad and question his beliefs, making him feel like an outcast, so B turns A.

The next day, a group of B’s walk up to B and ask why he’s an A, to which B replies by stating he likes the A’s but not the B’s. The B’s are angered, so they list why B is better than A, so B turns B, not without the A’s watching. Once the B’s had left, the A’s went up to B and asked him what he had just done, to which B had no reply, so B turns A.

The next day, the group of B’s walk up to B and ask why he’s now an A and not a B, to which B had no reply, so B turns B, not without the A’s watching. The A’s walk up to the B’s and ask them why they’re B’s and not A’s, to which the B’s respond by attacking the A’s and defending themselves, to which the A’s counter by doing the same, so B turns A and A turns B.

In retrospect, the A’s lost, and the B’s lost, but both A and B won.



All commentary other than flaming is welcome :D

[psychic25]

Hmmm... Jazz and Shox, I liked yours, but yeah, those seemed more like poetic prose.

And I didn't understand the last sentence, Spheroid :P. Maybe I'm just tired.

I'll see if I can get something of my own up a bit later.

[xiron]

written for a school assignment. it's not the best because we had to have certain criteria, some of which, i felt brought down the story as a whole. i know its not very good, but tell me what you think anyway

Destiny

Part I - Allister

I awoke in the damp, dark tunnel that was my home. As I looked slowly around, I took in my surroundings. The tunnel reminded me of a coffin. Black, cold, and lifeless as the tomb. But the story of how I got here is hard to believe…
It began on my 16th birthday, the time when all young members of my race undertake their training to become adults and full fledged members of society. In order for this to happen, they have to go under the wing of a spiritual advisor, who teaches them all they know, thus giving them the intelligence to enter into the world.
When I found out who I had been chosen to have as my advisor, I was stunned. I was to receive training from the master of the masters, Allister. Relatively young by the standards of the Advisors, as they were known, he had risen to power while still very young. From that point, he had kept rising in the ranks, until he became one of the Council, the governing body of Link, our planet. This was usually a spot reserved for only the oldest and wisest, but he received it at the youthful age of 27. He was considered to be the greatest leader since Cronos, our first Emperor. Accordingly, I was shocked to find out that I had received him.
I remember our first meeting clearly. The first time I saw him, I was awed by his presence. He was a god among men. Allister was the kind of person who made gold and platinum look like rusted iron, made diamonds look like coal. He gave off an aura that seemed to command respect, command servitude, command worship. I immediately fell to my knees in amazement.
“Stand up,” he said in a deep, powerful voice, “and let me see you.”
I stood. He started to inspect me, look me over. His gaze seemed to penetrate my skin, my bones, my organs, my very soul.
Suddenly, he questioned, “What kind of knowledge do you have, boy?”
“Well, I know Calculus, some basic geogra…”
“That is nothing! Remember, the only true knowledge is knowing that you know ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!”
“Wha..?”
“You heard me boy! You know nothing, the council knows nothing, I know nothing! We think we are all powerful, but that is the weakness of our race. We are overconfident. We are cocky. We think that we are the best thing to happen since the universe began. But here’s an update- WE’RE NOT!”
I was blown away. The sheer power of his speech assaulted my senses, knocked me down for the count.
“Another thing,” he continued, “You need to learn about our race and the evils it has committed all in the name of exploration, of knowledge. We have committed horrible atrocities against Nature and her creatures just so that we could trick ourselves into thinking we know a little more than we did. This, at its core, is why man is evil. His endless search for knowledge, for power, has led him to the brink of the destruction of the world which he needs to survive. We are, in essence, killing the thing that made us great, all because we hunger to know. But this knowledge has come at a price.”
He continued. “We need a leader, a savior of the world, to free us from our evils. Only when our eyes are open can we begin to repair the damage we have caused.”
Thus ended our first meeting.

Part II – A Sonnet
After all of my meetings were over with Allister, an idea began to slowly grow in my mind. What if I was the one to end the evil of my species? After all, I had received training from the great Allister, and even he had said I was a good pupil. What if?
On our last meeting, he questioned me.
“Do you believe in destiny?” he asked.
I responded, “Yes. I believe that we all have a purpose and that that purpose is set in stone.”
“You know what I believe?” he asked. “I like to think of our lives as a sonnet. In a sonnet there are a set of rules such as 10 syllables to a line, 14 lines, and you must you iambic pentameter. Correct?”
“Yes sir.”
“But within the confines of those rules, you can say or do whatever you want. I like to think of life as being like that. There are certain things that we must do while in our lifetime, but other than that we can live it how we please.”
“Wow. I never thought of it like that,” I responded.
And thus ended my teaching by Allister.


Part III – Destiny Revealed
It was 2 years later. I had gone on to become a respected member of society. But one day, I was walking in the merchant district of my city, looking for a steak for my dinner that night. Suddenly, from a shadow, a figure jumped out and grabbed me. At first I fought him, thinking it was a robber of some sort. But then I stopped. It was Allister.
“Boy,” he yelled, “I need your help! They’re after me!”
“Who is?”
“Them.” His eyes opened wide at the sight of something behind me.
I turned around. Running at full speed towards us was about half of the Council’s Guard, the most elite of our military.
“Holy…”
I grabbed Allister, turned, and ran. We ran through half of the city, looking for an escape. Finally, we found one in the form of a dark alleyway. As soon as we saw the guards run past, Allister grabbed me.
“Listen boy, we don’t have much time. I found something that may be of interest to you.”
Seeing as he appeared to be out of his mind, I decided to stick around.
“Do you know of The Prophecy?”
“I know bits and pieces,” I replied.
“I my studies, I have amassed a large quantity of ancient manuals and tomes older than time itself. Yesterday, in my studies, I found this.”
He quickly pulled a piece of parchment from his cloak and handed it to me quickly.
“I need to go,” he said quickly, and ran off.
I opened the parchment slowly. This is what it said:
“The Prophecy is this: In many years, the chosen one will come. He will be taught by the greatest of teachers and will become a high ranking member of his world. But he will have discontent. He wants to cure the world of its evils. And this he will do. He will not be the first to try, but he is the one that will succeed. He will be alone in his quest, the lone force against a wall of opposition. But he will succeed.”
I was astounded. It was me. I finally knew my goal, my purpose. To heal the world.

Part IV – Destiny Fulfilled
I ran as fast as I could from that place. I decided the first step of action would be to go to the Council. I ran past the guards into the council room. As I burst through the doors, I was grabbed by two guards and thrown against a wall.
“Stop the evils of our race!” I yelled, “End the needless destruction of Nature!”
“You fool!” the High Councilman said, “Do you really believe you will be able to do anything?”
“I can try!”
“Take him away. Give him a nice burial.”
The guards hauled me into the woods, where they tied me to a tree and began to dig a hole. Finally, they untied me and threw me in to the black pit…
That is how I got here. Now I lie, knowing that death could come at any second. I have come to the realization that the prophecy wasn’t about me. I failed. And now, I accept death…

[MalReynolds]

Your writing style in the first section was... a bit odd. You used this techinique a lot... "He did this, this. And then he went over there, there. He looked me over, my soul." That kind of thing. You used it too much.

The societal backdrop needed more information. I had no idea where this story was taking place. Flesh out the detail a little more. Give us background on Allister, and not just superficial bull****. You told the audience too much and didn't let them come to any conclusions on their own.

The interesting charachter was Allister. Was he really insane? What would killing the head of the council do? Why are they guarded? Why are the elite troops restrained to be council guards? A lot of these loose ends don't make sense.

Now I come to the big problem: The end. The ending just blew. I mean, he didn't even kill anyone. He just said some stuff. And the society that you set up, making each person become very learned in what appears to be philosophy, speaking your mind gets you killed? Doesn't make sense.

Also, don't make the main charachter so naive as to the words Allister says. I wasn't taken in by them, and I doubt many people would. If you dumbed the society down and made only chosen ones become learned in philosphical studies, then his naivety would be understandable.

The prophecy came out of nowhere, and only served as a means to end the story. Very quickly, might I add. It just didn't work that out of nowhere did this prophecy come from, that would convince the main charachter that it was his destiny. There was nothing in the prophecy to lead him to that.

Work on it, man. Work on it.

Mal

[GuidoHunter]

For those of you who haven't visited the site to which I've posted a link nearly fifteen hundred times, here:

http://andy.mikee385.com/DrewdeathE.htm

And:

http://andy.mikee385.com/Rose.htm

I've about a dozen more stories written in the same style, but these are my best ones (not to mention my longest). Since they're long, I decided to link so that you'll have a full page width to read them and so you don't have to scroll through this page forever.

I swear I actually have some writing talent, as I've written other things too (see the site for some examples), but this is where my creativity lies. Point of note: "Rose" was written in middle school, "Drew" in my junior year of high school.

--Guido

http://andy.mikee385.com

[psychic25]

“I like to think of our lives as a sonnet. In a sonnet there are a set of rules such as 10 syllables to a line, 14 lines, and you must you iambic pentameter. Correct?”
“Yes sir.”
“But within the confines of those rules, you can say or do whatever you want. I like to think of life as being like that. There are certain things that we must do while in our lifetime, but other than that we can live it how we please.”

I KNOW you took this from somewhere. I've seen this before in a book. I just can't remember where...

EDIT: Google search: HA! It's from A Wrinkle in Time!

[MalReynolds]

So, in addition to the storyline being weak, the dull charachters and contrived literary devices, you also plagerized?

-10 Respect.

Mal

[psychic25]

I really hope that one of the "conditions" your story had to meet was that it had to include a philosophical idea from A Wrinkle in Time...

If not, that's just lame. At least you paraphrased it :P

Here's from the book:

"Oh, I know. In your language you have a form of poetry called the sonnet... There are fourteen lines, I believe, all in iambic pentameter. That's a very strict rhythm or meter, yes?... And each line has to end with a rigid rhyme pattern. And if the poet does not do it exactly this way, it is not a sonnet, is it?... But within this strict form the poet has complete freedom to say whatever he wants, doesn't he?"

"So what?"

"Oh, do not be stupid, boy!" Mrs. Whatsit scolded. "You know perfectly well what I am driving at!"

"You mean you're comparing our lives to a sonnet? A strict form, but freedom within it?"

"Yes. You're given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself. What you say is completely up to you."

That's very odd how that passage and your passage are so STRIKINGLY similar. Again, I really hope that was part of your school assignment.

[xiron]

geez... I feel stupid... i really didn't mean to. and i know it sucked. forgive me for my stupidity.

[Torlock]

The interesting charachter was Allister.



Also, don't make the main charachter so naive as to the words Allister says.

You spelled character wrong.

[MalReynolds]

And here I was, hoping for criticsm on my story, or perhaps something to help Xiron with his. Tahnk Uyo rfo pntoiing uot my spleling mystakes.

Go to hell =D

Mal

[psychic25]

xiron, does that mean that you did it subconsciously, or that you came up with the whole "sonnet" thing on your own?

And please don't flame in here... I want to keep this open.

[MalReynolds]

I want to keep this open, too. But pointless posting is what get's a topic closed, and that's exactly what Torlock did.

Anyway, I'm creating another thread for another short play I just wrote.

Mal

[Torlock]

I apologize Mal. I'm one of those people who reads the newspaper just to find typos. I went back and read your story. I thought that it was pretty well written, and really captured my attention. I really enjoyed the use of weight to tell how many bullets the narrator had left.

[xiron]

It was subconcious. I read a hell of a lot of different things, and all of the ideas are just kind of jumbled together in my head. It becomes hard to destinguish my own ideas from those of others. Again, I apologize.

[djshox]

Somewhat mature story, you'll see why:

Mi Amo
The place was my bed in the lazy afternoon hours of the summer. There was no better time for something so incredible to have happened than during the hazy but warm sunfilled days of summer. It was July, the hottest month of the year.

I could see the voluptuous but innocent curves of her body, every inch of her skin naked to the summer air. I could see her mellifluous hair, gracefully swaying from side to side. As she slowly approached me, it was so plain to see the love and affection in her sparkling diamond eyes, as crystal blue as the ocean. And I could see the tender texture of her young, beautiful face, topped with a warm smile.

I could hear her innocent cooing when her soft lips moved to form beautiful and passionate words. I could hear the gentle rhythm of her breathing, infused with the feeling of arousal. I could hear the words she made, as she spoke tenderly to me, "Make love to me."

As she wrapped her arms around me and kissed me, I could smell the light but wonderful fragrance of her perfume. Her naked body was now lying atop mine, and I could smell her sweat beginning to form, and the sensual aroma of her female body.

I ran my hands up and down her back, feeling the tender texture of her skin, soft as a peach. I ran my hands through her hair, feeling every strand of her elegant hair. But I was not the only one to touch. She had her hands now under my shirt, caressing my body and exploring my stomach and chest.

When she kissed me, I could taste the sweet and enticing kick of her lips on mine, followed by her gentle tonuge. As I kissed down her body, I could taste the sweat of her now hot body, glistening with the rhythm of sex. There was something else that I did, and the taste of her reminded me of somtehing wonderful, something so human and deep.

We laid together in bed, on top of the covers, for the fans blowing on our sweating skin did not do much to relieve the heat of our activities. She laid her head on my chest, softly running her hand up and down my stomach. I smiled softly and whispered, "I love you" into her ear. She paused, and looked up at me with those beautiful big blue eyes of hers and kissed my forehead softly, then followed by a long kiss to my lips.

"I love you too."

[MalReynolds]

Basics: You reused some of your adjective within one or two sentences of each other, and some of your descriptive sentences ran on a bit, although that wasn't a problem for me... Some of the sentences were just overly long.

Advanced: Where was it? The story? All I read was about the narrator having sex with someone. It was like watching soft core porn in text format. There was no conflict, or charachterazation. I mean, I know it was probably written for someone, which is cool and all because maybe they get it a little better than I do, but it just didn't have much of a point. It just started, sex, ended. It lacked the real interest that is spurned by "Dear Playboy, I never thought I'd tell anyone this, but..." letters, which I know are trashy, but at least they have some kind of substance, ya know? This story is the definition of superfelous... Sorry, bud. I mean, the "I love you," was nice, but I had no idea who or what he was talking to. Could have been to a stuffed bear that he just had sex with. Nice touch with the "I love you," but I didn't love it.

There were some good points: Your descriptions were really really well done. I enjoyed reading about her eyes and such. The way it was written was very nice, and I like your writing style a lot. Keep it up.

Mal

[Spheroid]

So who thinks there should be a forum for stories/writing instead of sharing it with CT. It would encourge more people to post their stories (like this thread), but would also get them reviews on their writing (unlike this thread). Alain started a topic on this a few days back. If you have an opinion on this, post it in this link: http://www.flashflashrevolution.com/index.php?name=PNphpBB2&file=viewtopic&t=26012