Something I've been working on for a little while now.

[MrPopadopalis25]

Currently untitled as of right now. Eventually I hope for this to be turned into a visual novel, hence the emphasis on choice near the end. Either way, I know we have some adept readers on the forum so I thought I'd post the first few pages to hopefully get some xXxCRITIQUExXx on my writing style and junk.



The rhythmic clamor of rapid footsteps fills the otherwise dormant hallway with a sense of extreme urgency. Your feet barely have any time to touch the floor as you tirelessly walk to the end of your house's upstairs hallway and back again. You repeat this journey an innumerable amount of times, all the while deeply pondering a decision that may seem insignificant to the uninformed observer, but in actuality could alter the entirety of the rest of your life in ways that you can't even possibly begin to conceive. Back and forth you pace, your brain working at an incomprehensible speed. At the moment the rest of the world doesn't matter to you; there is but only thing in this entire universe that holds any shred of significance to you right now.

“Do I shit, or do I hold it? Do I shit, or do I hold it?”

The predicament of whether or not you should risk taking a trip to the washroom while you wait for somebody, or in this case somebodies to arrive has continued to be an issue that you've struggled a great deal with in the past. You can quite vividly recall a time when you had once decided to forgo taking a poop before setting out on a five and a half hour long drive with your siblings and grandparents, only to have to stop in at a dingy restaurant within forty five minutes of your departure. The bathroom in that restaurant, which you have since then deemed as being “Satan's Shitter,” has made you hesitant to step foot in any public bathroom ever since.

In keeping with your unfortunate tradition, around a year or so ago you had been faced with a strikingly similar situation to the one that haunts your youth, as well as the one which you are currently faced with now. While waiting to be picked up by a friend, who happened to be running over half an hour late, you had felt the unmistakable pressure in your bowels that signified it was time to expel your waste. Recalling the horrid memories of Satan's Shitter, you decided to risk going before he arrived– after all, he was already a half an hour late. What were the chances of him showing up in the next couple of minutes? Well, apparently they were quite high.

“Okay, screw it. I don't care, they can wait. I'm not dealing with this shit anymore...no pun intended, heh heh,” you think to yourself as you throw open the bathroom door, pull down your shorts and elegantly perch yourself atop your silver throne. “May God have mercy on us all.”

Fortunately for you, by the time you're finished with your business in the washroom your friends still haven't shown up. A complacent smile sits on your face as you wipe away the stress-induced sweat that had been building up above your brow. For once in your lifetime you have conquered this loathsome situation, and with absolutely no negative consequences to speak of either. Perhaps this small victory will prove to be the prelude to an era of good luck for you, a era which will hopefully persist over the next few days of your life.

Just as you head down the stairs and plop yourself down onto the couch in your living room, a violent buzzing sensation tickles your upper right leg. Employing a performance that you've reenacted thousands upon thousands of times before, you flip open your cell phone and read the newly arrived text message. The message contains but a single phrase: “I see you two minutes.” Nothing more, nothing less. The sender, your close friend Nick, has never been one to lie about insignificant things, so you figure that you should probably heed his advice and get yourself ready to roll.

With much displeasure you force yourself up to your feet after having just sat down not even a moment ago. Your bones creak and groan in discontent as you walk yourself over to the front door and begin to slip on your shoes. Your luggage, which has been neatly packed up and has sat waiting for you by the front door since yesterday evening, serves as a makeshift chair for you to sit on as you employ your finest knotsmanship.

“Oh, what's this now? Thought you could just head out without saying goodbye to me, huh?” a voice calls from somewhere nearby. You painfully tilt your neck upwards to look at the person whom the voice belongs to. Of course it isn't exactly a mystery as to who the identity of the speaker is; you probably wouldn't be able to look at yourself in the mirror if after all these years you couldn't even recognize your own mother's voice.

Your mother stands at the top of the staircase with her hands on her hips and a disappointed look soiling her otherwise pleasant face. Although she's already been in the back nine of her lifetime for a couple of years now, your mother still gives off the unmistakable appearance of being a teenager. All the way from her clothing down to her mannerisms, your mother could probably settle in with your group of friends and nobody would bat an eye. Her youthful days may have long since passed, but her youthful spirit has no doubt remained fully intact.

“Ah, damn!” you say as sarcastically as possible before slapping your thigh. “So close! Urgh!”

“Don't joke like that, you're going to hurt your poor mother's feelings,” she sulks. Kicking away the assortment of cheap toys and various articles of clothing that lay scattered around her feet, she flies down the staircase fast enough to leave a trail of flames smoldering in her wake. Once she reaches the ground level you receive one of the tightest hugs that you've ever experienced in your whole life. “Oh, I'm going to miss you so much! You should just forget about this silly trip and stay here with me~!”

“Hey, come on now. I'm only gonna be gone for like, what, three nights? You won't even know that I'm gone. Besides, don't you still have Dad and those other two kids of yours to keep you company?”

“But I want us to be a family!” she sighs. At long last your mother releases you from her iron maiden of a hug before continuing. “You know I'm just jokin' though, right? You need to go have some fun once in a while too! I know that I did a lot of fun teenager stuff back when I was your age. Ah, but those days have passed.”

The urge to resist telling your air-headed parent Uhh, I don't think those days have passed for you juuuuust yet... proves to be next to impossible. But, through some sort of divine miracle, you're able to keep the words choked down deep inside the confines of your throat.

“I know that I probsies sound like a broken record, but you be safe, alrighty? This is your first time goin' somewhere overnight without parental supervision, unless you count that time when you slept over at Nick's house while his parents were away on vacation. Uhh, I guess what I'm tryin' to say is that you should refrain from being an idiot. Don't do anything stupid just because all of your friends are doing it too. Now, I don't care if you decide to drink, and although I'd prefer it if you didn't smoke, I won't stop you. You're at that age now, so you have to be responsible. Just don't overdue it, alright?”

You nod your head while avoiding eye contact. “Yeah, I know. Don't worry, I'm not the kind of person to do stupid things on a regular basis, right?”

“That's right. After all, you did get your brains from me! Oh, and another thing, I know that there's some girlies going on your trip too, so if something happens make sure that you...well, you know, wrap your tool. And make sure you have one ready beforehand too! I remember one time when your father and I were dating we--”

“Okay okay! I got it,” you yell while plugging your ears with your index fingers. The last thing that you want to hear before setting out on what should be a touching note is anecdotes about your parents' disgusting sexual escapades of yesteryear. “Anyways, they're gonna be here any minute now so I'm gonna go wait outside. I suppose this is where we'll be parting ways then.”

Your mother nods silently. Their prominence may be faint, but you can unmistakably see the sides of her eyes beginning to water. After one last extended hug she reluctantly heads back upstairs, thus leaving you to stand around all by yourself.

“Well, I guess that's it then. See you in a few days, home,” you say aloud. Without anything else pressing left to attend to, you bend over and pick up your surprisingly light bags before taking one final look around the front foyer of your house. This is the last time that you'll see your humble abode for the next few days, as well as the last time that you'll speak to the people who reside within it too. You highly doubt that you'll succumb to homesickness, but at the same time you can't help but feel as if this is some sort of solemn experience. First it was your umbilical cord, and now it's this vacation. It seems that slowly but surely the ties that keep you closely tethered to your family are being severed, the removal of each one leading you closer and closer to complete independence.

Not wanting to stick around a moment longer, you double check your pockets to make sure that you have everything you need before you head out the front door. A sudden blast of hot, humid air assaults your face as the gentle caress of your house's air conditioner is no longer present to protect you from the heat of the outside world. The sun beats down on you with seemingly malicious intent, its rays making your otherwise loose clothing annoyingly chafe and cling to your skin.

However, if you were to omit the sweltering heat from the picture, the weather outside couldn't have been any more fitting for your excursion. The bright blue sky is adorned with a respectable number of fluffy white clouds that lay scattered about it. The grass is green, the trees are healthy and all is right with the world. The distant sounds of a lawnmower buzzing away and children happily playing road hockey creates a calming suburban ambiance that's second to none. When the word “summer” comes to mind, the scene that's presently taking place around you is exactly what you envision.

You check the time on your cell phone to see that exactly two minutes have passed since Nick had texted you. It almost makes you burst out laughing when, as if on queue, an SUV and a sedan come into view and park on the street in front of your house. Your friends have finally arrived, thus ushering in an emotional juxtaposition of both anxiety and excitement deep within your stomach. Like a young child on Christmas morning, you leap off of your front porch in one swift motion and enthusiastically make your way over to the miniature procession of vehicles.

“Heeeey! Waaiiit!”

It seems that the universe isn't going to allow you to escape just yet; you're unable to walk more than a few steps before a shrill voice calls out for you. The uncomfortable feeling of somebody staring at you from behind gnaws at your psyche and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. Slowly, and with great displeasure, you twist your head around to look over your shoulder and get a decent look at the person who is delaying your departure. Your younger sister, still dressed in her pajamas, stands on the front porch with a look of pure horror on her face.

“Goddammit, I was almost out!” While internally cursing every deity in existence, you set your luggage onto the ground and walk back towards your sister. “What's wrong?” you ask her in a sympathetic voice.

“W-what's...what's...” Your sister, who had just reached the ripe age of eleven less than a month ago, has never really been known to be the most articulate of children, but for her to struggle on one single word is quite uncharacteristic for her. Her voice is low, and her gaze refuses to match yours. She instead chooses to fiddle with her fingers and stare at the cement ground.

“What's what?” you say, your impatience slowly becoming apparent.

“What's w-w-with...them?”

Your sister points to something behind you, presumably towards the two unfamiliar vehicles parked in front of your house. “Them? Those would be my friends.”

“I know that you dummy! But why are they here?”

You sigh. “Come on, we went over this a thousand times already. I'm going away on vacation until Sund–“

Before you're able to finish your sentence your sister rushes over to you and clings to your left leg. “Take me with you!” she yells loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.

“What?! No way Jose. Mom and Dad already told you over and over that you can't come with me.”

“But if I don't go with you you're gonna break the contraaact!” she exclaims as her nails begin to painfully dig into the exposed skin of your legs. “You're my property, remember?!”

You're dumbfounded to the point that it becomes a challenge to keep yourself standing. Your escape from this eccentric family of yours was only a few steps away, but for some unknown reason you idiotically faltered and allowed your sister to get the better of you. As much as you love your adorable sibling, the urge to scream F*** off!! and kick her onto the grass is quickly becoming beyond unmanageable.

For almost three years now your sister has been bringing up a so-called contract time and time again; by this point in time you're absolutely sick and tired of hearing about it. Not a day goes by where you don't resent the spur of the moment decision to skip school that lead to your eventual downfall. Expecting to lounge around an empty house all day, free to play video games and drink as much iced tea as your stomach could handle, you were instead treated to a house occupied solely by your little sister. In agreeing not to tell your parents about your truancy, she had forced you to sign a contract which she had doctored in purple crayon. By signing it you had agreed to become her property for the rest of your life, and probably even afterwords too. At the time you had expected her to forget about it within a couple of days, but to this date she still has that accursed contract framed and hanging on her wall.

“I know, I know, I belong to you. I got it, okay? Don't worry, I won't abandon you for some other girl.”

A condescending laugh agitates your eardrums as your younger brother Tyler walks outside and joins the already overcrowded party on the front lawn. “Don't worry, your older brother couldn't get a lady friend even if his life depended on it!”

You narrow your eyes and stare at your brother with disdain. Despite being only being a freshman in high school, Tyler frequently asserts that he has godlike powers when it comes scouring for the affection of the opposite sex. Even if he's never had a girlfriend for longer than a week, and even if the last time he had kissed a girl was nearly a year ago, he will defend to the death his ability to, as he puts it, “troll for tight slizz.” As much as you'd like to mock him for his repeated shortcomings with the female gender, you almost always refrain from doing so. The upsetting fact is that despite striking out ninety-nine percent of the time, he's still accomplished more in his dating career than you have thus far.

Frequently your younger brother is nothing more than an eyesore and a malignant tumor on your family's otherwise healthy household, but at the moment he appears to you with a halo above his head and a choir of angels singing joyously behind him. As it stands, only he can free you from this human leech that sucks the life out of your leg. “Mind helping me out here?”

Your brother apathetically walks over to you, and in the blink of an eye removes your sister from your leg. “Hey, what did I tell you about staying put?” he asks her angrily.

“I just wanted to say goodbye,” your sister pouts.

Your brother looks at you and sighs almost immediately. “Oh yeah. You. I forgot about you. Shouldn't you be gone by now? Your presence is making me want to shoot myself in the face.”

“Aww, what's the matter? Is somebody jealous of his older brother?”

“Hahaha!” he annoying cackles, a common habit of his. “Actually, not gonna lie, I sorta am. Although, I suppose I'm more depressed than anything else. I mean you, of all people, get to head out to a cottage that's hours away, with absolutely no parents around, and with a bunch of hot chicks to boot! It's bullshit! It's complete and utter bullshit! No, it's wasted potential is what it is. If I was in your shoes I would be getting my dick wet every single night. Wanna do the world a favor and switch places?”

“Absolutely not,” you reply sternly.

Your little sister tugs on the side of your t-shirt. “Hey, what does 'getting your dick wet' mean?”

Tyler's face almost instantaneously turns to stone. His eyes widen to the size of melons as the ramification of his actions hit him like an oncoming freight train. “Nothing! It means nothing! Absolutely positively nothing!” he practically screams while waving his hands around in the air frantically.

You know that golden opportunities like this one arise but once in a lifetime. The very thought of embarking on your voyage with the knowledge that your irritating brother is about to get severely punished fills you with pure and absolute joy. Deciding to add some fuel to the fire, you tell your now formerly innocent youngest sibling, “I don't know. You should go ask Mom, I'm sure she'd know!”

Your sister's face lights up, the sheer brightness of which hurts your heart to look at. “Okay!”she happily exclaims before skipping off through the front door and back into your house.

“Better go catch her, kiddo,” you taunt your flabbergasted brother with a smug smile on your face.

Tyler seems to snap out of his trance just in time. Before taking off in a full on sprint, he looks you dead in the eyes, and in a voice full of raw hatred and malcontent says, “F***....you....you....f***ing.....c***.”

“Bye! Love you too!” you call after your soon-to-be ex-brother. The thunderous slamming of the front door is the only reply that you're graced to receive.

You breathe a long sigh of relief. Three out of your four family members have been adequately dealt with, and with the fourth currently at his workplace you're finally able to disembark on your journey unhindered. After taking one final look at the place that you've called home for a countless number of years now, you once again pick up your luggage and practically sprint over the duo of cars idling in front of your house.

“Hey kid,” Nick says in his usual laid-back manner. He reaches out his hand, prompting you to grab it and give him a very firm handshake that even the most seasoned of businessmen would be envious of.

“Sorry I'm late. Had to deal with some...uhh, stuff.”

“Yeah, I saw. Don't worry about it bro. You ready for this?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I suppose so.”

Spray, the friend of yours who happens to be sitting in the driver's seat of the SUV, pops open his vehicle's trunk and rolls down his window. “Throw your shit in and let's go already!” he instructs you angrily.

“Alright, alright, I'm going, I'm going!” Following your impatient friend's simple instructions, you toss your luggage into the rear of his vehicle and slam the trunk shut as hard as you possibly can. You feel like a bit of an ass for exhibiting such childish behavior, but in your eyes it's a perfectly justified punishment for Spray's unnecessary abrasiveness towards you.

Nick sighs and looks up at the sky, completely oblivious to your so called act of revenge. “So,” he says before he claps once, “time for the most difficult decision of your day thus far. You listening? Alright, dig this: you and I combined make two people. There are two empty spots in each vehicle. Are you following me here?” You nod, prompting him to continue. “Alright, good. Now, pay attention here, the catch is that there's only one empty slot available in each car...none of that two empty seats in one vehicle bullshit in this household. I hate to say it, but you and I can't ride together.”

“Aww shucks, there goes my good mood!” you say as you snap your fingers. “Well, go ahead and choose the car that you want to ride in then. It doesn't matter to me which one I take.”

Nick shakes his head authoritatively. “No no, I can't make a decision this crucial. I mean, who in their right mind could? The powerhouse lineup of Spray, Katie and Sarah seated in the SUV...the eccentric yet at the same time heartwarming lineup of Alex, Rebecca and Alice in the car...it's too f***ing difficult!” His hand flies through the air and comes to rest on your shoulder. His voice lowers and his tone becomes frighteningly serious as he tells you, “Both of our fates are in your hands now. Choose wisely, my friend. After all, this choice could possibly effect the rest of your life!”

“Yikes, that's some serious weight on my shoulders,” you mumble while rolling your eyes theatrically.

Nick frowns, seemingly offended by your lack of willingness to go along with his antics. “I'm serious dude. I know how this shit goes down.”

By the icy cold glares that you receive from some of the passengers in either of the vehicles, you can tell that your time to stand around idly is running out. Each second that you spend out here joking around with Nick is another second that your other friends' impatiences are allowed to grow, and at a rather exponential rate too. But nevertheless, since Nick has been your best friend since the seventh grade you decide to at least humor him a bit.

The choice of which vehicle you want to ride in isn't in any way a decision that holds any sort of considerable significance to you. The car ride should only last about two hours, two and a half at the most, and the eight of you will be able to spend all the time in the world together once you've reached the cottage.

Without even giving it any semblance of conscious thought, you decide to secure a place in the--

1) Car
2) SUV

[justin_ator]

2. because I want leg space

1. sounds like the choice I would honestly prefer, however

[bballa48]

I have no critique (as I am very unqualified), but I enjoyed it

Also, I pick the car.

[Cavernio]

Overall the writing is good; no 'that doesn't make sense' or 'it's paced poorly' or 'wow this is boring/stupid' etc.

A few things stood out to me though.
-nitpicking, but first sentence makes me imagine multiple people running, in contrast to the actual 1 person walking quickly.
-ages of siblings and possibly main character seem ****ed up. If a girl doesn't have sex ed by the time she's 11 chances are she's already had her period for a year. Also running and clutching one's leg is like, something a 6 year old would do. Also an 11 year old has heard the word 'dick' to mean penis even if she somehow doesn't know about the physical act of sex yet. Also, at 11, she could easily be as tall as her older brother, who I hope to god isn't more than 16 otherwise is highly, highly unlikely he's never been away from home for a weekend. (Also mom's reaction would be even more overthetop, although in general I could see mom's acting like that.)
-bathroom problem is really dumb. Take the phone with you to the bathroom. If friends don't call, then there's a door to knock on with other people home to tell them you're not quite ready yet.
-Umm, the term graphic novel means a full-length comic ASAIK, not a choose-your-own-adventure book with visuals or an electronic choose-your-own-adventure.

Just to make sure, the intended viewer for this book is teenaged males, right? I hope you're not expecting a much larger audience than that, not that there's anything wrong with writing for that audience. Obviously you're writing from the perspective of a teenaged male who's horny and who's going on a trip where he hopes to get laid, and you want it to be real and gritty so you're keeping in the stuff about needing to shit. But the style along with the plot so far is probably not going to be the type of stuff your typical older audience, or a female audience, will want to read. Of course, it's screaming like this is going to go 2 possible ways: horror or light porn or both. This may or may not be an issue for you. Just my perspective of it.

[MrPopadopalis25]

Whoa, how did I not see your post until now?

Originally Posted by Cavernio

Overall the writing is good; no 'that doesn't make sense' or 'it's paced poorly' or 'wow this is boring/stupid' etc.

Excellent. That's what I was worried about the most actually.

Originally Posted by Cavernio

A few things stood out to me though.
-nitpicking, but first sentence makes me imagine multiple people running, in contrast to the actual 1 person walking quickly.

Okay, I'll change it something like "The rhythmic clamor of your rapid footsteps fills the otherwise dormant hallway with a sense of extreme urgency." or something like that then.

Originally Posted by Cavernio

-ages of siblings and possibly main character seem ****ed up. If a girl doesn't have sex ed by the time she's 11 chances are she's already had her period for a year. Also running and clutching one's leg is like, something a 6 year old would do. Also an 11 year old has heard the word 'dick' to mean penis even if she somehow doesn't know about the physical act of sex yet. Also, at 11, she could easily be as tall as her older brother, who I hope to god isn't more than 16 otherwise is highly, highly unlikely he's never been away from home for a weekend. (Also mom's reaction would be even more overthetop, although in general I could see mom's acting like that.)

The little girl is supposed to be around 5 or 6, the younger brother is supposed to be 16 or 17 and the main character is supposed to be 18 or 19. I have absolutely no idea why I said 11 for the sister. @_@

Originally Posted by Cavernio

-bathroom problem is really dumb. Take the phone with you to the bathroom. If friends don't call, then there's a door to knock on with other people home to tell them you're not quite ready yet.

I'm aware, but I was just trying to show how the main character tends to overthink things...a lot. It's difficult writing in limited 2nd person with an unreliable narrator and trying to have it make sense so I think I might eventually switch to limited 1st person.

Originally Posted by Cavernio

-Umm, the term graphic novel means a full-length comic ASAIK, not a choose-your-own-adventure book with visuals or an electronic choose-your-own-adventure.

Visual novel is a different entity from a graphic novel. I didn't want to use the term "anime dating sim" but it's pretty much the same thing. >_>

Originally Posted by Cavernio

Just to make sure, the intended viewer for this book is teenaged males, right? I hope you're not expecting a much larger audience than that, not that there's anything wrong with writing for that audience. Obviously you're writing from the perspective of a teenaged male who's horny and who's going on a trip where he hopes to get laid, and you want it to be real and gritty so you're keeping in the stuff about needing to shit. But the style along with the plot so far is probably not going to be the type of stuff your typical older audience, or a female audience, will want to read. Of course, it's screaming like this is going to go 2 possible ways: horror or light porn or both. This may or may not be an issue for you. Just my perspective of it.

Yup, the intended audience is definitely teenaged males, hence why the main character doesn't have much of a personality as of yet. And like you said, the story definitely goes the route of light porn/melodrama.

Thanks a lot for the notes though. You've given me some good stuff to think about as far as how the grand scheme of it all is going to play out. I really really really appreciate the help. B)

[Cavernio]

Well I think you're succeeding in your overall goals for this then :-p
heads up, 3 years is too long for the contract now

When I'm writing I'm constantly on the look out for continuity issues. An outsider will catch every last one of them and even potential ones. Every last detail from the way someone looks to how they act to how they think, (even though you're only writing from his perspective), must scan, it all must make sense. Even stupid things that are unimportant to the storyline must make sense and must pass the 'am I being realistic' check. Don't be afraid to remove entire sections/switch them around either. I guarantee that at some point you will realize that something you've written at a later date doesn't fit into what you've already written.
Also keep in mind that every sentence you write must have a purpose. I think you're doing fine, but I could see an editor chopping out a bunch of stuff too.

Good luck with the project, there's gonna be a ton of writing.

[MrPopadopalis25]

Postin' the next part for the hell of it.

--SUV. Contrary to what most people tend to believe about you, relaxation and an easy-going lifestyle is something that you have always held in high regard and kept near and dear to your heart. The ability to put your hands behind your head, close your eyes and be content with the fact that you have absolutely no obligations or issues to attend to in the near future is a highly sought-after sense of complacency that in your eyes is second to none. However, kicking back and relaxing to your heart's content is something that you tend to do on a daily basis. The purpose of this vacation is to force you out of your norm; to allow you to not only taste but savor novel experiences as well. If you were to go through the exact same motions that you're so accustomed to going through but only in a different locale, then what would the point be of even going on this trip in the first place? You figure that you should start this trip off with a bang, and you can think of no better way of accomplishing that goal than by riding in the SUV. Sarah and Spray are by far the most boisterous of your friends, save for perhaps Alex. With them by your side, you're sure that you'll be having loads of fun in no time at all.

“I guess I'll ride in the SUV then,” you tell Nick with an purposefully indifferent tone of voice.

“Oh...you want...ah. Okay.” Your best friend looks down and frowns at the pavement. You aren't exactly sure as to whether or not it's just your mind playing tricks on you, but from the looks of it you could swear that there are tears swelling up in the corners of Nick's eyes. Right now his appearance is extremely piteous, akin to a small child who had just discovered the shocking truth about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.

“What's the matter?” you interrogate him.

“N-nothing. Why do you ask?”

“Nah man, there's definitely something goin' on here. Wait...don't tell me...”

“What?”

“You wanted to ride in the SUV, didn't you?” you ask with a coy smirk.

“No! Well...okay, fine. Yes, I did.”

“You can take my spot if you want. I don't really care where I ride to tell you the truth.”

“No! Rules are rules and I can't go back on my word! I'll just have to take solace in knowing that Lady Fortune works in mysterious ways. Perhaps I'm at the bottom of her stupid little wheel right now, but I'm sure that I'll be spinnin' my way back onto the top any time now. All I've gotta do is endure this ride and it'll be smooth sailing from here on in.”

“You're making it sound like you're about to go through some sort of brutal torture. What's wrong with those three?” you ask, motioning your head towards the sedan behind you.

“What <i>isn't</i> wrong with those three? Issue number one: no Sarah. Issue number two: no Sarah. Issue number three: Alex is emasculating. Issue number four: no Sarah. Catch my drift?”

“Yeah yeah, I get it. Whatever. Just hit on Rebecca or something. If you dyed her hair blonde she'd look like a scale replica of Sarah...kinda.”

“Rebecca? Nah. I'd rather not have my throat slashed, thank you very much.” He sighs. “Oh well, we should probably get goin' now. Good luck in there brah.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Without another word, Nick turns around and gloomily trudges over to the parked sedan. You can clearly envision a thick storm cloud hovering just above his head as he heaves open the rear driver's side door and begrudgingly takes a seat. Just before he shuts the door, effectively sealing himself off from the outside world, he takes one last look at you with pleading eyes and a grimace so powerful that it makes you feel as if you had just murdered his entire family in cold blood right before his very eyes.

A sudden sharp pain assails your chest. “Ugh...what is this? Guilt? No way. Why am I even giving this any thought? Goddamn I'm whacked.”

You know that the time to dwell on such trivial matters is non-existent. The longer that you stand outside, loitering on the sidewalk like some kind of thirteen year old skater punk, is just all that much more of an opportunity for one of your eccentric family members to come running out of your house so that they can complain about something equally unimportant, thus delaying your departure all that much further. Plus there's also the fact that it's rude to keep your already impatient friends waiting when they're most likely just as eager to flee this dilapidated suburban landscape as you are.

“Sayonara, homestead,” you think to yourself as you gently slide your hands into your pockets and casually approach your vehicle of choice.

As much as you'd like to adhere to customs and ride in the passenger's seat, you figure that since you were the last one to be picked up that the spot has long since been filled. As you approach closer and closer to the SUV, you can clearly see through the reflection in the side-view mirror that your suspicions are indeed correct. The girl with illustrious blond hair makes eye contact you, thereby forcing you to awkwardly smile and turn away, lest she see your blushing cheeks.

With shaky hands you grip the door handle and pull open the rear passenger's side door.

“You wanna tell me what the fuck that slamming business was all about?” the man in the driver's seat asks you the instant that you open the door.

“Well you said to hurry up, didn't you? I was just doing as I was told like a good little boy,” you casually reply as you step inside the vehicle, gently shut the door and buckle up.

“No, by hurry up I meant to stop your chit-chatting with Nick the gossip queen there, not to slam my trunk!” he angrily cries as he glares at you through the rear-view mirror.

You shrug your shoulders. “Semantics, bro. It's all semantics.”

Spray, true name unknown, is somebody with whom you have a bit of an odd history with. The two of you have known each other since early grade school, but for someone to say that the two of you had been acquaintances back then would definitely be stretching the boundaries of the truth. A better way to describe your early relationship would be to say that the two of you were merely aware of each others existences; nothing more, nothing less. However, once elementary school came to a close and high school had reared its ugly, pimple-laden face, the two of you had somehow ended up becoming fairly decent buddies. Despite having very few things in common, the two of you quickly discovered that you got along shockingly well.

Since Spray is somebody who possesses an abrasive and incredibly outgoing type of personality, it isn't any wonder that he has always had the consistent image of being a popular and fairly likeable guy. His diverse and continuously-growing group of friends commonly overlapped with yours, resulting in more and more chance encounters. It wasn't until sophomore year, when he had decided to take drama class as one of his elective courses, that your friendship truly began to blossom. As if it were the natural progression of things, years of exposure to Spray's charismatic personality had eventually led to him being invited along on this trip, although not one of your friends ever remembers being the one who had given him the invitation.

Spray is a bit short for his age, standing at only a modest height of 5'6”. He posses a bit of an average, almost generic look to him, but what he lacks in uniqueness he makes up for with his superb physique. Rivaling even Katie the supreme athlete in terms of physical prowess, Spray boasts a rather muscular build that has won him the affection of innumerable females and the occasional male in the past. Often he'll wear disturbingly tight shirts just to show off his muscular physique, much to the disgust of Nick and yourself.

You cross your arms and narrow your eyes at your driver. “Also, Nick? A gossip queen? Pfft. If anybody's a gossip queen, it's <i>you</i>!”

“Now now boys, let's not have any fighting today!” the bubbly girl in the passenger seat happily instructs the two of you. “If you do then Katie and I will be forced to punish you. You don't want that now, do you?”

“No ma'am,” you dejectedly reply.

“Gee whiz, I'm sorry Sarah. Can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me? Are we still besties?” Spray flirtatiously asks his passenger.

“Of course!” Sarah cheerfully replies. She then turns around and asks you, “So, how are you? Are you excited for the big day?!”

“Y-yeah, I sure am!” you awkwardly say to her, all the while trying your very hardest to avoid making direct eye contact.

Sarah is a person with whom you share a decent amount of history with. For the longest time she had resided in the big white house that's at the very end of your street. Since her mother and your mother both posses the same sort of anachronistic personality, the two of them had gotten along quite swimmingly; so well, in fact, that it took all but a week and a half for the two of them to become the best of friends. This newfangled friendship resulted in a much younger version of Sarah and yourself being more or less forced into having play-dates at either of your houses, thus giving your mothers the opportunity to noisily chit chat in the other room while the two of you occupied yourselves by playing house or doctor or any of the other go-to children's games.

As time continued onwards and the two of you grew older you began to hang out more and more on your own free will, completely abandoning the pretext of being forced to by your parents. This friendship lasted for quite a while, all the way up until that one fateful day in the summer between the sixth and seventh grade when Sarah had tearfully told you that her parents were getting a divorce and that she was going to have to move away. A few days later, as the two of you sat beneath an old oak tree in her front yard and watched as the once empty moving trucks were filled to the brim with the remnants of her previous life, she had made you promise that the two of you would still remain friends no matter what. Of course you had gladly agreed.

However, after she had moved away the two of you grew further and further apart as you eventually turned into two completely different types of people. You became an average kid, calm and complacent with an easy-going lifestyle that excluded you from the limelight, while Sarah became renowned throughout your high school as being an outgoing cheerful girl that got along with everybody under any circumstance. There was the occasional conversation that took place between the two of you every now and then, and you can even recall an awkward hang out or two along the way, but for the most part the previously unbreakable bond that the two of you had once shared in your youth had withered away and eventually perished. From high school onwards the bulk of your interaction came from your shared interest in your school's drama program, hence why the two of you are together again outside of school for the first time in years.

Sarah flawlessly embodies the epitome of the title “popular girl.” With her long blonde hair, stunning blue eyes and gracious bust size, adjectives such as gorgeous, stunning and beautiful don't come even remotely close enough in describing her beauty. High opinions of her were quite widespread amongst the males in your high school, if not shared by every single one of them. In fact, you can name off the top of your head about ten or eleven different people that had either been crushing on her or lusting after her all the way up until your graduation, one of whom is currently accompanying you on this trip. With an easy-going attitude and a bubbly, energetic personality, it becomes very difficult, if not completely and utterly impossible to dislike Sarah once you get to know her.

“Alrighty, you ladies and gents ready to get this show on the road?” Spray enthusiastically questions his passengers.

“Yeah!” Sarah eagerly cries back.

“Yeah,” you unenthusiastically answer.

“Sure,” the girl sitting in the seat next to you aloofly replies.

The engine of the SUV suddenly spurs to life as Spray turns the key to the ignition. The radio comes on shortly thereafter, blasting some sort of generic pop from the 80's, the likes of which sounding like sandpaper to your ears. Spray promptly turns down the radio to a whisper and apologizes to you, citing the fact that he and Sarah had been “rockin' out” prior to picking you up as the reason for it being so criminally loud, a statement which makes Sarah giggle like a little girl.

The wheels of the vehicle begin to propel you and your friends forwards. You watch through the window as the building that you've called home for the entirety of your lifetime moves more and more out of view until it's finally no more, obscured behind the houses of your neighbors. Although you have absolutely no qualms about your current circumstances at home, you figure that a little time away will nonetheless be a welcomed change of pace from the banality of your daily life.

<i>“In five-hundred meters, turn left onto Main Street.”</i> the voice of the GPS coldly instructs.

“Yeah yeah, alright,” Spray replies, a devious smile perched on his face. He approaches the intersection in question, and in a somewhat befitting act of defiance he turns right, thereby negating the advice of his mechanical navigator.

<i>“Recalculating.”</i>

“Ahh shut up, ya piece of shit,” he scowls as he turns off the GPS and quite literally throws it into the glove box.

“You got a thing against GPS's?” you ask your driver.

“Nah man. It's just...I don't know, I don't need no computer tellin' me where to go.” He reaches his arm out and puts it around Sarah's shoulders. “Besides, we've got an even better navigator right here!” He pauses. “You <i>do</i> know the way there, right?”

“Hmm...it's been a couple of years, and I usually sat in the back seat on the trip up there, and I usually slept the whole way, and I'm really bad with directions, but I'm sure I can handle it!” she cheekily replies. “I've got a photographic memory after all.”

Spray raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yessir! For instance, Katie's scrunchy collection is housed in the left half of the second drawer in her bedside table, your SUV has a small dent in the passenger's side door just below the handle, and this fella back here has a tiny birthmark on his left butt-cheek.”

The vehicle that you're driving in suddenly veers to the left before hastily correcting itself. “What the hell? How do you know that?” the driver fanatically demands to know.

Sarah gives him a coy wink in reply. “It's a secret!”

“She walked in on me changing backstage once. She asked if I was decent and I said yes, and then when she walked in I mooned her,” you tell your fellow passengers as a slight red hue takes form on your cheeks.

“Aww, come on dude! Where's your sense of theatrics? You should have said that I had seen your birthmark during a night of passion-filled intercourse that we had shared one humid summer evening!” Sarah jokes.

“I don't want to be made out to be a liar though. Either I get my night of passion-filled intercourse or...or...or yeah!” you lamely demand.

“Hmm...we'll see. Leave a message with my secretary and we'll see what we can work out,” Sarah says as she turns back around.

While hiding the unmistakable makings of the chubbs taking form in your shorts, you turn your attention to the girl sitting beside you. “You've been awfully quiet this whole time,” you say to Katie.

“I know.”

“Yeah, come on Katie, you should be excited!” Spray over-enthusiastically exclaims as he suddenly takes a sharp right turn. “Live on the edge, bitches!”

“I am excited.”

You frown at her. “But you're being quieter than Alice, and that's quite a feat in and of itself.”

“Doesn't mean I'm not excited. I get to swim in a lake. Are you going to swim too? I think you should.”

“Maybe. I dunno yet. I'll go in the water, yeah, but I'm not really the best of swimmers.”

“That's because you're out of shape.”

Like an arrow through your heart, Katie's unabashed honesty nearly makes you keel over in pain. It's not like you're particularly shocked or anything though; rather, this most recent display of a lack of empathy is just one out of an indefinite amount of times that Katie has astounded you in the past. Ever since Sarah had first introduced the two of you to each other about a year or so ago, it has always been your firm belief that Katie is some otherworldly being that drapes itself in human skin so that it can blend in with its surroundings on a superficial level.

However, the extravagance of her disguise is nothing but wasted time and effort on her part. After all, it only took one brief conversation with this odd girl for you to realize that she lacks the qualities that makes one appear to be truly human. Katie often forgoes any linguistic artistry, preferring instead to speak in short, simple sentences that make good use of her trademark monotonous voice. Her contributions to a group conversation are hardly able to be called contributions at all. When and if she ever does speak, she simply adds on to what other people have already said, completely forgoing the need to add any new information of her own. No matter the situation, her facial expression will always remain completely neutral and have no distinguishable emotions contained within it. It almost sickens you that nobody has yet to grace her with a nickname like “The Robot” or “Alien Girl.”

Contrary to her brick wall of a personality, Katie's outward appearance and hobbies are completely unbefitting to how she presents herself. Standing at almost 6'0”, Katie towers over the vast majority of the other girls that are in her age group. This advantage in height is certainly beneficial to her when you take into account the fact that Katie lives and breaths solely for sports and athleticism. During the height of her high school sporting career, she had been an active member of the female golf team, the female volleyball team, the co-ed swim team, and the co-ed track team. Had she been given the opportunity, you're a hundred and ten percent certain that she would have joined every single club or sporting team that had been available to her, and maybe even some that weren't.

With lightly tanned skin, a slim yet nicely toned athletic body, and one of the finest breast and backside combinations that you've ever seen on a woman, it isn't any wonder that her tantalizing body and overall good looks had won her many suitors over the years, the vast majority of whom were unsuccessful in their attempts at seduction. Whether it was because she had rejected them, or whether it was because they had fled once they realized that the girl behind the body wasn't the air-headed cutie that they had been hoping for, Katie has yet to fall for the allure of the opposite sex. To you, envisioning Katie in the arms of a man would be almost as difficult as envisioning Alice giving a speech in front of thousands of people about the joys of social interaction.

As time wears on, the car becomes less and less lively. Conversation spirals downwards and finds itself in a rut, and the previously electric air that had filled everybody's lungs becomes stagnant and listless. Your eyelids gently close themselves as you lend yourself to the lulling sounds of the SUV as it drives along the road. Both Spray and Sarah have their windows slightly ajar, the likes of which providing a cool breeze that rustles your hair and tickles your face as it blows past you. Although the sensation feels invigorating on your tired skin, you become fairly annoyed when you realize that the constant gust of wind is keeping you from falling asleep. A concoction of equal parts excitement and anxiety over the next few days had lent itself to keeping you wide awake for the majority of the previous night, thereby resulting in you getting all but a short couple of hours of sleep. You're currently exhausted, as you so commonly are, and this lengthy car ride seems as if it would be the most opportune time to catch up on some much needed shut-eye. However, seeing as how you don't have the heart to tell your two friends to close their windows and cease all noise until the sound of your snores is loud enough to overtake either the radio or their conversations, you decide that you might as well just bite the bullet and open up your eyes to catch a glimpse of some rural scenery.

Spray continues to drive along the relatively straight roads, the likes of which slowly transforming from the suburban landscape that you're so accustomed to into a more unfamiliar country setting. The offices and chain stores are replaced by fields of crops and quaint independently-owned shops, and the previously bustling traffic thins out considerably until it feels like you and the rest of your procession are the only vehicles on the road. Your driver taps his fingers on the steering wheel in rhythm with whatever is playing on the radio, whether it be a legitimate song or just a spoken-word commercial. Sarah alternates her time between texting her other friends on an expensive looking cell phone and reading a novel, the exact title and genre of which you're not exactly certain of, although considering your knowledge of her you're fairly sure that it's most likely a love story intended for young adults. Katie dully stares out the window, her chin resting on her hand, her eyes transfixed solely on the tree and fence lined farmland as it whizzes by at astonishing speeds. With most of your personal electronics buried beneath everybody else's luggage and far out of reach, you concede defeat and mimic both Katie's stance and aspirations, thereby creating a perfect mirror image of her side of the back seat.

You aren't exactly sure how much time has passed. You can slightly recall passing through about five or six foreign small towns, but other than that you're completely clueless. Conversation in the vehicle reaches an all-time low until Spray's stomach decides that enough is enough and loudly growls as if to scream <i>“Talk to each other dammit!”</i>

“Heh, whoops. Sorry about that folks. I kinda skipped breakfast this morning,” Spray says to nobody in particular.

“What?! You can't skip breakfast! That's the most important meal of the day!” Sarah scolds him. “Right, Katie?”

Katie nods. “Breakfast is important.”

“Yeah, come on bro, even I know that,” you chastise your friend. “Well, I guess my mom does more so than I do, since she practically force fed me this morning, but that's not the point!”

“Whatever! It's my body and I'll do what I want!” Spray exclaims. “But, like, when are we eating then? I don't wanna hear this puppy rumblin' all the way to the bank...banks...sand banks...sand dunes...the cottage.”

“I don't know,” Sarah starts to say, “I didn't really think it through that far just yet. What do you think Katie?”

“Fast food,” Katie promptly replies. “Lunch isn't important. Lunch isn't breakfast and breakfast isn't lunch. We should eat quickly so we have time for other stuff.”

“Oh come on, we have fast food at home all the time!” Sarah sulks. “Personally, I think that we should have a picnic! We could have sandwiches and salads and juice-boxes and assorted fruits and desserts and all that good stuff! Oh, we could even have it on the beach and everything too! Come on, let's do it!”

“I don't really care what we do,” Spray says. “Whatever all y'all go with is fine with me.”

“What do you think?” Sarah asks as she stares at you through the mirror of her sun visor.

“I...uhh...”

You aren't exactly sure what to say. Since you had already eaten a fairly hearty breakfast, and since your interest in the culinary arts is null once your stomach is full, you can't say that you hold all that strong of an opinion on the matter. You do like Katie's idea about eating quickly and getting it all over with so that you can move on to bigger and better things, but then again you can see eye to eye with Sarah as well. A picnic would certainly be an enjoyable experience, and since opportunities to have genuine picnics are few and far between you might as well seize the moment and take full advantage of your beneficial circumstances.

In the end, you decide to suggest--

1. A picnic.
2. Fast food.
3. Flipping a coin.

[Cavernio]

I'm getting into this. It's really professional. I found myself forgetting it was amateur and, importantly to me, stopped thinking about who it was who had written it. (Like you know when you see a famous actor in a movie, it can be hard to just see them as purely the character they're portraying, and when you forget that it was a famous actor, you know they're a good actor? If I read something from someone I know or at least have a persona for, I find it hard to distance myself from thinking 'this person wrote this and they thought this writing in their heads', but if I do forget about the author, I know they've done a good job.)
I like this part better than the first section, not sure why. Feels a tad more organic...whatever that means. I see that you're adding how men look now too. Trying to appeal to more readers? It's working, although I think the main thing is that the main character seems a little less lust driven and seems a little less of a douche is what's pulled me on board...although going back and reading, I see it's only to his family and notably his brother that that shows up, so yeah.
Note that although I'm 'older' and female, I also frequent the exceedingly mature FFR forums...don't trust my taste :-p

Also, you're going to have like 3 novels worth of writing by the time you're done this.

I think the character (I forget his name...do we know his name?) would choose picnic, so I choose picnic.

[MrPopadopalis25]

Posting a little bit more of stuff that I just finished writing a few minutes ago. Wanna see if it's still up to snuff with my earlier junk.




--****ing demolish her.”

In your opinion, taking a dive is a form of poor sportsmanship that's on par with throwing your opponent down onto the floor, beating them within an inch of their lives, showing them a collection of pictures that feature you making love to their significant other and then farting as you leave the room. Even if Rebecca is your sworn nemesis you just don't have it in you to instill such brutal punishment on somebody that's as cute and fragile as she is. However, at the same time, you find yourself stricken with the sneaking suspicion that Rebecca's overconfidence in her sub par checkers abilities would render her too conceited to realize that her underdog victory had absolutely nothing to do with some prodigious latent abilities awakening or anything farfetched of that sort. Therefore you decide that playing the game to the best of your abilities would the best course of action in the long run.

Before Rebecca can even comprehend what's going on you've already depleted all but one of her pieces. Never before have you played a round of checkers that's been even remotely this brutal. Even Alex with her eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape seems to be in state of shock as she watches you commit an ethnic cleansing of all of Rebecca's red pieces. Your opponent continues to sit cross-legged on her side of the table, her stoic and slightly contemplative expression remaining steadfast even though you're certain that she understands fully well this is the end for her. Her single remaining piece sits in the center of the board encircled by several of your pieces. There isn't a single move that she can make that won't result in her poor little soldier getting jumped, yet for some reason she still persists on mulling her immensely limited options over, as if maybe through some stroke of miraculous luck she'll be granted a way out of this predicament. It's quite foolish for her to act this way, if not downright upsetting, almost to the point that you feel vaguely sympathetic towards her and her plights.

“And I will move here,” Rebecca says.

“Then <i>I</i> will move <i>here</i>,” you reply as you jump one of your many kings over top of her final piece and remove it from play. “Game over.”

Rebecca nods. “Good game.”

“Yes, very good game indeed.” You stretch your entire body out before adding, “And with this victory I've become both the victor of this tournament and the undisputed Checkers Champion. You know what that means, right Rebecca?”

Your defeated opponent remains silent. Even before anybody had even agreed to the bet you already knew fully well that Rebecca would not willingly give in to the terms and conditions of the punishment game had she been on the losing end of the spectrum. However, much to your surprise, after letting out a great big sigh and mumbling to herself about something that you're too far away to hear exactly what it's about, she opens her mouth up shockingly wide before bringing a tightly-bound fist upwards and shoving it into her oral cavity. Her face instantly turns beet red as she stares at Alex and yourself, a fist in her mouth and a look of complete sorrow in her eyes. It doesn't take any longer than a couple of seconds for Alex and yourself to burst out laughing.

“Holy shit, that's even funnier than I remember it being!” Alex somehow manages to exclaim in between her bouts of hysterical laughter.

“Yeah, this is pretty fantastic,” you add, wiping away a laughter-induced tear before it can escape from your eye and slide down the length of your face. “I almost feel like taking a picture of it.”

“I wouldn't,” Alex says with a surprising amount of seriousness in her voice. “Unless of course your cell phone is under warranty. Then by god snap a ****in' assload of pics before Becky can snap your phone in half.”

“Hahy?” Rebecca finally asks after a length of extended silence.

“Uhh, say that again please?” you politely request.

“I faid are you hahy?”

You laugh. “Oh, yes yes, of course. Very happy. Very very happy. Now say 'Peter Piper picked a pack of pickled peppers' and I'll be the happiest guy in the whole goddamn world.”

“Mo dife.” Rebecca removes her fist from her mouth before adding, “That wasn't part of the bargain.”

“Y'know Becky, with a skill like that you're gonna make a lot of dudes happy one day,” Alex giggles.

“Sh-shut up.”

Now that the tournament has reached its conclusion and the terms of it have been more than adequately fulfilled, the next logical step for the three of you would be to continue on to some other activity. However, rather than proceeding to rummage through the cupboards and drawers in search of another board game or something of that sort to occupy your free time, the three of you instead opt to linger in place on the floor and passively chat about whatever subject crosses your minds. Of course there's the two beds and one couch just a few measly steps away from the table that would provide a considerably more comfortable backdrop for the three of you to hold your discussions, but the communal laziness and joint wistfulness prevents anybody from moving a single unnecessary muscle.

Much to your surprise, the conversation that blossoms between the three of you isn't as crass or unusual as it so commonly is. Alex's scat, dick and sex jokes are kept to an absolute minimum and the constant insults and physical assaults that are omnipresent in yours and Rebecca's regular interactions are virtually nonexistent tonight. It's definitely a welcomed change of pace to be able to so leisurely reminisce about the past, muse about the present and ruminate about the future with these two nutjobs without being subjected to their more often than not tiresome quirks, but at the same time it's kind of uncanny.

“Why though?” you silently ask yourself as the two girls proceed to gossip about somebody from your high school that you can only vaguely recall ever existing. “Are they, like, becoming more and more relaxed around me to the point that they don't always have to be 'on', or are they just too exhausted to act like their usual selves? Ah well, it doesn't matter. Just gotta be glad that I don't have to deal with Rebecca's kicks and punches and Alex making wisecracks about my dick, right?”

You aren't exactly sure how much time has passed since the end of your checkers tournament. Just as a discussion about your favorite horror movies comes to a close, a outrageously loud concoction of doors slamming, people conversing and furniture being moved around for some unknown reason can be heard rising atop the cottage's previous dormancy. Your first thought is that a group of misfits are burglarizing the cottage or that a sudden flash flood is assaulting the ground floor, but when you recall that Nick, Spray and Alice had still been out at the fire when you and the others had left it behind you breath a sigh of relief. The three of you upstairs remain relatively silent while listening intently to the flurry of activity downstairs until all at once it seems to come to a conclusion. Not a single noise can be heard from anywhere that's outside of Sarah's old bedroom from that point onwards, a fact that both calms you and frightens you at the same time.

“Hope they aren't dead,” you remark to nobody in particular.

“Hope they <i>are</i>,” Alex adds.

“Even Alice?” Rebecca asks.

Alex deviously smiles. “<i>Especially</i> Alice.”

It doesn't take all that much longer until conversation peters off completely. You emit a quiet yawn that engenders a chain of increasingly audible yawns until it gets to the point that the three of you are all loudly yawning at the exact same time.

“Looks like it's time for the big ol' b',” Alex remarks as she hops up onto her feet.

“Yeah, I think so too,” Rebecca adds.

Finding no qualms with their sentiments, you wordlessly bring yourself up onto your hands and knees and crawl like a wounded animal over to your couch. Since it's so hot and humid in your bedroom you figure that the added heat from being in a sleeping bag would serve to do nothing but roast you to the point of getting a heat stroke, yet at the same time your body can't help itself but to mechanically part the mouth of your fabric dungeon and slip inside of its confines anyways. The bunk bed on the opposite side of the room moans to itself as Alex and Rebecca climb in and adjust themselves around until they find a position that offers them relative comfort.

“Now Alex, I know that you're already well aware of my rule, but for any newcomers here I'd like to make it crystal clear that there will be absolutely no falling asleep conversation whatsoever,” Rebecca announces while staring daggers at you.

“Falling asleep conversations?” you repeat. “What's that?”

“What do you think it is? Trying to talk when the lights are out and everybody is in bed. I can't <i>stand</i> that stuff. You never know when the other people are sleeping or if they want to fall asleep and are just talking to you out of obligation and all that. It's really annoying and definitely <i>not</i> how I want to spend the final moments of my day.”

“Anybody who talks to you always does so out of obligation anyways so I don't see what the big deal is,” you joke.

“You're lucky that I'm not in the mood to get blood on my pillow otherwise you'd be dead right now,” Rebecca retorts.

“Lucky for me then.”

Although you certainly do agree with Rebecca's sentiments, her exaggeration of the practice of talking before falling asleep makes you wonder if she has some sort of painful history with the subject. However, suffering from both a lack of enthusiasm and a deficit of available energy to argue with her, you simply concede defeat and pretend to agree wholeheartedly, thereby ushering in a trio of identical and simultaneous <i>Good Night!</i>'s, save of course for Alex who decides to tack on <i>“Mother****ers!”</i> to the end of hers for extra flair.

As you lay on your back and stare up at the barren white ceiling, crickets noisily chirping in one ear and water pipes expanding and contracting in the other, the events of the day begin to replay themselves in your head like a sentimental sepia-filtered home movie from your childhood. It definitely goes without saying that you're having a blast thus far, if not the time of your life. It doesn't matter what events fill your itinerary: whatever it is you're doing, it's fun. Even mundane, banal activities like sitting on the couch and watching trashy television or playing classical board or card games like checkers or Bullshit have the level of excitement that a roller coaster ride or a first kiss would normally entail. The separation from parental guidance, the beautiful surroundings and the amazing company have all melded into one experience that already has you feeling nostalgic over it despite still being right in the midst of it.

On top of all the more specific anecdotal experiences that you'll be sure to treasure for quite some time, there's a lot of stuff going on behind the scenes too. Despite having only been at the cottage for not much more than twelve hours, it certainly feels as if you've already grown a lot closer to these friends of yours. Rather than just being a group of people with similar interests that had spent their idle moments at school in the company of one another for the sake of passing the time with relative agreeableness, this time around it really feels as if there's a more interpersonal connection happening, especially when it comes to yourself and the pair of Alex and Rebecca. Is that the truth though? Is it not possible that your mind is just playing tricks on you, allowing the novelty and excitement of the vacation to delude you into thinking that there's this newfangled relationship occurring when in actuality it has existed all this time and had simply been waiting for the proper catalyst to come along and spur its realization? Have Alex and Rebecca always been this close to you, or is it simply because the three of you are sharing a bedroom and are forced to interact with one another that it feels that way?

“Ah, I'm just overthinking things again,” you internally scold yourself as you turn over onto your side and nuzzle your head further into your pillow. “Nothing's changing. Alex and Rebecca have probably always been this way. One of them is a tomboy with an affinity for talking in slang and abbreviations and the other is a borderline midget who loves to beat me up for some unknown reason. We're all friends and that's it. The specifics of our friendships may have changed a bit over the years, but we're still friends nonetheless and that's the way it's always going to be, no if's, and's or but's.”

For a fleeting moment the thought that, “Perhaps it would be nice if things could change just a little bit though,” occupies your thoughts before eventually your complete and utter exhaustion gets the better of you and pulls you down into the depths of a deep, dreamless sleep.

<b>--END OF DAY ONE--</b>

Your consciousness wanes in a state of uneasy purgatory for what feels to your unresponsive mind as quite some time. You are neither awake nor asleep as you lay there motionlessly, eyes closed and chest gently moving up and down in perfectly identical intervals. Based on the way that your body is behaving you infer that you should be in the midst of a deep sleep, but based on the way that your mind is whirring away you know that you're actually awake. After having experienced sleep paralysis several times in the past you know for a fact that's not what ailment you're currently suffering from; after all, if you wanted to move your body then you most certainly could. In order to reaffirm this fact to yourself you raise your pinky finger a slight distance off of the couch and leave it suspended in midair for a few moments before allowing gravity to do its job and bring your meager appendage back down onto the musty fabric. Your statuesque positioning is not due to a physical issue, but rather an unknown mental benefactor, one that makes it feel as if you're having a mild panic attack. You don't know what it is, but by this point in time your brain has long since accepted the fact that there's grievous danger lurking right near you. It may be illogical, irrational and borderline delusional to think this way, but you know for a fact that the very instant you open your eyes even the slightest amount then whatever mutant offspring of reality is lurking in the shadows will come and get you and tear you from limb to limb.

“**** this shit, I've gotta be dreaming,” you think to yourself. “Either that or I'm crazy. Heh, yeah, that's it. That's gotta be it. I'm crazy. I'm nuts. I'm ****in' bonkers. Bouncing off the walls and thinking that my body is covered in spiders, that kind of bonkers. There's nothing in the room with me except for Alex and Rebecca. Whatever this thing is that has me so scared is nothing more than a mere figment of my imagination or something that I'm taking way out of context, kinda like when I thought a goblin was eating all of my Halloween candy but it turned out to just be my Dad. You know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna open my eyes just to spite myself. Yup, that's right...gonna open them...right now...yuppers...openin'...openin' up them eyes...right...<i>now!</i>”

It takes all but a fraction of a second for your eyelids to part and reveal the world to you once again. However, rather than looking up at the hazy image of a arid ceiling like you had expected to, you instead come face to face with a formless monstrosity hovering mere centimeters above your face.

“Holy shit!!” you cry out, scampering back on your couch until you nearly flip over the side of it.

“Shh, keep it down buttnut!” Alex, the apparent identity of your oppressor, angrily whispers at you.

“Goddammit, what the hell are you doin'?” you demand as you hold your hand over your frantically beating heart.

“You spooked?” she asks.

“What the hell does it look like?!”

She chuckles. “Sorry sorry. Anyways, I just wanted to let ya know that it's time to get up now. Sun is shinin', roostersbe crowin', Becky's makin' brecky and all is right with the world.”

“Bullshit. It's still dark outside, all I can hear are crickets, I can see Rebecca sleeping right there, and all is <i>not</i> right with the world because I should be asleep right now, not talking to you about random bullshit.”

“Yeesh, somebody's a custy old **** when they wake up.”

“More like somebody's a custy old **** when they get woken up at four o'clock in the morning or whatever the hell time it is when there's no good reason for it.”

Alex devilishly smiles. “Oh, there's a good reason.”

“And that is?”

“I'm hungry. Had this dream where I was eatin' a taco, only it was filled with, like, nachos or somethin'? I don't even remember. Maybe it was fish and chips but with tacos instead of fish? Either way, I was like 'damn this is some good shit' but when I woke up I was in Becca's bunk eating a wad of her hair.”

“What's this got to do with me?” you ask with a yawn. “You want to eat my hair too?”

“Nah, yours is probs too greasy for my likin'. I was thinkin' somethin' a little more along the lines of a sandwich or a pizza or somethin'. Yee, baby want pizza. Baby want pizza bad. Where <i>you</i> come in, my man, is that I don't wanna go downstairs all alone. Wanna come with?”

“Not particularly,” you reply. “I'd much rather go back to sleep.”

“Come on, I'll make it worth your while!”

“How so?”

“I don't ****in' know! Just come with!”

“Ugh...”

Despite denying her request time and time again, Alex still somehow manages to grab you by both of your currently numb arms and pull you out of your sleeping bag. Your balance violently teeters back and forth as all of the blood in your body rushes up to your head, the likes of which making you feel as if you're almost as drunk as Sarah was a few hours ago. Although you'd like to be given an opportunity to stand around and regain your barrings you know that with a hungry Alex bearing down on you such luxuries are impossible to obtain. After all, when Alex is hungry, anything that separates her from her supply of food can consider itself effectively erased from reality. It comes as no surprise to you whatsoever when the hellion herself sneaks around you, places both of her hands on your back and urges you onwards while whispering various demeaning comments about you that are just out of earshot.

The interior of the cottage remains hauntingly quiet as the two of you quite literally tip-toe throughout its upper floor on your way to the kitchen. The two of you walk past the guest bedroom first, peering momentarily through the slightly ajar door to see Alice peacefully sleeping in the only bed in the room. You then move a few steps further down the hallway so that you can stare through the open door of the master bedroom, wherein you notice that Sarah has migrated over to the other bed as Katie has effectively claimed Sarah's original bed as her own. Sarah looks to be quite peaceful, her head situated in the exact center of her pillow and her body draped in a floral-print comforter from the neck downwards, while Katie, on the other hand, has all of her sheets kicked onto the floor as she lays sprawled out in a geometrically impossible shape and snores so powerfully that the curtains just above her head flutter back and forth in time with her outbursts. The two of you then make your way down the creaky staircase and through the living room, past where Spray and Nick are complacently dozing on the identical couches, before at long last making it to the much revered kitchen.

Alex wastes no time whatsoever in opening up the freezer door and pulling out a familiarly orange box of microwaveable snacks that are only scarcely reminiscent of the pizzas that they attempt to emulate. “Want a couple?” she asks you.

“No thanks. Err, actually one might be okay. Alright, two should be good then. Yeah, make me two, please and thank you.”

“Make 'em yerself,” Alex fires back as she places two of the half-moon shaped bricks of dough and pizza filling onto a plate.

“Whoa, what's all this now? Didn't you say that you'd make it worth my while?”

“I meant that I'd suck yer dick or somethin', not make you food. God, whaddya think I am, a chef?”

“If I was given a choice between eating a Pizza Pop or getting a blowjob from you then I'd definitely pick the Pizza Pop. No offense.”

Alex waves her hand back and forth in the air. “None taken brah. These things are pretty ****in' good.”

“I feel like we're in the middle of a really weird commercial for Pizza Pops right now.”

“We are! See, look, there's the camera!” Alex says as she points both of her index fingers at her crotch.

“Hi Mom!” you cheerfully exclaim while waving at Alex's imaginary camera. “This is what my life has come to! Thanks for giving birth to me!”

Once Alex finishes microwaving your two snacks she goes ahead and prepares two for herself as well. While she eagerly waits for hers to finish reheating, her face quite literally pressed up against the translucent screen of the microwave, you take the opportunity to grab a couple of pieces of paper towel as well as a couple of cans of pop, all the while praying that the caffeine and sugar of the beverage won't prevent you from falling back asleep later on.

“Wanna eat outside?” Alex whispers. “At least that way we won't have to be Alice.”

“Alice?” you confusedly repeat.

“It's a new word I'm tryin' out. Like Katie for apathetic, Alice is for quiet. Comments, questions, concerns?”

“None. It works. You're a brilliant linguist. Let's go outside.”

With a can of some carbonated beverage in one hand and a plate of Pizza Pops in the other, the two of you carefully sneak through the living room and out through the front door so that you can enjoy your well-past midnight snack in the relative comfort of the great outdoors. Despite being the middle of a particularly humid summer, and despite Sarah's old bedroom being so hot and muggy that your clothes stick to your body almost the very instant that you walk in there, the weather on the front porch is considerably cool. A sharp breeze blows by every now and again, its appearance always making you both shiver and worry about whether your snack is going to become cold and hard as a rock.

“Too bad we don't have any cigars,” you silently muse. “This would be the perfect time to whip 'em out.”

“Yee,” Alex replies as she scarfs down another massive bite. “These things good.”

“Please chew with your mouth closed.”

“Sowwy,” she sarcastically apologizes. “Man, when get back upstairs we should totes write all over Rebecca's face with shit like 'I gay' or 'poopslut'. She sleeps like a rock so we'd get away with it too.”

“I'd prefer to depart from this trip with the same number of limbs that I had coming into it, thank you very much.”

“Come on bro, you seriously think she'd massacre you like that?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I dunno. Maybe. Who knows what she's capable of. One time Alice and I were struggling to move that really heavy recliner that was in the drama room and then Rebecca came over and moved it single-handedly. I swear she's like a secret body builder or something. Maybe the reason she didn't wear a two-piece today was because she has a six pack or something.”

“Wanna go take a looksie? Lift up her shirt and investigate her tum-tum?”

“Why are you so intent on molesting Rebecca in her sleep?”

Alex laughs. “I dunno, I'm just bored.”

“And I'm tired. If you're bored then you should go to bed. It's a win-win scenario.”

“Sleepin' is boring too though. The only thing in this ****ed up world that isn't boring is molestation. Well, that and skateboarding. And maybe pizza. Pizza, skateboarding and molestation. That's all that matters in life, my friend.” She pauses. “Anyways, what I'm tryin' to say is that you gotta grab life by the balls, or in this case the teets. The flat little teets of Becky-becks. Might be your only chance to do so, Casanova. Do it while ya can, nomsayin'?”

“Casanova?” you repeat with a frown. “Don't forget that you're talking to the guy who hasn't even ****ing <i>held hands</i> with a girl before.”

“I was usin' it sarcastically, ya dingus.” Alex pauses to loudly burp before adding, “Wanna?”

“Wanna what?”

“Hold hands with a chick.”

“Uhh, where are we gonna find a girl at this hour? Everybody's asleep.”

“I meant me ya ****in' numbskull.”

“You?”

“Yee. I'm a girl, remember?”

“Yeah, barely,” you scoff.

“Still counts though. Here,” she says as she reaches out and latches her hand onto yours. “How is it?”

“Umm...”

You find yourself at a complete and utter loss of words. It may only be Alex, and it may only be the simple act of hand holding, but for some unknown reason you find yourself helplessly enamored. Her hands are rough, spotted with calluses and littered with what feels to you like granules of sand and dirt hiding in all the cracks and crevices of her palm and fingers, yet at the same time they feel smooth and soft and warm to the touch. It's so odd, both the texture and the scenario itself that you can't help but wonder if you're still asleep on the couch upstairs and are going to wake up in a few moments only to discover that this had been a shockingly boring dream and that you've been grabbing your own hand all along.

“Well?” she asks again.

You know that you can't keep quiet for all that much longer, lest of course you give Alex the satisfaction of making you flustered. “Uhh...to be honest it's pretty--

1. Incredible. By far everything that I had hoped for and more.
2. Awful. Your hands are all sweaty and covered with pizza grease.
3. Nice, but unfortunately it doesn't really count.

[foxfire667]

So far I'm enjoying how the story is going, and I agree with Cavernio about beginning to forget about who had written it. I stopped feeling like I was reading some forum post online, and began to see myself taking in all that is going on in the story.

One thing I have to say is that the pace of this story is, at least so far, extremely slow. Considering how much detail and exposition you have given about absolutely everything that occurs, I'm imagining this pace is completely intentional. As the story progresses I will imagine the pacing will be faster when the actual destination is reached.

All of the choices you have written will have their own story segments (and have some sort of effect in the story) right? I was actually expecting the third segment you posted for the story to be if your character decided to take the car instead of the SUV in all honesty. If all choices will eventually be written out, I can see this becoming highly interesting and entertaining.

Minor issue:
"I know that I probsies sound like a broken record"
This mannerism seems really odd when saying it out loud, and although she can have any sort of dialect you wish, you say earlier she "could probably settle in with your group of friends and nobody would bat an eye." "Probsies" sounds more like a failed attempt at being "hip" with the "new-fangled crowd" than something a typical teenager would say.

This doesn't affect the story but so you know, <i>words</i> needs to be changed to [i]words[/i].

Keep this story going, it seems like it could be a lot of fun down the road if you complete it!

[MrPopadopalis25]

I've still been working on this. Here's a bit more that I finished today. Comments and criticism are r8 helpful and highly appreciated if you have the time to trudge through the selection.


--yeah, I'd probably give a few of them a try. Drugging it up isn't something that I'd want to make habitual, and I definitely don't want to be affiliated with the kids who feel the need to tag '420' over every conceivable surface, but once in a blue moon it'd probably be okay to get high on this or that. Plus having an acid trip chalked full of hallucinations and junk sounds like it'd be a really enlightening experience.” You pause before adding, “What about you then? What's your opinion?”

“Me? Well, to be honest, I'd do 'em all!” Sarah proudly announces as she pushes her bust outwards and places her hand over top of her heart. “After all, everything in life must be experienced at least once! You can't say that you've truly lived unless you've experienced every single thing that life has to offer you!”

“R-really?” Alice asks. “Wh-what about like...uhh...g-getting shot and stuff? Do you want t-to experience that?”

“Yuppers!” Sarah replies with no hesitation whatsoever. “Getting shot builds character and makes all of the high points in your life feel that much higher! Plus you get mad street cred'!”

“What about stripping naked and diving into a septic tank that's practically overflowing with you-know-what?” you question her.

“Of course! Obviously it wouldn't be a fun experience or anything, but it'd make for one heck of a story to tell folks later on down the road!”

You purposefully contort your facial expression into one that makes it look as if you had just ingested an entire handful of raw table salt. “Okay, well what about making out with your own Grandmother on Christmas morning while of the rest of your extended family watches on in juxtaposed horror and disgust? Oh, and your Grandmother just pounded back three whole platefuls of liver and onions and there's still a bunch of it left in her mouth that she didn't have time to finish chewing before you started making out with her. Would you do that too?”

Sarah buoyantly giggles. “Sure would! Imagine how great of a bonding experience it would be for the two of us! Plus liver and onions isn't the worst thing in the world. I will admit that it's more of an acquired taste, but it's definitely not that gross.”

By this point of the conversation, you figure that it would appear to be readily apparent to even the most socially-deficient of person that regardless of what outlandish scenario you continue to propose to her, Sarah will happily accept the idea of performing it and will go on to cite some sort of dainty reasoning or even go as far as to make up an outright lie in order to justify her actions. For a brief moment you consider taking advantage of this infallible streak of hers by propositioning that she makes out with either Alice or yourself, seeing as how such actions are something that as far as you're aware she has yet to experience, but the equally viable possibilities of Sarah treating you with the utmost scorn and Alice being plunged into the swampy depths of an awkward situation so distasteful that she would be left in a catatonic state for the remainder of the trip, you figure that you should err on the side of caution and refrain for the time being.

Rather than continuing on with the previous conversation, the three of you unanimously decide to wordlessly retreat back to your respective pieces of literature and resume enacting the peaceful atmosphere that had been omnipresent prior to your roundtable discussion about drugs. Other than the occasional rustling of paper as a page is flipped over or a creak or groan that emanates from the ancient porch swing as it reaches the apex of its cycle, not a single outside benefactor is able to permeate the bliss that the three of you have forged for yourselves; that is, however, until somebody within your group mutinously closes her magazine, sets it on the ground beside her and stands up, thus resulting in the formerly pristine bout of relaxation to reach its unfortunate conclusion.

“What's up?” you ask the girl who at the present has her hands raised high above her head, one hand clutching onto the other arm's elbow as she stretches out her entire midsection to the point that her entire upper body begins to quiver.

“I'm done with reading for now,” Sarah tiredly replies. “My legs are starting to fall asleep from all this sitting. I think I'm going to go and take a little stroll down on the beach. See you cool cats later!”

Alice and yourself proceed to remain rooted to your individual seats as you both watch Sarah scamper down the front steps, unearth some earbuds from within her pocket and place them into her ears before complacently setting out towards her intended destination. It isn't until the more nomadic member of what was once a harmonious trio has made it at least halfway down the length of the backyard that you become all too aware that you're still sitting extremely close to Alice. It doesn't take any longer than the blink of an eye for your cheeks immediately assume a red hue as you hurriedly scuffle to the left and claim the seat that had formerly belonged to Sarah as your own.

“A-actually, I was...umm...thinking the same thing as her,” Alice announces a few moments later. “I'm going to go and, uhh, maybe l-like...watch TV or s-something?”

“O-okay then,” you reply. “Good luck I guess?”

“Th-thanks.” Without another word, Alice stands up and secures her novel within the safety of her arm before disappearing into the interior of the cottage.

“Well, at least I have still have Katie to keep me company, right?” you say aloud.

Much to your disappointment, you soon discover that the girl who had once been aimlessly swinging a baseball bat over and over again across the way from you has vanished as well, thereby bestowing you with a sense of desolation that makes you genuinely feel as if you've been abandoned by the rest of your friends.

“Damn, do I stink or something?” you think to yourself as you lift up an arm and take in a whiff of your armpit. “Nope, just smells like deodorant. Hmm...perhaps I should still go and take a shower just to be on the safe side. But, then again, that's a lot of work.”

Despite the immense amount of misery and emotional turmoil that consumes your entire thought process, a particularly agreeable realization soon engenders you to cast aside your cumbersome emotions and realize that you've now been bestowed with an opportunity that's exactly what you had been seeking out prior to coming outside. Now that Sarah and Alice have vacated the premises, you're free to kick up your legs and devour the entirety of the porch swing as much as your heart seeks fit. With not a single person around to disturb you, the solitary outdoor reading session that you had been looking forward this entire afternoon to has at long last come to sweet fruition.

However, within a very short period of time it becomes readily apparent that all and any hopes that you may have once held towards achieving nirvana are nothing more than a mere pipe dream. You put forth the greatest amount of effort that you can manage in order to stretch yourself out lengthwise, but no matter what you do your body adamantly refuses to cooperate with you. Even your mind, which had been the one to suggest that you should pursue such a course of action in the first place, seems to have undergone a paradigm shift of its own as it proceeds to uninhibitedly pump nothing but pure sorrow into your bloodstream at an unprecedented rate.

No matter which way you look at it, what you're doing right now is wrong, plain and simple. After all, how many lazy weekend afternoons have you spent complaining about doing the exact same thing that you're doing right now? How many minutes, hours, days, weeks and even months have you spent throughout the course of your lifetime withering away with only the oppressively prevailing theme of boredom dictating your actions, or perhaps lack thereof? Right now there exists an entire world of abundantly fruitful opportunities within your grasp, one that all you need to do is take a few steps towards it in order to reap its magnanimous benefits, but alas all you're doing is lazing around like a textbook sloth. Plus, on top of that, you've left your friends high and dry as well. A wave of nausea soon threatens to force you to rush over to the front porch's railing in order to vomit up the half-digested remnants of your lunch onto the front lawn when nothing but raw, unadulterated guilt assails your consciousness over refusing Nick and Spray's previous offer of accompanying them down to The Strip.

“Good lord I'm a doofus,” you mourn aloud as you place your hands on your forehead and stare downwards at the cement foundation of the front porch.

By this point in time it's safe to say that you've realized that whittling away any more of your precious afternoon than you already have thus far is something that you can't even fathom doing. Although it's probably more or less impossible to catch up with Nick and Spray now, you figure that you can at least begin to make amends by pursuing one of the two girls that had formerly been seated on either side of you.

“Sorry Alice,” you think to yourself as you hop over the bannister and begin to jog down towards the foliage. “Nothing against you or anything, but experiencing the beach in person is definitely more enthralling than seeing it replicated on a TV screen.”

Much to your relief, as soon as you emerge from the brush and step out onto the sand you discover that Sarah has yet to commence the stroll down the length of the shoreline that she had attested to enacting earlier on. Since she's presently staring out at the water with her back to you and has her perception of the outside world impoverished thanks in part to the loud music that's being injected directly into her brain by her earbuds, you decide to silently stand behind her for a few moments in the hopes that she'll become aware of your presence on her own accord instead of you having to take the initiative by tapping her on the shoulder and thus running the risk of startling her. Although it takes her a little bit longer than you had been initially expected in order to do so, eventually your plan is met with great success as Sarah clues in and turns around to greet you without you having to do anything at all.

“Whoa, fancy seeing you out here!” she says.

“Yeah, what a real coincidence this is!” you laugh.

“How come you ended up following me? Weren't you and Alice having a fun time in my absence?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Alice was bitten by the same boredom bug that nabbed you as well so she decided to go inside and watch TV, and since I had nothing else better to do I figured I'd try to catch up with you before you got too far.”

“Nothing better to do, eh?” Sarah distantly repeats before coyly smirking. “So by that logic you're saying that I'm your last resort, huh?”

“Oh come on, you know what meant,” you apprehensively reply.

“Do I? Do I really?” she asks before she removes her earbuds from her ears, neatly wraps them up around her iPod and places the combination of the two back into her pocket. “Well come on then, let's get a-walkin'!”

Since the afternoon has more or less reached its climax, the amount of people that presently inhabit the sands of Port Trout is nothing short of staggering. Even forging a path all the way back at the section of the beach that's as far away from the water that one can physically manage while not intruding on the various volleyball courts and abundant games of catch proves to be a feat that's virtually impossible. Every single step that Sarah and yourself take must have considerable forethought put into it, lest of course the two of you actually desire to step on an unsuspecting sunbather's stomach or ruin a perfectly good sandcastle that its architect had spent hours upon hours slaving away at.

During the course of your stroll, you happen to notice a young boy and girl whose collective age barely impinges on the double digits sitting on a blanket off to the side from the rest of the more adult members of their group. The two of them appear to be enjoying a leisurely picnic; at least, that is until the boy happens to carelessly drop his sandwich. While presumably mirroring the same look of absolute horror that's plastered on his face at the present, you watch in slow-motion as the peanut-butter-and-jellied masterpiece plummets from his hands and lands on the sand beside him. For a moment you consider nudging Sarah, who at the moment is oblivious to the child's plights seeing as how her attention is solely fixated an all-male beach volleyball game, and making a pun regarding the kid having put the sand in sandwich, but when you see him begin to cry you immediately abandon the thought. However, luckily for everybody involved, his tears are relatively short-lived as the young girl seated next to him happily takes her sandwich and offers him half of it as a replacement, a gesture that immediately clears up the boy's foggy expression and makes him visibly happy beyond belief.

“Heh, feels kinda familiar,” you think to yourself as you silently glance over at Sarah.

“Eh? What's up Doc'?” she asks a few moments later when she notices you staring at her.

“Uhh, nothing,” you awkwardly reply.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Well, if you say so then!” She proceeds to sigh before adding, “Man, it sure is weird to think that our little trip-er-ooni here is already nearing its halfway point.”

“Time flies when you're having fun after all.”

She nods several times in agreement. “Too true, my friend. Too true. It's unfortunate though, isn't it? I wish all good things could last forever. Actually, speaking of which...oh jeez, I don't know if I should.”

“Don't know if you should what?”

“It's just that...well, I've got this really cool secret but I don't know if I should tell it to you or not.”

“Oh yeah? How cool are we talkin' here? Like, Tony the Tiger cool or some legit Antarctica-tier stuff?”

“Even cooler than those two things combined!”

“Whoa, so pretty much Absolute Zero wearing sunglasses?!”

“Yuppers!”

Since Sarah apparently refuses to speak any more than she already has, you're more or less forced to rigidly clear your throat before asking the all-important question of, “Can I hear it then?”

Sarah's previously slow yet steady walking pace immediately comes to a complete halt as she takes a few steps off to the side in order to avoid an oncoming swarm of middle-aged women. “Ooh, yikes. I don't think so.”

“Really~? Why not?” you reply with melodramatic despair.

“Because I don't know if we're close enough.”

You take a single step towards her. “Are we close enough now?”

“Nope.”

You take another step, one that leaves your face mere centimeters away from yours. “How about now?”

Sarah laughs as she takes a couple of steps backwards. “Is that going to be part of your comedy act?”

“Depends. I'll tell you if you tell me your secret.”

“Hmm...I'm just not sure if I should. Let me think about it for a sec' or two, mmkay?”

“Sure thing.”

While Sarah proceeds to stare off into space while presumably considering the implications that telling you her “cool secret” could possibly hold for not only her but everybody else involved as well, you desperately attempt to keep your mind vacant of all and any anxiety that arises over the whole scenario, but much to your displeasure you soon discover that such an endeavor is downright impossible. Despite what she says, the fact of the matter is that Sarah had not only brought up the subject in the first place but had also gone along with your lighthearted interrogation about it as well. Even now as she's apparently engaged within a bout of deep introspection there's a comedic overtone encompassing her. If she didn't even want you to know that she possessed some sort of secretive information then why would she bring it up in the first place?

In your mind, her refusing to clue you in is an obvious ploy of some sort, but for what purpose exactly? To garner attention? It definitely goes without saying that Sarah enjoys being in the limelight, but your knowledge of her and the way that she usually opts to present herself prevents you from believing that she would go to such an extent as this just to have you focus in on her even more than you already have been throughout the course of your vacation thus far. The same line of thought goes for her pulling some sort of practical joke; after all, something this nefarious could only be employed by the villainous pair of Alex and Rebecca. Perhaps Sarah is attempting to rope you into saying something that she wants to hear you say? You aren't exactly sure as to what such a thing could be, but the possibility sounds highly likely. As time listlessly marches onwards you begin to fear that you're either missing or overlooking one really key detail about the whole scenario, one that's so obvious that if anybody else had been in your presence then they would surely punch you in your arm and whisper in your ear, “Come on man!” As stealthily as you possibly can you proceed to look around at the swarm of people that's more or less encircling the two of you in the hopes that at least one of them is paying attention to your conversation and can lend you a helping hand, but as far as you can tell every single person that's in your general vicinity is fully engrossed within their own personal realm and remains cruelly ignorant towards your dilemma.

Although it takes a few agonizingly long moments to do so, Sarah eventually alleviates your discomfort by placing her hand on your shoulder and staring into your eyes with such a warm smile that it makes you weak in the knees. “I have an idea!”

“Y-yeah?” you nervously reply.

“But first you have to answer this question and you have to answer it honestly, alright?”

“Well it depends on the question.”

“Just say yes or no, otherwise I won't tell you.”

“Uhh...okay, then yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I promise to answer your question as honestly as I possibly can.”

“Okay, good! Now then, tell me: do you like me?”

You gulp. “Uhh, what do you mean by 'like'?”

“Exactly what you think it means,” she winks.

Although at first your consciousness subsides into all but an impenetrable darkness, within little to no time at all a colossal myriad of thoughts, opinions, possible responses and increasingly viable options to make a not-so-great escape proceed to assault you to the point that you feel as if you're suffering from a particularly devastating migraine. For Sarah to ask you such a loaded question isn't necessarily uncharacteristic for her, but at the same time asking one that has the devastating potential to irrevocably alter the entire course of your friendship for either better or for worse is definitely a first. What should you do? Should you treat her question as genuine and answer with your true feelings, or should you treat it as a joke and shrug it off with a comedic response just as you normally would? Plus, on top of that, what are your true feelings anyways? Do you like Sarah? It definitely goes without saying that you like her as a friend, but what about in a romantic sense? Having to properly answer such a substantially profound question within such a short period of time isn't a feat that you can even remotely conceive of accomplishing.

“We~ll?” she asks you a few moments later, an adorable yet at the same time irksomely mischievous glimmer in her eyes.

Knowing that you'll presumably regret any course of action that you decide to go with, you take in a deep breath before telling Sarah, “--

1. Yeah, I like you. You're a really fun person to hang around with.
2. Yes, I love you very much.
3. Ehh, you're okay in small doses I suppose.