Okay, im sure this has been done before bt it is always good fun. As inpisered by the literature thread I have a good way we can all incorporate those writing skills we so passionatley cherish.

Just breif warning, I am terrible with spelling and grammer, so I apologise I hope you can retreat frm correcting my mistakes!!

Kay so ill start.... I willl write a paragraph and each new post will go on with the story, adding your unique touch to the story..

OKay, now to brush the dust off my writing skills.

Beads of sweat melted from his forhead. Moisture soon began to consume the air. But patiently he sat, and waited; Gathering the atmosphere so that he could experince it with one sense, in one moment. The darkness was soothing, until a cool draft swept across his bare and boney feet, and alerted all of his senses so that the hairs of his neck were stiff, and the texture of his skin became goosebumped. He stood, awkwardley with weak legs, exhausted by his fear, he welcomed his destiny.

ah ADAMS thread again:p

it came creeping through the bush and across the lawn, only its shadow visable in the half light. He held still till it had creept with-in the light, he could stand it no longer. He ran with the beast in hot persute...

His muscles burned, his lungs desperatley trying to take in more air as he ran. His parched mouth rasped as it panted. He could see it before him, in the dim light it was barely visible, but it was still there, that shadow - hunting him. He bounded through the grass, feeling the heat of its breath upon him, the pure stench of death. Blood coursed through him, e thought about her, his love being the only thing that percieved through this instinctual haze. There it was the cool iron gate, if only he could make it....

He made it...his feet stamping on the grass, he passed through the dark metal wall and slammed his fist over the control panel, glancing back at the near-endless field of swaying grass as the gate began to grind downward. He could see the thing that chased him, see its rancid breath pumping out of its nostrils.

The gate was moving so slowly, he became frustrated, and raised his rifle, checking the red digital numbers imprinted on its side, noting that he only had two dozen bullets left. He knew it only took one to bring down his pursuer.

He raised it slowly, pointing it directly at the shimmering eyes of the beast, trying to discern its shape in the darkness. He only had the eyes, and the breath to go on for a target, and his pointer finger quietly made its way to the trigger.

The door had almost closed. If it was going to attack, it had to now. If he was going to retaliate, he had to now.

The rifle bucked in his hand and roared at the same time, hurling yellow bullets through the air toward his target. At the same time, from the sides of the wall out of the man's line of sight came two of the creatures, hurtling through the air and slamming into the gate as it slid into the bare ground.

He sighed, thinking about her, the woman, images of her flying through his head.

His little break was interrupted as an otherworldly screech burned his ears, and he watched as the iron door flew off of its hinges, one of the creatures perched over it, baring its jagged yellow teeth.

He lifted his gun, heard the trigger click and a loud beeper sound from the inside. He was out of ammunition.

Oh I'd just like to point out that this isn't the first time this has been done, check out stryderunknown's Open Book Project (http://www.sciforums.com/t7556/s/thread.html), something that only he and I participated in. I hope that one of you will reply and continue the story, because I was really enjoying it.

The beast lunged, its filthy claws scratching the sides of his face, and its foetid breath wafting into his nose. He parried with his rifle, shoving it between the monster's jaws. It roared in anger, its scaley tail whipping the side of his face, drawing blood.

The beast struggled to disengage its jaws, and he struggled to keep them blocked with the rifle. There was no hope, none, but he knew that he could not die without fighting it to the limits of his ability.

The muscles in his arms burned, and began to quiver, exhausted from the exertion. Sweat formed on his forehead, dripping into the wound the creature's tail had created. He gritted his teeth, putting the last of his strength into keeping the beast back.

His muscles trembled, shuddered and began to fail. Blood and sweat mingled on his brow and dripped into his eyes, making his vision blur. A loud shot rang out.

He felt the beast howl in pain, then collapse against his chest, knocking the air out of his lungs.

He squinted, trying to make out the figure that stood over him. Female.

She kicked the beast's corpse off of his heaving chest and pulled him to his feet.

"You okay?"

He struggled to regain his breath, replying in between gasps for air;

"Never better". He studied her through blood-dimmned eyes. Unlike him, she wore no uniform or insignia, only a light garment of body armour and various weapons slung across her shoulders and strapped to her legs.

And, if his senses did not decieve him, she was incredibly beautiful. Was it Her?

Sensing this, he attempted to straighten completely and state his name, rank and purpose for being in restricted territory. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor. The last thing he saw before the blackness overcame him was her lips, half smiling sympathetically and half sneering the words

"Bloody fool."

he slowly awakes, strugling to see where he was. He soon realised that he was chained to the wall. His mussles burned from the exsurtion as he strugled to free himself, he knew if he couldn't SHE would soon return. He would rather face the beasts than HER. He herd footsteps aproching, ehcoing dully against the metal floor. He strugles harder knowing it is hopless, he is a traped animal himself, fighting because there is nothing else left for him. The door creaks....

The blazing floresent white light seared his eyes, he'd been in the dark too long and attempted to sheild them with his arm but shook his head as he realized it was chained. Even this blaze of light still seemed like a dark background compared to her.......The light danced upon the metal muscles carved into the body suit and shadowed her smooth toned thighs. It was like beauty had taken a form on earth, like the stars finaly had some reason to dim, just to highlight her..........then the smack of the end of the cold black Beretta stung his jaw........

beams of sunlight that had seeped through the crack of the cold stone walls glared his sight. He could see the figure of a small framed man postioned at teh door. He recognised the straw brissle hair, and the limped stance. A hot rush of blood burst through his veins, as hope had finnaly arrived. Adrenlin was his life line as his friend and comrad broke the chains that has brusied so many places of Daren's body.

"You look like shit" came from Marc;s crackled voice.

"Its that time of the month" said Daren. "got a plan?"

"They're all waiting for you, everyones in position. but let me just say this, it wont be an easy run this time, they know who you are."

"Good, now they will know what to fear, let do it."

"Rise, and shine" his mother commanded from the open door, her head bobbing--not unlike the plastic hula girl in the back window of his Dad's '56 Belair--just like she did all the other accursed days that school was practically unavoidable.

"Breakfast is almost ready, Dear. Please wear your clean underwear."

"Ummmmm," is all he could muster until the slowly dissipating fog of night's dreaming once again fully surrendered him mercilessly to day's living hell. Surely, there must be more to living than interminable preparations to meet it, head on--a pun not lost to him, he thought briefly.

"Oh, to he born already schooled--wise, and somewhat experienced," he muttered out loud, to anyone not present who might have listened had they actually been near, and cared.

"To begin life able fully to enjoy and appreciate it, heroic and lusted for, without first suffering the tortures of being shown how. Why not this as Nature's great gift instead of endless, graded torture?"

Deciding to show the Universe who really is Boss, he slipped on his most fermented pair of once-white underwear.

"In your eye," he cursed, through a smirk.

"Whoa" muttered the man. "Trippy acid flashback. Sorry. I will trigger the fuse now".

He pressed the button on a small triggering device.

The woman's artificially heightened senses picked up the scratching of a deeply buried charge. It was a lucky thing that this bunker was not strategically vital. No casualties lost, no real harm done.

Yet for one casualty, if she did not hurry -

Too late.

The force of the explosion threw her from the building into the cool night air. She stared up at the calm night sky, dotted with stars. Somehow they seemed all the much more distant and beautiful this night, above all others.

Her vision dimmed. A word escaped her lips.

"Democracy".

She knew that whatever else had happened, she had died for her ideal, for a better future. This was her final and only triumph against an indifferent cosmos, and an evil system. She knew that one day, her sacrifice would bear fruit, and that the world would be free.

In dying well, she conquered death.

she landed with a hard thump. He looked down at her broken form, tears stung his eyes. He cursed the sky, "why, oh why, why her?". His friend had tried to shield him but it was to late, he had already seen the twist of her neck and knew there was no hope, knew what the glazed look in her eyes as they stared at him ment. What a crule world that two so close must fight so bitterly against eachother. He rembered all the times she had laid in his arms before the troubles. Now everyone chose sides, the collapes of sociaty had left all fighting for there lives, for there ideals. She had surported the fractured goverment where he surports the new order, he knows the old was corupt and from its ashes must come the new peace....

a young girl, stood by. She saw the explosion from behind the tree from which she was standing. She saw teh scurrying of people, and the dancing of flames, and stood, and watched. SIrens filled the air, and a chilling wind lashed up against her cheek. In the ghetto of the Indian city, she was not moved by the panic. Instead she giggled at an elderly lady, who had been blinded by some debre from the event, running in pain and fear and desperation that caused her to trip and fall onto the busy road.
She climbed the tree that she would have before she was distracted, and continued to be entertained by the confusiion of the people. Her brother who was much older than her had left for school about 15 minutes before. He was an extraverted one, commonly pretending he was a knight of an intergalactic space quest, and she fantasised for a moment about him getting to school just as it exploded, but then returned to the chaos of below.
In a world that went to school at night, which was positioned in and around a war style outfit, the girl comandi rolled from the tree to look for her hippy, drug taking friend of whom they had concocted the idea to blow up the school, and everything it had stood for. THese were not your ordinary 4 yr olds.

she walks around carefully , so as not to aleart the already nervious solders. She spots her friend and runs quickly across to him. She is to late, a piece of jaged sheet metal peirces his chest as she watches on. Blood pours from his mouth, and she crys as his eyes begin to glaze over. She knows her crying will be herd, that she is already dead but she cares not. The solder raises his rifle but she doesn't see it, all she can think of is her dead friend. Death comes swiftly.

Aya's eyes snapped open. She looked at her surroundings. Stainless steel all about.

Bloody hell. Had she died again? And when would this stop happening to her?

She did not mind her work. She fought for a cause that she believed in, and was willing to suffer any torment for. What was life, after all, but suffering?

But she was tired of dying.

She ran a comb through her long red hair and put it up, while drawing on a bodysuit. Sighing and looking in the mirror, she noticed that she looked old.

Old at 25? Well why not? Hell, she felt old. Too many sacrifices, too many friends killed, and too much of this fucking dying and being reborn into a new body.

She grabbed a bottle of vodka from the shelf, not bothering with a glass. The vodka burned her mouth and mucous membranes, then felt smooth going down her throat.

Another day, another assignment.

She drew on her weaponry and left the room.

a sore, simmering anger welts up inside of her. She pulls her 'blankie' out from her pants a pushes her finger firmly on the blanket to wipe the blood from her friends mouth. She sits. She clenches the 'blankie' till her fingers have numbed. She was the only surviving from her play group, who has sworn to defeat the principle of going to school. It was up to her alone. And now, to must equip herself for battle.This is a journey to the forgotten wilderness of Bornio, a mission to seek wisdon from her master; to learn and train for such a battle.

A cold anger burns through him. He knows she was an agent of the enermy sent to use then destroy him. She is one of THEM, a perfect solder who lives only for her mission. He knows she lives in a new body, she could be anyone. He should feel nothing by her death, the death of a relentless enermy, but he does. His heart achs as he thinks of all the time they spent together before he learned the truth about her. He trys to put her out of his mind as he hunts for the girl, he knows shes around here and he needs what she has, he also knows he would rather face HER again than this child. he feels fear at the thought of another confrantation with the twisted girl. She is one of those who have been driven insane by the forces unleashed in this war. Yet he must find her before SHE can, the child is the ristances only hope....

Shaking off the recurring Vonnegat-like visions of conflict and mayhem induced by the oxygen-displacing, odoriferous character of his ill-kempt BVDs, he wonders if his mother's admonishment to lead a clean life might be his best option.

"How can true life cotton to soiled conformity," he asked open-endedly?

"Surely, militancy is not the solution to wakeful necessities best solved by modern hydrolized chemistry?"

No longer able to be absoultely certain which of his thoughts to trust--certainly the sign of being at least neo-pubescent, he reaches into his form-fitting, clothen accouterment only to find there another....

sausage.

"Damn! What's that doing there?" he thought idly to himself.

His mind drifted back to last night's BBQ in the neighbours' back yard. He had had too much strawberry lemonade and has acted like a fool in front of the girl whose attention he had been trying to attract for the last month. All that talk of war games and violent Jurassic Park-like dreams - silly.

He was determined to put it behind him. Today he would begin a new life. Turn over a new leaf. He would become ...

His mind phazed back to the preasen just as the enermy solder walked past. He steps out and snapes his neck quietly so as to avoid alearting the child. He sneaks up to her as a look of determinaton crosses her face. He hesitates, fearfull, then quietly crosses the last of the distance. He grabs her and as he gags her she SCREAMS. He knows its almost pointless to run but he does so praying today is his luck day. He is almost safe when the bullet hits his leg. The child spills free of his arms as he goes down. He rolls just as his friend shoots back. His atacker falls, a bullet in his neck. He gets up and grabs the child. He limps the rest of the way to safty where he curses his illfortune at being shoot so close to safty......

a factory hand. Now the mission was to determine exactley WHAT gender they were, and also figure out what the HELL was going on in his life... :D :rolleyes:

Aya shook the hallucinations out of her head. Why was she getting the impressions of perverse internet people in her head?

Oh well.

She heard a child's screams off in the distance. She wondered....should she pursue her target, or try to help the child?

The choice took a split second. She ran in the direction of the screaming.

She found herself face to face with the man she had been pursuing.

Agent your tripping:p

....He looks into her eyes, he sees nothing but hate. She is ice, she raises her rifle. He can't free his own as he holds the child in his arm. He knows that wont save him, she will rather kill the child than let him escape her again. Just then bullets fly by his head aimed at her. She is momentaraly distracted, but thats all he needs to reach the tunnel. As the doors slam closed on the tunnel the rebels use as a base, he breaths a sigh of relif. He did it, he captured the girl. He looks down at her, her eyes are hostile and she struggles in his arms. He feels her nails dig into his arm and bites his lip to numb the pain. He is realived of his burden by 2 guards. He alows himself to be lead away to the infirmary to be treated before he goes out again, back to the war that is the world above....

meanwhile, Sedinia, a princess of the world that lay beneath, was frantecly looking for comuncation with the two warriors she had sent to find the man who had detroyed the barrior that lead to the ugly world above them. HE had been sent as the representative of the refugees who were looking for haven from the brutal war. The world above was not to know about the serinity that was below them , for under dweller feared it would consequence in their world becoming the samr war ridden place.

But the man had the msg that it existed, and was about to invite the terror to this placed called...

Damn the Universe its perverse insistence that his life should be little more than descriptive narrative!

"Damn you, evil Cosmos."

"Perhaps, were I to smoke these experienced Loom de Fruits," he pondered, "should I find truer meaning than Nature seems has granted me automatically."

He realized just then that he was venturing forth into the mysterious province of the auto-didactic.

"Well, ya can learn something new every day," he said to himself in particular.

Whereupon he...

they're coming.

more of them, mercenaries from omega clan. his buddy spits out two more caps from his colt .38 snagging one twice in the chest. he falls like a sack of potatoes.

three more leap out of the grassy savannah, they're coming in hordes now. "damn oxies, fucking drug money pays well for good mercenaries in this quadrant," his buddy muses, emptying the last magazine of a semi-automatic into a lance of leather-skinned mercs on his left flank. he drops the rifle, and reaches for his magnum. gone. he reaches behind his head for his auxiliary sabre. empty air. he opens his inside jacket pocket for his hunting knife. missing. now fiddling with his shin-knife in desperation, he starts running backwards, as a paralyzing fear grips pierces his heart, chokes his sanity, and floods his eyelids with the tears of a coward facing death.

the man with the child closes his eyes, shielding the little girl from the impending slaughter of his buddy. he picks her up and stumbles into a nearby electrical hub, just as several shots ring out and the an agonizing scream slices his eardrums.

still running, he clutches the child, tears washing her windswept hair. a rebellious brat no more, she clutches her savior in childish fright. "protect me," her little arms say in a rough hug around his neck. he squeezes her little frame against his own. "i will, dont worry little one," he replies.

STOP RUINING THE STORY. THIS IS NOT AN ACID TRIP. IF I WANTED THAT I WOULDNT BE ON THE NET. I WOULD BE OUT TRIPPING/SMOKING.

yes your all tripping

the little girls evil and the guys were safe in the bunker

he didn't even HAVE the little girl anymore

its getting very hard to make this story cohearant when no one follows the last post

yes, thats what happens when multiple people read one post, and reply to that same post at the same time, and dont realize it until fifteen different random offshoots of one linear story fuck up the entire thread.

oh, well. i guess we must accept the acid trip.

he put the little piece of paper-like material on his tongue. it all appeared before him now, so lucid, clear, and logical. the hot reincarnated girl, the guys in the bunker, the evil four year old chuckie.

"you fucking fiends," he cried in wretched desperation. "i will heed your calls no more!"

with that he relaxed into a fitful little acid slideshow, the book "Self diagnosis and therapy for schizophrenics" catching his lacy drool.

.....He opens his eyes after the dream. He is in the infirmary with his friend standing next to him. He looks up at him and his friend tells him what they learned from the child, the very info that SHE was sent to stop the rebelion from gaining, is now in there hands. The man knows all this does is put them in more danger because now NOTHING will stop HER and her-kind from destroying them, but it also gives him hope. Now they may have a chance. His leader is sending him and his partner out again. He is sore and weary but he understands why they have been chosen, after all there the best he's got. Their goal now is the factory that made HER and is her-kinds home base. They are to scout it out and hopefully prepare to destroy it. He goes to the armory to prepare for his mission....

I hate to say this, but I think that the thread has degenerated. I may start another one when I have time (have to be tortured by mister orthodontist) but for now could just one of you check out Stryderunkown's Open Book Project (http://www.sciforums.com/t7556/s/thread.html). Come on, it is and was awsome!

Writers Challenge, right?

A free-form, everyone-is-invited, improvizational writing thread is not intended to maintain a specific thematic rigidity, as evidenced by this story preface: "I willl write a paragraph and each new post will go on with the story, adding your unique touch to the story."

The challenge to writers contributing to such a thread should not be to have to perpetuate painful verbosity and cardboard characters. The challenge should be to react to "unique"--yes, even droll--contributions. The challenge should be to create spoken imagery and characters with whom you can personally indentify.

The story line itself is the minor purpose of such a literary activity. The true purpose is the practice of writing.

So, write. Improvise. And don't get your panties in a bind when invitees contribute the unexpected in response to a challenge, and offer one back. ;).

Originally posted by Mr. G
Writers Challenge, right?

A free-form, everyone-is-invited, improvizational writing thread is not intended to maintain a specific thematic rigidity, as evidenced by this story preface: "I willl write a paragraph and each new post will go on with the story, adding your unique touch to the story."
even droll--contributions. The challenge should be to create spoken imagery and characters with whom you can personally
The challenge to writers contributing to such a thread should not be to have to perpetuate painful verbosity and cardboard characters. The challenge should be to react to "unique"--yes, indentify.

The story line itself is the minor purpose of such a literary activity. The true purpose is the practice of writing.

So, write. Improvise. And don't get your panties in a bind when invitees contribute the unexpected in response to a challenge, and offer one back. ;).

theres always a cynic..... so we didnt all turn out perfect. For that I will apologise. But do go on, and show us how it OUGHT to be done! ..... theres on in every crowd i tells ya

...do go on, and show us how it OUGHT to be done!
It ought to be done the way you want it to be done in your own thread. So, to insure that your thread turns out to be exactly what you would prefer it to be, from the outset you ought to be more specific both in describing the initial conditions of the exercise and any limitations you intend to impose on the participation of others.

For instance: "I willl write a paragraph and each new post will go on with the story, adding your unique touch to the story." might better be stated as: "Story-tellers' Challenge. Feel free to add a new paragraph to this story, but please remain true to its initial characters, situations, time period, locale, and story-telling style. Don't change anything, but do be uniquely creative."

"Oh, and if you have any prior professional writing experience please don't participate (you might make us look bad and we really won't learn anything from you, anyway. We just want to see if the story can make sense, not maybe learn how to write better"). ;)


I have a good way we can all incorporate those writing skills we so passionatley cherish.

I am terrible with spelling and grammer, ...
Then you're really talking about 'ryeting skilz'--not the same thing as writing skills. :p


:)

maybe this wasn't the way agent wanted it but to keep droping the story line so that you can go on an acid trip makes no sence

it makes these threads hard to read for starters and no one ends up liking it

it makes no sence to change the story to an acid trip every post

Asguard,

...maybe this wasn't the way agent wanted it but to keep droping the story line so that you can go on an acid trip makes no sence
Reading comprehension is a crucial aspect of good writing.

Re-read my posts. They are not about acid-tripping. They are about a protaginist awakening from a dream-state--a quite ordinary experience.

They are about re-inforcing dialog and identifiable character traits, such as introspection, as crucial elements of writing good fiction.

Story-telling is a third-person experience--outsiders looking in. Writing stories is about characters that exist in peoples' minds in the first-person.

I can be faulted for non-conformity--hey, and that's news?--but I can't be faulted for writing a story, and not simply telling one.

:)

Asguard,

"Whoa" muttered the man. "Trippy acid flashback. Sorry. I will trigger the fuse now".
Perhaps you shouldn't have relied on Xev to tell you what was going on. ;)

Just calling it as I see it, too, dear Xev. ;) ;) :)

:rolleyes: :p

You are so silly:D

Xev and i were making it up together

we were talking on ICQ at the same time

HAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHA

Tag-teaming, and together you both missed it?

Oh, the shame. Oh, the disappointment.

Originally posted by Mr. G

It ought to be done the way you want it to be done in your own thread. So, to insure that your thread turns out to be exactly what you would prefer it to be, from the outset you ought to be more specific both in describing the initial conditions of the exercise and any limitations you intend to impose on the participation of others.

For instance: "I willl write a paragraph and each new post will go on with the story, adding your unique touch to the story." might better be stated as: "Story-tellers' Challenge. Feel free to add a new paragraph to this story, but please remain true to its initial characters, situations, time period, locale, and story-telling style. Don't change anything, but do be uniquely creative."

"Oh, and if you have any prior professional writing experience please don't participate (you might make us look bad and we really won't learn anything from you, anyway. We just want to see if the story can make sense, not maybe learn how to write better"). ;)



Then you're really talking about 'ryeting skilz'--not the same thing as writing skills. :p


:)

for goodness sake, it was just a bit of fun. I wasnt going to make it into a linguistics lecture by outlining the impact of words and how to sturcture an sentence effeciently. I guess, i just ASSUMED people would flow on with the story, as thats what storys normally DO! I did want to make it quite eclectic so that It wasnt just my idea everyone was following from. It was just a little experiment I did. Its really not a big deal. I suggest if you are so distraught with its outcome, start a thread that has perfect descriptive instructions on how to write the story you would like them too..... cheer up sunshine, its not a matter of life a death, lets not make critism a negative word. :)

Agent5,

...it was just a bit of fun.
I was having fun, yes.

I wasnt going to make it into a linguistics lecture by outlining the impact of words and how to sturcture an sentence effeciently.
Nor could you. :p

...i just ASSUMED people would flow on with the story, as thats what storys normally DO!
Hey, my assumption, too. Both of us were wrong. ;)

...I did want to make it quite eclectic
Coincidently, so did I.

Its really not a big deal. I suggest if you are so distraught with its outcome,...
You patronize better than you write.

...lets not make critism a negative word.
Hell, let's not even make it a word. :p :D

I was not trying to patronising, I was making a suggestion.


If you agrred with most of what I said, was there any need to state the obvious?

Agent do you ever check your PM's?

And then the Vogons blow up the world to make way for the new hyperspacial expressway.:D :D

yeah and then, the men turned into dogs, coz mean ARE Dogs!!!

Agent@5,

...it is always good fun.
Are you up for some more good fun? And maybe more?

what do you propose, Mr G.!?!?!

I made the mistake of coming straight into this thread on the third page expecting to find a running story.
What's happening people? where's the point of the thread?

Yeah, it was going ok until some kids on too muc acid had to come in a spin it off into the never world. Feel free to start a fresh, i think the last theme was a littlle over done!

The thread collapsed under the burden of creativity abhorance.

Preconceived notions.

Drainstorming.

oh yeah, thats what I meant lol :)