Informal Build a Story Thread: Fantasy

Discussion in 'The Writer's Corner' started by Ninva, Mar 20, 2012.

  1. Ninva Retired

    Hi writer,

    This is a playground that loosely follows the rules that Fatmankev's first story thread established. Here are the rules on how to initiate and engage. When you want to start building a real story, go to this thread.

    Rules:

    1. Do not write more than one or two paragraphs.
    2. Do not redirect the story into a wall to intentionally kill it.
    3. Try to contribute to the active story, avoid digressions and the killing off of important characters.
    4. Use spoiler tags to talk to the other writers.

    Guidelines:

    1. Once a plot hits a dead end, communicate with the active writers. Ask if they wish to continue. The next response directs the attention to a new story-line or a continuation. This new direction has immunity for the next three replies. If the story still seems dead, the forth poster may raise concern. Do not fill the thread with concerns for the plot. Try to continue a general plot as long as possible.

    2. Before replying, think: "Where could this go? How could I set up towards that place? Do I need to redirect the plot in this post, or should I follow the previous post?"

    3. Don't regress.

    Have fun!
  2. esb Because none of us are as cruel as all of us.

    This segment scrapped, please see post #4. Thank you.
  3. Fatmankev Chef, Writer, and Midnight Toker

  4. esb Because none of us are as cruel as all of us.

    He saw as it ran over his bike, as the back wheel ran over his leg, chest, and lastly his head. He didn't feel pain, or at least he didn't remember feeling any. He's now in a hospital, or so he thinks. It's eerily quiet, he's afraid to get up. The light coming in from the window is a bit gloomy, like that of a cloudy or rainy day, but he likes cloudy and gloomy days. He likes it there. He wishes he could stay, but thinks about the costs and his insurance. Besides, the fact that he can't find the control for the television annoys him. There's many wires connected to him. It's silent except for the monotonous beeps and buzzing. He finds it relaxing, yet boring. Then he remembers about his bike, and going to school, and all the normal everyday life things.

    He has to go home. He wants to get out. He wonders where his parents are. There's not a sign of any doctor, he plans to escape thinking no one will notice. He feels pain as he takes out the needles and rips off the patches, but he mans up. He finds a tube attached to his penis, for peeing he assumes, he thinks it's pretty cool but decides to disconnect it. As he gets ready to go, the room is filled with a loud continuous beep; he sits himself up with his arms and gets out of bed. He throws a few things down with him as he fell to the floor, desperately grabbing anything around him in hopes of holding on to something. He realizes he can't feel his legs, that they're the reason he fell. He starts wondering how long it was since the accident. Becomes disappointed at the sight of doctors. They're all amazed and making a big fuzz about his awakening and telling him to not touch anything. He's pretty annoyed.

  5. Fatmankev Chef, Writer, and Midnight Toker

  6. Fatmankev Chef, Writer, and Midnight Toker

    What do you all want? he tried saying, but only a creaky groan managed to escape his lips. He worked his tongue in his mouth a little, pushing around against the sides in an effort to gather up some moisture; the muscle felt dumb and thick in his mouth, like it hadn't been used in ages. He tried clearing his throat, but it was raw and itchy and just sent him into a pitiful fit of wheezing.

    There were hands around him, suddenly, reaching down and hooking under an elbow, a knee, his calf and his shoulder. He struggled for a moment against the nurses, his feeble attempts doing little to hinder their progress, before they hefted him back into his bed. He smiled as one of the nurses stood cursing beside him, trying to stop the flow of urine from the catheter he'd yanked out of himself, but faltered as his gaze came to rest on the man in the mirror before him.

    He knew he was looking at himself, but the man that stared back at him was a far cry away from the boy he was. Slowly, cautiously, he lifted his palm up and waved. The man waved back. He blinked, and the man did the same. He thought of the bike ride, and the accident, and waking up. How long had he been asleep for?

    "'Ow," he croaked, and bit his tongue in an effort to hold back the tears. The lump in his throat was overwhelming, the man in the mirror staring back with misty eyes, but he refused to let a tear fall. He didn't cry, and he never would. That's not the kind of kid he was. One of the nurses bent down close to him, turning her ear toward his mouth.

    "What's that, dearie?" she asked, her kind tone well befitting her elderly charms. He worked his dumb, fat tongue in his mouth again, working meticulously to form his words.

    "'Ow... long 'ave... I been 'sleep?" He stared up into her eyes and she glanced away from his, a strange, pitying sadness taking hold of her features.

    "Oh, dearie, well it has been a bit, now hasn't it." She turned away from him completely, fooling with some sort of tools or something on the stand beside him. "You've been comatose for more than seven years. It's only an hour ago that you moved for the first time since you arrived."

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  7. Syndrome RealEyes/Realize/RealLies

  8. KaerfNomekop Swim, fishies. Swim through the veil of steel.

  9. Fatmankev Chef, Writer, and Midnight Toker

  10. esb Because none of us are as cruel as all of us.

    He simply sat back on the back, letting the words he had just heard settle in. He let the doctors attach everything without moving. He was comatose again, in a sense. Just stared blankly at the man in the mirror, stared at himself. The doctor finally broke the silence, "Since you've been comatose for so long, your muscles have forgotten how to do many things. In short, you have to learn many things all over, as you can see, we may begin with speech and movement. Your name is Jason. You are nineteen years old. You were hit... by a truck." There was a short pause, all the doctors and nurses exchanged glances at each other, as if they knew something much more saddening that they weren't willing to tell Jason. "We'll begin therapy in a few days, depending on progress we'll see when you may leave. An anonymous organization paid your bills and will continue to do so, so don't worry about payments or insurance."

    Jason simply nodded as everyone left the room. He looked out to the gloomy weather, just observed the brightness behind the dark clouds. Perhaps it was gonna be all right. After all, there's always sunshine after a storm. He had many questions, such as why his parents didn't visit? Who hit him? When would he speak and walk well again? What about school? And small trivial things such as missing prom, his friends' graduation, the girl next door that he liked but never managed to tell her, "I like you."

    Months went by, he slowly was re-taught to speak and walk through a lot of therapy. He tried his best every day, never lost motivation. He would go around the hospital on his walker and just nod and smile at other patients. Everyone would cheerfully say, "Hi Jason!" and greet him. Then he moved onto a cane, then walking by himself, and finally was able to have conversations with people bit by bit and decided he was ready. He always held back a few questions he had, he tried to focus on therapy, he didn't want to waste any more time.

    "Congratulations on your discharge, Jason." a nurse told him as she filled out paper work and he put on some donated clothes. "Thank you Ms. Harper." replied Jason. He finished dressing and sat on the hospital bed, hesitated a bit, but finally said, "Who hit me?". Ms. Harper froze. She took a heavy sigh, put down her clipboard, and sat next to him putting an arm around Jason. "It's time you know a few things, Jason. The day you were hit, it was late at night, around ten. From what the paramedics could gather, you were on your way home." Jason remembered, he was on his way home from Brian's house, he was riding on his bike as fast as he could to make it back before his parent's given curfew, ten. As he pedaled, a black cat suddenly came out from under a car. He swerved left to avoid hitting it. His bicycle slid onto the opposite side's lane and he saw the bright headlights. The bicycle slid too much and he fell under the truck, behind the front wheel but in front the back wheel. He remembered how he saw as it ran over his bike, as the back wheel ran over his leg, chest, and lastly his head.

    "The truck that hit you, the driver, was your father. He was drunk and speeding. Your mother was aboard too. They were well dressed, so they were probably coming from a dinner or party. I'm so sorry, Jason. They swerved right, The truck crashed on parked cars and flipped upside down on the lane. They didn't make it to the hospital..." Ms. Harper knew she was in no position to tell him such news, she didn't have the psychological training. She couldn't help not telling him, especially after seeing how Jason would phase out every day just thinking hard about things. Jason simply sat on the bed looking out the window onto the gloomy clouds outlined by the sun's brightness.

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  11. Fatmankev Chef, Writer, and Midnight Toker

    It wasn't fair - first, the coma, and now this? How could God allow something like that to happen? His mind raced so fast it made his head spin, and it was all he could do not to throw up as Ms. Harper helped him from his bed to the wheelchair, ready to wheel him on out. Was this God's doing? Ever since he turned ten and he and his dad had stopped going to church, his mother had promised them both that they'd be damned for it. Could God be real, and could he be that spiteful?

    His throat was choked up so tight that he couldn't swallow, but he strained to keep his eyes dry. "What am I supposed to do, then?" he croaked as Ms. Harper began wheeling him towards the door. She opened her mouth as if to say something, paused, as if she weren't sure how to say it, but then before she could get a word out one way or the other, the door flew open with a bang.

    A tall, lanky man took one long, accentuated stride into the room and beamed around at the two of them and the other nurse cleaning up his equipment. Dusty sandals adorned grime-covered feet, which matched the rest of his attire quite readily; a hoodie/poncho hybrid riddled with burn marks and holes hung loosely across his shoulders, and a pair of stained, baggy pants with probably a hundred pockets made an annoying scratching sound with his step. Droopy red eyes stared happily out behind half-closed eyelids, with long clumps of hair that looked like tangled braids framing those eyes. The smile, though, was something else. Huge, warm and inviting, it instantly brought Jason back to a time many, many years before.

    "Uncle Eddy!" he exclaimed with glee, excited for the first time since he woke from his coma.

    "Yo yo, kiddo, what's happenin'?" Eddy asked, still grinning, as he folded him in an embrace.

  12. Fire-Wolf S.P.D Smoke Pot Daily, Legalize It!

    After his embrace with his uncle, his uncle told him "After the doc's told me you had woken, I had to come see you."

    "Thanks Ed. Sorry I don't have much to say..." He replied.

    "Don't sweat it bud." Eddy said, "have you heard about whats happened?" Eddy's smile now fading.

    "A lot has changed... And my parents..."

    "I know I'm sorry. My sister and your father, gone..." Eddy said looking down towards his feet. "Your going to be staying with me until you can get your own place."
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