Okay, If someone gives me an idea, I'll write an impromptu story for them, just like that. Just give me a word or two, or anything and lets see how creative we can be! (Oh, and somebody let me know if I'm on the wrong forum. I hate it when that happens to me, so if someone would be so kind as to let me know kindly, I'll take this some place else. Thank you!)
Okay, Masterforger. (btw, Wolf1991, I'll write your tragedy in a bit. I've thought up the perfect one.) ' Who was 'he'? Even now, 'he' was standing alone in a field, staring down at the ground. The grass grew long where he stood. 'His' feet seemed lost in the green blades. 'He' was thinking. A large crowd of people had gathered that day outside the village green. The Baron had made a speech telling about how he owned them and how he expected his people to act in the best interest of one another. 'He' had been there. He remembered how a certain fellow had taunted 'him' when 'he' stood up to speak. Abashed, 'he' had decided against challenging the Baron at that moment. The Baron hadn't noticed the small uprise. He had continued on just as harshly and as bluntly as before. But, the young man was sure that the Baron had glinted at him from under his bushy brows. He was sure the Baron suspected treachery. But why?'
Okay, here's Wolf's: " Really, how had it come to this? Arl felt as if he were suspended in time. Everything stopped. His mind raced back. At first everything seemed foggy, but then, his senses began to clear. He was back. Fifteen years back. The Great War had just begun. Arl had been drafted into the Militia to fight alongside his father who was Colonel on the front lines. The Battle Commander had ordered an assault one day. Arl's father was to lead it. As far as Arl knew, the assault was a failure. He spent the rest of his military career in bitterness towards the Battle Commander. When the War ended, Arl attended the Battle Commander's funeral. He never got a chance to say goodbye to his father. He never got a chance to get even with the Commander. After the War, Arl became a mercenary. He travelled far and wide. He saw the World. But the bitterness still lay in his heart. He strived everyday to find some way to get even. When he returned to his home city, he learned that the Commander's son had become the Judge there. Thirsting for justice, he went about trying to orchestrate the new Judges death. He was beaten however, when the Judge was assassinated that same year. Struck by a new sense of justice and blinded by his grief, Arl began hunting the assassin. Two years later, the assassin, having eluded him all that time, killed the Judges three sons. Arl swore to avenge them. Then, the horror started. Arl became numb. The assassin began to pick people off one by one. Arl was never quick enough to get to him. Bit by bit, the powerful families were wiped out. Arl struggled to protect the city he now considered himself the guardian of. For many years, he persued the assassin. Finally, he caught up with him. Arl shook himself and looked up. His fingers were dripping with blood. A long laceration ran down his arm. He stared at a tall, thin man who stood before him. The man weilded a long narrow knife. He was masked and covered head to toe, except for his eyes. " How long have you sought me?" " Too long." " Then, seek me no more." the assassin ran at him and trust him through. Arl struggled. he was exhausted. He clutched his gun in his other hand and raised his arm. The assassin knocked his gun away and threw Arl to the ground. " Now, I killed all of them. You protected some, but in the end, you're only one man." " As are you," Arl gasped. His fingers tightened around his chest. He reached for his gun one more time. " And I will not die if you don't die." The assassin lunged at him again. Arl fired and fell limp. the assassin fell down shy of Arl's body. He gasped as he stared at the man lying before him. Arl was dead. The assassin cursed until his breath failed him. Clutching his knife, he finally stared into blackness. The End."
Here Neef: ( " I see the world ending soon," " No, you don't." Huit felt his thoughts echo violently in his head. He hated it. he wished that eh could think in peace. His thoughts never rested. They were always confusing him, always making him uncertain. He held his head in his hands. He believed in foresight. He believed in being able to tell the future. but some people told him he was crazy. They told him he had a double personality. He didn't believe them. But all the time, his thoughts echoed both sides at the same time. He called the thoughts that told him he possessed powerful foresight Truth. He called the other side False. " I see a girl. She's about to die." " No, you don't. She's a figment of your imagination." " No, she's not. She's real. I know her." " No, you don't. Of course you know her, you made her up." " No. I didn't. Now, I see her again. She's dead." " You can't prove anything. You can't prove she's real." " Yes, I can. All I need is a chance." " You can't tell the future. If you could, you wouldn't be able to think. Your thoughts are purely hypothetical." " I hate you! Leave me! I have a gift! You hate my gift!" " Yes, I do. But, how can I? It doesn't exist." " Yes it does!" " No, it doesn't. If you really had a gift, you wouldn't know it, would you?" Huit couldn't answer that. He stared blankly. He could still see the girl, lying on her deathbed. The End.)
Thank you, Masterforger! I'm glad that everything's turning out the way I planned. At first, I was afraid that no one would post here. But now, I guess that's not true. Btw, just because I say 'The End' when I'm done writing a suggestion, well, if you want me to continue, I will. I guess, I promised I would. For the most part, the stories are short because I'm thinking them up as I go. However, if someone wants me to continue, they can get longer and longer. Oh, and if your idea is really epic, maybe I just might create a new thread dedicated just for it. Yay! How about that?
Being extremely bored, I just have ideas floating around in my head, so I just.. oh well, read on. Here's a short story I conjured up one day. Flashing Lights 05/02/11 The lights on the ambulance, the lights on the police car, the lights in the hospital room. All of them flashing. Niya buried her head in her arms. She looked up after a bit. Her four year old son was running around the emergency room, his little shoes flashing with every step. She narrowed her eyes. Flashing lights everywhere, she hated them. How long did she have to wait? First, it had been a seizure, then a sudden coma. Now, a severe nervous attack. She remembered the lights on the life support machine, flashing. All red and flashing. A death warning. That had been hours ago. Was he still alive? The medical staff had hurried her out when the flashing started. She had sat in the waiting room all night. She had waited, awake, while her son slept beside her. In his innocence, he left all to the grasp of others. Now, it was morning and the sun had come up strong. It had given her some hope, but rays donâµt last long, neither sun nor hope. One of the medical staff came to her and spoke to her. His face seemed expressionless, his voice toneless. He beckoned for her to follow him. She rose, dumbly. He led her in. She searched at once for the flashing lights. She looked at her son. He jumped up and down. She sat down and stared at the limp figure in the bed. She ran a hand over his arm and took his left hand. She passed a few fingers through his hair. She looked around again for the flashing lights. Her eyes fell on her little son again. He climbed up on the bed and laughed. She felt the hand in hers tighten. When her son laughed, his bright eyes sparkled. Then, she saw the flashing lights.
Some time ago, a strange thing happened. No one knows where it occurred, nor when it transpired, nor how it came down. All they know is that it happened at all. A man of unknown age, unknown lineage, and unknown background went and stood in a large, mowed field. He was tall and slender, or more accurately, thin. His eyes were large and deep, haunted. His lips were pale and stiffly put in a rigid line. He seemed ill taken by his experiences. He stared straight ahead at a tall dying tree in the distance. His eyes never blinked. He never moved a muscle. The man stood longer still. No one knew how he got there, nor how long heâµd been there. No one had seen him get there. All they knew was that heâµd gotten there at all. The man stood there through night and day, rain and sun. He spoke to no one and looked at no one. About sometime after the people noticed him standing still, everyone became interested in him. They came up to him and tried to talk to him. â³ Who are You?ⶠⳠWhat are You doing?ⶠⳠHow long have You been here?ⶠⳠHow long will You be here?ⶠHe ignored them all. But one person asked him, â³ Why do You stand longer still?ⶠAt that, he let out a deafening cry, as of great pain. Then, he fell on his face and never stood again. Some say that he passed on. Others say he stood longer still. I say, even to this day, somewhere, somehow, he is still standing. He never fell. He stands long and longer still.
Useless un-believer??? What's that supposed to mean? I'll get to your request when I can. I'm suddenly very busy, but its nice to have a request to come back to, Masterforger.
I have an idea, the government tries to take over and a few people try and resist. i can't think of a story myself. you are doing a great job by the way!
