-
Ever wanted an RSS feed of all your favorite gaming news sites? Go check out our new Gaming Headlines feed! Read more about it here.
Creative Writing Challenge #25: Tied Together
- Thread starter Nezumi
- Start date
Midramble and Me have stuff going and what not. Oh also for people not in tune with Discord stuff, John Dunbar left our trio and is dead to us.
So I don't know about you folks but I'm snowed in! So we're doing a writing hangout today at 4pm est (so in like twoish hours) and we're going to try something a bit different this time. We're going to do it via the discord voice channel called CWC-Hangout that we never use, but for the most part it'll be the same. 10 minutes of chit chat, half an hour of working on projects whether they be the CWC or personal. It's a fun time and you get to listen to me be apathetic for two hours! What's not to love! Below is a link to the discord if you haven't already joined that should be good for the day. When you're there, just mention your Era name so we can confrim you and you'll be all set to join. Hope to see (well...... hear.....) you there.
Hidden content
we only got 6-7 inches here, so we were free right away after the storm ended, and are now playing games :P
Hangout is a go/will be a go in five minutes. Again, we're doing it in the discord voice channel this time. Chat with me as I write something spooky
OP
OP
OP
OP
Flowers and I got a bite on the line and going to try and fish something out. Gonna be close though... Wonder how others are doing
OP
OP
That's why I'm asking, because I'd rather give people some more time than see them stumble on the finish lines. Colllabs can be tricky after all :D
I'm flying solo and I've got nothing worth a damn. Consider me out on this one.
OP
OP
Nah, for now I just consider you on the "needs more time" column ;)
I wrote something but I've never really written anything before, nor do I know how to post it. Is it okay if I just put it in a post and spoiler it?
OP
OP
You can certainly do that, but note that this way it willl be public and therefore count as if you had published it in case you really want to publish it. I'm not overly familiar with the legal stuff, but it's the main reason people usually post their stories as a link to a password protected document on dropbox or google docs and so on.
You don't even really HAVE to use a spoiler tag although it would keep the post looking shorter.
In case the bot ever gets used again please say
"#entry"
On its own line somewhere in the post. Ok maybe not in the middle of the text lol.
#title: The Murder of Loretta Robinson
WC: 1566
#entry
WC: 1566
#entry
The Murder of Loretta Robinson
The detectives had told Loretta Robinson's family that they knew Loretta's husband, Frank Jean, had killed her. However, all the evidence they had was circumstantial and Mr. Jean's insistent plea of, "I don't remember." served as a remarkably good defense. It was a matter of he said she said, and while the circumstantial evidence did not favor Mr. Jean, a confession was the only thing that would put him behind bars. The detectives wanted to play a waiting game, as they'd explained to the family. They detectives had also told the family that they were applying certain pressures to Mr. Jean and were adamant it wouldn't be long before he cracked. "How long is long?" Loretta Robinson's mother had asked. The detectives had answered with, "We can't say for sure so just be patient. We're doing everything we can so rest assured that Mr. Jean will pay for what he did." Loretta Robinson's family had left the meeting feeling somewhat better, but as the days turned to weeks, the weeks to months, and the months to a year that familiar black cloud of depression, grief, and rage had settled back down upon the family.
The Robinson family sat around the dining table, a tradition that had sprung up while the search for Loretta's body had been transpiring. In those dark days when Loretta was first declared missing the family had gathered together to discuss the search, what had possibly happened, and if they would ever find Loretta. In the time since Loretta's body had been found and laid to rest, the family gathered to discuss why Frank would kill Loretta, why it was taking so long for the police to arrest him, and what they could do about any of it. As usual, it was Loretta's sister who was first to speak,
"I'm gonna kill that motherfucker…"
The words lingered in the air like the smell of a match that had just been blown out. To some people that smell was pleasant and to others it was revolting. On this night, the smell of that just extinguished match would have been pleasant to all of the Robinsons.
"How you gonna do it?" asked Loretta's brother.
"Not sure how, just going to. Thought about drowning him in a bathtub…Make him feel the same way Loretta's last moments…musta been like…" Loretta's sister started to sob softly after that and silence once again came to the Robinson family.
"I read once, in a novel, that one of the most painful things a man can experience is a gunshot to the stomach. A person can survive up to days with a bullet in there." Loretta's father's words cut through the silence like a bomb going off, and what may have started as a morbid fantasy was becoming something less than fantastical.
"I was reading this book during Lent a couple of years ago about the crucifixion of Jesus. The author said one of the most excruciating pains Jesus woulda felt was the crowning of the thorns. Don't remember much else but that's always stuck with me. What if he we got some hammer and nails or a staple gun and…" Loretta's brother's words trailed off as his mother cleared her throat.
"This is all fine and dandy but who do yall think yall are? You really gonna drive some nails into a man's head or drown him in a bathtub? How yall gonna manage all that without him beating the shit outta you? Any of yall ever done something like this before?"
Silence.
Loretta's mother stood up from her chair and picked up the plates with half eaten food still on them. She scraped the leftovers into the trashcan and put the dishes in the sink then stood there staring at the faucet.
"Momma I…" Began Loretta's sister but she was cut off by her mother.
"I been talkin to Joanie. She was always sayin how Frank was bad for Loretta and we all knew that but Loretta loved that bastard and what were we gonna do? But when we got that call that she was missin in that fucking river and I told Joanie, you know the first thing that bitch said? She said, 'I told you he was trouble.' I couldn't believe it! But she was right, wasn't she? Joanie may be a bitch but she's still a friend and you know what she's been doin? She's been watchin that bastard. I told her after we talked to the detectives to find out Mr. Jean's routine. Figured we might be able to help out those detectives or something. Joanie ain't no FBI agent but she's nosey as Hell, as yall well know. She been watchin ol'Frank Jean and she knows when he's alone and when he ain't. She knows the bar he goes to, to drown his…sorrow." Loretta's mother spit the word out as if it were the most disgusting thing she'd ever tasted. She calmly walked back over to the table and sat down, all eyes on her.
"We ain't gonna torture him. He killed my little baby girl and God knows I want nothin more than to rip his fucking toenails out one by one but we ain't those type of people. We ain't got the stomach for it. But you push the gentlest dog around long enough and it'll eventually bite you."
When Loretta's sister spoke, it was almost a whisper. "How we gonna do it momma?"
"Clean and simple, although it ain't what he deserves. Gonna shoot him." Loretta's mother looked at each of them in turn and then said, "We gonna do it together. Each one of us is gonna pull the trigger."
"We'll get caught." Loretta's brother's words weren't meant to convey a warning but were merely stated as a fact.
"That's right. Maybe if we wait long enough the detectives will finally get him to confess or maybe Mr. Jean will find himself a new wife and kill her like he did my baby. Maybe Mr. Jean will rot in a prison cell for the rest of his life or maybe he'll retire to Florida and die with a nice tan. Maybe Mr. Jean fucked with the wrong people and they're tired of waitin for a justice system that barely works to do something."
"Momma I…I don't know about this." Loretta's sister's nerve began to waver but it was to late to back out now. Vengeance in all its horrible glory had settled itself upon the Robinson dining room.
Loretta's mother turned to her remaining daughter and pointed her finger at her. "You started this girl! You been talkin for months how you wanna get his ass and now when it comes to it you suddenly get cold feet?"
"I'm scared momma."
"We're all scared girl. Ain't a day goes by I don't fear for my life or yours. Know what I think at night while I stare at the ceiling waiting for a sleep to come that I know won't arrive until the sun rises? I think about Mr. Jean coming over here and killin me and your daddy. Why? I don't know but that's what I think about. I'm tired of being scared, ain't you?"
"I am momma but we'll go to jail."
"I ain't gonna let you go to jail girl." Loretta's mother's gaze shifted to her son, "Nor you."
Loretta's father grabbed his wife's hand and squeezed it then looked at his daughter and son. He cleared his throat before speaking.
"God gave yall to me and your momma. He coulda given us different people when He made yall but He didn't. He made us a family and yall well know a family sticks together because that's how God wants it. Loretta deserves her justice and maybe God will sort it out in the next life but I ain't worried 'bout that right now, I'm worried 'bout justice for her in this life. God may send us to Hell for what we gonna do but Mr. Jean gonna be there with us, so we can take some solace in that. We're gonna do this together because we're a family and it can't be no other way."
Loretta's mother picked up where she'd left off.
"When the police question us about Mr. Jean's death me and your daddy will tell them it was us who did it. When they ask yall about it you just say you didn't know anything and yall were as shocked as they were."
Loretta's brother and sister shared an uneasy glance but despite their trepidation they knew they weren't going to back down from what had been set into motion.
Frank Jean sat in his recliner staring at the television screen with a beer in one hand and the other on the remote control to the television. He was unaware of the car pulling into his driveway and the slamming of the doors that followed. The knock on his door drew him out of his stupor and he lowered the volume on the television and placed his beer on the table beside him. He slowly got out of his chair as the second knock came, this time harder and louder than before. "I'm fucking coming!" He yelled, wondering who it could be at this hour. He put his hand on the doorknob, turned it, and opened the door.
The detectives had told Loretta Robinson's family that they knew Loretta's husband, Frank Jean, had killed her. However, all the evidence they had was circumstantial and Mr. Jean's insistent plea of, "I don't remember." served as a remarkably good defense. It was a matter of he said she said, and while the circumstantial evidence did not favor Mr. Jean, a confession was the only thing that would put him behind bars. The detectives wanted to play a waiting game, as they'd explained to the family. They detectives had also told the family that they were applying certain pressures to Mr. Jean and were adamant it wouldn't be long before he cracked. "How long is long?" Loretta Robinson's mother had asked. The detectives had answered with, "We can't say for sure so just be patient. We're doing everything we can so rest assured that Mr. Jean will pay for what he did." Loretta Robinson's family had left the meeting feeling somewhat better, but as the days turned to weeks, the weeks to months, and the months to a year that familiar black cloud of depression, grief, and rage had settled back down upon the family.
The Robinson family sat around the dining table, a tradition that had sprung up while the search for Loretta's body had been transpiring. In those dark days when Loretta was first declared missing the family had gathered together to discuss the search, what had possibly happened, and if they would ever find Loretta. In the time since Loretta's body had been found and laid to rest, the family gathered to discuss why Frank would kill Loretta, why it was taking so long for the police to arrest him, and what they could do about any of it. As usual, it was Loretta's sister who was first to speak,
"I'm gonna kill that motherfucker…"
The words lingered in the air like the smell of a match that had just been blown out. To some people that smell was pleasant and to others it was revolting. On this night, the smell of that just extinguished match would have been pleasant to all of the Robinsons.
"How you gonna do it?" asked Loretta's brother.
"Not sure how, just going to. Thought about drowning him in a bathtub…Make him feel the same way Loretta's last moments…musta been like…" Loretta's sister started to sob softly after that and silence once again came to the Robinson family.
"I read once, in a novel, that one of the most painful things a man can experience is a gunshot to the stomach. A person can survive up to days with a bullet in there." Loretta's father's words cut through the silence like a bomb going off, and what may have started as a morbid fantasy was becoming something less than fantastical.
"I was reading this book during Lent a couple of years ago about the crucifixion of Jesus. The author said one of the most excruciating pains Jesus woulda felt was the crowning of the thorns. Don't remember much else but that's always stuck with me. What if he we got some hammer and nails or a staple gun and…" Loretta's brother's words trailed off as his mother cleared her throat.
"This is all fine and dandy but who do yall think yall are? You really gonna drive some nails into a man's head or drown him in a bathtub? How yall gonna manage all that without him beating the shit outta you? Any of yall ever done something like this before?"
Silence.
Loretta's mother stood up from her chair and picked up the plates with half eaten food still on them. She scraped the leftovers into the trashcan and put the dishes in the sink then stood there staring at the faucet.
"Momma I…" Began Loretta's sister but she was cut off by her mother.
"I been talkin to Joanie. She was always sayin how Frank was bad for Loretta and we all knew that but Loretta loved that bastard and what were we gonna do? But when we got that call that she was missin in that fucking river and I told Joanie, you know the first thing that bitch said? She said, 'I told you he was trouble.' I couldn't believe it! But she was right, wasn't she? Joanie may be a bitch but she's still a friend and you know what she's been doin? She's been watchin that bastard. I told her after we talked to the detectives to find out Mr. Jean's routine. Figured we might be able to help out those detectives or something. Joanie ain't no FBI agent but she's nosey as Hell, as yall well know. She been watchin ol'Frank Jean and she knows when he's alone and when he ain't. She knows the bar he goes to, to drown his…sorrow." Loretta's mother spit the word out as if it were the most disgusting thing she'd ever tasted. She calmly walked back over to the table and sat down, all eyes on her.
"We ain't gonna torture him. He killed my little baby girl and God knows I want nothin more than to rip his fucking toenails out one by one but we ain't those type of people. We ain't got the stomach for it. But you push the gentlest dog around long enough and it'll eventually bite you."
When Loretta's sister spoke, it was almost a whisper. "How we gonna do it momma?"
"Clean and simple, although it ain't what he deserves. Gonna shoot him." Loretta's mother looked at each of them in turn and then said, "We gonna do it together. Each one of us is gonna pull the trigger."
"We'll get caught." Loretta's brother's words weren't meant to convey a warning but were merely stated as a fact.
"That's right. Maybe if we wait long enough the detectives will finally get him to confess or maybe Mr. Jean will find himself a new wife and kill her like he did my baby. Maybe Mr. Jean will rot in a prison cell for the rest of his life or maybe he'll retire to Florida and die with a nice tan. Maybe Mr. Jean fucked with the wrong people and they're tired of waitin for a justice system that barely works to do something."
"Momma I…I don't know about this." Loretta's sister's nerve began to waver but it was to late to back out now. Vengeance in all its horrible glory had settled itself upon the Robinson dining room.
Loretta's mother turned to her remaining daughter and pointed her finger at her. "You started this girl! You been talkin for months how you wanna get his ass and now when it comes to it you suddenly get cold feet?"
"I'm scared momma."
"We're all scared girl. Ain't a day goes by I don't fear for my life or yours. Know what I think at night while I stare at the ceiling waiting for a sleep to come that I know won't arrive until the sun rises? I think about Mr. Jean coming over here and killin me and your daddy. Why? I don't know but that's what I think about. I'm tired of being scared, ain't you?"
"I am momma but we'll go to jail."
"I ain't gonna let you go to jail girl." Loretta's mother's gaze shifted to her son, "Nor you."
Loretta's father grabbed his wife's hand and squeezed it then looked at his daughter and son. He cleared his throat before speaking.
"God gave yall to me and your momma. He coulda given us different people when He made yall but He didn't. He made us a family and yall well know a family sticks together because that's how God wants it. Loretta deserves her justice and maybe God will sort it out in the next life but I ain't worried 'bout that right now, I'm worried 'bout justice for her in this life. God may send us to Hell for what we gonna do but Mr. Jean gonna be there with us, so we can take some solace in that. We're gonna do this together because we're a family and it can't be no other way."
Loretta's mother picked up where she'd left off.
"When the police question us about Mr. Jean's death me and your daddy will tell them it was us who did it. When they ask yall about it you just say you didn't know anything and yall were as shocked as they were."
Loretta's brother and sister shared an uneasy glance but despite their trepidation they knew they weren't going to back down from what had been set into motion.
Frank Jean sat in his recliner staring at the television screen with a beer in one hand and the other on the remote control to the television. He was unaware of the car pulling into his driveway and the slamming of the doors that followed. The knock on his door drew him out of his stupor and he lowered the volume on the television and placed his beer on the table beside him. He slowly got out of his chair as the second knock came, this time harder and louder than before. "I'm fucking coming!" He yelled, wondering who it could be at this hour. He put his hand on the doorknob, turned it, and opened the door.
#title: MTA
WC: 1614
#entry
WC: 1614
#entry
The subway doors closed right when the soon to be passenger stuck his hands through them; sandwiching his arm in between the two sliding metal slabs. With his arm stuck he looked over his shoulders in both directions looking to make eye contact with a conductor knowing he had the upper hand in this standoff (ripping off the appendages of customers is a generally agreed upon bad business practice). The doors opened and he walked into the crowded train, contorted his body into a position to minimize physical contact. For him and the rest of the passengers on the train it was going to be a quick commute; it was an express train tailor made to wisk passengers through the dirt, grime and urban decay of the outer boroughs of New York City into more monied dirt, grime and urban decay of Manhattan.
As the train journeyed westward plastered on the walls and the roofs outside were pieces of old graffiti. Whoever was willing to risk their life to hang five stories up to spray art on the walls had more dedication than the underpaid cleaning crews sent to clean up after them; as a result aged cultural references like Bart Simpson leered at the train as it screamed by.
The train lurched past its final stop in Brooklyn before beginning the five-minute trek across the bridge. It's at this point that the train tracks above merge into the bridge traffic below forming one huge migratory mass crossing the east river. The heating system in the car grumbled along, doing remarkably well pushing out hot air against the cold winter outside. So much so the smells in the train felt exaggerated; expensive cologne of businessmen mixed with the cheap cigarette smell of the construction workers mixed to the the heavy cafe bustello smell of the Caribbean accented women dressed in nursing scrubs.
After two or three minutes leisurely crossing the bridge the train jerked to a stop. A disembodied voice piped in through the aged speakers overhead, "Due to an investigation at Delancy Street, all J Trains are delayed. We will begin moving shortly". As if on cue the train sighed in usion and prepared for the delay: phones were pulled out and a dim murmur erupted as babysitters, bosses and co-workers were contacted through text and unfortunately loud conversation.
"I can't deal with this. It's too hot, IT'S TOO HOT". Everyone's eyes darted to the front of the train car where a woman seemed to be, for a lack of better terms, freaking out. She looked to be someone in her mid 20's, slightly out of college age with long intentionally ratty blond hair to match her intentionally ratty faux mink coat. She was conventionally attractive with pretty brown eyes that were solely focused on the task at hand. With her backpack already on the floor between her legs she removed and threw her coat on the floor and struggled to remove her sweatshirt. Correction, sweatshirts; It took a bit longer than would have been expected to remove the multiple layers of clothes, outside of the mink she was woefully underdressed for the weather and layers were her solution to staying warm and fashionable.
To remove her pants she plopped down on the subway car floor and pulled at her jeans. It was at this point that passengers around her shirked away and did their best acting jobs trying to look like they were focused on any task at hand but the woman stripping down in front of them; scratching at crossword puzzles or tapping away smartphone games. A small laugh came out of the corner of the train car when she seemed to struggle inordinately long with her jeans but a glance in that direction just returned stone looking faces.
One group had no problem staring and pointing; a group of four teenagers (two boys, two girls) hanging off a single vertical bar on the train. Two of them (the boys) pulled out their phones and began to tape the woman while providing live commentary ("She's stripping DOWN") while the other two (the girls) laughed along. One older woman on the other side of the train said to to everyone and no one at all, "Can't y'all see she has mental issues?" One of the teens put his phone away and looked sheepishly to the side while the other teen not only ignored the woman's statement but moved in for a closer look.
The woman crawled cross the train when she heard the smartphone camera related commotion. "What are you doing?" she said as stood up on her knees and swung an open hand wildly to try to knock the phones out of the filing teens hand. He smoothly dodged the blow and kept on recording. At this moment the female teen pulled at his arm, "Come on". He pulled his arm away, looked in her direction, and put the phone back in his pocket.
After one more final stumble to remove her jeans, the woman rocked her body from the ground to get some momentum to stand up and walked towards the back of the train. The other straphangers in the way swung their bodies out of her path, trying to minimize the amount of human contact they would have with her. "I just need to get off this train" she screamed out, and she walked to the back of the train and pulled on the latch keeping the back of the subway card door closed.
"What..the..fuck", someone screamed from the back of the back of the train as she hopped out of the back of the train onto the tracks below. A sharp gust of wind entered the train and began to swing the door back as an older man walked to the doorway and tried to call the woman back onto the train, "Baby Girl, baby girl, what are you doing. Get back on the train.".
She carefully climbed down onto the wooden slats that served as a defacto floor and boldly stepped across the tracks. At this part of route the trains were elevated with small fences closing off both sides of the track. What lay on the other side of the fences was a three story drop onto the bridge traffic below.
The man reached up and pulled the emergency break and a large alarm sounded; usually the train would jerk to a stop but since the train was already not moving the only thing this signaled was for the conductor to walk to the back of the train.
A woman wearing a dark blue nursing jumpsuit walked to the back door of the train and called out. "Miss, miss, what's your name?"
"Jessica", she replied. "I am just trying to get home. I can't be late. I can walk home from here"
The nurse didn't miss a beat. "My name is Susan, Jessica. If you get back on the train we can get you home. Right now all that's going to happen is that you're either going to fall or get arrested. And we are all going to be later than we already are".
The videographing teen picked up the backpack the woman left on the ground walked towards the back of the train in front of the doorway. He screamed out, "What are you going to do without this backpack? Don't you need it to get home?" while exaggeratedly rifling through the bag. He pulled out a laptop with an exaggerated amount of stickers plastered around it.
"Give me back that backpack!"
"Sorry Lady, it's mine now.". The teen turned around and continued to rifle through the bag.
Jessica began to sprint on the tracks back towards the train. She stumbled for a moment (to the gasp of someone in the train) and made it to the door. A construction worker reached down to help her as she struggled to get her weight onto the train.
Once she get firm footing she pushes her way past the man and makes a run for the teenager on the train. The teenager dropped the backpack and lifted his fists up prepared for a fight, until the construction worker grabbed her by her arms, pulled them behind her, and slowly takes her down using his weight. She tried to reach out from behind and claw at the construction worker but he's got a firm grip and other passengers help to hold her arms down as a nurse tied her hands with someone's coat belt.
Watching it all unfold the teenager puts his fists down and screams, "I didn't even want your backpack bitch, I just wanted you back on the train". He kicked the backpack on the floor towards her general direction. The construction worker slowly stands up, confident that she's restrained as she shifted her body to an upright position and began to sob. An old woman mentions in the back, "She must be cold" and with a concerned look the passenger who barely made the train earlier before covers her with his overcoat.
The train conductor finally walks through the doors, sees the aftermath of the commotion, radios to the front, and the train starts to move again. When the train pulls into Delany station five police officers board the train and surround the woman. A female officer gingerly picks up the woman as another officer adds a pair of twist ties to her hands and carefully undoes the coat belt knot. They pull her off the train, and when the train doors close a hand shoots out stopping the doors from closing
The teenager holds the backpack out to the officer, "It's hers".
As the train journeyed westward plastered on the walls and the roofs outside were pieces of old graffiti. Whoever was willing to risk their life to hang five stories up to spray art on the walls had more dedication than the underpaid cleaning crews sent to clean up after them; as a result aged cultural references like Bart Simpson leered at the train as it screamed by.
The train lurched past its final stop in Brooklyn before beginning the five-minute trek across the bridge. It's at this point that the train tracks above merge into the bridge traffic below forming one huge migratory mass crossing the east river. The heating system in the car grumbled along, doing remarkably well pushing out hot air against the cold winter outside. So much so the smells in the train felt exaggerated; expensive cologne of businessmen mixed with the cheap cigarette smell of the construction workers mixed to the the heavy cafe bustello smell of the Caribbean accented women dressed in nursing scrubs.
After two or three minutes leisurely crossing the bridge the train jerked to a stop. A disembodied voice piped in through the aged speakers overhead, "Due to an investigation at Delancy Street, all J Trains are delayed. We will begin moving shortly". As if on cue the train sighed in usion and prepared for the delay: phones were pulled out and a dim murmur erupted as babysitters, bosses and co-workers were contacted through text and unfortunately loud conversation.
"I can't deal with this. It's too hot, IT'S TOO HOT". Everyone's eyes darted to the front of the train car where a woman seemed to be, for a lack of better terms, freaking out. She looked to be someone in her mid 20's, slightly out of college age with long intentionally ratty blond hair to match her intentionally ratty faux mink coat. She was conventionally attractive with pretty brown eyes that were solely focused on the task at hand. With her backpack already on the floor between her legs she removed and threw her coat on the floor and struggled to remove her sweatshirt. Correction, sweatshirts; It took a bit longer than would have been expected to remove the multiple layers of clothes, outside of the mink she was woefully underdressed for the weather and layers were her solution to staying warm and fashionable.
To remove her pants she plopped down on the subway car floor and pulled at her jeans. It was at this point that passengers around her shirked away and did their best acting jobs trying to look like they were focused on any task at hand but the woman stripping down in front of them; scratching at crossword puzzles or tapping away smartphone games. A small laugh came out of the corner of the train car when she seemed to struggle inordinately long with her jeans but a glance in that direction just returned stone looking faces.
One group had no problem staring and pointing; a group of four teenagers (two boys, two girls) hanging off a single vertical bar on the train. Two of them (the boys) pulled out their phones and began to tape the woman while providing live commentary ("She's stripping DOWN") while the other two (the girls) laughed along. One older woman on the other side of the train said to to everyone and no one at all, "Can't y'all see she has mental issues?" One of the teens put his phone away and looked sheepishly to the side while the other teen not only ignored the woman's statement but moved in for a closer look.
The woman crawled cross the train when she heard the smartphone camera related commotion. "What are you doing?" she said as stood up on her knees and swung an open hand wildly to try to knock the phones out of the filing teens hand. He smoothly dodged the blow and kept on recording. At this moment the female teen pulled at his arm, "Come on". He pulled his arm away, looked in her direction, and put the phone back in his pocket.
After one more final stumble to remove her jeans, the woman rocked her body from the ground to get some momentum to stand up and walked towards the back of the train. The other straphangers in the way swung their bodies out of her path, trying to minimize the amount of human contact they would have with her. "I just need to get off this train" she screamed out, and she walked to the back of the train and pulled on the latch keeping the back of the subway card door closed.
"What..the..fuck", someone screamed from the back of the back of the train as she hopped out of the back of the train onto the tracks below. A sharp gust of wind entered the train and began to swing the door back as an older man walked to the doorway and tried to call the woman back onto the train, "Baby Girl, baby girl, what are you doing. Get back on the train.".
She carefully climbed down onto the wooden slats that served as a defacto floor and boldly stepped across the tracks. At this part of route the trains were elevated with small fences closing off both sides of the track. What lay on the other side of the fences was a three story drop onto the bridge traffic below.
The man reached up and pulled the emergency break and a large alarm sounded; usually the train would jerk to a stop but since the train was already not moving the only thing this signaled was for the conductor to walk to the back of the train.
A woman wearing a dark blue nursing jumpsuit walked to the back door of the train and called out. "Miss, miss, what's your name?"
"Jessica", she replied. "I am just trying to get home. I can't be late. I can walk home from here"
The nurse didn't miss a beat. "My name is Susan, Jessica. If you get back on the train we can get you home. Right now all that's going to happen is that you're either going to fall or get arrested. And we are all going to be later than we already are".
The videographing teen picked up the backpack the woman left on the ground walked towards the back of the train in front of the doorway. He screamed out, "What are you going to do without this backpack? Don't you need it to get home?" while exaggeratedly rifling through the bag. He pulled out a laptop with an exaggerated amount of stickers plastered around it.
"Give me back that backpack!"
"Sorry Lady, it's mine now.". The teen turned around and continued to rifle through the bag.
Jessica began to sprint on the tracks back towards the train. She stumbled for a moment (to the gasp of someone in the train) and made it to the door. A construction worker reached down to help her as she struggled to get her weight onto the train.
Once she get firm footing she pushes her way past the man and makes a run for the teenager on the train. The teenager dropped the backpack and lifted his fists up prepared for a fight, until the construction worker grabbed her by her arms, pulled them behind her, and slowly takes her down using his weight. She tried to reach out from behind and claw at the construction worker but he's got a firm grip and other passengers help to hold her arms down as a nurse tied her hands with someone's coat belt.
Watching it all unfold the teenager puts his fists down and screams, "I didn't even want your backpack bitch, I just wanted you back on the train". He kicked the backpack on the floor towards her general direction. The construction worker slowly stands up, confident that she's restrained as she shifted her body to an upright position and began to sob. An old woman mentions in the back, "She must be cold" and with a concerned look the passenger who barely made the train earlier before covers her with his overcoat.
The train conductor finally walks through the doors, sees the aftermath of the commotion, radios to the front, and the train starts to move again. When the train pulls into Delany station five police officers board the train and surround the woman. A female officer gingerly picks up the woman as another officer adds a pair of twist ties to her hands and carefully undoes the coat belt knot. They pull her off the train, and when the train doors close a hand shoots out stopping the doors from closing
The teenager holds the backpack out to the officer, "It's hers".
#title: A Meeting in the Cottage
#entry
In dire need of a second pass. But I'm in dire need of sleep.
#entry
In dire need of a second pass. But I'm in dire need of sleep.
Grace period information
OP
OP
OK.
Dongs Macabre & mas8705
FlowersisBritish & Midramble
John Dunbar & ... Hm looks like Cyan either changed his name or actuallly has no account anymore.
Anyway, The grace period will run for 24 hours after the deadline. So basically everyone (that of course includes everybody who is flying solo and the people who have already posted and might want to have another editing run ;) (Chainsawkitten ). This however will be a hard deadline. Everything that is posted later than that will be inelligible.
Dongs Macabre & mas8705
FlowersisBritish & Midramble
John Dunbar & ... Hm looks like Cyan either changed his name or actuallly has no account anymore.
Anyway, The grace period will run for 24 hours after the deadline. So basically everyone (that of course includes everybody who is flying solo and the people who have already posted and might want to have another editing run ;) (Chainsawkitten ). This however will be a hard deadline. Everything that is posted later than that will be inelligible.
Clearly, I am too late. But I did manage to actually finish the dishes despite interruptions, so I guess that counts for something?
This isn't very long, but please do tell me what you think of the formatting:
#entry
#title: The Beast that Binds
Setre , You can post the text itself, but, as has been said already, it would be considered published and might make it hard to do things with later, should you so choose.
What I've been doing is writing my entry up in my word processor and saving it normally, but also saving it as a PDF, which I then place a password on and throw on a Google Drive. After that, you just link it, provide the password (generally in [ hide ] tags), and there you go.
Be sure to format your post with entry and title tags.
This isn't very long, but please do tell me what you think of the formatting:
#entry
#title: The Beast that Binds
Hidden content
What I've been doing is writing my entry up in my word processor and saving it normally, but also saving it as a PDF, which I then place a password on and throw on a Google Drive. After that, you just link it, provide the password (generally in [ hide ] tags), and there you go.
Be sure to format your post with entry and title tags.
Last edited:
Workplace filter blocking the pages they are on, not the pages themselves.
I'll be able to read them when I am somewhere else, but not tonight.
Ah, okay. It's interesting that a workplace would block something like a Google Drive, but that makes sense otherwise.
OP
OP
The reading period will of course be pronlongued as well, so no need to worry :)
#title: Pulling Strings
#wc: 2457
#entry
whoops fell asleep when i was thinking of a title, woke up at 12:10
#wc: 2457
#entry
whoops fell asleep when i was thinking of a title, woke up at 12:10
I'm so close but yet so far. I'm a couple hundred words from the limit but still have a lot to fully conclude. I'll be doing a lot of trimming content but I should be done tonight which I guess is okay with the grace period. Looking forward to reading what everyone came up with when I'm done.
We only have about 500 words written (just the setup) so probably no submission from us unless an ending can be slapped on right quick.
We're in a similar situation as Dongs so don't count on us.
Either way I'm still looking forward to reading everyone's stuff.
Either way I'm still looking forward to reading everyone's stuff.
"And then the sun exploded and everyone died. The End."
Honestly, I think we can pull it off. I should be free to later this evening and tomorrow so we can definitely iron out something together and have it ready before the weekend is out. We had done a good amount of planning and we should be able to finish it this weekend. ^__^
FlowersisBritish , Dongs Macabre , I think, even if your completed works fall short of your allotted word count, you can get some good stuff finished. It may be a bit rough, but I trust you can do this.
mas8705 , you might want to fast-track that, if you can; you've got a hard deadline of 11:59 PM Pacific Time tonight to have it in.
zulux21 , it seems you've got a really good contribution to any collab team that wants you.
mas8705 , you might want to fast-track that, if you can; you've got a hard deadline of 11:59 PM Pacific Time tonight to have it in.
zulux21 , it seems you've got a really good contribution to any collab team that wants you.
Ah. Thought it was tomorrow, not tonight. Will do my best then when I get home.
it was due last night.
tonight is the grace period. (though not really sure why we name it after someone named Grace, should be called the Nezumi period by this point :3)
voting is supposed to be done by "Monday, 28th at 11:59 PM Pacific. " :P
OP
OP
Hell, I know I said hard deadline, mostly because I wanted it for me and Mike so that I wouldn't end up procrastinating... But if you can bring forth a convincing case I'll be the last one to stand in your way :D
Fuck the week, let's make it a month, rename this to the writing nook and all agree to never come back!
Any day I can make fun of the poetry thread is a good day
From 3k to 2600... not quite done.
Now I'm done but I'm trying to figure out how to password protect a google doc.
Can't figure it out, hopefully this works.
#title The Wildest Dream
#wc 2499
#entry
Now I'm done but I'm trying to figure out how to password protect a google doc.
Can't figure it out, hopefully this works.
#title The Wildest Dream
#wc 2499
#entry
Last edited:
So good news on the end of team "8705 Dongs." Honestly I feel like "MAS Dongs" would have worked just as well, but I'd be ok with "Dongs8705" too.
Thanks to the prep work we did earlier, we were able to get a nice story going for us. I'm not sure how we submit, but I'll figure that out here soon. We're just doing a quick overview and we should be good to go. ^__^
Thanks to the prep work we did earlier, we were able to get a nice story going for us. I'm not sure how we submit, but I'll figure that out here soon. We're just doing a quick overview and we should be good to go. ^__^
The tag was for using Ashes's script, but Ashes hasn't joined us for a while, so I think the list has just been getting compiled by hand each week anyway.
#title: Meal-ing Half-way
By Team Dong Mas (I think this is a hilarious name please laugh) a.k.a. me and mas8705
#entry
WC: ~2500
By Team Dong Mas (I think this is a hilarious name please laugh) a.k.a. me and mas8705
#entry
WC: ~2500
Hidden content