Interesting lives...

For all your silly time-killing forum games.

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Stief
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Interesting lives...

Postby Stief » Wed Aug 29, 2007 12:38 am UTC

Right, this was inspired by the amazing writing talents of Darcey (and others) in the Interesting life discussion...

These are the rules...

1. Don't describe the next character in your post. You can describe your character's thoughts on him or her, but not the character himself.
2. These stories are about Real Life. No overly coincidental coincidences where characters all end up meeting each other and everyone falls in love and lives happily ever after.
3. In the same vein as number two, characters should be realistic.
4. If two people accidentally post replies to the same post, the first one should be responded to, to avoid confusion.
5. No posting twice in a row.
6.When you're replying to a posting, immediately post a message stating only "Replying." Then EDIT that post with your actual response.






my one first...

___________________________________________________________

He was just like any other person that walked these busy streets everyday, just going to and from work...every day he would stop at the coffee stand and buy the regular espresso-to-go, every day he would stop at the newspaper stand and buy the daily news, every day he would get on the train and stare at the faces of his fellow commuters.

They were all so familiar, yet so distant...he saw these faces every day, he saw the same expressions come and go, yet he knew nothing about any of them...with a sigh, he got off at his stop and went into the normal humdrum (as he saw it) life of accounting...

Lunchtime. He went to the cafeteria and got his normal coffee and muffin...he sat down and opened the newspaper he bought that morning. He looked out the window and noticed a girl walking down the street directly below...

He shrugged it off, thinking of her as yet another of the familiar faces he'd never meet...


[hope I started off ok...:D]
Last edited by Stief on Wed Aug 29, 2007 3:36 pm UTC, edited 3 times in total.
bbctol wrote:There is a term for what you have created. I believe it is "Dude- that shit is EPIC."

Teknobo wrote:Seriously, try flying down the street in Need for Speed while listening to the bicycle theme from Pokémon. It's beyond fantastic.

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Postby bbctol » Wed Aug 29, 2007 12:53 am UTC

Great, great idea.

The girl was angry, angry at the world and herself. Her father had just died, but that wasn't why she was angry. She hated that prick. He had divorced her mom when she was small, and not taken custody. He had been a rich old bastard who visited the house on holidays, like an ugly, forgotten uncle. She didn't care that he was dead. What she cared about was his will.

She grabbed a cup of coffee from a nearby Starbucks. She couldn't tell if the kid behind the counter was flirting with her, but she told him to fuck off anyway, to a surprised look. She was in her father's will, with a pleasant sum of money. The problem was that the money would only be given to her once she married and had children. She was an only child, and she guessed her dad wanted to "continue the line". The sum amounted to $300,000, and since she was working a shitty job at the nearby library, she really needed money. She went back on the street, outside the Starbucks. She needed a place to think, and she hated the smell of her apartment.

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Postby Darcey » Wed Aug 29, 2007 1:14 am UTC

Ok wait a second, before I read the reply and stuff, I had some rules in mind for this game a whole post planned out in case people liked the idea. So I'll inflict it upon all of you even though I didn't make this topic.

Some rules I think might be a good idea:
1. Don't describe the next character in your post. You can describe your character's thoughts on him or her, but not the character himself.
2. These stories are about Real Life. No overly coincidental coincidences where characters all end up meeting each other and everyone falls in love and lives happily ever after.
3. In the same vein (sp?) as number two, characters should be /realistic/.

Ok, those were teh rules I was thinking of. If everyone likes them that's good and if not they can be ignored! Just some thoughts I had. *goes to read what's written already and post some stuff herself*

Edit: I remembered the other stuff that would make this more practical:
4. If two people accidentally post replies to the same post, the first one should be responded to, to avoid confusion.
5. No posting twice in a row.

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Postby Stief » Wed Aug 29, 2007 1:40 am UTC

Darcey wrote:So I'll inflict it upon all of you even though I didn't make this topic.


you practically did :D

this is your brainchild...think of me as the midwife... :roll: :P

*looks foward to Darcey's reply*
bbctol wrote:There is a term for what you have created. I believe it is "Dude- that shit is EPIC."

Teknobo wrote:Seriously, try flying down the street in Need for Speed while listening to the bicycle theme from Pokémon. It's beyond fantastic.

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Postby 27b/6 » Wed Aug 29, 2007 1:44 am UTC

He'd clearly never understand women. Not that he usually tried to pick up the customers--he was usually fairly shy and reserved. But she'd had such a forlorn expression, and such a sad, almost heartbreaking sweetness in her half-smile as she finally got to front of the line to place her order that he couldn't help telling a lame joke to try and cheer her up. He was shocked when she cussed him out in front of everyone. He spent the next few hours angry, then faded into just being sad. Sarah had bewildered him, too, before she'd left him. He tried--he really did. He wasn't an asshole or rude or even creepy. Maybe he was just socially deficient. It was clearly all his fault that he couldn't relate to a woman on any kind of personal level without pissing her off. After his shift, he wandered over to his favorite bar to watch sports and drown his sorrows. After about 2 hours (and 4 beers) he noticed a girl sitting by herself at the end of the bar. She was cute, alone, and looked a little down, like she too was here so she wouldn't have to deal with something that was bothering her. He almost decided to buy her a drink. She looked like she could use it, and would probably appreciate it. And he wouldn't be sitting here getting drunk alone. But he thought better of it--clearly, with his luck, it would end badly, and he just couldn't handle any more rejection tonight.
"A policeman's job is only easy in a police state." --Orson Welles, Touch of Evil

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Postby Darcey » Wed Aug 29, 2007 1:49 am UTC

bbctol wrote:...kid behind the counter...


The big orange-rimmed pot of decaf coffee was almost empty. In a few minutes he would have to refill it. He put some decaf beans in the grinder, wondering what sort of machinery lurked inside of that big steel box that could crush hard coffee beans into dust. The grinds spilled out of the opening at the bottom of the steel box into the filter waiting below, making a soft cone that reminded him of sand at the bottom of an hourglass. Another pot of coffee, another grain of sand falling into the bottom of the hourglass of his life. Over and over and over again. And over. Day after day after day, the mind-numbing routine of his Starbucks job. He was nineteen and it was winter. This was his second year out of high school. His family and his teachers had all expected him to go to college but he had never gotten around to submitting his application. Tomorrow he would do it, he always said. Next week, next month, next year. At Starbucks he earned the two hundred dollars a month that his parents demanded as rent. "Go ahead, ruin your life by sitting around doing nothing," his dad had said. "But you're not doing it on my money."

In truth, he was never sure why exactly he hadn't gone to college. He just... hadn't. He knew his life was going nowhere. No girlfriend, no life outside this job, and frustration and loneliness building up like water behind a damn. Going to college would be like opening up a river so the water could drain. But still he didn't. As if he were waiting for something.

He flirted halfheartedly with the girls who came to buy coffee from the shop. Maybe one of them would think that his untidy hair and unshaven face indicated that he was a rebel, so cool that he was beyond caring about how he was socially received. Independent, self-sufficient, confident. Or maybe they'd think he was a tortured artist, tragically misunderstood. So far none had, although "fuck off" was not the usual response. Most of them just bought their coffee and walked away. Giggling with a group of friends or talking on the phone. There was one of them now. She came in every day. He didn't think she had ever consciously registered his existence.

He thought back to the "fuck off" girl. What was that bitch's problem, anyway? He couldn't imagine that whatever had upset her had been /his/ fault. He stood by the coffee machine for a few more minutes, watching the stream of coffee dribble steadily into the pot. He should be at the counter serving customers, he knew. But he stood there anyway, eyebrows together, kind of angry. The shadow of angry. Too lazy for real anger. Just standing there wasting time, knowing that in a few minutes the manager would yell at him. Maybe tell him he couldn't have any of today's tips. But he stood there anyway, watching the coffee draining out of the brewing machine, feeling the minutes draining out of his life.

Edit: Ah, the curses of being a slow writer!

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Postby 27b/6 » Wed Aug 29, 2007 1:58 am UTC

Dang it. This is going to be a problem, isn't it....

PROPOSED NEW RULE. When you're replying to a posting, immediately post a message stating only "Replying." Then EDIT that post with your actual response.

This should help with double posts.
"A policeman's job is only easy in a police state." --Orson Welles, Touch of Evil

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Postby Stief » Wed Aug 29, 2007 2:02 am UTC

I want to reply to both, they're both so good... :D but I have an idea for something in Darcey's....
bbctol wrote:There is a term for what you have created. I believe it is "Dude- that shit is EPIC."

Teknobo wrote:Seriously, try flying down the street in Need for Speed while listening to the bicycle theme from Pokémon. It's beyond fantastic.

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Postby bbctol » Wed Aug 29, 2007 2:03 am UTC

Darcey wrote:4. If two people accidentally post replies to the same post, the first one should be responded to, to avoid confusion.


Sorry, Stief.

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Postby Stief » Wed Aug 29, 2007 2:04 am UTC

27b/6 wrote:girl sitting by herself at the end of the bar...


Kathy hadn't had the best of days.

she was late for work...again, resulting in her being fired...how was she supposed to know her bus had been cancelled?
By the time she had called a cab, it was already half an hour into her shift...her boss...her ex-boss was more than unhappy...

the second disappointment came when her parents phoned her to tell her their flight wasn't for another week...

'the only thing I was looking forward to this week, and they can't fucking make it' she thought to herself as she took another gulp from the glass...

She had a good relationship with her parents, and they could always make her smile...be it her dad's craziness, or her mother reminiscing the better days in Kathy's life, the days when she was happy and carefree

Kathy had wandered from job to job, being fired or just quitting...and now she had wandered into this bar...

She didn't mind the bar...it was good as bars go...you got the odd lecherous drunk who would immediately get forced out...but other than that, they were a pleasant bunch...

she smiled at the barkeeper as he passed her another glass, and walked off...Kathy looked around, and saw someone looking in her...he looked like an ok guy...

he looked as if he were going to come over, but then looked away...
Kathy felt a twinge of disappointment...she felt like meeting someone new...
Last edited by Stief on Wed Aug 29, 2007 2:30 am UTC, edited 2 times in total.
bbctol wrote:There is a term for what you have created. I believe it is "Dude- that shit is EPIC."

Teknobo wrote:Seriously, try flying down the street in Need for Speed while listening to the bicycle theme from Pokémon. It's beyond fantastic.

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Postby Darcey » Wed Aug 29, 2007 2:08 am UTC

bbctol wrote:
Darcey wrote:4. If two people accidentally post replies to the same post, the first one should be responded to, to avoid confusion.


Sorry, Stief.


Well, I was just trying to avoid confusion. I like 27b/6's idea better, actually. Especially now that I realize that none of my posts will be responded to because I write too slowly. XD

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Postby OfficiallyHaphazard » Wed Aug 29, 2007 2:19 am UTC

this is fun :)

also, can you edit your original post, stief, with the rules (including the "replying." one bolded :)
thx
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Postby Dr. Worm » Wed Aug 29, 2007 2:40 am UTC

Stief wrote:she smiled at the barkeeper


I want to do something with this.

Now, I just need to write it.

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Postby Dr. Worm » Wed Aug 29, 2007 2:57 am UTC

Albert Brennan had been working bars for nearly ten years. In those years he'd seen the worst of people. Junkies, druggies, thieves, murderers, gangsters. Every now and then he'd get some real down-and-outers, the ones who made a simple mistake, and paid dearly for it.

He could tell that the woman at the bar was definitely a down-and-outer. Probably just lost her job and wondering what she was going to do. He was well versed when it came to advice, so he'd give any if she asked.

When he was young, Albert was a dreamer. He'd grown up in time when uniformity was the norm, and any that strayed were left behind. Albert could never submit to that. While the other boys and girls were playing childish games, Albert would be dreaming up plans to earn money. Though, they were just that, dreams.

Albert struggled through out school. In 1967, he dropped out of school, with dreams of opening up his own fast-food chain to hit it big. His dreams floundered, and in '68 he was drafted.

Albert was suddenly forced to grow up. Leaving his dreams behind he was thrust onto the front lines of a war he had no idea about. It was there that he met a beautiful Vietnamese woman. He thought he loved her, but soon lost contact after he made it back to the states.

Once back home he went through a series of temp jobs set up to help veterans, but he never really felt vindicated for what had happened to him. They'd stolen his dreams from him, and he couldn't get them back.

It was nearly 20 years later when he got a job at a small pub in Philadelphia. It was the first job he'd ever really enjoyed, and he leap-frogged around the country with it.

Albert's mind wandered a bit as he served the drinks that night, his thoughts back with his Vietnamese lover.

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Postby Stief » Wed Aug 29, 2007 3:29 am UTC

Rules wrote:5. No posting twice in a row.


Dr worm...could ya possibly merge that into one post somehow? :D

(much appreciated)
bbctol wrote:There is a term for what you have created. I believe it is "Dude- that shit is EPIC."

Teknobo wrote:Seriously, try flying down the street in Need for Speed while listening to the bicycle theme from Pokémon. It's beyond fantastic.

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Postby Darcey » Wed Aug 29, 2007 3:30 am UTC

Stief wrote:
Rules wrote:5. No posting twice in a row.


Dr worm...could ya possibly merge that into one post somehow? :D

(much appreciated)


=P I meant no posting twice in a row as in don't do two stories in a row.

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Postby Darcey » Wed Aug 29, 2007 7:34 am UTC

For instance, I can still post a story now.

(Oh, and before you read this, note that I know nothing about the Vietnam War, or about Vietnamese culture. So I might be violating the 'be realistic' rule a little bit, but she's still a realistic person with realistic desires, even if she's not very Vietnamese.)

There was a river in her town, a long, winding, treacherous river. When she was young, she used to go swimming in it. When she grew up she would think back to those days, and shudder at the thought of how close she had come to drowning. Shudder at the thought of what would have happened had he not been there to save her.

It was a clear, beautiful evening many years ago. It had rained all morning and drops of water still clung to all the plants, glistening in the reddish sunlight. The scene looked like a stained glass window. But she was not outside; she was indoors, scrubbing a pot bitterly. Her two sisters worked alongside her, as did their mother, all scrubbing or cutting up vegetables or stirring a pot. It was all her mother's life was, scrubbing and chopping and stirring and folding laundry and caring for the children. But she wanted more. She wanted to leave her little town. She had asked her mother's permission that morning. "I would like to go on an adventure," she said. Her mother stared at her. "What on earth are you talking about now?" She took a deep breath before she continued, forming her thoughts carefully. "I want to leave here. I don't want the life you lead. I want to do something unexpected, go somewhere unplanned. I don't want a whole life in the confines of some husband's house, cooking his tender and caring for his children. I want the future to be exciting and uncertain." "You're asking for death," her mother replied. "This is a time of war. No daughter of mine is going adventuring now. You'll stay here with me and you'll finish scrubbing that pot. You need to learn some practicality. It may not be the most interesting life, but it's safe. You're my daughter and I love you. I don't want you going out where you can get hurt."

Tears welled up in her eyes. She turned and she walked out of the kitchen, out of the house. Her mother called after her but she pretended not to hear. She walked to the center of town, and then to the little pathway that led to the river.

The water was high and it rushed past with dizzying speed. A sane, detached part of herself told her that it would be madness to try swimming while the river was like this. Just like it would be madness to go adventuring in a time of war. Suddenly she felt as if she had to choose between going swimming now or living the life of a housewife forever. She looked around anxiously, but no one was coming. No one ever went by this path. She would not be seen. So she took off her dress, and flung it aside as if it were the chain binding her to a tedious life.

She jumped in the river. The minute she hit the water, she knew it had been a mistake. She fought against it but she was small and weak. And she had thought herself strong enough. This is the end, she thought to herself in a sort of detached way. I hope they don't find my body. If they don't, my mother won't know that I'm dead. She'll think I'm just off on an adventure.

She fought to stay at the surface but she couldn't. The rapids spun her in circles through the water. She was too busy fighting to stay at the surface, trying to get some more air into her lungs, to notice that she was approaching a tremendous, jagged rock. Something cracked as she collided with it. She blacked out.

When she awoke, everything was hazy. She tried to sit up. She heard a man's voice speaking a language she could not understand. She turned her head towards the sound and a flash of pain came over her. She felt a gentle hand push her back onto the bed. She tried to sit up again. She hand held her there. She gave up. The man opened her mouth and gave her some water. He spoke some more, and although she had no idea what he was saying, she was comforted by his voice. She was too dazed to take in her surroundings. Too weak to realize that she was in the enemy camp.

Over the next week or so, she learned a few English words - 'water', 'food', and the name 'Albert'. The man who had saved her. She was weak but he was there to protect her. She could not move but he brought her everything she needed. She was frightened but his voice calmed her down.

She knew she was foolish for thinking that he could stay here forever, or that he could take her back with him to America. She wanted to stay in contact with him, but how could that be possible when they did not even speak the same language?

She didn't go home after he left. She walked all over the country, saw beautiful sights, met hundreds of people, had more adventures than she had ever dreamed of. But none of it was satisfying. Through it all, she only kept going in a hope that it would fill the void inside of her.

Slowly, the wound in her heart did close up, but the scar would never fade.

Years later, she met a man in Vietnam who reminded her of the American soldier who had rescued her. He also had gentle hands and a voice that calmed her down. They settled down and she bore him two daughters and a son. Now she was old.

Her eldest daughter came to her one day about a year ago and asked if she could go on an adventure. Instead of saying no, she told her daughter the story of how she had nearly died because she had been so foolish. Her daughter listened and understood the dangers of the life she wanted to lead, and the need for foresight and common sense. She learned from her mother's mistakes. She carefully planned out a trip to America, intending to come back in a week. But she fell in love with the Rocky Mountains. And her mother gave her permission to settle down, under the condition that she write at least once a month. As of her last letter, her daughter was doing fine. She had a job in a bookstore where she was becoming more and more fluent in English, and recently a young man had asked her out on a date.

Edit: Holy shit, that was long. Sorry!

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Postby Stief » Wed Aug 29, 2007 2:21 pm UTC

Darcey wrote:recently a young man had asked her out


Steve was just Steve...he wasn't part of any of the 'groups'...he had a few friends, and nothing in his life was out of the ordinary. He would come to college (he was in his final year), learn what he needed, joke with friends, ignore the everyday insults hurled at him by the Jocks...'nerd', 'geek'...the generic insults that induviduals like him usually got...and then leave, ready to go home and read the latest webcomic...

it was after school...he always liked the bookshop, it was his own little temple, where he could see like-minded people. In here, he was away from the taunts...not that they bothered him much. If only they used a little originality with their insults, instead of what they heard on a movie...

After looking around and not finding any books, he got to his favourite part...speaking to the girl he loved...
he had recently asked her out after a few months of indecisivness, and he couldn't be more happier. He kissed her goodbye and with a smile, left the bookshop. On his way out, he accidently walked into a girl. He apologised, but she kept walking...he shrugged, nothing could stop him being happy...
bbctol wrote:There is a term for what you have created. I believe it is "Dude- that shit is EPIC."

Teknobo wrote:Seriously, try flying down the street in Need for Speed while listening to the bicycle theme from Pokémon. It's beyond fantastic.

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Postby OfficiallyHaphazard » Wed Aug 29, 2007 3:32 pm UTC

...he accidently walked into a girl...



Dear Diary,

I honestly hate this college process. I mean, Seriously. Mom kept yelling at me and yelling at me-- "Start writing your college admission essays!" "Go volunteer 8 hours a day!" and other stupid stuff. Why can she not just understand that I don't care! All I really want is to act, but my stupid parents can't even understand that! "Acting is a dying profession," my dad said. Honestly, who ever gave them the authority to say that?!? I don't make judgments on how my dad wastes away the day at the hospital, coming home at 11 at night, and leaving at 5 in the morning.
Anyhow, things came to a head this afternoon, when my mom made me go to the bookstore to pick up some SAT book. After 2 hours of screaming, I finally went to the bookstore. As I was walking in, I bumped into some stupid guy who is probably a prodigy that goes to Harvard or Stanford or something. He mumbled something after me, but I was too preoccupied with my own thoughts to hear him.
When I finally got to the right section (with the help of some asian chick who would probably make my parents proud--I mean working at a bookstore!?!!), I didn't know which of the 40 books to buy (my stupid mother would probably want me to get all of those stupid books), so I called Miranda... But guess what?! Miranda is too busy to help out her good old friend. Busy with what you may ask, dear diary... busy meeting her "new college counselor"
what a SELL OUT. Miranda could at least tone down her damn enthusiasm!
"Oh me yarm, Lea, my counselor, like, SOOOO totally rocks. I mean she is like 37, but is super-duper friendly and nice and stuff. You reaaaally have to meet her."
Well guess what, Miranda, I am NOT going to meet your stupid counselor.
Yep.... counselor--you stand for everything I hate about this damn system.
Stupid Stupid Stupid....

Night Diary,

Lea


-----------------
This one was fun, cause I got to mix up the writing style :D
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Postby Joseph » Wed Aug 29, 2007 6:24 pm UTC

OfficiallyHaphazard wrote:dad


"Another one, Stevie."

"Sure thing, Rog."

Roger took the bottle of Amstel Light in his right hand, and the bottle opener in his left. He opened the bottle and put the cap with the three others, making a slightly askew square and taking unnatural care to make sure that there were no droplets of beer on the bar.

"You gotta tell 'em at some point, Rog."

"Yeah, I know. But first, some Dutch courage, am I right?"

A wry chuckle escaped Roger's lips, and Steve knew what that meant.

"How do I tell them about her? I can't just saunter up to my wife and tell her, 'Honey, I met someone at the hospital. Kiss the kids goodbye for me, won't you?'"

"Well, I'm not going to tell you what to do, Rog."

"I know. I gotta handle this like a man. Gotta do something like a man, right?"

Roger got up from the bar and couldn't control his dip to his left side.

"Yeah, but I'm not letting you drive like a man. Let me call you a cab."

"I'm not that tipsy, am I?"

"You're tipsy enough. You can come by in the morning and get your car."

"Thanks, Stevie."

Roger got in the cab several minutes later, still wondering how the beer in him would affect what he would say, and how Trudy would take it. He failed in consoling himself with the idea that after twenty-one years together, they owed each other nothing; he knew that was only an attempt at salving his wounded soul. Somehow, all that talk about being a man dissolved in the familiar porchlight of 1334 Swindmore Lane.
*******************************************
(I'm out of practice, so I hope this passed muster. And no, I'm not fishing by writing this)

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Postby OfficiallyHaphazard » Wed Aug 29, 2007 6:49 pm UTC

hey, I liked it.. especially because you used "wry chuckle" :P

looks like we have another bartender story coming up, but I will let someone else write it :D
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Postby Tyris » Wed Aug 29, 2007 7:38 pm UTC

<<Honey, I met someone at the hospital.>>

Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could I be so stupid? I've had this job for two weeks and already I've kissed one of the surgeons. What do I think this is? Grey's Anatomy? This isn't how it's supposed to go. I got into this profession to help people. Come on, Lena, don't lie to yourself. I got into it because my father wanted me to, but not to meet some doctor! How could I have done that? Besides, I already have a boyfriend.

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Postby OfficiallyHaphazard » Wed Aug 29, 2007 8:02 pm UTC

...I already have a boyfriend...


"Ian, I wanted to tell you, because I love you, and I had just made a stupid mistake"
The first thing that popped into his mind when she told him was a line from some webcomic he had read once, in which the punchline was something along the lines of "...Now would probably not be a good time to mention that I never did actually like you..."
That, of course, was false, for Ian did love his girlfriend, but the irony of the thought brought an errant grin that was almost immediately replaced by a wince. At first, it had not seemed like such a big deal. Ian he told himself, it is just a kiss, nothing much more than that, yet nevertheless, it had changed something. But he just couldn't concentrate on what this "changed something" was. On the television behind Claire's head, a lightly tanned model was flouncing her hair for a shampoo commercial.
Want Bounce and Shine?
Get Purlizine!

Claire was looking at him quizzically, waiting for a flurry of response--anger or perhaps sadness--but definitely not the dry emotionless Ian felt now.
What he did feel was being sapped of all energy. He thought he and Claire had been doing well together, they had been busy lately, but they still had fun talking and spending time together. And perhaps he could have been a little more encouraging. But making out with some 50 year old surgeon?? That was unexpected, and severely disappointing.
As Ian's mind wrestled with this new facet of his relationship, his eyes followed a fly, zig-zagging around the apartment, finally landing on the hair-shampoo lady. Did she ever mess around with guys other than her boyfriends? or was she as spotless as the white background of the commercial set?
All Ian knew was that he couldn't deal with these emotions just now--he had a giant floor-plan to draft by friday, and his mother's funeral on Sunday, and all he wanted was his old Claire back.

So he curled her up in his arms, stood still and held her.


------------
I couldn't find the XKCD comic i was referencing :/
:P :D :P
"Who are you, how did you get in my house?" - Donald Knuth

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Postby Mother Superior » Wed Aug 29, 2007 8:37 pm UTC

OfficiallyHaphazard wrote:...landing on the hair-shampoo lady



Jennifer sighed deeply and looked out the rainy window. She suspected, correctly that she would be happier if she wasn't forced to stare at her own face magnified ten times plastered over a billboard next to the latest model BMW. She was so sick of that picture, though it was not as bad as that fucking shampoo ad. God she hated it now, and only two years ago it had meant the world to her. She hated herself now for how good she felt about it back then, all those people, all those cameras all directed at her and flashes going off. It was the culmination of her life-long dream to become a model. And now she detested it.
There was nothing wrong with being shallow in Jennifer's book and her morals was not above nude-photos, she was guilty of both, but lately she'd been aware that even though she was not against those things she still didn't like that aspect of her life. She really didn't want that billboard to be her legacy to the world. For a moment she wondered if she was getting old but the thought brought up unpleasant words from her mother about Botox and plastic surgery.
Another thought occured to her just then and she got up so she didn't have to look at herself anymore. Her mother had been pressuring her all her life to become a model, first the beauty pageants, then cheerleading and for a short while she even acted as her manager. Now she's constantly calling her about what steps would be necessary to break into acting. Lately she had been aware of her increasing rebellion against her mother, even though she was twenty-two. Maybe it was all her mother's fault, maybe the reason she no longer liked herself was because all her values were really her mother's and she no longer liked her mother. Then again it could also be Albert who coaxed her into doing those photos, or her first boyfriend Tim who kept saying how beautiful she was. Or even that stupid Sarah Allison from second grade who kept calling her fat-butt, even though she was skinny as a bone and underweight as a kid. She sighed and got up to make herself a sandwich. Maybe that guy who talked to her in the café was right. Even though he stank of beer and hadn't shaved in a while, maybe she was a sell-out. Maybe this wasn't really her dream, but her mother's dream. Fuck it, she'd have to speak to her therapist about this tomorrow. She closed the curtains and threw away all her shampoo bottles before she sat down and ate her sandwiches.

------------------------------------

This didn't come out even half as good as I wished, but I'm tired.
Last edited by Mother Superior on Wed Aug 29, 2007 10:06 pm UTC, edited 1 time in total.
My crappy creepy? Crabby? My crabby blog.
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Postby OfficiallyHaphazard » Wed Aug 29, 2007 8:44 pm UTC

whoa...
I was just thinking
"hmm... imagine if we had gone with Darcey's post as the third one, instead of 27b/6's... then we would have never met all of these interesting people"

LOL

I wonder if these characters would have been created if we had gone a different way... :P


hmmm.. I wonder what undiscovered characters would have arisen from Darcey's post :P
also. I wonder how many of these "characters" have actually happened in real life...
:D
ok thats enough thought for today
-------------------------------------
Edit: Last thought.. If this got big, it would work well in a wiki (not the everybody edits everything part (though if everyone can edit each story, you could get some really interesting backgrounds :P)). This way when you mention other people that have already been described, you can link to them easily, etc, etc :P
"Who are you, how did you get in my house?" - Donald Knuth

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Postby Jesse » Wed Aug 29, 2007 10:32 pm UTC

Jennifer's therapist sighed as he watched her leave his office, he buzzed Janice, his secretary, and informed her that she could go home now. His last patient seen to (he always called them patients, not clients. They had diseases of the mind and he cured them just like any doctor would) he drew the curtains closed, shutting out the warm afternoon light of midsummer.

Alone, he felt the darkness creep round him and take control. Here he was, free from everything. Free from a city filled with hate; kids with real problems shooting each other while snobby, well-paid models whined on about their parents. Free from his wife; always crying and threatening to leave him just because he didn't want to have a damn child with her, like she could still afford that car she was so in love with if they had a kid. Free from his secretary who had teased him for a year, sucked his cock once, and threatened to expose him every so often if he didn't increase her pay.

A litany of errors he had made, a list of crimes perpetuated against him by life. He wondered, as he always did when the darkness gripped him, whether he was strong enough to take his life. Two drawers lay open before him; on the left, a bottle of whisky. The right, a gun loaded with a single bullet. The whisky bottle lay half empty, the gun lay unfired. Which one would it be tonight? Drain some more of the alcohol and then go home and live through another week of hell, or finally finish it all?

It struck him then, that he wished he had someone to talk to. Ha. Haha. A psychiatrist in need of therapy. A good one. He'd have to yell that at the wife before she slammed the bedroom door in his face again. Except he knew he wouldn't, because it wasn't going to happen again. No note; suicide notes are a cry for help. It wasn't help he needed, it was death.

The darkness stayed with him, through the end and beyond; cradling him like a newborn child. His cushion one of carpet and blood.

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Postby Stief » Wed Aug 29, 2007 11:08 pm UTC

Jesster wrote:Janice, his secretary


Janice sighed to herself as she flicked through the tv listings. it wasn't like she hated her job, it was working for that old fart...sure she sucked him off once, but that was back when she was a naive secretary with no regrets, who thought the rugged 'doctor' she worked for was the kind of handsome older man that a girl like her could settle down with...

that was until she found out about his wife...after that, the job became less glamourous and more monotonous...every time she was bored, she threatened her boss with exposure to their little 'scandal'...yet even that had grown tiresome of late...

She knew what he did in his office after she had left, god, everyone knew...she had found both the bottle (half empty) and the gun (still loaded) in the drawers of his desk. she had found them while cleaning his office up as he went to lunch...a small side job she did to make the days go quicker...

she let out another sigh as she took a box of half-eaten chow mein out of her refrigerator...sometimes she wish he would just do it already, so she could get out of that stupid job and onto better horizons...

Better horizons? who the hell was she kidding? she'd probably end up in another secretary job at most...plus, she'd probably never leave this flat...not that it was a bad flat...the other tenants were ok, and Janice had made friends with the Janitor...they shared jokes, and he always referred to her as "Miss Janice" even though she had told him countless times to call her "just Janice"...

with a last sigh, Janice turned on her television set and settled down for the night...
bbctol wrote:There is a term for what you have created. I believe it is "Dude- that shit is EPIC."

Teknobo wrote:Seriously, try flying down the street in Need for Speed while listening to the bicycle theme from Pokémon. It's beyond fantastic.

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Postby drosophila » Thu Aug 30, 2007 12:53 am UTC

Stief wrote:Janice had made friends with the Janitor...they shared jokes, and he always referred to her as "Miss Janice" even though she had told him countless times to call her "just Janice"...


Damien, the janitor, the custodian, the building manager, or whatever people decided was kindest to call him these days, placed his mop and plumber's helper back in its closet, washed his hands in the little sink there, and walked back to his room down the hall. He opened the door just wide enough for him to slip in and then collapsed into the easy chair. Being a "service" room, it was smaller than most of the other apartments, and had been made even smaller by Damien's improvised soundproofing setup.

Damien reached down to the excessively-shimmed table in front of the chair and picked up a rectangular black case. He laughed a bit to himself as he opened the case and skillfully assembled its contents. He had just come back from the Todds' apartment. They were a pair of young parents with their 2-year-old son, Kevin. Damien thought they were a nice little family, way too quick to panic, though. Tonight, Kevin had attempted to flush an entire tube's worth of toothpaste, clogging their toilet and spilling water over the entire bathroom floor. Mr. and Mrs. Todd had been in a state of near-hysteria when Damien arrived, but less than five minutes work had put things right.

The Todds, like most of the people in the apartment building, made Damien enjoy his job. He tried to be friendly with everyone, but still remain professional and respectful. It was a manner of pride for Damien that he called all of the residents Mr., Miss, or Mrs., even if (like Miss Janice, Mr. Matt, and old Mrs. Olivia with the cats on the top floor) they had asked him not to.

Yes, Damien thought, he liked most everyone in the building, which, looking down at the instrument in his hands, is probably why he went to so much effort to soundproof his room. He just didn't want to bother anyone. Damien raised the trumpet to his lips and began to play. Within moments, he had melted himself soulfully into the bars of "Beale Street Blues," becoming almost another person as fluidly gave in to the syncopated beat. Damien would be more than ready for tomorrow, practice night for his blues band.

Damien smiled as he thought of them. He definitely stood out in the quintet. At 24, Damien was by far the band's youngest member, and its only white one. Slickhands, the band's guitar player and elder statesman, had christened Damien "Cherry." The name was both a less-than-appropriate comment on Damien's age and a reference to how Damien's face puffed out round and reddened as he played trumpet. It wasn't the world's coolest nickname, but Damien loved the dual identity of it. Everyone in the band only ever went by his nickname while performing, and Damien cherished every moment that he could shed Damien the janitor and become Cherry, the blues man.

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Postby Tobi » Thu Aug 30, 2007 1:04 am UTC

2-year-old son, Kevin


Kevin had just turned five and had recently perfected the art of believably "getting lost." The first time he did it was because he was trying to figure out where that music was coming from. (It was that funny hole in the wall where sometimes air came out.)

This time, he was in the grocery store, and he was going to figure out where the food was made - he knew there were doors in the back, but if he was wrong about which he chose, he'd get in trouble before he could ever find out. He was watching the door near the bakery, out of sight of the man behind the counter who started giving him looks if he sat there too long, but nobody had gone in or out of it, so he dind't know if this was the door where the food came out.

Suddenly, he was being picked up, and was set down in the seat in a grocery cart. This was awful! His mom was blocking his view of the door, and what if it was the food door! Now he'd never know!

"I should have put you in here to begin with - you've got quite the reputation here, you know."

As he sat, angry, in the cart at the checkout, the cashier not ever looking at him or his mom, he started planning how he would get away next time.

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Postby Master Gunner » Thu Aug 30, 2007 2:34 am UTC

Tobi wrote:....the cashier....

Another item, another customer. This one had the little brat that liked to go wandering around causing a ruckus. At least that wasn't his problem, just the mindless task of scanning the items through, and making sure that the right amount of money went into the register. He was supposed to be in University now, he had everything planned out for himself, but the scholarship had fallen through, so he didn't have enough money to go, even student loans wouldn't be enough, he had being so sure about that one full scholarship that had being within his grasp. Here he was though, because he had made one wrong remark at the wrong time to the wrong person, so instead of being valedictorian, that honour, and the scholarship, went to one of the many Asian kids that go through, sucking up everything, constantly getting 1600's on their SATs, leaving all us regular white kids here in the dust. [ed. no racism is meant here, just expressing the sentiments of someone else, my best friend is Taiwanese and a genius].
Finally off of work, he goes back to his house. His parents yell at him, he yells something back, and he goes and locks himself in his room. Booting up his computer he checks his inbox. Spam, spam, Nigerian prince wanting to give him a couple million in return for all his personal information. Finally, something worthwhile, an email from his girlfriend, who had worked while he had blown off the summers down at the docks, and thus had being able to go off to Collage. As soon as he read the first line "Dear John", he knew what was coming next, so he just hurled his laptop at the wall. Crawling into his bed, he curled up contemplated his decrepit life.

-----
Man, these stories are getting addicting.
Last edited by Master Gunner on Thu Aug 30, 2007 2:49 am UTC, edited 2 times in total.

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Postby OfficiallyHaphazard » Thu Aug 30, 2007 2:45 am UTC

dude that 5 year old kid is Smart!

he should go to battle school :P
"Who are you, how did you get in my house?" - Donald Knuth

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Postby Tyris » Thu Aug 30, 2007 2:52 am UTC

<<his girlfriend>>

John,

I can understand why you haven't replied to my last email, but I'm disappointed as well. I thought you could handle this better. I was forthright with you. You know I still love my ex and that we just grew apart. Well, even though we're at the same school I thought we wouldn't see each other, but he joined the track team. Seeing each other at practice every day, we started talking again and... look it just happened. I'm sorry. I really am! I never meant to do this to you. You're a real sweetheart. When you're being genuine, you're the nicest guy in the world. You care -- not just about me -- about everybody, when you're not saying something to push them away. You are a great guy. We just don't have as much in common as Rick and I do. You have to understand that. Please! You're such a wonderful person that I don't want to lose you completely. Please still be my friend.

Jane

-----
I had one for the cashier, too. How unfortunate I forgot about the "replying..." rule. Ah, well.

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Postby xooll » Thu Aug 30, 2007 4:31 am UTC

...Rick...

Shit.

SHIT.

I can't believe I fucking lost it.

FUCK A FUCKING DONKEY SHIT MOTHERFUCKER!!! Shit. Okay. I have to calm down. Have to think. Think, Rick. Think, Richard. Think, Dick. Fuck, I hate it when my mom calls me that. Okay. It was sitting on the desk this morning, with my keys on top of it. I put my keys in my left front pocket, and then it slid into my right back pocket... or did it? I do that every day.

No wait. Duh. Of course I picked it up. 'Cause I went to the bank today and made my withdrawal. THAT's why this is such a big fucking problem. $150 down the fucking drain. Fuuuccck. Okay, a lost wallet, people return those, right? Okay, so I went to the bank on foot from the campus center, it's only like a ten minute walk. But man... how many feet of sidwalk is it between the bank and the dorm? Wait, no, I didn't go straight home, I was going to go to Eric's dorm to get some weed, Jane said she wanted to smoke tonight, that's what the $150 was for, and then I get there and it's gone. Okay. So somewhere between the bank and Eric's is my wallet.
That's assuming somebody didn't already pick it up.
So, I got tired of the fact that the appearance of my band name in my signature made my posts on this forum the dominant result when googling for my music. Anyway, if you think I might happen to be a good musician, you can test this theory here.

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Postby bbctol » Thu Aug 30, 2007 12:50 pm UTC

...Eric...


Alright, fuck. Rick never showed up, and isn't answering his cellphone, or his homephone. So I have no idea where the fuck he is, and I'm sitting on A POUND OF FUCKING MARIJUANA. That's a big fucking deal. Does Rick think I can just buy these things all the time? He was supposed to show up! He was supposed to take it! I have no place to hide this shit in my apartment! I'm sitting on a pound of weed, and if anyone stops by, I'll... I'll what? Where the hell can I hide this?

Okay, Eric, calm down. The odds of, like, the cops stopping buy here are one in a million. Unless they know I have this. If that creep who sold it to me, what's-his-name, ratted out. But he wouldn't, right? Whatever. I need a place to hide this.

Okay, it's in a duffel. I'm going to take the duffel out, drop this out of sight in a park, and walk briskly back to the apartment. I know, it's a shitty plan, but I'm panicking. Here, I'll shove it under this park bench, stay here for a while reading the newspaper, and then just walk away when no one seems near. Wait for the joggers to round the bend... and I'm off.

"Um, excuse me, but did you forget this?"

It's some random girl. Where the hell did she come from? I checked the whole pathway, was she hiding in the bushes?

"You know what? Just keep it."

I run. That was probably a bad idea. I am never, never buying weed for Rick again.

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Postby MythGuyDK » Thu Aug 30, 2007 1:53 pm UTC

...random girl...


Sarah had just gone for a walk in the park for a bit of fresh air and sights of the perfect shades of green caused by the sun through the leaves. As she ran down the park path, brown hair with soft reds through it trailing behind her she thought of only hours before, with that boy who tugged at her heartstrings with such force...

She snapped out of her reverie, though she was tempted to get lost in it, to see a man on a park bench with a newspaper. She spotted something on the ground and picked it up. Thinking to be nice, she asked him: "Um, excuse me, but did you forget this?"

He jumped so hard that she thought she could hear th bench creak as he landed back on it.

"You know what? Just keep it." He said, then ran like a shot from a gun. She looked inside and saw a whole bunch of leaves. At fist she wondered why the man was keeping leaves in his bag but then, like a sunrise, it dawned on her. She found the police station immediately, recounted her story to a nice policewoman, gave her the bag, and went on her merry with stray thoughts of, What do the police do with dope?, and then pictured a smoky police station...


That was fun. Please do thew boy and not the policewoman. >.>
Exactly!

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Postby OfficiallyHaphazard » Thu Aug 30, 2007 8:43 pm UTC

the boy...


Arnold didn't even like this current play he was acting in, but hey, you do what you got to do when you don't have any other work. Sarah was ok, but the director... now that guy was just weird. The director decided that to act out the final scene of love, he would use a giant set of ropes.
A GIANT SET OF ROPES?!?!
"They are heartstrings, my boy"
"Giant heartstrings??" Arnold replied.
"Yes, Arny!" the director boomed.
Arnold hated when people called him Arny. Who was this guy--had he ever directed anything worth seeing?
Sarah also looked a little nonplussed. This director must be out of his mind--having giant ropes hanging from the ceiling be heart strings.
Ya, this play was way too much. Arnold knew then that he had to get out of there
"Who are you, how did you get in my house?" - Donald Knuth

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Postby bbctol » Thu Aug 30, 2007 11:09 pm UTC

Oskar Klubf was late for his plane. As the world famous director of such plays as La La La, Foot Fetish, and the smash hit I Can't Believe You Shot That Hillbilly, this was a terrible thing. He had to race down the conveyor belt with his carry-on luggage, trying to catch the next plane to Austria, where the Austrian edition of I Can't Believe You Shot That Hillbilly, known as Ich Ner Der Belieffenklappfen Du Shootten der 'Hilly-Billy', was to be performed. He simply could not miss this chance to return to Austria a famous director, having left there at the age of three to become an actor (boy, had that failed miserably). He looked like a fool, racing through the airport with his pinstriped suit and bulbous, Castro-esque beard. He was moving so fast (because in addition to being so devilishly handsome, he was naturally stunningly fit) that he smashed into a girl with a small suitcase, knocking her to the ground and spilling the contents of her case onto the ground. "Hey! What the fuck!" she shouted in British-accented tones, but Oskar was already gone, shouting over his shoulder "I can't pick it up now! I'm Oskar Klubf!" Unfortunately, while turning around, he slammed into a four-foot thick concrete pillar. Ouch.

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Postby OfficiallyHaphazard » Thu Aug 30, 2007 11:25 pm UTC

L:DL
"Who are you, how did you get in my house?" - Donald Knuth

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Postby xooll » Fri Aug 31, 2007 12:07 am UTC

bbctol wrote:...a girl...

Oh my god, that was close, thought Mina. So close. She hastily stuffed her clothes back into the bag and clasped it shut, and looked around nervously.
It was okay. No one had seen the gun.
She'd been nervous ever since she passed the sign that said "Beyond this point, no knives, letter openers, nail clippers..."
A gun outranked all those. A gun was the kind of thing that you get arrested for having in your bag.
One more time, she went through her calm-me-down routine, and moved on. The security checkpoint was right up there. She was almost done.
"Don't think about whether you should do this, that's just nerves talking. You know you should do this."
Mina could see Sean up there, lazily sorting through someone's bag. There was a line, but it wasn't that long. She could get a clear shot at that son of a bitch. She reached into the outside pocket and withdrew the gun. It felt heavy in her hand, solid. Like something you could depend on. There was a collective gasp from the people nearby who could see it.
Mina inhaled, and she noticed he smelled like her. Safety off, hammer down, trigger pulled, and there was a flash and a noise. Sean looked up, startled, as a wall tile behind him exploded.
The security guard was on top of Mina before she could get off a second shot.
So, I got tired of the fact that the appearance of my band name in my signature made my posts on this forum the dominant result when googling for my music. Anyway, if you think I might happen to be a good musician, you can test this theory here.

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Postby Stief » Fri Aug 31, 2007 12:35 am UTC

Xooll wrote:The security guard...


It was just another quiet day at the airport where Calum worked...he enjoyed this job, as there were hardly any incidents...

Sure, there was the odd person who forgot their belt, or someone with a metal nail file left in their hand luggage...but nothing severe, and that's how Calum liked it...

he leant back on the wall as the various people walked past, and let out a relaxed sigh...

Calum was a single man, but that's how he liked it...not that he was a chauvenist...he just preferred a single life...his steady pay let him buy a house in a small neighbourhood on the edge of town...

his life was great, he was a great friend to all of his neighbours and always helped them, and they would always return the favour...

he smiled at the thought of the barbeque mr Jonson and his wife invited him to that evening and licked his lips at the thought of biting into a grilled burger...

his train of thought was brought to an abrupt halt as he noticed a suspicious woman walking a bit too fast...he checked his watch...nope, not another plane for a while...

then a glint of metal...

he tensed up...

It couldn't be...

it was...

Holy shit, a gun...right, Calum, don't try to be a hero, wait until you have a clear shot at her...

She fired a bullet at a man sorting through a bag, and Calum saw his chance...without a second thought, he tackled her to the ground...the gun flew from her hand, and he knew he was safe...he grabbed a set of handcuffs from his belt and strapped them on her...

As she was being taken away by armed officers, Calum removed his cap, wiped the sweat from his brow, and smiled

well, at least he'd have a story to tell at the barbecue that evening...
bbctol wrote:There is a term for what you have created. I believe it is "Dude- that shit is EPIC."

Teknobo wrote:Seriously, try flying down the street in Need for Speed while listening to the bicycle theme from Pokémon. It's beyond fantastic.


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