2017-06-17 at 6:30 AM UTC
Let's write a story. I'll start with the opening, and then each poster contributes 2-4 sentences to the tale. Make sure to keep it coherent, and limit your responses to the guidelines.
Here goes:
I picked at the paint on the edge of the window sill as I stared dully outside. Behind me I heard shouting draw closer. Not wanting to deal with it at the moment, I laid my head back on the pillow and closed my eyes. My shoulder was throbbing and I was exhausted from driving through the night. Why couldn't they shut up already?
Slowly, I began to drift off into a deep sleep. It must have been several hours later when I awoke because I felt fairly rested. Looking around the room I stretched and made my way to the door. Before turning the handle, I placed my hand on the butt of my gun, making sure it was still securely in its holster.
"Hello?" I called out into the hallway. No response. "You guys awake?" Again, silence. Unnerved, I set about searching the rest of the house. They were gone.
2017-06-17 at 11:45 AM UTC
you forgot to add the part about the paint you were picking on being lead-based and that it tastes really, really good...which is why you pick it in the first place.
The following users say it would be alright if the author of this
post didn't die in a fire!
2017-06-17 at 10:53 PM UTC
DocFoster
Tuskegee Airman
[concentrate my unpalatable boomer]
If I respond, this will get weird quick. So I'll wait, got now, on my space station until such time as I'm needed
2017-06-19 at 1:48 PM UTC
I tried this once, i got two replies.
2017-06-19 at 2:09 PM UTC
Call me Ishmael. Some years ago - never mind how long precisely - having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball.
2017-06-19 at 2:56 PM UTC
too many cooks spoil the broth
.