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Chatterbox: Inkwell
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This is a story thread dedicated to science fiction. Here are the rules:
1. Your character must have some way of getting to 2032. They should vary, an have things that aren't time-travel machines.
2. I will write the stories each afternoon or morning. Then, you may write your view of the day.
3. Sign-us end January 15th, so signup now!
Here is the form
Name:
Age:
Gender:
Nationality:
How you get them to 2032:
Appearance:
Personality:
Anything else:
Any questions?
submitted by S.E.
(January 1, 2014 - 8:15 am)
(January 1, 2014 - 8:15 am)
Here it is:
In our world, there is a time called the Rewt. It happens every 365 years. Why? I don't know. But every 365 years, seven peolpe are transported to a different year in history. The Rewt is jus when all he magic items in the world are set to one time.
And when that happens, things get messy. Write your view offhow you get to 2032, and then I will start doing actual story segments.
(January 11, 2014 - 7:13 am)
Top
(January 11, 2014 - 11:27 am)
Okay, then I shall go ahead and write.
Agatha ~
"Yeehaw!" Agatha screeched, pressing harder on the accelerator. 80, 85, 90, 95, the speedomiter read, steadily rising. The truck flew over ruts and holes, nearly bucking me into the steering wheel. Dirt flew up around the windows as the road wound along. Fishin' in the Dark played loudly on the stereo, nearly drowning out the sirens in the distance. Nearly.
"Durn police," she muttered. "Don't know how to let a body have a little fun." The truck fishtailed sideways, nearly causing Agatha and the truck to become wrapped around a tree, but she somehow managed to right it. How a twelve year old new how to drive like a Nascar driver, let alone drive at all, was a mystery to the town. Only Agatha knew, and she would probably take the secret to her grave. Which the townspeople figured would be in the very near future. Agatha careened down the road, laughing and shrieking like a madman, or, madwoman, which is what she was.
"Aw nuts," she grumbled, looking in the rear view mirror at the flashing lights of the sheriff.
"One last go," she said, shifting gears. The speedomiter picked back up, reaching into the hundreds. The world blurred around. Blues, greens, and browns merged into one continuous stream.
"What the heck!" Agatha screeched, slamming on brakes. But it was too late. A flash a blinding light and...
**********************************************************************
Okay, I decided to make her a southern small town girl. And no, she's not dead!
(January 14, 2014 - 8:57 pm)
I'm sorry, I'm going to have to back out. My Chatterbox time is limited, and I don't have to time to write my part well. I =f anyone wants to take over my character, please do.
Apologies,
Abigail A
(January 21, 2014 - 8:58 am)
Top! Top top top!
(March 23, 2014 - 8:32 pm)