TL Fiction Writers - Page 3
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FoxyMayhem
624 Posts
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3FFA
United States3931 Posts
On March 18 2012 23:51 Arghmyliver wrote: This thread seems pretty awesome. Here is a short fable I wrote as a rebuttal to the inaccuracies of Twilight - The Vampire and the Teenaged Girl + Show Spoiler + Once upon a time there lived a vampire in a large city like New York or Seattle. He feasted on the blood of the citizens of this large city and was quite content in his existence. On Fridays, he went to a secret pub full of unsavory characters such as himself: werewolves, hags, ogres, and politicians. The pub was called “The Drunken Toad,” and he got on well with the other patrons. He enjoyed these nights were he could sit back, relax and have a chat with Manny the Werewolf, his best friend. After leaving the pub he would find a bum or prostitute, someone who wouldn’t be missed, and drain them of the bright, red, life giving fluid that was his sustenance. He would then return to his one bedroom apartment overlooking a seedy industrial canal filled with the leavings of the local mafia. All in all, he lived a quiet and peaceful life, in his own sanguineous way. One day, as the vampire was leaving the bar he encountered a group of hobgoblins attacking a young woman in a dark alleyway. Hobgoblins love the tender meat of young humans and it is common to see them preying on teenagers who have strayed off the beaten path at night. The vampire recognized the hobgoblin leading the gang as Bucktooth Dingleberry, a regular patron at “The Drunken Toad,” though not one of the vampires close friends. Upon seeing the vampire approach, the young girl cried out to him. “Oh, thank God! Help me please, kind sir.” “Evenin’ Nigel,” slurred Bucktooth around the discoloured ivory spike for which he was named. That was the vampire’s name, Nigel. Nigel nodded warily in return. “Hello, Bucktooth,” Nigel replied, enunciating clearly, unhampered as he was by such a large dental appendage. “Hey you stupid twit!” screeched the girl, “I need HELP!” “That’s quite a catch you’ve got there,” said Nigel eyeing the girl hungrily. “Hey, stay away from our meat,” said Bucktooth timidly. He knew he was no match for the vampire in a fight; Hobgoblins aren’t renowned for their intelligence. While he could easily fight of the regular passerby with his bone club, Bucktooth lacked the strength or wit to confront Nigel, even with his buddies behind him. “Hey asshole, save me already, goddamnit!” yelled the girl, her voice rising to a pitch that could cause hearing aids to short-circuit. Faster than lightening Nigel stepped past the awed Hobgoblins, swept the girl over his shoulder and leapt to the top of a dumpster prepared to break some Hobgoblin skulls if they were stupid enough to retaliate. “Screw you, Nigel,” cursed Bucktooth, “you fucking vampires think you own the world.” He ran off into the night with his gang close on his heels. “You’re a vampire?” exclaimed the girl, her voice suddenly dripping with ardor, “H-h-hi, I’m Carleigh.” “That’s nice,” replied Nigel beginning to leap up to the top of a nearby building. “Do you know Edward?” asked Carleigh excitedly. “Edward?” Nigel replied. He thought about the name for a minute. A vampire named Edward? Slowly he began to recall a cardboard cutout of some pretty-boy outside a movie theatre. He began to laugh maniacally. For those who have never heard a vampire laugh, it is the most bloodcurdling laugh you will ever hear. The sound chills the very air around you. Carleigh seemed unperturbed. “You do know him? Isn’t he super sexy? Oh, can I meet him? Do you know where he lives? This one time I was dreaming about him and we were in my room and…” As the girl babbled on, Nigel continued chuckling to himself and began to leap along the rooftops, heading home. * * * Eventually, Carleigh ran out of things to say. She looked up to see that Nigel had stopped on a rooftop. He set her down effortlessly. “Ok,” he said. “Ok, what?” replied Carleigh. “You can go home now.” “What?” asked Carleigh, a confused look on her face. “You. Can. Go. Home. Now,” said Nigel slowly, “You do speak English?” “Yes. What? Of course, but what do you mean ‘I can go home.’?” “I mean that you can return to your normal place of habitation.” “You mean you aren’t going to take me home with you?” “No,” replied Nigel, giving her a once over, “you’re a bit too scrawny for my taste.” “But, but,” Carleigh was searching desperately. Hurriedly, she adopted her most seductive smile. “I bet you could grow to like me,” she said suggestively. “Hmm, perhaps…” said Nigel quickly hiding his disbelief. “Yes! Please? You wouldn’t regret it.” “Probably not,” replied Nigel honestly. Oh boy! Carleigh thought to herself. A real vampire! And he’s taking me to his house. Maybe I will be able to meet Edward Cullen! Or even Lestat! This is the best day ever! So lost was she in this fantasy, that she didn’t notice Nigel slyly move behind her. Suddenly, she felt a sharp thud on the back of her head. Everything went dark. * * * When Carleigh awoke she was lying on a couch in a dark room full of lava lamps. The walls were covered posters featuring psychedelic patterns and there was a thin haze of smoke in the air. “Nigel?” she called. “Yes?” said a voice from behind her head. She turned around quickly to find Nigel sitting behind her, fastening a bib around his throat. “Oh, there you are. You scared me! My heart’s beating like crazy.” “Yes it is,” agreed Nigel, salivating conspicuously. “Where are we? Is this your house? It’s kinda cool!” Nigel, who was now busy brushing his already pristinely white teeth, glanced around. “Mmmhmm,” he mumbled around his toothbrush. “Wow, I could get used to living here” “I bet,” Nigel said with disinterest, unscrewing the top of a small jar, “could you tilt your head back for a second?” “Uh, sure, I guess. What is that, some lotion?” asked Carleigh inquisitively. “Paprika,” Nigel corrected, rubbing the spice over her jugular, “It’s, uh, good for the skin.” “Awww, thanks!” said Carleigh, “That’s really sweet of you.” “Yeah, no problem.” “I think I’m falling in love with you,” Carleigh interjected, with ridiculous naivety. “Oh really,” replied Nigel, feigning interest. “Yes, we can live together forever and be the happiest people in the world and you can protect me and be my lover with your smooth, pale skin which makes you so hot and…” she continued for several minutes while Nigel garnished her neck with some parsnips and broccoli. “Are you finished?” asked Nigel, cutting her off. “What? Oh, yes,” she giggled, “Sorry, I just got a little excited and–” Her reply was cut short as Nigel bit into her neck. Five minutes later, he dropped her exsanguinated corpse to the floor. Moral: Bloodsucking demonic beings make bad boyfriends. This was one of the very first things I wrote. I have always been fascinated with the history of vampire legend and was therefore horrified when I discovered Stephanie Meyers bastardization. Sure you can make vampires whatever you want in your own fiction. But seriously, ew, I found her adaptation distasteful. I was disgusted by my female acquaintances' swanning over Twilight and this is the result. I liked this story a lot. Very well thought up concept. Just some spelling/grammar mistakes I found. What is exsanguinated? Is that even a word? No word called pristinely either. "around the discoloured ivory spike for which he was named. That was the vampire’s name, Nigel. Nigel nodded warily in return." discoloured? Don't you mean discolored? There is no "u". “That’s quite a catch you’ve got there,” said Nigel eyeing the girl it is "eying" not "eyeing" At the end of the first paragraph: sanguineous it is sanguinary. The title should be "The Vampire and The Teenage Girl" NOT "Teenaged" There, I did work. Happy Fox? | ||
Whole
United States6046 Posts
On March 19 2012 08:59 3FFA wrote: "around the discoloured ivory spike for which he was named. That was the vampire’s name, Nigel. Nigel nodded warily in return." discoloured? Don't you mean discolored? There is no "u". it is spelled with a "u" in some areas of the world | ||
3FFA
United States3931 Posts
On March 19 2012 09:02 Whole wrote: it is spelled with a "u" in some areas of the world Ahh, I had no idea. Thank you for informing me. You learn something new every day | ||
KNICK
Germany248 Posts
Note that English is not my first language and I certainly do not possess the vocabulary of Mr. Lovecraft. It's just a little something that came to mind one night and I jotted down a quick outline of the story, then wrote it in about two hours in between doing other things on the next day. As for feedback, not really looking for any on this particular story, since it was finished a long time ago. But I am always looking to improve my language skills, so if there are any glaring mistakes, please feel free to point them out. Alright, here goes: That Thing From Which You Cower + Show Spoiler + When next the opportunity presents itself to look someone intently in the eye, think twice about whether or not you are prepared for what you might see. Foolishly, I once made that exact mistake, and I consider myself lucky to be able to convey the tale of that fateful moment, even if it still haunts my days and nights like an ancient evil born in a forgotten world, whose sole purpose is to loom over my every movement, waiting for the right time to strike down and rekindle the slowly dying flame of fear once more. I do not mean to bore you with excessively overblown reports of what came to pass back then, my intention is merely to warn whoever might be lucky enough to read these pages. Before you dismiss what is written here as the incomprehensible ramblings of a lunatic, know that what is about to follow was brought to paper only hours after the events it attempts to describe, and is therefore colored by rampant emotions, the foremost of them fear. Please, I beg you, heed my warnings. Avoid the eyes. Those eyes, albeit at first sight seemingly emotionless, showed quickly fading bursts of an intense, glowing hatred for everything and everyone after a few moments of more intense study. I felt them staring at me, staring through me and finally transfixing me with their merciless beckoning that I could not withstand, no matter how strained my efforts. Eventually I had no choice left but to give in and steal a glance of what I will never forget as long as I walk the soil of this planet. Unspeakable forms and shapes, unbeknown to man, yet exuding a distinct and immeasurable malignity, marching freely through landscapes of utmost hideous appearances, defying any explanation as to their origin and actual location. The blankness of my expression was at that point matched only by the blankness in my thoughts. The only immediate remaining urge was to find answers, to somehow make sense of what was essentially unexplainable. Producing nothing but whispered, incoherent utterings, I continued my observation of the now slightly altered scenes that were continuing to play out before me, focused through pinpoint-sized pupils. It was then that I came to the realization I had been degraded to the role of a mere spectator in a mad play, wherein the actors had been replaced by writhing masses of misshapen limbs and gnarled tendrils and the stage design was a backdrop of seared flesh married to broken bones and severed sinews in ways that elude any attempt at a more precise description. I would have never deemed it possible, yet there I was, in that very moment bearing witness to the ascend of what can only be specified as the purest form of fright in my own mind, a terror so clear and overpowering that it is normally kept dwelling in a dormant state, far beyond conscious understanding. There is no apt depiction in any known language for what was conveyed in these moments and I fear that if I try to articulate the horrors of imagination which were demonstrated to me by this pitiless pair of retinas, I might lose what little sanity is left in me. Suffice it to say that the existence of something beyond the borders of even the darkest and most atrocious nightmares is best left undisturbed. Otherwise you might just make the most unpleasant acquaintance of what you never dared to think about. Of what you never dared to dream about. That nameless dread hiding in the darkest corners of your mind. And you should pray to all the heavens that it will never truly come to light. What ultimately brought me back to reality and ceased the ghastly spell forcing me to stare into what I am by now convinced was the limitless abyss of a demonic mind, encased in something vaguely resembling a pair of human eyes, I cannot say. Of one thing I am sure, though: the things I have seen will not leave me for a lifetime. Shuddering, I finally managed to tear my gaze away from the mirror. I must have been sitting there for hours. I beg you. Avoid my eyes. | ||
CyDe
United States1010 Posts
Anyway, to sort of contribute, here is something I wrote for a prompt in one of my classes the other day. The prompt was supposed to be "My mother used to have...", but I was tired as all all fuck and couldn't concentrate. So instead I just wrote the most random thing in a while: + Show Spoiler + My Mother Used to Have.... My mother used to have antlers. It was a difficult procedure, to remove them, but it paid off. Now she simply has two stubs where they used to be; this would be a problem, however it makes her look like Hellboy, so most people can deal with it. The one issue we had with the removal process was… what were we supposed to do with the antlers? Antlers, for those of you who don’t know, really serve one purpose: namely being antlers. Looking big and smashing into other antlers in case of a territorial dispute (this is actually how we started renting this house we are living in now). So when the original owner of the antlers is taken out of the equation, one is left with two hard, stubby, slightly furry protrusions of bone. I feel what we did was fairly clever. My mother is Russian, so bears tend to follow us around trying to attack us. Of course, being Russian, she grew up with this kind of thing, so she knows how to deal with them; a quick kick to the groin usually frightens the bear off. However, now that we really had nothing to do with the antlers, we decided to wrestle the bear, kill it, and super glue the antlers to it. We put up the bear-deer into our living room, where he resides over our TV, looking weird and unsettlingly aggressive. There he stayed for about six and half months, until we had a friend, Vlad, come over. When he spotted the bear head he proclaimed, “The missing link!” and tried to battle my mom in a dispute over who should be the owner. My mom pointed out that she killed the bear, and Vlad pointed out that, yes, Jurassic Park is unrealistic but the book is much better, a devastating counter-argument. My mother was left stunned at his pristine logic and unrelenting stream of completely coherent language. They decided to take the more commonly tread path of problem solving, and began to gnash their teeth and growl. My mom was low to the ground, pacing back and forth like a walrus. Vlad skittered up the wall, screeching and whining in high pitched bursts of Russian. The tension built in the room, and I went to get myself a bowl of Cheerios, non-sweetened, of course. When I returned, I discovered my mother had fallen into a trap! Vlad transformed into spider and had sprayed webbing everywhere, and my mother had followed a small bald, skinny creature who coughed a lot, into the cave, thinking she would be led to a giant mountain of fire. Unfortunately for her, Vlad was waiting; he pounced, and had her in her pincers. There was only one thing I could do. I quickly began to gnaw on my spoon, in a desperate attempt to aide in the progression of this ‘story’. And then, suddenly, nothing continued to happen! You can see I really didn't edit it at all, and I just wrote really whatever came to me. It is kind of reminiscent of Woody Allen's earlier work (book wise, I mean) in the sense that it is incredibly random. Some people thought it was funny, so I hope you like it. Personally now it looks kind of stupid to me, but who am I to judge! Besides the author, I mean. | ||
Latrommi
United States222 Posts
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zalz
Netherlands3704 Posts
Today was the day that I would finish my book's last chapter. When I typed it out and began word counting, I realized I only landed on 60k words. It isn't impossible to salvage, I will simply have to weld another part onto the story. It is probably going to need another 20.000 words before I can put it to rest. Kind of annoying because I was hoping I would be done with it today. Still, on average I wrote 2.000 words per day, so that isn't bad. Part of me wants to let it rest and return later whilst I start on another book, but another part of me knows I have to finish it. Some serious re-writing and balancing awaits. But already I am having some ideas on how to use the extra 20.000 words. | ||
CyDe
United States1010 Posts
On March 19 2012 19:41 zalz wrote: Ugh. Today was the day that I would finish my book's last chapter. When I typed it out and began word counting, I realized I only landed on 60k words. It isn't impossible to salvage, I will simply have to weld another part onto the story. It is probably going to need another 20.000 words before I can put it to rest. Kind of annoying because I was hoping I would be done with it today. Still, on average I wrote 2.000 words per day, so that isn't bad. Part of me wants to let it rest and return later whilst I start on another book, but another part of me knows I have to finish it. Some serious re-writing and balancing awaits. But already I am having some ideas on how to use the extra 20.000 words. Can I ask you what your book is about? | ||
Cytokinesis
Canada330 Posts
On March 19 2012 19:41 zalz wrote: Ugh. Today was the day that I would finish my book's last chapter. When I typed it out and began word counting, I realized I only landed on 60k words. It isn't impossible to salvage, I will simply have to weld another part onto the story. It is probably going to need another 20.000 words before I can put it to rest. Kind of annoying because I was hoping I would be done with it today. Still, on average I wrote 2.000 words per day, so that isn't bad. Part of me wants to let it rest and return later whilst I start on another book, but another part of me knows I have to finish it. Some serious re-writing and balancing awaits. But already I am having some ideas on how to use the extra 20.000 words. Why is it a problem to have only 60k words? | ||
loazis
Netherlands381 Posts
I downloaded it and I love it | ||
zalz
Netherlands3704 Posts
The story starts at 2042, twenty years after a global nuclear war that destroyed society. After those twenty years it is about the time that there are some forms of rebuilding going on in North-America. The setting is that there were a decent amount of people with super powers before the nuclear war, but because there really isn't much of a society left, they aren't in hiding anymore. The focus of the story is placed on a few of these super powered individuals and their struggle in this new post-apocalyptic world. I have a large pile of notes on stuff that I think are cool or interesting. Sometimes an idea, a setting, a character or a scene just pops in my mind and I write it down in a notebook. This story was kind of born from that. It is a large pile of these ideas, molded into a story. This is also the reason why falling short 20.000 words really isn't that big of a deal for this particular story. I have already been cutting storylines left and right to make the storyline into a cohesive whole. The more I think about it, the happier I become that I can alter the story to include some of the ideas that I had left. The downside of this is that I was really looking forward to starting on a magical realism thriller, but that will probably have to be placed on hold for 2-4 weeks. After all, the most important rule is to finish your stories. It is easy to get distracted or let things rest as "half finished." Why is it a problem to have only 60k words? Novels tend to fall in between 80k-120k. So, as someone trying to write novels, it is important to aim somewhere in between those boundaries. | ||
Scarecrow
Korea (South)9172 Posts
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husniack
203 Posts
On March 22 2012 15:01 Scarecrow wrote: Just an idea for this thread, or maybe for starting a brand new one. Have a rule where if you want to share your own work, you should also post a spoilered review of someone else's in the same post. That way we get some sort of balance between feedback and sharing. I feel like it may cause people to write bullshit critiques. | ||
MaddogStarCraft
Canada64 Posts
I'm working on a book about heroin addiction, and the nature of it, and while I do enjoy writing non-fictitious books I have always wanted to dabble my hand in writing fictitious books. I have been debating on writing a plot based on my own struggles with psychotic depression/schizophrenia although I can't really find any base for the plot. Thanks for anyone who can give any insight and have fun writing my friends. | ||
Coagulation
United States9633 Posts
On March 24 2012 20:13 MaddogStarCraft wrote: Can someone explain to me the influence behind the nature of writing fictitious books as opposed to non-fictitious books? I'm working on a book about heroin addiction, and the nature of it, and while I do enjoy writing non-fictitious books I have always wanted to dabble my hand in writing fictitious books. I have been debating on writing a plot based on my own struggles with psychotic depression/schizophrenia although I can't really find any base for the plot. Thanks for anyone who can give any insight and have fun writing my friends. generally non fiction doesnt focus on the "what if?" but instead focuses on the "what is?" one of the easiest ways to come up with a good story is to take 1 concept or thing and 1 other completely diffferent and unrelated concept or thing and merge them into a "what if?" question. take related concepts or things from the first merge and work to merge those together into a second merged concept. and so on. | ||
husniack
203 Posts
Title: Lucid Perception A perfect storm of events allowed me to remember once again, those terribly juvenile experiences of lesser dogs. It started with my debit card expiring. I phoned the bank and after numerous redirections, a hispanic lady named Louise told me I should have been issued a new card a week prior. "It should have arrived by now," I said. "I'll reissue it right away sir." "Thank you Louise." I had been buying pasta noodles, the macaroni kind packaged in those thin cardboard boxes, OJ and alfredo sauce - 10.96 bucks worth of food. But all I ended up with was the OJ seeing as I had four dollars in my wallet and I didn't want to leave completely empty handed. Behind me was a mom and her kid, their cart jammed full with fruits and pepperjack cheese and organic milk. The mom was slender, young looking, and her hair, blonde and wavy, and seeing her like that, it made me want to tell her, "You know I've got money in the bank. My card's just not working." I didn't though, and it left me feeling like I was actually poor. "Fuck it," I decided and compounded the feeling that I was some lowly trash by drinking straight out of the carton, little droplets of yellow dripping down my chin. My phone picked up a wifi signal and I looked up Bank of America's number which is how I ended up talking to Louise. I had wandered to the deli section while talking to her and was admiring a delicious looking garlic and olive antipasto. I knew there was a B of A close by somewhere, maybe down a block or two so I decided to walk. Sometimes the weather is too hot or too cold and it's too uncomfortable for contemplative thought to occur. On this day, the weather was good. Everything seemed in harmony - the balance of sun and shade and clouds. I found myself entering a reverie. The only thing still nagging me was the occasional inhale of car exhaust and that I couldn't stop drinking the orange juice. Simply having it there, present, immediate, was an irresistible invitation, though my bladder warned it was all going to waste. There was a homeless man, beer-gut, beanie, pushing a shopping cart filled with ragged shit, a sleeping bag, blankets, some canvas bags. I didn't see any alcohol. "Good for you," I thought as I took another swig of my juice. I passed him, and felt a pulse of energy that arched my back and raised my chin. "Why'd I do that?" I guess it was habit. I used to run 5K's. I was not great, but I sure felt like a god every time I came up on a bend and passed some one who was huffing. Seeing their pain rejuvenated me and if I was lucky, these huffers would be spaced out in perfect intervals such that when I passed one, another would soon be within my sight. There was not another homeless person for me to pass, but I did get passed by the mom and her kid riding in a sweet looking Audi. I saw them from the corner of my eye. The kid was sitting in the passenger seat. We made eye contact. He was pretty good looking like his mom, rosy skin, sparkly eyes, freckles, the kind of kid that's probably the source of two or three crushes. It stood to imply that the husband was gorgeous as well, and probably rich. I wondered if the dad had ever cheated on her. I mean, he must have been hot shit to land a hot wife. I felt a bit better imagining their hidden angst. He was probably a businessman or lawyer with a young intern or receptionist. Once certain variables align, the chain of events that unfold are bound to occur. When I arrived at the bank, my 'Simply Orange' was nearing the halfway mark. I couldn't get the mom out of my mind. I saw her serving the husband organic cheese and salad made from spinach and italian dressing and exotic nuts and tangerines, the way rich people do, and probably later in the night, getting rewarded with a fill of his thick, take-it-to-the-bank, testosterone, and enjoying it. On the other hand, me, standing in line, waiting to cash out money to buy alfredo sauce and macaroni noodles. It struck me then, that as I pleasant as it had been to walk to the bank, I would have to walk back. My day would've become complete shit if not for the supreme hotness of teller #4. It's possible what I was feeling was just residual lust for the mom. Regardless, I stared at her. I was at the tail end of a fourteen or fifteen person line - what else was I going to do. I got to thinking about this thing called the 3 second rule. My friend Cael had mentioned it once in college. He had said, "Nick, you've got to follow the 3 second rule. What that means is you've got to approach a girl you like in three seconds or less. Longer than that, and you'll just psyche yourself out. Trust me. It's golden." Well goddammit I couldn't just cut the entire line and start spitting game while she was talking to an arabic man. I had no control over the situation. So I rehearsed instead. This is what I wanted to say: Hi. I hope this isn't awkward, but I think you're beautiful and we should get to know each other. You don't know me, but I'm a pretty cool guy once you do. What's the worst that can happen? We can always just be friends too. It never hurts to have - "Sir, I can help you here." It was teller #2, an old hag. My face turned red. "Sir?" "Ah, go ahead of me," I said to the guy behind. "Nah it's okay." "No really I insist, I need to call my girlfriend, you know, ask her how much money she needs me to take out." He winked at me. "To tell you the truth, I've been waiting for a while to get that teller." He pointed at my teller. "Sir! You're holding up the line," cried the teller, motioning me forward. Jesus christ. I was walking forward when I noticed the person at the girl's counter had finished. Adrenaline rushed through me. "This is my chance," I thought, and abruptly changed course. "Hello there," she chirped when I reached her. She was more beautiful up close. I didn't remember anything I'd practiced. I gave her a nod and placed my orange juice confidently on the counter. I was on an adrendaline high. "I'd like to cash out some money." "Oh-kay. How much?" "One million dollars. I'm a rich person. Go on a date with me." But that's not what I said. I said, "Ten dollars." While she verified my driver's license, my brain whirled, coming up with plausible lines to say, then just as quickly shutting them down. I could not think of anything. How's your day? Great weather isn't it? God I would sound just like any other chump. I needed to say something dramatic. Mind blowing. I didn't. But as I took my ten dollars, our hands brushed and for the longest second, I felt a connection - a snap of electricity from her fingertips to mine, through my heart to my brain, and then from my eyes to hers. We smiled. She knew my name, even my address and phone number. It was all in the system. "I'll see you later," I said. I would. I would see her later. After all, who goes to a bank to just withdraw ten dollars? I would be back. I'd take out twenty dollars next time and tell I didn't actually need the money, I just wanted to see her. She would be receptive to it this second time. "Nick! Your orange juice," she pointed, as I walked away from the counter. I gave her a wide grin "I know," I said and walked out into sun, the door swinging behind me. I trusted her to refrigerate it for me if she liked me as I liked her. I would grab it tomorrow. | ||
GrimmJ
Canada131 Posts
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Dark_Chill
Canada3353 Posts
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giuocob
United States149 Posts
On March 25 2012 12:09 husniack wrote: ...I knew there was a B of A close by somewhere, maybe down a block or two so I decided to walk... You mean 'their' | ||
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