I see there are no serious stories going here, so i cooked up something a little different than my average scifi/fantasy (which were all crappy) Try putting as much feelings into it as possible.
This takes place in an imagined American city called Eden, a dark tale that I want to happen retroactively, I will start with the ending situation and the story should move to the beginning now. (You all seen fight club right?) The main character is Martin Grovinge, a white male in his mid-30s and who has grown bored of living and people, he is nihilistic and cynical. Average height, average weight and average looks.
The feeling of a combat knife on my throat started to annoy me, it had been there for the last 2 hours. The guy behind me holding the knife was sweating so bad the knife was slipping and he had to correct his grip all the time cutting my throat full of little scratches at the same time, the pain was the only thing that kept me from thinking this is just a dream and walking away. I had the same surreal feel as I did when I was dreaming about some psycho holding a knife on my throat a few nights back and the whole think was just a huge deja'vu with pain effects added afterwards, my nose started to itch. The guy started to move me making more scratches on my neck, he told me to climb the stairs and reminded about his control of the situation and how I wouldn't see my non-excisting children ever again if I made the wrong move. He really didn't know what he was doing, it was one of those moments when you think nothing can go wrong and still for some reason you sweat more than when you jog for 20 miles with led ball chained to your leg, I understood my so-called "kidnapper" completely as I climbed the steps of the monotonous staircase towards the roof.
The voice of the police-chief on his megaphone sounded like a wounded walrus with a throat infection, his voice was oozing donut-fat as he told my kidnapper to come down before someone would get hurt, I could hear he had said the same sentence hundreds of times, like he was working on a conveyor belt of desperate hostage dramas that he really didn't give a s**t about, he just did what the boss had told him to do. My captor wasn't stupid, he knew the police had good snipers at their disposal and all he had was a knife (albeit a big one), he had no chance against the commercial world order that stepped on his toes with boots made out of gold, but he wasn't going to go down without boring the s**t out of everyone involved and ruining their day, he was a supreme guerilla in the war against the plastic-world of clones. I really didn't have a problem in dying next to this guy, or in front of him. I saw through the world just like he did, pointlessness all over the place, like god had made a prank on everyone and then forgot to clean up his tracks making it obvious to all who wanted to see it. I didn't have anyone special to go home to, my kidnapper still thought I was the father of 2 lovely kids, one 4 years and one 9 years old, both girls. I had no reason to go down from this roof alive, I finally saw it.
My kidnapper pushed my down under a ventilation shaft, there we would be safe from the bullets for a while, the police-cheif kept saying the same lines and he started to sound as numbing as the rain dropping on the shaft, my coat was wet and as i sat down under the shaft, my hems made my feet wet and cold too. My kidnapper took off his nice armani jacket and threw it in the shaft and spat after it with such raga that I thought he would take off all his industrially made clothes and throw them after his jacket, but he kept his clothes on, slided himself behing me and placed the knife on my neck again. I tried to speak, but no sound came out. I tried again and this time I succeeded in making a small whimpering ghost of my own voice that I couldn't recocnize. "Could you please just place the knife against my spine or something, I am really getting sick of it." The man gave me an an awed look, as if he had heard a toad promise him a marriage and half the kingdom for a kiss. "What the f**k are you saying? Shut up man!!!" He shouted and pressed the knife tighter against my throat making it impossible for me to speak.
My thoughts wandered off in the rain, I went 2 days back when I had met my kidnapper and gotten into this situation. A funny story really, I would surely laugh at it after a few years if I were to live that long.
------------------
Have you ever seen a moose biting the sister you never had?
Morpheus, the international man of idiocy at your service. Irresistible punching bag for women and deadly to decency.
This takes place in an imagined American city called Eden, a dark tale that I want to happen retroactively, I will start with the ending situation and the story should move to the beginning now. (You all seen fight club right?) The main character is Martin Grovinge, a white male in his mid-30s and who has grown bored of living and people, he is nihilistic and cynical. Average height, average weight and average looks.
The feeling of a combat knife on my throat started to annoy me, it had been there for the last 2 hours. The guy behind me holding the knife was sweating so bad the knife was slipping and he had to correct his grip all the time cutting my throat full of little scratches at the same time, the pain was the only thing that kept me from thinking this is just a dream and walking away. I had the same surreal feel as I did when I was dreaming about some psycho holding a knife on my throat a few nights back and the whole think was just a huge deja'vu with pain effects added afterwards, my nose started to itch. The guy started to move me making more scratches on my neck, he told me to climb the stairs and reminded about his control of the situation and how I wouldn't see my non-excisting children ever again if I made the wrong move. He really didn't know what he was doing, it was one of those moments when you think nothing can go wrong and still for some reason you sweat more than when you jog for 20 miles with led ball chained to your leg, I understood my so-called "kidnapper" completely as I climbed the steps of the monotonous staircase towards the roof.
The voice of the police-chief on his megaphone sounded like a wounded walrus with a throat infection, his voice was oozing donut-fat as he told my kidnapper to come down before someone would get hurt, I could hear he had said the same sentence hundreds of times, like he was working on a conveyor belt of desperate hostage dramas that he really didn't give a s**t about, he just did what the boss had told him to do. My captor wasn't stupid, he knew the police had good snipers at their disposal and all he had was a knife (albeit a big one), he had no chance against the commercial world order that stepped on his toes with boots made out of gold, but he wasn't going to go down without boring the s**t out of everyone involved and ruining their day, he was a supreme guerilla in the war against the plastic-world of clones. I really didn't have a problem in dying next to this guy, or in front of him. I saw through the world just like he did, pointlessness all over the place, like god had made a prank on everyone and then forgot to clean up his tracks making it obvious to all who wanted to see it. I didn't have anyone special to go home to, my kidnapper still thought I was the father of 2 lovely kids, one 4 years and one 9 years old, both girls. I had no reason to go down from this roof alive, I finally saw it.
My kidnapper pushed my down under a ventilation shaft, there we would be safe from the bullets for a while, the police-cheif kept saying the same lines and he started to sound as numbing as the rain dropping on the shaft, my coat was wet and as i sat down under the shaft, my hems made my feet wet and cold too. My kidnapper took off his nice armani jacket and threw it in the shaft and spat after it with such raga that I thought he would take off all his industrially made clothes and throw them after his jacket, but he kept his clothes on, slided himself behing me and placed the knife on my neck again. I tried to speak, but no sound came out. I tried again and this time I succeeded in making a small whimpering ghost of my own voice that I couldn't recocnize. "Could you please just place the knife against my spine or something, I am really getting sick of it." The man gave me an an awed look, as if he had heard a toad promise him a marriage and half the kingdom for a kiss. "What the f**k are you saying? Shut up man!!!" He shouted and pressed the knife tighter against my throat making it impossible for me to speak.
My thoughts wandered off in the rain, I went 2 days back when I had met my kidnapper and gotten into this situation. A funny story really, I would surely laugh at it after a few years if I were to live that long.
------------------
Have you ever seen a moose biting the sister you never had?
Morpheus, the international man of idiocy at your service. Irresistible punching bag for women and deadly to decency.
Yeah, you stay here and take life seriously. I'll go and have some fun.
