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ForumsInteractive Story Board → Dead.
2003-08-26, 6:40 PM #1
It was loud, more like the rumble of thunder than a quick crack.
(What was it?)
Cobb asked himself, letting the thoughts roll over his psyche, like a black wake over a pallid beach. It was all he knew, just about. Just that, and his new name, Cobb.
(What kind of name is that?)

Oh, he had his thoughts, misshapen conjectures, that noise was probably the last thing he ever heard. He knew he was dead, and he had to admit it. But that would be giving up.
(You're so f-ing stubborn at times. No... no, all the time. Why can't you just let it slide?)

The train rattled over the tracks as the Red line pulled into South Station. Cobb was too deep in thought, the doors were shut again by the time he looked up. Not a big deal. That's the thing about riding the "T," you just get off on the next stop, no worries. That's the most he could ever hope for, but it would never come true. Downtown crossing came quickly, and Cobb disembarked along with the rest of the self-concerned passengers, most of whom couldn't care less about what happens when you die.

Cobb turned around to see the metallic snake move on, clicking and sputtering, blue sparks and fluorescent lights. Dead men pay no tickets, he thought grimly as he slipped into the nighttime streets, cold towers of glass and steel flanking him on all sides. The city looked down on him, and he truly felt loneliness. He feet went on, his spectral boots making a hollow clop audible to no other. He would have been cold, were he able to feel it, and the few people he passed pulled their coats tightly around themselves.
(Where are you going?)

He didn't know, but he felt it. Away from the lights of downtown the apartment building hunkered down in a far corner, an ancient tenement of stained brick and small windows, which seemed to peer out like eyes, judging all who walked before their piercing gaze.
(The door is open, go in.)

He knew it wasn't, but he passed through anyway. Inside, he was greeted with mildewed walls and sagging floorboards. The flight of stairs were quickly traversed, but stopped suddenly at room 2H. A wave of recognition shot over him, and he knew this was it. He prepared himself for whatever laid ahead.

The small apartment stood before him, with its cheap furniture and torn drapes. A single, half-empty bottle of Sam Adams stood on the counter, a lone sentry to guard over the sacred room. To guard over the dust that covered everything. He walked farther, and heard a small sound coming from an adjacent room. A woman sat on a flimsy bed, one hand covering her weeping face, the other holding a photograph in an ornate frame. She was thin, dreadfully thin, and wisps of blonde hair covered her face, a mockery of a veil. Her clothes hung loosely, giving her figure a formless edge, and Cobb was stirred to pity. She was important, somehow.

He moved closely, and saw a thin pane of glass covering the scene of two newlyweds in innocent embrace. He knew the face of the woman, it belonged to the reflection looking into it.
(And she belongs to you, Cobb. Death can't keep you apart. You can... use her...)

"Why did you do it, Richard? Why? We had so much ahead of us," she whispered softly, a single tear falling onto the face of the man, his face. "It almost feels like you're here..."

He couldn't think about her any more, couldn't think of any of the new breakthroughs. A new feeling captured him, one of unadultered dread. It gripped him, tore his eyes away, and forced them to stare at the closet. There it sat. The finish was worn off, and the steel tarnished, but there it was all the same. The shotgun basked in its own shining aura of death, proud of some horrid, untold deed. And he heard the sound again, the thick rumble, and now he was certain of what it was. He was frightened of its menace, but drawn to it, all the same.
(You scared yet? You should be.)

From here we have a few options. Another poster could continue from here, or we every participant could make a character of his/her own. Or if no one replies, I'll continue by myself. And don't ruin it, or I'll make sure you see things from Cobb's angle mighty quick.
2003-11-13, 5:18 PM #2
(NSP: So, who'd like to continue this story? Or will stat continue it himself? Perhaps it would be helpful if stat clarified how his story would be "ruined" so that it can remain a "true story.")

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