OH GOD WHAT DO I DO

[Dr.CountrY]

..and I thought it was time to make those numbers rise a bit.

I took off. The cool night wind was rushing through my hair, the adrenaline was pounding, pounding so strongly through my veins.

I have to admit. I smiled.

It was amusing...how being scared shitless had given me the advantage. How being given the short end of the stick, like I had so every other time in life, had made me stronger still. In this state...I was a superhero...I was the goddamned Batman I had a purpose, motivation, conviction. The Dubai Boys? To them this was just some pocket change and a good time. They were thinking "Goddamn it, the old cunt isn't making this easy. Better twist the knife when I stab him." They had nothing on me. Because for me...this was my life at stake. Is there any better motivation? Is there anything stronger than that intrinsic urge to breathe another breath and then another one after that? Some people would say "love," I guess. Fuck them. Love didn't oust the epinephrine from my adrenal gland. It didn't bind it to my adrenergic receptors. It didn't constrict my blood vessels, or keep my neuronal synapses firing so that I might see and hear and think and run, LOVE DID NOT PUSH THE AIR INTO MY LUNGS...love didn't keep me alive. Being a fucking animal did.

[Versus]

nice

[Wrath Of Sandvich]

This is wonderful. Would creative writing belong in the art thread, or is that strictly visual?

[[SiN] Merc]

[quote author=Dr.CountrY link=topic=5582.msg203670#msg203670 date=1303338010]
[quote author=Kirby, the Spyro link=topic=5582.msg203659#msg203659 date=1303334147]
[quote author=Caffeine link=topic=5582.msg203658#msg203658 date=1303334104]
[quote author=Versus-pwny- link=topic=5582.msg203650#msg203650 date=1303331655]
[quote author=Ensign Epic link=topic=5582.msg203648#msg203648 date=1303331106]
Not sure if this is creative writing or not. If so, this is great piece, really creates tension well, etc.
If not, you're fucked man. Run. Just run, and do not look back, towards the most well-lit area with people.

he typed this out on a phone while it's happening to him
[/quote]

/r/askreddit/

Dear Reddit,

My house is on fire, but my room is safe for now, internet still working, what should I do?
[/quote]

Log into WoW and ask guildies.
[/quote]

I don't have time to play video games like "WOW", or make sarcastic comments trying to prove how cool I am to the rest of the mentally challenged delinquents I keep as friends. I'll leave that up to you.
[/quote]

I see what you're trying to do here Countryyyyy, so for that I thank you.

Unfortunately trying to create content where input is required between forum members to create a collaborative story is a hard thing to do since this communities common sense has degraded to the lowest common denominator. Unless you're writing about something that appeals to a more basic emotion (Anger, Lust, Greed) there wont be that many people able to make a worthwhile contribution. Instead of respectfully understanding and keeping silent, they feel insecure about their lack of understanding and want to troll the topic down to their level.

Thank you for trying again, im sure Goffin and Ensign would like you to continue, and you may be able to get some of our higher brow members onboard with this idea (Rumsfald , Atom, Hek, Kor etc)
[/quote]

I like it Country. I will say this though Vandam: Basic emotions encompass just about all writings. There's absolutely nothing wrong with writing a piece where the overall concept can be summed with one word. Love, hope, Courage, every one of those is a powerful, universal thing. One shouldn't ignore the basic emotions, all I'm sayin'.

[Dr.CountrY]

The air came in quick and easy, short controlled breaths. The air smelt like grease and smoke...it always did, but it was welcome, fuel that pulled me far and away from The Dubai Boys. As I ran, every object I passed became a blur, but every detail was noted. The garbage can, 15 feet behind me, steel, dented, a magazine peeking from under the lid, the June issue of Playgirl, "Ronnie Kroell" splayed out in bold, black letters. Lamppost 10 feet ahead, a lonely sheet of paper, an audition notice for a nu-metal band, desperate seeking some fresh blood to replace the member they had just lost to Heroin. Everything was vivid. I could see, smell, hear everyth-

*DOOM*    *DOOM**DOOM*

I didn't need superhuman hearing to catch that...the sound of death was always deafening. The world slowed down at the bellowing command of the monster behind me.

I hear a sick popping, snapping noise...it sounds wet...unnatural...it's followed by a scream...both sounds are behind me...I don't understand...I can't figure it out...what had broken...who had cried out in pain? But my questions were cut short. My mind was given a lovely new distraction.

The cacophony of pain behind me took a second seat to agony of a  .50 Action Express cartridge entering my calf and shattering my tibia. My leg gave, and carried by forward momentum, my torso continued forward, and then down. The sky was at my feet now, and the world tumbled around me. Three dark men entered, upside down, into my field of vision. One cradled a mangled hand, and the perpetrator of our shared pain, a shining silver cannon, fell carelessly upwards to the blacktop.

After what feels like forever, I hit the ground. My landing isn't graceful. The pain is acute. It's my turn to scream but I can't, the air has left my lungs, they feel burnt and dry. The clarity of the adrenaline rush gives way to fuzziness, the slow loss of my faculties.

My vision fades out.

Then slowly...it fades back in.

I don't know how long it's been. I feel cold. A group of men is here now. They are dressed like thugs, but they carry themselves proudly. One of them carries a bat and wears a baseball hat low over his eyes, shaggy hair and a goatee are the only characteristics that distinguish him. The bat has two words on it. Mizuno. "Matsui."

Across from them is another group of men. One is huddled over, drawn into his hand, shaking violently. The other three stand in front of him. Two of them carry handguns. I recognize Guadalajara. He does not have a gun...instead, he is carrying what looks like to be a railroad spike.

I start to gain focus. I can hear loud speaking...threats. Promises.

The man on the ground lets out a gut wrenching scream. The thugs laugh. They call him names. The man with the bat speaks up. He says playing with a small dick is not good practice for handling such a big gun. Laughter again. Guadalajara has had enough. His fierce dark eyes light up with anger. I'm reminded of one too many bad samurai duels as he runs forward and draws his makeshift shiv alongside him, preparing to spill the life of the tall man in the baseball cap.

Life falls back into slow motion.

The shaggy haired cholo steps aside, effortlessly, like water. He stomps on the back of his attacker's leg, dropping Guadalajara to his knees and sets his feet a shoulder-width apart. He draws his bat back, with his elbow up. With perfect form, he swings. Fast, compact, straight across, flat contact.

The crack of the bat. A solid line drive. The crowd roars.

[Versus]

nice