A CHAIN STORY for you to write….your go next
Same rules as last time…write up to two sentences at a time (and remember that Go! is a perfectly good sentence).
You can have as many turns as you like but they can’t be consecutive – in other words you have to wait for someone else to contribute before you add to the story again.
Try to make it follow on (not always easy) and this time it’s FIRST PERSON, but you can still have as many twists and turns as you like. Feel free to ignore the picture (you did last time) but it might offer inspiration.
I will start it off and finish it off (if necessary) late next Sunday (November 29th).
Here’s the opening line…
That summer I was a mess of emotions, angry and edgy most of the time. I was like bubbling mud.
photo credit: [125- 365] Los ojos de Julia via photopin (license).
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What I had thought to be real and tangible had really been just my imagination playing overtime in my mind, turning black into white and white into grey.
I found myself alone again, and death and suffering was all around me, so I got on the first bus out.
The howling pitch of the bus’s ancient diesel changed as the driver downshifted to a stop, only meters away from the mangled wreckage blocking the narrow tarmac, a plume of black smoke all but obscuring the red Land Rover in its path.
‘End of the line,’ my reply to the conductor, the irony not lost on me though he merely took my money and handed me a ticket. I sat back in the corner of the worn seat, I’d have plenty of time to go over the events of the last thirty-six hours – if the price of the ticket indicated the length of the journey ahead: whatever the length, I had already come farther than I could ever have imagined when I first set eyes on Carl Sandford.
I burrowed my chin down into the high lapel of my coat (oh god it smells of him it smells of him) and pushed my frozen hands deep into the pockets and there, in the left one, felt a scrap of paper graze my knuckles.
If I were to take it out to read it would be as if the course texture of sandpaper was scraping at my heart as painfully as his words of rejection had pounded on my ears until I was deaf to the attack and heard him no more. I had myself and only myself now. What was to become of me?
I headed to a dirty looking café on the other side of the street. The windows were so steamed up it was impossible to see inside, and as I entered, I felt suffocated by the air that hung thick with the smell of fried food.
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Gazing blindly through the filthy window, I could see nothing but the look of horror on his face as we careered off the road and turned over and over. When the vehicle had finally crashed to a stop and I had crawled out, shaking, I had been barely able to believe I was still alive; if only it had been me who had died.
It was when I saw the flashing neon light of the café’s name that I realised I had, in fact, died in that Land Rover. It also explained the nature of that putrid decaying smell. It was human flesh that was cooking; and I was in – Hell’s Kitchen!
I ordered a brandy steadied myself enough to stare through the misted windows and that’s when it struck me. I realised I was, in fact, dead even though I had no cuts or abrasions.! It was human flesh that was cooking. At the far end of the car-park, the flashing neon light announced the cafés name; Hell’s Kitchen!
The grating sound of the abused gearbox dragged me out of the nightmare I had been enduring: the bleak landscape beyond the window did nothing to ease the churning apprehension that threatened to vomit over the back of the seat in front. Harsh overhead lights, a reminder that we had traveled through the night, made my eyes water as I peered into the lightening day: the revolver had worn a numb dent in my hip that now throbbed into life as I shifted to move away from the stranger who slumped beside me.
The track was so overgrown, so pitted and rutted and so twisty that any speed in excess of five miles an hour would have been foolhardy . In a few seconds, the patch of lighter sky behind them vanished , and they were in an inky blackness that was barely penetrated by the headlights.
I shuddered convulsively, as the remnants of civilisation disappeared behind us and a small moan escaped from behind my clenched teeth. The woman beside me touched my arm, but as I turned to her, I bit back a scream, for instead of sympathy, her eyes blazed in accusation at me.
Hi Loretta & Hillary – Brilliant! But we’ve started a new chain story (click on my picture on the top left hand side and you’ll see it.) Come on over! We need you.
Oops, sorry, I just got the link in my email and it sent me here. Apologies.