Story Time - The End of the World Scenario

  • MetalDog 10 Nov 2005 23:03:29 24,076 posts
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    Let's see how long it takes this to go tits up - or plummet to the bottom =)

    Rules are few and simple:
    1) Only one story part post per person until I announce a fresh round, otherwise the sizable egos around here will just smother the smaller flowers.
    2) Honour previous posters story contributions IE: no 180 turns in plot, killing off characters just to be rid of them, turning trains into planes ;) - play nice, in other words.
    3) Originality please, if you want to write about your favourite anime/game characters, write fanfic.

    I suggest people write in notepad or somesuch and paste in after a refresh, so that there's less chance of several people posting continuations of the same part. Have fun with it.

    Graphic content is likely to follow from myself and others.


    Round 1
    *****
    Part 1

    It was the charnel smell that woke Sam. Despite a chill night wind that whistled and hooted through the broken windows of the train carriage, the stench was thick. Sickening.

    He took in a juddering breath that turned into a convulsive gagging as he rolled onto his side. Glass crunched underneath him, scraping, sliding and cutting as he made it to his hands and knees. He looked, mouth hung open. A thin string of saliva worked its way down his chin.

    Lit in dusty orange from streetlights near the track, The carriage was on its roof and at an angle, the further end of it sloping upwards sharply where it had cracked. Above him, caught in seats or lolling and swelling into the grills of the luggage racks, were the other passengers. Some bore obvious impact injuries, but many were merely arranged in unlikely contortions, their skin taut and their hands ballooning from their sleeves.

    He turned his head aside sharply and found himself looking instead at a woman with tangled hair, who was staring back at him through upswept spectacles. He opened his mouth wider to ask her what had happened, then realised that there was nothing behind the spectacles but soft pits of decaying jelly held loosely by puffing eyelids.

    Screaming hoarsely, Sam cut himself a dozen times more on glass and sharp metal as he scrambled over the remains of a seat and someone's legs, crawling out of the nearest broken window.

    Edited by MetalDog at 23:49:00 10-11-2005
  • The-Old-Bill 10 Nov 2005 23:13:00 5,101 posts
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    He found himself 20 feet above the ground. Sam was in a weakened state, he knew this, however he judged the ground to be of the substance of wet mud, and felt that this would break his fall. Out he jumped.

    He hit the ground hard, and fell into a forward roll. Pieces of glass stuck into his jumper, thankfully not breaching his skin. Sam lay on the ground in the foetus position. Gradually he began to come to his senses, and he stared up at the horror wrought above him. The plane was not reckognisable to the one that had left Heathrow, it looked like a bird who's fallen fowl (sorry) of a propeller. Blood covered parts of the plane, almost like a "sporty" paintjob.

    He struggled to his feet, no clear goal etched in his mind. He found himself back on the ground, almost instantly, again staring at the souless behemoth above him.
  • mrharvest 11 Nov 2005 00:00:06 5,599 posts
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    -Thinking won't help you sonny when the devil puts in his punches.
    That's what his dad had told him when he was nine. Sam shook his head, pulling out of the reverie. It wasn't a plane, it wasn't a train. The jumbled mess of metal had something that looked like wings, jutting out at a sharp angle from another wreckage sprawled like a child's toy that was tossed aside at the end of a game. The plane had hit the train.
    How had it happened? It didn't make any sense. Sam had been sitting on the plane, then it had lurched down like air had lost all it's ability to hold the thing up or... No. It had been almost as if the plane was pulled down by a rope. Reeled in fighting like a spirited trout.

    It wasn't the only thing that was wrong. A metal overpass down the tracks from where the train had come had bent over into a loop. Lightpoles had split or tied themselves up into neat little knots.
    Sam felt in his pocket. His keys too had taken a new, exotic shape of a butterfly or a small bird.
  • MetalDog 14 Nov 2005 00:34:59 24,076 posts
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    Round 2
    ****
    Part 5

    He snatched his hand away from the strange shape in his pocket and denied that he had felt anything amiss at all. Although his hand stung and smarted with glasscuts, he rubbed his palm vigourously against his jeans and started up the embankment away from the smokeless wreckage.

    The chainlink fence seperating the embankment from the road had also been strangely deformed. Parts of it were split open and he squeezed through one of these splits, staring at the cobweb-like remains. There were shapes twisted into it that resembled a multitude of stylised eyes strung together in the wire.

    He was breathing heavy as he stumbled into the road, looking up and down its length, still half hoping to hear the wail of sirens on their way. The wind told a different tale. The smell of decay that he had thought to be a ghost of the stench in the carriage, was carried along with skittering leaves and tumbling newspapers.

    With panic once again threatening to engulph him, he cried out, "Hello! Is anyone there?"
  • sam_spade 14 Nov 2005 01:19:52 15,745 posts
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    The crackle and thud of desolation replied.

    "Hello!" He called again. Nothing

    He wiped his hand nervously against his leg. It felt like he was being watched; he span, half expecting someone behind him. Then a shadow over there. No there. No, it was in his eye--a black spot--floating off to the corners. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He took a deep breath and imagined people pushing, cars sweeping past, the shuffle and hum of the city. He levelled his head and turned to where life should be and took a deep breath and opened his eyes.
  • Deleted user 14 November 2005 01:27:29
    Post deleted
  • christourlord 14 Nov 2005 02:26:16 2,822 posts
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    Sam awoke drenched in sweat, his sheets bunched up in a soggy mess at his feet. He waited a moment for the confusion and terror to clear from his drowsy head before turning off the alarm and readying himslef for another exciting day at work. "What a rubbish dream" he muttered as he carefully zipped up his blue nylon trousers.
    Sam had a habit of talking to himself. The doctors had told his parents that it was an expected symptom of his condition. "I should really stop eating so much cheese before I go to bed, it always gives me nightmares" he told himself, clumsily buttoning his blue and orange waistcoat.
    Sam was running late again. Thanks to his cheese-induced dream, he had slept through 20 minutes of his alarm and would have to skip his Ready Brek if he wanted to make it to work on time. He grabbed a couple of Weetabix instead and shoved them into his trouser pockets, sending a shower of crumbs onto the already filthy floor. There was no time to clean it up though. Sam hadn't even washed himself this morning - the floor could wait another day.
    The frosty glass on his kitchenette window told Sam that it was cold outside so he grabbed his fingerless gloves and shoved them into his pocket, crushing his breakfast into a flaky mess. Shopping trolleys can get painfully cold in the winter, and handling them all day without gloves had left Sam in tears in the past. Sick of seeing a grown man cry every winter, his boss had kindly bought him gloves for his birthday a few years earlier.
    It was his boss that had been buzzing the intercom from downstairs for five minutes, but Sam had been too busy absent-mindedly squishing his gloves and Weetabix around in his pockets to notice. He snapped out of his sleepy trance and headed for the door, wheaty dust clinging to his fingers.
  • christourlord 14 Nov 2005 03:32:29 2,822 posts
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    "You do not talk about fight club"?
  • technos 14 Nov 2005 03:58:00 1,345 posts
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    Registered 15 years ago
    don't blame me. otto broke the silence.
  • MetalDog 14 Nov 2005 08:00:09 24,076 posts
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    2) Honour previous posters story contributions IE: no 180 turns in plot, killing off characters just to be rid of them, turning trains into planes ;) - play nice, in other words.

    sam_spade's post is the last valid entry.
  • mrharvest 14 Nov 2005 09:37:04 5,599 posts
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    It had gone quiet. As Sam opened his eyes something was blurring the scenery around him. It had been quiet before but now it was deadly silent with no sound at all. He could hardly even hear his own footsteps on the road. Sam lifted his hand: tiny black specks started appearing on it.
    -It's snowing, he thought but quickly retracted it. It was raining some sort of a deep black soot. He realised he had to get inside. There was a warehouse just to his left. The metal fence that had surrounded it before did nothing to keep him out, it had taken the shape of sunflowers or thin trees.

    Sam ran into the hall and he could hear the sound of his feet and his breathing again. It was dark in the hall but in one corner was a small ring of light. Someone was there. Sam's heart leapt. He wasn't alone.
    He walked to nearer to the light and called "Is someone there?" He heard a muffled movement then:
    -'NO! STAY AWAY!'
    It was a woman's voice, scared but that was understandable. Sam didn't stop but walked into the circle of light. An aggregate somewhere must have still been working. The light was flooding from a lamp above the entrance to an office inside the warehouse hall. On the stairs a woman was sitting, hugging her knees with one hand and the other holding a twisted metal object. She stopped her scream when Sam was fully in the light.
    -'Your eyes, they glowed in the dark and I thought you were a...', she said letting her voice trail off.
  • otto Moderator 28 May 2007 11:16:19 49,322 posts
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    Sam shook his head and blinked. His mind was playing tricks with him. A minute ago he had been in a wrecked train carriage. Now he was looking up at a crashed plane.

    What was going on??

    He tried to gather his thoughts. What could he remember?

    Nothing. Not a sausage.

    This was not right.

    Close to panic, he tried to ignore the pain and focus on details.

    "My name is Sam. This evening I left the office and took a train home to... no, I caught a plane to... no wait-"

    Think man think!
  • otto Moderator 28 May 2007 11:16:19 49,322 posts
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    I think you'll find that breaks rule two. :)
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