The Story of Jack

DiamondJack

DiamondJack

Most Call Me Jack
Normally there would be some sort of application here, but to fill one of the four slots available(I know I said five authors, I'm one) All I want from you, as a prospective author in this ambitious project, is three paragraphs of writing in the past tense. What about? Literally anything. I warn you, I won't hesitate to reject something I don't find appealing, not to be a jerk or anything, I just want this story to be good and fulfilling.


Authors:


1. DiamondJack


2. Kal


3. Odek Lorehunter


4. KisaAmora


5.


A like= accepted


Also, as for my sample, I will write the first post of the story shortly.
 
Last edited by a moderator:
"Where are you going?!" she screeched, hating the sound of her own voice, but unable to stop. She's angry. They're both angry. Both just as hot blooded as the other. She grabs his arm, yanking him back. He jerks violently out of her grip. Younger, but taller, and stronger. He refuses to look at her, he's afraid to. Too angry to admit he could have hurt her. They were both too angry.


"Out for a drive! Out anywhere but here!" he yelled. Loudly. Louder than her, his voice boomed. So did his steps as he stormed out of the house, out to the driveway, pulling out so fast the tires screeched in protest. Out onto the street, out onto the road. The rain pelted into the windshield, shoved away by angry strokes of the wipers. The radio, blasting. Loud. Loud like his heart exploding in his chest. "Need an oil change? Weasel brothers are y--" "SHUT UP!"


He punched the tuner so hard the cap popped off. But the commercial kept playing, the man kept talking. "SHUT UP SHUT UP!" He smacked it with his open palm, the piece of jutting plastic jabbing him. "SHIT!" It hurt. He winced. He wanted the man to stop talking. Where was that stupid cap!?





Lights. Brighter than the spark that egged on his rage.


He turned to avoid it-- CRUNCH! The warped sound of metal striking metal, crushing into itself.


There he was, pinned. Vaguely conscious. His eyes on the glove compartment, popped open. The card inside he'd never gotten to give her, the golden letters glinting under beam of streetlight: Happy Mother's Day.


I got this idea from this article I read online :D I apologize if it's a little too dark/depressing O.o That's usually not my go to, this was just inspired!
 
Iason places another wet river rock, slick and green from algae. He stands, eyes closed, letting the last of the warm sun's light play heavily across his closed eyes. With an expanse of his chest, he draws the chilled evening air deep into his lungs. Once again, with an open mouth, he allows the frigged air to roll over his tongue, carrying with it the flavor of rain on a field. He rolls his bare toes through the recently disturbed earth feeling the damp soil press lightly between them. Faintly, echos of the screams and commotion from the night before break the silence of his mind, as images press against his closed eyelids.


It wasn't the sounds of breaking brush that had alerted him, it was the smell of Blood. The terrible smell of wet raw iron that pressed harshly against any surface it could find purchase, binding with fabrics and permeating into wood. The smell drew him from his meditation, and urged him into the woods. Rising without a second glance at his staff, Iason broke into a run. Any of the gods poor creatures who had lost that amount of blood held no threat. With only a few short steps, the healer reached a small clearing in time to see the ferns on the other side give way. There, standing, was a mountain of a man with shattered armor, no remaining weapon, and a facial expression that read dread. Proximity brought with it a new mix of scents. Blood still strong, but now with undertones of infection, excrement, and bile all oozing from the broken warrior's now mostly shredded abdomen.


"Please" The word burst forth in a cloud of blood from the dying man. It was all he could managed. His lungs had started to seize and the initial cloud was followed by a thunderstorm of crimson. The healer grabbed the man and ushered him back to the encampment. As he laid him down, gently, another scent washed over him. An odd one. Much like rot. Or harsh Chemical? Sulfur. Iason bowed his head and prepared for the long night ahead.


He stepped back to survey his work. His hand wiped sweat and dried blood from his forehead. He was covered from head to toe in dirt, grim and swaths crimson, now dried to a dull brown. The healer looked down at the dirt and stones he had toiled over. Arranged neatly, thirteen slimy green river rocks danced over the dirt in the shape of a serpent. The symbol of the Healers of the Broken now stood a mark of solemnity on top of an otherwise unmarked grave.


This text was my first post to the site. I'm new to the site though so I don't have many posts to pick from. You let me know if you want another one. This is my healer in another thread. I've also got a veterinarian with a couple of post.
 
Last edited by a moderator:
She looked at the paper as her fellow classmates snickered at her. She didn't mind, after all, she was something unusual from the normal classes that they all took. With skin as dark as coal but hair a vibrant orange color, she was marked for what she was. Spirit-speaker, she heard the others whisper. She had ignored them when they began and she would ignore them in this class. There was nothing that they could do anyways. The worse they could do was tell an adult and all of them had been killed off. All to serve a dark spirit that enchanted the children with its lies.


"He Who Lives Among Us would like to know what you are thinking about Lea." The older child said to her, causing the room to fill with giggling at her expense. She shrugged her shoulders at the questions. "I wouldn't know since I'm not Lea, I'm Lacie." Her classmates giggling dropped to a dead silence, all of them looking at her with horror.


"You are not Lacie, you are Lea. You have returned to our clan, Beloved Wife."


"I am not that woman, so drop it." Lea countered.


Their stares were on each other for several minutes, neither moving, until there was a slam on the window that made all the children scream and then laugh in joy as they rushed to leave. Lea turned to look at the window and snarled at the plant life that "fell" onto the window, sliding down to make a stained path on the glass. As she turned around, Mike was suddenly right in front of her, staring at her with hatred and lust in his eyes. He grabbed her face and yanked her up, making her look into his dead eyes.


"You will submit to your fate, after all you have lived this before." Mike said happily.


She spat in his face before yanking herself out of his grip and walking away, not even caring to see what he would do next. A few weeks ago she would have cared for Mike, tending to his wounds and making sure he was safe from harm. But now, now... 'Its his fault'


After all, he was the one who brought them to this cursed place, because of her cursed hair...and she would never forgive him.


Here is my attempt. There is something that is based on Children of the Corn.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Users who are viewing this thread

Total: 3 (members: 0, guests: 3)
Back
Top